0600. Pearl Harbor. Tactical Commander Noah Allen.
Allen's body forced him awake at the standard military prescription time of six in the morning. He had a meeting at 0700 with the rest of the Pearl Harbor Command, to figure out their theater strategy in the wake of the attack. His lodging, organized on short notice, was a spartan affair, with a desk, lamplight, a small bed complete with a thin blanket and pillow, and a dresser to store his uniforms in, complete with a bathroom. A small window above his bed gave him a view of the recovering base; the floodlights illuminated the ships still in the harbor. The oil spill from Arizona had nearly burnt itself out over the night, its superstructure still breaking the surface of the water. He slipped into his uniform, buttoning his jacket and fixing his headed cap onto his head. He frowned at his stubble, deciding to shave it off before he left. After nodding at his clean-shaven face in approval in the mirror, he pushed open his door and made his way outside.
Allen decided to do an impromptu tour of the base before he left his lodgings. The base was already waking up, with sailors and dock workers carrying off the final pieces of debris to cap off clean up. Crews on ships, both merchant and military, were pacing their decks, going about their daily rounds. Most of the corpses lining the streets had been whisked away onto cargo ships in the harbor for burials back stateside. The tarmac was also mostly cleaned up, and he could spot workers on the airfield sweeping metal fragments off to the side while a C-47 was coming in for a landing from the East.
"Good morning, Tactical Commander Allen." A voice flatly greeted him from his blind spot.
"Good morning, Enterprise. When did you sneak up on me?" Allen returned the greeting, looking back at the KAN-Sen.
"I didn't mean to, sir. It's just a habit of mine, I guess," She sheepishly responded. Allen could've sworn he didn't hear any footsteps. To be fair, years of study and deskwork in the Navy dulled any combat senses that he may have been instilled in Basic.
"I'd have half a mind to transfer you to the paratroopers. I'm sure they'd take you in readily, you could ruck a thousand miles and not get spotted," Allen said with a hint of sarcasm, making an attempt at humor.
"With all due respect, sir, I am a KAN-Sen. I do not believe that army field operations would be a good fit for me, for a multitude of reasons-" she launched into a long-winded rant, and Allen quickly shut it down.
"It was a joke."
"Oh." Silence. He awkwardly shifted his weight and cleared his throat.
"Do you need an escort? I would be glad to assist," she offered. Allen considered her suggestion, trying to dispel the awkwardness that pervaded the air like a heavy mustard gas.
"Sure, I could use a quick tour of the base. I do have a meeting with the base brass at 0700, though." Allen accepted her offer, adding an extra stipulation. He needed to know immediately what KAN-Sens he would be working with, which was being decided by the Pacific brass.
"Of course. If we hurry, we can cover most of it. We'll start with the airfield." Enterprise strode in front of him, readily taking on her role as his tour guide. Allen still couldn't hear her footsteps, even on the concrete.
Enterprise was a very efficient guide for his newly assigned home. She motioned towards the hangars, explaining the broad strokes of the air wings stored there, at least what was left, and their airborne logistics. Mechanics ran to and fro, carrying boxes of parts to service what planes were left and to prepare for the inevitable tidal wave of air assets that were about to be deployed by the Pacific Command into Pearl. Moving on to the harbor, she was greeted by some of the sailors as she explained their maritime situation and some observations she had made while stationed at Pearl Harbor. Some of the sailors gave him weird looks, and he swore he heard someone say "FNG," but they otherwise went about their duties.
"Sir, may I request we visit the infirmary?" Enterprise asked, with a little trepidation in her voice.
"Sure, if they're taking visitors," Allen affirmed. They veered off the harbor and up to the infirmary, which was up a couple of sets of stairs sloping upwards along the contour of the island.
The chaos of the previous day had mostly subsided, with the smell of cleaning agents hanging in the air. Nurses slept in chairs in the hallway, trying to salvage what rest they could from the hubbub of the med bay. Entering the room, Allen saw that some KAN-Sens that were hit during the attack were awake, still injured in their bed.
"Oy-y-y, Enty. Who's this Cowboy?" A KAN-Sen flatly asked from her bed, which was near the entrance to the room. From what Allen could see, she had long, dirty blonde hair, a cap resembling a superstructure, amber eyes, and a Western-style tunic. A red bow was tied around her neck above her exposed bust.
"OOooo, a new Commander! Check that ring out, he's Academy! " Another injured KAN-Sen chirped, to his left. She was a girl with white hair, an eyepatch over her right eye, and a relatively small frame under her bed cover. It looked like she was missing multiple chunks of her body. Mahan-Class, from the looks of it.
"Downes, please shut up, I'm trying to sleep…" Another KAN-Sen mumbled through her pastel white blanket. Allen could see the covers jostle a bit.
"HOW ABOUT THIS? IS THIS ANY BETTER, SIS?" The white-haired KAN-sen, apparently named Downes, sarcastically shouted.
"Downes, knock it off." Nevada sternly asked. Downes scoffed and crossed her arms.
"He's a new Tactical Commander. He arrived yesterday on a special assignment, I was giving him a tour," Enterprise answered, pulling a chair up next to Arizona's bed. Suddenly, Enterprise yelped in surprise, and Allen walked over to see what the fuss was about. Pennsylvania was passed out on the floor next to it, covered in a checkered blanket and holding an emptied bottle of whiskey.
"Dumbass. Where'd she even get that?" Nevada chortled, launching into a fit of coughing as a result.
"I was wondering why Pennsylvania didn't come back to the dorms last night…" Enterprise mumbled in satisfaction, seeing her answer sprawled out on the hospital tile.
"This is a bit much," Allen darkly commented, feeling his officer alarm bells go off like an air raid siren. Not only was the KAN-Sen drinking on base, but she had the gall to walk into an infirmary reeking of booze. He'd seen other officer cadets like this, it was never pretty.
"I'll chew her out later, my meeting's in ten. Thank you for the tour, Enterprise." Allen said, clearing his throat.
"It was no problem, sir," Enterprise replied, turning to look at him.
"One more thing, Enterprise, is there some sort of meeting area or commons that all the KAN-Sens use?" Allen inquired, sorting a tentative timetable in his head.
"Yes, it's near the KAN-Sen dorms. It's an old hangar we repurposed," Enterprise nervously said, almost looking like she was trying not to look at him. She turned her head to focus on something outside.
"You mean stole. The techies gave us shit for a while before Penny shut 'em up," Nevada sardonically said, rolling a gambling chip between her knuckles.
"Sir, I can explain, Maryl-" Enterprise quickly spoke, her expression turning slightly flustered, turning her focus back to Allen.
Allen raised his hand in an open palm. "Stop, before you make me regret holding this there. Get everyone ready for a briefing, by 1500. I'd like to introduce myself to the KAN-Sens of the base, even those who won't be part of any task forces that I lead." Allen requested. He turned on his heel and left the infirmary.
1140. Pearl Harbor. Enterprise.
"Enty, what do you think of the new guy?" Nevada asked, after making sure Allen was out of earshot.
"He seems nice." Enterprise flatly answered. She held no strong opinions on any of the officers on the base. They tell her where to sortie, and she sorties.
"C'mon, you have to have a little more than that. You've been with him all morning." Nevada probed, her curiosity prevailing over her injury.
"He's… different from most officers that I've met. I don't know how to explain it." Enterprise clarified, which seemingly made Nevada even more flippant.
"If you say so." Nevada huffed, closing her eyes. "Enty, go splash some water on Penny. It's about time she stopped stinking up the room. Down the hall, to the left, make sure it's ice cold," She said, motioning outside of the room.
Enterprise nodded, making her way to the bathroom, and grabbed a plastic cup off of one of the nearby tables. She twisted the faucet, waiting for the water to chill her hands before filling the cup. She walked back into the hospital room, gently pushed Pennsylvania to where her back was on the floor, and dumped the contents onto her face. She yelped in surprise, shooting up and trying to tackle whoever splashed the icy fire onto her face, almost tripping on her blanket. Enterprise predicted the movement, sidestepped her, then caught her arm as she was about to stumble into the bed opposite. Pennsylvania stopped, turned to look at who was holding her, then pulled her arm away with a 'tch'.
"Enty, who told you to dump water on me?" Pennsylvania flippantly demanded.
Enterprise pointed a finger at Nevada.
"Guilty as charged." She said, grinning while holding her hands up.
"If you weren't laid up in bed like a beached whale, I would grab that stupid bow on your neck and strangle you," Pennsylvania replied, acid dripping in her voice as the full weight of the hangover set in. She stumbled over to a nearby chair and held her head in one hand.
"Oh, really? One to one thousand odds you could do that if my arms were strapped behind my back and I was stuck in a fishbowl, Penny." Nevada shot back, clearly enjoying the exchange far too much.
"Stop grinning like a fuckin' idiot, Nevada," Pennsylvania groaned.
0700. Pearl Harbor. Tactical Commander Allen.
The most important people in Pearl Harbor were all seated at the conference table. A gallery of hardened faces, scars, and buried comrades all scrutinized him. Allen recognized a couple of the faces in there; Admiral Franklin, the titular Pacific Admiral who served in the Mediterranean during the Great War, and Sir Doughty, a Royal Navy attache that he recognized from his Academy studies. Doughty gave him a quick wave and a smirk before taking a huff of his pipe; Allen jumped a little when he did, giving him a quick nod before he took his seat. From the rest of the table, he could feel the accusatory 'What's a greenhorn Academy brat doing here?' statements drilling a hole through his consciousness. Allen read and re-read his briefing materials on Eagle Union KAN-Sen research, playing out each of the slides in his head. PAC-COM, nestled in one of the bullet points of his promotional order, asked him to brief the admiralty on updates to the KAN-Sen program to ensure that commanders in the theater at least had the basics in deploying KAN-Sens alongside normal fleet assets.
"Now, gentlemen, let's get started. To put it lightly, the Pacific is a mess." Admiral Franklin began, adjusting his glasses. He was the embodiment of a career officer; an acidic gaze that seemed to see right through you, sharp facial features betraying features from Southeastern Europe, and a bassy northeastern-accented voice that exuded authority. Allen guessed he was around 50 to 60 years old, based on his age lines.
"Before we begin with theater deployments, let's take inventory of the damage to the Pacific Fleet. Major Irons?"
"Yes, sir." Major Irons answered through clenched teeth. Allen noticed that he was sweating bullets, and also looked like he hadn't gotten a wink of sleep since the attack.
"Our air assets were all parked during the attack from an intelligence tip, they told us it was sabotage. Most of them are unsalvageable. USS Arizona's hull is unsalvageable as well. Magazine got blown, there's nothing we can do. USS Nevada ran aground on the western side of the harbor, and with some creativity, we can get her operational in two months. In the dry dock, Cassin and Downes both got hit by a bomb, but it's nothing that can't be fixed in a month's time if we push the timetables a bit. Hangars 1 and 3 got hit by the Sakura, which we can get fixed in a couple weeks. Our submarine pens and oil reserves are untouched. I have not seen the KAN-Sens themselves. " Irons stumbled through his damage report, intimidated by the room of officers who could singlehandedly end his career if he screwed up his briefing. Allen couldn't blame him."
"Thank you, Major Irons. You are dismissed." Franklin motioned outside the room, and Irons was all too happy to oblige.
"May I comment on the KAN-Sens, sir?" Allen asked, raising his hand.
"Go ahead." Franklin waved, and the table's eyes turned towards him.
"Arizona is stuck in a coma in the hospital ward. Cassin, Downes, and Nevada are all awake, with various injuries that look like it may take anywhere from a couple of weeks to months to recover from." Allen hesitantly said, knowing all too well the stress that Irons felt.
"Thank you, Tactical Commander Allen." Franklin flatly said. He stood up, walked to a projector, pressed some buttons, and a map of the Pacific appeared on the wall. He pointed at the light switch, where an attendant waiting near the door hit it, the darkness defining the battle map more clearly.
"Now, based on the latest reports from our friends at Pac-Com, Sakura channels are indicating fleet actions at Wake, the Orient's Gate, Singapore, and the Indies. The 2nd Carrier Division launched air strikes on Wake, and the 7th Marines Battalion deployed on Wake is reporting spotting submarine and cruisers within visual…" Franklin launched into a briefing of the entire Pacific theater, down to Eagle Union escorts in the Oriental Islands. Allen deduced that the Eagles had needed at least another two months to be prepared for a Sakura strike; there simply weren't enough ships in the region to effectively mount a defense of the Eagle Union's far-flung territories, not even taking into account Royal Navy colonies like New South Wales. The Eagle Union only had a token task force there, present by sheer coincidence from the start of the war.
"...Sir Doughty, would you like to explain the Royal Navy's situation?" Admiral Franklin raised an eyebrow at the stubbled man. He was
"My pleasure." He responded with a refined Londonian accent. "Due to the stress that Ironblood wolfpacks are putting on our fleet, as well as Ironblood fleet assets deployed in Norway, most of our surface fleets are tied up. Me and my fellows in New South Wales and Singapore had to fight tooth and nail to get the East Asia Task Force organized, consisting of the Prince of Wales, Repulse, Vampire, and various non-KAN-Sen naval assets. We have a hotshot KAN-Sen Captain on the Prince of Wales who we believe can make up for the shortfall that our forces are currently dealing with. Quite frankly, otherwise, our situation in Singapore and New South Wales is much, much more precarious than I'd like to admit. " Doughty rattled, flipping through his notes and pointing at various locations on the map. He dusted his shoulder off as he finished his briefing, noting the horribly under-manned air wings in Singapore and the ragtag colonial fleet being organized to put up a fight in the Straits of Malacca. He briskly walked back to his seat and sat down.
"Speaking of KAN-Sen assets, PAC-COM requested that we be briefed on the current state of the KAN-Sen program by our new friend that flew in from San Francisco. Tactical Commander Allen?" Admiral Franklin turned his attention to Allen, which began a lightning-fast domino reaction from the rest of the table. They all looked at him expectantly.
Allen cleared his throat. "Yes, I'd love to." He walked over to the projector and loaded in his slides. They were barebones since he had made them the night prior. "The Eagle Union KAN-Sen program was the first of its kind, founded in 1897 after the discovery that K-Cubes had military applications. Fundamentally, KAN-Sens work on the principle of 'K-Cube Sync.' This is the force that gives shape and form to KAN-Sens. This allows them a high degree of control over their hulls and rigging. Rigging are implements that their bodies can freely deploy at will, having similar capabilities to their hull. With experimentation, we have deduced that sync can be increased by a clearly defined purpose during creation or periods of positive emotional response. The inverse is also true. Furthermore…" Allen also covered the operational history of KAN-Sens, starting from the Castello-Eagle War to various engagements and exercises during the period following the Great War. One particular question stuck out to Allen as amusing.
"Why do they look like twenty-somethin' girls? Some of 'em look like they shouldn't be out of High School." A confused Rear Admiral inquired in a heavy Texan accent.
Allen shrugged. "One of life's mysteries. Gives the Sailors something to ogle, I guess." He offhandedly muttered, earning a short-lived laugh from the officers in the room before Admiral Franklin cleared his throat.
"Do we have any more relevant questions that we have for Tactical Commander Allen? No?" He said, staring daggers at the rouge Rear Admiral. The rest of the officers in the room shifted uncomfortably but said nothing.
"Thank you, Tactical Commander Allen. You may be seated." Franklin stated, slowly getting up from his chair.
"We shuffled some ship and KAN-Sen assets around, so take a look at these for your assignments. Rear Admiral Smith and Tactical Commander Allen, you're on deck for a sortie this week. Dismissed." Franklin handed a stack of manila folders to an attendant that Allen had completely missed in the room, who briskly passed them out to each of them. Allen hesitantly opened his.
Well, it's a start.