Chapter 16: Road of the Unexpected
09:21 – 14 A.E.
Tyrus – Halvo Bay – Downtown
Regency Hotel was a piece of crap establishment back in the day despite its grandiose name, and is not a damn sight different now. At least now it has a decent excuse. Together with what is left of the Military Academy it is the prime bastion of local Stranded clans.
Bastion. Now that was a laugh.
It's just a glorified watch tower for Griffin's army, its ears to the local grounds as his clan had nothing else going for it. They were robbers, pillagers and looters who lived off what they stole from neighboring clans, especially the one that fashioned itself non-Stranded as not one soul would care if something untoward happened to them, least of all Stranded. Fortunately being the ones who have to go beyond their boundaries the most to get what they need, no one else here had their sort of mobility when push comes to shove.
Guess that is all that Gibbton could feel proud about as he lounged on his mattress, focused on saving energy as a small hangover wracked his head.
A beat fell on the door.
"What is it?" Gibbton growled.
"I've got news! Something big just came to town!"
"Of what kind?" he hated when people did not go straight to the point.
"Airships," the voice of Alp stated, "Three of them."
That finally got him to move and brutishly body-checked the door agape, unbreakable in his stride. Alp stepped out of the way just in time as he came out and followed. "Where?" Gibbton demanded as he wandered and looked to the balconies.
Much to his chagrin, not many were at their posts, but the few standing had clustered at the western side. It was fair to assume the sighting was made there, and that was where he went and muscled his way through the small crowd to find the mounted binocular.
He could already see it without using the thing, but did anyway just to confirm.
"Are they... Musashi?" one wondered.
They did not have any photos of the airships, only general descriptions. Musashi airships sighted so far are universally elongated and flat in design with several gun turrets across the bottom and top. The three he saw was every bit as otherworldly as one could imagine, but were all rather short and tall, bulky in build and had only two visible turrets.
So much about these beside the structural design did not add up against what they knew of the far flung city-state. Gibbton took a long look further before he made a decision in full, "Get our radio up and running." he quietly told those around him with dangerous calm that sent at least four of them running out of the periphery of his vision.
Griffin needed to be informed of this.
09:26 – 14 A.E.
Char – Griffin Tower – Communication Room
When the Chief of those brigands in Halvo Bay called in, Griffin did not expect much. It was far from where both Musashi and the COG set up shop, so he expected little more than a status report – something that only warranted a note, yet Gibbton wanted a word with him personally.
It seemed bound to be undertaken for the sole sake of rubbing a non-existent ego. Only the desire to keep them under his thumb put him in front of the transmitter to listen to what that oaf Gibbton had to say.
Suffice it to say, he did not in the least expect what he was quickly told. "Hold on now... You're telling me Musashi has reached Halvo Bay?"
"Er, thing is..." Gibbton's words oft sounded like they were splitting apart at the seams from the static caused by their more poorly maintained gear. "I don't know if these really are from there."
"And how the bloody hell is that the truth of it?" Griffin asked in annoyance, "I don't see any other place with the kind of hardware they have."
"Those airships just doesn't match up with what you told us, sir."
"And how exactly don't they match up?"
"Well," Gibbton audibly thought back on what he saw, "first off their color scheme is way off, red with patches and stripes of gray. Those things look a whole lot bulkier. And Mr. Griffin, these came from further inland, not the sea."
"Musashi could have ship classes we don't know about..."
"I thought about that too, but I have my doubts."
"Okay. Suppose they are somehow from a different faction... where are they headed?"
"On their present course, I suspect they'll come across that stranded imulsion rig where those COG and UIR deserters are holding up." Gibbton paused, then cursed as though reminded of something, "Shit. Just remembered. I've got people there trying to steal from their imulsion supplies. Got to warn the-"
"Not yet." Griffin interrupted him.
"What?!"
"Let your guys keep at it and see if these new arrivals intervene." he smoothly directed as the idea came to mind. Risky but brilliant. "Only pull them back if they do, make the bastards indebted to them."
"Ah." Gibbton caught on.
"You still have a spy among them?"
"Absolutely. You want him to listen in on anything said if it comes to that?"
"Exactly, now you're getting it."
"At the cost of some of my own men." the other Chief intoned regretfully.
"Not if their retreat is clean enough." he reassured evenly, "Get to it."
"Aye."
Griffin turned off the transponder, and idly reclined, arms folded, as he mulled over what this could turn into.
09:30; 27th June; 1648; Testament Era
Tyrus – Halvo Bay – Kraken Class Warship Halcón
Halvo Bay's not as bad off as Jacinto, but it made a good showing of what a city would look like if it had been taken through a wringer. Gin appraised the place from the upper deck, her repaired clothes concealing the patched up injuries she suffered at New Hope, the only indication of those being a walking cane sized up for her impeccably clean prosthetic arms to use for support.
It was tolerated. She only needed it for a few days.
As usual, from her point of view it defied reason why anyone would choose to live in such a cesspool. But them being them, the Stranded against all sense most likely have settlements here. Question was... where?
"Much of this damage came from the war." Pad muttered in observation some distance behind her, "And just as much from some natural disaster. Must have been one hell of a flood recently."
Guess it made sense. "Pad." she addressed him, "If there are still people here, where do you think they live?"
To that, as if to answer, over the mild hum of the airship they rode there was a dim staccato sound in the air. More than enough of it to conclude there is a firefight going on somewhere close. Their Scout looked off into the distance – toward the stranded bulk of an imulsion rig – and pointed outward. "It's coming from that way." he supplied, "Let's take a look, see if we can lend a hand."
"Why?" Gin asked plainly.
"Because the Stranded have one big currency: Favors." he helpfully provided, "Make one side indebted to us, fastest way to get a nice and friendly chat... It really does sound simple, doesn't it?"
"I suppose." she accepted the logic of it and messaged the Captain for their formation to close in on the oil rig with weapon safeties unlocked, but hold fire until they can get a better look at the situation. One confirmation later and the Halcón turned onto its new course, the sister ships quick to form up on its flanks.
Question was initially if it would be that easy. As it turned out though, there was no question of the simplicity of this matter as they passed the messy landscape that few could be bothered to call streets and buildings anymore and came upon a wide settlement centered in and around the mildly tilted imulsion rig that dominated this area, before which a small battle was waged between a group of Stranded in a state of organized retreat, protecting lorries brought out of a breach in the settlement walls packed with various goods. A band of pillagers in other words. The defenders put up a military grade pursuit to take back the precious cargo, alas at this rate those rogues would get away.
Neither side had noticed the warships coming to hang over the small battlefield for now. A few behind the walls on the other hand gawked at them – forgetting whatever they were doing in favor of staring at something they were clearly unaccustomed to seeing.
"Now this, this is what I call easy." Pad dryly commented on the proceedings.
"Tes. Captain," she declared with the opening of a divine correspondence, "three rounds rapid. Warning shots around the raiding group. Permission to look intimidate."
With slight relish, the very air shuddered as the Halcón's lower gun went to work and pivoted for the trio of shots ordered. Rapidly they were applied to the situation below, the destruction set to a triangular pattern around the pillaging group. The first was enough to stop the fighting as everyone scurried for additional cover, followed quickly by another two that made no mistake of what their guns were pointed at, each round tearing craters into the already broken pavement and buildings in a storm of fire and torrential energies.
"It would seem we finally have their attention." the Captain chuckled a remark through the link.
Any further shot was unnecessary, as with the previous shots landed on the pillagers' flanks and just ahead of their lorries a line had been drawn in excruciating clarity that made the group fall apart and flee, leaving their stolen goods behind.
The man continued, "Should we?"
"No. Objective achieved." Gin shrugged and closed the sign frame as with the lorries abandoned the locals, those who weren't captivated by the new arrivals, hurried to appropriate the cargo. "Is there something wrong?"
Pad had been very quiet for a moment as he watched the locals, and reacted as though slapped awake when she addressed him, "No, not really. Just thinking there's an awful lot of COG armor on them."
"You believe there to be some sort of connection?"
"It could be they raided some depot at some time." Pad decided to shake it off, "Nothing else. Best not leave them waiting."
"Tes." Gin agreed as she considered a landing place.
09:43 – 14 A.E.
Tyrus – Halvo Bay – Rig Ramparts
Far as he was concerned, the failure to predict and properly prepare for this raid from the blasted Regency Clan of the thrice and counting damned Stranded was his. There had been signs of another push for supplies, but he believed they could prevent any breach by these piles of lowly thieves only to be blindsided as those vermin tore their way through one of the buildings that was more part of the ramparts than behind it.
And now, after he ordered the men to snap out of their self-induced trance and retrieve the abandoned stolen goods, Garrun Paduk, Major of the Rig Militia, resigned himself to meeting with the entirely unprecedented saviors of this day as one of the strange black-shaped airships settled against the nearest building.
No meeting had actually been scheduled, but it was implied there would be one imminently. Whatever these are, they most likely did not drop by just to help out complete strangers.
Don't even know if those fuckers are human.
Waiting with a disposition that was world-weary in its plain intensity, he sat on a wheel-less car and projected an attitude of indifference honed from years of war where he lost everything he held dear. Family. His homeland of Gorasnaya. And more recently Sofia who he met during his brief time with the hated COG.
So when a couple of figures surfaced from the building, he beheld them with a bored expression. By the looks of it, the male half of the pair was a South Islander – of a Northerner stock – judging by that big tattoo that covered half his face. The far more gaudy female companion however was more eye-catching with an incredibly expensive-looking suit complete with a pair of huge prosthetic limbs, one of which held onto a large cane. If it was not for those equally gaudy ships and her seemingly emotionless countenance she might just as well had strolled out of some strange fairy tale.
Paduk kept his exterior rigid as they homed in on him, probably assuming he held a position of leadership and softened just enough so he could speak as they came close close enough to hear him. It was important to speak up first, to take the lead. And he was about to speak when the woman instantly asserted herself as she came to a complete stop just ten feet shy of him, "Are you the one in charge of this settlement?"
"Who's asking?" Paduk gruffly countered.
"Tes." the purple-haired woman conceded, whatever that meant. "Tres España's 3rd Special Agent of the Chancellor's Board, Gin Tachibana. On behalf of my nation I bear greetings."
He blinked at her introduction confusedly, and would have called certain parts of her self-introduction a bluff or falsehood if he did not have three huge counter-arguments hanging over them. Instead he shook it off and replied in turn, "Garron Paduk, Major of Rig Militia. Suppose I should thank you for the hand you lent. But if you are looking for some kind of reward, I will have to disappoint you."
"Keep it." the tattooed man at her side plainly told him, "We are only here for information."
"..." Paduk stared and frowned as he reclined, "And what, pray tell, have you come out for us peasants to know?"
"As you probably know, Jacinto has been sunk. It's just a lake now."
Paduk shrugged, "We bloody well do know, caused a tidal wave big enough to wash this hell of a rig onto shore."
"Bloody hell." he remarked as he slowly looked up on the massive thing in a new light, "Did not think it was that bad."
"Well, it was and that is that. And?"
"God..." the tattooed man shook his head, "Well do you happen to know where we can find the COG now?"
"Nope."
"Say again?"
Paduk repeated, "Nope. And even if we had the means to know, we wouldn't give a damn."
"... It would seem the Stranded telegraph is not as capable as thought." the female bluntly observed.
The gorasni clenched of his teeth, "Do we look like Stranded to you?!"
...
"... Do you really want me to answer that?" Gin narrowed her deep blue eyes severely and asked.
Point. Paduk stood and pointed out the settlement behind him, "There ain't no Stranded here. All of us used to fight for flags and ideas, king and country. UIR, COG. All of us soldiers who left it all behind for reasons none of us want or need to share."
"So that's why..." the tattooed man considered, "You're Gorasni, aren't you? And that armor. You got into the Open Arms Program..."
"Fine deduction. And? What's your story?"
"What, I thought you wouldn't bother to pry."
"Smart-ass." he chuckled coarsely, the surliness in his voice toning down as he considered that this particular stranger might have more in common with them than he thought.
Gin slightly frowned, "Just to be clear, you do not have the faintest clue where the Coalition went?"
"Not in the faintest." Paduk waved his free hand dismissively.
With not even a huff or gesture, she turned on her heel to leave, "Then we are done here. Come Pad."
"Roger that." the guy with her, Pad, complied though not without a farewell. "Best of luck. Don't get robbed again."
"We won't if me and my comrade," he patted his Markza, "have our say about it."
09:55 – 14 A.E.
Char – Griffin Tower – Communication Room
"Tres España?"
"Yep." Gibbton replied, "Our spy got just close enough to eavesdrop, and that's what he heard. Tres España. I don't know what to think otherwise."
It opened up a can of worms alright. Something is definitely wrong here as this implied there are in fact two unknown nations overwhelmingly advanced compared to the rest of the world, it made little sense already when there was just one. But as much as he would like to growl about the absurdity of it all, Griffin decided there was opportunity to be had. "Have your spy contact them..."
"Huh, why?"
"Invite them to your hotel." he smirked, "I want to have a little chat with them."
Fear made its way into Gibbton's tone, "But, what if they start shooting?"
Griffin snorted, "You bloody well should make sure you don't give them any reason to then. What they want is learn, right?"
"... Y-yeah."
"And I can do that for them. So you'll be fine." Of course there was be no guarantee of safety, but Gibbton did not need to know that. "Now get it done while they're still on the ground!"
10:04; 27th June; 1648; Testament Era
Tyrus – Halvo Bay – Rig Perimeter
"Where now?" Gin asked as they worked to ascend the stairs up to where the airship waited, not wholly suppressing the sense of disappointment from this latest meeting as they were no closer to finding out where the Coalition went. Aside from the Major's accent that got her to briefly and privately muse about Sviet Rus, this conversation had been a waste of time.
Pad tried to soften the blow, "We got really unlucky for the first to be a community outside the Stranded network. There ought to be Stranded further downtown, considering those pillagers."
"Probably won't be the most welcoming."
"They won't." he accepted bluntly, "Pointing at them with a big enough gun should go a long way toward loosening up their tongues if all else fails."
Some consideration was given in that direction. Her attention was soon brought away though when someone hollered from downstairs in an address that could only be intended for them. Gin slowed and half-turned to the stairs as a soot-covered man in a crudely patched suit of armor appeared, very clearly strained from the exertion of climbing up most of the building at full tilt as he upon arrival came to slump against the nearest thing that could offer him support, namely the wall. "Wait...wait up." he panted in-between breaths, "Need to talk..."
"And... who are you?" Gin asked.
The man chuckled and shook his head, "Just a little rodent in this camp's closet."
"In other words, a spy." Pad muttered.
"Well then rodent;" she nonchalantly continued, "State your business."
"I'm just the messenger, woman. My boss' boss wants to talk to you."
Gin gave a tilt of her head, "And why is that?"
"You want to know stuff, yeah?" the spy asked, "Provided you are willing to speak with him, Griffin's willing to provide."
"Griffin?" Pad narrowed his gaze, "You mean Aaron Griffin?!"
"Who else?"
"Do you know him?" Gin inquired as her attention shifted to the native scout.
"Not personally but he was a big name before the war; the CEO of the Griffin Imulsion Corporation. So the guy's still alive..."
"Everyone knows about Griffin." the spy stated confidently.
"Be that as it may," she shrugged it off and eyed him sternly, "If he has what we are looking for, we might as well pay a visit. Where are we supposed to meet?"
"Over at Regency Hotel, you can communicate with him there!" he pointed off into the distance, "The place is over yonder, just keep going in that direction till you find tower with something big on top."
"... Understood." Gin sighed and dismissed him, "You can go now."
With a nod, the man sprang back downstairs – probably to get back before his absence is noticed. Whether he avoided suspicion however was not in their concern. Gin motioned for Pad to follow and they continued on their way for embarkation.
"... What do you suppose he referred to?" Gin found herself asking as they neared the top, the Halcõn filling every window across the north side on the final few stairs of their ascension, blotting a portion of the building in shadow.
Pad shrugged, "About whatever crap is on top of that tower? Maybe something you don't expect to see on top of a high-rise?"
At the time, neither had any idea how right he was.
10:25; 27th June; 1648; Testament Era
Tyrus – Halvo Bay – Approaching Regency Hotel - Kraken Class Warship Halcón
How much would the Stranded laugh if they had seen the faces that the crews of the Tres Españian ships made as they passed much of the decrepit flood-stricken city, all the while wondering how they are going to recognize the tower in which their leader and hired scout would meet with the local Stranded authority in a sea of high-rises.
As it turned out, recognition was not the problem. To break the sense of disbelief however was.
"I thought I had a good idea how bad the tidal wave was when we found out it managed to blow a whole rig ashore." Pad muttered as he tried to comprehend what he now had come to stare at and measured it against what he thought he knew of natural calamities. "This... please say I'm dreaming."
"Unfortunately, you're not." Gin said quietly, shaking her head even as she took a picture of what lay in front of them in the distance. No doubt the others back in Anvil Gate would suggest it was entirely a joke she decided to make up.
If only.
Perfectly perched on top of that one tower was a warship of at least Wyvern class tonnage.
It did make for one hell of a landmark though, much more impressive than the inside at least as the Halcõn moved in to dock and she flanked by Pad disembarked onto its roof and headed down to find and meet with whoever led this.. establishment.
Just past the first flight of stairs they found him, a lean but very dirty-looking man who expressed a hand, "Welcome to my camp miss, and mister."
"Pleasure is ours." Gin intoned diplomatically and shook his offered hand apprehensively, "Griffin I take it?"
"Nah. Gibbton's the name." he replied unevenly, apparently struggling to keep his attention on her face. Looked like he'd rather lower his attention to her ample cleavage, much to the female's mild annoyance. And showed it with quiet disapproval that made him rush, "Griffin ain't here, too far away for that. I've got the gear so you can talk to him!"
"Fair enough. Lead us there."
But as they continued on their way through the settlement with its chief as their guide, Gin was reasonably convinced they moved around a den of savage animals. Most if not all the people who lived here are apparently male... and most did not bother to show any restraint in their appraisal of the Tres Españian woman despite the trio of warships that could be seen anytime they looked out the windows – weapons trained on the high-rise in case of malfeasance. Unashamedly they kept an insolent degree of attention on her exposed cleavage among other assets with no attempt to conceal what they'd do to her if she was unguarded.
Pad had long since noticed this and kept an angry scowl about him with a finger resting on his rifle's trigger, heavily implying he was ready to gun down whatever stupid idiot who would try to make a move on her.
Unsurprisingly, one eventually was so stupid or caught up in his own lust that he did. A passing man who tried to land a hand on her well-defined and thinly clad rump and came dangerously close to being shot... rendered unnecessary only as Gin immediately and brutally batted him away with a single application, a mean backhand she delivered with her prosthetic limbs' massive gauntlets.
Only Muneshige was allowed to do that kind of thing to her. Too bad he never did, and would never do.
Gibbton winced at the manner in which the more perverted than reasonable man was dealt with, just two steps short of pulped on the wall he was smashed against, "I'll reprimand him later, just..."
"Griffin." she sternly demanded of him, being briefly reminded just how much she missed her husband put an exceedingly sharp edge of morosity to her usually nonchalant tone, "Now."
"Right!" he jumped and, sufficiently cowed for now, led them to the room where he kept the gear and opened the door for her, "Here it is. Our transmitter is on and running, all you need to do is use the mike."
Gin briefly appraised the mostly empty room other than the lone table and chair against the wall, on which the equipment lay in wait, and nodded. "Appreciated."
Wordlessly, Pad made a move to follow her into the room before he was stopped by Gibbton who apparently managed to grow a spine, "Excuse me northerner, but the boss want a one on one conversation with the one in charge of ya all."
He scowled and was about to say something untoward, not at all impressed with the conduct of Gibbton's men, when Gin intervened. "Understood. Pad, guard the door. Call if trouble arise."
"Only if you do too, Gin." the sniper replied.
"Tes." she replied in the affirmative before the door was closed and heard Gibbton mutter to Pad a question of the word she used as she motioned to the table – to which the tattooed man grumbled a low reply.
Attention forward, Gin took the seat and gingerly plucked up the diminutive microphone to speak: "This is Gin Tachibana speaking," she firmly declared, careful to put on a diplomatic tone of polite indifference, "You wanted to talk?"
"Aah!" a man of loud and strong voice, likely Griffin, exclaimed, "You arrived much sooner than I'd hoped."
She shrugged, "Comes with having aerial transportation."
"You're right of course." Griffin almost sounded like he nodded sagely, "Should have known better. Of course, it's been more than fourteen years since last time I used any aircraft with all the airports busted. But enough about me, let's talk about you... I must say the world has grown hectic as of late, and now another unknown nation with technology far beyond us even at the peak of our power has come out of the blue. Tres España, right?"
Another nation? Gin thought to herself and surmised that Musashi or England have made themselves widely known. Something to report back with. "Tes."
If he was curious about that expression there was no sign of it. "I take it you are familiar with the one called Musashi?"
Briefly she wondered why he put emphasis on those upstarts. Compared to England, Musashi's ability to impact their surroundings should be limited. "We are, but they do not really not concern us at this time."
Griffin was silent for a moment before he spoke again, an edge of severity in his rich tone, "I beg to differ."
She blinked. "If I may ask... why?"
"You came all this way here to find out where you might find the Coalition, right?"
"And that is relevant to Musashi how?"
"I don't claim to know what kind of relationship you have with those guys, but Musashi has been expanding its sphere of control as of late. With words of sugar and honey they have taken over many defenseless settlements of our Stranded brethren."
Gin felt her eyes widen a bit.
"I'll have you know. Recently we tried to strike back at their imperialistic advances, but anything we threw at them were cast away like nothing." Griffin's voice shuddered, "Death still reeks from the island where those brave men of ours engaged them. Everyone who did not run away were killed... and not many who ran survived either. It was a terrible massacre."
"Is that... the truth of it?" for all of Musashi's deeds, she could not immediately picture them as capable of such acts. They were terribly ambitious, but not atrocious. Then again much of that was before they attained the mercenary status under agreement with England that granted them the privilege to purchase military grade weaponry.
Griffin sounded like he nodded, his voice determined and grim, "Completely. And since that we who have not been taken over yet are desperately trying to salvage everything we can in preparation to withstand their so far unstoppable expansion."
Slight discomfort imposed itself on her being. They came simply to learn of the Coalition's present location, a quest that may have become far more complicated. "And the COG?"
"They evacuated to an island far off the coast." Griffin informed as he audibly spread his hands, "An island that just so happen to be part of Musashi's turf. Last we heard from that place, they have asserted themselves and taken over the Coalition."
If that was the truth, the reason for their trip would be meaningless. With the weaponry purchased and no less than two Mortal Sin Armaments Musashi now possessed a formidably overwhelming edge over almost any native force. Not nearly enough to directly challenge the armada of Tres España as of right now, but possessed other additional advantages that they no longer had access to – putting the city-fleet at a much better position in the long run.
Gin shook her head to rid herself of the thoughts that are above her pay grade. "That does present a little bit of a pickle to our mission goals." she plainly admitted.
"Sucks to be you. And it sucks so much more to be us." Griffin stated frankly, "You see, we may have some common interest here."
What he meant was plain as day to see, "In other words you suggest we join forces?"
"Yep. I would like to propose an alliance between us Stranded and Tres España with the downfall of Musashi and freedom of all under its rein as the goal in mind."
"Not my call to make." Gin admitted plainly. There was a certain merit to it, but she could not decide on that by herself. "I cannot guarantee anything, but I will take the matter up with my superiors."
"For now, that is all I ask." the man accepted.
"Some days of deliberation might be required. How long can you wait?"
"Take all the time you need, but we would prefer an answer sooner rather than later. Soon as you decide, come and see me in Char. We'll be waiting for you."
"Tes." Gin nodded, "Then I'll take my leave." and turned off the microphone before she left the room to rejoin Pad who had not budged from the place she left him, the general area empty. Even Gibbton was absent. Most of these Stranded probably lost their collective marbles and evacuated just in case things turned sour.
Pad turned to face her, "So what's the news?"
"Our mission to find the COG is for the time being suspended. Come Pad, we must make our report to the Chancellor."
"Suspended?" the scout grimaced confusedly as he followed her for embarkation, "What in the world did you find out in there?!"
"Enough to know there is a war on the horizon we may not have a choice but to partake in. Pad." she looked onto him, "I am not going to tell you to prepare for the worst, only that it's possibly bad."
Pad's weather-worn features deepened as he took this in. "... Bloody hell." he muttered in a low voice and turned silent for the rest of their departure as he possibly thought of those he used to serve with, only broken once to give a murderous glare to a random Stranded who had yet to leave and accidentally ambled in close to Gin, only to leap away as though launched from a catapult.
All along, no worry lay on Gin's mind. For her this upcoming war only meant she would have the chance to settle a personal matter and lay it decisively to rest.
Two Days Later – 21:43 – 14 A.E.
Lesser Island – Vectes – Naval Base "New Jacinto" – Harbor
"How is the relocation going?"
Light flooded the harbor from many sources as disembarkation was well on the way. After a long journey the first couple of ships of the relocation fleet had finally arrived with its cargo of many thousands of civilians cramped within their hulls. Relief visible on countless faces as weathered refugees, surviving citizen of the Coalition, stepped once again onto solid land. A land where they would surely be safe from Locust incursions and no longer be in danger of freezing to death.
Prescott watched them disembark at length together with the rest of his command staff. Gears assisted where able and guided them to the accommodation prepared so far by the engineering corps who busied themselves tirelessly to further develop New Jacinto for the masses yet to arrive.
"According to Reid, very smoothly." Anya replied from a small distance to his left, "If I was any more of a negative person I'd say it is going almost too well."
"Prepare for the worst." Prescott sighed with not one eye off the crowd, the very people who have suffered from hard times where they have been forced to make many sacrifices. His heart bled for each their losses yet swelled in pride that despite these difficulties they still remained steadfast in the face of bleak adversity. "Hope for the best."
She flippantly replied, "As you say sir." as if it would hurry the proceedings along so she could go back to the transmitters in the new HQ and continue to listen in vain hope for her absent Marcus Fenix.
In understanding, he ignored her slippage in conduct. "What we need to do is continue as we always done. Plan for the now, for the future... and in time, unveil the unknown."
"Sir?" Anya blinked.
"Once we are properly situated, I plan to have this new faction contacted."
"You mean... Musashi?"
"Exactly." he nodded, "We know so little about them, yet it cannot be stressed enough how clear it is that they represent a new power in this broken world. So I have come to the decision that for all my confusion about their very existence we stand to gain from establishing an amiable relationship."
"What about Mar- Delta, sir?"
Prescott raised a brow in a way that spoke more than a thousand words could. As was told to Delta from the start, if they were caught the Coalition would deny all involvement. Marcus and the others are effectively on their own until extradition is eventually negotiated for. Prescott was greatly worried about Anya, who has grown increasingly sick with worry and concern to the point it has started to get in the way of her duties. It was somewhat reasonable to assume she would drop all pretense of patience and tact to bring up the subject of Delta at the earliest convenience.
Its effect on the negotiations could be disastrous, if it should happen. Suffice it to say he wondered if she should be excluded during the initial process altogether.
Sternly the oblique glare went on till the woman swallowed and relented. Prescott crushed the twinge of regret that pounded in his chest for the harshness he had treated her with and continued: "I want a full staff meeting tomorrow at midday as to the when and how. Arrange it."
Anya made a pained nod, "Yes Chairman."
Prescott dismissed the woman and continued his vigilant watch over the people so thin from over a decade of careful rationing leave the ships, either alone or with friends and family – not one without someone lost to this conflict. And all he could personally do at the moment was simply stand here in the open and silently welcome them to their new home.
Author notes: Not as long as the prior pair of chapters, but sufficient for what I had in mind, though it took longer to write than I thought it would. That I chose to write an additional chapter to one of the other stories also had a part in the wait. Garron Paduk showed up, but doesn't have much of a role for now. Next chapter we will return to Musashi.
wunwong: No, a tremendous weakness of the Tres España here is that for all their military strength they have almost no supporting infrastructure. It runs in contrast to Musashi that has good supporting infrastructure but comparatively little military strength. England would be the nation of the three that have plenty of both, but at this time isn't interested in the outside world.
So by and far Tres España must rely on what they have.