AUTHOR'S PREFACE: First thing's first, I would like to apologize. I promised I would have something within 2 or 3 weeks, and it has been essentiallya whole month since I updated. I do have reasons, of course-firstly, my friends decidedto pick up DnD, which requires all the same resources as writing, and I was also meetingthem after coming home from college. Secondly, because I ran into a BIG case of writer'sblock for Chapter 1. The issue here is that I know EXACTLY what I'll do for the Code Geasspart of the story, but I have a much smaller idea what to do for the Fate/Zero part, soI needed a lot of thinking time. At the end of it, rather than have you guys wait for anotherfew weeks, I ended up just posting Chapter 2 first. There are no spoilers from chapter 1 here,and the only reason it's Chapter 2 is because in my head it was chapter 2. Also, as a Disclaimer,The Ohgi here is a Canon Ohgi, but no the one from Code Geass, but Fate/Zero's hapless 3rd lieutenantOhgi of the JSDF. He doesn't have the happiest ending in Fate/Zero. So, without ado,this is Chapter 2 of fate/zero Eos. Leave a review if you can!
ALSO: Sakuradite Disturbers, a technology first mentioned in Fate/Nightmare Apatheia, is of course not an official technology, and my cowriter, HeavyValor (and clearly the technical brains of this story) has a note on it at the bottom.
-Chapter 2 - The Second Battle of the Coral Sea-
The general who advances without coveting fame and retreats without fearing disgrace,
whose only thought is to protect his country and do good service for his sovereign, is the jewel of the kingdom.
-Sun Tzu, The Art of War
J.D.S. Kirishima
Chinese Federation – Nation of Japan Joint Fleet Group 1
Pacific Ocean
Major General Katase Tatewaki felt completely out of place on the Navigation bridge of the Kirishima. Around him, naval officers in white uniform worked, either unaware or uninterested in the man who stood among them.
Dressed in the Green of the Japanese Self Defense Force Army, Katase felt like the dead frog in the swimming pool.
A navy petty officer walked in, saluting stiffly to Katase before moving on.
As a bureaucratic officer, Katase was standing in for General Oguchi as the observer from High Command in Tokyo.
Given that he had been sent in the capacity of an overseer, it was natural that the Navy men felt uncomfortable around him.
From an elevated desk and seat at the center of the bridge, Captain Hasekura Yukio lounged in a position that made clear how at ease he felt on deck.
"Report?"
"Admiral Iwakura has said that Admiral Cai has ordered all ships to be battle-ready. We've found the Britannian fleet."
"Why not just skip to Admiral Cai then," Captain Hasekura grumbled. Young, handsome and in his early thirties, Captain Hasekura, like Katase, had been raised In an old samurai family, and his views on Japan's surrounding countries (Britannia and the Chinese Federation) had never stood at odds with that of his ultraconservative parents, even when his rebellious attitude had.
Yet, Katase thought to himself, Hasekura had a point. Rear Admiral Iwakura seemed a bit too deferential to Imperial Admiral Cai Yuanhai of the Imperial Chinese Navy's Beiyang Fleet. Even to Katase, it seemed as if Admiral Iwakura was simply taking orders from his Chinese Counterpart.
Katatse looked up from the bridge window at the huge hulk of the Aircraft carrier next to them, the C.F.S. Weiyuan, stuffed to the brim with a mix of Chinese Chengdus and modified Japanese Mitsubishi F-2s.
Admiral Iwakura had his reasons. Following occupation of Japan by Britannia following the first pacific war, Japan had acquiesced to stringent laws that limited Japan's ability to wage aggressive wars. As a result, Japan's navy lacked many of the assets required of the modern navy—heavier-duty cruisers, long-range Submarines—and the mainstay of the modern navy, the Aircraft Carrier.
The destruction of many of Britannia's most powerful battlewagon Battleships at Pearl Harbor and in the Pacific (and the later sinking of the two largest battleships in the world, the Musashi and the Yamato) had ushered in an era of naval combat dominated by aircraft, where two fleets would be engaging each other outside of both visual range and cannon range.
While Japan had managed to rush the construction of one aircraft carrier, it had yet to be ready for deployment, and the rest of its fleet consisted only of Destroyers, Destroyer Escorts and Submarines.
Destroyers such as the Kirishima did relatively little in modern warfare.
In its current state, the JNSDF would have been able to fight a battle near the shoreline, where ground-based fighters could assist—not the optimal solution.
With China's decision to "lend" Japan two aged Aircraft Carriers, Japan was now able to extend its defense into the pacific.
Not that the offer was all that generous. Including the carriers it had lent Japan, the Chinese Beiyang Fleet currently boasted eight aircraft carriers, nearly half of the total amount of Aircraft Carriers in Britannia's Pacific, Atlantic and Southern Fleets.
Given, most of these were old relics from the Cold War, when Britannia, the EU and the Federation had been united against their common enemy in the USSR. Several of the carriers bore old Britannian names, while others carried Cyrillic titles from their old service in the Soviet navy. Nevertheless, against Britannia's six carriers, the Chinese-Japanese joint fleet carried much more airpower, and thus more raw combat power.
Even for the Beiyang Fleet, the most powerful of the Chinese Imperial Fleets, this was a huge concentration of firepower—and for good reason. The stakes were high.
If the joint fleet could destroy the Britannian Pacific Fleet now, while it was still united, it would cut off supply transportation to Britannian forces in Indochina, paving the way for a Chinese offensive, and secure Japan from any land invasion. It would mean an immediate end to the pacific theatre for a long time.
This battle could win the Second Pacific War.
Katase really wished he would be able to get back to tell General Oguchi that they had won it.
H.M.S. Polaris
Britannian Oriental Fleet, Pacific Command
Pacific Ocean, En Route to Japan
"General Quarters, General Quarters; all hands, report to stations; All hands report to stations."
The sound of pounding feet seemed to surround the cramped mess hall. Navy officers clambered up ladders, down ladders, and through bulkheads towards their various duties and stations.
"Check," Kayeri Brant said glumly, prodding his rook several spaces forwards.
"Dumb move," Dorothea Ernst replied with a grin as she reached from her side of the table to knock over one of Kayeri's other pieces.
"Erm…"
"You're really not good at this," Dorothea remarked with a slightly gloating grin.
"Dorothea."
Dorothea stopped in midgloat as she smirked at Kayeri's slightly skeptical face. "Sore loser? Anyone around us can tell you that that was a legal move."
Kayeri rolled his eyes. "Dorothea, anyone around us can tell you that I had been playing this game with Monica before you came over here and took over." Across the table, Monica Kruszewski gave a deferential smile that managed to convey the discomfort of having been essentially stuffed into the wall by Dorothea's overbearing playstyle.
Dorothea blinked, in a way that seemed almost as if she actually had forgotten that Monica had been present. "Oh, sorry, Monica. Carry on."
Kayeri sighed. "Guess it's my turn." He raised his hand to move a piece—just as a hand reached out, snatched another piece and moved it.
"Dumb move," Kotori sighed with all the patience of a mildly-annoyed mother. "You're opening up your queen."
"Well then will you trade away your rook?" Dorothea replied with a provocative grin.
"Well I'll move here—"
"—stupid move—"
Kayeri and Monica sighed resignedly as Dorothea and Kotori embarked on a battle neither had started with all the gusto of Germany and Russia picking up Austria-Hungary and Serbia's relatively minor feud[1].
"God, I really need sunlight," Kayeri moaned pitifully over Dorothea and Kotori's verbal sparring. Since the first few days, the crew of the Polaris had insisted on keeping the Knightmare Corps (lampshading as the Army Engineering Corps) under the decks of the flattop[2].
"This ship is pretty cramped," Monica replied in lieu of agreement. To be honest, she wasn't quite sure how the seamen could survive in such a cramped system of corridors, rooms and walkways, all with just enough clearance to collide with your head if you forgot to duck.
"Why aren't they letting us get our Vitamin D? I want my Vitamin D," Kayeri grumbled.
Monica said nothing—it seemed rather inopportune to point out that part of the reason was that Captain Owen King had, in his state of omnipresent inebriation, nearly fallen off the top of the carrier under the impression that he was a dolphin. Only quick action and a lot of flailing by Kayeri, Lloyd and a few nearby seamen had kept him from smacking into what could possibly have been a painfully solid watery grave[3].
"I can't believe I was getting into this," Kayeri groaned. He seemed rather happy at this point to have left Naval Aviation.
Lloyd Harkins took this time to enter the mess hall and spot the chess game going on.
"Erm, guys, we're about to come under attack."
"Not like we can do anything about it," Kayeri replied.
"True enough," Lloyd sighed as he sat down. For a former Army man, he had acclimated rather well into the ship, and several of the seamen had greeted him as they ran past to their battle stations.
Lloyd glanced at Kayeri and Monica. "Isn't it kind of worrying? Knowing our lives are completely in the hands of someone else?"
Kayeri shrugged as he motioned at Kotori, who didn't notice. "Actually, I know that feeling pretty damn well."
Monica and Lloyd both laughed uncomfortably. Kayeri was a bit loaded with expectations, both as the son of the head of what was the most powerful native organizations in Britannia and a political bride to Kotori.
"Not to mention we're kind of lacking in manpower," Dorothea added. "What were they thinking, sending only two Aircraft Carriers?" Ignoring the older light carriers filled with the three divisions of the Knightmare Corps, this current task force only contained two flattops loaded with fighters. The short-ranged F-22s they carried were more than a match one-on-one with Chinese Chengdu J-20s and Japan's Mitsubishi F-15 derivatives—but the rumors of an eight-carrier strike force were pretty prevalent on board the ship, and nobody was quite sure China's newest Chengdu would be 25% that of an F-22.
"No use deploying knightmares if we can't even get them on shore," Kayeri grumbled.
C.F.S. Zhenyuan
Chinese Federation – Nation of Japan Joint Fleet Group 1
Pacific Ocean
The admiral's bridge of the flagship of the Chinese Beiyang Fleet was filled with electronic displays. Transparent LCD screens showed readouts of ship information, along with constant updates from the other ships in the fleet.
Technicians and Adjutants discussed and reported information to each other, the neurons of the Beiyang Fleet's nervous system.
At the center of this bustle, Imperial Grand Admiral Cai Yuanhai felt completely out of place.
In the past few decades, the Chinese Navy had advanced from a fleet that required telephones to reach the engineering deck to a world of electronic gadgets that had long since become completely otherworldly to the 72-year old general.
Sitting at the center, dressed in the curious half-hanfu, half-western uniform style that had almost gotten him arrested by the High Eunuchs (after all, it had been popularized by former Prime Minister Jiang Weilin and his dedication to a mix of western and Eastern ideals), Yuanhai felt as if he didn't belong in this generation.
Next to him, CPO Singh was handling most of the orders. The young Sikh (whose bushy beard made Yuanhai's wispy beard look like a tree in front of a forest) seemed to handle this new generation of technology a lot better than he did.
Technology wasn't the only thing that had changed.
"…to think that one day we'd be allied against the Japanese against Britannia," Yuanhai sighed as he leaned back on his Admiral's chair.
For most of his life, the Chinese Federation had treated Britannia as its erstwhile ally against Japan, the nation that had humiliated China twice in the past. The Beiyang fleet, of China's six territorial fleets, had always received the most funding as China's first defense against further Japanese aggression.
Times had changed, though. Economics and realpolitik have erased blood feuds, for better or for worse, and today, the fleet designed for much of its history to destroy the Japanese fleet now sailed alongside it.
"I'm getting too old for this," Yuanhai sighed.
A report from one of the adjutants caused CPO Singh to turn around.
"Admiral, Admiral Iwakura is on the line," he reported in perfect Chinese.
"That man loves video calls," Yuanhai sighed as he waved his hands dismissively. "Put him on the screen."
Moments later, the closely cropped hair and short handlebar moustache of Masao Iwakura showed up on the screen, dressed in the immaculate white of the Japanese navy.
"Admiral Cai, forward scouts seem to be reporting four carriers and many personnel transports, but a large amount of destroyers, cruisers and battlecruisers performing anti-sub routines."
"Only four carriers?" Yuanhai twirled his wispy beard with his hand contemplatively. In the post-battleship era, battlecruisers were the closest thing to the old big-gun dreadnoughts of the pan-European war. In the era of ICBMs and cruise missiles, both the EU and Chinese Federation no longer even maintained the cruiser designation (though Russia, as an unwilling member of the EU, maintained cruisers). To send relatively archaic dreadnoughts with insufficient air cover was a mistake that hadn't been made since the battleship Victoria had been sunk in the first Pacific War (there was also the Yamato and the Musashi, but in both cases, the Japanese had intended for both ships to be sunk).
Four carrier groups' worth of planes was still a very large air force—but to defend a land attack force?
"Moreover," Iwakura continued, "two of the carriers don't seem to have any planes ready to launch, despite being in range."
Stranger and stranger. Britannian equipment was undoubtedly better than Chinese equipment and, at the very least, just as good as Japanese equipment. If the Japanese could detect the Britannians, the Britannians had most definitely detected the Chinese. So why hadn't they deployed their own jets? Were they expecting two carriers' worth of planes to fend off eight's?
"Admiral," Singh interjected quietly, "I think I smell a rat."
Yuanhai nodded slowly. There was something definitely up there.
"Admiral Iwakura, I would think it better to withdraw for now. The Britannians probably have something going on."
Iwakura, meanwhile, turned to his own subordinate and whispered.
"This isn't going to sit well with them," Singh murmured. He was, of course, right. To withdraw now would be paramount to allowing the Britannian fleet to close in on Japan. If no second engagement was launched, the Britannians would have a clear shot straight into Japan.
Finally, a slightly flustered-looking Admiral Iwakura looked back at the screen. "Admiral Cai, with all due respect, you don't expect to abandon us, do you?"
"No, Admiral. But this situation seems way too convenient. I should say we withdraw for now until either of our nations can provide more intelligence."
"At which it will be far too late," Iwakura's subordinate said, ignoring decorum.
Yuanhai's expression didn't alter. It was natural that the Japanese would take offense from this. Not that he cared all too much. "Admiral, pushing forward with this risks jeopardizing the whole joint fleet."
Iwakura, for all his pallor, was unmoved. "Abandoning this risks jeopardizing Japan."
Yuanhai was about to explain exactly how much he cared when a new sound caused an adjutant to report to Singh. Muting Iwakura and his subordinate, Yuanhai turned to Singh.
"What news is it?"
"It's from the Capital. We are ordered to sortie against the Britannian fleet immediately."
Yuanhai closed his eyes. Of course the Eunuchs would order them to attack, given they knew absolutely nothing about strategy.
Singh glanced meaningfully at the Admiral. "Admiral, are we going to follow these orders?"
Yuanhai was aware there was the possibility of refusing. After all, that was he and several other members of the Chinese military were planning on doing eventually.
If he could contact them in time, it was possible that they could mobilize on the capital…
Admiral Yuanhai sighed as he brought Admiral Iwakura back up to the screen.
"Alright, Admiral, we'll do it your way."
It was only a year after the abortive new year's coup—the Eunuchs would be in high alert. He would have to simply win this battle and buy some time.
Admiral Iwakura's face immediately broke into a smile. "At your orders, Admiral."
Yuanhai didn't reciprocate, merely nodding with a noncommittal "mmm" before turning back to his subordinates.
"CPO Singh, tell Weiyuan and the other aircraft carriers to prep for sortie."
Admiral Iwakura, meanwhile, wasn't quite finished.
"Admiral, I think that our two nations can cooperate very well—"
"Admiral Iwakura," Yuanhai interrupted, "where are you from?"
Iwakura blinked. "Erm, Japan?"
"Where in Japan?"
"Osaka, Admiral. Why..."
"Funny," Yuanhai replied with a dry laugh. "My father was from the Kansai area as well. Apparently he had the distinctive accent."
Even Singh and the other officers on deck looked surprised. Nobody had mentioned anything about the notoriously reticent Admiral Cai Yuanhai being half-japanese.
"Never met him or his side of the family, I'm afraid. After Pearl Harbor, he was withdrawn back to Japan to defend the Empire there."
Yuanhai, meanwhile, had gotten down from his dias to Singh's monitor.
"Not that I knew my mother's side of the family all too well either. Because my father, and the rest of the Japanese army killed them. You see, I was born in Nanjing in 1938."
There was an instant change in Iwakura's expression. Nanjing was a sensitive topic within the Japanese military (And, indeed, Japanese society). Due to a lack of discipline (and, depending on the individual, possibly tacit agreement on the part of the officers in command), a doomed defense by poorly defended and demoralized Chinese troops against Japanese troops that had just went through the first difficult battle of the Sino-Japanese war[4] ended in a loss of discipline among Japanese ranks and a massacre that many western journalists referred to as the Rape of Nanking. Though both General Oguchi of the JSDF and "General" Nagano of Japan's old guard were explicit about admitting to great failures in the Chinese Theatre, where were many among both Japan's national army and the nationalist Old Guard who either debated the scale or the veracity of the massacre. Yuanhai, though, wasn't particularly concerned about which side Iwakura happened to be on.
"I am aware that you have the cooperation of the Chinese Federation, Admiral Iwakura—but if you're hoping for cooperation from the Chinese people, you had best look elsewhere."
Clicking the disconnect, Yuanhai turned back to his shocked bridge.
"Tell the aircraft carriers that they're clear to launch."
"Tianxing 1, Positioning."
The hurry in the crew of the Weiyuan was quite clear. There were 72 J-20 Chengdu to launch, and not an awful lot of time to launch them. As the other waiting Chengdu waited, the ground crews secured the wheels of Tianxing 1 to the shuttle, the moving portion of the carrierborne catapult designed to propel a modern fighter such as the Chengdu into the air.
From the transparent catapult control pod, the catapult officer watched as the other deck officers stood clear.
With a slow drone, the dual engines of the Chengdu came alive.
"Launching in 3…2…1…mark."
With a hiss of steam, the long-range fighter shot off the deck. For a moment, it dropped seawards—and then rose again as it reached enough speed to keep itself alight.
"Tianxing 1, away."
There was a cheer from the ground crew—but a short one. On the other catapults, Tianxing 2 was already being prepped for launch.
"Tianxing 3, positioning."
"We've got fighters, inbound. All hands, repeat, to battle stations."
"F-22s…beautiful things."
"Yep."
"Any chance you could lend me one of those F-22s?"
"Sorry, sir, orders are orders."
"Pity," Captain Owen King sighed in one of his unusual sober states. "I guess it's to be expected for me."
From the bridge on the control tower of the Polaris, King could see the complement of 6 F-22s that had been squeezed among the Glasgows on board the Polaris. Sleek and streamlined, they resembled the more antiquated fighters the former Air Force pilot had flown in his prime. Doused with adipose tissue and alcohol, Captain King's piloting reflexes nevertheless frayed at his nerves as he watched fighter after fighter launch from the deck.
Behind him, Captain Rebecca Ellis Lee tried to hide her trepidation. As a member of the Purists, Lee had heard of the Kings, with their illustrious history following the Crown's flight to America. She had also heard about Owen King, the current head of that family.
The general consensus reached by the rest of the purists was that Pacific War Wing Commander and War Hero Joseph King's magazine of genetic ammunition, seemingly inexhaustible with the wives of other men (a running joke within the purists was that 65% of the current generation were related to Joseph King), had run dry when it came to his own wife.
The hapless man had managed to bump his way through the Air Force academy with glowing praise for his flying abilities and borderline failing grades for every class.
With the rest of the King family dead after a family party went wrong, the Purists had essentially been more or less stuck with Owen.
Through what some attributed to pure luck and what others attributed to a lot of alcohol, King had managed to make headlines as a minor war hero in the battle against Gran Colombian insurgents in Area 6 before impregnating a native, failing the officer's academy and spiraling what could have been an illustrious career into the dirt.
In deference to his lineage, the purists had managed to handwave most of the charges leveled against King from a fair decade of womanizing, drunkenness and bar fights, shunting him to an obscure military program for his piloting skills.
Most of the purists had assumed that Owen King would slowly fade away, allowing them to raise his daughter, the next head of the King house, in peace.
To think that he'd end up on the ship I happened to command, Rebecca thought.
Her father Robert III had never had a very high opinion of Owen, and the fact that her men had to restrain him from dolphin-diving over the deck of her ship.
She had been tempted to shut him in the brig.
Obsolete aircraft carrier or not, she was not about to bear witness to the first fatality onboard the H.M.S. Polaris.
However, King still held a lot of prestige, and so, under the guise of welcoming an honored guest, Rebecca had brought King under her supervision.
For the last half a week, he had managed to stay inebriated despite all attempts by the seamen to find alcohol on his person around his flirting.
As if he had followed her train of thought, King turned around. "If you're worrying about the deck incident, don't worry about it. I won't do it again." "I wasn't worrying about that, Sir," Rebecca replied with a placating tone.
Owen, though, grinned a haggard grin.
"Of course you were. Can't have me vomiting all over the place or jumping over the deck, can we?"
For somebody in his thirties, Owen King still had some charm. Several years of alcoholism had not dampened the boyish good looks that had been left him by his father, though they had managed to apply to them a noticeable lining of fat. His smile, though, looked like that of someone ten years older, a sad, self-deprecating smile that made Rebecca feel some amount of pity.
"Can't say I blame them, though," King remarked in a tone that felt way too offhanded as he looked out the window at the last of the F-22s. "I haven't been the best of soldiers. Or Husbands. Or Fathers."
Rebecca said nothing.
"I'm sure you've heard of my daughter Mackenzie, I suppose?"
"Yes, sir, of course."
The general consensus was that some kind of pity vote by every other sperm in Mary King's uterus had allowed the village idiot to fertilize the egg that would become Owen King. If there was one thing Owen King had done right in his life, it seemed that his sperm had their priorities straight. Mackenzie was considered a rising star by the Purists, everything Owen was not.
"She seems to be doing well enough," Owen remarked with a tone of happiness—and definite pride. "She's going into the Air Force Officer's Academy…just like her grandfather…" Rebecca noted how he hadn't mentioned her father, who had flunked out of the academy. Oblivious, King took out a well-creased sheet of something and handed it to Rebecca. As she unfolded it, she realized it was a photo, one of the older glossy film-and-shutter-based photos as opposed to digital-camera based printouts. The photo quality wasn't the best, but Rebecca could clearly make out a younger, notably less-seedy looking Owen, holding a cherubic-looking sleeping baby swaddled in what Rebecca hoped was not an Air Force Dress Jacket.
"That's Mackenzie and me, while we were at the Officer's academy." Owen smiled fondly. "She's adorable, isn't she?"
"Yeah," Rebecca said with all sincerity. Nothing like the one today…
"To think of it…that she's managed to grow up so well even with her failure of her father…" there was an unmistakable tone of pride in King's voice, and an undertone of wistfulness.
"I wonder…you know Mackenzie, right?"
Rebecca nodded. Mackenzie had been raised in the Lee household, and Rebecca, though over ten years Mackenzie's senior, talked with her often.
"Does she ever talk about me?"
At that moment, Rebecca's XO spoke up. "Ma'am, entering combat zone in two minutes."
"Ah, alright. Stevens, can you escort King back to his quarters?"
Stevens saluted.
Owen smiled sadly as he turned to go.
At the last moment, Rebecca spoke up. "Yes. She speaks of you often!"
For a moment, Owen stopped, causing Stevens to bump into him. When he turned around, he was smiling a grin that seemed to belong to someone twenty years younger.
"Thanks, Captain Lee. You've made this old Failure's day."
Rebecca watched the man go before sighing.
She didn't have the heart to tell him that Mackenzie hadn't mentioned him once in the last five years.
She put her hand to her face—and noticed that the photo was still in her hand.
She'd have to return it to Captain King later.
For now, she had a battle to fight.
"Commander Vasquez, what are our orders?"
"Men," Admiral Cai Yuanhai said into the console from the bridge of the Zhenyuan, "We've come a long way from home.
To many of us, this battle doesn't seem to be ours to fight.
We owe nothing to Japan. They can be crushed by the Britannians for all we care.
But this is important for the Federation as well.
At this time, thousands of our men are desperately fighting for the federation in Annam."
This isn't about saving Japan, but protecting our people in Annam.
Once we win this, we can cut off all Britannian resupply there and isolate them.
Our boys have been waiting for a chance to drive the Britannians to the sea.
The Army is waiting to do their job.
Let's do ours.
So I say, fuck the Britannians, and fuck the Japanese.
We do this for the Emperor, the Federation, and nobody else."
Yuanhai paused.
Not even the Eunuchs.
"Are we clear?"
From the bridge, and from the video feeds of countless ships and fighters, the soldiers of the Chinese Federation replied "Yes, sir" in unison.
"Then best of luck and godspeed. Long live the Emperor!"
"Diablo 2, in position."
With a roar, the Mitsubishi F-2 of Third Lieutenant Kobayashi drew into position behind 1st Lieutenant Imai Ohgi's F-2 (Author's Note: this is not Kaname Ohgi from Code Geass, but Lieutenant Ohgi from Fate/Zero. Keep that in mind). Behind them, the rest of Diablo group also stood ready. Around them, other F-2s and Chinese Chengdu roared at several times the speed of sound.
From the radio, a heavily-accented voice spoke in Japanese.
"Tianxing 1 to Diablo 1, do you copy?"
"Diablo 1, Copying."
"Proceed with plan 2, over."
"Proceeding with plan 2, we copy."
"Alright. Good luck. Tianxing 1, out."
In a salute, Tianxing 1's Chengdu tipped its wing before streaking off with the rest of Tianxing.
"Showoffs," Lieutenant Kobayashi muttered over the radio.
Ohgi could feel the sweat underneath his gloves.
This would be Japan's first salvo against Britannia since the first Pacific War. Ohgi and Diablo squadron would be the first to face the Britannian Air Force, the greatest in the world.
Ohgi closed his eyes. No use panicking now.
"Alright, Diablo…let's do this! For Japan!"
"Enemy aircraft in visual range…engaging!"
"Hawkeye 3, missiles away!"
"Hawkeye 6, bugging out and releasing flares!"
"Enemy Chengdu, confirmed missile launch!"
"Hawkeye 5, be advised, bogey at seven o'clock."
"Copy, thanks for the heads up Hawkeye 1."
The bridge of the Polaris was suddenly filled with radio chatter and activity as information from the Flight Control above the bridge was relayed.
Almost out of eyesight, Britannian F-22s were engaging their Japanese F-2 and Chinese Chengdu equivalents.
Captain Rebecca Lee could only watch the readout. This was no longer in the hands of either she or the crew of the Polaris, but on the skill of the pilots.
Even in the era of long-range missiles, dogfights (or, as they are known now, Air Combat Maneuvering) have not become obsolete—abrupt maneuvers and movements are still more than enough to, combined with chaff and flares, avoid even guided missiles, as many fighters of the Indochina war had discovered.
From what Rebecca had read, dogfights were not about speed, but about maneuverability. Most dogfighting maneuvers require a relatively low speed, and an aircraft's value in a dogfight lies in its mobility.
In that mobility, the short range F-22 still holds superiority. As dedicated a Air Superiority Fighter, the F-22's maneuverability easily exceeds that of the obsolete Japanese F-2s and stands somewhat better than the multirole Chengdu J-20, whose long range and limited stealth abilities sacrifice maneuverability and speed.
However, with fewer birds in the sky, the Britannian pilots would lose a lot of the advantage conferred upon them by their technological edge.
"Hawkeye 2 reports Japanese F-2s flying Luffberys, please confirm."
With a subsonic roar [5], Hawkeye 1 veered in a steep circle, the steepest that the F-22 could perform.
"Hawkeye 1, yep, that's a Luffbery."
With a noticeable technological deficiency, the Japanese F-15 models were flying tight circles around each other, the Lufbery Circle. The angle and placement meant that a Britannian F-22 engaging any individual F-2 would risk taking fire from the other F-2s in a circle.
"The Chinese did this to us in Annam," Hawkeye 4 noted. The pilot of the F-22 that was Hawkeye 4 was a veteran who had fought in the Annam campaign, where older-generation interceptors had been loaded only with missiles that could not lock against the circle.
"Hawkeyes, switch to your cannon, strafe them as they pass."
"Copy—shit, Hawkeye 3, missile lock, five—no, six o'clock."
There was a tone of panic in Hawkeye 3's voice. Taking a glance above him, Hawkeye 1 just barely noticed the Britannian wings of a F-22 that screamed past, with a blur hot on its tail.
"Launch flares, Hawkeye 3!"
Hawkeye 4's warning came a moment too late, as a cone-shaped gout of flame escaped from the F-22's fuselage, leaving only a few pieces of wreckage ejecting in its wake.
"Did he eject? Do you see a parachute? Anyone see 5th Lieutenant Pace?"
There was a moment of sudden complete radio silence as the other pilots tried to see what they hoped would be a parachute.
Nothing came out.
"He'll be out in a second," Hawkeye 6 muttered. He didn't sound very convincing.
"He's down," Hawkeye 1 said loudly.
"Sir—"
"He's down," Hawkeye 1 said firmly. If his squadron got any more distracted, there would be major problems. "And we will too if we stay distracted. Get back in the game."
"…Yes sir." With a roar, the F-22s returned into the fray.
Gradually, though, the superior quality of the F-22s seemed to be asserting themselves. Several Chinese and Japanese fighters streaked towards the water, trailing smoke and flames.
Yet, for their losses, the Chinese and Japanese pilots didn't seem to panic, tightening their Lufbery circles.
And it struck Hawkeye 1 as odd.
For fighters that sortied against ours, they haven'te ven tried to break through towards our fleet yet.
For a force that should be attacking, wasn't it a bit too…defensive?
And then the flight command on the Polaris spoke into the radio.
"Enemy aircraft, inbound from starboard."
"Oy, what are you doing?" The flight deck crew on the deck of the aircraft carrier H.M.S. Lionheart yelled as they heard the flight elevator. The fighter complement of the Lionheart had already launched—the flight elevator should have been deactivated.
"Those engineers," they muttered as a group of men in Army Engineering Corps uniforms entered the deck, escorting some kind of crate on a heavy lifter.
"Get off the deck! This is for flight deck crew only," the Catapult Officer yelled indignantly as he stepped out from his launch booth.
"My, my, what exclusivism," Lloyd Asplund (Author's note: the OC is Lloyd Harkins, keep that in mind) remarked with a carefree grin as he tried to walk past the officer. "You can't save all the sunlight for yourself—we've been cooped up under the deck for a week, you know…"
"Well, orders are orders. All of you lot get back down under the deck before—Sir!"
Everyone on deck except Lloyd saluted as Knight of One Bismark Waldstein stepped onto the deck, seemingly oblivious to the argument he had entered.
"Specialist Asplund is here on my orders," Bismark said simply, though everyone on deck flinched slightly at the man and his enclosed left eyelid.
"Y-yes, milord," the catapult officer said before stepping back with mutters about giving the Army whatever they want.
Having watched the deck flight crew stalk off, Bismark looked at the crate as some of the other technicians began unbolting the walls.
"Specialist Asplund, do you have everything you need?"
With an unconcerned smile, Lloyd nodded.
"Of course, of course. Now could you leave us alone for a moment? Us mechanics are awfully delicate people…"
"Tianxing 1, confirming visual."
Grimly, Lieutenant Cheng Seishun reported as his group of Chengdu whistled over the sea. Far ahead, he could see the outline of the Britannian Fleets.
"Tianxing 2, reporting, I don't see any birds in the sky."
"Admiral Yuanhai was right," Seishun muttered.
The Britannians had deployed their full fighter escort in the main engagement against the Japanese craft and the Chinese main force.
Meaning they would be perfect prey for the flanking force—a single aircraft carrier's complement of 72 Chengdu.
Flying close to the water to augment its imperfect stealth coating, the Chengdu J-20 was in its element. Neither very fast nor very maneuverable, the Chengdu wasn't made to be an air superiority fighter such as the F-22, and its lauded stealth ability is also partially mitigated by its shape.
The Chengdu's strength is in range. More than double the effective range of the F-22, the Chengdu is built as a long-range interceptor/fighter-bomber—relatively ineffective in air combat with dedicated fighters, but far more capable than the F-22s in everything else.
From casualty reports, almost half of the Chinese-Japanese main force had already been downed in battle—a steep price.
If Seishun and the strike force could take out the Britannian carriers, though, that would be the end of all Britannian attacks in the Pacific.
Cheng Seishun knew many of the men in the strike force, and he knew it would be unlikely that all of them made it—but if they could defeat the Britannians here, their deaths wouldn't be for nothing.
"Remember, men, target the carriers. The destroyers and cruisers are of only minor importance. For the Emperor!"
"May the Emperor live ten thousand years and then ten thousand ten thousand years," his men repeated.
"Enemy ships in range."
Seishun nodded. "Fire at will."
With a hiss and a visible shudder, the Chengdu disgorged their Russian Kh-59MK missiles. As if relieved at the loss of its burden, the Chengdu seemed to rise with relief.
"Missiles away."
The Russian-built Kh-59MK cruise missiles packed on the Chengdu would switch to optical targeting within a 10km range.
"Tianxing s, slow down for missile guidance, but prepare to sortie right behind the missiles."
"Copy, Tianxing 1. Right behind you."
"Enemy missiles, inbound."
"We have one…two…well, a lot of missiles inbounds, with fighters behind them."
There was an air of suppressed panic on the bridge of the Polaris—while it was armed with a few anti-air and anti-missile assets, the bulky Aircraft Carrier would not be hard to miss—and odds were that not every missile would be intercepted.
Captain Rebecca Lee turned to XO Vasquez. "Get the CIWS and Sea sparrows up and running."
Vasquez, though, looked a little confused. To be exact, he looked as if someone had lost their mind. "Ma'am, I just got new orders from Admiral Miller."
"And they are?"
Vasquez's quizzical expression was echoed in the awkward way with which his order trailed into a question. "Prepare to power down all engines and generators after launching Sea Sparrows…?"
"Erm."
The Sea Sparrows would help intercept the missiles, but they were far from perfect, and there was a lot of doubt about its performance. Without the CIWS anti-missile gatling guns, there was a danger.
Vasquez looked a little worried as well. "Ma'am, I don't know either. Do we disobey?"
The whole bridge seemed to be turning towards the two of them.
"Goddamn it. We'll do it. Get Engineering to shut down the generators[6]."
"Here they come," Lloyd Asplund said with a pleasant grin. A hundred meters away from him, a RIM-162 Sea Sparrow launcher reared its head and fired, disgorging a single missile toward one of the innumerable dots streaking towards the carrier.
"We ready?"
Behind him, several grim-looking technicians nodded. "Yes, milord. Did we have to be on the deck…?" Lloyd smiled. There was an unspoken challenge in that question—the possibility of "what if something goes wrong?"
Of course nothing will go wrong, Lloyd thought to himself. I built it.
"It's the best view, don't you think?"
He turned back to the opened crate and the creature that stood within, what looked like the bastard child of a refrigerator and a radar system in its puberty-ridden years.
"Milord…deploying in 3."
In the air, Seventy-two Kh-59MK anti-ship cruise missiles streaked seven meters above the waves, each bearing 320 kilograms of warhead, enough to sink a destroyer. Three struck the water, their internal inertial guidance systems awry.
"2."
In midair, they collided with the cloud of Sea Sparrows. With a burst of smoke and flames, the sky lit up as twenty-two emerged, clear of the wall of missiles meant to bring them down.
"1."
Disobeying orders, the Cruiser Kieran T. King and Destroyer John Byron opened fire with their computer-guided Phalanx CIWS Gatling guns. Four cruise missiles erupted into flame, intercepted by the hail of bullets. Eighteen shot through the bursts of foam, on a clear path to their targets.
From the deck of the Lionheart, Lloyd Asplund smiled as the other engineers started to duck.
"0."
"What—" Cheng Seishun blinked as his video missile guidance suddenly went black—a sign that it had been shot down.
There was nothing in the way…
And then, abruptly, his HUD deactivated completely.
With their engines still firing wildly, the eight ASM cruise missiles seemed to go insane, spiraling into the air or striking the water.
With a whine, a missile shot past Lloyd Asplund's head, missing by only a few meters as it spiraled past uselessly before slamming into the water across the bow of the cruiser Yorktown, its guidance completely disrupted.
An engineer got up from where he had fallen to the floor. "It…worked. The Sakuradite disturber worked."
Lloyd, though, seemed unperturbed. "Not quite yet, Johnson. The main show is about to start."
He pointed towards the squadron of Chengdu that now glided silently through the air.
"Shit, shit, shit," Cheng Seishun muttered as he looked at his cockpit. All the displays, radars—all of them were dark. Behind him, he heard nothing—the jet engine, too, had cut out.
"Haiying 1 to group, I've lost power. Bailing out."
There was no response—not even radio noise.
Shit.
The radio had lost power too. He took a quick glance around him—it seemed as if the pilots on Haiying 2 and 3 were also desperately trying to communicate.
Something took down all the electrical equipment? At once?
Slowly losing altitude, the Chengdu J-20 streaked towards the waves.
With the G-forces forcing him against his seat, Seishun pulled the control stick up with all his might—and then, with an impact that threatened to rip Seishun out of his crash webbing, the J-20 collided with the water.
"Haiying 1, bailing out," he yelled to the radio, even as he knew nobody would hear him.
Reaching to the ejection seat release, he just managed to thumb it.
Instantly, with a blast of flame, the cockpit of the J-20 was blown apart as another blast sent Seishun flying.
He had heard in the past that pilots who had ejected had come out alive, but several centimeters shorter. Right now, he could feel why—14gs worth of atmospheric pressure bore down on him, seemingly threatening to collapse his spine. All around him, he could see the other pilots of Haiying Squadron, some clawing their way out of their cockpits with survival knives, others ejecting like him.
With a splash, his seat slammed into the water, buoyed by the airbag intended to cushion the landing impact. Tearing out his helmet, he waved to one of his wingmen who clearly had not managed to get a flotation device. "Haiying 3! Sarika!"
Sarika, a short-haired, rather burly pilot, swam over.
"Well, that was a mess," she yelled through gasps as she tried to clamber onto the flotation device with Seishun's assistance.
"I didn't know the Britannians had a weapon like this."
"Me neither."
Sarika shook her head. "…We're fucked now, aren't we?"
Seishun nodded. "God help our navy."
"God help us. I hope the Britannians are in the mood to take prisoners."
Lloyd Asplund nodded proudly as the flight deck crew and engineering looked at the floundering Chinese federation pilots in the waters around them.
"The Sakuradite Disturber. Constantly launches a pulse of electromagnetic radiation that disrupts electric equipment. Swats guided missiles and fighters out of the sky.[7]
Not bad, huh?."
"Tianxing 1! Tianxing wing, respond!"
"Kanpur Squadron, respond!"
"No response from Chungmugong Squadon."
Panic prevailed on the radio as the remnants of Diablo and the other Chinese Federation and Japanese squadrons. That a whole carrier's worth of fighters had vanished off the radar was more than a little worrying, especially to the other seven carriers' worth of exhausted pilots.
"Is the strike force down?"
"Why are we still here then?"
"Haiying's already lost more than half their unit. We're just getting killed here."
Diablo 1's Lieutenant Ohgi felt the cold sweat that ran all over his body. With the strike force failed, the main force of the fleet was now fighting a meaningless battle. They couldn't break through towards the Britannian fleet, and, outside of their formations, they'd be vulnerable to pursuing fire.
Yet most of the F-2s and Chengdus were now low on ammunition and missiles.
"The hell are we going to do?"
The other squadron members and leaders also remained painfully indecisive, even as the Britannian fighters continued to whittle down their numbers.
"We need to retreat back to the fleet without the F-22s chasing us down," Ohgi explained. "The moment we break out of formation, we're going to be subject to pure pursuit[8]. We're going to need some cover until we get back to the carriers."
"Whoever's going out of cover is going to be cut apart," Khmer 2, standing in for his dead squadron leader, commented—just as, with a screech, Diablo 2 detached from the position, streaking back for the fleet.
Ohgi prepared to stop, but Diablo 6 beat him to it.
"Diablo 2, what are you doing—shit—" With a conflagration of flame, Diablo 6 spun out of control, hurtling towards the pacific.
"Shit—disperse! Disperse!"
Ohgi, mentally (and physically) cursing Kobayashi's decision to desert, turned his F-2 straight downwards, flipping his plane back up in a simple split S maneuver. The other survivors of the main force had long since lost their composure—Kobayashi's desertion had broken the discipline of a unit whose morale had already been severely damaged.
Diagonal to Diablo 1's F-2, Hawkeye 1's F-22 looped over in a tight kulbit maneuver, a tight circle that seemed to make Diablo's Split-S large and extravagant.
Calmly, methodically, Hawkeye 1 lined up the crosshairs of his HUD on the vehicle on which another human being now rode.
"For Lieutenant Pace," Hawkeye 1 muttered as he squeezed the trigger.
An F-22's General Electric M61 Vulcan packs 480 rounds, enough to last a little less than five seconds in full auto (this rarely happens, though, as many Vulcans are equipped in burst fire modes). Hawkeye 1 repeatedly depressed for trigger for nearly that amount.
Bright tracers leaped across the gap between the two planes, blooming flowers of flame where they connected. Finally, in one big bloom of smoke, Diablo 1, carrying the body of its pilot, began its rapidly-accelerating descent into the pacific.
"Stay on their tails, Hawkeyes, we're following them."
"We're not returning to the fleet?"
"We are. To their fleet."
"Powering up…"
With a drone, the various displays on board the Cruiser Kieran T. King came back alive, booting up and reloading the various operating systems related to the operation of the modern warship in one big line of source code and loading screens.
Captain Adrian Fleming glanced over his bridge with irritation.
Incompetents.
Some idiot, in a panic, had activated the CIWS against orders. Not unexpected for a group of new sailors who had never been in a combat situation.
Ignoring the fact that he had never been in a combat situation, the captain growled in what he believed was a captain-like way. "How are we?"
"Captain, generator is running smoothly. Weapons are online, and we can move by your order."
Captain Fleming leaned back on his chair. It was great feeling in charge. "Alright, all troops prepare for battle. We're heading towards the enemy fleets."
"Yes, captain. Getting ready to launch Harpoons."
"Oh, and the Mark 45."
The gunnery officer turned around in surprise. The Mark 45 5-inch gun, the last remnant in an age where the size of a ship's cannons dictated its might, was not usually used except for ground support—in the era of Aircraft carriers and naval air battles, the artillery gun was nearly obsolete.
Fleming, though, smiled. Cruisers and Destroyers had always played second fiddle, escorts to the Aircraft Carriers that had dominated the naval scene. With the air forces of both sides heavily mauled, this would be the Kieran T. King—and its captains—time to shine.
"Yes, the Mark 45. Men, we're doing this the old-fashioned way."
"All crew, prepare for emergency landing! Deploy emergency barricades!"
The deck of the Chinese Federation carrier Weiyuan, was a hive of desperate, frenzied activity.
Across the 500-foot runway, flight crew were deploying what looked like glorified volleyball nets.
Normally, a carrier-based fighter would land by hooking itself on an arresting wire, a steel wire that allowed a high-velocity fighter to land safely in that short distance.
However, the bursts of flak and the trails of anti-air missiles above the carrier made clear that the Chinese and Japanese fighters would have more to focus on than their landing, a task that required perfect orientation and focus even in peacetime.
As such, the crew had deployed these crash barricades to allow for a somewhat bumpier but easier landing.
"Attention, crew, plane inbound!"
Trailing a little smoke, a Chengdu J-20 was streaking towards the landing. Under the guidance of the Landing Signals Officers on the Weiyuan, the J-20 methodically adjusted its heading to orient itself with the runway.
Fortunately, the damage to the engines seemed negligible, and ground crew stood by with fire-extinguishing equipment to douse any fires that could break out.
Lifting its nose, the J-20 began its descent—and then shuddered with all the pain of a wounded animal as, with bursts of smoke, traces stitched a pattern across the damaged jet's exterior. As its assailant streaked past, a mere several meters above the shocked flight crew, the stricken Chengdu accelerated, its nose impacting into the deck with a scream of twisted metal—and then a blast of flames.
"Weiyuan cannot process anymore emergency landings due to flight deck damage."
"Reroute those planes to Qiangyong," Admiral Cai Yuanhai ordered feverishly as, next to him, Adjutant Singh attempted to maintain communications with three Captains and damage control.
To think that the Britannians had this kind of technology…
Nothing from the Intelligence provided by the Japanese or the EU suggested that they knew anything about technology that could swat aircraft and guided missiles out of the sky.
With this technology, the Britannians had completely invalidated the numerical air superiority that China had carefully and painstakingly cultivated for decades.
What was left of the Chinese and Japanese aircraft were now circling the Chinese carriers while simultaneously beating a fighting retreat against the F-22s that had pursued them into the Chinese-Japanese fleet.
Yuanhai glanced at the radar screen, currently listing every ship of the joint fleet, some already registering damage reports thanks to the Britannian fighters that swooped down among them.
"Admiral!"
Yuanhai turned as Adjutant Singh saluted, as unshaeably calm as he always was. "Admiral Iwakura is on the line."
Yuanhai almost groaned out loud. He wasn't in the mood for politics, not in the middle of a combat situation.
"Put him on."
As soon as the screen showing a feverish-looking Admiral Iwakura opened up, Yuanhai sighed.
"Admiral?"
Iwakura seemed to be afraid of the question he was about to ask.
"Admiral Cai, have we failed?"
Yuanhai nodded. "Afraid so. The Britannians have some weapon that incapacitates fighters and missiles. Most of our air force, including the strike force, is destroyed, and the remainder would be going against a fleet that can disable them with nothing more than cannon. Our air force has been completely negated."
"…" It seemed as if Iwakura could think of nothing to say—Yuanhai could empathize—he could see that behind Iwakura, the bridge of his ship, the destroyer Tanegashima, was also in a state of barely-controlled chaos.
"Admiral, I believe that it is in our interests to retreat. The Guangdong fleet is currently docked in Kaohsiung in Taiwan. We've lost our greatest asset, our air force. We risk losing the rest of the fleet if we keep on fighting here."
Far from looking more panicked, Iwakura looked emotionless.. "What would you have us do?"
"Order all planes to return to our carriers and slowly retreat to Taiwan. The enemy will not pursue us far." Because their main target is Japan, Yuanhai left unsaid. Iwakura knew anyway.
Admiral Iwakura seemed more stonefaced than ever.
"Admiral Iwakura," Yuanhai pressed, "We can lose here, but if we do not retreat and take this lose, we won't have another chance to lose again."
"…alright. Acknowledged."
Saying nothing else, Iwakura's screen blacked out. Yuanhai turned back to Singh. "Get the birds on the carriers, if possible. Order the Carriers to start retreating towards Kaohsiung. Laiyuan, Yangwei and Wuwei will provide anti-air cover if necessary. Order Weiyuan to prioritize in moving to safety—"
Suddenly, the sound of twisting metal caused most of the bridge to jump. Holding onto his chair, Yuanhai gazed outside—through a blast of foam from a shell splash, he could see the destroyer Henghai listing to its side—through a scorched gap in the armor, he could see the tiny shapes of individual seamen picking themselves up.
The groan of twisting metal sounded like the bellow of a wounded animal.
"Henghai reports heavy damage from cannon!"
"Cannon?" That meant that the Britannian navy was already within missile range.
"Report! Visual contact with Britannian Cruisers and Destroyers!"
Yuanhai leaned back on his seat. So that was why they brought so many battlewagons.
Expecting to rely on its air power, the Beiyang fleet's massive carrier force (augmented by two carriers from the Fujian and Guangdong fleets) was supported primarily by Escort Destroyers built primarily to fight submarines, air-defense frigates and several light destroyers meant to provide ground support.
Now without its air power, the Beiyang fleet was fighting against enemy combat destroyers and heavily-armored cruisers with ships that were meant, at best, to stand as meat shields for the Carriers.
Yuanhai turned to Singh. "Authorize all surface combat ships to return fire. We may as well try to put up a fight."
"All Destroyers and Frigates, return fire at will," Singh called with a nod to his superior.
"Tcheh," Yuanhai spat with a wry grin. At this rate, I won't even have to worry about the Eunuchs coming after my hide.
"Main cannon, firing!"
With a suppressed whump that shook all the occupants of the bridge, the Kirishima's 127mm gun roared out defiance to its Britannian counterparts. Across them, the Japanese Navy's flagship, the destroyer J.D.S. Tanegashima, also launched its complement of Type-90 anti-ship missiles.
Hasekura Yukio's knuckles seemed nearly translucent where they hung onto his chair as a splash of water across the Kirishima's bow sent foam across the bow.
"Return fire at will! Prepare to launch our Type-90s!"
Next to him, JSDF Major General Katase Tatewaki never felt more powerless. As a logistics officer, he did not, by any means, belong on the front lines. As an army officer foisted on a navy ship, he felt doubly useless—and powerless—as the Kirishima engaged Britannia.
The mood on the ship was grim. With the air force decimated, the rest of the fleet was essentially fighting handicapped, like a swordsman left with only his sheath after losing his sword. This was a life and death battle.
Executive Officer Miura turned back to Hasekura. "Captain, shouldn't we fall back with the rest of the fleet? Our armor can barely survive cannon, nevermind an anti-ship missile."
"No," Hasekura said simply. Katase looked at him—though he seemed to be afraid, the way with which he held onto his chair, almost like a claw, suggested that he was still propping himself up.
"The Hasekura do not run away!"
With a near-audible whine, a shell shot past the Kirishima, exploding somewhere behind the ship. The impact shook the bridge, and some of the bridge officers seemed less than inspired by Captain Hasekura's resolve.
Katase glanced at Hasekura. It seemed that he had not forgotten his family's retreat from Osaka[9] to the forces of Tokugawa Ieyasu.
Still, Katase thought to himself, he wasn't prepared to atone for some long-past situation...
"Sir, new orders from Admiral Iwakura."
"Tanegashima, advancing. Ashigara, Advancing. Mirai and Kazenami, Advancing."
The radar officer looked as if he didn't believe what he was seeing.
Admiral Yuanhai was having trouble believing it too.
Given, the Japanese fleets were, legally, outside of the control of the Chinese navy—but that they would so blatantly (and suicidally) engage the Britannian fleet—
"Bring up Admiral Iwakura," he ordered Adjutant Singh.
The bridge of the Tanegashima looked even more frenzied than even that of the Zhenyuan—and maybe it was the lighting, but it seemed as if Admiral Iwakura's hair looked several shades grayer.
"Admiral Iwakura, explain yourself," Yuanhai demanded.
Iwakura smiled—not the nervous smile he had usually shown to Yuanhai, but a grim one, the face of somebody on the chopping block. "We have elected to delay the Britannians as long as possible."
"Denied," Yuanhai barked. As an Imperial Admiral, Yuanhai was equivalent to a full admiral, a rank above Rear Admiral Iwakura.
"Isn't there a proverb that 'The order of the King need not be followed by the General?' (author's note: I couldn't find the exact wording, but that's the gist of it)"
Yuanhai nodded. There was.
"But there is also the saying that, of all the thirty-six stratagems, retreat is the greatest."
"Our fleets need time to escape and regroup. We can buy time for the rest of the fleet, especially our carriers."
Yuanhai acknowledged the point grudgingly. Among others, Weiyuan had taken a torpedo in its hull and a destroyed Chengdu on its landing deck—it would not be able to retreat adequately at this rate.
"That may be, Admiral, but do not forget that the Japanese Navy's current carriers, the Weiyuan and Yangyong, are on loan from us?"
"Rest assured, Admiral Cai, I have ordered the Yangyong to retreat with your carriers, and I have given leave for all who wish to retreat to do so. You'll find, though, that few of us value our lives more than our nation."
Yuanhai regarded the radar. Indeed, few of the Japanese warships had followed the Yangyong and the Chinese-commanded Weiyuan.
Yuanhai glared across the screen at his Japanese counterpart. "…Is there nothing I can do to alter your decision, or that of your men?"
Admiral Iwakura simply shook his head.
For a moment, the two Admirals simply stared at each other. Finally, Yuanhai raised his hand to his forehead, palm facing his elbows in a naval salute.
"…Well, I suppose I respect you a little more, Admiral Iwakura, even if I think less of your intellect. In any case, I wish you good hunting."
"…I wish you good luck as well, Admiral Cai."
"…Keep your luck, Admiral. You'll need it more than I do." With that, Yuanhai terminated the conversation. Sitting back onto his command seat, he rubbed his forehead with his palms. "Adjutant Singh, set course for Kaohsiung."
"Yes, sir. And what of the Japanese?"
"Let them be. They have a government that they are proud to defend." Yuanhai sighed. The Eunuchs would likely have his hide for this failure. "If only we could say the same."
"To all Captains and Crew of the Japanese Maritime Self Defense Force, this is Rear Admiral Masao Iwakura. I hereby release all ships of the Punitive Defense Fleet from my command. If you choose, you may withdraw with the Chinese Forces, the Yangyong and the Weiyuan. I and the Tanegashima, though, will fight to the end for our country. That is all."
With that, Admiral Iwakura's face disappeared from the bank of faces that appeared on the communications screen. Like a partially-damaged LCD, some of the banks were simply blacked out—a modest memorial for the ships that had already been sunk in the battle.
On the rest of the banks were the remaining Captains of the Ships of the Japanese Punitive Defense Fleet.
From the bridge of the Kirishima, Katase Tatewaki looked silently at the face of Yukio Hasekura. As an Army Officer, he had no place in the deliberations. Instead, he looked at the Captains of each ship. Some of them showed grim resolve, but others seemed less sure.
"Well," Captain Umezu of the Mirai asked, "what will we do?"
"I will stay with the Admiral," Executive Officer Shimezu of the Mashima said calmly, even as several seamen were administering CPR to Captain Hansode. "To die for a noble cause is an honor."
"Me, as well," Captain Mikasa of the Kazenami replied. "Nobody will say the Japanese Navy fled before the Britannians."
"As members of the military," Captain Hasekura said to the bank of faces, "We should be prepared to die for our country."
On the screen, many of the captains nodded. Others, such as the Mirai's Captain Umezu, looked unsure.
"Is this really the way?"
Katase Tatewaki shared the same concern. Are we really doing a service to our country dying like this?
Against a largely-intact air force and a large core of dedicated cruisers and destroyers, the anti-sub and coastal defense destroyers of the Japanese Navy would be deprived of even their Chinese allies. It was a suicide mission, like that of the Yamato.
Tatewaki had heard about the battles of the Pacific War—the hordes of Japanese that charged Britannian positions with Katana, convinced that their warrior spirit would grant them the miracle that would let them shrug off bullets and cut holes in Tanks in the policy known as Ichioku gyokusai.
A noble but completely useless charge.
That was what the Navy was doing.
Throwing their lives worthlessly for the sake of Honor.
"Captain Umezu, as warriors for Japan, we have a duty to fight—and if we fail, to die with honor."
"…I don't think that's right," Captain Miyazaki of the Ashigara. "The concept of Bushido is that suicide should come when capture is otherwise inevitable. If we retreat now, we may escape capture and be able to find a second chance at victory."
"If you fear death, Captain Miyazaki" Captain Mikasa of the Onami replied, "you may retreat with the Chinese and their forces."
"I do not fear death, I merely fear the results for Japan once we have thrown away our lives needlessly."
"Captain Miyazaki," Captain Hasekura spat angrily, "I would rather you not sortie with us. The Japanese Navy has no place for Cowards."
"Then resign," a familiar-sounding voice said. It took a moment for Katase to recognize it as his own's. Hasekura and the bridge crew turned around in shock. Their deadweight from the Army had said nearly nothing this whole time.
In the silence, despite his common sense's remonstrations, Katase continued. "The Coward is the one who chooses certain defeat when it is not inevitable. You men, who would rather take an assured defeat rather than gamble honor on victory, are the ones taking the coward's way out."
"Major-General, stand down," Hasekura snapped, but Katase continued. Now that he had gone this far, he may as well.
"All the generals in the Army have learned this lesson already—it seems the Navy hasn't. Taking responsibility for failure with suicide is running away—no different from running away from your responsibly. To avoid death, so as to bury your failure with your successes—that is honor, not to flee responsibility for your failure through death."
"…Major-General Katase, this isn't your area of jurisdiction," Hasekufa finally managed. "Executive Officer Roromiya, please escort the Major General off the bridge—"
"Captain, Army or not, the Major-General has a point," Captain Umezu cut in. "We do far more for our country fleeing now than to die here for no cause."
"…Perhaps the Army General is right," Captain Mikasa managed while barking orders to her men. "there are more occasions with which we can obtain victor—" suddenly, Captain Mikasa's screen shook and abruptly shorted out.
"Kazenami hit by enemy missile, listing," the Damage officer reported.
"…Then you may flee," Hasekura replied drily, "but the Kirishima is my ship, and I intend to die at its helm. XO Roromiya?"
Executive Officer Roromiya, though, simply stood there. "Captain, I agree with the Major-General. This is not the occasion to throw our lives away."
Katase looked around the bridge with Hasekura. He was surprised to see much of the bridge crew agreeing.
Hasekura looked around the bridge.
"Engine officer, please adjust heading towards the enemy fleet!"
"…"
Hasekura looked back and forth, his face a mix of confusion and anger. "…This is a mutiny!"
"…Perhaps it's a mutiny," Executive Officer replied as she glanced at the other bridge crew, "but we're not prepared to die simply for something as abstract as your honor, Captain."
For a moment, the Captain and his Executive Officer glared at each other—and then Captain Hasekura looked down.
"Do as you will…cowards."
"Thank you…Captain," Roromiya replied as she turned to the screen.
"It is as we say, Captains. The Kirishima will withdraw with the Chinese fleet."
"As will the Mirai," Captain Umezu echoed.
"Ashigara will withdraw."
"Onami, retreating."
"…Hyuga, withdrawing."
Executive officer Roromiya turned to Katase as the other generals affirmed their decisions, most in favor of withdrawing. "Sir, have you considered a command?"
"No, ma'am," Katase said awkwardly—he had no idea how to refer to an executive officer, "served in logistics all my career."
"Well, Major-General, you might not be bad at it."
"Main gun, firing!"
"Torpedo, away."
"Weiyuan, listing hard to port!"
"We're taking in water—"
Admiral Masao Iwakura stood calmly, an eye in the middle of the storm on board the deck of the Tanegashima. All around the ship, sprays of explosions and the debris of intercepted missiles rained as the Tanegashima engaged in its last charge. Behind it, the light destroyers Sawagiri and Sendai followed bravely in a last, hopeless charge. Thanks to this last attack, the Chinese fleet and the rest of the Japanese fleet was desperately making good their escape. Already, a Chinese carrier, the Yongqiang, had been sunk, and the Weiyuan would likely need to be scuttled. Without much air cover and a lot of damage, the Chinese would still have a long voyage back to Taiwan.
"Sawagiri, sunk!"
Behind them, the Sawagiri, stricken in the bow, keeled over as its sailors leapt out in a last attempt at self-preservation.
As if hit by an invisible fist, Iwakura suddenly was knocked to the ground, a shrill ringing in his ears that for a few seconds prevented him from hearing Captain Hakurei, the captain of the Tanegashima.
"—ret—own!"
"What?"
Iwakura struggled to pick himself up.
" –ret i down"
"What—"
"Primary Turret is down!"
Abruptly, the sounds of battle finally managed to overcome the ringing that had attempted to put them down.
"We only have a few torpedoes left, and we're out of Type-92s!"
"…Full steam ahead," Admiral Iwakura murmured.
Hakurei stared at Iwakura. "Full steam?" With no more Type-92s and the CIWS nearly exhausted, the Tanegashima had already ran out of most of its defensive and offensive options.
"…Full steam ahead," Iwakura confirmed. "We'll ram them."
"…Yessir," Hakurai confirmed. Iwakura, meanwhile, turned to his aide.
"Asakura, put me on Radio."
"Yes, sir." Keying into one of the flickering displays, Asakura nodded to Iwakura. "Sir, you are now broadcasting to everyone on board the ship and all other ships on the Joint Task Force system."
"Thank you, Asakura." Standing up unsteadily, Iwakura spoke into the radio.
"Crew of the Tanegashima and the Captains of Joint Fleet Group 1, this is Rear Admiral Masao Iwakura. Firstly, I apologize for whatever role I have played in our defeat today. I have failed all you men, and I am deeply ashamed of it."
There was a moment of silence on the bridge, even as the sounds of battle echoed.
"Secondly, I would like the members of the Joint Fleet to bear witness—that at no point have the Japanese run without a fight. The Tanegashima has lost all weapons. I intend to go down with my ship. May god preserve Japan."
With that, Iwakura cut the connection. It wasn't the most eloquent speech, but it was the best you could get in a state of shell-shock.
"Captain Hakurei, where—"
And then he was on his back, an insistent ringing in his ears. The evening sun seemed needlessly bright. The world seemed to be rolling about, the lights flickering from blindlngly bright to way too dark.
What happened?
Around him, shadowy, blurry figures ran back and forth.
As the ringing slowly wore away, he could hear sounds—shouts. And screams. And moans.
Iwakura tried to prop himself up—and then, just as abruptly, fell backwards, his head impacting the meta on the ground with a loud thunk.
"Admiral!" The voice filtered through strangely, like a corrupt audio file on a media player.
The lights seemed to be intensifying—just as a dark shadow blocked out the light. Blinking, Masao Iwakura just managed to recognize the face of Captain Hakurei, a gash leaving a line of blood across his face.
"Admiral, can you hear me?"
"Yes."
"Don't worry, Admiral, I'll stem the bleeding, just stay still."
Oh…that's what happened. Iwakura accepted it without interest. That would explain why e couldn't get up.
"Captain Hakurei."
"Yes?"
The last thing Masao Iwakura managed to say before he was absorbed by the light was "Full steam ahead."
Weaponless and crumbling, the Tanegashima charged into the wall of torpedoes, missiles and cannonfire.
Behind it, the Sendai had already sunk.
Shivering from the missiles and explosions that struck the water around it, the destroyer shuddered from a second cannon strike, and then a third, before a missile launched from an F-22 struck the Tanegashima in the back. The final blow was too much for the small warship, and it keeled over, cracking into two before sinking in a pool of black oil.
"Hawkeye 1, landing…" With a jerk, the F-22's landing hook connected with the arresting wire on the deck of the Polaris. Within a second, several hundred miles per hour's worth of velocity was reduced to nothing. As ground crew sprayed down a few loose fires on the F-22, Hawkeye 1, otherwise known as Captain Adrian Soresi, leapt out spryly, to the weary cheers of the ground crew. Around them, the smoke and listing ships showed the price the Britannian fleet had paid for their victory.
A fairly large portion of the F-22s had been destroyed, as had several cruisers and destroyers. In between the damaged ships, small launches moved through the water, picking up survivors and prisoners.
The Chinese and Japanese, though, had paid quite dearly. Twenty assorted destroyers and frigates, along with the carriers Weiyuan and Yongqiang, not including the nearly complete destruction of their aircraft complement.
Soresi looked at a group of Chinese pilots who glumly sat on the deck, watched by several Britannian marines.
"We really did them a number, didn't we?"
The Sakuradite Disturber—one of the many new toys that the Britannian R&D had come up with between this and the Annam war.
"I'm glad we got it before the Chinese or Japanese," Hawkeye 6 replied, cradling his bandaged arm.
Adrian nodded. The hardest part of the war was yet to come—the ground campaign.
"Let's hope those monstrosities we've got in the hangar are going to work just as well."
It was a calm night on the water, though repairs continued throughout the night. On the deck of the Aircraft Carrier Excelsior, ground crews were doing their best to remove the wreckage of one F-22 that had failed to land and repair other damage to the flight deck.
2nd Squadron Commander A troop leader Major Gilbert G.P. Guilford found he liked the feeling.
The Pacific Fleet felt like a city on the water.
"First Lieutenant Cornelia li Britannia, reporting for duty!"
When Guilford had first read the name of Cornelia li Britannia on the transfer roster a year ago, he had assumed he would have to deal with another pampered princess with entitlement issues, shooing herself in for something to pad her pedigree.
It turned out he was completely wrong.
Having served in the Army and then later the Imperial Guard as a guard commander at age 19, Cornelia li Britannia had easily shown that she deserved all the ranks she once occupied. As a knightmare pilot, she had easily caught up to the other cadets, putting a princess' efforts while expecting none of a princess's privileges.
As such, Guilford felt quite guilty as he turned around.
"First Lieutenant Cornelia, I am going to transfer you out of A troop over to Captain Enneagram's C troop."
Cornelia li Britannia looked shocked. With the exception of her long hair (a minor regulation infraction ignored by most of the Knightmare Corps), she was dressed impeccably, with not a single crease in her uniform. Unlike many of the pilots (who felt a sense of entitlement and enjoyed slouching), she stood straight as a ramrod, something that, Guilford conceded, was extra difficult with the extra weight she packed in her chest.
"Sir, have I committed some kind of infraction? If this is about my hair, I will willingly cut it immediately."
"No, Your Highne—Lieutenant. You have been a model soldier, and I would recommend you for a promotion at any moment."
It was true. Out of the members of his personal troop, Cornelia was easily the best, both in the charisma with which she could hold her allies together and her unbending willing to subordinate herself and others to duty and regulation.
"Sir, then why am I being withdrawn from the front lines? I have not shown any cowardly behavior, nor have I shown any lapse in discipline in my time with the Knightmare Corps"
Guilford sighed regretfully. "Your Highne—Lieutenant," he managed just in time. Since the first day, the second Princess of Britannia had demanded to be referred to by her military rank, as opposed to Princess. It was rather difficult. "Lieutenant…no, your Highness, I do not doubt your valor. But you are the Second Princess of Britannia. I do not wish to jeopardize your life with me, in the vanguard."
As the vanguard of the 2nd Squadron, Guilford and his A troop would be the first in a warzone, the first to die if something went wrong.
Cornelia looked scandalized. "As a member of the military, sir, I should not be treated differently from any other member of the military. There are many nobles who have careers in the military."
"—and their families bribe them into desk jobs or noncombat roles. You, your majesty, are the only member of nobility I know who has willingly abandoned your rank and prestige, even your personal Knight."
Cornelia sniffed. "I need no knight, no bodyguard."
Guilford sighed. "Your Highness, if you are to enter the combat zone at all, you will be a special target for the enemy. You represent the Imperial Crown, both to our allies and our enemies. I jeopardize the lives and morale of our whole corps in risking your capture or death. No matter what troop you are, you will require a bodyguard."
"Then, Sir, be my knight."
Guilford blinked. "…excuse me, your highness?"
"Yes, sir, you are right in that I am a Princess, a representative of the Emperor. But it is exactly because I am a representative to the Emperor that I must lead the Emperor's people into battle, that I never shirk from duty or battle.
Do not consign me to safety because of my rank—but rather, leave me in the vanguard because of my rank. I will lead our troops into battle, no matter what you say.
So be my knight and defend me.
If I am a standard for all of Britannia, be my standard bearer, and defend me with your life.
Are you prepared to do that?"
"Y-yes, your highness," Guilford replied quickly as he snapped to attention.
Watching Guilford's awkward salute, Cornelia blinked—and then smiled.
"…then am I dismissed…sir?"
"Oh…yes. Yes you are, Your Highne—Lieutena—"
Smiling, Cornelia stalked off, seemingly pleased with herself.
Gilbert G.P. Guilford sighed resignedly.
That arrogant princess…
It had been stunningly arrogant of her to suddenly demand that her superior be her subordinate—but, for a moment, her arrogance was sufficient to convince Guilford of his complete inferiority, enough that he had treated her as his superior.
It was that powerful brand of pride, when it showed itself, that made Guilford respect that arrogant princess.
Guilford smiled slightly as he watched the flight deck crew work around him.
A princess demanding to be a common soldier, and then putting herself in the vanguard…why would anyone do that?
Lieutenant Cornelia li Britannia walked through the various living quarters of the troops.
Snatches of conversation flowed past—card games; the battle to come; politics; theology. And then there was the room for C-troop.
"Alright, you fucks! We're going to land in Japan before Guilford's vanguard!"
Cornelia took a quick peak inside. As usual, Captain Nonette Enneagram was riling up her unit to do something that was clearly impossible as her unit tried to dissuade her."
"Ma'am, high command won't activate our weapons until we arrive in time—"
"Then we'll go without the weapons! We'll beat the enemy tanks with our fists!"
"Captain, that's impossible—"
Cornelia shivered slightly as she quickly walked across the hallway, trying to keep as out of sight as possible.
There was one more reason, save for her pride, that she declined a transfer into C troop.
Because Captain Nonette Enneagram was probably completely insane.
End-of-chapter notes and references (The longest yet)
[1]Germany and Russia picking up after Austria-hungary and Serbia: World War One didn't start with Germany ,Russia, England, France or the United States, but with Austria-Hungary's Prince Franz Ferdinand getting assassinated by some Serbian Nationalist (Serbia is a Slavic state allied with Russia). Austria-Hungary won pretty early-on, but the fight between Austria-Hungary's ally Germany and Serbia's ally Russia escalated into what is now World War I. Given there seemed to have been trench warfare in one of C.C.'s flashback scenes, I would assume that the first world War would likely have still occurred.
[2]Life under the Deck – The vast majority of the thousands of Aircraft Carrier crewmen spend their whole voyage under the decks—only the pilots and flight crew get the view of the hangar, and even fewer of them get to see the flight deck.
[3] Water from a Dangerous Height – Above 100 ft, first impact from falling into water is no different from falling into a brick wall. If you find yourself in this situation, make yourself into a pencil, and then flail your limbs outwards and inwards once you're in the water. You might lose your legs, but it's a fuckload better than breaking the rest of you.
[4] Sino-Japanese War – a war preceding World War II that in part led to the chill in relations between the United States and Japan. After a series of provocations by the Japanese Kwantung army, Japanese forces attempted to induct China as part of the Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere. Because much of china was still divided by Warlords, the Japanese faced at best minor resistance (especially from armies that still trained soldiers in the use of the Dao) until the Battle of Shanghai, where (in our history, of course), Republic of China President Chiang Kai-Shek's own German-trained national army faced them (Surprisingly, Nationalist China had very strong links with Nazi Germany until World War II, where the Nazis had to choose Japan over China and China chose the United States. Most of the Chinese regular army at the time wore German uniforms and used Chinese versions of German equipment). While Japan still won this battle quite handily, it was the first time many of the Japanese army had faced the deaths of quite so many of their own men (70,000 dead, though the Chinese lost over 4x that number), and the demoralization and rage associated likely contributed to the loss in discipline at Nanjing. This isn't actually a fanfiction about the sino-Japanese war, so I'll leave further reading up to the reader's discretion.
[5] Modern Dogfighting – the belief that planes were too fast for dogfighting was already popular in World War II, and until now, it still hasn't been proven true. Up into the Gulf War, dogfights have still been fought. It should be noted, though, that even supersonic fighters slow down for dogfights, within subsonic speeds.
[6] Modern Technology in Code Geass – I should have mentioned this much, much earlier, but as you can tell, I'm using existing vehicles and their names for Code Geass technology. Why? Because I'm a lazy fuck, and also because I just imagine Britannia to be an amalgam of Great Britain and the United States, and by mentioning their real-life equivalents and explicitly using them, I clear up the trouble of having to make up names for new vehicles while leaving the reader confused. Of course, Code Geass' technology bullshit makes some problems, like how everything seems so nice and environmental-friendly (no tailpipes on cars) when there's no nuclear energy to power vast ships like aircraft carriers. Sure, they might use Sakuradite, but if they had sakruadite drives for so long somebody should have come up with a knightmare frame a hell of a lot sooner, and Japan would have been the richest nation in the world a long, long time ago. Of course, its conceivable that Code Geass world ships are completely filled with wind turbines or solar panels, but in this case I'll just call them "generators" to be safe.
[7] Why not just Say EMP? – because I'm not sure EMP has been discovered yet. The biggest and most noticeable manmade form of an EMP came from nuclear explosions and tests, and we know for sure none of that happened in Code Geass until the end of season 1.
[8] Pursuit (ACM) – In dogfighting, when you're the chaser, there are three types of "pursuit" – Lag pursuit, where basically you're trying to approach and maintain range without risking collisions. In this situation, the nose of your fighter is pointing behind the tail of your opponent. Leading Pursuit is where your nose is pointed in front of your opponent's nose, and you're essentially leading your shots, shooting where the enemy will be. Pure pursuit is when you're literally right behind them and you're in a good position to shoot anything. It's rather difficult to maintain pure pursuit, but it provides many opportunities.
[9] Siege of Osaka – The end of the Sengoku (warring states) period of Feudal Japan (a period in which local Daimyo warlords fought over Japan) was precipitated by three individuals: Oda Nobunaga, Toyotomi Hideyoshi and Tokugawa Ieyasu. Oda Nobunaga, a visionary who could also at times be cruel (he ordered the suicide of his ally and childhood friend Tokugawa Ieyasu's first son), united a large portion of Japan but was assassinated by a subordinate. One of his officers, Toyotomi Hideyoshi, came out at the top. A former infantryman, Hideyoshi did not aspire to the title of Shogun (the traditional ruler-prime minister of Japan's stunningly weak monarchy) and instead became the Imperial Regent. After his death (and an invasion of Korea that, while initially successful, was eventually completely crushed by the Korean navy and an ailing Ming Dynasty China—the war was one of the reasons that the Ming dynasty fell), a power struggle between his own regents ended with Tokugawa Ieyasu, already a powerful Daimyo in his own right, restoring Hideyoshi's son Hideyori to the throne. However, at a later time, opposition to Tokugawa crystallized around Hideyori, and political forces eventually turned Hideyori against Tokugawa (there are, of course, many political factors involved. All three of the "great unifiers" of Japan showed interest in Europe and Christianity, but Tokugawa came to saw it as a threat—indeed, Saint Francis Xavier, one of the most successful and earliest missionaries to Japan, saw the Japanese merely as footsoldiers that could be useful cannon fodder against an Imperial China that was, at the time, far better armed and prepared than either Japan or Spain. The Christian community in Japan, 300,000 strong at the time, rallied around Hideyori, who seemed more open to Christianity.). Evnetually, Tokugawa besieged and ultimately forced the suicide of Hideyori in the Siege of Osaka, and the Tokugawa family took over the rule of Japan. The acts of these three unifiers is remembered in the saying that "Nobunaga pounds the national rice cake, Hideyoshi kneads it, and Ieyasu sits down and eats it." At Osaka, many of the Hideyori Samurai, who had lived through an era of peace thanks to Hideyoshi, cowered and fled at the destruction wrought by one of Tokugawa's cannons. In this story, it's essentially implied that the Hasekura family was one of them.
HeavyValor's Note on Sakuradite Disturbers and EMPs:
So, I originally chose to create the Sakuradite Disturber to replace/stand in for EMPs in the CGverse because of the nature of a "Philosopher's Stone"-esque superconductor, sakuradite. Superconductors already do really funny things to magnetics, which merits a wiki search if you want to know. Considering sakuradite in CG is such a vital component that disrupting its energy transference properties (superconductivity) through Gefjun disturbers (WHICH ARE DIFFERENT FROM SAKURADITE DISTURBERS) wrecks the complete functioning of all electronics that use sakuradite, it isn't too far-fetched to say that it could amplify (well, resonate and propagate a frequency) of an EM wave like an EMP. Erm, that might be confusing. Some steps:
First, sakuradite already amplifies energy transference by nature of being a superconductor in canon.
Second, it's quite volatile, and is implied to react in a radioactive fashion.
Third, it explodes upon hard contact with solid objects.
So, it has E&M amplifying properties, radioactive amplifying properties, and kinetic amplifying properties. Fairly ridiculous, but that's what canon presents. Let's continue.
Due to these properties, it can be assumed that it should be able to alter waves in some fashion. This includes radiation waves and E&M waves (rad and E&M can be said to be the same thing, given enough argument). By increasing the magnitude and/or frequency of changing magnetic and electric fields, voltage surges and damaging currents are generated by a crapton. A crapton, FYI, is a technical term. This is, effectively, an EMP, but a crapton larger, and it can be extended for a duration of time (Ahem Yggdrasil drives, spinning, constant magnetic flux, should be doing bad things to electronics but hey art physics major crap).
In short, we needed an explanation for why nobody uses aircraft at all until freaking antigravity in R2. And making sure magic rocks did the job pretty much satisfied it. Then there's the magecraft aspect, but hey, you gotta wait for F/NA to update for that. Mwahahahaha.
Author's Afterword
Awkwardly, at the end of this, this chapter ended somewhat different from how I intended it to end. For the sheer reason that I am
too lazy to retcon anything, once I give a character a personality, I'm going to let it play out, and Yuanhai, who was meant to heroically
die in the sea battle, ended up surviving. Moreover, certain technical issues raised by HeavyValor while I was writing this did make the
Sakuradite Disturber's nature quite different from how I imagined it. This naval battle is, of course, COMPLETELY unrealistic. Any decent
captain would just ignore the guns and just fire missiles, and most battles (as in the case of World War II) were fought without either navy
being in range of the other. But battleship guns are cool, and cool things are cool. So I did make a rather unrealistic battle. This chapter
does top it off as the longest, though I didn't expect it to. At any rate, here are some of the reviews from last chapter, and I would like to
remind any new or old readers to leave a review if you can! I have to get over my Writer's Block for Chapter 1, and I plan to make a glossary
to make some of the technical terms (I'm sure the J-20, F-2 and F-22 business was a bit irritating for people here, I had to wikipedia a LOT)
more understandable as a separate chapter.
AngrySanto - Once again, thanks for your chapterly reviews, they're easily the one I look forwards to the most at every update. I did change the grammatical errors, but you do raise a bunch of issues, some of which are misunderstandings due to my part. For example, Guan Tziling was invoking Zelretch as part of the Ceremony, she has no idea who he is. On the topic of Volumen Hydragyrium, it did survive a whole building falling on top of it, so I feel as if, under Kayneth's guidance, it probably could have easily survived V.V.'s blowtorch. With the .30-06, it was more like the hydragyrium was expecting the bullet to be of the same power as Kiritsugu's submachine gun's lower caliber and power. I am glad it didn't seem TOO forced, though. In terms of Ryougi...well, I am being somewhat dishonest in my writing when I say that an Eighth Servant is summoned. I would say Ryougi in this case plays a role closer to Arcueid than that of a traditional servant. Either way, with finals done, I can release chapter 1 (it should be a relatively small chapter) as soon as my writer's block is over with, though going to Hong Kong for the summer might get in the way. At any rate, I hope you enjoyed the story thus far!
Atrile - Thanks for both the review and well-wishes. Finals were a pain, but I did manage to scrape a 3.49 this semester, which was a hell of a lot better than the mess I did get in the first one. The road to Premed looks to be one of suffering ;_; on the other hand, I will take as much time as possible to work on this fic, and this break is a good opportunity for it. I hope you keep reading!
Slayer End, Forever Signed in Blood - Oddly enough, the original plan was that Guan Tziling (though not Guan Tziling) would have played Shiki's current role, though certain situations and servant choices altered that. Shiki is, of course, not an "actual" "servant", in both senses of the word, but I'll explain that later. In the meantime, thanks for the well-wishes!