Tuesday, January 28th, 2014.
As promised, I stuck a copy of the comprehensive report in here before this entry.
I sent the comprehensive report both by email and physical copy to the Navy headquarters back home. Should give whoever's interested in learning more about the Moebius Four Program in the higher-ups some clues as to what's going on.
Obviously I was really careful writing it when the girls were around. Some parts of it are obviously extremely questionable, to say the least. It's not like I was the one who thought of the rules and the outlines of the program - I'm just the guy who gives the orders. They would definitely flip the fuck out if they read certain parts of the report I wrote. Let's just hope to God that none of them find out about this report or learn of the shit that's surrounded the program itself. This would have to mean that I'd have to hide my journal really carefully from now on to make sure none of the girls find it and accidentally stumble upon the journal.
But this doesn't feel natural to me. I just wanna sit everyone down one day and tell them everything I know. That's what I've always done with my own men. I've been flat-out honest and unpretending to them, and my men know it and can appreciate that about me. The fact that I have to pucker up my ass and not talk about this kind of shit really doesn't suit me, and honestly, it made me super uncomfortable even thinking about it in the presence of the girls.
Seriously, fuck the free world.
But I'll leave my own thoughts and comments at the end.
Today's paperwork was unusually light for a weekday, so after sending the email copy of the report off to HQ, requesting a priority mail pickup from the mainland for the physical copy, completing paperwork, and outlining today's mission for the girls, I hopped on the piano. It'd been a really, really long time since I last played piano, and the piano's just been sitting there after I called in the piano maintenance guy to fix it. Since I didn't know what else to do at the moment, I just hopped on and stared at it like a dumb idiot for a few minutes before actually playing anything.
But as I got myself warmed up and familiarized myself with the keys again, I lost track of time. It's funny how I learned to play piano - I first began just because Mom forced me to. I hated playing the fucking piano at first. I just hated playing music in general. You always have to be so goddamn perfect all the time; otherwise the music you're making isn't even music at all. I thought playing an instrument was only something true perfectionists could pull off successfully. It was infuriating, sometimes confusing, and stressful. The early years were rough.
But eventually I slowly grew to realize that perfectionists, whether they wanted to think of themselves as such or not, didn't exist in the first place. Perfection simply doesn't even exist in a world occupied by humans. That being said, I then realized that getting used to playing instruments took effort and dedication, not relying on some magical property of being perfect. So with that kind of mentality, I approached playing piano differently - I began to see it as a challenge and a way to improve myself, not as some sort of obstacle that existed with the sole purpose of making my life miserable. The fact that I kind of wanted to play those super-long songs on the piano certainly helped my cause.
One of the main reasons why I stopped playing piano was because it was too engrossing. I don't know why this happens, but whenever I play piano, I lose all track of time. It's not that I even particularly like or love to play piano. But whenever I sit down on the piano bench and start playing a piece, one piece turns into two pieces, then two pieces turn into three, then three turns into four, and then soon I'm performing a goddamn concert for myself and a few hours've gone by already if no one's there to stop me. Kind of like my chronic sleepiness, I can't explain it. I've theorized that because I've spent so much time in the military, always having to worry about heavy shit like death, politics, military problems, and anything else like that has made my brain subconsciously look for outlets of mental release, things that I can do to set my brain on another dimension and forget about all the real-world shit that I'd normally have to wade shoulder-deep in all the goddamn time.
I guess putting it that way, playing piano sounds like it's my drug. That's honestly not that bad of a drug, if I must say so myself. At least it won't kill me in about ten or fifteen years.
I remember first starting off with a few classical pieces to get me started. Some Bach, maybe some Chopin, then some Liszt just for shits and giggles.
Then I played my favorite piece. It's not exactly a single piece, but about a thirty-minute long compilation of piano songs. A friend had sent me a Youtube link of a thirty-three minute video of someone playing some piano songs from this Japanese doujin game. As soon as I heard the first few minutes of that video, I was determined to learn that entire video by ear. Took me nearly half a year of my military off-duty time, goddamn it, but I learned that shit. To this day it's something that I can always play from start to finish at any time, at any piano. I even made corrections to the mistakes that I picked up from that video, I practiced and played it so much.
But as soon as I finished playing it, I realized my office was full of ship girls. I knew that I'd been playing for far longer than I should have - and the clock went from reading 1020 hours to 1250 hours.
Many of them were the new ship girls we'd just received yesterday who had come to my office early because the older girls had told them that I would usually give them mission objectives at around 1300 hours. So basically I was playing with an audience without even realizing it. Talk about awkward.
Thankfully, though, the girls turned out to really like it. Kiyoshimo begged me to play more, and Atago complemented me on my piano skill, but seeing that it was time to issue the mission for the day, I had to hop off.
Today's mission was a recon mission - I don't want to throw the girls into a full assault mission when they've barely been training together for a day. That mission'll come later this week - but not today, and probably not tomorrow. We'll see what happens. But knowing that the girls can still get gibbed pretty bad even on recon missions, I sent basically everyone. With nine destroyers, four light cruisers, one submarine, three heavy cruisers, two battleships, two light carriers, and a standard carrier, that's a pretty big fleet I'm throwing just for a recon mission. It's not the wisest military tactic, but I can overlook the foolishness behind it for the sake of giving the new girls some experience in a live combat scenario so they know what to do once I pitch them in actual assault and search and destroy mission in the future.
After sending everyone on today's mission, I spent much of the afternoon working with Mamiya, Irako, Akashi, Ooyodo, and Error to get some work done on the dockyards. We completed remodeling the walls to make them appropriate for a bathhouse - not too familiar with the technical terms of building and construction lingo and whatnot. We'll get started on planning out and building the baths themselves tomorrow.
After that, we went over to the kitchens to grab a couple Ramune bottles to drink. Mamiya and Irako stayed there to prepare dinner for today, and Akashi, Ooyodo and I headed out to the docks to chill for a bit with our Ramunes. I asked them if Akashi and Ooyodo were ship girls too, or just navy personnel sent to assist with base operations, and they told me that in fact, both of them are indeed ship girls. It's just that they were constructed to specifically fill the roles of secretary and repair specialist for the Moebius Four fleet before their roles as combat ship girls. Eventually, once HQ deems our base sufficient enough, they'll send Akashi and Ooyodo their combat gears, which is stupid, 'cause why wouldn't you want to equip them with combat gears to maximize combat potential? Stupid brass - and I can say that since I'm part of the brass.
Everyone came back safe and sound as I'd hoped. They didn't really see anything or engage anyone - they just surfed around looking for enemy positions and gathering information, but no one fired a shot, and nothing was fired back at them. Honestly, I'd prefer that outcome any day of the damn year than gaining huge amounts of information but having to sacrifice one or two girls as the price.
But like I was saying about the report - I just want to clarify right here, declare to the world if this journal ever does get revealed to the rest of the world somehow, that I fucking hated writing that report. But you know what? Orders are orders. I have to write objectively and not let my own personal thoughts get in the way of my work - at least, that aspect of my work. Because fuck the higher-ups. Fuck them. They think that everything and everyone is the same: a threat. Maybe it's not so bad in the American military chain of command, but I know it's pretty fucking brutal in other countries. If the brass deem you a threat to them, their salaries, their prestige, their whatever, they'll delete you off the face of this earth. And that's what they're trying to do with these girls. They're afraid that these girls have the power to turn the world upside down - and I don't blame them, because they do. But having worked with them for a few weeks now, yeah, they're smarter, more efficient, and stronger than normal humans are, but they still have the essence of what it means to be human. Emotions, thoughts, whatever. They're all just normal girls when they're not out fighting or doing military stuff.
Even though technically they're not human, if anything, I'd say they're still much more human than the people I call my superiors.
And that includes my parents.
I'll stop my ranting here in case my journal gets found and someone wants to try me in a military court for treasonous slander and libel. But even if that happens, I wouldn't care. I've lived my own life for long enough. I've seen enough shit, killed enough people, and sent enough of my own men to their deaths to warrant a horribly fulfilled life. Anything else is just extra. I'm sure that even if I were to end up in some kind of military judicial trouble, Colonel Kevinson and Lieutenant Colonel Kevinson would bail out their son somehow using their nepotistic connections in the American military.
All I'm saying is that the report that I wrote was never written by the real Commander Frank R. Kevinson...just some clone of him that appears and replaces him whenever something bad happens.