Cmdr. Nicholas King
Azur Lane
3/5/1949 – 11:50
Hawaii
Van Persie exited the room along with Belfast to his quarters. Before the interrogation, King and the commander of the CBRN task force had a secret meeting in which both sides agreed to cover up the incident and not tell High-Command. The CBRN task force commander had enough autonomy from High-Command and therefore, he did not need to seek permission for a live-training exercise. His operators and liquidators were disciplined and thus the commander trusted his men and women to keep it under the rug. Before the incident, King and Azur Lane were already in a precarious state. A disproportionate amount of the enormous budget allocated by High-Command was funnelled into the leisure department, exclusively for the ship-girls instead of R&D, maintenance and other vital areas. Hot springs, sports facilities, better conditions for the dorms, better quality food and increased festivals and parties bled the coffers dry. Moreover, it was an open secret that King treated the ship-girls far better than the regular men and women under his command. Clear favouritism and sheer incompetence alienated everyone but the ship-girls. King saw nothing out of the ordinary as they were in peacetime and therefore, maintaining the morale of the ship-girls was the most important priority as they were the actual ones fighting.
King sighed loudly and reclined in his chair. The mountain of paperwork regarding finances, logistics, salaries and more had been finished. Granted, one of his redeeming qualities (other than his charisma) was his paperwork skills. However, the quality of the paperwork was questionable at best but with some directions from his secretary, it was satisfactory. He focused his attention on the summer festival event as the base was ripe with rumours about the mysterious man that crashed. The most popular and subscribed theory was that he was a part of an experimental task force to combat Siren jet fighters. They were curious about him, but none had the stomach to approach him of their own volition, except for Vestal. King had to do something about him sooner or later but right now, his main strategy was to shoo him away and distract the others, in this case, a summer festival would seem perfect. Three-door knocks shook King back into reality. He shook his head and seconds later, Belfast had entered the room wearing a smile. King smiled back at Belfast.
"Good Belfast you're back. How was escorting him?" King asked, with a strong emphasis on him.
"It was quite all right master. He didn't seem to be bothered, constantly with a small grin,"
"We need to do something about him,"
"Well master, High Command did want new intelligence reports and since he's a pilot, we can use that spare bomber. It's only a temporary solution but that gets rid of him for a considerable amount of time,"
"Belfast, this is why you are the head maid," King said. He stood up from his chair and walked over to Belfast, kissing her on the cheek before, leaving the room. Belfast's smile stayed on, plastering her face until the door closed. She breathed a sigh of displeasure and her true expression and emotion emerged: happy but slightly disappointed.
"Charismatic and handsome gentleman but hopeless in the field,"
USS Vestal
Azur Lane
3/5/1949 – 12:25
Hawaii
Vestal approached the bustling canteen. Almost crammed full of ship-girls, chatter and laughter roared through the large and spacious canteen. Vestal danced around the masses of ship-girls and acquired her lunch: roasted chicken with potatoes. And after settling down on an unoccupied table, she was then suddenly swarmed by ship-girls. Questions concerning Van Persie were asked at a ridiculous rate. Questions like: "Who is this man?", "What's his name?", "Is he a nice person?" were asked simultaneously, bombarding Vestal. She reacted by slumping into her seat and placing her face inside her hands. However, she would be saved as a loud voice boomed throughout the canteen.
"Hello girls!"
"It's the commander!" Someone shouted and at once, literally everyone rushed over to him, leaving Vestal alone. She took this chance, picking up the tray of food and using an emergency exit.
Vestal eventually arrived at Van Persie's cell. She raised her hands and knocked three times before a voice answered.
"Is the prison warden finally letting me go?"
Vestal chuckled and replied: "Unfortunately not,"
"Ahh, damn," Van Persie replied. Vestal jangled her keys and opened the room since he was still under medical supervision. The door opened and there revealed Van Persie, out of his medical gown and wearing khaki trousers and a khaki collared shirt. He sat in a chair next to a desk with a food tray placed on it. The room had been organized: boxes of random items were shifted to one side, the dust had been swept away and he hung some of his clothes with hangers, hung from holes in the wall. Vestal closed the door behind her and walked in, placing her food tray next to his, and moving a stack of boxes to act as a chair. Vestal analyzed Van Persie's face and saw his iconic small smile along but there was a hint of confusion as well.
"Well, judging by that look on your face, I really should try and clarify some things, Jack," Vestal stated, and Van Persie reacted by laughing.
"Yeah, you got me there, no clue what's going on,"
"I'll give you the basics: some years ago, the world was relatively peaceful," Vestal began. "Until on December 7th, 1941, the base in Pearl Harbour was attacked by aliens; the Sirens," as Vestal explained, Van Persie suddenly erupted laughing.
"The Sirens? That's the best name you can think of?" he said then resumed laughing.
"I guess you have a point," Vestal said with a smile. "Resuming: then the four most powerful nations, the Eagle Union, Royal Empire, Sakura Empire, the Iron Blood and various other nations entered in a coalition called Azur Lane, using a new technology called Wisdom Cubes. Then we appeared from the Wisdom Cubes, ship-girls. Physical representations of naval vessels imbued with extreme amounts of power and we pushed the Sirens back. Until about a year ago, where elements of the Iron Blood faction, the Sakura Empire and other powers communed with the Sirens and switched sides. A sort of ceasefire happened as we couldn't press the advantage as we are still reeling from the betrayal and the Sirens are too weak to continue the offensive,"
"It sort of makes sense. So, these alien Sirens are naval vessels, engaged in a war with human-like ships who are also fighting other human-like ships," Van Persie summarised.
"A vast oversimplification but more or less," Vestal stated.
"So, who runs Azur Lane?"
"Well, it is the commander, chosen by High-Command which is made up by the allied nations within the coalition. Of course, there are other human support personnel like engineers, maintenance officers, logistics officers, base security and more but the vast majority of inhabitants of this base are the ship-girls,"
"Interesting, and what the ship-girls like?"
"Well, there is a debate whether if we actually are human as we do have human characteristics, but others just consider us weapons," Vestal said in a depressed manner. However, Van Persie placed a hand on her shoulder and smiled.
"If this happened in my world, public opinion would say you guys are human, if that makes you feel better," Van Persie tried to comfort her.
"Thanks," Vestal replied with a smile. "Well, continuing, each of the ship girls has different personalities, for example, some of the destroyers are children and the battleships and carriers are considered the elders. That's just an example but I think you get the point,"
"Ok, and let me guess, each nation's ship-girl has its own set of characteristics, I bet the British ships really like their tea parties,"
"Yeah, each nation has their own identity,"
"Ok, starting to make sense," Van Persie said. "And what does everyone think about me?"
"Oh, well the most popular theory is that you are a test pilot, flying Siren technology. They are quite curious about you, but I know that's not the case. So, tell me about yourself,"
"Me?" Van Persie asked.
"Yeah you, what's your story?"
"Well, I'm just a kid from Amsterdam. I joined the Dutch air force when I was 18 as an officer. I lucked out when I was offered a NATO exchange contract with the USAF. Of course, I signed it and I was introduced to my new comrades, Lancer Squadron. There were eight of us in Lancer Squadron and everyone was named after a bladed weapon. I got the callsign Sabre because of this one stupid story, back in High-School. Well anyway, in 2023 the US along with her allies, declared war on a country called Iran after an incident where they blocked the Hormuz Straight for a month. Well anyway, I along with Lancer Squadron and many others were deployed to Iran where I died in Tehran. There was a nuclear explosion in the capital, and it killed everyone in the capital, friendlies, enemies, civilians, it didn't matter. We lost fifty thousand men and women in a blink of an eye. Then, I picked up this funny looking blue cube in which I got transported here, to await my true destiny or whatever the voice said to me,"
"Oh my god, I am so sorry Jack,"
"Well, there's nothing we can do," Van Persie said in a depressed manner. "Every time I close my eyes, I can remember the nuclear bomb detonating. I can remember and recall every millisecond of detail. Oh well, that's enough about me. So, what's the commander like?" Van Persie shifted the direction of the conversation. "My first impression is that guy is an idiot,"
"You couldn't be more correct," Vestal replied with a large grin. "Commander King is special. He is well-liked by the ship-girls, except for a few of us, because of his charisma and his looks. Yes, I admit, Commander King is very handsome and extremely charming and charismatic, but I wish he remembered something from the naval academy. I wish more ship-girls see him as an idiot instead as a knight in shining armour,"
"Well, I wish he wouldn't put me in this fucking cage all day,"
"Speaking about your health, I see that you seem far better than a few days ago,"
"Yeah, I feel completely fine now. It's almost as I gained some healing ability when I picked up that cube back in Tehran,"
"Interesting. You are still in my care and therefore, when it comes to medical terms, I outrank anyone on this base and therefore, I will prescribe you with going outside," Vestal said with a large smirk.
"Vestal, you are a lifesaver,"
"Why do you think I am a medical ship, Jack?"
Van Persie and Vestal strolled together around the main base, trying to avoid large gatherings of crowds. Vestal guided Van Persie through the base, showing the main buildings, dorms, sports facilities and more. They even went to the small town next to the base! The pair arrived back at the base with Van Persie carrying football shoes and a football. However, their last step before returning to his room was to inspect his jet. It was odd as the base was completely quiet and the pair haven't seen anyone, not even the base security. Well anyway, that made Van Persie's objective far easier. They approached a giant olive-green makeshift tent, that housed the Viper. Upon entering, the Viper was carefully placed in the middle, inside of the tent. There were a few lights inside the tent which illuminated the interior with this yellow hue. The Viper had seen better days: the canopy was completely destroyed and most of the flight instruments inside were completely smashed in. The left-wing had been completely ripped off and it was placed on the ground, next to the Viper. The right-wing was still intact, but it suffered major damage, most notably there were multiple holes inside the wing and chunks of the wing were missing, such as the flaps and ailerons. However, missiles were not touched and still attached to both wings. The fuselage, especially the undercarriage suffered heavily damaged, and the tail also suffered damage. If Van Persie back in his universe, this plane would have been scrapped and he would've gotten a replacement. Van Persie grew a small smile when he looked at the nose of his Viper. He had written in orange paint "The Flying Dutchman" on the left side of the nose. Each pilot had their own distinctive feature, be it a small emblem or slogan, and more.
"This Viper has seen better days. It's beyond repairable,"
"Since you are from the 2020s, I highly doubt even if it receives minor damage, we are unable to repair it. The technology gap is just too large,"
"It's easier building a new F-16 than repairing this one. I'm surprised I managed to land it after surviving a nuclear blast,"
"Well, when we ship-girls are injured in battle, since we hold human characteristics, we are subjected to standard treatment like bandages, etc. We can be re-built using wisdom cubes, maybe we should give them a try,"
"Well, if we can get our hands on them without being stopped by the security. I wish we had another incident at this base,"
"Well, I can help you out Jack," A voice echoed out. Both Van Persie and Vestal were spooked. They turned around and saw a woman standing by the entrance. Her short autumn red hair immediately stood out.
"Marshall? The liquidator?" Van Persie stated.
"You said my name,"
"Why are you here? Don't you have something to do?" Van Persie responded.
"Well, we were lucky enough to receive a weeklong break for our participation in the training exercise,"
"It's always a training exercise," Van Persie joked.
"Also, I got curious about you, and I overheard your conversation about your plane. It's a shame it won't be able to fly again," she said. "Unless we repair it,"
"How Marshall?"
"Well, have some faith there, flyboy," she said with a grin.
Suddenly an announcement was heard over the speakers: "Esteemed guest, please report to my office,"
"You better go visit the commander. I need to go back to work," Vestal said.
"Great," Van Persie replied.
Jack Van Persie
Unaffiliated
3/5/1949 – 14:50
Hawaii
Van Persie sat in the office again, being stared at by the maid and the commander. He wore his signature smile and slouched back against the chair, awaiting further interrogation.
"I've been ordered by High-Command to sortie my ships for a reconnaissance mission. However, my ships are not available due to unforeseen circumstances. Since you claim to be a pilot, we have a B-29 Superfortress awaiting you, specialized for reconnaissance. Your mission is to fly over this sector of the Pacific Ocean and gather intelligence. There is an archipelago rumoured to be a Siren base due to the sighting of many futuristic Siren aircraft, but of course, it is all rumours,"
"I respectfully decline, sir," Van Persie replied.
"You have no say in this, you will carry out this mission,"
"I would, but I can't fly a B-29. I am trained only for one specific type of plane which is a fighter jet, not a prop bomber,"
"Well, considering your aircraft is completely destroyed, you have no choice,"
"Why don't you use your enormous budget and resources to help me?" Van Persie cockily replied and by now the commander was for sure only seeing red.
"Belfast, please supervise our esteemed guest,"
"Understood Master,"
Van Persie crouched down, beside his Viper and pretended to analyze it but in reality, he had to somehow get a hold of a wisdom cube. Those cubes were his only chance to fly again.
"What is your verdict,"
"My jet is beyond repairable. It is easier to build a new one, but we do not have the technological and technical know-how to do so. So, that leaves only one more option,"
"Wisdom cubes," Belfast interrupted him.
"How did you know I was going to say that?"
"A maid's intuition," Belfast replied slyly. "Since this intelligence mission is labelled as low priority, that won't justify using wisdom cubes. And plus, only the commander has the authority to use wisdom cubes,"
"Well shit,"
"I do pity you in this situation, but I cannot go behind my master's orders,"
"Well, did someone say that they needed a wisdom cube?" A voice echoed out; Van Persie instantly recognized it as Marshall's. Van Persie and Belfast turned around and saw Marshall with a smirk and a briefcase.
"Where the fuck did you find those?"
"I had to suck a guard's cock to get these," she responded sarcastically.
"Feminine persuasion, greatest integration method ever known," Van Persie joked back. Marshall placed the briefcase on the ground, next to Van Persie and the jet. Opening it, she grabbed a wisdom cube and held it in her hand. She offered it to Van Persie in which he accepted. He held the mystical object in his hand and was clueless on how to proceed. He tried the cliché trope of 'focusing his inner thoughts and power' into the cube. After the first ten seconds, nothing happened but then as Van Persie was about to place it back down into the briefcase, a voice from the void called out to him again. (Yes, how original). It was the same voice that greeted him in that picturesque greenfield. Van Persie's head was filled with the voice, regarding his wish. Then a brilliant and bright blue emitted from the cube flashed the interior, blinding everyone. Van Persie was the first to open his eyes and once he did, he discovered that his Viper was fully repaired. It stood on its landing gear with the cockpit open. All of the holes, cracks and damage disappeared and the wing was intact. The missiles had been replaced and the small personal markers were still there. Van Persie grabbed a nearby ladder and climbed up and inspected the cockpit. All of the flight instruments were intact and there was his flight helmet on the seat. Van Persie then noticed he was wearing a set of olive-green clothes. He looked down and somehow, he was wearing his flight suit, including all of his gear except for the helmet.
"Looking good there, flyboy,"
"I concur," Belfast remarked.
"Well, that now one problem solved. Now we need to get this to a runway and perform several tests to ensure the Viper can actually fly,"
Van Persie now sat in the cockpit of the Viper, still in the tent. An hour had passed since the F-16 was repaired. Van Persie, for the past hour, had been conducting numerous external tests and completing several checklists. All of his instruments, flaps, engine, fuel, etc were in order. He sat down and donned his helmet, the final piece of his kit. He buckled his seatbelt in and closed and locked the canopy. He toggled the main power switch into the battery position and then he toggled the jet fuel switch into 'start 1'. The jet starter cartridge fired which caused Belfast and Marshall to quickly protect their ears from the deafening noise. Van Persie checked the engine gauges and waited for the engine to reach 20% RPM. He then reached for the throttle and positioned it into the idle detent. The engine spooled up and the RPM gauge rose and after a few seconds, the engine was fully ready after the TIT stabilized around 400. Van Persie then switched the main power switch into the forward position, allowing power to flow through the jet's avionic systems. Van Persie flicked through and turned on each switch in the avionics power bank. Next, he then switched on the INS systems and toggled them for a full alignment or the norm position. Van Persie now waited for the countdown for the INS to fully align, using the DED. Van Persie turned on the MDS-LVT to the on position. Van Persie activated the caution reset on the main electrical switch which turned off the caution. Van Persie used the SYM scroller on the ICP and turned on the brightness of the HUD. He turned on the radar altimeter, FCR (Fire-Control-Radar), the right and left chin hardpoints to the on position. Van Persie turned on the master IFF to the norm position and he switched the master lighting switch into the normal position. He turned on the lights on the wings, tail and fuselage into the bright position so others can see the lights with ease in the daytime. He also changed it from flash to steady. Van Persie then switched his attention back to the HUD and the DED. He dragged the pull to uncage button just below the ADI. And as a good action, he turned his jet to emit and receive Link-16 signals. Van Persie adjusted the brightness for his AOA indicator and the brightness for the nose-wheel steering and annunciator. Van Persie hit the nose-wheel steering button and he hit the return on the dauber stick on the ICP to return to the homepage of the DED. Lastly, before taxing, Van Persie armed the ejection seat and turned on the dispensers and the RWR. The HMD symbology activated on his helmet before Van Persie gave a thumbs up to the women.
The women opened the large tent and the refreshing Hawaiian sun shined into Van Persie's eyes. He slowly pushed increased the throttle, and the F-16 lurched forward. Exiting the tent, only to be met with a small crowd of ship-girls and base personnel, staring in amazement at the fighter. The Azur Lane runway was not far away from the main base. It was a large runway with all the necessary equipment such as hangers and a control tower, but it was critically understaffed since it was only used for high-ranking personnel come and go. The taxi trip took five minutes as Van Persie carefully drove through the base, attracting a very large curious crowd but the commander was nowhere to be seen. Van Persie arrived at the runway and stopped. Van Persie gave another thumbs up before, hitting the throttle for maximum power. The afterburner was toggled and now the engine roared, spending the Viper speeding forward. Once the jet reached about 300km/h, Van Persie pulled the flight stick back and the Viper took off and began to climb at a steep angle. Van Persie felt strange as it was remarkably quiet since there was no radio chatter. The Viper levelled at 1000m above sea level and Van Persie turned the aircraft around the base, getting a great birds-eye view of the base. After flying around the base, he flew in the opposite direction in order to fly over the base at a low altitude to salute the base. Moreover, he was hoping to disturb the commander with a sonic boom. The ship girls and the staff watched in amazement as the F-16 flew at a blistering pace over their heads. A very loud boom followed and after, the F-16 flew upwards, directly into the clouds and the roar of the Viper faded.
Author's note: I decided to re-write chapter 3 as I was deeply unhappy with it. The storyline is more of the same but it's slowed down. Thanks for the continued support, it means a lot. If you are unhappy, want to provide criticism, new ideas or just praise, please drop it down in the review.