Chapter 32
Cleveland reacted instantly to the sound of the gunshot. She whirled, spotting a man in an abandoned building across the street from them. She realized he was aiming at Marne and put herself between the shooter and her Commander immediately, summoning her rigging as she moved.
She saw the muzzle flash from the sniper's rifle and barely registered the feeling of the round ricocheting off her armor. A rifle was useless against a shipgirl this close to the sea. She started to walk forward, ready to break into a dash if the gunman tried to flee.
Before she could even step into the street, there was a thunderous sound and a flash of light that made her squint. The abandoned building's walls exploded outwards, the windows belching smoke, dust, and fire. In seconds, a smoldering pile of rubble was all that remained of the structure.
Cleveland turned angrily to see Tennessee with her hand still stretched toward the building, her rigging deployed, one of the guns still smoking. "What did you do that for?" yelled Cleveland. "We could have captured him!"
Tennessee's face was very pale. She looked back behind her and only then did Cleveland realize what was happening behind them.
Enterprise was kneeling over Marne as he lay on the ground. Both her hands were pressed against his right thigh as she applied pressure to a wound that was spurting blood between her fingers.
"Oh, no," said Cleveland, her angry shout fading to a whisper. She ran up to Enterprise, falling to her knees beside her, examining the wound.
Marne was still conscious, though looking a bit dazed. "Commander, are you hit anywhere else?" asked Cleveland, her eyes running over his body.
He shook his head slowly. "I don't think so. But I'm not sure I'm feeling the one in my leg yet-"
"Cleveland," said Enterprise through clenched teeth as she continued to try and slow the bleeding. "Check him for any other injuries. Tennessee, California, secure the perimeter. Nevada, alert all ships to the situation. We're going to need to evacuate him right away."
Cleveland was already ripping Marne's shirt off before she finished the first sentence. "Hey," he protested. "Buy me dinner first."
She shot him an annoyed glance and quickly inspected him. No other injuries were obvious, other than a scrape on the side of his head. When he noticed her looking at it, Marne shook his head. "Just hit it when I fell."
"We need a tourniquet," said Enterprise.
Without stopping her scan of the street, California reached down to a bag strapped onto her thigh and pulled out a folded object which she tossed back to Enterprise. "Never leave home without one," she said.
Enterprise nodded her thanks and went to work, sliding the strap around Marne's thigh above the bullet wound. Her hands moved more quickly and deftly than any surgeon, tying the tourniquet in place. "This is going to hurt," she said to Marne quietly. He nodded, clenching his teeth.
He bit off a yelp as she smoothly pulled the strap tight around his leg. As soon as she was sure it was in place, Enterprise tied off the tourniquet. The wound was still bleeding, but it was a trickle compared to before.
"Nevada," said Enterprise. Marne tried to sit up and she firmly but gently pushed him back onto the ground. "Situation report?"
"Not good. I'm having trouble making contact- there's some kind of interference or jamming. I also started scanning the police bands. There have been several all-points bulletins regarding armed men in the city near us."
"We can't take him through the streets if there are quislings around. Can we fly him out?" asked Cleveland. She was splitting her attention between Marne- who was looking increasingly pale- and the surrounding street. It was eerily quiet, save for the sounds of the destroyed building settling across the street. The city of San Diego had been raided frequently by the Sirens- the citizens' reaction to an explosion was immediate and sensible. Anyone who had been around had long since went to find shelter.
Enterprise eyed the road, then shook her head. "No, the street isn't straight enough." Her eyes flicked back to Marne. "Commander!"
Cleveland looked back to see her Commander's head loll back as he went limp. She grabbed his wrist and, to her relief, felt a steady- if weak- pulse. He'd lost too much blood and couldn't stay conscious.
Enterprise stood up, her face expressionless. "Everyone stand back."
Her rigging sprang into existence. She held up her hands as the miniature carrier deck at her side turned to face down the street. A glow appeared around her, a feeling of gathering power caused the air to tingle.
Cleveland, instead of standing back, launched herself at Enterprise. "No, you can't!"
The glow disappeared as Cleveland tackled her to the ground. Enterprise, her eyes wide with outrage, shoved Cleveland off her. "Move, dammit! I'm going to clear a path one way or another!"
"You can't flatten a city!"
"I can for him!" she shouted. Her eyes, full of tears, met Cleveland's. "You know I can."
Cleveland shook her head. "You know that's not what he wants us to do."
Enterprise narrowed her eyes. "It's my call, not his. I'll deal with the consequences." She pushed Cleveland away and raised her hands again.
The battleships gave one another uneasy glances, but stood back as they continued to keep an eye on the street. Cleveland was not going to give up, however.
She jumped up again and positioned herself squarely in front of Enterprise.
The carrier's lavender eyes flashed gold as she stared at Cleveland. Cleveland pushed back fear as, for just a moment, Enterprise prepared to blast a path for her airplanes through both Cleveland and the city.
Something flew over their heads, causing both to flinch slightly. Enterprise looked up in surprise as her cap was yanked off her head, causing her white hair to fall loose around her shoulders.
The thief was a bald eagle, which swooped around and dropped the cap next to Enterprise's feet, before landing on a nearby Buick.
Just like that, the spell was broken. Enterprise shook her head, clearing it, before she looked at the eagle. "Grim?"
The eagle cocked his head and preened himself briefly, before holding out one leg in a very non-birdlike manner. A small roll of paper was strapped to his leg.
"Yorktown," said Enterprise wryly. "Of course you'd figure out a way to communicate." She took the paper from the eagle and unrolled it to read.
She looked up sharply when she finished. "Laffey is in the harbor nearby," she said. "She has a shallow enough draft that she can come close inshore. If we can get there, we can get aboard her and the Navy will fly a surgical team out to meet us."
Cleveland nodded, concealing her relief at Enterprise's return to rationality. "Okay. It's not too far."
"We need a stretcher, though," said Nevada. "Or something- moving the Commander like this might be worse than just waiting here."
They looked around. There were a number of vehicles around, but none of them were running.
"Maybe we can hotwire one?" said Cleveland uncertainly.
"Wait." Nevada held up a hand. "I've just made contact with a ship...she says she has an ambulance near her."
"Ok, good-" began Cleveland.
"-it's San Diego," added Nevada.
There was a long pause.
"Tell her to get it," said Enterprise. "By any means necessary."
Nevada started to say something, but thought better of it as she caught the look in Enterprise's eyes. "Aye, aye." She muttered something under her breath, then cocked her head as she listened to San Diego's reply. "She says five minutes ETA."
Enterprise was already back at Marne's side, looking him over carefully. "Okay, I think we can hold on that long."
"Um-"
It was California. She looked nervous as everyone turned to her.
"There is a driver for the ambulance, right? Because I don't know if San Diego knows how to drive."
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There had been a driver. Unfortunately, he had not wanted to listen to San Diego as she tried to explain the situation, apparently being the one person in San Diego who had not recognized the ship named after his city. But Nevada had said by any means necessary, so had she kicked him in the shin, apologized, then stolen the ambulance.
She was not a tall girl, so it was with a great deal of difficulty that she was even able to see over the steering wheel while working the gas and brake.
Of course, she didn't know how to drive, either, so that didn't help.
Being a warship, San Diego had an innate knowledge of machinery, engines, and the like, so she was able to operate a vehicle to some degree. But driving a car was quite different from steering a ship, and it didn't help that streets were much narrower than even the narrowest of straits.
The ambulance fishtailed around a corner, sideswiping a brand-new Cadillac. San Diego winced at the sound of metal squealing across metal. "Sorry!" she shouted to no one in particular. She frantically spun the wheel to avoid a light pole that had somehow appeared in her path, then slammed on the brakes at an intersection.
There was no traffic- the sound of explosions in the city had triggered an air raid alarm- but San Diego had a vague idea that she was supposed to stop at red lights. She drummed her fingers as she waited for the light to turn, then realized something.
She was in an ambulance. Which had a siren.
Sirens let you go through lights.
Congratulating herself on her knowledge of traffic law, she found the switch for the siren and, as she turned it on, stomped on the gas again.
Just as the ambulance peeled out into the intersection, a bolt of light blasted a crater where she had been seconds before. San Diego risked a look back and saw a flatbed truck chasing after her. She glimpsed masked men aiming weapons at her, leaning around to get a shot around the cab from the truck's bed. Some of the weapons were not of human manufacture.
She couldn't call out her rigging while driving. So there wasn't any choice but to keep going.
Another bolt of light shot past her, blowing up a newsstand to her left as she slammed the gas pedal down.
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The Laffey charged across the sea at flank speed.
Belloni glanced at the shipgirl, who was standing as still as a statue near the bow, eyes fixed on their destination. Her long hair flowed back in her face from the wind of their passage as she gripped the rail. She was never the most talkative girl in the world, but after briefing him about the situation she hadn't said a word.
The ship itself, however, spoke volumes. The engine roared as Laffey poured every ounce of power she had into making more speed. The guns whirred eerily back and forth as if searching for targets.
A crackle of small arms fire drifted over the waves from the blacked-out city.
Belloni checked his rifle again, feeling the comforting weight of the Garand in his hands. He suspected that he was going to need it.
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Another plasma bolt flew overhead, blasting a chunk from the second story of the office building San Diego was passing. Glass from shattered windows showered the street.
The Siren weapon could actually hurt San Diego if it hit- but even more importantly, even a near-miss could put the ambulance out of commission. She had a mission to complete, one that was critical to the life of her Commander.
San Diego wasn't going to give up.
She hadn't come close to losing the Siren sympathizers yet, so she decided she needed to get creative.
The city streets were still deserted, thankfully. She had to find a way to trick the quislings, get them off her trail.
Ahead, she spotted a department store on the corner. She remembered seeing it before on one of her excursions through the city. To facilitate window shopping, it had large glass windows along the sidewalks- each one easily large enough for-
She slammed the brakes and yanked the ambulance into a turn. As her forward momentum decreased, she wrestled the wheel so the car twisted toward the store windows. As soon as she could, she punched the gas and shot straight through the glass and the clothing display behind it and into the store.
Fortunately, she had remembered right- there was enough room for her to maneuver the ambulance, though not without knocking over virtually every display in the clothing section. She turned as tightly as she could, swinging it around to face the window she had come through. Just as she got lined up again, the quisling truck pulled up, the masked men jumping off.
Grinning, San Diego hit the gas pedal again.
The tires squealed for purchase on the smooth floor of the department store, but finally caught and the ambulance shot forward, narrowly missing the parked truck and scattering the surprised terrorists. She muscled the car back onto the road and took the next corner, now with a decent lead over her pursuers.
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"Taking fire," shouted Belloni. He crouched behind an anti-aircraft mount as machine-gun tracers split the skies overhead. The 1.1"/75 caliber "Chicago piano" rotated on its own and returned fire, stitching the dockyard buildings where the attack came from with accurate fire.
The machine gun wasn't the only weapon that was ready to fire, though. A bolt shot from the shore and struck the Laffey on the starboard side, not far above her waterline. The ship shuddered as another Siren weapon missed, splashing water that drenched Belloni. Feeling a bit useless, he fired a few rounds in the general direction of the enemy from his Garand. He heard the sharp ping of the clip being ejected and pulled a full one from his pocket.
He was suddenly aware of a presence and turned to see Laffey next to him, staring at the shore.
"We're not going to be able to get close in at this rate," said Belloni.
"The Commander is hurt," said Laffey, her voice monotone. "We will rescue him."
Belloni slammed the clip in and chambered a round. "Ok- maybe I can swim to the shore and distract them, or-" he stopped, realizing his plan was both suicidal and had no real likelihood of success. "At the least, I can try and link up with the others." He didn't like the idea of going ashore by himself into that much enemy fire, but he had to do something.
Laffey suddenly smiled at him and patted him on the head. "Good old Belli. No, Laffey will handle this." Her smile evaporating, she turned to the shoreline, where additional enemy guns had begun firing. "Deactivating self-imposed limiter..."
Belloni turned to her, frowning. "Self-imposed what?"
"Condition green..."
"Laffey?" His voice raised an octave as the entire ship started to hum. "Laffey!"
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"Situation at the docks is not, repeat not, clear." Yorktown spoke urgently through the radio. "I'm trying to get some other ships into position, but it looks like there's an enemy blocking force between you and Laffey. She's taking a lot of fire from the docks." She had finally managed to get through on radio, but only by flying almost directly above Enterprise and the others.
Dozens of planes filled the air above the port of San Diego, more appearing steadily as shipgirls tried to figure out a way to help. Yorktown was perched on top of one of her fighters, flying as low and slow as she dared to try and get a read on the situation.
"Yorktown, Enterprise here. I've got three battleships and a cruiser with me. We can get through to the docks, but I need the docks clear to get the Commander evacuated."
"I can vector in some airstrikes, but it'll be danger close- and I don't know if all the civilians have been evacuated from the entire area."
After a short pause, her sister's voice came over the air again. "Get a strike package ready, but have them stand by."
Yorktown hesitated, but gave a nod Enterprise had no way of seeing. "Wilco."
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As one, Laffey's gun turrets and anti-aircraft guns trained themselves on the shoreline. Belloni was yanked down by the shipgirl to the deck.
Her next words fell into one of the odd silences that can occur in even the fiercest battle.
"Let's go."
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Yorktown nearly lost her balance as the destroyer approaching the docks swung around to bring every weapon she had to bear on the shore.
Then, with a blast that rivaled the gun of a battleship- Laffey let loose.
Glowing weapons fire smashed into buildings, tearing them apart as the guns tracked back and forth, hosing the enemy positions with fusillade after fusillade. As soon as one identified enemy was destroyed, the guns turned on the next, turning buildings into rubble and then blasting apart the rubble with follow-up shots.
The ship herself seemed to glow, enveloped in a radiance that caused Yorktown to shield her eyes.
After a few seconds, which had spelled eternity for the quislings onshore, the torrent of fire slowed, then stopped.
There was no more return fire.
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"Annihilation mode deactivated," said Laffey, swaying slightly. "I'm sleepy."
Belloni caught her before she collapsed and carefully set her down in a seated position. "Are you okay?"
"Still combat capable," she said with a nod. "I'll bring us in to the dock."
Belloni looked over his shoulder at the wreckage. "What's left of it."
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They had been taken under substantial fire by now. With great care, Enteprise and Cleveland had managed to place Marne behind the protection of a crates containing heavy machine parts. The three battleship girls had kept most of the heavier weapons at bay, countering them whenever a quisling fired or they caught a glimpse of one moving.
The various small arms fire that came winging their way was harmless to their armor, though they kept their heads down to avoid a lucky shot to the eye. It was unlikely to kill them- but it was one of the few ways to hurt a shipgirl without weapons that could take down their ship equivalent.
The problem wasn't that they couldn't hold out, but rather that they needed to get Marne to a doctor. And to have any chance of moving him safely over any sort of distance, they needed an ambulance.
Enterprise looked down the street again, ignoring the bullet strikes around her. Still no sign of San Diego. She looked back toward Cleveland, who was crouched next to Marne, shielding him as best she could with her body. "We may have to risk moving him-"
Something caught her attention. In the distance, barely audible over the gunfire, a siren could be heard. It was gradually getting louder. She looked down the street again.
Trailing dust and smoke, a beat-up ambulance shot down the street. The windshield glass was cracked and a mannequin, stuck through the passenger side front windshield, tilted crazily from side to side as the ambulance swerved down the street. The brakes squealed as the ambulance shrieked to a stop no more than twenty yards away.
Beaming, San Diego jumped out of the driver's seat. "I got it!" she yelled.
Enterprise opened her mouth- she wasn't even sure what she was going to say yet- and stopped when San Diego suddenly glanced back down the street and held up a finger.
"Wait one sec."
The little cruiser planted her feet and her rigging appeared with a flash of light. With a grim face that hardly suited her, she brought her cannons to bear on the empty street.
"Shoot at me, will you?" She said, her voice angry. "Blow up my city?" The guns began to glow. "HURT MY COMMANDER?"
Enterprise took a step forward, still unsure what San Diego was doing. Just as she did, however, another vehicle swung around the corner, charging the ship-girls.
San Diego grinned wickedly.
The quislings in the truck all gaped as they found themselves in the direct line of a light cruiser's arsenal. Several who were riding in the bed of the truck jumped, but they hadn't even touched the ground before San Diego let loose.
The blast tore up the street along its path before hitting the truck with its full power. The truck, the men, their weapons- everything was consumed by the explosion.
As the echoes of the blast began fading, San Diego turned. "Okay, that's done. Let's go!"
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Belloni jumped onto the dock as Laffey came alongside it. They had just received word that the Commander had been loaded onto the ambulance and the group was on its way. His job, as he saw it, was to make sure there wasn't an ambush ready for when they got here.
It was really a job for, say, a platoon, but Belloni figured he could at least scout a bit.
He rushed past the smoldering ruins that had been the targets of Laffey's salvo and quickly identified the most likely path Enterprise and the Commander would be using. There seemed to be two obvious ambush points, a three-story building that identified itself as "Industrial Pipes and Fittings" and an old junkyard crammed with the remains of scrapped ships and vehicles, likely the results of recent salvaging after the San Diego area had been secured.
The junkyard could be safely ignored, he decided. There wasn't a great deal of overhead cover and the sky was by now so full of aircraft you could probably walk across their wingtips from one side of the city to the other. So he ran to the pipe warehouse and found a side door.
With the gunfire still filling the city covering the sound of his movements, he cracked open the door and peered inside. Stacks of crates half-filled the warehouse, one that had likely been knocked down when the workers fled to the shelters spilling its contents across the cement floor. The overhead lights flickered and swayed as a large explosion somewhere in the distance shook the building. Belloni guessed that a battleship had just disposed of a quisling position with extreme prejudice.
That reminded him that he was just scouting. If he identified an enemy position, all he had to do was call it in- even the smallest shipgirl had far more firepower at her disposal than his Garand and grenades.
Moving as silently as he could, he dashed to a line of crates. The small office area on the far side of the warehouse would look onto the street which Enterprise would be using to approach the docks. If there was an ambush, that was the most likely place for it.
He slipped on an oily patch and barely kept his feet, his boots squealing loudly on the floor. Belloni ducked into cover behind a still-running forklift, the operator having not bothered to shut it down before finding safety.
For a long moment, he held his breath, straining his ears for any sign that the sound he'd made had been noticed. The lights flickered again, but then went out entirely.
He sighed, feeling put upon.
Just when he had decided nothing was coming, there was a weird, mechanical whirr.
Belloni was trying to place the sound- it was nothing quite like he'd ever heard before- when a shadow in one corner of the warehouse moved forward into the light.
His first thought was that it was a Siren. Taller than a man, the humanoid figure stood on two stumpy metal legs that ended in a wide foot with spread out "toes". The legs supported a heavily armored torso that was scratched and dented but obviously in one piece. One arm was a gun, a sort of rotary weapon that looked something like the Gatling guns Belloni remembered from history lessons. The other was missing, tied off wires protruding from the torso.
The head was helmeted, but he could see the bright, suspicious, unmistakably human eyes behind the helmet. It wasn't a robot, or a Siren- instead, it was some sort of armor. Belloni shook his head at the realization. How could anyone move with that much weight?
The armored figure scanned the room, whirring and clicking noises issuing from it as it took another stomping step forward.
It hadn't seen him, Belloni realized. That made his next move clear- he would retreat and call in a shipgirl strike. They could annihilate the monster with ease- he doubted a high-explosive fourteen inch shell would have much trouble taking even this thing out. When the thing's gaze turned from him, he took a few careful steps back to the nearest pile of crates. Once behind them, he could use them as concealment to make it to the door-
Another explosion rocked the building, and a crate on top of the pile fell to the ground with a loud thump.
The Siren-made monstrosity spun around far more quickly than he would have thought such a thing could move. For just a moment, both Belloni and the armored quisling stared at one another.
The gun-arm started to rotate, spinning up faster and faster.
Belloni threw himself behind the crates.
A sound like a giant hornet's nest going to war filled the room. A stream of fire struck the crates, pulverizing them and sending splinters and wafts of the sawdust padding inside flying into the air. Belloni desperately pulled himself along the floor as the gunfire began punching through the cast iron pipes in the crates. What little cover he was gaining from them was disappearing by the second.
The gunfire stopped and Belloni froze. Perhaps the quisling would think he was dead?
More whirring, and then stomping sounds followed. It was coming around to check, it seemed. Against a normal enemy, it would be a perfect time to set up an ambush. Belloni, however, wasn't particularly optimistic that he could kill the quisling through that armor, not with a Garand or even one of his two grenades.
Instead, he crawled across the cement floor as quietly as he could, trying to keep the bulk of the crates between him and the quisling. When he realized the sounds of the armor had stopped, he stopped and quickly peeked around the crates.
The quisling was still there, now between him and the exit. Instead of moving along, he had settled in place and looked, for all the world, like he was prepared to wait as long as needed for Belloni to break cover.
Belloni was struck by just how unfair this was. If it had been a normal soldier, the enemy would have had to wait behind cover, at least, and maybe Belloni could have done something. This was closer to fighting a tank. The best way to fight a tank was with a tank, but he didn't have- his eyes fell on the forklift, only a few yards away. The still running forklift.
Belloni steadied his nerves and got ready to dash.
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The quisling behind the armor was named Dwight Thrush, a very ordinary name that gave no clue to his perverse loyalties. To all who knew him, he was a quiet but polite man- an accountant who fulfilled all the stereotypes of the breed. If his boss or co-workers had been told he was suspected of so much as jaywalking they would have laughed at the thought.
But it was his job, in a way, that brought him to the side of the Sirens. Numbers were what told the story of the world. Numbers were the crystallization of reality. And those numbers told the same dismal tale, over and over.
Humanity was losing.
Ship tonnage built minus ship tonnage lost. Amount of supplies needed versus amount available. Industrial production last year versus this year. How many people were born.
How many people had died.
Quietly, and without any fanfare, Thrush came to the conclusion that victory was impossible. He was one of the few that had offered his services on his own to the Sirens- he was a avid ham-radio operator, and managed to find a frequency that allowed him to contact a Siren directly. No doubt others had done so, but he had offered something that most would-be traitors couldn't. Something no Siren could pass up.
Data.
His first betrayal was little more than a spreadsheet. It wasn't until much, much later that he began undertaking direct action on behalf of his new masters.
While he was anything but a leader, Thrush had a reliable, cool-headed nature that made him an excellent right-hand man for the more charismatic quislings. When this operation had been planned, he had been told to make use of the old power-armor that had been salvaged from a Siren-led op several years ago. Thrush had a knack for electronics- hence his ham-radio fascination- and was one of a relative few that could operate the temperamental thing.
He adjusted his footing experimentally, gouging a hole in the concrete floor of the warehouse. Part of him winced, thinking of the cost of repair, before he reminded himself that this operation would likely result in the destruction of the entire warehouse. He kept a close eye on the crates where his quarry was likely still hiding. He didn't necessarily need to kill the kid- if he could just delay a bit longer, the targets would be in sight, and his compatriots would kill Marne. The shipgirls were likely to react badly, of course, and he didn't particularly want to calculate his own odds for survival. But they were low regardless, at this point, so he might as well finish the mission.
A sound caught his attention- a clack-clack noise. He spotted its source, something rolling across the ground toward him. When the penny finally dropped, he crouched and held his gun-arm over his head.
The grenade rolled to within feet of him before exploding. The fragments bounced harmlessly off his armor, not so much as denting the mysterious alloy the Sirens had made it of. As soon as he was sure he was safe, Thrush stood up again, preparing to fire.
A roaring sound filled his ears as the forklift, arms raised at chest level, crashed into him. The armor held, but the impact knocked him over, allowing the heavy machine to run over him bodily.
Thrush felt a flash of triumph- even with the full weight of the forklift on him, the armor didn't break. He would simply push the thing over and-
The forklift, teetering as it balanced on the Siren armor's torso, slowly shifted and fell down onto Thrush's head.
The helmet did not fare as well as the torso armor, and neither did Thrush's head.
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Belloni scrambled away from the forklift as it fell, desperate to keep from ending up under it. Hearing it crash down, he turned and saw what it had done to the quisling's head. He quickly looked away, feeling his stomach heave.
Picking up his rifle, he charged to the offices. He kicked in the door and tossed his second grenade before throwing himself back into cover.
There was a panicked shout, then the grenade went off. Belloni went in.
He fired a round into a quisling bent over at the waist, then another at one on the ground gripping some sort of Siren weapon. Something hit him in the shoulder, and he spun and lashed out with the butt of his Garand, knocking down a pistol-wielding quisling. The quisling grabbed his rifle and dragged it out of his hands as he fell, pulling Belloni with it. Belloni spotted another pistol tucked into the man's trousers and yanked it out, not even bothering to try and wrestle back his rifle. He fired a shot into the man's face and then turned to fire once more into the man with the Siren gun, who had managed to climb to his knees during the scuffle.
Breathing hard, Belloni scanned the room. There had been three quislings in the room. Two were dead. The first one he had shot was still breathing, but a glance at his wound showed he wouldn't be for long.
Belloni slumped against the nearest wall and allowed his racing heart to slow down.
So much for recon.
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"We're clear," shouted Enterprise as her "arrow" scattered a quisling position in front of them.
San Diego had wanted to keep driving, but after one look at the state of the ambulance, she had been unanimously denied. Nevada had taken over. Enterprise was perched on the top of the ambulance. It was nothing as difficult as riding a fighter into battle, and it allowed her to provide her own covering fire.
Nevada gave a thumbs-up out the driver's window and the ambulance shot forward. Enterprise caught a glimpse of Belloni through a window of a warehouse office- what was he doing here?- and then they were on the docks.
Nevada pulled the ambulance as close as she could to the Laffey. She jumped out and helped Tennessee and California ease Marne out of the ambulance and onto the ship, as San Diego and Cleveland laid suppressing fire into the rubble along the shore.
Enterprise followed, keying up her radio. "Yorktown, Enterprise. We have the Commander on-board now."
"Roger. I'll have the float-plane with the doctor meet you at the designated coordinates." There was pause. "Is he-"
"He'll be fine," said Enterprise firmly. "Enterprise over and out."
She turned back, watching as the other shipgirls gently laid the Commander onto a cot. "Please be fine," she whispered.
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Belloni sat heavily down on a chair as the ambulance made it to the dock. Absently, he picked up his rifle from the dead quisling and started checking it for damage, his sergeant's last comments on the state of his rifle ringing in his ears.
There was the sound of a gunshot outside and then a number of voices. Belloni jumped to his feet and popped his head out for a peek, which elicited another gunshot.
Fortunately, it missed. In that short glance, however, Belloni had recognized the uniforms of an Army outfit that was posted in the city.
It took him a second to remember the recognition password. "Flash!" he shouted. Another burst of fire peppered the building. "Flash, goddammit!"
After a moment in which he made out whispered conversation, a voice deep with suspicion answered. "Thunder."
"Welcome," said Belloni, finishing the exchange.
Still cautious, the soldiers made their way into the office. Their eyes flicked around. The squad leader frowned at Belloni. "Who the hell are you?'
"Lance Corporal Edward Belloni, 1st Marines, 3rd Battalion," replied Belloni tiredly.
The soldier looked around. "Marines, huh?" His eyes took in the corpses, the shattered windows, the shrapnel-peppered walls. "Yeah, that tracks."
A/N: Apologies for the length of time that took- I did a lot of re-writing when I decided the chapter wasn't turning out right. I definitely wanted to get it done by today, because I'm going to be away for a bit (probably about a week) because of life and stuff. So hopefully this will get us through for a few days.
This is a bit of a first draft chapter, so there's a decent chance I'll be rewriting it to some degree later. That said, nothing substantive should change. I just wanted to get it posted before I left for a week.
One final thing- since I've been playing Azure Lane again, I decided to create a guild to see what that's all about (I had actually stopped right around the time guilds were first introduced, so they're new to me). Anyway, I thought it might be fun to create one for readers of the fanfic. It's called MoC (short for the title) and is on the Little Enterprise server. If anyone is interested, feel free to join. Otherwise, any advice on how to maximize the use of a guild will be appreciated. Thanks for reading!