Commander Andrew Thorson waved over his shoulder as Laffey left him, excusing herself to 'finish her nap' in her room. Setting his personal belongings on the floor, he took a seat at a small metal desk to the left of the helm and laid out Admiral Hawkins' tags before him as well as the leather binder containing the only information he'd ever been given on the war he'd just been thrust into between the four factions, the Sirens, and the shipgirls.
"No offense, Hawkins, but you didn't leave me with much," Thorson complained, turning the cold metal over in his hands as he looked for anything out of place that might indicate the location of the former Azur Lane facility the Admiral had mentioned. "Name, date of birth, Catholic, place of residence…damn. Not sure why I thought it would be this easy." The Commander looked up for a moment and took in the view from the bridge. The smoke of Pearl Harbor was a faint black blotch to the east now, the calm Pacific before him belying the tragedy that had taken place that morning. As he aimlessly ran his fingers over the tags, Thorson felt the briefest of inconsistencies against the tip of his index finger. Returning his attention to the desk, he flipped the tag over and noticed a feature he'd understandably missed in the chaos of battle. "Well then, what do we have here?" Thorson murmured as a razor thin gap could be seen at the end of the tag. Retrieving his pocket knife from his bag, Thorson flicked the blade open and carefully wedged the tip between the metal of the tag. He let out a long, deep breath he hadn't been aware he was holding when the back of the tag began to give, the thin piece of metal clattering to the floor of the bridge and revealing a slim compartment in which rested a single sheet of paper.
"Please be simple coordinates," Thorson pleaded, tilting his head back with relief as his wish was granted. With renewed purpose he rooted around and found a chart of the Pacific, attempting to pinpoint the coordinates. "Alright, 21.54 north and 179.43 west…" he spoke aloud as he narrowed down the location, falling almost right in the middle of the triangle formed by Midway Atoll, Johnson Atoll, and Wake Island. Thorson's heart sunk again. "What the hell is this place, Atlantis? There's no land anywhere near there!" He lamented, double checking his work. After arriving at the same location again Thorson located a pen, marked it, and set the map aside before doing his best to return the time-yellowed scrap of paper to its home for safekeeping. He pulled Hawkins' binder over to him and opened it, hoping to find anything that might confirm the location of the joint Sakura and Eagle Union facility.
"Let's see here, the Sirens and cubes can wait," he began, flipping past the first few documents and manila folders. "Experiments on tanks, failed application of wisdom cubes to contemporary firearms, hypotheses on motivations of the Sirens…here we go, this might have something," Thorson said, withdrawing a folder marked with the symbols of both the Union and the Empire. Within moments he was enraptured, almost forgetting about his original purpose as the engineer in him took over. "Would you look at that, this must be it! Integration of wisdom cube technology into a major port including direct integration of labs and equipment to warships themselves. Second location to see the birth of a shipgirl via technology…wait a minute."
Thorson held up the report from a Union engineer in his right hand before retrieving a Sakura report he'd skimmed over moments before with his left. "Successful creation of shipgirl for IJN hull Amagi following implementation of technology by Eagle Union engineers," he recited, reading the first report. "Successful creation of shipgirl Yorktown following implementation of technology by Sakura Empire engineers," he continued in a confused tone, reading the second report before placing them both on the table and scratching his head. "They're obviously referring to the same technology, whatever this conductive matrix is. But why give each other credit for it? It's not like anyone won an award for this," Thorson pondered. After failing to arrive at any satisfactory conclusion he folded the two papers back together and marked them for further study at another time, continuing his review. Soon another folder caught his eye.
"Ironblood laboratory in the Baltic it looks like, but why bother marking the folder top secret? All this is classified. Fuck, it's all in German," Thorson cursed, flipping through heavily marked pages of notes and diagrams, many of which were hand drawn and depicted female bodies. A Union translator had poured over most of the document and left notes in the margins. "Examination of shipgirl anatomy, a study," he recited, feeling an unnatural chill creep up his spine. He continued. "What did you look into then? Data on metabolism, ability to receive and interpret environmental stimulus, correlation of appearance to ship type. All very interesting, Fritz, but definitely not something you stamp red ink all over. Wait, what's this? Stress testing of shipgirl physiology? That can't be…" Thorson trailed off as his eyes flitted over the paper, jumping from subheader to subheader, from ship name to ship name as he began to realize that the study was exactly what he thought it was. Exposure to extreme thermal conditions, subject KMS Destroyer Z1. Ability to withhold gratification and satiation, subject KMS Heavy Cruiser Prinz Eugen. Exposure to extended solitary confinement, subject KMS Battleship Tirpitz. Exposure to complete sensory deprivation, subject KMS Destroyer Z23. Exposure to direct and alternating current, subject KMS Light Cruiser Konigsberg. Ability to recover from repeated blunt force trauma, subject KMS Heavy Cruiser Deutschland. Resistance to common methods of torture and information extraction, subject KMS Admiral Graf Spee.
Thorson felt sweat beading on his brow as the list continued, his eyes widening and his hands beginning to shake with rage and horror. Examination of regenerative properties: lacerations, subject KMS Heavy Cruiser Admiral Hipper. Examination of resistance to small arms fire, subjects KMS Battle Cruisers Gneisenau and Scharnhorst. Examination of regenerative properties: limbs, subject KMS Destroyer Z25. "By God, did they actually-" Thorson's thought was arrested as a single photograph fell out of the folder, dislodged by his continued perusal of its dark contents. He picked it up hesitantly, unsure if he wanted to flip it over. The note on the back indicated it was a photograph of the KMS Carrier, Graf Zeppelin. Thorson glanced back at the report. "Examination of tendency to assume female form, functionality of external and internal secondary sexual morphology," Thorson whispered, his voice shot through with anger as he imagined the practical implementation of that study in particular. With a deep breath he turned the black and white photograph in his hand over and beheld its contents. "You bastards!"
Thorson was looking at a sterile, white table situated in a lab that was lit harshly from above. Secured to it by numerous leather straps was what had to be the shipgirl. Her body appeared flawless in the image, but Thorson thought he might vomit as he contemplated what men of learning and lacking in any sort of morality would do to such a pristine, womanly figure in the name of "science". Even in monochrome, Thorson could practically feel the gaze of the shipgirl bore into him, a look of utmost pain, fear, and stubborn defiance. The Commander took a deep breath and closed his eyes, replacing the photograph and shutting the folder and then the binder as a whole. He felt trapped on the bridge of the Laffey, wanting to run but knowing that only ocean and possibly a Sakura carrier group would await him. All he could do was pace and try to steady his breathing, wondering what sick world the ONI's personnel division had thrust him into. Had the Sakura Empire conducted such experiments on their shipgirls? Had the Royal Navy? Had the Union? He wanted to say no but how could he ever be sure? At any rate he would have plenty of questions for Pennsylvania and Tennessee if he ever saw them again, to say nothing of what he'd do if he were ever to encounter a ship of Ironblood. "That's enough…get a hold of yourself, Thorson," he admonished himself, finally coming to rest and leaning his forearm against the nearest bulkhead, his forehead quickly following. The cold metal helped him settle his nerves enough to remember his place and his direct mission, to place thoughts of heroism and wishful thinking where they belonged. As he lifted the latch and opened the door to the rest of the ship Thorson took one last look back at the now ominous leather binder. He shook his head. "If we ever meet, Graf Zeppelin, I pray that you still have that defiant look in your eyes. Now…where can I find Laffey?"
Andrew Thorson was about at his wits end. Try as he might he couldn't locate anything resembling the 'command room' where he presumed Laffey was residing. Admiral Hawkins had mentioned they'd been retrofitted onto each ship that had spawned a shipgirl, but Thorson had been all through the crew sections of the Laffey and had seen neither hide nor hair of such a place, not even a sign. The completely empty ship certainly did nothing to set him at ease either. Were it not for the image of the waifish bunny he was looking for dancing around his head, Thorson would have absolutely begun lending credence to some of the ghost ship stories that had been swapped during long night cycles on his previous ship. "Damn, where the hell are you Laffey?" Thorson wondered aloud, resting a tired fist against the wall of the boiler room. His stomach growled insistently, compelling him to seek out the ship's galley instead. He was about to turn when a sound that was distinctly not the USS Laffey's boilers reached him through the ventilation outlet nearby. He had no idea how soft breathing noises were somehow being piped through the ship at a volume to make themselves known over the usual hum of the engines, but was more than willing to chalk it up to the supernatural shipgirls. Following the noise eventually led him to a small annex on the other side of the boilers with an unmarked door that rested slightly ajar. Thorson's spirits took another nosedive as he pushed the door open, finding Laffey asleep on a mattress in the center of a barren metal room.
"I've seen storage closets bigger than this. I guess Hawkins wasn't kidding when he said the girls were kept out of sight and out of mind. Poor girl," Thorson couldn't help but think, observing the thin furrow of Laffey's brow as she dreamed and clutched her hands tightly to her chest. "What was it? Were they just inconvenient? A promise broken? Power unrealized?" The commander continued to whisper and think, remembering the documented barbarism of the Ironblood scientists along with an emerging pattern of neglect, disappointment, and lack of interest from the Eagle Union. "I know I promised to treat them like soldiers but…how can you treat someone like a soldier if you won't even treat them like a human being?" The hull of the Laffey was expectedly silent, providing little in the way of answers. Making up his mind, Thorson bent down to collect the small duffel that he presumed held Laffey's personal belongings, his eyebrows shooting into his hair as the distinctive clinking of full, glass bottles met his ears. Once he'd secured it over a shoulder he knelt at Laffey's side and picked her up as gently as he could, remembering Arizona's body as Laffey proved equally fragile in his arms. "Let's get you out of here, shall we?"
"Hmm…mmm?" As Laffey cracked her eyes open she was greeted by unfamiliar surroundings. The harsh light above her was gone, replaced by a dark shape. Something lay atop her. The boilers were faint in her ears, not loud. She was somewhere she didn't know. She was scared. "Ayaya, Javey, Zed, where are you?" She called out sleepily. A soft voice answered.
"Who are they?" Thorson asked. Laffey gave a shriek as she realized she'd been watched while sleeping and sat bolt upright in bed, her ears brushing against the top bunk. The Commander chuckled. "You're lucky you're so short. A sailor like me would have a pretty bad headache right around now if he'd pulled that stunt."
"Why is Commander here? Where is Laffey?" The shipgirl asked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
"These are your new quarters, Laffey. I'd like you to sleep here and to be on the bridge or on deck when we're in combat or conducting exercises. Can you do that?" Thorson requested as he saw Laffey's eyes shift with understanding, registering that she was indeed in the crew quarters. She looked down and rubbed the coarse blanked with her hands.
"Laffey thinks this will be more comfortable but Laffey isn't part of the crew. Laffey's place is in her room."
Thorson shook his head. "Laffey, has anyone from the Eagle Union ever hurt you?" Laffey's red eyes shifted away from him as she fiddled with the cloth between her fingers. "Laffey…" Thorson was about to order her to tell him when he recalled her words from that morning. With a sigh he stood, unzipped Laffey's bag, withdrew a bottle of what had to have been filched bourbon, and sat beside her on her cot. "We need to talk about this too, but why don't I tell you about me first?" He offered. Laffey had brought her knees up to her chest in as defensive a position as she could manage given the situation but nodded silently at his suggestion, ears bobbing in time with her head. Thorson set the bottle between them and rested his elbow on his knee, forming a resting place for his chin as he considered where to start.
"I'm Andrew Thorson, twenty seven years old, engineer by training. I don't have any siblings. My mom and dad are back in San Diego living what I hope is still a peaceful life. My dad's got a construction company and that's where I worked when I wasn't studying. With everything that's been going on in the world I signed up for the Navy about a year after I left school, figured the Eagle Union could use some brains to go with the brawn." Thorson paused to laugh at himself, a light chuckle at best. "I suppose that's pretty presumptuous of me but what can I say? I'm still young and a bit stupid I guess. At any rate, after a couple years of training I ended up on a submarine. Served there until a little while ago. I got a letter saying I'd been promoted and transferred. Sounded pretty sweet, right?"
"Laffey…thinks it would be nice to be promoted," Laffey whispered, scooching an inch closer to the Commander as he continued for her.
"I don't think I'm getting paid much more so it's not all it's cracked up to be but…I guess Commander Thorson has a ring to it. Well, soon as my submarine docked I was put on a plane, then a boat, then another plane and I found myself at Pearl Harbor. I learned that ships like you exist, Laffey. I learned that Sirens are real. I learned that the Eagle Union will probably be going to war. I saw…I've seen more things in the last half a day than I even care to admit. I'm scared, Laffey."
"Oom?" Laffey made a questioning noise and came closer still, compelling Thorson to remove the bottle of alcohol from her reach. "Why is Commander afraid?"
"Because I'm afraid that humanity has been duped into a second world war, Laffey. I was alive when the last one ended. There were Siren ships in that raid, working with the Sakura. They targeted me and the Admiral and everyone else important on that base that knew about shipgirls. I was given orders to find an old Azur Lane base and somehow stop them and I don't know the first thing about them. I don't…I barely know anything about you, even one ship. I know barely anything about Pennsylvania or Tennessee. I'll never know enough about Arizona. At this rate…I'll lose every battle."
"Commander doesn't seem incompetent," Laffey countered, fidgeting with her hands and constantly readjusting her clothing in minute ways next to him. To her surprise he stood and walked down the row of beds to one in the corner where he had apparently placed his effects while she'd been sleeping. He returned with a small paperback book in his hand.
"Laffey, the bottle. Now."
"Commander is mean," Laffey pouted, handing him the bottle from behind her back anyway.
"Yeah…I probably am. Ready for story time?"
"Mmm?" Laffey turned her head almost ninety degrees at the abrupt change of topic. Thorson flipped through the well-read pages to one that had been dog-eared by him years before.
"If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. If you know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory gained you will also suffer a defeat. If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will succumb in every battle. This is the Art of War by Sun Tzu, a treatise on warfare written long ago. That line, at least, still holds true today. I don't know about shipgirls. I cannot fight the Sirens," he concluded, closing his eyes in frustration and shaking his head. He was brought back as a small hand tugged at his sleeve and a surprisingly warm body leaned against him.
"Commander wants to fight with Laffey?" She was looking at him with a seriousness he'd never seen from her before. Thorson saw no reason to deny her.
"Yes."
"Then Commander should know about Laffey. But Laffey is afraid too."
"Why?"
"Laffey doesn't want to be alone again."