Tempest Chapter 30: Scramble, a hololive fanfic

…

Admiral Jurard T. Rexford stands at the bridge of the ECS Metro Elysium. Before him, through the reinforced glass of the bridge, the restless waters of the Atlantean Ocean lifts up and drags down the mighty warships and sturdy transports of the Rexford Battlegroup as if they were mere toys in a bathtub. Wave after wave slam into their hulls, threatening to capsize them at the slightest fault.

More than that, beyond the vicious waves and the vast, harkening darkness, a hidden enemy lurks and stalks them. Studying them. Preparing to destroy them.

But the Rexford Battlegroup sails forth.

Jurard stands still.

Behind him, his adjutant, Commodore Ruze, and his ranking officers scramble to relay the orders to the rest of the battlegroup.

'Prepare for battlestations.' Jurard told them earlier.

Gazing upon the moonlight fleet, the admiral sighs.

"Everything's restless around me, and all I can do is stand still." Jurard laments. He stands still despite the rocking of the boat and the cacophony of orders behind him.

His eyes wander towards the silhouettes of his two fleet carriers. He gazes upon them fondly.

"If only I was still an aviator. Just like when this damn war broke out eight years ago." Jurard reminisces. He frowns, "If only that war never broke out in the first place."

No one answers his wishful thinking. Time, despite Jurard's prayers, marches on forward.

His hand searches for the old, salt-rusted aviator's pin above his medal board and rubs it. As he does, he looks up to the moon shrouded by thick clouds in the heavens and furrows his brow, "But we've gotta do all we can to make it to the morning!"

Far beyond the dark horizon, scouring the waters of the Atlantean Ocean, a Pavolian naval battlegroup lurks. A myriad of questions rise and fall in Jurard's mind like his warships at the mercy of the ocean.

"How many ships are they fielding?"

"Where are they deployed?"

"What formations are they using?"

"What's their trajectory?"

"How many carriers do they have?"

"How much did the INU tell them?"

He pinches his aviator pin and gnashes his teeth.

"Who's gonna be able to strike first? Us - or them?"

Even as his heart and his mind swirls violently, Jurard stands still. He keeps his questions to himself. Instead, he lays his hand over his heart and mutters reverently.

"Aba, ginoong Kanata. Gabayan mo kami. Ngayon at magpakailan man."

He repeats the chants thrice. Each time, he traces a triangle through the air and joins his hands in prayer.

Then, he falls silent.

Contemplating.

"What would the old me have been doing?"

His thoughts are promptly interrupted. Commodore Ruze breaks from the ranks of the officers on the bridge and joins Jurard.

"The fleet is prepared for battlestations, sir. What are your orders?" Ruze announces wholeheartedly.

Jurard folds his arms and turns to Ruze.

"I'm still formulating my strategy." Jurard answers him.

"That Pavie scout plane is circling us, sir. It's got some friends now too. More scout planes. They're not going to give us much time to think." Ruze urges, "We're going to lose initiative completely at this rate. We won't be able to go 'whaling'."

"Don't rush me, son. Don't rush me." Jurard snaps, "Night battles are no joke."

Ruze heaves a sigh and mutters beneath his breath.

"So this is why the folks at the admiralty called you a dinosaur…"

"What was that?" Jurard's expression sours.

"Nothing, sir." Ruze feigns innocence.

"I'm not taking any chances." Jurard answers him, "If the Pavies can get scout planes flying this far out from the shore, then we're not the only ones with carriers."

"Pavie flattops aren't big, sir." Ruze remarks flatly.

"Yeah, but we don't know how many they have. We can't assume air superiority - and they know where we are." Jurard remarks. He forms a fist and taps the glass, "All you need is a well-placed bomb or torpedo and you'll have a catastrophe on your hands, Commodore."

"Fair point, Admiral." Ruze tips his hat.

The other officers report to Ruze. Once he heard them all, Ruze faces Jurard again.

"I've just been told that all ships have all hands on deck and are awaiting further orders, sir." Ruze reports, "What are your orders?"

Jurard pauses briefly. Then, he speaks with conviction.

"I want the Tokino and the Hoshimachi to launch their fighters. Full scramble. I want them all in the air as quickly as possible." Jurard commands Ruze, "Then, have our torpedo bombers ready to sortie after the fighters."

"You're going to leave torpedo bombers on the decks of our carriers, sir?" Ruze raises his brow, "We can keep them below the armored decks."

Jurard snorts.

"When the Pavie bombers come - and they will - we're gonna have to be ready to fight the fuckers off." Jurard grins sharply, "Then, their survivors are gonna lead our torpedo bombers back to their flattops. We'll be sending THEM to the bottom of the sea. Got it?"

"Understood!" Ruze nods. He writes down the orders on a sheet of paper and passes it onto an officer. He turns back to Jurard with a fresh sheet of paper and asks, "What about the rest of the fleet?"

"Split them into three squadrons. Have the destroyers spread out and scan the area with their sonar. Loose formation. I don't want a single Pavie sub to get through." Jurard answers firmly, "Our light cruisers will stick close to the transports. Tight formation. We'll need their anti-aircraft guns to protect Colonel Ravencroft and her troops. They won't be able to turn the tide for us from the bottom of the Atlantean."

Jurard takes a deep breath and holds onto the rails of the bridge.

"As for our battleships, load Super-Heavy Armor Piercing. All guns. We'll stick with our carriers and protect them. Once we spot the enemy surface vessels, we'll get in range and rain Mother Kanata's fire upon them. That'll strike the fear of Her angels into them!"

Ruze finishes writing the orders and salutes Jurard.

"Aye, aye sir! Orders received."

Commodore Ruze turns around to relay Jurard's strategy to the fleet. However, Jurard grabs his shoulder and stops him.

"Wait, son. One more thing." Jurard says.

"Sir…?" Ruze tilts his head, bewildered.

Jurard looks Ruze in the eyes and speaks wholeheartedly.

"Before all that - I want to address the fleet." He grins, "Let me show you what this old 'dinosaur', as you say, can do."

…

Hours before sunrise, the skies above the Altantean Ocean are illuminated by spotlights. The nine warships and fifteen transport ships cast their lights, tracking the Pavolian scout planes looming around them like gnats.

One scout plane in the skies had become two.

Then four.

Admiral Jurard Rexford looks up to the nighttime light show from the bridge of the battleship ECS Metro Elysium. He holds the handset of the battleship's communications suite. His adjutant, Commodore Ruze, and the other ranking officers of FLEETCOM, look on and wait for him to speak.

Jurard takes a deep breath and presses down on the handset.

…

"Soldiers, sailors and naval aviators of FLEETCOM. Mainlanders, Continentals and Sicarian Islanders - proud Elysians, all. Tonight - together, we embark on a great crusade on the high seas. A night battle that will be remembered in the history books when all is said and done. Tonight, the remnants of the Pavolian Fleet - their Angkatan Laut - will feel the Kanata-given wrath of the Elysian Navy!"

"Alas, while our ships are stronger than theirs - while our warplanes are mightier than theirs - and while our sailors are fiercer than theirs - we are fighting at a disadvantage. Numerous disadvantages …for reasons I would rather not wish to discuss.

"I will not lie to you. Though we have won victory after victory many years ago when the Pavolian Navy still had formidable surface fleets, that is not the case today. In this upcoming battle, we are outnumbered two-to-one. Our enemy, despite their faults and their flaws and their treacheries, are determined to face us today."

"The Pavolians are prepared for us. They have gathered here, under the cover of darkness, to humble us - to cripple us - to shame us! They wish to tell us that all hope on The Continent truly is lost."

"But if that is the case, then why do our soldiers fight on for the Exclave? Shall we abandon them to the Pavolian vultures that swirl around them? We. Shall. NOT!"

"Instead, then, face this challenge head on! Do not give the Pavolians the satisfaction of victory tonight. Do not abandon our brave brothers and sisters besieged by the royal blue imperialist scourge! Let the torch of liberty light a fire in our hearts - and show the Pavolian Navy how to fight!"

"I have full confidence in your abilities, fellow Elysians. I will accept nothing less than full victory tonight! This will be the first time since the early years of the war that our navies will fight ship-to-ship on the high seas. Let's crush them completely and make sure that this will be the last!"

"Good luck and let us beseech the blessing of the almighty Mother Kanata to see us through!"

…

Jurard puts his finger off the communications suite, cutting the transmission. His confident expression fizzles away like the foam of the surf. Commodore Ruze and the other officers turn to him. All of them hold their breath.

Jurard whirls around, joins his hands behind his back and finally gives them their marching orders.

"BATTLESTATIONS!"

…

...

A myriad of fighter plane engines roar to life upon the decks of FLEETCOM's two large fleet carriers. Pilots and flight deck crew scramble to get their warplanes ready. Those planes are lined up on the flight decks and begin taking off one by one into the twilight skies.

Those fighter planes zoom past the bridge of the Metro Elysium. Jurard looks up to the planes and salutes them as they pass the bridge by.

Ruze joins him once more. He glances at Jurard looking up and then at the aviator pin on his chest.

"Don't you wish you were still up there with them, Admiral?" Ruze asks, "Facing the enemy head on? Earning the glory for our nation?"

Jurard glances at Ruze. He sees a more pristine aviator's pin on the Commodore's uniform.

Jurard stands still and looks out the bridge as he asks, "What plane did you qualify on, son?"

"T-the Hellcat sir. Grumman F6F-5 Hellcat. At Penacony, North Elysium on the mainland. Best in the business." Ruze answers proudly, "I shot down a lot of Pavie flyers before I took the officer's course."

"I see." Jurard hums.

He eyes the fighter planes taking off from the Tokino and the Hoshimachi carriers. Most of them are F6F-5 Hellcats.

"Heh. Newblood." Jurard chuckles.

"What about you, sir?" Ruze asks.

"The P-40 Warhawk. At Shi'eoh. My hometown." Jurard answers.

"A pre-war model…" Ruze notes, "And that's an Army Air Force plane, isn't it?"

"It was. But all of the Navy planes in the base were blown up by Pavie bombs that day I earned my wings." Jurard answers grimly, "I had no other choice."

Jurard tips his peaked cap to cover his eyes.

"I've been fighting the Pavies longer than you have. Your hometown hasn't been subjected to Pavie air raids either. Honestly, I just want this war to end." Jurard admits. He sighs, "My flying days are long behind me."

Ruze looks bewildered.

Before he could remark, the bridge rings with the beeping of their encrypted telegraph machine.

BEEP-BEEP-BEEEEP-BEEEEP!

A communications officer grabs the ticker tape as it rolls out of the machine. He raises his head and hollers.

"Pavolian Dive Bombers. Forty or fifty! Flying due north-east. T-they're splitting into a pincer!"

Jurard grits his teeth and hollers back.

"DOUBLE TIME ON OUR FIGHTERS! ALL SHIPS, PREPARE FOR ANTI-AIRCRAFT COMBAT."

The officers echo Jurard's orders to the vessels of the battlegroup. The spotlights from the ships swing south-west towards the incoming dive bombers. Anti-aircraft batteries of all calibers begin firing.

POMPOMPOMPOMPOMPOM!

Explosive shells burst like fireworks in the night sky. Anti-aircraft guns of the battleships, cruisers, destroyers and transport ships alike fire relentlessly at the Pavolian dive bombers. About a dozen dive bombers take hits and burst into flames with their bombs, streaking crackling balls of fire through the skies.

Then, a handful of fighters from the ECS Tokino and ECS Hoshimachi intercept the survivors.

RATATATATATATATATATAT!

Another dozen or so dive bombers are torn to shreds by Elysian fighter planes. Dogfights break out, thinning the herd of Pavolian aircraft even more, but two dozen continue on. They split up into four groups, eyeing the four Elysian capital ships at the center of the formation.

"MACHINE GUNS!" Jurard shouts at his officers, "STARBOARD AND PORTSIDE! ALL HANDS TO MACHINE GUNS!"

RATATATATATATATATATAT!

POMPOMPOMPOMPOMPOM!

RATATATATATATATATATAT!

Autocannon flak bursts darken the night, contrasting with the tracer rounds of twin-mount M2 heavy machine guns that streak through the night. All twenty-four vessels frantically shoot shells and shots while spotlights track the daring raiders.

Concentrated fire brings down many more Pavolian Stuka dive bombers mid-air, but a dozen still cut through. They turn their planes skillfully and dive towards the two battleships and the two carriers. Their Jericho Trumpets begin to wail like banshees.

WREEEEEEEEEE!

Jurard looks up from the bridge. He sees the bombs on their wings and their bellies glistening in the night.

His heart nearly stops.

He remembers the Pavolian air raids over his town.

"THEY'RE DROPPING BOMBS! ALL HANDS, BRACE FOR IMPACT!" cries Jurard, "BRACE!"

That's all he can say before the Stukas pull up and drop their first payloads.

Dozens of bombs fall upon the core of the Rexford Battlegroup. Many bombs splash into the ocean and explode harmlessly beneath the waters.

Some bombs, unfortunately, do find their marks. They're struck all at one.

BOOOOOOM!

The edge of the runway of the ECS Hoshimachi.

BRA-GOOOM!

A couple of fighter planes still perched on the deck of the ECS Tokino.

BOOOOOOM!

The B-position main gun battery of the ECS Posidon's Point.

BRA-GOOOM!

And a starboard-side anti-aircraft battery of the ECS Metro Elysium, just to the right of the ship's bridge!

Jurard, Ruze and the officers on the bridge are rattled by the blast. They cling onto anything or anyone they can hold on to. Maps, pencils, coffee cups and seafaring instruments fall off the tables and onto the bridge floor in a loud clatter. Some of the reinforced glass of the bridge shatters too.

"Punyeta…!" Jurard curses. He picks a shard of reinforced glass from the side of his face and tosses it aside. The ringing in his ears muffles his own voice for a moment before it eventually clears.

He winces and picks himself up from the floor. Ruze and the other officers are still shocked and pale. Jurard picks up one of the binoculars scattered on the floor and eyes the Pavolian raiders.

Only six of them remain.

"They dropped their bombs, but they're not going home." Jurard growls. Then, his face grows pale, "They're turning right back to us. Another attack vector!? Is this some sort of suicide mission!?"

Elysian fighter planes chase and shoot three more of the stubborn raiders on their way up, but the last three evade the interceptors and turn into their dives.

Even through the darkness, Jurard sees the gun barrels of the Stukas' machine guns pointed at him, Ruze and the ranking officers of Elysian FLEETCOM.

The bomb-less Stukas dive again. This time, all together.

"What kind of commander would do this!?" Jurard snaps, muttering to himself.

In Jurard's mind, the file photograph of Grand Marshall Zeta Vestia flashes for a moment. Even through the ink, he remembers seeing the disdainful look in her eyes. He remembers the atrocities that she has already signed off on.

This night raid would just be another notch in her detestable record of war crimes.

"That psychotic cat's going after brass!" Jurard gasps, deducing the mission of those Stukas.

Brass, as in himself - and Colonel Ravencroft.

Ruze stirs and rises from the floor of the bridge. The other officers follow suit, still shaken from their ordeal. Jurard gulps and yells.

"Everyone, STAY DOWN!"

"Huh…?" Ruze asks in a daze, "What are you…?"

Once again, the Stukas' Jericho trumpets blare.

Jurard grabs Ruze by the shoulders and forces him down to the floor. The other officers stay put too as the Jericho Trumpets fill their ears.

And then…

RATATATATATATATATATAT!

Pavolian machine guns shred into the damaged bridge of the Metro Elysium. Bullets fly and ricochet inside the bridge while Jurard holds Ruze down. The other officers take cover underneath anything solid too.

Electrical lights in the bridge flicker on and off until the room is cast in complete darkness. Debris and shards of glass fall upon Ruze, but Jurard keeps his head low and shields him from it all.

"Admiral…!" Ruze gasps. He looks up to Jurard on top of him, silvered by the moon, and sees blood on his khaki uniform, "Are you alright?"

Jurard grunts, but he stays perfectly still. As he does, he counts the Stukas as they zip past the bridge.

"One… two… three!"

Once the last Stuka passes the bridge, Jurard gets off Ruze and runs towards the blasted anti-aircraft battery near the bridge. He finds a twin-mount M2 Browning heavy machine gun, cocks it and trains its sights at the Pavolian Stukas.

He spots them dodging Elysian fighter planes and anti-aircraft guns alike. They're gaining altitude on their way, perhaps, to strike the bridge a third time.

With the twin-mount M2 Browning in his hands, the bloodied Jurard goes back in time for a heartbeat and a half. He feels like his younger self - a naval aviator unburdened by rank or medals or the weariness from war. Memories come flooding back.

For a moment, he is - once again - the apex predator who defended the Sicarian skies when the war began.

He watches the climbing moonlit Stukas through the sights, stalking them as if he was still in the cockpit of a P-40 Warhawk. The ringing in his ears is replaced by the hum of his old plane's engine. His anxious heart, for once, is finally still.

"Bounty Hunter." Jurard mutters to himself, remembering his old call sign, "Engaging the target!"

Jurard pulls the trigger.

RATATATAT! RATATATAT! RATATATAT!

He fires short bursts at the retreating planes, catching one as they turn for a third attack. His shots tear through the first Stuka's wing, tearing it apart.

The first Stuka goes into a wild spin and dives into the deep dark ocean with a splash.

"One down." Jurard notes.

Jurard adjusts the twin machine gun mount and looks down its sights again. He aims for the second Stuka on the turn.

RATATATAT! RATATATAT! RATATATAT!

His shots strike center mass, tearing through the second Stuka's fuel tanks. The pockmarked plane catches fire, losing altitude quickly before it skids on the Atlantean Ocean and breaks up in a vicious fireball.

"That's two!" Jurard grunts.

He trains the machine guns towards the third and final Stuka. The plane approaches Jurard upside down in a shallow dive, accelerating on the approach. Its Jericho Trumpet sounds harrowingly.

WREEEEEEEEEE!

Jurard clicks his tongue and pulls the trigger.

RATATATAT! RATATATAT! RATATATAT!

He hits the plane's left wing, damaging it. But the Stuka flies on, undaunted.

The Stuka answers with its own machine guns.

RATATATATATATATATATAT!

Jurard takes cover behind the gun shield of his machine gun mount. Bullets strike steel and whiz over and around him.

But then, the last Stuka explodes and crashes bluntly into the side of the battleship. Jurard is shaken, but he comes out of the gun shield and looks overboard.

He sees the burning Stuka lodged harmlessly on the armored lower deck of the Metro Elysium. Firefighters and marines rush to the scene with extinguishers and rifles.

"That was close." Jurard groans, "But who shot that…?"

Jurard looks across the waters to the closest vessel to his: the ECS Landing Ship, Tank 11. He sees a familiar face manning one of the machine guns of the vessel.

Major Shiori Novella.

Jurard takes off his peaked cap and salutes her. She does the same followed by a thumbs up.

'Nice shooting.' She seemed to say.

Jurard forms guns with his fingers and points back at Shiori, wordlessly answering 'You're pretty good, too.'

Shiori nods and retreats back into the shelters of her transport ship. Jurard turns to do the same, but his wounds sting on his back. He winces. His grip on his peaked cap slips and a gust blows it out of his hand.

"Shit…!" Jurard curses.

He steels himself from the pain and chases after his peaked cap. However, a hand reaches out of the devastated bridge and catches it mid-air.

It's Commodore Ruze.

Ruze grips the peaked cap and shows it to Jurard.

"Holy shit, sir! That was amazing!"

Jurard manages to force a grin.

"This 'dinosaur's' still got it." He boasts.

But he grunts in pain again.

Ruze, with the peaked cap in hand, rushes over to Jurard.

"Sir, you're hurt." Ruze states, looking over at Jurard's bloodstained and tattered khaki coat.

"N-no shit." Jurard croaks. He holds onto Ruze's shoulders for support and hobbles forward, "They're shallow cuts. Just call a medic. I'll be fine."

He turns to Ruze and adds, "There's many others who are probably in worse shape than me. Some died, too. They're the ones you should be worrying about."

"But sir!" Ruze protests.

"The Metro Elysium's my flagship, but you're its captain. Those sailors and marines are your responsibility." Jurard insists. He pats Ruze's shoulder, "Do your duty, and I'll do mine. We have to be ready to turn the tables on the Pavolian fleet when the time comes."

Ruze lowers his head.

"... aye, aye. But will you really be alright?"

"Get me that medic and I will." Jurard snickers, but he winces in pain, "D-don't take too long though - and help me to my chair."

Ruze smirks.

"Can't keep a good man down, huh? You're not as bad as I thought, sir." He praises, "Alright. Let's go."

Ruze helps Jurard hobble back into the devastated bridge of the battleship. The ranking officers of FLEETCOM, many of whom are also injured to varying degrees, welcome the admiral.

Jurard looks out to the sea and sees the sun peeking out from the horizon. The sunlight caresses Jurard's soot and sweat-covered face and he grins.

"Ladies and gentlemen. Daylight's breaking. The Pavies won't be able to hide from us anymore. Not when Mother Kanata herself is smiling upon us now!"

He forms a fist and clenches it tightly.

"Her mighty, angelic grip is ours to wield! We're going to pay them back for this cowardly attack - tenfold! Continue as planned! We'll sink every last one of those fuckers and force our way into the Emerald Bay!"

Ruze and the ranking officers salute Jurard and roar back.

"AYE, AYE SIR!"

…

Meanwhile, aboard the nearby Landing Ship, Tank 11, Major Shiori Novella saunters into the nondescript, prefabricated shelter affixed to the deck. She puts away her gloves coated in machine gun grease and looks around her.

There, the ranking officers of Nerissa Ravencroft's CONCOM, are still hiding and huddling under cover. Only a few stray bullets have torn through the prefabricated walls and no one seems to be injured, but the officers are cowering all the same.

More than that, Colonel Ravencroft herself seems to be missing.

Shiori heaves a sigh.

She turns to a steel closet at the corner of the room and speaks to it.

"You can come out of the closet now, Colonel."

As if on cue, the closet creaks open and Colonel Nerissa Ravencroft pokes her head out sheepishly.

"A-are the Pavies gone?" Nerissa asks.

"For now." Shiori answers frankly, "But that will change very soon. Daylight's breaking and the Rexford Battlegroup's fighters have spotted the enemy fleet. Admiral Rexford is keen on taking the fight to them."

"I-is that so?" Nerissa hums. She hobbles out of the closet and dusts off her uniform, "So, more waiting, then?"

"No, ma'am. Fighting." Shiori corrects her, "We're passengers on this boat, but the Navy boys and girls still need our help defending it."

"That's the Navy's job, isn't it?" Nerissa asks.

"Our troops want to help too. They're going to get stir crazy if they sit back." Shiori insists. She looks around the shelter again and sighs, "And it would help if the officers who say they're going to lead them into battle don't shut themselves in the moment shots are fired."

"Huh…!?" Nerissa snaps.

Shiori, however, cuts her off.

"I had to step in and lead the troops myself, ma'am." Shiori reveals sharply, "We have to set a good example. That's why Lt. Colonel Hakos is so loved by the BRIGCOM troops."

"Hakos?" Nerissa raises her brow.

"Don't you know that she's in a Sherman medium tank right now on the battlefield? Right there at the Dog White Zone. That tank's her headquarters now and she's right there - fighting, struggling and suffering with her troops."

Nerissa shrivels up under Shiori's stern gaze. The ranking officers of CONCOM gasp, shocked to see a Major chastising a Colonel.

Shiori is unmoved by their chatter. She folds her arms and scolds her superior officer.

"You have two choices when we land on the continent and absorb BRIGCOM into CONCOM, ma'am. Become like Brigadier Olivier and just pretend like you're doing something, leaving Lt. Colonel Hakos to do all of the work - or become like your subordinate and actually make something of yourself."

Nerissa's expression sours. Tears started to form at the sides of her eyes. She takes Shiori aside and whispers.

"I-I'm not cut out to do this, Shiorin. I'm not like you." Nerissa admits. She whispers even more softly, "I only got this rank because of my connections. I did everything Olivier told me to do. I had Metro Elysium police put down that antiwar protest at the military academy - that one with professors. I used my influence to have unpatriotic cadets expelled there! I even backed that bill to put children and teens into our war factories! In return, Olivier took me up the ladder on her back."

Shiori doesn't reply at first. She looks Nerissa in the eyes and answers her.

"You don't have to be like me. You shouldn't actually. You should forge your own path, just like Lt. Hakos has." Shiori urges her, "People change, Nerissa. You can too. You just have to have the courage to take the first step."

Nerissa pauses.

"You really think so, Shiorin?" She asks.

Shiori nods firmly.

"I'm the Archivist. I had access to the records of the military. When Hakos shipped to the Continent, she was much worse than Olivier. Look at her now, blossoming like a flower in the winter."

Shiori lays her hands on Nerissa's face.

"If Hakos can change - grow - that much, then you can too, Rissa."

"Shiorin…" Nerissa blushes.

She covers her face underneath her peaked cap. Then, she whispers.

"I'll try to change, Shiorin. For you."

Shiori smiles.

"Thank you." She says, holding Nerissa's hands in hers, "Now. Don't keep your forces waiting."

"Right." Nerissa nods.

She gingerly lets go of Nerissa's hand and faces her ranking officers. Shiori, meanwhile, takes a deep breath and shouts without missing a beat.

"CONCOM! ATTEN-TION!"

Nerissa's officers awkwardly stand in attention and salute. Shiori steps aside and lets Nerissa speak.

The Colonel clears her throat and, for the first time, gives her formal orders. She starts with a little bit of a stammer at first.

"L-ladies. Gentlemen. We have an upcoming operation that we will… we will execute within the next two or three days - as soon as the Navy can escort us safely to the objective zones."

But, in the corner of her eye, she sees Major Shiori Novella looking on from the side with a small smile on her lips. Nerissa herself starts to smile as well and she speaks with more vigor.

"I want to make sure that everything is accounted for and that CONCOM forces are prepared to do what needs to be done. The outcome of this operation - and the war as a whole - will depend on our actions when the time comes. So, can I count on all of you to rally the troops?"

The officers turn to each other, surprised to hear Nerissa speak about anything other than politics and frivolities. Shiori snorts and raises her voice again.

"Colonel Ravencroft has given her orders. We've got a big op ahead of us. Can she count on CONCOM's officers to do their jobs?"

"Y-yes ma'am!" The officers start saluting Shiori and Nerissa, albeit awkwardly.

Nerissa and Shiori return the salutes.

"Good." Nerissa finally smiles, "Now let's get to work. We can't leave that rat Hakos and her gang out there to dry!"

…

Across the waters of the Emerald Bay, at the bomb-blasted ditches of the Elysian Army by the Dog White Zone cape, the damaged M4 Sherman medium tank of Baelz Hakos lurks in an earthen bunker. Only its pockmarked turret and the scratched barrel of its main gun sticks out from the earthworks.

The Sherman tank's cupola pops open and a haggard, gaunt-faced Lt. Colonel Baelz Hakos emerges from it. She licks her dry lips, clutching her M2 Browning machine gun with one hand and her grumbling stomach with the other.

"I need… a cup of coffee." Bae croaks.

She grits her teeth, "Or a cup of anything really."

On the morning of the seventh day of the Pavolian siege of the Exclave, the Elysian defenders are at their breaking point.

Bae rubs her eyes but she can barely keep them open. Fatigue, hunger and thirst weigh down heavily on her, just like the bulk of the soldiers fighting and dying on the frontlines.

Her one luxury is the warmth of the interior of her tank, but many of her troops - especially her infantry - are not as fortunate. She gets reports of more and more people falling sick, succumbing to disease, frostbite, starvation or all three at once.

Even after their earlier victories at the start of the siege, malaise and hopelessness have started to set in throughout the ranks. Only a few still hold the candle of hope - and Bae's candle flickers frighteningly weak.

But then, as the sun rises over the besieged killing fields of the Dog White Zone, powerful explosions erupt from the sea.

Bae's heart nearly stops.

"The P-Pavie cruisers… again…!?" She cringes.

Bae grabs her radio and cries out with a hoarse voice, "A-all units… in Dog White Zone… b-b-brace for… naval bombardment."

All around Bae's tank, the soldiers in the trenches throw themselves onto the earth and take cover, almost as if it were second nature to them already. Bae, meanwhile, retreats into her cupola again but keeps the hatch open.

Dug in now, Bae and her forces wait for the fierce shelling of the KPP Darussalam and her heavy cruiser sisters to barrage their positions again.

They wait.

Wait.

And wait.

No shells come their way… but the distant explosions continue. A particularly powerful blast reverberates from beyond the sea, sending waves that ripple all the way to the shore.

Bae's radio crackles all of the sudden.

A familiar voice calls for her.

The voice of Admiral Jurard T. Rexford.

"This is FLEETCOM, speaking from Baker-Baker-One-Five. BRIGCOM, do you copy? Over."

Bae grabs the radio handset and answers, croaking.

"Acknowledged… FLEETCOM. This is BRIGCOM… speaking from, uh… from… Charlie-Tare-Mike… One-Oh-Niner. Dog-William-Zebra."

She clears her throat and promptly adds.

"That explosion just now…"

"That was the KPP Darussalam, ma'am. She's been neutralized. Helldiver bombers and super-heavy 406mm AP did her in. She's sinking to the bottom of the Atlantean Ocean as we speak. Her sisters are scattering, and we're hunting their flattops too. Payback for a damn curveball of a nighttime Stuka raid their threw at us."

Bae's sullen expression lightens.

"You mean, the Darussalam's battlegroup is gone…? That means…"

"That's right, BRIGCOM. We've shattered the Pavolian blockade. Supplies are en route to the Exclave on transport ships."

Tears start rolling down Bae's eyes.

"You bastards actually came… just like Ollie said you would." Bae wipes her eyes and smiles, "We… we actually have a chance."

"Aye aye, ma'am. And we're prepared to execute your battleplan at your command. The Rexford Battlegroup and Colonel Ravencroft's CONCOM forces embarked with us are at your disposal."

Bae heaves a sigh of relief and lays a hand over her heart. She holds her radio handset and speaks brightly.

"Continue with the resupply mission, Admiral Rexford." Bae starts. Her once dazed blue eyes grow clear and shimmer with hope, "Then, in twenty-four hours, we'll start driving these Pavie bastards out of Poseidon's Point!"

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TEMPEST

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