Northern Atlantic, near the coast of Iceland, 1300 hours:
Dark clouds covered the whole sky; waves went as high as a one-story building. Thunderbolts teared through the sky, snapping, cracking, and rumbling non-stop. A carrier bearing the number 80 on its flight deck, with aircraft on top chained to keep them in place. Just a few miles away, her escorts could be seen sailing near her, creating an in-depth, layered defence for the group and protecting the carrier from harm.
Medellein was sitting on the red fabric-covered seat, labelled with her name. She and her carrier strike group had been sailing for a few hours already and were on their way back to Iceland for a port call due to a warning about an incoming dangerous storm that was about to befall upon them. The speed indicator on the panel in front of her was showing the ship's speed, which was 50 knots, the maximum achievable speed thanks to other sources of power besides the nuclear reactor. It was the unique anomalous property of the soul cube, its origins still unknown and classified to this day, but it sure helped a lot in both civilian and military life.
On her computer-like display, she was monitoring all aspects of the ship, from its integrity status, the combat readiness of the aircraft squadrons, the sensors her ship carried, and other things essential to keeping the ship in good shape and combat ready, but most importantly, keeping her eyes on the radar display that was flying the big, massive radar that was the E-2D Hawkeye.
It has many names, like the Sauron eye and God's eye, but whatever it is called, for sure it is the very essential asset in her group that prevents them from getting jumped on by God knows what's out there trying to kill them. Flying just above the height required, it flew right and left, trying to dodge dangerous clouds that could strike lightning onto it, striking it down. The screen was lagging slightly by a few milliseconds due to the weak signal it was sending due to the hurricane but did not change much in its operations.
"Lisa, how long until Hawkeye 1-2 reaches bingo fuel?" Asked Medellein.
"Approximately 6 hours, Rear Admiral," said Lisa in her usual feminine robotic voice.
Medellein began thinking. The E-2D had been flying nonstop since yesterday, and obviously the storm could be going on for a few hours or even more. It would be a nightmare had it for some reason gotten into low fuel or gotten into any mechanical problems. Then there was the concern that the same unknown enemy that attacked her and CSG 1 might come back. But then suddenly, a notification popped into the screen.
"Message from ARTFLT COC, weather alert, type 3 hurricane coming in from the arctic circle and will cross paths with us in T-minus 30 minutes."
The message sent shocks into her—a type 3 hurricane? At that point, it'd surely tear her ship and the group apart. Last encounter, while doing negligible damage, almost tore the chains that were holding the aircrafts in place.
"Update: type 3 hurricane has grown into a type 4 hurricane, ETA 15 minutes."
A more powerful rumbling cracked from afar. Medellein looked forward and outside the window and saw a more intense storm coming towards her, which she felt had the intent of wanting to swallow them whole like the big fish that swallowed Jonah. At this point, with the situation growing more dire and the hurricane they were about to face, the E-2D that was flying out there wouldn't be able to fly any higher to dodge the deadly, thunderous clouds of death and would be forced to fly around and dodge the storm or dive down from 25,000 feet to try and land on the deck and get chained as soon as possible, which would be very impossible to do.
The more she thought of it, the more she grew frustrated with what she should do, causing her to scratch her head. The nearest airbase it can land on would be Keflavik Naval Air Station, which was already engulfed by the hurricane at this point, leaving to the only option that was a British airbase located a few hundred miles away from her group's position off the coast of Scotland. After she did some quick calculations, she made the choice.
"Set Hawkeye 1-2 flight path to RAF Lossiemouth. Notify them about its arrival," she said.
"Understood, setting its flight path to RAF Lossiemouth, ETA 2.5 hours. Notification has been sent."
Medellein then leaned her headset's mic to her mouth, "Attention to all of you; we're about to enter a type 4 hurricane within a few minutes. Attempts to stay away from the storm will be impossible, even with our current speed, as it will outpace us. Expect to be stuck within the storm for more than a day or so; God knows if we'll make it out in one piece or not. Also, we no longer have the Hawkeye up in the sky, so we'll be blind during the duration of the storm. Try to stay close to the formation and may Mother Nature have mercy on us all."
"I don't feel like we're going to-"
"Rosey, you bastard—DON'T MAKE THIS MORE SCARY THAT IT ALREADY IS!"
"Scared? I thought shipgirls were supposed to be fearless."
"Y-You-"
Medellein was about to play a loud static voice to ease the tension down and upon hearing Marie swearing, but then she remembered that she lost composure a while ago at the port and cursed and decided not to. She sighed at the bickering between the two girls. Well, guess things would never change even in the face of certain death. She looked back to the weather that was about to fall upon them.
The time ticked as the carrier strike group continued sailing against the storm with a thunderous dark sky and aggressive waves, and as the time ran out, hitting the final countdown, in they went, resting their fate on Mother Nature, not knowing what was about to befall them.
Seconds went by, and eventually the whole group was consumed entirely by the storm. A large wave could be seen climbing higher than the Enterprise before falling upon it, water sweeping through the deck and flooding the inner hangar, streaming through the aircrafts that were chained in place, until eventually water began exiting out of the lower hangar as the carrier lurched out from it and fell almost a hundred feet onto the surface.
The same fate was also suffered by the other unfortunate maidens, their hull brought up high by the waves, water washing through the ship before falling from a hundred feet. The group began to separate from one another, as the waves and the wind pushed them into random directions.
Medellein was slammed into the desk as the carrier fell into the water below after being brought up by the wave, hitting her stomach and giving it a slight bruise, causing her to throw up and spew out content from her stomach, spilling it onto the floor. She reached for her seat as she tried to hold onto it but was unable to and stuck in place on the floor. She felt her throat burning and irritated, caused by the stomach acid being spewed out earlier. Her breathing went heavy as she tried composing herself from the hit. How unlucky it was, for she had just finished eating like half an hour ago only to be smacked by Mother Nature itself.
As she was grunting, her mind shifted into something else. She was thinking about the girls under her command; were they doing alright under this unforgiving storm? She asked herself. She released a few coughs before switching on her computer-like vision.
"Lisa..." She paused and coughed before continuing, "... What's the status with the others?" She asked, coughing several times, still feeling the pain from the smack to the stomach earlier.
"Status on escorts- Sorry, but I am unable to track the rest of the group due to worsening weather- Warning: jamming signals has been detected, bearing 060, distance 20 nautical miles, height 10,000 feet."
"Well... I'll be damned." She cursed and tried standing back up to reach for the red seat. Jamming just right at her doorstep, being only 20 nautical miles and at 10,000 feet high. Who's crazy enough to fly or even sail under such weather? Her fleet were forced to sail through this storm due to the high speed and velocity of the storm.
Jamming could mean one thing only: an attack was imminent. She guessed that maybe once they got into the eye of the hurricane, a swarm of missiles would be launched at them by whatever enemy there might be, and with the situation they were in being all scattered all over the place and the lack of EW in the air and air combat patrols being non-existent, the attack would've saturated all of her missiles, rendering her defenceless.
Whoever this enemy was that she was facing, they sure had mastered how to fight in such extreme weather and had such good equipment, she thought.
"Definitely not Chinese..."
As the storm carried on, all of a sudden, the sky began screeching like an untuned mic, crackling and releasing a high-pitched voice, which caused Medellein to instinctively shut her ears in pain. Reminds her of the punishment she would usually give to her subordinates if they misbehave or are out of order.
As the sound pitch grew higher, all of a sudden, without a warning, a flash appeared amidst the thunderous dark clouds and blinded Medellein's eyes.
—-
Off the coast of the British Isles, Scotland, RAF Drem, 14th of October 1939, 1530 hours:
The sky was grey as the grey clouds shadowed over the Scottish soil. In the airfield that consisted of only a single building and a one-path airfield, a couple of Supermarine Spitfires parked just beside the runway could be seen covered in water from a rain prior. The vegetation was dripping droplets of water, while the runway itself, which was just a paved runway, was wet, but not too wet to turn into mud and turn the whole thing into a nightmare.
Then, the sound of a loudspeaker could be heard coupled with the sound of a bell being rung.
"Scramble! Scramble! Red section, vector zero-six-zero! Bandits inbound! Climb to angels one-zero!"
Men in their dress, carrying with them essential equipment like the bright yellow vest and their flight helmets that were packed with other things like the respirator and radio equipment, rushed out of their huts as they began making their way towards their aircraft.
Robert could be seen climbing onto the wing and hopping right inside the cockpit. His hands immediately fixated on the buttons and levers as he began starting up the engines.
"Red section, red leader. Get your engines up and running."
A small explosion could be heard as the engine was ignited and began spinning. The ground crew below could be seen taking off the bumps to let the aircraft roll. There, Robert could see the other Spitfires to his right from the cockpit, moving forward and moving right in front of him to taxi, followed by the other aircrafts until eventually his aircraft was all left.
He pushed on the throttle and steered the aircraft as he taxied it to the takeoff point to join with his fellow comrades that were about to take off.
"Red Section, clear for take off."
Robert's aircraft eventually came to a halt as he slowed the throttle down, stopping right behind the formation of Spitfires. The airfield was loud with the sound of propellers spinning, and howling loudly across the field. Robert kept his hand on the throttle. He released a breath, feeling nervous.
"Copy, tower, out. Alright, throttles up, lads'!"
One by one, the Spitfires lurched forward and ascended off the paved airfield and into the skies. As the last aircraft in front of Robert flew away, he pushed on the throttle, pushing his aircraft to the limit, and it began to move, wheels rolling on the paved path.
He kept a look at the flight instrument, particularly at the speed gauge, keeping his eyes at it until it eventually reached the speed of 140mph. The arrow finally hit the required speed, and he then pulled the stick, tilting his aircraft up, lifting it.
The aircraft began to ascend, the tracks no longer rolling on the ground. Going up steadily and going up to the clouds. Robert looked back and forth at the instruments and his surroundings, 500 feet and still going up; he kept his stick tilted.
Eight hundred feet, the aircraft was already at the shores and going wet feet. It began flying above the dark blue azure of the northern sea. He looked back at the glimpse of the Scottish coast and countryside, being all wet and rainy as usual. He then looked back forward to see the clouds slowly withering away, replaced by the sun once again shining upon the earth.
"Red section, red leader. Form up on me at angels one, heading one-zero-zero."
Robert looked at his instrument, specifically the compass, before looking up and seeing three silhouettes of Spitfires in a V-shaped formation, just lacking the right echelon.
"Copy red leader. Angels one, heading one-zero-zero. Coming in from angels zero-point-nine."
He then pulled the control stick, tilting the aircraft into an 80-degree angle. He felt the G-force pulling him down and felt his heart beating at a faster pace, making his breathing heavier every moment. But this amount of G-force is nothing compared to what he was trained for and he managed to overcome it and tried controlling his breathing pace while keeping his eyes on the speed gauge so as not to fly up for too long so that his aircraft does not stall after spending so much energy.
As Robert's aircraft finally reached the intended height, he lowered the throttle to adjust his craft's speed with the rest of the formation and tilted his stick to the left, eventually forming the formation into a finger formation.
Silence filled the void, aside from the sound of the Merlin engine working around the clock, powering each aircraft, until the section leader eventually spoke up.
"Right, well done, chaps. Drill's completed; lets head back now-"
"Red Leader, Ops. One bogey northwest-north of your position vector three-four-five, distance six-zero nautical miles, angels one-five. Intercept, over?"
The section leader's voice was cut off as a transmission came over the net from the operations centre to interrupt.
"Uhh, Ops, Red Leader. Roger, will intercept, out. Red section, turn to vector three-four-five on three, two, one, turn."
Robert to his left and saw as his section mates turned their aircrafts in the aforementioned direction. He too then turned his stick to the left, turning his aircraft while keeping it in formation.
The formation cruised through the sky and over the dark blue azure, flying further away from the shore, while they continued ascending slowly and surely, and after a while they reached 5,000 feet, going 6,000 and beyond.
"Ops, Red Leader. Update on the bogey, over?"
"Red Leader, Ops. Maintain current vector, bogey- update; bogey is now descending to angels five. Maintain current vector and angels and you should be able to see it in five."
"Acknowledged ops, keep us updated, out."
The event went uneventful as the formation flew on. No chatters, no conversation sparked, just the sound of the engine roaring. Exactly five minutes later, a transmission came in.
"Red Leader, Ops. Bogey dead ahead, angels four-zero."
"Ops, Red Leader, Copy. Right, Red Section, keep your eyes peeled open."
Without awaiting orders, Robert has already started looking right and left, through the window and below, searching for the said Bogey.
Seconds later, a voice came over the net, announcing
"Red Leader, Red Two. Bogey spotted, vector three-four-zero, angels uh... three. Bogey seems to be a double-engined aircraft, over."
"Copy, red two. Red section, prepare to intercept; do not fire unless I command. Dive to angels three, vector three-three-zero on my mark. In three, two, one, turn."
The Spitfires dove down to the left in sequence, descending down hundreds of feet per second, and there Robert saw it, the said bogey that was mentioned earlier. An aircraft layered in grey paint, almost 20 meters long, with a strange dome-like structure rotating on top of its roof.
"Red two and three, close in from the left. Red four, follow my lead. Begin identification." The section commander ordered.
"Copy, Red Leader."
The flight of four aircrafts split into two groups and began closing in from the flanks and was then just flying tens of meters away from the unknown aircraft.
As they got close, Robert could see better of the aircraft. The first thing he took notice of was the decals and insignia it was bearing, which was a roundel with a white star coupled with what looked like ribbons with three stripes on the sides and the word NAVY all in capitals on its right.
"Ops, Red leader. Bogey is an unknown double-engine aircraft featuring a spinning dome-like thing on its roof. We are unable to recognise it but the insignia suggests it's from the Eagle Union. There are no signs of life aboard the cockpit. How to proceed, over?"
"Eagle Union?" Robert thought, how did they get here? As far as he knew, there weren't any planned joint operations with them in the northern sea. But then the shape of the aircraft itself, it was way more alien than the typical aircrafts they would usually use; it looked a bit more futuristic.
—-
As the four Spitfires continued to tail over the lone strange aircraft, all the way down to the ocean, a flotilla of three Town class cruiser, each waving something similar to the British naval ensign, but instead of the Union Jack, was an emblem of a lion with a crown, sailing just a few miles away from the coast of Scotland.
A pale-skinned, short-statured, light brown-haired girl could be seen on the deck of the cruiser bearing hull number C24, wearing what seemed to be a French-style maid outfit. Her hair was tied in a French braid at the nape, her bangs covered her orange-yellowish eye, and as her footwear, she wore a heavy-duty patterned high-heeled shoe. Her hands were on the railing, her face was stoic, and her eyes were staring at the ongoing interception happening several hundred feet above her small flotilla that she was leading.
Her eyes were locked onto the strange grey-painted aircraft with a large dome on top of it. It looked like nothing that she had seen before, looking quite futuristic and alien at the same time, and felt siren like. Then she looked at the insignia it was bearing, looking strikingly similar to the Eagle Union's.
"What are they doing here?" She thought. So far, there haven't been any announcements regarding the deployment of some units from the Eagle Union, or any announcement from the Admiralty or Azur Lane; maybe it's due to secrecy or some sort?
"What is that thing?" One transmission could be heard over the flotilla's net, over the ship's close-range radio, remarking on the strange, unfamiliar aircraft, of which no one answered back.
The girl stared at the aircraft before eventually walking back inside the bridge where she then sat on the tall wooden chair, placing her arms on the chair's arms, feeling her body exhausted. Then, all of a sudden, she heard bipping noises coming in, a strand of codes captured by her tower.
She closed her eyes and began reading the message that was being transmitted in. The message was filled with a bunch of random letters, definitely an encrypted message. Then, she went to the desk located at the rear of her chair and grabbed a notepad and a pencil with a rubber on the other opposite end and began writing down the transmitted messages. The transmission continued on for almost a minute before eventually coming to a complete halt. [1]
She then began writing the decrypted message on another page, decrypting it with nothing but her memory from the codebook. She eventually finished decrypting and began reading it and just within a second, she ripped the paper out of the notepad along with pulling out a lighter. She placed the notepad and pencil on her chair, lit the lighter, and proceeded to burn the paper before going out to the bridge and threw it overboard, letting the remains fall into the sea below.
She released a sigh and returned back to her wooden chair and sat back on it. She then lifted her right arm and placed her head on her hand. She released yet another sigh and closed her eyes, reflecting at the message that was just transmitted earlier. She clenched her left hand into a fist, lips parting and showing her teeth clenched. Then, a radio transmission came in through the radio with an order.
"Sheffield, Birmingham. Set course to one-six-zero. New orders from the Admiralty."
[ Glossary:
- Scramble: The order given to aircrafts to be up in the air immediately
- Vector: Another word for bearings/headings.
- Section: The smallest unit within an RAF flight unit. A squadron usually consists of two flights, that is, flight 'A' and 'B,' which each consist of two units consisting of 3-4 aircrafts each, totalling it up to four within a squadron. Sections are usually referred to as colours such as red, yellow, blue, and green. (Fun fact: This system of organization is also shown and used in Star Wars.)
- PTT: Short for Push-To-Talk. A handheld part of a radio where you push a button or lever to talk. ]
[ Appendix:
- [1] HELLO LITTLE SHEFFIELD. ]