Sakura Empire — a land of mythology, vibrant traditions, and a culture stretching back thousands of years.
The sun hung high, golden light pouring through the dense forest canopy where the branches swayed and filtered its rays into dancing fragments. Crickets croaked lazily beneath the heat, adding their own rhythm to the whisper of the woods.
Beneath the towering trees, hidden within the thick foliage, an Australian-named American Kansen crouched low.
Canberra—her eyes sharp with focus—gripped an insect net like a weapon ready for war.
Beside her, far less enthusiastic, was Cleve-Dude. He wasn't exactly angry about sneaking through bushes in full tactical posture—but the absurdity of the mission had drained whatever motivation he had left.
"Do we really have to do this?" he muttered, pushing aside a fern. "I mean, there are plenty of bugs around here already—some of 'em big enough to fit as a child's hand."
Canberra didn't flinch, her grin widening. "Muscle tough, mate. We're looking for something big."
She tightened her grip on the net, her expression turning almost feral.
Cleve-Dude sighed, eyes narrowing with the weary gaze of a man who'd been dragged into nonsense far too many times before.
For reasons beyond his understanding, he had found himself roped into what could only be described as a Pokémon-style bug hunt. And with Canberra leading the charge, there was no chance of escape.
After all, this was a woman named after the city of a country where fending off wildlife was practically a survival. Bugs? Just another part of the food chain to wrestle with.
He had tried to say no. He really had. But before the words could even leave his mouth, Canberra had already grabbed him by the collar and hauled him along for the ride.
Now here he was—an American Kansen, crouched in the undergrowth like a soldier on a stealth mission—all for the sake of catching a rhino beetle.
"Fricking ridiculous..." he muttered under his breath.
*Beetle croak*
Both heads snapped toward the sound.
There, on the bark of a nearby tree, a rhino beetle had just landed—its shiny black shell gleaming faintly in the filtered sunlight.
Canberra froze. Her pupils shrank like a predator spotting its prey. And then, she moved.
"GOTCHA!"
She exploded out of the bush, net swinging through the air with the speed of a striking snake. The wind whistled around her as she lunged, eyes alight with wild determination.
The beetle had no time to react—it froze in pure instinctual terror beneath her aura. With one clean motion, the net came down.
*Whap*
It was over in a heartbeat.
Canberra straightened, triumph sparkling in her eyes as she raised the net high, the captured beetle struggling helplessly inside.
"Ha! Bagged a big one!" she cheered, beaming with pride.
Cleve-Dude emerged from the foliage a moment later, shaking his head with a half-grin. "You're insane, you know that? Only you could turn bug catching into a special ops mission."
Canberra winked, giving the net a playful shake. "And yet, I got the prize, didn't I? That's what counts, mate."
As the other girls from the team began to gather around, comparing their catches, the air filled with laughter, the buzzing of insects, and the faint hum of cicadas.
Canberra held her beetle like a trophy, her grin wide and satisfied.
Somewhere above them, the sun broke free from the clouds, shining down on their strange little contest—proof that even in the heart of the mighty Sakura Empire, warriors could still find joy in something as simple as a summer bug hunt.
After their individual hunts, everyone regrouped at the clearing to compare their catches. The air buzzed with chatter, laughter, and the faint rustle of cicadas—summer energy filling the forest.
Yuudachi, Shigure, and Yukikaze were the first to proudly display their prizes. Each held a beetle roughly the size of their palm, wriggling furiously inside small glass jars.
"Ha-ha! We're the champions at catching big beetles like this!"
Yukikaze declared with arms crossed and a smug glint in her eye. "Last summer, I—Yukikaze the Great—caught an even bigger one!"
Shigure shot her a sharp glare. "Hey! I'm the one who caught this one!"
"In your dreams, Shigure!"
"Am not!"
"Are too!"
Like cats and dogs, the two were instantly at each other's throats, arguing over who actually caught the bug. Ironically, neither realized they had chased the same poor beetle for almost half an hour before finally managing to catch it together.
The sight made even Yuudachi sweat-drop. "Poi... they're really at it again..."
Once their squabble ended—more from exhaustion than agreement—it was Canberra and Cleve-Dude's turn to show off their catch.
With an unmistakable smirk, Canberra stepped forward. Her expression alone was enough to command attention.
"Alright, mates. Time to show you what real hunting looks like."
Like a Pokémon trainer revealing her ace, she slowly opened her hand. Resting on her palm was a Rhino Beetle, glimmering like polished obsidian. Its sheer size made everyone's jaws drop—it wasn't just big; it was massive, easily dwarfing the girls' catches.
Gasps erupted around them.
Yuudachi's eyes sparkled like she'd just witnessed a kaiju. Shigure and Yukikaze froze mid-breath, their eyes bulging wide in disbelief.
"Mine's even bigger," Canberra added proudly, her Aussie accent carrying an effortless confidence.
The three destroyers exclaimed in unison. "It's BIG!!!"
Cleve-Dude winced, covering one ear.
"Do you have to say it that loud?" he muttered, cringing at the delivery.
The Destroyers banters echoed through the woods—until a sudden chill crept up his spine. The warm air seemed to twist, the sound of cicadas fading for just a second.
Cleve-Dude's eyes darted upward, squinting against the glare of the sun filtering through the sakura trees. The petals swayed lazily in the wind, their pink hues glowing faintly.
And yet... he felt it. A weight. A presence of unknown.
"Huh? ... That's weird..." he uttered.
For just a fleeting instant, he thought he felt it—an eye—watching him from afar. Far in distance, yet somehow close enough to feel its gaze focused on him.
"Is something the matter?" Canberra asked, noticing the sudden stiffness in his shoulders and the faraway look in his eyes.
Snapping back to reality, Cleve-Dude blinked rapidly and forced a grin, scratching the back of his neck.
"Oh, uh... nothing. Just thought I saw something weird, that's all."
He said it casually, almost convincing himself it was nothing. But deep down, he couldn't shake the feeling—someone was watching them.
Canberra studied his face for a moment longer, her expression briefly serious. But when she found no sign of real alarm, she simply shrugged.
"Right then. You sure? 'Cause if you faint from heatstroke, I'm not carrying you back home."
"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine," he replied, waving her off.
And just like that, the tension passed. The chattered resumed, the cicadas sang again, and the forest returned to its lazy rhythm.
Only Cleve-Dude's lingering unease remained—quiet, subtle, and persistent, like a storm cloud forming far beyond the horizon.
....
Sakura trees swayed gently as the wind whispered through their branches. The rustling leaves and drifting petals painted the temple grounds in a tranquil dance of pink and white. Along the stone path leading to the shrine, shrine maidens quietly swept away the scattered blossoms, their motions graceful and deliberate, as if preserving the sanctity of the moment itself.
Inside the temple, a single sakura petal drifted down, landing softly beside a neat row of candles. Their flames flickered faintly, disturbed only by the subtlest tremor in the air.
At the center of the ritual circle, Enterprise-80 sat cross-legged, surrounded by dozens of lit candles. Each flicker of their flame mirrored the faint, shifting pulse of her aura — a visible reflection of her meditation's intensity.
Before her sat Shinano and Musashi, both kneeling quietly on the sand, their calm presences serving as anchors to the energy that filled the chamber.
This ritual was not meant to strengthen the body, but the mind — a discipline to purge distraction and steady one's soul. Enterprise-80 had embraced this practice as part of her personal training, striving to master her inner turbulence and maintain perfect clarity. It was essential that she achieve total control over her emotions before her upcoming retrofit — the stage where she would finally attempt to master the formidable "Dark Eagle Skill."
One stray emotion, one flicker of rage or grief, could awaken the dormant shadow within her. And if that happened... the calamity of the past could repeat itself.
Her eyelids twitched faintly as her breathing deepened. The candles around her flared, flames rippling in eerie unison with the dark aura that began to pulse from her core. Across from her, Shinano's serene expression did not waver — her role as a High Priestess allowed her to extend her spirit, guiding and steadying Enterprise-80's mind from within.
"Sister... her soul is stable now," Shinano murmured, her voice soft yet certain. "It's no longer clouded by darkness. Her heart is calm."
Musashi nodded approvingly, her deep voice carrying a quiet strength. "That's good news. Her other self is cooperating this time. I'm relieved to see that."
The two fox sisters continued to watch intently, maintaining their spiritual link and ensuring that no dark current stirred within the meditating admiral.
At the edge of the ritual chamber, Frigate Belfast and Amagi sat quietly, observing the scene unfold.
The dim candlelight reflected in Frigate Belfast's eyes as she fought to contain her worry. Though she kept her posture composed, her heart ached with concern for Enterprise-80. Every time the candlelight flickered, it sent a faint shiver down her spine — a reminder of the last time things went wrong.
"Worry not," Amagi said softly, her tone warm and soothing. "This ritual is merely a precaution."
"I know..." Frigate Belfast whispered, her voice low. "But it still haunts me — the way she acted when she lost control. She didn't hold back at all."
The memory made her clench her fists. The image of Enterprise-80's unleashed fury — merciless and unstoppable — still burned vividly in her mind.
Amagi gave a quiet nod. "Yes. Her alter ego — the darkness within her heart — was far too powerful once it was unchained. Suppression alone is not enough; she must learn to coexist with it."
"I won't let her lose control again," Frigate Belfast said firmly, pressing a hand against her chest as if making a vow.
A small, knowing smile curved across Amagi's lips. "Even the strongest warriors need someone beside them," she said gently. "Make sure you'll be that person."
Frigate Belfast turned to her, her cheeks faintly flushed but her eyes unwavering. "I will," she promised, her voice steady — a vow born from both duty and devotion.
...
( IMAGE )
Dojo
"Water Breathing, First Form: Water Wheel!"
Luna shouted as he swung his wooden sword with exaggerated flourish — a move he'd copied from a book he borrowed at the library. Of course, it wasn't an actual sword technique. He just liked how it sounded.
In his mind, he could picture the scene perfectly — graceful movements, flowing like water, a flawless strike. It was the same sword style in the simple eye, but in reality...
*Clack! *
"Oh, sh*t!"
His wooden sword hit the practice dummy with a thud, and his footing immediately betrayed him. He stumbled forward and face-planted flat onto the dojo's polished wooden floor.
Hamilton and Braunschweig stood frozen, their eyes wide with disbelief.
Braunschweig, ever the kind-hearted one, rushed forward, crouching beside the fallen Frigate. "Are you alright?" he asked, offering a hand to help him up.
Hamilton, on the other hand, rubbed his temples and sighed, his patience already wearing thin. Around them, the other students in the dojo stop and just glance at them.
"That fool did it again. Trying 'Water Breathing' thinking it will work." He said irritatingly.
"Is he alright, desu?" asked Ayanami, tilting her head with mild concern.
"No. He keeps repeating it," Hamilton muttered flatly.
Ayanami blinked, looking Luna face plant position. "The technique itself isn't bad though. His footing's just... off."
"Stop," Hamilton said sharply. "You'll just encourage him."
Luna suddenly jumped to his feet, brushing the dust off his training uniform as if nothing had happened.
"See that?" he declared proudly, flashing a grin. "I almost perfected it!"
Hamilton crossed his arms. "More like perfectly planted your face on the floor," he said deadpanned.
"I'm close to perfecting it!" Luna insisted, his voice rising.
But before he could brag any further, another voice thundered through the dojo — sharp, irritated, and full of authority.
"What the hell are you doing?!"
The voice came from none other than Hiryuu, who was storming across the floor, her geta screeched the wooden floor like skidding race car with the carried smoke.
Her sudden appearance and expression said it all — she was not pleased with the shenanigans of the Filipino Frigate.
Luna froze, scratching the back of his neck and chuckling awkwardly. "I'm... uh... just perfecting my 'Water Breathing Technique,' ma'am," he said, trying to sound confident.
Hiryuu blinked. "Water Breathing Technique?" Her irritation faltered for a moment, replaced by confusion. "What in the world is that supposed to be?"
Hamilton sighed and stepped in before Luna could dig himself any deeper.
"It's not a real sword technique, ma'am," he explained. "It's something he saw in a show—referencing the movement at the book he borrowed. He thought he could imitate its forms, and decided to try it – making a fool of himself."
"Hey!" Luna interjected, pointing his finger at Hamilton. "There's nothing wrong with trying to imitate it! I just wanted to see if it could actually work!"
"You fool!" Hamilton exploded. "You can't just copy what you see on TV or in manga!"
Braunschweig, standing beside them, began counting on his fingers thoughtfully — then ran out of fingers halfway through. "Actually... I think everyone had tried at least one or more modern media references here and there. I've lost count of how many times that's happened, but the others spoke and do it."
Hamilton gave him a flat look. "You're not helping."
Hiryuu pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed heavily. "I swear... this class is going to give me grey hair before the next inspection."
"But your hair were already white." Said Ayanami.
Luna grinned sheepishly, and sneakily asked. "So, uh... can I try can do the third form next?"
"NO!" came the unified shout from Hiryuu, Hamilton, and half the dojo.
But their unified voice was drowned by a sudden tremor. Roaring thunder and shattering ground, like metal attracted to magnets, their gazes was pulled outside the courtyard.
Dust cover the courtyard, with swirling tornado, two figure with a blurring images appeared clashing with wooden swords.
Other students. And the rest stood and gawked like a hurling tornado storm manifested at the courtyard.
~Courtyard~
The air grew heavy with tension as the sharp rhythm of whipping wooden swords echoed throughout the dojo.
Each strike carried precision and power—strong enough that every clash of wood against wood released a gust of wind that rippled across the courtyard.
*Clang! — Snap! *
Two splintered pieces of wood flew through the air. Both Zumwalt and JS Izumo had struck with such force that their wooden swords snapped cleanly in half.
( IMAGE )
JS Izumo straightened his stance, a proud smirk tugging at his lips.
"Looks like you've mastered it faster than I thought," he said, clearly impressed by Zumwalt's quick grasp of a technique outside his usual Judgement Strike.
Zumwalt relaxed from his pose, his tone calm and analytical.
"It was as easy to follow as a child's reading book. It wasn't that hard."
The two had been training for hours, their session a blur of fierce exchanges and explosive movements. Every blow they traded shook the ground. Dust rose in thin clouds, swirling around their feet, while small and large craters marked the solid ground where their strikes and evasions collided in perfect rhythm.
Then came a rapid clap of hands—quick, enthusiastic, and oddly out of place in the intense silence that followed.
Two figures stepped closer: both women in officer uniforms, their distinct dog ears twitching with excitement.
Atago clasped her hands together, her eyes sparkling.
"That was fascinating! I can't believe someone could learn that technique in such a short time!" she said with an eager grin. "I'm truly impressed!"
Beside her, Takao crossed her arms and nodded with quiet admiration.
"Yes... It's incredible that you mastered the technique so quickly. Even we—once students of this very dojo—spent years perfecting a single form."
Her words carried the weight of memory, the kind born from endless training and bruised hands. Yet this man had surpassed expectations so effortlessly that it almost felt unreal.
JS Izumo chuckled lightly, lowering his voice so only they could hear. "No need for so much praise. He's not the type who enjoys flattery... History's taught him better."
Zumwalt glanced sideways, finishing the thought in his cool, detached tone. "Flattery doesn't push someone forward. It only makes them stagnate."
The air seemed to grow a little colder after that statement.
JS Izumo sighed in defeat, shaking his head. "Man... Why are you always so serious? Try loosening up a bit—you're becoming more unapproachable every day."
Atago and Takao both nodded in quiet agreement, sharing a knowing glance.
For all his skill, Zumwalt's stoic nature made him feel more like an immovable mountain than a man.
Zumwalt simply shrugged it off, his tone flattening into dry irritation. "I would prefer that. I already missed a monthly supply of Monster Drink."
The sudden shift in topic hit the trio like a brick.
"Huh???" they echoed in perfect unison, blinking at him in confusion.
For a moment, the entire dojo fell into awkward silence—the kind only Zumwalt could summon by turning a profound moment into something bizarrely mundane.
JS Izumo pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering under his breath. "Of course... Out of all things to complain about, it had to be that."
Atago couldn't help but laugh softly. "Guess even the strongest swordsmen have their vices."
Takao sighed, though a small smile betrayed her amusement. "And here I thought he'd lost all attachment to earthly desires."
Zumwalt gave no response—just turned away, half of a broken sword still in his hand, his mind already elsewhere.
"I really pissed her off, didn't I?"
Apparently, news of his recent exploits had already reached the ears of a certain Supply Ship back at Eagle Union Mainland.
....
Eagle Union: Naval Base Norfolk
Inside her office, Drew sat behind a neatly organized desk, a freshly printed newspaper trembling in her hand. Her brows twitched as her eyes scanned the bold headline, and the paper crumpled slightly under her tightening grip.
"I told you to hold your ego and keep your presence low," she muttered, voice edged with controlled irritation. "And now, our trump card ends up on the front page... perfect."
She exhaled sharply, laying the wrinkled newspaper flat on her desk before standing. Her long coat swayed as she turned toward the door, tucking her hands neatly into her pockets. The soft click of her heels echoed along the corridor as she made her way toward the upper deck.
The rhythmic clack of her steps was soon replaced by the ambient hum of the Cargo Bay—a massive chamber illuminated by a bluish glow. Crates shimmered into existence as fresh supplies finished materializing, the air still faintly tinged with energy from the teleportation sequence.
Her sharp eyes scanned the area until they landed on one particular shipment—a small crate marked "MONSTER ENERGY DRINK – PRIORITY DELIVERY."
She pulled a clipboard from under her arm, flipped to the relevant page, and eyed the current delivery schedule. Then, with a faint, vindictive smirk, she took her pen and neatly changed the date: delayed by exactly one month"
"I warned you not to show off..." she murmured under her breath. "So now, I have no choice but to punish you."
Around her, the Manjuus were hard at work—little yellow figures in safety helmets and vests, diligently plucking crates from the storage area while others operated forklifts, organizing newly materialized ordnance with remarkable efficiency.
Leaving Storage Bay One, Drew passed through the connecting walkway. The hum of machinery faded behind her as she came upon JP Jones, who was reviewing a manifest near the freight elevator. He glanced up just in time to see the look on her face—a calm mask barely concealing irritation.
"Drew?" he called, cautious. "Something wrong?"
Her tone was smooth, almost too smooth.
"Nothing. Just... the usual atmosphere of the day."
JP Jones raised an eyebrow slightly. He knew that tone—it was the 'nothing's wrong but everything's on fire' kind of tone.
"Yeah... that face says it all." he thought grimly.
Sensing that the safest course of action was diversion, he quickly shifted the topic.
"I'm here to check on the materials and parts Theodore requested."
JP Jones quickly diverted the conversation, avoiding the potential "minefield" of a woman's emotions. He'd had his blow-ups and detonations with Bunker Hill-76, and he wasn't about to step on that fuse again.
Drew adjusted her glasses, her expression cooling back into professional composure. "Right. Then let's proceed. The shipment just arrived—follow me."
They approached Storage Bay Two, where the metal doors were slowly rising with a mechanical hiss. As the panel lifted, a line of bright lights illuminated the interior, revealing a series of carefully sealed containers stacked in neat rows.
Drew consulted her clipboard again. "We're just in time. Theodore's requested supplies arrived only a few minutes ago."
JP Jones stepped forward, his eyes narrowing as he took in the array of crates. "I'm not sure what kind of parts these are for them to be under such tight security," he said, folding his arms.
Drew maintained her nonchalant, peering at the manifest again. "Neither am I. But the specifics are... unusual. She requested obsolete materials—things no longer even listed in the standard production catalog. There are far better options available in the America's current Military Inventory, yet she chose these."
"Frames?" JP Jones asked. "You mean airplane airframes? We already have enough firepower. Why dig up old ones?"
Drew sighed, eyes narrowing thoughtfully as she flipped the page. "That's what I thought too... But her notes were very specific. She wants a flying gun."
JP Jones frowned, glancing back at the Storage Bay, an airframe was shrouded with shadow. The silhouette was earie familiar.
"This one was a relic of the past, meant to devastate enemy lines and columns. This one is ancient as the flying birds of the decades."
"Were bringing back the classic." JP Jones uttered.
"Or reviving one," Drew added quietly, eyes glinting behind her glasses.
Slowly, the plane revealed itself beneath the hangar lights: a squat, heavily armored airframe with two engines mounted well aft, a blunt nose painted with a snarling hog's face—or perhaps a snake, depending on how you looked at it. Beneath the chin, a six-barrel 30 mm gatling, rotary cannon designed to chew through metal and throw up debris like confetti.
JP Jones blinked twice, trying to reconcile the image with the manifest. "You mean this?" he asked, voice flat with disbelief.
"I thought we had enough modern fighters and strike platforms. Why pick... that?" He gestured at the A-10 Warthog airframe, still half-shadowed in the hangar light.
Drew folded her arms and didn't bother hiding her wry look. "The next operation is a pure land campaign," she said, matter-of-fact. "We'll be dealing with hardened targets and armored columns. High-end fighters are tied up maintaining air dominance. What Theodore needs is something that can illuminate and pulverize fortified positions with surgical precision."
JP Jones snorted. "Using a Warthog on hardened objects and armor, huh? She isn't missing any of the slots on her bingo card."
He then gave a wry nervous laugh. "Let's just hope she uses it on adamant objects and not soft ones—otherwise we're going to be god's problem."
"Don't give me a generalization." Drew cut him off, eyes narrowing."
( IMAGE )
...
Naval Base Norfolk, Command Center
Within the central strategy room, commanders of the Eagle Union Navy gathered—men and women in crisp white uniforms, medals gleaming impressively on their chests.
Among them sat Theodore, perched primly in a chair clearly designed for adults, her small frame barely filling the seat. Her childlike appearance and habit of swinging her legs playfully made her seem completely out of place in such a serious, high-stakes environment.
And yet... she was the one named Theodore Roosevelt. Her mere presence forced the room to reconcile what they saw with what they profoundly knew. She wasn't simply a child. She was a formidable warship, a seasoned combatant, and an undeniable force to be reckoned with.
Still, it was undeniably hard to shake the image of a child in a command room.
Standing next to her was Bunker Hill-76, all business and professionalism. Her posture was perfectly erect, her face stern, clutching several dossiers in one arm as she efficiently handed them out to the gathered commanders. Her entire aura screamed professionalism and underlying danger, a stark and unsettling contrast to Theodore's innocent demeanor.
JP Jones darted quick glances, his eyes tracking Bunker Hill-76 as she moved purposefully around the room. His gaze lingered for a moment longer than it probably should have.
At the rising whispering chatter, Theodore finally spoke, her voice surprisingly firm for her stature. "We are now at the first phase of the operation; every manpower and material are now heading to Royal Isle and Alexandria. Any bugging reports of our friends over mainland Europe?"
One of the Naval Commanders responded promptly. "Report says Iron Blood and Sardegna Empire were not silent and sitting still after the Siren Invasion. Quite the opposite, in fact."
Chatter rose immediately among the commanders, each expressing their individual notions and concerns regarding the report.
"Our assets on Iron Blood caught a glimpse of Iron Blood's secret weapon." His assistant brought out a crisp black and white photo capturing something deeply concerning.
The photo was slid onto the table; the projector from the corner immediately projected the image for everyone to see on the large screen. The projected image was abundant with tanks that definitively did not exist in their real world's known history. Everyone leaned forward, their expressions shifting to alarm. The image showed something profoundly concerning.
A convoy of heavily armored vehicles, rolling menacingly through a ruined European cityscape. These weren't any tanks known to their world. The designations stamped clearly on the chassis read:
"Panzerkampfwagen E-100"
"E-79 Panther III"
Behind them were strange tracked vehicles—mounted with swiveling racks, each carrying two guided rockets, eerily resembling improvised SAM Missile Launchers, but clearly an advanced design than their current understanding.
"Rheintochter R3 mounted on a Panther hulls and Trailer Trucks"
Flanking the convoy were Iron Blood infantry—except these weren't ordinary troops.
They looked plucked straight out of a grim, dystopian film. They wore "Wolf Brigade" armored trench coats, their visors glowed a menacing red, and each soldier carried an MG-42 as if it were a standard-issue rifle, wielding it with effortless ease. Every single soldier looked like a self-sufficient one-man squad, a terrifying prospect.
The room went dead silent.
Everyone was agape at how Iron Blood had seemingly jumped so far out of the tech-tree that Enterprise-80 had previously predicted. The image shown meant that Iron Blood was rapidly gaining a significant lead in the heavy armor arms race and was clearly preparing for large-scale ground warfare, something previously considered unlikely.
Theodore, her chin rested thoughtfully over her clasped hands, her expression did not differ from her initial expectation. Iron Blood was, indeed, learning from them.
'They were learning from our Operations against the Sirens. And for the infantry... I think they were successful at making super-soldiers on their own. This changes the game.'
JP Jones took the photo that lay on the table and looked at it intently, then gave his sharp commentary. "Iron Blood was literally building super-soldiers from the start. And we were blind the whole time as the Azur Lane Alliance focused solely on tackling the Siren threat."
Theodore smirked, a dangerous glint in her eyes, and gave her prompt response. "And now the Siren took the back seat after my free gift."
Murmur rose as everyone in the room knew exactly what she meant. She was speaking about her casual nuclear strike on the Siren Dimension, effectively giving the Sirens a "tan color" on their side of the world, a devastating, unscheduled interruption to their invasion plans.
She had given the Sirens a brutal "Yeetus Deletus" with a portable sun, a phrase that had somehow become an inside joke among the command staff, though its implications were far from humorous.
"We won't be looking on the other side without our other eye staring back at Iron Blood. Now they've got our full attention, and they will be the receiving end of our 'proportional attention'."
She leaned back slightly in her chair, her legs still swinging casually, a stark contrast to the gravity of her words.
JP Jones turned his head to face her, a new understanding dawning on him. The precise delivery of her message meant that they would, for now, forgo the large-scale invasion of continental Europe.
Another Kansen spoke, Anchorage LPD—not the child-like Anchorage they knew, but a more serious, focused version; her delivery of words was straight to the point and pragmatic.
"That means we need to land our boots on the ground fast, before the Crimson Axis could fortify themselves any further."
The Commander's head turned to face her, acknowledging her strategic input.
The Commander who had given the initial report continued, everyone having fallen into silence after their discrete discussion.
"Kidd along with Lafayette's ASW Division have crossed the Atlantic Ocean successfully, rendezvousing with the Royal Navy Shipgirls HMS Iron Duke and HMS Dragon – a small contingent of Earth's Royal Navy. After successfully rendezvousing with the Royal Navy, the convoy continues to sail through the Straits of Gibraltar and is enroute to Port Gibraltar, where they'll be greeted by the enclave's overseer, Mistress Valiant."
Theodore tapped the table rhythmically with her finger as she listened, processing the information. "What about the covert ops?" she asked, her voice low and direct.
The commander flipped to the notes he held in his hand. "Currently, USS Jimmy Carter is enroute to the Sardegnan Coast, as per your orders."
'From here on out, we're playing covert operations until the green light for full engagement,' Theodore narrated inside her head, her strategic mind already calculating the next moves.
..
Sardegnan Water, from Sicily to Anzio
Under the cover of night and illuminated only by the pale moonlight above, the calm waters of the Mediterranean were serene, as if nothing could ruffle their undisturbed surface.
At the surface, a large white-painted ship with a sleek black hull—a luxury Cruise Line ship—glided smoothly. Beneath the civilian ship, another vessel moved stealthily, staying quiet and undetected like a trailing hunter in the depths.
The moon was momentarily covered by thick, heavy clouds, cloaking the night in an almost absolute darkness. Beneath the hunter, a Large Unmanned Underwater Vehicle silently detached from the mother Submarine and slowly ascended beside the Cruise Liner, carrying its special, clandestine cargo.
Breaking the surface under the protective cover of darkness, Jimmy emerged from one of the XLUUV's hatch doors, impeccably tucked into a tailored suit and carrying a single, nondescript briefcase.
Several Manjuus—wearing miniature tactical vests and night-vision visors—secured a foldable carbon-fiber ladder to the ship's hull with surprising efficiency.
Jimmy, like a character out of Bond movie, hopped and leaped over the deck railing, landing smoothly as if not making a single sound that could alert the unsuspecting guards or passengers.
After delivering the cargo onto the deck, the XLUUV submerged just as silently as it had risen, its hatch closing with an almost imperceptible click.
Jimmy adjusted his tie, dusted a nonexistent wrinkle from his shoulder, and stepped calmly into the brightly lit interior of the cruise ship.
Inside, the ship was alive with genteel activity. Glass clinked softly. Jazz music played smoothly in the background, a luxurious, understated melody. Laughter danced across the lounges and dining areas. He moved among them—just another passenger, dressed impeccably like a businessman returning from the colonies or perhaps a successful Sicilian casino owner heading to Rome for leisure. Not a single suspicious glance followed him.
He had already vanished seamlessly into the crowd. Just as meticulously planned.