Chapter 3.7 - “THE NAME THAT SINKS INTO THE ABYSS”

I. The Last Warm Meal

There was a particular sound to a naval station after a battle.

It wasn't silence.

Horizon Atoll had not been silent since the morning the world changed, and it was certainly not silent after nearly an entire day of bombardment, air attacks, torpedo engagements, and emergency rescue operations.

The harbor's surviving generators continued running. Ventilation fans hummed through the maintenance buildings. Welding equipment crackled beneath canvas screens. Medical carts rattled across concrete. Somewhere beyond the repair piers, a tug's diesel engine complained bitterly as its crew attempted to reposition a damaged service barge.

There were voices, too.

Hundreds of them.

Some calling out instructions.

Some answering roll calls.

Some asking about missing friends.

And some speaking quietly because the people beside them were sleeping.

But the enormous guns were silent.

For the moment, that was enough to make the evening feel almost peaceful.

The western sky had become a bruised combination of orange, purple, and dirty gray. Smoke from the day's fighting drifted above the horizon, its edges catching the last sunlight. The shattered lighthouse on the western approach remained a dark stump against the sea.

Beyond it lay the grave of USS Ironwake.

The great battleship had gone down with her after turret already torn away, her machinery damaged, and her remaining antiaircraft defenses overwhelmed by an enemy nobody had known existed.

The wreck itself could no longer be seen.

That did not mean anyone had forgotten where it lay.

Navigation personnel had marked the sinking position. Rescue officers were keeping small craft clear of floating hazards. The sea around the wreck remained contaminated by oil, broken equipment, and the remains of ammunition that might yet become dangerous.

But the worst of the fighting had stopped.

For the people of Horizon, the absence of gunfire was a fragile gift.

One that almost nobody trusted.

 

The main dining hall had been converted into a casualty-support and feeding station.

Long tables normally occupied by mechanics, clerks, sailors, Keelborn, and civilian staff were crowded with enamel bowls, stacked plates, and battered serving containers brought across from the central kitchen.

The meal was not elaborate.

Rice.

Stew.

Vegetables.

Bread.

Tea.

Whatever the kitchen could prepare in enough quantity to feed exhausted people without wasting resources the blockade had already strained.

There was less meat than usual.

A few ingredients had been substituted.

The kitchen staff had been working since before dawn.

Nobody complained.

At one table, a pair of destroyer girls sat with their equipment partially dismantled, slowly eating while an engineer checked a damaged hydraulic coupling.

At another, several former PCA sailors stared uncertainly at the food placed before them.

They had expected detention.

Questions.

Perhaps armed guards and a cold holding room.

Instead, Horizon had given them medical examinations, identification bands, a brief explanation of their legal status, and dinner.

They were not free to wander the base.

Security remained alert.

But they had been fed.

One of the PCA sailors turned toward the woman beside her.

“Are we supposed to pay for this?”

Her companion looked down at the stew.

Then shook her head.

“I don't think so.”

“Are you sure?”

“No.”

They considered that.

Then the first woman looked toward a passing kitchen worker.

“Excuse me?”

The worker stopped.

“Yes?”

The sailor gestured toward the bowl.

“Is this included?”

The woman stared.

For a moment, she appeared uncertain what the question meant.

Then she smiled tiredly.

“You've been at sea all day, haven't you?”

The sailor nodded.

“Yes.”

“Then eat.”

The worker moved on.

The two PCA women stared after her.

For several seconds, neither spoke.

Then one picked up her spoon.

“This place is weird.”

Her companion tasted the stew.

Considered it.

Then answered:

“It's good, though.”

They ate.

 

Riko Minase had reached the dining hall with the expression of someone who intended to remain awake through sheer personal stubbornness.

It was not working.

The Yamato-class girl sat at a table near the windows, one hand wrapped around a mug of tea while the other held a spoon that had not moved in nearly a minute.

Her shorter dark hair was untidy. The gold chrysanthemum ornament remained carefully fixed in place, though several strands had escaped around it.

A pale bruise marked one shoulder beneath her clean clothing.

Her damaged rigging was no longer attached.

Hana's repair crews had finally persuaded her to surrender it for inspection after discovering that the near-miss from the Blackwake dive bomber had compromised one of the portside stabilizing assemblies.

The damage was repairable.

That was good.

The replacement parts would not install themselves.

That was less good.

Riko stared into her stew.

For several seconds, she seemed to be considering a difficult philosophical question.

Then she murmured:

“I'm going to fight you.”

The bowl did not respond.

Scarlett Hayes sat across from her.

The South Dakota-class girl looked up from her own meal.

“Riko.”

The younger battleship blinked.

“What?”

“Eat.”

“I am.”

Scarlett looked toward the untouched spoon.

Riko followed her gaze.

A pause.

Then the younger girl slowly lifted it.

“See?”

Scarlett raised an eyebrow.

“You've been holding that spoon over the same potato for three minutes.”

Riko stared.

Then looked down.

For a moment, she seemed genuinely offended by the potato's continued existence.

Scarlett's mouth twitched.

“Eat, Riko.”

The younger battleship sighed.

“Fine.”

She took a mouthful.

Chewed.

Swallowed.

Then looked toward the window.

The harbor lights were beginning to appear outside.

Repair crews moved beneath temporary floodlamps.

Several Keelborn were being guided toward their maintenance positions.

The surviving South Dakota-class girl who had fought beside Scarlett earlier was visible beyond the windows, speaking with an engineer.

For a moment, Riko watched her.

Then she lowered her eyes.

“Scarlett?”

“Yes?”

“Did we win?”

The older battleship stopped eating.

For several seconds, she considered the question.

Then she set down her spoon.

“We stopped the invasion.”

Riko nodded.

“And the Blackwake?”

“We drove them away from the island.”

The younger girl stared into her bowl.

“That's not what I asked.”

Scarlett looked at her.

For a moment, there was no teasing in either girl's expression.

Then the older battleship answered:

“No.”

Riko lowered her eyes.

Scarlett continued.

“We survived them.”

A long silence followed.

Riko looked toward the harbor again.

The word bothered her.

Survived.

She remembered the first day she'd stood in her Yamato-class rigging.

The enormous guns.

The weight of the machinery.

The realization that a historical warship of almost impossible size had somehow become part of her body.

For a little while, she'd felt invincible.

Then she learned about recoil.

About ammunition handling.

About stabilizer tolerances.

About how much physical strength it took to remain properly balanced in a swell while wearing equipment that carried nine eighteen-point-one-inch rifles.

And today she'd learned another lesson.

Even Yamato could be hurt.

A Blackwake bomb had not struck her directly.

It had fallen close.

That had been enough to damage her support machinery and force her out of the line.

Riko looked toward Scarlett.

Then whispered:

“I was scared.”

The South Dakota-class girl did not laugh.

“Of course you were.”

Riko swallowed.

“I thought I could take it.”

Scarlett regarded her carefully.

Then answered:

“A bomb?”

Riko nodded.

“Maybe.”

The older battleship shook her head.

“Don't make that assumption.”

Riko lowered her eyes.

Scarlett continued.

“Your armor is extraordinary. That doesn't mean every part of your rigging has the same protection, and it doesn't mean your body gets to ignore what happens when several hundred kilograms of explosive detonates next to you.”

The younger battleship looked up.

“Right.”

“Your guns are powerful. Your equipment is strong. You're still a person.”

Riko's expression softened.

For several seconds, she remained quiet.

Then she smiled faintly.

“You sound like Kade.”

Scarlett's mouth twitched.

“That's because he's right occasionally.”

Riko snorted.

“Don't tell him you said that.”

“I wasn't planning to.”

The two returned to their food.

For a few minutes, the war remained outside the dining hall.

 

At another table, Adelheid had acquired two portions of stew.

Nobody had been brave enough to question the arrangement.

The Bayern-class girl sat upright despite the obvious exhaustion around her eyes, silver-blonde hair gathered neatly and the familiar red uniform partially concealed beneath a clean white coat.

Her gloves lay beside her plate.

Across from her, Nadya stirred tea.

The Sevastopol-class girl's green eyes were tired.

Very tired.

She had removed her heavier rigging after the sortie, but faint red marks remained at the points where some of its support mechanisms had pressed against her shoulders and back.

For several seconds, neither spoke.

Then Adelheid looked toward the second bowl.

Nadya followed her gaze.

“Are you going to eat all of that?”

“Yes.”

“You already ate one.”

“Correct.”

Nadya considered that.

Then slowly nodded.

“Excellent argument.”

Adelheid took another spoonful.

For a moment, she appeared satisfied.

Then her gaze drifted toward the window.

The western sea lay beyond the harbor.

Darkening.

Quiet.

She remembered the white-haired girl surrounded by flowers.

The corrupted aviation cruiser.

The fifteen-inch shell striking her outer rigging.

The tremendous explosion.

And the way the girl had remained standing.

Adelheid's spoon stopped.

Nadya noticed.

“What?”

The Bayern-class girl lowered her eyes.

For several seconds, she said nothing.

Then she asked:

“Have you ever wondered what happens beneath the water?”

Nadya looked toward her.

“Sinking?”

Adelheid nodded.

The other battleship considered the question.

Then answered quietly.

“More often than I'd like.”

A pause followed.

Adelheid looked toward her gloves.

Then toward the tea.

“I used to believe recovering a Pendant meant recovering what remained after the worst had already happened.”

Nadya's expression became troubled.

The Bayern-class girl continued.

“Now I'm not certain.”

For several seconds, neither spoke.

Then Nadya slowly reached across the table.

She placed one hand over Adelheid's.

The older battleship looked up.

Nadya's expression was gentle.

“We don't know what happened to those girls.”

Adelheid nodded.

“No.”

“We know what was done to them afterward, or at least some part of it.”

“Yes.”

A pause.

Then Nadya continued.

“But until we know more, we shouldn't decide that every girl who sinks is already lost.”

Adelheid stared.

For a moment, her expression softened.

Then she slowly nodded.

“You're right.”

Nadya smiled faintly.

“Occasionally.”

Adelheid raised an eyebrow.

The other battleship looked toward the two empty stew bowls.

“Not about portion control, apparently.”

Adelheid regarded her.

Then pushed the remaining bread across the table.

Nadya blinked.

For a moment, she looked surprised.

Then she smiled.

“Thank you.”

Adelheid returned to her meal.

Outside, the sky grew darker.

And the sea remained quiet.

 

In the rear service kitchen, Kade Bher had been cornered by his Chief of Staff.

It was not an unusual occurrence.

Mara Fenwick possessed an extraordinary ability to discover where her Commander was hiding whenever he attempted to disappear for more than five minutes.

This time, she'd found him standing beside a stack of supply invoices, drinking coffee that had gone cold.

The eighteen-year-old Commander looked up when she entered.

For a moment, he appeared deeply unhappy.

“Oh.”

Mara folded her arms.

“Kade.”

“Chief.”

“Have you eaten?”

He looked toward the coffee.

Then back.

“Define eaten.”

Mara stared.

He sighed.

“That's a no, then.”

“Correct.”

For several seconds, she regarded him.

Then reached toward the covered tray she'd brought from the kitchen.

Kade looked down.

A bowl.

Rice.

Stew.

Bread.

And an apple.

He blinked.

For a moment, he seemed suspicious.

“What's this?”

“Dinner.”

“I can see that.”

“Then eat it.”

The Commander looked toward her.

His steel-blue eyes narrowed.

“Have you ever considered a career in diplomacy?”

Mara placed the tray on the table.

“Yes.”

He blinked.

She continued.

“I decided diplomacy was too gentle.”

Kade stared.

Then laughed despite himself.

Only once.

A tired sound.

Mara's expression softened slightly.

For a moment, the lines around her eyes became more visible.

She had spent the day coordinating a battle, managing casualties, keeping the island's chain of command functional, and preventing her Commander from making at least six decisions that would have put him directly in the path of enemy shellfire.

She was exhausted.

He knew it.

Kade looked toward the tray.

Then pulled out a chair.

“Fine.”

Mara nodded.

“Good.”

He sat.

Took a spoonful.

Chewed.

Swallowed.

Then looked toward her.

“Have you eaten?”

Mara stopped.

For a moment, she seemed offended.

“That is not the subject under discussion.”

Kade raised an eyebrow.

“Chief.”

She stared.

He pushed the bread toward her.

“Sit.”

A pause.

Then Mara sighed.

“Kade.”

“Mara.”

Another pause.

Then she pulled out the opposite chair.

Sat.

And accepted the bread.

For several minutes, neither spoke.

The kitchen staff moved quietly around them.

Someone washed a pot.

A kettle whistled.

A tired cook apologized because the stew wasn't as good as yesterday's.

Kade assured her it was excellent.

Mara informed the cook that the Commander was not qualified to judge after spending the afternoon trying to subsist on coffee.

Kade protested.

The cook laughed.

For a few minutes, the world became almost ordinary.

Then Kade looked toward the doorway.

Beyond it, he could see the corridor leading toward Operations.

The casualty board would still be there.

The Blackwake photographs.

The sinking position of Ironwake.

The long list of names awaiting medical updates.

His spoon slowed.

Mara noticed.

For several seconds, she remained quiet.

Then she asked:

“Still thinking about them?”

Kade looked toward her.

“Maki and Reina?”

She nodded.

He lowered his eyes.

For a moment, he seemed much older than eighteen.

“Yes.”

Mara waited.

Kade looked toward his bowl.

Then spoke quietly.

“Halcyon lost them.”

A pause.

“They mourned them.”

Another pause.

“Now they have to look at those photographs and wonder if their friends are still suffering.”

Mara lowered her eyes.

The Commander continued.

“I don't know which answer is worse.”

For several seconds, neither spoke.

Then the Chief answered.

“Perhaps neither answer is ours to decide tonight.”

Kade considered that.

Then nodded slowly.

“Maybe.”

Mara looked toward the apple.

Then back at him.

“And perhaps you should finish eating before you attempt to solve an entirely new category of Blackwake corruption.”

Kade stared.

For a moment, he seemed genuinely affronted.

“You make it sound like I'm difficult.”

Mara picked up her bread.

“You are difficult.”

“I'm delightful.”

“You are occasionally tolerable.”

He placed one hand against his chest.

“Cruel.”

The Chief almost smiled.

Then she took another bite.

Kade looked down at his dinner.

For a moment, he felt something dangerously close to gratitude.

Not because the food was remarkable.

Not because the war was over.

But because Mara was there.

Because the kitchen was warm.

Because somebody had remembered he needed to eat.

He picked up his spoon.

And finished the stew.

Outside, night settled over Horizon Atoll.

 

II. A Name Spoken From a Hospital Bed

The medical annex smelled of disinfectant, clean linen, hot water, and the faint metallic scent that never quite disappeared after a day of serious injuries.

Dr. Irena Holt had ordered the windows covered before sunset.

Not because the rooms were particularly vulnerable to casual observation from the western sea, but because there was no reason to let the light from the treatment wards advertise their positions to an enemy whose aircraft had already demonstrated an interest in attacking damaged ships and helpless survivors.

The blackout screens were secured.

Portable lamps illuminated the corridors.

The emergency generators remained ready.

And the medical staff continued working.

The main infirmary was crowded, but not chaotic.

Patients had been sorted by urgency.

The most serious occupied the treatment rooms.

Others rested in beds placed along the protected interior wards.

Several were former PCA personnel brought from the sea.

A few were fairy aviators whose injuries required careful attention from specialists familiar with their physiology.

And among them lay a young Akizuki-class destroyer with a bruised torso, damaged rigging supports, and an expression that suggested she would rather be anywhere else.

The shell that had struck her earlier in the battle had come from a landing craft's deck gun.

It had hit her body directly.

Against an ordinary human, the impact would have been catastrophic.

Against a Keelborn, the interaction had been different.

The girl possessed a form of physical resilience that nobody at Horizon yet understood completely. Her ship-derived nature provided protection beyond what her human appearance suggested.

But the shell had hurt her.

Badly.

It had damaged her equipment, driven a terrible shock through her body, and left her with bruising and internal injuries significant enough that Irena had forbidden further combat operations.

She had survived.

That did not make the experience pleasant.

It certainly had not made the doctor more patient with her attempts to sit up without permission.

“Lie down.”

The Akizuki girl looked toward Irena.

“But—”

“Lie down.”

“I was just—”

“You were attempting to remove the monitoring leads.”

The destroyer stared.

For a moment, she looked genuinely surprised that the doctor had noticed.

Then she slowly lowered her hand.

Irena folded her arms.

“You have a bruised chest, significant soft-tissue trauma, and rigging damage that requires a separate mechanical inspection. You are not going anywhere.”

The girl looked toward the ceiling.

For several seconds, she seemed to be considering an argument.

Then she sighed.

“Yes, Doctor.”

Irena's expression softened.

“Good.”

The physician checked the monitoring equipment.

Then looked toward the girl again.

“Are you hungry?”

The destroyer hesitated.

For a moment, her face became embarrassed.

“A little.”

Irena raised an eyebrow.

“Then why didn't you say so?”

The girl stared.

For a second, she seemed unable to think of an answer.

Then whispered:

“I didn't want to bother anybody.”

The doctor's expression changed.

She sat beside the bed.

For several seconds, she regarded the young Keelborn.

Then spoke gently.

“You were struck by a naval shell today.”

The destroyer looked away.

“I know.”

“And you survived.”

A small nod.

“That doesn't mean you have to pretend nothing happened.”

The girl's expression tightened.

For a moment, she stared at the blanket.

Then her voice became very quiet.

“I thought I was going to die.”

Irena stopped.

The girl continued.

“When I saw the gun turn toward me, I knew I couldn't move fast enough.”

She swallowed.

“I remember the flash.”

A pause.

“Then it hurt.”

Irena remained quiet.

The destroyer's hands tightened around the sheet.

“I couldn't breathe for a moment. I thought something inside me had broken.”

Her voice trembled.

“Then I heard everyone shouting.”

For several seconds, she looked toward the far wall.

Then she whispered:

“I was so scared.”

The doctor placed one hand over hers.

The girl looked up.

Irena's expression was gentle.

“You're allowed to be.”

The destroyer swallowed.

For a moment, her eyes filled.

Then she nodded.

The doctor gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

“Now, let's get you something to eat.”

 

Aster arrived twenty minutes later carrying a tray.

The Fletcher-class girl's own medical restrictions had been loosened sufficiently for short walks and light activity, but Irena had made it very clear that she was not to mistake permission to move around for permission to join the next combat sortie.

Aster had agreed.

Mostly.

She entered the ward with a bowl of soup, bread, and a suspiciously cheerful expression.

“Delivery!”

The Akizuki girl looked up.

For a moment, she seemed startled.

Then she smiled weakly.

“Oh.”

Aster approached.

“Doctor says you're allowed food. Which is wonderful, because I was beginning to worry you'd been surviving on stubbornness.”

The destroyer blinked.

Then laughed.

It hurt.

She winced.

Aster immediately looked concerned.

“Sorry.”

The girl shook her head.

“No. It's okay.”

Aster set down the tray.

Then pulled up a chair.

For a moment, she examined the patient's face.

“You look better.”

The destroyer raised an eyebrow.

“Really?”

“Absolutely.”

A pause.

“Yesterday you looked like you'd been hit by a truck.”

The Akizuki stared.

Then sighed.

“I was hit by a shell.”

Aster considered that.

“Fair point.”

The destroyer smiled.

Aster leaned back.

For several minutes, the girl ate while the Fletcher told her about a mechanic who had accidentally fallen asleep sitting upright inside a maintenance inspection bay.

The story was ridiculous.

Its details became increasingly questionable.

At one point, Aster claimed the mechanic had remained asleep while three engineers argued over a torque wrench less than a meter from his head.

The Akizuki girl laughed again.

This time, more carefully.

Then she lowered her spoon.

For several seconds, she looked toward Aster.

“Aster?”

The Fletcher blinked.

“Yes?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

The destroyer hesitated.

Then whispered:

“Do you think I was lucky?”

Aster's expression softened.

She considered the question.

Then answered:

“Yes.”

The younger girl's eyes lowered.

Aster continued.

“Very lucky.”

A pause.

Then she added:

“But you also kept your head when you were hurt. You disabled that landing craft's gun after the hit.”

The destroyer swallowed.

“I don't remember all of it.”

“That's okay.”

For several seconds, neither spoke.

Then the girl looked toward her hands.

“Everyone keeps saying it means we're stronger than we thought.”

Aster nodded slowly.

“I've heard.”

The Akizuki's expression became troubled.

“What if people start thinking we can just take shells now?”

Aster went very still.

The girl continued.

“I don't want somebody else to get hit because they think what happened to me is normal.”

For several seconds, the Fletcher said nothing.

Then she slowly leaned forward.

“That's a good thing to tell Operations.”

The destroyer blinked.

“What?”

“Exactly what you just said.”

The younger girl looked startled.

“But I'm in Medical.”

“So?”

“I can't fight.”

Aster smiled faintly.

“Information is useful, too.”

The Akizuki lowered her eyes.

For a moment, she considered that.

Then nodded.

“Okay.”

Aster smiled.

“Good.”

She looked toward the bedside communications terminal.

“Want me to help you call?”

The destroyer nodded.

“Yes.”

Aster reached for the handset.

Then paused.

“Actually…”

The younger girl looked up.

“What?”

The Fletcher tilted her head.

“I don't think I've ever heard you introduce yourself properly.”

The destroyer blinked.

For a moment, she seemed embarrassed.

Then she smiled.

“Shiori.”

Aster's expression softened.

The girl continued.

“Shiori Tsuzusu.”

The Fletcher smiled.

“Well, Shiori Tsuzusu.”

She offered her hand.

“I'm Aster.”

Shiori stared.

Then laughed.

This time, carefully enough that it didn't hurt quite so much.

“I know.”

“Good. We're making progress.”

They shook hands.

And, for a moment, the ward felt a little warmer.

 

At twenty-one nineteen, Horizon Operations received a transmission from the medical annex.

Victor glanced toward the line identification.

Then frowned.

“Commander?”

Kade looked up.

“Yes?”

“An Akizuki-class Keelborn is requesting to submit a combat observation.”

Mara turned.

“The injured one?”

Victor nodded.

“Yes.”

Kade's expression changed.

For a moment, he considered the request.

Then nodded.

“Put her through.”

The channel opened.

A young voice answered.

“Horizon Operations, this is Akizuki-class Keelborn Shiori Tsuzusu, reporting from Medical.”

Kade raised an eyebrow.

For a moment, he looked toward Mara.

Then answered.

“Shiori Tsuzusu, this is Commander Bher. Go ahead.”

Shiori swallowed.

The faint sound of Aster encouraging her could be heard in the background.

Then the destroyer continued.

“Sir, I wanted to clarify something about the shell that hit me.”

Kade straightened.

“I'm listening.”

There was a pause.

Then Shiori spoke more firmly.

“I survived the direct impact, but it damaged my equipment and hurt me badly. I don't think other girls should assume they can survive the same thing.”

The Commander remained silent.

Shiori continued.

“It wasn't like a shell bouncing harmlessly off armor. I felt the impact through my entire body. I couldn't move properly afterward. And if another shell had hit me while I was down…”

Her voice faltered.

For several seconds, she was quiet.

Then she whispered:

“I don't think I would have gotten up.”

Kade closed his eyes.

For a moment, he remembered the combat report.

A direct shell impact.

A surviving Keelborn.

A discovery that had seemed almost miraculous in the middle of the morning's fighting.

Now the girl who had survived it was trying to prevent that discovery from getting somebody else killed.

He opened his eyes.

Then answered.

“Shiori.”

“Yes, Commander?”

“Thank you.”

The destroyer blinked.

A brief silence followed.

Then Kade continued.

“You're right. One survival doesn't establish a universal limit. We'll make sure the combat guidance reflects that.”

Shiori released a breath.

“Thank you, sir.”

Kade's expression softened.

“And Shiori?”

“Yes?”

“Get some rest.”

A pause.

Then the young destroyer answered:

“Yes, Commander.”

Kade glanced toward the terminal.

He could almost picture her expression.

He added:

“That is an order.”

Aster's laughter sounded faintly in the background.

Shiori sighed.

“Understood.”

The connection ended.

Kade lowered the microphone.

For several seconds, he remained still.

Then he looked toward Aaron.

“Put that in the combat bulletin.”

The lieutenant nodded.

“Already noting it.”

The Commander continued.

“Explicitly distinguish ship-derived resilience from invulnerability. Main-body impacts remain potentially fatal, especially repeated hits or secondary damage.”

Aaron wrote.

Kade looked toward the western chart.

Then spoke quietly.

“Fifteen-inch shells aren't going to politely stop hurting just because somebody survived a smaller one.”

Mara nodded.

“No.”

The Commander studied the enemy's last known positions.

Two Princesses.

Their damaged escorts.

The darkness beyond the outer defense line.

For a moment, he felt uneasy.

Then he looked toward the clock.

Twenty-one twenty-three.

The island was beginning to settle.

He hoped it would stay that way.

 

The same evening, Hana Saeki stood in the repair hangar beneath three enormous floodlamps, staring at an inspection report that had become increasingly unpleasant.

Riko's portside support damage was not catastrophic.

But it was complicated.

The near-miss had driven a twisting load through the outer stabilizing structure, deforming a mounting bracket and misaligning part of the hydraulic assembly.

The rigging remained mechanically functional.

It could move.

It could fight in an emergency.

But Hana would not sign it off for unrestricted maneuvers.

Not until the damaged fittings had been replaced and the alignment checked.

A technician approached.

“Chief?”

Hana looked up.

“Yes?”

“Replacement bracket is ready for fitting.”

She nodded.

“Good.”

The mechanic hesitated.

Then added:

“We can probably get her back to restricted combat readiness before midnight.”

Hana considered the estimate.

For several seconds, she examined the equipment.

Then she nodded.

“Maybe. But don't skip the load test.”

The mechanic straightened.

“Of course.”

“And check the adjacent fittings for hidden cracking.”

“Yes.”

“And if the repair doesn't pass, don't try to persuade me it's close enough.”

The technician smiled weakly.

“I wouldn't dream of it.”

Hana narrowed her eyes.

The man wisely returned to work.

For a moment, the Akashi-class repair ship girl watched him go.

Then she sighed.

She had been working since before sunrise.

Her hands ached.

A faint smear of grease marked one cheek.

Her tied dark hair had become untidy.

And the day's repair queue had grown longer every hour.

Beyond Riko's rigging, another team was working on a cruiser gun mount.

Farther away, damaged destroyer equipment lay beneath numbered tarpaulins.

In the adjoining bay, Camille's Mogador-class machinery remained partially disassembled.

The repairs had been interrupted repeatedly as the station prioritized combat damage.

Hana hated that.

Not because Camille had complained.

The girl hadn't.

But because every interruption meant another day before she could move freely again.

Hana looked toward the Mogador rigging.

For a moment, her expression softened.

Then a technician approached carrying a clipboard.

“Chief, you need a break.”

Hana stared.

“What?”

“Dinner.”

“I ate.”

“When?”

She opened her mouth.

Stopped.

Then frowned.

The mechanic raised an eyebrow.

Hana sighed.

“Fine.”

The technician smiled.

“Good.”

She accepted the paper-wrapped food he'd brought.

Then looked toward the repair bays.

For several seconds, she remained quiet.

Finally, she spoke.

“Keep the welders rotating. Nobody works exhausted on pressure-bearing components.”

The mechanic nodded.

“Yes, Chief.”

“And send the next inspection results to my desk.”

“Yes.”

Hana turned toward the small break room.

Her feet hurt.

Her shoulders ached.

She was hungry enough that the smell of warm bread nearly made her dizzy.

But for one brief moment, she looked toward the western sea.

The Blackwake had withdrawn.

The Princesses were still out there.

Somewhere.

Hana tightened her grip on the paper wrapping.

Then whispered:

“Please stay away.”

The sea did not answer.

 

III. The Women Who Wouldn't Stop Rescuing People

At twenty-one thirty-seven, HMS-style Tribal-class destroyer Tribal—as the vessel was identified on Horizon's provisional traffic board—remained underway outside the western recovery zone.

Her crew had been awake for too long.

The medical compartment was overflowing.

Several wounded Ironwake sailors occupied temporary cots in what had once been a recreation space.

Other rescued men sat beneath blankets with cups of water, speaking quietly or staring at nothing.

The destroyer had transferred its most critical patients to larger support craft during the evening.

But she still carried enough survivors that every officer aboard was painfully aware of the ship's limited space.

Her captain stood on the bridge holding a mug of coffee.

Eliza Ward had forgotten when she'd last consumed a hot meal.

Her executive officer had not.

Ruth Mercer entered carrying two covered containers.

Eliza looked toward them.

“No.”

Ruth stopped.

The captain folded her arms.

“I know that expression.”

Ruth raised an eyebrow.

“Which expression?”

“The one that means you've brought food and intend to become insufferable about it.”

The executive officer regarded her.

Then placed the containers on the chart table.

“Correct.”

Eliza sighed.

“I have a ship to command.”

“And a stomach.”

“Ruth.”

“Eliza.”

The captain stared.

Her executive officer stared back.

For several seconds, the bridge crew very carefully pretended not to listen.

Then Eliza lowered her coffee.

“Fine.”

Ruth smiled.

“Excellent.”

The captain opened the container.

Bread.

Stew.

A small portion of preserved fruit.

She blinked.

“Where did this come from?”

“Horizon sent it with the medical transfer.”

Eliza stopped.

For a moment, she looked toward Ruth.

Then down at the food.

“Horizon?”

The executive officer nodded.

“They sent enough for the crew and survivors. Their supply officer said it wasn't much, but he hoped it would help.”

Eliza stared.

For several seconds, she could not speak.

Then she slowly sat beside the chart table.

Her expression became tired.

Terribly tired.

“We were shelling them this morning.”

Ruth nodded.

“Yes.”

“And now they're feeding us.”

“Yes.”

Eliza looked toward the western horizon.

For a moment, she remembered Ironwake's captain demanding that the destroyer return to her assigned station.

The threats.

The arguments.

The men in the water.

The moment she had finally decided that obeying orders was no longer worth abandoning people to die.

She lowered her eyes.

Then whispered:

“What a day.”

Ruth sat opposite her.

“Yes.”

For a few minutes, the two women ate in silence.

The destroyer's bridge remained dim.

Navigation lights were managed according to the local threat and rescue procedures.

The radar operator watched the surface plot.

The sonar team continued listening beneath the hull.

And the ship moved carefully along the edge of the recovery area.

Eliza looked toward the bulkhead.

Then toward the darkness beyond the windows.

For a moment, she felt almost peaceful.

Not happy.

Not relieved.

But able to breathe.

Then the communications officer spoke.

“Captain?”

Eliza looked up.

“Yes?”

“We've received a message from Horizon Medical.”

Her expression sharpened.

“About the wounded?”

“Yes. They've stabilized the men we transferred earlier. Two are undergoing surgery, but the others are expected to survive.”

Eliza closed her eyes.

For one second, she felt a powerful relief.

Then she opened them.

“Good.”

Ruth smiled faintly.

“Very good.”

The captain looked toward the crew.

Several women were visibly exhausted.

One had been standing at her station for so long that the executive officer had already ordered her replacement twice.

The sailors were doing their best.

But they were human.

Not game avatars.

Not tireless combat units.

Human women who had spent an entire day fighting, rescuing, and watching ships burn.

Eliza looked toward Ruth.

“Start rotating the watch again.”

The executive officer nodded.

“Already scheduled.”

“Medical?”

“Additional volunteers from the damage-control party.”

“Good.”

Eliza took another mouthful of stew.

Then looked toward the western horizon.

The sea remained dark.

For a moment, she thought of the Blackwake aircraft.

The strange pale carrier.

The white flowers.

The terrifying precision of their attacks.

She swallowed.

Then asked:

“Any word on those things?”

Ruth's expression changed.

“The Princesses?”

Eliza raised an eyebrow.

“Is that what they're calling them?”

“Provisional designation.”

The captain considered that.

Then sighed.

“Of course.”

Ruth looked toward the latest intelligence notice.

“Two command entities. One aviation cruiser, one fleet carrier. Both possibly derived from Keelborn lost at Halcyon.”

Eliza lowered her spoon.

For a moment, she stared.

Then whispered:

“People?”

Ruth nodded slowly.

“That appears to be the concern.”

The captain looked toward the darkness.

For several seconds, she was quiet.

Then she asked:

“What kind of enemy does that?”

Ruth didn't answer.

Neither knew.

The destroyer continued moving.

And the sea remained quiet.

 

Below the bridge, one of Ironwake's rescued sailors sat beside a narrow bunk holding a blanket around his shoulders.

His name was Petty Officer Nolan Price.

He had served in one of the battleship's damage-control parties.

He'd been below the after superstructure when the first Blackwake dive bombers struck.

He remembered smoke.

The smell of burning insulation.

A ruptured pipe spraying hot water.

A man shouting that the magazine boundary was still intact.

Then another explosion.

He had lost sight of his friend.

Not because the other man had run.

Because the passageway had filled with smoke and debris.

Nolan had searched as long as he could.

Then the flooding reached the compartment.

Somebody dragged him away.

Now he sat aboard a destroyer that had been threatened with disciplinary action for rescuing him.

A woman approached carrying a mug.

“Tea?”

Nolan looked up.

For a moment, he seemed surprised.

Then nodded.

“Yes, please.”

She handed it to him.

He accepted it carefully.

His hands shook.

The sailor noticed.

For several seconds, she remained quiet.

Then asked:

“Do you need Medical?”

Nolan shook his head.

“No.”

Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

A pause.

Then he whispered:

“Thank you.”

The woman smiled faintly.

“You're welcome.”

She began turning away.

Then Nolan spoke again.

“Excuse me?”

She stopped.

“Yes?”

He looked toward the tea.

For several seconds, he struggled to find the words.

Then asked:

“Why did you come back for us?”

The sailor stared.

For a moment, she seemed uncertain.

Then she looked toward the neighboring beds.

The wounded men.

The exhausted survivors.

Some from Ironwake.

Some from Baltimore.

Some from smaller PCA vessels.

All alive because somebody had brought them aboard.

She looked back.

“Because you were in the water.”

Nolan lowered his eyes.

For several seconds, he said nothing.

Then his expression crumpled.

He pressed one hand against his face.

The sailor did not attempt to make him stop.

She sat beside him until he was ready to speak.

Outside, the Tribal's engines continued turning.

And for a little while, the living remained safe.

 

At twenty-one fifty-eight, Alice Lasky heard the first returning sound.

She had been resting.

Or trying to.

The Allen M. Sumner-class destroyer was lying on a narrow cot in a protected acoustic monitoring room, her headphones beside her and a half-eaten sandwich on the table.

Her sonar watch had been divided among several qualified operators.

The station had insisted she leave the equipment for at least an hour.

She'd agreed.

Then spent most of that hour staring at the ceiling.

The strange sounds from the previous day remained lodged in her mind.

The deep scraping.

The groaning metal.

The enormous underwater movement.

The way those sounds had transformed into Blackwake ships rising from the sea.

She had identified ordinary enemy machinery before.

She had never heard anything quite like those first contacts.

Now, while attempting to sleep, she imagined them again.

She closed her eyes.

Tried to breathe.

Then the door opened.

“Alice?”

She sat up immediately.

The relief watch operator stood in the doorway.

His expression was serious.

The Sumner girl's heart tightened.

“What?”

The man swallowed.

“We've got something.”

Alice was already standing.

 

The acoustic room's main display showed several faint contacts beyond the western surveillance boundary.

The sea was noisy.

Weather remained moderate.

A small convoy of rescue vessels was moving through the protected corridor.

Tribal's machinery had a familiar signature.

So did the damaged PCA escorts.

But the new contacts lay farther west.

Beyond the area where the Princesses' formations had last been seen.

Alice sat.

Placed the headphones over her ears.

And listened.

For several seconds, she heard only the background sea.

Then a low vibration arrived.

A mechanical groan.

Long.

Irregular.

As though an enormous structure were flexing beneath the water.

The Sumner girl's expression changed.

She closed her eyes.

Listened again.

There.

Another sound.

A rhythmic scraping.

Then a deeper pulse beneath it.

She swallowed.

For a moment, she wanted to believe the contacts were moving away.

They had withdrawn.

The battle was over.

Horizon was safe.

Then the bearings changed.

Alice opened her eyes.

The signals were growing stronger.

Not weaker.

She checked the comparison against her earlier recordings.

The harmonic structure was not identical.

The Blackwake fleet had lost vessels.

Its formation was different.

Some of the remaining units might have changed speed.

But the underlying sound remained recognizable.

She looked toward the operator.

He met her eyes.

For several seconds, neither spoke.

Then Alice whispered:

“They're turning.”

The man swallowed.

“Toward us?”

She checked the bearings.

A pause.

Then nodded.

“Yes.”

Her hands tightened around the headphones.

For one moment, she felt cold.

Then she reached for the radio.

“Harbor Three to Horizon Operations.”

Victor answered.

“Operations receiving.”

Alice looked toward the display.

Then spoke carefully.

“Previously tracked Blackwake contacts are changing course. Multiple surface and probable subsurface signatures increasing on eastern approach bearings.”

A pause.

The response came.

“Confirm direction of movement.”

Alice swallowed.

Then answered.

“Toward Horizon.”

The acoustic room became quiet.

For several seconds, she listened to the low, terrible sounds growing louder beneath the sea.

Then she added:

“I believe the Blackwake fleet is coming back.”

 

IV. The Second Sortie

The warning reached Kade before he had finished reading the evening casualty reconciliation.

He looked up when Victor entered.

The communications officer did not knock.

That was enough to tell him something was wrong.

“Commander.”

Kade lowered the report.

“What?”

Victor swallowed.

“Alice has reacquired the Blackwake.”

For a moment, Kade remained still.

Then he slowly set down the papers.

“How far?”

“Beyond the western surveillance line. Multiple contacts. Closing.”

The Commander looked toward the wall clock.

Twenty-two oh-three.

Not even four hours since the last major exchange of fire.

Not enough time for a proper repair cycle.

Not enough time for exhausted crews to recover.

Certainly not enough time to replace the ammunition and aircraft expended during the afternoon.

He stared.

For one brief moment, he wanted to ask Victor whether the report had been mistaken.

Then he remembered Alice.

The way she'd identified the submarine inside the lagoon.

The way she'd followed the strange underwater sounds before anyone understood what they meant.

The Commander stood.

“Get Mara.”

“Already on her way.”

“Aaron?”

“Operations.”

“Tell him I'm coming.”

Victor nodded.

Kade grabbed his jacket.

Then paused.

For several seconds, he looked toward the half-finished casualty report.

The names.

The injury classifications.

The maintenance priorities.

He'd hoped the remainder of the night would be spent turning those reports into recovery plans.

Instead, he folded the papers and placed them beside the lamp.

Then hurried into the corridor.

 

The Operations Room had changed since the afternoon.

Several damaged display panels had been replaced.

The plotting board had been reorganized.

The conventional PCA vessels still operating near Horizon were marked according to their temporary status.

Tribal's rescue route remained highlighted.

The two Princesses' last known positions appeared farther west, accompanied by uncertainty circles.

Now those circles were moving.

East.

Toward the island.

Aaron stood beside the intelligence board.

His expression was grim.

Mara approached from the opposite doorway.

For one moment, she glanced toward Kade.

Neither needed to ask whether the other understood.

The Commander went straight to the chart.

“Contact picture.”

Aaron pointed.

“Surface and acoustic reports indicate several Blackwake groups moving east. We have not visually reacquired the Princesses yet, but the formation appears broadly consistent with the units that withdrew.”

“Reinforcements?”

“Unknown. The number of contacts may exceed the surviving units we observed at dusk, but detection is incomplete.”

Kade looked toward the black markers.

He didn't like that.

Not even slightly.

“Time to outer defense boundary?”

“Thirty-five to fifty minutes for the leading surface contacts, depending on speed. Some smaller units may arrive sooner.”

Mara folded her arms.

“Long-range search?”

“Aircraft reconnaissance is risky after dark,” Aaron answered. “We have surface radar and listening posts. We can attempt illumination from the coastal positions if the enemy closes.”

Kade nodded.

The Princesses had withdrawn just beyond Horizon's immediate reach.

The island had allowed them to go because chasing into open water with exhausted defenders would have been foolish.

Now they were returning before those defenders could rest.

Whether the timing was deliberate or opportunistic, the effect was the same.

The Blackwake had found a vulnerable moment.

Kade looked toward the readiness board.

The numbers were unpleasant.

Scarlett's rigging remained serviceable, but several systems required further attention.

The second South Dakota-class girl was ready under inspection restrictions.

Adelheid had sufficient ammunition for another engagement, though not an unlimited one.

Nadya needed a secondary-battery repair.

The cruisers were unevenly supplied.

Several destroyer torpedo batteries had not been replenished.

Yuna's aircraft complement was heavily strained.

Shōkaku's fairies were exhausted.

Riko's stabilization repairs were still in progress.

Calla's antiaircraft group had already expended a significant amount of ammunition.

And some of the recently defected PCA girls had not yet received proper medical inspections.

Kade closed his eyes.

For a moment, he felt the weight of all of it.

Then he opened them.

“Chief.”

Mara straightened.

“Yes?”

“Battle stations. Condition Black.”

Her expression tightened.

“Full island?”

“Full island.”

She nodded.

“Understood.”

Kade turned toward Victor.

“Warn Tribal and every rescue vessel in the western corridor. They have to move clear of the probable attack lanes.”

Victor reached for the radio.

The Commander continued.

“Recall nonessential personnel to shelters. Protect the repair district. Medical remains under blackout.”

Aaron looked toward him.

“Sortie order?”

Kade stared at the readiness board.

For one terrible moment, he wished he had another choice.

Then he answered.

“Combat-capable units only.”

The lieutenant nodded.

Kade continued.

“No exceptions for damaged equipment. If Engineering hasn't cleared it, it stays.”

Mara glanced toward the Yamato-class status line.

“Riko?”

The Commander looked.

Her stabilizer repair was still incomplete.

He shook his head.

“Not yet.”

A pause.

“Tell Hana to give me an honest estimate. Not an optimistic one.”

Mara nodded.

Kade reached for the command microphone.

For a moment, he stood with one hand resting against the console.

He imagined the girls eating dinner.

Sleeping.

Having their injuries dressed.

Laughing quietly because they had survived.

He was about to take that away from them.

Again.

He took a breath.

Then opened the channel.

“All Horizon defense personnel, Commander Bher.”

The Operations Room quieted.

“Blackwake surface contacts have reversed course and are approaching the western defensive boundary.”

A pause.

“This is not a drill.”

Across the island, the words entered dining halls, repair bays, barracks, medical annexes, and maintenance piers.

Some people stopped eating.

Others woke.

A few stared at the speakers in disbelief.

Kade continued.

“All combat-capable Keelborn assigned to the outer defense will prepare for immediate deployment. Existing medical and engineering restrictions remain in force.”

His voice became firmer.

“The enemy has demonstrated coordinated surface and aviation attacks under two previously unknown command entities. Assume night approaches are hostile until positively identified.”

A pause.

“We are going to keep them outside the lagoon.”

He swallowed.

Then added:

“I know you're tired.”

For several seconds, the command circuit remained silent.

Kade looked toward the readiness board.

Then spoke more quietly.

“I know some of you have barely eaten. I know some of you are still hurt. I know you deserve a night without alarms.”

Mara lowered her eyes.

The Commander continued.

“But the Blackwake is coming back, and there are people here who cannot fight.”

A pause.

“So we're going to defend them.”

He straightened.

“All assigned units, prepare to sortie.”

The channel closed.

For several seconds, nobody spoke.

Then Mara looked toward him.

Her expression was deeply troubled.

“They won't have enough time.”

Kade nodded.

“No.”

The Chief swallowed.

“Some of the repairs—”

“I know.”

A pause.

Then the Commander looked toward the western sea.

“We'll hold with what we have.”

 

The alarm reached the dining hall while Riko was trying to decide whether to ask for another piece of bread.

The speaker crackled.

Kade's voice filled the room.

The Yamato-class girl went still.

Across from her, Scarlett closed her eyes.

For several seconds, neither moved.

Then the older battleship quietly set down her cup.

Riko stared.

“They're back?”

Scarlett nodded.

“Yes.”

“But they left.”

“I know.”

The younger girl's expression became frightened.

For a moment, she looked toward the western window.

Then back.

“Already?”

Scarlett rose.

Her chair scraped against the floor.

For several seconds, the South Dakota-class girl remained quiet.

Then she looked toward Riko.

“Your rigging isn't cleared yet.”

Riko stood immediately.

“I can—”

“Riko.”

The younger battleship stopped.

Scarlett's expression was gentle but firm.

“Wait for Hana.”

Riko swallowed.

For a moment, she looked angry.

Not at Scarlett.

At the damaged stabilizer.

At the enemy.

At the ridiculous unfairness of being one of the strongest Keelborn at Horizon and still having to wait for a repair certificate.

Then she nodded.

“Okay.”

Scarlett stepped closer.

For one brief moment, she placed a hand on Riko's shoulder.

“Stay safe.”

The younger girl looked up.

Then slowly nodded.

“You too.”

Scarlett smiled faintly.

“That's the plan.”

She turned toward the exit.

Riko watched her go.

For several seconds, she remained motionless.

Then she looked toward the unfinished bread.

The bowl.

The cooling tea.

The ordinary dinner she'd been enjoying less than an hour earlier.

She swallowed.

Then hurried toward the repair hangar.

 

In the medical annex, Shiori Tsuzusu heard the alert and immediately attempted to sit up.

Pain shot through her chest.

She gasped.

The monitoring equipment complained.

Aster looked up from the chair beside her.

“Shiori!”

The Akizuki girl winced.

“I'm okay.”

“You are very obviously not okay.”

“I just—”

“Lie down.”

Shiori stared.

For a moment, her expression became embarrassed.

Then she slowly lowered herself against the pillow.

Aster folded her arms.

The wounded destroyer looked toward the speaker.

Her eyes filled with frustration.

“They're going out again.”

Aster nodded.

“Yes.”

Shiori swallowed.

“They're tired.”

“I know.”

“The Blackwake—”

“I know.”

For several seconds, neither spoke.

Then Shiori whispered:

“I want to help.”

Aster's expression softened.

She approached the bed.

For a moment, she looked toward the monitoring equipment.

Then she sat beside the younger girl.

“You already did.”

Shiori looked up.

Aster continued.

“You told Operations something important.”

The Akizuki lowered her eyes.

For several seconds, she seemed unconvinced.

Then she whispered:

“But they're going to get hurt.”

Aster swallowed.

She looked toward the doorway.

Beyond it, medical personnel were preparing for another influx of casualties.

Someone was checking blood supplies.

Another nurse was moving equipment toward the emergency treatment room.

Aster felt a knot of fear tighten in her stomach.

She wanted to go.

Wanted to put on her own rigging.

Wanted to fight beside the girls heading out into the dark.

But her injuries had not fully healed.

Irena had been very clear.

If she ignored the restrictions and took another serious hit, the consequences could be far worse.

Aster looked back toward Shiori.

Then spoke gently.

“They might.”

The younger girl swallowed.

Aster continued.

“And you can't change that by getting yourself killed trying to join them.”

For several seconds, Shiori was quiet.

Then she nodded.

Aster offered her hand.

The Akizuki took it.

They remained sitting together.

Two destroyer girls.

Both injured.

Both wishing they could do more.

And outside, the night alarm continued sounding.

 

On Tribal, the second battle alarm interrupted the medical transfer preparation.

Captain Eliza Ward listened to Horizon's warning.

Then slowly looked toward her executive officer.

Ruth's face was pale.

For several seconds, neither spoke.

Then Eliza asked:

“How many survivors still aboard?”

“Seventy-three awaiting transfer, plus twelve who need continued medical observation.”

The captain closed her eyes.

For one moment, she seemed almost physically pained.

They had spent the afternoon saving these people.

Now the Blackwake was coming back.

Ruth looked toward her.

“Eliza?”

The captain opened her eyes.

“What?”

“Orders?”

Eliza considered the chart.

The destroyer was not ideally positioned for a major surface engagement.

Her medical spaces were crowded.

Her crew was exhausted.

Her fuel remained adequate, but not plentiful enough for wasteful maneuvering.

Her ammunition stocks had been reduced by the afternoon's fighting.

And several Ironwake survivors were in no condition to endure another battle.

She looked toward the rescue corridor.

Then toward the approaching Blackwake contacts.

For a moment, she considered making directly for the harbor.

The safest choice.

The obvious choice.

Then the sonar operator reported several possible contacts moving toward the outer evacuation route.

Eliza's expression hardened.

The Blackwake might reach the survivors before they cleared the area.

She looked toward Ruth.

“Signal Horizon. Request immediate medical transfer priority for our critical patients.”

The executive officer nodded.

“And after?”

Eliza looked toward the western chart.

For several seconds, she was quiet.

Then she answered:

“We'll cover the corridor until the transports are clear.”

Ruth stared.

“Eliza.”

The captain met her eyes.

For a moment, the two women looked at one another.

Then Ruth swallowed.

“We're a destroyer.”

“I know.”

“We have wounded aboard.”

“I know.”

“And those things sank Ironwake.”

Eliza lowered her eyes.

For several seconds, she remained quiet.

Then she looked toward the medical compartment.

The rescued men.

The exhausted sailors.

The women who had spent all day dragging strangers out of the sea.

Her expression became determined.

“Then we'd better make sure the transports get away.”

Ruth stared.

For one moment, she looked as though she might argue.

Then her expression softened.

She sighed.

“Fine.”

Eliza raised an eyebrow.

“Fine?”

The executive officer folded her arms.

“But you're not getting yourself killed because you think being stubborn is a substitute for tactics.”

The captain almost smiled.

“Wouldn't dream of it.”

Ruth stared.

For several seconds, she seemed deeply unconvinced.

Then she turned toward the communications officer.

“Battle stations. Prepare the antiaircraft batteries. Alert Medical to brace for maneuvering.”

The bridge came alive.

Eliza looked toward the western sea.

The Blackwake had returned.

And this time, she intended to make certain it did not reach the people her crew had saved.

 

At twenty-two thirty-two, Horizon's first western search radar detected multiple targets closing in two separated groups.

One approached from west-northwest.

Another from southwest.

The geometry mattered.

If both groups continued, they could threaten different defensive channels and force Horizon to divide its already exhausted fleet.

A third set of contacts remained farther west.

Large.

Slower.

Poorly resolved.

Aaron looked toward the display.

His expression tightened.

“Commander.”

Kade approached.

“What?”

The lieutenant pointed.

“Two leading surface groups. Possible destroyer and cruiser elements.”

Kade studied the bearings.

Then looked toward the deeper contacts.

“And those?”

Aaron swallowed.

“Unknown. Could be the heavier Blackwake units.”

The Commander stared.

For several seconds, he remained quiet.

Then he looked toward Victor.

“Any visual?”

“Not yet.”

Kade nodded.

“Keep the coastal searchlights off until the enemy enters the designated illumination zone. No point handing them our positions early.”

Mara looked toward the chart.

“The repair piers are still exposed to air attack.”

“I know.”

“Calla's group?”

“Deploy inside the outer air-defense line. Keep the damaged girls out of the firing lanes.”

The Chief nodded.

Kade studied the enemy markers.

For a moment, he felt something unpleasant.

The approaching contacts were not rushing directly at the harbor.

They were spreading.

Separating.

Creating multiple threats.

Exactly the kind of movement an experienced commander might use to force an exhausted defender into making mistakes.

He looked toward the photographs on the secondary display.

The pale aviation cruiser.

The dark carrier.

The white flowers.

Then he spoke quietly.

“They're testing us.”

Aaron looked up.

“Sir?”

Kade pointed toward the diverging groups.

“They know we're tired. They saw our heavy-gun positions earlier. Now they're approaching in different sectors to see where we put the remaining strength.”

The lieutenant considered that.

Then nodded slowly.

“Possible.”

Kade looked toward the western sea.

His expression hardened.

“Don't give them the satisfaction.”

 

At twenty-two forty-seven, the first shells arrived.

They came from beyond visual range.

Small-caliber naval rounds.

Not enough to destroy the island by themselves.

But enough to announce that the Blackwake had returned.

The shells fell into the outer defensive waters, beyond the reef.

A few struck closer to the western watch positions.

One exploded against an abandoned navigation platform already damaged during the morning's fighting.

Fragments scattered into the sea.

The coastal observers reported the impacts.

Horizon answered with radar-directed fire from a light cruiser group.

The initial salvo fell short.

The next bracketed the probable Blackwake firing position.

The enemy changed course.

A few seconds later, another Blackwake group opened fire from the south.

The coastal watch reported two separate gunflashes.

Then three.

Then more.

The western sea began lighting up.

Not with sunrise.

With artillery.

Kade watched the reports arrive.

His expression became cold.

The battle had begun.

Again.

He reached for the microphone.

“Outer Defense Task Force, Operations. Enemy surface fire confirmed. Engage within assigned sectors. Maintain positive identification.”

The acknowledgments arrived.

Then a new voice entered the radio.

Shōkaku.

“Horizon, hostile aircraft engines detected west of our position. Limited group approaching at low altitude.”

Yuna responded immediately.

“Air Defense receiving. Stand by for night interception procedures.”

Kade looked toward the aviation board.

The night was about to become worse.

Much worse.

Because the corrupted carrier Princess had not finished fighting.

And now the defenders would have to meet her aircraft in darkness.

 

V. Searchlights Across the Black Sea

The first full Blackwake salvo struck the northern screen at twenty-three oh-four.

Six heavy shells crossed the darkness.

They did not arrive with any warning that could be seen from the water. The enemy gun flashes were distant, half-hidden by haze, and the interval between firing and impact left the defending Keelborn only their instruments and observers to tell them where the shells might fall.

The first two exploded short.

The third struck the water close to a Kitakaze-class destroyer.

She flinched as the blast rolled beneath her rigging.

The fourth hit one of her outer support structures.

The impact was terrible.

Steel screamed.

A mounting tore away.

Fragments struck her shoulder and upper arm.

The destroyer cried out and staggered sideways, her propulsion equipment momentarily losing synchronization.

A neighboring Akizuki-class girl turned toward her.

“Hibari!”

The Kitakaze gritted her teeth.

“Still moving!”

The Akizuki reached for her radio.

“Northern Screen, Suzu reporting. Hibari has taken a hit. Requesting covering fire!”

The response came immediately.

“Northern Screen receiving. Heavy support adjusting.”

Suzu looked toward the black water.

For several seconds, she saw nothing.

Then another gunflash appeared.

Far ahead.

A bright orange flower blooming briefly in the darkness.

The destroyer girl's eyes widened.

“Brace!”

The next salvo fell around them.

One shell struck the sea behind Hibari.

Another burst against the outer armor of Suzu's rigging.

The Akizuki cried out.

For a moment, she lost her footing.

A warning alarm sounded.

A gun mount had been damaged.

The support structure remained intact, but the shell had torn through an exposed ammunition-feed mechanism.

Suzu felt pain shoot through her side.

She gasped.

Then forced herself upright.

Hibari turned toward her.

“Suzu!”

The Akizuki swallowed.

“I'm fine!”

“You're bleeding!”

Suzu looked down.

A narrow line of blood ran beneath her sleeve.

For a moment, she stared.

Then shook her head.

“It's not deep.”

Hibari's expression tightened.

The Blackwake guns fired again.

The two destroyers accelerated away from the expected impact area.

Behind them, a Horizon light cruiser opened fire.

Several six-inch shells crossed the night.

Their flashes illuminated the surrounding water for brief instants.

The target remained mostly invisible.

A dark shape.

Something immense moving between the searchlight beams.

Then the coastal illumination battery launched a star shell.

The round climbed high above the sea.

For a moment, the darkness remained unbroken.

Then the flare ignited.

A pale light blossomed overhead.

And the Blackwake formation became visible.

Five destroyers.

Two light cruisers.

A heavier shape behind them.

Their blackened hulls cut through the dark water.

Pale armored structures caught the artificial light.

Cold blue eyes seemed to burn along their bows.

And farther back, almost outside the illuminated area, something white stood above the sea.

A girl.

Surrounded by monstrous machinery.

The aviation-cruiser Princess.

Maki.

The sight lasted only a few seconds before smoke began covering the formation again.

But it was enough.

Hibari stared.

For one moment, she forgot the pain in her shoulder.

Then whispered:

“That's her.”

Suzu looked toward the white figure.

Her expression changed.

For several seconds, neither spoke.

Then the Blackwake heavy cruiser fired.

The night exploded.

 

The main battle formed in the western approaches, several kilometers beyond the outer reef.

Horizon could not afford to let the Blackwake surface fleet enter the channels leading toward the harbor.

Those waters were too narrow for the damaged Keelborn to maneuver freely.

The repair district remained vulnerable.

And the enormous guns of the Blackwake's heavier units could inflict terrible damage if they reached suitable bombardment positions.

Kade's plan was therefore simple in principle.

Complicated in execution.

The destroyers would screen the approaches and prevent the enemy from launching uncontested torpedo attacks.

The cruisers would support them, suppressing enemy light units and maintaining antiaircraft cover.

The battleships would remain farther back, using the best available fire-control data to engage the heavier Blackwake ships without risking friendly units or rescue craft.

The carrier groups would provide limited night aviation support where feasible, but their exhausted fairies were not to be sacrificed in blind attacks.

And Tribal would protect the evacuation and rescue corridor while transferring wounded personnel toward the island.

It was a sensible arrangement.

The Blackwake seemed determined to break it apart.

 

The first Blackwake torpedo attack arrived from the southwest.

Three destroyers accelerated beneath the cover of darkness.

Their machinery produced a low, irregular vibration that Alice's sonar teams detected just before the surface observers reported suspicious wakes.

The warning came.

“Southwestern Screen, possible torpedo launch! Multiple tracks eastbound!”

A Horizon destroyer named Kiri heard it.

She was an Akizuki-class girl serving beside Emi's Benson-class equipment near the southern edge of the task force.

Kiri had been awake since before dawn.

Her ammunition reserve was lower than she wanted.

One of her antiaircraft mounts had been operating under repair restrictions.

And the cool night air was beginning to feel unpleasant against the damp clothing beneath her equipment.

She looked toward the sea.

For a moment, she saw nothing.

Then a pale disturbance crossed the black water.

Torpedo wake.

Another appeared behind it.

Her heart jumped.

“Torpedoes! Southern approach!”

Emi turned immediately.

The platinum-blonde Benson girl raised her radio.

“All units, evade north by assigned lanes! Do not cross the heavy group's firing sector!”

The formation began moving.

Not in panic.

With the practiced urgency of girls who knew that a torpedo did not care how tired they were.

Kiri accelerated.

The first weapon passed astern.

A second crossed ahead.

Then a third appeared farther south, following a track that would intersect a damaged support cruiser attempting to reposition.

Kiri saw it.

Her expression tightened.

The cruiser was turning too slowly.

Its port propulsion equipment had already been damaged during the afternoon's battle.

The girl at its center was trying to change course, but her machinery couldn't answer quickly enough.

Kiri raised the radio.

“Cruiser, torpedo approaching from southwest!”

The answer came.

“I see it!”

A pause.

The cruiser tried to turn.

The torpedo continued.

Kiri looked toward the water.

For one brief instant, she considered whether she could intercept the weapon.

Not with her body.

Not by placing herself directly between it and the cruiser.

The torpedo carried enough explosive to cripple or sink a destroyer-class Keelborn.

But perhaps she could force the enemy to break its attack.

She looked toward the Blackwake destroyers.

Their dark shapes were moving behind the torpedo spread.

She raised her guns.

Fired.

The first salvo landed short.

The second struck the leading Blackwake destroyer.

An explosion burst across its upper structure.

The vessel changed course.

Its next attack was disrupted.

But the torpedo already in the water continued toward the cruiser.

Kiri stared.

Then shouted:

“TURN!”

The cruiser tried.

The torpedo struck.

A tremendous explosion rose beneath her portside machinery.

The girl screamed.

Her rigging lifted.

Then twisted.

One of her main support structures broke apart.

She staggered.

For a moment, she remained above the water.

Then the damaged equipment began dragging her sideways.

Kiri's eyes widened.

“NO!”

The cruiser reached toward her.

Her face was white with pain.

For one instant, she seemed to be searching for something to hold.

Then the sea took her.

The enormous rigging disappeared beneath the surface.

A final burst of foam rose where she had stood.

Then the water closed.

Kiri froze.

For several seconds, she stared at the empty place.

The cruiser had been there.

A person.

Moving.

Speaking.

Alive.

Now there was only disturbed water.

A small metallic object rose briefly among the foam.

Kiri saw it.

A Pendant.

For one terrible moment, her body moved before she had fully considered the risk.

She accelerated.

Reached into the water.

Caught the object.

It was cold.

Wet.

Terribly small.

Then Emi's voice came over the radio.

“Kiri! Move! Enemy torpedoes still in the water!”

The Akizuki girl looked up.

A second torpedo track was approaching.

She turned sharply.

The weapon passed just beyond her damaged outer equipment.

Its wake swept beneath her.

Kiri gasped.

Then accelerated toward Emi.

The Benson-class girl moved close enough to cover her.

For several seconds, neither spoke.

Then Emi looked toward Kiri's hands.

“What did you get?”

The Akizuki girl lowered her eyes.

She opened her fingers.

The Pendant rested against her palm.

For a moment, she couldn't speak.

Then she whispered:

“She's gone.”

Emi's expression changed.

The radio continued crackling with combat reports.

The Blackwake destroyers were turning for another attack.

The southern screen was still under fire.

But for one brief instant, the two girls looked at the little object lying between them.

A person reduced to something that could be held in one hand.

A name.

A life.

A possibility of someday bringing her back.

Emi swallowed.

Then spoke gently.

“Secure it.”

Kiri nodded.

Her hands trembled.

She placed the Pendant inside the protected recovery pouch fixed beneath her rigging.

Closed it.

Checked the seal twice.

Then looked toward the enemy.

Her eyes were wet.

“I'm not losing it.”

Emi nodded.

“No.”

The two destroyers turned toward the Blackwake formation.

And the night battle continued.

 

The first confirmed sinking report reached Operations at twenty-three twenty-one.

Aaron read it.

Then looked toward Kade.

“Commander.”

The young man turned.

“Yes?”

“One Keelborn confirmed sunk in the southern screen. Pendant recovered.”

Kade felt something tighten in his stomach.

“Who?”

The lieutenant checked the report.

A support cruiser from the recently assembled defensive force.

One of the girls who had joined the temporary arrangement after the PCA's collapse.

Her personal name had not yet been confirmed by Horizon's administrative staff.

The sinking had happened before they could even finish registering her.

Aaron swallowed.

Then spoke.

“Identification pending. We have her class and position. Working to confirm the name.”

Kade lowered his eyes.

For several seconds, he said nothing.

Then he asked:

“Pendant secure?”

“Yes. Kiri recovered it.”

The Commander nodded.

“Good.”

He looked toward the casualty board.

The first black line appeared.

One confirmed sunk.

One Pendant recovered.

The numbers were small.

For the moment.

Kade stared.

Then turned toward the tactical chart.

The Blackwake destroyers were still advancing.

And the night had barely begun.

 

At twenty-three thirty-four, Reina's aircraft reached the western approaches.

There were fewer than in the afternoon.

That did not make them harmless.

The remaining Blackwake aviation groups were operating beneath cloud patches and distant haze, using the darkness to complicate interception.

Their engines could be heard before the aircraft became visible.

Low.

Uneven.

Sometimes almost indistinguishable from the noise of the surface battle.

The first warning came from a coastal listening station.

“Multiple aircraft approaching from west-northwest. Low altitude. Engines audible.”

Calla raised her head.

The Atlanta-class antiaircraft cruiser stood within the inner defensive line, her rigging's guns already trained toward the designated approach sector.

She had spent much of the afternoon defending the island against carrier aircraft.

Her crews were tired.

Her ready ammunition stocks had been replenished only partially.

But the guns remained functional.

She looked toward the western sky.

For several seconds, she saw nothing.

Then a dark aircraft crossed a pale patch of cloud.

Another followed.

And another.

Calla raised her microphone.

“Air Defense, Calla. Hostile night aircraft sighted. Bearing west-northwest, approaching inner screen.”

The controller answered.

“Received. Engagement authorized when identified.”

Calla's eyes narrowed.

The aircraft descended.

Not toward the repair district.

Toward the destroyer screen.

For a moment, she was surprised.

Then she understood.

The Blackwake was trying to destroy the units protecting the heavy Keelborn.

Her expression hardened.

“Not tonight.”

The Atlanta-class girl's guns began firing.

Orange flashes lit her rigging.

Shells climbed into the dark.

The first bursts fell behind the approaching aircraft.

The second group bracketed them.

A Blackwake torpedo bomber shuddered.

One wing caught fire.

The aircraft began descending.

Then another flew through the gaps.

It released its weapon.

A splash appeared beyond the destroyer screen.

Calla's eyes widened.

“Torpedo!”

The warning spread.

The targeted destroyer turned.

The torpedo passed ahead.

Then a second aircraft approached from the opposite bearing.

Its weapon entered the sea.

The destroyer tried to turn again.

Her equipment responded too slowly.

The torpedo struck.

The explosion illuminated the water.

A sharp scream crossed the radio.

Then the destroyer's transmission cut out.

Calla froze.

For a moment, her guns continued firing while she stared toward the rising spray.

The girl had been there.

A Horizon destroyer.

One of the girls who had spent the morning protecting the lagoon.

Now her rigging was breaking apart.

Calla raised the emergency channel.

“Destroyer hit in inner screen! Rescue unit required!”

The reply came.

“Recovery team moving.”

She looked toward the water.

A small light appeared among the debris.

A Pendant.

Then vanished behind the swell.

The rescue boat changed course toward it.

Calla swallowed.

Her hands tightened.

Then another Blackwake aircraft descended.

She looked up.

Her expression became fierce.

“GET AWAY FROM THEM!”

Her guns roared.

The night sky erupted in bursts of antiaircraft fire.

The Blackwake bomber was struck.

Its engine exploded.

The aircraft fell toward the sea.

Calla watched it vanish.

For one brief instant, she wanted to scream.

Then the controller called another bearing.

She turned her guns.

And kept fighting.

 

At twenty-three fifty-two, a Keelborn destroyer disappeared beneath the northern sea after taking three separate shell hits over less than four minutes.

The first damaged her propulsion.

The second destroyed part of her rigging's ammunition-handling equipment.

The third struck the already compromised machinery near her main support structure.

She survived the first.

Stayed afloat after the second.

And continued firing until the third.

Her final transmission reached Asashio.

“I'm still—”

Static.

Then nothing.

Asashio turned toward the empty water.

For several seconds, she stared.

The Blackwake guns were still firing.

The enemy was approaching.

But the voice was gone.

Yūgumo moved close.

Her expression was pale.

“Asashio.”

The senior destroyer swallowed.

“I know.”

The younger girl looked toward the water.

For a moment, she seemed frightened.

Then whispered:

“She was right there.”

Asashio lowered her eyes.

“Yes.”

A pause.

Then the senior girl looked toward the darkness.

Her expression hardened.

“We have to move.”

Yūgumo stared.

For a moment, she looked hurt.

Then she understood.

If they stayed, another girl would disappear.

She nodded.

“Right.”

The two turned away from the expected shell impacts.

Behind them, a recovery craft searched the water.

It found wreckage.

Fragments.

Oil.

But no Pendant.

Not before the Blackwake destroyers forced it to withdraw.

The sea kept that one.

At least for now.

 

VI. The Blackwake Princesses Enter the Line

Midnight arrived without ceremony.

The date changed.

The battle did not.

Horizon was now fighting across three principal surface sectors, with scattered air attacks complicating every attempt to establish a stable defensive line.

The northern group had lost its first ships.

The southern screen was under repeated torpedo attack.

The center remained held by Scarlett, Adelheid, Nadya, the second South Dakota-class girl, and supporting cruisers attempting to prevent the heavier Blackwake units from reaching the island's bombardment approaches.

Several PCA Keelborn fought alongside them.

Some had defected openly.

Others had simply stopped obeying the Authority and joined the emergency defense frequency.

Nobody had time to argue about the wording.

The Blackwake's guns were firing.

Its torpedoes were running.

And its Princesses were moving closer.

 

At zero hours fourteen, the aviation-cruiser Princess emerged from the darkness beneath a bursting star shell.

The white flowers were the first thing Takao One noticed.

They appeared as pale flashes against the monstrous black rigging.

Then the girl's figure became visible.

Long silver-white hair.

Amber eyes.

Dark machinery spreading around her like broken wings.

The damaged structure where Adelheid's fifteen-inch shell had struck remained visibly ruined.

But the Princess had not retreated for repairs.

She had returned with the rest of the Blackwake fleet.

And she was leading the attack.

Takao One stared through her optical equipment.

For several seconds, she felt cold.

The earlier photographs had been frightening.

Seeing the corrupted girl in person was worse.

Because the thing in the photograph had been distant.

Flat.

Contained within a frame.

Now the Princess stood above real water.

Her equipment moved.

Her guns elevated.

The enormous structures around her reacted to the swell.

And white flowers bloomed upon metal that should never have supported anything living.

The Takao-class girl raised her radio.

“Central Cruiser Group, command entity sighted. Aviation-cruiser Princess, bearing northwest. Range approximately six thousand meters.”

The controller acknowledged.

A pause.

Then Adelheid's voice entered the circuit.

“Maintain separation. Her gunfire is accurate.”

Takao One swallowed.

“Understood.”

The Princess turned.

For one moment, her amber eyes seemed to find the Takao.

Then the dark cruiser-derived guns fired.

The shells crossed the night.

Takao One turned sharply.

The first salvo landed behind her.

The second straddled her position.

Water erupted around the rigging.

Fragments struck one of her external supports.

She cried out.

For a moment, pain shot through her shoulder.

Then her stabilizers compensated.

She remained upright.

The Princess's guns began reloading.

Takao One's expression hardened.

She raised her own weapons.

The 203-millimeter turrets aligned.

Then she fired.

The shells climbed toward the pale figure.

The first burst against an outer armored section.

The second struck the machinery beneath one of the dark gun housings.

An explosion tore through the black structure.

The Princess staggered.

For one terrible moment, the white flowers vanished behind smoke.

Takao One felt a surge of hope.

Then the smoke drifted away.

The girl remained.

Her eyes glowed.

The damaged machinery moved.

A gun housing began traversing toward the Takao.

The cruiser girl's stomach tightened.

“Again?”

The Princess fired.

Takao One turned away.

The next shells struck the water close enough to throw spray across her entire rigging.

One fragment struck her upper arm.

She gasped.

The machinery screamed.

A support alarm sounded.

For a moment, she nearly lost balance.

Then the second Takao-class girl moved into the firing sector.

“Takao One, break south! I'll cover!”

The first cruiser swallowed.

“You're too close!”

“GO!”

Takao One obeyed.

Her companion's guns opened fire.

The shells crossed the darkness.

One struck the Princess's damaged outer armor.

Another burst against the black machinery near her shoulder.

The pale girl turned.

Her amber eyes shifted toward the new attacker.

The two Takao-class cruisers had managed to divert her attention.

For a moment.

Then the Princess raised her arm.

And the Blackwake heavy cruisers behind her changed course.

 

Kade watched the central engagement unfold on the plotting board.

He could not see every shell.

Not every torpedo.

Not every desperate maneuver.

The reports arrived in fragments.

A damaged cruiser.

A new enemy bearing.

A request for illumination.

An aircraft sighting.

A girl shouting that her companion had gone down.

The Communications section worked desperately to keep the information organized.

But the battle was moving faster than the board could represent.

Aaron pointed toward the central sector.

“Princess is advancing behind the heavy cruiser screen.”

Kade looked up.

“Which one?”

“Aviation cruiser.”

The Commander swallowed.

Maki.

The name entered his thoughts before he could stop it.

He looked toward the photographs.

Then back at the chart.

“Can Adelheid suppress her?”

“Her main batteries are reloading. Scarlett's group has a partial solution, but the Blackwake heavy cruiser is blocking direct observation.”

Kade nodded.

For several seconds, he studied the positions.

Then asked:

“Could we force the heavy cruiser out of the line?”

Aaron considered the question.

“Possibly. Cruiser and battleship fire from different bearings.”

The Commander looked toward Mara.

She nodded.

“Doable if we keep the destroyers clear.”

Kade raised the radio.

“Central Heavy Group, Operations. Prioritize the Blackwake heavy cruiser shielding the aviation-cruiser command entity. We need to disrupt the screen.”

Scarlett answered.

“Understood.”

Adelheid followed.

“Bayern ready.”

Kade continued.

“Do not pursue the Princess into the outer night. Engage only with firm solutions.”

The acknowledgments arrived.

The Commander lowered the microphone.

For several seconds, he stared toward the black markers.

Then whispered:

“Please.”

He was not sure whether he was speaking to his girls or to the sea.

Perhaps both.

 

The next heavy salvo illuminated the western horizon.

Scarlett's sixteen-inch guns fired.

Then Adelheid's fifteen-inch rifles answered.

The combined shots were not perfectly simultaneous.

They did not need to be.

Different shell weights.

Different muzzle velocities.

Different trajectories.

Each gun group possessed its own solution.

The first shells struck near the Blackwake heavy cruiser.

Water rose around it.

The vessel changed course.

Adelheid's next salvo arrived as it turned.

One shell struck the enemy's forward structure.

An enormous explosion tore through the dark armor.

A gun housing vanished.

The cruiser staggered.

Then Scarlett's following shells reached the target.

The first hit its armored upperworks.

The second struck near the waterline.

A tremendous blast lifted dark debris into the air.

The ship heeled.

Its cold blue lights flickered.

For a moment, it continued moving.

Then a violent secondary explosion erupted near its center.

The Blackwake cruiser began sinking.

Its machinery folded inward.

The hull broke apart.

Then disappeared beneath the sea.

The gap in the screen opened.

For several seconds, the aviation-cruiser Princess stood exposed.

Her white flowers gleamed beneath the fading star shell.

Her amber eyes turned toward the heavy group.

Then she raised her arms.

The machinery around her shifted.

Several dark gun housings began traversing.

And the Princess fired directly toward Adelheid.

 

The Bayern-class girl saw the muzzle flashes.

She immediately began moving.

But her rigging was heavy.

And the enemy's range had shortened.

The first shell struck the water near her stern.

The second hit an outer support.

Steel tore.

A warning alarm sounded.

Adelheid gasped.

Then the third struck the armored machinery beside her torso.

The impact was violent.

A tremendous shock traveled through her equipment.

She cried out.

For a moment, her vision blurred.

The rigging twisted.

A secondary gun mount tore away.

The next shell struck lower.

It penetrated a damaged external structure and exploded among the machinery behind her main armor.

Adelheid screamed.

The Bayern-class girl staggered.

Her enormous turrets dipped.

For one horrible moment, she thought she was going down.

Then the stabilizers caught.

The machinery responded.

She remained above the water.

Barely.

Her breathing became ragged.

A warning appeared.

Portside propulsion support compromised.

Secondary ammunition-feed damage.

Flooding within outer rigging compartments.

Adelheid stared.

For several seconds, she could not speak.

Then Scarlett's voice arrived.

“Adelheid!”

The Bayern-class girl swallowed.

“Still here.”

The South Dakota-class girl sounded relieved.

Only briefly.

“Status?”

Adelheid looked toward the damaged equipment.

Her expression tightened.

“Significant damage. Propulsion reduced. Main battery operational.”

Scarlett paused.

Then answered:

“Withdraw behind me.”

Adelheid raised an eyebrow.

Even now.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me.”

The older battleship looked toward the Princess.

Her enormous black machinery remained trained toward the damaged Bayern.

The next salvo might be worse.

Adelheid swallowed.

For one moment, she wanted to argue.

Then she remembered Shiori's warning.

A Keelborn could survive a shell hit.

Several, perhaps.

But the damage accumulated.

And the next impact might destroy the machinery keeping her above water.

She closed her eyes.

Only for a second.

Then opened them.

“Understood.”

Adelheid began withdrawing.

Scarlett moved forward to cover her.

And the corrupted Princess continued advancing.

 

VII. The Price of Remaining Together

The Blackwake's greatest advantage that night was not any single weapon.

It was the way its commanders prevented Horizon from dealing with one threat at a time.

A destroyer attack in the north forced the screening girls into evasive turns.

A cruiser group in the center used that movement to threaten the heavy support line.

Then Blackwake aircraft descended on the defenders as they attempted to reorganize.

The attacks were not flawless.

The ordinary Blackwake vessels could still miss.

They could be damaged.

Their torpedoes could be avoided.

Their aircraft could be shot down.

But they were making Horizon work for every meter of water.

And the defenders were already exhausted.

 

At zero hours forty-two, La Galissonnière was hit.

The French light cruiser had been providing cover for the northern destroyer screen when a Blackwake heavy cruiser bracketed her position.

The first shell struck the water nearby.

The second hit her outer machinery.

She cried out.

For a moment, she lost speed.

Then another impact tore through her portside support assembly.

The rigging shuddered.

A warning sounded.

She staggered.

Kagerō turned toward her.

“La Galissonnière!”

The cruiser swallowed.

“I'm here!”

The Blackwake ship fired again.

The French girl attempted to move.

Her damaged machinery responded unevenly.

The first shell landed behind her.

The second struck near the forward gun structure.

An explosion tore through the equipment.

She screamed.

One turret stopped responding.

Fragments struck her shoulder.

The remaining support assembly bent beneath the force.

For a moment, she stood motionless.

Then the water began rising around her.

Kagerō's eyes widened.

“No.”

The destroyer accelerated.

“La Galissonnière, keep moving!”

The cruiser looked toward her.

For one brief moment, she seemed ashamed.

Then she whispered:

“I can't.”

Kagerō swallowed.

The Blackwake guns were turning again.

The destroyer reached toward the cruiser.

“Take my hand!”

The French girl tried.

Her fingers extended.

Then another explosion struck the damaged rigging.

The machinery broke apart.

La Galissonnière cried out.

Her hand slipped.

Kagerō lunged.

For one instant, their fingers touched.

Then the cruiser went beneath the water.

The dark sea closed over her.

Kagerō stared.

For several seconds, she remained motionless.

Then she saw something rising.

A Pendant.

Small.

Bright against the black water.

The destroyer reached.

Caught it.

And nearly lost balance when the next shell landed close.

She gasped.

Then Asashio's voice sounded.

“Kagerō! Get out!”

The destroyer looked up.

The Blackwake heavy cruiser was still firing.

Kagerō clutched the Pendant.

Then turned away.

Her machinery accelerated.

The shell fell behind her.

Another exploded nearby.

She kept moving.

Only when she reached Asashio's position did she open her hand.

The Pendant lay in her palm.

Wet.

Cold.

The little object seemed impossibly heavy.

Kagerō stared.

For a moment, her face crumpled.

“She helped us.”

Asashio lowered her eyes.

“Yes.”

“She didn't have to.”

The senior destroyer swallowed.

“No.”

Kagerō looked toward the sea.

Her voice trembled.

“She was just trying to help.”

For several seconds, neither spoke.

Then Asashio gently closed Kagerō's fingers around the Pendant.

“Keep it safe.”

The younger destroyer nodded.

Her eyes filled.

“I will.”

The two turned toward the enemy.

And continued fighting.

 

At one fifteen, Yūgumo was sunk.

She'd spent much of the evening protecting Asashio's flank.

The two girls had fought together before Hour Zero.

They had argued together during the PCA's attempted blockade.

They had refused orders together.

And now they were defending Horizon together.

Yūgumo had begun the night with enough ammunition for a prolonged destroyer engagement.

By one fifteen, much of it was gone.

Her torpedo battery had been expended against a Blackwake cruiser earlier in the battle.

Two gun mounts remained functional.

Her propulsion system was strained.

And a previous shell hit had damaged part of her communications equipment.

She was tired.

Terribly tired.

Asashio knew it.

She'd been trying to order the younger girl toward the rear for nearly fifteen minutes.

Yūgumo had refused.

Not angrily.

Not recklessly.

She simply kept saying:

“I'm fine.”

Asashio knew she wasn't.

Then the Blackwake destroyers appeared.

Three of them.

Low dark shapes moving through the southern haze.

Their torpedo mounts turned toward the screening group.

Asashio raised the radio.

“Enemy destroyers closing. Prepare counterfire!”

Yūgumo responded.

“I see them!”

The first Blackwake destroyer fired.

Several shells struck the water around Asashio.

Yūgumo turned.

Her guns answered.

One shell hit the enemy's forward structure.

Another burst against the dark armor.

The vessel changed course.

Then a second Blackwake destroyer launched torpedoes.

The tracks appeared among the waves.

Asashio saw them.

Her eyes widened.

“Torpedoes! Break north!”

The senior destroyer turned.

Her equipment responded.

The first weapon passed behind her.

The second crossed ahead.

Then she saw the third.

It was aimed toward a wounded Horizon Akizuki attempting to withdraw.

The girl couldn't turn quickly enough.

Yūgumo saw it too.

For one brief moment, she looked toward Asashio.

Their eyes met.

Then she accelerated.

Not toward the torpedo.

Toward the Akizuki.

She reached the wounded girl and shoved against the exposed edge of her rigging, forcing the smaller vessel's movement equipment into a turn that the damaged stabilizers could not have managed alone.

The Akizuki cried out.

The two separated.

The torpedo passed through the space between them.

For one instant, Yūgumo felt relief.

Then a Blackwake shell struck her damaged propulsion assembly.

The impact was catastrophic.

The machinery tore apart.

A second shell struck almost immediately afterward.

An explosion erupted beneath her main support.

Yūgumo screamed.

Her equipment twisted.

The dark water rose.

Asashio turned.

“YŪGUMO!”

The younger destroyer looked toward her.

For a moment, her expression was frightened.

Then she smiled.

A tiny, apologetic smile.

“Sorry.”

Asashio accelerated.

“No!”

Yūgumo raised one hand.

The rigging beneath her broke.

She disappeared into the sea.

Asashio reached the position seconds later.

Too late.

The water was full of debris.

Oil.

Fragments of broken armor.

A torn section of gun mounting.

But no girl.

The senior destroyer turned in a frantic circle.

Searching.

Calling.

Her voice cracked.

“Yūgumo!”

There was no answer.

She looked down.

For a moment, a tiny pale object appeared beneath the surface.

A Pendant.

Asashio reached for it.

Her fingers entered the water.

Almost touched it.

Then a broken piece of Yūgumo's rigging sank past, creating a swirl that pulled the little object sideways.

The Pendant disappeared beneath the black water.

Asashio lunged.

Her hand closed on nothing.

For several seconds, she stared.

Then she screamed.

Not a command.

Not a warning.

A raw, terrible sound of grief.

The Blackwake destroyers continued advancing.

Asashio looked toward them.

Her expression changed.

For one brief moment, she wanted to charge straight into their guns.

Make them pay.

Make the sea give Yūgumo back.

Then the wounded Akizuki spoke over the radio.

“Asashio…?”

The senior destroyer went still.

The younger girl's voice trembled.

“Please don't leave me.”

Asashio closed her eyes.

For several seconds, she struggled to breathe.

Then she opened them.

The Blackwake destroyers were still coming.

The wounded girl needed an escort.

The Pendant was gone.

Yūgumo was gone.

And Asashio could not change any of that by dying beside her.

She swallowed.

Then answered.

“I'm here.”

Her voice broke.

She tried again.

“I'm here. Stay with me.”

The Akizuki released a trembling breath.

Asashio turned toward her.

And together, they withdrew.

Behind them, the black sea closed over the place where Yūgumo had disappeared.

 

VIII. The First Night-Battle Report

At one forty-seven, Horizon's casualty board showed seven confirmed Keelborn sunk.

Four Pendants recovered.

Three missing.

The figures had been verified through multiple reports wherever possible.

There were additional girls unaccounted for.

Several were wounded.

Some might still be fighting with damaged communications equipment.

Others had been forced into emergency withdrawal routes that had not yet been reconciled with the central plot.

Kade refused to classify them as sunk without evidence.

That insistence slowed the reporting process.

He did not care.

A missing transmission was not proof of death.

A damaged rigging signal was not a recovered Pendant.

And a girl who had stopped answering because her radio had been smashed should not find herself declared lost while she was still struggling toward home.

The Commander stood before the board.

Seven.

He stared.

The first line was no longer alone.

Other names and classifications had begun appearing beneath it.

A support cruiser.

A Horizon destroyer.

A former PCA destroyer.

La Galissonnière.

Yūgumo.

Two additional Keelborn whose sinking reports were still being reconciled.

Seven.

The number felt impossible.

The worst previous battle had been terrible enough.

Horizon had lost people before.

Kade knew what it meant to stand beside a casualty report.

But this was different.

The losses were arriving faster than the station could fully process them.

Each sinking left another gap in the tactical formation.

Another voice absent from the radio.

Another group forced to adjust its position.

And, increasingly, another Pendant that the recovery crews could not reach.

Aaron approached.

“Commander.”

Kade looked up.

“Yes?”

“Western rescue corridor remains open, but Blackwake aircraft are contesting the approaches. Tribal reports additional survivors recovered.”

The Commander nodded.

“Good.”

A pause.

Then Aaron continued.

“Two more Keelborn have requested temporary cooperation. Both damaged, but capable of limited defensive operations.”

Kade looked toward the chart.

“Assign them to the rear screen. No aggressive pursuit.”

“Understood.”

The lieutenant hesitated.

For several seconds, he seemed uncertain.

Then Kade looked at him.

“What?”

Aaron swallowed.

“We're losing the destroyer screen.”

The Commander closed his eyes.

For a moment, he felt something cold move through his chest.

He knew.

The casualties were concentrated among the smaller units because the Blackwake was deliberately attacking the screening formation.

Destroyers had to close the enemy to detect and counter torpedoes.

They had to maneuver near the narrow approach lanes.

They were the first line of protection for the heavier Keelborn.

And they were paying for it.

Kade opened his eyes.

Then looked toward the chart.

“Pull the forward screen back two kilometers. Have the cruisers cover the withdrawal.”

Aaron nodded.

“Right.”

“Use the fixed batteries to deny the approach while they reposition.”

“Yes.”

“And tell every group commander that holding an assigned coordinate isn't worth a girl's life when the tactical situation has already changed.”

The lieutenant looked up.

For a moment, he seemed surprised.

Then nodded.

“Understood.”

Kade looked toward the western sea.

His expression hardened.

He could not save everyone.

He knew that.

He hated it.

But he could still refuse to waste them.

 

Tribal received the same casualty reports while operating beneath the northern edge of the rescue corridor.

Captain Eliza Ward listened to a Horizon destroyer call for assistance.

Then another.

Then a third.

The wounded sailor transfers had largely been completed.

Not all of them.

Several urgent patients remained aboard.

But enough had reached Horizon's medical facilities that the Tribal could maneuver without placing every rescued man at immediate risk.

Her ammunition was running low.

One antiaircraft director had developed an intermittent fault.

A previous near miss had damaged a boat davit.

And the crew was exhausted.

Ruth approached the captain.

“Eliza.”

The older woman looked up.

“Yes?”

“We have enough fuel to remain on station. Ammunition is another matter.”

Eliza nodded.

“I know.”

“Main battery?”

“Still operational.”

“For now.”

The captain looked toward the western sea.

For several seconds, she remained quiet.

Then asked:

“How many survivors are still out there?”

Ruth checked the report.

“Unknown. We have several missing-person locations. Some may be wreckage or already recovered.”

Eliza swallowed.

For a moment, she looked toward the dark water.

Then she nodded.

“We keep searching where it's safe.”

The executive officer looked at her.

For several seconds, neither spoke.

Then Ruth asked:

“And when it isn't?”

Eliza considered the question.

Then answered:

“We make the best decision we can.”

Ruth lowered her eyes.

For a moment, she seemed weary.

Then she nodded.

“Right.”

The bridge grew quiet.

The destroyer moved through the dark water.

Searchlights remained under controlled use.

The rescue teams watched for signals.

And beyond them, the Blackwake continued pressing toward the island.

 

At one fifty-eight, the corrupted aviation cruiser entered the close observation zone of Takao One.

The encounter would change everything Horizon thought it knew about the Princesses.

 

IX. What Was Fastened to Her Heart

Takao One was close enough to hear the aviation-cruiser Princess's guns.

Not merely the distant concussion carried across the air.

The actual mechanical sound.

A heavy, grinding movement beneath each discharge, followed by a strange metallic resonance that continued after the shell had left the barrel.

It made the girl's skin crawl.

She had been attempting to cover the withdrawal of two damaged destroyers when a Blackwake light cruiser crossed her path.

She engaged.

The enemy turned.

She followed just far enough to prevent it from firing on the retreating girls.

Then the smoke shifted.

And there was Maki.

Less than two kilometers away.

The pale figure stood within an immense formation of black machinery.

The white flowers were unmistakable.

So were the amber eyes.

For a moment, Takao One felt the same terrible disbelief she'd felt when the first photographs arrived.

Then her fire-control system warned of an enemy weapon alignment.

She turned sharply.

The Princess fired.

A shell crossed the darkness.

It struck the water behind her.

Another burst beside her rigging.

Fragments tore through an outer support.

The Takao cried out.

Her machinery shuddered.

Then she steadied herself.

The Princess's next gun housing began moving.

Takao One looked toward the flare-lit figure.

Her eyes narrowed.

Something was wrong with the machinery across the girl's chest.

Not damage.

Not exactly.

A shape.

A small object half-concealed beneath the dark armored growths.

It moved against the pale material covering the front of her clothing.

For a moment, Takao One thought it was another flower.

Then a searchlight swept across the Princess.

The object flashed.

Silver.

Not black.

Not pale bone-like armor.

Silver.

With a familiar elongated shape.

Takao One's breath stopped.

“No.”

She adjusted her optical magnification.

The target image trembled slightly as her damaged stabilizers compensated for the swell.

She refocused.

The object remained.

A small metal Pendant held against the corrupted girl's upper chest by several dark mechanical bands.

Its outline was partly obscured.

But the shape was unmistakable.

The naval insignia.

The mounting.

The distinctive form Keelborn Pendants possessed when separated from their owners.

Takao One felt cold.

For one terrible moment, she remembered the recovery pouches on her own equipment.

The careful procedures.

The way every Keelborn was taught to protect a fallen sister's Pendant.

The object she was seeing was not an ordinary medal.

Not decorative jewelry.

Not something the Blackwake had invented to resemble an officer's decoration.

It was a Keelborn Pendant.

Embedded in the corrupted rigging.

Held close to the girl's chest.

And the Blackwake machinery seemed to have grown around it.

Takao One swallowed.

Her hands began shaking.

Then she raised the radio.

“Central Cruiser Group, Takao One.”

The response came.

“Go ahead.”

Her voice was strained.

“I have visual confirmation of a Pendant.”

Silence.

Then the controller answered.

“Repeat.”

The Takao stared through her optical equipment.

The silver object remained.

A small, brilliant reflection amid the black armor.

“The aviation-cruiser Princess has a Keelborn Pendant attached to her chest.”

A pause.

For several seconds, nobody spoke.

Then Aaron's voice entered the channel.

“Takao One, Horizon Intelligence. Confirm you're observing an actual Pendant and not a decorative fitting.”

The cruiser swallowed.

“Confirmed with high confidence. Standard Pendant outline, recognizable suspension structure. It is secured within the corrupted armor.”

She adjusted the camera.

The device captured several frames.

The Princess turned slightly.

Another flare illuminated her.

The silver object flashed again.

Takao One transmitted the images.

“Sending now.”

A few seconds passed.

Then Aaron answered.

“Images received.”

The Takao kept watching.

For a moment, the Princess lowered her head.

Her white hair fell across the dark machinery.

The silver Pendant shifted beneath the black bands.

Takao One's throat tightened.

Then she whispered:

“That's not a copy.”

No one answered.

The cruiser continued.

“That is a girl who went down.”

Her voice trembled.

“They've still got her Pendant.”

 

The photograph appeared in Operations.

It was sharper than the earlier reconnaissance frames in one respect.

The body of the corrupted aviation cruiser remained partly obscured by smoke.

The machinery was difficult to classify.

The white flowers had been torn by previous shell impacts.

But the silver object at her chest was clearly visible.

Aaron enlarged the relevant section.

Kade approached.

For several seconds, he stared.

Then his expression changed.

He recognized the shape.

He had seen Pendants before.

Held them.

Watched Camille protect five of them with a desperation he would never forget.

He knew what that little object represented.

The possibility of preserving a Keelborn's identity beyond destruction.

A connection to the person who had been lost.

The corrupted girl in the photograph possessed one.

Not floating free.

Not secured in a recovery case.

Attached to her body beneath the Blackwake growths.

Kade swallowed.

For several seconds, he couldn't speak.

Then he looked toward Aaron.

“Halcyon?”

The intelligence officer was already comparing the image.

The records contained photographs of Maki before she sank.

Her original aviation-cruiser configuration.

Her personal equipment.

The form of her Pendant, visible in one medical and identification record.

Aaron brought up the comparison.

For a moment, the two images sat side by side.

Maki.

Alive.

Standing beside her rigging.

And the corrupted girl.

White-haired.

Amber-eyed.

Surrounded by black machinery.

The Pendant was not perfectly visible in the older image.

But the surviving details corresponded.

Its mounting arrangement.

Its shape.

The position of a distinctive decorative fitting near the upper edge.

Aaron looked toward Kade.

His face had gone pale.

“Commander.”

Kade stared.

The lieutenant swallowed.

“We have a match consistent with Maki's Pendant.”

For several seconds, the room remained silent.

Then Kade slowly lowered his eyes.

Maki.

Not an imitation constructed from generic ship data.

Not merely a Blackwake creature resembling a Mogami aviation cruiser.

The girl herself had gone down at Halcyon.

Her Pendant had not been recovered.

And now something wearing her changed body and equipment carried that Pendant within its own corrupted structure.

The Commander felt sick.

He looked toward the second photograph.

The carrier Princess.

Reina.

Her long white hair.

Her red eyes.

The monstrous Kaga-derived machinery.

A Pendant that had begun rising through the water but had never reached the surface.

He had wondered.

So had Halcyon.

Perhaps the Blackwake had created copies.

Perhaps the corrupted forms were merely imitations.

Perhaps the original girls remained somewhere else beneath the sea.

Now Maki's Pendant was visible inside her corrupted rigging.

And Reina had disappeared under almost identical circumstances.

Kade looked toward Aaron.

His voice was barely audible.

“It's them.”

The lieutenant swallowed.

For a moment, he looked toward the carrier photograph.

Then nodded slowly.

“The evidence strongly supports that.”

The Commander closed his eyes.

He could no longer find comfort in the idea that these might be copies.

Maki's Pendant had been taken with her.

The Blackwake had transformed her while preserving that connection.

And if the same process had happened to Reina—

He opened his eyes.

The carrier girl's face stared back from the screen.

The Commander whispered:

“Reina.”

For a moment, the name seemed to hurt.

Then he looked toward Mara.

Her expression was horrified.

The Chief had spent years managing the impossible administrative consequences of living warships becoming people.

She had fought for proper medical standards.

Insisted upon identifying every prisoner.

Objected whenever a former player referred to a Keelborn as a piece of equipment.

Now she was looking at evidence that the Blackwake could take a person and turn her into a weapon.

For several seconds, she couldn't speak.

Then she whispered:

“Those girls were still there.”

Kade nodded.

“Yes.”

Mara looked toward the Pendant photograph.

Her expression tightened.

“They were never recovered.”

“No.”

A pause.

The Commander lowered his eyes.

Then spoke quietly.

“And now they're trying to kill everyone else.”

Aaron swallowed.

For a moment, the room remained silent.

Then Victor called from the communications station.

“Commander. Takao One requesting permission to withdraw. Her support machinery is damaged.”

Kade looked up immediately.

The battle returned.

The living still needed him.

He reached for the microphone.

“Takao One, Horizon Operations. Withdraw to the designated repair corridor. Do not attempt a closer observation.”

The cruiser answered.

“Understood.”

Kade hesitated.

Then added:

“And Takao?”

“Yes, Commander?”

He looked toward Maki's photograph.

The Pendant shone against the black machinery.

Then he spoke.

“Thank you for telling us.”

A pause.

The Takao's voice became quieter.

“I wish I hadn't seen it.”

Kade closed his eyes.

For a moment, he could not answer.

Then he whispered:

“So do I.”

The channel ended.

 

On the western sea, the aviation-cruiser Princess turned toward Takao One.

Her amber eyes remained cold.

The dark machinery surrounding her continued moving.

The Pendant at her chest glinted beneath a dying flare.

For a moment, she seemed almost motionless.

Then her head tilted.

A Blackwake heavy cruiser began turning toward the withdrawing Takao.

The Princess raised one hand.

The heavy unit accelerated.

Its guns aligned.

Takao One saw the movement.

Her damaged equipment responded slowly.

The enemy was trying to cut off her withdrawal.

Then another Keelborn crossed into the gap.

Takao Two.

Her sister ship.

The other Horizon Takao-class heavy cruiser.

The girl raised her radio.

“Takao One, keep going.”

The first cruiser turned.

“What?”

“I have the enemy.”

Takao One stared.

For a moment, her expression became frightened.

“You're too close to the heavy cruiser!”

Her companion answered.

“And you're too damaged to fight it.”

A pause.

Then Takao Two continued.

“Go.”

The first cruiser looked toward the Blackwake.

The heavy ship was turning.

Its guns were ready.

Behind it stood Maki's corrupted form.

Takao One swallowed.

Then answered:

“Don't be stupid.”

The second Takao almost laughed.

“You've known me long enough to know that's a difficult request.”

The first cruiser closed her eyes.

For one moment, she remembered the two of them at Horizon's maintenance piers.

Arguing over torpedo servicing.

Comparing firing solutions.

Complaining about the dockyard's coffee.

Ordinary things.

The sort of memories nobody bothered recording because everyone assumed there would be more.

She opened her eyes.

Then spoke.

“Come back.”

Takao Two was quiet.

For a moment, the words seemed to settle between them.

Then she answered:

“I'll try.”

The connection ended.

Takao One withdrew.

And her companion turned toward the Blackwake heavy cruiser.

 

The two Takao-class girls had exhausted their ready Type 93 torpedo loads during the daylight attack on Ironwake.

Neither possessed a magically replenished battery.

Takao Two could not simply launch another Long Lance spread to solve the problem.

She had her guns.

Her remaining ammunition.

Her propulsion.

Her experience.

And the knowledge that the girl behind her was too damaged to survive another concentrated attack.

The Blackwake heavy cruiser opened fire.

Takao Two turned.

The first shells landed short.

The second salvo struck closer.

She returned fire with her eight-inch batteries.

A shell hit the enemy's forward structure.

Another burst against a gun housing.

The Blackwake vessel shuddered.

Then continued advancing.

Takao Two changed course.

The enemy followed.

For several minutes, the two exchanged fire in the darkness.

The Takao's equipment remained strong.

Her gunnery was accurate.

She forced the Blackwake cruiser to correct its course repeatedly.

And, gradually, the damaged Takao One reached the withdrawal corridor.

Then the aviation-cruiser Princess fired.

Her first salvo struck the water ahead of Takao Two.

The second hit her portside machinery.

The heavy cruiser girl screamed.

The equipment shuddered.

A support assembly tore away.

She staggered.

The Blackwake heavy cruiser fired almost immediately afterward.

Two shells hit.

One burst against her forward turret structure.

The other struck lower, near the damaged support.

Takao Two cried out.

Her machinery twisted.

A warning sounded.

Then another.

For a moment, she remained above the water.

Her guns still trained toward the enemy.

She tried to turn.

The propulsion failed.

The sea rose around her.

Takao One heard the cry over the radio.

“Takao Two!”

The other girl swallowed.

For a moment, her voice was faint.

“Keep going.”

The first cruiser stopped.

Her damaged equipment protested.

She tried to turn back.

Then Takao Two shouted:

“DON'T!”

The word cracked across the radio.

For several seconds, both were silent.

Then the second girl spoke more softly.

“Please.”

Takao One stared through the darkness.

Her companion's rigging was failing.

The water rose.

A section of main armor broke away and sank.

The Blackwake guns were still turning.

Takao One felt tears fill her eyes.

Then whispered:

“I'm sorry.”

Her sister ship answered.

“Don't be.”

A pause.

Then the voice softened.

“Go home.”

The next shell struck.

Takao Two disappeared beneath the water.

For a moment, there was only spray.

Then the dark sea closed over her.

Takao One stared.

Her breath caught.

The radio went silent.

For several seconds, she could not move.

Then a small light rose among the debris.

A Pendant.

It drifted toward the surface.

Takao One saw it.

The Blackwake heavy cruiser was still firing.

The Princess remained behind it.

Her damaged propulsion made another close approach dangerous.

Possibly fatal.

For one terrible moment, she hesitated.

Then she looked toward the light.

Her expression changed.

“No.”

She accelerated.

The machinery screamed.

Warning alarms sounded.

She ignored them.

The first enemy shell landed behind her.

The second burst close.

She reached the wreckage.

Extended one hand.

Caught the Pendant.

Then turned sharply away.

The damaged stabilizers protested.

For a moment, she thought the rigging would fail completely.

Then the machinery caught.

She remained afloat.

She clutched the Pendant against her chest.

The enemy fired again.

A shell passed close enough to throw fragments across her outer armor.

She cried out.

Then Scarlett's voice sounded over the radio.

“Takao One! Break east! We have your retreat covered!”

The South Dakota-class girl's guns fired.

A tremendous salvo crossed the night.

The Blackwake heavy cruiser turned away.

The Princess's guns shifted toward the new threat.

The Takao escaped.

Barely.

She reached the eastern screen with tears streaming down her face.

Her companion's Pendant remained pressed against her chest.

And she did not loosen her grip until a medical recovery team took it from her hands.

 

X. The Destroyer That Refused to Leave

At two twenty-three, Tribal's forward radar reported a Blackwake cruiser approaching the northern edge of the rescue corridor.

Captain Eliza Ward looked toward the plot.

For several seconds, she remained still.

Then asked:

“Range?”

The radar operator answered.

“Closing, Captain. Bearing two-eight-one. Larger contact behind two destroyers.”

Ruth stepped closer.

Her expression tightened.

“That puts them across the medical transfer route.”

Eliza nodded.

“I know.”

The destroyer had completed another transfer less than fifteen minutes earlier.

Several rescued Ironwake sailors remained aboard.

A few were still in serious condition.

The medical staff had secured them as safely as possible, but the ship was not built to function as a hospital.

The Blackwake cruiser presented an immediate problem.

If it continued toward the rescue corridor, the small vessels carrying wounded personnel would have to abandon their routes.

Some lacked the speed to escape a sustained pursuit.

Others were operating with minimal defensive armament.

Eliza studied the chart.

The Blackwake destroyers were moving ahead of the cruiser.

Probably screening for torpedoes or attempting to force a defending ship away from the larger unit.

The captain considered her options.

She could withdraw.

She could request Keelborn support.

She could attempt to delay the enemy until the transfer craft reached protected waters.

The first option abandoned people.

The second was already in progress.

The third would be dangerous.

She looked toward Ruth.

“Signal Horizon. We have a cruiser entering the northern rescue corridor. Request support.”

The executive officer nodded.

Then Eliza continued.

“Helm. Bring us onto a course that keeps the enemy west of the transports.”

The helmswoman acknowledged.

The destroyer began turning.

Ruth looked toward the captain.

For a moment, she seemed deeply unhappy.

“Eliza.”

The captain raised an eyebrow.

“Yes?”

“We don't have the firepower to fight a heavy cruiser.”

“I know.”

“And if that contact is a light cruiser, it still outweighs us.”

“I know.”

Ruth folded her arms.

“Then explain.”

Eliza looked toward the plot.

Then answered:

“We don't need to sink it.”

A pause.

“We need to make it shoot at us instead of them.”

The executive officer stared.

For a moment, her expression became almost offended.

Then she sighed.

“That's a terrible plan.”

Eliza nodded.

“Yes.”

Ruth considered that.

Then reached for the internal circuit.

“Gunnery, stand by for controlled engagement.”

The captain looked toward her.

The executive officer raised an eyebrow.

“If we're doing something terrible, we may as well do it properly.”

Eliza almost smiled.

Then the radar operator called another range.

The enemy was approaching.

The destroyer was committed.

 

The first Tribal salvo came from her forward 4.7-inch guns.

The shells crossed the darkness toward the leading Blackwake destroyer.

The fall of shot was observed by radar and the occasional glimpse of the enemy beneath the distant star shells.

The first rounds missed.

The second group straddled the target.

One shell burst against the dark upper structure.

The enemy changed course.

Then its guns turned toward Tribal.

Eliza watched the movement.

For one brief moment, she felt grim satisfaction.

“Good.”

Ruth glanced toward her.

“Good?”

“They see us.”

The executive officer sighed.

“You really are impossible.”

The Blackwake destroyer opened fire.

The first shells struck the water ahead of Tribal.

The second salvo fell closer.

The captain ordered a turn.

The helmswoman responded.

The narrow destroyer hull rolled.

Below decks, medical personnel braced themselves.

A wounded sailor cried out when the ship's movement jarred his injuries.

A nurse steadied him.

“Easy.”

The man gasped.

“What's happening?”

The nurse looked toward the ceiling.

Another explosion sounded outside.

She swallowed.

Then answered:

“We're still fighting.”

The sailor closed his eyes.

For a moment, he seemed unable to understand.

Then whispered:

“Again?”

The nurse's expression softened.

“Yes.”

She adjusted his blanket.

“Again.”

 

The Blackwake light cruiser opened fire at two thirty-one.

Its shells were considerably heavier than Tribal's.

The first salvo fell short.

The second straddled the destroyer.

The third struck close enough to throw fragments across the bridge wing.

A window shattered.

One lookout cried out.

Eliza ducked.

Ruth grabbed the plotting table.

For a moment, the bridge filled with flying glass and shouted warnings.

Then the captain straightened.

“Damage report!”

The reply came from the aft stations.

A splinter wound.

Minor communications damage.

One signal lamp destroyed.

The destroyer remained operational.

Eliza swallowed.

Then looked toward the enemy plot.

The Blackwake cruiser was still closing.

She raised the radio.

“Tribal to Horizon. Hostile cruiser engaging us in northern rescue corridor. We have their attention, but we will require support shortly.”

Kade answered personally.

“Tribal, Operations. Support group moving. Do not close the cruiser.”

Eliza nodded.

“Understood.”

The Commander continued.

“Captain Ward, we need your ship alive.”

For a moment, Eliza looked toward the wounded men below decks.

Then answered:

“That's the intention.”

A pause.

Kade's voice became slightly drier.

“I'd appreciate it if your navigation plot reflected that.”

Despite everything, Eliza almost laughed.

“I'll inform my helmswoman.”

The channel closed.

Ruth looked toward her.

“Was that the Horizon Commander?”

“Yes.”

“What did he want?”

Eliza watched the Blackwake cruiser adjust course.

“He wants us afloat.”

Ruth nodded solemnly.

“A sensible young man.”

“Apparently.”

Then another shell exploded nearby.

The two women grabbed the handrails.

And the Tribal continued fighting.

 

The first supporting Keelborn arrived from the north.

A Le Fantasque-class destroyer girl.

Former PCA.

One of the surviving destroyers whose loyalty to the Authority had collapsed after Ironwake's sinking.

She was fast.

Very fast.

But damaged.

Her ammunition stocks were limited.

And her propulsion machinery had already been driven hard during the afternoon.

She approached Tribal's northern flank and raised her radio.

“Tribal, Le Fantasque. I can assist.”

Eliza looked toward the contact.

For a moment, she felt relieved.

Then answered:

“Le Fantasque, welcome. Keep clear of our firing line. Enemy destroyers ahead of the cruiser.”

The girl acknowledged.

“Understood.”

She accelerated.

Her guns opened fire.

A series of shells struck near the leading Blackwake destroyer.

The enemy turned toward her.

The French girl changed course.

Her speed allowed her to evade the first return salvo.

Then the second enemy destroyer appeared through the haze.

Its torpedo equipment moved.

Le Fantasque saw it.

Her eyes widened.

“Torpedoes!”

She turned sharply.

Several wakes appeared.

The first passed behind.

The second crossed ahead.

Then the third ran toward Tribal.

Eliza saw the warning on the bridge display.

Her stomach tightened.

“Hard starboard!”

The helmswoman turned the wheel.

The destroyer began changing course.

The torpedo continued.

For one terrible moment, Eliza realized the ship would not clear the track in time.

Then Le Fantasque accelerated across the torpedo's approach.

Not directly into it.

She moved ahead of Tribal, firing at the Blackwake destroyer and forcing it into an abrupt maneuver.

The torpedo itself continued.

Tribal's bow cleared by a narrow margin.

The weapon passed close along the port side.

For several seconds, the entire bridge remained silent.

Then Ruth exhaled.

“Too close.”

Eliza nodded.

“Much too close.”

She looked toward Le Fantasque.

The destroyer girl was still firing.

Her equipment moved quickly through the dark water.

For a moment, she appeared to be winning.

Then the Blackwake light cruiser turned its guns toward her.

The first salvo bracketed her position.

Le Fantasque accelerated.

The second fell behind.

Then the third struck.

One shell hit the French destroyer's forward rigging.

The impact tore away an outer gun structure.

She screamed.

The machinery shuddered.

Her propulsion remained functional.

She tried to turn.

Then another shell struck the damaged support assembly.

An explosion erupted.

The girl staggered.

Her equipment began sinking.

Eliza's eyes widened.

“Le Fantasque!”

The destroyer looked toward Tribal.

For a moment, she seemed dazed.

Then she smiled weakly.

“Got your torpedo clear.”

Eliza swallowed.

“Withdraw! We can cover you!”

The French girl tried.

Her machinery failed.

For several seconds, she remained above the water.

Then the dark sea rose.

She reached toward Tribal.

Her eyes were frightened.

“Captain…”

The word faded.

The rigging broke apart.

She disappeared beneath the waves.

Eliza stared.

For one terrible moment, she couldn't move.

Then she saw a small object rising among the debris.

A Pendant.

Her expression changed.

“Ruth!”

The executive officer turned.

“What?”

“Recovery team! Starboard quarter!”

Ruth looked toward the water.

Saw the object.

Then understood.

She reached for the internal circuit.

“Recovery party, emergency Pendant retrieval! Prepare line and net!”

The destroyer reduced speed.

Not enough to stop completely.

The Blackwake cruiser was still firing.

But enough for a carefully positioned rescue sailor to reach toward the floating object.

A woman leaned over the rail.

Her harness line pulled taut.

The sea moved beneath her.

For one moment, the Pendant drifted away.

She stretched.

Her fingers brushed the metal.

Then caught it.

“Got it!”

Ruth exhaled.

The sailor was hauled back aboard.

She opened her hand.

The Pendant rested against her palm.

Eliza stared.

For several seconds, she said nothing.

Then looked toward the place where the French destroyer had sunk.

Her throat tightened.

“Thank you.”

The words were barely audible.

She was speaking to a girl who would never hear them.

Then the Blackwake cruiser fired again.

A shell struck Tribal's after superstructure.

The explosion shook the destroyer.

Ruth was thrown against the chart table.

The bridge lights flickered.

Someone shouted.

Eliza grabbed the railing.

For one moment, she thought the ship was breaking apart.

Then the damage-control reports began.

Fire aft.

Communications damaged.

A gun mount disabled.

Several wounded.

The destroyer remained afloat.

But she had taken a serious hit.

Eliza swallowed.

Then raised the radio.

“Tribal to Horizon. We have sustained a direct hit. One after mount disabled. Fire aft. Request immediate covering fire and permission to withdraw toward the protected corridor.”

Kade's voice answered.

“Tribal, permission granted. Supporting units engaging. Withdraw now.”

The captain closed her eyes.

For one second, relief nearly overwhelmed her.

Then she opened them.

“Helm. Bring us east.”

The destroyer began turning.

The Blackwake cruiser followed.

Then a new set of gun flashes appeared beyond the northern screen.

Scarlett.

Her South Dakota-class main battery fired.

The sixteen-inch shells crossed the sea.

The first salvo fell short.

The second struck the Blackwake cruiser near its forward structure.

A tremendous explosion tore through the dark hull.

The enemy shuddered.

Its guns stopped firing.

Then a third shell hit.

The cruiser broke apart beneath a rising column of black debris.

The dark vessel disappeared into the water.

Eliza stared.

For several seconds, she was silent.

Then she lowered her eyes.

Her crew had survived.

Le Fantasque had not.

She looked toward the rescued Pendant.

The object rested inside a padded recovery container.

A small name card had been attached beside it.

LE FANTASQUE — RECOVERED

Eliza swallowed.

Then whispered:

“Bring her home.”

Ruth looked toward the container.

Her expression softened.

“Yes, Captain.”

Tribal turned toward Horizon.

Damaged.

Exhausted.

Still afloat.

And carrying another girl who had not returned in person.

 

XI. A Night Without Enough Time to Mourn

By three oh-eight, the battle had grown so violent that Horizon's operations staff began working in alternating teams simply to keep the communications plot readable.

Reports arrived faster than they could be written.

A wounded Keelborn requesting an escort.

A Blackwake destroyer sunk.

A cruiser forced to withdraw.

A torpedo warning.

Another aircraft group.

A medical transport reaching the lagoon.

A missing Pendant.

An ammunition shortage.

A failed rigging support.

The names accumulated.

And every new name seemed to make the room colder.

 

Mahan went down in the northern sector.

She had survived being fired upon by a PCA cruiser earlier that day.

She had even turned back to protect that same cruiser when the Blackwake attacked.

Now she was fighting beside Horizon.

Her damaged gun mounting had been repaired sufficiently to permit limited firing.

Her propulsion remained strained.

But she refused to abandon the northern screen while other destroyers remained in danger.

At two fifty-six, a Blackwake destroyer launched torpedoes toward the withdrawing formation.

Mahan saw the tracks.

Warned the others.

Then attempted to evade.

Her damaged steering responded too slowly.

The torpedo struck her rigging.

The explosion tore through the central support structure.

She cried out.

For several seconds, she remained above the water.

Then the machinery failed.

The sea took her.

A recovery crew searched the area.

Its searchlight found debris.

Then oil.

Then a section of broken equipment.

No Pendant.

The Blackwake's approaching guns forced the rescuers away before they could continue.

Mahan's name was added to the missing recovery list.

 

Northampton survived long enough to destroy the enemy that killed her.

The former PCA heavy cruiser had joined the temporary defensive group after witnessing Ironwake's sinking.

She'd begun the night frightened.

Angry.

Uncertain whether Horizon would ever accept her.

Then a Blackwake heavy cruiser threatened the southern channel.

Northampton moved to intercept.

Her eight-inch guns fired.

The first salvo struck the dark target's forward superstructure.

The second destroyed a gun housing.

The third caused an internal explosion that left the enemy listing.

For a moment, the Blackwake vessel seemed ready to sink.

Then it fired one final salvo.

Two shells struck Northampton.

The first damaged her propulsion.

The second entered her already compromised ammunition-handling structure.

The explosion was terrible.

She screamed.

Her rigging broke apart.

The Blackwake heavy cruiser disappeared beneath the sea moments later.

So did Northampton.

A nearby destroyer recovered her Pendant after a short, desperate search.

Both ships were gone.

One name had been saved.

 

Hibari watched Suzu sink at three eleven.

The two had been together since the first Blackwake shells arrived.

They'd fought through the northern screen.

Warned one another about torpedoes.

Shared ammunition status.

Covered each other's damaged rigging.

And, more than once, complained about how badly they wanted to return to the dining hall.

Suzu had been wounded early in the battle.

Her gun mount was damaged.

Her sleeve was stained with blood.

But the Akizuki-class girl remained afloat and capable of firing.

Then a Blackwake cruiser broke through the outer screen.

Its guns turned toward Hibari.

The Kitakaze-class girl's earlier injury had restricted her ability to accelerate away from the salvo.

She saw the gunflash.

Tried to turn.

The machinery responded.

Not enough.

Suzu saw it too.

She accelerated across the cruiser's firing line, opened fire, and struck the Blackwake vessel's forward gun housing.

The enemy's next salvo went wide.

For one moment, Hibari was safe.

Then a separate Blackwake destroyer opened fire.

Two shells hit Suzu.

The first struck her damaged gun mounting.

The second tore through the rigging support beneath it.

Suzu screamed.

Her equipment shuddered.

For several seconds, she remained upright.

Then another impact struck the failing machinery.

The Akizuki staggered.

The water rose.

Hibari's eyes widened.

“Suzu!”

The girl looked toward her.

For one brief moment, she seemed terribly frightened.

Then she smiled.

A small, exhausted smile.

“Sorry.”

Hibari accelerated.

“No!”

Suzu reached toward her.

The rigging broke.

She disappeared beneath the water.

Hibari reached the wreckage seconds later.

Her hands trembled.

She looked desperately across the foam.

Then saw a Pendant rising.

She grabbed it.

Clutched it against her chest.

And began crying.

For several seconds, she could not move.

Then a Blackwake destroyer approached.

Its guns began turning.

Hibari looked up.

Her expression changed.

She swallowed.

Then raised the radio.

“Northern Screen, Hibari. Suzu is sunk. Pendant recovered.”

The answer came.

“Received. Withdraw toward the eastern line.”

Hibari looked toward the dark water.

For a moment, she couldn't speak.

Then nodded.

“Understood.”

She began moving east.

Her damaged support equipment groaned.

The Blackwake destroyer fired.

The first salvo landed short.

The second struck her outer machinery.

She cried out.

The rigging twisted.

A support assembly failed.

Hibari stumbled.

For one terrible moment, she tried to correct.

Then another shell hit.

The machinery broke apart.

She screamed.

The dark water surged over her.

The last thing she did was press Suzu's Pendant against the protected recovery pouch on her chest.

Then the sea took her.

A nearby rescue unit saw the sinking.

Attempted to approach.

But Blackwake shells fell across the position, and the small craft was forced to retreat.

By the time another team returned, the surface was empty.

Hibari's Pendant was not recovered.

Neither was Suzu's recovered Pendant, which had been carried down with her.

The report reached Operations as a single terrible message.

Two girls lost.

One Pendant briefly recovered.

Both now missing.

 

Kade stared at that report.

For several seconds, he couldn't speak.

Aaron stood beside him.

His face was pale.

The Commander slowly looked toward the casualty board.

The recovery numbers had changed.

Not simply because more girls were sinking.

Because a recovery could be lost again.

A Pendant placed inside a pouch was not secure until the girl carrying it reached safety.

Kade swallowed.

Then looked toward Mara.

“New recovery instruction.”

The Chief straightened.

“Yes?”

“Any combatant carrying recovered Pendants must transfer them to a designated protected collection point as soon as tactically feasible.”

Mara nodded immediately.

“Agreed.”

“Do not let a girl carry three dead friends back into the heaviest part of the battle if we can move them to a rescue craft.”

The Chief's expression tightened.

“Yes.”

Kade looked toward the western sea.

His voice became quieter.

“I should have thought of that sooner.”

Mara stepped closer.

“Kade.”

He looked up.

She met his eyes.

“You have been managing an invasion, a sinking battleship, two unknown Blackwake commanders, and a second fleet engagement without a proper rest period.”

He lowered his eyes.

The Chief continued.

“You cannot foresee every disaster.”

For several seconds, he remained quiet.

Then answered:

“No.”

A pause.

“But I can make sure we don't repeat one.”

Mara nodded.

“Yes.”

Kade reached for the microphone.

The new instruction went out.

And the battle continued.

 

Brooklyn sank at three twenty-eight.

The former PCA light cruiser had been moving with the southern covering group when a Blackwake heavy cruiser opened fire from beyond the darkness.

She survived the first hit.

Her rigging absorbed much of the impact, although the shock damaged a support and left her briefly unable to traverse one turret.

She survived the second.

The shell struck her armored machinery and threw her sideways, but the main support remained intact.

Then a third shell hit the already damaged region.

The structure failed.

Her equipment broke open.

Water flooded the outer compartments.

For several seconds, Brooklyn continued firing.

Her guns flashed.

The Blackwake cruiser turned away.

The girl gasped.

Then the water rose around her.

A nearby destroyer moved toward her.

Brooklyn shook her head.

“Don't come closer.”

The destroyer hesitated.

The cruiser swallowed.

“Enemy torpedoes in the water.”

The warning came just in time.

The destroyer turned away.

A torpedo passed through the space between them.

Then Brooklyn disappeared beneath the sea.

The rescue party returned later.

It found wreckage.

No Pendant.

Another name vanished into the recovery ledger.

 

At three forty-one, Kiri was still fighting.

The Akizuki-class girl had recovered the first Pendant of the night.

She'd guarded it through repeated engagements.

Then, following Kade's new instruction, she'd transferred it to Emi's protected collection team.

The Benson-class destroyer had confirmed receipt.

Kiri felt relieved.

For one brief moment, she thought of the unknown cruiser whose Pendant she'd caught from the water.

At least that girl would not remain beneath the sea without a name.

Then the next Blackwake destroyer appeared.

It was damaged.

Its forward gun mount was missing.

Its machinery was smoking.

But it remained dangerous.

And it was moving toward a small recovery craft carrying wounded Keelborn.

Kiri looked toward the craft.

Then toward the Blackwake vessel.

Her expression hardened.

She raised the radio.

“Southern Screen, Kiri. Hostile destroyer advancing on recovery craft. I am intercepting.”

The controller answered.

“Support moving. Avoid closing inside torpedo range.”

Kiri nodded.

“Understood.”

She accelerated.

Her guns opened fire.

The first shells struck the Blackwake destroyer's damaged upper structure.

The second group hit its bow.

The dark vessel turned toward her.

Its surviving guns fired.

One shell struck Kiri's rigging.

She cried out.

The machinery shuddered.

She remained afloat.

Her next salvo hit the enemy's remaining forward weapon.

The mount exploded.

For one brief moment, the Blackwake destroyer seemed helpless.

Then its torpedo equipment moved.

Kiri saw it.

Her eyes widened.

The enemy launched.

Several torpedoes entered the water.

Not toward her.

Toward the recovery craft.

Kiri raised the emergency frequency.

“Recovery craft, torpedoes inbound! Turn north immediately!”

The small vessel began changing course.

Too slowly.

Kiri looked toward the tracks.

Then toward the Blackwake destroyer.

For one terrible second, she realized the enemy had forced her to choose.

Protect herself.

Or remain in a position to cover the rescue craft.

She chose the rescue craft.

Her guns opened fire again.

A shell struck the Blackwake destroyer's torpedo housing.

An explosion tore through the dark vessel.

The enemy began sinking.

Its remaining torpedoes continued.

The recovery craft turned.

One passed ahead.

Another ran astern.

The third crossed close enough to throw spray over the bow.

The craft cleared.

Kiri released a breath.

Then an unseen Blackwake cruiser fired from the darkness.

The first shell struck her damaged rigging.

The second hit the same support structure.

She screamed.

The machinery failed.

Kiri staggered.

For one moment, she tried to remain upright.

Then she looked toward the recovery craft.

It was moving away.

Safe.

For now.

She smiled faintly.

Then the sea rose.

Her equipment broke apart.

And she disappeared beneath the black water.

The recovery craft attempted to return.

A Blackwake cruiser forced it away.

Kiri's Pendant was not recovered.

Emi heard the report several minutes later.

She stood motionless.

Then looked toward the protected container holding the Pendant Kiri had saved.

For several seconds, the Benson-class girl could not speak.

Finally, she whispered:

“You got her home.”

The little object lay against the padding.

Emi's eyes filled.

“I'm sorry I couldn't get you.”

Then she closed the container.

Checked its seal.

And continued escorting the recovery craft toward Horizon.

 

XII. Fifteen

At four oh-six, the Operations Room received the consolidated casualty count.

Aaron read it once.

Then again.

For several seconds, he remained standing beside the communications terminal.

His expression did not change.

That was what Kade noticed first.

The lieutenant was ordinarily careful.

Measured.

Not easily rattled by uncertainty.

He had spent the entire Crisis reminding everyone that evidence and speculation were not the same thing.

Now he looked like a man who had been asked to read something impossible.

Kade approached.

“Aaron?”

The lieutenant raised his eyes.

For a moment, he seemed unable to speak.

Then he handed over the report.

The Commander took it.

Looked down.

And stopped.

COMBINED DEFENSIVE TASK FORCE — NIGHT ENGAGEMENT

Confirmed Keelborn sunk: 15

Pendants secured in protected custody: 8

Pendants not recovered: 7

Combat-capable Keelborn remaining without recorded damage: 0

For several seconds, Kade stared.

The words remained.

He looked again.

Fifteen.

His eyes moved toward the next line.

Eight secured.

Seven missing.

Then the final assessment.

Every surviving combat-capable Keelborn had suffered some degree of injury, mechanical damage, ammunition depletion, or operational impairment requiring inspection.

Nobody was untouched.

Not one.

The paper trembled slightly in his hand.

For a moment, he thought he might be sick.

He looked toward the casualty board.

The names stretched across it.

Some familiar.

Some newly registered.

Some belonging to girls who had joined the temporary task force only hours earlier.

The original seven reports had already been confirmed.

Then came the others.

Takao Two.

Mahan.

Northampton.

Suzu.

Hibari.

Le Fantasque.

Brooklyn.

Kiri.

Fifteen.

Kade counted again.

Not because he doubted Aaron.

Because his mind refused to accept it.

Fifteen girls.

People.

Not ship losses in a strategy game.

Not numerical reductions in combat strength.

Girls who had eaten dinner.

Argued.

Complained.

Laughed.

Some had been enemies that morning.

Some had been Horizon defenders since before the Crisis.

All had fought to keep the Blackwake away from the island.

Now fifteen were beneath the sea.

And seven Pendants had not been recovered.

Kade lowered the report.

For several seconds, he stared at the wall.

Then whispered:

“No.”

Mara looked toward him.

Her expression changed.

“Kade.”

He shook his head.

“No.”

The Chief approached.

For a moment, she seemed uncertain whether to touch his shoulder.

Then she stopped beside him.

The Commander looked toward the chart.

The Blackwake markers remained west of the reef.

Several were damaged.

Others destroyed.

But the two Princesses remained active.

Maki.

Reina.

The girls taken beneath the water.

Now leading an enemy that might do the same to others.

Kade looked toward Aaron.

His voice trembled.

“Seven?”

The lieutenant swallowed.

“Yes.”

“Seven Pendants?”

“Unrecovered.”

Kade closed his eyes.

For a moment, he saw Camille's case.

Five Pendants.

Five girls she had fought so hard to preserve.

He remembered her shaking hands.

Her fear that someone would take them away.

Her desperation to reach a place where the dead would be treated with dignity.

He opened his eyes.

Seven Pendants.

Somewhere beneath the night sea.

Perhaps among wreckage.

Perhaps still rising.

Perhaps already too deep to recover.

And the Blackwake was still out there.

He swallowed.

For a moment, his stomach turned so violently that he had to grip the edge of the table.

Mara moved immediately.

“Kade.”

He shook his head.

“I'm okay.”

The Chief's expression hardened.

“No, you aren't.”

He looked toward her.

For a moment, he seemed about to argue.

Then he lowered his eyes.

“No.”

His voice became very small.

“I'm not.”

Mara stood beside him.

For several seconds, neither spoke.

Then Kade looked toward the casualty board.

His expression crumpled.

“Fifteen.”

Aaron lowered his eyes.

The Commander continued.

“That's more than we've ever lost in one engagement.”

A pause.

“And the battle isn't even over.”

Nobody answered.

The silence hurt.

Then Victor called from the communications station.

“Commander.”

Kade slowly looked up.

“Yes?”

“The Blackwake surface formation is still pressing toward the western barrier. Tribal reports additional damage but remains afloat. Scarlett requests permission to reorganize the heavy line.”

The Commander closed his eyes.

For one brief moment, he wanted to disappear.

Not abandon the island.

Not run away.

Just stop feeling the weight of everyone who had trusted him.

Then he opened his eyes.

The battle remained.

The living remained.

And the people who depended on him were still out there.

He straightened.

Slowly.

Mara watched.

Kade looked toward the chart.

Then raised the radio.

“Scarlett, Operations.”

The South Dakota-class girl's voice answered.

Tired.

Strained.

Still steady.

“Scarlett receiving.”

Kade swallowed.

“Permission granted. Reorganize around the remaining heavy units. Do not attempt to recover the lost forward screen positions.”

A pause.

“Understood.”

The Commander continued.

“We're going to shorten the line and protect the western channel. Bring everyone still afloat inside the next defensive boundary.”

Scarlett was quiet.

Then she answered.

“We'll hold.”

Kade closed his eyes.

He believed her.

That frightened him almost as much as the enemy.

Because Scarlett would try.

Even if the attempt killed her.

He opened his eyes.

Then spoke firmly.

“You'll hold long enough to withdraw. That's the order.”

A pause.

The South Dakota-class girl seemed surprised.

Then answered.

“Understood, Commander.”

The channel closed.

Kade lowered the microphone.

For several seconds, he stood motionless.

Then he looked toward Mara.

“Chief.”

“Yes?”

“Get every available recovery team ready.”

She nodded.

“And the Pendants?”

“We keep searching where we can do it without sinking more girls.”

Mara lowered her eyes.

For a moment, she seemed relieved.

Then Kade continued.

“Seven is seven too many.”

The Chief swallowed.

“Yes.”

The Commander looked toward the dark sea.

His expression hardened.

“But I'm not adding an eighth missing Pendant because somebody made a desperate recovery attempt with no chance of success.”

Aaron nodded.

“Understood.”

Kade looked toward the two Princess photographs.

The white flowers.

The black machinery.

The silver Pendant fastened to Maki's chest.

Then the Kaga-derived carrier.

Reina.

For a moment, he felt that cold sickness return.

He understood now.

The Blackwake was not merely becoming stronger.

It was becoming something capable of turning the Keelborn's worst defeats into its own future commanders.

And Horizon had just lost fifteen girls in a single night.

Seven without recovered Pendants.

The Commander stared at the photographs.

Then whispered:

“If this is what they're making now…”

He stopped.

For several seconds, he couldn't continue.

Mara looked toward him.

“Kade?”

He swallowed.

Then raised his eyes.

The western chart remained full of Blackwake contacts.

The two Princesses were still there.

The night was not yet finished.

And the sea beyond Horizon was vast.

Terribly vast.

Kade took a slow breath.

Then spoke quietly.

“Then the war is only just beginning to escalate.”

No one contradicted him.

Outside, the guns continued firing.

And the darkness had not yet reached its end.

 

XIII. A Line That Could Still Bend

At four twelve, Scarlett Hayes received the revised defensive order.

She read the new positions once.

Then raised her eyes toward the western sea.

The South Dakota-class girl's equipment was in dreadful condition.

Not destroyed.

Not sinking.

But exhausted in the mechanical sense of the word.

Several fittings had been damaged by near misses.

Her secondary ammunition supply was low.

One antiaircraft director had become unreliable.

The external surfaces of her armor were scorched, and her body ached from the accumulated shock of firing heavy guns, maneuvering under attack, and enduring explosions close enough to send pressure waves through the support mechanisms around her.

She could still fight.

The question was how much longer.

Beside her, the second South Dakota-class girl checked her own equipment.

Her expression was pale.

One shoulder was bandaged.

A damaged secondary mount hung at an awkward angle beneath a temporary mechanical lock.

Farther north, Adelheid moved with a pronounced reduction in speed.

Nadya's Sevastopol-class rigging remained functional, but her gun crews had reported ammunition-handling difficulties after the last series of heavy salvos.

And beyond them, the destroyer screen had become painfully thin.

Scarlett looked toward the revised chart.

Horizon was shortening the line.

Giving up water.

Bringing the battered defenders closer to the coastal batteries and the few fixed positions that remained operational.

It felt like retreat.

That was the unpleasant part.

It was also the only sensible way to preserve the fleet.

Scarlett raised her microphone.

“Heavy Group, Scarlett. All units, begin controlled withdrawal to Secondary Line Two. Maintain covering fire by assigned sectors. No independent pursuit.”

The acknowledgments came.

Tired voices.

Some strained with pain.

Some almost too quiet to hear.

But present.

Scarlett swallowed.

Then looked toward the western horizon.

The aviation-cruiser Princess remained visible beneath intermittent star shells.

Her white flowers had been torn apart by gunfire.

Several black armored structures were damaged.

The enormous machinery around her still moved.

Still aimed.

Still fought.

Scarlett felt a cold anger settle inside her.

She thought of Takao Two.

Of Suzu.

Of Hibari.

Of the girls whose names were no longer appearing on the active circuit.

Then she raised her main guns.

The enemy heavy cruiser ahead of the Princess had crossed into her firing sector.

It was advancing toward the retreating destroyers.

Scarlett checked the solution.

The target was clear.

The surrounding water was free of rescue craft.

The remaining ammunition was sufficient.

She took a breath.

Then spoke.

“Main battery. Fire.”

Her sixteen-inch guns roared.

The shells crossed the darkness.

The first struck the water short.

The second hit the Blackwake heavy cruiser's forward structure.

A tremendous explosion tore through its armor.

The vessel staggered.

Its guns turned away from the retreating destroyers.

For a moment, Scarlett watched it struggle.

Then she looked toward her exhausted companions.

The line continued moving east.

Slowly.

Painfully.

But together.

 

At the western maintenance hangar, Riko stood beside Hana as the last restricted-load test finished.

The repair equipment hummed.

A gauge settled.

One technician checked the result.

Then another.

Hana examined the bracket alignment.

For several seconds, she remained silent.

Riko watched her face.

The Yamato-class girl looked as though she might stop breathing if the answer took much longer.

Finally, Hana lowered the clipboard.

“Restricted operation.”

Riko blinked.

“What?”

The repair ship girl looked up.

“Your primary stabilizer alignment is acceptable for movement and limited main-battery use. Not unrestricted combat.”

Riko's eyes widened.

“So I can go?”

Hana's expression became stern.

“You can operate within the approved load envelope. No violent maneuvers. No unrestricted broadside firing. If the port support temperature rises beyond the limit, you stop.”

Riko nodded immediately.

“Yes.”

Hana raised a finger.

“And if Operations orders you back, you come back.”

“Yes.”

“And you do not attempt to prove anything by ignoring the restrictions.”

The younger battleship hesitated.

Hana narrowed her eyes.

“Riko.”

The Yamato-class girl straightened.

“I won't.”

For several seconds, Hana regarded her.

Then she sighed.

“Good.”

She signed the restricted-clearance sheet.

Riko took a breath.

For one moment, she looked toward the enormous rigging waiting in the hangar.

Then toward the western sea.

The guns were still audible.

Her friends were still fighting.

She swallowed.

“Hana?”

The repair ship girl looked up.

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

Hana's expression softened.

For a moment, she seemed terribly tired.

Then she smiled faintly.

“Bring it back in one piece.”

Riko almost laughed.

“I'll try.”

Hana raised an eyebrow.

The younger battleship sighed.

“I'll be careful.”

“Better.”

Riko turned toward her equipment.

The heavy machinery began responding.

Hydraulic systems engaged.

Support structures lifted.

The great Yamato-class turrets moved into their safe travel positions.

Riko stepped forward.

Then paused.

She looked back toward Hana.

The repair ship girl was still watching.

For one moment, the two remained quiet.

Then Riko smiled.

“I'll come home.”

Hana swallowed.

Her expression tightened.

Then she nodded.

“See that you do.”

The Yamato-class girl departed for the protected channel.

And Hana returned to work.

Because there were still wounded girls waiting for repairs.

 

At four twenty-nine, Riko's restricted-deployment report reached Operations.

Kade looked toward the clearance.

Then toward the tactical plot.

He did not immediately authorize her to join Scarlett's heavy line.

That would have required a difficult transit through damaged ships, rescue craft, and the withdrawing destroyers.

Instead, he assigned her to a surveyed firing position near the outer lagoon boundary.

A position where her long-range guns could engage the Blackwake's larger surface units without requiring the kind of aggressive maneuvering her damaged supports could not safely tolerate.

Riko acknowledged.

“Yamato receiving. Limited main-battery operation only.”

Kade raised an eyebrow.

“And no heroic nonsense.”

There was a brief pause.

Then Riko answered:

“Define heroic nonsense.”

Mara looked toward the Commander.

Kade closed his eyes.

For one moment, he seemed to be reconsidering every life decision that had brought him to this conversation.

Then he answered:

“Anything involving the words 'I thought I could take the hit.'”

Riko went quiet.

For several seconds, she did not answer.

Then she spoke more softly.

“Understood.”

Kade's expression softened.

He looked toward the battle chart.

Then continued.

“Riko, we need your guns. We do not need you sinking because you tried to fire beyond your repair clearance.”

A pause.

“I know.”

The Commander nodded.

“Good. Fire only on approved solutions.”

Riko swallowed.

Then answered.

“Yes, Commander.”

The connection ended.

Kade looked toward the western sea.

For a moment, he felt something dangerously close to hope.

Not enough to erase the casualty board.

Not enough to make the lost girls return.

But enough to keep the living fighting.

 

The Blackwake's final coordinated assault began at four thirty-six.

The aviation-cruiser Princess advanced toward the shortened defensive line.

The Kaga-derived carrier remained farther west, its remaining aircraft gathered into a smaller strike group.

Several Blackwake destroyers attempted to slip around the northern screening position.

A heavy cruiser moved toward the central channel.

The attack was not as powerful as the opening assault.

The Blackwake had suffered losses.

Its aircraft complement had been reduced.

Its surface screen was damaged.

But Horizon's defenders were in even worse condition.

And the two Princesses seemed to understand that.

They attacked together.

The surface group fired first.

Heavy shells fell across the western approaches.

Then the surviving Blackwake aircraft came in low.

Their engines growled beneath the dark sky.

Several carried bombs.

Others carried torpedoes.

Calla's antiaircraft group opened fire.

The fixed batteries joined.

Star shells burst overhead.

For a moment, the western sea became a violent confusion of smoke, searchlight beams, gunfire, and black aircraft crossing beneath the flares.

A Blackwake bomber was struck and fell burning into the water.

Another released its weapon before being driven away.

The bomb exploded near Nadya's rigging.

The Sevastopol-class girl cried out.

Her equipment shuddered.

A support alarm sounded.

She remained afloat.

Then another shell struck close to Adelheid.

The Bayern-class girl staggered.

Her already damaged propulsion machinery complained.

Scarlett shifted to cover her.

And the Blackwake heavy cruiser continued advancing.

 

Kade watched the central contact move.

Its course would bring it within effective firing range of the western coastal installations if it continued.

The Commander studied the geometry.

Then looked toward Riko's position.

The Yamato-class girl was stationary enough to obtain a useful firing solution.

Her forward main turret had been cleared for limited operation.

The target was large.

Visible under intermittent illumination.

And outside the rescue corridor.

Kade considered the ammunition.

The risk.

The remaining defensive line.

Then raised the microphone.

“Riko, Operations.”

The younger battleship answered.

“Riko receiving.”

The Commander looked toward the target plot.

“Blackwake heavy cruiser entering your assigned firing sector. Forward turret authorized. Limited salvo only.”

Riko swallowed.

For a moment, she looked toward the enormous gun housing.

Her equipment was damaged.

Her support machinery still carried the strain of the earlier near miss.

But the firing solution was acceptable.

The enemy was approaching.

And her friends were withdrawing behind her.

She closed her eyes.

Took a breath.

Then opened them.

“Understood.”

The forward eighteen-point-one-inch turret traversed.

Its three immense barrels elevated.

The stabilizing machinery engaged.

Riko felt the weight of the weapon settle into the firing position.

For one moment, she remembered the afternoon's terrible near miss.

The fear.

The shock.

The humiliation of withdrawing for repairs.

Then she looked toward the Blackwake cruiser.

Her expression hardened.

She was not firing to prove she was Yamato.

She was firing because the people behind her needed the enemy stopped.

Riko checked the clearance.

The loading system reported ready.

She raised her voice.

“Forward turret.”

A pause.

Then:

“Fire!”

The three eighteen-point-one-inch rifles discharged.

The recoil rolled through her entire rigging.

Riko gritted her teeth.

The repaired port support protested.

A warning indicator climbed.

Then settled below the limit.

She remained steady.

The shells crossed the night.

For several seconds, the target continued moving.

Its guns fired toward the heavy line.

Then the Yamato shells arrived.

The first struck the sea near the cruiser's bow.

An enormous column of water rose.

The second hit the enemy's central armored structure.

The explosion tore through the black machinery.

The third struck near the waterline.

The effect was devastating.

The Blackwake heavy cruiser lurched.

A major structural section broke apart.

Its guns stopped.

The dark hull began listing.

For several seconds, the vessel struggled to remain afloat.

Then another internal explosion erupted.

The entire forward structure collapsed.

Water flooded across the broken armor.

The cruiser sank.

Riko watched.

For one moment, she remained perfectly still.

Then the support warning sounded again.

She looked down.

The temperature was climbing.

Not catastrophically.

But enough.

She swallowed.

Then raised the radio.

“Yamato. Enemy heavy cruiser destroyed. Port stabilizer approaching restriction limit. Ceasing main-battery fire.”

Kade answered immediately.

“Understood. Good work. Hold position for inspection.”

Riko lowered her eyes.

For a moment, she wanted to fire again.

The Princess remained out there.

The Blackwake destroyers were still moving.

Her friends were still in danger.

Then she remembered Hana.

Scarlett.

Kade.

The people who had trusted her to be careful.

She took a breath.

Then nodded.

“Holding position.”

Her enormous guns remained silent.

And the heavy cruiser that had threatened the western channel disappeared beneath the sea.

 

The Blackwake attack began to lose cohesion.

Not because its ordinary ships suddenly forgot how to fight.

Not because the Princesses had become helpless.

But because the defenders had shortened their line, and the enemy could no longer exploit the same gaps that had existed farther west.

The surviving destroyers were operating beneath overlapping cruiser and coastal fire.

The heavy units faced battleships whose firing positions were now supported by fixed observation posts.

The aircraft encountered a concentrated antiaircraft screen over the most important channels.

Horizon had given up open water.

In return, it had created a smaller area it could still defend.

The Blackwake continued attacking.

For several minutes, the night seemed determined to swallow the entire fleet.

Then the aviation-cruiser Princess stopped advancing.

The pale figure stood beneath a dying flare.

Her black rigging was damaged.

White flowers moved along the shattered structures.

Her amber eyes turned toward Horizon.

For one moment, she seemed to study the defensive line.

The coastal batteries.

The heavy Keelborn.

The remaining destroyers.

The wounded fleet holding together.

Then she raised one hand.

The Blackwake surface units began turning.

Not all at once.

The surviving destroyers moved first.

The light cruisers followed.

The heavier vessels shifted to cover the retreat.

Farther west, the carrier Princess altered her aircraft pattern.

The remaining bombers withdrew.

Her fighters gathered around the damaged aviation group.

The Blackwake was disengaging.

Again.

This time under fire.

Kade watched the markers begin moving west.

For several seconds, he did not speak.

Then Aaron looked toward him.

“Commander.”

Kade raised his eyes.

“Yes?”

“They're withdrawing.”

The young man stared at the chart.

For one terrible moment, he expected another deception.

Another formation splitting toward the southern channel.

Another attack from beneath the sea.

But the bearing reports continued west.

The aircraft were moving away.

The cruiser screen was breaking contact.

The two Princesses were retreating beyond the heavy-gun engagement area.

Kade took a slow breath.

Then looked toward Mara.

“No pursuit.”

The Chief nodded immediately.

“Yes.”

“Maintain observation. Keep the rescue routes protected.”

“Understood.”

The Commander raised the microphone.

“All units, Operations. Blackwake disengagement in progress. Hold the shortened defensive line until relief and recovery arrangements are confirmed.”

The acknowledgments came.

Tired.

Painful.

But alive.

“Scarlett receiving.”

“Adelheid receiving.”

“Nadya receiving.”

“Calla receiving.”

“Yuna receiving.”

“Shōkaku receiving.”

“Takao One receiving.”

“Emi receiving.”

“Asashio receiving.”

“Tribal receiving.”

Other voices followed.

Some from girls Kade had known for months.

Others from girls who had been enemies only yesterday.

He listened to every one.

Then slowly lowered the microphone.

Fifteen voices would not be answering again.

At least, not tonight.

Not from their own bodies.

And seven Pendants were still somewhere beneath the sea.

He looked toward the western horizon.

The darkness remained.

But the first faint suggestion of morning was beginning to appear far to the east.