Horizon Atoll: Hearts of Steel

The argument began ten minutes after lunch.

In retrospect, Kade Bher supposed he should have been grateful that the girls had waited until he’d finished eating.

He wasn’t.

The meal had been late, hurried, and remarkably unsatisfying despite Eliza Ward’s best efforts. Half the food on his plate had gone cold while he listened to the latest reports from the Burnt Narrows, and he’d spent most of the remaining time trying not to stare at the operations room’s wall clock.

Now, at thirteen minutes past three, he was standing beside the main tactical map with a pencil in his right hand, a radio operator waiting behind him, and four young women occupying the doorway with expressions that suggested none of them intended to leave.

Riko Minase stood in front.

Of course she did.

The nineteen-year-old Yamato-class Keelborn had arrived wearing her shore uniform, her brown hair slightly disheveled, her blue eyes bright with a determination Kade recognized far too well.

Beside her stood Yuna Mori.

Yuna was normally the calmer of the two. The twenty-year-old Illustrious-class carrier had a habit of listening before speaking, considering questions carefully, and occasionally preventing Riko from turning a minor inconvenience into a small diplomatic incident.

Today, however, she looked every bit as determined as her friend.

Behind them stood Emi and Mina.

Emi, the Benson-class destroyer who had only recently begun using her first intermediate rigging configuration, was gripping the strap of her equipment bag.

Mina, the twenty-two-year-old Leander-class light cruiser, held a folded training clearance in both hands.

Both looked nervous.

Neither looked inclined to leave.

Kade examined the four of them.

Then closed his eyes.

”No.”

Riko opened her mouth.

He raised one finger.

”No.”

”Commander—”

”No.”

Yuna folded her arms.

”Kade.”

He looked toward her.

”Yuna.”

”We haven’t said anything yet.”

”You’ve arrived together, interrupted an active battle briefing, and brought two girls whose training clearances are barely dry.”

Emi looked down at her papers.

Mina winced.

Kade continued.

”I have a reasonable suspicion where this conversation is going.”

Riko drew herself up.

”Then you know why we’re here!”

”Unfortunately.”

She stepped forward.

”We want to sortie.”

”No.”

”Commander!”

”Riko.”

He lowered his pencil.

”There’s a carrier strike force attacking our people. That is not an invitation to conduct your first unrestricted combat exercise.”

Riko flinched.

For a moment, her expression changed.

Then she glanced toward the tactical map.

The symbols representing Breakwater and the Keelborn escort group were still clustered beyond the Burnt Narrows.

Red enemy markers surrounded them.

Two hostile vessels had been confirmed destroyed.

Four remained.

A Blackwake heavy cruiser.

A surviving destroyer.

A fast battleship.

And an aircraft carrier.

The enemy formation was still fighting.

Breakwater had taken a torpedo hit and several heavy shell impacts. Its port-side compartments were being held against flooding. Fires had broken out in the upper works, and the damage-control teams were working to prevent a much more serious disaster.

Aster was wounded.

June was wounded.

Elsa had sustained further damage.

Calla and Nadya remained engaged.

And on the island, fifteen SIA former players, several native security personnel, and an injured civilian were waiting for a safe way off the beach.

Riko stared at those markers.

Then looked back at Kade.

”That’s exactly why we have to go.”

His expression hardened.

”No. That’s exactly why I can’t afford to send more people who aren’t ready.”

Yuna stepped forward.

”Commander, the enemy carrier is still launching aircraft.”

”I am aware.”

”Breakwater’s anti-aircraft coverage is deteriorating.”

”Also aware.”

”Calla can’t keep protecting everyone by herself.”

”I know.”

Yuna hesitated.

Her hands tightened slightly.

Then she said, more quietly:

”I have fighters.”

Kade looked at her.

The carrier girl met his eyes.

”I have fighters, and I have aircraft capable of attacking that carrier.”

He considered that.

Then glanced toward the aviation-readiness report beside the map.

He already knew what it said.

Yuna’s aviation systems had improved considerably during the past month.

Her Illustrious-class equipment had undergone repeated inspections. Her flight-handling procedures had become more consistent. The technicians had cleared a limited aircraft complement for supervised operations, and she had successfully conducted several controlled launch-and-recovery exercises in the waters around Horizon.

That was meaningful progress.

It was not the same thing as coordinating an attack against a defended enemy aircraft carrier while hostile planes filled the sky.

He looked back at her.

”Your latest clearance is for restricted aviation operations.”

”Yes.”

”Not fleet combat.”

”I know.”

”Your strike aircraft haven’t completed a full live combat exercise.”

”I know.”

”Your current aviation equipment still has assistance restrictions.”

Yuna nodded.

”I know all of that.”

”Then you understand why I’m telling you no.”

Her expression tightened.

For a moment, she looked down.

When she spoke again, her voice was steady.

”I also understand that the aircraft attacking Breakwater are real.”

Kade said nothing.

Yuna glanced toward the map.

”So are the people on that ship.”

The words landed harder than any accusation.

Kade looked at the blue marker representing Breakwater.

He knew exactly how real the people aboard it were.

He had read the initial casualty report.

Thomas Reed.

Twenty-one years old.

Killed during the enemy’s bombardment of the upper battery.

There were other wounded.

Some seriously.

And the casualty numbers might rise before the operation ended.

Yuna continued.

”Every aircraft I can keep away from them is one less that gets to drop a bomb.”

Kade looked toward her.

”And every aircraft you lose is another one we can’t replace easily.”

”I know.”

”Every damaged component of your rigging is another repair we may not be able to complete.”

”I know.”

”And if the enemy finds you—”

Yuna interrupted.

”Then I’ll be in danger.”

The room became quiet.

She swallowed.

Her expression softened.

”I understand that.”

For a moment, she looked younger than twenty.

Then her eyes moved toward the map again.

”But they’re already in danger.”

Kade exhaled slowly.

Behind him, Mara Fenwick stood near the communications table.

She had been listening without speaking.

Now she looked toward Riko.

The battleship girl stepped forward.

”And I can help too.”

Kade turned.

”Riko.”

”I know what you’re going to say.”

”Do you?”

”My Mk. I is bulky. I haven’t graduated to intermediate. I still need my stabilizers.”

Kade raised an eyebrow.

”That’s a remarkably accurate summary.”

She frowned.

”Don’t.”

He stopped.

The seriousness in her voice surprised him.

Riko looked toward the map.

”Please.”

The word was quiet.

Not the usual enthusiastic demand.

Not one of her grand declarations about Yamato-class firepower and future twenty-inch guns.

Just one word.

”Please let me help.”

Kade considered her.

He remembered the young woman who had arrived at Horizon a little over a month earlier.

Excited.

Loud.

Proud of having selected one of the most powerful battleship classes available.

She’d imagined grand naval battles, enormous guns, and eventually upgrading to a configuration that would require quantities of steel no sane quartermaster wanted to discuss.

Then the Crisis happened.

Her chosen warship became physical.

The recoil became real.

The weight became real.

Her training frame became an unpleasant daily reminder that possessing a Yamato-class body did not automatically grant the skill required to operate it.

She had struggled.

Complained.

Argued with Dain.

And trained anyway.

Every day.

Now some of the people who had helped teach her were bleeding in the Pacific.

Kade knew why she wanted to go.

That didn’t make the decision easier.

”Riko.”

She looked up.

”Your main guns are forty-six centimeters.”

She nodded.

”Yes.”

”They are among the largest naval weapons in our inventory.”

”Yes.”

”And firing them safely requires more than being able to point them in the right direction.”

Her smile faded.

”I know.”

”Your Mk. I is designed to help you handle the machinery while you’re learning. It isn’t a proper unrestricted combat configuration.”

”I know.”

”And the enemy is firing sixteen-inch-class naval artillery at Breakwater.”

Riko went still.

Kade let the statement settle.

”That isn’t a training target.”

She swallowed.

Then nodded.

”No.”

For a moment, he thought she might finally accept the refusal.

Then Mina stepped forward.

”Commander.”

Kade turned.

The Leander-class girl looked terrified.

Her hands were trembling around the folded paper.

But she was looking directly at him.

”I want to go too.”

He stared.

”Mina.”

She flinched at the sound of her name.

He continued.

”You completed your first intermediate assessment yesterday.”

”I know.”

”Yesterday.”

”Yes.”

”You are not cleared for open-ocean combat.”

”I know.”

”Then why are you standing here?”

Mina took a breath.

The answer came slowly.

”Because Elsa’s hurt.”

Kade stopped.

Mina looked toward the map.

”She helped me with my balance training. Every time I kept overcorrecting, she stayed afterward and showed me what I was doing wrong.”

Her voice shook.

”She didn’t laugh. She didn’t tell me I was hopeless. She just kept explaining until I understood.”

Kade remained quiet.

Mina continued.

”And now she’s out there, fighting something that might kill her.”

She swallowed.

”I know I’m not as good as she is.”

Her fingers tightened around the clearance.

”I know I’m barely qualified to use the intermediate rigging.”

She looked up.

”But I can still fire my guns. I can still follow orders. I can still help.”

Emi stepped forward beside her.

”Me too.”

Kade turned.

The Benson-class destroyer looked as though she’d rather face another month of medical examinations than have this conversation.

Her voice was small.

But clear.

”Aster’s hurt.”

Kade felt his stomach tighten.

Emi looked down.

”She taught me how to stop without falling. And how to turn. And what to do when I got scared.”

Her cheeks reddened.

”I was scared all the time.”

Riko glanced toward her.

Emi continued.

”But Aster never made me feel stupid.”

She raised her eyes.

”I don’t want her to die.”

The operations room seemed to become very quiet.

Even the radio traffic faded into the background.

Kade looked at the four young women.

Riko.

Yuna.

Mina.

Emi.

Four former players.

Four young women who had been ordinary people a little over a month earlier.

Two still in primary training.

Two only beginning the transition away from assistance systems.

All carrying weapons they had once treated as exciting class features.

Now they wanted to use those weapons to save their friends.

He understood.

That was the worst part.

He understood completely.

Then Riko said something that made him feel considerably less charitable.

”We’re going anyway.”

Kade looked toward her.

Slowly.

”What?”

Riko swallowed.

But she didn’t look away.

”If you don’t let us go, we’ll find another way.”

Yuna closed her eyes briefly.

Mina looked uncomfortable.

Emi’s face went pale.

Kade stared.

Then placed his pencil on the table.

Very carefully.

”Riko.”

His voice was quiet.

She flinched.

”Do you understand what you’re saying?”

The battleship girl hesitated.

Then nodded.

”Yes.”

”You’re telling your commanding officer that you’ll disobey a direct order and take a battleship-class weapon system to sea without authorization.”

Riko’s expression tightened.

Kade continued.

”You’re also telling me that you’re prepared to endanger your friends by taking them along.”

Emi looked down.

Mina swallowed.

Yuna stepped forward.

”Commander, we agreed to come together.”

Kade looked toward her.

”That doesn’t improve the situation.”

”I know.”

”Then don’t pretend it does.”

She flinched.

For the first time since entering the room, Riko looked genuinely ashamed.

Kade watched them for several seconds.

Then turned toward Mara.

”Chief.”

”Commander?”

”Close the door.”

The chief did.

The click of the latch sounded unusually loud.

Kade returned his attention to the girls.

”Listen carefully.”

They straightened.

”I understand why you want to go.”

He glanced toward the map.

”I understand that your friends are in danger.”

His voice hardened.

”But if you ever threaten to ignore a safety order again because you’re frightened or angry, we’ll have a very different conversation.”

Riko lowered her eyes.

”Yes, Commander.”

”I mean it.”

She nodded.

”So do I.”

Mina and Emi remained silent.

Yuna watched Kade closely.

He looked toward the charts.

Then the latest weather report.

The battle positions.

The distance between Horizon and the Burnt Narrows.

He had already rejected requests to reinforce the fleet earlier in the engagement.

Not because he wanted to leave his people unsupported.

Because the available girls were still training.

Now the situation had changed.

Breakwater’s anti-aircraft defenses were damaged.

The enemy carrier remained active.

The surface screen was wounded.

Aster and June were in danger of being overwhelmed.

And Kade was being asked to choose between risking inexperienced reinforcements and leaving his existing force to continue fighting without relief.

Neither option was good.

He hated that.

A great deal.

He looked toward the four.

Then asked:

”Did you bring your latest equipment clearances?”

Riko blinked.

”What?”

”Your equipment clearances.”

Yuna immediately produced a folded document.

Mina already had hers.

Emi raised her training report with both hands.

Riko looked toward the ceiling.

Kade narrowed his eyes.

”Riko.”

”I have mine!”

”Where?”

”...My room.”

Kade stared.

The battleship girl wilted.

”...Sorry.”

He rubbed his forehead.

Then looked toward Mara.

”Get Dain, Hana, and the training officers on the line.”

The chief nodded.

”Yes, Commander.”

Yuna’s eyes widened.

”Does that mean—”

”It means I’m investigating whether I can authorize anything without being an irresponsible idiot.”

She closed her mouth.

Kade looked toward Riko.

”And it means none of you is going anywhere until qualified personnel inspect your equipment.”

Riko nodded rapidly.

”Yes!”

”Do not celebrate.”

She stopped.

He continued.

”If the engineers tell me your rigging cannot safely make the trip, you stay.”

Riko swallowed.

”Understood.”

”If the medical officer refuses clearance, you stay.”

Mina nodded.

”Yes, Commander.”

”If the weather or sea conditions exceed your training limits, you stay.”

Emi straightened.

”Understood.”

Kade looked toward Yuna.

”And if your aircraft cannot be made ready without cutting corners, you are not launching them.”

She nodded.

”I understand.”

He studied all four.

Then sighed.

”Good.”

Mara had already reached the telephone.

The room’s ordinary noise returned.

A radio operator repeated a position report.

Somewhere down the corridor, somebody hurried past carrying documents.

Outside the windows, the harbor glittered beneath the afternoon sun.

Kade looked toward the four young women again.

”Now.”

They straightened.

”Go get ready for an emergency support sortie.”

Riko’s eyes widened.

Yuna inhaled sharply.

Emi stared.

Mina blinked twice.

Then Riko’s face lit up.

”REALLY?!”

Kade raised one finger.

”Under conditions.”

She stopped.

He continued.

”You are not going there to prove yourselves.”

All four nodded.

”You’re going to support a damaged force and help bring people home.”

He looked toward Emi and Mina.

”You will remain under experienced supervision. You will not pursue enemy ships. You will not improvise independent attacks.”

They nodded again.

He looked toward Riko.

”You will use your full approved stabilization configuration. No disabling assistance systems. No experimenting with weapon output.”

Riko’s expression became almost comically serious.

”Yes, Commander.”

”And you will not attempt a nine-gun broadside unless the engineers explicitly certify that configuration for the conditions.”

She hesitated.

”...Yes, Commander.”

Kade turned toward Yuna.

”Your fighters are the first priority. Protect Breakwater, the Keelborn, and the landing craft. Strike aircraft only when you have enough control of the situation to launch them responsibly.”

Yuna nodded.

”Understood.”

He looked around the room.

”And if any of you is injured, or your rigging becomes unsafe, you report it and return toward Horizon as soon as you can safely disengage.”

Emi swallowed.

Mina nodded.

Riko looked toward him.

”What if the others still need help?”

Kade’s expression became very still.

”Then you tell the experienced officers, and they arrange the response.”

He stepped closer.

”You do not turn one casualty into five because you refuse to admit you’re hurt.”

Riko looked down.

Then nodded.

”Yes.”

Kade studied her.

For a moment, his expression softened.

”I need you to understand something.”

She raised her eyes.

He looked toward all four.

”Coming home is part of the mission.”

Nobody spoke.

Then Yuna nodded.

”We understand.”

Kade held her gaze.

He hoped they did.

He hoped very much.

Finally, he stepped aside.

”Go.”

The girls moved immediately.

Riko nearly collided with the door.

Emi caught her sleeve.

Mina hurried after them.

Yuna stopped at the threshold.

She turned.

”Kade.”

He looked up.

Her expression was gentle.

”Thank you.”

He considered the tactical map.

The red markers.

The blue markers.

The casualty figures.

Then he looked toward her.

”Make sure you give me a reason not to regret it.”

Yuna smiled faintly.

”We’ll try.”

She left.

The door closed.

Kade stood very still.

For several seconds, he didn’t move.

Then Mara approached.

”Commander?”

He looked toward the closed door.

”I hate this.”

The chief’s expression softened.

”I know.”

He looked down at his hands.

They were steady.

He didn’t particularly appreciate that.

He would have preferred some visible sign that the decision was difficult.

Instead, his body seemed content to let him stand there while his mind examined every possible way the next few hours might go wrong.

Kade exhaled.

”I really hate this.”

Mara didn’t offer easy reassurance.

She simply stood beside him.

Then, after a moment, she said:

”We’ll make sure they’re properly prepared.”

He nodded.

”Yes.”

”And we’ll keep listening.”

”Yes.”

She looked toward the map.

Then back at him.

”You didn’t send them because they shouted.”

Kade considered that.

”No.”

”You sent them because the situation changed.”

He nodded slowly.

”Yes.”

Mara rested one hand on the back of a chair.

”Then make sure the orders reflect that.”

Kade looked toward her.

A small smile appeared.

”Good advice.”

”I try.”

He reached for the radio.

The authorization would have to be recorded.

The engineering checks completed.

The command structure established.

And four young women would need to understand precisely how limited their assignments remained.

The sea did not become safer because someone was brave.

But neither did bravery become meaningless simply because it carried danger.

Kade knew that.

He just wished the lesson didn’t have to be taught with people he cared about.

 The emergency inspection took twenty-eight minutes.

Dain Okoro later described that as the fastest he had ever seen three departments cooperate without somebody threatening to resign.

Hana disagreed.

She said it had felt like three hours.

Tali refused to express an opinion.

She was too busy checking the equipment.

The four Keelborn had assembled at the primary training and maintenance platform, where their rigging was being prepared for deployment.

The difference between the girls was immediately visible.

Emi’s Benson-class intermediate configuration was compact compared with her original Mk. I. The broad flotation supports had been removed, leaving class-specific destroyer equipment mounted around her body through a reduced assistance frame. Her gun fittings, torpedo equipment, and propulsion assemblies were arranged close enough to permit a more natural movement across the water.

But she still wore additional safety supports.

They were smaller now.

Less obvious.

Not gone.

The intermediate control systems monitored her balance and limited the most aggressive propulsion changes. Her recent qualifications permitted controlled movement under supervision.

They did not certify her as an experienced destroyer.

Mina’s Leander-class equipment was larger.

The light cruiser’s four twin six-inch main turrets were fitted through the rigging’s support structure, with the machinery distributed around her body rather than enclosing her in a rigid armored shell. Her intermediate frame retained additional stability and control components that a trained cruiser no longer required.

The apparatus looked promising.

It also looked new.

Because it was.

Yuna’s Illustrious-class rigging occupied a separate section of the platform.

The carrier’s fitted flight-deck arrangement extended alongside and behind her, supported by naval machinery, protective structures, and aviation-handling equipment. The training assistance assemblies were less bulky than Riko’s, but the carrier still depended on calibrated control limits and technical supervision for demanding flight operations.

Aircraft were being prepared.

Not imagined into existence.

Prepared.

Inspected.

Fuel accounted for.

Weapons checked.

Flight arrangements verified.

The aviation technicians moved through the work with quiet urgency.

Several Sea Hurricanes were ready for fighter duties.

A small flight of Fairey Barracudas had also been prepared for the possibility of a strike against enemy shipping. The type could undertake torpedo or dive-bombing duties, depending on the load and mission preparation.

Yuna looked toward them with an expression of fierce concentration.

She had spent weeks training for this.

Now the work was happening for real.

And on the far side of the platform, Riko Minase was receiving what might have been the least glamorous battleship inspection in naval history.

Dain stood beside her Mk. I configuration.

His arms were folded.

His expression was severe.

Riko stood perfectly still.

Hana held a checklist.

Tali examined one of the heavy support fittings.

The Yamato-class equipment was immense.

Its principal turrets carried triple forty-six-centimeter gun mounts arranged around Riko’s body through the class-specific support structure. Thick armor fittings, propulsion machinery, and the additional stabilization apparatus of the primary training frame gave the configuration a broad, imposing silhouette.

The Mk. I’s auxiliary flotation assemblies remained fitted.

So did its recoil-assistance equipment.

Its propulsion governors were active.

Its safety interlocks were functioning.

And Riko hated how cumbersome it looked.

Today, however, she wasn’t complaining.

Not even once.

Dain found that more alarming than the equipment report.

”Miss Minase.”

”Yes?”

”You understand that this is not your proper combat rigging.”

”Yes.”

”You understand that several of the controls will remain restricted.”

”Yes.”

”And that if I receive a report that you’ve bypassed a stabilizer to increase your speed, I will personally recommend grounding your equipment.”

Riko nodded.

”Understood.”

Dain narrowed his eyes.

She looked back.

Perfectly serious.

The engineer glanced toward Hana.

Hana shrugged.

”She’s been like this since she arrived.”

Dain sighed.

”That’s worse.”

Riko looked offended.

”What?”

Hana smiled faintly.

”He’s worried about you.”

The battleship girl blinked.

Dain looked away.

”I’m worried about the equipment.”

Hana raised an eyebrow.

”Of course.”

”And the harbor.”

”Naturally.”

”And the repair budget.”

”Very important.”

Riko smiled slightly.

Dain turned back toward her.

Then his expression softened.

”Listen.”

She straightened.

The older engineer rested a hand against one of the heavy support fittings.

”These aren’t toys.”

Riko nodded.

”I know.”

He looked toward the enormous gun assemblies.

”When you fire those guns, the load has to go somewhere. The recoil systems absorb and distribute much of it, but your balance and the rigging’s mechanical condition still matter.”

She nodded again.

”I know.”

”And just because the equipment can fire doesn’t mean it should fire every gun at once.”

Riko swallowed.

”Yes.”

Dain studied her.

Then sighed.

”All right.”

He looked toward Hana.

”Report?”

The repair ship girl checked the completed inspection.

”Propulsion within approved limits. Stabilization systems functional. Main battery fittings inspected. Training-output restrictions remain active. Ammunition loading complete for the authorized firing plan.”

Tali added, ”No unresolved structural faults detected in the systems required for transit. The present configuration is not certified for prolonged full-output combat.”

Dain nodded.

”Good.”

Then he looked toward Riko.

”You’re cleared for restricted emergency deployment.”

The battleship girl inhaled sharply.

Her eyes widened.

For a moment, she looked ready to shout.

Then she remembered the seriousness of the situation.

She simply bowed her head.

”Thank you.”

Dain stared at her.

Hana smiled.

Tali looked quietly pleased.

The engineer considered the young woman in front of him.

Then nodded.

”Bring it back.”

Riko looked up.

He indicated the machinery.

”All of it.”

She smiled.

”I’ll try.”

Dain sighed.

”Please do better than try.”

Riko’s smile softened.

”Okay.”

And for the first time that afternoon, the engineer looked almost reassured.

Almost.

Mina’s inspection was rather less encouraging.

Not because the Leander-class rigging had failed.

It hadn’t.

That was, according to Dain, the nicest thing anybody could say about an emergency equipment inspection.

The problem was the girl wearing it.

Mina stood on the water-handling platform while Calla’s assistant instructor reviewed her training records over the telephone. The light cruiser’s intermediate equipment had performed adequately during the previous day’s controlled-water assessment, but nobody had ever intended that the next stage of her education would involve steaming toward an active battle.

Her balance was improving.

Her stopping response was acceptable.

Her propulsion coordination was still inconsistent during aggressive turns.

And her main battery experience consisted of supervised range exercises under favorable conditions.

Mina knew all of that.

The knowledge had not stopped her from volunteering.

It did, however, make her increasingly conscious of how far she had to go.

The training officer lowered the handset.

Then looked at her.

”Miss Mina.”

”Yes?”

”Your equipment is fit for transit in the expected conditions, provided you remain inside the approved operating limits.”

Mina nodded.

”Understood.”

”You are not cleared for independent combat maneuvering.”

”I know.”

”Nor for unsupported close-range engagements.”

”Yes.”

The officer studied her.

Then added:

”If you receive instructions to disengage, you disengage.”

Mina swallowed.

”Yes.”

The woman continued.

”You’re to make yourself useful under Elsa’s direction. Not demonstrate how much you’ve improved.”

For a moment, Mina looked down.

Then she nodded.

”I understand.”

The officer’s expression softened.

”Good.”

Mina glanced toward the sea.

”Can I ask something?”

”Of course.”

The young cruiser hesitated.

Then looked toward her own equipment.

”What if I freeze?”

The instructor became quiet.

Mina’s cheeks reddened.

”I know the procedures. I know what I’m supposed to do. But when I think about actual shells coming toward me...”

Her voice trailed off.

The older woman regarded her for a moment.

Then stepped closer.

”Are you frightened now?”

Mina nodded.

”Yes.”

”Good.”

The girl blinked.

”Good?”

”It means you understand some of what you’re volunteering to face.”

Mina swallowed.

The instructor continued.

”You won’t eliminate fear by pretending it isn’t there. You fall back on the things you’ve practiced. You listen to your assigned leader. And if the situation exceeds your ability, you report it.”

Mina looked toward her.

”That sounds simple.”

”It is simple.”

A pause.

”That doesn’t make it easy.”

The young cruiser considered those words.

Then nodded.

”Right.”

The instructor smiled faintly.

”And remember something. Elsa didn’t become a capable heavy cruiser because she never made a mistake.”

Mina blinked.

”She didn’t?”

The woman laughed.

”Of course not.”

Mina looked genuinely surprised.

The instructor continued.

”She became capable because she kept learning.”

For a moment, Mina studied the water.

Then her shoulders straightened.

”Okay.”

She looked toward the officer.

”I’ll do my best.”

”I know.”

The woman smiled.

”Now make sure you bring that rigging back in one piece. We’ve only just finished fitting it.”

Mina laughed weakly.

”Yes, ma’am.”

At the adjacent platform, Emi received a similar lecture.

Hers was considerably shorter.

Mostly because the young destroyer started crying halfway through it.

Not loudly.

Not dramatically.

She simply stood beside her Benson-class equipment while the inspection technician explained the limits of the intermediate configuration, and suddenly her eyes filled with tears.

The technician stopped.

”Emi?”

The girl wiped at her face.

”Sorry.”

”What’s wrong?”

Emi shook her head.

”Nothing.”

The woman raised an eyebrow.

Emi looked down.

Then whispered:

”I’m scared.”

The technician’s expression softened.

She stepped closer.

”Of course you are.”

Emi sniffed.

”I don’t want Aster to die.”

The woman remained quiet.

The young destroyer continued.

”And I don’t want to die either.”

Her voice shook.

The technician rested a hand on her shoulder.

”Then make sure you remember both of those things.”

Emi looked up.

The woman continued.

”You’re not going to be much help to Aster if you get yourself destroyed trying to impress her.”

Emi nodded rapidly.

”Yes.”

”And if you’re ordered back, you come back.”

”Yes.”

”And if your equipment begins behaving improperly—”

”I report it.”

”Exactly.”

The technician smiled.

Emi tried to return it.

Then looked toward her rigging.

The compact intermediate arrangement waited beside the platform, its gun mounts, torpedo fittings, propulsion assemblies, and reduced stability supports inspected and ready for use.

Yesterday, she’d been delighted simply to move across the water without the bulky Mk. I floats.

Today, she was preparing to cross open sea and enter a battle.

The difference made her stomach twist.

She took a slow breath.

Then another.

Finally, she nodded.

”I’m ready.”

The technician studied her.

”No.”

Emi blinked.

The woman smiled gently.

”You’re prepared as well as we can make you on short notice.”

Emi considered that.

Then nodded.

”Right.”

”That’s a better place to start.”

 The four Keelborn departed Horizon Atoll under a sky that seemed far too beautiful for what they were about to do.

The afternoon sun lay warm across the harbor.

Cloud shadows drifted over the reef.

The western navigation beacon stood beyond the repaired channel, its old structure catching the light as the girls moved past.

Riko led the heavier element at a carefully controlled pace.

Her Mk. I stabilization equipment projected around her Yamato-class rigging, broad enough that she looked considerably less graceful than the battleship girl she’d originally imagined becoming.

The equipment’s flotation assemblies rode close to the water.

Its propulsion limits remained active.

And the heavy gun machinery moved with an unmistakable sense of mass whenever she adjusted course.

Beside her, Yuna’s Illustrious-class carrier equipment occupied a broad, distinctive silhouette.

Her fitted flight deck extended alongside her body, with aviation-handling machinery arranged through the rigging’s supports. The maintenance crews had finished securing the approved aircraft complement, and the technicians’ final checks had been recorded.

Mina followed in her Leander-class intermediate configuration.

Emi moved beside her, trying very hard not to stare down at the water.

The four formed an unusual little fleet.

A Yamato-class battleship.

An Illustrious-class aircraft carrier.

A Leander-class light cruiser.

And a Benson-class destroyer.

On paper, it looked impressive.

At least until somebody asked how many of them had ever fought a real naval battle.

The answer was none.

Riko glanced toward Emi.

The destroyer girl was moving carefully.

Very carefully.

Her propulsion remained within the approved limits, and her body made small adjustments to compensate for the swell moving beneath her feet.

She wasn’t falling.

That was good.

But she looked nervous enough that Riko found herself wanting to say something reassuring.

Then she remembered that she was also nervous.

This complicated matters.

She cleared her throat.

”Emi!”

The destroyer looked over.

”Yes?”

Riko smiled.

”You’re doing great!”

Emi blinked.

Then returned a small smile.

”Thank you.”

A pause.

Then Mina looked toward Riko’s enormous training frame.

”You’re doing well too.”

Riko’s smile widened.

”Of course!”

The battleship girl shifted her weight.

One of the auxiliary flotation supports dipped unexpectedly into a passing swell.

The frame corrected.

Her equipment rocked.

Riko windmilled one arm.

”WHOA—!”

Yuna turned sharply.

”Riko!”

”I’m fine!”

The training frame settled.

Riko straightened.

Her cheeks were bright red.

Emi stared.

Mina covered her mouth.

Yuna slowly closed her eyes.

The battleship girl glared.

”Not one word.”

Mina made a small sound.

Emi pressed her lips together.

Yuna looked toward the horizon.

”Riko.”

”What?”

”Perhaps we should save the dramatic maneuvers until after you’ve learned to do them deliberately.”

Riko looked wounded.

”That was the swell!”

”Yes.”

”A very aggressive swell!”

”Of course.”

Emi began laughing.

She tried to stop.

Failed.

Then Mina joined her.

For a moment, Riko looked offended.

Then she sighed.

”Oh, fine.”

A small smile appeared.

”At least everybody’s awake.”

Yuna laughed.

The tension eased.

Only slightly.

But enough.

Beyond Horizon’s protective reef, the sea changed.

The sheltered water gave way to longer swells.

The surface rose and fell beneath the Keelborn with greater force.

The wind strengthened.

Their rigging responded.

For Yuna, the adjustments were becoming familiar.

For Riko, the Mk. I absorbed much of the instability but reminded her constantly that she remained dependent on its assistance systems.

For Mina and Emi, every change in the sea demanded attention.

They weren’t simply standing on the water.

They were learning to move with it while their fitted machinery carried them forward.

Aster could do this without appearing to think.

Elsa could maintain a firing solution while maneuvering through the same conditions.

Nadya could handle her enormous old battleship equipment with the confidence of someone who understood its limitations.

The four newcomers were not there yet.

That was the truth.

And, for the first time, all four seemed willing to acknowledge it without treating the admission as a personal failure.

Yuna raised her radio.

”Horizon Command, support element departing the western approach. All four units underway.”

Kade’s voice answered.

”Copy, Yuna. Maintain formation and report any equipment irregularities.”

”Understood.”

A pause.

Then he added:

”Riko.”

The battleship girl straightened.

”Yes, Commander?”

”Leave the stabilizers alone.”

There was a silence.

Then Mina began laughing.

Emi covered her mouth.

Yuna looked away.

Riko’s face reddened.

”I WASN’T GOING TO TOUCH THEM!”

The radio crackled.

Kade sounded almost amused.

”Excellent. Keep it that way.”

The transmission ended.

Riko stared at the handset.

Then sighed.

”He doesn’t trust me.”

Yuna glanced toward her.

”Can you blame him?”

The battleship girl considered that.

Then lowered her shoulders.

”...Not entirely.”

They continued.

The western beacon disappeared behind them.

The open Pacific stretched ahead.

And somewhere beyond the horizon, their friends were fighting for their lives.

 Kade watched the four blue markers leave Horizon’s immediate waters.

He had signed the authorization.

He had reviewed the engineering clearances.

He had heard the medical department’s reservations.

He had ordered the appropriate command restrictions recorded.

And he still felt as though he’d done something unforgivably reckless.

Mara stood beside him.

Neither spoke for several minutes.

The operations room continued receiving battle reports.

Breakwater’s aft upper works had suffered a bomb impact.

A fire had threatened the ammunition-handling spaces.

The ship’s crew was containing it, but the situation remained critical.

Aster and June were being protected by the other Keelborn.

Elsa and Nadya were still engaging the enemy surface ships.

Calla was fighting to keep the skies clear.

And on the beach, the SIA landing party was preparing for another attack from the air.

Kade looked toward the four reinforcement markers.

Riko.

Yuna.

Mina.

Emi.

He could still order them back.

Technically.

The thought occurred repeatedly.

He could call them.

Tell them to turn around.

Send them back to training.

And perhaps preserve them from the fighting.

He also knew that doing so would not make the danger at the Burnt Narrows disappear.

The people already there would simply face it without the additional help.

He hated that calculation.

It reduced lives to a comparison of risks.

He knew that was part of command.

He still hated it.

Mara glanced toward him.

”Commander?”

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

He looked up.

”Yes?”

”Would you like me to have Irena prepare additional treatment spaces?”

Kade considered the question.

Then nodded.

”Yes.”

”Already arranging it.”

He smiled faintly.

”Thank you.”

The chief returned the smile.

Kade looked back toward the map.

For a long moment, he studied the distance separating the four girls from the battle.

He thought of Emi crying during her equipment inspection.

Of Mina’s trembling hands.

Of Riko’s clumsy flotation supports.

Of Yuna trying to become a carrier commander before she’d had time to master half the procedures involved.

Then he lowered his head.

It was a small movement.

Almost invisible.

Nobody in the operations room paid attention.

His voice was barely more than a whisper.

”Whoever’s listening...”

He stopped.

For a moment, he wondered whether the words were foolish.

This world possessed too many things he didn’t understand for him to claim certainty about what higher powers might exist.

Perhaps someone was listening.

Perhaps nobody was.

He didn’t know.

He continued anyway.

”Please see them through.”

His fingers tightened around the edge of the map.

”All of them.”

A pause.

Then:

”Let them come home.”

He raised his head.

The tactical markers continued moving.

The radio crackled.

Another report arrived.

There was no answer from the heavens.

Only the familiar sounds of a naval station at war.

Kade took a breath.

Then returned to work.

Whatever prayers were worth, the girls still needed accurate information.

And he intended to give them every useful piece he could.

The Beach That Nobody Wanted Anymore

Greta Falk had always believed the MG08 deserved more respect than it received.

It was a heavy weapon.

An old weapon.

A thoroughly inconvenient weapon by the standards of modern infantry.

Its water-cooled barrel jacket required attention. Its ammunition came in belts rather than convenient magazines. Its complete operating arrangement was cumbersome enough that transporting it across a beach demanded planning, not enthusiasm.

Greta understood these disadvantages perfectly well.

She had chosen the machine gun anyway.

There was a certain honesty to the design.

It did not pretend to be lightweight.

It did not pretend to be fashionable.

It was a machine built to perform a specific task, provided somebody supplied it with ammunition, cooling water, a suitable firing position, and the patience to operate it correctly.

And after several weeks of being told that her beloved old gun was too cumbersome for ordinary patrol work, Greta had finally encountered a situation where its particular strengths might matter.

Unfortunately, the situation involved Blackwake aircraft attempting to murder her friends.

She considered this an unacceptable arrangement.

”Aircraft!”

Piper’s shout carried across the shore.

Greta raised her eyes.

Three dark shapes were descending from the northeastern sky.

Fighters.

Or what passed for fighters within the Blackwake’s grotesque collection of machinery.

Their silhouettes resembled conventional propeller-driven aircraft, but the wing edges were irregular, and dark growths spread across the engine housings.

The first two were moving toward the water.

The third had turned toward the beach.

Toward the landing craft.

Toward the ruined industrial buildings where the SIA detachment was sheltering an injured civilian.

Greta’s expression hardened.

”Of course.”

Beside her, Morgan looked toward the sky.

The American’s M27 rested against her protective vest.

She watched the descending aircraft for a moment.

Then said something unprintable.

Greta nodded.

”Agreed.”

The beach had become a strange place during the previous hour.

The infantry group had finally withdrawn from the industrial complex, exhausted and covered in dust, carrying Belle’s recovered Pendant and helping Mara Venn toward the landing point.

They had been preparing to embark.

Then the naval battle intensified.

Aircraft began crossing the waters between the island and Breakwater.

Several made low passes near the shore.

One dropped a bomb into the water beyond the reef.

Another strafed a ruined pier.

The landing craft’s crew had repositioned the boat to avoid presenting an easy target, and Mira ordered the infantry personnel into the protected positions identified during their original landing assessment.

Nobody liked the delay.

Nobody argued that it was unnecessary.

Now Greta was positioned behind a solid section of concrete overlooking the beach’s approaches.

Her MG08 had been placed on a stable mount.

The cooling system was checked.

Ammunition was available.

And Morgan was assisting with the weapon’s support requirements while keeping her own rifle ready.

The arrangement was far from ideal.

It was better than standing on the sand and hoping the Blackwake decided to leave.

Greta watched the nearest aircraft turn.

Its nose dropped.

The guns in its wings flashed.

Sand erupted along the edge of the beach.

The first burst fell short of the landing craft.

The second walked across the remains of an old loading ramp.

The pilot was correcting.

Greta’s jaw tightened.

”Too close.”

Morgan nodded.

The aircraft began another pass.

Greta waited until its approach made a sensible target possible.

Then the MG08 opened fire.

The sound was deep and mechanical.

A sustained, hammering burst that seemed to fill the concrete position with vibration.

The water-cooled machine gun worked through its ammunition belt with relentless precision, ejecting spent cases while Morgan monitored the feed and the cooling arrangement.

The weapon was old.

Very old.

Its operating principles were not.

A moving aircraft remained difficult to hit, especially from an improvised ground position. Greta knew that. She wasn’t expecting every burst to tear a fighter apart.

What she could do was put disciplined fire into a dangerous approach and force the attacker to contend with something other than helpless infantry.

The first burst passed behind the aircraft.

Greta corrected.

Fired again.

Several tracers crossed beneath the Blackwake fighter’s wing.

Then a flash appeared near its engine housing.

The aircraft jerked.

Its course wavered.

For a moment, the pilot appeared to consider continuing the attack.

Then the fighter banked sharply away.

Morgan stared.

Greta released the trigger.

A broad smile threatened to appear.

She suppressed it.

Mostly.

”Good.”

Morgan slowly turned toward her.

”Greta.”

”Yes?”

”You hit it.”

The German woman nodded.

”Apparently.”

Morgan looked toward the aircraft.

It was trailing smoke now.

Not badly enough to guarantee a crash.

Enough to demonstrate that the machine gun could hurt it.

Morgan grinned.

”That was beautiful.”

Greta considered the compliment.

Then nodded solemnly.

”Yes.”

The aircraft came around again.

Her smile vanished.

”Not finished.”

Morgan immediately returned her attention to the ammunition.

Across the beach, Alina was organizing the rest of the group into sheltered positions under Mira’s supervision.

The native SIA officer had made one thing very clear.

The landing party was not an anti-aircraft battalion.

Their rifles and machine guns could threaten vulnerable low-flying aircraft under favorable circumstances, but they could not replace Calla, June, Breakwater’s anti-aircraft batteries, or proper naval fighters.

Their job was to defend the immediate beach and recovery route.

Not stand in the open trying to shoot aircraft out of the sky.

Cassidy had appeared disappointed when Mira explained this.

Then a fighter strafed the beach.

Her disappointment evaporated.

Now she was crouched beside Zofia behind a thick concrete retaining wall, watching the Blackwake aircraft make another turn.

Her revolver remained holstered.

This was probably the most sensible decision she’d made all afternoon.

Zofia glanced toward her.

”Not going to shoot it?”

Cassidy considered the approaching fighter.

Then looked down at her snub-nosed Model 500.

A slow smile appeared.

”Tempting.”

Zofia stared.

”Cassidy.”

”What?”

”Please.”

The American sighed.

”Fine.”

She looked toward the aircraft again.

”Terrible waste of a magnificent opportunity.”

A burst of machine-gun fire struck the wall above them.

Concrete fragments showered down.

Both women ducked.

Cassidy’s smile vanished.

”...On second thought.”

Zofia looked toward her.

”Yes?”

”Let’s stay behind the wall.”

”Excellent idea.”

They pressed themselves lower.

The Blackwake fighter passed overhead.

Its engine screamed.

A shadow crossed the sand.

Then the aircraft banked toward the landing craft.

Piper saw it first.

She raised the warning.

The boat crew responded, attempting to keep the small craft out of the attack line while the shore party remained under cover.

The fighter descended.

Its guns flashed.

The first rounds struck the water.

The second burst came closer.

Greta turned her MG08 toward the approach.

Fired.

The heavy machine gun rattled.

Morgan watched the ammunition feed.

The Blackwake aircraft continued.

Greta fired again.

This time, several rounds struck the lower fuselage.

The fighter jerked.

A dark object tore loose from one wing.

The engine began smoking.

It tried to climb.

Then lost control.

The aircraft rolled toward the water.

Its wing struck the sea beyond the landing craft.

The machine broke apart in a violent splash.

For a moment, nobody spoke.

Then Morgan turned toward Greta.

The German woman looked calmly satisfied.

Morgan stared.

”You...”

Greta raised an eyebrow.

”Yes?”

”You actually brought that thing down.”

Greta looked toward the sinking wreck.

Then nodded.

”Apparently.”

Morgan laughed.

A breathless, disbelieving laugh.

”Oh, that’s ridiculous.”

Greta’s expression became offended.

”There’s nothing ridiculous about competent machine-gun work.”

Morgan grinned.

”No. No, of course not.”

The German woman returned to checking the weapon.

Morgan looked toward the smoking water.

Then toward Greta.

And, for the first time since joining VESPER, she decided to refrain from making a joke about the MG08 being a historical garden sprinkler.

At least until they got home.

 The next Blackwake fighter was considerably less cooperative.

It didn’t attack along the same line.

Instead, it approached from farther out, climbed briefly above the shore, and then descended toward a different section of the landing area.

The aircraft’s machine guns opened fire.

Rounds struck the sand near an old fuel-handling structure.

A burst tore through a stack of abandoned wooden crates.

Another struck the edge of a concrete shelter.

Piper, Tamsin, and Ren ducked behind the wall.

Tamsin winced when she shifted her injured arm.

Ren noticed.

”Still hurting?”

Tamsin nodded.

”A little.”

Piper frowned.

”That’s not what you said five minutes ago.”

Tamsin looked toward her.

”...Five minutes ago it hurt less.”

Ren sighed.

”Then stop moving it unnecessarily.”

Tamsin made a face.

”You sound like Lara.”

”Good.”

The MP7 girl looked toward the sky.

”Somebody has to.”

A dark shape swept across the beach.

Ren ducked.

A burst of fire struck the roof above them.

Fragments rattled across the concrete.

Piper cursed.

Then raised her radio.

”Mira, Piper. Fighter making repeated passes along the southern shelter. We’re holding cover.”

Mira acknowledged.

”Remain there. Do not expose yourselves to engage unless necessary.”

Piper nodded.

”Understood.”

The aircraft passed again.

Farther down the beach, Darya and Réka watched it from beneath an old loading platform.

Réka’s expression was thoughtful.

Darya found that worrying.

”What?”

Réka glanced toward her.

”Nothing.”

”That is your thinking face.”

The Hungarian girl looked offended.

”I have several.”

”Yes. That is the dangerous one.”

Réka smiled faintly.

Then looked toward the aircraft.

”It’s not flying very high.”

Darya nodded.

”No.”

”And it keeps using the same approach.”

”Yes.”

Réka considered that.

”Greta could probably—”

”Don’t.”

The Hungarian blinked.

Darya pointed toward the concrete shelter.

”We are not leaving cover to create a better target for the aircraft.”

Réka sighed.

”I wasn’t going to.”

Darya raised an eyebrow.

Réka looked away.

”...I was considering it.”

”Exactly.”

A few meters away, Élodie Marchand was examining the aircraft through her observation equipment.

Her Hécate II rested securely in its support position.

She had only a limited amount of suitable ammunition left after the industrial encounter.

Corwin would undoubtedly be delighted to learn that she had expended one of the expensive cartridges on a crane.

Assuming they survived long enough to submit the report.

She watched the Blackwake fighter turn.

Its engine housing was visibly damaged.

Not from their fire.

Possibly from an earlier encounter with the Keelborn anti-aircraft screen.

The aircraft’s course was becoming uneven.

Élodie considered the situation.

Then looked toward Mira.

The native SIA officer studied the approach.

The fighter descended again.

Closer.

Its guns flashed.

Rounds struck the shoreline.

Then the aircraft climbed across the edge of the ruined pier.

For a moment, its damaged engine was visible against the bright sky.

Élodie fired.

The Hécate II’s report rolled across the beach.

Its recoil struck through the supported rifle.

The shot hit the aircraft’s already damaged machinery.

A flash appeared beneath the engine housing.

The fighter shuddered.

Its propeller continued turning for another moment.

Then the engine began shedding smoke.

The aircraft rolled sharply.

One wing dipped.

It attempted to climb.

Failed.

Then disappeared beyond the far side of the pier.

A violent splash followed.

Élodie remained still.

She watched the smoke rise.

Then lowered her rifle.

Cassidy stared from behind the retaining wall.

Zofia slowly turned toward her.

”Did she just...?”

Cassidy nodded.

”Yes.”

A pause.

Then she added:

”That woman is terrifying.”

Zofia looked toward Élodie.

The tall Frenchwoman was already checking her ammunition record.

For a moment, Cassidy felt a profound respect for her friend’s ability to remain so thoroughly unimpressed by her own work.

Then Élodie glanced toward them.

”What?”

Cassidy smiled.

”Nothing.”

Élodie narrowed her eyes.

Cassidy raised one hand.

”Just appreciating French culture.”

The sniper closed her eyes.

”Please stop.”

Zofia began laughing.

For a few seconds, the beach sounded almost like VESPER’s barracks again.

Then another enemy aircraft passed overhead.

The laughter stopped.

There were still too many of them.

And the landing craft was still waiting.

 The trouble with shooting at Blackwake fighters, Alina discovered, was that some of them took it personally.

The first aircraft damaged by Greta had returned twice.

The second had been destroyed.

A third had disappeared behind the cloud cover.

But the survivors had begun making less predictable passes over the beach.

One approached from high above the old industrial pier.

Another came low over the water.

A third used the ruined buildings to obscure its approach until the last few seconds.

The SIA detachment’s small arms could make those attacks dangerous for the aircraft, particularly when the fighters descended within effective range.

That didn’t make the infantry invulnerable.

Far from it.

Every burst from the sky sent people scrambling for cover.

Every falling bomb threatened buildings that had already suffered structural damage.

And every time somebody fired from a position, the enemy acquired another clue about where the defenders were hiding.

Alina understood that.

She also understood that the group was beginning to tire.

They had spent most of the day running through an infected industrial complex.

Several were bruised.

Tamsin was wounded.

Mara’s condition remained poor.

They hadn’t eaten properly since breakfast.

Their ammunition was finite.

And now they were helping defend a beach against aircraft while the naval force offshore fought for survival.

Alina checked her watch.

Then looked toward the sea.

The battle was still going.

She could see smoke rising from Breakwater.

Occasional heavy gun flashes appeared through the haze.

The sound arrived several seconds later.

Her stomach tightened.

She had never imagined that a battleship could look vulnerable.

It seemed impossible.

The hull was enormous.

The guns were enormous.

The vessel carried armor heavier than anything VESPER possessed.

Yet the old ship was burning.

And every time another explosion struck near it, Alina found herself holding her breath.

Morgan approached.

Her face was streaked with dust.

”Everyone accounted for.”

Alina nodded.

”Good.”

”Greta’s position is still operational.”

”Good.”

”Élodie has two confirmed damaging hits on aircraft, one of them probably fatal.”

Alina smiled faintly.

”Also good.”

Morgan hesitated.

Then glanced toward the recovery shelter.

”Lara says Mara needs evacuation soon.”

Alina’s expression tightened.

”I know.”

”How soon?”

”She won’t give an exact answer.”

Morgan nodded.

The two stood together.

For a moment, neither spoke.

Then Morgan looked toward the battleship.

”Think they’re going to make it?”

Alina considered that.

Then shook her head slightly.

”I don’t know.”

The American looked down.

A pause.

Then she said:

”I never thought I’d be happy to hear naval artillery.”

Alina followed her gaze.

Breakwater’s main guns fired again.

The distant sound rolled across the water.

She nodded.

”Neither did I.”

Morgan looked toward her.

Then smiled faintly.

”Remember when we complained about Horizon being boring?”

Alina closed her eyes.

”Please don’t.”

Morgan laughed weakly.

”Fair.”

They returned to their assigned positions.

Behind them, the old industrial station stood broken and silent.

Beyond the beach, the Blackwake aircraft continued hunting.

And somewhere over the horizon, four additional Keelborn were racing toward the battle with considerably less experience than anyone would have preferred.

The Shape of an Enemy Battleship

At sixteen forty-seven, Breakwater’s gunnery officer received a report that made Captain Mercer forget about the damage to his shoulder.

Only briefly.

But enough.

The officer had been comparing the enemy fast battleship’s gun flashes with observations from the earlier salvos. Visibility had been poor through most of the engagement, but the Blackwake vessel had finally moved into a position where its forward turrets could be studied with reasonable confidence.

Two triple turrets forward.

One triple turret aft.

Nine heavy guns.

And a silhouette that became increasingly familiar the longer the observers studied it.

Mercer listened as the officer explained.

”Captain, we’re getting a better identification on the enemy’s main battery.”

The battleship commander looked toward him.

”Go ahead.”

The officer placed a marked silhouette beside the fire-control report.

”Our best estimate is that she’s carrying a sixteen-inch battery.”

Mercer nodded.

He’d suspected as much.

The impacts were certainly powerful enough.

The officer continued.

”Three triple mounts, arrangement consistent with a North Carolina-class pattern.”

The captain became still.

Cole looked toward the chart.

”North Carolina?”

”Not an exact ship copy, sir. The upper works are wrong, the hull proportions don’t match cleanly, and the machinery configuration looks altered.”

He indicated the turret arrangement.

”But the gun characteristics appear consistent with the sixteen-inch forty-five-caliber Mark 6 family.”

Mercer stared at the drawing.

Then slowly looked toward the enemy.

The North Carolina class.

American fast battleships.

Nine sixteen-inch guns.

Powerful main batteries.

A great deal faster than the Tennessee class.

He had read enough naval history to recognize the implications.

So had several of the men aboard Breakwater.

But there was something worse about seeing those characteristics reproduced in a Blackwake vessel.

The enemy wasn’t simply borrowing a familiar silhouette.

It was carrying the kind of firepower that had once made the North Carolina class a central part of American battleship development.

Mercer looked toward the gun flashes.

Then at the battered deck of his own ship.

”Wonderful.”

Cole raised an eyebrow.

”Captain?”

”All this time, I thought we had a particularly unpleasant enemy battleship.”

The executive officer waited.

Mercer sighed.

”Turns out she’s an unpleasant enemy battleship with North Carolina-class guns.”

Cole looked toward the chart.

”Could be worse.”

Mercer slowly turned.

The executive officer considered the statement.

Then added:

”She could have more of them.”

Mercer stared.

For a moment, he appeared ready to respond.

Then he laughed.

Not because the situation was funny.

Because sometimes the alternative was shouting.

”Adrian.”

”Yes?”

”Please stop helping.”

Cole smiled faintly.

”Understood.”

The gunnery officer continued.

”The Blackwake may be using altered ammunition or fire-control equipment. We can’t assume exact historical performance.”

Mercer nodded.

”Agreed.”

The enemy ship had already demonstrated that it could place heavy shells dangerously close to Breakwater.

Whatever the guns’ precise origin, the results were real.

And the difference in speed remained a serious disadvantage.

The Blackwake fast battleship was capable of maintaining pressure while choosing its engagement geometry more freely than Mercer could.

Breakwater had twelve fourteen-inch guns.

An enormous amount of firepower.

But the ship’s slower speed and accumulating damage were reducing the captain’s options.

He looked toward the fire-control plot.

”How’s our ammunition?”

The answer was not pleasant.

Main battery ammunition remained sufficient for continued engagement.

Not indefinitely.

The anti-aircraft magazines were being consumed at an alarming rate.

The port-side secondary and automatic batteries had suffered damage, and several ammunition-handling routes required workarounds.

A few gun positions remained out of action entirely.

The damage-control teams were containing the fires, but smoke and electrical faults continued interfering with operations in the affected areas.

Mercer listened.

Then nodded.

”Keep the ammunition expenditure reports current.”

”Yes, Captain.”

”And prioritize functioning AA positions where the enemy is approaching.”

The officer acknowledged.

Mercer looked toward the northeast.

The carrier was still active.

It had been launching aircraft through most of the engagement.

Some groups attacked Breakwater.

Others threatened the Keelborn.

A few made low passes toward the industrial island.

The enemy wasn’t merely defending its base.

It was trying to destroy the force that had attacked it.

Mercer looked toward the smoke rising from his own decks.

Then whispered:

”You’re making a very strong argument for us sinking you.”

The carrier did not answer.

It simply launched another group of aircraft.

 The next attack came from two directions.

That was what made it so dangerous.

Breakwater’s anti-aircraft crews had spent much of the afternoon fighting aircraft approaching from the northeast and east. The surviving weapons had been arranged to make the best use of the ship’s available firing sectors.

But damaged mounts, smoke, ammunition expenditure, and the need to avoid firing into friendly Keelborn positions had begun creating gaps.

Some were temporary.

Others weren’t.

The port-side anti-aircraft group was particularly strained.

Several forty-millimeter mounts had exhausted the ammunition immediately available at their ready positions. Resupply was underway, but one of the damaged handling routes was slowing the process.

The five-inch battery was still firing where its directors and mounts remained operational, yet the smaller automatic weapons were being forced into an uneven rhythm.

A few mounts would fire.

Then pause.

Others would pick up the attack.

Then pause in turn.

Normally, the overlapping batteries would help cover those transitions.

With part of the port-side installation damaged, the gaps were beginning to matter.

Mercer heard the report.

”Port automatic battery, local ammunition replenishment in progress!”

Then another.

”Two port mounts temporarily silent!”

He looked toward Cole.

The executive officer’s expression tightened.

At that exact moment, the air-warning officer shouted:

”Multiple aircraft breaking toward port!”

Mercer turned.

Through the smoke, he saw them.

Blackwake torpedo bombers.

Low over the water.

Their approach had been partly concealed by a cloud bank and the ship’s own smoke.

Above them, a separate group of dive bombers began descending.

The formations were coordinated.

The torpedo planes were forcing Breakwater to maneuver at the same moment the dive bombers attempted to predict that maneuver.

Mercer’s stomach dropped.

He’d seen this kind of attack described in naval histories.

He’d watched simulations of it.

He’d argued about how different warships might survive it.

Now he was inside the target.

”Hard to starboard!”

The order went out.

The helmsmen responded.

Breakwater began turning.

The great hull leaned into the maneuver, but the damaged ship was slow to respond compared with the attacking aircraft.

The port-side automatic guns remained partly silent.

A few functioning mounts opened fire.

Five-inch shells burst overhead.

One torpedo bomber broke apart.

Another continued.

The dive bombers began their descent.

Cole stared through the windows.

For the first time since the battle began, his expression showed something very close to despair.

”Captain—”

Mercer knew.

There wasn’t enough gunfire reaching the attackers.

Not at that instant.

The torpedo planes were closing.

The dive bombers were already dropping.

And Breakwater had no time to bring the damaged port battery fully back into action.

Then a new voice erupted from the radio.

Young.

Breathless.

Familiar.

”Breakwater, this is Yuna Mori! Friendly aircraft approaching from the southwest! Confirm your air-defense identification!”

Mercer froze.

For one fraction of a second, he thought he’d imagined it.

Then Cole turned toward him.

”Yuna?”

The captain looked toward the sky.

Beyond the Blackwake aircraft, smaller shapes were racing in from the southwest.

Not dark.

Not irregular.

Their wings carried recognizable British naval markings.

Single-engine fighters.

Sea Hurricanes.

They were approaching fast.

Mercer’s eyes widened.

”Where the hell did she get here from?”

The radio crackled again.

Yuna sounded remarkably offended.

”Horizon! Where else?!”

Cole burst out laughing.

Mercer stared.

Then recovered.

”Breakwater to Yuna. Friendly flight identified. You’re clear to engage the hostile aircraft. Mind our firing sectors!”

”Understood!”

The first Sea Hurricane descended toward the torpedo bombers.

Its engine roared.

The fighter banked sharply, crossing the Blackwake formation’s approach.

Its guns opened fire.

A stream of tracer fire swept across the lead torpedo plane.

The enemy aircraft shuddered.

Its engine caught fire.

Then it rolled into the sea.

A second Sea Hurricane followed.

Another burst of gunfire struck the next torpedo bomber.

The Blackwake plane attempted to turn away.

Too late.

Its wing broke apart.

The machine struck the water in a violent splash.

Mercer stared.

Then looked toward the approaching dive bombers.

A third British fighter was already climbing to meet them.

Its pilot committed to a sharp turn, cutting across the bombers’ descent.

Gunfire flashed.

One Blackwake aircraft disintegrated.

Another attempted to climb away from the attack.

The Sea Hurricane pursued.

A second burst struck the enemy’s engine.

Smoke poured from the cowling.

The bomber rolled.

Its bomb fell harmlessly into the open water beyond the ship.

Mercer felt something loosen in his chest.

Then the fourth fighter passed above Breakwater’s bridge.

Close enough that the captain could see its markings through the smoke.

Its engine screamed.

It climbed toward the remaining bombers.

And the damaged battleship’s crew began cheering.

Not everyone.

The gun crews were still working.

The damage-control teams were still fighting fires.

The wounded were still being treated.

But several sailors saw the friendly fighters arrive at exactly the moment Breakwater seemed about to suffer another devastating attack.

And they cheered.

Mercer didn’t blame them.

He was too busy staring at the sky.

The British fighters had disrupted the attack.

Not eliminated it.

Several Blackwake aircraft were still descending.

One torpedo plane managed to release its weapon before being destroyed.

Another dive bomber broke through and dropped near the ship’s stern.

The explosions shook the sea.

Spray rose.

Breakwater continued turning.

The torpedo wake passed ahead of the bow.

The bomb struck the water off the starboard quarter, close enough to shower the deck with spray but not close enough to damage the hull seriously.

Mercer exhaled.

His knees felt strangely weak.

He gripped the chart table.

Then looked toward Cole.

The executive officer was smiling.

A thoroughly exhausted, disbelieving smile.

”Backup.”

Mercer stared at him.

Then nodded.

”Apparently.”

He reached for the radio.

”Yuna, Breakwater. Your timing is impeccable.”

The carrier girl’s answer came through with a mixture of relief and nervous excitement.

”Thank you, Captain!”

Mercer looked toward the horizon.

The Sea Hurricanes continued engaging the surviving Blackwake aircraft.

The port-side batteries were beginning to resume fire as ammunition reached the functioning mounts.

For the first time in what felt like hours, Breakwater’s immediate air situation was improving.

Then the radio crackled again.

Another young voice.

Loud.

Excited.

And entirely incapable of sounding subtle.

”BREAKWATER! RIKO MINASE REPORTING! WE’RE HERE!”

Mercer slowly closed his eyes.

For a moment, he considered asking the universe whether it had finally decided to be kind.

Then he remembered that kindness from the universe was rarely free.

He opened his eyes.

Looked toward the southwest.

And saw the enormous gun turrets of a Yamato-class Keelborn approaching through the spray.

Forty-Six Centimeters of Unreasonable Determination

Riko Minase had always imagined her first battle would be magnificent.

She would arrive over the horizon, her Yamato-class rigging gleaming in the sunlight, her enormous turrets turning toward an enemy foolish enough to challenge her.

There would be a dramatic moment.

Possibly some cheering.

Aster would look impressed.

Yuna would smile.

Kade would say something suitably admiring about the awesome firepower of the Yamato class.

And then Riko would fire her guns.

The enemy would explode.

Everyone would go home.

In retrospect, she was beginning to suspect that the scenario had been somewhat optimistic.

Reality involved a long, exhausting transit with her Mk. I stabilization equipment creaking and humming around her, constant reminders from Yuna not to exceed her approved limits, and the deeply unpleasant sight of Breakwater burning beyond the reef.

The battleship looked enormous even from a distance.

That had always impressed Riko.

Now the old Tennessee-class ship looked frighteningly vulnerable.

Smoke rose from its upper works.

Several anti-aircraft positions were visibly damaged.

The great hull was turning slowly beneath the clouds while enemy shells raised towering columns of water around it.

And beyond the battleship, Riko could see the Blackwake fast battleship.

Dark.

Long.

Powerful.

Its heavy turrets were already turning toward Breakwater.

Riko swallowed.

For the first time since choosing the Yamato class, she didn’t feel particularly eager to boast about her guns.

She felt frightened.

Then she saw the next enemy salvo.

Heavy shells struck the sea around Breakwater.

One burst close to the bow.

Another landed astern.

The old battleship shuddered beneath the near misses.

Riko’s fingers tightened around the support controls of her training rig.

”No.”

Yuna glanced toward her.

The carrier girl’s expression was tense.

”Riko?”

The battleship girl looked toward Breakwater.

Then toward the enemy.

”No.”

She raised her radio.

”Breakwater, Riko. Requesting permission to establish heavy-gun support off your starboard bow.”

Mercer’s answer came after a moment.

”Riko, Breakwater. Confirm your equipment clearance.”

She swallowed.

Then answered.

”Restricted emergency deployment. Primary stabilization active. Main battery limited to the approved firing sequence.”

A pause.

Then the captain replied.

”Understood. Maintain separation from our hull and firing arcs. We’ll coordinate targets through the gunnery plot.”

Riko nodded.

”Yes, Captain.”

Yuna looked toward her.

The battleship girl returned the look.

For a moment, neither spoke.

Then Yuna smiled faintly.

”Remember what Kade said.”

Riko nodded.

”No showing off.”

”Good.”

”No disabling stabilizers.”

”Very good.”

”No firing more guns than the equipment can handle.”

Yuna smiled.

”Excellent.”

Riko hesitated.

Then looked toward the enemy fast battleship.

”But I can still shoot it.”

Yuna considered that.

Then nodded.

”Yes.”

The battleship girl smiled.

A small smile.

Not particularly confident.

But real.

”Good.”

She adjusted her course.

The Mk. I equipment responded.

Heavy support assemblies moved around her hips and lower body.

The flotation aids rose and settled with the swell.

The propulsion machinery altered its output within the approved limits, carrying her forward while the stabilization systems compensated for the mass of the Yamato-class gun turrets.

Riko reached the assigned support position off Breakwater’s forward starboard quarter, then continued carefully until she was established ahead and to starboard of the battleship.

Not directly in front of its bow.

Not crossing the guns.

Not so close that the old ship’s movements might endanger her.

Close enough to support.

Far enough to avoid becoming another problem.

Breakwater looked even more enormous from here.

Its bow cut through the water.

Its forward turrets rested high above her.

Smoke drifted from the damaged upper works.

Riko could see sailors moving along the decks.

Real people.

Working.

Fighting.

Trying to keep the ship alive.

She raised her eyes.

Beyond Breakwater, the enemy fast battleship was still firing.

Her fire-control equipment began receiving the coordinated target information.

The range was substantial.

The enemy was moving.

The sea wasn’t perfectly calm.

And Riko’s own equipment was an inexperienced battleship girl’s training configuration, not the proper combat rigging she dreamed of wearing.

The difference mattered.

The Mk. I’s assistance systems could help her maintain stability.

They could limit dangerous movements.

They could distribute firing loads through the authorized supports.

They could not replace judgment.

And they could not make the enormous forty-six-centimeter guns harmless to operate.

Riko took a breath.

Then another.

Her mouth was dry.

She looked toward the enemy.

The Blackwake ship’s forward turrets flashed.

Another heavy salvo departed.

Riko felt her stomach twist.

Then a voice came through the radio.

Nadya.

”Riko.”

The Yamato-class girl straightened.

”Yes?”

The older battleship sounded almost amused.

”I hear you’ve come to help.”

Riko swallowed.

”Yes!”

”Good.”

A pause.

Then:

”Don’t rush.”

Riko blinked.

Nadya continued.

”Let the solution settle. Let your equipment support you. The guns will do their work when you’re ready.”

The younger battleship girl looked toward the enemy.

Her hands tightened.

Then relaxed.

”Understood.”

The older Sevastopol-class girl’s voice softened.

”And Riko?”

”Yes?”

”I’m glad you’re here.”

Riko went still.

For a moment, the battle seemed to recede.

She remembered Nadya standing beside her during training.

Explaining gunnery calculations.

Helping her understand the relationship between movement, range, and the massive equipment attached to her body.

She remembered getting frustrated.

Complaining.

Asking when she’d finally get to use all nine of her main guns.

Nadya had laughed.

Then told her that a battleship who knew when not to fire could be more dangerous than one who fired at everything.

Riko hadn’t understood.

Not completely.

Now she looked toward Breakwater.

The wounded sailors.

The smoke.

The enemy guns.

And the opportunity to help.

Her expression softened.

”Thank you.”

Nadya chuckled.

”Now show me what you’ve learned.”

Riko nodded.

Then turned toward her firing solution.

The first authorized sequence called for a limited main-battery discharge.

Not all nine guns.

Not a grand broadside.

A controlled ranging salvo from one triple turret.

Riko brought the heavy mount onto the target bearing.

The machinery moved.

The stabilization system compensated for the shifting load.

The gun barrels elevated.

She could feel the sea beneath her feet.

The Mk. I’s flotation supports settled against the swell.

The firing solution stabilized.

For a moment, everything seemed very quiet.

Then Riko whispered:

”Please.”

She wasn’t entirely certain who she was asking.

The guns.

The machinery.

The sea.

Maybe herself.

She took a breath.

Then fired.

Three forty-six-centimeter guns spoke.

The blast was enormous.

Not merely loud.

Physical.

A violent concussion that struck through Riko’s rigging and seemed to reach directly into her bones.

The support structure shuddered.

The recoil systems absorbed the main loads.

The Mk. I’s stabilizers fought to keep her balanced.

Water erupted around the lower supports.

Riko cried out.

Not from injury.

From shock.

The force was beyond anything she’d experienced during controlled training.

Her body rocked.

One flotation assembly dipped sharply.

The assistance system responded.

The equipment settled.

Riko remained upright.

Barely.

Her eyes were wide.

Her hands trembled.

The three shells crossed the water.

For several seconds, nothing happened.

Then enormous splashes rose around the Blackwake fast battleship.

One shell landed short.

Another struck the water beyond the bow.

The third fell close along the enemy’s starboard side, throwing spray across its upper works.

A miss.

All three.

Riko stared.

Her face fell.

”...Oh.”

The radio crackled.

Breakwater’s gunnery officer.

”Riko, observed. Salvo short and straddling near the target. Corrections transmitting.”

Riko blinked.

Then raised her radio.

”Understood!”

A pause.

Nadya’s voice followed.

”Good first salvo.”

Riko stared.

”But I missed!”

The older battleship girl sounded amused.

”You established a useful correction.”

Riko looked toward the enemy.

Nadya continued.

”Now use it.”

The younger girl’s expression changed.

She nodded.

Then began preparing the next authorized sequence.

Her hands were still trembling.

Her shoulders ached.

Her Mk. I’s stabilization indicators showed the increased load from the first discharge.

But the equipment remained within limits.

She checked.

Waited.

Allowed the machinery to settle.

Then looked toward the enemy again.

Breakwater’s main guns fired.

Twelve fourteen-inch shells crossed the sea.

The Blackwake fast battleship replied.

Heavy shells struck the water around the old American vessel.

Riko flinched at the splashes.

Then forced herself to keep working.

Her corrected firing solution came into alignment.

The second triple turret was available within the approved sequence.

She prepared the next salvo.

For a moment, she thought about firing more.

All nine guns.

One enormous broadside.

The kind she’d imagined since selecting the Yamato class.

Then she remembered Dain’s face.

Hana’s checklist.

Kade’s warning.

Nadya’s advice.

She swallowed.

”No.”

The word was quiet.