Horizon Atoll: Hearts of Steel

I. The Girl Who Preferred Ordinary Mornings

There were few things Stelle disliked more than being told that everything was going to be fine.

Not because she was naturally pessimistic.

In fact, before Hour Zero, most of her friends would have described her as somebody who approached life with an almost unreasonable amount of optimism.

She liked sunny mornings.

She liked bad jokes.

She liked sweet coffee, although she preferred not to think about how much money she’d spent on it over the years.

She liked games, particularly the kind where victory required a proper understanding of equipment rather than simply pressing the attack button until something exploded.

And she absolutely loved the sea.

That final detail had become increasingly complicated.

Because the sea, she had discovered, was considerably less enjoyable when it could shoot back.

“Stelle.”

The heavy cruiser blinked.

“Mm?”

“You’re doing it again.”

Stelle turned her head.

The girl moving beside her had short black hair, dark brown eyes, and an expression of theatrical disapproval.

Her name was Ivy Calder.

Twenty-two years old.

Former player.

Benson-class destroyer.

And, according to Stelle, the single most irritating person she had ever voluntarily spent more than five consecutive hours with.

The feeling was mutual.

Stelle raised an eyebrow.

“Doing what?”

Ivy gestured toward her.

“Staring at the water like you’re expecting it to apologize.”

The Wichita-class girl considered that.

Then looked toward the sea.

“Would be nice.”

Ivy sighed.

“It’s an ocean.”

“Rude of it.”

“Stelle.”

“What?”

“It doesn’t have feelings.”

Stelle looked toward her.

The corner of her mouth lifted.

“Neither do you, apparently.”

Ivy opened her mouth.

Stopped.

Then pointed accusingly.

“That was unnecessary.”

“Yet satisfying.”

The Benson-class destroyer folded her arms.

For several seconds, she looked deeply offended.

Then she laughed.

It was a small sound, carried away almost immediately by the morning breeze.

Stelle smiled.

And for a moment, the world felt ordinary.

 The two Keelborn were conducting a routine patrol along Echo Cay’s northeastern maritime approaches.

Routine was a relative term these days.

Before Hour Zero, a patrol in FRONTLINE HEARTS meant following an assigned route through a designated encounter area, responding to scripted or semi-random enemy contacts, and returning to base with whatever damage and rewards the game recorded.

After Hour Zero, routine meant something rather different.

It meant checking navigation positions.

Monitoring fuel and ammunition.

Reporting suspicious contacts.

Watching the weather.

And maintaining enough distance from the outer defensive boundary that a sudden attack wouldn’t leave a damaged girl too far from help.

Echo Cay had been fortunate compared with some other surviving bases.

Its harbor facilities remained operational.

Its repair installations had survived the worst of the initial Crisis.

It possessed functioning coastal batteries, conventional naval escorts, medical services, and enough Keelborn to maintain regular patrols.

But the island had also discovered an unpleasant fact about being a logistics hub.

Everyone wanted its supplies.

Friendly settlements needed ammunition.

Damaged fleets requested spare parts.

Civilian populations required medicine, fuel, and food.

Independent former-player groups arrived carrying lists of things they insisted were urgently necessary.

And the Blackwake seemed increasingly interested in making sure those supplies went nowhere.

Stelle looked toward the horizon.

The morning sea was blue.

Small whitecaps moved beneath a steady breeze.

Clouds gathered far to the east, their edges reflecting the rising sun.

Her Wichita-class rigging moved alongside her with a familiar mechanical rhythm.

Three triple eight-inch gun turrets formed the principal battery.

Two forward.

One aft.

The machinery had been configured into the integrated combat arrangement she had chosen for her former game character, now transformed into a very real part of her life.

Her secondary dual-purpose weapons remained trained in safe sectors.

Her fire-control equipment swept the approaches.

And beneath the equipment, the propulsion assemblies maintained a comfortable patrol speed.

Stelle had once thought nine eight-inch guns made a girl sound impressively powerful.

They did.

On paper.

The problem was that shells didn’t care how impressive they sounded.

And neither did torpedoes.

She glanced toward Ivy.

The destroyer’s lighter rigging moved with noticeably greater ease.

Four five-inch dual-purpose guns.

Two quintuple torpedo mounts.

Fast, responsive machinery.

A much smaller protected structure than Stelle’s cruiser equipment.

And a tendency to treat every minor change in speed as an invitation to show off.

Ivy noticed her looking.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

The destroyer narrowed her eyes.

“That was a very suspicious nothing.”

Stelle smiled innocently.

“I was admiring your equipment.”

Ivy blinked.

Then grinned.

“Finally.”

“I was wondering whether the paint would survive a proper inspection.”

The grin vanished.

“You’re awful.”

“I’ve been told.”

Ivy accelerated slightly.

Stelle raised an eyebrow.

“Hey.”

The destroyer moved ahead.

Her voice came over the short-range channel.

“You know, you could try keeping up.”

Stelle looked deeply unimpressed.

“Ivy.”

“Yes?”

“We have an assigned patrol speed.”

A pause.

Then Ivy replied:

“And?”

Stelle sighed.

“Get back in formation.”

The destroyer laughed.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She eased her speed and returned to the assigned station.

Stelle shook her head.

For a moment, she almost forgot the enormous weight of her naval machinery.

Then the patrol controller spoke over the radio.

“Echo Patrol Three, Echo Control. Confirm position and status.”

Stelle raised her microphone.

“Echo Control, Patrol Three. Northeastern sector, checkpoint Delta-Seven. Two Keelborn present. No contacts. Continuing assigned sweep.”

The answer came.

“Received. Surface radar reports intermittent clutter to your northeast. No confirmed hostile identification. Exercise caution.”

Stelle’s smile faded.

She looked toward the horizon.

The sea remained empty.

Ivy’s voice entered the private circuit.

“Clutter?”

Stelle frowned.

“Apparently.”

“Weather?”

“Maybe.”

The destroyer glanced toward the dark clouds far offshore.

“Doesn’t look particularly bad.”

Stelle studied the water.

For several seconds, she remained quiet.

Then answered:

“Keep your eyes open.”

Ivy’s tone became more serious.

“Always.”

 It was not the first patrol they’d conducted together.

They’d known each other before Hour Zero.

Back when the original FRONTLINE HEARTS existed only as a game, they had fought through more sorties than either cared to count.

Stelle had chosen Wichita because she liked the unusual position the historical heavy cruiser occupied between design generations.

She’d liked the ship’s combination of firepower, protection, and relatively modern layout.

And, if she was being particularly honest, she’d thought the gun turrets looked cool.

Ivy had chosen Benson because she liked destroyers.

Fast.

Dangerous.

Agile.

Able to inflict extraordinary damage if properly handled.

They had met during a difficult cooperative operation in which Ivy accidentally launched an entire torpedo spread into an area Stelle was using to maneuver.

Nobody had been physically injured.

It had been a game.

But the resulting argument had lasted almost twenty minutes.

Then they’d queued for another sortie together.

And another.

And another.

Somewhere along the way, the friendship had become permanent.

When Hour Zero happened, both were transformed into their selected Keelborn forms.

Stelle remembered that morning more clearly than she liked.

The crushing weight of machinery that hadn’t existed seconds earlier.

The strange sensation of engines responding to her body.

The sudden smell of oil and salt.

The realization that she could feel the sea beneath her equipment.

And Ivy screaming over voice communications because she’d discovered that torpedo launchers were considerably louder in real life.

That part still made Stelle smile.

Sometimes.

When she wasn’t thinking about everything that followed.

 The first suspicious contact appeared at zero-seven forty-eight.

Stelle’s surface-search system detected a faint return northeast of their position.

It lasted less than three seconds.

Then disappeared.

The cruiser frowned.

She adjusted the display.

Checked the bearing.

Nothing.

Ivy noticed.

“What?”

Stelle raised one hand.

“Hold.”

The destroyer stopped talking.

That alone would have been enough to indicate something serious.

Stelle adjusted the search sector.

The display swept again.

A faint return appeared.

Then another.

Several small contacts.

Separated.

Moving.

Too regular to be ordinary wave clutter.

She swallowed.

“Ivy.”

The Benson girl looked toward the horizon.

“Yes?”

“Radar.”

Ivy checked her own equipment.

For several seconds, she saw nothing.

Then one of the returns appeared on her display.

A small contact.

Fast.

Almost directly ahead.

Her expression changed.

“Got one.”

Stelle nodded.

“I’m seeing at least three.”

The destroyer frowned.

“Three what?”

The cruiser didn’t answer immediately.

She checked the radar returns against the reported sea state.

Then attempted visual acquisition.

Nothing.

Only haze near the horizon.

Stelle raised the radio.

“Echo Control, Patrol Three. Multiple intermittent surface contacts northeast. Bearing zero-four-one relative to patrol position. Request correlation with coastal radar.”

The response came after several seconds.

“Patrol Three, Echo Control. Checking.”

Stelle watched the horizon.

The contacts appeared again.

This time closer.

And moving faster.

Her stomach tightened.

Ivy looked toward her.

“Stelle.”

“Yeah?”

“They’re spreading.”

The cruiser checked the display.

The destroyer was right.

The contacts were not traveling in a compact line.

Two were moving outward.

One remained farther back.

And another faint return had appeared beyond them.

Stelle’s expression hardened.

“Echo Control, Patrol Three. Contacts maneuvering in coordinated formation. Request immediate identification priority.”

The answer came.

“Patrol Three, preliminary assessment hostile probable. Additional confirmation pending.”

Ivy lowered her eyes.

For a moment, she seemed almost disappointed.

Then she looked toward the dark horizon.

“Of course.”

Stelle glanced at her.

“What?”

The destroyer sighed.

“It’s always when we’re having a nice morning.”

Stelle didn’t smile.

She raised her optical equipment.

And there, beneath a break in the haze, something moved.

A dark shape.

Low over the water.

Angular.

With a single bright point near the front.

It wasn’t any destroyer she remembered from the game.

Not exactly.

The shape was too narrow.

The armor seemed to rise in a long blade-like crest.

A cablelike appendage trailed behind it, touching the sea at intervals.

Stelle felt cold.

“What the hell…?”

Ivy saw it too.

Her expression changed.

“That’s new.”

Stelle lowered the optics.

Then raised the emergency channel.

“Echo Control, Patrol Three. Visual hostile identification. Blackwake surface group. Multiple destroyer-sized units. Unfamiliar configurations.”

A pause.

“Are they closing?”

Stelle checked the radar.

The contacts accelerated.

“Yes.”

Her voice became hard.

“They’re closing.”

The radio crackled.

“Patrol Three, permission granted to engage if fired upon. Defensive reinforcements preparing. Withdraw toward checkpoint Delta-Five.”

Stelle looked toward the sea.

Then toward Ivy.

The destroyer had already begun rotating her gun mounts.

Her expression was no longer playful.

Stelle swallowed.

“Stay close.”

Ivy nodded.

“Always.”

A distant orange flash appeared beneath the haze.

For one brief instant, it looked almost like the sunrise reflecting off a wave.

Then the first shell struck the water beside them.

The ordinary morning ended.

 II. Five Contacts, One Intention

The first salvo missed.

That was the only generous thing the Blackwake did.

Four shells landed in a loose pattern to the east of Stelle’s position, throwing up white columns of water that collapsed across the surface before the echoes of the gunfire had finished traveling over the sea.

The heavy cruiser turned her head.

She had seen enough combat since Hour Zero to know that the first salvo often mattered less for the damage it inflicted than for what it told the enemy about range.

Those shells had fallen short.

The next group probably wouldn’t.

“Helm response—starboard fifteen,” Stelle murmured.

Her rigging answered.

The propulsion machinery changed thrust.

She began a controlled turn, not sharply enough to throw off her own stabilization systems but enough to complicate an enemy’s developing fire-control solution.

Ivy moved with her.

Not alongside.

Slightly ahead and farther out, where the destroyer’s superior maneuverability would let her observe the Blackwake formation without crossing Stelle’s main battery line.

“I count four,” Ivy reported.

Stelle checked the radar.

“Five.”

“Where’s the fifth?”

Stelle pointed toward the horizon.

“Farther back. Bearing zero-four-seven.”

Ivy adjusted her optics.

For a moment, she saw only haze.

Then a pale shape appeared between the darker vessels.

Something almost human.

Long black hair.

A white face.

Red eyes.

Around the figure moved several smaller black creatures with enormous grinning mouths.

Each carried weapons.

Ivy’s breath caught.

“Stelle.”

The cruiser turned.

“What?”

“One of them looks like a girl.”

Stelle glanced toward the distant contact.

Her own optical equipment acquired the shape a moment later.

For several seconds, she stared.

The central figure stood upright above the water.

The surrounding machinery moved independently enough to create the impression of several creatures clustered around her.

Gun barrels traversed.

Long dark tendrils curved beneath the surface.

The woman’s mouth seemed to form a smile.

Stelle felt a chill.

Then she looked toward the other contacts.

Three smaller predatory destroyer forms.

One rounded armored head with a circular jaw.

And the humanoid unit behind them.

All Blackwake.

All new.

“Don’t get distracted,” Stelle said.

Ivy swallowed.

“Right.”

A second salvo arrived.

This one landed close enough that the concussion reached Stelle through the water.

She flinched.

The outer plates of her rigging vibrated.

Her stability system compensated.

A column of water rose beside her portside equipment and collapsed against the armored structures.

She wiped spray from her cheek.

The enemy was already adjusting.

Stelle raised her radio.

“Echo Control, Patrol Three. Five confirmed Blackwake contacts, destroyer-sized. One unusually humanoid. Enemy has opened fire. We are returning fire while withdrawing.”

“Received, Patrol Three. Reinforcement Group Two moving to intercept. Estimated arrival twelve minutes.”

Twelve minutes.

Stelle looked toward the enemy.

The closest destroyer was already entering a dangerous engagement range.

Twelve minutes suddenly sounded like an extraordinarily long time.

She glanced toward Ivy.

“We hold them off.”

The Benson girl nodded.

“Right.”

Stelle raised her forward eight-inch turrets.

The immense barrels elevated.

Fire-control machinery began solving for the leading Blackwake unit.

She checked the range.

Wind.

Target motion.

Her own maneuvering speed.

The sight was imperfect.

The enemy was small, fast, and partly obscured by haze.

But the solution was good enough for an opening bracket.

Stelle breathed out.

“Forward batteries.”

The ammunition system confirmed ready.

“Fire.”

Six eight-inch rifles discharged.

The recoil traveled through her rigging.

It was a violent, familiar sensation, and she braced against it instinctively.

Shells crossed the morning sky.

For several seconds, the Blackwake destroyer continued advancing.

Then enormous splashes rose around it.

One shell landed short.

Another beyond the target.

A third passed close enough to throw spray across its forward structure.

The creature changed course immediately.

Stelle frowned.

“That was quick.”

Ivy’s voice came over the radio.

“It saw your fall of shot.”

“Yeah.”

The enemy hadn’t simply continued charging.

It had responded to the incoming fire.

Another Blackwake destroyer accelerated across the first one’s wake, its dark blade-like body turning toward the southern edge of the formation.

A third moved north.

The rounded one remained in the center.

And the humanoid unit held a comparatively steady position behind them.

Stelle stared.

For a moment, something unpleasant became clear.

“They’re opening the formation.”

Ivy checked the bearings.

Her voice tightened.

“They’re making us split our fire.”

Stelle swallowed.

The old Blackwake had used flanking maneuvers.

That wasn’t new.

But this formation was not behaving like a loose group of individual attackers converging on the nearest target.

One destroyer had drawn her first salvo.

Another used the opening to move around the southern approach.

The third maintained pressure from the north.

And the central pair remained positioned to support either direction.

A small force.

Only five contacts.

Yet the movement was coordinated.

Stelle looked toward the humanoid figure.

Its red eyes seemed to stare through the haze.

Then the dark-haired creature raised one arm.

Two of the forward destroyers turned almost together.

Stelle felt cold.

“Echo Control,” she transmitted, “enemy maneuvering suggests centralized tactical coordination. The humanoid unit may be directing the group.”

The answer came.

“Received. Continue withdrawal. Reinforcements en route.”

Stelle nodded.

Then looked toward Ivy.

“Don’t chase them.”

The Benson-class girl raised an eyebrow.

“Wasn’t planning to.”

Stelle regarded her.

Ivy sighed.

“Fine. I was thinking about it.”

The cruiser almost smiled.

“Thought so.”

Then the leading Blackwake destroyer launched torpedoes.

And there was no time left for jokes.

 Ivy saw the launch first.

The creature’s armored flank opened.

Several torpedo tubes extended from behind a black plate.

There was a brief mechanical movement.

Then three dark shapes entered the water.

No theatrical explosion.

No enormous flash.

Just small splashes and the faint disturbance of torpedoes beginning their runs.

Ivy’s stomach tightened.

“Torpedoes! Leading enemy, southern spread!”

Stelle immediately checked the indicated bearing.

The weapons were running toward the formation’s projected course.

Not exactly where the girls stood.

Where they would have been several seconds later if they had maintained their withdrawal speed.

Stelle’s eyes narrowed.

“Harder turn, Ivy. Break the solution.”

The Benson-class destroyer accelerated north.

Stelle altered speed and course.

The first torpedo passed well astern.

The second crossed ahead of her original track.

The third continued into open water.

Both girls remained clear.

But the maneuver had cost them something.

Their formation had shifted.

Stelle’s main guns were temporarily out of alignment with the leading target.

And the northern Blackwake destroyer was now approaching from a much less comfortable bearing.

Ivy looked toward it.

“That’s what they wanted.”

Stelle checked the radar.

The northern contact accelerated.

Her expression hardened.

“Probably.”

The enemy guns opened fire.

Several small-caliber shells crossed the water.

One struck the sea close to Ivy.

Another hit the outer edge of her rigging.

The impact was sharp.

Metal rang.

A fragment tore away part of a lightly armored support panel.

Ivy flinched.

Then glanced toward the damage indicator.

Minor structural damage.

No serious system loss.

She swallowed.

“Still good.”

Stelle heard her.

“Don’t be heroic.”

Ivy snorted.

“You first.”

The Wichita-class girl trained her secondary weapons toward the northern destroyer.

Five-inch guns began firing.

The smaller shells had considerably less weight than her main battery.

But they could be brought onto a fast-moving target more rapidly.

The first salvo missed.

The second bracketed the Blackwake.

The third struck its forward armor.

An explosion burst across the dark structure.

The creature turned sharply.

For a moment, it seemed uncertain.

Then the humanoid unit behind it moved.

The leading destroyer changed course again.

And the other two adjusted with it.

Stelle felt the hair rise along the back of her neck.

They’re responding to one another.

Not blindly.

Not perfectly.

But deliberately.

She lowered her eyes toward the radar.

The fifth contact remained farther back.

The humanoid.

A destroyer-sized enemy with enough visible weapons to be dangerous in its own right.

But it wasn’t rushing into the engagement.

It was holding a position that allowed the others to maneuver ahead of it.

She swallowed.

Then raised the radio.

“Ivy. New priority.”

The Benson-class girl answered immediately.

“Go.”

“That humanoid contact. Watch it.”

Ivy adjusted her optics.

“The one that looks like somebody’s terrible idea of a goth battleship?”

Stelle stared.

For half a second, she was genuinely speechless.

Then she sighed.

“Yes, Ivy. That one.”

“Watching.”

The cruiser looked toward the red-eyed figure.

Its mechanical companions continued moving around it.

One of the smaller creatures opened its mouth.

A weapon housing emerged.

Then another.

Stelle’s expression hardened.

“That’s not good.”

The humanoid unit fired.

Its shells did not travel toward Stelle.

They crossed the water toward Ivy.

The Benson-class girl saw the flashes.

“Incoming!”

She turned.

The first salvo fell short.

The second came closer.

Then a shell struck her starboard torpedo assembly.

The impact was devastatingly precise.

Not large enough to destroy the entire rigging.

But large enough to tear through the exposed launch equipment.

Metal erupted outward.

Ivy screamed.

The starboard torpedo housing twisted.

A support bracket snapped.

The associated electrical systems failed.

Her rigging staggered beneath the blow.

She nearly fell.

Warning indicators flashed across her senses.

Ammunition-feed interruption.

Torpedo battery disabled.

External support damage.

Possible fragment injury.

Ivy gasped.

For a moment, she could only stare at the broken machinery.

Then she looked toward Stelle.

Her face had gone pale.

“Stelle—”

The heavy cruiser turned.

Saw the damaged torpedo assembly.

And felt something cold settle in her stomach.

“Ivy!”

The destroyer swallowed.

“I’m here.”

Blood ran beneath her sleeve.

A fragment had cut into her upper arm.

Another had struck her side, leaving a painful wound beneath her protective clothing.

Her rigging remained operational.

But one torpedo battery was ruined.

And the blast had damaged the supporting systems around it.

She tried to straighten.

Pain shot through her ribs.

She cried out.

Stelle’s eyes widened.

“Withdraw behind me.”

Ivy looked toward the enemy.

Her expression tightened.

“I can still fight.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Stelle—”

“Ivy.”

The cruiser’s voice became hard.

“Behind me. Now.”

For a moment, the destroyer looked ready to argue.

Then another salvo splashed nearby.

She flinched.

And obeyed.

Stelle moved to cover her.

The Wichita’s armored machinery turned toward the enemy.

Her forward guns began traversing.

For several seconds, she stared at the humanoid contact.

Its long hair moved in the wind.

The smaller gun-bearing creatures clustered around it.

Its red eyes seemed to watch the damaged Benson withdrawing.

Stelle swallowed.

“You wanted a cruiser?”

Her main battery reached alignment.

The loading system reported ready.

She narrowed her eyes.

“Here.”

The guns fired.

 The eight-inch salvo struck the water around the humanoid Blackwake destroyer.

The first shell fell short.

The second burst just beyond the target.

The third struck one of the smaller mechanical creatures.

The effect was immediate.

The black appendage exploded.

Its gun housing broke away.

Fragments scattered across the sea.

The central humanoid shuddered.

For a moment, the surrounding tendrils tightened.

Stelle felt a surge of satisfaction.

Then the creature’s expression changed.

The almost playful smile vanished.

Its red eyes narrowed.

And the remaining weapon structures swung toward her.

Stelle stared.

“Yeah,” she whispered.

“Didn’t like that, did you?”

The enemy fired again.

The first shells struck the water around her.

The second group arrived while she was adjusting course.

One hit an armored outer structure near her forward secondary battery.

The plate absorbed part of the impact.

But the shell burst against the exposed equipment beside it.

A five-inch mount was damaged.

Fragments tore through a nearby support assembly.

Several smaller mechanical components shattered.

And a jagged piece of metal struck Stelle’s left shoulder.

She cried out.

The pain was immediate.

Hot.

Deep.

Her rigging shuddered.

For a moment, she couldn’t move her arm properly.

Then another shell exploded against the upper part of her machinery.

An electrical conduit failed.

Sparks burst across the support structure.

The cruiser staggered.

Her fire-control equipment momentarily lost synchronization.

Stelle gasped.

“Damn it!”

She forced herself upright.

The secondary system alarm continued sounding.

Her left arm trembled.

Blood ran down her sleeve.

But the main battery remained operational.

She looked toward Ivy.

The Benson-class girl was still moving east.

Slowly enough that Stelle could remain beside her.

Not fast enough to escape a determined pursuit.

Stelle swallowed.

Then checked the radar.

The Blackwake destroyers were closing.

Not all of them.

The southern unit had turned away after launching torpedoes.

The northern unit was maneuvering outside her immediate gun arc.

The rounded creature remained near the center.

And the humanoid leader was advancing.

For several seconds, Stelle stared.

Then she understood.

They weren’t trying to rush past her toward Echo Cay.

They were trying to keep her engaged.

Force her to expend ammunition.

Inflict damage.

And perhaps kill one or both of them before the island’s reinforcements arrived.

The enemy had not brought battleships.

It had not brought carriers.

It had brought a small, fast destroyer group.

Enough to threaten two isolated patrol girls.

Not enough to survive a concentrated response from Echo Cay’s main defenses.

Stelle glanced toward the timer on her display.

Reinforcements were still several minutes away.

She swallowed.

We only have to stay alive.

That shouldn’t have been a difficult sentence.

The problem was that the Blackwake appeared to disagree.

 III. The Space Between Two Shells

Ivy Calder had always hated being the reason somebody else had to slow down.

Even before Hour Zero.

Especially before Hour Zero, actually.

She’d been the sort of player who pushed ahead, scouted dangerous routes, and apologized afterward if everyone complained that she’d moved too quickly.

Her preferred explanation was that caution was important, but so was momentum.

Stelle’s preferred response was that momentum didn’t help if Ivy ran into five enemies and died before anyone could support her.

They’d been having variations of that argument for years.

Now the destroyer looked down at the blood spreading beneath her sleeve.

And found that Stelle’s opinion had become annoyingly reasonable.

Her arm hurt.

Her side hurt.

Her entire right shoulder felt as though somebody had tried to remove it using a sledgehammer.

The damaged torpedo assembly hung beneath a partial emergency lock.

She could still move.

Still fire her surviving guns.

Still turn.

But the machinery no longer responded quite as smoothly as it had ten minutes earlier.

And every time she accelerated, the damaged support transferred an ugly vibration through her body.

She gritted her teeth.

Then checked the distance to Stelle.

The heavy cruiser was fighting between Ivy and the approaching Blackwake.

Her big eight-inch guns were trained toward the central contact.

Her remaining secondary mounts followed the smaller attackers.

Smoke drifted from one damaged structure.

And the left side of her clothing was stained dark.

Ivy’s stomach tightened.

“Stelle.”

The cruiser answered immediately.

“What?”

“You’re bleeding.”

A pause.

Then Stelle replied:

“So are you.”

Ivy looked down.

For a moment, she seemed offended by the comparison.

“Mine’s different.”

“How?”

“It’s mine.”

There was a brief silence.

Then Stelle exhaled sharply.

“Unbelievable.”

Despite the pain, Ivy smiled.

Only for a second.

Then the next Blackwake salvo arrived.

Stelle turned.

Water rose around her armored equipment.

One shell struck the outer edge of the damaged secondary-battery structure.

A sharp metallic crack echoed through her rigging.

She flinched.

But the impact did not penetrate the protected inner machinery.

The cruiser remained upright.

Her expression hardened.

“Enough.”

She adjusted her main battery.

The leading Knifecrest-type destroyer was moving across her forward quarter.

Fast.

But not particularly large.

A difficult target for eight-inch guns.

She didn’t need a perfect direct hit.

The enemy was close enough that a heavy near miss could disrupt its machinery, and the immediate objective was to stop its advance rather than expend ammunition chasing an ideal solution.

Stelle checked the target’s movement.

Then fired.

The three forward turrets answered with a tremendous roar.

The first shells fell short.

The enemy turned.

The next pair landed close.

Then one shell struck the dark blade-shaped structure near its center.

The impact was catastrophic.

Black armor split.

A mechanical appendage tore away.

The creature’s single glowing eye flickered.

For one brief moment, it continued moving.

Then the entire forward structure broke open.

A column of dark smoke rose.

The enemy rolled sideways.

Its remaining machinery thrashed against the water.

And the creature sank.

Stelle watched it disappear.

One contact gone.

Four remaining.

Not enough.

But something.

She raised the radio.

“Echo Control, Patrol Three. One hostile destroyer destroyed. Four remaining. Both friendly units damaged. Continuing withdrawal.”

The controller answered immediately.

“Received. Reinforcement Group Two closing your position. Continue toward Delta-Five.”

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Stelle swallowed.

“Understood.”

She looked toward Ivy.

The destroyer’s face was pale.

Her breathing had become shallow.

Stelle’s expression tightened.

“Can you maintain speed?”

Ivy looked up.

“Yes.”

“Be honest.”

“I am.”

Stelle watched the damaged propulsion machinery.

It was functioning.

But one of the stabilizing sections trembled whenever Ivy changed direction.

She swallowed.

“All right.”

A pause.

“Just stay with me.”

Ivy looked toward her.

For one brief moment, the bravado vanished.

Then she nodded.

“Always.”

 The surviving Blackwake destroyers did not immediately retaliate.

That worried Stelle more than another gun salvo would have.

The leading attacker had just been destroyed.

A less organized enemy might have charged in retaliation.

Or scattered.

Or continued firing from whatever bearing seemed convenient.

Instead, the remaining contacts adjusted their formation.

The damaged northern unit reduced speed and slipped behind the rounded destroyer.

The southern torpedo attacker widened its approach.

And the humanoid figure moved toward the center.

The formation compressed slightly.

Not enough to make an inviting target for a single salvo.

Enough to restore mutual support.

Stelle watched.

Her mouth went dry.

“They’re regrouping.”

Ivy followed the movement.

“Yeah.”

The cruiser checked her ammunition reserve.

She had fired more eight-inch rounds than she’d intended during what was supposed to have been an ordinary patrol.

The expenditure wasn’t catastrophic.

But it mattered.

Echo Cay’s magazines were large.

Not infinite.

Every round she fired out here was one unavailable for the next engagement until she returned to base and completed replenishment.

The Blackwake, meanwhile, had apparently achieved one of its objectives already.

Two defending Keelborn were wounded.

Both were consuming time and ammunition.

And Echo Cay had been forced to dispatch reinforcements.

Stelle looked toward the humanoid destroyer.

For a moment, she thought it might be watching her.

Not emotionally.

Not personally.

Simply assessing the engagement.

The creature’s smaller weapon-heads continued traversing.

A damaged appendage hung beneath its right side where Stelle’s eight-inch shell had struck.

The central figure remained upright.

Then one of the weapon structures tilted.

Stelle checked her radar.

The southern attacker accelerated.

Her eyes widened.

“Again?”

Another torpedo spread entered the water.

This time, the launch was partly concealed behind smoke from the destroyed Knifecrest.

Stelle did not see the torpedoes immediately.

Ivy did.

The Benson-class girl had been watching the southern contact through a gap in the haze.

“Torpedoes! Four tracks! They’re crossing our withdrawal lane!”

Stelle’s stomach tightened.

The weapons were approaching from a different bearing.

And the girls had already altered course several times.

A direct turn toward Echo Cay would place them across at least one probable track.

Stelle looked toward the sea.

Then toward Ivy.

“Break north.”

The destroyer hesitated.

“That puts us closer to the humanoid.”

“I know.”

“Stelle—”

“North. Now.”

Ivy obeyed.

Her machinery accelerated.

The damaged torpedo housing shuddered.

A bolt tore loose from an already cracked bracket.

Pain shot through her shoulder.

She cried out.

But the propulsion answered.

Stelle followed.

The torpedoes crossed their previous course.

One passed ahead.

Two fell astern.

The last weapon continued toward open water.

Neither girl was struck.

Then the humanoid Blackwake opened fire.

Its remaining gun-bearing creatures discharged in sequence.

Not one wild volley.

Several controlled groups.

The first shells bracketed Stelle.

The second group landed farther north.

Almost directly along Ivy’s revised course.

Stelle’s eyes widened.

“They’ve got your turn!”

Ivy saw the incoming flashes.

For a moment, she froze.

The damaged support assembly would not tolerate an excessively sharp maneuver.

If she turned too quickly, she risked tearing the already compromised structure apart.

If she maintained course, the shells would arrive.

Her heart hammered.

Then Stelle moved.

The heavy cruiser accelerated across Ivy’s western quarter.

Her remaining five-inch guns opened fire toward the humanoid.

The rounds did not need to destroy it.

They only needed to disrupt the attack.

Several shells burst close to the Blackwake’s outer weapon creatures.

The humanoid figure turned.

One gun housing swung toward Stelle.

The next salvo scattered.

Most fell short of Ivy.

But one struck the Benson-class girl’s damaged side.

The impact was worse than the first.

A shell burst against the already weakened support structure.

Metal tore away.

The remaining starboard torpedo equipment was thrown sideways.

Ivy screamed.

For one terrible moment, the propulsion on that side failed.

Her rigging twisted.

A stabilizer alarm sounded.

She lost her footing.

The sea rose around her legs.

And she nearly fell.

Stelle’s stomach dropped.

“Ivy!”

The destroyer reached toward her.

Her face was white.

For a moment, she looked terribly young.

Then she gasped:

“Still here.”

Stelle swallowed.

The Benson’s portside propulsion machinery continued operating.

Her remaining stabilizers struggled to compensate.

The damaged section was beginning to take on water within the outer equipment housings.

But the main support hadn’t failed.

Not yet.

Ivy gritted her teeth.

Then forced herself upright.

“I’m okay.”

The words came through clenched teeth.

Stelle stared.

For a moment, she almost shouted at her.

Then she remembered the warning recently transmitted from Horizon.

A Keelborn could survive extraordinary impacts.

But survival didn’t mean the damage wasn’t accumulating.

Stelle looked toward the damaged rigging.

Then the enemy.

Then Ivy.

She swallowed.

“No.”

The destroyer blinked.

“What?”

Stelle’s voice became hard.

“You’re not okay.”

Ivy stared.

For one second, she seemed ready to protest.

Then her knees trembled.

The damaged machinery groaned.

And the argument left her face.

She swallowed.

“No.”

Her voice was very small.

“I’m not.”

Stelle felt something tighten painfully inside her chest.

She moved closer.

Not enough to interfere with the destroyer’s remaining equipment.

Enough to provide a measure of cover.

“All right.”

Ivy looked up.

The cruiser continued.

“Then we get you home.”

The Benson’s eyes filled.

Only slightly.

Then she nodded.

“Right.”

Stelle looked toward the horizon.

The Blackwake was still approaching.

She checked the reinforcement estimate.

Less than five minutes.

The island’s coastal radar had already acquired the hostile group.

The nearest defensive vessels were accelerating into the sector.

If Stelle and Ivy could remain afloat for five more minutes, their chances would improve substantially.

Five minutes.

Three hundred seconds.

The cruiser gritted her teeth.

She raised her guns.

And prepared to buy them.

 The next exchange lasted less than two minutes.

Stelle never remembered it clearly afterward.

She remembered firing.

The heavy concussion of her eight-inch guns.

The painful vibration running through her damaged portside machinery.

The Blackwake gun flashes.

The way Ivy’s breathing sounded over the radio.

Too fast.

Too strained.

She remembered a shell striking the sea close enough to throw water over her face.

Another tearing through one of her external support structures.

The sharp pain in her shoulder when a damaged mounting pulled against the wound.

She remembered shouting at Ivy to maintain course.

Ivy telling her to stop shouting.

Then Ivy firing her remaining five-inch guns at the rounded Blackwake destroyer.

One shell struck near the creature’s enormous circular mouth.

Another hit a gun housing.

The enemy staggered.

Its armored plates opened.

For one brief moment, it looked almost wounded in a human sense.

Then its surviving machinery continued operating.

Stelle adjusted her aft turret.

The enemy was crossing behind her.

She checked the firing sector.

No friendly units in the line.

She fired.

Three eight-inch shells crossed the water.

One missed.

One struck the creature’s forward armor.

And the third detonated within the already damaged gun structure.

The explosion was tremendous.

The rounded Blackwake destroyer broke apart.

Its circular mouth vanished beneath a column of smoke.

The hull-like body rolled.

Then disappeared.

Two enemy destroyers down.

Three remaining.

Stelle gasped.

For a moment, she felt a fierce satisfaction.

Then she looked toward Ivy.

The Benson girl was barely maintaining position.

Her damaged rigging trembled.

Blood stained her sleeve.

She was trying not to show how much pain she was in.

Stelle swallowed.

Just a little longer.

A new voice entered the radio.

“Patrol Three, this is Echo Reinforcement Two. We have your position. Friendly units approaching from southeast.”

Stelle’s eyes widened.

For one moment, relief nearly overwhelmed her.

Then she looked toward the enemy.

The humanoid Blackwake had stopped advancing.

Its weapon-bearing creatures began turning.

The two surviving escorts altered course.

Not toward the arriving reinforcements.

Away.

Stelle checked the radar.

Her expression changed.

“They’re breaking off.”

Ivy looked up.

“What?”

The cruiser watched the contacts.

The southern torpedo attacker accelerated west.

The damaged northern unit followed.

And the humanoid destroyer turned toward the distant haze.

It did not linger to exchange fire with the arriving defenders.

It did not attempt to rescue its destroyed companions.

It withdrew.

Quickly.

Deliberately.

The movement was so orderly that Stelle felt cold despite the morning sun.

The enemy had inflicted damage.

Lost two units.

Observed the defenders’ response.

And now it was leaving before Echo Cay could concentrate sufficient force to trap the survivors.

She raised the radio.

“Echo Control, Patrol Three. Enemy withdrawing west-northwest. Three contacts remain. We are unable to pursue.”

The controller answered.

“Received. Maintain withdrawal. Reinforcement Two will cover.”

Stelle lowered the microphone.

For several seconds, she watched the Blackwake contacts fade into the haze.

Then Ivy spoke.

Her voice was quiet.

“Stelle?”

The cruiser turned.

“Yes?”

“I don’t think they were trying to get to the base.”

Stelle looked toward the retreating contacts.

For a moment, she considered that.

Then nodded.

“No.”

The Benson swallowed.

“They just…”

She stopped.

Stelle finished for her.

“Hit us.”

A pause.

“And ran.”

Ivy stared at the horizon.

Her expression became deeply troubled.

For years, she had known how the game’s Blackwake destroyers behaved.

The smaller ones attacked aggressively.

The stronger ones used better weapons.

Some retreated.

Some maneuvered cleverly.

But this group had been different.

It had engaged two isolated defenders.

Forced them into repeated evasive maneuvers.

Inflicted serious damage.

Then disengaged when the tactical balance changed.

Not an attempted conquest.

Not a suicidal assault.

A deliberate raid.

Ivy lowered her eyes.

For a moment, she looked almost frightened.

Then whispered:

“They’re learning.”

Stelle considered that.

She looked toward the western horizon.

The enemy contacts were disappearing.

Then she shook her head.

“Maybe.”

Ivy looked up.

Stelle continued.

“Or maybe we just never understood everything they could do.”

For several seconds, the two girls remained quiet.

Then the reinforcement group arrived.

 A Cleveland-class light cruiser approached first, accompanied by two destroyer girls and a conventional patrol vessel.

The lead cruiser accelerated toward Stelle.

Her expression changed when she saw the damage.

“Stelle!”

The Wichita-class girl looked up.

For one moment, she managed a tired smile.

“Morning.”

The Cleveland stared.

Then her expression became horrified.

“Your shoulder!”

Stelle glanced down.

The wound had bled through the dressing she’d improvised with an emergency field bandage.

A damaged secondary-gun structure hung behind her.

The portside support was scorched.

Her fire-control equipment had partially recovered, but several systems remained offline.

She swallowed.

“Could be better.”

The Cleveland looked toward Ivy.

Then went pale.

“Oh, God.”

The Benson-class girl attempted a grin.

It wasn’t successful.

“Hey.”

The Cleveland moved toward her immediately.

“Can you move?”

Ivy nodded.

“Mostly.”

The other cruiser looked toward her damaged rigging.

“That’s not an answer.”

Ivy sighed.

“Everybody’s a critic.”

Stelle almost laughed.

Then a wave struck her damaged portside structure.

Pain shot through her shoulder.

She gasped.

The Cleveland turned.

“Stelle!”

The Wichita gritted her teeth.

“I’m fine.”

Her friend looked deeply unimpressed.

Ivy raised one finger.

“She’s lying.”

Stelle turned.

“Ivy.”

The Benson girl smiled weakly.

“Love you too.”

For one moment, the three stared at one another.

Then the Cleveland sighed.

“Both of you are going to Medical.”

Neither argued.

That alone told her how bad it was.

 The return to Echo Cay took longer than it should have.

Ivy could not safely maintain her normal speed.

Stelle’s damaged support machinery required continuous monitoring.

The escort group adjusted its formation to protect both girls without forcing them to maneuver unnecessarily.

The conventional patrol vessel remained outside their immediate course, watching for new contacts.

The two accompanying destroyers maintained a cautious screen.

And the Cleveland-class cruiser stayed close enough to provide fire support if the Blackwake returned.

No one pursued the three retreating enemy destroyers beyond the defensive boundary.

The reasons were straightforward.

The defenders had two seriously damaged Keelborn to bring home.

The enemy’s remaining torpedo weapons were unknown.

The outer approaches had not been cleared of submarines.

And Echo Cay’s command did not intend to exchange two wounded girls for the possibility of sinking another Blackwake destroyer.

Stelle understood.

She was grateful.

She also hated it.

The enemy had hurt them.

Badly.

And now it was getting away.

She looked toward the horizon.

For a moment, her expression tightened.

Then Ivy’s voice arrived.

“Stelle?”

The cruiser looked up.

“Yes?”

“Can I say something?”

Stelle glanced toward the smaller girl.

Her damaged equipment was moving unevenly.

The field dressing on her arm had darkened.

But she was still afloat.

Still speaking.

Still Ivy.

“Go ahead.”

A pause.

Then the destroyer whispered:

“I’m really glad you’re here.”

Stelle stopped.

For several seconds, she couldn’t answer.

Then she looked toward the horizon.

Her throat tightened.

She remembered Ivy almost falling.

The water rising around her legs.

The damaged machinery.

The moment the Benson’s voice had become terribly small.

I’m not okay.

Stelle swallowed.

Then answered quietly.

“Me too.”

A pause.

“Ivy?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t scare me like that again.”

The destroyer gave a weak laugh.

“I’ll put it on my schedule.”

Stelle closed her eyes.

“Idiot.”

“Your idiot.”

The heavy cruiser opened her eyes.

For a moment, the corner of her mouth lifted.

Then she shook her head.

“Unfortunately.”

The two continued toward Echo Cay.

And the sea behind them remained quiet.

 IV. A Harbor That Could Not Afford Another Loss

Echo Cay’s northern harbor entrance came into view shortly before midmorning.

The island rose from the sea in layers of green vegetation, concrete defenses, communications towers, cranes, and the enormous industrial structures that had made it one of the western Pacific’s most important surviving logistics hubs.

The principal naval harbor lay behind protected approaches.

Coastal batteries watched the outer channels.

Radar stations maintained their search patterns.

Conventional vessels moved carefully through assigned transit lanes.

Several Keelborn were visible near the maintenance berths, their rigging under inspection.

Under ordinary circumstances, the sight would have reassured Stelle.

It was home.

Or the closest thing she had to it since Hour Zero.

Today, the harbor entrance looked impossibly far away.

Her shoulder hurt with every adjustment of the portside support machinery.

One of her smaller gun mounts had been disabled.

The secondary ammunition feed was damaged.

A section of outer armor had been torn open.

And an electrical fault continued interrupting readings from one of the fire-control instruments.

She was still operational enough to move.

But every kilometer felt longer than the last.

Beside her, Ivy had stopped making jokes.

That frightened Stelle more than the visible damage.

The Benson-class destroyer was maintaining speed under escort.

Her remaining machinery functioned.

But the damaged starboard support had been placed under an emergency restriction.

Her right arm hung close to her body.

She breathed carefully.

And every time the sea rose beneath her damaged equipment, she flinched.

Stelle looked toward the harbor.

Then raised the radio.

“Echo Control, Patrol Three. Entering northern approach. Request direct transit to medical recovery berth.”

The answer came immediately.

“Patrol Three, clearance granted. Medical and rigging teams standing by at Pier Six. Maintain escort formation and reduce speed as directed.”

Stelle closed her eyes.

For one moment, relief washed through her.

Then she opened them.

“Understood.”

 The medical crews were waiting.

So were the engineers.

A small team of conventional sailors stood beside the recovery berth holding stabilizing lines and emergency support equipment.

Two nurses prepared stretchers.

A physician checked a portable diagnostic unit.

And the dockyard’s heavy rigging technicians waited beneath a maintenance gantry, ready to secure the damaged equipment before either girl attempted to detach it.

Stelle approached first.

Her machinery responded sluggishly.

She adjusted speed.

Turned toward the berth.

Then slowly reduced propulsion.

A technician raised one hand.

“Steady!”

Stelle nodded.

The rigging moved into the designated position.

Mechanical supports engaged.

A locking assembly secured the damaged portside structure.

Only then did the medical team approach.

The physician looked toward her.

“Stelle?”

She nodded.

“That’s me.”

He examined the bloody dressing.

His expression tightened.

“How long since the injury?”

Stelle hesitated.

“Maybe forty minutes?”

The doctor looked toward the wound.

Then toward the damaged rigging.

“We’ll need to inspect that immediately.”

She nodded.

“Okay.”

He glanced toward her face.

For a moment, his expression softened.

“Can you walk?”

Stelle considered that.

Then took a step.

Her knees trembled.

Not from a direct leg injury.

From exhaustion, shock, and the sudden absence of the machinery that had been helping support her weight.

She nearly stumbled.

A nurse reached toward her.

“Easy.”

Stelle swallowed.

“Sorry.”

The nurse shook her head.

“Don’t apologize.”

Another medical worker moved closer.

Together, they helped her toward the waiting chair.

Stelle sat.

For a moment, her vision blurred.

She closed her eyes.

Then immediately opened them.

“Ivy.”

The physician looked up.

“Your companion?”

“Yes.”

Stelle turned toward the harbor.

The Benson-class girl was approaching the neighboring berth.

Her damaged rigging shuddered as its propulsion slowed.

A technician called for additional support.

Another checked the torpedo housing.

Then a warning sounded.

The twisted assembly shifted unexpectedly.

Ivy cried out.

Stelle tried to stand.

“IVY!”

A nurse caught her.

“Stelle, stay seated!”

The heavy cruiser struggled.

“She’s hurt!”

“We know. They’re helping her.”

Stelle stared.

Across the berth, the technicians engaged an additional support brace.

The damaged assembly settled.

The emergency lock held.

A medical team moved toward Ivy.

The destroyer had gone very pale.

For several seconds, she stood motionless.

Then her legs gave way.

Two medics caught her before she struck the concrete.

Stelle’s breath stopped.

“No.”

The nurse beside her spoke gently.

“She’s conscious.”

Stelle looked toward the smaller girl.

Ivy turned her head.

For one brief moment, their eyes met.

The Benson attempted a smile.

Then the medical team lowered her onto a stretcher.

Stelle swallowed.

Her hands began shaking.

“I need to go with her.”

The nurse looked toward the physician.

He considered the situation.

Then nodded.

“We’ll take you both to the same treatment area.”

Stelle exhaled.

Only then did she realize she’d been holding her breath.

“Thank you.”

 The injuries were serious.

Stelle had sustained a penetrating fragment wound to her shoulder, extensive bruising from transmitted shell impact, and several smaller cuts. Her external rigging required major attention, especially around the disabled secondary mount and damaged support structure.

The medical examination found no immediately life-threatening internal injury.

That was good.

She still needed wound cleaning, imaging, monitoring, and rest.

Ivy’s condition was more concerning.

The Benson-class girl’s damaged rigging had transmitted repeated violent loads through her right side.

Her shoulder was badly bruised.

Several fragments had entered the soft tissue of her upper arm and flank.

The medical team suspected a rib injury.

And the combination of blood loss, exhaustion, and shock had left her dangerously weak by the time she reached the harbor.

She was conscious.

Responsive.

And very unhappy about the number of people telling her to stop talking.

That last detail reassured Stelle enormously.

 When the physician finally allowed Stelle into Ivy’s treatment room, the destroyer was lying beneath a clean blanket with one arm bandaged and a monitoring line attached.

Her short black hair was damp.

Her face was pale.

But her eyes opened when Stelle entered.

For a moment, she stared.

Then smiled faintly.

“Hey.”

Stelle stood in the doorway.

For several seconds, she couldn’t move.

Then she approached the bed.

“You idiot.”

Ivy blinked.

“Wow.”

Her voice was weak.

“Medical’s really improved its customer service.”

Stelle sat beside her.

For a moment, she looked toward the bandages.

The monitoring equipment.

The bruising visible along the destroyer’s shoulder.

Then she lowered her eyes.

“You scared me.”

Ivy’s expression softened.

For several seconds, she didn’t answer.

Then whispered:

“Sorry.”

Stelle looked up.

The destroyer continued.

“I thought I could get us out of the salvo.”

The cruiser swallowed.

“I know.”

“I thought…”

Ivy stopped.

Her voice tightened.

“Then it hit.”

For several seconds, she stared toward the ceiling.

Stelle reached toward her hand.

The destroyer took it immediately.

Her fingers were warm.

Real.

Alive.

Stelle closed her eyes.

For one moment, the relief nearly hurt.

Then she opened them.

“You’re here.”

Ivy nodded.

“Yeah.”

Stelle squeezed her hand.

“Good.”

The destroyer’s eyes softened.

For a moment, she looked toward their joined hands.

Then whispered:

“Did we get any of them?”

Stelle stared.

For several seconds, she seemed unable to believe the question.

Then she sighed.

“Two.”

Ivy blinked.

“Really?”

“Two destroyed. Three withdrew.”

The destroyer considered that.

Then smiled weakly.

“Not bad.”

Stelle raised an eyebrow.

“We were nearly sunk.”

“I said not bad.”

The heavy cruiser sighed.

“You’re impossible.”

Ivy’s smile faded slightly.

Then she looked toward Stelle.

For a moment, she seemed frightened again.

“Are they coming back?”

The question hung between them.

Stelle looked toward the window.

The harbor lay beyond.

Coastal guns.

Radar stations.

Other Keelborn.

People who would fight if the Blackwake returned.

She wanted to promise Ivy that they were safe.

That the enemy had gone.

That Echo Cay would not be attacked again.

But she remembered the destroyer formation.

The humanoid figure.

The deliberate withdrawal.

The way the Blackwake had broken contact when reinforcements appeared.

She swallowed.

“I don’t know.”

Ivy lowered her eyes.

For several seconds, neither spoke.

Then Stelle continued.

“But if they do, we’re not going out there again until Medical clears us.”

The Benson blinked.

Then looked almost offended.

“Wow.”

“What?”

“Who are you, and what have you done with Stelle?”

The cruiser stared.

Then leaned forward.

“Ivy.”

The destroyer smiled weakly.

Stelle’s expression softened.

“We made it home.”

For a moment, the younger girl’s smile faltered.

Then she nodded.

“Yeah.”

The cruiser held her hand.

“We’re keeping it that way.”

Ivy closed her eyes.

For several seconds, she remained quiet.

Then whispered:

“Deal.”

Stelle stayed beside her until she fell asleep.

 The patrol’s report reached Echo Cay’s operations center shortly afterward.

Five unfamiliar Blackwake destroyer-class contacts.

Two destroyed.

Three escaped.

Coordinated torpedo and gunnery attacks.

Possible local command function associated with a humanoid native Blackwake unit.

Two friendly Keelborn seriously damaged.

Both survived.

No confirmed Pendant loss.

The operations officer read the report.

Then looked toward the photographs captured during the engagement.

The blade-shaped destroyer.

The rounded, fanged unit.

The humanoid figure surrounded by smaller weapon-bearing creatures.

For several seconds, she remained quiet.

Then reached for the communication register.

A recent intelligence advisory from Horizon Atoll had included provisional enemy recognition categories.

She opened it.

Compared the images.

And stopped.

KNIFECREST.

VIOLETMAW.

WIDOWSPINE.

The similarities were striking.

Not perfect.

The photographs had been taken from different angles and under different conditions.

But enough.

She looked toward the communications officer.

“Prepare a reply to Horizon’s intelligence request.”

The man nodded.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She placed Stelle’s report beside the advisory.

“Tell them we’ve just encountered three of their newly proposed destroyer families.”

The officer blinked.

“All three?”

“Probable matches. Make the uncertainty clear.”

He nodded.

The woman looked toward the medical status line.

Stelle.

Ivy.

Both alive.

For now.

She swallowed.

“And tell them the attackers disengaged when our reinforcements arrived.”

The communications officer looked up.

“Anything else?”

The woman considered that.

Then nodded.

“Yes.”

She looked toward the battle plot.

The Blackwake’s retreating contacts had disappeared beyond the outer surveillance area.

Her expression became troubled.

“Tell Horizon these ships aren’t just new.”

A pause.

“They’re fighting differently.”

The officer began typing.

And far to the east, beyond a great stretch of ocean, that message began its journey toward Kade Bher’s command.

 V. Sakura Nagase Had Already Done the Arithmetic

By early afternoon at Horizon Atoll, Kade Bher had developed a passionate dislike for inventory reports.

This was not entirely fair to the reports.

They were performing their assigned function.

Their assigned function, unfortunately, was to inform him that Horizon needed almost everything.

Fuel.

Medical supplies.

Ammunition.

Electrical components.

Replacement cables.

Hydraulic assemblies.

Aircraft parts.

Engine lubricants.

Food.

Clean bedding.

Antibiotics.

Repair steel.

Precision bearings.

Water-purification chemicals.

And an assortment of obscure fittings that appeared to exist solely to ruin Dain Okoro’s day.

Kade sat behind his desk, studying a requisition list that had been arranged by urgency.

It was thirty-seven pages long.

He had read the first sixteen.

His optimism had not survived.

A soft knock came from the door.

He looked up.

“Come in.”

The door opened.

A young woman entered carrying a large document folder under one arm.

She had dark brown hair gathered into a practical low ponytail, warm brown eyes, and the expression of somebody who had spent much of the previous day organizing supplies that didn’t exist in sufficient quantities.

Her uniform was simpler than that of Horizon’s front-line Keelborn.

A light work jacket.

Dark trousers.

Sturdy shoes.

Several small identification tags secured to the upper pocket.

And a cargo-service armband bearing the stylized emblem of the transport vessel whose form she’d chosen before Hour Zero.

SENKO MARU.

Kade recognized her immediately.

“Sakura.”

The young woman stopped.

For a moment, her expression changed.

Then she smiled.

“Good afternoon, Commander.”

Kade gestured toward the chair opposite his desk.

“Have a seat, Sakura Nagase.”

She blinked.

For one second, she seemed almost startled.

Then her smile softened.

“Thank you.”

She sat.

The folder landed on the desk with a substantial thud.

Kade looked toward it.

Then slowly raised his eyes.

“That doesn’t sound promising.”

Sakura glanced down.

“It’s a proposal.”

“Those are often worse.”

She laughed quietly.

The Commander leaned back.

For several seconds, he regarded her.

Most people around Horizon called her Senko.

It wasn’t difficult to understand why.

She had selected the transport ship Senko Maru as her former game character.

Now she lived as a transport-class Keelborn whose equipment was derived from that vessel.

Her rigging possessed cargo-handling structures, storage capacity, machinery intended for sustained transport operations, and far less offensive firepower than any sensible person would want while crossing a hostile ocean.

Senko was easy to say over a radio.

Easy to remember.

And naturally connected to her ship.

Sakura didn’t appear to mind the nickname.

But Kade had never been especially comfortable using it as her only identity.

She was Sakura Nagase.

A former player.

A person who happened to have selected a transport ship.

Not a piece of cargo-handling equipment that could talk.

The distinction mattered.

Apparently, it mattered to her as well.

She looked toward him.

“Can I ask you something first?”

Kade raised an eyebrow.

“You’re in my office with a suspiciously large folder. I assume questions are involved.”

Sakura smiled.

Then her expression became curious.

“Why do you always call me Sakura?”

The Commander blinked.

For a moment, he seemed uncertain what she meant.

Then he leaned back.

“Because that’s your name?”

She laughed.

“No, I mean… everyone calls me Senko.”

“Senko’s your ship designation.”

“I know.”

He considered that.

Then shrugged.

“You were Sakura before Hour Zero. You didn’t stop being Sakura afterward.”

For several seconds, the transport girl remained quiet.

Then her expression softened.

“Right.”

Kade looked toward her.

“Does it bother you when the others use Senko?”

She shook her head.

“No. Not really.”

A pause.

“Sometimes it’s useful. People know immediately which transport they’re calling.”

He nodded.

“Fair.”

“But…”

She hesitated.

Then smiled faintly.

“It is nice hearing my actual name.”

Kade’s expression softened.

“Then I’ll keep using it.”

Sakura nodded.

“Thank you, Commander.”

He glanced toward the document folder.

Then sighed.

“Now, about whatever that is…”

The transport girl straightened.

Her expression became determined.

“Right.”

She opened it.

And immediately began ruining the Commander’s afternoon.

 The first page contained a table of supplies.

Kade stared at it.

Then toward Sakura.

“I’ve seen Corwin’s inventory report.”

She nodded.

“I know.”

“Please don’t tell me there’s another one.”

“There is.”

He closed his eyes.

“Of course there is.”

Sakura leaned forward.

“Mine’s different.”

Kade opened one eye.

“That sounds ominous.”

She pointed toward the table.

“Corwin’s list shows what Horizon has and what it needs.”

“Yes.”

“Mine shows what we can realistically bring back.”

The Commander went still.

For a moment, he looked toward the folder.

Then slowly leaned forward.

“Go on.”

Sakura’s expression brightened.

She turned the page.

“Senko Maru’s cargo configuration is still usable. Some equipment needs servicing, but our main loading systems are operational. The hold supports remain within their inspection limits.”

Kade glanced toward the figures.

She continued.

“We can carry bulk food, medical supplies, fuel in properly secured containers, machine parts, ammunition under appropriate handling rules, and selected precision equipment.”

The Commander nodded slowly.

“I’m aware of the general capabilities.”

“I know.”

Sakura pointed toward the next page.

“But we haven’t used my full carrying capacity since before the PCA attack.”

Kade frowned.

“Because the approaches were threatened.”

“Yes.”

“And because the last convoy schedule collapsed when the invasion started.”

“Also yes.”

He studied the route proposal.

Then slowly looked up.

Sakura met his eyes.

Her expression had become serious.

“I want permission to take Senko Maru out.”

The office went quiet.

For several seconds, Kade stared.

Then he lowered his eyes toward the map.

“Where?”

Sakura answered immediately.

“Resolute Shoals.”

The Commander closed his eyes.

For a moment, he seemed to be counting silently.

Then opened them.

“Sakura.”

“Yes?”

“That’s a substantial voyage.”

“I know.”

“A very substantial voyage.”

“I know.”

He pointed toward the map.

“You’re proposing to take a lightly armed transport-class Keelborn across a stretch of ocean that has become significantly more dangerous in the last forty-eight hours.”

She nodded.

“Yes.”

Kade looked toward her.

For several seconds, neither spoke.

Then he sighed.

“Of course you are.”

Sakura smiled weakly.

“It’s not as bad as it sounds.”

The Commander raised an eyebrow.

“Really?”

She hesitated.

Then admitted:

“It’s pretty bad.”

Kade looked toward the ceiling.

“Wonderful.”

 Sakura had prepared a route.

Several, actually.

The primary option followed a carefully selected series of defensible corridors toward the central human network, with an intended rendezvous near Summit Key before continuing toward Resolute Shoals.

A second option placed greater emphasis on distance from known Blackwake patrol areas but required additional travel time and fuel.

A third was marked as an emergency diversion plan.

Kade studied the lines.

Then pointed toward a section of open ocean.

“Who escorts you here?”

Sakura looked down.

“I was hoping we could assign—”

“Who?”

She stopped.

For a moment, she looked uncomfortable.

Then answered:

“An available destroyer group.”

Kade leaned back.

“Sakura.”

“I know our destroyers are damaged.”

“Some are damaged. Some are badly damaged. Others are still awaiting complete inspections after the night battle.”

She nodded.

The Commander continued.

“Tribal is undergoing repairs. Several of our larger Keelborn have restricted operating status. We still need ships protecting the harbor.”

“I know.”

“And you want me to send a group away on a voyage that could take more than a week each direction, depending on routing and convoy speed.”

Sakura swallowed.

“Yes.”

Kade looked toward the route.

For several seconds, he said nothing.

Then shook his head.

“No.”

The transport girl went still.

He continued.

“Not with our current readiness.”

Sakura opened her mouth.

Then closed it.

Kade’s expression softened slightly.

“I understand why you want to go.”

She lowered her eyes.

“But I’m not going to send you into a potentially hostile sea lane with an escort force that’s barely recovered from the last battle.”

A pause.

“Not because the supply problem isn’t real.”

He gestured toward the requisition report.

“Believe me, I understand that part.”

Sakura nodded.

For several seconds, she remained quiet.

Then slowly turned another page.

Kade noticed.

“Sakura.”

She looked up.

“Commander.”

“I’ve already said no.”

“I heard you.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Then what are you doing?”

The transport girl took a breath.

“Showing you why I think you need to reconsider.”

Kade stared.

For one moment, something almost like reluctant amusement crossed his face.

Then he sighed.

“You’ve been talking to Mara.”

Sakura blinked.

“What?”

“Never mind.”

He leaned forward.

“All right. You have five minutes.”

The transport girl’s expression became focused.

She slid the next document across the desk.

Kade looked down.

Then his expression changed.

Because the heading was not about food.

Or ammunition.

Or fuel.

It read:

RECOVERY BATH RECONSTRUCTION — COMPONENT AVAILABILITY INQUIRY

For several seconds, the Commander did not move.

Then he slowly looked up.

“Sakura.”

The transport girl swallowed.

“Yes?”

“Where did you get this?”

She met his eyes.

And answered:

“From a friend.”

 Kade had spent the previous days avoiding one particular room in the damaged maintenance complex.

Not because the room frightened him.

Because every time he entered, he felt a helplessness he couldn’t disguise.

The old Respite Bath chamber.

Or what remained of it.

The installation had been wrecked during a Blackwake attack in 2022, long before Hour Zero made the world physically real to its former players.

By the time Kade inherited responsibility for Horizon, the facility had already been out of service for years.

Corroded fittings.

Destroyed control assemblies.

Damaged containment structures.

Missing components.

A long list of problems that made restoring it seem closer to rebuilding the entire installation than repairing an ordinary machine.

Before the Crisis, the Respite Bath had existed as part of the world’s established naval systems.

Its purpose was bound to Keelborn recovery and restoration.

After Hour Zero, when shipgirls became living people and Pendants became terribly real, the implications of that old machinery changed.

The theory was simple enough to explain.

The reality was not.

A Pendant preserved something essential about a Keelborn’s identity.

But Horizon didn’t yet possess a working procedure for using that preserved connection to restore the girl.

The old installation was destroyed.

The surviving technical records were incomplete.

And nobody could ethically claim that inserting a Pendant into a repaired machine would simply produce a living Keelborn.

The necessary equipment had to exist.

It had to work.

Its effects had to be understood.

And, if restoration was possible, the station would need medical and technical safeguards capable of protecting the girl being restored.

Those were extraordinary requirements.

Hana had begun investigating them.

Dain had examined the surviving structures.

Irena had demanded that nobody treat the process like a game mechanic.

And Kade had insisted they continue the research without making promises to grieving survivors.

Now Sakura had placed a component availability inquiry on his desk.

His expression became very still.

“Who is your friend?”

The transport girl answered carefully.

“Mei Takahara.”

Kade frowned.

“Resolute Shoals?”

She nodded.

“Yes.”

“What does she do?”

“Systems engineering and naval medical equipment restoration. She’s a former player too.”

The Commander looked toward the document.

Then back at Sakura.

“How do you know her?”

Sakura smiled faintly.

“We were in the same cooperative logistics group before Hour Zero.”

He blinked.

“A transport player and a systems engineer?”

“She specialized in support installations.”

Kade considered that.

Then nodded slowly.

“That tracks.”

Sakura continued.

“After the Crisis, she ended up working with one of Resolute’s technical depots. We’ve exchanged messages whenever the communication relays were available.”

The Commander looked toward the printed report.

“Does she know about Horizon’s destroyed Respite Bath?”

“Yes.”

He narrowed his eyes.

“How much?”

“I told her we were trying to rebuild it.”

Kade went still.

Sakura hurried on.

“Not about the secured Pendants. Not specific names or recovery records. Just the equipment problem.”

The Commander studied her.

For several seconds, he remained quiet.

Then nodded.

“Good.”

Sakura released a breath.

Kade looked toward the document again.

“And she says she has parts?”

The transport girl swallowed.

Then nodded.

“Yes.”

For one terrible second, Kade felt hope strike hard enough to hurt.

He lowered his eyes.

Forced himself to read.

There were several listed assemblies.

A preserved resonance-coupling manifold.

A set of alignment regulators.

A sealed Pendant interface cradle from an incomplete auxiliary recovery installation.

Two compatible control modules.

A diagnostic package.

And archived technical drawings for the older series of restoration equipment.

Kade stared.

For several seconds, he couldn’t speak.

Then he looked toward Sakura.

“Are these real?”

The transport girl nodded.

“As far as Mei can verify.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“As far as?”

“She has physically inspected the components, but she hasn’t tested them inside a complete Respite Bath system. Some are stored as spare parts. Others were recovered from an unfinished installation.”

Kade looked down.

The list contained serial information.

Inspection dates.

Storage references.

Descriptions of external condition.

Several compatibility warnings.

It was not a magical claim.

Not a vague message about a miracle somewhere across the ocean.

It was an engineer’s inventory.

An incomplete one.

With uncertainties clearly stated.

Kade felt his throat tighten.

For a moment, he remembered the eleven Pendants.

Each inside a protected container.

Each belonging to a girl whose name Horizon was determined to preserve.

He thought of Takao Two.

Suzu.

Yūgumo.

Kiri.

Le Fantasque.

The others.

Girls who had gone beneath the water while trying to protect people.

Girls who had been brought home only in silver.

He looked toward the document again.

Then whispered:

“Mei has a Pendant cradle?”

Sakura nodded.

“Yes.”

The Commander swallowed.

“An actual interface assembly?”

“Yes.”

He stared.

For several seconds, he seemed unable to move.

Then he looked toward her.

“And the coupling manifold?”

“Also available.”

A pause.

“Her message said those were two of the major missing systems for installations built around the older architecture.”

Kade closed his eyes.