Rome, Sardegna Empire
July 10, 1942
9:00 AM
A soft breeze drifted through the narrow street, carrying the scent of fresh bread and sea salt. One of the many Italian-style cafés lining the lane hosted a quiet trio under the shade of a striped umbrella. The setting was picturesque—elegant stone buildings, flowerpots on window sills, and the distant sound of street performers playing soft music on violins.
At a table near the edge of the sidewalk, three women sat. Two of them wore plain, modest maid outfits, the kind that would blend into any high-end estate. The third, however, wore a vintage 1940s summer dress, the soft cream fabric catching the sunlight as she crossed her legs leisurely. A wide-brimmed hat shaded her face, and a pair of sunglasses covered her eyes as she sipped from a tall glass of citrus juice.
One of the maids leaned closer and lowered her voice, clearly uneasy. "Are you sure we're alright with this disguise?"
"Relax," the woman in the dress replied coolly, her voice oozing calm confidence. She tilted her glass slightly and took another sip. "We're rich tourists on vacation. That's all anyone needs to believe."
"But, Mistress... you're revealing a bit too much," the second maid added nervously. She adjusted her glasses and glanced down at the low neckline of her superior's dress.
The woman lowered her sunglasses just enough to meet her maid's gaze, one brow arched in amusement. "The Royal Navy shows twice the cleavage and calls it formal wear. Even I got used to it," she whispered, her voice so low that only the two maids could hear.
The maid with glasses sighed. "What's our next target, Mistress Denver?"
Denver-856 raised a finger. "Don't address me with my name, I prefer you address me at our codenames."
The maid with glasses lower it head, shakingly. "Un-understood."
"We follow the main plan," she answered simply, setting her now-empty glass on the table with a quiet clink.
Both maids nodded. Unlike the flashy and impractical Royal Navy maid uniforms designed more for ceremony than subtlety - their plain outfits helped them blend in. The kind of look no one would give a second thought.
"Scylla," Denver-856 began, "you'll continue your daily routine. Go to the market, buy groceries, and listen for gossip. If anything sounds off, report it."
"Yes, Mistress," Scylla replied with a small bow.
"Enterprise," Denver-856 continued, turning to the second maid, "stay by my side. Act as my attendant. Keep an eye out for anything unusual, and let me know. You're my eyes in the back of my head."
"Understood, Mistress," Maid Enterprise responded, bowing slightly with crisp precision.
"Good." With that, Denver-856 stood, brushing invisible dust from her skirt, and walked toward the direction of the beach, the hem of her dress fluttering around her knees.
Denver's Thoughts:
Why the whole 'rich tourist in Rome' act? Simple. I'd rather sip juice under the sun and wear a sundress than spend a week crawling through the underbrush in woodland camo smelling like a damn cave troll. Sorry, Arizona - I respect your Spec Ops roots, but this mission? This one's CIA-style. Blend in, act the part, and let my submarine handle the dirty work - tapping into the enemy's communication cables while I enjoy the best view in town, and food.
Deep beneath the glittering turquoise waters off the coast of Sardegna's capital, Rome. One of America's most advanced next-generation Hunter-Killer Submarines lurked in silence. Camouflaged by depth and shadows, it clung to the seafloor like a predator waiting in ambush.
Inside the dimly lit control room, Manjuus in navy-blue vests and tiny tactical helmets scurried about, their plushy yellow forms strangely efficient as they operated the ship's complex systems. Meowfficers, equally odd in appearance but with the air of seasoned officers, monitored status feeds with narrowed eyes.
A tiny underwater probe launched from one of the torpedo bays, gliding silently through the murky current. The probe hugged the seabed, sensors whirring softly as it searched for its target - an undersea communications cable running from Sardegna to the Iron Blood territories.
The moment it found the cable, a Manjuu in oversized headphones gave a confident thumbs-up, his stubby fingers barely reaching above the console. The probe latched on, and the operation began. Streams of encrypted data flowed into the sub's systems, where it was instantly relayed to onboard decryption suites. A wall of green code scrolled across a monitor. The Manjuus leaned forward, listening.
Rome — Beachfront Observation
Meanwhile, on the sun-drenched shores of Sardegna's capital, Denver-856 strode along the beachfront promenade in her crisp sundress, her wide-brimmed hat shielding her eyes from the glare. She walked with a casual grace, flanked on either side by her maids Scylla and Maid Enterprise - who, despite their traditional uniforms, looked every bit like the dutiful attendants of a wealthy tourist.
The beach was bustling with life - laughing children, sunbathing civilians, and members of Sardegna's military lounging in casual attire. Denver's gaze swept over the scene until it locked onto two unmistakable figures reclining in the sun: one with luxurious red hair, the other a playful shade of purple.
Without saying a word, Denver-856 tilted her head subtly.
Scylla, ever perceptive, leaned closer and whispered, "Zara and Pola. Heavy Cruisers of the Sardegna Empire."
Denver-856 smirked faintly. "Ah, yes... Saint Louis and Honolulu, but... pasta."
Maid Enterprise blinked. "Mistress Dian are you referring to the Eagle Union Cruisers?"
"I am," she replied simply.
But then something – someone caught her attention. Her brows furrowed beneath her shades. Amid the two Cruisers, splashing and laughing in the surf like a giddy schoolboy, was a bald man.
Her mouth hung open for a beat. "The... fuck. It's Mussolini."
Scylla nodded gravely. "He's the Prime Minister of Sardegna. He was the one who pushed for the empire's break from the Alliance. And he's been a vocal supporter of integrating Siren tech."
Denver-856 narrowed her eyes. "If this op goes hot, he's priority target number one."
She turned to her team. "Scylla, time for your usual market sweep. Listen, observe, blend in."
Scylla gave a soft bow. "Understood, Mistress," she said, before slipping away into the crowd with practiced ease.
Denver-856 and Maid Enterprise continued down to the beach. Finding a quiet patch of sand behind a cluster of umbrellas, Maid Enterprise rolled out a blanket with military efficiency and popped open a collapsible umbrella to provide shade.
"Mistress, should we change into swimwear?" she asked, glancing around at the beachgoers.
Denver-856 shot her a dry look. "We're here to observe and listen, not to sunbathe."
Without argument, Maid Enterprise settled beside her and pulled out what looked like a picnic basket. Inside, hidden beneath layers of snacks and utensils, was a compact listening device tuned into a directional mic array, pointed discreetly at the trio frolicking in the surf.
"Earbuds in?" Denver-856 asked.
Maid Enterprise gave her a thumbs-up.
"Good." She pause - assessing something. "Did you bring snacks?"
"Yes, Mistress. Dried peaches, salted crackers, and water."
"Perfect. Now..." She slid on her earbuds and leaned back casually. "Let's see what Italy's finest are gossiping about today."
Unaware of the silent threat just meters away, Sardegna's security personnel continued their watch with lazy detachment. None suspected that, behind an umbrella and a straw basket, the heart of their Empire's leadership was being quietly, efficiently monitored.
Zara leaned back on her beach towel, brows furrowed beneath her sunglasses. "Sir?" she asked, hesitant. "Why aren't we doubling the Empire's security?"
Mussolini, reclining comfortably in a beach chair with a towel draped around his neck like a prizefighter, waved off the concern with a lazy hand.
"I don't think we're next," he said casually. "All our spies report the Alliance is preparing to strike mainland Europe. If they were going to hit us, our Royal Navy infiltrators would've given us a heads-up."
Zara pursed her lips. "But, sir... one of the Iron Blood and Sakura Empire spies was recently captured and eliminated. Isn't that alarming?"
"I know, I know," Mussolini muttered, waving his hand again like he was swatting away a fly. "But if they do attack, we have the PR Ships on standby. They'll handle any Modern Kansens the Alliance throws at us. Besides..." He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "I recalled Impero's fleet from North Africa to bolster our home defenses."
Pola blinked. "You mean... Impero's entire fleet?"
"Yes," he replied, brushing off the unease in his own voice.
Pola gave a small, awkward nod. "Ah... I-I see."
"For now," Mussolini continued, forcing a smile, "just relax. Enjoy the sun. You're both being deployed tomorrow, so take the chance to rest."
"Thank you, sir," Zara and Pola said in unison.
Just then, the sound of engines echoed down the boulevard. A convoy of black staff cars pulled up along the seaside road. Doors opened, and Littorio stepped out, flanked by stern-faced officers and a security detail. She carried a manila folder under one arm and marched toward the beach with urgency in her stride.
"Il Duce," she said without pleasantries, "we just received a report from Iron Blood. It concerns Azur Lane they're on the move."
Zara and Pola jolted upright, nearly knocking over their sun chairs.
"Wait—right now?!" Zara blurted.
Mussolini's eyes narrowed. "Is Bismarck just being paranoid again? We've heard this tune before."
Littorio shook her head firmly. "No, sir. She's dead serious. The Sakura Empire's front has gone quiet. Azur Lane now has the operational freedom to strike Siren Strongholds and raid Crimson Axis territories. The Iron Blood believes we could be next."
Pola tapped a finger to her chin. "I heard rumors... about a Destroyer except it fights like a Cruiser. They said she managed to defeat and capture Odin. She's still in Azur Lane custody, isn't she?"
"She is," Littorio confirmed. "Iron Blood's tried to recover her, but failed. That's why Bismarck's warning us. These 'Modern Kansens' are on another level. Odin was a PR Ship—and even she was captured easily."
Mussolini crossed his arms defiantly. "Marco Polo can handle one of them, I'm sure."
Littorio wasn't convinced. "Maybe. But until then, we raise our defenses. We don't know when or where Azur Lane will strike."
She handed over the folder. "This contains everything Iron Blood's spies managed to recover on the Modern Kansens. Many of them didn't survive to get this intel out."
Mussolini accepted the folder with a grim expression. "Fine."
Without another word, he rose from his chair and walked toward the waiting convoy. A bodyguard opened the car door, and Mussolini slipped inside. Littorio and the other officers followed, the doors slamming shut behind them.
The engines roared back to life, and the convoy sped off toward the Sardegna Military Base.
Zara and Pola remained on the beach, continuing their sunbathing under the warm Sardegnan sun. As Littorio departed with Mussolini, one of the officers tagging along hesitated—then chose to stay behind. His eyes wandered, eventually landing on the two girls across the sands.
Not far away, Denver-856 and Maid Enterprise lounged casually on their beach towels—but their attention wasn't on the sea.
He had been glancing at them for quite a while now, noticing they were looking at him – he approached them. Security Details in tow.
"He's making his move," Denver-856 muttered under her breath, sipping her drink. "He's coming toward us. Be ready, he probably wants to chat with us."
Maid Enterprise gave a short nod, pretending not to notice him. She began assembling a sandwich with deliberate care, trying to keep her hands from trembling. Denver-856, on the other hand, stayed relaxed and poised, eyes half-closed behind her sunglasses.
The officer and his security detail stopped near them. He paused, looking them over with curiosity and suspicion.
Denver broke the silence, speaking in Latin. "Estne aliquid mali, officialis?"
(Is something wrong, Officer?)
Denver-856 had been sent to one of the Royal Navy's prestigious universities to study Latin, alongside Scylla and Maid Enterprise. Despite starting later than the two maids, Denver-856 mastered the language in just a few weeks—an impressive feat that surprised even the instructors. Scylla and Maid Enterprise, who had a head start, took nearly a month to reach the same level of fluency.
The man blinked, clearly surprised. "Latin? "I didn't expect you to speak Latin... Are you from around here, Miss?"
"I was born in Sardegna, yes." Denver-856 tilted her head slightly, letting her brattish tone sneak through. "But I grew up in Eagle Union. Came back last year to reconnect with culture."
"I see... well, name's Marco Ricci. Commander Marco Ricci," he said, offering a handshake.
"Dian," she replied smoothly, accepting it with a light touch. "And this is my maid, Elis."
Denver-856 gave Maid Enterprise a codename following the first alphabet name.
He nodded to Maid Enterprise who gave a subtle polite bow, remaining silent.
Cmdr. Marco gestured to the sand beside them. "Mind if I sit?"
Denver-856 glanced sideways at the spot, then gave a nonchalant shrug. "Sure. It's not reserved."
He sat without hesitation, brushing the sand from his pants. Denver-856 didn't flinch. Maid Enterprise was about to speak, but Denver-856 raised a hand, stopping her.
Cmdr. Marco signaled to his Security Details, who slowly dispersed, keeping just enough distance to watch discreetly.
"My apologies about the security. Didn't mean to scare you ladies," he said, leaning back with a smile.
"Yeah... they startled me a little," Denver-856 replied, tilting her head. "That's a lot of security for one commander, isn't it?"
Cmdr. Marco scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "Yeah, well... After what happened in the Sakura Empire, nobody's taking chances anymore."
That got Denver-856's interest. She leaned forward just slightly. "Oh? I've been kinda out of the loop. What happened over there?"
Cmdr. Marco lowered his voice, eyes darting toward the horizon. "Word is... high-ranking officers - gone. Heads exploded. Like, literally. They think it was a sniper, or maybe something worse. No one really knows."
Denver-856 widened her eyes, feigning fear. "That's... horrifying."
Beside her, Maid Enterprise froze, stiff as a board. The pieces of Her Majesty's dossier clicking together like a loaded magazine.
'Target shows signs of paranoia. Brutal execution style. Psychotic tendencies. Possibly dangerous.'
She trembled slightly, recalling the chilling report Her Majesty had given about this man.
Cmdr. Marco noticed. "Umm... Dian? Is your maid alright?"
Denver-867 turned her head, pretending to show concern. "Elis? She gets nervous when she hears stuff like this. Sensitive soul."
Cmdr. Marco nodded. "Understandable. I got chills hearing it too."
"So.... Do you live around here?" he asked, casually shifting the topic.
"Nah, but I rented a house near the shore. Not far from the capital." She replied.
Cmdr. Marco glanced at his watch and swore under his breath. "Damn, I'm late for a meeting..."
He fumbled for a pen and a small notepad, quickly scribbling down something. Then, he handed her the paper.
"Here - my address. And my telephone. If you ever want to talk I'm off-duty Sundays. Feel free to call."
Denver-856 took the note hesitantly, playing innocent. "Sure... why not."
With that, he sprang to his feet, shouted something to his guards, and rushed off toward the cars. Tires screeched as the convoy sped off into the distance.
Maid Enterprise stared after him in disbelief. "Did he just... give you his address?" she asked.
Denver-856 blinked. "Did that guy think I liked him?"
"I think... he did," Maid Enterprise replied, adjusting her glasses. "Mistress, did you just seduce him... without trying?"
"No."
She stared at the piece of paper. "William, you damn bastard... you were right. These 1940s guys do have a weakness for women in sundresses."
William had drilled it into her in a one-day crash course back at Pearl. A mix of science, psychology, and utter nonsense. But apparently, it worked.
Back at the Royal Navy University in London, she'd been taught to act like a lady of high society. Later, she'd been trained to become one - aristocratic grace with steel beneath her smile.
Denver-856 handed the note to Maid Enterprise. "Give the address to Scylla when she returns. I want her to sweep that house. Anything we can dig up for the operation helps."
"Yes, Mistress." Maid Enterprise curly bowed.
Marketplace – Sardegna Capital
Scylla walked calmly through the bustling open-air market, a basket of groceries balanced in one hand, her other hand resting loosely at her side. Though she looked like any other elegant maid running errands, her sharp eyes and alert ears were tuned to every whisper and murmur in the crowd. The vibrant chatter around her wasn't just idle gossip - it was information.
Her mission today was simple: blend in and listen.
Much of the talk was predictable: rumors, misinformation, and bloated propaganda trying to twist public perception of the recent fall of the Sakura Empire. Most citizens, blinded by nationalist pride or terrified ignorance, believed what they were told - that Azur Lane had become an unstoppable, merciless war machine, slaughtering officers and commanders without hesitation.
Scylla turned slightly, pretending to examine a crate of lemons while eavesdropping on a nearby conversation between a vegetable vendor and a couple of local shoppers.
"Hey, did you hear about the news from the East? Sakura Empire surrendered."
"Yeah, I heard... They say the new shipgirls from Azur Lane just decapitated all their officers. Snipers. Like demons in skirts."
"I'm scared we might be next."
"Relax. Littorio and the others will protect us. They already drove the Sirens out of the Mediterranean."
"Yeah. Littorio, Veneto, and Roma kicked them out like cowards. We're safe."
Scylla nearly scoffed aloud at the blind optimism. 'They believe they're safe because of three battleships? The Sirens didn't flee out of fear—they redirected their forces to defend their collapsing foothold in the Southern Pacific... and Azur Lane is already tightening the noose there.'
She resumed walking through the cobblestone streets, keeping her pace measured. Just as she turned a corner, a small figure darted out from between the crowd and collided softly into her side.
Scylla looked down. A little girl, no older than six, was staring up at her with teary eyes.
"I - I'm so sorry," the girl whimpered, already trembling.
"Oh, don't cry," Scylla said gently, kneeling to meet her at eye level. "I'm not mad. Are you hurt?"
The girl shook her head as she wiped her cheeks. "I was careless..."
"It's alright. I wasn't looking either." Scylla gave her a gentle pat on the head.
A few moments later, the girl's Mother pushed through the crowd, panic on her face until her eyes landed on the pair.
"There you are! I've been looking everywhere for you!" she cried, then stopped short upon seeing Scylla's maid uniform. "Oh! I - thank you. I hope my daughter didn't trouble you."
"No trouble at all," Scylla replied with a small smile. "She's safe. That's what matters."
The girl ran to her mother and hugged her tightly. "I'm sorry, Mama. I won't let go of your hand again."
The mother bowed in thanks, then took her daughter's hand as they turned to leave. Scylla offered them a small wave goodbye.
"I'm sorry..." she thought as they disappeared into the crowd. 'This peaceful place... it won't be peaceful for long.'
Safe House – Rented Apartment, Outskirts of the Capital
Scylla returned just as the golden light of the afternoon dipped into dusk. She shut the door behind her and announced, "I'm home."
Maid Enterprise, already waiting in the living room, greeted her with a nod. "Welcome back. Mistress Denver has a new assignment for you tonight."
She handed Scylla a slip of paper.
Scylla took it, scanning the contents. Her expression tightened slightly. "She got intel that fast?"
"She did," Maid Enterprise replied. "Apparently... she seduced the commander without even trying." There was a tone of mild admiration and disbelief in her voice.
Together, they carried the groceries into the small kitchen. On the way, the topic stayed on Denver-856 and her latest encounter.
"Oh - and before you head out," Maid Enterprise added, "Mistress Denver instructed that you take Lasagna Team along for support."
Scylla nodded thoughtfully. "Understood. I'll contact them shortly."
Lasagna Team - an elite unit of Manjuu Seal operatives assigned to Submarine Denver served as her embedded intelligence and sabotage team, ready to mobilize at a moment's notice.
Sardegna Empire Military Headquarters
Vittorio glared at the late-arriving Commanding Officer, who was panting heavily at the meeting table. From her expression, she was clearly not amused. Aquila, Roma, and Impero were also staring at him, each wearing a suspicious look. The entire room was dead silent, the only sound being Cmdr. Marco's heavy breathing.
Vittorio was the first to speak.
"Commander," she said sharply, her glare growing sharper. "Were you hanging out with another woman... again?"
Aquila, Roma, and Impero leaned in with intensified glares - he was like a melting ice cube under the Sardegnan sun. Cmdr. Marco started sweating bullets - not from the run, but from the pressure in the room.
He raised both hands in a weak attempt to calm them.
"Ladies, ladies... I just talked to someone."
"Who is this 'someone'?" Roma asked, her voice low and firm.
Cmdr. Marco turned as if to make a run for it, but Roma and Impero each grabbed one of his arms. He struggled, but their grips only tightened.
"Struggling won't help, Commander," Impero said, calm and composed.
Defeated, Cmdr. Marco slumped slightly. There was no escaping - not when Capital Ship-class shipgirls were the ones restraining you.
"Okay, okay... I just had a little chat with some rich girl at the beach. The same one Zara and Pola went to," he admitted.
The girls exchanged glances silently, then turned back to him and said in unison: "What's her name?"
"D-Dian," Cmdr. Marco stammered. "She said she was born here in Sardegna but grew up in the Eagle Union. She's just visiting."
"That's all?" Aquila pressed.
"Yes! That's all! Now, please let me go - my arms are gonna break!" he cried.
They released him, and he collapsed onto the floor, landing on his rear with a thud.
"That's enough, all of you. We have a meeting to start," said a small voice from behind.
Everyone turned. A short, ash-haired girl wearing a green cape stood at the door, a sword hanging at her left hip.
"Conte di Cavour. You've finally arrived," Vittorio said.
"Everyone, pay attention," she continued.
Conte de Cavour pulled a stack of papers from an envelope and passed them around. Cmdr. Marco got up and skimmed his copy.
"Gibraltar and Alexandria's ports are being upgraded. It's not just minor expansion - they're preparing to receive ships over 300 meters long. That's even larger than any known Azur Lane ship."
"Over 300 meters?" Roma echoed. "Why? They already have ports for battleships."
"The report doesn't say battleship - it says ships," Cmdr. Marco replied, now visibly uneasy.
"Meaning..." Vittorio said grimly, "they're getting ready for that giant carrier."
The room went quiet.
The Axis Alliance had only scraps of information on CVN-80 Enterprise. Their spy in the Eagle Union had been neutralized, and the only other intelligence came from a Sakura Empire embassy memo - one claiming the carrier had defeated an Arbiter solo. It wasn't much.
"Aquila, Impero, any thoughts?" Conte de Cavour asked.
Both shook their heads. Aquila spoke up.
"If it were the Royal Navy or standard Eagle Union Carriers, yes - we could match them. But her? I... don't know."
"If we can't beat her from the air or on the surface," Cmdr. Marco said slowly, "then we'll go underneath."
"What do you mean?" Vittorio asked. "Elaborate."
"Leonardo da Vinci and Torricelli will strike from below. An underwater ambush."
"No. That won't work," came a new voice from the doorway.
Everyone turned. Littorio stepped in with her usual confident stride.
"Littorio. Did you manage to convince him?" Vittorio asked.
"Yes," she said. "He's on board. And as for the submarine idea - it's already been tried."
"What happened?" Cmdr. Marco asked.
"Iron Blood attempted a Wolf-Pack Ambush. Total failure. They were detected before visual contact. Sakura subs tried to gather intel too, but they were intercepted by long-range ASW patrols. Eagle Union's ASW capabilities are surgical - they can hit you without even seeing you."
The silence returned thicker, heavier.
"But..." Littorio added. Everyone looked up again, desperate for something hopeful.
"Lord Bismarck sent us help." She laid a new file on the table, with a label.
Cmdr. Marco read the title, confused. "Siren Weather Tower?"
"Yes. With this, we might turn the tides. It can create storms in calm seas. Devices like this were common in sight at Siren Bases"
"But the sea around here is already calm," Roma said, confused. "Why would we want that?"
Cmdr. Marco's eyes lit up, as if solving a puzzle. "Of course... Carriers can't operate in stormy seas or high state waves. They'll lose the ability to launch airstrikes and maintain control of the skies. No airstrikes. No air superiority. They'll be forced to fight on the surface - with only a single 5-inch gun."
"Exactly," Littorio nodded. "We'll force them into our battlefield."
She patted Cmdr. Marco on the shoulder. "Also... Lord Bismarck is sending reinforcements in case surface combat isn't enough. Friedrich, Ulrich, Mainz, and August von Parseval."
"Wait—they're coming here?" Cmdr. Marco's eyes widened.
"Yes. They're en route to the Iron Blood–Sardegna border to support us." She paused, noticing Cmdr. Marco's suddenly pale face.
"Something wrong?" she asked.
"N-no, just thinking about... our current plans, yes. thinking through our strategy," Cmdr. Marco replied nervously.
Roma facepalmed, her fingers dragging down her face in exasperation as the memory hit her like a slap. "It's Mainz, isn't it?"
Cmdr. Marco nodded, drenched in cold sweat. "I... I added milk to her black coffee..."
A gasp echoed, such atrocity committed – it's like putting pineapple on a pizza at Mainz eyes.