Azur Lane Base
July 22, 1942
1:00 PM
A Japanese Aegis Destroyer was being carefully guided by harbor tugs as it maneuvered into its docking position. Harbor Manjuus stood ready with a gangway for the vessel's personnel.
JS Maya slowly descended the gangway prepared by the Manjuus. She had just returned from a recent mission in the Southern Indian Ocean, leading a Task Force composed of Sakura Empire shipgirls and a few Azur Lane allies.
Two Takao-class cruisers and one Shoukaku-class aircraft carrier docked alongside the modern destroyer.
Atago spoke, her tone light. "I heard everyone is celebrating. Do you think we could join them?"
Takao raised a skeptical brow. "I know you just want to spend time with Lucas."
"Hai~" Atago replied, feigning innocent cuteness.
"I knew it."
Zuikaku mused aloud, "Perhaps indulging in a little bit of alcohol wouldn't be so bad?"
Ayanami hurried towards them, offering her congratulations on their successful mission. "Congratulations on your recent victory," she said with a polite bow.
"Arigato, Ayanami."
"You should have been there, Ayanami, to witness the prowess of Yukikaze the Great!" Yukikaze declared proudly.
JS Maya walked directly to Ayanami and asked, her voice direct, "Where is he?"
Ayanami knew instantly who she was referring to. She stammered, searching for the right words. "Umm... ah...no..."
At the Bar
In the absence of Enterprise-80, Bunker Hill-76, and Frigate Belfast, JS Maya seemed to have appointed herself their unofficial guardian.
She witnessed the same chaotic scene that had greeted Sheffield earlier: a throng of drunken Army and Navy personnel sprawled across the entrance, with others vomiting precariously close to the sidewalk.
"This place has been trashed by these drunken men," Takao commented, her expression disapproving.
Yukikaze inadvertently stepped into a puddle of vomit. "Ewww!" She frantically ran to the nearest patch of grass and began scrubbing her shoe with vigorous intensity.
"Umm... Are you certain you wish to enter this establishment, desu?" Ayanami asked, her voice laced with concern.
"Hai," JS Maya replied, her tone carrying a hint of seriousness and cold determination.
She entered the bar to find the revelry in full swing. The floor was littered with empty alcohol bottles, a testament to the unrestrained celebration. Her gaze immediately found Lucas, partying with the unrestrained enthusiasm of a stereotypical Marine, as he upended a bucket filled with a dubious mixture of alcohol.
A throng of women surrounded him, caught up in the celebratory atmosphere, their hands finding their way over his body. Lucas had recently gained a certain notoriety among the local ladies for his decisive interventions in cases of harassment.
The crowd around him roared their approval. "Lucas! Lucas! Lucas!" they chanted as he drained the bucket.
With a triumphant flourish, he raised the empty bucket with his right hand. "YEAH!" The entire bar erupted in cheers.
"Whoa... Yeah...!"
Ayanami, Yukikaze, Zuikaku, and Takao stared in open-mouthed astonishment as they witnessed him empty the entire bucket.
Takao muttered, "Imp-Impossible!"
"Ara~Ara... That was... interesting~" Atago purred, suggestively licking her lip.
"He drank it all!" Zuikaku exclaimed in disbelief.
JS Maya, however, was far from amused by his boisterous behavior. She subtly summoned a frag grenade into her hand. Zuikaku, noticing the deadly object, asked hesitantly, "Umm... Maya-san, what are you going to do with that?"
Ignoring her question, JS Maya hurled the grenade at the vintage Zenith radio. The resulting explosion silenced the music and sent a wave of shock through the bar. Everyone stared at the smoking remains of the radio.
"Oh, come on! Who is it this time!?"
"What the Fuck!"
"Who the fuck blew up the music?!"
"Great, the fun is dead!"
Zuikaku ventured, "I believe everyone is rather displeased with your actions."
Lucas, amidst the sudden silence, noticed a woman standing in the bar's entrance, radiating a palpable aura of menace that sent a shiver down his spine. He swallowed hard.
"Maya?"
Everyone else in the bar also turned to face JS Maya, the intensity of her presence washing over them. They simply stared, feeling the oppressive weight of her aura.
"Are you the one who did that?!" some anonymous drunkard yelled from the back.
With a swift, deliberate movement, she slammed the butt of her katana's sheath against the wooden floor, the sharp clang reverberating through the stunned silence. An almost tangible tension filled the air as energy began to coalesce around her Katana. Slowly, dramatically, she unsheathed the gleaming blade.
Every man in the bar instinctively understood the unspoken rules: if you angered an Asian woman, you braced yourself for two things – a withering glare and the potential for a well-aimed flip-flop.
Nobody had mentioned a Katana.
A collective scramble ensued. Patrons dove over the bar counter like extras in a Hollywood action movie, seeking refuge behind it. Others crawled under tables, while a brave few attempted the classic escape through the nearest window.
The women, perhaps more familiar with JS Maya's temperament, made a hasty retreat towards the back door of the bar, hoping to avoid the path of her katana.
Lucas dropped his empty bucket and scratched his head in bewildered confusion as everyone abandoned him. He stood alone, looking like a child caught misbehaving by his mother, then offered JS Maya a sheepish greeting as if nothing untoward had occurred.
"Umm... Congrats on your successful mission...?" he offered, punctuating his awkward smile with a hesitant finger gun.
She leveled her katana at him, her expression deadly serious. "Leave this place. Head to the car. You're drunk."
Lucas attempted a weak protest. "Umm...."
"Now!" she barked, causing him to flinch slightly.
"Alright, alright. Just... don't cut me, okay...?" he said, raising both hands in the air in a gesture of surrender.
The few shipgirls still seated at the bar watched in stunned silence as she single-handedly quelled the raucous party and brought the usually boisterous Lucas to heel.
Atago smirked knowingly. "Hmm... I sense a rather... different dynamic between those two."
JS Maya sheathed her katana, and the two left the bar. Lucas followed her at a slow, unsteady pace, his intoxication evident. She then entered another nearby bar, presumably on a separate mission.
Inside the second bar, Laffey-200 was exactly where Sheffield had last seen her: slumped over the counter, surrounded by an impressive collection of empty alcohol bottles. The other patrons wisely maintained a respectful distance, well aware of the potential consequences of disturbing the inebriated bunny.
"Laffey, that's enough... you're far too drunk to even stand up," JS Maya said gently, attempting to coax her away from the counter.
Laffey-200 stubbornly gripped an empty bottle and the edge of the counter, resisting JS Maya's efforts to pull her away.
"No... I don't wanna..." Laffey-200 mumbled childishly.
JS Maya sighed deeply, acutely aware of her lack of persuasive skills. However, a previous conversation with Bunker Hill-76 had provided some insight into dealing with their perpetually tipsy comrade.
Leaning close to Laffey's ear, JS Maya whispered, "I have a bottle of Sake in my room. I'll give it to you if you do as I say."
Laffey-200 loosened her grip on the counter and turned to face her, her eyes widening slightly. "Really?"
"Hai," JS Maya nodded, offering a small, encouraging smile.
"Is that a promise...?" Laffey-200 asked again, seeking confirmation.
"Hai~ It's a promise."
Laffey-200 raised both hands, signaling her desire to be carried. "Carry me." She was far too intoxicated to walk or even stand properly.
JS Maya had no choice but to comply with the unusual request. This was the only way to persuade the stubborn bunny without resorting to more... forceful methods. "Okay, then..."
JS Maya carefully lifted Laffey-200 into her arms, cradling her like a baby. Laffey, in turn, seemed to embrace the role, snuggling contentedly against JS Maya. The sight of the stoic destroyer carrying a grown shipgirl like an infant was undeniably surreal.
Outside, Lucas was still struggling to maintain his balance on the sidewalk, his inebriation making each step a precarious endeavor. He watched in bewildered disbelief as JS Maya emerged from the second bar carrying the limp form of Laffey-200 without any sign of struggle.
"What... the... actual, fuck. Damn, I'm drunk," he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief.
Lucas knew that any attempt to forcibly remove Laffey would have likely resulted in a violent confrontation, possibly ending with someone – likely the unfortunate intervener – being severely injured by the surprisingly strong and unpredictable bunny.
JS Maya walked towards the modified hot rod they had acquired from their enigmatic benefactor. She carefully lowered Laffey-200 into the passenger seat.
"Get in," she instructed, as Lucas fumbled with the driver's side door and clumsily slid into the seat.
Lucas was far too intoxicated to drive safely, so JS Maya took the wheel.
"Where are we heading?" Lucas slurred.
"To the Police Station," she replied, pulling away from the curb.
Jail Cell, Police Station
JS Maya and Essex-9 walked together towards a specific jail cell to retrieve its occupant. They stopped before the designated cell, their gazes falling upon the sleeping figure within.
"How long has she been here?" JS Maya inquired.
"Just since this morning," Essex-9 replied, then sharply rapped the cell bars with her baton to rouse the prisoner. "Wake up! You're free to leave."
Essex-12 slowly stirred from her alcohol-induced slumber, yawning as if it were the most normal thing in the world. "Huh? It's morning already...."
"I'll handle this," JS Maya said, as Essex-9 unlocked the cell door. JS Maya stepped inside and looked down at the still-groggy Essex-12.
"I'm only doing this once. If you get yourself into trouble like this again, I will personally contact Miss Enterprise," JS Maya said, her voice low but carrying a clear undertone of warning.
"Okay..." was the only word Essex-12 managed to utter.
She was dimly aware that her actions had consequences. As an active Warship/Kansen, being incapacitated due to excessive drunkenness could potentially disrupt their upcoming operations.
Outside
Lucas and Laffey-200 waited in the car for the two to emerge from the Police Station. After a short delay, JS Maya and a slightly disheveled Essex-12 appeared.
"Took you long enough," Lucas mumbled, still feeling the effects of his earlier revelry.
"I still needed to clear her name and paperwork from the police records," JS Maya explained.
"Oh..."
Essex-12 attempted to climb into the car's passenger seat, but her coordination was still severely impaired. She misjudged the distance and ended up diving face-first into the seat. Laffey-200, already occupying the passenger seat, remained completely unfazed.
Essex-9, Intrepid, Bunker Hill, and the remaining police personnel watched Essex-12's clumsy antics with a mixture of amusement and exasperation.
"What is she doing?" Essex-9 exclaimed, slapping a hand to her forehead in a facepalm.
"Still drunk, huh?" Bunker Hill chuckled.
Essex-12 finally managed to right herself in the passenger seat as JS Maya started the car's engine.
"Are you alright?" Lucas asked, glancing at her with concern.
"Yeah, I'm fine... Is there any music on the radio?" Essex-12 slurred.
Lucas fiddled with the car's sound system, selecting a song. "This one's good," he smirked, pressing the play button.
Essex-9 leaned towards the car, giving her counterpart a stern warning. "If I see you drunk like this again, I will personally beat you with my baton! Got that!"
The car's speakers then blared the opening chords of the song "Fuck the Police."
The Police Officers standing outside the station could only watch in stunned silence as the car drove off, the defiant lyrics echoing in the air.
Essex-12, with a mischievous grin, extended a middle finger towards her exasperated counterpart.
"That's quite bold of them," Intrepid commented, stifling a chuckle.
"I'll get her next time," Essex-9 vowed, a visible twitch in her right eyebrow betraying her irritation.
Madagascar Siren Held Waters
June 3, 1942
1:00 PM
SSN-803 USS Arizona
Arizona stared intently at the monitor screen displaying the ominous image of the Siren Blockade Device that had effectively cut off the escape route of the two young submarines. The Virginia-class submarine's photonics mast barely broke the surface, its sensors focused on the imposing barrier.
His usual stoic demeanor was replaced by a grim determination. He felt a heavy weight of responsibility for the two submarines under his command, and the thought of any harm befalling them was unacceptable. Failure in this instance was not an option.
Arizona instructed one of the Manjuu to initiate a detailed scan of the seafloor. The Manjuu responsible for underwater mapping diligently pressed the necessary buttons, and a comprehensive map of the seabed appeared on the navigation table.
Arizona meticulously examined the underwater terrain, searching for any potential routes or gaps that the two smaller submarines could utilize to escape. However, his hopes dwindled as he realized the Siren Blockade Device extended to the maximum diving depth of World War II-era submarines, effectively sealing off any direct underwater passage.
His own Virginia-class submarine was far too large to navigate any of the narrow gaps in the seafloor. He found himself in a precarious situation: the two submarines couldn't dive deeper, and he couldn't fit
through any discernible escape routes.
"Damn it!... those Sirens know exactly what they're doing," he muttered to himself, frustration mounting.
He was left with a stark choice: destroy a section of the Siren Blockade Device to allow the two submarines to pass. However, this aggressive action would undoubtedly alert the Sirens to their presence, potentially jeopardizing the entire operation.
As time ticked by, Arizona wrestled with the dwindling options. He was rapidly approaching the point where extreme measures, overwhelming force, might be the only viable solution to breach the Siren Blockade Device that stood as an impassable obstacle.
Arizona gripped the edge of the navigation table so tightly that his knuckles turned white, his resolve hardening as he considered ordering the launch of MK48 Torpedoes and Tomahawk Cruise Missiles to obliterate the barrier.
BGM-109 Tactical Tomahawk Missiles were being readied in their Vertical Launch System (VLS) tubes and Vertical Payload Modules (VPMs), while the torpedo tubes were being loaded with MK48 heavyweight torpedoes. The Weapons Operator/Manjuu awaited the launch signal, the silence in the control room thick with anticipation.
Then, one of the Meowfficer crew members responsible for underwater navigation raised a paw and made a series of insistent squeaky noises to gain Arizona's attention.
The persistent squeaking finally broke through Arizona's intense focus, and he glanced down at the Meowfficer, a flicker of annoyance quickly replaced by curiosity.
"What is it?"
The Meowfficer hopped down from its chair, abandoning its station, and scurried towards him, nimbly climbing onto the nearest chair. It then proceeded to swipe its paws across the navigation screen, repeatedly tapping a specific area where a narrow gap appeared wide enough to potentially accommodate a Virginia-class submarine.
Arizona followed the Meowfficer's frantic paw movements, his gaze fixed on the indicated area of the screen. A small smile slowly began to form on his face.
"Good job... looks like we won't have to blow that shit up after all." He looked down at the Meowfficer. "I owe you a beer for that one," he said, a hint of genuine gratitude in his voice.
The navigator Meowfficer responded with a series of enthusiastic jumps, celebrating its crucial discovery. After a brief moment of shared relief, it returned to its station.
Arizona then addressed his crew. "Alright. Listen up! Let's head to this position and get those girls out of there."
The Virginia-class submarine smoothly turned to its port side, its powerful engines propelling it towards the location of the narrow gap. Arizona and the rest of his crew watched the monitor, their eyes fixed on their bearing.
The massive submarine carefully navigated the tight passage, its hull maneuvering with painstaking precision between the jagged rocks and coral formations on the seabed and the imposing Siren Blockade Device looming above. The conning tower passed within mere meters of the Siren barrier, the proximity causing a collective intake of breath in the control room.
An eerie silence descended upon the crew as they anticipated their safe passage through the narrow gap. Finally, the submarine emerged on the other side of the Siren Blockade Device, and a collective sigh of relief swept through the control room. The submarine then ascended to the operational depth suitable for World War II-era Submarines.
Arizona leaned towards the sonar panel. "Did you locate the girls?" he asked the Sonar Operator.
The Sonar Operator focused intently on the acoustic signatures of the two smaller submarines, taking a few tense seconds to pinpoint their exact location. However, the sonar also detected another, more ominous presence: a Siren submarine patrolling the same area.
"We need to hurry up before that Siren submarine detects them," Arizona urged, his voice now laced with urgency.
The Pilot/Manjuu carefully steered the Virginia-class submarine towards the location of the trapped submarines, the advanced stealth capabilities of the modern vessel allowing it to evade detection by the patrolling Pawns (Siren Destroyers) conducting anti-submarine warfare.
Albacore and Archerfish, their anxiety mounting with each passing moment, noticed the elongated black shape of a submarine approaching their position. Relief washed over them at the sight of the Virginia-class submarine.
"He's here," Albacore said, a hint of excitement and profound relief in her voice.
"Thank God, we can finally rest," Archerfish added, sounding utterly exhausted from the constant need to evade detection by passing Siren ships.
The two smaller submarines and their accompanying ROVs carefully docked with the larger Virginia-class submarine. The two ROVs were then secured in their designated underwater drone storage compartments.
The pressurized access door of the Virginia-Class Submarine opened, and the two relieved Submarine Shipgirls entered without hesitation, eager to escape the vulnerability of the open sea.
Arizona greeted the two young shipgirls inside his submarine, a hint of a smile on his face. "How was the swimming, girls?"
The two replied in unison, their tone decidedly unimpressed. "Not fun."
Siren Main Base
Sheffield and Minneapolis, accompanied by the AZ-2 Team, infiltrated the Siren Main Base with practiced stealth, carefully navigating the hastily constructed environment to evade the rudimentary security measures, particularly the sparse camera placements.
The base's rapid construction meant that crucial security infrastructure was largely absent. Intended initially as a temporary forward operating base to supplement their holdings in the Southern Pacific, the Sirens had quickly upgraded it to a main base after the loss of their primary forward base.
Minneapolis, ever pragmatic, suggested, "You know, you could use that drone thing to... recon for us."
Sheffield, however, had her own methods. "I know... but this is far more reliable." She handed Minneapolis a pair of high-resolution cameras. "You take the high ground and photograph everything. I'll search for any Siren files or documents."
Minneapolis nodded and seamlessly integrated parkour movements into her ascent of the Siren infrastructure. Below, Sheffield observed the Manjuus' unimpressed expressions. Earlier, she had attempted to control a small Hornet drone with disastrous results.
Sheffield had repeatedly crashed the Hornet drone into the Siren structures, convinced she could pilot it with the same finesse as Barb. Her repeated failures resulted in the destruction of all three Hornet drones she had at her disposal.
1
"You broke it!" Minneapolis exclaimed, witnessing Sheffield's latest collision with a Siren pillar structure.
Alex chimed in dryly, "That's the second time you've hit the exact same Siren structure."
Reluctantly, Sheffield abandoned her drone piloting aspirations, packing the mangled devices back into her backpack. "Don't tell him about this," she instructed the team.
"Why?" they echoed in unison.
"Just don't," she stated with her usual stoic expression, though a faint blush crept up her cheeks, betraying her embarrassment.
~Present~
Sheffield shook her head slightly, lightly slapping her cheek as if to physically banish the embarrassing memory. She refocused her attention on the immediate mission.
"You guys stay here," she ordered AZ-2 Team. "I'll go in. You secure anything of value on the ground."
"Orders from the boss were that we can't separa—" Alex began, but Sheffield cut him off.
"Understood." Her voice, though low, carried an undeniable authority.
Without wasting any time, she expertly navigated through the maze of buildings and crates. Her attention was drawn to a particularly well-guarded structure, similar in design to known Siren main buildings.
That seems far too important for a single building, she mused.
She didn't wait for the AZ-2 Team's response before disappearing from their sight.
"We're screwed," Gloria said, her voice laced with concern.
"Totally," Allan added, sounding exasperated.
"Women – why are they like this?" Alex exclaimed with dramatic hand gestures.
"I guess the boss is the only one tolerant enough to handle her," Marty offered.
Sheffield stealthily bypassed the guards at the building's entrance. The consistent design of Siren facilities, reminiscent of the forward operating base they had encountered previously, made navigating the interior hallways relatively straightforward.
She located her primary target: the Siren office room, where files and documents were likely stored. She cautiously opened the door, peering through the narrow gap to check for occupants. The room appeared empty.
She slipped inside, moving silently towards a desk positioned against a wall adorned with various defensive schematics. A detailed map of Madagascar and the entire Siren Main Base lay on the desk. She quickly took several photographs.
The door then creaked open, and a Siren entered, carrying a stack of files. The Siren closed the door behind her, oblivious to Sheffield's presence. After closing the door, she moved towards the desk to place the files down. However, she noticed a small pile of files discreetly placed on top of some other documents.
Her gaze swept across the room, noticing a vacant space on a nearby shelf. Activating her Siren detection, her eyes briefly glowed. She scanned the floor, her attention drawn to a series of boot prints that clearly didn't match the standard Siren footwear.
Sheffield quickly concealed herself behind one of the shelves, peering through the gaps as the Siren began to meticulously track the unfamiliar boot prints across the floor.
This is bad. I need to get out of here... Sheffield thought urgently.
Minneapolis' voice crackled through her comms. "Where are you? Where's the team? I'm at the entrance."
"I'll be there late... I've been cornered."
"Do you need assistance?"
"No. I can handle this."
"Alright."
Sheffield severed the connection, her focus entirely on the approaching Siren. She silently drew a suppressed pistol, waiting for the opportune moment as the Siren followed her tell-tale tracks.
The Siren then activated its thermal vision, instantly spotting Sheffield's heat signature behind the shelf. The Siren's rigging whirred to life, all Plasma Cannons locking onto her position.
"Shit."
The corner of the room where the shelf stood erupted in a violent explosion as the Siren unleashed a barrage of plasma fire. Sheffield narrowly dodged the attack, returning fire with her main weapon.
Outside the main building, Siren minions went about their routines, their daily tasks and patrols abruptly interrupted by the loud explosion emanating from one of the structures.
Sheffield leaped out of a shattered window of the Siren building, the enraged Siren hot on her heels. Both combatants exchanged fire in mid-air, a chaotic ballet of energy blasts and conventional rounds.
Below, the Manjuus, diligently gathering ground-level intelligence, were caught off guard by the sudden explosion.
"Shit, her cover's blown!" Alex yelled, spotting Sheffield's dramatic exit from the building.
"She needs support!" Gloria bellowed.
"Team, move out!" Alex ordered, leading the Manjuus into cover to provide suppressing fire for the ascending Maid.
Minneapolis, waiting at the designated entrance, witnessed the textbook Hollywood explosion with a grim certainty. She didn't need to guess the culprit.
"What did you do this time?" she exclaimed, watching Sheffield jump from the collapsing building, returning fire at her pursuer.
Minneapolis frantically radioed Arizona. "Arizona, Sheffield, and AZ-2 Team have been compromised!"
Aboard the submarine, Arizona had just finished reviewing the crucial intelligence gathered by the two submarines and the ROVs when the urgent comms alert chirped.
He snatched the headset. "What's the situation, Minneapolis?"
"She's engaged in a firefight with the Siren—"
Sheffield sprinted towards Minneapolis as AZ-2 Team laid down a heavy barrage of suppressing fire to cover their retreat. Gloria's M249 SAW tore through any pursuing Siren Minions.
Sheffield grabbed Minneapolis' arm urgently. "Let's get out of here! Our mission is compromised!"
Arizona listened to their hurried exchange over the radio, anxiety tightening his features. "I'll pick you up at our rendezvous point."
"Got it," Sheffield radioed back.
The two shipgirls and the Manjuus raced towards the shoreline where they had initially landed. Executor-class Sirens gave chase, their plasma cannons firing relentlessly.
"Follow me!" Minneapolis yelled, confident in the network of traps she had prepared for their escape.
Sheffield followed without question. "Alright!"The
AZ-2 Team didn't hesitate, their escape route having been thoroughly briefed.
The two reached the area where Minneapolis had strategically placed a series of traps. The pursuing Sirens, intent on capture, blindly followed them into the danger zone.
Arizona, recalling Minneapolis' expertise in unconventional warfare, had provided her with a pack of C4 and Claymore mines before the operation commenced.
The leading Sirens stumbled into one of her cleverly concealed traps, a cluster of C4 explosives. Minneapolis pressed the detonator.
"Eat this!"
The section of the forest where the Sirens had fallen into the trap erupted in a fiery inferno. Trees shook violently from the subsequent shockwave and the deafening explosion. The scene resembled a napalm strike in Vietnam.
"Whoa – yeah, eat that, Sirens!" Marty shouted, firing back at the remaining pursuers.
"Whoa, that's a lot of play-dough going off over there," Gloria commented, her tone a mix of awe and slight concern.
"Man, that's a lot of shrapnel," Allan muttered, his medic instincts kicking in.
"Eat this?" Sheffield asked Minneapolis, a hint of confusion in her voice.
"Oh... I just heard him say that when he was demonstrating how to set up those explosives," Minneapolis explained, a slight blush creeping up her cheeks as she recalled Arizona's surprisingly direct, almost incantatory, instructions: "Eat this" – boom.
As they continued their desperate flight, one of the pursuing Sirens stepped on a buried M-57 clacker. The hidden M18 Claymore mine detonated instantly, showering the unfortunate Siren with a lethal hail of ball bearings traveling at Mach 3. The shrapnel tore through the Siren's rigging, rendering it inoperable.
Sheffield glanced back at the massive explosion, a sudden realization dawning on her regarding the shared penchant for large explosions between the Eagle Union and America.
"Oh, that's gotta hurt," Alex commented, witnessing the devastating detonation.
Above, Siren aircraft began strafing their position with cannon fire. Sheffield and Minneapolis spun around, raising their rigging and returning fire, accurately targeting and shooting down the enemy planes.
The two cruisers and the Manjuus reached the relative safety of the shore and quickly boarded the waiting Virginia-class submarine. Streaks of Tomahawk missiles launched from the ocean's surface behind them.
SSN-803 USS Arizona lay in wait just offshore. The VLS cell doors were open, poised to unleash a storm of retaliatory fire.
Arizona and the two rescued submarines watched the massive forest fire on one of the monitor screens as the two cruisers and the Manjuus made their hurried escape.
The scene playing out on the monitor had an almost comedic quality: a maid in tactical gear, a Native American in tactical gear, and the rounded Manjuus in fully fitted tactical gear emerging from a forest engulfed in explosions, like a bizarre segment from a Japanese game show.
Arizona, however, dismissed such frivolous thoughts and issued a direct order to his crew. "Prepare the Tomahawks!" He instructed the Weapons Operator/Manjuu to ready the missiles for launch.
Two large hatch doors, each concealing seven BGM-109 Tactical Tomahawk Missiles, opened. Ten Tomahawks were being rapidly programmed with the target coordinates.
The Weapons Operator/Manjuu gave a confirming nod as all ten Tomahawks were armed and programmed. Arizona shifted his attention back to the monitor screen showing the shoreline.
As Minneapolis and Sheffield emerged from the burning forest, still pursued by a determined Siren, he gave the command to the Weapons Operator/Manjuu.
"Fire."
Ten Tomahawk missiles were ejected by pressurized air from their sealed tube launchers, breaching the surface. Their rocket motors ignited, propelling them towards the shoreline.
Executor-class Sirens emerged from the treeline, relentlessly chasing the two shipgirls. Ten Tomahawk Missiles hurtled towards them.
The entire forest bordering the shoreline was engulfed in a devastating barrage of exploding cruise missiles. Half of the pursuing Sirens were instantly obliterated, and the remaining third severely injured.
USS Arizona SSN-803 slipped silently beneath the waves after retrieving the team, executing a hasty retreat towards the friendly territory of the Royal Raj. Lingering was not an option given their tight schedule; their next destination was Pearl Harbor, Hawaii.
Inside the confines of the submarine, a different kind of tension began to brew.
In the narrow hallway where a makeshift laundry operation was underway, Sheffield watched her uniform spin in the dryer. She was currently wearing a spare set of US Navy coveralls, ill-fitting but practical in the absence of her usual attire.
A soft knock echoed on the hatch door, drawing her attention. "Can I come in?" Arizona's voice inquired.
Sheffield looked at the closed hatch, a knowing expression on her face. "This is your ship. There's no need to ask my permission," she replied.
Arizona leaned against the hatch door and asked, his tone serious, "Why did you storm that Siren building alone? I specifically instructed you not to separate from Minneapolis and AZ-2 Team."
Sheffield sat down on one of the narrow seats lining the hallway, facing him. "We separated to save precious time lingering in one area. Besides, I am perfectly capable of scouting an entire Siren base on my own. I have done so within Iron Blood territory before, and I was never caught." A hint of pride, perhaps even cockiness, laced her voice.
"Caught or not, it is still incredibly dangerous, especially within a Siren Main Base," he countered, his voice rising slightly.
"Are you concerned about m—" she began, a sharp retort forming on her lips, but he cut her off.
"Yes. I am concerned about you. You fall under my command. If something were to happen to you, I would be held accountable," he stated matter-of-factly, yet the underlying concern transcended mere duty.
Sheffield lowered her head, pondering her impulsive decision. Had Minneapolis and AZ-2 Team been with her, the initial confrontation might have been avoided, granting them more time for reconnaissance.
She looked up to face him, her lips parting as she prepared to speak, but he continued.
"But... I am glad you made it out alive," he said, a small, genuine smile gracing his lips.
A faint blush crept up Sheffield's neck as her cold exterior momentarily softened. "Thank you," she murmured, a small, almost imperceptible smile touching her own lips.
It was a fleeting moment of understanding between the two, abruptly shattered by Skipper's sudden appearance, his face peeking through the partially open hatch door.
"Seems like we have lovebirds here! Can't wait for the church bell—"
Arizona's boot connected squarely with Skipper's face, cutting off his teasing remark mid-sentence. "Mind your own business, Skipper. This isn't the time for you to just barge in like some creep," he said, his voice a low growl.
"Come on, looks like she's softening up on the inside," Skipper mumbled, his voice muffled by Arizona's boot still pressed against his face.
Sheffield's demeanor instantly reverted to its usual stoicism, her brief moment of vulnerability abruptly extinguished. "Perhaps we could flush one piece of trash out of the submarine via a torpedo tube,"
She suggested, her undertone even more menacing than Arizona's. She genuinely wished Skipper a swift and watery demise.
"Of course! I saw and heard nothing! Would you two excuse me? I suddenly have a pressing engagement with the... stool," Skipper stammered, hastily retreating towards the submarine's lavatory.
With the unwelcome interruption gone, the two exchanged a knowing smile. "I think I need to head to the control room. I should probably rest; the journey to Hawaii will be long," Arizona said.
"I appreciated it," Sheffield replied, her tone regaining its formal, maid-like composure.
Even the hardest stone could, it seemed, be polished to reveal a softer surface.