Marshal Hanza shot the bearded man a glance, said nothing, and turned to Iowa. "Iowa, we won't make it in time. Slow down and pull the rear echelons back to us."
To hit the field first, Iowa had already ordered a full-speed thrust; the stragglers had fallen back as "Second Column."
Now Hanza felt splitting the force into two prongs would be too thin against the Abyssals.
He was thinking first about preserving his own detachment, not rescuing Hikaru's base. Who could've guessed the Abyssals would bring such an absurd army just to crush one small naval district? Even in the last South Sea defense, none of the main fronts saw massing on this scale.
If relief was impossible, then keeping his people alive—bringing these volunteers home—was, in Hanza's mind, the real mission.
Iowa didn't agree. She thought for three seconds, then snapped her hand up.
"I'm accelerating to maximum speed. If you can keep up, stay on me. If you can't, Marshal Hanza will lead you."
Hanza stared. "You're insane. Even if you reach the field in time, what can you alone do on a battlefield this huge? You'll be leading them to their deaths!"
"My task is to reinforce Hikaru's naval district. Whether I can save them or how bad the situation is—that's not what I weigh. Life and death aren't part of my calculus."
Iowa pressed her veiled cap to her chest and bowed slightly. "The rest are yours, Marshal."
Hanza was speechless.
This relief column had been thrown together in a rush, with more than a whiff of opportunism: they'd learned their nation had sent envoys to curry favor with Hikaru, while their own investigation hadn't produced anything yet—so "we'll dispatch an elite team to help; nobody slaps a proffered hand." Maybe it would soften relations.
But with Hikaru's side seemingly doomed, the only variable was whether he could break out alive. At a moment like this, Hanza would have preferred to watch and wait.
Not because he was vicious—far from it. It was the ice-cold judgment of a veteran commander who felt responsible for his people.
He hadn't expected Iowa to be this hard-headed—to throw her life on the line without blinking.
Iowa straightened and cut the air with her hand. "This dash is my personal choice. The chance of sinking is high. Posthumous medals won't be pinned on a shipgirl's uniform. Think it through. If you're not afraid of dying—follow me!"
She didn't look back. She broke the sound barrier with a crack, and like a shell—like a hawk—knifed south under the bruise-black storm.
"Honor is my life!"
A battleship girl roared it and forced herself up to Iowa's speed.
"Honor is my life!"
Forty-nine shipgirls echoed, forty-nine arrows loosed at once—tearing air and sea to chase Iowa's wake.
Hanza stopped without meaning to, staring. A dozen fighters behind him also halted in unspoken accord.
The bearded heavy-gunner who'd been grumbling earlier spat into the dark sea and muttered, halfway between praise and sigh, "Heh. That's shipgirls for you."
—
In the base's stores, Lexington nodded to Hikaru.
"Commander, the Abyssal main body is driving south!"
"Good. I was getting impatient," Hikaru drew a long breath and looked to Bismarck. "Bismarck, the defense of this naval district is in your hands—completely. No pressure. If we lose, we start over."
"I don't like starting over," Bismarck smiled, sure of herself. "If anyone has to start from zero, let it be the Abyssals." She snapped her legs together and saluted. "I will bring you victory."
She turned and waved. "Come on, Lexington—let's give the invaders something to remember."
The shipgirls filed out of the warehouse. Hikaru headed the other way, deeper into storage.
[End of Chapter]
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