Warning! This chapter will be really long, so take your time reading it, it's okay :)

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Hong Kong.

December 24, 1941.

0900 Hours.

HMS Thracian stood amidst the ruins of Hong Kong, her tattered sailor's outfit stained with soot, blood, and the salt of the South China Sea. Her brown hair, tied in a loose ponytail, was streaked with grime, and her once-pristine uniform-white with blue trim-was now a mere shadow of its former self, torn and frayed from weeks of ceaseless battle. She raised a weary gaze toward the sky, her crimson-tinged eyes narrowing at the thick columns of smoke rising over the harbor.

The Japanese assault never ceased. Wave after wave of Imperial soldiers pushed into the city, their relentless artillery bombardments leveling entire districts. The once-thriving jewel of the British Empire in the East, the gateway between East and West, now lay in smoldering ruin, its streets clogged with debris, wrecked trams, and the bodies of the fallen.

The memories of those early days of resistance burned in her mind. She had fought alongside the gunboats Cicala and Tern, their crews firing every last shell to slow the enemy's advance. The first landings had been repulsed, their surprise met with a British and colonial force that refused to break. But the Japanese had adapted, escalating their assault with Siren-enhanced weaponry-impossible aircraft, hovertanks, and energy rifles that left bodies with charred, gaping wounds.

And now Thracian was alone.

She let out a bitter chuckle, the sound barely audible over the distant echoes of artillery fire. A single, aging S-class destroyer against the full might of the Imperial Japanese Navy-what a cruel joke. The Admiralty had known this battle was a losing one. Had they sent her here to die, to be a sacrificial piece on the chessboard of war? She had fought Siren-enhanced mass-produced shipgirls, dozens of them, swarming like locusts. Even though they weren't as strong as proper Kan-Sen, their sheer numbers had nearly overwhelmed her. Her old 4-inch QF cannons did little against their reinforced hulls, but her torpedoes-21-inch and 18-inch caliber-had kept her in the fight.

For how much longer, though?

The cold air carried the acrid scent of gunpowder and burning wood. From the shattered remnants of a nearby barracks, a young Punjabi soldier approached, a tin mug of coffee in his hands. He was no older than nineteen, his uniform dirtied and torn, his turban slightly askew from days without rest.

"Miss Thracian, coffee." He said, his voice hoarse yet steady.

She looked at him-at his weary yet resolute expression, at the determination in his dark eyes. He had fought in these hellish streets for as long as she had, side by side with the British and the local Hong Kong Volunteer Defense Corps. They were all holding out together, abandoned yet unbroken.

A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she accepted the cup, its warmth seeping into her fingers. "Thank you, soldier."

He nodded. "You're welcome, miss." Without another word, he turned and disappeared into the ruins, back to whatever grim duty awaited him.

Sitting still... how rare.

Just yesterday, she had fought with every ounce of strength she had left. Now, for the first time in weeks, she could pause-even if only for a moment. But the weight of reality pressed down on her shoulders like an anchor. The situation was dire. The defenses were crumbling. They had held out for nearly three weeks, but no reinforcements had come.

Had London abandoned them?

The thought gnawed at her. Perhaps Hong Kong was never meant to be saved-only to stall the Japanese advance long enough for Singapore and other vital territories to be reinforced. If that was the case, then she and every soldier still standing were already dead.

Her grip tightened around the tin mug.

Fine.

If she was to die here, she would make damn sure the enemy bled for every inch they took.

HMS Thracian took a long sip of the lukewarm coffee, letting its bitter taste linger on her tongue. She had seen enough war to know what was coming. The eerie silence that had settled over the ruins of Hong Kong wasn't peace-it was the deep breath before the storm.

And sure enough, the storm arrived.

The first explosion came from the north, somewhere near Wong Nai Chung Gap. Then another, closer this time, as a salvo of artillery shells rained down on the British defenses. The ground trembled beneath her feet. Sirens wailed. The final attack had begun.

Thracian cursed under her breath and tossed the empty mug aside. As she straightened her torn uniform, she felt it-a shift in the air, the presence of something unnatural.

Then she saw them.

Two towering figures stood atop the burning skyline, their silhouettes framed against the rising smoke and crimson morning sky. The Imperial Japanese Navy's battleship Kan-Sen, IJN Ise and IJN Hyuuga, had arrived.

Both sisters were towering dreadnought battleships, originally planned as younger siblings of the Fusō-class. Their forms radiated raw power-sleek yet imposing, their armor adorned with the emblem of the Rising Sun. Each wielded a massive naginata, the curved blades gleaming ominously in the morning light. Mounted on their backs were their main guns: colossal 356mm cannons, capable of tearing apart fortifications and shipgirls alike.

Thracian exhaled slowly, steeling herself. This was never a fight she could win. Yet she still charged forward.

Her worn-out 4-inch cannons barked in defiance, sending shells streaking toward the incoming dreadnoughts. But they barely scratched their armor. The two battleships didn't even flinch.

Hyuuga moved first, vanishing in a blur of motion. Before Thracian could react, a razor-sharp naginata cut through the air, slashing deep into her left side. Blood-thick, metallic, and warm-splattered onto the shattered pavement.

She staggered but refused to fall. Gritting her teeth, she launched her torpedoes-desperate, reckless. The first set missed, the second exploded harmlessly against Ise's thick armor.

Then Ise struck.

A massive force slammed into her from behind-Ise's naginata impaling her straight through her back. The sheer power of the blow sent shockwaves through her body, her legs giving out beneath her. She gasped, blood spilling from her lips. The taste of iron filled her mouth.

Pinned between the two sisters, she felt her strength fading. Her vision blurred.

This was it.

She had fought for weeks, held the line when no one else could. But in the end, she was just an old destroyer, worn down by time and war, facing two titans.

As she slumped forward, she dimly heard the sound of something new cutting through the air-a shrill, mechanical screech.

Then-explosions.

Ise and Hyuuga both turned sharply, their eyes widening in surprise as streaks of fire rushed toward them from the British positions.

Missiles.

Captured Siren weapons, crude and experimental, but still deadly. They weren't designed against shipgirls, but they hurt. The two dreadnoughts recoiled as the missiles struck, their armor cracking under the unexpected assault.

The battleship sisters made a snap decision. The British still had some fight left in them. This battle was over. With a final glance at Thracian's dying form, Ise and Hyuuga turned and retreated into the thick smoke.

And Thracian?

She lay there, with gaping hole, bleeding out onto the cold pavement, her vision darkening with every passing second. The sounds of war faded into a distant hum.

She had held out as long as she could.

Maybe... that was enough.

As the battle raged on in the remnants of Hong Kong, Thracian's broken body lay still on the bloodstained streets. The fighting had subsided for the moment, and British soldiers, weary and grim, had ventured out from their defenses to retrieve their fallen comrade. Her once-proud figure, now a battered silhouette against the rubble, was carefully lifted by a small group of soldiers, their faces etched with sorrow and respect.

They moved with tenderness, their hands shaking as they cradled her like a precious artifact—one that had fought valiantly until the very end. Some of them, men who had seen too many comrades fall, found their eyes wet with tears. Thracian had not been just a shipgirl, not just a tool of war—she had been a symbol of resilience, a sister-in-arms, and a beacon of strength. For the British soldiers who had stood beside her, her loss was as profound as the city itself falling to the enemy.

Major General Christopher Maltby, a hardened officer who had led countless battles, knelt by Thracian’s side. His usual steely demeanor softened, his eyes clouded with the weight of what had transpired. He placed a hand over his heart and bowed his head, the sound of distant artillery echoing as a mournful backdrop. The young Punjabi soldier who had shared the coffee with Thracian earlier stood nearby, his face drawn tight with grief.

Brigadier Cedric Wallis, Admiral Andrew Chan, and Rear Admiral Henry Hsu stood in silence as well, a silent tribute to the fallen warrior who had held the line against impossible odds. Thracian had done more than any one of them could have hoped to do. She had fought until her very last breath.

And then there was Governor Mark Young, his face grim yet resolute, his hands trembling as he stepped forward. He had been the one to rally the last of the defenders, to organize whatever forces he could scrounge together, and to give Hong Kong one last stand. But this—this loss was beyond words.

"I will see to it." He said, his voice low, trembling with emotion. "The King and the Prime Minister must know of her bravery. I will petition for the highest award possible, no matter the cost. She deserves it, and more. She deserves to be remembered by history."

His words carried the weight of command and sorrow in equal measure. Governor Young paused for a moment, as if considering the depths of what Thracian had given. He was a man of duty, but even he could not escape the human side of this war—the side that mourned the loss of one who had fought not for a medal or honor, but for the survival of those she fought alongside.

Thracian’s body was placed on a stretcher, and the procession moved toward the temporary memorial that had been hastily erected in the heart of Hong Kong’s shattered city center. Flags hung limply, their colors faded in the choking smoke, but they still fluttered proudly in the wind.

With the soldiers standing in solemn ranks, Governor Mark Young cleared his throat and held up a piece of paper—a letter, folded neatly.

"This is the will of the late HMS Thracian." He announced, his voice carrying across the silent crowd. His eyes briefly flickered to the solemn faces of the British officers standing beside him before he read aloud the final wishes of a fallen comrade.

"I regret that I will not see my sisters again, nor my juniors, who have yet to experience the true horrors of this war. I wish only that they will learn from my mistakes, that they will not be swayed by the overwhelming weight of time and war. But if I am to fall, I would like to be buried where I once dreamed of peace—Ceylon or Singapore, if possible. Let me rest in a land that is not forgotten by the storms of war, but that may someday find calm again."

Governor Young’s voice cracked slightly at the final words, and the officers standing beside him, each a figure of military command, seemed to gather closer, the grief on their faces more apparent now than ever before. Thracian’s wish was one shared by many who had fought alongside her: that someday, somewhere, there would be peace again.

The men stood silent for a moment, each of them paying their respects. The weight of war, the never-ending grind of battle and loss, was not something easily escaped. Yet even in these dark times, a soldier’s final wishes had to be honored. Thracian's body would be transported, as she had asked, to one of the far-flung British colonies—where she could be laid to rest, far from the horrors of the battlefield.

As the procession began to move forward, Major General Maltby, his voice low but filled with conviction, spoke quietly to those around him. "We will not let her sacrifice be in vain. We will fight on. For her. For all of them."

The mournful echoes of artillery fire, the scent of smoke, and the solemn steps of the men carrying their comrade would forever mark this moment in the hearts of those who had fought alongside Thracian. Even though she had fallen, her memory would remain a beacon, guiding them through the darkness of the war that was far from over.

December 25, 1941.

Dawn broke over the ruined city, but there was no time to mourn. The battle was not over. The Union Jack still flew over Government House, tattered but defiant, just like the men and women who fought beneath it.

British troops, exhausted but resolute, held their ground against the overwhelming force of the Imperial Japanese Army. Their ammunition was dwindling, and supplies were running dangerously low. The streets, once bustling with traders and merchants, had turned into labyrinths of rubble and makeshift fortifications. Every man, every woman, every rifle counted.

And then, the storm came again.

The same two shipgirls who had cut Thracian down—IJN Ise and IJN Hyuuga—led a renewed assault. Behind them, a swarm of Siren mass-produced shipgirls advanced, their eerie synthetic voices echoing over the gunfire. These were no ordinary enemies—these were creatures of nightmare, wielding weapons that burned through steel and flesh alike.

But the British defenders did not yield. They fought with bayonets when bullets ran dry, turned the wreckage of vehicles into shields, and refused to give the enemy a single inch without a price in blood. Even as Siren plasma cut through their lines, even as the dreadnought sisters rained 356mm hell upon them, they stood.

And then, the sound came.

A deep, rhythmic thump-thump-thump—like the approach of a titanic locomotive. The ground trembled, and before anyone could react, the enemy’s frontline was obliterated in an instant. A monstrous explosion ripped through the Siren ranks, vaporizing mass-produced shipgirls in a blinding white fire.

More flashes followed—brilliant, searing streaks of energy that left afterimages burned into the retinas of anyone who dared to look. The Japanese lines wavered, and even the battleship sisters Ise and Hyuuga took a step back, startled by the sheer devastation.

Then, from the sea, she came.

A warship unlike anything seen before, its silhouette sharp and menacing against the morning haze. It bore the sleek profile of a Kirov-class battlecruiser, but its armament was something different. Two massive AGS Railguns sat mounted on its bow, still glowing from the power they had just unleashed. Each shot struck with the force of divine judgment, hammering the Japanese fleet with unrelenting fury.

The enemy faltered. Ise and Hyuuga exchanged uneasy glances before signaling the retreat. The Siren units, without orders, attempted to regroup—but another volley from the railguns shattered their cohesion. The Imperial Japanese forces began to withdraw, dragging their wounded with them, but their retreat was a defeated one.

As the smoke cleared, British troops cautiously stepped forward, rifles still raised, their breath misting in the cold air. The enormous warship in the harbor slowly drifted closer, her weapons silent but ominous. Then, from the main deck, a lone figure emerged.

She stepped lightly, her movements almost ethereal, despite the heavy steel plating of her warship form. Her uniform was unlike any naval attire anyone had ever seen—military, yet foreign. A Communist Chinese flag adorned her shoulder, and her hair was styled in an elaborate traditional fashion, reminiscent of the royal princesses of ancient China.

Admiral Andrew Chan, still catching his breath from the brutal engagement, stepped forward. His officers flanked him, their expressions a mixture of awe and caution. The woman before them was no ordinary shipgirl—there was something different, something... out of place.

He cleared his throat, steeling himself before speaking.

"You saved us." He said, his voice firm but questioning. "Who are you?"

The shipgirl smiled, her eyes sharp with a knowing glint.

"I am Admiral Zhang He." She replied, her voice carrying an air of wisdom beyond her years. "A ship... from the future."

Silence followed. The British officers exchanged looks, struggling to comprehend the enormity of her words. The future? Was this some new kind of Siren deception? Or had something truly extraordinary happened on this battlefield?

The air was thick with tension, the scent of burning metal and seawater mixing with the acrid tang of gunpowder. The ruins of Hong Kong’s once-proud skyline loomed in the distance, shrouded by the smoke of recent battles. Zhang He, a shipgirl from a world far beyond this one, stood calmly before Admiral Chan and his assembled officers. Her presence was an anomaly—her sleek, futuristic uniform, the faint blue glow of her cybernetic implants, and the way she carried herself spoke of a time and place beyond their understanding.

The British forces, a mixed contingent of colonials, Hong Kongers, Canadians, and Royal Navy personnel, observed her warily. Some of them clutched their rifles a little tighter, while others murmured about the lifeless bodies of the so-called Sirens—pale-skinned, inhuman women who lay in twisted wrecks near the waterfront. The Type-27 Spider robots, scuttling across the debris, carried away the remains with methodical precision. The sight of such advanced technology only deepened the unease.

"You... A ship from the future? How is that possible? Are you a Siren creation?" Admiral Chan’s voice carried authority, but there was a slight quiver in it. He had seen too much today.

Zhang He tilted her head slightly, her violet eyes glowing faintly as she processed his words. "Sirens... Is that what they are?" She gestured toward the lifeless bodies being carried away, her gaze unreadable.

"Yes... Right... So I assume you're not part of them? Considering you're uhh..." Admiral Chan made a gesture, drawing his finger across his throat.

Zhang He laughed crisply, the sound both warm and melancholic. "Of course not, Admiral. I just recently... regained something precious. The feeling of being human—it's very unique."

Her gaze dropped to her own hands, and she flexed her fingers as if seeing them for the first time. The motion was slow, deliberate, as though she was savoring the sensation of movement. "What a wonderful sensation..." She murmured, more to herself than to anyone else.

Chan exchanged glances with his officers before cautiously pressing forward. "So, Miss... Zhang He, was it? What is your purpose here? And... are you really from the future? Did we—" He hesitated, his voice betraying an emotion he had tried to suppress. "Did we win against the Sirens?"

The question hung in the air like a dagger. The British soldiers leaned in, their faces filled with hope and dread. Zhang He met their gaze, her expression soft but deeply sorrowful.

She smiled bitterly. "Worse, gentlemen. Much worse."

The light in her eyes dimmed as memories surfaced—of burning cities, of the world crumbling under the weight of war, of her own country plunging the world into the abyss. She could still hear the broadcasts, the voices of the Directorate's leadership speaking of progress, of victory, of a world reshaped in their image. And yet, all it had brought was ruin.

"I will explain everything in due time." She continued, pushing aside the memories. "With your other leaders... if there are any left?"

Her words sent a fresh wave of unease through the ranks. Admiral Chan exhaled sharply. "Of course... but we don't know if we can trust you yet."

Zhang He smiled in understanding. "It’s okay, Admiral. I understand the distrust. But please... I only wish to help my fellow countrymen, despite the differences in our timelines."

A long silence followed. The soldiers studied her, trying to decipher her intentions. Then, finally, Admiral Chan nodded.

"Alright, Miss Zhang He." He said, his voice steadier now. "Let's see what you have to say."

The arrival of Governor Mark Young was marked by a flurry of activity among the British officers. Soldiers straightened their postures, their murmurs subsiding into silence as the leader of Hong Kong stepped forward, accompanied by Major General Christopher. The governor’s expression was one of weariness—deep lines etched into his face.

Zhang He, standing calmly, inclined her head in greeting. "Governor Young." She said, her voice smooth but laced with quiet authority. "I assume you are the one in charge of this city?"

The governor studied her warily, his sharp gaze flickering between Zhang He’s futuristic uniform and the glowing accents on her body.

Admiral Chan, however, stepped forward, his tone decisive. "Governor, we’ve lost Thracian. Our protector is gone." The unspoken weight in his words sent a ripple of unease through the gathered officers. "This shipgirl—Zhang He—has offered her assistance, but she requests full disclosure of the current situation in return."

Governor Young’s brow furrowed. His hesitation was evident—trusting an unknown entity, especially one who claimed to be from the future, was a gamble. But Zhang He’s presence, her demeanor, and the technology surrounding her suggested she was no ordinary being. More importantly, as Chan had bluntly pointed out, they had no other choice.

He exhaled sharply, nodding at last. "Very well." He said, rubbing his temples as if the weight of history itself pressed down on him. "Let’s begin."

Governor Young, along with Admiral Chan and Major General Christopher, began explaining the events that had unfolded over the past years. Zhang He listened intently, her expression unreadable as she absorbed each detail.

It began with the rise of the Axis—a coalition of nations that had abandoned conventional warfare, instead allying themselves with the Sirens, alien entities from another dimension that sought the destruction of humanity. These nations, wielding Siren-enhanced technology, quickly outpaced the rest of the world. The balance of power was shattered overnight.

The battles had been brutal. The Axis’s technology, far superior to anything the Allies possessed at that time, made victory nearly impossible. The most recent and devastating blow had been the War in the Pacific—just weeks ago, Japan had launched a devastating surprise attack on Hawaii. Unlike the attack of December 7, 1941, this assault had been carried out using Siren-powered weaponry. The damage had been catastrophic, at least that's what they thought.

As Governor Young spoke, Zhang He’s fingers curled slightly, memories stirring within her. The Second Battle of Hawaii. She had been there, leading the Sino-Russo Joint Fleet, only to face defeat at the hands of an enemy she had not expected— Zumwalt. A warship that at first being thrown away because too expensive and always fail, suddenly become the best US Naval Asset.

She had perished there.

Or rather, she had lost herself.

Zhang He’s violet eyes darkened for a moment, but she said nothing, allowing the governor to continue.

Then came something that caught Zhang He’s attention completely—the Shipgirls.

Governor Young explained how, at the onset of the war with Siren, a mysterious phenomenon had occurred. A strange material known as the Wisdom Cube had appeared across various naval bases around the world. These cubes had the power to manifest warships into humanoid forms—living embodiments of the vessels they once were.

"Through these cubes." Admiral Chan added. "We were able to bring forth the spirits of our ships. The Royal Navy, the US Navy, even the former fleets of fallen empires—all given life again as Shipgirls."

As if on cue, a flickering blue light shimmered in Zhang He’s palm. A Wisdom Cube materialized in her grasp, pulsing with a faint hum of energy. The British officers immediately tensed at the sight, their unease momentarily replaced by shock.

"She really is one of them." Major General Christopher murmured.

Admiral Chan, eyes locked on the cube, exhaled slowly. "Not a Siren. A true Shipgirl."

Zhang He stared at the cube, feeling its familiar warmth. It was proof of her nature. Proof that she had not been lost. Proof that she was still Zhang He, the once-proud flagship of the Directorate’s navy.

She looked up at Governor Young and the gathered officers, her voice quiet yet resolute. "I understand now."

The weight of the war, the losses, the betrayals—she could see the echoes of it all in their eyes. This was not just another conflict. It was a battle for the survival of humanity itself.

She tightened her grip on the cube. "Then let us discuss how I can help."

The room was dimly lit, the glow of Wisdom Cube casting sharp, restless shadows across the faces of the officers gathered around the makeshift war table. The air was thick with fatigue and desperation, yet a new presence had begun to shift the atmosphere.

Zhang He stood at the center of the room, a calm yet commanding figure amidst the exhausted defenders. Her long, brown hair swayed slightly as she moved, the flickering light catching the golden embroidery of her uniform—a stark contrast to the soot and grime-stained fatigues of the men around her. Her violet eyes, deep with intelligence and sorrow, surveyed the assembled commanders.

Admiral Chan leaned forward with weary eyes. "Zhang He… we are barely holding on. You understand that, yes? The Japanese forces have taken almost everything. Thracian fought to the last, and now we’re left with whatever scrap of hope remains."

A heavy silence followed the mention of Thracian. The former Guardian had been their pillar, their protector. And now, she was gone.

Zhang He lowered her gaze momentarily. "Wǒ míngbái… I understand." Her voice was smooth, gentle, yet tinged with grief. "Her sacrifice was not in vain. I will honor her by ensuring this city does not fall without a fight."

Major General Christopher, a Canadian officer with a sharp, calculating mind, folded his arms. "We have little left to fight with, Lady Zhang He. The Japanese keep tightening their grip, and our supply lines are choked off. Unless Azur Lane sends reinforcements—which seems unlikely given we haven’t heard from them in two weeks—we’re dead men standing."

Zhang He nodded, then reached into the folds of her uniform. With a soft click, several small, sleek devices extended from her hands. Stealth reconnaissance drones—compact, efficient, and far superior to anything the defenders had.

"These will be our eyes." She said as the drones silently lifted off, vanishing into the night. "Give me a moment, and I will give you the battlefield."

The holographic projector she pulled out earlier flickered, then exploded into life. Detailed, up-to-the-minute scans of Hong Kong and the surrounding waters appeared in stunning clarity. The locations of enemy patrols, strongpoints, supply depots—everything was laid bare in mere moments. Gasps of astonishment rippled through the room.

Admiral Hsu let out a breath. "This… this is beyond what we ever had. We’ve been fighting blind, and now…'' He trailed off, eyes scanning the map.

Zhang He remained focused, her expression hardening. She manipulated the map with swift, precise movements. "We cannot afford to fight head-on. We lack the numbers, we lack the heavy firepower. But what we do have is knowledge. Knowledge of this city, knowledge of enemy movements, and me."

She looked up, meeting each officer’s gaze.

"Listen carefully. The Japanese believe they have us cornered. But a predator that thinks its prey is helpless lowers its guard. We will exploit this arrogance."

The officers leaned in as Zhang He outlined her strategy. Every detail was meticulous, every variable accounted for. She divided their forces into small, highly mobile units that would strike at weak points—disrupting supply lines, eliminating officers, sabotaging equipment. She pointed out an underground maintenance tunnel network that could be repurposed for ambushes. She identified key locations where she, herself, could engage the enemy directly to cause maximum devastation with minimal risk.

Her plan was cold, efficient, and ruthless. But most importantly, it was possible.

"Major General Christopher." She said, turning to him. "Your Canadian forces will handle the harbor assault teams. If they attempt to land reinforcements, we must deny them. Admiral Hsu, your remaining naval assets will deploy in a feint—make them believe a breakout attempt is imminent, drawing their forces away from our real objective. Admiral Chan, I will need you to oversee the urban resistance forces. We will hit them from the shadows and drag this battle out until Azur Lane respond."

A tense pause followed. Then, Admiral Chan straightened. "This plan… it might actually work."

Major General Christopher exhaled. "Damn. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m in."

Admiral Hsu nodded. "So am I."

Zhang He gave a small smile, but her eyes remained distant, haunted. "Hǎo… Good. Then let us begin."

Just as they sealed their agreement, Governor Mark Young entered the room, his face grim. He left earlier because another report just came in.

"I assume you have an update for us?" Admiral Chan asked.

The governor gave a tired nod. "I do. And it’s not good. Almost the entire city is lost. We hold only this district, and even that will not last without immediate action. Communications with Azur Lane remain cut. We are alone."

A heavy silence fell. But then Zhang He spoke, her voice unwavering.

'Then we will show the enemy that Hong Kong is not so easily taken."

She stepped forward, her presence filling the room like a tide rising. The sorrow of the past still clung to her, the weight of her nation’s sins pressing down on her soul. But for now, for this moment—she would fight.

And she would not fail.

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A few dozen kilometers from Hong Kong, Azur Lane's Task Force sailed through the misty dawn, the sea reflecting the dull glow of their navigation lights. The air was tense yet calm—a deceptive quiet before the inevitable storm of battle.

On the bridge of the Zumwalt, the shipgirl herself sat at her workstation, absently toying with an apple from the basket beside her. Across from her, Laffey lounged on a chair, half-asleep as usual, her red eyes lazily watching Zumwalt with a knowing glint.

Zumwalt sneezed suddenly, startling herself. Then again. And again. Laffey tilted her head, a small smirk on her lips as she wordlessly handed over a handkerchief she had prepared in advance.

"Zummy, are you okay?" Laffey asked, her voice slow and drowsy, but tinged with quiet concern.

Zumwalt wiped her nose, then chuckled softly. "I'm fine, dear. Just a little… not feeling well. Even if a ship doesn't get sick, sometimes I just—" She hesitated, her fingers tightening around the apple. Her voice lowered. "For the past few nights, I've been feeling strange. Like I want to kill someone."

The apple in her hand burst with a wet crunch.

Laffey blinked, her expression unchanged as bits of fruit juice splattered across the terminal. "That's a good apple, Zummy." She murmured.

Zumwalt blinked as well, as if waking up from a trance. "Ah! I'm so sorry, Laffey!" She hurriedly reached for a napkin, her hands moving with mechanical precision as she cleaned the mess.

Laffey simply watched. She wasn't lazy, not really. She just understood.

They sat there, a quiet moment of understanding passing between them, before the crackle of the radio cut through the air.

"Geo, reporting in."

Zumwalt's head lifted, her gaze sharpening.

"Hey everyone, I can see Hong Kong already. Sending in some F-35s for a little Zoom and Boom."

A dark chuckle followed, one that could only belong to George W.H. Bush—the ever-boisterous supercarrier.

Zumwalt's fingers danced over the controls, switching feeds to an external camera. The distant silhouette of Geo came into view, her deck bustling with activity. The launch catapults roared to life as F-35s and F-18s streaked into the sky, afterburners lighting up the dim morning. Overhead, an E-2D Hawkeye circled, its radar scanning for enemy movements. Further out, a mixed formation of Wildcats from Lexington, Enterprise, and Hornet took off in waves, setting the stage for absolute air dominance over Hong Kong and Guangzhou.

Laffey turned her head, watching the screen with half-lidded eyes. "...Guess it's starting."

Zumwalt exhaled slowly. "Looks like I'm about to shine again, Laffey."

"Mhmm..." Laffey stretched, then slowly sat up. "I will protect you, along with Javelin, Francisco, and Sandy. Cheer up."

Zumwalt couldn't help but smile. Laffey's voice was soft and slow, but her words held weight—reassuring in a way that no amount of armor plating or missile salvos could be.

With a chuckle, Zumwalt reached over and ruffled Laffey's white hair, resisting the temptation to pinch her soft cheeks. "You're too cute, you know that?"

Laffey, still half-asleep, only murmured, "...Mmm, I know."

....
......

The sky over Hong Kong was thick with smoke and the fiery streaks of anti-aircraft fire. Below, the city trembled as Imperial Japanese forces, bolstered by Siren constructs, pushed their assault. Yet, above the chaos, the silent roar of jet engines cut through the clouds—twenty F-35s, launched from Geo's Carrier, soared in tight formation.

Geo herself stood on the bridge of her vessel, her green eyes glinting with a playful smirk despite the intensity of the battle. "Ladies, let's give them a proper introduction." She purred, her voice smooth as silk over the comms. But beneath her flirtatious demeanor lay the instincts of a hardened warrior. As soon as the E-2D early warning aircraft locked onto targets, she snapped into action.

"Targeting data confirmed." Came the synthesized voice of ATHENA AI, the advanced combat intelligence aboard pretty much all US Navy Ships in the future..

The F-35s banked sharply, evading the hailstorm of Japanese anti-air fire and the eerie, guided streaks of Siren missiles. Chaff and flares burst into the sky, dazzling distractions against the lethal volley. Then, with mechanical precision, the aircraft released their payloads—SPEAR 4 and SiAW missiles streaked downwards, slamming into columns of Imperial Japanese tanks and the hovering, unnatural forms of Siren war machines. The explosions tore through the streets, sending plumes of fire and shrapnel into the air.

Aboard Zumwalt, the towering figure of the shipgirl stood with her arms crossed, her blonde hair flowing in the salty wind. Her expression was calm, but deep inside, a storm raged—memories, shadows of old wounds that never truly healed. But now was not the time for doubt.

"Transmitting enemy positions." ATHENA’s voice rang in her mind, fed from the E-2Ds above.

"Copy that... Targeting systems locked in." Her voice was steady, though her hands trembled slightly as she activated the AGS.

With a deep breath, Zumwalt exhaled and pulled the imaginary trigger.

A deafening THOOM split the air as her railgun roared to life. Hypersonic projectiles tore across the sky, striking Siren vessels in a storm of destruction. In just four minutes, she had fired 200 rounds—each impact a testament to her lethal efficiency. Smoke curled from the heated barrel, forcing her to pause and let it cool, though the battlefield demanded more.

"Good work, Zumwalt." Geo's voice chimed in, teasing yet reassuring. "You’re a real showstopper."

Zumwalt sighed, rubbing her temple. "I just do my job."

Nearby, San Francisco and San Diego rushed forward, their sleek forms cutting through the waves. With Javelin and Laffey flanking them, they unleashed hell upon the enemy. Laffey, ever sleepy-eyed, lazily raised a hand before opening fire, her single barrel guns spitting out relentless firepower.

"I’m so tired…" Laffey muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. "But I guess… I should try harder."

Her torpedoes slammed into the Siren fleet, detonating in synchronized blasts that sent black-and-red-hued metal flying. Despite her lethargic nature, Laffey knew exactly how her enemies felt—when to strike, when to hold back, when to crush them utterly.

Far below, hidden within the murky depths, two silent predators waited. Orzeł and Warner both lay in wait like wolves in the dark.

"Orzeł, you ready?" Warner's voice came through the encrypted link.

A soft chuckle. "Of course, dear friend. Let’s remind them that the sea is not theirs to command."

With a single command, multiple AIM-9X missiles erupted from beneath the waves, slicing through the water before breaking the surface in an explosive breach. The missiles arced upward before homing in on targets in the heart of Hong Kong. Siren tanks and troop formations were obliterated in the blink of an eye.

Above, Geo chuckled, watching the devastation unfold. "Ah, there's nothing more beautiful than the sight of fire and steel in perfect harmony."

The battle raged on, fire and smoke consuming Hong Kong. The clash of artillery and gunfire was deafening, but now, amidst the chaos, the sound of steel meeting steel rang out—an ancient, primal battle between warriors.

From the rolling waves, several figures approached, cutting through the burning sea. Imperial Japanese shipgirls, clad in the insignias of the Rising Sun, arrived with purpose in their eyes. Their presence was like a storm on the horizon—ominous, inevitable.

On a crumbling bridge overlooking Victoria Harbour, Javelin and Ayanami stood opposite each other, their weapons gleaming in the dim, smoke-filled air.

"You shouldn't be here." Ayanami said, her voice quiet yet firm. She gripped the hilt of her sword, the light reflecting off its pristine blade.

Javelin twirled her spear, her signature weapon, before settling into a battle stance. "And let you take Hong Kong and kill all its denizens? No way!"

Without another word, Ayanami moved first, her blade flashing in an arc too fast for the eye to follow. Javelin barely sidestepped, sparks flying as the sword grazed her rigging. She retaliated, thrusting her spear forward with explosive force, forcing Ayanami to leap back.

The two clashed again and again, their speed almost inhuman. Each movement was a perfect blend of instinct and skill—Ayanami's swordplay was fluid, precise, while Javelin's spearwork was aggressive and relentless. They were polar opposites—one swift as a shadow, the other fierce as a storm.

Ayanami feinted left, then suddenly vanished—her speed pushing past human limits. Javelin's eyes widened as she barely managed to block the incoming strike. The force of the attack sent her skidding backward, her boots grinding against the ruined pavement.

Panting slightly, Javelin grinned. "Heh… you're good, Ayanami. But…" She spun her spear and lunged, lightning crackling around her weapon. "I won’t lose!"

Their battle continued, a deadly dance of light and shadow amidst the chaos of war.

Down below, in the ruins of a market street, San Francisco found herself surrounded. A group of Imperial Japanese destroyer shipgirls circled her, their faces full of battle-hardened determination.

"You're outnumbered." Urakaze sneered, gripping a katana.

San Francisco rolled her shoulders and swung her weapon—a heavy, reinforced baseball bat—over her shoulder. She smirked. "Heh, that just means more targets."

The destroyer shipgirls attacked at once.
Kagerou slashed at her with a blade, but San Francisco ducked low and countered, swinging her bat into the girl's side. The impact sent her opponent crashing into a pile of debris.

Matsukaze came at her from behind, but San Francisco twisted, catching the sword mid-swing with her armored forearm before slamming the bat into the attacker’s gut.

"Home run!" She laughed as the girl went flying.

Two more rushed her, Inazuma and Ikazuchi, working together, their movements coordinated. San Francisco blocked Inazuma's strike but took a glancing hit on her shoulder. Growling, she adjusted her grip and slammed her bat against the ground, creating a shockwave that knocked them off balance. In that split second, she dashed forward, delivering a brutal swing that Sent Ikazuchi sprawling.

The last destroyer standing, Hibiki, hesitated, gripping her weapon tightly.

San Francisco wiped a bit of dirt off her cheek. "You still wanna go?"

The girl lunged, but San Francisco sidestepped and caught her by the wrist. In one swift motion, she yanked the girl forward and swung her bat upward, sending her opponent crashing into a burning wreck.

Breathing heavily, she looked around. "Tch. That all ya got?"

The street was littered with downed enemies, and though she was bruised, she was still standing tall.

The Allied ground forces had landed in the harbor after the remaining enemy warships were driven north by relentless bombardment. The sight of AMTRACs and armored vehicles rolling through the shattered streets brought both relief and hope to the defenders who had fought tooth and nail to hold the city for weeks. British, Canadian, and other Colonial forces, alongside local volunteers, had endured a brutal siege, but now, as the remnants of Japanese troops who had refused to retreat were swiftly overwhelmed, it was clear—Hong Kong had held on.

Governor Mark Young, Major General Christopher Maltby, and the remaining officers watched in awe as waves of American Marines and their Allied counterparts flooded the city, securing key positions with ruthless efficiency.

Among the ruins, Javelin pursued Ayanami with her spear, refusing to let the Japanese shipgirl escape unscathed. "You’re not getting away that easily!" She called out, her spear flashing as she closed the distance.

Ayanami, however, was resolute. With the rest of her fleet in retreat, she had taken it upon herself to cover their escape. She deflected Javelin’s strikes with her blade, moving defensively, her crimson eyes filled with determination rather than anger.

But she knew the truth. The battle was lost.

A final clash of weapons sent both girls skidding backward, panting. For a moment, neither moved. Then, in a single leap, Ayanami broke away, dashing toward the sea where the last of the Japanese shipgirls had already withdrawn.

Javelin gritted her teeth, gripping her spear tightly. The city was safe, but the war was far from over.

By noon on December 26, the fires were beginning to die down, leaving only the smoldering remnants of buildings that had stood for years. The cost had been terrible—thousands of British, one Shipgirl, and colonial soldiers had given their lives in defense of Hong Kong. Their sacrifices had not been in vain.

From the decks of the Allied warships, five figures disembarked onto solid ground.

Zumwalt, her usually calm face shadowed by lingering thoughts, but her steps firm as she escorted the others.

Geo, her confident, flirtatious smirk momentarily replaced by something more solemn—victory was sweet, but the sight of the devastation left a bitter taste.

Enterprise, the Grey Ghost herself, tall and proud, her silver hair catching the sunlight as she surveyed the battlefield with a calculating gaze. Lexington and Hornet, standing side by side, their presence exuding both relief and quiet strength.

They flanked a man whose very name was legend in War against Siren—Admiral William "Bull" Halsey. His sharp eyes scanned the wreckage, taking in the sight of the battle-worn defenders who had given everything for this city.

Governor Mark Young stepped forward, his uniform disheveled but his posture unbroken. "Admiral Halsey." He greeted, his voice hoarse but steady. "You came just in time."

Halsey removed his cap, nodding. "We weren’t going to let Hong Kong fall, Governor. Not today."

Major General Christopher Maltby, standing beside the Governor, gave a tired but respectful salute. "Your fleet turned the tide, Admiral. We held on, but it was your girls who truly broke the enemy's back."

Zumwalt, standing slightly behind Halsey, exhaled softly, the tension from the battle still lingering in her chest. Geo, standing beside her, placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "You did good, Zum. We all did."

Zumwalt gave a small nod but said nothing. The battle was won—but war had a way of reminding even its victors of the scars it left behind.

Enterprise crossed her arms. "The Japanese shipgirls won’t take this lightly. They’ll be back."

Halsey smirked, his usual confidence shining through. "Let them come."

They then talk for a bit, after that they hear footsteps getting closer. The arrival of Admiral Zhang He cast a heavy shadow over the gathering. She stepped forward with an air of authority, her Chinese Directorate Navy uniform pristine, every button polished, every fold perfectly aligned. Her brown hair, tied into a side ponytail, swayed slightly as she moved, and her violet eyes—deep and unreadable—studied the assembled shipgirls with an unreadable expression.

But those present had no difficulty reading the atmosphere.

Zumwalt and Geo stiffened the moment they saw her. The flag on Zhang He’s uniform—the emblem of the Chinese Directorate—was a stark and bitter reminder of their past. The blood-red banner, so similar to that of the old Chinese Communist Party, sent a surge of rage through Geo’s veins. Her lips curled, her muscles tensed, and before anyone could stop her, she was already striding forward, hands clenched into fists.

Zumwalt reacted in an instant, stepping in front of Geo, placing a firm hand on her shoulder. Her own expression was just as dark, but there was restraint in her eyes—restraint Geo clearly lacked at this moment.

Enterprise, Lexington, and Hornet, who stood nearby, exchanged glances. Even Admiral Halsey, found himself at a loss for words. These two shipgirls—Zumwalt and Geo—were among Azur Lane’s strongest for now, and now they looked ready to tear Zhang He apart where she stood.

Zhang He, however, remained composed, her expression never wavering. If she felt fear, she did not show it.

"Zhang He." Zumwalt finally spoke, her voice like ice. "I thought I had sink you in North Hawaii."

Geo’s entire body was shaking. She had murder in her eyes.

A small, knowing smile crossed Zhang He’s lips. "Zumwalt, yes, you’re right. I did sank." She exhaled, tilting her head slightly. "But I’m alive.'

Zumwalt’s fingers twitched. Geo growled under her breath, her entire being trembling with barely restrained fury.

"You should be thankful I held Geo back." Zumwalt said, her voice heavy with unspoken threats.

Zhang He met her gaze with eerie calm. "I know." She sighed, her eyes flicking briefly toward Geo, who looked ready to tear her apart. "I’ll be honest. I did what I had to do. I carried out my duty, just as you two did yours. Do you think I had a choice? What did you expect me to do, Zumwalt? At the end of the day, we’re the same—just scraps of iron molded and controlled by human hands."

"Fucking whore" Geo spat, her voice laced with venom, her breath coming out in ragged huffs. Her fingers twitched, yearning to strike, to make Zhang He pay.

Zhang He remained still. Her expression betrayed no fear, no anger—only a tired sort of patience.

"Geo..." Zumwalt placed a firm hand on her shoulder, gently but unmistakably restraining her. "Hold your temper. This is not the time."

Geo exhaled sharply through her nose, nostrils flaring. Her glare never left Zhang He as she took a step back, her muscles still tense.

Zumwalt turned her gaze towards the others—Admiral Halsey, Enterprise, Lexington, and Hornet, all of whom stood in tense silence. She also noted the presence of the Hong Kong officials, Governor Mark Young and General Christopher Maltby. They, too, seemed uncertain of how to respond to the tense confrontation.

Geo scoffed, glaring daggers at Zhang He before spitting on the ground in disgust. "You're in luck, Directorate dog." She muttered, her voice dripping with venom.

She finally pulled away, stepping back towards Enterprise and Hornet. The two shipgirls immediately moved to her side, their hands finding her shoulders and back, grounding her, soothing her.

As for Zumwalt, she remained standing where she was, her expression unreadable, but her eyes never leaving Zhang He.

The tension in the air was suffocating.

The tense confrontation gradually shifted as Governor Mark Young cleared his throat and stepped forward. His voice was steady, authoritative. He wasted no time in briefing the gathered shipgirls and officers about the dire situation in Hong Kong. The city had withstood relentless waves of Japanese attacks, but the pressure was mounting. The garrison needed reinforcement, and their fortifications had to be strengthened if they were to hold out much longer.

Admiral Halsey, ever the aggressive strategist, listened intently before nodding. "Then we take the fight to them." He said firmly. "I brought a detachment of U.S. Marines with me. We can push north and link up with the Unified Front forces. A counterattack would relieve some of the pressure here."

Mark Young considered this before giving a curt nod. "That could work, but we’ll need more men. More supplies. More firepower."

Halsey smirked. "Then I’ll get you more. I’ll call in more Marine divisions to reinforce the mainland."

Enterprise, who had been standing at Halsey’s side, her arms crossed as she listened, finally spoke up. She gave her own input—suggestions for coordinating with local resistance forces, for utilizing air support effectively—but in the end, she was Halsey’s secretary. She took notes, relayed orders, and ensured that the planning process moved smoothly.

While the war council continued, Zumwalt gently but firmly took Geo by the arm and led her away from the others. Geo resisted at first, her body still shaking from anger, but she let herself be guided. The two shipgirls found themselves at a quiet spot, away from the planning and the watchful eyes of their allies.

Geo exhaled sharply, pacing back and forth, still fuming. "That bitch." She Muttered. "After everything they did. After what they did to me."

Zumwalt remained quiet, letting her vent. She had seen Geo like this before—her passion, her fury, her pain. It was a familiar sight, but it never got easier to watch.

Geo stopped suddenly, her fists clenched so tightly her knuckles turned white. She looked down, breathing heavily. Her voice trembled as she finally spoke.

"I never even launched my fighters."

Zumwalt’s breath caught in her throat. She knew what Geo was talking about.

"I was still just a ship." Geo continued, her voice breaking. "Didn’t even get the chance to fight back. Just… silence. Then the torpedoes. Then the cold. Sinking. I could hear them on the radio, calling out for me. And I couldn’t answer. I was just… gone."

She let out a bitter laugh, but her shoulders were shaking.

Zumwalt stepped forward and pulled her into a tight embrace. "You’re here now." She whispered. "You’re not alone."

Geo tensed at first, but the warmth of Zumwalt’s presence melted through her defenses. Her breath hitched, and then, finally, she broke. The tears came, silent at first, then in sobs that wracked her body. She clung to Zumwalt, the weight of her past crashing down all at once.

Zumwalt held her through it, gently rubbing her back, whispering reassurances. Geo had always put on a strong front—confident, flirtatious, always carrying herself with that playful bravado—but there were wounds she never let others see.

And Zumwalt understood them all too well.

They weren’t alone for long.

Zumwalt noticed the soft sound of footsteps approaching, and when she looked up, Zhang He was there, standing a few feet away. Her expression was unreadable, but her posture was not tense. She held no hostility.

Geo stiffened, pulling away from Zumwalt, quickly wiping at her eyes. Her face twisted into a scowl.

Zumwalt straightened but said nothing, waiting.

Zhang He exhaled and finally spoke. "I came to apologize.,

Geo scoffed. "Apologize? That’s rich."

Zhang He remained calm, her violet eyes steady. "I do not expect you to forgive me. I only ask that we start over. Not as enemies bound to repeat old grudges, but as allies with a common goal."

Geo’s expression darkened. "Allies?" She spat. "With a Directorate dog?"

Zhang He didn’t flinch at the insult. "I want to liberate my homeland." She said simply. "And I want to fight the Sirens."

That made Zumwalt pause. She had expected empty words, excuses, maybe even some justification for past actions. But Zhang He’s voice was firm, sincere.

Geo, however, was not convinced. "And why the hell should I believe you?"

Zhang He met her glare with an even gaze. "Because I have nothing left." She sighed, looking away for the first time. "The Directorate is not what it once was. I have lost everything. The only thing left for me is to fight for something greater than myself."

Zumwalt studied her carefully. There was truth in her words, but there was also something else—a deep regret, perhaps even guilt.

She closed her eyes for a brief moment, considering. Then, with a tired sigh, she spoke.

"…Fine." She said, her voice reluctant but steady. "I’ll accept it. But don’t expect me to trust you immediately."

Zhang He nodded, as if she had already expected that answer. "That is fair."

Geo, however, remained silent, her hands still clenched at her sides. Her jaw tightened. Finally, she turned away with a sharp huff.

"You do whatever you want, Zum." She muttered. "But I’m not going to play nice with her."

Zumwalt sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "One step at a time, Geo."

Geo crossed her arms, glaring at the ground. She wasn’t ready to forgive. She wasn’t sure she ever would be.

Zhang He then invited them over to a particular building among ruins of Hong Kong.

The air around the temporary memorial was still, heavy with the lingering scent of burning incense. Zhang He stood before the altar, eyes closed in quiet reverence as the soft smoke curled into the windless sky. Before her, laid upon a simple but well-kept bier, was the body of the late Thracian—an old destroyer shipgirl who had given her life in battle against the Japanese battleships Ise and Hyūga just two days prior.

Zumwalt and Geo stood a few steps behind, watching as Zhang He carefully placed three incense sticks before the fallen shipgirl and pressed her palms together in prayer.

Zumwalt frowned. The sight was… odd. Strange, even. A technocrat, the flagship of the Directorate, praying? That alone was something she never expected to see. It didn’t fit with the cold, calculating image she had of Zhang He and her Directorate forces.

She took a step closer, arms crossed. "Why?" She asked, her voice quiet but firm. "Why are you praying to her?"

Zhang He didn’t open her eyes as she replied. "Because she fought with honor."

Zumwalt’s frown deepened. "We’re just ships in the end." She muttered. "Steel and circuits given form. It’s strange seeing you of all people—someone from a technocrat-led country—engaging in something like this."

At that, Zhang He opened her eyes. They glowed faintly with the reflection of the incense flames as she turned her head to meet Zumwalt’s gaze. "Does being created by human hands make us unworthy of faith?" She asked. Her tone wasn’t confrontational, merely curious. "No one knows where the souls of fallen shipgirls go… but that doesn’t mean we should forget them."

Zumwalt said nothing, but Geo, who had been silent until now, finally spoke. Her voice was quieter than usual, lacking its usual flirtatious lilt.

"…Where do you think she went?" She asked, staring at Thracian’s still form. Her body was well-preserved, her expression calm as if she had simply fallen into a deep slumber.

Zhang He turned back to the altar. "I don’t know." She admitted. "But I like to think that wherever she is, she is at peace."

Before anyone could say anything further, a small group of Colonial soldiers approached the memorial. They were quiet, solemn, their boots crunching against the dirt as they carried a folded Union Jack flag and a simple wooden coffin. One of them, a tall Punjabi soldier with a weathered face, stepped forward and placed a hand over his heart before speaking.

"She fought well." He said softly. "She will be prepared for her journey to Ceylon in a few days. It is what she wanted."

Zumwalt studied him for a moment. There was grief in his voice, but also respect. Thracian had been more than just another shipgirl to him—she had been a friend. A comrade.

Geo exhaled, her eyes flickering to the flag and the coffin. The sight made something heavy settle in her chest.

This was an afterthought neither she nor Zumwalt had ever wanted to confront. They could die. They could bleed. They could be defeated.

For all their power, for all their abilities, they weren’t invincible. They weren’t untouchable. And just because they were the embodiments of ships, it didn’t mean they couldn’t fall like anyone else.

And that, more than anything, was terrifying.

TBC.