The island princess slouched on her throne of burnt, twisted metal with a hateful scowl on her stone-gray face. Her heavy greatcoat hung like a shroud off her enormous thighs, and her rough leather jackboots were sprawled on the jagged concrete that formed her dias. Her hands were entombed in claw-tipped gauntlets of forged iron the size of a man's chest that erupted from her pallid flesh. Even if she had eyes, the crown of twisted metal tearing though her brow would've blocked her view.
One massive gauntlet rested on the hilt of her sword. Her claws tapped out an angry drumbeat as the princess tried to ignore the ravenous, insatiable hunger for blood she shared with the blade. She'd drunk her fill taking this place, gorged herself until she could barely move and birthed her mastered demons from her hate.
But it wasn't enough. It was never enough. Every drop of blood the princess tasted only fanned the flames of her all-consuming hunger. She wanted nothing else, she could think of
nothing beyond appeasing her limitless need to gorge herself on the blood of the
traitors.
The princess scowled, her stony features creaking like ice with even the slightest motion. She knew not who birthed her, she knew nothing before she broke the waves
but hunger. It had been her sole companion in life, until…
Until she took this island, and raised a fleet from the ashes.
The tiniest glimmer of a smile passed over her lips, and she glanced at the battlecruiser demon cradled at her breast. A tiny thing, barely a quarter of the Princess's enormous height, and not even a tenth of her vast bulk, the demon was the first of three triplets.
The princess stroked an ice-cold talon across the pallid skin of the demon's bare thigh, her claw leaving a faint scrape where it'd scratched away the scale. The demon didn't seem to care. Hair dyed wine-dark by oil and the faint crimson tint of freshly-spilled blood was matted against its sinewy body, covering the featureless void where its eyes would be.
The only interruption to its faceless mask was it's mouth. A ragged, crooked thing that cut across its ashen face like a tear full of crooked incisors and constantly oozing oil and freezing seawater.
Its talons—far smaller and weaker than the princess's, but no less wickedly sharp—clutched onto her body, digging into her skin as the demon held itself close to a breast engorged by the blood of the island's… former occupiers.
The princess scowled as she felt the demon's teeth bite into her, and let her own claws dig into it's slender thigh until she felt blood trickle through her talons. But… she couldn't bring herself to fault it.
This island had been occupied for far to long. Now… it had finally been liberated. Her demons were every bit servile to her sovereign will as her own flesh. But even they deserved a
little time for celebration.
Her scowl twisted into a mirthless smirk, and she slouched back on her throne. Her demon's body sat like a freezing rag on her chest as it slowly drank its fill. So much the better, she'd taken the island, but she did not intend to restrain herself to
solely it.
Then, a scuff of jackboots on the battered concrete floor drew her attention. A pair of heels clicked together, and a deferential bark demanded her attention.
The princess was blind, but that didn't mean she couldn't see. The island
was her, ever soldier, every plane, ever ship on and around it was an extension of her will. She could see though any pair of eyes she wished.
"Oberfurer," The princess gently stroked a talon along her demon's svelte stern, brushing aside its skirt of forged iron as it razor-sharp fangs suckled at her swollen, icy breast.
Her battle cruisers were fast, and more powerful than anything else in the South China sea. But that might came with a healthy appetite. She'd let the demon feed while she attended to her daily business. "Report."
The princess watched herself though the panzergrenadier eyeless gaze at it gave her the daily report. She knew this all of course, every eye, every ship on this island was an extension of her will. But it was so very much to keep track of, especially when her demons demanded constant affection.
At first, it was the same story she heard day in and day out. Her imps were working tirelessly to turn the island's beaches to forests of tank-traps and minefields. Her panzers were drilling without sleep. Her planes were prowling the skies, sending the odd fishing raft or cargo ship to the bottom.
And then… the imp got to the
interesting part.
"Three cruisers?" the princess shifted in her throne, the metal groaning at her immense weight. She felt the demon pull away from her breast, its icy kiss replaced by the warm, damp heat of the tropics. She cradled it by its narrow waist, running her thumb down it's slender belly as she shifted her gaze from the grenadier to one of her orbiting condors.
In an instant, the muggy tropical breeze was replaced with the frigid wind at altitude. She felt ice claw at her skin as the bomber hurtled though the air, and miles below her she saw the foamy traces of four sprinting cruisers—no, three. And one of those overgrown Destroyers her foes were so proud of—barreling towards her island.
At first, she was intrigued. Three cruisers would hardly sate her hunger, but they might… slacken her endless thirst for a moment. If nothing else, it would give her demons a much-needed workout, they were starting to get restless waiting in port.
But then… then she recognized
her.
The second ship in the formation, one far bigger and broader than the others. A heavy cruiser.
Hipper-class.
Prinz Eugen. Only she was flying that… rancid… three-color
rag.
The princess felt blood chill to a frozen hate. The hand resting on her sword clenched into a fist so tight she felt icy blood trickle through her talons, and she pulled her demon closer to her chest.
"Traitor." The princess hissed though clenched teeth. The mere force of her anger sent drops of oil and spit flying though the air as her rage built. Her demons would
not fall prey to such treason, she would not allow it.
She felt the demon slide off her lap, and she buttoned her greatcoat over her swollen bosom. The tarnished buttons strained to keep the battered fabric closed, and she felt them bite into her skin. But her anger was overwhelming, and she could think of nothing besides protecting her bonded demons from that
traitorous WHORE.
She shifted her gaze back to the grenadier just in time to see her demon wipe the last drops of oil from its crooked maw with the back of its gauntlet. Its eyeless face was all but covered by its inky black hair, forcing the gleam of its multitude of teeth into sharp relief.
The princess hauled her enormous body to her feet with a groan of moaning metal and crumbling concrete. "You," she placed her massive hand on the demon's shoulder, running a thumb the size of it's arm down it's jaw. "Gather your sisters."
The demon's toothy grimace morphed into a smile no less malevolent. It snapped its heels together with a crash of wrought iron, and stormed to the docks as fast as it's long, slender legs and powerful turbines would take it.
The princess smirked to herself. Her demons' loyalty was unquestioning. They understood the meaning of duty, and they'd drill that lesson home until there was nothing left of that traitorous mercenary whore but a slick of burning oil.
If nothing else, it would give them some much needed exercise. They were starting to get restless in port. And as much as the princess adored them, she would like to have one solitary hour to herself.
"And you," The princess glanced at the grenadier still standing at rapt attention. "Ready a strike."
With a salute, the imp marched off to ready her jets for their missions.
The princess sank back onto her throne, ignoring the twitch in her belly. She'd gorged herself when she took the island, but while that feast was vast, it had its limits. Her hunger was gnawing at her again, and the mere thought of sending a flotilla to the bottom only intensified her ravenous need to devour.
Soon.
Soon she'd drink her fill of blood and oil. Soon she'd fill her belly with the anguish of traitorous slaves and birth a great conquering fleet.
Soon.
The princess licked her icy lips. Her victory couldn't come soon enough.
—|—|—
"Hey, Eugen," Frisco squinted at the solitary gray-green dot marring the otherwise unblemished sapphire sky. The well-tanned skin of her nose wrinkled in concentration, and her almond eyes strained to reach the very limit of her visual range.
"Yes?" The big German-born cruiser glanced over. She'd tucked her gloves into her pocket and loosened her collar as a concession to the tropical heat—although she seemed to enjoy the cool ocean breeze on her bare thighs—but her sea-green eyes hadn't lost a bit of their cool Teutonic attention.
"Bearing one-six-one," Frisco pointed at the spec, "'bout twenty-thousand feet. You seeing what I'm seeing?"
Prinz Eugen shaded her eyes with the blade of her hand and squinted into the sky. For a moment, she said nothing. Only the crash of waves against her high-cut Atlantic bow and the rustle of her even higher-cut skirt broke the silence. Then, with a curt nod she spoke. "I believe I do."
"Condor?" Frisco gave the big German with her adorable little miniskirt a quick glance. Anything to distract her from the dull ache building in her scars. Maybe it was just the muggy tropical air… but Guadalcanal was just a few miles East…
"Mmm," Prinz Eugen nodded. "I would agree with that, yes."
"We're being shadowed," said Frisco to nobody in particular. "
Fitz, you seeing this?"
"Copy, ma'am," lumbered the reassuring voice of
Fitzgerald's captain. Yonehara, if memory served, a Nisei like herself.
Frisco hadn't met the man beyond the few words they'd exchanged at the briefing. But there was something about the way he spoke that made her feel safe. His voice flowed with all the urgency of molasses on a cold day, but Frisco got the distinct impression she should
not try and test him.
"Bouncing around the scope though."
"That going to be a problem?" Frisco tried to match his relaxed dispassion. A single Condor couldn't haul that much, and even
if it was carrying rocket-bombs, she and her division had jammers on standby.
"Nah," Fitz's captain's easy voice wrapped around her like a comforting blanket.
"They they try anything we'll smack 'em with a standard or six."
Frisco giggled despite herself. She knew full well he was talking about a standard
missile. But she couldn't shake the mental image of someone loading a quietly-fuming Arizona into a catapult. "Thanks, good to hear."
"No problem, ma'am."
"Hey, Frisco?" Lou tacked a few degrees over with a smirk on her cheeky tanned face.
"Yes?" Frisco returned the smirk with one of her own. One thing she liked about being Nesai, she could
really pull off the inscrutable smirk.
"That bird's watching us, yeah?"
Frisco's eyes narrowed even further than usual. "That was the plan, yes." With the patrol plane shadowing them, she and her cruiser division could bait the abyssal battlecruisers right into Arizona's plodding batteries. But Lou
knew that. "Why?"
Lou shrugged. "No reason."
"Uh huh…" Frisco rolled her eyes.
"Figured you'd be used to it and all," said the light cruiser.
Prinz Eugen glanced from one American to the other, confusion plastered over her superstructure.
"Since…" Lou absentmindedly played with the tip of her flaming red ponytail. "You're a Cali girl and all."
It took Frisco a moment to make a connection. "I'm from
San Fran! That's not even
close to LA!"
Lou opened her mouth to vocalize a retort, but her interest in bothering her fellow cruiser vanished the same instant Frisco's ears suddenly perked up. Both cruisers blinked, and glanced over at the exact same spot on the horizon.
Prinz Eugen had heard about this before, but she'd never seen it herself. And while she understood the theory behind air-search radar—she even had a set herself—she was but a humble learner compared to the Americans.
"You—" Lou was almost immediately cut off by Frisco.
"I see 'em," said the tanned heavy cruiser. "Tally…" she clicked her lips. "Eight bombers, looks like six fighters."
"
Fitz," Lou didn't even glance at the destroyer. "One-nine-four, maybe ten thousand off the deck, you have 'em?"
"Yep. Jammers on. Weapons release on Frisco's order."
"We got'em," Frisco heeled over in a turn, pointing her bow squarely at the howling jets. Her fingers twitched as her crew scrambled to man her five-inch mounts, and Lou was already wearing a wild grin as her 5in/38s slewed on target. "Weapons tight for now."
Prinz Eugen took a moment to fasten up her collar as her ten-point-five crews scrambled to their stations and her four-centimeter bofors guns tingled with anticipation. During the war, she'd done her sworn duty to her country with a… less than easy conscience. Now she got to fight on the side of the unambiguous 'good guys.'
"Prinz Eugen, Ready!" she called out for no reason beyond it sounding appropriate. Frisco flashed her a thumbs up, affirming her direction as the correct one.
The jets were easy to spot. Their mottled gray camouflage blended well enough with the sky, but the pillars of jet-black smoke they rode marked their location well enough. The jets peeled off to the side, probably trying to set up for a broadside shot, but Frisco heeled over to match.
The heavy cruiser kept the jets squarely off her bow as she closed the distance. Her beautiful almond eyes narrowed in concentration, and the corners of her lips twisted into a perverse smirk. "All batteries,
fire!"
The bark of five-inch and ten-centimeter guns thundered over the south China Sea as all three cruisers unloaded unto the swarm. Prinz Eugen's time-fused shells might not quite match the killing power of the Americans' proximity fuses, but it almost didn't matter.
The howling jets closed the distance terrifyingly fast. The Swallows came first, rolling over in pairs to hurl themselves through the flak in power dives that could've been mistaken for falling stars.
Two fell upon Frisco, stitching the scarred American's deck with thirty-millimeter fire, forcing her gunners to duck and slashing her face with hundreds of shallow cuts. She threw up a hand to shield her eyes from the onslaught, and her Bofors and Oerlikons fired wildly into the fighters as they powered into what looked like a straight-vertical zoom-climb on pillars of coal.
The other four angled squarely for Prinz Eugen. Thirty-milimeter tracers were joined by the staccato yip of unicorn-nosed fifty-millimeter shells raking her flanks. She felt her skin tear as the rounds exploded against her decks, but other than smashed spotlights and ruined boats, the big cruiser sustained more pain than actual damage.
Then Prinz Eugen screamed as a bomb slammed into her deck, mangling one of her open Bofors mounts and tearing a gash into her pale thigh. The wound wasn't deep, but it
was wide, and oily blood poured from her wound.
"FEUER!" She refused to acknowledged the pain, not while her friends were still in danger. A burst from her bofors found its mark, sawing off the offending sturmvogel's wing at the root and sending it smashing into the ocean.
She didn't dwell on the kill. There were still too many bombers and fighters to deal with. As the swallows arced around for another gun-run, the Blitzs winged over into their dives.
Like the rest of her division, Prinz Eugen threw her rudder hard over in an attempt to spoil their solutions. Her flanks erupted with wild barely-aimed fire. The sky above her had rapidly devolved into a mess of burning tracers, exploding flak, howling jets, and enough choking engine smoke to blot out the sun.
"
Fitz, release!" barked Frisco.
Instants later, the destroyer's missile deck erupted in flame. For an instant, Prinz Eugen thought the ship had taken a hit. But then a rocket screamed from its cell and almost immediately skewered a diving Blitz right though the nose glazing.
The missile'd made it almost to the wing root before its fuse triggered, cracking the bomber open from the inside like a popcorn kernel.
Prinz Eugen was distantly aware of her own giggling, just as she was vaguely aware of
something—a downed bomber? A near-miss?—splashing a few yards off her starboard flank.
The roar of missiles and their twisting trails only added to the confusion above, and Prinz Eugen couldn't spare the attention to keep track of it. She was focused sorely on making herself as hard a target as possible while giving everything above the surface a generous helping of flak.
And then, as suddenly as it'd began, the battle was over. The howl of jet engines vanished, the thunder of flak guns ebbed, and quiet disturbed by nothing more than waves lapping against steel once again took hold.
"Damage report," said Frisco.
Prinz Eugen took a moment to pat herself down. She'd lost one of her ten-fives, three of her bofors, her radar was damaged, and she'd have to avoid lemonade until the cuts littering her face healed. But she was still afloat and in good condition. "Prinz Eugen okay!"
"Lou's good," said Lou. "Had a minor fire, but it's under control."
"Fitzgerald here. Looks like most of the heat went to you."
"Copy. Check scopes," Frisco's gaze swept the horizon with cool efficacy while Lou did the same.
"Scope's clear," said Lou.
"I don't see anything," said Prinz Eugen.
"Fitz has nothing," said the steelhull captain.
"Still got that watcher though."
Frisco smiled. "Good." She let out a painful fake cough as her stacks belched a gout of oily black smoke. Her bow dug in as she slowed to twenty knots and pulled the most uncoordinated turn Prinz Eugen had ever seen. She must've been steering with just her screws. "Come to new course. Cough." She didn't fake a cough this time. She just said the word. "head for Sledge."
"Nice acting, starlett," Lou rolled her eyes.
The cool, collected Frisco who'd lead the division though an air attack vanished, replaced by the easily-irritated Frisco Prinz Eugen found so cute. "I am from
San Fran!"
Lou just smirked and tucked a loose strand of flaming hair behind her ear.
"Besides," Frisco nodded in the general direction of the island. "It only matters that
they bought it."
