Chapter 127: A Retributive Strike
Uraraka didn't know what hurt more. The several bandaged up bullet wounds she was quietly nursing, or the disappointed look All Might was giving her. It had been a day since the battle of Mtim, and in that short window of time, Uraraka and Midoriya had been flown out to the MSF's Africa FOB. They were taken to the infirmary and had doctors going over them for hours. And while that happened, Snake had called UA to explain exactly what had happened.
Now, as far as Uraraka's parents knew, she was on an internship out of the country. The MSF and UA hadn't explained any more than that. So… the school was a bit hesitant to call her parents to explain she'd nearly gotten herself killed three separate times. But of course, they needed to send someone out to reprimand her. Who better to send than the single hero everyone looked up to?
"What you did was utterly foolish, irresponsible, and reckless!" Snake lambasted the man holding a lit cigar in his hand. He'd take a few puffs to try and calm himself down, yet the tobacco wasn't exactly doing much for him at the moment. At the same time, both Midoriya and Uraraka flinched back at his words.
"Running off like a pair of rogue fools! I should have called the mission off days ago," Snake grumbled, before bringing his free hand to his face. Rubbing his brow for a moment, the merc continued to grumble under his breath. There, All Might sighed, looked over the teens, and ran a hand through his hair.
"You both have a heroic spirit within you, but as it stands, you are both just kids," All Might told them tiredly, his eyes moving over both teens. They reeked with disappointment and made Uraraka want to sink deeper into the bed. He wasn't even a father, and yet he had the "I'm not angry" look down to a T.
"We are both just… so disappointed in you," All Might stated, the man slowly shaking his head as he spoke. Glancing to her right, Uraraka spotted Midoriya looking down at his hands, the teen unwilling to look at Snake or All Might.
"You should never have run off like that, especially with villains still active in the area," All Might scolded, the hero then crossing his arms.
"...T-the mission was nearly finished-" Midoriya began to hesitantly say, only for Snake to cut him off.
"The mission that I specifically told you was being called off," Snake retorted, Midoriya now looking up at the soldier.
"Dad-"
"No, don't Dad me. I am not speaking to you as your father right now. I am speaking to you as your CO," Snake stated coldly, a hidden fury behind his eye. Both teens flinched back at his tone, Midoriya especially as Snake walked up to his bed.
"When I give you an order, you follow it," Snake told him angrily. When he was close enough, he swore under his breath. Looking over Midoriya, Uraraka could see a small ounce of defiance in him, and she knew why. They both did what they thought was right. They got the last rhino out, saved the creature's life, and ended the mission. Of course, Snake saw this defiance too and slammed his hands down on Midoriya's bed.
"For fucks sake, you could have gotten yourselves killed out there! Worse, your actions nearly got Pequod killed!" Snake told him, and suddenly Midoriya went still. His eyes went wide in realization, and his face slowly paled. The words caught Uraraka by surprise as well, the girl unknowingly shaking. They'd… they'd almost gotten someone killed… that… that couldn't be right. They were… they were trying to help people… they…
"It's bad enough you almost died, but your actions nearly dragged another life down with you!" Snake lambasted Midoriya, not flinching as the man spoke. Instead, he remained frozen in shock, his mouth agape.
"It's a miracle all of you are even alive!" Snake loudly told him, "If we had arrived just one second later, you would be dead! Do you realize that Izuku!?"
Uraraka couldn't argue with the man's words. He was right. They went charging headlong into danger, wanting to be heroes, and forgot that others were following behind them. They'd gotten an innocent man hurt, and Uraraka was disgusted and terrified by the thought. By then, Snake had gone quiet, the man brewing with fury while Midoriya sat on his bed, shocked. It took a few moments before the teen said anything.
"Y-yes, sir," he weakly muttered. A few tears fell from his eyes, his face screaming regret. Tiredly, Snake took a puff from his cigar before crossing his arms.
"I'm putting my foot down now. You are not going on another mission until I think you're fit to do this on your own," Snake told him, with Midoriya slowly nodding.
"How long am I grounded for?" Midoriya asked, causing Snake to sigh.
"Oh, we are beyond grounding," Snake replied gruffly, "You want to be a soldier, so I'm going to punish you like a soldier."
"And as for you, Young Uraraka, this situation would normally be grounds for expulsion," All Might then said, making the girl go pale. Her eyes shot wide open in shock… yet she made no protest. No argument. Uraraka felt herself shaking at the very idea of being expelled. But she couldn't bring herself to argue against it. However, she soon noticed the way All Might had phrased his words. The situation "would" be grounds for expulsion.
Not is, not was, not will be. Would. Without a word, All Might sat down in a nearby chair. Clasping his hands together, he looked at Uraraka with the same disappointed stare.
"However, I believe your earlier heroics in the week have earned you some leniency," All Might told her, giving her some momentary peace. Only for the hero to remind her what was going on.
"You will be joining Young Midoriya in his punishment," All Might informed her. Like Midoriya, she didn't argue against it. She quietly dreaded what the exact punishment would be, but… it was a deserved one. As she thought this, Snake had stopped to look down at his watch. Seeing the time, he sighed and looked toward All Might. With a quiet nod, the hero understood his message and stood up.
"We've got business to attend to. I suggest both of you get some rest," All Might told them, before heading toward the door. Snake followed behind him, the two in near lockstep. The sight left Uraraka in thought. Steeped in all the regret was a small realization.
"I uh… I guess we won't be going on that date then," Uraraka whispered, Midoriya glancing at her. Hesitantly, he nodded, with Uraraka sighing. It… it was a shame. But they could always go some other time. Besides, it wouldn't be right for them to go now. Not after what they'd done. Unfortunately for Uraraka, Snake hadn't fully left the room yet. And she wasn't nearly as quiet as she thought he was.
With a slow turn, Snake looked back at both teens with a suspicious look.
"...Date?" Snake inquired. The second they heard him, both teens began turning red. Instantly, they both spoke up, ready with an excuse, only to talk over each other.
"Well, u-uh you see what she m-meant to say was that-" Midoriya began to say.
"I-I-I misspoke you s-see, and I meant to say-" Uraraka said at the same time. Hearing each other, they both paused for a split second and waited for the other to keep speaking. When neither did, they both decided to take the initiative and start speaking again. And they talked over each other, again. All Snake did as they fumbled was stare. When they gave up trying to find an excuse and were both as red as a tomato, they looked up at Snake anxiously. He blinked a few times, breathed in, and began to snicker.
That only made both teens redder, as his laughter evolved from a snicker to a chuckle. Shaking his head, Snake kept moving toward the door.
"Strangelove has to hear this," Uraraka heard him comment, the very notion making Midoriya go wide-eyed.
"No, no, no, no, no, don't tell her!" Midoriya cried out, cupping his hands around his mouth for a makeshift megaphone. He practically fell out of bed trying to ensure Snake heard him.
"I'm sure it… Won't be that bad," Uraraka told him, with a nervous and apologetic smile. Midoriya just looked back, unsure. At least the news was out there, Uraraka reasoned.
"I did not like doing that," All Might muttered, walking down the FOB's halls. He shook a second afterward, a random shiver going down his spine. Snake quietly agreed, as he took a puff from his still-lit cigar.
"You said what needed to be said," Snake told him, before grumbling, "At least you weren't yelling at your own son."
He didn't like punishing Midoriya. If anything, it was the last thing he wanted to do. But there were rules Midoriya had broken. And if the consequences meant yelling at his… little boy… damn it. Snake didn't like thinking about this. He'd look at Midoriya, and still he'd see the same six-year-old he'd first rescued. Midoriya had always been a good kid. So a lingering thought that maybe he was being too hard on him came to mind. But that idea was crushed by Snake's logical side.
Midoriya disobeyed orders. There were consequences for that kind of action.
"A bit of yelling might have been justified in your case," All Might then replied, with Snake simply grumbling.
"Still, they're good kids. Hurts to start punishing them. Even if it's deserved," All Might added, Snake slowly nodding in agreement. The punishment itself would be relatively difficult. And by difficult, Snake meant the teens would be up from six A.M. to ten P.M. doing manual labor for the next forty-five days, with their only free time being classes. Some of their work wouldn't even have a purpose.
He'd have them dig a trench, and then have them fill it up the moment they finished digging. Move some sandbags fifteen feet, then put them back where they were before. On the flip side, there would be some training. But that training would be tear gas training. Which Snake knew would not be fun for anyone. And of course, there was the classic choice of cleaning the bathrooms with a toothbrush.
There were a lot of options to choose from. Yet… one thing did come to Snake's mind.
"Heh, date," Snake snorted, the word still fresh in his mind. He was still absolutely furious with Midoriya, but that one word had eased his mood. To think his boy was trying to go on a date. Hearing him laugh, All Might glanced toward him with a raised brow.
"Hmm?" All Might inquired, while Snake took a puff from his cigar.
"Just something I heard them talking about before we left," Snake explained, with a chuckle, "Apparently, they were planning on going on a date."
Obviously, they couldn't anymore. But Snake still found the idea surprising.
"They were?" All Might asked, surprised, and Snake quietly nodded in response. Hearing this, All Might ran a hand through his hair before lightly chuckling.
"Heh, you know I'm not surprised," All Might commented, "Well… no, I take that back. I'm surprised they took this long."
"What, you knew?" Snake asked, confused, only for All Might to look back at him, also confused.
"How didn't you? They hung out all the time," All Might told him. And it caused Snake to think. Sure, he knew Midoriya and Uraraka were friends. But "hung out all the time" sounded a tad like an exaggeration. Granted, Snake did notice the two often training together, working out, and going over notes. Midoriya would occasionally rush into the storage area, asking for MREs for Uraraka. And… Uraraka was, from what Snake was told, the first of 1A to see Midoriya after Tokyo… not to mention Midoriya bought the block of tungsten that was now Uraraka's hammer…
Upon reflection, the signs were very much there, much to Snake's shock.
"Guess I just never noticed," Snake replied with a shrug, "Not really one for romance."
"I hear you. Being the Symbol of Peace… didn't exactly give me any spare time," All Might commented, with Snake slowly nodding, "You?"
"Eh, somewhat. More… complicated on my side," Snake answered, remembering a certain old spark in his life. It was a relationship he had mixed feelings about. Very mixed feelings. All Might simply nodded knowingly, the two finally stepping outside. Smelling the sea air, All Might looked over the other platforms. He walked over to the platform's edge and leaned on the railing. Still smoking his cigar, Snake followed him and stood on his left.
"So, what's to do about the warlords?" All Might asked, Snake then raising a brow.
"Planning on helping out?" Snake inquired, All Might merely nodding as he crossed his arms.
"These villains harmed my students. For that, I believe justice should be served," All Might replied, the man glaring out at the open ocean. Snake didn't miss how All Might said students, plural. But he said nothing of it. Instead, he smirked and brought his cigar to his mouth.
"Well, in that case, we'd be happy for the help," Snake replied, before pulling out his Idroid, "Nagant is gathering up targets as we speak. She should be back in an hour."
Africa was a big place, and like it or not, the MSF couldn't hit every facility the warlords had. There were air bases, factories, shipyards, and training camps all over the continent, and all numbering in the thousands. So the MSF had always prioritized nearby targets over those hundreds of miles away. That said, Snake was in the mood for retribution. These bastards had shot his kid, and for that, they were going to pay.
"Good," All Might replied, his usual wide, boastful smile coming to fruition, "Gives me time to explore."
"Explore?" Snake inquired with a chuckle. All Might simply shrugged back at him.
"What? This place is like I-Island. You expect me not to check it out?" All Might asked, Snake then shaking his head.
"Fair enough," Snake replied as he saw All Might fully stand up. Quickly, the hero walked away. His main focus seemed to be on a nearby residential platform, one that had a large baseball field sitting on its roof. Seeing him go, Snake's eye then turned down to his Idroid. There, he found a small list of targets Nagant had already lined up. The majority of which were situated in more major warlord powers.
Bomber squadrons were getting ready for long-distance strikes in Somalia, Guinea, and the DRC. At the same time, the MSF Navy was redeploying ships from different theaters. In total, the MSF had four main fleets: the Home Fleet, the Western Fleet, the Southern Fleet, and the Expeditionary Fleet. The Southern Fleet was focusing its attention on South Africa and had Submarine Squadrons Five, Six, the destroyer Paradiso, and the frigates Mgbaba and Onishita moving in for an attack on Gqeberha.
Soon, Snake thought, they would learn that no matter what they tried, Outer Heaven was here to stay.
Willem never liked waking up in the morning. Growing up, sleep had always been a far greater friend to him than reality. Yet as his eyes opened up to view his bedroom's roof, as the sheets of his bed stuck to him, and his TV's speakers played noisily from the living room, he knew he would have to get up. Scratching his face, he sat up in his small bed and kicked his legs over the side.
When he finally stood up, Willem yawned and walked toward a nearby dresser. Opening it up, he clawed out his uniform and began putting it on. His eyes traced over the flag of the state, the old orange, white, and blue tricolor looking a bit faded. The sight brought Willem no pride. Not as he put the uniform on, not as he ensured his kaptein bars were clean, and not as he placed his hat on his head.
Looking in the mirror, he spotted his oddly old face, littered with his pale blonde hair. Willem considered shaving as his hand traced over his faint stubble, but he decided against it. Once that was all done, he walked out of his bedroom. Turning the corner, he spotted his youngest son, Christiaan, sitting by the TV, while his wife Hanneli was making breakfast. Christiaan looked almost exactly like Willem, only younger and shorter. And Hanneli was a somewhat short woman, with long brown hair that reached down her back. Hanneli eventually looked up from their old stove, a soft smile on her face.
"Aren't we looking fancy today?" she commented, while Willem walked up to her.
"Morning," he replied, before carefully pulling her into a kiss. It was a simple, quick affair, and Willem was soon walking away, much to Hanneli's surprise. Glancing around the room, Willem walked toward the front door and found the small table they had set up nearby. It was a small thing, only holding a lamp and a bowl. Looking in the bowl, Willem quietly began to grumble to himself.
"Bokkie, have you seen the car keys anywhere?" Willem asked, his hand soon digging around the bowl. Peering out of the kitchen, Hanneli looked back with her brow raised and a pan with eggs still sizzling.
"You're leaving already?" Hanneli asked, surprised, and Willem shrugged in response.
"Figured I'd head out early. You know how they can get," Willem replied, remembering memories he'd preferred to keep buried. The state did not tolerate tardiness after all. As he thought this, he could hear Christiaan laugh as the old CRT TV played some cartoon. With a glance, Willem could see it was one of the state's usual programs. A simple show titled The Lion and the Snake. The main premise was of a sinister yellow and black snake that continually tried to trick the lion into falling for some scam or trap.
It was the usual pit of spikes or a falling anvil. The snake never won, of course. The lion would always outsmart the animal, and with a roar, fling the serpent all the way to Nigeria. And then the same message would play at the end of the show. The Lion was victorious this day, but the Snake is still out there. So remember, kids, do not trust the Snake, for Outer Heaven is a lie. It was a peculiar cartoon, particularly gruesome to. Willem didn't fully like the show, but he didn't dare say this out loud.
"The keys should be in the bowl. If not there, then check the couch," Hanneli eventually told him, Willem then stepping back from the table. They weren't in the bowl, obviously, so he turned toward the living room. Now rifling through the cushions of his couch, Willem shook his head as he again found nothing.
"Not there either," Willem commented, with Hanneli shaking her head behind him. Walking back to the table by the door, she dug through the bowl and materialized the keys from seemingly nowhere.
"Here," Hanneli said, passing him the keys to their car. With an embarrassed chuckle, Willem grabbed them carefully.
"What would I ever do without you?" he asked, before walking toward the door. But not before Hanneli passed him a small brown bag. It was closed, but he could still smell the egg sandwich inside. Looking down at the bag for a moment, Willem then felt her place a small kiss on his cheek.
"Take care," Hanelli told him, his heart quietly melting.
"I will," Willem calmly replied, before walking to the door. Opening it slightly, he looked out at the sofa and spotted his son still watching TV.
"Christiaan, I'm heading out. Be good for your mother," he said quickly, earning the boy's attention. Peering over the couch, Christiaan stood up on the cushions, rapidly waving at his father.
"Bye, Dad!" Christiaan replied, an excited, if nervous, smile on his face. Waving back, Willem slowly stepped out the door, with a smile on his face. The smile only remained for a few seconds as the man walked out to his car. The moment he caught his reflection in his house's window, his smile disappeared entirely. He loved Hanneli, he truly did. She was possibly the most perfect person he could have ever met. At times she was soft and quiet, other times she was shockingly strong-willed and determined, unafraid to speak her mind.
She somehow always knew what Willem was feeling, and Willem was the same for her. But there was just one thing Willem wished was different about their relationship. Just one minor thing. Because their relationship was not consensual. They did not meet each other naturally and, in fact, did not know each other before their wedding. When they were both eighteen years old, the state had decided the two would be wed.
Willem and Hanelli were not a unique case either. All marriages were decided by the state, with spouses being assigned to each other the moment they came of age. It was a horrid black mark on their marriage, and it was one that Willem wished could be removed. Alas, there was nothing he could do about it now. Their "wedding" had been twenty-five years ago, and there wasn't a thing he could do to change it.
So instead, Willem decided to distract himself by looking around the neighborhood. Surrounding him was a small, quaint suburb, littered with small ranch-style homes mimicking his own. But none were overall unique. Those lucky enough to be part of the middle class were given a choice of four different prefabricated homes that they could purchase. The only real differences were in the slightest layout change and color.
Each house has some mix of beige, light bluish grey, regular grey, or pale red. It was a small splash of color to make things appear less dreary than they actually were. There was some shrubbery around the streets and sidewalk, providing some modicum of green, but that was about it. Then there were the cars on their driveways. Some were provided by the state, others were bought by only a lucky few.
Yet all of them were outdated models. Willem's own car was a domestically made plain white 1983 model Toyota Corolla. Though the state called it a Bekker Domineer. Aside from the Corolla, there were only four other car models that someone could. A 1983 Toyota Camry, Volkswagen Golf, Ford Fiesta, or Hyundai Stellar. Or as they were known domestically, the Bekker Reisiger, the Bekker Dagbreek, the Elizabeth Auto Staatsmanne, and the Onmoontlik Motors Boar.
There were other trucks and vans and whatnot the state used, but when it came to civilian cars, this was all people could own. Five models, built by three companies that "competed" for dominance. Sitting down in his car, Willem quietly started up the engine. Instantly, his radio turned on, and he fiddled with the volume for a second. But soon he was off, driving through Port Elizabeth's streets. Leaving his small neighborhood, he began moving through the rest of the city.
Along his journey, he spotted all manner of people working through the day. Some technicians busily fixed up a broken stoplight, a legion of factory workers began their walk to the job site, a bus driver arrived to pick said workers up, and a news anchor broadcast over Willem's radio.
"-For today is a great day! In the last few weeks, production of artillery shells has gone up by twenty percent! Citing this new achievement, Jaco Pretorious has announced a sale on all chocolate sold by the Pretorious Foodstuffs Corporation! Now all citizens can buy a twenty-gram chocolate bar for only three bishos!" the man excitedly announced, the sound of cheering following soon after.
Willem wasn't sure if it was real or fake. Then again, it didn't exactly matter if it was. Turning right on the city's roads, Willem thought back to just a month ago. Back then, the PFC had announced that they would be raising the price of a twenty-gram chocolate bar to three bishos. They said it would be a temporary measure due to a lack of cocoa. Then again, this was not the first time the PFC had announced such a thing.
Willem could still remember a time when they sold a thirty-gram chocolate bar. It had been at least a year ago, when they reduced the size to twenty grams, again citing a lack of cocoa. Yet a month later, they were claiming to have achieved unprecedented production numbers and had acquired a surplus of cocoa. And as such, they would be increasing the size of their chocolate bars… to twenty grams. It was a lie impossible for Willem to miss. And yet… he didn't dare say this aloud.
He didn't dare question what was being said. Men higher than him had uttered such treasonous thoughts, and Willem hadn't seen them again. So he drove, winding through the streets of the city, all toward the big, wide ocean. Reaching his destination, Willem set his eyes on Naval Station Port Elizabeth. The large base was surrounded on all sides by large concrete walls, blocking off some of his view.
But as he arrived at the front gate, displayed his credentials to the guards, and drove on through, he saw the base in all its glory. Having expanded over the majority of Port Elizabeth's coastline, due to the state confiscating nearby property, the base stretched out far into the distance. And resting at the dock were the one hundred and eleven combat ships of the Eastern Fleet.
Oh, how beautiful they all were, Willem thought to himself. Parking his car in its designated spot, he calmly walked out to the various ships on display, his eyes tracing over every feature. Reaching his flagship, Willem's pace slowly sped up, the man eagerly moving up the small bridge. And then his feet touched the deck of his pride and joy, the SACS Kampieon class battleship.
Taking in the fresh sea air, Willem traced his hand over the Kampieon's railing. Out next to the large ship were another three battleships, all a different older class, and three battlecruisers. There were eight heavy cruisers, sixteen light cruisers, thirty-four destroyers, forty-four submarines, and two aircraft carriers. These ships alone made up nearly a third of the South African navy. The most powerful navy in all of Africa… or, it was.
"Kaptein Roux," Willem heard someone call out. Turning his head, he spotted his second-in-command walking toward him.
"Commander Badenhorst," Willem greeted, a faint smile gracing his lips. Rapidly, Badenhorst saluted him, and Willem calmly saluted back.
"How is everything going?" Willem inquired, beginning to walk forward along the ship's deck.
"Smoothly, sir," Badenhorst replied, the man slowly walking alongside Willem, "All systems remain functional, and the crew remains ready."
"Good, good," Willem commented, while glancing out at the ocean. Tiredly, he noted the lack of ships sailing about—the same as it had been for the last five years.
"The same as yesterday then?" Badenhorst asked, Willem slowly nodding back solemnly.
"I'm afraid so," Willem replied. To think, all these ships had been built, and all they did was sit in port. Willem doubted anyone in the regime expected this outcome. For you see, the overall creation of the South African Navy was not in response to the MSF. It was built to invade Madagascar. Around 2250, the warlords of Mozambique and Madagascar, or the self-proclaimed Emperor Jabari Langa and the Pirate King Hery Rakoto, arranged a marriage for their children.
Both territories would be united under the eleven-year-old Crown Prince Razak Langa and the nine-year-old Princess Mirana Rakoto. Mozambique got Madagascar's navy, and Madagascar got Mozambique's army. Through this marriage, both warlords would be united as the Malagasy-Mozambican Empire. And almost instantly pissed off Opperleier Petrus de Klerk. Madagascar provided Mozambique with an untouchable fortress, which he had difficulty bombing. It also provided Mozambique with a navy capable of intercepting South African shipping.
Vitally needed goods from overseas were no longer reaching the country. Emperor Jabari sent Petrus peace terms; however, the Opperleier told him to screw off. Instead, South Africa began planning for a full invasion of Madagascar. At the time, all they had were a handful of Valour-class Frigates. So the state began a multi-decade-long plan to build up a fleet of warships capable of beating the Malagasy-Mozambican threat. Jabari did not take this threat lying down and began building far better warships to counter South Africa.
In the end, both sides started a thirty-four-year-long naval arms race. Complete with fleets of battleships ready to start blowing each other to pieces. And then the MSF showed up. As it wasn't that South Africa's warships were bad, they were just outdated. Any naval battle against them would end with the fleet being sunk entirely. So for the last five years, every ship had been stuck in port.
Only the submarines saw action, but they didn't fare much better. Of course, the state still demanded the navy come to work, even though they didn't do anything but run drills. It was a large waste of resources, built on the idea that once the MSF was dealt with, they'd be back to fighting Mozambique. This was much to Willem's displeasure.
"I figured as much," Badenhorst muttered, the man bringing a hand to his brow. At the same time, Willem looked down at his watch, deciding to get everything started.
"Our first drill for the day should begin in-" Willem began to say, before someone shouted over him.
"Hey, hey! What the hell do you think you're doing!?" Willem heard someone yell, a dozen other voices joining him. Looking up, confused, Willem quickened his pace a little as he followed the noise.
"Back the fuck up, bru!" someone else yelled, Willem soon walking up a set of stairs. Reaching a higher level of the ship's superstructure and passing by the secondary guns, Willem eventually spotted the men yelling.
"I ain't your bru, kont!" a sailor shouted back, Willem seeing a dozen of his men surrounding the edge of the platform. Right where the ship's quad box Exocet anti-ship missiles were. Forming a semicircle around the box, the sailors surrounded another dozen men who were busy ripping the boxes off the deck. Two men with strength quirks busily hoisted up the large boxes, while everyone else tried to stop them.
Grumbling, Willem quickly walked toward the groups, while hoping a fight didn't break out.
"Hold it! That is our equipment. You have no authority to confiscate it," Willem called out, the two groups of men hearing his voice instantly. Both groups turned toward him rapidly. His own sailors soon began to smirk and smile, and believed their captain would deal with the issue. Meanwhile, the other group looked back uncaringly..
With a tired sigh, the man who appeared to be in charge shook his head and pulled a paper note from his pocket. It was here that Willem saw a patch on the man's arm. A patch that displayed a leopard.
"No, but the Opperleier does," the man retorted, "Orders directly from the top. Any and all missiles in possession of the SACS Kampieon are to be transferred to Luiperd Sekuriteit."
Grabbing the note, Willem could do nothing but grumble. Luiperd. Of course, it had to be the Luiperds. It was always the Luiperds. Hearing the man's words sent an uproar amongst the sailors surrounding him.
"Bullshit!" one man shouted angrily, some of his buddies pulling him back.
"We only have eight missiles!" another man exclaimed, right as one shockingly large man hoisted a quad box over his shoulder.
"The hell are we supposed to do without them! We're a sitting fucking duck!" a third sailor yelled, all while Willem read over the note he was given. He wished that it was a forgery, some lie or trick. Because then he could report each and every one of these Luiperd bastards to the state. Instead, he found the official seal of Luan Igwe. The very sight made Willem livid. They had radios, they had phones. They could have called him, informing him of the situation. But rather than doing any of that, they decide to just take them away without warning.
Unbelievable, Willem thought to himself tiredly. On and on, his sailors continued to shout, one of them looking ready to hit somebody. Knowing what would happen if someone struck a Luiperd, Willem spoke up.
"Enough!" Willem shouted, his sailors rapidly going quiet. Glaring back at the Luiperd in front of him, he handed the note back. Then, he stepped to the side.
"Take them and go," Willem spat, his men left too stunned to say anything else. Without a word, the mercs walked forward with the weapons in hand. Angrily, Willem shook his head slowly before turning back toward the open ocean. At the same time, Badenhorst stepped in front of the sailors still present.
"Everyone, return to your stations!" Badenhorst loudly ordered, and the men soon dispersed quickly. Once they were gone, Badenhorst walked toward the railing next to Willem and leaned forward.
"I can't believe this. Bunch of dirty scum sucking mercenaries," Badenhorst muttered, causing Willem to sigh.
"I'd be careful saying such things, Commander. The Opperleier has ears everywhere, you know," Willem warned, though quietly he held the same exact thoughts.
"Yeah, yeah," Badenhorst replied, while waving the man off. Soon they both went quiet, leaving Willem to look out at the ships littering the station. Dozens upon dozens of vessels, and all of them were outdated. It left Willem angrier the more he thought about it. One might wonder why South Africa built up fleets of outdated battleships. And the simple answer was that they just didn't have the resources for much else.
It sounds strange, but that's how it was. The state couldn't build enough anti-ship missiles, SAMs, or just missiles in general. They didn't have a large enough number of modern radars, communication equipment, or CIWS. All the equipment needed to build modern warships was hard to come by. And what little was built was given to Luiperd. Of course, the state wouldn't take this as an answer. They needed Madagascar under their heel and Mozambique dealt with.
So they transferred over to old gun-based warships. It was a rather practical choice, all things considered, as Mozambique wasn't exactly swimming in modern parts either. Now, as South Africa did not have an overly strong naval history, the state decided to take inspiration from warships of old. Primarily American and British vessels that they could easily copy. What they'd started with was mainly light cruisers and destroyers. And over the decades, they slowly worked themselves up to battleships, battlecruisers, and carriers.
Each class of ship they built had two models, one that was heavily gun-focused and one with more missiles, CIWS, and modern equipment. The ones with missiles were often few and far between, not to mention they were often stripped for parts by Luiperd. In total, they had four classes of battleships, four classes of battlecruisers, and one carrier class. For battleships, they had the Kryger, the Stabiliteit, the Krag, and the Kampieon.
At the moment, one of each battleship was resting at the dock. The Kryger was the first battleship. It closely resembled the US's standard type battleships, but with some small British tweaks. It was rather short and fat-looking, rather blocky and rotund. And its main superstructure was stylized after the Queen Anne's mansion style superstructure that the HMS Vanguard used. It had a lower rear deck, a center island superstructure layout, a cruiser stern, a bulbous bow, large tower masts, one large wide funnel, and two turrets in the front and two on the back.
It was only 190 meters long and its beam was 30 meters. It had four twin 15-inch gun turrets, eight twin 5-inch guns, fourteen quad L/70 40mm Bofors, eighteen twin 35mm Oerlikon guns, and, normally, two quad boxes loaded with Exocet anti-ship missiles. The second battleship was the Stabiliteit, and Willem was sure some official had drawn the ship up, rather than an admiral. It held the same short and fat look as the Kryger, along with the same superstructure style, layout, tower masts, bulbous bow, and cruiser stern, but it was monumentally larger, being 260 meters long, and its beam was 40 meters.
And it was armed with three twin 18-inch guns. Someone from the navy had found the US's old 18"/47 caliber Mark A gun designs, and decided to use them for the Stabiliteit. Along with the 18-inch guns were ten twin 5-inch guns, twenty quad 40mm guns, twenty-four 35mm guns, and four quad boxes of Exocet missiles. The Krag class was up next, and the state decided to dial back the old design philosophy.
Mimicking the old fast battleships, the ship had a much longer, thinner shape. It, like the others, had a bulbous bow, cruiser stern, and Queen Anne's mansion superstructure. However, now the ship was much taller than the others. It also had two thick and angular funnels instead of one, not to mention its superstructure was more centralized in one spot. Its overall size was 214m long, and its beam was 32m. The ship was given three triple 16-inch gun turrets, eight twin 5.25-inch dual-purpose guns, sixteen quad 40mm guns, twenty-two twin 35mm guns, and two quad box Exocet missiles.
Overall, the Krag was faster than previous ships. Yet not as fast as the Kampioen class. The Kampieon class was 270 meters long and had a beam of 34 meters. It had tripod masts, a bulbous stern, a centralized superstructure, and the same thin shape as the Krag. However, its superstructure design was more akin to a bunch of layered boxes stacked on top of each other. The Kampieon ditched the Queen Anne's style for something more comparable to an Iowa class's design.
And when it came to weapons, the Kampieon was not lacking. It had three triple 16-inch gun turrets, eight twin 5.25-inch dual-purpose guns, twenty quad 40mm guns, twenty-five twin 35mm guns, and two quad boxes of Exocet missiles. These ships were the pride and joy of the South African fleet, along with the battlecruisers to a lesser extent. The aircraft carriers, though… They were rather new. Unproven. For years, the Navy didn't build aircraft carriers because it didn't have the pilots.
Pilots were often handed to Luiperd, or saw it as beneath themselves to serve on a cramped ship for months. Not to mention the Navy didn't have any naval aircraft, and had to build a sea variant of the JAS Gripen and the outdated Atlas Cheetah. Once those were finally built, the state ordered the Onwrikbaar class carrier. That was back in 2280. Four carriers were built and distributed to the Navy's three fleets.
Two of said carriers sat in front of Willem now, their decks littered with Sea-Cheetahs. The overall design of the Onwrikbaar mimicked that of the USS Coral Sea and USS Franklin D. Roosevelt. Not their old World War two models, but the refit versions with the angled flight decks. Mimicking those old carriers, the ships were similar in size to, being 295m long, and having a beam of 34m, along with a flight deck of 41m wide.
One Onwrikbaar, the Waaksaam Willem remembered, had two eight-cell Umkhonto anti-air missiles, and two Denel 35mm CIWS guns. The other carrier, the Bestelling, had ten quad 40mm guns and fourteen twin 35mm guns. Both could carry a maximum of sixty-five aircraft. Willem wanted to look at more ships, but it just made him angrier. All these beautiful vessels, and they were all equally worthless. And Luiperd just had to cripple them further.
"We only had eight Exocets. The hell do they need them for?" Willem muttered to himself. Next to him, Badenhorst gave him a quiet glance and hid his mouth with a hand.
"Well… there are those rumors going around," Badenhorst commented, earning a raised brow from Willem.
"What rumors?" Willem inquired, looking back at Badenhorst suspiciously. The man shrugged before scratching his face.
"You haven't heard it from me, but Luiperd was apparently doing some big operation up north. Last I heard, it didn't end all too well," Badenhorst explained, leaving Willem shocked. Up north? The only people Luiperd could have been fighting… was Outer Heaven. But the Opperleier had pulled everyone away from that theater. Were they going back in? He wanted to call it far-fetched. Yet he knew what the news would say tomorrow. They never left the frontline. They were always fighting against Outer Heaven. Those who say otherwise are dissenters.
So Willem shook the thought away. Instead, a new memory came to his mind.
"Speaking of rumors, is Seaman Jacobs aboard?" Willem asked, standing up from the ship's railing.
"He should be," Badenhorst replied, following Willem as he entered the ship's interior. Moving through some of the ship's levels, Willem kept searching for the lone sailor and eventually found him in the mess hall. He sat by himself at a small table, sipping away at some coffee as other sailors talked.
"-and so one day, my son comes up to me all wide-eyed and curious. And he asks me, Dad, what's the difference between Razak Langa and a monkey. I look down at him, and I say Son, one's a furry flea-ridden animal too stupid to eat anything except a banana, the other's a monkey!" one sailor exclaimed, and the other sailors busted out laughing. Wiping tears from his eyes, another sailor slapped the table they all sat around.
"My daughter asked me something similar. Wondered why Razak would marry such a troll-faced whore. I told her that was rude. A troll isn't as ugly as Mirana!" the second sailor said, again making the others laugh.
"You know the downside of being called Big Boss?" a third sailor then asked, as the laughter died down briefly, "From what I hear, his little buddy doesn't match the title!"
On and on they laughed, before one of them noticed Willem walking into the room. Almost instantly, the sailor's eyes shot open, and he launched up from his seat.
"Kaptein on deck!" he cried out, causing everyone else to leap to their feet. Jacobs included, the man nearly spilling his coffee on himself as he moved to salute.
"At ease," Willem told them all, the men slowly relaxing as he stepped forward, "We will be conducting the usual training drills in the next few minutes. All of you, report to your stations."
"Yes, sir!" they all quickly replied, every man scrambling to leave the mess hall. Jacobs, being one of them, the sailor following the others out the door. Right before he fully left, though, Willem called out to him.
"Jacobs, wait a moment," Willem said, his words sounding more like an order than a request. Slowly, Jacobs turned back toward Willem, a confused look on his face. Sitting down at one of the tables, Willem motioned for Jacobs to join him.
"Sit," Willem ordered, Jacobs now cautiously walking forward. Behind him, Badenhorst closed the door. Much to Jacob's now growing worry.
"Sir?" Jacobs asked, while Willem clasped his hands together. Leaning forward, Willem looked the sailor dead in the eye.
"Tell me, Jacobs, how have things been going since your transfer to the Kampieon?" Willem asked, and Jacobs then sighed in relief.
"Good, sir. Splendid, actually," Jacobs replied, a small smile forming on his face.
"No complaints?" Willem asked, his brow raising a little.
"None," Jacobs answered, making Willem nod his head. Electing to say nothing, Willem sat and stared at Jacobs. The Kaptein didn't move a muscle the entire time. All he did was stare. And just as intended, Willem noticed Jacobs begin to sweat.
"You know, I heard some rumors from a few friends of mine," Willem commented, the man noticing Jacobs' now stiff posture. Not once did Willem let the pressure up, his gaze firmly on Jacobs. A new trickle of sweat dripped down the man's temple, the sailor trying to keep up his friendly smile.
"Said you were having difficulty making quota," Willem noted, causing Jacobs to freeze in place. Almost imperceptibly, the man gulped. He tried to remain calm, but Willems noticed how Jacobs' eyes moved around the room in panic.
"Well, uh… You see, s-sir, the t-thing is… we…" Jacobs tried to say, but the man stumbled over the words. Any false confidence he had was gone. It was a miracle the secret police hadn't caught him before.
"M-me and Elize… W-we've been trying for a few months now, a-and i-it just hasn't happened. N-nothing we've tried h-has worked. B-but we'll make a quota! W-we will!" Jacobs finally told him, desperation clear in his tone. And it wasn't like Willem could blame him. He had struggled to reach quota before as well, and it was not a pleasant ordeal. No man wanted to deal with the Bureau of Conception.
Like with the majority of the state's decisions, the creation of the Bureau was due to Madagascar. An invasion of the massive island required an equally large army. One South Africa was not able to make at the time. So the state began planning for the future. In 2250, a new law was put into place. The moment a woman turns eighteen, they are required to have a child. Furthermore, all families within an allocated timeframe must have a maximum of five children. All manner of contraception or abortion was made illegal, as no one was allowed to deny the state its property. The state began planning entire generations before they were even born.
Within decades, the population exploded to two hundred and eighty-six million people. Of which, around forty million were men old enough for the state to draft into the army. Yet that wasn't enough for the state. They needed more workers, more conscripts, more bodies to throw at the wall. So they kept the quotas in place. If a family failed to reach the quota, then the state would do what was needed to bring them into compliance. Be they willing, or not.
And Willem… Willem had heard stories. The assigned marriages were almost always loveless affairs. They were couples pitted together for no reason other than to have a kid. But for the few rare spouses that did love each other… not making quota was a nightmare scenario. Men who'd been off fighting on the frontline, and were thus unable to fulfill their "duty", would often return home to find… nothing.
Their homes would be empty. Their spouse would be gone, there would be no sign or signal of a break-in, and it would be as if they never existed. Sometimes they'd disappear soon after returning home, whether by suicide or by the Bureau grabbing them too. It was why Willem was more afraid of the Bureau than of the secret police. With the secret police, you knew what you were getting. You would disappear, get tortured, and then die. But when it came to the Bureau, they weren't willing to throw away something they still found useful.
This was never confirmed, of course, but Willem knew that whatever the Bureau did to those they disappeared, was a fate worse than death. When he and Hanneli struggled to reach quota, they ran each other ragged. To the point that sex became passionless. It became utilitarian. You did it because it was expected of you. Not because you loved the person you were doing it with. And ever since… Willem couldn't find any pleasure in sex.
The very idea made him anxious more than anything. It was traumatizing, going to bed every night, afraid that one day he'd get home and Hanneli would be gone. Again, Willem did not blame Jacobs for his worry. Though his eyes still bore into the man, Willem having been quiet for a long while.
"S-sir?" Jacobs inquired anxiously. Snapping back to reality, Willem pretended as if nothing had happened. He blinked twice before leaning over the table slightly.
"You look tired, Jacobs. Too tired," Willem commented coldly, "I'm afraid that won't do. I expect every man on my ship to be in tip-top condition."
Almost instantly, Jacobs paled. The sailor shrank back, his eyes moving between Willem and Badenhorst. Carefully, Willem placed his hand in his uniform's jacket pocket and stood up from the table.
"I'm afraid I must place you on shore leave, effective immediately. One- two months max. That should be enough time for you to… regain your energy," Willem told him calmly. For a moment, Jacobs didn't register the words. His wide eyes stared up at Willem in fear until he realized what he said. Jacobs expected it to be some joke. Some lie, and that agents of the Bureau would come swooping in at any moment. But none had come. Rapidly, the man shot up from his seat.
"Y-yes! Yes Kaptein! Thank you, Kaptein!" Jacobs exclaimed, his hand moving to a salute. One Willem calmly returned before shaking Jacobs' hand. The moment it was done, Willem stepped to the side, allowing the sailor to leave. The moment he was gone, Willem sighed and brought a hand to his brow.
"A bit of a risky move, sir," Badenhorst commented, making Willem mentally scoff.
"All I've done is give one of our most esteemed sailors some needed time off," Willem replied, the man lying through his teeth. Silently, he wished Jacobs luck before leaving the mess hall.
"Now, I believe the bridge is calling us," Willem commented, leading the way as he walked forward. Then, for whatever reason, Willem stopped. He didn't know why, but something felt off in the air. It was in a way he couldn't describe. Badenhorst began to give him a confused look as Willem stood in place. Still, Willem didn't move. Then, within an instant, an earth-shattering boom was heard outside. The ship shook as waves sloshed it from side to side, and instantly sent Willem into a panic.
Alarms blared outside the ship as more explosions sounded off around them. Rapidly, Willem turned and booked it in the opposite direction. He didn't need to say a word, as Badenhorst ran up toward the conning tower. Willem, meanwhile, ran toward the Combat Information Center. Sliding into the room, he found officers already scrambling to figure out what was happening.
They clambered for radios and consoles, desperately trying to get a picture of the outside. Thankfully, Willem needed no such tools. Sitting down in a chair in the center of the room, he took a deep breath and focused his quirk. It was a neat little ability, something called multi-senses. In the simplest of terms, he could see through the eyes and hear through the ears of his entire crew. And in an instant, he had a perfect view of the outside.
Anti-air gunners rushed for their turrets as an anti-ship missile slammed into a nearby light cruiser. Umkhonto SAMs situated around the base began launching anti-air missiles, all in an attempt to stop this unknown foe. But then there was another noise. A faint buzzing.
"Drones!" a sailor would yell out, the man and his buddies angling their quad 40mm guns up at the sky. Above them had to be hundreds of large prop-driven drones. Dozens began diving down toward the ships. In seconds, the sky was lit up with anti-aircraft fire. Tracers streamed upwards as flak tore into the drones. The few ships with operation CIWS guns downed dozens within seconds. Yet there seemed to be no end to the swarm.
Worse, the anti-aircraft guns did nothing to stop the Harpoon anti-ship missiles. The drones oversaturated nearby defenses, drawing the attention of everything, and providing the missiles a clear path. Two slammed into the side of a Kryger class, detonating against the hull. The combined firepower cracked the armor, causing water to flood into the ship's interior. Of course, that wasn't good enough for the attackers.
Seconds later, a Tomahawk dove in from above, outspeeding every AA gun nearby. It crashed right on top of the Kryger's 15-inch gun turret. The explosives inside the turret were instantly set off, the explosion lifting the ship out of the water and tearing it in half. Fire was all Willem could see from the ship.
"We're being overwhelmed!" he heard a crewman yell into a radio, his voice nearly drowned out as a drone slammed into a nearby Woede-class destroyer. Not having nearly enough firepower to destroy the vessel, the drone wounded the destroyer. All it accomplished was cracking open the deck. Then, twenty more drones slammed into the exact same position, effectively boring a hole into the ship. They must have hit something vital, because soon enough, the destroyer was billowing smoke and sinking into the water.
"Come on, reload! Reload!" another sailor yelled, the man desperately trying to feed his quad 40mm gun more ammo. They just couldn't seem to loud the thing fast enough. Even with the help of a nearby Glorie-class light cruiser, firing all eight twin 5.25-inch guns, they just couldn't end the drone swarm. Then a Harpoon struck the cruiser's starboard side, blowing a hole right in the center of the ship. Rather quickly, it began to list and take on water.
Of course, none of the anti-gunners had time to register this, as one man rapidly spotted three drones heading towards them.
"Get down!" the man called out, he and his buddies swiftly ducking for cover. Right as the drones blew up their turret. Moments later, another Tomahawk came flying in and hit the Kampieon's superstructure. Steel was torn apart, the ship losing two 5.25-inch guns and a whole mess of anti-aircraft guns. Moments later, a Harpoon crashed into the ship's port side, cracking it open.
"Hull breach!" a sailor yelled out over the radio, "We're taking on water!"
Instantly, Willem saw his men rushing to keep the ship from flooding. Dozens booked it out of corridors filling with water, while others quickly began sealing off the exposed areas.
"Seal those hatches!" someone loudly ordered, men rapidly forcing the doors shut. They'd assumed everyone had made it out, but truthfully, there wasn't enough time to be sure. More water flooded into the ship by the second.
"Hey! Wait! We're still here!" Willem heard one man cry out, he and two others rounding a corner just seconds after the crew shut the door. They rushed toward it and began pounding desperately.
"Open the doors!" another man shouted.
"Don't leave us here! Please!" the third pleaded. Moments later, the water crashed into them. Willem didn't see what happened next. He didn't want to see it. Instead, he found an officer rushing toward him, while Badenhorst talked over the radio.
"Our orders, sir!?" Badenhorst asked, the sound of gunfire echoing in the background.
"Weigh anchor and cut the mooring lines!" Willem ordered swiftly, "Get us to open water!"
In the station, they were as good as dead already. In fact, Willem didn't believe they would survive much longer. But if they got out to the open ocean, they might be able to survive for just a few minutes more. They could at least perform some form of evasive maneuvers. At the same time, if their ship sank now, then their hull would clog up the station, along with every other ship here. Leaving it inoperable for possibly months.
"Aye!" the officers replied, the dozens of men rapidly radioing their subordinates across the ship. Outside, Willem saw sailors quickly cut the lines holding them to the dock. One man with a metal-bending quirk had the anchor's chain snap itself, rather than have the ship sit for a few minutes pulling it up. Men down in the engine room rapidly got everything up and running, while those in the conning tower got the ship ready to move.
At the same time, the nearby crew on the Onwrikbaar carriers began rushing to get their Atlas Sea-Cheetahs into the air. The Waaksaam's CIWS guns provided it a small umbrella of cover, allowing at least four fighters to get in the air. However, yet another Tomahawk soon crashed into its flight deck. In retribution, a Bolwerk-class battlecruiser fired all its Exocet missiles toward a far-off target only their radar could spot.
They darted forward at rapid speed, and Willem didn't know what would happen to them. Instead, he felt his ship lurch forward, the vessel slowly speeding up. It made Willem nervous, as he sat in his chair simply waiting. The AA guns outside continued firing up at the mass of drones, all while ever more missiles blew up the surrounding ships. It had only been a few minutes, and yet half of the Eastern fleets' one hundred and eleven ships had been destroyed.
The hulks of submarines, destroyers, cruisers, battlecruisers, and battleships littered the station, all smoking, sinking, or blown asunder. After what felt like an eternity, the ship left the station. Reaching its full speed of thirty knots, the Kampieon rapidly began to move erratically. Then an officer yelled something Willem wasn't expecting.
"Kaptein, enemy vessels on the horizon!" the man exclaimed, Willem's head whipping to the man in shock.
"What!?" Willem unintentionally cried out as he tried to focus his quirk. Who the hell was close enough for them to see!? Why were they close enough to be seen!? Finding a sailor with binoculars, Willem watched as the man looked out at the horizon and spotted three ships. They were tiny, but their design was unmistakable. One was an Arleigh Burke destroyer, the other two were Constellation-class frigates. It was the MSF.
Each ship launched missiles continually, and now began deploying torpedoes. This… they'd gotten in close, Willem thought to himself. Was this some sort of psychological move? Were they sending a message? Willem didn't know. But he spotted the one opportunity his ship had.
"All guns prepare for a broadside! Starboard side!" Willem swiftly ordered, "Helmsman! Get us closer!"
The weapons officers quickly began giving the main guns firing solutions, and the weapons moved swiftly. Be it a message or be it cockiness, the reasoning of the opposing ships did not matter. They would not survive a full broadside- the ship shook violently, something hitting them hard. For a solid minute, Willem heard nothing but shouting and struggled not to fall out of his seat.
"Damage report!" Willem demanded, clutching his armrests tightly to keep himself in place. Looking through the eyes of men for some sort of clearer image, he found the front of the ship now smoking.
"Turrets one and two are down-" an officer began to say, before the ship shook again violently. Both forward turrets had holes punched clean through them, the Arleigh Burke firing its 5-inch railgun at full strength. The Kampieon's armor did nothing to stop the high-velocity shells, as it was turned into Swiss cheese. What's worse, the Arleigh Burke's gun had a fire rate of twenty rounds a minute.
The ship was being ripped apart, and one shell even shot through the CIC, decapitating a man and slamming into the back wall.
"Holy shit!" an officer yelled out, while Willem looked at the scene, terrified. But then he noticed their ship was in position. The front two turrets were gone, but the rear turret was still operable, along with two twin 5.25-inch guns. All guns were on target, their barrels raised and ready.
"All guns fire!" Willem quickly ordered. Within seconds, all three of the rear turret's 16-inch guns fired. The sound muffled everything for a few seconds, and Willem watched a sailor's view outside. The shells soared forward toward the enemy ship, getting closer by the moment. Anxiously, Willem waited for the impact, and instead found the enemy's CIWS opening fire. Lasers and bullets melted or deformed the oncoming shells.
One shell was struck off course by dozens of rounds and fell into the ocean dozens of feet from its target. Another simply evaporated into the air, the high-powered laser disintegrating it entirely. The third shell did hit; however, it had been ripped apart by hundreds of 20mm rounds. All that hit the ship then was glorified shrapnel, which the enemy's ships were more than capable of surviving.
Moments later, the ships launched more torpedoes. Willem could have sworn the opposing captains were laughing to themselves as they did so.
"Alright, I think we've had enough fun," was what he imagined them saying. Because that's what they had to have done. There was no reason for them to ever get this close. They had AI that ensured they would never miss, and enough missiles to ensure they never had to come into visual range. But they did, all to send one simple message.
"You can't win."
The torpedoes crashed into the ship's starboard, busting through its armor and flooding more compartments with water. For added assurance, the MSF's railguns continued to poke holes in the Kampieon's hull. Willem merely blinked and found the CIC was now taking on water. Officers panicked and scrambled to get out, but it was far too late. The Kampieon began to lean to list, and then capsize onto its side. Men from all over the ship shouted in terror as every compartment began to flood.
There was no escape. None that Willem could see. So as the water went from his waist to his neck in seconds, Willem didn't try to resist. It would have been a waste of energy. Instead, he did the only thing he believed mattered. He thought of Hanneli, right as water poured into his lungs, and the world went black.