"Comrade, greetings. Heavy cruiser Moskva, here to hunt at your command."
A long-legged, cool-headed beauty stepped out of the prismatic light with a field telescope in hand.
She was tall—battleship-tall—and the white high-collared shirt clinging to her figure could have made even a true battleship shipgirl like Vittorio Veneto grit her teeth.
A slanted tricorne perched over hip-length ash-gray hair. A military-green coat and short skirt, with glossy black tights sheathing the entirety of both long legs, completed the look.
Moskva slipped off her black gloves and offered her hand to Hikaru.
Hikaru smiled and took it—and winced despite himself at the crushing strength in her grip.
He already knew the past life of the heavy cruiser Moskva from the memories of steel.
She was the No. 1 ship of the proposed Type 66 "medium cruiser," a design tabled at a 1951 meeting when the Soviet Faction's "Kind Father" ordered a counter to the US-Faction's Des Moines–class heavy cruisers.
Though classed as a medium cruiser, Moskva's designed displacement was 25,000 tons—battleship territory—and her pursuit of high speed made for a long, elegant hull.
In short: a statuesque big sister with a knockout figure.
History, however, never saw Moskva completed; she was cancelled over policy, technical hurdles, and cost-effectiveness.
Seeing Hikaru's discomfort, Moskva grinned. "Comrade, your grip could use work. We in the S-Faction believe—the tighter the hand, the deeper the bond."
Barbaric habit.
Hikaru hid a wry twitch of his mouth.
Moskva released him, then stepped closer, nibbling at her lip. "I've always wanted to try a princess carry."
Hikaru blinked. "That's… probably not a good idea."
"Don't misunderstand. I will be carrying you."
And with that, she scooped Hikaru up across her arms.
Her white shirt rumpled; Hikaru could even see a flash of her toned midriff.
Bold girl. Truly, a classic Soviet faction move.
"All right—show some respect to the Commander." Bismarck clapped lightly. "Welcome aboard, Moskva."
Historically, the G-Faction and S-Faction were anything but friends, and that colored shipgirls' attitudes. Moskva set Hikaru down and snorted. "Pleased to see you as well. Name a quarry and I'll sortie."
"For now, you're in the reserve, close to the Commander," Bismarck shrugged. "You know how it is—training level."
Heavy cruisers were an awkward breed to begin with; only the US-Faction's Baltimore held a team-wide buff that let US-faction cruiser groups punch like a battleship formation in night battles.
Other factions' heavies were less dazzling—especially with Moskva at only level 81.
"Tch." Moskva clicked her tongue, displeased, then asked Hikaru, "Got vodka? We should toast our reunion."
"Vampire, run to the galley for a bottle and some glasses," Hikaru said offhand, then to Bismarck: "Sounds like the operation went smoothly?"
"Rescue accomplished perfectly. U-47 sank Abyssal Zumwalt and severely damaged Abyssal Friedrich der Große; Changchun provided fire suppression; the carrier group smashed Abyssal Yamato." Bismarck smiled, a touch sheepish. "And I finished off both Abyssal Friedrich der Große and Abyssal Yamato."
"Then most of the credit still lands with you—and you commanded well besides," Hikaru said, smiling. "Our expenditure?"
Bismarck glanced at Deutschland beside her and coughed, delicate but meaningful. "I used that, and among the strike team, Saint George and Alaska are heavily damaged; Blücher is moderately damaged."
"So it was Saint George. I've even heard the tale of her dragon-slaying sword," Hikaru said, then frowned. "Wasn't she at the forward base in the Hawaiian Islands? What's she doing here?"
Bismarck nudged Deutschland. "You came to see the Commander, didn't you? Tell him."
The girl in a housemaid outfit nervously dragged out a bundle taller than she was and lifted it overhead with all her might. "I present local specialties to the mighty Commander Kuramoto!"
Sausages and beer tumbled out. Hikaru stared, full of question marks.
Sausages, hams, and beer—Hikaru could only laugh and cry. And the reason Alaska and company had come looking for him… left him speechless.
Without realizing it, he'd become a hot commodity. The summit nation was willing to burn a long-buried mole's cover just to be first in line to get in contact with him.
[End of Chapter]
[100 Power Stones = Extra Chapter]
[Check out my Patreon to read 20+ chapters ahead]
[[email protected]/BellAshelia]
[Thanks for your support!]