The two pairs of battleships pivot sharply, their hulking forms cutting through the water as they shift course toward the looming enemy structures. Five destroyers and a ring of protective fighters flank them, ready for whatever comes next.

North Carolina takes a deep breath, feeling the weight of command pressing down on her. She scans the battlefield, every detail etched into her mind. "Listen up, everyone!" Her voice cuts through the sounds of battle, calm but commanding. "Remember what Beatrice said? There’s an engine at the center of those structures—something that powers their movement. Our mission is to find it and take it out. Each structure is spread out by a few kilometers, so we’ll tackle them one by one. Got it?"

A chorus of affirmations crackles back. Risky, but the plan’s simple: search, destroy, repeat.

The battleships surge forward, picking up speed. The sea churns beneath them, their massive guns swiveling toward the nearest target.

Overhead, the sky erupts with anti-aircraft fire as the destroyers and fighters tangle with incoming enemy planes, buying the battleships precious moments of safety.

North Carolina keeps her eyes locked on the approaching structures, their menacing forms becoming clearer by the second. Each battleship sticks to its route, positioning itself for the attack.

"Stay sharp and look for weak spots," she says over the comms, her voice steady. "Whatever makes them move is central. Hit it hard and fast before they can shift their defenses."

"Another barrage!" North Carolina calls out as her guns roar, sending another salvo toward the towering enemy structures. Massachusetts follows suit right behind her, the two battleships dodging and weaving through the incoming air and cannon attacks, returning fire with precision.

The air hums with the thunderous exchange, each blast shaking the sea around them. Then, a sharp, metallic *clank* reverberates through the air as Massachusetts’ C turret takes a direct hit.

"C turret’s down—starting field repairs," Massachusetts reports calmly, her voice steady despite the damage.

The battle doesn’t slow. The sky is thick with the haze of smoke, gunpowder, and the bright flashes of explosions. Enemy shells scream down, crashing into armor or splashing harmlessly into the ocean. Every hit leaves its mark. Dents and gashes crisscross their once-pristine decks, the hulls blackened by scorch marks from high-caliber shells and shrapnel. The ships creak under the relentless fire, but they push forward, unwavering.

Even as the toll adds up, with scars and damage multiplying by the second, the battleships refuse to yield.

As North Carolina and her sister ship finish their pincer movement, a sudden crackle bursts through the comms.

"North Carolina, I found their engine! It’s just below the structure. Washington and I are hitting it now," Tennessee’s voice comes through, sharp with determination, even as the sounds of battle rage on in the background.

For a moment, there’s a tense silence. The only sounds are the distant booms of cannon fire and the sharp crackle of anti-aircraft guns. Then, a deep, metallic groan cuts through the noise as the enemy’s massive floating island shudders. The grinding of gears becomes louder, echoing across the battlefield. The colossal structure begins to slow, its momentum stalling as the engines sputter out. The guns that had been relentlessly firing suddenly fall silent, and the whole fortress tilts, its towering form swaying unnaturally, like a giant trying to stay upright.

North Carolina watches as the once-intimidating behemoth creaks and slowly descends, its shadow shrinking over the water. The mechanical groans fade away, and the structure settles, broken and defeated, dipping toward the sea.

"Good work, Tennessee," she mutters, the relief in her voice.

"That’s one down... Two more to go. Status report!" North Carolina calls out, her eyes sweeping over the battlefield as the first floating structure finally grinds to a halt, sinking lower into the sea.

"C-turret's shot, can’t fix it here. But my structure’s holding," Massachusetts responds, calm despite the exhaustion creeping into her voice.

"Funnel and secondary tower took hits. Lost some of my secondary guns," Tennessee chimes in.

"A-turret’s getting field repairs. Took some structural damage, but I’m steady," Washington adds.

"Got it. I’ve got funnel damage too. A shell hit my engine, but repairs are underway—I’m still good to go," North Carolina replies, keeping her voice level.

The massive floating fortress groans one last time before settling into the water, its looming threat now reduced to a lifeless husk. But no one takes any chances. The battleships unleash another volley, shells exploding through what remains of the crippled structure, leaving nothing but flames.

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"That should do it," North Carolina mutters before turning her attention back to the fight. She radios the carrier group. "Send the planes in. Finish it off."

But there’s no time to celebrate. With one fortress down, two more still loom ahead. North Carolina’s mind races, already calculating their next move. Her radar shows a swarm of more than 400 enemy aircraft closing in the area, tightening the noose around her fleet. She checks her own numbers, 291 aircraft left.

It’s little. Too little. But still manageable.

"Let’s finish this," she mutters to herself, eyes locked on the radar.

*

"We can still win this," North Carolina whispers, though the weight of those words presses down on her as she watches her sisters surge forward, bruised but unbroken. Their towering forms push relentlessly toward the next floating behemoth, smoke trailing from their battle-worn hulls. The plan stays the same—pincer maneuver, locate the engine, and take it down—but this time, luck isn’t on their side.

The enemy fortress is ready. Its guns roar to life the moment they enter range, a barrage of shells filled the air. North Carolina feels the reverberation as one narrowly misses, the blast sending up a column of water close enough to soak her deck. Her sisters take hits too—Massachusetts and Tennessee push through the storm of fire, but not without fresh dents and gashes. The enemy seems more entrenched, more desperate to protect their core.

The search for the engine turns into a drawn-out slugfest, the enemy fortress holding its ground far better than the last one. Anti-aircraft fire thickens, forcing their protective fighters to weave and scramble. Meanwhile, the massive fortress keeps them at bay, making every inch forward a brutal fight.

"We need to find that engine, now!" North Carolina shouts into the comms, her voice tense.

Suddenly a thunderous explosion rips through the battlefield as a shell slam into Washington’s A turret, triggering a flashfire. The turret is torn clean from its mount, hurled into the sky like a ragdoll before splashing violently into the sea below.

"Washington! What’s going on? Status report, now!" North Carolina shouts, panic creeping into her voice as she watches the disaster unfold.

"Severely damaged... My A turret’s magazine got hit, B turret’s inoperable... but I can still float. Permission to break off," Washington responds, her voice strained, barely cutting through the comms.

"Permission granted! Get out of here, now!" North Carolina shouts, her heart sinking as she watches her sister ship limp away, smoke pouring from her hull. Flames lick at Washington’s deck, but miraculously, the flashfire shoots upward, sparing the hull from complete destruction. Thanks to Beatrice’s foresight—tight compartments and special treated steel—the damage is contained, though Washington is out of the fight.

North Carolina doesn’t have time to dwell on it. Her own problems are multiplying. The engine room groans, strained from running at flank speed for too long. It’s already taken damage, and she’s forced to throttle back, falling into a more vulnerable position. Enemy shells start landing with brutal accuracy, while smaller caliber fire peppers her hull, slowly wearing her down.

“Kansas reporting—Lexington’s been hit by two bombs. Her deck’s on fire. My AA guns can’t cover her enough; we’re getting overwhelmed. I suggest we retreat,” Kansas’ voice crackles over the comms, tight with urgency.

North Carolina clenches her fists, eyes flicking between the radar and the chaotic battlefield. Her fleet is struggling. Washington’s out, Lexington’s burning, and the enemy still has the upper hand. Retreat feels like the safest move, but part of her refuses to give in just yet.

“Hold the line for a little longer,” she says, her voice firmer than she feels inside. They’re hanging on by a thread, but they aren’t beaten. Not yet.

North Carolina stays silent for a moment, weighing their next move as enemy shells continue slamming into her hull. Before she can issue orders, Massachusetts’ voice cuts through the chaos.

"I found the engine, over there, North Carolina!" Massachusetts shouts. Without hesitation, both ships unleash a coordinated barrage, their massive guns firing in unison. The second floating fortress groans as its engines falter, and soon it grinds to a halt, its weapons going silent. Slowly, the colossal structure leans, toppling into the sea with a thunderous crash.

But there’s no time for celebration. The victory feels hollow as the three remaining battleships regroup, their formidable firepower now heavily diminished. Battle damage and dwindling ammo have taken their toll. The once thunderous roar of their anti-aircraft guns is reduced to a sputter, barely holding back the enemy aircraft that continue to swarm overhead.

"We’re pulling out. The last fortress is still far enough away—we can outrun it," North Carolina says at last, her tone hard but tinged with exhaustion. She knows they can’t keep this up.

The battered ships fall back into formation, their hulls scarred from the relentless assault. As they turn away, North Carolina’s radar pings, alerting her to something new—an incoming formation. She glances at the screen, eyes narrowing as she makes out the silhouettes of F-2 fighters and B-1 bombers streaking toward the final fortress.

"Is that...?" North Carolina mutters, her gaze locked on the distant horizon. The fighters and bombers close in, a last-ditch effort to strike the enemy as her fleet limp away, leaving behind a sky still ablaze with smoke and fire.

Suddenly, through the relentless static and crackling interference, a voice breaks through with unexpected clarity.

"Hello! Hello!" Beatrice’s voice crackles over the comms.

North Carolina’s heart leaps. “Beatrice!” she replies, relief washing over her, though exhaustion still lingers in her tone.

“Thank goodness you’re still there! Are you alright? What happened? What’s your status?” Beatrice’s voice is a mix of concern and urgency, her words barely cutting through the background noise of battle.

North Carolina takes a deep breath, steadying herself before she speaks. “Washington’s A turret was blown clean off. We’ve taken heavy damage—our AA guns are nearly out of ammo. We’re pulling back to Port Nine for repairs.”

As she speaks, the fleet begins its slow, labored retreat. The ships, once proud and untouchable, now limp away from the burning wreckage of the battlefield, their hulls scorched and battered. Smoke still hangs thick in the air, and the distant rumble of explosions fades behind them as they make their way toward the relative safety of Port Nine.

“I see. I’ll meet you there and get the full story—let’s get you patched up,” Beatrice says, her voice firm but full of reassurance.

“We’ll be there soon,” North Carolina responds, ending the transmission. She turns back to the fleet, watching as the remaining ships fall into formation, battered but unbroken. "Adjust speed and formation. Let’s get home."