Should’ve never told them to stop being insane. Now, the thought refuses to leave them—the sense that these girls have truly gone off the deep end. After the explicit warning—avoid unnecessary risks, don’t get turned into punching bags. Now they're dead set on being strategically insane. North Carolina and her sisters are scheming with the enthusiasm of Imperial Japanese Navy Officers and their obsession with a decisive battle. Decisive battle? Really?
It’s absurd. They’re named after U.S. states—land of the free and all that—but here they are, stuck replaying Tsushima, 1905. Like, are they serious? That’s ancient history. Sure, maybe there’s a tiny shred of logic in it. But the more they talk, the more this hand inches toward that big red button marked "overrule".
Carrier tactics from post-WWII keep nagging at the back of my mind. The world moved on, adapted. Yet, letting them run with their plan might not be the worst idea. There’s always the faintest hope it’ll either go well or at least teach them a lesson they won’t forget. Maybe, just maybe, they’ll emerge from this with something worth being proud of.
So, they talk. And plan. And then they plan some more. At least they’re committed, right?
They’ve been studying their ships religiously, running drills like clockwork. Three naval exercises a day, five hours each—morning, afternoon, night. Their dedication makes it seem like they’re gearing up for whatever navy dares show up. There’s this determination in their eyes, like they’re itching for payback against those fortress that wrecked them last time.
But, for now, they’re being left to their own devices. If things start looking disadvantageous, the reins will get pulled back obviously. Command can always be taken over when needed. But until then, it’s time to sit back, relax, and let North Carolina handle the military matters.
*
Decided not to dwell on it too much. Better to sip some coffee and check up on the fleet’s credit income. Seventeen million per day, not bad at all. Could easily get a decent light cruiser with that budget. But then, there’s always the growing demand—destroyers, seaplane tenders, and let’s not forget the submarine problem lurking around. It's an infestation that’s been gnawing away at the waters, and getting rid of it means more destroyers and anti-submarine assets.
Running the numbers gets exhausting. If my daily ship needs got bought, along with spare aircraft for the bases, it leaves around eight million per day to play with. Honestly, not bad. Could be worse. Standing on a solid 42 million credits at the moment and thinking about saving it up for North Carolina’s wishlist—15 more Admiral Fisher-class Heavy Cruisers. Those beasts come in at just under half a billion credits altogether.
That means 45 days of hard work, developing the islands, tightening up the defenses, making sure everything runs smoothly. So far, things are on track, even if it’ll take a bit of patience. But patience has paid off before, and no reason to think this’ll be any different.
*
After a few hours of working on Port Primo, adding the final touches to its growing industrial sector, the silence is broken by a call from North Carolina. i put my mask and her calm voice coming through.
“Goodafternoon, Beatrice, do you have a moment to spare?”
"Yeah, what is it North Carolina?" i said as i work around.
"I want to present my strategy today, can you come here?."
"Sure give me a moment" I said.
A sigh escapes before making my way back at the port. With a quick teleport,
Port Nine’s humid air hits like a wall. The base there is quieter than usual, the low hum of distant machinery and the occasional gust of wind the only sounds.
Heading straight to the garrison building. North Carolina’s waiting in the main living room—with maps and charts scattered across the table. Sunlight filters in through the large windows, casting long shadows on the hardwood floor, giving the room a warm but serious atmosphere. North Carolina leans back in her chair, looking every bit as composed as ever.
“Hello there, good to see you,” I said with a nod and smile.
The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
A quick greeting in return before sitting across from her. The coffee table between us is cluttered with a stack of papers.
"Here’s the plan, Beatrice. It's what we found out to deal with those fortress. But—" she taps the top sheet with two fingers, "it requires support from land-based aircraft. Can't pull it off without you, Beatrice."
The papers look thick at first glance, filled with diagrams, aircraft placements, ship formations, and airstrike strategies. North Carolina’s not playing around—she’s serious about this, eyes sharp as she waits for the plan to sink in my mind.
Picking up the top sheet, scanning through the details—strike routes, bombing runs, air cover—it’s clear she's aiming for an all-out offensive, something bold. Something that demands the kind of firepower only well-coordinated land and sea forces can deliver.
“So, you want land-based support, huh?” The papers are set back down as the gears start turning. There’s no denying the effectiveness of a joint operation like this, but the logistics behind it are another beast entirely. Not to mention the time it’ll take to coordinate everything.
North Carolina’s gaze never wavers, waiting for the decision. Outside, the faint sound of seagulls cuts through the air.
"Alright, let's hear the full breakdown,” i said and here comes the response, leaning back into the chair, fingers tracing the edge of the coffee cup left cold on the table. There’s a lot riding on this plan, and North Carolina wouldn’t push it without reason.
"My Idea is" North Carolina looks over with a gleam in her eyes, clearly excited to explain. "It’s simple. We’re going back to that island—the one with those fortress things. We are calling it Fortress-1 now, by the way."
She pulls a map from the pile on the table, spreading it out and pointing to the section between Port Nine and the island. "My sisters and I are going to bait those three Fortress-1 structures out of their position, draw them into this spot right here, in the open water."
The finger traces a path across the map as she continues, her voice growing more animated. "Once they’re lured in, that's when the crucial moment in time begins. You'll launch the F-2s and B-1 aircraft, and also deploy the full-size E-1 AWACS—not the carrier variant, but the big one, to track their every move. With the AWACS guiding us, we can hit them hard and fast."
Her hands sweep over the map dramatically, showing the next step. "As the enemy moves closer, we provoke them into range of the Admiral Fisher-class cruisers. The 11-inch guns will start bombarding them from a distance, softening them up. But that’s not all—we’ll split off, flanking them on both sides. While they’re dealing with the bombardment, you hit them with heavy ordinance from the air, taking out critical targets, immobilizing their ships, and cutting off their retreat."
She leans back in her chair, a satisfied smile on her face. "A decisive battle plan," she says with pride, clearly relishing the thought of pulling it off.
Listening to her, there’s a lot that comes to mind—like how Fortress-1 is going to react, or whether the bait will even work the way she expects. The logistical hurdles, the timing, the risk of stretching resources too thin questions stack up, but there’s something about the way she’s presenting it. The sparkle in her eyes, the way she seems so genuinely confident, makes it hard to interrupt.
"Alright," the words come out casually, but the mind’s already spinning with questions. A few small ones to start, testing the waters, and North Carolina answers them confidently, her tone unwavering. She’s clearly thought a lot about this plan, diving deep into every tactical angle.
But eventually, there’s one question that sticks. "How can you be sure the enemy’s going to fall for this? What if they realize it’s a bait?"
There’s a slight pause. Her confident expression falters, just for a second, before she catches herself. She straightens up, thinking. "The bait's solid," she starts, sounding less sure than before. "They’ll chase us—they’ve done it before. They're aggressive, predictable. We’ve studied their patterns. This time won’t be any different."
"Sure," comes the reply, leaning forward just a bit, "but what if they change it up? What if they recognize the trap before they’re fully committed? They’re not mindless."
Her brow furrows. North Carolina’s fingers trace along the map as she thinks through the scenario, the gap in her plan becoming more visible. She chews her lip for a moment, then answers, "If they don’t take the bait… we’ll adapt. We’ll hold them off with airstrikes, and if it turns into a standoff, we can regroup and hit them from a different angle. It’s not like we’re committing everything in one go."
The answer feels more like an afterthought, a hasty patch on a bigger flaw. But there's no need to push further right now. She’s put a lot into this, and while it’s not perfect, it’s clear she's banking on the enemy going through her plans.
The conversation drifts to a thoughtful silence. North Carolina, still looking optimistic, watches as the decision settles in.
"Actually, I think we need to change it up a bit," I said adding "I’m not fully sold on the current plan."
Her brows knit together, a mix of surprise and concern. "Change it up? What do you have in mind?"
"Here’s my assumption," begins, laying it out clearly. "What if the enemy catches on to the bait? They might realize it's a trap and not pursue as expected. What’s the backup if that happens?"
North Carolina takes a deep breath, her fingers tapping on the edge of the map. "If they don’t take the bait... then.."
Eventually, after a long conversation its clear that North Carolina still needs to refine her decisive battle strategy but i did accepted some parts of her plan, and so, its not all in vain.