NOVEMBER 29TH, 220 THE YILAN ENSIGN HAPP-SCHWARZENBERGER’S QUARTERS

Hunching under the silver shower head, the torrent of water sprays my backside with its unrelenting heat that scorches my flattened hair. And as much as it gives off a tickling sensation, I enjoy it. Before that fateful, ill-fated expedition I never used to be the type to appreciate hot showers—even less mildly warm showers. I’ve always preferred icy showers—they’ve helped with rejuvenating me, to stay prepared for the day ahead. Ice showers provided me with a sensation that I believed hot ones could never provide. I didn’t have to worry about the designated shower running out too long because I never took long showers to begin with, because as much as I used to swear by cold showers, if I stayed in too long then I’d be shivering after the shower ends.

And right on cue, I hear the fifth round of that robotic, one-toned masculine voice: “User’s shower time will exceed the set maximum limit. Please turn off the shower or the system will shut off automatically in three minutes.” So brash and authoritative. I wish the engineers of this ship would have at least designed a more feminine voice set. I don’t want to be reminded every two minutes by such a forceful brute voice that the only luxury I take solace in can so easily be robbed for the rest of the day. I used to be able to enjoy two showers a day with ice-cold water; now I can barely enjoy one.

I push myself up and lean back in this overly-cramped golden encasement. As much as I appreciate this small, relaxing cocoon, I find it too cramped. If I didn’t know any better I would guess that the designers of this ship line do not appreciate shower compartments as much as I do and they must hate them with a passion. I can barely move around, and it is hard enough as it is to extend my legs out and clean myself. Being a shower connoisseur is suffering.

Friederika told me once most of the newer-model ships have both somewhat larger shower encasements. On top of that, they come equipped with better artificial systems that don’t make you feel as though they are judging you indifferently and making you guilty about reaching your allocated shower times—or at least you are capable of customizing them a fair amount. But that’s just what Friederika says—and knowing her, the bloody gremlin only heard it because of selective hearing from personnel visiting from other ships. I can’t help but crack a smile. If Friederika heard me say that nonchalantly, she’d probably pinch me on—

“ User’s shower time will exceed their allocation. Please turn off the shower or the system will shut off automatically in one minute and fifty seconds,” the inconsiderate shower panel says in its typical manner, or I guess lack thereof. I almost want to kick it, but the most I can manage is a knee jab. It almost makes me wish I could bring Vivi along, just so I could plug her into my cabin and let her have full reign over my cabin quarters. Though, tilting my head back to let the welcoming water splash my torso at full power, I can only wonder if the ship would reject Vivi as a virus? Nah, I doubt it, it’s almost criminal that the artificial system is arbitrary in contrast to Vivi’s level of design. Given that the Yilan is an older model though, it’s not too far a possibility.

“Thirty seconds until the allocated water supply is terminated,” the horrible shower artificial intelligence says. With a defeated sigh, I lean back against the rather icy wall and brush my bangs—the wetness makes it stick to my palms. Regardless of the rigid shower allocation, I’m grateful that I can bask in this warm summer rain in the first place. To come into here is to prepare for a tiring day of being called the Miracle Ensign, the Toscana Heroine, and other such embarrassing names. No, I take that bad, they’re not even embarrassing, they’re just inconsiderate. And yet, everyone pays me respect that I’ve never thought possible.

You outdid the Madame Scarface. You saved hundreds of thousands of lives! And just as much as I get praise, there are those in the back with piercing gazes; biting down on their thumbs. I try to pay them no attention as much as the ones who give me a pat on the back. And because Friederika has been assigned to a different department she’s never around to get me out of a pinch. It’s frustrating, really. I try to pay this newfound attention no mind, but I wish they would keep their distance.

They don’t know the struggle I had to go through. The anxiety that I underwent knowing that a herculean problem was thrown into my lap—one that hardly a few could pull off. And yet… looking back on it now, it seems like such an obvious maneuver, you push through the fleet ahead of you, avoid any needless skirmishing and regroup with the main fleet. And yet people still died… and there was nothing I could do for the Ides attachment. If I had more time… if I had more experience, I could’ve advised sending a transmission to the Commodore’s fleet and regrouping with the Ides fleet to make a stand.

But I didn’t. And although I saved a few hundred thousand lives, I could do nothing to save a fleet that was half of that. I’m a false Miracle Ensign, there was nothing in Toscana that warrants me being a hero. I failed so many and we were so close to facing a second annihilation once we merged with the Baltit fleet.

By now the familiar warmth has disappeared. I failed to notice that the rude artificial companion has shut off my pleasure—my soothing cascade. And yet, just as much as this is my watery sanctuary, it is the one place where I can dwell on my failures. Just as I can get away from the endless praise and applause for what I’ve done, I squat in here and wonder if things went just a little differently—if I stormed the commodore’s planning room and confronted him directly.

If Buttermilch and I were positioned differently on the bridge, maybe Buttermilch would not have been impaled. Even if one of the other officers—like warrant officer Casavant—took initiative, he could’ve done things differently… or maybe things would’ve gone exactly the same? Casavant could’ve taken all the fame for himself, and he would’ve gotten a bloody lame moniker like the Hero of Toscana and Miracle Casavant.

It’s no secret that lieutenant commander Mazzareli has been contemplating recommending me for a double promotion. But why would he do that? Why should I get a promotion built on the foundations of other’s misery and death? Is that the sort of thing that Buttermilch would’ve wanted? Do I even deserve such a promotion when Mazzareli could’ve been promoted for the acts of courage he committed in the latter half of the battle? After all, I got anxious and ran away after dictating my plan to Mazzareli. I’m nothing better than a coward.

Burying my face in my hands, I can’t help but wonder: Is that the kind of legacy I want to carry on, in Buttermilch’s honor? Would it have been better for me if I had died instead, and earned a double—or even a triple posthumous promotion? It’s not unheard of for medal recipients of the Victorian Cross to be awarded posthumously, and undoubtedly so for one to receive a double advancement. On the other hand, it’s exceptionally rare for a living recipient to receive such a treatment. If I had died, it would merely be a prestigious boost for the Happ-Schwarzenberger family, and Mazzareli could carry on Buttermilch’s legacy.

I wonder if all of those I inadvertently sent to their deaths would receive the same treatment? Would their families be presented with medals of valor, not knowing that they have died deaths that could’ve been avoided, granted if their commanding officer had listened to simple advice? Would even the officer presenting them with such knowledge know for sure that a certain Commodore pursued fame and glory over what is the logical thing to do. That a particular officer’s failure to obey his government’s orders, and failing that, ignoring the warning of a staff officer despite the accusation of ‘conforming to a democratic staff vote’?

Considering that the only sensible thing commodore Chal has done after evacuating Toscana was not commence another operation after Li left for Rouen. Well, leave Toscana and think twice about invading Toscana again. What’s there to say Chal won’t take credit for what I’ve done and attain his fame and glory in another way, by claiming that he decided to regroup, to advise a two-point diversion, and withdrawal while Li’s forces were distracted? If Friederika was here standing over me right now, she’d chastise me that those fateful turns of events was for the better, or maybe she’d whine that I’m overthinking things too much again.

I sit my bum down on the slippery shower floor, letting out a sigh as I press my knees to my chest since it’s about all I can do. It’s gotten a little colder now, and I can’t help but shiver a little. My towel and my uniform are just out of arm’s reach, and I cannot be bothered in reaching over just yet.

As I stare at the pink towel hanging lazily over the creamy countertop, I can only wonder if these Miracle Ensign and Heroine of Toscana names will last longer than the Cadet Puke name that stuck with me a year or two ago at Lepanto. I smile wearily, wondering where lieutenant Puke-face McGee might be these days. I did hear mister grumpy old Putsch is a Major these days, and I find that unbelievable. Brushing a wet bit of hair under my nose, I can’t help but wonder if Putsch still gets teased about the puke incident? Does he have to deal with being called Major Puke-face McGee by his colleagues?

Entertaining the thought for a little longer, I hear fumbling around and some thuds here and there followed by an all-too-familiar cry. There are some muffling noises from behind the thick yellow door, and I can only guess it’s Friederika sprouting curses directed at me and my lineage. It would be a very Friederika thing to do for her.

I wiggle out of the drying subpar compartment in time to hear my annoyed friend knock on the door—to my surprise, it’s not a frantic one; like an attention-starved cat desperately clawing on the door begging to be back in. It’s gentle knocks, accompanied by Friederika speaking through the thick door. “Vicky…? You’re still in there, right?” Came Friederika’s question. Even before I get the answer out, there’s the shaking of the doorknob as Friederika tries to force herself in. “I’m going to come in, is that okay?” Even if I said no, Friederika couldn’t keep herself away from me even if she wanted to. Usually, in the past, Friederika invades my privacy if someone rebuffs her, but she hasn’t been doing that since we came to the Yilan.

Could be she is just incredibly lonely since we’ve been separated from being assigned different departments. The most I can do is refuel her Friederika energy at least. With a dramatic eye-roll, I answer dryly, “you know, one of these days I’m going to just preemptively chuck a boot at that cute face of yours, you bloody wanker.” I manage to reach for the pink towel and cover myself just as Friederika enters the relatively cramped bathroom. Right off the bat, I could tell she’s tired—but it’s a weary expression she hides immediately upon making eye contact. Maybe I’m imagining it?

“I’m so humbled that you would let little ol’ me in!” Friederika says, throwing her arms around me. There’s a slight squeeze—and I expect her to recoil upon realizing I’m still dripping wet. Interestingly, she doesn’t. “It feels so long since I’ve been able to bugger my old mate!”

“Kiki…,” I begin “it’s only been like, a few days at least?” Quite the drama queen at that, “you act like you haven’t seen me in months. Also, er,” it proves rather difficult in getting my arms free so I can tighten my towel, “I’m pretty soaked still… doesn’t it bother you that your uniform might get ruined? You know Prince gets his panties inna bunch over that. Blimey, Kiki…” she looks up with that goofy smirk of hers, and she shakes her head.

“It’s just clothes,” Friederika says a little too matter-of-factly. Just as I reach for the second towel to dampen my hair, Friederika must’ve read my mind, because she swipes it and drops it over my head first. “What’s he going to do? Put me on latrine duty?”

“Well, first of all,” I remark “you’d soil yourself if you dared utter those kinds of words to the Lieutenant. And second of all—ah,” Friederika is being rough, suffocating me with the towel.

“And secondly?” The short-haired gremlin muses. I grab Friederika’s hands and pull them down—slipping my makeshift towel mask off and causing the Sub-Lieutenant to fumble close to me. She must be taken by surprise since Friederika mildly blushes at this abrupt change of events. “Hey, what’s with you?” Friederika fumbles, doing little to wrestle out of my grip.

“And those are my words exactly,” I remark, releasing Friederika briefly to pinch her cheeks. She lets out a Friederika squeal as I pull on them, and Friederika shakes her head in protest. “What’s with you all of a sudden? You charge into my room, flail around and invade my privacy—I was thinking earlier that it’s because you had another prospecting date turned around…” another tug on her flabby cheeks, “was I right on the mark, I take it?” Realizing that Friederika can only reply in intangible nonsense, I let go of her cheeks and watch smugly as she rubs her abused cheeks.

“Well, in a way, yes—but, for the most part, no,” Friederika answers, shifting to relax her bum on the countertop, “I think you were too deep in your shower thoughts earlier to notice. I tried contacting you through your console some time ago, um…” Friederika pinches one of her eyebrows, then her bangs, “so I decided to drop by and tried calling out to you in the shower, but I decided to just wait—you got angry at me for barging into your shower that one time, so I waited on your bed instead.” Huh, so that crash I heard earlier was after the shower cut out, then?

Tilting my head, there’s no way I was in the shower for that long, right? I would’ve heard Friederika crashing about like a wild animal the first time. I’ve known her for almost my entire life and for as long as I’ve had messy rooms, she has always comically failed navigating through them successfully.

“Well, I’ll give you one thing,” I begin “at least you had the decency of waiting until after the shower ends before you invited yourself in, sheesh,” Friederika tries to chuckle it off. I cross my arms under my breasts, pouting my cheeks before continuing. “Seriously, I’m the one who gets an earful of Prince when he saw your uniform that one time,” a strong inhale; a pump of my chest, “like I’m your nanny or something!”

“I know, I know,” Friederika says reassuringly, “you’re right.” Feeling a little bad, I know I can’t get mad at Friederika though. Friederika does get a little too lonely without me sometimes. And remaining in solitary without having a good friend to bicker and banter can get overwhelming for me, too.

“I gotta say, though,” Friederika continues, squinting past me at the pathetic shower compartment, “you’ve still awfully lousy with managing your shower supply,” in protest, I blow onto my wet hair sticking to skin still, “I’d think lieutenant Plotte would get a lot more mad at you after the department head gets furious at him over a certain pretty princess Ensign using up this level’s water supply,” oh shut it, you bloody wanker, “you know, sooner or later, they’re just going to shut off your water altogether—hey!” A light kick on the shin. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe there’s nothing wrong with monologuing to the shower panel than this dark-haired gremlin after all.

“Piss off, I need to get changed now. You kinda knocked over my clothes and got them all crumpled and wet now,” I answer, partially lying, “maybe just this once I can cover my ass and pin the blame on you once the Lieutenant even looks at me for more than a second?” Well, to be fair, he’d still get mad at me for letting Friederika walk all over me in the first place, anyway. It keeps slipping my mind to confiscate Friederika’s key so that we can avoid these incidents altogether. But as I stare into those pouty eyes, I know the girl would be thoroughly heartbroken if I took it from her. But mostly, my room console would literally never stop ringing, ever.

“Maybe you shouldn't place your clothes and towels on top of each other?” Friederika retorts, and I can’t protest since that much is true, “anyway, what’s wrong with me being here?” Friederika asks, planting her hands on her hips with that shit-eating smug of hers, “I’ve already seen you nuddy before, like I know there’s a mole on your—ack!” Despite this bathroom space being sorta small as it is, I can still afford to kick Friederika in her cushioned rear.

“Right, give a move on, then, love,” I say, slapping her with my jacket, “go on, navigate through the deadly minefield and onto the safe zone, now.”

“You’re awfully a violent one, you know that?” Friederika laments, cupping hands over her chest, “hurting a fair young maiden like myself! Those leave bruises, you know! If someone wooed me, what would they think—“

“Nobody is going to think anything because nobody in their sane mind will see you nuddy ever,” I say, slamming the door shut. I can hear Friederika mumble then let out a cry as I hear a thump and crash as she, yet again, clumsily fails to follow through with the most basic of advice.

It doesn’t take long for me to get ready and I’m out of the bathroom before long. Friederika manages to survive, and she hangs off the bedside holding one of many books, but I know better she’s not too interested in reading any of my literature. Interestingly, Friederika seems to have taken this as an opportunity to-so to speak—wind down by slipping off her jacket and loosening her tie. “Wow, I don’t have to report you missing in action in my battlefield after all,” I say with enthusiasm, “sounds like you deserve a Victorian cross and a double-promotion more than I do!”

“Very funny, you almost made me chuckle,” the Sub-Lieutenant remarks, putting the book aside and rolling over to sit on the bed. I didn’t realize it, but she looks awfully serious for some reason. Maybe concerned? Is she in sub-lieutenant Trachenberg mode now? As if reading me like an open book, Friederika begins to speak, “y’know mate, when are you going to even clean your room?”

Maybe I just keep imagining things. I couldn’t help but scoff, “you’re not my mum. Besides, even if, say, Prince suddenly went around inspecting rooms, it’s not like it’d make a difference. I could pretend to be a normal person and put these away for once, and it’ll still just get cluttered again the moment any inspectors carry on to the next person to torment,” Friederika only shakes her head with a sigh. I follow her gaze around my cabin at the nets attached to walls and shelves containing an overwhelming amount of books that Mazzareli gifted to me after Lucky Alphonse settled down.

The collection comprises historical books, some non-fiction and others literature. Seems like Buttermilch was a fan of murder thrillers too. For most of September, I haven’t been able to dig at them too much, and it was only fairly recently I’ve been able to read a few.

“I should’ve talked you out of getting them,” Friederika groans, sighing with her head low. She looks off to the side at my coffee table, on it is the simulation device projecting data from the Toscana battle. “Or maybe I should’ve talked him out of giving them to you,” Friederika lays on the bed and runs a hand through her hair, “if only the Lieutenant Commander and Buttermilk knew what would’ve become of these books… just more decor for some slob’s room!”

I step over the clutter with ease to join the bed freeloader, slapping her on the knee in response. “Seriously, you’re kind of abusive,” Friederika says, arms over her eyes. I expect her to go on, but the two of us remain quiet for some time. Finally, Friederika begins again, “Vicky… I’m sorry, I’m a little wiped from today,” she glances again at some of the book nets for a bit, then at the simulation projection, “the senior officers keep complaining that we’ve been getting a lot of mundane tasks lately—at least I don’t have to do any desk jobs, I guess.”

“Oh?” I reach over for one of the books I’m currently reading—a partially fictional, mostly historical account of some Chinese kingdoms that existed nearly two millennia ago. “I take it that your oh-so-busy schedule means you come here to slack off and bother me instead?” Friederika says nothing. Instead, Friederika nonchalantly shoves her bum in my face as she grunts and reaches over to grab the telly’s controller. “You know, speaking of which, I couldn’t help but notice you’re getting a little too comfortable crashing in here—what with your jacket on the chair and boots in the mess there—blimey, I’m at least relieved you had the decency to take the boots off before hopping on me bed.”

“Oh come on now,” Friederika says, turning the telly on before continuing, “don’t give me that scary face. I’ve had a long day, you know? Or more specifically, somewhat of a long week with the heavy work. I haven’t been bothering my good mate at the same time as well—and I’ve just been bottling up so much stress you know? All the while you haven’t done anything yourself. It’s only fair I can drop by to bug you.”

I don’t think I can agree with that logic, but who am I to judge? She’s not wrong. I haven’t exactly been assigned any tasks. Even now I don’t know if it’s just because it’s out of consideration by Mazzareli or his acting adjutant, or some convincing by Prince… though I think that would probably be the other way around with Mazzareli telling Prince to take it easy with me.

Friederika must’ve sensed I was lost in thoughts since she helps herself with plopping down on my lap with eyes trained on the telly. It’s that Perdenese war drama the two of us sorta watched back in August. I think this episode in particular is one of the later ones—near the end maybe? I’m thinking it’s after the time skip at least because one of the characters on screen—a silver-haired gal is notably older with her signature eye patch and patched up left shoulder… I think the character’s name was Lainé. This female warrior, clad in worn-out bearskin wolf armor, trots on her horse alongside her marching regiment, tattered red banners bearing a black hawk can be seen every few shots amid the absurdly long spears.

Lain é solemnly observes her foot soldiers march through the earthly snow as one of her adjutants’ comments about the state of affairs with their wagon train. Just then, a galloping messenger halts in front of Lainé and her subordinate, and hastily unravels a scroll frantically announcing that scouts have sighted culverin-type cannons among the enemies fortress and that an intercepted message indicates more will be along the way—along with devices capable of delivering ‘Thace fire’. To further add to the list of terrible news, the messenger pulls on his horse reins—as if reluctant to be the bearer of bad news—and stammers that the intercepted report indicates that an additional force of some fifty-thousand men will join the defenders.

Lain é, of course, only silently nods and stares off into the distance. The other two stare at her with anxiety—the adjutant is first to break the silence, worriedly asking if they should consider turning back. She waves the messenger off—who is more than happy to gallop off. The silver-haired maiden turns her attention to the adjutant, “if we do not fight them now, we will merely be delaying the inevitable decisive battle.

“We fight them now on our terms when we still have the chance,” Lainé’s subtitles read. Lainé slowly looks up as the first signs of snow lands on her bandaged palm. “Time is not on our side, commandant, this conflict has been raging since the glory days of Yoko Tori and Cao Yi. If I wait tomorrow, the next day, and the year after that, my children and their grandchildren will wage a fruitless war to unite a continent that knows only war. I’ve inherited Cao’s legacy of bringing this war to closure in my lifetime,” Lainé pulls on her horse’s reins, trotting alongside the rest of the regiment. “And by the Gods’ will, I hope with enough fertilizing of these endless fields of blood and iron, I will not have to pass my dreams to countless generations.”

The scores of glistening spearheads and falling snow transition the scene overhead to imposing formations and intense drumming as the army marches into a distance where the sun slowly sets—in the far distance distant rumbling and rising smoke. “Pray tell,” the subtitles of Lainé’s voice-over continues, “that I can honor your memory, Cao Yi.”

And with that, the end card and credit roll. I’m so drawn into the telly that I almost don’t notice Friederika stirring on my lap. “Quite the show, eh?” The lazy Sub-Lieutenant murmurs, rubbing one of her eyes.

“You know, I still can’t make heads or tails of you lodging in here simply to watch the telly or to, well, hang out with me,” I think that may have come out a little too snarky. Friederika seems to pay it no mind—she only scoffs. It makes me feel a little guilty that all I do is badmouth Friederika… she does mean the world to me.

“Who says I can’t do both?” Friederika answers, trying to suppress a yawn. “Honestly, your thighs are nice and soft. The telly is just a bonus,” Friederika locks eyes with me and smiles lovingly, “Vicky, I really am relieved that you let me hang out here with you.”

I stroke her head before continuing, “hey now, don’t be so down about it. What’s brought this all about anyway? You never did specify what this sudden arrival on my doorstep entailed.” She mentioned that there’s been a greater load of tasks lately. A glance at the calendar nearby; is it because of what I think it is?

Friederika bites her lower lip—she breaks eye contact and turns her head to the side. “Well,” Friederika says, clearing her throat, “they’re granting us one last shore leave that’ll last a week in a few hours…” I freeze taking in those words. Shore leaves aren’t anything out of the ordinary; Friederika mentions in passing that they’ve happening every couple of weekends and sometimes for the weekdays and she used to bug me to go with her, but I never did go… and yet Friederika continued to ask every time the chance for shore leave came up. It makes me feel guilty not spending time with Friederika that way.

But if this is the last scheduled shoreline leave …

“I’m sure you probably already know what I’m getting at, right?” Friederika asks timidly. She clears her throat again, repositioning her head on my lap. Of course, as I stroke her hair some more, there could only very well be a few reasons why. “Admiral DeRyck’s fleet arrived in the star zone… and rumor has it he’s furious about the Commodore’s state of affairs,” Friederika sighs and rolls over in my lap. “Seems like the Admiral wants all the department heads at his flagstaff as soon as possible… there’s been a lot of personnel in the shuttle bays anyway.”

“The brigands of Brenaco,” I whisper. Friederika is quiet for a moment, but nods. I almost want to bolt up and run out immediately, but the heaviness of Friederika prevents me from doing so. “Has Mazzareli left for the Admiral’s ship yet?” Friederika doesn’t answer yet, but she does mumble something. “Friederika?” I ask, tugging lightly on her shoulder. The gal murmurs again—and it’s not long before the first round of snores violates my eardrums and is amplified from reverberating throughout the room.

With a deflating sigh, I shrug my shoulders. Blimey, Friederika, what a crucial time to pass out! I’m surprised she hasn’t flat-out passed out sooner judging from these ear-shattering snores. If I didn’t know any better, I would figure this was Friederika’s plan all along to keep me pinned down so I couldn’t do anything reckless—and as I look at that peaceful face, I don’t think I can blame her. And for a brief moment, I am reminded of that horrible dream of a middle-aged Friederika—and I immediately perish the thought. I’d never let that happen.

But still, considering that DeRyck’s fleet has taken this long to reach us, and given that we haven’t been recalled to Toscana this entire time, I can only guess that Li has succeeded in some way at Rouen… no, I can only hope she has.

SNUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUH

Oh, blimey.