Move 1: Irregular Opening

“DRILL COMPLETE, DRILL COMPLETE. ALL HANDS APART FROM FLIGHT DECK PERSONNEL STAND DOWN FROM GENERAL QUARTERS...” The intercom was still blaring the stand down order as the last Shinden II slowly taxied its way to the fore of the superstructure—the only part of the deck that wasn’t crowded by the F-14’s. Yellowshirts and greenshirts were still scurrying about, assisting disembarking pilots on one side, helping witches out of their strikers on the other. Plane handlers gave the landed planes a look over for possible structural problems before they go belowdecks. It was, overall, a very hectic scene post-drill, nothing out of ordinary for the crew of the CVN-99 Asuka II.

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Lieutenant-Commander Makoto Tsukishiro straightened her service jacket as she rose from her seat on the bridge. She was a symbol of immaculate uniform protocol as usual; her dress pants showed no sign of creasing even after an extended sitting period, her service jacket was spotless, her hair neatly tied in a bun under her command ball cap. She took out and briefly glanced at her pocket watch. “Three minutes faster than our previous record, sir.” She gestures to the air officer, who hands her a clipboard. Scanning over it, she adds, “I daresay our deployment times for case 3 launches have been cut in half.”

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Rear Admiral Kazuhiko Aikawa regarded the situation, sighing as he stood up from the skipper’s seat. He was not the image of a typical admiral, however. His bushy hair needed combing, his tunic’s upper buttons were undone, and his pants looked like they had not been washed for a month. Add that to the fact that he looked way older than his age, and he could be mistaken for a character from that western sitcom they called ‘Dad’s Army,’ instead of an actual rear admiral in His Imperial Majesty’s Navy. Fixing his command ball cap on, he muttered, “Quite true, quite true.” Then he gave a low, mirthful chuckle, catching the attention of his executive officer. “Still, record times for deployment won’t mean much if our witches don’t focus on keeping their recovery times short.” He glanced over to Tsukishiro, her back turned to the admiral; her ears visibly reddened, clearly showing her embarrassment for making a hasty judgment, a rare thing with an otherwise experienced young lady.

“Indeed, sir. That must be looked into,” Makoto finally replied, clearing her throat. Aikawa chuckled to himself at the gesture, obviously entertained by the rare chance to catch the disciplined Four-Eyed Demon of Chiba off-guard. Fixing her glasses, Makoto added, “I will personally handle the inquiry and have the offending parties—”

“That won’t be necessary, Lieutenant-Commander Tsukishiro,” came the abrupt reply from Aikawa, more forcefully than normal. The admiral paused, noticing that now every eye on the rather spacey bridge was focused on him. Putting on a more relaxed tone, he said, “I’ll be the one to take care of that. Have the wing leader and her new witches report to my stateroom for debriefing. I’ll leave the flattop in your able hands for now.” As he makes his way to the hatch, he realized he forgot something, and adds, “Attention, Commander Tsukishiro has the deck and conn,” before heading out.

Makoto began to protest. “Rear Admiral, that’s not—” Turning to see that the admiral has already left, she shook her head before stating, “Attention everyone, this is Commander Tsukishiro, I have the deck and the conn.” Makoto sighed—for someone who has been an admiral for more than a year, ‘Crimson Lightning’ Aikawa was still gleefully ignoring flag officer protocol and etiquette. Fixing her hair bun, she whispered to herself, “Seriously, Admiral Aikawa…”


THE RED-HAIRED WITCH slightly unzipped her heavily worn flight jacket as she led her little party through the passageway leading to the admiral’s stateroom. Her flight goggles were lazily slung on her neck, partly obscuring the scarlet collar she was also wearing. She didn’t even bother to fix her frazzled, hip-length hair. She felt rather annoyed at the sudden summons, and she made her dissatisfaction apparent to anyone within hearing distance. “Man, and I was getting ready to take a bath even! What could the old geezer want now?” Lieutenant-Commander Kurumi Tamaki emphasized her point by brandishing her towel in the air. “I’ll give him a piece of my mind once I get a chance…”

“The admiral sounds like a boring old man, Commander Tamaki,” Ensign Mitsuki Ichimonji opined, acting indifferent to her superior officer’s gripes. She tugged at her uniform—a standard-issue white shirt with its sleeves removed by Ichimonji herself, a matching black tie, and a skimpy red skirt—in a lazy attempt of fixing herself up. She didn’t try to fix her hip-length silver-white hair, however. Placing her arms behind her head, she added, “Maybe we can just slip off to the galley while he’s giving us a debriefing. What do you think, Nana?”

For her part, Ensign Nanami Kaede merely looked blankly at her companion, then to their still ranting wing commander, before wordlessly going back to poring over her personal copy of ‘Anne of the Island’. Her attire—a white shirt with the sleeves intact, a ribbon with a red gem as a centerpiece, and a purplish skirt—would feel out of place in a fighting ship if it wasn’t for the “4th Experimental Operations and Evaluation Flotilla” and “Seabats Air Wing” patches on the sleeves. Her hip-length white hair was also very well-kempt, belying the fact that she just came from a launch and recovery drill that lasted for hours.

“You’re being no fun again, Nana,” Mitsuki exclaimed, exasperated. Seeing no other recourse, she turned to Tamaki. “Commander, are we there yet? My legs are going numb…”

Tamaki snapped out of her tirade at the question and, in a rather matter-of-fact tone, pointed out, “Yeah, yeah, we’re here… second hatch to the right.” Leading her younger charges in, she instantly espied the admiral at his desk, working on what appeared to be a Zeon capital ship… again. “Geez, I bet you already have a full fleet of those toys, old man…” the redhead witch whined, shaking her head.

“Good, you’re here. Ensign… Kaede, was it? Please dog down the hatch,” Aikawa replied without looking up. He was putting the finishing touches on the ship’s superstructure, making the minutest movements to make sure he doesn’t break anything. He triumphantly looked up to the three witches, only to see an unamused Tamaki, her crimson eyes ablaze, her arms crossed and the expression ‘Are you fucking kidding me right now’ written clearly on her face. With a bemused tone, the admiral exclaimed, “Ara, ara…”

“Don’t ARA ARA me, you senile seadog,” Tamaki snapped, visibly annoyed. “You call us in, fresh off a damned drill that, I may add, is JUST THE SAME DAMN ROUTINE FOR THE PAST THREE WEEKS, and me, expecting to get something important done because it’s a debrief from the admiral himself, goes here straight away with my newest witches as ordered. And then THIS IS WHAT I GET?!” putting a palm on her forehead, she exclaimed, “Come on girls, this farce is over…”

“That kind of impatience will get you killed, Commander Tamaki,” Aikawa stated, his tone suddenly serious and foreboding. All three witches actually snapped to attention at that. “If I wanted to play around I’d do it with more elaborate methods, see. Also, this isn’t a toy, this is a model kit.” Tamaki didn’t respond. Taking this as his cue, the admiral continued. “I’ve been observing your wing’s performance for the past three weeks since these two girls arrived and, to be honest, there have been some… discrepancies.” Shuffling through a folder, he added, “The steelwings under your command seem to be doing just fine, but your witches’ recovery times have been suffering from extended periods in the air.” Aikawa tapped the folder with the back of his palm before continuing. “I think I already know the cause for this, but I’ll hold off until you can explain your side.”

Feeling resigned to her fate, Tamaki began, “To be honest, my wing’s feeling very, very restless. It’s not just the witches; even my steelwing pilots are getting impatient.” She sighed, before adding, “It’s been a month since the push into Korea, old man. My boys and girls are itching for a fight. We’ve been put into this ‘strategic evaluation reserve’ for far too long. We’ve taken the time for drill sorties to do gunnery and maneuvers practice without permission, but only with select groups at a time.” She puffed with smug almost imperceptibly, but only the yawning Ichimonji didn’t notice. “I planned the setup myself so that the steelwings wouldn’t be under suspicion! My witches would have gotten away with the arrangement too…” Another pause. “If only the others would cooperate…”

Aikawa took every word in, carefully weighing his response. After what almost amounted to minutes, he finally spoke. “For the record, I’ll have to punish the entire air wing for undertaking direct combat exercises without the explicit approval of higher command.” He pulled out a notepad, scanning it before continuing. “As you know, our current stated mission is to act as an evaluation and test unit. Direct combat training may come, but for now, it is beyond our jurisdiction.” He turned his attention to the younger witches. “As for you two, I’ll have to ground you indefinitely.”

“Wait, what??” Ichimonji exclaimed, giving the admiral a look of utter disbelief, while Kaede was still staring, her almost golden eyes seemingly lifeless and empty. The perkier Ichimonji was furious. “All due respect, Admiral, but we’ve already become a part of this unit! Grounding us now would—“

Aikawa drew a breath, before cutting off Ichimonji’s tirade. “I already know you two are having a hard time adjusting. Hell, with the exception of your wing leader and vice-leader, you’d probably be excluded from anything the pilots and other witches would do.” No response. “Look, I don’t really understand how you witches do it, or if it’s even witch-related, but if what I’m sensing is true, then the entire unit’s pretty much scared of you two.” He winced internally at that. ‘Sense?’ Sounded like some Newtype bullshit to him. “We’re grounding you to help you ease in with the rest of the wing. Think of this grounding as a free pass to catch up on your shooting skills without having to ask permission.” Noticing Kaede’s book, Aikawa added, “Also, the ship’s library just got some new arrivals. I think Daddy-Long-Legs and Jo’s Boys are part of that shipment…” sure enough, the stoic Kaede’s eyes grew wide, though only for a moment. Bingo.

Ichimonji still looked unsatisfied with the arrangement, so the admiral was forced to pull his trump card. “I tell you what, Ensign Ichimonji. I wager I can beat you at 500 meters with a type 89.”

Ichimonji’s auburn eyes perked up. Thank goodness he remembered that dossier, Aikawa thought. “Admiral, are you—”

“Yes, kid, I’m challenging you. No magic. Iron sights only.” The admiral grinned mischievously. “In fact, let’s put a bet on it. If you beat me, I’ll cut your grounding short, and I’ll throw in a pint of ice cream for both of you. I beat you… well, we’ll decide on that later.”

“A gallon. Make it a gallon and we’re good,” Ichimonji replied, excitement evident in her voice.

“You’re on. See you on the range before the first dog watch this Saturday.” To emphasize the point, Aikawa held out his hand. The witch shook it, sealing the deal.

“Alright, now that’s done, any further questions?” the admiral said. Quickly, Tamaki replied, “You kind of forgot to say what the wing’s punishment was, gramps.”

Aikawa cleared his throat before replying. “The punishment will be… No movie night for the next three weeks. And especially no reruns of Yojimbo.”

Tamaki looked at the admiral like he was deranged. “Wha—”

“Look here, Tamaki,” said Aikawa abruptly, genuinely exasperated. “Just be thankful I’m letting you off easy here. If I’d let the executive officer decide, your steelwing drivers will be swabbing the flight line with their tongues for two weeks straight while you and your witches will replace the nuclear reactor as the ship’s power source… indefinitely.”

The redhead was visibly shaken at the thought. Conceding her defeat, Tamaki muttered, “Fine, old man, have it your way.” Turning to her charges, she asked, “How about you two, you got anything?”

Kaede shook her head. Ichimonji, on the other hand, exclaimed, “You’re actually pretty interesting, Rear Admiral!” Turning to Tamaki, she added, “Can we go now? I’m feeling reaaaaally hungry.”

The admiral chuckled at the gesture. Witch or no, they were still kids, after all. “All right, I guess that will be all.” He stood up before adding, “Good work, I suppose. Dismissed.”

The witches saluted, but Tamaki had one last thing to say before they left. “Don’t expect me to owe you for this, old man. You still owe me one, remember that.”

Aikawa looked on without comment as the girls left. Now that his ‘debriefing’ was done, he had nothing else to do. He could go back to the bridge, but he wasn’t feeling up to taking the conn back so soon. He could go to the hangar and try a hand at the newer fighter planes, but Tsukishiro might chew him out again for ‘acting out of line’…

“Kumi’s brash as usual, eh?”

…Or he could go and waste time making idle chatter with this pilot here. The admiral and Lieutenant Senior Grade Nozomi Sanada have known each other since they were kids; whereas Tsukishiro was his ‘etiquette compass’ who kept him acting like an actual ship skipper, Sanada was his ‘impulse control’, or lack thereof. She was never one to follow regulations as was evident in the way she wore her flight suit; the upper section was wrapped around her waist, revealing her black tank top and well-toned upper body. A scar tore across her left cheek, a reminder of her days as a striker witch. Her shoulder-length hair was messy at the edges after a rushed haircut. She was wearing those dog tags as usual, a memento from an old friend.

Fate always had a way of putting the two of them together despite being separated multiple times, like when Nozomi joined the witch corps and again when she transferred to helicopters. Aikawa had a name for it: Survivors’ Bond. It was something about some higher power putting together people who had been through the worst for some reason, he said.

“Brash indeed, Nozomi,” Aikawa sighed. He added, “Just like her mother.”

Sanada went in to Aikawa’s room and actually bopped her old friend on the head. “For the last time, Kazu, it wasn’t your fault.” She lit up a cigarette, taking a long drag before adding, “If you’re gonna end up like a sorry puddle of tears again, I swear to god I’ll burn your eyes out with my cigarette. And THEN you’ll feel sorry, idiot.”

The (relatively) young admiral broke into a weak smile. That was typical of Sanada; she was blunt at times but she genuinely cared for people. “Thanks, though you could’ve at least dropped the idiot part. I got an earful of that from my niece already.” The Seahawk driver stuck her tongue at him. Talk about immature. “So what brings you to my humble abode? I don’t remember CSAR crew being fond of this part of the ship.”

Sanada took a seat, putting her legs up on the admiral’s desk. Taking in another drag, she stated, “You can feel it too, can’t you, Kazu?”

Aikawa was genuinely confused. “I don’t understand…”

“Those two girls…” the chopper driver interrupted. “You can feel the darkness around them, can’t you?”