Oval Office, White House
Sept 21, 1942 6:00 PM
"Laffey?"
FDR asked, his voice a low, heavy rumble that seemed to fill every corner of the room. He leaned forward, his hands clasped on the edge of the desk.
"Yes. We're sending her to handle those escapees on Cuban lands," the OSS Head Director affirmed. His face was a stoic mask, but the slightest tremor in his hands as he adjusted his file betrayed his own unease.
Gen. Eisenhower leaned in, a deep furrow in his brow. "That could be dangerous for our interests too, Mr. President. We can't send a psychopath on a manhunt. She might end up killing the very people we need to extract information from. We've received reports of her methods, and they are... not conducive to interrogation."
"Dwight is right," FDR agreed, his tone firm. "We cannot risk those escapees dying. The only thing that keeps them from falling out of our sights for good is the information in their heads. They are a treasure trove of intelligence on the Sirens and the Crimson Axis."
The OSS Head Director placed a hand on the folder containing the mission parameters. "Time is crucial here, Mr. President. Our intel indicates they've already contacted Iron Blood. We need to act now before they are spirited out of the country by enemy submarines lurking in the Caribbean and Atlantic."
With no other viable options and the clock ticking, FDR made a decision that felt heavy with historical weight, a gamble on a woman who was a legend whispered in hushed tones across military branches.
"Send her," he said, the words a final, unyielding command.
General Eisenhower's concern was etched onto his face. "Are you sure about it, Mr. President? Her reputation is... notorious. We don't know what she'll do."
"Yes. We cannot just sit here and argue about our response. This is a clear message to the Crimson Axis and other hostile factions. Sending her tells them we are so serious that we have to send a Hound to hunt down a bunch of escapees. We are showing them the full extent of our capabilities and our resolve. We're not playing by the rules of gentlemanly warfare anymore."
Gen. Eisenhower slowly nodded, the grim merit of the plan sinking in. It was a potent psychological weapon, a declaration that the Eagle Union would go to extreme lengths for victory.
"Admiral," FDR called, turning to Adm. King. "Commence a blockade of Cuba. Search any ships that come and go from the port. Our intelligence is focused on a small number of targets, but a broad search will ensure we catch them before they can slip away."
FDR's decision was an unprecedented naval action, a move that foreshadowed the Cuban Missile Crisis of the 1960s. This blockade wasn't for illegal weapons, but a desperate search for two high-value targets, a move that could easily ignite a political firestorm.
"I'll contact the 9th Fleet patrolling the Gulf of Mexico/Mejico to commence the blockade immediately. The 23rd Fleet stationed in Florida will also assist in the blockade and search," Adm. King said before taking his leave.
"Would the Cuban government react to this sudden naval blockade on their shores?" Gen. Eisenhower asked, his concern now shifting to the political backlash.
"I'm letting the diplomatic team handle that," FDR said, his tone serious and unyielding. "For now, we need to capture those escapees before our military actions on a sovereign country turn into a full-blown political mess. The consequences of failure are far greater than any diplomatic fallout."
The Next Morning in the White House Oval Office.
The morning sun filtered through the Oval Office windows, but it did little to lighten the mood. The men gathered felt a palpable sense of anxiety.
"What do you think I should expect from her?" FDR asked nervously. He had only heard reports and rumors surrounding her wild behavior and tenacity.
The news often exaggerated her accomplishments, even boasting about her superior skills and weaponry, which no Iron Blood Heavy Cruiser or Battleship could master. On the downside, however, she was always reported getting into trouble with naval commanders while under the influence of alcohol. She was frequently compared to the craziest of the Crazy Shipgirls in the Iron Blood, as the news depicted her.
--FDR's reaction after reading all the files concerning Laffey-200, and she did to the Iron Blood spies—
[ Angry Birds Terence Meme HD Template ] by deadly ligma
"Don't worry, Mr. President, she's not as crazy as the news paints her. She's more like a tamed wild animal... if not provoked, that is," Gen. Eisenhower said, a nervous bead of sweat on his forehead.
"That didn't help to lower my concerns," FDR replied, sweating profusely at the thought of his first meeting with the renowned "Drunk and Psychotic Bunny."
"Well... in appearance, she isn't as threatening as she's presented in the news, but her eyes, though... those are a different matter once you stare into them. I felt a real sense of dread."
"Let's hope you're right about her being a tamed wild animal and not some mentally deranged psychopath like those from Iron Blood," Adm. King said, both eager and nervous to meet her.
"You're worrying over nothing. The news describes her as looking like one of our Benson-class Destroyers, so I wouldn't worry about it," Army-Air Corps Gen. Lemay said, unconcerned about the "murder bunny" they were about to meet.
"Lemay, this is no joke and should be taken seriously. This Modern Kansen has done horrific things to the spies she's terminated or dispatched. We should take this first meeting seriously," Gen. Eisenhower insisted.
"That's enough from you two, gentlemen. I think our guest is here," the OSS Head Director said, informing them of the person now waiting behind the Oval Office doors.
"Alright, brace yourselves. She might not be the person the news painted her to be," FDR said as the doors slowly opened.
An Aide opened the door to the Oval Office as Secret Service agents accompanied the person they were waiting for. A woman in a flowing white dress with long, pinkish-white hair entered the Oval Office, escorted by agents. To the surprise of the men inside, they were all confused as to why she didn't look like the person in the portraits they held in their hands.
FDR looked at the photo, then back at her, repeating the process in a comical, cartoonish fashion as he analyzed the two.
"Are you sure we called the right person?" he asked, bewildered by the "Laffey-200" standing before him.
The Laffey-200 in the photo was her before she was influenced by the "Season." The Laffey in front of them, under the influence, was massively different.
"I am sure we called the right one, Mr. President," the OSS Head Director stated.
"Are you sure, though? I mean..." FDR gestured toward her. "We might have accidentally called one of the Illustrious carriers. Or are my eyes deceiving me?"
"Your eyes didn't deceive you, Mr. President. What you gentlemen are looking at is the USS Laffey DDG-200."
"Then explain this?" FDR demanded, pointing at the photo and then at her.
"I can explain why that is, Mr. President," the OSS Head Director said, trying to contain the embarrassing moment.
"You better start now," Gen. Eisenhower commanded.
"Miss Laffey here is currently under the influence of 'the Season,' which is what scientists call the change in personality and sometimes appearance you see here," he explained.
"You could have just said that before so we didn't look like a bunch of fools in front of her!" FDR said angrily, frustrated that the Head Director had failed to inform them earlier.
"Sorry, Mr. President, that information slipped my mind. I thought you already knew she was under that influence," the OSS Head Director reasoned, attempting to excuse his shortcoming.
Laffey-200, who had been standing silently, grew bored watching the nation's leaders make fools of themselves by arguing like children, decided to speak up. Without further ado or a second to waste on their bickering, she spoke.
"Are you gentlemen done making fools of yourselves, or should I come by next time for a chat?" she said. The room immediately fell silent as she had now captured their full attention.
FDR responded, breaking the awkward silence that hung over the room like a ticking clock. "My apologies, Miss Laffey. We just had a little information lag, as we weren't informed about the certain changes in your... demeanor."
"I see," she said, her tone surprisingly understanding. "You can drop the formalities. I'm not one of those Royalties."
"Okay...?" FDR replied, confused by her casual attitude.
Everyone was completely bewildered by her demeanor. At first glance, they had misidentified her as one of the Royal Navy's "Ladies of the House" due to how she carried herself in front of them. They had assumed she was a Royal Navy Shipgirl who had somehow been mistaken for a Modern Kansen.
"So... what's the purpose of me being called here? You didn't just call my presence here inside the Oval to just meet and greet, did you, gentlemen?" she asked, her patience wearing thin.
"Oh, about that." FDR reached out to her with a folder containing the information on the escapees.
She opened the folder and began to look at the documents. She didn't bother to read the details but instantly remembered the faces of the two escapees.
"Akagi and Odin."
"Yes. Those are the escapees we need to be captured 'Alive,'" FDR emphasized, wanting to obtain information about the Sirens and Iron Blood.
"Consider it done then," She said, before turning and leaving the Oval Office without another word.
"Well, that was quick," Gen. Eisenhower remarked, not expecting it would take so few words to convince her.
"According to intelligence, she's not the type of person who will sit around and chat. She's too direct and a woman of few words," the OSS Head Director explained.
FDR had to double-take, as the confusing information about her finally settled in his head. "Are they all like that?"
"I don't know, Mr. President. But he Laffey who isn't under the effects of the Season is even more direct. She doesn't care about red tape and goes straight to the point."
....
Somewhere in Cuba
Hideout
8:00 AM
In a secluded area of a small town, an abandoned house stood, its integrity fading and its paint succumbing to mold. Despite its disrepair, it was still a home, and its current occupants kept a low profile, watching their surroundings. The chatter inside centered on their successful infiltration of Guantanamo Bay, which they saw as the most highly guarded facility in the country.
"Hahaha, I can't believe we managed to infiltrate one of the Eagle Union's so-called highly defended facilities. That one didn't even break a sweat,"
an operative bragged about their successful infiltration of the Guantanamo Bay Detention Center for High-Value Targets.
"Ja, that was the easiest infiltration we've ever made," another operative laughed along with his comrade's overconfidence.
Scheiscopf, the leader of the operative group, was in hiding, a ghost to the OSS Agents conducting a country-wide manhunt. Their success felt like a miracle, a result of a security lapse at the detention center. It would have been impossible without Agent Yukary, their informant who pretended to work for the OSS. Without her, many of their past infiltrations would have failed, especially back in the days when all the spies on the Eagle Union mainland were being hunted down by a psychopath—or what the other agents called 'Hollenhund'—for her uncanny ability to sniff them out of their hideouts.
He turned to his two men, who were visibly inflating their egos. "That's enough, you two," he said in a commanding tone. "We were just lucky this time... keep that in your heads."
"Luck? But sir, we went in completely unnoticed. I don't think we can call it luck. It was our best efforts and skills that bested them," one operative said cockily.
"Don't let overconfidence get the best of you... some of our best comrades died at the hands of that Hollenhund," he said with a menacing undertone as he spoke of the Hound.
Everyone fell silent at the mention of the 'Hellhound.' Some of them bore grim expressions, as they too didn't want to be hunted by the hound the Eagle Union had sent.
Seconds passed by in the silence, broken only by the incessant ticking of an old grandfather clock in the living room. Then, a woman's voice boomed from upstairs, as hasty steps reverberated on the wooden stairs.
"Of all the dresses you could give me, you gave me a summer dress. You guys could have at least chosen a Sakuran dress you could buy from a street vendor!"
The owner of the voice was none other than Akagi, who was disappointed with the lightly woven, thin dress she was wearing.
The operatives who had bought the dress were in a hurry to find something to help the two women blend in, and they hadn't given it much thought. Akagi's fox-ears, however, were a very sore thumb.
Scheiscopf spoke up. "Entschuldigung, Komrade Akagi. But that dress will help you blend in with the locals... although," he pointed at her fox-ears, "you need to cover those ears with a summer hat to not expose your identity."
Akagi, with an angry face and a raised fist, shouted, "I don't care! This dress will be tattered in a fight, unlike a kimono!"
The operatives ignored her whining, they all just laughed themselves at the absurdity of a simple summer dress on Akagi. The "bonus" was the nine fox-tails protruding from her back, which was another reason she hated wearing the dress.
"And how do you think I would blend in with the locals?! Look!" She pointed at her nine fox-tails. "How do you think you could hide these, huh?!"
Scheiscopf and his men visibly blushed at Akagi's features. Another woman's voice sounded from the second floor of the house.
"That's enough, Akagi. We should be thanking them for their efforts in helping us escape from the prison cell and giving us clothes to wear."
Odin said this in her typical stoic and stern voice as she walked down the stairs in a summer dress similar to Akagi's, only differing in color and design.
"Komrade Odin, are you fine now?" Scheiscopf asked, his voice filled with concern.
He and his men had found Odin in a state they never would have expected. She had a look of devastation and a loss of hope after her detention. The once-stoic and cold demeanor that cloaked Odin's personality had vanished, replaced by a profound dread and depression.
"Ja, I'm fine now, Komrade Scheiscopf," Odin said, a slight hesitation in her voice.
Scheiscopf noticed the hesitation but didn't probe deeper, knowing she had been through a lot.
"Good then," he said, waving away his concern.
"So..." Akagi's voice boomed again. "When do we start to leave this hellhole?" she asked eagerly.
"Lower your voice, Akagi," Scheiscopf said, worried about her loud tone.
"What? We are in the middle of nowhere, no one will hear us here," she countered.
"Ja, I know. But your booming voice might attract the attention of the OSS informants, or worse, the agents themselves."
Akagi crossed her arms and looked annoyed by the man's logic, but it does made sense since they were in hiding.
Scheiscopf then placed a folded map on the table and unfolded it. "Here we are."
He pointed at their location. Akagi and Odin leaned forward to look at the map. He then shifted his finger to a spot near the shores where a WW2 Submarine could position itself in the deep waters without beaching.
"This is a rendezvous point after we exit the underground tunnel we just dug to carry supplies from the shore." He looked up at them. "We'll do it under the cover of night. Today's forecast calls for a dimly lit moon, which we can use to our advantage."
"Seems like a great plan," Akagi said with a grin.
Unseen above the Cuban skies, a lone, peculiar-looking aircraft hovered. It was small in size compared to any propeller plane. Its design resembled a monoplane with a rear-facing propeller and a swiveling camera in front.
A V-Bat Drone, with the capability of vertical takeoff and landing, could fly like a plane in mid-flight. The US Navy used this type of drone for surveillance as it could operate from any ship with a flight deck or even a regular deck.
The infrared camera mounted on the nose lit up, revealing the heat signatures of the people residing in the old abandoned house. Its onboard signal detector also picked up a low-frequency radio signal. With the confirmation of the target's hideout, the ground offensive was set to commence.
....
Port, Guantanamo Bay
Two OSS Agents waited at the pier of one of the Eagle Union's 'secluded' territories in the Caribbean, located in Cuba. Guantanamo Bay was where all the "big baddies" went for a free vacation paid by the Eagle Union government, where the "baddies" had a little "recreation" with OSS Agents.
—According to the government, at least. That's what they wanted me to believe—
The tropical heat was a death sentence for the two agents in their black suits and fedora hats. Their superiors had ordered them to guide the person tasked with hunting down the escapees.
"How long are we supposed to be standing here? That bastard of a Chief is punishing us for his shortcomings with the escaped detainees and infiltration!" one agent complained, his cool demeanor melting away from the tropical heat.
"He really is punishing us," the other agent said, his voice heavy with resignation.
As the two were suffering, a glinting silhouette of an angular warship with its peculiar shape slowly neared the bay.
"Is that it, Kevin?" the complaining agent asked.
"I don't know, John. The shape is quite odd to be one of our warships. Maybe it's one of the modern warships," Agent Kevin said.
"The Chief said it's one of those odd-looking warships; maybe it's her," Agent John said.
The two agents dusted off their black suits and wiped the trickling sweat from their foreheads as they watched the angular warship being maneuvered by tugboats at the port. Port Manjuus rushed to erect a gangway. A metallic clang was heard as a woman in a white dress and summer hat walked down, her hair gently blowing in the mild breeze.
Two Manjuus in black suits and shades followed her down, positioning themselves at her side like bodyguards. The look was unthreatening, but the glinting sunglasses said otherwise.
One of the Manjuu, Agent F, walked closer to the two OSS agents, holding a paper with orders from the President himself. Then a squeaky noise began.
"I'm Agent F from the Secret Service. We are here to help capture the escapees from the detention center," Agent F said/squeaked, as it was the only noise the two Agents had heard.
The two OSS agents were left tilting their heads in confusion, as they had only heard a squeaking sound coming from the Manjuu in front of them.
"Do you understand what he just said?" Agent John whispered into Agent Kevin's ear.
"I don't know either," Agent Kevin whispered back, his lips tight.
*Cough!*
A cough from the Manjuu before preceded his next words, it was loud as their ears could bear.
"DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT I JUST SAID?!" Agent F shouted, his voice now a gruff roar, not the squeak of a Manjuu.
The two OSS Agents were taken aback. After a momentary lag in their reaction, they yelled in unison:
"THE CHICKEN JUST TALKS!"
Laffey-200, a person who was not a fan of wasting time, took action as the two OSS Agents stood there, clueless.
"Time is running out, gentlemen. Let's move on to our purpose, shall we?" she said, her voice cutting through the confusion and getting their attention.
Agent Kevin quickly recomposed himself. "Oh, my apologies. This way, ma'am." He gestured toward a slick black 1940s car.
A typical 1940s car you only saw in spy movies.
Agent John rushed to the car, quickly opened the passenger door, and gestured inside.
"Thank you, gentleman," Laffey-200 said as she settled into the passenger seat, followed by the two Manjuus.
Agent John slowly and gently closed the door, then hurried to the other side to sit beside the driver.
Agent Kevin sat in the driver's seat and started the car, the loud combustion engine contrasting with the silent hum of a modern vehicle.
Laffey-200 offered them a map showing the location of the escapees and operatives. "Take me there," she said in a voice that brooked no delay.
Agent John took the map and unfolded it. Agent Kevin glanced at the location. Both agents were surprised at the high quality, and clear aerial view of the map.
"A secluded farmhouse?" Agent Kevin uttered in surprise, the location was circled in red on the map.
"Um... this place is secluded. Would it be easy if we brought more backup? Not to be disrespectful, but they might ambush you there," Agent John said, concerned.
Agent Kevin nods. "Yeah. We know you have a reputation for hunting down spies, but... you're outnumbered."
Laffey-200 responded nonchalantly, completely unbothered by the number of operatives. "That would be a good shooting place for a target-rich environment," she said, surprising the two agents.
"Maybe the Chief wasn't bluffing about her," Agent John whispered.
Yeah, I know," Agent Kevin whispered back while driving the car out of the parameters of Guantanamo Bay.
"What do you think is going on in their heads in Washington D.C.? I mean, sending a hottie to hunt down spies in a secluded place," Agent John said, multiple scenarios playing out in his head—what if she got captured by the operatives?
"I can hear you both, you know," Laffey-200 said, her voice dry.
....
At the Secluded Farm
The trip from the road was merely an hour, though they had planned to stop in the city of Santiago de Cuba to grab something to eat. That plan was quickly abandoned when they started to gather a hefty number of onlookers. The two Manjuus and the agents tried to disperse the crowd, but they only gathered more attention than they could have predicted. The Manjuus were trying to stop the onlookers from getting close to her, not for her protection, but for the onlookers' own safety. With that, they all left town in a hurry, forgetting to grab a meal for the two OSS agents.
Agent John opened the passenger door. Laffey-200 disembarked, followed by the two Manjuus. The unmaintained farmland was exactly what you'd expect from an abandoned place: tall grass grew like barley, a rarely used pathway was consumed by weeds, and an old, unrepaired barn, shed, and house stood rotting.
Laffey-200 gazed at the field as the wind made the tall grass dance in the breeze. She saw the calmness of the place before it would inevitably be bathed in blood. She glanced up and saw her loitering V-Bat Drone making turns to mark the position of each operative. The drone wasn't just there to mark every target; it was also providing jamming signals to disrupt the operatives' means of communication.
Agent John, with a concerned look, spoke. "Are you sure you can handle this? I mean, we can still call for backup in case—"
He was stopped by Laffey-200 placing her index finger on his lips.
"The only thing I need you boys to do is clean up the leftover bodies," she said in a sweet voice, a message that was anything but sweet.
Shivers ran down Agent John's spine as he saw her eyes glow a brilliant, ruby red, as if thirsting for blood. Now he understood why she was sometimes compared to the craziest of the Iron Blood's Shipgirls.
"Be a good man and do what I say," she said with a gentle, sweet smile. The aura of bloodlust surrounding her told a very different story about what was about to happen on the secluded, abandoned farm.
"Ye-Yes... Ma'am." He said stutteringly, his heart dropping and his knees turning to jelly as they trembled nonstop.
Agents F and U reloaded their M4A1 Rifle, checks the receiver after shoving the magazine in. scopes checked, extra mags checked, both nodded in conformation of their weapon readiness.
"we're hot and ready." Agent F affirmed.
After the confirmation, Laffey-200 walked down the pathway, followed by Agents F and U with their M41A Rifles. She flicked her finger, pointing toward the old, rotting barn.
The two Manjuus, Agents F and U, crept through the tall grass, their yellow feathers blending in with the dry leaves. Lurking like hunters on the hunt. Both Manjuus threw hand signals at on another in pointing their position.
At the barn, they peeked through a gaping hole in the wall and saw a group of operatives—some cleaning their gear, others fiddling with what looked like a radio. They gave each other a thumbs-up.
At the barn's foundation, plastic explosives were being planted. The explosion wouldn't just destroy the barn; it would annihilate everyone inside with the flick of a switch.
Inside the house, everyone was in the living room, a lively atmosphere as they told stories and bragged about their own achievements.
Odin and Akagi were not so pleased with their situation. Akagi, however, were not pleased with the situation; their guts were telling them to run, but they didn't know from what.
"What the hell is this feeling?" Akagi said, her fox-senses kicking in. She glanced at her arms, where the hairs were standing up like nails.
Odin had a gut-wrenching feeling she had felt before but had forgotten over time. She squeezed her stomach as it turned upside down.
Scheiscopf noticed their distress. "Are the two of you all right?" he asked with concern.
Before Odin could respond, a knock at the front door silenced the chatter.
No sound of footsteps was heard, nor presence is detected. Just a knock, a soft and ominous knock on the rotting door.
On their laze position, everyone jumped into their hiding positions, guns ready. Scheiscopf motioned for the two women to get into cover. He nudged his head toward a man dressed in a farmer's attire, who was an operative pretending to be the owner of the farm.
That man is an Operative pretending to be the Farmer and the owner of the Farm Field. The man put on his best Spanish accent to address the person at the door.
One of the operatives sneaked a peek through an open window to identify the knocker. He was surprised to see a woman in a clean white dress and a summer hat standing there, a serene smile on her face as she hummed.
"The hell," he muttered under his breath.
"Pest control," a lovely voice said from the other side of the door.
"Pest control?" everyone in their hiding spot thought, confused by the phrase.
"Pest control? That's absurd." Scheiscopf uttered suspicious at the menacing undertone.
The farmer responded. "Sorry, miss, but I didn't expect or call for any pest control on my farm. I don't have money to pay for that."
"Oh my. You must have misheard me, right? I mean, the 'government' ordered and paid for the pest control," the woman said, her voice now cheeky, and mischievous.
In the kitchen, where Odin and Akagi were hiding, Odin was having a mental breakdown. She remembered the owner of that woman's voice.
"No. It can't be her. It can't be her," she said to herself, holding her aching head and repeating the words.
"Odin, what's wrong? Odin, Odin..." Scheiscopf said, trying to comfort her during her panic attack.
Akagi, meanwhile, didn't understand what was happening to Odin, but the pressure was making the hair on her body stand on end.
'Is this fear? No. This is something else.' she thought, her gaze fixed on the front door.
"I didn't know the Government was ordering and paying for pest control?" The farmer said, maintaining his old-man voice. "What kind of pest does the Government want to terminate on my Farm?" He asked.
But the response he received was unsettling, to say the least.
"Human pests."
Odin broke off from her panic attack and shouted at the farmer to give him a warning. "No! Get out of there, now!"
Her warning was too late. The Farmer's head exploded from a single bullet that came through the other side of the door. Brain matter splattered everywhere—on the rug, sofa, and walls. The man's body fell to the floor with a resounding thud. Everyone was shocked.
"It's her! It's the Hollenhund!" Scheiscopf shouted.
The fate of everyone inside that farmhouse now depended on their ability to draw their fire quickly against an enemy who showed no mercy to her prey and gave her enemies no opportunity to exploit.
The Eagle Union and its government had sent the exterminator to exterminate the pests on a secluded farm in Cuba.