The aircraft carrier arrived like a leviathan, sliding into Gorda's bay with the kind of presence that made men question things they weren't supposed to.
Rus had been one of those men. Watching the ship loom on the horizon, escorted by its flanking vessels and the ungodly floating bridge that followed, he couldn't help himself. Questions stacked one after another in his mind.
How had United Humanity managed to hide something this massive while the rest of the world screamed about survival? Where had it been docked all this time? And if the Rifts had supposedly devastated everything, why did this thing look pristine, like it had been sitting in reserve for the day they wanted to parade it out?
It made him wonder if the story everyone had been fed, that humanity was on the brink, that the Rifts had nearly ended it all, wasn't the whole truth. Maybe whole pieces of the world had stayed intact. Maybe UH hadn't been scrambling to survive, but biding its time, waiting for the chance to retake land like this.
The ship itself was an ecosystem, bristling with weapons and aircraft. Its deck stretched out wide enough to host a small city, and from it, UH's full strength began to reveal itself, fighters, gunships, drones, and crews moving with disciplined precision.
Alongside it came another ship, lower and flatter, unfolding like some mechanical serpent into a bridge. Section by section, its reinforced panels extended until steel spanned water, connecting the carrier to shore. What had been a wide, natural divide was suddenly nothing but a straight line of metal. A statement that UH owned this bay now.
The reception was performative. Every Counter squad was summoned, lined up in ranks across the half-finished tarmac. Soldiers stood stiff in combat armor, helmets polished, boots planted. Guns saluted, artillery roared, banners rose, and all of it felt rehearsed—as if war had been reduced to ceremony for the Admiral's sake.
Admiral Higgins stood at the podium, posture ramrod straight, uniform immaculate, medals catching sunlight as he adjusted his cap. He began to speak, his voice booming across the bay through portable loudhailers.
"Soldiers of United Humanity," Higgins began, his voice carrying the practiced authority of a man who had delivered this speech, or one just like it, a hundred times before. His hands gestured broadly, slicing the air like blades. "Today, we mark a milestone. The Bay of Gorda is not just another piece of ground to be reclaimed, it is a keystone, a stronghold that will secure our advance and open the way for coastal operations across this land."
He paused, letting the echo of his words stretch out before continuing.
"For too long, we have endured incursions. For too long, monsters and the Riftborne scourge have squatted on soil that is not theirs. For too long, we have bent our will to defense rather than offense. But no longer. Here, on these shores, we build not just a base, but a bastion. We show the world that humanity takes back what was stolen. Piece by piece, bay by bay, country by country. Until the last Rift is closed. Until the last monster lies dead."
The soldiers clapped their rifle stocks against their boots in unison. Higgins lifted a fist, eyes sharp, voice hardening.
"The Bay of Gorda is ours. Let it be known that we will not yield. Not here, not now, not ever."
Artillery cannons fired blanks into the air, smoke and thunder rolling across the water. Fighters screamed overhead, leaving white trails in formation. It was a display of strength, a spectacle meant for morale as much as intimidation.
Rus half-listened. His gaze drifted toward Bertha, who was standing next to him with her MG hugged to her chest, a smirk carved onto her lips. At one point, she reached behind him, fingers grazing his ass in a move so blatant he almost laughed.
When he shot her a glare, she only leaned closer, whispering, "Couldn't resist." Then she winked, hugging her weapon like it was a lover.
Amiel, standing rigid a few feet down the line, didn't miss the exchange. Later, in her usual flat delivery, she told Rus, "Berta's into women these days. Swears she won't fuck a man again until she devours her prey."
"Prey?" Rus asked, arching a brow.
"You," Amiel said simply.
He snorted. "If I ever fucked anyone in this squad, it'd be you."
She only nodded, silent, unreadable. No blush, no scowl, just that same kuudere stare. Rus found himself wondering what she was actually thinking, but the thought was cut short by Higgins' voice rising again.
The Admiral droned on, weaving phrases about sacrifice, duty, the rebirth of nations. His gestures punctuated each line, pointing to the horizon when he spoke of progress, slamming his palm down on the podium when invoking resolve. It was a well-rehearsed performance, no doubt polished over years.
But spectacle was only one part of the show. The carrier itself followed up the words with action.
Within hours of docking, aircraft thundered into the sky, roaring out across the bay in combat formations. Gunships strafed distant treelines where drone feeds had flagged monster presence. Bombers dropped payloads on coordinates pre-marked by recon squads. The sound of detonation carried across the water, echoing against Gorda's hills.
Force projection. A reminder of what UH could do when it wanted to.
Rus had been singled out, as was inevitable. His rank, his Counter status, and most of all, the custom weapon at his hip, Salvo, made him stand out among the ranks. After the ceremony, he found himself shaking hands with Admiral Higgins himself.
"Lieutenant Rus," Higgins said, his grip firm, eyes sharp with curiosity. "I hear you've killed Riftborne. That you tested ADR protocols firsthand."
Rus nodded. "Yes, sir."
The Admiral studied him, expression calculating. "Interesting. Very interesting. You understand, then, the scale of what we face. There are places in the Seven Seas where rifts open like sores, choking whole routes. Some of our greatest challenges today are not the land incursions, but the seas themselves. Navigation has become a nightmare. Trade routes fractured. Vessels lost. The ocean is as dangerous as any battlefield."
His words were heavy, but Rus answered curtly, keeping things professional. "I've seen what they can do, sir."
Higgins gave a thin smile, then released his hand and moved on, inspecting troops, structures, and the half-built fortress around the bay. By the third day, he was gone, back aboard the carrier, vanishing with the same precision with which he had arrived.
Kilgore's opinion of the man was complicated. One evening, over rations, he gave Rus the closest thing to a history lesson he'd ever bothered with.
"Higgins," he muttered, "is the kind of bastard you don't know whether to like or hate. He's done things that saved UH. Rebuilt fleets, secured choke points, fought Riftborne at sea when the rest of us thought they'd sink us for good. But he's also the kind who'll smile at you while sending you to die for a line in the dirt."
He paused, eyes on the darkening bay. "You can respect a man like that, without ever trusting him."
Rus had waited for him to continue, but Kilgore fell quiet after that, jaw set, as though speaking more would weigh him down too much.
So Rus let it go.
He returned to his office, to the endless tide of paperwork.
Cyma Unit had been deployed in near-constant rotations since arrival, clearing nests and patrolling edges. But with the bay now swarming with reinforcements, engineers, and Knights, they weren't needed for frontline engagements. Not for now.
So Rus did what he always did when there was no killing to be done.
He filled out forms. Corrected manifests. Scrawled signatures. Told logistics officers to fix their own messes before dropping them on his desk.
Outside, the base grew louder, stronger, harder. Steel spread across Gorda's plains.
The aircraft carrier sat offshore blocking the damn view.
* * *
Somewhere in Bay Gorda.
The night was quiet, save for the distant hum of generators and the occasional thump of VTOL rotors as they passed overhead. At the far edge of the bay, near a cluster of half-collapsed warehouses that had been cleared for downtime, Berta sat on a crate with a bottle in hand.
Stacy, Kate, and Amiel were with her. No uniforms tonight, just undersuits and loose fatigues. Weapons close enough to grab if needed, but for now, ignored.
Berta tipped back the bottle, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and sighed dramatically.
"Tell me straight," she said, eyes flicking between the three of them. "Have I gone from sex goddess to ugly duckling?"
Stacy exchanged a glance with Kate. "You're not an ugly duckling," she said flatly.
"Definitely not," Kate added. "The problem isn't you."
"It's the boss," Stacy finished, taking a pull from the bottle when Berta passed it along. "He's just… immune."
Berta groaned. "Immune? To this?" She gestured at herself, then grabbed her own chest like she was presenting evidence in a trial. "I should be a goddamn war crime. I've turned heads from Libertalia to the Damasa swamps. And Rus," She spat his name like it was poison. "he doesn't even blink. Doesn't even twitch."
Kate smirked. "Maybe because he's not a horndog."
"Not a horndog?" Berta scoffed. "Everyone's a horndog. Even the priests back in Libertalia. Especially the priests." She leaned forward, a wild grin splitting her face. "You telling me the boss has transcended lust itself?"
"Maybe he just doesn't want to fuck his squad," Stacy said, deadpan.
Berta threw her arms out wide, nearly knocking the bottle off the crate. "Blasphemy. I'm not just squad. I'm salvation."
Kate snorted, covering her mouth with her hand. Stacy shook her head.
Amiel hadn't said a word yet. She was perched on a barrel, rifle resting across her lap, her face half-hidden in shadow. She cleaned her scope with slow, deliberate motions, like she was polishing glass instead of listening.
Then, finally, she spoke.
"Rus told me," Amiel said softly, "that if he fucked anyone in this squad, it'd be me."
The words landed like a blade between them.
Stacy blinked. Kate's jaw dropped.
Berta froze. Then her lips curled into a crooked smile. "That motherfucker," she muttered. "Of course. Of course he'd go for the ice queen."
Amiel didn't flinch. She kept cleaning, as if the conversation wasn't even about her.
Berta stood, muttering curses under her breath. "Likes 'em cold, huh? Cold enough to freeze his dick off. Figures."
She turned to the nearest tree, wound up, and drove her fist straight through the bark. Wood splintered, chips flying, the trunk left with a smoking hole the size of her knuckles.
She leaned her forehead against the tree, breathing hard, whispering under her breath. "Fucking jealous. Stupid, stupid jealous."
Stacy and Kate stared, wide-eyed.
"...You okay?" Kate asked cautiously.
Berta didn't answer, just gritted her teeth, jaw tight.
Amiel finally looked up. Her face was unreadable, as always. Calm, cold, detached.
"She's jealous," Amiel said simply.
"Yeah, we caught that," Stacy muttered.
Kate shook her head. "And you don't even care, do you?"
Amiel blinked slowly. "No."
"Good lord," Stacy said, leaning back and running a hand through her hair. "You've got zero fucks to give."
Kate laughed nervously. "None. Not even half a fuck."
Amiel returned her gaze to the rifle in her lap, adjusting the scope with practiced precision.
She said nothing more.
Berta kicked the tree once, hard enough to send a dull echo through the wood, then stomped back to the crate and collapsed onto it. She grabbed the bottle, took a long swig, and pointed it at the others.
"One of these days," she said, eyes blazing, "I'm gonna break him. Just wait. Boss won't know what hit him."
Stacy raised an eyebrow. "Pretty sure he already does."
Kate added, "And he's still not biting."
That earned her a glare sharp enough to kill small animals.
But then Berta laughed, a bitter, throaty sound, and shoved the bottle into Stacy's hands.
"Fuck it. Drink. Tomorrow we'll kill more Gobbers, or dig more trenches, or watch more brass talk out their asses. Tonight? Tonight Imma drink.."
Stacy clinked the bottle against Kate's, and Kate passed it on to Amiel, who accepted it wordlessly, took one small sip, and set it aside like it was just another task to log.