Lieutenant Commander Mazzareli and Commander Buttermilch, along with the rest of the high ranking officers shuffle their way out of the docked transports in an orderly fashion. If the junior officers tagged along it would be a bit more lively, or at least Mazzareli thinks so. Aside from the aforementioned already part of Chal’s ship personnel, there are almost no junior officers from any of the other ships present. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing, since for Mazzareli it means not having to look after the younger folk. And that includes that rowdy ensign as well, Victoria Happ-Schwarzenberger. Though, on the other hand, part of Mazzareli wished that she had come along as well. She’s a troublesome lass, and he’s willing to look past her past carelessness, but she could’ve been crucial to this important war council—even the others who had bore witness to her war games with the sub-lieutenant would likely think so.

And speaking of which…

“By the way, Commander Buttermilch, I take it you managed to meet up with the ensign before we left?” Mazzareli inquires of his superior, Buttermilch. The two of them are standing in line with the other officers, waiting for the arrival of the commodore. One of the commodore’s acting commanders orders the brass to be at ease for the time being—a bit too much of formality there. It’s not like they are cadets anymore. Around them are officers taking smokes, enjoying a small read from their books, or conversing with one another on the impending mission briefing. Chal’s ship is behind the battle lines, and there’s a lull in fighting that lets them enjoy a brief moment of peacefulness. “I heard she caused quite a ruckus. Was it wise to leave her at the mercy of the military police? I imagine she must be enjoying a game of cat and mouse with them right now.”

“Hmmmm…” The commander strokes his chin. “She will be fine. As you know if it were up to me I would have her detained, but after you defended her regarding the security breach, it made me contemplate it some more. In the end, I told some of the police officers to be lenient with her. So she shouldn’t be curled up in a ball covered in a pool of tears when we come back. It wouldn’t do good for publicity if she got that kind of treatment.”

“Sounds like you’re getting too soft, Kenneth. I never took you for one caring what others think of you, rather ill or not.” Mazzareli’s small jab made Buttermilch crack a rare chuckle.

“You don’t know Vincent as much as I do—well, not that we kept in touch after our deployments ended. He’d have my head paraded around on a stick like a certain mob of revolutionaries did in ancient Eurasia if the young lass ever complained about how she was treated… not that I don’t think she will either way. She doesn’t strike me as the kind of person who cries daddy over mundane military procedures.”

Mazzareli’s relationship with the senior Happ-Schwarzenberger is not worth bringing up, either. The two of them neither talked much beyond meetings or the odd moment of musing over alcohol or tobacco. All Mazzareli knows about Vincent is he was a bit of a maverick and he had eccentric chemistry with Buttermilch on how to get things done.

“Fall into formation! Face forward! Address Commodore Chal!” The acting officer ordered in a strict tone. At once the men snapped to attention and gave the commodore formal salutes.

“Thank you, commander,” Hugo says and proceeds to relieve him of acting duty. “Do we have everyone here and accounted for?… Very well then. Let’s hustle on over to the strategic planning room, shall we?”

---

The room is a lot more quieter and a lot less cramped without all the junior officers. But without all the innocent cadet officers around it just means there’s no need for courtesy when it comes to pulling out the cigars and similar substances.

“Care for a smoke?” A nearby officer offers one to Mazzareli, but he declines.

“I’m far too young to partake in such. I’ll wait until I’m older before I start considering killing my lungs and body again.” Mazzareli replies dryly. He’s only twenty-eight years old, but yet he has abstained from such after entering military service years back. In his early adolescence, he had spent one time too many under bridges or near gas stations poisoning his body with harmful substances for the sake of ‘soul searching’.  But Mazzareli decided to clean himself up for the sake of his surviving family members and new-found purpose in life with the military.

“Suit yourself, then.” The officer withdrawals his roll of cigar from Mazzareli. Coincidentally, Mazzareli is not very popular at parties. Not that he was ever taken up offers to go to them in the first place.

Lines of people were still pouring in, and the atmosphere was becoming a bit less professional like before. If everyone weren’t wearing uniforms and had casual attire instead, Mazzareli would be none the wiser to know this was a military council about to take place. Perhaps the battle situation is a bit too relaxed at the moment? Before Mazzareli can wonder about it any longer, Chal claps his hands to gain everyone’s attention. “Now now, I know that many of you are annoyed by this sudden summon for a war council. I know. It’s annoying. Believe me—I don’t want you all stealing my supplies of food and tobacco either. It’s a few hours away from the nearest Federation depot, you know. Ahem…

“As I’m sure many of you are aware, the purpose of this meeting is to decide on how to proceed with the siege of Side Baltit. As the situation is now, an augmented battalion under Major von Putsch is holding down a parameter Side’s harbor entrance and facing unusually stiff resistance.”

The middle of the room lights up with a pale blue holographic display of the interior of the Side’s harbor entrance. Several infantry symbols are in close proximity to each other, and their immediate rear consist of tiny polygonal ships representing their assault shuttles. Mazzareli finds it a bit grim because they are so close to the entrance that you could barely call this holding down the entrance parameter. Their backs are, hypothetically, to the sea.

Mazzarelli has the holographic display zoom out to the Baltit as a whole, showing the fleet encircling half of the enormous cylinder space habitat. “The unusual amount of time it took just to subjugate Side Malabo was a setback to operation Lucky Alphonse’sinitial timetable. What was supposed to last a few hours at most cost us several hours. Indeed, many of my staff officers were openly complaining that we have lost the momentum needed for an element of surprise.

“My staff officers here continue to believe that by maintaining our body as one as one here, we will squander the window of opportunity needed to occupy the Lübeck star zone, and force the Mafia navy to stand down—if not be the hammer to Admiral DeRyck’s anvil at Rouen—if he is even there at the moment.”

Murmurs and quiet objections fill the room afterward.

“—So much time has passed and there have been no signs of a Mafia relief force, no?” One inquires thoughtfully.

“—Is it safe to say that there would be no counterattack from Lübeck?” Another quip from the peanut gallery. Gradually, Chal attempts to answer them as best as he can, but he gets constantly interrupted by other subordinates. Some of them were even confronting Chal’s staff officers about their opinions. Amid the chaos, a junior officer enters the room with a cart tray containing various snacks, and Mazzarelli is distracted enough for a moment to grab a small bag of synthetic jerky. Sampling a few from the finely crafted bag, Mazzareli finds the jerky to be inexplicably tough to chew and has virtually no texture to speak of, but it adds to the tasteless enjoyment of a war council practicing freedom of speech at it’s finest.

“—Commodore Chal, are we reasoned to believe you are inclined to send detachments ahead from the main body to Lübeck?” It was Lieutenant Commander Buttermilch this time throwing his hat into the ring. “By doing so, we reduce our total firepower capacity and subscribe to the idea of divide and conquer, lest a relief force comes—no matter its size.

“Although dividing our force may be beneficial at first, there is no telling that the Lübeck colonies will surrender without a fight. And by that point our supply lines will be stretched to the limit—we may not be able to ferry supplies to Lübeck in the event of a counter-attack.” A round of agreement fills the room. “A few hours before the operation started, I had two of my…” Buttermilch trails off for a split second, “talented junior officers express a…” another pause again as Buttermilch frowns in deep thought “ discontent view of the operation, and showcased a war game simulation modeled afterLucky Alphonse.” Mazzareli was a bit surprised that the commander omitted details about it being a breach of security since it was done without either of their authorizations, but surmised it would work against his favor.

“And the results of it were?” Chal leans into his chair with hands clasped under his chin.

Buttermilch produces a disk from his chest pouch and gestures for an adjutant to insert it into the table’s holographic system. “See for yourself.”

After the adjutant selects the appropriate options, the men in the strategic planning room all observe in silence as a play-by-play of Victoria’s defiant stance against the looming threat of Friederika begins.

---

After the end of the war game simulation, the audience breaks out into murmurs. Chal looks impressed, and he stands up from his seat. Buttermilch also stands up and retrieves the disk from the adjutant.

“Impressive, most impressive Commander Buttermilch. I had no idea you had such capable officers under your leadership—perhaps one day we can retire without worry knowing they are leading fleets of their own, though I detest the day the Federation will need to mobilize for war.”

“Thank you, commodore. I will let them know that you complimented them, I’m sure they will be happy to hear it.” Buttermilch says with a little bit of relief.

“May I ask who they were? The ones that participated in this simulation.” Chal asks as he reaches for the cart tray for a box of cigars to light. When Mazzarelli gazes back at Buttermilch, he notices Buttermilch seems a bit reluctant to answer. If he reveals their ranks, it could cause Chal to take the simulation less seriously, or so Mazzareli thinks.

“En…” Buttermilch bites on his tongue. “En?” Chal echos as he flicks his lighter, and the tip of the cigar burns red. “Ensign Victoria Happ-Schwarzenberger was playing as the pirate force, and Sub-Lieutenant Friederika Trachenberg was commanding the simulated Federation force.” Buttermilch says with a heave of a sigh. Both Mazzareli and Buttermilch make eye contact; was this the right thing to do?

“Oh-ho!” Hugo exclaims with a whistle, “the daughter of SEATO’s very own lion, Vincent Happ-Schwarzenberger? I believe she… was the blonde right, correct? I remember her from the Lucky Alphonse briefing back on the 10th. Smart gal. She seems to take after her father in some respects if that simulation is anything to by.

“I should give her a commendation too when this is all over. I’m sure her pops would like that too, eh?” Chal says after puffing a few rings from his fat roll of tobacco.If Victoria was here, Mazzareli thought, she would be red as a tomato from embarrassment—and even let it get to her head.

But given Hugo’s praise of Victoria, he failed to read the room at that particular moment. The other officers—specifically Hugo’s own staff—were murmuring to one another in a secretive matter. One of them catches Mazzareli’s eye—a man with pale features, thin hair, sunken cheeks, and tiny glasses that hung low on his nose bridge. He clears his throat to get the attention of the others.

“Commodore Hugo, you can not seriously be impressed by some lowly officers playing around… some amateur’s so-called simulation of a real campaign that involves real lives at stake!” To Mazzareli’s ears, his voice was completely and utterly grating. “We have waited around far too long wasting precious time! The operation’s timetable is  several hours behind schedule. The Year 217 Mafia is completely unaware of an assault through Valspon! That can only mean they are likely held down by the Federation in the Velksland system—or already at Lübeck for all we know! There will be no fame and glory to be had here—no glory if the fleet continues to twiddle its thumbs! We need to capitalize on advancing— it’s now or never! ” There are cries of hear hear! From the crowd, as his twisted face relaxes from the one moment of validation he gets.

What a bunch of imbeciles! Mazzareli can feel his blood pressure rising just thinking about this buffoon putting the wrong idea into people’s heads. It’s completely sickening! 

“—Our Federation firepower is powerful enough that even a single squadron can handle any incoming relief force, and you saw how the cowards ran from a well-disciplined missile barrage! There’s no way that they can break through our defenses so easily.”

Mazzareli is sick of hearing the ugly words come out of this monstrosity. If you want to die that badly, then go ahead, don’t drag our men into your insane schemes!Mazzareli’s gaze turns to the commodore, who is deeply in thought with hands clasped under his chin again.

“A sound argument…” Chal muses, and it only causes Mazzareli to be even angrier. What the hell is sound about that?! Why are there even junior officers in here?! If that Happ-Schwarzenberger was here… would she beat the shit out of this guy? Honestly,Mazzareli scoffs, I would let it slide if she did.

“From the looks of things, it seems the lot of you are torn about this. If it helps, I believe we should hold a vote. A democratic vote.” Chal motions for an adjutant to bring him a closed box with a single opening in it, and in the adjutant’s other hand is a small basket with small scraps of folded paper. The adjutant goes around and hands everyone an accompanying marker and a paper piece. “Write down yay for splitting the fleet, or nay to maintain formation until the fall of Side Baltit, from there we will move on to the Lübeck and Ides systems with a more cohesive force.”

Mazzareli scans the room, it’s clear that the scrawny man’s posse outnumbers the guest ship commanders. It’s more than clear on what the outcome will be already, and that pisses Mazzareli off.

“Once you write down your answer, fold it tightly and drop it in the box, and we will tally the votes thereafter.”

Mazzareli takes one of the markers and takes off the cap. His answer is just as obvious as the outcome itself.

He had pressed down on the paper so hard with the marker that it almost bleeds onto the other side. But it won’t matter—unless fate is in a good mood today, there’s no way in hell the fleet will remain as a single host. Mazzareli looks over at Buttermilch—but the main has a composed poker face.

After everyone drops their vote into the box, Chal has an adjutant take them out and slowly count the tallies. The anticipation is killing Mazzareli—but judging from one pile becoming bigger than the other, the reality of this being a NAY slips further away.

The adjutant finishes, pauses, looks at the room in mild disgust, then leans into Chal to inform him of the impending news. Chal looks at him with disappointment—but it’s only for a split second, and stands up from his chair to announce the vote results.

“Gentlemen, democracy has spoken… and history has been made…” For what seems like forever, the men in the strategic planning room hold their breaths in anticipation.

“The final decision will be made to split the fleet; one will remain to continue the siege of Side Baltit.” A clear of throats and angry murmurs in the room, “the other will be detachments to Lübeck, and perhaps the Ides star zone as well. It’s clear to me there will be no Mafia counterattack.

“When the time comes, I will forward additional orders regarding which ships will stay, and which ones will be part of forward detachments.” Hugo’s voice cracks at some points with disappointment but finishes with a salute. “Dismissed! Return to your ships at once and relay the order to the rest of your staff for the time being.”

Buttermilch, who has been awfully quiet for most of the time, addresses Hugo with a return salute. “Sir, before my XO and I leave—I would like for it to go on record that the two of us were vehemently opposed to this decision. My after-action report… when we return to Sydney, I will make sure to criticize the decision making and implementation of operation Lucky Alphonse against the betterment of the directory provided by Naval Command.”

After one last exchange of salutes, Buttermilch and Mazzareli proceed out of the room accordingly. On the way out, however, they pass by the glum-faced officer who is quite pleased with the results. To Mazzareli’s surprise, Buttermilch grabs the man’s shoulder and punches him in the stomach.

“Oooffaaaaaaaa….!” The man with the sunken cheeks cries out in pain and collapses to his knees shaking. “That’s on behalf of Happ-Schwarzenberger, scum. If she were here, she would have to be held back by a battalion of military police just to you from getting mauled. The fame and glory you so seek better be worth the sacrifice.” Buttermilch coldly tells the downed man. And with that Buttermilch and Mazzareli leave before the others can register what just happened—though to be fair, it’s likely they silently supported the unprovoked assault.

“Was that necessary, Kenneth?” Mazzareli groans as he looks over his shoulder to make sure no MP is coming after them.

“I’m just doing what no one else has the guts to deliver justice. It’s the least I can do to make up to Happ.” Mazzareli answers as he leads the way up the shuttle ramp door. Mazzarelli looks at him puzzled, “what exactly did the two of you talk about before you departed?”

Buttermilch and Mazzareli take their seats with the other Yilan officers and strap in. The doors steadily hum to a close, and the faint roar of engines give the shuttle a gentle shake as it takes off from the ship’s dock bay.

“I made a promise… a promise, Viktor, to do whatever I can to prevent a fictional war game from becoming reality. And I failed to keep it.” Buttermilch says rather apologetically. He angrily clenches his hands into shaking fists.

“Democracy my ass… for fame and glory my ass… there’s going to be nothing Luckyabout this Alphonse, Viktor.”