Pax Propter Vim [Azur Lane Fanfic]

Chapter 21

Warning! This chapter will be really long, so take your time reading it, it's okay :)

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Hong Kong.

December 24, 1941.

0900 Hours.

HMS Thracian stood amidst the ruins of Hong Kong, her tattered sailor's outfit stained with soot, blood, and the salt of the South China Sea. Her brown hair, tied in a loose ponytail, was streaked with grime, and her once-pristine uniform-white with blue trim-was now a mere shadow of its former self, torn and frayed from weeks of ceaseless battle. She raised a weary gaze toward the sky, her crimson-tinged eyes narrowing at the thick columns of smoke rising over the harbor.

The Japanese assault never ceased. Wave after wave of Imperial soldiers pushed into the city, their relentless artillery bombardments leveling entire districts. The once-thriving jewel of the British Empire in the East, the gateway between East and West, now lay in smoldering ruin, its streets clogged with debris, wrecked trams, and the bodies of the fallen.

The memories of those early days of resistance burned in her mind. She had fought alongside the gunboats Cicala and Tern, their crews firing every last shell to slow the enemy's advance. The first landings had been repulsed, their surprise met with a British and colonial force that refused to break. But the Japanese had adapted, escalating their assault with Siren-enhanced weaponry-impossible aircraft, hovertanks, and energy rifles that left bodies with charred, gaping wounds.

And now Thracian was alone.

She let out a bitter chuckle, the sound barely audible over the distant echoes of artillery fire. A single, aging S-class destroyer against the full might of the Imperial Japanese Navy-what a cruel joke. The Admiralty had known this battle was a losing one. Had they sent her here to die, to be a sacrificial piece on the chessboard of war? She had fought Siren-enhanced mass-produced shipgirls, dozens of them, swarming like locusts. Even though they weren't as strong as proper Kan-Sen, their sheer numbers had nearly overwhelmed her. Her old 4-inch QF cannons did little against their reinforced hulls, but her torpedoes-21-inch and 18-inch caliber-had kept her in the fight.

For how much longer, though?

The cold air carried the acrid scent of gunpowder and burning wood. From the shattered remnants of a nearby barracks, a young Punjabi soldier approached, a tin mug of coffee in his hands. He was no older than nineteen, his uniform dirtied and torn, his turban slightly askew from days without rest.

"Miss Thracian, coffee." He said, his voice hoarse yet steady.

She looked at him-at his weary yet resolute expression, at the determination in his dark eyes. He had fought in these hellish streets for as long as she had, side by side with the British and the local Hong Kong Volunteer Defense Corps. They were all holding out together, abandoned yet unbroken.

A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she accepted the cup, its warmth seeping into her fingers. "Thank you, soldier."

He nodded. "You're welcome, miss." Without another word, he turned and disappeared into the ruins, back to whatever grim duty awaited him.

Sitting still... how rare.

Just yesterday, she had fought with every ounce of strength she had left. Now, for the first time in weeks, she could pause-even if only for a moment. But the weight of reality pressed down on her shoulders like an anchor. The situation was dire. The defenses were crumbling. They had held out for nearly three weeks, but no reinforcements had come.

Had London abandoned them?

The thought gnawed at her. Perhaps Hong Kong was never meant to be saved-only to stall the Japanese advance long enough for Singapore and other vital territories to be reinforced. If that was the case, then she and every soldier still standing were already dead.