A Date Which Will Live In Infamy - SCP Foundation

A Date Which Will Live in Infamy

Oh, my dear

Look what we've done here

My greatest fear, a pain with an anchor

The taste of defeat

Oh, my dear

Look what we've come to

We've shattered serene

I've turned my grief to medicine

Into my mouth will enter

The hardest pill I've ever had to swallow down

As karma whispers

Oh, my dear

The damage is done here

I disappear, a love with no anchor

In the depths of the sea

―Brent Hinds, Bill Kelliher, Brann Dailor and Troy Sanders, Hushed and Grim

Written by Dr. Phil McClaw does not match any existing user name, an actual crustacean and Rhys Tanner, your local invading seabeast

The edits to the "Allied Occult Command" theme were a commission graciously provided by Fantem. You can find her here.

This is a rewrite of an entry submitted by both authors to the DepartmentCon 2022 contest. The events of the tale are unchanged, but there are substantial changes to prose, pacing and grammar, as well as to the theme. A link to the original submitted piece can be found here.

Content Warnings:

This story contains depictions of violence. In-depth content warnings are provided below to use at your discretion.

Violence: The events of a surprise military attack are described throughout. Characters are depicted drowning, being bombed, being attacked by animals and being subjected to state violence in various forms, though none of these events are described in explicit detail (a child is implied to drown at sea, for example, but the event is not actually shown or confirmed within the text).

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F.A.Q.

by Rhys Tanner and Dr. Phil McClaw

December 10th, 1941, 07:15 GMT +9

Naval Station Baros, 935 meters from the Zero Point

Naval Station Baros, Santa Joana Republic

12/09/1941

Josephine,

We're in a shooting war now, darling. More than a shooting war. I suppose Japan wants to lose sooner rather than later.

The bastards gave us quite a wake-up call. Swooped from the sky at sunrise, and from the sea at dusk. But we're shooting back.

Things are rough-going here, but I'm blessed to be alive and I am meant to be here in this moment. I wouldn't want to be anywhere else.

You told me to never lie if I thought I wasn't coming back. They say that by tomorrow morning, our mail isn't even going home, and I believe them. I'll think of you, always.

I love you more than the whole world, Josephine.

Your soldier boy,

Private Daniel Louise

The Sun rose slow and hazy over the bloodstained ocean. The water was maroon, glassy and still, smothered by a wafting haze of ozone and vaporized topsoil. It had been seventy-two hours since Seaman Apprentice Damien Ricardo last set foot on dry land.

A glass bottle bobbed to the water's surface, breaking the morning's eerie silence. Ricardo reached over the side of the raft to pluck the bottle from the murky, wine-colored water, then turned his head as half a dozen others appeared in a gout of light and seafoam. He extended a long crook into the ocean and pulled them aboard, unfurling the letters inside and laying them out to dry. It was the fifteenth group the crew had found so far.

Ricardo shook his head and turned to Adam Lorentz, his petty officer. "I just don't believe this."

"Believe it." Lorentz did not look up as he chucked a bottle over his shoulder and into the raft. "We're at the coordinates for Baros Station. They flattened the whole place."

"What the hell do you mean, 'flattened'?"

Ricardo looked overboard into the yawning darkness of the Pacific. There was no trace of the shoreline he'd walked along three days earlier—no sand, no ships, not even a change in the waves. It seemed like an eternity ago now. "You're telling me a bomb did this!?"

"Christ, Ricardo." Lorentz muttered wearily. "Do you seriously think I have the answers? We're picking up the litter."

Lorentz and his crew continued towards another cluster of debris. Ricardo plucked another bottle from the foam and splinters with a free hand, pried out the letter inside and began to read:

Kalapati Hill U.S. Air Force Base, Santa Joana Republic

12/09/1941

Mi amor Paulita,

Every day I have wanted to cross the strait and return to you. Oh, amor, how will this letter find you? I'm told nothing. I know only what I see, and I see the Rising Sun flying over every ship on the horizon. They did not just drop bombs, Paulita. I cannot say what they've done.

My love, is your water still blue? All I see is an ocean of deep crimson, a blinding smoke in the air. Whatever they dropped on us is still burning, filling the sea with gore. God, the things in the sea.

Dearest, read this carefully. We are being rolled over. Half of our planes were lost on the ground. None of our Fleet is running here. The horde is on its way. Take your family to the hills, mi amor, and stay there. Don't be in the city. Stay as far away from the fighting as you can get. You know the crimes they will commit if they are allowed to land.

Do not mourn me. By Christmas, the Pacific Fleet will drive these savages away. I'll meet you in Santa Ana after my duty is done.

Tu amor,

Anthony Valte

Number sixteen.

Ricardo sorted each new message in silence. Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen. They all carried the same ill omen: Japan was out for blood, and it struck at Santa Joana first. America would surely be next.

Lorentz stood abruptly as he caught a glimpse of something in his peripheral vision. He raised his binoculars and saw a speck on the horizon: Kido Butai, the first invasion fleet of the Imperial Japanese Navy. Only a fraction of its fifty-four ships had come to Santa Joana. Apparently, half a dozen vessels was enough.

"Alright." Lorentz steadied himself. "Heads down. We're going back to reef."

When the United States acquired the islands of the Philippines and Santa Joana from Spain in 1898, the sister republics were destined to be America's great foothold in the Pacific. The young nations, vitalized by independence, would soon become the next arms of the American empire, bolstered by guns and foreign capital. By 1940, Naval Station Baros, situated on the Santa Joanan island of Greater Ahnwar, was the United States's largest overseas military installation.

On December 8, 1941, the Santa Joana Republic vanished from the face of the Earth. Reports from the Philippines described a blinding flash in the early morning followed by a complete communication blackout. Seconds later, the entire landmass ceased to exist. A smear of water, blood and molten metal marred the sea in its place.

Simultaneously, across the Pacific theater, the Japanese Combined Fleet began an offensive against the Allied powers, spanning from Pearl Harbor to Midway. In the chaos, a meager scouting party was dispatched to the Philippine Sea, desperate to discover the truth of Santa Joana's disappearance.

The submarine SCPS Crepuscula was the first vessel to arrive.

December 8th, 1941, 10:11 GMT+9

Sea of Ahnwar, 3.1 kilometers from the Zero Point

"Approaching now." Technician Marcus Del Rio looked up from his instruments. "We're coming up on the islands, sir."

"Hm." Captain Theodore Kamakau eyed his navigation console with suspicion. "No, we aren't."

The Crepuscula darted along just below the surface of the water. With state-of-the-art radar, she should have been able to operate fully submerged with confident navigation. But Kamakau knew the Sea of Ahnwar well, and he didn't trust his instruments any more than his eyes. Something was very wrong.

"Take us up," he ordered, motioning with his hand. The sub broke surface moments later.

Del Rio and Kamakau inhaled deep as they stood on the upper deck, taking in the briny air, sharp and unnaturally sour as it was. Empty water stretched for hundreds of miles in every direction. Only a faint light on the horizon, like a stream of glowing ribbons, broke up the Pacific's glassy surface. Santa Joana wasn't destroyed, as the briefing had claimed. It was gone.

Del Rio was shocked; on impulse, he produced a readout he'd printed from the Crepuscula's navigation console, triple-checking the coordinates in a desperate attempt to deny what he had just seen.

Prototype stealth vessel SCPS Crepuscula.

"See, 15.6 North. Instruments are accurate."

"Then we have a much bigger problem."

Continuing the course to Baros, the Crepuscula cut through the sea where civilization once stood. The captain and Del Rio saw images of a different world scattered above and below the water's surface. A rippling mirage turned the ocean blood-red wherever it touched down. Distorted shimmers bisected the skyline and disgorged mist and smoke into the air. Across the waves, red and blue water intermingled into a slurry the color of clotted blood.

Del Rio watched a pale, coiling serpent emerge from a plume of light and into the Pacific in front of him, disappearing into the depths.

"Captain, do …"

Del Rio paused as a sudden swell rocked the Crepuscula. Another serpent gave chase to the first, and another, and another, each one buffeting the sub with their wakes.

"… Do you have any idea what this is?"

Kamakau scoffed. "What the Hell kind of a question is that?"

In the windows between worlds, Kamakau saw sheer walls of bedrock, sand and gravel pouring into the open water, the vistas of Greater Ahnwar's hills hanging in the air. And when the crew of the sub reached Baros's coordinates, they saw civilians—some treading water, some dead.

The submarine slowed and positioned itself in the midst of the castaways. Seven crewmen rushed to fetch an inflatable raft from below deck. Kamakau descended to a step along the sub's port side, reaching out to help a woman and her child onto the topside platform. They were inconsolable.

"Salama! Dios, hindiyan totoo!" The woman shouted, crying and collapsing. Her words were wracked with sobs. "Sinunog nilayang aking bayan! Nasunog laha!"

Kamakau helped wrap the woman in a towel. She was shivering. "Ma'am, I can't understand what y—"

"Binombai nilayang laheya! Silaya nasau Imfyerno!" The woman stayed put despite Kamakau's attempts to help her to her feet.

"Any of you speak Ahnwari?" Kamakau shouted to his crew. The Republic's most-spoken language was an offshoot from Japanese, Tagalog and Spanish. No one on the Crepuscula spoke it, but a few of the loan words stood out: "Hell." "Gateway." "Eclipse."

The captain looked over the swath of desperate people and saw a fight break out aboard the raft. It was already over capacity. A technician pulled a young man away from the scuffle and threw him back into the sea, catching a right hook to the jaw for his effort to keep the raft above water.

Kamakau reached out to a man paddling weakly towards the sub. "Del Rio, radio for a second ship. Tell them they're responding to a shipwreck."

The captain hoisted the man aboard the Crepuscula. "You speak English?"

The man nodded. Red and purple fibers stained his clothing, crisscrossing like veins over the fabric.

"What happened to Baros?"

"They hit us. At sunrise." His voice was quiet, though not from lack of effort. "I, uh, woke up when the bombs hit my street. They … tore the country apart."

Glimmers of the island dotted the red-blue seascape: ghosts of the city of Baros. Kamakau tried his best to look the man in the eye as he spoke, but he could not help but stare over his shoulder, into the mirage. Kamakau had seen pictures of the aurora at a university in Luzon; they paled in comparison to … whatever this was.

"Is Santa Joana gone, then?"

"Gone? No, no. We're all on the other side of … the camino. I do not know what is. A door to Hell."

Kamakau watched as a pillar of alien light erupted from the water. "A door like that, yes?"

The man's face went taut in a sudden display of terror. "Err, yes. But, no, you can't go, not with me. I don't know." His eyes were wild and frantic. "Please, no going back!"

"You don't have to come with us," Kamakau said, pointing to the escalating melee happening aboard the raft. The man seemed to weigh his options before descending from the Crepuscula, back into the sea.

Kamakau turned to Del Rio and pointed forward. The pillar was growing larger, parting into a vast arch that disgorged an ethereal pink glow. "Set course for … that door, I suppose."

Del Rio stared in disbelief. "Sir?"

"We're here for Baros, and the personnel on the other side. Besides …"

Kamakau watched a child's head dip beneath the waves. They didn't resurface.

"… I'm out of extra space. Get us there. Now."

Kamakau braced against the handrail as the Crepuscula lurched forward. The submarine maintained course, approaching the gate of light that had sprung up moments ago. It was deceptively narrow, barely wide enough for the ship to enter without touching the edges. The crew watched silently as the sub passed through with a roar of rushing water.

Everyone above deck recoiled as a wall of brutal daylight exploded overhead. It was gray, seemingly overcast, but burning bright, as if the Sun had been smeared across the the entire sky. The passengers and crew could only shade their eyes by retreating into the sub.

The shores of the Santa Joana Republic enclosed the Crepuscula on all sides. The landmass seemed to have been transposed, plucked from the Earth and deposited haphazardly elsewhere. Kamakau could only take brief solace in the familiar scenery before he looked down, to the alien ocean that had stolen his mother's homeland.

The sea was red here.

Looking behind him, through the gate, Kamakau saw a torrent of red and purple water, with a blue sky beckoning home.

Not yet. Still work to do.

The Crepuscula surged forward, full speed ahead, into the smoldering wreck of Naval Station Baros.

06:33 GMT+9

Dr. Klaus Ebner felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. Shaken and nauseous, he pulled himself off the floor, his colleagues following shortly after. They could barely see to the other side of the lab. The room was illuminated only by a strobing alarm; somewhere onsite, a nuclear reactor was approaching prompt-critical.

The crash and screech of tearing metal echoed from the nearby elevator shaft. Seconds ago, a massive shockwave had shaken the entire facility to its foundations. Ebner braced against a toppled desk to catch his breath. Was it an earthquake? A bomb?

No one was sticking around for an answer.

The scientists emptied out into the emergency stairwell. Ebner and his colleagues got their bearings as best they could and escorted themselves to the surface. Site-48ψ looked particularly dreadful in the morning light. The site was a barbed wire enclave concealed under the shade of a mountain, a spike of iron and concrete buried in the tangle of the Ahnwari jungle.

A security officer approached the group in a sprint, waving his arms. Ebner recognized him—Lucio Morga, a childhood friend from Tuscany. "Thank Christ you're alright! There's war on the island. Japan, they think. Is the Liferaft secured?"

Ebner stared in disbelief at the sky. It was impossibly bright out. It almost hurt to keep his eyes open. The chatter of his colleagues faded to a gentle ring as he lost focus, swaying on his feet, until Morga's words snapped him back to attention.

"Klaus? You okay?"

Ebner shook his head and stepped forward, motioning for everyone else to follow. "It's a blackout down there. We would need to generate the power to stabilize it. It's sustaining itself right now, but it will outrun us soon enough. Can't do anything until we get a generator to reset the fission reactor."

Morga cocked his head and frowned, incredulous. "You need power to turn it off?"

"It helps when we can see down there, for one. Do we have time for the full explanation?"

Three engineers of the Allied Occult Command approached in a battered transport. Morga quickly flagged the truck down and climbed into the bed, throwing lights and tools over his shoulder in a fever pitch. Minutes later, nearly a dozen men had spread throughout the deepest levels of Site Site-48ψ to fix the power outage by hand-cranked lamplight. The concrete retaining walls around the facility's center still stood firm; by some miracle, the pipes hadn't burst. Yet.

Moving closer to the reactor, the problem became more apparent. A vertical cliff face of soaking-wet bedrock had split the site in two. The smashed remains of an elevator littered the floor.

"Sir, it's a complete loss." Engineer Lemer Szot reported to the AOC engineers as if they didn't already know. "It's some kind of shift in the Earth that's damaged the place. We need auxiliary power. And a crane. A drill too, probably."

Ebner peeked over the rim of the circuit bay in which he was now submerged shoulder-deep. "Are the phones working, mister Szot?"

As if for emphasis, a loose telephone wire sputtered and exploded in a flash of sparks.

"Of course not. Fine, then. Get us to Baros."

Ebner and his team assembled into the transport and departed for the naval station. Morga and the AOC staff stayed behind to continue their repairs. The sky remained relentlessly white, even as smoke and embers crept up across it.

Ebner did not know where he was, but he knew it was not Earth.

Soon their path was obstructed by a gate of light that stretched from a hundred feet above the ocean to the shoreline. Engineer Bethany Hajiro, a university transfer from Honolulu, tossed a stone into the blue mirage and watched, transfixed, as it vanished from view.

"We'll need to be careful about the sea level, sir."

Ebner hoisted up a larger stone and threw it into the rift, staring at the crimson ocean in disbelief. The rock whistled like a falling bomb as it tumbled into the waves.

11:44 GMT+9

Progress was slow, but the truck soon found its way to Baros, the heart of Greater Ahnwar. Vast crowds of people fled uphill into the tree line to escape potential dive bombers. In the distance, a squadron of the Imperial Air Service circled menacingly above them. Ebner couldn't recognize their planes; they seemed sleeker and sharper than any Japanese craft he'd heard about, as though they were hewn from solid rock.

The remains of the battleship USS El Paso.

The truck weaved through the ravaged and crowded streets, stifled by a blanket of penetrating heat. Dark smoke billowed across the skyline. The seams in the clouds glowed hot pink, barely visible against the diffuse light that consumed the entire atmosphere.

The metal carcasses of the American Asiatic Fleet laid broken at the shore of the harbor. The USS El Paso was gutted and ruptured on her side, burning with a caustic fury and spewing thousands of gallons of ignited oil into the bay. The fire brigade was already stretched too thin to put out the inferno, so it ran rampant across the crimson water.

The truck was ushered past burning pools of oil, cars punctured with shrapnel, and a triage stretching the entire perimeter of the station. Disembarking, Ebner and his crew made their way beneath the canopy to a makeshift command center in a half-assembled bunker. The engineers flagged down the highest-ranking AOC officer on the island—Lieutenant General Victor Sterling. He was barely managing the chaos.

"… And goddammit, you tell him I said that!" Sterling barked at a messenger and waved him away. "Tell him I never asked them to put their entire fleet on Japan's doorstep!"

"General, we're AOC," Szot said, his flat affect somewhat hampering his words. "We need assistance on the Liferaft project, and quickly."

"Christ's sake!" Sterling slammed his hand on the table, scattering pencils and blueprints across the dirt. "That fuckin' thing's going mad, too, has it?"

"We just need some generator power down there. To keep it below prompt-critical."

"You've seen the state of this place, haven't you, lad? Don't you think it needs to be deactivated!?"

"That's what we're trying to do, sir."

"Wait," Hajiro interjected, pushing to the front of the group. "General, is this happening anywhere else? The Philippines, Hawai'i?"

Sterling paused. The sudden change in scenery wasn't even among his top ten concerns. "Well, I haven't heard a thing. None of the telephones or telegraphs work. Not a damn one! And no word from the mainland, no help from Clark or Subic!"

"General, can you send another ship to the mainland?"

"You know what you're of asking me, right?" In the distance, an overturned car burst into flames.

"It's very important that we talk to Dr. Scranton." Ebner leaned in close to Sterling's desk, and Hajiro followed shortly after. "Please."

Sterling took a moment to think.

"Fine." He beckoned and started towards the shore. "I'll see what I can do."

With the scientists in tow, Sterling emerged from the bunker. They followed the shoreline to Perestrello Point, the longest pier that was still intact, and flagged down the first incoming ship: the SCPS Crepuscula.

13:25 GMT+9

The possibility of bombardment meant the Crepuscula had no choice but to stay submerged. Hot, over capacity, and already filled with recycled air, the sub had become an unwelcoming place.

Crossing back into the old world, to home, Kamakau and his passengers were not greeted by a rescue team. The only landmark for miles was the distant silhouette of a Japanese cruiser. The survivors' raft drifted on the water's surface in bloodstained tatters. It was empty.

The Crepuscula could easily outmaneuver any of the Japanese Navy's vessels, but a well-placed torpedo or dive bomb would be enough to sink her. Kamakau guided the sub as low as she would go and made a hasty calculation. He had the fuel to make it to Helen Reef.

Barely.

"… So, it's another planet?" Kamakau tried his best to make small talk as they traveled.

"The islands are … tangential to our planet," Szot said, trying to illustrate visually with swooping gestures. "At least it seems so. Sent there by cosmic power, like a ricochet, or going through a mirror. It's the kind of thing the Liferaft was designed to neutralize. Like an, ah, how you say, an anchor. Holds things in place."

"Holds things in place?" Kamakau stepped towards Szot, fists clenched. "Where would they go?"

"Somewhere else." Szot shrugged. "Reality is one place. And now we know with certainty that there are … others. Consider it luck that the islands survived the transfer so cleanly."

"The Republic's been torn to shreds. There's silt on the water for miles."

"Precisely, silt and only silt. Without the Liferaft, it would be every stone of the Republic in a billion pieces each."

"What are you talking about? That thing's ripped a hole in the world!"

"No, Captain," Sterling interjected. "Do you think the bombing raids Japan is enacting now are a coincidence? We've been telling the Americans to take their fleet back across the Pacific for weeks. It's so obvious. We knew the Axis powers had thaumic weapons, and they've used one on the Republic."

The Crepuscula groaned under the crushing weight of 2,000 feet of water. Sterling frowned and pushed his glasses gingerly up the bridge of his nose. The sweat was loosening their aged wire frames even more than usual.

"I thought they could level a city if they willed it, but by God, they've torn the country from us. Bombed away its place in reality."

Del Rio's head poked up from below his console. "How can you be sure of any of this, sir?"

"Well," Szot crossed his arms, turning to face Del Rio. "Do we wait around to see if they do it again?"

The rest of the trip passed in silence. The radio was alive with chatter; Japan had attacked Hawai'i, along with Malaya. Engineer Hajiro tried her best to disappear into her seat.

Del Rio watched the sonar intently. Somehow, beyond all reason, an animal was keeping pace with them. It drew close with a brief sideswipe before diving suddenly into the abyss below. At that distance, its silhouette was clearly visible, and Del Rio chose to forget the limbs and forms that he was unable to identify. The ones he could, however, would not leave his memory.

Were those … fingers?

The Crepuscula made the 800-mile trip from Baros to Helen Reef in under four hours. Any ordinary ship would have been crushed by her operational depth or shredded by turbulence long before she reached top speed.

But the Crepuscula was no ordinary ship.

14:57 GMT+9

Helen Reef wasn't much more than a shack on a sandbar, but it was the only Foundation hotline that Kamakau could guarantee wouldn't be a priority target. He passed a notecard to Dr. Ebner―the day's secure connection code―and shoved the phone into his uneasy hands.

"Alright, you get to make your calls, then we're taking you back to dismantle that thing."

Ebner propped the telephone awkwardly between his head and shoulder as he talked. "Yes, E-5-3-S-I-5-8-A. For the office of the Allied Occult Command Construction Battalion, Darwin, Australia." The words tumbled shakily from his mouth.

The hum of the receiver broke, and a nasally voice answered. "Hello?"

"Yes," Sterling snatched the phone from Ebner, who hardly objected. "Is this Eckers?"

"Speaking."

"Send reinforcements to Baros Station. It's about the Liferaft. Urgent."

"Current location?"

"Helen Reef."

"Current state of operation?"

"The whole damn Fleet is wiped out, Eckers. They used the thaumic bomb the Krauts were talking about! Christ. We need all the ships from Darwin. I mean all the goddamn ships."

"Lieutenant General, the fleet has been dispatched to other ports already."

"Then redirect them! We need the fucking Liferaft!"

"I can send a priority signal to our captains, try and round up a few. Do you know what they'll expect to see there?"

Sterling looked to Ebner expectantly, but he was already lost in thought, staring wistfully at the horizon. He blinked in an attempt to focus his blurring vision.

It was strange to see blue sky again.

Sterling sighed. "They know what they signed up for, Eckers. The enemy hasn't landed yet. Tell them to get to Baros, through the gate. They'll understand."

Ebner's calls went no better. Lists of protocols, technical specifications and ritual theory alike all passed unabsorbed through his still-ringing ears. Standard procedure was getting him nowhere. Finally giving up, he repeated the day's code for the operator's approval and made another call.

Every minute they wasted brought Site-48ψ that much closer to meltdown. The Liferaft was Ebner's project, but it was not his design, and his knowledge alone wasn't going to be enough to save it. Only its architect could help him now.

"For the office of Dr. Elizabeth Scranton, Allied Occult Command, Sacramento, California."

Hajiro stood up from the sandbar with a start. "Maybe I can take it from here. Scranton and I are good friends."

"Respectfully, Beth, I'm going to handle this."

Hajiro stepped closer, eyeing Ebner with concern. His head was still bleeding from the attack that morning, and bandages had done little to slow it.

"Klaus, can I be the one who drops this on her? Please? She'll… handle it better. And you need to rest."

Ebner frowned and passed the phone to Hajiro. "I suppose." His senses were slowly coming back to him, as was his anger.

Hajiro bounced impatiently on her feet. Finally, Scranton picked up. "Hello, Dr. Scranton speaking."

"Hello, Doctor. This is a troubleshooting call regarding Project Liferaft."

"How's she doing? And how are you doing, doll?"

Hajiro was taken aback by Scranton's tone. She seemed relaxed. Carefree, even.

"Doctor, you've heard the news of the attack, haven't you?"

"Betty, why else would I be in my office at this time of night? I'm trying my best to keep from pulling my hair out, here."

Hajiro couldn't help but chuckle.

"They went Plan K on the Anchor, ma'am. We suspect they used a thaumic weapon."

Scranton exhaled into the receiver. Her faux-pleasant attitude, already strained to its breaking point, finally gave out. When she spoke again, her tone was hushed and earnest, a rarity for her.

"It's gone?"

"Not quite. It's still running critical, same as the last three weeks, and soon to be a runaway meltdown. It's displaced, though. The entire lab is displaced, somehow. If we want to get it back, we'll need to repair the reactor and stabilize the site."

"Displaced?"

"It's a parallel reality of some kind. I …"

Hajiro paused.

"To tell you the truth, El, I don't know what to call it. 'Hell' wouldn't be far off. It's strange there. Wrong."

Scranton spoke after another delay. This time, her words were sharp and terse. "So why on Earth are you deactivating the Liferaft?"

"Because it dismantled its own containment fields," Ebner leaned in close to the phone, interrupting Hajiro's reply. "It's like the whole place is a ghost, blown to pieces."

"No, by the sounds of things it's doing its job, Mr.—"

"Dr. Ebner."

"Well listen closely, Dr. Ebner." Scranton made sure to emphasize her disdain. His appointment to the Liferaft project hadn't been her choice. "This was an act of war undertaken against your Foundation as much as it was against America. This is a slight against your country, and not a small one, if I may say so."

"Our country."

"Mm-hmm." Scranton shuffled a collection of papers on the other end of the line. "Respectfully, Dr. Ebner, you are not versed in the minutiae of this sort of research. There is a binary quality to these weapons. Try to imagine it this way."

Hajiro pinched the bridge of her nose. Few things wasted time more effectively than a Scranton lecture.

"Thaumic weapons are, according to the present models, a type of superpositional device. This superposition is achieved by forming a momentary rift connecting a target to another place or concept, and, in doing so, damaging the target. It would take an arbitrarily large amount of energy to sustain a large-scale, continuous rift above a subatomic size, the kind required for mass material travel, using our current understanding of ontofission. So if the Axis used a bomb more powerful than that on the Republic, we have much larger problems to worry about.

"Now, we are aware of the Axis's fissile prototypes, but the amount of energy that can fit in such a bomb would simply extricate the target out of one of those existences and into another. Resolve the superposition, as it were, like skipping a stone. It'd be an instant, one-way trip. But that's not what happened, right, Dr. Ebner? You're here, when hours ago you were there, or so you claim.

"So, unless you have some new insight about thaumic weaponry, and I sincerely welcome that if you do have it, we have to ask: why can matter move between realities now? I think you'll find that it's because of the Liferaft working exactly as intended. It's built to halt a shift of reality in progress. It certainly helped you get out of whatever new space you're talking about, and I firmly believe that it has saved all of your lives.

"So I ask you one more time: why are we deactivating it?"

"It's no use to us at the bottom of a flooded research site, doctor!" Ebner raised his voice. "We're going to go back and deactivate it. This isn't up for debate. You can help us do it correctly, or you can not."

"You are not going to do a goddamn thing with a passage open like that! Not if there are people on the other side!"

"Dr. Scranton," Hajiro said, "it's not the city. It's all of the islands. The entirety of Santa Joana."

"You do not, under any circumstances, have my permission to deactivate the Liferaft. That would be mass murder, and I will not put blood on anyone's hands but my own. My decision is final, miss Hajiro."

"Doctor—"

"I'll keep in touch."

Scranton promptly hung up.

Kamakau was eager to return to the Crepuscula and sort out their mess. But before he could bring everyone back to the sub, Ebner snatched the phone and furiously dialed another line. The operator didn't bother to wait for security clearances.

"Consulate of the Santa Joana Republic, San Francisco, California. War Powers authority, priority one."

17:21 GMT+9

The conditions onboard the Crepuscula were just as uncomfortable as before. Much of her crew returned to the mainland at an Allied port, while Kamakau refueled and escorted everyone else he would need back to the Republic.

The conditions south of Papua were pristine in comparison. But the further from port they traveled, the more unnatural the water became. Gigantic serpents and schools of disfigured fish slowly filled the ocean. On the surface, the remains of the Republic's coasts hung over the water like a ghostly shroud.

Kamakau steeled himself as he crossed back into that Hellish place. Several of the Republic's warships had survived the transit, and they had arrayed themselves around the gateway in a makeshift blockade. The Crepuscula's new destination was the capital of the Republic: La Pureza.

Proceeding ahead of the AOC's meager flotilla, the Captain saw that the fleet of the Imperial Navy had pulled back. For now, at least, the path to Santa Joana was tentatively secure.

On the other side of the rift, a second Japanese navy had turned their sights elsewhere.

The horizon was dotted with the countless gray hulls of foreign warships, disgorging fighters across the sky by the dozens. Kamakau counted a hundred vessels in his line of sight alone. There would be no path through that blockade …

Not above water, anyhow.

The Crepuscula sunk to maximum depth and traveled inward, through the Strait of Ahnwar. Her crew sped through the trench between the Republic's two largest islands, away from the gaze of their besieging enemy. At the end of the strait, the tightly-packed shorefront of La Pureza was on fire. The Crepuscula surfaced and sped towards the scene.

Kamakau paused as his instruments lit up. Staring through the periscope, he noticed a battleship that had broken formation.

Flagship IJNS Ōmura Dom Bartolomeu.

The horrible form of the vessel was jagged and colorless. The way it hovered through the water seems to defy gravity: it left no wake, made no sound, disturbed the water only with the shockwaves of its main guns. It cast its shadow long and sharp against the silver sky.

Flying proudly off the towers of the vessel was the unmistakable battle flag of the Imperial Japanese Navy. On closer inspection, however, the Rising Sun it bore was a deep magenta, ringed by rays of light twisted into tendrils and bolts of lightning. Another flag, bearing a cross and a wide-open eye, flew further above it, a banner rendered in silver, yellow and mauve. Kamakau had never seen a flag like it before.

The behemoth ship oriented itself directly towards the entrance of the harbor. A voice boomed from the deck:

"Todos los paganos … Que faltan el respeto a la soberana del Imperio Angelical de Japón …"

Spanish. Technician Del Rio was quick to translate.

"Heathens who disrespect the Emperor of Japan … Submit to your Lord, Jesus Christ. Your nation is sinful … An affront to Peace on Earth … Answer to the holy authority of the Emperor of Japan and our Lord, that you may be granted your Redemption."

The macabre battleship did not acknowledge the Crepuscula. As it approached a seaside town across the strait, it repeated its proselytizing message, first in Japanese, then Tagalog, then once again in Spanish. Smaller cruisers scattered behind it, scouting through the inland waterways. The AOC personnel kept their heads bowed as they departed the sub and rushed ashore.

Sterling and the researchers were quickly brought to the Palace of the Presidency. They were directed into a meeting hall lit by ominous natural light, where a man and a woman were seated. The office, presumably the President's, was in disarray.

"Hello." The woman, sharply dressed and with a severe scowl on her face, gave them little attention. "We are present on behalf of President Joseph Larreta. Understandably, he's not available to be seen at this moment. What may—"

"No, no," Sterling interrupted. "We need his signature, now. This is crucial."

"Excuse me, General." The man spoke with a pompous tone. "You don't seem to understand. The President is extremely busy coordinating the defense of the Republic."

"This is an Executive Order from the Allied Powers. If the President of this Republic does not sign off on this defensive order, I am authorized to assume command of it in a military capacity."

The representatives were unfazed, even as Sterling slammed a set of documents onto the desk in front of them. Moments later, the flashes of pink and silver through the blinds seemed to change their conviction. Another bombing raid.

Sterling straightened his documents and pushed them forward. "This plan, as it is drafted here, was telegraphed from the office of the Consulate. This is a contingency that our Command had the foresight to predict."

The representatives nodded at one another. The woman took a deep breath and produced a fountain pen from her breast pocket. Despite her best efforts, it trembled in her hands.

"I suppose, in that case, I can act on behalf of the Office of the President."

To the Office of the Presidency

12/08/1941

TOP SECRET

Executive Order #6941

In the event of a Class-E+ Anomalous Spatial Displacement, wherein any of the following are true:

● the Event has occurred under public scrutiny;

● the Event has endangered personnel or the interests of the Allied Powers;

● the Event is not self-contained;

● the Event is not reversible; or

● Tertiary anomalous activity from the Event is a present danger to reality

The defense of the territories encompassed by the Republic of Santa Joana shall enter into the military jurisdiction of the Allied Occult Command. As a participant nation in the Port Sudan Conference, the Armed Forces of the Republic of Santa Joana are indebted to participation under the guidance of the Allied Occult Command and its compatriots, to dispense army, naval, and air directives in defense of the Nation.

This document is binding under the Executive Order of the President of the Republic of Santa Joana.

xBernadette Larreta

18:19 GMT+9

AOC Special Construction Battalion "Seabees", 34th Division.

The Seabees worked quickly under the light of the setting sun. The finest members of the AOC's Special Construction Battalion had run a cable from the Philippine shore deep into the Pacific, ready to build with speed and precision the relays that would bring Baros's communications back online. The spectral shape of Greater Ahnwar hung over them as they entered the former heart of the Republic.

Dispatch would have only sent a few scouts under any other circumstance. But Master Chief Ives knew the importance of reestablishing contact with Santa Joana, and he would not let Japan get there first.

Mooring on the blue side of the Pacific, the construction battalion unloaded their barge. A buoy with a branching antenna bobbed out into the sea. An anchor affixed to one side dragged its wire to the seafloor, a tether leading back to a remote transmission tower on Itbayat. The technology was untested—not even Command knew if it was going to work—but there was little choice left.

Ives stared up in disbelief. The gate from that morning had expanded by hundreds of feet, wide enough for a battleship to pass through sideways. A honeycomb of smaller archways was branching out at either end of it, bisecting the Pacific for nearly a mile.

The Seabees tried their best not to look through the rifts. The enemy of that far-off dimension had amassed in overwhelming numbers. Even in the sunset, their sky was scathing to the eyes. But the Seabees continued with renewed strength as the enemy armada grew larger and larger.

The Pacific was their home. And they would guard it at any price.

Suddenly, a white tentacle, bristling with teeth, blossomed from the ocean. It scraped across the deck of the barge and coiled around the buoy's wire. Ives drew his pistol and fired, emptying the magazine with nine well-placed shots and causing the thing to writhe against the deck. Apprentice Ricardo found his service spade and sliced a large gash out of its pale hide. After a few more deep cuts, the tentacle went limp and retreated back into the water.

Ives saw more masses of wriggling white flesh sprout up across the sea. He was unable to tell if they were dozens of the same creature, or limbs all moving at the behest of one great beast. He wasn't sure which option would be worse.

He decided to test the beacon's functionality. It was time to hail Baros Station. When the first signals came through, scattered and muddled, he was quick to reply, and even quicker to join them. The enemy armada seemed disinterested in the Seabees' craft as they passed unimpeded through the tightening blockade.

The Seabees found themselves pressured on all sides when they reached the Republic—this platoon needed a welder, that mission needed a ship—but after seeing the masses of civilians packing onto the quickly deteriorating boats, Ives declared that his vessels would only serve one purpose. Of the few ships he could afford to relinquish, all but one would be filled with the first wave of fleeing Republic civilians.

A brawl broke out on the dock at Perestrello. The AOC military police had disallowed a man from entering a transport alongside his family. Ives protested, but they produced a printed order and shoved it into his hands without remark. He began to read:

For Immediate Distribution

Reintegration Project GUIDANCE

The Armed Forces of the Allied Powers, under the Jurisdiction of the Allied Occult Command, Brothers-in-Arms of the Republic of Santa Joana, have initiated Reintegration Project GUIDANCE to secure the integrity of Santa Joana and her people; to contain the threat of enemy invasion; and to protect the lives of the innocent.

Applicants for Reintegration Project GUIDANCE must meet at least one of the following criteria:

Applicant is below the age of 15 or above the age of 65;

Applicant is the parent of an applicant below the age of 15;

Applicant is physically disabled or injured

Individuals fulfilling the following criteria are EXEMPT from Reintegration Project GUIDANCE:

Applicant is a working age male;

Applicant is enlisted in the Armed Forces of the United Kingdom, United States, or an associated nation of the Allied Powers

Individuals who fulfill the above criteria and are present at the designated point of departure will not be hindered from evacuating to safe harbors pending future Reintegration Processing.

Ives was in no position to object. He did anyhow, of course. His speeder carried three loads of civilians to the Philippines before the night was done. Ives pulled back in to the Perestrello dock after hours of work, but was ordered to stay ashore due to fuel concerns, castaways be damned.

Night fell. The red sea of that parallel world churned under a uniform bronze twilight. Never dark, no stars.

The AOC circled close, consolidating their remaining boats. The enemy fleet kept a constant distance as their blockade continued to assemble. They had a name now, one translated from their overheard sermons: The Empire of the Twilight Sun.

The harbor at Baros Station was still ablaze, the water still slick with oil. The AOC salvaged what they could and took any survivors deeper into the mainland of La Pureza. Defending their position meant regrouping north, around the capital, to hold the Strait of Ahnwar.

Despite the scouring sting of multiple bombing raids, La Pureza's harbor still stood. The AOC had at their disposal three destroyers, a cruiser, a dozen catamarans, the Crepuscula, and all the yachts still fit to sail.

20:23 GMT+9

Two members of the Seabees made a covert trip back to Site-48ψ. The Twilight Sun had yet to open fire, and the tension was palpable. The crew disembarked on the shore just north of Baros; the trek to the site would be an arduous one, and this call would be their last.

"▓▒░▒nton sp░▒▒ing."

"Dr. Scranton?" Ebner was quick to answer. His head was still swimming, but the adrenaline was holding him together now. "I'm happy to hear from you again. So, it's paramount we continue, uh, continue our discussion about the Lifera—"

"▓▓▒▓░ ▒ ca▒'t q▒it░ ▓ake ░▒u ou▓. Y▓▓r░ ▓▒t c▓▒ing thr▓▒▓h, ok▒▒—"

"The connection is very bad doctor, we're on the other side of the rift. The AOC has constructed a temporary comm line."

"▓'m ▒n a tr▒▓s░ac▓f▒c l▒▓▒r."

"Alright, headed to Darwin?"

"M▒r▒sb░."

With a roar, another fissure tore open the sky. Conditions were worsening by the minute.

"That's good. We'll be quick. We no longer have the option not to deactivate the Liferaft, alright? This has become a broadside-battery-to-our-heads kind of situation. So all we need to know is how you would do that."

"Ex▓u▒e m▒?"

Hajiro scowled at Ebner. She mouthed the words "Give me that."

"D░▒ ░bner," Scranton continued, "Y▒▒ ar░ g▒▒▓g to tr▒p y▒░▒s▒▓v▒s ▒nd ▒v▓ry░░▓ th░▒▒."

"Hello, doctor?" Hajiro spoke into the receiver. "You're right. We understand what we're asking of you—"

"Th▒░▒ f▓▒king f░sci▒ts hav▒ s▒nte░c░▓ ▓▒em to de▒░▓! I w▓n't h▓▒p c▒▒ry it o░▒!"

"Don't turn this into a fucking fight again, Elizabeth!"

Hajiro gulped. She'd been holding that in for weeks.

"Doctor, this is a war directive. The evacuation has been ongoing for hours. We're staying behind. The longer the Liferaft keeps our realities entwined, the worse the sea becomes."

Far below them another rift tore into the shoreline, slicing a waiting catamaran to pieces. Hajiro took a deep breath.

"You haven't seen how bad it is, what comes out of this place. There's another Japan here, I think. We can't handle one Axis yet, let alone two."

Hajiro looked over her shoulder nervously. Ebner and the rest of the engineering team were preparing their tools for the walk. Finally alone, she let her voice come undone, and pleaded:

"Please, El. I need you to trust me."

Scranton was silent for a long while. When she spoke again, she struggled to maintain her composure.

"░▒░y. I w▒nt▒d t░ s░e i▓. Th░▒'s p▓▒ba▒l▒ n░t an opt▓▒n now?"

"No. We have to shut it down ASAP."

"Y▒░ un▒░rst░▓d h▒▓ ▓▒ br▒▒g i░ t▒ ▒ubcr░▒i▓▒l▒ty a▓d s▓▒t▒░n?"

"Yes. Thirty seconds, then decouple the thaumic washer, like we practiced."

"On░ ▒f y▒u is str▒ng en▓▒░h to op▒░ th▒ deut▒r▒um t░░▒?"

"Yes, we synthesize it onsite. Szot can do it."

"S▒▒nds l▒k▓ ▓▒░ ░n▒w wh▒t y▓▒'re do▒░g, Ms. H▓▒iro."

Hajiro smiled. "I learned from the best." Her tone was gentle, reassuring.

Ebner turned to Hajiro and the rest of the engineers. "So, are we ready?"

"Ye░." Scranton's voice hitched in her throat. "Be▓▒y, I ▓m so s▒░ry."

"… Me too, El. Just come and get us, alright?"

Hajiro ended the call.

The engineers set off, hopefully for the last time, into the jungle. Rushing into Site-48ψ, Ebner and his colleagues descended into the belly of the facility to render the reactor nonfunctional. A searing blue glow had begun to fill the reactor core. The heart of Baros was dying, and in minutes it would melt the entire foundation of the site to nuclear slag.

The first thaumic weapon ever produced was down there, deep in the well carved by Foundation engineers nearly a decade prior. A natural breach in the fabric of the world was nestled in the crust of Santa Joana, and a team of elite engineers had reached inside to see the clockwork of the universe. Around that breach they built an elaborate cage of steel and carbon and whirring machinery, an engine to harness the turning of reality's gears: the Scranton Reality Anchor.

A scorched placard still hung from the doorway above the Anchor's cavernous containment chamber. A stenciled codename was barely legible at its center: Liferaft.

Snaking cables and diesel generators worked overtime to stabilize the gargantuan machine. Szot reached into the glowing bowels of the Anchor, disconnected the thaumic washer, and slotted in another cluster of deuterium fuel rods. An interlocking set of graphite spears followed after them.

The roar of the reactor slowed. The thrumming energy in the walls faded away. The Anchor's Hume levels, the underpinning of the Republic's reality, gradually dropped into the subcritical range, and the gears of a new universe enmeshed with those of Santa Joana.

The change was obvious the instant that the Anchor reached baseline. The rends throughout the facility began to falter, returning the ghostly fragments of the site's architecture to their rightful places. The borders between realities became sharper, darker, and eventually impossible to penetrate. All readings pointed to the Anchor entering a stable shutdown.

Taking the long drive back to Baros, Ebner looked out over the ocean. They'd requested his evacuation for the incident report. The path home, once shredded by interdimensional ruptures, was finally becoming whole again.

December 9th, 1941, 01:04 GMT+9

Battlecruiser SCPS Jaeger.

Across the Santa Joana Republic, the holes in the sea and sky began to knit closed. The SCPS Jaeger, once blinded by interlocking tears in space, had at last found its way through the treacherous South Pacific. A Foundation fighter watched her vigilantly from the sky as she came to rest in the water.

Her station: the massive rift southeast of Baros, the one that would be last to close. Her directive: let no enemy find its way across.

Across the last few breaches, the water and life of the Republic's new prison continued to bleed through. Red strands of shambling tendrils clung to the surface of the water and the sides of every approaching ship. They reached from the waves, ensnaring seabirds and latching tight to the leviathans that poured out into the Pacific. The monsters made no distinction between battleships or whales; each were worthy prey. But the Jaeger had strict orders, and she would not waste her ammo.

A Kakure-class destroyer, the second-largest class of the Twilight Sun fleet, patrolled parallel to the Jaeger on the other side of the breach. The Foundation ship had orders not to fire the opening salvo. It was clear that the enemy navy considered their presence an intrusion—one that must be rectified. But not yet, it would seem.

The Jaeger had already logged refugee boats all across the horizon: an AOC barge, packed mostly with women and children, a riverboat carrying four families, a yacht commandeered by a crowd of desperate people. All terrified, all doomed, the flotilla of unarmed ships fanned out into the cruel and foreign sea. The Twilight Sun ships were indifferent. The sea would swallow them all.

The Jaeger and her counterpart maintained their stalemate.

A final group of refugee vessels approached the dimensional gateway and the floodlights of the two warships ignited in tandem. A Republic fisher packed his gear even tighter into his boat, turning the sail and cutting a swath through the creeping red weeds that choked the ocean's surface. The crew of the Jaeger waved him along as he disappeared, smiling, across the breach and into the blue.

02:56 GMT+9

The engineers were silent on their journey back to Baros. Reaching the naval station, the urgent evacuation of civilians was no less chaotic. People clung tightly to the hulls of the last escaping vessels, knowing that if they fell there would be no one to retrieve them. The rifts that once dominated the sky and water were now receding out of reach.

The engineer crew were directed to the Perestrello Building, where Lieutenant General Sterling moved in step with the quartermasters of the barracks. A conference had been convened. They spoke confidently, despite all odds, to 600 of the Republic's 3,000 troops. None of them were going home.

"…This bleeding sea, the smoke that burns your lungs and the lights that blind you, they are a result of the Empire's thaumic explosive. The atmosphere on the island has been ignited. The sun glows pink through the particles of this scorching cloud.

"Across the world, this symbolizes the imminent end. This is how the enemy has initiated combat. They seek to terrify the free world, to demoralize the people of this island. But we are all stronger than that.

"You will all have a part to play in the coming days. The defense of this nation is your only task, and my Command within the Allied Powers will march with you. We will steadfastly provide a garrison for the Republic of Santa Joana, one that will withstand the Imperial blockade.

"Men, this task I ask of you may take weeks, maybe even months. The coming objective for your comrades at home is the reintegration of the Republic's civilians into the Philippine Islands. Until such time that we can rejoin them, we will defend Santa Joana and Her people. We will need every able-bodied man at our disposal to fulfill this duty."

A young soldier stood up, saluting as he did so. "Sir, I am awaiting service in the Philippines."

"Every soldier in the country has been submitted for reassignment." Sterling looked across the crowd. Many nodded along, though whether it was from acceptance or resignation he could not say.

"The most important target," Sterling continued, "For the Japanese, is Santa Joana. Our capacity for a naval breakthrough beyond these islands is small. The reality is that we're going to experience siege conditions, and we won't survive a siege without a fortress. So, let's get to work."

The soldiers were told that there would be one final mail call. Their letters were stuffed into bottles and thrown across the last reachable breaches. Ives and his battalion made a final delivery under cover of darkness, hoisting hundreds of letters through a breach just below the surface of the crimson water, in the hopes that someone, anyone, would retrieve them on the other side.

Naval Station Baros, Santa Joana Republic

12/09/1941

Mama,

This letter will reach you even though I cannot. For the next few months, you can't expect another letter for me. You must know that Japan has obliterated my paradise. I am lucky to be alive through the bombs and the tremors.

Do not fret over my safety, for I am in the hands of God and my brothers.

I cannot write because I will be in combat. This is the real deal, and I am going to fulfill my duties. These people have no one without us. I won't let them down.

I will see you, Victor and Robbie on the other side when this is over.

Always with you,

Corporal Michael Pastramo

03:14 GMT+8

The SJS Fuerzo barely docked with the Philippines in one piece. Her passengers poured onto land shoulder-to-shoulder after five hours of sailing from Mapkalapati, the Republic's largest urban center. It was the dead of night, but the Filipino locals were still there, welcoming the influx of refugees with blankets and water passed through chain-link fences.

"Andale, Andale," an American officer ordered. He waved the group forward through a maze of hastily assembled barricades; Subic Bay was big, but a day's work could only make a triage so large. "This way, por aquí. Por reintegración."

"Ask him where we are." A grandfather, a native Ahnwari speaker, asked his granddaughter to translate.

"Hello, sir," the granddaughter said timidly. "Where are we, sir?"

The officer stared down at her, his expression dull. "Luzon." English. He fiddled with his rifle and looked away.

Each refugee was given a wristband as they passed through processing: red for the citizens of Santa Joana, blue for everyone else. Parents from the crowd were chosen as guardians of the unaccompanied children. Before the end of the year, the Allied Powers would relocate 720,000 people across South Asia and Oceania.

A diaspora of the Santa Joana Republic slowly flowed into the islands of the Philippines and Indonesia over the following days. Only ten percent had escaped. Ninety percent were dead, unaccounted for, or trapped along with their home. Historians would debate the final death toll for decades.

In one month, the Imperial Japanese Navy would have the entire island under occupation. By the summer of 1942, all of Southeast Asia would be another casualty of the Pacific Theater. The Allies, the Occult Command, the Foundation, each would bide their time for two years until the tide of war changed. And when the war was over, liberation of a different kind would come: the rewriting of the world and its people, carried out by the emboldened arms of the American empire. What could not be erased would be crushed, and what could not be crushed would be lobotomized and executed. The refugees, and all traces of their homeland, would be scattered to the wind, surviving only in Ahnwari words and names and customs half-remembered. History would swallow Santa Joana whole.

But for now, the people of the Republic were tired, and Luzon welcomed them.

08:38 GMT+9

The refugee ships coming from the Republic slowly dwindled. A final, meager collection of rafts and rowboats skated back into the Pacific only feet ahead of the Twilight Sun navy. A swarm of alien scouting vessels, finally emboldened enough to cross into the Pacific, filtered back as quickly as they appeared; one of the ruptures suddenly buckled as a ship passed through, shearing it in half with a burst of heat and steam.

The captain of the Jaeger gave a mock salute as the vessel capsized. Good riddance.

The Jaeger positioned her broadside against the last rift, prepared to prevent any other traffic between the worlds. As if on cue, a single Kakure-class broke through the blockade at full speed. The ship postured against the Jaeger, threatening to ram her through. The Jaeger maintained her provocation and the enemy ship showed its own broadside. The gunners on each vessel prepared for a swift and lethal volley.

Then, the Kakure-class changed course, returning to the blockade. It resumed its patrol around Greater Ahnwar.

The captain of the Jaeger sighed. He was promised reinforcements, and this gamble wouldn't hold forever. Eventually the Twilight Sun would decide to stay. He could only pray that the rifts would close before then.

Meanwhile, across the Republic, the AOC conscripted their operatives, the greater Allied Armed Forces, the army of Santa Joana and civilian volunteers without distinction. In Baros, the triage center had cordoned off a corner of the field to quarantine the sick. Feather-like patterns of scars and bruises were emerging beneath the skin of everyone who had touched the red water, and no medicine seemed to stop them from spreading.

In Mapkalapati, the citizens of the Republic were told that the evacuation ships would not return. Riots consumed the island by nightfall.

In La Pureza, the harbor flooded with blood and splinters when a leviathan capsized an overburdened vessel. A dozen more would sink within the hour.

Brothers-in-arms of every nation made ready the ports and beaches of the islands for invasion. Civilians were cleared from the coasts and the docks. The boulevards were emptied, closed with ramschackle barriers of sand and scrap metal. The food from every market and garden was consolidated to distribute at the capital. The people of the Santa Joana Republic took knives, guns, sharp sticks, bricks, and their bare fists, and braced to guard one another.

And then they waited.

18:03 GMT+9

At the center of the now-empty Philippine Sea, Damien Ricardo rowed cautiously towards the final spatial breach. He'd been chosen to deliver a last message: a transcript of the declaration of war against the Empire of Japan, recorded on a spool of magnetic tape and sealed in a watertight canister.

The events of the previous day were scorched into his mind. As he leaned teetering over the ocean, the terrible forms that assaulted the Republic's ships seemed to stir in the water beneath him. He was tempted to reach for his spade again, but he'd thrown it overboard out of fear and anger. Perhaps that leviathan had kept it.

He dared not look down.

The last breach was hardly large enough for the tape. A roiling mass of glowing water bubbled and frothed from it, suspended in the air. The gateway led somewhere underwater, apparently. Clutching the canister in a gloved hand, Ricardo shoved the message through.

"Yesterday, December 7, 1941, a date which will live in infamy, the United States of America was suddenly and deliberately attacked by naval and air forces of the Empire of Japan.

"The United States was at peace with that Nation and, at the solicitation of Japan, was still in conversation with its Government and its Emperor looking toward the maintenance of peace in the Pacific. Indeed, one hour after Japanese air squadrons had commenced bombing in the American Island of Oahu, the Japanese Ambassador to the United States and his colleague delivered to our Secretary of State a formal reply to a recent American message. And while this reply stated that it seemed useless to continue the existing diplomatic negotiations, it contained no threat or hint of war or of armed attack.

"It will be recorded that the distance of Hawai'i from Japan makes it obvious that the attack was deliberately planned many days or even weeks ago. During the intervening time the Japanese Government has deliberately sought to deceive the United States by false statements and expressions of hope for continued peace.

"The attack yesterday on the Hawai'ian Islands has caused severe damage to American naval and military forces. I regret to tell you that very many American lives have been lost. In addition, American ships have been reported torpedoed on the high seas between San Francisco and Honolulu.

"Yesterday, the Japanese Government also launched an attack against Malaya.

"Yesterday, Japanese forces attacked the Santa Joana Republic.

"Last night, Japanese forces attacked Hong Kong.

"Last night, Japanese forces attacked Guam.

"Last night, Japanese forces attacked the Philippine Islands.

"Last night, the Japanese attacked Wake Island.

"And this morning, the Japanese attacked Midway Island.

"Japan has, therefore, undertaken a surprise offensive extending throughout the Pacific area. The facts of yesterday and today speak for themselves. The people of the United States have already formed their opinions and well understand the implications to the very life and safety of our Nation.

"As Commander in Chief of the Army and Navy, I have directed that all measures be taken for our defense.

"But always will our whole Nation remember the character of the onslaught against us.

"No matter how long it may take us to overcome this premeditated invasion, the American people in their righteous might will win through to absolute victory.

"I believe that I interpret the will of the Congress and of the people when I assert that we will not only defend ourselves to the uttermost, but will make it very certain that this form of treachery shall never again endanger us.

"Hostilities exist. There is no blinking at the fact that our people, our territory, and our interests are in grave danger.

"With confidence in our armed forces, with the unbounding determination of our people, we will gain the inevitable triumph, so help us God."

The final breach shrunk with a hiss and a flash of blue light. Like an aperture closing, it drew inwards until it was barely the size of a pinhead, then sat motionless an inch above the water. In the evening light it was practically invisible.

The next day, Ricardo would fish two hundred bottles from the bloodstained water. None of them would be delivered. The ten letters he concealed in his pockets would be the only ones to avoid incineration.

Sterling and the rest of his men fished the tape from the flooded ruins of Site-48ψ. The following morning, the whole of the Republic listened to the United States's official declaration of war over shortwave radio. Their resolve was only strengthened.

December 10th, 1941, 04:03 GMT+9

Dr. Ebner made it to Port Moresby on the last departing AOC warship. He was badly concussed and walking on a broken ankle. Alone in quarantine, he tried and failed to find the words for what he felt. He knew only one thing for certain: wherever the Republic had gone, there was no way to go there again.

Allied Occult Command Special Engineers Lemer Szot and Bethany Hajiro were exempt from Reintegration Project GUIDANCE and were not allowed to leave the Republic. Except for Apprentices Del Rio and Ricardo, the crew of the Crepuscula and the Seabees volunteered to stay behind.

There would be no more travel between Santa Joana and the world it once inhabited.

Ocean liner RMS Found Wisdom.

The people of La Pureza worked with grim determination. The northern mouth of the Strait of Ahnwar was guarded by the Crepuscula, 5 AOC destroyers, less than a dozen fighter aircraft, and the cruise liner RMS Found Wisdom, outfitted with decades-old naval guns. Once the standard of transatlantic luxury travel, the ship had been repurposed into a temporary home … and now an engine of war.

Across the crimson sea, a wall of iron rose to meet them. A dozen aircraft carriers, fifty destroyers, a hundred fighters in nine squadrons, countless cruisers, patrol craft, gunboats and scouting ships, all helmed by the righteously devoted crews of the Twilight Sun Combined Fleet, assumed a firing position that encircled the capital.

A grim song rang out from the flagship Ōmura Dom Bartolomeu.

Swarming over the Republic, the Twilight Sun bombers began a devastating bombardment against La Pureza. The projectiles were inert, crashing through the top stories of the Presidential Palace like cannonballs. The bronze sky was punctuated by faint choral chants and rings of golden light as the fighters leveled the capital. Splintering wood, roaring air and ethereal wails combined into a sickening song.

Hajiro dove for cover as a bomb punched cleanly through the side of her shelter. Clambering out from beneath a collapsing wall, she pulled herself up against the munition, realizing quickly that it was a single piece of polished wood, steel and gold. A scroll dispensed itself as she ran a hand across the intricate filigree.

A message.

WE, by the Grace of Heaven and Our LORD Jesus Christ, Imperial Sovereign of Japan, seated on the Throne occupied by the same Dynasty from Time Immemorial, enjoin upon Ye, Our Subjects:

We hereby declare a War of Subjugation upon the heathens of this nation and the Blue Hell it has invoked. Our public servants of various departments shall perform faithfully and diligently their respective duties; the entire Nation, with a united Will, shall mobilize Their totalizing strength so that nothing will miscarry in the attainment of Our aims.

To ensure the stability of East Asia and to contribute to world peace is the far-sighted policy which was formulated by Our Great Illustrious Imperial Grandsire and Our Great Imperial Sire Succeeding Him, and to which We ceaselessly adhere. To cultivate friendship among nations and to share the prosperity of God's Kingdom has always been the guiding principle of Our Angelic Empire's foreign policy. It is unavoidable, therefore, that We are forced to cross swords with Heathens who have chosen to make themselves the enemies of peace.

More than four years have passed since China, failing to comprehend the true intentions of Our Angelic Empire, disturbed the peace of East Asia and compelled Us to take up arms. Although there has been reestablished the Holy Despotate of China, with which Our Angelic Empire has effected neighborly intercourse and cooperation, a Heathen regime has survived in your realm, relying upon fellow sinners for protection. Eager for the realization of their inordinate ambition to dominate the Orient, both the Pact of Americas and the Pariahs of Arabia, giving support to the regimes of Heathenry, have aggravated the disturbances in Asia. Moreover, these two Powers, inducing other countries to follow suit, have increased military preparations on all sides of Our Angelic Empire to challenge Us. They have obstructed by every means Our peaceful commerce. We are left with no other recourse.

Patiently have We waited and long have We endured, in the hope that soon, peacefully, Our LORD Jesus Christ may enter the hearts of His Kingdom's idolators. But Our adversaries, showing not the least spirit of conciliation, have unduly delayed their own Redemption. This state of affairs, would, if left unchecked, not only nullify Our perpetual mission to build the Kingdom of Heaven on Earth, but also surrender our Holy Order to the forces of Devilry. The situation being as it is, Our Angelic Empire, for its existence and self-defense, has no choice but to appeal to arms and to crush every obstacle in its path of totality.

The hallowed spirits of Our Imperial Ancestors and Our LORD Jesus Christ guard Us from above. We shall rely upon the loyalty and courage of Our Subjects in Our confident expectation that this task, bequeathed by Our Forefathers, shall be completed without mercy, that the sources of Devilry shall be swiftly eradicated and an enduring Peace immutably established in East Asia, preserving thereby the glory of Our Angelic Empire.

In witness thereof, We have hereunto set Our Divine Hand of Retribution, and so caused the Grand Seal of the Angelic Empire to be affixed at the Imperial Palace, Tokyo, on this ninth day of the 12th month of the 8th year of Kōkon, corresponding to the 1,941st year of the Grace of Our LORD and SAVIOR Jesus Christ.

As one, We will destroy you.

The chimes fell silent.

The inert missiles spontaneously ignited. Across La Pureza, a web of golden flames clambered through homes, into the trees, and over the oil and diesel that choked the harbors. The Palace of the President was leveled in a maelstrom of song and fire. Only bones, ash and golden feathers were found in the rubble.

Then, finally, Ōmura Dom Bartolomeu and the battleships of the Angelic Imperial Japanese Navy released their first volley upon the coasts of Santa Joana.

The Twilight Sun's naval guns resonated through the water and decimated the coast. The shots struck deep into the mainland, whistling and roaring with unnatural howls, crumpling the Earth in flashes of gold and crimson. The Veritas, an AOC cruiser, prepared to return fire, but was bisected by a single well-placed dive bomb to her forward starboard gun. Similar damage was inflicted upon the RMS Found Wisdom, whose retrofitted anti-aircraft guns had long since jammed or been blown apart.

A tiny torpedo, black, angular and no more than three meters across, emerged within the La Pureza harbor. The Veritas, already taking on water, had no opportunity to reposition, and as the torpedo made contact her bow split cleanly into the sea. She sunk nose-down, slipped onto her starboard, and eventually came to rest belly-up in the center of the harbor. Most of her crew would not escape.

The Found Wisdom took a valiant charge out of the Strait. The liner, spewing flames and damaged beyond repair, fearlessly tore free from the docks and buoys, crushing a Twilight Sun submarine in her wake. Her last voyage would end against the hull of the Ōmura Dom Bartolomeu.

The Found Wisdom met her enemy's broadside. The furious collision of the two steel behemoths sent a cacophony through the air. Unspent munitions and engines firing at full capacity lit up in a massive fireball.

When the smoke cleared, the Found Wisdom was shattered. Metal beams and sheets curled outward from her sinking corpse like a shredded tin can. She gurgled and snapped to pieces as she submerged.

Ōmura Dom Bartolomeu shone with a beaming aura of warm light. It stood tall, proud, unscathed.

Unbroken.

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Part I: Infamy

Part II: Sacred Reality