Absolute Justice, Graceful Execution

"There are many things that I expected you to ask me Commodore. You could ask if that really is the reason.... you could ask me if I agree with these tactics. You could even just ask to refuse my order for various reasons. Often times, as much as I lead the Marines, I'm in the same position as most others. Following orders from the top. Your old man was like that.... and perhaps I feel a tinge of regret. Because I feel like history is repeating itself. I wanted to give you the chance to know what you are fighting for. Your position offers you that much.... just as your old man's position did. Since that moment, we've been keeping an eye on everyone. I don't want history to repeat if I can help it."

Things were clear now. This wasn't just a simple call to add new orders. It was a check up as well. Ever since the Impel Down incident, her family had been scrutinized for a while; and there had even been vocalization on family members being given powerful positions in the rankings. However, most of the ranks were given based on merit, and Mahonia had gained hers without a doubt through her efforts. Loyalty was now the question however, and with her brother being in possession of the Arms Arms Fruit, there were only extra eyes placed on their family for possible internal affairs investigations. They had only been suspended thanks to her brother being transferred as well.

Fleet Admiral Saint seemed to pour his heart out, though he sounded as stern and tired as usual. "Positions of Power.... they hold more of a mental weight than most can bear... because eventually even the sturdiest mast will eventually break one day to the demands of the wind." He stated, more akin to a warning than advice. "I believe you can handle that weight with what you've displayed... but others don't share that sentiment. Of course, I can't help if the Coleson Brothers built a dreadnaught so decrepit that it sank from a few holes in the hull.... With that said, I won't be available for a few days, but if you need someone to talk to, feel free to request it. I'm busy, but I'm not so busy to take a moment from my naps to hear you out."

With that said, the snail was beginning to look sleepy, as Saint was known for constantly taking naps after intense bouts of work. The fact he was Fleet Admiral despite this flaw meant that he either had gained his power through efforts, or through circumstance. Not much was known outside of his tired demeanor, as he rarely left the Grand Line these days. Still, it seemed he was only obligated to check on her mentality. He seemed to have confidence, though perhaps Mahonia would not see it that way. "So.... If you don't have anything, I'll let you end the call."

The old man on the other side of the snail smiled, his face mostly hidden in shadow in the massive room he occupied. "That's reassuring.". He stated in a sleepy tone, as smoke rose from two glowing red dots in the shadows that flared for a moment. "There you go. Now, If you'll excuse me, I'm overdue for a nap again.". The man stated, as a second figure stood by a window.

"Don't act like I didn't hear what you said Saint." the individual wearing white clothing said. "You may be capable, but even that trait can be replaced with enough scouring. I doubt even you can tell the Elders off like that, much less the Celestial Dragons."

The smoke lines stuttered before bellowing a quick puff. "Don't act like you have any say in this matter. Your organization is not in charge of mine, and much less without my permission. But if you want to be a puppy and beg to those false dragons, feel free. Not that I think you can convince them to get off their ivory seats."

The sound of a blade unsheathing rang through the room and echoed. "What was that Saint?". The white clothed individual said, their weapon shining in the light, a thin saber that was perfect in almost any way possible with a golden cross guard that resembled a set of spikes indicating that it was as much for offense as it was for preventing the user's hand from getting cut.

The threat wasn't answered to, as the sound of snoring was heard after a few moments. The blade stood in the light for a solid ten seconds, before the individual in white finally sheathed it, the sound being covered by the snoring of the Grand Fleet Admiral. "Sleep talking I suppose... As usual you decrepit thing.". The snide remark came from the masculine voice, before echoes of footsteps indicated that the individual was walking away, the sound of a door opening and closing indicating as such.

---

The door closed behind Marigold as she entered her original destination, the operations room. Already, a map of the local area was upon the table. Figures of dozens of ships were being moved as an set of communication officers were speaking and listening to transmissions given through large boxes who's wires and equipment were attached to a large Transponder Snail. On occasion, the operators would indicate necessary updates to the field map. Taskforces were already deployed based on the view, represented by white ships, while enemy ships were indicated by black ones. Sometimes a new black figure was added or moved, showing that the taskforces were communicating effectively. So far, the pirates had chosen to create a few groups, two of which were acting as front guard. The updated news indicated that other ships were dividing and beginning to sail to the left and right, aiming to use the rocky and barren landmasses as cover from cannon fire. It was a tell tale sign that if their forces continued forward recklessly in their Charge that they could easily be pincered.

Marigold's assistant had taken charge, organizing the chaos as best as he could before noticing his superior officer, "COMMADORE ON DECK!", he announced immediately giving a quick salute, knowing that formalities were going to be a minimal necessity at the moment. "Many taskforces are wanting to charge in and attempt to punch through the front guard.
I've delayed them, but they are itching for action ma'am!" , the assistant stated, clarifying the reason why there was a group who were so much farther ahead than others.

It was Marigold's turn to take charge. The problem wasn't the dreadnaught, the massive black piece that resembled a tower on the map, a mirror to their own white tower which represented their own command center and dreadnaught. It had massive firepower, but limited movement and range. It was now time to test if Marigold could take down this armada and prove to those who didn't trust her where her alliances lie.

"Right here ma'am!" The sound of a choreboy came as he approached. He was likely only 14 or 15 from the looks of him. Not too young to fight, but it was all hands on deck; and even a choreboy had his purpose on the ship in times like these. The cocktail was held up on a plate, perfectly made to her usual requirements though she could notice any problems with it if there was any. The orders that Mahonia had barked out were being prepared, the transponder snail operators already issuing commands as pieces were moved according to coordinates issued.

When Mahonia watched and enjoyed or disliked her drink; the choreboy would look at what was happening with rapture, before a furrow of worry appeared on his face. He looked like he wanted to say something; but was keeping his tongue.

"Orders have been issued; Taskforces are currently preparing to make movements towards a pincher maneuver." a Operator stated, as he finished his last call. Mahonia's assistant would notice the boy standing still; "Choreboy, you're dismissed. Go help ensure our weapons are in prime order." The boy snapped back to reality, quickly saluting as he began to make his way towards the door.

The choirboy jumped slightly when addressed, before turning around to see his boss looking towards him.

The assistant looked a bit irritated, but knew it wasn't his place to speak. Still, he focused on the map, and individuals who were communicating with the taskforces.

The choreboy gulped, before waving his hand abashedly. "It's just something silly ma'am, I mean sir!". He quickly corrected his mistake. "It's just.... I partook in the various training drills that we took on your orders. This map.... It kinda looks a bit like one of our training runs.... On Snake eyes island.". The commodore would remember that scenario from two months ago. Ever since the beginning of the hold on the Coleson Brothers, training drills had been the most common activity she had to schedule to keep her people ready at any moment. It was a boring process, usually involving paint rounds to mark hits. A scenario was set up, and an objective set for each drill chosen usually by the whims of the commodore. With that said snake eyes island was a pair of small islands. It was a set for both staging an assault and landing scenario. In essence it was a simple game of capture the flag, where one simply had to fight with their team to capture the enemy base. If you could pull up the flag on the enemy hill, or disable all of the enemy team's ships then you won. Usually the marines would change things up by adding props into the sea between the two spots of land. They could be old ships being sunk to act as hazards, to false rocks meant to provide cover and places to stage an ambush.

"Don't be ridiculous Iverson. It's simply a coincidence. Besides, the dreadnoughts present are not stationary targets to capture by snatching a flag." the assistant piped up his face holding a stern look.

The glass in Mahonia's hand was familiar, and comforting as she had thought. She had one like this during each of the training drills she watched. The scene around her familiar. She needed to be honest with herself after all.

"Right, I just noticed it was all sir. I just remembered hearing a rumor while on leave that the Older Coleson Brother liked chess even if he was bad at it....". The assistant brushed the comment off. "You shouldn't rely on rumors, only facts Iverson. Otherwise we'd be chasing ghosts or problems that weren't there in the first place.". Iverson only nodded, before looking at his Commodore. "Permission to leave the War room sir?".

The Assistant Lieutenant seemed a bit insulted, but then paid attention to how the Commodore seemed to realize that Iverson was right.... "Ma'am...." He said, confused as she want onto explain how she seemed to notice things. "Pirates don't do military training. If anything, they are a bunch of disorganized scoundrels who simply brute force their way through things. If you wish to regard rumors, then the Elder Coleson is brutish, destructive, and savage. Even IF he recognized such a plan, Chess is a game of sacrifice. Do you really think it's a good idea to trust in coincidences? Even if the Elder Coleson knows how to play chess, what could he do? We outnumber his ships easily five to one."

Iverson shuffled awkwardly though he chimed up, having not been given permission to leave yet. "I think the Lieutenant has a point.... Pirates don't normally act like this, not from what I've read in the records of Naval Battles over the last few hundred years....... But... It's just strange. Why haven't they moved yet?" The choreboy asked, coming up to the board. "Has there been any movements around the rocks?" He asked, before the Assistant growled again, "HANDS OFF THE WARMAP CHOREBOY!" He snapped, quickly making Iverson jump back startled, as he prostrated on the ground. "SORRY SIR! IT WON'T HAPPEN AGAIN SIR!"

The operators on the Radio were still in contact with the taskforces sent out to pincer the ships attempting to go around the rocks, but none of the reports stated anything on additional movement. Something didn't seem right, since the enemy ships were suppose to be closer to the rocks than the taskforces.

Mahonia would remember a tactic that was used in the Snake Eyes Simulation. In it, the defending force made it seem as though their ships were using the rocks as cover, only to have rotated their ship to use the broadside cannons to barrage the incoming offenders. Effectively the move was brilliant on the part of the captains of those ships. But certainly the pirates were a disorganized bunch like the rest of the pirates she had taken down. Unorganized, dishonorable, and cheats who would resort to anything to get their way. She would even recall times when pirates would use villagers as hostages. There weren't any hostages in this situation of course.

The lieutenant looked at Mahona with disbelief. Iverson on the other hand was looking up with astonishment. "Bu-But, I-!" He tried to say, before realizing that he had not been dismissed, nor was the commodore scolding him. "I-..... I think.... I think it might be the case." Iverson said, still sitting though no longer prostrating. "The logical option is to pull back the flanking taskforces. But that might only waste time.... We could move the base up and fire the main cannons to destroy the rocks and possibly catch whatever is waiting on the other side. It's clear even from the deck that the other dreadnaught isn't fully functional. We should press that advantage and change the battlefield to benefit us." Iverson stated. His comment was indeed a valid one. Dreadnaughts were powerful for three main reasons. Manpower, Endurance, and Firepower. It wasn't a devastating buster call of a ship. That usually required three fleets to achieve such destruction; but it was clear a Dreadnaught could not only act as a hub for stocking materials and repairs; but it held presence. Cannons could prevent flanking while covering taskforces.

In the culture of marines however; it was an issue of how others would see Mahona's actions. Dreadnaughts were signs of authority; and such it was deemed a last resort or emergency situation scenario that validated the use of a Dreadnaught's full power. People would likely question Mahona's authority and might think that she was pushed enough to use such tactics as taking advantage of the Dreadnaught's power. On the other hand, not doing so would mean that she'd either need to sacrifice some taskforces to prove a point; or to double back, and choose a less advantageous approach.

There was a time to fight and not fight..... Mahona was the commodore of the North Blue; and few could challenge her authority here. But she was being watched, and she knew it. The question is how much was too much, and how much wasn't enough? Saint's words echoed again, "You should be more honest to yourself."

As Mahonia spoke up and made her standing of the situation clear everyone in the room seemed to fall silent as they listened. It was needless to say that there was a reason Mahonia was so stern and ruthless when it came to dealing with pirates. The woman had to basically fight for her position. What's more they were all aware of what had happened to cause her to act so brutal. Her father's choice had basically stained their family's name, and in all honesty even those under her were under constant scrutiny. They had all experienced it... but that's also why they chose to stay in the north blue. Few people wanted to deal with Mahonia, but those who did stick around had become somewhat grizzled if not high of themselves. They would show those who doubted their loyalties who they were with this.

The Lieutenant would grimace, before looking at the choreboy. Then back to the map. His eyes scanning the battlefield as he was deep in momentary thought. "IF..." He started with a sharp look at the Choreboy, "The rumors are true, then it's clear that information has been leaked... tactics, numbers... possibly even our supply routes. To be honest, I doubt it, but if we act on that information; I suppose that there is nothing to lose. If anything, we'll need to board the dreadnaught anyways if we want to ensure that fat stupid bastard of a pirate can't turn tail and run when he starts to lose."

Looking from the boy to the map again, he pointed out new options. "Blowing these rocks out will cause damage to our troops, so we'll need to make it seem like we're changing our mind for a moment. Then have them double back as soon as our Heavy Artillary cannons are within range. The question is what kind of artillary Commadore. Standard Explosive.. or something more molten and hell fire like?" Looking at Mahonia he smiled showing a side that the man rarely showed only when he'd been truly fired up.

The choreboy barely understood what had happened, before looking back at the commadore wondering what he should do and appearing a bit lost now.