Attack on Titan Fanfiction – Between a Rock and a Hard Place: Chapter 5

The Cover-Up

“Regarding the Aniastulia crisis…” 

“Incident,” Jean corrected. He had himself convinced that if he officially referred to it as an incident then it will be less threatening.

“A crisis is a situation involving a threat to Paradis, its citizens, military forces and possessions or vital interests that develops rapidly and creates a condition of such diplomatic, economic, political or military importance whereby commitment of Paradian military forces and resources is contemplated to achieve national objectives,” Jean found himself reciting from memory, straight from the manual. “The Aniastulia incident has not yet reached crisis proportions for Paradis.” Or so I would like to believe.

Armin rolled his eyes and started again. “Regarding the Aniastulia incident…oh shove it, Jean, it’s just a matter of semantics. Your calling it an incident won’t make it less of a crisis.”

“Helps me sleep at night,” Jean pointed out with a derogatory laugh aimed at himself.

“Alright then, whatever gets you through the night!” Armin relented. “Regarding the incident, what makes it worse is that the Aniastulia broke all speed records…”

“Yep, blue ribbon through and through,” Jean reminisced. When the Aniastulia was launched she was all over the papers: the largest, grandest, most luxurious, most impressive ship ever built. 

“And her being the longest, tallest ship in our day. What kind of moron would blow up such a ship?” Armin wondered out loud. “It’s just bad press all around.”

“The most puzzling thing is, three months before the Aniastulia was boarded, Cistidu issued a warning saying that the Strait of Zurten, used by both Noblain and Vespucci for transocean crossing, is a war zone. They said they will sink anything that dares to sail through it. We’ve been avoiding the Strait since then, because Cistidu had declared it non-navigable,” Jean said. “But the Aniastulia sailed right through it.” 

“T’was as if she was daring Cistidu to shoot,” remarked Feldman. He turned to Armin saying, “You should have seen it, sir, this massive thing, blowing up right in front of us. I don’t think anyone in the crew could ever set foot on a giant ocean liner, having been eyewitness to that ghastly event.”

“Well, plebeians like us can’t afford it anyway,” Lorenz Haas, Armin’s secretary, said. “Do you have any idea how much it costs?” He named the prices.

Feldman whistled, but not so much at the jaw-dropping price for a first class suite. It was the lowest rates that shocked him. “That much for a third class cabin? Ugh! I’d rather sail on a battleship.”

“The citizens of Vespucci are getting wealthier as we speak,” Armin informed them. “I’ve been there twice and it’s an enormous piece of real estate. Just vast tracts of arable land, and factories as far as the eye can see. Their industrial might will one day be unrivaled. Their population is growing at an unprecedented rate. Someday soon those cruise rates will be peanuts to them.”

Vespucci was a huge country to the west of Noblain. It was a Noblainian colony until it was granted independence a century ago. The Kauhoki Sea, where the Strait of Zurten lies and where the sinking occured, is part of a vast ocean that divides the two countries. To get from Vespucci to Noblain one would have to do a transocean crossing by ship. The Aniastulia served as the largest transocean link between the two nations. 

After more general chit chat about the pros and cons of giant cruise liners they go back to the critical topic at hand.

“But somehow this war zone warning was not relayed to the public, according to Mr Vogel,” said Jean. Darren Vogel was Jean’s lieutenant in charge of the investigation. “In his interviews with the surviving passengers, all of them said they were told of no such warning.”

“So the passengers were ignorant. The press must have suppressed information,” Armin mused. “Or a higher power suppressed the media from dispensing the information…”

They were at the Navy headquarters, a sprawling complex about half an hour by carriage from the capital. The grounds also housed the Army and Air Force headquarters.

It was an unofficial dinner meeting, two old friends and their aides putting their heads together trying to find out the whys behind the whats. Jean had meetings throughout the day, and then got buried in paperwork in the late afternoon. By dinner time his spirits were flagging. But then Armin finally arrived and he perked up considerably. Always good to see old friends, especially at a time like this. 

“Mmm, these sandwiches are amazingly delicious,” Armin said appreciatively. “I’ve traveled the world over and no one makes them like Nicolo. He’s a genius.” The food had been bought by Corey Feldman from Nicolo’s restaurant in the capital. The establishment was named simply “Sasha’s” and was famous for its rich variety of potato dishes.

“Nicolo’s doing really well with his chain of restaurants around the island. Glad to know he’s finally made it,” said Jean as he helped himself to another sandwich. They’d often go to Sasha’s for dinner but since they were knee-deep in work they opted for takeaway. Armin had flown in from Marley after their negotiations collapsed. That was another thing they needed to talk about, but first the Aniastulia.

“What about the Aniastulia could spook Cistidu so much that it decided to sink the most famous cruise liner in the world?” asked Armin.

“Could the Cistiduan submarine have torpedoed her by mistake, admiral?” Feldman asked, turning to Jean.

“I doubt that,” Jean replied. “You’ve seen it with your own eyes: the magnificent cruise liner. She could be easily identified from miles away with her four forward-leaning funnels, as there’s nothing like them in the world. As per usual a Cistiduan reconnaissance plane was flying over the Strait airspace that morning. It would have sighted the ship and relayed information to the U-boat.”

“Do you think Vespucci would rather have it be an accident, admiral?”

Something in his aide’s innocent query made Jean pause. “What’s the Vespucci passenger ratio of the last dozen transocean crossings?”

Consulting his notes, Feldman replied, “According to Mr Vogel’s findings, the Aniastulia had 73% Vespuccians, while all the other passenger ships had anywhere from 10% to 30%. Of these dozen ships, four of them crossed the Strait at some point without being torpedoed.”

“And the casualties?” Jean asked.

Feldman held up a piece of paper. “Of the 1,066 passengers and crew that died, 57% were from Vespucci, 36% from Noblain and 7% from six other countries.”

Jean and Armin look at each other. 

“What is it, sirs?” Feldman wanted to know.

Haas was staring at Armin. “It’s Vespucci, isn’t it, sir, that holds the key to solving this mystery?” 

“You know what, Lorenz, I’ve a bad feeling that everything will be about Vespucci for years to come,” Armin replied, sighing heavily.

“At least Vespucci doesn’t despise us too much,” Haas tried to console his boss.

“So the Aniastulia sailed for Noblain from Vespucci, but got torpedoed by Cistidu because she was carrying Vespucci citizens that Cistidu wanted dead?” Feldman was trying to figure things out for himself.

“It didn’t necessarily have to be people, Corey,” Jean said quietly. “What else could a Noblain-bound ship be carrying that would upset Cistidu?”

Feldman thought for a moment. “Contraband materials?”

“Exactly.”

“But only military and merchant ships are allowed to carry weapons of war during wartime,” Feldman said. “Passenger ships are not allowed to carry any sort of munitions at all…”

“There’s a saying that goes, ‘rules are meant to be broken’. That might be the case here,” Jean hypothesized.

“It’d mean Noblain knew the Aniastulia was carrying contraband materials…”

“But took the risk of sailing through the Strait anyway, knowing the ship had a 50-50 chance of being shot at,” Jean finished for him.

“It would have been Noblain that put the contraband inside the ship in the first place,” Armin was also hypothesizing. “She’s a Noblainian ship, after all.”

“If Cistiduan spies in Vespucci succeeded in finding out what exactly the ship contained, aside from passengers, they’d have given their Navy a heads up. Thus the submarine lying in wait,” Jean guessed.

“But…but….that would be akin to murder on the part of Noblain and not just Cistidu. Murder of their own citizens!” Feldman exclaimed.

“It’s only conjecture, Mr Feldman,” Armin was quick to point out. “We must gather evidence.”

The color had drained from Feldman’s face. “I hope there’s a better answer to the mystery. Something less gruesome.”

“Did you know that the majority of Vespucci’s population are immigrants from Noblain? So there’s a very high chance most of the Vespuccians casualties are of Noblainian descent,” Haas mentioned for trivia purposes. Feldman grimaced.

“If it makes you feel any better, Corey, I, too, hope I am wrong,” Jean replied.

“Your orders, sir?”

“Did Brigadier Ackermann dispatch his operatives to Noblain already?” 

“Yes, sir, two of his best. We should be getting an initial report from them soon.”

“Get the brigadier first thing in the morning. We need his operatives in Vespucci to find out what they can about the Aniastulia’s cargo, both public and top secret.”

“Aye-aye, sir,” Feldman replied.

Armin was already pacing back and forth, clutching his hands together, muttering to himself. “This is bad, this is bad, this is bad…”

“Bad because Noblain will use the Aniastulia as a pretext to declare war on us?” Haas queried.

“No, Noblain can’t afford to declare war on anyone else because they’re heavily burdened with their current war,” Armin replied. 

“But if Vespucci sides with Noblain, the continental war will come to an end because Vespucci has enough resources to end the war once and for all,” Jean explained his train of thought. “Vespucci is officially neutral on the continental war, but after the Aniastulia I doubt that will last long. They will have to side with Noblain.”

“Which essentially means that a victorious Noblain will fix its eyes upon us. They’ve been eyeing us for a while,” Armin said. “The one good thing about the continental war was that it kept Noblain too busy to bother with us.”

“It’s your bluff that’s kept Noblain at bay all this time. But someday they might decide to call the bluff,” Jean said. Armin had devised a deviously simple bluff that kept the world from attacking them. Nobody has challenged them yet, but who knew how long their bluff would hold?

“Jean, we still need to talk about the failed Marleyan negotiations…” Armin reminded him glumly. 

“One enemy at a time, my friend,” replied Jean, putting a hand on Armin’s shoulder. 

They dismiss their aides and with beer bottles in hand sit behind the glass panes of a patio overlooking the city. 

“You know, Armin, you act all anxious but I think you’re secretly enjoying this,” Jean observed after gulping down some beer.

The blond laughed, taking a swig. “Enjoy is a misleading word, old friend. More like intrigued.”

“Intrigued that we might be forced to go to war, many years too soon?” Jean asked in mock horror.

“No, no, intrigued about your sunken ship, Jean. It’s the dossier of the century. I’ve never seen anything like it. Media manipulation, state collusion, military conspiracy, war crime…It’s like a novel, isn’t it? Unfortunately, it’s all happening here, and to us.”

Jean was shaking his head. “You know, for a couple of days I feared that it was all a setup, that Noblain was planning to accuse us of sinking the ship so that they can declare war on us. But I was wrong. They don’t want more war now. They’ll want it later, but not at this point in time. They’re desperate to win the continental war, and will do anything to end it. Anything at all.”

“Since last year I’ve felt things were getting desperate over at the continent, but I had no idea just how bad,” Armin admitted. “Our generation is cursed, Jean. First the titans, now this.”

“Do you think there’ll ever come a time when all this killing will end?” Jean wondered.

“Honestly, from the look of things, I think human beings won’t stop until our own species is eliminated from the face of the planet.”

“Makes you think, maybe we should have just let Eren kill everyone else,” Jean mused.

“But then we’ll end up fighting amongst ourselves. Nothing really changes, in the end. Humans are terrible creatures,” Armin deadpanned.

“Beautiful but terrible.”

They both sigh deeply, staring into the night. 

“I hope you won’t take it against me, Jean, if I use this disaster to generate positive press for our island by any means possible,” Armin Arlert, Minister of Foreign Affairs and master propagandist, spoke after drinking up all his beer.

Jean looked fondly at the slight, youthful looking man. Appearances can really be deceiving: he was older than he looked, and if you get closer you’ll see the wrinkles around his eyes, the dark circles around them speaking of a life trying to prove his worth and live up to other people’s expectations, scrambling to fill the perceived role of Erwin Smith, a legend of their time, long gone but continuing to cast a shadow over Armin. Jean could almost hear the gears turning inside the head of the schemer everyone called the Ambassador.

“Half the world wants to believe we fired at a passenger ship even if we provided evidence to the contrary. If you can make something–anything–good out of this debacle then I’m all for it,” Jean replied. 

“Then I hope you won’t take it against me if I show preferential treatment to certain surviving passengers with social and political influence in their own countries,” the Ambassador said forthrightly. 

“Knock yourself out, my friend. Wasn’t it you who told me once, that we do whatever it takes to survive?”

They go on like this for a bit before proceeding to discuss the failed Marleyan negotiations. In a way this issue had more immediate critical importance to Paradis. They talk well into the night.

Before he left Armin touched him on the arm and said, “Jean, I know it’s incredibly hard for you right now, but we’ll get through this. We always have, haven’t we?” 

Jean nodded saying, “I’m really glad you came. I see everything better and clearer after a good talk with you.”

“I sleep better at night knowing you’re holding the fort. I could never do what I do–travel the world as a diplomat–if it weren’t for you,” Armin told Jean in turn.

“Just don’t forget, old friend, that war is what happens when diplomacy fails,” Jean reminded him with a wink.

“Like I need you to tell me that!” Armin laughed grimly.

They smile at each other, shaking hands and leaning in for a comforting hug. 

True to his word, Armin conducted a massive propaganda campaign by utilizing the tenuous good will generated by Paradis’ humanitarian response to the crisis. It was mostly thanks to the fishing vessels from the coastal villages on the northwestern coast of Paradis who went over and above the call of duty as they assisted the Navy in the rescue of the passengers. The very sick were sent to hospitals across the island, while the healthier ones were tended to by the military medical staff that arrived on the coastal villages after the incident. Queen Historia herself went to visit the survivors, offering words of comfort and promises of security and freedom of movement within the island. 

The Aniastulia was a famous luxury liner and carried with her the upper class, the creme-dela-creme of society from eight different countries. It might have been a fiasco to Jean but for Armin it was a huge opportunity. Never before had their island been visited by such influential people. Armin calculatingly handpicked fourteen survivors: a consul-general, an artist and set designer, a world famous opera singer, an architect-philanthropist, a daughter of a viscount, a wife of a general, a wealthy banker, a university professor, a stage and screen actress, an automobile industry mogul, three politicians, a novelist, a daughter of a retail industry giant. Armin gave them the five-star treatment, including priority access to Paradis’ top medical team, tea with the Queen, tour of the capital, stays at their best hotel. He administered the charm offensive. 

“I’m convinced our only hope of survival is to turn Vespucci into an ally at best, neutral at least. If we are forced to go up against Noblain our one prayer is that Vespucci will stay out of it,” Armin had said to Jean and Queen Historia.

And it worked. Although it is hard to quantitatively measure the results of such diplomacy, when these passengers went back to their own countries they had nothing but good things to say about Paradis and the Eldians in it. At a time when newspapers had a huge influence on public opinion, the interviews that were published could be said to have generated goodwill for the island. Two Vespuccians, the automobile industry mogul Lee Forth, and Elizabeth Blooming, heiress to a retail industry giant, became friends with Armin who kept in touch with them after they returned home.

These connections became useful when, years later, Paradis signed a Treaty of Amity and Commerce with Vespucci. The biggest result was with Count Pavel Nikolaevich, the consul-general from Therunia. Five years after the incident he became his country’s representative to the Nations League, and when Paradis made a bid to join the organization, it was Nikolaevich who most championed the island and cast the decisive vote in their favor.

But the best press came from somewhere Armin himself did not oversee but only encouraged. When the world’s media descended upon the coastal towns hosting the rescued passengers, they were met with lower and middle-class survivors’ stories of heroic Paradian fishermen and good-hearted Eldian families who took them into their simple homes and generously fed them their plain but healthy food and showed them human warmth and kindness.  

That was the one good thing for Paradis that came out of the disaster. Everything else was detrimental, and Jean had to take the brunt of it.

Thank you so much for reading! Please take a moment to share a thought or two in the comment section below. Your comments give me life and are a real source of encouragement. xoxo, hana

Next – Chapter 6: Admiral Nicholas Gainsborough

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