AN: I got this idea for this snippet on a plane while thinking randomly about Forrest Gump and how he tells random passer-by his story as he waits for the bus. In a similar fashion, in this story the main character/ship spirit's identity will be strongly hinted but never explicitly given until later chapters (kind of like how people didn't recognize that Forrest Gump was the same man of legend until he gave them identifying vignettes in his random musings). Because of that, the ship spirit will be identified mostly as "She" in speaking.

"Come on boys," an officer barked, gesturing wildly with his hands and he guided the aimless column of ragtag troops along. "Let's go, let's go!"

"Move along, move along!" another American echoed encouragingly. "You'll be back home in Japan in no time!"

The former IJA soldiers answered with deafening silence. Language barriers aside, they were in no shape to express anything but utter exhaustion. These could hardly be mistaken for the zealous infantrymen who had made headlines with their terrifying alacrity in occupying the far corners of Asia. Many of them were malnourished conscripts who had seen the end of war, and a war they had not won.

The few who had the strength to talk in Japanese had little positive to say.

"Can't see…I can't see anything…"

"Rice…what would I do for a grain of rice…"

"I just want to go home…"

The Americans glanced at each other uneasily. Although the Pacific War had ended several months prior, the status quo was far from sight. On the numerous forsaken islands in the Pacific were enclaves of Japanese troops who had surrendered to the United States. It was now time to repatriate them.

In the Philippines, this meant tackling the logistical nightmare of transporting thousands of recently-released Japanese prisoners-of-war/ The docks and quays were so packed with men that they seemed to form a snake of sweat and khaki deep inland. Palanquins containing the ill and wounded dotted the organized chaos.

There was a shout as a skeleton crew manning one of the makeshift stretchers tipped precariously over the quayside, threatening to unceremoniously catapult its feverish inhabitant in the water.

"Whoa whoa whoa!" The American officer shouted, signally frantically with his arms at the dazed pallbearers. "Watch what you're doing; you almost dropped the poor soul! Cooper, Henry, can you take over for them? The poor Japs are in as bad of shape as he is. You two," he turned his attention back to the awkwardly shuffling Japanese. "Go ahead and get on board, we'll take care of him."

The two stared at him bewilderedly as if the American was a shapeshifting alien from outer space.

"Your friend is good," the officer repeated once more, jerking his head at the patient as a medic tended to him, "go ahead!" He gave them a thumbs up disappearing back into the crowd.

The two men in turn resumed their journey, stumbling aimlessly towards the ships that would take them home.

It's funny, the taller and older of the duo mused to himself, that my career has brought me here. I wanted to become an artist, or maybe even a writer. In the end though, I became neither. The soldier sighed in resignation as he adjusted his headwrapping, his "masterpiece" from participating in the art of war. A few years ago he had the strength to vocally express discontent with Japan's path, but now it took a monstrous effort to even move his right foot. "At least I still have a foot," he murmured to himself.

His downward gaze unexpectedly caught sight of another pair of feet, a pair that was far smaller and more feminine than his own.

"It's okay," a voice chimed in as if reading his thoughts. "Whatever you've been through, it's done now. You did your best, and now it's time to go home." To his right was a thin, small woman (and much to his surprise not much older-looking than himself) propping him against her shoulder as she guided them to the ships.

"You speak Japanese?" he croaked in disbelief. The man wasn't sure what surprised him more: that this stranger was capable of understand his emotions and speaking his tongue, or that there was a woman (a Japanese woman at that) accompanying the Americans in the operation. She didn't look like a nurse either, not with a ragged outfit like that.

"I do, but forgive me, it is not my first language."

"I see." He did his best to mask his disappointment. "What are you here for then?"

"To do my job."

"Your job? Isn't it a bit awkward being around…men…all the time?

"I'm used to it. I used to take up jobs like this back in the day. I find it quite fun really." She gestured at the mob behind them. "It's been a while since I've seen a host this big."

"We may be many, but that does not mean much," he interrupted his cynical musings to gaze intently at the vessel he was about to embark.

"This is a ship?"

"She may not be a first-class warship but she is a steamer, aye."

"She must be very old…" he shook his head sadly. "Her hull is so rusted, and that steel seems razor-thin from wear and tear. It's amazing that she's still afloat."

The woman remained respectfully silent.

"…but it's strange really," the soldier resumed, "this ship…it speaks volumes to me…as if I have a spiritual connection to it. We were both young once, but now," There was a tremor in his voice as he hesitated briefly. "You must think me mad, don't you?"

"Oh, not at all. Not at all."

AN: The anti-war Japanese survivor isn't a fictional character but in fact based upon one of the ship's more famous visitors in this period, who became famous as a talented anti-war writer in the Postwar period.