Ever since Blood Week, Contre-Amiral François Mercier had found life to be quite the challenge. Not just the struggle of fighting the Abyssals, but the sheer absurdity of the shipgirls.
If you had told him ten years ago, that he would be in command of a not-insignificant task-force of warships reincarnated as young women, he would have made every effort to send you for a psych evaluation.

But this was 2013, eight years after Blood Week, and more-or-less the same time since the first confirmed appearance of the shipgirls. He had no choice but to accept the situation, no matter how bizarre it was.
It wasn't so bad though. It had taken time to mould him into who he was now. In fact, he saw many of these events as practically normal now.

Except for what had happened just this morning.

"I'll be honest," he spoke, trying to remain level-headed, "In a normal world, none of this would make any sense.
"But it does. Ships have souls. We summon those souls from another plane of existence. Those souls take the appearance of girls, because humanity addressed ships with feminine pronouns, at least that's the general consensus among my superiors."

He adjusted his position, leaning his elbows on his desk as he addressed the enigma that stood before him.

"But you," he pointed at her, briefly forgetting his manners, "You don't make any sense to me. By all rights, you don't have a soul, because you were never built. You weren't even laid down.
"So please, would you kindly tell me how on Earth you exist?"

The girl before him just shrugged,

"Monsieur Amiral, I do not know. I only remember a dark place and a voice calling out to me, begging me to stop resting and help."

"Hmmm, that sounds more or less like a typical summoning," Mercier responded, steepling his hands in thought, "But we didn't have a summoning ceremony this morning. The last one we had was two weeks ago, and we were trying for Jean Bart, not you… no offense."
"None taken, Amiral," she smiled, "You had no reason to believe I would answer, and I never expected I even could answer."

The admiral snorted, before smiling warmly at her,
"The circumstances of your summoning notwithstanding, your appearance is nothing short of a miracle. The Marine Nationale is short on shipgirls, and our most powerful, Richelieu was recently disabled in an Abyssal ambush. We were looking at more than two weeks without her and relying on one grumpy Dunkerque class and and a handful of older dreadnoughts to defend France on two fronts."

A look of shock crossed the girls face as she processed the admiral words,
"I didn't realise things were so bad."

"Don't misunderstand, we do have allies to assist us," Mercier shrugged, "The Italians and the Spanish in the Mediterranean, and the British, Germans and Americans in the Atlantic. I'm sure the jokes they are making at our expense is the worst threat to our nation at the moment."

"But Richelieu, the Germans-" she began, only for Mercier to cut her off.
"Richelieu is in good hands," he reassured, "I know I probably made the situation sound a whole lot worse than it really is, but France is well defended.
"The American's have a detachment in Cherbourg, including the battleship Massachusetts. Our shipgirl force may be small, but we have some of our most modern ships, the Mogador's, the Malin's, the Suffren's, even De Grasse and Béarn. You are only adding to our forces, and soon, we won't have to rely on the American's anymore.
"As for, the Germans, that's something we'll cover more in-depth during your orientation, though suffice to say, they are our allies now."

Mercier finally stopped speaking, allowing the girl to process everything.

She licked her lips, speaking once more "So... everything's fine then?"

"For the most part," Mercier responded, cocking his head, "The Abyssal's are still out there, and we're going to need you to help hunt down the salope who nearly killed Richie."

The girl could only smile widely at the prospect of battle, doing what she was designed to do, and doing it to avenge little Richelieu too, as Mercier stood up, clearing his throat to grab her attention.

"You still need to go through orientation and have a little history lesson first," he offered his hand, which she gently accepted, "But please, allow me to be the first to welcome you to the Marine Nationale, fast battleship Alsace."

Her smile only got wider.