"Don't you have something better to do?"
"The news is happening right here, isn't it?"
"News is an awfully strong word for paperwork. None of it's ever new."
Aoba chuckled.
"What?"
"I'm just trying to imagine Akagi sitting at a table, filling acquisition forms…"
"Say, what does she look like?"
Aoba's eyebrow quirked. "You've never seen her?"
"Where would I?"
"Fair enough." She sat down and started sketching away on a (thankfully blank) piece of paper. Miller watched.
"Keep on doing whatever you were doing," Aoba said. "Art takes time, you know."
Eventually, Aoba slid the paper his way. Looking up, he saw a sketch of a woman. If Aoba's depiction did her justice, then she must have been gorgeous, although there was a certain look in those eyes that made his skin crawl.
"Huh. How many tails is that?"
"Nine." He supposed that shipgirls could have supernatural traits as well. "Say, do you have any pictures of Enterprise?"
"Why?"
"I want to see the Grey Ghost, that's why. Come on, it's only fair. You get a peek at Akagi, I get to see Enterprise."
He stood up. "I think I've got the photo somewhere."
"Ohoho, should Nevada be worried?"
"No." Scrounging around, he found what he was looking for. "Here! The glamor shots!"
Most of them were pre-Pearl, although he knew for a fact that some of the shipgirls played a role in recruiting afterward. Of their own volition, of course. He had heard horror stories about Pennsylvania's handler: Penn was spitting nails after Pearl, and she nearly sent him back to the mainland ballistically after he arranged a photo op without asking her.
Of all the girls who did the propaganda, Enterprise, in particular, was huge. The white hair, the imposing figure, the deck, the honest-to-goodness bald eagle? Incredible. Not many pictures of her with the infamous bow, though. (Something about it not fitting into American ideas of technological and industrial might, he thought.) Being a war hero shot the popularity of her photos through the roof as well.
Aoba sat down on his desk, looked at a picture of Enterprise, long white hair whipping in the prop wash, and whistled. "Wow. Was she why you signed up?"
"Nah. Well, not her alone. Shipgirls always interested me, and somehow… I ended up here." He had tested well on whatever metrics the Navy used for shipgirl commanders, well enough to get a command in the first place, but he wasn't the best.
"Are you interested in any of the girls here?" Aoba smirked. "... In me?"
"On a philosophical level? Absolutely."
"That's not what I meant."
"Well, I don't appreciate gossip-mongering. Now get your butt off my paperwork."
"It's not like I could make it any worse…"
It was his turn to cook dinner, although Kinugasa had volunteered to help him with it. No Aoba in sight, unfortunately, which made communication tricky.
From outside the kitchen, he could hear music over their radio, and a famous voice. It was the sort of schmaltzy stuff Lexington always sang, all heartfelt longing… it made him more nostalgic than he would admit.
"How are you?" Kinugasa's pronunciation was slow and clear, faster than the mile-a-minute pace she and Aoba could reach while speaking Japanese to each other.
Thankfully, he had been briefed on the basics of small talk. "Feeling… how do you say… want home? Want to go home?"
"Homesick."
"Yes. A little homesick. Not much." He sighed. "The salt, please."
She passed it over to him, and he added a fair portion to the potatoes, which he hoped to turn into some wholesome mashed potatoes. The keyword being hoped, because it was one of those foods (read: most of them) that was not particularly helped by dehydration or freezing.
"What would you eat at home, Miller?"
"Mashed potatoes and steak, with fresh vegetables…" He shook his head. He was getting himself far too hungry for what he was cooking.
The canned meat was, as always, a delight. "What is this stuff?" Kinugasa huffed.
"Spam."
"Spam?"
He shrugged. "Pork, I think." Kinugasa gave the meat a questioning look, likely comparing it to all the samples of pork she had in her life… It was certainly an outlier in that regard.
"I'd prefer fish."
"How do you cook it? In Japan?"
She went into a monologue that he could sort of understand as they finished cooking. Still, he could tell that it was something that she was quite passionate about, although her ability to actually go through with it was… limited, for obvious reasons.
Still, he got the vague idea of what her favorite recipe was, and it did sound pretty appetizing…
"Maybe, when this is over, you can make some for me?"
"If you cook something for me."
He smiled and nodded, and both of them tried not to think about what would happen when the war was over. Logistics might not be an issue once things came to an end, hopefully… the problem would be politics.
But for now, they were far away from that. Maybe a second rescue mission was going to break down the door any second and would spirit the Sakura girls back to their homeland. Maybe the OSS were going to start asking awkward questions.
Miller got back to work. The dehydrated potatoes wouldn't cook themselves, after all, and that was something he could exert a lot more control over than the flow of material or movement of fleets.
Sometimes, his eyes would wander to the tail. It really was remarkable that she could control it… did she have new nerves for it, alongside the ears?
How did she maintain it, even? Did they have like, tail shampoo back at the Sakura home base?
Kinugasa cuffed him (fairly gently) on the head. "Don't stare."
He had the decency to flush.
"Of course we wash our tails. We're not wild animals."
"I mean yeah, I kind of figured as much, but is there like, a method?"
"Apply shampoo, lather, rinse. It's not hard."
He nodded. "Wait, do you have to cut holes in your skirts?"
Aoba raised an eyebrow. "Awfully curious today, aren't we?"
"That's rich coming from the journalist."
"How would you feel if a journalist started asking you how you shaved in the morning, or what kind of underwear you have on?"
"Sorry."
"I suppose Kinugasa and I are just that interesting?" She mused.
"You are absolutely fascinating."
Aoba laughed. "I'm flattered, Miller."
After a few moments of silence, enjoying 'premier' American cuisine, Aoba spoke again. "Well, if you're asking personal questions, I've got to know… what's your first name?"
If Aoba was expecting some big reaction from his girls, she received none. "Wait, they already know your first name?"
"Of course they do, they just don't use it." He rolled his eyes. "You ever hear of military discipline?"
"Military discipline? Weren't you making Craven ice cream and carrying her around earlier?"
"Yes…" He conceded, "But I like Miller. It's perfectly fine."
"What, do you have a really embarrassing first name?"
"A rare one, I suppose. My father blessed me with the name Absalom."
"Absalom."
"Yes. Absalom Jay Miller." She might have snorted there, he pretended not to notice.
"Why Absalom?"
"It's a biblical name, my father was a particularly religious man. Even then, an odd choice, given…" He trailed off. "Not important. Why are you interested?"
Aoba looked a little embarrassed. "Well, I've only got the one name, you know."
Huh. And he supposed it wasn't even her name, not entirely. She shared it with the ship. "Well, counting your class… you'd be… Aoba Aoba, then?"
"No thanks."
He carried on regardless. "That would make your sister Kinugasa Aoba?"
"Aoba Kinugasa, actually. Surname first. Although I still object to the surname Aoba. It's stupid."
"Hmm." Miller nodded. Shipgirls, barring the occasional ship who were named after people and inherited a full name, didn't really have last names.
That was just one of the many things Miller worried about when it came to them…
"Say, did you get paid?"
"Huh?"
"Back in Japan. Did they pay you?"
"Wait, are they paying shipgirls over here?"
"Despite my requests…"
"Then it's just the same." Aoba sighed. "I mean, sure, we were probably better off than the average citizen, but no pay."
"Of course. Because why would you do anything but serve the country?" Miller muttered.
"We are fighting a war."
"Yeah, but you should be able to support yourselves peacefully someday."
"We're built to fight."
"And? That doesn't mean it's what every shipgirl wants. Is it what you want out of life?"
She sighed, seeming to work up her courage for a moment. "Not particularly, no…"
"You want to write."
"I do."
"So you need a suitable name, don't you? Something to put on the cover of your bestseller."
"Yeah…" she stroked her chin.
"The chance to choose your own name sounds nice. Defining yourself…" He paused. "Just talk with Kinugasa before settling on something."
He walked over to the woman in question, who was attempting to feed Kisaragi some mashed potatoes.
"Was dinner good?" Miller asked, looking backward.
Kisaragi nodded, although he had a bit of trouble seeing it, given she was riding piggyback.
He supposed kids learned languages better when they were younger…. Although Kisaragi's current preference was for an intriguing sort of English-Japanese pidgin.
Thankfully, she seemed a little tuckered out. Admittedly, Langley had damn near blown a fuse when she saw the mess Downes and Kisaragi had made of the library, but it bought Miller some peace and quiet now…
He had to pull out the chastisement for that- of course, he was a bit stricter towards Downes, who should have known better, and he really, honestly tried to talk down Kisaragi. (The entire time, he could feel Downes' glance burning into his skull.) Kisaragi had been shocked by it; quite upset, actually.
Thankfully, by the time dinner had rolled around, Kisaragi had forgiven him for his apparent slight.
"Tomorrow, I was thinking I could teach you how to read. Does that sound fun?"
"Mhmm." Kisaragi nodded again.
He set her down in bed. "You can read to me instead of me reading to you. How does that sound?"
"Sounds… hard…"
"I'll get Aoba to write you something easy, how does that sound?"
"Big Sis Aoba… writes?"
"Yeah. She wants to make a book like this one." He held up one such example, although his curiosity was piqued. "If Aoba is your big sister, who's your mother?"
"Fusou's my mommy, silly."
"She is? Why don't you tell me about her?"
Kisaragi proceeded to explain what she remembered of her old life. Some details of her actual sisters, the matronly-sounding Fusou, and a few other characters.
After leaving Kisaragi to her rest, he wandered around the port a bit. His eyes wouldn't do anything the girl's radar couldn't, but checking with his own eyes was reassuring.
It was a bit of a surprise to see someone else out on the beach. "What are you doing out, Craven?"
"It's too nice to spend the whole night inside."
He ruffled her hair. "Just don't stay up too late, alright? We need you at your best."
"I'm not at my best, though!" She pouted, gesturing towards her ankle. "How are we supposed to do our best if I can't cheer properly?"
Miller could have made the point that seeing her jumping around was damn near impossible during battle and definitely not the thing they should be focusing on but he refrained.
"And your dulcet tones aren't enough?"
"The point is that I'm not giving my all-"
"I don't want you hurting yourself, Craven."
She stared at him for a second, before letting out a long sigh.
"Well then… I suppose I'll need your help to get back."
"Craven-"
"I'm not sure if I can get home safely." Craven put on her best puppy dog eyes. "All this unstable sand-" the sand she had walked over to get here, "-and the dark? I could fall!"
"Do not get used to this." He hissed.
Getting the newspaper out here was impossible. Well, it could be done, but Miller wanted something a little better than binging several weeks of news whenever a resupply ship came by.
There was the radio, whenever he could pry it out of Craven's hands. (Yes, he could recognize when his indulgent policy with her came to bite him in the ass, thank you very much.)
Sometimes Langley accompanied him in listening, although she always seemed to know a bit more about the news than he. Did he listen to it on her shipboard radio, maybe?
Whatever the case, he and Langley were listening to updates about the war. The naval front was their immediate, existential concern, but the land still mattered, of course.
After the conclusion of a report about the Germans in Russia, Miller almost jumped when he heard " Breaking news from the Pacific!"
"We've received substantiated reports of Japanese ships shelling their own positions, and infighting in the Japanese navy off Singapore and the Philippines."
Langley wore the same shocked expression that he imagined he was wearing. The announcer elaborated a bit more before closing off that particular section of the news.
"We are certain that the brave men and women of the United States military will seize upon this opportunity to deliver us to absolute victory!"
"You hear that, Langley? They believe in us." He tried to act a bit more confident than he really was.
She gave a thin smile. "Then we have to live up to their expectations, don't we, Commander?"
"Let's see if Aoba has anything to say about it." Anything to assuage the deep, unnerved feeling he had.
He supposed that the logistics of establishing a rebellion were easier when each person you convinced came with an entire warship…
Aoba had proven nearly as surprised as they, although once she had calmed down, she had hesitantly proposed the idea of some sort of traditionalist coup. Or attempted coup, given how the fighting had spilled out into the greater Pacific.
Even though such a conflict should tie up the Sakura for some length of time, Miller knew that it was still his duty to patrol. Any number of things could complicate the Pacific. Would the sirens throw in their lot with one side, or attempt to impede American progress? Hell, what if Miller had to intercept fleeing Sakura ships?
Such thoughts were on his mind as helped Downes carry some charges onboard.
"At this point, you've just got to admit it!"
"Admit what, Downes?" He knew what she was implying, of course.
"You're some sort of Sakura-magnet, that's what! Like catnip." Downes stroked her chin. "Is foxnip a thing?"
"I hope not. The last thing I need is Akagi on my tail."
Downes elbowed him, waggling her eyebrows. "Oh, I'm sure she'd be sweet on you in no time!"
"Where do you get that idea?"
"Come on, Commander! Aoba's warmed up to you."
"Really?"
"What do ya mean, really? She appreciates you looking after Kisaragi, in her own sorta way."
"Oh, I haven't done all that much, Downes. You've all helped me out. Craven saved her."
"Yeah, but I'm not the one who tucks her into bed every night, am I?"
"I suppose… but I couldn't just leave her alone."
"You're doing your best for her… I think?"
"Is my best enough for her?"
Downes grinned at him.
"What?"
"I dunno. That just seemed… very dadly, what you just said."
"Dadly? Do you mean fatherly?"
"Whatever. You're a dad, Commander!'
Of course, they weren't just sailing out with damaged ships. Shipgirl magic (because that was what it was to him, despite the hard work of America's finest minds to explain it scientifically) made repair significantly easier, although he had heard that repair ships greatly expedited the process. Somehow. Of course, small-time commanders like himself wouldn't be getting any visits from Vestal.
What to do with Aoba and Kinugasa had been a bit of a conundrum. He, of course, envied the significant advantage in firepower they'd bring to a fight, but making them fight their countrywomen was likely impossible. And a war crime, not to mention just being a pretty cruel thing to do.
So they set sail sans their cruisers. Other than potentially teaching them a lesson about how distance impacted a shipgirl's relation to her ship, it kept them close. Admittedly, some of his fears about them had been abated, but he wasn't completely crazy.
They sailed out far, Aoba informed him that she had some limited control over her ship even at range, and the first day ended rather uneventfully.
The most interesting part of the second day were some torpedo drills. The destroyers (read: just Downes and Craven) got into some sort of complex tag analog before he told them to knock it off.
As for action on the third day…. Well, Miller supposed that there was the story he read for Kisaragi?
Their return was marked by no action-packed escapes or close calls.
Downes was quite disappointed that they didn't encounter much of anything. If there were more than nine people on the base, he'd have started worrying that she had started a betting pool about him… 'recruiting' more ships.
He was relieved to have gone through a blessedly normal patrol. While he wasn't an expert, he imagined that showing Kisaragi that the ocean was safe would be a good thing.
Some of her initial jitters had gone away- he had heard kids around that age could be pretty keen and he didn't want her drawing some association between the ocean and battle.
Of course, what with the sirens and the war, that was the current reality and could remain as such for a long while.
Things started to change as the United States seized upon the chaos in the Sakura ranks. Great offensives were being planned, shipgirls being massed for decisive strikes… and that meant some inevitable shuffling of Miller's responsibilities.
Thankfully, things weren't so dire that the Navy needed every shipgirl available… meaning he got to keep Langley and Nevada. (Although with no offense intended toward the former, he wouldn't bet on her against Akagi. Not alone, at least.) He would have thought that Nevada might have had some utility in shelling islands, but she hadn't been reassigned…
Unfortunately, the redistribution of fighting ships meant that the amount of area they had to keep an eye on had expanded massively. If nothing else, Downes couldn't complain about boredom anymore- they needed to sortie far too often for that.
Sometimes, he almost felt jealous of Aoba, who got to laze around and write as they rushed to prepare. He wondered if it was animal instincts that made her want to bask in the sun as she was doing now…
"You know, making them help load the ships would not be a war crime, Commander."
"I know. But they both went on that hare-brained mission to rescue Kisaragi- how do you think they'd feel if we went out and sunk someone with a munition they carried aboard?"
"Would they feel any less guilty being aboard the very ship that did the deed?"
"Yeah…" he conceded. He couldn't really imagine a fight going too well. They'd probably have to lodge Aoba and Kinugasa in the brig…
The situation would be uncomfortable however they approached it- they were from two different sides of a war, even if they had broken bread together- but Miller did want to avoid anything exceedingly cruel. And war crimes. He did want to avoid those.
Maybe this was just his conscience taking whatever concessions it could get in the midst of war. Helping three people… that was hardly anyone at all, compared with the casualties on the other fronts.
But it was something that gave him a bit more hope as he went out to patrol those boundless seas.
His hope, of course, was for nothing but empty horizons.
Technically speaking, was a horizon empty if it was no longer visible? Well, he supposed that in a weird sort of way, he was seeing two…
He had read reports, heard of the experiments… but the great seam in front of him defied belief, reality itself torn asunder by the power of the Sirens.
Through it, he could see a world with a bloodstained sky and black sea, broken up only by looming ruins that did nothing to hide a horizon that looked like clotting blood. Even the whitecaps seemed gray. A sickly wind blew from the far side, carrying a disgusting, burnt sort of smell.
A Mirror Sea.
Instructions regarding them had been to collect observations… and then force them closed by any means necessary. How to do such a thing was left up to the enterprising Commander.
It made the more inquisitive side of him very excited. Was the origin of wisdom cubes right there, just within his reach?
However, the more rational side of him quickly squashed that idea. Whatever marvelous technologies were available on the far side would be worthless if his fleet didn't survive to snatch it. He was enough of a tactician to understand the concept of laying baits.
Admittedly, he wasn't the expert on this sort of thing. "Aoba, what do you think?"
"It's a Mirror Sea, alright. I don't think it's worth it, Miller. They'll eat us alive in there."
He sighed. "Langley, if you would, send a plane through?"
"Yes sir."
One of her planes circled around before flying into the Mirror Sea, the width of the gate more than enough to accommodate it.
"What's it like?"
Langley hummed. "Whatever's making the sky red doesn't seem to affect the plane too badly. No siren aircraft in sight…" Her voice trailed off. 'No siren aircraft in sight' meant absolutely nothing, with how fast they could travel.
She made a few other observations. Just about anything. Gravity seemed about the same, air was breathable (or at least workable for combustion engines)...
"Commander?" Langley's tone sent a shiver down his back. "You can see the ruins in the Mirror Sea, yes?"
"Yeah. I figured they were rocks…" Admittedly, Miller hadn't done much sailing in rocky seas, but he imagined they'd look a little like that desolate view.
"They're not rocks. Rocks don't have shattered windows."
It took him a moment. "Son of a bitch." Well, he heard the sirens had female forms, so he supposed they were daughters of bitches?
Regardless, Miller could come up with very few reasonable answers to how buildings got there that didn't make his head spin in the worst possible way. No one was quite sure where the sirens came from… this, he supposed, was one possible someplace.
For a few moments, they stood there, transfixed by that strange world, and Miller knew he had to make a decision. The reward would be great, assuming he could collect it, but the risk…
The radio broke him from his indecision. "Enemy subs, Commander!"
An angular black shape rose from the water, harsh black lines gleaming under the moonlight. A turret, still wet with seawater, turned towards them, its outline in sharp, glowing red.
Then a second rose from the sea, shortly followed by a third. Eventually, they formed a great crescent shape behind them… and with a sick feeling in his stomach, he had a feeling they were being herded.
They quickly learned that the submarines would fire their guns if they got too close- and their evasive maneuvers lead them inexorably towards that great, ugly tear.
Miller dry heaved- again- and violently coughed, the air thick with ash and difficult to breathe, even before the horrible, artificial smell. Taking a momentary break from his life-or-death struggle with his lungs, he looked behind the ship, where they were still being tailed by submarines.
They followed relentlessly, evidently toying with them in the comfort of their own home turf. Whenever things got too hot, the submarines would dip underwater, where the destroyers heckled them with depth charges.
Rumors said the sirens were sadistic, and they might have been right in this case. It was tiring, endless work, a state of constantly being on edge that drove them mad… Their mood wasn't helped by their surroundings.
If there was any doubt at a distance, it was painfully evident up close. Great, yawning husks of concrete, covered in thousands of windows with shattered-glass teeth, glared down at them, leaning at precarious angles, sinking into the black. Curiously, he saw no barnacles ringing the bottom… were they at high tide, or was the water here somehow incompatible with the things?
They tried to flee, although he couldn't help but worry he was being herded into some elaborate trap. That wasn't helped when he heard a faint sort of propeller sound in the distance. The sirens didn't use props, though…
Eventually, they freed themselves from a particularly tight cluster of ruins, the air around them open…
"What the hell?"
Something hovered in the air there, looking very much like a manmade, non-siren product, although he didn't recognize the design. Two spinning blades kept it in the air- he figured the process was something like the propellers which drove ships through the water- and although the seat at the front was empty, Miller was struck with the feeling of being watched.
That would have been worrying enough, but the black cross on the vehicle's side raised an entirely different rash of questions, although the first and foremost was this: What were the Krauts doing here?
He really, really hoped that the rumors of the more monstrous Ironblood rigging eating sailors alive were just rumors.
The girls, nearly as shocked as he, didn't open up with AA, and he never ordered it. He was hesitant to say it… but it might have been friendly, at least compared to the sirens. And they needed friends.
It flew, and they worked up the courage to follow it. They eventually caught sight of the ship that it must have launched from. A cruiser, with three turrets, some torpedo tubes, and a flat area where the aircraft must have launched from. She flew the German naval jack proudly.
For a few moments, they just sort of gawked at each other, unsure of what to do. Sure, a lone aircraft implied a ship it was launched from, but seeing it in person?
"Commander?" The radio crackled.
"Let her join our formation. Show her we want to cooperate."
The girls proceeded to fill the air with radio chatter, hopping across frequencies like mad alongside more old-fashioned light signaling. She seemed to get the gist of it, coming up behind them- where the smallest number of her guns pointed their way- before starting to zig and zag strangely, barely keeping pace.
All the while, her strange little aircraft flew overhead, scanning the water as the cruiser dropped things off of her side, things Miller couldn't quite recognize until flumes of water rose up behind her. Wonderful. She was a minelayer, at least in part.
The combination of the mines and aircraft proved a deadly combination. He'd bet money she could detonate them remotely, and with an eye in the sky…
"Girls, help the poor woman out! Depth charges!"
He couldn't really tell how much of a help they actually were, but the volume of fire made the siren's jobs that much harder. Admittedly, it was impossible to see them turn tail and run, but eventually, the girls gave 'all clears' and the aircraft landed safely on the German's launch pad.
"If you'd bring us in a little closer, Langley?"
The cruiser hesitantly came to meet them, a shipgirl standing at her prow.
Like Langley, she had glasses and a certain scholastic look to her, although her hair was the color of an overcast sky instead of green. She looked ragged, leaning heavily on the railing. With a sloppy salute, she retreated inside her ship for some long overdue rest.
Getting out of the Mirror Sea proved to be quite a conundrum, not helped by the fact that Koln had practically collapsed at her post the moment the submarine threat was handled.
Langley had worried about launching her planes, for fear of catching the attention of someone malevolent, but this was the siren's sea. Miller was almost certain they knew, but for whatever reason, they had been spared.
So Langley's planes gathered as much information as they could from those alien seas, staying up late to pick up any scrap of information possible.
As much as Miller wanted to accommodate their German 'friend', he didn't want to spend too long in the Mirror Sea… so he balanced himself precariously on Langley's rigging and headed over, alongside some supplies.
There was no sign of the woman on her deck- it'd be a damned foolish thing to do, sleeping up there- so they cautiously plunged into the depths of the cruiser, the doors still swaying on their hinges.
"You can close your own doors, can't you, Langley?"
"Yes. It's easy… I suppose she was just that tired."
He couldn't help but take note of her structure as they walked through silent halls. Where the arsenal was, the crew quarters, the elevators for ammunition…
There was a certain uneasiness about the whole ship, considering that it was several hundred below capacity. Back on board his own ships, there were a few lived-in parts- all the beds you could ever need!- but lots of empty space, and it seemed that was a trend.
Typically, that little bastion of occupied space was fairly close to the bridge, just for convenience's sake. So that was the direction they headed.
Langley gasped when they finally found her- Miller imagined it would be a pleasant surprise to see a fellow book connoisseur out here. That enthusiasm was dampened slightly when they realized all the books were in German. Still, a kindred spirit was a kindred spirit…
"Keep an eye on her, would you?" Langley nodded, and Miller plunged back into the depths of the ship.
Eventually, he found the kitchen and set about making a cup of coffee. With his own supply. Not for fear of poison or anything- what sort of certified dumbass would poison their own food?- but rather because he'd certainly appreciate the real thing instead of whatever ersatz crap she had.
By the time he had returned, the cruiser (maybe he was actually cruisernip?) was still dozing peacefully on the table, her glasses askew and hair disheveled. Meanwhile, Langley was looking through some papers.
"Anything interesting?"
Langley let out a long sigh. "I'll have to pick up German now, won't I?"
"You think she'll have an Enigma sitting around somewhere?"
Langley nodded. "Almost certainly. With that…" she squinted at one of the papers, " Hubschrauber? Helikopter? Regardless, with that thing on board, I imagine she would have been sending secret reports back constantly."
"Check the radio room… after we wake the lady up. Say, did you get her name?"
"Koln. Her name is Koln."
Miller nodded and tentatively nudged the woman's shoulder. He jumped back when she started, rising from her chair and then quickly stumbling to the ground.
Miller stepped up to her, holding out a hand to help her up. "Uh, guten morgen?"
She took his hand and rose to her feet, instinctually brushing at her skirt and readjusting her glasses. Once she was on her feet, he passed her a cup of coffee, which she accepted gratefully.
"Milk?" She nodded, seeming to understand. Thank goodness for cognates. It was powdered, but she settled for it.
After a sip, she muttered "Danke."
Miller tried not to stare at her too intensely as she savored the flavor of actual, honest-to-goodness coffee. There was definitely a conversation to be had, but they could have it after she had a minor creature comfort.
After she finished her drink, she took another look at him and Langley- who still sat in front of a pile of papers- and muttered something that Miller could recognize… as an expletive.
For a moment, she closed her eyes, probably taking stock of the situation, before she sighed and put her mug down before raising her arms in the air.
Even without a phrasebook on hand, he could get the gist of it.
Koln knew she was in trouble the moment scouting the Mirror Sea was proposed. Oh, they just wanted the Kolibri tested in unfamiliar environments! It would give her the adaptability she needed to survive in the Mirror Sea!
She knew she was a plaything. The last of her class, given away as some sort of sick tribute to the sirens. The helicopter was an oddity. Maybe it was some attempt at impressing them, as if Command had deluded themselves into thinking they brought anything to the table… The sirens hid everything. Koln knew with almost complete certainty that they must have mastered helicopters in ways she could only dream of.
Even the machinery that sent her to the Mirror Sea was built on a siren foundation. Like the peasants who took their building materials from ancient Roman ruins, attempting to construct a pale copy of that splendor and power.
Inside the sea, she was hunted. She wasn't even given the dignity of something quick. They wore her down, keeping her paranoid, keeping her looking over her shoulder, causing just enough trouble that she couldn't dismiss sightings…
She was rather out of things by the time she bumped into them. The Americans. At the time, all that really mattered to her frazzled brain was 'not siren', and with that hurdle cleared, she was happy to help them.
Her salute was a result of massive sleep deprivation… she was just glad it hadn't kicked in while she handled the mines.
When she woke up next- after that embarrassing stumble- she almost thought she had gone to heaven, what with the actual coffee, although it wasn't really complete without Karlsruhe and Konigsberg.
When her brain functions had been properly restored, she realized that she had let herself fall into American hands. Somehow. And the shipgirl was reading her papers. Wonderful.
"Shit."
Surrender was the only real practical option, especially when her radar revealed her to be surrounded… admittedly, she couldn't bring herself to get too worked up about the bastards who had 'volunteered' her for Operation Siren-Chow. Why die for them?
She could have probably used her rigging to ruin a not inconsiderable portion of those documents… and as much as part of her howled for vengeance, she just wanted it to be over, dammit. If she died out here, the memories of Konigsberg and Karlsruhe left in her head were gone for good. They would be a table of statistics somewhere, a brief article, maybe a memorial. Nothing more.
So she let the less important data slip out of her hands. She followed the American captain and his shipgirl- a short little thing, although intrigued by her papers in a way that implied a keen mind- where she was passed into the custody of a towering blonde.
Sitting in the brig of… Nevada? In her brig, Koln guided her other self, the ship, alongside this American fleet. None of them seemed to match the intelligence about the Atlantic fleet… the wonders of the Mirror Sea would never cease, it seemed.
The carrier's planes scoured the skies, and in time found an exit. They managed to slip through, although she was left with the unnerving feeling of being permitted to live another day… maybe they had proved entertaining.
Their exit proved to her that the Mirror Sea had some remarkable properties. This was definitely not the Atlantic, much less the Baltic. It seemed she had been sent halfway around the world.
All the while, Nevada watched her like a hawk, her rigging promising certain death even if she had the courtesy to aim it away. Still, she didn't seem all bad. She would occasionally communicate with her fellows over radio but didn't attempt to bridge their language gap otherwise.
While Koln contemplated grim potential futures like being handed over to American intelligence, the door swung open, and Koln was forced to grapple with the increasing oddity of her situation again.
The shipgirl who just walked in had a tail and ears, covered in soft-looking fur. That was only a momentary distraction, however. The food she carried sent Koln's stomach rumbling.
Anything would have worked at this point, and while she wasn't quite familiar with the dish placed before her, it seemed edible. She had a bite in her mouth almost before she realized. When it turned out to be good- really, really damned good- she gave the fox woman a smile.
"Kawaii!" She cooed. Koln couldn't understand- was that Japanese?- but nodded her head respectfully anyway.
After a quick 'thank you', she ate as quickly as her dignity allowed. Once her stomach was full, she looked back up at the fox woman, who proceeded to introduce herself as Kinugasa.
This was only more proof that she was far from home, in the custody of an allied Commander who had recruited Sakura… even if only for the purpose of housekeeping.
Curiouser and curiouser.
"What are you writing, Aoba?"
"Just a little something on the Mirror Sea."
"May I see it?"
"Since you asked this time… just make sure to give me some feedback, alright?"
He took the sheet of paper, which was, surprisingly, written in… "English?"
"We all need to know what we're facing, I think. You Americans included." She grinned. "This better get me one of those Pulitzers."
"You have to be American to win the Pulitzer."
"Really? Son of a bitch. Suppose I'll have to settle for the Nobel, then."
"Oh, only the Nobel?"
"Mhmm. Now to get critiquing, Absalom!"
"Don't call me that!"
Honestly, Miller thought she would get much more meaningful critique if she passed it off to Langley, but at the moment their carrier was busy poring over every German document she could get her hands on.
Hell, he had redirected Aoba to help him draft some of his reports about the Mirror Sea and the motherlode they had found within. He did occasionally have to step in to make some of her descriptions a little less flowery, but she could write a riveting tale- one that would hopefully give the eggheads a lot to work with.
Their observations about the Mirror Sea would be enough to get the scientists thinking, but Koln had carried a treasure that might have been worth its weight in gold: the cryptography gear and the paperwork about the helicopter tests.
That wasn't just curiosity-inducing; it was potentially war-winning. This was definitely stuff that Koln shouldn't have let fall into his hands…. Some of the books were actually weighted with lead, to expedite sinking, but they remained high and dry.
There was just the matter of getting them into the hands of someone who could do something about it. So they turned away from their home base… and towards Midway.
He could already hear the roar of propellers.
Shortly afterward, a flight of planes landed at Midway Atoll, after managing to thoroughly spook the garrison of the isle, who were still worried about an attack courtesy of Akagi and company.
Allied planes were relief enough… the papers and machines stuffed into every nook, cranny, and emptied bomb were even better. That was a pleasant surprise for a number of men quite a ways up the chain of command.
Some recommendations for awards were made, although they would have to be postponed… they couldn't exactly announce Koln's capture from the rooftops. It'd ruin their cryptological coup before it could even be put to good use.
Meanwhile, Miller's fleet rushed back home to continue their normal duties- they had to go a bit out of their way to get the stuff to Midway, after all, and even if the Sakura were feuding among themselves leaving the base alone was a tremendously bad idea.
The cranes had flown the nest. Akagi's fury, already provoked by the battleship betrayals, became borderline apocalyptic. (Her hair-trigger temper caused nearly as many defections as Fusou's smooth-talking did.)
That evened the odds a bit, but Fusou and Mikasa- the heart of this little revolt- were still faced with an uphill battle. Fusou and Yamashiro had their catapults, but it just didn't cut it in pitched air battles.
Thankfully, Fusou managed to dissuade Mikasa from pursuing some sort of hare-brained decisive battle scheme. They'd almost certainly lack air superiority in any such battle…
So as much as it may have galled the elder battleship, they went about a campaign of heckling. Striking ships which sortied alone, picking on isolated groups, and generally making it so Akagi and company were in a constant state of jumping from one wild goose chase to the next.
Even then, without Zuikaku and Shoukaku they would have been done for. Carriers just had such a long range…
And when the other Sakura carriers put their planes together, their force was terrible indeed. The cranes had gotten caught up in knocking Soryuu and Hiryuu's planes out of the sky when Fusou looked up to see streams of red and blue fire in the sky.
It happened so fast, the water thick with torpedoes… the next few moments were so fast and so violent she'd never truly make perfect sense of them. The next thing she knew she was sprawled on her back.
Smoke rose in the distance, like a dozen sticks of fragrant incense, although Fusou's nose only caught the smell of oil and blood. Her own, she suspected, although the smoke was an ill omen when it came to her comrade's destiny.
In the air, planes flew, although they looked more like flaming specters, wrapped in red and blue flame. She waited for the death blow.
She waited, the planes fell from the sky, Akagi and Kaga not even bothering to conduct them in formation as they plunged towards the sea. It took them dissolving into great plumes of steam on either side of her for her to realize what was up.
They had been saved. Not the work of the cranes- although they had fought nobly- but by fighter planes whose sides were emblazoned with stars.
Eventually, the radio came to life, finally giving them some sort of answer… in the worst Japanese Fusou had heard in her life.
"Hello? Hello? This is USS Essex calling. Sorry we couldn't arrive sooner."
I promise Koln is the last addition to the cast. This won't balloon into containing every common shipgirl, but I wouldn't mind suggestions for underrated gals for other projects.
The timeline fudging grows even more apparent in this chapter.