The first thing Roon saw once the haze of battle cleared was an open bottle of water thrust into her bloodied hand. The second thing Roon saw, was red. Unkempt red locks of hair. Roon looked up, staring right into the face of the fiery flagship of the 77th, a certain Franklin D. Roosevelt. Second of the Midway-class sisters.

Roosevelt's expression on first glance seemed impassive. But Roon quickly picked up the vestiges of a grin. Was Roosevelt actually… impressed? Somehow Roosevelt seemed to have overlooked the fact that Roon's spattered with whatever it was Sirens had that passed for blood, and borderline reeking of it and oil along with the bitter fumes of high explosives.

Roon was confused. She's accustomed to being met with apprehension, fear, disgust even, from many of the other KANSEN after a hard battle where that bloodlust of hers was expressed in full force. The only other KANSEN who would show her some sense of acceptance was Eugen, Friedrich, and that vampire battleship from the Royal Navy whose name seemed to have escaped her at that moment.

"You fought like hell out there." Roosevelt said with a nod. "Though you should'a saved some for the rest of us yannoe."

Yes, that confirms Roon's initial impression though she twitches at the second part. Was she being admonished? Perhaps not. It's most likely humor but Eagle Union humor was an odd beast that somehow always flew over her head.

"My apologies, Frau Roosevelt. Though I am sure you have read that file on me from your Kommandant. You should know what I turn into in the heat of combat. You have seen it yourself. Yet… you are impressed while others…"

"And is that such a bad thing, Fraulein? You saw how I fight."

Roon remembered it quite clearly. How those jets of Roosevelt's (whose names escaped her) had circled the battlefield like vultures observing an animal on its last legs, drawing fire from the rest of the task force and how they dived in upon sighting an opening before the seas erupted in gouts of spray, flame and shrapnel, all other sounds all other sounds including that faint ticking that occasionally played in the back of her head drowned out by the rolling thunder of jet engines and bombs going off. And then they came again, and again.

An Alpha Strike, from a single KANSEN. And this was just one. Roon had seen the aftermath of an Alpha Strike from an entire fleet in the weeks before and it was quite a sight to behold.

That chorus of fire and steel from Roosevelt alone would have continued on and on if Roon hadn't already killed off most the the Sirens they were engaging.

And then there was those times in the weeks prior where she's seen that red-headed carrier forced into close combat, almost casually dispatching Sirens with that survival knife of hers with near brutal effeciency, whenever the situation didn't allow for Roosevelt to use those two revolvers of hers. Each knife kill almost as bloody as Roon's own kills when she's putting those talons of hers to good use.

"I can read you like a book." Roosevelt adds. Already, she's got one of those revolvers out. Clearly empty, judging from how the carrier was twirling then tossing it around with seemingly reckless abandon. Roosevelt's not stupid enough to play with her guns like that if they were loaded after all.

"You love fightin' as much as I do. You and I are more alike than you think."

"You? I cannot imagine one like you being like… me."

The flagship of Task Force 77? Having the same lust for combat as her? Impossible. Even if it wasn't to the same extent, it was impossible!

"We were both born for battle, were we not?"

"You were a fully completed ship with crew who had the fortune to see action in war. I was spawned from a vague project that never left the drawing board."

"Our origins may differ but we're still KANSEN ultimately. You and I were born and raised for battle." Roosevelt had shrugged. Roon lived and breathed for nothing but combat, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically for most people. Something had to be done about Roon, as a few Ironblood officers had confided in Roosevelt the day before the 77th's first joint operation as a combined fleet with the Ironblood's finest and strongest, weeks prior. Roosevelt was nonplussed. With the exception of Coral Sea, the KANSEN of her own task force had a reputation amongst the Eagle Union's brass and the other Union Navy KANSEN as cowgirls too reckless for their own good. Handling one like Roon wouldn't be so much of a challenge, given her own experience keeping the 77th in line.

But how was one to deal with one as complex under the surface as Roon? Sure, there was that bloodlust of hers, and the brutality that came with it. But to call Roon's taste for violence in combat mindless, was a total misnomer. She was not entirely unhinged either – Roon had followed Roosevelt's own orders with little question over the past few weeks. She had the utmost respect for Roosevelt's own authority as flagship and was entirely capable of forming her own tactics on the fly. Roon was definitely not insane like most people tended to picture her. No, that went against the very logic of KANSEN themselves, both as weapons of war and as people. Roosevelt's seen through that exterior of iron and blood. She saw a fire burning bright, deep within her Ironblood subordinate. The same kind of fire she saw in her fellow KANSEN of the 77th, namely her own sister Midway, New Jersey's younger sister Missouri and their fellow veterans of a certain war; Constellation and Newport News.

No, there was no curbing this as many had wanted her to do. One couldn't really control Roon in most senses of the word. To Roosevelt however, the solution was simple enough. Roon only really needed a push in the right direction. And to do that, Roon would have to totally embrace what she was in order to take control of that bloodlust before it took control of her, the same way Roosevelt did in 1969, in that certain war that she was supposed to have left two years prior.

"These hands have killed too, Fraulein." Roosevelt lets slip unceremoniously, raising both her hands up, turning them over and then shaking them as if they were covered in the same ichor as Roon's entire self. Roon blinked for a moment, seemingly confused again.

"We kill Sirens, Frau Roosevelt. What are you on about, if I may ask?"

"You killed Sirens with your bare hands. I have killed humans with these hands." And surprisingly, Roon reacts with a look of apprehension to which Roosevelt chuckled in response.

"You familiar with 'Nam, Fraulein?"

Old memories started coming back, dredged up by that revelation. But Roosevelt seemed to be more nostalgic than anything, talking about it. Of course Roon's familiar with the Vietnam War, having read of it in history books from Bismarck's library.

"I was in 'Nam. Stayed back after my official tour of duty to help out the CIA. I've done things with these hands there for the CIA, Fraulein. Things that if I say out loud, would keep even you up at night. Things that would get most people hanged or shot. What you do to your foes now, I did with mine back then."

Roon's sharper than most people gave her credit for as Roosevelt doesn't have to spell it out for Roon to realise that the fiery flagship of Combined Task Force 77, an esteemed officer herself, was very much capable of the same brutality she was, regardless of the enemy they faced. Maybe that was why Roosevelt was so impressed with her fighting prowess, Roon thought. Maybe this was what Roosevelt meant by them being not so different after all. They were pretty much opposite sides of the same coin.

It was Roon's turn to grin. Looks like she had found a kindred soul in the most unlikely person.

"Like I said, Fraulein. We're both born for battle – Children of war, regardless of our origins as steel ships out of the shipyard or designs that never left paper. Regardless of what we did in the past and in the present." Roosevelt's placed a hand on Roon's ichor-stained shoulder. Roon had interpreted it as a sign of friendship, acceptance even.

"You see kids can be cruel, Fraulein. And I am very much in touch with my inner child, as you should be with yours. Look. I've taken a liking to you. So have some of my girls. You fit right in with us."

Yes, there was indeed a place for Roon. And that was definitely with the cowgirls of the 77th who would gladly welcome Roon into their ranks. And as Roosevelt's noted, she did fit right in though she sorely needed to get used to working in a proper team. Either way, as long as she was with them, Roon wouldn't have to put up with any more looks of fear. No more wary whispers in hushed tones behind her back. Perhaps given their own reputation, Roon would definitely feel at home with the more gung-ho girls of Task Force 77. Roosevelt made a mental note to write to Bismarck and Friedrich later. Surely they wouldn't say no to extending Roon's stay with her task force.

But that could wait. Right now, getting back to base for a hot shower was Priority One for Roosevelt.

"Alright we've wasted enough time chitchattin, Fraulein. Let's get our asses back home and get us hosed down cuz ain't no one gonna let us in looking like this!"