The following months had something that was almost like routine. Wait for resupply, launch an invasion, pound the island into powder, repeat.

During that period, Craven's ankle finally reached a state Miller and the medics were comfortable with, and she got back to cheering. At that point, Lexington took the girl under her wing, to teach her the delicate art of boosting morale. It made Craven happy.

Unfortunately, because the universe apparently refused to keep things simple, another complication sprouted up.

Although if anyone would think nearly getting blown out of the water by a naval mine was fun, it was Downes. (Miller thanked his lucky stars for Vestal. Downes would have flipped if she had to be sent back home for repairs.) Of course, that wasn't the only injury that his girls suffered.

Miller remembered the first time he saw a strike. They were so occupied with Akagi and Kaga's ghostly, flaming planes that he scarcely noticed the planes launched from the island itself. At least, until one of them turned in air and dove, plummeting into one of the carriers with a ghastly howl.

Miller's shock only grew when similar attacks continued- all launched from land, undoubtedly piloted by men. Madness.

Unfortunately, Akagi and Kaga were more than willing to pull the same trick, and their phantom planes flowed from the sky in an infernal deluge, a vision from hell.

They weathered it though, although Miller found himself tending to many burns in the coming days.


With their continued successes against their mundane enemy came Siren tricks. More of their planes, rockets which howled over the water and turned in air to chase their quarry, and those terrible, screaming guns…

Whatever Faustian bargain the Axis had made was paying dividends, but even then it couldn't support a war effort alone. There were too many moving parts.

Germany began to cleave under her own weight, starved of the material that let her war machine run. With beachheads established and fairly secure routes to Normandy and the Netherlands, another front was opened as Miller and company tried to avoid sickness in the tropical clime.

Of course, that was not to say the fight was won. The Baltic was, as far as Miller heard, no man's land, a playground for Sirens. Coastal cities had been ravaged, and cities far beyond that cursed sea trembled at the thought of Siren rockets, launched from a base at Peenemünde.

It almost made Miller glad to be on the far side of the world from that whole mess.


Miller judged the range and his target's movement- slowly heading right- and predicted where'd they be before he loosed.

"Catch!"

The ball arced in the air, slowly heading in Kisaragi's direction, and the girl just barely managed to catch it.

"Good!" Kisaragi smiled upon hearing his praise. "Now throw it back."

Kisaragi clumsily threw the ball toward him, and Miller had to dive to catch it before it could hit the sand. Kisaragi eeped in shock.

Rising to his feet and dusting himself off- oh, Langley was going to be cross with him, to put it mildly- he tossed it back Kisaragi's way. She had gotten better at it, even if she was still a little jumpy.

Vaguely, he wondered if she'd stay like this forever. Nevada and Langley looked spry and young, after all, despite being very old ships… He supposed he wouldn't have to worry about kids growing up too fast if they didn't grow, but it seemed… weird. He wanted to see the person Kisaragi might grow to be.

Perhaps she was lucky. Even if she lived in the midst of war, she had a normal-ish life, throwing around toys instead of depth charges. They exchanged a few more throws, taking a break whenever her constitution failed her.

The sun was starting to set now, the horizon reddening, a smear of orange stretching across the sea between looming hulls.

He sighed. Back to business, then. Rising to his feet, he turned to Kisaragi. "Up?"

She nodded excitedly and held her hands out. He scooped her up and headed back in the direction of his fleet. They were going to be escorting some convoys at night, and Langley had already informed him of the schedule.

But they had a bit of time. "What do you feel like eating, Kisaragi?"

As she pondered that critical question, he walked, occasionally waving to some of the ships. One of them waved back with particular zeal… Richmond, he thought? The one with the oddly shaped headset. She and Aoba would talk sometimes.

Regardless, he continued on his way.


"Coffee, Commander?"

"Thank you, Koln."

With a soft smile, she sat down next to him and they both listened to the radio. Both she and Langley were quite obsessed with staying informed, compared to the more…lackadaisical girls. (He almost respected how Downes and Craven simply expected eventual victory, not sweating every little thing. It seemed… easier.)

Still, even his most pessimistic side found it hard to imagine how Germany could get itself out of this one. The Fuhrer was out of the picture- good riddance!- and Soviet forces had come face to face with Americans on the banks of the Elbe, splitting Germany in twain.

One of the German admirals had tried to form some farce of a government near Holstein, but it was over. Now it was just waiting for the verdict.

For what it was worth, Koln tried to pretend she was focusing on anything other than the radio. She had a sheaf of papers- about the helicopter or maybe the Enigma if Miller had to bet- which she tried to work through as they listened to bulletins.

Eventually, the president spoke, and Miller knew it was over.

"This is a solemn but glorious hour. I only wish that Franklin D. Roosevelt had lived to witness this day. General Eisenhower informs me that the forces of Germany have surrendered to the United Nations."

A moment of silence… then naval guns sounded all around them, drowning out something about the flags of freedom flying over Europe. Miller nearly jumped out of his seat, but Koln stopped him from sprinting away with a hand.

"Celebrations, Commander. Just celebrations."

Miller had a sinking feeling Downes was responsible for half of that noise. (He was wrong- the jubilation was universal- although Downes certainly tried her damnedest.)


Months passed by. Germany was occupied, the first few expeditions were made into the Baltic, and the plant at Peenemünde was destroyed by the fury of Allied military power… All in all, there was hopeful news coming from Europe.

Unfortunately, it seemed that new and incredible terrors weren't just something the Sirens could pull.

Leading up to it, Miller was afraid for different reasons. An invasion of Japan would be horrific, enough to make previous scraps over islands look small. While he'd be divorced from the worst of it, hellish mountain fighting and the like, it wasn't a pleasant thing to imagine, nor was the aftermath.

His knowledge of the Japanese language, in addition to giving him some utility in whatever mess occupation would turn into, gave him a glimpse of the other side, the other party screaming towards a collision. Hell, they were close enough to pick up some of the mainland radio.

The first vague inkling that something was wrong came when one of the mainland stations suddenly went off the air, bright and early. At a quarter past eight in the morning, in fact.

Strange. A bit of fiddling with the radio did nothing to restore the broadcast, and Miller sighed. Perhaps listening to the radio wasn't the most efficient means of gleaning information, but he had gradually come to enjoy it.

Rising to his feet, he began to hunt down Kinugasa. It wasn't too hard- he could follow the smell of questionably appetizing breakfast food. (Not through any fault of hers, of course- she worked with what she could get. Her skills made staying onboard with her worthwhile, even if she made Miller choke down those disgusting antimalarials.)

Sure enough, she was engaging with rations, trying to draw diamonds from the rough.

"Morning, Kinugasa."

"Morning, Commander. Did you sleep well?"

"Well enough." He saw her look and sensed the start of a lecture coming, so he tried to shift her attention. "Is there something up with the radio?"

"What do you mean, Commander?"

"Try tuning into one of the Hiroshima stations."

Her ears quirked and she got a sort of vacant look in her eyes as she focused. "Nothing."

"That's what I thought." Miller sighed. Was it some sort of blackout scheme, maybe? Like how the Brits had to turn off their lights during the Blitz- but it's not like they didn't know where Hiroshima was. They didn't need to triangulate the location of a metropolitan center, especially not in the light of day.

It took a day of chasing hazy rumors, but Miller eventually reached the conclusion that some sort of superweapon had been used on Hiroshima. Not an accidental misfire of Siren technology, but a homegrown, American bomb.

Hiroshima, if the rumors were true, was almost completely gone.

The same damage could have probably been accomplished with prolonged air raids… but to have it happen, just like that? A flash and then….

It was not a pleasant prospect to imagine. Miller let Aoba, Kinugasa, and Kisaragi stop by Fusou. The shrine maiden had apparently been laid down in Kure, some ways from Hiroshima. Miller felt horror just as a fellow human being, but he couldn't imagine having abetted- even unknowingly- the deaths of thousands of your countrymen, ones that Fusou could have even seen… hell, there was a fair chance that some of her builders could have been caught in the blast.

The world was filled with wonders and terrors beyond imagining. Miller was struck with a strange, melancholic feeling, knowing that he had already spent his last morning in the old world. Tomorrow, he'd wake up here, wake up to a sky reddened by a city's ash.


Suffice it to say that the next few days weren't marked by stellar moods.

Aoba, having apparently taken some offense at being caught so flat-footed by this new American weapon, was on the hunt for any and all information about it. He tried to reign her in, just so she wouldn't get herself into too much trouble.

There were people who didn't take too kindly to her asking questions about whatever had leveled Hiroshima, and perhaps some of that was even fair. Whatever it was, it damned well better remain secret, Miller thought. At least, how to make it.

Aoba was particularly fascinated, in a grim sort of way, with the consequences of the bomb. Details were scarce, especially the sort they'd just tell to a Japanese cruiser, no matter how helpful she proved or how Miller vouched for her.

He did genuinely admire the way she could throw herself wholly into writing. Sure, she had a tendency towards unhealthy excess which he helped Kinugasa reign in, but he respected it. There was diligence to back that reporter's shrewdness, even if packaged with an occasional tendency to get in too deep.

In this particular case, she had gotten in so deep that she hadn't heard the news that had come over the radio. Meaning Miller had to break it.

"Hey, Aoba?"

She looked up at him, some truly impressive bags sat under her eyes, and he felt a sudden urge to carry her to the nearest bed.

"Have you been listening to the news?"

"Did something happen…?"

"Yeah." He gulped, "There's been another attack. At Nagasaki."

"Nagasaki?" Aoba's usual confidence seemed to have vanished into the ether.

"Aoba?"

"That's where- that's where I was laid down."

He cringed but began to pull Aoba in Kinugasa's direction. He refrained from commenting on any hypothetical tears but stayed with Aoba as long as he could manage. Duty called, even in times like these.

A little less than a week passed by with no real news, just quiet anxiety, hoping and praying that the Japanese didn't have the willpower to suffer this as well-

Then it was over. The war against their fellow man, at least.

There was some celebration, breaking out the shitty beer and even some half-decent rice wine- called sake, apparently- but the Japanese contingent couldn't bring themselves to be quite as excited.


Getting everything back in proper order after the defeat of their more mundane, human enemies was no small feat. Several compromises were made: Sakura and German ships, even ones who had acted heinously, would receive better treatment if they turned against their Siren benefactors.

Some needed more convincing than others. With Aoba and Kinugasa's only real qualm- fighting their countrywomen- removed, they integrated themselves into Miller's fleet cohesively. The real shock among the Sakura came from one Akagi.

The cornered fox proved quite the vicious foe, but she had something of a change of heart after her sinking in a shallow atoll. (Crucially, shallow enough for recovery to be possible.) When American boarding parties started poking around, the vixen came to meet them…

She proceeded to cling onto one of her rescuers like a limpet, promising death to any woman bold enough to touch 'her man'. Disturbing? Perhaps, but the US really couldn't look a gift horse in the mouth regarding naval power. That Kaga begrudgingly came along with her sister made the deal all the sweeter.

Thankfully, the young man was single beforehand, or things would have probably gotten… quite messy. From what Miller heard, the higher-ups were fine with shamelessly exploiting Akagi's newfound wellspring of devotion, although they had faced difficulties in finding girls willing to escort her. Her possessiveness did not help in the slightest.

Arranging the fleets was a whole tangle of issues- some shipgirls were possessed of notorious tempers, and even the calmest could be provoked to fury by certain ships.

Miller had heard that Akagi, Kaga, Souryuu, Hiryuu, and to a lesser extent Shokaku and Zuikaku were very pointedly not placed in fleets with Pearl Harbor survivors, for fear of poor cooperation or violent episodes. Admittedly, Miller had a hard time imagining good-tempered Nevada murdering someone for revenge… but Downes? Yeah, he understood the logic.

(Ironically, it was Nevada who slapped Kaga across the face when they randomly crossed paths, and the battleship was not the least bit apologetic. Miller had gotten hell for that one, but it seemed to satisfy Nevada.)

Their bonds were… more than a little shaky, but the need to present a united front was obvious. Miller got to see a lot of fresh faces, although he wished they had met in better circumstances.

One of the ships he ended up cooperating with fairly often was Indianapolis. Nice kid, maybe a little shy, but noticeably, she glowed. Not in a beauty sense- although she was cute in the sort of waifish way that made Miller feel protective- but rather in a literal 'the water around her hull is filled with an unearthly blue light' sense.

Admittedly, this was pretty rich coming from the man who served alongside shipgirls, but there was something about it… ugh. At night, it was more visible, blue shining in the inky sea, seeming to declare its strangeness to the whole world. Miller couldn't begin to field an explanation, even with what he knew about shipgirls. (Was this what the ancients felt like during solar eclipses? Witnessing something entirely beyond their ken?)

Or maybe it was more like volcanoes, terrible and beautiful and also capable of subtle danger, like low-lying areas filled with fatal carbon dioxide. Logical, in its own way, but inexplicable without greater understanding.

Indianapolis insisted that they stay far away from her at all times, for safety reasons. That begged the question: safety from what? Well, that was apparently top secret, but it wasn't too much of an assumption that it was somehow related to her ship's blue halo.


Perhaps attempting to assign human understandings of the world to Sirens was just an incorrect premise entirely. Would they think as humans did, have the same conceptions of victory and defeat?

Miller didn't know. No one did. And that was just part of what made war with the Sirens so bizarre. They picked fights and got beaten into the ground- but they kept on coming.

Maybe they just had the productive power to pull a strategy like that. Any sinking on the human side would be a strategic victory if the Sirens could replace ships easily… but if nothing else, high command wasn't dumb. They didn't pick unwinnable fights, they made good use of experienced shipgirls in roles where they'd do best…

Simple stuff, perhaps, but a basic tactical foundation was just as important to victory as grander strategic aims were. Miller appreciated the simple fact that most of the time, he wouldn't be charging into a fight he couldn't win.

The girls appreciated that too- alongside the attention they were now being showered with, as mankind's main defenders. It was always good to make sure they were doing alright.

"Hey Nev, how are you?" She had settled in the shade of one of her guns.

"Nev?" she chuckled, "That's a new one."

"Bad?"

"No, it's perfectly fine."

They settled into a comfortable silence for a bit, content to just hide from the sun in the turret's shade.

"The carriers got new planes, I heard." Nevada mused.

Yes. They had. Langley was the main beneficiary among Miller's fleet, even if everyone was being presented with new seaplanes and the like.

Fighting the Sirens certainly incentivized innovation- he had heard rumors one of the Essex gals has been called back to America to do some testing involving… jets, or something? A retrofit might be in their future.

Langley and Koln had a whole lot on their plates, handling the whole helicopter thing… there was a lot of promise there, even if it meant the two didn't have as much spare time as he might have liked-

"Commander?"

"Sorry. Lost in thought."

"What's on your mind?"

"The future."

"The future." Nevada deadpanned.

"What?"

"Got anything more specific than that?"

"Just… the carriers, I suppose."

Nevada grinned. "Some of them are pretty cute."

"Not what I meant." He sighed, trying to put his thoughts into words. "I mean… it seems like they're really focusing on the carriers now, right?"

"The young 'uns, yes." Nevada chuckled, and Miller was once again struck by her experience. She had been afloat for the whole of the Great War, had seen crisis and war and atomic dawn…

And now Miller thought she might be seeing herself made obsolete.

"It just seems like they're neglecting you," Miller said.

Nevada smiled, but her eyes were melancholy. "Every dog has its day, right? It's just their turn in the sun."

"I guess…" Miller sighed, feeling impotent when faced with the march of technological progress.

Rising to her feet, Nevada offered him a hand. "Now stop moping! I promised Ise I'd go drinking with her, and you're coming with me!"

Ise was a Japanese battleship that was occasionally paired up with them, and one that Nevada had taken a liking to. She was fine enough, Miller thought, a little rambunctious and too willing to wave that spear of hers around, but not offensive…

Unfortunately, Nevada's attempt to distract him from the future lasted until Ise got wasted and started whining about wanting to be an aviation battleship. ("Whaddya mean, aviation battleships can't fly? It's in the name!")


When the war finally came to an end, there was an obvious sense of relief. Of course, Miller was gladdened by the peace- who wouldn't be?- but there was something of a snag for him: what would come after?

To put it simply, he had gotten attached, and it wasn't just a him thing. Miller thought it was just inevitable. Ship-girls were charming young women, and other than the women's auxiliaries they were usually completely surrounded by interested young men. Of course, the exact nature of these relationships varied- Miller had seen articles about marriage- but he was gratified to know that he wasn't the only man to develop paternal feelings. Especially among older captains, ones who might have been married already, there was interest in something like adoption.

(Miller had signed that petition, he'd be completely honest.)

However, there were a few hurdles in the path to integrating shipgirls as functioning members of society. They were, after all, very closely tied to some of the nation's finest military assets. The Navy would never forget that… nor would the people.

Sure, the days when the papers were full of debates about whether or not shipgirls had souls or the like had passed, but they were still undeniably different. Powerful. Women who could level buildings changed things.

Fortunately, that power meant they had negotiating power. They had to be accommodated for. Miller shivered when he imagined the demands they could make if they formed some sort of union. They could swallow up the whole of the Navy's budget and then some if they so pleased. How would you refuse them?


Paperwork. The military loved its paperwork, and just as it seemed they might escape from it, some final stumbling blocks were in their way. Well, perhaps escape was a bit generous…

Should the country ever call for them, the girls would have to answer. Hopefully, with new, modern ships on the way, that day wouldn't come, but technically they were being mothballed. (Downes said the process her ship underwent felt strange. It involved a lot of oil and paint to prevent wear, and Miller's mind generated the unpleasant image of a new layer of skin being applied.) Ideally, the ships could be un-mothballed quickly… and it was expected that the shipgirl in question would arrive in good time if called.

Considering that said process of un-mothballing would take a while- a couple of weeks, probably- that gave them options. A lot of options, actually. Basically anywhere but Nunavut… as long as you filed the proper paperwork. Of course, there was also the expectation they'd have a minder…

Anyways, there was a lot of paperwork the military was forcing them to file (or forcing Miller to file) to make sure they were properly compensated, to make sure a responsible person would keep them from getting shanked or whatever, etc.

Just out of caution, Miller looked over their shoulders as they filled it out. Langley would probably complete the forms better than he could, but he had genuine worries about Downes or Kinugasa and their ability to fill them out. (For very different reasons, of course.)

Aoba shot through the paperwork with practiced, flowing calligraphy, so fast that he barely had time to catch the name she was using. But catch it he did.

"Aoba, that's my last name."

She nodded. "That it is."

"You could have picked another one."

"I could have." She shrugged.

"So why didn't you?"

"If anyone is gonna keep an eye on me, I'd prefer someone I know. You're the least bad option."

"I'm flattered, really." Miller deadpanned, but he actually was. Aoba and Kinugasa choosing his name… it was a far cry from their (justified) standoffishness when they first met. That they could have chosen any other name… well, Miller didn't bring that up.

Huh. Miller wondered if there was some sort of term for sympathizing with your captors. He couldn't think of one. Quisling, maybe? They were, in a sense, collaborators, like that infamous Norwegian… It seemed an unflattering term, and Aoba could probably put a better spin on it.

Aoba wasn't the only spin artist among Miller's fleet- Langley and Koln apparently made a very compelling case for the latter's part in the war effort, so she was getting off almost scot-free. Her record in helping the allies was notable, and her experience with mines could have led to a remarkable career in the German Mine Sweeping Administration… but she declined.

The girls chose to stay with him, and Miller liked to think it was due to their bonds and not just a lack of other options. On the one hand, he kind of wished the shipgirls could be given free rein over their destinies, but they were all too powerful to allow that- and a fair number needed to be introduced to peacetime life which they just weren't prepared for.

Kisaragi was… an awkward question. Miller liked to think he had grown into the role of her father, but he knew her sisters were attached to Fusou, who was herself attached to her homeland. (Setting up a Shinto shrine in the mainland US seemed… unlikely, and Fusou was too useful as a rallying point for American-aligned Sakura ships.)

Miller was discussing some sort of visitation deal with Fusou. It would be good for his Japanese shipgirls to see their homeland and good for Kisaragi to bond with her sisters as much as possible.

Relations between Koln and her countrywomen were… a little chillier, as far as Miller had heard, and there were other reasons why a trip to Germany might not be so great. Already, there was pressure between the USSR and the other members of the Allies, and shipgirls running around willy-nilly wouldn't be the greatest. Suddenly, Miller was a bit more glad to be commanding a bunch of museum pieces.


A car had pulled up in town. It was one of those wood-sided station wagons, and a man had gotten out. There was a certain military crispness to his outfit, even if it was civilian, and the man certainly seemed to handle himself that way. He seemed a little lost, though…

"Hello!"

He turned, pulling a piece of paper from his pocket. "Hello. If I could bother you for a moment, I am anywhere near this address?"

The note was written in a scrawl, but after a few moments of looking, there was recognition. "Yessir. A couple of miles out of town. Business?"

"Sort of. I'm moving here. With the family."

"Well, it's a pleasure to meet a new neighbor. Andrews, at your service."

He had a firm handshake. "Name's Miller. It's a pleasure."

"If you wouldn't mind me asking… you wouldn't have happened to have bought this house with G.I. Bill money, would you?"

"Yes, actually. Did you serve?"

"Army."

"I was Navy."

"Frogman?" The navy had undergone so much trimming recently…

"Shipgirl handler."

Andrews whistled. "Where'd you serve? I might owe one of your gals a beer."

"Pacific, a little garrison in the middle of nowhere. I wouldn't mind that beer, though."

"It's a bit too early for that now." Andrews chuckled, "But I'm free. Do you need help moving in? Or are you just looking?"

"I've got a few things, yes, and I am moving in… but they're all caught up in bureaucracy, you know?"


Andrews, being neighborly, inquired into when the family would be arriving in force, and helped carry in some boxes before everyone arrived.

Eventually, the same car trundled down the road, slow and deliberate, but with some very obvious overcorrection. It came to a halt that was not quite screeching but was very sudden.

The passenger door swung open, and Miller stepped out. "You could have been a bit gentler on the brakes there."

A woman's laughter, before the driver's door swung open and a woman stepped out. The towering blonde smiled broadly before extending a hand to him. "Howdy. You're Andrews, then?"

"Yes. It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss…?"

"Nevada." Nevada? That was a damned odd name. Who would share a name with the state… unless…

Andrews turned to Miller slowly, with an expression he hoped was just awestruck and not stupid. "She's a…"

"USS Nevada, in the flesh."

"Where's… uh. Where's the boat?" Wait, was that a rude question?

"Mothballed." Nevada groused. Before Andrews could attempt to construct a proper response to that- consolation, maybe? Was it something like retirement?- Nevada turned around and opened the car's back doors.

Someone leaped from the car as soon as they could squeeze themselves from the door. Andrews instinctually backed up. That was a brilliant shock of white hair for someone so active. So young.

"Hey!" She gave him a brief greeting before shooting away. She was swiftly followed by another girl, her hair a rich purple.

"Downes! Craven!" Miller's voice was full of exasperation, but not surprise. They ignored him, and he let out a sigh. Nevada laughed.

"Should we…?"

"Nah. They'll come back eventually. They're just jumpy. Long drive." With that, Miller helped another woman out of the car. (How many were there, good grief?)

He had heard a lot of rumors about shipgirls, about their abnormal features- like vivid hair colors- but the blue-haired girl who stepped out of the car, complete with two twitching fox ears and a swishing tail… unbelievable.

The grin on her face certainly made her look the part of a fox. "Hiya. You're Andrews, right?" She stuck out a hand to shake, and he took it. "You were army, right? That's what Miller said." He nodded. "You wouldn't mind if I picked your brain a little, right? I've heard so much about you boys on the ground."

"I suppose-"

"Lay off him, Aoba." Aoba… that was a Japanese name, right? How had she ended up here?

"But-"

"Do you even have a notepad?"

"Crap!" She shot off towards the house, and Miller chuckled.

"Is she always like that?"

"Not always." Miller shrugged. (Aoba was like this in her brighter moods- but it wasn't his place to talk about when she wasn't.) He turned to help Kinugasa out, and couldn't help but smile a little upon seeing Andrews' shocked reaction. It never got old.

They exchanged a few words in- was that Japanese? It was unnerving, but he supposed they were on their side now, sort of. Regardless, the second grabbed an armful of stuff and retreated to the house- and the conversation switched from a language Andrews barely recognized to one he was moderately more familiar with. He had fought Germans, after all.

Miller was a real polyglot, apparently, considering the way he exchanged words with the next two- a shrimpy little green-haired woman and a sleek, grey-haired one. (Whatever they were discussing, was it sensitive enough that Andrews shouldn't be hearing it? Or was it just what they were used to?) The two of them had cardboard boxes stuffed full of paperwork and books, the two of them barely even seeming to notice him as they walked inside, chattering away.

"And they're gone." Miller sighed. "Maybe you'll see them again in a week. They're not usually like this, I swear."

Miller helped another one of the animal-ish girls out, though this one was much younger. She clung to Miller's leg as he reached into the car and spoke to someone.

"Cassin. Cassin. Wake up, please." He sighed. "Cassin!" There was no response, so he went further into the car, huffing a bit before pulling out another young woman, this one with black hair and a disheveled look.

"I'd say she sleeps when she's stressed, but she always sleeps," Miller complained. Well, Andrews could understand the source of said stress, considering the way the others were dashing around, already claiming rooms and such. Maybe wrangler would have described the job better than handler.


Fresh ingredients. Miller loved the mainland. He loved it so much. Kinugasa seemed similarly excited as they set about their first official breakfast in the new house. They were a few minor bumps and more than a few exclamations of "Sorry!" as they acquainted themselves with the kitchen, but it was nice.

It was a funny little mongrel of a breakfast. American bacon and sausage, rice, eggs, some miso, tea, and orange juice… about as eclectic as their collective tastes.

Downes damn near stumbled down the stairs, dragging Cassin along, while Aoba jealously protected the radio from anyone who would dare to switch the station.

Everyone else slowly filtered in (or were dragged in) barring two people Miller definitely didn't expect. Miller had a hard time imagining Langley sleeping, much less sleeping too much.

Eventually, Langley and her accomplice emerged from their lair looking significantly worse for wear.

"Good morning."

"Morning, Commander."

"Miller's fine."

Langley hummed for a moment. "I suppose it is. I must apologize- we were up late discussing a lesson plan."

"A lesson plan?" Miller asked.

"Of course! I will not live in a house with a bunch of philistines."

"What's a philistine?" Langley let out a long-suffering groan as Miller explained the context behind the phrase to Aoba.

Still, he supposed it made good sense. It would be weird to send Kisaragi to a public school, definitely.


The car purred as they drove along, and Aoba peered out of the windows with obvious interest. She had never seen a big American metropolitan, after all, and she would have probably been scribbling down notes if she had brought a pad.

Miller was a little antsy that the city would be staring back soon enough. After some… debate with both Aoba and the higher-ups, the 'compromise' they reached involved stuffing Aoba into a long dress to hide the tail, and a large hat to hide the hair and ears as best they could. She was not a fan of the ensemble, but her usual clothes…

Once they reached their destination, he opened the car door, carefully guiding Aoba out. She could handle herself in heels, but she was swaying for other reasons. "Are you alright, Aoba?"

"Fine, fine…" she demurred, "but why'd you bring me to a tailor's?"

"To get you out of these stupid dresses?" He wanted to kick himself the moment the words fell from his mouth. Aoba's grin grew sharp.

"Really now, Miller? I didn't think-"

"Do you want to get fitted for a suit or not?"

"A suit?" Aoba mused, teasing abandoned for the moment. "I suppose. But why here?"

"This is the best tailor in my price range, thank you. Someone skilled enough to handle your… features."

Aoba would admit that the reaction she got when she took off the hat was pretty great.


The Miller household became quite famous- or perhaps infamous- among the residents of that small town. How could it not? A family that big showing up would be interesting enough on its own, not to mention it being composed of shipgirls.

There were rumors about that particular house which ranged from fairly mild speculation about the daily lives of shipgirls ("I heard they drink oil!") to more scandalous stuff (usually something to the effect of "He has to be sleeping with at least one of them, right?").

Perhaps it was fitting that the first to really settle in was Nevada. She was already gregarious, had the look of a woman grown, and proved a quick study in areas outside of fighting. In particular, she was an able farmhand and a dab hand with horses.

Downes gained some notoriety for her fondness for explosives. When Miller let her experiment with them, everyone would know it. On a slightly smaller scale, she had a noted fondness for shooting. Not hunting, he should note. Just shooting. If you wanted hunting…

Well, Miller would do it fairly frequently. With both him and Downes shooting, they chewed through ammunition at a devilish pace, especially considering it was on his dime. Of all the things he didn't expect to miss, logistics was up there… Sometimes, Kinugasa would come along.

(She would sniff at the air or quirk her ears, then point him in the direction of game with a simple "Over there, Miller." She had never steered him wrong. That, alongside remarkable skill with the knife and simple pleasant company, made her presence worthwhile.)

They were all remarkable girls, even if some were perhaps a touch introverted. The town just happened to discover that. If that wasn't enough, a certain miss Aoba had become quite famous on her own. With a bit of help from Koln and Langley, who did some extra research to help, she began to write about the war.

Her memoirs were some of the first to sate a continuously growing public interest in shipgirls. If anyone wanted to know how the Miller household had come to be, it was as simple as buying a book.

Those, along with an eventual project about the nuclear bombings (researched during their occasional trips to Japan) made Aoba a noted author. She was, of course, aiming for journalistic prizes, and if he was proud, she was positively elated.

Did not being the major breadwinner make Miller prickle? Absolutely. But serving alongside living, breathing battleships served as something of an ego check. His job, in the fleet or out of it, was to facilitate them as best as possible.


I swear I didn't mean to name the townie guy after Andrew Thorson from Chronicles of the Siren War. Total coinkydink. Anyways, that's this fic brought to a close. I wonder if I've got issues writing satisfying endings.

This fic got me thinking about In This Corner of the World. It's a good film and manga, historical fiction about a Japanese girl in WW2. The IJN Aoba played a role, and it came to mind while writing this fic. One of the lines really stuck with me: 'The Aoba that cuts through the waves now dwells in the edge of your smile.' I thought the quote was nice. I think it was manga only, though.

Anyways, I'm open to suggestions for other fics, or even ideas. I wouldn't mind California and/or Tennessee, maybe? I have a title in mind for Cal but no plot, rip.

As for Peenemunde, it's a real place- in particular, the island where von Braun and company kicked around before they fled from the Soviets to Thuringia. The Sirens could have yoinked Gotland or Rugen as other options, I suppose… but Nazi rocket island seems more fitting. I could blab on and on about von Braun, but I'll spare you.

The 'farce government' refers to the abortive Flensburg government. It was formed based on Hitler's will and lasted about 3 weeks. It was in Holstein and headed by an admiral- so perhaps an Azur Lane version would have had significantly more oomph behind it.

On a somewhat related note, Stockholm Syndrome isn't a thing yet- the hostage crisis that spawned the name happened in '73. The bit where I mention Quisling refers to the Nazi collaborator of the same name- it's funny that both are Scandinavian, I guess.

The minesweeping admin was a temporary organization German naval vessels were put under until the Soviets started worrying about the Allies reorganizing the Kriegsmarine. Britain didn't want a reorganized German navy either, of course.