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"You are about to embark upon the Great Crusade, toward which we have striven these many months.

The eyes of the world are upon you. The hopes and prayers of liberty-loving people everywhere march with you…"

-Dwight D. Eisenhower

Chapter 12: The Next Step

In a location that had never been witnessed by human eyes a pale woman was starting to sweat. She had just received a status report from North Atlantic Fleet Command—the command that she was in charge of—that the guardian that had been posted in the island chain called, "The Bahamas," by the humans, has been destroyed in an open battle.

This wasn't supposed to happen. The guardians were made so that what is happening in the area doesn't happen. First the destruction of nearly a third of the naval forces in the North Atlantic in a battle that had a calculated victory likelihood of 96.4624896541% and now this? Normally she would laugh in the face of any human victory, those have been transient setbacks for the Sirens at best. But this development was concerning in a way that it hasn't been for a while. Those damn apes. And now it fell to a Siren called, "Purifier," to report this to a higher up. She hoped that Observer was in a more agreeable mood today. Damn those apes for making her have to do this. Damn them. Damn them. DAMN THEM!

Purifier removed herself from the communication outpost to make way for Observer Alpha's study. The journey was swift, even though she didn't want it to be. She didn't have to announce her presence, Observer always knew when anyone was coming to her. The door slid open and without any of her normal fanfare of laughter Purifier entered. She tried to look around the room for any amount of inspiration as to how to bring this up to Observer. Looking around only showed the usual data banks in the usual black with primary-colored highlights. She noticed that Observer hadn't said anything yet. Purifier looked her way, still without inspiration. Observer hovered in the air as she normally would in her floating mass of tentacles and guns that made up rigging with her characteristic giant metallic bow.

"Something has happened?" asked Observer. Observer's voice sounded as if a thousand different voices chanted in unison. She still asked even though she knew there was something new based on Purifier's entrance alone. But there was other evidence that could explain Purifier's current disposition.

"The humans are up to something," said Purifier, stating the obvious. Her tone laced with disdain instead of the normal insanity.

"Obviously," replied the superior being, "Now, explain to me what just happened."

Purifier decided just to get it over with. She prepared to jump away for when the inevitable retaliation from Observer Alpha came. "The Blue Hole Guardian has been destroyed by a fleet of kansen."

A fat moment passed between the two enemies of humanity and Observer smiled sweetly to her inferior. She knew that already but was still looking forward to what comes next. Purifier tried to jump away but she was no match for the speed of Observer's rigging's tentacles. One of the infernal black and yellow appendages wrapped around Purifier's ankles as she was airborne from her jump. Observer grinned further for her boon, and Purifier braced for her bane because Purifier being in the air saved Observer the trouble of lifting her. Purifier was thrown around the nearly twenty-yard-square chamber from one end to another repeatedly. Observer wasn't gentle as her tentacle flung Purifier from ceiling to floor, from one wall to the opposite, one corner to another. Sparks flew and data banks were smashed savagely.

Observer giggled at the spectacle that she was able to bring on. Too bad Purifier wasn't laughing. Or screaming. Or doing anything. It was a ploy to shorten her punishment for her incompetence. Observer wouldn't fall for it. So, the crashing continued unabated for nearly two hours in the human reckoning of measuring time. But even Observer, for all her patience, eventually grew bored. Time to try something new, but in a moment. Her tentacle came to a stop holding a severely damaged Purifier upside-down in front of her. Purifier looked to be in pain. "Now tell me what exactly happened," ordered the kraken woman.

Purifier's voice came through as a mixture of apologetic, pained, fearful, defiant, and enraged. An intoxicating combination. "A fleet of kansen from the Eagle Union Navy launched a surprise attack on the Blue Hole Guardian. Despite the efforts to aid the guardian, it was destroyed," reported the upside-down alien. Then Purifier continued, only fear was overcoming her voice, "The humans took no losses. And they slipped away undetected."

That new thing was postponed for another hour as Purifier was thrown around as a ragdoll again. Purifier was brought to report again, and Observer asked, "What made this fleet special?"

Purifier spoke in the same combination of emotions as before, only now to an even greater degree, "All ships were known from intelligence on the human base in Miami. Except one. A dazzle painted light cruiser. Files show her to be a Brooklyn-class. The one that played cargo ship for the last year. Nashville. She was flagship."

"Who commanded the fleet?" asked Observer. This was her first true question. She didn't know yet, maybe something happened to come to Purifier first. Though such a thing was unlikely.

"The captured voice on the radio was congruent with a male in his mid-twenties from the western Eagle Union. The voice was unknown to any of our probes in the human networks," reported Purifier with growing alarm for her predicament as more tentacles found their ways to her other limbs and around her neck.

"Name?" inquired Observer.

"Only an alias. The Eagle Union kansen called him, 'Magician,' over the radio."

This was the last straw, time for that new thing. Observer's tentacles tightened and in a single squelching, wrenching motion, she removed each limb from Purifier and crushed her head. A black and red colored solution sprayed all over the place like blood. Such a fate wasn't important though. Purifier could be replaced with another just like her. Well, hopefully one that was more competent.

Finding herself alone, Observer Alpha could muse over this development. The humans were making a move again. That much was obvious when the algorithm that Observer lorded over deduced that the probability of a victory for the Sirens in the long term went from 98.9416385749% to only 87.1568463525% in less than a day. Such a radical change hadn't happened in either direction since the downfall of that one human initiative. Argonautica, if she recalled correctly. Nevertheless, Observer had to admit that despite being closer to wielding clubs as primary weapons than to the technological majesty of the Sirens, the humans were cunning and persistent. They seemed to have learned from their past mistakes with Argonautica and were playing it much safer than before. She had to smile humorously at the irony. Now that science and hard knowledge had failed the primitive humans in their struggle, they had to turn to a magician for victory. How droll.

But what did she want to do about this? She could send out one of her favorite guardians to destroy the Nashville and her commanding officer right now. The same one that doomed Argonautica, maybe? It would be efficient. But it would close off the possibility of gathering so much data on the humans. So not yet. Observer Alpha decided that she would contact the leader of those pitiful humans feigning to eat out of the Sirens' hands. What did they call themselves again? That's right. The Heralds of the Deep.

Decision made, Observer smiled and got back to work, the haunting giggles of a thousand voices enslaved by one mouth filling her study.

XXXXXXXX

The rest of the day of celebrating at Naval Station South Point passed with laughter more than anything. Lunch came and went. But as the afternoon carried onto evening, Slade permitted that alcohol be served. And then with some goading she sat down for a drinking competition. Slade's condition though was that Las Vegas and West Virginia remain sober, which he was way ahead of her for, what with him not drinking on principle, while West Virginia was somewhat disappointed, but was ultimately okay with what might be a spectacle. May the best woman win. Hornet fell to Slade's might. Northampton couldn't withstand the Admiral's onslaught. Honolulu couldn't rage her way to victory. Montpelier putting her money where her mouth was got her destroyed. Only Laffey soundly defeated her commanding officer, citing only a slight tingle in her fingertips. Slade decided—subconsciously—that now was the time for a nap. Game over. Given that she had consumed and held down enough alcohol to make the lords of Valhalla proud Commander decided that the rest was well earned. Nashville discovered a taste for whiskey from Tennessee. With more time and more consumption, she slipped into her heavier southern accent. She also refused to leave Las Vegas's side after a point and took it upon herself to introduce her, "greatest most bestest friend in the whole world," to everyone in the mess hall. Everyone was happy to meet Las Vegas for a second time. Except for Slade, she didn't have anything to say. Commander found it rather humorous, but at some point, he had to be "that friend" and say that she'd had enough. He internally high-fived himself when he didn't cave before her surprisingly cute pouting.

But eventually night fell, and the merry gathering separated for their own quarters. Commander understood why West Virginia was sober. She carried Slade like she weighed nothing. Helena carried Honolulu with the same ease. Likewise, with Denver and Montpelier. Northampton and Hornet supported each other on the way out. Laffey was unimpaired, or at least no more than usual. The rest were leaving with varying conditions of intoxicated or sober, but each had some help. This left Commander with a very drunk and rapidly nodding off light cruiser, along with a camera full of drunken antics.

He started out of the mess hall for Nashville's hull with one of her arms perched around his shoulders and one of his arms around her back, still being careful to not touch her disrespectfully. But the height difference made it difficult. And then only about a quarter of the way there Nashville's legs gave up and he nearly dropped her. He managed to get his limp friend over to a bench and he heard her breathing softly, fast asleep. New problem. He had to carry her. Which type of carry though? The fireman carry would be easiest to get her on her hull. And the easiest to bump her head on bulkheads in her hull. That was a bad idea. He made another decision. Commander looked around to see if there was anyone watching. Nobody was. He carefully folded her arms onto her lap and then he slipped one arm around Nashville's back and the other under her knees. He picked her up in what is commonly called, "the bridal carry." She weighed exactly what he had expected—the same as a human of her size—and he was able to get her to her hull and up her gangway. As he did so, he battled with his own embarrassment and excitement for doing this with any woman, especially an attractive one like Nashville. Though nobody saw it, he was bright red the whole way there.

He successfully navigated the hull's passageways without disturbing his slumbering friend. But he found himself in an unexpected position. He was going to put Nashville to bed. And as such, he was posted awkwardly outside her quarters. Commander hyped himself up for what might as well have been an expedition on an alien planet. He reached out with the hand under her knees and opened the hatch. He went inside her quarters with her in hand. Flicking on a light revealed that the furnishings were just a spartan as his own quarters. Nevertheless, he could see that despite this she had made an obvious attempt to decorate. The steel walls had been painted in sky blue. She had a few posters of country singers taped up. Both the paint and the posters were probably smuggled before he met her.

He approached her bed and gently laid her down on her side, so that she wouldn't choke if she vomited in her sleep. He wondered if there was anything else that he should do for her before he retired for the night. A bucket and a glass of water would probably be nice for anybody in the process of sobering up. As he turned to leave for both of those, he finally noticed something on her desk against the bulkhead. Propped up were two photos. One was of her with Helena and Honolulu. The other was of her and him. He remembered the extras that Nashville had printed the day that they were preparing the letters for the other sisters. Both photos were free of smudge marks from fingers handling them, so it looked like she tried her hardest to care for them. He had a thought. Because there was no way to tell which held her attention more, he could assume that he was as important to her as her own sisters were. He shot down this thought. Of course, her own sisters meant more to her than he did. And he was stretching his logic with his thought anyway. But still, the question remained, what did he mean to her? He didn't know exactly. A friend, that's for sure, assuming that alcohol is indeed the enemy of secrets and she isn't hiding anything. But what did she mean to him? Well, with how things turned out, she was the closest thing to family for him. He thought for a moment and concluded that he needed his own copy of this photo. Her camera was still suspended around his neck, so he inserted it's memory card into Mr. Bond and he copied the photo of him and her, but he left all the rest. He felt that copying the rest would be crossing a line. He returned the memory card to the camera and then left in search of a bucket and a glass of water. He returned the items to her quarters and set them in the most appropriate places that he could think of. He took one last look at Nashville, who was resting peacefully, and then at her photos again, and then he left turning off the lights and whispering out, "Goodnight, Nash."

As he was laying in his own bed, he stared at the ceiling thinking about the day. It was a good day. Hopefully the first of many. As he slipped into sleep one last thought crossed his mind. He should get picture frames for Nashville to put her photos in.

XXXXXXXX

At the appointed hour Commander's alarm clock went off and for a moment he hated his life. Every morning was like this. Not because he actually hated his life, but it's just what alarm clocks do to him. He's never been a morning person. As tempting as it always was to tell the world that it could rotate without his assistance today, he knew that given his current job, days where the world could function unassisted were long gone. He got out of bed as gracelessly as always and got started on his own morning routine. Shower, shave, brush teeth, don PT gear for the morning exercises with Nashville. Oh yeah. She was plastered last night. Now that he knew ship girls could indeed get drunk, he needed to know; do they get hung over? Time to find out.

He exited his quarters to see if he'd have to wait for her today or if she was already waiting for him. She wasn't outside waiting. So now he was armed with the knowledge that if she wasn't hung over, he'd only have to wait a few minutes before she came out of her quarters. He started playing some of his own music softly over Mr. Bond's internal speakers. He rocked out for a few minutes. But enough time passed to show that something was up. Commander found himself amused at the situation. Instead of taking on Nashville's quarters immediately he decided to take a walk by the closet he got the bucket from last night. The bucket wasn't there, so it was still with Nashville. He then swung by the ship's sick bay, which Nashville hated, she'd said that too many men had died there for her or anyone to feel like they can get better there. He was looking for the ship's pharmacy and he retrieved a bottle of pain pills. Armed appropriately he made his way back to Nashville's quarters, getting another glass of water on the way for good measure. He arrived and knocked on the door.

Nashville had been dreaming of the beach. She loved the white sands with the surf that crawled up the land slowly and methodically. She loved the peace that she felt with her sisters and her commander. She loved how fine she looked in a royal blue one-piece that not only accentuated her body but highlighted both her red eyes and ash blonde hair with it's own color. She loved how her commander loved it too. But they had to have passed days on the beach and she was content to do so for eternity. Too bad that bombs decided to go off. Nobody had been hurt but by the third one the world flashed away.

Nashville fell out of bed. Her head hurt like that one time a bomb exploded underwater just off her bow in the Indies back in June of '44. "Uugh," moaned the young woman as she cradled her head.

The bombs went off again but this time they were accompanied by a war cry, "Nashville, are you alive in there?" Unfortunately, she was. She felt her stomach rising into her throat. Maybe she wouldn't be for much longer. She panicked about throwing up in her own cabin, so her eyes darted toward the head (bathroom), but it was too far. She saw a steel bucket next to her on the ground. It's presence was evidence of God in her eyes. She saw to it that the bucket fulfilled it's purpose and she emptied her stomach into it. Then more bombs went off and her head felt every concussion. Another war cry came, "Could I interest you in some help?" Help sounds kind of nice at the moment, so Nashville forced herself to her feet and walked—but not really—to the hatch lading into the passageway.

She pried it open and every squeak of the hinges grinded in her head. She saw her commander standing there. He looked sympathetic to her plight. He didn't say anything, and she was about to demand what the bombing runs were for, finally putting two and two together to interpret knocking from apparent explosions. But instead of speech he held up a glass of water to her face. She became acutely aware of how her mouth felt like a desert. The water vanished down Nashville's throat like a disappearing act. He next held up a pill bottle and shook it. Nashville held up her hand. He took off the lid and emptied two into her grasp. "There's another glass of water on your desk," said Commander quietly, detecting that she had a headache. Nashville turned and kind of walked to her deck, luckily avoiding the bucket on the ground. Abracadabra. The pills and water were gone. Commander spoke up again, "Food will help you a lot more than exercise right now. So, get yourself cleaned up and changed and then we'll go to the mess hall. Take your time." Commander reached over to close the hatch to leave her to herself and it closed after a few agonizing moments of squeaking.

Nashville moved on autopilot as she did what was ordered. She tried to fill in the blanks of her memory from the evening before. She recalled enjoying the exotic feeling of whiskey burning down her throat. She remembered some more drinking and some photos and lots of laughing. She also remembered wanting to be really close to Las Vegas, but her mind went blank from there. In the shower by now she tried to work backwards. She didn't remember getting back into her quarters last night, nor did she remember putting a bucket or a glass of water where they were. It looked like someone, most likely Las Vegas got her back. She'd have to thank him. She was also completely clothed so she didn't think that anything unseemly happened to her. She'd have to confirm. But now she was hung over. She'd only ever heard of this before and it made her never want to drink again. In excess that is. She carried on getting ready, at times carried by her muscle memory alone. She was finally ready, and by now the pills that she identified as pain meds were doing their job and keeping her head from pounding.

She stepped out of her quarters to find that Commander was already in his uniform waiting for her outside. "How are you feeling?" he asked. And he presented her with a large tumbler of incredibly black, incredibly strong coffee, one of his specialties, courtesy of his grad school studies.

"Terrible, but not as bad as I did for the wake-up call," she replied slowly. And then she said, "Thanks for the coffee, by the way."

She looked terrible too, but he didn't say anything about it. He directed, "No problem for the coffee, but take regular sips, even if it gets cold. Caffeine withdrawal will make it worse. We'll get you some more in a few hours." Then he fell out of his clinical mode and informed, "You drank a lot last night."

"Yeah, I can feel it," she retorted, but then her voice softened, "What happened last night?"

Fortunately, Nashville wasn't sensitive to light as they left her hull to go to the mess hall. But as they walked, Commander filled her in on what happened, starting from when she took her first drink to when he closed the hatch to her quarters. He of course downplayed his own experiences with carrying her, but she was grateful for his help, even if he went in her quarters without express permission. She was able to confirm that nothing happened to her last night that was unseemly. And Nashville asked how Commander knew what to do to help with a hangover even though he doesn't drink. Commander then explained how in college he had one particular roommate that practically survived off of alcohol. But as they got close to the mess hall, both were curious to see how the local ship girls were handling their alcohol the day after.

Inside revealed varied reactions to the party from the day before. It was clear that among those who drank heavily, Nashville was in the best state, due to the efforts of Commander. Only Laffey was comparable. Hornet and Northampton were clearly partaking from the same mug of misery as they sat kneading their temples in between bites of food. Montpelier looked passable if it wasn't for her shielding her eyes from any light that was semi-bright or brighter. Denver had her back and was patting her gently and with a steady rhythm. Denver only stopped to wave at the passing duo. Eldridge appeared to Nashville and Commander wanting a hug from the latter and a friendly greeting from the former. Again, she took Commander's hand and gently led him to where Helena and Honolulu sat.

Honolulu was in the worst shape of anyone there. She had her head down on the tabletop with her hat over her eyes and instead of two plates of food, one for the red-head and her blunette companion, there was one and Helena seemed to have taken it upon herself to feed her elder sister. Commander noticed a steel bucket like unto the one from Nashville's hull earlier. It was presently empty, so it served to hold their backup plan if Honolulu's stomach goes south, rather, north. No words were exchanged as Nashville pointed to the red-head to ask if she was alright. Helena nodded that she would be alright. Then Commander gestured to the chow line to show that he and Nashville would be right back. Helena nodded again in understanding. And then Nashville with Commander in tow got her breakfast from the manjuu behind the counters. They returned with their food to find Helena coaxing a spoonful of breakfast cereal in Honolulu. Both younger sisters looked to their elder sister in some sort of amazement, as if just noticing her relatively put-together state. Honolulu asked in a quiet tone comfortable to her own ears, "Nashville how are you not wasted right now?"

She pointed to her commander and said, "Ask him."

They looked his way, and Commander heard several chairs in the mess hall shift. It seemed that not only the Brooklyn-sisters were interested. He recited his remedy, "Water, pain pills, and strong coffee. I also didn't rush Nashville out the door, I feel like that helps more than anything else. And now a good plate of food."

Honolulu gave Helena the stink eye. She recalled aloud, "You only gave water and some food."

Helena mumbled out a sorry and to divert some of her sister's wrath she redirected attention to Commander asking, "How do you know this?"

"One year I had a frat-boy roommate that destroyed kegs of beer like they owed him money. A lot of what I know was found from trial and error. And the internet helped."

"Oh's," circulated about and for a few minutes the group was able to eat uninterrupted. Commander was able to finish first, like usual, being impaired by neither conversation nor alcohol, nor sisters for that matter. Then West Virginia approached the group with more codes that needed to be cracked. He powered up Mr. Bond to get to work while in the company of his friends. He had just received the codes with West Virginia still looking over his shoulder to confirm that they had been received when his device began it's specific trill for a group phone call. On the large floating holographic screen appeared two names that everyone recognized: Grayson Roscoe and Eriko Hara.

Everyone in eyesight gasped but it was Commander who reacted first by standing and saying, "Sorry, West Virginia, but a bigger priority just came up." He then looked over towards Nashville as she was standing, already agreeing that they were in this together. They nodded at each other and made way to exit the mess hall quickly. There were murmurs about rumors of secret missions being true. Why else would the supreme commander and axis chairwoman call?

The moment they left the mess Commander clicked on the answer key and said, "Ma'am, sir, this is Commander speaking." He and Nashville continued walking until they were an acceptable distance from the mess hall, all the while keeping it in sight, just in case anybody wanted to follow.

Roscoe spoke first, "Commander! It is so wonderful to hear your voice again."

"I agree with that sentiment," voice Hara. And then she asked, "Is Nashville there too?"

"I'm here," replied the light cruiser in question, and she continued, "It's good to hear y'all's voices too."

"I second that," said Commander and then he asked, "What can we do for you two today?"

Hara spoke, "We wanted to see how you two were doing. And find out how your mission fares."

Nashville was about to speak but Commander held up a hand to cut her off. She stopped to see what was up with him. He usually isn't rude without reason. He said, "We'd love to tell you all about it, but is this link secure? I assume both of you know about the security breach I reported about a week ago."

"Indeed, we do know Commander," responded Roscoe, "That is why we shall keep this call brief and vague. So, how goes the mission?"

Commander now looked to Nashville and mouthed, "Wanna take this one?"

Nashville nodded and responded, "The situation here has been handled. It was a near best-case scenario success."

Both Roscoe and Hara let out audible sighs of relief. But Hara spoke first, "That's wonderful news, probably the best I've heard in months. And how are the two of you?"

This time Nashville pointed to Las Vegas and gestured to the phone for him to take this one. He reported, "We're doing great. We've been getting along and working together just fine."

"Splendid news. For both the mission and you," declared Roscoe. He then continued, "I assume that you are going to get moving for the next theater soon?"

Commander and Nashville shared a look. They hadn't talked about the next step yet. Using hand motions and about five seconds they were able to deliberate that they would set sail in a few days at most. Commander reported, "We're hoping to set sail for the next part of the mission within the next two to three days, wherever that may be."

"That sounds reasonable," replied the British tar.

"Yes, it does," concurred his Sakura counterpart. But then suddenly Eriko Hara sounded, motherly? "Is there anything that we can do to help you?"

Roscoe picked up on Hara's tone change and chuckled like a stereotypical jolly grandfather. "Is there anything at all?"

"I can't think of anything," said Nashville with an amused look about her.

Commander didn't share in her amusement. He wanted to talk to them about the Heralds of the Deep or about whether there was a replacement ship girl somewhere if he and Nashville should fail or if there were even hints that Task Force 13 was accounted for, but he said, "There are some things that I'd like to talk about with the both of you, but right now, none of it is world-endingly urgent and I wouldn't be comfortable discussing it over a possibly compromised channel anyway. So, I hope to be able to meet with both of you in person at some point down the line, hopefully in the near future."

"Not world-endingly urgent you say?" mused Roscoe.

"Could you be more specific as to how urgent?" requested Hara.

Commander thought for a few seconds about his questions, and about the Heralds of the Deep in particular, and said, "It might be nothing. I hope it's nothing. But if it's something, then things are worse than any of us thought."

Both high commanders were concerned and voiced such, but then Commander asked, "I'd wager that just about anywhere other than the Eagle Union would make seeing either of you easier so would it be alright if we contact one of you once we get to our next destination? Who we contact would depend on Azur Lane or Crimson Axis territory."

The line was silent for a good ten seconds. Commander and Nashville suspected that Hara and Roscoe were talking with each other. Finally, Hara spoke again, "Do so. If it concerns you it concerns us."

"Yes, Ma'am," replied Nashville and Commander simultaneously.

Roscoe spoke to finish this up, "Well, if that is all then we will let you two get on with your day. Good luck and Godspeed."

Hara said, "Be careful the both of you. I look forward to seeing you two in person again."

"Thanks a bunch, y'all," voiced Nashville, "We hope to see you soon."

"Thank you for all your help," said Commander, "Goodbye." Then the line went dead, and Commander hung up. His green eyes met with Nashville's red and he remarked, "Well that was something."

"It sure was," agreed his friend, "You were talking about that cult, right?"

"And a few other things, but mainly the cult."

Nashville shuddered a bit, remembering that day in Agent Johnson's office. "Do you think that they're, 'something?'"

"I don't know," admitted Las Vegas, "But I think what I said in Vasquez's office still stands; we can't leave this stone unturned. Unsightly and blood-soaked as it may be."

Nashville swallowed hard and took another drink of her coffee. She was still too hungover for this. "Yeah, you're right," she conceded. Then an idea occurred to her, "Do you think that we should maybe contact Vasquez and Johnson to say that lightning won't be an issue in the Caribbean anymore?"

"I don't think it would be a bad idea," replied the commander, "but we'll take care of that later. But for now, I think that we should get back to the mess hall. And we have to find out where to go next either today or tomorrow, so could you please go thinking on anything that may be useful?"

"No problem. Sobering up feels like a great time for reflection," joked Nashville lightly.

Commander smiled and chuckled at her joke. "Sounds like a plan. But let's get going." Then both started to make their way back to the mess hall.

They entered the mess hall trying to be as casual as possible. It didn't work. Whispers were going back and forth like a spreading fire and it didn't cease, nor even lessen, until the duo returned to their seats. But once they had sat down and Commander returned to his code, then the whispers stopped, and he got flashbacks to his first meal in the mess hall. He hoped it wouldn't end with him electrocuted. Speaking of which, Eldridge had already posted on his lap and was getting in his way in the most tolerable way possible, which is to say, adorably. West Virginia returned to Commander. She confirmed that he did receive the intercepted messages and he turned to get a start on them, but West Virginia didn't leave. As he opened the first one, he asked, "Something on your mind?"

"What are they like?" inquired the battleship referring to Roscoe and Hara.

"The Chairwoman and Supreme Commander?" verified Las Vegas. West Virginia confirmed her question and Commander continued, "You're familiar with the propaganda, right?"

"We all are," answered Honolulu from across the table, still obscuring her face with her hat.

"Well, I can confirm that Grayson Roscoe's propaganda is more or less correct. He's the grandfatherly type. And his mustache is just as bushy in real life. But as I'm sure you expect, he get's serious when it's needed. It's Eriko Hara that subverts expectations. She's actually surprisingly caring, instead of what most sources would have you think. She was a little rough around the edges when I met her but if I'm being honest, I think that she's a tad easier to talk to than Roscoe. But in the end, I think that they're both good people. Does that answer your question?" Commander looked West Virginia's way and caught her nod, and then he spoke a bit louder to address the mess hall—being mindful of those among them sobering up—saying, "Does that answer all your questions?"

Variations of, "yes," returned to Commander's ears and he was able to confirm from West Virginia that Slade was indeed alive and surprisingly, already sober. Commander found it ironically humorous that the one in the best shape the next day was the one non-superhuman that was drinking heavily last night.

Nevertheless, they were able to carry on with their day. The group sobered up and then left but at different speeds, Montpelier being the fastest, and Honolulu taking the longest. And once the codes were broken, they were sent off the West Virginia to be implemented into the fleet's activities. Commander then explained that he had to speak with Nashville about their plan going forward to Eldridge. So, with a hug good-bye and a promise to not leave without telling her, Eldridge left the mess. Las Vegas and Nashville decided the discussion as for where to go next would be best done on her bridge, so they left the mess hall too.

XXXXXXXX

They arrived on Nashville's bridge without anything significant happening and they assumed their usual positions in the space to begin making their plan for moving forward. But as Commander was sitting down Nashville voiced something that had been bugging her all morning, "So, what did Hornet want to talk to you about yesterday?"

Having sat down, Commander was able to respond, "She asked me, well, us, a favor. A big one too." He then went through the story that Hornet gave him about the battle off Easter Island a year ago, the argument between her and Enterprise, their division, and Hornet's surety that Enterprise and the rest of the ship girls of Task Force 13 are alive. Commander finished, "In conclusion, she wants us to look for her sister."

Nashville had much the same concerns that Las Vegas had initially on the matter. She wondered if this would take up too much of their valuable time or if it would even prove possible. But she knew that much of these same things had to have occurred to her commander. She started to speak, "I'm assuming you already agreed to this?" Commander nodded, and Nashville sighed while she put her face in her palm. "I've known you for about a month and a half now and I've noticed something. Are you really that bad at saying, 'No,' or is it just with women?"

Commander shrugged and said, "Hornet begged me through tears. I guess I'm just that bad at handling crying women."

"I can't tell if that's a good thing or a bad thing," replied Nashville, thinking of the times that she cried in Las Vegas's arms. She got her mind back on track to ask, "So, tell me. What do you mean when you say, 'look for her?' Are we going to drop everything and chase rumors of the legendary, 'Grey Ghost?'"

"I was able to come to a compromise. We'll just ask around wherever we go and keep our eyes open. I know that they have been unaccounted for nearly a year, but I seriously doubt that a whole fleet can be that stealthy for that long without some sort of support system. Someone has to know something."

Nashville's face left her hand to fix Commander with a look that communicated reluctance and she said, "Oh fine, you big softie. I guess you got the best deal we could get without seeming heartless. I'd ask and do the same thing if I were in Hornet's position."

"Glad you approve," remarked the officer, and then he said, "But we should get down to business. I've been thinking of a way or two to find rumors of sea monsters, but I want to hear if you've thought up anything first."

Nashville turned serious and said, "You remember how I explained a while back that a lot of what I did before meeting you was run blockades?" Commander nodded yes and she continued, "Here's the thing. Almost all of Europe's waters are covered in this blockade, but here's how it works. If you sail in the green water coastal regions just off the coasts you only have to deal with mass production Siren ships, and you can outrun them. But the interesting stuff happens once you get into deeper water. Ships—regardless of their type—that go out of the coastal regions into the open sea get sunk. This happens with very few exceptions. All this time I, and probably most everyone, thought that it was just a lot of submarines, but it might be a superweapon, or even more than one. Especially when you consider the loss rate for ships that I've heard when I'm in Europe."

Commander thought for a few seconds with his hand on his chin. He asked, "What sort of loss rate have you heard?"

"Last I overheard four months ago, the loss rate is about eighty-five percent."

Commander went wide eyed with this news. Eighty-five percent?! That's insane. Meanwhile, in the western hemisphere a loss rate of only about four percent was reported. And Eagle Union Brass considered that too high. He couldn't even begin to imagine how things must be for the high commands of the European Powers. Yet again, the Eagle Union found it on the easy end of some world consuming war. What made Europe so special to get so heavy-handed treatment from the Sirens? Or what made the Eagle Union so special to get off so lightly? It didn't make sense. Still, he said, "With something that drastic happening, I'd be surprised if at least one superweapon wasn't involved. It looks like we're going to Europe next. But now we have to ask ourselves, 'Where specifically?'"

Nashville suddenly looked annoyed and she said, "I've been with you long enough to know that when you pose questions like this, you already have the answer. So, could you please cut to the chase from now on? And spare me the drama?"

Commander now spoke in a defensive tone, "I was only putting how I think into words. But if it's really that annoying, I'll try to limit it."

"Thanks. Now, as you were saying."

"I don't know where specifically at the moment, but I have a way to find out. Put yourself in the position of these surviving sailors. You just got attacked by a force at sea that you don't understand so after putting in your reports and downing your alcohol and now with nothing else that you can do, you would probably make a post about it on social media."

Nashville followed his train of thought up until those last two words, "What's social media?"

Commander smiled amusingly. He had a feeling that Nashville would like it. He said, "It's a community platform on the internet that let's people share content and communicate with each other. There're a bunch of different platforms. What's more, there is very little government censorship so it's the wild west of free speech where people can not only say anything but do it pretty much anonymously. That anonymous factor really emboldens some people to post what happens to them or say what's truly on their minds, for better or for worse. And we are going to scour social media for people's posts about mysterious attacks at sea that might point us to superweapons."

Nashville was incredibly fascinated with social media. She wanted to try it out. She said with an interested sound to her voice, "I kinda want to get on it. It sounds interesting." She tried not to sound too excited for what was supposed to be a business matter.

Commander smiled a little wider. He found it quite humorous to see how Nashville was downplaying how interested she really was in this new thing to her. So, he opened Mr. Bond and went to his browser. He first switched the IP address to a European one to access European posts easier and he went onto one of the most popular social media platforms, "Juustagram."

Nashville was watching intently over his shoulder as he came to a problem. His account would have been deleted and he had no information with which to make another one. He could make an alias and a back story. But he had a ray of inspiration. He said over his shoulder, "My Juustagram account is deleted. Do you want to come up with an alias and make yourself an account?"

Nashville lit up with a grin, "Really?"

"Yep. Now sit down and let's get on it."

Nashville sat down and Commander pushed the device in front of his friend. After some deliberation they came up with a name for Nashville's online persona. She would be Casey Davis, which was an amalgamation of her favorite country singers' names. Casey Davis is twenty-two years old and while originally from Missouri in the Eagle Union, she was raised for most of her life in London, England. Her friends call her, "CD." And with that, Nashville was introduced to the World Wide Web with all it's wonders.

A few hours of searching gave them exactly what they were hoping for. Blurry photos and videos that invoked Commander's memories of all those bigfoot/sasquatch/yeti documentaries that they have on TV. He of course uses the word, "documentary," loosely. But it wasn't that all these videos just happened to be out of focus, whatever was in frame emitted a dull light that made the camera malfunction to blur the image and obscure exactly what was being looked at. While there were comments about the amateur videographers swearing that they saw real life sea monsters, most of Juustagram wasn't kind to them. But whatever it was that they were looking at online, it was huge, and it was destroying ships left and right. And from the general blurry forms, it looked like it was more than one superweapon. But the most posts came from people talking in thick English accents. They found a destination. The United Kingdom. Commander and Nashville decided to set out in two days, to give time for resupply before leaving and because Nashville requested to be able to spend some time with her sisters.

XXXXXXXX

The day to leave came far too fast.

For this occasion, the whole base had gathered at Nashville's gangway to say goodbye to their new friends. Commander was curious to see why Slade had asked them to wait for a few minutes while she went to grab something from her office, instead of just saying goodbye and letting him and Nashville get on their way. But he didn't complain too much. He wasn't super sentimental, and goodbyes didn't get to him too much, but it clearly did for Nashville. She was spending as much time as she possibly could with Honolulu and Helena. It was a little hypocritical for him to think himself not sentimental though, for when Eldridge had asked for a last time to be held, he did so gladly. They didn't talk much because that wasn't how they do things. But Commander was able to look over the crowd and reminisce.

He saw the members of the second fleet for the Battle of Windward Passage. He's glad to have met them, and he's grateful that they followed him, and stuck up for him when his own inexperience came to light. He recalled how most each of them had said their goodbyes individually but the most interesting was a toss up between Charles Ausburne or Laffey. From Charles Ausburne he was made an honorary Fletcher-class destroyer and given the title, "Friend of Justice." On the other hand, instead of giving him anything, Laffey had asked a favor of Commander. She asked where they were going, and he said all over the world. She produced three letters and asked him to deliver them. They were addressed to other destroyer ship girls from other navies. He recalled what names were written on them. They were Javelin, Z23, and Ayanami. Laffey explained that international mail didn't happen anymore and that these three were as much her sisters to her than any other Benson-class destroyer. He'd have to ask around once he got to Europe.

His eyes fell on the fleet with him from the battle against Lusca. Bogue had given him her baseball and gave him a permanent place on her team if they should ever meet again on a baseball diamond. He was honored. Denver had asked for a hug and surprisingly gave him a promise in much the same spirit as Nevada and Hornet. She said that if it came down to it, and the world's governments became his enemy, she could tell that he would do what was best for humanity so she would follow him and would even try to get as many of her sisters as possible to do the same. Somehow word had reached Indianapolis that he would be looking for Task Force 13. Indianapolis had been among those scattered from the battle, but she eventually found her way back to the Eagle Union. But her older sister, Portland, had been among Task Force 13 no doubt looking for her. And while Hornet had been on the verge of giving up hope, Indy already had. During the hug that Indianapolis had given him after he reaffirmed how he'd keep his eyes open she said, as jokingly as he'd ever heard her be, "Tell Nashville that I'm sorry about the, 'queer ship,' brawls from back in the Aleutians." She refused to explain further. Commander had recalled that Nashville was in the Aleutians while the Battle of Midway was happening and apparently Indianapolis was there too and if what Indy had said meant anything, he had to guess that homosexuality was involved somewhere along the line. He'd have to ask Nashville what happened. Hornet simply thanked him again for looking for Enterprise and wished him luck. When he visited her bedside this morning, Nevada made him swear to take care of Nashville. He didn't understand why she wanted that, and she declined to enlighten him.

That also brought him to when he and Nashville had been able to muster the Lusca fleet to get a photo in Nevada's hospital room. They had been able to position everything to make it look like nothing was amiss and Nevada wasn't bedridden. And in a more private moment Commander was able to unveil a pet project that he had been plugging away on from time to time for the past few years to Nevada, Hornet, and Denver. He gave each a flash-drive with a personally crafted cypher that he'd use to contact them if he needed their help. He had a moment of geeking out about modified Fibonacci sequences and Laplace transformations of integral calculus. They were lost before two sentences had left his lips in his explanation of the code. After being stopped he was able to conclude that while it wasn't the most secure code, it would work for emergencies and especially if they kept it's existence a secret. Nevada thanked him sincerely for his help and they had left her room. The fleet had separated outside the hospital, except Eldridge. She would refuse to leave his side for the rest of the day.

His eyes finally fell on Nashville and her sisters. This was a solemn moment for them. And there was no disguising that. Of course, another photo of them had been taken. Commander recalled how each of them had said their goodbyes to him individually. Helena kept it simple, thanking him for his help around the base, and for taking care of her sisters during the Battle of Windward Passage. She asked him to promise to take care of Nashville, which he did. Helena had grown forlorn as they were finishing up and Commander said, "Don't think of this as a last goodbye. Think of it as a, 'see you later.' It was nice being able to meet you, Helena." Helena felt comforted.

Honolulu had kept it brief. She thanked him for all the good that he had been able to do for her, her sisters, and her friends. She also swallowed her pride and thanked him for proving her wrong about her past views about all officers in the Navy. She had said, "I wish I could go with you and Nashville, but since I can't," Honolulu grew as sincere as he'd ever seen her, "Please watch out for my big sister."

Commander said he'd do just that, and after a few seconds of thinking he asked, "Can I trust you?" She affirmed that he could, and he produced another flash drive that had his code on it. He explained, "While you can't come with, the idea of things going very wrong has been introduced to me lately, if it comes down to it, can I count on your help?" She promised that he could count on her even if the skies fell and the oceans were to boil away. He smiled, gave her the flash drive, and told her about Hornet, Nevada, and Denver having them too. Honolulu finished by giving him a hug and saying, "I'm glad it's you I met and I'm glad it's you with my sister."

Commander was brought back to the present with the reappearance of Rear admiral Slade. Everyone noticed her arrival and for one last time, West Virginia called out, "Attention, Admiral on deck!"

"Form ranks," ordered Slade. And that left Nashville and Las Vegas standing awkwardly wondering what was going on as everyone left their side to form a block at parade rest a few paces away. Slade approached with a few envelopes in her hand and Commander noticed that she had a leather lanyard around one of her uniform's epaulets that disappeared into her breast pocket.

She stopped in front of Nashville first and she said, "It was good to have your help here. I wish I could keep you but all I can do is send you of right." Slade extended her hand to shake Nashville's. Commander saw them smile at each other. Then once the handshake had stopped, Slade handed the envelopes to Nashville. She said, "The mail arrived last night." Commander looked at the senders' names as Nashville shuffled through the thin stack. He saw the names: Brooklyn, Phoenix, and St. Louis. He looked back up to Nashville's face. She was crying. Commander saw what coming. But not Slade. Nashville advanced a step forward and put her arms around the officer.

He caught Nashville mumbling her thanks to Slade. Slade slowly put her arms around the young woman. The officer whispered something in Nashville's ear, and Las Vegas saw the former nod in understanding. Nashville let go of her and she backed up with a big smile on her face.

Now the rear admiral stepped in front of Commander. She spoke up so that everyone could hear her, "I must confess, Commander Las Vegas, I really didn't like you that day you showed up in my office." Muffled laughter escaped the crowd. Slade ignored it and proceeded to say, "But I'm glad you did show up. You helped a lot, so thank you. And while you were gone with your own fleet doing God knows what I asked around here on base and we've come to a decision." Commander was thoroughly intrigued now, where was this going? "Remember how I said my great-grandfather was a Harlem Hellfighter? Well, he was a captain in the army with the duty of leading his company over the top of the trenches. He used this," she said solemnly as she tugged out what was on the end of her lanyard. It was a shining silver trench whistle. She explained, "He gave it to my grandfather as a symbol of courage and duty no matter the odds. My grandfather gave it to my father, and he gave it to me. And now, since you won't accept an official medal, I want to give you this in lieu of a commendation."

Commander recovered his senses that he had lost over the course of Slade's story. He said, "I can't possibly accept your family heirloom. It wouldn't be right."

"I've inherited a legacy of war. Please, Commander. Please, don't let that be my son's or my daughter's legacy too," appealed Slade. Commander understood how to Slade, the whistle was as good as any medal or any scar, it was a symbol. A symbol of the terrible blood-stained glory of war. How could he decline now that he saw that Slade wanted to spare her posterity that fate?

He asked, "What was your great-grandfather's name?"

"Virgil Slade."

"Then I'll look after Captain Virgil's whistle," he relented. Slade unloosed the lanyard from her epaulet, and she fastened it around his own and let it drape down. She stepped back and saluted. Commander saluted back. The crowd started to clap and cheer.

Final goodbyes were given. Hugs were exchanged. Promises to see each other again were made. And the heroes boarded Nashville's hull. They went through the normal procedure of leaving port. Everyone gave their final waves as Nashville pulled away from the dock.

They left the port with mixed feelings. They were happy with how things had turned out in South Point, but that didn't fully alleviate the sting of leaving. But, as it had been doing so for generations, the sea called out to them, and they heeded that call, setting their course for the United Kingdom.

Hey what's up? It's good to see you here again you wonderful people. Well, thus concludes the time of our heroes in the Eagle Union. If this were a video game, I'd say that the tutorial level is now over. Time for the real game to start. But concerning this chapter, I gotta say, I really enjoyed writing Nashville's drunken antics and Las Vegas's reactions to them. I also really enjoyed being able to introduce Nashville to the wonders of the internet and giving Las Vegas an informal commendation in the form of Virgil Slade's trench whistle.

But there is one thing that I want your opinion on. I hate "convenient" plots. Let me explain and set the scene. The heroes just overcame some huge battle, or some huge mystery has been revealed and then suddenly, without any effort on the heroes' part, emphasis on the without effort part, a convenient plot device or exposition that doesn't make sense as to why it's there, tells them exactly where to go or what to do next. It's mindless. So, I tried my hardest to avoid this. I will say though, I'm not entirely against the convenient sign directing where to go every now and then, but I hate it when it happens repeatedly. It just seems like lazy writing at that point. I feel like I'm skirting the line here, but I couldn't come up with anything better that made more sense than introducing Jusstagram and having Nashville's reflect on sailing in Europe. Does my transition from the Eagle Union to the UK work in this sense? But anyway, I see reviews that need some responses.

It's nice to meet you, battlestar2586. Thank you for leaving a review. I am grateful that you would do that, and what's more, thanks for signing in to do it. I'm glad that what dances around in my head as I walk from one class to another (or when I stare off into space when the online classes are sucking out my will to live) is able to keep you interested and wanting more. It's funny that you should mention Enterprise. My first exposure to any level of interest in Naval History was back when Battle 360 featuring the Enterprise was airing on T.V. So, she has a special place in my heart too. I look forward to having you around and being able to write more of this story. Good luck to you too with whatever you're up against.

It's good to see you again, Zander22122. I don't really get your thoughts about the line in 'the letter h.' A google search didn't enlighten me. But anyway, I'm glad you caught the Prince of Egypt reference. It is a masterpiece of animation and very underrated if you ask me. I look forward to meeting some of those ships too. But wow. I'm speechless. You really think that I'm one of the best on ? Thank you. I don't really know what to say to that. But you know what? I'm cool with third place. Out of the thousands of fanfiction writers, I'm cool with being third place in your book. It sure beats a participation award, let me tell you. But what gets me the most is when you say, "the best in the Azur Lane fandom." You see, if you go onto the listing for Azur Lane fanfiction on this website and rank them from the most favorited, I will point you to the few top authors that have done well in writing some of the best fiction that I have read. Period. To be compared to them is an honor. But you're saying I'm better. Again, thank you. I can't get over that. I'm glad to be able to interact with you too. In fact, I'd say that the pleasure is mine. I appreciate that you are willing to interact with some guy you don't even know.

Thanks for writing a review, Just a random guy117. I'm glad you liked the chapter. You do bring up an interesting idea with the One Piece method of adding onto the crew with time. I probably won't do that but if/when things go bad, I'm sure you are already seeing who will stand by Las Vegas. You are right though; it would be cool.

Welcome back, SomeRand0m. I'll admit, when you said that you thought the more well-known ships would have been well treated, it had never crossed my mind. I mean, both Eldridge and Montpelier are super rares in-game. Let me explain what I was going for. In a strategic sense the Eagle Union has a lot of water to cover, so I figured that the super rare ships would be spread relatively thin. I had Eldridge there because she's my favorite loli to have ever loli-ed. And Montpelier was there as a balance to Denver's character and because she was my first super rare construction. The surprise of a missing Grey Ghost is exactly what I was going for. It will also provide a cool set-piece for when she is introduced. I tried to make the resolution about the Eagle Union's treatment of ship girls satisfying and if what you're saying is anything to go off of, it worked. I also can't wait to advance Nashville and Las Vegas' relationship. I'm just trying to find the right moment for at least one of them to see what's going on. Stand by please. Will there be a harem? Maybe. Maybe not. I think saying one way or another would be a spoiler. Sorry. Thanks for being cool and recognizing how much passion I dump into this. It's on my mind constantly, and that's not a bad thing in the slightest. I see the low rarity ships as a necessary evil. We can't have super rare ships without common ones, so I'll sit through five consecutive low rarity ships for a chance to get something good. It's going to come up later, but I intend for Nashville to have a special connection with the Philippines, she was struck by a kamikaze there after all. I'm glad the story got you to look up the USS Nashville's story. There is a reunion association for the ship's crew, but the last reunion of the group was back in 2010. So, I don't know if any of these men are still alive. I'm glad that you're here. Truly I am. While we came to the Azur Lane fandom looking for waifus, I find it sobering to think that men fought and died aboard these ships… Wow that's a dark thought. Anyway, I look forward to what's coming too. Concerning waifus though, I started this story a huge fan of Helena, but as it's gone on, I didn't find her so satisfying to write so I have no idea what my favorite kansen is at the moment. I will say that you are a classy fellow for your love of the French girls. Good choice. No worries about babbling. I do it too. Good luck on your gacha pulls too.

Thanks for answering my question, Sathzur. I did a cursory look at HMNZS Achilles's history and as it turns out, she was once in the same task force as Nashville, during the campaign around Guadalcanal. I think that I can do something with this. Thanks again for answering the question.

It's nice to meet you, phantomSilbon. Thank so much for sharing the story of the ARV General Urdaneta. I really love to hear stories that aren't well known, and a part of that is hearing about stuff like the Nueva Esparta-class. I imagine that they served during hard times. And also, I'm very proud that my story has gone all the way to Venezuela and I'm glad that you are here. Again, thanks so much for your time. Take care.

Holy cow, these author's notes are getting huge. No matter, I have said what I wanted to say, and it's getting late where I am. Take care, friends. If you are having a bad day I hope it gets better, and if you are having a bad day I hope it gets even better.