Pressing the notepad to my chess, I walk faster. Labor ahead. Using my other hand to carry a newly acquired thermos flask. Warm coffee sloshing inside the container. I don't know what possessed me to mix the Arabian with a dash of creamer. Especially in this past week since my fateful encounter with the Mainz. My pallet changed after spending plenty of chess sessions with her.

Mainz was the one that suggested it. Coffee purist at heart, she admits that the Kommadant himself likes to add sugar. Claiming tastes tire over time by drinking the same flavor every morning. Black coffee remains my favored choice, lately, mixing creamer makes it tolerable. Maybe I should add sugar at one point. Last night was the most beneficial meeting yet. Mainz had been an essential piece to improving my skills. Fine tuning some of my misunderstandings and giving me a better in depth look.

Getting to the point, I need to expand my horizons. Find more people to challenge. Trials produce stronger individuals. In order to master this art of war, there are opponents and styles that need to be examined. Sky's the limit they say, if only they knew the sky isn't that far above.

The officer by himself is an impossible obstacle. If I am to face him on equal footing, I'll need to approach people close to his skill. Mainz is a decent player, but I know her skills are limited. She admits this herself. Basic strategies are not enough to handle wider strategies.

There must be others here that know, other girls who I can challenge.

I enter the office, coming to a screeching halt.

"Friedrich?"

The battleship greets me, sitting at the officer's chair, his desk.

"Ah, Graf Zeppelin." She flips a page over, "Good morning."

"Good…morning to you, too. Why are you here, where's the Kommdant?"

Friedrich stops her writing. Forming a impressed smirk. Before settling back to her usual welcoming visage.

"Herr Kommadant is unwell," she smiles, betraying a sense of resignation, "I'm afraid he's been wearing himself thin the past few nights. Unable to sleep."

I almost drop my notepad, a strange sensation rises, "Again? It's been four days now."

Friedrich folds her arms and laughs, agreeing with me, "This is nothing new. Mainz is with him to ensure he remains in bed. I'm certain by tomorrow or after he should be ready to come back. Until then, I'll be handling his workload."

I put down my thermos and prepare my work. My mood souring compared to before.

"You're scowling again, my dear," Friedrich mentions to me, now focused on her work again, signing more papers off, "Too early to sour your mood already."

"Sorry…" I hastily retort, blowing away a stray hair, "I'm his secretary. I'm supposed to watch his health."

Sympathy pours from her, the battleship pauses. Sagging her shoulders in light contemplation.

"In this case, its beyond your control, I'm afraid," she tries reasoning, "This used to be more common."

I click my pen and work on a few pages before speaking back up. Wanting to make sure I have some work done first, "There's nothing common about one struggling with their peace of mind. Am I missing something?"

Friedrich sighs, still maintaining her ever so displayed grin, "I wish I can explain it to you. But such details are better left to him to explain. Simply put, Scandinavia. The sources of his worries come back to the former northern confederation."

"That dead place. There's nothing there."

She waves her finger at me, "True, yes, but even you know there used to be beautiful fjords and populated cities, the Scandinavians were a hearty people," Friedrich explains, wistful in her musing, "The Sirens overwhelmed them, and the Iron Blood came to their aid. We deployed our best. And-"

"-It was a disaster," I finish for her, knowing of the damned operations. Seared into the minds of the common people, "Are you telling me the Kommadant was there? Official reports said there were no survivors."

Friedrich shakes her head, clicking her tongue, "They were wrong…he is the only survivor."

"…oh." My scribbling stopped, "I apologize."

Strasser and I heard stories. Back when we arrived back into this world. They were called the Bundeswehr, the supposed successors to the Kriegsmarine. Whispers of it comes up in conversation, a taboo in the fleet. Few know the truth, and those handful keep their mouths shut. Morbid interest drives me adrift in the stories.

One night saw an entire naval force of the Iron Blood's best, from line officer to admiral, destroyed. Truth is buried in a cacophony of rumors and mythical noise created by gossiping sailors and overactive ship girl. Claims were made by girls, saying they found old newspapers, left from that time. Of dead sailors and twisted wreckage drifting towards the Iron Blood shores, widespread panic ensues soon after. We all assumed there were no survivors.

"What makes you so sure, Friedrich?" I continue, there's some discrepancy in this, "None of us existed yet when it burned. Far before you, I'm surprised that I know less then someone that came into this world three years ago. While I've been here almost since the beginning."

The battleship simply giggles. In a low rumbling way, "That is for you to find out from him, and for me to remain quiet. I've said enough."

The door opens and two girls walk in, both holding up their own packets of papers from various parts of the island. I sigh, the conversation is going to have to end. I do well to file this information away.

Opening the door, I'm greeted by a surprised looking Mainz. Being the afternoon, even then, she still holds a mug of coffee.

"Graf, I'm surprised to see you here," she gawks at me, "Come in. Its getting colder out there lately."

I enter the quarters. Very spacious, more then enough for one man to live here. Wiping my shoes, I glance around the living room that I entered. There is a blanket with books stacked on the coffee table. Off to the side in the kitchen is Mainz herself, preparing another mug of coffee by a machine.

"I thought Friedrich would stop by, I didn't think it would be you." Her voice echoes through the kitchen, "What brings you by? He's still asleep."

"It's the afternoon," I point out, looking down a hallway that leads to a set of stairs, "He should be awake by now."

"I thought Friedrich took up his responsibilities for today. I don't think you need to bring any work home for him."

Rolling my eyes, I lie partially, "No, Friedrich sent me to give him lunch."

"I thought Friedrich said no one can bother him?" She rubs her chin, "Those were her direct orders."

I hold up the brown paper bag, "This is for him."

A ding erupts from the machine Mainz is working on, she waits a moment before pulling out the second mug. Turning to me in a wide-eyed expression.

I gulp. She didn't send me. To my relief, I think she bought it.

"Be my guest, but please don't try to wake him," she sips, convinced, "He's in the first room down the hallway. Past the stairs. His door is cracked open. He has a cupboard next to his bed. You can leave it there for him."

"Thank you," I murmur to her. Following her instructions and stopping before what I assumed is his door. Passing by a room that looks to be a dorm. Set up the same way as the rooms meant for the girls, I pause in front.

Memories from another time start flooding. I feel uneasy. Remembering a similar situation when I approached a door like this. Unsure I'll enter and more if I try to open it. I reach up a hand to knock on the door and stop. This feels too familiar.

"No…its not like before." I grumble under my breath, "Verdammt…it's a quick get in and get out. Move Zeppelin."

Shaking those ugly thoughts away, I chose to brave it. Gently pushing the door open and peering in. Under his covers, I see the sleeping form of the officer.

Deep in slumber, his chest rises and falls. Never being inside his room before, I do my best to respect his space. Hanging on a hook on the wall next to him is his uniform. Still pristine and fresh for him to wear. I linger in the room, watching him. Leaning over I brush my fingers by his cheek. Warm, too warm in a room that feels like a fog.

He is sweating profusely. Looking so meek.

"Get well, Kommadant." I whisper.

I step out of the room and pass by Mainz without saying a word. There is business I need to attend to. I hope to see him in better spirits soon.

A bead of sweat drops onto the schematics. I reach over and wipe it away before it soaks into the paper. Flattening out the blueprints, I use a wrench to keep it from rolling back up. Crinkled from a lengthy time in storage, reading this sours my mood. This cursive is too flowery for my tastes.

Working as the base's secretary helps. Plenty of the girls possess elegantly written, easy on the eyes, and quickens the pace. Less professional minded girls write hastily, scrawling lines against more lines with their myriad of squiggles. Only the destroyers write this way. A forgivable offense, considering most are like children in this terrible world.

Since reading this blueprint, I only want to rip it apart.

Details possible modifications for my rigging. An unknown engineer came up with the designs. Exactly who, I can't say. Whoever did, they must be banned from using the pen. It was poor of me to expect engineers to have decent handwriting, another irritation to add to the long list of failures in this world. Rare for an individual on this base to take time out of their day to read and rewrite the notes. To make it easy for more then simple minds.

Groaning, I look around the maintenance bay. Carefully tiptoeing through my powered down chassis of my rigging. Their pieces lay open on dirty rags and smudged paper towels. Chores like these, while I find them time consuming, it is a skill every Iron Blood must master if they wish to perform on the battlefield.

Tedious, certainly. Annoying, definitely. Necessary is the word.

Hearing the clanging of metal, I glance at the one other person occupying this warehouse.

Diligent in her own section, Odin takes residence in the open station next to me. Using the chains hanging from above to dangle her rigging above the ground. Frames to keep large metal in place and locking joints. Similar fashion to my work, the inside of her rigging is open for anyone to see. So engrossed in her own world. I admire such tunneled focus.

When she arrived here, I do not know. I've been too entrapped in my readings to even see her enter. Shrugging, I return to my task. She isn't annoying and keeps to herself.

To say Odin is interesting is a trial. The impassive battlecruiser nods with her well known stoicism. I applaud her ability to be completely unmoving. When in her normal uniform, she exudes the power that is the Iron Blood, a respect I can give to the PR ship. Now, thinking on this, that view turns on its head when she's dressed in casual clothes.

In her stained jumpsuit. Insignia on the back. Simple clothes make a very simple message. Odin has a priority.

She lives up to her name. Sirens being ripped apart from her blasts alone. Having her here in such a slow-paced environment shows a different side of her. A less intimidating image of what ship named after a Norse god is supposed to represent.

Not a rare phenomenon to see girls out and about in clothes other then their given uniforms. We have our shore leave. Parties would be arranged to celebrate one's launch day or a victory in a lengthy operation. Gatherings would occur in the base's bar, usually handled by Eugen, and many would gather to drink the night away.

On evenings like this, that is why I prefer to be here away from the crowd.

I came here primarily for upgrades, stayed because of unaddressed problems. Lockjaw and dented panels. Replacing pieces with a box of my own, using plyers to pull out sand between the cracks. Spending so much time on base made me realize how much I have overlooked in my previous refits, not seeing the inconveniences. Correcting mistakes and reading papers all day gives me a better eye for seeing the smaller details.

Ugh, am I really appreciating the paperwork? I'm becoming delusional. Being away from the battlefield for two weeks is making me antsy. I will not admit it to the Kommadant, but chess keeps my senses from dulling of boredom.

Buzzing noises of a power drill piques my interest. Peeking towards Odin, she's untightening bolts. Piecing apart two stationary turrets. Propped against a crate, her two long distinct barrels.

I've seen her fire them before, wiping out swaths of Sirens with a single salvo. Battleships, battlecruisers, and any that use such heavy firepower are to be admired. Stray, fanciful ideas of possibly upgrading my own guns to match such strength. Is it feasible? Unlikely.

Dragging the fiber cloth, I wipe away any blemish on Biss' face. Deactivated in his condition, I still take caution around his teeth. His name with standing, he is the least aggressive among his siblings. Obviously being my favorite, the others compete for my attention. Usually against each other. Keeping them apart is a duty for Biss, one that I gratefully appreciate.

Squabbles aside, the sibling rigging are to me what underlings are to humans. Pets, maybe?

No. They are more than simply household animals. Holding them by a leash is the last thing I want to do. At most, they are my trusted companions in the days to come.

Curiously, I wonder how Odin treats her rigging. Thoughts seem to have meshed as I see her reactivating the two oversized jaws. Red maws click open, gears turning. One of them creates a strange ticking noise with its copy mimicking. She sighs, picking up two pieces of this broken pipe. Giving each of them a piece. Metal screeches within their sharpened mouths.

I look at the pile of scrap metal near me. Giving it to Biss and the twins when I finish. They deserve this award for their obedience.

She clears her throat.

"Graf Zeppelin."

"Odin." I momentarily pause, "Lead pipes?"

Odin nods. Watching her twins munch on their food. I reach over to pick up a wrench, until I hear the munching stop.

"Huginn and Munnin favor them. Pipes come from the abandoned buildings along the Scandinavian shores," She calls out to me among the ding of more metal. "What about yours?"

"Biss snacks on nuts and bolts," I tap on the unconscious sentient machine, "And his siblings share burned metal, any will do as long as it's been scorched."

Odin tilts her head, "You cook the metal?"

"No, no, no. Siren remains. Better then eating the local aquatic life."

She puts down the power drill, "Why not? Huginn enjoys eel and Munnin has a taste for cod."

I furrow my brow. "Fish breath."

She relaxes, nodding in understanding.

Our conversation dies again.

Moving on, I look at my progress. Biss is cleaned and almost put together. His wireless nodes need to be reconnected and the gravity stabilizers recalibrated. Only the twins need to have their jaws reinserted then they'll be ready for me to restart them.

"Graf Zeppelin?"

"What."

Outwardly, I may appear more annoyed than I intended. For the white-haired cruiser frowns at my reaction. Salvaging my composure, I brush off nonexistent dust on my shoulder. I'm in fact more surprised to see Odin suddenly behind me.

"Apologies," she states plainly, "If you are free later, I would like for you to come with me."

"Its late."

The battlecruiser shrugs, "I know."

Odin motions to her rigging, the heads float across the floor. Groggy and their red glow dim.

"I just want an answer, yes or no?"

Blank, I remove the gloves that I wear. Covered in oil and soot.

"At this hour?

I say it like I'm annoyed. Instead, I'm confused to see yet another person is interested in me. Mainz makes sense. Her intentions were laid bare and wishes to share in our mutual nonexistence. Which begs the same question…does Odin feel the same?

Her reaction is one that I did not gauge immediately.

"This is a perfect time for the stars to come out," she says staring at the ceiling, "I don't want to watch it alone."

Her words came off so emotionless. Simple and factual. I want to read into this more. Her expressions feel so neutral. Blinking like she asked me to move aside. Garnering only sincerity in her tone. More or less, reading people's body language is not exactly a skill of mine. Her last statement hangs on me.

I shrug, "Let's clean up first."

I finish Biss and clean out our messes. The two of us part ways after closing down the maintenance bay. Even drags further and the dim orange lights turn to ash. We made sure that everything is top condition. Lest we incur the wrath of the base's repair chief, a specific blond cruiser with an attitude.

Night sky falls upon us. Dark midnight fills the base with eerie serenity. There is a distant hum of cheering and talking, nearby the pub where Eugen runs her alcohol. Most go in these hours, drinking away their stresses or finding merriment in company. Resilient girls brave the numbing air, flocking to the lights. More sensible ones stay inside away from the cold.

I tug on my sleeve. Dawning an overcoat with my usual flight gloves. Fine leather, fitted perfectly for me. Done with inspecting myself, I keep pace with Odin. Leading me up a hill away from the bustle of the base. Towards the less occupied places. Where nature takes its roots and keeps a place here to remind us that there are still trees and grass where the land goes.

Climbing up a rough path, I observe the darkened surroundings. Trees bristle in the cold air. A windy breeze picks up and dies. Further up we go, I begin to notice the path growing wider until we hit a clearing.

Parting the trees is a crooked wooden bench. Odin stops by it and brushes off leaves. Finishing up, she offers me a seat before sitting down.

And she did not disappoint.

Most of the base can be seen from here. Little is hidden of the port and the hulls of ships below. Anchored for repairs and refits. Enlarged circle of blackened blue waters surround us all. Threatening to swallow the clumped dots of the dorms, the building stuck together. Mess hall there, and the office in the middle, there is the dark outline of the Officer's Quarters.

This world is so tiny, excellent.

"Wide vantage point," I exhale, with it, a cloud of warmth comes visibly from my mouth, "Amazing sight."

Odin nods sagely. Shifting her body to be more comfortable in her spot. Gazing up at the sky and keeping her eyes glued to the stars.

"An aircraft carrier more interested in the ground then the air. Interesting."

I roll my eyes, "Neither matters to me. The ground is simply filled with petty lives and useless squabbles. The air is a massive void. Nothing to be too concerned about."

"Look up, you may change your mind," Odin tilts her head up, "What do you see?"

Stars spanning endlessly in the dark void of space. Clouds open away to sea of shining lights. This expanse crawls afar, meeting the ocean horizon. Blotting out the crowded blinking gases is the white moon. Full, domineering the pitiful lives below on this rock.

"Fading stars that will one day disappear." I hum, "Nothing worth my attention."

My response fell on deaf ears. Entranced by the scene. Or so I thought.

"I wish to paint the stars."

Out of the blue, I work my jaw up and down, "I didn't hear you…speak up."

Following Odin's finger, I get a rough idea of where she wants me to look. Amid the bundle of stars. Tracing her finger across the canvas of the gods. Showing me stars shining brighter then the rest. Hidden in the void.

"I wish to paint the stars," she repeats, meek, "Pursuing the fine arts is what I always wanted to do. Never I told myself. Until a certain interaction happened…and now my plans have changed."

"One needs hobbies to keep the stirring mind busy."

"Perhaps." Odin muses, sighing slowly, "I only wish I knew where to begin."

"…paint."

"Pardon me?"

"Paint," Shrugging, a habit of mine that is growing worryingly common, "Begin painting. Anything. You could paint the ocean. Paint the stars. Masters don't gain their skills overnight. They take their time."

Odin bows her head. Ruffling a rock over a pile over a pile of leaves below her with her foot. Crushing the dead leaves, kicking the rock away.

"You would know from experience?" She asks, "You don't strike me as someone…"

Grim understanding dawns, I know my reputation, "With purpose?"

"Ambition," she corrects herself, "These are trying times, being pragmatic and cold is acceptable. Being doubtful and hopeless, I don't see how you can live that way."

"Let bygones be bygones," I fire back, slighted by the comment. Shouldering the bluntness. She's not wrong. "And you are wrong, I am ambitious, but not in such trivial things such as mastering an art. I wish to achieve the Finale."

"Finale? I've heard you mention this before."

Gladly, "The Finale is the end, Odin. The Ragnarök, the Rapture, whatever anyone else wishes to call it. Perfectly putting an end to this nightmare of being alive. I aim for the end of the world, by my hand or otherwise. Bearing witness to the destruction of what it failed to provide me before – a history and life." I glare in the dark, "That is the Finale."

Odin ponders my words. Her expression hard to read in the moonlight.

"That is sad, Graf Zeppelin." Odin's words strike, "I can't imagine hating everything."

"What's not to hate, Odin? You should understand. You were never given the life you want. A history to back up your creation. The only difference between you and I, is that I was destroyed even when I was supposed to be finished. Let's face it, Odin. The world didn't want us."

"That's not true Graf and not fair."

The wind blows gently, "The Sirens weren't fair to humanity when they blasted their shores. The Sirens weren't fair when they annihilated the entirety of the Scandinavian culture, history, and society in one overnight assault. Life, in all its glory, is deep pit of fear and inevitable destruction. And you know what I say is true."

"No…" Trailing off, I can sense her shake her head, "No. Conceding to the terrible losses of life faced in the former Nordic lands, we regrouped and beat the Sirens back. We casted them out of Iron Blood shores and showed we still stand. And when it comes to you and me? There are more differences than you assume."

"Enlighten me."

She gets up head back in the clouds, gazing at the stars again, "Unlike you, I still see a reason to believe in this world. There are things still worthwhile, value to be found in the things we do. Life is fleeting, yes, and it can also be fulfilling. One day we'll meet our ends, one day we'll see this Finale of yours, and you may take this the wrong way…"

Blue breaks through the dark, "I welcome it. And I will fight it if need be. For I am a warrior."

Her resolve is solid. Conviction tied closely to her voice. There is no reason to argue with her. This is a woman aware of her strengths. Flaw being, she does not know her limit. Odin does have a point because I agree with her, to a limited degree.

"Besides, Graf Zeppelin," Odin chimes in, "Don't you have more then the Finale to live for? What about your sister, Peter Strasser?"

There she comes up again, my sister. I pint my nose in tired agony, "What of her…she's dead to me. And that's the end of that."

"Tragic," Odin's voice breaks a little, "Then what about the Kommadant?"

"I-"

I'm drawing blanks. He's not the same.

What is he to me?

"I, He."

I'm reminded of the cold air around us. Suddenly, feeling warmer than I should. That officer, he's not like the rest of them that I've seen. Lecherous wretches craving my body or indifferent military minds viewing kansen as pure hardware. He's not the same as those men in Berlin, who Bismarck cow to her bidding. Herr Kommadant is in a league of his own.

Even after I treated him poorly upon my arrival here…he gave me a second chance.

He's sees me as…

"I don't know, Odin." Warmer and feeling self-conscious, I gulp, "He's a friend to me."

"Then it can't be all bad," If I can see Odin's face, I feel as if she may be grinning, "Mainz likes you. And I thought you'd be someone that understands my position. Being stuck here on this base, doing a job you may or may not like. And not being able to sail the seas. You struck me as a fighter, as you may have mentioned, like me. I didn't realize how wrong I am."

War is what I was supposed to be built for. I know that is my purpose, as an aircraft carrier, I must use the skies to rain hell on my enemies. Destroy the Sirens, protect the Iron Blood. I am meant, I was built, for combat. Thinking this makes it feel so contrived.

"Yes, maybe." I chatter, cold getting to me. Damn this body, "I guess, being behind the desk did wonders for me."

"You actually like your job as his secretary."

Odin is right. There is more to life then awaiting the end. The Finale will come one day, and I will fight towards it. Avoiding the little unnecessary paths in life have changed me. Talking with Mainz had opened my eyes. Spending time on this base have altered my perception. Am I being manipulated? I don't think so.

"I do."

Chill settles in more. This breeze blow more hallow. Pushing us further closer together then either of us realize. Odin's concentration is broken from the stars as she turns her head towards the path to below. Its her signal.

"I'm heading off, the evening is growing too late for my tastes," We both reluctantly get up from our seats and begin our descent downhill, she stops to say one more thing.

"Thank you for sitting with me and indulging in my ramblings. I look forward to painting, like how you look forward to spending more time with the Kommadant."

My face is warmer than it should be. Leaving me dumbstruck.

"Excuse me?! Odin!"