There was something funny, he thought, about a shipgirl with a famously vicious anti-air armament flying in a plane. Irony, he supposed.

Still, Atlanta seemed to have taken the plane as some sort of opponent, given her preparations. Bags for airsickness, a ream of tissues in case someone got a nosebleed… She refused any title even vaguely similar to 'airport dad' but that was what she felt like. She had arranged their schedule, harangued him about his passport, and fretted over every minute detail up to the plane rising off the airstrip.

"Are we good now, Atlanta?"

"I think so, Commander. You packed everything, right?"

"Close enough."

"Close enough-?"

"We're not exactly going into enemy territory, Atlanta."

"I know… but it's always good to be prepared!"

"Maybe you should prepare yourself by getting some sleep," Georgia- the other shipgirl going on their trip- suggested before sliding an eyemask over her face.

"Right," Atlanta nodded. "Sleep well, Commander."

He decided not to mention his almost complete inability to fall asleep on airplanes, just nodding along and lying back in his seat. It would be quite the flight to get to Georgia. The state.

Georgia, of course, had pushed for a visit to the homeland of Coca-Cola, in addition to an interest in her namesake state. And because a visit to Georgia wasn't really complete without the state's capital, they invited Atlanta along as well.

He was leafing through a book when he realized Atlanta was having trouble getting to sleep as well. "You should be asleep, Commander."

"So should you, Atlanta."

"We aren't going to look… strange, are we?" She played with her hair- peach pink- a bit. "We'll manage to stay low-key, right?" A lot of them still remembered Salt Lake City's disastrous attempt to visit her namesake… it was a reasonable worry.

"I mean, I think it sort of makes sense." The Commander said. "Me, Georgia, and our adorable little sprog."

Atlanta's cheeks flushed crimson. "I don't think…"

"If not, then you're relatives or something. Your eyes look like Georgia's blue one, and you packed contacts for her gold one. The hair? Say it's dyed. I think you could sell it. And if not?" He shrugged. "Three friends can travel together. It's not illegal."

Getting off the plane, he tried to shake off the creeping fingers of sleep. Of course, he would feel the urge the moment he was on solid ground, because his body was a perfidious betrayer. Still, he followed behind Atlanta, confident that she'd guide him true. He nodded along as she shoved some luggage in his direction.

Fortunately for all three of them, Georgia had driving skills that would see them reaching their hotel in one piece. Atlanta could drive a car as well, and had actually proven herself one of the best drivers in port in tests, but… well, her heart just wasn't ready for Atlanta drivers.

He leaned back and tried to get some shut-eye. Atlanta smiled at him. "Don't worry, Commander. We're almost there-" A vicious honk cut off her reassurances. Georgia honked back.

"Going native, huh?"

Atlanta sighed. "It's easy to honk when you're isolated from the noise. Think about the pedestrians!"

"That's the point, Atlanta. Would you prefer being surprised by a car…?"

"People could just stand to be less abrasive about it, is all."

"Yeah, and Georgia will get her hands on the Coca-Cola secret recipe."

Georgia chuckled. "Oh, you don't think I will?"

"Don't you already have a lifetime of free soft drinks to get through?" (The reward for saving the world and being a walking ad.)

"Sure," Georgia shrugged, "But the recipe will be an heirloom. Like that stupid desk of yours, Commander."

"It's not stupid, it's vintage."

"It's probably older than Atlanta!" She cleared her throat. "The city."

"Nicknames." He suggested. "Would nicknames make things less confusing?"

"There have to be hundreds of Georgias in Georgia already, Commander. It's not that strange." The battleship sniffed, "But Atlanta… what do you think of A-town?"

"No."

They never did manage to decide on a nickname, and he had kind of tuned out the discussion as that special sort of 'approaching the hotel' tiredness came over him.

When the sun came, there wasn't much to block it from entering his window. He had honestly expected a bit more concrete jungle, not so much… green. It was a clear morning, and he could see the slopes of Stone Mountain in the distance. The idea of a monument to Jefferson-goddamn-Davis made him want to cringe out of his skull, but it was a part of Georgian history. There was a day in the schedule for it and everything.

(He suspected that it was something the two wanted to grapple with themselves. It wasn't necessarily a problem every shipgirl had. Langley had landed, as far as he knew, unproblematic fave Samuel Pierpont Langley, but not every American person or state was an unassailable moral bastion.)

Today's destination was one of Atlanta's more interesting sites and proudly stuck out like a sore thumb amid relatively normal-looking buildings. You didn't exactly chance upon Arabesques with domes in every American city. The Fox Theater was in a class of its own.

Georgia chuckled. "It's certainly unique."

The Commander chuckled. "I like it. Just a bunch of rich dorks making a tacky Moorish temple-looking thing in the middle of Atlanta."

"Rich dorks?"

"Most people can't do fezzes. That is fact, Atlanta. You can give to charity while having bizarre taste."

"Would you have preferred the building was normal? Just a box of concrete?" Georgia asked. "A theater should be fun!"

"I'd say it's more… kitsch."

Atlanta sighed. "We have a tour to see, and it's starting soon."

"Oh god, it's worse on the inside."

"Commander…"

He cleared his throat.

"Cameron…" Atlanta sighed.

"No mercy for anyone who would charge that much for booze."

"The architecture's good though, isn't it?"

"That it is."

For what it was worth, even Cameron was amazed by the inside of the auditorium, and not just because it was a big room. The roof was dark blue, creating the illusion of a sort of faux night sky; the carefully molded plaster gave the appearance of bricks in a Moorish castle; intricate lanterns cast an orange glow on intricate box seating… It was possible, for a moment or two, to forget the hot Atlanta sun outside, to be completely swept away.

"Oh my gosh." Atlanta gasped, looking up at the roof, 'stars' vaguely twinkling. Georgia whistled appreciatively.

The tour lead them toward the stage, just in front of the orchestra pit, where a complex organ sat, covered in keys and buttons of all sorts. It was shockingly complex for something so vintage, and was covered in the same Arabesque decoration as the rest of the theater.

"... The organ was from the M.P. Moller company and remains one of the Fox's finest features. We like to call it the Mighty Mo.."

Georgia chuckled. "I know a different Mighty Mo."

"What?" The guide asked, quirking her head.

"Inside joke." Georgia smiled. Missouri was a friend and a vague relation.

"Well, in addition to thirty-six hundred different pipes, Mighty Mo is attached to dozens of instruments by wire. Do you see those 'box seats'? They're actually hiding xylophones and glockenspiels and dozens of other instruments."

There was something about that theater organ that compelled people. It was a magnificent beast, only played by a handful of people, and one organist had apparently requested his ashes be kept among the instruments.

Some men loved women, some loved boats, some loved organs. Who was he to judge?

In the evening, they sat in a restaurant and discussed their plan of attack for the next couple of days in the city. There was simply so much to do. Atlanta had insisted they plan things out a bit more properly- like the rest of the trip wasn't already regimented and planned- so they talked as they waited for food to arrive.

"World of Coca-Cola, of course." Georgia, of course, had her idea.

"You'll melt your teeth clean through like this, Georgia."

"Am I not allowed to be interested?"

"If you want sodas from around the world, you can just ask. You don't need to go to the sampling place there."

"I could. But the museum is here, Atlanta."

"Right. Maybe aquarium, same day?" Atlanta suggested. "The penguins."

"We could see penguins the fun way, sometime…" Georgia mused. "Weren't there some sirens at the poles?"

"I wouldn't want to see the poor penguins getting shelled." The Commander said. "Or maybe attack by air? They're flightless, after all."

Atlanta rolled her eyes.

"No. I'm not."

"Commander, this is about as easy as mountain climbing is going to get. It's not even wet." Georgia didn't exactly frown on him, but she was certainly looking down on him.

"It's not even wet, she says…" The Commander sighed. "That's not the problem."

"I promise I won't let you slip, Commander." Atlanta smiled, and the Commander gave her an appraising look. "What, you think I can't? I'll remind you I'm stronger than you."

"Right." He nodded and kept on climbing. "This better be worth it."

"You can beat a pile of rock, Commander."

"You say that."

Georgia sighed. "How are we going to hike the Appalachian trail if you can't manage one mountain?"

"Why did I promise you that?"

"We all make mistakes in the heat of passion, Commander." She smiled slyly.

"I feel like I'm going to melt and trickle down the mountain."

"Did you expect something else from Georgia in summer?"

"I didn't think I'd be climbing Stone Mountain," he groaned. "Do you think I can piss on Robert E. Lee when I get up top?"

"There's a fence," Atlanta informed him.

"Awww."

"You say that, but you're the one who's afraid of falling off." Atlanta reached for her bag. "Water?"

"Please."

Georgia grinned. "Did you know people used to race down the steep side? They called it the 'Suicide Derby'."

"No Commander, don't get sick! You're almost there!"

He would manage to get to the top, and the view was remarkable. The rolling hills, the endless forest, the towering Atlanta skyline... it was incredible. Despite Atlanta and Georgia's encouragement, he went down using the gondola lift. It was its own kind of nerve-wracking, but it was certainly easier. It also got him a view of Stone Mountain's infamous carvings. Memorializing Confederate generals and the traitorous state's president was pretty bad, but it was a feat. From the ground, it seemed so flat against the mountainside, but it was massive. A carved horse so giant a man could fit inside the mouth, Lee's shoulder so broad that a dinner table could be placed there.

(They actually did do that once in the 1920's. Funnily enough, Stone Mountain was made by the same guy who did Rushmore. He supposed carving mountainsides was a bit of a niche business.)

"I don't see the need to go to Helen." Atlanta said, looking at the map on her phone. "Uh, take a right up here, Commander."

"Okay. And then…?"

"After the next turn- so, second turn- take a left."

"You were saying, about Helen?"

"If we wanted to see a quaint German town, we could actually visit Germany."

"Then just Amicalola?"

Georgia- who had kicked back in the passenger's seat- laughed. "Think you can handle it, Commander?"

"Yeah. Climbing the mountain wasn't half bad, in hindsight."

She smirked. "Or were you just glad to get some hind-sight?"

"Georgia!" Atlanta cried.

"Would you prefer to talk about those books on your phone instead…?"

"Can we just talk soda or something, please?" Atlanta sighed. "Oh, Commander, you missed the turn."

(Amicalola was a marvel: a massive waterfall plummeted between the trees, frothy white, the sound of its flow constant. It made him want to return in fall, to see it when the leaves were bursting with oranges and reds. A lodge sat at the peak, where Georgia joked about his eventual death march to Maine, when the war was over.)

While Savannah certainly had her modern elements, she was the oldest city in Georgia, older than the United States as a concept, even. That was nothing compared to Europe, but they weren't in Europe, were they?

At Fort Pulaski, they saw a cannon firing- sans shot for obvious, if boring reasons- and marveled at the brickwork, filled with holes from Union cannon. Really, that the fort still stood was remarkable, considering the chunks blown from the walls.

On the top of the walls, there was grass. It would have helped with drainage back in the day, but now, it provided a slightly softer surface to walk on as they circled the fort. Georgia chuckled. "It's hard to believe that this would have been considered practically invincible just eighty years before the Second World War." She shook her head.

"Well, rifled cannon were a big change," Atlanta said. "I mean, I could probably take this place down myself, couldn't I?"

"Yeah." Georgia grinned. "But I don't think any modern ship could shell a place as well as me."

"A carrier-"

"Let me have this, would you?"

"I mean, really, you taking this place on would be like clubbing a baby seal." The Commander said, looking out over the river.

"I could go for shelling a Siren position right now." Georgia sighed.

"On vacation?"

"It'd be fun." She shrugged.

There were several sights Savannah was famous for. Those famous live oaks dripping with Spanish moss in front of mansions or covering long roads, and of course, River Street. An old-fashioned paddle steamer was moored there, while trees and brightly colored awnings provided some shade for the cobbled street.

Finding a spot by the water, they sat down and indulged in that time-honored tradition: people watching. And if that ever got boring, you could always turn to the river, occasionally spotting a mighty cargo ship making its way past the city, toward the looming silhouettes of the cranes that would unload them. A cable-stayed bridge towered over the river, high enough to let even those mighty ships past.

Looking down the river, towards the sea, Atlanta could see… "Commander, is that who I think it is?"

"Whatever do you mean?"

"That's… that's Phoenix."

Looking back, the Commander nodded. "So it would seem. You got her that little phoenix-themed souvenir, didn't you?"

"Yes, but I thought we were flying back!"

"Surprise."

"She's going to make it, right?" Atlanta asked.

"You've all got shallower drafts than the big cargo ships. She'll be fine. Now, let's catch our ride."

"What about the rental car, Commander?"

"It's handled."