"Is this really necessary?" muttered Marne.

"Look, no one likes reporters," said Mitscher. "But the Eagle Union project is the only thing we have going that has any chance of saving us from the Sirens. The people have a right to know." He scowled. "Though San Diego's little firework display pretty much forced our hand."

They were standing in the back of the briefing room Mitscher had chosen for the press conference. The reporters were just filing in, murmuring as they saw Mitscher, Marne, and- most importantly- Enterprise. She stood nervously just behind Marne.

"I don't know if I'm ready for this," she said to Marne quietly.

He gave her a glance, causing her to blush. They hadn't yet spoken about the- about what had happened on Long Island. "You just went up against a huge Siren fleet, and virtually destroyed them. You can handle a few reporters."

"Yeah, except I can't shoot them if they get out of hand." She suddenly looked pensive. "Unless-"

"No."

"Showtime," said Mitscher. He stepped up to the podium.

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming. I will begin with a brief statement, then take questions." He took a breath. "The United States and our allies across the globe have recently developed a new technology that we had code-named 'Eagle Union'. The exact details of the project remain secret, but what it entails is the creation of beings that have the power of warships. The young lady you see to my right is Enterprise, for example. She combines the power of a carrier with the dexterity and intelligence of a human. We currently have a number of these 'ship-girls', as we call them, under our command.

"One such force recently engaged and destroyed a large Siren task force to the east of Newport News. We have also received word that our allies in Japan, Germany, and Great Britain have had similar successes. It is due to the bravery and skill of these girls that we can claim such victories, and I truly believe a turning point for the war has come. I'll take questions now."

Hands shot up. "You there in the front."

"Hal Boyle, Associated Press. Admiral, are you saying that this girl is the carrier Enterprise?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying, as strange as it might be. She has all the capabilities of the ship. Next question." He pointed at another reporter.

"Ernie Pyle, Washington Daily News."

Mitscher smiled. "How are you doing, Ernie?" Pyle was well-known in the aviation community, and also well-liked.

"Can't complain, sir. I have a question for Enterprise, if I may."

Mitscher looked at Enterprise, who took a deep breath and moved up to the podium. "Go ahead."

"I seem to remember the gentleman standing next to you as Lucas Marne, the former captain of- well, your former captain. Is there some sort of special relationship there?"

Enterprise turned beet red. "He is my Commander, if that's what you're saying. He commands all the Eagle Union ship-girls."

All eyes turned to Marne, who found himself blushing in turn.

"All of them? Including the one that was seen outside of O'Malley's Bar firing five inch guns into the air?"

"I'll take this one," said Marne, stepping up. "Yes, that was San Diego, the light cruiser. I assure you she has been disciplined for her, um, enthusiasm."

Enterprise raised an eyebrow at him. "What did you do?" she asked in a voice too low for the reporters to hear.

"No sweets for a month," replied Marne.

"She also smashed the car outside the bar?"

Marne and Enterprise exchanged a look. "Sure," said Marne.

"Are we expected to accept further damage to private property as a result of this program?" asked another reporter snidely.

Marne hesitated. "No..."

"You don't seem confident in that answer, captain."

"Not a question. Next?"

"Harry Zinder, TIME magazine. Captain, when can we expect effective action against the Sirens?"

Marne opened his mouth to speak, but Enterprise beat him to the punch.

"My orders are to take, sink, burn, or destroy the Sirens wherever they may be found. We will hit them with torpedoes, guns, and airplanes. We will pursue them across the shoals and into deep waters. We will hunt them as mercilessly and purposefully as they have hunted us. We will retake the ocean and open the sea lanes to peaceful commerce. The ocean will once again be humanity's. This I swear." She looked at Zinder, who took a step back when he saw the fierceness of her gaze. "When can we expect effective action, Mr. Zinder?

"It's already begun."

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"Enterprise is a bit scary," observed San Diego.

She and the rest of the ship-girls were clustered in the common room, listening to the radio. "I hope so," said Yorktown. She was sitting cross-legged on the sofa, her head cocked as she listened to her sister. "The Sirens should be scared."

"Do you think we can win?" asked Arizona, who was standing by the window. She looked out at the bustling base. "I mean, the Sirens have so many ships and planes."

"We're pretty strong," said Cleveland. "And getting stronger. I heard we just added Washington and South Dakota to the roster. Not to mention another few Fletcher class destroyers."

"All of the Little Beavers are here now," said Charles Ausburne, tossing her head defiantly. "Nothing can outrun us."

"They seem pretty intent on coming to us," said Cleveland.

"Good," said Charles Ausburne. "Saves us the fuel."

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"So what's the plan?" asked Marne as he, Mitscher, and Enterprise left the conference room.

"I think Enterprise got the gist of it," said Mitscher. He grinned as Marne gave him a look. "Okay, okay, I know what you meant." He led them down the corridor to the common room. The ship-girls all looked at them as Mitscher pushed open the door. "Ladies."

"Admiral on deck!" shouted Cleveland. All the ship-girls sprang to their feet.

Ausburne gave Enterprise a thumbs-up. "Well put, Enterprise."

"Thanks," she said. She looked at Mitscher. "But we do need something more than words."

"That's why I'm here," said the admiral. "Everyone have a seat." He suddenly noticed how many ship-girls were in the room. "Or stand at ease."

He walked to the center of the room. "Right now, our biggest problem is coordinating with our allies. Japan in particular is in dire straits- most of their goods came from overseas, and we have word that the Imperial Army is encroaching more and more on the Navy's turf over there. The Imperial Navy can be bad enough- the last thing we need is the Japanese Army calling the shots."

Yorktown looked confused. "I thought we got along well with the Japanese Navy."

"We get along well with Yamamoto," corrected Mitscher. "If he loses control- or dies- who knows what might happen. So our first goal is to get you girls- minus a few to hold the fort here- to the Pacific."

Hornet grinned. "Panama, here we come."

Mitscher grinned. "Actually, you've forgotten that you're not ships anymore. No, we have a faster route planned."

"Um..."

"Now for you carriers, it'll be easy. Not sure how the rest of you will handle it."

The ship-girls exchanged looks. "Admiral, are you saying-" began Cleveland.

"I hope none of you get airsick."

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Wallace sighed as he finished the pre-flight checks. "I thought we were bomber pilots, Howie. Not cargo planes."

"Passengers, technically," Alan "Howie" Howton reminded him.

"Self-loading cargo, then." He keyed the intercom as he saw the ship-girls tramping aboard. "Welcome to Air Pacific, ladies. May I remind you that I'm actually a bomber pilot, and so I'm used to discharging my load over enemy territory."

One of the girls turned to leave, but was tackled and dragged back on-board. "Very funny, pilot," said one of the girls- Cleveland, as he recalled. "Out of curiosity, how long have you been flying?"

"Well, I've got most of the dials and switches down, other than a few that I don't think we really need. And I have almost as many landings under my belt as take-offs."

"That's good!" said San Diego.

Cleveland gave her a look. "No, it's not. But he's joking." She paused. "I think."

"Relax, girls," said Howton. "The captain is being facetious."

"He is?" said San Diego, suddenly anxious. "How long has he been sick? Is he going to get better?"

"I'm not going to ask what she thinks facetious means," said Howton to Wallace. "Pre-takeoff checks complete, Captain."

"Roger, Lieutenant. All right, ladies, sit back and enjoy the ride."

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"Why couldn't we just have flown ourselves?" asked Hornet plaintively. She looked rather green.

"Because our planes don't have anything like the range needed to fly across country," said Yorktown patiently. "We'd have to stop to refuel constantly."

"But-"

"Hornet, don't tell me you're airsick."
"I'm not used to flying this way!"

The B-17 shuddered slightly and Hornet looked, if anything, slightly greener. The intercom came on. "Sorry about that, girls. We're encountering some slight turbulence." The aircraft shuddered again. "And it appears we're being shot at. Further updates as events warrant."

"Wait, what?"

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"Shot at?" said Marne. He unbuckled and moved to the nearest window.

A streak of smoke ended in a burst of flame and smoke off their port side. Two of the P-51's peeled off and began a dive.

"What the hell-"

"Missiles," said Enterprise. She had moved up beside him. "But we're well inland-"

"Quislings," said Marne grimly.

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"What do we do, what do we do?" asked San Diego plaintively.

"Not much we can do," said Cleveland, gripping her seat-belt as the plane banked to one side. "I think we might be in trouble."

"Siren aircraft, coming up at six o'clock," observed Laffey. She had been asleep until the violent shaking of the B-17 had finally awakened even her. "Shame they tore out the machine guns to save weight."

Cleveland shot upright in her seat. "Of course!"

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In the cockpit, Wallace frowned. "The load is shifting."

"You mean the passengers are moving around."

"Isn't that what I said? I have a bad feeling about this."

The intercom buzzed. "Captain? This is Cleveland."

"Yes?" said Wallace cautiously. "What is it?"

"Can you go lower and slower?"

"Yes, if I want to get shot down."

"I have an idea," said the ship-girl.
"Is it a good one?"

There was a long pause. "Sure."

"No dice."

"Okay. There's some Siren aircraft coming up behind us, though. Thought we might try to shoot them down."

"With what? Our machine-guns were-" He blinked. "No."

"It's our only chance."

"The P-51's-"

"They're kind of busy. They went to strafe whoever was shooting missiles at us from the ground."

Wallace sighed. "How low and slow do I need to go?"

"Depends on whether we want to be sucked out of the airplane or not."

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With one final kick, Cleveland broke out the pane of the weapons blister near the tail. "Okay, it's really cold out there."

They were low enough that the air pressure difference wasn't particularly high, but she still felt the wind as the air pressure in the plane equalized with that outside. She braced herself against the panes of the blister. "Okay, only small caliber fire."

Taking careful aim, she fired a burst at the nearest Siren airplane.

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Marne stared at the lead B-17. "They're shooting."

Enterprise followed his gaze. "I thought they removed all the machine guns."

"Good day, passengers," said their pilot over the intercom. "It appears that our lead plane's pilot has gone stark, raving mad. Being a loyal subordinate, I have decided to follow his lead. Please do whatever it is you do to shoot down those Siren fighters. Captain out."

Hornet grinned, suddenly showing no signs of airsickness. "Now we're talking."

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If the Siren planes were capable of being surprised- which they were not- they no doubt would have been as a series of tiny airplanes suddenly shot from the tail bomber. The aircraft quickly inflated to full-size and turned to attack. Tracer fire walked its way along to the nearest Siren jet, ripping through the fuselage and turning it into a ball of fire that seemingly slowly drifted downward.

All along the line of bombers, fire erupted, showering the Siren planes with tracer and flak rounds. The Sirens exploded one by one, ripped apart by the hail of bullets and fragments.

Only one got off a shot.

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"Incoming," shouted Marne. He flinched as the missile flashed toward them, and then again as an explosion shook the airplane.

"Shit!" he heard the pilot shout. "Right engines on fire." Marne looked outside and saw it was worse than that- the whole wing was starting to tear off. "Passengers, bail out!"

There was only one parachute. He grabbed it and started to hand it to Enterprise. "You need to-"

She rolled her eyes, grabbed him, and leaped out of the burning airplane.

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"That's all of them," said Cleveland. She wiped sweat away from her eyes. "That was scary."

"Uh-oh," said San Diego, peering out the window. "Can planes fly with two engines?"

"Yeah, but it's not ideal."

"What about with one wing?"

Cleveland shoved her aside and looked out the window to see a B-17 falling from the sky. "Oh, no. The Commander!"

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Air rushed past as Marne fell, Enterprise holding him tightly. "I hope you had more of a plan than this!" he shouted.

She ignored him- or possibly couldn't hear him. With the now-familiar flash of light, her rigging appeared. Taking her bow, she twisted in the air and launched a fighter. It shot away, then circled back.

She braced herself as the fighter flew towards them, then- with a thump audible over the rushing wind- landed neatly on the fuselage.

Marne blinked. "Did that just happen?"

He looked around and saw Hornet and Yorktown riding their own fighters. Both had a wide-eyed man in flight gear clinging to them- the pilot and co-pilot, he realized.

"Welcome to Air Enterprise," said Enterprise with a smile. "Please remember, no smoking on this flight."

"Why not?" he asked shakily.

"I'm not saying you're not allowed. Just that you can't." She gestured to the air rushing around them. The plane entered a gentle bank. "Enterprise. Mayday, mayday. Need directions to the nearest airfield." She cocked her head, listening to the reply only she could hear, then nodded. "Should be on the ground in about twenty minutes."

"Oh, thank God." He looked around for something to grip, but all he had to hold onto was Enterprise. "Enterprise, we haven't talked about, well- the kiss."

She glanced at him. "And you think now is a good time?"

"Well, we're alone for once."

"True." She bit her lip and looked away. "I-"

"Wait." He paused, looking away and gathering his thoughts. "I'm your Captain- your Commander, as you would say. I have to be dispassionate, showing no favoritism. Whatever your feelings toward me, or my feelings toward you, we can't- I mean-"

"No, I understand," she said almost too quietly to hear. "We have a mission to do."

"Yes, but- it's more than that. I might have to risk you in combat and- I'm having enough trouble with that as it is. So any more of a relationship and I don't know if-" He realized how hard he was holding her and loosened his grip. "I can't lose you again."

She looked at him, and for a long moment he was lost in those lavender eyes. "I understand, Commander." She looked away again. "Nineteen minutes to landing."

Nineteen minutes later, the plane they were riding taxied to a stop.

"We're on the ground, Commander," she said wryly. "You can let go now."

"Right," he said. "That's why I was still holding on to you."

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"Ground-based missiles," said Mitscher grimly. "The Sirens have never operated that far inland."

They were finally at San Diego, having had a much less eventful flight across the US.

"Had to be Quislings, sir," said Marne. "I can't see a Siren force- humanoid or otherwise- making it that far from the ocean without anyone noticing.

"I had hoped we didn't have any here in the US." Mitscher paced the room and looked at the American flag draping one wall. "Though I suppose traitors and fools are present everywhere."

There was a man in a nondescript suit sitting in one corner of the room. He watched them carefully. "We've had intelligence, but nothing concrete until now."

Mitscher glared at him. "I would have thought the FBI would be all over this, Mr. Hoover."

J. Edgar Hoover returned the glare, with interest. "The quislings- since apparently they do exist- have been remarkably circumspect. To smuggle these weapons in without anyone noticing- it's unprecedented. This is the first sign of quisling contact with the Sirens we've seen."

"You mean there has been quisling activity?" asked Marne, surprised.

Hoover shrugged. "Some. Idiots operating on their own, deluded into thinking that will give them some sort of pass with the Sirens. I never really called them quislings, because that implies some sort of real cooperation with the Sirens."

"I'd say surface to air missiles indicates cooperation," said Mitscher dryly.

"I'd have to agree with you," admitted Hoover. "But, as I said, this is the first sign I've seen of it."

"Well, I hope you have some sort of plan to deal with this," said Marne. "I don't like being shot at."

"Interesting occupational choice, then, Captain."

"Just because people shoot at me doesn't mean I like it, Mr. Hoover."

"Of course not." Hoover sighed. "I'll put my top men on it right away. We'll catch these Siren sympathizers. You have my word on that."

"I'll hold you to it," warned Mitscher.

Hoover stood, putting on his hat. "You do your job, and I'll do mine, Admiral. We're all in this together." With that, he left the room.

Mitscher watching him leave. "I don't entirely trust him."

Marne raised an eyebrow. "You don't mean that. Hoover is- well, he's Hoover."

"I don't question his loyalty to the United States, Marne. I just don't know that I agree with his methods. If it were up to him, America would be a police state- all in the name of freedom."

"He does what he has to do," argued Marne.

Mitscher sighed. "As do we all, Captain. As do we all." He turned to face Marne. "Have you spoken to Enterprise?"

Marne stiffened. "What do you mean?"

Mitscher peered at him, before turning around, satisfied. "Good."