USN, Early 1950s:
We finally made it home after the big competition, but something's wrong. Russia's always been a bit unpredictable—prone to mood swings, dressing in strange uniforms, making offhanded insults—but this time, it feels different.
She looked at me today like she hated me.
I tried talking to KM-senpai earlier—she's always been a bit intimidating, but today she seemed more distant, nursing a headache from the aftermath of everything. Still, she opened up a little and even passed along some gear she didn't need anymore. That should've been the end of it, but just as I was leaving, Russia arrived. I have no idea why, but she looked furious.
I can't shake the feeling that something big is coming.
Oh—looks like they're calling me to Korea. Again. For whatever reason. Didn't we just take that back from Japan?
Russian Navy, Just After the Cuban Missile Crisis:
I thought she'd like the chocolates.
They were Cuban—something small, something sweet, maybe even a sign that we could start over. Just a gesture.
But she looked at me like I'd handed her a bomb.
I—I panicked. I got flustered, and instead of giving her the gift, I nearly launched a nuclear torpedo at her.
Thank God I didn't.
But I wonder… if I had, would she have even noticed what I meant to do before it was too late?
She's always been ahead of me, always looking down at me from her place at the top. I don't think she understands—I don't want to destroy her. I just want to catch up. To stand beside her.
How long will it take for her to see that?
USN, 1968:
Korea stole one of my model ships.
I should flatten them for it.
At first, I thought Russia was behind it—she's always meddling. But no, she's just as pissed as I am. That might actually be worse.
Korea swears I left the model at their place, but I know I left it near Japan. I don't care what they say—I just want it back.
Nothing makes sense anymore.
USN, 1980s:
It's been a long few days. Russia had been quiet for a while, and that always means trouble. Sure enough, she was up to something—she showed up with a brand-new toy. I can't talk about what it is, but let's just say it's… concerning.
The thing is, when I finally caught up to her, she looked... wrong.
Not angry. Not defiant. Not even smug.
She looked tired.
I don't think I've ever seen her like that. She's always been relentless, always charging forward, even when she's on the back foot. But this time, it was different.
And then—she just gave up.
She abandoned her new toy like it meant nothing. And I know how much work she put into it. I know what it was supposed to do.
She took one look at me and just… quit.
That's not like her.
Is she okay?
Russian Navy, 1991:
I… I can't do this anymore.
The aggression, the shipbuilding, the constant fight to keep up—it's going to kill me.
And my so-called friends? They act like they belong in the big leagues, but they're reckless. Suicidal. They pick fights with her and expect me to back them up.
I can't. I can't.
The money is gone. The fleet is crumbling. I've spent so much trying to keep up with her, and for what? What do I have to show for it?
I thought I could match her strength. That maybe, just maybe, I could win.
But I see it now.
I lost. I lost a long time ago.
I think it's time to start over. Maybe if I rebuild, things will be different.
Maybe.
Soviet Navy, Looking Back:
Sometimes I wish I could have finished any of my projects.
Every time I got close to making something truly great, the money dried up. It was always the same—either I couldn't afford to build them, I couldn't afford to develop them, or I had to abandon them just to keep the fleet alive.
During the Great Patriotic War, when battleships ruled the seas, I had dreams—mighty warships that would have made the world tremble. But none of them made it beyond blueprints.
Then, when carriers took over, I had to settle—helipads strapped onto outdated hulls. Eventually, I built my own, but she's more of a burden than anything else. She breaks constantly. To send her anywhere, I have to bring an entire escort of tugs and repair ships.
Now? Now, I don't even get to dream.
I have to spend everything on defenses. Ship-killing missiles. A fleet of destroyers and cruisers, but no flagship to rally behind. No true pride.
Maybe someday, I'll have the fleet I always wanted. Maybe someday, I'll stand tall again.
…Who am I kidding? I'll never have the money.
Soviet Navy, 1988:
I am sick of this.
I'm sick of the US Navy poking me with a stick and then pretending to be the innocent one when I push back.
This time, they sent two ships right into my waters. I warned them. I told them to leave.
They ignored me.
They just sat there, like they owned the place.
So, what was I supposed to do? Let them trample me? I sent Bezavetnyy and SKR-6 to remind them whose waters they were in. Just a bump. Just a little nudge.
And yet—somehow—I'm the bad guy.
They know exactly what they're doing. They know I can't afford to escalate.
They want me to look weak. I won't give them the satisfaction.
I just want them to leave me alone.
If they would just leave me alone, we wouldn't have these problems.
USN, 1991:
It's over.
She's… gone.
For so long, we fought—sometimes coldly, sometimes barely avoiding all-out war. And yet, I always assumed she'd be there. That no matter what, Russia would always find a way back.
But today, she looked at me and… there was nothing.
She's not the same anymore. She's lost.
And for the first time, I don't feel like I won.
I feel like I lost something too.