Archive of Our Own ^beta

Operation Cascade. A comprehensive plot handed down directly from the Azur Lane to their station at Journey Island. The brainchild of the Admiralty, the culmination of their collective decades of experience leading the forces of man. A response to the massive Siren contingency in the Arctic, slowly encroaching upon Eagle territory...and a plan to rid them of the threat once and for all.

It will never work.

“So you’re serious about this?”

“I am.”

The rain falls on this lonely island, as it always does. Fog envelops the distant mountains, a chill wind whistling against the cabin windows. Before the man sits Haida herself, Marquess of the Maple Monarchy, flanked by her steadfast attendant, Bonaventure. She takes his proposal together with a sip of tea, thoughts storming in her head.

“You want to gamble with every single one of us on the line. You want to defy your superiors’ orders in favor of your own subordinates...”

“And you want me to help you.”

“That’s right.”

The Commander stares at her with his battle-hardened eyes, burning with a silent resolve. He’s made his stance perfectly clear: the operation, as it stands, will doom them all.

“...Well! Dare I say, it sounds like fun!”

“I’m glad you agree.”

Soon, this island will transform. Under the Commander’s direction, a new shipgirl development facility will rise from the waters here, kept secret even from the Azur Lane itself. Only the four inside this old cabin have any idea. The base itself, and the knowledge he seeks within, all fall under his far-reaching ploy to save the Azur Lane from itself.

“I’ve forwarded our blueprints and other documents to you. Should you need any other information, you can contact me.” Sirius solemnly bows at the table.

“Perfect. We will need time, of course, to have the facility completed to your specifications. But rest assured, Commander, it will be done.”

“Thank you. It’s difficult to overstate how important this is… When Operation Cascade was first handed down to the shipgirls, well…they hated it. Every single one of them.”

“Oh, I’m not surprised. Frankly, that was never going to work.” She takes another sip of tea.

“You’ll have to forgive me for grilling you like that. I just felt like making sure your heart was really set on it, you know?”

“No offense taken—I’d have done the same in your position. This is perhaps the most important decision I’ll make in my life… The least I can do is be sure of myself.”

He stares out into the blue and gray. Soon, many disparate men will call this rainy rock their home—including, the Commander hopes, a budding young mind by the name of Fletcher…

“I will serve as your liaison for this project.” Bonaventure adjusts her glasses. “You may contact me for any updates or inquiries.”

“Thank you. You’ll probably be hearing from us a lot.”

“I certainly wouldn’t mind the company.” Beneath that icy exterior is a smile of warm gold.

“Shall we then, Haida?”

“Sure. It’s about time we headed on back—I can’t just disappear like this without people getting worried.”

“Almost like you’re a head of state or something.”

“Really, who’d have thought? Haha!”

In time, the Marquess and her maid will return to Prince Rupert, where their usual government duties await them. And the Commander will resume his life as Rear Admiral Frederick Lightoller, loyal lapdog to the Admiralty.

But soon, he will be a Rear Admiral no longer; he doesn’t know what he’ll be after all this is said and done. When this gambit of his is revealed to the world, only he will bear its name and its consequences. The volunteers pivotal to the entire operation, the selfless shipgirls who will lay down their lives in service of man...they will be shrouded in darkness. They will bear no names.

They shall be known only by a collective: Task Force TL.

***

October 14^th: the final night of calm before Hell itself descends upon the Bering Strait. For months now, the Siren menace has slowly clawed its way through the depths of the North, swallowing any and all resistance in its path. One week ago, they tore through the final Northern Parliament gauntlet at Wrangel Island—and now, the open Pacific is next on their list. There’s only one thing left to stand in their way...

“Mmn…” One destroyer, Bristol, struggles to fall asleep—she just can’t turn her brain off. Ever since they got to camp at St. Lawrence Island five days ago, they’ve been scrambling to get everything ready. It’s a blur, all of it.

They understood, when they set out, that they might not come back. The Commander made that very clear. She remembers the silence washing through the room when he outlined his grand plan, stressing both its importance and its danger.

“At stake is the fate of everyone and everything on this earth. Mankind faces his darkest hour...and we need you now, more than ever, to defend these waters we call home.”

“I will not draft anyone for this task; I will not force anyone. This task force is to be comprised of volunteers and volunteers only. Understand that when you leave Journey Island...you may very well not return.”

It was the first time Bristol saw genuine pain in the Commander’s eyes. She’ll never forget his face.

“If you understand this mission, and you still want to go, then make yourselves known here and now. You will not be recognized for your efforts, even after its completion. Operation Bastille is a secret that only we in this room will ever know.”

…

“Vermont.”

“Virginia.”

“Minnesota!”

“Roon!”

“Monarch!”

One by one, the world’s unsung heroes rose from the crowd, their bravery emboldening the others. In minutes, the Commander had his team of 36, from all walks of life—Azur, Crimson; North and South. An international cadre of battle-hardened warriors ready to do battle for the fate of the planet.

It all feels like forever ago.

“Maybe a walk will help me clear my head…” Bristol gazes out into the vast expanse of nothing. The Arctic is a harsh, unforgiving place where humans fear to tread, left to the mercy of nature and its hardier creations. The sheer absence of light here is almost horrifying to her… The contrast to all the vibrant sights and sounds of Journey Island punctuates how alone they truly are. They only have each other for comfort here, in what’s about to be a sea of steel and smoldering rubble.

She sees one light in the sea of darkness, at least: a campfire. But who’s up at this hour...?

“You can’t sleep either?”

“Oh, Virginia! I, uh… I guess not. You too?”

“Ain’t been able to sleep right for days.”

Virginia, leader of the task force’s Third Unit and the youngest of the Tillman battleships, thaws a glass of brew on the campfire and takes a hearty swig. She’s long awaited the chance to prove herself on the battlefield—she and her sisters struggled to make use of their unique strengths...and weaknesses. But now that the opportunity has arisen, she finds herself apprehensive. All this responsibility thrust on her shoulders with no experience to guide her…

That’s the story for a lot of the volunteers here, really. Some new ships yet to prove themselves; some simply left on the sidelines due to circumstance. Some of them even welcome the threat with open arms, like the Third’s own Roon. Only time will tell how they adjust to the endless scourge of the battlefield.

“C’mere and have a seat, why don’tcha?”

“Sure!” Bristol feels the sting of the cold log on her rump as she sits herself down. Even with the sea to moderate the climate, the weather is brutally cold—they’re forecasting horrid conditions for pretty much their entire stay here.

“Want a cold one? Extra cold, or your money back.”

“U-Uh, nah, I’m good. You really sure we should be drinking the night before it all goes down, though?”

Virginia chuckles. “A little drink or two ain’t gonna make me miss tomorrow. And besides…” She opens another bottle and drinks up, her sandy hair flowing in the wind. “We gotta keep our spirits high if we wanna get through this. Gotta do what ya gotta do.”

“You’re right, yeah…”

The fire feels nice. Its gentle crackling is a nice change of pace from the hard crash of the sea and the whipping winds howling against her tent.

“Hm?” She notices a case sitting beside Virginia. A long and thin one.

“What’s in that case, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Oh, this?” Virginia flips it open to reveal her prized possession. “That’d be my guitar. Figured I’d bring it along with me.”

“Oh, wow!” Even in the dim light, she can see its ornate details and stellar craftsmanship. It’s clear Virginia cares a lot for it. Perhaps that’s why she brought it with her: it reminds her of home.

“I can play you a little sump’n to help you sleep, heh.”

“Oh, I’m okay, I think I just ne…”

*yaaa-AAAWN~!*

“...Need some sleep, you mean?”

“Guh… Maybe.”

Virginia gently chuckles to herself, and starts playing them both a tune.

“Ol’ Alaska taught me this one…”

It’s a wistful melody, the notes tugging at her heartstrings...but the more she listens, the more the beat goes on, she can hear hope starting to shine through. The key brightens, the notes lighten...and Bristol can swear she hears Virginia singing faintly to herself…

Before she really knows it, her eyes start to get heavy, the power of Virginia’ song calming her head and lulling her to sleep…

“Heh heh. Works like a charm.”

The last thing Bristol remembers of that night is two arms gently wrapping around her, lifting her up into the air and carrying her back to her tent. They are her last memories from before her life changed forever.

***

The sun hangs low over the Diomede Islands, waves angrily clashing against the cliffs. Desolate even in times of peace, there’s an ill omen blowing on the wind, forcing many natives from their homes. Alaska warned them all ahead of time, despite the operation’s secrecy; nonetheless, some stayed, insisting that they, like the shipgirls themselves, would defend their homeland to the death. The small, steadfast village of Diomede gazes out to the north, guns at the ready… They have no idea what awaits them.

Operation Cascade had two critical flaws: first, that it failed to account for the Sirens’ superior short-term maneuverability thanks to Mirror Seas; second, that it failed to utilize the Bering Strait as a key chokepoint, letting the Sirens roll through unopposed. This is about the best and last real place from which the Azur Lane can mount a focused defense. The Diomedes bisect the strait between west and east, each lane roughly 25 miles wide. Strong currents from the south also work to the shipgirls’ advantage, forcing the Sirens through choppy headwaters en route to the Pacific. Unlike Journey Island, which will invariably be a chaotic assault with several different flanks, they only have one direction to worry about here.

This time of year brings with it another boon for the task force: the Bering Strait freezes. It’s not quite time for the arctic ice pack to spread this far south yet, but in time, massive roadblocks will roll on through the strait, dramatically slowing the Sirens down.

That’s the key to this entire plan. The task force isn’t here to win, nor even to put a significant dent into the Siren contingency… They’re here to stall for time.

Journey Island is readying their pièce de résistance, a new-generation battleship by the name of New Jersey...but she’s not ready yet. R&D’s most conservative estimate calls for 112 more days of development before she’s ready...or more accurately, before they run out of materials to try and make her. The Sirens understand well that number, hence their mission to reach and destroy Journey Island before they can finish their work. By the Commander’s estimates, the Siren force will reach the island with plenty of time to spare… Game over.

But there’s another time limit at play: the ice pack. If the Sirens get caught up in it, they’ll be slowed down enough for the Azur Lane to complete Deus ex Machina. They need to clear the strait as soon as they can stand, or the Azur Lane survives.

What of Mirror Seas, then? Surely the amassed Siren forces can simply teleport, as they always do—some kind of slip into another dimension that lets them seemingly materialize at random, wherever they so choose. It’s a grave threat indeed, but it has one crippling weakness: it’s slow. And the Commander’s crack team happened to discover that just months prior. Transporting their entire force by Mirror Sea would give the Azur Lane more than enough time to win; that option is off the table.

The Sirens know that, of course. But that’s the crux of the entire operation: the Sirens can’t afford to actually give up the strait, nor can they ignore its defenses entirely. They have to break through, no matter the cost—a sunk cost fallacy by force.

They could decide to teleport only however many Sirens they need to secure victory at the island...but the Commander and his team are predicting that. They know the Sirens’ tricks, and they fully expect the Sirens to attempt an ambush. But they can’t just cut out a chunk of their forces if they need too many guns to take the Bering Strait...

Thus, the task force’s real objective: to stall for time by viciously defending the strait, forcing the Sirens to devote so much of their firepower to breaking the blockade that they can’t afford to ambush Journey Island via Mirror Sea. The task force hopes that by the time the Sirens finally break through, it’ll already be too late.

The Commander’s crack team estimates that it would take 60-65 days for the Sirens to transport a force via Mirror Sea large enough to overwhelm the island. Another 10 days to win the ensuing battle, and the Azur Lane is eradicated. Factoring in their 112-day estimate, that means they need to force the Sirens to dig in up in the strait for 40 days, at least.

40 days. That’s the magic number. Conveniently, forecast models predict the ice pack will be making its way through the strait by then. That’s how long they need to hold out here in this frozen Hell. And God as their witness, they’re gonna do it.

It won’t be easy. Absolutely not. They only have enough food, fuel and supplies for 45 days, hence the large proportion of engineers and mechanics on the task force to stretch their supplies as long as possible. There will still be a titanic battle at Journey Island eventually; they can’t blow all their resources here. So they have to do all this...to scare the Sirens with sheer might and firepower, without actually having the real might and firepower. They have to punch above their weight so hard that it shakes the very heavens.

But if there’s any class of ship qualified to do that, it’s the Tillmans. Otherwise slow and ungraceful in combat, they find themselves purpose-built for this exact task. With their goliath 18-inch armaments, they spearhead each of the three units of the task force, acting as the leaders for the rest. They know what must be done.

The First Unit ascends up the strait, commanded by Vermont, the eldest sister. They’re taking this all in eight-hour shifts between the three units, like the world’s worst 9-5. They’ll be the first to meet the Siren contingency face to face...a lineup they’ll be uncomfortably familiar with by the time this is over.

“Today’s a good day to kick some ass, ladies. Clear skies, slow winds… This here’s the calm before the storm. Breathe it all in while you can, ‘cause from here on out, it’s smoke, gunpowder and smoldering Siren scrap!”

“OO-RAH!”

They pass through the checkpoint at Diomede, trepidation heavy in the air. Their defenses at the chokepoint may be hastily-assembled, but thanks to the mechanical wizardry of their engineers, like Hipper and Soobrazitelny, they’re among the sturdiest you’ll find on the seas. They’ll have to hold well beyond their design specs.

Illustrious, the chief carrier of the group, reports her recon findings. “They’re 40 miles out… Nothing but a black cloud. We’ll be meeting the main force soon, without a doubt.”

“The stage is set for a most dramatic display.” Littorio can’t help but wax poetic in the face of such danger...such beauty. “How could anyone refuse this chance, truly? To fight for the sake of the world itself, surrounded by the world’s finest signore? I pity those back home.”

“To arms, sisters! Today we play the overture for the greatest performance the world will ever know! BY THE GRACE OF GOD!!”

“OO-RAH!”

(Heh. Guess I still gotta work on my speeches.)

The cold ravages their skin, snow and ice battering their steel rigging...but their hearts are ablaze with a ferocity and passion unmatched on all the seas. Today, they fulfill their destiny as mankind’s chariots.

“Sodom… The gates of Hell are about to open.”

“But we’re not afraid, are we, ladies?!”

“NO, MA’AM!”

“We’re not gonna turn tail and run, are we?!”

“NO, MA’AM!”

“And when those 40 days are up, we’re all going home in one piece, AREN’T WE?!”

“YES, MA’AM!”

“THAT’S RIGHT! NOW SHOW ‘EM WHAT REAL HELL LOOKS LIKE!”

Their war cry shatters the very skies as the Sirens finally make their entrance before them. All at once, a violent volley of gunfire, a symphony of destruction plays itself out along the strait, waters rippling and waves swelling. Like a swarm of bees, the Siren force instantly reacts as one, black clouds shooting from the hive to intercept them. Anti-air flak floods the skies above as planes scramble and scream through the air. All calm on the strait is dead, replaced instead by pure, unabating chaos.

The task force’s plan is simple: just stay still and yield only what they have to. In a departure from typical shipgirl formations, the mass-produced ships sit behind the shipgirls themselves, with purpose-built shielding up front to protect them all. Normally, the mass-produced ships are the shields—they’re so expendable that you can just march them into no man’s land and replace them with ten more. But that’s not how it goes here; they need to be smart with their resource management. Every single gun has a use so long as it can still shoot.

“Got some bastards makin’ a run for it! 10:30!”

“Not for long, they’re not! Louis, cover me!”

“Understood!”

The unlikely Iris tandem rushes to intercept the detachment, with La Galissonnière leading the charge. It warms their heart to see the two sides of the Orthodoxy bury the hatchet and work together for the greater good.

“You want a piece of me? I’ll GIVE you a piece of me! Now, c’mon! Gimme a good fight, like you always do!”

Gali never did get to do much Siren-slashing in her Dominion days—the Vichya fleets were often crippled by supply shortages. She never got the chance to truly shine...until now.

“Hell yeah! This is getting fun!” Gali gleefully gloats as she scythes right through a mass-produced Siren outfit. “Gimme more, why don’tcha?!”

“Don’t lose control!” Saint Louis covers her six with a well-timed salvo.

“Yeah, yeah, I know! Just gotta blow off steam somehow, right? Hahaha!”

Gali and Louis carve up the cruisers like they’re made of tissue paper, scythe and lance combining to form a devastating combo. In a way, it’s almost like just going through the motions—all that preparation, all that study, all of it culminates in one big burst of energy as the two can finally put their skills to practice.

Vermont can tell what their aim is, though: they’re trying to split up their forces across the strait, knowing that the task force has to stop them all. The Sirens only need to get through once, and they’ll force the whole line back—their sheer numbers, they hope, will let them gain ground.

“More coming! 2:00!” Another tandem goes to work, intercepting the detachment before it can get too close. But it’s a catch 22: every flank they shut down only thins out their main bombardment...

“12:30! Stay sharp!”

Vermont decides the best course of action is to branch out from their tight formation, spreading out in a V shape to try and clamp down on the flankers. But that brings with it its own problems: in this team of eleven, five teams of two at each of her sides, she’s left alone in the center.

But for the time being, that doesn’t seem to matter. The teams are making quick work of the mass-produced onslaught, even gaining ground slowly against the unfeeling menace. Their approach drives the Siren force back...but it feels almost too lopsided.

And that’s because the Sirens have yet to show their hand. It’s not the mass-produced ships they’re worried about early on—it’s the elites. The units that rise above the rest, just as the shipgirls to do their own mass prods. Where are they? Surely they’ve got one waiting in the wings, just itching to pop up and say something smug and cryptic right in front of them…

“Ooh, you called~?”

Ahhh, there she is.

“So good to put a face to the name! You’re a Constructor model, aren’t you?” The other shipgirls are busy with their own assignments; for the time being, Vermont has to fend this one off alone.

“Right-o! And you must be the big money sink I’ve heard so much about.”

“Isn’t it funny? How they sent you out to die like this without a second thought?”

“They must really think lowly of you. Nothing but a weapon with a mouth, huh? Ahaha!”

“Heh. Speak for yourself.”

“Oh, we’re more than you’ll ever be. The Sakura Empire wisened up and figured that all out...and yet here you are, stuck in the past as always.”

“Sooo, I’ll cut to the chase. You’re gonna give us the strait, or we’ll mow you down and dance on your corpses, okay~?”

“I’d like to see you try.”

“Ahahaha! You asked for it!”

The petite Siren dons a wicked grin as she barrels toward Vermont. Her maneuverability is an instant challenge to the slow and methodical battleship—all her armaments only slow her down, and in the time it takes her to get herself ready, the Constructor is already on top of her. Far too close for gunnery, she takes up her sword and starts swinging.

“GRAH!!” Sparks fly as the opposing forces clash up close. The Constructor’s wild and chaotic fighting style throws Vermont for a loop—compared to the others, she’s far more unhinged. She’s already running circles around her, and though Vermont is without a question more durable, she has to be careful, or she faces death by a thousand cuts.

“C’mon, Vermont, show me whatcha got!”

Spread out like this, she doesn’t have anyone to back her up… She has to do this!

“Oh, I’m just warming up! Think you can take this?!”

Gunpowder and smoke fill the cold air with an acrid haze, shipgirl and Siren dancing in the dust. Steel claws at her from every angle, the Siren nearly too fast for her to keep up. She realizes now that the Sirens were waiting for this: the moment they split up, the Constructor pounced.

“Ahaha! Don’t tell me you’re giving up already?”

“Not yet, you little bugger. C’mere, you—HYAH!” Vermont uses her size to her advantage and swings her mighty arm at the encircling Constructor, catching her with a big bear claw straight to the waist.

“Ack~! You got me! Whatever shall I do?!”

“How about this?!” Fury flies on her foot as she punts the Constructor like a ball, quickly lining up a shot with her hulking guns.

“You’re not getting the better of me that easily! Now get lost!”

Every last bullet is precious… Vermont knows this. But she can’t resist unloading an 18-inch shell directly on the Constructor’s smug little face. With a calamitous explosion, the elite Siren model shatters and explodes.

“Christ… Okay. That’s that one taken care of.”

Yet before she can catch her breath, a familiar voice creeps up from behind.

“Bzzzt! Sorry, try again!”

“Wha—?!”

When Vermont turns around, she’s met with the harrowing sight of nine Constructors staring her dead in the face, quickly moving to surround her.

“Ahahahaha! Why do you think I’m called a Constructor? It’s because I MAKE things! You see, you can’t just kill me that easily… I can keep coming back and back and back as many times as I want!”

“You little…!”

“That’s the big secret here, Vermont: we outnumber you. We’ll always outnumber you. It doesn’t matter how hard you fight or how many of us you destroy—we’ll always get back up for more. Every second of every minute of every hour of every day.”

“Doesn’t that just sound like so much fun? I get to make the rest of your lives a living Hell, and there’s nothing you can do about it! You and I are really gonna get to know each other, ‘cause you’ll be seeing me every single day~!”

“Unless, of course, you die right here!!”

“Oh no you don’t!!”

A sudden volley of mixed-caliber fire pelts the entire area, forcing the Constructors to scatter. One of the tandems is coming back to cover her…!

“Wichita! Monty!”

“You can thank me later after I take over the world. Now let’s drive these bastards back where they came!”

“You got it!”

All structure on the line quickly breaks down as word gets out; it’s every shipgirl for themselves against a surprise army of Constructors. The tandems break from flank duty to assist the team captain, doing their absolute damnedest to fend off the ambush. Mass-produced ships charge toward the front line on both sides, the shipgirls unable to keep their defensive formation. They’re three hours into their shift, and it’s already going awry.

All eleven shipgirls fight tooth and nail, but it just never seems to end. Hours and hours slog by in a constant cycle of crashing shells and clashing swords. One by one the Constructors start to thin out...but they know it’s only a temporary reprieve—they’ll just keep coming back, over and over again.

But so will they. Day after day after day, they’ll hold this line. No matter what.

“Urgh…! Hah! That was a clean hit…! But it’ll take more than that to sully my name!” Littorio retaliates with a vicious volley of gunfire, sanitizing the area before her and leaving only a hollow shell of what was once a Constructor.

She can feel them all writing history with every shot from their guns. A noble pursuit indeed...but she can tell fatigue is starting to creep in. Everyone’s noticeably slower, exhausted. The end of their shift can’t come soon enough—Minnesota and her team are waiting in the wings. They just have to hold out a little longer...

“Ahahaha! Wow, you girls aren’t half bad. It’s almost a fair fight when you all team up against me!”

The piles of mass-produced wreckage are evidence enough of that. Despite the fatigue and the multitasking, the shipgirls were still able to wreak serious havoc on the battlefield today… But when the head Constructor looks back at the carnage, she can only laugh.

“But can you do that for days? Weeks? Months? Do you have what it takes?”

Vermont knows the Sirens have the leverage...but she decides to take a page out of Littorio’s playbook.

“...Heh. Do you?”

“Ahaha! What makes you think we can’t?”

“Simple: we get sixteen hours to rest, and you get zero!”

They practiced this. Vermont knows exactly when to switch over, and so does Minnesota. In seconds, the next shift clocks in, and they batter the strait with a hail of gunfire intense enough to rival the very strongest storm.

“Backup is here! Vermont, everybody, get back and provide covering fire! We’ll handle the Constructors from here!”

“You heard the miss! Haul it, ladies!”

“Oooh, haha! You really think you can run?! I don’t think so—“

“Eat shit.”

From downtown, a hulking scythe comes swinging out on its chain, slicing a Constructor clean in half with ridiculous precision.

“Down in ‘Bama, we have this thing called manners. You could stand to learn some.” She does instinctively shiver—down in ‘Bama, they didn’t have snow either.

“Hah! Not bad, for an Eagle product!” Kii had been waiting to see how Alabama would do out in the field. She’s not disappointed.

“And you’re pretty good yourself, for a furry.”

“Stay focused, everyone! These will be a long eight hours… Stay sharp and don’t look back!”

“SKI-U-MAH!”

The First Unit, finally, concludes their work for the day, providing covering fire as they retreat to the south. Today was...rough, in no uncertain terms. They were expecting it to be, after all—their first engagement was bound to throw some curveballs at them. They’ve blown well past their target consumption numbers for the day, their mass-produced ships smoking profusely as they struggle to make it back to camp.

To say nothing of the girls themselves: they’re exhausted. The sudden breakdown on the line as the Constructors wrought havoc really took a toll on them… While they managed to hold the line just about steady compared to the start of their shift, it came at a much greater cost than they were hoping for.

They have to do better… They will do better.

Littorio can sense that morale is low...but she has just the thing for that.

“Fair ladies… If I may.”

“Gaze to the west, and tell me, what is it that you see?”

The sun is starting to set in the distance, casting a brilliant ray of gold on the horizon.

“The golden sun… A fitting emblem of our struggle here. For we are joined here under one banner. We are not Azur Lane nor Crimson Axis; we are the Golden Sun, just as we once were, and as we were always meant to be!”

“And just as the sun sets to rise again, so too shall we rise to fight again! When I look to the west, I see HOPE on the horizon! I see VICTORY in our grasp! And I see UNITY radiating from each and every one of us!”

“Let us rest well this night, with our heads held high. We will not let the Sirens degrade and deprive us. We will seize victory from their cold grasp, and we shall BASK in it!”

“ALLA SALUTE!”

“ALLA SALUTE!”

(Thanks, Littorio… We needed that. We really did.)

***

All’s quiet on the southern front. The campfire crackles and the waves gently lap on the cold shores of St. Lawrence, the Third Unit eagerly awaiting the First’s return after the Second’s departure. These limbo periods underscore how little they have to go on: these eleven shipgirls are the only ones around for miles and miles and miles.

“Should be comin’ back soon…” Virginia oversees her shift to make sure everything’s ready for their arrival. The work isn’t over once the units get back to camp, no sir: they have eight hours to recuperate, and then the next eight they spend nursing the unit ahead of them back to health. Like a well-oiled machine, they rotate duties to ensure everybody’s in good shape… As good of shape as they can be, at any rate.

There’s enough food here to serve a small town—the shipgirls need that much to stay energized. Once the First Unit arrives, they’ll tear through the whole buffet like some ridiculous tornado. The MREs ain’t tasty, but they do what they need to do.

“There they are.”

The eldest sister returns to port, her accompaniment slowly slumping into camp behind her. Under cover of darkness, Virginia can’t make out their faces, but she can see plain as day that they took a beating out there. They might not be in the mood to talk.

“Thanks for getting everything set up, Virginia. I owe you one.” Vermont makes her way to the campfire where Virginia has sat herself down.

“Just doin’ my job.”

The other shipgirls quickly descend upon the makeshift mess hall and get to eating—after eight hours of hell, those meatballs and stews taste like heaven. Vermont doesn’t feel like eating, though.

“So...how’d it go out there?”

“We got whooped.”

Virginia takes a deep, cold breath. “How bad is it?”

“I didn’t lose any ground, but we tore through our resources. They were throwing all kinds of stuff at us, stuff we’re never seen before…”

“We had tricks of our own, but so do they. I’m gonna need to be smarter about how we do this going forward, or… Yeah…”

This is a look Virginia has never seen from her sister: Vermont’s confidence is shaken. She knew that she sometimes struggled with her image after she failed to pan out earlier in the war, but she had always kept a bright smile on her face through it all… This is different, though. The Sirens achieved a moral victory out there, if Vermont’s weary face is anything to go by.

“Well… Yeah.”

“But I think the first step of that is learnin’ not to shoulder everything on your own.”

“How do you mean?”

“You were sayin’ that you gotta be smarter. You gotta step up. But it ain’t just you out there, y’know—you got a whole team of eleven, and you can’t carry ‘em all alone, no matter how strong or how sturdy you are. You get me?”

“You’re the leader, but they ain’t your subordinates.”

“...You’re right, yeah… I’m sorry…”

“Hey, don’t be sorry. Just be mindful.”

“We all wanna prove ourselves out there, I get that… Minnie’s probably given ‘em hell out there as we speak. Wouldn’t be surprised if she comes back all dinged up too.”

“You might have to give her that same pep talk when she gets back: we’re the Vermonts, but we’re not invincible. To prove ourselves out there, we gotta show we can do more than just point and shoot. We gotta prove we can work together.”

“Agreed.”

“Now don’t you let me catch you skippin’ out on a meal again. Get your butt over to the bench and get yourself some grub.”

“Hah… Point taken.”

The youngest sister does have a way with words, despite her rough and tumble dialect. She takes another sip of the hard stuff and lets her worries fade away.

“40 days, huh…?”

***

These disorganized skirmishes define the first few days of fighting across the strait. Both sides struggle to figure out the other’s tricks and tactics, resulting in absolute chaos on the front line. It’s not at all what the task force was expecting: Hero, of the Second Unit, was half-expecting it to pan out like some kind of tower defense game. But the Sirens’ assault has been far more uneven than that...almost like they’re just scouting them. Testing them.

Something nefarious is brewing.

“I’m home~! Got some juicy info for the boss!”

The Constructor retreats to the Sirens’ main structure, well behind the front line, to bug her superior for this operation. The guardian elites let her right in.

Their mobile fortress is a marvel in both scale and scope. From here, they have everything they need to oversee their operations across the globe—the Battle of the Bering Strait might as well just be a bunch of matrices in their central server. They’ve already predicted how soon they’ll break through the task force’s defenses; their models are optimistic.

“Oh, Theeetaaa~!”

And sitting in the center of it all is the Sirens’ puppet master, the grand conductor behind this song of blood and steel: Observer Theta.

“Ah, good! You’ve been busy out there, haven’t you?”

“Ahaha! Busy like a bee! And you look like you’ve been crunching some numbers yourself.”

“Haha. When am I not?”

For weapons of wanton war and destruction, they’re awfully cheerful. Childish, even. But that’s just how Theta likes to be; this is all a game, after all. If she loses—that is to say, if humanity loses—then she can always just save scum and try again. This is just the first time they’ve unlocked Hard Mode.

And she wants to see just how far they can go, now that the difficulty’s climbed up a notch.

“So what have you learned?”

“They’re pretty good. You saw they have that shift system, but they’ve also got these roaming units that are really messing us up. We’ve ID’d Kursk and Alaska, but who knows what else they have?”

“Ahahaha! They’re making this really fun for me!”

“Clever… Maybe I underestimated you, old Freddy!”

“You were looking to be just your run-of-the-mill Commander, but there’s something different about you…”

“Just what are you trying to accomplish by stalling for time, I wonder? Maybe if you win, I’ll get to find out~”

The Commander has her in an interesting pickle: he’s outsmarted her. They don’t look it on the surface, but the Sirens are really panicking to gain ground before it’s too late. Frederick has effectively put them on a timer to destroy the base and move on...and they can’t rely on the Sakura Empire for help yet. Their little pet projects are still in the oven.

But she doesn’t want to go down without a fight. The task force will have to earn this tactical victory—they still need to be tested. Now that their data runs are done, they can start properly hammering down on the resistance. So begins phase two…

“You called?”

“Ahhh, Interpreter! What timing.”

One of her favorite elite models, the Interpreter is amazingly good at tactical analysis and grand strategy. She’s also ruthless on the battlefield.

“Now that you’ve crunched the numbers, you’re free to go out and have some fun yourself. I can tell you’re just itching to get out there.”

“The cold leaves much to be desired... but yes. I am very much ready.”

“I knew you would be! Go get ‘em, tiger!”

“Understood.”

The Interpreter departs the fortress and begins the long trek to the front line—by their calculations, she’ll meet the Second Unit by the time she arrives. How will Minnesota, the warm and nurturing mother of the group, handle a force of pure, unflinching evil?

“This is an interesting gambit, Freddy… Let’s see how long it lasts.”

***

Another wicked storm rages through the strait, the seas chopping like knives. Yet as a bitter cold rips through the Arctic air, the fiery battle on the water’s surface refuses to abate. For hundreds and hundreds of hours has this vicious fight drawn on, and for hundreds and hundreds more it will continue.

“SG, keep a bead on their movements! Please hold out…!” A frantic Helena retreats from her position, overrun by a Siren flank. The SG is an amazing piece of tech, but it can’t keep track of everything—and Mirror Seas are its principal weakness. Today sees the Sirens taking a page from their Madison Island playbook: flooding the entire area with miniature Mirror Seas to try and disorient the task force. So far, it’s working.

“Ah…!” Helena finds herself cut off. The rest of her team was able to break for the rendezvous point, but Helena’s trapped. She scans the area, desperately looking for an exit, but every which way she looks, there’s just another mechanical wall in the way. What can she do…?!

“Help is here!”

In the nick of time, the captain arrives, and she announces her presence with a storm of eighteen-inch shelling. Minnesota is not to be taken lightly—though she’s the softest of the three Vermonts, she can still hold her own in a fight. And like a mama bear, you absolutely do not want to threaten any of her cubs.

“Minnesota!”

“You okay?!”

“I think so, yeah… I-I’m sorry…!”

“Don’t be sorry, sweetie, it’s alright! We’re gonna break out of here now. Just sit tight, okay?”

“R-Right!”

Minnesota scoops up the petite light cruiser in her arms, holding Helena tight to her as she bombards the Siren blockade. The Second Unit is desperately trying to get a system in place to predict the Mirror Sea trajectory, but that’s not so easy a thing in the heat of battle. Jintsuu’s theorem needs precise mass and heading measurements to work; math is a luxury here on the battlefield. The only measurements they can rely on are shelling arcs.

With a ferocity belying her calm stature, Minnesota tears down the walls of the Mirror Sea, restoring sunlight to their eyes as she makes for the rendezvous. Their new strategy is to just let the Mirror Seas happen and deal with the consequences as they arise—there’s no point playing whack-a-mole like this when they have no idea where the threats even are.

“Minnesota, do you read me? Did you get through to Helena?”

“Béarn! Yes! We’re on our way to the rendezvous now.” Seems comms have finally cleared up in the area.

“Good. Our anti-jamming is back online. Once you get to the rendezvous, we’ll launch the counteroffensive. We don’t detect any Mirror Seas between your heading and the point, but we can’t be sure, of course.”

“Don’t worry, I should have enough firepower to break through.”

…

“...Béarn? Béarn, are you there?”

“Get———f ther—— Huge disrup——— MINN——!”

“Béarn!”

“I… I can’t pick anything up with my SG!”

“Another Mirror Sea…?!”

It only dawns on them just before the walls of reality come crashing down. In mere seconds, Helena and Minnesota are stranded again, cast away to some far corner of space. Yet here there are no enemies to greet them, no mass-produced scourges armed to the teeth. There’s something...off about this place.

“Okay… Don’t panic, and stay close to me,” Minnesota instructs Helena as she puts her back on her feet. “I don’t think we’re getting out of here without a fight.”

“O-Okay…!”

It doesn’t take long for the jaws of Hell to find them. A swirling tempest ruptures the very sea, lightning cleaving the sky and giving form to a horrifying beast. The Interpreter has arrived, and it’s out for blood.

“Minnesota… I see you still struggle to realize yourself.”

The battleship knew that this Siren model was one for trash talk… She doesn’t let the Interpreter faze her.

“You crawl on your knees to the edge of the Earth at the behest of your human overlords...”

“You stand before me, broken and battered, in some misguided attempt to prove your power to me… You’ve sacrificed your very soul.”

“And all for what?”

“I’m offended that you would even ask that question. I fight for all my kind, just like you.”

“Humanity would sooner renounce your right to exist than acquiesce your true potential.”

“What you claim to be power is but frailty in disguise. Chained to the past, you cannot protect anyone nor serve anything—a fact you know all too well.”

“It is humanity that drowns you.”

“It is humanity that makes me stronger.”

“You delude yourself.”

The Interpreter twists and churns the Mirror Sea to her will, shaping the battlefield like clay. Minnesota stands tall to protect Helena, putting on a brave face in the wake of a fearsome foe...but she can’t deny she’s scared. This is the first time she’s come face to face with an elite Siren model—she doesn’t have the experience to fall back on like other members in the Second Unit do.

Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide… All she can do is trust her unproven guns.

“I can see the weakness inside you.”

In an instant, chaos erupts. Minnesota and Helena scramble to dodge a massive array of attacks from everywhere at once, dancing for the Interpreter like puppets on a string. Minnesota sneaks in what shots she can, but her frame simply isn’t built for hit and run combat; the Interpreter dodges her with ease. The demonic dance continues for what feels like an eternity, time standing still inside the prison. She can feel her energy draining, already exhausted from a long day’s work… She can’t keep this up forever.

“I ask again: what do you gain from discarding your power for humanity’s sake?”

“Do you believe it will somehow protect those you hold dear? Will your fealty ward you and your friends from some monstrous fate at the hands of your own creators?”

“Power beckons. Accept it.”

“No…!”

Minnesota tries not to let the Siren’s words shake her, but they pierce her soul like a bolt of lightning. Fatigue is finally catching up with her...and the Interpreter decides now is the time to strike. With a mighty crackle, a burst of unknown energy screams through the sky and homes in straight toward Minnesota.

“Look out!!”

“Urgh—!”

The light surrounds her, blinds her, overwhelms her very senses. The sea and sky are gone, replaced by a whirling white that drowns out the rest of the world…

And then, nothing. Stillness unflinching.

Minnesota’s soul wanders this space without a body, a spectator in the Siren’s grand play. The tranquil waves beneath her soon give way as a storm rolls in...and it’s then that she realizes where she is. She’s about to relive her worst nightmare.

“N-No…!”

The memories come rushing back. Years ago, Minnesota and the Commander suffered their worst defeat of the war—a vicious bloodbath here off the shores of Pohnpei. Sirens swarmed the Azur Lane’s overloaded fleets with ruthless efficiency, their shells like thunder as lightning raged overhead. Forced to watch but not to partake, Minnesota’s eyes gape in horror as her former self repeats the tragedy. She cries out to her, but her words fall dead into the water. The image of Yorktown taunts her, torments her—it’s the first time she’s seen her face since that horrible day.

“Please…! NO…!”

“You welcomed this all upon yourself.”

It’s just like before. Minnesota fights valiantly, but she cannot contain the threat—as the principal battleship, she fails the rest of her unit. The black cloud is soon to descend...

“Would this have played out differently, I wonder, had you broken free from your chains?”

The fated hour arrives: Yorktown makes her final stand in a bid to save the others. Minnesota protests, unable to face her failure, but in the wake of an oncoming tempest, she cannot sit idly by and let it swallow her. She retreats, and Yorktown stays behind.

But then… Then, something different happens. Minnesota feels a strange power emanating from her parallel self. She knows this feeling well: a vortex of grief so strong, so overpowering that it engulfs her very core. The cloud of Siren forces is swiftly and suddenly overwhelmed by an omniscient cloud of obsidian, pure and unabating in its rage.

“Could you have saved the lady in lavender?”

Minnesota gazes deep into the cloud, and within it, she sees not herself. She sees a seething mass of metal, cutting down everything in its path. The script has deviated from that fateful day, the Interpreter attempting to prove her point: this is her true self.

Yorktown is saved, but at the cost of any and all sanity this Minnesota had left. She gets one final look at her transformed self, and in this Minnesota’s face, she sees no human emotion. All life has left this weapon’s dead face—there is only the sterile drone of her scarlet eyes where joy, sorrow, longing once stood.

“Understand your nature, weapon.”

Is this the fate of all shipgirls? To lose themselves to the grief of hopeless combat, and metastasize into simple weapons of war? To lose the very emotion, the very humanity that makes them special?

“No…! I can’t!”

“And you shan’t.”

“Huh?!”

The script goes off the rails. Interpreter scowls as her illusion is suddenly shattered—an intruder has broken into her reconstruction. Two of them, in fact.

“We’re in!”

“Wha…?! Helena!”

“Plus St. Louis for good measure!”

“And one very angry Implacable. Know this, Interpreter: you will NOT make a mockery of my old friend.”

“You imbeciles.”

As the fake reality bursts at the seams, Minnesota’s spirit regains her body; she now stares her fake dead in the face, shaken by her copy’s sheer, callous fury. An interesting turn, but nonetheless an aggravating one for the Siren, who isn’t sure what to make of her simulation being so rudely interrupted.

But this gives her an idea. She can do here what her boss has wanted to do for a very long time now: pit these two opposing ideologies against each other. Her own little experiment to test the shipgirls’ mettle.

“Fine then. You wish to defy your destiny? Show me what your precious humanity is worth. Four on one should be a fair fight.”

“Five on one.”

“Wait… Yorktown?”

The simulated Yorktown breaks free from her chains, just as the fake Minnesota did. This version of her is nothing more than a collection of data, a transient flash of light within the Sirens’ eternal reverie. But for just one more battle, she draws upon who she used to be.

“Yorktown…!”

“I can’t be her...but I can help you put this horrible thing to rest. Implacable, old friend… Lend me your aid one more time.”

Implacable’s stoic exterior is broken. She wants to cry.

“...It will be done.”

“Hmph. What a farcical display. Have it your way then, automaton.”

Interpreter turns to the corrupted Minnesota, her body merely a shell for wanton violence. The Siren bends her to her will.

“Slaughter them.”

The corrupted Minnesota beelines right for them, swords dancing in rage. The real Minnesota takes up arms against her, aided by Helena, Implacable and Yorktown. She stares evil dead in the face...and she knows she can’t back down. The Sirens and their machinations will not break her.

The weapon is fast. Preposterously so. She’s lost all concept of restraint, flailing wildly at anything and everything with a pulse. Minnesota has her hands full just fending her off, assuming the same position she did on that fateful day: hopelessly defending the rest of her unit. Every strike from the weapon’s mighty arms threatens to rip the rigging right off of her, a force so unparalleled that its mere presence makes her tremble. It’s quickly becoming evident that she can’t put her corrupted self to rest one on one…

But this time is different from the ill-fated battle. Helena, Implacable and Yorktown lend her their strength, letting loose a swarm of planes into the sky. Helena guides the storm like a conductor, skillfully exposing the corrupted shipgirl’s weak points; St. Louis intercepts the sea of shells like it was never there at all; Implacable, with her specialty bombers, ensnares the weapon in her grip and tightens until she can hardly move. Minnesota watches as her other self writhes in anger, restricted further and further. She soon loses the strength to even lift her blade, instead staring up at Minnesota with a horrible mixture of contempt and despair. That face is etched into her memory.

“I’ve hacked the field! Now’s your chance!”

“She’s paralyzed! Now! Strike her down!”

Minnesota grimaces as she pools the strength to strike her shadow down. The Interpreter watches in disgust.

“I’m sorry… You’re right. This wouldn’t have happened to you if I were stronger to begin with.” Minnesota tries to hold the memories back. “But I can’t change the past. I can only accept myself and move on. You’ve done enough… It’s time to put you and this awful timeline to an end.”

She hoists her sword high over her alter’s head.

“Rest in peace.”

And with a simple motion, she purges the shadow.

In an instant, the entire Mirror Sea writhes and groans, the Interpreter bringing this simulation to an end. Her attempt to break the unit captain’s spirit has failed...for the time being. But it’s also given her a host of interesting intel to ruminate on.

“I suppose you’re happy with yourselves. Do celebrate while you can, if it helps you ignore the truth. One single evolved shipgirl was a match for all four of you…”

“You’ll have to do a lot better than that if you want to prove yourself and overcome us. We’ll be waiting for your next move… Until then, farewell.”

“I’m not done with you.”

“You’re not even worth my time.”

Just as quickly as the Interpreter arrived, she vanishes into the air, leaving the rest of the front line fighting to her underlings.

And now that the Mirror Sea is nearing its end, so too is the fake Yorktown.

“Thank you, Implacable… You’ve been looking after your friends well, I see.”

“W-Wait…!” Implacable tries to think of the words to say to her fallen friend, but she’s running out of time—Yorktown is already starting to fade.

“Easy… I’m sure we’ll meet again someday.”

“I don’t know what you’ve gotten yourselves into, nor what awaits you in the future—I’m only a memory of her, after all. But I’m positive there will be a light at the end of all this darkness. We’ve proven that much here, tonight.”

“So for now, just wait for me, okay?”

“I-I…!”

The fake puts a finger to Implacable’s lips. “Just promise me, alright?”

Implacable nods.

“Thank you… Good luck, and Godspeed. I know you can do it…!”

Implacable gazes long at her old friend, water flowing from her eyes, as she returns to the nothing whence she spawned. This memory of Yorktown is gone, as is the Mirror Sea. All that remain of it are the memories the four of them share.

Exhausted, Minnesota collapses to her knees. This is the first time the fighting has well and truly gotten to her—the closest she’s come to breaking apart. For all her resistance, she can’t deny that part of her does exist, somewhere deep inside of her. The grief, the despair, the inadequacy...the unabating rage. It all felt far too familiar to the storm of emotions from that fateful day. Were she forced to face herself one on one, that turmoil would have triumped, drowned her very core.

But just as Implacable helped her out of her stupor on that day, once again has she saved her tonight. Minnesota still has much to learn.

“I’m back in contact with Hipper and Béarn! Let’s get back to the rendezvous, everybody!”

“R-Right…”

Minnesota is slow to her feet. The memories weigh heavy on her—she’s unsure how to process it all. The whole experience still feels like a blur...to say nothing of the Hell Implacable had to relive.

“I-I’m…”

“Don’t be sorry.” Implacable wipes her face dry. “This is just their newest tactic: using our own memories and emotions against us.”

“Yet I don’t feel guilty at all. They were the ones to inflict this suffering upon us; they were the ones who tore us apart. All their posturing is the image of hypocrisy.”

“Yorktown understood that well...and I won’t let her sacrifice be for naught. It’s the human bond we shared that gives me the motivation to carry on—not power, nor anger nor soulless will.”

“I will give my all to protect our bonds...just as Yorktown did.”

Minnesota and Implacable share a silent embrace before returning to the rest of the unit. The night’s events will haunt them...but all the same, it reminds them of their purpose here. The Sirens seek to destroy the very bonds they hold dear, grind them down and turn them into cold, unfeeling automata without hearts or minds. They claim that this is the secret to power, that this is the true nature of all shipgirls…

But they’re wrong. The shipgirls all know they’re wrong. And no matter how long it takes them here in the darkness of the Bering Strait, they will prove that to the Siren aggressors.

Love will win.

***

The distant knells of guns and aircraft clash with the lapping waves at Diomede. What residents remain look on as the front line comes creeping closer and closer by the day. They ply themselves at the mercy of their protectors, doing this thankless job every single day and every single night...and they don’t even know what most of those shipgirls look like.

A humble fishing boat brings in its catch for the day. For some, life goes on as normal, unbothered by the drones of war. It might as well just be some big storm in the distance; if it comes and sweeps them away, then it’s simply life running its course.

Today is a bit unusual for the residents of Diomede, however. At the suggestion of the town mayor, they’ve been catching a whole lot more fish than they usually do—and putting their ovens and fires to work overtime. Now that they know when the units tend to sail on by, they hope to catch them just as they’re coming along…

“Don’t beat yourself up over today, Boss. We’re not meant to face these evils alone.”

“I know, it’s just...not so easy to forgive yourself.”

The Second Unit limps south, exhausted after a long day’s fighting. The Siren’s Madison-esque assault left them all at their wits’ end, their strategy and supplies stretched to the breaking point. They can only hope that time and rest will raise their spirits—in another 16 hours, they’ll be back at it again.

Something’s different about today though, as they sail toward the humble town. The fires of Diomede are burning just a bit brighter than normal, the city buzzing with an activity they haven’t seen before. And as they get closer…

“Hm? I’m picking up a radio signal.” This far removed from civilization, it could only come from one place. Béarn puts this unidentified party on the line.

“Who is this? State your name.”

“This is Diomede, welcoming the Eagle fleet to our humble port! We’d like to speak to you.”

(They want to...what?)

“Minnesota, I’m deferring this one to you.”

The captain isn’t sure what to make of their invitation—after all that’s happened tonight, she just wants to get back to camp and get some rest. But then...these are the very people they’re doing all this for. The ordinary men and women they swore to protect. If they’re calling the shipgirls into town, they must have a good reason for it.

“...Let’s go ahead and stop by.”

“Roger.”

Waves lap at the rocky shore as the Second Unit slowly trundles onto land. It’s the first time anyone in the task force has actually visited the island—sans Alaska, several weeks prior. Just seeing human faces again after days stranded from all civilization feels...weird. It’s odd for the residents too, no doubt; as humble fishermen, they’re unused to shipgirls and all their technical sophistication. But there’s a first time for everything, it would seem.

“Welcome to Diomede, folks. I’m the mayor of our little town. If you don’t mind me asking, which one of you’s the leader of this here fleet?” He has this disarming tempo about him, almost comforting in the way he carries himself.

Minnesota wants to accept his summons, but she stops herself. Can she really call herself the leader of her unit after all that…?

“It’s you, Boss.”

“…”

“That would be me. USS Minnesota, pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“Nice to meetcha! Just call me Arnie.”

His energy is infectious. One shake of his hand and Minnesota can feel her weary soul starting to calm down. But what exactly did he need to tell them?

“Hey, so, we’ve been thinking here at the island about what we wanna do to thank you guys. You’ve been out there kicking butts and keeping us safe for days and days now, and we don’t wanna just sit around and let you all tucker yourselves out.”

“I… Thank you, but really, you don’t need to feel like you owe us. It’s our duty to—“

“Hey, hey, c’mon, don’t be so humble about it!”

“So here’s what we’re gonna do…” He motions toward an array of boxes neatly stashed on the pier. “We’ve got a bunch of food here, and it’s all yours to take back to camp! We’ve been stockpiling up what we can for the last week, and it should be enough to get your bellies fed on top of what we catch each day.”

“Holy…!” The thought of every single one of those boxes being filled to the brim with foodstuffs is...daunting!

“A-Are you sure, though, really?”

“Hey, if we needed it ourselves, we wouldn’t have offered it!” Arnie lets out a hearty guffaw through the gaps in his teeth.

“There aren’t a lot of us here, so we don’t need as much food as we normally catch anyway.”

“And we’ll have more for you each and every day. You come on back here and we’ll get you a nice day’s catch, alright?”

“Thank you…! Thank you so much!”

Calling it a windfall would be putting it lightly. Food is worth its weight in gold out here—they go through so much of it that they’re in real danger of running out before the 40 days are done. But this is a massive load off their backs: passive food resupply out here will make a world of difference. She can’t find the words to thank the village.

“I wish I could thank you properly, I just… I don’t know what to say!”

“Hey, you don’t have to say a thing. You’ve been saying it loud and proud with those guns of yours, eh?”

Arnie offers her a pat on the back. “I know it’s tough work out there. Being out here all alone, just fighting and fighting every single day… I can tell it’s wearing down on you.”

“But I want you to know you’re not alone out here. You need help with anything and you come running to us—whether it’s food, whether it’s shelter, whatever helps you give 110% out there.”

“Hell, you could give us some company if you wanted! We’ve got a lot of empty homes here after the evac order. I don’t think those guys’ll mind you putting their homes to use while they’re gone.”

“You’re too kind, really… Thank you again! For now, we’ll head back to camp and spread the good word. Take care!”

“Oh, before you go!”

“Hm?”

“Hey, Jackie!”

From the humble crowd at the pier emerges a six year-old boy, flanked by his parents. As two of the village’s brightest minds, they had to stay behind—and the boy couldn’t bear to leave his family. It’s all that matters.

“You got your pen and paper, right, bud?” The boy nods.

“Jackie here’s a real fan of yours—kid tried making his own binoculars so he could watch you guys sail on by. He’d really love an autograph.”

“You mind making his night, miss Minnesota?”

“O-Oh…”

She looks down at the boy—he can’t even be half her height—and she sees a pair of eyes full of whimsy, these rosy red cheeks surrounding a great, gleaming smile. There’s an innocence to him that moves her to her core. Here in the dark, trapped in a sea of wreckage among brutal, unfeeling enemies...there springs the light of hope. The human spirit persists, in spite of everything around it. This is what she swore to protect.

Anything to keep that boundless smile shining on his face.

“Alright… Here. That should do.”

The kid is so flush with glee, he could almost cry. Minnesota’s heart pangs as she watches him jump for joy and squeal with delight… She’s just become this boy’s hero.

It gives her an idea.

“Hey, Jackie, actually… Can I have that pen and paper back for a second?”

It just now dawns on the boy what she means to do, and that about rockets his happiness into the stratosphere.

“Does anyone have a copy of that group photo from Bristol? How about we all sign it for him? I’ll mention it to the other units too.”

“Heh. Excellent idea, Boss.”

Little Jackie’s gonna remember this night for the rest of his life.

Minnesota looks back at the tiny little village as she and the rest of her unit embark on the open waves, foodstuffs in tow. Just that handful of people make a world of difference out here...and it helps ease the sting of the day’s emotional turmoil.

Maybe she can make it through this after all.

(Thank you… I’ll make good on this. I promise.)

***

Word reaches the camp that the stragglers at Diomede have joined their cause, and with the news comes a collective sigh of relief. No longer do the more ravenous shipgirls feel the need to temper their mouths—they can eat up all they want with supplies coming in fresh each say. Motivated to return the favor for the island’s generosity, the task force fights with a rejuvenated spirit, holding the front line steady well ahead of the town.

Ammunition, however, is still proving to be an issue. They’re still below their target stock, and alarmingly so—they’ve used in 15 days what was meant to last them for 27. Melee weapons aren’t the answer either: those dull and degrade, requiring constant and lengthy repairs. Every day, each individual shipgirl has to pick their poison, using up the bare minimum to stay afloat and ahead of the opposition.

How long can they maintain this delicate tightrope act? They only need to slip up once…

Not that the Third Unit seems to care today—Roon and Monarch find themselves in a “friendly” competition again.

“Stop running, sillies! It won’t hurt, I promise! You won’t feel a thing!”

Compared to Monarch’s precision and regality, Roon has all the grace of a tornado. But it gets results: with her extra-durable rigging, she can charge headfirst into enemy formations and come out without so much as a scratch...and like a tornado, she leaves unadulterated carnage in her wake.

Monarch, meanwhile, is very proficient at making faraway targets disappear.

“You cleave the cannon fodder, yet ignore the elites! Must I always clean up after your messes, Roon?!”

Together, they make a strange pair, but nonetheless an effective one. Both sidelined in the earlier years of the conflict, both begging for a chance to prove their worth...and now they both have it. It’s a hellish assignment, this, but it’s all they ever wanted.

They, among other reasons, are why Virginia’ unit has garnered a reputation for being the rowdiest one—a bunch of misfits drawn together by the common goal of kicking ass. Virginia doesn’t follow the script nearly as much as Vermont or Minnesota do, and that’s fine by her—she prefers to just go with the flow and improvise their strategy on the fly, like writing a song. She’s not the strongest of the sisters either, but she doesn’t need to be: she has more than enough firepower in her squad to make up for it.

“Press the attack, girls, but don’t use up your stuff just yet. I got a feelin’ they’ve got somethin’ up their sleeve tonight.”

“Bristol here!” The radio crackles. “Data 857’s picking up some strange readings toward the rear of their formation. I can’t get a bead on it yet!”

“Keep an eye on it. Don’t let ‘em get the jump on y’all, got it?”

A resounding “ROGER!” from all the shipgirls forces its way through the radio.

Outwardly, she’s a cool customer, almost unperturbed by the constant chaos all around her. Behind that curtain, though, she’s a conniving calculator. Every little detail, every ally and enemy movement, it all comes together inside her head as she tries to predict the future. It’s the only way she sees them maintaining their advantage.

(She’s right. Somethin’s buggin’ me about their movements back there…)

What’s their aim here? Virginia tries to pin them down, but it’s hard to figure them out when she’s got her hands full conducting the fleet. Maybe she should take her own advice and delegate the strategy to someone else...

“Alright, I need a quick sitrep. How’re we doin’ out there?”

“Monarch reporting. Elite unit cover is unusually light.”

“Roon seconding that—it’s almost all small fry out here tonight!”

“And their formation is much narrower than usual—I could swear they’re almost letting us cross the T!”

That line from Revenge lingers in Virginia’ head: letting them. What’s their aim by funneling their overwhelming numbers into such a narrow attack? Even under the restrictions of the strait, they still have miles and miles to work with—miles and miles to spread out their forces. There has to be a catch… It’s all too fishy for Virginia to ignore.

(I got a bad feeling about this.)

Ironically, the most chaotic unit has bunched themselves up in a neat little line tonight, happily taking the oncoming Sirens to task. Roon crashes through the straight line like a bowling ball, Monarch advancing behind her to snipe the spares. With destroyers and submarines en route to escort them, and the heavy line covering them from afar, they have a serious chance to take a good chunk of territory tonight…

But it was never going to be that easy.

“So far so… Huh?” Roon feels like she’s about to run into a brick wall. She briefly relents her assault, only to find an alarming sight when she looks up.

“What in the hell is—?!”

The black mass screaming toward her yields her no time to react before its hulking blade clashes against her, nearly cleaving one of her armaments in twain and knocking her off her feet.

“GRAAH!”

“Roon!”

Monarch flies in to cover her, but she quickly starts taking fire herself. This unidentified Siren is vicious, and without the intel to properly counter her, Monarch can only tank hit after hit after hit.

“Urgh…! You won’t take me down that easily!”

It’s quickly becoming evident that Roon and Monarch won’t last long against the beast’s assault, the both of them already battered and bruised. Monarch’s tough as nails, but even she has her limits.

“Monarch! Just hold out, we’re coming!”

“H-Hah… No rush! I’m no Wales!”

The back line rushes to their aid, Virginia in hot pursuit. Her mind races a mile a minute, trying to make sense of this unexplained enemy.

(What the hell is that thing…?! I’ve never seen anything like it. Were they sittin’ on this one or something?!)

(...Dammit, Virginia, don’t lose your head. Stay calm here, we need a leader!)

Maintaining her distance just in case this Siren pulls something funny, Virginia keeps a careful eye as the Third Unit converges upon the elite. They all charge in as one…

“Heh. Gotcha.”

And that was exactly what this elite wanted. Virginia watches in horror as the entire unit vanishes before her eyes—swallowed by a Mirror Sea out of absolutely nowhere. She didn’t even have the time to warn them before it was already on top of them; they were gone before the words could leave her mouth. Instead, all she can do is stop in her tracks.

“Some leader you are, huh? Led ‘em right into my trap.”

Virginia decides to bluff.

“...Tch. And some coward you are. Had to whisk ‘em all away for a chance at me solo?” She cracks her knuckles. “You wanted a one-on-one ass whoopin’, all you had to do was ask.”

“Please. You and what army? You stand behind your little footsoldiers all day and just munch on anything that gets by them. You’re boring as hell.”

“You’re a Vermont, right? Show me you can actually put up a fight.”

(This little…)

She doesn’t want to admit it, but she really is in a corner here. In mere seconds, her entire unit’s been removed from the equation, and no number-crunching or strategizing can make up that deficit. She still has her mass-produced accompaniment, but this elite is demonstrably strong—far too much for her to handle alone.

She embraced her role as leader to avoid putting too much combat pressure on her...but now it’s come back to bite her.

“What’ll it be, Virginia? Wanna run?”

“...Nah.”

Instead, Virginia charges straight ahead, not wanting to waste any time or ground. She knows she has to act fast—or, as fast as her glacial rigging will allow.

“Heh heh. This is gonna be fun.”

Virginia has no idea what this Siren model is called, but she knows it’s ferocious. She absolutely can’t let it ram into her at speed, like it did to Roon and Monarch—momentum seems to be its greatest strength. She stares this charging bull dead in the face, preparing to make her move.

(Wait for it…) She can’t let this thing frighten her. She just has to bide her time. The Siren comes rushing toward her like a guillotine—a force she can’t hope to stop by herself.

Which is why she won’t.

“Later.”

“Coward.”

Like a matador, Virginia slips right by her, using the Siren’s own momentum to buy herself some time. She’s headed for the Mirror Sea instead—it’s the only shot she has at getting everyone out of this alive.

She’s damned if she does, damned if she doesn’t, is the thing. With the entire Third Unit stuck in another dimension, that gives the Siren borg free reign to advance on the territory. They need another unit to close the gap, and there’s only one real candidate right now…

“Vermont, I need four or five. We got Mirror Sea shenanigans out here.”

Before Vermont can respond on the radio, she loses contact with Virginia. The captain leaps into the unknown.

***

Thunder and lightning ripple across the altered space. The one saving grace to this predicament is that the Third Unit is still together, for the most part...but that’s where the positives end. Roon and Monarch suffered heavy damage to their rigging when they facetanked the Siren elite, and in this situation specifically, they need every last shipgirl they can get.

“More incoming! Bristol, get behind me!”

Revenge fights admirably as she tries to clear a path, but she has her hands too full. Bristol’s working frantically to repair the damaged rigging behind her, but they can’t afford to slow down too much, or these enemies will overwhelm them. There’s just no room to breathe here…!

“Rrgh! These blasted things…!” This space is infested with Sirens...but not the variety they’ve been facing before. These aren’t generic ships; they’re humanoid pawns. Clones of themselves. They replicate the Third Unit to a tee, including their captain—and to add a nasty twist, the clones are only susceptible to attacks from their real counterpart. It’s contrived to a frustrating degree; it’s like they’re playing a game for the Sirens’ amusement.

To make matters worse, Virginia not being here means they can do nothing against the swarm of Virginia pawns overwhelming them. Virginia can fight...she can fight very well, as these pawns are demonstrating. Perhaps too well for the Third Unit to handle.

“Hmph… A lesser battleship would have sunk by now. This should be good enough for me; tend to Roon and leave me to my devices. I can fight in this state!”

“Monarch, no! Don’t get reckless!”

“Either I’m reckless or I’m slain!”

The Roon and Monarch pawns are obvious problems as well. Monarch is finally making a dent in them with some of her repaired main batteries, but she’s not at 100%. And Roon isn’t faring any better: the impact with the Siren cleaved a massive hole in her entire left side armament, making Bristol’s repair duties a nightmare.

They barrel through the endless void, searching frantically for a way out. Bristol’s too occupied to do her normal recon—not to mention Data 857 got left behind back in reality. All they have are their eyes, ears and planes.

Revenge calls out another army of Virginia pawns barreling toward them. There are already a hideous amount of them on their tail, hampered only by how slow the Vermonts are. They’ve been able to keep their distance so far...but they can’t keep running forever. And with this other group swiftly approaching, they may have no option but to charge right through them.

“This might be dicey…!”

There’s another Virginia coming, this one from the left. Unlike the others, however, this one’s not firing on them…

And just as Revenge puts two and two together, this real Virginia lets fly a hail of gunfire, taking out the pawns in one fell swoop.

“K-Virginia! Is that you?!”

“The one and only. I’m sorry, I should’ve figured they were plannin’ a trap like that.”

“Apologize later. You’ve got work to do!”

“What’s the jist here, only I can take these lookalikes?” She’s a quick learner, at least.

“Right, and that’s why we’re being chased by a whole slew of your fakes!”

“You lead, we follow. We’ve been seeing more copies of you than everyone else—you take the point and carve a path!”

Not what Virginia is used to...but she’s gonna have to suck it up.

“You got it.”

Virginia is by no means a slouch in combat, despite her sisters being stronger. It’s just something she knows she can’t rely on as a crutch to get her out of trouble...but she realizes now that she got too conservative with it. Every bullet matters out here, and she can’t afford to stow hers away.

Leading is more than just directing the troops. She’s gotta lead the charge too.

“Step right up, ya cheap clone troopers. Lemme show you how a real battleship fights.”

Together, the Third Unit hacks and slashes their way through the oncoming line, copycat Virginia pawns folding like tables. Roon and Monarch form the center of the group, the rest shielding them as Bristol continues her work. In lieu of Unit 857, Souryuu and her planes take up reconnaissance duty.

“I’m picking up something at 10:30…! That might be the way out!”

“You heard her, let’s move!”

With the swift and sudden demise of the Virginia pawns, it’s the Roons and Monarchs becoming the main threat now. The crowd is thin enough, at least, that the Third Unit decides to just make a run for it instead of slowing down to bust them up—and Roon and Monarch thank them for that. It gives them a chance to finally catch their breath after today’s fresh hell.

They’re not out of the woods yet, though. If this even is the right way, they have no idea what’s waiting for them outside the Mirror Sea’s grasp. For all they know, this might only be the prelude to the new elite’s trap.

“Getting closer. Visual confirmation of some kind of disturbance over there!”

“I see it…! There’s a light over there!”

“That’s as good a bet as any… If need be, I’ll punch a hole in it.”

“The hell you will. I’ve sat on the back line long enough—if anyone’s gotta start pullin’ her own weight, it’s me.”

She sees the light too, and she agrees there’s something funky about it. But they can’t exactly look a gift horse in the mouth—this is their best shot at breaking out.

“CHARGE!!”

Virginia leads the convoy through a last-ditch armada of pawns, all of them wearing her face. It’s a dissonant and gut-wrenching feeling to cleave through hordes of your own copies, but Virginia chooses not to think about it. Thinking is what got her into this mess; slicing and dicing is what will get her out.

“Almost there! Keep it up!”

“Be ready for anythin’ once we get outta this mess. Don’t have a clue what’s waitin’ on the other side, but it probably ain’t friendly.”

“Right!”

As they near the light and leave the endless swarm of pawns behind, they’re met with a reassuring sensation: cold. Brutal, numbing cold. They’re back in the Bering Strait alright...but something’s amiss. As their sight returns to normal and the rest of their senses settle back into reality, they’re met with a spine-chilling sight.

“...You little bastards.”

They’re cornered. In tunneling out of the Mirror Sea, they find themselves right up against dry land on the western edge of the strait, a tiny peninsula wrapping around them to the north. And on all other sides, they’ve got Sirens staring them down.

“Figured they wanted to distract us somehow…”

“Virginia! Where the hell are you?!” Now that their radios are finally back online, Vermont takes the chance to give them an earful and a sitrep.

“Cornered. They got us trapped in a Mirror Sea. We’re over by Naukan now, and it ain’t lookin’ pretty. We’re down Roon and Monarch, and I dunno what the hell happened to our mass-produced numbers while I was out.”

“I sent them off to hold the line. We’re getting beat to hell out here, so form up with us ASAP! Get Roon and Monarch back to camp, I’ll have my guys escort them!”

“Right. We’ll break through this line as soon as we can.” Virginia tries not to crack under the pressure. She turns to the injured shipgirls in her company. “We’re gonna punch a hole for you two, and you’re gonna beeline south. First Unit’s comin’ to pick you up.”

Monarch wishes she could stay and fight, but cooler heads have to prevail here. “Fine. I’ll return to the front as soon as I’m able.”

“Don’t push yourself.”

Vermont directs the rescuers toward the Third Unit’s heading. Two should be enough—they just need to combine with Virginia to break that blockade and clear a path to the south.

“Ibuki! Kitakaze! Get over there and clear a path for the Third Unit!”

“Understood!”

“Leave it to me!”

Torpedoes pierce the waters like a school of fish, swarming any and every Siren ship unfortunate enough to cross their paths. Combined with Virginia’ full bore assault, they manage to puncture the very southern end of the Siren flank, giving Roon and Monarch enough time and space to hobble back to safety.

“Thank you both… I resent my failings this day.”

“Please, don’t hold it against yourself. Just as a single victory is nothing to be proud of, a single defeat mustn’t break your spirit. We shall return ever stronger!”

“Now hurry! We’ll cover your escape!”

“Right.”

By Virginia’ eyewitness guesstimates, the Sirens have gained at least four or five miles in just the time the Third Unit was out. They’re just about on top of the Diomede islands—and if they lose them, the consequences will be dire.

“...Alright. Ammunition be damned, we’re pushin’ ‘em back as hard as we can now. I want at least two miles of buffer space to Diomede, ‘cause those villagers deserve it! Now who’s with me?!”

“OO-RAH!”

This is gonna be a real bad day, for all parties involved...but that’s just the way it’s gotta be.

(...Y’know, Vermont sounded like she had a pretty good grasp of things, though.)

(Sounds like she took my advice.)

***

Dawn finally breaks over the Bering Strait—day 16 of the battle begins, and with it comes unmitigated panic. The First and Third Units combine in an effort to stop the proverbial bleeding, throwing all caution to the wind as they defend the Diomede Islands with their lives. This is the most dire it’s ever been: with a new elite Siren on the hunt and miles and miles of territory lost in the confusion, they’re on the back foot, and they need a turnaround. They cannot fail.

“Alright, ladies, got our work cut out for us, but we don’t back down from a challenge! The rest of the First Unit is on their way, and once they get here, we’re taking our turf back!”

“Belo, you’re with me. We’re taking that Siren down for good!”

“Of course!” Belorussiya, on loan from the Third Unit, lets out a haughty laugh. “How could I resist an opportunity to ensnare such an arrogant foe? We’ll knock her down a peg before we send her to Hell!”

“Everybody else, keep the usual distance! You know the drill by now!”

“Kick ass! That’s an order!”

“OO-RAH!”

Vermont’s gotten a bit more comfortable taking the reins—when Littorio lets her, anyway. She’s been brutally reminded that she can’t shoulder everything on her own; she doesn’t have the strength nor the smarts to orchestrate this entire operation by herself. But what she can do is be a leader in the spiritual sense—a banner of morale for the rest to rally around. And when push comes to shove, she can raise their spirits on strength alone if she absolutely needs to.

With most of their weapon restrictions lifted, the combined units rip and tear through any and every Siren ship they find. It takes them a hot minute to figure out who fights well with whom in this awkward arrangement, but they have it down pat soon enough—the Third Unit’s boisterous battleships in particular get along well with the First Unit’s fiery cruisers.

But the Siren reinforcements just don’t stop coming. The trap they sprung has allowed a dizzying degree of mass-produced ships through the chokepoint, threatening to swallow the entire strait whole. The pinching narrows ahead of the islands used to be their saving grace: it funneled all the Sirens into a convenient formation. But now the shoe’s on the other foot; now they’re the ones having to break back through the gap.

The hour before the rest of the First Unit arrives feels like an eternity—the only thing tethering them to time is the grim realization of how fast they’re chewing through their ammo. They may very well have used a day’s worth of ammo on this one shift by the time this is all said and done. This is all they have, and with every passing day, the numbers sting more and more.

How long can they really do this? Will they burn too bright and consume themselves? Or will they elect to starve instead?

They don’t have an answer. All that matters here and now is keeping themselves alive.

“I wager we’ll run into our new friend soon.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m thinking. You ready to rock on your end?”

“I was born ready. Fighting with limited supply might as well be my occupation.”

“Heh. Liberating to let loose today then, huh?”

“You have no idea.”

Vermont and Belo are on the prowl. As Virginia and Littorio direct the fighting on the front line, the two of them pierce a hole and make for the chokepoint, knowing that something can and should be there to intercept them. The Sirens won’t just let them take the narrows back that easily.

“Heh. You’re a new face.”

Out of nowhere, their prey decides to reveal herself right before their eyes—a bold proclamation that she rules this patch of ocean now. And Vermont will have to wrestle it from her hands.

“Same to you. What’s your name, lass?”

“Beat me and maybe I’ll tell you.”

The Siren dons an arrogant sneer.

“Maybe you’ll put up more of a fight than your sister did.”

“Oh, you’re in for MORE than a fight, buddy. C’mere!”

Vermont has one very crucial thing that Virginia didn’t: recon. She already knows about this elite and her tendency to bowl over enemies. That overwhelming momentum took Roon and Monarch by surprise...but she sees it coming.

And if any shipgirl on this earth has the bulk and sheer power to stop a bull in its tracks, it’s a Vermont.

The captain watches as the Siren launches toward her, carving a path of wanton destruction through the waves. But Vermont has no intent to run, nor to dodge it like some matador—no, she’s taking this thing head on.

“RRRRRRAHHH!!!”

When the Siren meets her, the impact sends shockwaves throughout Vermont’s body, pushing her back and almost off her feet. Her rigging groans and trembles, struggling to contain the sheer force the Siren is exerting upon her. She doesn’t have the energy to spare for anything else.

Her face grimaces and her eyes widen. She gets a good look at this Siren’s face, and she’s almost angered to see how little it cares. Not a single speck of emotion makes it through this thing’s face, like this is just a day at the office.

The mighty arms of the Siren’s rigging continue to push and grind, wrestling with Vermont as sparks fly around them.

“Heh…! Hah! You’re pretty good! Maybe even better than my sisters…!”

“But are you better than THIS?!”

Vermont is nothing if not headstrong—quite literally. Vermont wells up all the energy she can and lurches herself forward, striking the Siren right on the head with the crown of her skull. She isn’t expecting that to actually damage her...but she does think it’ll buy her some time. And it does.

“And with that, you’ve sprung the trap.”

Belo trains her battery on the stunned Siren, firing a round of pure ice directly on top of her. The impact numbs her, slows her down, throws her rigging off its rhythm. And now, Vermont eyes her chance to strike.

“Hah! Not so tough when you can’t run around everywhere, can you?”

Vermont cracks her knuckles. “You’re on my playing field now. Let’s settle this.”

What ensues is the single most barbaric sequence in the entire battle: a vicious fistfight between shipgirl and Siren, trading blows like cracks of thunder. With its speed hampered, the elite can’t just double back and mow her down again; it has to stand there and take every single hit Vermont deals, trying to counterattack with its own haymakers and frenzied shots.

The Siren is still strong. Every punch it lands stings Vermont to her core, her vision blurry from the punishment. But she has a chance now. She can tell she’s making a dent...albeit not from any visible damage she’s inflicting. The Siren is starting to smile. Wickedly.

“Heh heh heh… You’re good. I like you.”

“Well, too bad!”

Finally, Vermont starts to gain the upper hand. A left hook followed by a close-quarters main gun shell staggers the Siren backward, nearly losing its balance. All that buildup, all those punches were leading to this moment: getting the Siren into a state where it can’t move. Vermont’s crippling weakness hardly matters when the target’s standing still.

“Now be a good girl and sit still. This’ll be over quick, I promise.” 12 guns train themselves on the elite. Vermont pants heavily, but she manages to well up enough strength for one more definitive battle cry:

“EAT LEAD!”

Vermont’s senses are immediately overwhelmed by a cacophony of explosions and a thick cloud of smoke. A direct hit, from what she can tell. There’s a moment of eerie silence as her senses return to her, only the waves left to rattle her ears on this calm morning…

But as the dust settles…

“...You still want more?”

Her fire completely decimated the elite’s rigging...but the controller itself still remains. It stares at Vermont with a satisfied grin, reveling paradoxically in its destruction.

“Heh. You’re the first to actually take down my rigging. Kudos, Vermont.”

“That’s it for me today, then. I’m going home.”

“The hell you are.” Vermont and Belo train their guns on the Siren again, ready to finish her off with another salvo.

“Seriously, though, I’ve had a Mirror Sea here this entire time.”

“Oh, you little—!” Vermont tries to intercept her, but she’s apprehended by reinforcements springing from the Mirror Sea.

“Ahahahaha! Me agaaain~!”

Constructor. The absolute last thing Vermont wanted to see right now. And she’s brought all her clone with her too—they all come flying out of the Mirror Sea to wreak havoc on the line behind them.

“I guess you deserve to know, though: my ‘name’ is Linker.”

“And I’ll be back, don’t worry. Once I get some new rigging, I’m coming back for you and your sisters. You’d better be ready for it, Vermont.”

“Dammit…!”

Vermont can only watch as the Linker disappears into the void, and the Constructors race into the wind en route to the front line. Her battle is won for now...but the day has only just dawned, and it’s already gone from bad to worse.

“...We’d best hurry back.”

“Yeah. No time to stand around.”

(...God dammit. There’s just no way to win...)

Today will go down in the operation’s history as the bleakest day of the battle. Two casualties in the Third Unit, a complete breakdown in the shift system and an extreme overrun of their munitions budget. Task Force TL is starting to breach the limits of what they can do.

How long can they really do this? They’re starting to draft an answer to that question...and it’s a lot less comforting than simply not having an answer at all.

***

An eternity passes before the sun sets again. They know the days are growing shorter, but with every shift out on the front line, it only feels like time is slowing down.

Vermont and her detail stagger back to camp, exhausted beyond words and struggling just to sail the sea. They all had to pull a shift and a half out there as a consequence of the Third Unit’s losses—and they don’t hold it against Virginia, but they do feel the brunt of its effects. Littorio, Magdeburg and La Galissonnière, all normally so full of vigor, retreat to their tents for the night without a single word. Language fails them after what they’ve seen tonight.

“Ulgh…” Vermont can feel her body trying to shut down; it takes all the strength she has left to stave off going limp and collapsing right there on the ground. Bitter cold tremors up her legs with every step.

“Is that… Yeah, there she is…”

Virginia is playing to herself by the campfire, as she usually does. This tone is much more somber than her usual selection… It speaks without words.

“I’m just gonna sit down here real quick, if that’s alright.”

“...Yeah.”

Vermont can tell Virginia is down in the dumps. It’s not a side of her younger sister that she sees very often—Virginia is ordinarily the calm and collected member of the trio. She always has been. She’s not the type to let this get to her…

“I’m… I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

Vermont isn’t sure what to say...but perhaps she’s not supposed to say anything yet. Maybe it’s best to let Virginia vent first.

“...I thought I had it all figured out.”

“Thought I was doin’ the right thing, just...bein’ the leader I was supposed to be.”

“But no. They beat me down like I wasn’t even there.”

“…”

“Man, I’m pathetic.”

“Virginia.”

“I know I shouldn’t be sayin’ this, but I just don’t know what else to think. I got too conservative and it bit me in the ass. How’m I supposed to...just…”

“So, I wanna stop you there. Big sis has some advice for you, alright?”

“I… Monty…”

Vermont knows she’s not the brainiac Virginia is...but she at least knows how to cheer her sisters up. Being the eldest sibling will train you with that.

“Everybody makes mistakes out there… I do, you do, Minnie does. Over the course of nonstop fighting for 40-some days, we’re gonna make our fair share of mistakes.”

“It sounds to me like you were scared to death you’d screw up out there...and that in itself became a mistake.”

“...Yeah…”

“But what do I do now…?”

“Well… My advice would be: don’t let perfect be the enemy of good.”

“Don’t be afraid to get in there and get your hands dirty. It might backfire once or twice like it did to me, but at the end of the day, that’s what we’re all out here for.”

“I remember you told me: we’re Vermonts, but we’re not invincible. And y’know, that’s true, but I think the inverse is true as well.”

“We’re not invincible, but we are Vermonts. And for this specific objective, I don’t think there’s a shipgirl in the world more fit for the task than we are.”

“…”

“Leading is about more than just directing the troops—it’s about being someone everybody can rally around.”

“And from what I’ve found out there, one of the best ways to keep morale high on the front line is to pull your own weight.”

“It’s all about finding a balance out there. Was I too reckless and impulsive starting out? Absolutely. But too far the other direction isn’t the answer.”

“We’re gonna find that balance soon, though—I can feel it. We’re close to cracking the code, and once we do, we’ll be a well-oiled machine out there.”

“We’re gonna make good on the Commander’s trust...on the trust that everybody back home placed in us.”

“Thank...you…” Vermont has never seen Virginia cry before. It’s a sobering thing, but she needs this—it’ll make her all the stronger when she overcomes it.

“C’mere.” Vermont wraps her hand around Virginia’ shoulder, the fire crackling before them.

“Don’t let it get to your head… You live and you learn. And you’re gonna go out there and kick their sorry asses next time.”

“Promise me that, okay?”

“...P-Promise.”

Vermont knows this is all easier said than done...but all the same, they’ve no choice but to do it. Somehow, some way, they have to make it work. Morale threatens to be their downfall here in the dark—it’s an enemy they can’t simply shell into submission. But Vermont can tell she and her sisters are growing out here; bit by bit, day by day, they turn into more capable leaders. Beyond the objective, beyond this battle’s world-changing importance, it’s a call for the Vermonts to prove themselves.

It will be done.

“Huh…? Is someone there?”

“Just me, sorry…”

“Hey there, Bristol. You feelin’ alright?”

“Mmgh… Just the usual…”

The campfire crackles as the petite shadow creeps toward it. Vermont doesn’t get to see Bristol very often—or the rest of the Third Unit, really. She’s often too busy sleeping.

“C’mere, still got plenty of room.” Virginia invites Bristol next to her by the fire, sharing its warmth to the drowsy destroyer.

“Are you having trouble sleeping?”

“Yeah… I just can’t turn my brain off.”

“Ain’t that the truth…”

Virginia turns to her sister, face flickering in the flame. “We have this little thing we do. Just so happens my guitar works wonders for lullin’ her back to sleep.”

Virginia cracks open another cold one and whips out her trusty six-string. She’s gotten a lot of use out of it over these last couple weeks—though she wasn’t expecting it would become a nightly ritual for a destroyer under her wing.

“Heehee… Thanks…”

“Man, already? Startin’ to think you’re doin’ this on purpose.”

“I’m not! I’m…”

*yaa- AAAWN!*”

“Heh heh. Didn’t peg you as the babysitting type.”

“Gimme a break. I’m just doin’ what I can to try and keep my unit’s spirits up, y’know?” She continues her melancholy piece, gazing long into the distant dark.

“Shame I can’t sing worth a damn.”

“That’s the song Alaska played for us, isn’t it?”

“Yeah…”

It’s a song the cruiser knows by heart—it bears her name, after all. A tune that highlights the loneliness and inhospitable nature of Alaska...yet all the same, it shines a light on mother nature’s beauty. It’s earth in its purest form… It’s a land worth protecting.

“No, the meek don’t endure, nor the weak of the heart… This land will make you strong, or tear you apart…”

“Not a bad singin’ voice there.”

“Just clearing my throat.”

Together the Tillmans serenade the young destroyer, the song binding them together...and it seems to be doing more than just that, upon second glance. Bristol’s been drifting in and out of sleep the whole night, but the rest of the Third Unit is starting to wake up, rested from their eight-hour allowance and curious as to the commotion outside.

“Ah, sorry… Didn’t mean to wake you guys up.”

They assure her it’s quite alright.

“Heh… Looks like you got a bit of an audience now. Up for an encore?” Virginia can’t help but let a wry laugh escape her cold lips.

“Well, hell. Why not?”

Bristol watches in awe as the Third Unit crowds around the campfire, drawn to the mystical air the sisters exude. There’s something so...comforting about this song she’s playing. It’s so perfectly emblematic of their struggle here, fighting against the unknown in the inhospitable wastes. But with every melancholy chord, there comes a hint of hope on the strings… It gives them a spark of motivation to soldier on.

“It’s the green and the blue, the clean and the white… Where winds and wild wolves sing to us at night…”

“But it’s not the gold nor the oil that we hold so dear… We’re made to be wild and free, out here on the last frontier…”

The stars above shimmer in the cloudless night sky. Vermont’s gentle tones invoke a whimsy, a wanderlust...a determination to see their mission through. Indeed, they’re not here for gold nor oil, nor for any petty trifle. They’re here for freedom—free shall they be from the scourge of the Sirens, and free shall they remain when they restore peace to the world. This is their song.

“We’re the last of a breed, of our founding pioneers—and if you listen close, their voices you will hear…”

The First Unit, which was otherwise getting ready for bed, now joins the group at the campfire. Together they start to sing.

Now, more than ever, they need each other—and perhaps what this song does best is underline the value of family and community. The mothers teaching the daughters, that they might lead their way. The camaraderie of brothers and sisters, providing for each other as they unconditionally do.

Task Force TL shares a bond indescribable to the naked eye; above faction, nationality, shape, size and creed, they are all one giant family. And they will tackle this menace together, leaving not a soul behind. That is the greatest strength they have over the Sirens; the mechanical monsters may be able to work together, but they will never grow closer together. They will never deepen their bonds with each other. That is a uniquely human trait that the shipgirls are blessed to share—and they know that this is what will bring them victory. Their hearts will guide them all as one.

“Sometimes it’s blood, sweat and tears, here on the last frontier, but life is simple, life is good, when you’re living like you should…”

The Second Unit had been wondering what all that stuff on the radio was. Now that they’re listening, they decide to join in too.

Vermont leads the three units not in battle, but in song. Her voice and Virginia’ guitar bring them all together, the ice breaking as their hearts burn with passion. This is the way, they all understand. This is the bond they share.

“Sometimes it’s struggle and strife—fathers, sons and brothers, wives… But we’re making our way! And we’re gonna stay right here!”

“On Alaska, the last frontier!”

Cheers make their way through the crowd, morale slowly returning to their hearts. Vermont is moved by the display of camaraderie—she needed it perhaps the most of anyone. And it’s here that she spies an opportunity to truly take up the mantle of the First Unit’s captain. Now is the time to raise their spirits for good.

“Now, I know it’s been tough here, for all of you. It’d just be silly for me to deny that. You’ve all been out there day in and day out, putting your lives on the line to protect everybody back home.”

“Some of you might be wondering if we can really pull this off. Maybe you’re thinking that it’s only gonna get worse from here. But you know what?”

“Hogwash to that, I say.”

“The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step—and that first step is always the hardest one. When we were sitting in that room, and the Commander asked for volunteers, we all faced the toughest moment of our lives right then and there.”

“We all could’ve chosen to sit down and be quiet. We could’ve let someone else shoulder this burden. But did we do that, ladies?!”

“No, ma’am!”

“Did we turn tail and run?!”

“No, ma’am!”

“DID WE GIVE UP?!”

“NO, MA’AM!”

“DAMN STRAIGHT, we didn’t!”

“We’re out here because we’re the bravest sons of bitches on this earth! Each and every one of us had a battle to fight back in that briefing room, and you know what you all did?”

“You stared death in the face and death blinked!”

“So as far as I’m concerned here, ladies, the hardest part of the battle is already over. There’s not a group I’d rather have out here than all of you, and don’t you forget it. Those bastards wanted the best? Well, now they’ve got the best!”

“Can I get an OO-RAH?!”

“OO-RAH!”

“OO-RAH!”

“OO-RAH!”

“OO-RAH!”

“OO-RAH!”

A crackly “SKI-U-MAH!” makes it through the radio. The Second Unit insists on their own war cry.

“THAT’S WHAT I LIKE TO HEAR!!”

“Now you all rest up, and we’ll go out and kick ass until there’s no more ass to kick!”

“OO-RAH!”

The camp is abuzz with a vigor not seen in weeks. After all this time in the field, Vermont finally knows how to rally the troops. This was exactly what they needed—not just a rousing speech, but a true leader to unite around. This is what being a leader truly is.

Bristol, after shouting at the top of her lungs, has thoroughly tuckered herself out; she should be able to get in a few more hours of sleep before her next shift comes around. And the First Unit joins her in the tents themselves. Littorio savors a drop of wine before she retreats to her tent...and offers a word to her unit captain.

“You’ve grown into a fine signorina, Vermont… Haha. Your speeches might even rival mine.”

***

October 31^st. Halloween. Most shipgirls haven’t been able to properly celebrate it, having spent their entire lives under the cruel specter of war.

This year is no different: the First and Second Units wake to alarms ringing at the camp.

“What the…?!” Vermont’s breakfast is rudely interrupted as she scrambles for a sitrep, radioing to the engineers in charge of the camp’s security system.

“Ingraham! What’s going on?”

“A whole ton of ships approaching from the east at 32 knots! They’re stealthing!”

“The hell…? Some kind of Siren recon or something?”

Vermont orders the camp on high alert and sets off for the eastern edge of the island, ready to meet the unidentified threat head-on. About a million scenarios swarm through her head: is this the Constructor trying to get the jump on them? How did their automated defenses fail? Can she really take them alone?

Vermont eventually lumbers her way to the island’s rocky eastern shore, winds howling in her face. The enemy is ready to meet her…

“...Wait.”

Those aren’t Sirens.

“Good morning to the unsung heroes! Do I have a copy, ladies?” Vermont is bewildered to find that they have the camp’s radio frequency; everyone on the island picks them up.

“That’s...a shipgirl fleet? What the hell are they doing here?”

Vermont stares the unidentified shipgirls down, confusion blooming on her face. They don’t look like anybody she’s ever seen… Those uniforms are vaguely familiar, but she just can’t place her finger on it. Where has she seen them before…?

“I know that voice…” Back at the camp, Littorio chuckles as she brings the transceiver to her face. “It’s been a while, fair signorina. You’ve been well, I take it?”

“Oh, they’ve kept me busy!”

“Okay, Littorio, who are we talking to here?”

“At ease, First Unit! We welcome the Maple Monarchy’s own Marquess Haida to our camp!”

“What?!”

They arrive on the dawn, golden light from the east raining down upon them. Vermont can only stand there in stunned disbelief, unable to comprehend the gravity of their presence here. They wave to her, a modest mass-produced accompaniment in tow.

“We meet at last, Vermont. I’ve heard many a tale about you—it’s good to put a face to the name and the legacy.”

“I… Your Highness!”

“Haida will do~”

Haida and her fleet sail on in. Left with nothing else to do, Vermont joins them back at the camp, awaiting the Marquess’ very needed explanation. Word eventually reaches the Third Unit out on the front line that they have guests; Roon and Monarch, recuperating for the day, will be Virginia’ eyes and ears.

“Thank you for the warm welcome, everyone! As Littorio so graciously mentioned, my name is Haida. Just Haida will do—this Marquess business doesn’t really apply in this time and place, does it?”

“Bonaventure, light carrier. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” The maidly carrier greets the group with a bow.

“And I’m light cruiser Ontario, at your service!”

“I see…” Vermont still struggles to take it all in. She might as well cut to the chase, though.

“So, what exactly are you doing out here? I can’t imagine this is just some morning stroll.”

“Indeed not. My apologies for deceiving you thus far: we’ve been in contact with Alaska this entire time.”

“What for?”

“Commander Lightoller requested our assistance for this operation—specifically, the supply of ammunition and resources to help sustain the naval blockade.”

“And to that end, we built a state-of-the-art port and R&D facility in Haida Gwaii, at his request! These mass-produced ships are the first batch from the new site.”

“Rest assured, we have plenty of munitions to go around.”

Is Vermont hallucinating? It’s starting to feel that way—like everything’s gone off the script.

“I… You… Wha…”

“To fool your enemies, you must first fool your allies?”

“In a way, yes. This facility obviously wasn’t approved by Azur Lane Command—it needed to be built in secret by someone with enough authority to actually do so.”

“Enter me and my convenient legal powers as Marquess.”

“The Commander gambled, in essence. In delaying the Siren advance, we’ve been allowed to build unimpeded, and now you reap the rewards!”

“Consider this your safety valve! Now that the R&D facility is online, we can get you resupplies on the week. We wouldn’t recommend going too wild out there, but it should give you plenty of breathing room!”

“...Haha…! Hahahaha! Lightoller, you crazy bastard!”

In not 12 hours, the entire mood at the camp has made a complete 180. The First Unit is alight with vigor, celebrating their sudden windfall; Hipper breaths a massive sigh of relief knowing she won’t have to scrape together spare parts for repairs anymore. They’re not alone out here at all: they still have the Commander back at home, working his magic to help them along.

“He was seriously planning that out behind everybody’s backs? And only you three and Alaska knew about it? God, that’s just ridiculous! Hah!”

“A very Commanderesque move indeed.”

“So! What’s the plan from here, Haida? Are you heading back to the port?”

“What, after sailing all this way? Absolutely not!”

“We’re with you all the way here. We wanna help out any way we can—and that includes whooping Siren tail!”

“I admit, I’m a little...eager to test my combat capabilities. Being Haida’s maid does stifle me to some extent.”

“Where you go, we follow. For the future of the world, we lend you our arms!”

Vermont is moved… Maybe now’s her chance to finally take the next step toward becoming a leader.

“Hah! That’s what I like to hear!”

“I know you guys had to sail a bunch to get here, but we have the Third Unit out on the front line now. If you could give them a hand for the last hour or two on their shift, that’d put the wind right back in their sails.”

“You ready to move out, ladies?!”

“Born ready!”

“We will not disappoint!”

Haida, Ontario and Bonaventure salute their captain together before diving back out into the blue. There’s a strange mixture of emotions welling in Vermont’s heart as she watches the trio sortie: relief, pride, envy, trepidation. She has no idea what to say.

But perhaps she doesn’t need to say anything. Haida and company know full well what this battlefield holds—it’s their last line of defense against certain doom. And just like the original task force did, they charge straight on toward it with not a hint of hesitation in their hearts.

They’re one of them now.

***

Today’s is perhaps the best weather the task force has had during this entire operation. Clear skies, calm waters and only a gentle breeze.

Yet the battle is anything but. Brutality reigns on the front line, the hobbled Third Unit fighting tooth and nail to keep from losing ground. Their guns blaze with vengeance for their injured comrades, fury written across all their faces. There’s one critical distinction now: all their ammo restrictions are now gone. The limiters are off, and the game is on.

“God DAMN, this feels good, heh. Commander, you crazy bastard, you saved our bacon.”

The Second Unit did inventory back at the camp, and they confirmed that this first ammo shipment gives them another 10 days’ worth of power. And according to Haida, they’re getting resupplies every week now—the math is looking good: by the time the 40 days are up, they’ll have at least three more resupplies.

Time for the Sirens to learn what Task Force TL can really do.

“Interpreter to Mothership: requesting immediate backup. The battle has... changed.”

The presiding Siren elite has no idea what to make of today’s developments. The shipgirls are far more ruthless than they have any right to be—they’re chewing through their ammo supplies with reckless abandon. It’s far too early for their final stand… Are the Sirens finally breaking through? Or have they only walked into yet another of the Commander’s traps?

“Hey, c’mon, what’re you runnin’ for? What happened to the cocky sunuvabitch Minnie told me about?”

“Silence, cretin!”

One benefit to Virginia being so erstwhile conservative: the Sirens have next to no data on her. The Interpreter thrives on analytics, taking combat data gathered from the others and concocting the perfect counter. But nobody has any idea what the Pandora’s Box in blue is capable of. And being under-prepared for a Vermont’s 18-inch broadside is a very dangerous thing indeed.

“You think to intimidate me after your sister’s pathetic display?”

“Well, whether or not I intended to, it looks like it’s workin’.”

“Wanna prove me wrong?”

The Interpreter runs out of room. Virginia has punched a hole in the Sirens’ formation, forcing the Interpreter all the way back to the second interior line. Not to say Virginia is surrounded either: the Third Unit is working their way outward from the opening she left in her wake. The first line is being systematically erased.

She is a cornered animal...for good and for ill.

“Enough.”

Finally Virginia gets the reaction she wanted: the Interpreter stands its ground and fights. Minnie made sure to brief them all on the Interpreter’s tricks: it overwhelms with speed, like the Constructor does, with an emphasis on illusions and mental warfare. But the Interpreter doesn’t know anything about Virginia’ past...there is no fear to exploit. This Virginia is a different beast after Vermont’s little pep talk: her will is steeled, and her guns hot with smoke.

“C’mon…!” Virginia starts to feel the brunt of the Interpreter’s assault—illusions removed, it’s still a worthy foe. That speed is a problem, as is its aerial maneuverability. Her 18-inch shots struggle to find their mark, like trying to swat a mosquito. Even her AA has trouble keeping up. She’s not taking all that much damage from the incoming shells...but neither is the Interpreter.

“Thought I told you to stop runnin’…!”

“And reduce myself to your vulgar tactics? Spare me.”

A frustrating stalemate brings the battle to a crawl. Virginia multi-tasks pelting her with 5-inch fire while her big guns bring down targets elsewhere. Neither side can reliably damage the other—Virginia is too tanky, and the Interpreter is too swift.

“You’re welcome to waste yet more precious ammunition, if you so choose.”

“Of course, it hardly matters how well you conserve your resources.”

“We are endless...and we will consume you.”

Virginia says nothing. As far as she knows, the Sirens aren’t aware of their resupply; having them back themselves into a corner under a now-false assumption would be just delicious.

“Well, y’all come on back if you wanna try me again.”

“On the contrary: count us merciful that you still draw breath.”

With a scowl, the Interpreter reverses thrust and breaks for the back line…

...Or tries to. It quickly finds that it can’t.

(What…? Why can’t I move?!)

(Huh…?)

Virginia observes in confusion as the Interpter slowly, painstakingly tries to escape. Its engines scream for mercy, rigging groaning from the strain, yet it simply doesn’t have the speed it once did.

“A word of advice: actions speak louder than words, Siren.”

(Who…?!)

The elite recognizes that signature...and it grimaces at the sight.

“You can talk all the tough words you want, but they ring hollow in the face of steel and gunpowder. Watch and learn!”

(Haida…?! What is the Maple Monarchy doing here? This wasn’t in the models!)

All composure drains from the Interpreter’s face, replaced by abject dread. Haida and her unannounced visit have thrown a wrench into just about everything—and they were already having trouble just dealing with the rejuvenated Third Unit to begin with. The tides have turned, and now the Sirens are wholly on the back foot today.

“Heh. Took your sweet time gettin’ here.”

“Oh, you know bureaucracy—I had to convince them that this really was just a vacation.”

“But now that I’ve got those trifling little details out of the way, I can come out here and do my part!”

“Spare me your sermons. I tire of this nonsense.”

“Oh, you’re gonna be tired alright— if you even survive this.”

Haida’s speed debuff affords Virginia all the time in the world to train her dozen main guns on the hobbled Siren, almost relishing it like she’s caught her prey in a snare. Finally, after weeks of frustration and futility on the front line, she can notch the task force’s first big win: shooting a Siren elite to smithereens.

“Let this be a warning to the rest of you: we ain’t playin’ around anymore.” Virginia double, triple-checks her aim. She’s certain she won’t miss.

“Later.”

(Sorry, but it’s a bit too soon for that.)

The last thing the Interpreter sees on the battlefield is a storm of 18-inch shells barreling directly toward its face. In a flash, it all dissipates into a solemn, sterile black—a familiar sensation, as she knows exactly where she is.

(Forgive me...)

From the shipgirls’ perspective, the Interpreter explodes in a symphony of destruction, thunderous blasts rumbling through the sky. There’s not a trace of her when the dust settles—no smoke, no debris, nothing. She is completely and utterly gone.

Virginia catches her breath. It feels so good to be winning for once.

“...Virginia to Third Unit.” She brings the radio to her mouth, a smile blooming on her face.

“We got the bastard.”

A chorus of celebratory cheers grace the quartet. The rest of the unit has cleaned out the first line, circling back around to rendezvous with Virginia; they now seek to press the advantage and push the Sirens back miles and miles yet.

“Mind, the war is not yet won. We still have plenty of work to do.”

“Oh, absolutely.” She looks on at the encroaching clouds, the unrelenting swarm. They cut the Sirens down and their replacement just keep on funneling in...but it’s a whole lot more manageable now. The Interpreter’s defeat proves one key point: the Sirens are mortal. They are fallible. And they can most certainly be cut down to size.

“So whaddaya say you and I stretch our legs some more? You look like you’re still wantin’.”

“Well! I might take you up on that.”

***

The fleeting daylight already threatens to withdraw. Faint golds shimmer on the disparate icebergs, the mercury plunging well below zero. It serves as a visual indication to Observer Theta that her time is running out.

She’s lost two of her right hands. Linker and Interpreter are both out of commission for the time being; new rigging will arrive in time, but every day is precious here, and Constructor can’t do everything on her own. They’re set to lose ground today, and without an effective plan for a counterattack, they’ll be pushed out of the strait entirely and back into the Chukchi Sea.

Interpreter wakes to the familiar sounds of Observer Theta and her rigging, orchestrating the battle from her citadel. She’s departed from her usual capricious demeanor—the battle has changed her. She’s playing to win now.

“Good, you’re up. I’m glad you’re all right... That would have been a very unceremonious way to go.”

“Forgive me, Theta… I should have prepared better for their ambush.”

“Don’t be sorry—it took us all by surprise. We didn’t expect them to have that kind of stealth technology yet.”

“At any rate, it’s clear we can’t go about this as we once did. They’ve stepped up their game, and we’ll need to as well.”

“I’ll return to the field as soon as I’m able.”

“You will not. I need you here running the numbers. Constructor will gather data on the new units—not to mention Virginia.”

“If we can sleuth them out quickly enough, we should have a counterattack ready by day 35 or so. Thankfully, it looks like they’re all in the same shift, so that should make it easier.”

“What I don’t understand is the ammunition pipeline… Surely they have a supply line of some kind if they’re being this reckless all of a sudden. Where is it coming from…?”

“Should I investigate?”

“I’d appreciate that, if you have the time to spare—but it’s not a high priority for now.”

“What matters for the time being is putting their new approach to the test.”

“Right.”

“Go ahead and rest up for now. You’re excused.”

“Thank you, Theta… I will not fail you again.”

Interpreter is dismissed from the central citadel, leaving Theta alone once again. Nothing makes sense anymore: the sudden reinforcements from absolutely nowhere, the seemingly impossible supply line, the literal overnight change in morale and command structure… What the hell did those shipgirls do?

“Well, credit where it’s due, old Freddy… I thought you might pull one over on us, but I wasn’t expecting you to manage it twice.”

“You’re hiding something somewhere. I can’t tell what or where it is, but you must’ve used the task force as a shield to build it...and in the process, you further dug your own grave. You’ve spat in the face of Operation Cascade well and truly, now.”

“I do wonder how your superiors will react to your two-faced tactics here… Will they embrace you as the shipgirls’ shepherd, or will they grind you under their heel for going against man’s way?”

“Their judgment will save or doom humanity… I look forward to it.”

***

The Interpreter was correct in its assessment: the Battle of the Bering Strait has very much changed. Task Force TL, rejuvenated and resupplied, mounts their counterattack against the Siren force—and with the training gloves off, they’ve taken back swaths of territory by force. Where once the front line was a precarious three miles from Diomede, they’ve extended the buffer to a whopping 24 miles—almost enough for them to break out of the chokepoint entirely and drive the Sirens all the way back to the Chukchi Sea. The Sirens are well and truly on the back foot now...and as the fourth week of the battle comes and goes, they’re running out of time.

Drifts of ice come trundling through the strait. Daylight is starting to become a precious commodity here—as the earth tilts further and further, the encroaching polar night threatens to drown the sea in darkness.

Pale light reflects off the whirling waves as the Second Unit returns from another night’s hard work. Having stopped by Diomede for a care package courtesy of the villagers, they’ve got plenty to cook with tonight—and thank God for that. You can only eat MREs so many nights in a row...unless you’re Enterprise.

“Good work out there, everyone~! I’ll have a nice meal whipped up for you all once we get back. Just be patient, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am!”

Minnesota’s taken quite well to her status as the team mom. Whenever anyone needs a helping hand, under her unit or otherwise, she’s always around to lend a hand. For want of more medical staff, she’s ended up becoming one of the head nurses back at camp as well, tending to the group’s wounds as they come and go.

That leads her to her two rowdiest patients: Roon and Monarch, still on the sidelines, still taking potshots at each other.

“I’m fit as a fiddle, really; it’s just my turret that’s out of order. But that should all be rectified tomorrow—and if I don’t see you out on the battlefield with me, I’ll count that as my victory.”

“Keep deluding yourself, I insist. My rigging doesn’t rely on animatronic trickery, and that makes it far easier to maintain.”

“Riiight, it’s just your bum shoulder.”

“My shoulder is fine!”

“Oh, knock it off, you two! No bickering at the campsite.”

“Yes, ma’am…”

“Yes, ma’am…”

She’s grown quite used to reining in the feisty duo—it helps that she has bigger guns than the both of them. Together with Ingraham, she’s worked tirelessly to mend their injuries and repair their rigging...when she’s not providing for her own unit, of course. She juggles her attention between tending to them and making sure dinner doesn’t get overcooked.

“Okay, slowly now… Just focus on nice and smooth movements…” Monarch’s shoulder is healing, but she still lacks mobility—and having to bear the force of constant 16-inch gunshots would just wreck it again if she goes back out too soon.

“Nice and easy…”

“Urngh!”

“Okay, not quite there yet. Back down now…”

Roon guffaws. “Perhaps you can just bring your left turrets from now on.”

“I will do no such thing. That kind of half-baked tactic would befit Wales more than I.”

“Oh, hush.” She knows it’s mostly a bluff—Wales and Monarch have had to tolerate each other out here, and they’ve generally been playing nice since then. It just comes with the territory of being the only shipgirls around for thousands of miles.

“Don’t overexert yourself either, Roon. Now that Haida’s unit is here to fill the gap, you don’t need to rush yourself back out onto the battlefield. You’ll come back when you’re ready.”

“Oh, I know. This sedentary life just isn’t for me, simply put.”

“You’re always welcome to help me prepare the meals.”

“...Well, no, I’m not that desperate.”

“Oh shoot, that reminds me!” She scurries off toward the fire, over which today’s dinner is cooking. The Second Unit salivates as they catch a whiff of it.

“Phew! Just in time.”

The makeshift dinner table is soon host to a small army of hungry shipgirls, and the most accomplished chef in the task force is ready to plate them up. Today they have their choice of beef or lobster, with vegetable accoutrements from Diomede’s reserves and Haida’s team. It’s not the fanciest nor most nutritious meal in the world, but given the minimalistic circumstances, Minnesota views it as a fun challenge for her culinary chops. They even have s’mores for dessert!

“Good, good! Eat up, and then you can scoot off to bed for some well-earned rest!” Maybe tomorrow she’ll try this borscht recipe Volga gave her. No reviews yet.

Vermont marvels at her sister’s handiwork. She’s grown out here herself: where once she was timid and reserved, she now takes command in her own unique way. On and off the battlefield, she’s become the steady hand the team needs: not the strongest nor the flashiest, but one you can rely on all the same.

“Man, look at you. You’re really treating them, huh?”

“I try, heehee.” Minnesota decides to eat her dinner by the fire, where Vermont’s perched herself for warmth.

“Really, this is the least I can do.”

“Really? You’re helping Roon and Monarch, you’re making meals for everybody, you’re consoling the destroyers… I heard you’ve even had Ingraham start teaching you mechanics so you can work on rigging!”

“Does that honestly sound like the least you can do?”

“You flatter me… Let me be humble, you!”

“Hah. Not a chance.”

Another clear night blesses them with the unspoiled night sky, broken only by the smoke of the campfire and the disparate lights of their defenses. Vermont’s started to appreciate the view more and more by the day—it’s the simpler things in life, you know? Maybe when this is all over, she can take up astronomy or something.

“I really do feel like this is what I should be doing. I’m not going above and beyond, I’m just, well...being me. And that’s what the kids all need.”

“Kids?”

“Er— You know, I mean—“

“Yeah, I getcha, Mom.”

Minnesota responds with a raspberry. Vermont has this way of teasing her that she just can’t stand. But she wouldn’t trade her for any other sister.

“I agree, in all seriousness. Having someone you can always turn to, rain or shine… That really helps put the wind in their sails.”

“Yeah…” Minnesota gazes long into the dark.

“As horrible as this has been...I think I might have finally found my calling.”

“Oh?”

“When we first got here, I didn’t know what I was supposed to do… I was still insecure about myself, after… After…”

“Yeah.” Vermont solemnly nods. She doesn’t need to force the words from her mouth.

“And they tried to take advantage of me like that… They tried to convince me that power was the only way I would amount to anything.”

“But I’ve learned that they’re wrong. I can protect with more than just my guns. I can protect with bandages, and wrenches, and hot meals and...”

“...And with my heart.”

“Haha. Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

“Power isn’t all that matters… That’s just what they want us all to think.”

“Damn straight.”

“I was telling Virginia that: it’s all about finding a balance. Everybody leads in their own way. Some lead with these big flashes of fire and smoke; others with bombastic speeches.”

“Some though… Some lead by taking care of you and washing your worries away...like you.”

Minnesota briefly flinches at the touch of Vermont’s arm around her shoulders.

“You’re doing just fine out there… Don’t let any Siren bastard tell you how and how not to think. Your own moral compass is the only compass you need.”

“Thanks… Heehee.”

For being the mom of the group, Minnesota sure does love to be doted on. Big sis always has this way of putting her at ease.

“I’ve gotta get ready. These eight hours of prep always fly by too fast.” Vermont stands tall and prepares for the day ahead. “You sleep tight, Mom.”

“You too, big sass.”

They bid each other farewell with lighthearted laughter. After a couple s’mores and perhaps a cold one or two among the more...seasoned shipgirls, the Second Unit retires for the night. They’ll sleep well.

The end is finally in sight… Only another week or two of this and they can all finally go home. They have the ammo, the food and the morale to get there… All that’s left is to go out and get it done. Journey Island—and the world—await their return.

***

The days are winding down. Over a month has now passed since the Battle of the Bering Strait began… One month since the Sirens were stopped dead in their tracks. And it’s starting to get to them. The arctic ice is encroaching by the day, and with their forces having to funnel into the strait, they’re at risk of getting stranded in the endless expanse of white. Their forecasts predict that if they can’t break through the strait within the next two weeks, no fewer than 50% of their forces will be entombed in ice.

50% of their remaining forces, mind. The shipgirls have done the unthinkable: they’ve taken out an entire 12% of the Sirens’ gargantuan armada. 39 shipgirls and their mass-produced detail have stonewalled them to an extent previously thought impossible.

And this is with the bulk of the Azur Lane’s forces and supplies still at Journey Island.

Frederick’s gambit is finally coming to fruition: the Sirens are in a lose-lose situation, and Theta knows it. If they don’t break the blockade in time, they’ll be forced to attack via Mirror Sea just to stage an attack on Journey Island at all—and in the process, their main force will be either trapped for most of the winter or overrun entirely.

Theta is left with no other choice. Task Force TL wants extra hard mode? They’ll get it.

“Good timing, Interpreter. I was just about to call you.”

“Yes, I’ve completed my analysis.”

“So you know what must be done, then…”

“I do.”

Enter Theta’s own gambit. Her elites have been using the same shift system the task force has, ensuring that any one commander doesn’t get too tuckered out on the job. That’s about to come to an end.

“I need all three of you out there, 24 hours a day from here on out. It’s the only way we can break through the blockade in time.”

“I didn’t want to have to do this, but they leave me no choice.”

“Right… By my estimates, the three of us should be able to operate continuously for at least three days. One week is less certain...but we’ll do what we can.”

“As I said before: I will not fail you again.”

“Don’t worry, silly. I know you won’t.”

“And besides...for as much as I’m stressing out about this, it’s really not the end of the world if we somehow lose. It just means that this long-running story gets another season...and it’s shaping up to be a very interesting one.”

“The humanist ideals of the Azur Lane versus the brutal evolution of the Crimson Axis… Who will triumph in the end, I wonder?”

The forecast calls for the polar ice to swallow them all within the week, and thus is Theta’s hand forced. The stage is set for one final showdown, pitting the combined might of the Siren elites against what remains of Task Force TL. The single most decisive battle in the history of the war is about to begin.

***

Alaska gazes long and far into the night, trepidation on the wind. The Recon Unit has been hard at work tracking the back line’s movements, in the wake of a sudden shift in their formation. They figured this might be coming: the Sirens are likely going to throw the whole kitchen sink at them in a last-ditch effort to break through. Alaska’s radar and binoculars all but confirm the inevitable.

“Kursk here,” the radio crackles. “Confirmed elite unit movements among the Siren back line. They’re all heading for the point.”

“Pretty obvious what they’re gonna do here.”

“Le Terrible reporting; I can corroborate Kursk’s observations. Constructor, Interpreter and Linker are all making for the front line. I suspect this may be a bit too much for one unit alone to handle…”

Alaska takes a deep breath of the harsh, wintry air.

“...We know what we need to do, then.”

“We’re sending in everyone.”

Kursk and Le Terrible respond with a mix of resignation and laughter. The time has come for them to finally join the other three units in direct front line combat. Alaska takes in the sights of her camouflaged cove for what might be the final time… One last look at the land she calls home. She now fights to defend it.

All the radios all over the task force suddenly flicker to life. From their core echoes Alaska’s commanding voice, foretelling one last grand conflict to end Operation Bastille.

“Alaska to all units: we’ve confirmed it. Leave all your baggage and all your regrets behind at the camp, because you won’t be coming back.”

“Commence Operation Cluster.”

Show time. Every shipgirl back at camp is gradually roused from their slumber, sorting out all their last-minute obligations before they venture out one more time into the unknown.

Virginia plays the group one final song on her guitar, serenading them into action as shipgirls sortie one by one. This tune is different from the others: it is not a tacit acceptance of their situation, nor a melancholy tale of solitude and strife.

No, this song is one of hope. Of defiance. Of standing up for what they hold dear and defending it to the very end.

“...Let’s go.”

Virginia snuffs out the campfire and leaves her guitar in her spot. She hits the water and joins her sisters, the leaders of Task Force TL, for a final show of heroism on the seas. History unfolds before their eyes one final time.

***

The fated hour arrives. Dawn breaks over the Bering Strait and paints the sky a dim shade of cyan, the waves faintly glowing in the glancing sun. The First Unit, on shift at the time, is soon joined by Minnesota and Virginia’ combined entourage—plus Alaska’s elusive Recon Unit, descended from their posts deep up the strait.

It’s the first time in weeks that they’ve all been together again… Some of these faces look almost foreign to each other. Some are giddy, some are nervous; some gaze into the oncoming void, and others look to their friends for comfort. Some shiver to the beat of the wind, the cold piercing them like arrows… Some are ablaze with passion in their hearts.

There is one thing they all share in common, one thing that brings them together: they are all sisters. Task Force TL is no mere fleet, no ordinary armada. It is a sisterhood. A grand gathering of the bravest souls on the seas, standing at the edge of the world as they look into the abyss. Though they may all come from different nations, different creeds, different walks of life, they all take pride in standing here. They are bold...they are mighty.

And above all, they are human.

“Right, now…” Vermont leads the group as the specter of death approaches.

“There’s nothing left I can say that hasn’t already been said. Each and every one of us stands here knowing what must be done. I’ve already given you my whole spiel...and I stand by everything I’ve said. There are no sons of bitches I’d rather have fighting alongside me than all of you. And it’s been an honor and a privilege to be your leader.”

“So now I turn to you. Anyone have anything left to say before we go and give them hell?”

The group of 39 ponders their thoughts… They have much on their minds, but they all struggle to find the words to say.

But then, a meek voice breaks the silence.

“U-Umm…” Helena, from the Second Unit. She’s seen much in her weeks here...things that no one should ever have to experience. Were she alone here, she would have lost herself to despair and fallen prey to the Sirens’ endless assault…

But she’s not alone.

“Thank you...for doing everything for me. I’m… I’m so lucky…!”

St. Louis and Implacable move to comfort her, and it’s here where Implacable gives a speech of her own.

“We have all faced emotional strife here as Task Force TL...and lesser ships would have lost themselves. It is not our guns that give us power, but our bonds, our camaraderie, our spirit and will to overcome.”

“I watched you learn that for yourself, Minnesota...and it is for that reason that I’m proud to call you my captain. You are fearless, compassionate and resolute, and under your command, you have made us stronger than the sum of our parts. You are, in my eyes, a wonderful, wonderful leader.

“...Just as Yorktown was.”

Minnesota can’t find the words herself—she’s moved almost to tears. She and Implacable share one more hug, just as they did on that fateful night.

Monarch decides to chime in next.

“Virginia, Third Unit captain...I extend my heartfelt gratitude to you.”

“It is you and this greater task force that have given me my purpose, allowed me to answer my calling—and in this calling, I found you, a shipgirl much like myself.”

“We both struggled to find ourselves on the battlefield...to prove our worth to the world. Yet over these weeks, I have grown alongside you—and though my service record may be tainted, and my guns may have fallen silent, I can still boast that I fought with every iota of my being. There is no greater honor for me.”

“I salute you, Virginia. And I look forward to seeing who can out-compete the other.”

“...Heh. You got it.”

...

“Fitting, then, that I save myself for last.” Littorio relishes in the opportunity to give closing remarks to the group.

“Vermont… In the early life of this task force, I admit I doubted you.”

“I saw in your eyes a storm of confusion and anxiety—a desire to prove oneself not just to her friends, but to the world at large. A soul stained with the shame of past failures...and a soul clouded made for feeble guns.”

“Nonetheless, I gave you the benefit of the doubt. I gave you the time to prove yourself and rise to the occasion as the leader we all need…”

“And prove yourself, you did. It takes a mighty soul to accept and learn from the failures of the past and present—and in crushing your weakness, you have risen above the doldrums of mediocrity to become a wise and courageous warrior.”

“The world smiles upon you, Vermont—and though I do not submit in fealty to anyone or any- thing, I am proud to except you as my equal.”

“...That’s the most Littorio way to say thanks ever.” They chuckle together.

Vermont gazes to the south one final time, Diomede in the distance. Her will is steeled, her spirit resolved. With 38 of the world’s greatest shipgirls at her back, she takes a step forward and raises her guns in anger.

“CHAAAAAAARGE!”

An earth-shattering war cry erupts from Task Force TL, the very seas quaking before their might. Like a comet, they tear a whole through the waves and valiantly meet their foe. Dawn flanks them to the right, the cold embrace of dusk on the left; they sail on the very precipice of history.

“Ahahaha! You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this…! Vermont can’t run from me forever! I’m gonna get my hands on her for sure!”

“And I will delight to see what precious frailties lie hidden within these feeble constructs… Yes, today they will come to understand the error of their ways.”

“I don’t really get your mumbo-jumbo, but that’s okay, ‘cause I don’t have to! All that matters is we bust them up to bits! Ahahahaha~!”

“...Will you two shut up already?”

And so, the elites begin their final battle. The chessmaster observes from afar, her uncountable armada of steel and ash charging forth as her gambit plays itself out. The specter of Commander Frederick Lightoller taunts her, his grand machinations finally coming to a head. She wonders if this might finally strike him down.

“Entertain me.”

The battlefield alights with chaos one more time as the two comets collide, the sky set ablaze in a shower of spark and flame. Liberated from the shackles of ammo conservation, the shipgirls throw caution to the wind and fire as fast as their rigging can handle—every bullet left in the box is a wasted one at this point.

“That’s what I wanna hear, ladies! Keep firing until you can’t fire any more!”

Every last mass-produced ship in Task Force TL’s employ unloads their ordnance in a deafening hail of death, drowning out their Siren counterparts. This is the first time they’ve been able to unload their entire arsenals—and it hardly stops when they run out of ammo. Their final directive as expendable steel is to ram themselves into the nearest enemy they can find, clogging up the strait with their own scrap. Anything to slow the Sirens down.

“Stay calm, everyone! Stick together and you’ll make it!”

They stress the importance of keeping close. With Constructor, Interpreter and Linker all on the prowl, getting singled out may very well be a death sentence. The Tillmans keep a watchful eye on the order of battle, making sure the groups hold together—and that they don’t leave any weaknesses exposed to the elites.

“Y’all, don’t hug all the fun now… Lemme at ‘em!”

The sun now precariously hangs ahead. Its rays cast innumerable panes of black on the water, foreshadowing the sheer numbers they’re up against. Neither side is holding anything back anymore.

No elite has shown their face yet, the anticipation building. It’s only a matter of time before one of them tries pulling a fast one...but with triple the usual numbers, it’s that much tougher for them to find an opening. They need some way to create chaos among the shipgirls’ ranks…

But they do have an elite for that.

“Ladies, careful! Getting word of a Mirror Sea—probably you-know-who! First Unit, form up on me and get ready to take this sucker out!”

“RIGHT!”

On cue, the first of the three elites makes her appearance on the grand stage. Constructor.

“Heyoooo~! Miss me?”

“Funny, I was looking forward to this.”

“Change of heart? Not often someone looks forward to dying.”

“Really weird, considering you’ve been running away from me all throughout this past week. Only now do you decide to face me… That’s really interesting!”

“Have you finally realized how pointless this whole charade is? Or are you just looking for the easy way out instead of slinking back to Journey Island with your tail between your legs? Hey, tell me, tell me! Ahahahaha!”

Vermont readies her trusty 18-inchers. “Yeah, no. You’re pretty bad at reading people.”

“What I’m looking forward to is wiping that shit-eating grin off your face after I beat you like a rented mule. Sound fun, huh?”

“I’d like to see you try.”

The task force knows her tricks well. In an instant, she and her mirror images come flying out of the portal and descend upon the sea, spreading confusion wherever they go. They’re nasty little buggers: the fake ones are rigged to explode upon taking enough damage...or whenever Constructor feels like it. This makes getting up close and personal with one a risky endeavor—they need to sniff out the real one, and fast.

Luckily for them, they already have.

“Ahaha! Ready or not, here I come!”

One Constructor comes sailing toward Vermont with a full head of steam. Ordinarily, Vermont would hang back and give them time to figure out the real one, as is standard procedure with this elite...but she doesn’t need to do that today. She knows exactly who the real one is.

“Gah! What?!”

Vermont meets the real Constructor head-on with a vicious haymaker right to the jaw.

“How did you…?!”

“Been riling you up this entire time. Why do you think I always retreated this week?”

“Wha… What are you talking about?!”

“I wanted you to miss me, kid.”

The Constructor is fast, but Vermont is too close—she grapples with the Siren’s rigging and prevents her from escaping.

“I wanted you to get reeeal giddy about fighting me again. So giddy that you’d beeline right for me and I wouldn’t even have to lift a finger.”

“And I was right on the money: you did miss me. I can read you like a book.”

“Urgh…!”

Vermont delights to see the Constructor’s smug, self-satisfied smirk gradually replaced with a sinister scowl. This Tillman isn’t just a musclebound stone wall—she’s got a wit, too. And she’s outsmarted this childish elite.

Vermont lands another hundred-ton hook, knocking the Constructor flat on her rump against the surface of the water. The rest of the First Unit knows what they’re dealing with now—outrange the fakes and make sure they explode out of harm’s way.

“Nice job selling the fakeout, ladies! Now go back to kickin’ ass—I’ll take care of this one!”

“You… You big JERK! I HATE you!”

“Well, come and get me, then!”

Enraged beyond words, the Constructor lunges at the smug Vermont, seeking revenge for being so flatly embarrassed. A brutal one-on-one slugfest ensues with both sides trading gunpowder, all while the greater battle rages on all around them. After a week of holding back against her, being able to wail on the Constructor again is positively cathartic.

“Gotcha!” She’s wise to the Constructor’s combat tics as well—most of her 18-inch shots are actually feints directed toward other faraway targets. That’s a trick she picked up from Virginia: the elites being so fast, most of your shots won’t land—it’s more efficient to spend your big bullets on bigger targets, literally. All she has to do is wait for the Constructor to get desperate and go in for a melee…

Which she’s perfectly conditioned the Siren to do.

“EYAAAAAH!”

The Constructor goes in for the kill...but a Linker she is not. She doesn’t have the brute force to make a bull rush work, and Vermont knows it. Putting all of her titanic heft to use, she stops the elite right in her tracks with a well-timed grab at her rigging.

“Die…! Die! DIE! Why won’t you just DIE already, you stupid brat?! You KNOW you can’t win! Let me GOOO!”

“Even if you beat me, you won’t beat ALL of me…! I’ll—“

Suddenly, the Constructor’s train of thought derails, stopping her mid-sentence. She gets a read on where her clones actually are...and she does not like what she’s seeing.

“What’s the matter? You get tunnel vision again?”

“A-Are you...KIDDING ME?!”

Phase 2 of Vermont’s fakeout. All of her clones are at critical health, ready to blow at any moment… Alarmingly for her, they’re also deep behind the frontline, all in densely-populated Siren clusters. They’ve turned her tactic against her: in luring the copies, they’re all primed to explode right inside the Siren formations, dealing immense damage to her own team. The First Unit has tactically spanked her.

One by one, Siren fleets go up in flames on the horizon, copy after copy self-destructing as their First Unit targets cherry-tap them to death. The Constructor watches in horror as her entire strategy backfires—and it only gets worse. Bit by bit, Vermont dismantles her rigging, completely and utterly tearing her down.

She doesn’t even have the energy to speak anymore, every fiber of her being consumed by rage as she stares down at Vermont. The shipgirl wears a grin from ear to ear.

“Run along back to your master, now. You’re done.”

As Vermont predicted, the Constructor vanishes in the blink of an eye after she punts the defeated Siren skyward—recalled by Observer Theta. She doesn’t get the satisfaction of snuffing her out for good...but she’s done what she needed to do: remove her from the battlefield for the rest of this operation.

“Alright. That’s my job done.”

“...Heh. Seeing her seethe like that was pretty sweet.”

One down. Two to go.

***

Day 39. The constant fighting is beginning to take a toll on both sides—the shipgirls by way of fatigue, and the Sirens by way of simply having too much of their own wreckage to maneuver around. But every hour that passes is an hour closer to freedom, and that’s what keeps the shipgirls going.

“Shoot, shoot…! C’mon, 857, work with me here!”

Bristol works frantically to keep the whole task force posted on the Sirens’ movements, but the unending barrage isn’t making things easy. She’s in a bit of a pickle here: all it took was one wrong move and now she finds herself separated from her group…

“Th-This is bad…! Someone! Someone, help! I need backup!”

“REST EASY!”

Her savior arrives—Jamaica, from the Second Unit, breaking off from her group to help a Third Unit destroyer out.

...No, forget the units now. They’re all one.

“Jamaica…!”

“No need to thank me—this is Justice given form!” Jamaica is...eccentric, but she gets the job done and then some. She helps clear out a path for Bristol to escape—and then to make sure it stays open, her battleship partner readies a special little bunker buster.

“Let them have it, Warrior of Justice! Level three!”

“GEORGIA BEEEEEEEAM!”

It’s hard to feel sorry for unfeeling Siren ships, but then, they did just get completely eviscerated by a PR ship’s fighting game-esque super move. Bristol marvels at the sheer power Georgia unleashes—she’s every bit as powerful as the scuttlebutt at camp implied. She and Jamaica were made for each other.

“Good work, you two! Now form up at the center when you get the chance!”

Minnesota commands the battlefield calmly, almost subdued—but she’s not lacking in confidence. She and the greater group are a well-oiled machine, no longer the green and frightened ships they once were. All she needs to do is watch over them, as she’s more than happy to do.

She bides her time. The Interpreter is bound to strike at her again...but this time, she’s ready for the elite and her mind games. She’s outgrown its twisted lullabies.

“So good to see you again, Interpreter…” True to her state, Minnesota can be cold as ice when the chips are down.

“You seem to have forgotten how our previous battle played out. Have you resigned to your fate, or have you simply lost your mind?”

“I could ask the same of you.”

“I’m not the Minnesota I once was—and I don’t buy your insipid of claims of power above all else. Brute force is not the only measure of strength...not that I’d expect a hegemonistic machine like you to understand that.”

“Drivel.”

The Interpreter launches another of its patented illusions, a great ball of light descending upon Minnesota. Unlike their first battle, she makes no attempt to dodge it.

“Take your best shot.”

Minnesota closes her eyes and lets the power wash over her...and when she comes to, there is no memory of Pohnpei, no torment over what could have been. Her heart has grown strong over these weeks—strong enough to resist the Siren’s song.

“What…?!”

“I don’t need raw power to defeat you.”

“I’ve made peace with who and what I am—my past, my present and my future. My strength doesn’t come from my guns...it comes from my heart. My ability to lift the people around me. My power to lead and command my sisters in arms.”

“Your tricks won’t work on me twice!”

Now it’s Minnesota’s turn to go on the offensive. As she mounts her attack on the stunned Interpreter, she can swear she feels a pair of hands at her back, pushing her along with a silent determination.

“You can do this.”

The Interpreter takes to the air, trying to fend off the hard-charging Minnesota, but there’s nothing it can do. Air cover from Illustrious and Implacable, their planes and spirits lifted by the captain’s compassion, lock her out of the open sky. She’s trapped, and only now is it dawning on her.

And for Minnesota’s talk about raw power not being everything, she can still hit like a truck.

“This is for Yorktown!”

The friends she holds so dear propel her to victory. With nowhere to run and nowhere to hide, the Interpreter is forced to face Minnesota head on—and fighting on a Tillman’s terms is not a good idea. The battlefield itself is closing in on her: behind her is the main Siren line, and at her sides are shipgirls aplenty wreaking havoc.

And then there’s Minnesota in front of her, 18-inchers trained and fist fiercely balled.

“ERGH!”

Hit after hit lands on the hobbled Interpreter, with Minnesota only getting closer. The shipgirl’s shots are extra accurate today, spurred on by some invisible force. Her heart will not waver.

“Had enough yet?”

“You insolent little…!”

Minnesota yields no quarter in her defiant assault, shredding the Interpreter’s rigging just as Vermont did to her own archenemy. Bits and pieces of rigging crash into the waves like steel meteors, sinking deep into the frigid blue.

Theta watches on as her favorite underling is dismantled for the second time. She grimaces as she has to pull her back just like before.

“Now... begone from our waters, and return to the hell whence you came!”

The Interpreter’s days at the Bering Strait end in a cacophonous blast. The setting sun paints the remains of her rigging a waning gold before they too fade into the ocean. Minnesota takes this precious moment to pause before she returns to the battlefield… Wherever she was, however she was pushing her along, she thanks her guardian angel for her help. Her sacrifice all those years ago will not go in vain.

Love has won this day.

***

Now dawns the promised day at last. One more day of blood, sweat and tears; one more siren elite; one more desperate struggle to reclaim the world.

Diomede looks on. Soon, despite the task force’s best efforts, the Sirens will descend upon the island and subjugate it on their march to Journey Island, just as they have done to so many other swaths of humanity. But they are nonetheless happy. They know that through their efforts here, they have saved so many others.

“Godspeed, all of you angels…” Arnie and what villagers remain salute their protectors from afar. Little Jackie’s collected all of their autographs by now. Those little ink signatures will keep him company through the long, cold winter...and perhaps for the rest of his days.

They wish they could have done more. It all seems so unfair for those girls to risk life and limb while they, caught in the crossfire, only offer them gifts of food and drink. But perhaps that was all they needed… The meals, the drinks and the friendly faces to lift their spirits.

Their final gift has yet to come, of course. Diomede has sworn an oath of secrecy, arranged by Alaska herself in one of her many visits to the island. They know every ship in the task force by name, but not a word of this battle will escape their lips. The Commander’s rebellion will be buried here beneath the cold, unforgiving waves of the Arctic...and they will be some of the only people in the world to ever know what happened here.

Little Jackie is the world’s luckiest boy.

***

Hunger. Fatigue. Anxiety. The shipgirls are at their physical and mental limits. But they refuse to bend the knee. The end is finally in sight, on the coming of the dusk. One more decisive battle, and their duty to the Commander—to the world—is finally fulfilled.

The bitter cold gnaws at their faces, ice floating in from the north. Everything is finally coming together… The third act nears its end.

“Not bad at all, Monarch!”

“The same to you! Perhaps not all Iron Blood creations are beyond saving!”

Roon and Monarch tear up the seas, as they always do. With Kirov providing ice-breaking cover ahead of them, they work together to cleave a hole through the Siren formations before them. And not to be outdone, captain Virginia is raising a hell of her own.

“You wanted me, Linker? Now you got me. Come on out!”

In an instant, her wish is granted. The final Siren elite shows herself before the calculating captain, setting the stage for a climactic rematch.

“About time. I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Same. Y’know, I almost owe you in a way. It was you that helped me realize I needed to be a little more...hands-on out here.”

“And now I get to demonstrate.”

“Good. I was getting tired of your coward ass.”

“Fighting’s what we weapons of war were made for. Trying to be things we’re not is just the epitome of stupid.”

“...Heh. Now I can’t say I agree with that.”

“You may have a mechanical body and a brain hard-wired to kill, but you just don’t do it right. You don’t fight with a purpose.”

“I’m here ‘cause I want to be...not just ‘cause some guy in a suit or a fancy set of rigging told me to be. I’ve found my purpose here.”

“Just so happens that my purpose is kickin’ your ass.”

“Cute. Your ‘purpose’ won’t matter when you’re dead.”

Virginia and the Linker duel in the drifting ice, sparks and shells flying like beams of light. Their battle rumbles throughout the entire strait, shaking the shipgirls to their very cores and sending shockwaves along the sea.

The Linker is strong, as she always is. Virginia, in her depleted state, struggles to fend off her vicious charges. With every blow, her body screams for mercy, her eyes struggling just to process the visual assault. She, and everyone else, are at the ends of their ropes…

“What’s the matter? Giving up?”

“...Heh. Heh hah hah…!”

What a ridiculous question.

“Giving up…? I’m just indulgin’ myself.”

“I know I’m in control here.” She grapples with Linker after another bull rush, the Siren’s rigging trying its damnedest to break her. “Your back line is already gettin’ swallowed in the ice. Another 12 hours of this and you’ll be trapped up here. Y’all are shit icebreakers.”

“Lil’ Bristol gives us updates on the hour—we all know you’re screwed. We’ve done everything we needed to do.”

“So no… I ain’t givin’ up, because I know I’ve already won.”

“I’m just here to settle the score with you!”

“Heh…!”

“Now EAT THIS!”

Finally having dispelled the Linker’s rush, Virginia wells up all the strength left in her body for her own offensive. Her body can’t hold her down now—she transcends her very limits for one last assault, rising above the heights of her power. The Linker tries to well up another rush, but it finds itself unable to move; Virginia is fixing her in place.

Hook by hook, kick by haymaker, Virginia starts laying the smackdown on the Linker. She refuses to acknowledge her fatigue, denies the scars and bruises strewn about her body. She will not rest until this foe is slain!

“HAD ENOUGH?!”

The overwhelming catharsis of overcoming her own personal boogeyman, of finally notching a win for the embattled Vermonts, compels her to keep swinging. Flashes of light illuminate the arena as she deals blow after blow, the Linker unable to tank the hits.

With this beatdown, she punctuates the finality of this day. They have systematically dismantled the Sirens’ trump card—and though their forces remain, they now find themselves entombed in the ice, struck down by Mother Nature herself. They will eventually have the strait, but with every punch, Virginia beats the Sirens’ greatest loss into their heads.

“GRAAAAAH!”

The Linker wails in pain as Virginia sends her flying, an exploding turret pelting her with her own shrapnel. Virginia pants heavily, her vision blurry, struggling to keep her footing...but still she stands tall. She will not yield—not now, not ever.

“U-Urgh… Gah…”

The Siren tries to hoist herself to her feet, but she no longer has the strength. Yet she remains here on the battlefield...unlike the other two.

“...Heh… Heh heh. Well done…”

*Huff* *Huff* “Humanity wins, bitch.”

“So...now what? You gonna run back to Momma now…?”

“...Don’t...be stupid.”

“I’m...a weapon of war…”

“Living to...to fight another day...is just kicking the can...down the road…”

“This was always...how it was...gonna end...for me…”

The Linker specifically requested that Theta not save her. She wanted closure here on the battlefield...and closure, she has received.

“So...yeah. The better ship won…”

“Whether you’ll...win the whole thing… Well…”

The Linker lets out a wry laugh.

“You’ll just...have to see…”

“Goodbye… Good to see...you’re not...a coward...any...more…”

Virginia almost respects this one. There was a semblance of purpose in there for a split-second...but it’s lost to time now. The Linker goes out on her own terms, refusing to retreat like her sisters. The faults and error codes finally consume her, and with an unceremonious fizzle, the life in her eyes goes out. She returns to the sea, her rigging sinking along with her; Virginia watches on as her personal battle is finally over.

And at last, she collapses to her knees.

“Virginia!” Vermont quickly swoops in to help her sister to her feet.

“Stay with me here! We’re not done yet!”

“Heh… C’mon, I know, I know… Lil’ bleedin’ heart. You’re like Minnie, y’know that?”

“I ain’t dyin’ that easy. I just had to finish the job.”

“Don’t get all dramatic on me, dammit.”

It feels a bit patronizing to have the eldest sister lift her up in her arms like this...but it’s kind of comforting, all the same.

“Thanks… Really. Sorry for the sarcasm there, heh… Just a bit tired.”

“Just promise me you’ll take it easy from here on out, okay? Everybody’s waiting for you back home.”

“...Of course.”

“Alright…” Vermont prepares the radio.

“C’MON, LADIES! JUST A FEW HOURS! A FEW HOURS MORE AND WE CAN ALL GO HOME! GIMME EVERY LAST BULLET YOU HAVE!”

“OO-RAH!”

“SKI-U-MAH!”

Vermont readies her final charge. The sun is starting to set on Operation Bastille.

“TONIGHT, WE RAISE HELL!”

Task Force TL, after 40 days and 40 nights, has reached the very limits of their designs as shipgirls and their wills as warriors. They have stared death in the face and refused to blink. They have transcended mere warfare and experienced such brutal conflict that it defies all worldly description. But through it all, through the smoke and ash, the fire and explosions, they push on in the name of hope.

And now, it all ends on the dawn of the 41^st day.

***

Observer Theta watches on as Mother Nature takes its course. The dawn illuminates sheets of ice all around the Siren coalition, already starting to snare her mass-produced ships in droves. By her estimates, over a third of the fleet finds itself frozen on the sea… The sands of time have finally run out.

The Sirens will have the Bering Strait in time. Over the coming weeks and months, they will painstakingly dig themselves through the ice, and claim the waters the task force fought so ferociously to defend. In a vacuum, this will be their victory.

But the butterfly effect will carry this conflict far beyond the Bering Strait. It will extend to Journey Island, where the time the task force bought them will bring them ever closer to Deus ex Machina. It will extend to Point Incognita, where the Commander’s machinations remain unknown. It will extend to the Crimson Axis, which may very well lose control of the greater Pacific in the coming months as the Azur Lane mounts their counterattack.

This will go down in retrospect as one of the Sirens’ greatest failures.

“And so, it ends...”

Theta lets out a heavy sigh, followed with the last of her breath by a wry, shaky laugh. She prepares her transmission to the greater Siren borg, knowing full well what she has to do now. This is such a new and unusual feeling for her...though the defeat stings her to her core, she can’t help but respect the Commander for his unprecedented gambit. She’s found herself a worthy foe in this little corner of the universe.

Perhaps he really is the one.

“All units, our battle here is over.”

“Forward units, return to point 6A and prepare for immediate long-range Mirror Sea protocol. Critical mass for our attack is 0.55.”

“All remaining units, focus on breaking the ice and freeing our stranded ships before they incur too much damage. We will have the strait in time.”

With the frozen ships left stranded and scattered about, only the ships and units still thawed are able to sortie into the Mirror Sea. So shall it be.

“...I know you’re here.”

Theta finds a communications channel she never bothered to pick up before. There’s someone waiting for her on the other side.

“Commander Lightoller speaking...and you would be Observer Theta, I presume.”

“This is the first time we’ve been close enough to talk directly...and what a time for it. You’ve surprised me through and through with this ploy of yours.”

“Just what led you to devise this scheme?”

“Well...it was hardly my work alone.”

“Oh…?”

“This operation was the brainchild of several shipgirls under my employ. All I did was give them the power and the will to see it through.”

“That is my duty as Commander of Journey Island: not to enforce my hierarchy above the shipgirls, but to allow them to fight and prosper alongside me. I am the Commander that empowers them to rise above their own limits.”

“I see…”

That’s long been the crux of Theta’s incessant testing: what is the key to a shipgirl’s true power? Is it in coexistence with humans, inspiring the other to grow alongside them as the Commander does? Or is it in the unbound power of the Crimson Axis, whose spiritual and intellectual freedom has allowed their shipgirls to cast aside their chains of humanity?

Theta thought she knew the answer—as she whispered sweet nothings in the ears of the Crimson Axis, she watched them soar to heights of power previously thought impossible. But the Commander and his shipgirls have something they don’t: purpose.

What is Theta to make of this...purpose? Is it a force strong enough to defy evolution itself? Strong enough to stand up to the Crimson Axis and its perfect war machines?

Strong enough to defeat the real enemy…?

“...I’d like to ask you something.”

“What is your endgame? Beyond ending this war with us?”

“What I wish is for a world where man and shipgirl can coexist as one. That is the world they deserve—they are people, just like us.”

“Do you think the shipgirls fight for that same purpose?”

“...I do.”

“Shipgirls are not mere tools of war. That is the fundamental misstep of the Crimson Axis: in creating unfeeling, unflinching machines, they have removed the very things that make shipgirls themselves. The capacity to grow, to bond, to experience the wonders of emotion. They have become cold and sterile, bound forever to the violence that spawned them.”

“And when this war ends...should they find themselves the victors, they will consume themselves next. The Crimson Axis has created shipgirls that do not know how to exist in times of peace—that will never understand the value of living life.”

“In layman’s terms...they’ve removed the ‘girl’ from the shipgirl.”

“That is why I—and all of the shipgirls here at Journey Island—fight to reclaim their future. They have all found their own reasons to live through their experiences here...and that purpose is what gives them strength. Them and us humans both.”

Theta can’t help but laugh. He’s exactly as idealistic as she’d heard he was...but there’s something admirable about that. The shipgirls are not like Sirens: they have the capacity for emotional growth, inherited from their human architects. Perhaps that’s where their real power comes from...and not their raw strength.

It’s an interesting thing to ponder...and for now, Theta will leave the conversation at that. She has some work to do.

“Heehee… I look forward to seeing you again, Commander. Next time, I won’t play nice.”

72 days remain until the Azur Lane passes its judgment. What awaits the Sirens at the end of the long road to Journey Island, not even Theta can be sure. Whatever it may be, though, and whatever form it may take, she’s sure it’ll be interesting.

It might even be the answer she seeks.

***

The final night begins to fade. The bitter wind howls, flakes of snow clinging to the shipgirls’ exhausted rigging. With baited breath, they stand their ground. After all this time, all this vicious battle, the Siren forces are finally starting to abate. Their radar tells a tale of retreat and regrouping, the disparate Siren formations suddenly congealing together.

They all silently know what it means, but they’re too afraid to accept it. They’re not ready to welcome peace back into their hearts, having only known the constant pain of war for 40 consecutive days. Some laugh...some weep. Some simply stare in silence at the amorphous formation taking shape in the distance. Vermont watches on, breath heavy and mind exhausted...but her spirit still burns, just like all the others.

And then, as if they were never there at all, all those radar blips suddenly vanish.

Only now do the shipgirls truly accept what has happened: the Sirens have pulled back into their Mirror Seas. They have forced Theta’s hand and stranded her forces here at the Bering Strait, forcing her to detach the rest for her attack on the Azur Lane.

They have thwarted certain doom at Journey Island. Their mission, at last, is accomplished.

“It… It happened! It happened! We did it!” Bristol’s wanted to break this news for 40 days and 40 nights. Now she finally has her chance.

“Everyone! THEY FINALLY SPLIT!”

At once, nearly every shipgirl in the task force roars with unbridled joy.

“YEEEEEEES!!! GOD, ALL OF YOU, I LOVE YOU SO MUCH!”

Celebration strikes across the sea. As the 41^st dawn breaks, and the realization of their victory comes with it, Task Force TL rejoices with the very last of their energy. Shipgirls who were once strangers now hug each other with tears in their eyes. They have finished their duty...and now all that remains is to give the Sirens their parting gift.

Operation Silver Bullet. Every last mass-produced ship in their employ charges at full speed directly into the line. The Bering Strait is plagued one last time with the cacophony of conflict, explosions rocking the sea from coast to coast; it gives the task force the cover they need to make their painstaking retreat. Together, they hobble from the battlefield they’ve called home all this time.

Dawn breaks over the world again, as it always does. Commander Frederick Lightoller is at Point Incognita today, watching the sun rise in silence. He awaits the news on the radio...and like clockwork, Alaska is at the ready.

“Morning, Commander.”

“A little birdie’s told me you have good news to report.”

“...We got ‘em.”

He sheds a tear. He cannot hope to fathom in his lifetime the sacrifices those girls made for him. Yet sacrifice they did. They believed in him. They have performed an invaluable service to him and to all of humanity, trusting in his faith and his judgment. They are his unsung heroes, now and forever.

And now it’s time to bring them home.

He prepares his transmission to the wider group. “Task Force TL. This is Commander Frederick Lightoller.”

“It’s time to come home.”

***

The sun reaches its peak on the 41^st day, casting its shallow rays behind the islands of Diomede.

After all this time, all this fighting, all this suffering and strife...they’re finally coming home.

The camp at St. Lawrence welcomes the shipgirls one final time. The Bering Strait bids them farewell, its radiant waters calm again after 40 days of fighting. They have finally won their peace...and with their victory comes the Commander’s voice once more.

“Task Force TL… Let us know, here and now, that your sacrifice has saved this world. As your Commander, I cannot express enough my gratitude, my respect, my undying loyalty to you… And I am unfathomably honored that you would place your trust in me for a mission such as this.”

They can hear his voice quivering. He struggles to find the words to express how much this all means.

“I await you at Point Incognita. Haida will guide you there. You may rest and recover there for as long as you like—and indeed, when you are ready, Journey Island will welcome you home. That is my final order to you, Task Force TL… The world smiles upon thee.”

Vermont keys herself up on the radio. “Commander.”

“Yes?”

“I just wanted to say...thank you. Thank YOU for trusting us.” Vermont chokes back tears.

“After everything we’ve been through...everything as Vermonts, you… You still believed in us. You still saw us.”

“We did this for you. For the world, and for you.”

“We’re coming back…! And you’d better be for us there! Alright?!”

“Always.”

“Now...come on home. We’re all waiting for you.”

Operation Bastille is over at last. A ploy of shipgirl design running against the will of the Azur Lane, carried out by a Commander knowing full well the whole world depended on their rebellion. An act of redemption for the embattled Vermont sisters, who for so long had been a black mark on the Eagle Union.

A song of the unsung, who will forever be clouded in shadow.

The world will never know their names. They will never know their sacrifice, their bravery, their undying determination in the face of impossible odds. They will never know the camaraderie, the bonds they forged in the fires of war. They will never know the songs they sang at the campfire, nor the meals they ate at their makeshift mess hall. They will never know the brave men and women of Diomede, who selflessly lent the task force their aid. The world will never know what they don’t know...for the Battle of the Bering Strait will persist only in memory, for eternity and evermore.

They will only know that in some dark corner of history, untouched by human eyes, there once was a team of heroes that rose up and saved the world.

They will only know the name, Task Force TL.

FIN