Pax Propter Vim [Azur Lane Fanfic]

Chapter 20

Northbound, USS Zumwalt.

December 22, 1941.

The drone of the engines filled the steel corridors of the her vessel as it cut through the night waves, bound for Cam Ranh Bay. The mission had been a success. Three Japanese Imperial shipgirls had been taken down, one of them an informant who had secretly aided the Allies. It was a big and significant victory.

Zumwalt set down the headset with a quiet sigh, her fingers lingering over the cold metal as if anchoring herself to reality. The ground crew had done their job well—another battle won, another step forward. But deep inside, that nagging feeling of insufficiency remained, gnawing at the edges of her thoughts.

Laffey, the ever-drowsy and slightly drunken destroyer, sat nearby, lazily twirling a half-empty bottle between her fingers. Her white hair was tied in a messy bun, a few strands falling over her face as she leaned back against the bulkhead.

"Is it done, Zummy?" She murmured, voice heavy with exhaustion.

Zumwalt glanced at her and offered a soft smile. "Yeah, sweetie. The ground crew handled it. J will be home soon too."

Laffey hummed in approval, shifting slightly. "Mmm... that’s good. You should get some sleep, Zummy. Still a few hours ‘til Cam Ranh..." A massive yawn interrupted her words, and she lazily waved a hand in dismissal.

Zumwalt chuckled. It was an oddly comforting sight, how this perpetually sleepy shipgirl had grown attached to her in just two weeks. It reminded her of camaraderie, of bonds forged in war—things that she had often failed to protect.

"Alright, alright." Zumwalt relented. "I’ll head to bed."

She stood up, stretching slightly before walking Laffey to her quarters. The destroyer girl barely made it to her bunk before collapsing onto the mattress with a muffled mumble, already halfway to sleep. Zumwalt lingered for a moment, watching her soft, rhythmic breathing before quietly closing the door.

The warmth of companionship faded the moment she was alone in her room.

---

Zumwalt sat on the edge of her cot, staring at the small metal frame in her hands. The dim light from a single overhead bulb cast long shadows on her face, making her green emerald eyes seem even more haunted.

The picture inside was new, taken not too long ago— before she became what she was now. Captain James Simmons, standing tall in his pristine uniform. Beside him, his father, Chief Mike Simmons, and a woman with long brown hair and glasses: Miss Vern Li.

Zumwalt’s fingers traced over their faces.

Captain James never knew about his father’s secret relationship with Vern. He never had the chance to. Chief Mike and Vern had died inside her main turret, desperately trying to repair critical damage as she fought to retake Hawaii. The shelling had been relentless, the sky a burning inferno, the ocean a graveyard of ships.

She had failed them.

She had always been a failure.

Even before that war, she had been nothing but a laughingstock—a so-called marvel of naval engineering turned into a budget-devouring disaster. The Navy mocked her. The politicians called her a mistake. Even when she proved herself on the battlefield, she was never enough. Too often, she was battered, broken, barely holding together as she fought to take Hawaii from The Directorate.

And in the end, it hadn’t mattered.

Her failures haunted her, clinging to her like rust on an old hull. She had been determined not to fail again, but no matter how hard she fought, the past refused to let go.