(Shy Stamen) takes command as an (Imperial) admiral!

Crashing waves hadn’t yet managed to wear down the jagged cliffs.

They’d had billions of years to do the job, yet those imposing rocks stood like dragons teeth on the barren western shores of Meislohn. A coastal road wound between obsidian spear-tips and the deep blue sea, keeping vehicles on track with little more than a rusty steel guardrail.

One that was noticeably dented at a few hairpin turns.

Luckily, the sputtering, beat-up old Clydesdale struggled to get up to speed on mountain roads, let alone veer out of control.

Kotone Watanabe had as little trouble steering through the rocks as she would sail a battleship through roiling rapids. The road hugged the coastline, tempting with a spectacular view out the side.

A temptation mostly resisted.

She’d soon get the chance to experience ocean waves the way she preferred.

Accompanied by scratchy, barely-audible bars of catchy jazz hits on the radio, Kotone brushed long black hair out of her face, adjusted her spectacles, and kept purple eyes on the road. Both white-gloved hands firmly grasping the wheel. She pressed on with conviction- more than her car had, anyway.

Until the final turn into the cliffs, where a road had been blasted clean through. A cross-section of Autumn herself spread out to either side, forming a deep valley the sun rarely kissed. Rocks embraced her like folding wings, and she couldn’t help but glance at the strata on display.

Lines over lines, a world’s history. An old, rocky book with plenty of secrets.

Only after passing through the valley, did she arrive at the end of the road.

The front gates of Naval District Forty-Seven.

After all that, it was a post hardly deserving the bother of a name. It certainly didn’t match the sights she’d seen on the journey here.

A scant handful of brick and sheet-metal buildings on the edge of the cliffside, facing out towards the vast open blue of the sea. It looked more like a private school then a secured facility. Despite the tall wrought-iron gates, hangars to each side, and dockyard spreading out metal hands onto the water, it was less imposing than the cliffs harboring it.

Yet the banner of the Empire flew proudly over it, as it would soon over all Autumn.

Vertical bars of white, black, and deep blood red.

As Kotone pulled her vehicle into the parking lot, she saw the gates slide open. They were powered only by a pair of burly nekomata workmen in denim. Neither approached even once the gate was open. Only one person came towards the car as Kotone emerged, drawing up to her full, towering height. Whipping jet-black hair back against a blast of salty cool wind and reaching up to keep the white beret seated atop her head.

When they opened back up, purple eyes took in a most astounding sight.

She’d been briefed, sure. Trained in their handling. She’d even met some of them at the Academy.

None of those classes could have prepared her for the reality.

Gorgeous women in maid uniforms weren't supposed to be a feature of military bases.

Kotone could understand, intellectually, that the approaching woman, whose every footstep sent a huge chest barely contained by a low-cut frilly maid top bouncing, was the same as the steel bulk of an Imperial heavy cruiser down in dock.

They were linked forms, necessary for each other’s operation, and so in every sense, the busty maid coming out to greet Kotone was a heavy cruiser.

To believe it was impossible, yet this was why Kotone was here.

The closer the red-clad maid got, the more absurd her proportions appeared. Her snow-white hair was short-cut like a man’s, and ruby-red eyes glowed softly in the morning light, examining with the keen gaze of a hawk. That just contrasted with everything else, which exuded inviting, sensual softness.

Her creamy, pale skin was exposed, especially the wealth of cleavage offered by her enormous breasts. Truly oversized compared to the rest of her body, and only emphasized further by her deficit of height.

A true shortstack.

Her waist narrowed, only for that figure to expand back out, though not nearly to the same width, into a pair of hips emphasized by her maid hoop-skirt. Her black thigh-highs and matching pair of long elbow-length gloves glinted off the light, clearly leather.

It ensured the only parts of her figure that weren't covered was a breathtaking harsh face, slim, feminine upper arms, and that obscene, enormous chest. Good lord.

The maid clasped her hands tightly in front of her, causing her arms to press up on either side of her bust, subtly emphasizing it. As if it was possible to look elsewhere; each breast was at least the size of the girl’s head.

When she offered a low, formal bow, another valley opened up before Kotone, one that tantalized and invited the more primal parts of the beanpole stamen’s brain. Among other places. Jolts of tiny lightning spread to various places, despite the adrenaline and nerves of meeting new people that tended to kill those impulses.

Luckily, Kotone was wrapped up in the long black raincoat-uniform of the Imperial Navy and a pair of matching utility pants, so nothing untoward would show. Important when one was a supremely nervous, shy wreck who couldn’t handle contact with even normal girls.

Much less a bombshell of this caliber.

“Welcome to Squadron Forty-Seven, Admiral Watanabe. I’ve been told of your coming. I am the Imperial Heavy Cruiser Intervention, first of the Intervention-class artillery cruisers. As of this moment, I am now your personal, and exclusive, flagship, secretary, and maid. Please take good care of me.”

After the clearly-rehearsed speech, there was silence, filled only by whipping coastal winds and the distant call of seagulls.

“As I will, in turn, take care of you. I am your property, and so, please, stare as much as you like.”