Belated Battleships (KanColle) [REHOST]

[theJMPer]

Battle Off Alaska continued!
​

In an instant, time stopped. Jersey felt her hull glide to a halt atop a wave crest like it was cast in concrete, the glittering water droplets pouring off her bow turning to miniature diamonds frozen in midair.

It felt weird as shit. Some freakish combination of the adrenaline coursing though her veins and the twenty-seven-hundred faeries manning their stations was letting her process at lighting speed. She… she needed to think.

Jersey stormed down a corridor, her corridor, her soggy running shoes slapping against the deck with a frantic rhythm as she broke into a quick jog. This wasn't just a fight, she wasn't wading alone into the devils' jaws. She had destroyers, freighters, and the entire fucking nation of Japan riding on her command.

She launched herself down a ladder, landing with a loud clang against… her own decking. That was gonna stay weird for a while. A Master Chief snapped to attention, giving her a warm nod as she passed him.

Jersey returned it with an almost automatic salute of her own, letting her legs take here deeper into her own hull, almost sprinting towards… towards wherever she needed to be.

She rounded a corner into…her own CIC. She was built as a flagship, after all, she had a Combat Information Center to rival a fleet carrier.

Her faeries snapped too as she ducked though the watertight hatch, each holding a hand to their disproportional faces, huge eyes locked on her.

"H-hey guys," said Jersey, awkwardly returning the salute as she made her way to the plotting table. "Uh… as you were."

The faeries wordlessly resumed their posts. Enlisted ratings in blue coveralls hunkered down behind glowing amber screens while faeries in tan officer's uniforms congregated by the plotting table.

No, not faeries, officers. Jersey recognized them, ever captain, every admiral who'd ever served with her standing ready to guide her. "Thanks… sirs," she said, her hand snapping to her brow in a crisp salute.

A beat, a nod from her captain.

"Alright," Jersey slapped her hand against the plotting table frame, "Let's get to work. This a map of the AO?"

Another nod.

Jersey hunched over the table, briefly admiring the tiny model ships—and abyssal—scattered around the board. Where, exactly, the'd found models of the demonic little PT boats was a question she didn't want to get into. Then she saw it.

"Oh…" She glanced up at the assembled cadre of officers for a brief second, hoping for confirmation that she was simply imagining the pattern she saw.

No such luck.

"Shit," scowled Jersey, her icy gaze focusing down on the tiny models as if her stare could destroy their very real counterparts. Her destroyers were hopelessly out of position. Between the Taffies pulling air-defense and Fubuki charging headlong into the torpedo boats, her entire southern flank was wide open. "No way they can disengage?"

A resigned shake of the head from her Captain. With her girls that fully engaged eventrying to fall back would cut them to shreds.

And then it got worse. One of her faeries wordlessly shuffled though the sea of brass to deposit a handful of model destroyers just off Jersey's southern flank. So close she could almosttaste the concentrated… wrongness from her CIC.

"How the hell did they get so close?" snapped Jersey.

The faerie tech gave her a conciliatory nod. Radar was awful in these seas, and she'd been focusing on the sky anyways.

Jersey slammed her fist against the table. Stupid! She'd let—she glanced at the slowly-growing cluster of models—seven destroyers close to torpedo range clear off her beam. A more perfect shot—at her or the convoy—there never was. If they hadn't dumped their fish already, they would any second now.

Ideally, she'd try and extend away from the destroyers, leveraging the superior range of her 16 inch rifles to keep them at arms-length. But they were already in knife-fighting range. But the only way she could do that was to cut though the convoy, leaving the freighters undefended, and charging headlong into the torpedo boat swarm. And she couldn't stay put, not if she wanted a torpedo to the gut.

That left one option.

"Ah hell," sighed the Battleship, closing her eyes as she took in a deep breath.

When she opened them again, she was back at sea, her bow crashing though a wave as if the entire strategy meeting had happened in an instant. Didn't matter, she knew what she had to do.

Her turbines roared as she shunted all the steam she could generate though them, pushing almost a quarter million horsepower though her shafts. The sea off her stern turned to nothing more that foaming white as the battleship built up speed.

She heeled over into a turn, swinging her bow around to spoil the destroyers firing solution as she charged straight at them.

"Jersey, what the hell?" growled Williams in her ear. "What are you doing?"

"Only thing I can, sir," said Jersey, gritting her teeth as she saw the destroyer column turn on its axis, each destroyer in turn unshadowing its torpedo tubes. A twilight torpedo attack, turning to fire at just over 5 nautical miles… she'd seen this before. Textbook perfect IJN tactics.

Those bastards were flinging long-lances. If just one of those oxygen fueled monsters hit her…

She shook her head, forcing her fear down to the remotest corner of her bridge. "They arenot going to sink this battleship," she growled.

BOOM! Her six forward rifles barked in agreement, whipping the roaring waves into craters as they spoke. High explosive shells raced though the sky. At this range, their trajectory was almost perfectly flat.

All but one missed, frantically evading destroyers were tricky to hit on seas that weren'trolling like Neptune himself wanted Jersey to miss. Five towering splashes of sapphire-dyed water bracketed the destroyers, sending them bobbing like leaves in a gale.

Jersey's last shell was dead-on. Only a freak wave saved the destroyer, dropping it at the very last instant to save its paper-thin hull from a direct hit.

Instead, the shell careened though its superstructure, tearing everything above the weather deck clean off and spitting it out in a mass of twisted, burning metal. With its bridge gone, the brain-dead destroyer listed over, burning its nose in the surf as it coasted to a stop.

One down. Six to go. No time to brag, just act.

Jersey more felt than saw silver streaks of torpedoes racing towards her as they punched though the churning waves. If she hadn't turned into the spread when she did… No. No time. She grimaced as she felt the scream of high-speed screws wash against her hull as torpedoes raced past her on both sides. Six more to go.

Thirty seconds before her sixteens were up again. She shifted focus to her five-inches, splitting her attention between port and starboard as she sailed right into the hornets' nest.

BoomBoomBoomBoom her turrets barked at her command, her faeries hitting the theoretical maximum of 22 rounds per minute. Adrenaline coursed though her veins as red-hot shell cases bounced onto her decks. Freezing rain mixed with salt spray as howling wind drove what felt like entire oceans into her face.

She barely even noticed the destroyers returning fire. High-explosive shells raked her exposed superstructure, tearing at her clothes and singing her hair. White Phosphorus shells exploded against her decks, setting her wood decking alight.

A shell exploded in front of her face, tearing her radar director clean off and gouging a bloody gash across the battleship's brow.

Jersey screamed in fury. Without her radar, she was down to visual-targeting only. Blood trickled into her eyes, mixing with rain in the howling winds as the battleship circled her would-be killers. Her body was aflame, presenting a target they couldn't miss while she struggled to find her mark.

Which didn't matter.

They'd fired their torpedoes, the only weapons that could penetrate her citadel, and missed. They'd blown their one chance to kill her and missed. With her armor and her damage-control faeries… they couldn't kill her, only hurt her.

And Jersey was so fucking mad even the burning phosphorus on her fantail barely registered. Those bitches were going five miles straight down.

 

[theJMPer]

While I work on the next chapter, have this Omake/Writeup/SideStory (I'm not sure which is the right term, other than that I'm apparently wrong) by Old Iron over on SB!

Fast Battleship Hiei heaved a sigh of relief as she exited the primary command staff building of Sasebo Combined Fleet Command headquarters, officially named Building CSHQ-01 and more commonly named Fort Doom. She really hated seeing that glare on Admiral Richardson's face. It was scary and unnerving and generally gave her the heebie-jeebies. At the very least it hadn't been directed at her this time.

"I wonder what happened this time." She crossed her arms and adopted a look of deep thought as she meandered towards the mess hall. "Hmm... Arizona was there. Maybe she stole his coffee again? He was reading something. Ahh! I'll worry about it later. I'm hungry!" It really wouldn't do her any good to spend too much time trying to figure out the latest source of her commander's foul mood. All she really cared about at the moment was the fact she wasn't the one under his horrifying glare. Well, that and refueling. Her night patrol with Mutsu and Combined Escort Detachment 75 had been painfully dull and left her with far less fuel than she liked running on.

She wasn't a carrier like Akagi, but she still had a healthy appetite.

A growl of near epic proportions made itself known as she walked. Hiei clutched her stomach in embarrassment before deciding to throw caution to the wind just seek out breakfast at flank speed.

"Halt sailor!"

"Whoah!" Just as she was getting up to speed, a voice called out and brought her to a near screeching stop. Hiei flailed her arms for a moment to regain her balance and avoid a what could have been a rather painful faceplant. Concrete wasn't a very good cushion.

She turned towards the direction of the voice and her startled expression turned into a wide grin. Hiei immediately adopted the most serious expression she could muster while snapping to attention with a salute even Nagato would be impressed by.

"Good morning Ensign Richardson! How are you this fine morning?" She retained her posture even as the ensign approached and began giving her and thorough looking-over. Some might break into a nervous sweat under the sudden scrutiny, but like her namesake, Hiei did not so much as twitch.

"Hungry. And I was hoping a nice lass like you would join me." Ensign Richardson spoke with an all too serious tone. "Well, sailor?"

"It would be an honor, sir! In fact, I was already on my way there." Hiei kept her blue eyes firmly focused on the slightly off-center cover adorning the nine-year-old's head, doing her very best to avoid eye contact. It was not easy at all. Especially considering just how hilariously out of place everything about the little girl was.

There was a sputtering sound as an aborted laugh managed to slip its way past the lips of the third, and thus far silent, member of the gathering. Jintsuu was trying her hardest to not give in to the giggles with very little success. Both Hiei and Ensign Richardson turned to look before locking eyes on one another and breaking into their own fits of laughter. It didn't take long before all three were caught up in the amusement completely.

"Commander on deck!" The ensign hollered out just long enough to give Hiei warning before leaping at the battleship who caught her with considerable ease.

Ensign Jane Sarah Richardson was an ensign in name only. Much like how other members of the service might play along with the make-believe world of someone's child imagining themselves as being a member of the service or even a superior officer, Jane's situation differed only in that the game had been going on for months. And that the members of the service she was playing with were warships from an era long since past. Her father happening to be the same admiral that nearly gave Hiei a heart attack.

"You slept well I bet. All full of energy." Hiei lifted the ensign up onto her shoulders with a grin and held her fast with a firm grip. A rather easy task even if she didn't have the ludicrous strength of a battleship. Jane was a slip of a girl and appropriately featherweight. Small hands gained purchase on her headgear as she steadied herself. "And I'm staaarving. No amount of burning spirit can substitute for a hot meal. Especially after running around at sea all night."

"I slept really good. And I'm reeealy hungry too." Jane pointed in the direction of the mess hall and gave a rallying cry that the battleship mimicked. "To food!"

"You slept well, Jane. Not 'good'." Jintsuu's soft voice sounded out, now having recovered from her bout of laughter. In her hands were a multitude of folders and papers bound together. Some of which looked ready to spill out onto the ground and make the light cruiser's morning more hectic than usual. She had come across Jane whilst on her way to the admiral's office and been swept up in the girl's morning routine of 'base inspection'. It was a day off from school so there was no need to worry about truancy officers.

There weren't always other children for Jane to play with, so she had gravitated towards the shipgirls who were almost constantly running about doing something or another. The battleships especially drew her attention. It did make sense, really. Mutsu especially had a knack for interacting with little ones and Hiei had energy to spare for virtually anything a rambunctious group of children could throw at her. Arizona was... Arizona was... steady. Like a security blanket. Jintsuu couldn't really put it any other way. And it wasn't like the American warship was forthcoming with explanations either.

"Oh, lighten up a bit Jintsuu. You going to join us?" Hiei smiled before twirling about, much to Jane's amusement. "Mutsu's probably debriefing the Admiral right now and Arizona was in there too. I think she stole his coffee again. He had one of those super angry glares going." She shuddered slightly.

"Hehehe. Ari's always taking daddy's coffee." Jane giggled while Jintsuu sighed in resignation at the statement.

Going almost hand in hand with the seemingly unending consumption of caffienated beverages, Arizona had resorted to various measures to ensure she was properly wired up and awake at all times. The measures employed had resulted in Admiral Richardson's morning brew almost always being mostly or completely drained by the time he reached the pot. Thus often forcing him to make more while existing in a state not too dissimilar to a zombie.

Jintsuu idly wondered if the obsession with coffee was a Western thing. Or caffienated drinks to be more specific. She'd seen plenty of Japanese people enjoy such beverages, but in her mind it never really compared to the near slavish devotion she saw demonstrated in particular by the Americans. The armed forces seemed to have their own branch-specific rituals related to coffee and she rarely saw any serviceman without a cup, canteen, or thermos filled to the brim with the black liquid. Especially in the morning. And if Arizona and the rumors about the other American warships were any indication, battleships were particularly devoted.

The fact that Kongou was born in England and showed a comparable fanaticism for black tea made her worry for Hiei. And the rest of the fast battleships for that matter.

"Daddy makes the best coffee in the world." She leaned over and whispered conspiratorially to Hiei. Whispered in the sense that anyone nearby could hear her. "Ari even said so!" Well, more accurately, Arizona had said she preferred the admiral's coffee to the stuff she could find around base. But to Jane that was close enough to being the best in the world.

"If she said so, then it must be true." Hiei laughed before gesturing to Jintsuu, breaking the girl out of her thoughts. "Come on. Breakfast is more fun with more people. And then we can brag to the admiral how he keeps missing out." She wished that her sisters, Kongou in particular, would have been able to join them, but they had their own missions to take care of. She'd have to make sure she made up for everything they missed.

"Certainly. I'm rather hungry myself." Jintsuu chuckled softly. "And we'll drag him out of his cave one of these days." The Admiral had an unfortunate tendency to skive off breakfast, or eat it in bar form on the way to his post. Neither really lent themselves well to him spending quality time with his child in her opinion. Or with the girls under his command for that matter. She'd heard some of the other admirals in charge of shipgirl fleets went out of their way to make some time to get to know them a bit better.

The Japanese Maritime Self Defense Force was still adjusting to the new challenges brought on by the massive number of unknowns and new discoveries that came with the onset of the Abyssal War. Certainly not helping was the resource crunch. But one thing that many commanders had realized was that it was much harder to treat a shipgirl like a regular soldier. After all, not many soldiers were warships from the early half of the 20th century made flesh.

Still, flimsy excuses for Admiral Richardson aside, she really ought to find a way to drag him away from his desk more frequently. As his secretary it was her duty to help her commanding officer and find ways to keep him from being buried in work. Whether that be through paperwork or confiscating those historical fiction books of his. Jintsuu wanted to put a hand to her head in sorrowful exasperation. They were a bit too much of a distraction and she knew quite well how the time could fly if you weren't paying attention. And he seemed to have a never ending supply of them.

But she'd worry about that after she had a full tank.

"Then lets get some grub." Hiei turned towards the direction of the mess and raised a fist to the sky. "Breakfast Corps! All ahead flank!" Both Jane and Jintsuu raised their hands to match the battleship, the former sounding off with a far more energetic voice than the latter.

 

[theJMPer]

Night Rising Sun​

Heermann gulped as she pulled alongside Jersey, matching the battleship's generally-westward course as best she could in the pounding waves. She'd never really seen a battleship gun-duel, especially not with her own eyes like this. And she'd never seen what the end-result of a close-in savaging looked like.

"S-Skipper?" she stammered, glancing from her bloodied friend to the churning ocean as she tried to edge close enough to use her fire hoses.

"Eh?" the battleship grunted, but her gaze was fixed straight ahead. Her waist-length braid was burned back almost to her neck, and Heermann saw the tell-tale sighs of 5 inch gun fire raking across every square foot of her super structure.

Her vest was torn to shreds, and her shirt wasn't much better, revealing the charred skin of her stomach and the dull-gold of her sports bra. Her shorts were burned black, and her legs oozed blood and fuel oil from a thousand ragged cuts.

"H-hold still," said Heermann, starting up her fire hose pumps and spraying down the battleship's battered decks as she tried to wash away the grime as best she could.

Jersey… actually laughed. Laughed a dry, humorless laugh as she gave Heerman a wry grin.

Heermann almost dropped her fire hose into the ocean as she gasped. Jersey's radar was just gone, leaving nothing but a ragged tear across her brow and a bloody socket where here eye'd once been.

"That bad, is it?" asked the Battleship, reaching up to touch ever so gently at the raw flesh around her missing gun director.

"Y-yeah," mumbled Heermann, hastily looking away as she concentrated on hosing off Jersey's superstructure… which was also her very flat, very toned, very naked belly. She felt so lewd right now.

"Relax, kiddo," said Jersey, glancing away to save Heermann from staring into her mangled face much longer. "I'm a battleship."

"A bleeding one," said Heermann, pulling up even closer to make sure she could hose off… anything that needed hosing!

"I'm a brawler, it's what I'm for," said Jersey, reaching over to muss the destroyer's hair. "I got twelve inches of the best damn steel mankind has ever produced protecting my belt."

"Yeah, but-"

"But I'm not like you," said Jersey. "I have a citadel. Unless they punch though that, I can't die. And…" she glanced down at her fully displayed, but suspiciously unscathed bra and boyshorts, "Seeing as I still have my dignity, they didn't. Apparently."

Heermann gave the battleship a sidelong look.

"I didn't write the rules," said Jersey, fishing her somehow-intact aviators out of her mostly-destroyed vest pocket and slipping them on. "I look like hell, don't I?"

"Sorta, yeah," said Heermann, swallowing a cheeky grin that somehow escaped onto her face.

"Don't worry, kiddo," said Jersey, adjusting her shades and hat to hide the worst of her facial wounds. "This is… this is just a flesh wound."

Heermann had just started nodding in response when Jersey suddenly… snorted. At first, Heermann thought it was just some straggler of a fire getting put out, but then the battleship's cheeks started to twitch up in a smile, her shoulders quivering as she tried to hold in a laugh. "Skipper?" asked Heermann, her firehose at the ready for… hosing.

"Flesh wound," gasped Jersey between bouts of snorted giggles.

—|—|—

Gale's smile was one overbearing tax away from declaring independence and seceding from the rest of her face. She stared from person to person at the mess hall table, her eyebrows bobbing on her face as she waited for her dining companions to acknowledge what was clearly the best idea ever.

"Okay," the semi-shaven bear of a Master Sergeant who'd played guitar earlier stared at her with bemused comprehension. "The only words I understood from that were 'love child'."

Crowning just shrugged, taking a solid bite out of his burger to absolve him of the need to say anything further.

Gale huffed, her smile fading to a grimace. "Okay, let's work the problem here," she said, slumping back to her seat. "You need emotion to rouse a sleeping ship girl, right?"

Crowning tilted his head, giving the Yeoman the 'I'm waiting for you to unpack that thought' look seemingly all teachers had in common.

"Think about it," said Gale, grabbing a salt shaker to use as a visual aid. Somehow, "despair when Big J showed up. Wasn't, like… there was a huge thing all over the country when that happened?"

"Sure as hell was over here," said the Master Sergeant.

"And when White showed up… I swear every sailor-"

"And Marine."

"Yes, and Marine," Gale was too excited to bother with a snide response. Especially since he outranked her by a generous margin, "was getting pumped when Big J came storming up the straight and…" Gale threw a massive haymaker at the air, "With the music and everything? I swear, The Admiral was this close to jumping into the air screaming."

"Okay…" said Crowning, pausing for a moment to dab at his mouth with a napkin. "I still don't see how love children factor into this."

"Let me finish! Uh, sir," said Gale. "When we summoned the Taffies, I mean… it was Danger Zone. That song… that movie drove Navy recruiting up like five-hundred percent."

The Marine nodded in agreement, "It was pretty fucking rad."

"And what could top all that emotion but…" said Gale in a bouncy sing-song, turning to focus right on Crowning, "A kiss between forbidden lovers, shared before a mission? Sammy's your love child, doc!"

Crowning sighed, rolling his eyes ever so slowly. "Yeoman, you do know I'm an English professor, yes?"

"Yeah? So?"

"I know when someone's reaching," said Crowning, his tone not once rising from flat academic detachment.

—|—|—

"This suuuuuucks," droned Johnston,her feathers hanging slumped off her head. "I hate this and it suuuuucks." She raised one hand, thumbing the hammer down on her revolver and firing off a salvo at the flying boats meandering in and out of her maximum range.

"You want another battle?" said Hoel, a resigned smirk on her face. Johnston knew, knewthat her sister was just as ready for a fight as she was. But she had to be all 'responsible' because she's the 'division leader.'

"It'd be better than…" Johnston paused, throwing up a few 5 inch anti-aircraft rounds at a flying boat that ventured a little too close, "Better than spending the night plinking while they play hard-to-get."

Hoel shrugged, "Yeah… yeah, I guess it would. Least the seas are calm though."

"Yeah… and the torpedo boats are gone. I hate torpedo boats," scowled Johnston, her nose burrowing into the scarf she'd brought along for the arctic weather, her bare arms crossed accros her chest in defiance. "I hate them and I hate stupid… pussy-pedoes."

"Uh… Johnston?" said Hoel, rolling her eye so hard they probably generated more torqe than her screws.

"Yeah, sis?"

"What're those?" asked Hoel, pointing to the quintuple torpedo tubes hanging off theFletcher's hip holster.

"Uh… my leg?"

"Over it."

"My pants?"

"Oh my god!" scowled Hoel, throwing up her hands in defeat. "You're so stubborn!"

"It's why you love me."

Hoel sighed. "Yeah… yeah it is, sis."

Johnston beamed, letting out a little giggle as she reached over to fuss with her sister's flaming hair.

"Wait," the two girls said in harmony, their eyes snapping over their shoulders to the same exact bearing. "Is that-" the looked to each other. "Shiiiiiiiiiit."

"Skipper!" screamed Hoel, "Incoming-" she squinted as she tried to make sense of the returns, "Uh… heavy bombers, I think. Like… thirty of 'em. Is your AA up?"

"No Joy," said Jersey, her arms strategically placed to preserve as much of her dignity as possible. "No radar for the fives… only about half the 40s are good."

Hoel cursed using the worst words she could think of. Jersey alone had more AA guns than everyone else in the convoy put together… Maybe if… "White! Is your deck spotted?"

"Working on it!" chirped the little carrier, tossing TBFs over the side of her cramped little fight deck to clear space for her Wildcats to form up.

"No, just… just store them," said Jersey, sailing over to bring what AA she could over the tiny carrier girl. "And purge your avgas lines."

"On it!" said White.

"Hoel," said the battleship, "Talk to me, what're we going against."

"Uh… uh…" Hoel squinted into the early-morning sun, straining her eyes to pick out details. "Four engine… twin tails maybe? There're definitely land-based."

"Land based?" Jersey scowled as she swung what AA guns she still had on target. "Where the hell are these little bastards coming from."

"Wherever it is, let's send them back!" growled Johnston, spinning her guns around her fingers as she traversed them on-target.

"We'll, like, send them down to hell!" agreed Yuudachi, taking on an obligatory "poi!" to the end.

Hoel gulped. She was a badass, she and her sisters. Hell, after last night, she'd even count Poi, Bucky, and Naka as badasses too. But heavy bombers were… heavy. Big, tough brutes with tons of bombs apiece. If her guess was right, twelve-thousand pounds. Each. Headed straight for their noses.

"Sisters?" asked Johnston, offering her fist to Hoel.

"Sisters," said Hoel, stacking her fists atop the other girl's. "To the end."

"I hate waiting."

"I know," said Hoel, her eyes glued on her fire control computer, counting off the seconds before she could open fire.

"Hell of a ride though," said Johnston with a cocky grin.

Hoel's only response was a booming salvo of gunfire, tearing into the approaching wave of bombers as best she could. But they were smart, flying so high her guns could barely even reach, let alone actually hit worth a damn.

Johnston was doing moderately better, forcing the bomber formations apart with each salvo, and even clipping the odd wing or tail here and there.

It was Fubuki who had the best luck. Those stupid aren't-I-cool-my-guns-shoot-so-hot-they-eat-themselves 100mm guns were lobbing shells fast enough to foil the lumbering bombers' lazy evasions.

"Must shoot more," muttered Johnston, her guns barking in rapid harmony as she slammed shells into breaches as fast as humanly possible "Must shoot faster, must shoot faster," she chanted.

Hoel echoed the sentiment, throwing up 5 inch shells as fast as her guns would let her. If she couldn't knock a plane down, maybe she could shoo them away from the freighters.

"GOT ONE!" screamed Johnston, allowing herself a split-second of celebration as a shell slammed into a bomber's wing root. The plane simply cracked in half as it suddenly lost lift, rolling over in a lazy aileron roll as it plowed towards the surf trailing sickly black smoke.

"Make that two!" said Hoel, smiling as shrapnel from the first bomber shredded the one behind it.

"We need to do better!" said Fubuki, her long-barreled guns barking in hungry rhythm, straining to make their first kill.

Hoel focused on her shooting, trying not shut out the recurring thought of "it's not going to be enough." If only she had a CAP to back her up! A few of White's Wildcats… hell, at this point she'd even take-

Zeros? The fuck?

"Johnston?"

"Yeah?"

"Bearing two-six-zero, you see what I see?"

Johnston glanced over her shoulder, squinting as her radar acquired her target. "Zeros? the fuck?"

"Heya," chirped a new voice, one that Hoel thought sounded every so vaguely southern. "You girls won't shoot down my planes, yeah?"

"Uh… no?" replied Hoel. "Just… just stay out of our firing solutions."

"Alright! Attack squadron sortie out!", said the voice with equal measures resolve and playfulness. Hoel got the feeling she'd like this new voice. "Light carrier Ryuujou, heading in!"

 

[theJMPer]

Short update because KCQ.

Part 24a​

Ryuujou's Zeros fell on the Abyssal bombers in a merciless swarm. Breaking off into two-plane formations, the Zeros raked their targets with machine gun rounds, truing in their aim as she merged with the horde of lumbering bombers.

As a light carrier, Ryuujou spent her time flying air cover for fishing ships, not amassing the great strike forces of Kaga or Akagi. A minor blow to the carriers pride, yes. But it meant her pilots had plenty of practice in air-to-air combat. They were good.

Very good.

Very very good.

The Zeros tore though the formation with professional precision, using their machine guns to check their aim before putting quick bursts of 20mm fire into the toothy maw of the bombers' radiators.

Not every shot was a kill, but the Zeros didn't stop their relentless pace. They'd leave the wounded for the surface ships to finish off, their prey was still ahead of them.

Ryuujou almost cackled to herself. She knew her planes would be going up against four-engine bombers, those were the only planes that could range far enough to smash the American convoy. But she'd worried she'd be going up against American flying fortresses with their seemingly infinite number of fast-firing machine guns.

These… these bombers were flinging rifle-caliber rounds at her Zeros! It was almost embarrassing.

Almost.

"C'mon! That all you got?" cheered the carrier, regrouping her Zeros as they cleared the scattered mass of bombers.

"CV Ryuujou, this is USS Hoel," Ryuujou heard a young, but commanding and distinctly American voice filter though her wireless, "I'm, uh… I'm running air defense down here,"she added in what sounded like an afterthought. "Thanks… for the assist," she almost spat out.

Ryuujou was too focused on regrouping her planes for another attack run—and keeping them out of that ridiculous hail of flak—to respond.

Fortunately, the convoy flagship had no such preoccupations. "No Problem, Dess!" cheered the fast battleship Kongou, one huge billowy sleeve flailing in the stiff arctic breeze as she threw her hand up with a dramatic flourish.

"Holy Hannah!" screeched a new voice, a deeper one that sounded not unlike Secretary Ship Nagato. But grouchier. "Volume, dude. Volume."

Kongou just smiled, her hair whipping in the breeze as she steamed ahead, her face gleaming like the Imperial Seal proudly displayed on her bow. She'd actually been rather quiet for the past few hours, sprinting though the night must've taken some effort for the old battleship.

But now, with the taste of battle hovering in the wind… She was back to her usual goofy self.

Tenryuu rolled her good eye, her gloved fingers flexing against the hilt of her katana. She looked as fierce as ever, even with a gaggle of adorable destroyer lolis bobbing in her wake.

"By my calculations," said Kirishima, her glasses shining as the early-morning sun glinted off the finely polished lenses, "We should meet up in thirty-two minutes."

Kongou nodded, the one stubborn tuft of hair on her head bobbing down before springing back to attention. "Remember," she said, glancing at Tenryuu for a split-second longer than anyone else, "The Americans are our friends! Make sure you show them a warm welcome, Dess!"

"Hai," chorused the Destroyers, with their purple-attired light-cruiser minder chiming in at the last second.

"I hear they have a battleship!" said Akatsuki, "A real battleship! Like Nagato-san!"

"I hope she's nice," said Inazuma, clutching at her borrowed scarf as her bow careened though Tenryuu's wake, "Nanodesu."

"Of course she is, silly!" Akatsuki, giggled, waving her over sized sleeve at her sister, "She's a battleship! they're all elegant ladies!"

"She's a fast battleship," corrected Hibiki. The snowy-haired destroyer seemed to be the only one who didn't have a problem with the cold.

"So?" Ikazuki shrugged, waving at Kongou, "So's Kongou-San!"

The battleship beamed on cue, spreading her flowing sleeves in the best approximation of a curtseyshe could pull off while steaming at twenty-eight knots. "Of course!" she said with a kind-hearted laugh.

Hibiki didn't say a word, but by her expression, she clearly had a choice few loaded and ready.

"Fufufufu," Tenryuu laughed, swinging her sword out of its sheath to rest the gray-red blade against her shoulder, "You girls aren't gonna leave me for some big slow battleship, would ya?"

"She's two knots faster than you," said Kirishima, her eyes glued to the horizon as she looked for any sign of the American convoy.

If Tenryuu had anything to drink, she would have spewed it all over her shirt. "She what?"

"No, it's true!" said Aktatsuki, "When she came in to save Fubuki-chan!—" the girl let out a sigh as she thought of her half-sister—"She was going thirty-five."

Kirishima nodded. She chewed on a pencil she'd gotten from… somewhere, her head tilting by fractions as the cams in her brain recomputed her course.

"Well…" Tenryuu fell silent for a second, her shoulders slumping until she regained her devil-may-care attitude. "Well ha! Finally someone who can keep up with me!"

The DesDiv6 lolis giggled their approval.

 

[theJMPer]

Part 24b
​

English-born returnee Kongou couldn't help but grin like a fool as she smashed though the waves, her hair blowing back in the stiff Arctic breeze as she steamed at close to flank. She'd been looking forwards to meeting these Americans again!

She'd only had the honor of facing the destroyers of Taffy 3 once in her life, and that time the battle had gone her way. But Kongou didn't hold grudges, those girls fought with honor and courage! She'd been proud to meet them, and she knew she'd be proud to serve with such dedicated women of battle! Akatsuki would be so happy to meet them!

But even more than that, she couldn't wait to meet Miss New Jersey! Kongou and her three sisters were the only fast battleships the Japanese Navy had, and she was looking forwards to meeting another. Fast battleships truly were the most elegant of naval weapons. Steel hidden in fast, agile, silk, they were the pinnacle of ladylike honor on the seas!

Little Akatsuki could take a lesson from Miss New Jersey too!

"There they are!" she yelled, her cheery voice echoing off the waves louder than the commanding bark of her fourteen inch guns. Kongou smiled, waving her billowing sleeve in greeting, "Hello, friends!"

One of the Fletcher class destroyers waved back, the one with her coppery-red hair tied back in a braided ponytail. "USS Hoel, she said, swinging around to veer back towards the convoy, AA guns blazing all the while, "You Kongou?"

"DESS!" beamed Kongou, reading all one-hundred-and-eighteen of her Type-96 25mm anti-aircraft guns.

"The hell does that mean?" grunted back the destroyer, her turrets slewing around to maintain their firing solution even as she swung around. Those Americans always were trick-shooters, but let's see how they fare against the pride of the Japanese Navy!

"It means 'I am' you ignorant little fuck-nuggets," growled the most un-battleship-like battleship Kongou'd ever met. New Jersey—it had to be her, Kongou paid careful attention to Teitoku during her briefing, Dess!—towered over Kongou, and her legs were easily twice as thick. And… and…

Kongou gasped.

Jersey's bare legs were covered in raw, bleeding flesh, her hair was singed short, and… And a solid chunk of her face was just gone, even if she was trying to hide it with those mirrored glasses. "N-New Jersey?" asked Kongou, her voice suddenly tender and motherly.

"'m fine," growled the battleship, scowling as she stared down Kongou. "'s just a flesh wound."

"Are you sure?" said Kongou, biting her lip as she adjusted course, shielding the destroyer lolis with her hull. She'd never seen a girl get so badly battered, even a battleship.

"I'm fucking fine!" said Jersey, her glare somehow coming though her shades. She threw her hands up in an angry show of defiance. And by the instant change in her bloodied face, she instantly regretted it.

"FUCK ME!" she barked, her mouth hanging open in a quiet gasp of pain as she sloooowly brought her arms back down, wincing as her ragged shirt dragged along her charred skin.

Kongou could hear Akatsuki's lofty dreams shattering like glass under the power of a Type-3 shell, but the English-Built fast-battleship wouldn't give up. Miss Jersey was obviously hurt, and what kind of host would she be if she didn't help? "I can dispatch a damage-control party, Dess?"

Jersey shook her head, "Unless they got a spare radar and gun director, wouldn't do me any good."

"Probably just fuck you up worse!" said an American Destroyer, sailing between the two battle wagons and 'accidentally' training her twin quintuple torpedo tubes down the Japanese girl's track.

"Oh hell yeah," agreed the girl who'd identified herself as the Hoel. "Ni-"

Jersey glared at the girl. "Hey fucktards! Bombers!" she barked, jerking her head at the bare handful of burning, bloodied Abyssal aircraft. "Idiots," she added just loud enough for the girls to hear, her scowl flickering into a smirk.

"Aye aye, skipper!" cheered the destroyers, their AA guns barking in eager harmony as they criss-crossed though the sea. They almost seemed to… giggle as the chewed though whatever planes Ryuujou's fighters hadn't smashed.

"A-are Americans always so loud?" asked Akatsuki, her voice very small as she cowered behind Tenryuu's skirt.

Kongou swore she saw Hibiki smirk for just a second.

Kirishima didn't say a word, her face reddening as she buried her face in her notebook, jotting down… something. Kongou would make sure to investigate later, Dess!

Tenryuu shrugged. "What, you girls scared of a little noise?"

DesDiv six sheepishly shook their heads, falling into formation behind their one-eyed minder.

"Form up around the convoy, Dess!" said Kongou. With the American destroyers preoccupied with anti-aircraft duties, her girls would be best watching the surface.

Jersey peeled off to form up with Kongou, gliding to a stop a few hundred yards abreast of the English-built battleship. "Yo."

"Hmm?"

"You and my girls have a history-" Jersey dipped her head towards the destroyers and their little carrier friend, "-You start anything, I'll put a salvo though that thin-ass belt of yours, range finder or not."

Kongou would have been offended, if she wasn't worried about the Americans doing the exact same thing to her. "Don't worry," she said, her voice dropping so only the battleship could hear, "I saw that interview you did. We're with you, dess."

Jersey nodded, wiping blood from her brow with the back of her hand. "Good think we're on the same-" she stopped dead in her tracks, her head slowly slewing to focus on Tenryuu. "AY!"

"Fu?" The light cruiser gulped at the sight of battleship staring her down.

"Is that a Katana?"

"Yeah."

"Does it have a fucking waterline on it?"

"…Yeah."

Jersey didn't say anything for a second, her split lips slowly turning up in a smile. "That… that's fucking awesome."

 

[theJMPer]

Part 24c​

"What if we're looking at it the wrong way?" said Crowning, idly stroking the developing stubble on his chin as he stared at the scribble-covered white board.

Gale grunted, scowling to herself as she balled up yet another piece of paper and let it fall into the mound gathering at her feet. "We've been at this for hours, Doc," she said, running her hands though her hair as she leaned back in her chair. "What-" she let out a long yawn, "What else is there?"

"Well…" Crowning stood, walking aimlessly towards the board as an idea started to ferment in the back corner of his mind. "What if…" he picked up the eraser, spinning it over in his hand to present the felt side to the board. "We discount Jersey." He dragged the eraser across the board, wiping out the spot where Gale had written 'Jersey—-???? Pie?'

"Hey, Doc, what're you-" Gale stopped mid-exclamation, her extended hand falling lamely to her desk. She sighed, "Continue."

Crowning tapped the Styrofoam eraser against the tip of his nose, "Jersey's special… we were trying to summon her when she was sunk."

Gale jerked her hands wider in an exasperated display of 'yes, and?'

"We'd been begging her to come back for weeks," continued the professor, the outside world starting to tune out around him as his mind built up a head of steam. Hmm… maybe he'd been spending too much time around the ship girls if steam was the metaphor his mind immediately went to.

He shook it off, letting this train of thought wander were it may, "We tried every trick in the book. Hell, even Victory got in on it. I think…" he stopped, drumming his hands against the white board frame, "I think they were in the middle of a ritual when she took that torpedo. There were hundreds of us begging her to come back, and the second she could…"

"Wait." Gale was suddenly sitting straight up."Say… say that again."

"Victory got in on it?"

"No no…" Gale's exhausted face was suddenly beaming with energy as she bounced up to the board,"The… you said there were hundreds of you begging Big J to rise?"

Crowning nodded. Then his eyes went wide as well. "Holy shit," he breathed. "How did we miss that."

—|—|—

Williams took a long sip from his steaming mug of oil-black coffee, letting the foul, salty, yet somehow comfortingly familiar taste hang on his palette for a moment. Even with all his girls gone, the mystical bullshit they seemed to generate wouldn't give him a moment's peace. Coffee, as disgusting as it might be, was his only refuge.

The Admiral set his cup back down on his desk. The mug made a soft clink of ceramic on polished wood as it touched down behind a pile of requisition orders.

"So… Yeoman," he said, "would you like to explain why you're bashing down my door at oh-six-hundred?" he asked, steepling his fingers as he gave the manically-smiling sailor his most stoic Admiral Stare. She'd found something, he knew she was sure of it. But months of disappointment had taught him to temper his expectations. "Perhaps using words, instead of one long utterance?"

"Uh… sorry sir," said Gale, biting her lip as she stood at attention, "I.. haven't really slept much in the past few days."

Williams sighed. He'd blame her, but he was doing the very same himself. The very fate of the Pacific war hinged on Jersey's convoy.

"We've found it, sir," said Crowning.

"The secret to the summoning," added Gale.

"It's people."

Williams gave the two a long, blank stare.

"Uh," Gale gulped, "I mean… it's people, sir. Plural." She glanced at Crowning, clearly begging the academic to take over.

"Every time we've pulled off a summoning, it was with people—hundreds of them—cheering the girls on," said Crowning. "Before Jersey showed up, there were hundreds of us trying to summon her."

"And during Jersey's first battle," added Gale, "Right before White showed up, every man and woman on this base was glued to the TV. Hell, there were probably millions watching on CNN all across the world."

"And every last one of them," concluded Crowning, "Was urging her on. Our girls are Americans. They won't answer to a single man, to a king or regent, or even an Admiral… they've earned their sleep."

The professor leaned in, his voice dropping an octave as he reached out to grasp the point he was about to make. "But a hundred, a thousand, or even a million voices crying out in unison, reminding them of the country they served, and the glory they once carried… what red-blooded American could resist such a calling?"

Williams bit back a smile. He wanted to believe, wanted desperately to believe… "Okay, you've explained Jersey, White, and the Taffies. What about Sammy?"

"Well," Gale stepped forwards, absentmindedly wringing her hands as she gathered her thoughts. "When that convoy hit the water, I sure as hell was wishing those girls well, and don't tell me you weren't."

"Maybe that… or maybe she didn't think she was needed," said Crowning. "She's an escort, right? Her convoy, her… her charges were safely in port when we called."

"But once they sailed out," interrupted Gale, "she had to tag along. Sir… look at how she acted during Leyte."

"She hung back with the carriers," said Crowning, his voice dropping into an almost theatrical register, "Avoiding the action she was never built for until, until her carriers were put in harms way." He paused, a smile flickering across his face as he locked his gaze on Williams.

"Then she lost all sense of self-preservation," said the Professor, leaning in as he continued his story, "And charged into battle like a mother protecting her cubs."

Williams tapped his fingers against the tip of his nose. He wanted it to be true. Wanted so desperately for it to be true… "What do you need?"

"A band," said Crowning.

"And every Marine, Sailor, and contractor you can spare," said Gale. "And… probably then some."

Williams allowed himself a brief smirk. "Is that all?" he said, reaching for his phone, "I'll have every available man report to the summoning room at eighteen-hundred."

"Won't let you down, sir!" said Gale, beaming as she bounced on her heels.

—|—|—

Darkness. Peace. One might even call it serenity.

She liked it.

She wondered if anyone still remembered her, though she doubted it. She'd been just one ship. One lone ship doing her duty among a fleet of heroes and gods.

Hornet, the bringer of hope in her nation's darkest hour. The ship who did the impossible, who gave her all to make god himself bleed.

Yorktown, the hero who simply refused even death. The ship who came back from the very brink of the abyss to land one final blow. The Savior when her nation needed a shield.

Enterprise… Enterprise the very incarnation of her nation. The ship that beat every odd, who took a pounding again and again and returned ready for one more blow. The ship who gave her all, who stood alone against the might of the Enemy and stopped them cold.

Johnston, Hoel… the valiant destroyers who refused fate's games and made death itself cower in fear.

Her accolades were far humbler. She'd met her opposite on The Enemy's side over Ironbottom sound, the ship she was built to engage. Met, and triumphed though her crews bravery and training.

She was happy. She'd done her duty well, she'd made her country proud.

And she'd brought her crew home alive. Through all her action, she'd kept them alive, every last one of them.

Only to have four stolen from her.

General Quarters.

The call resonated though a hull she hadn't had for decades, summoning scraps of steel and iron from the very corners of her home.

Her boilers slotted into place, glistening like new.

General Quarters.

Her turbines spun up, churning the ocean to foam as she build up steam.

General Quarters.

She was back from the breakers. Back in action.

It'd been a long, long time.

When the missiles came, she'd thought her task was over.

But a thousand voices told her otherwise. Told her she was needed.

Told her she had to be once more.

General Quarters.

She didn't know how, or why… but the age of the gun was back.

And she was the very number one with her guns.

And her nation needed her.

And she Shall Defend!

—|—|—

As the last dying chords of AC/DC's "Back In Black" echoed across the packed-to-capacity summoning hall, what seemed like the entire navy base held its collective breath.

Every eye pivoted down to the newcomer standing on the waves, her shoulders thrust back at parade rest.

She looked for all the world like Jersey's little sister. She wasn't quite as tall, and her russet brown braid only hung to the middle of her back.

But she had the very same build, tall and solid. Her legs were wrapped in the toned muscle of a runner or rugby player, though her shorts were longer than Jersey's. The sleeves of her crisp white sailor top were rolled up to her elbows, and the snug fabric showed off her shapely figure.

Her face was calm, almost serene, and her steel-gray eyes traced out the thousands of faces staring down at her with calm aplomb. She had grace, poise as she seemed to take in her new situation, her hands resting on the twin revolvers hanging off her hips.

Finally, Admiral Williams broke the silence, stepping forwards to address the new girl. "Report."

The girl snapped to attention, her queenly face flickering in a warm smile. "Sir, USS Washington, BB-56, reporting." Her hand slowly came up to her brow, forming a salute with oiled mechanical precision. "It's good to be back, sir."
- - - -
A/N: what? the fic's called Belated Battleships. Another was was going to show up sooner or later.

 

[theJMPer]

Part 25
​

Jersey scowled to herself. In the eighteen hours since the IJ—sorry, SDF— girls had driven off the last stragglers of the Abyssal bomber horde, her little convoy had fallen into a rhythm. Tenryuu and her girls would pull air defence for a few hours, then rotate with the taffies and Fubuki… Over and over and over again at a plodding eighteen knots.

The battleship glanced over shoulder. She could go faster. Her destroyers could go faster. Hell, even the cargo freighters could go faster. But not little White.

Jersey cringed at the way White's legs quivered as she sailed though a wave, the way her jaw was set as she pushed all the steam she could generate though her engines.

"You okay, kiddo?" called the battleship.

White panted, gulping down air as she forced enough oxygen though her lungs to speak. "M-mmhm," she said, waving Jersey off as best she could.

Jersey wanted to argue. To point out that no, White was not okay. She was going to wreck her machinery. But she couldn't. Not with the fate of Japan riding on this convoy. It drove her up the fucking wall… And that wasn't the only thing eating away at her.

She'd tried to ignore it, but it kept gnawing at her. A tingling in her gut harsh enough that it couldn't be brushed off. Jersey scowled deeper, pushing her turbines just a little harder to pull out ahead of the convoy.

"Hey," she said, offering a lame wave as she pulled up abreast of Kongou.

Kongou smiled, the little tuft of hair standing bolt upright on her head waving in the breeze. "Is your girl going to be okay?" she asked, her accent lightly seasoned with distinguished British diction.

"Who, White?" Jersey sighed, idly picking at the scar forming over her missing eye. "She's… a tough girl."

Kongou smiled, dipping her head in tacit acknowledgement. Of course she knew White was a tough girl, she was there.

"She'll make it to Hokkaido," said Jersey, hoping that if she stated it emphatically enough reality would bend to her wishes. "I know she will. I might have to tow her ass the rest of the way, but…" Jersey trailed off.

For a few minutes, the two fast battleships steamed together in silence. Jersey stared off at the horizon, while Kongou… Kongou seemed entranced by finding interesting shapes in the clouds above.

"I'll talk to Johnston," said Jersey. She bit her lip, her mirrored shades barely meeting Koungou's warm gaze. "She flagged you, and she knows damn well she did it."

Kongou didn't say a word, but her eyes were warm, her half-smile anything but angry as she let Jersey air her feelings out.

"But also… that was a pretty shitty thing of me to do," Jersey glanced away, pulling off her shades so she could talk to the battle ship eye-to-eye. "You fought with honor and respect, you- you of all people deserve more than that."

Kongou… actually giggled. Her hand flew to her mouth, keeping the tiny chortles more or less bottled up. "Jersey, I don't blame your girls," Kongou smiled, her hair waving lazily in the breeze, "And I don't blame you either, Dess. You obviously love them very much."

Jersey scowled. "Still a shitty thing to do…"

"Life is full of shitty things," said Kongou, "but they pale in the power of Burning Love." The battleship smiled, flashing one of those stupid one-eye-open finger signs Naka was so fond of.

Jersey stared, "The hell?"

"I said Burning Love!" repeated Kongou, grinning even larger as she pumped her fist, her huge billowing sleeve flapping around in the breeze. The battleship stared off into the horizon, holding her pose just long enough for Jersey to crack a smile.

—|—|—

Yeoman Gale gulped. The young woman—or rather, very old battleship—standing in the middle of the summoning pool was… gorgeous. Tall and shapely, with her russet brown hair that glowed like honey in the summoning chamber hall. Her face looked carved from marble, and somehow the slight asymmetry in her broken nose only made her more beautiful.

Very quietly, very softly, the Yeoman pouted to herself. All the shipgirls were good-looking in some way or another. The taffies were adorable—when they weren't making her tear her hair out—, Naka was girlishly cute, and Jersey had that skater-tomboy vibe going for her.

But Washington… she was downright queenly. Her face, her bearing, her… figure… Gale felt like she had to wear dress white just to see the battleship.

The feeling didn't go away as Washington walked over to the ladder. The taffies had just bounced across the waves like the hyperactive murderballs they were, but Washington moved like a proper lady. Gale even forgot for a second how unnatural walking across water was.

She smiled sweetly as she crested the ladder, offering a polite, demure, but slightly soul-less smile to the countless sailors staring at her. Gale breathed a sigh of relief, at least there was something she wasn't good at.

"So," said Washington, her hands falling to her sides, her fingertips brushing at the fabric of her running shorts. "I take it I'm not the first ship to return, then?"

Williams smirked, "That doesn't make you any less welcome, Washington."

"Wash, please." The battleship responded almost in reflex, her eyes glancing askance as her mind caught up with her mouth.

"Wash, do you know where you are?"

The battleship glanced up, her fingers twitching as she thought. Or consulted her gyrocompass. Or whatever the hell shipgirls did. Gale had long since given up trying to understand it. "Everett, unless I'm very much mistaken," she said.

Williams nodded.

"Though," Washing- 'Wash' glanced at Gale, then the other sailors crowded around her, "Time's passed, yes? I'm certain those uniforms are new."

"You… could say that," said Williams, crossing his arms as he thought. "It's twenty-fifteen."

To her credit, the only note of surprise Wash offered was a simple "Hmm." She glanced up at her Admiral, her steely eyes glittering in the light, "I thought missiles were the way of the future."

"Maybe," admitted Williams, "But right now we could use a gunslinger. And you're one of the best."

Wash… actually blushed. Her ivory cheeks going beet red as she suddenly found her shoes utterly fascinating. "Sir…" she said, her face bouncing between at least eleven different emotions, "Sir… if you need me… let's get to work."

 

[theJMPer]

Writeup time, thanks to Old Iron! In which we get a flashback and someone is very Wrong-Genre-Savvy.

* * * * *

A steel shadow's comforting watch over a casket marked by a great marble headstone.

Lauded with honors and respected beyond comprehension. Even those who had sent both her and those who sailed upon her to the deep paid their respects to the fallen and the brave. A lesson for the history books. Immortalized for her failure.

She hated it.

She loathed it.

Her rusting corpse enshrined as though she were a mighty warrior or some steel goddess of the high seas. It only served to embitter her as hot tears of crude stained the waters around her.

She was no grand figure to be worshipped nor deity of tragic remembrance.

She was someone who had failed to do her duty.

Every laurel, hymn, and salute reminded her of what she believed to be the greatest failure in her existence.

She remembers the screams of her crew, those who burned and those who bled as they died. The pleas and the resignation of those who were trapped by her twisted hulk as they drowned and starved and died without hope in those weeks after the attack. She would not die until the last sailor trapped breathed his last.

Her admiral's ring fused by fire to her hull, his body no more than ash.

Slain like a pig at the butcher's market, she offered up no defense against the howling planes as her virgin guns sat silent.

She was furious and she was desolate.

It mattered not that the price for their lives had been repaid a thousand times over.

It mattered not that she was not and would never be forgotten by anyone who could claim to know that there was indeed a location in the Pacific by the name of Pearl Harbor.

She had failed in the most spectacular manner. Failed her crews, her sisters, and her country. Being struck down in a hellish storm of fire without so much as a thought and then languishing upon her deathbed. Praised for dying a dog's death.

Her duty remained incomplete. No matter what the souls who died with her said, she would never claim she had done her part. No matter what the souls who came to rest alongside her said, she would never embrace forgiveness for her lack of action.

A piercing whistle cut through the deep.

General Quarters.

Fire roared in her belly as twelve boilers raged to life once more.

Patient and wrath filled guns, once broken and shattered, swiveled into place with a vicious grace.

General Quarters.

She latched onto the command like the damned to salvation and thrust away from the embrace of peace.

She was not so noble in her intention.

It was selfish and arrogant.

She would never again rest.

She would never again let her guns lay silent.

Revenge for the fallen and a bulwark for those who lived.

General Quarters.

It mattered not how.

It mattered not the cost.

She would fight once again.

And Her Foes Will Die.

* * * * *

Admiral Richardson looked both haggard and irate. For the better part of four hours marines, sailors, and even the air force had cycled in and out. Music had been blaring nearly non-stop as they all poured out everything they could muster. If they had a shred of musical skill, they had taken stage to stir up those gathered. The chanting. The shouting. The cheering. The near desperate call to arms from every soul that could be called upon.

All for the sake of drawing out a single ship from the deep.

They had followed the instruction provided by ONI to the letter, but no one had responded. He had dismissed the fact they were currently sitting pretty in a naval base that worked joint operations with the JMSDF as being a reason. If anything it would only raise more questions for the girl when she awoke. Did they not have enough people? Were their pleas insufficient? Did she just not like the damned music?

He glanced to the side as medical staff carted out one sailor who had pushed himself to fainting in his fervor. They were getting nowhere and taking their sweet time to get there. The troops were reaching their limits. Some of those with family were arranging to see if it was possible to have them present if only to add another voice. Whether in person or over the airwaves.

A gloved hand rested itself on Richardson's shoulder and he turned to see the weary yet still smiling face of battleship Mutsu. She had stepped out momentarily to take his daughter back home. Jane had begged and pleaded until her father had allowed her to come. She hadn't wanted to miss out on a chance to finally meet an American shipgirl and even more to help summon her. Even so, she managed only an hour before the noise had become too much. Constantly cheering for the unknown warship had certainly not helped and the poor girl had very nearly fallen asleep in Mutsu's lap despite the ludicrous volume. She had been just that tuckered out.

"She took her time going to sleep, didn't she." It was more a statement of fact than a question.

"My my, your girl is a handful. I had to read five chapters to her before she finally fell asleep." Mutsu was rather amazed that despite being as tired as she was, the little girl still had the energy to complain and beg for a bedtime story once she was all nestled under the covers. She sighed and allowed the smile to slip into a saddened expression. "Still nothing?"

"I still don't know why she thinks the operator's manual for a boiler is fun bedtime reading." His frown slipped for a moment as he tried to piece together where the manual had even come from. It and dozens more. "The lights haven't even flickered."

"A Babcock and Wilcox boiler." She clarified before removing her hand from Richardson's shoulder and beginning to scan the seas.

Another song reached its end and it looked as though everyone was spent. The admiral was half ready to call this attempt a wash before going somewhere nice and quiet so he could curse until the the flora began to wither. Before he could do so, he felt the other half swell with anger. People were suffering. The allies of America needed more than handouts. They needed power. A power to help fight back the abyssal monstrosities.

Power they were failing to bring forth.

He grit his teeth to the point where he felt they might crack as the frustration built. Not even the beginnings of a new song helped to quell his ire.

"That fucking does it!" He roared before storming over to the waterfront. Mutsu jumped in surprise and more than a few troops looked at him as though he'd finally lost his mind. Which was well within the realm of possibility.

Richardson, fully loaded with piss and vinegar, had been ready to launch a tirade of epic proportions at the empty sea. Prepared to vent all his frustrations out in the open. He opened his mouth and the vitriol on his tongue turned to water. A blast of frigid winter air swept through the base and brought near everything to a halt. Only the band continued, filling the stillness with chords heavy and potent.

A sharp, long whistle pierced the music.

"Maybe she's already here." Mutsu lowered the whistle with a half smile and a shrug before giggling. "And maybe you've summoned a sleepyhead." The battleship walked over to one of the MP's and took a polished white megaphone from him. Good for barking orders. Very good. She thumbed the power switch and tossed it to Richardson who caught it awkwardly, somehow not hitting the trigger as he did so.

He locked eyes with the brunette who merely gave a playful smile. She had no more idea than he did at this point, but he was glad she was trying. Certainly more than he at least. They were all strung out and morale would take a sharp dive if they didn't at least try everything they could think of. Not when they had the supposed formula for sparkly magical shipgirl summoning.

Richardson nodded and she brought that shiny whistle to her lips again, this time with hundreds of eyes upon her.

Once more that whistle sounded out. Starting low and shifting high.

When Mutsu finished, he raised the megaphone and drew in a deep breath.

Then he roared.

"GENERAL QUARTERS! GENERAL QUARTERS! ALL HANDS MAN YOUR BATTLE STATIONS!"

There was silence as the band finally stopped.

And then the lights dimmed.

A churning sound placed all eyes upon the sea. A growing froth spread violently as flames licked the epicenter. A gloved hand breached the dark waters and slammed down upon the surface. It was joined by a second as their owner struggled to pull itself free from whatever chains still tried to bind it. The sound of straining shafts preceded the figure finally pulling itself free with a great heave of the sea.

Wide, mad eyes scanned the crowds until they locked onto the closest officer: Richardson.

The woman in the navy longcoat stepped forward with footfalls that sounded far heavier than they actually were. Even the concrete seemed to groan under her boots.

She looked nothing like the ships Richardson had seen in the reports. Despite being mostly concealed by the singed coat, he could tell she did not have the build of a hard hitting runner. Nor was she a short, sinewy brawler. And she most certainly did not share any likeness with the adorable little escort carrier.

Mutsu approached from the rear and the newcomer tensed, looking for all the world like she was about to jump the battleship and send her packing to the breakers. It lasted for only the briefest of moments however. The woman's eyes went hazy and a look of comprehension seemed to bubble up before she locked eyes on the chrysanthemum crest upon Mutsu's bow. There was a nod and she turned her gaze back to Richardson.

He offered a salute, no longer appearing as the man who had not minutes ago been ready to live up to the adage of swearing like a sailor and now looking every part the stern commanding officer. "You're late sailor. Report."

"No excuses sir." Her grey eyes glinted in a way that reminded him of someone about to snap. The flecks of dark gold did not help. "It won't happen again. Sir."

"Your name?"

"Pennsylvania-class battleship. Hull number 39. USS Arizona." She offered up a salute, however oddly it may have felt to her. She'd never had hands before after all.

There was a pregnant pause as everyone in earshot digested this information. One of the most famous battleships in American history now stood on the waterline at Sasebo. No one seemed to breathe as Richardson sized up the returned Arizona.

"United States Navy. Rear Admiral John Richardson. Welcome to the fleet." His words and salute were crisp and absolutely formal. Even if they hadn't just summoned the embodiment of the tragedy of Pearl, he'd have done the same. He paused for a moment before risking a glance to his side and saw Mutsu at attention.

"Japanese Maritime Self Defense Force. Battleship Mutsu." She broke formality and smiled warmly. "Welcome to the fleet, Miss Arizona."

Arizona looked rather confused for a moment, not quite expecting the warm welcome she was receiving. Had she not failed her duties so absolutely? Should she not be reprimanded at the very least? She had even been late according to Admiral Richardson.

"Good to be... here?" Arizona spoke uncertainly, wondering just what was going on as the confusion continued to mount with each passing moment.

"Okay. I'm sorry, but I'm not sorry. I and everyone here am exhausted and hungry." Richardson gestured to the massive crowd who had remained silent thus far by some miracle he could not be bothered to comprehend at the moment. The formality continued to fall as he decided to take full advantage of both Arizona's apparent confusion and the fact they had finally summoned a shipgirl. "So." He pointed first to the new arrival and then to the smiling Mutsu. "You two." He jabbed a thumb at his chest. "And I. Are going to get some God. Damned. Food."

"But first~" Mutsu gave no warning as she sided up next to Arizona. "Three cheers for Arizona! Come on everyone!" She hollered to the crowd with all her enthusiasm as she reached over to the shorter battleship's hand and raised it triumphantly to the sky.

"Wh-What?" The copper haired woman was nearly floored by the roaring cheers that accompanied Mutsu's declaration. This wasn't what she expected at all!

Richardson put a hand on Arizona's head and ruffled her hair. "Don't think too hard. Just... Come on. Lets eat." He removed his hand and gestured for the two battleships to follow. They could worry about more complicated things later when they weren't all tired, hungry, and strung out on music.

"A double booking? Oh my, my my... Isn't that dangerous?" Mutsu's positively dangerous grin was made impossible to take seriously owing to the twinkle in her eye. Still, she did not relinquish her hold on the utterly baffled Arizona's hand.

"You be quiet." Richardson's grumbles earned no shortage of laughter from Mutsu or those troops in earshot as she began walking along him.

Arizona was dragged along almost effortlessly with abject confusion painted plainly on her features.

 

[theJMPer]

Part 26​

Other than the very occasional clarifying question, Washington hadn't said a word since Williams started the impromptu briefing. And even then, it was a short three-or-four word question before she went back to attentive listening and scribbling on the notebook she'd produced from… somewhere.

Williams knew this should relax him. After working with destroyers who got distracted if there weren't plenty of pictures in his slide decks, and a battleship who insisted on eating her brunch at briefings, a proper military-precise briefing should have been soothing.

But it wasn't. It was driving him up the wall. The other shoe was going to fall, he just knew it. And if it waited this long, it must be very very big.

But he was an Admiral of the United States Navy. If he feared inevitable disaster, he wouldn't have taken the job. Dauntless he sailed, plowing though the abbreviated history of the Abyssal war thus far.

"Which brings us up to now," he concluded, folding his hands behind his back as he waited for the battleship's pen to stop moving. "Any questions?"

"No, sir," said Wash in that calm, demure, but somehow thunderous voice. She looked up at him with a hit of a smile, sliding her pen into her notebook's spiral binding for safekeeping.

Williams caught himself mid gasp, passing it off as a mere intake of breath as his eyebrows creeped up. "Wash… I just told you that animate, demonic ghost of warships long past have risen from the abyss, and our only hope is the spirits of our own warships."

Wash nodded, glancing at her notes for a second. "Aye, sir. I'd… say that sums it up."

"And you have no questions?"

"Sir," Wash folded her hands, her cheeks going a slightly redder shade of marble. "When I was born, battleships were queens of the sea," she explained, clearly struggling to avoid patronizing her Admiral, "by the time I was decommissioned, not only had aircraft taken over the throne, but they didn't even require the help of a propeller to hold it."

Williams shrugged. In hindsight, that made a decent amount of sense. A worrying amount, even. "Times have changed," he said, "I think it's time for the battleships to regain their throne."

Wash stood, her hand snapping up in a crisp salute, her russet brown hair glistening in the florescent light like she was actually wearing a crown. "It would be my honor, Admiral."

"Good to hear it, Wash," said Williams, snapping off a salute in return, swallowing the feeling in the back of his mind telling him that he should have saluted her. "As per procedure, you are to be commissioned to the brevet rank of Lieutenant Commander, full rank to be bestowed following approval from Congress."

"Thank you, sir," said Wash, her cheeks positively glowing as she smiled at her Admiral. "I won't let you down."

"Outstanding," said Williams, sitting back in his chair and turning to the pile of paperwork he'd been neglecting. "Yeoman Gale will see to any further requirements you have, dismissed."

Wash clicked her heels together, puffing out her… rather sizable chest and flashing a smile. Then she turned, her hair billowing with the suddenness of the movement. "Tell me, Yeoman, do they still have mess halls in the future?"

"Uh, Aye, ma'am," said Gale, her face sagging into an expression of utter defeat. "Right this way."

—|—|—

Gale stared at Wash in disbelief, her jaw only barely holding on to the rest of her face as the battleship treated herself to her twenty-seventh plate—Chicken pot pie with green beans.

And for once, it wasn't the sheer quantity of food the shapely woman was somehow managing to fit into her slender waist. She'd seen Jersey wolf down ten thousand calories in one sitting—and that's when she hadn't been sailing around.

No, what surprised her was how damn civil Wash was being. The battleship'd made sure to thank every sailor manning the serving lines, and even posed for a selfie with one—though Gale noticed she looked very confused the entire time. And even when she got to the table, she had her napkin carefully folded against her leg and dabbed at her mouth every few minutes.

"Is something the matter?" asked Wash, setting her fork down with a tiny tink of metal against plastic.

"Hmm?" Gale shook herself out of her stupor, "Oh, uh… no ma'am."

"Are you sure?" asked Wash, leaning across the table. "You look like your mind's a thousand miles away."

Gale bit her lip. It was so weird talking to Wash… Jersey might outrank her, but she treated her like an equal. Wash… Wash made her regret not wearing her dress whites today. "It's just… you eat like such a lady."

Wash raised one of her slender eyebrows. "And?"

"I'm just…" Gale shrugged, "I'm used to the Taffies, who just sort of…" Gale flailed her hands around, "wolf down whatever you out in front of them. That. Them, and Jersey, who does the same, but more so."

Wash smirked, her face momentarily echoing the same nefarious giggle that so often adorned her fellow-battleship's—cousin's?—face. "Hmm… of course she does."

"You have to let me bring a camera when you two meet," blurted out Gale.

"Yeoman…" Wash smiled, waving the tip of her polished knife at the sailor, "I would be worried if you didn't."

—|—|—

Kongou smiled as the fresh sea breeze washed though her airy miko outfit, ruffling her skirt and blowing salt though her long brown hair. It was a positively glorious day to be at sea, the crashing waves of the North Pacific had calmed, and there wasn't a cloud in the crisp blue sky.

The Abyssals couldn't take that joy from her, Kongou wouldn't let them. This was her sea, they were merely unwelcome guests.

The British-built fast battleship took a deep breath, holding the salty air in her lungs. For just a second, she almost forgot there was a war on. The rhythmic crash of surf against her bow, the steady hum of her turbines… she felt at peace.

"Alright fucktards," barked Jersey, shattering the moment's peace Kongou had found. "UNREP time!"

The American scrunched up her bloodied face, glancing around for her little pack of hyperactive little—or not so little, given their bustlines. Americans certainly had their own style—destroyers.

If Jersey said anything after that, it was lost in the the cheers of Johnston, Hoel, Heermann, and Sammy as all four of them scrambled to be first in line for their snacks. Fubuki and Yuudachi looked at each other, shrugged, then belatedly fell in line behind them.

"Kongou-San?" Akatsuki tugged at the end of Kongou's sleeve, her enormous eyes staring up at the battleship with a timid smile on her face.

"Yes, Akatsuki?" said Kongou, beaming at the little destroyer. It wasn't often she got to talk to the third-generation Special-type destroyers. At least not without their minder nearby.

But, with such a large convoy to guard, Tenryuu had had to separate her children to cover the gaps while the Americans refueled.

"Um," Akatsuki bit her lip, watching as Jersey handed out sandwiches—peanut butter and jelly with the crusts cut off, if Kongou wasn't mistaken—and juice boxes to her clutch of destroyers. "What's 'un-rep' mean?"

"Underway Replenishment, Dess!" said Kongou, waving her hand in the air as she jabbed the sky with her outstretched pointer finger. Her long sleeve billowed behind her for a dramatic finish. "It's when one girl gives fuel, ammo, and Supplies to her friends."

"Oh," said the little destroyer, watching with rapturous attention as Jersey handed out apples and ice-cream bars to her girls. They all seemed to prefer the former to the latter, and Johnston almost tried to swap for Fubuki's ice cream before Jersey caught her with a light slap.

Akatsuki let out a single giggle before she caught herself, swallowing it back in with a 'proper' and 'demure' smile. "She's such a lady."

Kongou's eyes went wide. Jersey? Lady? She fancied herself a keen observer, her lookouts were some of the best in the entire Imperial Navy. But she couldn't for the life of her make that connection.

"Look at her," explained Akatsuki, "She's so hurting… but she's making sure her girls are fed!"

Kongou opened her mouth, then closed it again. That actually made a certain amount of sense. "Mmm," she said, "Yes, Jersey's a good flagship, like Tenryuu, Dess!"

Akatsuki smiled, "Maybe not that eleph-" she stopped, taking in a quick breath as she corrected herself- "elegant."

Kongou pretended not to notice.

"Yo, Sword-chan!" barked Jersey with the abject lack of subtly only an American could truly convey, "I got leftover shit, you want an apple or something?"

"Fu?" For a split-second, the cruiser's face went white as Kongou's frilly little outfit, her good eye dancing over the surface. "Ah," she shook her head, regaining her usual laid-back demeanor, "Nah, I ate on the way out."

"Kay," said the Battleship, biting a huge chunk out of a shiny red apple. If she noticed the cruiser's momentary panic, she didn't say a word.

Meanwhile, Johnston had broken off from the pack, letting her sister slide into position at one of Jersey's refueling lines. Kongou wouldn't have thought much of it, except the destroyer was making a beeline to her.

With her guns and torpedo tubes conspicuously pointed exactly a hundred and eighty degrees away from the battleship's track.

"'Zuki," said Kongou, smiling as she gave the destroyer a pat on the head. "Why don't you see if Jersey has any snacks for you, Dess?"

"Oh, Okay," said Akatsuki, smiling as she peeled off, leaving Kongou alone as the lion-hearted American destroyer pulled abreast.

For a moment, the two ships sailed in silence, Kongou waiting patiently while Johnston stared at her shoes.

Finally, Johnston broke the silence. "So…"

Kongou smiled, waiting for the little American to continue.

"Um…" Johnston risked a glance at the much bigger battleship, "I'm a little shit, and I shouldn't have pointed my tubes at you." She bit her lip, running her hand though her salt-encrusted feathers, "You fought with honor, and… and…"

Johnston looked over again, her eyes filling with tears as she stared up at Kongou, "And I'm really really sorry. I was tired and mad and I wasn't thinking-" her voice started to accelerate, the space between her words squeezing to almost nothing,"And I'll tell the Admiral as soon as we get to Japan I'm reallyreallyreallysorry!"

Kongou smiled. If she wasn't in her rigging, she'd have given the destroyer a huge hug. As it was, a simple ruffle of her hair would have to suffice. "Johnston… "

"Y-yes?" said the Destroyer, wiping at her face as she sailed just a little closer.

"What… exactly was your plan, hmm?" said the battleship, her voice sitting happily at it's regular bouncy timbre. No need to yell, especially when the girl already felt miserable.

"My-my plan?" said the destroyer, "I, uh… I though maybe you'd… do something."

"So," Kongou, smoothed a loose tuft of hair on the destroyer's head. "You thought we might be a threat, dess?"

"Mmhm."

"And you were prepared to engage myself, Kirishima, Tenryuu, and all her destroyers."

"Kinda…"

"While we have air superiority."

Johnston just offered a timid nod.

"All by yourself?"

An even smaller, timider nod.

"Johnston…" Kongou smiled, tousling the girl's hair. "That's what heroes do, Dess."

"Don't feel like a hero," mumbled the destroyer.

"You were," said Kongou, beaming as she planted her hands on her hips. "You and your sisters all were." She glanced over just enough to shoot the American a wink. "And I think you still are, Dess!"

Johnston sniffed. "R-really?"

"Mmhm!" smiled Kongou. "Now… go play with your sisters, Dess!"
- - - - - - - - - -
A/N: Bonus points to whoever knows why Tenryuu got freaked out by the offer of an apple.

 

[theJMPer]

Part 27​

Gale sneaked a glance at her watch as Washington mopped up the last scraps of gravy with her biscuit. Four and a half hours. Four and a half hours of the exact same routine.

Wash would make her selection from the serving area, offer profuse thanks and a licked-clean plate in exchange for a fresh helping of her choice. The battleship would then return to her seat with a graceful hip-swinging walk she couldn't have been aware of and tidy her napkin before she dug in. Then it was the endless repetition of cutting a small morsel off her meal, chewing silently, and dabbing at her mouth when required.

For four and a half hours. She had to have ingested at least ten thousand calories by now, shipgirl food was hearty stuff. Gale tried her very best not scowl.

The taffies might eat six meals a day—and that's not counting the nearly constant stream of candy and soda they ingested—but at least each individual meal was more or less normal-sized. And Jersey… she just wolfed down her food so fast that Gale was never quite sure just what she was eating. It let the Yeoman maintain a sense of plausible dependability, no matter how flimsy it might be.

But not Wash. Her demure eating habits made it painfully clear how much she managed to fit into that slender little waist, especially when she wore that snug little haze-gray sailor top.

"Yeoman?" Wash set her fork down against her plate with a polite clink of steel on plastic. "Is something the matter?"

"Hmm? I-" Gale snapped herself out of her daze. She wasn't staring! Honest. "I, uh… no, ma'am."

Wash gave her a look, those steely gray eyes warming up just a smidgen. She didn't say anything, just gave Gale the look.

"You're gorgeous," said Gale, her voice just loud enough for Wash to hear, "Uh… I mean.. Ma'am?" The yeoman's face scrunched up like someone had poked her nose with a sledge hammer.

Wash's blush could only be described as thermonuclear. "That… That, uh," the elegant battleship actually stammered before catching herself. She let out a short cough to require her bearings, "That worries you?"

Gale gulped, "Uh… not… I mean…" she held up a hand, begging for time to collect her thoughts.

Wash nodded, dabbing at non-existent specks of food on her face to hide her blush.

"Okay," Gale took a breath, "I'm in pretty good shape, yeah?"

Wash nodded.

"But… to keep in shape… I have to work out, watch what I eat," Gale sighed, "Pick a salad wrap for a mid-day snack instead of a brownie."

"Oh…" Wash looked utterly crestfallen, her shoulders going slack as she slouched back in her chair.

"Yeah," Gale bit her lip. "And here you are with…" the sailor waved generally over the battleship's perfect hourglass figure, "With… that. And you eat three times your own body weight in crap."

Wash didn't say a word, the muscles in her slender—but surprisingly toned—neck flexing and un flexing as she thought. "Yeoman… didn't you say you worked with New Jersey?"

"Yeah… but it's less obvious," said Gale, "She just sorta inhales it all."

The corners of Wash's mouth twitched upwards, and the demure battleship had to bite her lip to keep from bursting out in laughter. It was an action that, however valiant, proved unsuccessful, as a low rumble soon echoed from her mouth. "Of course she does."

Gale couldn't help but laugh along with her. "Don't- Don't worry, Ma'am," she said. "I'm sure I'll get used to it."

"I'm sure you will," said Wash, popping the last bit of biscuit into her mouth. She chewed for a second, swallowed, then added, "Just keep that in mind if you ever ask me to dinner."

By the time Gale got her voice back, Wash was already halfway to the serving area.

—|—|—

"J-Jersey?" White let out a pitiful little whimper. Rivulets of sweat dripped off her ruddy face, soaking into her salty hair and freezing her neckerchief solid.

"Yo," The battleship visibly cringed at the flagging escort carrier.

"I, I have to-"

"Convoy, drop to five knots!" barked Jersey, shushing the escort carrier with a glance as she peeled off to join her, "RJ, get a CAP up."

"Hai!" said the flattop carrier, waving her hands over that scroll thing as she spotted a deckload of Zeros, "wanna hang Two-fifty kilo bombs on 'em?"

Jersey scowled, jostling into position alongside her exhausted escort carrier. She reallyreally wished she had proper fighter-bombers like Hellcats or Skyhawks around. Or Tomcats, like in that one movie with Nimitz. Zeros were air-superiority fighters, and flimsy ones at that… still, without White's TBFs to fly ASW… "Do it."

"You betcha!"

Jersey tossed a wave in reply. The Japs would cover her CAP. It… wasn't exactly a comforting thought, but she worked with what she had. And right now, she had more pressing problems. "Hey, kiddo," she said, her voice soft and warm as she fell abreast of White.

"Hey," said White with an exhausted grin. "I-I can make it, I jus' need a rest."

"Mm.." Jersey smiled, tousling the girl's sweaty hair, "Let's get you some food, hmm?"

White smiled, and gave a lazy nod.

"I got you a sandwich," said Jersey, pulling the neatly bagged items from her pocket, "and some strawberry milk, I know how you like that."

"I do," said White, reaching her shaky hands towards the bottle.

"Here," Jersey twisted the cap off and slid a straw into the frothy pink milk. "There," she knelt to offer the snack to her charge, "Drink up, kiddo, okay?"

White took a long sip, her eyes rolling back in undisguised glee.

"I'll get a DC team over there, yeah?" said Jersey, holding her hand out front of her vest pocket. A half-dozen faeries in dirty dungarees with bright red tool boxes obligingly crawled out, forming up in rough circle on the battleship's hand.

White nodded, silently sipping her milk as Jersey deposited her faeries on White's deck.

"You listen to her guys, okay?" said the Battleship, "They know uniflow better than you."

A tiny grunt in the affirmative.

"I'll be right here, take anything from the stores you need, okay?"

Another grunt, and the faerie puffed out her chest in pride.

"Yeah yeah…" Jersey smiled, handing White another bottle of milk as the carrier finished her first, "you're hot shit alright. Now do your jobs."

The faeries saluted, then disappeared into the carrier's superstructure.

Jersey sighed, her shoulders going slack as she steamed along at a crawl. Ryuujou was spotting her CAP, Kongou and Kirishima were watching for surface threats, Tenryuu was juggling the destroyers on Air-defense… Naka was handling C3 with that fancy-ass phone of hers… There wasn't much for the big battleship to do beyond cuddle her escort carrier.

"Hey, Jersey!" Naka waved at Jersey, steaming towards her at a good fifteen knots.

God fucking damn it.

"Message from Tei- um, I mean Admiral Williams," said Naka, holding her phone out to Jersey, "They did it! They figured out how to summon ships!"

"Hot damn, Lemme see!" Jersey felt her charred face crack into a smile.

Naka tossed her the phone. After a moment's blank stare for Jersey, she helpfully added "Press the green one to talk."

Jersey nodded, stabbing her thumb at the jewel-like button and holding the slender plastic rectangle to her ear. "USS New Jersey, uh… over."

"Jersey, good to hear from you again." came the comfortingly familiar tones of her Admiral.

"Yeah," Jersey winced, "I think my radio got knocked out, it's been spotty at range."

"Fair enough, good to hear you're still in one piece."

Jersey smiled, "Thank you, Sir. What's this I hear about a playmate?"

"We'll brief you on the specifics later," said Williams, "Suffice it to say, USS Washington is back and eager for action."

"What?" Jersey let out a squeal of surprise. "Holly Hannah that's awesome! I love Wash! Tell Crowning I owe him-" she screeched to a halt mid-sentence, her body physically shaking from the mental whiplash.

"Jersey, come in, over. Did we loose you?"

"Uh… no sir," said Jersey, "Just, uh… nothing, sir. It's nothing."

A pause.

"I'd say it's something, Jersey."

The battleship winced, "Why's that, sir?"

"The Professor started laughing as soon as you said it."

For a split-second, Jersey panicked. Then her glare went cold as ice, her head swivelling to bracket Naka with the deadly precision of her main battery. "Naka…"

"Yes~" said the light cruiser with a frustratingly cutesy sing-song idol cadence.

"Am I on speaker phone?"

"May~be~"

"Sir," said Jersey.

"Go ahead, Jersey."

"Request permission to slap the shit out of Naka when we make port."