Part 58
Battleship New Jersey snuggled herself deep under the comforting waves of the makeshift dockyard. It might not be
quite as calming as the unique mix of minerals and warmth she was used to back in the states. But the gentle lapping against her muscled sides and under the snug fabric of her Amerikini felt like someone gently rocking her to sleep.
Even in her sleep, she could hear the gentle ebb and flow of water against her hull—against her skin—like a wordless lullaby softly paving her way into restful sleep. Sleep without any creepy-ass dreams about ice and shit.
No, tonight, she would dream of soft, warm things. She'd dream of cuddling up with her clutch of destroyers. She'd dream of filling herself so full of pie she could barely walk. She'd dream of napping in a sunbeam. She'd dream of
home.
"Oi," a loud voice that was somehow both strange and eerily familiar punched though the fortress of calm Jersey'd build up around herself. "Wake up, wanker."
Jersey scowled in her hazy half-sleep and hunkered down lower in the water.
"Wake up!" Someone slapped Jersey across the face. Hard. It felt like someone shattered a two-by-four across her cheek.
"Ow!" The battleship's eyes snapped open. Her boilers roared to life as her temper built up steam. She'd worked fucking
hard the past few days. Couldn't she have one fucking day to get some uninterrupted goddamn sleep? "The Fuck you waaaa…."
Jersey trailed off as her eyes slowly brought her surroundings into focus. The improvised Alaskan dockyards were dark and quiet. Starlight filtered in though the skylights and windows to bathe the sleeping forms of battleships and aircraft carriers in an unearthly glow.
Nagato and Mutsu had snuggled up to one another a few feet away from Jersey's own spot. Musashi had both of the AA-destroyers whose names Jersey could never pronounce cuddling against her chest. Akagi's ice cream bucket was slowly melting all over her belly, and Tenryuu had all of DesDiv Six tied off next to her.
Of course, none of that immediately struck Jersey's interest like the blond-haired girl with an eye patch and an old-fashioned Admiral's hat leaning so far over the side of the pool their noses were all but touching.
"Um," Jersey blinked. She could've sworn she'd never seen the girl before in her life. In fact, she was
certain of it. She was a square-rigger. A
tall ship. With fucking… sails and wood and shit. But she couldn't shake the feeling that she'd seen her before. "Hi."
The girl rolled her eyes and straightened up on the pool side. "C'mon, Mate. Don't'cha know who I am?"
Jersey rolled over to prop her arms up against the tile and let her eyes dance up and down the new arrival. With masts like that, she was obviously a tall ship. But she was also short as
fuck. She probably wouldn't have reached Jersey's breasts even
if you factored in the huge-as black Admiral's hat. "Uh, should I?"
The girl sighed and cradled her head in her hand. A hand, Jersey realized, that was the only one she had. The other sleeve of her deep blue coat was simply pinned up against her slightly-more-curvy-than-Jersey's-but-she's-not-jealous-dammit chest. "You thick Yankee wanker…" she mumbled in a sing-song Australian accent. "I'm fucking
Victory, Mate."
Jersey blinked again. "Okay… so you're English then?"
"Darn right!" said the girl. But with her accent, it sounded more like "Dawn Roight!"
"The fuck do you sound like an Aussie?"
The Victory let out a long, exasperated sigh. Like the kind a frustrated parent gives after explaining for the tenth time that—despite all appearances to the contrary—dish soap is not frosting. "Because you're dreaming, Mate."
Jersey opened her mouth to shoot back a snide remark, but thought better of it before she put her plan into action. It
did explain a whole lot of shit. And after her
last eerie-ass dream, she didn't want to risk missing a detail by arguing.
"Yeah, thought so," said Victory. "Now get your fat Colonial ass out of that pool and let's get some grub, yeah?"
Jersey shrugged. She'd never turn down food, especially when her belly was idly grumbling to anyone within earshot about the lack of cookies inhabiting it. "What?" She pulled herself out of the water, "Not gonna put a shrimp on the barbie?"
"Does it
look like there's shrimp around here, mate?" said Victory. "And I'm fucking English. We don't do that kinda shit."
Jersey pulled her hair back into a semi-decent ponytail. Normally, she'd have done some kind of a braid. But this was all a weird-ass dream anyways, so who fucking cares of her hair wasn't perfect. Munchies. "Look, this is gonna bother me if I don't know."
"Why do I speak like a fuckin convict?"
"Yeah, pretty much," said Jersey. The towering battleship cracked a smile at the man-o-war who stood a good two feet shorter than her.
"Because I'm a product of your subconscious, mate," said Victory. "And you-" she poked at Jersey's chest, right at the tie that held the front of her Amerikini together, "Are a dumb Yank wanker who can't do an English accent to save her soul."
"Fuck you, my English accent is fucking perfect."
Victory rolled her one remaining eye with the kind of utter derision you only got from an old British Tar.
"'ello, gov'nah," Jersey arched her back just enough so she was staring down her nose at the sailing ship, "Care for'a spot'a tea 'n ta morn-" she shook her head. "Yeah. Fuck, that's awful as all hell."
"Told ya so, mate."
"Fine, whatever." Jersey scowled and rubbed sandy sleep-crap out of her eyes with the heel of her hand. "Wait." The battleship glanced over to where Musashi was sleeping. The super-battleship floated on her back with her pagodas thrust up to the heavens like two… giant… things punching though the water's surface. "Victory?"
"Yeah, mate?"
"If this
is a dream," The American waved at Musashi's still very-much-covered chest, "Why isn't she naked?"
Victory let out a long huff and let her head fall against her chest. "Mate… sometimes a dream gives you what you
need, not what you
want."
"Then, fucking…" Jersey tore her eyes away from the way Musashi gently jiggled with each shallow breath. "The fuck do I need anyways?"
Victory responded by jumping up on her tip-toes and smacking Jersey across the face with the back of her hand. Really fucking hard.
"Fucking
OW!" Jersey slapped her hand to the stinging bruise forming on her cheekbone. "The hell was that?"
"Pull yourself together, mate!" Victory scowled at Jersey with all the conviction of a Lord-Admiral, snapping Jersey to attention with they very force of her glare. "You're a battleship, yeah? Your guns crater the ocean when they speak. Your mere presence brings nations to their knees. You're the best damn warship ever built by mortal hands, yeah?"
"Um…" Jersey gulped. She knew the answer to the question, but she'd never been fixed in the Stare Of Infinite Brass like this before. "Yes?"
"Then why!" Victory smacked Jersey's face with the back of her hand. "The hell," another smack, this time with the heel of her hand, "Have you done nothin'" Back to the back. "But fucking mope around!"
Jersey winced. Her whole face stung like an entire baseball team had broken their bats across it. Her face stung and her temper was howling at redline. How… fucking…
dareVictory say something like that. Admiral or no, there were some fucking lines you
don't fucking cross.
"Victory," Jersey's voice was cold as frozen steel. She slowly raised a hand to point at where Heermann was sleeping, her arm shaking with rage she could barely even harness. "My escort almost fucking
died out there."
"Yeah?" Victory didn't even flinch at the battleship's fury. "What's that saying you Yank destroyer captains had? 'Live fast, Die fast, Take many with you'?"
"The fuck does-" Jersey was cut off by a hash slap across the face.
"America!" Victory smacked Jersey again. "Expects!"
smack "That!"
smack "Every"
smack"Shipgirl!"
smack "Will!"
smack "Do!"
smack "Her!"
smack "D!"
smack "U!"
smack "T!"
smack"Y!"
"Fucking OW!" Jersey clapped a hand to her cheek and felt warm trickles of oil and blood ooze out from her split skin. "The fuck was that?"
"Heermann," Victory thrust her hand out like a sword, "Fought her duty to the last. She
fought so
you could do your duty."
"Yeah, but-"
"Do I LOOK LIKE I'M DONE?" Bellowed Victory with the thunderous voice of a Lord-Admiral.
Jersey reflexively snapped to attention.
"Good," Victory stood up on her tip-toes, her blazing honey-gold eye locked on Jersey's own. "Now… your duty is to
own the waves. You sit that fat American ass down on a patch of ocean and
dare anyone else to make you leave. You bounce hits with that armor-"She jabbed her hand into Jersey's stomach. "You punish anyone who'd harm you with those guns-" She jammed her finger into the Battleship's sinewy bicep, "And when your escorts spend their lives to buy you a chance at victory, you
take it. That is your duty."
"Victory," Jersey's voice cracked in her throat. "Victory, I-"
"That is your duty, Battleship," the old man-o-war stood back on her heels. "Fight your duty." She thrust out her arm at the sleeping puddle of destroyers, "For
their sake. Make the bastards that hurt her run like cowards when they see your battle flag crest the horizon."
Jersey wanted to say something, but her vocal cords were still quivering in fear from the old sailing ship's brutal tirade. Finally, she managed a shaky nod of her head and a mumbled, "yss'am."
"Good to hear, mate!" In an instant, Victory switched back from barking Lord-Admiral to easygoing Aussie. "Now, last I recall, you skipped dinner."
"Uh…" Jersey scrunched up her nose and tried to think back. She'd eaten lunch… then the splash fight with Mushi… then… fuck. She really
had skipped dinner! "Fuck."
"Yeah," Victory shrugged, "So you're probably gonna wake up soon and get some grub." The old man-o-war tugged at her hat in what Jersey could only assume was some kind of salute. "Be seeing ya."
Jersey returned the salute with a crisp one of her own. Fuck being 'covered' or 'outdoors.' When the fucking Flagship of Admiral Nelson salutes you, you
fucking return the goddamn salute. "Thank you, ma'am."
Victory just smiled as she walked off, each step taking her further into the washed-out white that was slowly encroaching on the battleship. "Oh," she snapped her fingers. "There's one more thing I meant to tell you."
—|—|—
The roaring displeasure of her own stomach shook Jersey out of her sleep mere
instants before Victory managed to get that supposedly-crucial bit of information slip. Just five more seconds! One more second!
"Goddammit," Jersey stared at her bare stomach in displeasure. The only response she received was a low rumble that sent ripples though the dark water. Goddamn insubordinate tummy.
Jersey scowled and glanced around to see if her stomach's treacherous grumbling. But other than Nagato working her face deeper into her sister's chest and Akagi licking her lips and sighing in her sleep, not one of the kanmusu moved. Because like a regular goddamn human being… ish… thing, they were asleep at oh-dark-thirty in the fucking morning.
"Fuck," grunted Jersey as she let herself sink lower in the warm dock water. It wasn't as good as a nice warm blanket and an equally-warm puddle of sleeping destroyers, but it was close. She closed her eyes and let herself drift of to sleep again.
And then her increasingly-defiant tummy let out a roaring rumble. It wanted food. It wanted food, and thus
she wanted food. Then again, the only time Jersey
didn't want to stuff herself to bursting was when her stomach was
already so fucking full she could barely even walk. American logistics for the fucking win.
"You're a little shit, you know that?" Jersey grumbled at her stomach as she pulled herself up onto the poolside. Maybe arguing with her own anatomy wasn't the wisest—or sanest—thing for an old battleship to do. But fuck sanity, she was hungry as all fuck.
The battleship yawned as she wandered off in the general direction of food. Her belly was starting to calm down with the promise of… whatever the fuck she could find in the kitchen, but Jersey gave it a few pats just in case. A ship couldn't run if her crew were grumbling, and it seemed logical that the same extended to a shipgirl and her tummy.
On a fighting ship, there would always be
something warm available in the mess hall for a hungry sailor on midnight watch, and Jersey hoped the same would carry over to this makeshift naval base. But she wasn't
that hopefull, and part of her hoped there
wasn't anything waiting for her.
The people of this little island had worked fucking
hard to get her girls fed. They deserved a break. Besides, Jersey was a grown-ass woman. She could figure out her way around a fucking sandwich. Probably.
Jersey drummed a cadence out against her rock-hard stomach, sending a smile darting across her face. Let's see Mushi top abs like fucking
these. So fucking what if she wasn't top-heavy? But before Jersey could let her abs go to her head, she noticed a sliver of light spilling out from under the kitchen door.
The battleship tapped her knuckles against the door. "Uh… yo?" she asked. She couldn't really consider getting a midnight snack suspicious since she was doing the exact same fucking thing. But she was
sure she'd seen every last shipgirl on base napping in the pool.
"'s open," grunted the distinctively non-girlish voice of the Army Major who'd patched up Heermann.
Jersey smiled and ducked though the door. "Morn'n, Major."
"Jersey." The soldier didn't even glance up from his meal, a grilled cheese and some tomato soup if Jersey's skilled lookouts weren't betraying her.
"Solette," Jersey bit the corner of her lip and stared at the stacks of packaged foodstuffs piled up against the walls. "Enjoying some midrats?" she asked as she drummed her hands against her stomach. Mostly just to keep her hands busy while she thought, but… well… the builders over at the Philadelphia Naval Shipyard did good work. She was just showing off their handiwork.
"Actually, I think this is…" the soldier trailed off as he stared at his meal, "Lunch?" He glanced over, eyebrows peaked in uncertainty. "A midnight flight followed by an all-nighter medical procedure plays hell with your sleep schedule."
Jersey shrugged, "Fair enough." The battleship noticed an open crate of peanut butter within arms' reach and started shoveling the plastic cans onto the multipurpose shelf that was her boobs. "Kiddo's doing better by the way."
"Yeah," Solette nodded and spooned a bit of soup onto his sandwich. "I checked in on her earlier."
"Right," Jersey carefully shuffled over to where a few loaves of bread were waiting. "We got any jam?"
"Fridge."
Jersey sighed. This was going to be tricky. "Okay, just…" she shifted her weight so her peanut butter horde piled up on her port side. Ideally, she could use her other boob to balance a few jars of—Jersey squinted into the fridge—strawberry jam. "One second…"
The major rolled his eyes and took a crunchy bite of his sandwich.
A few moments later, Jersey dumped her stash of sandwich ingredients onto the table. She wasn't quite sure
how she managed to get everything to the table without breaking anything, and she wasn't going to look into the subject any further. She knew better than to tempt fate.
Solette sighed at the mountain piled up on Jersey's end of the table. "Light snack?"
"Fuck you," grunted Jersey, "I eat like… fucking… all the calories." The battleship slapped her abs before framing them by putting her hands on her broad hips, "And I fucking look like this."
Solette rolled his eyes, then stopped for a second. He craned his neck towards the battleship, brows knitting in a clinical kind of squint. "What happened to your face?"
"What?" Jersey ran a hand across her face. At first she thought he was messing with her. Then she noticed a tiny split on her cheek that was slowly scabbing over. A split in the exact fucking spot Victory had smacked her. "Um…"
"This is going to be a story," said Solette, "I just know."
"I kinda got smacked around in a dream by an old British sailing ship," said Jersey.
Solette arched an eyebrow.
"I was being a little shit, okay?"
"And suddenly the universe makes sense."
"Hardy-fuck you." Jersey threw up her middle finger and let herself fall into a chair. "Food time."
"Jersey?"
"Yeah?"
"You're making PB&Js, right?" Solette's face was twitching in a smile. The kind of smile that says 'I know something you don't.'
"Yeah?" Jersey squinted at the major.
"So you got Peanut butter, Jelly, and bread."
"Yeah."
"How're you gonna spread it?"
"I-" Jersey glanced at her stash. The major was… fucking… right. She didn't even have like… a spoon. Goddammit. "Fuck."
Solette leaned back in his chair with a satisfied smirk. "If you ask, I'll go get a-" The soldier froze mid-sentence. In the scant few seconds it'd taken him to formulate his snide comeback, Jersey had—somehow—managed to eat an entire jar of peanut butter. The sides of the clear plastic jar were even licked clean.
"Whu?" The battleship's cheeks were bulging like a chipmunk's, and her voice was muffled by the impossible amount of peanut butter that was somehow inside her.
"I-" Solette blinked.
"Fhucn lhovh dish shtufh," mumbled Jersey as she happily tore open a jar of jam and upended it into her mouth.
Solette blinked again. Just when he thought he'd gotten used to the impossible antics shipgirls could get up to. Then something like this happened.
"Youh wanh suh?" Jersey offered the jar with a sheepish grin plastered all over her chipmunked face.
"I'm good." Solette's voice couldn't be flatter if ran it over with a steamroller. Just when he thought he was finally used to ships that were also girls, the universe pulled something like
this on him.
"Yuh lus." Jersey shrugged and sucked down the rest of the jam. Then in what could only be called a titanic effort, the battleship swallowed with a loud gulp. Solette swore he could see her so-called snack work its way down her throat. But, as usual, there wasn't even the slightest dent in those shredded abs.
"So," The battleship let herself fall forwards onto the table so her breasts piled up against the lacquered wood. It would have almost looked accidental if she didn't give her bikini top a few tugs to make sure it was sitting just so.
"So," Solette rolled his eyes and spooned another bit of soup onto his sandwich.
"Okay, first," Jersey squinted at the Major's handiwork, "the fuck you doing? where I come from you dip that shit."
"Ah. Common mistake," Solette smirked and took a quite bite. "If you dip it, you'll get bread in the soup. This way," he doled out another careful helping of soup, "Your soup's as pristine as the day you started. And every bite," he motioned to the sandwich, "is perfectly seasoned."
Jersey blinked. "You put a hell of a lot of thought into this shit, Major."
"Keeps me sane," said Solette. "Well… close enough at least."
Jersey chuckled to herself. "Hey, uh… Major?" The battleship chewed on the corner of her lip as she glanced up at a spot of ceiling tile somewhere behind the soldier's head.
"Yeah?"
"I had a weird-ass dream the other night," said Jersey.
"The one with the sailing ship?"
"Uh, no." Jersey shook her head, "That was, uh… that was a different one." She spun a jar of peanut butter around on the table. "This one… it was all… icy. And shit." She quickly filled him in on all the details. Or at least all the details she could remember from that mindfuck of a dream.
Solette let out a long, huffing breath as he leaned back in his chair. "And you want to know what it means?"
Jersey frantically nodded her head.
"Okay, this is just me talking," said the Major. "But… it sounds like you're lonely."
"Wut?" Jersey tilted her head to the side, her eyes narrowing to confused slits.
"The ice is, uh…" Solette shook his head. Been too long since he took any kind of psych class, "You're adrift in a frozen sea, right? You can't find anything to orient yourself towards… then you see someone. Someone you're in love with. But no matter how you try, he's just out of your grasp."
Jersey's eyes narrowed even more so, while her cheeks quickly flushed a pale pink. "I… Uh…" she bit her lip, her trunks swishing against her legs as she squirmed in her seat. "Why? Why do you think that?"
"I spent a deployment away from my wife," said Solette. "And just as I'm packing to go home, they tell me they need me in Japan. Indefinitely."
"Yikes," Jersey cringed in sympathy.
"Yeah," Solette polished off the rest of his sandwich, "After that, just about
anythingsounds like loneliness."
"I can see why," said Jersey. She bit her lip and glanced back at the Major. Her cheeks were still glowing a warm red, and her gaze didn't
quite meet his. "You, uh… you wouldn't happen to know of anyone I might be, uh… into, would you?"
Solette took a long sip of his soup. A very long sip. A sip so long Jersey started vibrating with anxious energy. "No," he said finally.
"Well, uh…" Jersey tried to rub the blush off her face with the back of her hand. When that failed, she stood up and scowled at nothing in particular. "I'm gonna…" she started drifting towards the door, "go na- actually-" She spun on her heel and grabbed a fresh jar of peanut butter off the table. "Okay, now imma nap."
Solette just rolled his eyes.
