Dirtnap
Kanmusu Affecionado
Yep. Because the USN is like 'Money? Oh yeah we've got plenty of that. See these ships? Literally made of money.'
Belated Battleships (KanColle) [REHOST]
- Thread starter theJMPer
- Start date
- Location
- Arizona
It's not necessarily that the USN was just throwing money at the problem, there's also the fact that there was an actual shortage of conventional shipbuilding steel due to the Liberty ship and landing ship programs.
- Location
- Singapore
"Shit we're out of the cheap steel, what do we have?"
"Well, we have a bunch of this extra-expensive premium steel that every other navy uses sparingly--"
"I'LL TAKE FUCKING ALL OF IT"
Weigh Anchor!
- Location
- 'Murica
Crowning was teetering at the very edge of the precipice of sleep when a very quiet knock sounded from his door. It was so quiet, so timid even, he almost thought it was a figment of his imagination. Then it happened again, a brisk set of quiet knocks tapped out by a quivering hand.
The professor fumbled for the light switch and squinted as the harsh glow assaulted his dark-adjusted eyes. He couldn't imagine who'd be calling at this hour. All the destroyers were worn out from the movie, Gale had to be asleep by now, and Jersey… well, it wasn't like the towering battleship to be so timid. "Coming," he coughed, stirring his voice back to action.
A very quiet whimper sounded though the thin wooden door, and Crowning heard the floor creak a bit. He knew that sound well. It was the sound of fifty-eight thousand tons of warship nervously rocking on her heels like a high schooler picking up his girlfriend for the first time. But he'd never heard Jersey whimper like that.
"Jersey?" Crowning steeled himself for… whatever was going on and opened the door.
The towering battleship smiled weakly at him. Her hair streamed down her back in a messy waterfall, and tears were melting off those stunning ice-blue eyes. "Um… hey," she mumbled. Her hands hung loosely off the waist of her sweatpants, and even her "MAXIMUM OVERTSUN" tank-top looked more subdued than normal.
"Is… everything alright?" Crowning bit his lip. He'd seen her sad like this before, and it always felt like someone twisting a knife into his heart.
"Mmhm," Jersey nodded glumly. "Um…" she shuffled a bit closer, her head just barely clearing the door frame. "Can I have a hug?"
Crowning didn't hesitate. His arms closed around her slender waist, and the tautness in her muscles slackened at his touch. Her soft, evidently braless breasts flowed against his chest. He felt her heart—or hearts, there was a distinct four-part harmony—beat in time with his own. Her head dropped until she rested her cheek against his silver-speckled hair.
"Thanks," she whispered, her hips slowly swaying from side to side as she cried into his shoulder.
"Of course," Crowning held her a little tighter and tried to massage the tenseness out of those steely muscles.
"He's dead," whispered Jersey.
"Hmm?" Crowning froze. As far as he knew, Jersey didn't know many men, at least not men she cared about so deeply. Most of her friends were girls, and he'd have known about any of the Admirals passing.
Jersey sniffed, and buried her face in his hair again. "H… han," she whimpered. "He's dead."
"Oh, Jersey…" Crowning squeezed her tighter, until he could almost feel the gentle hum of her shafts running down her toned back. He held her tight for almost five minutes before his sleepy brain shook off the cobwebs enough to make the connection. "Wait…"
"Hmm?" Jersey sniffed and tried to squeeze herself tigther into the hug. All she really managed to do was grind her hips against him though.
"You mean…" Crowning coughed. It was surprising hard to breath with an avatar of American Fighting Spirit hugging him, "Han Solo."
"Mmmhm," Jersey nodded.
Professor Crowning considered himself a kind man. He tried to treat everyone with respect, and that went double for someone he loved as dearly as the ideal of valor cradled in his arms. But even so, he let out a snort of stifled laughter and had to bite his lip to keep it under control.
"Fuck you," Jersey momentarily turned her hug into a painfully tight squeeze. Only the excessive cushioning on her chest kept it from being too painful. "He was my childhood."
Crowning snorted as hisses of stifled laughter slipped past his clenched lips. "J-Jersey…"
"Yes?" The battleship slackened her hug enough for him to pull himself out of her bosom.
"Is… that's what you wanted to talk about?"
Jersey nodded. "Yup!"
"Just Han Solo?"
"Well…" Jersey sighed, and wiped her face with the back of her hand. "It's also… you know… my last night before I ship out again."
Crowning froze. Part of him thought she'd ask for… part of him wished that she'd ask for a night of solace and passion, but he quashed that thought as quickly as he could. Jersey was a woman of valor and duty, not some object to be lusted over. "Yes?"
Jersey flopped down onto her knees. Even sitting on her haunches, the titanic battleship nearly came to his chest. "Head scratchy?"
Crowning froze for an instant. Then he smiled. Then he started chuckling. "Of course, Jersey." He gave her head a quick ruffle, then moved to drag a chair over.
To his surprise, Jersey got up and followed him, but there was an odd halting jilt to her actions. She moved like she was trying to reign herself in, but only halfheartedly.
"Jersey?" Crowning cocked an eyebrow at her.
"Think…" the battleship clasped her hands behind her back and nervously shifted her weight from one foot to the other. It would've been adorable if it wasn't so terribly attractive. "Think I could sit on your lap?"
Crowning blinked, "Is that a totally good idea?"
"Maybe?" Jersey shrugged. "I've sat on flimsy stuff before, I don't think I'll break you."
"Fair enough," Crowning settled back on his chair and waited for the battleship to make her move.
Jersey's cheeks blushed a brilliant red, and she slowly took a step closer. Then another. Then she swung one long leg over his lap and settled herself in place. Crowning grunted as she put her full weight down. She was titanically heavy, heavier than even a woman of her staggeringly amazonian proportions should be.
Then again, muscle weighs more than fat, and steel weighs still more.
"Um," Jersey blinked. Her arms rested around his neck and her chest hovered tantalizingly close to his face. So close he locked his eyes on hers forbid himself from looking elsewhere.
"Hmm?" Crowning ran his hands along her thighs. Even though the fabric of her sweats, he felt her muscles twitch and slide like oiled pistons. Great bundles of sleeping strength lay like napping pythons, just waiting to unleash their great and terrible might.
"If you say I'm fat," Jersey's face twisted into a scowl, "I'll fucking eat your…" she blushed, "You know."
The professor smirked, "Head scratchy?"
"Please?"
"For you," Crowning started plucking at the crown of her head like a blond-stringed guitar, "Anything."
Thirty seconds later, she was purring against his chest with her eyes closed in bliss. Thirty minutes later, the battleship was sleeping on his bed—or at least as 'on' as her titanic frame and tendency to sprawl out would allow—while Crowning finished up the latest book in the Changing Destiny series. He hadn't expected their date to end like this, be he wouldn't have it any other way.
It was even rarer that she visited the weight rooms. She could push one-hundred-twenty-one-thousand horsepower though her shafts, raw strength was never her issue. Speed—and keeping herself steady at speed like her far faster younger cousin—were her main concerns. She'd much rather run a few laps around the base than sit 'pump some iron' as Kirishima put it.
And it was unheard of for her to visit the gym in such… revealing attire. She approved of the NAVY-branded sweatpants, and the pale blue sports bra felt heartily practical—if a bit snug. She would just have preferred to wear a shirt.
"Of course it is." Kirishima scowled at the serene American and planted her hips on the waist of her nontraditional Miko skirt.
Wash bit her lip and glanced down at herself once more. Where Kirishma found a bra she could fit into so well was beyond the American, very little seemed to come in her size. And she was grateful, but… "This just feels so ostentatious."
"That's the point!" Kirishima stamped her foot on the floor, shattering tile in a two-foot radius of her pout. "Um… I'll clean that up."
Wash sighed, and dropped to her knees to help, "No, let me do it."
"No!" Kirishima flailed her arms in the air, whipping Wash with the tips of her flowing detached sleeves. "You mustn't dirty yourself."
Wash blinked, "Is that not the point of this outfit?"
"What?" Kirishima sighed. "No, Wash… I…"
"Then why am I dressed like this?"
"So that Yeoman Gale will notice you!"
Wash huffed, and experimentally poked at the space-age fabric. "It doesn't seem very modest."
"That's the point," grumbled Kirishima. "You want Gale to notice you."
"You sure it's not too ostentatious?" Wash wound a strand of her russet-brown hair around her finger and thought.
"No!" Krishima waved her finger in front of the American's face. "Well, yes, but not for today. It's like a night battle."
Wash blinked, then slowly shifted her gaze from an indistincint point beyond the horizon to the Japanese battleship's beautiful storm-gray gaze. "What?"
Kirishima huffed, evidently upset her metaphor wasn't clearly understood. "You glide though the night like a specter. Watching, observing, yet unnoticed."
Wash fished a notebook out of her bra, grabbed the pencil stuck behind her ear, and started taking notes.
"Then," Kirishima hunched over, all but whispering into the American's ear with conspiratorial glee, "Just when your target's least expecting it… YASEN!" She threw her arms up and belted out the word at the top of her very considerable lungs. "You strike her with the full force of your BURNING LOVE!"
Wash recoiled as spit sprayed over her face, but notes flowed as quickly as ever from her pencil.
"Then you fade," said Kirishima, "Vanish into the night like a dream, leaving your target dazed, confused, and consumed by lust for something she knew but for an instant."
Wash nodded. It was an interesting tactic. The kind of thing she'd never think of, let alone try. But then again, Kirishima and Kongou were the resident experts in love and romance. Well, experts besides doctor Crowning, but his love for New Jersey was too pure and focused to disturb. "An interesting technique."
"Isn't it?" Kirishima planted her hands on her hips with a dreamy sigh.
"How'd you come up with it?"
The Japanese girl seemed to deflate. "A, uh… friend taught me," she mumbled, "this one time in…" her voice trailed off into nothing.
"Oh," Wash nodded. "You'll have to introduce me to this friend of yours."
"Yeah," Kirishima smiled timidly, "I guess I will."
Before Wash could say anything further, she noticed her target walk up to the check-in desk. Yeoman Gale was looking as pretty as she always did. A selfless, kind-hearted smile adorned her face, and her hair was done up in an adorable little ponytail.
Oh, and she—like Wash—had elected to work out without a shirt. This made Wash very happy, because the battleship caught a glimpse of the sailor's tummy. A tummy which she'd found made for the most comfortable and calming pillow in all of human history.
"Is this really a good idea?" asked Wash. Suddenly, the battleship was having even more intense second thoughts than usual. What if she messed up? A woman as kind and sweet as Gale could have any man—or ship, for that matter—she wanted. What if by trying to 'show off' Wash only drove her friend away.
"Yes," Kirishima nodded, planted her hands on the small of the American's back, and gave her a good shove. "Now go! I'll be watching you from the ceiling."
Wash blinked. "How will you…" but Kirishima was gone. In her place was only a small pile of powdered drywall and the rustle of a ceiling tile being put back in place. "Huh," Wash put a finger to her chin, "So that's what that feels like."
He fumbled a pair of foam earplugs out of his pocket and stuffed them in as tightly as he could. The pier still roared with the sound of military might, but it was at least tolerable now.
Someone tossed him a hardhat, and he gratefully obliged as he made his way past girl after girl. The destroyers were already making lazy circles in the Puget sound, their little boilers took next to no time to warm up.
The cruisers were finishing up their own preparation. Lou was checking the buckles on her leather gun harness while Frisco bounced on her heels to loosen up her sinewy muscles. Prinz Eugen just stared at the horizon with a murderous smile.
Crowning didn't bother them. They were clearly finishing out their own pre-battle rituals. Rituals he'd do best not to interrupt. Besides, they weren't the reason he came down, the battleships were.
One battleship in particular, actually.
"Jersey!" Crowning shouted over the sound of of industry.
"Sup!" Jersey waved back. A dozen men in bright colored sweaters scrambled around her like a well-ordered ant swarm or a drilled pit team. There wasn't a shred of hesitation in their moves as they tightened her gunbelt securely around her broad hips, and snugged the heavy webbing harness on her vest tight to her stunning figure.
"They treating you well?" half-asked the professor. Williams told him these shore crew were pulled from aircraft carrier deck gangs. Fighter pilots trusted them with their lives every time they hurled down the deck, and that trust hadn't been misplaced yet. Crowning had every confidence they knew exactly what they were doing, but he couldn't help but feel a little worried.
"Hell yeah!" Jersey pivoted just enough to show her chest. With her vest tightened up, the fabric was practically painted on her figure. It hugged her slender waist and teased at the muscles of her taut lats, but Crowning couldn't help but be drawn to the swell of her chest.
The shimmering blue fabric hugged the curve of her perfect breasts, but failed to dive the valley between them, letting them stand like veiled mountains with the zipper just low enough for her yellow scarf to tuck away.
"That's…" Crowning smiled at her, "looks like you're in good hands."
"I know!" Jersey gave her chest a pat, "Mushi's sooo jealous."
"AM NOT!" thundered the Japanese super battleship.
"ARE FUCKING TOO!" Jersey bent over so Musashi had a good look and gave herself a good grope. She also shook her stern a little, buffeting one of her pier crew in the helmet and giving Crowning a perfect view of her quadruple shafts. So the professor wasn't too upset about her gratuitous showboating.
Musashi huffed and threw out her chin.
"You quite done?" asked Crowning.
Jersey shrugged, "Yeah, I'm good." She stood back up just in time for a sailor to slap an armored harness on her back. The splinter-painted steel ran up her spine between her shoulder blades, while slender arms wrapped around to cradle her underbust. She winced as another gang of sailors bolted the armor in place with air drivers, but it looked more like surprise than pain. "Oh, one thing."
"Hmm?" Crowning stuffed his hands in his pockets and kept out of her launch crew's way.
"I bought you something," Jersey fished around in her pocket, "For Christmas. I meant to wrap it, but…" she trailed off. "I didn't. 'cause I'm a lazy fuck."
"Jersey, you're not—" Crowning's objection died when she handed him a box that couldn't have possibly fit into her shorts pocket. A 1/700th scale model kit of… herself.
Kongou gasped and applauded, earning herself a stink eye from the American.
"In my defense," said Jersey, "I didn't know what that mean when I bought this."
Crowning smiled. As nice as the idea of Jersey with a daughter or two was, it was just that. An idea. Nobody was even sure if shipgirls could have children, and he still didn't know exactly where he stood with the emotionally-fragile young battlewagon. "I'm sure you didn't," he said.
"Thanks," Jersey blushed, then quietly defocus up. One of her launch crew brought out a heavy pelican case and cracked it open before her. A wicked grin passed her face as she plucked the contents out of their foam cradles.
Her guns. Three matte-chrome plated Smith and Wesson model 29s. 'The gun of Dirty Harry', she's once called them. The most powerful handguns in the world, at least in their time.
As Crowning watched her loving load each chamber with a polished brass cartridge, he couldn't help but agree with the battleship. Those guns were powerful, but in her hands they were awesome in the truest sense of the word. Weapons of great power standing as totems of great and terrible strength.
He smiled as she flipped the cylinder closed, spun the guns around her fingers and slammed them into the contoured plastic carriers strapped low around those broad hips of hers.
"Like what you see?" she teased, shaking her stern just enough to draw his eye as she prepared her third and last weapon.
"Whenever I look at you," replied the professor.
Jersey blushed, and slammed her third gun into the horizontal holster in the small of her back without further theatrics.
"Stay safe out there," he said.
"As fucking if," Jersey rolled her eyes, "I'm a fucking Iowa, 'gaist fucking World War one battlecruisers."
Crowning motioned to himself, "Sorry, I know words, not boats."
Jersey narrowed her eyes, "I will eat them and shit on their graves."
Crowning stifled a laugh, "Very eloquent."
"Fuck eloquent," Jersey rested her palms on the grips of her guns, "I have GUNS!"
Kongou golf clapped, "Very American, Dess."
"Hell fucking yeah!" agreed Jersey.
Crowning shook his head and smiled. "Then good hunting."
"Thanks," Jersey smiled, then glanced around. Her own launch crew were busy stowing their tools, Kongou was working up steam, and Musashi was focused on making sure her breasts were being properly leered at
"And, uh…" the battleship blushed and took a step closer to Crowning. There was just enough difference between the water she stood on and the pier he stood on to put him almost at her eye level.
For a second, she froze. Then she put her hands around him and drew him close for a kiss. Her eyes fluttered shut as their lips met, and she allowed herself only the briefest taste before pulling away. "I… I owed you that."
Crowning just smiled. "I'm sure you did."
"Right," Jersey clapped her hands, her posture visibly shifting from the shy, childish girl she was off duty to the battle-hardened Commander she was at sea. "Let's go kill some Nazis."
But more to the point, she liked lifting weights. There was a simple grace to it. For a few brief moments in time, all she had to worry about was herself, the bar, and her form. Whenever she was on the bench, or hammering out crunches, or even squatting, she fell into a kind of zen state. She was at peace in a world without sparkly shipgirl bullshit to clog everything up.
Or at least she liked hitting the Gym until Wash inexplicably showed up there. And she was wearing an itty-bitty sports bra that she only barely fit into. For… some reason, it wasn't like her to dress so showily.
But Wash's outfit wasn't the biggest problem, although it did make things worse. The biggest problem was that the battleship never quite left her sight. Every time Gale would finish up a set and move to another part of the Gym, Wash would be there a few moments later. For a moment, Gale thought the battleship was intentionally following her, but the patten of movement didn't make sense.
Sometimes Wash wouldn't move until Gale was on her last set, and sometimes she'd move even before the sailor had finished. It was spooky, but then again what wasn't with the legendarily stealthy battleship-who-was-also-a-girl.
Also, Wash was so much stronger than her it wasn't even funny. Gale considered a reasonably strong woman, but Wash was borderline superhuman. She couldn't quite see how much the battleship was squatting, there were three hulking Marines on each side spotting her in awe, but it had to be at least three hundred pounds.
And of course, she was doing all this without a shirt on, which only highlighted her belly. Wash wasn't as shredded as Jersey was, Gale didn't think any living woman had thatlevel of definition, but her belly was tight and toned. Which only made her bulging chest more frustrating.
Boobs are made of fat! Why does she have fat there but not elsewhere.
Of course, Gale couldn't get mad at the battleship. She was just trying to better herself, and she was too darn serene and focused to think bad of. Gale wasn't even sure the queenly battleship noticed she was there.
After less than thirty minutes, Gale gave up in frustration. At least she could go run laps now, Wash wouldn't be showing everyone up with that insane endurance of hers.
Moments after the sailor had collected her stuff and left, there was a rustle in the ceiling. Powdered drywall fell from the rafters, followed shortly thereafter by a ceiling tile. And then a short-haired Kongou-class battleship landed flat on her stern in the middle of the free weight area with a crash of steel and flesh.
"Okay," Kirishima rubbed her bruised rear, "that did not go as planned."
Wash walked over with the same serene half-smile her face always wore, "I don't think so, no."
"Tea?" proposed Kirishima.
"Yes," Wash nodded, "Lets."
But… she'd never quite got the hang of being a girl. Or… really of being a ship. Even back in her steel hull, she'd been stuck in an awkward limbo. Too big and strong to be a cruiser, yet not a battleship and certainly not a battlecruiser.
But this was worse.
"'Tagoooo…" Alaska let out a quiet whimper and hilarious failed at hiding herself behind a support column. She scuffed her beloved sneakers against the carpeted floor and wrung the hem of her shimmering evening gown. "'tagooooo"
Atago sighed and gave Hamakaze's DesRon a quick briefing on who they were and weren't allowed to hit on, then sent the three busty destroyers in their beautiful evening dresses off to have their fun. "Coming, 'laska!"
"Not so loud!" Alaska hissed, and grabbed a whole tray of little sandwich roll things from a passing waiter and shoved them all down her throat. "'s rugh thuah."
Atago bounced over with her usual glowing enthusiasm. "Panpakapan!" she pulled up abreast of the bigger American with a glowing smile and a friendly giggle.
"'Tago!" Alaska elbowed her friend in the ribs and mumbled something incoherent.
"Swallow, 'laska." Atago dabbed at the corners of Alaska's face with her hankerchief.
Alaska gulped down the sandwiches. "I said, he's right over there!" She pointed as frantically as she dared as the young man standing alone by one of the tables. The young man dressed in a sports coat that could generously be described as 'fitting' while looking painfully out of place among all the other high-class attendees. The young man she'd ran into all those times at Toys 'R Us but never worked up the courage to talk to.
Alaska pulled herself back behind the support colum. Which work better if it was more than a few inches around, but it's the thought that counts. "'Tago!" she grabbed the busty heavy cruiser by the neck of her halter-necked dress and hissed. "He's right there."
Atago leaned over at the waist to get a good look. Her beautifully done-up blond hair fell down as she examining the boy in question. "Yes!" she said without even the barest lip service to the concept of stealth. "He is!"
The boy smiled at the two cruisers and waved. Atago shot back one of her giggling full-body waves.
"'tago, why is he here?" Alaska grabbed the cruiser's dress again and pleaded with her.
"Oh," Atago chuckled, "I invited him! We did get those plus-ones you know."
Alaska blinked. "That's what that meant?"
"Yes!" Atago smiled, "what did you think it meant."
"I thought…" Alaska glanced down at her tummy. "They were just congratulating me."
"But you're not pregnant."
"They don't know that."
Atago sighed. "'laska… what're we gonna do with you."
Alaska hummed in thought, but before she could say something clever, Atago'd grabbed her by the waist and forcibly shoved her at the boy.
"Panpakapan!"
Alaska came crashing to a stop mere inches from him. Her sneakers squealed against the floor as she threw her screws into full reverse—if she had two rudders like a battleship, she might've been able to stop further, but alas, she was only a cruiser.
"Hi," the boy smiled at her, and raised his punch glass to Atago in thanks.
"Um," Alaska winced and straightened up, "H-hi."
"Somethin' somethin' awesome!" she sang with reckless abandon.
Meanwhile, Admiral Carraway stared into the inky abyss of his coffee cup and tried to hate it out of existence. It didn't work, just like the last thirty-seven times he'd tried that. The coffee, like Akron and her sister Maccon's sunny disposition and airheaded attitude, was all but immune to the feeble powers of the Brass Stare.
"Somethin' something' touch your balls!" Akron giggled and for a moment there was peace and quiet. Mostly because she needed to take a breath to continue singing.
The same song.
She'd been singing.
For the past three hours.
And she didn't even know most of the words!
"Akron!" Carraway tore a handset out of its cradle and snapped at the loopy carrier.
There was a pause. "Admiral?" said Akron with solemn dignity. Then she audible smiled,"Hey, wadddup?"
Carraway sighed. It was impossible to stay mad at her for long. Her planes and the 'cats under her command had all but eliminated the sub threat in American waters. She'd earned a little eccentricity, and she was too damn sunny to get mad at anyways. "Akron…" Carraway planted a hand on his hip and paced his usual route, "I know it can get boring up there."
"Not really," protested the airship. But as sweet and kind as she was, she was an awfullier.
"Akron, don't lie to me, you're staring at a featureless sea for days on end."
There was a pause, "Okay, yeah. I get kinda bored."
"Which is why," Carraway steeled himself for what he was about to say. "I don't mind you singing to pass the time."
"Awesome!"
"But please," Carraway bit back the pleading tint to his voice. He had sailors around him after all, he had to project the image of a strong, respected commander. Not a man desperately pleading with a girl-who-was-also-a-blimp to stop cheerily driving him mad. "Make sure you know the words first."
"Oh, okay!" chirped Akron, "sorry."
The admiral stifled a smile. It was so damn hard to stay mad at her. "You're forgiven," he said. He'd learned the hard way that she'd keep apologizing until he actually worked the word 'forgiven' into a sentence.
The handset was barely back in its cradle when she started up her next song.
"NyanNyanNyanNyanNyanNyanNyanNyanNyanNyan-" she belted out the words at the top of her lungs, giggling every few repetitions with that cheerful giggle of hers.
This went on for some time.
Carraway glanced at his yeoman and sighed.
"Technically," said the sailor as she deftly replaced his coffee with a fresh cup, "she did what you asked."
The Admiral sighed. "I guess that's—"
"Admiral," every shred of levity was gone from the airship's voice. Carraway'd never heard her be this focused. Even when she was harassing subs to their doom she kept at least a hint of bouncy sun in her voice.
"Yes," Carraway clutched the handset to his face, "This is Carraway, what's up?"
"Battle fleet coming though the Bahamas," said Akron. "Heavy surface fleet. Looks like three cruisers and—" there was a pause. "That's gotta be a battlecruiser, but I don't recognize the desi-wait."
"Akron?" Carraway clenched at the handset.
"Okay," Akron's voice was quiet and haunted. "I… I recognize that now."
Well, okay, he was doing most of the talking while she nervously fidgeted and stammered out one-or-two word responses. But the level of fidgeting was going don at a small but noticeable rate. Atago considered that a success. She was well on her way to achieving her goal of getting Alaska a much-deserved boyfriend!
And maybe, just maybe if things went smoothly, Alaska'd really have a little bundle of joy for Atago to fawn over. The Japanese cruiser had already decided she was going to be the best aunt ever, even if Alaska wasn't technically related to her.
But before she could indulge in her fantasy of domestic bliss any further, someone tapped her on the shoulder. "Excuse me, ma'am?"
"Yes?" Atago smiled and spun on her heel.
The smile vanished. A very young, very scared sailor stared back at her. "Ma'am," he worried the hem of his uniform jacket, "You're needed back at base. All of you."
Well, not happy but… something. Fighting at sea was something she knew. She was good at it and she knew what to do. It was in her blood—or feedwater, really. It was certainly less emotionally taxing than trying to socialize. Alaska did not make friends easily, especially with people she was furiously crushing on.
She'd actually breathed a sigh of relief when Atago collected her, as much as she was ashamed of it now.
That feeling of relief lasted exactly until her Admiral put one of Akron's aerial photos up on the screen. Then, in an instant, her blood ran icy cold.
"Oh no," she breathed.
Three cruisers steamed in a narrow arrowhead formation. Alaska knew the sleek, multi-turreted design by heart. Atlantas. Her stomach twisted inside her at the sight. Those were American ships, but they were notAmerican. She let out a low, involuntary hiss. Her hands shook too badly to write, and the corners of her vision tinged a pinkish red. Those ships were not her friends.
Her friends… Flint and Sandy and… Juneau and San Juan… and all of them deserved better than this. They were good ships, proud ships, honorable ships.
Her pencil shattered in her grasp.
"Alaska?" the voice of her Admiral shook her out of her rage.
"S-sir?" Alaska shook her head to clear the red haze. "Sorry, I…"
Then she noticed the ship in the center of the formation, the battlecruiser from her briefing. Its hull was long and wickedly pointed at both ends. Its four twin-turrets lay menacingly against its decks. A towering monolithic superstructure all but identical to Alaska's own loomed over the fore turrets, and it's massive funnel trunking was surrounded by a single inky black band.
But more importantly, the water around burned with a brilliant blue-white light. This wasn't the subtle glow of churned up algae, the water almost boiled in hate.
"That's—"
"A Lexington-class battle cruiser," said her Admiral solemnly.
"What's that glowy stuff?" asked Hamakaze.
Then, in an instant it all clicked for Alaska. All those books she'd been reading in her down time… that black stripe on the stacks… she knew what that glow was. "Cherenkov radiation," she whispered.
Her Admiral nodded. "I'm afraid so."
"What…" even Atago's voice was dark and worried, "what does that mean."
"Radiation," said the Admiral. "That ship's so hot she glows. Combined with that stripe on her stack, and we know the exact ship she's based on."
"Saratoga," breathed Alaska. "We're hunting sister Sara."
The professor fumbled for the light switch and squinted as the harsh glow assaulted his dark-adjusted eyes. He couldn't imagine who'd be calling at this hour. All the destroyers were worn out from the movie, Gale had to be asleep by now, and Jersey… well, it wasn't like the towering battleship to be so timid. "Coming," he coughed, stirring his voice back to action.
A very quiet whimper sounded though the thin wooden door, and Crowning heard the floor creak a bit. He knew that sound well. It was the sound of fifty-eight thousand tons of warship nervously rocking on her heels like a high schooler picking up his girlfriend for the first time. But he'd never heard Jersey whimper like that.
"Jersey?" Crowning steeled himself for… whatever was going on and opened the door.
The towering battleship smiled weakly at him. Her hair streamed down her back in a messy waterfall, and tears were melting off those stunning ice-blue eyes. "Um… hey," she mumbled. Her hands hung loosely off the waist of her sweatpants, and even her "MAXIMUM OVERTSUN" tank-top looked more subdued than normal.
"Is… everything alright?" Crowning bit his lip. He'd seen her sad like this before, and it always felt like someone twisting a knife into his heart.
"Mmhm," Jersey nodded glumly. "Um…" she shuffled a bit closer, her head just barely clearing the door frame. "Can I have a hug?"
Crowning didn't hesitate. His arms closed around her slender waist, and the tautness in her muscles slackened at his touch. Her soft, evidently braless breasts flowed against his chest. He felt her heart—or hearts, there was a distinct four-part harmony—beat in time with his own. Her head dropped until she rested her cheek against his silver-speckled hair.
"Thanks," she whispered, her hips slowly swaying from side to side as she cried into his shoulder.
"Of course," Crowning held her a little tighter and tried to massage the tenseness out of those steely muscles.
"He's dead," whispered Jersey.
"Hmm?" Crowning froze. As far as he knew, Jersey didn't know many men, at least not men she cared about so deeply. Most of her friends were girls, and he'd have known about any of the Admirals passing.
Jersey sniffed, and buried her face in his hair again. "H… han," she whimpered. "He's dead."
"Oh, Jersey…" Crowning squeezed her tighter, until he could almost feel the gentle hum of her shafts running down her toned back. He held her tight for almost five minutes before his sleepy brain shook off the cobwebs enough to make the connection. "Wait…"
"Hmm?" Jersey sniffed and tried to squeeze herself tigther into the hug. All she really managed to do was grind her hips against him though.
"You mean…" Crowning coughed. It was surprising hard to breath with an avatar of American Fighting Spirit hugging him, "Han Solo."
"Mmmhm," Jersey nodded.
Professor Crowning considered himself a kind man. He tried to treat everyone with respect, and that went double for someone he loved as dearly as the ideal of valor cradled in his arms. But even so, he let out a snort of stifled laughter and had to bite his lip to keep it under control.
"Fuck you," Jersey momentarily turned her hug into a painfully tight squeeze. Only the excessive cushioning on her chest kept it from being too painful. "He was my childhood."
Crowning snorted as hisses of stifled laughter slipped past his clenched lips. "J-Jersey…"
"Yes?" The battleship slackened her hug enough for him to pull himself out of her bosom.
"Is… that's what you wanted to talk about?"
Jersey nodded. "Yup!"
"Just Han Solo?"
"Well…" Jersey sighed, and wiped her face with the back of her hand. "It's also… you know… my last night before I ship out again."
Crowning froze. Part of him thought she'd ask for… part of him wished that she'd ask for a night of solace and passion, but he quashed that thought as quickly as he could. Jersey was a woman of valor and duty, not some object to be lusted over. "Yes?"
Jersey flopped down onto her knees. Even sitting on her haunches, the titanic battleship nearly came to his chest. "Head scratchy?"
Crowning froze for an instant. Then he smiled. Then he started chuckling. "Of course, Jersey." He gave her head a quick ruffle, then moved to drag a chair over.
To his surprise, Jersey got up and followed him, but there was an odd halting jilt to her actions. She moved like she was trying to reign herself in, but only halfheartedly.
"Jersey?" Crowning cocked an eyebrow at her.
"Think…" the battleship clasped her hands behind her back and nervously shifted her weight from one foot to the other. It would've been adorable if it wasn't so terribly attractive. "Think I could sit on your lap?"
Crowning blinked, "Is that a totally good idea?"
"Maybe?" Jersey shrugged. "I've sat on flimsy stuff before, I don't think I'll break you."
"Fair enough," Crowning settled back on his chair and waited for the battleship to make her move.
Jersey's cheeks blushed a brilliant red, and she slowly took a step closer. Then another. Then she swung one long leg over his lap and settled herself in place. Crowning grunted as she put her full weight down. She was titanically heavy, heavier than even a woman of her staggeringly amazonian proportions should be.
Then again, muscle weighs more than fat, and steel weighs still more.
"Um," Jersey blinked. Her arms rested around his neck and her chest hovered tantalizingly close to his face. So close he locked his eyes on hers forbid himself from looking elsewhere.
"Hmm?" Crowning ran his hands along her thighs. Even though the fabric of her sweats, he felt her muscles twitch and slide like oiled pistons. Great bundles of sleeping strength lay like napping pythons, just waiting to unleash their great and terrible might.
"If you say I'm fat," Jersey's face twisted into a scowl, "I'll fucking eat your…" she blushed, "You know."
The professor smirked, "Head scratchy?"
"Please?"
"For you," Crowning started plucking at the crown of her head like a blond-stringed guitar, "Anything."
Thirty seconds later, she was purring against his chest with her eyes closed in bliss. Thirty minutes later, the battleship was sleeping on his bed—or at least as 'on' as her titanic frame and tendency to sprawl out would allow—while Crowning finished up the latest book in the Changing Destiny series. He hadn't expected their date to end like this, be he wouldn't have it any other way.
—|—|—
"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Wash bit her lip and examined herself in the mirror. It wasn't often that she visited the base gym—at least not when she wasn't heading to the docks for a nice soak. She felt horrible for depriving all these hardworking sailors of their swimming areas, she'd hate to violate their space with her presence any more than necessary.It was even rarer that she visited the weight rooms. She could push one-hundred-twenty-one-thousand horsepower though her shafts, raw strength was never her issue. Speed—and keeping herself steady at speed like her far faster younger cousin—were her main concerns. She'd much rather run a few laps around the base than sit 'pump some iron' as Kirishima put it.
And it was unheard of for her to visit the gym in such… revealing attire. She approved of the NAVY-branded sweatpants, and the pale blue sports bra felt heartily practical—if a bit snug. She would just have preferred to wear a shirt.
"Of course it is." Kirishima scowled at the serene American and planted her hips on the waist of her nontraditional Miko skirt.
Wash bit her lip and glanced down at herself once more. Where Kirishma found a bra she could fit into so well was beyond the American, very little seemed to come in her size. And she was grateful, but… "This just feels so ostentatious."
"That's the point!" Kirishima stamped her foot on the floor, shattering tile in a two-foot radius of her pout. "Um… I'll clean that up."
Wash sighed, and dropped to her knees to help, "No, let me do it."
"No!" Kirishima flailed her arms in the air, whipping Wash with the tips of her flowing detached sleeves. "You mustn't dirty yourself."
Wash blinked, "Is that not the point of this outfit?"
"What?" Kirishima sighed. "No, Wash… I…"
"Then why am I dressed like this?"
"So that Yeoman Gale will notice you!"
Wash huffed, and experimentally poked at the space-age fabric. "It doesn't seem very modest."
"That's the point," grumbled Kirishima. "You want Gale to notice you."
"You sure it's not too ostentatious?" Wash wound a strand of her russet-brown hair around her finger and thought.
"No!" Krishima waved her finger in front of the American's face. "Well, yes, but not for today. It's like a night battle."
Wash blinked, then slowly shifted her gaze from an indistincint point beyond the horizon to the Japanese battleship's beautiful storm-gray gaze. "What?"
Kirishima huffed, evidently upset her metaphor wasn't clearly understood. "You glide though the night like a specter. Watching, observing, yet unnoticed."
Wash fished a notebook out of her bra, grabbed the pencil stuck behind her ear, and started taking notes.
"Then," Kirishima hunched over, all but whispering into the American's ear with conspiratorial glee, "Just when your target's least expecting it… YASEN!" She threw her arms up and belted out the word at the top of her very considerable lungs. "You strike her with the full force of your BURNING LOVE!"
Wash recoiled as spit sprayed over her face, but notes flowed as quickly as ever from her pencil.
"Then you fade," said Kirishima, "Vanish into the night like a dream, leaving your target dazed, confused, and consumed by lust for something she knew but for an instant."
Wash nodded. It was an interesting tactic. The kind of thing she'd never think of, let alone try. But then again, Kirishima and Kongou were the resident experts in love and romance. Well, experts besides doctor Crowning, but his love for New Jersey was too pure and focused to disturb. "An interesting technique."
"Isn't it?" Kirishima planted her hands on her hips with a dreamy sigh.
"How'd you come up with it?"
The Japanese girl seemed to deflate. "A, uh… friend taught me," she mumbled, "this one time in…" her voice trailed off into nothing.
"Oh," Wash nodded. "You'll have to introduce me to this friend of yours."
"Yeah," Kirishima smiled timidly, "I guess I will."
Before Wash could say anything further, she noticed her target walk up to the check-in desk. Yeoman Gale was looking as pretty as she always did. A selfless, kind-hearted smile adorned her face, and her hair was done up in an adorable little ponytail.
Oh, and she—like Wash—had elected to work out without a shirt. This made Wash very happy, because the battleship caught a glimpse of the sailor's tummy. A tummy which she'd found made for the most comfortable and calming pillow in all of human history.
"Is this really a good idea?" asked Wash. Suddenly, the battleship was having even more intense second thoughts than usual. What if she messed up? A woman as kind and sweet as Gale could have any man—or ship, for that matter—she wanted. What if by trying to 'show off' Wash only drove her friend away.
"Yes," Kirishima nodded, planted her hands on the small of the American's back, and gave her a good shove. "Now go! I'll be watching you from the ceiling."
Wash blinked. "How will you…" but Kirishima was gone. In her place was only a small pile of powdered drywall and the rustle of a ceiling tile being put back in place. "Huh," Wash put a finger to her chin, "So that's what that feels like."
—|—|—
Crowning stepped onto the shipgirl pier and almost immediately clapped his hands over his ears. The crackling spark of arc welders and angle grinders, the roar of idling turbines and cold boilers, and the hearty metallic clang of munitions and components being manhandled around merged into a truly awesome thunder.He fumbled a pair of foam earplugs out of his pocket and stuffed them in as tightly as he could. The pier still roared with the sound of military might, but it was at least tolerable now.
Someone tossed him a hardhat, and he gratefully obliged as he made his way past girl after girl. The destroyers were already making lazy circles in the Puget sound, their little boilers took next to no time to warm up.
The cruisers were finishing up their own preparation. Lou was checking the buckles on her leather gun harness while Frisco bounced on her heels to loosen up her sinewy muscles. Prinz Eugen just stared at the horizon with a murderous smile.
Crowning didn't bother them. They were clearly finishing out their own pre-battle rituals. Rituals he'd do best not to interrupt. Besides, they weren't the reason he came down, the battleships were.
One battleship in particular, actually.
"Jersey!" Crowning shouted over the sound of of industry.
"Sup!" Jersey waved back. A dozen men in bright colored sweaters scrambled around her like a well-ordered ant swarm or a drilled pit team. There wasn't a shred of hesitation in their moves as they tightened her gunbelt securely around her broad hips, and snugged the heavy webbing harness on her vest tight to her stunning figure.
"They treating you well?" half-asked the professor. Williams told him these shore crew were pulled from aircraft carrier deck gangs. Fighter pilots trusted them with their lives every time they hurled down the deck, and that trust hadn't been misplaced yet. Crowning had every confidence they knew exactly what they were doing, but he couldn't help but feel a little worried.
"Hell yeah!" Jersey pivoted just enough to show her chest. With her vest tightened up, the fabric was practically painted on her figure. It hugged her slender waist and teased at the muscles of her taut lats, but Crowning couldn't help but be drawn to the swell of her chest.
The shimmering blue fabric hugged the curve of her perfect breasts, but failed to dive the valley between them, letting them stand like veiled mountains with the zipper just low enough for her yellow scarf to tuck away.
"That's…" Crowning smiled at her, "looks like you're in good hands."
"I know!" Jersey gave her chest a pat, "Mushi's sooo jealous."
"AM NOT!" thundered the Japanese super battleship.
"ARE FUCKING TOO!" Jersey bent over so Musashi had a good look and gave herself a good grope. She also shook her stern a little, buffeting one of her pier crew in the helmet and giving Crowning a perfect view of her quadruple shafts. So the professor wasn't too upset about her gratuitous showboating.
Musashi huffed and threw out her chin.
"You quite done?" asked Crowning.
Jersey shrugged, "Yeah, I'm good." She stood back up just in time for a sailor to slap an armored harness on her back. The splinter-painted steel ran up her spine between her shoulder blades, while slender arms wrapped around to cradle her underbust. She winced as another gang of sailors bolted the armor in place with air drivers, but it looked more like surprise than pain. "Oh, one thing."
"Hmm?" Crowning stuffed his hands in his pockets and kept out of her launch crew's way.
"I bought you something," Jersey fished around in her pocket, "For Christmas. I meant to wrap it, but…" she trailed off. "I didn't. 'cause I'm a lazy fuck."
"Jersey, you're not—" Crowning's objection died when she handed him a box that couldn't have possibly fit into her shorts pocket. A 1/700th scale model kit of… herself.
Kongou gasped and applauded, earning herself a stink eye from the American.
"In my defense," said Jersey, "I didn't know what that mean when I bought this."
Crowning smiled. As nice as the idea of Jersey with a daughter or two was, it was just that. An idea. Nobody was even sure if shipgirls could have children, and he still didn't know exactly where he stood with the emotionally-fragile young battlewagon. "I'm sure you didn't," he said.
"Thanks," Jersey blushed, then quietly defocus up. One of her launch crew brought out a heavy pelican case and cracked it open before her. A wicked grin passed her face as she plucked the contents out of their foam cradles.
Her guns. Three matte-chrome plated Smith and Wesson model 29s. 'The gun of Dirty Harry', she's once called them. The most powerful handguns in the world, at least in their time.
As Crowning watched her loving load each chamber with a polished brass cartridge, he couldn't help but agree with the battleship. Those guns were powerful, but in her hands they were awesome in the truest sense of the word. Weapons of great power standing as totems of great and terrible strength.
He smiled as she flipped the cylinder closed, spun the guns around her fingers and slammed them into the contoured plastic carriers strapped low around those broad hips of hers.
"Like what you see?" she teased, shaking her stern just enough to draw his eye as she prepared her third and last weapon.
"Whenever I look at you," replied the professor.
Jersey blushed, and slammed her third gun into the horizontal holster in the small of her back without further theatrics.
"Stay safe out there," he said.
"As fucking if," Jersey rolled her eyes, "I'm a fucking Iowa, 'gaist fucking World War one battlecruisers."
Crowning motioned to himself, "Sorry, I know words, not boats."
Jersey narrowed her eyes, "I will eat them and shit on their graves."
Crowning stifled a laugh, "Very eloquent."
"Fuck eloquent," Jersey rested her palms on the grips of her guns, "I have GUNS!"
Kongou golf clapped, "Very American, Dess."
"Hell fucking yeah!" agreed Jersey.
Crowning shook his head and smiled. "Then good hunting."
"Thanks," Jersey smiled, then glanced around. Her own launch crew were busy stowing their tools, Kongou was working up steam, and Musashi was focused on making sure her breasts were being properly leered at
"And, uh…" the battleship blushed and took a step closer to Crowning. There was just enough difference between the water she stood on and the pier he stood on to put him almost at her eye level.
For a second, she froze. Then she put her hands around him and drew him close for a kiss. Her eyes fluttered shut as their lips met, and she allowed herself only the briefest taste before pulling away. "I… I owed you that."
Crowning just smiled. "I'm sure you did."
"Right," Jersey clapped her hands, her posture visibly shifting from the shy, childish girl she was off duty to the battle-hardened Commander she was at sea. "Let's go kill some Nazis."
—|—|—
Yeoman Sarah Gale liked hitting the Gym after work. With all these stunningly attractive shipgirls walking around—many of them in far less than regulation clothing—she had plenty of motivation to tighten up her increasingly soft body.But more to the point, she liked lifting weights. There was a simple grace to it. For a few brief moments in time, all she had to worry about was herself, the bar, and her form. Whenever she was on the bench, or hammering out crunches, or even squatting, she fell into a kind of zen state. She was at peace in a world without sparkly shipgirl bullshit to clog everything up.
Or at least she liked hitting the Gym until Wash inexplicably showed up there. And she was wearing an itty-bitty sports bra that she only barely fit into. For… some reason, it wasn't like her to dress so showily.
But Wash's outfit wasn't the biggest problem, although it did make things worse. The biggest problem was that the battleship never quite left her sight. Every time Gale would finish up a set and move to another part of the Gym, Wash would be there a few moments later. For a moment, Gale thought the battleship was intentionally following her, but the patten of movement didn't make sense.
Sometimes Wash wouldn't move until Gale was on her last set, and sometimes she'd move even before the sailor had finished. It was spooky, but then again what wasn't with the legendarily stealthy battleship-who-was-also-a-girl.
Also, Wash was so much stronger than her it wasn't even funny. Gale considered a reasonably strong woman, but Wash was borderline superhuman. She couldn't quite see how much the battleship was squatting, there were three hulking Marines on each side spotting her in awe, but it had to be at least three hundred pounds.
And of course, she was doing all this without a shirt on, which only highlighted her belly. Wash wasn't as shredded as Jersey was, Gale didn't think any living woman had thatlevel of definition, but her belly was tight and toned. Which only made her bulging chest more frustrating.
Boobs are made of fat! Why does she have fat there but not elsewhere.
Of course, Gale couldn't get mad at the battleship. She was just trying to better herself, and she was too darn serene and focused to think bad of. Gale wasn't even sure the queenly battleship noticed she was there.
After less than thirty minutes, Gale gave up in frustration. At least she could go run laps now, Wash wouldn't be showing everyone up with that insane endurance of hers.
Moments after the sailor had collected her stuff and left, there was a rustle in the ceiling. Powdered drywall fell from the rafters, followed shortly thereafter by a ceiling tile. And then a short-haired Kongou-class battleship landed flat on her stern in the middle of the free weight area with a crash of steel and flesh.
"Okay," Kirishima rubbed her bruised rear, "that did not go as planned."
Wash walked over with the same serene half-smile her face always wore, "I don't think so, no."
"Tea?" proposed Kirishima.
"Yes," Wash nodded, "Lets."
—|—|—
Large Cruiser Alaska wasn't comfortable. To tell the truth, she'd never been totally comfortable since she came back from… from wherever ships go after they're scrapped. Cuddling with her friends helped. She could momentarily push her confusion at having legs aside when a sleepy Hamakaze curled up on her lap like some kind of silver-haired cat, or when Atago offered to watch over her while she slept—like most shipgirls, Alaskahated sleeping alone.But… she'd never quite got the hang of being a girl. Or… really of being a ship. Even back in her steel hull, she'd been stuck in an awkward limbo. Too big and strong to be a cruiser, yet not a battleship and certainly not a battlecruiser.
But this was worse.
"'Tagoooo…" Alaska let out a quiet whimper and hilarious failed at hiding herself behind a support column. She scuffed her beloved sneakers against the carpeted floor and wrung the hem of her shimmering evening gown. "'tagooooo"
Atago sighed and gave Hamakaze's DesRon a quick briefing on who they were and weren't allowed to hit on, then sent the three busty destroyers in their beautiful evening dresses off to have their fun. "Coming, 'laska!"
"Not so loud!" Alaska hissed, and grabbed a whole tray of little sandwich roll things from a passing waiter and shoved them all down her throat. "'s rugh thuah."
Atago bounced over with her usual glowing enthusiasm. "Panpakapan!" she pulled up abreast of the bigger American with a glowing smile and a friendly giggle.
"'Tago!" Alaska elbowed her friend in the ribs and mumbled something incoherent.
"Swallow, 'laska." Atago dabbed at the corners of Alaska's face with her hankerchief.
Alaska gulped down the sandwiches. "I said, he's right over there!" She pointed as frantically as she dared as the young man standing alone by one of the tables. The young man dressed in a sports coat that could generously be described as 'fitting' while looking painfully out of place among all the other high-class attendees. The young man she'd ran into all those times at Toys 'R Us but never worked up the courage to talk to.
Alaska pulled herself back behind the support colum. Which work better if it was more than a few inches around, but it's the thought that counts. "'Tago!" she grabbed the busty heavy cruiser by the neck of her halter-necked dress and hissed. "He's right there."
Atago leaned over at the waist to get a good look. Her beautifully done-up blond hair fell down as she examining the boy in question. "Yes!" she said without even the barest lip service to the concept of stealth. "He is!"
The boy smiled at the two cruisers and waved. Atago shot back one of her giggling full-body waves.
"'tago, why is he here?" Alaska grabbed the cruiser's dress again and pleaded with her.
"Oh," Atago chuckled, "I invited him! We did get those plus-ones you know."
Alaska blinked. "That's what that meant?"
"Yes!" Atago smiled, "what did you think it meant."
"I thought…" Alaska glanced down at her tummy. "They were just congratulating me."
"But you're not pregnant."
"They don't know that."
Atago sighed. "'laska… what're we gonna do with you."
Alaska hummed in thought, but before she could say something clever, Atago'd grabbed her by the waist and forcibly shoved her at the boy.
"Panpakapan!"
Alaska came crashing to a stop mere inches from him. Her sneakers squealed against the floor as she threw her screws into full reverse—if she had two rudders like a battleship, she might've been able to stop further, but alas, she was only a cruiser.
"Hi," the boy smiled at her, and raised his punch glass to Atago in thanks.
"Um," Alaska winced and straightened up, "H-hi."
—|—|—
"Narwhals, Narwhals, swimmin' in the Ocean!" the airy, lilting accent of airborne aircraft carrier-/dirigible-/zeppelin-/whatever she decided she wanted to be called today- Akron filled the Eastern Seaboard Combined ASW command's TOC."Somethin' somethin' awesome!" she sang with reckless abandon.
Meanwhile, Admiral Carraway stared into the inky abyss of his coffee cup and tried to hate it out of existence. It didn't work, just like the last thirty-seven times he'd tried that. The coffee, like Akron and her sister Maccon's sunny disposition and airheaded attitude, was all but immune to the feeble powers of the Brass Stare.
"Somethin' something' touch your balls!" Akron giggled and for a moment there was peace and quiet. Mostly because she needed to take a breath to continue singing.
The same song.
She'd been singing.
For the past three hours.
And she didn't even know most of the words!
"Akron!" Carraway tore a handset out of its cradle and snapped at the loopy carrier.
There was a pause. "Admiral?" said Akron with solemn dignity. Then she audible smiled,"Hey, wadddup?"
Carraway sighed. It was impossible to stay mad at her for long. Her planes and the 'cats under her command had all but eliminated the sub threat in American waters. She'd earned a little eccentricity, and she was too damn sunny to get mad at anyways. "Akron…" Carraway planted a hand on his hip and paced his usual route, "I know it can get boring up there."
"Not really," protested the airship. But as sweet and kind as she was, she was an awfullier.
"Akron, don't lie to me, you're staring at a featureless sea for days on end."
There was a pause, "Okay, yeah. I get kinda bored."
"Which is why," Carraway steeled himself for what he was about to say. "I don't mind you singing to pass the time."
"Awesome!"
"But please," Carraway bit back the pleading tint to his voice. He had sailors around him after all, he had to project the image of a strong, respected commander. Not a man desperately pleading with a girl-who-was-also-a-blimp to stop cheerily driving him mad. "Make sure you know the words first."
"Oh, okay!" chirped Akron, "sorry."
The admiral stifled a smile. It was so damn hard to stay mad at her. "You're forgiven," he said. He'd learned the hard way that she'd keep apologizing until he actually worked the word 'forgiven' into a sentence.
The handset was barely back in its cradle when she started up her next song.
"NyanNyanNyanNyanNyanNyanNyanNyanNyanNyan-" she belted out the words at the top of her lungs, giggling every few repetitions with that cheerful giggle of hers.
This went on for some time.
Carraway glanced at his yeoman and sighed.
"Technically," said the sailor as she deftly replaced his coffee with a fresh cup, "she did what you asked."
The Admiral sighed. "I guess that's—"
"Admiral," every shred of levity was gone from the airship's voice. Carraway'd never heard her be this focused. Even when she was harassing subs to their doom she kept at least a hint of bouncy sun in her voice.
"Yes," Carraway clutched the handset to his face, "This is Carraway, what's up?"
"Battle fleet coming though the Bahamas," said Akron. "Heavy surface fleet. Looks like three cruisers and—" there was a pause. "That's gotta be a battlecruiser, but I don't recognize the desi-wait."
"Akron?" Carraway clenched at the handset.
"Okay," Akron's voice was quiet and haunted. "I… I recognize that now."
—|—|—
Atago smiled and popped a cherry in her mouth. This party was going swimmingly! Alaska hadn't just met the boy she'd been dreaming wistfully about all these months, she was actually talking with him!Well, okay, he was doing most of the talking while she nervously fidgeted and stammered out one-or-two word responses. But the level of fidgeting was going don at a small but noticeable rate. Atago considered that a success. She was well on her way to achieving her goal of getting Alaska a much-deserved boyfriend!
And maybe, just maybe if things went smoothly, Alaska'd really have a little bundle of joy for Atago to fawn over. The Japanese cruiser had already decided she was going to be the best aunt ever, even if Alaska wasn't technically related to her.
But before she could indulge in her fantasy of domestic bliss any further, someone tapped her on the shoulder. "Excuse me, ma'am?"
"Yes?" Atago smiled and spun on her heel.
The smile vanished. A very young, very scared sailor stared back at her. "Ma'am," he worried the hem of his uniform jacket, "You're needed back at base. All of you."
—|—|—
Hunched in what used to be a hotel conference room, large cruiser Alaska scribbled down notes on her Admiral's briefing. While she'd never admit to liking the Abyssals, their very sight sent her blood boiling into a furious rage, a tiny part of her was happy they'd chosen tonight to stage a raid.Well, not happy but… something. Fighting at sea was something she knew. She was good at it and she knew what to do. It was in her blood—or feedwater, really. It was certainly less emotionally taxing than trying to socialize. Alaska did not make friends easily, especially with people she was furiously crushing on.
She'd actually breathed a sigh of relief when Atago collected her, as much as she was ashamed of it now.
That feeling of relief lasted exactly until her Admiral put one of Akron's aerial photos up on the screen. Then, in an instant, her blood ran icy cold.
"Oh no," she breathed.
Three cruisers steamed in a narrow arrowhead formation. Alaska knew the sleek, multi-turreted design by heart. Atlantas. Her stomach twisted inside her at the sight. Those were American ships, but they were notAmerican. She let out a low, involuntary hiss. Her hands shook too badly to write, and the corners of her vision tinged a pinkish red. Those ships were not her friends.
Her friends… Flint and Sandy and… Juneau and San Juan… and all of them deserved better than this. They were good ships, proud ships, honorable ships.
Her pencil shattered in her grasp.
"Alaska?" the voice of her Admiral shook her out of her rage.
"S-sir?" Alaska shook her head to clear the red haze. "Sorry, I…"
Then she noticed the ship in the center of the formation, the battlecruiser from her briefing. Its hull was long and wickedly pointed at both ends. Its four twin-turrets lay menacingly against its decks. A towering monolithic superstructure all but identical to Alaska's own loomed over the fore turrets, and it's massive funnel trunking was surrounded by a single inky black band.
But more importantly, the water around burned with a brilliant blue-white light. This wasn't the subtle glow of churned up algae, the water almost boiled in hate.
"That's—"
"A Lexington-class battle cruiser," said her Admiral solemnly.
"What's that glowy stuff?" asked Hamakaze.
Then, in an instant it all clicked for Alaska. All those books she'd been reading in her down time… that black stripe on the stacks… she knew what that glow was. "Cherenkov radiation," she whispered.
Her Admiral nodded. "I'm afraid so."
"What…" even Atago's voice was dark and worried, "what does that mean."
"Radiation," said the Admiral. "That ship's so hot she glows. Combined with that stripe on her stack, and we know the exact ship she's based on."
"Saratoga," breathed Alaska. "We're hunting sister Sara."
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Icywinter
50% ice, 50% winter
- Location
- ?
- Pronouns
- She/Her
No... :c
Did you mean: whimper?
Time Lady spotted.
Did you mean: whimper?
Time Lady spotted.
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CompassJimbo
Where’s Your North?
- Location
- The former Rubber Capital of the World
That's a Wham Line if I've heard one.
jwolfe_beta
Semi Genre-Savvy Overlord
- Location
- Canada
How about Jersey?
- Location
- North Carolina
Technically it's not Sister Sara, at least not the one we all know. This Abyssal is what Sister Sara would have looked like if the London Naval Treaty had never happened.
EDIT:
@Spectre Also I am not telling Sky! You nuts?!?
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Icywinter
50% ice, 50% winter
- Location
- ?
- Pronouns
- She/Her
It's still Saratoga. She was converted into a carrier after she was about a quarter of the way through her construction. Ergo, even if she isn't carrier Saratoga, she's still the wonderful girl we all love.
And now she's an Abyssal.
Glitchrr36
Slick's Short Company, CEO
- Location
- The Wastes
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Spectre
eternal servant to the Fire/EMS gods
- Location
- NY
didn't JMPer say that Abyssal ships aren't really related to their Kanmusu counterparts but more like a picture negative?
Old Iron
Admiral Unfun
- Location
- The Southwestern Deadlands of America
No kidding. Wow...
I suppose that this being the battlecruiser is the only solace to be had.
Methinks I need to hide Ari...
Might be a varied composition, due to 'Laska's mention of Flint which was an Oakland-class.
- Location
- State of Denial
I'm guessing the CLAAs
- Location
- North Carolina
However the others are Atlantas, but I find this weird, where are the Destroyers? Last time I checked Atlantas don't carry depth charges, so all we need is a submarine to ruin their day.
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Icywinter
50% ice, 50% winter
- Location
- ?
- Pronouns
- She/Her
You're forgetting that unless it's their late 1943 configuration, they're carrying six depth charge projectors and two rear-mounted rails.
Spectre
eternal servant to the Fire/EMS gods
- Location
- NY
no sonar though. at least in their original build
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- Location
- North Carolina
Huh, Wikipedia doesn't mention that. Damnit wiki! You had one job! ONE JOB!