The Admiral's office was quiet as death itself. Not even the gentle breeze visible though battened-down windows broke the utter silence. Admiral Goto stared though the knit palisade of his steepled fingers, wordless disappointment writ large on his weathered features. Beside him was the larger-than-life image of Admiral Williams displayed on a flat-screen.
Like his Japanese counterpart, the American Vice-Admiral wore a look of utter and complete disappointment, and his gaze was only barely reduced to save levels by the camera he was forced to look through.
The two men weren't just Admirals, they were
high Admirals. Williams was in overall command of the Pacific fleet, while Goto lead the entire Japanese shipgirl force. Men like that
never personally handled disciplinary issues. They had a million pressing duties to attended to, a simple ass-reaming could be delegated to an available Lieutenant or Master Chief.
Unless, of course, the fuckup was of such a serious nature that it demand the presence of not one, but
two Admirals.
On the other side of the desk, standing at firm attention and trying not to think about scuttling herself, was the American super-battleship New Jersey. The heels of her sneakers were pressed together, her chest was held out with her shoulders back and her chin held high. Her icy eyes were locked on an imaginary point on the horizon, and her hands were pressed against her bare thighs to keep them from shaking.
The battleship was a force to be reckoned with on the sea, but she could honestly say she'd never been so utterly terrified as she was right now. It was a good thing she'd had a light lunch, or she'd be shitting enough bricks to pave the Pacific.
Beside her, Musashi stood at tense attention. Jersey could tell the chocolate-skinned warship was just as terrified as she was. For good reason,
she was used to
Imperial Japanese discipline.
Jersey blinked and allowed herself a nervous, rattling breath. She'd rather try to take on a full carrier battlegroup with nothing but blanks and kind words than endure her Admiral's stony silence another instant.
"Jersey," Williams' gravely voice rasped though the television's speakers. Suddenly, Jersey wished he'd stayed silent a little longer.
"Sir?" Jersey forced herself to stand even straighter.
"Do you know why you're here?" Williams' voice was as calm and level as parched lakebed, which only made Jersey's heart twist into knots. It was a well-known Navy fact that the intensity of one's fuckup was inversely proportional to the voume of the one doing the correcting.
"I…" Jersey stopped to gather herself. "I made a mockery of myself and the Navy."
Williams just nodded.
"I embarrassed myself in front of our host nation," Jersey bit her lip until she tasted oily copper. "My conduct was unbecoming of an officer of the navy."
"Damn right it was," said Williams.
"I could bust you down to Ensign for that, if not kick you out entirely."
"Yes sir," Jersey nodded.
"But I won't," said her Admiral.
"I understand there were… mitigating circumstances."
The battleship nodded again. Her Admiral was handing down her judgement, arguing with him would be as pointless as screaming into the wind to quiet it down.
"It's not easy to loose a sister," said Williams.
"And we need you on the line. Which is why I'm giving you this one chance."
"Sir," Jersey felt her fingernails dig into the meat of her thigh and tried to quell the nervous tension building in her stomach.
"Don't make me regret it. Williams out." The Admiral's stony glare vanished into the inky blackness of the flat-screen's 'no input' screen.
"And you," Goto spoke for the first time, his gaze locked on Musashi's. "This isn't like you."
"Sir," Musashi nodded timidly.
"Explain yourself," demanded Goto without so much as a sliver of anger in his level voice.
"I…" Musashi glanced at Jersey for a moment, then down at her toes. "There's no excuse, sir."
"I know," said Goto. "But Musashi… this isn't like you. What happened?"
Musashi pursed her lips. The leather of her skirt creaked as she strained to stand even taller and stiffer. "I was hidden for so long," she said. "When I could finally show off… I let myself be overwhelmed, sir."
"Will it happen again?"
"No sir," protested the battleship. "I swear it, sir."
"Mmm," Goto nodded. "Musashi, you're not to post anything
anywhere without getting approval from myself or Naka."
"Understood, sir."
"Jersey," said Goto. "You and your task-force are to sail for Sasebo at dawn tomorrow to prepare for the South-China-Sea offensive."
"Sir," Jersey nodded.
"Musashi," Goto glanced at the Japanese battlewagon, "the latest convoy's almost turned around. You're to join the escort fleet."
"Understood," Musashi snapped to attention.
"Both of you," Goto waved to the door, "Dismissed."
"Sir!" Jersey and Musashi saluted as one, then hastily evacuated the room as fast as their shaking legs could take them.
As the door swung shut behind her, Jersey ripped at her scarf with a sweat-slick hand. "Fuck me…"
"Perhaps…" Musashi wiped quivering hands on her sweat-slick belly. "Not."
"Mushi?" Jersey fished her mirrored shades from her pocket and slipped them over her icy eyes.
"Mmm?"
"What do you say," said the American, "We pretend this never happened and go back to being badass battleships?"
Musashi thought for a second, then planted her gloved hands on her hips and nodded. "I, Musashi, think this is an excellent plan."
"Kick ass and take names?" Jersey offered her fist to the chocolate amazon.
"Kick ass and take names." Musashi returned the gesture with a hard fist-pound of her own.
—|—|—
Heavy Cruiser Prinz Eugen of the United States Navy sat with everything below her waterline covered by the warm embrace of something Frisco called a… kotatsu. It was a very strange invention, essentially a space-heater with a blanket thrown over, and that simplicity offended Prinz Eugen's refined Teutonic engineering sensibilities nearly as much as the potential for unplanned fires did.
However, as much as the big German-born cruiser would have preferred something safer, she had to admit the comforting warmth was amazing. It wasn't quite was comforting as snuggling up with Lou and Frisco in their shared bed, but it was closer than the German would have ever thought possible.
Besides, she'd endured the hellfire of the atom. Twice. And still could've survived if not for the radiation imbued on every surface of her hull. A small electric heater was the least of her concerns.
Especially when a far more confusing matter was assaulting the ordered Prussian matrices of Prinz Eugen's finely-machined mind. "Um," the cruiser coughed, partly for attention and partly to clear out the last scraps of burn-up phlegm left over from her incompetent American crew, "Frisco?"
"Yeah?" The beautiful Asian-American cruiser glanced up from her soft resting spot on Prinz Eugen's non-treaty-compliant upperworks.
Prinz Eugen opened her mouth, but it took her a moment to find the words. "The Frauleins…" she said. "Why are they driving the Panzerkampfwagens?"
"You know," Lou glanced over from her chosen resting-spot on the other half of Prinz Eugen's soft, fluffy chest. "I've been wondering the same thing."
Frisco bit her lip and blushed. "You know…" she sank lower under the protective warmth of the kotatsu. "I'm not really sure."
"I am not complaining," said Prinz Eugen. "Merely… confused."
"I think we all are," said Lou.
"Japan is weird," said Frisco, although her voice was muffled by the heavy blankets she was swaddled under.
"Mmm," Prinz Eugen nodded sagely. "I would much rather have allied with America."
"Well now you're allied with both of us!" chirped Lou.
Frisco's head popped out from under the heavy blankets just off Prinz Eugen's hip. "And we're happy to have you!"
Prinz Eugen blushed a bright red. "D-danke!" she said. "Danke! Danke!"
"Oh… stop it!" Lou waved her hand in what was supposed to be a dismissive gesture, only for the much larger German to effortlessly grab in her a squeezing hug and smother her in ample Teutonic Lebensraum…es.
"Suft," mumbled Lou though a face-full of squishy German-engineered softness.
"You know…" Prinz Eugen sighed and slumped back against a pillow. "The two of you remind me of panzerfuhrer Miho." She smiled and stroked Lou's beautiful shimmering red hair. "You have always gone out of your way to make me feel welcome and loved."
"Aww…" Lou giggled and flopped back onto the floor.
Frisco purred and sprawled out from under the kotatsu in a most cat-like manner.
"Now," Prinz Eugen giggled, "If only we could get some skintight anglerfish costumes…" The cruiser swore she heard a record needle scratch somewhere as both Americans looked up at her with abject horror. "Kidding!"
—|—|—
Yeoman Sarah Gale had never in her entire life been quite so mortified as she was at this very moment. Every time she brought a girl home, every single time without fail her mother had to go all Southern-hospitality. It was endearing as all hell, but it was also utterly embarrassing. But at least normally whatever girl Gale might bring around would be aware of her mortification, and try to steer the conversation away from the inevitable subject of weddings.
But not Wash. The serene battleship seemed utterly oblivious of Gale's growing embarrassment, and she was happy to indulge Gale's mother's love of wedding talk. While the two of them hadn't actually set a date yet, they had established that Wash would wear her dress whites for the ceremony—after a bit of good-natured ribbing from Gale's mother about how well Wash would fill them out—, and that it would be a spring wedding, and that Jersey would be Wash's maid of honor.
Gale was pretty sure that would be an utter disaster, but at least Jersey of derailing any conversation that wasn't sufficiently focused on herself or her awesomeness. Wash just let her mother guide the conversation, which was a very, very bad thing.
"Well," Gale's mother chuckled and placed a fresh pan of steaming green-beans in front of the hungry battleship. In the ongoing battle between Wash's unstoppable appetite and Gale's mother's immovable southern need to overwhelm her guests with food, Wash seemed to be winning. But not by much. "You're a hungry one, aren't you?"
Wash nodded. "I'm a battleship, and this is quite delicious."
"Honey," Gale's mother laughed and tousled the warship's russet brown hair. "You're too kind."
"You deserve it, mother," said Wash.
"WASH!" Gale banged her head against the table as she soared to new and interesting levels of embarrassment.
Wash glanced at the love of her life. "Gale?"
"Don't worry, honey," Gale's mother chuckled and re-filled Wash's glass. "This happens every time she brings a girl home."
"Because of you, Ma!"
"I'm your mother, dear," Gale's mother giggled and mussed her daughter's hair. "It's in the job description."
Gale mumbled something into her napkin, so Wash offered a quick hug to cheer her up.
"At least," Gale's mother cackled to herself, "I'm not asking you about grandkids!"
"Maaaaaaa," Gale grunted.
Wash, however, just looked confused. "Pardon me… mother?"
"Yes?" Gale's mother spun around on her heel like a short, pudgy top.
"Why…" The battleship stiffened up and brushed a few crumbs off the wool-clad swell of her hearty chest. She pursed her lips and took another moment to straighten her uniform, making sure she was in perfect form to address the highest dignitary she'd ever had the honor of meeting. "Why would you not ask about grandkids?"
Gale's mother gave the battleship an empty glance, while Gale just moaned into her napkin.
"Do…" Wash's voice got very timid, "Do you not think I'm worthy of your daughter?"
"Oh," Gale's mother blushed, and gave the obviously-worried battleship a warm hug. "No, I think the two of you are perfect for each other, dear."
"Then…" Wash trailed off.
"You're… a woman, dear…"
Wash shook her head. "No I'm not… not really."
"Wash, no," moaned Gale.
"I'm… on some level a magical being," said Wash. The battleship puffed out her chest with pride and smiled back at Gale. "I could well be able to carry your daughter's children."
"WASH!" Gale waved a spoon at the battleship.
"Lovely dear!" Gale's mother ignored her daughter's annoyance to pamper Wash some more. "You'd make an adorable mother."
"Ma!"
Wash giggled. "I… I think your daughter would be more adorable."
"GAH!" Gale stormed off to the bathroom in a huff.
Gale's mother chuckled as Wash's serene gaze followed her lover—and said lover's tight leather pants—until they vanished from view.
"Are you checking out my daughter's bottom?" asked Gale's mother with a smirk.
"No," protested the battleship. Then she glanced at her toes and mumbled a quiet "…Yes."
Gale's mother winked.
"I apologize," said Wash. "But… you… she's very attractive."
Gale's mother laughed. "Don't worry a thing, sweetie. Why don't you tell her that."
Wash thought for a second, then nodded resolutely. "GALE!" she yelled to make sure Gale could hear her.
"WHAT?"
"YOU HAVE A VERY NICE BUTT," said Wash with her usual serene detachment.
Somewhere down the hall a glass shattered. "MA!"
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