Dirtnap
Kanmusu Affecionado
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Belated Battleships (KanColle) [REHOST]
- Thread starter theJMPer
- Start date
Dark Mage
Sanity is really overrated...
- Location
- Out of My Mind
- Location
- 'Murica
@Skywalker_T-65 do you know why she's got those candy-cane stripes?
Dirtnap
Kanmusu Affecionado
It's for the Italian air force. So they could identify their own ships from the air. All Italian ships in WW2 were repainted to have their fore and/or after decks 'candy-cane'd'. Save for DDs I think.
Here's Duca d'Acosta from WoWS.
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Skywalker_T-65
Writer with too many ideas.
- Location
- United States
- Pronouns
- Plural/They/He/Her
What Dirt said.
(Getting dinner, can't elaborate)
(Getting dinner, can't elaborate)
- Location
- Nowhere
Lol
YuffieK
(Verified Ninja Princess)
Re: Lattice masts and the probable shipgirl wardrobe equivalent.
OK, first off, I'm apparently recovering from a Lewd Screen of Death, because when I read this a little bit ago:
This mental image came to me unbidden:
Arizona, hair in a complex bun, librarian glasses, sleeveless little black cocktail dress, white opera gloves, black fishnet stockings and black pumps.
And all done in a way that somehow positively accentuated her scars to the point that even SHE had a sexy smirk on her face.
AND IT MAKES NO SENSE AND YET IF I HAD A SHRED OF ARTISTIC TALENT I WOULD TRY AND DRAW IT.
I'm talking
here...
OK, first off, I'm apparently recovering from a Lewd Screen of Death, because when I read this a little bit ago:
This mental image came to me unbidden:
Arizona, hair in a complex bun, librarian glasses, sleeveless little black cocktail dress, white opera gloves, black fishnet stockings and black pumps.
And all done in a way that somehow positively accentuated her scars to the point that even SHE had a sexy smirk on her face.
AND IT MAKES NO SENSE AND YET IF I HAD A SHRED OF ARTISTIC TALENT I WOULD TRY AND DRAW IT.
I'm talking
here...
CompassJimbo
Where’s Your North?
- Location
- The former Rubber Capital of the World
Oh hey, we're gonna get MamiLittorio soon-ish. Did someone yell "Tiro Finale"?
Admiral_Corgi
The Admiral of the PT Boats
- Location
- The Strange land of Florida
You know I just realized... Does John even know yet that Mutsu is having twins?
If he doesn't I can easily see him double taking and saying something like "How did SECNAV know? Or did he will it to be?"
If he doesn't I can easily see him double taking and saying something like "How did SECNAV know? Or did he will it to be?"
Admiral_Corgi
The Admiral of the PT Boats
- Location
- The Strange land of Florida
I figured Jane would already know, I mean, her mama's would've told her right away once they learned the news afterall.
I just wanna know what his reaction will be to it :lol
I also foresee Christy Young will be contacted in the near future by either Jane, Jinstuu or Hiei (or all three at once
) to plan John and Mutsu's wedding. I mean, surely once it became known that Christy is a wedding planner, surely that info has spread to all the shipgirls by now.
Sandy River DL
(Verified Destroyer Leader)
- Location
- Lake Michigan
- Pronouns
- Her/She
Mutsu didn't tell her though. Jane knew before Mutsu got pregnant. Don't you remember that Jane expected that there would be twins and that they will be adorable?
Sandy River DL
(Verified Destroyer Leader)
- Location
- Lake Michigan
- Pronouns
- Her/She
So... she's the spirit of SECNAV?
Grounders10
Nine-Tailed Kitsune
- Location
- British Columbia, Canada, Mars
Jane confirmed SecNav.
Admiral_Corgi
The Admiral of the PT Boats
- Location
- The Strange land of Florida
So you mean that if Jane says it will be then it shall be?....
I'm just...gonna look for that threadmark that had Jane looking at her diary/Journal...and make good note of what we saw written in there perhaps some of the bigger things in the story might have been hinted at in there...
*X-files theme plays*
- Location
- Somewhere between here and there
Corgi, remember now. The van and Darth Traffic Cone.So you mean that if Jane says it will be then it shall be?....
I'm just...gonna look for that threadmark that had Jane looking at her diary...and make good note of what we saw written in there perhaps some of the bigger things in the story might have been hinted at in there...
*X-files theme plays*
Grounders10
Nine-Tailed Kitsune
- Location
- British Columbia, Canada, Mars
*Pictures Sith dressed in orange*
YuffieK
(Verified Ninja Princess)
Grounders10
Nine-Tailed Kitsune
- Location
- British Columbia, Canada, Mars
ow my eyes.
B-baka!
Frustrated Art
- Location
- Some town in the Philippines
So you mean that if Jane says it will be then it shall be?....
I'm just...gonna look for that threadmark that had Jane looking at her diary/Journal...and make good note of what we saw written in there perhaps some of the bigger things in the story might have been hinted at in there...
*X-files theme plays*
Don't forget General Pennsivious. She shall shred this insightful dog to dust.
Edit: I know this topic has been discussed already but I'm quite surprised how salty the other thread on SB got.
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Skywalker_T-65
Writer with too many ideas.
- Location
- United States
- Pronouns
- Plural/They/He/Her
Now that I'm on my computer and semi-functional again...
The 'candy cane' stripes were added to Italian ships as an air-identification tool after the Regia Aeronautica did bomb their own ships. No damage, thankfully for the Italian sailors, but they were bombed by their own planes. So the RM started adding the stripes to identify their ships from the air and avoid this problem in the future. In theory. Art aside, these were typically only added to the bow and it is very rare to see them on the stern as well.
Also, they were added to the DDs. One of those rare 'bow and stern' examples was Aviere, a DD.
The Italian Air Force wasn't as bad at relations with the Italian Navy as the Luftwaffe and Kriegsmarine were, but there were issues to be had. It was largely the RA's influence- and Mussolini -that kept Aquila from being finished or having any predecessors. Because both of them (RA and Mussolini) argued Italy was an unsinkable carrier and there's no need for ships to do the job. This becomes problematic when you're using two different commands with two different codes and leaders and objectives. Hell, it was this problem that lead to Italian codes being cracked- the RA codes got cracked before the RM codes, so when you have to route aircraft to cover your convoys...
You can imagine the issue.
The 'candy cane' stripes were added to Italian ships as an air-identification tool after the Regia Aeronautica did bomb their own ships. No damage, thankfully for the Italian sailors, but they were bombed by their own planes. So the RM started adding the stripes to identify their ships from the air and avoid this problem in the future. In theory. Art aside, these were typically only added to the bow and it is very rare to see them on the stern as well.
Also, they were added to the DDs. One of those rare 'bow and stern' examples was Aviere, a DD.
The Italian Air Force wasn't as bad at relations with the Italian Navy as the Luftwaffe and Kriegsmarine were, but there were issues to be had. It was largely the RA's influence- and Mussolini -that kept Aquila from being finished or having any predecessors. Because both of them (RA and Mussolini) argued Italy was an unsinkable carrier and there's no need for ships to do the job. This becomes problematic when you're using two different commands with two different codes and leaders and objectives. Hell, it was this problem that lead to Italian codes being cracked- the RA codes got cracked before the RM codes, so when you have to route aircraft to cover your convoys...
You can imagine the issue.
Snackfood
- Location
- 'Murica
Battlecruiser Saratoga pulled away after what felt like hours to stare into the face of the man she loved. It was him, without a doubt. She'd seen that face in her dreams, stared into it every time she closed her eyes like it was tattooed into her eyeballs. She'd always known she had a destiny. When she steamed to Bikini for that final test, she'd been worried.
Had it all been one big delusion? After all, ships don't live after death, right?
How silly she'd been. Hulls sink. Hulls rust away. Hulls are towed to the breakers to be melted down into razor blades for a country that's seen the last of war. But ships… ships last forever.
"I'm…" Sara blushed as she steadied herself. She wasn't quite used to being a battlecruiser. Her lines were sleeker than they'd once be, her legs long and sinewy. But everything was just slightly off. Her rudder didn't react quite the way she remembered, her hull didn't purr with the waves like it used to.
Luckily she had a pier to tie off on. A pier that seemed content to keep her firmly in his grasp. Even if he didn't know what to do with his hands.
One moment, they'd be wrapped around her back, his fingers just kissing the triple-clasped fastening at the back of her bra. She certainly hoped he could figure out the mechanism, once the time was right.
The very next, he'd be cradling her hips. His hands would rest around her stiff gunbelts, finding the soft parts of her sinewy figure to cradle like keel blocks after a long tour at sea. Being in his arms felt like being in drydock. A very warm, soft, comforting drydock.
"Sara," he smiled at her, looking up past a chest squishing against his like the bumpers on a tugboat with… awe. Love, yes, and… if she read that twinkle in his eye right a bit of arousal too. But above all awe. Is this how she looked like when she first met Essex?
Sara nodded. "Yes," she took a half-step back to introduce herself properly. She platted her feet in the grating, ignoring the groan of metal flooring brought to its absolute limit by her immense weight. The battlecruiser stiffened her posture. Shoulders back, long legs held stiff like polished iron rods, chin up. "Hello, I'm Saratoga. An air— no… force of habit." her cheeks blushed as red as her neckerchief, "A battlecruiser. Pleased to meet you."
"Stewart," said the man staring into her sea-gray eyes like they contained the sum contents of all seven oceans. "Daniel Stewart." He bushed and paused a moment. "I'm… no Admiral. Just a… a man."
"A man who knew my song." Sara pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. "There were sailors in my time who didn't know that song. But now…" she glanced around, her womanly love slowly fading into the background as her warship's instincts took over. "What year isit?"
"Twenty-sixteen," said Stewart. "Uh, February ninth, if that matters. Let's uh… get you to the Admiral."
"Let's." Sara's flat-heels boots clicked with orchestral rhythm as she followed the first twenty-first century man she'd ever met. "I assume we're at war?" she asked, more to check her own work than to learn something new. She wouldn't have—couldn't have—come back if her nation wasn't facing something monstrous. Twenty-sixteen… even Midway must've fallen by the wayside by now.
Stewart gulped. "Uh… that's… you should really talk to the Admiral."
Sara's face tightened. "Is it that bad?"
Stewart nodded. "Sara… you're a battlecruiser," he said in a transparent attempt to change the topic. "Uh… why?"
"I had to be," said the former carrier. "I… I couldn't come back as a carrier. He wouldn't let me…" she stopped mid-stride. "I don't think he could."
Stewart gave her a look.
"I…" Sara shook her head. "This was the best I could do."
"Well, I'm certain the Admiral will be happy to have another capital ship."
"Mmm," Sara nodded. But there was something about the half-forgotten memories of her time below that she couldn't quite shake.
Meeting up with Yang in the Taiwan strait had been the one point of interest the whole goddamn journey, and even that was limited. The little destroyer tried to keep pace with the fleet—while chattering everyone's ears off and deciding Prinz Eugen had the most cuddleable tummy out of any of the cruiser-weight girls. But the Chinese Fletcher had to turn back after less than an hour to stay in her patrol area.
However, as the fleet made its turn into Sasebo bay, the trip took a sudden turn for the interesting. Mutsu was waiting at anchor to greet the returning heroes, as was reasonable, but there was something off about her.
Jersey noticed it the moment she made radar contact. There was something ever so slightly wrong about the returns she was getting, but she couldn't put her finger on why. It wasn't until she was less than seven-thousand yards away that she was able to get a good sighting.
The battleship licked her half-gloved fingers and flipped through her copy of Janes' Fighting Kanmusu. She could tell something was ever so slightly off with Mutsu. Her bulges looked bigger than they should be, from the wake pattern around her chubby hull the battleship had put on even more weight below the waterline, and her bare abs weren't quite as defined as they'd once been.
If it was anyone else, Jersey probably wouldn't have noticed. Or if she had, she'd have chalked it up to a trick of the light, or just a little extra weight from a big meal—it was just past lunchtime after all.
But other women were not as thoroughly documented as Mutsu was, nor did they have bellies as lovingly toned. Jersey let her shades slide down to the tip of her nose as she held the book's illustration up against the genuine article.
Mutsu had definitely gotten fatter. But there was something else. The hands she kept resting against the buckle of her sub-miniature skirt were speckled with drops of what could only be paint and the crackly residue of dried superglue. Her cheeks glowed with happiness, and she had a few scraps of photoetched fret wedged between her headband's antenna.
Oh, and Kongou was also hyperventilating into her own detached sleeves.
"No fucking way," Jersey closed the book with a smile. "No fucking way!"
Kongou hyperventilated in the interrogative.
Mutsu blushed, and stifled a giggle with one hand. With the other, she held out two fingers.
"Mother of fuck!" Jersey howled with laughter and joy. If anyone battleship deserved to get knocked up, it was Mutsu. Hell, she was astonished it hadn't happened sooner, what with her prancing around Richardson in that skinny-ass excuse for a skirt. Honestly, it was a miracle he hadn't picked up on it and bent her over a desk months ago.
"Congratulations, Dess!" Kongou broke out at a flank bell, her screws churning the water white as she hurled her slim British-built body at the monolithic titan that was Battleship Mutsu. There wasn't a shred of qualification in her happy laugh, not the faintest glimmer of shadow. Kongou was using every last scrap of steam her ancient boilers could produce to be happy for Mutsu, there just wasn't any room left in her air headed bridge for anything else.
Mutsu laughed as Kongou slammed into her at a flank-speed flying hug. "Twins, dess?"
Mutsu nodded, and gently set the fast battleship back on her keel. "Twins~" she said with a coy tease. "It took some work~" she swished her skirt with a sly wink. "Laying two keels was a looooong night."
"I'll bet, dess!" Kongou bounced along like a destroyer who'd consumed several times her own body weight in uncut cocaine. Which was worryingly little of a change from her usual situation. "I'm so happy for you!" She threw her arms around the Big Seven battleship for another tight hug.
"So," Jersey couldn't help but grin like an idiot. "How was it?"
"Oh, you know Americans," Mutsu giggled and hauled over to lead the fleet back into port. Huh, she wasn't quite turning like she should. Almost looked like her rudders were misaligned, but that didn't make any sense. "Manifest destiny~"
Jersey blinked. "What?"
"Manifest~" Mutsu swayed her hips one way, then the other. "Destiny~"
"I don't…" Jersey shook her head. "Fucking… I don't wanna know." The sexual adventures of Admiral Richardson were none of her concern. All she needed to know was if Mutsu, a fellow member of the proud fraternity of battleships, was getting properly fucked. And given how she was struggling to keep a steady course—and was also… you know… carrying twins—the answer to that was probably a resounding positive.
"And one more thing," Mutsu put a finger to her lips, pouting like a schoolgirl who'd just done something silly. Jersey'd seen that exact expression Naka's face a dozen times before—judging by the surly scowl on the traffic cone's face, Naka knew it to and was mentally preparing her lawsuit—but it wasn't nearly as fucking annoying when Mutsu did it.
"Yes!" Kongou all but screamed into Mutsu's ear. "Yes, Dess? YES! THE THING, DESS!"
Mutsu shook her head. "Oh… it's nothing~~~~"
"It is not fucking nothing," said Jersey. "Not if it's a three-fucking-tilde nothing."
Mutsu shrugged. "Guilty as charged." And then, without a mote of pomp or circumstance, the battleship drew off her glove to show her fingers. One of which was adorned with a simple band of hammered gold.
Kongou squealed so loudly she produced visible fucking shockwaves rippling through the air.
"Um," Yuudachi tugged at the Iowa's sleeve. "Is she going to be okayish, poi?"
Jersey shook her head. "I don't fucking know, poi. Just let her have this."
She gathered her human allies didn't share her reaction. To them, the abyssals were just monsters in quasi-familiar forms. Evil, undoubtedly… but still just monsters from the deep.
But not to Sara. Not, she gathered, to any other of the returned warships. To her kind, these abyssal were more than evil. They were… perversions of the very idea of a ship. Ships existed to keep their crews safe where they could not survive alone, and to ferry them safely from shore to shore.
These monsters existed to kill men at sea and spread their hate onto the precious shores. They were wrong.
And then… after careful warnings and a wordless hand on her back from Stewart, her Admiral told her of the latest skirmish in the gulf. A skirmish with a monster wearing her own face.
This time blood really did start to ooze between her clenched fingers. "Oh my god," she breathed, watching the shaky footage bomber crews and news teams had managed to scrounge up of the battle. Saratoga might never have carried sixteen-inch rifles, but she knew what terrible damage they could do. If Texas hadn't shown up when she had…
It didn't bear thinking about. Sara didn't know Atago or Nachi—beyond what reports ONI had delivered to her crew those many years ago—but she knew Alaska, at least in passing. The poor girl was barely fourteen months old when the war ended, and she was already on her way to the reserve fleet when Sara was at Bikini. She deserved a bit more of a life than a handful of months terminated by the canons of her own simulacrum.
"And that brings us to now," said her Admiral. "Sara… it's good to have you back."
Sara nodded, and hastily wiped her bleeding palms on her dark gray skirt. "It's… it's good to be back, Admiral."
Her Admiral nodded, then glanced past her with a resigned sigh. Sara followed his gaze to the simple wooden door to his office, only to glance back at him with a confused look.
"Girls," the Admiral rubbed his temples with the look of a man struggling to herd several dozen cats. "Just… why do I even try. Sara, open the door."
Sara did as she was asked. And almost instantly her chest became home to two very surprised warships, one of whom was much taller than the other. Her Admiral grumbled in resignation to his suffering, but Sara didn't mind. In fact, she was quite happy to meet new friends.
"Texas," Sara smiled at the short little super-dread picking herself out of the battlecruiser's bosom. She was almost hilariously short next to Sara's towering figure, but she still glowed with kindly southern charm like Sara remembered.
"Howdy, Sara." Texas fussed with the hat lying against her neck and beamed at the slender former-carrier. She was smiling with joy, but her face was streaked with happy tears. "It's…" her voice wavered for a moment, "It's been too long, my friend."
"Far too long." Sara fussed the battleship's hair before turning her attention to the other girl who'd fallen onto her.
A girl who couldn't be more different from short, plump Texas. Her hair was white as snow, and she was still happily snuggling the battlecruiser's bosom without a care in the world. But more then that, Sara couldn't get over how obviously young the lithe warship looked. "Alaska?"
The girl nodded. "Call me 'laska."
"Sweetie…" Sara gave the large—not battle, she was certain that distinction was very important—cruiser a once-over. She was slim, but leggy and toned. Save for the white-haired large cruiser's utter lack of anything beyond a suggestion of a bustline, and she could be Sara's slightly smaller twin. As it was, Sara decided the role of daughter would work best for 'laska. "'Laska, you can call me Sara."
Alaska nodded, and cuddled tighter into the battlecruier's warm embrace. "I like you," she said with finality. "You're really warm."
Texas chuckled in the way only an old super-dread could. "That's 'laska for you."
It was a reasonably minor change. Her bunkers were getting enlarged to match the baseline of her class, and a few more quad-forties were getting added everywhere quad-forties didn't already exist. That made Jersey happy because she was quite certain anti-aircraft firepower was next to godliness.
And… even the preliminary steps felt amazing. She could feel a tingle as dockworkers with little safety hats and even littler clipboards toured her hull, making note of each and every change they'd make to get her body into tip-top condition. She could tell Akashi's faeries had done this before. It was like getting a full-body massage, but from the inside. Jersey wanted to just close her eyes and let the gentle tingling sing her to sleep.
Hell, Poi'd already done it. Yuudachi needed a refit too, but she'd passed out with bliss less than fifteen minutes after slipping into the water. Jersey couldn't say she blamed her. But she was a battleship, and that meant she had responsibilities.
"So," Jersey held her arm across her chest, shielding her bust from the searching eyes of Albacore and Archerfish. She was quite certain the two submarines could get all the upskirts they wanted if they tried, but she wasn't going to enable their laziness by giving them free looks. "Wedding's coming up fast. Tell me again what ya'll are doing."
Archie nodded. "I am providing the goldfishies and flowers for the table centerpieces."
"And where are you getting them?" said Jersey.
"Trick question," Archie beamed with pride that she'd remembered. "I'm not supposed to tell anyone."
"Good," Jersey leaned over to give the Balao a pat on her perpetually damp ponytail. "Albie?"
"Dinner dress blues for you and Shinano," said the slender Gato.
"And?" Jersey shot the sub a look.
"And I'm getting dresses for me and Archie." Jane had decreed that,in the interest of being the cutest flowergirls the world had ever seen, the two subs would wear dresses instead of their uniforms. Jersey wasn't about to argue with her, from her understanding Jane outranked everyone short of SecDef himself.
"Good," said Jersey. "You got the color swatches she picked out?"
"Yes, mom." Albie made a show of rolling her eyes as she fished a collection of colors Jane had selected. The littlest Richardson had the entire wedding plan worked up as a contingency, apparently since the moment her dad met Mutsu. That girl was going to be an Admiral one day, and Jersey only hoped she lived long enough to serve under her.
"Now remember," Jersey pushed back her urge to sleep. "Shina's not a fan of her rack. Make sure her blues fit, but aren't too snug."
"This is the third time you told us this," said Albie.
"Do I look like I give a fuck?" Jersey rolled her eyes. "We are getting this fucking rightfor Mutsu," she said, doing her best impression of her Admiral's commanding officer voice. "do I make myself understood?"
"Yes, sir!" both subs reflexively snapped to.
"Alright, get hunting."
Little White had gone out of the way to help her get used to being a warship once again. She'd been the best teacher anyone could have asked for, and tried her hardest with every bit of energy her little boilers could produce. But… still, she was just an escort carrier. Her realm of knowledge was severely limited by her role as an auxiliary, and while she tried… she simply wasn't a training ship.
If Musashi was to bring herself back to full operational readiness once more, she'd need more than just what one escort carrier could impart as they passed the time on convoy escort.
So Musashi had went to the base library and checked out every book even tangentially related to damage control, naval gunnery, and even the deceptively complicated art of maneuvering such a titanically huge warship as herself she could find. She'd emailed Kashima and Katori, and duplicated the entirety of their training syllabus for her own use. She'd set up times where she could skype with the busy training cruisers and get personal tutoring.
She'd even gone as far as emailing Admiral Williams, and the captains of every steel-hulled warship based in Washington and Japan, asking if anyone had time to impart their knowledge on her woefully green crew.
Battleship Musashi had sunk once. She would make certain that event was never again repeated. So she studied. And she worked. And she studied some more. She only had a few days before the convoy set out for Japan. She would impress Kashima with her skills. She would defend Japan once more.
Because she was a Yamato.
"I'mmawke!" Jane bolted upright in her chair like she'd been shot. "I'm not sleeping! I am doing things that are…" she blinked. It was dark out. Jane was pretty sure it hadn't been dark out before she… er… before. "Um… what time is it?"
"Twenty-hundred hours," said the same thickly-accented, but apple-sweet all the same, voice that had roused her from what was most certainly not a nap.
Jane glanced over at the origin of the voice. It was that German cruiser who'd visited the base a few days ago. The really pretty one with the nice blond hair and a figure that Jane was certainwasn't treaty-compliant. Only she wasn't wearing her spiffy double-breasted uniform. She was wearing jean-shorts and a T-shirt with the American flag on it.
"Oh," the littlest Richardson—though not for much longer—took a moment to spruce herself up. "Prinz Eugen. Hi."
"Guten Nacht." Prinz Eugen smiled and settled onto a stool next to Jane. "I brought you some pudding."
"Thank you!" Jane took a moment to hug the cruiser in thanks before digging in. Mmm… it was really delicious, and almost as pleasing as hugging the cruiser's soft tummy. "Um… Pringles?"
"Ja?" The blonde girl idly nudged Jane's collection of colored penciled until they were arranged in a precisely-spaced grid of ascending wavelength.
"Aren't you German?"
Prinz Eugen opened her mouth. But for a long time, she said nothing. She only stared into the distance with a melancholy smile. "No," she said quietly. "I was, but… then I got offered to your country. And now I am an American." She tugged at her shirt, "See?"
Jane put her spoon down into the already half-gone pudding. "But what about Germany? Don't you have friends there?"
Prinz Eugen smiled again, this time more wistfully. "I do. Did. I… Bismark and Hipper and… all of them. But they are asleep now. And even if my country could bring them back… I am not certain they would."
"Oh." Jane nodded. It was… a little strange to her. She was used to thinking of the kanmusu as friends. It didn't matter what flag Mutsu-mama fought under, that was yearsago. But… but people older than here must think differently. She didn't know what to say, but…
But Prinz Eugen was clearly sad. She was smiling just a little, but crying quietly all the same. If Jane were older, she'd know just what to say. She knew her dad would. But he was an Admiral, and she wasn't quite one yet. All she could do was scoot over and wrap her little arms around the cruiser in a hug.
"Danke," Prinz Eugen hugged Jane back. "Danke, Jane. I… I have friends now. Frisco and Lou have been so kind to me."
"But it's not the same as being in your country?"
Prinz Eugen glanced at her shirt and nodded. "Ja. I… some times I try and pretend I'm an American like them, but my heart lives in Deutschland. It always will."
"I know," said Jane. "I mean… I sort of know. I'm from America but…" she sighed and rested against Prinz Eugen's pleasingly soft chest. "I don't know."
Prinz Eugen laughed. Jane more felt it than heard it with her head resting against the cruiser's body. "You know… If… you ever want to talk about it… I keep my phone on me all the time. So does Lou, I think. She served with Brazil for a while."
Jane smiled. The two cruisers might not be her mamas like Jintsuu was, but somehow that makes them so much easier to talk ti. "Thanks Pringles."
"You're welcome, Jane." Prinz Eugen smiled, then a quizzical look came over her face. "I have one question, however."
"Yeah?"
"What is a 'pringles'."
Jane laughed. "Stay right here!" And then she bolted over to the pantry, threw the door open… and was confronted with Minimu and Smolzona sitting splayed-leg around an upended tube of pringles. Smolzona bashfully looked away, but Minimu didn't have an ounce of shame as she attempted to stuff three chips into her tiny mouth.
"Are those the last ones?" Jane took on the tone of a chiding mother.
Smolzona nodded.
"C'mon guys!" Jane huffed. "Pringles, can you drive?"
"I am German!" Prinz Eugen bristled with Teutonic outrage.
Jane jumped onto a chair and thrust her hand in the air. "To the COMMISSARY!"
Had it all been one big delusion? After all, ships don't live after death, right?
How silly she'd been. Hulls sink. Hulls rust away. Hulls are towed to the breakers to be melted down into razor blades for a country that's seen the last of war. But ships… ships last forever.
"I'm…" Sara blushed as she steadied herself. She wasn't quite used to being a battlecruiser. Her lines were sleeker than they'd once be, her legs long and sinewy. But everything was just slightly off. Her rudder didn't react quite the way she remembered, her hull didn't purr with the waves like it used to.
Luckily she had a pier to tie off on. A pier that seemed content to keep her firmly in his grasp. Even if he didn't know what to do with his hands.
One moment, they'd be wrapped around her back, his fingers just kissing the triple-clasped fastening at the back of her bra. She certainly hoped he could figure out the mechanism, once the time was right.
The very next, he'd be cradling her hips. His hands would rest around her stiff gunbelts, finding the soft parts of her sinewy figure to cradle like keel blocks after a long tour at sea. Being in his arms felt like being in drydock. A very warm, soft, comforting drydock.
"Sara," he smiled at her, looking up past a chest squishing against his like the bumpers on a tugboat with… awe. Love, yes, and… if she read that twinkle in his eye right a bit of arousal too. But above all awe. Is this how she looked like when she first met Essex?
Sara nodded. "Yes," she took a half-step back to introduce herself properly. She platted her feet in the grating, ignoring the groan of metal flooring brought to its absolute limit by her immense weight. The battlecruiser stiffened her posture. Shoulders back, long legs held stiff like polished iron rods, chin up. "Hello, I'm Saratoga. An air— no… force of habit." her cheeks blushed as red as her neckerchief, "A battlecruiser. Pleased to meet you."
"Stewart," said the man staring into her sea-gray eyes like they contained the sum contents of all seven oceans. "Daniel Stewart." He bushed and paused a moment. "I'm… no Admiral. Just a… a man."
"A man who knew my song." Sara pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. "There were sailors in my time who didn't know that song. But now…" she glanced around, her womanly love slowly fading into the background as her warship's instincts took over. "What year isit?"
"Twenty-sixteen," said Stewart. "Uh, February ninth, if that matters. Let's uh… get you to the Admiral."
"Let's." Sara's flat-heels boots clicked with orchestral rhythm as she followed the first twenty-first century man she'd ever met. "I assume we're at war?" she asked, more to check her own work than to learn something new. She wouldn't have—couldn't have—come back if her nation wasn't facing something monstrous. Twenty-sixteen… even Midway must've fallen by the wayside by now.
Stewart gulped. "Uh… that's… you should really talk to the Admiral."
Sara's face tightened. "Is it that bad?"
Stewart nodded. "Sara… you're a battlecruiser," he said in a transparent attempt to change the topic. "Uh… why?"
"I had to be," said the former carrier. "I… I couldn't come back as a carrier. He wouldn't let me…" she stopped mid-stride. "I don't think he could."
Stewart gave her a look.
"I…" Sara shook her head. "This was the best I could do."
"Well, I'm certain the Admiral will be happy to have another capital ship."
"Mmm," Sara nodded. But there was something about the half-forgotten memories of her time below that she couldn't quite shake.
—|—|—
The trip back to Sasebo had been, in Jersey's informed opinion as an officer of the United States Navy, boring as fuck. The complete and unmitigated ass-reaming the Abyssal forces had suffered at Woody seemed to have dissuaded them from existing anywhere near the South China sea, at least for a little while. Which was all for the best, really. The steel-hull destroyers had dangerously depleted their magazines, and the once-unbeatable air-defense ships now huddled in the middle of the fleet next to Shinano's enormous bulk.
Meeting up with Yang in the Taiwan strait had been the one point of interest the whole goddamn journey, and even that was limited. The little destroyer tried to keep pace with the fleet—while chattering everyone's ears off and deciding Prinz Eugen had the most cuddleable tummy out of any of the cruiser-weight girls. But the Chinese Fletcher had to turn back after less than an hour to stay in her patrol area.
However, as the fleet made its turn into Sasebo bay, the trip took a sudden turn for the interesting. Mutsu was waiting at anchor to greet the returning heroes, as was reasonable, but there was something off about her.
Jersey noticed it the moment she made radar contact. There was something ever so slightly wrong about the returns she was getting, but she couldn't put her finger on why. It wasn't until she was less than seven-thousand yards away that she was able to get a good sighting.
The battleship licked her half-gloved fingers and flipped through her copy of Janes' Fighting Kanmusu. She could tell something was ever so slightly off with Mutsu. Her bulges looked bigger than they should be, from the wake pattern around her chubby hull the battleship had put on even more weight below the waterline, and her bare abs weren't quite as defined as they'd once been.
If it was anyone else, Jersey probably wouldn't have noticed. Or if she had, she'd have chalked it up to a trick of the light, or just a little extra weight from a big meal—it was just past lunchtime after all.
But other women were not as thoroughly documented as Mutsu was, nor did they have bellies as lovingly toned. Jersey let her shades slide down to the tip of her nose as she held the book's illustration up against the genuine article.
Mutsu had definitely gotten fatter. But there was something else. The hands she kept resting against the buckle of her sub-miniature skirt were speckled with drops of what could only be paint and the crackly residue of dried superglue. Her cheeks glowed with happiness, and she had a few scraps of photoetched fret wedged between her headband's antenna.
Oh, and Kongou was also hyperventilating into her own detached sleeves.
"No fucking way," Jersey closed the book with a smile. "No fucking way!"
Kongou hyperventilated in the interrogative.
Mutsu blushed, and stifled a giggle with one hand. With the other, she held out two fingers.
"Mother of fuck!" Jersey howled with laughter and joy. If anyone battleship deserved to get knocked up, it was Mutsu. Hell, she was astonished it hadn't happened sooner, what with her prancing around Richardson in that skinny-ass excuse for a skirt. Honestly, it was a miracle he hadn't picked up on it and bent her over a desk months ago.
"Congratulations, Dess!" Kongou broke out at a flank bell, her screws churning the water white as she hurled her slim British-built body at the monolithic titan that was Battleship Mutsu. There wasn't a shred of qualification in her happy laugh, not the faintest glimmer of shadow. Kongou was using every last scrap of steam her ancient boilers could produce to be happy for Mutsu, there just wasn't any room left in her air headed bridge for anything else.
Mutsu laughed as Kongou slammed into her at a flank-speed flying hug. "Twins, dess?"
Mutsu nodded, and gently set the fast battleship back on her keel. "Twins~" she said with a coy tease. "It took some work~" she swished her skirt with a sly wink. "Laying two keels was a looooong night."
"I'll bet, dess!" Kongou bounced along like a destroyer who'd consumed several times her own body weight in uncut cocaine. Which was worryingly little of a change from her usual situation. "I'm so happy for you!" She threw her arms around the Big Seven battleship for another tight hug.
"So," Jersey couldn't help but grin like an idiot. "How was it?"
"Oh, you know Americans," Mutsu giggled and hauled over to lead the fleet back into port. Huh, she wasn't quite turning like she should. Almost looked like her rudders were misaligned, but that didn't make any sense. "Manifest destiny~"
Jersey blinked. "What?"
"Manifest~" Mutsu swayed her hips one way, then the other. "Destiny~"
"I don't…" Jersey shook her head. "Fucking… I don't wanna know." The sexual adventures of Admiral Richardson were none of her concern. All she needed to know was if Mutsu, a fellow member of the proud fraternity of battleships, was getting properly fucked. And given how she was struggling to keep a steady course—and was also… you know… carrying twins—the answer to that was probably a resounding positive.
"And one more thing," Mutsu put a finger to her lips, pouting like a schoolgirl who'd just done something silly. Jersey'd seen that exact expression Naka's face a dozen times before—judging by the surly scowl on the traffic cone's face, Naka knew it to and was mentally preparing her lawsuit—but it wasn't nearly as fucking annoying when Mutsu did it.
"Yes!" Kongou all but screamed into Mutsu's ear. "Yes, Dess? YES! THE THING, DESS!"
Mutsu shook her head. "Oh… it's nothing~~~~"
"It is not fucking nothing," said Jersey. "Not if it's a three-fucking-tilde nothing."
Mutsu shrugged. "Guilty as charged." And then, without a mote of pomp or circumstance, the battleship drew off her glove to show her fingers. One of which was adorned with a simple band of hammered gold.
Kongou squealed so loudly she produced visible fucking shockwaves rippling through the air.
"Um," Yuudachi tugged at the Iowa's sleeve. "Is she going to be okayish, poi?"
Jersey shook her head. "I don't fucking know, poi. Just let her have this."
—|—|—
It was a good thing her skin was made of steel. Sara was certain her hands would be soaked in blood by now if it wasn't, so tightly was she clenching her fists. She'd fought every last day of World War II, but she'd never seem something so… viscerally wrong as this. Every slide sent her stomach churning with instinctual disgust.
She gathered her human allies didn't share her reaction. To them, the abyssals were just monsters in quasi-familiar forms. Evil, undoubtedly… but still just monsters from the deep.
But not to Sara. Not, she gathered, to any other of the returned warships. To her kind, these abyssal were more than evil. They were… perversions of the very idea of a ship. Ships existed to keep their crews safe where they could not survive alone, and to ferry them safely from shore to shore.
These monsters existed to kill men at sea and spread their hate onto the precious shores. They were wrong.
And then… after careful warnings and a wordless hand on her back from Stewart, her Admiral told her of the latest skirmish in the gulf. A skirmish with a monster wearing her own face.
This time blood really did start to ooze between her clenched fingers. "Oh my god," she breathed, watching the shaky footage bomber crews and news teams had managed to scrounge up of the battle. Saratoga might never have carried sixteen-inch rifles, but she knew what terrible damage they could do. If Texas hadn't shown up when she had…
It didn't bear thinking about. Sara didn't know Atago or Nachi—beyond what reports ONI had delivered to her crew those many years ago—but she knew Alaska, at least in passing. The poor girl was barely fourteen months old when the war ended, and she was already on her way to the reserve fleet when Sara was at Bikini. She deserved a bit more of a life than a handful of months terminated by the canons of her own simulacrum.
"And that brings us to now," said her Admiral. "Sara… it's good to have you back."
Sara nodded, and hastily wiped her bleeding palms on her dark gray skirt. "It's… it's good to be back, Admiral."
Her Admiral nodded, then glanced past her with a resigned sigh. Sara followed his gaze to the simple wooden door to his office, only to glance back at him with a confused look.
"Girls," the Admiral rubbed his temples with the look of a man struggling to herd several dozen cats. "Just… why do I even try. Sara, open the door."
Sara did as she was asked. And almost instantly her chest became home to two very surprised warships, one of whom was much taller than the other. Her Admiral grumbled in resignation to his suffering, but Sara didn't mind. In fact, she was quite happy to meet new friends.
"Texas," Sara smiled at the short little super-dread picking herself out of the battlecruiser's bosom. She was almost hilariously short next to Sara's towering figure, but she still glowed with kindly southern charm like Sara remembered.
"Howdy, Sara." Texas fussed with the hat lying against her neck and beamed at the slender former-carrier. She was smiling with joy, but her face was streaked with happy tears. "It's…" her voice wavered for a moment, "It's been too long, my friend."
"Far too long." Sara fussed the battleship's hair before turning her attention to the other girl who'd fallen onto her.
A girl who couldn't be more different from short, plump Texas. Her hair was white as snow, and she was still happily snuggling the battlecruiser's bosom without a care in the world. But more then that, Sara couldn't get over how obviously young the lithe warship looked. "Alaska?"
The girl nodded. "Call me 'laska."
"Sweetie…" Sara gave the large—not battle, she was certain that distinction was very important—cruiser a once-over. She was slim, but leggy and toned. Save for the white-haired large cruiser's utter lack of anything beyond a suggestion of a bustline, and she could be Sara's slightly smaller twin. As it was, Sara decided the role of daughter would work best for 'laska. "'Laska, you can call me Sara."
Alaska nodded, and cuddled tighter into the battlecruier's warm embrace. "I like you," she said with finality. "You're really warm."
Texas chuckled in the way only an old super-dread could. "That's 'laska for you."
—|—|—
The warm, mineral-rich waters of Fleet Activities Sasebo's refitting bath felt astonishingly perfect against Jersey's bare skin. She'd taken Akashi's order-delivered-in-the-tone-of-a-friendly-bit-of-advice and gone in naked. And she was never doubting another thing that pink-haired auxiliary said again. It felt wonderful, like millions of tiny feathers were gently scrubbing away fouling and getting her ready for her rebuild.
It was a reasonably minor change. Her bunkers were getting enlarged to match the baseline of her class, and a few more quad-forties were getting added everywhere quad-forties didn't already exist. That made Jersey happy because she was quite certain anti-aircraft firepower was next to godliness.
And… even the preliminary steps felt amazing. She could feel a tingle as dockworkers with little safety hats and even littler clipboards toured her hull, making note of each and every change they'd make to get her body into tip-top condition. She could tell Akashi's faeries had done this before. It was like getting a full-body massage, but from the inside. Jersey wanted to just close her eyes and let the gentle tingling sing her to sleep.
Hell, Poi'd already done it. Yuudachi needed a refit too, but she'd passed out with bliss less than fifteen minutes after slipping into the water. Jersey couldn't say she blamed her. But she was a battleship, and that meant she had responsibilities.
"So," Jersey held her arm across her chest, shielding her bust from the searching eyes of Albacore and Archerfish. She was quite certain the two submarines could get all the upskirts they wanted if they tried, but she wasn't going to enable their laziness by giving them free looks. "Wedding's coming up fast. Tell me again what ya'll are doing."
Archie nodded. "I am providing the goldfishies and flowers for the table centerpieces."
"And where are you getting them?" said Jersey.
"Trick question," Archie beamed with pride that she'd remembered. "I'm not supposed to tell anyone."
"Good," Jersey leaned over to give the Balao a pat on her perpetually damp ponytail. "Albie?"
"Dinner dress blues for you and Shinano," said the slender Gato.
"And?" Jersey shot the sub a look.
"And I'm getting dresses for me and Archie." Jane had decreed that,in the interest of being the cutest flowergirls the world had ever seen, the two subs would wear dresses instead of their uniforms. Jersey wasn't about to argue with her, from her understanding Jane outranked everyone short of SecDef himself.
"Good," said Jersey. "You got the color swatches she picked out?"
"Yes, mom." Albie made a show of rolling her eyes as she fished a collection of colors Jane had selected. The littlest Richardson had the entire wedding plan worked up as a contingency, apparently since the moment her dad met Mutsu. That girl was going to be an Admiral one day, and Jersey only hoped she lived long enough to serve under her.
"Now remember," Jersey pushed back her urge to sleep. "Shina's not a fan of her rack. Make sure her blues fit, but aren't too snug."
"This is the third time you told us this," said Albie.
"Do I look like I give a fuck?" Jersey rolled her eyes. "We are getting this fucking rightfor Mutsu," she said, doing her best impression of her Admiral's commanding officer voice. "do I make myself understood?"
"Yes, sir!" both subs reflexively snapped to.
"Alright, get hunting."
—|—|—
Battleship Musashi sat cross-legged in the floor of her room, surrounded like a star with a vast solar system of books and hardcopy print-outs. Her glasses hung off the tip of her streamlined nose, and coffee as black as night coursed through her veins.
Little White had gone out of the way to help her get used to being a warship once again. She'd been the best teacher anyone could have asked for, and tried her hardest with every bit of energy her little boilers could produce. But… still, she was just an escort carrier. Her realm of knowledge was severely limited by her role as an auxiliary, and while she tried… she simply wasn't a training ship.
If Musashi was to bring herself back to full operational readiness once more, she'd need more than just what one escort carrier could impart as they passed the time on convoy escort.
So Musashi had went to the base library and checked out every book even tangentially related to damage control, naval gunnery, and even the deceptively complicated art of maneuvering such a titanically huge warship as herself she could find. She'd emailed Kashima and Katori, and duplicated the entirety of their training syllabus for her own use. She'd set up times where she could skype with the busy training cruisers and get personal tutoring.
She'd even gone as far as emailing Admiral Williams, and the captains of every steel-hulled warship based in Washington and Japan, asking if anyone had time to impart their knowledge on her woefully green crew.
Battleship Musashi had sunk once. She would make certain that event was never again repeated. So she studied. And she worked. And she studied some more. She only had a few days before the convoy set out for Japan. She would impress Kashima with her skills. She would defend Japan once more.
Because she was a Yamato.
—|—|—
"Fraulein Jane?"
"I'mmawke!" Jane bolted upright in her chair like she'd been shot. "I'm not sleeping! I am doing things that are…" she blinked. It was dark out. Jane was pretty sure it hadn't been dark out before she… er… before. "Um… what time is it?"
"Twenty-hundred hours," said the same thickly-accented, but apple-sweet all the same, voice that had roused her from what was most certainly not a nap.
Jane glanced over at the origin of the voice. It was that German cruiser who'd visited the base a few days ago. The really pretty one with the nice blond hair and a figure that Jane was certainwasn't treaty-compliant. Only she wasn't wearing her spiffy double-breasted uniform. She was wearing jean-shorts and a T-shirt with the American flag on it.
"Oh," the littlest Richardson—though not for much longer—took a moment to spruce herself up. "Prinz Eugen. Hi."
"Guten Nacht." Prinz Eugen smiled and settled onto a stool next to Jane. "I brought you some pudding."
"Thank you!" Jane took a moment to hug the cruiser in thanks before digging in. Mmm… it was really delicious, and almost as pleasing as hugging the cruiser's soft tummy. "Um… Pringles?"
"Ja?" The blonde girl idly nudged Jane's collection of colored penciled until they were arranged in a precisely-spaced grid of ascending wavelength.
"Aren't you German?"
Prinz Eugen opened her mouth. But for a long time, she said nothing. She only stared into the distance with a melancholy smile. "No," she said quietly. "I was, but… then I got offered to your country. And now I am an American." She tugged at her shirt, "See?"
Jane put her spoon down into the already half-gone pudding. "But what about Germany? Don't you have friends there?"
Prinz Eugen smiled again, this time more wistfully. "I do. Did. I… Bismark and Hipper and… all of them. But they are asleep now. And even if my country could bring them back… I am not certain they would."
"Oh." Jane nodded. It was… a little strange to her. She was used to thinking of the kanmusu as friends. It didn't matter what flag Mutsu-mama fought under, that was yearsago. But… but people older than here must think differently. She didn't know what to say, but…
But Prinz Eugen was clearly sad. She was smiling just a little, but crying quietly all the same. If Jane were older, she'd know just what to say. She knew her dad would. But he was an Admiral, and she wasn't quite one yet. All she could do was scoot over and wrap her little arms around the cruiser in a hug.
"Danke," Prinz Eugen hugged Jane back. "Danke, Jane. I… I have friends now. Frisco and Lou have been so kind to me."
"But it's not the same as being in your country?"
Prinz Eugen glanced at her shirt and nodded. "Ja. I… some times I try and pretend I'm an American like them, but my heart lives in Deutschland. It always will."
"I know," said Jane. "I mean… I sort of know. I'm from America but…" she sighed and rested against Prinz Eugen's pleasingly soft chest. "I don't know."
Prinz Eugen laughed. Jane more felt it than heard it with her head resting against the cruiser's body. "You know… If… you ever want to talk about it… I keep my phone on me all the time. So does Lou, I think. She served with Brazil for a while."
Jane smiled. The two cruisers might not be her mamas like Jintsuu was, but somehow that makes them so much easier to talk ti. "Thanks Pringles."
"You're welcome, Jane." Prinz Eugen smiled, then a quizzical look came over her face. "I have one question, however."
"Yeah?"
"What is a 'pringles'."
Jane laughed. "Stay right here!" And then she bolted over to the pantry, threw the door open… and was confronted with Minimu and Smolzona sitting splayed-leg around an upended tube of pringles. Smolzona bashfully looked away, but Minimu didn't have an ounce of shame as she attempted to stuff three chips into her tiny mouth.
"Are those the last ones?" Jane took on the tone of a chiding mother.
Smolzona nodded.
"C'mon guys!" Jane huffed. "Pringles, can you drive?"
"I am German!" Prinz Eugen bristled with Teutonic outrage.
Jane jumped onto a chair and thrust her hand in the air. "To the COMMISSARY!"
Admiral_Corgi
The Admiral of the PT Boats
- Location
- The Strange land of Florida
MY EYES!
wait... if Pennsy is Grievous, who's Dooku? ... and who's Palpatine then?!
its Jane isn't it?