Old Iron approved!
[=]
The outside to the Auditorium is increasingly packed as I slowly weave my way through the crowds, careful not to trip over a set of wires. I never did well in crowds like this. A mass of humanity, threatening to squeeze me until I pop just so that they could catch even a
glimpse of what was about to happen inside. Even news crews are present, only held back by a line of MPs.
'Easy, James.' I think to myself. My sister's helped out in more than one wedding. If anyone should be here, it's her. Not me. Not the guy who'd rather be buried in his headphones monitoring the Waterfall and keeping an ear out for any kind of contact. And yet they decided that I would be a good groomsman. At least I have an occasion to break out my Dress Whites, and the combo cover has a good weight to it.
The guy in front of me is Chair Force, and probably the tallest son of a bitch I've ever seen. The kind of guy who would kick my ass and not even notice. Which calls into question as to why he was flying planes instead of doing something where he wouldn't be squished into a cockpit. Or maybe I'm being presumptuous.
Behind me is a somewhat high-ranking officer in the Army. A ring adorns his finger, and I wouldn't be surprised if his spouse is inside. He gives me a friendly smile and a pat on the shoulder before I turn around and keep walking.
The aisle is thankfully less crowded, with room to actually breathe for once. And yet I'm still nervous. My eyes dart, and my mind makes notes of each contact I see and hear. Master One,
Nagara-class CL, Master Seven,
Akizuki-class DD. Ships that posed a serious threat to those who came before me, in their cramped
Gato and
Tench-class subs, and ones whose dark counterparts can't be stopped by more modern
688s and
774s because of complete bullshit.
Had our SSNs been able to do their jobs and kill the fuck out of everything, the War would have been over in two months and a whole bunch of subs would be covered from nose to screw with tallies of dead U-Boats. But there was no use raging against whatever asshole sent these freaks forth. It'll get its due at some point, hopefully in the form of an ADCAP or a successor that
works.
It's supposed to be a happy occasion, after all. The Admiral in charge, a man named Richardson, decided that he was in love with his flagship and promptly torpedoed her and put two on the slips. If there was one good thing about this, it was the idiotic puns.
In the corner of my eye, I can see Naka and some bald guy manning an oversize camera. Were they trying to get this thing filmed in
IMAX!? Who did she think she was, Christopher Nolan?
"And he's single!" The cameraman shouts.
I know he's talking about me. I can feel several pairs of eyes on me. They don't even need to transmit active sonar. They have visual contact and regular surface radar if their vision is obscured by someone else hoping to have a crack at me. That, and there's a sonobuoy right above my head.
I think back to high school, and how I was a timid bastard when it came to sex and relationships. Popular thanks to my wit, yet afraid that I would hurt someone if I made a move or accepted an offer. My parents weren't too eager to see me date someone at the time, either. So I simply read up on stuff. People may have the right to be ignorant, but they have no excuse nowadays. But I still kept my distance, unsure of what would happen once I started treading that unknown ground.
It feels surreal to have this kind of attention and lack any kind of direction.
I'd rather deal with them on my own terms rather than have to fend off a group trying to turn my life into one of the harem shows destroying anime, though. I know they'll make their move at the reception, in unfamiliar ground for me. If it were back home, I'd already have three or four escape routes planned, thanks to the home field advantage. Instead, I'm going to be in a corner, and the only thing worse than amorous Shipgirls are heartbroken ones.
James Hunter, single and now prey for any number of Shipgirls. Ironic considering my last name. Yet how could I turn the tables?
I remember that I'm coming up on the altar and promptly take my place. There is no God anymore, only SECNAV, and He decided to send one of His Own to ensure that Man and Battleship are lawfully wedded. I don't question it, even though I could have sworn that officers have no right to conduct weddings. But this War has thrown the Rulebook well beyond the window. I briefly look at my finger, imagining what it would look like with a little gold ring adorning it. I can't help but imagine the name of whoever I marry inscribed on it. The question is, who?
I can't help but feel that I'll get an answer to that question very soon. Admiral Richardson has already taken his place. I resist the urge to snap to salute. Now isn't the occasion. But he looks sharp for a middle-aged man who's had to wage a full-scale war against eldritch monstrosities that threaten to kill everyone, using girls and women in miniskirts.
Speaking of, they're starting to come down the aisle, the Bridesmaids. Each and every one of them a Shipgirl of all shapes and sizes save for auxiliaries, carriers, heavy cruisers, and amphibious assault ships. The organist plays the usual wedding song, but
something else entirely plays in my head. I can't help but imagine myself aboard a dwarf SSN of some sort while the full-size hulls pull into port for the occasion.
Each is majestic in their own right. Even if they're not the graceful titans of a bygone era, each carries an air of dignity and raw power about them. It makes me wonder what it would be like to see our fleet return. Even if our mighty wall of
Essex CVs didn't return, it'd still be nice to see the ponderous Standards as one big group, and an endless horde of
Fletcher DDs screening them.
Speaking of Standards, apparently Arizona is among the Bridesmaids. I can faintly make out scars on her person, but I'm silently amazed to see the redhead in proud shape instead of a rusty, leaky wreck, one of only two places that America considers Holy Ground.
New Jersey comes up shortly after, and instead of being a foul-mouthed love letter to 1980s-era Reaganism, is instead a truly dignified Sea Queen in her elegant dress. Her blonde hair cascades down her back like a golden waterfall, and even Yuudachi looks amazing, with a bit of a warrior's air about her.
Richardson's daughter takes up the rear, alongside Shinano and a pair of subs. The Yamato sister looks so young for someone who's so massive, and yet she carries herself with silent pride, befitting of a ship that was to be Japan's Pride and Joy. But Jane Richardson…
I've heard rumors about how much power she has with zero rank whatsoever. If I go career, she's definitely going to be a pain in the ass for me when she finally gets out of Annapolis. Any other school won't
fit for her. She
is the Navy, much like Palpatine is the Senate.
But all of that pales compared to the Woman of the Hour.
Mutsu.
She looks almost
Angelic in her wedding dress, almost
glowing, not from her pregnancy, but from something
else. Is this the power of Love?
She steps up to the altar, gently hugging and placing a small kiss on Jane. Everyone is on the verge of tears, including myself. I take a moment to remove my glasses and wipe at my eye. It's a sight that radiates
purity, even if these circumstances would have been seen as far from it, in a bygone era.
SECNAV's Agent conducts the ceremony while myself and the other groomsmen stand at attention. Mom's probably watching Naka's livestream, proud of how far I've come. Of course, Richardson needs a small reminder that he's getting married in the form of Hiei ramming a knee against his ass. We laugh before the proceedings continue.
My heart races. I'm bearing direct witness to history, here. I struggle to keep my breathing under control and ensure that this is a dignified occasion. The Admiral deserves as much. But there's a feeling that there's so much more. Mutsu isn't going to be the last of these girls to be married. That much is obvious. I heard that someone over in Washington State was in a lesbian relationship with, funnily enough, the state's namesake battlewagon. Curious, though ultimately unsurprising these days.
It's inevitable that the heavier ships will eventually find someone to love and marry, but what of the lighter ones, the destroyers and subs? None were older than high school age at most. Would they be able to grow up? Or would they be stuck forever young, and on their own?
I barely hear the words of the ceremony. So much is going through my mind.
Eventually we come to the final part, where the two seal the deal. The two kiss, only for Mutsu to turn what was supposed to be a simple gesture into a moment of passion. I can swear that I can see the outline of her tongue against his cheek before the two break off.
I groan a little. Save it for after you two get home,
then have your fun.
Everyone claps, including myself. After years of struggle and loss, it's about damned time that we get something genuinely happy to witness. The two make their way down, followed by their entourage. The airman, Iberez, I think his name is, links his arm with Jintsuu while Kawakaze follows. As I make my way to the steps, I remember that I'm with Arizona.
I do my damndest not to freak as I take her arm. Shimakaze follows the two of us, and I can feel barely-contained energy emanating from her. At least she looks more modest than usual. However, Arizona is
the Standard, and a Martyr on top of it. And yet she's a person at the end of the day, in spite of the scars. Being a Standard, she and I make our way out at a leisurely pace, not even at her normal cruising speed. She looks at me and I give a small, awkward smile. The fact that I'm still escorting a damned
War Hero is further complicated by the fact that several Shipgirls are threatening to transmit active sonar on me.
But I catch scent of
something. No,
someone. I'm being tracked by a starving beast. A Hungry Wolf. My eyes briefly meet those of the youngest
Myōkō, and all I see is
desire, framed by wavy brown hair and drawing my attention towards that purple dress of hers, tailored to show off her fairly generous curves. And I can faintly pick up her words, dripping with
lust.
"I'm on the hunt, I'm after you~."
My mind goes to the last words of a certain space Australian-
'Well I'm right fucked, aren't I?'
Daylight can't come soon enough as I exit the auditorium, taking deep breaths amidst the fresh air. For a given value of "fresh". This is a major port and naval base, after all. I do my best to smile and wave at the cameras, alongside Arizona.
"Are you nervous about something, Petty Officer?" The redhead asks.
Her reputation is the least of my problems, even if it's a story to cherish. "I have a feeling that I'm about to have a rough evening." I reply. It's a small weight off my shoulders. "Several of them…"
"Were eyeing you like a box of donuts." Arizona finishes. "Trust me, this isn't the first time I've dealt with people who've gotten too lonely."
"Try not to be too slo~ow about it~!" Shimakaze sing-songs. I turn around. Her distinctive bunny ears are still there, but she's in a much more modest dress than what she usually wears. Could a subject change be in order?
"Not the first time I've had to make quick decisions, Shima." I counter. "Also, that dress of yours is lovely."
"I helped pick it out." Arizona smiles.
"My sister would have made a similar choice if she were in your position." I add. "Shame she isn't here. She would have
loved to see something like this, if it wasn't for the fact that there's a rather large amount of firepower present."
"She's uncomfortable with us?" The Standard asks, surprised.
"It's a long story." I say. "But you girls kind of shattered her worldview. Granted, she isn't the only one, but it's rather disturbing to see her just blankly pretend that the Navy has this whole thing handled conventionally, rather than accept that you girls are mankind's best hope of kicking the asses of these freaks."
The Standard and even Shimakaze are taken aback.
"She… she thinks we're a
publicity stunt?"
"Considering that you girls are Michael Bay's
wet dream between your supernaturally good looks and highly-compressed firepower, it'd be hard not to see it if it wasn't for the fact that you girls are winning battles on your own. Repeatedly." I dryly remark. "The fact that I'm probably going to be forced to leave the reception with one of you as a girlfriend isn't going to help. Or will it? Fuck if I know."
I hear footsteps behind me. Heavy, but not with thousands of tons of armor and guns weighing them down. An Admiral.
I turn around and snap to salute. It's the Japanese one, Goto. Wait, he's a member of a foreign service. I lower my hand, eliciting a chuckle from the man.
"Leaving with a girlfriend?" He asks, raising an eyebrow. Kongou pops up, not even making a sound before I see her beaming face and flowing brown hair. Mutsu may have been an Angel during the wedding, but Kongou gave off that air, too. Everything about her came off about as soft as one, even.
"Perhaps there's even more Burning Love in the air~?" She asks, grinning.
"I came here expecting a wedding and food." I tell the battlecruiser. "Not someone wishing to experience modern torpedo warfare."
The two chuckle, and I can feel heat behind me, no doubt from Arizona. The woman has a certain reputation, ironic considering that little incident back in the 30s. But perhaps understandable. Even today, the Navy wouldn't be terribly fond of people sneaking hookers aboard their ships.
"And who do you suspect desires a night battle?" Goto asks me.
"I picked up more than a few pairs of eyes. One of the Akizuki sisters, who I'm going to have to shoot down on principle, Kinu, like, two or three others. But one stood out."
"Ashigara, I presume?" He asks, giving a knowing smirk.
"How'd you guess?"
"Because she's eyeing you right now."
I turn around and spot the
Myōkō sister waving at me while she meanders her way towards the reception hall. I can see the faint glint of sparkles in her eyes.
"This is going to be interesting." I state with dread.
"While I can't exactly order you, I still suggest that you talk to her."
My eyebrow raises up. "You're suggesting that I let her smother me?"
"I'm suggesting that you give her something to chase after, if only so that I don't have to hear her complain about how she can't land a boyfriend. And do be aware that she'll be on patrol this evening, so you won't have to deal with her for long."
I'm stupefied at the moment. Let someone chase after me to the ends of the Earth? For god's sake…
"The reception's in less than an hour. We probably shouldn't wait." Arizona remarks, breaking the silence.
"R-right." I stutter.
Goto and Kongou practically rush ahead, leaving me with the ponderous Standard and her lightning fast escort.
"So, where were we? Something about a publicity stunt?" Shimakaze asks.
"Yes." Arizona remembers. "Your sister believes us to be actors? Then what of the Abyssals?"
"She doesn't think about it. She thinks that it's just a normal war or something." I inform the two. "When I asked about who she thinks we're at war with, she vaguely says 'somebody', and calls me an idiot for joining the Navy. Ironically, she was the most stable of my family before the war broke out." I sigh. "Mom's somewhat okay with what's going on, and she took my sister to a shrink, but the guy simply said that she's just in overwhelming denial. Fuck, why am I even saying this? The Navy has shrinks, too."
The two just look at me, unsure what to say.
"Part of me just wants to sit on my boat and quietly mope about how fucked up things have gotten on my homefront. In a way, you're lucky that you're just ships given human form rather than people with families in some house or apartment somewhere." I tell them. "God knows how people would react if you lot lived lives as regular people before now."
There was a rumor that Richardson's previous, late wife was our first carrier,
Langley, though anyone who looked into it repeatedly ran into dead ends. Maybe that explained why
Enterprise, Essex, and our small horde of
Clevelands and
Baltimores had yet to return. I'll be damned if I know. I didn't rank high enough for this kind of shit.
"I still had a mother of my own, of sorts." Arizona says quietly. "Utah. One of our first dreadnoughts. She was almost like Connie, in a way. Wise, helpful. When we worried about something, she would help assuage our fears. On the rare occasion that we tried to talk to our crews and failed, she would tell us that we would eventually find someone who could see and hear us."
Her tone is whimsical, nostalgic.
"And what about you, Speedy Gonzales?" I ask Shimakaze. "Anyone you considered a mom?"
"I didn't really have one." She quickly cuts me off.
"Right, right." I say, rubbing my temple. Most of her comrades had sunk by that point, beneath an endless tide of American steel. "Sorry about that."
It's strange to think that ships had other ships they considered mothers. Considering they couldn't reach their crews, they sure as hell didn't have fathers, unless Enterprise somehow made Halsey see her, much like in
Destiny.
"It's fine."
The crowd is well ahead of us as we stroll towards the reception area at a leisurely pace.
I sigh. "At least I can happily tell any kids I have that I was paired up with one of America's biggest War Heroes for this." I say with a small smile. "That'll be a memory to cherish."
"I'm sure they'll be proud of you." The redhead tells me, smiling. She looks nice with one, I'll admit.
"And what about me?" Shimakaze asks.
"I'll tell them that I was escorted by Japan's answer to Ricky Bobby." I quip. I'm sorely tempted to say something less savory, but I cull my tongue on that.
The blonde raises an eyebrow. "Who's Ricky Bobby?"
I laugh a little. "You really need to see Talladega Nights. Ricky's much like you, wants to go fast."
Her eyes light up slightly, bringing a smile to my face. Though part of me can't help but get a feeling that I'll regret this.
Arizona finds herself pondering it. Meanwhile, my mind drifts towards Ashigara, and how the Hungry Wolf has decided that I'd be fair game. What would happen if she finally caught me? How the hell would I tell my family that I wound up with a Japanese CA as a fianceè or a spouse, in such a case?
"Oh hi, Mom. This is my wife, Ashigara."
Her coffee mug spills. My sister balks at how I wound up with someone who admittedly looked like she could model for Victoria's Secret before it finally hits her that she's in the presence of, not a well-paid actress, but a 15,000 ton warship.
"Ahh, hi." X)
The mental image is cringeworthy at best, but since she's been sicced on me, it seems to be all but an inevitability. Yet would I truly love her? Or would it merely be pity considering she has a reputation for having zero luck on the dating scene?
As the three of us enter the reception hall, I guess I'll have to find out.
