Jersey stood at the front of the briefing room, grinding her fists into her hips. She couldn't sit still, couldn't even dismiss the massive revolvers hanging off her gunbelt. She seethed with… with something she couldn't define. Anger, yes. Frustration, sadness, fear… Whatever the fuck it was, she was feeling too damn much of it to even think about sitting down and getting sorted.
With a cheerful electronic chirp that grated on the battleship's nerves like shotgunning ground glass, Admiral Williams' stern visage flashed into being on a screen. Jersey reflexively snapped to attention, but even that shock wasn't enough to dismiss her guns or fully coalesce her fragmented mind. "Attention on deck!"
"As you were," said Williams.
"Commander." His voice was the same wise, measured rasp as usual, but somehow Jersey felt something she hadn't felt before. A tiny undercurrent of warmth. It wasn't the tone of an Admiral talking to his sailors, but a father talking to his little girls.
Which, if Jersey was being honest, was what she felt like. Not a proud battleship commanding the seas with her presence. But a scared, frustrated little girl adrift in a storm she could only hope to ride out. "Sir," the battleship's lips parted. Before, she'd been boiling with rage, now she just wanted to curl up and cry. She bit her tongue, focusing on the pain to center herself. "What… what happened?"
"Missouri gave her all," said Williams with a hint of a smile. The man was proud, as he damn well should be. How Mo went down… it made everyone in the navy just a little bit better just by wearing the same uniform.
"She inflicted heavy casualties on the abyssal battle fleet before—" The Admiral caught himself before he continued.
"We'd hoped—expected—that with their fleet so severely mauled, our enemy would have no choice but to withdraw and give us time to fortify." Williams paused, his face an angry mask. It was the look of a man going back through every decision he'd ever made and trying to count the lives each one cost. It was a look Jersey knew well, she saw it every time she looked in a mirror.
"Instead they pressed their attack with ever greater ferocity."
The screen flickered over to an aerial photograph. A photograph that'd been taken from a higher altitude than Jersey was used to, but one whose subject was unmistakably Oahu. The tropical paradise Jersey knew so well stood out like an emerald jewel against the azure tropical waters.
But there was a scar at pearl. A vast ugly gash bleeding stark, lifeless white into the lush green.
"Mein Gott," Prinz Eugen shuddered and hugged herself tightly. "That looks worse than Norway."
"It is," said Williams.
"This far, and despite the best efforts of both Marines and Soldiers, the cold has stymied any attempt at a counter-offensive."
"Okay, that's…" Jersey pinched the bridge of her nose. "That's all well and good, but can I just address the
fucking elephant in the room here?" Her trembling hand came to her side and she glared at the photo. "How the FUCK did they land on GODDAMN PEARL IN THE FIRST FUCKING PLACE!" After a moment of deep, angry breathing she realized how loudly she'd just shouted and sheepishly bit her lip. "…Sir."
"Commander," Williams gave Jersey a long, somewhat gentle look.
"You speak for all of us. Though, perhaps more eloquently."
"Thank you, sir," said Jersey meekly.
"Abyssal forces attacked with incredible speed and ferocity. Almost before we realize the attack had begun, their tanks were rolling up the beaches."
"Nobody saw the landing craft?" asked Lou.
"There were none," said Williams with bitter resignation.
"Okay," Jersey threw her pen down, burying it up to the cap in drywall. "That's bullshit."
"But—"
"Stuff it, Poi. I know where you're going."
Yuudachi lowered her hand and settled back on her chair.
"The Abyssals would have to raise their invasion fleet from the sea," said Williams.
"If they can do that, why not cut out the middle man entirely."
"Okay, point," Jersey grumbled.
"I, Musashi, have a question," the chocolate battlewagon slowly adjusted her glasses until the light gleaming off the polished lenses completely obscured her eyes. "After taking such a savaging at the hands of Missouri, surly the wisest course of action would be to break off the attack and retreat."
The briefing room was silent for a heartbeat, then Jersey slowly turned in her chair to join with every other kanmusume in staring awe-struck at the former Imperial Japanese battleship. "Okay," she said, "Are we going to address that the fucking shirtphobia motel brought up retreat as a viable option?"
"She's studying and training. Hard," said Williams with a note of approval.
"And she raises a good point. Militarily, retreat would be the better option. But we don't believe it is an option."
The main screen flicked over to a tighter shot. Again, it was a picture Jersey'd seen a thousand times before. But it still took her a moment to realize—to process—that under the mountains of snow and caged in by craggy floes of ice was battleship row. Only this time, the ships tied up at anchor flew bloody red ensigns, their hateful silhouettes burned into the camera like festering wounds.
"This ship," A circle popped up around a battleship—a Bismarck-class—sitting in a flooded dry dock. Unlike the bigger and horribly mauled warship in the dock next to her, she lacked even the slightest hint of damage.
"Is the one we believe engaged Maya and Sendai. For lack of a better term, we're calling her the Raider Princess. The other has been designated the Snow Queen."
"Okay…" Jersey nodded, not sure where he was going.
"The Snow Queen's been moving around the harbor, leaving behind a trail of fresh fortifications in her wake. The Princess has stayed in her dock. We think…" Williams trailed off, his frown deepening into a scowl.
"Gale thinks… and both Wash and Mutsu confirm, that she's pregnant and very close to delivery. "
"O-okay," Jersey felt her lunch staging a revolt in her stomach. The thought of one of those bastards being pregnant was one thing, but if one of them was going to give birth at
Pearl. To soil the resting place of battleship Arizona, the single most sacred place on the whole goddamn planet… "Sir. Tell me we have a plan to kick those
things out."
Williams nodded.
"Akagi and Kaga are bording C-5s as we speak."
Jersey nodded. They were both much lighter than she was and should—just
barely—be airliftable by unmodified Galaxies. But she couldn't help but think about how miserable she'd been after her first experience with air travel. "Are they going to be fit to sail when they land?"
"Kaga insists that as carriers they have a natural affinity with the air."
"So, we'll have—" Jersey caught herself when she notice Shinano quietly trying to melt into her seat in the corner. "
more air cover. What's the plan, sir?"
—|—|—
"No, no, no!" The snow queen screamed at the top of her lungs, physically staggering the most unfortunate of her assembled imps with the sheer concussion of her voice. "This is
not good enough! My sister will
not have this
sty for her birthing ward!"
Her assembled forces cowered on the exposed jetty, shivering more from terror than the bitter cold. Her temper was running hotter than usual, and her eyeless gaze noticed a thousand unacceptable—unforgivable—blemishes wherever she looked. The harbor—
her harbor—was a wreck. A garbage heap barely fit for a scrapyard, let alone a princess's throne.
"Look!" The Snow Queen raised a massive talon at by far the most egregious blemish tarnishing her newly-won harbor. Shattered marble lay scattered over a half-submerged wreck of rusting steel leeching oil like a festering, weeping wound. "You think this is acceptable? Clean it up!"
Before the Snow Queen could fully unleash her tirade, a shrill cry from the drydock drew her attention. Her sister had fought hard, persevered through pain she could only imagine to bring her demons to safe harbor. But even the Raider Princess' iron will had its limits. The realities of natural existence demanded that her spawn come forth, and already the agonies of labor were upon her.
"Sister," The Snow Queen hastened to her sister's side. Already, the flooded graving dock was stained red. Great scars were carved into the walls where her sister's talons had torn deep into the concrete in the vain search for some relief for the torment wracking her massive frame. Her belly was bare, ashen skin roiling as the demons within fought for position. Each was desperate to be free of their frozen cage, but none willing to place itself in such a vulnerable position.
The standoff could last for hours, days, even longer. But once begun, the pain was as exquisite as it was unending. "Sister, I am sorry," The Snow Queen took her sister's talon in her own, holding it close to her breast as the Princess convulsion with another keel-shattering contraction.
"It…" shallow breaths came like machine-gun fire through gritted teeth. "It… will… be… fine."
"No," the Snow Queen shook her head, scowling back at that putrid stain marring the harbor. "No, my sister you deserve better."
"It…" the princess howled, her free hand clutching her stomach and carving deep bleeding tears in her own flesh. "It is… good… enough."
"Not for you." The Snow Queen held her sister's hand to her bosom and squeezed with all her strength. "Not for you."
- - - -
It took me
forever to get this whipped into shape.
