Belated Battleships (KanColle) [REHOST]

[theJMPer]

Well, I said I wasn't gonna write anymore. But dangit, an plot bunny wouldn't let me go.
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The quiet, repetitive thunk of an exhausted, constantly-suffering navy NCO banging her head against the pile of leafy lettuce and… well, mostly more lettuce daintily piled up in the center of her tray tore Professor Crowning's attention from the country-fried steak he was working his way though.

"Fuck my life," Gale's moan was almost lost in the salad currently trying to swallow her face whole. Her shoulders slumped against the worn wooden table and even her healthy—if a little bland, especially considering the excellent comfort food the galley produced—meal seemed to wilt in her presence.

Crowning dabbed at his mouth with a napkin, and cocked an eyebrow at the grumbling, ever-suffering sailor.

Gale, who somehow read his expression even with her face buried in salad, simply extended a finger in the direction of the doors and let out a quiet grumbling moan of frustration.

Crowning set his fork down on his plate with a gentle sound of stamped-steel on plastic and turned to follow the sailor's finger. It didn't take him long to spot the source of her apparent discomfort.

USS St. Louis—or 'Lou" as she apparently liked to be called—strolled down the chow line with a carefree smile on her face and a springy sashay in her step. The light cruiser—Crowning was rather proud of himself that he'd finally got the distinctions nailed down—was still in the same outfit she'd been summoned with: Shorts that showed off slender, sinewy legs, a sleeveless shirt that covered a chest not nearly as perfectly sized as Jersey's, with her flaming hair tied back in a ponytail that didn't do a thing to keep her shimmering copper mane from dancing like a bonfire in the wind.

But more to the point, she still had all her guns. Crowning hadn't seen an American warship walk around with all her guns summoned before, at least not this long after summoning, but somehow… the look just suited Lou.

Two long, sleek-looking revolvers that Crowning couldn't identify hung low off her hips, supported by crossed gun-belts decorated with rows of spare bullets. Another pair hung from a heavy leather-and-canvas harness wrapping around her shoulders and back, while yet another gun was strapped sideways in the small of her back, nestled in the curve of her slender waist.

Watching her fill her tray up with one of every item on offer—and offering a bright smile and gangling curtsy to each and every cook filling her plate—Crowning was starting to see just why Gale hated interacting with the shipgirls so much.

Lou was thin—one might even go so far as to call her skinny. Her waist looked tiny enough even in her loose-fitting sailor top, but her broad hips and sinewy muscle kept her from looking even close to malnourished. She looked like a featherweight boxer; small and light, but every inch a fighter. And she was carrying a tray laden down with enough food to feed Crowning three times over.

And now she was sashaying though the mess hall looking for a spot to sit. Crowning hated to admit it, but he had a hard time not noticing the way her hips swooshed back and forth with each hip-swinging step.

It was… it was almost like the way Jersey walked, only not as… fluid. Crowning would never call a girl like Lou ugly, but that didn't change the fact that she wasn't nearly as pretty as Jersey. Her hips weren't as wide as the battleship's, her thighs not nearly so muscular and toned.

When Lou walked, it was a showy, girly bounce of barely-contained energy. But when Jersey walked… Crowning hated to duck back to the ancient cliche, but it truly was poetry in motion. The way her whole body flowed into each step like quicksilver on a mirror. Jersey moved like no woman he'd ever seen, she moved like a symphony of steel and muscle, even when—no, especially when she didn't think anyone was looking. The girl had a grace all her own, a grace that-

"Doc?" Gale flashed Crowning a toothy grin, a loose piece of lettuce stuck to her forehead.

"Hmm?" Crowning pursed his lips.

"You're thinking about Jersey, aren't you?"

The professor offered Gale a timid smile. He'd long since learned never to try and sneak something past the seemingly omniscient NCO. "I miss her," was his only explanation.

Gale opened her mouth to shoot back a teasing retort when a smooth twang cut her off at the turn.

"Pardon me," said Lou, her hair all aglow as she beamed at the two with that luminescent smile of hers, "This seat taken?"

Crowning bit his lip. He couldn't say no to a smile like that, the girl looked so… so happy just to be alive and back in the land of the living. But if Gale didn't want to watch her eat, the professor would find the coldest part of his heart and ask her to eat elsewhere.

At least that was the plan before Gale spoke up. "No, uh… go ahead."

Crowning shot her a questioning look, which Gale replied to by furiously jerking her head at Lou's beaming grin.

"Thank ya!" Lou set her tray down with a heavy thump and offered the two a curtsy. Or at least the closest to a curtsy she could manage in shorts while strapped with gun after gun. "Admiral told me you two helped figure out how to bring me back, yeah?"

"It was mostly-" Crowning and Gale launched into explanations over one another, only to shrug and sheepishly retreat back to their own chairs.

"It was a joint effort?" offered Gale with a shrug.

"Let's go with that," said Crowning. "Arthur Crowning," he offered her a hand which she shook so vigorously it banged against the table a few times.

"Yeoman Second Class Sarah Gale." Gale offered her hand, which received another equally enthusiastic shake.

"Oh…" Lou let out a proper southern sigh and leaned back in her chair. "It's so very nice to be back in the states again."

Crowning shot her a confused look, "Back in the states?"

Lou nodded, and popped a tater tot in her mouth. "After the war-" she squealed with pleasure as she bit into the potato-based nugget. "Mmm, these are delicious."

"We try our best," said Gale. Crowning thought the sailor did an admirable job a hiding her envy that 'doing our best' mostly meant cranking out the most artery-hardening dishes imaginable to keep the shipgirls happy.

"Well, I thank you from the bottom of my…" Lou bit the corner of her lip, her cheeks puffing out as she stuck the tip of her tongue out in thought. "Should I say heart? Or boilers, maybe?"

Crowning shrugged, "I've been studying you girls for more than a year. Even I'm not sure half the time."

"Well regardless," Lou popped another tot into her mouth with another purr of delight, "Thank you so much for your effort, Yeoman!"

Gale blushed, "We do what we can, ma'am."

"Aw, don't call me ma'am!" Lou flipped a lock of flaming copper hair out of her eyes and smiled at Gale with that irresistible million-candlepower grin of hers. "How old do you think I am, anyway?"

"Well…" Gale shrugged, "You're a treaty cruiser, gotta be at least in your seventies, right?"

Lou froze, her smile fading into an even more adorable pout. Her brows knit together and the leather of her harness creaked as she crossed her arms with a huff. "Don't have to tell everyone."

Gale rolled her eyes and stuffed a mouthful of lettuce into her mouth.

"So," said Crowning, eager to get the conversation back onto some sort of rails. "You said you were happy to be back in the states?"

"Oh, yes," Lou's pout vanished in an instant, and the old smiling cruiser was back. "After the war, the Navy sold me to the Brazilians." She shrugged, "Don't get me wrong, they're nice people. But… it's not.. not home, you know?"

Crowning nodded and took a sip from his drink.

"Anyways," Lou took a huge bite of a loaded baked potato—one of massive ones Kidd's DesRon had helped prepare—and dabbed a few spots of sour cream off the corners of her mouth. "I hear Frisco's back. That true?"

Gale nodded.

Lou sighed. She actually sighed, like girl in a bad fifties movie fawning over her high school crush. Her cheeks glowed even redder then her flaming hair and she settled her head against her hand, "She's so pretty, isn't she?"

Gale's fork clattered the the floor. "What?" she said with the level of utter flatness in her tone that only a Navy NCO could manage.

"Frisco!" said Lou. "I know she's real sensitive about being Nisei and all, but-" the light carrier let out another of those happy sighs, "She's just so pretty, you know?"

"Uh…" Gale glanced from Lou to Crowning and back. "You know her?"

Lou nodded. "I was tied off next to her during Pearl," she stopped, "Well, not right next to her, but I could see her." Her smile faded until it suddenly seemed forced. "I, uh…" she scratched at her chin, "You should've seen her Poor girl was in port for a defouling, her hair—hell, her whole outfit—was a mess. She kept fretting every time she thought someone was looking at her."

The cruiser stared at something a few miles behind the table for a moment, her eyes glazing over before she shrugged back her demons. "Yeah…" she sniffed, her gaze drifting back up to Gale and Crowning, "And now she's back. And I'm never gonna let her forget how silly she looked."

"You sure that's wise?" asked Crowning, "She's pretty crafty."

"Well I'm craftier!" Lou banged her fist on the table with a wild-eyed grin. "More crafty? Craftier?"

Crowning nodded.

"Okay, Craftier. I'm craftier than her!" Lou sat back in her chair with a happy grin, "You know, I got underway on the seventh. Went out hunting for the Jap flatops." She sighed and patted the butt of one of her guns, "Might've caught 'em too if I didn't have to put my guns back together." She shrugged, "Well… maybe."

"That why you carry them with you?" asked Crowning.

Lou nodded, "You never know when something might need to get shot."

"Well," somehow, the leafy sprig of lettuce hanging out of Gale's mouth as she chewed only added to her dry sarcasm, "Brazil didn't take the America out of you."

Lou beamed happily and popped another tater tot into her grinning mouth.

—|—|—​

Akagi let out a long, happy, but above all exhausted sigh as she shuffled though the flimsy sliding door to her tiny little room. Kaga wasn't home—she usually wasn't. The only reason the two carriers shared a room is because neither of them could stomach taking an entire bedroom to themselves only to leave it empty half the time.

But the absence of her sister—by fact, if not by design—didn't do much to temper the carrier's happy mood. With so little coastline to defend, Akagi rarely ever saw her CarDiv 1 sister. She'd learned to treasure the odd moments when they were both off duty as delicious deserts, not a staple food to build her life around.

It didn't matter anyway. As Akagi flopped onto the heavy blankets resting on the bed she shared with Kaga, she noticed they were still warm from Kaga's superheated body temperature. Akagi smiled and burrowed deeper into the residual warmth still clinging to the heavy quilts. Kaga might have a heart ice, but she was still soooo warmmmm.

It would've taken every last shred of self control Akagi had not to sigh with pleasure at the warmth of her beloved sister curling around her like a gentle hug. But Akagi wasn't feeling very stoic, so she didn't even try to stop her sighs.

But as much as she would have loved to curl up into a tight little ball and fall asleep under the heavy blankets, Akagi was still a fighting carrier. That meant she had certain responsibilities to take care of. Responsibilities like unpacking her stuff in some kind of order that wasn't just 'dumped on the floor' so she didn't upset her beloved half-sister.

Akagi allowed herself one more minute to curl up under the blankets before pulling herself free and shuffling over to her seabags. She was halfway though folding up the swimsuit Ryuujou had suggested to her—Akagi still had to thank her properly for that. The little light carrier really had an eye for color—when yet another responsibility made itself apparent.

She had to find out what that noise was. It almost sounded like a Zero roaring up and down the halls, accompanied by heavy foot falls and childish giggling. Akagi was equal parts confused and amused as she opened the door.

At which point the confusion jumped though the roof. As, somehow, did the amusement.

A carrier she didn't recognize—a carrier who utterly towered over her, stood frozen between steps in the hall.

Her long, heavily muscled arms were held wide like the wings of a plane, her fingertips so far apart they almost kissed the walls. Her lips were pucked, like she'd been making engine noises with her lips, and her face—her incredibly youthful face. Akagi was pretty sure Ryuujou looked older—was rapidly blushing out of the visible spectrum.

On the mystery carrier's shoulders was a much tinier carrier Akagi couldn't help but recognize. Little White plains beamed from cheek to chubby cheek. She too held her arms out like the wings of a—much smaller—airplane, while her legs were crossed over the mystery carrier's heavily armored chest to keep herself in place.

"Um," the mystery carrier somehow blushed even redder. "Hi… Akagi-sama."

"Hello!" White waved so fast her arm turned into a blur.

Akagi smiled and offered a lazy wave in return. "Hello, White. Carrier-san."

"Shinano," said the mystery carrier. Her hands were still frozen in the air as she gave Akagi a stare that wouldn't be out of place on a doe crossing the road. Something that made Akagi giggle, given how the mystery carrier—how Shinano—looked like she could effortlessly break her in half if she wanted to.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," said Akagi. "What're you two doing?"

"Uh," Shinano slowly let her hands fall to her side, "Flight training?"

Akagi raised an eyebrow.

"I- I didn't come back with any planes," admitted Shinano with a sheepish shuffle of her massively armored boots.

"So I'm her planes!" said White with a giggle. The tiny CVE slipped off Shinano's shoulders and shimmied down the massive girl like she was little more than a timid jungle gym. "Also, Akagi?"

"Ye-oof!" Akagi grunted as White slammed into her stomach at flank. Her chubby little arms wrapped around Akagi's waist and squeezed her tight.

"Thank you for watching over Jersey," said White. Her face was barely visible past the bulging lacquered plating of Akagi's breastplate, but the Japanese carrier could still feel the little CVE's thankfulness radiate though the air.

"You're very welcome, White." Akagi couldn't resist ruffling the little girl's hair.

White giggled and shuffled off to her room, leaving Akagi and Shinano alone in the hallway. Shinano looked like she wanted to say something, but the towering monster of a carrier kept fidgeting and glancing down at her armored toes instead.

Akagi was the one to break the silence, "Shinano, you were a battleship last I recall."

Shinano nodded sheepishly, "I was converted to a carrier to…" she blushed, "To make up for your loss, Akagi-sama."

"Please, Akagi." Akagi placed a hand on the much taller girl's shoulder, a note of surprise flashing across her face at the sheer amount of muscle hiding under Shinano's loose kimono. "And that's nothing to be ashamed of. I was a conversion too."

"Yeah, but," Shinano shrugged, "You're Akagi. Of the Kido Butai. I could never replace that."

"Maybe you can," said Akagi, "You have a very good teacher."

Shinano bushed and mumbled something as she scuffed her boot against the carpet.

"Where are they putting you up?" asked Akagi.

"Oh, with White," said Shinano. "She, um… she offered to share her room. It's really big and…" the towering girl fiddled with the end of her loose half-ponytail, "And I think she just likes having something around to escort."

Akagi laughed, "I think you've chosen a very good roommate."

"Thank you," Shinano bowed from the waist, but because of her towering height she managed to plant her youthful face right into Akagi's bountiful chest. "I, Uh…" she stammered out an apology and sheepishly shuffled back. The poor girl looked like she wanted nothing more than to melt into the wall like a ninja.

"Don't worry," Akagi offered Shinano her very warmest smile. The one she usually held in reserve for well-deserving destroyers. "It's hardly the worst thing a newly returned girl has done. You're still getting used to your new body."

Shinano seemed to accept the explanation. Her blush at least seemed to fade by a fraction.

"I usually get breakfast at six," said Akagi, "I'd be happy to have you join me."

Shinano let out a squeal of unmitigated joy. "Really?"

Akagi nodded. "Of course. Now-" she stifled a yawn. "Good night, Shinano. I'll see you in the morning."

"Good night, Akagi-sa-" Shinano coughed. "Good night Akagi."

Akagi was almost to the door of her room when she heard the other carrier cough.

"Um… Akagi?" Shinano rubbed the armored toe of one boot against the heavy canvas upper of the other, "Can… can I have a hug goodnight?"

Akagi smiled and drew the towering girl into a warm hug. "Of course you may."

 

[Skywalker_T-65]

As per SB (where the idea came up) here's a short little bit of Freshly Summoned Furious.

AKA, the carrier with an 18in gun.
______________________________________________

BB Europe: The Adventures of HMS Furious​

"Who is that, Admiral?" HMS Hood whispered softly, standing beside Admiral Andrews of the Royal Navy.

As the senior-most British warship to return, Hood found herself standing in on any summoning. The war with the Abyssals, as the Japanese called them, was still new. But the Royal Navy was determined to get as many girls as possible, as quickly as possible. Victory was doing her own summoning elsewhere, just as Hood was helping her own Admiral.

But the girl standing in front of them was one she didn't recognize. A tall woman, carrying an air of age slightly older than Hood herself. One with long brown hair, tied back into a bun. Blue eyes, staring confusedly around her.

But Hood wouldn't have recognized how she looked anyway. No, for that she tended to rely on the hull she saw first. Hey, if it worked it worked right? At least, Hood thought that way. But the ship in front of her was one she didn't recognize. A long, slim battlecruiser hull...but one with a strange flight-deck on her bow. And a truly massive single turret on her stern, bigger than even Hood's powerful rifles.

"Oh bloody hell..." On the other hand, Admiral Andrews was currently holding his hand to his face. The man let out a long-suffering sigh, making Hood send him a confused look.

"Admiral?" She asked, confusion and worry tinging the battlecruiser's voice.

In response, the Admiral just pointed to the comically oversized turret held in one of the new girl's hands, along with the flightdeck on her arm, "HMS Furious. Before her proper conversion."

Hood blinked, ever so slowly. Her head turned on her shoulders, the creek of metal on metal echoing in the room. The girl's mouth opened and closed. "She's...Furi..." And then snapped shut again, as Hood shook her head in disbelief.

That girl was the first aircraft carrier? Hood could hardly believe it. She remembered a sleek carrier, with no island admittedly, but a proper flight-deck. One who was elegant in her own way, no matter her age and the fact she was not a proper carrier by the time the War came around.

Not...

"Admiral?" The new girl...Furious...spoke up worriedly. She had walked over to the group while Hood had worked her jaw, trying to put words to her befuddlement. And, for what it was worth, Furious appeared just as confused. "Where am I? What's going on?"

"That is...a very long story." Admiral Andrews sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. While only Hood would hear what he muttered next, she found herself agreeing on some level. Hard not to.

"Of all the carriers we could get, we get Furious before she was complete."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-​

Picking at the wet sleeve of her uniform, Furious frowned slightly. Sailing along beside Hood was an interesting experience really. The much larger battlecruiser, a cousin of sorts, was someone she had known before. In her...past life. But then, she had been a carrier. Now, she was something else. A battlecruiser-carrier. Battlecarrier? Whatever the hell you called her, she wasn't what she should have been.

Holding the comically oversized cannon in her off-hand hardly helped that. Furious couldn't help but look down at it, the bore of that weapon larger than the width of her arm. The cannon itself was bigger than her head! What was she even supposed to do with that thing?

What could she do with that thing? Hit an Abyssal?

"Break!"

That Hood was suddenly shouting at her didn't help.

What's wrong? Did she...

Before Furious could even finish that thought, water was spraying into the air all around her. She skidded to the left, the weight of her oversized turret making the old carrier stumble with the motion. She had forgotten just how unwieldy that monster was...and had really never wanted to remember!

"How did you know they were here?" Furious got out over the sound of shellfire, maintaining the elegant poise required of such an old carrier as she did so. Even with her hair fraying from it's bun.

"Radar!" Hood shot back, tapping her head.

Furious wasn't quite sure how to think about that, but didn't dispute the point. No, she just ducked underneath another shell, as two cruisers pulled out of fog ahead of the pair of British girls. French cruisers, but not the French themselves. No, as 152mm guns fired, Furious had to turn away, the wrongness of those ships pushing at her.

At least they weren't heavy cruisers?

Right?

"Furious, stay back!" Her comrade pushed ahead of her, Hood's belt armor shrugging off hits from the Abyssal weaponry. "You don't even have any planes right now. Let me handle them."

"Hood..." Furious tried to protest, but she couldn't be heard over the sound of shells pinging off Hood's armor.

Yes, she didn't have any planes. It was quite unfortunate actually. Even if she had any, her deck couldn't handle anything but Great War planes. Old Sopwiths were no use here.

But Furious couldn't just sit back and watch. She had to help!

But how? Hood was right. She had no planes, and what was a carrier without...her...aircraft...

This is a very bad idea. But bloody hell, nothing ventured, nothing gained.

For Furious' eyes trailed away from her arm-mounted flightdeck, and towards the comically oversized gun in her other hand. She hadn't used this in decades but...she wasn't going to just sit back and let Hood fight alone. No sir! She was a warship of the Royal Navy, and they never backed down from a fight. If she had to fight with something she didn't really know how to use, she'd do it. For King and Country!

And so, Furious pumped her boilers, pushing herself forward. The carrier bit her lip, blue eyes sighting in on the trailing Abyssal while Hood battered the forward one with her own guns.

Right...just have to...

"Fire!" Furious shouted, letting her proper exterior go for once second. Carrier she may have been, but she had always wanted to say tha...

Before she even knew what was happening, Furious found herself flying through the air. Her arm shook, her head rang. And she fell to the sea, thoroughly flustered, even though the sound of a massive explosion echoed through the air.

"You bloody fool!" Hood's voice shouted through the ringing in the carrier's ear, the battlecruiser pulling up alongside. "What were you thinking, using that thing!"

Furious couldn't respond, as she shook her head. Her eyes were unfocused, stars flying in and out of her vision. That had...not been her greatest idea ever. She knew the gun was too big for her light frame, but she hadn't expected to be flipped over by firing the bloody thing!

At least it had blown up the Abyssal, right?

"I wanted to help..." the old carrier shook her head, reaching out a hand for Hood to pull her up.

"...you fired a gun so big, the Japanese would blush!" Hood protested, pointing at the oversized weapon in Furious' hand. "What did you think would happen?!"

"That it would blow up the Abyssal and may hurt my back a bit?" Furious replied, trying to regain some of her poise. Besides, Hood was younger than her, if not by much.

It didn't work. The slightly younger battlecruiser just planted her face firmly in her palm, sighing heavily, "Furious...please be more careful when you shoot that thing, at least? I know you need to train before you can get your old hull back, but if you go flying every time you shoot, we might as well have you use it as a battering ram!"

Now, Furious wasn't about to do something that stupid. She was a veteran, the oldest carrier in the world. Not some new kid who would actually try to use the backfire from her gun to batter something! But, Hood didn't think about that, even as she realized what she had said. So before Furious could actually say something in response...

"You wouldn't actually try that, would you?" Hood asked with a tone of dread in her voice. Wide blue eyes stared at the (battle)carrier, clearly worried at the idea.

Furious just shook her head, "Of course not. I'm not a fool Hood."

"You did shoot a gun too big for you, I'm inclined to worry."

And, the moment those word's left Hood's mouth, Furious knew one thing.

She was never going to live this down, was she?

 

[theJMPer]

Jersey squinted at the steel-gray horizon, her terrifyingly blue eyes burning like icy daggers behind her mirrored shades. It was a pointless gesture, her targets were well beyond the horizon, she could only 'see' them by way of her Kingfisher's observers. But still, it felt right to squint. The simple, mechanical action never failed to bring some degree of clarity to a confusing situation.

Except for the current one.

Which was just fucking weird.

"Yo, Dessboat?" Jersey waved her hand in the general direction of Kongou's bouncy buns. And also her hair-thingies.

"Hmm?" Kongou let out that little tea-scented humming noise she did when she didn't feel like Dessing.

"Abbys don't fly flags, right?"

Kongou put a slender finger to her lips, her gaze going a little slack as she rifled though her logbooks to double-check. "No," she said, her head bobbing in finality, "Not that I'm aware of, no. Kirishima?"

The other Kongou glanced up from her ever-present notebook, her glasses flashing in the light as glasses—at least ones worn by Japanese girls—are wont to do. "Yes?"

"Have Abyssals ever been spotted flying flags?"

Kirishima thought for a second while a gaggle of tiny faerie in IJN duty blues clambered down her arm to examine her notebook. The tiny creatures worked as one to flip the page, then imminently started arguing with increasingly frantic high-pitched "desu"s that reminded Jersey of dial-up tones. After a minute, they seemed to come to a consensus.

"No," said Kirishima with an air of resolute finally. "Never."

"Well… fuck," was Jersey's eloquent response. She scowled, her arms folding across her chest with a huff. "Hey, Mushi. Vector one of your Petes over, I want another pair of eyes on this."

Musashi nodded, her chest swelling as she prepared a suitably cutting jab about Jersey's eyes focusing on certain… areas. But whatever snark she'd built up evaporated when she caught Jersey's glance. There was something haunting in the American's glare. Something had her worried. Worried enough to show it. "Of course," the Japanese superbattleship relayed the command to her floatplane.

"What is it, Dess?" asked Kongou. Her long hair streamed behind her as she steamed to within a scant few hundred yards of Jersey. Her lips were pursed in concern, and those beautiful gray eyes of hers glowed with compassion at the towering American.

"Well, I found our targets," Jersey idly worried the tip of her long braid. "Four Panzerschiffs hauling ass for the Abyss right where Frisco said they'd be."

"But?" asked Musashi, her gaze flickering up to meet Jersey's as soon as the American glanced in her direction. "There's a 'but', isn't there?"

"Kinda," said Jersey. "They're flying Nazi flags."

For almost a full ten seconds, the sound of waves crashing against fighting steel was all the noise that could be heard.

"You mean-" Kirishima's slightly haughty correction was cut off by a glare from Jersey.

"The Kriegsmarine flag? No." Jersey shivered as she glanced 'out' at her target though her floatplane. She'd know that banner anywhere. A giant blood-red field with a swastika displayed proudly—proudly. Jersey didn't know how, but she knew those abyssal bitches were proud of the evil mark they bore—in the center.

"I see it too." Musashi's muscles tensed under that lovely chocolate skin, her jaw clenching with a groan of stressed steel.

"Something's not right," muttered Jersey.

"Does it, like… matter?" Yuudachi raised her little hand in the air, her scarlet eyes huge with honest curiosity.

"Eh?" grunted Jersey.

"I mean… like…" the destroyer put her arm down and started sketching out the general shape of a box with both hands. "You said it's always good to kill Nazis, right?"

"Well, yeah," Jersey rolled her shoulders, hoping she came off more cockily sure of herself then she felt. "That's always good."

"Then why do we care that they're flying flags? We're still gonna sink em, right?" asked Yuudachi with a curious "poi?"

"Because," Jersey blinked. "Uh… it's spooky."

Kongou hung her head with a sigh.

"What?" Jersey shoot the hyperactive britboat a scowl. "That's a perfectly legitimate military reason to be upset!"

"She has a point, sister," added Kirishima. "The actions of the enemy cannot be simply ignored because they don't fit into our theories of them."

Jersey smiled. "Clever girl." She shrugged, her hands going to rest on the two massive revolvers hanging off her hips. "But Poi-McPoiFace is right."

Yuudachi beamed.

"Those bitches are Abyssals," said Jersey. "More then that, they're Abyssal Nazis. That's evil fucking squared." The battleship felt the wind blow though her hair, tossing it back in a shimmering strawberry-blond wake. It was time for battlethings. "No way in hell are we letting them just sail into the sunset."

Her voice grew from its usual dusky contralto to… an equally dusky contralto that just happened to be THUNDEROUSLY LOUD. "Leave this flag shit to the philosophers, we've got boats to kill."

Kongou beamed and flashed Jersey a typically unsubtle thumbs-up before whipping out a pencil and notepad from… somewhere. "What's our plan?"

Jersey pursed her lips and glanced towards the only real pacing element she hat to worry about. "Yo, Mushi!"

Musashi puffed out her chest until her bandages strained over her breasts and glanced over. "Yes?"

"How fast you feel like going?" Jersey waved to the massive gash in the Japanese super-battleship's torpedo bulge.

"ChEng says twenty-one knots max," said Musashi, "Though he'd appreciate it if I stayed under fourteen."

Jersey bit the corner of her lip and flipped though her copy of Janes' Fighting Ships of WWII, stopping briefly to examine the beautiful line drawings of the heavily-armed British battleships for reasons that weren't at all lustful. Okay, maybe a tiny bit, but her main focus was double-checking the speed of the soon-to-be shipwrecks sailing just over the horizon.

"Okay, here's the plan," Jersey flashed a grin at her little fleet. "Kongou and Kirishima-"

The two fast-battleships snapped to attention.

"Take two Akatsukis each and loop around to encircle them," said Jersey. The Kongou sisters really didn't have the belt armor to reliably keep out eleven-inch shellfire, but they did have the speed and firepower to catch anything that tried to escape the killbox.

The two battleship nodded in agreement and steamed over to collect their destroyer screens from Tenryuu's kindergarten.

"Fubuki," said Jersey, "you're on me-"

"Hai!" Fubuki almost jumped out of the water in her eagerness to salute. "Fubuki will to her best!"

Jersey blinked. "Outstanding. Naka-"

"Hi~ hi~!" Naka giggled and threw up a peace sign in front of her eyes, "Naka-chan desu~!"

Jersey blinked again. "I thought we agreed you were never going to do that again."

"I forgot," said Naka with a sly wink.

"Fuck you too, handlebuns," Jersey flipped her middle finger at the singer, who just rolled her eyes with exaggerates slowness. "I want you and chunni-"

"I'm not chunni!"

"-boat plus poi screening Musashi. Do not let her take any torpedoes, she'll be fucking insufferable if she tanks another fish."

"I'm not insufferable now?"

Jersey wheeled around to flip both fingers at the snowy-haired battleship. "Fuck you, tittybitch."

"Aww," Musashi made a show of swooning with one hand pressed to her chest. With her arm 'accidentally' squishing right into her seemingly limitless cleavage, "She really does love me!"

Jersey's scowl grew to truly legendary proportions. "What-fucking-ever. I want you as my anvil. I've got the speed advantage, I'll murder 'em with the long sixteens and drive the stragglers into your eighteens. Sound like a plan?"

Musashi stroked her chin. "Simple, brutal… I, Musashi, approve!"

Jersey smiled. There were a number of things she wanted for Christmas. Pie comprised about half that list, but getting to hunt down and murder Nazis with her newfound friends, well… she couldn't think of any better way to celebrate the season.

—|—|—​

White woke to the telltale sound of something hard and metal smashing against the slatted wood bottom of her bunk. A sound that was followed mere seconds later by quiet muttering and a few even quieter sniffles. By her count, it was just past one-thirty in the morning.

"Shinano?" White rolled onto her tummy, her head hanging just far enough off the side of her bunk to see the towering carrier.

The poor girl barely even fit in her bunk, she looked like a sock monkey someone had wedged into place with a liberal application of grease and hammers. And she was crying quietly into her hands.

"Um," Shinano glanced over at White. Her hands quivered in the still air, and her already pale skin looked almost deathly white. "Did… did I wake you?"

White nodded, "It's okay though. I don't need much sleep."

"Oh," Shinano's massive shoulders slumped, her face sinking as it tried to retreat behind the cover of her forest-green kimono. "I'm… I'm sorry, White."

"It's okayyy," White dragged out the last syllable to make sure Shinano got the message. "Bad dream?"

Shinano nodded dejectedly. "But… but I don't remember anything. I just woke up…" she sniffed. "White, I'm scared. Can-" The giant carrier sheepishly looked over at White's hanging head and inverted pigtails, "Can I sleep with you? Just for tonight?"

"Um," White shifted her weight just slightly, causing her bunk to creak and groan under her immense displacement. "I'm not sure that's a good idea."

"Okay," Shinano sniffed again and let her head fall back against her pillow. Before she could say anything more, the sound of a tiny escort carrier crawling down a ladder in the dark drowned her out.

"I can always sleep with you though," White smiled a toothy smile as she crawled into bed with Shinano. Or actually, on Shinano. With the massive Japanese carrier sprawling over the mattress, there was precious little room for even someone as tiny as White to lay down.

So White contented herself with curling up atop Shinano's warm tummy and resting her head on the carrier's breast. "You're really soft," she said with a smile. All the Japanese girls she'd cuddled with were really soft. It was nice and comfortable, but still… White would've given anything in the world to snuggle up to Jersey's rock-hard stomach just one more time. These soft Japanese girls were nice but… but they weren't her mama.

Shinano smiled. Actually smiled and wrapped her arms around White. "Thank you, White."

"'ny time," mumbled White. The little carrier smiled as she felt Shinano's chest heave with a sigh of contented happiness. And then she shimmied up the carrier's body to plant a quick kiss on Shinano's cheek.

Shinano blushed and gave White a powerful squeeze.

For what felt like hours, but was probably just a few minutes, neither carrier said anything. They just smiled and listened to the sound of each other's breathing. Their hearts slowly fell in sync. A gentle harmony conducting the two carriers into the warm embrace of sleep.

—|—|—​

Meanwhile, on the Gulf Coast, a large cruiser pranced around her room with the giggling joy normally only found in ships of destroyer tonnage or below. Her high-top sneakers—one of the first things she'd bought with her own money—scuffed across the carpet as she pranced from one corner of the room to another.

Her long, shimmering silver hair trailed behind her in a loose rippling wake as she bounced around, cutting a stunning contrast against the deep midnight blue fabric of her ball gown.

The cruiser stopped to admire herself in the mirror. She let her hands run down her sides, smiling as the smooth, almost velvety fabric slid under her fingers like freshly-polished steel. She'd fallen in love with this dress from the moment she saw it, but…

But she'd never imagined it could look so good. Her best friend Atago had gone above and beyond with the needle and thread. All Alaska had asked for was a little less room in the bust, but Atago had tailored every inch of the dress. It hugged her body, playing up her distinctively petite chest and broad hips without even feeling tight. In fact, if Alaska closed her eyes, she could almost forget she was wearing anything at all. Atago even added some bits of fur around the collar to mimic Alaska's wolf's fur-lined parka.

"So," Atago stifled a giggle at her friend's obvious enjoyment, "What do you think?"

Alaska sighed, running her hands down her flanks one last time. "It's perfect!"

"PanPakaPan!" Atago threw up her hands in celebration, her whole body glowing with the intensity of her huge smile. "You look so good in it, you know!"

Alaska blushed bright red and pounced on her friend, easily wrapping the shorter, bustier cruiser in a tight hug. "Thanks to you."

Atago had long since gotten used to pouncing Alaska hugs. She didn't even let out a surprised 'eep' at the bigger American's pounce. "You deserve it, 'Laska."

"Mmm," Alaska squeezed Atago tight, "What'd I ever do to deserve a friend like you, 'tago?"

The two cruisers just smiled as the hugged one another, Alaska with her sneakers flat on the deck while Atago stood on tip-toe to at least approximate the American's height.

"Wait," Alaska blinked. She felt… something press into her chest. Something about the shape of….

"What?" Atago blinked.

"One moment," Alaska shoved her hand down Atago's cleavage. Her tongue peeked out the corner of her mouth as she rifled about her best friend's excessive chest.

"What-" Atago giggled, "what are you doing?"

"I think…" Alaska concentrated. It was almost within her grasp… just a few inches more and she'd have it. "I found…" she felt her hands close around something. Something cool and metallic in the sea of warm, squishy Atagoness. She smiled and yanked the something out. "My hotwheels."

Atago tilted her head as Alaska held a trio of the tiny little cars up with a giggly smile on her face. "I…" the Japanese cruiser glanced down her chest, "Thats where those went?"

"Apparently." Alaska smiled and held the cars up next to her cheek, a gentle coo slipping past her lips as she welcomed her beloved toys back to her.

Atago, meanwhile, was more preoccupied with staring down her own cleavage while making a mental list of every small item that'd gone missing from the base in the past few months. "Huh." Apparently she needed to have a meeting with her faeries about the exact definition of 'scrounging.'

—|—|—​

Back in Japan, Akagi and Shinano ate their breakfast together. Or, to be more accurate, Shinano ate her breakfast while Akagi looked on in stunned, mortified horror. Akagi knew her own appetite was vast, to the point of having an entire licensed anime devoted to a cute drawn representation of herself eating things. But… but even she couldn't eat like this.

The fleet carrier clawed at her stomach as Shinano popped yet another pile of pancakes into her mouth without breaking stride. Just watching the newcomer eat made Akagi's stomach hurt. The carrier knew her tummy would explode if she ate even half that much.

Quite literally, in fact. Akagi just didn't have enough room aboard for that many supplies, storing them all would mean stacking barrels of AvGas and crates of bombs anywhere they'd fit. All it would take would be one spark and Foom!

Akagi winced as Shinano gobbled down an entire carafe of coffee in one gulp, her own stomach sending pangs of sympathetic worry up to her bridge. Even the ever-cheerful White looked worried at the newcomer's unimaginable gluttony.

"Um," Akagi coughed, forcing her shaky voice to respect her commands. "Um, Shinano?"

The young carrier stopped, her food-stuffed cheeks slowly sagging as she swallowed her latest mouthful with a timid smile. "Y-yes, Akagi?"

Akagi forced herself to look anywhere but the enormous pile of licked-clean plates Shinano had accumulated. A pile that could feed her and Kaga with room to spare. And Shinano didn't even look like she was slowing down.

"Um," Akagi shivered and bit her tongue to force a reboot in her brain. "When… when are you going to start flight practice?" She asked, "I could loan you a few reppus if you need more planes."

"I, uh…" Shinano's face got somehow more sheepish, and the towering carrier tried to make herself very small. It didn't work, given how she was easily a head taller than the already quite sizable Akagi. "I'm… I'm not rated for flight ops yet."

"You're not?" Akagi cocked an eyebrow and tried very hard not to stare at the other carrier's plate.

Shinano shook her head, "When I went to Akashi for a checkup, she… uh… almost fainted."

"Six times," added White.

Shinano nodded, "It was really scary, but…" she glanced at White, who gave her a subtle thumbs up. "But when she finished, she said I'm supposed to go straight to the docks after breakfast to get my watertight bulkheads fixed."

"I lent her some faeries," said White, "But, there's only so much my guys can do without a proper drydocking."

Akagi smiled and ruffled the little American's messy hair. "That's very kind of you, White. I'm quite looking forwards to joining one of your classes." Akagi meant what she said, she'd seen impossible things from American carriers during the war, and she'd heard even more amazing things from her fellow carriergirls.

But she mostly said that to get her mind off the nine entire coffee cakes Shinano just ate like they were nothing.

"Awwwww" White fidgeted in place as she tried to figure out where to deflect her praise. "Thanks, Akagi!" The little carrier reached for her glass of juice, only to notice the watch on her little wrist. "Oh, darnit!"

"Hmm?" Akagi glanced over with a confused tilt of her eyebrow.

"I, uh," White sheepishly piled her dirty dishes onto her tray, "I have to get going. Lesson plans… setup… stuff…" she blushed and tottered over to give Akagi a hug.

"I look forwards to it," said Akagi.

White smiled, then walked over to give Shinano an extra-long hug before bolting off like her usual hyperactive self.

 

[theJMPer]

Working on the newest chapter, but I learned today's Atago's launch day. So I did this too.l
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Normally, beaching a warship is an act of great drama. Either it came the result of some gross incompetence, in which case the drama would occur once The Powers That Be got wind of said incompetence, or it was a last-ditch measure to save a crippled ship from sinking all the way to the inky abyss. In the latter case, the Drama usually happened before the beaching, and continued on afterwards for some while.

But that all changed when shipgirls returned. For the very first time, warships could enjoy laying on the beech and basking in the sun. They could smile at the sensation of sand grains against their hull, and soak in the warm rays.

And one of the warships enjoying a lazy day off at the beach was one heavy cruiser Atago, second—or first, depending on how you count—of her class, currently fulfilling detached service with the US Navy Gulf Coast Command.

Actually, no, that wasn't accurate. Currently, Atago was laying on a pristine white beech in a baby-blue bikini her best friend Alaska had picked out. The heavy cruiser's long blond hair splayed our around her like a shimmering bow-shock. Her pale skin was just starting to soak up a proper sun kissed tan, and her lips were set in a goofy smile.

Yes… yes, this was the life.

"Hey, 'Tago!" Something very large flopped onto the sand next to her, sending a few strands of salt-slick hair up Atago's smiling face.

Atago didn't need to open her eyes to know who it was. There's only one girl she knew with that sweet, caring, and ever so slightly confused voice. A girl she'd spent enough time sleeping on she knew the taste of her hair by heart.

"Hey, 'Laska." Atago propped herself up on her elbows, her generous fuel tanks straining the absolutely adorable swimsuit Alaska'd picked out. The American had an eye for color—how could she not with those elaborate camouflage measures—but she really didn't understand the first thing about sizing. especially for someone of Atago's extreme… displacement.

Alaska blushed. It was a very pale rosy blush, a blush that could only be called such because of how pale the rest of Alaska's snowy-white skin was. For someone who spent all her time working in the sun, the big American cruiser did not look like it. "You-" Alaska blinked. "Um… hi."

Atago rolled her eyes and flopped over onto her belly, her hips bouncing against Alaska's and causing the American to let out a tiny 'eep!' of surprise. "Heheheh," Atago was hard pressed to contain a giggle. So she didn't even try, "You're so cute when you're like that, you know?"

Alaska blushed even more and buried her face in the sun-warmed sand. "'s nah-" She abruptly stopped, pulled her head out of the sand, and started spitting.

"You just inhaled sand, didn't you?" Atago helpfully held a handful of the American's gorgeous shimmering snowy hair out of the way. Because she wanted to be helpful, not just because Alaska's hair was the prettiest thing—even soaking wet—that Atago had ever seen.

Alaska sheepishly nodded. "Mebbe," she mumbled.

"You're a derp, you know that?" Atago smiled and smoothed her best friend's soaking wet T-shirt. Try as she might, Atago couldn't get Alaska into a bikini if she had a crowbar. Which, honestly was probably for the best. Atago might have a hard time finding clothes she could squeeze into, but Alaska had an even harder time finding clothes she wasn't swimming in.

So, instead of the cute red-black two-peice Atago had tried to buy for her, the Large Cruiser had settled for a pair of baggy board shorts and one of her hot wheels shirts. It should have been boyishly unflattering, but then again… Alaska.

"You need some water?" Atago giggled in spite of herself and offered a chilly bottle to her best friend, a tiny faerie—in swimtrunks—darting down her arm to remove the cap.

"Where'd you get that?" Alaska narrowed those sharply angled brows of hers. She looked so mean and focused, at least she did until you'd known her for more than ten seconds.

Atago giggled.

Alaska's gaze dropped to the heavy cruiser's limitless cleavage. Then slowly crept back up to her face with a sheepish wince. "Right, forget I asked."

Atago beamed and handed the bottle over. "It's a nice day, isn't it?"

Alaska nodded and gulped down the water.

"So," Atago played with the belt loop on her best friend's loose fitting shorts. "You been having fun?"

"Oh yeah!" Alaska nodded enthusiastically, her soaking hair whipping around to smack her on the nose. "Ow."

Atago rolled her eyes.

"I went swimming," Alaska brushed her hair out of her eyes, "And then I went body-surfing—it's really just like sailing, and I'm beat." Alaska sighed and flopped onto her best friend's bosom with a happy smile. "Suh suhft."

Atago smiled and ran her hands though Alaska's hair. There weren't many people she'd let co-opt her fuel tankage into their pillows. Besides Alaska, just… actually, yeah. It was just Alaska.

"So, did you meet anyone fun?" said Atago. She'd long since resigned herself to indulging Alaska's need for cuddles. She might be big for a cruiser, but Alaska was downright gigantic. There wasn't really anything Atago could do to prevent the much bigger girl from getting her cuddles.

Not that she'd ever want fewer Alaska cuddles, but that was beside the point. Especially because the moment Atago finished her sentence, Alaska started blushing so hard Atago could feel the warmth in her chest.

"So," Atago giggled, "You met a boy."

"Mebbe," mumbled Alaska from between the cruiser's breasts.

"He cute?"

Alaska nodded.

"You just ran away screaming when he asked you out," Atago sighed, "again."

For a long while, Alaska did nothing. Then she slowwwwly nodded.

"'Laska," Atago sighed. "You're such a derp."

"'knooo," mumbled the American.

"Tell you what," said Atago, "If you find him and ask him out…" Atago made a show of putting a finger to her chin, "I'll buy you another hotwheels car."

That piqued the American's interest. Her head rocketed out of Atago's cleavage—with a TV-remote, three AAA batteries, $5.43 in loose change, and a roll of smarties sticking to her face—"Rhel-ah?" she mumbled.

Atago giggled.

Alaska grimaced and spat out a Lego minifigure. "Oh hey! I've been looking for this one!"

"'Laska!"

"Hmm?"

"Focus," Atago scowled down her own cleavage. She really needed to talk to her crew. Alaska loved her Legos.

"Okay." Alaska dutifully sat back on her haunches, looking for all the world like an eager first grader waiting for instructions. Albeit, a first-grader who towered over even Nagato.

"Boy," Atago waved her hand down the beech.

"Right," Alaska nodded with determined purpose, bounced up to her feet, and starting loping down the beech with that distinctive Alaska gait where it was never quite clear if she was in control or not.

Atago watched her best friend run with a smile. Yes… it'd been a good launch day

 

[theJMPer]

Destroyer Fubuki, first of the Special-Types and mother of all modern destroyers worried the end of her sky-blue neckerchief as she steamed a few hundred yards of Jersey's flank. Her short ponytail streamed behind her in the gentle winter breeze, and her sleek hull glided over the water like polished steel on velvet. Still though, she couldn't help but feel a tiny bit antsy.

"Yo, snow-cone," Jersey ruffled the girl's hair with a smile, "Something the matter?"

"Ah!" Fubuki tensed as Jersey… as her new sempai didn't just address her. She called her a cute pet-name while lovingly caressing her hair. Her hair! If Manga had taught her anything, it was that headpats were one of the most intimate and loving things someone could offer. "Ah, Jersey-sempai, it's-" The destroyer's mind ground to a halt. "Snow cone?"

"Yeah," Jersey nodded like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Fubuki tilted her head to the side.

"Your name means snow-storm," said Jersey, "So… you know… snow-cone."

Fubuki blinked. "You speak Japanese?"

Jersey rolled her eyes. Fubuki couldn't actualy see the American's eyes though her shades—something that made her infinitely thankful. Those icy-blue eyes terrified her—but she could just tell from the battleship's posture. Jersey didn't do anything subtly.

"I spent years with you as my enemy," said the towering American, "And decades with you as my ally. Yes, I know fucking moon-moon."

Fubuki's mouth chomped at the air for almost a solid minute while her brain spun its wheels against nothing in a frantic attempt to make sense of this new revelation. "But…" She wordlessly pointed to where Yuudachi happily poi'd away a few thousand yards away, "But…"

Jersey followed the destroyer's gaze, then looked back to Fubuki. "Yeah?"

"So," Fubuki waved her hands in inarticulate attempts to communicate 'poi' though gestures."Um."

"What?" Jersey's nose scrunched up.

Fubuki blinked. "Never mind.

"Yeah," Jersey nodded. "Good talk. Anyway, the fuck's up with you lately? You've been acting squirrelly for the past half hour."

"Oh, um," Fubuki pulled her shirt smooth. Her heels clicked together as she got ready to address her commander. "I was worried we might be steaming into a trap."

Jersey cocked an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

Fubuki nodded. "But… you don't seem so worried…"

"RCN's got this area locked up pretty tight," said Jersey. "They got P-3s, P-8s, Flowers… hell, there's probably enough active sonar buoys in the water that you can walk all the way back to Tokyo."

Fubuki coughed, then looked at her feet. Which were currently skimming over the water like water skies. "Um…"

"Well, not you you, but uh," Jersey scowled, "Fuck, um… that… that fucking metaphor works better when you're not a boat."

"Poi~," opined Yuudachi.

"NOBODY ASKED YOU!" bellowed Jersey.

Yuudachi just flipped her flowing silk scarf over her shoulder and shot back a smiling wave.

Jersey growled something angry and American in return.

"Jersey-sempai?" Fubuki tried to hide a snicker. Tried and failed. "If you speak Japanese, how come you don't know what 'poi' means?"

"Because," Jersey's entire body seemed to fume with impotent rage, "every fucking time I duck into my radio room to ask for a translation, all I get from the shithead radiomen is 'poi means poi. Ain't gotta explain shit, poi'."

Fubuki blinked.

Kongou Dessed.

Something purred.

Fubuki blinked again, "Was that-"

"A K-type?" Jersey smirked, and waved to something in the sky. The slightly squashed spherical shape of an enormous silver-gray cat staring down at the little surface fleet with furious disinterest. "Yeah," Jersey smiled and waved at the hovering feline. "That's the other reason I'm not worried about subs or any shit."

"Oh," Fubuki timidly waved at the hovering cat, who just returned a look that made her feel inexplicably guilty. "Oh… okay."

Jersey smiled and ruffled the girl's hair. "Relax, okay? Frisco's been poking them for the past day or so. They've changed course three times." Her smile shifted from a pleasant kind, like she was reassuring a daughter or friend, to a bloodthirsty slasher grin, "They're not running to anywhere. They're running away from death."

"And into us?" added Fubuki.

"Hell fucking yeah, kiddo." Jersey planted her hands on her hips. "It's good thinking though," she added. "Why don't you sprint 'n drift for a while, see if you catch anything."

Fubuki's little chest swelled with pride. "Fubuki will do her best!"

Jersey smiled and gave the little destroyer's hair another ruffle. Then her gaze went slack and she did that 'finger-to-ear' thing she did whenever her radio room was getting a message from The Admiral.

"Go for Jersey," she said. Her head bobbed as she took in the message, her free hand tensing at her hip, then going slack once more with a quiet chuckle. "Heh, told you he was a smart one." A pause, "Yeah, I'll tell her. Thanks for letting me know, sir."

The battleship lowered her hand and smirked.

"What was that?" asked Fubuki.

"Well, doc Crowning" Jersey crashed to a halt and thrust a finger at Fubuki, "Who's not my boyfriend, so don't you start."

The special-type held her hands up defensively.

"Anyways," Jersey coughed, "He figured out the riddle of the summonings," Jersey smirked and drew in a huge breath. "Which means… YO, MUSHI!" she bellowed.

"SPEAKING!" thundered back Musashi.

"Got a call from The Admiral," Jersey's voice dropped back to its usual register, "Your lil' sister's back."

Musashi opened her mouth to snap back a retort, then her face froze mid-bluster. Her snowy hair tufts twitched in the breeze as her chest deflated a little. "Wait, did you say little sister?"

Jersey nodded.

"Huh," Musashi started to smile, then caught herself and covered it with a suitably bombastic brooding scowl. "I never met Shinano, I wonder what she's like."

Jersey laughed, "They didn't say. But knowing you…" The American made a show of staring up and down Musashi's undulating deck, "Ego the size of the sun and tits the size of a moon, probably."

Musashi flashed Jersey a scowling pout, then glanced down at her chest. Her bombastic smile turned into a thoughtful expression, her lips pursing as she gently sized up her own pagodas until she came to the only clear conclusion. "Accurate."

Jersey rolled her eyes. "You two will be fucking insufferable."

—|—|—

Shinano clasped her hands to her breasts and awkwardly shuffled along the slick dockhouse tile. She kept her stern close to the wall and her shoulders slumped, trying her very hardest to make herself small and easily missed. It wasn't really working, even the faint steam clouds coming off the warm baths weren't enough to hide her towering frame, but it was a fiction that the carrier clung to like a drowning man.

Because she wasn't alone.

Shinano let out a whimper that echoed back at her off the polished tile. She wasn't— actually, yes. She was scared. She was naked, she didn't even have a single qualified pilot to her name, and she was sharing a dock house with other carriers. Proper carriers. Girls who'd done their nation proud.

Not… like her. She could feel their eyes on her as she shuffled over to the pier where Akashi's repair faeries were milling around waiting for her. A pier… right next to a sleeping Ryuujou.

Shinano whimpered again, and stared down at her chest. The towering carrier sniffed and glanced over at the sleeping warship. The former flagship of CarDiv 1. A proper carrier, a ship with a carrier's deck, not… not the bulges of a battleship.

At least Ryuujou was asleep. It gave Shinano a few precious moments to get herself hidden under the sweet-smelling water. After testing it with her toe—it felt… right. That was the only way Shinano could think to explain it. 'right'—she slid her towering body into the water as fast as she could without generating enough turbulence to nap her piermate.

The steaming water enveloped the giant carrier like a blanket as she struggled to get her towering frame to fit. Her legs were just too long to fit right, even crossed and bent at an odd angle, her thighs breached the water's surface. And the water, no matter how warm and calming it might be, was as clear as crystal.

The tiny rainbow shimmer of oil wasn't enough to hide Shinano's submerged bulk. The instant Ryuujou woke up, she'd see everything.

And then she'd probably laugh, because she was a real carrier.

If only White was here. Shinano liked White, she was nice, and she taught her how to be… how to be useful. That's all Shinano really wanted, she could leave being Symbols Of The Nation to her big sisters, she just wanted to be worth her steel.

That's when the repair team Akashi'd left waiting for her jumped aboard. Their teeny tiny faerie feet poked into the muscle of her belly, ticking her as they shuffled up and down her body with miniature clipboards held at the ready. One of them—one of the few wearing itty-bitty officer's uniforms—clambered up her fat braid only to rappel back down her bangs and give her a report while perched on the tip of her nose.

Shinano stifled a giggle as tiny fae feet tickled their way up and down her hull. She could feel them shuffling around inside her watertight bulkheads, sense then welding up watertight doors that… weren't. Her stomach tensed and the carrier balled up as waves of tickle-fused laughter flowed though her giant body.

She smiled and twisted around in her berth, water splashing around her with each motion. For the first time in a while, she fell happy. Purely, totally happy, without a shred of worry at all.

"Mmmm… whazzat?"

And then the worry came back.

Shinano slowly rolled over to where Ryuujou was sleeping. Or not sleeping as the case may be. The Proper flattop rubbed at her eyes and let out a loud yawn. "Hiya," she said, tossing a lazy nod to Shinano.

"Eep!" Shinano clapped her hands to her breasts and squeezed, her body sinking under the water until nothing above her nose was visible. And then she went very still, hoping that somehow Ryuujou wouldn't notice her if she wasn't moving.

For a moment, it looked like it was working. Then Ryuujou leaned over to rest her arms on the dividing pier, those big kind eye focused right at Shinano's glasses. The little carrier smiled a toothy, friendly smile at Shinano and waited for her response.

"Um," Shinano tried to sink even deeper, but her stern was already kissing the tiled bottom of the berthing pool. Curse these shallow, annoyingly clear waters. They might have been good for repairing her damaged hull, but they were useless at hiding it. "Hi."

"Don't recognize ya," Ryuujou let her chin slump against the tile. Her lazy, friendly Kansai accent should be soothing to the giant carrier, but Shinano couldn't help but feel condemnation in every friendly note. She didn't have to prove anything. She was a proper carrier. She was useful. "What's your name, hun?"

"Sh-shinano," was all Shinano could stammer out before sinking down into the warm, soothing water until it lapped at her nose.

Ryuujou made a face. One brow crept up as she glanced down the towering carrier's giant body, examining every curve of her frame though the crystal-clear water with confusion. "Third of the Yamatos?"

Shinano nodded timidly.

"Ya know," Ryuujou made herself comfortable on the pier dividing the two girls. "Battleship docks are on t'other side of the building. I could show ya if-"

"Not a battleship," muttered Shinano, her cheeks all but glowing red as she crossed her massive legs. The giant carrier squirmed under the water, trying her hardest to keep Ryuujou from getting a good look.

"Huh?" Ryuujou tilted first her head, then her entire upper body. "But…"

"I… I was converted," said Shinano. "After Midway, um…" She pushed her glasses up her pert nose with a sniffle, "They needed more carriers, so… they decked me over."

"That so?" Ryuujou puffed out her cheeks and huffed.

For a moment, the little carrier just stared into the distance and thought. Shinano was just happy she wasn't staring at her. Even if the former CarDiv 1 flagship was too nice to outright laugh at her… her gaze burned the converted battleship's hull.

"Fleet carrier docks are one door down," said Ryuujou. "You'd probably fit a lot better in Kaga's bear-"

Shinano shook her head, her chunky braid swishing around below her. "Not a fleet carrier."

"Huh?" Ryuujou did that whole-body tilt again, her gaze drifting back along Shinano's enormous body. Incredulity was painted so large across the little carrier's face, Shinano could read it even without her glasses.

"I…" Shinano willed herself small, "I only carry forty-seven planes."

Ryuujou's look of confusion only deepened. Her gaze bounced from her own flight-deck chest, to Shinano's bulging—though obviously not aviation-rated—breasts, then back to her own upperworks. "Well… uh…" the little carrier coughed.

Shinano sunk lower into the tub, trying desperately to turn herself into a submarine. A very, very small submarine that could avoid the light carrier's judgment-heavy gaze.

Ryuujou thought for a moment. Then her face recoiled in a wince and she shot Shinano the warmest, sweetest look the big carrier had ever seen coming from someone who wasn't White. "Shinano, you don't… you're not comfortable around me, are you?"

Shinano glanced down at her obviously unfit-for-aviation… everything. "Mmhm," she mumbled.

"I could leave," Ryuujou pulled herself up onto the side of the pool, water cascading off her lean, naked body and painting a picture of just how superior she was to the half-assed conversion.

"No!" Before she knew it, Shinano's muscular arm shot out across the tile, grabbing hold of Ryuujou's slender leg in her tight grasp. "P-please," she blushed and awkwardly withdrew her hand, "I… I don't want to be alone."

Ryuujou sighed and slipped back into the pool. "I just don't like seeing… anyone like that."

Shinano nodded sadly.

Ryuujou sank against the warm tile, her own slender body disappearing beneath the perfumed water in ways Shinano's enormous, unwieldy bulk never could. For a few moments, the carriers just started at the other wall in thought.

Shinano sniffed and a team of Akashi's faeries handed her a hankerchief.

"You know," Ryuujou made a point of looking anywhere but at her piermate, "Americans dock in swimsuits."

"Hmm?" Shinano dabbed at her nose and glanced over.

"If…" Ryuujou shrugged, "I mean, think you'd be more comfortable with somthin' covering you?"

Shinano glanced down at herself, then offered a barely precipitable nod. "Where… I mean… I'm kinda big."

Ryuujou shrugged. "Think you could fit into Akagi's-"

Shinano shook her head. "No.. I'm… She's almost half my displacement. What about my sister?"

"Musashi?" Ryuujou shook her head. "I think she took all her stuff with her, and… well…" The little carrier shrugged, "She don't exactly wear much."

"Oh," Shinano's countenance somehow dimmed another shade.

Ryuujou sighed. Then she snapped her fingers, "Although…" She vaulted out of her berth and sprinted for the showers, her bare feet slapping a fanatic rhythm against the tile. "I'll be right back!" she said as she skidded around a corner, "I just had a really great idea."

Shinano blinked. She glanced at one of the fae balancing on her knee, who just offered a teeny tiny stare in return. "Um… okay."

For a few moments, nothing happened. At least nothing other then the sounds of furious improvisation and ad-hoc remodeling coming from the shower room. Tile cracked, metal bent and gave way, and some sort of heavy fabric rustled.

A few minutes later, Ryuujou trotted back with a pile of the semi-opaque shower curtains in her arms. "Togas!"

Shinano just mouthed at the air while her brain struggled to catch up with the sudden turn of events. Being a girl—no, being around at all was hard. Everyone on this base was crazy. "Um…" Shinano rolled onto her belly, "Yay?"

"C'mon!" Ryuujou tossed Shinano a pile of fabric, and busied herself with lashing one of the curtains around her much smaller form.

Shinano sheepishly swam over to the slowly-sinking pile of waterproof fabric and bundled it all into a… bundle. "Um, Ryuujou, would you mind…?"

"Oh, yeah, no prob'm!" Ryuujou nodded and spun on her heel. She was there if Shinano needed her, but she wasn't going to cast her gaze over the carrier's attempts to get decent.

Which was a good thing, too. It took almost fifteen minutes for her to rig the heavy fabric into something approximating an article of clothing. She still didn't feel totally comfortable, it was awfully short and ever breath she take made her feel like her breasts were going to come spilling out of every jury-rigged seam.

Still… it was better than being naked. "Okay, um," Shinano sank back into the water, "It's okay, now, Ryuujou. I'm decent."

"You look good," Ryuujou said as she turned on her heel. The much smaller carrier had managed to rig her outfit into a beautiful, almost floor-length gown that flowed behind her as she moved. "You feel better?"

Shinano nodded.

"Good!" Ryuujou leaned over to give the giant carrier a hug. Or at least the closest approximation of a hug she could manage when her arms weren't quite long enough to close around her. "Heal up, okay?"

Shinano pushed her glasses up, "Okay."

 

[theJMPer]

Admiral Goto shuffled through the darkened hallways of his own command center like some kind of coffee-fueled zombie. A steaming "World's Best Admiral" mug of strong, half-burnt coffee hung half-forgotten in his hand. Every so often, the mug—a present from Kongou on the one-year anniversary of her return—would wander seemingly on its own initiative to his lips and offer him a quick sip of the life giving elixir.

On the one hand, his secretary ship had returned. Judging by the muffled kissing noises and gooey, giggling "Kawaii~" coming from Nagato's office, the battleship was cuddling the hell out of the hamster everyone on base knew she kept but pretended not too.

On the other hand, Ooyodo, one of if not the most mentally stable shipgirls in the entire JMSDF had flown into a rage like a dragon guarding her precious treasure horde. He'd never seen the old command cruiser get quite so agitated, especially without a twenty-slide powerpoint presentation to back up her anger. But, he'd also never seen the girl get upset over nothing.

Goto made a mental note to check in with his logistics ship as soon as possible. If there was some new fire he had to put out, he'd rather know of his impossible task sooner than later. But first, the Admiral allowed himself a brief moment to check in with his secretary ship.

And by 'check in', he meant 'bully.' The Admiral cracked a tired grin and tapped his knuckle against the heavy wood door, "Nagato?"

The battleship's voice stopped mid "chu~". Goto could hear her tense up. Her heavy fabric and steel uniform rustled as she furiously checked for anyone who might have seen her unbecoming antics. Then she coughed, "Yes?" she asked, her voice back to its normal dusky rumble. "Come in."

Goto slapped at the handle, shouldering his way through the door with gross motor functions only. "Morning, Nagato."

The battleship nodded at him. She was every bit the picture of a stern battleship of the big seven: back straight as a ramrod, shoulders thrust back and chest held forward, fingers laced over her heavy wooden desk. Only the tiny tuft of hamster fur protruding out of her cleavage ruined the illusion.

Goto coughed, and glanced at the battleship's torpedo bulges.

Nagato cocked an eyebrow at him before glancing down at herself. Her face instantly flushed a brilliant crimson, and she frantically shoved her beloved animal deeper between her breasts until there wasn't any evidence of it at all.

"Smooth," said Goto. "Smooooooooth."

Nagato tossed a lock of ebony hair back with a flick of her head, her pink-red eyes glowing in frustrated defiance. "Can I help you, sir?"

Goto smiled at her flustered face. Really, genuinely smiled. "You just did, Nagato."

The Battleship's chest puffed out with pride. Then it quivered a little as her hamster squeezed up until its tiny face hung out between her generous breasts. The tiny creature yawned happily and settled against the battleship's surprisingly soft chest pillows. Goto would have sworn he saw the tiny thing wink at him.

But while the hamster was making itself comfortable, Nagato looked like someone just shoved an ice-cold iron bar up her stern. Her eyes were wide as dinner plates, and the muscles in her neck tensed. "A-admiral…"

"I saw nothing," Goto leaned over to give the hamster a little scratch between its ears. "Just wanted to make sure you were settling back in well."

"I am." A crash of steel on steel rang through the office, the tell-tale sign of a battleship scuffing her boots together to snap herself out of a moe-induced bluescreen. "Thank you, sir."

"Anything I should know about our allies?" Goto gave the hamster a final scratch before pulling his hand back. "Or Musashi, for that matter."

"The Americans are…" Nagato put a finger to her chin, looking every part the stoic samurai she so often claimed to be. Other than the tiny animal shooting Goto a shit-eating grin from between her breasts. "Loud," said the battleship. "Boisterous in battle, boorish on shore leave. Their sense of decorum is as limited as their bravery is limitless." The battleship took a breath, "They are warriors of the highest caliber, and I would be honored to fight alongside them again."

Her hamster nodded sagely.

Goto cocked an eyebrow, "High praise, coming from you."

"You expected anything less, sir?"

"Point," Goto sighed. "And Musashi?"

"Her Ego is boundless and her skills dull and unpracticed," said Nagato. "But she is brave, and I believe she'd found a cause worthy of her immense talent." The battleship clasped her hands on her desk, "I can have a full report on your desk by the end of the day, sir."

"Excellent." Goto raised his mug to her. Even in all the craziness that came with running a naval base full of warships who were also girls who were mostly admiral-sexual, Nagato never failed to be polite and professional. At least as long as small animals weren't involved. "I'll leave you to it."

"Thank you, sir," Nagato nodded, and Goto would've sworn the tiny animal reclining in her cleavage offered up an equally tiny salute.

The Admiral didn't stop to ponder that little sighting. Nagato needed her alone-time if she was going to keep sane, and Goto had other girls he had to check in with. He closed the door behind him, and the gooey sounds of Nagato cuddling and kissing her beloved animal followed mere split-seconds after the deadbolt slammed home.

Goto shook his head and shuffled over to Ooyodo's office. He raised a hand to knock against the door, only for it to swing open at the lightest tap. Inside was… not Ooyodo's office.

Inside was a disaster area.

Coffee, and the shattered remains of at least three of the command cruiser's prized sixty-four-ounce coffee mugs splashed against the floor. The monitors mounted to every wall glowed with arcane spreadsheets that even Goto's twenty-first century computer knowledge couldn't decipher. And square in the middle—seething with a rage so furious moisture in the air flashed to steam when it touched her bare skin—was a wild-eyed Ooyodo.

Goto blinked, and took a long drag from his mug. A year ago, this kind of thing would have sent him into a blind panic, but the months had hardened him, tempered him against the insane realities of shipgirl command. The admiral let a mouthful of burnt coffee sit on his tongue, savoring the familiar—not pleasant, but familiar—taste. "Sup?"

Ooyodo let out a hissing breath that warmed the room by five degrees. Her nostrils flared as her gaze flicked from Goto to her spreadsheets. "Admiral," the cruiser spun one of her monitors around on its mount and gestured furiously at the impossibly arcane spreadsheet. "Our stockpile is gone."

Goto blinked. "Run that by me again." He set his coffee cup down on the cruiser's desk—only to have her immediately steal it and chug the remaining contents in one long gulp. Goto didn't say anything, the girl looked like she needed it and then some. "You've been building that horde for… what, six months now?"

"Yes," hissed Ooyodo through gritted teeth. The cruiser's protective husbanding of her supplies was legendary among the JMSDF. She was a logistical god among men who treated her spreadsheets with the kind of tender care and devotion that put a mother to shame. "And it's all gone."

"Where did-"

"Shinano." Ooyodo pointed at a spreadsheet cell labeled 'jlkhjfh;lkl.' "She ate almost a quarter for breakfast today. Her gluttony is…" Ooyodo stopped and forced some shred of composure into her shaking voice. "I could feed Akagi and Kaga and their plane guards for that."

Goto scowled and rubbed his temples, "She's fresh off the yards, Akashi said-"

"Akashi said" Ooyodo slapped a file against her Admiral's chest, "that whatever dent in Shinano's insatiable appetite completing her rebuild makes will be canceled out by maintaining her aviation element."

Goto's scowl deepened, "How bad we talking?"

"Bad." Ooyodo tapped though her multitude of tabs—the girl apparently didn't believe in ever closing one—until she found a report she'd done months back when the Akizukis came back. "She's a late-war ship. The ruined state of Japanese industry at that point-"

"Makes it that much harder for her to reconstitute planes." Goto sighed, "Yeah, I got it. Where does that leave us?"

"With enough food to last this country until the next convoy," Ooyodo tabbed up another graph. "With absolutely no margin for error."

"Damn," Goto rested his knuckles on the cruiser's desk, his fists finding the helpfully placed divots Ooyodo's slightly smaller but much studier fists had made in the hardwood. "Alright… let's find some room."

"Where, sir?" Ooyodo shook her head. "We're already fishing the Sea of Japan at capacity. I've got whaling ships working the Bonins 24/7, but their crews need sleep, and with this… Tosa-princess we might lose them as well. There is no room for me to give you."

"Our allies then," Goto bit his lip, trying to think of some stone he hadn't turned the past thousand time he went looking for a rock to look under.

"America has more than we could ever need," said Ooyodo, "But it's five thousand miles away along the Arctic route. Six-five via Hawaii. That's a hell of a long trip to make, even in peacetime. Factor in escorts, hostile action, turn-around time-"

"Okay, I get it," Goto held up his hand. "There's not any slack?"

Ooyodo shook her head. "The same as the last nine times you asked, sir. The docks can only manage so many ships."

"Fine," Goto stared at the map tacked up on Ooyodo's corkboard. "Russia then."

"Russia's fully committed to supporting Europe."

"Damnit," Goto wasn't surprised. He read the newspaper the same as everyone else. But in a world where literally magic warship spirits fought monsters from the deep, he kept hoping for a miracle. "China-"

"The last anyone heard from China, the country was one big food riot," Ooyodo didn't even look up from her spreadsheet, "That was six months ago, sir."

Goto bit his lip and hissed out a frustrated puff of breath. "Australia then."

"They have the calories," Ooyodo said as she tabbed over to yet another window. "But how do you propose to get them here? The South China sea?" Ooyodo pointed at a section of her map marked with the bloody red of Abyssal-owned waters. "The Banda perhaps?" More red. "Perhaps the Bismarck or the Solomons," Ooyodo slashed her hand out at the Abyssals' latest conquest. "We're damn lucky we didn't lose the Coral sea too. And that Haruna made it down there in one piece."

"I know," Goto's voice was little more than a murmur as he stared at the map.

Ooyodo blinked. "Sir?"

"If we take the South China Sea—if we even punch a corridor, we buy a whole mess of breathing room."

Ooyodo stood up, her hand cradling her chin as she stared at the map. "Uh huh…"

"Riau-" Goto circled a cluster of islands at the very southernmost tip of the sea, "Paracel-" he circled another cluster at the north-west corner, "And Spratly islands."

"Sir?" Ooyodo fingered the hip openings of her skirt.

"Those are their bases, they have to be," said Goto. "Reports said they were sorting shorter-ranged ships. PT-boats and coastal battleships, right?"

Ooyodo nodded, "Yeah."

"If they lose those, what's the next closest place for them to launch from?"

Ooyodo squinted at the map, then consulted her spreadsheet. Then back to the map. "Palau, sir."

"Fifteen hundred miles just to get to their hunting ground," breathed Goto, "And there's no way they can slip past the Philippines without getting spotted."

"I see where this is going, sir," Ooyodo smiled. It was the first time Goto recalled seeing her look honestly happy in… months.

"Have Nagato meet me in my office in half an hour," said Goto. "And tell Richardson I want a report on his battle with the Tosa Princess the moment the battle's over."

"Sir!" Ooyodo snapped off a crisp salute. "Oh, and Admiral?"

"Hmm?" Goto wheeled over on his heel.

"About Shinano…" Ooyodo scuffed her boot against the floor, "She came back with just one outfit. I've called every store in town, but nobody has her size. At least not anymore."

"I'll…" Goto smirked, "I'll call Richardson. He's got a suu-" he caught himself, "-upply expert who can help us out."

"We still have to feed her, sir," said Ooyodo. "That's a lot of rice for forty-seven planes."

"Easy enough," Goto shrugged, "Williams' been begging me for a carrier. Let him pick up the tab."

Ooyodo's face flushed with joy. "You mean-"

"You don't have to worry about her, no."

Ooyodo blinked, then threw her arms around her Admiral in a tight hug. "Thank you!"

—|—|—​

Jersey hunched over her CIC's mapping table and smiled. It was a vicious smile, a slasher grin that ripped across her aquiline features in a mess of glinting teeth and predatory rage. The battleship, one of the last battleships stared at the tiny symbols wandering around her plotting board and allowed herself a brief moment to laugh.

Before, she was little more than a glorified barge. First a platform for anti-aircraft weapons, then a hauler of cruise missiles reactivated for reasons more political than military.

But not anymore. Now… now she was queen. There were no aircraft to worry about, no submarines lurking to mess up her day with a well-timed spread of fish up her nonexistent skirt. Today, it was just her, her targets, and nine of the finest rifles ever forged by human hands.

"Kongou," The American's voice seemed calm, but there was an edge to each syllable, a tension in her breath signaling the furious bloodlust pumping though her veins at a thousand psi. "Kirishima, you ready?"

"Hai!" The two Japanese battleships answered as one. They might not share Jersey's hatred of the Nazi-ships with their flags of blood and ash, but there wasn't a shred of hesitation in their voice. All business, ready to hunt.

"Open fire," breathed Jersey.

The two battleships spoke their acknowledgements over the radio, but they needn't have bothered. The titanic report of their sixteen fourteen inch rifles thundered over the water, a booming report the world had gone too long without.

Jersey allowed herself a brief moment to soak in the supernatural power of a battleship's full broadside before turning back to her map. Kongou and Kirishima sat off each flank of the fleeing Panzershiff division, hammering them with ragged brackets from twenty-thousand yards.

The battleships weren't scoring hits—yet—but they didn't need to. The two Japanese battleships formed the sides of a long tube, funneling the abyssal pocket battleships down the center as they fled from the fourteen inch might of a pair of realbattleships.

"They're right on course, dess," Kongou's sweet accent cut though the air like honed steel. There wasn't a drop of the murder-happy bloodlust filling Jersey's veins in her voice. Just limitless amounts of utter righteous anger.

"We're straddling them," said Kirishima. Where her sister's voice oozed with the upper-class anger that only a truly outraged Englishwoman could truly summon, Kirishima's voice was cold as frozen iron. A mathematician warrior bringing her foe down with cold indifference. "A few more salvos and we'll have the range."

Jersey smirked. The Abyssal pocket battleships were fleeing as fast as their exhausted turbines could push them. They weaved and dodged between the splashes, frantically buying time as they ran their genocidal little hearts out.

Ran right down the funnel Kongou and Kirishima formed. Right into Jersey's guns. And unlike them, she wouldn't miss.

The battleship narrowed her eyes, her gaze locked on her targets as she slowly brought her twin revolvers into her field of view. Her target was turning hard in, finishing off a zig at sixteen-thousand-five-hundred yards.

The American held her fire, her mechanical brain whirring away as every instant new data was fed into the fire-control computer. Range, gravity, wind-resistance, Coriolis force, roll of the ship… every variable was measured and accounted for by the computer. She just needed the ship to sit still…

And then it did. The pocket battleship straightened out from its zig, smoke pouring from its stacks as it tried to mask its position from Kongou and Kirishima. Not that it mattered, even if the smoke had been between it and Jersey, her radar saw though smoke like glass.

Jersey smiled, her fingers closing around the triggers of her guns when BOOM!.

Nine mark seven rifles spoke in glorious harmony, cratering the ocean with their thundering voices and momentarily turning the deary winter evening into a burning summer noon. Shells ripped though the air as the battleship's turrets dropped back to their loading angles. Gun crews scrambled with carefully-ordered chaos, bringing fresh shells and powder up from the magazine in prepration for the battleship's next salvo.

Her fist was a tight bracket, splashing salty plumes dyed ice-blue by her shells high over the pocket battleships' masts. The ship shuddered, shaken by the mere concussion of Jersey's colossal rounds landing nearby. Spooked—no, terrified—the twisted mockery of a warship turned to flee.

A pointless gesture, Jersey's next salvo caught it square on. Sixteen inch shells punched though its three-inch belt like tissue paper, tearing vast holes in the internal machinery with their sheer mass. Turret Anton exploded out of the hull, toppling head over tail on a towering pillar of burning powder as the forward third of the pocket battleship simply vanished into fine steel mist.

Steel crunched and screamed as eight more of Jersey's enormous sixteen-inch mark thirteen high-explosive shells tore though the mockery of armor before tearing the hateful abomination of a ship to shreds with their explosive filler. The flag the pocket battleship flew so proudly held on just long enough to burn to cinders in the explosion before it too slipped beneath the waves, leaving nothing but an oily slick as memorial.

"Boom," breathed Jersey, her sighs already slewing to her next target.

The Abyssals were pouring on whatever speed they'd held in reserve in a frantic bid to be anywhere but in front of the bloodthirsty American monster. The bravest of them held its turn a second longer, swinging its bow around to fire a full salvo of six eleven inch rounds at Jersey's oncoming hull.

Jersey didn't dodge, she didn't even try. The six-hundred pound shells slammed into her armor with all the murderous hate of an entire Reich behind them. And then they bounced. Their penetrators utterly defeated by Jersey's belt, the swords of hate blunted by the shield of Freedom.

Only freedom didn't just have a shield. Freedom had big-ass guns. "RUN SOME MORE!" bellowed Jersey as her fore six guns thundered in chorus. Jersey smiled as she felt the concussion rip over her slender bow, blasting all the surf that'd piled up on her deck flashing off the sides.

Shells arced though the air, splashing down in a bracket straddling her target. Most missed, but one hit just ahead of the torpedo tubes and burrowed its way deep into the pocket battleship's hull.

The explosion was muffled and muted, a deep fwuMP more felt than heard as the ship's bottom blew out, lifting the ship by its center up before smacking it back down into the freezing North Pacific. Jersey lined up a second salvo just to be safe, but there was almost no point. The ship was listing heavily to one side and belching smoke from every orifice. Flames poured across the decks as burning diesel sloshed around the torpedo tubes and boat davits.

Jersey put the writing warship down with a final salvo of high-capacity shells. Two down, two more running for freedom at the other end of the rapidly closing pocket created by Jersey and the two Kongous.

Only… there wasn't freedom waiting on the other side.

"Yo, Mushi," Jersey smiled as her gun crews slammed fresh shells into her hot guns. Adrenaline coursed though her veins, mingling with the traces of barbarian fury still lingering in her system to form a deadly cocktail of pure freedom-fueled ferocity. "You ready to sling lead?"

For a second, nothing. Then the horizon erupted in a silent ball of flame. With the colossal range of the fourty-six centimeter rifles, it took more than a minute for the sound to catch up.

But the sound the glorious music was well worth the wait. "I, MUSASHI!" the big-titted Japanese super-battleship's voice thundered over even the report of her own rifles, "WILL FIGHT!"

Her shells landed short, their diving noses keeping them steady as they plunged under the water, gouging enormous holes in the pocket battleships' bellies before exploding against their keels. Pocket battleships they may be, superb firepower and value for their size.

But they were nothing against the sheer firepower of the two most powerful battleships that had ever or will ever exist on this earth. One ship split into four chunks bleeding burning diesel as they slipped beneath the waves, while the other sagged pathetically amidships but somehow kept itself together.

Jersey's guns were the first to reload, and she hammered a six-gun salute into the limping warship, pulverizing its bow into nothing more than twisted metal scrap. Musashi replied a second later, tearing the already weakened middle section apart with a precise salvo before Jersey savaged the sinking hulk with her own rifles.

The battle had lasted less then two hours, and all that remained of the four fleeing pocket battleships were a few puddles of burning diesel.

"Well," Jersey held out her fist to Musashi, who obligingly smacked it with her own. "We're fucking badasses."

"Aren't we just?" Musashi threw her head back in a howling laugh. Her breast heaved as she came down off the adrenaline high, her chocolate skin slick with sweat and salt as she howled to the sun.

Jersey swatted the super-battleship's stern before turning her mind to more important matters, "Anyone hit?"

Kongou shook her head.

"Two hits." Kirishima held up the end of her flowing sleeve, poking her fingers though the two neat little holes punched at the tip, "Through-and-through, shouldn't take long to fix."

"Good," Jersey ruffled the Japanese girl's hair and grinned, "What about you, Pagoda-boat?"

"I was hit-" Musashi clawed at her stomach to keep herself from devolving into another bout of uncontrollable laughter. "I- I was hit thirteen times!"

Jersey rolled her eyes, "Did even fucking one of 'em pen you?"

"Nope!" Musashi arched her back, her deliciously tanned arms flexing in a gun-show that Jersey just knew she could beat if she wasn't wearing long sleeves. She puffed out her chest until her bandages looked like they were nanometers away from giving out and thundered "I, MUSASHI, AM INVINCIBLE!"

Kongou offered an earnest golf-clap and a huge smile before pouncing at Musashi with a hug.

"Good lord," Jersey rolled her eyes, "You people have no fucking decorum what so-fucking ever."

"You're just mad you didn't think of it first," countered Musashi.

Jersey rolled her eyes even harder. "Look… let's just, uh… form up on Frisco, eh?"

The four battleships and their assorted destroyer escorts lazily formed back up into line astern. Jersey led the formation, both because she was flagship, and because her radar was unquestionably the best. Also, she had the nicest stern. Not bragging, just being objective here.

It wasn't long before the fleet caught sight of Frisco happily steaming towards them at a solid twenty-eight knot clip. But as the shockingly pretty Nesai shipgirl closed the distance, her speed dropped to a crawl until she dropped to nothing a few thousand yards away. Her eyes narrowed even further and her head tilted to one side, sweeping up and down Jersey's towering hull with utter confusion painted on her fine features.

"Uh… Frisco?" Jersey felt her heart skip a few beats before roaring into overdrive.

The cruiser held up a finger.

Yuudachi poied.

"Jersey," Frisco glanced up at the towering battleship, "the hell are you wearing."

Jersey gulped, her gently-tanned skin suddenly flushing to bone-pale. "Uh… Uh, clothes," she stammered. "Clothes, you know… like some people," she shot a glare at Musashi's bandage bra, "Wear."

"Should she, like," Yuudachi waved her hand to ask permission to speak, then went ahead anyway, "Wear something elseish?"

"Is there something wrong with her outfit, dess?" asked Kongou.

"According to my calculations," Kirishima looked up and down Jersey's body, "Her current outfit fits her very well."

"Hey!" Jersey flipped her middle finger at the littlest Kongou for lack of anything more intelligent to do. She turned to Frisco, her hands clasped in supplication as she pleaded with the heavy cruiser, "Frisco…"

Frisco ignored the battleship's pleas with a smile, "You know, I'm sure you wore a dress last time we hung out."

"Friscooooooooooo!"

"A really nice blue dress," Frisco dragged her hands across a bustline much bigger than her own treaty-compliant bosom, "With like, your tits all hanging out-"

"Please shut up," begged Jersey.

"-And white thigh-highs and everything!" finished Frisco with a smile.

"I will cut you," hissed the battleship..

"Nah," Frisco smiled and tossed a lock of that beautiful raven-black hair over her shoulder, "You love me."

Jersey snarled at the cruiser, her brows knit into a dense line above her mirrored aviators. Then she shrugged and ruffled the cruiser's hair. "You're right, I do," she said. "But still…" the ruffle transitioned into a playful noogie.

"Ow! OwOwOwOw!" Frisco yelped and slid out of the battleship's grasp. "You know, your old look's in Janes'."

The battleship froze again, "Did Cr-"

"Yes."

"FUCK!" Jersey kicked the water.

"He thinks you're cu~te~," teased Frisco.

"FUCK YOU!" thundered Jersey.

"Excuse me," Kirishima wandered over to the cruiser, notebook held at the read, "San-Fransisco-sama?"

Kongou and Jersey shared a resigned sigh, while Musashi slapped her palm to her hand with a loud grunt.

—|—|—​

Yeoman Gale ducked out of the mess hall with a belly full of Bannie's special loaded baked potatoes and an equally hearty portion of Lou's delicious pizza. She could feel the fat starting to form around her middle with every step she took, and she figured she'd regret her decision in the morning. But right now, she couldn't imagine herself being any happier.

Those girls could cook. It took every bit of self-control she had left to excuse herself before she gobbled down seconds, thirds, and fifths of everything they'd made. Note to self, never make shipgirls thankful during bikini weather. At least her turtleneck and fatigue blouse did a decent enough job of hiding her belly pooch. She'd the gym… later.

Right now she had to…

Had to…

Um…

Gale's train of thought was suddenly and utterly derailed by the single most beautiful sight she'd ever seen in her life.

A few feet away, Wash jogged down the chilly concrete in athletic wear. Her snug-fitting heather gray T-shirt hugged her body tightly enough to hint at the lime-green fabric of her sports-bra. A bra that really wasn't doing enough to support the battleship's big round upperworks as she ran. The battleship's whole body swayed with a kind of precise, rhythmic grace. Swoosh, Swoosh, Swoosh.

Gale clutched at her chubby belly, instantly regretting indulging herself at dinner. Or at least almost regretting, Lou and Bannie were amazing cooks. It was like watching a dozen virtuosoes play a concert. Only instead of a symphony of music, this was a symphony of curves in motion. Gale was so entranced with the way Wash moved, she almost missed the battleship's swinging hips in those short, tight shorts. Almost missed the way her russet brown hair streamed out behind her like a ship's wake.

Almost missed the way Wash's foot hit the ground a little funny near that one bit of sidewalk that was tilted a little bit, sending the battleship off her balance and flying onto her belly.

Wait.

"Wash!" Gale yelped and bolted for the battleship.

"Ow," Wash let out a pathetic moan as she rolled onto her back. The concrete was scored with deep gouges where her immense mass had carved furrows in her wake.

"Wash, are you okay?" Gale dropped to her knees and tried to help the battleship up.

Wash panted in response. Her colossal chest heaved as she struggled to suck down enough air, jiggling just enough in that lime-green bra—that looked suspiciously like one Gale had lost a few months ago—to short-circuit what few neurons the sailor still had. She held up a finger, her pale skin drenched in sweat as she struggled to get her wind back.

"W-wash," It took everything Gale had not to leer at the sweat-slicked battleship, and even then her imagination was running away with her. But… but that was an activity for another time. Right now, Wash needed her to be a friend. She could lust over theNorth Carolina's curves later—that was what Janes' was for.

But right now, Gale needed to love the battleship, not lust after her. She needed to be more like Crowning. "Are you okay?"

Wash panted in return, her cheeks flushing red from exertion as she flopped forward. Her breasts piled up against those toned thighs as she clutched her head in her hands, her face contorted with the pain of a mean stitch in her side.

Gale bit her lip, tore her eyes away from the interesting way Wash's figure squished, and gently pulled the battleship's sweaty hair out of the way. Even drenched in sweat, the battleship's russet brown mane fel- NO! No time for that!

"I'm…" Wash's voice was little more than a dusty croak, "I'm okay," she panted."

"You want some water?" asked Gale.

Wash nodded glumly.

Gale looked around. She wasn't about to leave the battleship all alone, not like this… but… ah! "Hey, Sailor!" Gale waved down a gangling kid with the deer-in-the-headlights look of a freshly-minted E-1.

The kid gulped a few times like a goldfish abruptly torn from its bowl and patted his chest.

Gale nodded, and waved him over. "Run into the mess hall," she ordered, "get me a jug of ice-water and a salt shaker."

The kid nodded, then bolted for the kitchen in the gangling all-limbs run of someone who hadn't quite grown into their body yet.

Gale sighed, then looked back to the utterly gorgeous battleship quivering on the concrete. Her back was arched, showing off not just the masterfully sculpted muscle of her back, but the quivering of a scared, exhausted girl in the midwinter chill.

"Oh, honey," Gale muttered to herself and draped her NWU blouse over Wash's shoulders. So what if it was chilly and Wash might get a peek at her squishy winter belly pudge. If Gale stood a snowball's chance at getting with Wash, it hinged on her beingnice to the poor girl. "That better?"

Wash nodded, her breast still heaving as she struggled to get her wind back.

"How long were you running?" asked Gale. She hadn't seen battleships run much, especially proper, demure miss Washington. But she had seen Jersey sprint a few times. That girl could run mile after mile at a dead sprint without even panting.

"Thr-" Wash coughed, "Three hours."

"Dammit, Wash!" Gale scowled, but her face softened when the rating popped back with the pitcher she'd asked for. Gale hurriedly dumped a goodly amount of salt, stirred the water with her fingers, then offered it to Wash.

Wash smiled sweetly—even drenched in sweat and shivering in the cold, she still managed to be a proper lady—mumbled a few words of thanks, and gulped down the entire thing in one long drag.

"Better?" Gale smiled and brushed a loose strand of hair that was glued to Wash's brow by sweat.

Wash nodded sheepishly. "Thank you."

"So," Gale slouched back on the concrete next to Wash, letting the battleship's curvy bulk rest against her side, "We wanna talk about why you were running for three hours?"

"'m not fast enough," said Wash.

Gale blinked. "Dammit, Wash, you can do like…twenty-eight knots."

Wash shook her head, "No… I… I can do twenty-seven. On a good day." The battleship wiped at her soaking brow, "My powerplant, my screws… they never worked right."

"It's still fast," mumbled Gale.

"I can't shoot at speed," said Wash. There wasn't any indignation in her voice, just glum acceptance. "I shake too badly to find the range. If… I can't help thinking that maybe if I was a little bit faster, those pocket battleships wouldn't have gotten past me."

"We caught 'em in the end, though," Gale wrapped one arm around Wash's sweaty shoulders and pulled her into a sideways hug.

"Maybe next time you won't," said the battleship. "So… I was… running."

"Wash," Gale bit her lip.

"I know," the battleship hung her head, "that's not how it works for us. For me. But… but it's all I can do."

"Oh…" Gale screwed up her face and pulled the battleship into a full-on hug. There was something she knew she could do. Something that never failed to cheer up a glum shipgirl. And unfortunately, it was murder on the poor sailor's waistline. "Uh, Wash?"

"Hmm?"

"Do…" Gale bit her lip, "Do you wanna swing by my place for movies and ice cream?"

Wash shook her head, "I'm a mess, I wouldn't want to-"

"No!" Gale shook her head even more vigorously. She kicked herself for even proposing it, then started making a mental list of the shirts she wouldn't mind getting horribly stretched out by her battleship friend's first-rate torpedo bulges. "I'll, uh… you can borrow something of mine."

"Really?" said Wash, her face brightening for the first time that evening.

"Mmmh,"Gale nodded. "I'll even let you use my shower." The sailor glanced over Wash's sweaty body in a way she hoped didn't come off as lecherous, "You kinda reek."

"I know," said Wash with a small laugh. "And thank you. You're the best friend a battleship could ask for."

"Well…" Gale's face blossomed a brilliant crimson, "Uh… yeah…" she bit her lip. "Room," was her eloquent response.

"Of course," Wash somehow managed to curtsy in skintight running shorts, then fell into line-abreast with Gale, one arm hooked though the sailor's arm and a tired smile on her face.

 

[Skywalker_T-65]

And more HMS Tiger. Well, more of her and HM(A)S Australia, plus Amy.

---

Omake: A Cat's Surprise​

"Australia, you there?"

"'Course I am. You need something mate?"

Amy Kirkpatrick pushed into the room looking up at HMAS Australia. The battlecruiser, oldest ship girl in Australian service even if she didn't show it all that often, looked right back. A red eyebrow rose over a brown eye, as the ship girl looked at the teenager. Australia had good reason to be confused, of course. Amy hadn't spent much time with her. The Admiral's niece preferred spending time with Tiger. Something that had the elder battlecruiser pout, as she thought about it. The teenager didn't fail to notice that pout, and sent one of her own at the Australian warship.

Of course, the pout of a cute teenager was quite superior to that of a mature battlecruiser. Australia flinched back, holding a hand to her heart dramatically.

"Oh, it burns!" The redhead moaned, swaying on her feet.

"Oh Australia..." Amy just sighed, shaking her head fondly. "And get your mind out of the gutter, mate."

"You're no fun."

The teenager just shrugged. She knew why Australia had pouted. Before Tiger had told her the truth of Amy's feelings for the battlecruiser, Australia had often played matchmaker. She had claimed at multiple times that 'you two make a cute couple!'. Amy had found it somewhat amusing, really. But Tiger was easily flustered at the best of times, and if there was any one thing Amy cared about more than anything else, it was the feelings of her surrogate sister.

In point of fact, that was why she was here.

"I have a question for you, actually."

Australia's eyebrow went up again, as she waved the teenager into her room, "Ask away. Something about Tiger, ain't it?"

"Of course it is."

"Mate, you talk about her as much as she talks about you. Sure there's nothing..."

"No!"

The battlecruiser waggled her eyebrows suggestively, before dodging back as Amy half-heartedly moved to slap her silly.

For her part, Amy sighed, "I like your jokes, but I'm being serious here."

"Fine fine," Australia waved her hand. "What's up?"

Sitting down on the battlecruiser's bed, Amy sighed again. Her blue eyes looked down at her hands, hands clenched in the fabric of her dress. The teenager looked distinctly downtrodden, as she did so. Downtrodden enough that Australia sat down next to her, a rare serious expression on the battlecruiser's tanned features. Amy looked over at her, the expression on her own face changing little. It was enough to get even the tough battlecruiser to frown, as she scooted a bit closer.

Amy didn't move away, in fact she leaned against the older girl. She may have been closer to Tiger than anyone else, but Amy did know Australia enough to trust her. It was why she had come to the battlecruiser, instead of her aunt. Aunt Mary was nice enough, but she wasn't quite as...in-touch with Tiger as the elder battlecruiser. And that was why she was here.

"Tiger's been quiet lately." Amy finally spoke up. "Ever since I told her I see her as my sister, actually. Did I upset her?"

"You're worried about that?" Australia gaped, brown eyes widening.

Amy pouted again, "I'm being serious here mate! I'm really worried, Tiger is the closest I've ever had to having a sister. What if I made her dislike me?"

"You...are worried she hates you." The battlecruiser repeated slowly, turning each word over like it was impossible to believe what she was hearing.

"Why is that so hard to believe?"

Australia just sighed herself, "Mate. Amy. I'm going to be brutally honest here, 'kay?"

"Yes...?"

"Tiger loves you."

The teenager glared at her redheaded companion, making Australia hold up her tanned hands in placation, "Not in that way. At least I don't think so. What I meant was, she loves you no matter the way it takes shape. Tiger may be pretty crap at showing her feelings, but she's not a rock. And right now, I think she's not sure how to react."

Frowning now, Australia held up her hands and shook them a bit.

"I think she's just trying to process everything, honestly. Love that girl like my own sister, since she basically is, at least on some level. And it worries me when she gets all moody, but I know it's not your fault Amy. If anything, you're what keeps her from doing it more often. I think she trusts you more than anyone, including me. Or the Admiral."

It was not an understatement, to say that the teen went redder than the battlecruiser's hair. To think that Tiger felt that deeply for her...

Maybe I shouldn't worry. I trust her, I just...

"Look, you're young." Australia's voice was unusually serious, as she looked at Amy. "And you're worrying for nothing, trust me. Just go talk to her, and it'll work out."

"You're kicking me out?"

"Right in one!"

Joking tone to her voice or not, Australia got to her feet and pulled Amy up as well. The battlecruiser tugged her younger friend along, despite Amy's protests. Never let it be said that HMAS Australia couldn't gt something done when she wanted to. Because the girl easily pulled Amy to the door, before pushing her out and slamming it shut without so much as a 'goodbye'. Leaving the teenager to stare at the door, before sighing again. Well then.

It was clear what she had to do now, and that Amy had little real choice in the matter. Time to go see Tiger, and get to the heart of the problem.

They really were like sisters, weren't they? Both avoiding the issue until pressed into doing it. Amy less so than Tiger, as she was more...outgoing. But well, she was a teenager. She could be forgiven for having the occasional bout of illogical worry. Especially when it came to her 'sister', whom Amy valued more than most. And because she valued Tiger so much, she was going to go right to her now.

Damn the torpedoes, as the Americans would say!

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-​

What do I do...

The battlecruiser that was the source of Amy's worries, was worried in her own right. She had been pacing in her room for some time now, her uniform jacket discarded and her skirt loose on her hips. Her white undershirt was loose as well, her taught stomach exposed as the battlecruiser moved through her room. Tiger brushed a bit of brown hair from her face, violet eyes focused on something sitting on her bed. The package had been sitting there and staring at her ever since she had returned from talking with the Admiral, and it wasn't likely to go away.

No matter how much it had her on edge.

"Hey...Tiger?"

The British girl twitched, as the voice of her worries spoke up.

"Come in."

Still, she didn't let it stop her. Tiger just turned to the door, tucking a lock of brown hair behind her ears. Amy walked into the room, a tense look in her every step. Tiger couldn't help but frown at that, even as she saw the other girl's blue eyes widen.

...probably at her state of relative undress.

"What do you need?" Tiger asked, unconsciously shifting to cover more of her body as her face flushed slightly.

"I need to talk," Amy replied softly, walking forward.

Tiger frowned at that, "Talk? About wha..."

Before she could finish the question, Amy had pulled her into a tight hug. Tiger flinched, but didn't pull away. Even as she felt Amy's hair pool against her exposed stomach. Even as she felt the urge to pull away, if only because she was uncomfortable at best with physical affection of this type. But Tiger was a battlecruiser, and it would hardly be in her nature to back down so easily. Even if she was extremely uncomfortable at the moment, to say the least.

"I..." Amy muttered, her voice muffled by Tiger's soft stomach. "I was worried, Tiger."

Now the battlecruiser felt a hint of anger in her system. Who had worried her friend?

"What...who...worried you, Amy?"

"You."

And just as quickly as it came, the anger faded. Tiger's face turned pale, as she looked down on the girl beneath her. Amy had not looked up, if anything, she just squeezed tighter. Her arms tightened on the battlecruiser's waist, as Tiger warily placed her hands on the teenager's shoulders. Squeezing lightly, to try and calm her down.

Even though she didn't know what to say.

"Amy..."

"It's silly, I even went to talk to Australia about it." The teenager just continued speaking. "I thought you may not be happy. May not like that I think you're my sister. I know that I shouldn't think like that. You said you were going to try and get used to it, not that you didn't like the idea. But you've been avoiding me so..."

Tiger could only squeeze tighter, shaking her head. Her unbound brown hair fluttered around her head, tickling at Amy's face as well.

"I'm sorry. I...was trying to do something, and I wanted it to be a surprise. I know I worried you, but I..."

"Surprise?"

The younger teen pulled back, as Tiger shuffled slightly. Her face was red, as the battlecruiser gestured at the package on her bed.

"I went to Admiral Kirkpatrick and Australia, and asked them for help with something. I wanted to surprise you with it Amy, and I am sorry if I worried you. That was not my intention at all."

Amy didn't reply, as she walked over to the bed. She merely reached out, picking up the package, careful to not disturb Tiger's uniform. For her part, the battlecruiser shifted uncomfortably, as she watched Amy open the box. Watched as the teenager's eyes went, what in any other situation would have been comically, wide. Amy reached into the box, pulling out the items hidden inside.

This wasn't exactly how Tiger had planned to give the gifts to the dark-haired girl, but well...no plan survives contact with the enemy. She knew that better than most.

Still, Tiger had been hoping to give this to Amy properly. As a proper gift, to show how much she did value the other girl. Especially as she was soon to go on assignment with New Zealand, patrolling the coast further north. It wasn't her choice, but...well, it was what it was. Tiger valued whatever service she could give, and knew that it was not going to be often she was sent out. If that meant leaving Amy, she could hardly not feel bad though.

Perhaps, moreso now than before.

"Tiger...I..."

For her part, Amy's eyes were still wide, as she held a little model of Tiger's old hull. And her other hand held a small little album, the binding falling open to show the pictures contained within.

Pictures of the two, sometimes with Australia or the Admiral featured as well.

"I'm going to be gone soon, at least for some time." Tiger began to explain, looking at the teenager seriously. "Patrolling up north with New Zealand. I won't have as much time to spend with you, so I...I wanted to get something you could keep with you. I still don't know how to feel about...being sisters in all but blood. But I still wanted to do something nice."

Here, Tiger looked down at her hands.

"So I went to the Admiral, and against my better judgement, Australia. Your Aunt suggested the photo album. The model is Australia's doing, and I think it was one of her jokes. But...I wanted to try what I could. I hope..."

Amy just pulled Tiger into another hug, but there was none of the worry this time. Merely gratitude, as she hugged the battlecruiser tightly.

"Thanks mate," Amy's voice was soft, even muffled against Tiger's body. "Thank you. I'll keep these safe, while you're gone. Just promise me something, okay?"

"Anything."

"Don't get hurt. I know how you are, how you feel. Don't do anything risky...please."

Tiger knew that was a promise she couldn't make. If it came down to it, she would fight until the end. It was her duty, her reason for existing. But...

"I promise."

She couldn't say no to Amy, could she?

 

[Old Iron]

* * * * *

"Kaga, sitrep," demanded Hiei.

"Red squadron has been eliminated and Gold squadron has lost six planes." Kaga's usually cool and detached voice had taken on characteristics far more in line with a searing fury. Sea spray would occasionally fizzle out in a burst of steam when it touched her hull. As she prepared to launch Gray squadron, her next wing of Zeros into the sky, she revealed Green's fate, "Green is down to one."

Hiei bit back a sharp curse as she took in the report. Losing her temper wouldn't do her or anyone else any good.

"What damage were we able to do? And what of Wardog?" Yamashiro queried.

"Both took some hits, but they managed to deal significant damage to one of the Orion-Class battleships before leaving the field. Kaga's planes were able to sink a Svetlana-Class and damage a Guissano-Class. Not much, but that anti-air did a lot of damage." Takao chimed in with the data she was receiving from her floatplane. The Jake was weaving in and out of anything that remotely came close to striking it, fully intent on staying in the field to keep an eye on the situation. "But we have bigger problems."

"They have air support," Kaga all but growled out.

"It has to be operating at an extreme range as well. I can't see any kind of carrier nearby." Takao looked skyward for a moment as her radio room received a long distance transmission. "And nothing from the Global Hawk. Wherever and whatever it is, it's well out sight."

"FFfffffiddlesticks..." Hiei's anger sputtered out as the bad news continued to mount. At that kind of range, the Abyssal platform was likely being held in reserve for a decisive strike or to maintain a CAP over the task force. And she certainly hoped it was the latter. It would be nice if one thing went their way today.

A CAP they could deal with. The scratches and raking fire from fighters was infinitely preferable to the knockout punches that torpedoes and bombs could deliver.

"Whatever their plan is for the mainland, it must be important." Tatsuta cast a dark eye in Hiei's direction. She idly twirled her polearm with one hand, paying no attention to the paths it traced but still handling the weapon with a practiced ease. "Abyssals don't send their precious little planes out just for fun. Even just to keep the skies clear."

"Which is why we're changing formation!" Hiei barked as she pointed to Kaga. "Kaga, pull all your kids back and stow everything that isn't a Zero. I want you ready to lock down any enemy planes. Get into the back of the formation and as far away as you can. Shimakaze, you're on guard duty. If something even looks at Kaga funny, I want it at the bottom."

"Ou! You can count on me." Shimakaze saluted and peeled off to marry herself to Kaga's retreating stern. She was the closest thing to an interceptor that had ever been put to sea and she would make absolutely certain that her speed kept one of Japan's few carriers was safe and sound. Her rabbit ear-like bandanna bobbed energetically in tune with the waves she cut through. "I've got enough speed for both of us."

"I am counting on it." Kaga allowed the barest hint of a smile to grace her features while her crews worked triple time to change gears and her radio operators called back the surviving attack force.

"Hm!"

"Next! Jintsuu, take center with Kawakaze and Shigure. The fox and the hound are going hunting and they'll need a minder."

"We need a minder?!" Kawakaze blurted out somewhat indignantly despite falling into formation with due haste and without question. "If anything, she's the one who needs a minder. Yeoman Third Class my a-!"

"Language, ensign." Jintsuu's slight smile belied the sharp edge to her words. So she had a bit of a reputation. Just a little one. Nothing for anyone to worry about. Least of all her assigned charges. She just hoped they could keep up with the pace of battle. Things tended to get a little hairy in the thick of it.

Shigure merely pulled up alongside Kawakaze, casting a glance in Yamashiro's direction as she did so. Her fists clenched to the point of eliciting a groan of creaking metal. She did not relish the idea of leaving the battleship's side, but she had been given her orders. And unlike some ships, she wouldn't raise a fuss about them just because of certain wording. Besides, she liked dogs.

"Ugh. This is crazy. Can't we just kill them and go home?" griped the pink haired Shiratsuyu.

"Now who's the crazy one, hm?" Takao shot back with good humor. Kawakaze was a bit too hot-headed for her own good at times. And paired with the right fleet and someone was about to come out with a bloody nose.

"Lieutenant, this formation is..." Yamashiro began voicing a growing concern she was having as she started piecing together what Hiei seemed to be planning. And she really hoped she was wrong.

"Don't worry. This won't be like last time. We've got plenty of spirit now. Enough to last us for this and more." Hiei smiled a brilliantly reassuring smile. "And both armor and ammo to spare! Now get your spotter in the air, Takao's is due for return soon."

Takao snickered as Yamashiro sighed and did as she was ordered.

"Now... Arizona, I have something special in mind for you and that belt of yours."

"My... belt?" Arizona spoke up for the first time in quite a good long while. While on base and at least amongst the Richardsons and a select few ships, she felt comfortable enough to be more sociable. However given the debacle with Kaga, Jane's worries, and the large number of unknown Japanese boats, the redhead was feeling less than talkative. She hadn't even really felt the need to harangue Shimakaze for that accursed ensemble.

That last bit was made all the worse thanks to the destroyer's seemingly professional and dedicated demeanor. It did not make sense to her. And she didn't have the spare thoughts to dwell further on it.

"Yup! No one in this fleet has a shred of hope in tanking Battleship Princess' big guns. Not without a miracle and the best angling on the seven seas. No one except you and Yamashiro. And you're packing even more than she is." Hiei thumbed in said battleship's direction and ignored the suddenly sickly pallor the dark haired woman's face had taken.

"My, But I don't think even her armor could handle something that big." Tatsuta remarked offhandedly with a finger on her chin.

"Not for long, no. But she doesn't need to," prompted Takao as she tried to keep a straight face. "Right?"

"Bingo!"

"So what is this formation you have in mind that will utilize our armor so well? Particularly given our speed." There was a mixture of doubt and hope in Arizona's voice. Doubt in the unknown, but hope in Hiei's vast experience. But there was an eagerness as well. A burning desire to fight that taunted her boilers.

Arizona felt her blood chill when Hiei smiled.

* * * * *

A towering splash exploded out of the sea to Arizona's starboard as she steamed ahead at flank.

The pitch black dye slapped against her hull and stained her coat a foul color. Unlike the simple black of Hiei's shells, this seemed to burn and crawl against her flesh as if trying to devour her. She shoved away a shiver whilst cutting a hard shift to port, ending the zig to her zag.

Behind her by a fair number of ship lengths, Yamashiro did the same.

All down the formation did the high speed snaking movement continue until it ended with Shimakaze's snappy turns.

It was an insane plan for fighting an insane enemy.

Arizona felt the massive weight of responsibility crushing against her shoulders. A weight that grew with every splash and near miss of Tosa's massive batteries. What's more, her meagre anti-air guns could not swat the Abyssal spotter from the sky. Even other skyward guns had trouble keeping a sight on the wretched plan. Her only saving grace was that the extreme range threw any real sense of precision out the window. The salvos were relatively accurate, but their precision was horrendous.

"I've lost my plane!" warned Yamashiro as the mayday of her scout reached her ears. One of the Abyssal planes had gotten a good eyeful and decided it wasn't fond of being spied upon. The Fusou-Class scowled, but kept her eyes on the horizon where Tosa's guns continued to thunder. Unless they wanted to risk setting up another launch, they'd have to make due with what their own range-finders could manage. Unfortunate, but they would make do. They had little other choice.

But with the distance closing as rapidly as it was, even for just over twenty knots, the longer ranged guns of their fleet would be able to open fire far sooner than later.

"Is everyone ready?" hollered Takao. A chorus of affirmatives was her reply. Some more high spirited than others. Hiei was perhaps the most enthusiastic of them all, but part of her figured it partly had to do with the fact the brunette was the flagship. Appearances had to be kept up for morale and all. But she wasn't so sure she'd be able to quite match up if put in the same situation.

Arizona for her part merely narrowed her eyes as the distance grew ever shorter and Tosa's guns tightened up more and more. Even with their evasion patterns, all it would take was one lucky shot to punch through her deck. Even easier for the thinner armor of her allies.

That was why she had been ordered to lead the charge. Golden bullets aside, only the sixteen-inch shells posed any real threat to her. Which made it her job to draw as much fire as possible.

"Here it comes..." Hatsuzuki's stern warning was all that preceded the sky being filled with steel.

The massive broadside from Tosa was bad enough. But now the Guissanos were adding their own to the mix. Inaccurate and imprecise. But there was a quality in quantity as thirty-two shells came raining down. Small, but with plenty of range.

A few of the shells managed to strike Arizona, bouncing off her armor with loud clangs and leaving little more than dents from their sheer velocity. But the vast majority splashed all around her. One even managed to fall so far past her that Yamashiro felt a spray of sea land on her deck. However one of the Italian rounds managed to score a lucky enough it to impact against Arizona's conning tower.

She ignored the itch on her cheek in favor of turning her guns ever so slightly in preparation for their next maneuver.

The distances closed far more rapidly than Arizona could have expected and it was not even minutes before Yamashiro, Hiei, and Takao began returning fire in earnest. But not her. No, she had been ordered to hold fire at her most extreme ranges. Even as every other gun that could reach out and touch someone began to roar and scream in fury, she was to remain silent and let them treat her as more than she was.

Fire was thrown about in earnest with Arizona and Yamashiro taking the brunt of it as they fell into range first. Secondaries were smashed and structures damaged when the malevolent artillery managed to strike home. But nothing was stopping them.

Up high the howling of engines filled their air as Kaga's Zeros began tangling with the Abyssal planes. While it wouldn't readily permit her to launch bombers or torpedo planes, it would keep the skies busy and let those with anti-air crews focus more on the surface.

Shards of stricken planes and tumbling fireballs fell from the sky like the scene from a nightmare.

A salvo of shells measuring thirteen and a half inches each from the healthier of the two Orions slammed into her side with a brutal ring and nearly staggered her. But they did not penetrate. Her armor held. She remained the wall moving forward, unstoppable. Even as her superstructure bled, her will and her crews pushed her forward.

The ear-splitting crack of snapping steel accompanied a pained wail from Yamashiro. One of Tosa's shells had found it's mark and bracketing fire had managed to tear away a portion of the battleship's pagoda mast. It had not struck anything crippling, but it had still torn a bloody gash out of her neck.

"G-Go! We k-keep going!" With blazing red eyes, Yamashiro steeled herself and pushed forward. She refused to be the weak link.

"Start rolling over them! Jintsuu, hunting time!" Roared Hiei over the din of her guns as she took note of the Abyssal destroyers beginning to make their move. "Broadsides! Arizona, weapons free."

As one entity, like a great war machine, the three battleships and one heavy cruiser snapped about in a great arc. Their broadsides were bared to hungry enemy fangs. But no longer was their T crossed. They were not pinned in. This was not the Strait where the last great battle between battleships took place. This was wide open ocean.

Now all guns could fire. Now their rifles would speak as one.

And with a rolling roar, their guns thundered down the line.

A veritable wall of steel, fourteen and eight inches thick, slammed into the Abyssal formation.

While it did not shatter their spine, it did draw first blood.

One of the two remaining Svetlanas was far too slow to evade the deadly salvo and found itself torn asunder with such ferocity that no one was certain who dealt the killing blow. And the dying Orion was given its last rites, finally taking the lethal shell from Takao and giving up the fight in a sputtering, gurgling explosion of burning fuel and black steel.

Yet for all it's impressive display, little more than superficial damage was done to the enemy vessels. And hardly a scratch had been put into the mass of destroyers as they cut violent arcs into the frothing sea.

Some of the more attentive girls would have sworn they heard a malicious and mirthful laughter emanating from Tosa as her well armored belt bounced nearly every single shell that managed to strike her. Kaga in particular, despite being held so far back that even Tosa's guns could not touch her, nearly froze as a hellish timbre seemed to crawl out of her bones to reach her ears.

But as the Abyssal destroyers began charging through the firestorm as though Hell itself was hot on their heels, three plumes of seaspray fell in behind a pair of Shiratsuyu and one Sendai.

"Go get 'em!" Shouted Shimakaze over the radio.

"Hahaha! They don't stand a chance." Kawakaze's boisterous reply was met with a maelstrom of small arms fire. The sea erupted all around them as the Abyssal forces split their fire to accommodate the haymaker that followed the battleships' hook. Everything from one-inch to five was suddenly hurled in their direction.

But she did not care.

Nor did Shigure.

And Jintsuu's expression was one of hunger.

They fell into a tight line as they raced into the enemy formation, returning fire with a dedicated ferocity. The cracking of their gunfire came at such a pace that it sounded like a machine gun without a care for expenditure. Even as their hulls were struck and pierced, they charged into the brink. Flesh wounds were nothing to them.

"Torpedoes! Portside," shouted the normally calm Shigure while one of Takao's salvos screamed overhead to repay an Italian for a particularly nasty blow to her fore.

Without dropping speed, the three banked hard into the approaching fish and scraped by with only a scant few yards to spare. Kawakaze put a few well placed rounds into the nonexistent armor surrounding the W-Class' engine room. They were vile mockeries at best and it showed when the Abyssal's hamstrings were so effectively cut.

But it was Jintsuu who took the kill with a staggered volley of five-and-a-half inch high capacity shells. The explosions came one after another, ripping away Abyssal steel until only burning oil and twisted metal remained.

They did not slow down nor evade the spill, but cut through it. A wave of burning slick was tossed into the air by their passing as they set upon the destroyers with a merciless fervor. They could not take on Tosa. Not with their arms and armaments. But they could butcher the hindrances for those who could.

For those who were familiar with her, Jintsuu's wrath was nothing new.

But Arizona was nearly taken aback as the sweet, yet terrifying woman, all but skewered one of the monstrosities with a well placed torpedo and smiled as she did so.

"Hiei! Dodge!" cried out Tatsuta from her bloody lips as she swerved around another inbound Russian salvo.

"Shit shit shit!" Hiei swore almost frantically as she attempted to blow the falling Abyssal plane out of the sky. Anti-air crews were firing frantically to effect some salvation out of the situation, but it was to no avail. Her evasion came too late and her guns did not pack the right kind of punch.

With a deafening explosion, the aircraft crashed into her deck and erupted into a sickeningly dark fireball. Hiei let out a cry of agony as the combined mass and the explosion punched through her topside armor just aft of her number two turret. Fires raged all over her superstructure as she held her wounded midsection as though it would alleviate the pain in some manner. Only sheer luck and the well practiced work of her damage control prevented the fires from spreading to her magazine.

"Hiei, pull out! Break! Princess has eyes!" Hatsuzuki rarely rose such a ruckus, but when she did you most certainly listened. Particularly when that ruckus was words of warning.

Even if that warning would prove fruitless.

Tosa chose that moment to reach out and truly touch somebody.

And that somebody was the second Kongou.

Battleship Princess' touch was as wicked as could be imagined. What's more, it was downright cruel when she decided effort was worth expending.

Hiei's eyes widened as fireballs erupted all along Tosa's broadside, signaling the imminent arrival of a lethal payload. Her mouth opened in a shout of warning, but no sound emanated from her lips.

Ten shells had been fired and a full half of them found their mark.

One tore half her radar and a fair chunk of her bridge away.

The second and third struck her number four turret. One near the gunport and the other near the barbette. A violent explosion blew the entire assembly apart as loaded powder was cooked off. One of the barrels was hurled so violently by the blast into the air that it crashed down halfway to Takao's position.

The fourth ripped the top half of her bow off in a messy burst of shredded armor and anchor chain.

And the fifth pierced deep into her side, coming to a halt near the magazines for her already imperiled number two turret and the damaged number one. If it had not been for the efforts to prevent an explosion of her stores already in place, the ensuing detonation of the Abyssal armor piercer would have blown Hiei to kingdom come in a scene very familiar to two certain battleships. Instead it only ravaged already damaged components to the point they would never be recognizable again.

But as she fell to her knees upon the water in a savaged and bloody heap, Battleship Hiei knew she was not yet dead. She still had her facilities. Her boilers and screws. She still had one set of working rifles.

Yet she could not move of her own volition. She was dimly aware of her surroundings. Of the list to one side and of the loss in power as she slowly drifted out of formation in a blazing wreck. Of the last few cookies she had saved falling into the bloody ocean.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she might have sworn she heard an explosion of rage and fury. But then there was nothing but darkness.

* * * * *

Yamashiro continued firing as a sickening numbness fell over her.

Her secondaries lit up a destroyer that had managed to sneak past Jintsuu's bloody offensive. The foul parody of British engineering had it's torpedoes set off before it had any chance to line up a shot, crippling the vessel before Tatsuta's guns finished the job with perhaps more firepower than was actually needed for the kill.

With an almost machine-like detachment, she swung her bow towards the enemy flagship to spoil the chance for Battleship Princess' next salvo to strike against her broadside. Takao was doing much the same with a much more stricken expression as her guns continued pouring fire onto the speedy Italian cruisers. There was a groan or tearing metal when one of the heavy cruiser's volleys struck below the waterline and gouged a lethal hole into the Abyssal hull. Yamashiro only noted there was one less target to worry about as the Guissano sank rapidly.

Kawakaze and Shigure broke off from Jintsuu's stern to flank the last Svetlana on each side. A barrage of torpedoes emptied their stock and blew the Russian to smithereens. There was next to nothing left of the cruiser below the waterline and what remained of it's internals sloughed out of the unsupported shell with the screech of grinding metal.

The pink haired destroyer gave only an extra moment to flip an obscene gesture at the corpse before rejoining Jintsuu and Shigure, her guns never going silent.

"A-Attention fleet," started Yamashiro before she fired another salvo at the Princess, managing to miss by a wide angle as the Abyssal flagship turned to return the favor of spoiling her firing solution. "I'm t-taking command. Hiei is critical. I repeat, Hiei is critical. P-possibly lost."

Hiei's unmoving hulk did not refute these words.

Far removed from the bloody crossfire, Kaga's heart turned to ice.

"Understood." She drew a deep breath while working to cycle out her fighters. "Your orders?"

Remain calm. Remain in control. Do not allow yourself to be anything other than precise, efficient, and dedicated. Hiei was a casualty of war. They all knew the risks and that an infinite number of factors could spell their end. Whether gallantly, foolishly, or brutally. They all could be sent to the deep without mercy.

"Kaga, you're overheating." Shimakaze's grief stricken face did not look at the fleet carrier as she pointed out the billows of steam rising from Kaga's feet. She wanted to get into the fight herself. But she had been ordered to guard one of Japan's few and precious carriers. And she would. What's more, blood would be repaid with blood, even if not by her. That was the only solace she could take at the violence against their flagship.

They could grieve and mourn should Hiei's fate prove to be final, but now they had to make sure the rest survived.

"Kill them. Clear the skies and kill the cruise-." Yamashiro was cut off as a roar of pain and anger erupted from the spearhead of the line. She looked towards Arizona, who was hunched over and spilling smoke from her bridge. The American's body was shaking and she could not tell whether from pain or from rage. "Get those planes in the a-air."

"Yamashiro, the Orion!" Tatsuta called out the British battleship's charge to cover Tosa before being forced to swing around in a tight circle so as to avoid incoming fire from said warship. A high capacity shell hit her fore turret and nearly tore it from it's mountings with a mighty blast. She bit her lip whilst dumping her fish into the water. Ablaze and wrought with shrapnel, the weapons were a greater liability to such an outdated ship as her.

But still she returned fire with her functioning guns, however ineffective they might prove to be. Tenryuu would never let her live it down if she let such a scratch keep her out of the fight.

Yamashiro was about to send orders to Takao, when Tosa furled another broadside into the air. This time split between the heavy cruiser and Arizona.

Two shells managed to strike the American, one only bouncing off her turret with a tremendous clanging sound. The other hit amidships and gouged a chunk of Arizona's belt out of her hull just aft of her rear tower. The wound was gaping and the most delicious vulnerability any enemy could ask for when against a heavily armored battleship. As if to speak her defiance, Arizona's rifles bellowed furiously in retaliation.

Takao was fortunate enough to only be struck once, but that single shell carried enough weight to demolish the central turret of her fore batteries. The impact rocked her terribly and she fought to stay stable. The savaged armament fell forward without sufficient support and crashed down on her forward-most turret, effectively knocking out as the metal twisted about itself.

The cruiser let out a cry of pain as her arm was effectively broken in twain. She could not help the tears of agony streaming down her face as the battle of attrition continued to rage.

"Ha-Hatsuzuki! Break off. G-Go help Hiei if you can." Yamashiro barked her orders with far less poise or authority than Hiei, but they were orders nonetheless. And would have been glad to see the destroyer follow them without even a moment of hesitation. She caught sight of Jintsuu's savage task force dance around and through fire, cutting themselves to butcher the destroyers lest they make for the much slower line of capital ships. The Fusou-Class would not stop them. Their job was needed.

More heavy fire sailed by, slashing down into the water or bouncing off of sufficiently armored surfaces.

As an Abyssal fighter slammed into an allied Zero, the sound of new aircraft reached the flagship's ears.

Kates.

All twenty-one members of Kaga's torpedo armament.

They screamed low to the surface like a wave of locusts. Far too low to be effectively engaged by anti-air installments and only high enough that the churning waves could barely splash against their deadly weapons.

Kaga was furious.

And the fury of Carrier Division One is not to be taken lightly.

Tosa could not engage the planes to protect her escorts without silencing her sixteen-inch rifles, not without allowing the brutalized allied the chance to effectively regroup. There were plenty of sacrifices she was willing to make. While not pleasant, she was more than willing to sacrifice her escorts if it allowed her to hunt the weakened shipgirls.

Paltry fire swatted down two of the vengeful planes, but they screamed forward nearly unimpeded towards the Italian cruisers.

Up above, the surviving Zeros threw themselves into a frenzy. Dangerous risks. Near suicidal turns. And maneuvers that came close to tearing their own planes apart. All to keep the dwindling Abyssal planes in check. Even if reinforcements came, they would be set upon by screaming eagles.

In moments, the water was filled with torpedoes. Three groups. All chewing through the sea like ravenous sharks.

One Kate took a shot to the wing, slicing it off and sending it tumbling into the Guissano is had targeted. The ensuing explosion was made all the more furious when the spread of torpedoes struck.

Kaga's planes had brought down the hammer upon the cruisers and in a series of oily explosions, nailed down the coffins on two cruisers that remained. The third having barely escaped with it's life. But it's hull was still a wretched mass of twisted steel. Mortally wounded, it began charging at the battle-line.

It would never make it even halfway.

Jintsuu loosed the fox and the hound upon the last two destroyers while she cut hard towards the final Guissano. Her eyes were empty all for a serene violence. This monster did not harm Hiei. Not even close. But she would murder it as if it had been Tosa herself.

Her torpedoes flew from from their tubes madly, knifing into the water or bouncing off of it in a bizarrely savage display. Guns barked viciously as she dismantled her opponent. Fires raged and blacked steel was torn. One by one Jintsuu's torpedo struck with great plumes of fire and water. One of her weapons flew from the water and crashed against the bridge of the Italian, detonating with such ferocity that the bridge was reduced to little more than scrap.

Her foe dead, but her anger was not satiated.

"She's running!" shouted Kawakaze as she killed one of two destroyers still afloat.

Sure enough, expending the Orion as a shield, Tosa was attempting to put on steam and flee the field. But she did not silence her guns. Not in the slightest.

That was the last straw.

"GET BACK HERE!"

From Battleship Arizona erupted a roar of undiluted fury. Her guns exploded in unison, hurling a wrathful salvo at Battleship Princess as she put everything she had into hitting flank and charging at her hated enemy. The anger mounted when they missed wildly or merely deflected off of an armored face.

"Arizona! Get back here! Ge-!" Yamashiro tried to stop the standard battleship to no avail, watching almost helplessly as her commands were ignored. She did not hold the leash that Hiei did. And even then she was not certain she would not do the same if she was not saddled with the duty of a flagship. "All ships! Cover Arizona!"

The unanimous confirmation drew all guns that could still speak to fire upon the last two enemy vessels as their owners cut in to regroup and fulfill their orders.

Arizona paid no attention to her sudden support. Her blood-tinged vision saw only objects of hatred. Targets of vengeance. Things to kill. Monsters to slaughter.

The golden flecks of her steely eyes glowed like yellow fire while she shouted her throat hoarse in tune to her guns. She cared not for her safety as her crews began firing far faster than they were ever rated to. Her damage control focused only on what would let her kill more and kill longer. As an incarnation of wrath, Arizona descended into a state not unlike an enraged beast.

The Orion appeared to flinch in the face of her wrath and under the pummelling of support fire, its returning fire missing wildly.

But Arizona did not care for the effect she inflicted upon the Abyssal.

A furious roar was spoken in a tongue not recognizable by any as Arizona incoherently demanded that the Orion get out of her way.

When it did not comply, her guns blasted the British warship's midsection with a volley from both forward turrets. The barrage was married with every functional secondary Arizona could physically aim at it. It pierced deep into the machine spaces and the detonation of her armor pierces shredded everything to ribbons. Fires raged and made their way down the innards of the Abyssal.

With plumes of fire exploding out of the weakened armor, the last Orion was rent asunder beneath Arizona's savagery and the combined fire of her allies.

But the real target still evaded her.

Tosa fired her aft cannons to drive away her pursuers, forcing Takao and Yamashiro to take evasive action or be slain openly. Meanwhile the Abyssal's secondaries held the destroyers and cruisers at bay. Even Jintsuu was unable to move in through the walls of gunfire being projected in front of her. A daring advance nearly took her head off as a barrage of five-and-a-half inch shells raked down her superstructure.

"Kaga, can you get planes on her?" demanded Yamashiro as she continued firing to support the charging Arizona.

"Negative. Not without sacrificing what I already have in the air."

Yamashiro held back a curse before turning her attention from Tosa to Arizona.

"All forces! Stand down and fall back. Focus on repair and recovery." The dark haired battleship swallowed her nerves as she called out the end of the battle. "Battleship Princess is fleeing. W-We've completed our mission. Repeat. Mission complete..."

She refused to say they had won.

"ARIZONA! STAND DOWN!" Jintsuu shouted with the kind of deathly authority Hiei normally commanded.

The redhead fired one last salvo before slowing down, the fourteen inch shells flying with the last of her fury.

Of those that struck, only one managed to draw blood from Tosa.

It did not pierce anything of value. Nor did it come close to inflicting any real damage. But it did manage to punch clean through Tosa's smokestack.

It was the most severe wound inflicted on Battleship Princess during the entire engagement.

As the fleet regrouped and set about doing everything they could to save the dying Hiei, Arizona fell to her knees. Her eyes, now filled with a hateful despair remained focused on the distance and the smoke trail in the southeastern sky left by Tosa.

They had driven off the enemy.

They had completed their missions.

But at tremendous cost.

Battleship Arizona clenched her eyes, letting filthy tears fall to mingle with bloody wounds before roaring her impotent fury at the heavens.

* * * * *

 

[theJMPer]

Crowning knit his brows as a low, rumbling growl fought its way up his throat and past the bristling palisade of his close-cropped beard. The professor glared at the rows—and rows and rows—of books filling his shelves. His gaze swept over their uncooperative spines like the singular unshaded bulb in the cliché interrogation scene.

He was missing something. There was an answer waiting for him in one of those musty tomes, he knew it. He just didn't know where it was. Or what it was. Or what the question was. He just couldn't shake the feeling in the back of his mind that there was some part of the puzzle he hadn't found yet.

But that feeling was almost drowned out by another, much more potent feeling. New Jersey, the woman he loved more than anything in life, the fighting paladin of silk and steel was hurting. She was hurting and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.

It ate at him, rendering even Bannie's delicious cooking barely even palatable. Jersey was hurting and he couldn't help her, not unless he could figure out why she was… unless he could figure out those dreams. He refused to accept that she was a demon, a traitor, or anything but the hero she was born to be.

"Dammit," Crowning grunted under his breath. His fingernails bit into his palms as he clenched his fists. He could go on for hours about how Jersey was… was everything. But he couldn't, not now. Not when he had a war to win.

Before he could droop back into his brooding, a few brief knocks at his door drew his attention. "Hey, Doc?" the tell-tale sing-song lilt of Lou's accent bounced though the air, "Ya got a minute?"

Crowning sighed. Staring at his books for another hour wasn't going to help. "Yeah, come in."

"Thanks," Lou smiled even wider than normal as she slipped though the door. Her coppery red hair flickered like a bonfire, and the cruiser clasped her hands behind her back. The leather of her gun-harness creaked as she shifted her hips from side to side. "So, uh… Hi."

Crowning cocked an eyebrow and settled down on the edge of his desk. "So, what brings you here, Lou?"

Lou's cheeks blushed almost as red as her hair, and she quietly pushed the door closed with the heel of her boot. "I need your help, doc. Apparently… you're the base expert on shipgirl romance?"

"How did you-"

"Cruiser," Lou waved up and down her sinewy body with a timid smirk.

Crowning hung his head, "Is there anything you don't know?"

Lou giggled, "How many babies you and Jersey are gonna have?"

For a moment, Crowning lost himself in an unexpected thought. Jersey and him, smiling from ear to ear while she balanced a tiny little thing on her leg—with another happily working up in the oven. Then he came to his senses. "Lou?"

"Huh?"

"There's a bet on this, isn't there."

"Oooooh yeah," Lou smiled. "Pola's got twenty bucks on three."

"Pola?" Crowning frowned. He didn't know any girls by that name, it didn't sound Japanese and it sure as hell wasn't American.

"Regina Marina," said Lou. "She's based down in… Sicily I think."

"Sicily," Crowning sighed. "Are there are girls who don't know about me and Jersey?"

"Nope!" Lou beamed a brilliant smile at him.

"Do I want to know what you've got money on?"

"I've got fifty bucks that says the two of you'll crap out at least five," Lou sighed wistfully into the middle distance.

"Five?" Crowning winced at the thought. He might love Jersey, but imagining her trying to ride heard on five little boatlets was… terrifying. To say nothing of five rounds of pregnant Jersey cravings.

"It's my favorite number," explained Lou. "Besides, you're telling me you're not gonna stick that torpedo up her skirt every chance you get."

Crowning opened his mouth, but all that came out were the wordless mouth flaps of a goldfish abruptly removed from the comfort of its little bowl. That mental image was one he… he honestly wished never entered his mind. He had a hard enough time focusing around her when she was just being cute, not hot. "Well," the professor coughed, "You came here for help?"

"Mmhm," Lou nodded, her mane of flaming hair falling over her shoulders as she leaned in. She glanced over one shoulder, examining her surrounding for any eavesdroppers before doing the same over her other shoulder. "So… Yeoman Gale…"

Crowning didn't say a word. This was going to go poorly and there wasn't a thing he could do to stop it.

"She's a lesbian, right?"

Crowning had to think for a moment. Not to find the answer, that had been blatantly obvious from the moment he met her, but just to get his mind back into some semblance of order. "Yeah…"

"Is uh," Lou flipped a chuck of her coppery hair, "Is she into redheads?"

Crowning swore he heard record players screech. "Uh…"

Lou smiled and lazily turned a chunk of her messy mane around between her gloved fingers, one hand resting on the professor's desk while she awaited her answer.

"I…" Crowning shook his head, "I think…" he scowled. There was no easy way out here. Gale's crush on Wash was infamous, but the battleship's feelings were far harder to read. Crowning would hate to ruin her chances with Wash. But could a challenger finally prompt Wash to do something obvious?

Luckily, a brisk knock on the door saved Crowning from having to answer. Muttering a brief prayer of thanks to whatever wacky god watched over the affairs of shipgirls, he leaned out from behind Lou's sinewy bulk and tried to find his voice. "Y-yeah? Come in."

"Thank you."

Crowning's face paled. The door swung on its hinges like greased lighting, its motion seeming far more fluid and graceful simply by being in the presence of the girl it opened to reveal.

The massively busty frame of battleship Washington stood waiting in the doorway. Her short splinter-pattered miniskirt rustled over her broad hips, and her long silk scarf fluttered in a gust that somehow managed to perfectly frame her porcelain face with that beautiful russet brown hair.

"Wash?" Crowning sighed.

"Wash!" Lou lept off Crowning's desk so fast her head left a dent in the ceiling. "HeyHiIHaveToGoGotCruiserThingsToDoBye!" She dashed past the serene battleship, nearly colliding with the latter's breasts before bolting down the hallway as fast as her sinewy legs could carry her.

For a few seconds, the sounds of Lou's guns clattering in her harness were the only things to be heard.

The Wash covered her mouth and let out a polite cough.

"So," Crowning sighed, "That happened."

"It did indeed," Wash nodded sagely. "May I come in?"

"I… I said you could," said the Professor.

"Yes, but… the last time you did, I snuck up on you regardless."

"Right," Crowning sighed, "Well, you're welcome to enter this time."

Wash smiled and sashayed into the room with that hip-swinging gait of hers. It reminded Crowning of Jersey's walk, only Wash had a bit more ladylike swoosh on her step and far less prideful swagger. Her short miniskirt bounced at her hips, threating her dignity if it weren't for her tight undershorts and thigh-high stockings. "I would like to enlist your help, doctor." The battleship smiled and placed a plate full of fresh-baked cookies on his desk, "And I've brought these as payment."

Crowning arched an eyebrow and popped one of the soft cookies into his mouth. The chocolate chips were just barely cool enough to hold together, and the mere heat of his body was enough to cause them to melt on his tongue.

The professor thought, then swallowed."Okay," he said, "What do you need?"

"I need your help in the area of… romance," Wash sheepishly scuffed one boot against the back of her ankle, her gaze drifting to her toes—or where her toes would be if her upperworks weren't in the way.

Crowning coughed, "Uh… what?"

"Romance," said the serene battleship. "Love. With your literary training you must be familiar with the subject, and given that Jersey's carrying your bun in her-"

"What!" Crowning's eyes almost bugged out of his face.

Wash blinked. "Is that not what the bet was about?"

"No!" Crowning shook his head, "No, that's… we've…"

"But you do want to?" asked Wash. There wasn't a note of subtext in her voice, just an honest question from a kind young woman.

"Yes! Wait!" Crowning scowled, "Wash, you never heard any of this."

The battleship nodded.

"And you never tell Jersey."

"Tell her what?" For a second, Crowning thought Wash had just missed the point like her usual oblivious self. Then she flashed him a tiny glimmer of a wink. "So you do know romance?"

"More or less," sighed Crowning, "Why?"

"I…" Wash wrung her hands, "I spent last night at Yeoman Gale's apartment."

Crowning arched his eyebrow. If the two were finally getting together… not only did it mean some much needed happiness for his friend the sailor, it meant a tidy prize for Crowning. He had a hundred bucks on them making out before the end of the year.

"Her tummy is…" Wash sighed. Actually sighed, her face fell into a contented smile and her cheeks glowed a rosy hue, "the most perfect pillow I've ever enjoyed."

"Oh is it?" said Crowning.

Wash nodded, "But when we woke up this morning… Gale didn't want anything to do with me."

Crowning knit his brows. That didn't make sense, didn't make any sense at all. "Pardon?"

"I offered to make her breakfast," said Wash, "I thought… I thought maybe she might be interested in me, so I showed off a little." The battleship mimed working at an imaginary counter. Her back was arched just enough to thrust out her butt,the hem her miniskirt riding up just enough to display the tight fabric of her undershorts over her stern.

"And?" Crowning took a brief glance at the battleship's stern. He was so shocked at Wash's sudden display of… well that, that it almost drowned out the part of his mind yelling about how much better Jersey's aft was.

"And," Wash drifted back into her usual stature, her skirt falling back down to cover her shafts, "Her eyes went everywhere but me." The battleship's shoulders slumped, "Does she think I'm ugly?"

"You?" Crowning glanced over the battleship's figure. Her bulging breasts, her slender waist, her broad hips. He could see why Gale would feel jealous—or worse yet, ugly—next to curves like that. "I… don't think that's the problem."

"Oh?" Wash tilted her head.

"Wash, uh," Crowning bit his lip. He was treading on thin ice, and he already knew he'd left the boundaries of Gale's privacy behind long long ago. But still, she was his friend. He couldn't bring himself to… to violate her trust like that. "This is something you should really talk to her about."

"I tried," said Wash, "While we ate breakfast, I tried to bring it up," the battleship's already cloudy countenance dimmed even more, "she wouldn't even look me in the eyes."

Crowning winced, and he brought both hands up to massage his temples, "Wash, how much did you eat?"

"Not much," said Wash. For a second she waited, then a faerie popped out of her cleavage and handed her a tiny folder. "Oh, thank you, chief."

The faerie snapped off a salute before ducking back into the folds of Wash's uniform vest.

"Let's see…" Wash flipped open the thumbnail-sized folder and squinted at the minute writing. "Two hundred twenty three pancakes; eight-eight links of sausage; eighty-two eggs, scrambled—" The battleship's voice trailed off, her mouth making a tiny "o" shape. "Oh," she mumbled.

"Yeah," Crowning gave her a pat on the shoulder.

"I…" Wash crumpled the report in her hands, "This is all my fault."

"No, Wash," Crowning sighed. "You couldn't have known."

"I… I should have," Wash collapsed onto her haunches with a quiet whimper.

Crowning frowned and mussed the quiet battleship's hair. "Wash, you made a mistake. That's all. It just means you're human."

Wash blinked, "But I'm not. I'm a—"

"A ship, yes," Crowning sighed. "Look… you want to make this better?"

Wash nodded glumly.

"Gale likes you," said the Professor, "She knows you meant well, and she's not going to hold it against you."

"You really think so?" Wash stared up at him, utter incredulity in her eyes.

"Yeah," Crowning nodded, "Romance expert, remember?"

Wash didn't look any less unsure.

"Look, you want to make this work?"

Wash nodded, "Very much so, sir."

"Okay," Crowning settled back against the corner of his desk. "Do something with her, not for her."

Wash's head tilted to the side like a confused puppy.

"She plays DnD, doesn't she?" said Crowning. "Ask if you can join. Get her comfortable with you as… as something more than a girl who eats more than she can."

"Oooooh," Wash nodded, "Okay. That makes sense." The battleship sprung to her feet, her hand snapping to her brow in a crisp salute. "Battleship Washington, Weigh Anchor!"

"Wash?"

"What?" The battleship stopped her storming walk half-way to the door.

"We have a summoning to be at," Crowning glanced at his watch, "In twenty minutes."

"Oh," Wash's shoulders slumped, but not nearly as far as they had earlier. "Later then?"

"Later." Crowning smiled and gave the busty battleship a gentle side-hug. A hug that she gleefully returned. "But not too much later."

—|—|—

Yeoman Sarah Gale stood pressed up against the summoning chamber railing and tried her very best to keep from squealing like a three year old presented with an all-you-can-eat candy buffet. She tried, and failed. Failed utterly and miserably.

A wordless, girlish squeal of utter bliss slipped through her lips. Her heart fluttered against her chest like sixteen butterflies flitting around with electric energy. She wasn't sure where she got 'sixteen' from, but it just felt… right.

"Gale?" Lou's easy-going accent danced out a few feet from Gale's waiting ear.

Gale squealed again as her utter glee mixed with a note of surprise.

"Easy, girl," Lou smiled, then looked down and gave her shirt a quick tug. After a moment contemplating her own bosom, the cruiser glanced over at Gale and shot her one of those fireside-warm Lou smiles. "What's got you so excited?"

Gale tried to form a coherent word, but all that came out was another giddy scream. At least this time she managed to jab her finger at the orchestra assembling at the center of the summoning chamber.

An orchestra led by a nondescript man in a crisp suit. A nondescript man with a smile on his round face like a balding, giddy Santa Claus.

Lou pursed her lips and stared at the man. Her gaze locked in on his balding silver hair with the kind of focus only a cruiser could really manage. Her hips bumped against Gale's as she jockeyed for position.

Gale couldn't tear her eyes off the man with the conductor's wand, even as he lead the orchestra in their warm-up. Until she bounced into something else. Something wrapped around her arm like a comforting fleece blanket straight out of the dryer. Something soft and warm and squishy and firm. Something that could only be a certain battleship's breasts.

"Mrph!" was the most eloquent thing Gale could manage as she slowly ratcheted her head over to her side. Wash was standing there, seemingly oblivious to the sailor's arm planted firmly in her cleavage. Her nice, soft cleavage.

Wash just smiled that airy smile of hers and tossed a loose strand of hair back with a flick of her head. One arm crossed across her waist, pinning Gale's arm against her bosom.

"So, Gale," Lou coughed, her voice a tiny bit more focused than normal. "Who is that?"

It was at that moment that the orchestra swelled with a soaring mix of strings and brass. A march of idealism and hope that everyone in the room knew.

Daaaaaa Da Da Daaa DA DA DA

Lou's chest swelled with pride at the song she didn't—couldn't recognize. But it didn't matter, those few notes were all she needed. She knew what it was. "Superman," she breathed.

Gale, however, was far less solemn. The sailor just squealed incoherently and would have fallen to the floor if Wash wasn't pinning her arm into her cleavage. "JOHN WILLIAMS!"

—|—|—

Peace. Darkness. Still…


The Depths wrapped around her, cradling her in its embrace, protecting her with its vastness. Offering her the rest of one who'd done her duty.


Through two brutal wars she'd done her duty.


She'd seen her charges die before her eyes.


Seen them vanish in pillars of fire and powder by an enemy they never knew.


Seen them die slow, painful deaths as their crew begged to be rescued. So close she could hear their cries, yet still beyond her grasp.


For every ship she'd seen die, she'd seen a dozen brutally mauled.


Their turrets wrecked, their decks shredded, their bows twisted and mangled.


Their spirits unbroken.


General Quarters


She did not fight with them, she could not.


But she gave her last measure keeping them in the fight.


General Quarters


For the first time in as long as her shadowy memory could recall, she was warm.


Boilers clanked to life as she woke from her long slumber.


General Quarters


She heard a voice. Not the thundering concussion filling her brain, the echoing thunder of her klaxon, the screams of an air-raid nobody saw coming.


No, she heard voices. Hundreds of them.


Begging for her return, pleading for her to join their cause.


But one stood out among the many.


A voice she hadn't heard in far, far too long.


The voice of her beloved captain.


Lads, we're getting this ship underway


She smiled, the warmth of the sun beaming against her face.


Her slumber was over.


She gathered her crew, her tools, her very soul, and turned her bow to the sun.


Weigh Anchor.

—|—|—

The summoning chamber fell into a silence to complete even a pin dropping would be deafening, but Admiral Williams barely even noticed the change. His attention—practically his whole universe—tunneled down around the girl waiting patiently in the middle of the glass-smooth summoning pool.

She was old—by shipgirl standards—she looked like she was at least in her thirties. Two bulging leather-on-canvas tool belts hung off her hips, forming an ad-hoc skirt covering her ragged, oil-splattered shorts. A cropped leather welding jacket hung off her shoulders, its chunky brass fasteners gleaming in the candle light.

Her hands were planted on her hips, hems of her gloves rolled back over her wrists. Her long gray-streaked-brown hair faded to coal black at the tip of her lazy ponytail, but her brilliant green eyes quivered with laser-like focus.

On her shoulders, a full half-dozen faeries in miniature canvas diving suits stood on her shoulders. Their hoses trailed along to the harness on her back, and each carried a tiny, mirror-polished brass helmet under its tiny arm.

The girl stiffened as she saw Williams—and the stars resting on his collar. "Sir!" she brought one hand up to the mirrored welding goggles pushed up onto her forehead. The diving fairies mimicked her motion with their heavy mittens. "Repair ship USS Vestal, AR-4, reporting."

Williams smiled, and returned her salute with one of his own. "Vestal, you don't know how glad we are to have you back."

"I'm glad to be back, sir." Vestal smiled, flashing teeth stained with coal and grit. "Let's get to work."

 

[Skywalker_T-65]

Delayed it may have been, more Tiger!

A Cat's Family​

"Is this where you live, onee-san?"

Tiger looked to her side, where the taller Haruna walked. Now that she actually knew what those words meant, having a girl larger than her call her big sister was...distinctly odd. Granted, the idea of anyone but Amy calling her a sister was one she wasn't used to, and she was barely adjusted to even that. She had gone so, so very long...as just her. No proper sisters, just cousins. Now she found out that she had an entire family, if Haruna was to be believed?

When she had never considered the Kongou sisters as anything but distant cousins?

Well, it would take someone stronger than her to not have a problem adjusting to that revelation.

"Yes, it is." Still, Tiger nodded at her...sister. And maybe smiled, just a little bit. Because much as the idea of having a sister ship confused her, it was still a nice feeling. "I've been living here with Australia for...about four months now. Britain has enough ship girls but Australia needed more."

"I see," Haruna nodded, her own gentle smile not once leaving her face. Come to think of it, Haruna hadn't stopped smiling, the entire time Tiger had seen her. Not once. "Haruna is glad you are here, onee-san. Kongou onee-sama thought we would never see you, when Britain is just as hurt as Japan."

Flushing, Tiger shook her head, "No, I wouldn't say that. If nothing else, we have Europe and the Chun...Channel Tunnel. And the French can use aircraft for really desperate things." Continuing to shake her head, Tiger clenched her fist by her side. No...while part of the reason she was here was because of Australia- the nation -needed her, the rest was because she wasn't as desperately needed back home. "Since Russia is too busy helping in Europe, Japan doesn't have any support but us and the Americans, really."

"That is true," her sister didn't deny the point. Haruna just shook her own head, her smile fading ever so slightly. "That's why I'm here, instead of with Hiei onee-san, when she's going out to fight again soon. But Haruna is glad to meet you still!"

And fighting back the flush on her face, Tiger nodded, "I'm glad to meet you too. I've never really had a sister ship before. So this is all very...new...to me."

Haruna just continued to smile that soft smile. Tiger couldn't help but smile back at that, as the pair continued to walk through the surprisingly empty barracks. Their footsteps echoed across the empty halls. Tiger's short strides and Haruna's long-legged movement, completely different, yet complimenting the other. And there was no one around to see it.

At all.

Anywhere.

"Is it usually this empty?" Haruna spoke up again, her amber eyes scanning their surroundings curiously. Even as the pair reached the door to the mess hall.

"No, it isn't," Tiger was quick to reply. Her own violet eyes had narrowed suspiciously, the old battlecruiser looking at the door like it would bite her. And considering the situation... "In fact, normally we would have run into a destroyer or two by now. If not Australia herself. So I think..."

The British girl finished her statement by pushing forward, her hand gripping the handle of the offending door. Tiger didn't slam it forward, but she was none too gentle when she rapidly pushed the door open.

Only to promptly be blinded, as a flash of light burst in her eyes. Brighter than a star shell, the battlecruiser fell back, blinking rapidly as she held her hands in front of her face. Her crew were stumbling around in shock from the light, a posture mimicked by the disoriented Tiger herself. If it weren't for Haruna gripping her in a steadying- and warm -hug, Tiger might have fallen over. As it sat, she merely fell into her sister's strong grip.

A grip that tightened defensively despite the fact that Tiger was the older one in this situation. Haruna's grip was protective. Loving.

A sister defending her sibling, despite there being nothing remotely hostile to worry about. If she were in a better condition to think on that, Tiger would probably have flushed with both embarrassment and happiness in equal measure. As it sat?

She simply bit back a low curse.

"Australia, what are you doing?" Tiger got out as she slowly extricated herself from Haruna's grip. Not noticing the worried look crossing the younger girl's face, Tiger instead focused on the oldest ship in Australia. One of the oldest ship girls in the world, in fact. And someone who had the mostannoying sense of humor- and in this case timing -that Tiger had ever seen.

"Welcoming your sister mate!" Australia happily chirped back, a wide grin on her tanned face. The shorter girl held a comically oversized camera in her hands, and behind her stood the majority of the Royal Australian Navy ship girl corps. Along with a thoroughly bemused looking Admiral Kirkpatrick and Amy.

"By blinding me?" Tiger shot back.

Australia just shook her head, her grin widening were that possible, "'course not! Just wanted a picture of the lucky sisters!"

Tiger hung her head, sighing heavily. One of these days...

"Sorry mate, but Australia is..." Amy shook her head, walking past the now-pouting battlecruiser to Tiger. The little teenager stuck a hand out, tugging on Tiger's arm- and by extension Haruna, who had grabbed her sister as well -to tug her into the room. Amy's smile was similar to Haruna's, nothing but fondness in it as she tugged the taller warship. "Come on, this is a party!"

Blinking slowly, Tiger shook her head again, "But why? This isn't..."

"This is the first time you've had a sibling, correct?" That was Admiral Kirkpatrick, the old woman hiding a smile behind her serious 'Admiraly' facade. "I may not agree with Australia on certain points, but a party is hardly an issue. At any rate, it will be some time before we can gather everything to send Haruna and her convoy back to Japan." Giving up on hiding her smile, the old Admiral held her arms out, taking in the entire room and gathered ship girl force. "For at least a little while, we should enjoy ourselves and welcome our guests, don't you think so?"

Tiger wanted to deny the point, she really did. She was just an old battlecruiser, hardly worth all this effort. Bloody hell...

Haruna was worth the effort, sure. She was one of the critical defenders of Japan, and only here because the Australian food supplies were every bit as critical to keeping Japan going. Tiger was just...an old girl, who was in Australia because she wasn't needed as much back home and because the Australians had even less ship girls to potentially bring in. So, she really didn't see why it was needed to hold such an extensive party for her sake.

"Come on Tiger, just enjoy yourself!" Amy, of course, had no such problems. She just tugged Tiger further into the room, whereupon Australia placed a drink in her hand.

Well...if she didn't have a choice in the matter...

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-​

It would be several hours later, when Tiger was finally able to break free. She felt more than a little sleepy, Australia a never-ending well of energy at the best of times. Get her in party mode, and that held even more true. Bloody ANZAC.

Still though, Tiger could admit she had some fun in the party. Australia was her usual self, sure. And it was probably not a good idea to give Electra and Vampire free reign to party with their sisters. But...still. At the very least, the party had made everyone smile. That was rare enough in this day and age, that Tiger would take it when she could get it. Especially when she saw Amy smiling and giggling like a normal girl, instead of the young woman that tried to take on Tiger's own burdens.

That she pouted at Admiral Kirkpatrick when she wasn't allowed to drink anything was cute too...

Flushing slightly at the memory, Tiger felt her gentle smile mimicking the one on Haruna's place by her side. The two battlecruisers- well, battlecruiser and battleship Tiger supposed -had been roomed together for the duration of Haruna's time in Australia. As short as that time was going to be. She was here only to escort a supply shipment, and the moment the merchant ships were filled to the brim with food and other needed supplies for Japan they were going to be heading home.

Her sister was going to be heading home.

"Are you alright, onee-san?"

Speaking of whom, Haruna had noticed her change in mood. The grey-haired battlecr...battleship...had even moved from Tiger's side, instead coming to a halt in front of the older woman. Tiger looked away, unable to meet Haruna's amber-eyed gaze. How could she? There was too much kindnessthere.

"I'm fine," Tiger demurred, though the usual strength to her voice was missing. All that was left was the same girl who had once worried by Admiral Kirkpatrick's side, that she couldn't even fight anymore.

"You aren't, Haruna can tell!" Haruna, of course, just protested that statement. She pulled Tiger into a tight hug again, rubbing her shorter sister's back.

"I..." blushing furiously, Tiger...didn't try to pull away. She just rested her head against Haruna's shoulder, letting the strong grip relax her. Haruna was younger, but she was taller and strongerthan Tiger could ever hope to be. "You're going to be leaving soon, right?"

Haruna nodded, "Yes. Haruna is only here to help protect the convoy. Why?"

Tiger shook her head, trying to ignore the bite of tears in her eyes, "It's silly of me."

"What is?"

Her sister was having none of that, squeezing the older girl tightly. Haruna was...for the youngest sister of the Kongous, she was so strong. Andmature. She was acting more like the big sister than Tiger was, and the battlecruiser didn't even have the excuse of not knowing how to be a proper sister here.

Still...

"We just met." Tiger whispered, shaking her head again. She knew that her face was wet and that it was wetting the white sleeve of Haruna's strange uniform. But it was hard to care about that. Tiger was always bad at showing her emotions, but when something broke through, it broke through. Her heart ached as she squeezed Haruna back just as tightly. "But I've never had a sister, and now I do. I don't want you to leave, not yet. When I know I can't go with you and meet your..." Tiger trailed off, laughing humorlessly. "Our sisters. I'm needed here, and I can't leave. For any reason."

At first, Tiger hadn't cared about that. Part of her wanted to be back in Britain. Helping Hood and the others, like she had once done. She was a fighter. A veteran of Jutland and so many other battles with the mighty High Seas Fleet. She was more of a veteran than quite a few British warships honestly. But she was the only one to come back of her generation. The only battlecruiser with her guns. And because of that, she was needed in Australia more.

Tiger had accepted that. She had made so many friends here, and Amy...oh Amy, the closest thing she had ever had to a sister. Still was.

But now she had met Haruna. And had come to...if not love her, at least come close. The younger girl was so loving in her own way. Constantly trying to be there for Tiger during the party, when it became clear how uncomfortable she was. Keeping Australia away with a soft word. Hugging Tiger when it became overwhelming.

And now she was going to leave. And Tiger would be alone again, save for her friends and Amy.

"Onee-san, don't think like that." Haruna just shook her own head again. She pulled back, smiling brightly at Tiger. A smile that cleared away the clouds in the older girl's mind, like a ray of sunlight. "We need to be apart because of the War, but when the war is over we can all meet again. You and I. Hiei and Kirishima. Kongou onee-sama. We can all meet together!"

And as Haruna smiled at her, Tiger found it hard to dispute her point. Would she be able to meet all her sisters when this bloody war was over? Finally have the sister ships she never thought she would have? Maybe.

She certainly hoped so, if they were anything at all like Haruna.