Blood and Iron (Kancolle)

[Spectre]

This a prequel/Alternate viewpoint Fiction from my Southern Belle's Quest I hope you all enjoy it and that it helps flesh out some of the characters in the quest.

Wilmington, North Carolina
May 11th, 2021

"I'm sorry North." A raven-haired girl muttered, looking at the listing form of the Battleship USS North Carolina. At first glance the girl, who didn't look a day over 21, appeared to be no different from any of the hundreds of military personnel scrambling around the old ship or rebuilding the cofferdam that had once surrounded it. It was only upon closer inspection that things didn't add up. The rank insignia on her camouflage patterned NWU's cover belonged to that of a captain, a rank that someone as young as her wouldn't have, even given the losses suffered against the Abyssals. The other was the name on her jacket, or rather the number designation... BB-48.

USS West Virginia, the last of the Standard-type Battleships. When the Abyssals had first started preying on the ocean going vessels of the world, her sister Maryland and herself had been among the first of the American "Fleet Girls" to come back. Abyssals, one of the few things caused the normally stoic battleships blood to boil. No one, not even the other Fleet girls, knew exactly what they were. What was known was that they didn't show up on normal radar. This was something the US navy had learned the hard way, losing 8 carriers and scores of escorts holding the line against them. The only truly effective counters had been the fleet girls like her, and there simply weren't enough ships to go around.

That was the reason why she was here. There were various plans for the museum ships along the coasts, or at least for those not sunk in various attacks on the port cities. The Essex's and Midway, having long since lost the ability to launch aircraft or even sail under their own power, had been turned into Floating Firebases. Their flight decks, once crowded with aircraft, now acted as firing positions for M109 155mm howitzers and AN/TWQ-1 Avenger air defense weapons
There was still debate over what to do with the remaining battleships. Missouri and Wisconsin had been lost during attacks on Pearl and Norfolk, a mistake on the Abyssal's part seeing as they were now Fleet Girls patrolling the Pacific Northwest and Panama Canal Zone respectively. In addition, Alabama and Texas were considered too damaged to even think of transporting thanks to a series of hurricanes the past few years. Of the few left there was still a debate over how to use them. Some favored restarting production on their barrels and shells, something West Virginia viewed as impractical. Others wanted to replace the main and secondary batteries with field artillery guns and Mk.45 5 inch mounts. Not that it mattered for North Carolina anymore.

In a way, she was lucky when the Abyssal submarine struck three days ago. They had been in the process of inspecting, and if possible, strengthening her hull for the eventual trip to Norfolk. In order to do this, they had constructed a cofferdam around her to make a kind of dry-dock. The dam had saved her from a quick death, the torpedo intended for her striking it instead. Unfortunately, the force of the explosion and the uncontrolled flooding the breach of the dam caused severe damage to her paper-thin hull. The general consensus was that she was a write off like 'Bama.

"Never had much luck with torpedoes." Virginia heard a voice behind her say. Turning around the battleship saw a woman around the same "age" as her towering over her. The stranger easily had her by a full foot in height, her lean frame dressed in the workmen's uniforms given to the various civilian contractors helping navy personnel assess the damage. Her blond hair was tied back in a ponytail under a blue and yellow bandana. "Carol Norman. I was told to bring you to the project head so he can explain what the damage is."

West Virginia was surprised that they had sent one of the civilian helpers to get her rather than an actual sailor, but figured that the project commander probably had more civilians under his command than actual military personnel. Despite what the PR department said, the old battleship rebuilds were pretty far down the priority list. Compared to the carriers there was no way to get a quick return on anything they did to the old boats. "How bad is it?" She asked as they made their way to the command post.

Carol just shook her head. "Commander Fisher can give you a more detailed report, but it's not good. Between the explosion itself, parts of the dam, and the force of the water... well the best description I can give is of someone shooting a Tommy gun at a car door." The contractor said rubbing her side. "I know I should consider myself lucky that the dam was there but..." She stopped, as if realizing what she had said. "Sorry, it's just that my dad was a tour guide here. I practically grew up on her. Seeing her like this makes me feel like a part of me died."

"I understand," the old Standard said as they reached the trailer being used for the restorations command post. "It's hard looking at my little cousin in this state. She may have been my better in almost every way, but part of me still felt the need to protect her and the other Fast Battleships."

The inside of the command center could best be described as controlled chaos. Technicians working on rows of computer monitors operating dozens of remote submersibles were assessing the damage to North Carolina's hull. Carol broke off from West Virginia in order to look at one of the monitors, pointing out damage to its relatively young operator. Virginia made her way over to where Commander Fisher was reviewing the damage photos taken by the submersibles. The 40 year old man with jet black hair and green eyes was so focused on the pictures that he didn't notice the battleship until she was looking over his shoulder.

"Morning captain." He said, his eyes never leaving the table. "I suppose the Navy wants to know if we can still salvage her?"

"Yes. "The Battleship replied, her face and manner all business. "Though if those photos are anything to go by I doubt that's the case." The photos in question did not paint a pretty picture. North's hull was a patchwork of metal sprinkled with gaping holes and buckled plates. To West Virginia the damage reminded her of what her hull had looked like after taking 6 torpedoes during the Pearl Harbor attack. After 80 years of sitting in salt water her hull had barely been fit to stop a rifle round, let alone several hundred pounds of explosives going off nearby.

"For the time and money it would take, we might as well build a new Battleship." The commander added. "Still, what I wouldn't have given to see her sail up to an Abyssal at 27 knots, unloading 16 inch hell on those things."

"25 sir, at least without problems." Virginia heard Carol say. "Sailing any faster than that created one hell of a vibration that made firing the guns a crapshoot. Even with all the testing and redesigns they put us through, the navy never managed to completely fix that problem. Not that it hurt Wash all that much. Still would have been nice for one last dance."

The fact that "Carol" had once again acted like the hull was part of herself hadn't been missed by West Virginia. "How long has miss Bailey been here?" She asked Commander Fisher, making sure Carol couldn't hear her.

"About three days." The commander said absent-mindedly. "We recruited her because she knows the ship like the back of her hand and treats the hull like it's a part of herself." Fisher train of thought stopped dead in its tracks as he realized what he had just said. "You don't thinks she's..."

"I can't be sure, but I have a good way of finding out." Virginia said before turning back to Carol. "I know the feeling. My sisters and myself were pretty pissed that the carriers stole the glory of sinking the Yamato out from under us." It was the perfect bait. The American plan to oppose Operation Ten-ichi-go was a point of contention between the Fast Battleships, who thought The Standards were going to be sacrificed to protect them, and West Virginia and Maryland, who thought the others were babying them like the rest of the fleet did after what happened at Pearl.

"You guys got lucky Mitscher decided to jump the gun with that air attack. You guys wouldn't have stood a chance against the Yamato." Carol said without missing a beat.

"I doubt that." West Virginia said, pressing the issue. "We had no problem dealing with Yamashiro during the Battle of Surigao Strait."

"Wee Vee," Caroline said, using the old battleships nickname for the first time. "Yamashiro was a World War 1 era battlewagon obsolete even compared to your pre-pearl hull that wandered blindly into your guns. Yamato not only out-gunned all of you, but also had better armor, better fire control with the exception of yourself and Rebel, and outfitted with radar. Meaning she would have seen you coming well before you could fire and could engage anyone of you with near impunity. Had Spruance actually thought for 5 seconds, he would have let the carriers take the first swing at her and left clean up to the Iowa's and South Dakota's rather than leave you to be slaughtered."

The room went silent after that, all eyes turned toward Carol. Her workmen's uniform was gone, replaced by a deerskin coat, pants, and boots. On her chest was a pair of flintlock pistols, with another on her back. Her ponytail poked out from beneath a black felt wide rimed hat. Looking down at herself the girl took a second to regain her composure. "USS North Carolina, BB-55, reporting for duty."

"Gentlemen, could you kindly give the ladies in the room a bit of privacy?" West Virginia asked, the ice cold tone in her voice making it clear this wasn't a polite request. As the men began to file out her NWU shimmered and changed, replaced with the Prussian Blue coat, sky blue trousers, and black shoes of a Union Infantryman. Two Colt 1860 Army Revolvers hung from her hips with two more tucked into shoulder holsters. The second the door closed her gaze returned to the newly found battleship standing in front of her. "North, you've been her for at least three days, going by what Commander Fisher said. Why have you been hiding out here?"

North simply looked at the floor. "When I first came back that night I couldn't accept that my old hull was gone. I figured that if anyone could help get my body back up and running, who better then someone for whom it literally was the back of her hand. So I disguised myself as one of the workers trying to fix her in order to help out. As the day went on I heard some of the other worker talking about how it was a good thing the spirit me hadn't shown up yet like with Mo and Wisky, because that meant the hull was a write off. I thought that if I gave them a few more days to work on it they would think of something."

West Virginia went to comfort her "little" cousin, who was on the verge of tears, but restrained herself. The fast battleship needed more than empty words from someone who didn't understand or know what it was like to suddenly be without a hull after decades of having one. She had lost her body back in '59, having been forced to accept the slow death as her was turned into razor blades and plow shears. The next 6 decades had been spent "floating" in a sea of nothing until she felt the call to protect her country again. "Trust me North, you'll be much more useful in this form then with your old hull."

"Is that how bad off we are?" North Carolina asked.

West Virginia was surprised by the question. She figured North had heard the rumors in her three day she had been working on her old hull. "We got hit bad North. 8 of our 11 carriers are at the bottom of the ocean, and 2 of the remaining 3 are in dry-docking for at least 6 months. At least 60 % of our remaining fleet is either sunk or in dry-dock as well. As for Fleet Girls like you and me, it's not much better. We have Lady Lex and Sister Sara on the East Coast supported by my sister Maryland and myself, Cruisers Baltimore, Boston, Brooklyn, Boise, Little Rock and Galveston, and 20 Destroyers. The west coast is a mess though. USS Hornet, CV-8, and USS Bunker Hill are the carriers assigned to it with Battleships USS Missouri and USS Wisconsin, Heavy Cruisers USS Northampton, Augusta, New Orleans, Canberra, and Toledo, Light Cruiser Helena, and 20 Destroyers. It's not so bad on the East Coast with the Brits in Halifax helping, but we're by ourselves on the west coast stuck covering from Vancouver to Panama with a force half the size of what we had after the Pearl harbor attack. We're barely holding Pearl as it is right now, and I suspect that's where you're going to be sent. Between the Brits, the Germans and Frenchies when everyone agrees to play nice, and what we have the Atlantic is at least somewhat contained. They need a fast battleship more over there."

"So now what?" North Carolina shakily asked.

Wee Vee smiled. "Just follow me to the car that brought me here and I'll explain the rest on the way back to Norfolk. "

 

[Spectre]

News of the navy's newest acquisition spread quickly. West Virginia had made the call into Atlantic Fleet Command while North was retrieving what meager belongings she had managed to collect in her three days back and saying her final goodbyes. It was clear to anyone that the fast battleship didn't like the idea of leaving her old hull behind, but that was a common attitude with returned museum ships, as more than one person had found out the hard way. Even the normally timid Wisconsin was known for ability to make anything or anyone fly at the mere mention of the sorry state of her hull. In all, it had only taken 10 minutes or so for Wee Vee to move North into the Oshkosh L-ATV she was using for transport.

"Corporal," she said getting into the back of the Humvee replacement. "We need to head back to Norfolk as soon as possible."

"No can do ma'am." The driver replied almost immediately. "Orders from up top. I'm to drive you to Pope's AFB in Charlotte."

"From the Pentagon?" West Virginia said, a little irritation evident in her voice. She knew where this was going. They were too close to Annapolis for there to be need of a plane, which meant North was headed to the west coast. If they were lucky North would be heading for Seattle, Washington to train under Missouri for a few weeks before heading to Pearl. Wee Vee knew they wouldn't let her train North. Even if she was slower than the Iowa's, North Carolina's 27-knot top speed was almost 25% faster than her top speed of 21 knots. Add to that the vast differences in firepower, fire control, and other aspects, and it was clear that the standard could only teach her the very basics. She had just hoped North would get a few days to get use to actual military life before getting thrown into the meat grinder.

"Yes m'am. In fact, there's someone on the line who wants to talk to you guys." A 16 in screen popped out from the ceiling of the vehicle. On the screen was a woman who looked to be about 40-45 years of age, her sandy brown hair streaked with grey and her sea green eyes dulled from age. She was dressed in a set of officers dress blues with a Rear Admiral's stars on her shoulders.

USS South Carolina, the first of the American Dreadnoughts. She had arrived on the same day as West Virginia and Maryland, and like them immediately pressed in the service. Unlike her daughters, who while not the best battleships could still hit just as hard if not harder than their Abyssal foes, She was liability in combat because of her age, and was withdrawn from active service and given a desk job as

the Fleet Girl liaison to the Joint Chiefs of Staff when newer battleships became ready.
​

"Hello Wee Vee, it's so good to see you." She said, her voice one of a mother who missed her daughter. "And you must be North Carolina. We Vee told me all about you when we first came back."

"I'm sorry ma'am." North said shifting in her seat. "I honestly have no idea who you are. Did you serve in Task force 54 with West Virginia?"

"North," West Virginia said angrily. "That's our mom, how can you not remember her?"

"Now now, Wee Vee," the old dreadnought chastised the younger standard." You were only an unfinished hull when I was scrapped and North was built 20 years after you. She never even got to meet your Aunt Utah, much less me."

"Wait... Utah was your aunt?" North asked, turning to West Virginia. "They way you always talked of her I thought she was your mom." She could hear South Carolina laughing over the TV screen.

"You two are just adorable." She says as both of her daughters turn bright red. "No North, my younger sister did an excellent job filling for me after I was scrapped but even little Wee Vee will tell you it wasn't the same. I suppose we should get down to business though. North Carolina, let me first welcome you back to the United States Navy. You are to report to Pope's Air Force Base where a transport plane will take you to your assigned station at Joint Base Pearl Harbor–Hickam."

"Pearl Harbor?" West Virginia blurted out, the shock rather evident in her voice. "I know I can't train her myself, but she needs to spend at least a week or two with Missouri or Wisconsin to mentor her, not an immediate combat posting where she'll be thrown to the wolves."

"As much as I wish we could do that, we don't have two weeks to wait for North Carolina to gain experience." South retorted. "We are barely holding the west coast as it is, and if we lose Hawaii we lose our supply line to and from Australia."

"So send one of us to cover it while North gets some training."

"Guys..." North tried cutting in.

"We can't Wee Vee, you and Mary are needed to keep the convoy route free on our end, Missouri is covering the supply line from Alaska to the continental US while the pipelines are being built, and without Wisconsin we lose the Panama Canal." South said, the anger building in her voice. "Besides she won't be alone at Pearl. Command has given me permission to transfer there in order to train North Carolina."

"And I'm sure you'll only be cheering from the sidelines." West Virginia said rolling her eyes. "South, Mary and I didn't push for you to be assigned to The Pentagon after what happened in Roanoke only for you to use someone else to get back to the front where you'll only get yourself killed."

"You really don't need to fight over this..." North said in a rather meek voice before getting cut off by South Carolina.

"USS WEST VIRGINIA!" her voice roared through the speakers, causing even the driver to flinch. "Do not ever accuse me of using one of my daughters for my own personal gain. This plan was put in place after Missouri and Wisconsin came back over 6 months ago. I had nothing to do with it. Now, North Carolina is going to Pearl with me, and you are heading back to Norfolk on the plane that carried me to Pope. End. Of. Discussion." With that the screen went black.

"You heard her corporal." Wee Vee said. "Pope Air Force Base, on the jump."

 

[Spectre]

just for reference here's what the abyssal look like:

So here's my idea for your regular abyssal fleet. Other then carriers and submarines, Abyssal vessels tend to follow a similar design scheme. Basically this fitted with World War 2 weaponry and armor. Each "class" corresponds to a certain ship type in terms of weaponry, armor, and stats.
Destroyer: Benson class
Light Cruiser: Town class specifically the Southampton subclass
Heavy Cruiser: Pensacola class
Battleship Nagato class

Carriers seem to be more like their British counter parts, with an armored flight deck and air wing of around 60-70 aircraft.

Subs: similar in design and specs of a U-boat.

Click to shrink...

 

[Aries Greyscale]

"Do not ever accuse me of using one of my daughters for my own personnel gain.

Click to shrink...

Minor nitpick, the word you wanted there was "personal" , personnel is a slightly different word, more often utilized as "personnel file".
Personal basically means "for me/of me"
Personnel basically means "these people I command"

And yeah, it's one of those "spelled differently, pronounced near identical" problem words that English is littered with.
(unlike, say, Dale and Dell, where they're spelt differently, and are meant to be pronounced differently, yet half the country says "too much effort" and pronounces them the same in spite of what all the dictionaries say.)

We really need to sit down one day, excise all the loan-words, and write out the rules based on whatever is left at that point.
(but that won't happen, as it would put a large number of "professors" out of a job, as English would make sense)

EDIT: Excised an "ek" that somehow slipped into the quote tag and broke it. not sure just how it got there.

 

[Spectre]

Minor nitpick, the word you wanted there was "personal" , personnel is a slightly different word, more often utilized as "personnel file".
Personal basically means "for me/of me"
Personnel basically means "these people I command"

And yeah, it's one of those "spelled differently, pronounced near identical" problem words that English is littered with.
(unlike, say, Dale and Dell, where they're spelt differently, and are meant to be pronounced differently, yet half the country says "too much effort" and pronounces them the same in spite of what all the dictionaries say.)

We really need to sit down one day, excise all the loan-words, and write out the rules based on whatever is left at that point.
(but that won't happen, as it would put a large number of "professors" out of a job, as English would make sense)

EDIT: Excised an "ek" that somehow slipped into the quote tag and broke it. not sure just how it got there.

Click to shrink...

thanks

 

[Spectre]

If North Carolina needed an example of how serious the situation was, San Diego provided it. In her three days back working on her old hull, the first thing she had noticed was how light the defenses were, consisting of only a single battery of M777 howitzers with a couple of Avenger air defense missile systems. Pope wasn't much better, but had the excuse of being much farther inland.

San Diego though was a completely different story. They had stopped at Naval Air Station North Island to refuel the C-130 and both North and South had taken the opportunity to stretch their legs. They had managed to find a nice spot to survey the city and its defenses. The harbor seemed to be completely ringed by M777 towed artillery guns, M109 Paladins, and MRLS missile units. USS Midway stood vigil over her homeport once again, the aircraft that had once graced her deck replaced with artillery pieces and surface to air missile sites like her smaller Essex Class cousins. The reason for all this was apparent inside the harbor. The dry docks were filled with what was left of the United States Navy, destroyers and cruisers with hulls torn and bridges smashed. To North, the scene was eerily reminiscent of Pearl during the last war.

"Bringing back memories?" South Carolina asked. The two hadn't talked all that much on the flight in, South having fallen asleep almost as soon as they had taken off.

"That and well…" Carolina sighed. "Even back in '41 after Pearl we weren't as bad off as what Wee Vee described. Despite the loss of Battleship Row, we still had 7 carriers and 4 battleships with my sister and myself almost complete, and we only needed to really worry about one ocean, despite what the Brits might have thought. Now we have even less to cover both coasts, Panama, and the Caribbean."

South Carolina nodded. "I know how it feels. Back when Mary, Wee Vee, and myself first came back, we were racing up and down the East Coast after they pulled almost the entire Atlantic fleet over to the Pacific to replace loses sustained there."

"So how did it happen?" North asked. "We had bases and fleets all over the world. More carriers then the rest of the world combined, and if everything I heard the guides say about them was true, each had more fire power then most small nations' entire militaries."

"All of which was tied to radar systems." South responded. The two had started heading back to the plane, which would take them to Joint Base Pearl Harbor–Hickam. "These things we're fighting, they seem to be based off of our new Zumwalt class destroyers, except they're even better at not appearing on radar. Our ships didn't have clue they were there until there within visual range, and by then it was to late. The only thing keeping our ports and coasts protected are the Fleet Girls like you and me, and the fact that most other targeting systems are still working against them. See those hangers over there?" She said pointing to a group of hangers, each guarded by at least 2 Avenger systems with additional MANPAD teams on their roofs. "Arc Light flights, B-1 Lancers from the 37th bomber Squadron. The only thing keeping Pearl open, even though the largest Fleet Girls are only covering the western coastline. Hopefully we won't have to rely on them as often now that you'll be there."

The two stepped aboard the transport, the ramp closing behind them. North moved back to the seat she had been in on the first leg, with South switching to the seat next to her. "I figure I'll be with you for at least the first two weeks there, a month tops. I'll be serving as your training officer, as well as the temporary secretary ship to Admiral Enfield. Don't worry though; I won't be sailing with you in combat unless it's absolutely necessary. "

North Carolina breathed a sigh of relief after that last part. Before they had departed, West Virginia had made her promise to keep South out of the fight.

"Wee Vee made you promise to keep me safe?" South asked. North simply nodded. "I figured as much. Her and her sister were very adamant that I be removed from the line as soon as Wisky and Mo were ready."

"Because of Roanoke? I heard West Virginia mention that name."

South Carolina nodded. "It's a bit of a misnomer. We were off the coast of North Carolina, outside the Outer Banks near Bodie Island. I was escorting a convoy when a pair of battleships jumped us. Had Wee Vee and Mary been even a few minutes late to our assigned rendezvous point, I doubt I would have survived the fight."

"H-how..."

How bad?" South finished for her daughter. "I honestly don't know. One of the first shells to hit ripped my superstructure apart. I woke up a month later in dry-dock. Mary and Wee Vee never told me the extent of my injuries, but you've seen how my daughter acted upon hearing that I was headed to Pearl."

North nodded. "So how bad off is Pearl?"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Well I suppose it's better than nothing." USS The Sullivans said looking at the message. "I would have preferred one of the Iowa's or a carrier though," she continued, doing her best to stifle a yawn.

"We take what we can get." Admiral Chris Enfield replied. The message had come into Pearl a few hours before. "Besides, we're also getting South Carolina, so in addition to a battleship, you get a couple weeks where you're not having to cover both your regular patrol and that mountain of paperwork."

"I don't suppose we can keep both?" The short brown haired destroyer jokingly asked.

"No sadly, but hopefully we get someone soon who will be able to deal with all the weird stuff you girls do. I doubt we'll get lucky enough for that though." Enfield said.

"So when?" Sullivan began before a yawn cut her off.

"Four hours from now." Enfield finished. "Plenty of time for you to get some shut eye."

"I don't need it." The destroyer tried to protest.

"You do Sully. You've been working 13 hours straight. Get some rest." Enfield ordered. Rather begrudgingly Sullivan shuffled out of the room.

Enfield sat down at his desk after the door closed behind her. He hated how much he had to push the girls under his command, Sullivan even more so. He knew he really didn't have a choice though. These girls, and a handful of bombers, were the only things keeping Pearl in American hands. There was also so many unknowns about them that it was easier having a Fleet Girl handle most of the day to day paper work concerning them than it was having a human make heads or tails of it.

Didn't mean it hurts any less.

 

[sebsmith]

They had managed to find a nice spot to survey the city and its defenses. The harbor seemed to be completely ringed by M777 towed artillery guns, M109 Paladins, and MRLS missile units. USS Midway stood vigil over her homeport once again, the aircraft that had once graced her deck replaced with artillery pieces and surface to air missile sites like her smaller Essex Class cousins. The reason for all this was apparent inside the harbor. The dry docks were filled with what was left of the United States Navy, destroyers and cruisers with hulls torn and bridges smashed.

Click to shrink...

This defense scheme seems weird. I might be misinterpreting it, but looking at a map:


It seems like a way better plan to just put all the guns on Point Loma and Coronado Island, and then intercept anything trying to enter the bay. This will then naturally also protect both the Naval Station and the Port.

Note also that the Navy's ships are reasonably likely to be stationed at the naval station, since that's both their home port and it spent much of WW2 as a repair station (a function it doesn't seem to have lost). Meanwhile, Midway is at the Port.

 

[Spectre]

This defense scheme seems weird. I might be misinterpreting it, but looking at a map:


It seems like a way better plan to just put all the guns on Point Loma and Coronado Island, and then intercept anything trying to enter the bay. This will then naturally also protect both the Naval Station and the Port.

Note also that the Navy's ships are reasonably likely to be stationed at the naval station, since that's both their home port and it spent much of WW2 as a repair station (a function it doesn't seem to have lost). Meanwhile, Midway is at the Port.

Click to shrink...

I was more trying to create a contrast between where North had been on the east coast and how different it is in the pacific, and to illustrate how serious the threat is. The description of Pearl's defenses will be much more detailed due to the being the setting for most of the early part of the story.

 

[Aries Greyscale]

It seems like a way better plan to just put all the guns on Point Loma and Coronado Island, and then intercept anything trying to enter the bay. This will then naturally also protect both the Naval Station and the Port.

Click to shrink...

Huh, nice map. However, putting all the defence guns on Point Loma and Coronado Island (it ain't at his point, I'm guessing it used to be?) invites massed counter-battery fire. Saturation fire at that.

After about, oh, 10~20 minutes, you're out of defenders, and they can then proceed directly to shelling the naval base with impunity, as they don't even need to enter the harbor.

The real reason for encircling the harbor, is so a "simple" saturation strike won't get even a decent percentage of the defence forces.
Remember, artillery has a range measured in Tens of kilometers.
The defenders could shell Tijuana, Mexico if they wanted/needed to. (I can't think of a good reason to do so, nor does the story seem to be heading in that direction, it's simply being used as a point-of-reference.)
Admittedly, not particularly accurately, without spotters, but they damn well could ruin it given enough time.


And, if the argument of "but concentrated fire" comes up, please, please look over Time on Target
Literally, we've figured out how to time the shots so even arty spread out that much hits all at the same time. (now, keeping the enemy still long enough for the shells to get there is a whole different problem, but that's normally why they would go for Saturation fire, rather than trying to hit a [comparitively] tiny ship with every shell.)

 

[sebsmith]

@Aries Greyscale I suspect you don't have a great idea of how big the places we're talking about are. The sort of Firepower to get all of the guns on Coronado Island is a nuke, as shown here. (That 15kt is the same as Little Boy, the bomb dropped on Hiroshima.) If the Abyssals can do that with impunity, we've probably already lost. Therefore, the idea that a Nagato-class battleship equivalent could do the same in just 10 to 20 minutes seems unlikely.

It might also be worth pointing out at this time that the Coronado military base isn't actually just the one airfield you see above, but also a few other places; the most important is probably the marine base on the Silver Strand[1]. If you scroll the linked map above right and down you'll see that it's outside the blast radius.

While it's not for the city in question, it should give you an idea of what American defenses against the sorts of threats at play here looked like:

In particular, note that they went out from the city, not deeper, when they added 16" guns to the defense. Generally, you want to force your opponent to choose between terror attacks and counter battery fire. If they can do the same with both shots – by which I mean a miss against a military target probably hits the city – then you aren't maximizing your defense.

If you want my argument in more detail:

1. The United State's military has spent over a century figuring out how to defend these locations. (1860s to today for San Diego.)
2. The United State's military is generally competent. [2]
3. The Abyssals are generally equivalent to an opponent from the 30s or 40. (Strongly implied here.)
4. Therefore, in the 40s the US military had a competent plan for facing down threats from the 40s.
5. Therefore, we can reuse this plan.
6. This plan is probably better than what a random person on the Internet can come up with.

My plan was then a best guess at what that plan was, based on the bases the nation had – and still has – in the area.

[1] Incidentally, Coronado is a connected Island – yes that is a thing – and has been one for as long as westerns have known about it. The Silver Strand is the name of the connection. This is sort of a Shibboleth, and is why I suspect that you don't have the best idea of the scale at play here.

[2] I understand this point is debatable in real life, but I expect it's true enough in a story where the protagonist is a part of the institution.

 

[Spectre]

Joint Base Pearl Harbor-Hickam, once the crown jewel of the Pacific fleet, looked and felt more like a ghost town as Rear Admiral (Lower Half) Chris Enfield's SUV drove through it. After the disaster that had been the First Battle of Midway 6 months ago, most non-military personnel had voluntarily evacuated the base. In fact, the only reason his wife was still on base was because of her role in taking care of the Navy's newest assets. No one had expected Pearl to hold out as long as it had, and if it hadn't been for The Fleet Girls, it likely wouldn't have. While the blow to morale this caused had been somewhat softened thanks to communication systems like Skype and the wide spread use of smart phones, it didn't take an ONI analyst to figure out it was near rock bottom for base personnel.

As much as no one wanted to admit it, of the 4 naval station left on the Pacific coast, Pearl was the most expendable. San Diego was the heart of the fleet, and if lost meant not only the complete cut off of important supplies to both Hawaii and Alaskan oil via Seattle, but also the destruction of a good portion of the remainder of the 'Human" navy. Losing Panama would mean the crippling of operations across the Coast. Pearl, whose main contributions were to the supply line to Australia and as a layer of defense before San Diego, seemed to pale in comparison to those three. It was probably why his command was the smallest in both regular and Fleet Girl assets.

Crossing The Ford Island Bridge, he laid his eyes on the former part of that command, or what was left of it. What had once been a force of 2 Ticonderoga class Missile Cruisers and 9 Destroyers was now reduced to one of the former, USS Lake Erie, 3 Arleigh Burke class destroyers and 1 Zumwalt class Destroyer, USS Cassin Young. Until news of North Carolina's (BB-55) arrival and pending assignment under his command had reached him, Cassin had been his ace in the hole, ship-wise. Between its rail gun and reduced radar signature, Cassin, the last of the six ships of her class, had proven remarkably well at engaging Abyssals on their terms and hitting well above their displacement.

His submarines had faired only mildly better. While the majority of the base's 18 Los Angeles and Virginia class subs had survived, their crews had needed to relearn tactics and methods declared obsolete over a half century before. In addition, it had been found that the Mk.48 torpedo needed a complete remodeling, which was going to take months if not years to do so.

Hickam Air Force base had seen the biggest changes of all. With most of the Islands air units transferred back to Wheeler, only one of the runways was still in use, and that was mainly for Reaper Drones. The outer most runway had been turned into an artificial concrete-reinforced hill housing a battery of M777's as well as a 155mm Advanced Gun System salvaged from one of the two Zumwalts lost during a bomber attack 3 months before. In addition, a rail gun salvaged from the other sat across the entrance at Iroquois Point. Most of the other airports in Hawaii, having been "borrowed" by the military, were undergoing similar renovations or being used as bases for various strike, fighter, or reconnaissance aircraft.

The C-130 that was supposed to be carrying the Carolinas was just rolling into the old Hawaii Air National Guard hanger when his ride pulled up. South Carolina was easy for him to recognize, the two have seen each other at many a meeting. Not that North Carolina was hard to spot either, her rather out of place clothing causing her to stick out like a sore thumb.

"Afternoon Ladies." He said walking up to them. "I trust the plane ride was enjoyable."

"Better than most." South Carolina said. North Simply fired off a salute that Admiral Enfield immediately returned.

"At ease North Carolina." Admiral Enfield said. "You ladies probably want to get back to the Island. North Carolina, we'll drop you off at the barracks so you can get settled while me and South Carolina finalize some things. The two battleships simply nodded as they entered the back of the vehicle.
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Sleep did not come easy for the Fletcher Class destroyer USS The Sullivans. Even as tired as she was, the destroyer couldn't manage more than an hour's rest before inevitably being jolted awake by the same nightmare. After the third such attempt she gave up, taking a shower to wash away the layer of sweat that now drenched her and changing into a new set of NWU's. She then made way to the dining room on the first floor, where their caretaker, a Mrs. Elizabeth Enfield, was reading a book. The former shrink, who now helped her husband's new command in both getting adjusted to their new world and with dealing with issues stemming from their past lives, looked up at her as she entered the room.

"Trouble sleeping Sully?" she asked.

Sullivan's nodded. "It's the nightmares again."

"Lake Ontario?" Elizabeth asked with a frown. It was an all too common problem for these girls, especially those sunk in combat. As far as she knew, every Fleet Girl she had run into, outside The Taffies, had told her about it at least once.

Sullivan's simply nodded again. "You don't think they mean anything do you?"

"It's hard to know Sully." Elizabeth said getting up and given the destroyer a much needed hug. "Dreams embody a lot of things. Hopes, wishes, fears… these can all affect what we dream about. How about you talk to me again in a couple of days after you've had a chance to clear your head, now that you won't be doing both my husband's work on top of your normal patrols? Now, we have a new couple of new guests, maybe you could be a dear and help me get their rooms ready, seeing as your sisters and the Northampton's are nowhere to be found."
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It wasn't until they were almost to the Barracks at the Navy Lodge on Ford Island before North spoke up. "I hope you don't mind settling for me. I'm sure you need something better then a treaty battleship."

From the front seat Admiral Enfield just chuckled. "With all due respect North, a treaty battleship isn't settling. Especially one from the class regarded as the best treaty ships ever made." He said as the SUV slowed to a stop in front of the lodge. As they pulled up to the front, he saw his wife and Sully standing by the door. Seeing the later caused him to frown a little, he had been hoping that she was finally getting some much-needed rest. Getting out he opened the rear door. "North Carolina, South Carolina, meet my wife Dr. Elizabeth Enfield and destroyer USS The Sullivans, DD-537. North, I'll leave you under their care for now. A car will be around in a few hours to take you and the rest of the girls to dinner at the chow hall in our HQ. I know you don't have much with you so you'll find a couple sets of NWU's in your room. We'll get rank and name patches sorted out later."

"Rank?" North Carolina asked.

"Didn't South tell you? Upon finishing your training, you'll be awarded the rank of commander." As if on cue Sullivan snapped to attention, firing off a picture-perfect salute. North could see the brown haired girl, who looked no more than 16 at the most, held the rank of Lieutenant Commander. North returned the salute before following her and Mrs. Enfield into the building.

"Still getting use to all this ma'am?" The destroyer asked as they walked through the former lobby. The lodge had been chosen as a barracks because of several reasons. It was close to the command building at the Ford Island Conference Center, as well as secluded enough to give the girls a bit of privacy. In addition, the navy felt that the historic significance of the island might make the Fleet girls a little more comfortable.

"Yes." North answered. "And please stop calling me ma'am. Its North Carolina, or North. I'm not all that comfortable with being immediately made a commander."

"Orders of the Navy." Mrs. Enfield replied, a slight distain in her voice. "Battleships and Aircraft carriers start at Commander, Cruisers at Lieutenant Commander, and Destroyers at Lieutenant Senior Grade. They figure that you girls would have a better understanding of how to run things given that you were former command ships."

"I'm sure you'll do fine." Sullivan's added. "You can't be any worse than the Northampton's."

Before either North or Elizabeth could respond, the door behind them opened. In walked two girls, both about 19 years of age. The first had strawberry blond hair and brown eyes. "This the new girl?" she asked with a New England accent.

"This 'new girl'," Sully began looking rather irritated. ", Is the battleship USS North Carolina, first ship of her class. Show a little respect you too."

"North Carolina…" the other, a fiery redhead who spoke with a southern accent said. "Would have preferred a South Dakota, but any port in a storm."

"Ignore her." The first one said. "The names Northampton, first of my class as well. The one who doesn't know what a good battleship looks like is my little sister Augusta. You'll have to excuse her though. She spent the entire war with Pre-Standard's and Brit ships, so only anything with 16's will do for her."

"The South Dakota's are better." Augusta shot back. "Not my fault you never got to see one in action."

"You're right." Northampton replied. "All I remember is hearing about South Dakota getting her teeth kicked in by a battlecruiser pretending to be battleship while North's sister took care of business."

"Girls." Mrs. Enfield cut-in. "Maybe you can take this debate elsewhere. North's still getting use to all this."

"Sure thing Mrs. E." Augusta said shepherding her to the elevator. Their argument still audible until the door closed behind them.

The trio made their way up the stairs to the first floor, where North's room was. It wasn't much, consisting of a queen-sized bed with Navy blue sheets and a connected bathroom. True to the admiral's word, three sets of Navy Work Uniforms, roughly North's size, sat on the bed.

"We'll give you an hour to freshen up." Mrs. Enfield said. "It sounds like you've had quite the day."
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"So how long do you think it'll take to get North up to speed." Admiral Enfield asked. He and South were in the newly completed USN Fleet Girl command Bunker. Built to survive almost anything, the structure served as the control point to all forces located in the Hawaiian Islands.

"It should only be two weeks at most until she can act as a field commander." South replied. "I know you were hoping for me to say days rather than weeks, but I want to be sure I do this right. She'll still be able to fight in a few days, you'll just have to leave the Northamptons in command for the time being."

"I still don't like is. The Northamptons are overly aggressive. They like to close and close fast. I know North's designed to be a better distance fighter rather than a close in brawler. We'll probably need to write up some new formations and tactics." Enfield concluded. "Sorry, if I'm pushing a lot on you. Its just Sully could use the break."

"Compared to the Joint Chiefs, this is nothing." South Carolina replied. "Besides I have a lot more free time compared to Sullivan. I still don't understand why you're leaning on her so much."

"You have looked at our roster, right?" Enfield said in a rather shocked tone. "Speaking of which. You might want to switch out of that uniform before we eat. Tonight's spaghetti dinner, and things tend to get a little messy when the taffies are involved."

"It's only three destroyers." South Carolina replied jokingly. "How hard can it be to manage them?"
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Several Hours Later

The answer turned out to be harder than expected. Both North Carolina and South Carolina had foolishly sat with their backs facing the serving line. As such they never saw the three Fletcher class destroyers collectively known as the Taffies disappear behind it, snickering all the way. Neither did they seem to notice both Northampton and Augusta vacate the seats on either side of them like they were a pair of ammunition barges that had just caught fire. By the time Sullivan's warning found their ears, it was already too late.

"Don't you dare!" was all they heard her say before a tidal wave of spaghetti fell over them. Brushing pasta and red sauce out of her eyes South turned around to the three destroyers holding now-empty buckets.

"Welcome to Pearl!" The three girls said in unison. "Normally we use water for that." Hoel said between giggling fits, her chocolate colored pigtails bounce ever so slightly.

"But with it being Spaghetti night and all, we just couldn't resist." Johnston added. Spaghetti sauce decorated blond haired destroyers face like war paint, though the effect was lost because of the grin spreading across her face.

"Well maybe you should have given that they're your commanding officers." Sullivans said in a clearly aggravated tone. Admiral Enfield stood next to her, a look on his face that show disapproval for what the Taffies had done, yet betrayed just a hint of a grin. His wife did her best to suppress a giggle while The Northamptons were in the midst of a full on laughing fit.

"Come on Sully." The amber haired USS Heerman said. "It's not like we're hurting anything. What's wrong with a little fun and team bonding?"

Before she could respond, Sully was cut off by South's laughter. "Don't worry Sully," she said. "I appreciate the welcome."

"Same here." North said, pasta sauce dripping down her now-red hair and face. "Besides I'm sure South wouldn't mind a few helpers to clean this mess up."

Heerman froze in her tracks at the last part, looking at the spaghetti covered table and floor. "She wouldn't…" was all that could be said before she felt South's hands on her shoulder.

"Want to bet?" The old Dreadnought said with a rather scary looking grin.

 

[Spectre]

The sound of 9 Mk.6 sixteen-inch rifles unloading their deadly payload filled the early morning air off of Iroquois Point. The area, already home to numerous spotter positions and various optics used for directing and coordinating the fire from various gun emplacements and artillery batteries on the island, made for a natural practice range for the Fleet Girls based in Pearl. Away from the point floated life-sized models of the various abyssal craft. Capable of simulating entire fleets at various ranges, these wooden constructs were nearly identical to the real thing, with the only difference being the orange paint scheme applied to keep sentries and other base personnel from calling in false attacks.

"Come on, come on." US North Carolina said as she waited for her shots to land as she watched the targets sitting 30,000 yards away with her main optics. Seconds later the training shells hit home, most of them splashing harmlessly in the water except for 2 that punched holes in the Battleship in the middle of the formation.

The routine had been the same for the past 9 days. Mornings were spent learning under the instruction of South Carolina on moving and shooting in her new rigging, with lectures by Admiral Enfield on naval tactics and strategy in the afternoon. While she was adapting well to her new body and rigging, she had a much easier time with the lectures then the training. She had never been a command ship, at least not in battle, but the tactics and strategies of her day were far more familiar to her then the idea of sailing and shooting without her old body.

It was still very strange to say the least. What used to take hundreds of thousands, if not multi-millions, of dollars' worth of equipment was now being done with mere human senses. Just by squinting she could see as far as her old rangefinders use to, and when she closed them it was like watching her old radar screen. She could also do a similar trick using her floatplanes. The weirdest thing though, was her radio room hidden somewhere in her head, or at least she thought was in her head. Even without the headset South wore, she heard the command center or other Fleet Girls clear as day regardless of where she was in relation to them.

The biggest change though was in sailing. Where she used to be pushed by 4 propellers powered by 8 boilers, now she skated along the water as if it was iced over. She could still make 27 knots, but even in this form her old problems still persisted. An almost unbearable shaking formed in her legs when she made it past 25 knots that felt like her whole lower body was shaking itself apart. In addition, it made even her radar directed gunnery nothing more than high tech spray and pray shooting. As it was, she was barely sailing faster than 10 knots this training exercise, trading speed for accuracy.

"Nice." North said with a smirk as she watched the results.

"Indeed." South said putting down her binoculars. Because she had never been designed or modified for long distance engagements, the old dreadnought didn't have the optics of her daughter. "You've improved quite a bit since we began, and two hits on a single salvo is quite impressive, if a bit lucky."

North nodded in agreement. What had used to take 5 to 6 salvos to achieve she was now regularly doing in 3. She also knew that it wasn't likely to get any better than that at this range. While radar fire directors could cut down on the time it took for her to get on target, they could do nothing for shell dispersion. Even the Iowa siblings were lucky to get more than 1 shell on target past 25,000 yards.

"Now let's see about those hits…" South said picking up the binoculars once again. "That hit under turret number 3 wouldn't cause much damage. There's just enough of a belt on these things to stop your round from penetrating but we're talking about mere millimeters." North's frown increased just a smidge more at that news. "The second round though, the one in the coning tower, that would be a game changer for you. With that hit you most likely temporarily disabled its steering as well as knocked out its main rangefinder. With the turrets reduced to local control, it's going to have a hard time bracketing you if it hasn't already done so."

"So easy prey then." North said, her voice sounding rather satisfied with herself.

"There's a difference between wounded and dead." South chided her, her voice back to that of a teacher lecturing her student. "While it may not be able to hit you as well, those punches will still hurt just as much if they connect. Remember that the battleship those things seem to borrow their characteristics from was the one your sister and yourself were specifically designed to counter, and I can speak from experience that they can hurt you just as bad as you can hurt them. Always remember that."

She watched as her daughter's head dipped down a bit after the reprimand and repressed a smile. It wasn't that she liked chastising her daughter, but rather the effect that tone seemed to have on her that made the old dreadnought want to smile. She hated yelling at her daughter, but knew how necessary it was to break that slight invincible feeling she knew the battleship had. It was that same streak she had once had, and one that had almost gotten her killed. "Why don't we reset? See if we can't kill that thing this time."
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"Nice shot." Admiral Enfield heard as he watched North's practice session with the rest of the on-duty personnel in the command center. The feed, provided by one of the MQ-9's flown out of Hickam AFB, was one of several whose camera feeds the two technicians could pull up.

The one they were currently watching had taken off shortly after the two battleships had set sail, part of a standing Department of Defense order to always have some type of surveillance on them when they were in the water. Officially the order was so that the military would be able to send immediate help in the event one of the Fleet Girls were seriously damaged in combat or was jumped by abyssal forces well on patrol, but most of the admirals in charge of them chalked it up as much to the paranoia that the dozen or so alphabet soup intelligence agencies seemed to run on as they did to any genuine concern for the girl's safety.

He understood why though. Had anyone told him a year ago that he would be commanding teenage girls that were the spirits of warships, he would have had them in front of a psychiatrist before they could complete the sentence because of how absurd that sounded. These girls had taken the world by surprise even more so then their enemy had, and after what had happened in Australia with Astoria, Quincy, and Vincennes, the navy had reason to worry about other Fleet Girls possibly motivated by bad blood from the past.

"I think she's ready." He heard another, a kid fresh out of Annapolis named Eric Stone, say.

"And not a moment too soon." He said in agreement. As good as Northampton and Augusta were, they were still only heavy cruisers, ones that were Washington Naval Treaty compliant to make matters even worse. While the two might have relished every chance to fight, he knew that every time he had sent them out against any meaningful force he had been rolling the dice. It was only luck that had kept his command from being gutted.

To make matters worse, a convoy carrying spare parts for Australia's remaining F-35's was due to pass to the south of the island chain later that day. Convoys like these were normally defended by a handful of US and Australian Destroyer Class Fleet Girls, with maybe a cruiser or two if the cargo was extremely valuable like this one, were in constant danger. In fact, Pearl's most important use was a Quick Reaction Force along the supply route.

The technician next to him suddenly put his hand up to the headset he was wearing. "Hickam's reporting that Sentinel 5's spotted an enemy fleet south of Midway." He said moments later. "Pulling up the feed now."

Even before the video feed came up Enfield knew this would be a problem. The atoll had gone dark after three carrier groups had been slaughtered near it 6 months ago, now controlled by a entity dubbed the Midway Princess. Ever since it had been a thorn in his side, a major staging point for both attacks on convoys and on Pearl itself. Whatever The Abyssals were sending his way; it would likely be a hell of a fight even with North Carolina in the mix.

The video feed that came up on screen simply confirmed his fears. The drone was circling at over 40,000 feet to avoid the worst of the anti-aircraft fire heading its way, its camera trained on the battleship, a pair of light cruisers and four destroyers acting as escorts. Judging by their wakes the five ships were making 15 knots max, slow enough for the destroyer's sonar arrays to keep an eye on any of his subs that might be prowling the area.

"What does the convoy have protecting it?" Enfield asked.

"A pair of Fletchers with HMNZS Achilles and a pair of N-class destroyers backing them up." A tech said, pulling the information up. Around the room other personnel were issuing recall orders to The Carolinas and other Fleet Girls at sea, while more were gathering intelligence for the inevitable briefing. Enfield hoped North was as ready as she looked in training.

They were going to need all the help they could get.

 

[Spectre]

USS South Carolina sighed as the emergency recall order came through her headset. If both North and herself were being ordered back in, something big was going down. They had been out on the range before when more routine operations had been sent out. They had only been ordered to cease fire in those cases, watching as one of the Northamptons and their escorts could head out to where they were needed. This was different though. If they we being called back in, it was because they were needed, or rather North Carolina was needed.

As time was of the essence, South knew they would need to dock near the command center. South had avoided that area like the plague, preferring to launch at the southernmost tip of Ford Island. It was because this was where Battleship Row had once docked. Where the graves of two of her daughters now sat, reminding her of her failures as a mother to protect them.

Before her, the overturned hull of USS Missouri lay, an almost exact likeness to her older cousin Oklahoma after that fateful attack nearly 80 years before. Like the second of the standards, she had been felled by a torpedos, four fired into her port side by a submarine that had infiltrated the harbor less than two months after South had comeback into this world. The submarine had not had long to relish its victory, slain by The Taffies before it had even made it to the harbor entrance. Neither this nor the news of Missouri's return as a fleet girl hours later had comforted South when she had heard about what had happened in Hawaii.

Only a hundred feet away stood the memorial to USS Arizona, slain in her sleep on the morning of December 7th, 1941. Like with Missouri, South had been powerless to stop it. She hadn't even been alive when the bombs and torpedo's fell on her daughters that day, turned to razorblades over 15 years before as part of the Washington naval treaty.

Sometimes she wondered if Arizona had called out for her mother when her forward magazine let lose, if Oklahoma had done the same as she rolled over from 7 torpedo strikes, or if Utah had cursed South for not being there as she watched two of her little cousins get cut down before being finished off herself.

"Are you ok South?" North asked as she caught up to the old dreadnought, snapping her out of her train of thought.

South Carolina wiped away a tear running down her face as they approached the docks. "Yes child. I was just thinking about the past."

As South Carolina stepped out of the water on to Ford Island, little did she realize she wasn't the only battleship in the harbor doing so…
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Atop what remained of the Pennsylvania Class battleship USS Arizona sat a battered soul. Her shoulder length black hair was singed from fires that had long since gone out. Her clothes bore the cuts and tears of shrapnel from near misses. Most notable though was the dark brown stain running down the front of her shirt, a reminder of the modified 16-inch naval shell that had torn through her deck armor before gutting her with her own forward magazine.She looked up at the two figures sailing near her memorial. Though the view was distorted and her hearing muffled, she could still recognize her mother.

She would have recognized South Carolina anywhere. While the two had barely ever served together in the 10 years both had been in service, South had always could get messages to her daughters, either through their various cousins and half-sister or other ships. It was how she and her sisters had heard about the fate of South and the others at the hands of the Washington Naval Treaty in 1925, a day that was only barely beat by December 7th, 1941 as the worst day in her life.

She still couldn't place the battleship that sailed with her mother. At first she had thought it might have been Nevada or California, but the girl's rigging missed the 4th turret that denoted her half-sisters and was far taller then them.The best she could guess was that it was one of the fast battleships that had just been starting to sail when she had died.

She had seen another like the blond-haired girl, the steel behemoth that had stood guard over her for what felt like ages before being cut down by that monster of a submarine mere months ago. She had been forced to watch as the torpedo found their mark, helpless as they had crumpling her guardians hull like it was scrap metal.

She had seen many things like that in the past few months. Crippled warships steaming to harbor, always fewer coming back than what had been sent out. With them were spirits like her. Cruisers looking to take on all who would dare challenge them, destroyers that skated around the harbor as if it were their playground, and the subs of the deep that were her only contact to the outside world.

It was through them that she had learned about the war. About the Abyssals, those inhuman monsters that were laying waste to her country and the world. They had also pleaded with her to help, begged her to come back and send these demons back to hell. She couldn't though, not without breaking her promise to her crew, one that she had made with her dying breath.

That if she ever had another chance she would never leave her crew defenseless again.
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The two battleships were among the last into the briefing room, followed only by the destroyer USS Laffey, who had been on patrol at the time. The little Benson raced by them as she entered the room, making a path straight to The Taffies sitting in the back.

As North and herself entered the room, South was once again caught by surprise at how different things were in Pearl. Back at Norfolk or Pensacola, her entrance as a simulated rear admiral would have caused everyone in the room to stop dead in their tracks. Here she was barely noticed, with only Sullivans and Kidd giving any noticeable reaction. The destroyers gave them a casual, well at least casual compared to how they normally acted, salute. Northampton and her sister simply nodded as the two battleships walked past them while the destroyers and submarines in the back didn't even seem to register their entrance.

It wasn't until Admiral Enfield walked into the room that everyone settled down. "Good morning ladies." He said in a commanding tone. "I understand it's early, but the information we just received is too important to sit on. 15 minutes ago, one of our surveillance drones captured this just south of Midway."

A deadening silence fell over the room as the video screen turned on, showing the video feed from Sentinel 5. As South Carolina watched the 7 vessels cut through the waves, she felt a sense of revulsion well up inside of her, a need to wipe not only those ships but all of their kind of the face of the earth, to make them pay for all that they had done. South knew she wasn't the only one feeling this. As she glanced around the room she saw glares and scrawls.

On the feed she could see four smaller craft, definitely destroyers, darting around in search of submarines. It was the three ships in the middle that drew her attention though. A pair of light cruisers, their secondary batteries sweeping the skies for aircraft, flanked what could only be a battleship. She understood why North and herself had been called in. With that battleship on the prowl Enfield had no choice but to commit North to the fight.

"That headed for us sir?" Augusta asked, her voice barely containing her hope that the answer to her question would be yes.

"No." Admiral Enfield replied. "It's headed to something far more important." The screen switched to another group of ships trudging along at 15 knots. Four cargo ships huddled around a quartet of Destroyer Class Fleet Girls and with a single Heavy Cruiser acting as support. "This convoy's carrying vital supplies for our friends in the Australian Air Force needed to keep their F-35's running. Their escorts are two N class destroyers, Two Fletchers, and the Leander class Heavy Cruiser HMNZS Achilles. Right now that battle group's making a beeline for the convoy, and if they catch it those girls and the transports won't stand a chance."

South Knew that was an understatement. Achilles, while no doubt a good fighter in her own right, didn't have the armor or firepower to duke it out with a battleship, and the destroyers would be shredded by both the battleship's secondary batteries and the two light cruisers before they ever got within torpedo range.

"This is why we're not planning on letting them anywhere it." Enfield finished. " North Carolina, I know you just came back but we need you for this." For her part, North simply nodded. "You'll be leading Sullivans and Kidd as our decoy force. Your job is simple. Just keep that battleship occupied. Smash it to pieces and send it to the bottom if you can, but the main thing is that you need to keep it looking your way so that the Northamptons and the other destroyers can catch it from the west. Augusta will be leading that part of the mission. Their job is to neutralize those light cruisers so that our killing punch can come in."

"Killing punch?" North Carolina asked.

Enfield grinned. "Two B-1 Lancers from San Diego carrying 8 BLU-31 JDAM's each. Once you guys clear out the escorts they'll deliver their payload on whatever's left.

"And whatever's left after their done?" Northampton asked hopefully.

"Engage as long as it remains headed for the convoy. If they turn around, disengage and return to base." South could see the heavy cruiser's shoulders slump as she heard the words. "I can't have you guys chasing a lone destroyer into a trap. Bowfin, Barb, and Flasher will round out the rest of the task force. You three are my backup plan. I want you along the convoys route in case any of those things break through North and the others. Nautilus and her sisters will hold down the fort. Any questions?" Enfield was met with a defining silence. "Ok, grab some food at the mess hall. You ship out in two hours. Dismissed."

 

[Spectre]

Admiral Enfield watched as South Carolina paced back and forth in the command center. The old dreadnought had seemed restless ever since North and the others had left to engage the abyssal fleet several hours before. Even if she hadn't been doing that for as long as she had, the trail of cracked tiles she was starting to leave gave her feelings away.

"You know, if you really want to wear a hole in the ground, I'm sure the boys digging slit trenches for the AAA crews wouldn't mind having a little help." He joked

The light-hearted joke seemed to have the intended effect as South stopped in her tracks, the sound of broken linoleum fragments scraping the ground echoing through the room as she turned to face him. "Sorry," she sheepishly began as she surveyed the damage she had already caused. "I guess I'm just a little worried about North and the others."

Enfield knew that the "little" part of her statement was a severe understatement. Even from the other side of the room, he could see that the dreadnought wore her anxiety about the upcoming battle like it was part of her uniform. Her body shook with both anticipation and worry over the events that were about to unfold, and her eyes were constantly darting between him and the screen that showed the two fleets.

"I'm sure they'll be fine." He said reassuringly. "North's the best treaty battleship the world ever saw, and while they don't always act it on base, those girls with her are some of the best in the fleet."

"I know, it's just that…"

"First day of school." Enfield finished. "I know the feeling."

"I didn't realize that schools were that dangerous now." The aging dreadnought asked. "You sure you don't mean boot camp."

"Neither of mine are old enough for that yet," the admiral said turning back towards the video screen. "And I hope to god they don't follow in my footsteps if those things are still around."

South nodded as she turned back towards the screen herself. The two fleets couldn't have been more different. The abyssal fleet, travelling at a brisk 25 knots now that they were certain no submarines were around, seemed to radiate pure hatred. The guns on the destroyers seemed to be on a constant swivel, looking for anything that might be stupid enough to get within range of them. The battleship and its two escorts in contrast remained as still as statues, as if everything else around them wasn't worthy of their armament.

The force assembled to stop it seemed tiny and under-gunned in comparison, even if both knew that was far from the case. Between their size, the camouflage pattern Navy Working Uniforms each girl was wearing, and the glare off the ocean the evening sun produced, the two almost had an easier time tracking the wakes the various girls made than tracking the girls themselves.

"I've always meant to ask how you discovered that the NWUs worked as great camouflage?" South Carolina asked.

"Kind of what they were designed for." Enfield replied. "We just experimented with them by having the Reapers try to track the destroyers outside of the harbor. Might not stop those things from spotting them on radar, but it sure does seem to play hell with their rangefinders."

"Sure wouldn't have minded that back when I was still sailing in the Atlantic." South said as she placed a wireless headset Enfield had given her on her head.

"How long till contact?" She asked.

"Approximately an hour, given the two groups current position and heading." One of the techs said before switching over to the operations channel. "Command to Showboat. Target approximately 50 away from you at bearing 330. North-northeast. Advise your group break off to intercept."

"Showboat. That's what you call a hostess at a brothel, not a first rate ship the line." South Carolina muttered.

"Um mom, that was my nickname from the war." She heard North say over the headset. She could also see several personnel snickering at her misfortune. "I take it the microphone is voice activated?" she asked a smirking Enfield after she had covered the mic with her hand.

"Possibly." The admiral answered, doing his best to hide the grin on his face from the dreadnoughts glare.
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Had he seen the glare USS North Carolina was giving Northampton and Augusta at that moment as she listened to their hoots of laughter, Admiral Enfield's first thought would have been "like mother like daughter". The fast battleship knew they were going to milk that brothel comment for all it was worth when they got back from this, and god knew how much further the Taffys would stretch it after that.

The two groups had just split off from each other to get into position for the ambush, the planned distance between them a mere 30 miles. Sullivans and Kidd, her two escorts, constantly switched between radar and sonar to keep the way clear. In addition, North had both of her Kingfisher scout planes out. One searching for any screening force the Reapers might have missed, while the other kept an eye out for any of its abyssal counterparts that might be trying to spot them. She'd need to pull them in soon though, given the setting sun, otherwise she'd have to try a nighttime retrieval.

Not that she needed them anymore. Given the reports from Pearl, the main body of enemy force would be within range of her and her escort's radar within a half hour, and while her scouts had spotted it many times in the past several hours, the ocean around them had produced no more threats.

As the enemy drew closer, she recalled her floatplanes. The first to land by her side was the advanced scout, her improvised CAP staying up until they were only a few minutes from when radar contact was estimated to occur. While they were risking the plane being spotted on radar, North knew that anything equipped with an air search radar would also have the radar equipment to spot her group around the same time they did.

It wasn't long after when her saw both Sullivan and Kidd straighten, their eyes wide as their radar operators report the enemy fleet's position. Soon her own radar screen comes alive as she spots the blurry dots that represent their adversary appear on her more outdated set. The abyssal craft, just outside the range of her cannons, still sailed in their tightly packed formation. The radar returns from the battleship and the two cruisers almost appearing as one contact while the 4 destroyers circle just barely outside it.

"Showboat to Command. I have radar contact with an abyssal fleet 22 miles out north east of me. I will be in range in 60 seconds. Requesting assistance from Reaper UAV's for fire correction."
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"Request approved Showboat." Admiral Enfield replied. "Be advised, both Arclight flight and the Northamptons are in position waiting for you to begin the attack."

"Roger." He heard over the radio.

South Carolina looked at him as she moved to get a better view of the screen, her face now a mask that hid even the slightest hint of emotion. Even though she was hundreds of miles away from the action, the dreadnought acted like she was right on the firing line with her daughter.

"Decrease the zoom a little on the video feed on the right." She said. Immediately the camera tracking the abyssal fleet panned out, the ships becoming smaller as thousands of yards of open ocean was exposed. "Everything's ready on our end North. You may fire when ready."

"Understood. Firing in 3...2...1." On the right screen a black cloud swallowed up North as all 9 of her cannons let loose. For over an agonizing minute, neither screen showed anything else before a series of geysers appeared behind the abyssal formation on their port side.

"Adjust aim, 2000 yards down and 600 yards starboard-cancel that, 600 yards port." South said adjusting her commands as the battleship and its escorts started a hard left turn. She watched as the destroyers and light cruisers sped up, either trying to gain some distance from the likely target or organizing themselves into an impromptu screening force.

Either way, it was a bad move on their part as North's second salvo, either by luck or design on South's part, landed square in their formation. One slammed into one of the light cruisers bow between the number 1 and 2 turrets. The shell, designed to punch through twice the armor thickness of its targets belt, easily burrowed itself into the forward magazine.

Enfield couldn't help but notice the grin that spread across South's face as the pieces of her daughter's first victim slowly returned to the abyss they came from. She wasn't the only one though, as across the room cheers and high fives were exchanged between the other base personnel.

"Good hit North. You just killed yourself a cruiser." She said. "Now shift fire 600 yards back."

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"Understood" North said as she started grinning from ear to ear. While not anywhere near as blood thirsty as the cruisers, she was still glad to be fighting the good fight like she had wanted ever since they had begun the attempt to bring her back into action at Wilmington.

Shells splashed in front of her as the enemy let loose with yet another salvo, a vain but futile effort. While not as powerful as her Iowa cousins, she was still one of the most advanced battleships of the last war. Between her radar and fire control directors, a long-range fight like this was hers to lose.

She could see the enemy ships on radar. The battleship still sat 30,000 yards, trying to keep her at arm's length. Its escorts though were steaming towards her at an angle inside of 25,000 yards in an attempt at crossing her formation's T. "Augusta, how long until you guys hit those escorts?"

"About that…" The cruiser replied, more than a hint of frustration in her voice. "We weren't expecting them to move on you like that. We're trying to run them down now but the bastards are running at full speed."

North bit her lip. She knew that the Northamptons, being a full 4 knots slower than the light cruiser, weren't going to be able to catch up with them until they slowed down to fire at her. She looked at Sully and Kidd. She could see that they were waiting for her to give the order to attack. That was suicide though, with the two destroyers having little chance of even getting within range of the group before the light cruiser and its escort tore them apart. "Understood."

North put one last salvo towards the battleship before the ocean around her turned into a sea of foam as the cruiser opened fire on her. It was like being in front of a machinegun as 6-inch shells fell around her and her escorts. Every so often she'd feel a sting as a shell found its mark, only to bounce off her armor.

She was still trading fire with the battleship when she heard a yelp in front of her. Looking forward, she could see Kidd holding her left hand close to her body, the turret it normally held nowhere to be found. Sullivan moved next to her, trying to wrap the mangled appendage with a gauze roll when she fell backwards with a similar shout of pain, a stream of blackish red liquid flowing down her face from a gash on her scalp.

"Get out of here!" North ordered without a second thought.

The two destroyers looked at each other. "But-" Kidd began when North cut her off with a glare.

"You heard me." She began, seething with anger. "I can survive this. You can't."

Both damaged destroyers broke off from North, glances of regret staring back at the battleship. Still, the shells from the cruiser, now added to by the destroyers' 5-inch guns, continued falling. "Augusta, you almost in position?"

"Give us a few more minutes." Was the hurried response over the radio.

"I don't have a few more minutes." North shouted. "Sully and Kidd already had to pull out due to damage and-AAAAA!" Her response was cut off as the enemy battleship finally found its mark. A shell slammed into the port side secondary battery of her rigging, tearing apart the turrets and setting off the shells inside them. North crumpled over as her crews worked to put out the fires and repair any damage they could.

"North," she heard her mother call out over the radio. "Are you al-" At that moment a shell from the cruiser struck her bridge, taking out both her radar and radio. Clutching the gash on her head, North looked over at where she hoped her cruisers were. "Whatever you guys are planning," she whispered. "Do it fast."

 

[Genolution]

So, the battleship at the centre of the formation--shipgirl!Abyssal or mook?

 

[Starfield]

You probably meant Arclight flight, not Arklight.

 

[Spectre]

So, the battleship at the centre of the formation--shipgirl!Abyssal or mook?

Click to shrink...

Mook. At this point Abyssal shipgirls are an unknown.

 

[Spectre]

Augusta bit her lip as North's last transmission, followed by South's frantic replies, crackled through her radio. She caught a scowl forming on her sister's face as the two cruisers and their escorts chased after their quarry, both cursing themselves for being caught flat-footed.

They had been waiting to blindside the enemy formation after North drew their attention to her. The expectation had been for the Abyssals to stay in one group, or barring that intercept any ships that tried to make a break for the convoy like the German surface raiders of the last world wars. What they had never expected was for the surviving escorts to launch their own attack on North Carolina and the two destroyers guarding her.

Now they were trying to catch that group while the battleship still had a chance. They were redlining their boilers, clawing for every ounce of horsepower they could as they attempted to catch a group of ships that were faster than they could ever hope to be.

As luck would have it though, in focusing on North Carolina the cruiser and its escorts were forced to trade speed for accuracy. As the makeshift cruiser division got within 20,000 yards they could see their quarry had slowed to 20 knots as they pounded away at the helpless battleship. When they got within 17,000 they braced for shells that never came. By the time they passed 15,000 they realized the cruiser, either because it was so focused on North or because it thought its formation had left the Northamptons in the dust, had become fixated on North and North alone.

At 15,000 a smile spread across her face. 'Oh, how embarrassing this would be.' She thought. A radar equipped light cruiser and 4 destroyers ambushed by a pair of heavy cruisers in broad daylight. On her sister's face, she witnessed an almost feral grin form, the joy she felt even greater than Augusta's.

It took her a second to remember that Northampton was a veteran of Guadalcanal, where Japanese ambushes had been almost a rite of passage for US cruisers. Northampton had failed hers, felled by a pair of destroyer launched torpedoes at Tassafaronga. It seemed to her sister that Northampton was more than ready to return the favor, even if the enemy wasn't Japanese.

"Augusta, Northampton, what in god's name are you doing?" She heard South practically shout as the two closed to within 10,000 yards of their target. They didn't dare answer, afraid to give away their position.

9,000 yards. Almost ready.

"Augusta…" South repeated, her anger seething through the radio. Augusta tuned out the rest, too focused on her targets to notice the tirade aimed at her. She wasn't worried about North. The battleship was designed to fight ships with guns twice the circumference of her prey and shrug off their shells.

6,000 yards. Johnston and Hoel pulled ahead of Augusta as they formed a makeshift line of battle to the port side of the enemy cruiser.

"...When the hell do you plan on firing?"

"NOW!" Augusta roared as her and Northampton opened up at almost point blank on the light cruiser. Hit by over a dozen 8-inch armor piercing shells and a virtual blizzard of 5-inch anti-aircraft common shells from the destroyers, the abyssal never even realized what was happening before it had been reduced to a funeral pyre.

Augusta quickly shifted her attention to the destroyers, her guns lowering to their loading positions as her crews fed them their next salvo. The destroyers didn't wait for them to finish their task, setting upon their abyssal counterparts like a pack of wild dogs.

Johnston was the first to draw blood, two of her torpedoes connecting with the lead destroyer before it had a chance to bring its weapons around to fire. The dying vessel, its back broken and forward engine room gutted, stopped dead in its tracks as the blond destroyer savaged it further with her 5/38's.

The one following it hardly fared better. Its midsection vanished as three of Hoel's torpedoes crashed into it, its bow and stern raising out of the water as it sank. The brown-haired girl quickly shifted her fire to her sister's wounded target. The abyssal destroyer seemed to melt under the weight of their shells.

At that moment, the two trailing destroyers who had ducked behind the burning wreck of the cruiser after the opening shots reappeared. Fire poured from their forward guns as they tried to drive Johnston and Hoel from their mortally wounded friend. The two girls were forced to break off their attack as they evaded the enemy's fire, one of Hoel's pigtails growing noticeably shorter as a shell barely missed her head.

Heerman and Laffey attempted to follow the destroyers around the burning wreck, only to be driven off by fire from the abyssal destroyer's rear guns. Laffey was clutching her left shoulder where her number two turret used to be. With the threat to their rear dealt with, the abyssal craft bore down on Johnston and Hoel.

Only to walk into a world of hurt as the Northamptons, their field of fire no longer obstructed by friendly destroyers, fired their second salvo at a little over 4,000 yards. The lead destroyer shuddered to a halt as its bow was blown clear off by a pair of Special Purpose Common shells. The trailing craft similarly stalled as a shell gutted its engine room, another reducing its superstructure to little more than scrap metal. Seconds later, a pair of shells from either Heerman or Laffey ripped into its number 3 and 4 turrets, the rounds easily punching through their paper-thin armor.

Rendered blind, deaf, and dumb by continued fire from the cruisers and destroyers, the stricken craft was helpless as Laffey lined up for a torpedo run along its starboard side. The early variant Mk.14's she carried, considered to be unreliable at the best of times, performed as well as could be expected of them. Two either completely missed or ran deep, passing underneath the stricken ship's hull. Another hit but failed to detonate. The last two though, more than made up for it as they finished what Augusta's 8-inch shell started, ripping the starboard side of the destroyer apart and causing it to capsize in seconds.

As the last of the abyssal craft sank below the waves, Augusta activated her radio. "Augusta to Command. All abyssal escorts eliminated."
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"Understood Augusta." Admiral Enfield said as he watched the gun duel between North and the abyssal battleship as the two closed within 20,000 yards of each other.

"About time." USS South Carolina muttered next to him. The battleship had long removed her headset, none too pleased that the Northamptons had, for all intents and purpose, used her daughter as bait to ambush the cruiser and its destroyers.

Enfield could understand why looking at the North Carolina class battleship. Even from this distance the damage to her was clear as day. Her port side secondary battery lay in ruins, with only half the guns still operational after a lucky hit by the battleship. In addition, all along her hull, plates were buckled and cratered from non-penetrating hits. The superstructure behind her was missing its radar, main rangefinder, and radio mast, courtesy of shells from that cruiser.

North herself looked barely better than her equipment. Her hair had coppery black streaks and her face had visible gashes and scratches from 5 and 6-inch shells. Her uniform was torn in multiple places and a growing black stain could be seen on her left abdomen and hip.

Not that her opponent was any better. While her accuracy wasn't as good as it had been at the beginning of the battle, she was still giving as good as she was getting. The battleship's bridge had long ceased to be of any real use to it, a pair of shells from North leveling both it and the nearby secondary batteries almost to the deck. The guns of its number 3 turret bent at odd angles after it took a direct hit.

As he watched, the battleships traded another salvo. The abyssal shuddered as its Number 2 turret came apart after a direct hit. North meanwhile doubled over after a direct hit to her abdomen, her belt shrugging off the hit.

To his side, her heard South Carolina gasp as she watched her daughter take another possibly fatal hit, the metal desk she had been leaning on had long since been twisted into an almost unrecognizable hunk of metal by her stress induced hand-wringing.

Enfield knew he had to end this fight soon. Even if North was winning this fight, he needed to minimize her repair time and the chance that the abyssal might get lucky. "Command to Arclight." He said into the radio. "You are cleared to engage."

Off to his left, he heard an ensign muttering under a sort of prayer under his breath as everyone in the room waited for the bombers to begin their attack. "Come on," the young man said. "Big money, big money, no whammy, no whammy."

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Every part of North Carolina's body seemed to ache as she traded fire with the battleship in front of her. Already she could feel bruises forming from shots that had failed to penetrate her skin and blood flowed from the places where they had. She wiped blood from her face from where that surviving cruiser had gotten a lucky hit on her.

A cruiser that was long since dead, if the sudden drop in the shells landing around her had been any indication. Now it was like the days of old: Two ships of the line squaring off mono-a-mono.

It was a battle that, despite all the damage she had taken, was being won by her. The 13 inch steel belt and 7 inches of deck armor that made up her hull had passed every test thrown at it so far except for one, and she was sure she had returned the damage dealt to her tenfold.

Without her radar or main range finder, the battleship never saw the two bombers until they had passed over her adversary. Through the limited view of her back up rangefinders, she could vaguely make out the smoke cloud denoting at least one hit.

She couldn't tell if it had been a mortal wound though, and didn't plan on assuming that the abyssal was dead. Her crews continued to load and fire her main guns with the same methodical purpose as before as she waited for some sign, either from a friend or her own eyes, that her job was done.

North received that sign with her forth salvo after the bomber attack. Even through her battered optics she could still make out the distinctive flash of light and accompanying mushroom cloud that denoted several tons of explosives and gunpowder being set off one of her shells burrowing into a magazine.

It couldn't have been more than a minute before Sullivan's and Kidd sailed back into formation with her. The two destroyers already sported bandages over their various wounds, splotches of reddish-black blood still coving their faces and uniforms.

"Are you ok ma'am?" Sully asked, the slur in her speech just barely noticeable.

North nodded. "I've definitely felt better, but my DC crews are saying I should make it back to Pearl in one piece."

Kidd nodded as she rubbed her brow with her bandaged hand. "That's good to hear, because your Mom's been freaking out ever since you stopped answering her radio calls."

"That cruiser knocked out my radar, range finder and radio." North replied rather sheepishly. "I haven't been able to hear anything besides myself for the last half hour until you guys came back."

"All the same, I'm sure she'll be glad to hear you're alright." Kidd replied before radioing a report on North's condition back to Pearl.

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With the news that everyone would be returning to Pearl that night, the personnel in the command center let out a long withheld breath. They had won this round against the Abyssal. Sent the monsters back to where they spawned. While the men and women in that room knew the fight wasn't over by a long shot, they also knew that today meant they would hang on to Pearl, and by extension Hawaii, a little longer. And that was more than enough of a reason to celebrate.

At least it was to the human personnel in the room. To the lone battleship still watching her daughter as she and her escorts rejoined with the cruisers, it was something completely different. To her, the day had shown once again just how worthless she had become.

 

[Spectre]

As they sailed through the night, the Fleet girls of Pearl Harbor were in a jovial mood despite their various scrapes, bruises, and other injuries. Though no one dared turn a light on out of a healthy fear of what abyssal submarines were capable of, the air was full of chatter as the girls compared stories and kill counts.

With the radio mast of her rigging now somewhere at the bottom of the Pacific, North was only able to hear snippets of these conversations whenever someone near her started talking. This was merely one of the myriad problems her damage control teams had cataloged as the group sailed back home at a steady 20 knots.

Her sight wasn't much better, the radar and optics it depended on torn apart by the same volley that had knocked out her radio. While she could make out the shapes of Sullivan's and Kidd, her two close escorts, she could only track the sub hunting Taffies by their movements when they entered her limited field of view.

The good news was that they wouldn't be alone for long. Besides the eye in the sky that still watched them from above, two Mk.5 Special Operations Craft sailed towards the fleet to give them a lift back to Pearl. Though they were still an hour's sail from the meeting point, already she found herself fantasizing a nice trip to the repair docks.

"Hell of a job, right?" Augusta said as sail up next to North Carolina. The heavy cruiser slapped North on the back of her shoulder as she did so, causing the battleship to flinch as yet another wave of pain shot through her body as the Northampton class's hand found one of her bruises. "We kicked their asses real good." The cruiser continued seemingly unconcerned with the pain she had inadvertently caused her flagship. "A battleship, 2 cruisers, and 4 destroyers sunk with only a few scrapes and bruises on our side."

"Speak for yourself." North heard Kidd say. Out in front of her she could see Kidd had her good arm draped around Sullivan in order to keep Sully steady. Her other arm now sat in a makeshift sling, her mangled hand now buried under a pile of gauze bandages. Sully's head looked very similar, though the bandages wrapped around it were starting to soak through with her blood, turning them dark crimson is certain spots. Every so often North could see her swerve as if avoiding some sort of object only she could see. And to be honest, North wasn't much better off. Besides the gashes in her head and side, bruises seemed to be forming on just about every square inch of her body.

"Easy there Tin Can." Augusta replied. "No one's in any real danger of sinking and everything can be fixed with a couple of spa days and a visit from the doc."

Kidd simply shook her head while a very confused look developed on North's face. "We have a doctor for us on Pearl?" She asked, genuinely perplexed.

"Kind-a-sort-a." Augusta replied, waving her hand in that "sort of yes, sort of no" motion. "The US Navy has a couple of repair boats that came back. Not enough to put one at each fleet girl base but enough to put one on each coast. She's probably being flown in from San Diego right now."
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It seemed to Admiral Enfield that he had barely closed his eyes when a knock on the door to his office jolted him awake. He had opted to use the couch in his office, figuring that it would be easier with the coming mountain of work that would soon be upon him after the day's battle. "Enter." He said, standing up and brushing off the set of NWU's he had fallen asleep in as he did so.

He had expected to see one his command staff enter the door, most likely with news relating to the members of his fleet that were out to sea at the moment. Instead, what he got was someone that while unexpected, at least in terms of how quickly she had gotten to Pearl, was very much a welcome sight.

Despite barely being taller than the destroyers he commanded and looking just as young, the girl in front of him could have stood in for Rosie the Riveter. Even under the battleship grey coveralls the girl wore, he could make out a physique that would have beat most midshipmen in a weight lifting competition. Brown work boots and tool belt in place of the gun belt that most girls wore with their 'original' uniform completed the look.

Despite the hours long flight she had just taken to get from San Diego, the girl barely looked worse for wear. With all but a few strands of her light green hair tucked under a red bandana, Enfield could see her sea green eyes sparkled with a light one wouldn't expect to find given her line of work.

The girl saluted after entering the room. "USS Medusa reporting with orders from CINCPAC." The first purpose built repair ship said.

"Good to see you." Admiral Enfield replied returning the salute. "We didn't expect you for a couple more hours."

Medusa just shrugged. "CINCPAC ordered me here as soon as I could gather supplies and get a plane ride."

"Wish it was under better circumstances though."

Medusa just smirked at the comment. "Sir, it's never a good thing if I'm coming to a base outside of 'Dago. You guys don't exactly invite me here for birthdays. So," she continued crossing her arms. "What do you got for me today?"

"Here are the initial damage reports from Northampton and Augusta." Enfield replied, handing Medusa the rough outline the two cruisers had managed to get from the girl's various damage control crews.

"How bad off are those two?" Medusa asked as she took the document, not so fondly remembering the two main reasons she normally ended up at Pearl.

"They actually came out without a scratch. It's North Carolina and the three destroyers that I'm worried about."

"Thank god for small miracles." Medusa muttered as she began looking over the report. "Let's see…USS North Carolina. One port side dual 5-inch battery knocked out, two more with heavy damage and a fourth moderately damaged. Two hits to the bridge destroyed just about everything important in it. There's fragmentation damage to her superstructure from secondary explosions in the 5-inch batteries. And to top it all off, numerous armor plates on her hull that will need to be replaced. Jesus Chris, you have her all of two weeks and you already broke the poor girl. You need to be more gentle with the girls while they're still getting use to dry land sir." She said teasingly.

"Always quick with a joke, aren't you."

"Only way to stay sane when your job is to literally put your friends back together piece by piece. You either learn to laugh during the day or accept that you're going to cry yourself to sleep at night."

Enfield simply nodded. "So, what about the rest of my girls?"

"They all look worse than they are. While Sully has damage to her bridge, she still seems to have most of her functions still and that sort of damage is easily fixed by the fairies. Well know more once I get a good up close look at her, but I'd say we're only looking at a 4 to 5-day repair job. Laffey only suffered damage to her turret and surrounding deck space, and while Kidd had her bow shot up, most of the hits were to non-vital spaces except for that turret. I'd say a week for the former and 10 to 14 days for the later. North's going to be longer though, three weeks to a month going by how widespread the damage is and how many systems were knocked out of order."

"Damn," Enfield said. "I was hoping for better news than that. I was counting on North to anchor our defensive line here. That and I was hoping for some good news to calm down her mother."

"Almost forgot to tell you." Medusa said with a smile. "I might need to borrow her to help me with North's repairs. I know North's about 40 years older than her, but I wouldn't mind a few extra hands to help me, and I don't exactly trust the rest of your destroyers and cruisers being near acetylene."

Enfield groaned. "You do realize she already wants to kill me for this right."

This just elicited a snicker from Medusa. "I doubt she really wants to kill you."

"There's a desk in the command center that would be pretty vocal in disagreeing with you if it could talk." Enfield muttered. "I'd still give her a few minutes to catch some rest it's been a long day for her."

"I'm still going to need some help off loading supplies from the deuce and a half I borrowed from the Air Force."

Enfield began to ask how a girl who looked barely old enough to drive had managed to commandeer the vehicle but decided against it, figuring some things were better left unknown. "I'll work on getting a crew together to help you with that. North and the others should be meeting up with the SOC's soon."

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North could tell they were close to the rendezvous when Augusta signaled for the group to stop. "Hoel's got a pair of faint contacts about 5 miles in front of us." The cruiser explained before radioing the destroyer back. "Go ahead and signal them."

Everything was quiet for a minute as the destroyer attempted to radio the two unknown contacts. While they were most likely the SOCs that were being used to get them home, there was always the chance that the two vessels might be Abyssals looking for an easy kill.

"Ok, it's them." Augusta said, causing North to release the breath she hadn't even realized she was holding. "Here's the plan. North, Kidd, Sully, and Laffey are going on the first boat. After you're clear, the rest of us will pile into the other one. Remember to take your rigging off before you step foot on the boat or you're going to capsize it."

"Wait; if we take this off won't we need to-" North began before Northampton cut her off.

"The things just disappear and reappear back at base. We still don't know how that happens, but it makes tricks like this a lot easier to pull off."

Any further attempts to explain were cut off by the approach of the Special Operations Craft. North heard the sleet grey boats long before they seemed to materialize out of nowhere. The vessels, which bore a very close resemblance to the PT boats of World War 2, quickly moved to within feet of the girls.

One by one, each of the wounded ships slipped out of the straps that connected them to their damaged rigging before being helped onto the boat by a pair of night vision goggled crew-members. As North Carolina felt her rigging slip off her back, the toll of the battle finally hit her. She had barely made it aboard the boat when her legs finally failed her, turning to jelly as she collapsed into the to sailors helping her onto the deck. "Sorry" she said weakly. "I've had a hell of a day."

"Don't worry about it ma'am." One of them said as the duo helped her into a seating position against the crafts hull. "Just sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride."

This was exactly what North did. After a quick check on her wounds by one of the sailors manning the vessel, North leaned her head back, falling asleep for the first time in almost a full day as the SOC sped on its way back to Pearl.
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Author note: Yes I know Vestal and other repair ships predate Medusa, but they were all converted coalers. Medusa was the first one built from the keel up as a repair boat.

 

[Spectre]

Norfolk, Virginia

January 1920

"Mom's here! Hey mom, it's so good to see you."

USS South Carolina smiled as she saw the dots and dashes of New York's rather excited greeting. The Super Dreadnought's signal lamps flashing at a speed most would find unreadable.

"For god's sake York." Another set of signal lamps cut in. "Not every battleship that docked in Norfolk is mom." It belonged to Delaware, the oldest of her daughters sent to fight in the war in Europe. "I'm sorry about that. Our mothers supposed to be here somewhere and my cousin's a little excited to see her."

"I would certainly hope so after not hearing a single peep out of any of you in almost two years." South Carolina smiled as her own lamps sent out her message. She could practically hear the squeal that was no doubt coming from New York's mouth and she could see other signal lamps lighting up as the battleships of Battle Division 9 and their escorts returned after two years in Europe.

This had been a reunion she had waited months for. Because of her age, South Carolina had been relegated to stateside duty while Delaware, Wyoming, Florida, and New York had made their way to Europe to join the British Home Fleet as they blockaded Germany.

As it turned out the worry about her age had been more than justified when she had first lost her starboard propeller shaft, followed soon after by the throttle on her port side shaft, while escorting a convoy back in April of 1918.

South still worried about her daughter's safety as they stared down the German High Seas Fleet. She had heard about the losses the much better trained and better equipped British had taken against them at places like Dogger's bank and Jutland, their armor seemingly useless to the long range fire the Germans dropped on them.

It was a worry magnified when her youngest daughters, Nevada and Oklahoma, sailed with Utah to join their older cousins in Britain. Nevada in particular was excited at the prospect of seeing action after being relegated due to a lack of fuel oil in Britain, or "Bullshit supply excuses" as the first of the Nevada called it. While the first two ships of what was already being called the "standard" class were supposed to be two of the most advanced ships afloat, South still worried that their inexperience would be their undoing.

Fortunately, the expected battle had never occurred. Instead the Americans would meet the enemy not as combatant but as victors, helping their British allies escort the High Seas Fleet to its postwar internment at Scapa Flow.

Now South Carolina sat in dry-dock for a refit after sailing to Europe as an improvised transport, tasked with helping move the army of men sent to end the Great War back home. She was surprised to see New York and the others sailing into port, having expected them to still be in Europe after escorting President Wilson to France.

"I trust you ladies behaved yourself while you were guests of our esteemed allies?" South Carolina signaled after the lightshow of hellos had subsided.

"For the most part." Delaware replied. "Had a couple of issues with U-boats. York had a nasty run-in with one off northern Scotland."

South gasped, thinking that her daughter had been the victim of a German torpedo. "How… how bad was it?"

"Delaware's exaggerating mom, as usual." York cut in as if reading her mom's thoughts. "One tried to occupy the same space as me over in Pentland Firth. It kind of ran into me and then ended up getting chewed up by my propeller." South felt a wave of relief wash over her as she heard her daughter explain what happened to her during the war. "… At least we think it was a U-boat."

"What do you mean?" a rather confused South Carolina asked.

"Well…" USS Florida chimed in. "We never found any wreckage, but if it wasn't a submarine, then York managed to find to find a shipwreck everyone else missed."

"As long as you're alright." South said.

"For the most part. The submarine took my starboard propeller with it when I ran it over. Plus, I had this cool dent in me that they found in dry-dock. It looks just like the bow of a U-boat. You should have seen it."

South could practically hear the groan that precluded Delaware's reply. "For god's sake York. I don't think mom needs to hear about your hull damage, even if it was the most interesting thing that happened in Europe."

"What about that deal just before the armistice where you all-" Florida began before Delaware cut her off.

"We are not going to talk about November 1918. Especially you, miss clean-bill-of-health."

"But..."

"No!" New York, Wyoming, and Delaware all shouted.

South Carolina couldn't help but giggle as her daughters continued to banter back and forth over their exploits during the Great War, glad that they had come home safe and sound.
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South Carolina's eyes shot open as she felt something touch her shoulder, her body almost catapulting itself of the couch she had been using as a makeshift bed. After rubbing the last remnants of sleep from her eyes she looked around the break room before spotting the girl who had awakened her.

She knew that the girl was a V-boat, if only because they were the only Fleet Girls left on the base besides her. The girl was roughly the same size as the destroyers with hazel eyes. Her hair, dyed navy blue like most other subs as a supposed form of camouflage, hung in a single braid over her right shoulder. She was clad in the black full-body wetsuit most submarines chose to wear in favor of the 40's era one piece swimsuits they had come back with. A .357 magnum hung from a shoulder holster, the reloads for it hanging on the webbing of her M-1928 combat pack along with a half dozen grenades.

"Is everything all right…Nautilus, is it?" South Carolina asked.

The girl shook her head before pointing to the patch on her right shoulder, a yellow rams-headed snake wrapped around a mine.

"Oh, sorry dear. What does Admiral Enfield need me for?"

"Medusa requested you…" The girl began, her voice barely even a whisper.

"You'll need to speak up Argonaut. These old ears aren't what they use to be. To many years sitting next to big guns will do that to you." South Carolina interrupted jokingly.

Argonaut took a deep breath before beginning again, her voice still barely above what humans would consider an indoor voice. South Carolina knew better to complain though. None of the subs particularly liked to talk all that much, preferring the pseudo sign language they used to talk to each other over audible communication. "Medusa said she needed you at the docks. She said something about needing an extra hand."

South Carolina sighed. "She probably didn't tell you when North and the others were coming back did she?" Argonaut simply shook her head no. "Very well then, shall we head over to the docks?"

Rather than the cold slabs of steel one would expect for a repair facility, the room in question was a series of bathtubs. While no one, not even the girls themselves, seemed to understand exactly how it worked, it was a well-known fact that the mineral water used in these facilities seemed to help heal their wounds.

As expected, the room was bustling with activity. Men moved around it, helping USS Medusa set up the equipment she had brought with her. A welder's mask now sat on top of her head in place of the bandanna, the faceplate raised at the moment. "Ah, South Carolina. It's good to see you," she said extending her hand. "It's nice to see they let you out of heaven from time to time."

"Medusa," South replied shaking her hand. "It is likewise good to see that the last few months haven't taken your sense of humor from you. I assume that the boats carrying North and the others are close if you sent Argo…" South's voice trailed off as she realized the submarine had disappeared on her. "I could have sworn she was right behind me."

"Argonaut never even entered the room." Medusa said after a quick laughing fit over the battleships confusion. "She poked her head in, took one look at all the people in here, and booked it like she had just realized she was in the destroyer barracks."

South just shook her head. "Poor dear, I don't think I've ever met someone that shy, even compared to her sisters and cousins."

"She's a good kid though, and she has a pretty good reason for avoiding attention after what happened in her last life."

South Carolina just shrugged at Medusa's words. Every girl in the fleet seemed to have some sort of issue from their last life, the only difference being how well they hid it. Some buried themselves in responsibility like Sully, while others acted like the purest embodiment of chaos. And lord knew she had more than a few issues herself. "So, what are we looking at for wounded? I got the initial damage reports before Chris sent me to get a few hours shut eye before they got back, but I want to hear what you think."

"Like I told admiral Enfield. Your daughter's the worst off out of any of them, as one would expect from someone who was in her spot. Nothing's truly life threatening, but the damage she has is both widespread and pretty severe."

"So how far out are they?"

"Less than five minutes." Medusa replies. "Now put this on. I'm going to need your help in here with all the wounded coming in."

"You know I'm not a repair ship like you, right?" South asked. "North's systems are almost 40 years newer then mine."

"You're also the only other ship who has damage control crews familiar with battleships." Medusa replied, an uncharacteristic tension in her voice. "I'm going to need some extra hands on this one, and we both know that for all the good the human docs are with actual humans, they're about as useful in put our bodies back together as I am in a gunfight. I already have the mechanics fixing their rigging, but it's up to the destroyers, you, and myself to fix the injured ourselves."

At that moment, Argonaut popped her head back into the room. "They're here ma'am." The navy blue haired girl said before disappearing back into the hall. The effect of the news was almost immediate. One by one the various personnel in the room began leaving it, partially to avoid being in the way as well out of respect for the girl's modesty.

Minutes later the parade of wounded Fleet Girls began. First in was Laffey, her wounded shoulder in a sling swathe. Though she was showing signs of shock, her face still held the grin she was known for, the corners only slightly bending down as Johnston and Medusa lowered her into the bath.

Next came Kidd, who walked in unassisted, nursing her bandaged left hand. She made her way to a more secluded part of the bath to begin unwrapping the bandages surrounding her splinted fingers and let the water soak them.

Next came Sully, supported by both Hoel and Hermann. By this point the destroyer could barely keep herself upright due to her injuries, stumbling and bouncing between her helpers like a ping pong ball as they guided her to a bath. Looking at Sully, South wondered how bad her daughter's injuries were if she still rated priority treatment over the destroyer.

South soon got her answer as Augusta and Northampton crews carried North into the room on a backboard. North's NWU top had been removed at some point during the journey back, revealing the navy-blue tank top she was wearing underneath. The battleship's skin was little more than a mass of bruises, with bandages covering her head and abdomen. Medusa quickly directed them to an offshoot that served as an operating room of sorts for more damaged Fleet Girls.

South Carolina briefly hesitated as she followed them into the room, dreading every step as she neared the doorway. She forced herself forward though, for it was her responsibility to do so. She had helped take her daughter apart, so it was only fair that she help put her back together.

 

[Spectre]

'Well this was a god-awful mess.' Medusa thought to herself as she and South Carolina began the repair work on North Carolina. Even as she cut away the lower portion of the tank top the 37,000-ton battleship was wearing, she could see that North's inexperienced damage control crews had vastly understated the extent of the damage north had suffered.

"Hey." she said, trying to get the attention of North's Damage control fairies. "Which one of you geniuses relayed the damage report?" The offending fairy muttered a "Hey", not daring to look at the rather cross repair ship. "Well I want to know what you consider minor damage, because an exploding magazine doesn't count as minor in my book."

"MAGAZINE EXPLOSION?!" she heard South Carolina shout from the doorway. "How is she still alive?"

"It was just one of her secondary magazine's ma'am." Medusa said, her voice much calmer than it should have been given what she was doing. "Nothing a little spit, elbow grease, and acetylene can't fix." Even from a quick glance though, Medusa could tell South didn't share her optimism. "Listen South, if you don't want to do this, you don't have to."

"No." The battleship said, still sounding rather depressed at the sight of her daughter lying unconscious on the operating table. "It's a mother's job to help her children, and if I can't do that on the battlefield I will surely do so off of it."

"Then get over here. I need someone to help me hold open this wound while our fairies start shoring up her damaged compartments."

South gingerly did as Medusa commanded, her completion growing noticeably paler as she looked over her daughter's broken body. "Are all these bruises…" she began, struggling to find the words to complete her sentence.

"Non-penetrating hits." Medusa assures her. "Those we can let the baths take care of. It's the inside bits I need to worry about."

"Like the water coming out of the wound." South replied rather alarmingly. Sure enough, the dark crimson fluid leaving the would looked rather less pronounced in color, clearly diluted by something.

"It's just run off from the other magazines that North's gun crew flooded." Medusa responded after thinking about what it could have caused the water. "The damage is well above her waterline. It's a good thing they did that too. Had those other magazines cooked off, half her port side would have been blown sky high." Medusa watched as South shuddered, either at the mental image that brought up or because she was looking at the damage first hand through the eyes of her fairies. She still made herself a mental note to watch her word choice around South in the future.

"I still don't understand how this happened though" South remarked. "At that range, North's belt and deck armor should have at least decapped the shell if not outright stopped it."

"Had the shell actually hit her belt or her deck, I might agree with you." Medusa retorted her eyes now closed as she watched the repair work through her own fairies' eyes. "This was a golden BB shot though. The shell hit her middle 5-inch gun turret square on. Those turrets had, what, 2 inches of armor plating in her old hull? Against a 16-inch shell designed to penetrate a foot of solid steel, that turret facing might as well have been tissue paper. With angle of fall and all that," Medusa shrugged. "It was a one in a million shot to make it into that magazine. We should be able to do all the necessary repair here so long as there isn't any… oh shit."

Looking through the eyes of the fairy in charge of the engine room repair, Medusa saw what she had feared the most. Several of the port side boilers had been damaged by shrapnel from the blasts, with gaping holes torn in them by the metal fragments that had made it into that compartment. The other damaged areas would easily heal by themselves or require maybe one or two more visits in the following weeks, but replacing boilers was a tricky and time consuming affair that required her to bring North back with her to San Diego.

"What is it?" South Carolina's rather stressed and worried voice asked as she watched the normally calm repair ship briefly lose her cool.

"Nothing." Medusa replied, regaining her composure. "OK something, but not anything you're going to want to hear about right now."

Opening her eyes again, Medusa shifted her focus from North's abdomen to her head, preferring to leave her fairies to their own devices when it came to their repair work. As she unwrapped the bandage from around North's head, Medusa heard a gasp come from South.

She could understand why too. Several cuts and bruises crisscrossed North's face and scalp. In addition, her left eye looked as if she had gone blind in it, no doubt due to the loss of both its radar, and optical rangefinders. Her right eye showed similar cloudiness, though less so than the left one.

"Relax South." Medusa calmly said as she checked the cuts to make sure shrapnel hadn't penetrated her skull/conning tower. "Head wounds always look worse than they are. Besides, the shells that hit her head were from that light cruiser's 6-inch guns. They couldn't even penetrate if they were put right against her noggin."

"Are you sure?"

"South," Medusa replied. "If there's one thing you battleships all have in common, it's that your skulls are so thick that I wouldn't be surprised to find out all of you were secretly German or Polish."

To Medusa's surprise, her joke failed to break the frown South Carolina had on her face. In fact, it grew upon laying her gaze upon North's eyes. "Is that normal for her eyes to look like that too?"

"It is when all the instruments that they rely on are shot out." Medusa said in return. "That shouldn't take more than a few weeks to heal. Though I'm sure you could give her a pair of your reading glasses if you're so worried about her not being able to see."

For the first time since North had arrived at the docks, Medusa saw the old dreadnought smile. "You know it's impolite to make fun of a ladies age?"

"Well, we all technically qualify for social security." Medusa teased. "Don't worry though, you don't look a day over 50."

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It continued like this for several hours as the repair crews from the two ships worked to fix North's battle damage. Anytime Medusa saw a gloomy look on South's face, she'd crack a joke to get her smiling again.

It was the same routine she'd used to keep you going her entire life. While her sense of humor might have made her of putting for some of the other girls, it truly was what kept her from going insane.

She couldn't tell if it was having the same effect on South Carolina though. While she smiled at every joke the old repair ship said, sometimes even giggling at them, her face always returned to a frown as their work continued.

"How long is she going to be out?" South Carolina asked her as they lowered North Carolina into one of the baths after closing her wounds. Even though she was heavily sedated, Medusa could almost swear she could see the tension leave North's body as it contacted the healing waters.

"The sedatives should wear off in a couple of hours. It's kind of hard to predict how long they affect these girls. A lot of this is trial and error."

"That wasn't what I meant." Medusa looked up at South Carolina. The dreadnought had seemed to age ten years since they had started the operation. Her eyes seemed duller than before, and the wrinkles on her face were more pronounced.

Medusa hadn't exactly been eagerly awaiting that question. She'd already tallied up the damage. The bruises on her body would be healed within a week, as would the cuts on her head. Her eyes would be back to normal in that time as well. North's internal injuries were a different matter though. Between the damaged magazines and boilers, North wouldn't be fully healed until a month's time had passed, and at least half of it would need to be spent in San Diego while Medusa replaced the damaged equipment.

She highly doubted that either Admiral Enfield or South Carolina would enjoy hearing that piece of news. South Carolina especially, given how stressed out she was about North's condition.

"I'll tell you later, after I have a chance to compile all the reports from my fairies and have fixed up the injured destroyers." She said, her voice never betraying the lie that it told. "In the meantime, I want you to go grab a shower and some chow."

"If it's quite alright with you," South Carolina shakily replied. "I would rather stay here and help."

"There wouldn't be much to do fixing those three up." Medusa replied. "There damage was more to their rigging then themselves. Besides you look like you could use a cup of coffee or ten and a nice shower. Now get out of here before I make it doctor's orders." She finished with a smile.

As the aging dreadnought made her way out of the docks, Medusa wondered if she had made the right call having the battleship help her with North.

 

[Spectre]

working on the next chapter, but given the mother of all road blocks I'm hitting I thought I might shed some light on a few things to clear my head.


North Carolina
I imagine her being around 6'1"-6'2" (as compared to say West Virginia at 5'5") and having a similar build to a ballerina or cheer leader. It's not to say she's a weakling, it's that compared to the standards it's pretty clear she wasn't meant for a close quarters slugfest.

Closest real world person I can think of would be a taller version of Summer Glau with blond hair.

The blond hair and blue eyes are more a personal thing.

Costume: I imagine North looking like a colonial era frontiersman. Her and her sister were trailblazers as far as US Fast battleship development is concerned. The lesson from their development lead to the relatively smooth sailing the Sodaks and Iowas had.
Personality: While be no means a shirking violet, North's much more subdued compared to her Iowa cousins. Is very defensive when it comes to destroyers and cruisers under her command.

 

[MagisterAurelius]

It's a better characterization that what I imagine Tanaka and the Kantai Collection devs would come up with. Their version will probably have North in Daisy Duke short shorts with a wet Hooters tee shirt, holding a plate of BBQ ribs and a pitcher of Whiskey Sours.

 

[Spectre]

It's a better characterization that what I imagine Tanaka and the Kantai Collection devs would come up with. Their version will probably have North in Daisy Duke short shorts with a wet Hooters tee shirt, holding a plate of BBQ ribs and a pitcher of Whiskey Sours.

Click to shrink...

if you know me, you know I'm not real partial too stereotypes being from WNY and having to deal with all the NY misconceptions that everyone thinks about when it comes to my state.

 

[MagisterAurelius]

My sister went to grad school in Buffalo. Most of NY is perfectly nice and lovely. It's just that appendix of a city on the coast that lords it over you folks. It's pretty much the same situation here in WA. It's just here everyone thinks of Seattle (ie Mordor on Elliott Bay) as being the whole state when once you get about 15 minutes away from the I-5 corridor and past Olympia to the south, the rest of the state is pretty, well, redneck-like.