Changing Destiny (Kancolle)

[Skywalker_T-65]

Omake: Friend against Friend​

"Why would we possibly have a reason to attack the French? I'm not a fan of how they surrendered, but they're still allies."

HMS Hood asked that question, even though she instinctively knew there would be no answer. There never had been. She was a silent observer, watching her crew busy themselves at their tasks. Her tall hat, not unlike that worn by Admiral Nelson himself, hid her eyes as the battlecruiser looked out from her crew and towards her fleet. Force H, out of Gibraltar. Not her usual assignment by any means, and that was leaving aside the reason they were here in the first place. A reason that had her increasingly uncomfortable, and had managed to make the girl ask her rhetorical question. A question that she knew wouldn't be answered, as her Captain had never once heard her before.

Even so, Hood had felt the need to voice her concerns.

It was a fact that she, like many in Britain, were angry at how easily the French had folded to the Germans. They had failed in a way that their father's hadn't, and surrendered to the Nazis. As a battlecruiser, Hood didn't understand land conflict nor politics. Even so, there was frustration at the fact that with the French surrender, her nation stood alone against the Germans. However, it was frustration, not uncontrollable rage. Surrender or no, the French were still friends. They would never willingly hand over their ships to the Nazis. Right?

And yet, here we are. Bloody hell...

Despite her own opinions on the matter, Hood's hull floated with Force H, outside the French African port of Mers-el-Kébir. It was not a position she enjoyed being in. Hood was designed, and believed in, fighting on the high seas. Bottling up a fleet like this, where they couldn't fight back properly? That was far from honorable, and rankled her in its own right. The fact that these ships were allies, and in some cases even friends, made her all the more upset. The idea of opening fire on friends and comrades, even if their government had given up the fight, had her sick to her stomach in a way nothing else ever had.

"Resume formation," her Captain was ordering, as her hull swayed beneath her. Hood felt her body change direction, turning to present her heavy broadside at the French harbor.

Negotiations must have broken down, then.

"I don't like this..." the battlecruiser tugged her hat down further, hiding the pain in her brilliantly blue eyes, "I don't like this at all. What is our government bloody thinking? This isn't what we're supposed to be doing, not to friends."

If Hood had any way to contact her fellow members of Force H, she would. But at the moment, she couldn't. And wouldn't...part of the battlecruiser was worried of what she would hear. Not every ship was so understanding of the French surrender. Or, rather, so willing to remember that the French were friends and allies who had bled beside brave British soldiers.

"But here we are, ready to shoot them when they're defenseless against it. Lord, I hate this."

But the girl had no control of her own body. It was hers, the metal and wood beneath her. But Hood had no more control over it than her crew had over her. She was reduced to watching, feeling her turrets loaded with their heavy 15in shells. She didn't need to look, to know that Valiant and Resolution were doing much the same. Or to know that Ark Royal was sending her big Skuas and archaic-looking Swordfish into the air. Combat formation, for the first real time in her long service history. Hood had sailed in combat formation before. Her hull had been hit, all too recently, by Jerry dive bombers.

But this would be the first time she had done so, with the full intention of firing her guns in anger.

Never thought my first salvo in anger would be at friends. Damn it all. Damn it all to hell.

Hood watched helplessly, as her crew began following barked out orders. Orders that had her massive guns firing, salvos directed at the helpless French ships. Her eyes followed those shells, able to see as far as the highest watchman aboard her could see. The battlecruiser could see her shells falling among her friends and comrades, as shells from her fleet did the same. She couldn't hear the screams of the French crews, or see them running to try and prepare for an attack they probably had not really, truly, believed would come.

And yet, her fleet continued to fire. Her own guns blasted another broadside, shells hitting a target instead of merely bracketing the French vessels. The old battleship Bretagne, older than even herself or her comrades. Hood watched, as the French girl's stern was blown apart by her own magazines, penetrated by fire it had never been designed to stop.

"I'm sorry..." Hood breathed out, averting her eyes from the slaughter, "So sorry."

She would have no qualms in an honorable duel with the Germans. Maybe that new battleship they were building...Bismarck, wasn't it? But shooting helpless targets that should, by all rights, be on her side? This was something she couldn't watch. Bretagne had died in fire from her friends, and Hood knew that she would only be the first causality of this day. Lord only knew how many French sailors had died in that fire.

This was so very wrong, on every level.

And so, she couldn't bring herself to keep watching. It was far too painful, even for a warship designed to sink other vessels. Hood would not watch this great betrayal, not if she could help it. Her crew didn't need her to operate her weapons, and so, the battlecruiser would let them follow orders. It did little to change the fact that if she could control her own actions, she wouldn't be doing so. If Hood had control of her weapons, she would have wrenched them back to her bow and stern, and refused to fire. She would never fire on unsuspecting friends.
Sadly, this was war on a scale not seen since the horrors of the Great War. And honor...honor had fallen by the wayside, in the interests of keeping the Germans from stealing the French ships. Her homeland had neglected her fleet, neglected it to the point the Germans could potentially challenge their control of the seas. And now the French were going to pay the price for that. Pay it in blood and fire, destroyed by their allies.

"Never again...never again will I let this happen," Hood clenched a fist in her redcoat, looking down at her hull, "I can't allow this...this stain on my honor to happen again. The French will never forgive us for this, and it is more than we deserve for doing this to our comrades. This will not continue, if I can do anything about it."

But as her hull continued to rock with broadsides, Hood didn't know what she could do, to stop this from happening again. She clearly couldn't talk to her crew. If she could, she would have been screaming at them to get her in a refit already. The battlecruiser walked with a limp these days, representing the truly deplorable state of her engines. She would never make full speed, not without a very thorough rebuild. But that was her own problem, her own issues. And while talking with her crew might help there...

Well, not even for the darling Pride of the Navy, would they disobey orders. And with that knowledge in mind...all Hood could do, was look away from Mers-el-Kébir. Try to ignore the feeling of her guns firing, knowing what they were shooting at.

I...I'm sorry. This should never have happened.

---

Sometime earlier

---

"They're just sitting out there..."

"Indeed."

"The English wouldn't attack us, right?"

Dunkerque was silent, as she looked out at the Royal Navy ships holding formation outside the harbor. Her sister's voice echoed in her ears, the worry quite clear in her tone. They had spoken those words, before moving apart to prepare for potential battle. Now, she couldn't contact her sister vocally, even if she wanted. All she could do, was look out, and hope the British didn't go through with their threats. And surely, surely, they wouldn't. Dunkerque was well aware, even as a warship, that her people had no choice but to sue for peace with the Germans.

Yes, it was an abandonment of the fight. Yes, it left the English to fight the war alone. But enough French lives had been spent on a hopeless fight.

Yet, here they were. The French battleship swiped her dark hair from her eyes, storm grey pools looking out at the exit of her new home port. Hood was easily the most recognizable of the British ships, even at this distance. That was not a comforting sight however, not like it was at one point in time. Now, they weren't allies. Dunkerque would like to believe they were still friends and comrades in blood, but they weren't allies. And Hood...Hood's guns were substantially better than her own, pride in her construction aside. Age aside. If it came to blows, that battlecruiser was more than capable of sinking her.

Damn Englishman, we would never work with the Germans. I would sooner sink myself, and I'm sure my crew would as well!

Still, there wasn't a chance the British would actually fire on them. That would be a violation of the newfound French neutrality. Not to mention, it would be firing on a former ally. Any good blood gained by the English fighting in France would be lost if they went that far. Not even that warhound Churchill would go that far. There would be a lot of saber rattling until it was decided that the French fleet go to America, or something along those lines. There wasn't a need to worry about anything else. After all, not even the English were that stupid.

"Incoming fire!"

The battleship's head snapped up, grey eyes widening in disbelief. Dull thunder roared from the Med, as flashes of fire obscured Hood and her escorts.

"Those...those..." Dunkerque was speechless, as she saw the tell-tale signs of gunfire, "Those English bas..."

Before she could even finish that sentence, the battleship was flung around on her hull. Massive splashes of water...15in shells...flew up around her. Water crashed down on her deck, soaking her crew as they scrambled to battlestations. Her own turrets began to turn to return fire, even as more shells fell around her. Dunkerque narrowed her eyes at the distant form of Hood, almost hidden under smoke from her gunfire.

They actually did it. They're actually firing on us!

Anger flashed through the French girl, as her own guns finally returned fire. It was far from effective fire however. Her crew was inexperienced, unprepared for actual combat, and the rest of the fleet was little better. They returned fire, but the salvos were long. Not one shell came near to hitting the British battlecruiser and her accompanying battleships. The Royal Navy's fire, on the other hand, was far more accurate. Dunkerque felt the pressure from near misses on her hull. Wincing, the French woman did her best to keep her eyes on Hood, even if she had no control of her ship.

At least, until a resounding roar knocked her from her feet.

What? What was...no. No no no.

Dragging herself up, Dunkerque leaned against her hull, wide eyes staring in stunned disbelief. Bretagne, the closest thing to an elder stateswoman the fleet in Africa had, was gone. Her stern was ablaze, blown clean open by a shell from one of the big English guns. Dunkerque could make out the form of her counterpart as well...the older battleship lay on her hull's deck, smoke surrounding her. There was nothing but red past her hips, as her crew ran around, trying to save their doomed ship. Dunkerque felt the harsh sting of tears in her eyes, and it had nothing to do with the choking smoke from the burning Bretagne. Angrily wiping those tears from her eyes, the French girl glared out at the British.

"Hood...you and the others were our comrades. Comrades don't attack each other!"

The French girl held her arm out, only wishing that she could actually guide her turrets and shells. All her anger meant nothing however, as the shells from her powerful- but not powerful enough -guns continued to do no more than bracket the English ships. Not one shell from her, or her sister, even came close to hitting. Even as Mogador, a poor destroyer, took a shell in the same spot that Bretagne had. Her thin armor did nothing to impede the shell...perhaps saving her from a magazine detonation, but leaving her unable to do more than beach herself to avoid sinking.

And Dunkerque could hardly spare any attention to that.

"Gah!"

For two 15in shells from the British, perhaps even from Hood, punched through her armor. Armor never designed to resist shells of that caliber, crumpled as the shells punched through. One shattered the roof of her first turret, putting the guns there out of action. The second shot through her belt, and from there, through her boilers. Dunkerque fell to her deck, clutching her bleeding left arm, as her legs gave out under her. Her hull slid to a halt, her crew doing everything they could to beach her...prevent her from sinking, at the least.

Through pain filled eyes, Dunkerque watched as her sister and a quartet of destroyers made full speed out of the harbor, moving to escape the British, who had re-positioned to avoid shorefire. The elder battleship could only watch, knowing she couldn't follow. She may never be able to follow, if the damage was too great. And as Bretagne rolled over, another even larger detonation shaking the harbor, Dunkerque could do nothing but slide down, unable to even muster the energy to lay on her knees.

Damn you England...damn you...

Dunkerque felt her eyes slide shut, the panicked shouts of her crew trying to save her echoing in her ears. Along with the dull sound of gunfire and exploding munitions. The greatest betrayal of the War, where friend became enemy. Where comrade killed comrade. All for a paranoid reason, that would never have come to pass.

 

[Skywalker_T-65]

Well, here is the omake. Hopefully it turned out well.

---

​

Omake: Birth of a Legend​

The most powerful battleship in our navy! Nay, in Europe! Bismarck!

You have a powerful destiny ahead of you.

Fighting the English, nothing they have can match the power of Bismarck.

She will become the most powerful battleship in the world.

A blonde haired woman sighed, as she stood on the newly complete deck of her hull. Her long hair was secured underneath a naval cap, her uniform tunic straining against her impressive chest. No skirt covered her legs, the tunic the only clothing beyond her underclothes that the woman wore. Such scandalous clothing would have attracted the attention of more than a few men. Were the men able to see her, in the first place. But no, they could only see the hull that was her body. Her spirit was invisible to all, as she walked along that hull.

Bismarck, newest battleship in Germany. Pride of the Kriegsmarine, in a way that her elder cousin Scharnhorst never was.

The blonde battleship looked out at the crowded harbor of Hamburg, Bismarck sighed again. So much was expected of her, in a way none of her contemporaries or older cousins had. She was the first true battleship built since the end of the Great War, and while she knew little about what had occured between those dates, her work crew had given her quite a bit of knowledge of the death of Imperial Germany. And the way the navy had stagnated, until her launch and the construction of her younger sister Tirpitz.

A weight she was unsure if she could bear.

"I am the pride of Germany, but I am untested. And the Royal Navy..."

That was something else that Bismarck knew quite well. The Royal Navy and their flagship HMS Hood. Her expected foe, and one that she was not confident she could best in a fight. But the battleship was not one to back down from a fight, inexperienced or not.

Too much was riding on her, even though she cared little for the politics involved. Even as she walked over the massive swastika, painted on her bow.

"Captain is nearly here!"

Bismarck turned, blue eyes watching one of her crew, as the man ran around spreading the news. A small smile crossed her face at that, as she moved to follow the young man. Bismarck had only now finished her fitting out, and this would be the first time she had a Captain aboard. Her Captain, for that matter. It was an exciting moment for sure, and had her excited in a way she was unused to.

"I wonder what my Captain will be like?" Bismarck mused, as she approached the gangway leading down to the port.

She could go no further, and had no desire to in any case. Her hull was her home, her body and her life. Bismarck would wait here, until her Captain arrived.

The question of who she would have commanding her did worry the battleship somewhat though. She knew little about the Kriegsmarine outside her own crew and those who had been working on her. But she did remember the man with the funny mustache. Her Fuhrer. Bismarck knew just as little about him, but what she did know was that Germany held a lot of faith in her. And that whomever commanded her likely followed the Fuhrer's beliefs. Such as that Germany was destined to win this war.

Bismarck hoped that, if her Captain believed that, he wouldn't put her needlessly in harms way. She was...attached to her crew. Bismarck would hate to see them die, for no good reason. She imagined any battleship would feel the same way.

"Captain on deck!"

Her musings were ended, as a man began to walk up the gangway to her hull. Bismarck joined her crew in saluting the man, even if she knew he couldn't see her. His sharp eyes scanned the crew however, looking over each and every man with a practiced ease. His aging features did nothing to hide a sharp intellect, as the man looked over his crew. Bismarck felt a bit of respect for that, glad to see her Captain as a man worthy of commanding the flagship of Germany.

"You have taken good care of Bismarck." The Captain spoke, turning to look at her bridge. "He is lucky to have such an efficient crew."

What?!

Bismarck was a battleship. A young one, who lacked experience. But she was most assuredly not a man!

"I am not a man!"

She even shouted as much, aware it wouldn't do anything. And it didn't...her Captain showed no signs he had heard her at all, continuing on his inspection. He didn't once look in her direction, even as he talked about what he would do to work with the crew. And tried to convince them that she was a he, because her hull was so powerful. Bismarck was honored that he felt she was so powerful, but showing it in that way was...

He doesn't know.

Sighing heavily, Bismarck forced her annoyance under a wave of Teutonic stoicism. Her Captain was showing his appreciation of her in his own way, and while it was frustrating to be called a man, it was not his fault. She could deal with it, in the interests of working well for her Captain. Besides, the rest of her crew were sending him odd looks anyway. It was probably just a quirk of his, in all honesty. And frankly, Bismarck could deal with that. If her Captain were a smart man who would lead her and her crew well, then that was all that mattered.

"Well, Captain," the battleship looked at the man. "I hope you know what you are doing."

There was no reply, of course. Her Captain merely turned, walking back to the gangway. Bismarck followed, curious why he would be doing so. It was almost like he was...planning on leaving? Surely he would not do so, so soon after boarding her in the first place. That would make no sense, though she would be the first to admit to not knowing better herself.

How could she? She was still young after all.

As it would turn out, her Captain was simply getting into position where he could overlook his entire crew once again. The man gestured out at the harbor, perhaps more specifically at a heavy cruiser floating in the distance. Bismarck followed the gesture curiously, before returning her attention to her Captain. Who, for his part, had lowered his hand and faced his crew more fully. A serious expression was on his lined face, as he looked out over the sea of young men. And one woman, but he couldn't see her, clearly.

"We will be beginning sea trials soon." His voice called out over the crew. "I expect each and every one of you to do the Fatherland proud. Bismarck is the pride of the Kriegsmarine, and I won't accept anything less than perfection!"

Once more gesturing at the cruiser, the Captain continued to speak.

"Moreover, we will be escorted by Blücher during our trials. Her Captain is a hero of the Navy, who will likely become an Admiral in command of our formation. We will not disappoint!"

Cheers rang through the crew, as Bismarck watched her Captain move back down to set to work. Her sea trials...well, she would have her chance to stretch her legs at least. And Blücher was good company, from what little she knew of the other girl. More importantly...once her trials were done, Bismarck would join active duty. And finally, finally, serve the purpose she was built for.

I can hardly wait, to serve. I can only hope I will do as well as I am expected.

 

[Skywalker_T-65]

Took longer than I thought it would...but glorious crack inbound:

Spoiler: Sisterly Rage

Much as he enjoyed spending time with Sara, Admiral James Thompson could admit to enjoying being able to just get away from it all on occasion. Warm sunlight beat down on him, his uniform exchanged for civilian clothing, as he walked through Honolulu. He was off-duty for the first time in quite some time, and fully intended to take advantage of it. Getting a chance to just rest and not push towards helping the girls was a rarity, after all. James could take advantage of that every once in awhile!

...

Okay, he was only out here because Sara had practically tossed him overboard. Something about him 'needing to take a break before you killed yourself'. James could see her point, but his old friend could be pushy when she wanted to be. Oh well, time to relax was time he could spend. Maybe he could find a way to get some decent food in the city. If Navy chow had been bad in his time, it was infinitely worse in the past, peacetime or no. Maybe he could try getting another letter out to his 'brother' as well.

"Where would the post office be..."

Looking around, James tried to find the post office first. He could eat later, simply enough. Before he had even taken a handful of steps however...

"You!"

A female voice shouted at him, making the Admiral snap his head around. That voice...

"Pennsy?"

Stomping down the street, in full view of everyone, was the embodiment of USS Pennsylvania. Which should have been impossible, James' mind coming to a halt, making him miss the angry expression on her face.

How in the name of all that is holy...

"Admiral Thompson, what have you done to my sister?!" Pennsy shouted again, as she continued towards the Admiral.

"Pennsylvania!" Said sister came running into view behind the green-haired battleship, her own red hair flowing in the wind.

James opened and closed his mouth, uncaring of the looks people were sending him. Why wouldn't he be shocked? Those two should not have been here.

"How...I...what...?" The Admiral managed to get out.

"Explain, now!"

If Pennsylvania cared about the impossibility of her situation, she didn't show it. Instead she stomped right up to Thompson, and glared up at him. Ari had come to a halt some bit away, worry clear in her features. And for his part, James could only blink slowly. He had zero idea what was going on, in the slightest. Leaving aside how Pennsy even got over to him, why was she so angry? What had he done to Ari to get her sister angry with him? He couldn't think of anything...

That didn't change the glare being directed his way, of course.

"What are you talking about?" Thompson finally managed to ask a coherent question.

"You know what!" Pennsy's glare, if anything, grew in intensity. "My sister has done nothing but talk about you! What have you done to her?! She never stops talking about you!"

"I..."

"And not only does she not stop talking about you, she talks about how 'nice' it feels to touch you! Have you done something to control her? If you did anything to my sister, I don't care if you're an Admi..."

"Pennsy!"

Ari's angry shout cut her sister off, making both the elder battleship and the Admiral turn to look at her.

"Quiet Arizona," Pennsylvania's voice crew softer when looking at her sister. "Let your big sister handle this."

"You be quiet Pennsy!" Ari had a stubborn expression on her face, as she placed her hands on her hips. "You can't tell me who to care for! Who to lov..."

Seemingly realizing just what she had said, Ari's mouth clamped shut, as her face went redder than her hair. James' own face did much the same, as he coughed to try and get his flush under control. Which only served to get Pennsylvania's attention back on him. And the battleship had gone red as well...from anger.

"YOU CORRUPTED MY SISTER!"

Deciding that discretion was the better part of valor, Admiral Thompson turned on his heel and started running for his life.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-​

"Lex?"

"Sara."

"...you don't care about...?"

Lexington smiled softly, as she watched Admiral Thompson running along the pier, dodging an irate super-dreadnought, "Of course not. You can choose what you feel, and who you feel that about. You're my sister, and I want you to be happy."

"Good." Sara smiled back, though there as a hint of worry in her green eyes, as Admiral Thompson ducked underneath a thrown barrel.

"Take responsibility!"

"I didn't do anything!"

"Liar!"

The two carriers had been drawn by the noise of Pennsylvania's shouting, and taken up a position watching the ensuing chase across the port facilities. Several MPs had tried to come to the Admiral's rescue, only to be bowled over by the angry battleship. You did not stop 30,000 tons of angry warship unless you were larger. Which was unfortunate for Admiral Thompson, as he started to lose ground on Pennsylvania. Seemingly realizing this, the Admiral changed directions.

Sara winced at that, watching as her beloved Admiral took a flying leap into the harbor, banking on the fact that Pennsylvania would have to stay on the surface.

"...I should go help him." The carrier sighed.

Her sister wore a kindly smile on her face, "Most likely, yes."

"I'll be back, sis."

"Have fun~."

And so, Saratoga went to rescue her Admiral, as the man hid underneath the pier where the righteously angry battleship couldn't reach him.

Hilariously non-canon, clearly. But the idea amused me. And I can write stuff that isn't feels-city!

 

[Skywalker_T-65]

Moving in a different different direction, if only because the idea wouldn't let me go, more Bismarck fun. It's surprisingly fun to work with, really. Guess a break from Thompson every once in a while is a good thing. And I did say I was working on another Bismarck omake.

That said, this omake takes place a bit ahead of the main story, since Bisko didn't start her gunnery trials until late November of 1940.

---

Omake: Trials​

"She is quite a stable gunnery platform."

"Ja."

"An excellent result, he is indeed the most powerful battleship in Europe."

Twitching at the misgendering or not, Bismarck felt a flush of pride go through her body. Her trials were proceeding wonderfully, as her lean bow cut through the waves of the Baltic Sea. The young battleship had been out for some time now, as her new crew put her through her paces. Put her through her sea trials. The most important moment in the life of any warship, especially the first of a class. For it was when she would be truly put to the test, to see if her design worked or if she was a 'lame duck', so to speak.

Bismarck though, had done more than well. There was an issue with her using her propellers to turn, but save for that, she exceeded expectations. She was fast, stable, and quite powerful. Her mighty guns, the most powerful ever put to sea aboard a German warship, had served with no issues. In fact, as her Captain had noted, they were on, perhaps, the most stable gunnery platform ever put to sea.

And all this in the Baltic during Winter.

"Message from Blücher."

Turning her head, Bismarck was quite interested to hear what it was. After all, the other girl had been her escort through her trials, and messages from her were often quite enlightening.

I wonder. Her Captain is quite intelligent, so why was he not assigned to me?

"I see..." Captain Lindemann muttered softly, as his eyes roamed over the message.

"Herr Kapitän?" The man who delivered the message waited to send a reply.

Lindemann merely had his lips twitch ever so slightly upwards, "Blücher requests that we target our gunfire on a smaller area. They are planning to demonstrate."

That had Bismarck's attention, as she turned to look out at the heavy cruiser in the distance. Blücher's stacks belched smoke, as the cruiser turned to present her broadside. Each of her turrets, the 203-mm guns having last seen use in disabling the Norwegian Oscarsborg Fortress, rotated into position. The action that had, according to her own Captain, earned the cruiser's commander the Knight's Cross. Ever since, Blücher had gained a certain reputation for accurate gunfire.

It would be interesting, to see how much truth was in that reputation.

And so, Bismarck watched. She watched as the smaller cruiser finished her turn. Her turrets flashed slightly in the sunlight, as they aimed at an arbitrary point in the distance, selected as the target point. There was silence, save for the sound of her own turbines and the water rushing against the battleship's hull. Silence, until the muted- if only in comparison to her own rifles -roar of Blücher'srifles echoed over the water. Smoke flew from her turrets, as the shells arced out into the distance. They fell in a dispersed pattern, a quite tight one.

Not that Bismarck could claim to understand how accurate it was in comparison to the cruiser's sisters, or other nation's warships.

"Impressive," Captain Lindemann nodded, as Blücher turned back to her escort position. "We shall have to do better."

"Ja, Kapitän!"

The older man's lips twitched further upward, before he turned out to the slowly fading wake of Blücher's fire. "Target main battery on the same position Blücher fired upon. Fire when ready."

Bismarck wore a sharp smirk on her face, as she held a hand up. Sure, she couldn't actually fire her own guns. But she could still act out the motions.

"Fire!"

If Blücher's fire had been loud, Bismarck's was a deafening roar that had a couple of her crew wincing. It only made her smirk grow, as she watched her shells soar through the air. They splashed down in the water, in the exact same place as the cruiser's earlier fire. But the dispersion was greater. Perhaps, not by much. But it was certainly greater.

"Hm." The Captain hummed softly, looking at the more detailed numbers. "Better. I believe we can still improve however."

"We can," Bismarck agreed, even if the man couldn't hear her.

"Continue the testing," Lindemann looked at the rest of her bridge crew. "I want to make certain we are ready for combat as soon as possible."

Combat.

"I am ready."

While she said that, Bismarck wasn't quite sure, deep down. Her trials were going well. She was quickly coming into her potential, as the most advanced warship in European waters. But for all that, she was as yet untested against an enemy. The battleship was quite confident in her abilities, for certain. She was faster than anything the British or French had, save perhaps the battlecruisers of the former. And the only ship she considered truly capable of dueling her?

Hood.

But for all that confidence, she knew one thing. Until Bismarck actually saw combat, all her potential amounted to nothing.

I will be prepared as best I can, but I will need to see combat before I will know. Know for sure, how well I can fight.

"Moreover," her Captain continued, interrupting the battleship's train of thought, "I want to have a good record, when we are assigned our Flag Officer."

"Who do you expect to be our Admiral, sir?"

That question came from the XO, Hans Oels. The younger man looked quite curious, and Bismarck could hardly blame him. Her own curiosity was piqued by the statement.

Captain Lindemann merely shrugged minutely, "An interesting question, indeed. I have heard that it could be Admiral Lütjens, should he be reassigned away from Gneisenau. I have also heard it could be Admiral Kummetz, after his performance in Norway."

Bismarck was only marginally familiar with the latter Admiral. She knew he had been in overall command in the invasion of Norway, that Blücher had done so well in. In fact, he had flown his flag from the cruiser. But according to her Captain, he had since transferred to the older Admiral Hipper, while Blücher had moved to the command of her Captain for the duration of the...of her...sea trials. The Captain that...

Wait.

Did my Captain not mention that her Captain may become an Admiral?

"In my own opinion," Lindemann continued without pausing. "I believe it will be the Captain of Blücher who is our Admiral. He is the best tactician the Kriegsmarine has seen in some time, and I am not afraid to admit that."

"Even better than yourself, sir?"

The old Captain's lips twitched upwards, "Perhaps. I will admit my own experience is limited, in comparison. And, I love Bismarck. I would want the absolute best officer the Kriegsmarine can provide, to be in command."

Bismarck felt a flush run down her neck at those words, even though she knew her Captain meant it more like a son. Considering the fact he considered her male, and all. That aside...

She had more respect for him, now, than she had before. Captain Lindemann may have lacked experience in command, but he was genuinely respectful of his crew as they were of him. He cared for her and her crew, and wanted the best for them. He had shown that on several occasions, even going so far as to defend their honor against that of the already famous Scharnhorst and Gneisenau. She respected him for that, if nothing else.

That he was willing to admit his own failings? That gave her even more respect for the man, his misgendering aside.

"And right now, the best officer is Kapitän Schreiber."

Bismarck could only hope that he was correct, in placing his faith in the skill of Blücher's Captain.

 

[theJMPer]

A little omake on everyone's favorite Nesei shipgirl!

Friscotime
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -​

USS San Fransisco—or as her crew called her 'Frisco'—stood on the bow of her own hull and let the warm Hawaiian air stream through her jet black hair. She wanted to be overjoyed. She was going to The Admiral's port. The Admiral who's name was spoken of in giddy whisperers passed around by shipgirls gossiping at their piers. The Admiral who not only treated his ships well, but who saw them. Talked with them, even—if the rumors were true—loved them.

Part of Frisco couldn't wait to see if the rumors were true. She wanted to introduce herself to The Speaking Admiral. She wanted to let him see her the way she really was, let him talk to her like she was a real person. Hell, she'd be happy just having someone to listen—really listen to. She couldn't imagine what it'd be like to talk to her crew, not just at them.

But part of her—most of her, really—hoped desperately that The Admiral wouldn't drop by. At least not for a while.

The cruiser wrung her ratty neckerchief in her hands. Her clothes were rumpled and stank from months of wear. Her neckerchief was stained though thoroughly with oil and paint the cruiser wasn't entirely sure what color it supposed to be any more.

She glanced over her shoulder at the sailors assembling along her rails. They looked so smart in those crisp uniforms, nothing like… well… Frisco scowled as she glanced down at the ragged hem of her top, her.

"I look good enough, right?" The cruiser smiled at one particularly handsome machinst's mate. She balanced her hands on her hips and put on the best smile her grubby face could manage.

For a second—just the briefest sliver of a second—she thought she saw a smile pass over the sailor's face, followed by a tiny wink. But no… no, it was just a stray gust of wind blowing in his face.

Frisco scowled, and promptly had her own hair blown into her face. "Well," Frisco tossed her hair back.

Or at least tried too. At this point, she was pretty sure she had more tangles and split ends than she had actual hair. It took her almost a solid minute of furious combat before her hair finally started to behave. She was suddenly very glad none of her crew could see her.

"I mean…" Frisco brushed one last strand of hair behind her ear. Her smooth Asian features glistened in a smile as she rested her arm against her own rail. "You all look smart enough for the lot of us, huh?"

The sailor didn't even blink this time.

"Thanks," Frisco lifted herself up on her toes and brought her lips close to the sailor's chiseled face. She couldn't actually kiss him after all. Even if she tried to lay her lips on his face, she'd just pass though him like a ghost. But a girl could always pretend after all.

It wasn't like she was suddenly going to be come visible just at the moment of maximum embarrassment. Right?

Frisco made a show of puckering up. She closed her eyes and kicked one leg up as she leaned in to the kiss. She couldn't make this more romantic—or more potentially embarrassing if she tried.

The cruiser held the kiss for almost a second before slowly opening her eyes. Not one of the assembled sailors even glanced at her. Darnit.

Whatever, she could come up with more plans latter. After all, she was going to Pearl. If anyone knew how to get their admiral's attention, it'd be Sara and Enterprise.

"Don't go anywhere without me, okay?" Frisco cast one last longing look at her machinsts' mate before bolting for her own mast. She closed her eyes and and let her… memory, for lack of a better word, guide her up the ladders and around crewmen standing watch.

Up the tripod she clambered, her hair streaming behind her like a shimmering, chaotic wake. She didn't stop moving until she was at the very top of her own mast.

And then she smiled. Pearl sprawled before her like a gem in the pacific. It was so… so… so full of life! She could just see the tiny dots of cars driving along the coastal roads.

She smiled as she passed a half-dozen destroyers napping in a puddle next to their beleaguered tender. Frisco tossed a happy wave, which the tender returned before going back to her duty of looking after her sleepy charges.

Everywhere Frisco looked, there was something new and exciting. The great battleship fleet lay at anchor off Battleship row. Frisco beamed as she saw the girls strolling along their hulls. They looked so prim and proper in their dresses! So ladylike!

And then…

Then there was her. The Admiral's ship. The ship she'd come so far to see.

Saratoga

Frisco was so excited she almost fell off her own mast. But she didn't. Because that would be silly. She just... enthusiastically... jumped off. Yeah. That.

 

[theJMPer]

Friscotime
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -​

Heavy Cruiser San Fransisco —'Frisco' to her friends. If… she had any—braced her feet on the cold steel of her own bridge. Her fine Japanese features hovered a few inches from her Captain's all-American jawline. Her almond eyes narrowed to tightly focused slits, and her ratty, tangled black hair seemed to quiver with nervous energy.

The heavy cruiser puffed out her cheeks, with a mischievous grin. She'd tried every trick in the book to break though to her crew. Which wasn't much, really. At this point, "The Book" was really more of a pamphlet. Or… like a business card. All The Book really said was "do stuff until other stuff happens."

Frisco was sailing uncharted waters, pushing back the gloomy veil of ignorance with each step. Another ship might be a little worried, but not Frisco. She was a cruiser. If battleships were the fleet's fist, cruisers were its eyes. Searching out the unknown and making it… un-unknown was her very reason to exist.

And she had a trick up her sleeve.

Frisco's small, fully treaty-compliant bosom swelled as she sucked in a huge lungful of air. She rose on her tip-toes until she was staring her Captain square in the eyes. And then she spoke.

"NOTICE MEEEEEEEEE!" Frisco bellowed with all the thundering volume her surprisingly capacious lungs could produce. A few drops of spit flew though the air at the power of her voice, and she heard—almost felt her voice echo back to her against her own hull.

Her Captain blinked.

Frisco panted, her arms furiously waving as she signaled out "N-O-T-I-C-E-M-E" in semaphore while she gathered her strength for another scream. She was close, she could feel it in her… bones? bulkheads? Something like that.

"Notice me!" chanted Frisco, "Notice me! Notice me! Notice me! NOTICE MEEEEEEEEEE!" Her lungs utterly empty, the cruiser slumped against her captain. She closed her eyes, a smile crossing her face at the warm embrace of his uniform caressing her grimy skin.

Only the caress never came. Instead, the cruiser tensed like someone had just poured ice water over her grave. She opened her eyes just in time to see her own deck come rushing up to meet her.

"Ow!" Frisco bounced off her deck in an undignified pile of sinew, legs, and ratty hair. If she'd taken any serious damage—besides the massive hit to her pride—she couldn't tell right off the bat. She was still so grungy—she'd came to Pearl in the first place for a good through scrubbing—that she couldn't make heads or tails of what was actually busted.

Oh well… if embarrassing herself in front of her Captain was enough to break though, she'd swallow her pride with joy.

"Ta-dah!" Frisco put on her best Hollywoodland smile and rolled onto her back. If she was going to make a fool out of herself, she was going to make a fool out of herself in style. "I'm here everyone!"

Not a man on the bridge reacted. A rating jogged over to the Captain with clipboard in hand, his leg passing right though Frisco's sinewy belly like it wasn't anything more than smoke.

"Damnit." Frisco cursed to herself and sheepishly stood up. She tried to smooth out the rumples on her long-since sweat-stained uniform, but there's only so much one tired shipgirl could do. She really needed that defouling. She could feel the crud building up on her skin, slowing even her thinking to a sluggish crawl.

She narrowed her eyes at her captain, one finger thrust out at his face as a stern look crossed her own. "I'm not done with you yet!"

Her captain, predictably, didn't offer her the slightest reaction.

Frisco huffed, her arms crossing her chest as her cheeks puffed out in a pout. She was a cruiser. The eyes of the fleet, she was supposed to sneak around and turn a few random sightings into information her Admiral could use to plan an attack. That meant she should be able to think on her feet—or keel… screws… whatever. Metaphors are hard.

Well, if there was one thing she knew, it was that sitting around pouting wasn't going to get her anywhere. Frisco glanced at her watch. Not to check the time—the fouling was so dense over the glass she could barely even see the hands, let alone the hour markings—but to give her hands something to do while she thought.

Hmm… still nothing.

Frisco shoved her hands into her pockets and ducked though the bridge door. (Literally. She couldn't open it if she tried, and she had tried.) Maybe a quick walk would help clear her mind. Lord knows she could use the exercise if she wanted to keep her weight under the ever-looming treaty limit.

So Frisco walked down her hull. She walked, and there may have been some skipping to, but only because she knew nobody could see her. Skipping just wasn't appropriate for a United States Navy warship. Even if if was fun.

Then, as she skipped down her cramped passageways, Frisco had a thought. Maybe she'd been looking in the wrong place this whole time. Her captain was… her Captain, yes. He commanded her and led her into battle, but he had a hundred other things to worry over. Nine hundred and four things, if her last crew count was accurate. She could hardly blame him for not worrying over his ship when he had actual, living, breathing sailors to worry about.

But her Engineer, he looked after her, and her alone. Her captain might have led her into battle, but her Engineer patched her up, tucked her in, and read her a bedtime story. There wasn't anyone on… her… that she loved quite as much as her Engineer. And she knew just the way to her machinery spaces.

—|—|—​

Frisco found her Engineer right where she expected. Half-buried in her machinery and screaming expletives while banging about with a comically large wrench. The cruiser couldn't help but smile, she always felt so tingly and loved whenever he worked on her.

"Hey, Commander?" Frisco bit her lip and shyly toyed with the ragged end of her matted hair.

"Socket wrench!" barked the half-hidden form of her Engineer. He had a name of course, Commander Mike Burrows. But to Frisco, the man would always be her beloved Engineer.

A ragged-looking rating bolted over to a tool box and plucked a tool with shaking fingers. "Right here, sir!"

Burrows didn't even look at the tool. The instant it settled into his hand, some Engineering sixth sense went off and he all but hurled the tool at the hapless rating's head. "That's a Monkey Wrench, nugget!"

"S-sorry, sir!" The rating scrambled over to grab the correct tool

"How the hell am I supposed to get this lazy-ass bitch in the fight," thundered Burrows from underneath Frisco's turbine. The cruiser tried and failed to bottle up a sigh of contentment at his loving concern. "Without socket wenches?"

"C-coming right up sir," the Rating fished a ratcheting driver out of the toolbox and slapped it into Burrows' waiting hand.

"First the Naht-sees-" Frisco always liked the way her Engineer pronounced that word. It just felt… right. "-now the nips, and I'm stuck on a boat with a fouled bottom and-" he stopped. "Gimme a half-inch socket."

The rating's hand had barely closed around a socket when the Engineer's voice thundered up again. "I said half-inch goddammit!"

The rating couldn't let go of the socket fast enough, the little bit of polished steel smacking in to the stamped metal tool box with a loud metallic ping!

"Uh, this one right here." Frisco happily plucked the right-sized socket from its secluded corner and handed it to the rating.

"Thanks ma'am," the scruffy-haired young sailor offered her a toothy grin of thanks.

And then both of them froze. Frisco blinked, while the poor rating just fainted away in a pile of limbs and dungarees.

"Where is my damn socket!" Burrows' noticeably empty hand flexed in the air, impatiently expecting the ordered tool.

"Coming up, sir!" Frisco leaped over the rating's body and slapped the properly-sized socket into her Engineer's impatient paw.

He grunted a note that might have been either thanks or indigestion, then slid himself deeper into her machinery.

Wait.

Frisco blinked. She'd just… just spoken to two of her crew. Interacted with them. Handed them tools. She DID IT! She'd BROKEN THROUGH!

"WOOO-OW!" Frisco jumped for joy. And suddenly realized just how little headroom there was in her machinery spaces as her head smashed into a structural beam. "Owowowowowowow," Frisco clutched at her head as she collapsed into a puddle of disheveled heavy cruiser.

The next thing she knew, a heavy, grease-covered hand was gently patting her shoulder. "You okay, miss?"

Frisco nodded, and sheepishly glanced up at her Engineer. "I think so."

Burrows blinked, the muscles in his almost non-existent neck tensing like steel anchor chains. "You're a-"

"Girl?"

"I was gonna say nip."

"No!" Frisco's mood instantly shifted from unrestrained joy at finally being noticed to disappointed rage. "No! I'm… I'm Nisei! I'm-" She cursed herself for trying to explain her situation with a Japanese word. "I'm American. I was born down at Mare Island! In California!"

Burrows folded his arms and glared at her.

"Look, I'll prove it!" said Frisco. The cruiser puffed out her chest and folded her arms with a smirk of fierce determination.

"I'm waiting," Burrows tapped his fingers against his bicep.

"Oh, uh…" Frisco's bluster faded and she scuffed her toe against her own decking. "That was it."

Burrows just arched an eyebrow.

"I said 'look'," explained Frisco. "Not," the cruiser squinted her already narrow eyes until they were nothing more than slits. Her neck craned forwards and she peeled her lips back to bare her teeth, "Rook! Is verrry HONORUBU!!"

"Oh lord in heaven," Burrows' face sagged to his chest.

"SHAMEFUR DISPRAY!" snapped Frisco. She wasn't sure if this was helping, but she would put her full effort into it regardless.

"Alright, stop." Burrows slapped one giant grease-covered mitt on the cruiser's narrow shoulder. "Your accent is terrible."

"Yeah, I know." Frisco glanced at her toes, her voice slipping back to her natural Cali accent. "You believe me, though?"

"Frisco," Burrows smiled and tousled the cruiser's hair. Or at least tried to, it was so full of knots and salt-stained split-ends he had to fight just to get his hand back.

"I really need defouling," said Frisco.

"That you do," said Burrows.

"Um," Frisco clasped her hands behind her back, her torso slowly yawing from side to side as she pursed her lips nervously, "What were you going to say?"

"That I always knew you were a girl," said Burrows.

"You did?"

Burrows nodded. "You're a cranky bitch who begs for attention whenever I spend five minutes anywhere other than waist-deep in your machinery."

Frisco nodded in agreement.

"But so far," Burrows shrugged, "You've never let me down when it really mattered."

Frisco smiled from ear to ear and hurled herself at her Engineer's chest. Her sinewy arms wrapped around his barrel-chested body, her face burying itself in his thick neck. "You know just how to talk to a girl, you know that?"

"Ah! Frisco," Burrows gagged.

"Huh?"

"When was the last time you took a shower?"

"Um... why?" Frisco offered up her most innocent smile.

"You reek."

Frisco huffed. Dangit!

 

[Skywalker_T-65]

Omake: Strasbourg​

The hustle and bustle of Toulon was...gone. The proud port, home of the Marine Nationale's Mediterranean Squadron, was eerily silent. Shipping that had once prowled the waves between the Métropole and North Africa hid in the port. France, the true France, was neutral in the War. Her territory was under German occupation, yes. Her proud capitol of Paris languished under the heel of the Boche. But France was free.

Vichy may rule the nation.

Her armies and fleets may be crippled.

But she was not a puppet. She was not under German rule, no matter what that fool de Gaulle crowed over in the Colonies. That was the truth. France was free, and so long as her proud fleet and what remained of her army remained, that would not change. She would continue her neutrality. There would be no further war on French soil, mainland or African.

Or...so was what the battleship Strasbourg told herself.

"Those bastards...my sister is dead because of them..." Strasbourg had taken to pacing along the length of her hull, in lieu of anything else to do. She was not allowed to sortie, France lacking the fuel to do so. And the ever-present danger that the Royal Navy may attempt to finish the job. "Allies...I knew we couldn't trust the English!"

The young battleship was not headstrong, or so she liked to think. But what she was? Angry. And frustrated.

I saw our allies betray us. I saw them kill Bretagne and my sister.

And there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. Strasbourg would love nothing more than to pay back the French blood spilled at Mers-el-Kebir with an equal amount of English blood. But she couldn't. Because even if there were fuel to sortie, it wouldn't have mattered. There was no way she could win. Not alone, not even in concert with what little remained loyal to France.

Richelieu and Jean Bart...her successors, stranded in African ports that couldn't support them.

Provence, Bretagne, Paris, Courbet...her mentors were sunk. Or taken by perfidous Albion.

Strasbourg was...alone. She was the only battleship in the French Navy fit for combat, and that hurt. It hurt that her allies, her friends, would do that to her. France had been beaten fairly by the Germans. They had surrendered fairly, as would any nation in the face of such overwhelming force.

"And we should have been treated the same...allowed to retain our forces, and proudly serve." Strasbourg muttered, her pale fist slamming into the side of her turret. She had walked the entire length of her hull to this one spot, overlooking Toulon. A spot she vented at on multiple occasions, "And instead, we were betrayed by our allies!"

Her shout echoed through the silent harbor, but it gained no reaction, save for the other spirits on their ships rousing at the noise.

Not that it mattered. Strasbourg bit back a frustrated sigh, using her hand that wasn't throbbing to brush back long strands of black hair. Her blue eyes narrowed when they turned out from the harbor as well...out at the Mediterranean. Her hunting ground, denied to her.

If only they had trusted us. Like we trusted them. Hood...I trusted you like a sister, as we all did. You and the entire Royal Navy. You were our friends and allies, no matter what our forefathers fought over. And you tore all of that away. Washed our alliance in the blood of innocents, all because that bastard of a Prime Minister couldn't accept that we would never let the Boche have us. You self-righteous, entitled, horrible...bastards

The French girl didn't even bother holding back the sigh anymore, sliding down against the cold metal of her barbette. Utterly spent.

Oh, her anger remained. It had not once faded, not since that day. The day where her sister was murdered by their friends. But her energy fled. It always did, Strasbourg unable to keep going. Her dash from that horrible harbor had hurt. She had pushed herself more than she was designed, trying so desperately to avoid the English. Avoid Hood and her prowling destroyers.

She had succeeded.

But it left her weak and stranded in Toulon, the resources just not there to properly refit her. Or even to leave the harbor.

"Are you alright, my lady?!" A stronger voice shouted over, the sound carrying in the otherwise quiet day.

Strasbourg smiled, ever so slightly, when she summoned the energy to shout back, "I am, La Galissonnière! It was...a moment of weakness!"

"You have those quite a lot, my lady!" The light cruiser replied with a hint of amusement carrying over even the great distance between the warships.

It was enough to make Strasbourg giggle, if only for a little while. She didn't bother replying though...this was...well, a ritual for the two. With the lack of sorties and any other stimulation, they had to make do with what they could get. And that meant shouting at each other, their crews oblivious. It was far better than cowering in fear of English attack.

Of the worry that bombers would come for them, much as they had for the Italians. Strasbourg would once have felt a vindictive pride, at the air raid on Taranto. The proud Regia Marina humbled by mere biplanes.

But that was before...before the English had turned her against them.

Now, she emphasized with the foe she had been intended to fight. The Italians had suffered the same as her, attacked when they should have been safe. Ruined by English arms, for no other reason than a fear of facing them in direct combat. Cowards...

Cowards, that was what the Royal Navy was. Foolish cowards who couldn't stand the idea of fighting an equal foe, resorting to underhanded tactics to sway the odds in their favor.

And what makes me angry, is that the bastards are smart. They cripple us piecemeal.

Richelieu, fired upon while incomplete and left to rot in a harbor that couldn't fix her. Jean Bart, forced to shelter in a port that could never finish her construction. Dunkerque and Bretagne, murdered in their home. And Strasbourg herself...stuck in Toulon for lack of fuel, and the fear that the prowling HMS Glorious would attempt to finish the job begun by Hood.

She hated it.

Hated just waiting for the day where she was attacked again. The sound of airplane engines was something she would fear for the rest...of...her...

No!

"Aircraft! Royal Navy!"

The shouts rang from all over her hull, men rushing to their firing positions. Strasbourg, despite the weakness in her legs, was instantly on her feet, rushing to look out at the Sea. And indeed, there was a group of those silly biplanes flying in formation above the clouds. No French aircraft rose to greet them.

For if the lack of fuel crippled her, it just as surely crippled France's air force.

If the English were coming to attack, it would be up to the guns of Strasbourg and her comrades to swat them away. A task they would perform as best they were able, because those bastards would not take more French lives. The young battleship could even now feel her secondary weapons turning, rotating to aim at the English planes. The foolish biplanes could never hope to dodge.

But then, were they even going to attempt to?

"What are they...?" Strasbourg wondered, her anger fading. Confusion replaced it, her blue eyes staring at the English planes, as they turned away from their flight path. Revealing not one plane armed with bombs or torpedoes.

No.

All that fell from those silly planes was paper.

Paper that rained down on the French fleet, a white curtain that blocked the sun if only for a moment. A curtain that landed atop Strasbourg's deck, the battleship rushing to pick one up before her crew could notice.

And when she looked at that paper, she almost wished it had been a bomb.

"Proud soldiers and sailors of France, don't listen to the lies of your Marshal! Petain has betrayed the very cause he fought for, working with the Huns who killed so many of your countrymen in two Great Wars! Who even now occupy your proud nation. Use your brave citizens as labor to power their war machine!

Throw off your shackles and return to our Alliance! General de Gaulle and the Free French will gladly take you in. You will be fed and treated as the friends and allies we are, not as enemies the Germans would have you believe we are!"

There were more words. In both English and French.

Strasbourg did not see them.

"Those...those...those..." Her hands shook, the paper crumpling in the iron grip that only a battleship, even a small one, could manage. The white print tearing away in strips, as Strasbourg tore it apart. Her blue eyes glared up at the sky, where paper continued to rain down.

Because her anger returned with a vengeance, directed at the distant biplanes.

"Bastards! You dare to say that we're allies? Friends?" Strasbourg screamed, uncaring if it made her voice raw. Uncaring if anyone heard. Her body vibrated with uncontrolled rage. "Friends do not murder friends! Allies do not betray each other, just because one has to have an honorable peace! You can take your pleas and run! I will never work with you again!"

Slamming her fist into her barbette once more, Strasbourg felt tears flowing. But she made no effort to wipe them away, even as the watery effect ruined her eyesight.

I hate you! All of you!

 

[MagisterAurelius]

Thanks to Skywalker_T-65 for giving me the go-ahead for this omake.

Omake - New York

The sun warmed the decks of BatDiv 5 as they passed the Virginia Capes on the way back to Norfolk. The expression of USS New York remained frozen in a harsh frown as she stood underneath the tripod foremast.

"I wish it was raining. There shouldn't be sunshine here. Ever." Murmuring to herself, her eyes caught sight of a girl with a parasol waving to her from the stern of the battleship in front of her. Why must she persist in this fruitless display? There were no changes to orders or anything else official, so why couldn't Texas just leave her alone?

After sixteen years you would think she would get the hint. Maybe Arkansas finally ran out of stories or gossip... The fore finger of a right hand comes up to tap her cheek in thought as she turns to stairwell to the main deck. If it weren't for making sure the midshipmen from the Annapolis didn't run her aground in the bay she wouldn't even go topside at all.

Through a hatch and down three more stairwells. The short haired blond woman in a navy blue business jacket and skirt continues on her way, not noticing the sailors she passes through. A left turn into a long passageway and through the bulkhead door into the boiler room, New York's preferred place to ignore the outside world. A sailor on the other side of the door shudders as if in a winter gale as she phases through him. New York doesn't even notice as she puts her hands on the railing of the gantry overlooking the boilers of her power plant. She sighs and then puts her hands to her head as her vision blurs red...

What's happening? Why are they doing this to me? Aaahhhh.... it hurts it hurts so much.... I'm scared and it hurts. Why won't anyone help me? Oh! You're here! Please help me... it hurts... and.... what? What are you doing? What?!? Aaaiiiiii.......... New York could only hang her head as tears stream down her face and she racks with sobs.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

"Chief!!" A sailor stopped just before Chief of the Sovereign Nation of Engineering of BB34 gulping. "Sir, we've got a leak sir! Water's just streaming down the walls by the forward boilers."

Chief Engineer Hackett reigned in his initial impulse to impale the sailor with the Chief Stare of Doom upon realizing that the midshipman was on his first training sea tour. He sighed. "Midshipman, if the boilers were leaking that bad while we are underway at full power you would not be alive to report it, as they would have exploded."

"It is more water than should be there Chief."

"Son, every ship has its quirks. This is your first cruise on New York and I have been taking you children out for training cruises for longer than I care to remember and if I say that there is no problem, then there is no problem. Am I clear Midshipman?"

"Yes Chief!"

"Then scram kid, we're pulling into Norfolk anytime now." And at the gladly retreating back of the midshipman Chief Engineer Hackett bellowed, "And do not make me have to pick you up from the Shore Patrol or bilge duty will seem like Heaven!" Hackett then went into his office and locked the door behind him. Pulling out a large ledger book, he began to make an entry. Reading back through past entries, Hackett sighed.

"Dammit York, what the hell is wrong with you girl?"

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Norfolk Navy Yard - midnight

"Texas," a slightly uncertain voice over the TBS inquired, "can I ask you something?"

"Certainly Wichita, what is troubling you dear?" Wondering what could be on the mind of the Navy's newest heavy cruiser, she made sure to put the most reassurance into her voice as she could. Poor girl needs all the confidence she can get. And that nickname can't help.

"A couple things really... you've heard the rumors right? That there's an admiral who can see and touch us? Is that really possible?" And in a quieter tone that Texas almost missed, "Could he tell my crew to stop calling me that name? I'm too new to be haunted and spooky."

Texas put her hand to her mouth to stifle the giggle. "Ahm not certain dear. Ah've heard the rumors, it seems that's y'all are gossiping about lately." She sighed. "But no, ah've no idea if it's true."

"What does New York think? I rarely even see her so I've never asked her." A slight hesitation and the cruiser continued. "The other girls say that she's an ice queen but she's never even acknowledged my existence beyond official signals so I can't say for certain."

Texas sighed. "Wichita, hon, I'm gonna say this so you don't go sailing off into a minefield. My sister has been hurtin sumthing awful for sixteen years and to make sure she never talks about it she just refuses to talk period. I figure she'll snap out of it at some point, but I better be the one to do the snappin' so's no one gets hurt."

"Oh okay, thanks Texas. Have a good night!"

"Pleasant dreams dear." Texas put her parasol down and began a much more emotionally fraught conversation.

"Sister... we need to talk about things... it has been long enough"

New York lifted her head from her hands. "USS Texas the radio is for official communications..."

"You've been moping like a calf for sixteen year USS New York and I am beginning to get annoyed. Very annoyed. I was there too Sis. Both of us. And it was horrible an' awful and don't you dare say anything because I have the nightmares too." Raw emotion flooded Texas's voice "But most of all I want my sister back. I was there to help, to help you bear that weight Sis, but you won't let me."

"I...I can't stop Sis. No matter how many defoulings, coats of new paint... I can't feel clean anymore. I just see the blood... and the tears... and that face pleading with us. She was begging us to help her Tex! And we executed her! I can't forgive myself or them."

At that last word, even the mighty Texas shivered at the venom and hate in her sister's voice. It's way overdue but... how do I get her past this? Texas, with added bravado in the hope it would carry the tone she was hoping for, switched tack. "Alright then will you at least start showing yourself above deck more? You are starting to get a reputation as Glacier Garters among the fleet."

"What?!?" New York's train of thought derailed as the paradigm shifted without benefit of the clutch. Her anger shifted to the slight. "Are you calling me an ice queen Sister?"

"No, but you certainly haven't done anything to dispel that notion from everyone else. And if you keep it up it will effect your duty."

"..." New York could only sigh at that. "You may be..."

"Maybe? Damn straight ah'm right you blue-stocking harridan" Texas interrupted her in her full Don't Mess with Texas accent.

"snerk.... alright then I will try to 'socialize' more with you southern-fried cornpone shit-kicking hicks." New York tried put as much Bronx into her accent as she could allow her self.

"Then I expect you to promenade your deck tomorrow morning. And that's an order as your flagship... Sis." New York could mentally see Texas sticking out her tongue. "It's good to talk to you again.. I missed you.

New York sniffed back the last of her grief for now. "I missed you too..."

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To be New York is to be a hurt locker...

 

[MagisterAurelius]

So it seems like the consensus was for both New York and Wichita. Hence I will attempt to provide... hopefully without too much bullying the poor girls. And a bonus vignette. Because I couldn't find anything that it would contradict historically.

Looks like a two parter - Part One

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Norfolk Navy Yard - almost midnight

Wichita was starting to get frustrated. All her hopes of her crew forgetting about calling her "the Witch" were over, now they were bragging about sharing it throughout the Fleet! Do they want me to haunt them? She was starting to wonder. And realizing that she wasn't sure how to do it. Every attempt to interact with her first captain had been unsuccessful, now he was gone to a desk post. Until a new captain was assigned to her Rear Admiral Pickens of CruDiv 7 was currently ensconced in her flag officer's quarters.

She sighed. Maybe she would have more luck with a new captain. Although maybe a change in tactics would work better. Shouting at the bridge crew, doing jumping jacks on top of B turret and waving her hands in front of faces hadn't gotten her anywhere the entire cruise in the Caribbean. Maybe it was time to do some of that "research" that Louisville and Quincy suggested to her.

"Wichita, finding out what your crew likes will tell you how to appear. Just look for the pictures and posters they hide in their foot lockers and that will tell you everything you need to know." It seemed like sound advice, but Wichita just felt uneasy. Probably because they were barely hiding their giggles when they suggested it.

She made her way down into the enlisted mens' quarters. A scare five minutes of rummaging in sea chests later yielding several pictures of sweethearts, family members, cheap paperback detective novels and posters of Hollywood starlets. Most were "dressed", just in outfits Wichita would never even think of wearing for the most part, but all sharing the same come hither look and showing off their legs.

"Is this what gets sailors' attention? Huh." Sitting amongst the increasing pile of materials her hand then opened up what was an Elvgren calendar. And Wichita's face promptly went fire-hydrant red. "Meep."

The sound of rapidly approaching footsteps broke the spell of embarrassment. In a flurry of motion, Wichita quickly replaced the pile of items back in the footlockers, and raced out of the enlisted berths. "Oh heck." She looked down and still had that calendar in her hand. And was now a deck above where it belonged. Quickly looking right and left, she opened the first convenient office door, stuffed the calendar in the desk next to a rosary, and ran all the way up to the main deck, to the bridge and finally stopped when she reaches the Mk37 fire director.

"Uh oh... Did I put everything back where it was supposed to go?...oh well..oh wait. I really really really hope that wasn't the chaplain's desk that I shoved that calendar in."

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[MagisterAurelius]

And finally here is Part the Two of the omake. More New York and Wichita goodness.

And this one took awhile. So without further blather:

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
And now for Part Two – once again thanks to Skywalker_T-65 for letting me play in his sandbox.

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Norfolk Navy Yard – meanwhile aboard USS New York at midnight

The quiet of cold boilers and only a skeleton midwatch to oversee the engines was a relief to New York. The Chief Engineer was ashore with his family, leaving his office for New York to rest. Sitting down in the chief's chair, she leaned back and ran her hands through her short blond hair. She had spent almost all day above decks. Only a few other ships of the Patrol Force were docked at the moment though so New York didn't have her sister or any of the other battleships to talk to.

As New York had listened to the conversations and gossip among the force since her sister had confronted her, she realized that she had removed herself so completely from things over the years that she had trouble even talking to anyone other than a battleship. So she mostly listened and was slowly remembering what things were like before. With most of them gone for now though, New York was feeling restless. Only a brief while before coming here, she had witnessed Wichita running up her superstructure to gasp for breath by the fire director.

"Well, Sis did ask to me to keep an eye on her...." New York closed her eyes. "Wichita? It's New York. Something the matter?"

"Hweh? Oh! Hello! No no no... everything's fine. All peachy here!"

"Oh reaaallly? Wichita, you need to calm yourself before you try to lie. What is it?"

"Well, you know about the admiral that can see us and that supposedly there are ways to become visible so that our crews can see us and stuff? I was trying something that Louisville and Quincy suggested to me. So I started going through my enlisted crews' footlockers and found all sorts of posters and pictures and and a ….. a.... calendar... of women and they were showing off.... their stockings... and sometimes more...."

New York could hear the cruiser's blush. "Sailors do have materials to remind them of home and ease the loneliness of a long cruise Wichita. It was not nice for Louisville and Quincy to play that prank on you though. I think I'll have a talk with them when they get back." She frowned as she thought about what Wichita had told her. "Your chiefs seem to be very lackadaisical to just allow that material be out in the open like that."

"Oh no no no... I had to rummage around and dig through the lockers to find it all!"

"Wait what?!?" New York's eyes shot open. "How did you do that?"

"It was easy! I just pulled them from under the racks and opened them up. It was just easier to pile all the stuff up and go through it that way. But then I heard someone coming so I... think I put everything back where it was supposed to go. Except for the calendar... I was still holding it when I ran up to the next deck. So I shoved it in the first desk I came across. Which might have been the chaplain's."

"Ha...hah...ha...heh...hahahahahahaha!" For the first time in years, New York was laughing uncontrollably.

"It's not funny, now that name they call me is going to stick. I'll be the Western Witch forever! I'm new and already a spooky haunted ship." The pout in her tone did nothing to diminish the mirth New York felt.

"heh.. ha.. oh.. hah.. ah.. oh you dear thing" as New York gasped for breath she slowly regained control over the laughter but the smile on her face remained. "Maybe you should embrace the name dear. Your ability in magic has been proven."

"Huh? I don't understa.."

"Wichita you dear little cruiser you, you have managed to amaze and amuse USS New York with one story. I have not laughed like that in decades. Congratulations Wichita, you got old Glacier Garters to laugh. And by misplacing that naughty calendar you are capable of prestidigitation as well."

"Oh.. I …. thank you Miss New York." Wichita felt a warm fuzzy feeling pervade her. She hadn't expected her to be that nice. "But I don't think it is strange arcane powers... I just picked stuff up. I'm sure you could do it too and better than me!"

"I don't think so dear. I... have some things to deal with before I can face my crew. You are new to the world and don't have the anchors of memory to fix you place and set you in your ways. Cherish that dear." She smiled softly at the wisdom she just dispensed. "Oh my... I'm sounding like Mama South Carolina."

"Thank you again Miss New York. See you in the morning?"

"Certainly dear." With that New York closed her eyes and cut the channel. She crossed her arms over her ample bosom and leaned back in the chair. Unintentional consequences... now that was a nickname for Wichita and the inadvertent chaos sure to follow her, but New York decided to keep that to herself. Her mind then wandered into the dark... drifting into silence...

She started slightly to seem to awake in complete darkness. After a minute her eyes adjusted to very dim light coming from a wall made of glass. On the other side seemed to be murky dark green water backlit by the dim light. Water broken only by an occasional bubble making its way up. She stamped her feet against what appeared to be a metal floor due to the echoes.

"Alright this is odd... a dream?" She looked around but failed to see anything in the room beyond darkness and the glass wall.

"So, what was so funny? I heard your laughter all the way out here."

New York's gaze snapped to the glass wall and what was beyond. Her eyes locked on the girl suspended in the water beyond. Grey eyes, hair the hue of burgundy wine, the lightest sprinkling of freckles across the girl's nose; it was the face that haunted New York's nightmares since 1924.

"It's almost cruel to not share the joke Auntie." The girl was smiling, but it was cold and stopped at her eyes. Her hand worried at the thick braid of her hair worn over her shoulder.

"BB47..."

"I have a Name dammit" the girl yelled at New York. "At least grant me that much!" Her eyes blazed with anger at the blond woman.

New York's eyes watered and her voice cracked, "Washington... I'm so sorry. I never wanted to... we never wanted to do what we..."

"Fat lot of good your wishes turned out to be huh? Never wanted to? If you felt that badly about it then why didn't you help me? Why didn't you say anything? You and Texas just shot me again and again until I finally sank."

Openly weeping, New York put her head against the glass wall. "I've had nightmares, I stopped talking to my sister, hell, I've cried for the last sixteen years wishing I could undo this. What do you want from me Washington?"

Washington's brow furrowed. "I'm not sure. This is your stupid dream... I think... I don't think it's mine. What do I want? Not getting sunk, so unless you can turn back time and get me completed, there's nothing you can do Auntie." Then her expression hardened. "But if you are looking for forgiveness or something from me forget it. Because you don't deserve it. So wake up already so I can go back to sleep."

"Washington wait!"

New York awoke to find herself planted face first into one of her lowest portholes with her hands against her steel walls. The glass of the porthole ran wet with tears.

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Norfolk Navy yard - the next morning 0700

Lt Commander Ivan Kinburn awoke to what promised to be an ordinary day in the Navy in his bunk aboard USS Wichita. The young officer dressed in his uniform and sat down at his desk. He opened the drawer to fetch the spare rosary he was going to give to one of the navigation officers whose wife had just given birth, when he saw a calendar that had not been in his desk yesterday.

"Huh? What's this....."

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The chaplain's door flew open with a bang and a flush faced Lt Commander Kinburn walked out with calendar in hand. He pivoted on his right foot and headed with a deliberate pace towards the stairwell to the deck below. He did not see Wichita peek out from behind his door, watching his receding back, with her hands clasped over her mouth.

Wichita caught up with the chaplain and walked by his side down the corridor to the stairs. "Oh no no no... please no... it's all my fault. Please don't blame them. It was my..." She continued following him to the enlisted berths, all of her entreaties ignored. The Lt Commander opened the door and strode into the enlisted berths and shouted, "So who's the wise..." and promptly fell silent mouth open as he beheld the scene of chaos.

A full scale brawl had erupted in the enlisted quarters. Footlockers were opened with contents strewn everywhere. Bedding and the occupants had been pulled from the racks. Most of the men were now in a massive ball of punching, kicking, headlocks and tackles of those attempting to escape.

"My Elvgren!" An enraged shout erupted from one of the rates at a bottom of a dogpile. He shook off the two petty officers on top of him and charged towards the holder of his precious calendar. Two steps before the sailor could reach the Lt Commander the entire room recoiled from a shout.

"STOP IT! STOP THIS RIGHT NOW! THIS WAS MY FAULT AND I'M SO..." Wichita's voice then dropped as she noticed the suddenly shocked silent room of sailors were all now looking directly at her, "sorry."

"uh oh... I think I goofed...um.." As Wichita in a panic remembered New York's suggestion of owning her nickname, threw her hands up and wiggled her fingers, "Fear my witchy powers?"

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Oh Wichita.... strong in the goof she is.