Changing Destiny (Kancolle)

Skywalker_T-65 · Jul 25, 2017

And, a little side jump to see how Utah is doing. Been long enough since she's shown up.

"Smoke, Utah?"

Smiling softly, USS Utah shook her head. Her long grey hair fell around her agelessly beautiful face, while she looked at the man beside her. She was the oldest battleship left in the Navy, but her Engineer looked every bit her senior. His grizzled face was staring at her over a lit cigarette, as he held out another towards her.

"Suit yourself," Joe Jackson shrugged, replacing the smoke in its box. His tone may have been gruff, but there was a certain fondness to it as well.

"I don't know what smoking would do, Joseph." Utah's smile didn't fade, even with another shake of her head. "Certainly I don't need to give you more work."

A grunt answered her. Her newly promoted Captain leaned back against her turret- or what was left of it -and shrugged. He acted uncaring, perhaps, though it was just that. An act. Utah couldn't help but fondly smile at him. The man tried too hard to maintain the image of a detached commander, mostly for the benefit of her tiny crew. When they were alone...well, suffice to say there was a reason she called him by his name.

"Ya don't know that." His grumbling was muffled somewhat by the cigarette in his mouth. It didn't hide the small smile. "Nice to know ya care, Utah. Always was a challenge keepin those old boilers running. Andy's a good kid, but he don't know you like I do."

Smile widening, Utah leaned against her Captain and shrugged. His broad shoulder, for all that he was shorter than she was, was easily capable of holding her up. And, to be honest, she was a bit like her daughter.

"I like this, though," the grey-haired battleship-turned-target softly spoke. Her head pillowed on her Captain's shoulder. "Being able to talk to you like this. Touching you like this. I always dreamed of it."

Jackson looked away, his scarred face refusing to look at the woman beside him. "Yeah, yeah. What's gotten into ya?"

Utah shrugged again, "Nothing really."

It wasn't really true. As her hull was being refit beneath her, Utah felt her mortality more than ever. The new guns were nice...but they were another reminder of her diminishing utility to the Navy. Even her new life as a target and trainer would only last so long. It was why she was so happy to be with her Captain and engineer. It couldn't last forever, but she wanted to make the most of it.

And continue to do what I can to save Arizona and the others.

Sighing, Utah brushed her arm against her Captain. Jackson grumbled again, and moved his arm enough so that she could wrap her own around it.

"Thank you for all of this, Joseph. It means more than you know."

This time, the grizzled old officer turned his head and directly smiled at Utah. It was a small one. But it was progress!

"Nah, thank you. Once this all gets out, the Navy may keep ya around. An old dog like me doesn't have a place on a new ship. You're home, Utah." Jackson scratched his chin, running his finger along one of the myriad of scars. Utah still hadn't gotten a straight answer out of the man...on where those came from. "Well, and a good friend. Pretty gal too."

A flush crossed Utah's face, as she squeezed the man's arm. "Please, I'm an old girl. Arizona is much more attractive than I am."

"Maybe," the officer shrugged. "But she ain't you. Now is she?"

If Utah had been bright red before, her face flushed yet further now. Tears misted in her eyes, as she smiled a watery smile. Even the twinge of men working at fixing old aches and scars through her hull faded a bit. Times like this she cherished, so very dearly. To find a man who cared so much about her was--was--well, it meant more than words could ever explain.

"As long as the Navy wants me, I'll be here, Joseph." Utah clung closer to her Captain, as he flicked his cigarette over the side of her hull. It landed far below, at the bottom of the drydock she rested in. In the distance, Saratoga was visible undergoing her own long-delayed refit. "I'll be here for you, and for my daughters."

Jackson snorted softly, "Daughters. Don't understand why you consider the battleships that, but eh. Who am I to judge."

Utah just smiled, and looked out at the distant carrier. Arizona had left some time ago, returning to Pearl. It was just Utah and the carrier now, for large ships. The carrier that had started all of this, with her time-traveling Admiral. The man who had given her everything.

"To be completely honest, I'm not their mother." There was an ever so slight hint of sadness in Utah's voice. A small tightening of her grip on her Captain. "That was South Carolina, my own mother. But with her gone...with my big sisters gone..."

Looking up at her Admiral, Utah's watery smile grew in strength. She drew her strength from the man by her side.

"I'm the oldest, and I do love them all like daughters. Arizona, Nevada, New York, New Mexico, Colorado...they're all like my beloved children. I'll do anything and everything for them. No matter what it is."

The Captain rolled his eyes, but smiled as he reached a free hand to ruffle Utah's long grey hair. The battleship, so much older than her looks showed, leaned into the touch. Her eyes were old but her soul still clung to little actions like this.

"Well, it ain't my place to judge that. Do what ya have to do, Utah, and we'll fix you right up after it. That's our job innit?" The scarred officer smiled at the battleship, as she clung to his side.

And Utah smiled back, looking at the rising sun as she thought about the future. She knew it would be trying and that she was unlikely to survive. It didn't matter.

She would continue doing everything she could to save her daughters, come what may. She would do everything in her power and more. And if, in the end, she still perished? She would die with a smile on her face as the rest survived and continued on without her. Like any proud parent would.

Skywalker_T-65 · Aug 6, 2017

Chapter 36

If there were any one thing that Enterprise would never be used to, it was the idea of being asked her opinion. It was so foreign to her, that she knew her mouth was hanging open. Her red eyes were wide. And her Admiral was staring at her expectantly, with only the slightest of smiles crossing his square-jawed face. It wasn't the first time this had happened, of course, but she felt it was still something she would...never quite be accustomed to.

As a warship, being asked what she thought was something unusual. To say the least.

"Enterprise?" Admiral Halsey just tapped his desk, hiding whatever amusement he may have felt. Admiral Richardson, sitting across from Halsey, didn't even try.

"Wh---I'm sorry sir!" Enterprise snapped to attention, blonde hair ruffling slightly under her officer cap. "I was just surprised you wanted my opinion, that's all. You're both a lot more experienced than I am!"

Both Admirals shared a look at that. Silently communicating in the the way that only experienced officers could.

"And that is exactly why we're asking this," Richardson was the one to turn back to the carrier, glasses glinting lightly in the overhead lighting. "A different perspective is always important, and no matter how experienced either of us are...no one knows your limitations and abilities better than you do."

Enterprise was sorely tempted to blush and look away. Her nerves were still very much present and she struggled to control them at the best of times. Certainly, it was hard to live up to what was expected of her. Though she liked to think she was getting better at that, at least. And because she was better at that, she didn't look away. Her cheeks did brighten.

But she didn't look away. Little E stared right at Richardson, her shoulders squared and her expression serious. If the Admirals were going to treat her like a valuable perspective, she wasn't going to disappoint them!

"I--if you want my opinion," Enterprise spoke with only a little stutter in her voice. "I believe that I shouldn't be in port any more than necessary. And that the missions should continue."

"Interesting," Richardson nodded at that answer. His own face was thoughtful, as he looked between the carrier and the papers on his desk.

"Sir?"

The older Admiral just shook his head, looking more at the papers now. "You know, I do firmly believe that being in Pearl is waving a sign at the Japanese telling them to attack. I suppose it is possible they choose not to, though I find that unlikely- anyone who has studied the Japanese know they firmly believe in quick strikes."

It seemed almost as if he was talking to himself, and not to her. Enterprise blinked her red eyes, and turned to look at her own Admiral. Halsey met her gaze, shrugged, and smiled thinly. Was he used to this?

"At any rate," Richardson still didn't move his head. But his words sounded more like they were directed at her again. "If the Japanese do attack us, they'll probably attack here to try and cripple the fleet. I don't know how, but they'll probably try. So you'll find I don't disagree with you, in principle."

Finally bringing his gaze back up, the commander of the Pacific Fleet stared at Enterprise with his steely eyes.

"And that is why I wanted to know your opinion."

Unable to fight the flush on her face, Enterprise nodded shakily. Not so much because of what Richardson had said...but because of what Thompson had once told her.

"The Japanese are going to attack Pearl. It was a miracle you weren't there, Enterprise, and we have to make sure that happens again. If you, Lex, Sara...if any of you are in that harbor, I can't say if you'll survive. The carriers were the priority target, even if a lot of Japanese pilots might have gone for the battleships first.

No matter what happens, you can't be in the harbor. If you have to convince Halsey to have you at sea from late November on, then do it."

"Admiral--Admiral Thompson told me something," Enterprise spoke, so softly that anyone but an Admiral intently watching her wouldn't have heard.

Halsey, of course, was used to his carrier talking like that. He leaned forward, square-jaw jutting out at the young girl. "James told you something, did he?"

Another nod, "He did. Something about the Italians? That their fleet was..."

"Taranto." Richardson finished her sentence, sparing Enterprise from the need to lie more.

Along with putting a thoughtful frown on the older man's face. Halsey as well, for different reasons.

"Did I say something wrong?" Little E didn't need to fake the slight tremble in her tone, though it did help her in this case.

As it had Halsey's expression softening, the Admiral placing his hand on her shoulder. "No, you didn't. Actually...you may just have given us a lot to think about, Enterprise. You're definitely my ship."

"Ah..."

While Enterprise was busy feeling warmth spread from her boilers to her hair, Richardson was rubbing his cheek. The man was staring at the desk thoughtfully, humming softly under his breath.

"Taranto...air attack...Japan copies Britain..."

Enterprise only caught snippets of what the man was saying, consumed as she was in Halsey's praise. At least, until Richardson spoke a familiar name.

"Saratoga."

What?

Pulling away from her Admiral's hand, the young carrier looked back at their mutual superior. Richardson returned the look, getting to his feet as he did so. The broad-shouldered Admiral walked away from the desk, and towards the exit from the office. When his hand touched the door, his steel-eyed gaze looked at both Enterprise and Halsey.

"You've given me a lot to think about, Enterprise." Richardson's gaze was harsh, yet his voice was as soft as it ever got. "Not least that the Japanese are not fools. Saratoga showed that Pearl is vulnerable to air attack multiple times. Taranto showed that torpedoes can be used in a shallow harbor."

Pushing the door open, the Admiral gave just one more statement before leaving.

"And it is entirely likely the Japanese take lessons from both of those. Consider your request taken under advisement...as much as it is in my power, you and the other carriers will continue your reinforcement missions. And will not be in port here any longer than strictly necessary, so long as the tensions with Japan remain."

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"...and that was what we talked about."

Alone now, Enterprise was swinging her legs off the side of her flight-deck. Men walked around her, doing their duties while completely unaware that there was a young girl sitting on the ship. As for said girl herself? Well, she was staring at a certain battleship moored in the distance. The newly red-painted turret tops were quite distinctive, even from where Enterprise sat. Turrets as red as the girl's hair and the carrier's eyes.

"That's it? I thought you would have talked about more things!"

Enterprise rolled her eyes, giggling softly. "Oh Ari, you're almost as bad as your mother."

"I'll take that as a compliment." It was easy to imagine Arizona crossing her arms, pouting at the carrier.

The two ships had become quick- and unlikely -friends. The second youngest carrier in the fleet, at least until Hornet came into service. And one of the oldest battleships, despite her young appearance and cheerful personality. An odd pairing if there ever were one.

Yet both of them were genuine friends. Perhaps they had bonded over their shared knowledge of the future at first, but it certainly wasn't that way now. Enterprise knew that. She was determined to never end up the only carrier fighting Japan, and Arizona was equally determined to not become a martyr. Changing the future wasn't just limited to Admiral Thompson, that was sure!

"If you want," Enterprise couldn't help the wide grin on her face.

"You're such a tease." Arizona, meanwhile, just grumbled a bit. But there was probably a smile on her face as well. "Seriously though, you only talked about that? I thought they would have asked about more things. Admirals always have so many questions!"

"I think they only wanted to ask me that one question..."

The carrier didn't sound particularly confident when she said that, as her red eyes shifted towards her island. Admiral Halsey was up there, planning the next operation. She knew that. So why was she worried?

"Maybe they did. Maybe you surprised them?" Ari sounded thoughtful.

Little E frowned, "But how could I have surprised them like that?"

"Well, I surprised Admiral Thompson when I asked questions about Sara."

Those words, despite everything else, had Enterprise breaking down into helpless giggles. Arizona growled in the background, but the carrier just didn't care. She may not understand it herself- her Admiral would say she was too young probably, and threaten to shoot anyone who tried to do it -but Enterprise knew some times. And one of those things was that her Aunt Sara and Ari were probably going to come to a head over a certain Admiral. Unless one of them did something different.

Which she didn't expect to happen. Not at all!

Regardless, Enterprise continued to giggle, as she stood up from her deck and started to do a little twirl. Her skirt ruffled around her legs, the carrier lost in her own little world. "Ari, thank you for that."

"What for?" Annoyed as she may be, the battleship sounded curious now.

"Oh nothing really," Little E smiled, wind blowing her short blonde hair around her face. "I just needed that laugh."

If someone were looking at Arizona, at that moment, they may have seen a buff of smoke rise from her stack. Despite being docked.

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"I don't get what was so funny." On her own hull, Arizona grumbled. Her face was distinctly grumpy.

And she walked directly into her Admiral, the man having to reach out to steady her. His hands on her shoulders brought Ari down to earth, and staring up into his concerned face. Isaac Kidd smiled down on her, patting the battleship down as she flushed bright pink from the collision. Brighter than her hair, at that.

"Careful there, Arizona. You know the crew doesn't like you walking through them, even if they don't know why." The Admiral was genial in his words, though there was a serious undercurrent to them.

"Yes sir!" An undercurrent Ari wasn't inclined to push, even as it brought a smile to her face.

Getting Admiral Kidd to see her had been...amazingly easy. Admiral Willson never had seen her, but Kidd...Kidd saw her almost right away. It was just a matter of grabbing his arm and talking to him.

Admiral Thompson would say its because he was already my Captain before.

"Now, what's wrong? You're normally more attentive than that." Kidd continued to look down on the short battleship, raising an eyebrow when her brown gaze moved away from his own. "Arizona?"

Ari's hands fisted in her long red skirt, tugging on the fabric a bit. "Enterprise kept teasing me about Admiral Thompson."

Kidd blinked.

Then blinked again.

Before a fond smile crossed his face, the Admiral letting go of Arizona's shoulder so he could lean back and shake his head. Amusement was clear in his actions, as he leaned against the bulkhead beside the girl.

"Oh, Arizona, you are far too sensitive for a battleship." Kidd, if anything, sounded like an older brother amused by his sister's embarrassment. Unlike Halsey, he never had tried to fit into the 'father' mold. "Though, if you'll recall..."

The battleship scowled, and turned her head away. She mumbled under her breath.

"Hmm?"

Her Admiral didn't even need to say anything, before Ari blew a bit of air out of her nose. The effect ruined a bit since she didn't burn coal.

"I know, Admiral. He wants Sara, not me." Arizona didn't like to admit to that point, of course.

The man by her side just patted her head, "More like he's a carrier man, through and through. I don't know Thompson personally, but I have heard that much. He won't serve on any other ship, I bet you that."

What was left unsaid, was that Ari shouldn't be distracting the other Admiral. Kidd had told her that before as well. It made her grumpy and all, but she followed what the man said. It wasn't her fault that she understood matters of the heart more than other ships! After all, there was...

That incident. The event that made her shudder in revulsion to this day.

Anyway. She understood the heart more than anyone else in the fleet. Naturally, of course. Even if it made her get a bit frustrated some times with the younger girls who didn't know better.

"Now, Arizona, I want to talk to you about something." Kidd's voice broke her from those thoughts, the Admiral gently guiding her towards his office. Away from anyone else.

"Ad--Admiral?" Ari blinked, going along with his gestures even if it confused her. What could he need to talk about? "Did I miss something?"

"If Enterprise was talking to you, probably not." The Admiral's eyes were much more serious, when he looked over his shoulder. His voice was soft, yet tough as iron. "I know all of you girls don't keep secrets between each other."

That was most assuredly an admonition. A gently worded one, but still one.

"...we could never talk to each other before?" Ari weakly protested it. Even though she knew the next words.

And Kidd would not disappoint her. "It is still a security risk, and you know that. That, however, is not what I wanted to talk about." Opening his office door, the Admiral gently tugged the battleship inside before shutting it behind them. He spun around, his feet roughly clacking on the decking, and his eyes zeroed in on her. "What I want to talk about, is what Admiral Richardson is planning."

Oh. Ohhh.

"The new plans!" Despite herself, Arizona couldn't keep the excitement out of her voice.

Kidd didn't seem to share it, "Yes, the new plans."

While Arizona would be the first to admit she was sometimes bad at reading a situation, she wasn't in this case. She could recognize that her Admiral was a bit annoyed. Probably...probably because Admiral Richardson wanted to keep the carriers safe before the battleships. Or maybe at the idea of always being prepared for an attack to begin with. One of the two.

This was not going to be fun, was it?

Far away from Pearl, the same thought was running through an Admiral's head. On some level, James Thompson was more worried about the door he stood in front of now than he had been of the White House. He had dreaded the meeting with Roosevelt, and he had learned how utterly out of his depth he was at politics. Both of these were true. It hadn't been a very fun experience, nor had his further meetings with the man. Lying to Roosevelt's face was impossibly difficult. And Thompson was still convinced the man knew more than he was letting on.

Yet, for all of that, he was more worried about the innocuous door and innocuous house in front of him. Silly wasn't it?

Come on Thompson. You stared down Franklin Roosevelt and a little meet and greet is scaring you?

Slapping his cheeks a bit, Thompson squared his shoulders before knocking on the door.

"Come on in! You know the door's unlocked!" An older man shouted from behind it. A voice that Thompson didn't recognize. Even though he should.

After all, as he opened the door, he found himself face-to-face with his 'father'. A smirking man in his sixties that--that he didn't know. He recognized his own eyes staring back at him, of course. And receding or not, he had the same hairline. But Thompson had only seen this man in black and white pictures before.

"It's been too long, James. Can't an old man see his son once in a while?" David Thompson pulled his 'son' into the house, despite the obvious discomfort of the younger man.

This was his great-grandfather, not his father.

"So...sorry about that." Thompson forced his voice to be level, as David tugged him along. "The Navy, you know."

All he got was a derisive snort, "Should have joined the Army like your old man. Sure, the trenches weren't fun. But at least you didn't have to worry about drowning!"

'Not fun' was probably an understatement, if the journals his grandfather had shown him were any indication. It was about all he knew of his great-grandfather, that he had served in France.

"Though, you'd think being in all these ports you would have found a good girl by now. I'm not getting any younger, James."

That, and the fact the man was a typical father. Past or pre--future.

"You know my answer to that...father." Thompson sighed, as he was pulled into the living room of the small home. A radio in the corner was playing music, but the room was otherwise quiet. He knew it well enough, though there was supposed to be a television where the radio was. At least the furniture was the same, if much newer.

"Bah! Complaining, I say."

While his- could he say 'his'? He wasn't the man he had replaced...was he? -father moved away, Thompson found himself engulfed in a loving hug. The smell of an old quilt filled his nose, as he looked down on graying brown hair.

"You haven't changed one bit, James. And neither has your father." The faintly disapproving voice of his--mother spoke beneath him.

Ignoring a complaining David in the background, Thompson pulled away enough to look at the woman he faintly remembered from the same pictures. It was so different seeing her alive in front of him. A kind smile that made him want to relax and smile back. Sparkling blue eyes, so unlike his own. The gentle features of a matronly woman in her sixties.

"Though, I do agree with him this once." A sad smile crossed her face, the older woman smoothing down her dress. Her brilliant eyes moving between the two men. "Your brother and sisters are all married. When are you going to settle down, James? You can't keep living alone forever."

Thompson didn't know how to answer that question. With everything going on he had never really felt the need to find someone, now or in his own time. There had never been any chances.

Toss in the way the girls looked at him- the way she looked at him, he wasn't blind -and...well. He couldn't very well tell anyone about that. Not the Navy, not his family. It would be frowned upon in the extreme, even if he reciprocated the feelings. And that was a confusing subject he preferred not to dwell on with Pearl coming.

So, instead, he just fixed a smile on his own face and hugged his gran--mother tightly. "I'll find someone eventually. Right now, there's too much going on with Japan and Germany."

"And the President, from what I've heard," David seemed to have recovered from his own annoyance quickly enough. He clapped his son on the back, wide grin threatening to split his face. "Don't give me that look, I still have some friends in high places. Don't get into the White House without someone noticing, son."

Shaking her head, his mother- Andrea, he remembered -rolled her eyes at her husband. "He just got home, and you're already wanting to ask questions about the President. At least let him eat first, David!"

"Our son met the President, and you're more interested in filling him up?"

"Who knows what food the Navy has him eating. It certainly can't be as healthy."

As the old couple in front of him bickered, Thompson couldn't help the smile on his face becoming more genuine. They weren't the parents he had grown up with, no. But he was...he was still at home. Maybe he could just let himself relax. Forget the war, forget everything he had done and still had to do. And just enjoy the company of what remained of his family.

That would be nice, wouldn't it?

I probably need it.

And so, James Thompson let his mother and sour-faced father lead him to dinner, years worth of stress finally fading into the background.

And there we go. The first of the chapters I want to get done.

This one can be considered a 'cool down' chapter, considering what is going to be coming soon enough. I wanted to get a bit more of E, Ari and Thompson just...relaxing. Show some development on the characters of the former two, and ~~troll with family~~ let the latter relax with his family. Even if he doesn't really know that family. May not be the most interesting chapter in the world, but I wanted to give the characters some time to not worry.

If that makes sense.

Especially considering next up, we have Schreiber for the last time before Pearl...and, of course, the elephant in the room needs to be addressed with our German friend. The big, red elephant.

Hopefully the chapter works well enough. I know some people don't like ones like this...

(also, a bit of Iron's Ari leaked in.)

(and fair warning, I'm going to be at the zoo- the zoo three hours from home -all day tomorrow. Won't be able to make any real replies until I get home, which could be...late)

Skywalker_T-65 · Aug 10, 2017

Chapter 37

Such an auspicious day for a cloudy sky...

Blue eyes staring up from Bismarck's deck, their owner leaning back against the bulkhead outside her bridge. Admiral Schreiber was a silent statue, while his crew were busy celebrating below decks or ashore. Part of him almost pitied the poor French citizens of Brest. The rest was consumed with worry over what the future would now bring. For if there were ever any chance of a surrender to just the Western Powers, it was gone now.

"I always knew this would come."

Schreiber sighed softly, a sardonic smile crossing his face. Of course he had always known it was just a matter of time until the Soviets were attacked. It was a core tenant of Nazism. Lebensraum and anti-Communism. Both were clearly laid out in Mein Kampf, and official Nazi policy. It was going to make his self-appointed mission all the more difficult.

"What are you talking about, Admiral?" A familiar female voice brought Schreiber out of his musings. Her footsteps echoing over the noise of men busying themselves finishing her refit.

Bismarck would never be stealthy, would she?

"The situation is moving forward," the Admiral didn't turn his eyes from the sky, however. He could only sigh. "We will know, soon enough, if our mission is still possible."

The footsteps continued, until Bismarck stood next to her Admiral. Her hand fell on his arm, drawing his gaze down on her. The sometimes-cocky battleship had a concerned expression, not helped by the gauze wrapped around her forehead.

"Haven't we succeeded at everything we've tried?" Bismarck was quick to point out her own views. "I defeated a British battleship! And we captured an entire convoy."

Schreiber shook his head, "All true. We've managed better than you did, in my time. However, the problem is in the East. Not here."

Clear confusion was reflected on Bismarck's face. She opened her mouth to ask a question about what her Admiral meant...before snapping her jaw shut. A metallic creak echoed through the air. Coinciding with Schreiber able to see the gears working behind Bismarck's ice-blue eyes. The Teutonic beauty was just as bad at hiding her feelings as being stealthy.

Though, it is somewhat entertaining to see her crew react.

Men were scrambling to figure out what that noise had been, while their Admiral simply raised an eyebrow at his ship.

"Admittedly, it isn't your concern, Bismarck. If we're serving against the Soviets, something has gone very...very wrong." Schreiber shrugged his shoulders, his lined face scrunching into a scowl. "Nonetheless, I have told you before. The moment Germany goes to the East, our mission becomes almost impossible."

It was Bismarck's turn to sigh at those words. Her fingers idly scratched at the wrapping around her head, as the battleship looked at her Admiral. "We'll survive, though. You've said that yourself Admiral...if you need to, you'll take Blücher and I and anyone else you can get and run."

There was more than a little distaste at the end of that sentence. Bismarck was a battleship. A German battleship, brought up in the tradition of the Kaiserliche Marine. Running was not something she enjoyed.

Schreiber merely sighed once more, "I have no intention of running, unless there is no choice. I do not want to see any of you girls die. But that is not what our mission is, and you know that, my old friend."

Bismarck didn't reply, electing to lean against the railing across from her old Admiral. Schreiber let her, feeling every bit of his age bowing him down. The distant sound of cheering at the 'success' against the 'Bolshevik menace' was more than enough to keep his mind occupied. Those men saw nothing but more success for the Nazi leadership. The destruction of the great ideological enemy. The gaining of more land and resources for the German people.

None of them saw this for what it was. Sealing Germany's fate. Schreiber was no fool. Even if he had gone right to Hitler and told him what would happen, and the madman had believed him, Germany was not capable of beating the Soviet Union. Germany shouldn't beat the Soviet Union, or the Holocaust would be even more destructive than it had been.

And yet, a part of me wants to join them in celebrating the destruction of Soviet forces.

The old Admiral's shoulders slumped further, as he cursed those thoughts. He shouldn't be thinking that way, yet it was so easy. So easy to slip into old prejudices and buried memories. He tried to avoid it, but it was so--

"Admiral."

Bismarck's voice was filled with an unusual level of concern. Enough to pull him from dark thoughts, and look at her face. The blonde battleship was frowning deeply, her lips tight and thin as a razor. Even her arms were crossed over her chest.

"You know that we will do everything we possibly can to save Germany, yes?" Before giving her Admiral a chance to say anything, Bismarck charged right on forward. A battleship never did give a chance for argument. "After everything you have told us, we have no intention of letting it happen again. What happened to you."

Shoulders stiffening, Schreiber turned away. His own blue eyes were foggy.

"Papa! Where are they taking him? What did he do wrong?!"

"Gustav...please, don't question it. If the St...if they want him, we can't say anything."

"But--"

"Listen, honey, to what I'm telling you. Your father wouldn't want the same to happen to you. Too many of our family and friends have had the same happen. Please...just let it go."

"I--I--"

He was so stupid in those days. The seeds of passive resistance against his own government had been laid, the day he saw his father dragged away. The day he could do nothing to save his father. It had influenced him for his entire life and he couldn't let it go. He had the same scene repeated so many times, overt and obvious...and insidious and hidden. Men and women broken.

"Bismarck, I refuse to let that happen again." Schreiber let his voice show a hint of what he felt. Just a hint of long-burning pain. "I hate Adolf Hitler and the Nazi Party." That was said so quietly that even Bismarck, with the hearing of a battleship, strained to hear. "But I hate Stalin and his vision just as much. Both of them are responsible for what happened in my home. It makes it so---so very difficult to not join those men, in cheering the destruction of the Soviet Union."

It was clear that Bismarck didn't know what to say in response to that. Her mouth could only open and close, as she bit her lip. "I can't understand it, Admiral. I don't know what hate feels like. I enjoy battle. Fighting that battleship was the most excited I've ever been!" A bit of that same battle-lust leaked into her voice, as the blonde smiled at the memory. "But I don't know what you feel like."

Schreiber smiled, lines tugging at the expression and making it resemble a grimace. "I hope you never do. However, it doesn't change the simple fact of our mission. I've involved you girls in a personal vendetta...a personal desire to never again see Soviet troops marching through German streets."

The Admiral turned away from his battleship, walking across her deck to stare up at a hint of stars peaking through the cloudy sky. His sigh echoed over the sound of men at work, hands clenching the railing tightly enough to whiten his knuckles.

"You're doing this to save Germany," Bismarck frowned again, shaking her head. "Who cares why you're doing it, if you're trying to save our country!"

"Hm." The old Admiral didn't deny the point. But he still didn't look at her, either.

She did not take kindly to this, "Admiral!" Bismarck stomped over to the man, glaring down on him and using every bit of her height advantage to do it. "Does it really bother you that much that this is personal for you?"

"The moment it becomes personal, is the moment anyone should start wondering about their motives." Schreiber whispered in response. That was a lesson that had been driven home, time and time again. "Do I want to save Germany, or do I want to make the Soviets pay for what they did to my country and my family?"

This was the most Schreiber had ever told Bismarck about how he felt. He had kept it very well hidden before now, not wanting to burden her with his own worries. It was only the launch of Barbarossa that managed to get this much out of him. His own worries and fears brought to the surface. How ironic.

And all Bismarck did was snort at him, almost dismissively. "They're one and the same! We may have started this silly war, but from what you told me, the Soviets will do just as bad to us as we did to them. Wanting to stop that from happening is perfectly reasonable. I don't need to be an officer to see that."

Schreiber had exaggerated, of course, when he told her that the Soviets would do everything to Germany that Germany did to them. Regardless, he understood what she was saying and it was true that part of his motivation was wanting to prevent the atrocities- on both sides! -that would come in the East.

"Frankly," Bismarck continued, slapping her hand down on her own railing. Not a wince was visible on her face from the action. "Blücher and I don't really care what your reason is, if you're trying to protect Germany. Even if you wanted to leave Germany and help it fall to save it, we would follow. You're our Admiral."

Perhaps it was that blind dedication, more than anything else, that allowed the aging Admiral to smile at his battleship. To them, there was not a question of morals. To them, there was no asking if what they were doing was the right way to do it. He was the Admiral, they were his ships. That was all that mattered.

And, unlike the blind following Hitler, they had no problems speaking their mind if they did feel he was doing something wrong. That was what made them different from the majority of the German people.

"Bismarck," Schreiber looked over at the tall woman by his side, who was now trying to smooth down her jacket over her skirtless hips. "You may be right, about one thing at least."

"Which is...?"

Turning around, the time-traveler walked back towards the entrance to Bismarck's bridge. His loyal warship following along curiously, as he began speaking again. In low, conspiratorial tones that would have had many a German staring at him warily. A tone that only served to make her more curious, leaning forward to hear what he was saying so quietly.

"No matter what my personal feelings are, we need to do what we can to save Germany. I won't let my own biases blind me, and I won't try to help the war in the East. But I will not let Germany be divided again." Schreiber looked over his shoulder, one last time. The lines on his face were deeper than they were before, but the hesitation had faded away to be replaced with the determination that had let him stand, face to face, with Adolf Hitler. "I believe it's time we got another message to Herr Oster, don't you?"

Bismarck's own smile turned distinctly predatory, "Yes, sir!"

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

Official Kriegsmarine Report on progress of Operation Barbarossa, July 4th, 1941---

---In light of weaker than expected Soviet resistance, Wehrmacht and allied units have pushed deep into the Soviet Union. Former Polish territory has been completely cleared of Red Army forces. Partisan activity is high, however, OKW is clear that this will not be a problem for very long as Communist forces are rooted from their hidden bases. Army Group Center command expects to be in Mogilev within the week, if not sooner. Delays are expected due to the need to defeat, in detail, Red Army pockets of resistance.

--Army Group South is facing heavier resistance in the effort to liberate Bessarabia- reports indicate our Romanian allies are less than effective -and are consequently moving slower. Diplomatic pressure is being exerted on the Turkish government to either join the War, or allow lighter units of the Kriegsmarine and Regia Marina into the Black Sea to support the offensive. See attached file Foreign Ministry File: 'Negotiations with Turkey'.
In light of these events, it is expected that select light units of the Kriegsmarine based in Italy and Greece may be called upon to help in the offensive. OKW is working on plans, should this become necessary.

--Army Group North has had large successes in the Baltic States. Russian resistance collapsed early in the offensive, and further attacks have pushed the Red Army out of Lithuania and Latvia. It is believed that advanced units of the Heer will soon move into Estonia and Russia, with Leningrad the ultimate target. To eliminate Red Army and Red Navy forces in the Baltic, light cruiser Nurnberg and heavy cruiser Blücher will move to support landing operations on the Estonian Islands. Upon completion of sea trials, heavy cruiser Seydlitz will join the operations to defeat the Soviet Baltic Fleet.

--Further operations: Units of Kriegsmarine landing forces will provide support to the garrisons in Latvia. The naval base at Liepāja will be under the command of Korvettenkapitän Brückner. These forces are to maintain order in the towns and to repair and refit the ports for use by Kriegsmarine surface forces. The troops remain under the command of the Kriegsmarine, and should orders be in conflict with those of Heer officers, these will be brought to the attention of high command immediately. Kriegsmarine officers and subordinates are advised they are not required to perform the same duties as those of the Heer or Gestapo, and should focus on their assigned duties first and foremost.

Furthermore, should the naval bases be sufficient, these will become key operating facilities in the Eastern Baltic. As such, officers are expected to expedite repairs and punish sabotage accordingly. Should it become necessary, labor may be drawn from Prisoner of War Camps.

--In conclusion: Operation Barbarossa is proceeding far ahead of schedule in every theater but for Army Group South, where more difficulties have been encountered. However, it is estimated that Bessarabia should be under Romanian control within the month. Upon completion of Operation München, Army Group South will shift focus to the defeat of Red Army forces in the Ukraine and the capture of Kiev. Joint Romanian-Heer forces will continue marching towards Crimea, potentially with support of light naval forces.

---Addendum: Reports increase, notably among forces in the Baltic that may be involved in Operation Barbarossa, of strange events aboard surface vessels. SS observers aboard these vessels have complained of discrimination and what they claim to be attacks on their person. Interviews of crew and officers of Blücher and Leipzig indicate these events rarely move beyond inconvenient pranks. The most noticeably dangerous event being the case of Obersturmführer Leitz, who was forced overboard of Blücher by an unidentified assailant. Kapitän zur See Lange reports that no man has been found guilty of doing so, noting in his official report that the Obersturmführer was victim of a cruel, but entirely unintentional, accident. No other reports have been made of this level.

However, concurrently with the complaints of the SS observers, there have been an increasing number of reports of strange sights aboard the cruisers. Several engineering officers have reported seeing women in the engineering spaces, though they have never been able to identify them. Furthermore, when attempts are made to find these women, the machinery appears to be in better working order than before. The Chief Engineering officers aboard Blücher and Leipzig are unable to explain these events. Kapitänleutnant Becker of Emden believes that there is some connection, though his report indicates he is unsure of what it is.

Official orders to all officers and crew of the Kriegsmarine are to report these events to their superiors immediately. Men are known to hallucinate after long periods at sea, however, the regularity of these events indicate something greater than this. If women have hidden aboard vessels of the Kriegsmarine, they must be found and apprehended before given the chance to sabotage any equipment or cause difficulties among the crew. No person, man or woman, is allowed aboard vessels of the Navy without express permission. There are no exceptions.

-Großadmiral Erich Raeder

A bit shorter, but I felt it worked this way.

This one is primarily focused on Schreiber and expanding on him a bit. Barbarossa is not a fun thing for him, in the slightest, as I've hinted at before. I felt I needed to show that in this chapter. Character development and all that. As well as demonstrating that he is most assuredly not perfect. This is a man who is extremely conflicted by his personal biases, no matter how deeply he- as all Germans-who-are-not-Nazis -hates the Nazis.

I debated if I wanted to show a bit of ground combat in the East as well...but decided in the end to go with the 'official report' option. Clearly this would be more formal if it were an actual report, but I didn't want to bore readers

That, and I just wanted to summarize what is going on. Which can be said to be...well, slightly better than historical in some areas, slightly worse in others. Schreiber's influence can't change Barbarossa all that much, and neither can the butterflies. If anything changed at all, there would be a slight bit of problems with Italy considering the early Taranto raid. Otherwise, not enough time and not big enough actions to butterfly a lot away. Yet.

I will write from the ground perspective later, though.

The biggest change here, really, is Seydlitz. Which leads into the following omake, because it didn't quite fit into the chapter itself. The tone, anyway.

Skywalker_T-65 · Aug 10, 2017

Omake: Sisters

"Sis!"

Sometimes, Blücher just let herself be a child. These times were often when she was with her Admiral- who honestly was more a father to her -or with her sisters. This case was one of the latter, though the sister in question was one she had only seen in passing before. Eugen was with Bismarck in the Atlantic and Hipper was returning from a trip to Norway. That left just one sister in Germany for her to talk to.

"Bl...Blücher?" A sister who sounded completely confused, when she responded.

She could be forgiven for that, considering she had never left port and wasn't very familiar with her sisters. Yet!

"Of course I am! Can't you tell by the turrets?" Blücher put as much good cheer into her voice as she could, a wide grin crossing her face when she saw the look her Captain sent her out of the corner of his eye. It wasn't her fault she had to perch herself atop her conning tower to see the port properly!

"I've never seen your turrets any different, sister."

With a pout now taking shape, Blücher sent sad violet eyes at her sister. She knew her sister couldn't see her, but she did it anyway. "Seydlitz! You're my sister, you should know these things!"

"Sorry...?" While Blücher could no more see her sister than her sister could see her, she had a good idea of what to expect with those words.

A confused expression under brown eyes. Light, sandy brown hair that fell in front of her eyes out of her loose ponytail. A youthful face that had yet to see any battle. A girl wearing a uniform just like her own, on a slimmer body. After all, she was Blücher's little sister so they had to share uniforms. And she was originally a light cruiser, so she would be slimmer.

It made perfect sense!

"Ah, don't worry about it sis." Rolling her eyes slightly, Blücher sat down atop her conning tower, as her hull pulled into dock next to her sister. Men were visible swarming over her hull, continuing to work at getting the new cruiser ready for battle. It was only a matter of time, at this rate. "I'm just happy to see you."

"I'm glad to see you too, sister." Seydlitz was always so prim and proper when she spoke.

On the one hand, it made it difficult to talk with her.

On the other, Blücher was well aware she was like that at first too. Before her Admiral had talked with her. They were young, her and Seydlitz. Without anyone to talk to and without any experience to work with, they...just didn't have the time to develop.

Though I can change that!

Smiling at the thought, Blücher turned to look at her sister again. "Hey, Seydlitz. Want to hear a story?"

"A story? About what?" Seydlitz actually sounded interested, and Blücher could imagine her sister pulling herself up to look at her.

It brought a wide smile to her face, "Oh, nothing much. Just how my Admiral and I took an entire British convoy!"

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

The story that Blücher told her sister took most of the remaining daylight. Neither sister cared. Blücher didn't care, because she could talk to her sister. Seydlitz didn't care, because she had someone who loved her to talk to. Both of them just enjoyed the sound of the other's voice.

"Hey...sister." At the end of the story, Seydlitz spoke up with a question.

"What is it?" Blücher was more than happy to answer.

Silence answered her, though, before her sister managed to rally her thoughts. "Do you think we will serve together? Like this?"

"Hm...I don't see why not!"

Blücher would like nothing more than to serve with her sister. Any of her sisters, to be completely honest. There was just something about sailing in formation with someone exactly like her--it felt right. Any cruiser probably felt that way. That being said...

"I would like that." Seydlitz's voice was quiet, but carried the impression of a small smile.

....Blücher would like serving with this sister, more than any others. Admiral Schreiber had told her about his Seydlitz. A girl who was never completed. Torn apart to be made a carrier, and left to rot before the Soviets put her out of her misery. She had never come back from that, not completely. The very first thing her Admiral had done, after returning from Norway, had been to use her example to push for the completion of Seydlitz.

He had said he wouldn't let that happen again. He had promised her that she wouldn't have to see that happen to her sister.

"I'll talk to the Admiral when I see him again, then," Blücher pushed that thought to the back of her mind, focusing instead of grinning and putting happiness into her voice. "We'll be together if I have anything to say about it!"

Seydlitz, the ship, seemed to vibrate at her pier for just a second. It probably scared her workcrew senseless, but it just made Blücher giggle a bit. Her sister was happy!

"I'm glad," Seydlitz confirmed that thought, with genuine happiness in her voice. "Do you think we can see Lützow too?"

And, just as suddenly as that, the smile fell off Blücher's face. Did Seydlitz not know?

I can't blame her for asking, when Lützow was her sister. Her complete sister. But...I don't want to tell her. Who knows what the Soviets are doing to her, especially if they ever find out about what we are...

Clearing her throat, Blücher forced the wobble out of her voice, "Erm, Seydlitz. You do know that she was given to the Soviets...right?"

There was no response, other than an embarrassed burst of smoke from the other cruiser's stack. Blücher didn't need to see her sister to know that she was flushed from that. Maybe she had forgotten.

"S--sorry, sister. I just...Blücher...you know she was going to be just like me." Seydlitz's voice was subdued and quiet. Completely quiet.

Blücher knew that. And she knew that their sister was also never going to be completed. That she was going to be forced to fight Germany. She couldn't- she wouldn't -tell Seydlitz that.

"Don't worry about it, sis!" Instead, Blücher cheerfully waved over at the other cruiser's hull. Her pink hair was blown back in a gust of wind, as she struck a pose for her sister's benefit. "I'm sure she'll be just fine. 'sides, the sooner you can get finished, the sooner we can get this war over. Then we can see her again!"

"Y--yeah. You're right, sister. As soon as I can sail, I can help end the war. And then meet our other sisters." Seydlitz wasn't quite back to where she was, but the sadness was gone from her voice. At the least.

Her sister would take that. "Good! Now, how about I tell you some more stories?"

"I'd like that. Maybe one about Eugen this time?"

"No problem!" Blücher settled back down, content to spend her time with her sister like this. Telling her stories and getting to know her.

Anyone who reads Indy, knows what I'm referencing with Seydlitz.

At any rate...sisters getting to know each other. Like I said, tonally this didn't fit with the chapter, so omake. Wanted to write it though. As for Lützow...not going to say anything else on her.

Skywalker_T-65 · Aug 13, 2017

Chapter 38

November 30, 1941

Admiral Thompson smiled as wind blew through his hair. The breeze was cool and crisp. Smells of the Pacific Ocean wafted up at him. And his feet were finally back where he belonged. On the bridge of Saratoga, waiting only for her aircrew to return before setting off for Pearl. After so long in Washington it almost felt strange to be here. Not in a bad way. But strange.

"Oh it is good to be back," Thompson sighed softly, his hand running along the railing. He was fairly certain some of the bridge crew were smiling behind his back. Probably rolling their eyes too.

He found he didn't really care.

Now, where is Sara? I expected her to be up here by now.

Turning around, Thompson examined his bridge. Everything was familiar...old machinery and old stations, manned by bright young men. Here and there he could pick out differences. New equipment added, or pieces moved around. And of course, the very fact the bridge was open now. It left a strange mix of different and familiar in his eyes.

Yet still no sign of who he had wanted to meet.

"You have the bridge, Captain." The time-traveling Admiral turned away from the windows, and headed towards the exit deeper into the island. "I'd like to look over my ship and see what else has changed."

"Of course, sir." Sara's Captain nodded, though his lips seemed to twitch up ever so slightly.

Thompson gracefully ignored that, and nodded back as he exited the bridge. He would, eventually, look over all the modifications made and see if they passed muster. But first, and foremost, he was going to the place most likely to have Sara. Namely...towards his quarters. He could always rely on finding her there, if nowhere else.

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

"Admiral!"

And, as a blue-haired missile slammed into his chest, Thompson was proven right. Luckily he had already shut the door to his quarters, so he was merely pushed back against it roughly. Trying to stay on his feet was practically impossible. Especially with the strong arms wrapped around his torso.

"Well, t--that isn't the greeting I expected." The Admiral grunted, ignoring a little jab of pain from his back.

"Sorry!" Sara pulled back, staring up at him with wide green eyes. "I didn't mean to hit you like that. I just...it's been so long and I--"

Thompson couldn't help the smile on his face, as he pulled his carrier's arms off his torso. "It's fine, Sara. Just a little warning next time."

His words didn't stop the bright flush crossing her face, but Saratoga nodded anyway. The carrier stepped back a little bit, allowing her Admiral to fully enter his room. Here, more than anywhere else, nothing had changed. Everything was exactly as he had left it. Everything--

But for the carrier next to him.

"You changed your dress, Sara?" Thompson raised a curious eyebrow, looking his oldest friend up and down.

"I did," she confirmed, doing a little twirl in place to demonstrate. The smile on her face was blinding. "Do you like it?"

Well...

Smile widening, Admiral Thompson nodded as he moved to sit down on his bed. "I do. Didn't know you could change your clothing like that, though. The remodel?"

"Hm."

With a little hum of her own, Sara plopped down next to her Admiral. Her hands smoothed out her new, much longer, white dress. A dress that hugged her curves, while covering much more than her old skirt had done. Other than the pockets and the black line down the center, it was completely featureless though. Save for the red necktie that Sara's hands fidgeted with, that she seemed to have kept from her old uniform.

If it weren't for that and her hair, Thompson would almost believe she was a different person entirely.

"New dress aside," the Admiral didn't make a single noise of protest when his carrier leaned against his side. "How have things been going for you?"

Sara just smiled up at him, gently setting her head on his shoulder. "Not much. There really wasn't anything to do, if I'm being quite honest. Even Ari and Utah left before I did." A soft sigh escaped pretty lips, as long blue hair shifted on the Admiral's shoulder. "Honestly, I just wanted to be done with it."

"Got bored, did we?" Thompson couldn't help the snort. He tried, but he couldn't.

Imagining Sara sitting on her bridge, bored out of her mind? It didn't fit the calm and collected woman he knew. Then again--

"Careful, sir."

--neither did the single green eye, looking up at him past a lock of black hair. The eye narrowed in clear warning that he watch what he said. Or else he would regret it.

And all it did was make his snort transfer into full-scale laughter. Laughter that, despite the sour look on her face, was soon joined by giggles from the carrier. Both Admiral and ship shared in a moment of unrestrained happiness at being together again. It had been entirely too long. Stress from dealing with politics for Thompson. And boredom from being left alone for Sara.

Was it really any surprise both of them longed for simpler times?

"I needed that," Thompson leaned back with a relaxed sigh, smiling as the woman at his side followed the movement. "I really did. You always did know exactly what to say, Sara."

The carrier rolled her eyes, "Well of course." Her voice was filled with an airy haughtiness, as she pulled away just enough to stare down her Admiral. "After all, I know you better than anyone."

Thompson didn't deny the point, merely pulling Saratoga back down beside him. Other than a surprised noise of protest, the woman didn't try to resist his gesture. She seemed to be quite content, merely sitting next to him. With her body pressed into his side.

"What about you, Admiral?" Sara's voice was soft, when she asked that question.

"Well..." with a shrug of his shoulders, the Admiral smiled over at Sara's curious expression. "I met my family. That was...an adventure."

Sara tilted her head curiously, "What do you mean?"

"You know my family," Thompson rolled his eyes at the memories. His gra---his mother was doting and everything one could expect from a housewife in the '40s. His father...well, his father was different. "Granddad is still trying to push me into getting married. I think Grandma wants me to do the same thing, but she isn't as vocal about it. You'd think they're worried I'm celibate or something."

"Are you?"

That innocent question had Thompson chuckle softly, "Hardly. I had all the adventures one can imagine when I was younger. I just haven't had any interest in women right now. Didn't I tell you that months ago?"

There was no immediate answer. Sara's grip on his arm tightened a little, and the carrier leaned more into his side. Her body pressed against his, and it was all Thompson could do to look down on her. At bright green eyes- always a little brighter than his own -staring back at him.

Is--is she...?

"You did," Saratoga finally replied. Her lips worked slowly over those words, as she ducked her head away. Hiding those pretty green eyes. "I just--its silly, really. Whenever you talk about that, I wonder what you really feel about. I'm a warship, I shouldn't even be thinking about that. But I can't stop myself."

Her arms tightened on the Admiral's, pulling him close to her. His arm settled between her breasts--over her slowly beating heart. Thompson could feel it, through the thin fabric of their uniforms. A rhythmic thump-thump in tune with the turbo-electric system beneath their feet. She was a warship. She was human. And right now, she was clutching him tightly, what little of her face he could see flushed bright pink.

"Sara."

His voice was barely above a whisper itself. Thompson reached his free hand down, gently pulling her face up. His fingers cupped her chin, green staring into green. His gaze took in every inch of her flushed face. From her pursed lips, right up to her slim nose.

"You keep asking that question," he continued, voice softening further. A small smile cracking his lips. "And every time, it comes back to this. Doesn't it?"

She hesitantly returned the smile, "It does, doesn't it? I'm sorry sir, it's...not proper of me. I shouldn't be thinking this way, certainly not as a warship! It's not proper at all, and Lex would never stop talking about it and Little E will tease me so much while Utah keeps telling me she saw it a--"

"Stop already, I can barely understand you." Thompson couldn't stop a chuckle, at the distinctly strange sight of Saratoga being a motor mouth. She was normally more composed than this.

It was clearly really bothering her, having to say this. At a time like this.

"I...you're right." Sara clearly agreed. She sucked in a steadying breath, and shook her head a little to get strands of blue-black hair out of her face. Her hands refused to let go of his arm. "I'm a warship, and my first goal has always been keeping you and my crew alive. To serve the nation. Feelings like this are--well, I've never felt like this before. Not until I met you."

'None of us have ever felt like this before, sir. People like joking about Kongou and the others, but we try to...compensate for never talking with anyone before. These feelings are always so strange to us. Half of us don't even know what we're doing!

It's something I've always liked about you. You don't try to take advantage of it. I can't tell you the number of times someone has tried to take advantage of the destroyer's innocence or tried to push one of the larger girls to do something. A lot of times, the girls don't know what is going on--they always play on that. Planning ahead of time.

You...well, you always treated us with respect Admiral. Even if I can tell you're as lost as I am half the time.'

Thompson shook his head, pushing the memory back. The Sara in front of him was not the same woman he had met, years ago. And yet she was so similar. And just like then, he had to say something.

"I've tried to keep myself from looking at you, or anyone else, like that." The time-traveling Admiral sighed. His body leaned back against the bulkhead of his quarters, as his free hand gently rubbed Sara's hair. "It was frowned upon, back where I came from. Forming relationships with anyone under your command. You girls especially so. Some people treated you as equipment, some as guardian angels...it was all so complicated. Throwing romance in on that was just asking for trouble."

Sara's face fell, "And that hasn't changed. I understand that, Admiral. Especially now. I'm still a warship, not a woman. You can't see me as anything more than--"

"I tried to keep myself from doing that."

Those words cut the carrier off, and brought her wide eyes back up to her Admiral. Thompson returned the expression, his free hand now idly scratching his chin. A little bit of stubble covered it, giving him an air of youth that hid the lines developing from the stress he was under. But even now, his smile was the same as ever.

Soft and caring. What had made Sara- and, a traitorous part of her whispered, Ari -end up in this position in the first place. She just hadn't been willing to admit it, even to herself.

"You need to understand, Sara," Thompson continued with his voice clearly conflicted. "It is hard to break old habits. You still being a part of this ship has nothing to do with it." His smile widened slightly, as the Admiral patted her head like he would a bulkhead. "If you, or anyone else, being a ship was enough to cause a problem, it would have caused that when I first met you. Its easy to see past that, if you're willing to try."

"Admiral...are you...?" Sara didn't dare to hope, even as she squeezed a little tighter against the arm she had never released.

Thompson continued to smile, but shook his head. "Sara. Regardless of what either of us feel, we can't do anything right now. Whenever this gets out- and it will get out, mark my words -how do you think the public would react to 'Admiral is in a relationship with his warship'? Even now, I can just see the headlines."

And there was the problem, wasn't it? No one really knew how the public was going to react to the news of the ship girls to begin with. Tossing in something like that, on top of everything else...no, Sara couldn't well blame her Admiral for what he was saying. It wouldn't stop her from holding on tight and refusing to let go. But she could understand.

It didn't make it any easier though. It never had.

"That said," the Admiral leaned down, smirking at the way Sara's face turned a yet-brighter shade of pink with his breath whispering over her nose. "I'm sure we can work something out. Once I've got everything sorted out." Without another word, his lips brushed against the carrier's nose. Nothing more than a short tap.

It was still enough to send a rush of energy through Sara and cause a hiccup in her engineering spaces.

"Not least, being figuring out what I'm going to do about Ari. I'm not blind to how she feels."

The lingering feeling of his lips on her nose was enough to keep a smile on Sara's face, despite the topic. "Ari...I don't think she ever gave up on you. She was still talking about how she wanted to show you her remodel, the last time I saw her. I don't think I've ever seen her that excited, if I'm being completely honest."

Thompson sighed, "That's about what I expected. That isn't going to be a fun conversation."

Lack of fun or not, that conversation was well in the future. For the moment, both carrier and Admiral were content to lay next to each other. Thompson feeling the beating of Sara's heart against his arm. And Sara feeling the warmth of his arm against her body. After months apart, months spent reflecting on what they meant to each other, it was sweet, sweet release to pent-up feelings. Even if it couldn't go any further than this. Not now.

"Anyway," Thompson turned his head a little, content expression never once leaving his face. "Do you want to hear about the time I met Churchill?"

"You met Churchill?!" Sara's voice was filled with shock. Her wide green gaze looking up at her Admiral. "Why did--you were going to tell me this, weren't you?"

The Admiral laughed a little, "Before everything else, yeah. Anyway, it was with the President on Augusta and we were..."

Whatever else Thompson was going to say was lost to time. Without even waiting to knock on his door, Sara's wireless operator chose that exact moment to burst into the room. The man was panting as if he had sprinted over the entirety of her hull, wide-eyed and flushed-faced. However, the most noticeable thing was his eyes. Eyes wide with fear and panic, as he held out shaking hands holding a message.

"A--Admiral, you need to see this." The young man struggled to get his breathing under control, as Thompson shared a look with Sara and climbed off his bed. The rating didn't notice the look, unable to see Sara. "This is confirmed. Not a hoax."

Those words...those words were enough to make Thompson's own face pale. He was out of bed quicker than he ever had been before, pulling the message from shaking hands.

"Air raid Pearl Harbor. This is not drill."

Thus, do we begin a new war.

Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto stood silently on the flag-bridge of Nagato. The flagship of the Imperial Japanese Navy was not participating in the attack, of course. She lay at dock in Hashirajima, thousands of miles from the Kido Butai. This was a battle for the carriers and the pilots, not for the Admirals and battleships. Yet, as he shut his eyes and spoke a silent prayer, Yamamoto wondered if he should have been there as well.

He held supreme confidence in those he had given command of this operation. Despite the preparations the Americans had been undertaking to reinforce Pearl Harbor, he felt that it was still likely they would be unable to prepare for the attack.

Yet, he still felt- on some deep, fundamental level -that he should have been aboard Akagi or one of the other great carriers. This operation was his. The outcome was his. Whatever, and however, the Americans reacted was his to own. This was indisputable.

"Message received, Admiral." The voice at his ear was soft and respectful. As befitted a sailor of Japan.

"Understood," Yamamoto opened his eyes, looking at the man who had given him the report. "It will soon be time for the fleet to sortie. Send the message to the other vessels."

"Hai!"

Yamamoto inclined his head, before returning his gaze to the anchorage. Nagato's sister Mutsu was visible nearby, with the older Fusou in the distance with her own sisters and half-sisters. In the day these ships had been built, it would have been an impressive gathering of force. Even now, it was more powerful than any squadron in the Sea of Japan.

All of it would be so much scrap, if the attack failed.

Six months. We have merely six months, if the attack succeeds, before the Americans will have restored their fleet to fighting standard.

"Will this be remembered as a glorious day for Japan, or the day our country walked to our graves." Yamamoto's voice was far too silent for any of Nagato's crew to hear. Even had they heard, none would have questioned their Admiral. Such was his fame and the loyalty of those who served beneath him.

It would be false to say that Isoroku Yamamoto was weak-willed or defeatist. What he was, was a man who had been to America and had seen American industry. A man who understood that, should a negotiated peace be impossible, Japan could not win. A war of attrition did not favor the Empire.

"We do as we must." The Admiral twitched his neck. The closest he would allow to shaking his head in the presence of his men. "Japan must expand to survive."

He knew, better than most, how stretched Japanese resources were. If the war in China were to continue, the Dutch colonies were necessary. Yamamoto believed that an attack so close to the Philippines would not be ignored by the Americans. If war were to be fought, the only way to have hope of victory would be destroying the American fleet before it could react.

Thus, his grand operation.

I can only hope this is enough. If this fails, if the Americans continue to fight despite their losses, we shall not win. We would need to dictate terms from the White House. An impossibility.

Isoroku Yamamoto continued to look out at his fleet, unaware of the silent red eyes watching him from the back of Nagato's bridge.

Well, this one went a totally different direction than I expected.

Initially, I was planning on a short little bit of our Admiral and his favorite carrier reconnecting. Just a little talk between the two, then a flashback to the Atlantic Conference to introduce Churchill. Then things started...snowballing. Apparently it's been too long since I've written shippy cutes, because that came out of nowhere. I like to think it worked, though.

Either way, Atlantic Conference will now be in a later flashback. Because it's time for Pearl...

And for the Japanese perspective.

Also, student teaching begins tomorrow with an entire day (no, literally, 8am or so until 8pm or so) of meetings at the school-leading-into-an-open-house with parents. Fun times.

No idea how this will impact my writing, until I figure out how much free time I'll have left between student teaching and the nine hours of actual uni work I still have to do.

Skywalker_T-65 · Aug 27, 2017

Chapter 39

"Will this be remembered as a glorious day for Japan, or the day our country walked to our graves."

Those words were whispered so quietly, that Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto could be forgiven for thinking none heard them. Even if anyone had heard them, it wouldn't have mattered. Because Japanese discipline would allow no questions. Nagato's crew, furthermore, were far too loyal to their Admiral to do anything. Unlike other ships in the navy or other crews, the flagship of the Combined Fleet would not have such a problematic crew. That would never happen, not while Yamamoto was in command.

It mattered little, of course, since none of the crew heard. Save for one, and her status as a member of the 'crew' was questionable.

"Hmph." Arms crossed over her chest, Battleship Nagato stood at the back of her bridge. Her dark overcoat blended into the shadows, helped by her black as night hair. Not that anyone could see her, even if she were not hidden by shadows.

Right now, she was more concerned with what Admiral Yamamoto had so simply stated. As if it were an assured fact.

"You are not normally so reluctant, Admiral." Nagato's rich contralto echoed over her bridge. Her crimson gaze fell on the square-shouldered old man, as he stared out at the anchorage. "I wonder why..."

Did she expect an answer? Of course not. None could hear or see her. However, the question needed to be asked. Hesitation. Fear. Worry. None of those were words she would have used to describe Isoroku Yamamoto. To see it at all was...strange.

As if he had heard her words, Admiral Yamamoto let out the closest to a sigh that Nagato had ever seen from him. "Defeating the Americans. Only a madman believes it is possible to defeat them in detail and dictate terms."

A single elegant eyebrow rose up on Nagato's sharp-featured face. That sounded almost defeatist. Not from Yamamoto, surely?

Before she could do anything to voice those concerns, the old Admiral continued speaking. His words were quiet, yet firm and hard as steel. No matter the content of his speech, this was an Admiral of Japan. His spine was steel and his dedication strong.

"Six months. We shall have no more than six months, if we destroy their fleet, before the Americans will have rebuilt to challenge us. If we cannot secure our holdings before then, we shall fail." The Admiral, uniform shifting along his broad form, moved away from his position. His dark eyes looked right through Nagato. His lips were drawn into a thin, nearly invisible line as he spoke one final time. "There was no more time to wait. Had we waited, the Americans would have been impossible to attack. We had no choice."

Without one further word, the Admiral walked right past Nagato. Not one sign of noticing the tall battleship, her skirt rustling against her legs as she backed away from him. Leaving a silent bridge, either unaware of what he had said or unwilling to question their Admiral. Even Nagato was unsure. Equally, she was unsure what exactly she felt about it.

The Japanese people are superior. Our warships are the best in the world and our pilots are without equal. I may not believe that the age of the battleship, of the Big Seven, has passed. However, I know one fact. We shall not, cannot, lose. The Americans have forever underestimated our power. That will be their downfall.

Nodding her head sharply, Nagato pulled her overcoat close over her tightly wound body, and took her Admiral's position. There was no room for doubt, as she looked out at the anchorage. At her distant sister. At the weaker Fusō and Ise. At the big gun force of the Combined Fleet. All of whom looking up to her, as their respected leader.

There was no greater honor than to be the flagship of the Combined Fleet.

Admiral Yamamoto's plan will succeed. We will draw the Americans into the Kantai Kessen and destroy them. Then there shall be nothing to stop Japan from assuming her rightful place in the world.

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Far from Nagato, a much younger ship swayed as her hull plowed through waves. Green twintails blew back in the wind roaring over her flight deck. Equally green eyes were staring out at the preparation to launch planes with the eagerness that could only come from youth. She was the youngest carrier in this formation, and the one with the most to prove. To herself, to her sister, and to her seniors in the other Carrier Divisions.

Admittedly, more the former than the latter.

Just you watch, Shoukaku-nee. I'll sink those battleships!

Grin widening, aircraft carrier Zuikaku looked out at her sister. Shoukaku was dipping and diving through the same swells that battered Zuikaku, but the slightly older carrier showed no signs of caring. As she shouldn't. This was their moment to shine! Kaga and the others had China, Shoukaku and Zuikaku would have Pearl Harbor.

"Final orders have come through, sir."

Zuikaku turned away from the rolling seas, and focused on the voice behind her. After all, those were the exact words she had been waiting to hear. It was time!

"I see." Captain Ichibei, as expected of a high-ranking officer in the Imperial Japanese Navy, showed no outward emotion. Save, perhaps, for a slight upturn of his lips. "Have the aircrews begin launch immediately. The Americans must be hit before they have realized they are under attack."

"Proper surprise, sir?" Zuikaku's XO, whom she had not memorized the name of, had a higher upturn to his lips. A hint of eagerness in his voice.

Ichibei nodded, "Indeed. You appear to be eager."

"Begging your pardon, sir, but are you not?" The younger man didn't really seem to care about what he was saying. Oh, there as the proper deference to one higher in station than himself. But he was of the younger generation--the ones so eager to see Japanese might shown to the world. "All of the men are. The pilots are eager to show the gaijin just what they can do."

"It appears I am not, doesn't it?" The Captain's lips twitched, very slightly. While his voice lowered to avoid being overheard. "I am eager, as well, to see the Americans put in their proper place. However, I know it is possible many of these men may not return."

"They will die with honor, striking a great blow against our enemy!"

Ichibei was silent at those words, while- unseen by all -Zuikaku frowned. Deeply.

I--I--

On the one hand, she agreed with her XO. She could hardly contain her energy at the thought of finally entering battle. And with such a deadly enemy at that. Dealing a great defeat to the American giant. The only regret Zuikaku had about that was the fact she would not be facing an enemy carrier in battle, proving her superiority over them. A tragic waste of her talents.

On the other hand, she didn't know how to feel about the idea of losing her precious pilots. It was very un-Japanese of her, but she loathed the idea of seeing her young pilots not return. Any carrier felt that almost motherly attachment to their pilots, no matter their age or experience. Or so Zuikaku believed, from watching her seniors. Even her, brash and reckless and young and any other adjective one could throw at her...hated the idea of seeing her pilots die.

And this, of course, was a very real possibility.

"What am I doing?" Zuikaku shook her head, forcing those thoughts away. It wasn't befitting of her to worry about something like that. "We'll catch those Americans napping!"

Nodding fiercely, Zuikaku turned her attention away from her Captain and looked back out at her flight deck. As her long hull came out of a swell, the first of many A6M fighters took to the air from her bow. She could almost feel the pilot's excitement.

"Once airborne, all craft are to form up on their leaders. Primary target are American capital ships- carriers first, battleships second. Targets of opportunity as they arise."

Those words were not heard on her bridge, yet Zuikaku heard them as clear as day.

"Go...go and fight!" The young carrier shouted, waving her arm wildly at the planes taking off. Unknowingly mimicking the gestures of her myriad of crew, down on the flight deck. "Show the First Division what we can do!"

That, more than anything, was what Zuikaku wished to do. It was unfortunate for the Americans, but they would be the ones under the guns of her pilots. They shouldn't have done--done--

Well, they shouldn't have done whatever it was they did!

It's time to fight! No matter what they did, the Americans are our enemy and we will destroy them. Go get them, everyone! Show them the power of the Fifth Carrier Division!

With her grin, not once fading, Zuikaku continued to wave out at her departing strike aircraft. Across the swells from her hull, the same scene played out on Shoukaku. On Akagi and Kaga. Hiryuu and Souryuu. The entire Kido Butai, united for this mission. The start of a new war, and the dawning of a new age.

Zuikaku couldn't be prouder to be part of it.

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In hindsight, I should not be surprised.

Commander Mitsuo Fuchida banked his big Nakajima bomber, a burst of black flak flashing in front of him. All around, similar puffs of black smoke filled the air. Tracers from the ground joined them, as well as fire from the fleet in the harbor. None of the ships were underway, true, and some still had clear signs of peacetime on their hulls. Awnings spread out, and men ducking around in dress uniforms so painfully white it stood out even from this altitude.

Yet, Fuchida could not deny it was very obvious the Americans had known they were coming. Not from where, not from when, but that they had been coming. Surprise had been lost before he reached this harbor, though perhaps not before he had launched. Certainly the Americans weren't completely prepared or their ships would be moving.

"Partial surprise, then," Fuchida's words were soft and lost in the drone of the Sakae engine before him. They were mostly to keep his mind sharp, as he winged over to get a better view of the battlefield.

"Fighters, sir! American fighters!"

Fuchida's attention was diverted from his maneuver, his head spinning on a swivel. Dark eyes narrowed in concentration, as sunlight glinted off glass canopies. The distinctive long-nosed American P-40s. Stumpy P-36s. Both desperately attempting to climb, ruined and burning airfields behind them. Only a handful of the fighters had struggled into the air...

...but a handful could still be deadly.

Clicking his tongue, the Japanese Commander continued his turn and moved away from the American fighters. "Get a message to the fighter groups. Divert forces to the Americans, while focusing on the airfields to prevent more getting in the air. Forget about strafing the ships."

"Hai!"

With a slight shake of his head, Fuchida sighed. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw A6Ms diving down on the American craft. No matter how better prepared the Americans may have been, they could not defeat veteran pilots in the best fighter in the world. He had supreme confidence in the escorts. The Americans would not get through, and his attack craft would continue their offensive. As such, he finished his turn and turned his attention back to the attackers.

"Fools..." promptly muttering under his breath, when a wing of three Nakajima bombers zeroed in on Carrier Row. Not a single American carrier was present, and the only vessel larger than a cruiser was the target ship Utah. The identification card placed in Fuchida's cockpit told him that much. "What a waste."

Eyes shifting, Fuchida looked down on the largest sources of flak fire. USS Arizona was distinctive, even among the standardized American warships, due to her triple-gunned turrets and tripod masts. That warship, and the West Virginia before her, were proving the most troublesome targets. Even as he watched, an Aichi dive bomber spiraled from the sky from a near-miss of a flak shell. The canopy stained red with blood.

Damn them. The Americans knew we were here, and their warships are more heavily armed than we had anticipated. What is the meaning of this?

There was no answer forthcoming, as Fuchida felt his own bomber shake from a near miss. The sound of shrapnel pinging off the fuselage beams and slicing through the wings forced him away from idle thoughts. Frantically, the young officer sat up in his seat, scanning over his bomber. And darkly cursing under his breath at what he saw.

"That was entirely too close." Grimacing, he looked away from the holes in his wings- though thankfully no dark fuel leaking, nor smoke from the engine -and towards the seating behind him. "Report!"

"I'm okay, sir! No damage visible!" The bombardier was the first to reply.

Followed shortly by a pained groan from the radioman/backgunner, "A piece of shrapnel hit my leg, Commander."

"Can you still fight?"

"I can. My arms are unhurt."

Nodding sharply, Fuchida settled back in his seat and set up for his own bombing run. The rush and howl of wind through the holed wings of his Nakajima barely registered, all his attention focused on maintaining a level flight. His eyes shifted between the controls in his hand, the dark form of battleships beneath him, and the identification card beside his cockpit window. Which ship to target...

"Arizona, West Virginia, California, Pennslyvania..." Biting his lip, Fuchida banked- ever so softly -and oriented on the battleship furthest back in the American formation. Smoke was rising from her stacks, and not the smoke of fire or flak. The smoke of a ship beginning to come to life.

He could use this to his advantage. Sufficiently damaged, she could block other American warships from leaving the harbor. A great success, that would render them unable to maneuver or evade the second wave!

"Nevada then."

Decision made, Fuchida once more leveled his bomber. He did not even need to send word to his bombardier, as he winged over the form of the oldest American battleship in the harbor. She was clearly making every effort to leave. The fire from her lighter weapons was intense, as a gentle wake began to form at her stern.

That would not be allowed to continue, past the point the Japanese wished her to reach.

"Five seconds." Fuchida spoke, just loud enough to be heard.

"Five seconds!"

As those words were repeated, the bomber gently flew above the battleship Nevada. Like a petal on the wind, Fuchida guided it along the proper flight path. Behind him, the bomb rested in its cradle beneath the fuselage. Converted from a shell taken off Nagato, it was the heaviest weapon the Japanese had. Designed explicitly to pierce the armor of a battleship.

"Now!"

And as the dull thump of the bomb releasing echoed in his ears, Fuchida turned his bomber away. Flak burst all around, while the burly Nakajima bomber banked away in a graceful turn, free of its burden. A burden that fell down through the air, whistling while it did. The bomb's fins stabilized the flight path...guiding it directly at the thin deck of Nevada.

Men standing on that deck would see nothing more than a black dot, rapidly falling towards them. Those that saw it at all, and were not running about carrying ammunition for the limited air defenses. Or firing whatever weapon they had to hand, be it a pistol or a BAR, up at the diving Japanese planes. In this situation, they could be forgiven for missing a single black dot. Perhaps, one man saw it. His pointing finger, mouth opened in a silent scream, would become one of the most famous pictures of the battle- taken by a photographer on Nevada's bridge-wing.

The photo would be burned into the memory of those there that day, as the bomb cut through the battleship's relatively thin armor. Even against the oldest battleship in the fleet, even against relatively thin armor, the shell from Nagato did not penetrate completely. It detonated against the last deck armor in the ship, blowing it into splinters that would kill many men. More importantly, however, the bomb ignited a fire in the five-inch shell magazines.

Did I hit her?

As Fuchida craned his neck back to look at Nevada, he would be greeted by a plume of fire and a dull roar. Men and wood flew away from the battleship, as her entire hull shook from the impact. Her bow began sinking in the water, men frantically jumping overboard to escape the fire.

"We hit her, Commander!"

Fuchida absently nodded, looking at the slowing battleship. He could not see if what he had done was a fatal wound. The fire obscured everything. But...the explosion had not seemed to be the main magazine. Had it?

He would never know the answer to that question, as an American fighter dove out of the sun. Bullets riddled the cockpit. Without even a sound of protest, Mitsuo Fuchida died as his plane nosed over, trailing smoke and debris.

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Sub-Lieutenant Kojiro Takeda cursed, watching the Nakajima bomber crash into the ground near an American airfield. He had been just a matter of seconds too late to save it. And if he had seen the insignia correctly, that had been Commander Fuchida's bomber.

I will be forever shamed for this failure.

Gritting his teeth, the young Japanese pilot nosed over and pursued the American who had killed the Commander. A P-40, already attempting to dive away. Takeda had been chasing this gaijin pilot for minutes now. Every time he lined up a shot, the American managed to twist out of the way. Every time Takeda thought he had him, the man avoided his bullets.

"This is no ordinary pilot." Pushing down his anger, Takeda focused his energies on lining up a shot. His finger depressed the firing stud...

And his cannon shells flew wide, the American turning into a corkscrew towards the ground.

"Damn it!"

Growling now, Takeda pulled his Reisen into the same maneuver as the lumbering American. A P-40 could never outturn an A6M, no matter who was at the controls. The Japanese pilot knew this, and the American likely realized it as well. He was making no attempt to turn, using his heavier plane and stronger engine to zoom away in dives.

As much as he hated it...Takeda had to acknowledge the man knew the strengths of his plane and how to use them.

I must shoot him down. This man is dangerous.

Gunning his engine as hard as it could go, the Sub-Lieutenant focused all his strength on pulling behind the American. The Reisen responded to each movement wonderfully, dancing among the clouds of flak. American gunners didn't care whom they were shooting at. That made it all the more dangerous.

"Hold still..."

Depressing the firing stud once more, Takeda smirked as sparks flew from the tail of the P-40. Pieces of the plane tumbled away, as it shook mightily.

And yet, the plane continued to fly, as it dove between the two battleships docked in front of it. Without a choice, Takeda pulled away and up, unwilling to give chase. The Reisen gained its greatest strengths by having one major flaw. Lack of armor. Flying between the guns of those ships would be suicide, even if the Americans were unwilling to fire at their own ships.

As it would turn out, he didn't need to. The American had pulled an insane move...pulling his fighter right up after he cleared the battleships, flying head on at Takeda.

Oh, he is brave. This American is honorable.

Despite himself, Takeda felt a surge of energy run through his system. This American, for all the frustration he gave, was one who understood an honorable battle. He could never outturn the A6M so he would attack head-first. Bravery. It seemed so strange to come from a gaijn pilot, after so long in China.

Takeda grinned at the thought, as he closed with the American.

Unbeknownst to him, the same expression was crossing the face of the American flyer. A man named Donald Locklear, who was determined to avenge the losses the fleet had suffered. To get back at the damn Japs who had attacked his home.

And all around the two men, the battle continued to rage unabated...

This one was difficult.

As one can probably tell, the Japanese perspective was...interesting to work. I, however, had decided on this route when I first started the story. I feel it is more impactful to have the characters be recognizably themselves than to completely change their character. Little E has an excuse to be nothing like Big E. Bismarck was influenced by Schreiber before she was even finished fitting out.

Nagato? No. She'll be much the same, just more eager and Imperialistic.

Zuikaku has her core personality. Very eager to prove herself and show she is the best.

In both cases, I took their lines from the wiki. Moreso Nagato than Zuikaku for direct line lifting, but all the same, these are their actual characters. The core of them at least. Some differences, but the same core.

And this can be very dark if one lets it be. Taking their actual lines, and giving it a much different context. Context is everything.

Hopefully that worked as intended. I think it took the most time of anything to do properly, if I'm being honest here.

(also, to those who notice: Yes, I stole the airplane protag of Battlestations Midway. I couldn't help it

)

((also, also: Ichibei is not an OC or time traveler. He is, at least from Wiki, the Captain of ZuiZui at the time))

Finally:

This is an interesting thing, IMO. The Japanese, once they knew there was no choice but to attack, sortied their fleet well-in-advance OTL. This was both to get the fleet across the Pacific, and to do it before the Americans had time to do anything themselves. There was a slim chance until the last second that things might not have come to a war, but it was not a real possibility. So why do the Japanese attack early here?

Well, I hinted in the chapter on this one. The Japanese knew that the Americans were making preparations for potential attacks. Rapidly stepping up the fortification of Pearl, and the carriers consistently going out in ways that didn't seem like routine patrols or exercises. Why is this important?

Simple really. If the Americans are preparing for an attack, they may be preparing to attack first. Or they may know the Japanese are planning to attack. Or, even if neither of those are the case, they may be trying to get the place ready on its own. Regardless of the reason...if the Japanese waited too long, their window of opportunity would be gone. As such, they attacked at the absolute earliest chance they could get...ie, one week before OTL!Pearl. That was the logic I was operating on.

Skywalker_T-65 · Aug 27, 2017

Right, time for another one of these. Doing it like this so it doesn't artificially inflate the word count on the chapter.

1. Yamamoto and his supposed incompetence.

First and foremost, this is an issue. Midway was stupid on many fronts and one can hardly argue this, However, Pearl is not the same case. Yamamoto, from what I've been reading, was convinced this was the only way to gain Japan a chance to negotiate a peace. Not win, he knew that was impossible. However, he believed that it would give enough time to make the Americans agree to Japanese gains instead of steamrolling them under superior numbers. He made a misstep with the whole 'surprise attack' thing...but then, did he want a surprise attack?

From what I've read, no, not really. Yamamoto wanted a declaration of war to reach the President before the attack. Just an hour or so before it, mind you, so that there was no time to prepare for it. But he didn't want a full surprise. Say what you will, but Yamamoto did at least understand that a complete surprise attack was a bad idea. He never intended- from what I've read -for that. He wanted the proper procedure, even if it came too late for any American preparations for the attack. Wanting complete operational surprise is different from complete strategic surprise.

Of course, one can easily make the argument that he was still being naive at best. There is little material difference to the one attacked if they are warned right before being attacked, compared to no warning. Roosevelt certainly would take that argument. This is the real flaw in the Pearl plan, from the top to the bottom.

Not going to argue Midway until I've had a chance to reread Shattered Sword again.

2. Redesigning ships

Not really going to happen. Modernizations will be different (hello Hood) but nothing outlandish, TBH. Maybe and this is a big maybe the Essex-design will get an angled deck early. Midway almost certainly is. Beyond that? Not likely at all.

Montana isn't getting built. Full stop. The same reasons we ditched them IRL still apply here. At best, you may see Kentucky or Illinois completed and even that isn't a given by any means. Depends on how things go. As for the Germans...Seydlitz is finished as a cruiser and Graf may get further along. Italian planes or German planes, the main issue is getting the funding and if you can convince Hitler. Neither is a given, even with where Schreiber is at this point. Especially since he won't push his luck too far.

I'm not even going into capturing a ship. That isn't going to happen unless something seriously funky goes on, like Hornet being abandoned while still salvageable ( insert plug to snip thread here). It's just not something that happens in modern times.

3.

Archduke said:
Was a war warning even issued? I was kinda hoping for some more FDR stuff, but I understand that Sky has time constraints, and can't write everything.

a. Yes, it was issued.

b. I would have loved more FDR, but honestly, it would have felt like filler to me. Outside the Atlantic Conference, anyway, and we are getting that as a flashback later on.

4. Japanese 'getting off easy' at the end of the war.

This is a topic I'd really rather not get into. One can make the argument they got off easier than they maybe should have...but then, they were occupied for years. Firebombed into oblivion. Nuked twice. Lost literally all of their overseas holdings. Reduced to an American vassal, basically, until the economic miracles. Did the leadership get off easy? Sure. The fact that people can still argue that the Japanese are trying to sweet talk what they did or erase it completely (KC itself is guilty of apologism, which is why I prefer the idea more than the execution most of the time). One can also argue they suffered enough, and that what is going on today is similar to- just an example -Confederate apologism and revisionism in America. Not every nation can be Germany and completely scrub away their past without forgetting why they outlawed the bad things.

But then, Germany suffered a lot to get to that point.

Regardless, that is not an argument I want in this thread. Full stop. I've said it before, and I'll say it again...I don't want to get into arguments like that. Obviously bad historical things will be noted as such in story. Beyond that, please don't bring it up. And if you do, be respectful about it. All I ask.

And finally:

Discord - Free voice and text chat for gamers

Link to the server. I am crashing now, though, so I won't be around tonight. Please don't burn the place down while I'm sleeping and/or at the school.

Skywalker_T-65 · Sep 4, 2017

Chapter 40

For USS Arizona, the morning of November 30th had begun the same as many others. She had started by talking with Admiral Kidd, going over ways to increase her crew's efficiency. The Admiral had teased her a bit about how serious she took things and she had pouted at him. Then she had gone on to talk with Utah about how both of them were preparing for the Seventh. The day that Admiral Thompson had told them would be when Pearl Harbor was attacked. Both battleships had agreed they were much more prepared than they should have been, for an attack on that day.

"Someone get on that deck gun! We need fire support!"

This can't be...

"Medic! Oh god, medic! Hang in there, Jimmy. Hang in there!"

...happening...

"Goddamn bastards. They killed him. The bastards killed him in his bunk!"

"...not now."

Arizona's shattered voice whispered, lost in the cacophony of guns and diving planes. Her jacket was long-since burnt off, the pain of blistered skin on her arms not registering at all. Her brown eyes were focused entirely on the planes, diving out of the sky. Silvery planes with brilliant red circles on their wings. Wings that spat fire and death at her deck, tracers splitting wood all around her. She should have felt the sharp sting as the left little red lines on her torso.

She didn't.

The pain Arizona felt was much more visceral. Her heart ached, when the sound of shells hitting her deck was not that of wood splintering...but that of men falling. The meaty thump of bullets entering bodies and the screams of dying men.

"I--I have to do something." Ari numbly shook her head, tearing her eyes from the sky. Her feet stumbled, refusing to walk properly along her splintered deck. "I can't sit here. I can't. I---"

A sudden shock forced Ari off her feet, as a bomb detonated right alongside her hull. The screaming pain of hull plates buckling and twisting had her clutching at her leg-- suddenly bloodied and torn by the impact.

It hurts...

Ari had never felt pain before. The refit had hurt, of course, but nothing like this. Nothing like the dull throbbing mixed with sharp twisting, as she propped her arms underneath her torso. Her muscles protested, smoke rising from her shaft. Arizona's grey tunic was singed and painful as it ran along her myriad of cuts.

But she kept pushing herself up, gritting her teeth and unwilling to stop. She couldn't stop. She had to fight! Had to help!

"They ne---need me. My crew needs me."

Yet, her arms gave out. With a cry of frustration, Ari began to fall down to her deck as bullets impacted all around her. Why couldn't she--

"Gotcha!"

The battleship's body came to a sudden halt, as a pair of strong arms grasped onto her left arm. Brown eyes widened, their gaze trailing up a pressed-white dress uniform and onto the rugged face of what could only be a Marine. The man was young, only the faintest of faint stubble on his cheeks and chin. Darker brown eyes looked out of a sharp-featured, thin, face.

"Who...?" Ari breathed, her voice wavering as the shock began to set in.

A small smile crossed the Marine's face, as he pulled Ari up further and wrapped her arm around his neck. His strong arms tugged her along, as he walked towards a smoking Chicago Piano mount. Fires raged behind them, where Ari's scout burned. But the Marine had found a safe spot, to gently lay her down against the cool metal of the gun-tub.

"Tommy!" Another Marine's voice echoed over the sound of the 1.1-inch machinecannon above them. "Who's the dame? And where'd you run off to?!"

'Tommy' shook his head, dark eyes drifting down to Ari, before moving up to the superior officer above. "I don't know who she is, sir. Found her stumbling on deck and couldn't leave her there."

"Damnit Tommy, a wars on!" While the Marine chewed his subordinate out, there was no true venom in his words. "Get back up here and help shoot those Japs down, right now!"

"Yes sir!"

Before the Marine could go far, Ari's arm had snapped out and grabbed it. Her grip was tight enough that even his muscled arm paled slightly, the battleship refusing to let go. Fire reflected in her eyes, a fierce expression crossing her face.

"Let me help. I don't care how, but let me help." Ari's voice was strong...but still filled with a pleading tone. A tear trailed down her soot-streaked face, as the screams of dying men throughout her hull echoed in her ears. She could hear and feel everything in her hull, and never before had it meant so much to her.

Never before had she imagined what it would feel like, to hear men bleeding out on her decks. To feel the screams of men burning in their bunks, cut off by fires set by a Japanese bomb. Hearing and seeing, behind her eyes, sailors drowning as they frantically banged on hatches sealed to prevent flooding from a torpedo that had gone underneath Vestal alongside her. Ari felt each and every man die. She heard their pleas for help.

'Mom, help me! Please!'

'I don't want to die! I don't want to die like this!'

'It hurts! Everything hurts!'

For Arizona, a cheerful girl who had only worried about talking to her crew before now?

Like hell she was going to sit back and watch.

"Tommy, let her go! We can't let a dame up here, you know that." The man in charge of the gun-crew understood what she was asking, but didn't care. A woman's place wasn't fighting. Certainly not like this, as fighters dove from the sky and strafed her decks.

"Please." Arizona didn't care. Her eyes bored into Tommy's, the slim Marine staring right back.

Whatever he saw behind her eyes, if it was even a tenth of what she had felt, reached him. The Marine sighed, and pulled Arizona to her feet once more.

"Let her help, Sarge." Tommy's strong voice rang out, grim determination set in his face as he dragged Ari along with him into the gun-tub. "I don't know who she is either, but if she wants to help, let her. We need all we can get."

While the other Marine looked like he wanted to protest- and the rest of the guncrew were wary as well -he bit his lip and shook his head. "Damnit, Tommy. You've always been too goddamn soft. Fine!" Turning away from the slim man, the sergeant's eyes burned Ari on the spot. "If you want to help, lady, do it. Can you lift ammo?"

"Yes!" Ari didn't even question how odd it was to have a man of such low-rank ordering her around. She didn't care. If this was what she could do to help, she would damn well do it! "I can carry anything you need, sir!"

"Good. Tommy there was our runner, so follow him. He'll take you to the ready stores."

Without another word, the man returned to his post, and began barking out orders to his crew. Calling out planes at twelve o'clock, as Japanese bombers dove out of the sky and began to make a run on Ari's hull. The rattle of the Chicago Piano drowned anything else out, Ari shifting on her torn leg to stare at Tommy.

"You sure about this?" Who simply raised an eyebrow at her, hefting a Thompson on his shoulder. "What with your leg and all."

"I can walk." There was no hesitation in her words, as Ari began moving towards the ready rooms. She didn't need a guide, not when the hull of battleship Arizona BB-39 was her body.

Whatever else Tommy may have said was lost to time, as Ari began to sprint as best she could. Pain raced up her leg with each step, and bullets pinged off metal around her. She didn't care or notice. Her full attention was on helping her desperate crew. Their cries for help continued to echo in her ears, from the deck and below. Right on down from the silent prayers her Admiral whispered under his breath, to the quiet sobbing of a man holding his best friend's hand in the wardroom.

Never before had Arizona been as one with her crew, not like this.

They need me, and I need them. Admiral Kidd...Admiral Thompson. I finally understand what you were trying to tell me. And I won't let them die!

At her heart, Arizona was the same cheerful and optimistic girl who had first met Admiral Thompson, all those months ago. And that girl, the girl who had done everything she could to help her Admiral and mother, was not going to sit back and watch people die!

"She isn't human..."

The one voice that Ari would never remember hearing, was that of Tommy. The Marine was racing right behind her, eyes wide at the woman running on a clearly broken leg without even a wince of pain. Of how bullets flew right through her, leaving no marks as they pinged off metal. It was a testament to the loyalty of her crew, that the man never once questioned helping her, even if he didn't know who or what she was.

And it was a testament to Arizona, that the sudden pressure wave of a magazine detonation on a different warship barely slowed her down.

I can't stop! Not now!

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Everyone...I couldn't save you. I tried, I did everything I could!

Arizona had not noticed the flames rolling off of California. Had not seen the bomb impact near an open hatch, men rushing out to bring ammunition up for her anti-aircraft weapons. She had not seen the massive explosion, that had crippled the younger battleship and left her settling in the water by the stern.

Utah had. Utah had seen everything, as impotent to do more than watch as her crew was. She had guns. She had anti-aircraft weapons, even, as befit a training ship. But her weapons were silent, lacking the ammunition to fire.

"Goddamn, I never thought I would see it." Next to the silently crying battleship, Joe Jackson grunted. The man had long-since bitten his cigarette in half, and was reduced to being moral support for the woman by his side. "Damn dirty Japs, they suckerpunched us good."

"I--I knew this was going to happen, eventually." Utah didn't even care anymore, as she watched her daughter burn. She couldn't see California from this distance. The girl, not the ship. But she knew.

She knew that Cali was crying out in pain, as the flames burned her legs. Lapping at her superstructure--her hips and waist. Her daughter was dying and there was nothing she could do about it!

How could she care about secrecy in this situation?

"Of course you did," Jackson glared up at the sky, his eyes following a dogfight between a P-40 and a Japanese fighter. "We all did! But not like this, not all the way out here!"

Utah almost wanted to cry at the unfairness of it all. If only she had been more proactive. Admiral Thompson would have hated her, but if she had just told Admiral Richardson the truth...then maybe this wouldn't have happened. Maybe she wouldn't have been forced to watch, as another Japanese plane dropped a torpedo into Oklahoma's flank.

Why didn't I do it? How could I let this happen?!

Thick black smoke poured into the air from numerous wounds. Flames burst across Battleship Row and Ford Island, and the smoke did nothing to hide the source of these flames, pure white aircraft flitting across the sky. Just like--just like in her dream, so long ago.

"Oklahoma's taking on water!" That shout came from a messenger, relaying information from the radio room. "Counterflooding is keeping her even, but she's going to sink!"

"Okie..." The grey haired battleship went unnoticed by that man, as she tightly clenched at her Captain's arm.

Jackson didn't show any sign of caring about that, as he looked at the messenger, "And have you gotten any ammo from Ford Island?"

"Well..."

A raised eyebrow.

"No, sir, I haven't. Everything is being used to defend the airbase, and they say there isn't anything to spare. And that they couldn't get it out to us if there was."

With an explosive sigh, Jackson waved the messenger back to his post. As the man scampered away, his eyes returned to the raging dogfights in the sky and the bombers dropping on nearly defenseless ships. "Damnit all, we ain't going to be helping. Unless you can do something?"

All Utah could do was shake her head, "I can't. I wish I could, but I can't do anything like this."

"Figures. Well, keep an eye on things, Utah. Don't want to be caught with our pants down." Jackson patted the battleship's shoulder, before moving to gather his crew up. Utah didn't fail to hear what he said under his breath, however. "Not that we can do much of anything like this."

And the thing was, he wasn't wrong. Utah knew better than anyone that she was completely useless like this. So useless, the Japanese planes weren't even bothering to attack her. Their fighters fought American fighters, before diving down to strafe little Monaghan. A flaming P-36 fell from the sky, crashing into a hangar. Flames and smoke billowed into the air.

Utah's hand clenched on her railing, as a Japanese bomber- flames rolling across its fuselage from a burning engine -dove into West Virginia's bridge. She could see the elegant battleship falling to the side, as her head began to bleed. If she wasn't already de--dead, from the five torpedoes that had slammed into her side.

"Stop this, you bastards! Stop hurting my family!"

That was Nevada, burning and listing by the bow...but refusing to go down without a fight. The second oldest battleship in the fleet continued to fire into the air, despite the flames rising from her hull. The Japanese seemed content to ignore her now, focusing their efforts on the larger ships. Or, perhaps, distracted by the fighters and their own losses.

"Cali...Cali, talk to me!" Tennessee's frantic cries were like a knife to her mother's heart. The pained cries of a sister, looking at her only sibling dying in front of her. Trying desperately to deny what she was seeing. "Don't die Cali! Please, don't die!"

"It should be me." Utah didn't even hesitate to say that sentence. She knew the looks her crew would send her. She didn't care.

It should have been her dying. Any mother would die for her child, if they loved them. And Utah loved her children more than anything, more than even her own life.

"You...you..." Soft-spoken Pennsy sounded beyond words. Ari's big sister never raised her voice, never had a temper. And now she sounded nothing more than like she wanted to murder the ones attacking. "Monsters! How can you do something like this?! To defenseless targets?!"

The Japanese didn't answer, of course. A bomber dropped its payload on a destroyer- Utah couldn't see which one -setting off a sympathetic magazine detonation. The flames thrown into the air rivaled Cali, flaming debris and who knew what else falling down atop of the dock and a tanker. Utah could only hope that it didn't explode as well.

"I have to do something," Utah muttered. Her hands broke the railing they had been clenching, but she didn't notice. Her grey dress was stained with soot, and she didn't notice. "I can't just watch this. My daughters are out there, dying, and I can't do anything about it. I have to find some way to help!"

She also didn't notice the sound of aircraft engines, much closer than before.

"Bombers!" That panicked cry was the only warning Utah had. "Fish in the water!"

It was only enough to turn her head, before her legs were knocked out from under her. Sharp rivers of pure pain ran up her body, like fire racing along her legs. Blood flowed freely, staining her deck red...and Utah could no longer move her lower body. Her head swam and stars floated in front of her eyes, as tears flowed down her cheeks.

I--I can't move.

What seemed like an eternity passed, before Captain Jackson was by her side. The old engineer was bleeding himself, having been tossed to the deck along with cracking his head on a rail. But he was still moving.

"Goddamnit...Utah, can you walk?" Jackson's gruff voice was filled with a layer of honest concern, as his dark eyes trailed up and down Utah's crippled body.

And all she could do was shake her head, biting her lip to avoid crying out in pain. Her dress was ruined, blood seeping into the once-pristine fabric. And water was lapping up against her deck already.

"I can't leave my hull, Joseph," Utah forced a smile to her face, as her engineer/captain reached down to brush her grey hair from her increasingly pale face.

"I could carry ya," Jackson tried to lighten the mood. He failed.

For Utah shook her head, tears freely flowing down her face, "You and I both know you can't. Joseph, please, get to the island. Survive."

When it looked like he would protest, Utah shakily brought one of her hands up and placed it against his lips. She groaned with the effort even that took, her old hull rapidly filling with water. The demilitarization had taken away all the defenses she once had. Her time was short.

And she would not see her beloved engineer die with her.

"I always knew I would die, here." Utah's voice was barely above a whisper now, as she felt herself rapidly fading away. "Please, don't stay here. Live. That's all I ever wanted..."

Whatever Jackson would have said was lost, as he simply nodded. The man leaned down and placed a gentle, entirely at odds with his scarred visage, kiss on Utah's forehead. Brushing her hair one last time, the Captain shakily got to his feet on her tilted deck. He brought his hand up in a sharp salute, before turning and jumping into the water.

Utah smiled as he did, letting her eyes drift closed.

I--I'm sorry everyone. I did everything I could, but this still happened, didn't it?

Despite everything we tried, some of you still died. Despite everything I did, I still died.

Was this fate? Destiny? I don't know, and I don't know if it really matters. I'm going to die and not see this war. But, as long as my Captain survives...as long as some of my daughters survive...we'll win.

Admiral Thompson. Ari. Sara. Enterprise.

They'll make sure of it. I don't want to die. I don't want to leave you all. But, maybe I can. And maybe everything will work out in the end. Farewell...

As her energy rapidly began to fade, Utah resigned herself to dying. At least everyone else would survive, and that was what mattered in the end...right? She could die peacefully, content in the knowledge that those who sank this day would be raised. That they would go on to pay the Japanese back one-hundred fold. And she wasn't needed for that, was she?

She would just lay here, forgotten and resting at la--

"Sons of bitches!"

Utah's grey eyes snapped open. Her weary arms pulled her along her rapidly tilting deck, to look at what she had heard.

She wished she hadn't.

This is...you monsters!

Japanese fighters had dove out of the sky, strafing between her sinking hull and Ford Island. Blood was in the water...along with members of her crew, floating lifelessly in the surf. Utah felt fire rage in her dead boilers, her anger rushing to the surface. She had never felt such rage before. Jackson was not visible among the corpses...but that didn't mean he was alive either.

And the thought of him being shot like a fish in a barrel, of her crew dying when they should have reached safety, had Utah pulling herself to her feet.

Even as her hull sank beneath her, the battleship stood on broken legs and glared at the Japanese fighters coming back for another pass. Those bastards wanted her crew? She wouldn't let them.

I won't let you kill anyone else. I won't let you!

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Donald Locklear would be the first to admit he was a cocky son of a bitch. He considered himself an ace, and the best pilot in Hawaii. Part of him had been itching to get into combat long before now, though hardly like this. So to say he was more than a bit frustrated with this Japanese pilot would be an understatement. The man's maddeningly maneuverable fighter refused to sit still.

It took everything Donald had just to keep himself alive, leave alone get in a position to shoot. This headon pass was his best chance, and it would only work if those twenty mils didn't shred him first.

"Come on you bastard, let's dance." Donald still couldn't keep a grin off his face.

He thought the same might be true for the Japanese pilot as well, as their planes rapidly closed the distance. Only to be suddenly and violently forced to break off, as five-inch flak began to burst all around.

"What in the hell?!" The American yelped, as his P-40 began to roll away from the ground fire. "Watch it you...you..."

To the day he died, Donald Locklear would not be able to properly explain what he felt that day. Looking down on the capsized form of USS Utah, as flak fire began to burst from the ruined hull. Impossible flak fire.

From an impossible figure.

Surprise!

To be completely honest, this is something I've planned from the start. That it works out to be chapter 40 (thus, a nice even number) works for me. But yes, there's a reason I've been teasing this at multiple points. From multiple different countries, be it the Americans, Italians or Germans. Things are going to get fun in the future.

Also, for those keeping track:

Nevada: Two bomb hits, one five-inch magazine detonated.

California: Multiple hits, one massive detonation. Sinking rapidly.

WeeVee: Several hits, including one suicide bomber to the bridge.

Oklahoma: Several torpedo hits, sinking.

Arizona: At least one bomb direct hit, one near-miss.

Next chapter...may or may not be up tonight, depending on how fast I can write it. Won't be quite as long as this one regardless.

(also, another cameo for those eagle-eyed among you)

Skywalker_T-65 · Oct 8, 2017

Chapter 41

It was an exhilarating feeling. Shells falling into the water, as long legs danced an intricate weave across the surface. Even as Pearl Harbor burned around her, Utah had never felt so alive. Along her hips lay the five-inch guns that had replaced her old rifles. In a way they never could on her hull, those guns blasted fire into the sky. At the Japanese pilots darting through the air. She didn't hit anything, yet Utah didn't care.

Rather, she didn't care at missing her first shots. She could fight. She could move outside her hull. And the battleship wasn't going to let these bastards hurt one more of her daughters. If it killed her, again, she would stop this attack. With her own hands!

"What the hell's going on down there?! Am I the only one seeing this?"

A pilot in the air shouting in shock.

"No, you aren't."

Admiral Kidd's calm voice echoing from the burning Arizona.

"It's a goddamn woman shooting into the sky!"

A random man that Utah would never hear again.

All voices that echoed in her ear, carried from the radio room buried deep in her hull. In her new body. A small part of her still didn't believe what was happening. That she could do this. Fight on her own and not on her hull.

"Come back here!" Utah's soft-spoken voice cracked. Her words were hoarse and strained, as grey eyes glared into the sky. "Monsters! All of you are monsters!"

Even as her voice cracked, her fury was stoked by a fire deep within her. Utah had never felt anger like this before. Before the attack, she had nothing against Japan. Worry about the inevitable, perhaps, but it was far in the future. Now? She wished for nothing more than to use her own hands to tear the planes apart.

It wasn't enough that a fighter spun away, flames engulfing the pilot. It wasn't enough to see a dive bomber splash into the water, a P-40 scrambling to avoid her indiscriminate fire. And it wasn't enough to see Japanese planes scattering around her, their pilots jerking the planes around in obvious shock and fear.

They attacked without warning. They slaughtered my crew when they couldn't fight back. The bastards killed my daughters.

Utah's gentle face was twisted into a feral scowl, as one of her guns rotated. Her crew- her crew? -worked the five-incher, forcing it around as a brave Japanese fighter dove to strafe her. Bullets and cannon shells flew from the plane, some hitting Utah.

Hitting and pinging off, leaving nothing but shallow scratches on her face. With a sight as good as a lookout in her highest mast, Utah could see the look of fear in the eyes of the Japanese pilot. Raw, primal terror as the man realized he couldn't hurt her. As he saw her turret pulling around to point directly at him. His arms twisting, he desperately began to pull his plane away.

It wouldn't be enough.

"You aren't getting away..." Had Utah been shouting in anger, it may have frightened those who knew her.

The low, deathly quiet, tone of her voice would have terrified them.

And with nothing more than a dull clap, the Japanese plane vanished in flames. The pilot likely didn't even have the time to scream, before Utah's smoking five-inch turned around and began scanning for a new target. Her vision was tinted with red, her eyes looking for anything to shoot and anything to kill. Utah, consumed by anger, wanted nothing more than to fight.

"None of you are leaving!" Her cracked voice echoed over even her guns sharp volleys. Grey hair flew in a wild mane around her. "Murderers, all of you! I won't let you leave here!"

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"Utah...mom..."

Arizona's eyes burned with the smoke drifting off the harbor, but she couldn't blink. Nor could she turn away. Even if she had wanted to, it was impossible. Her wide brown eyes were riveted on the scene across Ford Island. Even through smoke and fire, she could see the form of Utah, firing into the sky. Impossibly firing into the sky.

"Bastards! I won't forgive you for this!"

Of course, she could also hear her mother's voice. The anger and coldness--it scared her. Ari didn't even notice how her arms were shaking. She had carried ammo boxes in stacks that were impossible for any man. Without so much as a sign of stress. Only now that her hands were empty, they
shook.

Not out of weariness or pain. But out of fear.

"Hey...you alright?" Tommy's voice barely registered on her, the Marine having remained at her side the entire time.

Ari shook her head, singed red hair shaking with the movement, "I--I don't know."

"I don't either."

Those words were framed by a Japanese bomber spiraling into the harbor, a P-36 darting away with smoke trailing from its own engine. Fewer and fewer of the Japanese planes remained, and those that did were struggling to attack with Utah firing wildly into the sky.

"But it doesn't matter, because we've got a job to do."

Tommy's words had Arizona turning to look at the Marine. His helmet was long gone, and the young Marine had a bleeding gash down the right side of his face. She hadn't even seen him be hit, nor heard him complain. More noticeably, his brown eyes showed a kind of raw determination that Ari had only seen in Admiral Thompson before. When he had spoken of saving everyone, she had seen determination. And now, when Tommy spoke of their job...

He's the same. They all are.

"R-right." Ari nodded sharply, forcing her worries to the back of her mind. Forcing herself to ignore the anger she was hearing from Utah. "Let's go. We have to win this battle!"

"That's the spirit," her companion grinned, despite the pain he had to be feeling from his wound. His arms cradled a box of ammunition, and Ari was quick to pick up her own. "Sarge needs this ammo, let's get it to him."

"Of course!"

Following after the Marine, Ari felt her spirits rise. Cali was dying. Utah was mad and had somehow returned like the Admiral had said they all could. Nevada and so many others were struggling to survive. This was a disaster.

And yet, everyone was coming together. Brave pilots in the sky. Gunners aboard the burning ships. And Marines, just doing their jobs.

"I have to help..." Arizona felt her shoulders straighten with that revelation. Even if all she could do was hump ammo, that was something, wasn't it? "I have to help!"

Restored determination filling her body, Ari actually overtook Tommy, rushing on her injured leg back to the Chicago Piano. She didn't see Tommy's thin smile, his lightly-bearded visage watching her. The girl had no idea that she had made a life-long friend. That she had impressed him with her resolve.

All she knew, was her desire to help.

Utah...I won't let you down.

Brown eyes drifting back towards Ford Island, Ari shook her head. There wasn't anything she could do, trapped on her hull as she was. All she could do was talk and do. her. job.

"Utah--Mom. If you can hear this, you don't have to worry. We're all here and we won't lose." Arizona's voice was quiet, and she knew that no one could hear her but the radio operator and her mother. She didn't care. "Please, don't let yourself fall like this. Please."

Cutting the link, the old battleship charged towards her gunners, bound and determined to see this battle end. The nightmare that they had all dreaded come to an end.

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Discarding his cracked spectacles, James Richardson bit his lip. Smoke surrounded him and the dull thumps of cannon fire echoed with the sharper cracks of machine guns. He had been on Ford Island, attempting to convince General Short to accept that the Japanese-American population was highly unlikely to sabotage planes. And that the threat of an air raid was far more dangerous.

He had never expected such an air raid to happen while in the midst of those talks.

I can only imagine what would have happened had I pushed harder and lost this position.

Richardson was under no illusions. He knew that his career was done. At least, in the here and now, he could coordinate his fleet and minimize losses. Or he would, if not for what had him biting his lip.

"That's impossible. It doesn't make any sense." General Short, uniform scorched and bloodied with the blood of his aide, looked at the Admiral with wide eyes.

"It should be." Richardson's gruff voice was even harsher with the smoke in his lungs, as he shook his head. "Yet, here we are."

The Admiral knew Utah well. She was the first of the spirits he had seen, and the one he was most familiar with. Hell, she had reminded him of his old Delaware more than once. But he had never seen her like this. Even over the waters of Ford Island, he could see the rage in her eyes.

"Walter, coordinate your boys." Turning his head, dark eyes glared at the General. "Salvage something from this, will you?"

"Now hold on right the--"

Richardson didn't let the General finish, spinning on his heel and walking towards where Utah's crew watched her with shock written all over their faces. "I will handle her."

If his career weren't already dead, Richardson would have eaten hell for that. As it was, he didn't care. He had a ship to calm down before she hurt someone on their own side.

I don't know what happened to her, or how she came out like this. Even I can tell there's something wrong. Something, deep down, tells me I can't let her stay like this.

It was a bone-deep feeling, that the Admiral could never hope to describe.

Yet, as his long strides brought him towards Utah's crew, he knew it was true. Richardson barely even noted the planes falling around the harbor or the burning vessels. He could worry about his fleet later. If there was a fleet left. Right now, he had to save a battleship. If it was the last thing he did as CINCPAC, it would be what he did.

Something told him that they would need Utah.

"Is Commander Jackson here?!" Richardson's 'command voice' echoed over the group of bedraggled men. Several of them were laid out under the shirts of their crewmembers, red leaking through the waterlogged fabric.

Ignore it. Focus.

"Admiral." One man in particular, his head swathed in a makeshift bandage, stood on unsteady legs.

"Commander."

Walking up to the younger officer, Richardson looked him directly in the eyes. He felt the eyes of the rest of the crew on him, but hardly cared. If the secret weren't out after this, it never would get out. Rather hard to hide a woman sailing in the harbor, shooting cannons from her hips.

"I know what you want, sir." Jackson knew as much, his gaze not once leaving the Admiral's. "And I'll tell ya, I have no idea what is going on. Utah was dying, sir. I left here there ta die, and I sure as fuck did not expect this."

He didn't care about language, either.

"Relax, Commander. I am not here about that."

Richardson just turned his eyes out at the harbor, sighing heavily. Utah's wild grey hair flew around her body, dancing through the harbor at at least fifteen knots. Her guns fired into the sky, nearly shooting down a P-40 as a Japanese fighter dove away from them. If she kept that up, she wa---

"Look at that! She shot down a P-36!"

--s going to shoot down a friendly. Richardson's dark eyes narrowed, as an American fighter crashed from the sky, slamming into the docked San Francisco. He knew how many had likely died from that impact. Utah didn't even show a sign of noticing.

What had happened to her?

"As you can tell, we have a more pressing issue." Forcing his eyes away from the burning cruiser, Richardson looked at a pale engineer. "Stopping Utah before she causes more damage. Can you get through to her?"

Snapping back to reality- how must this hurt him? I know how an engineer feels about his ship -Jackson, grimacing deeply, nodded. "I should, yeah. Utah and I had a connection, Admiral. If she'd listen ta anyone, it's me."

"Quite."

The Admiral didn't need to vocalize his command, setting off to a mobile radio that a pair of sailors had set up nearby. He had ordered the best unit pulled out of storage before coming here, to both coordinate the fleet and to...make an attempt to calm down Utah. Jackson followed without a word, his eyes darting between the Admiral and the battleship.

Something must be done. Something had to be done.

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"USS Utah. You are to cease firing at once, and return to dock. Effective immediately, you are relieved from duty."

Utah heard the words. A part of her screamed to listen, to return to dock.

The vast majority of her being ignored it. Her barrels practically smoked and glowed red from repeated firing, and her crew was suffering to keep fighting. But she didn't care. So long as she saw a single plane in the sky, she would continue to fire. So long as there was a threat to her daughters and crew, she couldn't stop. She refused to stop.

"Shut up and let me fight!" The battleship had long ago lost her voice, unable to go above a cracked whisper. And yet she still put all her anger and frustration into her words. "I can't let anyone else die!"

Admiral Richardson's voice didn't reply. Utah smiled, convinced that he had chosen to let her do her duty. To finally fight like she had always been meant to do.

"Utah. If you can hear me, tell me that you're listening. I know ya, and you aren't like this."

For the first time, Utah felt a break in her anger. A small crack in her rage-filled facade.

Joseph?

"Ya shot down an American, Utah. Did you not see that?"

Utah looked- truly, honestly looked -and saw a fire raging across from her. San Francisco had the tail of a P-36 on her deck, as men frantically ran out fire hoses. Had--had that been her? She hadn't even noticed. And the sky. The sky was almost empty of Japanese planes, only American fighters attempting to dodge her fire while clearing out the Japanese.

Was she firing on her allies?

"I--I hadn't--"

Before Utah could say anything more, a pained voice echoed through her radio room.

"Mother, you need to stop. You're scaring all of us." Tennessee, her sister dying in front of her, still managed to get through to her mother figure.

"Let us handle the rest. You need to stop and rest." Nevada was down by the bow, and she took the effort to talk to Utah.

Across the harbor, Ari's hull almost seemed to shake in place when she spoke. "We all have our jobs to do, Mom! Let us help you!"

All of the battleships, save for poor Cali and Okie, spoke up. All of them, even the settling Virginia, attempted to get through to her. Utah felt her energy fading, the red leaving her eyes. What had she---what had she done? Had she been so consumed by anger at the Japanese murdering her crew and daughters that she couldn't even tell the difference between the planes any more?

Had she really fallen so far?

"Utah. You're my ship, you know that. Come back to me."

Jackson's words had tears rolling down Utah's soot-stained face, as the battleship finally lowered her rifles. Her legs fell to the water beneath her, as her face stared up at the smoke-filled sky. The final Japanese planes were leaving...and she didn't know if she could forgive herself.

Kojiro Takeda let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, as his Mitsubishi fighter set down on Zuikaku's deck. The Reisen had taken more than a few hits, and he was lucky it had made it back. Many had not. His eyes had seen the decks of the Kido Butai, and he had been pained by it. A full half of the strike force had not returned, shot down over the harbor or too damaged to make it to their homes. He was one of the lucky few.

He didn't feel lucky. No, if anything he felt cursed by what he had seen.

"Sub-Lieutenant! What happened to the--" the maintenance chief in charge of his plane was beside the shrapnel ridden cockpit, as Takeda pulled it open.

"A kami." Takeda replied, short and to the point.

For what else could have seen, but a goddess of war? A woman standing upon the harbor waters where the antiquated Utah had fallen. Shooting down his comrades and nearly himself?

"A--what?" The older man at his side gaped at him, but Takeda ignored it. He got out of his battered fighter, forcing his shaking limbs to cooperate. There was no point in staying. Even if the Admiral were convinced to launch a third wave- something not part of the plan -he wouldn't be part of it. There were no spares ready, and his fighter would not survive another strike without major repairs.

No, all he could do was return to his cabin and try to reconcile what he had seen with reality.

A kami working with the Americans. Was that--was that Utah herself? It is impossible, yet what other explanation is there?

Takeda was not a deeply religious man, yet even he couldn't deny what he had seen.

"How did this happen? We were going to win. We were going to win!"

Sighing deeply, Takeda turned to the voice and replied, "So we were. And we underestimated the gaij--"

It was only then that his weary mind caught up to his words. Takeda was not speaking to a crew member. He was speaking to a young, barely teenage, girl with green hair. A girl staring at him with wide green-grey eyes.

"You--you can see me?"

Kojiro Takeda planted his face in his hands, wondering when his life would return to normal.

This one fought me something fierce.

Mostly because of Utah. That was hard to manage. But, suffice to say, when you self-summon out of pure RAEG that is going to have an impact on your mental state. We'll see more of that, for any other ship girls who show up. The way they return most assuredly does impact them.

At any rate...final losses:

USN:

Battleships:

USS Utah- total loss, now a ship girl
USS Oklahoma- sunk, but not capsized
USS California- total loss
USS Arizona- moderate damage
USS West Virginia- sunk upright/roughly OTL damage
USS Pennsylvania- two bomb hits, light damage
USS Tennessee- light damage
USS Nevada- secondary magazine detonation, torpedo: heavy damage
USS Maryland -not in harbor

Cruisers:

USS San Francisco- moderate damage due to crashed fighter and one bomb hit
USS Honolulu -light damage

Destroyers:

USS Monaghan- magazine detonation, total loss
USS Shaw -moderate damage

Aircraft:

70 destroyed, 120 damaged

As should be apparent, much lighter USN losses. The combination of Utah and the fighters and the extra defenses mean the Japanese could only really focus on the big battleship targets.

And speaking of Japan...

Aircraft: 110 destroyed, 60 damaged to some extent or another

Does this seem a bit much? Perhaps. But a strong defense of Pearl, coupled with Utah, mean higher losses. Plus any damage done to the (lightly built) Japanese planes could mean not making it back to the fleet. Some of those damaged American planes could land...the Japanese couldn't.

Some of the logic here is from Coral Sea, where the Japanese lost pretty much the entire airwing of ZuiZui. The rest is from the OTL attack where, hitting a completely flat-footed American base with less defenses/ships with lighter AA fits and no warning to prepare/only a handful of fighters getting into the air...

They still lost 30 planes. Now, imagine hitting a base much more prepared with more fighters in the air and suddenly the losses don't seem that extreme any more. To me, at least.

Skywalker_T-65 · Oct 30, 2017

Chapter 42

It was only with a small, distant part of his mind that James Thompson felt Sara clutch desperately at his arm. Heard the words of his crew, Sara's Captain barking orders, filled with disbelief. No. The majority of his attention was focused on what stared him in the face, and that he smelled even from the carrier's high island. It was--it was--

My god, I knew it would happen and I still can't believe it.

It was a painful memory. It was a reflection of newsreels from the past and the Abyssals from the future. Only instead of Arizona or Missouri burning at their moorings, it was California. Instead of ship girls sailing to greet him, it was a battered and flame-scarred motor launch. P-40's flew circular orbits above the harbor, joined by Sara's Wildcats. But the Japanese were long gone.

They wouldn't be back.

"Admiral?" A voice broke through Thompson's--well, his shell shock.

Shaking his head, the Admiral turned to look at Sara's captain. The older man grimaced, his own eyes swimming with a chaotic mix of emotions. "You need to go see Admiral Richardson, sir. Admiral Halsey already went chasing the Japs."

"Of course he did," Thompson forced a smile on his face, carefully burying his real feelings. Bull Halsey would get himself killed and Enterprise sank, if he tangled with the Kido Butai alone. "I'll head down to meet him, thank you. Keep in contact with Thach...don't want to be jumped in harbor."

"Will do, sir."

Squaring his shoulders, the time-traveler sent the sharpest nod he could before leaving the bridge. Sara was right by his side the entire time, her blue hair brushing against him with each step. The carrier's arm had not left his since they had entered Hawaiian waters...and he didn't mind. She was his support and he was hers.

Always had been.

"Ad--James," Sara's voice was weak. Weaker than it had ever been. "What are we going to do? All that we did, everything that you planned..."

A soft sigh escaped his lips, as Thompson shook his head. "We knew this would happen, Sara. Nothing we did could stop it."

"But...Cali and the others..."

Gently rubbing a circle against Sara's arm, the Admiral could only shake his head again. He didn't need to say anything. Because he knew why, why the strong and brave woman by his side was so scared. It was one thing to prepare for war or understand it was coming. It was another to actually see it. He had been much the same when the Abyssals first came.

"Don't worry, Sara. Even if it takes years, we'll get back for them." A smile he didn't really feel crossed Thompson's face, even as he felt a bit of him die inside. "They'll pay for this, you know that."

After all, he was talking about killing friends.

"Admiral..." Perceptive as she was, Sara picked up on that. A little of her normal personality shone through, the carrier pulling her Admiral to a stop. Green stared into green, her eyes searching his for--something. "You don't want to fight, do you?"

Thompson blew out a sigh, "No, I don't."

"They're your friends."

"They are." What point was there in denying that?

Sara didn't respond to that. Vocally.

Her arms just wrapped around Thompson's torso, gently hugging the Admiral to her chest. There wasn't any need to say anything. Because as Thompson's own arms wrapped around Sara, they both understood each other perfectly. The Admiral who, despite the anger he felt, couldn't bring himself to hate old friends. And the carrier who would follow him into hell itself, without complaint or question.

They were beyond needing to speak to each other.

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

"You look like hell, sir."

With a little more strength in his words, Thompson looked at his counterpart. Richardson's uniform was sooty, his glasses missing, and his face covered in grime. Lines were quite visible under his eyes. By any measure, the man was a walking wreck. Yet his eyes were sharp as ever and his shoulders were unbowed.

"If I am going to be removed from command," Richardson's voice was dry, the Admiral not even bothering to hide whatever he felt. "I will do the most I can to help my boys recover first."

"I don't think you will be." Thompson meant every word he said, too. "Honestly, you did everything you could. No one knew this would happen."

The older man just snorted, "Like hell. We both knew it was coming, and they still caught us with our pants down. Goddamn Short and his racist sabotage..."

Wisely avoiding stepping onto that landmine, the younger Admiral just looked past his superior and out on the burning harbor. "How many did we lose, sir? Honestly."

Cut off mid-tirade, Richardson let out a heavy sigh. "They didn't tell you, did they?"

"Information is a bit sparse."

Richardson didn't reply, at first. He waved Thompson forward and walked out on Sara's deck instead. Smoke was still thick in the harbor, carried from the fires on Cali and West Virginia. Those battleships were hidden beneath smoke and dull red light, sunk at their moorings just like Thompson remembered. Other than Cali being broken in two, anyway...

"I'm not going to lie to you, son," Richardson's gruff voice had softened. The old man raised his arms, gesturing at the ruin of his fleet. "We lost California. Complete, total loss. I'd be surprised if we could even scrap her."

Cali shouldn't have died like that. Damnit, was that because I changed things?

"Nevada is going to need months of drydock time, Oklahoma and West Virginia are possible write offs," the other man didn't notice Thompson biting his lip, and just continued almost robotically listing off the losses. "Pennsylvania got off with no damage, but Arizona and Tennessee both took hits. Thank god the carriers weren't in harbor."

"Thank god," Thompson weakly repeated. His eyes had trailed over each and every ship as Richardson listed them off, and it didn't get any easier to look at them than it was when he first came into the harbor.

Somehow, he doubted it ever would. He had never gotten used to seeing Mo, had he? And then he had been able to talk to the girl while her hull was salvaged. Here, he couldn't do that. Fuck. He didn't even know if it was possible to bring these girls back now. Could they even risk it, when the possibility of bringing about the Abyssals was there? He knew the girls were still--alive, for lack of a better word. Even when they sank.

But that didn't mean they could risk bringing them back in this wa--

"Utah, well, I should say she isn't a total loss."

What?

Thompson tore his eyes away from the distant form of Arizona, flame scarred as she was, and looked at the Admiral by his side. Richardson stared back, his dark eyes boring into Thompson's green.

"Her hull is, don't misunderstand me. Even if we could salvage her, she doesn't have any military value anymore. Whenever we settle things here, I'll recommend we clear her berth and not one step further." Richardson's eyes narrowed slightly. "However--well, perhaps it is better if you see it yourself. After all, Admiral Thompson, you are our expert on these girls."

"I am..." Thompson repeated, ever so slowly, as if expecting an answer to his unspoken question.

Richardson only nodded at California, as if that answered everything. And in the end, maybe it did. It just wasn't an answer Thompson had expected or wanted.

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

Work. Work. Work. Work.

Mindless hands pulled red-hot metal plates away, exposing collapsed bulkheads. The plate fell back into place, the hands moving to a different area. Arms coated in bandages continued to search, their owner listening for the slightest sound of life. When none were heard, they moved to a different part of California's hull. The fire still burning all around meant nothing. The smoke was completely ignored.

Work. Work. Work.

Grey eyes were cloudy with unshead tears. Strands of soot-blackened grey hair fell in front of them, yet no effort was made to move them. Why bother? The only thing that mattered was finding survivors. Any sign of life, human or from her daughter, was the only thing that mattered. Nothing but that. Nothing at all.

Work. Work. Wo--

"Utah."

The voice shattered the mindless mantra, as USS Utah pulled up. She hadn't even realized that her legs had carried her out towards the harbor. Where a battered launch floated alongside California, carrying two Admirals. Both very, very familiar to her.

"My god, I didn't think it was possible..." the younger of the men, green eyes wide with shock, stared at her.

"You can see the problem, I'm sure." The older looked at his counterpart with tired brown, daring him to say anything.

Utah wouldn't give him the chance, stumbling on unsteady feet. "Admiral...Thompson?"

As if someone had struck him, the young man turned his full attention on the battleship. "Utah. I--I'm sorry. For what that's worth, I'm so very sorry."

Richardson didn't know what Thompson was saying. Utah did. And while, at one point, those words may have stoked the anger that had never left...they just brought tears to her eyes now. She shook her head, slowly sailing up to the launch. She couldn't be angry. She knew that Thompson had done everything, everything, he could. Without breaking what trust he had with the Navy.

She understood that, if nothing else.

"Have you been out here the entire time, Utah?" Admiral Richardson's rough, damaged, voice echoed over the sound of men working at saving what was left of Cali.

A short nod, "Yes, Admiral. I--I have to work. I have to."

What was left unsaid, was that her idea of 'work' was something that would kill anyone else. Utah's hands were coated in blood and burns. Her arms were blistered from top to bottom, her hair torn and smoke-stained. Her dress was ruined, almost exposing her in how damaged it was. And her eyes...her eyes were haunted and sunk back in her face. The battleship looked like she was a step from death.

And maybe she was. She didn't care if that was the case.

It would be what I deserve, after I killed American pilots and sailors. I betrayed them, because I couldn't see past my anger. What kind of battleship am I? What kind of training ship am I? A woman, a ship, who kills her own men...

With a causal disregard for her own health, Utah had thrown herself into finding survivors. First Cali, then Okie, then Virginia...she was going to work her way to all her daughters. It didn't matter that she hadn't slept and that her body was falling apart.

Work. Ari told me we all have our duty. This is mine. My burden to bear and my regrets to carry.

"Utah..." Admiral Thompson's voice lacked the roughness of Richardson's. His uniform was neatly pressed and his eyes sharp, yet she saw pain behind his eyes. "I know what you feel, believe me. But throwing yourself away like this isn't the way to help it."

At one point, Utah might have wondered how he understood how she felt. Yet, she heard his words and saw the same pain reflected in his green that she knew to be in her grey eyes.

"You do, don't you, Admiral?" Utah's voice cracked, as she felt a tear trail down her blackened cheek.

"I do. If you'll let me, I can help you. Try to, at least."

And maybe he did understand her. Sara had told her, once. He had the same regrets she did. The same feeling that he had, or would have to, kill those precious to him.

Maybe no one else could understand her quite like the time-traveling Admiral from the future.

"I'm sorry, but I can't do that. Not now."

Yet, Utah shook her head. Sorrow filled her every action, as she began to sail away from the launch and toward's Okie's shattered hull. She knew that men were trapped below her decks. Her daughter had begged her to help them.

"I have to keep working. I can't stop. Not now, not when I can still help."

As she sailed away, Utah heard a soft sigh from Richardson. Followed by words that, perhaps, he didn't mean for the battleship to hear while tears flowed down her face.

"I told you, Admiral. She refuses to rest." Richardson's voice carried even over the sound of men hard at work.

Thompson's didn't, but Utah could never not hear his words. The first man that had ever spoken to her. "I understand why, sir. Give me some time...I can get through to her."

Maybe you can. I still won't stop. Not until I can look Joseph in the eyes, and tell him that I'm sorry. That I lo...that I need him to forgive me. If I can't do that, I can't face my daughters either.

Not what I would call a fun chapter...but this marks the end of Pearl and Arc 2. Next will be the interlude, then a little time skip back to Schreiber.

I don't know when that will be. I'm in...a funk, to be honest. Leaving aside SB- and I'm not posting this there, not right now. I may not even bother. -I...may not be a teacher. I may get back from the high school tomorrow with the knowledge I won't teach and have to make do with a default history degree. Those on the Discord know exactly what I've been going through.

Maybe I won't have to do that, but there's a non-zero chance I will.

And, if that does happen, I--well, I'll probably need a couple days to absorb it before I write again.

...I guess it made it easier to write Utah, here. If nothing else.

Changing Destiny (Kancolle)

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Skywalker_T-65

Writer with too many ideas.

Skywalker_T-65

Writer with too many ideas.

Skywalker_T-65

Writer with too many ideas.

Skywalker_T-65

Writer with too many ideas.

Skywalker_T-65

Writer with too many ideas.

Skywalker_T-65

Writer with too many ideas.

Skywalker_T-65

Writer with too many ideas.

Skywalker_T-65

Writer with too many ideas.

Skywalker_T-65

Writer with too many ideas.

Skywalker_T-65

Writer with too many ideas.

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