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.
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"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.
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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.