Fantastic update, Sky. The long wait was more than worth it as we got to see multiple POVs and characters around the world making big strides in advancing their respective end of the plot. Then there's the big cliffhanger of the IJN seeking their Kantai Kessen. Needless to say, I'm very happy with what I got and eagerly anticipate what follows next.
"So does this mean you'll finally finish the long-overdue omake you promised for Holding The Line?" HK416 asked with an arched eyebrow.
I can't see the IJN doing that, they would probably treat them with immense respect. Essentially like a Kami to be perfectly frank, hell, that's how one of Zuikaku's pilots described Utah.
The IJA on the other hand, unless its one of their own ships, yeah, I can totally see them experimenting on a shipgirl.
True. I'm more worried what the Nazis are doing now that they know that shipgirls are a thing. At the construction yards where they're building new ships, carving Nazi symbology into the superstructure, constant preaching of Nazi party ideology...
The politics on the Japanese side have got to be indescribable. You could call it fanaticism, but the bottom line is they don't expect much less than genocide if they lose because China will want revenge. Even if they did have someone who was from the 'future', for said person to actually function in the Japanese military would probably be even harder than it is for Schreiber.
If someone has a brain, the nazi's have a fully built carrier ready to go.
Her biggest issue is that drug addled idiot Goring.
And then after him is that no one really knows what they wanted to use Graff Zeppelin for in the first place.
Hood is going to come back to the fleet better then modern battleships. And shes going to preen about it. As she should. And come back with weird stories to share with the british fleet girls.
Hmmm.
Italian navy deciding enough and going to fix their own government....i wonder what the battleships of their fleet think?
And what is the hold up with the IJN? Makes me wonder.
Xxxxxxx
Good job on this Sky. Excellent as always.
That would not end well for them. Shipgirls are too strong, too tough, and too massive. All trying would accomplish is the destruction of whatever group of idiots got it into their heads that they could do 'science' to a bote.
Aren't the 731 guys off in Manchuria? Almost as far as it is possible to get from the frontlines? And thus from the current spirits. Also I'm pretty sure they're IJA so the Imperial Navy is handing over their ships to 731 approximately never. Only way they'd manage it is if the Army summoned one of their ships. (Yes the Imperial Japanese Army had their own ships. Dysfunction thy name is Imperial Japanese Military) and then gave this Kami who has manifested to protect Japan (And do so while wearing an Army uniform huzzah!) over to Unit 731. For some reason...
If you think a hiding a betting pool from the ship it's happening on is hard, wait until Sara walks in on the surprise party the crew plans to organize for her launch day.
Even year after year, she still hasn't figured out how the hell they managed to hide that.
Hm… my instinct says that the buildup from the IJN is a feint. If the Japanese cannot go to the grand battle, they will lure the Americans into ground of their choosing and fortification. A Reverse Midway. Taking off to attack the carriers at Rabaul means ground aviation and surface assets are trying to find and engage the carrier group. Or worse, the IJN actually pulled a bluff on Intelligence and the Combined Fleet is combining the seas to try and fall on Sara like a ton of bricks.
At this point, I think the famous NYC 'sailor kissing a nurse' picture during the V-J Day celebrations, will instead be Thompson & Sara. And I call it an even coin flip as to the odds between whom is going to be on the receiving end of that kiss, and whom is the one delivering it.
And Sara's sailors - knowing Thompson planned himself, repeatedly, into utter exhaustion to find yet another way, however slim/tiny that chance, of getting that many more of them home alive - probably would rally around him.
Probably the greatest tribute to him would be a historian going:
"Admiral Thompson was an miser of the blackest sort. He spent his men's lives like they were the most precious commodity on the planet, and only when the greatest of rewards made it worth spending. Let others spend lives like kids at a candy store, content with their meager and short lived prizes. If Thompson was to spend, he held out for the Rembrandts and Van Goghs, prizes which would last for ages upon the halls of honor in the Navy department, and nothing less would make him sweat so much as a dime in men."
"Admiral Thompson was an miser of the blackest sort. He spent his men's lives like they were the most precious commodity on the planet, and only when the greatest of rewards made it worth spending. Let others spend lives like kids at a candy store, content with their meager and short lived prizes. If Thompson was to spend, he held out for the Rembrandts and Van Goghs, prizes which would last for ages upon the halls of honor in the Navy department, and nothing less would make him sweat so much as a dime in men."
I can totally see that happening, though if Admiral Thompson ever hears those words. I don't know if he would be mortified and thankful at hearing those words. Probably a mixture of both to be perfectly honest.
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Obligatory Warning: Mildly racist dialogue in one section. 'tis the problem with writing in the 1940s. We avoid the worst of it, but still, advance warning.
Chapter 63
Pearl Harbor, July 4th, 1942
The first Independence Day since the terrible Japanese attack had proven to be a...somber affair. Admiral Richardson reflected on that as he walked towards the dock and the imposing battleship resting alongside it. Celebrations had been few and far between. With the burnt-out hulk of California still laying where she had been sunk? The ongoing salvage of less damaged, yet still crippled battleships hardly helped. Nor did ships such as West Virginia, sitting in drydock as they were repaired, and bodies were still found deep inside. It was impossible, if you looked towards the Harbor, to forget what had happened at the end of the previous year.
That wasn't even touching on how many people had left for the war. Or the constant coming and going of warships or planes for the front. America was at War, and that was nowhere more obvious than right here, where it had all begun. No one could ignore the war in Hawaii, for better or worse.
Least of all myself. I doubt I can ever forget that day. Richardson resisted the urge to sigh. He still woke up, often, from nightmares of that attack.
"Admiral! You came out to see me?!" A cheerful voice wrenched him away from that line of thought, however. A cheerful voice and an equally cheerful face, framed by long- interesting that it changed -red hair. "I didn't think you'd do that! Where's Admiral Thompson, though?"
Richardson raised a hand of his own to wave back, while his other hand pushed his glasses up his nose. "Not here, I'm afraid. How have you been, Arizona?"
Once upon a time, he would have considered it strange to be talking to the battleship. He knew it would have been even stranger to those watching. That had changed. Even for those who hadn't already met Utah, the news was spreading, if only in fits and spurts of rumor. As for Arizona...well. If anyone aboard her couldn't see the spirit after what she had done during the attack, he would be amazed.
"Great! That new refit was just what I needed, Admiral!" Arizona leaned over the railing at the side of her hull without a care in the world. A few members of her crew did, in fact, see her and shake their heads fondly.
If she noticed at all, the battleship certainly didn't show it. She just grinned down at the Admiral while her long hair fluttered beneath her old cap. Her uniform hadn't changed all that much, even if her hair had. The brown eyes were the same, as well. It seemed that the spirits of the ships didn't change, no matter the extent of the refit. Or perhaps that was just Arizona. Richardson would have to ask Thompson about that whenever the next time Saratoga came back to port was. There were still far too many things he didn't understand about the ship spirits.
He didn't like not knowing things when it came to something so very important.
"Good to hear," he didn't say that, of course. He simply smiled and walked up to her deck, returning the salutes he received along the way. It was quite an extensive refit. I should thank Admiral Thompson for making it clear how useful these old girls can be for it being done so quickly, I suppose. As well as the fact she wasn't that terribly damaged in the first place. Certainly not like some of the others.
His gaze drifting over the distinctive twin five-inch turrets, the old Admiral grunted in appreciation. Oh yes. He could already see how she could be useful, even if still far too slow to escort a carrier properly.
"So, where is Admiral Thompson, anyway?" Arizona had rushed over to his side, unsurprisingly, the moment he reached her deck. The only visible change on her, save for her longer hair, being perhaps a slight increase to her bustline. Not that Richardson cared to look.
He was both happily married and not a man like Thompson.
"I was hoping to see him and show off a bit," Arizona continued, her voice filled with a teasing undertone. The woman who had been so borderline depressive after the attack had clearly recovered. "Though, from what I hear, Sister Sara is going to---"
Richardson held up a hand, "I've heard of the betting pool myself, Arizona. No need to remind me. I still find the very idea...strange. At best."
It was an enduring mystery how neither Thompson nor Saratoga knew about the betting pool. Willful ignorance, perhaps. Or they were well aware and chose to ignore it. Richardson would like to believe that the younger man wasn't enough of a fool to miss it, but...hrm. Well. It was hardly his problem. Let the men have their fun. He knew very well how rare that could be during wartime. The paperwork waiting for him when he returned to his office was all the proof needed, and he wasn't even seeing frontline combat
"Aww," Arizona didn't comment on his thoughts. She just pouted and giggled a little, "Well, I'm sure they'll figure it out eventually! Sometimes, I wonder how it took this long..."
The flush on her face spoke to embarrassment about something. Richardson resisted a sudden strong urge to roll his eyes. Ah. She must have felt the same at one point. What was this, a cheap film at the cinema?
"As amusing as this is, it is not why I came here." The old Admiral waved a hand towards Arizona's superstructure. More importantly, towards where he could talk in private, without the crew eavesdropping as they did. "I visited for business, I'm afraid. As unwelcome as that may be."
Instantly dropping her pout, Arizona straightened and nodded seriously. "Ah--of course. Right this way, sir!"
It was always fascinating to see, Richardson reflected, as he walked alongside the spirit of the battleship. How quickly these girls could shift from acting like rowdy teenagers- if not younger -to proper sailors. It was one of the few things that served to always remind him that, yes, as crazy as it was...they truly were the spirits of the warships. Given reason to, they would act every inch what one would expect of a sailor, no matter their gender. He still felt uncomfortable thinking about women in combat, but these ships weren't normal women. When he saw Arizona snap to attention and walk in prefect parade ground formation next to him...he could remember that.
The world has gone insane, and some days, I wonder if I have as well.
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"So, what did you need to talk to me about? I haven't got any news from home or anything. At least," here, Arizona frowned, as she sat at a table across from Richardson. The two of them alone, as her Captain went about his tasks and her crew did much the same. Frown deepening, the battleship shrugged, "I don't know anything you probably don't already know!"
Richardson idly sipped a mug of coffee that the battleship had placed before him, only slightly wincing at the bitter flavor. Oh, remind me to never allow Utah to cook for my meals. These ships don't seem to understand the concept.
Putting that aside, he set the mug down and sighed softly, "That isn't what I came here for, no. I wanted to talk about two topics."
He pulled two stacks of paper from the briefcase he had brought aboard. One, he sat to his left. One, to his right. The Admiral pushed the one on the right forward first and let Arizona scan the first page. Her lips pursed into a frown as she did so, clearly absorbing what she was reading. Richardson let her reach the end of the page before he spoke up again. Her brown eyes flicked up to him, before continuing to read, her lips pressed into a thin line.
He didn't mind, just continuing without missing a beat, "As you're reading, my question is simple. Have you noticed anything different about ships under construction? Are they manifesting as well?" Richardson placed his hands on the table and gave the battleship a serious glance, "I need to know the answer to that question, I'm afraid. Thompson doesn't know and if it is the case, that is something we should get ahead of."
"Why, sir?" Still frowning, Arizona looked up with a confused glint in her eyes. She even tilted her head to the side, red hair shifting with the movement, as her cap didn't shift even an inch. "Does it matter when we're born? I haven't...really thought about that, to be honest? It's just...a thing...?"
Perhaps it doesn't matter. Perhaps it does. Richardson tried not to concern himself with the ship spirits and allow Thomspon to focus upon that, while he focused on the war. Sometimes, though, the two coincided. We know the Italians have a ship spirit. The Germans likely do as well. Who's to say the Japanese don't? Who's to say what they have under construction, even as we speak?
And that, really, was why he had to ask. "I need to know, Arizona, because of our enemies."
"Our...oh. Oooohhh," Arizona was a bit slow, as befitting her class of battleship, but she wasn't that slow. And it was more in relation to her though process in general, anyway.
Richardson just nodded and sipped his bitter drink once more. Yes. That was the problem. He didn't like to admit it, but it could very rapidly become a very real issue. From Italy, to Germany, to Japan, to even Russia, should Stalin get ideas.
"If your spirits are born when the keel is laid, who can say how many potential enemies we have? I would like to trust Thompson when he claims that most of you ships are too attached to your crews to want to leave. That you can be reasoned with." Richardson set the mug down again and gave Arizona a sharp, piercing, stare. "I can't believe that about ships that have just been laid down by such...reprehensible governments."
Both battleship and admiral fell silent at the idea. Imagining a battleship freshly laid down by the Nazis and immediately torn from her hull and force-fed their ideology. They still didn't know exactly how to bring ships back. How would they ever manage if it was possible to...cheat the system like that? Japan almost certainly had dozens of ships on the slipways that could be pulled out like that. Dozens. And they had the slipways to make even more, it was likely. Germany could build hundreds of U-Boats and do the same. The image caused a shudder to run down Arizona's spine and Richardson to sigh wearily.
Nothing was simple. Not anymore.
"Ah...I..." Arizona dropped the papers and pulled her cap from her head, twisting and turning it in her hands. "I don't know for sure? I didn't think to ask. I..." Frown welded to her face, the battleship shook her head and bit her lip. "The earliest thing I remember is going down the slipway, back in '15."
Nodding along, Richardson pushed his glasses up, "Nothing before that?"
"Nothing that I can remember," Arizona clarified. She placed her cap on the table and shrugged helplessly. "I don't know if I was awake or alive before that. Do you remember anything when you were a child, Admiral?"
While he would love to say he did, Richardson knew that would be a lie. Reach a certain age and everything from your childhood became a blur. That didn't exactly help matters here, either. Hm. "Well, if you are unaware, I will simply have to send a message stateside and have it looked into. A few men who served on Utah have gone back to work in dockyards. They're in a position to check, given time."
He shrugged at Arizona's stare and chuckled softly. It was painfully obvious what she was thinking and not asking vocally.
"No, the idea hadn't just occurred to me. The question, yes, which is why I asked you instead of trying that first. Running a war keeps me quite busy, I'm afraid, and I hadn't thought of this being an issue prior to now."
That Thompson hadn't either was no surprise. The man spread himself thin trying to cover every possible base. Think of every strategy he knew of, every Japanese or German action he remembered, and every technology he could possibly supply. That the man hadn't worked himself to death was an enduring mystery.
Arizona sighed softly and replaced her cap upon her head, idly running a hand through her silky hair, "What about the second question, then?"
Her question prompted a small smile and a laugh from Richardson. This one was a much simpler thing to ask about. One that didn't have such drastic consequences for the war, the world itself, as the previous one. Just idle curiosity as much as anything.
"Are you aware of where the Marines you helped during the attack are serving now? I wanted to bring them in to thank them for helping you and get their opinion on how to involve you girls more aboard your hulls." Richardson's smile turned a tad fatherly, at the way Arizona instantly flushed the same shade as her hair. Ah, for the joys of youth. Even if she was a warship.
Coughing into her hand, probably trying to hide her flushed face, Arizona spoke in something resembling a strangled tone, "Last I he--heard, Tommy was in the South Pacific with the Raiders, sir!"
"Tommy, is it?"
As the battleship sputtered and covered her face with her cap, now...Richardson smiled. Who said he didn't know how to lighten the mood? Still, though...the South Pacific with the Raider Battalion, eh?
Fuck fuck fuck---
The sharp 'twang' of bullets flying over his head was all that one Tommy Conlin needed to fall flat on his stomach. A chopped-off grunt announced one of his fellow Raiders falling with a bullet through his helmet. Sightless eyes stared back at Tommy as he fought down the urge to lose his last meal. Forcing it down, he pulled the rim of his helmet up, just enough to see tracers flying from a treeline a short distance away. He didn't even notice the mud and muck getting into every open spot on his uniform. He hadn't noticed that in a long time.
It wasn't as if he hadn't been coated in mud to begin with. These godforsaken islands were never, ever, dry.
"Here we go again, eh? You alright there, Tommy?"
That was another Marine, plopped down next to him, battered and weathered Springfield pointing towards the Japs. He had a wicked scar down his left cheek and a crooked grin upon his face. The man's stubble was coated in muck, and he didn't say anything about it. Tommy wished he could ignore it so easily. He kept himself clean-shaven for a reason.
"I'm fine. Wish I could say the same for Hollister back there." Tommy jerked his head towards the fallen Raider, slumped face-first in the mud. "Poor bastard never even saw it coming."
Grunting, the other Marine worked the bolt of his Springfield and shrugged. "That's what happens. Japs are sneaky little buggers at the best of times. Dunno how those slant-eyed bastards see so well through all this shit, though."
Tommy bit his lip to keep from saying anything back. He didn't much care for the Japs himself, but really?
"Anyway, keep your head down. I'll blast them if they show their faces---"
The man would never finish his sentence, as a bullet blew through the eye that had been looking down his sights. He slumped onto his rifle and Tommy cursed rather heavily and heartily. Rolling through the mud to get away from being an obvious target, the young Marine managed to slip into a little creek. The water, muddy as it was, did little to clean him off. The cover was appreciated, however. Bullets kept whizzing back and forth over his head, but the creek kept him well below the line of sight of either side. He was completely fine with that.
I'm no coward, but on one likes getting shot in the face. Now. Can I sneak up on the assholes this way?
Tommy grunted a little, working his rifle out and above the water. Giving it a critical once-over to make sure it was clean and functional...he began to crawl. Slowly and steadily through the muddy water. The creek was shallow and hardly an obstacle, even if a bit uncomfortable. Nothing he wasn't used to though. Continuing to crawl as the sounds of battle rang out all around him, the young Marine was soon close enough to the Japanese positions to hear the sound of their voices. He'd picked up enough Japanese since the War started to at least understand every other word, though barely.
"American fools---"
"--ammo, now---"
"Taishi! You foreign---"
And many other things that he didn't understand or just didn't care about. Judging himself close enough for what he needed, Tommy carefully set his rifle aside and reached to his waterlogged belt. His hand came away with a pineapple grenade, fully uncaring of the fact it was soaked. With a savage little grin on his face, he pulled the pin and lobbed it up out of the creek. A second or so later, screams began and the sound of panicked men starting to run. They didn't have the chance. The dull thump of the grenade, dulled even further by the muddy ground it landed in, rather successfully silenced the gunfire.
Before it picked up again, though nowhere near where Tommy lay.
"Must have gotten their nest..." He muttered to himself, waiting a few seconds more before slowly, carefully, crawling to the rim of the creek. He poked his head out, dark eyes scanning the area.
Yup, got the bastards.
A spread of about six or seven, it was hard to tell, bodies lay nearby. Alongside a machine gun, unoccupied and still loaded with one of those dumbass hoppers. Tommy scanned further, left and right, before deciding the coast was clear. He lowered himself back into the creek and grabbed his rifle. He wasn't getting out of that little hole, yet, though. No. He called out with a raised voice, instead.
"Clear! Anyone else alive back there?!"
To his eternal relief, another voice answered, "You're a crazy SOB, you know that, Conlin?!"
"Ha! Didn't think they'd be able to get you, Frank. You're too stubborn to die!" Tommy couldn't help his grin. Frank Minoso, the heavyset sergeant, was the toughest Marine that Tommy had ever met. He wouldn't go down that easily. "Now why don't you get up here and help me out of this thing? I think I feel leeches already!"
He didn't, thank god, but hey...no need to tell Frank that, eh?
"Would do you some good, Tommy. You can stand losing some weight!" Frank's heartfelt laugh made it clear he knew how hypocritical that was. He was a giant of a man, himself. "I'm coming, don't get your britches in a bundle."
It was only the fact that the gunfire had shifted down the jungle that they could joke around like that. Contrary to what the Army or Navy thought, Marines didn't casually joke around in the middle of active battle. They were deadly serious when the need arose. But with no immediate danger and the adrenaline of battle wearing down...well. Might as well joke around. It'd keep them from thinking about how many comrades they'd just lost again. Tommy still vividly saw the two dead Raiders behind his eyes, staring back judgmentally, as if it was his fault they had died. They always did.
Things were simpler back on Arizona, strange girl or not. Tommy still found it incredibly odd to write letters directed to the Arizona, but he did, once in a blue moon. There was something about that ship that he couldn't quite shake. Maybe it had been how goddamn heroic she had been back at Pearl. He'd probably be dead if not for her.
Still, though...
"Get your heads out of the clouds, Conlin..." Tommy pulled himself out of the creek, reaching a hand up just as Frank reached him. The massive bear of a man pulled him out of the creek, setting Tommy down beside him with a wide grin on his square-jawed face.
Frank never did give up a chance to grin like an idiot. It was his charm. "Good job there, Tommy. Would have been a hell of a lot harder without you there. Guess we're lucky you rolled down there, though we're not going to think that in a few hours."
Tommy looked down at his mud-encrusted uniform and grimaced, "Damnit. Never getting this off, am I?"
"Nope!"
Hefting his BAR on his shoulder, Frank waved in the distance, where the gunfire could still be heard. He didn't need to say anything to make it clear what he was thinking, and Tommy was going to suggest it if Frank hadn't. No point in resting on their asses. Kill one machinegun nest and another waited. No rest for the weary. Marines weren't known for that and the Raiders sure as fuck weren't.
"Guess Willy and the others are off that way?" Tommy asked, looking over his Springfield once more. Frank nodded, as he handed Tommy fresh grenades...probably taken from their fallen brothers. "Figured. Lead the way, Sarge."
A snort came from his friend, "Says the one who keeps charging up like you're some sorta hero. Miller is less suicidal than you are, and I think he's actually trying to get himself killed, the mad bastard."
The two old friends shared a chuckle at that before sobering up. They shared a sober look back at the fallen Raiders before marching on. They could come back for the bodies later. For now, battles needed to be fought. Tommy had forgotten the name of this island, some weird native thing he couldn't hope to pronounce. It was just one of hundreds in the Solomons. But high command said they wanted the Raiders to knock the Japs around, so here they were. No matter how many of them fell like those poor bastards...they would keep moving forward. It was what Marines did.
It was what Raiders did.
I'm not going to end up like them. No way in hell.
AN: No Thompson, here, but we wanted to cover a bit of different things this time. Don't worry, we'll be in the South Pacific for a little bit here. Well, and the Central Pacific when we get back to E and Halsey, but same difference. Got a lot of ground to cover and all of that fun stuff. Hopefully still worth the read?
At any rate, we'll see when we can get the next one together. That one will likely bring us back to our main protagonist. Probably.
Tiny pedantic correction: in the USN at least these are actually called mounts, not turrets. A mount is where the gunhouse itself rotates but the structure underneath is fixed in place, but a turret is where the whole structure -- gunhouse, projectile storage, powder flats, etc -- rotates as one larger entity.
Six inch guns and larger are generally went things got large enough to be turrets, while five inches and smaller (including AA guns) were all mounts.
So, in what way is Ari's coffee bad? Is it too strong for them or is there some 'other' flavor that happens becasue the Ship-girls might not even realize that they are giving the men more steel in their food?
Can this be a scene of humor where the Ship-girls assemble a holiday feast and everyone, while grateful, are apprehensive of the taste?
Secondly, are we getting Abyssals soon? That idea of cheating the system creating neverborn Ship-girls seems like a great idea. Seperetely, it might be interesting if the first time the ships boilers are started is the 'first breath' so to speak of the Ship-girls
I was thinking about this fic the other day, and the long-term implications of the US having (vague) knowledge of the future. And it's got me wondering if it might take some of the urgency out of the Cold War. There will still be one I have no doubt whatsoever. But I can't help but wondering if knowing that the Soviet Union falls eventually changes how the US approaches things.
In the real world, Everybody and their mother predicted the USSR would collapse right up until the dramatic reversal of the Germans pushing all the way to Moscow and then the Russians marching through Berlin. Then basically everybody thought the Soviets were gonna last forever. And then they didn't. I can't help but wonder if knowing that the USSR does collapse eventually will make those in the know be less willing to oppose communism "at any cost" and less willing to install puppet dictators so long as they pay enough lip-service to anti-communism.
Great update. Richardson and Arizona's discussion about shipgirls in the safety of Pearl Harbor makes Tommy's side of things even more intense. It shows that while the admirals and shipgirls hog the spotlight, there are things that remain remote and unchangeable by them, such as Marine Raiders having to clear out Japanese-held islands.
