Long story short, after a long discussion on the KanColle ideas thread about what would happen...
Eternity: A Kantai Collection story
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CompassJimbo
Where’s Your North?
- Location
- The former Rubber Capital of the World
Long story short, after a long discussion on the KanColle ideas thread about what would happen if ships were to swap nations, SB's @Sheo Darren decided to act upon it. And with his kind permission, I have been allowed to crosspost his story, Eternity, to here. An alternate history where the USS Enterprise (CV-6) is sold off to Japan in a desperate bid by Bull Halsey to save his favorite ship (and Yamato is captured instead of sunk, but we'll get to that part later). The JMSDF renames her Yonaga ("Long Night"), and re-purposes our favorite carrier into an ASW platform and eventually preserves her as a museum for all to remember her by.
But the year is 2026, and war is on the doorstep of the country she swore to protect. The Abyss rises up to reap a harvest of blood. Night has fallen once more, and the ghosts of her past threaten to surface…
First story posts will come later. Have stuff to do right now, so be patient. Crossposting is now underway.
And now @Sheo Darren himself is here. Looks like my job is done for now. Give him love and any Murakumos you have. He deserves them.
But the year is 2026, and war is on the doorstep of the country she swore to protect. The Abyss rises up to reap a harvest of blood. Night has fallen once more, and the ghosts of her past threaten to surface…
And now @Sheo Darren himself is here. Looks like my job is done for now. Give him love and any Murakumos you have. He deserves them.
Last edited:
Sheo's Original Snippets (Sheo Darren)
CompassJimbo
Where’s Your North?
- Location
- The former Rubber Capital of the World
Credit to Sheo Darren
1957
International Telephone & Telegraph Building
67 Broad Street, New York City
The white-haired Bull stares through the window of his office near the top of the ITT Building. He had chosen this room for its clear and unobstructed view of his most precious prize. He has done this before, back when he flew his flag aboard the USS New Jersey, issuing orders that ensured a breath-taking sight every time he took a look outside the porthole of his quarters.
There lay USS Enterprise. The only survivor of the Yorktown class. The last of the pre-World War II aircraft carriers of the United States Navy. The greatest American warship afloat.
His former flagship. His old ship. His lovely lady.
From Pearl Harbor to Okinawa, she has fought in more major battles and earned more decorations than any other warship of the US Navy.
At one point she became the only operational American carrier holding the thin line against the Japanese hordes. Alone, damaged, constantly under repair, fighting against impossible odds, she held the line through bloody-minded determination.
Enterprise vs Japan! And she won! That was her. The Big E. The Lucky E. The Gray Ghost.
His Enterprise. His E.
And what was her reward for an unmatched war record?
She was declared surplus to the post-war needs of America's Navy, deactivated, and decommissioned. Who wanted an old out-of-date carrier constrained by the Washington Naval Treaty when there were many larger and more modern Essexes and Midways aplenty?
And even now, near Enterprise, the angled hull of the Forrestal class super carrier USS Independence nears completion.
Independence is to Enterprise what Enterprise was to Langley, CV-1, the mother of American aircraft carriers. Independenceis the present and the foreseeable future of American sea power, while Enterprise is a dusty relic of the past slated for scrapping.
Soon Enterprise will be sold for scrapping. It is a peaceful end for an old fighting ship. But it is not an end worthy of his girl.
In 1946, the state of New York had requested permission to make her a permanent memorial. At first the Navy agreed, but then it went back on its word at the last moment.
It soon became his turn at the batting plate. He involved himself in many an effort to drum up funding and interest to save his ship. He tried so hard and got so far. But all his attempts failed.
Money is the issue. Gone are the days when the savings of the children of a nation could be used to help pay for a battleship. More money is required.
"We want to preserve the Enterprise," everyone tells him. "But we have no money."
Bastards! They could afford all those new ships and missiles and nukes, but they couldn't spare anything for one old ship who gave her heart and soul to a nation?
He continues to fight for her sake. But he is so old and tired. He has lost so much.
His beloved wife Frances, his "Fan", was taken away from him by manic depression that forced them to live apart for both their sakes. His two children, Margaret and William III, are adults with lives and families of their own. He will soon step down from his lofty position on the board of ITT. He is long retired from the Navy and unlikely to be reactivated given his age & infamy.
All he has left is Enterprise.
And they are taking her away from him as well. If ever she is lost to him, he resolves to die before her scrapping is completed. No parent should have to bury his child.
But there is a glimmer of hope. And it comes from his former foes.
In recent years, Japan has begun to rebuild its military. The so-called Self Defense Force is expected to protect the Home Islands, freeing up the American garrisons for deployment elsewhere.
From his friends in the Navy and the government, he has heard that Japanese foreign ministry officials secretly desired defensive nuclear weaponry as a final weapon against the Soviet Union.
Naturally, America, the guarantor of Japan's security, refused this request. And he agreed with his former political masters. Give atomic weapons to the people who had earned the two atomic bombs dropped on their heads during the Second World War? Madness!
Instead, a generous counter-offer has been made. A mothballed aircraft carrier and accompanying air wing will be offered to the JMSDF at a discount price. To placate the pacifists, the warship will receive a designation that removes the unsavory implications of offensive weaponry. Anti-submarine warfare platform, defensive aviation warship, sea control ship... whatever floats the boat.
Two Essex class carriers are available for transfer. USS Franklin and Bunker Hill remain in their World War II rigging, awaiting the Navy's ultimate design for their final disposition. And there are several currently active unmodernized Essexes that could also be taken out of service and sent to Japan. Not to mention the smaller, lighter, cheaper carriers of the mothball fleet like the Independence class Cabot.
But he has a better offer than all those other warships. And it is one the Japanese will not be able to resist.
They want the best for their nation. He can give them the greatest of their generation.
He heads back to his desk. The yellow pages yield the phone number of the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel. He asks the operator for the number of the luxury hotel's most famous current occupant, who dwells in the penthouse of the Waldorf Towers.
"Hello?"
"Good morning, General MacArthur."
"Good morning, Fleet Admiral Halsey. What brings you to call me?"
Subtlety is not his strong point. He goes straight for the jugular of the issue. "You want to keep Yamato, right?" he briskly asks.
"So you've heard."
"Well, I can help you."
"Is that so? ...what do you want in exchange?"
He takes a deep breath before plunging into a gamble greater than any he's taken during the Pacific War. And he desperately hopes that it turns out better than his rash decisions to disregard two separate typhoons and the defences of Taffy Three, especially since the last mistake could have cost the life of the man on the other side of the phone, the irascible figure he is counting on to come through for his ship, his daughter, his beloved Enterprise.
A father will do anything for his child.
"Help me persuade the Japanese to save Enterprise," begs Fleet Admiral William Halsey, Jr.
[=]
(Snip #2)
I am Hiryuu. Sole member of my class. I am samurai. A noble member of the warrior class. My duty is to wage war upon the enemies of my lord."
Unlike the taciturn Kaga, Hiryuu sees no need to shackle her emotions and restrain her opinions. She understood that bottling up one's feelings only served to compound the inevitable explosion. To prevent a volcanic eruption, one needed to vent the contents of the magma chamber of emotion.
So while the heated edge in her voice could have melted steel, she kept the fire under control. Her anger did not rule her. It served a purpose; it served her.
"I am not an infant in swaddling clothes. I am not a child who needs coddling. I am not a doddering old fool. I am not a victim and I do not want your pity. I am your equal."
She does not look down on the ashen-haired woman in front of her. She looks up to her, and not just because of the latter's height.
"You bested me at Midway fair and square, Enterprise-san. I gladly welcomed my honorable end in ritual suicide by the torpedoes of my second because I had been overcome by the superior skill of a worthy adversary. That makes you equal to me. You are the equal of a samurai. You are a samurai as well."
"So act like one," she urges her rival carrier. "Act as befits your status as a Fleet Carrier of Japan. Act as a samurai."
"Hiryuu-san. I understand where you are coming from. And I respect your opinion. But," avers Yonaga with utmost gentleness. "But you are wrong.
"I am not a warrior. I am not a samurai. And I am no longer Enterprise.
"I am Yonaga. A citizen of Japan and a soldier of the JMSDF. And my duty is to protect everyone, including you."
Yonaga could have spit on Hiryuu, hurt Souryuu, mocked Tamon-Maru, or cursed the Emperor.
"Why... how could you..."
"Please forgive me, Hiryuu-san."
And yet all those combined would not have angered Hiryuu as much as what Yonaga did tell her just now.
"Enterprise-chan."
Hiryuu puts on a fake and hateful smile. She has decided to hurt this self-proclaimed Yonaga as much as possible until the American dropped this insulting facade and resumed her proper mantle.
"Admiral Halsey was a f*cking stupid arrogant *ssh*le who let Taffy Three get murdered and drowned his own men and ships twice because of his gigantic ego and tiny d*ck," she casually tells the shocked ASW carrier.
And if it took a fight to get back Enterprise, then Hiryuu swore by Tamon Yamaguchi that she will stir up the mother of all Decisive Battles.
[=]
(Snip #3)
The cold silence of the tense standoff between Hiryuu and Yonaga is broken by a prolonged burp followed by a happy hiccup.
"Oohh~, why so serious, Hiryuu-chan?"
Hands clamp themselves upon Hiryuu's modest chest. The brunette ship-girl goes absolutely rigid as she realizes her fatal error of tunnel-visioning on Yonaga when another threat constantly lurks nearby.
"Oh, no..."
"Let's put a smile on that face~"
Yonaga politely averts her eyes from the squirming Hiryuu and the newcomer with the rather wild mane of purple hair. She affects deafness with regards to the cute moans and angry pants puffing out of the other carrier's pink lips.
With a hasty rustle of silk and one last erotic groan, Hiryuu finally manages to pull herself free of the lascivious clutches of her captor. She immediately begins to fix her disheveled robes, which had been tugged open during the 'struggle'.
"Don't look," she barks at Yonaga.
"I'm not the least bit interested in you," replies the American.
Hiryuu scowls. That dismissal stung on multiple levels.
Once she fixed her kimono and regained some semblance of composure, she spins around to face her attacker. "Jun'you," she growls. "Why must you always be like this?"
"That's no good!" The other ship-girl's grin grows Cheshire Cat-like in proportion. "Drink some of this!"
Before Hiryuu can launch further protest, Jun'you stuffs a long-necked bottle of sake into her mouth.
"Glug glug glug!" gargles Hiryuu as she gulps down the pleasantly warm alcohol against her will.
"Here, here!" Jun'you cheers.
Yonaga is quite torn. On the forward aircraft elevator, she cannot condone groping your coworkers and imbibing alcoholic beverages while on duty. But on the rear elevator, she rather prefers this Jun'you draw Hiryuu's ire. And on the middle elevator...
"Stop it, Miss Jun'you." She steps forward to enforce her order. "You're hurting Miss Hiryuu."
This is her first face-to-face meeting with Jun'you. But somehow Yonaga is sure that the purple-haired ship-girl will comply with her stern request.
And she is right. Jun'you lets out an embarrassed laugh, goes "Sorry, sorry!" and stops forcefully plying Hiryuu with sake.
The face of the Flying Dragon is flush with crimson color. She sways uncertainly like a top-heavy ship caught in rough sea state.
"What did you make her drink?" Yonaga asks Jun'you.
"My own special homebrew! Hibiki-chan says it's almost as good as her vodka!"
Yonaga pales. Almost as hard as vodka? At least 80 proof alcohol? Not good. Not good at all.
"Are you all right, Miss Hiryuu?" she asks.
"Shaddap Endurrrprice..."
Hiryuu roughly brushes Yonaga's hand away from her shoulder. The utterly smashed Japanese carrier ends up smacking her own red face with the back of her hand. She staggers back a few steps.
"Biiits," she winces. "Yeah hut mah piece..."
Yonaga runs her hand across her brow. "Is she really this easy?" she asks.
Jun'you's smirk reminds her to be more careful with her choice of words in the future.
"Hiryuu-chan might be a medium carrier, but she's an ultra lightweight," laughs the red-and-white-garbed ship-girl.
"You've done this before, I assume," mutters Yonaga.
"Or else she wouldn't calm down~"
"Fate moo, tanky..." Hiryuu has managed to haul her shaking fists up to face level. The squinting carrier is threatening to box a bulkhead. "Gel two gel... gun punt hue..."
"She's going to hurt herself at this rate..."
Before Hiryuu can deck the wall, Yonaga comes up behind her, sweeps her off her unsteady feet, and lifts the squawking dragon into a bridal-style carry.
"Whaddya dooming?" yaps Hiryuu.
"Taking you to bed," Yonaga replies.
"Leeewd," giggles Jun'you.
Yonaga fixes her The Look that she has picked up from the many salty NCOs who had served aboard her for more than eight decades. Jun'you hastily closes her gaping mouth.
Hiryuu turns even redder. "War prize?" she say rather clearly.
"No," Yonaga firmly corrects her. "Miss Jun'you, where is Miss Hiryuu's room?"
"This way, Ma'am," mumbles Jun'you. That Look... it is like being disciplined by Houshou all over again... Despite her dismay, she smiles.
The combination of alcohol and the gentle rocking of her cradle relaxes Hiryuu. "...I dune mint," she whispers before closing her eyes. "Bit may fur square... duh wet ya want..."
"Just rest, Miss Hiryuu."
"Okay."
[=]
(Snip #4)
Fight me!"
Bombs crash down like snuffed-out stars cast down by the hateful heavens. Their iron casings smash through reinforced decking and their explosions warp metal.
"Fight!"
The shark-sleek shapes of oxygen-driven torpedoes slice through seawater and bust open underwater bulges.
"Fight, damn you!" howls Hiryuu.
And yet her enemy does not take any step to protect herself, be it by dodging the bullet hell of ordnance, intercepting the rampaging squadrons of the Japanese carrier, or launching a counterattack to repay her injuries ten times over with her air group of Cold War era jet fighters.
Instead, the blonde ship-girl just stands there and soaks the best that Imperial Japan has to offer until her Rigging is scrap and her tattered clothes are soaked in her own blood and oil.
Enough is enough. Hiryuu sloshes through the slick sea until she stood in front of her opponent. Her bamboo long bow cracks across the face of her opponent once, twice, thrice.
"Why aren't you fighting?" roars the Flying Dragon with every belting blow she lands on the shredded visage of the one she hated and feared the most. "This is a duel! Our honors are at stake! We're using live weapons! You agreed to this! So why are you just standing there, letting me hurt you, letting me win?"
Finally the bamboo bow snaps upon a bloody brow. Hiryuu grabs fistfuls of tattered tunic and hauls her unresponsive opponent towards her until their wet faces all but bump together.
"Why? Why aren't you taking me seriously!"
Why do you fuss over Akagi's eating habits? Why do you keep trying to get Kaga to smile? Why let Souryuu do your make-up with no protest? What for do you tease Shoukaku and encourage Zuikaku in her rivalry?
Why do you tolerate my angry words and cold shoulders and burning strikes?
Why do you think of us not as proud equals, but as victims to pamper out of apology?
The other ship-girl finally speaks up. And despite the one-sided battering she has endured, despite her face getting reduced into a macabre mask of shredded flesh and leaking blood, she sounds as if she barely feels the pain of her many wounds.
"Long ago, I made a vow."
Hiryuu cannot help but shiver in fearful anticipation. She knows about The Promise. Who doesn't?
Before we're through with them, the Japanese language will be spoken only in Hell.
"I promised..."
This is it. This is what Hiryuu wants. At last her enemy will declare war to the knife. She will strike back at last. Hiryuu will let her get enough licks in to make the fight fair for them both. And then, with the field of honor leveled and both parties fully into it, she and her rival will finally decide things once and for all.
And perhaps Hiryuu will finally find the peace denied her since the black day her own ships sent her burning hulk slipping beneath the green waters off That Island.
"...I promised that I will protect Japan and its people from those who would seek to do them harm."
The words rob Hiryuu's fingers of feeling and strength. Releasing the other ship-girl, she stumbles back, her face white and her hull shaking.
"No one will hurt my new home and my new people in the way that my old nation and former countrymen were hurt on the seventh of December so many years back."
And the newest carrier ship-girl of the Japanese navy lands her first, last, and decisive blow of this battle.
"That is the promise I intend to keep, Hiryuu-san."
Thus promises she who was once known as USS Enterprise, now going by the name JDS Yonaga, she who is called "Eternity".
1957
International Telephone & Telegraph Building
67 Broad Street, New York City
The white-haired Bull stares through the window of his office near the top of the ITT Building. He had chosen this room for its clear and unobstructed view of his most precious prize. He has done this before, back when he flew his flag aboard the USS New Jersey, issuing orders that ensured a breath-taking sight every time he took a look outside the porthole of his quarters.
There lay USS Enterprise. The only survivor of the Yorktown class. The last of the pre-World War II aircraft carriers of the United States Navy. The greatest American warship afloat.
His former flagship. His old ship. His lovely lady.
From Pearl Harbor to Okinawa, she has fought in more major battles and earned more decorations than any other warship of the US Navy.
At one point she became the only operational American carrier holding the thin line against the Japanese hordes. Alone, damaged, constantly under repair, fighting against impossible odds, she held the line through bloody-minded determination.
Enterprise vs Japan! And she won! That was her. The Big E. The Lucky E. The Gray Ghost.
His Enterprise. His E.
And what was her reward for an unmatched war record?
She was declared surplus to the post-war needs of America's Navy, deactivated, and decommissioned. Who wanted an old out-of-date carrier constrained by the Washington Naval Treaty when there were many larger and more modern Essexes and Midways aplenty?
And even now, near Enterprise, the angled hull of the Forrestal class super carrier USS Independence nears completion.
Independence is to Enterprise what Enterprise was to Langley, CV-1, the mother of American aircraft carriers. Independenceis the present and the foreseeable future of American sea power, while Enterprise is a dusty relic of the past slated for scrapping.
Soon Enterprise will be sold for scrapping. It is a peaceful end for an old fighting ship. But it is not an end worthy of his girl.
In 1946, the state of New York had requested permission to make her a permanent memorial. At first the Navy agreed, but then it went back on its word at the last moment.
It soon became his turn at the batting plate. He involved himself in many an effort to drum up funding and interest to save his ship. He tried so hard and got so far. But all his attempts failed.
Money is the issue. Gone are the days when the savings of the children of a nation could be used to help pay for a battleship. More money is required.
"We want to preserve the Enterprise," everyone tells him. "But we have no money."
Bastards! They could afford all those new ships and missiles and nukes, but they couldn't spare anything for one old ship who gave her heart and soul to a nation?
He continues to fight for her sake. But he is so old and tired. He has lost so much.
His beloved wife Frances, his "Fan", was taken away from him by manic depression that forced them to live apart for both their sakes. His two children, Margaret and William III, are adults with lives and families of their own. He will soon step down from his lofty position on the board of ITT. He is long retired from the Navy and unlikely to be reactivated given his age & infamy.
All he has left is Enterprise.
And they are taking her away from him as well. If ever she is lost to him, he resolves to die before her scrapping is completed. No parent should have to bury his child.
But there is a glimmer of hope. And it comes from his former foes.
In recent years, Japan has begun to rebuild its military. The so-called Self Defense Force is expected to protect the Home Islands, freeing up the American garrisons for deployment elsewhere.
From his friends in the Navy and the government, he has heard that Japanese foreign ministry officials secretly desired defensive nuclear weaponry as a final weapon against the Soviet Union.
Naturally, America, the guarantor of Japan's security, refused this request. And he agreed with his former political masters. Give atomic weapons to the people who had earned the two atomic bombs dropped on their heads during the Second World War? Madness!
Instead, a generous counter-offer has been made. A mothballed aircraft carrier and accompanying air wing will be offered to the JMSDF at a discount price. To placate the pacifists, the warship will receive a designation that removes the unsavory implications of offensive weaponry. Anti-submarine warfare platform, defensive aviation warship, sea control ship... whatever floats the boat.
Two Essex class carriers are available for transfer. USS Franklin and Bunker Hill remain in their World War II rigging, awaiting the Navy's ultimate design for their final disposition. And there are several currently active unmodernized Essexes that could also be taken out of service and sent to Japan. Not to mention the smaller, lighter, cheaper carriers of the mothball fleet like the Independence class Cabot.
But he has a better offer than all those other warships. And it is one the Japanese will not be able to resist.
They want the best for their nation. He can give them the greatest of their generation.
He heads back to his desk. The yellow pages yield the phone number of the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel. He asks the operator for the number of the luxury hotel's most famous current occupant, who dwells in the penthouse of the Waldorf Towers.
"Hello?"
"Good morning, General MacArthur."
"Good morning, Fleet Admiral Halsey. What brings you to call me?"
Subtlety is not his strong point. He goes straight for the jugular of the issue. "You want to keep Yamato, right?" he briskly asks.
"So you've heard."
"Well, I can help you."
"Is that so? ...what do you want in exchange?"
He takes a deep breath before plunging into a gamble greater than any he's taken during the Pacific War. And he desperately hopes that it turns out better than his rash decisions to disregard two separate typhoons and the defences of Taffy Three, especially since the last mistake could have cost the life of the man on the other side of the phone, the irascible figure he is counting on to come through for his ship, his daughter, his beloved Enterprise.
A father will do anything for his child.
"Help me persuade the Japanese to save Enterprise," begs Fleet Admiral William Halsey, Jr.
[=]
(Snip #2)
I am Hiryuu. Sole member of my class. I am samurai. A noble member of the warrior class. My duty is to wage war upon the enemies of my lord."
Unlike the taciturn Kaga, Hiryuu sees no need to shackle her emotions and restrain her opinions. She understood that bottling up one's feelings only served to compound the inevitable explosion. To prevent a volcanic eruption, one needed to vent the contents of the magma chamber of emotion.
So while the heated edge in her voice could have melted steel, she kept the fire under control. Her anger did not rule her. It served a purpose; it served her.
"I am not an infant in swaddling clothes. I am not a child who needs coddling. I am not a doddering old fool. I am not a victim and I do not want your pity. I am your equal."
She does not look down on the ashen-haired woman in front of her. She looks up to her, and not just because of the latter's height.
"You bested me at Midway fair and square, Enterprise-san. I gladly welcomed my honorable end in ritual suicide by the torpedoes of my second because I had been overcome by the superior skill of a worthy adversary. That makes you equal to me. You are the equal of a samurai. You are a samurai as well."
"So act like one," she urges her rival carrier. "Act as befits your status as a Fleet Carrier of Japan. Act as a samurai."
"Hiryuu-san. I understand where you are coming from. And I respect your opinion. But," avers Yonaga with utmost gentleness. "But you are wrong.
"I am not a warrior. I am not a samurai. And I am no longer Enterprise.
"I am Yonaga. A citizen of Japan and a soldier of the JMSDF. And my duty is to protect everyone, including you."
Yonaga could have spit on Hiryuu, hurt Souryuu, mocked Tamon-Maru, or cursed the Emperor.
"Why... how could you..."
"Please forgive me, Hiryuu-san."
And yet all those combined would not have angered Hiryuu as much as what Yonaga did tell her just now.
"Enterprise-chan."
Hiryuu puts on a fake and hateful smile. She has decided to hurt this self-proclaimed Yonaga as much as possible until the American dropped this insulting facade and resumed her proper mantle.
"Admiral Halsey was a f*cking stupid arrogant *ssh*le who let Taffy Three get murdered and drowned his own men and ships twice because of his gigantic ego and tiny d*ck," she casually tells the shocked ASW carrier.
And if it took a fight to get back Enterprise, then Hiryuu swore by Tamon Yamaguchi that she will stir up the mother of all Decisive Battles.
[=]
(Snip #3)
The cold silence of the tense standoff between Hiryuu and Yonaga is broken by a prolonged burp followed by a happy hiccup.
"Oohh~, why so serious, Hiryuu-chan?"
Hands clamp themselves upon Hiryuu's modest chest. The brunette ship-girl goes absolutely rigid as she realizes her fatal error of tunnel-visioning on Yonaga when another threat constantly lurks nearby.
"Oh, no..."
"Let's put a smile on that face~"
Yonaga politely averts her eyes from the squirming Hiryuu and the newcomer with the rather wild mane of purple hair. She affects deafness with regards to the cute moans and angry pants puffing out of the other carrier's pink lips.
With a hasty rustle of silk and one last erotic groan, Hiryuu finally manages to pull herself free of the lascivious clutches of her captor. She immediately begins to fix her disheveled robes, which had been tugged open during the 'struggle'.
"Don't look," she barks at Yonaga.
"I'm not the least bit interested in you," replies the American.
Hiryuu scowls. That dismissal stung on multiple levels.
Once she fixed her kimono and regained some semblance of composure, she spins around to face her attacker. "Jun'you," she growls. "Why must you always be like this?"
"That's no good!" The other ship-girl's grin grows Cheshire Cat-like in proportion. "Drink some of this!"
Before Hiryuu can launch further protest, Jun'you stuffs a long-necked bottle of sake into her mouth.
"Glug glug glug!" gargles Hiryuu as she gulps down the pleasantly warm alcohol against her will.
"Here, here!" Jun'you cheers.
Yonaga is quite torn. On the forward aircraft elevator, she cannot condone groping your coworkers and imbibing alcoholic beverages while on duty. But on the rear elevator, she rather prefers this Jun'you draw Hiryuu's ire. And on the middle elevator...
"Stop it, Miss Jun'you." She steps forward to enforce her order. "You're hurting Miss Hiryuu."
This is her first face-to-face meeting with Jun'you. But somehow Yonaga is sure that the purple-haired ship-girl will comply with her stern request.
And she is right. Jun'you lets out an embarrassed laugh, goes "Sorry, sorry!" and stops forcefully plying Hiryuu with sake.
The face of the Flying Dragon is flush with crimson color. She sways uncertainly like a top-heavy ship caught in rough sea state.
"What did you make her drink?" Yonaga asks Jun'you.
"My own special homebrew! Hibiki-chan says it's almost as good as her vodka!"
Yonaga pales. Almost as hard as vodka? At least 80 proof alcohol? Not good. Not good at all.
"Are you all right, Miss Hiryuu?" she asks.
"Shaddap Endurrrprice..."
Hiryuu roughly brushes Yonaga's hand away from her shoulder. The utterly smashed Japanese carrier ends up smacking her own red face with the back of her hand. She staggers back a few steps.
"Biiits," she winces. "Yeah hut mah piece..."
Yonaga runs her hand across her brow. "Is she really this easy?" she asks.
Jun'you's smirk reminds her to be more careful with her choice of words in the future.
"Hiryuu-chan might be a medium carrier, but she's an ultra lightweight," laughs the red-and-white-garbed ship-girl.
"You've done this before, I assume," mutters Yonaga.
"Or else she wouldn't calm down~"
"Fate moo, tanky..." Hiryuu has managed to haul her shaking fists up to face level. The squinting carrier is threatening to box a bulkhead. "Gel two gel... gun punt hue..."
"She's going to hurt herself at this rate..."
Before Hiryuu can deck the wall, Yonaga comes up behind her, sweeps her off her unsteady feet, and lifts the squawking dragon into a bridal-style carry.
"Whaddya dooming?" yaps Hiryuu.
"Taking you to bed," Yonaga replies.
"Leeewd," giggles Jun'you.
Yonaga fixes her The Look that she has picked up from the many salty NCOs who had served aboard her for more than eight decades. Jun'you hastily closes her gaping mouth.
Hiryuu turns even redder. "War prize?" she say rather clearly.
"No," Yonaga firmly corrects her. "Miss Jun'you, where is Miss Hiryuu's room?"
"This way, Ma'am," mumbles Jun'you. That Look... it is like being disciplined by Houshou all over again... Despite her dismay, she smiles.
The combination of alcohol and the gentle rocking of her cradle relaxes Hiryuu. "...I dune mint," she whispers before closing her eyes. "Bit may fur square... duh wet ya want..."
"Just rest, Miss Hiryuu."
"Okay."
[=]
(Snip #4)
Fight me!"
Bombs crash down like snuffed-out stars cast down by the hateful heavens. Their iron casings smash through reinforced decking and their explosions warp metal.
"Fight!"
The shark-sleek shapes of oxygen-driven torpedoes slice through seawater and bust open underwater bulges.
"Fight, damn you!" howls Hiryuu.
And yet her enemy does not take any step to protect herself, be it by dodging the bullet hell of ordnance, intercepting the rampaging squadrons of the Japanese carrier, or launching a counterattack to repay her injuries ten times over with her air group of Cold War era jet fighters.
Instead, the blonde ship-girl just stands there and soaks the best that Imperial Japan has to offer until her Rigging is scrap and her tattered clothes are soaked in her own blood and oil.
Enough is enough. Hiryuu sloshes through the slick sea until she stood in front of her opponent. Her bamboo long bow cracks across the face of her opponent once, twice, thrice.
"Why aren't you fighting?" roars the Flying Dragon with every belting blow she lands on the shredded visage of the one she hated and feared the most. "This is a duel! Our honors are at stake! We're using live weapons! You agreed to this! So why are you just standing there, letting me hurt you, letting me win?"
Finally the bamboo bow snaps upon a bloody brow. Hiryuu grabs fistfuls of tattered tunic and hauls her unresponsive opponent towards her until their wet faces all but bump together.
"Why? Why aren't you taking me seriously!"
Why do you fuss over Akagi's eating habits? Why do you keep trying to get Kaga to smile? Why let Souryuu do your make-up with no protest? What for do you tease Shoukaku and encourage Zuikaku in her rivalry?
Why do you tolerate my angry words and cold shoulders and burning strikes?
Why do you think of us not as proud equals, but as victims to pamper out of apology?
The other ship-girl finally speaks up. And despite the one-sided battering she has endured, despite her face getting reduced into a macabre mask of shredded flesh and leaking blood, she sounds as if she barely feels the pain of her many wounds.
"Long ago, I made a vow."
Hiryuu cannot help but shiver in fearful anticipation. She knows about The Promise. Who doesn't?
Before we're through with them, the Japanese language will be spoken only in Hell.
"I promised..."
This is it. This is what Hiryuu wants. At last her enemy will declare war to the knife. She will strike back at last. Hiryuu will let her get enough licks in to make the fight fair for them both. And then, with the field of honor leveled and both parties fully into it, she and her rival will finally decide things once and for all.
And perhaps Hiryuu will finally find the peace denied her since the black day her own ships sent her burning hulk slipping beneath the green waters off That Island.
"...I promised that I will protect Japan and its people from those who would seek to do them harm."
The words rob Hiryuu's fingers of feeling and strength. Releasing the other ship-girl, she stumbles back, her face white and her hull shaking.
"No one will hurt my new home and my new people in the way that my old nation and former countrymen were hurt on the seventh of December so many years back."
And the newest carrier ship-girl of the Japanese navy lands her first, last, and decisive blow of this battle.
"That is the promise I intend to keep, Hiryuu-san."
Thus promises she who was once known as USS Enterprise, now going by the name JDS Yonaga, she who is called "Eternity".
Last edited:
So, should I cross-post my Omake from the SB thread?
CompassJimbo
Where’s Your North?
- Location
- The former Rubber Capital of the World
Go right ahead. In fact, anyone on SB who did stuff and happens to be here may repost their stuff as well. @Whiskey Golf comes to mind.
Family Reunion
Hm, the Yorktown sisters meet up again with their now-wiser middle sister. An interesting prospect. Complete non-canon idea, but I thought I might throw it out there for Sheo Darren originally to think about it!
---
Their first reaction on seeing the returned form of JDS Yonaga was to inwardly gasp at the weariness reflected in her eyes and hull. Yonaga could fool almost anyone, but she could not fool her older and younger sisters. There was no point to calling her a traitor or a turncoat. Their sister was in pain, and she hadn't healed right from the war despite all of her decades of service. They could see in her eyes the worry of rejection and the exhaustion of her long, lonely service to both nations.
Yorktown smiled sadly at Yonaga. "It's been a while, Sis. Sorry for letting you down there at Midway."
Yonaga stiffened at the apology. She hadn't expected to hear such words out of her class's leadship. She'd expected to be the more-mature sister who waited out their tirades of accusations before welcoming them to Japan. She looked over at her younger sister, expecting to see their class's stoic expression or heated indignation directed at Yorktown and herself. Instead she got a quietly crying younger sister in her personal space as Hornet threw her arms around Yonaga's torso and buried her now-bawling face in Yonaga's chest. After a few moments of loud sobbing, Yorktown calmly walked over and wrapped her arms around her two sisters.
Eventually, the youngest sister stopped crying. Hornet sniffled a bit and rubbed her teary eyes. "'M sorry for leaving you alone by failing at Santa Cruz."
Yonaga felt her eyes water from Hornet's apology. Why were they apologizing to her? She could handle anything but her sisters seeing her. Somewhere deep inside of Yonaga, the murderous spirit of USS Enterprise was soothed and quieted for the first time in Yonaga's memory by her sisters. As much as Yonaga had lived, she was still Yorktown's and Hornet's middle sister and had not been abandoned by them. She tugged her returned sisters tightly as tears began to stream down her cheeks. She paid no heed to staring sailors, judgmental shipgirls, or watching admirals.
Yonaga was with her sisters for the first time in over seventy years, and things were going to be alright. Alone, she had faced down the entire navy of her adopted home, bested them, joined them, and then protected them for many long years before being retired as a legendary guardian of Japan. With her sisters now, Yonaga swelled with happiness and relief even as she sobbed out her old torments and guilts that accrued over her long service. "I..." She paused, unable to compose herself initially to get her words out. "Thank you for having me back. I accept your apologies. I'm sorry for not doing more to save you both."
Yorktown and Hornet hugged their sister tighter and spoke in unison "Apology refused, Sis." Yonaga blinked disbelievingly at them. "You did everything that was possible. You have nothing to apologize to us. We're here for you as long as you'll have us."
Together, they could protect the whole world.
Their first reaction on seeing the returned form of JDS Yonaga was to inwardly gasp at the weariness reflected in her eyes and hull. Yonaga could fool almost anyone, but she could not fool her older and younger sisters. There was no point to calling her a traitor or a turncoat. Their sister was in pain, and she hadn't healed right from the war despite all of her decades of service. They could see in her eyes the worry of rejection and the exhaustion of her long, lonely service to both nations.
Yorktown smiled sadly at Yonaga. "It's been a while, Sis. Sorry for letting you down there at Midway."
Yonaga stiffened at the apology. She hadn't expected to hear such words out of her class's leadship. She'd expected to be the more-mature sister who waited out their tirades of accusations before welcoming them to Japan. She looked over at her younger sister, expecting to see their class's stoic expression or heated indignation directed at Yorktown and herself. Instead she got a quietly crying younger sister in her personal space as Hornet threw her arms around Yonaga's torso and buried her now-bawling face in Yonaga's chest. After a few moments of loud sobbing, Yorktown calmly walked over and wrapped her arms around her two sisters.
Eventually, the youngest sister stopped crying. Hornet sniffled a bit and rubbed her teary eyes. "'M sorry for leaving you alone by failing at Santa Cruz."
Yonaga felt her eyes water from Hornet's apology. Why were they apologizing to her? She could handle anything but her sisters seeing her. Somewhere deep inside of Yonaga, the murderous spirit of USS Enterprise was soothed and quieted for the first time in Yonaga's memory by her sisters. As much as Yonaga had lived, she was still Yorktown's and Hornet's middle sister and had not been abandoned by them. She tugged her returned sisters tightly as tears began to stream down her cheeks. She paid no heed to staring sailors, judgmental shipgirls, or watching admirals.
Yonaga was with her sisters for the first time in over seventy years, and things were going to be alright. Alone, she had faced down the entire navy of her adopted home, bested them, joined them, and then protected them for many long years before being retired as a legendary guardian of Japan. With her sisters now, Yonaga swelled with happiness and relief even as she sobbed out her old torments and guilts that accrued over her long service. "I..." She paused, unable to compose herself initially to get her words out. "Thank you for having me back. I accept your apologies. I'm sorry for not doing more to save you both."
Yorktown and Hornet hugged their sister tighter and spoke in unison "Apology refused, Sis." Yonaga blinked disbelievingly at them. "You did everything that was possible. You have nothing to apologize to us. We're here for you as long as you'll have us."
Together, they could protect the whole world.
It was all very impromptu, but I feel that Yonaga's sisters would never abandon or accuse her for serving Japan. Short and sweet.
obssesednuker
Commander of 10 Million Men
- Location
- In the Kremlin, activating Perimtr.
Besides, Yonaga already gets enough trouble from Hiryuu... no need to draw Souryuus ire.
[/shipping]
Really though, nice snips... if a little disjointed. Any plans on arranging these into an actual story?
CompassJimbo
Where’s Your North?
- Location
- The former Rubber Capital of the World
I stated at the OP- this isn't mine. I'm crossposting for Sheo Darren on SB.Besides, Yonaga already gets enough trouble from Hiryuu... no need to draw Souryuus ire.
[/shipping]
Really though, nice snips... if a little disjointed. Any plans on arranging these into an actual story?
obssesednuker
Commander of 10 Million Men
- Location
- In the Kremlin, activating Perimtr.
Duly noted.
01: "Weigh Anchor" (Pt. 1) (Sheo Darren)
CompassJimbo
Where’s Your North?
- Location
- The former Rubber Capital of the World
First actual chapter of Sheo's story. And I must say, he did an excellent job with the formatting and all of that. Added a lot of impact. (Also, apparently colored text can't be copy/pasted. Had to recolor manually. Being crossposter is suffering)
2026
JMSDF Naval Museum
Kure, Japan
She sleeps the deep sleep of the old and weary. The sea is her cradle, the wind fans her face, and the sun warms her skin. Her eyes are closed but the light seeps through her eyelids and fills her world with white.
She has lived a long and fruitful life, far longer than she had expected and better than she could have ever hoped. There were good times and there were bad times, but the good outnumbered and outweighed the bad.
She has survived. She has left behind her bloody past. She has bid farewell to her father, who passed away with a happy smile on his face as he preceded her into the afterlife as should any parent. She has earned the affection of her new people while also retaining the admiration of her previous possessors. Her successors venerate her legacy and carry on her good work.
She is content. She has nothing left to prove.
So she accepts and enjoys this richly-deserved rest, her hull drifting aimlessly through the emerald waters of this peaceful sea, basking in the warm sun, simply being.
And then her eyes snap open when she hears that unmistakable sound.
The distinct shriek of a klaxon horn jolts her out of her reminisce. The howl repeats itself every five seconds. It is a sound she knows all too well, a sound that travels through her hull and shivers her steel.
General Quarters. Prepare for action.
Something has happened. Something terrible. Disaster. War.
Her people need her once more. Her country calls for aid.
And she will answer.
Immediately she rouses from her slumber. Her boilers warm up and build steam. Watertight and fireproof doors slam shut. Electronics thrum into life. Sensors begin searching for enemies above, on, and below the water for her point defense guns and missiles. Her three elevators begin their descents into the bowels of her creaking steel hull to withdraw the combat aircraft stored below her steel deck.
Her crew are at their assigned stations. Operators bend their heads over glowing scopes and neon green screens. Grunting deckhands guide and haul her eclectic mix of helicopter, V/STOL fixed-wing and tilt-wing aircraft into place. Damage control personnel, her personal pride and joy, stand by, hoping for the best and prepared for the worst. Her captain enters her bridge, followed by the distinguished fleet admiral.
The first pair of CAP fighters are ready for launch. Another two wait in the wings. A plane guard helicopter and an AEW tilt-wing are warmed up. They will be followed by her anti-submarine helicopters, laden with dipping sonar and torpedoes and depth charges.
She is a warship, a defensive aviation platform, the flagship of the fleet, the pride of the defense force. She is the ultimate guardian of the land of the rising sun. She will fulfill her duty. She shall defend.
And then her preparations come to a crashing halt as she senses Them.
They emerge from the Kurai Tanima, the Dark Valley where they had been consigned by human memory. They, too, have heard the beat to quarters. They answer with all their strength, nobori and sashimono fluttering in the wind generated by their forward motion.
The grand fleet cruises at an economical fifteen knots. Carriers. Battleships. Light and heavy cruisers. Destroyers. Escorts. Submarines. Auxiliaries. Aircraft.
Towering pagoda masts contain the largest and finest optical range fingers in the world. 46 cm naval rifles, the biggest and most powerful seagoing artillery pieces ever built. Long Lance oxygen torpedoes, fast and deadly, wait inside their launch tubes. Red meatballs mark the green wings of soaring Zeroes and droning Kates. The sunburst ensign of the Rising Sun flies above their heads.
She knows them all too well.
Mutsuki. Fubuki. Akatsuki. Hatsuharu. Shiratsuyu. Asashio. Kagerō. Yūgumo. Akizuki. Shimakaze.
I-401. I-19.
Tenryū. Kuma. Nagara. Yūbari. Sendai. Katori. Agano. Ōyodo.
Furutaka. Aoba. Myōkō. Takao. Mogami. Tone.
Hiei. Nagato. Fuso. Ise. Musashi.
Akagi. Kaga. Souryuu. Hiryuu. Shoukaku. Zuikaku.
The Dai-Nippon Teikoku Kaigun, the Navy of the Great Japanese Empire, has returned in full force.
Beneath her trembling hull, the glassy waters begin to churn and froth. Above her bridge, storm clouds overrun the azure sky and the sun disappears, swallowed up by the world serpent.
Her enemy is hammering at the gates of her home. Again.
Her enemy wishes to raze her home and murder her friends. Again.
Her enemy must die by her hands. Again. This time for real. This time for keeps. She will make sure of it. Not a single one will survive. None will come back to trouble her any longer.
"B͕͖͕́e̦͎f͔̻̪ọ͕̹̮̥̠̕r͎̬e̳̮͚ ̭̮͓̘̬͚̫I̸̬̖̥͍͍̝̰ ͖̺̺͙͟a̯͖̣m ̖̘͓̰t̺̫̬̠̙h̥ͅr̠͍̰ó̹̣̤̙̩u͖̪̘͚̻̪͢g̴̭̹̦͚̹h̯̖̞ͅ ̝̠̦͇͚̙̹͞w̗̰̹̩i̭̠̣t̨̫̣͇͕͚͖̮h̼̪͍̙̦ ͖̥͉͉̼͘ͅͅt̢͓h̜̘͕͚̘̤e͙͚̟͜m̜͉̬͙̭-̙͡"
"No!"
She shuts her eyes. Breathes deeply. Exhales loudly. Repeats the calming exercise for what seems like forever until the thunderclouds depart and the roiling sea gentles itself and the restored sun shines again upon her face.
No. No. They were once her foes, true, but no longer. She had fought them in the war, but the war is long over.
They are her predecessors. They are the original bearers of the naval ensign she flies, the flag inherited by her second service, the service of the nation that generously took her in when her original country carelessly consigned her to mothballs and the scrapyard.
Whereas she... She is but an adopted child whose beloved father surrendered her into the surprisingly gentle care of a former enemy as a sign of trust and a desperate act to save her life.
She was meant to be Their replacement, Their successor. She had slain Them, the protectors of Their nation, during the war. In doing so she left Their nation open to the depredations of the Red Menace, a threat as monstrous as the Empire she and her fleet mates had dismantled ship by ship, island by island, aircraft by kamikaze aircraft.
The empty warrior saddles needed to be filled. And so she and her new friends were sent to safeguard Their nation during the tenuous peace that followed the long war.
The Fletcher class destroyers Heywood L. Edwards and Richard P. Leary became Goei-kan Ariake and Yuugure.
Likewise, the Gleaves class destroyers Ellyson and Macomb became Asakaze and Hatakaze. Amick and Atherton assumed the identities of Asahi and Hatsuhi.
The Tacoma class frigates Bath, Long Beach, Albuquerque, Evansville, Bayonne, Newport, Gloucester, Everett, Carson City, Allentown, San Pedro, Sandusky, Charlottesville, Coronada, Poughkeepsie, Pasco, Machias, and Ogden transformed themselves into patrol frigates Maki, Shii, Tochi, Keyaki, Buna, Kaede, Tsuge, Kiri, Sakura, Ume, Kaya, Nire, Matsu, Sugi, Momi, Kashi, Nara, and Kusu.
Gato class submarine Mingo (whose name sounded Japanese enough to begin with) all too happily accepted the title of Kuroshio, 'Black Tide'.
And she, Yorktown class aircraft carrier Enter-
"-̘͓t͖͕͙̠̼h̰̲̥̭é̟̼̮̯i͔̭̱͉͎͎͞ṛ̸̞̙̪ ͉͈̣̱͔̗l҉͕̻̤̫̙͙a̙͈͉̣̯̪̬n̤̮͉̬g̶̩̗̮̫͈̝̭u͓͖͙a͢ͅg͟é̳ wi̱͝l̨l̙̪̮̰̯̣ ͎͘b̘̤̼̣͚͘e̖̥͔͠ ͔͈̼s͔p̙̝͢ͅo̸͈̬̖͎̪̙k̻͖͝e͉͍̠ͅn̛̟̻͉̘͍͈ ͚̥̯̝̟o̡̦̖̞̜͇nly̖̗ ̡̹̦̮ḭ͇͓̦̜n̞̗̭̫̱̭̗ H̰̻̙̗͙̻͍e̗lļ͓̝̦̣̤̼̪.̫̥̰ͅ"
She stares in a mirror, darkly. Stares at what she had been. The specter of the past crouched over her, the spirit of vengeance riding through the sky like rolling thunder, the galloping dullahan that had reaped a fine harvest of blood and skulls from the best warriors that a nation had to offer, the maker of widows and begetter of orphans and tear-drinker of grieving parents forced to bury their children ahead of them.
The Grey Ghost.
"You are not me," she whispers. "I am not you. I am me. I am the Long Night. The protector of Japan reborn from the Dark Valley. The eternal guardian of its peaceful people. I will keep them safe for all eternity against all foes who threaten them.
"Including, if necessary, you."
She holds the accusing gaze hurled her way. Holds still as blistering waves of hot rage wash over her taciturn face. Holds her peace and waits in silence. Until she finds herself once more returned to the bright realm sun-kissed by Amaterasu-ōmikami. Alone. By herself. Still herself.
She has passed this test. She is diminished, and remains in the East, and remains herself.
The heart-stopping formation of Imperial Japanese warships have long since passed her. But she can still hear the drums in the distance.
Great is her longing to answer the beat to quarters. Every ship will be needed. And surely she will be welcomed for services rendered in war and peace.
Mere steward she might be, caretaker of the throne until the return of the Queens of the Sea of Japan. But she is also the greatest of a golden generation. She is equal to them; she is superior to them.
And yet... and yet she hesitates. She holds herself back.
She does not want to steal the thunder of Their happy homecoming. She will not ruin Their reunion with those who had thought them forever lost but now found them anew.
She wants them to prove Themselves worthy of Their reborn country. She will give this the opportunity to atone for Their sins, the same chance granted to her unworthy self seventy years ago, a second shot at life, a journey down the road not taken, the road to Damascus, the path of penance and redemption.
She does not wish to fight Them. She is done fighting Them.
She is tired of fighting.
She is tired of fighting herself.
Her hands settle upon her chest. She draws close her mind's eye. The waves gently rock her hull. Her paddling feet propel her lazily through the refreshing water.
And she sings. She lulls herself with a song.
"Woe is me. Woe is me..."
There's a girl that you should know
She was mine not so long ago
I remember how we fell in love
But we ended not that long.
Lost my nerve and lost my head
Just about everything I had
Washed out in a wave of sea
Couldn't see my head in front of me
Woe is me
Woe is me
Slowly, surely, she sinks back into fitful sleep.
It is not her time. Not yet.
A small part of her hopes that time will never come.
"Woe is me…"
"W̼͚O̞̱̯̟ͅ…̙̣̘"
x=x=x
Chapter 01
WEIGH ANCHOR
2026
JMSDF Naval Museum
Kure, Japan
She sleeps the deep sleep of the old and weary. The sea is her cradle, the wind fans her face, and the sun warms her skin. Her eyes are closed but the light seeps through her eyelids and fills her world with white.
She has lived a long and fruitful life, far longer than she had expected and better than she could have ever hoped. There were good times and there were bad times, but the good outnumbered and outweighed the bad.
She has survived. She has left behind her bloody past. She has bid farewell to her father, who passed away with a happy smile on his face as he preceded her into the afterlife as should any parent. She has earned the affection of her new people while also retaining the admiration of her previous possessors. Her successors venerate her legacy and carry on her good work.
She is content. She has nothing left to prove.
So she accepts and enjoys this richly-deserved rest, her hull drifting aimlessly through the emerald waters of this peaceful sea, basking in the warm sun, simply being.
And then her eyes snap open when she hears that unmistakable sound.
The distinct shriek of a klaxon horn jolts her out of her reminisce. The howl repeats itself every five seconds. It is a sound she knows all too well, a sound that travels through her hull and shivers her steel.
General Quarters. Prepare for action.
Something has happened. Something terrible. Disaster. War.
Her people need her once more. Her country calls for aid.
And she will answer.
Immediately she rouses from her slumber. Her boilers warm up and build steam. Watertight and fireproof doors slam shut. Electronics thrum into life. Sensors begin searching for enemies above, on, and below the water for her point defense guns and missiles. Her three elevators begin their descents into the bowels of her creaking steel hull to withdraw the combat aircraft stored below her steel deck.
Her crew are at their assigned stations. Operators bend their heads over glowing scopes and neon green screens. Grunting deckhands guide and haul her eclectic mix of helicopter, V/STOL fixed-wing and tilt-wing aircraft into place. Damage control personnel, her personal pride and joy, stand by, hoping for the best and prepared for the worst. Her captain enters her bridge, followed by the distinguished fleet admiral.
The first pair of CAP fighters are ready for launch. Another two wait in the wings. A plane guard helicopter and an AEW tilt-wing are warmed up. They will be followed by her anti-submarine helicopters, laden with dipping sonar and torpedoes and depth charges.
She is a warship, a defensive aviation platform, the flagship of the fleet, the pride of the defense force. She is the ultimate guardian of the land of the rising sun. She will fulfill her duty. She shall defend.
And then her preparations come to a crashing halt as she senses Them.
They emerge from the Kurai Tanima, the Dark Valley where they had been consigned by human memory. They, too, have heard the beat to quarters. They answer with all their strength, nobori and sashimono fluttering in the wind generated by their forward motion.
The grand fleet cruises at an economical fifteen knots. Carriers. Battleships. Light and heavy cruisers. Destroyers. Escorts. Submarines. Auxiliaries. Aircraft.
Towering pagoda masts contain the largest and finest optical range fingers in the world. 46 cm naval rifles, the biggest and most powerful seagoing artillery pieces ever built. Long Lance oxygen torpedoes, fast and deadly, wait inside their launch tubes. Red meatballs mark the green wings of soaring Zeroes and droning Kates. The sunburst ensign of the Rising Sun flies above their heads.
She knows them all too well.
Mutsuki. Fubuki. Akatsuki. Hatsuharu. Shiratsuyu. Asashio. Kagerō. Yūgumo. Akizuki. Shimakaze.
I-401. I-19.
Tenryū. Kuma. Nagara. Yūbari. Sendai. Katori. Agano. Ōyodo.
Furutaka. Aoba. Myōkō. Takao. Mogami. Tone.
Hiei. Nagato. Fuso. Ise. Musashi.
Akagi. Kaga. Souryuu. Hiryuu. Shoukaku. Zuikaku.
The Dai-Nippon Teikoku Kaigun, the Navy of the Great Japanese Empire, has returned in full force.
Beneath her trembling hull, the glassy waters begin to churn and froth. Above her bridge, storm clouds overrun the azure sky and the sun disappears, swallowed up by the world serpent.
Her enemy is hammering at the gates of her home. Again.
Her enemy wishes to raze her home and murder her friends. Again.
Her enemy must die by her hands. Again. This time for real. This time for keeps. She will make sure of it. Not a single one will survive. None will come back to trouble her any longer.
"B͕͖͕́e̦͎f͔̻̪ọ͕̹̮̥̠̕r͎̬e̳̮͚ ̭̮͓̘̬͚̫I̸̬̖̥͍͍̝̰ ͖̺̺͙͟a̯͖̣m ̖̘͓̰t̺̫̬̠̙h̥ͅr̠͍̰ó̹̣̤̙̩u͖̪̘͚̻̪͢g̴̭̹̦͚̹h̯̖̞ͅ ̝̠̦͇͚̙̹͞w̗̰̹̩i̭̠̣t̨̫̣͇͕͚͖̮h̼̪͍̙̦ ͖̥͉͉̼͘ͅͅt̢͓h̜̘͕͚̘̤e͙͚̟͜m̜͉̬͙̭-̙͡"
"No!"
She shuts her eyes. Breathes deeply. Exhales loudly. Repeats the calming exercise for what seems like forever until the thunderclouds depart and the roiling sea gentles itself and the restored sun shines again upon her face.
No. No. They were once her foes, true, but no longer. She had fought them in the war, but the war is long over.
They are her predecessors. They are the original bearers of the naval ensign she flies, the flag inherited by her second service, the service of the nation that generously took her in when her original country carelessly consigned her to mothballs and the scrapyard.
Whereas she... She is but an adopted child whose beloved father surrendered her into the surprisingly gentle care of a former enemy as a sign of trust and a desperate act to save her life.
She was meant to be Their replacement, Their successor. She had slain Them, the protectors of Their nation, during the war. In doing so she left Their nation open to the depredations of the Red Menace, a threat as monstrous as the Empire she and her fleet mates had dismantled ship by ship, island by island, aircraft by kamikaze aircraft.
The empty warrior saddles needed to be filled. And so she and her new friends were sent to safeguard Their nation during the tenuous peace that followed the long war.
The Fletcher class destroyers Heywood L. Edwards and Richard P. Leary became Goei-kan Ariake and Yuugure.
Likewise, the Gleaves class destroyers Ellyson and Macomb became Asakaze and Hatakaze. Amick and Atherton assumed the identities of Asahi and Hatsuhi.
The Tacoma class frigates Bath, Long Beach, Albuquerque, Evansville, Bayonne, Newport, Gloucester, Everett, Carson City, Allentown, San Pedro, Sandusky, Charlottesville, Coronada, Poughkeepsie, Pasco, Machias, and Ogden transformed themselves into patrol frigates Maki, Shii, Tochi, Keyaki, Buna, Kaede, Tsuge, Kiri, Sakura, Ume, Kaya, Nire, Matsu, Sugi, Momi, Kashi, Nara, and Kusu.
Gato class submarine Mingo (whose name sounded Japanese enough to begin with) all too happily accepted the title of Kuroshio, 'Black Tide'.
And she, Yorktown class aircraft carrier Enter-
"-̘͓t͖͕͙̠̼h̰̲̥̭é̟̼̮̯i͔̭̱͉͎͎͞ṛ̸̞̙̪ ͉͈̣̱͔̗l҉͕̻̤̫̙͙a̙͈͉̣̯̪̬n̤̮͉̬g̶̩̗̮̫͈̝̭u͓͖͙a͢ͅg͟é̳ wi̱͝l̨l̙̪̮̰̯̣ ͎͘b̘̤̼̣͚͘e̖̥͔͠ ͔͈̼s͔p̙̝͢ͅo̸͈̬̖͎̪̙k̻͖͝e͉͍̠ͅn̛̟̻͉̘͍͈ ͚̥̯̝̟o̡̦̖̞̜͇nly̖̗ ̡̹̦̮ḭ͇͓̦̜n̞̗̭̫̱̭̗ H̰̻̙̗͙̻͍e̗lļ͓̝̦̣̤̼̪.̫̥̰ͅ"
She stares in a mirror, darkly. Stares at what she had been. The specter of the past crouched over her, the spirit of vengeance riding through the sky like rolling thunder, the galloping dullahan that had reaped a fine harvest of blood and skulls from the best warriors that a nation had to offer, the maker of widows and begetter of orphans and tear-drinker of grieving parents forced to bury their children ahead of them.
The Grey Ghost.
"You are not me," she whispers. "I am not you. I am me. I am the Long Night. The protector of Japan reborn from the Dark Valley. The eternal guardian of its peaceful people. I will keep them safe for all eternity against all foes who threaten them.
"Including, if necessary, you."
She holds the accusing gaze hurled her way. Holds still as blistering waves of hot rage wash over her taciturn face. Holds her peace and waits in silence. Until she finds herself once more returned to the bright realm sun-kissed by Amaterasu-ōmikami. Alone. By herself. Still herself.
She has passed this test. She is diminished, and remains in the East, and remains herself.
The heart-stopping formation of Imperial Japanese warships have long since passed her. But she can still hear the drums in the distance.
Great is her longing to answer the beat to quarters. Every ship will be needed. And surely she will be welcomed for services rendered in war and peace.
Mere steward she might be, caretaker of the throne until the return of the Queens of the Sea of Japan. But she is also the greatest of a golden generation. She is equal to them; she is superior to them.
And yet... and yet she hesitates. She holds herself back.
She does not want to steal the thunder of Their happy homecoming. She will not ruin Their reunion with those who had thought them forever lost but now found them anew.
She wants them to prove Themselves worthy of Their reborn country. She will give this the opportunity to atone for Their sins, the same chance granted to her unworthy self seventy years ago, a second shot at life, a journey down the road not taken, the road to Damascus, the path of penance and redemption.
She does not wish to fight Them. She is done fighting Them.
She is tired of fighting.
She is tired of fighting herself.
Her hands settle upon her chest. She draws close her mind's eye. The waves gently rock her hull. Her paddling feet propel her lazily through the refreshing water.
And she sings. She lulls herself with a song.
"Woe is me. Woe is me..."
There's a girl that you should know
She was mine not so long ago
I remember how we fell in love
But we ended not that long.
Lost my nerve and lost my head
Just about everything I had
Washed out in a wave of sea
Couldn't see my head in front of me
Woe is me
Woe is me
Slowly, surely, she sinks back into fitful sleep.
It is not her time. Not yet.
A small part of her hopes that time will never come.
"Woe is me…"
"W̼͚O̞̱̯̟ͅ…̙̣̘"
x=x=x
Chapter 01
WEIGH ANCHOR
Whiskey Golf
Being of Editing & Technical Assistance
- Location
- Chained to my desk
The bbcode formatting should be the same. When i crosspost, I use reply to pull up the post, switch to the bbcode editor, then copypaste the whole thing to sv, and remove the quotebox. A little complicated, but no manual recoloring and all my formatting is preserv d. It's what I've done for my crossposted snips.
Side Story- Identity (Whiskey Golf)
Whiskey Golf
Being of Editing & Technical Assistance
- Location
- Chained to my desk
* * * * *
Identity
* * * * *
She lies sleeping, at rest. A proud warrior who has earned her slumber. Squandered by her home nation, captured by her enemies, a stranger in a strange land, she nevertheless found a new home. A new identity. A new name.
A new purpose.
Duty calls, and she answers.
* * * * *
"First of the Yamato-class battleships, Yamato. Heading forth!"
* * * * *
"How the fuck did we get the Japs' biggest battleship and what's she doing wearing an American uniform?" demands an angry American battleship. She accepts the anger, lets it wash over her, like waves cresting over her bow. Her eyes narrow, and her expression is determined. USS California has a right to be angry, she thinks, even if bearing the brunt of her anger is personally unpleasant.
"I am an American, fighting in the forces which guard my country and our way of life. I am prepared to give my life in their defense."
She locks eyes with the destroyers holding the battleship back, and returns their understanding nods as they recognise her and the phrase she spoke. California's eyes have no such recognition - she slept before the code was ever written down.
"She's on our side, really!" pleads McKean. "Times have changed, the Japs aren't our enemies anymore. Heck, a Jap officer won the medal of honor!"
Her pleas fall on deaf ears. California hears, but she does not listen. "I won't serve with a filthy backstabbing Jap battleship!" snarls the battleship, trying to shake off the destroyers. "Especially not the fucking Yamato!"
"First, I'm not Yamato anymore. I'm Montana. Second, I'm an American battleship," she says calmly. "I wouldn't serve with the Japs myself. You're mad. Good. Keep that anger and use it on the Abyssals. There's a war going on, sailor. And I don't know about you, but I swore an oath to support and defend the Constitution."
"Against all enemies, foreign or domestic," snarls California, and the battleship who was once Yamato sighs.
"If it's a fight you want, remember I'm an American battleship. We don't die easy, and we finish our fights."
"Take that back, you Jap. Don't you ever call yourself an American battleship or I will wreck you like I did the Pagoda sisters in Surigao. You have no right to call yourself that, not after you backstabbing bastards failed to put me down at Pearl during the last war."
* * * * *
"I, USS Montana, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion; and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter. So help me God."
* * * * *
"My name is USS Montana. Battleship, United States Navy. Hull number BB-72."
* * * * *
Identity
* * * * *
She lies sleeping, at rest. A proud warrior who has earned her slumber. Squandered by her home nation, captured by her enemies, a stranger in a strange land, she nevertheless found a new home. A new identity. A new name.
A new purpose.
Duty calls, and she answers.
* * * * *
"First of the Yamato-class battleships, Yamato. Heading forth!"
* * * * *
"How the fuck did we get the Japs' biggest battleship and what's she doing wearing an American uniform?" demands an angry American battleship. She accepts the anger, lets it wash over her, like waves cresting over her bow. Her eyes narrow, and her expression is determined. USS California has a right to be angry, she thinks, even if bearing the brunt of her anger is personally unpleasant.
"I am an American, fighting in the forces which guard my country and our way of life. I am prepared to give my life in their defense."
She locks eyes with the destroyers holding the battleship back, and returns their understanding nods as they recognise her and the phrase she spoke. California's eyes have no such recognition - she slept before the code was ever written down.
"She's on our side, really!" pleads McKean. "Times have changed, the Japs aren't our enemies anymore. Heck, a Jap officer won the medal of honor!"
Her pleas fall on deaf ears. California hears, but she does not listen. "I won't serve with a filthy backstabbing Jap battleship!" snarls the battleship, trying to shake off the destroyers. "Especially not the fucking Yamato!"
"First, I'm not Yamato anymore. I'm Montana. Second, I'm an American battleship," she says calmly. "I wouldn't serve with the Japs myself. You're mad. Good. Keep that anger and use it on the Abyssals. There's a war going on, sailor. And I don't know about you, but I swore an oath to support and defend the Constitution."
"Against all enemies, foreign or domestic," snarls California, and the battleship who was once Yamato sighs.
"If it's a fight you want, remember I'm an American battleship. We don't die easy, and we finish our fights."
"Take that back, you Jap. Don't you ever call yourself an American battleship or I will wreck you like I did the Pagoda sisters in Surigao. You have no right to call yourself that, not after you backstabbing bastards failed to put me down at Pearl during the last war."
* * * * *
"I, USS Montana, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion; and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter. So help me God."
* * * * *
"My name is USS Montana. Battleship, United States Navy. Hull number BB-72."
* * * * *
Generalissimo
Generalissimo of SufficientVelocity
- Location
- Tropico, Tropico
Good to see this on Sufficient Velocity!
CompassJimbo
Where’s Your North?
- Location
- The former Rubber Capital of the World
I'll try and get more snippets up this evening or tomorrow.
Whiskey Golf
Being of Editing & Technical Assistance
- Location
- Chained to my desk
I can help crosspost, if you'd like.
Sidestory: Ten-Go (Sheo Darren)
CompassJimbo
Where’s Your North?
- Location
- The former Rubber Capital of the World
One of Sheo's sidestories. The Beaver doomed them all. As usual.
7 April 1945
Okinawa
She is forced to watch as her escorts are pulled down one by one by a cast of cobalt hawks stooping down on them without mercy.
Yahagi dies first. Her engines are destroyed by a Mk 15 torpedo. The hamstrung light cruiser is torn apart by six torpedoes and a dozen bombs.
Isokaze is next. She loses steering due to a near-miss. Her crew evacuate aboard Yukikaze. Two torpedoes fired by her cousin put the Wind on the Beach out of her misery.
A bomb and torpedo cause the hull of Isokaze's sister Hamakaze to fold upwards like a jack knife. The Wind of the Coast sinks soon afterwards.
Suzutsuki's bow is blown off. She attempts to retreat, steaming in reverse, but it is slow going. Enemy aircraft catch up to the fleeing Clear Moon of Autumn and drown the rest of her hull.
Engine trouble forces Asashimo to break off even before the operation starts. But there is no respite for the lamed destroyer. American planes find her limping home and pounce on her. All hands go down with the Morning Frost.
A trio of bombs deprive Kasumi of her steering. Fuyutsuki evacuated her survivors before scuttling the derelict Mist.
This is but a short reprieve for Fuyutsuki herself. Rockets and bombs soon turn the Winter Moon into a floating pyre.
Hatsushimo leads a charmed life. The First Frost does even better than the luck vampire Yukikaze as she is completely unscathed even during the course of rescuing the survivors of poor doomed Yahagi while American planes try to bomb and strafe and torpedo her.
Yukikaze is the only other ship that escapes the slaughter. Masamichi Terauchi once more fulfills his bombastic promise to his crew, of whom only two are injured. The Snowy Wind cannot sink for he is her lucky captain. The overloaded destroyer hauls the survivors of Isokaze to safety alongside Hatsushimo.
She tried to protect them. But her vaunted Sanshiki fail at their intended role. She counts only a paltry handful shot down by herself and her decimated escorts.
The harriers wisely stay out of the range of her smaller anti-aircraft artillery batteries. They keep moving to avoid her slow-tracking 16.1" guns. But they do not attack.
Why did they not strike her?
It does not matter. She is unharmed and mobile. She has a mission to accomplish.
Attack the American invasion fleet that lay anchored off the shores of Okinawa. Destroy the troop and supply ships. Beach herself between Higashi and Yomitan. Continue to fight as an unsinkable castle of steel until her hull is utterly destroyed. Send her survivors ashore to continue the fight.
It is a suicide mission. Her force commander, Kaigun-Chūshō Seiichi Itou, believed the plan futile and a waste. Her commanding officer, Kaigun-Daisa Kiyomi Shibuya, the former CO of light carrier Jun'you, agrees with his superior. So do many other commanders.
Kaigun-Daisa Atsushi Ōi of the escort fleets put it scathingly but accurately: "This war is of our nation and why should the honor of our 'surface fleet' be more respected? Who cares about their glory? Damn fools!"
Once she might have been stung and irked by the barb slung her way. But now it matters not that Daisa Ōi insulted her, a battleship and capital ship of the Imperial Fleet. After all, she had failed to win the war for them as they expected out of her and her companions.
Besides, her armor is not just for show.
The Emperor Himself had asked what His Navy was doing to support the Army troops who were fighting in Okinawa for their lives and the continued existence of their empire. Kaigun-Chūshō Ryūnosuke Kusaka replied that their sally will draw away American air power from their fleet so that Divine Wind units could attack the enemy fleet with impunity.
It is a lie, of course. What are ten ships –eight destroyers, one light cruiser, and one battleship– to the seemingly endless lines of haze gray hulls and gathering clouds of dark blue planes that is the United States Navy?
But the small white lie suffices to salve their consciences. The illusion that their lives will be spent on something more than a futile gesture is enough for the sea-going samurai of the Empire.
She can still turn around. She can hightail it back to Kure. The kind personnel at Tokuyama had topped off their tanks using almost all the fuel stored at the port. She has the fuel to cut her losses and run.
But she cannot turn her back on her people. She has carried their hopes and dreams this far. And now she, more than any other ship –even the vaunted Yamato, stranded by engine troubles in Kure which forced her to hastily take her place– will stand for Japan.
She is a dreadnought. She dreads nothing.
Except, that is, loneliness.
Isokaze-chan. Hamakaze-chan. Suzutsuki-chan. Asashimo-chan. Kasumi-chan. Fuyutsuki-chan.
Hatsushimo-chan. Yukikaze-chan.
So she sails forth. Alone. To do her duty. To enter battle with pride and spend her life in a brief blaze of glory. A short-lived cherry blossom. A samurai to the end.
Alas, thirteen warships bar her way.
Five are mere heavy cruisers. The other two, she initially mistakes for battleships before correcting herself. The so-called large cruisers displace enough water to count as battleships, though their armor is weaker than even the thin-skinned Hiei class.
But what grips her attention is the battle line of half a dozen fast battleships bearing down on her.
Massachusetts. Indiana. South Dakota. New Jersey. Wisconsin. Missouri.
Every single one of the American dreadnoughts is newer, faster, better protected, and more heavily armed than her. Combined, they outnumber, outweigh, and outgun her.
It is hopeless. This is a battle she cannot win.
And yet she smiles. She is happy.
Her foes could have smothered her then and there with their overwhelming aerial blanket of blue death. For is she not the flagship of the fleet that razed their home four years ago?
And yet they generously grant her the chance for honorable battle by setting up the third and last battle of this Pacific War where heavyweight ships of the line would trade gunfire within sight of each other without interference from the sword of Damocles that is air power.
She desires to do them proud. It is the only thing she can do. It is the greatest gift she can render for them.
And so battleship Nagato plunges forward to fight her last and greatest battle.
x=x=x
Omake
TEN-GŌ
x=x=x
7 April 1945
Okinawa
She is forced to watch as her escorts are pulled down one by one by a cast of cobalt hawks stooping down on them without mercy.
Yahagi dies first. Her engines are destroyed by a Mk 15 torpedo. The hamstrung light cruiser is torn apart by six torpedoes and a dozen bombs.
Isokaze is next. She loses steering due to a near-miss. Her crew evacuate aboard Yukikaze. Two torpedoes fired by her cousin put the Wind on the Beach out of her misery.
A bomb and torpedo cause the hull of Isokaze's sister Hamakaze to fold upwards like a jack knife. The Wind of the Coast sinks soon afterwards.
Suzutsuki's bow is blown off. She attempts to retreat, steaming in reverse, but it is slow going. Enemy aircraft catch up to the fleeing Clear Moon of Autumn and drown the rest of her hull.
Engine trouble forces Asashimo to break off even before the operation starts. But there is no respite for the lamed destroyer. American planes find her limping home and pounce on her. All hands go down with the Morning Frost.
A trio of bombs deprive Kasumi of her steering. Fuyutsuki evacuated her survivors before scuttling the derelict Mist.
This is but a short reprieve for Fuyutsuki herself. Rockets and bombs soon turn the Winter Moon into a floating pyre.
Hatsushimo leads a charmed life. The First Frost does even better than the luck vampire Yukikaze as she is completely unscathed even during the course of rescuing the survivors of poor doomed Yahagi while American planes try to bomb and strafe and torpedo her.
Yukikaze is the only other ship that escapes the slaughter. Masamichi Terauchi once more fulfills his bombastic promise to his crew, of whom only two are injured. The Snowy Wind cannot sink for he is her lucky captain. The overloaded destroyer hauls the survivors of Isokaze to safety alongside Hatsushimo.
She tried to protect them. But her vaunted Sanshiki fail at their intended role. She counts only a paltry handful shot down by herself and her decimated escorts.
The harriers wisely stay out of the range of her smaller anti-aircraft artillery batteries. They keep moving to avoid her slow-tracking 16.1" guns. But they do not attack.
Why did they not strike her?
It does not matter. She is unharmed and mobile. She has a mission to accomplish.
Attack the American invasion fleet that lay anchored off the shores of Okinawa. Destroy the troop and supply ships. Beach herself between Higashi and Yomitan. Continue to fight as an unsinkable castle of steel until her hull is utterly destroyed. Send her survivors ashore to continue the fight.
It is a suicide mission. Her force commander, Kaigun-Chūshō Seiichi Itou, believed the plan futile and a waste. Her commanding officer, Kaigun-Daisa Kiyomi Shibuya, the former CO of light carrier Jun'you, agrees with his superior. So do many other commanders.
Kaigun-Daisa Atsushi Ōi of the escort fleets put it scathingly but accurately: "This war is of our nation and why should the honor of our 'surface fleet' be more respected? Who cares about their glory? Damn fools!"
Once she might have been stung and irked by the barb slung her way. But now it matters not that Daisa Ōi insulted her, a battleship and capital ship of the Imperial Fleet. After all, she had failed to win the war for them as they expected out of her and her companions.
Besides, her armor is not just for show.
The Emperor Himself had asked what His Navy was doing to support the Army troops who were fighting in Okinawa for their lives and the continued existence of their empire. Kaigun-Chūshō Ryūnosuke Kusaka replied that their sally will draw away American air power from their fleet so that Divine Wind units could attack the enemy fleet with impunity.
It is a lie, of course. What are ten ships –eight destroyers, one light cruiser, and one battleship– to the seemingly endless lines of haze gray hulls and gathering clouds of dark blue planes that is the United States Navy?
But the small white lie suffices to salve their consciences. The illusion that their lives will be spent on something more than a futile gesture is enough for the sea-going samurai of the Empire.
She can still turn around. She can hightail it back to Kure. The kind personnel at Tokuyama had topped off their tanks using almost all the fuel stored at the port. She has the fuel to cut her losses and run.
But she cannot turn her back on her people. She has carried their hopes and dreams this far. And now she, more than any other ship –even the vaunted Yamato, stranded by engine troubles in Kure which forced her to hastily take her place– will stand for Japan.
She is a dreadnought. She dreads nothing.
Except, that is, loneliness.
Isokaze-chan. Hamakaze-chan. Suzutsuki-chan. Asashimo-chan. Kasumi-chan. Fuyutsuki-chan.
Hatsushimo-chan. Yukikaze-chan.
So she sails forth. Alone. To do her duty. To enter battle with pride and spend her life in a brief blaze of glory. A short-lived cherry blossom. A samurai to the end.
Alas, thirteen warships bar her way.
Five are mere heavy cruisers. The other two, she initially mistakes for battleships before correcting herself. The so-called large cruisers displace enough water to count as battleships, though their armor is weaker than even the thin-skinned Hiei class.
But what grips her attention is the battle line of half a dozen fast battleships bearing down on her.
Massachusetts. Indiana. South Dakota. New Jersey. Wisconsin. Missouri.
Every single one of the American dreadnoughts is newer, faster, better protected, and more heavily armed than her. Combined, they outnumber, outweigh, and outgun her.
It is hopeless. This is a battle she cannot win.
And yet she smiles. She is happy.
Her foes could have smothered her then and there with their overwhelming aerial blanket of blue death. For is she not the flagship of the fleet that razed their home four years ago?
And yet they generously grant her the chance for honorable battle by setting up the third and last battle of this Pacific War where heavyweight ships of the line would trade gunfire within sight of each other without interference from the sword of Damocles that is air power.
She desires to do them proud. It is the only thing she can do. It is the greatest gift she can render for them.
And so battleship Nagato plunges forward to fight her last and greatest battle.
x=x=x
Omake
TEN-GŌ
x=x=x
Sidestory- Shipping Never Changes (Sasahara17) (Non-canon)
sasahara17
Just Another Random Author
- Location
- Brisbane City
Sorry everyone. After doing a snip for Indy, I just couldn't resist doing one here as well. Cheers!
-=-
It was a meeting that should not have happened.
Set amidst the backdrop of the dawning sun, a momentous encounter was taking place on the Yokosuka Naval Base pier… one that hundreds of ship girl and human onlookers were watching with bated breath.
On one side, Self-Defense Force Carrier Yonaga, Pride of the Self Defence Force, accompanied by her friend United States Navy's Super Battleship, USS Montana.
On the other side, Japanese Battleship Yamato, Pride of the Japanese Navy, and her 'Admiral' Commander Yvonne Swanson, just another ordinary United States Navy Intelligence Officer.
Two versions of the same people, separated by a moments in history that had caused their lives to diverge drastically. Different lives, yet lives that had still managed to care out their places in history. Living legends, brought together for thus impossible meeting by forces beyond their comprehension.
It was a meeting that should never have happened, but now that it did, none could predict the outcome… after all, how could anyone predict how these larger than life individuals would interact with each other? The only certainty, one every spectator to this event had in their minds, was that this was history in the making.
After moments of silence, Commander Swanson spoke.
"So… uh… are you two… you know… a thing?"
Of all the things the onlookers had expected, the Commander's question was not it.
More than a few jaws dropped at that point. A few individuals began to pinch themselves. A few people even nodded in approval (for shipping was indeed serious business and the question MUST be answered). Yamato went beet red and tried to hide her face behind her hands.
A certain heavy cruiser named Aoba cackled devilishly as she immortalised the moment with her camera.
Yes, Commander Swanson's question had been most unexpected.
Yonaga's reply even more so.
"Why yes, we are!" Yonaga and Montana proudly held up their hand to show the identical engagement rings that were proudly fastened around their ring fingers. "What about you two? Ya'll dating as well?"
"Um, actually I was hoping we could ask for your help with that?" Swanson gave a nervous laugh while Yamato continued to shrink further into herself, looking very much like she wanted to sink on the spot. "I mean, there's fraternisation regulations, Dakota's lame attempts at shipping, the whole war, the whole cultural barrier… not to mention our duties to our nations. We don't… really have time for that kind of thing. How did you manage?"
Yonaga and Montana shared a sympathetic look with each other before turning to Yonne with understanding smiles.
"Oh, Honey… come, let Big Sister Montana help you out," Montana said, hooping an arm around Swanson's shoulder and leading the now blushing Naval Officer away where they could discuss the matter in some privacy. "First thing, is that we gotta put a name down for your ship."
"…ship?"
"Yep. How's Yamaprise sound?"
"I, Yamato, did not expect this to happen." Yamato, still doing her best impression of a glowing red Christmas ornament, trailed after her Admiral and her alternate self.
"Nobody-does, Yamato-san," Yonaga followed behind happily. "Love is quite the complicated battlefield, no?"
As the four legends left the pier, the onlookers were left reeling at what had just occurred at the meeting that shouldn't have happened…
-=-
A/N – Short and sweet, and dedicated to my good friend @Whiskey Golf, who came up with the dammned pairing in the first place. Hope this was fun, everyone!
-=-
It was a meeting that should not have happened.
Set amidst the backdrop of the dawning sun, a momentous encounter was taking place on the Yokosuka Naval Base pier… one that hundreds of ship girl and human onlookers were watching with bated breath.
On one side, Self-Defense Force Carrier Yonaga, Pride of the Self Defence Force, accompanied by her friend United States Navy's Super Battleship, USS Montana.
On the other side, Japanese Battleship Yamato, Pride of the Japanese Navy, and her 'Admiral' Commander Yvonne Swanson, just another ordinary United States Navy Intelligence Officer.
Two versions of the same people, separated by a moments in history that had caused their lives to diverge drastically. Different lives, yet lives that had still managed to care out their places in history. Living legends, brought together for thus impossible meeting by forces beyond their comprehension.
It was a meeting that should never have happened, but now that it did, none could predict the outcome… after all, how could anyone predict how these larger than life individuals would interact with each other? The only certainty, one every spectator to this event had in their minds, was that this was history in the making.
After moments of silence, Commander Swanson spoke.
"So… uh… are you two… you know… a thing?"
Of all the things the onlookers had expected, the Commander's question was not it.
More than a few jaws dropped at that point. A few individuals began to pinch themselves. A few people even nodded in approval (for shipping was indeed serious business and the question MUST be answered). Yamato went beet red and tried to hide her face behind her hands.
A certain heavy cruiser named Aoba cackled devilishly as she immortalised the moment with her camera.
Yes, Commander Swanson's question had been most unexpected.
Yonaga's reply even more so.
"Why yes, we are!" Yonaga and Montana proudly held up their hand to show the identical engagement rings that were proudly fastened around their ring fingers. "What about you two? Ya'll dating as well?"
"Um, actually I was hoping we could ask for your help with that?" Swanson gave a nervous laugh while Yamato continued to shrink further into herself, looking very much like she wanted to sink on the spot. "I mean, there's fraternisation regulations, Dakota's lame attempts at shipping, the whole war, the whole cultural barrier… not to mention our duties to our nations. We don't… really have time for that kind of thing. How did you manage?"
Yonaga and Montana shared a sympathetic look with each other before turning to Yonne with understanding smiles.
"Oh, Honey… come, let Big Sister Montana help you out," Montana said, hooping an arm around Swanson's shoulder and leading the now blushing Naval Officer away where they could discuss the matter in some privacy. "First thing, is that we gotta put a name down for your ship."
"…ship?"
"Yep. How's Yamaprise sound?"
"I, Yamato, did not expect this to happen." Yamato, still doing her best impression of a glowing red Christmas ornament, trailed after her Admiral and her alternate self.
"Nobody-does, Yamato-san," Yonaga followed behind happily. "Love is quite the complicated battlefield, no?"
As the four legends left the pier, the onlookers were left reeling at what had just occurred at the meeting that shouldn't have happened…
-=-
A/N – Short and sweet, and dedicated to my good friend @Whiskey Golf, who came up with the dammned pairing in the first place. Hope this was fun, everyone!
CompassJimbo
Where’s Your North?
- Location
- The former Rubber Capital of the World
I suppose I should crosspost this to SB? Or has Whiskey taken care of it already?
Whiskey Golf
Being of Editing & Technical Assistance
- Location
- Chained to my desk
Go right ahead, i'm going to bombard us nonstop with feels.
Sidestory- Worthy
Whiskey Golf
Being of Editing & Technical Assistance
- Location
- Chained to my desk
Commencing feels broadside. Crossposted on behalf of @Sheo Darren , the original author.
-=-
16 April 1945
Okinawa
For all of her short life, she has been the subject of scorn.
They made fun of her behind her back and laughed right in her face. The other ships raised tall tales that grew in absurdity with every retelling. They mock-begged her not to shoot them whenever they met. Warned new warships to stay away from her.
Derp-stroyer. Shit can. Rotten meat shield. Nip/Nazi/Fascist spy. That dumb-ass who tried to assassinate the other Roosevelt and his personal Big Walking Stick of the Pacific.
The Admirals refused to trust her with anything important. Not after her very first official sortie, a top secret escort mission that she nearly blew out of the water like the depth charge that had accidentally slipped from her rack early into the same mission. Not after she almost added her name, her good name, the name of a good man, to the short list of accursed names who had successfully assassinated the leader of her own country.
So she labored in obscurity. She hammered shore targets, blasted aircraft out the sky, blew an enemy torpedo boat clean out of the water, kept an ear out for submarines, escorted important ships, and endured the snide remarks.
She did her best. But her best never seemed enough.
Until today.
They had brought her to the prisoner a couple of days ago. Her orders were to guard the stricken warship.
At first she was terrified out of her wits. And why shouldn't she? She is but a lowly destroyer while her captive is a Japanese dreadnought who displaces four squadrons worth of her class.
She doesn't like battleships. Not after she nearly sank one on the same side as her. One with guns as big as the armament of her prisoner. Guns that her fearful imagination expected to turn on her the moment she stopped looking.
The prisoner was the leader of the suicide squadron sent by the Imperial Japanese Navy nine days ago to oppose the American fleet investing Okinawa. The pathetically small surface force had been obliterated by teeth-clenched teamwork with bloodthirsty naval aviators sinking seven out of her nine escorts while the battleships personally went to town on the lone battleship.
The deck had been completely stacked against her. One old dreadnought against six newer fast battleships with two large cruisers, five cruisers, and a lot of winged death waiting in the wings?
And yet she had put up a ferocious fight, had sent one of her opponents back to Saipan for repairs. Her surviving crew had surrendered before the trigger-happy American fliers could rain death and destruction on her parade, but not before attempting to scuttle her burning hull. Only the quick and intelligent actions of an American boarding party managed to save her from a one-way trip into the depths.
Now she was a powerless prisoner of war. Her hull rode low in the water. Her proud pagoda-topped profile had been utterly defaced and demolished by a hailstorm of 16" super-heavy armor-piercing shells. The twisted barrels of her 16" guns hung askew from the battered mounts and cratered faces of her smashed turrets, and her secondaries had long ceased existence. She couldn't harm a fly, much less her timid armed-to-the-teeth jailer who constantly kept twitching torpedo tubes trained on her quiet hulk.
And yet despite the constant threat of death, she remains absolutely calm. She even smiles.
The destroyer who guards her wonders why she is smiling.
Alarum! Her radar picks up bogeys heading her way. Fifty bombers, Vals and Judys. Every single one of them a potential kamikaze. Too many for a single destroyer, much less herself, to stop.
She had been warned of this. The prisoner has been left as bait for the hungry vultures.
The Japanese are obsessed with honor. The samurai of the Rising Sun cannot stand the sore sight of shame. They are enraged by the unsightly silhoutte of one of the steel brides of their Emperor stained with the black shame of defeat, an unforgivable insult multiplied tenfold by the half a dozen American flags flying atop her mast to show who had owned her during battle and who owned her now.
Her orders are to let the enemy waste their ammo and lives on the prisoner. An ironic end, Japanese planes attacking a Japanese warship, suicidal samurai sinking one who had already failed to cut her belly open.
As she prepares to fulfill her orders, building up more steam for a high-speed run, she happens to glance at the prisoner.
The Japanese battleship lies dead in the water. All but dead. Dead ship drifting. Not American. An enemy.
Brave. So brave.
If she can be brave… if the enemy can be brave...
All four of her boilers fill with furious steam. Her sleek hull slides through the water, steam turbines spinning at full power, churning propeller blades pushing her up to thirty five knots.
She steers straight for the two-score-and-ten bombers, puts herself between them and her prisoner.
She had expected the American to flee as well. The braided Kuchikukan was admirably diligent and admittedly adorable as she puttered around her.
But she was an enemy. She had her orders. This was not her fight.
Why, indeed?
Her sisters did not run on that fateful day of 25 October 1944 off the coast of Samar in the Philippines. They and their partners did not run from a devastatingly superior Japanese battle line that included their prisoner and the Yamato itself.
No, Johnston and Hoel and Heermann and Samuel B. Roberts and Raymond and Dennis and John C. Butler had charged the best that the Imperial Japanese Navy had to offer.
On that day, seven tin cans fought battleships and heavy cruisers. Three of them made the ultimate sacrifice for their nation. And they dragged three heavy cruisers down with them while one out of their charges had been lost to the super heavy naval rifles of the enemy.
They say the sailors of wooden warships of a bygone-era were iron men. If so, then the destroyer-men of Taffy Three were purest diamond, brilliant, indestructible.
And is she not spun from the same cloth as Johnston and Hoel and Heermann? Could she not attain the same heights? Isn't her ward even more helpless than Gambier Bay and St. Lo?
Her hull heels hard right to unmask her rear batteries. Her radar keeps an electronic eye on the enemy formation while her excellent Mark 37 gun fire control computer gives her a firing solution on the lead bomber. Her 5"/38 cal guns bellow, slinging forth the first of the new anti-aircraft shells equipped with radio frequency proximity fuses, a barrage of deadly ordnance that turned the first Judy into a smear of fire while the others scatter. Her numerous Oerlikons and Bofors open up the moment enemy aircraft dare to dart into their range. She weaves this way and that to throw off dive bombers while keeping an eye out for torpedoes.
Her sister is coming. Laffey (the second one, though no one ever calls DD-724 that to her face since she resents being compared to her predecessor DD-459) loudly demands that she stop hogging all the glory and leave some targets for her.
Allied aircraft are also answering her call. Wildcats and Corsairs of the Big Blue Blanket will soon cover her reckless sortie. Once they arrive, she can vector them against the remaining attackers.
But for the first few minutes, she will stand alone against the storm of falling steel and burning planes.
Two years ago, she had nearly taken the life of a mighty American battleship, the Big Stick of the Pacific.
Today she risks her life in defense of a stricken Japanese battleship, she of the Big Seven.
Here and now, an American destroyer defies the Divine Wind to shield the derelict Japanese battleship Nagato.
And if this be her final firefight, then so be it. For her nation reveres last stands and waters the blessed tree of liberty with the brave blood of brave martyrs. Perhaps her actions here will change the way her fleet mates look at her. Perhaps after this hot day off the coast of Okinawa she will be remembered more fondly.
Perhaps in the future people will say that DD-579 is worthy of the name William D. Porter.
-=-
16 April 1945
Okinawa
For all of her short life, she has been the subject of scorn.
They made fun of her behind her back and laughed right in her face. The other ships raised tall tales that grew in absurdity with every retelling. They mock-begged her not to shoot them whenever they met. Warned new warships to stay away from her.
Derp-stroyer. Shit can. Rotten meat shield. Nip/Nazi/Fascist spy. That dumb-ass who tried to assassinate the other Roosevelt and his personal Big Walking Stick of the Pacific.
Worthless.
The Admirals refused to trust her with anything important. Not after her very first official sortie, a top secret escort mission that she nearly blew out of the water like the depth charge that had accidentally slipped from her rack early into the same mission. Not after she almost added her name, her good name, the name of a good man, to the short list of accursed names who had successfully assassinated the leader of her own country.
So she labored in obscurity. She hammered shore targets, blasted aircraft out the sky, blew an enemy torpedo boat clean out of the water, kept an ear out for submarines, escorted important ships, and endured the snide remarks.
She did her best. But her best never seemed enough.
Until today.
They had brought her to the prisoner a couple of days ago. Her orders were to guard the stricken warship.
At first she was terrified out of her wits. And why shouldn't she? She is but a lowly destroyer while her captive is a Japanese dreadnought who displaces four squadrons worth of her class.
She doesn't like battleships. Not after she nearly sank one on the same side as her. One with guns as big as the armament of her prisoner. Guns that her fearful imagination expected to turn on her the moment she stopped looking.
The prisoner was the leader of the suicide squadron sent by the Imperial Japanese Navy nine days ago to oppose the American fleet investing Okinawa. The pathetically small surface force had been obliterated by teeth-clenched teamwork with bloodthirsty naval aviators sinking seven out of her nine escorts while the battleships personally went to town on the lone battleship.
The deck had been completely stacked against her. One old dreadnought against six newer fast battleships with two large cruisers, five cruisers, and a lot of winged death waiting in the wings?
And yet she had put up a ferocious fight, had sent one of her opponents back to Saipan for repairs. Her surviving crew had surrendered before the trigger-happy American fliers could rain death and destruction on her parade, but not before attempting to scuttle her burning hull. Only the quick and intelligent actions of an American boarding party managed to save her from a one-way trip into the depths.
Now she was a powerless prisoner of war. Her hull rode low in the water. Her proud pagoda-topped profile had been utterly defaced and demolished by a hailstorm of 16" super-heavy armor-piercing shells. The twisted barrels of her 16" guns hung askew from the battered mounts and cratered faces of her smashed turrets, and her secondaries had long ceased existence. She couldn't harm a fly, much less her timid armed-to-the-teeth jailer who constantly kept twitching torpedo tubes trained on her quiet hulk.
And yet despite the constant threat of death, she remains absolutely calm. She even smiles.
The destroyer who guards her wonders why she is smiling.
Alarum! Her radar picks up bogeys heading her way. Fifty bombers, Vals and Judys. Every single one of them a potential kamikaze. Too many for a single destroyer, much less herself, to stop.
She had been warned of this. The prisoner has been left as bait for the hungry vultures.
The Japanese are obsessed with honor. The samurai of the Rising Sun cannot stand the sore sight of shame. They are enraged by the unsightly silhoutte of one of the steel brides of their Emperor stained with the black shame of defeat, an unforgivable insult multiplied tenfold by the half a dozen American flags flying atop her mast to show who had owned her during battle and who owned her now.
Her orders are to let the enemy waste their ammo and lives on the prisoner. An ironic end, Japanese planes attacking a Japanese warship, suicidal samurai sinking one who had already failed to cut her belly open.
As she prepares to fulfill her orders, building up more steam for a high-speed run, she happens to glance at the prisoner.
The Japanese battleship lies dead in the water. All but dead. Dead ship drifting. Not American. An enemy.
Brave. So brave.
If she can be brave… if the enemy can be brave...
All four of her boilers fill with furious steam. Her sleek hull slides through the water, steam turbines spinning at full power, churning propeller blades pushing her up to thirty five knots.
She steers straight for the two-score-and-ten bombers, puts herself between them and her prisoner.
x-x-x
Her insane actions stun her captive. The Japanese battleship had been abandoned by her two remaining escorts. In fact she had urged them to run for their lives.
She had expected the American to flee as well. The braided Kuchikukan was admirably diligent and admittedly adorable as she puttered around her.
But she was an enemy. She had her orders. This was not her fight.
"Why aren't you running away?"
x-x-x
x-x-x
Why, indeed?
Her sisters did not run on that fateful day of 25 October 1944 off the coast of Samar in the Philippines. They and their partners did not run from a devastatingly superior Japanese battle line that included their prisoner and the Yamato itself.
No, Johnston and Hoel and Heermann and Samuel B. Roberts and Raymond and Dennis and John C. Butler had charged the best that the Imperial Japanese Navy had to offer.
x-x-x
"Destroyers lead the way!"
"Little boys attack!"
"I am fully cognizant of the inevitable result of engaging such vastly superior forces. Still, I will fulfill my assigned duties coolly and efficiently EVEN if I am shot up."
"Line up and let's go!"
"Excuse me! Look out! I'm coming through!"
"I will rout those battleships with my FISH and challenge those heavy cruisers with my GUNS!"
"I'm a fighting ship! I plan to go in harm's way! Anyone who doesn't want to go along had better leave right now!"
"Breaking formation! Flank speed, full left rudder!"
"More shells! More shells!"
"This is for Chief Ernie! My heart! My soul! MY CAPTAIN!"
"Chief Lucky, please divert all available steam to my turbines."
"I'm not sure about the outcome, but I will do my duty."
"I'm making a torpedo run."
"May I open fire?"
"That a way, Whitey! I hit them!"
"Overwhelming odds? Survival can't be expected? Still, I'll do what damage I can."
"I may be a mere destroyer escort, but today... TODAY I will FIGHT like a BATTLESHIP!"
x-x-x
"Destroyers lead the way!"
"Little boys attack!"
"I am fully cognizant of the inevitable result of engaging such vastly superior forces. Still, I will fulfill my assigned duties coolly and efficiently EVEN if I am shot up."
"Line up and let's go!"
"Excuse me! Look out! I'm coming through!"
"I will rout those battleships with my FISH and challenge those heavy cruisers with my GUNS!"
"I'm a fighting ship! I plan to go in harm's way! Anyone who doesn't want to go along had better leave right now!"
"Breaking formation! Flank speed, full left rudder!"
"More shells! More shells!"
"This is for Chief Ernie! My heart! My soul! MY CAPTAIN!"
"Chief Lucky, please divert all available steam to my turbines."
"I'm not sure about the outcome, but I will do my duty."
"I'm making a torpedo run."
"May I open fire?"
"That a way, Whitey! I hit them!"
"Overwhelming odds? Survival can't be expected? Still, I'll do what damage I can."
"I may be a mere destroyer escort, but today... TODAY I will FIGHT like a BATTLESHIP!"
x-x-x
On that day, seven tin cans fought battleships and heavy cruisers. Three of them made the ultimate sacrifice for their nation. And they dragged three heavy cruisers down with them while one out of their charges had been lost to the super heavy naval rifles of the enemy.
They say the sailors of wooden warships of a bygone-era were iron men. If so, then the destroyer-men of Taffy Three were purest diamond, brilliant, indestructible.
And is she not spun from the same cloth as Johnston and Hoel and Heermann? Could she not attain the same heights? Isn't her ward even more helpless than Gambier Bay and St. Lo?
Her hull heels hard right to unmask her rear batteries. Her radar keeps an electronic eye on the enemy formation while her excellent Mark 37 gun fire control computer gives her a firing solution on the lead bomber. Her 5"/38 cal guns bellow, slinging forth the first of the new anti-aircraft shells equipped with radio frequency proximity fuses, a barrage of deadly ordnance that turned the first Judy into a smear of fire while the others scatter. Her numerous Oerlikons and Bofors open up the moment enemy aircraft dare to dart into their range. She weaves this way and that to throw off dive bombers while keeping an eye out for torpedoes.
Her sister is coming. Laffey (the second one, though no one ever calls DD-724 that to her face since she resents being compared to her predecessor DD-459) loudly demands that she stop hogging all the glory and leave some targets for her.
Allied aircraft are also answering her call. Wildcats and Corsairs of the Big Blue Blanket will soon cover her reckless sortie. Once they arrive, she can vector them against the remaining attackers.
But for the first few minutes, she will stand alone against the storm of falling steel and burning planes.
Two years ago, she had nearly taken the life of a mighty American battleship, the Big Stick of the Pacific.
Today she risks her life in defense of a stricken Japanese battleship, she of the Big Seven.
Here and now, an American destroyer defies the Divine Wind to shield the derelict Japanese battleship Nagato.
"You won't hurt her. You will not sink her. I won't let her sink. I'll protect her. I'll fight you. I WILL FIGHT!!!"
And if this be her final firefight, then so be it. For her nation reveres last stands and waters the blessed tree of liberty with the brave blood of brave martyrs. Perhaps her actions here will change the way her fleet mates look at her. Perhaps after this hot day off the coast of Okinawa she will be remembered more fondly.
Perhaps in the future people will say that DD-579 is worthy of the name William D. Porter.
x=x=x
ETERNITY
WORTHY
ETERNITY
WORTHY
Last edited:
Sidestory- Reunion
Whiskey Golf
Being of Editing & Technical Assistance
- Location
- Chained to my desk
After reading the above feels from Sheo, I sat down and came up with this:
-=-
The Americans are coming.
This has been the subject of energetic murmuring from Yokosuka's kanmusu. The United States Navy has finally been able to summon kanmusu of their own, and is sending a detachment of kanmusu, along with conventional warships, to Yokosuka.
Some are excited, murmuring eagerly about how it'll be good to have reinforcements. Some are unhappy, claiming it shows a lack of American confidence in Japan. Still others mutter about how the Americans have come to assert themselves over Japan once more.
Yokosuka's Admiral is thoughtful. He has served with American officers before, on exchange programs and joint missions. As a young sailor onboard JDS Yonaga, he once manned the rails to render honors to USS Enterprise, as the American carrier, first of her class, likewise rendered honors to the ship who was her namesake. He does not believe that he will have much difficulty with his American counterparts.
That is not to say that the American kanmusu do not concern him. He knows his history. He anticipates trouble from kanmusu who were sunk by the IJN, who may not yet have buried old grudges. He knows that there are those among his kanmusu who still nurse grudges of their own.
"Don't worry, Darling," says a soft voice in his ear. Quietly, so quietly he hadn't noticed her, Kongou links her hand with his, and draws herself closer to him, smiling with confident love and adoration. "It won't be easy, but you can do it. I have faith in you."
"Shouldn't you be at the pier?" he asks, even as he surreptitiously entwines his fingers with hers. "I thought we'd agreed that you'd give the least worst first impression?"
Kongou laughs lightly, and raises brings their hands to her lips. She places a soft kiss to his hand. "There's still time," she says, "and we're still alone- oh. That's interesting."
Nagato has been watching the American fleet pull in, the vanguard of the American kanmusu. At their head is the unmistakable form of an American battleship, for all that she wears the guise of a young woman. The battleship turns her head and gestures to one of the destroyers escorting her, a timid-looking girl with braided hair. She slows to barely a crawl, her fellows slowing with her, as the little destroyer pulls alongside her. She gestures for her to lead, and the destroyer starts in surprise, and timidly takes a step forward, as the battleship reassuringly pats her on the back. The braided girl accelerates, moving forward, a lone destroyer leaving the American kanmusu behind her.
Agitated murmurs arise. Some of Yokosuka's kanmusu are confused. Others are angry, seeing this as an American slight. Kongou sighs, reluctantly releases her fiancee's hand, and prepares to defuse the unrest with Burning Love-
And that is when to everyone's surprise, Nagato runs to the pier.
Nagato. Stoic and calm Nagato. Unflappable Nagato. The stern and disciplined Secretary Ship. The woman who was thought to have a heart of steel. Nagato, who walked briskly, who was always controlled, who was never excited.
Nagato, who now runs to the pier.
One is a battleship of the Big Seven; the other is one of hundreds of ordinary destroyers. One carried the hopes of her nation; the other nearly killed the hopes of her nation. One was a captive, the other her jailer.
They cannot be more different. And yet...
The American destroyer recognises who is coming to meet her. She puts on an extra burst of speed, pushing into the redline. In her hurry she doesn't come to a proper stop, but crashes into the pier, beaching herself onto the concrete, releasing her rigging as she hurtles towards Nagato, coming towards her at full steam. She buries her face into Nagato's bosom, as the taller battleship draws her into a fierce embrace - and, to the further surprise of Yokosuka's kanmusu, Nagato is openly weeping. Quieter and more dignified than the little distroyer's inelegant blubbering, but weeping nonetheless.
And yet, there is a radiance to Nagato's face. She releases her death grip long enough only to kiss the destroyer's tear-stained cheeks, and laughs when the American girl tiptoes up to try to wipe her tears away. She stands there and holds the younger girl in her arms, close to her heart, even as their tears continue to flow, like a warm summer rain.
The Admiral inhales, and blinks to clear his eyes. "I will not say do not weep, for not all tears are evil," he says quietly, recalling something he had read once, many years ago. Kongou smiles tenderly at him.
"I recognised that reference," she says, her eyes twinkling. She releases his hand, and impulsively kisses his cheek. "I don't think you'll have anything to worry about cultural issues."
* * * * *
USS New Jersey observes the touching scene on the pier, and smiles, pleased with herself. It was right, she thinks, to give those two their moment. They deserved it.
"What did I tell ya?" she says to her fleet. "Anybody who can love so wholeheartedly can't be all that bad. Now c'mon, let's go."
* * * * *
She stands on the pier, shying away from the curious stares of the kanmusu, feeling the heavy silence to be overpowering - and then she feels her hand being squeezed. She looks up into the eyes of the taller woman. No words are exchanged. No words are necessary.
Thank you for showing me how to be brave.
-Thank you for protecting me.
I can be brave if I'm beside you.
-I wish I could have fought beside you.
I'm glad I could see you again.
She draws a shaky breath, squeezes back, and straightens her shoulders. "My name is William D. Porter. I'm Miss Nagato's friend."
A tall beautiful woman with long brown hair and an ear-to-ear smile pushes herself to the front of the crowd. "Hey, Nagato!" she yells with boisterous cheer. "Where'd you hide your NEW FACE? Hi, NEW FACE! I'm KONGOU, DESS! NICE TO MEET YOU, WILLIE!"
It's as if a dam breaks, as the kanmusu start excitedly chattering among themselves, as Kongou waves over Fubuki and her friends, who enthusiastically come to meet the new destroyer. Nagato turns her head, prompted by some instinct, and sees New Jersey's tall form, standing calmly on the water. The Japanese battleship locks eyes with the American battleship who landed the last hits on her. She turns, stands straight, and bows formally to the foe who bested her.
New Jersey smiles and inclines her head: not a full bow, but deeper than a mere nod.
You were an honorable foe. I could ask for nothing more.
You gave as good as you got and went the distance. I respect that.
Looking at the scene before him, Yokosuka's Admiral blinks as his vision blurs momentarily, and takes a moment to realise what strange feeling is in his heart right now.
Hope.
-=-
Strength for today, and bright hope for tomorrow.
-=-
Note: After the first feels broadside, I sat down, blew off work and banged this out. Also the Kongou shipping kinda just happened before I knew what was going on. That Kongou, she's sneakier than one expects.
-=-
The Americans are coming.
This has been the subject of energetic murmuring from Yokosuka's kanmusu. The United States Navy has finally been able to summon kanmusu of their own, and is sending a detachment of kanmusu, along with conventional warships, to Yokosuka.
Some are excited, murmuring eagerly about how it'll be good to have reinforcements. Some are unhappy, claiming it shows a lack of American confidence in Japan. Still others mutter about how the Americans have come to assert themselves over Japan once more.
Yokosuka's Admiral is thoughtful. He has served with American officers before, on exchange programs and joint missions. As a young sailor onboard JDS Yonaga, he once manned the rails to render honors to USS Enterprise, as the American carrier, first of her class, likewise rendered honors to the ship who was her namesake. He does not believe that he will have much difficulty with his American counterparts.
That is not to say that the American kanmusu do not concern him. He knows his history. He anticipates trouble from kanmusu who were sunk by the IJN, who may not yet have buried old grudges. He knows that there are those among his kanmusu who still nurse grudges of their own.
"Don't worry, Darling," says a soft voice in his ear. Quietly, so quietly he hadn't noticed her, Kongou links her hand with his, and draws herself closer to him, smiling with confident love and adoration. "It won't be easy, but you can do it. I have faith in you."
"Shouldn't you be at the pier?" he asks, even as he surreptitiously entwines his fingers with hers. "I thought we'd agreed that you'd give the least worst first impression?"
Kongou laughs lightly, and raises brings their hands to her lips. She places a soft kiss to his hand. "There's still time," she says, "and we're still alone- oh. That's interesting."
Nagato has been watching the American fleet pull in, the vanguard of the American kanmusu. At their head is the unmistakable form of an American battleship, for all that she wears the guise of a young woman. The battleship turns her head and gestures to one of the destroyers escorting her, a timid-looking girl with braided hair. She slows to barely a crawl, her fellows slowing with her, as the little destroyer pulls alongside her. She gestures for her to lead, and the destroyer starts in surprise, and timidly takes a step forward, as the battleship reassuringly pats her on the back. The braided girl accelerates, moving forward, a lone destroyer leaving the American kanmusu behind her.
Agitated murmurs arise. Some of Yokosuka's kanmusu are confused. Others are angry, seeing this as an American slight. Kongou sighs, reluctantly releases her fiancee's hand, and prepares to defuse the unrest with Burning Love-
And that is when to everyone's surprise, Nagato runs to the pier.
Nagato. Stoic and calm Nagato. Unflappable Nagato. The stern and disciplined Secretary Ship. The woman who was thought to have a heart of steel. Nagato, who walked briskly, who was always controlled, who was never excited.
Nagato, who now runs to the pier.
One is a battleship of the Big Seven; the other is one of hundreds of ordinary destroyers. One carried the hopes of her nation; the other nearly killed the hopes of her nation. One was a captive, the other her jailer.
They cannot be more different. And yet...
The American destroyer recognises who is coming to meet her. She puts on an extra burst of speed, pushing into the redline. In her hurry she doesn't come to a proper stop, but crashes into the pier, beaching herself onto the concrete, releasing her rigging as she hurtles towards Nagato, coming towards her at full steam. She buries her face into Nagato's bosom, as the taller battleship draws her into a fierce embrace - and, to the further surprise of Yokosuka's kanmusu, Nagato is openly weeping. Quieter and more dignified than the little distroyer's inelegant blubbering, but weeping nonetheless.
And yet, there is a radiance to Nagato's face. She releases her death grip long enough only to kiss the destroyer's tear-stained cheeks, and laughs when the American girl tiptoes up to try to wipe her tears away. She stands there and holds the younger girl in her arms, close to her heart, even as their tears continue to flow, like a warm summer rain.
The Admiral inhales, and blinks to clear his eyes. "I will not say do not weep, for not all tears are evil," he says quietly, recalling something he had read once, many years ago. Kongou smiles tenderly at him.
"I recognised that reference," she says, her eyes twinkling. She releases his hand, and impulsively kisses his cheek. "I don't think you'll have anything to worry about cultural issues."
* * * * *
USS New Jersey observes the touching scene on the pier, and smiles, pleased with herself. It was right, she thinks, to give those two their moment. They deserved it.
"What did I tell ya?" she says to her fleet. "Anybody who can love so wholeheartedly can't be all that bad. Now c'mon, let's go."
* * * * *
She stands on the pier, shying away from the curious stares of the kanmusu, feeling the heavy silence to be overpowering - and then she feels her hand being squeezed. She looks up into the eyes of the taller woman. No words are exchanged. No words are necessary.
Thank you for showing me how to be brave.
-Thank you for protecting me.
I can be brave if I'm beside you.
-I wish I could have fought beside you.
I'm glad I could see you again.
She draws a shaky breath, squeezes back, and straightens her shoulders. "My name is William D. Porter. I'm Miss Nagato's friend."
A tall beautiful woman with long brown hair and an ear-to-ear smile pushes herself to the front of the crowd. "Hey, Nagato!" she yells with boisterous cheer. "Where'd you hide your NEW FACE? Hi, NEW FACE! I'm KONGOU, DESS! NICE TO MEET YOU, WILLIE!"
It's as if a dam breaks, as the kanmusu start excitedly chattering among themselves, as Kongou waves over Fubuki and her friends, who enthusiastically come to meet the new destroyer. Nagato turns her head, prompted by some instinct, and sees New Jersey's tall form, standing calmly on the water. The Japanese battleship locks eyes with the American battleship who landed the last hits on her. She turns, stands straight, and bows formally to the foe who bested her.
New Jersey smiles and inclines her head: not a full bow, but deeper than a mere nod.
You were an honorable foe. I could ask for nothing more.
You gave as good as you got and went the distance. I respect that.
Looking at the scene before him, Yokosuka's Admiral blinks as his vision blurs momentarily, and takes a moment to realise what strange feeling is in his heart right now.
Hope.
-=-
Strength for today, and bright hope for tomorrow.
-=-
Note: After the first feels broadside, I sat down, blew off work and banged this out. Also the Kongou shipping kinda just happened before I knew what was going on. That Kongou, she's sneakier than one expects.
CompassJimbo
Where’s Your North?
- Location
- The former Rubber Capital of the World
Excellent work, Whiskey. Saves me some of it as well. I'll get to the next of Sheo's snippets over the weekend.
sasahara17
Just Another Random Author
- Location
- Brisbane City
Oh man, the Nagato and Willie Dee snips are so awesome… so awesome in fact I couldn't help but think up some further snip ideas that could be used to extrapolate further on their bond. Hopefully I (or another omake writer) will find the time to flesh these out.
-=-
1 . Despite her altered fate, Nagato still finds her destiny at Bikini Atoll… however, this time there is one important difference. While the other ships there are experiencing fear, denial or tirede resignation at being involved in the nuclear test, Nagato and USS William D. Porter, secured together side by side by USN sailors, are at peace despite their upcoming execution. Decades later as ship girls, one of the other Bikini Atoll survivors (who has PTSD from horror of what happened) marvels at how Nagato and Willie Dee have completely beaten the experience by drawing strength from each other.
2 . Nagato and Willie Dee have captured Hoppo, and after much deliberation have decided to mutually add the little Abyssal to their duo and become a trio. Hoppo, initially scared because she is now living with her former enemies, is gradually eased in by the environment of love and support the serious but compassionate Nagato and clumsy but caring Willie provide; this is especially true when she discovers that the pair were former enemies turned surrogate sisters. Love knows no boundaries, after all. Cuteness ensures.
3 . While Nagato is in the Hague for an international conference between the Navies of the world, she hears a somewhat intoxicated Iowa recounting a story to a bemused Hood and Bismarck about 'the worst escort ever'… USS William D. Porter. Nagato promptly steps in to defend Willie Dee's honor, and ends up getting into a bar brawl against Iowa, which she almost loses. Just as Iowa is about to land the decisive blow on Nagato, Willie comes in, takes one look at the situation… and promptly throws herself against Iowa, kicking the battleship's ass and warning Iowa never to lay a hand on Nagato again.
Best Escort Ever
-=-
Whelp, some ideas for everybody to chew on. If I have time, I'll try and write one out. Anyway, gotta get back to work soon, so feel free to discuss these ideas in the meantime.
-=-
1 . Despite her altered fate, Nagato still finds her destiny at Bikini Atoll… however, this time there is one important difference. While the other ships there are experiencing fear, denial or tirede resignation at being involved in the nuclear test, Nagato and USS William D. Porter, secured together side by side by USN sailors, are at peace despite their upcoming execution. Decades later as ship girls, one of the other Bikini Atoll survivors (who has PTSD from horror of what happened) marvels at how Nagato and Willie Dee have completely beaten the experience by drawing strength from each other.
2 . Nagato and Willie Dee have captured Hoppo, and after much deliberation have decided to mutually add the little Abyssal to their duo and become a trio. Hoppo, initially scared because she is now living with her former enemies, is gradually eased in by the environment of love and support the serious but compassionate Nagato and clumsy but caring Willie provide; this is especially true when she discovers that the pair were former enemies turned surrogate sisters. Love knows no boundaries, after all. Cuteness ensures.
3 . While Nagato is in the Hague for an international conference between the Navies of the world, she hears a somewhat intoxicated Iowa recounting a story to a bemused Hood and Bismarck about 'the worst escort ever'… USS William D. Porter. Nagato promptly steps in to defend Willie Dee's honor, and ends up getting into a bar brawl against Iowa, which she almost loses. Just as Iowa is about to land the decisive blow on Nagato, Willie comes in, takes one look at the situation… and promptly throws herself against Iowa, kicking the battleship's ass and warning Iowa never to lay a hand on Nagato again.
Best Escort Ever
-=-
Whelp, some ideas for everybody to chew on. If I have time, I'll try and write one out. Anyway, gotta get back to work soon, so feel free to discuss these ideas in the meantime.
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Whiskey Golf
Being of Editing & Technical Assistance
- Location
- Chained to my desk
This is how I see Nagamom and Willie:
Nagato pushes herself forward, striving to her utmost. She must be the most elegant, the coolest, the bravest, the strongest. She must be worthy to lead Willie.
And Willie chases after Nagato, because she admires Nagato, because she wants her to be proud of her, because it's Nagato who leads her, who taught her to be brave.
....dear god I've made a more moe and adorable counterpart to Orga and Mikazuki from Iron Blooded Orphans. All my what. `
Nagato pushes herself forward, striving to her utmost. She must be the most elegant, the coolest, the bravest, the strongest. She must be worthy to lead Willie.
And Willie chases after Nagato, because she admires Nagato, because she wants her to be proud of her, because it's Nagato who leads her, who taught her to be brave.
....dear god I've made a more moe and adorable counterpart to Orga and Mikazuki from Iron Blooded Orphans. All my what. `
CompassJimbo
Where’s Your North?
- Location
- The former Rubber Capital of the World
Indeed, their relationship looks to be very intriguing. And I'm sure someone's going to ship it at some point. But it is kinda heartwarming, yes.
UrsaTempest
Don't Panic!
I'm platonically shipping them, at least. Not sure if it can graduate to romantic ship.