In Harm's Way

[Breakaway25]

It was more than a simple war, It was a fight for survival. When the officers and men of the United States Navy were called to face a foe that appeared insurmountable, they did so without fear. These are the stories of the men and women who answered the call to stand against the monsters of the Abyss, and the stories of the ships who fought with them.

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My third attempt at a major story. This is my attempt to write a fic depicting the Abyssal war and the shipgirls as realistically as possible. Any and all feedback is welcomed and encouraged.

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[Breakaway25]

"I wish to have no connection with any ship that does not sail fast; for I intend to go into harm's way,"
John Paul Jones
In the early days of the war, the world was reluctant to believe the threat of the Abyssals was real. Rather, they preferred to claim it was nothing more than the imaginative tales of sailors who had spent too many weeks at sea. It would take an event of some magnitude to prove the threat to the world was real and pressing.

A History of the Abyssal Wars
CAPT John C. Brightlinger, USN(ret.)
Naval Institute Press, 2035​

USS Evans
Philippine Sea, Near Japan
21 June 2020
1702hrs

Lieutenant Matthew C. Dover, USN, stared up at the situation monitor, trying to make sense of what he saw. Somewhere in the display of symbols and numbers there was an explanation as to what was happening, but he just couldn't see it. All he knew was that there was something out there. Even with the dozens of high tech sensors and instruments at his disposal, he couldn't be told anything more than that there was something.

It had started about an hour ago with a sonar blip that should have been thrown out with the noise. But it comes back a few minutes later, and then a few minutes after that. Now there were half a dozen symbols on the monitor where it had appeared for a few seconds, and then disappeared. Something about this whole situation just set Dover on edge, and he simply couldn't figure out what. He was the Evans' Tactical Action Officer, the captain expected him to know everything about what was going on near the ship, but he had no idea what this was. That blatant breach in duty was more than a little upsetting.

He leaned in his seat and grabbed his coffee mug off the desk. Dover was a tall and well built, but lithe rather than muscular. He had fair skin, even features, and wore his light brown hair in a crew cut. He wore the same blue coveralls as the rest of the crew members in the Combat Information Center, but he also wore the ring of the US Naval Academy and a simple, gold wedding band. Raising his voice, he asked, "I don't suppose you know what this phantom is, Ski?"

"Well sir," replied Sonar Technician 2nd Class Steven Wazinski. He pulled his headset off and turned to look at Dover, "It's faint, moving slowly, and the only reason I haven't thrown it out as noise is because the lieutenant is paranoid." Wazinski, Ski to his friends, was a thin, reedy man who wore a pair of thick eyeglasses on the end of his nose. The picture of a stereotypical computer geek.

"The moment I stop being paranoid is the moment I take off this uniform, Ski," Dover shot back, "Try again."

Wazinski sighed, then rubbed his eyes tiredly, "I've been going over the tapes for the last twenty minutes, sir, and the best I can give you is that it sort of sounds like machinery noises. But it also isn't firm enough for me to classify."

"But there could be something?" Dover asked, "A submarine perhaps?"

"If it were a sub sir, it would be a rather unintelligent sub," Wazinski replied, "With the seas up this high, all a sub would have to do to hide from us, would be to go deep. We would never hear them in all this crap the storm is kicking up. Dover nodded in acceptance of that. A pop up storm had swept over the Evans and her task group about an hour ago, and it was only getting worse with every passing minute. Already the deck had taken on a fifteen degree roll, and Dover had almost lost his coffee several times. The strange thing was, the Evans had passed the outer edges of the storm at about the same time that the phantom had appeared. Something about that tickled the back of Dover's mind, but he just couldn't figure out what.

"Well, keep at it, ski," Dover replied with a sigh.

"Aye sir," Wazinski said, then pulled his headset back over his ears. Dover sighed, then rubbed his hands together in a vain attempt to work some feeling back into his fingers.

It must have been below sixty degrees in the CIC today, because he was because he was beginning to lose feeling in his extremities. He muttered angrily, "The Navy can build a multi-billion dollar warship with all the bells and whistles but yet they can't make a thermostat that can do more than blazing hot or freezing cold." He shouldn't have said it, and he knew it. This whole situation was just rubbing him the wrong way.

Operation's Specialist 3rd Class Sally Gregg jumped on the remark before Dover could say anything else, "But sir, a military contractor designed and built that thermostat to do a specific job, and do that job in any condition at any time. They just that they made sure that its job was to give everyone in the CIC hypothermia." Dover let out a chuckle, he had to give Greg that one. Greg was a petite woman who was always one crack away from captain's mast. She joked when she was bored, when she was tense, and sometimes just for fun. Dover tolerated it for the most part, but he was quick to step in whenever she went too far.

"So, OS3, since you have weighed your opinion on the matter, give me a sitrep," Dover ordered. Greg stood up from her chair and walked over to the situation monitor, careful not to lose her footing against the rolling deck.

Using her finger to point, she began, "We are here, the other two DDGs and the one cruiser in our group are here and here. We have one civilian freighter, the MV Ocean Flyer, here," she pointed to each of the symbols marking the ships on the monitor, "Ski's phantom is here following this course, if the contact is to be believed."

"Thank you, Greg," Dover replied, "Any recommendations?"

"That if this phantom is actually out there, it's probably some cabin cruiser that got lost in the storm. Radar has no track on it, so it's probably small, and it's moving too slowly for anything else. Give the bridge a warning, and leave it alone, sir."

"Thank you OS3," Dover said, then took another healthy swallow from his coffee.

"Wait, you think this has something to do with the disappearances, don't you?" Gregg asked, causing Dover to almost drop his coffee. There had been reports of ships vanishing without a trace making the rounds through the surface community for months now. So far it had been civilian freighters, and there had been no witnesses found. For all intents and purposes, those ships had simply fallen off the face of the earth. The Navy denied it, of course, but Dover had his own opinions on the matter.

"Why would you think that?" Dover asked, trying to regain his composure.

"Oh come on," Greg said, rolling her eyes, "Heavy storm in the middle of nowhere, phantom contact stalking a ship. If this isn't the plot of a crappy horror flick than I'll eat my cover."

"The disappearances are just coincidences," Dover replied.

"That's what they want you to think, sir," Greg replied, "But thirty or so ships vanishing without a trace in the space of a month? That sounds like more than a coincidence to me." Dover shook his head, trying to figure out where this conversation was going.

Wazinski beat him to it though, "And I'm sure our phantom is an alien space monster about to gobble us up?"

"I'm not discounting that theory," Greg said, crossing her arms over her chest, "Then again, for all we know it's simply two big whales making a small whale, or some sort of magma flow," she continued, her grin growing even larger, "Or maybe it's a phantom Russian submarine. Ski, do you hear a bunch of sailors singing the Soviet anthem off key?"

"Fuck you too, Greg," Ski replied, then threw a pen in Greg's direction.

She ducked to avoid it, then said, "See, he does. I bet they're really off key then." Her smirk was splitting her face at this point. Dover simply shook his head, trying to hide the smirk that had formed on his lips.

He had to cough to get their attention, "Lock it up you two. Remember you're still on watch." Friendly banter was one thing, but when it interrupted discipline that there were problems.

"Aye sir," Greg replied with a sigh and a pout. She walked back over to her station and flopped down into her seat. Her suggestion stuck in Dover's head for some reason. Maybe it was some sort of Russian sub, or a Chinese sub.

He was thinking about phantom submarines and space aliens when the information system technician at the communications station, announced, "Sir, comms shack is passing down something. I think you'll want to hear this."

"What is it?" Dover asked, standing up.

"Sir, that freighter, it's broadcasting on channel 16." Everyone in the room suddenly went silent. Channel 16 was the international maritime distress channel. Transmitting on that channel was the maritime equivalent of an airplane saying that one of its engines had just exploded.

Dover snapped his fingers to get everyone's attention, then began to give rapid fire orders, "Get back to commo, try to get more information. Someone pull the registry information on the MV Ocean Flyer. I want to know its type, tonnage, nationality, all that, and then pass over the situation over the net to the other ships. Make sure that everyone in the task group acknowledges the situation." There was a sudden frenzy of activity as the crew in the CIC went to work. Dover picked up his own headset, and flipped the switch to engage the intercom to the bridge.

While he waited for the OOD to pick up, he took a look up at the situation monitor. The Ocean Flyer was stuck right in the worst part of the storm. He shuddered a bit, to have an emergency in this type of weather, that crew must be going through hell right now. Finally, someone on the bridge picked up the intercom. "Bridge," it was the voice of Lieutenant Commander Sarah Wright, the Evans' XO.

"Bridge, CIC, ma'am we just got a channel 16 message from a civilian freighter about two miles to our north," Dover replied.

"What's the problem?" Wright asked. Dover looked down at the transcript print out that the IT had handed him.

"They've lost engine power and are flooding. Ma'am, in these seas…" Dover began to say but was cut off.

"I understand lieutenant. Stand by for further orders, Bridge out." Dover heard a click as Wright hung up the handset.

Dover looked over at the comms station, "Keep me up to date, anything that comes over the wire." A moment later, he felt the ship begin to lean as it started to turn. They were moving to aid the Flyer, he just hoped they could get there in time.

"Aye, sir," replied the IT a moment later. Dover entered a few commands on his computer, and flashed up a feed from the gun director on top of the bridge. He swept the camera around, looking for anything, but all he could see was rain and clouds. Hell, he could barely see the destroyer two hundred yards in front of the Evans. "Damn this storm is getting heavy," he swore to himself.

"Don't like a good storm, lieutenant?" Dover looked up just in time to see Master Chief Rowin Boggs walk into the room. Boggs was short, barrel chested, and crew cut. He was the highest ranking enlisted man on the ship, the command master chief, and not someone you wanted to cross.

"I like storms just fine, Master Chief," Dover replied, "It's just when we try to rescue people in the middle of one."

"What's the story on that?" Boggs asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Apparently they lost power. No clue how," Dove replied, then he raised his voice so the crew could hear him clearly, "But I'm still waiting on a full report."

"Got it right here, el-tee," Greg said. She walked over and passed a sheet of paper to Dover. "Short version, MV Ocean Flyer is a dry bulk freighter. Owned by a multinational concern, but flagged in Japan."

"So a standard rescue job," Boggs said, "Storm will make things lively, but no big deal. Any chance to show Coasties that we can do rescue too."

"Sir, update on the phantom," Wazinski called, causing Dover to look up in surprise, "Re-established the contact about five miles away, bearing 020. It's beginning to firm up, definitely machinery noises."

"Put it up on the board," Dover said, then stood up.

"What's this?" Boggs asked, confusion evident on his voice.

"Phantom contact we established about an hour ago," Dover explained. He walked over to the situation monitor and began to trace the line the phantom made. When he saw where it ended, he swore, "Son of a bitch."

"What?" Boggs snapped.

Dover ignored the Master Chief, instead ordering, "IT, tell comms to try to raise this phantom."

After the IT replied in the affirmative, Boggs repeated, "Lieutenant, what is the problem?"

"This phantom," Dover explained, "We've been picking it up sporadically for the last hour. Every time Ski made contact he marked the position. At its current course, the line intersects here." Dover raised his hand to trace the course line created by the phantom, ending with his finger pointing to the symbol that marked the Ocean Flyer.

"You're thinking disappearances?" Boggs asked.

"I'm thinking I don't know yet, but this whole situation just seems wrong," Dover replied with a sigh, then asked, "Any replies to hail?"

"No sir, no replies on any channel," the IT replied. Dover slammed his fist into the desk in frustration.

He shook his head, then commented, "We should be in visual range of the Flyer, I'll try to get them on the monitor." He went to work at his station, sending commands to the camera mounted in the mast. The monitor showing the camera feed shifted as Dover panned the camera around.

"You weren't kidding, it is soup out there," Boggs said with a low whistle. The camera feed was almost completely obscured by haze and rain. A moment later the camera centered on a ship. Dover could make out details. It was a run of the mill freighter, long and squat. They could see it was in trouble. The waves were throwing it around so violently, that water occasionally washed over the deck.

"Looks like we got here just in time," Dover said. He stared at the screen for a few more seconds, trying to figure out what was wrong with the freighter, but all he saw was a ship stranded in a storm.

"Sir, the phantom just dropped off again," Wazinski said with a sigh.

"You lost it?" Dover asked, turning to look at Wazinski.

"No sir, it just stopped. Like it vanished…," Wazinski trailed off, then went pale.

"Ski, sitrep," Boggs barked, beating Dover to the punch.

"Sir, loud explosion on the bearing of 040. Sir, it came from the phantom," Wazinski shouted.

"What?" Dover asked, turning to stare at Wazinski's console.

"Sir, it sounded like a shot being fired, almost like a naval rifle," Wazinski explained.

One of the radar consoles began sounding a rapid beeping alarm. Greg announced a moment later, "Lieutenant, new radar contact. Fast mover on the bearing of 034. Estimate range 300, speed… well over a thousand FPS."

"Missile?" Dover barked. He was about to ask more questions, when the Ocean Flyer blew up. The monitor displaying the freighter pulsed with light and a fireball rose from the ship's center. A moment later a string of secondary detonations pulsed along its length. Soon there was nothing left of the ship but floating pieces of flaming wreckage.

Without even thinking about it, Dover grabbed his headset, and tripped the bridge intercom, "Bridge, CIC, the Ocean Flyer has been destroyed."

A moment later Commander Lee Jones, the Evans' captain replied, "We saw it, CIC. What caused it?"

"Sir, sonar has been tracking a faint contact. We heard the sound of a naval rifle being fired on its last known bearing a second before the Flyer was destroyed. Radar also reports incoming shells before the explosion, source unknown."

"You think they were destroyed by gunfire?" Jones asked, a note of concern in his voice.

"Yes, sir, I do," Dover replied his voice firm with conviction.

Dover heard a muffled reply over the intercom, almost like Jones was holding the handset away from his head as he ordered, "Sound general quarters." A moment later the unmistakable bong-bong-bong sound of the general alarm ripped through the ship. The CIC broke into a frenzy as the crewmen prepared the Evans for battle. Safeties were removed, weapons were readied for use, and firing keys were inserted into consoles. All told it probably only took 30 seconds to complete the process, but for Matt Dover, it seemed like an eternity.

Finally, he trusted his voice enough to bark, "Ski, I want bearing to target."

"035," the reply came back an instant later, "It's moving again, right towards us."

"Greg, backtrack that radar, find the source of those shells," Dover barked.

"Same bearing, similar range," Gregg replied an instant later, "Probably same source." Dover began to furiously type commands into his console, putting up feeds from every mounted on the Evans. They had to get a picture of what they were facing, and fast. If spotting a ship in the twilight gloom is difficult, spotting a ship in the twilight gloom during the middle of a storm is next to impossible. Dover scanned the area frantically with the cameras, looking for something, anything.

He didn't see the ship, what he saw were the orange yellow pulses of guns firing. The stabs of light left searing afterimages in his eyes, and left him stunned.

Greg barked almost immediately, "New radar track, more shells."

It was Master Chief Boggs who spoke first, "The fuck is that?"

"Our phantom," Wazinski replied in a flat tone, "That's what we've been tracking." The guns obscured the ship with a thick, white smoke, gunpowder smoke Dover realized. It took several seconds before it cleared enough for details to be made out. The thing was short and squat. It had a double casemate bristling with guns, and a pair of round, double turrets mounted fore and aft. Dover had seen something like this before, when he had been on leave in Tokyo. He had visited a ship similar to that one, but it was a museum.

"What the hell is a pre-dreadnought battleship doing here?" he asked, confused, "And why is it firing at us?"

The intercom buzzed in his ear, cutting off any further discussion, "CIC, Bridge tell me you have a firing solution on the battleship at 035?"

"Negative, they do not show up on radar. Repeat I do not have a firing solution," Dover replied, "Best I can give you is the 5" in local control." Dover was cut off when one of the monitors showed an image of one of the other destroyers in the formation bursting into flame. It heeled out of line, severely damaged. Dover had no idea which ship it was, and he didn't have time to figure out. If he didn't move quickly, that would be his ship next.

"Goddamn," Boggs said with a low whistle, "That thing packs a punch."

"It's a battleship Master Chief," Wazinski replied, "They were sort of designed to chew up tin cans like us."

Dover ignored the conversation listening to his headset. Jones growled from the bridge, "Dammit, lieutenant, do something about that before more people die. Batteries release at your discretion."

"Aye sir, batteries released," Dover replied, then snapped his fingers, "Weps, engage the track with the five inch, rapid fire."

Ensign Lewis Rodgers, the current weapons officer replied, "Five inch, rapid fire, aye sir."

"Fire," Dover shouted. They couldn't hear it this deep in the ship, but they could definitely see it on their screens. The gun spat an orange tracer with a small puff of grayish smoke, spitting the empty shell casing onto the deck. A second later it barked again, then again. Dover watched with tense anticipation as the first shell crossed the distance to the battleship.

He was horrified when it exploded against the battleship's side, leaving no apparent damage. As if it had been annoyed by the Evans' pinprick, the battleship disappeared in fire as it's guns rippled.

"Radar contact," Greg barked, "It's shooting at us now."

"Batteries release, intercept the incoming," Dover ordered. Theoretically the Evans could shoot the incoming shells out of the sky, but the task was beyond difficult. The practice had once been compared to shooting a bullet out of the sky with another bullet, while riding a horse, but at this point Dover was willing to try anything.

"Roger, killing with birds," Rogers stated calmly, "CIWS to full auto." The foredeck suddenly disappeared in flames as a pair of SM-6 missiles lifted off from the VLS deck. The two gleaming spears quickly turned and sped off towards the battleship. A split second later they detonated into clouds of expanding smoke and shrapnel. Almost as an afterthought, the Phalanx close in weapons system on the rear deck barked, sending a stream of depleted uranium slugs arcing off into the sky. Dover thought he saw it connect with an artillery shell, but it was too dark to be certain.

"Did we kill them all?" Boggs asked, right before the ship shuddered from a hit aft.

"That would be a no," Dover replied dryly. He had to grab on to his seat as the Evans heeled sharply. The captain was maneuvering heavily now, trying to throw off the aim of the next salvo. "Damn it," Dover growled, "It's like we're throwing spitballs at a brick wall." The five inch kept barking, spitting tracers at the monster of a ship. It had been joined by the other guns in the formation now, but they were doing little to the monster but scorch its hull coating.

"Damn thing must have at least an inch of armor," Boggs muttered, "Our 5" was never designed to be armor piercing."

Dover nodded his acknowledgement of the point when Jones's voice came over the intercom, "Lieutenant, ripple fire missiles as fast as you can. Lead them in on beams if you have to. We need to kill this bastard." Dover mentally kicked himself for not thinking of that sooner. The SM-6 anti aircraft missile could be guided in via a radar beam. They didn't need to have a radar contact to do that.

"Aye sir," he replied, then looked at Rogers, "Ripple fire SMs in semi-active. Have them ride a beam."

"Aye aye," Rogers replied, then began to enter commands into his station. A moment later he barked, "Salvo away." The ship shuddered again as SM-6 anti-air missiles blasted out of her VLS cells. "Birds away, engaging kill track 22 double 0." The Evans was once more obscured by flame as missiles flew from her VLS deck. They quickly gained altitude before diving towards the battleship, homing in on the point of radio energy being emitted from the Evans. The other ships in the formation must have had the same idea, because Dover could see more missiles on his screen.

Several of them flew past the target, their complicated computer guidance systems unable to understand the orders they had been given. Others struck home, detonating their warheads in sharp pulses of light. While they had done some damage, the SM-6 was never designed to attack an armored target. The damage it was inflicting was slight at best.

The battleship shrugged off the hits like they were nothing. "Pretty sure we're just making it angry," Greg commented dryly.

Its rate of fire increased, sending dozens of shells at the attacking Americans. Evans kept swatting shells from the sky with its CIWS mounts, but it couldn't stop all of them. The only reason the destroyer hadn't been sunk was that the monster was spreading attention between all the American ships. The destroyers were maneuvering wildly now, trying to dodge the fire it was pumping out, and pumping 5" rounds into it as quickly as their guns could cycle. Missiles were flying in every direction now, but most of them harmlessly flew past. 'We are dueling a battleship in the dark like it's 19 fucking 43' Dover thought angrily. Finally, he shouted, "Weps, can you do anything else? Hell, torpedo the son of a bitch if you have to."

"Torps wouldn't do much," Rogers replied, "Mk 50's are sub killers, nowhere near enough punch to take out that bastard."

Boggs slammed his fists into the desk, causing everyone in the CIC to turn and look, "Damnit, we have to do something other than hurl insults at this thing." They watched in horror as one of the other destroyers, the Mustin he thought, took a round to the bridge. It exploded, and he knew instinctively that no one had survived the blast.

"The Master Chief is right," Dover said, "Launch LRASMs on bearing only. One of them is bound to hit."

"We only have six," Rogers said with a sigh.

"If we have to sink, lets at least get the torpedoes off first," Dover said with a wistful smile.

"Sir?" Greg asked, confused.

"Something someone in my position said once, during a similar situation to this," Dover explained.

The radar alarm went off again, and Greg said, "Well whatever you are planning you better do it soon, my screen just lit up like a Christmas tree. I've got half a dozen new contacts, they just… appeared."

"Where away?" Dover snapped.

"Everywhere, sir," Greg replied. All eyes turned to the camera feed as the world around the Evans lit up with the flashes of gunfire. They all cringed, waiting for the shot that would end them, but it never came. Instead, several shells impacted the battleship, and unlike the Evans' popgun, these did real damage. The battleship's forward turret exploded, sending shrapnel flying in every direction.

"What's going on, Greg?" Dover asked. He was staring at the situation monitor, watching as radar contact symbols popped up on the screen. Something moving caught his eye on the camera feed, and he was stunned when he recognized it. Nosing its way out of the storm was the knife sharp bow of a cruiser. An American cruiser, an old cruiser. He didn't know the exact class, but it was one of those built before WWII. It had three triple turrets mounted forward, only two of which were visible.

"Random ass one hundred year old battleships, only makes sense we get rescued by a ship from war two," Boggs said. The cruiser continued firing its guns, the hits dealing telling damage against the battleship. A similar ship appeared directly behind it, adding its own fire to the mix. Then something else caught Dover's eye. Moving up the other side of the Evans was the sleek form of a destroyer, a type that he was intimately familiar with. With its twin funnels and five 5" guns, its shape was unmistakable. It was a Fletcher. "It gets better, Master Chief," Dover said, a smile coming to his lips, "The small boys are making their run."

The Fletcher cut across the Evans' bow, giving the larger ship a wide berth. A second Fletcher, then a third, and a fourth emerged from the storm, following their van leader. As one, the four destroyers began to fling torpedoes into the water, sending more than a dozen towards the battleship.

"Sir," Wazinski exclaimed, excitement in his voice, "Hydrophone effects, torpedoes in the water."

"I am aware," Dover replied, dismissing the sonar operator with a wave of his hand, "They're ours." It took about two minutes for the Fletcher's torpedoes to reach the battleship, but by the time they struck, its fate had already been sealed. Burning and dead in the water from the damage it had taken, it could do nothing to dodge the incoming torpedoes. They detonated, sending towering columns of water into the air. It wasn't long before the battleship began to roll over, quickly slipping beneath the waves. The CIC was filled with exultant cheers as the crew expressed their relief and joy.

"I hope you were recording that," Dover said, breaking the festive mood.

"From start to finish," Greg replied with a grin, "It'll probably get a million views on YouTube."

Dover shook his head when Commander Jones' voice interrupted him, "CIC, you have any idea what the hell just happened?"

Laughing, Dover replied, "As soon as we figure it out, you'll be the first to know." Looking back he realized just how ridiculous the whole situation seemed. A pre-dreadnought battleship appearing out of nowhere and attacking them for no reason. Then the sudden reinforcements? There was something to this situation beyond what it appeared, and it would probably take Matt Dover the better part of a week to figure it out. Right now though, he had other things on his mind. "Greg, you have the deck."
"Aye sir, I have the deck," Greg replied. Dover gave her a quick nod, then ducked out of the space. He made his way up to the deck. The storm seemed to have died, leaving broken clouds in its wake. He stood on the weather deck, staring out at the ocean for a long moment. He didn't want his subordinates to see how much his hands were shaking right now. He retrieved a cigar from his pocket and lit it with a zippo.

When he looked back up, he saw that one of the Fletcher's had come up alongside the Evans. Then Matt Dover saw something that he would remember for the rest of his life. Standing on the Fletcher's bridge wing facing him, was a young woman, a girl . Slowly, she brought her hand up in salute. He returned the gesture with a level of ceremony that would have been welcome at the parade grounds outside Annapolis. It was only later that he questioned what a girl was doing standing on a destroyer.

 

[theJMPer]

Now that is how you write steel-hulls. More please?

 

[Breakaway25]

Now that is how you write steel-hulls. More please?

Click to shrink...

In the process, probably in a few days as I work through a backlog of homework.

 

[Kerashana]

You have my attention, please continue.

Really though, great work with this. Hope to see more soon.
Cheers!

 

[Skychan]

I mostly skip out on these stories because there just usually isn't enough plot within the stories for me, but your intro paragraph grabbed my attention and I'm really glad it did after reading that chapter. A very good job and I liked everything about it.

The only thing I'm a bit confused by is why in those two minutes of torpedo travel we haven't seen attempts to contact the strange friendlies on the wireless yet.

 

[CompassJimbo]

The only thing I'm a bit confused by is why in those two minutes of torpedo travel we haven't seen attempts to contact the strange friendlies on the wireless yet.

Click to shrink...

Probably sheer WTF factor mixed with "Try not to distract them while they save our asses."

 

[theJMPer]

They're also ships from WWII. Modern radios aren't configured to talk to them, and it'd probably take some tweaking to get the right frequencies/etc.

 

[Breakaway25]

The only thing I'm a bit confused by is why in those two minutes of torpedo travel we haven't seen attempts to contact the strange friendlies on the wireless yet.

Click to shrink...

TAO really doesn't control the comms shack, and the CO had more pressing things to worry about.

Let's just say that there was a flurry of comms traffic imediately after the battle

 

[Skychan]

TAO really doesn't control the comms shack, and the CO had more pressing things to worry about.

Let's just say that there was a flurry of comms traffic imediately after the battle

Click to shrink...

I was just surprised we didn't see/notice any of it going on. As for the CO I would think that getting in communication with the ships that just saved his command would be a pretty significant thing to worry about

As far as radios not being able to communicate between 1910 to 1940 to 2000 I was going to state how wrong theJMPer was, but then realized you only said it would take tweaking. I agree, but it wouldn't take much more than flipping a few switches. While digital to digital radios can have some significant communications issues, Analog radio only requires finding the correct frequencies to communicate with one another. Something that shouldn't require too much time given that they are all naval ships, and should have records for what channels were and are used, not to mention the ability to scan for transmissions.

I would be shocked to learn that modern US vessels do not have any analog transmission capability. That is the only situation which could cause problems, other than modern operators not necessarily being proficient enough in morse code if the other ships are not new enough to have voice transmission.

 

[theJMPer]

Yeah, I didn't say they couldn't do it at all. But it'd require at least flipping though reference books to find the right frequencies. Not long in the grand scheme of things, but long enough to push first radio contact over into the next chapter.

 

[Breakaway25]

Plus a signal lamp would be a more likely candidate for first contact, so to speak.

 

[Breakaway25]

NS Pearl Harbor
Honolulu, HI
22 June 2020
0420hrs

There were few things that annoyed Captain Robert Jeffery. Being woken up in the middle of the night was one of them. So when he woke to the sound of his phone ringing, he was more than a little ticked off. "Jeffery," he growled, snatching the offending telephone with all the grace of a man who has had less than three hours sleep.

"Sir," Jeffery could almost hear the hesitation in the voice on the other end, "I'm sorry to disturb you, but there's a situation developing. The Admiral wants you at Pacific Fleet headquarters within the hour."

"What's going on?" Jeffery replied, taking a deep breath to prevent himself from shouting.

"Sir, all I was told was to inform you to report to the headquarters," the reply came.

'What that means, is that I have no idea, stop arguing with me you crazy officer so I can do my job,' Jeffery thought, he replied, "I'll be there in half an hour. Is there anything else?"

"No sir, goodnight sir," the line disconnected so fast that Jeffery could practically hear the phone on the other end being slammed down.

"Honey, what's going on," Jeffery mentally cursed himself, he had accidentally woken up his wife. While Barbara was a very understanding woman, but she didn't like being woken up any more than he did.

"Nothing, the Admiral just wants me to come in for a bit, that's all," he said.

"What's wrong?" Barbara asked.

"I don't know," Jeffery replied, "Probably something stupid like one of my ships ran aground, again. I'll be home soon." He leaned over to give her a quick kiss, then stood up. He walked over to a closet and pulled on a uniform. Jeffery was a man of average height and average build. He wore hs salt and pepper hair just long enough to part. In other words the picture of a salty captain, even though he hadn't been to sea in months.

It took him about forty five minutes to reach the headquarters building. The drive had given him plenty of time to think, and he didn't particularly like the thought that kept running through his head. If the Admiral had simply called him in the middle of the night, he would have been worried. The Admiral had requested his personal presence. That could only mean that something significant had happened, something that couldn't be explained over the telephone. Jeffery couldn't stop the idea that kept coming back. Something had happened to one of his ships.

Someone had told him once that being a squadron commander was a lot less stressful than captaining a ship. Jeffery now knew that that was pure and utter bullshit. There were six ships under his direct command, and if something had happened to any of them, he didn't think he would be able to forgive himself.

He was met by a yeoman when he stepped into the building. The man gave him a look over, then said tiredly, "If you would please come with me, sir."

"What's this all about?" Jeffery asked.

"All I know is that the Admiral said to get you into his office as quickly as possible sir," he said. The yeoman led him to an office door, then knocked.

A moment later Jeffery heard the occupant shout, "Come." The yeoman helpfully held the door open for Jeffery, then closed the door behind the captain.

"You wanted to see me, Admiral?" Jeffery asked once he was alone with the Admiral.

Rear Admiral James Smith looked up from a stack of paper, and said, "Have a seat Bob. Sorry to get you up at this ungodly hour."

"It's no problem, Admiral," Jeffery replied, taking a seat in one of the chairs pushed up against the wall.

"I was a captain once," Smith replied with a wan smile, "I understand how annoying it is to be dragged out of bed by the brass."

"Sir, may I ask what this is about?" Jeffery asked, getting right to the point.

"You are going to hear more of this at the morning briefing, but a few hours ago a dozen of our ships were attacked. They are reporting major damage, and at least four ships are confirmed to be destroyed."

Jeffery had a panicky thought run through his head, 'He called me in to tell me one of my ships got blown away. He is about to tell me that people under my command died while I was asleep.'

As if Smith was reading Jeffery's mind, he continued, "What I'm about to tell you comes with that caveat that we don't have the full picture yet."

"But?" Jeffery asked in a tone that said, 'Do not bullshit me.'

"The Halsey and Higgins got hit, Bob. Hit bad." Jeffery's eyes went wide, and he felt a ball of ice forming in the pit of his stomach. Those were his ships. Members of his squadron.

Finally he managed to croak, "How bad?"

"Higgins lost her engines and is under tow," Smith replied, sliding a sheet of paper across his desk, "Here's what we have. It's not much."

"What are the casualties?" Jeffery asked, looking Smith straight in the eye.

"Severe," Smith replied, sighing, "I can't give you an exact number, Bob, simply because I don't know."

Jeffery stared at the sheet of paper for a long moment, before asking, "Sir, who did this?"

"We don't know," Smith replied.

"You don't know?" Jeffery shouted, "My ships are being attacked, my men killed, and you don't know who fucking did it!" He stood up and slammed his fists down on Smith's desk.

"Captain," Smith said an ice in his voice that was rarely heard, "Get ahold of yourself. Losing your temper is not going to help anyone."

Jeffery took a deep breath, then said, "I apologize sir. It won't happen again." He fell back into his chair. It let out a loud whumph as it took his weight. Smith didn't reply, he simply pulled open a drawer in his desk. He came back a moment later with a bottle of expensive scotch and two glasses. He looked a Jeffery, who replied with a nod of his head. 'I could definitely use a drink right now,' Jeffery thought, bitterly.

"Things are happening fast, captain," Smith said, sliding the now full glass across the desk, "We may very well be at war. I need you here leading your ships, Bob, because that's the only way we're going to stop more kids from being shipped home in body bags."

"I understand," Jeffery replied, taking a long swig from the glass, letting the whiskey burn his throat. He no longer felt angry, he simply felt tired. Then he had another thought, of a more personal nature, "Do you have any information on the Mustin?"

Smith twisted his face up in thought for a second, then replied, "Isn't she with 7th Fleet right now? Why do you ask?"

"Emily is doing her first tour aboard her right now," Jeffery replied.

"Your daughter? I didn't know she was out of the Academy," Smith replied, taking a pull from his own glass, "I don't know, Bob, but I'll see what I can find out."

"Thanks Jim, I'd appreciate it," Jeffery replied. He downed the last of his glass, then said, "I may as well try to get in touch with my ships. Is there anything else, sir?"

"Go, take care of your squadron," Smith replied, gesturing for him to leave, "I'll pass on what I hear." Jeffery nodded, then left the office. The only thing he could think about on his way over to his own office, was about his daughter. He had no idea if she was safe or not, and that terrified him more than anything else he had ever felt before

-[]-[]-[]-​

USS Evans

"So are they just going to sit there?" Matt Dover looked over to see that Master Chief Boggs had joined him on the weather deck. He turned back to look at where the two cruisers and four destroyers had fallen in behind their modern counterparts.

"They haven't responded to radio calls, signal lamps, hell we even tried letting Greg wave her semaphore flags," Dover replied, sighing, "There they sit, not getting closer, and not leaving." He had to admit to himself that he was a little disappointed the mystery ships were ignoring them. He would have loved to talk to the skipper of one of those Fletcher's.

"Think they're related to that phantom battleship?" Boggs asked, not looking away from the ships.

Dover shot the Master Chief a questioning look, then said, "Master Chief, we had a random pre-dreadnought battleship appear out of nowhere, and then had our asses saved by a bunch of ships that should not be following us like dogs after a steak. None of this situation makes any sense." He had been replaying the incident from start to finish in his mind for hours now, and just about the only thing he could gleam from his memories, was that none of it should have been possible. You get used to living in a world where everything works a certain way. Then it decides to go, "Fuck it," and throw all logic and sense out the window. Dover would have accepted any explanation at this point.

"You figure out which ones they are yet?" Boggs asked, changing the subject.

"The cruisers are St. Louis class, which means it's Lou and Helena, two ships that stopped existing years ago," Dover replied. That had taken some doing to find out. The ship's internet link had been destroyed in the attack. Luckily they had been able to find an old copy of Janes Fighting Ships of WWII in the Evans' library..

"So then they're ghost ships?" Boggs asked. How he was able to say that with a straight face escaped Dover.

"Certainly a better theory than Greg's aliens mimicking old ships idea," Dover replied, rolling his eyes, "That girl watches too much anime."

"Am I interrupting something?"

Dover spun around in surprise. Commander Lee Jones was standing in a hatchway, watching them. Jones was a tall, black man who had never quite lost his linebacker build.

"Just a bullshit session, skipper," Boggs replied, "Don't think you know what our friends out there are, do you?"

"The most beautiful goddamned ships I've ever seen, that's what they are," Jones replied, "When they came charging out of the storm, why it was like a scene from a western. You could almost hear someone sounding the charge as the cavalry rode in to save our sorry asses."

"I'll second that," Boggs said.

"Something you need, skipper?" Dover asked. He highly doubted the captain was out here to have a friendly conversation. The ship was still under repair, and the captain had far more important things to do than bullshit with a couple of his subordinates.

"I just got out of a very interesting conversation with 7th Fleet HQ," Jones began, "But I digress, congratulations are in order, lieutenant commander." Jones tossed something to Dover. He caught it then saw that it was a pair of gold oak leaves stuck to a piece of cardboard. The rank insignia of a Lieutenant Commander

"Sir, what's this?" Dover asked eyes wide with confusion. Was he really being given a promotion to lieutenant commander?

"That," Jones replied, "Is your reward for a good job. It's just a brevet right now, but I'm sure PACFLT will okay it."

"Sir," Dover said with a sigh, "You misunderstand me. Why am I getting this right now?"

Jones was silent for a long moment, before finally replying, "I'm sure you know we took a beating. Mustin lost her CO, OOD, and a dozen odd senior personnel. 7th Fleet decided that it would be easiest to assign her a new CO from within the task force, they decided on Ms. Wright."
"So the XO's finally getting a command?" Boggs asked, "About damn time if you ask me."

Dover had to agree with the Master Chief, but there was something else that was bothering him, "Then who's moving into the XO's slot for the Evans?"

"You're looking at him," Jones replied, inclining his head towards Dover, "Congratulations, XO." Dover was stunned speechless. He felt like someone had just punched him in the gut. He couldn't be an XO. Command officer's had years of training, he had six months at department head school. "Why am I not hearing jubilant cries of satisfaction? Most people would kill for this sort of thing," Jones asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Sir, I'm not ready for this," Dover replied, truthfully.

'Well that is neither here nor there, commander," Jones replied, "This ship needs a number two man, and right now that is you. I could give it to Greg if you don't want it."

"I understand sir," Dover said, "Thank you, sir."

"Well then, your first order of business is to figure out what the hell our guests are doing," Jones said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at the mystery ships, "When I tried to tell the Admiral about them, he laughed at me. Would you believe it? I had to show him our film before he believed me."

"Yes sir," Dover replied, trying to hide the smile that was forming on his face.

"Anyway, good luck, exec," Jones said, slapping Dover on the back. The force of the impact sent Dover staggering. Jones let out a hearty laugh, then walked away.

Finally regaining his breath, Dover asked, "What the hell just happened, Master Chief?"

"That, Commander, is what we refer to as a battlefield promotion," Boggs replied. Dover shot him a scathing look. A commotion from the deck below caused him to look up in confusion.

"What's going on?" he shouted.

"Sir," someone replied, "Look." Dover looked out at the water, and blinked in surprise. They mystery ships were gone. They had simply vanished.

"What the hell is going on here?" Boggs asked, "What's going to happen now, flying cows from Mars?"

"Don't say it out loud," Dover replied, his voice low enough that only Boggs could hear. "What happened?"

"I don't know, sir," the sailor replied, "One minute they were there, and the next…"

"Shit keeps getting weirder," Boggs said, ignoring Dover's earlier advice.

"Sir, look," another sailor shouted. Dover turned to see what looked like several girls standing on the water.

'Hell, that is exactly what it is. They are standing on the water,' he thought. The girls, there were six of them, seemed to be making a beeline for the Evans' fantail. "You don't think…" Dover asked, then quickly added, "Nah."

The girl in the lead stopped just off the fantail, then shouted, "There someone I can talk to?"
"Depends," one of the sailors replied, "On what the fuck you are."

Dover groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose, "Come on, before they some more stupid shit." He darted down to the fantail, hoping to get there before the sailors milling around did something dumb.

He heard the girl's reply while he was running, "I am the cruiser St. Louis, who are you?"

Dover skidded to a stop where he could see all six of the girls, saying loudly, "I am Lieutenant Commander Dover, XO of this ship. Who are you."

St. Louis replied by giving a weak salute, saying, "Cruisers St. Louis, Helena, and a contingent of destroyers reporting, sir."

Dover opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by Boggs muttering under his breath, "I told you it was going to be weird shit."

-[]-[]-[]-​

Fleet Activities Yokosuka

Lieutenant Commander Jack Shimada stood on the dock, staring out at the harbor. He was watching a group of warships as they nosed their way into the harbor. He had been tipped off to their arrival in the harbor by one of his friends in the JMSDF, and he had to get a look for himself. He was an officer of the Office of Naval Intelligence, which meant he keep tabs on everything. These ships had apparently been involved in a battle with the monster ships, and Shimada wanted to get a look at the damage they had taken. The intel he had on that was slim to none, and at this point he would take whatever he could get.

As soon as the bombshell of a major war had been dropped, Shimada went fully into his analyst mode, which meant gathering every shred of intelligence he could lay his hands on. Getting a look at a few ships that had been attacked would give him a wealth of information to forward to the main office. Unsurprisingly, he saw Commander Hisashi Goto standing on the dock. Goto was Shimada's counterpart in the JMSDF Fleet Intelligence command, and the man behind the tip. They had been friends for many years now, and often shared intel unofficially.

"I see that ONI is sparing no expense," Goto said without looking.

"Yeah well, this ought to be the intel coup of the decade. No way I'm going to miss this," Shimada replied.

Goto continued to stare at the approaching ships, asking, "What was the final toll for your navy?"

"You know I can't tell you…" Shimada started to reply.

"How long have we been friends, Jack?" Goto asked, turning to give Shimada a small smile.

"Four ships," Shimada replied with a shake of his head, "Four that we know of."

Goto stood silent for a long moment before replying, "We lost two," adding a second later, "That we know of."

"You guys are the ones obsessed with monsters and spirits, what do you think did this?" Shimada asked a moment later, "Because that's just about the best report I can get, that monsters did it. I would have loved to actually had an intel officer aboard one of our ships who knew the difference between a report and an opinion."

Goto raised a questioning eyebrow, "Monsters? Is that what they call them?"

"The exact wording," Shimada replied, "You know what my boss will think if I tried to push that report up the chain?"

"That you are being funny?" Goto replied.

"That I'm crazy would be more likely," Shimada replied, then shook his head, "Monsters, heh, what's next, aliens? Ghosts?"

"My sailors call them monsters as well, but their wording is more, colorful," Goto said.

"I bet," Shimada quipped. He stared out at the ships, trying to catch any details that he could. One of the destroyers was missing the top part of its mast. It looked like it had been broken off halfway up the structure. The second destroyer had several dents and holes in its superstructure. "They certainly saw a lot," Shimada remarked.

"Destroyers Kongou and Ashigara," Goto explained, "They were in formation with another."

"Which you're not going to tell me about?" Shimada asked.
"No," Goto replied, "Not until we notify the families."

"Intelligence by CNN, the best kind of intelligence," Shimada remarked. The destroyers were close now, close enough for Shimada to see the individual crew. Even burned and damaged, the crews still lined the rails wearing their white uniforms. Something caught Shimada's eye, something moving by one of the ships. When he looked closer, he almost fell into the water. There, pacing along next to the destroyer, was a person, standing on the water.

"You see that, right?" he asked, stunned, "Because I got nothing."

"I do," Goto replied, "That… yeah I have no clue either." They watched as the person, Shimada could see that it was a young woman now, approached the dock. Several more figures appeared from behind the destroyer, but Shimada was focused on the first one. She approached where Shimada and Goto were standing, then stopped just out of reach. They stood staring at each other for several seconds. Shimada couldn't help but stare, she was beautiful. Tall, striking, with flowing brown hair. She was wearing some sort of flowing white gown. Shimada guessed it was ceremonial something or other, but he had no clue.

Then, before he could react, she leapt from the water and caught Shimada in a running tackle. The two rolled across the ground for several feet before coming to a stop. She began spouting rapid fire Japanese, "HELLO, battleship Kongou has returned. It's nice to meet you admiral."

Shimada finally sputtered,, "I'm not an admiral damnit."

"Why wouldn't you be an admiral. You are too handsome to be anything else, Dess." Shimada let out a strangled cry, then looked up at Goto trying to quietly ask the man for help, but he saw that Goto was bellowing with laughter. The bastard was laughing at him, he was actually laughing at him.

"Would you help me with this, you rat bastard?" Shimada croaked. Kongou completely ignored him, deciding instead to keep holding him in a strangle hold of a hug.

"Why?" Goto asked, chuckling, "You seem to be enjoying it."

"Just help me already," Shimada asked again, pleaded really. Goto sighed, then reached down to grab Kongou by the back of of the neck. With a pull he hauled her off of Shimada. The stunned analyst climbed to his feet a second later.

"My boss is going to love this," he finally said, "I can just see the headlines now, 'Japanese battleship returns as attractive human woman, assaults American officer'."

"You are American?" Kongou asked, "You don't look like an American."

"I am," Shimada replied, hesitantly, "Japanese American really." Somehow he knew that was the wrong thing to say.

"Aren't we at war?" Kongou continued, causing Goto to break out laughing again.

"This is going to be a long day, isn't it?" Shimada groaned, raising his hands to his face in consternation.

"Quite probably," Goto replied, then reached down to help Shimada to his feet.

-[]-[]-[]-​

COMDESRON 15
Fleet Activities Yokosuka

Captain Robert Macklin was in a foul mood. Not only had several of his ships been damaged severely, the report they had sent back made no sense. Monster battleships? What kind of insane excuse was that? This was so far from the norm he had no idea what to make of it. There had to be some reason for this report, and it was probably something he wouldn't like.

Macklin was tall in stature, who worked hard to keep his body in peak performance. He liked to joke that he was in as good a shape now as he had been while at the Academy. He had spent several years in ships, before finding his real calling, leading from the shore. Someone had to stay behind to tell the ships where to go and what to do.

But right now he was supposed to be leading this squadron, not constantly cleaning up after the captains under him. Macklin had done his very best to be supportive, and help the men under him. But then they go and do this? He half expected to read a report stating that one of his ships had been sunk, and then he would really be in the shit. There was no way he would ever get his star if that happened.

He sighed, then leaned back in his chair. There had to be some way of dealing with this, some way that wouldn't reflect negatively on himself or hamper his career. He would just have to figure out what had really happen and spin it for the admiral. Maybe he could find some way to make this not seem as bad. He looked towards his door and shouted, "CHIEF."

A second later Master Chief Eddy Riley stuck his head into the office. Riley was the squadron's command master chief. The highest ranking NCO in other words. He took one look at Macklin, then quipped, "You bellowed, sir?"

"Cut the shit, Chief," Macklin said in an exasperated tone, "Just go figure out what the hell happened to my ships."

The NCO stared at Macklin for a long moment, a look of disbelief on his face, "Didn't you hear, sir, about the monster attacks? It's all over the news."

"Not you too," Macklin groaned, placing his head in his hands, "Look, figure out something to tell the admiral that sounds better than, 'The ships got attacked by monsters'."

"Sir, the admiral already called to ask if we had any news about the monsters," the chief said. Macklin stared at the man for a long moment.

"And you didn't think that the little detail about the Admiral calling wasn't important enough to notify me?" Macklin barked. He was beginning to lose his patience with this man.

"Sir, we didn't know anything to tell him, unless you've heard something," the chief hedged.

"Look," Macklin said, biting his lip in an attempt to keep from screaming, "Get the Admiral on the phone. Maybe I can sort this out myself."

"Aye, sir," the chief said, then quickly ducked out of the office. Macklin didn't watch the man leave, he had better things to worry about. Like how the hell he was going to explain this mess when the Admiral inevitably came to yell at him about this. Damn, this was already shaping up to be one shitter of a week.

 

[Skychan]

"You are American?" Kongou asked, startled, "Aren't we at war?"

Click to shrink...

This is the best line of the chapter. Not only has she picked the wrong navy to proudly declare herself subservient to, but one she now realizes she's at war with! Just what will she think or be thinking until things start getting explained to her.

It is funny that she went for him first, though I can only assume it has to do with her construction or memories thereof rather than anything else, as there really isn't a particularly good reason she would otherwise choose the white male in the non-IJN uniform over the Japanese man also not in a to her recognizable IJN uniform.

 

[Breakaway25]

This is the best line of the chapter. Not only has she picked the wrong navy to proudly declare herself subservient to, but one she now realizes she's at war with! Just what will she think or be thinking until things start getting explained to her.

It is funny that she went for him first, though I can only assume it has to do with her construction or memories thereof rather than anything else, as there really isn't a particularly good reason she would otherwise choose the white male in the non-IJN uniform over the Japanese man also not in a to her recognizable IJN uniform.

Click to shrink...

That and I had a random idea bite me last night, and rolled with it. Plus the JMSDF white uniform and the USN white uniform are very similar. To an untrained eye it would be easy to confuse.

 

[Skychan]

That and I had a random idea bite me last night, and rolled with it. Plus the JMSDF white uniform and the USN white uniform are very similar. To an untrained eye it would be easy to confuse.

Click to shrink...

Probably better to say to the impatient and impulsive eye they could be easy to confuse, as a warship should hardly count as untrained.

 

[CompassJimbo]

Bongou Bongou Bongou I don't wanna leave the Kongou oh, no, no, no, no~.

Also, isn't she supposed to be a tad more… loud? While your writing's good, Break, you need to work on effective use of punctuation.

 

[Breakaway25]

Also, isn't she supposed to be a tad more… loud? While your writing's good, Break, you need to work on effective use of punctuation.

Click to shrink...

If you see any problems, please let me know.

 

[XenaC]

I'll place down a placeholder swearing that I'll comment on the text itself at some point as well. Been a bit occupied with only this many hours in a day, unfortunately.

 

[Breakaway25]

Okay figured out how to fix this, I'm going to go through and change names in a bit, but suffice to say Felter's character is nisei. I'll go through and add that fact in when I'm not in class.

 

[Dingdong]

"YOU are American?" Kongou asked, startled, "Aren't we at war?"

"This is going to be a long day, isn't it?" Felter asked, ignoring Kongou.

"Quite probably," Goto replied, then reached down to help Felter to his feet.

Click to shrink...

Well at least Granny Kongou knows how to restrain herself...somewhat. If it had been someone else they might have over reacted in a different...and probably more violent way.

 

[Skychan]

Okay figured out how to fix this, I'm going to go through and change names in a bit, but suffice to say Felter's character is nisei. I'll go through and add that fact in when I'm not in class.

Click to shrink...

Ooh now that is an elegant solution. I like it because then even if the uniform does draw a second look she certainly isn't thinking that this guy almost certainly isn't in my navy! There is much less to clue her in, and it makes the emphasis later more amusing.

 

[Breakaway25]

There, edited the last part of that chapter, hopefully it fixes some of the issues

 

[Breakaway25]

USS Evans
23 June 2020
0902hrs

"They're what?" asked Commander Jones, turning to give Matt Dover a look of confusion and shock.

"The mystery ships, sir," Dover replied, shrugging, "They claim to be the mystery ships." Jones let his head hit his desk with a loud thunk. "Sir?" Dover asked, concerned. 'A fairly appropriate reaction to the bombshell of the day,' he thought, his lips curled in a smirk.

"Why is all this stuff happening now?" Jones asked, ignoring Dover, "Monster battleships and ships who are also girls?"

"It does boggle the mind," Dover replied in a dry tone.

"So, where are the 'shipgirls' now?" Jones asked, sitting up to look Dover in the eye.

"Hangar," Dover replied, making a vague gesture towards the rear of the ship, "Chief Boggs dragged out some cots and put them up in there."

"Fine," Jones began, "Make sure they stay out of trouble and…" he trailed off, making a wild gesture with his hands in an attempt to convey his point.

"Would you like me to deal with this, sir?" Dover asked.

"Please, exec," Jones replied, breathing a sigh of relief, "Fleet's gonna want to know about this soon, and the Commodore is already breathing down my neck. Something about not seeing this coming." Dover rolled his eyes in sympathy. Their current squadron commander was something of a desk jockey, a man who excelled at bureaucracy, and just about nothing else. He also had the disturbing habit of foisting the blame for mistakes off on his subordinates. "But Cover-Your-Ass syndrome is pretty rampant right now," Jones added, "Fleet's pretty much running around like headless chickens."

"And you want me to draw up a report?" Dover asked, raising an eyebrow, "So you can deal with Fleet, and our boss?"

"Please," Jones replied. Dover gave a quick nod, then stood up from his seat. He walked through the shoebox sized room Jones used as his office while at sea. As he was stepping through the hatch, Jones asked, "Do you at least know who they are? Which ships they are… were?"

"The two cruisers are St. Louis and Helena," Dover replied, looking back over his shoulder at Jones, "The destroyers are Nicholas, O'Bannon, Fletcher, and Taylor."

"Anything special?" Jones asked, "I'm sure you looked them up as soon as you knew who they were?"

"One hell of a war record," Dover replied, smiling broadly now, "Of all the ships we could have ended up with, the ones sitting in our hangar certainly know what they're doing."

Jones nodded agreement, "That move the destroyers pulled off, man, that was a thing of beauty."

"I'll second that one, sir. Anything else?" Dover asked.

Jones drummed his fingers on his desk for several seconds before replying, "Nope. Make sure they don't sink my ship, exec. I would be a shame to lose this one after all she's been through."

"Aye, sir," Dover replied, chuckling. He ducked through the hatch and into the passageway beyond. Getting back down to the hangar deck turned into more of a challenge than he figured. While the Evans had come out of the recent battle with light damage, she had still taken damage. The passageways were choked with damage controlmen as they went about their duties of getting the ship back up to fighting shape. Dover was forced to navigate his way through them as he moved. He stepped through the hatch into the hangar almost ten minutes after he had left the skipper's cabin, and was immediately met by the grinning face of St. Louis.

The light cruiser was tall, almost matching Dover's 6'1", with a lean build. She had just the hint of muscle under her clothes. A bright red shock of hair hung low around her shoulders, completely covering her collar. The thing that confused Dover to no end, were her clothes. The ship girls were all wearing rather strange outfits, and he had no idea what had dictated that. What force decides what a ship will wear? Besides NAVSEA.

Then there was the matter of how they wore it. St. Louis was wearing a service white uniform blouse whose sleeves had been rolled up past her elbows. It was, at least, tucked into her denim shorts. She had on a leather vest covering her not unsubstantial chest, and a leather shooter's belt encircling her hips. Two long barrelled, chrome plated revolvers hung from holsters on the belt. At least she didn't have the gun turrets attached to her side like yesterday.

With a wide grin splitting her face, St. Louis said, "Morning XO."

"Jesus, St. Louis, don't jump me like that," Dover exclaimed, trying to catch his breath.

"Call me Lou already," she replied, still grinning from ear to ear, "I ain't formal."

"So I gather," Dover deadpanned. He looked around the space, then noticed something, "Where are Helena and the destroyers?"

Putting a finger to her lips as if in thought, Lou replied, "Oh they went with that big Master Chief, what was his name?"

"Boggs," Dover supplied.

"That's right, Boggs," Lou continued, "They went with Boggs to go get some chow."

"Well, the skipper wants me to get you girls settled," Dover said, "It's not the best quarters, but we should make Japan within a few days."

A loud crashing noise caused Dover to spin around in surprise, just in time to see one of the destroyers dart into the room. She tried to come to a stop, but couldn't find enough purchase on the slick deck. She let out a surprised cry, then tumbled into an undignified heap in on the deck. "You okay?" Lou asked, rushing over to her.

It took Dover a minute to recognize her as O'Bannon. The Fletchers looked almost identical, especially to someone who had known them for less than six hours. They all wore the same outfit, a service blue blouse tucked into a gray pants. They were all about the same height and build, and all looked to be about thirteen.

In fact the only reason that Dover knew that this girl was O'Bannon, was that she was the only one of the group with red hair. That and her insistence on walking around with a sword at her hip. O'Bannon climbed to her feet, and brushed dirt off her blouse. "Ahm okay," she replied.

"BANNIE!"

Dover barely turned around in time to see a second destroyer come sailing through the air and slamming into O'Bannon, sending them both sprawling to the deck. Taylor, he presumed. They did have very similar personalities.

"Oh, geez," Dover said dryly, then walked over to help the destroyers to their feet.

O'Bannon scowled, saying, "You didn't see that."

"See what?" Dover replied, playing along. He was trying very hard to keep himself from grinning.

"Not my fault the deck's slippery there," Taylor said, shrugging, "How was I supposed to know that?"

"What did she do this time?" Dover looked down to see that Nicholas had walked up behind him. He could tell her apart by the service blue jacket she wore draped over her shoulders.

"Just being clumsy," Dover replied, ignoring the dirty look O'Bannon shot him. Then he processed what Nicholas had just said, "What do you mean, now?"

"They got into a contest in the mess," Nicholas replied with a shrug, "Who could stack the most coke cans, and it ended with…" she trailed off, making a vague gesture.

"With broken cans all over the deck and soda everywhere?" Dover guessed.

"Something like that," Nicholas replied, nodding. Dover looked back up as Master Chief Boggs walked in, trailed by Fletcher and Helena.

Helena made a beeline for Dover. She was every bit the spitting image of her sister, except her hair was light blonde, and she was missing the vest and gun belt.

"Sir, I apologize for our actions," she gushed as her eyes stared holes in the deck.

"I understand you had an eventful time," Dover replied, then looked at Boggs, "Master Chief?"

"Nothing that couldn't be handled, sir," Boggs replied. He was wearing one of his ever present scowls, but Dover could see in his eyes that he was amused by this whole situation.

Dover rolled his eyes, then said, "Skipper wants me to make sure that you are all settled. We make port in two days. I assume you can stay out of trouble until then?"

"We'll try, sir," Fletcher replied, her voice soft. Of the destroyers, Fletcher was the easiest for Dover to identify. She had brown hair like Taylor and Nicholas, but she was the only one who wore glasses.

"Until then," Dover continued, "You are under my command. Which means that no one on this ship can order you around…"

"Woo-hoo," O'Bannon cheered, interrupting Dover.

"But," he continued, ignoring the destroyer, "You need to follow any orders I give you. The captain's busy trying to explain to fleet what happened, so until then, I'm your boss." He had a sudden thought, then asked, "I don't suppose you know what that thing was?"

Lou shuddered involuntarily, then replied, "I don't know, but it was damn evil."

"It wasn't a ship," Nicholas replied, matter of factly, "I didn't look like a ship. It looked like a monster."

O'Bannon nodded, "Nick's right, that thing was a damn monster."

"Well, those damn monsters have been popping up all over the world, and we're going to have to deal with them soon rather than later," Dover replied with a sigh, then barked, "Boggs, keep them out of trouble."

"Aye sir," Boggs replied, then fixed the destroyers with a withering glare, causing them to shrink back from sheer terror of Boggs' presence

Dover simply shook his head and stepped out of the space "Soda cans," he muttered with a chuckle. One thing was for certain, his life wasn't boring anymore.

US Fleet Activities Yokosuka

Jack Shimada stood in his office, trying to make sense of the information he had been given. Every bit of information about the attacks had made its way into his office, and now most of it was spread out on his desk as he tried to make connections. Somewhere in the reports and photographs, there was an answer, he just couldn't see it.

Over the last few days, things had been steadily growing worse. The monsters had been popping up all over the world, destroying whatever they saw, then slipping away into the depths. The number of American warships confirmed to be destroyed was up to eight now, and Shimada knew with a grim certainty that that number would only increase as the days dragged on.

Whatever these things were, they'd gotten what they came for. The global shipping lanes were in the process of shutting down. Merchantmen around the world were electing to remain in port rather than risking the voyage across the now hostile sea. Already shortages were beginning to appear as trade froze. In the space of three days these monsters had accomplished more than all the naval powers in the world. If things were not rectified soon, then there would be a global crisis of unmatched proportions.

The thing Shimada couldn't figure out, the real crux of this whole situation, was what these monster ships were. All he knew was that they appeared as warships of the past armed with laughably primitive weapons, but they had still managed to score major victories against the naval powers. No one knew what they were, beyond seemingly unstoppable foes. He was staring at one of the only good pictures he had of a monster ship, and trying to glean any information he could from it.

Shimada dropped the photo in surprise when his computer started sounding an alert. He entered in a few quick commands, and an image came up on the monitor hanging from his wall. ONI's logo appeared on the screen for a few seconds, and then was replaced by the face of Rear Admiral Steven Davies.

Davies was one of the Deputy Directors of Naval Intelligence, and Shimada's boss. "You have something for me?" he barked in his usual gruff tone, "Something about the phantoms?"
"I forwarded you everything I had on the monsters, Admiral," Shimada replied, "Those things are remarkably good at hiding."

"Tell me something I don't know then," Davies replied, dryly.

"That bad?" Shimada asked, picking up on Davies' tone.

Davies sighed then replied, "You're missing out on the insanity that is the Pentagon by being where you are. Just about everyone in Washington is scrambling around right now."

"I bet," Shimada replied, then began, "But that's not why I put in the call."

"So what's this super secret you stumbled into?" Davies asked a questioning look crossing his face.

"Sir, I know this is going to sound crazy, but bear with me," Shimada began.

"Hell of a way to start a brief," Davies interrupted, scoffing. Shimada gave him a hurt look, and Davies replied, "I apologize, Commander, continue with your briefing."

"Yesterday a pair of Japanese destroyers pulled into the harbor. They were in rough shape due to a working over by one of the monsters.."

"We really have to come up with a better name than 'Monster Ship'," Davies interrupted again.

"Working on that, sir. I'll let you know what we come up with," Shimada said, then forged ahead with his brief, "These ships were attacked, had been beaten to an inch of their lives, and just about sunk. However, unlike the others, they were rescued."

"Rescued? By who?"

"That's where you're going to have to bear with me, because things start to get surreal," Shimada replied, then turned to rummage around in the papers on his desk.

"Surreal?" Davies asked, confusion in his voice. Shimada replied by holding up a photograph for Davies to see. "Very pretty," he remarked upon examining the photograph of Kongou, "But what does she have to do with things?"

"Sir," Shimada replied, "This is the battleship Kongou. She appeared yesterday and blew the hell out of the attacking monsters. She may look like just another pretty face, but I assure you, she has the same punch now as she did back then." Davies' face screwed up in thought he considered what Shimada had just said.

After a long moment of silence, he replied, "So, you're telling me that the destroyers were rescued by the appearance of a Japanese battleship. One which not only has been sitting on the bottom for almost a hundred years, but is now walking around on two legs?"

"That's right, sir," Shimada replied, "And she's not alone. Her sister ships are back as well. As well as a couple of their old destroyers and cruisers."

"You are telling me the spirits of Imperial Japanese ships have returned as humans?" Davies asked in a tone that spoke volumes. Shimada grimace at Davies' choice of inflections. He had been afraid that the Admiral would make that assumption on learning about this.

"Sir, they may have been Imperial ships once, but I can assure you, they have no other desire beyond keeping Japan safe," Shimada said trying to sound as convincing as he possibly could.

"And how could you possibly make that judgement if they have only been known about for less than a week?" Davies shouted. Shimada could tell that the man was on the edge of losing his temper.

"Because I've spoken with them," Shimada replied, grimacing as he felt his face heat up. Davies replied by widening his eyes in understanding, then he laughed. "Suffice to say," Shimada continued as if nothing had happened, "They have no imperial ambitions."

Davies continued laughing for a good minute, before replying, "So we have monster battleships and battleships in skirts. Welcome to the new world."

"Sir, this could be our answer. If we can figure out why these kanmusu appeared, then maybe they can help us," Shimada said, his voice speeding up as he became excited.

"Kanmusu?" Davies asked, stopping Shimada's train of thought.

"Roughly translated it means ship girl," Shimada replied, shrugging, "That's the term the JMSDF guys have been throwing around."

"If we can figure out why they appeared, then maybe we can figure out how to make some of our own ships appear?" Davies said, finishing Shimada's thought.

"Yes, exactly," Shimada replied, waving his arms in a gesture of triumph.

Davies was silent for a long moment, before saying, "Shimada, you're in charge of this now. Work with our Japanese allies. Figure out what you can about these… kanmuchu."

"Kanmusu," Shimada corrected.

"Kanmusu," Davies continued, "Figure out what makes them tick. Is that all, Commander?"

"Yes sir."

"Very well, Davies out," the monitor snapped back to the ONI logo as Admiral Davies cut the connection from his end. Shimada reached up to turn off the monitor. He had a large grin plastered on his face. That call had gone exactly as he had hoped, and now he had official permission to do what he had been doing on his own. If these monsters were trying to take over, maybe these ship girls could help stop them.

Shimada walked back over to his chair and flopped down into it. Then rummaged around in his desk for a drink. No sooner than he had popped the top of a can, then his door flew open. He looked up in surprise to see the smiling face of Kongou.

"I found you, Admiral," she shouted, "Now I will show you my Burning love!" In a blink, she bounded across the short distance from the door to Shimada. With a flying leap, she crossed over his desk and grabbed ahold of him; knocking his chair over and sending both of them crashing to the floor in the process.

"Kongou, damnit," he cursed, "Who let you in here?"

"The nice lieutenant at the door," she replied, giggling. She was squeezing him tightly now, preventing him from moving at all. He heard the sound of someone laughing, and looked up to see his adjutant standing in the door, doubled over with mirth.

"Lieutenant," Shimada shouted, ignoring the battleship's attempts to plant a kiss on his lips.

"Sorry sir, didn't want to stand in the way of true love," the adjutant replied, continuing to laugh. Shimada shook his head, trying to remember when things had become so strange. Finally he decided that if reality wanted to take a lying leap out of a window, he was more than happy to along for the ride. At least for a little while.

 

[Wolf of the Sea]

HAHAHAHA! That is funny! Some classic Ship Girl craziness!