It was more than a simple war, It was a fight for survival. When the officers and men of the...
In Harm's Way
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Breakaway25
All hail the Mighty Tomcat
- Location
- Stuck on the Quarterdeck
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.
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.
FF.net link
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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.
FF.net link
SB link
Last edited:
1: We have met the enemy
Breakaway25
All hail the Mighty Tomcat
- Location
- Stuck on the Quarterdeck
"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.
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.
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
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.
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2: Don't give up the ship
Breakaway25
All hail the Mighty Tomcat
- Location
- Stuck on the Quarterdeck
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.
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.
Last edited:
3: A New Life
Breakaway25
All hail the Mighty Tomcat
- Location
- Stuck on the Quarterdeck
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.
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.
4: Contact
Breakaway25
All hail the Mighty Tomcat
- Location
- Stuck on the Quarterdeck
USS Evans
24 June 2020
0030 hrs
The night was pitch black. A blanket of clouds had created a darkness so thick that it almost had a physical presence. Matt Dover stared through the bridge windows, trying to pick details out of the night. He unconsciously shifted his weight in his chair. He just couldn't seem to get comfortable in the new chair the one with "XO" printed on the back. Even now, several days after the battle that had changed everything, none of it seemed real. It was almost as if he was watching event's through someone else's eyes.
He paused his musings long enough to take a sip from his lukewarm cup of coffee. He probably shouldn't be up on the bridge. This wasn't his watch, and his presence was only serving to disrupt the normal working of the ship. The standing officer of the deck kept sneaking worried glances in his direction, and Dover was doing his best to ignore the man. He needed a place to think, and the bridge was the best place to reinforce things in his mind. The world was spinning around him, and Dover didn't know whether to jump off, or hold on for the ride.
"I halfway expected to see you chewing on one of those cigars of yours," Dover snapped his head around in time to see Master Chief Boggs step onto the bridge. The OOD shot Dover a quick look then quickly went back to staring out the window. He was obviously uncomfortable with this whole situation.
"I'm trying to ditch that habit, Master Chief," Dover replied, focusing his attention back to Boggs, "And the last thing I need is the skipper eating me out for smoking."
"Doubt he'd mind," Boggs remarked, then walked across the bridge to stand next to the XO.
"You here for a reason, or are you just paying a courtesy call?" Dover asked, taking another sip from his mug. At least that hadn't changed. He was still using the one that was lettered "TAO" even though he should have been using the one that said "XO".
"Sir, I was once given a very good piece of advice," Boggs explained, "The best way to keep your sailors performing at their peak is to never give them a moment's rest." Dover nodded his understanding. Boggs didn't reply, raising an eyebrow as if to ask, 'So why are you here?'
Dover's smile faded as he replied, "I've been thinking a lot lately, Master Chief." He paused for half a second, then continued, "Why did the girls and that monster appear at the same time?"
"You think they're connected?" Boggs asked, his face screwing up in thought.
"Hell, we know the monsters have been sinking ships for months now," Dover replied, "Why did the girls only show up now?"
"That's one hell of a question, sir," Boggs replied.
"And that is what I just spent the last two hours trying to answer," Dover replied, letting out a long sigh, "Sometimes I wonder if this whole situation isn't just some elaborate scheme to fuck with us."
"Whatever the reasons, the girls want to help us," Boggs said, trying to lead the conversation in another direction, "They were very vocal on that subject."
"I'd love to, Master Chief, but that isn't my decision," Dover snapped. 'Jesus, why did I snap like that? I really am under too much pressure,' he thought, then took a long breath, "It's in the commodore's hands now."
"Which means in Washington," Boggs replied, choosing to ignore Dover's outburst. Dover nodded silently, then quickly drained the remaining contents of his coffee.
"Which means our commodore's hands," Dover corrected, trying hard to conceal the contempt in his voice. He did not regard their DESRON commander very highly. "It doesn't matter," Dover said, "All it is is two pages of me explaining that I know nothing about them." He brought his hand down on the armrest with a loud crack, "Damn, I wish I knew more."
Boggs stood in silence, his face completely unreadable. "Sir, do you know how this ship works?"
"I know the basics," Dover replied, confused, "But what does that have…"
"Sir," Boggs interrupted, "Do you know how every individual piece of this ship works?"
"Of course not," Dover replied.
"But it does work, and it does it's job," Boggs replied, "Can't you say those girls are the same way? They work, we don't know how, but they do. We can hash details later, but for right now we know what they are and what they can do."
"... Jesus Christ, Boggs, you're right." A smile crept across his face.
"Of course I am," Boggs replied nonchalantly. Dover simply shook his head and turned back to look out the window. The ringing of the intercom phone broke the silence, earning a groan from several of the watchstanders.
"Never fails," Dover muttered, "No matter what time it is, someone always has to call the bridge." He reached over for the nearest handset, "Dover."
"Sir, this is Wazinski," the reply came a moment later, "I'm down in CIC. Found something you may be interested in."
"You're up late, Ski," Dover said accusingly. On a whim, he looked up at the wall mounted chronometer, about 0045. Way to lake for Wazinski to be manning a watch in the CIC.
"Sorry to bother you, sir," Wazinski replied. Dover could hear the man take a deep breath before saying, "Sir, I've pegged another phantom."
"You're certain?" Dover asked, feeling a chill run down his spine.
"About 50-50 right now, sir," Wazinski replied, "Not enough to call GQ, but I thought you should know."
"Where is it?" Dover asked, swinging his legs out of bed.
"About 10 miles north, sir. Bearing 010 true." Wazinski replied. Dover did some quick math in his head, working speeds and angles. "What do you want me to do?"
"Keep me appraised, Ski," Dover replied, "Let me know the instant you know more."
"Aye sir," Wazinski said, then hung up the intercom on his end. Dover took the handset away from his head, and stared at the implement for several seconds.
"What's going on Boggs asked, his brows knitting in concern.
When Dover replied, his voice was strangely distant, "Ski spotted another phantom."
"He confirmed it?" Boggs asked.
"He said probably," Dover replied, "And we were so close to being home free." They had about a day's steaming left. The navigator had claimed they would raise Yokosuka by midday tomorrow if everything went to schedule.
Dover leaned forward in his chair, peering intently out the window. Once again, he found that he had no idea what to do. Getting the crew worked up over nothing wouldn't do much to help the situation, while ignoring it out of hand was even more dangerous. God, he wished Ski had been able to give him something more than 50-50.
Out in the distance a flash of light caught Dover's attention. "What the…" he muttered, right as a something exploded near them. The bridge was thrown into chaos as shrapnel skated through the space, sending at least one man sprawling.
"Sound general quarters," Dover shouted, "And tell them to fucking hurry." The general alarm began to blare as the entire ship burst into action.
[][][]
Nick woke to the sound of a blaring alarm. Its sound had changed a little over the years, but the destroyer knew a general quarters alarm when she heard it. She rocketed out of bed, ready for action.
It had been years since she had been in a real battle, and a familiar surge of emotion flashed through her body. The same eagerness and hesitant anticipation that always came. Nick felt many emotions, but none of them was fear. She would charge into the very jaws of death if that was what it took. She was a destroyer, and not afraid of a damn thing.
However, right now, the priority was her sisters. Destroyers have to work together to work best. She was part of a team after all, and all four Fletchers needed to fight as one. Bannie, was the closest. The redhead was lying facedown on her cot, trying to drown out the alarm with a pillow, "Shit, will someone can the noise already?" Nick rolled her eyes, then grabbed her sister. Now was definitely not the time to be sleeping.
"Our wake up call," Nick said dryly, then hauled Bannie off the cot.
Bannie scowled at Nick, "Alright, I'm up."
"Then get ready to do," Nick said.
"Are you two always like that?" asked Fletcher. Nick was glad to see that she was at least attempting to act professional. She had already pulled on her uniform and was patiently waiting for her sisters to stop screwing around.
"Here's a better question, where's T?" Bannie asked, trying to divert attention. The three destroyers looked towards Taylor's cot, and saw that she was somehow still asleep.
"For the love of…" Nick said, then tried to shake Taylor awake. It took several tries before her eyes finally popped open. She let out a shriek of surprise, then leaped to her feet, somehow becoming tangled in her linen as she did so. The three other Fletchers reached down to help free their sister.
"You girls done fucking around?" Lou was standing over them, watching their progress intently. The cruiser had one of her revolvers in her hand and was absentmindedly feeding it cartridges. Nick had no idea how she did it, but Lou seemed to keep herself calm and collected, despite the savage grin she had plastered on her face.
Bannie shot Lou a sheepish look, then said softly, "Yeah."
"Nick, your girls ready?" Lou asked, straightening her back. She slipped the last cartridge into her revolver, and closed the cylinder shut with a soft snick.
"Ready to go," Nick replied, popping to a position not dissimilar to that of attention, "What do you want us to do?" Lou wasn't really her superior, none of them were technically in the Navy. But Lou was a cruiser, and Nick was a destroyer. Every time she had sortied, the cruiser in the group had been the one in charge.
Lou didn't reply to Nick right away, but rather looked over towards her sister, and bellowed, "'Lena, you ready to fuck up some shit?"
Helena's slight smile never wavered as she replied, "Always."
"Nick," Lou said, turning back to the destroyer.
"Yes?" she replied. The little destroyer tried her best to remain ramrod stiff. That was how you were supposed to show discipline, wasn't it?
"You okay with screening? Hate to say this, but you don't have enough throw weight for this one," Lou said. That was the what ships like her were designed to do, escort bigger ships.
"Y-yes," Nick replied, once she understood what was being asked of her. She didn't mind supporting Lou and Helena. They had much more teeth than Nick and her sisters.
"Well, hot damn," Lou replied with a smile. She slipped the revolver into its holster then looked Nick straight in the eye, "No cokamaymie stunts now. It'd be stupid to get blown away so soon after coming back, now wouldn't it?" Lou finished the statement with a wink, causing Nick to blink in confusion.
"I guess so," she finally replied. She knew her limits. She wasn't about to go running off to get herself, or worse, her sisters killed. The ship lurched again, causing Nick to flinch. The distinct sound of steel striking steel reverberated through the hangar, casting no doubt as to who was winning this fight.
She felt a sudden, almost instinctual urge. The people aboard this ship were just like her crew, and they were getting shot to hell. She had to do something, and do it soon. She took a deep breath, then yelled in the most commanding voice she could muster, "Come on you sons of bitches, you wanna live forever?"
[][][]
The Evans shuddered from a hit. Dover flinched instinctively when a large piece of shrapnel blew out a window. "Jesus Christ, tell me we have help on the way."
"I've been screaming for it nonstop," the communications officer replied from across the bridge.
"Keep at it," said Commander Lee Jones. The captain was sitting in his seat, hands folded under his chin as he watched the battle unfold. Outside the darkness was gone. Replaced by the light caused by by the stabbing pulses of gunfire, bright flames of burning decks, and the eerie glow of star shells.
They finally knew what they were fighting, but knowing did little to ease their fears. There wasn't just one ship out there. No, it was an entire fleet. They couldn't identify the exact ships shooting them to pieces, but Dover knew cruisers when he saw them. Their low, dark forms and decks bristling with guns were unmistakable.
He had counted at least four of them, and they really wanted the Americans dead. The stead steady stream of fire had been constant, and occasional hits rocked the ships of the task force.
Evans was doing her best to return fire, but it had little effect. Just like when they had fought the battleship, the shells only detonated harmlessly against the cruiser's armored sides. The monsters continued their advance with impunity, spitting fire all the way.
"So this is what the new war looks like," Dover muttered under his breath.
"This is what old war looks like, exec," Jones replied, not looking away from his binoculars, "This is like something right out of a history book."
"I thought this sort of war died because of ships like ours?" Dover asked.
"We have become soft to the idea of fighting something we can't kill with missiles," Jones replied, "And I would appreciate it if you stopped the technical debate so we can fight the battle."
Dover felt his face flush with embarrassment, "Yes, sir."
A sudden explosion ripped through the destroyer directly in front of the Evans, causing the ship to heel out of line, her decks awash with flame. 'Hell, I don't know how much longer we can last in this.'
"Fuck it," Jones swore, then ordered, "Fire the missiles."
"Sir, we only have twelve left," Dover protested.
"Commander," Jones said, using his, 'I am the captain, don't argue with me,' voice, "Spare missiles won't do us a whole hell of a lot of good if the ship is at the bottom."
Dover didn't reply, instead reaching for the intercom handset. Before he could speak, something caught his attention, something that had not been there a moment before. "Is that…" he trailed off, his voice full of surprise. Clearly visible in the dim light of the battlefield, was the destroyer Nicholas. She was doing her best to weave through the shell splashes, and fired her five inch guns at anything that came near.
"Things just got interesting," Jones muttered, "Go on then, call the help. Tell her what to do."
"Yes, sir," Dover replied, thinking once more how the world really had been turned on its head.
[][][]
"What the hell are you doing, Nicholas?" Nick heard Commander Dover's voice over her radio but it was ragged and choppy for some reason. Maybe a problem on their end?
"Saving your bacon, sir," she replied. They needed to act fast if they wanted to change the flow of this battle. The enemy cruisers were pounding her friends into scrap, and if they didn't hurry, there wouldn't be anything left to save.
"Nicholas, you can't just jump into a battle," Dover sounded like he was pleading with her. She wondered what that was all about.
"I came to fight, and that's what I intend to do." Dover's reply was drowned out by the sound of her guns firing. One of the enemy cruisers had drifted too close to the task group, and it's reward was a quintet of five inch shells. That seemed to reveal Nick to them. Several shells began to pepper the water. Her rudders were twitching non stop as she weaved between splashes.
"For fuck's sake Nick, that didn't take long," it was easy to recognize Lou's easy drawl, even over the choppy radio. "Now, do I save your ass, or leave you in the breeze?" her statement dripped with sarcasm. Nick rolled her eyes. Lou certainly did love her quips.
"Lou, I know you are behind this," Dover's voice caused Nick to shudder, "We will have words, later, but for now… waste the bastard."
"Waste the bastard, aye sir." Lou replied in a mocking tone. Lou's guns spoke with a force that Nick could feel in her chest, even from about two hundred yards away. A flurry of shells passed over Nick's head, their orange glow marking their path clearly. They rained down on the cruiser that was causing Nick trouble, peppering it with hits. Unlike the monsters, Lou had a fire control radar to direct her shots. She could hit first time everytime.
Bannie slid in alongside Nick, adding her own fire to the barrage. She was quickly followed by Taylor and Fletcher. The hits continued to land on the targeted cruiser, the flashes of explosions almost constant now.
"Fuck, that sonuva bitch is tough," Bannie said, a look of stern determination on her face. After what seemed like an eternity, but would later be revealed to have only been about two minutes, the cruiser shook with an internal explosion, then simply vanished. Replaced by a rapidly expanding ball of fire.
"Scratch one heavy," Helena announced, her voice firm with its usual calm.
"Any other requests?" Lou added a second later, the smirk evident in her voice.
The remaining cruisers were lit in sharp relief now. Their burning companion casting an eerie glow on their forms. Nick counted at least five of the biggest, nastiest, meanest sons of bitches she had ever seen. They were radiating pure hatred and anger, and the very sight sent shivers down Nick's spine. The ugly, black maws of their cannons barked as one, loosing a single, enormous salvo. Whether it was retaliation or a simple change in tactics, Nick would never know, but the effect was telling.
"Son of a…" Fletcher said, trailing off as she watched the shells streak overhead.
At least fifteen of them slammed into the flanks of one of the modern ships, the Shiloh if Nick remembered right. Explosions rippled through the ship, buckling plates and sending shrapnel flying in all directions. The ship shuddered to an ungraceful halt, burning and dead in the water.
"Fuck," Bannie swore almost as a whisper, then shouted, "Fuck, fuck FUCK." Nick felt like repeating her sister. People were dying out there, and unless they could end this, then a whole hell of a lot more were going to lose their lives tonight.
"What the fuck just happened?" Lou called over the radio, her voice full of confusion.
"They got tired of bracketing us," replied Dover, "Anything you could do to draw their fire would be appreciated." Nick nodded silently, thinking about what she should do. The monsters were silent again for the first time since the battle began. Probably, they were allowing a brief respite while they fixed their next solution. Nick knew that if she was going to do something, she better do it fast.
A new voice crackled over the radio, one which Nick had never heard before, "To all ships, this is Captain Willis. The Shiloh is done for. I order all remaining ships to make best possible speed away from the enemy. Good luck and Godspeed gentlemen."
"What do we do, Nick? Give us an order," Taylor asked, her voice clearly indicating that she was gripped with fear. Nick wanted so badly to say something, anything to calm her sister, to say that she had a plan and knew what to do. But, she didn't. They would be torn to ribbons if they tried to attack those bastards.
It was Fletcher who provided the answer, speaking a single word, "Smoke." It took half a second before her sister's words slammed home for Nick.
"We lay a smokescreen," she practically shouted, "You're brilliant, Fletcher." Fletcher replied with a shrug and a devilish grin. "Lou," Nick barked over the radio, "We're going to move up the flank to lay smoke. Hopefully we can buy you some time."
"Negative Nicholas," Dover replied, "That would expose you to fire."
"With all respect," Nick said, "We're already exposed to fire, and this way we can get some heat off of you."
Lou replied before Dover could come back on, "It's your call, Nick."
"Then hold on, we're moving," she changed course, charging for the gap between the two forces, her sisters hot on her heels. Her turbines whined to full power, straining to push her hull as fast as it would possibly go. Raw fuel oil poured into her boilers and thick clouds of black smoke billowed from her stacks. The other three Fletchers formed in line behind her, forming a solid van.
"I always get a kick out of that," Nick announced, smiling thinly. She refused to slow down, charging forward with all her might. The smoke was the only way to shield the battered ships behind them.
It didn't take long before the effects became apparent. Fire from the enemy cruisers began to slack as they lost sight of their targets. However, Lou and Helena's fire never wavered. Their radar had no problems seeing through the obscuring clouds of smoke.
Their fire was telling, as hit struck one of the cruisers, causing an explosion to tear through its decks. The secondary detonation sent shrapnel flying in all directions. The cruiser stopped, its deck taking on a noticable list.
"Nice call Fletch," Bannie shouted, "That one was right on the money."
"Don't call me that," Fletcher bristled, then shot Bannie a scathing look.
"Can it you two," Nick shouted, "We're not home yet." Something caught the tin can's eye, something she had not been expecting. A bubbling, frothing trail of water that was arrowing towards the destroyer van from the direction of the monsters. Nick barely had time to scream, "TORPEDO," before the first weapon crossed her path.
Nick threw her rudder hard over and slammed her port screw into reverse in a desperate bid to avoid the torpedo. There wasn't enough time. A thunderous explosion tore through the night, and the destroyer Nicholas was sent flying, her world fading to black.
24 June 2020
0030 hrs
The night was pitch black. A blanket of clouds had created a darkness so thick that it almost had a physical presence. Matt Dover stared through the bridge windows, trying to pick details out of the night. He unconsciously shifted his weight in his chair. He just couldn't seem to get comfortable in the new chair the one with "XO" printed on the back. Even now, several days after the battle that had changed everything, none of it seemed real. It was almost as if he was watching event's through someone else's eyes.
He paused his musings long enough to take a sip from his lukewarm cup of coffee. He probably shouldn't be up on the bridge. This wasn't his watch, and his presence was only serving to disrupt the normal working of the ship. The standing officer of the deck kept sneaking worried glances in his direction, and Dover was doing his best to ignore the man. He needed a place to think, and the bridge was the best place to reinforce things in his mind. The world was spinning around him, and Dover didn't know whether to jump off, or hold on for the ride.
"I halfway expected to see you chewing on one of those cigars of yours," Dover snapped his head around in time to see Master Chief Boggs step onto the bridge. The OOD shot Dover a quick look then quickly went back to staring out the window. He was obviously uncomfortable with this whole situation.
"I'm trying to ditch that habit, Master Chief," Dover replied, focusing his attention back to Boggs, "And the last thing I need is the skipper eating me out for smoking."
"Doubt he'd mind," Boggs remarked, then walked across the bridge to stand next to the XO.
"You here for a reason, or are you just paying a courtesy call?" Dover asked, taking another sip from his mug. At least that hadn't changed. He was still using the one that was lettered "TAO" even though he should have been using the one that said "XO".
"Sir, I was once given a very good piece of advice," Boggs explained, "The best way to keep your sailors performing at their peak is to never give them a moment's rest." Dover nodded his understanding. Boggs didn't reply, raising an eyebrow as if to ask, 'So why are you here?'
Dover's smile faded as he replied, "I've been thinking a lot lately, Master Chief." He paused for half a second, then continued, "Why did the girls and that monster appear at the same time?"
"You think they're connected?" Boggs asked, his face screwing up in thought.
"Hell, we know the monsters have been sinking ships for months now," Dover replied, "Why did the girls only show up now?"
"That's one hell of a question, sir," Boggs replied.
"And that is what I just spent the last two hours trying to answer," Dover replied, letting out a long sigh, "Sometimes I wonder if this whole situation isn't just some elaborate scheme to fuck with us."
"Whatever the reasons, the girls want to help us," Boggs said, trying to lead the conversation in another direction, "They were very vocal on that subject."
"I'd love to, Master Chief, but that isn't my decision," Dover snapped. 'Jesus, why did I snap like that? I really am under too much pressure,' he thought, then took a long breath, "It's in the commodore's hands now."
"Which means in Washington," Boggs replied, choosing to ignore Dover's outburst. Dover nodded silently, then quickly drained the remaining contents of his coffee.
"Which means our commodore's hands," Dover corrected, trying hard to conceal the contempt in his voice. He did not regard their DESRON commander very highly. "It doesn't matter," Dover said, "All it is is two pages of me explaining that I know nothing about them." He brought his hand down on the armrest with a loud crack, "Damn, I wish I knew more."
Boggs stood in silence, his face completely unreadable. "Sir, do you know how this ship works?"
"I know the basics," Dover replied, confused, "But what does that have…"
"Sir," Boggs interrupted, "Do you know how every individual piece of this ship works?"
"Of course not," Dover replied.
"But it does work, and it does it's job," Boggs replied, "Can't you say those girls are the same way? They work, we don't know how, but they do. We can hash details later, but for right now we know what they are and what they can do."
"... Jesus Christ, Boggs, you're right." A smile crept across his face.
"Of course I am," Boggs replied nonchalantly. Dover simply shook his head and turned back to look out the window. The ringing of the intercom phone broke the silence, earning a groan from several of the watchstanders.
"Never fails," Dover muttered, "No matter what time it is, someone always has to call the bridge." He reached over for the nearest handset, "Dover."
"Sir, this is Wazinski," the reply came a moment later, "I'm down in CIC. Found something you may be interested in."
"You're up late, Ski," Dover said accusingly. On a whim, he looked up at the wall mounted chronometer, about 0045. Way to lake for Wazinski to be manning a watch in the CIC.
"Sorry to bother you, sir," Wazinski replied. Dover could hear the man take a deep breath before saying, "Sir, I've pegged another phantom."
"You're certain?" Dover asked, feeling a chill run down his spine.
"About 50-50 right now, sir," Wazinski replied, "Not enough to call GQ, but I thought you should know."
"Where is it?" Dover asked, swinging his legs out of bed.
"About 10 miles north, sir. Bearing 010 true." Wazinski replied. Dover did some quick math in his head, working speeds and angles. "What do you want me to do?"
"Keep me appraised, Ski," Dover replied, "Let me know the instant you know more."
"Aye sir," Wazinski said, then hung up the intercom on his end. Dover took the handset away from his head, and stared at the implement for several seconds.
"What's going on Boggs asked, his brows knitting in concern.
When Dover replied, his voice was strangely distant, "Ski spotted another phantom."
"He confirmed it?" Boggs asked.
"He said probably," Dover replied, "And we were so close to being home free." They had about a day's steaming left. The navigator had claimed they would raise Yokosuka by midday tomorrow if everything went to schedule.
Dover leaned forward in his chair, peering intently out the window. Once again, he found that he had no idea what to do. Getting the crew worked up over nothing wouldn't do much to help the situation, while ignoring it out of hand was even more dangerous. God, he wished Ski had been able to give him something more than 50-50.
Out in the distance a flash of light caught Dover's attention. "What the…" he muttered, right as a something exploded near them. The bridge was thrown into chaos as shrapnel skated through the space, sending at least one man sprawling.
"Sound general quarters," Dover shouted, "And tell them to fucking hurry." The general alarm began to blare as the entire ship burst into action.
[][][]
Nick woke to the sound of a blaring alarm. Its sound had changed a little over the years, but the destroyer knew a general quarters alarm when she heard it. She rocketed out of bed, ready for action.
It had been years since she had been in a real battle, and a familiar surge of emotion flashed through her body. The same eagerness and hesitant anticipation that always came. Nick felt many emotions, but none of them was fear. She would charge into the very jaws of death if that was what it took. She was a destroyer, and not afraid of a damn thing.
However, right now, the priority was her sisters. Destroyers have to work together to work best. She was part of a team after all, and all four Fletchers needed to fight as one. Bannie, was the closest. The redhead was lying facedown on her cot, trying to drown out the alarm with a pillow, "Shit, will someone can the noise already?" Nick rolled her eyes, then grabbed her sister. Now was definitely not the time to be sleeping.
"Our wake up call," Nick said dryly, then hauled Bannie off the cot.
Bannie scowled at Nick, "Alright, I'm up."
"Then get ready to do," Nick said.
"Are you two always like that?" asked Fletcher. Nick was glad to see that she was at least attempting to act professional. She had already pulled on her uniform and was patiently waiting for her sisters to stop screwing around.
"Here's a better question, where's T?" Bannie asked, trying to divert attention. The three destroyers looked towards Taylor's cot, and saw that she was somehow still asleep.
"For the love of…" Nick said, then tried to shake Taylor awake. It took several tries before her eyes finally popped open. She let out a shriek of surprise, then leaped to her feet, somehow becoming tangled in her linen as she did so. The three other Fletchers reached down to help free their sister.
"You girls done fucking around?" Lou was standing over them, watching their progress intently. The cruiser had one of her revolvers in her hand and was absentmindedly feeding it cartridges. Nick had no idea how she did it, but Lou seemed to keep herself calm and collected, despite the savage grin she had plastered on her face.
Bannie shot Lou a sheepish look, then said softly, "Yeah."
"Nick, your girls ready?" Lou asked, straightening her back. She slipped the last cartridge into her revolver, and closed the cylinder shut with a soft snick.
"Ready to go," Nick replied, popping to a position not dissimilar to that of attention, "What do you want us to do?" Lou wasn't really her superior, none of them were technically in the Navy. But Lou was a cruiser, and Nick was a destroyer. Every time she had sortied, the cruiser in the group had been the one in charge.
Lou didn't reply to Nick right away, but rather looked over towards her sister, and bellowed, "'Lena, you ready to fuck up some shit?"
Helena's slight smile never wavered as she replied, "Always."
"Nick," Lou said, turning back to the destroyer.
"Yes?" she replied. The little destroyer tried her best to remain ramrod stiff. That was how you were supposed to show discipline, wasn't it?
"You okay with screening? Hate to say this, but you don't have enough throw weight for this one," Lou said. That was the what ships like her were designed to do, escort bigger ships.
"Y-yes," Nick replied, once she understood what was being asked of her. She didn't mind supporting Lou and Helena. They had much more teeth than Nick and her sisters.
"Well, hot damn," Lou replied with a smile. She slipped the revolver into its holster then looked Nick straight in the eye, "No cokamaymie stunts now. It'd be stupid to get blown away so soon after coming back, now wouldn't it?" Lou finished the statement with a wink, causing Nick to blink in confusion.
"I guess so," she finally replied. She knew her limits. She wasn't about to go running off to get herself, or worse, her sisters killed. The ship lurched again, causing Nick to flinch. The distinct sound of steel striking steel reverberated through the hangar, casting no doubt as to who was winning this fight.
She felt a sudden, almost instinctual urge. The people aboard this ship were just like her crew, and they were getting shot to hell. She had to do something, and do it soon. She took a deep breath, then yelled in the most commanding voice she could muster, "Come on you sons of bitches, you wanna live forever?"
[][][]
The Evans shuddered from a hit. Dover flinched instinctively when a large piece of shrapnel blew out a window. "Jesus Christ, tell me we have help on the way."
"I've been screaming for it nonstop," the communications officer replied from across the bridge.
"Keep at it," said Commander Lee Jones. The captain was sitting in his seat, hands folded under his chin as he watched the battle unfold. Outside the darkness was gone. Replaced by the light caused by by the stabbing pulses of gunfire, bright flames of burning decks, and the eerie glow of star shells.
They finally knew what they were fighting, but knowing did little to ease their fears. There wasn't just one ship out there. No, it was an entire fleet. They couldn't identify the exact ships shooting them to pieces, but Dover knew cruisers when he saw them. Their low, dark forms and decks bristling with guns were unmistakable.
He had counted at least four of them, and they really wanted the Americans dead. The stead steady stream of fire had been constant, and occasional hits rocked the ships of the task force.
Evans was doing her best to return fire, but it had little effect. Just like when they had fought the battleship, the shells only detonated harmlessly against the cruiser's armored sides. The monsters continued their advance with impunity, spitting fire all the way.
"So this is what the new war looks like," Dover muttered under his breath.
"This is what old war looks like, exec," Jones replied, not looking away from his binoculars, "This is like something right out of a history book."
"I thought this sort of war died because of ships like ours?" Dover asked.
"We have become soft to the idea of fighting something we can't kill with missiles," Jones replied, "And I would appreciate it if you stopped the technical debate so we can fight the battle."
Dover felt his face flush with embarrassment, "Yes, sir."
A sudden explosion ripped through the destroyer directly in front of the Evans, causing the ship to heel out of line, her decks awash with flame. 'Hell, I don't know how much longer we can last in this.'
"Fuck it," Jones swore, then ordered, "Fire the missiles."
"Sir, we only have twelve left," Dover protested.
"Commander," Jones said, using his, 'I am the captain, don't argue with me,' voice, "Spare missiles won't do us a whole hell of a lot of good if the ship is at the bottom."
Dover didn't reply, instead reaching for the intercom handset. Before he could speak, something caught his attention, something that had not been there a moment before. "Is that…" he trailed off, his voice full of surprise. Clearly visible in the dim light of the battlefield, was the destroyer Nicholas. She was doing her best to weave through the shell splashes, and fired her five inch guns at anything that came near.
"Things just got interesting," Jones muttered, "Go on then, call the help. Tell her what to do."
"Yes, sir," Dover replied, thinking once more how the world really had been turned on its head.
[][][]
"What the hell are you doing, Nicholas?" Nick heard Commander Dover's voice over her radio but it was ragged and choppy for some reason. Maybe a problem on their end?
"Saving your bacon, sir," she replied. They needed to act fast if they wanted to change the flow of this battle. The enemy cruisers were pounding her friends into scrap, and if they didn't hurry, there wouldn't be anything left to save.
"Nicholas, you can't just jump into a battle," Dover sounded like he was pleading with her. She wondered what that was all about.
"I came to fight, and that's what I intend to do." Dover's reply was drowned out by the sound of her guns firing. One of the enemy cruisers had drifted too close to the task group, and it's reward was a quintet of five inch shells. That seemed to reveal Nick to them. Several shells began to pepper the water. Her rudders were twitching non stop as she weaved between splashes.
"For fuck's sake Nick, that didn't take long," it was easy to recognize Lou's easy drawl, even over the choppy radio. "Now, do I save your ass, or leave you in the breeze?" her statement dripped with sarcasm. Nick rolled her eyes. Lou certainly did love her quips.
"Lou, I know you are behind this," Dover's voice caused Nick to shudder, "We will have words, later, but for now… waste the bastard."
"Waste the bastard, aye sir." Lou replied in a mocking tone. Lou's guns spoke with a force that Nick could feel in her chest, even from about two hundred yards away. A flurry of shells passed over Nick's head, their orange glow marking their path clearly. They rained down on the cruiser that was causing Nick trouble, peppering it with hits. Unlike the monsters, Lou had a fire control radar to direct her shots. She could hit first time everytime.
Bannie slid in alongside Nick, adding her own fire to the barrage. She was quickly followed by Taylor and Fletcher. The hits continued to land on the targeted cruiser, the flashes of explosions almost constant now.
"Fuck, that sonuva bitch is tough," Bannie said, a look of stern determination on her face. After what seemed like an eternity, but would later be revealed to have only been about two minutes, the cruiser shook with an internal explosion, then simply vanished. Replaced by a rapidly expanding ball of fire.
"Scratch one heavy," Helena announced, her voice firm with its usual calm.
"Any other requests?" Lou added a second later, the smirk evident in her voice.
The remaining cruisers were lit in sharp relief now. Their burning companion casting an eerie glow on their forms. Nick counted at least five of the biggest, nastiest, meanest sons of bitches she had ever seen. They were radiating pure hatred and anger, and the very sight sent shivers down Nick's spine. The ugly, black maws of their cannons barked as one, loosing a single, enormous salvo. Whether it was retaliation or a simple change in tactics, Nick would never know, but the effect was telling.
"Son of a…" Fletcher said, trailing off as she watched the shells streak overhead.
At least fifteen of them slammed into the flanks of one of the modern ships, the Shiloh if Nick remembered right. Explosions rippled through the ship, buckling plates and sending shrapnel flying in all directions. The ship shuddered to an ungraceful halt, burning and dead in the water.
"Fuck," Bannie swore almost as a whisper, then shouted, "Fuck, fuck FUCK." Nick felt like repeating her sister. People were dying out there, and unless they could end this, then a whole hell of a lot more were going to lose their lives tonight.
"What the fuck just happened?" Lou called over the radio, her voice full of confusion.
"They got tired of bracketing us," replied Dover, "Anything you could do to draw their fire would be appreciated." Nick nodded silently, thinking about what she should do. The monsters were silent again for the first time since the battle began. Probably, they were allowing a brief respite while they fixed their next solution. Nick knew that if she was going to do something, she better do it fast.
A new voice crackled over the radio, one which Nick had never heard before, "To all ships, this is Captain Willis. The Shiloh is done for. I order all remaining ships to make best possible speed away from the enemy. Good luck and Godspeed gentlemen."
"What do we do, Nick? Give us an order," Taylor asked, her voice clearly indicating that she was gripped with fear. Nick wanted so badly to say something, anything to calm her sister, to say that she had a plan and knew what to do. But, she didn't. They would be torn to ribbons if they tried to attack those bastards.
It was Fletcher who provided the answer, speaking a single word, "Smoke." It took half a second before her sister's words slammed home for Nick.
"We lay a smokescreen," she practically shouted, "You're brilliant, Fletcher." Fletcher replied with a shrug and a devilish grin. "Lou," Nick barked over the radio, "We're going to move up the flank to lay smoke. Hopefully we can buy you some time."
"Negative Nicholas," Dover replied, "That would expose you to fire."
"With all respect," Nick said, "We're already exposed to fire, and this way we can get some heat off of you."
Lou replied before Dover could come back on, "It's your call, Nick."
"Then hold on, we're moving," she changed course, charging for the gap between the two forces, her sisters hot on her heels. Her turbines whined to full power, straining to push her hull as fast as it would possibly go. Raw fuel oil poured into her boilers and thick clouds of black smoke billowed from her stacks. The other three Fletchers formed in line behind her, forming a solid van.
"I always get a kick out of that," Nick announced, smiling thinly. She refused to slow down, charging forward with all her might. The smoke was the only way to shield the battered ships behind them.
It didn't take long before the effects became apparent. Fire from the enemy cruisers began to slack as they lost sight of their targets. However, Lou and Helena's fire never wavered. Their radar had no problems seeing through the obscuring clouds of smoke.
Their fire was telling, as hit struck one of the cruisers, causing an explosion to tear through its decks. The secondary detonation sent shrapnel flying in all directions. The cruiser stopped, its deck taking on a noticable list.
"Nice call Fletch," Bannie shouted, "That one was right on the money."
"Don't call me that," Fletcher bristled, then shot Bannie a scathing look.
"Can it you two," Nick shouted, "We're not home yet." Something caught the tin can's eye, something she had not been expecting. A bubbling, frothing trail of water that was arrowing towards the destroyer van from the direction of the monsters. Nick barely had time to scream, "TORPEDO," before the first weapon crossed her path.
Nick threw her rudder hard over and slammed her port screw into reverse in a desperate bid to avoid the torpedo. There wasn't enough time. A thunderous explosion tore through the night, and the destroyer Nicholas was sent flying, her world fading to black.
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5: Damned if I'll Strike
Breakaway25
All hail the Mighty Tomcat
- Location
- Stuck on the Quarterdeck
Philippine Sea, off Japan
24 June 2020
0230
There were dozens of thoughts running through Bannie's mind simultaneously. All of them stopped when she saw Nick go down. The remaining enemies. The shells exploding around her. The flames of burning ships in the distance. All of it faded away. She had to help her stricken sister, and no force in hell was going to stop her.
She pulled to a stop next to her wounded sister. The sight almost caused her to throw up. Nick's legs were shredded. Bannie could see where her torn bulkheads had been exposed to the air. Shredded steel marked where the hit had ripped her stern clean off.
Hot tears filled Bannie's eyes, carving rivulets in her soot streaked face. Nick, the ship that she had spent her entire life alongside, the ship she had been born next to, and ended one life next to. Damn it, why did this have to happen to Nick? Bannie wished that she had been there, that she had taken that fucking torpedo. Anyone but Nick.
"Come on, sis, don't leave me," Bannie moaned, grabbing Nick's form and pulling it to her chest. She could at least add her own undamaged buoyancy to help slow her sister's flooding. The unconscious destroyer let out a grunt of pain, but otherwise remained still. For the first time in a long time, Bannie had no idea what to do. She knew basic damage control, but how the hell was she supposed to apply that to the wounded girl in her arms? Damn it, she wished they were ships again, back when all it took to fix something like this was some time in a dock.
Bannie felt something sticky against her skin, and looked down to see blood staining her legs. It was from Nick, her wounld was bleeding badly. Panicking, Bannie ripped off her shirt, tieing it around Nick's legs in an attempt to staunch the bleeding.
"Damn it, I was the one who was supposed to go out like this," Bannie sniffed, burying her face in Nick's jacket. She could feel damage control fairies scurrying over her shoulders, welding torches and handy billy pumps in hand. At least her crew was doing everything they could.
Nick stirred slightly, tightening her grip. "Don't go," she mumbled weakly.
"I'm here, I ain't leaving," Bannie replied, her voice hoarse with emotion. She felt a new pair of arms wrap around her, and looked up in surprise to see Fletcher.
"Damnit Bannie, don't run off like that," Fletcher croaked, but Bannie could see in her eyes that she didn't mean the reprimand. She raised her voice again, but this time spoke over the radio, "Commander, help. Please. Nick's hurt."
When Commander Dover's voice came back, there was a softness in it that Bannie hadn't expected, "How bad is it?"
"Bad," Fletcher replied, "I think her screws are gone. Me and Bannie are doing what we can..."
"Hold on, we'll be there as soon as we can," Dover replied. Something about his words reassured Bannie. She knew that no matter what, help was on the way. Once again, the world seemed to disappear, and the only thing she could see was Nick.
"Captain, we have to help them," Dover shouted. A deep anger filled his body. An anger at the monsters, at himself for letting this happen, at the fucking world for putting him in this situation. His vision was slowly turning red as the unbridled rage seeped into every corner of his being.
"I agree," Jones replied, his voice matching Dover's in volume, "But there are still cruisers out there." He flew out of his seat and made a gesture towards the darkness. "The smoke bought us time, but I will not risk the safety of my ship against those odds."
Something inside Dover snapped.He suddenly found himself in a place that he had not been in years.
"Captain, I swear to God, if you let them-"
"Commander," Jones barked in a voice that caused all noise on the bridge to cease, "Get ahold of yourself, or get the fuck off my bridge. IS THAT CLEAR?"
Dover stared at Jones for several seconds, a war of emotions raging behind his eyes. "Yes sir," he said emotionlessly
The battle had begun to slow down. Only the occasional flash of Lou and Helena's guns lit the night now, and return fire from the remaining enemy ships had slowed to a trickle. Dover knew that this was only because the two remaining cruisers could not see through the smokescreen well enough to correct their fire. While the respite was welcomed, it was just that, a brief pause in hostilities. The smoke would not last forever, and when it dissipated... Well, Dover did not want to consider that. Not now.
They could have run, they should have run, but no one could bear to abandon the crippled Shiloh. Fitz was alongside the cruiser now, trying to rig towlines as quickly a she could. Dover hoped that Lou would deal with the remaining enemies quickly, because they were rapidly running out of ships to trade
The bridge speakers crackled with Lou's voice, "What's happenin?"
"Nick's down," Fletcher replied, her voice wavering, "She's unconscious and losing blood."
"Hold on for fifteen minutes, I'll be there," Lou replied, her voice sounded strained as if she was exerting herself heavily.
Dover grabbed his microphone and said, "We'll give you all the support we can."
'Hurry Lou, for God's sake, hurry,' Dover thought.
Then clenched his fists together so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Damn it. Why was this happening?
"Lou, wait!" Helena shouted. Raising a hand, she grabbed the back of Lou's shirt, "Don't go running off half cocked."
"'Lena, I'm not letting those tin cans get sunk," Lou replied, fury rising in her voice.
"I'm just…" Helena began, then took a breath, "Think about the situation. Don't act rashly."
"The situation is that there are two bastards out there who are going to start tearing into the destroyers at any moment if we don't stop them," Lou snapped.
"Don't you see that IT MAY BE A TRAP?!" Helena screamed. She blinked in surprise. Why had she done that? It was the first time she had ever raised her voice. She just didn't do things like that.
In a small voice she continued, "Think about it. If we rush in, we would be moving on their terms."
"So we move carefully," Lou replied, fixing her sister with a knowing look. Before she could protest further, white foam began to froth at Lou's stern as the cruiser poured on the steam. Helena hesitated for a half second, before following after her sister.
It didn't take them long to spot the destroyers. They were all clustered together, slowly steaming towards the main body of the task group. "Shit," Lou breathed when she saw Nick. The brave destroyer was being propped up by her sisters, her body hanging limp in their arms. It took all of Helena's will not to rush off to their aid. She… she had to make sure that everyone was safe first. She had to stop the bad guys before they hurt more of her friends.
Something pinged on Helena's radar scope, causing the light cruiser to look up in surprise. A new blip materialized near them, as if it had been suddenly dropped there. "That's weird," she remarked, before her world was drowned out by the canvas ripping shriek of incoming shells. A salvo of shells slammed into the water, throwing up a wall between them and the destroyers.
"Those weren't cruiser shells."
"What are you talking about?" Lou asked, confused.
"Splash was too big, those were," she began, then gasped with horror, "Battleship." Emerging slowly from the line of smoke was a towering leviathan of a warship. It's dark form cast eerily backlit by the flickering illumination of the battlefield. This was no antique man-o-war. This was the real deal: a dreadnought. Smoke curled from eight huge guns, their muzzles trained on Lou and Helena.
"What the hell is that?" the startled question came over the radio. Commander Dover must have spotted the leviathan as it fired.
"A battleship," Helena breathed, then turned to stare at the monster bearing down on them.
"We can't stand up to that," she muttered.
"I'm damn sure gonna try," Lou shouted, then opened up with her guns. The 6" tracers striking the monster and bounding off its flanks. A return salvo flashed into the night, the huge shells splashing around Lou.
"That's right ya bastard, focus on me," she grunted, then began to close the range, "I'm the one you want!"
Helena added her own fire to the attack. If only they could keep the monster's attention for a few minutes, then maybe the destroyers could limp to safety. She hoped they would hurry though. It was only a matter of time before this thing got lucky.
Bannie stared up at the monster in horror, tightening her grip. She tried to push her overworked engines even harder, evoking angry protests from her engineering officer.
'Why?' she thought bitterly, 'Why are they doing this? Can't they just leave us alone?'
A shell from the battleship struck Lou in the side, but the cruiser only seemed dazed by the impact. "What do we do?" Bannie asked, her voice wavering, "What do we do?"
"Keep pushing," Fletcher replied, "We can't help them." They continued their agonizingly slow advance, crawling closer to safety foot by foot.
"We're not going to win this one," Taylor remarked. The destroyer had been silent up until then, and it was clear that she was on the verge of a breakdown.
"Keep moving sailor," Fletcher replied, steel in her eyes, "We have our job, let everyone else focus on theirs."
Bannie couldn't tear her eyes away from the melee behind her. The cruisers were doing their best to stop the monster, but their efforts fell short. No matter how many hits it took, the monster refused to stop.
Helena took a hit. The shell tearing hell out of her blouse, and sending her reeling. "FUCK THOSE BASTARDS," Bannie screamed as loud as she could. Her vision began to blur as as tears began to flood her eyes.
"It was a nice ride," Lou's voice croaked over the radio, "Get your men clear, Commander. We'll keep this cocksucker busy." There was no reply, and Bannie hung her head, a feeling of defeat washing over her small form.
A new sound filled the night, and Bannie looked up in time to see a cloud of tracers fall on the monster. Unlike Lou and Helena's fire, these tore great holes in the battleship's side, causing secondary detonations to ripple along its flanks.
"Who-" Fletcher asked, only to be cut off by a voice that thundered over the radio.
"We are here to help you, Americans. I shall defeat those monsters with my BURNING LOVE!!"
"What. The. Fuck?" Bannie sputtered.
A new form materialized in front of the destroyers. This one looked like a teenage girl with short black hair, but what Bannie saw was a destroyer with a tall superstructure, two funnels, and a twin gun on her foredeck. A Jap destroyer.
"You need some help?" the newcomer asked, "You look like you could use it."
"Please," Bannie grunted, "Anything we can get. Who are you?"
"Fubuki," the destroyer replied, then reached over to help hold up Nick's injured form.
24 June 2020
0230
There were dozens of thoughts running through Bannie's mind simultaneously. All of them stopped when she saw Nick go down. The remaining enemies. The shells exploding around her. The flames of burning ships in the distance. All of it faded away. She had to help her stricken sister, and no force in hell was going to stop her.
She pulled to a stop next to her wounded sister. The sight almost caused her to throw up. Nick's legs were shredded. Bannie could see where her torn bulkheads had been exposed to the air. Shredded steel marked where the hit had ripped her stern clean off.
Hot tears filled Bannie's eyes, carving rivulets in her soot streaked face. Nick, the ship that she had spent her entire life alongside, the ship she had been born next to, and ended one life next to. Damn it, why did this have to happen to Nick? Bannie wished that she had been there, that she had taken that fucking torpedo. Anyone but Nick.
"Come on, sis, don't leave me," Bannie moaned, grabbing Nick's form and pulling it to her chest. She could at least add her own undamaged buoyancy to help slow her sister's flooding. The unconscious destroyer let out a grunt of pain, but otherwise remained still. For the first time in a long time, Bannie had no idea what to do. She knew basic damage control, but how the hell was she supposed to apply that to the wounded girl in her arms? Damn it, she wished they were ships again, back when all it took to fix something like this was some time in a dock.
Bannie felt something sticky against her skin, and looked down to see blood staining her legs. It was from Nick, her wounld was bleeding badly. Panicking, Bannie ripped off her shirt, tieing it around Nick's legs in an attempt to staunch the bleeding.
"Damn it, I was the one who was supposed to go out like this," Bannie sniffed, burying her face in Nick's jacket. She could feel damage control fairies scurrying over her shoulders, welding torches and handy billy pumps in hand. At least her crew was doing everything they could.
Nick stirred slightly, tightening her grip. "Don't go," she mumbled weakly.
"I'm here, I ain't leaving," Bannie replied, her voice hoarse with emotion. She felt a new pair of arms wrap around her, and looked up in surprise to see Fletcher.
"Damnit Bannie, don't run off like that," Fletcher croaked, but Bannie could see in her eyes that she didn't mean the reprimand. She raised her voice again, but this time spoke over the radio, "Commander, help. Please. Nick's hurt."
When Commander Dover's voice came back, there was a softness in it that Bannie hadn't expected, "How bad is it?"
"Bad," Fletcher replied, "I think her screws are gone. Me and Bannie are doing what we can..."
"Hold on, we'll be there as soon as we can," Dover replied. Something about his words reassured Bannie. She knew that no matter what, help was on the way. Once again, the world seemed to disappear, and the only thing she could see was Nick.
-[]-[]-[]-
"Captain, we have to help them," Dover shouted. A deep anger filled his body. An anger at the monsters, at himself for letting this happen, at the fucking world for putting him in this situation. His vision was slowly turning red as the unbridled rage seeped into every corner of his being.
"I agree," Jones replied, his voice matching Dover's in volume, "But there are still cruisers out there." He flew out of his seat and made a gesture towards the darkness. "The smoke bought us time, but I will not risk the safety of my ship against those odds."
Something inside Dover snapped.He suddenly found himself in a place that he had not been in years.
"Captain, I swear to God, if you let them-"
"Commander," Jones barked in a voice that caused all noise on the bridge to cease, "Get ahold of yourself, or get the fuck off my bridge. IS THAT CLEAR?"
Dover stared at Jones for several seconds, a war of emotions raging behind his eyes. "Yes sir," he said emotionlessly
The battle had begun to slow down. Only the occasional flash of Lou and Helena's guns lit the night now, and return fire from the remaining enemy ships had slowed to a trickle. Dover knew that this was only because the two remaining cruisers could not see through the smokescreen well enough to correct their fire. While the respite was welcomed, it was just that, a brief pause in hostilities. The smoke would not last forever, and when it dissipated... Well, Dover did not want to consider that. Not now.
They could have run, they should have run, but no one could bear to abandon the crippled Shiloh. Fitz was alongside the cruiser now, trying to rig towlines as quickly a she could. Dover hoped that Lou would deal with the remaining enemies quickly, because they were rapidly running out of ships to trade
The bridge speakers crackled with Lou's voice, "What's happenin?"
"Nick's down," Fletcher replied, her voice wavering, "She's unconscious and losing blood."
"Hold on for fifteen minutes, I'll be there," Lou replied, her voice sounded strained as if she was exerting herself heavily.
Dover grabbed his microphone and said, "We'll give you all the support we can."
'Hurry Lou, for God's sake, hurry,' Dover thought.
Then clenched his fists together so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Damn it. Why was this happening?
-[]-[]-[]-
"Lou, wait!" Helena shouted. Raising a hand, she grabbed the back of Lou's shirt, "Don't go running off half cocked."
"'Lena, I'm not letting those tin cans get sunk," Lou replied, fury rising in her voice.
"I'm just…" Helena began, then took a breath, "Think about the situation. Don't act rashly."
"The situation is that there are two bastards out there who are going to start tearing into the destroyers at any moment if we don't stop them," Lou snapped.
"Don't you see that IT MAY BE A TRAP?!" Helena screamed. She blinked in surprise. Why had she done that? It was the first time she had ever raised her voice. She just didn't do things like that.
In a small voice she continued, "Think about it. If we rush in, we would be moving on their terms."
"So we move carefully," Lou replied, fixing her sister with a knowing look. Before she could protest further, white foam began to froth at Lou's stern as the cruiser poured on the steam. Helena hesitated for a half second, before following after her sister.
It didn't take them long to spot the destroyers. They were all clustered together, slowly steaming towards the main body of the task group. "Shit," Lou breathed when she saw Nick. The brave destroyer was being propped up by her sisters, her body hanging limp in their arms. It took all of Helena's will not to rush off to their aid. She… she had to make sure that everyone was safe first. She had to stop the bad guys before they hurt more of her friends.
Something pinged on Helena's radar scope, causing the light cruiser to look up in surprise. A new blip materialized near them, as if it had been suddenly dropped there. "That's weird," she remarked, before her world was drowned out by the canvas ripping shriek of incoming shells. A salvo of shells slammed into the water, throwing up a wall between them and the destroyers.
"Those weren't cruiser shells."
"What are you talking about?" Lou asked, confused.
"Splash was too big, those were," she began, then gasped with horror, "Battleship." Emerging slowly from the line of smoke was a towering leviathan of a warship. It's dark form cast eerily backlit by the flickering illumination of the battlefield. This was no antique man-o-war. This was the real deal: a dreadnought. Smoke curled from eight huge guns, their muzzles trained on Lou and Helena.
"What the hell is that?" the startled question came over the radio. Commander Dover must have spotted the leviathan as it fired.
"A battleship," Helena breathed, then turned to stare at the monster bearing down on them.
"We can't stand up to that," she muttered.
"I'm damn sure gonna try," Lou shouted, then opened up with her guns. The 6" tracers striking the monster and bounding off its flanks. A return salvo flashed into the night, the huge shells splashing around Lou.
"That's right ya bastard, focus on me," she grunted, then began to close the range, "I'm the one you want!"
Helena added her own fire to the attack. If only they could keep the monster's attention for a few minutes, then maybe the destroyers could limp to safety. She hoped they would hurry though. It was only a matter of time before this thing got lucky.
-[]-[]-[]-
Bannie stared up at the monster in horror, tightening her grip. She tried to push her overworked engines even harder, evoking angry protests from her engineering officer.
'Why?' she thought bitterly, 'Why are they doing this? Can't they just leave us alone?'
A shell from the battleship struck Lou in the side, but the cruiser only seemed dazed by the impact. "What do we do?" Bannie asked, her voice wavering, "What do we do?"
"Keep pushing," Fletcher replied, "We can't help them." They continued their agonizingly slow advance, crawling closer to safety foot by foot.
"We're not going to win this one," Taylor remarked. The destroyer had been silent up until then, and it was clear that she was on the verge of a breakdown.
"Keep moving sailor," Fletcher replied, steel in her eyes, "We have our job, let everyone else focus on theirs."
Bannie couldn't tear her eyes away from the melee behind her. The cruisers were doing their best to stop the monster, but their efforts fell short. No matter how many hits it took, the monster refused to stop.
Helena took a hit. The shell tearing hell out of her blouse, and sending her reeling. "FUCK THOSE BASTARDS," Bannie screamed as loud as she could. Her vision began to blur as as tears began to flood her eyes.
"It was a nice ride," Lou's voice croaked over the radio, "Get your men clear, Commander. We'll keep this cocksucker busy." There was no reply, and Bannie hung her head, a feeling of defeat washing over her small form.
A new sound filled the night, and Bannie looked up in time to see a cloud of tracers fall on the monster. Unlike Lou and Helena's fire, these tore great holes in the battleship's side, causing secondary detonations to ripple along its flanks.
"Who-" Fletcher asked, only to be cut off by a voice that thundered over the radio.
"We are here to help you, Americans. I shall defeat those monsters with my BURNING LOVE!!"
"What. The. Fuck?" Bannie sputtered.
A new form materialized in front of the destroyers. This one looked like a teenage girl with short black hair, but what Bannie saw was a destroyer with a tall superstructure, two funnels, and a twin gun on her foredeck. A Jap destroyer.
"You need some help?" the newcomer asked, "You look like you could use it."
"Please," Bannie grunted, "Anything we can get. Who are you?"
"Fubuki," the destroyer replied, then reached over to help hold up Nick's injured form.
Last edited:
6: Aftermath
Breakaway25
All hail the Mighty Tomcat
- Location
- Stuck on the Quarterdeck
USS Evans
23 June 2020
0640
Things had finally begun to calm down aboard the Evans. The monsters were gone, sunk or driven back by the assistance of Kongou and her group, but the danger was far from past. Repair crews were hard at work to patch the ship's damage, and the small medical crew was going around tending to the wounded.
For Helena, this was a much needed rest. She had worn herself out during the battle, and now her bunkers were just about bare. The cruiser had climbed aboard the Evans just about as soon as the shooting had stopped, she was wet, tired, sore, and hungry. She had reluctantly left the line, figuring that passing out in the ocean from fatigue and lack of fuel would help no one. Lou had stubbornly stayed, but Helena figured her sister would be back shortly as soon as her aching bunkers began to complain in earnest.
The Japanese girls had agreed to take over the job of escorting the crippled American ships, and while Helena was wary, they had proved themselves to be friends. At least, for now. And honestly, she needed the respite. While she deeply loved her new life, being human certainly carried a stiff price. A large yawn split her face, punctuating the thought.
Helena had wanted to go stumble into the hangar and collapse on her cot, but she found that she just couldn't do that. She didn't know why she felt like this, but a part of her just couldn't allow her to go off and disappear when one of her friends, her destroyers, was hurting. Helena owed Nick far more than she cared to admit, both from this new life, and the old one they had shared. She just couldn't leave her alone, not now.
The exhausted cruiser had made her way down to the sickbay where Nick was being treated for her injuries. She was surprised to see Bannie sitting in the corridor, back to the wall, and eyes closed. The scene probably would have been adorable if it was under different circumstances.
Off all the ships who had returned, Bannie had the closest connection to Nick. The two were twins after all. Where Helena owed Nick for past service, Bannie had lived her life alongside the other Fletcher class. In retrospect, this was where Bannie had to be, even more than Helena
With a small smile, Helena lowered herself to the deck next to the sleeping destroyer, and stretched an arm over her shoulders. Bannie let out a small grunt, and then leaned into Helena's side, putting all of her weight on the cruiser. Helena replied, by pulling the redhead even deeper into her embrace.
"It's going to be alright," Helena whispered, saying the words more for her own benefit, "The Navy can fix anything if they set their mind to it."
"We certainly try," Helena looked up in surprise. She was certain that she was alone in the corridor with Bannie, but there was Master Chief Boggs standing over her, his arms crossed. She cringed momentarily. When Boggs showed up, it usually meant an ass-chewing wasn't far behind.
"Good morning," Helena replied, trying her best to keep her face calm.
"Morning," Boggs replied, then sat down on the deck next to Helena. The cruiser had not been expecting that at all.
She stammered, "C-can I help you, Chief?"
"How's Nick?" Boggs asked, fixing Helena with a serious look.
"I don't know," Helena replied, letting out a breath, "I came to find out myself."
"But you saw missie here?" Boggs said, reaching over to tousle Bannie's hair. The destroyer let out a happy grunt, then shifted more of her weight into Helena.
"She's out of it," Helena responded, "I think this night hit her the hardest."
"It hit us all," Boggs replied, "Everyone lost something tonight, and it's not going to be the last time this happens."
"I keep trying to tell myself that there was nothing I could do. That Nick wasn't hurt because of my mistakes."
"Was there any reason for you to think you didn't do your best?" Boggs asked, fixing her with a prying look, "Because I don't think there was."
"But what if I had been faster? What if I had been more accurate, or had been able to actually hit the bastard that hurt Nick," Helena replied, tilting her head down to stare holes in the deck.
"Helena," Boggs said, letting out a long sigh, "In war, sometimes people get hurt. Sometimes they're our sailors, the ones we are responsible for, and sometimes, they're our friends." Boggs' tone had suddenly grown somber, and he seemed to be staring at nothing in particular as he spoke.
"Sometimes it's because we fucked up, but most of the time, it had nothing to do with our actions. We can speculate. We can ask 'What if?' until it's our time to go, but none of that changes the fact that people get hurt when they put on this uniform. That is the price you agree to pay."
"The price of being human," Helena replied, then let out a dry chuckle, "Everything has a price now."
"The trick," Boggs continued, ignoring her, "Is to not beat yourself up over it. The past is gone, and no matter how much you want to, you can never get it back. Don't kick yourself over what you could have done. Do what you can right now, and let history sort out the rest."
He put his hand on her head and looked her in the eyes, saying, "Do your best and no more, and you will have no problems."
Helena stared at Boggs for several seconds, trying to process what he had just said. "Where did that come from, Master Chief."
"Do you know how many times I've had to help dig junior officers out of their own messes?" Boggs replied, laughing, "One of the Chief's duties is to be a font of wisdom."
Bannie stirred against Helena and muttered, "Wazzat?"
"You alright, sweetie?" Boggs asked, moving to look the destroyer in the eyes.
"I'll be okay, I guess," she said, letting out a breath. Boggs have her quick pat on the head, then stood up.
"Think about what I said, Helena," Boggs said, fixing the cruiser with an intense look, then began to walk away, "I need to get back to making sure the ship don't sink."
The corridor was thrust into silence for several minutes, with only the sounds of the ship around them breaking it. Bannie was the first to speak, "What was that about?"
"Just the Master Chief trying to bring me to my sense," Helena said. Bannie replied by raising an inquisitive eyebrow.
Helena let out a short giggle, then reached down to tousle Bannie's hair, earning her a cry of protest from the destroyer.
"Are you alright?" Helena look up in surprise at the new voice, right into the face of a battleship. Helena didn't know how, but she just knew that the girl standing before her was a battleship, a Japanese battleship.
"And you are?" Helena asked, glaring at the battleship as if asking, "What are you doing here?"
"I-I didn't mean to intrude," the girl said quickly, waving her hands in front of her chest in a placating gesture. The move caused her long sleeves to flap about wildly in front of her face.
Helena rolled her eyes at the girl's actions, then said, "So which one are you?"
"Haruna," the battleship replied, freezing in place for a second, her arms still held in front of her, "Nee-sama told me to find out about the hurt destroyer."
"Nee…" Helena said, confused.
"Her older sister," Bannie replied, speaking softly, "Which means Kongou."
"How do you?"
"I was stationed in Japan for a long time after the war. You pick up things," Bannie replied with a shrug, "I ain't fluent by any stretch, but I can at least get by in Japanese."
Helena nodded, then turned back to Haruna, "So Kongou sent you?"
"That's right," Haruna replied, lowering her hands, "To check on your destroyer. Is she alright?"
"Nick's passed out on a cot, if that's what you mean," Bannie replied quickly, "And the doc doesn't know what to do with her."
Haruna cocked her head to the side in thought, then announced, "Maybe we can help. The doctor in the district has gotten pretty good at fixing us. Fixing one more destroyer couldn't be that hard. Could it?"
"I certainly hope so," Helena replied with a sigh, "We've certainly done all we could for her here."
"Can I help?" Haruna asked. Helena could tell from her tone that the request was genuine.
"Not really," Helena replied, looking down, "Doc's already forbidden us from getting in the way. Look, I appreciate your help, but there's just nothing for you to do."
"It's alright," Haruna replied, looking down at the deck, "I need to talk to your teitoku anyway."
"Admiral," Bannie supplied without being asked, "She means the commander."
"I can take you to him," Helena said, then slowly untangled herself from Bannie, and stood up. She looked into Haruna's eyes for a long moment, trying to figure out what the battleship was thinking. "Come on, it's just this way," Helena said, grabbing the Japanese battleship by the hand and dragging her down the corridor.
Washington D.C.
23 June 2020
Admiral Steven Davies was out of his element. It was a are day that he felt so out of place. It wasn't his first time visiting the President's personal briefing room, but it threw him for for a loop each and every time. He sat in one of the chairs, reviewing his briefing material, and trying to hide the fact that his hands were shaking.
He shouldn't feel this uncomfortable. He was an intelligence specialist giving an intelligence briefing after all, but this subject seemed so damned far fetched. When you looked at it, the idea of ships becoming humans sounded like something out of a cheap science fiction paperback, not something that was really happening.
Davies had read through the information Commander Shimada had forwarded to him over and over, he had watched the video files that had been forwarded to his email, and he had seen the dozens of first hand accounts vouching for the legitimacy of the claims. Even with all of the supporting evidence, he still had trouble believing this story. There were just too many questions, to many things that made this impossible.
However, he was able to see opportunity, and he would be a damned fool to miss this one. These girls could apparently fight the monsters, and in the end, wasn't that all that mattered? What difference did it make who they claimed to be, if they could help them beat back the monsters. He really had to come up with a better name for them. Constantly saying the word monsters to the President just seemed… wrong somehow.
A commotion in the room caused Davies to look up from his papers, just in time to see the President walk into the room. He jumped to his feet with the rest of the officers in the room in a pavlovian reaction.
The President waved them all down without a word, then proceeded to his seat. With a sigh, Davies stood up and walked to the screen at the front of the room.
"Sir, this is the current situation," Davies began, then brought up his first slide, a map of the world with several ships markers dotted around it. A distressing number of them were marked with a red X. It didn't take a genius to figure out what this map meant, "At this moment approximately 25% of our naval assets are either sunk or critically damaged, and that number is increasing by the hour."
"Monsters have done all this?" the President asked, not looking away from the map.
"Yes sir," Davies replied grimly.
"Tell me we have some way to stop this, Admiral," the President remarked, "Or else a lot of taxpayers are going to be pissed at all of us.
"That is what I what I want to discuss today, sir," Davies said, then took in a long breath. He clicked his remote to bring up the next slide. He was fixed by more than one confused look by the men in the room as the screen displayed a picture of the battleship Kongou, in her current state.
"Is this a joke, Admiral?" the Secretary of Defense asked, his tone indicating that he was not amused.
"This," Davies said, ignoring the jab, "Is the battleship Kongou."
The President let out a low whistle, "If that's what ships look like these days, I may just need to change my line of work."
"Sir, this young woman claims to be, for lack of better words, the reincarnation of the battleship Kongou," Davies continued, "The battleship that sank during WWII. She is, as well as several other ships who have returned in similar states, a kanmusu."
"Are you trying to tell us that a battleship, one that sank almost eighty years ago, has suddenly appeared, as a young woman?" the SECDEF asked, giving Davies a disbelieving look, "This is… well, beyond far fetched, Admiral."
"This information comes to us by way of our allies, the Japanese Self Defense Force," Davies continued, ignoring the quips, "They have collected a substantial amount of information about the kanmusu, from physiological data, to combat performance information."
"These things can fight too?" the President asked, quirking an eyebrow. Davies didn't reply. Instead he clicked the remote once more. The next screen showed a short video of Kongou, this time with her rigging attached. She skated back and forth through the frame several times, before settling in a spot at the center of the screen. With a loud cry, her guns barked as one, sending great tongues of fire lancing into the sky. With that, the video ended and the screen went black.
There was a tense silence in the room, as everyone attempted to process what they had just seen. Finally the President spoke, "So, all of these, kanmusu can do that?"
"Some, the battleships can at least. They also have destroyers and cruisers who equip different weaponry," Davies explained.
"This whole situation seems rather thin, Admiral," Davies looked across the room at the Secretary of the Navy. Then man was holdings his hands in front of his face, fingers tented, "To me, this sounds like a story the Japanese cooked up in an attempt to convince the world that they can win the war."
"Rob's right," the President announced, "What evidence do we have that this isn't just some fabrication in order to throw us off the trail?"
"Sir, this information comes from one of my officers in Yokosuka," Davies explained, "He vouches for its legitimacy."
"I guess the only other question I have now is, are there any of these kanmusu in our fleet?" the President asked, rocking back in his chair.
"Not at this time," Davies replied.
"Well then," the President continued, "I think we all have a lot to discuss. Let's get to it everybody." The room went silent again as the President shuffled out with a few of the bureaucratic types. Davies stayed behind staring at the rapidly emptying room.
The President had bought his briefing, not only that but had appeared to believe it? Would wonders never cease. His elation was short lived however, as the SECNAV walked up to him. "Do you honestly beleive this horeseshit, Admiral?"
"Sir, I do. My man in Yokosuka is top notch. If he says this information is correct, I am assuming it to be so," Davies replied, deciding to stick to his guns.
"Admiral, I still don't trust this," SECNAV replied, "It seems too damn convenient to me, but I'll give your man the benefit of the doubt. Look, go talk to the CNO. Let him decide what to do with this." Davies jerked a quick nod before the secretary continued, "But tell Admiral Wright this, my recommendation is that he ask for information. Not to do anything until we have more information, especially whether or not we have some of these kanmusu of our own."
"Aye sir," Davies replied.
"Good, now then you best get to it," SECNAV said, putting on a thin smile, "This is going to either vault your career forward, or send you out with your tail between your legs."
"Sir, that consideration never entered into my mind," Davies replied, truthfully.
A genuine smile spread over the SECNAV's face, he slapped Davies on the back, "That's what I like to hear, Admiral. Take care." The man quickly walked out of the room, leaving Davies alone with his thoughts.
23 June 2020
0640
Things had finally begun to calm down aboard the Evans. The monsters were gone, sunk or driven back by the assistance of Kongou and her group, but the danger was far from past. Repair crews were hard at work to patch the ship's damage, and the small medical crew was going around tending to the wounded.
For Helena, this was a much needed rest. She had worn herself out during the battle, and now her bunkers were just about bare. The cruiser had climbed aboard the Evans just about as soon as the shooting had stopped, she was wet, tired, sore, and hungry. She had reluctantly left the line, figuring that passing out in the ocean from fatigue and lack of fuel would help no one. Lou had stubbornly stayed, but Helena figured her sister would be back shortly as soon as her aching bunkers began to complain in earnest.
The Japanese girls had agreed to take over the job of escorting the crippled American ships, and while Helena was wary, they had proved themselves to be friends. At least, for now. And honestly, she needed the respite. While she deeply loved her new life, being human certainly carried a stiff price. A large yawn split her face, punctuating the thought.
Helena had wanted to go stumble into the hangar and collapse on her cot, but she found that she just couldn't do that. She didn't know why she felt like this, but a part of her just couldn't allow her to go off and disappear when one of her friends, her destroyers, was hurting. Helena owed Nick far more than she cared to admit, both from this new life, and the old one they had shared. She just couldn't leave her alone, not now.
The exhausted cruiser had made her way down to the sickbay where Nick was being treated for her injuries. She was surprised to see Bannie sitting in the corridor, back to the wall, and eyes closed. The scene probably would have been adorable if it was under different circumstances.
Off all the ships who had returned, Bannie had the closest connection to Nick. The two were twins after all. Where Helena owed Nick for past service, Bannie had lived her life alongside the other Fletcher class. In retrospect, this was where Bannie had to be, even more than Helena
With a small smile, Helena lowered herself to the deck next to the sleeping destroyer, and stretched an arm over her shoulders. Bannie let out a small grunt, and then leaned into Helena's side, putting all of her weight on the cruiser. Helena replied, by pulling the redhead even deeper into her embrace.
"It's going to be alright," Helena whispered, saying the words more for her own benefit, "The Navy can fix anything if they set their mind to it."
"We certainly try," Helena looked up in surprise. She was certain that she was alone in the corridor with Bannie, but there was Master Chief Boggs standing over her, his arms crossed. She cringed momentarily. When Boggs showed up, it usually meant an ass-chewing wasn't far behind.
"Good morning," Helena replied, trying her best to keep her face calm.
"Morning," Boggs replied, then sat down on the deck next to Helena. The cruiser had not been expecting that at all.
She stammered, "C-can I help you, Chief?"
"How's Nick?" Boggs asked, fixing Helena with a serious look.
"I don't know," Helena replied, letting out a breath, "I came to find out myself."
"But you saw missie here?" Boggs said, reaching over to tousle Bannie's hair. The destroyer let out a happy grunt, then shifted more of her weight into Helena.
"She's out of it," Helena responded, "I think this night hit her the hardest."
"It hit us all," Boggs replied, "Everyone lost something tonight, and it's not going to be the last time this happens."
"I keep trying to tell myself that there was nothing I could do. That Nick wasn't hurt because of my mistakes."
"Was there any reason for you to think you didn't do your best?" Boggs asked, fixing her with a prying look, "Because I don't think there was."
"But what if I had been faster? What if I had been more accurate, or had been able to actually hit the bastard that hurt Nick," Helena replied, tilting her head down to stare holes in the deck.
"Helena," Boggs said, letting out a long sigh, "In war, sometimes people get hurt. Sometimes they're our sailors, the ones we are responsible for, and sometimes, they're our friends." Boggs' tone had suddenly grown somber, and he seemed to be staring at nothing in particular as he spoke.
"Sometimes it's because we fucked up, but most of the time, it had nothing to do with our actions. We can speculate. We can ask 'What if?' until it's our time to go, but none of that changes the fact that people get hurt when they put on this uniform. That is the price you agree to pay."
"The price of being human," Helena replied, then let out a dry chuckle, "Everything has a price now."
"The trick," Boggs continued, ignoring her, "Is to not beat yourself up over it. The past is gone, and no matter how much you want to, you can never get it back. Don't kick yourself over what you could have done. Do what you can right now, and let history sort out the rest."
He put his hand on her head and looked her in the eyes, saying, "Do your best and no more, and you will have no problems."
Helena stared at Boggs for several seconds, trying to process what he had just said. "Where did that come from, Master Chief."
"Do you know how many times I've had to help dig junior officers out of their own messes?" Boggs replied, laughing, "One of the Chief's duties is to be a font of wisdom."
Bannie stirred against Helena and muttered, "Wazzat?"
"You alright, sweetie?" Boggs asked, moving to look the destroyer in the eyes.
"I'll be okay, I guess," she said, letting out a breath. Boggs have her quick pat on the head, then stood up.
"Think about what I said, Helena," Boggs said, fixing the cruiser with an intense look, then began to walk away, "I need to get back to making sure the ship don't sink."
The corridor was thrust into silence for several minutes, with only the sounds of the ship around them breaking it. Bannie was the first to speak, "What was that about?"
"Just the Master Chief trying to bring me to my sense," Helena said. Bannie replied by raising an inquisitive eyebrow.
Helena let out a short giggle, then reached down to tousle Bannie's hair, earning her a cry of protest from the destroyer.
"Are you alright?" Helena look up in surprise at the new voice, right into the face of a battleship. Helena didn't know how, but she just knew that the girl standing before her was a battleship, a Japanese battleship.
"And you are?" Helena asked, glaring at the battleship as if asking, "What are you doing here?"
"I-I didn't mean to intrude," the girl said quickly, waving her hands in front of her chest in a placating gesture. The move caused her long sleeves to flap about wildly in front of her face.
Helena rolled her eyes at the girl's actions, then said, "So which one are you?"
"Haruna," the battleship replied, freezing in place for a second, her arms still held in front of her, "Nee-sama told me to find out about the hurt destroyer."
"Nee…" Helena said, confused.
"Her older sister," Bannie replied, speaking softly, "Which means Kongou."
"How do you?"
"I was stationed in Japan for a long time after the war. You pick up things," Bannie replied with a shrug, "I ain't fluent by any stretch, but I can at least get by in Japanese."
Helena nodded, then turned back to Haruna, "So Kongou sent you?"
"That's right," Haruna replied, lowering her hands, "To check on your destroyer. Is she alright?"
"Nick's passed out on a cot, if that's what you mean," Bannie replied quickly, "And the doc doesn't know what to do with her."
Haruna cocked her head to the side in thought, then announced, "Maybe we can help. The doctor in the district has gotten pretty good at fixing us. Fixing one more destroyer couldn't be that hard. Could it?"
"I certainly hope so," Helena replied with a sigh, "We've certainly done all we could for her here."
"Can I help?" Haruna asked. Helena could tell from her tone that the request was genuine.
"Not really," Helena replied, looking down, "Doc's already forbidden us from getting in the way. Look, I appreciate your help, but there's just nothing for you to do."
"It's alright," Haruna replied, looking down at the deck, "I need to talk to your teitoku anyway."
"Admiral," Bannie supplied without being asked, "She means the commander."
"I can take you to him," Helena said, then slowly untangled herself from Bannie, and stood up. She looked into Haruna's eyes for a long moment, trying to figure out what the battleship was thinking. "Come on, it's just this way," Helena said, grabbing the Japanese battleship by the hand and dragging her down the corridor.
-[]-[]-[]-
White House Situation Room
Washington D.C.
23 June 2020
Admiral Steven Davies was out of his element. It was a are day that he felt so out of place. It wasn't his first time visiting the President's personal briefing room, but it threw him for for a loop each and every time. He sat in one of the chairs, reviewing his briefing material, and trying to hide the fact that his hands were shaking.
He shouldn't feel this uncomfortable. He was an intelligence specialist giving an intelligence briefing after all, but this subject seemed so damned far fetched. When you looked at it, the idea of ships becoming humans sounded like something out of a cheap science fiction paperback, not something that was really happening.
Davies had read through the information Commander Shimada had forwarded to him over and over, he had watched the video files that had been forwarded to his email, and he had seen the dozens of first hand accounts vouching for the legitimacy of the claims. Even with all of the supporting evidence, he still had trouble believing this story. There were just too many questions, to many things that made this impossible.
However, he was able to see opportunity, and he would be a damned fool to miss this one. These girls could apparently fight the monsters, and in the end, wasn't that all that mattered? What difference did it make who they claimed to be, if they could help them beat back the monsters. He really had to come up with a better name for them. Constantly saying the word monsters to the President just seemed… wrong somehow.
A commotion in the room caused Davies to look up from his papers, just in time to see the President walk into the room. He jumped to his feet with the rest of the officers in the room in a pavlovian reaction.
The President waved them all down without a word, then proceeded to his seat. With a sigh, Davies stood up and walked to the screen at the front of the room.
"Sir, this is the current situation," Davies began, then brought up his first slide, a map of the world with several ships markers dotted around it. A distressing number of them were marked with a red X. It didn't take a genius to figure out what this map meant, "At this moment approximately 25% of our naval assets are either sunk or critically damaged, and that number is increasing by the hour."
"Monsters have done all this?" the President asked, not looking away from the map.
"Yes sir," Davies replied grimly.
"Tell me we have some way to stop this, Admiral," the President remarked, "Or else a lot of taxpayers are going to be pissed at all of us.
"That is what I what I want to discuss today, sir," Davies said, then took in a long breath. He clicked his remote to bring up the next slide. He was fixed by more than one confused look by the men in the room as the screen displayed a picture of the battleship Kongou, in her current state.
"Is this a joke, Admiral?" the Secretary of Defense asked, his tone indicating that he was not amused.
"This," Davies said, ignoring the jab, "Is the battleship Kongou."
The President let out a low whistle, "If that's what ships look like these days, I may just need to change my line of work."
"Sir, this young woman claims to be, for lack of better words, the reincarnation of the battleship Kongou," Davies continued, "The battleship that sank during WWII. She is, as well as several other ships who have returned in similar states, a kanmusu."
"Are you trying to tell us that a battleship, one that sank almost eighty years ago, has suddenly appeared, as a young woman?" the SECDEF asked, giving Davies a disbelieving look, "This is… well, beyond far fetched, Admiral."
"This information comes to us by way of our allies, the Japanese Self Defense Force," Davies continued, ignoring the quips, "They have collected a substantial amount of information about the kanmusu, from physiological data, to combat performance information."
"These things can fight too?" the President asked, quirking an eyebrow. Davies didn't reply. Instead he clicked the remote once more. The next screen showed a short video of Kongou, this time with her rigging attached. She skated back and forth through the frame several times, before settling in a spot at the center of the screen. With a loud cry, her guns barked as one, sending great tongues of fire lancing into the sky. With that, the video ended and the screen went black.
There was a tense silence in the room, as everyone attempted to process what they had just seen. Finally the President spoke, "So, all of these, kanmusu can do that?"
"Some, the battleships can at least. They also have destroyers and cruisers who equip different weaponry," Davies explained.
"This whole situation seems rather thin, Admiral," Davies looked across the room at the Secretary of the Navy. Then man was holdings his hands in front of his face, fingers tented, "To me, this sounds like a story the Japanese cooked up in an attempt to convince the world that they can win the war."
"Rob's right," the President announced, "What evidence do we have that this isn't just some fabrication in order to throw us off the trail?"
"Sir, this information comes from one of my officers in Yokosuka," Davies explained, "He vouches for its legitimacy."
"I guess the only other question I have now is, are there any of these kanmusu in our fleet?" the President asked, rocking back in his chair.
"Not at this time," Davies replied.
"Well then," the President continued, "I think we all have a lot to discuss. Let's get to it everybody." The room went silent again as the President shuffled out with a few of the bureaucratic types. Davies stayed behind staring at the rapidly emptying room.
The President had bought his briefing, not only that but had appeared to believe it? Would wonders never cease. His elation was short lived however, as the SECNAV walked up to him. "Do you honestly beleive this horeseshit, Admiral?"
"Sir, I do. My man in Yokosuka is top notch. If he says this information is correct, I am assuming it to be so," Davies replied, deciding to stick to his guns.
"Admiral, I still don't trust this," SECNAV replied, "It seems too damn convenient to me, but I'll give your man the benefit of the doubt. Look, go talk to the CNO. Let him decide what to do with this." Davies jerked a quick nod before the secretary continued, "But tell Admiral Wright this, my recommendation is that he ask for information. Not to do anything until we have more information, especially whether or not we have some of these kanmusu of our own."
"Aye sir," Davies replied.
"Good, now then you best get to it," SECNAV said, putting on a thin smile, "This is going to either vault your career forward, or send you out with your tail between your legs."
"Sir, that consideration never entered into my mind," Davies replied, truthfully.
A genuine smile spread over the SECNAV's face, he slapped Davies on the back, "That's what I like to hear, Admiral. Take care." The man quickly walked out of the room, leaving Davies alone with his thoughts.
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7: The World Wonders
Breakaway25
All hail the Mighty Tomcat
- Location
- Stuck on the Quarterdeck
Yokosuka Naval District
Yokosuka, Japan
24 June 2020
Commander Richard Tanner, Medical Corps USN, was used to surprises. Being interrupted at anytime of the day was simply par for the course these days. Usually it was worried junior officers pleading for his help to fix some problem, or senior noncoms who had bit off more than they could chew. He had cleaned up after more than one bar brawl since he had come to Japan.
However, all of it paled in comparison to the ship girls. When his superior had come to him a week ago and asked if Tanner would be willing to take on a challenging assignment, patching up young girls who just so happened to also be ships was far from what he had in mind. The girls… unique biology was beyond anything that he had dealt with in the past. He found himself discovering something new about them almost every day.
Half the time he just deferred to Akashi for the "ship" part of things, and focused completely on fixing the "girl" part. Even if most of the time the girls could repair their own wounds by soaking in a bath, for some reason. Akashi had attempted to explain it to him once, but as he had enthusiastically reminded the repair ship, "I'm a doctor, not a damage controlman, damnit."
She had tried to write it down, with pictures and diagrams even, but it still made no sense to Tanner. He could tell that the pink haired repair ship had just about given up trying to beat the concept into his head, and that was alright with him.
He was in his office, trying to read the latest report on the girls, when someone began banging on his door. One of the girls had probably gotten hurt doing something stupid last night… again. He placed the report back on his desk, and shouted, "It's open."
The door practically flew open and a girl marched in. Tanner was completely stunned by the fact that he did not recognize her. He had spent a lot of time putting names to faces, and thought he had learned to recognize everyone on the base, but this one was new. She had long, brown hair that was done up in a braid down her back. The large, blue coat almost looked out of place on her slim shoulders, but she seemed comfortable in it. Her features were even and looked… well, American.
But the US navy didn't have any kanmusu in its ranks, did it? That shocking thought was interrupted when the girl stopped in front of his desk, saying, "Kongou told me that I needed to find you."
The statement only served to confuse Tanner more. He had no idea why the crazy ex-pat battleship would send… he was almost certain she was a destroyer, but still had no idea which one.
"What is this about?"
"Sir, there was a battle last night and," she trailed off, and Tanner felt his heart sink. So that was it.
"Who was hurt?" Tanner asked quickly, standing up from his desk.
"Nicholas," the girl replied, her voice suddenly sounding strained, "She took a torpedo."
"I don't know who that," Tanner began to day.
"USS Nicholas, Fletcher class, DD-450," she replied quickly, "My sister."
"Wait, then who are you," Tanner continued.
"USS Fletcher," the girl replied, her voice now lacking all emotion, "First of my class." Tanner stood in stunned silence for almost a minute. Right now the only thing he was cared about was helping these girl's injured sister. Her identity couldn't matter less to Tanner right now.
"Take me to her," he said, then quickly followed the destroyer out of his office.
NAVSTA Pearl Harbor
Honolulu, HI
Captain Robert Jeffery stared out at the destroyer. There were a dozen different emotions running through his mind simultaneously at the sight. Pride that the ship had managed to fight her way to safety. Regret at the damage that marred her once pristine hull, and horror at the thought that she had been one of the luckier ones.
The USS Halsey looked like she had been through hell. Dents and holes marred her flanks, and there were black patches of scorched paint covering her superstructure. The destroyer seemed to lean against her slip, almost as if she was using the support of the dock to keep her afloat.
"Damn shame, ain't it," Jeffery looked up in surprise at the sudden arrival of Admiral Smith. The 3rd Fleet ops officer seemed to be more worn out then Jeffery, but then again, he had an entire fleet to take care of instead of the six ships Jeffery was in charge of.
"I'm just happy she's in one piece, sir," Jeffery replied, "We're going to need every hull we can get."
"The Pentagon shares your sentiment," Smith replied with a dry tone, "They've already reactivated the reserve fleet, and I heard they're trying to pull a couple of museum ships out of mothballs."
"That's going to be a sight," Jeffery replied, then turned to look Smith straight in the eye, "I'm assuming you didn't come out here to tell me that."
Smith took in a long breath, then replied, "I need your ships to go out again. That one," he nodded at the Halsey, "And any other you can patch up enough to float."
Jeffery ground his teeth together in anger, "Dammit Admiral, with all due respect, you can't keep throwing them to the wolves like that."
"Bob, your destroyers are just about the only assets I have left in theater," Smith snapped back, "Unless you can magically give me some new ships, they're all we got."
"I know that, sir," Jeffery snapped, then his tone softened, "Just… give them a rest. If you keep pushing them, they're going to break."
"I am well aware, and if there was any other option, beleive me, I would take it. The simple fact is because we lost two carrier groups, we don't have enough ships to cover the Pacific anymore."
The sound of someone loudly clearing their throat caused Jeffer to snap his head up. Standing on the dock behind the two officers was the Halsey's captain. Jeffery had not even noticed the man's approach during his argument with Smith.
He snapped a quick salute off to Smith, then looked at Jeffery, "Sir, I would like to report the successful completion of my ship's mission, and the confirmed destruction of six enemy destroyers and two cruisers."
"Now that's a damn good job," Smith said, all trace of anger disappearing from his voice, "I'm gonna enjoy reading that report, but I'm sure your commodore wants to hear the bullet points."
"Sir, I'm afraid that my ship can't take full credit for the enemy losses," he said, his eyes lowering to stare holes in the dock for a second.
"Well, Commander, who is sharing the credit?" Jeffery asked, crossing his arms over his chest. The Commander didn't reply, simply stepped to the side, revealing a young girl who Jeffery was surprised to admit that he hadn't even noticed.
She looked young, maybe about thirteen or fourteen. Had short, red hair, and was wearing a khaki officer's coat that seemed to be at least two sizes too large. The shoulder boards of a full commander on her shoulders seemed to fit for some reason.
Jeffery didn't say anything, merely raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "Ausburn," the girl replied, her voice squeaking with terror, "Destroyer USS Charles Ausburne reporting, sir."
The officers stood in stunned silence staring at the girl for a long time. Jeffery looked up to the Commander with a confused look on his face. The man merely nodded, saying, "She's telling the truth, and she's not the only one. The rest of her division is still aboard."
"Well," Smith said, "If this don't just beat all." Jeffery merely nodded in acceptance. Boy had this day taken a turn for the surreal.
Jack Shimada sat at his desk, trying to make sense of the report he was holding. Goto, the smug bastard, had practically stolen him from his previous billet to work intelligence for the kanmusu unit. At least he didn't have to work his ass off to pry every last scrap of information out of the JMSDF, and he was working first hand with the girls now.
They had even given him an office in the Kanmusu naval district. It was really just a handful of buildings in a disused part of Yokosuka base, but it was enough for their purposes. Goto was running things now, and trying his best to work let everyone into the new reality of this war. Shimada had even heard that Goto had snatched a doctor from the US Navy hospital to run the medical side of things.
And all told, Shimada's new office was certainly nicer than his old one, even if he did have to put up with the fact that Kongou practically lived there now when she wasn't on a mission. And where Kongou went, here sisters were always close behind. Shimanda had walked into his office on multiple occasions to find that they were having tea on his desk.
The sight had been surprising at first, but now it was just another of the things he had learned was part of his new "normal". Boy the things one learns to put up with while working next to ship girls.
He was a bit surprised that she hadn't come in to bug him yet. Possibly something he had missed in the morning report? He was reaching for his desk phone in order to call Goto, when the door flew open. He looked up just in time to see Kongou stagger into the room.
The normally cheerful and upbeat battleship seemed almost dead on her feet. Her eyes were half closed, and she was moving forward in an exhausted shuffle. She reached the small couch resting against the wall, and collapsed onto it with a loud whumph.
"Did I miss something?" Shimada asked, a bit of concern in his voice.
"Mmmhhpph," she replied, attempting to talk through the cushion, then rolled her head to the side, "We were up all night fighting." Shimada's eyes widened in surprise. He hadn't been told anything about there being a battle last night. Looked like he was going to have another talk with Goto about what he needed to do his job.
Shimada stood up from his desk, and walked over to the couch, still surprised at how calm the battleship currently sprawled out on it was acting. If this was a normal day, he would be flat on the floor with her on top of him by now. "Something wrong?"
"Tired, dess" she replied, letting out an enormous yawn to punctuate the statement.
"How'd it go?" Shimada continued.
"We beat up some cruisers, saved some of your ships."
"Anyone hurt?" Shimada asked.
"Just a destroyer. Poor thing took a torpedo," Kongou rolled onto her side, and looked up at Shimada with those liquid eyes of her. Damn, she had a beautiful face when she wasn't trying to harass him. "Nicholas," she continued, "One of yours."
"Wait, what?" Shimada asked, now completely confused. There weren't any American ship girls, were there?"
"There were a couple American kanmusu when I got there, dess" Kongou replied, letting out another yawn, "One really mean cruiser, a nice cruiser, and some more destroyers."
"Do you know where they are?" Shimada asked. He could already tell that there was going to be a lot of paperwork in his near future.
"With Commander Tanner in the bath," Kongou replied.
"You know why?" Shimada asked, but never got a reply. When he looked down, he saw that Kongou was fast asleep. Sighing, he walked back to his desk.
"American kanmusu," he muttered to himself, "This needs to get looked into, but first.." He pulled a uniform coat off of a hook, then walked back over to the couch. Being careful not to disturb the sleeping battleship, he gingerly laid the coat over her sleeping form. No sense in letting her catch cold, now was there? He had to admit again, that when she wasn't trying to assault him, or chase him, or drive him crazy with her constant advances, Kongou really was a beautiful girl. He kinda wished he could see more of this side of her.
He wanted to go down to the baths, and look into this new development, but he found that for some reason, he just couldn't leave Kongou all alone. So he reached for the report he had been reading, and sat back down at his desk. If Goto needed him to do something, he would call, but until then, Shimada wasn't leaving his office.
Yokosuka, Japan
24 June 2020
Commander Richard Tanner, Medical Corps USN, was used to surprises. Being interrupted at anytime of the day was simply par for the course these days. Usually it was worried junior officers pleading for his help to fix some problem, or senior noncoms who had bit off more than they could chew. He had cleaned up after more than one bar brawl since he had come to Japan.
However, all of it paled in comparison to the ship girls. When his superior had come to him a week ago and asked if Tanner would be willing to take on a challenging assignment, patching up young girls who just so happened to also be ships was far from what he had in mind. The girls… unique biology was beyond anything that he had dealt with in the past. He found himself discovering something new about them almost every day.
Half the time he just deferred to Akashi for the "ship" part of things, and focused completely on fixing the "girl" part. Even if most of the time the girls could repair their own wounds by soaking in a bath, for some reason. Akashi had attempted to explain it to him once, but as he had enthusiastically reminded the repair ship, "I'm a doctor, not a damage controlman, damnit."
She had tried to write it down, with pictures and diagrams even, but it still made no sense to Tanner. He could tell that the pink haired repair ship had just about given up trying to beat the concept into his head, and that was alright with him.
He was in his office, trying to read the latest report on the girls, when someone began banging on his door. One of the girls had probably gotten hurt doing something stupid last night… again. He placed the report back on his desk, and shouted, "It's open."
The door practically flew open and a girl marched in. Tanner was completely stunned by the fact that he did not recognize her. He had spent a lot of time putting names to faces, and thought he had learned to recognize everyone on the base, but this one was new. She had long, brown hair that was done up in a braid down her back. The large, blue coat almost looked out of place on her slim shoulders, but she seemed comfortable in it. Her features were even and looked… well, American.
But the US navy didn't have any kanmusu in its ranks, did it? That shocking thought was interrupted when the girl stopped in front of his desk, saying, "Kongou told me that I needed to find you."
The statement only served to confuse Tanner more. He had no idea why the crazy ex-pat battleship would send… he was almost certain she was a destroyer, but still had no idea which one.
"What is this about?"
"Sir, there was a battle last night and," she trailed off, and Tanner felt his heart sink. So that was it.
"Who was hurt?" Tanner asked quickly, standing up from his desk.
"Nicholas," the girl replied, her voice suddenly sounding strained, "She took a torpedo."
"I don't know who that," Tanner began to day.
"USS Nicholas, Fletcher class, DD-450," she replied quickly, "My sister."
"Wait, then who are you," Tanner continued.
"USS Fletcher," the girl replied, her voice now lacking all emotion, "First of my class." Tanner stood in stunned silence for almost a minute. Right now the only thing he was cared about was helping these girl's injured sister. Her identity couldn't matter less to Tanner right now.
"Take me to her," he said, then quickly followed the destroyer out of his office.
-[]-[]-[]-
NAVSTA Pearl Harbor
Honolulu, HI
Captain Robert Jeffery stared out at the destroyer. There were a dozen different emotions running through his mind simultaneously at the sight. Pride that the ship had managed to fight her way to safety. Regret at the damage that marred her once pristine hull, and horror at the thought that she had been one of the luckier ones.
The USS Halsey looked like she had been through hell. Dents and holes marred her flanks, and there were black patches of scorched paint covering her superstructure. The destroyer seemed to lean against her slip, almost as if she was using the support of the dock to keep her afloat.
"Damn shame, ain't it," Jeffery looked up in surprise at the sudden arrival of Admiral Smith. The 3rd Fleet ops officer seemed to be more worn out then Jeffery, but then again, he had an entire fleet to take care of instead of the six ships Jeffery was in charge of.
"I'm just happy she's in one piece, sir," Jeffery replied, "We're going to need every hull we can get."
"The Pentagon shares your sentiment," Smith replied with a dry tone, "They've already reactivated the reserve fleet, and I heard they're trying to pull a couple of museum ships out of mothballs."
"That's going to be a sight," Jeffery replied, then turned to look Smith straight in the eye, "I'm assuming you didn't come out here to tell me that."
Smith took in a long breath, then replied, "I need your ships to go out again. That one," he nodded at the Halsey, "And any other you can patch up enough to float."
Jeffery ground his teeth together in anger, "Dammit Admiral, with all due respect, you can't keep throwing them to the wolves like that."
"Bob, your destroyers are just about the only assets I have left in theater," Smith snapped back, "Unless you can magically give me some new ships, they're all we got."
"I know that, sir," Jeffery snapped, then his tone softened, "Just… give them a rest. If you keep pushing them, they're going to break."
"I am well aware, and if there was any other option, beleive me, I would take it. The simple fact is because we lost two carrier groups, we don't have enough ships to cover the Pacific anymore."
The sound of someone loudly clearing their throat caused Jeffer to snap his head up. Standing on the dock behind the two officers was the Halsey's captain. Jeffery had not even noticed the man's approach during his argument with Smith.
He snapped a quick salute off to Smith, then looked at Jeffery, "Sir, I would like to report the successful completion of my ship's mission, and the confirmed destruction of six enemy destroyers and two cruisers."
"Now that's a damn good job," Smith said, all trace of anger disappearing from his voice, "I'm gonna enjoy reading that report, but I'm sure your commodore wants to hear the bullet points."
"Sir, I'm afraid that my ship can't take full credit for the enemy losses," he said, his eyes lowering to stare holes in the dock for a second.
"Well, Commander, who is sharing the credit?" Jeffery asked, crossing his arms over his chest. The Commander didn't reply, simply stepped to the side, revealing a young girl who Jeffery was surprised to admit that he hadn't even noticed.
She looked young, maybe about thirteen or fourteen. Had short, red hair, and was wearing a khaki officer's coat that seemed to be at least two sizes too large. The shoulder boards of a full commander on her shoulders seemed to fit for some reason.
Jeffery didn't say anything, merely raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "Ausburn," the girl replied, her voice squeaking with terror, "Destroyer USS Charles Ausburne reporting, sir."
The officers stood in stunned silence staring at the girl for a long time. Jeffery looked up to the Commander with a confused look on his face. The man merely nodded, saying, "She's telling the truth, and she's not the only one. The rest of her division is still aboard."
"Well," Smith said, "If this don't just beat all." Jeffery merely nodded in acceptance. Boy had this day taken a turn for the surreal.
-[]-[]-[]-
Jack Shimada sat at his desk, trying to make sense of the report he was holding. Goto, the smug bastard, had practically stolen him from his previous billet to work intelligence for the kanmusu unit. At least he didn't have to work his ass off to pry every last scrap of information out of the JMSDF, and he was working first hand with the girls now.
They had even given him an office in the Kanmusu naval district. It was really just a handful of buildings in a disused part of Yokosuka base, but it was enough for their purposes. Goto was running things now, and trying his best to work let everyone into the new reality of this war. Shimada had even heard that Goto had snatched a doctor from the US Navy hospital to run the medical side of things.
And all told, Shimada's new office was certainly nicer than his old one, even if he did have to put up with the fact that Kongou practically lived there now when she wasn't on a mission. And where Kongou went, here sisters were always close behind. Shimanda had walked into his office on multiple occasions to find that they were having tea on his desk.
The sight had been surprising at first, but now it was just another of the things he had learned was part of his new "normal". Boy the things one learns to put up with while working next to ship girls.
He was a bit surprised that she hadn't come in to bug him yet. Possibly something he had missed in the morning report? He was reaching for his desk phone in order to call Goto, when the door flew open. He looked up just in time to see Kongou stagger into the room.
The normally cheerful and upbeat battleship seemed almost dead on her feet. Her eyes were half closed, and she was moving forward in an exhausted shuffle. She reached the small couch resting against the wall, and collapsed onto it with a loud whumph.
"Did I miss something?" Shimada asked, a bit of concern in his voice.
"Mmmhhpph," she replied, attempting to talk through the cushion, then rolled her head to the side, "We were up all night fighting." Shimada's eyes widened in surprise. He hadn't been told anything about there being a battle last night. Looked like he was going to have another talk with Goto about what he needed to do his job.
Shimada stood up from his desk, and walked over to the couch, still surprised at how calm the battleship currently sprawled out on it was acting. If this was a normal day, he would be flat on the floor with her on top of him by now. "Something wrong?"
"Tired, dess" she replied, letting out an enormous yawn to punctuate the statement.
"How'd it go?" Shimada continued.
"We beat up some cruisers, saved some of your ships."
"Anyone hurt?" Shimada asked.
"Just a destroyer. Poor thing took a torpedo," Kongou rolled onto her side, and looked up at Shimada with those liquid eyes of her. Damn, she had a beautiful face when she wasn't trying to harass him. "Nicholas," she continued, "One of yours."
"Wait, what?" Shimada asked, now completely confused. There weren't any American ship girls, were there?"
"There were a couple American kanmusu when I got there, dess" Kongou replied, letting out another yawn, "One really mean cruiser, a nice cruiser, and some more destroyers."
"Do you know where they are?" Shimada asked. He could already tell that there was going to be a lot of paperwork in his near future.
"With Commander Tanner in the bath," Kongou replied.
"You know why?" Shimada asked, but never got a reply. When he looked down, he saw that Kongou was fast asleep. Sighing, he walked back to his desk.
"American kanmusu," he muttered to himself, "This needs to get looked into, but first.." He pulled a uniform coat off of a hook, then walked back over to the couch. Being careful not to disturb the sleeping battleship, he gingerly laid the coat over her sleeping form. No sense in letting her catch cold, now was there? He had to admit again, that when she wasn't trying to assault him, or chase him, or drive him crazy with her constant advances, Kongou really was a beautiful girl. He kinda wished he could see more of this side of her.
He wanted to go down to the baths, and look into this new development, but he found that for some reason, he just couldn't leave Kongou all alone. So he reached for the report he had been reading, and sat back down at his desk. If Goto needed him to do something, he would call, but until then, Shimada wasn't leaving his office.
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8: Steadfast
Breakaway25
All hail the Mighty Tomcat
- Location
- Stuck on the Quarterdeck
Yokosuka Naval District
24 June 2020
Matt Dover was trying very hard to keep his emotions hidden. It wouldn't do at all to let the girls see him cry. He was the officer. The pillar of strength for others to lean on. He couldn't let them see him break down, but he damn sure wanted to.
Dover wanted nothing more than to grab Nicholas in a tight embrace, and reassure her that everything was going to be alright. But he knew that he couldn't do that. He was supposed to be the rock, but right now… right now he didn't feel very strong.
A thought kept running around the back of his mind. A seed of doubt that threatened to crack the facade of strength he had spent so long constructing. These brave girls had done everything asked of them and more. They had saved the men who had spent their lives training to fight. They had fought while the most modern ships of the US Navy had done little more than flee.
Dover watched silently as the corpsmen lowered Nicholas into the pool of warm salty water. He had been told that it would help her heal in some way, and right now he would take anything he could get. O'Bannon and Taylor stood by their sister, refusing to leave her side. They kept looking back towards Dover, searching for answers. As much as Dover wanted to tell them that this had happened for a reason, that everything would work out, he just couldn't.
He had joined the service to protect those back home, and now this destroyer… this little girl had been hurt protecting him. He bit down on his lip to stanch the sobs that were threatening to escape, and tasted the coppery tang of blood. He didn't care, the tiny amount of pain was nothing compared to what Nicholas was going through.
"Commander." a soft voice behind him caused Dover to wheel about. A man in surgical scrubs walked up and extended a hand. This had to be the doctor that Fletcher had run off to fetch.
"Yes," Dover replied, taking the man's hand in a weak grasp. Fletcher ran past the two officers, gasping with exertion. She didn't even look up as she ran to her sister's side. Wordlessly, O'Bannon grabbed her in an embrace, and stood entwined with Fletcher for a long moment.
"You may want to step out for this," the doctor said with a sad sigh, ignoring the sights unfolding around him "If there is a way to deaden their pain, I don't know about it."
"Do what you have to," Dover replied, biting down on his lip even harder, "Doctor?"
"Tanner," he supplied. The doctor's face was a mask, but Dover could see the pain in his eyes. After all, he too knew that pain well
"She is under my command," Dover replied, his voice beginning to waver, "I'm staying right here."
"Then come help me," Tanner said, "She needs all the support we can give her."
"I understand," Dover replied quickly. He didn't feel up to the task, but he knew that he had to try. She was lying in the pool of water, supported on a bench just beneath the surface. A spread of tools were arranged around the pool, from standard surgical implements, to power tools.
Dover reached down and took the destroyer's hand. He hoped that she would draw strength from the contact. Her hand felt cold in his, even in the heat of the room. This had to be over soon.
As Tanner began to examine Nicholas' wounds, the destroyer grunted in pain. Her eyes flew open and began to dart around the room, finally fixing. He had no idea what emotion they contained, something between pain and reassurance. Dover did his very best to give her a reassuring look, but he didn't know if he had enough strength left to make it carry any weight.
"Sweetie, I'm going to need you to be brave for me. Can you do that?" Tanner asked in a comforting tone. Nicholas nodded her head sharply.
"Just… do… it," she said through gritted teeth.
"The wound needs to be cleaned," Tanner explained to no one in particular. He reached down to run a gloved finger along where jagged steel lined Nicholas' wounds. A group of fairies jumped out of the way, shouting angrily at Tanner. The scene probably would have been comical in any other circumstance.
Tanner gingerly retrieved a saw from the row of tools. "This is going to hurt for a bit. Stay brave for me," Tanner said, and then was drowned out by the roar of the saw. Dover wanted to look away, but his eyes remained fixed in morbid curiosity. The saw's blade bit into Nicholas' injured leg, causing the destroyer to spasm in pain. Her hand tightened around Dover's until pain shot up his own arm, but he didn't care. If it helped her bear this ordeal a little easier, than he was more than willing to put up with it.
She let out a strangled cry that broke his heart. He had to bite down on his lip again to keep from matching her cry with one of his own. If Tanner heard her cries of anguish, he made no indication. His hands remained steady as he worked, paring away twisted, jagged metal.
"It's going to be alright," Dover croaked, his voice breaking with emotion. It seemed like an hour before Tanner finished the first cut, but it was really less than a minute. Dover was trying his best to remain strong for her, to let her draw strength from him, but he didn't know how much more of it he could take.
"Stay strong, sweetie," Tanner said softly, then moved onto the other leg. His voice was comforting, but Dover could heat the undertone of pain and sadness. The doctor had to be in almost as much pain as he was. He must hate what he was doing, but the simple matter was that it had to be done.
"I'm here, I'm right here," Dover whispered, "I'm not leaving you."
"Won't… sink," she muttered, her breath ragged from pain. It was the bravest damn thing Dover had ever seen.
Tanner continued to work, cleaning away metal bit by bit. It took almost half an hour before he had finished the work to the satisfaction of Nicholas' engineering fairies. Only then, could she be lowered into the water so the repairs could begin in earnest.
Dover wrapped her in a tight embrace and stepped down into the water with her, not giving a damn about the water that was soaking into his utilities. Nicholas spasmed with pain as the healing water washed over her wounds, then passed out as she was finally pushed past her limit. He continued to hold her, tightening the embrace until her head rested on his chest.
He felt another set of arms wrap their way around him, and looked up to see O'Bannon holding onto him in an embrace of her own. It didn't take long before all the destroyers were hanging onto Dover, and by extension, their sister. Nicholas' face calmed, as her pain began to fade. Dover's vision began to grow fuzzy as hot tears slid down his cheeks.
He was done running, he vowed right there and then. Done hiding. No more backing down from those bastards. If they wanted to hurt his friends, his loved ones, his girls… they would have to go through him first.
24 June 2020
Matt Dover was trying very hard to keep his emotions hidden. It wouldn't do at all to let the girls see him cry. He was the officer. The pillar of strength for others to lean on. He couldn't let them see him break down, but he damn sure wanted to.
Dover wanted nothing more than to grab Nicholas in a tight embrace, and reassure her that everything was going to be alright. But he knew that he couldn't do that. He was supposed to be the rock, but right now… right now he didn't feel very strong.
A thought kept running around the back of his mind. A seed of doubt that threatened to crack the facade of strength he had spent so long constructing. These brave girls had done everything asked of them and more. They had saved the men who had spent their lives training to fight. They had fought while the most modern ships of the US Navy had done little more than flee.
Dover watched silently as the corpsmen lowered Nicholas into the pool of warm salty water. He had been told that it would help her heal in some way, and right now he would take anything he could get. O'Bannon and Taylor stood by their sister, refusing to leave her side. They kept looking back towards Dover, searching for answers. As much as Dover wanted to tell them that this had happened for a reason, that everything would work out, he just couldn't.
He had joined the service to protect those back home, and now this destroyer… this little girl had been hurt protecting him. He bit down on his lip to stanch the sobs that were threatening to escape, and tasted the coppery tang of blood. He didn't care, the tiny amount of pain was nothing compared to what Nicholas was going through.
"Commander." a soft voice behind him caused Dover to wheel about. A man in surgical scrubs walked up and extended a hand. This had to be the doctor that Fletcher had run off to fetch.
"Yes," Dover replied, taking the man's hand in a weak grasp. Fletcher ran past the two officers, gasping with exertion. She didn't even look up as she ran to her sister's side. Wordlessly, O'Bannon grabbed her in an embrace, and stood entwined with Fletcher for a long moment.
"You may want to step out for this," the doctor said with a sad sigh, ignoring the sights unfolding around him "If there is a way to deaden their pain, I don't know about it."
"Do what you have to," Dover replied, biting down on his lip even harder, "Doctor?"
"Tanner," he supplied. The doctor's face was a mask, but Dover could see the pain in his eyes. After all, he too knew that pain well
"She is under my command," Dover replied, his voice beginning to waver, "I'm staying right here."
"Then come help me," Tanner said, "She needs all the support we can give her."
"I understand," Dover replied quickly. He didn't feel up to the task, but he knew that he had to try. She was lying in the pool of water, supported on a bench just beneath the surface. A spread of tools were arranged around the pool, from standard surgical implements, to power tools.
Dover reached down and took the destroyer's hand. He hoped that she would draw strength from the contact. Her hand felt cold in his, even in the heat of the room. This had to be over soon.
As Tanner began to examine Nicholas' wounds, the destroyer grunted in pain. Her eyes flew open and began to dart around the room, finally fixing. He had no idea what emotion they contained, something between pain and reassurance. Dover did his very best to give her a reassuring look, but he didn't know if he had enough strength left to make it carry any weight.
"Sweetie, I'm going to need you to be brave for me. Can you do that?" Tanner asked in a comforting tone. Nicholas nodded her head sharply.
"Just… do… it," she said through gritted teeth.
"The wound needs to be cleaned," Tanner explained to no one in particular. He reached down to run a gloved finger along where jagged steel lined Nicholas' wounds. A group of fairies jumped out of the way, shouting angrily at Tanner. The scene probably would have been comical in any other circumstance.
Tanner gingerly retrieved a saw from the row of tools. "This is going to hurt for a bit. Stay brave for me," Tanner said, and then was drowned out by the roar of the saw. Dover wanted to look away, but his eyes remained fixed in morbid curiosity. The saw's blade bit into Nicholas' injured leg, causing the destroyer to spasm in pain. Her hand tightened around Dover's until pain shot up his own arm, but he didn't care. If it helped her bear this ordeal a little easier, than he was more than willing to put up with it.
She let out a strangled cry that broke his heart. He had to bite down on his lip again to keep from matching her cry with one of his own. If Tanner heard her cries of anguish, he made no indication. His hands remained steady as he worked, paring away twisted, jagged metal.
"It's going to be alright," Dover croaked, his voice breaking with emotion. It seemed like an hour before Tanner finished the first cut, but it was really less than a minute. Dover was trying his best to remain strong for her, to let her draw strength from him, but he didn't know how much more of it he could take.
"Stay strong, sweetie," Tanner said softly, then moved onto the other leg. His voice was comforting, but Dover could heat the undertone of pain and sadness. The doctor had to be in almost as much pain as he was. He must hate what he was doing, but the simple matter was that it had to be done.
"I'm here, I'm right here," Dover whispered, "I'm not leaving you."
"Won't… sink," she muttered, her breath ragged from pain. It was the bravest damn thing Dover had ever seen.
Tanner continued to work, cleaning away metal bit by bit. It took almost half an hour before he had finished the work to the satisfaction of Nicholas' engineering fairies. Only then, could she be lowered into the water so the repairs could begin in earnest.
Dover wrapped her in a tight embrace and stepped down into the water with her, not giving a damn about the water that was soaking into his utilities. Nicholas spasmed with pain as the healing water washed over her wounds, then passed out as she was finally pushed past her limit. He continued to hold her, tightening the embrace until her head rested on his chest.
He felt another set of arms wrap their way around him, and looked up to see O'Bannon holding onto him in an embrace of her own. It didn't take long before all the destroyers were hanging onto Dover, and by extension, their sister. Nicholas' face calmed, as her pain began to fade. Dover's vision began to grow fuzzy as hot tears slid down his cheeks.
He was done running, he vowed right there and then. Done hiding. No more backing down from those bastards. If they wanted to hurt his friends, his loved ones, his girls… they would have to go through him first.
Last edited:
9: After Action
Breakaway25
All hail the Mighty Tomcat
- Location
- Stuck on the Quarterdeck
Yokosuka Naval District
24 June 2020
1745hrs
Haruna was beginning to lose hope. She had been searching for Kongou onee-sama for an hour now, and there was still no sign of the older battleship. Just about the only place she hadn't checked was Commander Shimada's office, but she couldn't go in there. No, she couldn't bother the Commander over something so trivial. Maybe she could get Hiei or Kirishima to do it. They certainly didn't care about barging in on people.
Haruna was so lost in thought, that she didn't see the man walking down the corridor until it was too late. Next thing she knew she was sitting on the floor looking up in surprise. Then she saw the officer, the American officer.
'Stupid, stupid stupid,' she thought to herself, 'Why did I do that?' "I'm sorry," she blurted, jumping over to help the man to his feet," I wasn't watching and I should have been, I…"
The officer stopped her with an outstretched hand, then spoke in English, "Sorry, my command of Japanese is sparse at best.'"
"Oh," Haruna replied. 'Of course he would speak English, he's an American after all,' she thought, mentally kicking herself.
The man climbed to his feet, then dusted off his uniform, "Are you alright?"
"Yes, Haruna is alright," she replied, nodding emphatically. This incident had to be put behind them, luckily the man didn't seem angered by her clumsiness. If anything, he seemed tired. His expression was fatigue slackened, and his voice seemed to be strained. It was almost as if he was using all of his energy to simply speak.
"Haruna then," he said, "I guessed as much."
"Yess," she replied, "Haruna of the Kongou class."
The officer nodded as if he believed she was who she said she was, then said, "Lieutenant Commander Matthew Dover, off the USS Evans. Nominally the XO of that ship, but currently the de facto American ship girl commander."
"Oh," Haruna replied, realization dawning on her face. This was the man who had been in charge during that battle, the one that had ended with the… "Oh," she repeated, in a more somber tone. "How is the destroyer-san?"
Dover's expression darkened, "Better. She's sleeping right now, but the doc was able to patch her up."
Haruna looked down towards the floor. "That's good," she didn't really know what to say past, "I hope she gets better soon."
Dover said, "Yeah, you and me both." He suddenly looked as if the weight of the world had been placed on his shoulders.
'He really is their teitoku,' she thought, realization dawning. Dover had the looked like he was blaming himself for his destroyer being hurt. She wondered if she would feel that way if one of her friends was hurt, and then immediately hoped that she would never had to put that to the test.
"You mustn't focus on what you could have done, teitoku," haruna said, surprising at the words coming out of her mouth, "She's safe now. Isn't that all that matters?"
"Yeah," Dover replied, his lips curling into a wan smile, "I guess you're right. The trials life of an officer." He shook his head, then asked, "So, how long have you been back?"
Happy for the change in subject, Haruna replied, "A few days. Almost a week."
"Impressive they got this base up and running that fast," Dover pointed out.
"It was already here, and unused," Haruna replied, "But they had to kick out some sailors. I hope they found a new place to work."
"Still, even if everything was here, this place is very nice," Dover said, "Your government seems to have jumped behind you girls wholeheartedly."
"Anything Haruna can do to help," she said, a smile spreading on her face.
"That's what we need to win this war," Dover said, placing a hand on Haruna's shoulder, "All the help we can get." With a smirk he pulled his hand back, "See you around then."
Haruna couldn't seem to be able to reply. Instead she just nodded. Dover chuckled, then disappeared down the corridor.
She stood there for a moment, rooted to the sport. He was certainly an interesting man, and to be that devoted to his subordinates. Haruna wished she could meet more officers like him. She shook her head. Contemplating things like that could come later. Right now she needed to find Kongou onee-sama. She started off down the corridor again, peeking through every door she passed.
Bob Jeffery sat at his desk, staring at the girl on the other side of the room. A girl who was also a destroyer. Damn that just sounded even more strange the more he thought about it. Charlie, the name she insisted on being called, was sitting in a chair, a bag of fast food in her lap. The remains of at least a dozen hamburgers were lying on the floor around the chair, and she was happily munching on another. Jeffery had no idea how a girl her size was capable of consuming that much food, but then again, destroyer.
She didn't look much like a destroyer though, more like a young girl excited about a new situation. It reminded Jeffery of when his daughter was that young. She used to beg him to take her with him to the office. She wanted to see what daddy did when he wasn't home.
Jeffery's face took on a downcast look, and he turned to stare out the window. They still had no information about his daughter, and he was beginning to feel discouraged. "What's wrong, Herr Kapitan?" Jeffery looked up. Charlie had lowered her hamburger, and was looking at him with concern on her face.
"Trying to put things in perspective," Jeffery replied, then smirked, "And think about how much you remind me of my daughter."
"Oh," Charlie replied, her brows knitting in thought.
"Where are your sisters?" Jeffery asked, changing the subject.
"Off with Commander Riley," Charlie replied with a dismissive wave, "They wanted to explore Pearl Harbor, or something like that." Riley, the Halsey's skipper, had been voluntold to help keep track of the destroyer girls. He had brought them into the base, he could help take care of them, at least until a better solution was worked out.
"And why aren't you with them?" Jeffery asked, a bit surprised at his tone. Without thinking he had slipped into his inquisitive father mode. He really had to watch that.
"You see Pearl Harbor once, you've seen it a hundred times," Charlie explained, "And the base won't go anywhere, I can look around later." Her face colored and she added, "Plus I wanted to spend time with you, Kapitan."
"Why on earth would you want to spend time with a worn out old man like me?" Jeffery asked, letting out a dry chuckle, "No matter, I enjoy the company."
Charlie beamed in reply. Jeffery was definitely going to have to be careful around these girls. He had seen that sort of look before, and it had always broken his resolve in the past. If he wasn't careful, these girls would be running the base within a week.
"So, what do you need from the Navy?" Jeffery asked, trying to force himself back into focusing on his job.
"A place to practice," Charlie replied, "Information, and orders."
"Orders?"
"Sir, I'm just a ship, I don't know what to do on my own," Charlie stated, "Someone has to tell me what to do."
"I'll talk with the operations officer, but I think I can work things out," Jeffery replied, a sudden string of ideas rushing through his head, then another thought rose to the surface, "You were in DESRON 23, weren't you?"
"With Kapitan Burke himself," Charlie replied, a note of pride in her voice, "Why?"
"Because I think I know how to work this out," Jeffery replied, then reached into his desk. He pulled out a wooden name placard. It had been issued to him with this office, but he had always hated the look of the thing, so it usually sat in his desk.
With a mock flourish, he placed it on the desk in a way that Charlie could read it easily. She looked at the words printed on it for a long moment, then a large smile spread across her face as she read the legend, "CPT Robert A. Jeffery, COMDESRON 23."
"I think I know how to fix this," Jeffery repeated, a smile of his own spreading across his face.
The festive mood in the room was ruined by the sound of someone rapped loudly on the door. "Come," he barked. His adjutant stepped into the room, then held up a message form.
"Sir, the Admiral's aide just dropped this off. I think you'll want to see it." Jeffery nodded, then began to read the paper.
Yokosuka Naval District
Dover stepped into the office and looked around. The room certainly didn't look like it belonged to a base commander. It was small, with only a desk and a few being the only furnishings. There was a trim man sitting behind the desk, his white uniform immaculately turned out. The placard sitting on the desk was lettered in both Japanese and English, "CMDR Hisashi Goto."
"Commander," Dover barked, "You wanted to see me?"
Instead of a response from the officer, Dover heard something he hadn't been expecting, "You know, I never expected you to show your sorry mug around here." He looked over his shoulder in surprise, only to see Jack Shimada step into the room.
Instead of greeting the superior officer in a manner befitting his rank, Dover grabbed the man in a tight embrace, saying, "Jack, you sonuva bitch. How the hell are you?" The first time Matt Dover met Jack Shimada was when they had both been plebes in the Academy. They had been close back then, and had maintained a friendship ever since. Dover hadn't even known that Jack was still in the country. He had checked at the N-2's office after they had made it back, but the officer there said Jack had been reassigned.
"Better if you would stop trying to strangle me," Shimada quipped. Dover quickly let go of the other man, and held out a hand. Shimada took it with a tight grip and shook vigorously.
"Good, I see that you two have met," spoke Commander Goto, slowly easing himself out of his chair.
"We go back," Dover explained, "But what the hell are you doing here, Jack?"
"That would be my doing," Goto explained, "I needed some help with the intelligence side of things, and your Navy wanted a man inside this base."
"I help out with getting information," Shimada added, "Both on the girls, and the monsters." He gave Dover a questioning look, then asked, "Speaking of which, what do you know about the American girls that showed up?"
"My doing," Dover replied quickly, "They saved my ship and have been sort of latched onto me ever since. I guess I'm their CO for lack of a better term."
"One of them was hurt badly in the last battle?" Goto asked.
"Yes," Dover said with a sigh, "Nicholas, she took a torpedo. She is recovering though, in your baths."
"You have my condolences," Goto said, "We were fortunate to not have needed those facilities as of yet, but I do not know how much longer that will last."
"A hell of a thing that," Dover said, changing the subject, "Who would have thought that ship girls can heal themselves by sitting in a bath."
"We stumbled onto that almost by accident," Shimada explained, "A lot of the girls were pretty banged up after the first battle. They went to the bath to unwind, and came back free of injuries. So we guessed that it worked sort of like a dock for them."
"Guessed," Dover said, his expression darkening, "You didn't know?"
"Hell, Matt, the amount we know about these girls can be summed up in three words, Sparkly Magical Bullshit," Shimada snapped back, "It was a logical assumption, and it seems to have been proven."
"Dammit Jack, don't use my people as guinea pigs," Dover replied.
"Stop," Goto barked, causing the other two men in the room to freeze, "Lieutenant Commander, we have to make assumptions in these trying times. In this case, I am glad we made this one, because it will help us prevent further suffering in the future." He fixed Shimada with a look, "Commander, I understand you two have a history, but I would appreciate it if you didn't fight where others could hear."
"What do you mean by that?" Shimada asked, confused. Goto didn't speak, instead walking towards the closed door. He quickly pulled it open, causing the three girls who had been pressed against it to fall into the room. Dover was surprised to see that one of them was Lou.
With a quick, "Sorry, sir," all of them vanished.
"Privacy is next to impossible on this base, as you know well, Shimada," Goto said, his eyes twinkling with mirth, "Where is she by the way."
"In my office," Shimada replied, turning his gaze towards the floor, "Asleep on the couch." Goto was silent for a long moment, before he burst into uproarious laughter.
"Am I missing something?" Dover asked, confused.
"It is a long story," Shimada sighed, "One that I don't really want to get into right now."
"He's become emotionally involved with one of my girls," Goto said, ignoring the withering stare Shimada shot at him.
"No, she think's she's in love with me," Shimada seethed, "It's… complicated."
"Sounds like it," Dover said, crossing his arms over his chest, "Sir, if I may, you called me in here for a reason."
"And you want to know why?" Goto asked, raising an eyebrow, "Shimada?"
"Huh, oh right," Shimada reached into his pocked and pulled out a message form. Extending his arm, he held it out for Dover.
"What's this?" Dover asked, taking the paper.
"That was forwarded to me about an hour ago, and I think you need to see it," Shimada replied, "It pertains to you after all."
With a grunt and a nod, Dover began to read.
TOP SECRET
From: Chief of Naval Operations
To: CINCPACFLT, COMFLTFORCOM, message to be forwarded at commander's discretion
Subj: Nature of KANMUSU type personnel.
Message Reads: Due to recent intelligence reports, it is the intention of this office to furnish general information for combat commands. Recent intelligence reports confirm the existence of KANMUSU type personnel. These reports come from US and allied commands located in Japanese cased commands.
KANMUSU type personnel are defined as follows:
At the time of this message, all known KANMUSU have been of Japanese origin. Any and all further information as to the nature of the KANMUSU or further KANMUSU personnel not known to this command are to be forwarded to this office with the highest priority.
ADM Lee Wright,
CNO
MESSAGE ENDS
"Working designation for the monsters," Shimada replied, "Calling them monsters on an official message doesn't really fly. Probably some intel weenie's pet name."
"Abyssals," Dover said under his breath. He repeated the word several times, trying to wrap his head around it. Their enemy finally had a name, and it seemed fitting. "So, Jack, What do I do about this?"
"You give them the information," Shimada replied, "Tell them that there are American kanmusu now, and then let the Navy decide what to do with them. The Japanese threw themselves behind the girls, I expect we will as well."
"Damn,"Dover swore lightly, "This war just keeps changing." He shook his head, then looked up at Goto, "By your leave, sir?"
"Thank you for your time, commander," Goto replied, then waved Dover out of the office. The Commander quickly stepped out, and began to walk back to his room, he had some reports to write it seemed. Reports that had the capability to change the balance of power forever.
-[]-[]-[]-
Fleet Activities Yokosuka
Captain Macklin stared at the newest report with an expression of mixed shock and disbelief. He didn't even know how to understand what the hell he was reading. Girls who could… this had to be one of his officers trying to play a trick on the old man, it had to be. Probably some ensign trying for a good laugh.
Girls who were ships, what a ludicrous concept. With a shake of his head, he crumpled the report and sent it flying across the room into the trash can. He decided that he would let this one slide. It was only a little harmless fun after all. No sense getting worked up over it.
He shook his head again, "Ship girls, fah. What will they try next?"
24 June 2020
1745hrs
Haruna was beginning to lose hope. She had been searching for Kongou onee-sama for an hour now, and there was still no sign of the older battleship. Just about the only place she hadn't checked was Commander Shimada's office, but she couldn't go in there. No, she couldn't bother the Commander over something so trivial. Maybe she could get Hiei or Kirishima to do it. They certainly didn't care about barging in on people.
Haruna was so lost in thought, that she didn't see the man walking down the corridor until it was too late. Next thing she knew she was sitting on the floor looking up in surprise. Then she saw the officer, the American officer.
'Stupid, stupid stupid,' she thought to herself, 'Why did I do that?' "I'm sorry," she blurted, jumping over to help the man to his feet," I wasn't watching and I should have been, I…"
The officer stopped her with an outstretched hand, then spoke in English, "Sorry, my command of Japanese is sparse at best.'"
"Oh," Haruna replied. 'Of course he would speak English, he's an American after all,' she thought, mentally kicking herself.
The man climbed to his feet, then dusted off his uniform, "Are you alright?"
"Yes, Haruna is alright," she replied, nodding emphatically. This incident had to be put behind them, luckily the man didn't seem angered by her clumsiness. If anything, he seemed tired. His expression was fatigue slackened, and his voice seemed to be strained. It was almost as if he was using all of his energy to simply speak.
"Haruna then," he said, "I guessed as much."
"Yess," she replied, "Haruna of the Kongou class."
The officer nodded as if he believed she was who she said she was, then said, "Lieutenant Commander Matthew Dover, off the USS Evans. Nominally the XO of that ship, but currently the de facto American ship girl commander."
"Oh," Haruna replied, realization dawning on her face. This was the man who had been in charge during that battle, the one that had ended with the… "Oh," she repeated, in a more somber tone. "How is the destroyer-san?"
Dover's expression darkened, "Better. She's sleeping right now, but the doc was able to patch her up."
Haruna looked down towards the floor. "That's good," she didn't really know what to say past, "I hope she gets better soon."
Dover said, "Yeah, you and me both." He suddenly looked as if the weight of the world had been placed on his shoulders.
'He really is their teitoku,' she thought, realization dawning. Dover had the looked like he was blaming himself for his destroyer being hurt. She wondered if she would feel that way if one of her friends was hurt, and then immediately hoped that she would never had to put that to the test.
"You mustn't focus on what you could have done, teitoku," haruna said, surprising at the words coming out of her mouth, "She's safe now. Isn't that all that matters?"
"Yeah," Dover replied, his lips curling into a wan smile, "I guess you're right. The trials life of an officer." He shook his head, then asked, "So, how long have you been back?"
Happy for the change in subject, Haruna replied, "A few days. Almost a week."
"Impressive they got this base up and running that fast," Dover pointed out.
"It was already here, and unused," Haruna replied, "But they had to kick out some sailors. I hope they found a new place to work."
"Still, even if everything was here, this place is very nice," Dover said, "Your government seems to have jumped behind you girls wholeheartedly."
"Anything Haruna can do to help," she said, a smile spreading on her face.
"That's what we need to win this war," Dover said, placing a hand on Haruna's shoulder, "All the help we can get." With a smirk he pulled his hand back, "See you around then."
Haruna couldn't seem to be able to reply. Instead she just nodded. Dover chuckled, then disappeared down the corridor.
She stood there for a moment, rooted to the sport. He was certainly an interesting man, and to be that devoted to his subordinates. Haruna wished she could meet more officers like him. She shook her head. Contemplating things like that could come later. Right now she needed to find Kongou onee-sama. She started off down the corridor again, peeking through every door she passed.
-[]-[]-[]-
NAVSTA Pearl Harbor
Bob Jeffery sat at his desk, staring at the girl on the other side of the room. A girl who was also a destroyer. Damn that just sounded even more strange the more he thought about it. Charlie, the name she insisted on being called, was sitting in a chair, a bag of fast food in her lap. The remains of at least a dozen hamburgers were lying on the floor around the chair, and she was happily munching on another. Jeffery had no idea how a girl her size was capable of consuming that much food, but then again, destroyer.
She didn't look much like a destroyer though, more like a young girl excited about a new situation. It reminded Jeffery of when his daughter was that young. She used to beg him to take her with him to the office. She wanted to see what daddy did when he wasn't home.
Jeffery's face took on a downcast look, and he turned to stare out the window. They still had no information about his daughter, and he was beginning to feel discouraged. "What's wrong, Herr Kapitan?" Jeffery looked up. Charlie had lowered her hamburger, and was looking at him with concern on her face.
"Trying to put things in perspective," Jeffery replied, then smirked, "And think about how much you remind me of my daughter."
"Oh," Charlie replied, her brows knitting in thought.
"Where are your sisters?" Jeffery asked, changing the subject.
"Off with Commander Riley," Charlie replied with a dismissive wave, "They wanted to explore Pearl Harbor, or something like that." Riley, the Halsey's skipper, had been voluntold to help keep track of the destroyer girls. He had brought them into the base, he could help take care of them, at least until a better solution was worked out.
"And why aren't you with them?" Jeffery asked, a bit surprised at his tone. Without thinking he had slipped into his inquisitive father mode. He really had to watch that.
"You see Pearl Harbor once, you've seen it a hundred times," Charlie explained, "And the base won't go anywhere, I can look around later." Her face colored and she added, "Plus I wanted to spend time with you, Kapitan."
"Why on earth would you want to spend time with a worn out old man like me?" Jeffery asked, letting out a dry chuckle, "No matter, I enjoy the company."
Charlie beamed in reply. Jeffery was definitely going to have to be careful around these girls. He had seen that sort of look before, and it had always broken his resolve in the past. If he wasn't careful, these girls would be running the base within a week.
"So, what do you need from the Navy?" Jeffery asked, trying to force himself back into focusing on his job.
"A place to practice," Charlie replied, "Information, and orders."
"Orders?"
"Sir, I'm just a ship, I don't know what to do on my own," Charlie stated, "Someone has to tell me what to do."
"I'll talk with the operations officer, but I think I can work things out," Jeffery replied, a sudden string of ideas rushing through his head, then another thought rose to the surface, "You were in DESRON 23, weren't you?"
"With Kapitan Burke himself," Charlie replied, a note of pride in her voice, "Why?"
"Because I think I know how to work this out," Jeffery replied, then reached into his desk. He pulled out a wooden name placard. It had been issued to him with this office, but he had always hated the look of the thing, so it usually sat in his desk.
With a mock flourish, he placed it on the desk in a way that Charlie could read it easily. She looked at the words printed on it for a long moment, then a large smile spread across her face as she read the legend, "CPT Robert A. Jeffery, COMDESRON 23."
"I think I know how to fix this," Jeffery repeated, a smile of his own spreading across his face.
The festive mood in the room was ruined by the sound of someone rapped loudly on the door. "Come," he barked. His adjutant stepped into the room, then held up a message form.
"Sir, the Admiral's aide just dropped this off. I think you'll want to see it." Jeffery nodded, then began to read the paper.
Yokosuka Naval District
Dover stepped into the office and looked around. The room certainly didn't look like it belonged to a base commander. It was small, with only a desk and a few being the only furnishings. There was a trim man sitting behind the desk, his white uniform immaculately turned out. The placard sitting on the desk was lettered in both Japanese and English, "CMDR Hisashi Goto."
"Commander," Dover barked, "You wanted to see me?"
Instead of a response from the officer, Dover heard something he hadn't been expecting, "You know, I never expected you to show your sorry mug around here." He looked over his shoulder in surprise, only to see Jack Shimada step into the room.
Instead of greeting the superior officer in a manner befitting his rank, Dover grabbed the man in a tight embrace, saying, "Jack, you sonuva bitch. How the hell are you?" The first time Matt Dover met Jack Shimada was when they had both been plebes in the Academy. They had been close back then, and had maintained a friendship ever since. Dover hadn't even known that Jack was still in the country. He had checked at the N-2's office after they had made it back, but the officer there said Jack had been reassigned.
"Better if you would stop trying to strangle me," Shimada quipped. Dover quickly let go of the other man, and held out a hand. Shimada took it with a tight grip and shook vigorously.
"Good, I see that you two have met," spoke Commander Goto, slowly easing himself out of his chair.
"We go back," Dover explained, "But what the hell are you doing here, Jack?"
"That would be my doing," Goto explained, "I needed some help with the intelligence side of things, and your Navy wanted a man inside this base."
"I help out with getting information," Shimada added, "Both on the girls, and the monsters." He gave Dover a questioning look, then asked, "Speaking of which, what do you know about the American girls that showed up?"
"My doing," Dover replied quickly, "They saved my ship and have been sort of latched onto me ever since. I guess I'm their CO for lack of a better term."
"One of them was hurt badly in the last battle?" Goto asked.
"Yes," Dover said with a sigh, "Nicholas, she took a torpedo. She is recovering though, in your baths."
"You have my condolences," Goto said, "We were fortunate to not have needed those facilities as of yet, but I do not know how much longer that will last."
"A hell of a thing that," Dover said, changing the subject, "Who would have thought that ship girls can heal themselves by sitting in a bath."
"We stumbled onto that almost by accident," Shimada explained, "A lot of the girls were pretty banged up after the first battle. They went to the bath to unwind, and came back free of injuries. So we guessed that it worked sort of like a dock for them."
"Guessed," Dover said, his expression darkening, "You didn't know?"
"Hell, Matt, the amount we know about these girls can be summed up in three words, Sparkly Magical Bullshit," Shimada snapped back, "It was a logical assumption, and it seems to have been proven."
"Dammit Jack, don't use my people as guinea pigs," Dover replied.
"Stop," Goto barked, causing the other two men in the room to freeze, "Lieutenant Commander, we have to make assumptions in these trying times. In this case, I am glad we made this one, because it will help us prevent further suffering in the future." He fixed Shimada with a look, "Commander, I understand you two have a history, but I would appreciate it if you didn't fight where others could hear."
"What do you mean by that?" Shimada asked, confused. Goto didn't speak, instead walking towards the closed door. He quickly pulled it open, causing the three girls who had been pressed against it to fall into the room. Dover was surprised to see that one of them was Lou.
With a quick, "Sorry, sir," all of them vanished.
"Privacy is next to impossible on this base, as you know well, Shimada," Goto said, his eyes twinkling with mirth, "Where is she by the way."
"In my office," Shimada replied, turning his gaze towards the floor, "Asleep on the couch." Goto was silent for a long moment, before he burst into uproarious laughter.
"Am I missing something?" Dover asked, confused.
"It is a long story," Shimada sighed, "One that I don't really want to get into right now."
"He's become emotionally involved with one of my girls," Goto said, ignoring the withering stare Shimada shot at him.
"No, she think's she's in love with me," Shimada seethed, "It's… complicated."
"Sounds like it," Dover said, crossing his arms over his chest, "Sir, if I may, you called me in here for a reason."
"And you want to know why?" Goto asked, raising an eyebrow, "Shimada?"
"Huh, oh right," Shimada reached into his pocked and pulled out a message form. Extending his arm, he held it out for Dover.
"What's this?" Dover asked, taking the paper.
"That was forwarded to me about an hour ago, and I think you need to see it," Shimada replied, "It pertains to you after all."
With a grunt and a nod, Dover began to read.
-[]-[]-[]-
SPECIAL ORDERS 2203TOP SECRET
From: Chief of Naval Operations
To: CINCPACFLT, COMFLTFORCOM, message to be forwarded at commander's discretion
Subj: Nature of KANMUSU type personnel.
Message Reads: Due to recent intelligence reports, it is the intention of this office to furnish general information for combat commands. Recent intelligence reports confirm the existence of KANMUSU type personnel. These reports come from US and allied commands located in Japanese cased commands.
KANMUSU type personnel are defined as follows:
- Spirits of warships. This fact having been confirmed by several outside sources, is treated as legitimate.
- Human females of around ten(10) to thirty(30) years of age. No reason is yet known as to why KANMUSU appear in this form, but all known examples fit this description.
- Personnel with the capability to stand on the water's surface unaided
- Personnel who manifest personally carried versions of naval caliber weapons. Specifically, the weapons that the specific ship carried in the past.
- Personnel who have the capability to fight ABYSSAL type enemies with no perceived problems.
At the time of this message, all known KANMUSU have been of Japanese origin. Any and all further information as to the nature of the KANMUSU or further KANMUSU personnel not known to this command are to be forwarded to this office with the highest priority.
ADM Lee Wright,
CNO
MESSAGE ENDS
-[]-[]-[]-
"Well this changes things," Dover muttered, "But what the hell are Abyssals?"
"Working designation for the monsters," Shimada replied, "Calling them monsters on an official message doesn't really fly. Probably some intel weenie's pet name."
"Abyssals," Dover said under his breath. He repeated the word several times, trying to wrap his head around it. Their enemy finally had a name, and it seemed fitting. "So, Jack, What do I do about this?"
"You give them the information," Shimada replied, "Tell them that there are American kanmusu now, and then let the Navy decide what to do with them. The Japanese threw themselves behind the girls, I expect we will as well."
"Damn,"Dover swore lightly, "This war just keeps changing." He shook his head, then looked up at Goto, "By your leave, sir?"
"Thank you for your time, commander," Goto replied, then waved Dover out of the office. The Commander quickly stepped out, and began to walk back to his room, he had some reports to write it seemed. Reports that had the capability to change the balance of power forever.
-[]-[]-[]-
Fleet Activities Yokosuka
Captain Macklin stared at the newest report with an expression of mixed shock and disbelief. He didn't even know how to understand what the hell he was reading. Girls who could… this had to be one of his officers trying to play a trick on the old man, it had to be. Probably some ensign trying for a good laugh.
Girls who were ships, what a ludicrous concept. With a shake of his head, he crumpled the report and sent it flying across the room into the trash can. He decided that he would let this one slide. It was only a little harmless fun after all. No sense getting worked up over it.
He shook his head again, "Ship girls, fah. What will they try next?"
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