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It's an Abyss, not Bottomless (kancolle SI)
Hallelujah it continues!
Chapter 15: Musashi?
Nagato had thought the worst was behind them. As it turned out, she was wrong. Dead wrong.
The worst part was, that she was partially responsible for this new trial. She was the secretary ship, she should have at least considered this long ago. But she hadn't. Her immediate concern for Musashi's well being had blinded her to everything else. She needed to apologize to the Admiral for her negligence.
And, of course, she should have realized that she wasn't the only one worried sick. Moreover, she should have remembered how quickly news could spread in this day and age. They didn't have to worry about news helicopters, high-definition cameras, or the internet in the 1940s.
Which led her here. Fighting to keep up a stoic front as she leaned back in a chair. The slightly tangy steam of the repair baths was doing its best to lull her to sleep in its warm embrace.
But the voice on the other end of the phone kept her wide awake.
"Please, is there anything I can do?" Yamato begged.
Begged.
Nagato's heart clenched at the desperation practically leaking through the speakers. If Mutsu had been reduced to such a state, Nagato would have fought tooth and nail to be by her side. But, as secretary ship, she knew what was at stake. She didn't like it any more than Yamato, but it was her duty to be the bearer of bad news.
Mustering what remained of her will, she whispered.
"I'm sorry, Yamato... but we cannot recall you just yet." Trying to ignore the agonized gasp on the other end, she strove on. "Your presence alone is keeping the Abyssals away from Truk, and..."
She closed her eyes, hating herself.
"...and after what Musashi accomplished, they will think twice before trying anything with you present."
A strangled sob came over the call.
"Yamato, I know how hard this is, but there is more than Musashi's life at stake. Japan is vulnerable, we need you where you are."
She could have gone on, but guilt glued her tongue in place. She was already walking a thin line; to compare Yamato to her sister at a time like this.
There was silence on the other end of the line.
"Yamato?"
"Promise me," it was little more than a choked whisper.
"What?"
"Promise me you won't give up on her!" Yamato almost shouted, forcing Nagato to pull the phone away from her ear. "I saw her, Nagato! I know how bad it is, don't you even dare consider-"
"What?! Never!" Nagato hissed back. The line sent quiet, broken only by Yamato's ragged sobs. Calming herself, Nagato continued in a calmer voice. "Yamato, I promise that we are not giving up on her. She is in the baths now, she is healing, you understand me?"
"...Can I at least speak to her? Please!"
Wincing, Nagato glanced over the occupied bath. Barely an hour had gone by, nowhere near enough time for the battleship's boilers to become fully operational again. Aside from the ragged wheeze of breath through her ventilation systems, Musashi was completely still.
"I'm sorry," was all Nagato could say. In the face of Yamato's grief, she wanted to justify exactly why she couldn't grant such a simple request, but she doubted Yamato would appreciate learning how close Musashi had come to death. "I'm sorry, Yamato, but she's in no state to speak right now."
In the silence that followed, Nagato wracked her mind for the fleet rotations at Truk.
Operation Cutback had caused a fair amount of shuffling. Truk might have been primarily a Japanese outpost, but it was no less vital to all international trade in the Pacific. Convoys to and from Australia relied heavily on the security and radar coverage Truk provided. Along with being a suitable launch site for all offensive operations within the Philippine Sea, the outpost had quickly become a multi-national effort.
While Yamato had been posted there as a very big stick during Cutback, her fleet's rotation was winding down.
"Prince of Whales is coming to relieve you, correct?"
"H-Hai..."
"If you wish, I can try to speed up the handover. Bring you home sooner."
The line was silent for a long moment before Yamato whispered. "...Thank you..."
With a click, the call ended. Sighing, Nagato resisted the urge to fall back into her seat and sleep. She couldn't do that with every girl in the baths watching her like hawks. Gathering herself, she straightened, feeling her spine pop back into place. But when she addressed the room, there was nothing but steel in her voice.
"We are not giving up on her. That is a promise."
And a promise from her might as well have been a promise from the Admiral himself. But her resolve couldn't shake the gloomy atmosphere in the baths. Musashi's wounds were impossible to ignore. But, gradually, the murmur of conversation rose, almost lulling Nagato into the warm embrace of a nap.
Akashi had already failed in that regard. She had sat down for a short break and was snoring soundly not even a minute later. Despite the girls waiting in line for more specialized repairs, no one had the heart to wake her up.
Grunting softly, Nagato stood and opened the slide to the changing room.
"Nagato, dess!"
This time, the secretary ship couldn't hold in her weary sigh as the fast battleship caught up before she could escape to the outside world.
"Kongou, now is not that time to-" Nagato whispered, turning to face her pursuer. However, she was caught off guard when Kongou pulled her into a hug. What was even more surprising was that the British battleship had thrown on a bathrobe for the encounter, and had even closed the sliding door before engaging contact.
They were alone. Only then did Nagato's shift shoulders sag, an invisible tension releasing as she allowed herself to be held. All the responsibilities she couldn't escape seemed to melt away for a single moment as the scent of tea surrounded her.
"You have the most thankless job of all of us, dess," Kongou whispered, pulling her tighter. "You push yourself so hard and people don't give you the credit you deserve, dess."
Nagato was too choked up to reply.
She was a battleship, a vessel of war stuck in an office, fighting a war behind sheets of paper while sending others to fight in her stead. Keeping family apart all for the sake of the mission. Never did the weight of command settle on her shoulders as heavily as now.
Yamato, the gentle giant, the pride of the Japanese navy, begging to come home.
She hated it.
In a way, becoming human made the burden of command even worse. It was easy to command a mountain of steel; less so a grieving woman who only wanted to comfort her dying sister.
It left her feeling isolated.
Alone.
Didn't they understand it was hard for her too? She wasn't heartless, but someone had to make those decisions. She didn't need or even want the credit for that!
Just...
After a long minute, Kongou gave her a final squeeze before pulling back. Pulling an embroidered handkerchief from a pocket, she gently dabbed away the tears that had escaped Nagato's eyes. With a few more touch-ups here and there, and a buttery scone popped in her mouth for good measure, it was like the encounter had never happened.
"You should really stop by for tea sometime, dess!" she chirped, bouncing back to the bathhouse door with a mischievous wink. "More enjoyable than a quicky in the change room."
Nagato rolled her eyes, too used to the battleship's antics at this point to blush. But... she appreciated the invitation. Kongou might have been a little touched in the head, but her heart was always in the right place.
However, as Kongou breezed back into the baths, Nagato hesitated.
Was that a trick of the light?
Musashi hadn't moved, but there was something... off about her. A more defined human shape was starting to appear from the broken steel.
Which didn't make sense. Typically, the condition of a shipgirl's human body mirrored the condition of her hull. Barely an hour of work had been done, but Musashi's human shape was starting to come back.
That shouldn't be happening. And Musashi's shoulders...
The door slid shut, and Musashi vanished from view. Nagato blinked. It had been easy to pass off the doubt before with the damage, but now... No, she had more important things to worry about. Besides, the lack of sleep must have been getting to her, that was it.
All the same, she couldn't cast off the doubt gnawing at the back of her mind.
The inky blackness slowly drained away, letting in slashes of color as well as the sound of hushed voices. Fubuki moaned softly as she came to, feeling the warmth of the repair bath under her keel. Almost instantly, the splashes of color resolved into blurry faces pressing in around her.
But past them, Fubuki swore she saw familiar wooden paneled walls of the repair baths of Yokosuka.
That... wasn't right, she should have been on board the Izumo. With her... grey, industrial bulkheads and repair fluid that was a little too cold sometimes. What was she doing here?
"Fubuki-chan!"
Her eyes wandered, then settled on a worried face hovering before her. She recognized it.
"Mmm... M-Mutsuki-chan?" she whispered, throat bone dry.
Instantly, the destroyer's face lit up. "You're awake! You're finally awake!"
And then she was being hugged on all sides. Dazed and confused, the only thing she was aware of was the comforting warmth around her. And the worried 'Poi' that came from her port side. So... Yudachi was here as well. Here at... Yokosuka, apparently.
"How... where am I?" she murmured, the world slowly coming into focus. "How did I get here?"
The gaggle of destroyers pulled back, glancing at each other for a moment before Mutsuki took the lead. "You were hurt really bad, Fubuki-chan. How much do you remember?"
Fubuki stared at her blankly for a moment before turning her attention inward. In her mind's eye, she caught a sudden glare of sunlight. And then it was like she was in a different place altogether. She was still conscious in the bath, but at the same time, the phantasmal dry dock surrounded her.
The sun was setting over the mountains to the west, casting everything in a warm yellow glow. Indistinct warehouses hung in the foreground, from which drove a steady supply of armor plating and other such materials. The whir of cranes was omnipresent, hoisting slabs of steel into position so her crew would weld into into place along her side.
It was such a strange place, but not an unwelcome one. The warm light, the indistinct figures walking the docks, and even her own weariness invoked a comforting presence. Of sliding into a docking berth after many long months at sea.
The architecture always reminded Fubuki of Imperial Japan as she remembered it. However, that description varied depending on the nationality of the vessel. When asked, Iowa-sama claimed it resembled Brooklyn.
Rather than being off-putting, it was a comforting experience. It was home. Safety.
But Fubuki didn't allow herself to sink into that warm bliss, she had work to do! Examining her log books with the help of some officers, the memory of the battle gradually came into focus.
Everything had been going so well until the threat of submarines pulled their ASW screen away from the fleet. And then the nightmare began. Dive bombers fell upon them from the dark thunderheads and the masts of cruisers and battleships crested the horizon. What followed was a confusing melee of point-blank fire, smoke, and spray as the two fleets converged.
Fubuki remembered the orders to break off screaming over the radio, but the Abyssals were having none of it. They charged headlong into the Japanese formation without care for their own safety. At that range friendly fire was as much a danger as the enemy, but the Abyssals didn't seem to care. They were desperate to do as much damage as possible.
Fanatical.
That was the word she was looking for; one that she was uncomfortably familiar with.
Smoke and the whistle of flying shells were everywhere, it took all her concentration just to stay afloat in the churning waves, firing her guns whenever she caught a glimpse of the enemy through the haze of battle. After barely surviving threading the gap between two dueling battleships, she was finally able to disengage and assess the situation.
The fleets were in chaos, but she heard the frantic cries for assistance from one ship in particular. A cry that made her blood run cold.
The Kanmusu carrier divisions had managed to stay out of the line of fire and were bombarding the Abyssals were everything they had. But then, with the surface elements of the fleet engaged, submarines slipped through and made for the carriers at flank speed.
Fubuki was not far behind, pushing her boilers into the red as the sounds of torpedo transients filled her sonar suites. There was no time! She remembered throwing herself in front of Akagi... pain... and then everything dissolved into a confused mess where her log books were no help.
She vaguely remembered shooting at the subs before they could submerge as a cold rushing sensation filled her chest. And then she just kept firing at anything that appeared... Abyssaly. And then the slopped ramp of the JS Izumu seemed to swallow her up... worried voices...
...oh...
She'd almost suck, hadn't she?
"Is..." she croaked, coughing weakly as her throat rasped like sandpaper. "Is Akagi-senpai alright?"
A warm chuckle suddenly filled her ears. It was then Fubuki realized that a pair of arms were holding her close like a teddy bear... and the warmth holding up her head wasn't due to the repair fluid. With a growing blush, her eyes trailed upward past a falling curtain of hair and met a pair of beautiful hazel orbs smiling down on her.
Fubuki's blush deepened as she realized what exactly her head was resting against. However, with the inverted view, it took a few moments to recognize the barely concealed grief in the carrier's eyes. But, right then, there was only one thing on her mind. "...Akagi-senpai... you're okay."
Akagi's composure cracked. Sniffling, the carrier gently pulled Fubuki closer and rested her chin on her scalp. Tears beaded the corners of her eyes.
Oh no, had she done something wrong?! Akagi-senpai was crying! But, as the seconds went by, Fubuki realized that they weren't tears of sadness.
"Thank you," Akagi whispered. "My brave little escort, thank you."
A shiver of delight ran the length of her spine. Fubuki thought one of her boilers would burst with the heat crawling along her cheeks.
"You see, Kaga?" Akagi sniffed, glancing off to the side. "Fubuki is exactly the kind of escort we need."
Okay, one of her pipes really did burst at that.
But when no response from the second member of Car-Div 1 came, Akagi's face suddenly darkened. The transformation from heavenly Yokai to a snarling wolf was so sudden Fubuki flinched. "Kaga!"
"Can't you see it?" The blue-robed carrier's voice came from her left, and Fubuki had to strain her eyes to see her.
But Kaga wasn't even looking her way. Her stoic features were twisted in confusion, looking across the baths with a fierce intensity.
"Kaga, this is beyond rude," Akagi hissed back with a venom Fubuki had never her senpai use before. "She is hurt and you are not helping!"
"I am not discounting her sacrifice, but something is not right. Look at her, Akagi, can't you see it?"
See what? Who?
Reluctantly, Fubuki lifted her head off Akagi-senpai's warm bosom and almost screamed. The mangled skeleton of a battleship sat upright in a nearby bath, her interior bulkheads stripped bare for the entire world to see. The shape of her hull was undeniable, but... Fubuki had seen Yamato sailing off to Truk weeks ago!
So this... this must be Musashi!
"What happened to her?" she whispered, horrified.
The baths were oddly quiet at her question until Yudachi gasped. "Poi! Right, you've been unconscious, you haven't heard yet! Poi!"
"H-Heard what?"
It was then Fubuki learned how she'd gotten back to the Izumo; towed by her friends with her keel one twinge away from snapping. She learned that she'd been unconscious for days and the events that unfolded right under their noses. And when the tale ended with Musashi being laid to rest in the baths, she was stunned speechless.
"If not for Musashi..." Mutsuki trailed off, glancing at the broken battleship.
"...poi..." Yudachi finished for her, following her gaze.
Fubuki couldn't help but join in, staring in undisguised awe at the battleship who sacrificed so much...
...then she cocked her head, confused.
No... it was still there.
Blinking, Fubuki cocked her head the other way, but the same thing caught her eye. It was weird, like an optical illusion... but not. The incorporeal lines of a battleship were there, heavily warped with damage, but something was off. No matter how hard she focused it kept slipping away from her.
But one thing was certain; Musashi was far bigger than Yamato. And that wasn't even in a lewd way either! She was just big. Big enough that her shoulders towered above the surface of the repair fluid like a mountainous island. Large, surprising broad, and imposing.
Small patches of skin were beginning to reappear, but if the bath's timer was correct...
"How... how long has she been in here?" Fubuki asked timidly.
"Not even an hour," Kaga replied, eyes narrowed. "You see it too, then."
Well, Fubuki certainly saw something. Not that she would say that out loud while Akagi-senpai was back to giving Kaga a death glare. Although, her senpai's disapproval wasn't necessary to help her feel ashamed. After what Musashi did, saying she looked weird because of damage was disgraceful.
And yet, some deep part of her kept insisting Kaga was right.
There was something off about Musashi.
But, until then, she leaned back into her senpai's warmth.
"She has that creepy smile again Poi!"
There was no end to the stream of emails. Even with Ooyodo filtering the flood to only a small stream, there were still enough demands for his attention to bury Mount Fuji a dozen times over. And that was before the Abyssal incursion. Now Goto lived in a semi-aware fugue, alternating between examining emails, typing short replies, and downing coffee by the gallon.
Slugging back another mug of the heavenly bean, Goto's eyes glazed over the header of the next email.
'Regarding Musashi, URGENT, sent by Minister Karasu Udo.'
Goto didn't even blink. He copied the email address and added it to the growing list. He didn't know why a Minister of State was trying to contact him directly, but if he was asking for a pin-up he could damn well wait with the rest!
Next email; from the Kanmusu Corp's media team. Sure enough; pictures.
Running a hand down his face, he leaned back in his chair and forced himself to take a deep breath. Losing his temper on his staff wouldn't make things better. He tapped out a reply, explaining exactly why he wouldn't allow a camera crew in the repair baths. He tried to stay composed but still ended up hitting the send button with a little more force than necessary.
Pictures. Damn pictures!
Ignoring the whole issue of violating his fleet's privacy, Musashi was nowhere near well enough for a photo shoot! They should have been aware of that! They didn't have a problem okaying shots of the convoy, and Musashi was barely holding together! One hour of repairs had no hope of bringing the battleship up to photogenic standards, let alone being seaworthy again!
He thought they would have known that already.
Besides, the public was doing a good enough job of burying the local controversy. They didn't need an official picture of Musashi to settle that mess.
Not for the first time, Goto wondered exactly what that moron had been thinking?
If the attempted prank wasn't notorious enough, the following attack had sealed the Canadian's fate. Japan was out for blood, and that fool had just placed the mother of all targets on his back. To make matters worse, no one could find him! He wasn't with the refuges of Rokkasho, they couldn't find his body, and if he had hidden in the mountains then he was doing a damn good job of avoiding detection. The JSDAF were combing the mountains mercilessly.
If any Abyssal had managed to slip away, they'd be found soon enough. No one was taking any chances.
And no one wanted this punk to escape, either.
To be honest, Goto couldn't have cared less about the witch hunt. Both his attention and resources were limited, and he couldn't afford to waste either because someone had more balls than sense. His priorities were keeping the coasts safe, the trade routes secure, and getting his girls patched up so they could accomplish those goals.
Everything else was secondary.
A small sleeve of papers was laid before him with another steaming mug, jolting him back to the present. He'd dozed off again.
Muttering a word of thanks, he downed the offered coffee before working to decipher the tight lines of text. Gradually, the framework of a carefully organized patrol schedule came into focus. It was a breath of fresh air; days of stress taken off his shoulders.
The only problem was the name of the flagship bearing the brunt of those patrols.
Sighing heavily, Goto looked up at the battleship waiting patiently before his desk. "I'm sorry, Nagato, but I need you here. I need your mind more than I need your guns."
And that wasn't just an expression either.
However human they appeared or acted, a Kanmusu was still a warship. For a normal civilian, who only saw shipgirls through a screen, they could be forgiven for assuming that a shipgirl was just like them. Their daily shenanigans didn't help that image. But spend enough time with a former flagship like Nagato and you would begin to notice the discrepancies.
The ease with which she could process logistics was almost frightening. The process of comprehending and sorting information that would normally take a fully staffed office hours to come up with a solution, Nagato could do in only a few minutes. They were warships, after all; possessing a full contingent of well-educated officers well adept in task delegation and problem solving.
When you set a shipgirl on a problem, it was never tackled by any singular being. Though the connection between the consciousness of Kanmusu and her crew remained a mystery, no one could argue with the results. There was a reason why Admirals worldwide preferred shipgirls managing their own logistics. Much fewer headaches and a much quicker turnaround.
Analysis paralysis simply didn't exist for a Kanmusu.
A skill that, unfortunately, normal humans couldn't possess.
Scratching out Nagato's name, Goto mustered what few brain cells he had left and managed to remember the short list of battleships that could be redeployed immediately. Making the changes, he signed the schedule and handed it back. "Depending on whose repairs are finished first, we'll send out either Kongou or Iowa."
Was it selfish?
Yes.
Necessary?
Also yes.
Nagato was disappointed, but she accepted the changes with a firm nod before wearily falling into the chair behind her desk.
"And you should probably get some rest," Goto noted, blinking blearily at the next email on his monitor. "You look terrible."
It took a few seconds before Goto realized that the office had gone quiet. Peeking around his monitor, he found the two shipgirls of his staff giving him a deadpan look. It only got worse when Ooyodo held up a mirror, allowing his own dead-eyed expression to glare back at him.
The standoff held for a moment.
"I invoke my privileges as Admiral to keep working," Goto muttered, slinking back behind his monitor.
He didn't like how the two shared a look, silently communicating over their radios in a way only Kanmusu could. His suspicion only grew as they rose simultaneously. Ooyodo headed to the side table at the back of the office where the coffee machine had been moved. He couldn't keep it on his desk anymore with the sudden influx of paperwork the Abyssal attack had caused. But she didn't reach for the coffee jar, no; she reached for the drawer.
The drawer Kongou had commandeered for her personal stash.
Before Goto could stop her, the drawer opened, letting out an aroma of herbs and spices. 'The perfect blends for rest and relaxation, dess,' the British battleship had proclaimed. Well, you couldn't deny that she knew her teas. Goto's eyes grew heavy at the scent alone; hearkening back to many a pleasant evening spent in the bouncy woman's company after a long day.
He felt his will tremble, then realized it was just his eyelids.
"Admiral, what else needs to be done?" Nagato asked firmly, stepping up to his desk.
"Too much," Goto shot back evasively, desperately focusing on the next email.
'Regarding Musashi, URGENT, send by Admiral Suzu.'
Goto threw the return address on the pile without thinking, desperately trying to ignore the blissful scent filling his office.
"Admiral, you can barely keep your eyes open." Nagato pointed out. "You need your rest more than we do."
And who's fault was that?! Goto glared accusingly at the steeping teapot now resting on the table. Undoubtedly they'd radioed Kongou for a recommendation. The scent was heavenly. Dammit.
"There's too much to do," he protested sternly, scanning the next message in line.
'Rogue Canadian, URGENT, forwarded from Kanmusu_Media_Dept, sent by NHK World-Japan Rep.'
Again with this guy. If he was army, as his uniform suggested, then he shouldn't be Goto's problem! Thankfully, the head of the Media team had condensed NHK's long-winded message down into a single short sentence. They were asking for an official condemnation of the man's actions from either him or Musashi herself.
Thankfully, that particular request could wait. Hopefully for a month. Or at least until Musashi was awake.
"And what needs to be done," Nagato pressed, firmly. Then her face softened. "Admiral, you are too important to strain yourself like this. You need your rest. Tell me what to do and go get some sleep."
Goto shook his head belligerently, glaring at Ooyodo's back as she dutifully followed Kongou's transmitted instructions.
Eyes heavy, he clicked on the next email and scanned the header. The weight of sleep abruptly vanished under a rush of adrenaline brought on by three simple words.
'Gallipoli has fallen.'
Goto blinked, convinced he had misread it in his stupor. But no, the words were still there, clear as day even with a steaming cup of tea placed before him. The main body of the message was just as damning: As of that morning, humanity had been forced off the Gallipoli Peninsula.
"Admiral?"
The details provided were short and concise. The Combined Mediterranean Task Force had been powerless to stop them. The combined fleets of no less than six Princesses stormed the beaches. Gallipoli had fallen in a matter of hours, the survivors fleeing towards Istanbul or across the Dardanelles Strait.
A shaky perimeter had been formed around the conquered territory, but like with their latest ventures, the Abyssals were in no rush to expand or even push their advantage. If previous experience held true, they would fortify the cliffs as though their lives depended on it.
Gallipoli was well and truly lost.
"Admiral?"
Now wide awake, he took a calming breath and scanned for further details. The United Nations would be convening soon to discuss the new development, but Admiral Baumhouer of Germany was calling for a meeting of the Kanmusu Admirals tomorrow.
Goto didn't need to guess the topic.
"That was a month of repair time for Musashi, correct?"
Nagato's brow furrowed at the sudden change of topic but nodded. "Hai, but we can't deploy her immediately after, she'll need time to recover. I can't even imagine her state of mind right now."
Goto nodded, slowly.
"Admiral, what's happening?"
Without a word, Goto slid aside and let his two aids read the email. Their faces dropped.
"Alright... you win," Goto sighed, picking up the delicate teacup and taking a long sip. After all the coffee, the taste was bliss, if soured by the recent news. "I have a meeting tomorrow I cannot miss. But first; Nagato, if worst comes to worst, we need to exchange a battleship for Bismark. I have a hunch Baumhouer doesn't want her anywhere near the Mediterranean after this."
Chitose always hated the doors into the baths. They were beautiful, certainly; but sneaking in was almost impossible. The wooden panel always scrapped across the doorframe with a sound that was impossible to mistake for anything else. The American baths she had seen in the States followed their... patriotic sway, but at least their doors swung on hinges and were silenced by those little hydraulic buffers. There, at least, if you wanted to slip in, you could do it quietly.
No such luck here.
Sure enough, as soon as the panel let out its distinctive scrape, she found herself the focal point of dozens of eyes. She froze, halfway between the tiled bathing area and the changing room. It didn't help that her gaze was automatically drawn to Musashi; the de facto centerpiece of the moody atmosphere.
In a way, the damages were even worse than before. With the grime and filth of battle washed away, Musashi's wounds had never been more apparent.
Ducking her head, Chitose slipped into Musashi's bath, followed closely by Chiyoda.
While it wasn't exactly wrong or forbidden, the effectiveness of repair fluid depended on how many Kanmusu were present. For a few bullet holes, leaks, or other minor injuries, a single bath could comfortably repair an entire fleet at once. But it was common practise to give severely wounded vessels their own space and not bog down their repair times.
Of course, comforting the wounded wasn't unwelcome or uncommon.
Or if you just needed to... apologize
Besides, all they needed was a quick tune-up before their next assignment. Chitose didn't intend to stay there long, not when she could imagine the judgmental gazes of every girl present. It was their fault Musashi was like this.
Sitting on either side of the battleship, the two sisters hesitantly met each other's eyes. Neither could find anything to say. It didn't help that Musashi's breath had evened out, sounding like an enormous pair of bellows in the silence between them.
Or that Chitose barely came up to the battleship's chest. Or that said chest appeared to be broader than both of the Tenders combined.
She tried not to dwell on it. But as the minutes ticked by, neither Tender could find anything to say. Chitose kept glancing at her sister ship, praying Chiyoda would be the one to break the ice, only to find the same pleading expression leveled back at her.
All the while, the testament of their failure loomed above them in every sense of the word. And Kaga wouldn't stop staring; her suspicious gaze boring into them.
Chitose sniffed.
They were poor excuses for Sea-Plane Tenders. They couldn't even save one battleship! What would Yamato think of them? If she walked into the baths at this very moment, what would she say?
Hesitantly, Chitose reached out and grasped Musashi's hand. The size difference was never more apparent, but she tried to give it a comforting squeeze without breaking anything else.
"We're sorry." Even if the apology hadn't been a barely audible whisper, it still felt woefully inadequate. "We're sorry we couldn't do more."
The monolithic battleship above them murmured something in her sleep, like the crunch of boots on gravel. Chitose couldn't bring herself to look up. The thought of that single crimson orb glaring down on them was too much.
They sat in silence for so long that the babble of voices began to fill the baths again, returning it to some semblance of its usual atmosphere. Feeling that she had overstayed her welcome, Chitose sighed and prepared to switch baths, but stopped dead in her tracks.
Chiyoda was glaring at her. The suspicious glare. The kind of glare that brokered no quarter until she got an answer.
"So. Georgia." It an an observation, threat, and pure, utter loathing all wrapped in a single whispered word. Chitose felt the blood drain from her face.
"W-What?" Her eyes flicked about, taking in the dozens of shipgirls around them, before looking back at her sister in barely disguised horror. "Now!?"
"Chitose, your chastity is no laughing matter."
"M-My chastity?!" She barely managed to keep her embarrassment down to a mousy squeak. "It's fanfiction, Chiyoda! Fan. Fiction. W-Why can't I be flattered when someone appreciates me enough to, uh, to write about me as a character? There's nothing wrong with that."
"Then what did I hear on the train?" Chiyoda's eyes narrowed when Chitose blushed and looked away. "There is flattery, and then there is poison. You are dreaming of an Abyssal submarine coming to sweep you off your feet. That is not healthy! Pure and honest relationships have been destroyed because of fetishes like this!"
Chitose choked on air, spluttering before she could muster a cohesive response, barely managing to keep her voice low. "I-It's not a fetish!"
If it was possible, Chiyoda's eyes narrowed further, staring deep into her soul. Chitose fidgeted, hand clamping down on Musashi's as the blush refused to leave her cheeks. "...it's not."
But Chiyoda leaned in close so they were eye to eye, practically daring her to look away. Then she uttered... the word, with enough venom to send an Abyssal Princess running for cover.
"...Chichi..."
A pipe burst somewhere in her engineering compartment, filling the room with steam and scalding a poor fairy. The heat on her cheeks reached boiler temperature, even as Chitose begged for the repair fluid to swallow her whole just to spare her from this embarrassment. Obviously, Chiyoda had learned to cull the forces of nature, because nothing came to her rescue.
"...I knew it."
"Wh- Where did you hear that?" Chitose whispered, horrified.
"'Keep your sisters close, and your enemies closer,'" Chiyoda hissed. Then she composed herself, putting on a noble, dignified air. "I regret the day this mind parasite caught your eye, but there is still hope. If we begin a regimented cutting back, I believe your taste in partners can be saved."
"Why are you so invested in my love life, anyway? It's fanfiction!"
"Oh, it's your 'love life' now?"
Chitose choked.
"Then it's settled. As your sister, I cannot allow you to fall into such depravity as this. It is unbecoming, disgustingly lewd, and will kill any chances you have of keeping a husband if he learns of this." Her calm exterior cracked. "I mean, I-I get wanting to... make that fleet, you know, but... uh... the, uh...ehhhh..."
She trailed off, blood rushing to her cheeks as... that slipped out. For a long moment, the sisters stared at each other. Chitose wasn't sure if the tables had turned, or if there had even been tables to begin with. In truth, she was so busy dying of mortification that it took a few seconds for her last functioning brain cells to connect the dots and realize what exactly her sister had said.
Chitose blushed.
Chiyoda blushed back.
"...so~o... you want a fleet too, huh?"
The moment it left her lips, Chitose regretted everything.
Chiyoda's blush turned iridescent, steam wafting out of her ears. Without a word, she climbed out of the bath and headed for the changing room.
"W-Wait, Chiyoda-!" Chitose sprang up after her, but something yanked on her arm, sending her splashing back into the baths. Spluttering up repair fluid, she realized that her fingers had become entangled with Musashi's. Or rather, she'd been squeezing the battleship's hand so hard in embarrassment that it had closed on reflex, trapping her in a grip of pure steel.
Hissing, she fought to dislodge herself, tugging at the immovable bands as her sister's retreating form grew further away! No! A scorned Chiyoda was dangerous Chiyoda, what had she done!? Why did she say that?! Fighting to keep down her panic, she pulled harder... then froze.
The hand she was holding... it wasn't right.
One look at Musashi's hull form could tell you that the battleship was one bad swell away from death. But her skin... Musashi's skin was now unbroken. Having helped put her in the baths just over an hour ago, Chitose knew for a fact that the skin shouldn't have grown back so soon. It was unnatural.
But that wasn't the concerning part. Well, the only concerning part.
It was the hand itself.
There was no denying it was big, far larger than Chitose's own, befitting of a battleship, but... it was just too big!
Blinking dumbly, Chitose examined her own hands. They were dainty, smooth, elegant, and ladylike; like fine china. The skin was pure and unblemished, with a curving grace that anyone would find delightful. It was a woman's hand! But when she looked back at Musashi's hand... it wasn't the same!
It had all the curves of a square! The fingers were like a preschooler had glued mismatched rectangles to the palms! The pronounced knuckles were red and raw, and the skin was noticeably calloused! The tendons stuck out of the skin in sharp relief.
Vaguely, Chitose was aware that a deathly silence had fallen over the baths. She could feel every eye on her, but she couldn't look away, gaze trailing upward to Musashi's forearm. It was thick, muscular, etched with old scars, and noticeably... hairy.
A new panic was building as her gaze crawled upward to a bicep as thick as her thigh! Higher still to shoulders as broad as a door frame! But she choked as her gaze slid sideways and saw... nothing.
Flat.
Musashi, a Yamato-Class battleship, was flatter than a pane of glass!
But the true horror came when Chitose dared to look higher, past hairy pectorals and a chiseled collar bone, traveling up a thick neck before freezing in horror when she saw... the beard!
A single heartbeat passed.
Then Chitose screamed.
"TEITOKU!!"
Goto sighed as Kongou's shout drifted from down the hall through the closed office door. He cast an exasperated look at Ooyodo but hesitated at the light Cruiser's own perturbed expression. Obviously, neither she nor Nagato had sent Kongou on a mad dash for the office.
And come to think about it, the shout itself was wrong too. There was no sing-song cadence, just a sharp twang of alarm.
To make matters worse, the picture hanging next to the door was shaking at a frightening tempo. It was a gift; hand-painted by his mother, the canvas of which was made out of generations of old, stitched-together charms. She unashamedly named it 'Fertility Mountain;' claiming that if a woman couldn't be drawn in by Goto's charisma, they would be drawn in by family talent.
To her credit, it was beautifully made, but Goto couldn't see it as anything else other than his Kongou meter.
Without fail, the charmed canvas bounced on the wall each time the fast battleship shook the halls on the way to his office. His mother was delighted and insisted he keep it there. The picture was reliable to a fault; so much so that Goto had scratched pencil marks on the wall behind it to measure the severity of any given situation.
As the office shook, marks were revealed, bringing the severity up to an alarming nine Kongous.
"TEITOKU!!"
The door burst open. Of all the sights Goto expected, Kongou in a bathrobe wasn't one of them. When last they met, she'd been getting ready for the baths. Had she run all the way here in that? But a hard won discipline kept his eyes fixed firmly on her face, whose features were as pale as the cloth wrapped around her.
And then the panicked babbling began. In his tired state, under tea-induced drowsiness, Goto could barely keep up. At least Kongou hadn't glomped him, but the frenzied pointing back towards the baths wasn't much good either.
But there were at least two points in the rambling that his mind latched onto.
One of which was Musashi.
The other... made absolutely no sense.
As Kongou paused to take a breath, Goto held up a hand.
"Kongou, what do you mean by 'him'?"
Goto usually avoided the repair baths on principle. The girls deserved their privacy, and far be it for him to intrude on that. Rarely did he set foot inside its wood-paneled walls, except for inspections or other official business.
Rarely was anyone invited in and never while the girls were undergoing repairs. The slightly caustic nature of repair fluid aside, any wandering eyes would find themselves slapped into oblivion. And with thousands of horsepower behind each swing, that wasn't an exaggeration.
Goto found himself as the exception to this rule.
Alarmingly, he was not the only one.
Around him, girls were pressing themselves against the walls, clutching towels with one hand and pointing guns with the other! Rigging was expressly forbidden in the baths, but right then it felt like a perfectly reasonable reaction.
For the girls too damaged to leave the baths, they pressed themselves as far away from the anomaly as possible!
Destroyers hid behind the legs of cruisers, the cruisers hid behind the battleships, the subs were nowhere to be seen, and the aircraft carriers cowered in the changing room. DesDiv 6 resembled snowmen, wrapped up in so many concealing towels they were at risk of rolling away. Tenryuu stood before them protectively, face twisted in fury as she covered herself with one hand and leveled Waterline with the other.
The only sound breaking through was the rush of a faucet, where Chitose was scrubbing her hand in a panic. Enough soap suds surrounded her that she didn't need a towel to cover up. After thoroughly scrubbing away a layer of skin, she examined the hand from every angle. Then she pulled out a pocket mirror and examined her chin.
When she turned to her sister, her face had gone ashen. "Chiyoda... there's a hair!!"
Instantly, she was swarmed by the rest of the Sea-Plane Tenders, decked up in protective rubber gloves and gas masks. They held her down, careful to avoid skin contact as Chiyoda came in with a pair of tweezers. All the while Chitose wailed, "I don't grow a beard!!"
"Is it contagious?" someone whispered.
There was no answer, but everyone shrank back even further. Chunking sounds reverberated through the air as dozens of naval caliber guns readjusted. The sheer amount of firepower was enough to send a Re-Class to the bottom in a single volley, and all of it was leveled at a single man slumped in the centermost bath.
A man.
In the fleet's bathhouse!
Peeping toms were nothing new; more than a few new transfers had been dismissed for that very reason. The ship-girls didn't tolerate it and neither would he. But this situation was... well, different was putting it lightly.
Even when the proof was right in front of him, with Kongou's frantic explanation still echoing in his ears... none of it made sense!
This man was Musashi.
"Uh... Nagato?" He glanced over to his right side. "Did you notice this on your way back?"
The bewildered expression on the battleship's normally stoic features would have been comical as she shook her head.
"Akashi?"
On his other side, the repair ship didn't even respond, looking on in mute horror.
So neither of them had picked up on it; although going off the damage the battleship had sustained, that could be forgiven. But still... what?! His mind reached desperately for a pattern in the chaos before he was able to snap out of it.
"Alright... is this normal?"
That got a reaction. Aksahi choked on air. "N-Normal?!"
"Is this normal?" Goto repeated with a little more force than necessary. Facts, he needed facts. "You're telling me that this is a battleship who is also a man. You are all warships who came back as women, so tell me whether or not this is possible. Can a ship come back as a man?"
"I-It doesn't work like that," Nagato stammered, eyes never leaving the slumbering male. "I... it's like..."
She bit her lip, almost forcing blood, and took a deep breath. When he resumed speaking, she faced Goto fully. "Admiral, the best way to describe our previous life is... like a half-remembered dream. People, places, they all blur together, but we have always had a sense of one another. For example, I look at Fubuki and even though she's now a girl, it still fits in my memories. She is Fubuki as I remember her. But that-" she pointed an accusing finger down at the man. "-that is not the Musashi we all remember!"
"But he is battleship Musashi, correct?"
Nagato hesitated. "He... he has Musashi's hull, yes, but it's not her! This can't be Musashi!"
Now it was Goto's turn to hesitate before responding. He trusted Nagato with his life, but he was desperately trying to make sense of the situation. "Could you be remembering him differently? I mean... could we just be seeing the first ship-boy?"
"Teitoku." Kongou hugged his arm, and it spoke to the severity of the situation when she didn't try to take it a step further. While she was putting on a brave face, Goto could see the unease behind her eyes. "It doesn't work like that. Who we are doesn't change like that."
Goto thought about that, then knelt for a better look at the abnormal Kanmusu.
Well, Musushi was a man alright, but the biggest thing that stood out was the scars.
Kanmusu didn't scar; that was an indisputable fact. In a way, it made sense. Anything on a ship could be repaired or replaced with enough time and resources. Goto had seen it himself; shipgirls coming home with injuries that would leave a regular human crippled for life or dead, only to be good as new in a few days. Their skin was always flawless, without scars, scabs, or any other trace of a natural healing process.
But Musashi appeared to be the exception to this rule. Angry red scars criss-crossed his chest and shallow holes marked the spots where enemy fire had penetrated his hide. The skin around them was raw and inflamed, leaving the battleship's chest a molted collage of angry red and deep bruises.
But the face...
Musashi's features were about as un-Japanese as you could possibly get. A heavy brow hung over deep-set eyes. The nose looked like it belonged on an Easter Island head. The beard was thick and wiry, surrounding a mouth that seemed set in a permanent grimace.
When it came to beauty, Musashi had certainly drawn the short straw. In more ways than one. And yet... Goto couldn't help but get a sense of familiarity from the battleship. His tired mind reached for an answer and found one much sooner than he wanted.
He knew this man!
Goto had to lean closer just to make sure he wasn't seeing things, but there was no denying it. The face was unmistakable; Musashi was the spitting image of their missing Canadian.
The world around him swayed in time with the beat of his heart. Nothing about this made sense and his tired brain struggled to come up with anything resembling a cohesive answer.
In a cruel twist of irony, a Kanmusu coming back as a man was the easiest to explain. Even if Nagato denied it, there existed a time when ships coming back as women was thought to be impossible too. The theory of a shipboy might have faded with Bismark's appearance, but it never really died out.
So, while the revelation might have shaken the Kanmusu, Goto was able to take the news in stride. It wouldn't be the first time his outlook on the world was shattered; Kongou had made sure of that from day one. While getting a shipboy was a surprising development, Goto didn't see it as a cause for concern. The fact that he bore a disturbing resemblance to a wanted fugitive was.
Unless... had there even been a fugitive to begin with?
If Musashi had come to shore looking like this, a misidentification was more than likely. But where the hell had the part about the Canadian come in?
Regardless, this changed everything! Every detail would need to be examined, inquiries would need to be made, and Goto's head hurt just thinking about it. At least with the source of the disturbance in their possession, the Kanmusu Corp was on top of the situation.
After a long consideration of his list of priorities, Goto came to a decision. Sighing, he got back to his feet. Every vessel in the room watched him, warily.
"Can we move him?"
"M-Move him?" Akashi flinched. She appeared to be taking the situation worse than anyone. "I mean... if you want to break him in half, we... can, I guess?"
"So that's a no, then." He considered the girls in the room, then made his choice. "Kongou, could you be so kind as to run to the medical center and grab some curtains? If we can't move him, let's make things as less awkward as possible."
"H-Hai!"
As Kongou hurried off, dragging her two sisters with her, Nagato stepped up. "And... what about him?"
There was an odd bite to her voice as she glared at the slumbering man suspiciously.
Goto shrugged. "Unless you have a better idea, all we can do is wait for him to wake up. I want to keep this quiet until we have answers, at the very least. Not a word of this gets outside this room. Do you all understand?"
Murmurs of acknowledgement filtered through the room, until one rose above the rest.
"Admiral?" It was Kaga who stepped out from the changing room, her eyes never leaving Musashi. "We could ask her... Musashi's crew. They might have some insight into... this."
Right. The crew. With how often Goto dealt with the shipgirls as singular people, he often forgot about that fact. A ship needed a crew.
"How do we call them?"
Taking it as an invitation, Nagato instantly strode forward, stopping on the rim of the bath beside Musashi's head. Snapping to attention, she spoke with all the authority of her station. "IJN Musashu! On behalf of Admiral Goto of the JSDFN, stand to!"
For a long minute, nothing happened. Then a bedraggled fairy suddenly popped into existence from behind Musashi's thick neck and stood on his shoulder. Even with its strange, chibi-like appearance, the fairy appeared as tired and stressed as Goto himself felt.
It almost tripped over its own feet as it saw the state of the room. Its beady eyes scanned each of the shipgirls in turn, before alighting on Goto with something resembling horror. Then it snapped to attention and saluted.
"Desu! Desu, desu."
After listening, Nagato translated. "Admiral, the Captain wishes to apologize for her tardiness. She is one of the only officers remaining of the crew and thus all responsibilities all on her."
"Understandable," Goto nodded, saluting back. "So, Captain, can you tell us what's going on?"
The Captain cocked her head. "Desu?"
"With Musashi," Goto clarified. He didn't need to speak 'desu' to understand the look.
The Fairy 'ah'ed then went into a long-winded explanation, not a word of which he could understand. But judging from Nagato's shifting expression, she didn't like what she was hearing.
"Captain," she interrupted, sharply. "The Admiral was not asking for a damage assessment. He was asking about Musashi."
The Captain appeared confused and pointed at her battleship. "Desu."
"Yes, we know that is battleship Musashi, but how did she end up like this?"
The fairy blinked. "Desu?"
Nagato's left eye twitched. "Captain. The Admiral is asking why Musashi is a-a..." she seemed to choke on her words, as though the very idea was offensive. "...a-a man? Why is Musashi a man?!"
The fairy visibly hesitated, its beady eyes looking from one wary face to the next. Then she steadied herself, stood tall and proud, and spoke.
"Desu."
Goto swore he heard crickets in the dumbfounded silence that followed.
Nagato gaped at the tiny creature. "W-What do you mean there's nothing wrong with her?"
"Desu!" The Captain replied, strutting to Musashi's chin like a used car salesman. With an exaggerated motion, she gestured from the short, unkempt hair on top of his head, then downward to his beard. "Desu!"
"T-that's not how hair works!"
"Desu!"
"Nagato!" Goto held up a hand before it got much further. His head was starting to ache. "Just... what is she saying."
"Something about how the hair grew in backward."
To the Captain's credit, she met the exasperated battleship's expression evenly. Then she turned and addressed Goto directly with a long string of 'desu.' It was at times like this he desperately wished he understood the little things.
It took Nagato a few seconds to compose herself before translating. "She says that... Musashi might have a beard, but... she still fought with honor and distinction in defence of her country. Shouldn't that be all that matters?"
Goto stared at the fairy for a long moment. "She? Hold up, is the Captain saying Musashi is female, or is that you?"
"Desu!"
"I-It's her own words, Admiral," Nagato stuttered, not believing it herself.
"So you see nothing wrong with this?" Goto asked the Captain, gesturing at the bearded face that would haunt his dreams for days to come.
The fairy glanced at Musashi's face, then shrugged. "...desu. Desu desu."
"She says... it's Musashi. She might be a little under the weather, but the Captain is confident they can get her moving again."
"Do that," Goto said without thinking, dismissing the Captain with a salute. He wasn't blind; the little creature was hiding something, but he had neither the patience nor the attention left to deal with it. What was important was that the situation was contained and they could deal with it at their own pace.
The fairy waddled away, vanishing behind the wiry veil of Musashi's beard, just as the Kongou sisters returned with a handful of curtains on wheels.
Goto sighed, collecting himself. "Alright... here's what we're going to do. If we can't move him, then he'll have to stay here. I don't want anyone talking about this until we have some answers. I know the patrol schedule is tight, but I want someone in here at all times to keep an eye on him. If he wakes up, let me know immediately." He looked around at the wary faces, many of which stared at him in disbelief. "I'm as confused as you are, but we won't get any answers until he wakes up."
He looked back at the man sitting in the pool, putting a little more force into his voice. "And regardless of what's going on here, he still saved Japan. The very least we can do is give him the benefit of the doubt. Whatever is going on here. In the meantime, rest up. We're not out of the woods yet, take advantage of all the downtime you can get. Nagato has the duty roster for the week. Let's make the best out of this."
Using the last of his strength to keep his shoulders high, he strode out of the bathhouse. Right before he crossed the threshold to the changing room, he paused and glanced back. The entire room seemed to freeze as his gaze swept from one corner to the next, sternly.
"I think it goes without saying to leave him be, right?"
In both senses of the word.
An awkward silence answered him. Many of the girls were still hesitant to get back in the baths with the man in their presence, despite the concealing curtains the Kongous were rolling into position around him.
"We will get to the bottom of this," Goto promised them. "I hate to say it, but we have much more important things to worry about. Nagato... tell them."
With that parting message, he left. His bed was calling his name, and with the meeting coming up he was going to need every hour of rest he could get. And he had better get there quick before word about Gallipoli spread.
Everyone would be pinning for his attention after that.
The Captain was close to passing out. Slumped against a bulkhead, hidden from view outside, it took every ounce of strength to stop her tiny fairy heart from bursting out of her chest. The hyperventilating wasn't making things easier!
What had she done?
What had she just done?!
She had lied to the Admiral!
LIED! To the ADMIRAL! Right to his face!
What was wrong with her?!
'Oh, the hair just came in backward', what kind of explanation was that?! She had been praying that a repair bath would set things right, but oh how wrong she was! And with the entire fleet looking on she'd panicked! Of course Musashi wasn't right, anyone with a brain could see that! Why oh why couldn't she just admit it?
Thankfully, none of the crew were around to witness her breakdown, and she was able to pull herself together in short order.
Right, she might have dug herself into a hole, but there was still hope. She had to come clean about this; the Admiral wouldn't forgive anything else! But... how could she explain what happened when she didn't even know herself?!
That damned stowaway! Damn them to hell!
Slowly, a plan began to form. The damn stowaway must be found! They needed answers!
By some miracle, the trap the Ensign created had survived! And no wonder, she had taken her task to heart; refurbishing one of the small weapons lockers deep in the bowels of the ship. She had reinforced that tiny room with enough spare steel to give the Citadel a run for its money! Nothing short of a 16 inch shell could make it through. The door itself was spring-loaded, with a trigger connected directly to the stowaway's equipment. One twitch of the bag was enough to send the door slamming shut. Once the attack had begun, it had sealed up nicely.
Ironically, the stowaway's things had fared better than the entire ship combined! A fact the Captain was still salty about.
But it meant that the stowaway hadn't even tried to reclaim her spoils. There was no better time than in the confusion of battle. Either she had chosen to abandon her kit completely, or she was still on board. Or, at the very least, somewhere nearby, plotting to retrieve her things!
For the sake of them all, the Captain chose to believe the latter options. They needed to know what happened to Musashi! The Admiral demanded it!
No one would believe that hair grew backwards!
EDIT: Dec 11, 2023: Fixed grammar and spelling mistakes.
The worst part was, that she was partially responsible for this new trial. She was the secretary ship, she should have at least considered this long ago. But she hadn't. Her immediate concern for Musashi's well being had blinded her to everything else. She needed to apologize to the Admiral for her negligence.
And, of course, she should have realized that she wasn't the only one worried sick. Moreover, she should have remembered how quickly news could spread in this day and age. They didn't have to worry about news helicopters, high-definition cameras, or the internet in the 1940s.
Which led her here. Fighting to keep up a stoic front as she leaned back in a chair. The slightly tangy steam of the repair baths was doing its best to lull her to sleep in its warm embrace.
But the voice on the other end of the phone kept her wide awake.
"Please, is there anything I can do?" Yamato begged.
Begged.
Nagato's heart clenched at the desperation practically leaking through the speakers. If Mutsu had been reduced to such a state, Nagato would have fought tooth and nail to be by her side. But, as secretary ship, she knew what was at stake. She didn't like it any more than Yamato, but it was her duty to be the bearer of bad news.
Mustering what remained of her will, she whispered.
"I'm sorry, Yamato... but we cannot recall you just yet." Trying to ignore the agonized gasp on the other end, she strove on. "Your presence alone is keeping the Abyssals away from Truk, and..."
She closed her eyes, hating herself.
"...and after what Musashi accomplished, they will think twice before trying anything with you present."
A strangled sob came over the call.
"Yamato, I know how hard this is, but there is more than Musashi's life at stake. Japan is vulnerable, we need you where you are."
She could have gone on, but guilt glued her tongue in place. She was already walking a thin line; to compare Yamato to her sister at a time like this.
There was silence on the other end of the line.
"Yamato?"
"Promise me," it was little more than a choked whisper.
"What?"
"Promise me you won't give up on her!" Yamato almost shouted, forcing Nagato to pull the phone away from her ear. "I saw her, Nagato! I know how bad it is, don't you even dare consider-"
"What?! Never!" Nagato hissed back. The line sent quiet, broken only by Yamato's ragged sobs. Calming herself, Nagato continued in a calmer voice. "Yamato, I promise that we are not giving up on her. She is in the baths now, she is healing, you understand me?"
"...Can I at least speak to her? Please!"
Wincing, Nagato glanced over the occupied bath. Barely an hour had gone by, nowhere near enough time for the battleship's boilers to become fully operational again. Aside from the ragged wheeze of breath through her ventilation systems, Musashi was completely still.
"I'm sorry," was all Nagato could say. In the face of Yamato's grief, she wanted to justify exactly why she couldn't grant such a simple request, but she doubted Yamato would appreciate learning how close Musashi had come to death. "I'm sorry, Yamato, but she's in no state to speak right now."
In the silence that followed, Nagato wracked her mind for the fleet rotations at Truk.
Operation Cutback had caused a fair amount of shuffling. Truk might have been primarily a Japanese outpost, but it was no less vital to all international trade in the Pacific. Convoys to and from Australia relied heavily on the security and radar coverage Truk provided. Along with being a suitable launch site for all offensive operations within the Philippine Sea, the outpost had quickly become a multi-national effort.
While Yamato had been posted there as a very big stick during Cutback, her fleet's rotation was winding down.
"Prince of Whales is coming to relieve you, correct?"
"H-Hai..."
"If you wish, I can try to speed up the handover. Bring you home sooner."
The line was silent for a long moment before Yamato whispered. "...Thank you..."
With a click, the call ended. Sighing, Nagato resisted the urge to fall back into her seat and sleep. She couldn't do that with every girl in the baths watching her like hawks. Gathering herself, she straightened, feeling her spine pop back into place. But when she addressed the room, there was nothing but steel in her voice.
"We are not giving up on her. That is a promise."
And a promise from her might as well have been a promise from the Admiral himself. But her resolve couldn't shake the gloomy atmosphere in the baths. Musashi's wounds were impossible to ignore. But, gradually, the murmur of conversation rose, almost lulling Nagato into the warm embrace of a nap.
Akashi had already failed in that regard. She had sat down for a short break and was snoring soundly not even a minute later. Despite the girls waiting in line for more specialized repairs, no one had the heart to wake her up.
Grunting softly, Nagato stood and opened the slide to the changing room.
"Nagato, dess!"
This time, the secretary ship couldn't hold in her weary sigh as the fast battleship caught up before she could escape to the outside world.
"Kongou, now is not that time to-" Nagato whispered, turning to face her pursuer. However, she was caught off guard when Kongou pulled her into a hug. What was even more surprising was that the British battleship had thrown on a bathrobe for the encounter, and had even closed the sliding door before engaging contact.
They were alone. Only then did Nagato's shift shoulders sag, an invisible tension releasing as she allowed herself to be held. All the responsibilities she couldn't escape seemed to melt away for a single moment as the scent of tea surrounded her.
"You have the most thankless job of all of us, dess," Kongou whispered, pulling her tighter. "You push yourself so hard and people don't give you the credit you deserve, dess."
Nagato was too choked up to reply.
She was a battleship, a vessel of war stuck in an office, fighting a war behind sheets of paper while sending others to fight in her stead. Keeping family apart all for the sake of the mission. Never did the weight of command settle on her shoulders as heavily as now.
Yamato, the gentle giant, the pride of the Japanese navy, begging to come home.
She hated it.
In a way, becoming human made the burden of command even worse. It was easy to command a mountain of steel; less so a grieving woman who only wanted to comfort her dying sister.
It left her feeling isolated.
Alone.
Didn't they understand it was hard for her too? She wasn't heartless, but someone had to make those decisions. She didn't need or even want the credit for that!
Just...
After a long minute, Kongou gave her a final squeeze before pulling back. Pulling an embroidered handkerchief from a pocket, she gently dabbed away the tears that had escaped Nagato's eyes. With a few more touch-ups here and there, and a buttery scone popped in her mouth for good measure, it was like the encounter had never happened.
"You should really stop by for tea sometime, dess!" she chirped, bouncing back to the bathhouse door with a mischievous wink. "More enjoyable than a quicky in the change room."
Nagato rolled her eyes, too used to the battleship's antics at this point to blush. But... she appreciated the invitation. Kongou might have been a little touched in the head, but her heart was always in the right place.
However, as Kongou breezed back into the baths, Nagato hesitated.
Was that a trick of the light?
Musashi hadn't moved, but there was something... off about her. A more defined human shape was starting to appear from the broken steel.
Which didn't make sense. Typically, the condition of a shipgirl's human body mirrored the condition of her hull. Barely an hour of work had been done, but Musashi's human shape was starting to come back.
That shouldn't be happening. And Musashi's shoulders...
The door slid shut, and Musashi vanished from view. Nagato blinked. It had been easy to pass off the doubt before with the damage, but now... No, she had more important things to worry about. Besides, the lack of sleep must have been getting to her, that was it.
All the same, she couldn't cast off the doubt gnawing at the back of her mind.
----
The inky blackness slowly drained away, letting in slashes of color as well as the sound of hushed voices. Fubuki moaned softly as she came to, feeling the warmth of the repair bath under her keel. Almost instantly, the splashes of color resolved into blurry faces pressing in around her.
But past them, Fubuki swore she saw familiar wooden paneled walls of the repair baths of Yokosuka.
That... wasn't right, she should have been on board the Izumo. With her... grey, industrial bulkheads and repair fluid that was a little too cold sometimes. What was she doing here?
"Fubuki-chan!"
Her eyes wandered, then settled on a worried face hovering before her. She recognized it.
"Mmm... M-Mutsuki-chan?" she whispered, throat bone dry.
Instantly, the destroyer's face lit up. "You're awake! You're finally awake!"
And then she was being hugged on all sides. Dazed and confused, the only thing she was aware of was the comforting warmth around her. And the worried 'Poi' that came from her port side. So... Yudachi was here as well. Here at... Yokosuka, apparently.
"How... where am I?" she murmured, the world slowly coming into focus. "How did I get here?"
The gaggle of destroyers pulled back, glancing at each other for a moment before Mutsuki took the lead. "You were hurt really bad, Fubuki-chan. How much do you remember?"
Fubuki stared at her blankly for a moment before turning her attention inward. In her mind's eye, she caught a sudden glare of sunlight. And then it was like she was in a different place altogether. She was still conscious in the bath, but at the same time, the phantasmal dry dock surrounded her.
The sun was setting over the mountains to the west, casting everything in a warm yellow glow. Indistinct warehouses hung in the foreground, from which drove a steady supply of armor plating and other such materials. The whir of cranes was omnipresent, hoisting slabs of steel into position so her crew would weld into into place along her side.
It was such a strange place, but not an unwelcome one. The warm light, the indistinct figures walking the docks, and even her own weariness invoked a comforting presence. Of sliding into a docking berth after many long months at sea.
The architecture always reminded Fubuki of Imperial Japan as she remembered it. However, that description varied depending on the nationality of the vessel. When asked, Iowa-sama claimed it resembled Brooklyn.
Rather than being off-putting, it was a comforting experience. It was home. Safety.
But Fubuki didn't allow herself to sink into that warm bliss, she had work to do! Examining her log books with the help of some officers, the memory of the battle gradually came into focus.
Everything had been going so well until the threat of submarines pulled their ASW screen away from the fleet. And then the nightmare began. Dive bombers fell upon them from the dark thunderheads and the masts of cruisers and battleships crested the horizon. What followed was a confusing melee of point-blank fire, smoke, and spray as the two fleets converged.
Fubuki remembered the orders to break off screaming over the radio, but the Abyssals were having none of it. They charged headlong into the Japanese formation without care for their own safety. At that range friendly fire was as much a danger as the enemy, but the Abyssals didn't seem to care. They were desperate to do as much damage as possible.
Fanatical.
That was the word she was looking for; one that she was uncomfortably familiar with.
Smoke and the whistle of flying shells were everywhere, it took all her concentration just to stay afloat in the churning waves, firing her guns whenever she caught a glimpse of the enemy through the haze of battle. After barely surviving threading the gap between two dueling battleships, she was finally able to disengage and assess the situation.
The fleets were in chaos, but she heard the frantic cries for assistance from one ship in particular. A cry that made her blood run cold.
The Kanmusu carrier divisions had managed to stay out of the line of fire and were bombarding the Abyssals were everything they had. But then, with the surface elements of the fleet engaged, submarines slipped through and made for the carriers at flank speed.
Fubuki was not far behind, pushing her boilers into the red as the sounds of torpedo transients filled her sonar suites. There was no time! She remembered throwing herself in front of Akagi... pain... and then everything dissolved into a confused mess where her log books were no help.
She vaguely remembered shooting at the subs before they could submerge as a cold rushing sensation filled her chest. And then she just kept firing at anything that appeared... Abyssaly. And then the slopped ramp of the JS Izumu seemed to swallow her up... worried voices...
...oh...
She'd almost suck, hadn't she?
"Is..." she croaked, coughing weakly as her throat rasped like sandpaper. "Is Akagi-senpai alright?"
A warm chuckle suddenly filled her ears. It was then Fubuki realized that a pair of arms were holding her close like a teddy bear... and the warmth holding up her head wasn't due to the repair fluid. With a growing blush, her eyes trailed upward past a falling curtain of hair and met a pair of beautiful hazel orbs smiling down on her.
Fubuki's blush deepened as she realized what exactly her head was resting against. However, with the inverted view, it took a few moments to recognize the barely concealed grief in the carrier's eyes. But, right then, there was only one thing on her mind. "...Akagi-senpai... you're okay."
Akagi's composure cracked. Sniffling, the carrier gently pulled Fubuki closer and rested her chin on her scalp. Tears beaded the corners of her eyes.
Oh no, had she done something wrong?! Akagi-senpai was crying! But, as the seconds went by, Fubuki realized that they weren't tears of sadness.
"Thank you," Akagi whispered. "My brave little escort, thank you."
A shiver of delight ran the length of her spine. Fubuki thought one of her boilers would burst with the heat crawling along her cheeks.
"You see, Kaga?" Akagi sniffed, glancing off to the side. "Fubuki is exactly the kind of escort we need."
Okay, one of her pipes really did burst at that.
But when no response from the second member of Car-Div 1 came, Akagi's face suddenly darkened. The transformation from heavenly Yokai to a snarling wolf was so sudden Fubuki flinched. "Kaga!"
"Can't you see it?" The blue-robed carrier's voice came from her left, and Fubuki had to strain her eyes to see her.
But Kaga wasn't even looking her way. Her stoic features were twisted in confusion, looking across the baths with a fierce intensity.
"Kaga, this is beyond rude," Akagi hissed back with a venom Fubuki had never her senpai use before. "She is hurt and you are not helping!"
"I am not discounting her sacrifice, but something is not right. Look at her, Akagi, can't you see it?"
See what? Who?
Reluctantly, Fubuki lifted her head off Akagi-senpai's warm bosom and almost screamed. The mangled skeleton of a battleship sat upright in a nearby bath, her interior bulkheads stripped bare for the entire world to see. The shape of her hull was undeniable, but... Fubuki had seen Yamato sailing off to Truk weeks ago!
So this... this must be Musashi!
"What happened to her?" she whispered, horrified.
The baths were oddly quiet at her question until Yudachi gasped. "Poi! Right, you've been unconscious, you haven't heard yet! Poi!"
"H-Heard what?"
It was then Fubuki learned how she'd gotten back to the Izumo; towed by her friends with her keel one twinge away from snapping. She learned that she'd been unconscious for days and the events that unfolded right under their noses. And when the tale ended with Musashi being laid to rest in the baths, she was stunned speechless.
"If not for Musashi..." Mutsuki trailed off, glancing at the broken battleship.
"...poi..." Yudachi finished for her, following her gaze.
Fubuki couldn't help but join in, staring in undisguised awe at the battleship who sacrificed so much...
...then she cocked her head, confused.
No... it was still there.
Blinking, Fubuki cocked her head the other way, but the same thing caught her eye. It was weird, like an optical illusion... but not. The incorporeal lines of a battleship were there, heavily warped with damage, but something was off. No matter how hard she focused it kept slipping away from her.
But one thing was certain; Musashi was far bigger than Yamato. And that wasn't even in a lewd way either! She was just big. Big enough that her shoulders towered above the surface of the repair fluid like a mountainous island. Large, surprising broad, and imposing.
Small patches of skin were beginning to reappear, but if the bath's timer was correct...
"How... how long has she been in here?" Fubuki asked timidly.
"Not even an hour," Kaga replied, eyes narrowed. "You see it too, then."
Well, Fubuki certainly saw something. Not that she would say that out loud while Akagi-senpai was back to giving Kaga a death glare. Although, her senpai's disapproval wasn't necessary to help her feel ashamed. After what Musashi did, saying she looked weird because of damage was disgraceful.
And yet, some deep part of her kept insisting Kaga was right.
There was something off about Musashi.
But, until then, she leaned back into her senpai's warmth.
"She has that creepy smile again Poi!"
----
There was no end to the stream of emails. Even with Ooyodo filtering the flood to only a small stream, there were still enough demands for his attention to bury Mount Fuji a dozen times over. And that was before the Abyssal incursion. Now Goto lived in a semi-aware fugue, alternating between examining emails, typing short replies, and downing coffee by the gallon.
Slugging back another mug of the heavenly bean, Goto's eyes glazed over the header of the next email.
'Regarding Musashi, URGENT, sent by Minister Karasu Udo.'
Goto didn't even blink. He copied the email address and added it to the growing list. He didn't know why a Minister of State was trying to contact him directly, but if he was asking for a pin-up he could damn well wait with the rest!
Next email; from the Kanmusu Corp's media team. Sure enough; pictures.
Running a hand down his face, he leaned back in his chair and forced himself to take a deep breath. Losing his temper on his staff wouldn't make things better. He tapped out a reply, explaining exactly why he wouldn't allow a camera crew in the repair baths. He tried to stay composed but still ended up hitting the send button with a little more force than necessary.
Pictures. Damn pictures!
Ignoring the whole issue of violating his fleet's privacy, Musashi was nowhere near well enough for a photo shoot! They should have been aware of that! They didn't have a problem okaying shots of the convoy, and Musashi was barely holding together! One hour of repairs had no hope of bringing the battleship up to photogenic standards, let alone being seaworthy again!
He thought they would have known that already.
Besides, the public was doing a good enough job of burying the local controversy. They didn't need an official picture of Musashi to settle that mess.
Not for the first time, Goto wondered exactly what that moron had been thinking?
If the attempted prank wasn't notorious enough, the following attack had sealed the Canadian's fate. Japan was out for blood, and that fool had just placed the mother of all targets on his back. To make matters worse, no one could find him! He wasn't with the refuges of Rokkasho, they couldn't find his body, and if he had hidden in the mountains then he was doing a damn good job of avoiding detection. The JSDAF were combing the mountains mercilessly.
If any Abyssal had managed to slip away, they'd be found soon enough. No one was taking any chances.
And no one wanted this punk to escape, either.
To be honest, Goto couldn't have cared less about the witch hunt. Both his attention and resources were limited, and he couldn't afford to waste either because someone had more balls than sense. His priorities were keeping the coasts safe, the trade routes secure, and getting his girls patched up so they could accomplish those goals.
Everything else was secondary.
A small sleeve of papers was laid before him with another steaming mug, jolting him back to the present. He'd dozed off again.
Muttering a word of thanks, he downed the offered coffee before working to decipher the tight lines of text. Gradually, the framework of a carefully organized patrol schedule came into focus. It was a breath of fresh air; days of stress taken off his shoulders.
The only problem was the name of the flagship bearing the brunt of those patrols.
Sighing heavily, Goto looked up at the battleship waiting patiently before his desk. "I'm sorry, Nagato, but I need you here. I need your mind more than I need your guns."
And that wasn't just an expression either.
However human they appeared or acted, a Kanmusu was still a warship. For a normal civilian, who only saw shipgirls through a screen, they could be forgiven for assuming that a shipgirl was just like them. Their daily shenanigans didn't help that image. But spend enough time with a former flagship like Nagato and you would begin to notice the discrepancies.
The ease with which she could process logistics was almost frightening. The process of comprehending and sorting information that would normally take a fully staffed office hours to come up with a solution, Nagato could do in only a few minutes. They were warships, after all; possessing a full contingent of well-educated officers well adept in task delegation and problem solving.
When you set a shipgirl on a problem, it was never tackled by any singular being. Though the connection between the consciousness of Kanmusu and her crew remained a mystery, no one could argue with the results. There was a reason why Admirals worldwide preferred shipgirls managing their own logistics. Much fewer headaches and a much quicker turnaround.
Analysis paralysis simply didn't exist for a Kanmusu.
A skill that, unfortunately, normal humans couldn't possess.
Scratching out Nagato's name, Goto mustered what few brain cells he had left and managed to remember the short list of battleships that could be redeployed immediately. Making the changes, he signed the schedule and handed it back. "Depending on whose repairs are finished first, we'll send out either Kongou or Iowa."
Was it selfish?
Yes.
Necessary?
Also yes.
Nagato was disappointed, but she accepted the changes with a firm nod before wearily falling into the chair behind her desk.
"And you should probably get some rest," Goto noted, blinking blearily at the next email on his monitor. "You look terrible."
It took a few seconds before Goto realized that the office had gone quiet. Peeking around his monitor, he found the two shipgirls of his staff giving him a deadpan look. It only got worse when Ooyodo held up a mirror, allowing his own dead-eyed expression to glare back at him.
The standoff held for a moment.
"I invoke my privileges as Admiral to keep working," Goto muttered, slinking back behind his monitor.
He didn't like how the two shared a look, silently communicating over their radios in a way only Kanmusu could. His suspicion only grew as they rose simultaneously. Ooyodo headed to the side table at the back of the office where the coffee machine had been moved. He couldn't keep it on his desk anymore with the sudden influx of paperwork the Abyssal attack had caused. But she didn't reach for the coffee jar, no; she reached for the drawer.
The drawer Kongou had commandeered for her personal stash.
Before Goto could stop her, the drawer opened, letting out an aroma of herbs and spices. 'The perfect blends for rest and relaxation, dess,' the British battleship had proclaimed. Well, you couldn't deny that she knew her teas. Goto's eyes grew heavy at the scent alone; hearkening back to many a pleasant evening spent in the bouncy woman's company after a long day.
He felt his will tremble, then realized it was just his eyelids.
"Admiral, what else needs to be done?" Nagato asked firmly, stepping up to his desk.
"Too much," Goto shot back evasively, desperately focusing on the next email.
'Regarding Musashi, URGENT, send by Admiral Suzu.'
Goto threw the return address on the pile without thinking, desperately trying to ignore the blissful scent filling his office.
"Admiral, you can barely keep your eyes open." Nagato pointed out. "You need your rest more than we do."
And who's fault was that?! Goto glared accusingly at the steeping teapot now resting on the table. Undoubtedly they'd radioed Kongou for a recommendation. The scent was heavenly. Dammit.
"There's too much to do," he protested sternly, scanning the next message in line.
'Rogue Canadian, URGENT, forwarded from Kanmusu_Media_Dept, sent by NHK World-Japan Rep.'
Again with this guy. If he was army, as his uniform suggested, then he shouldn't be Goto's problem! Thankfully, the head of the Media team had condensed NHK's long-winded message down into a single short sentence. They were asking for an official condemnation of the man's actions from either him or Musashi herself.
Thankfully, that particular request could wait. Hopefully for a month. Or at least until Musashi was awake.
"And what needs to be done," Nagato pressed, firmly. Then her face softened. "Admiral, you are too important to strain yourself like this. You need your rest. Tell me what to do and go get some sleep."
Goto shook his head belligerently, glaring at Ooyodo's back as she dutifully followed Kongou's transmitted instructions.
Eyes heavy, he clicked on the next email and scanned the header. The weight of sleep abruptly vanished under a rush of adrenaline brought on by three simple words.
'Gallipoli has fallen.'
Goto blinked, convinced he had misread it in his stupor. But no, the words were still there, clear as day even with a steaming cup of tea placed before him. The main body of the message was just as damning: As of that morning, humanity had been forced off the Gallipoli Peninsula.
"Admiral?"
The details provided were short and concise. The Combined Mediterranean Task Force had been powerless to stop them. The combined fleets of no less than six Princesses stormed the beaches. Gallipoli had fallen in a matter of hours, the survivors fleeing towards Istanbul or across the Dardanelles Strait.
A shaky perimeter had been formed around the conquered territory, but like with their latest ventures, the Abyssals were in no rush to expand or even push their advantage. If previous experience held true, they would fortify the cliffs as though their lives depended on it.
Gallipoli was well and truly lost.
"Admiral?"
Now wide awake, he took a calming breath and scanned for further details. The United Nations would be convening soon to discuss the new development, but Admiral Baumhouer of Germany was calling for a meeting of the Kanmusu Admirals tomorrow.
Goto didn't need to guess the topic.
"That was a month of repair time for Musashi, correct?"
Nagato's brow furrowed at the sudden change of topic but nodded. "Hai, but we can't deploy her immediately after, she'll need time to recover. I can't even imagine her state of mind right now."
Goto nodded, slowly.
"Admiral, what's happening?"
Without a word, Goto slid aside and let his two aids read the email. Their faces dropped.
"Alright... you win," Goto sighed, picking up the delicate teacup and taking a long sip. After all the coffee, the taste was bliss, if soured by the recent news. "I have a meeting tomorrow I cannot miss. But first; Nagato, if worst comes to worst, we need to exchange a battleship for Bismark. I have a hunch Baumhouer doesn't want her anywhere near the Mediterranean after this."
----
Chitose always hated the doors into the baths. They were beautiful, certainly; but sneaking in was almost impossible. The wooden panel always scrapped across the doorframe with a sound that was impossible to mistake for anything else. The American baths she had seen in the States followed their... patriotic sway, but at least their doors swung on hinges and were silenced by those little hydraulic buffers. There, at least, if you wanted to slip in, you could do it quietly.
No such luck here.
Sure enough, as soon as the panel let out its distinctive scrape, she found herself the focal point of dozens of eyes. She froze, halfway between the tiled bathing area and the changing room. It didn't help that her gaze was automatically drawn to Musashi; the de facto centerpiece of the moody atmosphere.
In a way, the damages were even worse than before. With the grime and filth of battle washed away, Musashi's wounds had never been more apparent.
Ducking her head, Chitose slipped into Musashi's bath, followed closely by Chiyoda.
While it wasn't exactly wrong or forbidden, the effectiveness of repair fluid depended on how many Kanmusu were present. For a few bullet holes, leaks, or other minor injuries, a single bath could comfortably repair an entire fleet at once. But it was common practise to give severely wounded vessels their own space and not bog down their repair times.
Of course, comforting the wounded wasn't unwelcome or uncommon.
Or if you just needed to... apologize
Besides, all they needed was a quick tune-up before their next assignment. Chitose didn't intend to stay there long, not when she could imagine the judgmental gazes of every girl present. It was their fault Musashi was like this.
Sitting on either side of the battleship, the two sisters hesitantly met each other's eyes. Neither could find anything to say. It didn't help that Musashi's breath had evened out, sounding like an enormous pair of bellows in the silence between them.
Or that Chitose barely came up to the battleship's chest. Or that said chest appeared to be broader than both of the Tenders combined.
She tried not to dwell on it. But as the minutes ticked by, neither Tender could find anything to say. Chitose kept glancing at her sister ship, praying Chiyoda would be the one to break the ice, only to find the same pleading expression leveled back at her.
All the while, the testament of their failure loomed above them in every sense of the word. And Kaga wouldn't stop staring; her suspicious gaze boring into them.
Chitose sniffed.
They were poor excuses for Sea-Plane Tenders. They couldn't even save one battleship! What would Yamato think of them? If she walked into the baths at this very moment, what would she say?
Hesitantly, Chitose reached out and grasped Musashi's hand. The size difference was never more apparent, but she tried to give it a comforting squeeze without breaking anything else.
"We're sorry." Even if the apology hadn't been a barely audible whisper, it still felt woefully inadequate. "We're sorry we couldn't do more."
The monolithic battleship above them murmured something in her sleep, like the crunch of boots on gravel. Chitose couldn't bring herself to look up. The thought of that single crimson orb glaring down on them was too much.
They sat in silence for so long that the babble of voices began to fill the baths again, returning it to some semblance of its usual atmosphere. Feeling that she had overstayed her welcome, Chitose sighed and prepared to switch baths, but stopped dead in her tracks.
Chiyoda was glaring at her. The suspicious glare. The kind of glare that brokered no quarter until she got an answer.
"So. Georgia." It an an observation, threat, and pure, utter loathing all wrapped in a single whispered word. Chitose felt the blood drain from her face.
"W-What?" Her eyes flicked about, taking in the dozens of shipgirls around them, before looking back at her sister in barely disguised horror. "Now!?"
"Chitose, your chastity is no laughing matter."
"M-My chastity?!" She barely managed to keep her embarrassment down to a mousy squeak. "It's fanfiction, Chiyoda! Fan. Fiction. W-Why can't I be flattered when someone appreciates me enough to, uh, to write about me as a character? There's nothing wrong with that."
"Then what did I hear on the train?" Chiyoda's eyes narrowed when Chitose blushed and looked away. "There is flattery, and then there is poison. You are dreaming of an Abyssal submarine coming to sweep you off your feet. That is not healthy! Pure and honest relationships have been destroyed because of fetishes like this!"
Chitose choked on air, spluttering before she could muster a cohesive response, barely managing to keep her voice low. "I-It's not a fetish!"
If it was possible, Chiyoda's eyes narrowed further, staring deep into her soul. Chitose fidgeted, hand clamping down on Musashi's as the blush refused to leave her cheeks. "...it's not."
But Chiyoda leaned in close so they were eye to eye, practically daring her to look away. Then she uttered... the word, with enough venom to send an Abyssal Princess running for cover.
"...Chichi..."
A pipe burst somewhere in her engineering compartment, filling the room with steam and scalding a poor fairy. The heat on her cheeks reached boiler temperature, even as Chitose begged for the repair fluid to swallow her whole just to spare her from this embarrassment. Obviously, Chiyoda had learned to cull the forces of nature, because nothing came to her rescue.
"...I knew it."
"Wh- Where did you hear that?" Chitose whispered, horrified.
"'Keep your sisters close, and your enemies closer,'" Chiyoda hissed. Then she composed herself, putting on a noble, dignified air. "I regret the day this mind parasite caught your eye, but there is still hope. If we begin a regimented cutting back, I believe your taste in partners can be saved."
"Why are you so invested in my love life, anyway? It's fanfiction!"
"Oh, it's your 'love life' now?"
Chitose choked.
"Then it's settled. As your sister, I cannot allow you to fall into such depravity as this. It is unbecoming, disgustingly lewd, and will kill any chances you have of keeping a husband if he learns of this." Her calm exterior cracked. "I mean, I-I get wanting to... make that fleet, you know, but... uh... the, uh...ehhhh..."
She trailed off, blood rushing to her cheeks as... that slipped out. For a long moment, the sisters stared at each other. Chitose wasn't sure if the tables had turned, or if there had even been tables to begin with. In truth, she was so busy dying of mortification that it took a few seconds for her last functioning brain cells to connect the dots and realize what exactly her sister had said.
Chitose blushed.
Chiyoda blushed back.
"...so~o... you want a fleet too, huh?"
The moment it left her lips, Chitose regretted everything.
Chiyoda's blush turned iridescent, steam wafting out of her ears. Without a word, she climbed out of the bath and headed for the changing room.
"W-Wait, Chiyoda-!" Chitose sprang up after her, but something yanked on her arm, sending her splashing back into the baths. Spluttering up repair fluid, she realized that her fingers had become entangled with Musashi's. Or rather, she'd been squeezing the battleship's hand so hard in embarrassment that it had closed on reflex, trapping her in a grip of pure steel.
Hissing, she fought to dislodge herself, tugging at the immovable bands as her sister's retreating form grew further away! No! A scorned Chiyoda was dangerous Chiyoda, what had she done!? Why did she say that?! Fighting to keep down her panic, she pulled harder... then froze.
The hand she was holding... it wasn't right.
One look at Musashi's hull form could tell you that the battleship was one bad swell away from death. But her skin... Musashi's skin was now unbroken. Having helped put her in the baths just over an hour ago, Chitose knew for a fact that the skin shouldn't have grown back so soon. It was unnatural.
But that wasn't the concerning part. Well, the only concerning part.
It was the hand itself.
There was no denying it was big, far larger than Chitose's own, befitting of a battleship, but... it was just too big!
Blinking dumbly, Chitose examined her own hands. They were dainty, smooth, elegant, and ladylike; like fine china. The skin was pure and unblemished, with a curving grace that anyone would find delightful. It was a woman's hand! But when she looked back at Musashi's hand... it wasn't the same!
It had all the curves of a square! The fingers were like a preschooler had glued mismatched rectangles to the palms! The pronounced knuckles were red and raw, and the skin was noticeably calloused! The tendons stuck out of the skin in sharp relief.
Vaguely, Chitose was aware that a deathly silence had fallen over the baths. She could feel every eye on her, but she couldn't look away, gaze trailing upward to Musashi's forearm. It was thick, muscular, etched with old scars, and noticeably... hairy.
A new panic was building as her gaze crawled upward to a bicep as thick as her thigh! Higher still to shoulders as broad as a door frame! But she choked as her gaze slid sideways and saw... nothing.
Flat.
Musashi, a Yamato-Class battleship, was flatter than a pane of glass!
But the true horror came when Chitose dared to look higher, past hairy pectorals and a chiseled collar bone, traveling up a thick neck before freezing in horror when she saw... the beard!
A single heartbeat passed.
Then Chitose screamed.
----
"TEITOKU!!"
Goto sighed as Kongou's shout drifted from down the hall through the closed office door. He cast an exasperated look at Ooyodo but hesitated at the light Cruiser's own perturbed expression. Obviously, neither she nor Nagato had sent Kongou on a mad dash for the office.
And come to think about it, the shout itself was wrong too. There was no sing-song cadence, just a sharp twang of alarm.
To make matters worse, the picture hanging next to the door was shaking at a frightening tempo. It was a gift; hand-painted by his mother, the canvas of which was made out of generations of old, stitched-together charms. She unashamedly named it 'Fertility Mountain;' claiming that if a woman couldn't be drawn in by Goto's charisma, they would be drawn in by family talent.
To her credit, it was beautifully made, but Goto couldn't see it as anything else other than his Kongou meter.
Without fail, the charmed canvas bounced on the wall each time the fast battleship shook the halls on the way to his office. His mother was delighted and insisted he keep it there. The picture was reliable to a fault; so much so that Goto had scratched pencil marks on the wall behind it to measure the severity of any given situation.
As the office shook, marks were revealed, bringing the severity up to an alarming nine Kongous.
"TEITOKU!!"
The door burst open. Of all the sights Goto expected, Kongou in a bathrobe wasn't one of them. When last they met, she'd been getting ready for the baths. Had she run all the way here in that? But a hard won discipline kept his eyes fixed firmly on her face, whose features were as pale as the cloth wrapped around her.
And then the panicked babbling began. In his tired state, under tea-induced drowsiness, Goto could barely keep up. At least Kongou hadn't glomped him, but the frenzied pointing back towards the baths wasn't much good either.
But there were at least two points in the rambling that his mind latched onto.
One of which was Musashi.
The other... made absolutely no sense.
As Kongou paused to take a breath, Goto held up a hand.
"Kongou, what do you mean by 'him'?"
----
Goto usually avoided the repair baths on principle. The girls deserved their privacy, and far be it for him to intrude on that. Rarely did he set foot inside its wood-paneled walls, except for inspections or other official business.
Rarely was anyone invited in and never while the girls were undergoing repairs. The slightly caustic nature of repair fluid aside, any wandering eyes would find themselves slapped into oblivion. And with thousands of horsepower behind each swing, that wasn't an exaggeration.
Goto found himself as the exception to this rule.
Alarmingly, he was not the only one.
Around him, girls were pressing themselves against the walls, clutching towels with one hand and pointing guns with the other! Rigging was expressly forbidden in the baths, but right then it felt like a perfectly reasonable reaction.
For the girls too damaged to leave the baths, they pressed themselves as far away from the anomaly as possible!
Destroyers hid behind the legs of cruisers, the cruisers hid behind the battleships, the subs were nowhere to be seen, and the aircraft carriers cowered in the changing room. DesDiv 6 resembled snowmen, wrapped up in so many concealing towels they were at risk of rolling away. Tenryuu stood before them protectively, face twisted in fury as she covered herself with one hand and leveled Waterline with the other.
The only sound breaking through was the rush of a faucet, where Chitose was scrubbing her hand in a panic. Enough soap suds surrounded her that she didn't need a towel to cover up. After thoroughly scrubbing away a layer of skin, she examined the hand from every angle. Then she pulled out a pocket mirror and examined her chin.
When she turned to her sister, her face had gone ashen. "Chiyoda... there's a hair!!"
Instantly, she was swarmed by the rest of the Sea-Plane Tenders, decked up in protective rubber gloves and gas masks. They held her down, careful to avoid skin contact as Chiyoda came in with a pair of tweezers. All the while Chitose wailed, "I don't grow a beard!!"
"Is it contagious?" someone whispered.
There was no answer, but everyone shrank back even further. Chunking sounds reverberated through the air as dozens of naval caliber guns readjusted. The sheer amount of firepower was enough to send a Re-Class to the bottom in a single volley, and all of it was leveled at a single man slumped in the centermost bath.
A man.
In the fleet's bathhouse!
Peeping toms were nothing new; more than a few new transfers had been dismissed for that very reason. The ship-girls didn't tolerate it and neither would he. But this situation was... well, different was putting it lightly.
Even when the proof was right in front of him, with Kongou's frantic explanation still echoing in his ears... none of it made sense!
This man was Musashi.
"Uh... Nagato?" He glanced over to his right side. "Did you notice this on your way back?"
The bewildered expression on the battleship's normally stoic features would have been comical as she shook her head.
"Akashi?"
On his other side, the repair ship didn't even respond, looking on in mute horror.
So neither of them had picked up on it; although going off the damage the battleship had sustained, that could be forgiven. But still... what?! His mind reached desperately for a pattern in the chaos before he was able to snap out of it.
"Alright... is this normal?"
That got a reaction. Aksahi choked on air. "N-Normal?!"
"Is this normal?" Goto repeated with a little more force than necessary. Facts, he needed facts. "You're telling me that this is a battleship who is also a man. You are all warships who came back as women, so tell me whether or not this is possible. Can a ship come back as a man?"
"I-It doesn't work like that," Nagato stammered, eyes never leaving the slumbering male. "I... it's like..."
She bit her lip, almost forcing blood, and took a deep breath. When he resumed speaking, she faced Goto fully. "Admiral, the best way to describe our previous life is... like a half-remembered dream. People, places, they all blur together, but we have always had a sense of one another. For example, I look at Fubuki and even though she's now a girl, it still fits in my memories. She is Fubuki as I remember her. But that-" she pointed an accusing finger down at the man. "-that is not the Musashi we all remember!"
"But he is battleship Musashi, correct?"
Nagato hesitated. "He... he has Musashi's hull, yes, but it's not her! This can't be Musashi!"
Now it was Goto's turn to hesitate before responding. He trusted Nagato with his life, but he was desperately trying to make sense of the situation. "Could you be remembering him differently? I mean... could we just be seeing the first ship-boy?"
"Teitoku." Kongou hugged his arm, and it spoke to the severity of the situation when she didn't try to take it a step further. While she was putting on a brave face, Goto could see the unease behind her eyes. "It doesn't work like that. Who we are doesn't change like that."
Goto thought about that, then knelt for a better look at the abnormal Kanmusu.
Well, Musushi was a man alright, but the biggest thing that stood out was the scars.
Kanmusu didn't scar; that was an indisputable fact. In a way, it made sense. Anything on a ship could be repaired or replaced with enough time and resources. Goto had seen it himself; shipgirls coming home with injuries that would leave a regular human crippled for life or dead, only to be good as new in a few days. Their skin was always flawless, without scars, scabs, or any other trace of a natural healing process.
But Musashi appeared to be the exception to this rule. Angry red scars criss-crossed his chest and shallow holes marked the spots where enemy fire had penetrated his hide. The skin around them was raw and inflamed, leaving the battleship's chest a molted collage of angry red and deep bruises.
But the face...
Musashi's features were about as un-Japanese as you could possibly get. A heavy brow hung over deep-set eyes. The nose looked like it belonged on an Easter Island head. The beard was thick and wiry, surrounding a mouth that seemed set in a permanent grimace.
When it came to beauty, Musashi had certainly drawn the short straw. In more ways than one. And yet... Goto couldn't help but get a sense of familiarity from the battleship. His tired mind reached for an answer and found one much sooner than he wanted.
He knew this man!
Goto had to lean closer just to make sure he wasn't seeing things, but there was no denying it. The face was unmistakable; Musashi was the spitting image of their missing Canadian.
The world around him swayed in time with the beat of his heart. Nothing about this made sense and his tired brain struggled to come up with anything resembling a cohesive answer.
In a cruel twist of irony, a Kanmusu coming back as a man was the easiest to explain. Even if Nagato denied it, there existed a time when ships coming back as women was thought to be impossible too. The theory of a shipboy might have faded with Bismark's appearance, but it never really died out.
So, while the revelation might have shaken the Kanmusu, Goto was able to take the news in stride. It wouldn't be the first time his outlook on the world was shattered; Kongou had made sure of that from day one. While getting a shipboy was a surprising development, Goto didn't see it as a cause for concern. The fact that he bore a disturbing resemblance to a wanted fugitive was.
Unless... had there even been a fugitive to begin with?
If Musashi had come to shore looking like this, a misidentification was more than likely. But where the hell had the part about the Canadian come in?
Regardless, this changed everything! Every detail would need to be examined, inquiries would need to be made, and Goto's head hurt just thinking about it. At least with the source of the disturbance in their possession, the Kanmusu Corp was on top of the situation.
After a long consideration of his list of priorities, Goto came to a decision. Sighing, he got back to his feet. Every vessel in the room watched him, warily.
"Can we move him?"
"M-Move him?" Akashi flinched. She appeared to be taking the situation worse than anyone. "I mean... if you want to break him in half, we... can, I guess?"
"So that's a no, then." He considered the girls in the room, then made his choice. "Kongou, could you be so kind as to run to the medical center and grab some curtains? If we can't move him, let's make things as less awkward as possible."
"H-Hai!"
As Kongou hurried off, dragging her two sisters with her, Nagato stepped up. "And... what about him?"
There was an odd bite to her voice as she glared at the slumbering man suspiciously.
Goto shrugged. "Unless you have a better idea, all we can do is wait for him to wake up. I want to keep this quiet until we have answers, at the very least. Not a word of this gets outside this room. Do you all understand?"
Murmurs of acknowledgement filtered through the room, until one rose above the rest.
"Admiral?" It was Kaga who stepped out from the changing room, her eyes never leaving Musashi. "We could ask her... Musashi's crew. They might have some insight into... this."
Right. The crew. With how often Goto dealt with the shipgirls as singular people, he often forgot about that fact. A ship needed a crew.
"How do we call them?"
Taking it as an invitation, Nagato instantly strode forward, stopping on the rim of the bath beside Musashi's head. Snapping to attention, she spoke with all the authority of her station. "IJN Musashu! On behalf of Admiral Goto of the JSDFN, stand to!"
For a long minute, nothing happened. Then a bedraggled fairy suddenly popped into existence from behind Musashi's thick neck and stood on his shoulder. Even with its strange, chibi-like appearance, the fairy appeared as tired and stressed as Goto himself felt.
It almost tripped over its own feet as it saw the state of the room. Its beady eyes scanned each of the shipgirls in turn, before alighting on Goto with something resembling horror. Then it snapped to attention and saluted.
"Desu! Desu, desu."
After listening, Nagato translated. "Admiral, the Captain wishes to apologize for her tardiness. She is one of the only officers remaining of the crew and thus all responsibilities all on her."
"Understandable," Goto nodded, saluting back. "So, Captain, can you tell us what's going on?"
The Captain cocked her head. "Desu?"
"With Musashi," Goto clarified. He didn't need to speak 'desu' to understand the look.
The Fairy 'ah'ed then went into a long-winded explanation, not a word of which he could understand. But judging from Nagato's shifting expression, she didn't like what she was hearing.
"Captain," she interrupted, sharply. "The Admiral was not asking for a damage assessment. He was asking about Musashi."
The Captain appeared confused and pointed at her battleship. "Desu."
"Yes, we know that is battleship Musashi, but how did she end up like this?"
The fairy blinked. "Desu?"
Nagato's left eye twitched. "Captain. The Admiral is asking why Musashi is a-a..." she seemed to choke on her words, as though the very idea was offensive. "...a-a man? Why is Musashi a man?!"
The fairy visibly hesitated, its beady eyes looking from one wary face to the next. Then she steadied herself, stood tall and proud, and spoke.
"Desu."
Goto swore he heard crickets in the dumbfounded silence that followed.
Nagato gaped at the tiny creature. "W-What do you mean there's nothing wrong with her?"
"Desu!" The Captain replied, strutting to Musashi's chin like a used car salesman. With an exaggerated motion, she gestured from the short, unkempt hair on top of his head, then downward to his beard. "Desu!"
"T-that's not how hair works!"
"Desu!"
"Nagato!" Goto held up a hand before it got much further. His head was starting to ache. "Just... what is she saying."
"Something about how the hair grew in backward."
To the Captain's credit, she met the exasperated battleship's expression evenly. Then she turned and addressed Goto directly with a long string of 'desu.' It was at times like this he desperately wished he understood the little things.
It took Nagato a few seconds to compose herself before translating. "She says that... Musashi might have a beard, but... she still fought with honor and distinction in defence of her country. Shouldn't that be all that matters?"
Goto stared at the fairy for a long moment. "She? Hold up, is the Captain saying Musashi is female, or is that you?"
"Desu!"
"I-It's her own words, Admiral," Nagato stuttered, not believing it herself.
"So you see nothing wrong with this?" Goto asked the Captain, gesturing at the bearded face that would haunt his dreams for days to come.
The fairy glanced at Musashi's face, then shrugged. "...desu. Desu desu."
"She says... it's Musashi. She might be a little under the weather, but the Captain is confident they can get her moving again."
"Do that," Goto said without thinking, dismissing the Captain with a salute. He wasn't blind; the little creature was hiding something, but he had neither the patience nor the attention left to deal with it. What was important was that the situation was contained and they could deal with it at their own pace.
The fairy waddled away, vanishing behind the wiry veil of Musashi's beard, just as the Kongou sisters returned with a handful of curtains on wheels.
Goto sighed, collecting himself. "Alright... here's what we're going to do. If we can't move him, then he'll have to stay here. I don't want anyone talking about this until we have some answers. I know the patrol schedule is tight, but I want someone in here at all times to keep an eye on him. If he wakes up, let me know immediately." He looked around at the wary faces, many of which stared at him in disbelief. "I'm as confused as you are, but we won't get any answers until he wakes up."
He looked back at the man sitting in the pool, putting a little more force into his voice. "And regardless of what's going on here, he still saved Japan. The very least we can do is give him the benefit of the doubt. Whatever is going on here. In the meantime, rest up. We're not out of the woods yet, take advantage of all the downtime you can get. Nagato has the duty roster for the week. Let's make the best out of this."
Using the last of his strength to keep his shoulders high, he strode out of the bathhouse. Right before he crossed the threshold to the changing room, he paused and glanced back. The entire room seemed to freeze as his gaze swept from one corner to the next, sternly.
"I think it goes without saying to leave him be, right?"
In both senses of the word.
An awkward silence answered him. Many of the girls were still hesitant to get back in the baths with the man in their presence, despite the concealing curtains the Kongous were rolling into position around him.
"We will get to the bottom of this," Goto promised them. "I hate to say it, but we have much more important things to worry about. Nagato... tell them."
With that parting message, he left. His bed was calling his name, and with the meeting coming up he was going to need every hour of rest he could get. And he had better get there quick before word about Gallipoli spread.
Everyone would be pinning for his attention after that.
----
The Captain was close to passing out. Slumped against a bulkhead, hidden from view outside, it took every ounce of strength to stop her tiny fairy heart from bursting out of her chest. The hyperventilating wasn't making things easier!
What had she done?
What had she just done?!
She had lied to the Admiral!
LIED! To the ADMIRAL! Right to his face!
What was wrong with her?!
'Oh, the hair just came in backward', what kind of explanation was that?! She had been praying that a repair bath would set things right, but oh how wrong she was! And with the entire fleet looking on she'd panicked! Of course Musashi wasn't right, anyone with a brain could see that! Why oh why couldn't she just admit it?
Thankfully, none of the crew were around to witness her breakdown, and she was able to pull herself together in short order.
Right, she might have dug herself into a hole, but there was still hope. She had to come clean about this; the Admiral wouldn't forgive anything else! But... how could she explain what happened when she didn't even know herself?!
That damned stowaway! Damn them to hell!
Slowly, a plan began to form. The damn stowaway must be found! They needed answers!
By some miracle, the trap the Ensign created had survived! And no wonder, she had taken her task to heart; refurbishing one of the small weapons lockers deep in the bowels of the ship. She had reinforced that tiny room with enough spare steel to give the Citadel a run for its money! Nothing short of a 16 inch shell could make it through. The door itself was spring-loaded, with a trigger connected directly to the stowaway's equipment. One twitch of the bag was enough to send the door slamming shut. Once the attack had begun, it had sealed up nicely.
Ironically, the stowaway's things had fared better than the entire ship combined! A fact the Captain was still salty about.
But it meant that the stowaway hadn't even tried to reclaim her spoils. There was no better time than in the confusion of battle. Either she had chosen to abandon her kit completely, or she was still on board. Or, at the very least, somewhere nearby, plotting to retrieve her things!
For the sake of them all, the Captain chose to believe the latter options. They needed to know what happened to Musashi! The Admiral demanded it!
No one would believe that hair grew backwards!
I had the biggest grin on my face writing the reveal. It didn't turn out quite the way I envisioned it, but I got it pretty close. Huge thank you to everyone who donated on my KoFi, you guys keep me writing!
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- Location
- Yaroslavl, Russia
Well, at least most of (local) delusions are gone, at least in repair baths.
Wales
A little comment: 'desu' (or 'dess' in Kongoulese) is functionally similar to 'is' and denotes an affirmative statement. In quoted case, "Nagato desu" would mean "[it] is Nagato".
aboard
altogether
was
point-blank
sloped, Izumo
sunk
Italics required
slieve
whose
Gallipoli
overstayed
Possible double 'mother', also 'kept'
- Location
- Somewhere between the stars
- Pronouns
- She/Her
It's interesting how vemement the shipgirls are on our protagonist feeling wrong. I think only the Abyssal have seemingly invoked a similar reaction? Though, it seems to be more..confusion and disgust rather then the fear that abysalls emit. Wonder how much of that steems from "is a guy" part, and how much of it is from when Musashi and William were in the abyss.
- Location
- Oblivion
It's too big of a Chekhov's gun now to throw away now.
It's not meant to be an affirmative statement or anything. 'Dess' seems to be a speak quirk attributed to Kongou, in the same sense of Yuudachi and 'Poi'.
Mostly from 'is a guy.' William has completely shattered humanity's understanding of the Kanmusu. Oh, I have so much to explore here!
Thank you to everyone who left a comment and donation! Your help is greatly appreciated!
- Location
- Yaroslavl, Russia
Yes, it is depicted as a speech quirk, but not quite similar to Yuudachi's 'poi'. 'Poi' roughly means '-ish' or 'like' and is (normally) used in Japanese as a character-specific sentence ending to make their speech stand out without using a dialect or accent. However, Yuudachi's usage of 'Poi' is so widespread that it's almost Pokemon-like.
Kongou's case is a bit different.
In-game Kongou's voicelines follow conventions of Japanese language while swapping some words into English (SUPPLY wa daiji ne!) and putting a voice emphasis on the end of sentence. This is a way to make her sound foreign enough to be exotic and stand out from her Japanese-built sisters, but not too foreign to become unintelligible. However, Japanese sentence ends in a verb, in which 'desu' is a rough equilvalent of English 'am/are/is', which are affirmative forms of 'to be'.
It can be argued that Yuudachi's 'poi' doesn't have meaning when used on its own, while Kougou's 'dess' does.
Kongou's case is a bit different.
In-game Kongou's voicelines follow conventions of Japanese language while swapping some words into English (SUPPLY wa daiji ne!) and putting a voice emphasis on the end of sentence. This is a way to make her sound foreign enough to be exotic and stand out from her Japanese-built sisters, but not too foreign to become unintelligible. However, Japanese sentence ends in a verb, in which 'desu' is a rough equilvalent of English 'am/are/is', which are affirmative forms of 'to be'.
It can be argued that Yuudachi's 'poi' doesn't have meaning when used on its own, while Kougou's 'dess' does.
Of course, it's your story, so please don't take it as an imposition.
Tisaku
Head Chief Thinkomancer
were
sheaf
scraped
incandescent
mother
drawing
mottled
pining
A quick update for the sake of my supporters on Kofi. According to complaints, Kofi is terrible with notifying users about new posts.
So, Chapter 16 is posted and the rest should be following in short order. With how long people had been waiting for William's story to be told to the wider world, I thought it best to double down and complete the whole arc before posting anything else. Like what I did with the Rokkasho battle. And I was partially successful. Three chapters, with almost thirty thousand words between them. The remainder will be posted hopefully within the week after a little more tweaking.
They'll be coming to Spacebattles and SV shortly.
EDIT: Chapter 17 is up!
So, Chapter 16 is posted and the rest should be following in short order. With how long people had been waiting for William's story to be told to the wider world, I thought it best to double down and complete the whole arc before posting anything else. Like what I did with the Rokkasho battle. And I was partially successful. Three chapters, with almost thirty thousand words between them. The remainder will be posted hopefully within the week after a little more tweaking.
They'll be coming to Spacebattles and SV shortly.
EDIT: Chapter 17 is up!
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Chapter 16: Waking Up
Bismarck's shoulders trembled. It was barely perceivable, but with how silent and still the video conference had become, a mountain might as well have been shaking. With the eyes of the Brass resting on her, the battleship lowered her head and took a deep, shuddering breath.
"So... in 'ze face of danger-" She looked up, eyes blazing. "-you 'vould ask me to be a coward?!"
Goto winced. Even from halfway across the world, he could feel the battleship's wrath like a physical presence.
"I 'vill not run!" Bismarck screamed. "If they 'vish to take me then it will be over my dead body! 'Bound by iron and blood,' if it is blood they want then I will drown them in their own!"
"Bismarck! Restrain yourself!" Admiral Baumhouer's voice thundered from off-screen.
"I am no coward!" Bismarck screamed again, this time with a twinge of desperation.
"Neither are you disobedient! Now sit down, Commandant!"
Bismarck shuddered, then collapsed back into her chair. Her face was pale.
"Bismarck." A new voice rang through the chatroom. The faces of dozens of Admirals and attaches churned and shuffled as the program brought the speaker's face to the forefront. When he finally appeared, Goto winced again.
Divisional General Yesilnil looked like hell. It was obvious he hadn't been able to shower in days; his fatigues were rumpled, stained with dirt and flecks of dried blood. Dust matted his cheeks and a good chunk of his hair had been burned away. Despite this, his eyes were as bright as ever, glaring out from a pale face that had seen more in a few days than what most men saw in a lifetime.
"Bismarck... you are no coward," Yesilnil growled. "But your arrogance knows no bounds."
Rare was the man who could withstand the wrath of a battleship, but Yesilnil met Bismarck's furious howl with a dead-eyed stare. "The only blood that will be spilled is yours, battleship. They will not come in ones or twos, no, they will swarm you like they did us!"
He leaned in close to the camera, his features ghoulish in the light. "Thousands of my men died to hold this outcome back for as long as possible. You will not disrespect their sacrifice for your damned pride!"
A ragged sob brought the camera back to Bismarck. The German battleship shuddered, her expression torn. Her blonde hair and the long brim of her cap hid her features from view, but she couldn't hide the trembling in her shoulders, or the tears that rolled down her cheeks before dripping off her chin. Prince Eugen emerged from off-screen, pulling the battleship into a hug.
For a long moment, no one was brave enough to break the silence. Then a timid cough caused the windows to shuffle again.
"Bismarck, I, uhm... The general is right, I'm afraid."
A grandfatherly face filled the screen, lit from behind with the soft light of a mahogany office. A pair of half-moon spectacles sat below a head of swept back hair that had lost the battle against the grey of age. A well groomed mustache, fine suit, and accent completed the stereotypical image of an English gentleman. "At this stage, the stakes are far too high to risk you in battle. The consequences if you do sink will be dire, to say the least."
Bismarck's shuddering sob echoed through the call, but it was Prince Eugen's question that brought the camera back to them. "Doctor Bennett, izz zhere anyway 'zis could be a mistake? Perhaps... a mistranslation?"
"I'm afraid not, my dear. It's not a misplaced word, but an entire verse dedicated to her." Bennett spread his hands, helplessly. "What the prophecy is asking for is quite clear, which... unfortunately requires your cooperation more than ever, Bismarck. With Gallipoli gone, we can't take any more risks."
Bismarck's quiet sobs were the only sound until the screen shifted when Admiral Buamhouar spoke up.
The oldest of the Admirals, his cropped beard had gone completely grey. Unlike Bennett though, his wrinkled features held no warmth of any kind. "Doctor, hypothetically, if Bismarck were to die, how much time would we have left between them completing each subsequent verse?"
"That's a difficult question, actually. The Abyssals can't just kill her, they need Bismarck to sink to – and I quote – 'the depths of the Abyss'. If... and, bear in mind, this is only speculation based on their previous behavior, but they might aim to sink her in the Challenger Deep. A true bottom of the ocean if ever there was one. That assumes they must keep her alive until such a time as they are in that part of the ocean." The Doctor shrugged. "It opens up the possibility of a rescue, at least. Or, we ensure that never happens. We could keep Bismarck ahead of Abyssal hunting parties indefinitely and halt the prophecy here."
Bennett paused for a moment to collect his thoughts and take a sip of tea. "However... after that, things become more complicated. Verse eight reiterates over and over about 'the other side.' I can only assume these are instructions to bring Bismarck back as an Abyssal Princess and allow her to complete the final five verses."
A harsh sob interrupted his speech. Bennett paused for a moment, respectfully, but continued.
"After that... the time we have left depends on the strength of Europe's defenses. For verse nine; I don't know what they expect to find in Verdun, but there's enough pain, misery, and ammunition in those lands to create an Installation of... frankly terrifying proportions. But if they're that close, they won't stop to create it, no, I believe they head out immediately to complete verse ten. Rome."
He took another, longer sip of tea. "When Rome falls, and it will fall, geography itself is against us... we will face verse eleven. The 'falling sky'. I can't even speculate what that means, but if the descriptions hold true... that will be the true beginning of the end. I don't believe any of us will live to see verses twelve or thirteen."
He raised the teacup again, only to realize it was empty. Unperturbed, he reached off-screen before pouring in a shot of Brandy. "As for an answer to your question, Admiral, forgive my meandering... A month. Maybe even two. Depending on how quickly the Abyssals can muster their forces, you would have a better estimate on that, to be honest. Regardless, time will not be on our side, which makes Bismarck's cooperation all the more important. We can halt the prophecy indefinitely if we keep her moving and out of the Abyssal's reach."
"This... this is just an idea," another voice spoke up. Goto couldn't tell who; the camera viewing the speaker had been deliberately cut off. "What if we killed Bismarck ourselves?"
"WHAT?!" The two roars of anger came at the same time, and the program couldn't decide if it wanted to settle on Buamhouar or Prince Eugen. Not that it mattered; both of them looked ready to lunge through the screen and strangle the speaker.
"One battleship for the human race, it shouldn't even be a question!" the speaker protested.
"You dare-!"
"Prince Eugen, please." Bennett cut the heavy cruiser off before a rant could begin, his expression pained. "It... it is a valid question, no matter how grievous it may be. I have... brought up this possibility with my colleagues in the Summoning Committee and we all agree it's not worth the risk. Summoning is still an esoteric art where the Abyssals outpace us in every way. If Bismarck – and forgive me for speculating, my dears – were to die for this cause on our terms, there is no guarantee that the Abyssals simply won't call her back on their side, which is what the Prophecy is implying in the first place. From there, completing verse seven would be a trivial matter, whether she is for the cause or not."
"So I am to live the rest of my life... as a fugitive?" Bismarck whispered, the screen shuffling back to her tear-stained face.
"I..." Bennett opened his mouth but nothing came out. Swallowing, he tried again, but couldn't find the words. Finally, he took a sip of Brandy. "For the sake of humanity, Bismarck, it... yes. That is how it must be."
Goto couldn't see Bismarck's reaction; the rustle of fabric and the scrape of a chair wasn't enough to trigger the screen switch. But when Prince Eugen spoke, she was alone in the room.
"Is there nothing we can do?"
"There is nothing we can do," Bennett shrugged, helplessly. "Bismarck must survive, no matter the cost. We have no other choice. This is the last place we can stop this apocalypse from happening."
There was silence for a long minute as his words sunk in.
"Gallipoli must be retaken." Yesilnil's voice was as hard as steel as he glared through the screen as if daring anyone to disagree. "The Dardanelles Straight is too important to lose."
The question was how?
Discussion raged back and forth; a discussion Goto could only watch with a lingering sense of dread. He hated standing on the sidelines, but as of last week, Japan might as well have been the sole warden of the Pacific. He didn't have the ships to spare until the States managed to recoup their losses.
They were losing this war. A war being decided on the other side of the planet and he was powerless to help.
Nonetheless, Goto tried his best; shuffling his roster around in his head, trying in vain to find that magic arrangement that would free up at least one of his powerhouses.
Well... he had one.
The problem was that powerhouse was Musashi.
If nothing else, the solid nine hours of sleep did give him a new appreciation of his fleet's discomfort with the situation. They barely understood how they came into this modern world, and as women, too. It could be argued that their definition of normal was based purely on speculation and spiritual dogma.
Everything they thought they understood had been shattered when Musashi appeared.
Reactions varied, but none of them were positive. They had all known Musashi in some capacity back in the war. Everyone agreed that the hull was of their friend, but the face was not that of the battleship from Nagasaki. The hull was there, but the spirit?
It spooked them, some worse than others.
As the screen shuffled between the various Admirals locked in debate, Goto caught flashes of their chosen secretary ships. Their odd dress, reminiscent of the uniforms of past eras, filtered through his jumbled thoughts in a collage of colors, before settling on the pure white and red outfit of a certain fast battleship.
Inevitably it led to memories of said battleship hanging off his arm... but there was no cheer or overwhelming happiness on Kongou's face. Just... confusion, and maybe even a little fear. For all the insanity and headaches Kongou brought about, Goto could trust her instincts with his life.
And this was not right.
Needless to say, he was hesitant to share. Who knew how the other secretary ships would react when they found out about this? He was already worried about an epidemic of existential crises among his ranks, he didn't want it spread to their allies until they understood what was going on. Least of all now, when they needed all hands on deck.
And as the debate dragged on, the frustration mounting as no one could come up with a sound plan of action, Goto decided silence was the better part of valor. He would broach the topic when the stakes weren't this high.
Was he digging himself a deeper grave?
Probably, yes.
But when nuclear weapons were being brought up as viable options, acquiring the first ship-boy ranked rather low for importance. Especially when no one, especially the Turks, was outright denying the usage of said weapons. They were walking a razor's edge and everyone could feel it.
However... there was one unavoidable conversation.
"Excuse me, Admiral Thacher," Goto spoke up as the final words were said and people began to sign off. "Might I have a word with you in private?"
A tired woman in a crisp uniform nodded, thumbing a sheaf of papers. The red and white maple leaf hanging behind her left no doubts about her nationality. "Of course, I was about to ask you the same thing. Give me a moment and I'll call you back."
"I'll be waiting."
After signing off, he took the time to review his notes, making sure he had every detail correct before his computer chimed with an incoming call. A few clicks later Admiral Thacher appeared on the screen.
Now that she had the window all to herself, words couldn't describe how tired the woman looked. Even being the youngest of the Admirals present, she looked twice her age. Brown hair was escaping her carefully arranged bun as she bobbed her head as if agreeing to something written on the sheets of paper littering her desk.
"I'm sorry, Goto, but I don't have a lot of time, so we need to make this quick. First and foremost; regarding your fugitive, the Army has taken control of the investigation. I don't know much, they've been very tight-lipped on the details. I know the Minster of National Defence is reaching out to your government and they are coming up with a plan to prosecute this guy." She looked up and shrugged. "I don't know whether or not they were looking to involve you, but, heads up. They might want an official statement from the Kanmusu Corp. Beyond that, I don't know."
"They aren't involving you?" Goto asked, surprised.
"It's an Army matter," Thacher sighed, deeply, massaging her temples. "And honestly, I have too much on my plate to worry about this. Musashi did good work beating back those freaks, Goto, please tell her I said that. Once they get a foothold on land, it's pure hell to get them out."
"That Princess is still giving you trouble," again, Goto asked, but not unkindly. They were all in this together, after all. That didn't stop Thacher from giving him a dead-eyed stare that would make Yesilnil proud.
"The Yukon, Northwest Territories, and Nunavut; do you know how many square kilometers that is put together? Over two million. Two million square kilometers of bush, forest, lakes, and swamp. There are three Re-Class aviation battleships loose in that area that I am trying to hunt down with a couple of cruisers, a single carrier, frigates, and destroyers. So yes. They are giving me trouble."
She held the glare for a moment, then leaned back with a sigh. "I'm... I'm sorry. Like I said, it's hell to get them out. And I don't mean to rub it in, but the US can't help us right now."
Goto scowled but couldn't refute her. The world's Kanmusu were stretched thin.
Thacher massaged the bridge of her nose for a moment, then shook off the cobwebs. "Anyway, I'm sorry for that outburst. You had something for me?"
"Yes... I do," After that sob sorry he couldn't help but feel guilty about putting more misery on her plate. "About your missing man... technically my fleet found him and he's currently in our care."
Or was 'custody' a better word?
Thacher merely blinked in surprise at the news. "Well... that's great! I can pass that on to the Chief of Defence Staff. That'll simplify everything."
"Unfortunately not," Goto deadpanned, wincing. "There's... no easier way to say this, but... the man you're looking for is Musashi."
Silence.
Thacher went still. Her mouth hung half open, blinking in confusion.
"A-Ah... I'm sorry, what?"
"It's true," Goto stated, sending her the picture he had taken just that morning. There was no need to edit it, someone had already laid a towel across the battleship's waist, protecting his modesty, but leaving no doubt as to his identity. Thacher stared at the picture, eyes narrowed.
"I... I know this guy..."
She was leaning into the camera, brow furrowed as she examined Musashi's face in greater detail. Her lips moved soundlessly for a moment, before she sat back in her chair, bewildered. "I know I've seen that face before... I just can't remember when..."
Goto blinked in surprise. Out of everything he expected to hear, that hadn't even made the list.
"That's... how?"
"I don't-" Thacher jumped slightly as the ring of a phone rang throughout her office. "Crap. I'm sorry, Goto, but if that's everything I have to go. I can get you in touch with the Army's investigation team, and I guarantee that they know more about this than me. Sorry."
The call disconnected, leaving Goto stunned into silence. He leaned back, staring up at the ceiling. At this point, he didn't know what to feel; his emotions were bled dry. All that remained was an odd clarity, with the mystery of Musashi at its center.
Musashi, who had returned as a man with a foreign face... had just been recognized by the Canadian Admiral.
It made his head spin just thinking about it. How was that possible?
Running a hand down his face, he sighed deeply. He couldn't help but think he was sitting on a bomb. The mystery was getting larger by the hour and all he could do was sit around and wait for answers. Not to mention he was sitting on the largest scandal since this war began.
For all the headaches, there was no denying what Musashi, the man, had accomplished. Single-handedly saving Japan was no easy feat, even for a shipgirl. And therein lay the problem.
Shipgirl.
Mystery aside, Goto held nothing but respect for the man, but public perception was drumming up the image of the real Musashi to epic proportions. It was everywhere; in the news, online, and even overseas! Musashi had become a legend overnight. An image larger than life.
A feminine image.
An image that would certainly implode the moment the truth was revealed.
A truth that Goto was holding back.
The reactions of his fleet were nothing compared to the chaos he envisioned from the public. At best, they might just bluescreen from the shock. At worst... honestly, he didn't even know.
As his brain ran through the potential consequences of his actions over and over again, his computer pinged with a new email. Not from Thacher, but from a Major Simms whose handle marked him as an Intelligence Officer. And if the list of additional recipients was any indication, the Canadian government was taking no chances with this. The Chief of Defence Staff was included as was the Minster of National Defence. A few Generals were listed as well, plenty of Colonels and Majors, along with a few NCOs who could have only been aids of some capacity.
It only made sense; with a controversy like this, a fair number of governing bodies would be involved. But as Goto read the first few lines of the email, his confusion only grew.
The opening was as expected; Major Simms introducing himself as the Intelligence Officer heading the investigation, receiving Goto's contact information from Thacher, some opening pleasantries, apologies for intruding on his valuable time, et cetera.
Then it took a turn for the strange.
There must have been some sort of miscommunication because there was barely any mention of Musashi at all, just some Corporal named Morgan. The Major then explained that reopening the cold case was taking some time as most of the original investigators and witnesses had been killed in the opening months of the Abyssal war. They were scrounging up whoever remained and whatever information they could.
"Witnesses? What?"
Moreover was the request to keep everything confidential for the sake of the Corporal's relatives, though that part seemed to be directed at the Canadian portions of recipients.
Following that was a request for an online conference next week, citing that information needed to be complied, and high ranking officials needed to clear their schedules to deal with this scandal.
Only then did the Major seem to address Goto directly, asking for clarification of a few things. Thacher's email had been brief and to the point, but everyone was left confused when she seemed to indicate that Musashi and Corporal Morgan were one and the same. The Major politely requested that Goto clarify this frankly outlandish assumption.
They wanted clarification?!
Goto still needed to know who this Corporal Morgan was and why he mattered so much.
If the Canadians had given him that name before Musashi had been discovered, then it would have undoubtedly been the name of their rogue Canadian running about. But now that the man had been proven to be Musashi...
How?
How did Thacher recognize the face of a newly summoned battleship, and why were the Canadians throwing out this name as if they knew the man? Musashi had only appeared less than two weeks ago! What was going on?
For a long minute, all Goto could do was gape at the screen, mind struggling to come up with answers. Nothing came. In a desperate bid to help things make sense, he opened a browser and typed in the name.
To his surprise, he got few results instantly, one of which was Canada's official website. However, when he clicked on it, all he got was the 404. Their government must have taken the page down the moment the scandal went live.
His suspicion mounting, he clicked on the next page... and a eulogy appeared. The site was a local newspaper in Western Canada, but it had a picture of the deceased.
Goto stared, stunned, and the familiar face of a battleship stared back.
The door to the bathhouse was thrown open with a bang. Girls 'eeped' covering themselves in alarm as Goto stormed in. He ignored them, promising himself that he would apologize later as he closed in on the curtains surrounding a certain bath. His hands were cold and clammy, his heart raced. Nothing about this made sense!
That face... it couldn't be!
He threw open the curtains.
Musashi was as he left him. Male, scared... and wearing the face of a dead man.
Goto couldn't help but shudder. It felt like his grasp of the situation was spiraling out of control. First the rogue Canadian, then discovering that he and Musashi were one and the same. But now...
He didn't know what to think.
"Admiral?"
Gathering himself, Goto closed the curtains. The girls were watching him warily. If nothing else, he understood their unease more than ever, if for entirely different reasons.
"The situation is... a lot more complicated than I expected," Goto admitted to the room. His hand twitched, longing to wipe away the nervous sweat beneath his cover, but he had to put up a strong front. The fleet needed a leader, now more than ever.
He silently debated whether or not to tell them about this new development, but reluctantly decided against it. They were already freaked out; to have this new name suddenly associated with the man might only make things worse.
So, despite how much the whole thing unnerved him, he put on a smile. "But it's manageable. I'll let you all know when I have more information. In the meantime, how is everyone? Iowa, I heard you volunteered to take this next patrol."
From her place in the pool, the American battleship flashed him a grin. "Guilty as charged. Most of my damage was superficial. And a blue milk run like this? Easy as pie!"
'Blue milk run, my star spangled ass...'
Iowa grumbled as she rolled over in bed. Her screw still ached and, by extension, her foot.
Easy as pie indeed. What had she been thinking; tempting fate like that?
What had been a simple deterrence patrol up Japan's western coast to cover the dead zone in radar coverage turned into a bloodbath when a marauding Abyssal fleet crested the horizon. Whether they were taking advantage of Japan's weakened fleets for some good old-fashioned raiding or following up on the attempted invasion didn't matter. The hammer of Japan had fallen swiftly and mercilessly. Spearheaded by American steel, of course.
The invaders could hardly be considered a fleet; a few old dreadnoughts, fewer cruisers, and a handful of destroyers and not a single carrier to back them up. Iowa doubted any of them even had proper radar, which made her opening salvos all the more satisfying.
By the time the marauders had turned tail, almost half of their number had been sunk through a combination of American Freedom and Japanese torpedoes. It was almost scary, watching her allies fight with a ferocity that hadn't been seen in the better part of a century. The Abyssals had been taken apart piece by piece.
But in the last minutes of the battle, one of the dreadnoughts had fired her last salvo in a final act of defiance before going up in flames. Iowa distinctly remembered watching the shells arc through the air toward her. They were well-aimed, she would give them that. Too late to dodge, all she could do was brace.
Most of them barely landed short.
Water spouts erupted around her, splashing her decks, save for one single shell. It had just enough range to scratch her side, but the angle sent it skidding off her armor and into the ocean... right onto her screws!
She needed to be towed in after that, the resulting explosion having jammed her rudders as well. It wasn't so much embarrassing - her pride wouldn't be wounded by one lucky hit – but being shelved for repairs while others went out in her place was irritating. She was fuming when she was finally towed into the bay. And it was a hefty repair time too, which only soured her mood.
Sighing, she kicked the blankets to the side and draped her legs over the side of the bed. Blinking blearily, she glanced out the window. The sun hadn't even touched the horizon yet. She could feel her crew complaining at the early hour, but she would much rather get the last of her repairs done before breakfast so she could finally report ready for duty.
She had even considered sleeping in the baths just to get it over with, but... she enjoyed her bed too much. Plus, she didn't want to deal with the dreams at a time like this. Freaky shit, if she was being honest.
But that meant tackling the last few hours of her dock time in the god forsaken morning. She was never up before nine if she could help it. But, duty called.
Grumbling, she dressed herself and hobbled out of the battleship dorms towards the baths.
As expected, barely anyone was up at this hour, and they all gave her wide birth. To get in the way of any battleship was a bad idea. To get in the way of a grumpy Iowa without coffee even more so. The bedhead didn't help either; her hair stuck up in all directions.
Reaching the changing room, she quickly threw on her usual star-spangled bikini before shuffling into the bathhouse with a yawn.
Surprisingly, Iowa found she wasn't the only one there at this hour, and it wasn't because of Musashi, either.
Nagato sat in a wooden chair against the far wall, her arms crossed over her chest. She didn't even look up as Iowa trudged in, her gaze fixed on the muscular form of Musashi with a fierce intensity. The curtains had been pulled back, allowing for an unobstructed view of the anomaly.
"Morning, Nags," Iowa yawned again, heading for an open bath. However, she grew slightly concerned when old dreadnought didn't even twitch at the nickname.
"Have you been here all night?"
"Someone has to keep an eye on him," Nagato said, quietly, the exhaustion evident in her voice.
"Ah, come on," Iowa shot back, holding back a moan of relief as she slipped under the repair fluid. "I mean, it's not like he's going to get up and walk away."
"Akashi helped finish repairing the boilers last night. So he very well could."
Well, Nagato was right. He had visibly healed since he had first arrived. The hull was still a mangled wreck, though most of his critical systems showed major improvement. And true to her word, the repaired boilers were slowly warming up.
Although, the fact Iowa could see them through the rents in his hull was... kinda disturbing.
"But... I hit the sack around eleven."
Nagato let out a sound of agreement as she blinked. Her eyelids slammed shut before quivering back open again through sheer force of will.
"Nags, when was the last time you slept?"
The disgruntled murmur she got in return wasn't comforting.
"Go to bed. I can watch him now. Seriously, how are you still awake?"
"...I can't."
The quiet admission stopped Iowa short. Nagato hunched over, holding her head in her hands. When she spoke, her voice was little more than a quivering whisper.
"What are we, Iowa? Are we ships? Are we spirits? Kami? Yokai? Or are we something in between?"
This was so unlike the stoic secretary ship that Iowa hesitated before replying with a shrug. "I mean... we are ships - don't know much about a Kami - but what brought this on?"
Wordlessly, the old battleship pointed at Musashi. "That might be Musashi's hull, but it's not her. It's not her spirit, it doesn't feel like her, I..."
She let out a shuddering breath. "I thought I was bringing home my friend, but now... I don't know who this is."
"We don't know that yet." Iowa shrugged. "Who's to say it's not Musashi just... man-ified. I never knew her, sure, but who else but Musashi would fight an entire fleet single-handedly to save Japan? I mean... come on!"
Nagato glared for a moment before looking away. "...I can't deny what he did, but that almost makes it worse. Up until now, we've always come back whole. As ourselves. It didn't matter if the Abyssals got to us first, it was still our reflection seen through a shattered mirror. All our loves, our hatreds, our very souls just lived in reverse. There is never any real change... just parts of us that we bury deep inside."
When her eyes glanced back, they were filled with desperation. "This is different. It's not her. To be summoned is a defining moment; called back from the dead to serve once again. But what's happening here? What happened for Musashi's spirit to be erased like this?!"
"Again, we don't know that!" Iowa tried to comfort the old dreadnought while keeping her growing annoyance in check. "Look, plenty of my friends came back a little different than I expected. You've met San Francisco, how hard it was for her to adjust. Or even Louisiana! I certainly didn't expect her to start speaking French!"
But at Nagato's frosty look, she rolled her eyes. "Look, the point I'm trying to make is that we can't judge a book by its cover! Yes, he's a guy, but look at what he did! Doesn't that scream Musashi to you?"
"The intention does, yes," Nagato admitted, rising to her feet. "But I know my fleet mates... and this is not her."
Without another word, Nagato left the bathhouse with as much dignity as she could muster. Though it was impossible to hide just how tired she was. The door slid shut behind her, leaving Iowa alone with their strange guest.
It was slightly unnerving, Iowa couldn't deny that. Although, she was taking it better than the rest of her allies. Probably due to the fact she'd never met Musashi before, even in battle; but she understood. Partly. To a lesser extent, it was like watching her sister come crashing down over rolling waves, covered in black chitin, and screaming for her to sink. To see her sister so horribly twisted was the stuff of nightmares.
This though... even if she had just defended the man, she still didn't even have the words to describe the situation.
Even if she hadn't known Musashi, the transformation was jarring. She was used to seeing sculpted figures, soft curves, and generous bunkers whenever she looked at another battleship, not hard slabs of muscle and scars. Or a beard. While she couldn't deny there was a rugged handsomeness about his features, that didn't stop it from being any less unnatural.
But she would stick to her guns. As jarring as it was for the rest of the girls, she could only imagine what the poor battleship was going through. Honestly, she loved them all, but the blatant suspicion was getting on her nerves. And after what Musashi had been through, being ostracized by his own fleet was something she wouldn't tolerate.
Come on, they were supposed to be better than that!
The guy needed a friend, and she'd be there, come hell or high water.
So, she tried to relax. Leaning back, she glared at the repair timer with its scrolling numbers. Just a few hours left to go. If there were no interruptions, she would be on time for breakfast at six.
Perfect!
She reached inward to pull her phone from her holds, then remembered she'd left it charging on the nightstand. Pouting, she sank deeper into the bath, trying to find something to occupy herself with. She never thought to bring a book with her; the occasional splash fights that broke out dissuaded that idea. Besides, waterproof phone for the win! Modern age equalled best age, no doubt about it.
As long as you actually remembered to bring your damn phone!
With nothing else better to do, she settled down to wait, feeling her broken body start patching itself up.
Eventually, though, her eyes started drifting over to the sleeping hunk. While she tried not to ogle, there was no denying how his body seemed to fit the image of a male battleship perfectly. All hard lines, and even with the scruffy beard, she could just make out a well-defined jawline past the wiry hairs.
As her eyes explored further, she realized what she was doing and looked away with a furious blush. A blush that only worsened when she wondered how her sisters would react. Missouri and Wisconsin were still laid up in the baths, but she was surprised Jersey hadn't popped out a summoning pool on her own at the prospect of a man that could feasibility handle her.
'The power of babies compels me!'
"Dammit, Jersey..." she hissed, pressing her hands to her temples. "Get out of my head!"
Eventually, she managed to wrangle her thoughts back under control and stopped taking peeks. The timer above counted down with a faint click sound each second, barely audible over the whir of ventilation fans... and the rhythmic breathing of the man sitting across from her. His chest rose and fell in a steady cadence.
She tried not to watch... but those abs...
Gradually, she slipped into a doze, the steady cadence of Musashi's breath echoing around her. Trapped between the waking world and her dreams, Iowa didn't know how long she slept when a shout suddenly jolted her awake.
Endless.
Eternal.
The mists surrounded him, the black waters gazed up from below. He wasn't sinking... he was floating, though how exactly, he didn't know. His limbs were welded to his sides, so he couldn't be swimming... no, this was something else.
He could see the deck of the battleship stretching out beneath him, but his gaze was locked into place. The perspective was that seen from the bridge. He couldn't move his eyes, his limbs; nothing so much as twitched when he tried.
He knew that was wrong... but at the same time, it was only right.
The hollowness engulfed his being from head to toe. A foreign sensation, one that locked him in place as surely as the grave.
The mist was all around him, flowing over the battleship's prow as it slipped silently through the endless expanse. Drifting deeper and deeper into the Abyss.
This was wrong. This wasn't right! He escaped, he was out, what was he doing back here?! How?!
He remembered the blue sky... he remembered the sandy beach... he remembered that battle, he remembered the pain. He remembered staring up at a smoke-filled sky, faces whispering in his ears as his strength slowly drained away.
He clung to that sensation as the terror threatened to overwhelm him.
None of this was real. He couldn't have gone back, he refused to accept that! This was all a dream. It had to be! There was no pain, only the dull sensation of water gently brushing down his sides.
Wake up...
Wake up.
Wake up!
Wa-
William's eyes snapped open and a shout tore from his throat as the water continued to lap at his sides! There was water all around him, mist hung the air! But he could move once again.
Strangely, though, his body was surrounded by warmth, almost dulling the hollow sensations inside him. But every conscious thought was screaming to escape.
Flailing, his hand found something solid. From touch alone, it felt like the edge of the pool and he hauled himself out of the water, flopping into a smooth, cold surface. The moment his body left the water, pain struck him like a hammer. He gasped, clutching at his chest as everything inside seemed to burn. The hollowness itself seemed to be on fire!
But the mists...
He looked around in a panic; the mists still filled the air!
Desperate to escape, he pushed himself back across the ground until his back hit something solid. Looking back, it was... a wooden wall panel. A wall. His heart pounding, William's gaze followed the woodwork until it reached a corner and turned sharply into the mists.
No, not mist... steam.
It was steam! He could feel the moisture in the air, hot and humid, completely unlike the Abyss. It was warm... almost comforting.
Bewildered, he realized he was in some sort of... bathroom. In the literal sense of the word. The wood-paneled walls looked like something out of a sauna, and the steam drifted off dozens of small pools that dotted the floor, one of which was still frothing from his escape.
And the noises... the soft trickle of water, the hum of fans somewhere in the ceiling.
The smells... a strange, almost mineral scent mixed in with the smell of soaps and other products.
And the pain... it filled his entire being, melding with the hollowness until he wasn't even sure what he was feeling. The world almost seemed to flicker; flashes of metal walls, the hallways of the battleship danced before his eyes whenever he blinked. Like the Song, but somehow more real!
Without thinking, he forced the sensation down. He didn't know how, but somehow it worked. Gradually, the illusions faded, and even the pain settled into a non-specific ache that permeated his entire body.
But he felt human again, at least. His limbs were tired and heavy and nothing felt exactly right...
But he was alive.
Emotion suddenly clogged his throat as the realization finally hit him
He was alive!
He thanked God, Jesus, and every saint he could think of and looped right back around to do it again. He was alive, he had survived, and most importantly, he was home. This wasn't the Abyss, he was home!
A deep sigh of relief escaped him, then a gasp as pain shot through his ribs. But it was nothing to the hope that took root in his heart. It was almost enough to ignore the strange hollowness inside him. At least now that he was back, there might be people who could help him. He could only hope they, whoever they were, knew what was happening to him.
But that was all that mattered... he could hope again.
It was a wonderful feeling.
Grunting, he sat himself higher against the wall and took in the state of his body. To be honest, he expected worse. Scars and bruises matted his chest, arms, and legs. But he still had all four limbs, his head was in one piece, and there were no extra holes that he could detect. Everything hurt, but nothing seemed to be broken.
Which didn't make much sense when he thought about it. He was certain his heart had gotten blown out at one point. Yes, he was sure of it. So unless the Japanese were holding back on the medical advancements, he should have been six feet under. He wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth, but the circumstances were odd.
Unless he was unconscious for far longer than he thought. But even that didn't explain his intact cranium.
And the battleship was gone too. It wasn't on his back, anyway, and not in the room with him either. They must have cut it off him or something, and taken Gremlin along with it. He wished the best for the little creature, despite its origins. But the hollowness was still there, proving that the two weren't connected. The battleship was gone and he was left with... whatever this hollowness was. Probably some residual effect.
Was there a doctor around here he could ask? Where was everyone?
Then he heard the soft ripple of water, instantly putting him on edge. Movement drew his eye as a shape rose from one of the pools. As it stood up, he was staring for an entirely different reason.
It was a woman.
She was painfully beautiful. Long blonde hair hung down her back as she stepped onto the tiled floor. Water ran down her curves, highlighting her womanly shape. Her prodigious chest was barely contained by a star-spangled bikini and there wasn't a single scar, blemish or acne to be seen on her pale skin.
As beautiful as she was, the hollowness seemed to surge at the sight of her. For a brief instant, her outline became insubstantial as something else, large and metallic, momentarily took her place. William shoved the sensation down with a wince, watching her with newfound caution.
He had seen the same distortions around those Abyssals. But she wasn't shooting him yet. And to be honest, if she wanted him dead there was very little he could do about that; his body felt like it was coming apart.
All he could do was glare. And he glared a hole through her skull with all the force he could muster.
Apparently, the feeling was mutual. The woman's body was tense, but her smile never wavered as she slowly stepped closer, hands raised in a non-threatening gesture. Her outline seemed to ripple again, and he caught a glimpse of gun barrels being turned away before he shoved the hollowness away.
What the hell was he seeing?
"Yā, Musashi. Go kibun wa ikagadesu ka?" she said.
William couldn't help but groan. He didn't need to understand Japanese to catch that damned name thrown in the middle. You'd think they'd get the point by now! How many times had he told them?
"I don't sp-," he rasped, only to cough. His throat felt like sandpaper; when did he last have a drink?
A faucet set in the wall caught his attention. Still coughing, he dragged himself over and tried the cold tap. As soon as the water reached the right temperature, he stuck his mouth into the flow. The abrupt taste of minerals nearly made him wretch, but he forced himself to swallow, almost moaning in relief as it soothed his burning throat.
Even the harsh taste was bliss. Finally, he knew he was drinking water again, not the tasteless liquid from the Abyss. Only once he had drank his fill did he roll over to face the woman again. The smile was still there, though she appeared more... confused than before.
Honestly, that was a good sign. And with the refreshment helping to clear his head; she had likely been with him while he was unconscious. Again, the fact that he wasn't dead spoke volumes. And she wasn't treating him like a prisoner, but she didn't appear to be any kind of nurse either. Neither did this place appear to be a hospital; unless the Japanese ran the risk of drowning the critical care patients. Some new medical treatment, maybe?
So, that meant he was stuck in an unknown environment. Again. This time with a woman displaying the same attributes as the creatures that just tried to kill him and an entire town.
At this point, there was nothing he could do but handle things like he always did.
One step at a time.
First; communication.
"I don't speak Japanese," William gasped, wiping water droplets off his beard.
The woman's expression... cracked. There was no better word for it. The smile was still there, but whatever emotion that created it was lost to the wind.
"Uh... what?"
William rolled his eyes, rolling onto his front. The hollowness spiked. Pain rushed up his spine. He hissed, waiting for the pain to stabilize. "I don't speak Japanese. Seriously, is it that hard to believe?"
When he felt ready, he pushed himself to his feet in one jerky motion.
That was a bad idea. The world spun, all the water he'd drank threatened to come back up again, and he swore he heard the groan of steel as he sagged against the wall. He pushed through it, however; forcing back the bile as he reminded himself that he had faced worse than this.
"Whoa there, you big lug!" Instantly, the woman was at his side, face twisted in worry as she helped to steady him. "You really shouldn't be standing in your state."
"My stomach agrees," William couldn't help but quip through clenched teeth.
Taking a deep breath, he got his rebellious insides under control. With that small victory under his belt, he shrugged off the woman's hands and pushed off the wall, standing under his own power for the first time. His legs ached, and the hollowness threatened to spike, but he shoved it all away.
He was alive. He was home. And he was standing. As far as he was concerned, that was a major victory. He let that feeling of success buoy him up as he reexamined his surroundings with a more critical eye, eventually settling on the woman.
She was surprisingly short for her generous proportions; barely coming up to his shoulders. But now that she was closer, he noticed something was off with her eyes. The iris; the shape of them was... then she blinked, and William lost track.
"So... who are you, exactly?"
She flashed him a brilliant smile. "Well, I suppose we have never met before. BB-61 Iowa! Nameship of the class!"
She struck a pose for some reason, cocking her hip and giving a two-fingered salute with a wink. If it was an attempt at seduction it fell flat; he was too busy fighting off another wave of hollowness that made his head spin.
"Iowa? What, like the state?"
She visibly deflated like a balloon. "Uh, no, battleship Iowa."
"You're named after a battleship?" William asked flatly. It wasn't the worst naming convention, but still.
The cocky smile returned. "Well, you're one to talk there, Musashi. Named you after a battleship, did they?"
She elbowed his arm playfully, completely ignorant of his internal screaming.
How many times did he have to tell them?! Exactly how much did he resemble this guy that he was still getting misidentified? He didn't speak Japanese and he wasn't Asian! That should have been a pretty obvious clue!
He opened his mouth to correct her, then paused.
Should he just run with it for now? It might have been a stupid question to ask; he'd been denying being this Musashi guy since he arrived, but whenever he did it always set back the conversation.
When he first denied it at the school, the Lieutenant had bumped the situation up to Gengyo. And when he told Gengyo, the Commander had deemed to bump it up even higher. It was kind of expected; impersonating an apparent national hero was no laughing matter. The problem was no one was telling him anything! Then the attack had happened, everything went to shit, and now here he was, with no more information than when he made landfall!
It would certainly ruffle some feathers, but if he could skip the confusion his true identity caused, the answers and time saved might be worth it.
He was already in trouble, why not use that to his advantage? He didn't like it, but at this point, he was desperate for answers.
So, he shrugged. "I suppose..."
The lie churned his stomach, but he capitalized on the opportunity, quickly finding a few questions he deemed the most important at the moment.
He started with the obvious.
"So what happened to Rokkasho? Did the people make it out?"
"Not exactly," said Iowa, causing his heart to sink. "The bridge was taken out, trapping them in the station, but not a single Abyssal made it to the tunnel. You got them. Every single one of them."
William sagged in relief. Honestly, with that news, he could have died happy.
"And what are you, exactly, Iowa?" He tried to put it into words. "You look human... but you're putting off the same vibes as an Abyssal."
Okay, maybe that wasn't entirely accurate. He wasn't picking up any sense of wrongness from her; the word just slipped out. And what else was he supposed to say; 'your curves are playing jump rope with the borders of reality?'
Instantly, Iowa went on the defensive, but she managed to keep her voice level. "Hey, nothing but a hundred percent American steel, here... unless that's what you're talking about. The war is over, Musashi. We're allies now. Haven't they told you that?"
...
What did World War 2 have to do with any of this?
"I'm not an idiot," William shot back, gesturing up and down her body. "No, I'm talking about that! You look human, but there's... something else."
The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them. He loathed lying; when you were honest, you never had to watch what you said. For all he knew he had just blown his lie wide open.
But Iowa only seemed to relax.
"Oh, that! Well, I guess it's a bit of a shock for you. Your first day back and you're already forced to blow Abyssals out of the water. Yeah, that's rough."
That answered absolutely nothing. William was about to open his mouth and say so when her words suddenly clicked.
"F-first day back?" he asked, hardly daring to believe it. "Like from the Abyss? You were there? Like me?"
She grinned, ruefully. "Not as long as you, but yeah. Sinking is rough."
"Tell me about it." Even months after the fact, his fall into the Abyss still sent chills down his spine. He looked down at his hands. "So... what does that mean for me? What's happened? Why do I feel so... hollow? Nothing feels right."
"I could ask you the same thing. Like what happened with all... this." Iowa gestured at the beard.
William shrugged without thinking. "I've always looked like this." A few months older, yes, but he was still mostly the same. "Were you expecting something else?"
He wanted to slap himself. Aside from it being morally wrong, that's why did didn't lie! He was terrible at it!
But Iowa nodded, perturbed. "Yeah, I didn't expect a Japanese battleship to look so... American. Or have a beard, or... yeah."
William bit his tongue to keep from correcting her. He was Canadian, dammit.
...wait, a what?
"As for that second problem," she grinned. "Nothing a little food won't solve. I heard they got Bacon in the mess hall this morning. I can grab a few trays and we can talk over breakfast. What do you say, big guy?"
There were still thousands of questions William wanted to ask. About what would happen to him, the Abyss, how Iowa managed to get out, all of it. But everything seemed to grind to a halt at that single word.
Bacon.
His mouth went dry and another sensation made itself known; a gut-clenching hunger that merged almost seamlessly with the hollowness.
When had he eaten his last meal? He honestly couldn't remember. He vaguely remembered snacking on a hunk of meat while lighting the boilers. Aside from that, he couldn't remember eating a thing between waking up the battleship and getting his guts blown out at Rokkasho. All that accumulated hunger, built up over what felt like weeks, came rushing in all at once.
He was starving.
But that wasn't all.
Bacon.
He couldn't even remember the taste of bacon. The battleship had been well stocked, but all of it had been bittersweet. He had been convinced that he would eat rice until the day he died, but now...
His mouth began to water at the mere prospect of eggs slathered in bacon grease, pancakes dripping with syrup, a mountain of sausage, and coffee...
He could have coffee again.
William licked his lips, hoping his desperation wasn't too apparent. If Iowa's smirk was any indication, he was failing miserably to hide it.
Logically, he knew there were questions that needed answers. They hadn't even scratched the surface of the political shitstorm he was in, and a whole list of other issues aside.
Also logically, his stomach would revolt if he put off the prospect of food any longer.
"You know," he whispered, looking up hopefully. "S-Some food sounds pretty good right now."
EDIT Dec 11, 2023: Fixed grammar and spelling mistakes.
"So... in 'ze face of danger-" She looked up, eyes blazing. "-you 'vould ask me to be a coward?!"
Goto winced. Even from halfway across the world, he could feel the battleship's wrath like a physical presence.
"I 'vill not run!" Bismarck screamed. "If they 'vish to take me then it will be over my dead body! 'Bound by iron and blood,' if it is blood they want then I will drown them in their own!"
"Bismarck! Restrain yourself!" Admiral Baumhouer's voice thundered from off-screen.
"I am no coward!" Bismarck screamed again, this time with a twinge of desperation.
"Neither are you disobedient! Now sit down, Commandant!"
Bismarck shuddered, then collapsed back into her chair. Her face was pale.
"Bismarck." A new voice rang through the chatroom. The faces of dozens of Admirals and attaches churned and shuffled as the program brought the speaker's face to the forefront. When he finally appeared, Goto winced again.
Divisional General Yesilnil looked like hell. It was obvious he hadn't been able to shower in days; his fatigues were rumpled, stained with dirt and flecks of dried blood. Dust matted his cheeks and a good chunk of his hair had been burned away. Despite this, his eyes were as bright as ever, glaring out from a pale face that had seen more in a few days than what most men saw in a lifetime.
"Bismarck... you are no coward," Yesilnil growled. "But your arrogance knows no bounds."
Rare was the man who could withstand the wrath of a battleship, but Yesilnil met Bismarck's furious howl with a dead-eyed stare. "The only blood that will be spilled is yours, battleship. They will not come in ones or twos, no, they will swarm you like they did us!"
He leaned in close to the camera, his features ghoulish in the light. "Thousands of my men died to hold this outcome back for as long as possible. You will not disrespect their sacrifice for your damned pride!"
A ragged sob brought the camera back to Bismarck. The German battleship shuddered, her expression torn. Her blonde hair and the long brim of her cap hid her features from view, but she couldn't hide the trembling in her shoulders, or the tears that rolled down her cheeks before dripping off her chin. Prince Eugen emerged from off-screen, pulling the battleship into a hug.
For a long moment, no one was brave enough to break the silence. Then a timid cough caused the windows to shuffle again.
"Bismarck, I, uhm... The general is right, I'm afraid."
A grandfatherly face filled the screen, lit from behind with the soft light of a mahogany office. A pair of half-moon spectacles sat below a head of swept back hair that had lost the battle against the grey of age. A well groomed mustache, fine suit, and accent completed the stereotypical image of an English gentleman. "At this stage, the stakes are far too high to risk you in battle. The consequences if you do sink will be dire, to say the least."
Bismarck's shuddering sob echoed through the call, but it was Prince Eugen's question that brought the camera back to them. "Doctor Bennett, izz zhere anyway 'zis could be a mistake? Perhaps... a mistranslation?"
"I'm afraid not, my dear. It's not a misplaced word, but an entire verse dedicated to her." Bennett spread his hands, helplessly. "What the prophecy is asking for is quite clear, which... unfortunately requires your cooperation more than ever, Bismarck. With Gallipoli gone, we can't take any more risks."
Bismarck's quiet sobs were the only sound until the screen shifted when Admiral Buamhouar spoke up.
The oldest of the Admirals, his cropped beard had gone completely grey. Unlike Bennett though, his wrinkled features held no warmth of any kind. "Doctor, hypothetically, if Bismarck were to die, how much time would we have left between them completing each subsequent verse?"
"That's a difficult question, actually. The Abyssals can't just kill her, they need Bismarck to sink to – and I quote – 'the depths of the Abyss'. If... and, bear in mind, this is only speculation based on their previous behavior, but they might aim to sink her in the Challenger Deep. A true bottom of the ocean if ever there was one. That assumes they must keep her alive until such a time as they are in that part of the ocean." The Doctor shrugged. "It opens up the possibility of a rescue, at least. Or, we ensure that never happens. We could keep Bismarck ahead of Abyssal hunting parties indefinitely and halt the prophecy here."
Bennett paused for a moment to collect his thoughts and take a sip of tea. "However... after that, things become more complicated. Verse eight reiterates over and over about 'the other side.' I can only assume these are instructions to bring Bismarck back as an Abyssal Princess and allow her to complete the final five verses."
A harsh sob interrupted his speech. Bennett paused for a moment, respectfully, but continued.
"After that... the time we have left depends on the strength of Europe's defenses. For verse nine; I don't know what they expect to find in Verdun, but there's enough pain, misery, and ammunition in those lands to create an Installation of... frankly terrifying proportions. But if they're that close, they won't stop to create it, no, I believe they head out immediately to complete verse ten. Rome."
He took another, longer sip of tea. "When Rome falls, and it will fall, geography itself is against us... we will face verse eleven. The 'falling sky'. I can't even speculate what that means, but if the descriptions hold true... that will be the true beginning of the end. I don't believe any of us will live to see verses twelve or thirteen."
He raised the teacup again, only to realize it was empty. Unperturbed, he reached off-screen before pouring in a shot of Brandy. "As for an answer to your question, Admiral, forgive my meandering... A month. Maybe even two. Depending on how quickly the Abyssals can muster their forces, you would have a better estimate on that, to be honest. Regardless, time will not be on our side, which makes Bismarck's cooperation all the more important. We can halt the prophecy indefinitely if we keep her moving and out of the Abyssal's reach."
"This... this is just an idea," another voice spoke up. Goto couldn't tell who; the camera viewing the speaker had been deliberately cut off. "What if we killed Bismarck ourselves?"
"WHAT?!" The two roars of anger came at the same time, and the program couldn't decide if it wanted to settle on Buamhouar or Prince Eugen. Not that it mattered; both of them looked ready to lunge through the screen and strangle the speaker.
"One battleship for the human race, it shouldn't even be a question!" the speaker protested.
"You dare-!"
"Prince Eugen, please." Bennett cut the heavy cruiser off before a rant could begin, his expression pained. "It... it is a valid question, no matter how grievous it may be. I have... brought up this possibility with my colleagues in the Summoning Committee and we all agree it's not worth the risk. Summoning is still an esoteric art where the Abyssals outpace us in every way. If Bismarck – and forgive me for speculating, my dears – were to die for this cause on our terms, there is no guarantee that the Abyssals simply won't call her back on their side, which is what the Prophecy is implying in the first place. From there, completing verse seven would be a trivial matter, whether she is for the cause or not."
"So I am to live the rest of my life... as a fugitive?" Bismarck whispered, the screen shuffling back to her tear-stained face.
"I..." Bennett opened his mouth but nothing came out. Swallowing, he tried again, but couldn't find the words. Finally, he took a sip of Brandy. "For the sake of humanity, Bismarck, it... yes. That is how it must be."
Goto couldn't see Bismarck's reaction; the rustle of fabric and the scrape of a chair wasn't enough to trigger the screen switch. But when Prince Eugen spoke, she was alone in the room.
"Is there nothing we can do?"
"There is nothing we can do," Bennett shrugged, helplessly. "Bismarck must survive, no matter the cost. We have no other choice. This is the last place we can stop this apocalypse from happening."
There was silence for a long minute as his words sunk in.
"Gallipoli must be retaken." Yesilnil's voice was as hard as steel as he glared through the screen as if daring anyone to disagree. "The Dardanelles Straight is too important to lose."
The question was how?
Discussion raged back and forth; a discussion Goto could only watch with a lingering sense of dread. He hated standing on the sidelines, but as of last week, Japan might as well have been the sole warden of the Pacific. He didn't have the ships to spare until the States managed to recoup their losses.
They were losing this war. A war being decided on the other side of the planet and he was powerless to help.
Nonetheless, Goto tried his best; shuffling his roster around in his head, trying in vain to find that magic arrangement that would free up at least one of his powerhouses.
Well... he had one.
The problem was that powerhouse was Musashi.
If nothing else, the solid nine hours of sleep did give him a new appreciation of his fleet's discomfort with the situation. They barely understood how they came into this modern world, and as women, too. It could be argued that their definition of normal was based purely on speculation and spiritual dogma.
Everything they thought they understood had been shattered when Musashi appeared.
Reactions varied, but none of them were positive. They had all known Musashi in some capacity back in the war. Everyone agreed that the hull was of their friend, but the face was not that of the battleship from Nagasaki. The hull was there, but the spirit?
It spooked them, some worse than others.
As the screen shuffled between the various Admirals locked in debate, Goto caught flashes of their chosen secretary ships. Their odd dress, reminiscent of the uniforms of past eras, filtered through his jumbled thoughts in a collage of colors, before settling on the pure white and red outfit of a certain fast battleship.
Inevitably it led to memories of said battleship hanging off his arm... but there was no cheer or overwhelming happiness on Kongou's face. Just... confusion, and maybe even a little fear. For all the insanity and headaches Kongou brought about, Goto could trust her instincts with his life.
And this was not right.
Needless to say, he was hesitant to share. Who knew how the other secretary ships would react when they found out about this? He was already worried about an epidemic of existential crises among his ranks, he didn't want it spread to their allies until they understood what was going on. Least of all now, when they needed all hands on deck.
And as the debate dragged on, the frustration mounting as no one could come up with a sound plan of action, Goto decided silence was the better part of valor. He would broach the topic when the stakes weren't this high.
Was he digging himself a deeper grave?
Probably, yes.
But when nuclear weapons were being brought up as viable options, acquiring the first ship-boy ranked rather low for importance. Especially when no one, especially the Turks, was outright denying the usage of said weapons. They were walking a razor's edge and everyone could feel it.
However... there was one unavoidable conversation.
"Excuse me, Admiral Thacher," Goto spoke up as the final words were said and people began to sign off. "Might I have a word with you in private?"
A tired woman in a crisp uniform nodded, thumbing a sheaf of papers. The red and white maple leaf hanging behind her left no doubts about her nationality. "Of course, I was about to ask you the same thing. Give me a moment and I'll call you back."
"I'll be waiting."
After signing off, he took the time to review his notes, making sure he had every detail correct before his computer chimed with an incoming call. A few clicks later Admiral Thacher appeared on the screen.
Now that she had the window all to herself, words couldn't describe how tired the woman looked. Even being the youngest of the Admirals present, she looked twice her age. Brown hair was escaping her carefully arranged bun as she bobbed her head as if agreeing to something written on the sheets of paper littering her desk.
"I'm sorry, Goto, but I don't have a lot of time, so we need to make this quick. First and foremost; regarding your fugitive, the Army has taken control of the investigation. I don't know much, they've been very tight-lipped on the details. I know the Minster of National Defence is reaching out to your government and they are coming up with a plan to prosecute this guy." She looked up and shrugged. "I don't know whether or not they were looking to involve you, but, heads up. They might want an official statement from the Kanmusu Corp. Beyond that, I don't know."
"They aren't involving you?" Goto asked, surprised.
"It's an Army matter," Thacher sighed, deeply, massaging her temples. "And honestly, I have too much on my plate to worry about this. Musashi did good work beating back those freaks, Goto, please tell her I said that. Once they get a foothold on land, it's pure hell to get them out."
"That Princess is still giving you trouble," again, Goto asked, but not unkindly. They were all in this together, after all. That didn't stop Thacher from giving him a dead-eyed stare that would make Yesilnil proud.
"The Yukon, Northwest Territories, and Nunavut; do you know how many square kilometers that is put together? Over two million. Two million square kilometers of bush, forest, lakes, and swamp. There are three Re-Class aviation battleships loose in that area that I am trying to hunt down with a couple of cruisers, a single carrier, frigates, and destroyers. So yes. They are giving me trouble."
She held the glare for a moment, then leaned back with a sigh. "I'm... I'm sorry. Like I said, it's hell to get them out. And I don't mean to rub it in, but the US can't help us right now."
Goto scowled but couldn't refute her. The world's Kanmusu were stretched thin.
Thacher massaged the bridge of her nose for a moment, then shook off the cobwebs. "Anyway, I'm sorry for that outburst. You had something for me?"
"Yes... I do," After that sob sorry he couldn't help but feel guilty about putting more misery on her plate. "About your missing man... technically my fleet found him and he's currently in our care."
Or was 'custody' a better word?
Thacher merely blinked in surprise at the news. "Well... that's great! I can pass that on to the Chief of Defence Staff. That'll simplify everything."
"Unfortunately not," Goto deadpanned, wincing. "There's... no easier way to say this, but... the man you're looking for is Musashi."
Silence.
Thacher went still. Her mouth hung half open, blinking in confusion.
"A-Ah... I'm sorry, what?"
"It's true," Goto stated, sending her the picture he had taken just that morning. There was no need to edit it, someone had already laid a towel across the battleship's waist, protecting his modesty, but leaving no doubt as to his identity. Thacher stared at the picture, eyes narrowed.
"I... I know this guy..."
She was leaning into the camera, brow furrowed as she examined Musashi's face in greater detail. Her lips moved soundlessly for a moment, before she sat back in her chair, bewildered. "I know I've seen that face before... I just can't remember when..."
Goto blinked in surprise. Out of everything he expected to hear, that hadn't even made the list.
"That's... how?"
"I don't-" Thacher jumped slightly as the ring of a phone rang throughout her office. "Crap. I'm sorry, Goto, but if that's everything I have to go. I can get you in touch with the Army's investigation team, and I guarantee that they know more about this than me. Sorry."
The call disconnected, leaving Goto stunned into silence. He leaned back, staring up at the ceiling. At this point, he didn't know what to feel; his emotions were bled dry. All that remained was an odd clarity, with the mystery of Musashi at its center.
Musashi, who had returned as a man with a foreign face... had just been recognized by the Canadian Admiral.
It made his head spin just thinking about it. How was that possible?
Running a hand down his face, he sighed deeply. He couldn't help but think he was sitting on a bomb. The mystery was getting larger by the hour and all he could do was sit around and wait for answers. Not to mention he was sitting on the largest scandal since this war began.
For all the headaches, there was no denying what Musashi, the man, had accomplished. Single-handedly saving Japan was no easy feat, even for a shipgirl. And therein lay the problem.
Shipgirl.
Mystery aside, Goto held nothing but respect for the man, but public perception was drumming up the image of the real Musashi to epic proportions. It was everywhere; in the news, online, and even overseas! Musashi had become a legend overnight. An image larger than life.
A feminine image.
An image that would certainly implode the moment the truth was revealed.
A truth that Goto was holding back.
The reactions of his fleet were nothing compared to the chaos he envisioned from the public. At best, they might just bluescreen from the shock. At worst... honestly, he didn't even know.
As his brain ran through the potential consequences of his actions over and over again, his computer pinged with a new email. Not from Thacher, but from a Major Simms whose handle marked him as an Intelligence Officer. And if the list of additional recipients was any indication, the Canadian government was taking no chances with this. The Chief of Defence Staff was included as was the Minster of National Defence. A few Generals were listed as well, plenty of Colonels and Majors, along with a few NCOs who could have only been aids of some capacity.
It only made sense; with a controversy like this, a fair number of governing bodies would be involved. But as Goto read the first few lines of the email, his confusion only grew.
The opening was as expected; Major Simms introducing himself as the Intelligence Officer heading the investigation, receiving Goto's contact information from Thacher, some opening pleasantries, apologies for intruding on his valuable time, et cetera.
Then it took a turn for the strange.
There must have been some sort of miscommunication because there was barely any mention of Musashi at all, just some Corporal named Morgan. The Major then explained that reopening the cold case was taking some time as most of the original investigators and witnesses had been killed in the opening months of the Abyssal war. They were scrounging up whoever remained and whatever information they could.
"Witnesses? What?"
Moreover was the request to keep everything confidential for the sake of the Corporal's relatives, though that part seemed to be directed at the Canadian portions of recipients.
Following that was a request for an online conference next week, citing that information needed to be complied, and high ranking officials needed to clear their schedules to deal with this scandal.
Only then did the Major seem to address Goto directly, asking for clarification of a few things. Thacher's email had been brief and to the point, but everyone was left confused when she seemed to indicate that Musashi and Corporal Morgan were one and the same. The Major politely requested that Goto clarify this frankly outlandish assumption.
They wanted clarification?!
Goto still needed to know who this Corporal Morgan was and why he mattered so much.
If the Canadians had given him that name before Musashi had been discovered, then it would have undoubtedly been the name of their rogue Canadian running about. But now that the man had been proven to be Musashi...
How?
How did Thacher recognize the face of a newly summoned battleship, and why were the Canadians throwing out this name as if they knew the man? Musashi had only appeared less than two weeks ago! What was going on?
For a long minute, all Goto could do was gape at the screen, mind struggling to come up with answers. Nothing came. In a desperate bid to help things make sense, he opened a browser and typed in the name.
To his surprise, he got few results instantly, one of which was Canada's official website. However, when he clicked on it, all he got was the 404. Their government must have taken the page down the moment the scandal went live.
His suspicion mounting, he clicked on the next page... and a eulogy appeared. The site was a local newspaper in Western Canada, but it had a picture of the deceased.
Goto stared, stunned, and the familiar face of a battleship stared back.
----
The door to the bathhouse was thrown open with a bang. Girls 'eeped' covering themselves in alarm as Goto stormed in. He ignored them, promising himself that he would apologize later as he closed in on the curtains surrounding a certain bath. His hands were cold and clammy, his heart raced. Nothing about this made sense!
That face... it couldn't be!
He threw open the curtains.
Musashi was as he left him. Male, scared... and wearing the face of a dead man.
Goto couldn't help but shudder. It felt like his grasp of the situation was spiraling out of control. First the rogue Canadian, then discovering that he and Musashi were one and the same. But now...
He didn't know what to think.
"Admiral?"
Gathering himself, Goto closed the curtains. The girls were watching him warily. If nothing else, he understood their unease more than ever, if for entirely different reasons.
"The situation is... a lot more complicated than I expected," Goto admitted to the room. His hand twitched, longing to wipe away the nervous sweat beneath his cover, but he had to put up a strong front. The fleet needed a leader, now more than ever.
He silently debated whether or not to tell them about this new development, but reluctantly decided against it. They were already freaked out; to have this new name suddenly associated with the man might only make things worse.
So, despite how much the whole thing unnerved him, he put on a smile. "But it's manageable. I'll let you all know when I have more information. In the meantime, how is everyone? Iowa, I heard you volunteered to take this next patrol."
From her place in the pool, the American battleship flashed him a grin. "Guilty as charged. Most of my damage was superficial. And a blue milk run like this? Easy as pie!"
----
'Blue milk run, my star spangled ass...'
Iowa grumbled as she rolled over in bed. Her screw still ached and, by extension, her foot.
Easy as pie indeed. What had she been thinking; tempting fate like that?
What had been a simple deterrence patrol up Japan's western coast to cover the dead zone in radar coverage turned into a bloodbath when a marauding Abyssal fleet crested the horizon. Whether they were taking advantage of Japan's weakened fleets for some good old-fashioned raiding or following up on the attempted invasion didn't matter. The hammer of Japan had fallen swiftly and mercilessly. Spearheaded by American steel, of course.
The invaders could hardly be considered a fleet; a few old dreadnoughts, fewer cruisers, and a handful of destroyers and not a single carrier to back them up. Iowa doubted any of them even had proper radar, which made her opening salvos all the more satisfying.
By the time the marauders had turned tail, almost half of their number had been sunk through a combination of American Freedom and Japanese torpedoes. It was almost scary, watching her allies fight with a ferocity that hadn't been seen in the better part of a century. The Abyssals had been taken apart piece by piece.
But in the last minutes of the battle, one of the dreadnoughts had fired her last salvo in a final act of defiance before going up in flames. Iowa distinctly remembered watching the shells arc through the air toward her. They were well-aimed, she would give them that. Too late to dodge, all she could do was brace.
Most of them barely landed short.
Water spouts erupted around her, splashing her decks, save for one single shell. It had just enough range to scratch her side, but the angle sent it skidding off her armor and into the ocean... right onto her screws!
She needed to be towed in after that, the resulting explosion having jammed her rudders as well. It wasn't so much embarrassing - her pride wouldn't be wounded by one lucky hit – but being shelved for repairs while others went out in her place was irritating. She was fuming when she was finally towed into the bay. And it was a hefty repair time too, which only soured her mood.
Sighing, she kicked the blankets to the side and draped her legs over the side of the bed. Blinking blearily, she glanced out the window. The sun hadn't even touched the horizon yet. She could feel her crew complaining at the early hour, but she would much rather get the last of her repairs done before breakfast so she could finally report ready for duty.
She had even considered sleeping in the baths just to get it over with, but... she enjoyed her bed too much. Plus, she didn't want to deal with the dreams at a time like this. Freaky shit, if she was being honest.
But that meant tackling the last few hours of her dock time in the god forsaken morning. She was never up before nine if she could help it. But, duty called.
Grumbling, she dressed herself and hobbled out of the battleship dorms towards the baths.
As expected, barely anyone was up at this hour, and they all gave her wide birth. To get in the way of any battleship was a bad idea. To get in the way of a grumpy Iowa without coffee even more so. The bedhead didn't help either; her hair stuck up in all directions.
Reaching the changing room, she quickly threw on her usual star-spangled bikini before shuffling into the bathhouse with a yawn.
Surprisingly, Iowa found she wasn't the only one there at this hour, and it wasn't because of Musashi, either.
Nagato sat in a wooden chair against the far wall, her arms crossed over her chest. She didn't even look up as Iowa trudged in, her gaze fixed on the muscular form of Musashi with a fierce intensity. The curtains had been pulled back, allowing for an unobstructed view of the anomaly.
"Morning, Nags," Iowa yawned again, heading for an open bath. However, she grew slightly concerned when old dreadnought didn't even twitch at the nickname.
"Have you been here all night?"
"Someone has to keep an eye on him," Nagato said, quietly, the exhaustion evident in her voice.
"Ah, come on," Iowa shot back, holding back a moan of relief as she slipped under the repair fluid. "I mean, it's not like he's going to get up and walk away."
"Akashi helped finish repairing the boilers last night. So he very well could."
Well, Nagato was right. He had visibly healed since he had first arrived. The hull was still a mangled wreck, though most of his critical systems showed major improvement. And true to her word, the repaired boilers were slowly warming up.
Although, the fact Iowa could see them through the rents in his hull was... kinda disturbing.
"But... I hit the sack around eleven."
Nagato let out a sound of agreement as she blinked. Her eyelids slammed shut before quivering back open again through sheer force of will.
"Nags, when was the last time you slept?"
The disgruntled murmur she got in return wasn't comforting.
"Go to bed. I can watch him now. Seriously, how are you still awake?"
"...I can't."
The quiet admission stopped Iowa short. Nagato hunched over, holding her head in her hands. When she spoke, her voice was little more than a quivering whisper.
"What are we, Iowa? Are we ships? Are we spirits? Kami? Yokai? Or are we something in between?"
This was so unlike the stoic secretary ship that Iowa hesitated before replying with a shrug. "I mean... we are ships - don't know much about a Kami - but what brought this on?"
Wordlessly, the old battleship pointed at Musashi. "That might be Musashi's hull, but it's not her. It's not her spirit, it doesn't feel like her, I..."
She let out a shuddering breath. "I thought I was bringing home my friend, but now... I don't know who this is."
"We don't know that yet." Iowa shrugged. "Who's to say it's not Musashi just... man-ified. I never knew her, sure, but who else but Musashi would fight an entire fleet single-handedly to save Japan? I mean... come on!"
Nagato glared for a moment before looking away. "...I can't deny what he did, but that almost makes it worse. Up until now, we've always come back whole. As ourselves. It didn't matter if the Abyssals got to us first, it was still our reflection seen through a shattered mirror. All our loves, our hatreds, our very souls just lived in reverse. There is never any real change... just parts of us that we bury deep inside."
When her eyes glanced back, they were filled with desperation. "This is different. It's not her. To be summoned is a defining moment; called back from the dead to serve once again. But what's happening here? What happened for Musashi's spirit to be erased like this?!"
"Again, we don't know that!" Iowa tried to comfort the old dreadnought while keeping her growing annoyance in check. "Look, plenty of my friends came back a little different than I expected. You've met San Francisco, how hard it was for her to adjust. Or even Louisiana! I certainly didn't expect her to start speaking French!"
But at Nagato's frosty look, she rolled her eyes. "Look, the point I'm trying to make is that we can't judge a book by its cover! Yes, he's a guy, but look at what he did! Doesn't that scream Musashi to you?"
"The intention does, yes," Nagato admitted, rising to her feet. "But I know my fleet mates... and this is not her."
Without another word, Nagato left the bathhouse with as much dignity as she could muster. Though it was impossible to hide just how tired she was. The door slid shut behind her, leaving Iowa alone with their strange guest.
It was slightly unnerving, Iowa couldn't deny that. Although, she was taking it better than the rest of her allies. Probably due to the fact she'd never met Musashi before, even in battle; but she understood. Partly. To a lesser extent, it was like watching her sister come crashing down over rolling waves, covered in black chitin, and screaming for her to sink. To see her sister so horribly twisted was the stuff of nightmares.
This though... even if she had just defended the man, she still didn't even have the words to describe the situation.
Even if she hadn't known Musashi, the transformation was jarring. She was used to seeing sculpted figures, soft curves, and generous bunkers whenever she looked at another battleship, not hard slabs of muscle and scars. Or a beard. While she couldn't deny there was a rugged handsomeness about his features, that didn't stop it from being any less unnatural.
But she would stick to her guns. As jarring as it was for the rest of the girls, she could only imagine what the poor battleship was going through. Honestly, she loved them all, but the blatant suspicion was getting on her nerves. And after what Musashi had been through, being ostracized by his own fleet was something she wouldn't tolerate.
Come on, they were supposed to be better than that!
The guy needed a friend, and she'd be there, come hell or high water.
So, she tried to relax. Leaning back, she glared at the repair timer with its scrolling numbers. Just a few hours left to go. If there were no interruptions, she would be on time for breakfast at six.
Perfect!
She reached inward to pull her phone from her holds, then remembered she'd left it charging on the nightstand. Pouting, she sank deeper into the bath, trying to find something to occupy herself with. She never thought to bring a book with her; the occasional splash fights that broke out dissuaded that idea. Besides, waterproof phone for the win! Modern age equalled best age, no doubt about it.
As long as you actually remembered to bring your damn phone!
With nothing else better to do, she settled down to wait, feeling her broken body start patching itself up.
Eventually, though, her eyes started drifting over to the sleeping hunk. While she tried not to ogle, there was no denying how his body seemed to fit the image of a male battleship perfectly. All hard lines, and even with the scruffy beard, she could just make out a well-defined jawline past the wiry hairs.
As her eyes explored further, she realized what she was doing and looked away with a furious blush. A blush that only worsened when she wondered how her sisters would react. Missouri and Wisconsin were still laid up in the baths, but she was surprised Jersey hadn't popped out a summoning pool on her own at the prospect of a man that could feasibility handle her.
'The power of babies compels me!'
"Dammit, Jersey..." she hissed, pressing her hands to her temples. "Get out of my head!"
Eventually, she managed to wrangle her thoughts back under control and stopped taking peeks. The timer above counted down with a faint click sound each second, barely audible over the whir of ventilation fans... and the rhythmic breathing of the man sitting across from her. His chest rose and fell in a steady cadence.
She tried not to watch... but those abs...
Gradually, she slipped into a doze, the steady cadence of Musashi's breath echoing around her. Trapped between the waking world and her dreams, Iowa didn't know how long she slept when a shout suddenly jolted her awake.
----
Endless.
Eternal.
The mists surrounded him, the black waters gazed up from below. He wasn't sinking... he was floating, though how exactly, he didn't know. His limbs were welded to his sides, so he couldn't be swimming... no, this was something else.
He could see the deck of the battleship stretching out beneath him, but his gaze was locked into place. The perspective was that seen from the bridge. He couldn't move his eyes, his limbs; nothing so much as twitched when he tried.
He knew that was wrong... but at the same time, it was only right.
The hollowness engulfed his being from head to toe. A foreign sensation, one that locked him in place as surely as the grave.
The mist was all around him, flowing over the battleship's prow as it slipped silently through the endless expanse. Drifting deeper and deeper into the Abyss.
This was wrong. This wasn't right! He escaped, he was out, what was he doing back here?! How?!
He remembered the blue sky... he remembered the sandy beach... he remembered that battle, he remembered the pain. He remembered staring up at a smoke-filled sky, faces whispering in his ears as his strength slowly drained away.
He clung to that sensation as the terror threatened to overwhelm him.
None of this was real. He couldn't have gone back, he refused to accept that! This was all a dream. It had to be! There was no pain, only the dull sensation of water gently brushing down his sides.
Wake up...
Wake up.
Wake up!
Wa-
William's eyes snapped open and a shout tore from his throat as the water continued to lap at his sides! There was water all around him, mist hung the air! But he could move once again.
Strangely, though, his body was surrounded by warmth, almost dulling the hollow sensations inside him. But every conscious thought was screaming to escape.
Flailing, his hand found something solid. From touch alone, it felt like the edge of the pool and he hauled himself out of the water, flopping into a smooth, cold surface. The moment his body left the water, pain struck him like a hammer. He gasped, clutching at his chest as everything inside seemed to burn. The hollowness itself seemed to be on fire!
But the mists...
He looked around in a panic; the mists still filled the air!
Desperate to escape, he pushed himself back across the ground until his back hit something solid. Looking back, it was... a wooden wall panel. A wall. His heart pounding, William's gaze followed the woodwork until it reached a corner and turned sharply into the mists.
No, not mist... steam.
It was steam! He could feel the moisture in the air, hot and humid, completely unlike the Abyss. It was warm... almost comforting.
Bewildered, he realized he was in some sort of... bathroom. In the literal sense of the word. The wood-paneled walls looked like something out of a sauna, and the steam drifted off dozens of small pools that dotted the floor, one of which was still frothing from his escape.
And the noises... the soft trickle of water, the hum of fans somewhere in the ceiling.
The smells... a strange, almost mineral scent mixed in with the smell of soaps and other products.
And the pain... it filled his entire being, melding with the hollowness until he wasn't even sure what he was feeling. The world almost seemed to flicker; flashes of metal walls, the hallways of the battleship danced before his eyes whenever he blinked. Like the Song, but somehow more real!
Without thinking, he forced the sensation down. He didn't know how, but somehow it worked. Gradually, the illusions faded, and even the pain settled into a non-specific ache that permeated his entire body.
But he felt human again, at least. His limbs were tired and heavy and nothing felt exactly right...
But he was alive.
Emotion suddenly clogged his throat as the realization finally hit him
He was alive!
He thanked God, Jesus, and every saint he could think of and looped right back around to do it again. He was alive, he had survived, and most importantly, he was home. This wasn't the Abyss, he was home!
A deep sigh of relief escaped him, then a gasp as pain shot through his ribs. But it was nothing to the hope that took root in his heart. It was almost enough to ignore the strange hollowness inside him. At least now that he was back, there might be people who could help him. He could only hope they, whoever they were, knew what was happening to him.
But that was all that mattered... he could hope again.
It was a wonderful feeling.
Grunting, he sat himself higher against the wall and took in the state of his body. To be honest, he expected worse. Scars and bruises matted his chest, arms, and legs. But he still had all four limbs, his head was in one piece, and there were no extra holes that he could detect. Everything hurt, but nothing seemed to be broken.
Which didn't make much sense when he thought about it. He was certain his heart had gotten blown out at one point. Yes, he was sure of it. So unless the Japanese were holding back on the medical advancements, he should have been six feet under. He wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth, but the circumstances were odd.
Unless he was unconscious for far longer than he thought. But even that didn't explain his intact cranium.
And the battleship was gone too. It wasn't on his back, anyway, and not in the room with him either. They must have cut it off him or something, and taken Gremlin along with it. He wished the best for the little creature, despite its origins. But the hollowness was still there, proving that the two weren't connected. The battleship was gone and he was left with... whatever this hollowness was. Probably some residual effect.
Was there a doctor around here he could ask? Where was everyone?
Then he heard the soft ripple of water, instantly putting him on edge. Movement drew his eye as a shape rose from one of the pools. As it stood up, he was staring for an entirely different reason.
It was a woman.
She was painfully beautiful. Long blonde hair hung down her back as she stepped onto the tiled floor. Water ran down her curves, highlighting her womanly shape. Her prodigious chest was barely contained by a star-spangled bikini and there wasn't a single scar, blemish or acne to be seen on her pale skin.
As beautiful as she was, the hollowness seemed to surge at the sight of her. For a brief instant, her outline became insubstantial as something else, large and metallic, momentarily took her place. William shoved the sensation down with a wince, watching her with newfound caution.
He had seen the same distortions around those Abyssals. But she wasn't shooting him yet. And to be honest, if she wanted him dead there was very little he could do about that; his body felt like it was coming apart.
All he could do was glare. And he glared a hole through her skull with all the force he could muster.
Apparently, the feeling was mutual. The woman's body was tense, but her smile never wavered as she slowly stepped closer, hands raised in a non-threatening gesture. Her outline seemed to ripple again, and he caught a glimpse of gun barrels being turned away before he shoved the hollowness away.
What the hell was he seeing?
"Yā, Musashi. Go kibun wa ikagadesu ka?" she said.
William couldn't help but groan. He didn't need to understand Japanese to catch that damned name thrown in the middle. You'd think they'd get the point by now! How many times had he told them?
"I don't sp-," he rasped, only to cough. His throat felt like sandpaper; when did he last have a drink?
A faucet set in the wall caught his attention. Still coughing, he dragged himself over and tried the cold tap. As soon as the water reached the right temperature, he stuck his mouth into the flow. The abrupt taste of minerals nearly made him wretch, but he forced himself to swallow, almost moaning in relief as it soothed his burning throat.
Even the harsh taste was bliss. Finally, he knew he was drinking water again, not the tasteless liquid from the Abyss. Only once he had drank his fill did he roll over to face the woman again. The smile was still there, though she appeared more... confused than before.
Honestly, that was a good sign. And with the refreshment helping to clear his head; she had likely been with him while he was unconscious. Again, the fact that he wasn't dead spoke volumes. And she wasn't treating him like a prisoner, but she didn't appear to be any kind of nurse either. Neither did this place appear to be a hospital; unless the Japanese ran the risk of drowning the critical care patients. Some new medical treatment, maybe?
So, that meant he was stuck in an unknown environment. Again. This time with a woman displaying the same attributes as the creatures that just tried to kill him and an entire town.
At this point, there was nothing he could do but handle things like he always did.
One step at a time.
First; communication.
"I don't speak Japanese," William gasped, wiping water droplets off his beard.
The woman's expression... cracked. There was no better word for it. The smile was still there, but whatever emotion that created it was lost to the wind.
"Uh... what?"
William rolled his eyes, rolling onto his front. The hollowness spiked. Pain rushed up his spine. He hissed, waiting for the pain to stabilize. "I don't speak Japanese. Seriously, is it that hard to believe?"
When he felt ready, he pushed himself to his feet in one jerky motion.
That was a bad idea. The world spun, all the water he'd drank threatened to come back up again, and he swore he heard the groan of steel as he sagged against the wall. He pushed through it, however; forcing back the bile as he reminded himself that he had faced worse than this.
"Whoa there, you big lug!" Instantly, the woman was at his side, face twisted in worry as she helped to steady him. "You really shouldn't be standing in your state."
"My stomach agrees," William couldn't help but quip through clenched teeth.
Taking a deep breath, he got his rebellious insides under control. With that small victory under his belt, he shrugged off the woman's hands and pushed off the wall, standing under his own power for the first time. His legs ached, and the hollowness threatened to spike, but he shoved it all away.
He was alive. He was home. And he was standing. As far as he was concerned, that was a major victory. He let that feeling of success buoy him up as he reexamined his surroundings with a more critical eye, eventually settling on the woman.
She was surprisingly short for her generous proportions; barely coming up to his shoulders. But now that she was closer, he noticed something was off with her eyes. The iris; the shape of them was... then she blinked, and William lost track.
"So... who are you, exactly?"
She flashed him a brilliant smile. "Well, I suppose we have never met before. BB-61 Iowa! Nameship of the class!"
She struck a pose for some reason, cocking her hip and giving a two-fingered salute with a wink. If it was an attempt at seduction it fell flat; he was too busy fighting off another wave of hollowness that made his head spin.
"Iowa? What, like the state?"
She visibly deflated like a balloon. "Uh, no, battleship Iowa."
"You're named after a battleship?" William asked flatly. It wasn't the worst naming convention, but still.
The cocky smile returned. "Well, you're one to talk there, Musashi. Named you after a battleship, did they?"
She elbowed his arm playfully, completely ignorant of his internal screaming.
How many times did he have to tell them?! Exactly how much did he resemble this guy that he was still getting misidentified? He didn't speak Japanese and he wasn't Asian! That should have been a pretty obvious clue!
He opened his mouth to correct her, then paused.
Should he just run with it for now? It might have been a stupid question to ask; he'd been denying being this Musashi guy since he arrived, but whenever he did it always set back the conversation.
When he first denied it at the school, the Lieutenant had bumped the situation up to Gengyo. And when he told Gengyo, the Commander had deemed to bump it up even higher. It was kind of expected; impersonating an apparent national hero was no laughing matter. The problem was no one was telling him anything! Then the attack had happened, everything went to shit, and now here he was, with no more information than when he made landfall!
It would certainly ruffle some feathers, but if he could skip the confusion his true identity caused, the answers and time saved might be worth it.
He was already in trouble, why not use that to his advantage? He didn't like it, but at this point, he was desperate for answers.
So, he shrugged. "I suppose..."
The lie churned his stomach, but he capitalized on the opportunity, quickly finding a few questions he deemed the most important at the moment.
He started with the obvious.
"So what happened to Rokkasho? Did the people make it out?"
"Not exactly," said Iowa, causing his heart to sink. "The bridge was taken out, trapping them in the station, but not a single Abyssal made it to the tunnel. You got them. Every single one of them."
William sagged in relief. Honestly, with that news, he could have died happy.
"And what are you, exactly, Iowa?" He tried to put it into words. "You look human... but you're putting off the same vibes as an Abyssal."
Okay, maybe that wasn't entirely accurate. He wasn't picking up any sense of wrongness from her; the word just slipped out. And what else was he supposed to say; 'your curves are playing jump rope with the borders of reality?'
Instantly, Iowa went on the defensive, but she managed to keep her voice level. "Hey, nothing but a hundred percent American steel, here... unless that's what you're talking about. The war is over, Musashi. We're allies now. Haven't they told you that?"
...
What did World War 2 have to do with any of this?
"I'm not an idiot," William shot back, gesturing up and down her body. "No, I'm talking about that! You look human, but there's... something else."
The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them. He loathed lying; when you were honest, you never had to watch what you said. For all he knew he had just blown his lie wide open.
But Iowa only seemed to relax.
"Oh, that! Well, I guess it's a bit of a shock for you. Your first day back and you're already forced to blow Abyssals out of the water. Yeah, that's rough."
That answered absolutely nothing. William was about to open his mouth and say so when her words suddenly clicked.
"F-first day back?" he asked, hardly daring to believe it. "Like from the Abyss? You were there? Like me?"
She grinned, ruefully. "Not as long as you, but yeah. Sinking is rough."
"Tell me about it." Even months after the fact, his fall into the Abyss still sent chills down his spine. He looked down at his hands. "So... what does that mean for me? What's happened? Why do I feel so... hollow? Nothing feels right."
"I could ask you the same thing. Like what happened with all... this." Iowa gestured at the beard.
William shrugged without thinking. "I've always looked like this." A few months older, yes, but he was still mostly the same. "Were you expecting something else?"
He wanted to slap himself. Aside from it being morally wrong, that's why did didn't lie! He was terrible at it!
But Iowa nodded, perturbed. "Yeah, I didn't expect a Japanese battleship to look so... American. Or have a beard, or... yeah."
William bit his tongue to keep from correcting her. He was Canadian, dammit.
...wait, a what?
"As for that second problem," she grinned. "Nothing a little food won't solve. I heard they got Bacon in the mess hall this morning. I can grab a few trays and we can talk over breakfast. What do you say, big guy?"
There were still thousands of questions William wanted to ask. About what would happen to him, the Abyss, how Iowa managed to get out, all of it. But everything seemed to grind to a halt at that single word.
Bacon.
His mouth went dry and another sensation made itself known; a gut-clenching hunger that merged almost seamlessly with the hollowness.
When had he eaten his last meal? He honestly couldn't remember. He vaguely remembered snacking on a hunk of meat while lighting the boilers. Aside from that, he couldn't remember eating a thing between waking up the battleship and getting his guts blown out at Rokkasho. All that accumulated hunger, built up over what felt like weeks, came rushing in all at once.
He was starving.
But that wasn't all.
Bacon.
He couldn't even remember the taste of bacon. The battleship had been well stocked, but all of it had been bittersweet. He had been convinced that he would eat rice until the day he died, but now...
His mouth began to water at the mere prospect of eggs slathered in bacon grease, pancakes dripping with syrup, a mountain of sausage, and coffee...
He could have coffee again.
William licked his lips, hoping his desperation wasn't too apparent. If Iowa's smirk was any indication, he was failing miserably to hide it.
Logically, he knew there were questions that needed answers. They hadn't even scratched the surface of the political shitstorm he was in, and a whole list of other issues aside.
Also logically, his stomach would revolt if he put off the prospect of food any longer.
"You know," he whispered, looking up hopefully. "S-Some food sounds pretty good right now."
We are getting into the good stuff. This trio of chapters was a fun challenge to write, but I feel it payed off well. Overall, I'm satisfied with the results, even if I couldn't fit in all I wanted.
Chapters 17 and 18 are already up on Kofi.
Chapters 17 and 18 are already up on Kofi.
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a couple of things: first, the initial opening was confusing as all hell.
what prophecy are they talking about?
why is bishmark a refuge now?
secondly. ARGGGGH! why can't people just COMMUNICATE!
nobody is telling anyone else shit, or answering their questions. and keeps important information to themselves -.-"
just about 80% of the characters in this fic needs to be hit with a rolled up newpaper untill they start behaving like proper adults again -.-"
also, bacon goodness, hopefully somehow soon SOMEONE will spell out the whole battleship returned as girls thing to him, instead of just ignoring him when he asks xD
what prophecy are they talking about?
why is bishmark a refuge now?
secondly. ARGGGGH! why can't people just COMMUNICATE!
nobody is telling anyone else shit, or answering their questions. and keeps important information to themselves -.-"
just about 80% of the characters in this fic needs to be hit with a rolled up newpaper untill they start behaving like proper adults again -.-"
also, bacon goodness, hopefully somehow soon SOMEONE will spell out the whole battleship returned as girls thing to him, instead of just ignoring him when he asks xD
- Location
- Alaska, USA
I agree. The whole miscommunication thing has long since run its course. Now it's just annoying and straining the suspension of disbelief.
Tisaku
Head Chief Thinkomancer
no idea what this prophecy is but they seem to be handling it strangely. Sinking into the abyss could very well mean emotional states or something spiritual rather than a literal deepest part of the ocean.
I really do hope next chapter he gets to tell the story as he remembers it, let the characters communicate. There is plenty of drama and intrigue to explore with what is there. We don't need everyone to keep secrets for seemingly no reason. The implications of his time aboard musashi before taking her form are huge. I look forward to what your next chapter contains.
It is nice to see that Iowa is in his corner at least.
I really do hope next chapter he gets to tell the story as he remembers it, let the characters communicate. There is plenty of drama and intrigue to explore with what is there. We don't need everyone to keep secrets for seemingly no reason. The implications of his time aboard musashi before taking her form are huge. I look forward to what your next chapter contains.
It is nice to see that Iowa is in his corner at least.
Jade Isentry
The Impregnable
- Location
- ARES Central Base, Blackwater
Iowa is, so far, 'best girl' in this fic. Just stop making her hold the idiot ball as she talks past him and she'd be perfect.
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- Location
- Lost to the Depths of the Deep Web
Chapter 17: A Disastrous Breakfast
The sun was just about to peek over the horizon as the two battleships exited the baths. Iowa grinned as she stretched, luxuriously. Final checks were complete and her crew was reporting a hundred percent all across the board. Breakfast was calling, but there was something she had to do first.
Marching out to the end of the pier, she made it just in time as the first rays of light shone over the water. The sensation was wonderful! The warmth touched her skin, yet reaching deeper to the cold steel of her hull; the newly repaired sections shining bright under the sun. It filled her with a sense of hope and vitality; a battleship fresh from dry dock, ready to face the world again.
It was a moment of peace where few existed in her life.
Smiling, she watched the sun creep higher, before glancing over at Musashi.
In her defense, she had tried to get him back in the baths, but not even the promise of two full trays could sway the battleship. He was determined to fill his holds himself, even if it killed him.
As a hungry capital ship herself, she could respect that. She didn't like it, but she could respect that.
So determined, in fact, he nearly walked out buck-ass nude. He looked incredibly sheepish when she pointed it ou, and thus began the search for clothes. Which turned out to be much more difficult than anticipated.
Finding the garments wasn't an issue; a large closet was built into the changing room with an assortment of robes, sweatpants, and shirts. Not the most appealing attire, but if you were soaking after a long patrol and forgot a change of clothes, they were a godsend. They had sizes from destroyers up to Yamato.
But while Yamato's hips were impressive, they were nothing to the sheer girth of Musashi's waist. The largest sweatpants barely managed to fit, and the elastics were stretched beyond saving.
They had to give up on the shirts, though. Nothing was wide enough to fit that broad chest of his. Eventually, Musashi got fed up with waiting; ripped off some sleaves, and fashioned an open vest that was decent enough... if you excused the blatant display of abs.
They didn't even bother about shoes, nothing would fit that foot size. And Musashi seemed to have no problem going barefoot. Even on the concrete.
To Iowa's surprise, a single tear was rolling down his cheek as he basked in the morning light. It was eerie; the sun shone off the jagged rents in his hull. Damage so severe he shouldn't even be alive... yet the man stood tall, his expression one of pure relief as the sun touched his face.
"I thought I'd never see it again," he whispered.
Iowa gave him a comforting pat on the back. "Feels good, doesn't it?"
"You have no idea..."
He looked down, his face slowly clouded with uncertainty as she stared at his calloused palms. A small, red mark on his left hand caught Iowa's attention before his trembling fists closed. He looked so lost, so confused... only to jump slightly as Iowa took his hands in her own. She smiled gently up at him.
But by damn was it hard to meet his eyes. It wasn't his distress – that she could easily handle – it was the shattered, empty bridge hiding behind the skin that made her nervous.
He shouldn't have been awake, he shouldn't even be walking! And yet he was. By all due rights, one of his eyes shouldn't even exist! His human body seemed separate from his hull entirely. It was uncanny, seeing human skin begin where the steel of a battleship ended. It made even less sense than warships coming back as girls.
As horrifying as his condition was, Iowa refused to let it bother her. She could only imagine what the battleship was going through. He overcame unbeatable odds only to wake up in a strange place with a vessel that had once been his enemy. And she could only guess at his mental state.
Seriously, a Japanese battleship who couldn't speak Japanese? There were summoning oddballs, to be sure; especially with the USN. USS San Francisco came to mind, returning as Japanese-American, and with all the baggage that implied for a WW2 era cruiser.
Sometimes girls didn't come back as you expected. That was just a fact.
This, however, was every summoning shenanigan taken to the extreme. Had it been an unlucky roll of the dice or was there something else at play? A part of Musashi's history that not even the rest of his fleet knew? It was impossible to say.
While she had to admit the others had due cause to be concerned, their reluctance still pissed her off. This man was a hero, had saved their entire country, and they were treating him like a leper!
And Iowa could see the worry behind his eyes; staring down at his hands as if he couldn't believe this was happening.
"Hey... everything's going to be okay," she said, softly. "We'll get you through his, okay?"
The man looked torn, pulling his hands away to clench them at his sides.
"Do you want to go back to the baths? Offer still stands. I can bring you a tray if you want?" Despite it being against the rules, she was sure they could be bent in this case.
Musashi snorted. "I think I need a doctor more than a bath. But, no. Food first."
Grinning to mask a twinge of unease, Iowa grabbed his hand and led him toward the mess hall. "Well, someone has his priorities straight! We'll grab a quick bite then get you back on the mend. I know the Admiral wanted to see you when you woke up, but I think we can push that meeting back just a bit. We'll fill those holds first, yeah?"
Actually, the Admiral was in a meeting with the Canadians when Iowa radioed in to inform him. Probably about that poor shumck still running about. Ooyoda said she would pass on her message as Nagato was out cold at her desk. Akashi was undergoing an Admiral mandated nap. The poor girls had been working non-stop for weeks now. Basically, when the brass was away the battleships would play!
Innuendos aside, as the present authority, she was handling the situation as best she could. She'd get him fed and then back in the baths before anyone could blink.
"The Admiral?" Musashi deadpanned. "Ah, shit. I didn't expect this to go up this high."
"Well, you did save the entire country. Besides, he's not that bad. The Admiralty has changed a lot since the 1940s, it might take you a while to get used to."
"That's not..." he cut himself off. "No, food. Everything else can wait."
Iowa laughed at that. At least some things never changed; the ravenous hunger of a battleship for one.
However, when she looked back, Musashi's expression almost wiped the cheer from her face. She only managed to keep her smile up so as not to make him feel uncomfortable, although she doubted he even noticed.
Desperation. Iowa didn't know how else to describe it. She had seen hungry carriers coming back from patrol ready to eat their own escorts. But this was a kind of desperation that not even Akagi could come close to, and it was so unlike a newly summoned shipgirl.
He didn't even question the fact that he needed to eat food now. And aside from asking about the hollowness of hunger, Musashi didn't look starved or racked by hunger pains, no, and that was the most unsettling part. He walked with a limp, but his shoulders were back and his head held high; eyes fixed straight ahead. He looked... hopeful, and yet, haunted. As though he couldn't believe he was being fed, but the mere prospect of food was keeping him going past his limits.
Another oddity that Iowa refused to let bother her. The battleship deserved better than suspicion. Brightening her smile, she guided him towards the mess hall.
It was one of the largest buildings on the base; less of a kitchen and more an of entire complex dedicated to keeping the protectors of Japan fed. The mess hall and conjoined kitchen occupied a good third of the building, with the rest being dedicated to coolers, pantries, and offices. It could very well double as a secondary HQ for how much administration went on behind closed doors.
As they got closer, the base started to come to life around them. In the distance, Iowa could hear the shouts of a morning PT session. But there were still dozens streaming towards the mess hall. Service men, Marines, and Sailors, mostly. All the same, it warmed her heart to see the stars and strips intermingled with the rising sun.
Oh, how things had changed...
The Americans gave her causal salutes – she was never big on it anyway – while the Japanese gave her polite nods. At least, that's how it usually went.
Not today.
Their eyes were drawn to the towering form of Musashi without exception, shying away from the giant. And for how much Iowa wanted to give them a piece of her mind, it was neither the time nor the place.
"In we go!" she said, holding the doors open so Musashi could shuffle inside. He had to duck his head to avoid bashing the top of the doorframe. Once his broad shoulders were inside, Iowa led him down the central hallway, passing countless placards, pictures, and awards that plastered the walls. It gave some life to the dull, grey-painted corridors.
But now Iowa was feeling a new sense of unease the closer they got to the wide, double doors leading into the mess hall proper. There would undoubtedly be girls up for breakfast; another patrol was leaving later this morning and another was set to return.
And now that Musashi was awake, Iowa wondered how he would react to their stand-offish behavior. That would be a blow to his pride if ever there was one.
But there was no time to second guess herself now.
With confidence she didn't fully feel, Iowa threw the doors open, allowing the delicious scent of breakfast to wash over her. "And here we are!" she crowed, stepping aside so Musashi could limp in.
Instantly, the eyes of every man, woman, and shipgirl were fixed upon them. Reactions were mixed.
The humans quickly went back to eating, filling the room with chatter once again when they realized nothing was amiss. Although, quite a few were interested, if only because Iowa was chaperoning the guy around. Already she could hear the rumour mill beginning to churn.
The ship-girls, however, were another story.
Iowa saw the Fusuo sisters freeze like deer in headlights. Yuudachi's spoon dropped into her overflowing bowl of cereal. Hiei looked stunned speechless. A dozen others gaped in shock.
Akagi had stopped eating entirely.
All were staring at Musashi with a mixture of horror and dread.
Again, Iowa had to bite back the urge to shout. Way to welcome back a returning hero, guys. All the same, she looked over to apologize for the rest of the fleet... and balked.
Nothing.
Musashi hadn't even twitched at their reactions. But even more unsettling, as he glanced about, his gaze sliding from one ship-girl to the next... No reaction. No joy, no relief at seeing old friends back from the grave. Nothing. His eyes glazed over Akagi as if she wasn't even there, then settled on the kitchen, that strange desperation intensifying.
Iowa chuckled, although it was more forced this time. "Okay, big guy, let's fill those bunkers, yeah?"
No response. Iowa couldn't help but feel uneasy as she led him past the waiting food line. Shipgirls always got top priority in the kitchens. But as she stopped to grab a tray, Musashi kept on going, heading straight to the wide alcove where all the drink machines were kept and stopped dead before the giant vat of coffee.
For a long moment, he just stared at it, before grabbing the largest mug available. Iowa saw his hands trembling as he poured a cup, then brought the steaming beverage up to his nose. He breathed in the scent, then downed the entire mug in a few large gulps.
The battleship shuddered, almost gasping for air as the last drop went down his throat. He mouthed words that Iowa couldn't make out, before filling the mug again and draining it in the same manner.
This time, Iowa couldn't hide the awkwardness in her chuckle as she guided him back towards the plates. "Trust me, it tastes better with breakfast."
But... how did he know what coffee was? Hadn't it been banned in Japan during the war? Moreover, how had he known how to get it?
Iowa couldn't help but glance back at the coffee machine. It was a fairly modern design, a far cry from what would have been available in the 1940s, even in America. To say nothing about Japan! But Musashi had identified it, used it, and drank coffee like water. He shouldn't even have known what the stuff was.
Something wasn't right about that. Sure, she gave everyone else shit for being suspicious, but now she was starting to see the point.
Turning back around, she got another unpleasant surprise. Musashi was already in line; tray, plate, and utensils in hand as he worked his way down the food line. He didn't speak, just took whatever was offered... which was everything. A lot of everything.
She... hadn't shown him how to do that. Usually, newly summoned girls, especially Japanese vessels, needed a crash course on how modern food lines worked. Their reactions were priceless, from destroyers to battleships; squealing or making cute faces at every new thing they experienced.
Musashi exhibited none of that childlike wonder. He worked his way down the line with mechanical precision, never stopping to question what a machine was or how it worked.
Iowa couldn't help but watch nervously as she filled her own plates when Musashi stopped before the self-serve toaster station. He examined the different kinds of bread on display, then reached past them for the bagels.
Okay, she was sure Japan didn't have bagels back then. His selection was too deliberate to be experimentation. Neither was his choice of Nutella. That, she knew for a fact, hadn't existed in the 1940s!
Iowa cast a worried look over her shoulder. The others were in much the same state of fear and confusion. Something about this wasn't right!
Food in hand, Iowa led Musashi to an open table, silently. She was too uneasy to speak now. It didn't help that Kanmusu had a section of tables set aside just for them. As Musashi sat, everyone collectively scooted away from him. And even Iowa had to muster the nerve to sit opposite him.
But Musashi seemed completely oblivious to the ostracization of his fleet mates. He stared down at his meal, that same unnerving desperation coming to the forefront. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed dryly, then speared a piece of bacon with his fork.
The first bite caused his expression to melt; all the desperation rushed out in a surge of emotion. For a moment, Iowa thought he was actually going to cry. Then he pulled himself together, meeting her eyes with an expression of pure relief.
"Sorry... I thought I'd never have bacon again," he whispered, before returning to his meal.
Again?
What did he mean 'again'?!
Glancing over Musashi's shoulder – a challenging feat in itself – Iowa shared a nervous look with Hiei. The fast battleship was speechless, her teacup hanging loosely in her hand, its contents spilled across the table. It spoke to the severity of the situation that the Kongou-Class hadn't even noticed the loss of her hot leaf juice. She hadn't even bristled when Iowa referred to it as such.
They seemed to have a sixth sense regarding that kind of thing. The fact it didn't go off made the situation even worse.
Shaking herself back to the present, Iowa picked up her fork and began attacking her own meal; hunger winning out over her worry.
It was surreal. The enlisted members didn't have a clue what was going on; their chatter drifted over to fill the awkward silence hanging in the shipgirl's seating area. In fact, the only thing they seemed to be aware of was that some lucky bastard had managed to sit with the Kanmusu at all! Unless you were specifically invited, the tables were usually off-limits to humans.
They didn't understand what was going on. They couldn't! They couldn't see the broken battleship barely hanging on by a thread. Just a hulk of a man who was lucky enough to sit next to Iowa. A few Marines were giving him envious looks and even the Japanese members were muttering about the 'lucky gaijin.'
Honestly, Musashi's ability to remain obvious to it all was impressive. So fixated on each bite that nothing else seemed to matter, savoring every crumb as if it would be his last.
It was weirdly fascinating to watch; so much so, Iowa barely noticed finishing her mountain of pancakes. Her stomach rumbled for seconds, but she couldn't tear her eyes away from Musashi as he ate. The minutes felt like hours until the last morsel vanished into the battleship's gullet, and even then he attacked the plate with a spoon, going after the leftover syrup and grease as though it was soup.
Only once the plate was scraped clean, literally, did the battleship set down his utensils. His face was a rollercoaster of emotion as he stared down at his tray. Whatever was going on in that head of his didn't take long to come out.
"Okay, might as well get this over this..." he muttered, rolling his shoulders before meeting Iowa's eyes with a grim finality. "Breakfast was great... but I need you to take me to the MPs."
Out of every possibility she expected, that hadn't even made this list! The nervous tension made her chuckle. "The MPs? W-What, you mean the... Military Police?"
"Yep," he nodded, completely serious.
"Uh... why?"
Musashi sighed, deeply, rubbing his hands down his face. "Okay... here comes the shitstorm..."
At the same time, a fairy stepped out onto his shoulder. And then Iowa was staring for an entirely different reason.
Seeing a fairy so disheveled was almost as shocking as Musashi's lack of a rack. Her Captain's cap was askew, her jacket unbuttoned and ruffled, and had the worst case of bedhead Iowa had ever seen. She looked completely out of it; the picture-perfect example of an officer running on less than two hours of sleep, clutching a tiny tin cup as though her life depended on it.
She appeared a little confused at the beverage, as though she had never seen coffee before. In stark contrast to Musashi's familiarity. She sniffed it, wrinkled her little nose, and took an experimental sip. Her lips smacked once, twice, then a shiver went down her body, starting from the tips of her hair, down to her feet stubs, then back up again.
She smacked her lips a third time, then gazed down at her cup with a newfound sense of appreciation.
Then the fairy caught sight of Iowa, and her tiny eyes narrowed, suspiciously. They narrowed even further when her gaze trailed down to Musashi's empty plate.
All the while, Musashi was collecting himself, seemingly oblivious to his fairy's presence. "Right... might as well rip off the band-aid."
He straightened. "So... I apologize, but I haven't been entirely truthful with you."
"You don't say..." Iowa said, quietly.
He winced. "Ye~ah..." His finger drummed the table, seemingly working up the confidence to continue. Finally, he met her eyes. At the same time, his Captain got tired of being ignored.
"I'm not-"
"Desu!"
Musashi lurched, sending his fairy flying as he lept away from the tiny voice. His knees bashed the underside of the table, sending dishes crashing to the floor. The fairy flew through the air with a scream towards Iowa, bouncing off her bosom before slapping face first into the table with a tiny 'oof.'
The abrupt noise silenced the mess hall; heads swiveling to follow the source.
For her part, Iowa was to taken aback to move as the fairy jumped up and unleashed a torrent of abuse at her battleship, screaming at the top of her little lungs.
But Musashi's reaction was the most bewildering. He had backed away from the tiny creature, staring wide-eyed as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing. Only once the Captain had paused in her rant did he find his voice.
"G-Gremlin?!"
For some reason, he pawed around his waist, then he glanced over both shoulders, trying to see down his back. When he found nothing, he stared down at the fairy with a fresh look of confusion. "Where the hell did you come from?"
"Desu!!" the tiny fairy screamed, jabbing a stub in his direction as if trying to spear him through.
However, her demands were pretty reasonable. That was nowhere near enough intake to fill his holds, you overgrown-
The impressive stream of profanity continued, but it might as well have been directed at a brick wall. Musashi stared, blankly.
Grinding her teeth, the Captain turned, and Iowa almost flinched as those beady eyes fixed on her. The resemblance to an angry Admiral was uncanny.
"Desu!" the Captain shouted, commanding the American to feed her battleship, or so help her, Musashi would eat the Iowa instead! Threat delivered, she crossed her stubs and nodded resolutely.
Silence reigned over the mess hall.
Finally, Musashi spoke. "Did... did you catch a word of that?"
"She said you're going to eat me," Iowa said, flatly.
The fairy gaped at her, then erupted into another rant; demanding to know why none of them spoke Japanese! They were on Japanese soil; why couldn't they all speak normally?! Why was an Iowa here in the first place?
She began to pace back and forth across the table, her shouts getting louder as her frustration mounted. However cute a three-inch blob throwing a fit was, the circumstances were too bewildering to be funny.
And then, Musashi's words finally registered.
"Wait... you don't understand her?"
"I don't even know what that thing is," he replied, shaking his head. "I... I thought it was taken away with the battleship, what's it doing here?"
"The battleship?" There was something wrong with the way he said it. Sure, Yamato sometimes referred to herself in the third person, as did plenty of others, but this was different. "What do you mean... the battleship?"
"You know, the thing!" He motioned around his waist again. "Big metal thing, big guns, stuck to your back. Cut down battleship and all that... you know, that thing!"
"You mean, your rigging?"
He merely shrugged. "Sure, if you call it that. I thought it was taken away, but why'd they leave Gremlin?"
"Desu!" the fairy screamed up at him, shaking a tiny fist. Musashi spread his arm helplessly as the orders to replenish his stores fell on seemingly deaf ears.
"I like you too, but how did you get here!?"
"She... she's your Captain," Iowa said, dumbly. The misunderstanding about rigging was... sort of understandable. Finding pieces of your old anatomy attached to your new anatomy was weird when you first experienced it. But Musashi's reaction took it to a whole new level.
But his blank stare caused her heart to sink. "My what?"
And as if things couldn't get any worse, the doors to the mess hall slammed open, embedding themselves in the wall. Every man, woman, and ship-girl alike felt a shiver go up their spines at the one sight you never wanted to see;
An irate repair ship.
"Where. Is. He?" Akashi hissed, with enough malice to put a Princess to shame. Her ruffled clothes and the deep bags under her eyes only intensified her terrifying image. And that was just for the humans! Akashi's cranes twitched madly like an angry spider, and her favorite wrench was in hand, ready to smite whoever got in her way.
Instinctively, everyone pointed at Musashi. To his credit, the battleship didn't even flinch as Akashi's furious gaze was leveled at him. But his confusion wasn't very comforting either.
"You..." Akashi seethed, raising the wrench to eye level to point it accusingly. "Why aren't you in the baths?"
Silence reigned. Never taking his eyes off the furious repair ship, Musashi leaned down and whispered. "Hey, Iowa? Quick favor; who is that and why is she mad at me?"
Iowa felt the shock ripple through the nearby shipgirls, and she wasn't much better. She had hoped that his lack of recognition was just his hunger talking, but now... he didn't even recognize Akashi?! His own repair ship? What was going on?
"That... that's Akashi," she whispered.
"Akashi? Okay." He nodded, although it was clear the name meant nothing to him. "And what is she saying, exactly?"
Their interactions in the baths came rushing back. His claims of not understanding Japanese. To her horror, Iowa realized Askashi was speaking in her native tongue! By now, Yokosuka was like a second home to the American battleship; she could switch between English and Japanese without a second thought! She understood Akashi just fine, but Musashi... he really had no idea.
Deep down, she was hoping it was some sort of joke. Iowa didn't know what to say to that, and Akashi was tired of being ignored.
"You," she hissed again, still speaking in Japanese as she stalked forward. Her flats echoed in the completely silent hall, no one daring to speak over her as she squared up to the oblivious battleship. "What do you think you're doing?"
Musashi's eyes flicked down to Iowa, silently asking for help. When none came, he took a breath. "I'm sorry, but I do not speak Japanese, and I do not know what you're saying."
"What do you mean you don't speak Japanese," Akashi whispered through gritted teeth, thankfully in English. It wasn't a question; more a righteous indignation directed at an insubordinate patient. That alone seemed to override any confusion over what exactly his words meant.
Doc boat was mad, and the patient wasn't listening.
Never a good combination.
A bomb could have gone off and nobody would have reacted. Iowa was frozen in place. It was like watching Titanic all over again; seeing the disaster unfold and unable to do anything but watch.
"I don't speak Japanese," Musashi repeated. "It's as simple as that."
"Then let me make it even simpler," Akashi snarled, jabbing her wrench towards his chest. "I just spent the last six hours replacing your boilers! What do you think you're doing walking around like this?!"
Musashi frowned. "My what?"
Akashi flushed angrily, steam looked ready to escape her ears.
"Desu!" the Captain shouted from the table, only adding to the madness.
"Don't backtalk me!" the repair ship shouted back, making the tiny creature jump back. "I spent the last five days making sure he doesn't fall apart!"
"Desu!"
The shouting match was broken abruptly as Musashi stepped between them, fixing Akashi with a pointed look. "What do you mean my boilers?" he demanded. "Do I look like a steam engine to you?"
There was something so profoundly wrong with that question. Under normal circumstances, Iowa would have laughed it off. A steam engine, indeed. But the situation was too far gone for anything to be considered remotely humorous.
The shouts were getting louder; Akashi listing off all the damages one by one, and the battleship demanding to know what the hell she was talking about!
Couldn't he see himself? Couldn't he feel his body hanging together through the perseverance of a few rivets and welds?
Iowa was scared now. A rare thing for a battleship to admit, but she didn't know what to do. Nothing was adding up, nothing about him was making sense! The entire mess hall was spellbound as the two vessels continued to lay into each other. Akashi demanded he get back in the baths and Musashi claimed that she wasn't a real doctor and couldn't order him to do anything! She certainly wasn't dressed like one!
And then... Iowa didn't know what happened.
Maybe it was frustration on Akashi's part; despite her anger and threatening wrench, she was still a caring soul at heart. Never would she even dream of smacking a wounded ship with it. Nonetheless, whether it was pent-up frustration or something else doing the swinging; the wrench came down in an arc.
And whether or not the battleship interpreted it as an attack or it being pure chance alone; Musashi's arm came up to intercept it.
The two met in the middle with a clang.
To a normal battleship, it would have been less than a bug bite. But as broken as he was, Musashi was vulnerable. And that light tap was all it took.
Welds sheered. Iowa watched in horrified fascination as a whole section of Musashi's hull fell away. To the human observers, his forearm snapped in half. The strange thing was that his skin held together for a brief moment before tearing like soft rubber, allowing the severed forearm to fall to the ground.
The pair stopped fighting, staring down at the detached limb, until Akashi picked up the slack.
"Now look what you've done!" she growled. Her voice was furious, but the care she took when picking up the twitching hand was genuine. She examined it carefully, trying to decide if it could be salvaged. "Are you asking to be scrapped? Huh?! Is that what you want?!"
But Musashi was silent. He stared at his dismembered limb, as if not believing it was real. Then he began to tremble. His breath rattled through his chest as he stared at his hand, then slowly brought the severed stump of his arm up to eye level.
Twisted metal, sparking wires, hissing pipes, and empty corridors meet his gaze. The paradox that defined Kanmusu was on full display. An entire swath of battleship crammed into a hole just larger than a baseball. It was a hard sight for anyone to process, humans especially.
But Musashi's expression was something Iowa had never seen before.
The blood had drained from his face, making it appear cold and waxy. Even his beard seemed to lose its color. His eyes were wide; the pupils were nothing but pinpricks in a sea of white. A wax statue would have been more lifelike than him.
"What have you done to me?" he whispered, voice weak, but it still managed to echo around the silent mess hall.
Akashi seemed to realize something was wrong. The anger vanished and she spoke softly. "I'm trying to help you. Let's just get you back to the baths, and-"
"What have you done to me?" He repeated, weakly. He didn't seem to hear her at all. Even his voice seemed to be dying in his throat. His whole body was shaking as he tore his eyes away from the stump to fix the repair ship with a haunting look. "What have you-"
And then something inside him seemed to snap.
Pain shot across his face as he fell to his knees, clutching his temples with a tight groan. The moment passed quickly, but when he looked back at Akashi, his expression made Iowa's blood run cold.
Terror. Pure terror.
"What are you?" he whispered, shakily getting back to his feet, swaying dangerously. "What have you done to me?"
"Musashi..." Akashi tried to say but was forced to step back as the walking wreck lurched towards her.
"What have you done to me...?" His voice was rising, but not a single trace of anger was present. Only fear so profound Iowa found herself rooted to the spot, unable to act as the battleship loomed above Akashi. His entire body shuddered down to his keel, that awful expression still rooted on his face. "What have you done to me?"
"Musashi, please, you need to-"
His remaining hand shot out and closed around her throat. Akashi squealed as she was lifted off the ground, holding onto his wrist for dear life as she was pulled face-to-face with the mad battleship.
Reality itself seemed to ripple as his rigging manifested, hanging off his back in a mangled heap. His remaining turrets twitched, their bend barrels shuddering in their housing as Musashi's broken hull struggled to hold together as he descended into full panic.
"What have you done to me?!" he screamed in Akashi's face. "What have you done?!"
This finally broke the onlookers out of their stupor. The mess hall erupted in noise as everyone jumped to their feet.
Iowa shoved the table aside, her rigging instinctively forming around her. As she went to separate them, those awful eyes whirled upon her. Terror and pain mixed into an expression Iowa couldn't even describe, freezing her in place.
That was all the time it took for Musashi to act. With strength defying his broken body, he heaved and sent Akashi flying. The repair ship screamed as she flew through the air, colliding with Iowa and sending them both crashing to the ground.
As the pair struggled to untangle themselves, Musashi ran for the door, staggering like a drunk. His rigging swayed dangerously, fresh repairs threatening to snap as he forced his broken body to run. He lunged for the door, missed, and crashed through the wall instead, leaving a shower of dust and splinters in his wake.
"You okay?" Iowa asked, getting back to her feet and helping Akashi stand. The repair ship was shaken, massaging her throat.
"I-I was only trying to help... I was only trying to help." She seemed to snap back to reality. "We have to stop him before he shakes himself to pieces! He's not supposed to be walking, what were you thinking?!"
"I thought I had it under control," Iowa grimaced.
"Obviously not!"
"Desu!"
The brewing argument was interrupted by a tiny shout. The Captain - who had been forgotten by her vessel in the chaos - was waddling across the floor as fast as she could, shouting for Musashi to come back.
"Okay... just stay behind me until he calms down! I'm not letting anyone else get hurt on my watch, okay?" With that, Iowa charged after the fleeing battleship, scooping up the fairy as she passed.
Nothing about this was making sense. She didn't know what the hell made Musashi go crazy, but she couldn't let this escalate further!
"Hmmm!" Walking on her tiptoes, Ikazuchi thrust her nose into the air, sniffing. Finding something she liked, she smiled, nose leading the way. "They're having American breakfast again! Come on!"
Leading the charge, Ikazuchi sped off, followed by a blushing Akatsuki claiming that tip-toeing while running wasn't ladylike. Of course, Ikazuchi's rebuttable that dancers did it all the time caused the two to descend into an argument, which was broken up by Hibiki with a few blunt words.
And all before Inazuma was given the chance to get upset.
Blink and you would have missed it. It was enough to leave an old cruiser like her on the horizon.
Tenryuu stretched, feeling her spine pop back into place. The sooner she could get back to a regular sleep schedule the better.
And better than that; getting a regular patrol schedule again.
Smacking her lips, hungrily, she did her best to put a spring in her step as she followed her girls. It wouldn't do for the badass to look so dreary right before a mission! That determination lasted up until she had to stifle another yawn.
Eh, who was she kidding. Being a badass could wait until coffee was had.
As she trailed behind the rambunctious destroyers, Tenryuu noticed they had stalled at the front doors to the mess hall. Not unusual; sibling spats had a habit of stopping everything in their tracks. However, this time they weren't arguing, or even talking to each other. Instead, they were staring through the glass, as still as statues.
There was some sort of commotion going on inside, but at this distance, Tenryuu couldn't make it out.
The first indication that something was wrong was when Hibiki grabbed Ikazuchi and Inazuma, throwing them all out of the way as something came barrelling out of the mess hall at top speed.
But Akatsuki…
Tenryuu watched it happen in slow motion. The doors were thrown open with such force the glass cracked. The destroyer jumped back with a cry, but there was no stopping the twisted wreck of Musashi as he came barrelling out.
Time seemed to slow before Tenryuu's eyes. She could feel herself speeding up as she realized Musushi wasn't stopping, heading straight for her daughter.
As Akatsuki scrambled to get out of the way, Musashi's arm lashed out in a wild swing, catching the poor destroyer on the cheek. His sheer mass alone sent the destroyer flying.
As the clang rang out, all Tenyruu saw was red.
William staggered, almost falling to his knees as his body convulsed. The hollowness… his arm…
What had they done to his arm?!
Every time he looked at his stump the world twisted and morphed before his eyes; as though something larger than life was pushing through into the real world. His only comfort was that the pain was far too real to be any sort of illusion. His brain felt like it was swimming in acid. Like the Song had come back to haunt him!
One look at his severed limb shattered what little control he had, allowing the hollowness to rush in, filling his entire being. He couldn't push it away, it was a part of him now! As if a curtain had been pulled back and he couldn't shut it out! Sensations he couldn't describe pulsed in his chest. Clangs, the hissing of steam, the shouts of voices echoing from inside him! His chest felt like an ant hill; tiny feet scurrying around inside him.
It was everything he'd experienced fighting the Abyssal dialed up to eleven. None of it felt right! None of it felt human!
And his heart… his heart was gone. There was no pounding beat in his ears; only an endless whirring sound, punctuated by the crackle of flames.
What had they done to him? What was happening?!
He staggered onward, not knowing where to go, just acting on the overwhelming fear pushing him on. Each step sent tremors down his legs; his bones felt ready to snap!
He could feel the weight of the battleship on his back, with no idea where it had come from! Its broken booms wrapped around him once more. He could feel it like it was a part of his own body! Each torn sheet of metal ached and burned.
Nothing was right! Nothing made sense! What was happening to him?!
And Iowa…
He shuddered, losing himself in the terror for a split second.
Iowa wasn't human. Neither was that Akaski, none of them were!
The hollowness had opened his eyes and he saw them for what they truly were: Vast, metallic forms compressed down into something resembling a human shape, flickering back and forth between steel and flesh. Things of impossible sizes standing right in front of him!
Just like the Abyssals… just like that bitch that had almost killed him!
William staggered, mind reeling. He couldn't focus, he could barely even think!
The glass doors were right in front of him, the sunlight from outside streaming in. Something was lurking on the other side, he could see it, but the promise of escape was too tempting!
He threw the doors open, coming face to face with another of those things. He didn't think; his arm lashed out, knocking it to the side with a feminine cry.
That broke him out of his stupor. It didn't sound like a woman, no, it sounded like a young girl! Barely even a teenager! But when he looked down he couldn't make sense of it. The metallic mass at his feet was crumpled and warped where his fist had landed. But for the life of him, he couldn't tell where the cry had come from! The thing at his feet clearly wasn't human!
"Kono yarō!"
The shout made him whirl around. His heart – if it was even still there – sank. Another one of those things was charging at him, its form flickering between a young woman in purple and black and a hulking shape barrelling toward him at top speed.
But it was the face that froze him in place. As her – it's? - form flickered back and forth, a terrified visage was mirrored back at him. Anger and worry mixed so thoroughly that it reminded him of his mother when he used to do something dangerously stupid.
Instinctively, he tried to back away, getting his feet tangled up in the mass at his feet.
"Kanojo kara hanarete kudasai!"
As off balance as he was, its shove sent William toppling over. The battleship shattered again as he landed flat on his back. Agony pulsed through his body; it felt like a part of him had been torn to shreds! Something cracked in his spine and all sensation in his legs went out like a light.
As stars danced before his eyes, he tried to recover, pushing himself away with his hands to get some distance.
He shouldn't have bothered.
The same woman/metal monstrosity was kneeling at his feet, cradling the smaller one. It was difficult to properly gauge her expression; one moment he'd be watching lips move, and the next he'd be staring at a wall of steel, interspaced with square windows. It… vaguely reminded him of the bridge of the battleship.
But when its... eyes, windows - whatever they were - turned to glare at him, there was a familiar maternal fury burning there.
A fury that vanished just as quickly as it appeared. Her mouth was open but not a word came out as she stared down at him, stunned speechless.
"Ā... Ā, nante kotoda... Gomen'nasai..."
Dazed and confused, pushing himself away, the only thought William could muster was why couldn't he feel his legs?
Then he followed her gaze… and the whole world seemed to fall away.
There were his legs, and a good chunk of his torso, lying on the concrete a fair distance from the rest of his body. But knowing that he'd been broken in half was nothing compared to the sight awaiting him.
He was no stranger to death, even before joining the military. Growing up on a farm acclimatized you to a lot of things. Death was a fact of life. Rot and decay were just part of the cycle you relied on. He couldn't count the number of times he'd run into a dead or dying animal. It was always a somber experience. It gave a deeper understanding of what life was, and how easily it could be lost.
At the end of the day, you were still just meat. A living thing made of organs, tissue, and blood, just with a higher intelligence than the ones around you. And with enough force, those organs inside you could be spread around as easily as road kill. Intelligence be damned.
William had lived with that understanding his whole life. But as he looked down at his severed torso, expecting to see his blood pooling on the ground…
There was no red... no slimy entrails, nothing that denoted a living thing. Just... grey.
His breath caught in his throat.
In the hollow of his torso, where there should have been flesh, there was nothing but grey steel. His organs simply didn't exist! The same effect that roiled up from his stump now filled his chest cavity, expanding into a confusing hellscape of pipes, bulkheads, and corridors. There was nothing real about his insides at all!
But worse were the eyes.
There were dozens of them. Hundreds. Creatures just like Gremlin, each dressed in a tiny uniform, staring back at him, their beady eyes wide with shock. They had been inside him the whole time!
It was too much.
After everything he'd been through, everything he'd endured… William gave in to his terror, opened his mouth, and screamed.
"...and that is the last of my interactions with him," Commander Gengyo finished, leaving the conference call in contemplative silence.
At the very least, Goto appreciated knowing the full series of events. He only wished he'd taken the time to look through his email more thoroughly. It had taken Ooyoda a solid minute to stop him from bashing a hole in his desk with his forehead after realizing his mistake. Admiral Suzu's email would have saved him many headaches… if he'd had the common sense to read the damn thing!
But now that he had access to the bigger picture, things were only becoming more complicated.
"And following that, he beat back the Abyssals before being taken in by your fleet. That is correct, Admiral Goto?"
On his computer screen, the multiple windows shuffled for a moment before settling on Major Simms. A rather rotund man with a balding head and glasses, he didn't fit the traditional image of an intelligence officer. His eyes, though, told a different story; brightening with each new detail that came to light.
"That is correct," Goto nodded. "Although we weren't aware of his identity at the time. He had suffered so much damage that Akashi was afraid he wouldn't make it all, let alone verify it was actually Musashi."
Simms nodded, thoughtfully, his eyes flicking away to glance at something off-screen. "Well, it's a working timeline, but that hardly clears up anything."
"Is he alright?" asked another voice, the screen settling on a broad-shouldered officer who looked like he spent every spare hour in the gym. Despite his intimidating appearance, combined with a perfectly hairless head, Col Horton's face was full of concern.
"He's recovering physically. Beyond that, I can't say," Goto replied.
He'd received Iowa's message ten minutes ago. While he was loathed to allow food in the repair baths again, he'd make an exception in his case. Though he desperately wanted answers, better to take things slowly and smoothly. There would be time. Not as much as he would have liked, but he had some. And with the man now awake, he'd get them shortly.
The Minister of Defense was getting impatient, as was Parliament as a whole. Musashi was a national hero; everyone was waiting for answers with bated breath. Will 'she' live? What does 'she' look like? The list went on.
All the while were questions about what would be done about their 'rogue Canadian.'
The Canadian embassy was silent on the matter, waiting for direction from their government, who in turn was waiting on advisement from the Minister of National Defense. It was a long line of dominoes; questions filtered down through the layers of government, all centered around a man who had been reported missing years ago!
Meanwhile, as Japan stewed in anticipation, he was trying to keep a lid on the conversation until he had something more to give them than a generic update on Musashi's health. No doubt the reactions would be explosive, but what else could he do? Best approach the situation on his own terms, even if that meant the Prime Minister was breathing down his neck.
It was a delicate situation, and thankfully the Canadians realized this as well. The meeting's attendance had been shrunk down to the bare essentials, leaving Goto face to face with Canada's Chief of Defense Staff, General Nichols, the lead investigator of the case, Simms, and Corporal Morgan's old CO.
On his part, Goto had done his best to bring as much information to the table. Admiral Suzu was in attendance, with Commander Gengyo joining him on the same monitor. The CO of the radar installations was a little nervous at first about the secrecy of the whole matter, but ultimately, he was in the same position as Goto.
He had wanted to include Nagato as well, but the battleship had sat at her desk to finish some reports before the call started. She was asleep not two minutes later and Goto didn't have the heart to wake her up. He'd bring her into the loop when she wasn't dead on her feet. Preferably with Musashi in tow.
A tight exhale came over the call as General Nichols shifted in his seat, forcing the conference call to switch to him. "Okay. So where does that leave us now? A week ago I expected to nail this man to the wall, but according to everything you've told us, Admiral, he's a hero."
"That's… difficult to say." Goto took a deep breath. "The public has been wiped up into a frenzy; they either see him as an attention seeking impersonator at best or an Abyssal plant at worst."
"But in reality, he's the battleship that just saved all of Japan," Horton finished tightly.
"Exactly."
"Oh boy..." Horton sighed, massaging his temples. "That's going to be a wild story to break."
"And only complicates things further," Nichols said, his expression grim. "We're not just dealing with a potential fugitive, but one who's also a Japanese battleship. That'll be a mess of its own."
"Is he a fugitive, though?" Maj Simm's words silenced everyone. "Just pointing out an observation, but the first thing Morgan did was submit himself to the authorities and made no attempt to conceal his identity. That doesn't fit the actions of a fugitive at all... although it does lead to some conflicting behaviors on his part."
Goto held up a hand. "Excuse me, I have a few questions of my own. For starters, who is Cpl Morgan exactly? I found his obituary online, but it seems there's more to this story that you haven't told me yet."
"Quite." Major Simms said, leaning back in his chair. "The truth is, Admiral, that Cpl Morgan went missing almost seven years ago."
Goto's brow furrowed. "That's it?"
"In simple terms; yes. However, it's the nature of his disappearance that makes his case so interesting. In fact, it's one of the most famous modern missing person cases in Canada. He just... vanished."
"Vanished?" Goto echoed, skeptically.
"I know it sounds impossible, but it's the truth. As simple as it gets," said Horton. "This happened back in 2019, I was CO of Second Battalion at the time. We were going through an exercise, nothing too fancy; just recce a target before smashing it with a mechanized company. Morgan was a part of the recce element. Their insertion went well; they hit the beach and got work, but… at some point during a two hundred meter trek through the woods, Morgan just vanished. No warning, no explanation. Just gone."
His eyes went distant for a moment, remembering past events. "His section thought he just got lost, but after three hours they called a no-duff, believing he was hurt somewhere. They started looking, but couldn't find him. Then the exercise got derailed as we pulled in the other companies to help. We had over a thousand guys, walking in a line through the woods but we couldn't find a single trace of him. We kept looking for three days until the Brigade took the investigation out of our hands."
Goto's brow furrowed. "Is it possible he deserted?"
It was pure speculation on his part.
Horton shrugged again. "The possibility was considered, but no one believed it to be the case. I certainly didn't. People liked him: Morgan was a good troop, rarely got into trouble, and in interviews said he just wanted to do his job. No; him deserting didn't feel right at all. But then things started getting weird when the MPs brought in sniffer dogs. They found Morgan's trail, no problem… then it just dropped off. Like he was walking alone and then was suddenly snatched up by the hand of god. It didn't make any sense. The base was put on lockdown trying to find him, but after weeks we didn't have a single clue."
Shuffling a sheaf of notes, Simms faced the camera. "I hate to sound cynical but desertion was the leading conclusion at the time. But investigators couldn't find any reason why or motivation. He was mentally stable, had good relationships with his friends and family, and there was zero indication he'd want to leave all that behind in the first place. Let alone leave the CAF. There were dozens of theories about him selling information overseas, even pawning off his equipment, but why? That was always the question; why? If he wanted to run away, why not do it over the weekend to get a head start? Why run in the middle of a training exercise? If the purpose was anything else other than seeking attention, we couldn't make heads or tails of it."
"And attention seeking didn't fit Morgan's personality at all," Horton added.
"However, there were a few pieces of evidence that could have been interpreted as him preparing to vanish. Namely, he brought his phone and wallet out to the field with him."
Now it was Simm's turn to shrug. "It could have been forgetfulness on his part, but it did open the possibility of tracking him by his phone. So Morgan's cell provider was called up, but what we got only deepened the mystery. The phone's signal cut out in the rough location where the dogs lost Morgan's scent. They haven't received a signal from it since. Same thing with his credit cards. Wherever he went, he never tried to access his bank accounts. For all intents and purposes, it's like Cpl Morgan dropped off the face of the earth."
"So why the obituary?" Goto asked, still trying to process what he'd just heard.
"For the sake of his relatives," replied Horton. "Without any concrete evidence; even a body, the investigation was forced to conclude that he did indeed desert. Vanishing without a trace wasn't a valid reason, not with the equipment he'd vanished with. If the official statement was that he died while on exercise then his family could honor his memory, at the very least."
"That didn't stop the internet from obsessing over the case, however," Simms piped up. "It became one of the most controversial missing person cases for a bit. The paranormal crowd pointed to it as proof that supernatural disappearances were possible, skeptics claimed he was just too good at his job and snuck away under everyone's noses. It's still pretty notorious online."
Pausing, Simms picked up another piece of paper from his desk. "And then… the picture. Solid proof that Cpl Morgan is indeed alive and apparently cosplaying in Japan."
"So why assume he's a fugitive then?" Goto asked.
"We have to consider all possibilities, Admiral," Nichols replied. "All we know right now is that Morgan reappeared after seven years of total silence, and he's now a battleship to boot."
"Which deepens the mystery further, considering he went missing before the Abyssals even appeared," Simms added, sighing. "It sounds ludicrous, Admiral, but my colleagues are entertaining the theory that Morgan is the result of an Abyssal experiment. How they came up with that I have no idea."
An experiment, huh?
However unlikely that seemed – the Abyssals had never shown much interest in humans beyond exterminating them – Goto's mind drifted to the Prophecy they practically worshipped. Its verses were not fully understood, what with the Abyssals guarding its secrets jealously. Even after all these years, they'd only managed to coax out the exact number of verses and their general intentions out of the Abyssal forces; mostly from their battle cries.
But not a single one of them mentioned Morgan or Musushi.
While that didn't eliminate the strange battleship from the equation, it didn't absolve him either.
"...I believe that might be possible," Gengyo spoke up, suddenly, his face troubled. "When we spoke, Morgan mentioned the Abyss off-hand. I didn't give it much thought, but he appeared… frightened, almost, when I responded in kind. He seemed far more familiar with it than any Kanmusu I've heard of."
"Yes, I was curious about that myself," Simms said. "Although… I must point out that his being an experiment is highly unlikely considering his state of dress. I've read witness testimonies and he's wearing the exact same outfit he went missing in! And it's still in reasonable condition. If he was a captive, it's a miracle his clothes survived this long."
The Major examined a page of notes for a long minute. "And there's his appearance in general. To be frank, I do not believe for a single moment that Morgan was the contact you picked up on radar, Admiral. It must have been some new way the Abyssals have discovered to mask their signature. To imply otherwise is that Morgan just… popped out of the ocean!"
"That is how all natural summons occur," Goto pointed out.
"Yes, but Morgan isn't a summoned Kanmusu! His gender alone means he doesn't qualify as a natural born, either! It's…" Simms trailed off. Whatever train of thought he was following appeared to have taken a wrong turn. He searched for words, before rubbing a hand down his face, tiredly.
"We still need to think logically about this. Wherever he's been for these last seven years he was still undoubtedly on Earth. Moreover, he went missing before shipgirl 'magic' was even a concept. I believe that eliminates it as a factor entirely."
"Do you believe Abyssals captured him after the fact?" Gengyo asked, frowning. "Make no mistake, I can vouch for his allegiances. But even if he hadn't turned on the Abyssals, he would not make a good infiltrator."
"Plus, our radar readings seem to prove that he wasn't a part of the main Abyssal fleet," Admiral Suzu spoke up. "I've looked over the data myself. While we're still trying to figure out how the Abyssals managed to get to land without being detected, Mu- Morgan's signature appeared well ahead of the radar deadzone. He couldn't have been a part of that fleet else we wouldn't have seen him at all."
Simms sighed, deeply. "...It's all contradictory evidence."
He looked ready to babble on, but Nichols interrupted him. "We can either speculate all day or we can get to the bottom of his. Admiral Goto, I have an inquiry team ready to fly over in the next three days, led by Colonel Horton here. I'm not trying to step on your toes, Major, but I'm hoping Morgan will react better to a friendly face asking the questions. Admiral, I appreciate everything you've done to accommodate us, but the only way we'll get answers is out of Morgan himself."
Goto agreed wholeheartedly. But before they could hammer out the details, a crash rang from outside, followed by a scream. A long, drawn wail that rose by the second. The sound set Goto's teeth on edge; feeling the sheer terror behind it.
Nagato jolted awake, a thin line of drool hanging from her lower lip as she scanned for the noise.
Following its source, both of them ran to the open window.
Goto's office was on the second story of the Yokosuka Headquarters, providing a good view of the surrounding base. It was the perfect vantage point to see the commotion outside the mess hall, and the scream coming from its center. It had the volume of a shipgirl behind it, but the tone was undoubtedly male.
"Shit!" Goto cursed, sprinting from his office, with Nagato close on his heels.
Dozens of scenarios rushed through his head as he burst outside, but when he got closer, the scene was far worse than anything he could have imagined.
Morgan was on the ground, cut in half at the waist, screaming at his lower half with an ear-piercing wail. Oil was pooling around him as fairies poured from the breach, working desperately to reconnect his torso. If anything, their efforts only made Morgan scream louder.
His good hand – how he'd lost the other, Goto didn't want to know – reached down, grasped a chunk of his steel insides, and tore it free, much to the distress of his fairies. If it was possible, his scream reached an even higher pitch as he saw the mangled metal in his grip. His face was something Goto had only seen in his worst nightmares.
And off to the side knelt Tenryuu, cradling a limp form in her arms.
"What's going on?!" Nagato roared, putting the full might of her turbines to good use as she sped ahead of Goto. She skidded to a stop next to the cruiser. "Tenryuu, what happened here?"
"I... I was just getting him off... I didn't... I didn't intend to do this!" Tenryuu shakily replied, her voice almost drowned out by Morgan's screams.
A crowd was starting to form; men, women, and ship-girls alike streaming into the area to see what all the racket was about. Most alarming was Iowa running from the mess hall, rigging deployed with a flustered Akashi on her tail. The pair reached Morgan before Goto did, and Akashi instantly took charge of the situation.
She grabbed Morgan's hand before he could tear more of his insides free, her rigging coming into being. Cranes arched from her back like the legs of a spider, her repair teams deploying in force to contain the damage.
"Please!" she begged as Morgan squirmed, desperately trying to throw off her grip. "I'm trying to help you!"
"What have you done to me?!" he screamed back. "What have you done?!"
He tried to punch her off with his free arm, but Iowa caught the blow before it could land and pinned the limb to the ground beneath her full weight.
"Careful!" Akashi squealed.
"Trying!" Iowa grunted back as Morgan thrashed wildly. He was determined to free himself, even if that meant tearing his body apart. Desperately trying to keep his flaying limb down, Akashi shouted at the other girls surrounding the scene.
"Help me hold him down, he's gonna kill himself!"
They hesitated.
"NOW!!"
The surrounding battleships jumped into action just as Goto made it to the scene. Nagato stopped him before he could get too close and put himself at risk. Panting, he watched as Morgan was pinned down through sheer numbers. The screams momentarily deafened him as the battleship lost all forms of mobility. It only made him fight harder.
In the chaos, Kongou seemed to appear from out of nowhere, kneeling at his head and holding it steady. And then, surprising everyone, she began to sing. It was an old song, one Goto couldn't recognize. Kind soul that she was, the fast battleship was only trying to help calm him down. Sadly it didn't have the effect she intended.
The man's eyes went wild, thrashing his head around to break her grip.
"Please, just calm down," Akashi pleaded in English, changing positions so she was kneeling next to Kongou. "I know it hurts, I know you're in pain, but I'm trying to fix you."
Those wild eyes locked onto her. "Fix? FIX?! I'm a human being!!"
He bucked with strength defying his broken body, almost throwing off his captors in the process.
"I'm a human being!!"
That was enough for Goto. Stepping up to Nagato, he whispered in her ear. "How can we knock him out?"
"Normally asking the crew to leave his bridge would be enough, but they're already gone. It's not working."
"Well, you brought him in unconscious, what did you do?"
The secretary ship hesitated. "We… we doused his boilers to the bare minimum."
"Do it."
Nagato flinched but transmitted his orders silently. Within moments, it was apparent Akashi's fairies were following through. Morgan's movements grew weaker, his screams giving way to ragged gasps and sobs as the strength bled from his body. Kongou's song grew louder, trying to ease his terror as she wiped away the tears rolling down his cheeks.
For Goto, it was heart-wrenching to watch. The man's fear was palpable. It was a harsh decision, but it needed to be done. Goto refused to look away, determined to see his choices through as Morgan's eyes finally closed, and his body went limp.
In the stunned silence that followed, Goto took stock of the situation.
The scene had drawn quite a crowd; dozens, if not hundreds of personnel watching from the outskirts. Destroyers and cruisers were frozen in stunned silence, shying away from the grizzly scene. A fair number of them were trembling.
Even the human staff shifted uneasily, whispering to each other. And there were a distressing number of phones recording the whole thing. No one seemed to know how to react.
But the worst of it was Tenryuu and the remaining girls of DesDiv 6 hovering worriedly over the limp form of Akatsuki.
Goto's jaw tightened as he looked back to Morgan.
With everything he had learned in the last few hours, it felt like the truth was slipping away, regardless of how hard he chased it. Morgan; a Canadian declared missing for six years. Musashi; a battleship launched in 1940 and sunk four years later. How did either of those pieces connect?
And the man's fear… it was like Morgan didn't even know what he was. And if Gengyo was right, he didn't even know what a Kanmusu was! That bugged Goto more than anything else. Even if the man was an Abyssal experiment, he would have at least known what a shipspirit was from the Abyssals themselves!
Too many questions that needed answers, and the only one who could provide them had just attacked one of his destroyers.
Whatever goodwill he had left was just about gone.
"Okay, ease off, slowly." Akashi was pushing Iowa and the other battleships off, worriedly reassessing the damaged Musashi. She looked shaken, her eyes flicking down his ruined body. "I… I don't understand… I was only trying to help…"
After a few seconds, she seemed to pull on some inner strength. "Okay...Okay, uh, Iowa, help me carry him. Someone g-grab his legs... and the rest of his rigging, we need to get him to my workshop and-"
"Belay that," Goto cut her off. The assembly of shipgirls froze; for the first time realising that the Admiral was in their presence. "Iowa, stay here. The rest of you, help Akashi. I want him in a private bath. Repair him, but his boilers are not to be relit until I give express permission, understood?"
Despite the earlier display, many of the girls still blanched at his order. It was tantamount to being kept in a coma. Nonetheless, Akashi nodded. "H-Hai…"
"And once he's stable, Akashi, I need to speak with you."
As Morgan's limp form was carried off, Goto began issuing orders. He dispersed the crowd with a command, at the same time ordering a media blackout. Which would be suspicious on its own, but he just needed a little more time. Then he checked on Akatsuki. While not life threatening to a destroyer on dry land, the damage was... still severe. Her bridge had been caved in.
Which meant finding a replacement so DesDiv 6 could sortie. Tenryuu was livid; demanding to stay with her progeny. She only gave in to Kongou's gentle assurances that Akatsuki would be in good hands, and that she would personally keep an eye on her.
Only once that was done did Goto finally turn to Iowa. The battleship stood smartly at attention, even her hair seemed locked in place as the Admiral glared into the depths of her soul.
"What happened here?"
Without faltering, Iowa gave a full account of the events that had transpired. Musashi waking up in the baths, taking him to the mess hall, and the results. When she finished, Goto didn't need to voice his displeasure. His glare was more than enough to make the American battleship wilt.
Some petty, vindictive part of him enjoyed watching her squirm for putting him in this position. If she had just stayed in the baths all of this could have been avoided. There was no hiding the truth about Musashi's identity now; not with half the base drawn in with his cries.
But that was partially his fault, wasn't it? Back when he had assumed it was just Musashi with the body of a man. He hadn't gone back with more specific instructions when Morgan's true identity came to light. Now it was biting him in the ass.
Not to mention it eroded the trust his fleet had in him. Goto could feel their disapproval, and above all, their fear.
Now they knew, without a doubt, that this wasn't Musashi. So then who was he?
"Desu…" a weak voice broke Goto out of his thoughts.
Looking down, he saw Morgan's fairy Captain, standing smartly at attention next to Iowa. How exactly it had been left behind, he didn't know. But the little creature was trembling in her tiny boots, a tremor that only grew worse as Goto scowled at her.
She had been hiding things from the start, and Goto didn't have the patience to tolerate her games any longer.
"Nagato, grab her and take her to my office. I'll be there shortly."
To her credit, the fairy didn't try to run; merely accepted her fate as she was scooped up by the secretary ship and carried away.
Goto remained at the scene, ironing out the last of the issues he could see. He assigned Iowa as Morgan's permanent guard for the time being. Both a punishment and a precaution. She was the only one with enough horsepower to subdue him should the worst happen. While more flak for her actions was coming, the immediate issues took prevalence. And when the repair ship shuffled back, a haunted look on her face, he dolled out the last of his orders. Akashi bulked at the prospect of manacles, but before she could scurry away, Goto felt a familiar battleship latch onto his arm.
"Akashi, please wait for a moment," Kongou smiled sweetly before gently guiding Goto off to the side. Once they were out of earshot, the smile dropped and Goto realized just how shaken she was. "Teitoku, I know you're trying to help, but caging him will only make things worse."
"It is just a precaution," he replied, evenly, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice. "For both his sake and ours."
"Goto, he was terrified," Kongou whispered back, the use of his real name revealing just how serious she was. "I might not know what's going on, but there was nothing malicious about this at all! I could see it in his eyes."
The Admiral sighed. "We can't risk it. I'm afraid he'll either kill someone or himself."
"Or rip himself to pieces trying to break free."
Goto scowled. She had a point.
"He's not… Musashi, is he? That's why you're worried?" Her whisper was even quieter than before. "He didn't recognize any of us… Teitoku, what's going on?"
"I wish I knew."
Kongou nodded, solemnly. "Still, we can't do this to him. He's not a prisoner. Please, if it's safety you're worried about, let me watch him."
"Then I'd be worried about your safety," Goto shot back, firmly.
"Teikuko, he's scared, not an enemy," she urged. "Please, before you make any rash decisions, let me talk to him. Something is going on, yes, but I do not believe that this man is to blame."
And if the look on her face was any indication, she would regardless of what he said. A determined Kongou could not be dissuaded.
Sighing, Goto pinched the bridge of his nose. "Alright… I'll fill you in on the details later. When it's time to wake him up, I'll call for you."
Only once that was taken care of, and Kongou had extracted a promise that he would catch up on his sleep, did Goto storm back to his office.
The fairy Captain was shaking on his desk as he sat, fixing her with a glare.
Goto idly noticed he'd left the conference call running in his haste, and the assembled group was watching with interest. The breach of Opsec was appalling, but Goto couldn't bring himself to care. They were on a tighter clock than ever.
Nagato stepped beside him. "Admiral, before we begin, the Captain wishes to apologize for her earlier behavior. She promises to answer truthfully to the best of her abilities."
Now that was an admission of guilt if ever there was one.
Goto regarded the fairy for a moment, then glanced at his monitor where half a dozen expectant men waited. How on earth was he going to explain this?
Trying to keep his irritation in check, he ignored the fairy for a moment. "I apologize for the interruption, General, but things have just gotten a lot more complicated. Morgan just put one of my destroyers in the repair baths."
"What?!"
The Canadians recoiled, and Goto was quick to explain the situation before any accusations could be thrown around. A pensive silence followed in its wake as everyone digested the new information.
Major Simms cleared his throat, politely. "If I may Admiral, but Morgan's behavior makes even less sense than before."
"Believe me, I know," Goto couldn't help but snap back, shifting his glare to the fairy on his desk. "But now hopefully we can get something coherent."
Intertwining his fingers, Goto addressed the trembling Captain directly. "I want the truth and nothing but the truth. Understand?"
The fairy nodded, frantically.
"For starters, I want to know how exactly Morgan came to be like this and what happened to the real Musashi."
He could almost watch the life drain from the Captain's face. Her trembling intensified as she bowed deeply, her head almost touching the desk as she spoke quickly.
Nagato translated. "She begs you for your forgiveness, Admiral, but she does not know who this Morgan is… and I must admit, neither do I."
"I promise you, I'll explain everything when we're finished here," he replied, glaring down at the little creature. "Morgan. Your battleship; Musashi. How did he become like this?"
She bowed again. "Desu, desu…"
As Nagato translated, a bewildering story came to light. Beginning with their summoning in the Pacific, to the horrific discovery that Musashi had been… uglified. More than that, he didn't seem to know how to use his engines, insisting on walking back to Japan with the help of a strange device that was able to give them their coordinates. Then the vandalism, the trash found everywhere around the ship, and determining that Musashi had been infested by a stowaway!
The Captain listed in detail the efforts they had gone through to find this monster; even using the spy's abandoned equipment as bait in a cunning trap. But a stowaway wasn't the only problem they were faced with. Aside from the ugliness, Musashi wasn't working right! None of their radios could transmit, the props refused to engage, and dozens of other problems aside.
Hesitantly, the Captain brought up her Chief Engineer's theory about Musashi not knowing he was a boat at all.
All things considered, the rest of the tale was rather anticlimactic. Making landfall, finding the school, and reaching the radar installation. The only exception was her retelling of the battle of Rokkasho.
If Goto hadn't seen the results for himself, he never would have believed it.
But the Captain's retelling ended with a sincere apology. She had desperately hoped that a repair bath would fix whatever had happened to Musashi. When that failed, she had doubled her efforts to find the stowaway, hoping for answers that way. She didn't want to come to the Admiral with nothing.
For a long minute, nobody could find the words. Even Goto was stunned speechless. The sheer disbelief must have shown on his face, because the fairy held up a stub as if to say 'wait, there's more,' as she dug around in her pocket.
The tiny square object she held out to him was the final nail in the coffin.
Goto accepted it, almost dropping it in surprise as it expanded to it's real size the moment it left the Captain's stub.
It was a wallet. A modern, nylon wallet, held shut with velcro. Carefully opening it, he found credit cards, a few crumpled Canadian bills, and a military ID bearing a familiar face and name. Nagato gasped, recoiling in shock.
"Admiral… what's going on?"
Gathering himself, Goto set the cards aside and addressed the group. A plan was quickly bashed out, emails were typed out, calls were made, and deadlines were set. By the time the Canadians signed off, Goto finally felt on top of the situation, despite the concessions he was forced to make to parliament.
One way or another, this man's story would be coming to light.
And with that out of the way, he turned to his next biggest problem. A bewildered secretary ship. And a frightened fleet.
RETCON NOV 21
So, in light of the reaction towards Tenryuu, I've gone back and retconed that section. Toned down the violence and made it seem more like an accident her protective streak caused and not like she intended to murder William. In all honesty, I intended this to be an overreaction on her part, but I failed to anticipate just how malicious her actions could be seen as. I'll strive to do better in the future.
Moreover, I've gone back and edited a few parts.
-Iowa's reaction to William strangling Akashi and pinning him, making it less harsh and more considerate
-Goto being a little more focused on William's health at being cut in half.
It's not perfect, but I felt it necessary to smooth over these issues before moving on.
EDIT Dec 11, 2023: Fixed grammar and spelling.
Marching out to the end of the pier, she made it just in time as the first rays of light shone over the water. The sensation was wonderful! The warmth touched her skin, yet reaching deeper to the cold steel of her hull; the newly repaired sections shining bright under the sun. It filled her with a sense of hope and vitality; a battleship fresh from dry dock, ready to face the world again.
It was a moment of peace where few existed in her life.
Smiling, she watched the sun creep higher, before glancing over at Musashi.
In her defense, she had tried to get him back in the baths, but not even the promise of two full trays could sway the battleship. He was determined to fill his holds himself, even if it killed him.
As a hungry capital ship herself, she could respect that. She didn't like it, but she could respect that.
So determined, in fact, he nearly walked out buck-ass nude. He looked incredibly sheepish when she pointed it ou, and thus began the search for clothes. Which turned out to be much more difficult than anticipated.
Finding the garments wasn't an issue; a large closet was built into the changing room with an assortment of robes, sweatpants, and shirts. Not the most appealing attire, but if you were soaking after a long patrol and forgot a change of clothes, they were a godsend. They had sizes from destroyers up to Yamato.
But while Yamato's hips were impressive, they were nothing to the sheer girth of Musashi's waist. The largest sweatpants barely managed to fit, and the elastics were stretched beyond saving.
They had to give up on the shirts, though. Nothing was wide enough to fit that broad chest of his. Eventually, Musashi got fed up with waiting; ripped off some sleaves, and fashioned an open vest that was decent enough... if you excused the blatant display of abs.
They didn't even bother about shoes, nothing would fit that foot size. And Musashi seemed to have no problem going barefoot. Even on the concrete.
To Iowa's surprise, a single tear was rolling down his cheek as he basked in the morning light. It was eerie; the sun shone off the jagged rents in his hull. Damage so severe he shouldn't even be alive... yet the man stood tall, his expression one of pure relief as the sun touched his face.
"I thought I'd never see it again," he whispered.
Iowa gave him a comforting pat on the back. "Feels good, doesn't it?"
"You have no idea..."
He looked down, his face slowly clouded with uncertainty as she stared at his calloused palms. A small, red mark on his left hand caught Iowa's attention before his trembling fists closed. He looked so lost, so confused... only to jump slightly as Iowa took his hands in her own. She smiled gently up at him.
But by damn was it hard to meet his eyes. It wasn't his distress – that she could easily handle – it was the shattered, empty bridge hiding behind the skin that made her nervous.
He shouldn't have been awake, he shouldn't even be walking! And yet he was. By all due rights, one of his eyes shouldn't even exist! His human body seemed separate from his hull entirely. It was uncanny, seeing human skin begin where the steel of a battleship ended. It made even less sense than warships coming back as girls.
As horrifying as his condition was, Iowa refused to let it bother her. She could only imagine what the battleship was going through. He overcame unbeatable odds only to wake up in a strange place with a vessel that had once been his enemy. And she could only guess at his mental state.
Seriously, a Japanese battleship who couldn't speak Japanese? There were summoning oddballs, to be sure; especially with the USN. USS San Francisco came to mind, returning as Japanese-American, and with all the baggage that implied for a WW2 era cruiser.
Sometimes girls didn't come back as you expected. That was just a fact.
This, however, was every summoning shenanigan taken to the extreme. Had it been an unlucky roll of the dice or was there something else at play? A part of Musashi's history that not even the rest of his fleet knew? It was impossible to say.
While she had to admit the others had due cause to be concerned, their reluctance still pissed her off. This man was a hero, had saved their entire country, and they were treating him like a leper!
And Iowa could see the worry behind his eyes; staring down at his hands as if he couldn't believe this was happening.
"Hey... everything's going to be okay," she said, softly. "We'll get you through his, okay?"
The man looked torn, pulling his hands away to clench them at his sides.
"Do you want to go back to the baths? Offer still stands. I can bring you a tray if you want?" Despite it being against the rules, she was sure they could be bent in this case.
Musashi snorted. "I think I need a doctor more than a bath. But, no. Food first."
Grinning to mask a twinge of unease, Iowa grabbed his hand and led him toward the mess hall. "Well, someone has his priorities straight! We'll grab a quick bite then get you back on the mend. I know the Admiral wanted to see you when you woke up, but I think we can push that meeting back just a bit. We'll fill those holds first, yeah?"
Actually, the Admiral was in a meeting with the Canadians when Iowa radioed in to inform him. Probably about that poor shumck still running about. Ooyoda said she would pass on her message as Nagato was out cold at her desk. Akashi was undergoing an Admiral mandated nap. The poor girls had been working non-stop for weeks now. Basically, when the brass was away the battleships would play!
Innuendos aside, as the present authority, she was handling the situation as best she could. She'd get him fed and then back in the baths before anyone could blink.
"The Admiral?" Musashi deadpanned. "Ah, shit. I didn't expect this to go up this high."
"Well, you did save the entire country. Besides, he's not that bad. The Admiralty has changed a lot since the 1940s, it might take you a while to get used to."
"That's not..." he cut himself off. "No, food. Everything else can wait."
Iowa laughed at that. At least some things never changed; the ravenous hunger of a battleship for one.
However, when she looked back, Musashi's expression almost wiped the cheer from her face. She only managed to keep her smile up so as not to make him feel uncomfortable, although she doubted he even noticed.
Desperation. Iowa didn't know how else to describe it. She had seen hungry carriers coming back from patrol ready to eat their own escorts. But this was a kind of desperation that not even Akagi could come close to, and it was so unlike a newly summoned shipgirl.
He didn't even question the fact that he needed to eat food now. And aside from asking about the hollowness of hunger, Musashi didn't look starved or racked by hunger pains, no, and that was the most unsettling part. He walked with a limp, but his shoulders were back and his head held high; eyes fixed straight ahead. He looked... hopeful, and yet, haunted. As though he couldn't believe he was being fed, but the mere prospect of food was keeping him going past his limits.
Another oddity that Iowa refused to let bother her. The battleship deserved better than suspicion. Brightening her smile, she guided him towards the mess hall.
It was one of the largest buildings on the base; less of a kitchen and more an of entire complex dedicated to keeping the protectors of Japan fed. The mess hall and conjoined kitchen occupied a good third of the building, with the rest being dedicated to coolers, pantries, and offices. It could very well double as a secondary HQ for how much administration went on behind closed doors.
As they got closer, the base started to come to life around them. In the distance, Iowa could hear the shouts of a morning PT session. But there were still dozens streaming towards the mess hall. Service men, Marines, and Sailors, mostly. All the same, it warmed her heart to see the stars and strips intermingled with the rising sun.
Oh, how things had changed...
The Americans gave her causal salutes – she was never big on it anyway – while the Japanese gave her polite nods. At least, that's how it usually went.
Not today.
Their eyes were drawn to the towering form of Musashi without exception, shying away from the giant. And for how much Iowa wanted to give them a piece of her mind, it was neither the time nor the place.
"In we go!" she said, holding the doors open so Musashi could shuffle inside. He had to duck his head to avoid bashing the top of the doorframe. Once his broad shoulders were inside, Iowa led him down the central hallway, passing countless placards, pictures, and awards that plastered the walls. It gave some life to the dull, grey-painted corridors.
But now Iowa was feeling a new sense of unease the closer they got to the wide, double doors leading into the mess hall proper. There would undoubtedly be girls up for breakfast; another patrol was leaving later this morning and another was set to return.
And now that Musashi was awake, Iowa wondered how he would react to their stand-offish behavior. That would be a blow to his pride if ever there was one.
But there was no time to second guess herself now.
With confidence she didn't fully feel, Iowa threw the doors open, allowing the delicious scent of breakfast to wash over her. "And here we are!" she crowed, stepping aside so Musashi could limp in.
Instantly, the eyes of every man, woman, and shipgirl were fixed upon them. Reactions were mixed.
The humans quickly went back to eating, filling the room with chatter once again when they realized nothing was amiss. Although, quite a few were interested, if only because Iowa was chaperoning the guy around. Already she could hear the rumour mill beginning to churn.
The ship-girls, however, were another story.
Iowa saw the Fusuo sisters freeze like deer in headlights. Yuudachi's spoon dropped into her overflowing bowl of cereal. Hiei looked stunned speechless. A dozen others gaped in shock.
Akagi had stopped eating entirely.
All were staring at Musashi with a mixture of horror and dread.
Again, Iowa had to bite back the urge to shout. Way to welcome back a returning hero, guys. All the same, she looked over to apologize for the rest of the fleet... and balked.
Nothing.
Musashi hadn't even twitched at their reactions. But even more unsettling, as he glanced about, his gaze sliding from one ship-girl to the next... No reaction. No joy, no relief at seeing old friends back from the grave. Nothing. His eyes glazed over Akagi as if she wasn't even there, then settled on the kitchen, that strange desperation intensifying.
Iowa chuckled, although it was more forced this time. "Okay, big guy, let's fill those bunkers, yeah?"
No response. Iowa couldn't help but feel uneasy as she led him past the waiting food line. Shipgirls always got top priority in the kitchens. But as she stopped to grab a tray, Musashi kept on going, heading straight to the wide alcove where all the drink machines were kept and stopped dead before the giant vat of coffee.
For a long moment, he just stared at it, before grabbing the largest mug available. Iowa saw his hands trembling as he poured a cup, then brought the steaming beverage up to his nose. He breathed in the scent, then downed the entire mug in a few large gulps.
The battleship shuddered, almost gasping for air as the last drop went down his throat. He mouthed words that Iowa couldn't make out, before filling the mug again and draining it in the same manner.
This time, Iowa couldn't hide the awkwardness in her chuckle as she guided him back towards the plates. "Trust me, it tastes better with breakfast."
But... how did he know what coffee was? Hadn't it been banned in Japan during the war? Moreover, how had he known how to get it?
Iowa couldn't help but glance back at the coffee machine. It was a fairly modern design, a far cry from what would have been available in the 1940s, even in America. To say nothing about Japan! But Musashi had identified it, used it, and drank coffee like water. He shouldn't even have known what the stuff was.
Something wasn't right about that. Sure, she gave everyone else shit for being suspicious, but now she was starting to see the point.
Turning back around, she got another unpleasant surprise. Musashi was already in line; tray, plate, and utensils in hand as he worked his way down the food line. He didn't speak, just took whatever was offered... which was everything. A lot of everything.
She... hadn't shown him how to do that. Usually, newly summoned girls, especially Japanese vessels, needed a crash course on how modern food lines worked. Their reactions were priceless, from destroyers to battleships; squealing or making cute faces at every new thing they experienced.
Musashi exhibited none of that childlike wonder. He worked his way down the line with mechanical precision, never stopping to question what a machine was or how it worked.
Iowa couldn't help but watch nervously as she filled her own plates when Musashi stopped before the self-serve toaster station. He examined the different kinds of bread on display, then reached past them for the bagels.
Okay, she was sure Japan didn't have bagels back then. His selection was too deliberate to be experimentation. Neither was his choice of Nutella. That, she knew for a fact, hadn't existed in the 1940s!
Iowa cast a worried look over her shoulder. The others were in much the same state of fear and confusion. Something about this wasn't right!
Food in hand, Iowa led Musashi to an open table, silently. She was too uneasy to speak now. It didn't help that Kanmusu had a section of tables set aside just for them. As Musashi sat, everyone collectively scooted away from him. And even Iowa had to muster the nerve to sit opposite him.
But Musashi seemed completely oblivious to the ostracization of his fleet mates. He stared down at his meal, that same unnerving desperation coming to the forefront. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed dryly, then speared a piece of bacon with his fork.
The first bite caused his expression to melt; all the desperation rushed out in a surge of emotion. For a moment, Iowa thought he was actually going to cry. Then he pulled himself together, meeting her eyes with an expression of pure relief.
"Sorry... I thought I'd never have bacon again," he whispered, before returning to his meal.
Again?
What did he mean 'again'?!
Glancing over Musashi's shoulder – a challenging feat in itself – Iowa shared a nervous look with Hiei. The fast battleship was speechless, her teacup hanging loosely in her hand, its contents spilled across the table. It spoke to the severity of the situation that the Kongou-Class hadn't even noticed the loss of her hot leaf juice. She hadn't even bristled when Iowa referred to it as such.
They seemed to have a sixth sense regarding that kind of thing. The fact it didn't go off made the situation even worse.
Shaking herself back to the present, Iowa picked up her fork and began attacking her own meal; hunger winning out over her worry.
It was surreal. The enlisted members didn't have a clue what was going on; their chatter drifted over to fill the awkward silence hanging in the shipgirl's seating area. In fact, the only thing they seemed to be aware of was that some lucky bastard had managed to sit with the Kanmusu at all! Unless you were specifically invited, the tables were usually off-limits to humans.
They didn't understand what was going on. They couldn't! They couldn't see the broken battleship barely hanging on by a thread. Just a hulk of a man who was lucky enough to sit next to Iowa. A few Marines were giving him envious looks and even the Japanese members were muttering about the 'lucky gaijin.'
Honestly, Musashi's ability to remain obvious to it all was impressive. So fixated on each bite that nothing else seemed to matter, savoring every crumb as if it would be his last.
It was weirdly fascinating to watch; so much so, Iowa barely noticed finishing her mountain of pancakes. Her stomach rumbled for seconds, but she couldn't tear her eyes away from Musashi as he ate. The minutes felt like hours until the last morsel vanished into the battleship's gullet, and even then he attacked the plate with a spoon, going after the leftover syrup and grease as though it was soup.
Only once the plate was scraped clean, literally, did the battleship set down his utensils. His face was a rollercoaster of emotion as he stared down at his tray. Whatever was going on in that head of his didn't take long to come out.
"Okay, might as well get this over this..." he muttered, rolling his shoulders before meeting Iowa's eyes with a grim finality. "Breakfast was great... but I need you to take me to the MPs."
Out of every possibility she expected, that hadn't even made this list! The nervous tension made her chuckle. "The MPs? W-What, you mean the... Military Police?"
"Yep," he nodded, completely serious.
"Uh... why?"
Musashi sighed, deeply, rubbing his hands down his face. "Okay... here comes the shitstorm..."
At the same time, a fairy stepped out onto his shoulder. And then Iowa was staring for an entirely different reason.
Seeing a fairy so disheveled was almost as shocking as Musashi's lack of a rack. Her Captain's cap was askew, her jacket unbuttoned and ruffled, and had the worst case of bedhead Iowa had ever seen. She looked completely out of it; the picture-perfect example of an officer running on less than two hours of sleep, clutching a tiny tin cup as though her life depended on it.
She appeared a little confused at the beverage, as though she had never seen coffee before. In stark contrast to Musashi's familiarity. She sniffed it, wrinkled her little nose, and took an experimental sip. Her lips smacked once, twice, then a shiver went down her body, starting from the tips of her hair, down to her feet stubs, then back up again.
She smacked her lips a third time, then gazed down at her cup with a newfound sense of appreciation.
Then the fairy caught sight of Iowa, and her tiny eyes narrowed, suspiciously. They narrowed even further when her gaze trailed down to Musashi's empty plate.
All the while, Musashi was collecting himself, seemingly oblivious to his fairy's presence. "Right... might as well rip off the band-aid."
He straightened. "So... I apologize, but I haven't been entirely truthful with you."
"You don't say..." Iowa said, quietly.
He winced. "Ye~ah..." His finger drummed the table, seemingly working up the confidence to continue. Finally, he met her eyes. At the same time, his Captain got tired of being ignored.
"I'm not-"
"Desu!"
Musashi lurched, sending his fairy flying as he lept away from the tiny voice. His knees bashed the underside of the table, sending dishes crashing to the floor. The fairy flew through the air with a scream towards Iowa, bouncing off her bosom before slapping face first into the table with a tiny 'oof.'
The abrupt noise silenced the mess hall; heads swiveling to follow the source.
For her part, Iowa was to taken aback to move as the fairy jumped up and unleashed a torrent of abuse at her battleship, screaming at the top of her little lungs.
But Musashi's reaction was the most bewildering. He had backed away from the tiny creature, staring wide-eyed as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing. Only once the Captain had paused in her rant did he find his voice.
"G-Gremlin?!"
For some reason, he pawed around his waist, then he glanced over both shoulders, trying to see down his back. When he found nothing, he stared down at the fairy with a fresh look of confusion. "Where the hell did you come from?"
"Desu!!" the tiny fairy screamed, jabbing a stub in his direction as if trying to spear him through.
However, her demands were pretty reasonable. That was nowhere near enough intake to fill his holds, you overgrown-
The impressive stream of profanity continued, but it might as well have been directed at a brick wall. Musashi stared, blankly.
Grinding her teeth, the Captain turned, and Iowa almost flinched as those beady eyes fixed on her. The resemblance to an angry Admiral was uncanny.
"Desu!" the Captain shouted, commanding the American to feed her battleship, or so help her, Musashi would eat the Iowa instead! Threat delivered, she crossed her stubs and nodded resolutely.
Silence reigned over the mess hall.
Finally, Musashi spoke. "Did... did you catch a word of that?"
"She said you're going to eat me," Iowa said, flatly.
The fairy gaped at her, then erupted into another rant; demanding to know why none of them spoke Japanese! They were on Japanese soil; why couldn't they all speak normally?! Why was an Iowa here in the first place?
She began to pace back and forth across the table, her shouts getting louder as her frustration mounted. However cute a three-inch blob throwing a fit was, the circumstances were too bewildering to be funny.
And then, Musashi's words finally registered.
"Wait... you don't understand her?"
"I don't even know what that thing is," he replied, shaking his head. "I... I thought it was taken away with the battleship, what's it doing here?"
"The battleship?" There was something wrong with the way he said it. Sure, Yamato sometimes referred to herself in the third person, as did plenty of others, but this was different. "What do you mean... the battleship?"
"You know, the thing!" He motioned around his waist again. "Big metal thing, big guns, stuck to your back. Cut down battleship and all that... you know, that thing!"
"You mean, your rigging?"
He merely shrugged. "Sure, if you call it that. I thought it was taken away, but why'd they leave Gremlin?"
"Desu!" the fairy screamed up at him, shaking a tiny fist. Musashi spread his arm helplessly as the orders to replenish his stores fell on seemingly deaf ears.
"I like you too, but how did you get here!?"
"She... she's your Captain," Iowa said, dumbly. The misunderstanding about rigging was... sort of understandable. Finding pieces of your old anatomy attached to your new anatomy was weird when you first experienced it. But Musashi's reaction took it to a whole new level.
But his blank stare caused her heart to sink. "My what?"
And as if things couldn't get any worse, the doors to the mess hall slammed open, embedding themselves in the wall. Every man, woman, and ship-girl alike felt a shiver go up their spines at the one sight you never wanted to see;
An irate repair ship.
"Where. Is. He?" Akashi hissed, with enough malice to put a Princess to shame. Her ruffled clothes and the deep bags under her eyes only intensified her terrifying image. And that was just for the humans! Akashi's cranes twitched madly like an angry spider, and her favorite wrench was in hand, ready to smite whoever got in her way.
Instinctively, everyone pointed at Musashi. To his credit, the battleship didn't even flinch as Akashi's furious gaze was leveled at him. But his confusion wasn't very comforting either.
"You..." Akashi seethed, raising the wrench to eye level to point it accusingly. "Why aren't you in the baths?"
Silence reigned. Never taking his eyes off the furious repair ship, Musashi leaned down and whispered. "Hey, Iowa? Quick favor; who is that and why is she mad at me?"
Iowa felt the shock ripple through the nearby shipgirls, and she wasn't much better. She had hoped that his lack of recognition was just his hunger talking, but now... he didn't even recognize Akashi?! His own repair ship? What was going on?
"That... that's Akashi," she whispered.
"Akashi? Okay." He nodded, although it was clear the name meant nothing to him. "And what is she saying, exactly?"
Their interactions in the baths came rushing back. His claims of not understanding Japanese. To her horror, Iowa realized Askashi was speaking in her native tongue! By now, Yokosuka was like a second home to the American battleship; she could switch between English and Japanese without a second thought! She understood Akashi just fine, but Musashi... he really had no idea.
Deep down, she was hoping it was some sort of joke. Iowa didn't know what to say to that, and Akashi was tired of being ignored.
"You," she hissed again, still speaking in Japanese as she stalked forward. Her flats echoed in the completely silent hall, no one daring to speak over her as she squared up to the oblivious battleship. "What do you think you're doing?"
Musashi's eyes flicked down to Iowa, silently asking for help. When none came, he took a breath. "I'm sorry, but I do not speak Japanese, and I do not know what you're saying."
"What do you mean you don't speak Japanese," Akashi whispered through gritted teeth, thankfully in English. It wasn't a question; more a righteous indignation directed at an insubordinate patient. That alone seemed to override any confusion over what exactly his words meant.
Doc boat was mad, and the patient wasn't listening.
Never a good combination.
A bomb could have gone off and nobody would have reacted. Iowa was frozen in place. It was like watching Titanic all over again; seeing the disaster unfold and unable to do anything but watch.
"I don't speak Japanese," Musashi repeated. "It's as simple as that."
"Then let me make it even simpler," Akashi snarled, jabbing her wrench towards his chest. "I just spent the last six hours replacing your boilers! What do you think you're doing walking around like this?!"
Musashi frowned. "My what?"
Akashi flushed angrily, steam looked ready to escape her ears.
"Desu!" the Captain shouted from the table, only adding to the madness.
"Don't backtalk me!" the repair ship shouted back, making the tiny creature jump back. "I spent the last five days making sure he doesn't fall apart!"
"Desu!"
The shouting match was broken abruptly as Musashi stepped between them, fixing Akashi with a pointed look. "What do you mean my boilers?" he demanded. "Do I look like a steam engine to you?"
There was something so profoundly wrong with that question. Under normal circumstances, Iowa would have laughed it off. A steam engine, indeed. But the situation was too far gone for anything to be considered remotely humorous.
The shouts were getting louder; Akashi listing off all the damages one by one, and the battleship demanding to know what the hell she was talking about!
Couldn't he see himself? Couldn't he feel his body hanging together through the perseverance of a few rivets and welds?
Iowa was scared now. A rare thing for a battleship to admit, but she didn't know what to do. Nothing was adding up, nothing about him was making sense! The entire mess hall was spellbound as the two vessels continued to lay into each other. Akashi demanded he get back in the baths and Musashi claimed that she wasn't a real doctor and couldn't order him to do anything! She certainly wasn't dressed like one!
And then... Iowa didn't know what happened.
Maybe it was frustration on Akashi's part; despite her anger and threatening wrench, she was still a caring soul at heart. Never would she even dream of smacking a wounded ship with it. Nonetheless, whether it was pent-up frustration or something else doing the swinging; the wrench came down in an arc.
And whether or not the battleship interpreted it as an attack or it being pure chance alone; Musashi's arm came up to intercept it.
The two met in the middle with a clang.
To a normal battleship, it would have been less than a bug bite. But as broken as he was, Musashi was vulnerable. And that light tap was all it took.
Welds sheered. Iowa watched in horrified fascination as a whole section of Musashi's hull fell away. To the human observers, his forearm snapped in half. The strange thing was that his skin held together for a brief moment before tearing like soft rubber, allowing the severed forearm to fall to the ground.
The pair stopped fighting, staring down at the detached limb, until Akashi picked up the slack.
"Now look what you've done!" she growled. Her voice was furious, but the care she took when picking up the twitching hand was genuine. She examined it carefully, trying to decide if it could be salvaged. "Are you asking to be scrapped? Huh?! Is that what you want?!"
But Musashi was silent. He stared at his dismembered limb, as if not believing it was real. Then he began to tremble. His breath rattled through his chest as he stared at his hand, then slowly brought the severed stump of his arm up to eye level.
Twisted metal, sparking wires, hissing pipes, and empty corridors meet his gaze. The paradox that defined Kanmusu was on full display. An entire swath of battleship crammed into a hole just larger than a baseball. It was a hard sight for anyone to process, humans especially.
But Musashi's expression was something Iowa had never seen before.
The blood had drained from his face, making it appear cold and waxy. Even his beard seemed to lose its color. His eyes were wide; the pupils were nothing but pinpricks in a sea of white. A wax statue would have been more lifelike than him.
"What have you done to me?" he whispered, voice weak, but it still managed to echo around the silent mess hall.
Akashi seemed to realize something was wrong. The anger vanished and she spoke softly. "I'm trying to help you. Let's just get you back to the baths, and-"
"What have you done to me?" He repeated, weakly. He didn't seem to hear her at all. Even his voice seemed to be dying in his throat. His whole body was shaking as he tore his eyes away from the stump to fix the repair ship with a haunting look. "What have you-"
And then something inside him seemed to snap.
Pain shot across his face as he fell to his knees, clutching his temples with a tight groan. The moment passed quickly, but when he looked back at Akashi, his expression made Iowa's blood run cold.
Terror. Pure terror.
"What are you?" he whispered, shakily getting back to his feet, swaying dangerously. "What have you done to me?"
"Musashi..." Akashi tried to say but was forced to step back as the walking wreck lurched towards her.
"What have you done to me...?" His voice was rising, but not a single trace of anger was present. Only fear so profound Iowa found herself rooted to the spot, unable to act as the battleship loomed above Akashi. His entire body shuddered down to his keel, that awful expression still rooted on his face. "What have you done to me?"
"Musashi, please, you need to-"
His remaining hand shot out and closed around her throat. Akashi squealed as she was lifted off the ground, holding onto his wrist for dear life as she was pulled face-to-face with the mad battleship.
Reality itself seemed to ripple as his rigging manifested, hanging off his back in a mangled heap. His remaining turrets twitched, their bend barrels shuddering in their housing as Musashi's broken hull struggled to hold together as he descended into full panic.
"What have you done to me?!" he screamed in Akashi's face. "What have you done?!"
This finally broke the onlookers out of their stupor. The mess hall erupted in noise as everyone jumped to their feet.
Iowa shoved the table aside, her rigging instinctively forming around her. As she went to separate them, those awful eyes whirled upon her. Terror and pain mixed into an expression Iowa couldn't even describe, freezing her in place.
That was all the time it took for Musashi to act. With strength defying his broken body, he heaved and sent Akashi flying. The repair ship screamed as she flew through the air, colliding with Iowa and sending them both crashing to the ground.
As the pair struggled to untangle themselves, Musashi ran for the door, staggering like a drunk. His rigging swayed dangerously, fresh repairs threatening to snap as he forced his broken body to run. He lunged for the door, missed, and crashed through the wall instead, leaving a shower of dust and splinters in his wake.
"You okay?" Iowa asked, getting back to her feet and helping Akashi stand. The repair ship was shaken, massaging her throat.
"I-I was only trying to help... I was only trying to help." She seemed to snap back to reality. "We have to stop him before he shakes himself to pieces! He's not supposed to be walking, what were you thinking?!"
"I thought I had it under control," Iowa grimaced.
"Obviously not!"
"Desu!"
The brewing argument was interrupted by a tiny shout. The Captain - who had been forgotten by her vessel in the chaos - was waddling across the floor as fast as she could, shouting for Musashi to come back.
"Okay... just stay behind me until he calms down! I'm not letting anyone else get hurt on my watch, okay?" With that, Iowa charged after the fleeing battleship, scooping up the fairy as she passed.
Nothing about this was making sense. She didn't know what the hell made Musashi go crazy, but she couldn't let this escalate further!
----
"Hmmm!" Walking on her tiptoes, Ikazuchi thrust her nose into the air, sniffing. Finding something she liked, she smiled, nose leading the way. "They're having American breakfast again! Come on!"
Leading the charge, Ikazuchi sped off, followed by a blushing Akatsuki claiming that tip-toeing while running wasn't ladylike. Of course, Ikazuchi's rebuttable that dancers did it all the time caused the two to descend into an argument, which was broken up by Hibiki with a few blunt words.
And all before Inazuma was given the chance to get upset.
Blink and you would have missed it. It was enough to leave an old cruiser like her on the horizon.
Tenryuu stretched, feeling her spine pop back into place. The sooner she could get back to a regular sleep schedule the better.
And better than that; getting a regular patrol schedule again.
Smacking her lips, hungrily, she did her best to put a spring in her step as she followed her girls. It wouldn't do for the badass to look so dreary right before a mission! That determination lasted up until she had to stifle another yawn.
Eh, who was she kidding. Being a badass could wait until coffee was had.
As she trailed behind the rambunctious destroyers, Tenryuu noticed they had stalled at the front doors to the mess hall. Not unusual; sibling spats had a habit of stopping everything in their tracks. However, this time they weren't arguing, or even talking to each other. Instead, they were staring through the glass, as still as statues.
There was some sort of commotion going on inside, but at this distance, Tenryuu couldn't make it out.
The first indication that something was wrong was when Hibiki grabbed Ikazuchi and Inazuma, throwing them all out of the way as something came barrelling out of the mess hall at top speed.
But Akatsuki…
Tenryuu watched it happen in slow motion. The doors were thrown open with such force the glass cracked. The destroyer jumped back with a cry, but there was no stopping the twisted wreck of Musashi as he came barrelling out.
Time seemed to slow before Tenryuu's eyes. She could feel herself speeding up as she realized Musushi wasn't stopping, heading straight for her daughter.
As Akatsuki scrambled to get out of the way, Musashi's arm lashed out in a wild swing, catching the poor destroyer on the cheek. His sheer mass alone sent the destroyer flying.
As the clang rang out, all Tenyruu saw was red.
----
William staggered, almost falling to his knees as his body convulsed. The hollowness… his arm…
What had they done to his arm?!
Every time he looked at his stump the world twisted and morphed before his eyes; as though something larger than life was pushing through into the real world. His only comfort was that the pain was far too real to be any sort of illusion. His brain felt like it was swimming in acid. Like the Song had come back to haunt him!
One look at his severed limb shattered what little control he had, allowing the hollowness to rush in, filling his entire being. He couldn't push it away, it was a part of him now! As if a curtain had been pulled back and he couldn't shut it out! Sensations he couldn't describe pulsed in his chest. Clangs, the hissing of steam, the shouts of voices echoing from inside him! His chest felt like an ant hill; tiny feet scurrying around inside him.
It was everything he'd experienced fighting the Abyssal dialed up to eleven. None of it felt right! None of it felt human!
And his heart… his heart was gone. There was no pounding beat in his ears; only an endless whirring sound, punctuated by the crackle of flames.
What had they done to him? What was happening?!
He staggered onward, not knowing where to go, just acting on the overwhelming fear pushing him on. Each step sent tremors down his legs; his bones felt ready to snap!
He could feel the weight of the battleship on his back, with no idea where it had come from! Its broken booms wrapped around him once more. He could feel it like it was a part of his own body! Each torn sheet of metal ached and burned.
Nothing was right! Nothing made sense! What was happening to him?!
And Iowa…
He shuddered, losing himself in the terror for a split second.
Iowa wasn't human. Neither was that Akaski, none of them were!
The hollowness had opened his eyes and he saw them for what they truly were: Vast, metallic forms compressed down into something resembling a human shape, flickering back and forth between steel and flesh. Things of impossible sizes standing right in front of him!
Just like the Abyssals… just like that bitch that had almost killed him!
William staggered, mind reeling. He couldn't focus, he could barely even think!
The glass doors were right in front of him, the sunlight from outside streaming in. Something was lurking on the other side, he could see it, but the promise of escape was too tempting!
He threw the doors open, coming face to face with another of those things. He didn't think; his arm lashed out, knocking it to the side with a feminine cry.
That broke him out of his stupor. It didn't sound like a woman, no, it sounded like a young girl! Barely even a teenager! But when he looked down he couldn't make sense of it. The metallic mass at his feet was crumpled and warped where his fist had landed. But for the life of him, he couldn't tell where the cry had come from! The thing at his feet clearly wasn't human!
"Kono yarō!"
The shout made him whirl around. His heart – if it was even still there – sank. Another one of those things was charging at him, its form flickering between a young woman in purple and black and a hulking shape barrelling toward him at top speed.
But it was the face that froze him in place. As her – it's? - form flickered back and forth, a terrified visage was mirrored back at him. Anger and worry mixed so thoroughly that it reminded him of his mother when he used to do something dangerously stupid.
Instinctively, he tried to back away, getting his feet tangled up in the mass at his feet.
"Kanojo kara hanarete kudasai!"
As off balance as he was, its shove sent William toppling over. The battleship shattered again as he landed flat on his back. Agony pulsed through his body; it felt like a part of him had been torn to shreds! Something cracked in his spine and all sensation in his legs went out like a light.
As stars danced before his eyes, he tried to recover, pushing himself away with his hands to get some distance.
He shouldn't have bothered.
The same woman/metal monstrosity was kneeling at his feet, cradling the smaller one. It was difficult to properly gauge her expression; one moment he'd be watching lips move, and the next he'd be staring at a wall of steel, interspaced with square windows. It… vaguely reminded him of the bridge of the battleship.
But when its... eyes, windows - whatever they were - turned to glare at him, there was a familiar maternal fury burning there.
A fury that vanished just as quickly as it appeared. Her mouth was open but not a word came out as she stared down at him, stunned speechless.
"Ā... Ā, nante kotoda... Gomen'nasai..."
Dazed and confused, pushing himself away, the only thought William could muster was why couldn't he feel his legs?
Then he followed her gaze… and the whole world seemed to fall away.
There were his legs, and a good chunk of his torso, lying on the concrete a fair distance from the rest of his body. But knowing that he'd been broken in half was nothing compared to the sight awaiting him.
He was no stranger to death, even before joining the military. Growing up on a farm acclimatized you to a lot of things. Death was a fact of life. Rot and decay were just part of the cycle you relied on. He couldn't count the number of times he'd run into a dead or dying animal. It was always a somber experience. It gave a deeper understanding of what life was, and how easily it could be lost.
At the end of the day, you were still just meat. A living thing made of organs, tissue, and blood, just with a higher intelligence than the ones around you. And with enough force, those organs inside you could be spread around as easily as road kill. Intelligence be damned.
William had lived with that understanding his whole life. But as he looked down at his severed torso, expecting to see his blood pooling on the ground…
There was no red... no slimy entrails, nothing that denoted a living thing. Just... grey.
His breath caught in his throat.
In the hollow of his torso, where there should have been flesh, there was nothing but grey steel. His organs simply didn't exist! The same effect that roiled up from his stump now filled his chest cavity, expanding into a confusing hellscape of pipes, bulkheads, and corridors. There was nothing real about his insides at all!
But worse were the eyes.
There were dozens of them. Hundreds. Creatures just like Gremlin, each dressed in a tiny uniform, staring back at him, their beady eyes wide with shock. They had been inside him the whole time!
It was too much.
After everything he'd been through, everything he'd endured… William gave in to his terror, opened his mouth, and screamed.
----
"...and that is the last of my interactions with him," Commander Gengyo finished, leaving the conference call in contemplative silence.
At the very least, Goto appreciated knowing the full series of events. He only wished he'd taken the time to look through his email more thoroughly. It had taken Ooyoda a solid minute to stop him from bashing a hole in his desk with his forehead after realizing his mistake. Admiral Suzu's email would have saved him many headaches… if he'd had the common sense to read the damn thing!
But now that he had access to the bigger picture, things were only becoming more complicated.
"And following that, he beat back the Abyssals before being taken in by your fleet. That is correct, Admiral Goto?"
On his computer screen, the multiple windows shuffled for a moment before settling on Major Simms. A rather rotund man with a balding head and glasses, he didn't fit the traditional image of an intelligence officer. His eyes, though, told a different story; brightening with each new detail that came to light.
"That is correct," Goto nodded. "Although we weren't aware of his identity at the time. He had suffered so much damage that Akashi was afraid he wouldn't make it all, let alone verify it was actually Musashi."
Simms nodded, thoughtfully, his eyes flicking away to glance at something off-screen. "Well, it's a working timeline, but that hardly clears up anything."
"Is he alright?" asked another voice, the screen settling on a broad-shouldered officer who looked like he spent every spare hour in the gym. Despite his intimidating appearance, combined with a perfectly hairless head, Col Horton's face was full of concern.
"He's recovering physically. Beyond that, I can't say," Goto replied.
He'd received Iowa's message ten minutes ago. While he was loathed to allow food in the repair baths again, he'd make an exception in his case. Though he desperately wanted answers, better to take things slowly and smoothly. There would be time. Not as much as he would have liked, but he had some. And with the man now awake, he'd get them shortly.
The Minister of Defense was getting impatient, as was Parliament as a whole. Musashi was a national hero; everyone was waiting for answers with bated breath. Will 'she' live? What does 'she' look like? The list went on.
All the while were questions about what would be done about their 'rogue Canadian.'
The Canadian embassy was silent on the matter, waiting for direction from their government, who in turn was waiting on advisement from the Minister of National Defense. It was a long line of dominoes; questions filtered down through the layers of government, all centered around a man who had been reported missing years ago!
Meanwhile, as Japan stewed in anticipation, he was trying to keep a lid on the conversation until he had something more to give them than a generic update on Musashi's health. No doubt the reactions would be explosive, but what else could he do? Best approach the situation on his own terms, even if that meant the Prime Minister was breathing down his neck.
It was a delicate situation, and thankfully the Canadians realized this as well. The meeting's attendance had been shrunk down to the bare essentials, leaving Goto face to face with Canada's Chief of Defense Staff, General Nichols, the lead investigator of the case, Simms, and Corporal Morgan's old CO.
On his part, Goto had done his best to bring as much information to the table. Admiral Suzu was in attendance, with Commander Gengyo joining him on the same monitor. The CO of the radar installations was a little nervous at first about the secrecy of the whole matter, but ultimately, he was in the same position as Goto.
He had wanted to include Nagato as well, but the battleship had sat at her desk to finish some reports before the call started. She was asleep not two minutes later and Goto didn't have the heart to wake her up. He'd bring her into the loop when she wasn't dead on her feet. Preferably with Musashi in tow.
A tight exhale came over the call as General Nichols shifted in his seat, forcing the conference call to switch to him. "Okay. So where does that leave us now? A week ago I expected to nail this man to the wall, but according to everything you've told us, Admiral, he's a hero."
"That's… difficult to say." Goto took a deep breath. "The public has been wiped up into a frenzy; they either see him as an attention seeking impersonator at best or an Abyssal plant at worst."
"But in reality, he's the battleship that just saved all of Japan," Horton finished tightly.
"Exactly."
"Oh boy..." Horton sighed, massaging his temples. "That's going to be a wild story to break."
"And only complicates things further," Nichols said, his expression grim. "We're not just dealing with a potential fugitive, but one who's also a Japanese battleship. That'll be a mess of its own."
"Is he a fugitive, though?" Maj Simm's words silenced everyone. "Just pointing out an observation, but the first thing Morgan did was submit himself to the authorities and made no attempt to conceal his identity. That doesn't fit the actions of a fugitive at all... although it does lead to some conflicting behaviors on his part."
Goto held up a hand. "Excuse me, I have a few questions of my own. For starters, who is Cpl Morgan exactly? I found his obituary online, but it seems there's more to this story that you haven't told me yet."
"Quite." Major Simms said, leaning back in his chair. "The truth is, Admiral, that Cpl Morgan went missing almost seven years ago."
Goto's brow furrowed. "That's it?"
"In simple terms; yes. However, it's the nature of his disappearance that makes his case so interesting. In fact, it's one of the most famous modern missing person cases in Canada. He just... vanished."
"Vanished?" Goto echoed, skeptically.
"I know it sounds impossible, but it's the truth. As simple as it gets," said Horton. "This happened back in 2019, I was CO of Second Battalion at the time. We were going through an exercise, nothing too fancy; just recce a target before smashing it with a mechanized company. Morgan was a part of the recce element. Their insertion went well; they hit the beach and got work, but… at some point during a two hundred meter trek through the woods, Morgan just vanished. No warning, no explanation. Just gone."
His eyes went distant for a moment, remembering past events. "His section thought he just got lost, but after three hours they called a no-duff, believing he was hurt somewhere. They started looking, but couldn't find him. Then the exercise got derailed as we pulled in the other companies to help. We had over a thousand guys, walking in a line through the woods but we couldn't find a single trace of him. We kept looking for three days until the Brigade took the investigation out of our hands."
Goto's brow furrowed. "Is it possible he deserted?"
It was pure speculation on his part.
Horton shrugged again. "The possibility was considered, but no one believed it to be the case. I certainly didn't. People liked him: Morgan was a good troop, rarely got into trouble, and in interviews said he just wanted to do his job. No; him deserting didn't feel right at all. But then things started getting weird when the MPs brought in sniffer dogs. They found Morgan's trail, no problem… then it just dropped off. Like he was walking alone and then was suddenly snatched up by the hand of god. It didn't make any sense. The base was put on lockdown trying to find him, but after weeks we didn't have a single clue."
Shuffling a sheaf of notes, Simms faced the camera. "I hate to sound cynical but desertion was the leading conclusion at the time. But investigators couldn't find any reason why or motivation. He was mentally stable, had good relationships with his friends and family, and there was zero indication he'd want to leave all that behind in the first place. Let alone leave the CAF. There were dozens of theories about him selling information overseas, even pawning off his equipment, but why? That was always the question; why? If he wanted to run away, why not do it over the weekend to get a head start? Why run in the middle of a training exercise? If the purpose was anything else other than seeking attention, we couldn't make heads or tails of it."
"And attention seeking didn't fit Morgan's personality at all," Horton added.
"However, there were a few pieces of evidence that could have been interpreted as him preparing to vanish. Namely, he brought his phone and wallet out to the field with him."
Now it was Simm's turn to shrug. "It could have been forgetfulness on his part, but it did open the possibility of tracking him by his phone. So Morgan's cell provider was called up, but what we got only deepened the mystery. The phone's signal cut out in the rough location where the dogs lost Morgan's scent. They haven't received a signal from it since. Same thing with his credit cards. Wherever he went, he never tried to access his bank accounts. For all intents and purposes, it's like Cpl Morgan dropped off the face of the earth."
"So why the obituary?" Goto asked, still trying to process what he'd just heard.
"For the sake of his relatives," replied Horton. "Without any concrete evidence; even a body, the investigation was forced to conclude that he did indeed desert. Vanishing without a trace wasn't a valid reason, not with the equipment he'd vanished with. If the official statement was that he died while on exercise then his family could honor his memory, at the very least."
"That didn't stop the internet from obsessing over the case, however," Simms piped up. "It became one of the most controversial missing person cases for a bit. The paranormal crowd pointed to it as proof that supernatural disappearances were possible, skeptics claimed he was just too good at his job and snuck away under everyone's noses. It's still pretty notorious online."
Pausing, Simms picked up another piece of paper from his desk. "And then… the picture. Solid proof that Cpl Morgan is indeed alive and apparently cosplaying in Japan."
"So why assume he's a fugitive then?" Goto asked.
"We have to consider all possibilities, Admiral," Nichols replied. "All we know right now is that Morgan reappeared after seven years of total silence, and he's now a battleship to boot."
"Which deepens the mystery further, considering he went missing before the Abyssals even appeared," Simms added, sighing. "It sounds ludicrous, Admiral, but my colleagues are entertaining the theory that Morgan is the result of an Abyssal experiment. How they came up with that I have no idea."
An experiment, huh?
However unlikely that seemed – the Abyssals had never shown much interest in humans beyond exterminating them – Goto's mind drifted to the Prophecy they practically worshipped. Its verses were not fully understood, what with the Abyssals guarding its secrets jealously. Even after all these years, they'd only managed to coax out the exact number of verses and their general intentions out of the Abyssal forces; mostly from their battle cries.
But not a single one of them mentioned Morgan or Musushi.
While that didn't eliminate the strange battleship from the equation, it didn't absolve him either.
"...I believe that might be possible," Gengyo spoke up, suddenly, his face troubled. "When we spoke, Morgan mentioned the Abyss off-hand. I didn't give it much thought, but he appeared… frightened, almost, when I responded in kind. He seemed far more familiar with it than any Kanmusu I've heard of."
"Yes, I was curious about that myself," Simms said. "Although… I must point out that his being an experiment is highly unlikely considering his state of dress. I've read witness testimonies and he's wearing the exact same outfit he went missing in! And it's still in reasonable condition. If he was a captive, it's a miracle his clothes survived this long."
The Major examined a page of notes for a long minute. "And there's his appearance in general. To be frank, I do not believe for a single moment that Morgan was the contact you picked up on radar, Admiral. It must have been some new way the Abyssals have discovered to mask their signature. To imply otherwise is that Morgan just… popped out of the ocean!"
"That is how all natural summons occur," Goto pointed out.
"Yes, but Morgan isn't a summoned Kanmusu! His gender alone means he doesn't qualify as a natural born, either! It's…" Simms trailed off. Whatever train of thought he was following appeared to have taken a wrong turn. He searched for words, before rubbing a hand down his face, tiredly.
"We still need to think logically about this. Wherever he's been for these last seven years he was still undoubtedly on Earth. Moreover, he went missing before shipgirl 'magic' was even a concept. I believe that eliminates it as a factor entirely."
"Do you believe Abyssals captured him after the fact?" Gengyo asked, frowning. "Make no mistake, I can vouch for his allegiances. But even if he hadn't turned on the Abyssals, he would not make a good infiltrator."
"Plus, our radar readings seem to prove that he wasn't a part of the main Abyssal fleet," Admiral Suzu spoke up. "I've looked over the data myself. While we're still trying to figure out how the Abyssals managed to get to land without being detected, Mu- Morgan's signature appeared well ahead of the radar deadzone. He couldn't have been a part of that fleet else we wouldn't have seen him at all."
Simms sighed, deeply. "...It's all contradictory evidence."
He looked ready to babble on, but Nichols interrupted him. "We can either speculate all day or we can get to the bottom of his. Admiral Goto, I have an inquiry team ready to fly over in the next three days, led by Colonel Horton here. I'm not trying to step on your toes, Major, but I'm hoping Morgan will react better to a friendly face asking the questions. Admiral, I appreciate everything you've done to accommodate us, but the only way we'll get answers is out of Morgan himself."
Goto agreed wholeheartedly. But before they could hammer out the details, a crash rang from outside, followed by a scream. A long, drawn wail that rose by the second. The sound set Goto's teeth on edge; feeling the sheer terror behind it.
Nagato jolted awake, a thin line of drool hanging from her lower lip as she scanned for the noise.
Following its source, both of them ran to the open window.
Goto's office was on the second story of the Yokosuka Headquarters, providing a good view of the surrounding base. It was the perfect vantage point to see the commotion outside the mess hall, and the scream coming from its center. It had the volume of a shipgirl behind it, but the tone was undoubtedly male.
"Shit!" Goto cursed, sprinting from his office, with Nagato close on his heels.
Dozens of scenarios rushed through his head as he burst outside, but when he got closer, the scene was far worse than anything he could have imagined.
Morgan was on the ground, cut in half at the waist, screaming at his lower half with an ear-piercing wail. Oil was pooling around him as fairies poured from the breach, working desperately to reconnect his torso. If anything, their efforts only made Morgan scream louder.
His good hand – how he'd lost the other, Goto didn't want to know – reached down, grasped a chunk of his steel insides, and tore it free, much to the distress of his fairies. If it was possible, his scream reached an even higher pitch as he saw the mangled metal in his grip. His face was something Goto had only seen in his worst nightmares.
And off to the side knelt Tenryuu, cradling a limp form in her arms.
"What's going on?!" Nagato roared, putting the full might of her turbines to good use as she sped ahead of Goto. She skidded to a stop next to the cruiser. "Tenryuu, what happened here?"
"I... I was just getting him off... I didn't... I didn't intend to do this!" Tenryuu shakily replied, her voice almost drowned out by Morgan's screams.
A crowd was starting to form; men, women, and ship-girls alike streaming into the area to see what all the racket was about. Most alarming was Iowa running from the mess hall, rigging deployed with a flustered Akashi on her tail. The pair reached Morgan before Goto did, and Akashi instantly took charge of the situation.
She grabbed Morgan's hand before he could tear more of his insides free, her rigging coming into being. Cranes arched from her back like the legs of a spider, her repair teams deploying in force to contain the damage.
"Please!" she begged as Morgan squirmed, desperately trying to throw off her grip. "I'm trying to help you!"
"What have you done to me?!" he screamed back. "What have you done?!"
He tried to punch her off with his free arm, but Iowa caught the blow before it could land and pinned the limb to the ground beneath her full weight.
"Careful!" Akashi squealed.
"Trying!" Iowa grunted back as Morgan thrashed wildly. He was determined to free himself, even if that meant tearing his body apart. Desperately trying to keep his flaying limb down, Akashi shouted at the other girls surrounding the scene.
"Help me hold him down, he's gonna kill himself!"
They hesitated.
"NOW!!"
The surrounding battleships jumped into action just as Goto made it to the scene. Nagato stopped him before he could get too close and put himself at risk. Panting, he watched as Morgan was pinned down through sheer numbers. The screams momentarily deafened him as the battleship lost all forms of mobility. It only made him fight harder.
In the chaos, Kongou seemed to appear from out of nowhere, kneeling at his head and holding it steady. And then, surprising everyone, she began to sing. It was an old song, one Goto couldn't recognize. Kind soul that she was, the fast battleship was only trying to help calm him down. Sadly it didn't have the effect she intended.
The man's eyes went wild, thrashing his head around to break her grip.
"Please, just calm down," Akashi pleaded in English, changing positions so she was kneeling next to Kongou. "I know it hurts, I know you're in pain, but I'm trying to fix you."
Those wild eyes locked onto her. "Fix? FIX?! I'm a human being!!"
He bucked with strength defying his broken body, almost throwing off his captors in the process.
"I'm a human being!!"
That was enough for Goto. Stepping up to Nagato, he whispered in her ear. "How can we knock him out?"
"Normally asking the crew to leave his bridge would be enough, but they're already gone. It's not working."
"Well, you brought him in unconscious, what did you do?"
The secretary ship hesitated. "We… we doused his boilers to the bare minimum."
"Do it."
Nagato flinched but transmitted his orders silently. Within moments, it was apparent Akashi's fairies were following through. Morgan's movements grew weaker, his screams giving way to ragged gasps and sobs as the strength bled from his body. Kongou's song grew louder, trying to ease his terror as she wiped away the tears rolling down his cheeks.
For Goto, it was heart-wrenching to watch. The man's fear was palpable. It was a harsh decision, but it needed to be done. Goto refused to look away, determined to see his choices through as Morgan's eyes finally closed, and his body went limp.
In the stunned silence that followed, Goto took stock of the situation.
The scene had drawn quite a crowd; dozens, if not hundreds of personnel watching from the outskirts. Destroyers and cruisers were frozen in stunned silence, shying away from the grizzly scene. A fair number of them were trembling.
Even the human staff shifted uneasily, whispering to each other. And there were a distressing number of phones recording the whole thing. No one seemed to know how to react.
But the worst of it was Tenryuu and the remaining girls of DesDiv 6 hovering worriedly over the limp form of Akatsuki.
Goto's jaw tightened as he looked back to Morgan.
With everything he had learned in the last few hours, it felt like the truth was slipping away, regardless of how hard he chased it. Morgan; a Canadian declared missing for six years. Musashi; a battleship launched in 1940 and sunk four years later. How did either of those pieces connect?
And the man's fear… it was like Morgan didn't even know what he was. And if Gengyo was right, he didn't even know what a Kanmusu was! That bugged Goto more than anything else. Even if the man was an Abyssal experiment, he would have at least known what a shipspirit was from the Abyssals themselves!
Too many questions that needed answers, and the only one who could provide them had just attacked one of his destroyers.
Whatever goodwill he had left was just about gone.
"Okay, ease off, slowly." Akashi was pushing Iowa and the other battleships off, worriedly reassessing the damaged Musashi. She looked shaken, her eyes flicking down his ruined body. "I… I don't understand… I was only trying to help…"
After a few seconds, she seemed to pull on some inner strength. "Okay...Okay, uh, Iowa, help me carry him. Someone g-grab his legs... and the rest of his rigging, we need to get him to my workshop and-"
"Belay that," Goto cut her off. The assembly of shipgirls froze; for the first time realising that the Admiral was in their presence. "Iowa, stay here. The rest of you, help Akashi. I want him in a private bath. Repair him, but his boilers are not to be relit until I give express permission, understood?"
Despite the earlier display, many of the girls still blanched at his order. It was tantamount to being kept in a coma. Nonetheless, Akashi nodded. "H-Hai…"
"And once he's stable, Akashi, I need to speak with you."
As Morgan's limp form was carried off, Goto began issuing orders. He dispersed the crowd with a command, at the same time ordering a media blackout. Which would be suspicious on its own, but he just needed a little more time. Then he checked on Akatsuki. While not life threatening to a destroyer on dry land, the damage was... still severe. Her bridge had been caved in.
Which meant finding a replacement so DesDiv 6 could sortie. Tenryuu was livid; demanding to stay with her progeny. She only gave in to Kongou's gentle assurances that Akatsuki would be in good hands, and that she would personally keep an eye on her.
Only once that was done did Goto finally turn to Iowa. The battleship stood smartly at attention, even her hair seemed locked in place as the Admiral glared into the depths of her soul.
"What happened here?"
Without faltering, Iowa gave a full account of the events that had transpired. Musashi waking up in the baths, taking him to the mess hall, and the results. When she finished, Goto didn't need to voice his displeasure. His glare was more than enough to make the American battleship wilt.
Some petty, vindictive part of him enjoyed watching her squirm for putting him in this position. If she had just stayed in the baths all of this could have been avoided. There was no hiding the truth about Musashi's identity now; not with half the base drawn in with his cries.
But that was partially his fault, wasn't it? Back when he had assumed it was just Musashi with the body of a man. He hadn't gone back with more specific instructions when Morgan's true identity came to light. Now it was biting him in the ass.
Not to mention it eroded the trust his fleet had in him. Goto could feel their disapproval, and above all, their fear.
Now they knew, without a doubt, that this wasn't Musashi. So then who was he?
"Desu…" a weak voice broke Goto out of his thoughts.
Looking down, he saw Morgan's fairy Captain, standing smartly at attention next to Iowa. How exactly it had been left behind, he didn't know. But the little creature was trembling in her tiny boots, a tremor that only grew worse as Goto scowled at her.
She had been hiding things from the start, and Goto didn't have the patience to tolerate her games any longer.
"Nagato, grab her and take her to my office. I'll be there shortly."
To her credit, the fairy didn't try to run; merely accepted her fate as she was scooped up by the secretary ship and carried away.
Goto remained at the scene, ironing out the last of the issues he could see. He assigned Iowa as Morgan's permanent guard for the time being. Both a punishment and a precaution. She was the only one with enough horsepower to subdue him should the worst happen. While more flak for her actions was coming, the immediate issues took prevalence. And when the repair ship shuffled back, a haunted look on her face, he dolled out the last of his orders. Akashi bulked at the prospect of manacles, but before she could scurry away, Goto felt a familiar battleship latch onto his arm.
"Akashi, please wait for a moment," Kongou smiled sweetly before gently guiding Goto off to the side. Once they were out of earshot, the smile dropped and Goto realized just how shaken she was. "Teitoku, I know you're trying to help, but caging him will only make things worse."
"It is just a precaution," he replied, evenly, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice. "For both his sake and ours."
"Goto, he was terrified," Kongou whispered back, the use of his real name revealing just how serious she was. "I might not know what's going on, but there was nothing malicious about this at all! I could see it in his eyes."
The Admiral sighed. "We can't risk it. I'm afraid he'll either kill someone or himself."
"Or rip himself to pieces trying to break free."
Goto scowled. She had a point.
"He's not… Musashi, is he? That's why you're worried?" Her whisper was even quieter than before. "He didn't recognize any of us… Teitoku, what's going on?"
"I wish I knew."
Kongou nodded, solemnly. "Still, we can't do this to him. He's not a prisoner. Please, if it's safety you're worried about, let me watch him."
"Then I'd be worried about your safety," Goto shot back, firmly.
"Teikuko, he's scared, not an enemy," she urged. "Please, before you make any rash decisions, let me talk to him. Something is going on, yes, but I do not believe that this man is to blame."
And if the look on her face was any indication, she would regardless of what he said. A determined Kongou could not be dissuaded.
Sighing, Goto pinched the bridge of his nose. "Alright… I'll fill you in on the details later. When it's time to wake him up, I'll call for you."
Only once that was taken care of, and Kongou had extracted a promise that he would catch up on his sleep, did Goto storm back to his office.
The fairy Captain was shaking on his desk as he sat, fixing her with a glare.
Goto idly noticed he'd left the conference call running in his haste, and the assembled group was watching with interest. The breach of Opsec was appalling, but Goto couldn't bring himself to care. They were on a tighter clock than ever.
Nagato stepped beside him. "Admiral, before we begin, the Captain wishes to apologize for her earlier behavior. She promises to answer truthfully to the best of her abilities."
Now that was an admission of guilt if ever there was one.
Goto regarded the fairy for a moment, then glanced at his monitor where half a dozen expectant men waited. How on earth was he going to explain this?
Trying to keep his irritation in check, he ignored the fairy for a moment. "I apologize for the interruption, General, but things have just gotten a lot more complicated. Morgan just put one of my destroyers in the repair baths."
"What?!"
The Canadians recoiled, and Goto was quick to explain the situation before any accusations could be thrown around. A pensive silence followed in its wake as everyone digested the new information.
Major Simms cleared his throat, politely. "If I may Admiral, but Morgan's behavior makes even less sense than before."
"Believe me, I know," Goto couldn't help but snap back, shifting his glare to the fairy on his desk. "But now hopefully we can get something coherent."
Intertwining his fingers, Goto addressed the trembling Captain directly. "I want the truth and nothing but the truth. Understand?"
The fairy nodded, frantically.
"For starters, I want to know how exactly Morgan came to be like this and what happened to the real Musashi."
He could almost watch the life drain from the Captain's face. Her trembling intensified as she bowed deeply, her head almost touching the desk as she spoke quickly.
Nagato translated. "She begs you for your forgiveness, Admiral, but she does not know who this Morgan is… and I must admit, neither do I."
"I promise you, I'll explain everything when we're finished here," he replied, glaring down at the little creature. "Morgan. Your battleship; Musashi. How did he become like this?"
She bowed again. "Desu, desu…"
As Nagato translated, a bewildering story came to light. Beginning with their summoning in the Pacific, to the horrific discovery that Musashi had been… uglified. More than that, he didn't seem to know how to use his engines, insisting on walking back to Japan with the help of a strange device that was able to give them their coordinates. Then the vandalism, the trash found everywhere around the ship, and determining that Musashi had been infested by a stowaway!
The Captain listed in detail the efforts they had gone through to find this monster; even using the spy's abandoned equipment as bait in a cunning trap. But a stowaway wasn't the only problem they were faced with. Aside from the ugliness, Musashi wasn't working right! None of their radios could transmit, the props refused to engage, and dozens of other problems aside.
Hesitantly, the Captain brought up her Chief Engineer's theory about Musashi not knowing he was a boat at all.
All things considered, the rest of the tale was rather anticlimactic. Making landfall, finding the school, and reaching the radar installation. The only exception was her retelling of the battle of Rokkasho.
If Goto hadn't seen the results for himself, he never would have believed it.
But the Captain's retelling ended with a sincere apology. She had desperately hoped that a repair bath would fix whatever had happened to Musashi. When that failed, she had doubled her efforts to find the stowaway, hoping for answers that way. She didn't want to come to the Admiral with nothing.
For a long minute, nobody could find the words. Even Goto was stunned speechless. The sheer disbelief must have shown on his face, because the fairy held up a stub as if to say 'wait, there's more,' as she dug around in her pocket.
The tiny square object she held out to him was the final nail in the coffin.
Goto accepted it, almost dropping it in surprise as it expanded to it's real size the moment it left the Captain's stub.
It was a wallet. A modern, nylon wallet, held shut with velcro. Carefully opening it, he found credit cards, a few crumpled Canadian bills, and a military ID bearing a familiar face and name. Nagato gasped, recoiling in shock.
"Admiral… what's going on?"
Gathering himself, Goto set the cards aside and addressed the group. A plan was quickly bashed out, emails were typed out, calls were made, and deadlines were set. By the time the Canadians signed off, Goto finally felt on top of the situation, despite the concessions he was forced to make to parliament.
One way or another, this man's story would be coming to light.
And with that out of the way, he turned to his next biggest problem. A bewildered secretary ship. And a frightened fleet.
To be honest, I wasn't expecting this much hate directed towards the fleet. The scene in chapter 15 in the baths was written to be comedic; levity admit the confusion that Morgan's appearance could create. I didn't expect it to go in the opposite direction. By then it was already too late and this scene of Morgan discovering that he was boat was already fixed in my mind.
Undeniable evidence that his guts are grey instead of red.
And really, every scenario I could think off about him discovering he's boat ended badly. It's why I didn't do it back in chapter 7 when he first met Gremlin. Things would not have gone well for the little gal.
Of course, not that means things have hit a boiling point. The fleet knows, William knows, the Canadians know, and Goto is struggling to pick up the pieces. Admittably, I didn't write him or the Japanese Navy as well as I should have, but going forward I will try to do better.
Sorry this took a little longer to post, real life got in the way. Last chapter of this mess should be out by wednesday or sooner.
Undeniable evidence that his guts are grey instead of red.
And really, every scenario I could think off about him discovering he's boat ended badly. It's why I didn't do it back in chapter 7 when he first met Gremlin. Things would not have gone well for the little gal.
Of course, not that means things have hit a boiling point. The fleet knows, William knows, the Canadians know, and Goto is struggling to pick up the pieces. Admittably, I didn't write him or the Japanese Navy as well as I should have, but going forward I will try to do better.
Sorry this took a little longer to post, real life got in the way. Last chapter of this mess should be out by wednesday or sooner.
"Kanojo kara hanarete kudasai!"
"Get away from her!"
"Ā... Ā, nante kotoda... Gomen'nasai..."
"Oh... oh god. I'm sorry..."
"Get away from her!"
"Ā... Ā, nante kotoda... Gomen'nasai..."
"Oh... oh god. I'm sorry..."
So, in light of the reaction towards Tenryuu, I've gone back and retconed that section. Toned down the violence and made it seem more like an accident her protective streak caused and not like she intended to murder William. In all honesty, I intended this to be an overreaction on her part, but I failed to anticipate just how malicious her actions could be seen as. I'll strive to do better in the future.
Moreover, I've gone back and edited a few parts.
-Iowa's reaction to William strangling Akashi and pinning him, making it less harsh and more considerate
-Goto being a little more focused on William's health at being cut in half.
It's not perfect, but I felt it necessary to smooth over these issues before moving on.
And his heart… his heart was gone. There was no pounding beat in his ears; only an endless whirring sound, punctuated by the crackle of flames.
What had they done to him? What was happening?!
He staggered onward, not knowing where to go, just acting on the overwhelming fear pushing him on. Each step sent tremors down his legs; his bones felt ready to snap!
He could feel the weight of the battleship on his back, with no idea where it had come from! It's broken booms wrapped around him once more. He could feel it like it was a part of his own body! Each torn sheet of metal ached and burned.
Nothing was right! Nothing made sense! What was happening to him?!
And Iowa…
He shuddered, loosing himself in the terror for a split second.
Iowa wasn't human. Neither was that Akaski, none of them were!
The hollowness had opened his eyes and he saw them for what they truly were: Vast, metallic forms compressed down into something resembling a human shape, flickering back and forth between steel and flesh. Things of impossible sizes standing right in front of him!
Just like the Abyssals… just like that bitch that had almost killed him!
William staggered, mind reeling. He couldn't focus, he could barely even think!
"Anata!"
It was only the enraged shout that finally broke him free, forcing him to turn around. His heart – if it was even still there – sank.
"Kono yarō!"
Another one of those things was charging him, her form flicking between a young woman in black and purple and a hulking mass of metal coming at him at full speed. It – she? - was right on top of him before William noticed the sword, and by then it was too late.
The blade cut across his stomach before he could react, carving a new line of fire across his flesh. His legs suddenly went cold and he toppled backward, landing flat on his back. The battleship on shattered again, its broken fragments flying everywhere. Agony pulsed through his body; it felt like a part of him had been torn to shreds!
As stars danced before his eyes, he felt the touch of cold steel on his chin.
Looking up, the same woman/metal monstrosity was looming over him, her sword level with his throat. It was difficult to properly gauge her expression; one moment he'd be watching lips move, the next he'd be staring at a wall of steel, interspaced with square windows. It… vaguely reminded him of the bridge of the battleship.
She was screaming at him too, pressing the sword deeper into his throat as her angry Japanese fell on deaf ears. Dazed and confused, the only thought he could muster was why couldn't he feel his legs?
He looked down past the steel at his throat… and the whole world seemed to fall away.
There were his legs, and a good chunk of his torso, laying on the concrete a fair distance from the rest of his body. But knowing that he'd been cut in half was nothing compared to the sight awaiting him.
He was no stranger to death, even before joining the military. Growing up on a farm acclimatized you to a lot of things. Death was a fact of life. Rot and decay was just part of the cycle you relied on. He couldn't count the number of times he'd ran into a dead or dying animal. It was always a somber experience. It gave a deeper understanding of what life was, and how easily it could be lost.
At the end of the day, you were still just meat. A living thing made of organs, tissue and blood, just with a higher intelligence than the ones around you. And with enough force, those organs inside you could be spread around as easily as road kill. Intelligence be damned.
William had lived with that understanding his whole life. But as he looked down at his severed torso, expecting to see his blood pooling on the ground…
There was no red... no slimy entrails, nothing that denoted a living thing. Just... grey.
His breath caught in his throat.
In the hollow of his torso, where there should have been flesh, there was nothing but grey steel. His organs simply didn't exist! The same effect that roiled up from his stump now filled his chest cavity, expanding into a confusing hell-scape of pipes, bulkheads and corridors. There was nothing real about his insides at all!
But worse were the eyes.
There were dozens of them. Hundreds. Creatures just like Gremlin, each dressed in their own tiny uniform, staring back at him, their beady eyes wide with shock. They had been inside him the whole time!
It was too much.
After everything he'd been through, everything he'd endured… William gave in to his terror, opened his mouth and screamed.
His good hand – how he'd lost the other, Goto didn't want to know – reached down, grasped a chunk of his steel insides and tore it free, much to the distress of his fairies. If it was possible, his scream reached an even higher pitch as he saw the mangled metal on his grip. His face was something Goto had only seen in his worst nightmares.
And above him stood Tenryuu, sword in hand.
"What are you thinking?!" Nagato roared, putting the full might of her turbines to good use as she sped ahead of Goto. She only slowed down enough not to cause permanent harm as she shoved Tenryuu aside. "Stand down!"
"That bastard knocked out my daughter!" Tenyruu shouted back, all trace of military decorum gone.
"So you cut him in half?!"
A crowd was staring to form; men, women, and ship-girls alike streaming into the area to see what all the racket was about. Most alarming was Iowa storming from the mess hall, rigging deployed with a flustered Akashi on her tail. The pair reached Morgan before Goto did, and Akashi instantly took charge of the situation.
She grabbed Morgan's hand before he could tear more of his insides free, her own rigging coming into being. Cranes arched from her back like the legs of a spider, her repair teams deploying in force to contain the damage.
"Please!" she begged as Morgan squirmed, desperately trying to throw off her grip. "I'm trying to help you!"
"What have you done to me?!" he screamed back. "What have you done?!"
He tried to punch her off with his free arm, but Iowa caught the blow before it could land and pinned the limb to the ground beneath her full weight.
"Careful!" Akashi squealed.
"I'll be careful when he isn't trying to kill you!" Iowa snarled back as Morgan thrashed wildly. He seemed to determined to free himself, even if that meant tearing his body apart. Desperately trying to keep his flaying limb down, Akashi shouted at the other girls surrounding the scene.
What had they done to him? What was happening?!
He staggered onward, not knowing where to go, just acting on the overwhelming fear pushing him on. Each step sent tremors down his legs; his bones felt ready to snap!
He could feel the weight of the battleship on his back, with no idea where it had come from! It's broken booms wrapped around him once more. He could feel it like it was a part of his own body! Each torn sheet of metal ached and burned.
Nothing was right! Nothing made sense! What was happening to him?!
And Iowa…
He shuddered, loosing himself in the terror for a split second.
Iowa wasn't human. Neither was that Akaski, none of them were!
The hollowness had opened his eyes and he saw them for what they truly were: Vast, metallic forms compressed down into something resembling a human shape, flickering back and forth between steel and flesh. Things of impossible sizes standing right in front of him!
Just like the Abyssals… just like that bitch that had almost killed him!
William staggered, mind reeling. He couldn't focus, he could barely even think!
"Anata!"
It was only the enraged shout that finally broke him free, forcing him to turn around. His heart – if it was even still there – sank.
"Kono yarō!"
Another one of those things was charging him, her form flicking between a young woman in black and purple and a hulking mass of metal coming at him at full speed. It – she? - was right on top of him before William noticed the sword, and by then it was too late.
The blade cut across his stomach before he could react, carving a new line of fire across his flesh. His legs suddenly went cold and he toppled backward, landing flat on his back. The battleship on shattered again, its broken fragments flying everywhere. Agony pulsed through his body; it felt like a part of him had been torn to shreds!
As stars danced before his eyes, he felt the touch of cold steel on his chin.
Looking up, the same woman/metal monstrosity was looming over him, her sword level with his throat. It was difficult to properly gauge her expression; one moment he'd be watching lips move, the next he'd be staring at a wall of steel, interspaced with square windows. It… vaguely reminded him of the bridge of the battleship.
She was screaming at him too, pressing the sword deeper into his throat as her angry Japanese fell on deaf ears. Dazed and confused, the only thought he could muster was why couldn't he feel his legs?
He looked down past the steel at his throat… and the whole world seemed to fall away.
There were his legs, and a good chunk of his torso, laying on the concrete a fair distance from the rest of his body. But knowing that he'd been cut in half was nothing compared to the sight awaiting him.
He was no stranger to death, even before joining the military. Growing up on a farm acclimatized you to a lot of things. Death was a fact of life. Rot and decay was just part of the cycle you relied on. He couldn't count the number of times he'd ran into a dead or dying animal. It was always a somber experience. It gave a deeper understanding of what life was, and how easily it could be lost.
At the end of the day, you were still just meat. A living thing made of organs, tissue and blood, just with a higher intelligence than the ones around you. And with enough force, those organs inside you could be spread around as easily as road kill. Intelligence be damned.
William had lived with that understanding his whole life. But as he looked down at his severed torso, expecting to see his blood pooling on the ground…
There was no red... no slimy entrails, nothing that denoted a living thing. Just... grey.
His breath caught in his throat.
In the hollow of his torso, where there should have been flesh, there was nothing but grey steel. His organs simply didn't exist! The same effect that roiled up from his stump now filled his chest cavity, expanding into a confusing hell-scape of pipes, bulkheads and corridors. There was nothing real about his insides at all!
But worse were the eyes.
There were dozens of them. Hundreds. Creatures just like Gremlin, each dressed in their own tiny uniform, staring back at him, their beady eyes wide with shock. They had been inside him the whole time!
It was too much.
After everything he'd been through, everything he'd endured… William gave in to his terror, opened his mouth and screamed.
His good hand – how he'd lost the other, Goto didn't want to know – reached down, grasped a chunk of his steel insides and tore it free, much to the distress of his fairies. If it was possible, his scream reached an even higher pitch as he saw the mangled metal on his grip. His face was something Goto had only seen in his worst nightmares.
And above him stood Tenryuu, sword in hand.
"What are you thinking?!" Nagato roared, putting the full might of her turbines to good use as she sped ahead of Goto. She only slowed down enough not to cause permanent harm as she shoved Tenryuu aside. "Stand down!"
"That bastard knocked out my daughter!" Tenyruu shouted back, all trace of military decorum gone.
"So you cut him in half?!"
A crowd was staring to form; men, women, and ship-girls alike streaming into the area to see what all the racket was about. Most alarming was Iowa storming from the mess hall, rigging deployed with a flustered Akashi on her tail. The pair reached Morgan before Goto did, and Akashi instantly took charge of the situation.
She grabbed Morgan's hand before he could tear more of his insides free, her own rigging coming into being. Cranes arched from her back like the legs of a spider, her repair teams deploying in force to contain the damage.
"Please!" she begged as Morgan squirmed, desperately trying to throw off her grip. "I'm trying to help you!"
"What have you done to me?!" he screamed back. "What have you done?!"
He tried to punch her off with his free arm, but Iowa caught the blow before it could land and pinned the limb to the ground beneath her full weight.
"Careful!" Akashi squealed.
"I'll be careful when he isn't trying to kill you!" Iowa snarled back as Morgan thrashed wildly. He seemed to determined to free himself, even if that meant tearing his body apart. Desperately trying to keep his flaying limb down, Akashi shouted at the other girls surrounding the scene.
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Tisaku
Head Chief Thinkomancer
ripped
jagged
manner
scraped
bosom
bent
on it
loath
rogue
sheaf
conclusion
a part
piercing