Chapter 24: Of Doubts and Conversations
To: Bennett, Oscar
From: AdmiralGoto
CC: N/A
Security Clearance: Secret – Receptor's Eyes Only
Subject: My Fleet's Well-being
Doctor Bennett,
No doubt you've heard of my approaching trial. I won't go into specifics, but there are many who have had their eye on my position for a long while. Some of the charges they bring to the table are believable, others less so. However, it is my conduct regarding Morgan and his situation that is under the most scrutiny.
At this point, the hearing is merely a formality. Within a month I will loose my position and possibly my rank. I do not know where I will go afterwards, but I need to insure the welling being of my fleet before it is taken out of my hands.
Nagato seems to be recovering well. Although, I have not received a straight answer out of her beyond 'I'm fine.' She is not fine, though she appears to be returning to her former self. Sending Morgan home appears to have been the right choice in that regard, for her and the entire fleet. His existence must be addressed at some point, but for now, they are slowly coming to terms about him.
However, Yamato worries me most of all. I'm sure you've heard of their meeting by now. She hasn't taken it well. I fear we now have two Lost Causes to worry about.
I would consider it a personal favor if you took charge in arranging their therapy. If what you say about Lost Causes is true, then it might be for the best if we do not use our base Physiologists until they know what they are dealing with.
As of yet, I am unsure who my replacement will be, which makes passing on my concerns regarding the girl's health that much more difficult. But, I hope the Committee can intercede and get my fleet the help they need, regardless of who is shoehorned into my position.
Sincerely,
Admiral Goto
JMSDF Kanmusu Corp
Yokosuka
To: AdmiralGoto
From: Bennett, Oscar
CC: N/A
Security Clearance: Secret – Receptor's Eyes Only
Subject: RE: My Fleet's Well-being
Admiral Goto,
Do not fear, Admiral, the health and safety of our girls is my top priority. Kannushi Isoroku volunteered to handle their case himself! I didn't know he was a licensed Psychologist, but I'm not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. A perfect match, if I dare say so myself.
In regards to your situation, you have my upmost sympathies. However, I would not pack your bags just yet. We of the Committee are still deep in debate, but the general consensuses is that we must take a more active role in the war. Morgan's testimony has forced us to reevaluate everything and it has thrown our organization into a little bit of turmoil. However, the Abyss is something we cannot afford to ignore.
If that requires military action then we will need a prepared strike force. Even in these early deliberations, you are a prime candidate to lead this charge. You have experience commanding Kanmusu and are, most critically, are already briefed on the Abyss.
I don't know how long it'll take, but you'll soon become a member of the Committee yourself. With your help, hopefully we can end this war once and for all.
Cheerio,
Doctor Bennett
Breakfast was an awkward affair, not for any lack of trying on his parent's part. He could barely carry a conservation; the seven year gap continued to be a constant barrier. So much had happened and yet whenever he tried to broach the topic, irrational guilt strangled him. It was his own family, after all! He should have known these things!
He felt like a stranger in his own home.
And while Eli might have been brave enough to shake his hand, that was as far as the kids were willing to go. They were barely comfortable being in the same room as him. No matter how much the adults tried to reassure them throughout the meal, they watched him like a wolf who was about to eat them too.
So to put them at ease, William finished quickly and announced that he needed a walk. Of course, they offered to come with him, but he needed the time alone. To think. The irony wasn't lost on him, but had to do something. And so the wind became his only company along the dusty roads, following a trail he had walked his whole life. Up and down the rolling hills, surrounded by the scent of spring, grass, manure, and dust...
It was peaceful. So why did it feel so strange to him?
For hours he trudged down the road, hearing the gravel crunch under his feet, the wind rustling his hair. An environment so far removed from the Abyss he could have walked for hours simply basking in the nostalgia and waving at passing vehicles that covered him in clouds of dust. Only his familiarity with the area kept him from getting lost in the backcountry. But the further he went, part of him didn't want to return.
There was nothing stopping him from just... walking. To keep going until he eventually found something – anything – less complicated than family.
The only thing that made him stop was the small plot cut out of one of the fields, surrounded by a low white fence. Neat rows of tombstones filled the County Cemetery, the number of which had grown substantially since he last saw it.
Morbid curiosity drew him in, and he began examining each stone one by one.
The cemetery was an old place and suffered from a lack of organization. No one was truly at fault; just a combination of different people from different generations and families, each envisioning the cemetery in their own way throughout the decades. Because of this, the front rows were the oldest and most scattered. Old, monolithic stones with names and dates, but not much else. There were more gaps in the mismatched rows here than anywhere else. Places where family members were expected to be buried, but never were.
It was a problem no one had the heart to fix. Exhuming the bodies purely to fix organization was a revolting thought.
The tombstones became more elaborate the deeper he went. Polished blocks of marble as opposed to the bare stone of his ancestors. And the names grew more familiar as well. Great grandparents, great aunts and uncles, and members of other families who had inhabited the land around them. Even a few that had been brought back from the States to be buried here.
There was no real sense of loss in this section; most had died long before he was born and the rest had passed on before he was old enough to remember them.
Near the back, however, were the more familiar names... far more than he remembered. Most of the pictures embedded in the tombstones were of seniors, their faces wrinkled with age but still smiling brightly. And while their deaths did bring a sense of melancholy, there was no true grief surrounding it.
Death was just a fact of life. Besides, they were some of the happiest people he'd known; grey-haired folk who would stay and chat for hours after church, but were well and truly ready to pass on. They always said it was only a matter of time before they met their Saviour.
His stomach churned uncomfortably, setting the tone of his visit long before he arrived at a particular pair of graves.
The stone on the left was simple; a large rock they had pulled from one of the fields. About half the size of his torso, it was large enough to fit the engraving of a cross, a baby's rattle, a name, and a single date.
Eli Morgan the first. The pregnancy had been a long, brutal affair for his parents, beset with more complications than he thought possible. The risk of losing them both had grown with each month. As frightening as those times were, he had to admire his mom's resolve to carry Eli to term. And after much hardship, his little brother was born.
He lived for twenty minutes. Enough to see him baptized and held by each member of the family.
It only made sense to put brothers together. The tombstone on the right was his own.
Learning about his own funeral had been a strange experience, but actually seeing the stone... Well, if he was being perfectly honest, it brought a profound sense of second-hand embarrassment.
The thing was made of limestone for crying out loud. His name and rank were carved beneath the crest of the RCR, framed by a maple leaf. To either side were short excerpts about duty and sacrifice that he could barely stomach. The stone was beautifully made, there was no doubt about that. Commissioned by a grieving family who only wished to do their son justice. Never in a million years could he fault them for that, but with all the embellishment you'd think a war hero was buried here.
That couldn't have been further from the truth.
Sure he loved his job and took pride in his accomplishments, but in the grand scheme of things he hadn't accomplished much. He hadn't been to Afghanistan or Iran, and his military accolades never extended past the training area. He was just some dumb infantry fuck who'd gotten lost in the woods and was never found.
While he couldn't blame his family for this, it felt like stolen valor on his part. Better men than him had died and received less than this.
A third stone caught his attention, small enough that he almost missed it. Nestled between its larger compatriots, it was a glorified placard more than anything else. There were no names or dates, just a few simple lines.
'Brothers in Christ.
One was pure and the other served.
Grant them peace, mercy, and rest
until they welcome us home at last.'
Silence.
The wind that had kept him company faltered as it often did. The rustle of grass died away, the birds paused for breath, and the song of the entire world seemed to hang between notes.
All that remained was the preternatural silence he'd known for months.
Even the clouds in the sky seemed to be falling around him.
Then the wind covered it up once again with a gentle gust, pushing the world back into motion. William gasped, letting out the breath he didn't realize he was holding.
Throughout his life, faith and truth had always gone hand in hand. The consequence of being a cradle catholic. They were one and the same, to varying degrees of devotion. He couldn't claim to be a good follower of Christ, but he didn't think he was a bad one either.
He just... believed; doing his best to live a good life. And then a walk through the woods caused faith and truth to veer off in wildly different directions. His experience split his convictions easier than an axe on wood.
When he was trapped, faith had been his focus. His single bright light in that darkness. Assurance that when he died, his soul was meant for something greater. This nightmare would eventually end, one way or another. It was that belief, hope, and even fear that kept him going through that eternal silence. He wanted it to end, but how could you face judgment knowing that you were guilty in the sight of your God?
True, he had always been a believer... but he hadn't been truly faithful until he realized that he would live the rest of his life on that battleship. Trapped in that place, death was the only promise the Abyss could give.
It was only natural he did everything he could to ensure he would be on the right side of the pearly gates. Nothing lit a fire under your ass quite like the threat of eternal damnation. Trying every day to atone for a life that he wasted; hoping, praying... fearing. That faith carried him down to the bottom of the Maelstrom and stood with him at Rokkasho.
Then he awoke in this new world; learned about the war, Kanmusu... and discovered what he was.
A walking, talking boat.
His thoughts and feelings had been all over the place, impossible to mediate on while in Japan. But now, after meeting his family again... he felt violated on a spiritual level. The Abyss had replaced his heart with boilers so easily he never even noticed. If he had died at Rokkasho, it would have been with the comforting belief that he was still human. That he was going to a better place.
He didn't even have that anymore.
He was no longer human, and that truth shook him to his core. More than having his insides replaced by steel, it was the power of the Abyss that scared him the most. What did escaping its realm matter when he was the living embodiment of its power? A man turned battleship. Flesh and blood molded into something else.
He'd been taught long ago that God was the master of all things. That all things followed His plan, both good and evil. That was what his faith said.
Now though... now he wasn't so sure. The truth of what he had seen, felt, and experienced was impossible to ignore.
Did that mean he had been living a lie his whole life?
He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. Nothing got the blood pumping quite like an existential crisis. And as he ignored the blatant fallacy within that comparison, he distracted himself with Eli's tombstone.
"Hey there, little brother," he whispered, throat tight. "So... I guess you had a front-row seat to it all, huh?"
He tried to smile but the expression fell flat.
"I, uh... I guess... I..."
He hated how hollow the words felt. Empty. Exasperating the conflict that plagued him ever since he got home. The Abyss drove a wedge between him and everything he loved. How could he say Jesus was Lord when he'd seen evidence to the contrary? How could he say it was the grace of God that carried him through that hellscape when it was the Abyss who spat him out like this?
It was hard to know what you believed after living through that. Harder still to admit it.
Every time his parents mentioned the faith, proclaiming that their prayers had been answered after seven long years made his gut clench uncomfortably. He felt like a fraud. Nodding along with each prayer of thanks, but unable to admit that it meant almost nothing to him.
He didn't know what was true anymore.
Was his baby brother up there listening... or was he just spouting off at nothing? Less than nothing. For all he knew there was no heaven, just that endless expanse of silence. Did that mean all the people in this cemetery were the lucky ones; dying in the comfort of a faith he no longer possessed?
He turned and left, unable to bear the judgmental presence of a damned rock.
He never noticed the roads leading him back to the homestead, trying to quell his churning doubts. He was so deep in his thoughts that the weak shout was startling. Glancing around, he realized he'd paused at the entrance to a short driveway. The white-sided house at the end wasn't his parent's, but it was one he was intimately familiar with, nonetheless.
Nothing about it had changed, save for the vinyl siding dulling with age. It was a modest two stories, with an enclosed deck, and an attached garage. It was the most modern building on the farm, despite it being constructed in the 1990s.
The shout – though now it sounded more of a strangled cry – came again, drawing William's attention to the walker shuffling out of the front door. The wizened old man pushing it had far more wrinkles than humanly possible. His clothes hung off his withered frame and his thick mop of hair had turned to white straw.
The walker bounced over pebbles and potholes, clearly not meant for this kind of terrain. But that didn't stop the old man who shuffled towards him with every ounce of strength he had left. Tears leaked around his thick-rimmed glasses, his face twisted into such an expression of grief and disbelief it was painful to watch.
Once the shock wore off, William ran and met him halfway. Letting out a strangled cry, the old man pushed his walker aside and threw his arms around William's waist, sobbing into his chest.
"It's you!" he cried, squeezing as tight as he could. "It's really you!"
"Hey Grandpa," William whispered, returning the embrace as carefully as he could. He had never felt his potential one hundred fifty thousand horsepower more acutely than in that moment. One wrong move could break the old man like a twig. "Please don't cry, you're gonna make me cry."
He didn't listen, of course; welcoming his grandson back with tears of joy.
Unfortunately, the inside of the house wasn't as timeless. Multiple renovations had been done during his absence, removing closets and widening hallways to compensate for his Grandpa's declining mobility. But aside from that, it retained the homely atmosphere that he remembered.
The living room and kitchen were only separated by a long island. Against the far wall, a wide glass cabinet held a wide collection of antique cutlery, dishes, and other knickknacks. It seemed the only antique they'd removed was the old CRT TV, and a wide plasma screen sat proudly in its place. Dozens of pictures were hung about the room, with a couple of wide shots taken of the whole extended family.
He was notably abducent from those.
"You want some coffee?"
Once he managed to compose himself, old Cecil Morgan's voice regained a little of his rich baritone. Those seven years had stolen away the rest. Still, for a man pushing 90, he was still fairly mobile. As he led William into the kitchen, he pushed the walker into a corner and shuffled around using the counters to support himself as he searched the pantry. "I, uh, I have hot chocolate if you want to make it a mocha."
"Coffee is good, thanks," William replied, leaning down to the drawer where all the mugs were kept. He nearly tore it out of the counter as his Grandpa 'Eeped!' in a way that brokered no room for augment.
"Eep eep! I'm making you coffee. Go sit down, I can do it."
The way his knees trembled as he leaned over did not inspire confidence.
"But, Grandpa..."
"Eep!! I told you, I have it! Now sit down, I'm taking care of you today."
Despite his protests, William had no choice but retreat to the table under his Grandpa's glare. All the same, he watched like a hawk as the old man shuffled around the kitchen, pulling out various ingredients for something more than a cup of coffee.
"It keeps me busy," his Grandpa explained as he spooned large spoonfuls of powder into a mug. "I sit in my chair too much as it is. Everyone says need my exercise, and this is me getting it."
"Can't argue with that," William chuckled, then stalled as he tried to find the words. "So, uh... how are you feeling?"
"Oh, you know. Old. But that hasn't changed much. I've felt old for a while. But how are you feeling?"
The concern on his face was palpable, made worse by eyes that were still red from crying. For the longest moment, William couldn't answer. There was so much he wanted to say, but none of it felt right.
"...I don't know," he lied, ducking his head. "It's just... too much to handle sometimes."
That was true, at least.
A plate was placed before him, a pile of chocolate bars on one side and a steaming mug on the other. According to the smell, it was coffee in only the loosest sense of the word. There was so much hot chocolate mix stirred in that it might as well have been pure sugar. The thick layer of mini marshmallows on top helped tip the concoction from a beverage to liquid diabetes.
"They're from my secret stash," his Grandpa whispered, tapping one of the chocolate bars with a wink. "Your mother has been hiding all my candy when he comes over to clean. Oh, that gets me so fired up when I can't find anything."
That brought a wry smile. It certainly sounded like his mother. "She's just looking out for you."
"Oh, phusss." He waved a hand, grumbling to himself. "Taking care of me, bah. I'm gonna be dead soon anyway, I want things to taste good."
He tapped the plate and all it's sugary goodness. "Now eat up! And I won't hear any 'buts' out of you, ya hear?"
Under the old man's watchful eye, William had no choice but to comply, unwrapping a motley collection of Aero bars, Caramilks, and a disproportionate amount of Snickers. Apparently, his Grandpa had taken their slogan to heart over the years.
Easing into the chair next to him with a grunt, his Grandpa began to nurse his own foam-capped mug. When he did speak, the tremble to his words was heartbreaking. "So... help me understand what happened, please. E-Everyone said you went missing years ago, but... you came back, I... I don't understand, where did you go? Why did you leave?"
The chocolate caught in William's throat. It wasn't an accusation, but it sure as hell stung like one.
"I..." he sighed. "It wasn't my choice to leave."
"You were kidnapped?"
"Kinda... In a matter of speaking."
But judging from his Grandpa's expression, that alone wouldn't be enough to satisfy him. But as he finished recounting his stay in Japan, it dawned on William just how... insincere his tale sounded. It had more black ink than a bar code; skipping from New Brunswick to popping up in the Atlantic with less finesse than The Last Jedi.
And the half lies only made his Grandpa's confusion worse.
For a long minute after he finished, an uncomfortable silence filled the air. William could almost feel the Abyss taunting him with its presence.
"So, uh... this is another one of your military secrets, then?" his Grandpa asked.
It took William a moment to remember what he was talking about and the answer made him chuckle. Leave it to his Grandpa to remember how he played up possible deployments as big military secrets.
"Yeah, I guess so," he said, shaking his head ruefully. "Just this time it's... slightly more serious."
"Oh... well, we don't have to talk about that then. I understand. I don't want you breaking any rules or anything. Just..." He stared off into the distance for a moment before shaking himself back to alertness. "Oh... this damned war makes me remember those Vietnam days. It was in the news almost every day. You couldn't go two hours without hearing about the Communists or how many people died over there. Why, just yesterday they were talking about some city and..."
He paused, jaw moving soundlessly before he perked up again. "Sorry, my memory is going a little foggy, but... oh, it's just like back then. People dying all over the place, saying we're making we're making progress, ships coming back as people."
He shook his head, then leaned over with a knowing smirk. "I might not understand most of it, but at least they're easy to look at, am I right?"
William snorted. "True."
"So where was I... ah, yes. So things keep getting worse and then a few weeks ago, we get a story from Japan saying how one of their new battleships went ahead an' saved their entire country! And I-I can't remember the name, but... they're calling you the same thing."
"Musashi." William nodded, staring down into his mug. "That's the name you're looking for."
"So then... everything they said on the news is true?"
"I doubt it. I haven't seen any news in a long time, so I couldn't tell you."
In fact, he was avoiding it like the plague. Who knew what stories were circulating about him. He was already a controversial topic in Japan, he didn't want to think about his reputation here. He would have to face it eventually, but not today. Hopefully not for a long while.
"But it was you?" His Grandpa leaned forward, eyes watering again. "You did this?"
William couldn't help shake his head. "I saved a town called Rokkasho. I don't know where this talk about me saving all of Japan came from and – Grandpa, are you alright?"
The old man had stood, his lips trembling as he hobbled forward as fast as he could. Worried that he was having a stoke for something, William jumped forward, only to be ensnared in another tearful embrace.
"Oh, my little Willy," his Grandpa sobbed, wrapping his arms as far around his waist as he could reach. "I am so proud of you. All this death in the world makes me so sad. I've been praying for years, but it never seems to get any better. And then... and then you come back and saved all those people! Oh, you give this old man so much hope."
Unease coiled in William's gut as the subject of faith was brought up. This time, however, he refused to let it linger, and crushed it with every ounce of will power he could muster. It would not poison this moment; not a single chance in hell. But as his Grandpa clung to him like a lifeline, a new sense of shame came rushing in.
His fears had been groundless; they didn't care that he was a battleship, welcoming him back. If he had claimed to know them so well, why had the fear of rejection ever crossed his mind? They loved him regardless.
"I've been an idiot," he smiled, ruefully, as all the fear and doubt seemed to drain.
They welcomed him back with open arms. Even with all the doubt and uncertainty, the least he could do was return the favor. Yes, he had suffered, yes, he was confused, but it wasn't fair that he was heaping that pain on everyone else.
The remark earned a light slap from the old man as he wiped the tears from his eyes. "Oh, don't say that. Now sit down, I'm making you lunch."
Again, he had no choice but to comply, simply savoring the peaceful calm as his Grandpa shuffled around, pulling out bread, cheese, and a dozen other ingredients that didn't belong on a grilled cheese sandwich. But that was one thing about Grandpa: while he hadn't been the baker of the pair – his Grandma claimed that award a hundred times over – grilled cheese sandwiches were his specialty. And the last seven years had not dulled those skills in the slightest.
Soon, William was drowning in nostalgia as the familiar smells began to fill the kitchen. Melting butter and toast, mixed with the aroma of seasoning salt. Harkening back to days when he was a good deal smaller and life was not so complicated.
"Desu?"
Then reality reasserted itself with all the subtlety of a brick.
Gremlin was on his shoulder, taking in her surroundings with a dubious expression. Then her gaze trailed down to his half finished mug. While the concoction might have been sweet, it generally resembled a muddy swamp. And the look of disdain the fairy gave it was usually reserved for a porta potty left out in the sun for the last five years.
That look turned to horror as she saw William's fingers wrapped around the handle.
"D-Desu."
Never once breaking eye contact, William raised the mug and took a long draft. She gagged.
"I mean, it's pure sugar, yeah, but it's still good."
"Desu!"
"What this then?"
Gremlin squealed as his Grandpa's face came into view, scant inches away from her own. She slipped, lost her footing, and would have landed face-first on the table if William hadn't caught her. Regardless, she still banished a tiny fist, swearing profusely as the old man leaned in for a closer examination.
"Why... why does it look like a dog?"
"No idea. Anyway, Grandpa, this is Gremlin. Gremlin, my Grandpa."
The old man squinted at the tiny creature, a gesture which was turned with gusto and substantially more suspicion. "But, what is it?"
"It's... a fairy," William stated, at a complete loss as to how to explain its existence. "Apparently all ships need a crew so I got these guys running around inside me. Kinda freaky when you think about it."
"...oh... oh, now I remember. I think I've heard of them before." He waggled a finger in Gremlin's direction. "Don't you go anywhere, I'll be right back."
"Desu?" Confused at the gesture, Gremlin watched the old man shuffle over to dig in a cupboard. Her confusion only doubled as he returned, unwrapping an Aero bar that was almost a third larger both her entire body and hat combined.
"Here you go, little gal," Grandpa said, gently lowering the brown bar into her stubs. "Eat up, you look like skin and bones."
But she was so bewildered by the chocolate bar she didn't seem to hear him. Like a cat placed in front of a mirror for the first time, the brown substance was a strange and unfamiliar entity. She didn't know what it was and had even less of an idea about what to do with it.
"It's chocolate," William said when she gave him a quizzical look. He mimed popping something into his mouth and chewing. "You eat it. It's good."
She 'ahed', then offered the bar to him. "Desu."
"Uh, no thanks, I got plenty already. Besides, it's yours."
"Desu." She 'offered' it more forcefully. "Desu!"
"We really got to work on this language barrier."
"Desu!" She took a deep breath, about to break into another tirade when Grandpa slapped a hand on the table with a force belying his age.
"Eep! None of that now! There'll be no shouting in this house, you understand, young lady?"
Despite her lack of English, the tone said it all. She nodded frantically, holding the chocolate bar to her side like a rifle at attention. Even William straightened involuntarily. He'd heard that tone one too many times growing up and it never ended well.
"Good. Now eat up before it melts. If you're so worried about Willy here I'll get him some more too."
"What? No, Grandpa, I'm..."
But the old man was already shuffling away.
"...fine."
Despite his protests, he couldn't stop smiling. Seven years might have passed but not a damn thing about his Grandpa had changed.
In the meantime, Gremlin was locked in a conundrum. Unable to pawn the bar off to him, she didn't appear to know what to do with it. Which didn't make sense. William knew they could eat; he could feel the kitchen embedded in his hull working non-stop and fairies running around delivering meals to various sections. They still needed sustenance, but why was this so much trouble?
Eventually, with a little bit of prompting, Gremlin took a tiny nibble off a corner, her face screwed up like she expected it to taste like poop or something.
That expression quickly melted off her face, replaced by what could only be described as pure rapture. And when she looked at the chocolate again, it was with disbelief that such a large treat was hers and hers alone.
She plopped down on her butt and began gnawing the bar with a sound not unlike a hungry hamster, almost squealing with delight as her cheeks bulged like a chipmunk.
"Hungry little thing, ain't she," Grandpa said, distractedly dropping more chocolate bars onto William's plate as he sat, watching Gremlin devour her chocolate with gusto. The fairy paused only long enough to give him a brilliant, chocolate-stained smile before returning to stuffing her face. "Kinda reminds me of you, actually."
William snorted. "Yeah, I was a pretty fat kid, wasn't I? Well, she might not like me, but I think you made a friend for life."
"Oh, what's left of it anyway. But don't worry, I still have a few more years left in me. I told Eli I'd go see his championship game, after all. It might not be this year, but he'll get there eventually."
Eli played hockey?
He hadn't even thought to ask if they played any sports, too caught up in his own damn misery. Well, enough was enough. Fuck being miserable, the rest of his family was glad to have him back and here he was being a selfish stick in the mud.
Fuck that.
He might have lost seven years, but he wasn't going to stretch that out even further because of his own stupidity. They were all willing to welcome him back, the very least he could do was accept the invitation. He wasn't trapped in the Abyss anymore and it was about damn time he started acting like it.
With that conviction, he pealed a bar and popped more chocolate in his mouth. Putting on a smile, he asked. "He is a good player?"
"Oh, better than me, anyway."
And as the conversation drifted to lighter topics, it was the most freedom he had felt in months. A ray of sunshine in the turbulent waters of his life. Whatever existential crisis awaited him in the future, he was determined to savor this time for as long as possible. He had waited long enough already.
Who knew a dismissal could inspire so much dread. From the time she stepped into the Admiral's office to her walking out, the inevitable confrontation tip-toed ever closer. She had gone on back-to-back patrols just to prolong her sanity, but now even the Admiral was hanging her out to dry.
The worst part was that he did it as a reward. A few precious days of rest in between the packed schedule of patrols, convoy escort, and dozens of other small assignments. Fortunately, there was light at the end of the tunnel. The USN was ramping up its summoning efforts the load was beginning to even out. It was slow going, but small patches of white space were starting to peek through the cracks, providing the vessels of the Japanese fleet with recoupment that went beyond a few hours in the bath.
Her sense of duty had run her ragged; prowling up and down the coast as only a battleship could, daring any Abyssal to try their luck.
Of course, all her efforts accomplished was getting her to the top of the list for a break. And though Iowa was a little dubious about Yamato taking her place, it might just do the girl some good. Resupply costs be damned, she needed something to distract herself with. It was uncanny seeing the bright and happy battleship reduced to a shell of her former self.
But now, with the Admiral turning her loose, did the real trial begin. If only he knew the kind of madness he had unleashed. While she was a loyal friend and ally of Japan, she had her own motives for the constant patrols. Motives that could be summarized with a simple trip down to her CIC.
Buried deep in her hull, in a dark corner of her Combat Information Center, lay a persistent menace. Her various officers and crewmen avoided it like the plague. But for the poor rating assigned to monitoring the subject, there was no relief or promise of safety; just hours upon hours of watching Iowa's phone buzz with a constant barrage of messages.
In the span of a single press conference the entirety of the USN, RN, and even the Russians had degraded from proud and honorable vessels of war to desperate housewives. If the press conference wasn't bad enough, within hours Yokosuka was starting to resemble the Japanese Edo period due to the rapid adoption of isolationist tendencies.
William was already a controversial topic, and when all conversation with the outside world revolved around the man, cutting contact was the easiest solution. In fact, their constant badgering had eroded patience to such a degree that even Kaga, William's most staunch defender aside from Kongou and herself, had to hang up the towel and furtively ignore the outside world.
In her own words, she was a witness for his honor and spirit, not a spokesman for his taste in women. As soon as they wanted to speak of that she would break her vow of silence. There were only so many times she could be asked how 'bunker size translated down south' before she snapped and when full Bushido.
And in a twist of irony, the outside fleets were outright avoiding contact with Kongou after one offhanded remark about exchanging Goto for the latest model. Her defense of the Admiral's honor was swift and merciless, backed by a terrifyingly large amount of blackmail. Who knew that threats of tea parties could sound so malevolent?
As contacts continued to dry up, Iowa quickly found herself nominated as the unwilling last woman standing; bearing the brunt of the combined sexual tension of the world's Kanmusu.
And really, she had no choice in the matter. It was a necessary sacrifice; better the devil you knew and all that. She'd suffer a little embarrassment now than try and explain why the Russian were joining the Germans in a Blitzkrieg through the Sea of Japan.
That being said... she had put off the conversation for as long as possible using patrols as an excuse. For all their desperation, the other girls understood that getting distracted via texts while sortieing was a very bad move for everyone involved. So while they didn't throw up a fuss when she didn't reply, that didn't stop them from flooding her inbox to ensure she didn't forget.
Hence the reason why she had her phone monitored at all times. She couldn't just ignore it, something important might come up.
But that poor Able Seaman. At first, she had kept half an eye on the fairy, reading the various notifications through its eyes... but when things took a turn for the strange she walked away. Entirely.
The ship was tantamount to god for the fairies, so this poor Able Seaman was forced to endure the sexual fantasies of almost every capital ship in the world while knowing that Iowa had abandoned her for that very reason.
But now that Iowa was dismissed from duty, she had no excuse. Even as she squeezed into her bikini and slipped into a repair bath for maintenance, the Able Seaman reported that her allies were throwing her under the bus. Sure, normally there was nothing wrong with saying that a ship was getting into the baths, if not for the fact it killed any chance of further procrastination.
Shooting a glare at Kaga, who pointedly ignored her with resolute stoicism from across the room, Iowa retrieved her phone from her CIC, granting her Able Seaman mercy as she was forced to watch the scrolling messages with her own eyes.
By now most of her conversations had unread messages in the high triple digits. And the private chatroom with her sisters had crossed into the thousands territory long ago. But as she watched, the messages shifted from 'are you free yet' to blatant threats if she didn't respond.
That prompted a groan.
She loved her sisters, sure, but why the fuck did they have to be like this?
But the number of messages from the Russians outnumbered them all by two full digits. It all started with Gangut professing her conversion to capitalism and then immediately offering to buy William from the Japanese. The problem arose once the rest of Severomorsk caught onto her tactics. Before Iowa knew what was happening, her correspondence with the Russians had become an impromptu auction house. Not only for the battleship himself but also for one-night stands with him and who would get it first.
Currently, the highest bid would bankrupt both Russia and the United States twice over. Not that Gangut cared about such a trivial matter.
As Iowa watched, Gangut was outbid by her sister by an amount that would put the world into generational debt for the next millennium.
And as the messages continued to flow in, Iowa's shoulders sagged. It was the Joakim situation all over again, only this time she was on the receiving end. Now she understands why the band got that restraining order.
Realizing she had no choice, he tapped into the general chatroom all shipgirls frequented and started a call. All activity froze and her notifications went silent. Ten seconds later the call crashed under an avalanche of noise as hundreds tried to join all at once.
After three more failed attempts, Iowa laid down the law. A few terse minutes of organization and one private chatroom later, the interrogation was able to begin.
Unsurprisingly, her sisters had taken the lead on the US side of the conversation.
Missouri was the first to join, her grinning visage replaced by the interior of the San Francisco repair baths. Most of the capital ships based on the West Coast who were still afloat were present, lounging in the baths alongside their cruiser escorts, grinning with downright predatory looks. The destroyers splashing around with pool toys in the background didn't appear to care less.
Iowa couldn't help but swallow nervously as Wisconsin signed on next, bringing the residences of the New York repair baths with her.
Even if they were watching her like hungry wolves, Iowa was relieved that her sisters were merely bathing for maintenance. The horrendous damage they had suffered during Cutback was long since healed, allowing the family resemblance to show through once again.
Or, what little of it was left; they were curious examples of how prolonged existence as a steel hull affected your appearance as a Kanmusu. Missouri was the prime example of this, her toned arms and legs made her more of an amazon than Iowa's supermodel grace. A deep tan covered her from head to toe, even dyeing her long hair a dirty blonde. Intricate tribal tattoos ran the length of her arms and legs, completing the image of a tribal native of Hawaii.
In sharp contrast, Wisconsin embodied a nerdy aesthetic. Her skin was a downright luminescent shade of pale that no amount of sunbathing seemed to change. The fact she normally wore nothing but heavy sweaters and other modest coverings didn't help. Square, red rimmed glasses completed the image.
Although, one of the Iowas was notably absent. New Jersey's sinking cut deeper than Iowa expected, even if that meant she wouldn't have to put up with her libido.
Warspite joined the call after a few moments, bringing the Devonport Wardroom with her. They were followed in short order by the Germans, French, and-
"What?" Iowa stared at one of the new arrivals in disbelief. "Uh, sorry, I just didn't expect you to be here Conce... Conca... Cana - dammit."
"Immacolata Concezione," the old steam frigate finished, inclining her head with a demure smile. Her headdress and robes, reminiscent of a nun with the usual shipgirl combative flare, rustled with the movement. "I'm not offended Iowa, don't worry. It can be a bit of a mouthful for you youngsters."
"Uh...well..."
Indeed, the whole chatroom had paused awkwardly as the frigate's face took front and center. And when she cocked her head with a mischievous smile, it only made the hole in her forehead all the more apparent. Jagged wooden splinters ringed the wound.
"Don't take this the wrong way, but shouldn't you be in a bath or something?"
"It is hard to rest while children of God suffer in this place. The Abyssals found hostages buried in bunkers on Gallipoli, people who were not able to make it out in time. They are using them as deterrents to a Nuclear response but their living conditions are... horrendous. I and the rest of the Papal Navy leave on a mission of mercy tonight to relieve their suffering."
"They'll just shoot you, my dear," said Queen Elizabeth, coming up beside Warspite on the phone's screen. "I respect what you're proposing, but you'll be lucky if you get within sight of the coast before they torpedo you. You're in rough shape as it is!"
"We have sunk before, young lady, and it hasn't stopped us yet," Concezione replied, smirking as the battleship spluttered indignantly. "Besides, if they're taking hostages now, surely they wouldn't say no to more."
She clapped her hands. "But enough about doom and gloom, I hear there's a man about!"
That only seemed to stun the group further. Finally, Iowa managed to splutter, "...but, haven't you taken a vow of... what's it called?"
"Celibacy, deary. And no, we haven't. The Papal Navy isn't strictly a holy order and doesn't require such things. That is why I'm here." She leaned back in her chair, clasping her hands together. Under normal circumstances this pose would have left a dignified impression of a pious nun. Given the subject matter, however, she might as well have been an evil genus plotting to take over the world. Her next words, said with a sly smirk, only sealed the deal. "Planning for the future."
"ONE HUNDRED MILLION TRILLION RUBL-"
Sound blasted over the call as the Russians finally connected, lasting only a second before Iowa slammed her finger on the mute button. Through the small window on her phone, the Russian common room was in complete chaos. At first, Gangut's face filled the screen, mouthing another bid before the phone was yanked away and her sister, Marat, took her place. The phone was yanked away again and seemed to be stuck in the middle of a tug-of-war between the two dreadnoughts.
Then it stabilized for long enough to show Gangut suplexing her sister through a table. The shower of splinters was lost in another blur of movement as whoever held the phone started running when Gangut turned her eyes on them.
Thankfully, the madness was interrupted as Warspite tutted loudly, forcing the call back to her as she sipped her tea in a distinctly threatening British manner.
"One would think you're a little old for such things, Concezione."
A dangerous glint flashed across the frigate's eyes. "If by old you mean low maintenance, polished, and thirty thousand tons lighter, then thank you for the compliment, dear!"
As Warpite spluttered indignantly into her tea, Missouri took the lead, leaning back in the bath with an easygoing smile and pushing her more... prestigious assets into view. "I don't know, he seems like a more modern man. Engines and oil over sails and coal. I mean, have you seen these puppies?"
"Yes yes, and you had enough room to fit the entire Japanese surrender delegation below decks as well," Concezione said without skipping a beat, making the Iowa stutter and blush. "Now, dears, my time is precious. If I am to go to the bottom tonight, I shall do it with God's name on my lips and hope for the future when I come back. So, Iowa, tell me about him."
"Uh..." Taken aback by the frigate's ruthlessness, Iowa hesitated as she leaned into the camera. As did everyone else at the mention of their target. "Well, uh... w-what do you want to know?"
"Dick size!" Someone off screen shouted.
"You can start by explaining his name," Concezione interjected smoothly. "And can someone please smack – ah, thank you."
"What do you mean?"
"He's not Musashi," said a new voice, heralding Prince of Wales taking front and center in the call. A few other girls were clustered behind her in the Truk common room, all with varying expressions of concern. "Don't lie to me, Iowa, please. If that was a male version of Musashi then I doubt Yamato would be in such a state."
"Indeed," Concezione nodded. "Your Admiral called him William Morgan, and I just so happened to find eulogy a few hours ago with the same name and face." She paused for a moment.
"I... I have no words for it. Please, Iowa, what's the story?"
"Wait, a eulogy?!" Wisconsin pipped up, adjusting her glasses. "He didn't die, he just went missing!"
Leave it to Wisky to find the obscure facts, little nerd that she was. However, her hobby of trawling the internet for urban legends sparked a heated debate in the call. Most hadn't known the man went missing in 2019 and vehemently denied the connection between him and the battleship who walked ashore. It was so outlandish that even Iowa had to admit she would have rejected it entirely.
...even after talking with William directly, it was still hard to believe.
And as the call began to devolve into a cesspit of name calling, Iowa rolled her eyes and dove in.
"Guys, look, as weird as it sounds, its the truth.
Everyone went silent and still, even the muted Russians. Taking a breath, Iowa continued. "William confirmed it himself; he's that same guy who went missing. He had ID to prove it and everything."
She then went on to recount the events of William's hearing. Or rather the lack thereof. They'd all been locked out and Nagato was the only shipgirl allowed be present for the proceedings. No one knew what happened behind those closed doors, but Admiral Goto had come out and given the all-clear. He believed William's story, whatever it was.
But not even his seal of approval could fill the gaping hole of Williams's existence. Whatever secrets the man had, they were being kept under tight lock and key. Not even Nagato was saying a word, and she seemed to despise the man!
Although... if William's passing remark in the baths was any indication., did she really want to know?
Though Iowa wasn't a battleship that was easily spooked, that single mention of the Abyss made her increasingly uneasy. William hadn't even known what a Kanmusu was, let alone anything about the war, and yet he mentioned the Abyss like he'd known it his whole life. It didn't make sense.
She'd known that Abyssals and Kanmusu were two sides of the same coin, but this? It was a little more than she was comfortable with. Thankfully, the other girls didn't push too hard for answers. Not when there was something much more compelling to talk about.
"Well... international man of mystery right here," Missouri purred, and more than a few girls with her were nodding in agreement.
"Indeed," agreed Concezione, taking a quick look off-screen. "But I am afraid my time up and I must prepare. Take care, everyone. Say a quick prayer for our success and try not to fall too deep into debauchery. I like my prospects intact and unmolested, thank you very much."
She hung up before anyone could get in the final word, leaving a few frustrated battleships in her wake.
"Ugh, what got her chastity belt in a twist?" muttered Missouri.
"Doesn't matter," said Wisconsin, pulling a notepad and pen from her strained bikini top, refocusing on Iowa with a fierce intensity. "Now that the sick in the mud is gone; details."
"Uh... details?" Iowa hesitated, realizing just how quiet the chat had gotten. Her sisters looked on with shit-eating grins and the rest of the USN clustered around them with equally hungry expressions. Even the Russians had calmed down, dozens of expectant faces filling the small window.
As the Navies of the world stared her down, Iowa felt a trickle of sweat roll down her brow.
"I just you everything, guys. Really!"
One of the British girls sipped her tea in a distinctly doubting manner.
"S-Seriously, what more do you want?!"
She knew exactly what they wanted and was continuing to put it off for as long as possible. God must have been real because Concezione's attendance had been a godsend. But with her now gone, there was nothing to hold back the flood.
"Dick size!" the same mystery ship shouted, heralding the breaking of the dam as dozens of voices erupted all at once. The call became the realm of chaos as everyone seemed to fight for possession of their respective phone and the Russians returned to business as usual. Only the British remained calm, gazing into her soul with that smug poshness only the British could possess.
At smugness quickly turned to irritation as they realized they couldn't get a word in edgewise through the chaos and began shouting at everyone else.
"I could just hang up," Iowa offered. "We can do this again later if you-"
Instantly, the call went quieter than the dorm rooms after curfew.
"Oh, no no nononono, dear sister, " Missouri took the lead. "You're not getting away that easily."
"Away from what? Your fragile ego?"
Missouri's smirk became shark-like, but before the shouting match could reignite, Warspite coughed in that polite British way that brokered no room for argument.
"You know exactly what we want, Iowa. How does he measure up as a battleship?"
A den of hungry wolves was less intimidating than the downright lustful expressions sent her way. No amount of armor could stop the barrage coming in, all that was left was to evade like mad.
"Well, he's a Yamato-class, he's got the guns, the armor-"
"Quit stalling, dammit!" Wisky shrieked, trying to hide a furious blush behind her notepad. "You've had him all to yourself for weeks, don't try to deny it!"
"Maybe that's why she's in the baths," Missouri followed up mercilessly. "Maybe all those boarding actions knocked something loose."
That got Iowa to splutter. "B-Boarding?! No one's boarded anyone! Oh, don't give me that look, it's true!"
"Kongou has reported you spend the most time with him," Warspite noted with another skeptical sip of tea.
"I was a glorified tour guide!" she protested, much to the amusement of the others. "Nothing happened! Seriously!"
"Sure," Missouri grinned. "And this is... what, number thirty? Twenty nine? Way to add to the body count, sis. And what a kill he must be!"
Iowa felt her face go slack in horror as that little tidbit of her past slipped out. Sure, she had been a young and stupid Kanmusu back then, but had it really been that many?
"It's nothing to be ashamed of, dear," Warspite tittered. "But the most important question is should we be expecting a little Montana-class anytime-"
Her finger slammed down on the end call button, halting the question dead in it's tracks. Tossing her phone away, she hugged her knees and forced herself to take long, steadying breaths.
Fuck, why did they all have to be like this? She wasn't fucking pregnant! She'd fucked anyone in years!
Sure, she wasn't exactly subtle with her conquests! In fact, she fully admitted to being a bit of slut when she was first summoned. A newly summoned Kanmusu high on the new experiences of life, hell yeah she'd go for every opportunity she got!
But...
"Fuck..." she snarled, holding her hand in her hands.
Why was this so hard?
Maybe if William had been more of a pervert and stared at her tits at every opportunity this wouldn't have been so hard, but... she couldn't help but like the guy. He didn't see Iowa the woman, he saw her as she truly was! BB-61 USS Iowa. Not only could he look her in the eye past the tits, he looked even deeper to her bridge windows.
No other man alive had done that.
And while she would have fought for his dignity on that basis alone...
...little Montana...
"...what the fuck are they thinking?..."
She ignored her buzzing phone for the rest of the night. Consequences be damned.
From: AdmiralGoto
CC: N/A
Security Clearance: Secret – Receptor's Eyes Only
Subject: My Fleet's Well-being
Doctor Bennett,
No doubt you've heard of my approaching trial. I won't go into specifics, but there are many who have had their eye on my position for a long while. Some of the charges they bring to the table are believable, others less so. However, it is my conduct regarding Morgan and his situation that is under the most scrutiny.
At this point, the hearing is merely a formality. Within a month I will loose my position and possibly my rank. I do not know where I will go afterwards, but I need to insure the welling being of my fleet before it is taken out of my hands.
Nagato seems to be recovering well. Although, I have not received a straight answer out of her beyond 'I'm fine.' She is not fine, though she appears to be returning to her former self. Sending Morgan home appears to have been the right choice in that regard, for her and the entire fleet. His existence must be addressed at some point, but for now, they are slowly coming to terms about him.
However, Yamato worries me most of all. I'm sure you've heard of their meeting by now. She hasn't taken it well. I fear we now have two Lost Causes to worry about.
I would consider it a personal favor if you took charge in arranging their therapy. If what you say about Lost Causes is true, then it might be for the best if we do not use our base Physiologists until they know what they are dealing with.
As of yet, I am unsure who my replacement will be, which makes passing on my concerns regarding the girl's health that much more difficult. But, I hope the Committee can intercede and get my fleet the help they need, regardless of who is shoehorned into my position.
Sincerely,
Admiral Goto
JMSDF Kanmusu Corp
Yokosuka
----
To: AdmiralGoto
From: Bennett, Oscar
CC: N/A
Security Clearance: Secret – Receptor's Eyes Only
Subject: RE: My Fleet's Well-being
Admiral Goto,
Do not fear, Admiral, the health and safety of our girls is my top priority. Kannushi Isoroku volunteered to handle their case himself! I didn't know he was a licensed Psychologist, but I'm not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. A perfect match, if I dare say so myself.
In regards to your situation, you have my upmost sympathies. However, I would not pack your bags just yet. We of the Committee are still deep in debate, but the general consensuses is that we must take a more active role in the war. Morgan's testimony has forced us to reevaluate everything and it has thrown our organization into a little bit of turmoil. However, the Abyss is something we cannot afford to ignore.
If that requires military action then we will need a prepared strike force. Even in these early deliberations, you are a prime candidate to lead this charge. You have experience commanding Kanmusu and are, most critically, are already briefed on the Abyss.
I don't know how long it'll take, but you'll soon become a member of the Committee yourself. With your help, hopefully we can end this war once and for all.
Cheerio,
Doctor Bennett
----
Breakfast was an awkward affair, not for any lack of trying on his parent's part. He could barely carry a conservation; the seven year gap continued to be a constant barrier. So much had happened and yet whenever he tried to broach the topic, irrational guilt strangled him. It was his own family, after all! He should have known these things!
He felt like a stranger in his own home.
And while Eli might have been brave enough to shake his hand, that was as far as the kids were willing to go. They were barely comfortable being in the same room as him. No matter how much the adults tried to reassure them throughout the meal, they watched him like a wolf who was about to eat them too.
So to put them at ease, William finished quickly and announced that he needed a walk. Of course, they offered to come with him, but he needed the time alone. To think. The irony wasn't lost on him, but had to do something. And so the wind became his only company along the dusty roads, following a trail he had walked his whole life. Up and down the rolling hills, surrounded by the scent of spring, grass, manure, and dust...
It was peaceful. So why did it feel so strange to him?
For hours he trudged down the road, hearing the gravel crunch under his feet, the wind rustling his hair. An environment so far removed from the Abyss he could have walked for hours simply basking in the nostalgia and waving at passing vehicles that covered him in clouds of dust. Only his familiarity with the area kept him from getting lost in the backcountry. But the further he went, part of him didn't want to return.
There was nothing stopping him from just... walking. To keep going until he eventually found something – anything – less complicated than family.
The only thing that made him stop was the small plot cut out of one of the fields, surrounded by a low white fence. Neat rows of tombstones filled the County Cemetery, the number of which had grown substantially since he last saw it.
Morbid curiosity drew him in, and he began examining each stone one by one.
The cemetery was an old place and suffered from a lack of organization. No one was truly at fault; just a combination of different people from different generations and families, each envisioning the cemetery in their own way throughout the decades. Because of this, the front rows were the oldest and most scattered. Old, monolithic stones with names and dates, but not much else. There were more gaps in the mismatched rows here than anywhere else. Places where family members were expected to be buried, but never were.
It was a problem no one had the heart to fix. Exhuming the bodies purely to fix organization was a revolting thought.
The tombstones became more elaborate the deeper he went. Polished blocks of marble as opposed to the bare stone of his ancestors. And the names grew more familiar as well. Great grandparents, great aunts and uncles, and members of other families who had inhabited the land around them. Even a few that had been brought back from the States to be buried here.
There was no real sense of loss in this section; most had died long before he was born and the rest had passed on before he was old enough to remember them.
Near the back, however, were the more familiar names... far more than he remembered. Most of the pictures embedded in the tombstones were of seniors, their faces wrinkled with age but still smiling brightly. And while their deaths did bring a sense of melancholy, there was no true grief surrounding it.
Death was just a fact of life. Besides, they were some of the happiest people he'd known; grey-haired folk who would stay and chat for hours after church, but were well and truly ready to pass on. They always said it was only a matter of time before they met their Saviour.
His stomach churned uncomfortably, setting the tone of his visit long before he arrived at a particular pair of graves.
The stone on the left was simple; a large rock they had pulled from one of the fields. About half the size of his torso, it was large enough to fit the engraving of a cross, a baby's rattle, a name, and a single date.
Eli Morgan the first. The pregnancy had been a long, brutal affair for his parents, beset with more complications than he thought possible. The risk of losing them both had grown with each month. As frightening as those times were, he had to admire his mom's resolve to carry Eli to term. And after much hardship, his little brother was born.
He lived for twenty minutes. Enough to see him baptized and held by each member of the family.
It only made sense to put brothers together. The tombstone on the right was his own.
Learning about his own funeral had been a strange experience, but actually seeing the stone... Well, if he was being perfectly honest, it brought a profound sense of second-hand embarrassment.
The thing was made of limestone for crying out loud. His name and rank were carved beneath the crest of the RCR, framed by a maple leaf. To either side were short excerpts about duty and sacrifice that he could barely stomach. The stone was beautifully made, there was no doubt about that. Commissioned by a grieving family who only wished to do their son justice. Never in a million years could he fault them for that, but with all the embellishment you'd think a war hero was buried here.
That couldn't have been further from the truth.
Sure he loved his job and took pride in his accomplishments, but in the grand scheme of things he hadn't accomplished much. He hadn't been to Afghanistan or Iran, and his military accolades never extended past the training area. He was just some dumb infantry fuck who'd gotten lost in the woods and was never found.
While he couldn't blame his family for this, it felt like stolen valor on his part. Better men than him had died and received less than this.
A third stone caught his attention, small enough that he almost missed it. Nestled between its larger compatriots, it was a glorified placard more than anything else. There were no names or dates, just a few simple lines.
'Brothers in Christ.
One was pure and the other served.
Grant them peace, mercy, and rest
until they welcome us home at last.'
Silence.
The wind that had kept him company faltered as it often did. The rustle of grass died away, the birds paused for breath, and the song of the entire world seemed to hang between notes.
All that remained was the preternatural silence he'd known for months.
Even the clouds in the sky seemed to be falling around him.
Then the wind covered it up once again with a gentle gust, pushing the world back into motion. William gasped, letting out the breath he didn't realize he was holding.
Throughout his life, faith and truth had always gone hand in hand. The consequence of being a cradle catholic. They were one and the same, to varying degrees of devotion. He couldn't claim to be a good follower of Christ, but he didn't think he was a bad one either.
He just... believed; doing his best to live a good life. And then a walk through the woods caused faith and truth to veer off in wildly different directions. His experience split his convictions easier than an axe on wood.
When he was trapped, faith had been his focus. His single bright light in that darkness. Assurance that when he died, his soul was meant for something greater. This nightmare would eventually end, one way or another. It was that belief, hope, and even fear that kept him going through that eternal silence. He wanted it to end, but how could you face judgment knowing that you were guilty in the sight of your God?
True, he had always been a believer... but he hadn't been truly faithful until he realized that he would live the rest of his life on that battleship. Trapped in that place, death was the only promise the Abyss could give.
It was only natural he did everything he could to ensure he would be on the right side of the pearly gates. Nothing lit a fire under your ass quite like the threat of eternal damnation. Trying every day to atone for a life that he wasted; hoping, praying... fearing. That faith carried him down to the bottom of the Maelstrom and stood with him at Rokkasho.
Then he awoke in this new world; learned about the war, Kanmusu... and discovered what he was.
A walking, talking boat.
His thoughts and feelings had been all over the place, impossible to mediate on while in Japan. But now, after meeting his family again... he felt violated on a spiritual level. The Abyss had replaced his heart with boilers so easily he never even noticed. If he had died at Rokkasho, it would have been with the comforting belief that he was still human. That he was going to a better place.
He didn't even have that anymore.
He was no longer human, and that truth shook him to his core. More than having his insides replaced by steel, it was the power of the Abyss that scared him the most. What did escaping its realm matter when he was the living embodiment of its power? A man turned battleship. Flesh and blood molded into something else.
He'd been taught long ago that God was the master of all things. That all things followed His plan, both good and evil. That was what his faith said.
Now though... now he wasn't so sure. The truth of what he had seen, felt, and experienced was impossible to ignore.
Did that mean he had been living a lie his whole life?
He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. Nothing got the blood pumping quite like an existential crisis. And as he ignored the blatant fallacy within that comparison, he distracted himself with Eli's tombstone.
"Hey there, little brother," he whispered, throat tight. "So... I guess you had a front-row seat to it all, huh?"
He tried to smile but the expression fell flat.
"I, uh... I guess... I..."
He hated how hollow the words felt. Empty. Exasperating the conflict that plagued him ever since he got home. The Abyss drove a wedge between him and everything he loved. How could he say Jesus was Lord when he'd seen evidence to the contrary? How could he say it was the grace of God that carried him through that hellscape when it was the Abyss who spat him out like this?
It was hard to know what you believed after living through that. Harder still to admit it.
Every time his parents mentioned the faith, proclaiming that their prayers had been answered after seven long years made his gut clench uncomfortably. He felt like a fraud. Nodding along with each prayer of thanks, but unable to admit that it meant almost nothing to him.
He didn't know what was true anymore.
Was his baby brother up there listening... or was he just spouting off at nothing? Less than nothing. For all he knew there was no heaven, just that endless expanse of silence. Did that mean all the people in this cemetery were the lucky ones; dying in the comfort of a faith he no longer possessed?
He turned and left, unable to bear the judgmental presence of a damned rock.
He never noticed the roads leading him back to the homestead, trying to quell his churning doubts. He was so deep in his thoughts that the weak shout was startling. Glancing around, he realized he'd paused at the entrance to a short driveway. The white-sided house at the end wasn't his parent's, but it was one he was intimately familiar with, nonetheless.
Nothing about it had changed, save for the vinyl siding dulling with age. It was a modest two stories, with an enclosed deck, and an attached garage. It was the most modern building on the farm, despite it being constructed in the 1990s.
The shout – though now it sounded more of a strangled cry – came again, drawing William's attention to the walker shuffling out of the front door. The wizened old man pushing it had far more wrinkles than humanly possible. His clothes hung off his withered frame and his thick mop of hair had turned to white straw.
The walker bounced over pebbles and potholes, clearly not meant for this kind of terrain. But that didn't stop the old man who shuffled towards him with every ounce of strength he had left. Tears leaked around his thick-rimmed glasses, his face twisted into such an expression of grief and disbelief it was painful to watch.
Once the shock wore off, William ran and met him halfway. Letting out a strangled cry, the old man pushed his walker aside and threw his arms around William's waist, sobbing into his chest.
"It's you!" he cried, squeezing as tight as he could. "It's really you!"
"Hey Grandpa," William whispered, returning the embrace as carefully as he could. He had never felt his potential one hundred fifty thousand horsepower more acutely than in that moment. One wrong move could break the old man like a twig. "Please don't cry, you're gonna make me cry."
He didn't listen, of course; welcoming his grandson back with tears of joy.
----
Unfortunately, the inside of the house wasn't as timeless. Multiple renovations had been done during his absence, removing closets and widening hallways to compensate for his Grandpa's declining mobility. But aside from that, it retained the homely atmosphere that he remembered.
The living room and kitchen were only separated by a long island. Against the far wall, a wide glass cabinet held a wide collection of antique cutlery, dishes, and other knickknacks. It seemed the only antique they'd removed was the old CRT TV, and a wide plasma screen sat proudly in its place. Dozens of pictures were hung about the room, with a couple of wide shots taken of the whole extended family.
He was notably abducent from those.
"You want some coffee?"
Once he managed to compose himself, old Cecil Morgan's voice regained a little of his rich baritone. Those seven years had stolen away the rest. Still, for a man pushing 90, he was still fairly mobile. As he led William into the kitchen, he pushed the walker into a corner and shuffled around using the counters to support himself as he searched the pantry. "I, uh, I have hot chocolate if you want to make it a mocha."
"Coffee is good, thanks," William replied, leaning down to the drawer where all the mugs were kept. He nearly tore it out of the counter as his Grandpa 'Eeped!' in a way that brokered no room for augment.
"Eep eep! I'm making you coffee. Go sit down, I can do it."
The way his knees trembled as he leaned over did not inspire confidence.
"But, Grandpa..."
"Eep!! I told you, I have it! Now sit down, I'm taking care of you today."
Despite his protests, William had no choice but retreat to the table under his Grandpa's glare. All the same, he watched like a hawk as the old man shuffled around the kitchen, pulling out various ingredients for something more than a cup of coffee.
"It keeps me busy," his Grandpa explained as he spooned large spoonfuls of powder into a mug. "I sit in my chair too much as it is. Everyone says need my exercise, and this is me getting it."
"Can't argue with that," William chuckled, then stalled as he tried to find the words. "So, uh... how are you feeling?"
"Oh, you know. Old. But that hasn't changed much. I've felt old for a while. But how are you feeling?"
The concern on his face was palpable, made worse by eyes that were still red from crying. For the longest moment, William couldn't answer. There was so much he wanted to say, but none of it felt right.
"...I don't know," he lied, ducking his head. "It's just... too much to handle sometimes."
That was true, at least.
A plate was placed before him, a pile of chocolate bars on one side and a steaming mug on the other. According to the smell, it was coffee in only the loosest sense of the word. There was so much hot chocolate mix stirred in that it might as well have been pure sugar. The thick layer of mini marshmallows on top helped tip the concoction from a beverage to liquid diabetes.
"They're from my secret stash," his Grandpa whispered, tapping one of the chocolate bars with a wink. "Your mother has been hiding all my candy when he comes over to clean. Oh, that gets me so fired up when I can't find anything."
That brought a wry smile. It certainly sounded like his mother. "She's just looking out for you."
"Oh, phusss." He waved a hand, grumbling to himself. "Taking care of me, bah. I'm gonna be dead soon anyway, I want things to taste good."
He tapped the plate and all it's sugary goodness. "Now eat up! And I won't hear any 'buts' out of you, ya hear?"
Under the old man's watchful eye, William had no choice but to comply, unwrapping a motley collection of Aero bars, Caramilks, and a disproportionate amount of Snickers. Apparently, his Grandpa had taken their slogan to heart over the years.
Easing into the chair next to him with a grunt, his Grandpa began to nurse his own foam-capped mug. When he did speak, the tremble to his words was heartbreaking. "So... help me understand what happened, please. E-Everyone said you went missing years ago, but... you came back, I... I don't understand, where did you go? Why did you leave?"
The chocolate caught in William's throat. It wasn't an accusation, but it sure as hell stung like one.
"I..." he sighed. "It wasn't my choice to leave."
"You were kidnapped?"
"Kinda... In a matter of speaking."
But judging from his Grandpa's expression, that alone wouldn't be enough to satisfy him. But as he finished recounting his stay in Japan, it dawned on William just how... insincere his tale sounded. It had more black ink than a bar code; skipping from New Brunswick to popping up in the Atlantic with less finesse than The Last Jedi.
And the half lies only made his Grandpa's confusion worse.
For a long minute after he finished, an uncomfortable silence filled the air. William could almost feel the Abyss taunting him with its presence.
"So, uh... this is another one of your military secrets, then?" his Grandpa asked.
It took William a moment to remember what he was talking about and the answer made him chuckle. Leave it to his Grandpa to remember how he played up possible deployments as big military secrets.
"Yeah, I guess so," he said, shaking his head ruefully. "Just this time it's... slightly more serious."
"Oh... well, we don't have to talk about that then. I understand. I don't want you breaking any rules or anything. Just..." He stared off into the distance for a moment before shaking himself back to alertness. "Oh... this damned war makes me remember those Vietnam days. It was in the news almost every day. You couldn't go two hours without hearing about the Communists or how many people died over there. Why, just yesterday they were talking about some city and..."
He paused, jaw moving soundlessly before he perked up again. "Sorry, my memory is going a little foggy, but... oh, it's just like back then. People dying all over the place, saying we're making we're making progress, ships coming back as people."
He shook his head, then leaned over with a knowing smirk. "I might not understand most of it, but at least they're easy to look at, am I right?"
William snorted. "True."
"So where was I... ah, yes. So things keep getting worse and then a few weeks ago, we get a story from Japan saying how one of their new battleships went ahead an' saved their entire country! And I-I can't remember the name, but... they're calling you the same thing."
"Musashi." William nodded, staring down into his mug. "That's the name you're looking for."
"So then... everything they said on the news is true?"
"I doubt it. I haven't seen any news in a long time, so I couldn't tell you."
In fact, he was avoiding it like the plague. Who knew what stories were circulating about him. He was already a controversial topic in Japan, he didn't want to think about his reputation here. He would have to face it eventually, but not today. Hopefully not for a long while.
"But it was you?" His Grandpa leaned forward, eyes watering again. "You did this?"
William couldn't help shake his head. "I saved a town called Rokkasho. I don't know where this talk about me saving all of Japan came from and – Grandpa, are you alright?"
The old man had stood, his lips trembling as he hobbled forward as fast as he could. Worried that he was having a stoke for something, William jumped forward, only to be ensnared in another tearful embrace.
"Oh, my little Willy," his Grandpa sobbed, wrapping his arms as far around his waist as he could reach. "I am so proud of you. All this death in the world makes me so sad. I've been praying for years, but it never seems to get any better. And then... and then you come back and saved all those people! Oh, you give this old man so much hope."
Unease coiled in William's gut as the subject of faith was brought up. This time, however, he refused to let it linger, and crushed it with every ounce of will power he could muster. It would not poison this moment; not a single chance in hell. But as his Grandpa clung to him like a lifeline, a new sense of shame came rushing in.
His fears had been groundless; they didn't care that he was a battleship, welcoming him back. If he had claimed to know them so well, why had the fear of rejection ever crossed his mind? They loved him regardless.
"I've been an idiot," he smiled, ruefully, as all the fear and doubt seemed to drain.
They welcomed him back with open arms. Even with all the doubt and uncertainty, the least he could do was return the favor. Yes, he had suffered, yes, he was confused, but it wasn't fair that he was heaping that pain on everyone else.
The remark earned a light slap from the old man as he wiped the tears from his eyes. "Oh, don't say that. Now sit down, I'm making you lunch."
Again, he had no choice but to comply, simply savoring the peaceful calm as his Grandpa shuffled around, pulling out bread, cheese, and a dozen other ingredients that didn't belong on a grilled cheese sandwich. But that was one thing about Grandpa: while he hadn't been the baker of the pair – his Grandma claimed that award a hundred times over – grilled cheese sandwiches were his specialty. And the last seven years had not dulled those skills in the slightest.
Soon, William was drowning in nostalgia as the familiar smells began to fill the kitchen. Melting butter and toast, mixed with the aroma of seasoning salt. Harkening back to days when he was a good deal smaller and life was not so complicated.
"Desu?"
Then reality reasserted itself with all the subtlety of a brick.
Gremlin was on his shoulder, taking in her surroundings with a dubious expression. Then her gaze trailed down to his half finished mug. While the concoction might have been sweet, it generally resembled a muddy swamp. And the look of disdain the fairy gave it was usually reserved for a porta potty left out in the sun for the last five years.
That look turned to horror as she saw William's fingers wrapped around the handle.
"D-Desu."
Never once breaking eye contact, William raised the mug and took a long draft. She gagged.
"I mean, it's pure sugar, yeah, but it's still good."
"Desu!"
"What this then?"
Gremlin squealed as his Grandpa's face came into view, scant inches away from her own. She slipped, lost her footing, and would have landed face-first on the table if William hadn't caught her. Regardless, she still banished a tiny fist, swearing profusely as the old man leaned in for a closer examination.
"Why... why does it look like a dog?"
"No idea. Anyway, Grandpa, this is Gremlin. Gremlin, my Grandpa."
The old man squinted at the tiny creature, a gesture which was turned with gusto and substantially more suspicion. "But, what is it?"
"It's... a fairy," William stated, at a complete loss as to how to explain its existence. "Apparently all ships need a crew so I got these guys running around inside me. Kinda freaky when you think about it."
"...oh... oh, now I remember. I think I've heard of them before." He waggled a finger in Gremlin's direction. "Don't you go anywhere, I'll be right back."
"Desu?" Confused at the gesture, Gremlin watched the old man shuffle over to dig in a cupboard. Her confusion only doubled as he returned, unwrapping an Aero bar that was almost a third larger both her entire body and hat combined.
"Here you go, little gal," Grandpa said, gently lowering the brown bar into her stubs. "Eat up, you look like skin and bones."
But she was so bewildered by the chocolate bar she didn't seem to hear him. Like a cat placed in front of a mirror for the first time, the brown substance was a strange and unfamiliar entity. She didn't know what it was and had even less of an idea about what to do with it.
"It's chocolate," William said when she gave him a quizzical look. He mimed popping something into his mouth and chewing. "You eat it. It's good."
She 'ahed', then offered the bar to him. "Desu."
"Uh, no thanks, I got plenty already. Besides, it's yours."
"Desu." She 'offered' it more forcefully. "Desu!"
"We really got to work on this language barrier."
"Desu!" She took a deep breath, about to break into another tirade when Grandpa slapped a hand on the table with a force belying his age.
"Eep! None of that now! There'll be no shouting in this house, you understand, young lady?"
Despite her lack of English, the tone said it all. She nodded frantically, holding the chocolate bar to her side like a rifle at attention. Even William straightened involuntarily. He'd heard that tone one too many times growing up and it never ended well.
"Good. Now eat up before it melts. If you're so worried about Willy here I'll get him some more too."
"What? No, Grandpa, I'm..."
But the old man was already shuffling away.
"...fine."
Despite his protests, he couldn't stop smiling. Seven years might have passed but not a damn thing about his Grandpa had changed.
In the meantime, Gremlin was locked in a conundrum. Unable to pawn the bar off to him, she didn't appear to know what to do with it. Which didn't make sense. William knew they could eat; he could feel the kitchen embedded in his hull working non-stop and fairies running around delivering meals to various sections. They still needed sustenance, but why was this so much trouble?
Eventually, with a little bit of prompting, Gremlin took a tiny nibble off a corner, her face screwed up like she expected it to taste like poop or something.
That expression quickly melted off her face, replaced by what could only be described as pure rapture. And when she looked at the chocolate again, it was with disbelief that such a large treat was hers and hers alone.
She plopped down on her butt and began gnawing the bar with a sound not unlike a hungry hamster, almost squealing with delight as her cheeks bulged like a chipmunk.
"Hungry little thing, ain't she," Grandpa said, distractedly dropping more chocolate bars onto William's plate as he sat, watching Gremlin devour her chocolate with gusto. The fairy paused only long enough to give him a brilliant, chocolate-stained smile before returning to stuffing her face. "Kinda reminds me of you, actually."
William snorted. "Yeah, I was a pretty fat kid, wasn't I? Well, she might not like me, but I think you made a friend for life."
"Oh, what's left of it anyway. But don't worry, I still have a few more years left in me. I told Eli I'd go see his championship game, after all. It might not be this year, but he'll get there eventually."
Eli played hockey?
He hadn't even thought to ask if they played any sports, too caught up in his own damn misery. Well, enough was enough. Fuck being miserable, the rest of his family was glad to have him back and here he was being a selfish stick in the mud.
Fuck that.
He might have lost seven years, but he wasn't going to stretch that out even further because of his own stupidity. They were all willing to welcome him back, the very least he could do was accept the invitation. He wasn't trapped in the Abyss anymore and it was about damn time he started acting like it.
With that conviction, he pealed a bar and popped more chocolate in his mouth. Putting on a smile, he asked. "He is a good player?"
"Oh, better than me, anyway."
And as the conversation drifted to lighter topics, it was the most freedom he had felt in months. A ray of sunshine in the turbulent waters of his life. Whatever existential crisis awaited him in the future, he was determined to savor this time for as long as possible. He had waited long enough already.
----
Who knew a dismissal could inspire so much dread. From the time she stepped into the Admiral's office to her walking out, the inevitable confrontation tip-toed ever closer. She had gone on back-to-back patrols just to prolong her sanity, but now even the Admiral was hanging her out to dry.
The worst part was that he did it as a reward. A few precious days of rest in between the packed schedule of patrols, convoy escort, and dozens of other small assignments. Fortunately, there was light at the end of the tunnel. The USN was ramping up its summoning efforts the load was beginning to even out. It was slow going, but small patches of white space were starting to peek through the cracks, providing the vessels of the Japanese fleet with recoupment that went beyond a few hours in the bath.
Her sense of duty had run her ragged; prowling up and down the coast as only a battleship could, daring any Abyssal to try their luck.
Of course, all her efforts accomplished was getting her to the top of the list for a break. And though Iowa was a little dubious about Yamato taking her place, it might just do the girl some good. Resupply costs be damned, she needed something to distract herself with. It was uncanny seeing the bright and happy battleship reduced to a shell of her former self.
But now, with the Admiral turning her loose, did the real trial begin. If only he knew the kind of madness he had unleashed. While she was a loyal friend and ally of Japan, she had her own motives for the constant patrols. Motives that could be summarized with a simple trip down to her CIC.
Buried deep in her hull, in a dark corner of her Combat Information Center, lay a persistent menace. Her various officers and crewmen avoided it like the plague. But for the poor rating assigned to monitoring the subject, there was no relief or promise of safety; just hours upon hours of watching Iowa's phone buzz with a constant barrage of messages.
In the span of a single press conference the entirety of the USN, RN, and even the Russians had degraded from proud and honorable vessels of war to desperate housewives. If the press conference wasn't bad enough, within hours Yokosuka was starting to resemble the Japanese Edo period due to the rapid adoption of isolationist tendencies.
William was already a controversial topic, and when all conversation with the outside world revolved around the man, cutting contact was the easiest solution. In fact, their constant badgering had eroded patience to such a degree that even Kaga, William's most staunch defender aside from Kongou and herself, had to hang up the towel and furtively ignore the outside world.
In her own words, she was a witness for his honor and spirit, not a spokesman for his taste in women. As soon as they wanted to speak of that she would break her vow of silence. There were only so many times she could be asked how 'bunker size translated down south' before she snapped and when full Bushido.
And in a twist of irony, the outside fleets were outright avoiding contact with Kongou after one offhanded remark about exchanging Goto for the latest model. Her defense of the Admiral's honor was swift and merciless, backed by a terrifyingly large amount of blackmail. Who knew that threats of tea parties could sound so malevolent?
As contacts continued to dry up, Iowa quickly found herself nominated as the unwilling last woman standing; bearing the brunt of the combined sexual tension of the world's Kanmusu.
And really, she had no choice in the matter. It was a necessary sacrifice; better the devil you knew and all that. She'd suffer a little embarrassment now than try and explain why the Russian were joining the Germans in a Blitzkrieg through the Sea of Japan.
That being said... she had put off the conversation for as long as possible using patrols as an excuse. For all their desperation, the other girls understood that getting distracted via texts while sortieing was a very bad move for everyone involved. So while they didn't throw up a fuss when she didn't reply, that didn't stop them from flooding her inbox to ensure she didn't forget.
Hence the reason why she had her phone monitored at all times. She couldn't just ignore it, something important might come up.
But that poor Able Seaman. At first, she had kept half an eye on the fairy, reading the various notifications through its eyes... but when things took a turn for the strange she walked away. Entirely.
The ship was tantamount to god for the fairies, so this poor Able Seaman was forced to endure the sexual fantasies of almost every capital ship in the world while knowing that Iowa had abandoned her for that very reason.
But now that Iowa was dismissed from duty, she had no excuse. Even as she squeezed into her bikini and slipped into a repair bath for maintenance, the Able Seaman reported that her allies were throwing her under the bus. Sure, normally there was nothing wrong with saying that a ship was getting into the baths, if not for the fact it killed any chance of further procrastination.
Shooting a glare at Kaga, who pointedly ignored her with resolute stoicism from across the room, Iowa retrieved her phone from her CIC, granting her Able Seaman mercy as she was forced to watch the scrolling messages with her own eyes.
By now most of her conversations had unread messages in the high triple digits. And the private chatroom with her sisters had crossed into the thousands territory long ago. But as she watched, the messages shifted from 'are you free yet' to blatant threats if she didn't respond.
That prompted a groan.
She loved her sisters, sure, but why the fuck did they have to be like this?
But the number of messages from the Russians outnumbered them all by two full digits. It all started with Gangut professing her conversion to capitalism and then immediately offering to buy William from the Japanese. The problem arose once the rest of Severomorsk caught onto her tactics. Before Iowa knew what was happening, her correspondence with the Russians had become an impromptu auction house. Not only for the battleship himself but also for one-night stands with him and who would get it first.
Currently, the highest bid would bankrupt both Russia and the United States twice over. Not that Gangut cared about such a trivial matter.
As Iowa watched, Gangut was outbid by her sister by an amount that would put the world into generational debt for the next millennium.
And as the messages continued to flow in, Iowa's shoulders sagged. It was the Joakim situation all over again, only this time she was on the receiving end. Now she understands why the band got that restraining order.
Realizing she had no choice, he tapped into the general chatroom all shipgirls frequented and started a call. All activity froze and her notifications went silent. Ten seconds later the call crashed under an avalanche of noise as hundreds tried to join all at once.
After three more failed attempts, Iowa laid down the law. A few terse minutes of organization and one private chatroom later, the interrogation was able to begin.
Unsurprisingly, her sisters had taken the lead on the US side of the conversation.
Missouri was the first to join, her grinning visage replaced by the interior of the San Francisco repair baths. Most of the capital ships based on the West Coast who were still afloat were present, lounging in the baths alongside their cruiser escorts, grinning with downright predatory looks. The destroyers splashing around with pool toys in the background didn't appear to care less.
Iowa couldn't help but swallow nervously as Wisconsin signed on next, bringing the residences of the New York repair baths with her.
Even if they were watching her like hungry wolves, Iowa was relieved that her sisters were merely bathing for maintenance. The horrendous damage they had suffered during Cutback was long since healed, allowing the family resemblance to show through once again.
Or, what little of it was left; they were curious examples of how prolonged existence as a steel hull affected your appearance as a Kanmusu. Missouri was the prime example of this, her toned arms and legs made her more of an amazon than Iowa's supermodel grace. A deep tan covered her from head to toe, even dyeing her long hair a dirty blonde. Intricate tribal tattoos ran the length of her arms and legs, completing the image of a tribal native of Hawaii.
In sharp contrast, Wisconsin embodied a nerdy aesthetic. Her skin was a downright luminescent shade of pale that no amount of sunbathing seemed to change. The fact she normally wore nothing but heavy sweaters and other modest coverings didn't help. Square, red rimmed glasses completed the image.
Although, one of the Iowas was notably absent. New Jersey's sinking cut deeper than Iowa expected, even if that meant she wouldn't have to put up with her libido.
Warspite joined the call after a few moments, bringing the Devonport Wardroom with her. They were followed in short order by the Germans, French, and-
"What?" Iowa stared at one of the new arrivals in disbelief. "Uh, sorry, I just didn't expect you to be here Conce... Conca... Cana - dammit."
"Immacolata Concezione," the old steam frigate finished, inclining her head with a demure smile. Her headdress and robes, reminiscent of a nun with the usual shipgirl combative flare, rustled with the movement. "I'm not offended Iowa, don't worry. It can be a bit of a mouthful for you youngsters."
"Uh...well..."
Indeed, the whole chatroom had paused awkwardly as the frigate's face took front and center. And when she cocked her head with a mischievous smile, it only made the hole in her forehead all the more apparent. Jagged wooden splinters ringed the wound.
"Don't take this the wrong way, but shouldn't you be in a bath or something?"
"It is hard to rest while children of God suffer in this place. The Abyssals found hostages buried in bunkers on Gallipoli, people who were not able to make it out in time. They are using them as deterrents to a Nuclear response but their living conditions are... horrendous. I and the rest of the Papal Navy leave on a mission of mercy tonight to relieve their suffering."
"They'll just shoot you, my dear," said Queen Elizabeth, coming up beside Warspite on the phone's screen. "I respect what you're proposing, but you'll be lucky if you get within sight of the coast before they torpedo you. You're in rough shape as it is!"
"We have sunk before, young lady, and it hasn't stopped us yet," Concezione replied, smirking as the battleship spluttered indignantly. "Besides, if they're taking hostages now, surely they wouldn't say no to more."
She clapped her hands. "But enough about doom and gloom, I hear there's a man about!"
That only seemed to stun the group further. Finally, Iowa managed to splutter, "...but, haven't you taken a vow of... what's it called?"
"Celibacy, deary. And no, we haven't. The Papal Navy isn't strictly a holy order and doesn't require such things. That is why I'm here." She leaned back in her chair, clasping her hands together. Under normal circumstances this pose would have left a dignified impression of a pious nun. Given the subject matter, however, she might as well have been an evil genus plotting to take over the world. Her next words, said with a sly smirk, only sealed the deal. "Planning for the future."
"ONE HUNDRED MILLION TRILLION RUBL-"
Sound blasted over the call as the Russians finally connected, lasting only a second before Iowa slammed her finger on the mute button. Through the small window on her phone, the Russian common room was in complete chaos. At first, Gangut's face filled the screen, mouthing another bid before the phone was yanked away and her sister, Marat, took her place. The phone was yanked away again and seemed to be stuck in the middle of a tug-of-war between the two dreadnoughts.
Then it stabilized for long enough to show Gangut suplexing her sister through a table. The shower of splinters was lost in another blur of movement as whoever held the phone started running when Gangut turned her eyes on them.
Thankfully, the madness was interrupted as Warspite tutted loudly, forcing the call back to her as she sipped her tea in a distinctly threatening British manner.
"One would think you're a little old for such things, Concezione."
A dangerous glint flashed across the frigate's eyes. "If by old you mean low maintenance, polished, and thirty thousand tons lighter, then thank you for the compliment, dear!"
As Warpite spluttered indignantly into her tea, Missouri took the lead, leaning back in the bath with an easygoing smile and pushing her more... prestigious assets into view. "I don't know, he seems like a more modern man. Engines and oil over sails and coal. I mean, have you seen these puppies?"
"Yes yes, and you had enough room to fit the entire Japanese surrender delegation below decks as well," Concezione said without skipping a beat, making the Iowa stutter and blush. "Now, dears, my time is precious. If I am to go to the bottom tonight, I shall do it with God's name on my lips and hope for the future when I come back. So, Iowa, tell me about him."
"Uh..." Taken aback by the frigate's ruthlessness, Iowa hesitated as she leaned into the camera. As did everyone else at the mention of their target. "Well, uh... w-what do you want to know?"
"Dick size!" Someone off screen shouted.
"You can start by explaining his name," Concezione interjected smoothly. "And can someone please smack – ah, thank you."
"What do you mean?"
"He's not Musashi," said a new voice, heralding Prince of Wales taking front and center in the call. A few other girls were clustered behind her in the Truk common room, all with varying expressions of concern. "Don't lie to me, Iowa, please. If that was a male version of Musashi then I doubt Yamato would be in such a state."
"Indeed," Concezione nodded. "Your Admiral called him William Morgan, and I just so happened to find eulogy a few hours ago with the same name and face." She paused for a moment.
"I... I have no words for it. Please, Iowa, what's the story?"
"Wait, a eulogy?!" Wisconsin pipped up, adjusting her glasses. "He didn't die, he just went missing!"
Leave it to Wisky to find the obscure facts, little nerd that she was. However, her hobby of trawling the internet for urban legends sparked a heated debate in the call. Most hadn't known the man went missing in 2019 and vehemently denied the connection between him and the battleship who walked ashore. It was so outlandish that even Iowa had to admit she would have rejected it entirely.
...even after talking with William directly, it was still hard to believe.
And as the call began to devolve into a cesspit of name calling, Iowa rolled her eyes and dove in.
"Guys, look, as weird as it sounds, its the truth.
Everyone went silent and still, even the muted Russians. Taking a breath, Iowa continued. "William confirmed it himself; he's that same guy who went missing. He had ID to prove it and everything."
She then went on to recount the events of William's hearing. Or rather the lack thereof. They'd all been locked out and Nagato was the only shipgirl allowed be present for the proceedings. No one knew what happened behind those closed doors, but Admiral Goto had come out and given the all-clear. He believed William's story, whatever it was.
But not even his seal of approval could fill the gaping hole of Williams's existence. Whatever secrets the man had, they were being kept under tight lock and key. Not even Nagato was saying a word, and she seemed to despise the man!
Although... if William's passing remark in the baths was any indication., did she really want to know?
Though Iowa wasn't a battleship that was easily spooked, that single mention of the Abyss made her increasingly uneasy. William hadn't even known what a Kanmusu was, let alone anything about the war, and yet he mentioned the Abyss like he'd known it his whole life. It didn't make sense.
She'd known that Abyssals and Kanmusu were two sides of the same coin, but this? It was a little more than she was comfortable with. Thankfully, the other girls didn't push too hard for answers. Not when there was something much more compelling to talk about.
"Well... international man of mystery right here," Missouri purred, and more than a few girls with her were nodding in agreement.
"Indeed," agreed Concezione, taking a quick look off-screen. "But I am afraid my time up and I must prepare. Take care, everyone. Say a quick prayer for our success and try not to fall too deep into debauchery. I like my prospects intact and unmolested, thank you very much."
She hung up before anyone could get in the final word, leaving a few frustrated battleships in her wake.
"Ugh, what got her chastity belt in a twist?" muttered Missouri.
"Doesn't matter," said Wisconsin, pulling a notepad and pen from her strained bikini top, refocusing on Iowa with a fierce intensity. "Now that the sick in the mud is gone; details."
"Uh... details?" Iowa hesitated, realizing just how quiet the chat had gotten. Her sisters looked on with shit-eating grins and the rest of the USN clustered around them with equally hungry expressions. Even the Russians had calmed down, dozens of expectant faces filling the small window.
As the Navies of the world stared her down, Iowa felt a trickle of sweat roll down her brow.
"I just you everything, guys. Really!"
One of the British girls sipped her tea in a distinctly doubting manner.
"S-Seriously, what more do you want?!"
She knew exactly what they wanted and was continuing to put it off for as long as possible. God must have been real because Concezione's attendance had been a godsend. But with her now gone, there was nothing to hold back the flood.
"Dick size!" the same mystery ship shouted, heralding the breaking of the dam as dozens of voices erupted all at once. The call became the realm of chaos as everyone seemed to fight for possession of their respective phone and the Russians returned to business as usual. Only the British remained calm, gazing into her soul with that smug poshness only the British could possess.
At smugness quickly turned to irritation as they realized they couldn't get a word in edgewise through the chaos and began shouting at everyone else.
"I could just hang up," Iowa offered. "We can do this again later if you-"
Instantly, the call went quieter than the dorm rooms after curfew.
"Oh, no no nononono, dear sister, " Missouri took the lead. "You're not getting away that easily."
"Away from what? Your fragile ego?"
Missouri's smirk became shark-like, but before the shouting match could reignite, Warspite coughed in that polite British way that brokered no room for argument.
"You know exactly what we want, Iowa. How does he measure up as a battleship?"
A den of hungry wolves was less intimidating than the downright lustful expressions sent her way. No amount of armor could stop the barrage coming in, all that was left was to evade like mad.
"Well, he's a Yamato-class, he's got the guns, the armor-"
"Quit stalling, dammit!" Wisky shrieked, trying to hide a furious blush behind her notepad. "You've had him all to yourself for weeks, don't try to deny it!"
"Maybe that's why she's in the baths," Missouri followed up mercilessly. "Maybe all those boarding actions knocked something loose."
That got Iowa to splutter. "B-Boarding?! No one's boarded anyone! Oh, don't give me that look, it's true!"
"Kongou has reported you spend the most time with him," Warspite noted with another skeptical sip of tea.
"I was a glorified tour guide!" she protested, much to the amusement of the others. "Nothing happened! Seriously!"
"Sure," Missouri grinned. "And this is... what, number thirty? Twenty nine? Way to add to the body count, sis. And what a kill he must be!"
Iowa felt her face go slack in horror as that little tidbit of her past slipped out. Sure, she had been a young and stupid Kanmusu back then, but had it really been that many?
"It's nothing to be ashamed of, dear," Warspite tittered. "But the most important question is should we be expecting a little Montana-class anytime-"
Her finger slammed down on the end call button, halting the question dead in it's tracks. Tossing her phone away, she hugged her knees and forced herself to take long, steadying breaths.
Fuck, why did they all have to be like this? She wasn't fucking pregnant! She'd fucked anyone in years!
Sure, she wasn't exactly subtle with her conquests! In fact, she fully admitted to being a bit of slut when she was first summoned. A newly summoned Kanmusu high on the new experiences of life, hell yeah she'd go for every opportunity she got!
But...
"Fuck..." she snarled, holding her hand in her hands.
Why was this so hard?
Maybe if William had been more of a pervert and stared at her tits at every opportunity this wouldn't have been so hard, but... she couldn't help but like the guy. He didn't see Iowa the woman, he saw her as she truly was! BB-61 USS Iowa. Not only could he look her in the eye past the tits, he looked even deeper to her bridge windows.
No other man alive had done that.
And while she would have fought for his dignity on that basis alone...
...little Montana...
"...what the fuck are they thinking?..."
She ignored her buzzing phone for the rest of the night. Consequences be damned.
So, I'm trying something new. For the foreseeable future, the story is going to center around slice of life content. William getting back on his feet, different perspectives from around the world to show how the world has changed or reactions to the man himself. But I also want to provide windows into the war as well without dedicating entire chapters to it.
Not only do I want to advance the story, I want to advance the world as well. I want to make it feel big and connected while not bogging the story down.
Therefore, I'm experimenting with correspondence. Keeping the war moving forward with messages between notable individuals while advancing the plot at the same time. I'm hoping it will save time, attention and patience, giving just enough information to keep the war engaging, but not slowing everything down to a crawl.
Hope you all enjoyed!
Not only do I want to advance the story, I want to advance the world as well. I want to make it feel big and connected while not bogging the story down.
Therefore, I'm experimenting with correspondence. Keeping the war moving forward with messages between notable individuals while advancing the plot at the same time. I'm hoping it will save time, attention and patience, giving just enough information to keep the war engaging, but not slowing everything down to a crawl.
Hope you all enjoyed!
