FeelthyHornet is too damn good and making characters sympathetic and human.
Kant-O-Celle Quest [a Kantai Collection game, transcribed from 4chan]
- Thread starter Trace Coburn
- Start date
Dirtnap
Kanmusu Affecionado
He's earned his name ayup
Maple-Leaves and Molson’s (by RCN-Anon)
Trace Coburn
BattleTech Starfighter Analyst
- Location
- NDBBM, New Zealand
It was three weeks after the day "they" emerged; creatures from beyond, terrifyingly strange and aggressive; twisted, warped analogues of the smallest torpedo boat to the largest dreadnaught. Nobody knew what they were, where they came from…or how to stop them.
They could be fought, they could be killed. That had been proven several times around the globe, though losses had been high during the initial attacks. For Canada, the price had been higher than most but less than it could have been.
Montreal, one of Canada's largest shipping ports, had been attacked. The damage had been extensive, the small and underequipped Canadian fleet stationed at Halifax incapable of mounting a meaningful response. Left completely unmolested, those strange creatures—Abyssals, as they were now being called—had been allowed to wreak near total destruction of the waterfront and cause significant damage to the interior of the city. Hundreds, thousands lay dead, just like the many other attacks that had occurred on the same day.
Even now, ships sailing for Canadian ports had to be wary of attack as the overstretched RCN did what it could. There was hope, as counterparts to the Abyssals had started appearing in and fighting for the countries they had once represented. Yet none had appeared for Canada, despite her once having had the 5th largest navy in the world.
At the Air Canada Centre in Toronto, the mood was somber despite being packed with over twenty thousand fans. The Maple Leafs were facing off against the Montreal Canadians in what would be yet another great game in that longstanding rivalry. But even rivalry paled in the face of the recent and ongoing attacks. The fans were quiet, the teams coming to play not as opponents, but as symbols of Canadian resilience.
The announcer asked for a moment of silence for those lost in the attack on Montreal, the singer of the national anthem stepping forward between the two teams lined up on the ice. She was a local girl from Toronto, worried about her homeland just like everyone else in the stadium. Taking that moment of silence to lower her head, she thought of her brother who was one of those lost in the attack. As she began to sing, she put every last ounce of effort she could into making it the best she'd ever sung.
"O Canada! Our home and native land! True patriot love in all thy sons command."
As her clear voice rang out of the speakers, the crowd began to join in. First quietly, then a swelling crescendo.
"With glowing hearts we see thee rise, The True North strong and free!"
By the second line every throat in the packed crowd was singing; a well of human emotion filled the very air.
"From far and wide, O Canada, we stand on guard for thee."
A vague consciousness stirred, pulled by the need of the crowd. It remembered vaguely a desire to fight, a desire to serve the nation it had been built for. It had failed in that purpose, coming too late to fight the enemies against whom it had been made.
"God keep our land glorious and free!"
The emotions swirled higher the lands of Canada under threat. The consciousness began to push, push itself to where it was needed, where it would be allowed to fulfill its ultimate purpose.
"O Canada, we stand on guard for thee."
She would do it; she would stand on guard and protect her nation, her country and the people in it like she was meant to do.
"O Canada, we stand on guard for thee!"
The last word of the anthem hung in the air, strung out by twenty thousand people, each and every one singing their heart out. She could hear the singing, the music playing along to images of brave men saluting a flag blowing in the salty ocean breeze. As the crescendo hit, there was a flash of blue light and she heard a roar of noise. When the light finally cleared, there was one more person in the arena than there had been before.
Standing directly at the center of the ice was a girl. She was of slightly above average height, standing at nearly 5'7'' and topped with a shock of long blonde hair. Her slim yet curvy body was covered in a slightly modified black double-breasted undress coat, its double rows of four buttons glinting in the spotlight, a white shirt and black tie tucked underneath. A short black skirt barely covered her lower body, a set of matching black stockings rising so that only a small gap of skin was visible between them. Rounding out her appearance was a backpack that looked like a smokestack. Three arms reached around her from the stack, each sporting an assortment of small guns along their length with a larger three barreled turret on the end.
As the girl looked up at the crowd, her eyes as wide as theirs were, she finally remembered who she was. She was HMCS Ontario, and she was ready for a fight.
They could be fought, they could be killed. That had been proven several times around the globe, though losses had been high during the initial attacks. For Canada, the price had been higher than most but less than it could have been.
Montreal, one of Canada's largest shipping ports, had been attacked. The damage had been extensive, the small and underequipped Canadian fleet stationed at Halifax incapable of mounting a meaningful response. Left completely unmolested, those strange creatures—Abyssals, as they were now being called—had been allowed to wreak near total destruction of the waterfront and cause significant damage to the interior of the city. Hundreds, thousands lay dead, just like the many other attacks that had occurred on the same day.
Even now, ships sailing for Canadian ports had to be wary of attack as the overstretched RCN did what it could. There was hope, as counterparts to the Abyssals had started appearing in and fighting for the countries they had once represented. Yet none had appeared for Canada, despite her once having had the 5th largest navy in the world.
At the Air Canada Centre in Toronto, the mood was somber despite being packed with over twenty thousand fans. The Maple Leafs were facing off against the Montreal Canadians in what would be yet another great game in that longstanding rivalry. But even rivalry paled in the face of the recent and ongoing attacks. The fans were quiet, the teams coming to play not as opponents, but as symbols of Canadian resilience.
The announcer asked for a moment of silence for those lost in the attack on Montreal, the singer of the national anthem stepping forward between the two teams lined up on the ice. She was a local girl from Toronto, worried about her homeland just like everyone else in the stadium. Taking that moment of silence to lower her head, she thought of her brother who was one of those lost in the attack. As she began to sing, she put every last ounce of effort she could into making it the best she'd ever sung.
"O Canada! Our home and native land! True patriot love in all thy sons command."
As her clear voice rang out of the speakers, the crowd began to join in. First quietly, then a swelling crescendo.
"With glowing hearts we see thee rise, The True North strong and free!"
By the second line every throat in the packed crowd was singing; a well of human emotion filled the very air.
"From far and wide, O Canada, we stand on guard for thee."
A vague consciousness stirred, pulled by the need of the crowd. It remembered vaguely a desire to fight, a desire to serve the nation it had been built for. It had failed in that purpose, coming too late to fight the enemies against whom it had been made.
"God keep our land glorious and free!"
The emotions swirled higher the lands of Canada under threat. The consciousness began to push, push itself to where it was needed, where it would be allowed to fulfill its ultimate purpose.
"O Canada, we stand on guard for thee."
She would do it; she would stand on guard and protect her nation, her country and the people in it like she was meant to do.
"O Canada, we stand on guard for thee!"
The last word of the anthem hung in the air, strung out by twenty thousand people, each and every one singing their heart out. She could hear the singing, the music playing along to images of brave men saluting a flag blowing in the salty ocean breeze. As the crescendo hit, there was a flash of blue light and she heard a roar of noise. When the light finally cleared, there was one more person in the arena than there had been before.
Standing directly at the center of the ice was a girl. She was of slightly above average height, standing at nearly 5'7'' and topped with a shock of long blonde hair. Her slim yet curvy body was covered in a slightly modified black double-breasted undress coat, its double rows of four buttons glinting in the spotlight, a white shirt and black tie tucked underneath. A short black skirt barely covered her lower body, a set of matching black stockings rising so that only a small gap of skin was visible between them. Rounding out her appearance was a backpack that looked like a smokestack. Three arms reached around her from the stack, each sporting an assortment of small guns along their length with a larger three barreled turret on the end.
As the girl looked up at the crowd, her eyes as wide as theirs were, she finally remembered who she was. She was HMCS Ontario, and she was ready for a fight.
Twenty thousand sets of eyes stared at Ontario as she stood at center ice. Twenty thousand people froze in shock. For her part, Ontario was surprised too. As the emotions and confusion of her emergence faded, Ontario started to feel small. She knew she was a warship but at the moment she was also experiencing her first moments as… as a person. The moment lasted for a few more seconds, before the singer of the national anthem stepped towards her, microphone still on.
"Uh… hello," she said to Ontario, the small brunette girl holding the microphone between them, "Who… who are you?"
Ontario blinked for the first time in her… life. Then she blinked again. "C53 HMCS Ontario at your service," she said, her own voice surprising her as she spoke for aloud for the first time, "who are you?"
"I'm Maria, Maria Clark," said the girl, holding out her hand for Ontario to take, "Nice to meet you."
Ontario looked down at the hand, then back up to Maria, memories of her crew exchanging them flashing through her mind. She started to shake Maria's hand, but then suddenly remembered that she was still wearing her gear. She wasn't sure, but somehow she knew that she probably shouldn't shake her hand with it on. Dismissing the rig in a sparkle of light, Ontario then reached out to shake her hand.
"Nice to meet you too," said Ontario, taking Maria's hand and shaking it. It felt…warm. It wasn't like her boilers starting up or her guns firing which were much different, hotter and more sudden. This was just… warm.
It was then that a nicely dressed employee came out on the ice, the roar of such a large crowd talking at even muted voices already washing over them.
"Uhm… ladies…" said the man, "If we could get you off of the ice now it's time for the game to start. Ms. Clark your suite is waiting and Ms. … uh… Ms. Ontario if you'd come with me we can find you a place to wait…"
"She can come with me," said Maria, moving and grabbing hold of Ontario's forearm, "And watch the game until she has to go." She turned to Ontario, "You like hockey right?"
Ontario paused at the question. She remembered her crew liking hockey, there were always wagers going on about who would win this season and hopes that they would get back to port in time to catch a big game. But she was a ship; she'd never actually seen a hockey game before. Her thought process was interrupted when Maria started pulling her along behind her.
"Of course you like hockey," she said, the man from the staff seeming a bit exasperated as he followed along, "You're Canadian."
That statement stunned Ontario long enough for Maria to pull Ontario off the ice and into the guts of the arena, where they were suddenly quickly but politely surrounded by staff and security as they made their way up and outwards towards wherever they were being taken. Though she'd only been around for bare minutes at this point, Ontario was already having something of an existential crisis. She was a ship, a proud warship of the RCN not a person… right?
She pondered this as they were led to more public areas, the security now necessary to keep back the mostly polite onlookers as they made their way to a more reserved area, all but two the security turning around and stopping the following crowd as they made their way down a long line of rooms to the one at the end. As the two security guards stopped at the door, Maria led Ontario into the room, which while large, was only occupied by a few people.
Those people stopped and looked at them, just as she did in return. There were five of them; one middle aged couple, a boy around Maria's age, a younger girl and one elderly man. Ontario felt a little bit awkward as they stared at her. Luckily for her Maria seemed to be on the ball.
"Ontario, this is my family, family Ontario," said Maria, now pointing out individual members, "Mom, Dad, Grandpa Jim, Daisy and Mark."
"Hello…" said Ontario as the five continued to stare at her.
It was the old man who got up first, walking over with the help of a cane.
"You really Ontario?" he asked her, slightly stooped back not lessening the solid look in his eye.
"Yes Sir," she said, something in his eyes reminding her of her old crew.
"Leading Seaman Walter Clark," he said to her, offering his other hand, "Pleasure to meet you. Served on HMCS Capilano during the war, saw you a few times afterwards."
"Nice to meet you too," said Ontario, starting to relax a little bit.
"Come on come on," he said, waving her towards the seats hanging above the ice, "The games about to start." Following after the old man, Ontario heard Maria and the rest of the family begin talking quietly and quickly. This was all entirely new to her, so she didn't know what to do besides follow after him.
Taking a seat next to the old man, she looked out wide eyed at the arena. It was so high! She'd been in storms and waves before, but the perspective of this was just so different than anything she'd ever experienced.
"So," said the old man, handing her a brown bottle with "Canadian" printed on the side, "You're one of those shipgirl's we've been hearing about?"
"I… I guess so?" said Ontario, looking at the open bottle before sniffing it carefully, "Are there more like me?"
"Yeah," said the form Seaman, popping open a brown bottle for himself "Or so they say." He turned to look at her, holding out the bottle, "Cheers."
Ontario looked at the man, looked down at her bottle and then lifted it up and held it towards him. "Cheers?"
"Cheers," said the old man, clinking their bottles together and then taking a pull from it.
"Grandpa," came Maria's voice from behind, "You shouldn't be drinking, your doctor said it was bad for you."
The man gave out a contented sigh as he pulled the bottle down, keeping it away from his Granddaughters hand. "Maria," he said, "I'm ninety four years old, a beer or two more isn't going to keep me around much less than not having them. Let an old man enjoy what he can."
Maria harrumphed a bit, but settled in next to her grandfather dotingly. The conversation also made Ontario remember something else. Many of the men who had served on her, many of the men she remembered as young and vital were now elderly or even passed away already. The thought was… sobering. She took the bottle in her hand and put it to her lips.
It came down seconds later, her body doing a new and unfamiliar sensation, coughing.
"What… what's that," she said, holding out the bottle, "It tastes horrible!"
"It's Molson's," said Walter, "One of the most Canadian of beers. Try it some more, you'll like it."
"Grandpa…" said Maria.
"Shh," he said, "The game's about to start." He turned to Ontario. "You're a Maple Leafs fan right?"
"Who are they playing?" asked Ontario, looking down at the teams.
"The Canadians," replied Maria.
"FUCK QUEBEC!" yelled Ontario before she even realized what she was saying. She immediately put her hands over her mouth and felt her…cheeks, warming into what felt like an inferno.
That got a laugh from Walter, a stare from Maria and a chuckle from behind her. Turning, Ontario saw Maria's father laughing as well, her mother covering her mouth primly…but she could see that the corner of her mouth was upturned.
"I think you'll fit right in here," said Walter, holding up his bottle again.
Ontario didn't say anything, but she did tap her bottle against his. After that things seemed to settle down a little bit. Maria's parents eventually came down to watch the game with them, her little sister stayed up at the top eating what she eventually found out were potato chips and her brother kept glancing at her while trying to watch the game. When she asked Maria about it she said he was at "that age" and she shouldn't worry about it too hard.
The game itself was an experience. At the same time that she was seeing things for herself for the first time, Ontario was remembering her crew talking about older games, putting words and rules to maneuvers and calls that she could see. At first she started out quiet, merely watching and trying to understand what was going on. By the time the third period came around, she was cheering and yelling and booing right along with the rest of the Clarks as the Maple Leafs and Canadians had a hard fought match, 1-1 going into the final period.
Several minutes into the period, Ontario and the Clark's heard someone politely clear their throat behind them, causing them all to turn despite the intense action currently down on the ice. Standing there in the entrance to the room was a young man of middle height, his hair shaved into close stubble and wearing a uniform remarkably similar to hers. Ontario immediately popped up from her seat and saluted the man.
"C53, Cruiser HMCS Ontario reporting for duty sir," she said, holding the salute until the man almost bemusedly returned it.
"Lieutenant Anderson," replied the man, "of the Royal Canadian Navy at your service." He looked around at the Clarks, all of them sitting in the forward seats. "Would you mind if you and I had a talk Ms.?"
"No not at all," said Ontario, glancing back at the ongoing hockey match, "Could…could we stay here though? I'd like to see the end of the game."
Anderson looked at her for a second, expression unreadable and then nodded, a small smile appearing on his face. "Sure," he said, gesturing to the row of stools along the bar behind the other seats which would give them a little bit of privacy, "We can talk here."
Ontario took a seat next to the man, still able to see the game which she watched mostly out of the corner of her eye, something she found strange but useful.
"So," said Lt. Anderson, glancing briefly at the bottle in Ontario's hand, "You're C53?"
"Yes, C53 Ontario" said Ontario, looking at the bottle and then offering it to Anderson, "Do you want one? There's some more."
"I probably shouldn't while I'm on duty," said Anderson.
Ontario widened her eyes and looked down at the bottle. "Oh no…" she said, setting it down, "I…I shouldn't be drinking should I, I'm a warship I'm on duty…" She felt a strange feeling in her…stomach, something twisty and tight. Images flashed through her head of crewmen doing similar things. Nerves, she had nerves.
Anderson immediately raised his hand at her and waved it, trying to get her to calm down. "I don't think you need to worry about that," he said to her, "I don't think anybody expected you to be on duty so fast. In fact, I'll have one too. We can watch the game, drink a few beers, have our talk and then head out ok?"
"O-ok," said Ontario, gingerly reaching her hand back to the bottle as if it might bite her, "You're sure?"
"I'm sure," said Anderson, giving her a reassuring smile as he got down of the stool and went to get his own beer, the murmurs of the Clarks suddenly overwhelmed by a cheer from the crowd. Turning to watch the ice, Ontario saw one of the Maple Leafs forwards dashing down the ice, puck in front of him with only one defender and the goalie in the way.
"Go, go!" she found herself crying out with the rest of the stadium as he managed to get past the defender and then slammed the puck into the goal just past the goalies outstretched hand. There was a loud roar from the crowd, Ontario standing up out of her seat to cheer along with them.
As the cheering died down, Ontario finally remembered that Lt. Anderson was there and turned to look. He was watching her, a bottle of beer in his hand and a curious look on his face.
"What?" said Ontario, looking at him as she sat down again, "You're supposed to cheer right?"
"Yeah," said Anderson as he moved back to sit next to her, "Yeah you are."
As he settled in next to her he pulled out a piece of paper, unfolding it and peering at it before turning to her once again, taking a pull from his beer. "Alright, so in the interest of proving who you are I'm going to ask you a few questions. Feel free to answer or not answer any of those you like alright?"
"Ok," said Ontario, turning to focus on him once more, "Do we start now?"
"Yeah," said Anderson, "We start now. Where were you laid down?"
"Belfast, by Harland and Wolff," replied Ontario instantly.
"When were you launched?"
"July 29, 1943," she said, again with no delay in the reply.
"What was your commissioning date?"
"May 25, 1945."
"When were you decommissioned?"
A brief pause, her voice sad, "October 15, 1958."
"What were your dimensions and displacement?" When she didn't reply right away, Anderson looked up to find Ontario red in the face, her hands touching her cheeks again in confusion.
"I…I don't think you're supposed to ask me that," she said, strange new feelings coming into her mind. Embarrassment, she didn't like embarrassment.
"Er…right," said Anderson, "What was your main armament?"
"Nine six inch, fifty caliber Mk 23 guns," came the reply, this time her voice warming back up as her face cooled down.
"Could you show me your… armament?" he asked her, putting the paper down.
"Sure," said Ontario, hopping down off of her chair to make room, summoning her rigging in a flash of light. All nine guns appeared around her body, stack on her back as she stood proudly in front of the Lieutenant. His eyes were wide, but quickly returned to normal.
"Can I touch it?" he asked.
"I suppose so…" she said, standing still as he gingerly reached out to touch her number one turret. He let his finger rest against it for a moment before pulling it away.
"Could you fire them for me?" he asked.
"I mean I could…" said Ontario, "But it'd blow up the room and most of the surrounding area."
"So it hits with the force of a real six inch gun?" he asked, clarifying.
"Of course," she said, looking at him like he was crazy, "Why wouldn't it?"
Anderson refrained from saying anything before shaking his head. "I guess that makes sense," he said, "Anyway, as far as I can tell you're… who, you say you are."
"What do we do now?" asked Ontario, dismissing her rig once again.
"Now," said Lt. Anderson as he grabbed his beer and took a swig, "We finish watching the Canadians lose."
--
In the end the Maple Leafs managed to stay ahead, winning the match 2-1 in normal time. Ontario found herself cheering alongside the Clarks as the teams left the arena the crowd starting to follow after them, a steady stream of humanity heading out of the once packed building.
The Clarks seemed to be getting ready to leave as well, the last of the beers being finished off and items being picked up. Maria's parents and her sister simply waved goodbye, her brother just nodding his head at her as they walked towards the exit. Maria and her grandfather came behind them, her Grandfather supporting himself on her arm as well as with his cane.
"Give em hell out there," said the old man, raising his head in a polite salute which Ontario returned, "I'll be rooting for you."
"Thank you," said Ontario, a slight blush coming onto her face.
"So will I," said Maria, handing Ontario a piece of paper, "So if you ever need someone to talk to, give me a call, that's my phone number."
"I… I will," said Ontario with a nod, taking the paper carefully and looking at it.
As the Clarks left, Ontario continued to stare at the paper until Lt. Anderson came up beside her again.
"Ready to go?" he asked her.
"Yeah… I mean, yes sir," she said, sticking the paper into the pocket of her uniform.
Following Anderson out of the now empty suite, Ontario noticed that the guards at the door weren't stadium security anymore. Instead they were guarded by a pair of soldiers in what looked like full combat gear. They turned and acknowledged Anderson as he walked out the door, falling into step behind Ontario as she exited the room. Looking around she could see nobody else, it seemed that the area had been cleared of people.
As they neared the exit of the suite area, Ontario could see what looked like a squad of soldiers, also in full battle gear, waiting for them. The squad leader, a sergeant by the looks of it, quickly gathered his men and they took up a circular formation around her and Lt. Anderson, whom she moved closer to.
"Is… is this all for me?" she asked, looking about at the soldiers as they were led towards what she presumed was the exit, what looked like police officers blocking off other avenues of approach until they were past, then following.
"Yes," said Anderson, "We weren't sure what to expect when we heard the news and well…" He stopped talking for a minute before resuming, the sound of boots on the ground and gear rattling echoing through what seemed to be an empty arena.
"You're a warship Ontario," he finally continued, "A valuable one at that considering our circumstances. We might have been a bit overzealous, but we wanted to make sure you were safe."
Ontario thought on that as they finally made their way to another exit. What he said made sense, she was a warship, but here and now she didn't know exactly how her body worked. Could she die if something happened to her without her rigging deployed? It seemed better to be on the safe side than risk getting injured before she could do her duty.
As they approached the large glass doors that seemed to lead outside, Ontario began to hear noise. A bark from the sergeant leading the soldiers caused them to stop, letting the police following them exit first. As the door opened a roar of noise came through, similar to what she had heard from the crowd earlier.
"Head straight to the car, don't stop," said Anderson, turning to look at her as the soldiers created two lines beside them instead of a circle.
"Ok…" said Ontario, following as the doors were opened once more, police officers waving them through. Anderson waved Ontario in front of him and she followed the instruction, stepping out of the building and into the sun for the first time in her new form. A wave of sound nearly overwhelmed her, only the presence of the soldiers beside her and Anderson behind her keeping her moving.
In front of her were five vehicles, two that looked like small tanks on wheels and three big black ones that looked like a cross between a truck and a van. Something in her head informed her that these were called SUV's. Around all five vehicles was a line of soldiers dressed similarly to the ones with her and Anderson, most of them facing outwards.
The reason for that was just a few feet further, held back by a thin line of what looked like both local police and what she recognized somehow as the RCMP and beyond that were people, thousands of them. It seemed that the entire stadium had gathered around the little half circle of police beyond the building, but Ontario couldn't be sure. She saw signs, so many signs that she couldn't even begin to read them.
It was thankfully only a few steps to the middle black vehicle, the door being held open by one of the many soldiers. Ontario climbed inside, followed by Anderson. There were already two soldiers in the front seat and as the door shut behind Anderson Ontario could feel the engine starting as the roar of the crowd dimmed.
The rest of the soldiers around the vehicles began to embark as well, the move seemingly practiced as the police kept back the crowd. When the last man made it inside of the tank like vehicles Ontario felt them start to move, heading away from the arena and the crowd surrounding it. Though they initially had to move slow, they quickly began to pick up speed and left the screaming crowds behind.
Ontario let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding when they could no longer hear the roar of voices, causing Anderson to turn and look at her.
"Are you alright?" he asked her.
"I'm… I'm fine," she said slowly, her hands gripping her legs tightly.
"You don't seem like it," said Anderson, his eyes darting up to the front of the car before back to her.
"It was just… all those people were waiting for me right?" she said, looking at him.
"Yes," said Anderson.
"I've never seen something like that before," said Ontario, "At least not for me, I've seen more people once."
"Where was that?" asked Anderson, tension seemingly running out of his shoulders.
"The Fleet Review," said Ontario, "For Queen Elizabeth." She smiled at the memory. "There were a lot of ships there, with more people who came to watch." She glanced out the window at the city, now moving by fast as they headed towards their destination, wherever that was. "It's all so different now," she remarked as she watched buildings flash by. She turned back to Anderson, "I suppose Charles is King by now?"
Anderson gave her that look again, the one she couldn't quite decipher, before he shook his head. "Not quite," he said, a small grin splitting his face, "Queen Elizabeth is still around. She's in her nineties of course, but that just means most people don't remember a day without her reign."
Ontario had to choke back a bit of emotion as she heard that the Queen was still around. She'd been built, laid down and served under King George, but she'd never had reason to visit Britain until the coronation. She remembered that well, ships from all around the world gathered together and shined for the new Queen to view. There was every kind of ship imaginable, down from humble dockyard craft, through destroyers, cruisers of all types, carriers of all shapes and even the last British battleship, HMS Vanguard. She'd been in line next to her sister ship Quebec and next to another Commonwealth ship, the RNZN Black Prince.
She remembered how proud she'd been, how proud everyone had been as the laid at anchor in shining rows, each ship immaculately painted, crews turned out in the same manner. It was a fleet fit for Queen to view and Ontario had been honored to have been part of it, part of that shining massive fleet. Out of all the things she'd done, that was pretty much the only one that stuck out in her memory, she had no battles, not even a skirmish to her name, no reason to be in the history books beyond that.
Thinking about the coronation review and her service or lack thereof as she saw it, passed the minutes quickly Lt. Anderson leaving her alone to her thoughts. By the time she bothered to look up again, they were slowing down, the roar of an aircraft overhead indicating their destination. Glancing out the window she saw a jet liner, something she at least could remember from her time even if they seemed to be much more advanced.
"Where are we going?" she finally asked Anderson, drawing a glance from him.
"National Defense Headquarters," said Anderson, "To see the Admiral."
"The Admiral?" said Ontario, "Which one?"
"Vice Admiral Norman," said Anderson, turning and looking at her seriously, "Commander of the RCN."
"C-c-comander of the navy?!?" exclaimed Ontario, causing one of the soldiers in the front to jump, "But, but I'm just a light cruiser! It's not like I'm a battlecruiser or carrier or somebody important!"
Anderson appeared surprised at Ontario's statement, taking a moment to recover before attempting to answer.
"Ontario," he said, "You're the first… shipgirl, that we've had come back. There've been others, but none for Canada. Of course the Admiral is going to want to talk to you."
"O-oh," said Ontario, calming down a little bit, "I guess that makes sense."
She paused, looking out of the window as they approached Toronto's airport, the tank like vehicle's driving directly through an opening made by another group of police.
"Are there a lot of… girls, like me?" Ontario asked, looking at Anderson.
"We're not sure," said Anderson as they drove towards a hangar in the distance, "Like I said, there have been others but we're not sure how many. Even our allies are keeping it a bit quiet."
"Why?" asked Ontario, her brows scrunching up, "I mean, isn't sharing intel important?"
"Let's just say that we still don't know exactly what we're dealing with and leave it at that," said Anderson, looking out the window as their small convoy pulled up next to a smallish passenger jet and stopped, the soldiers bailing out of the vehicles first, joining a small group of RCMP that appeared to be waiting for them.
"The flight is only about an hour and we won't have to wait for landing or takeoff," said Anderson as the doors were opened for both of them, "The Admiral pulled some strings so we could get there as soon as possible."
"Why is it so important that I get to Ottawa?" asked Ontario, following after Anderson as they headed for the steps into the plane.
"We're under attack," said Anderson as they ascended the steps, "By… things. We need all the help we can get. Everyone does. I'll let the Admiral explain everything else, I don't have all the information."
"Alright," said Ontario, climbing up the stairs and taking one of the seats across the aisle from Anderson as the engines started to rev up for takeoff, the door being shut by an RCMP crew member.
As the airplane began to taxi, Ontario felt nerves start to form in the pit of her stomach again. She was fine with ocean swells, but she wasn't so sure about this flying thing. A final turn and then the engines revved higher but they weren't moving. Then the pilot did something and they were rolling down the runway, quickly approaching and exceeding the highest speeds she'd ever managed to travel herself. Her hands clamped down on the armrests and then they began to creak as the plane tilted upwards and suddenly they were off the ground, a loud clunk sounding as the landing gear withdrew into the plane.
"H-how fast does this go?" she asked, her voice quavering as they seemed to speed up even more.
"Hmm?" said Anderson, glancing at her as he lay back in his seat calmly, "Somewhere around eight or nine hundred KPH I think."
Ontario let out a whimper at that number. That was around fifteen times her top speed! She'd never dreamed of going so fast when she was a ship, the thought was ludicrous. But now apparently it wasn't. She wanted to summon her rigging, she felt safe with her armor, speed and guns on. But something tickled at the back of her mind, telling her that would be a bad idea no matter how much she wanted it.
Instead she closed her eyes, not able to look out the small windows that dotted the side of the plane as they rose and rose and rose before finally they levelled off. As they settled in Ontario looked out the window, watching the land below roll by. She turned as she heard a click from where Anderson was sitting.
"Where are you going?" she asked as he started to move towards the cockpit, a little nervous about being alone.
"I need to make a call," said Anderson, "It shouldn't be too long. Hit the button for steward if you need anything."
"O-ok," said Ontario, daring once more to look out at the ground rolling beneath them. Though at first her stomach was rolling at the sight, she eventually began to calm down, her eyes watching with wonder as roads, fields and entire towns rolled by beneath them.
--
Vice Admiral Mark Norman, Commander of the RCN, sat behind his desk waiting for a phone-call. Normally he was the one making calls and expecting them to be picked up, as there was only one currently serving officer in the Canadian armed forces who outranked him and only a few politicians above him who could say the same. General Vance had dumped the problem on him, with a quick statement of "Ships are the navy's problem, especially if they're walking around!" and His Excellency the Right Honourable David Lloyd Johnston, Governor General and Commander-in-Chief in and over Canada apparently didn't want to deal with it either. But for this situation he had to wait, would wait as it was the only thing he could do until he received the call or had somebody else run in and inform him that most of downtown Toronto had been leveled.
He of course was thinking all of this in part to distract himself from the impossible problem that faced him and the RCN. After decades of no real enemy to fight, seemingly eternally lessening budgets and politicians who continued to promise new ships "Soon!" the RCN had fallen from a respectable first world navy with at least one light carrier and relatively modern escorts to one that had only had twelve surface combatants, none less than twenty years old and none larger than a frigate.
Though the Halifax class were good ships, they were small compared to modern destroyers, weighing only a bit more than half of a US Arleigh Burke and were designed largely for ASW and AA coverage. The eight Harpoon ASM's were the only weapons they carried that could do noticeable damage to their new opponents, their 57mm Bofors gun nearly worthless except on the smallest of them. They'd learned that the hard way, four of the Halifax's being destroyed in the first months of conflict, three more laid up in dock for repair. That left only five surface combatants for him to protect the longest coastline in the world, a task that was impossible on almost every level.
Beyond the deaths of his sailors, the largest thing weighing on him at the moment was uncertainty. It was true that the government had greenlighted the final implementation of the emergency naval expansion and Single Class Surface Combatant project, but even if they laid down ships immediately, it would be nearly two years before they were finished and they were still finalizing details on what they wanted to lay out. Without new surface ships Canada couldn't protect herself, much less support her allies. While they wouldn't starve to death, things would get tough for the Canadian people until they could hold open the sea lanes again. It was a simple matter of hulls, there weren't enough and they wouldn't have any more for quite some time.
That left him here, sitting behind his desk and waiting for a phone call in the hope that maybe they would have more hulls before too long. He let out a soft snort. The hopes of Canada rested on the idea that ships reincarnated from god only knew where or for what reason, would be willing to work for them. He had a few ideas in place to help with that but it was still up in the air until he got his call.
Suddenly his phone rang and he immediately reached out to pick it up.
"Vice Admiral Norman," he said, despite the fact that it was his direct line.
"Sir," came a familiar voice, "It's Anderson."
Norman let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Good to hear from you Lieutenant," he said, quickly getting down to business, "How's our guest?"
Anderson took a second before responding. "She's fine sir," he said, "In fact if I had to say anything about her it's that she seems eager to help us." Despite his words, Norman could feel a bit of hesitation in Anderson's voice.
"Is something wrong Lieutenant?" he asked, "I would think that having help would boost your spirits."
"Sir," said Anderson, "permission to speak freely?"
"Granted Lieutenant," he said, "Please speak your mind; nobody knows much about these girls in the first place."
"Sir," said Anderson, "I know she is what she said she is; she deployed her… weapons for me. But I found her sitting in a skybox watching the Maple Leafs and Canadians while drinking Molson's. If she wasn't wearing a uniform or so obviously new to everything I'd have passed her by on the street without much more than a second glance."
"What're you getting at Lieutenant?" asked Norman.
"Sir," said Anderson, "I don't think we should treat her like a ship. At least not exclusively, she has emotions, she likes things and right now," Norman heard the sound of a curtain being pulled to the side, "she's experiencing her first ride in an airplane and I'm not sure if she's scared or enjoying herself."
"So what you're saying is kid gloves," said Norman.
"Sir… I'm not saying kid gloves. She seems to want to fight, so don't coddle her. Just… treat her like a person who has some special abilities, not a ship that looks like a girl, if that makes sense."
"So what you're telling me Lieutenant, is that you're suggesting that I and by extension the entire Canadian Navy, try to treat the reincarnated soul of an eleven thousand ton cruiser which just happens to be able to walk on water, summon high caliber naval artillery from nowhere and is likely able to rip someone limb from limb if we make it angry, as just a girl with some quirks."
There was a moment of silence from the other line before Anderson replied. "Yes sir that is what I suggest. I'm sure there will be a few issues that need to be worked out and while she's a bit naïve she's not stupid. If we try to treat her differently she'll find out eventually and I'd rather not have her angry at us because we did something avoidable like lying straight to her face or treating her like a freak."
"A bit naïve?" asked Norman, "How naïve are we talking here Lieutenant? I don't want to have an easily distracted… ship girl wandering around."
"Not that naïve sir," said Anderson, "I think it's just that she's still learning how to be a person. Once she gets some experience under her belt I think she'll be pretty sharp."
"Alright Lieutenant," said Norman, "I think I have the picture. How long until you arrive at NDHQ?"
"We took off about fifteen minutes ago sir, so it shouldn't be much more than an hour and a half as long as we don't get caught up in traffic," said Anderson.
""Make it as quick as you can Lieutenant," said Norman, glancing at his computer screen and the list of attacks on ships in and around Canadian waters, "We need her help."
"Yes sir," said Anderson, "We'll be there soon. Any other orders sir?"
"Keep me updated on any developments," said Norman, "And call me when you land."
"Yes sir," said Anderson, "I'll contact you when we're on the ground. Anderson out."
With a click the call disconnected, leaving Norman to set down his phone and look at his screen again. Too many attacks for the RCN to deal with by themselves, the USN overstretched with their own commitments. He didn't want to rely on such an unknown quality as the newly arrived ship-girls, but he needed every hull he could get.
With a shake of his head he tried to clear his mind, turning back to the innumerable reports and requests that he had to deal with. He could worry about Ontario when she arrived, until then there were things to do.
--
Ontario eventually decided that while it wasn't her preferred method of travel, flying wasn't too bad. The flight was for the most part smooth with the occasional slight bump and though her new ears popped several times, looking at the ground as it passed by underneath the plane was enjoyable. She hardly even looked at Anderson as he came back from his call and only took some water when it was offered to her. Fresh water tasted different than the salty spray she remembered, though it wouldn't be fair to say she had tasted the ocean either.
When the fasten seatbelt light came on she turned to Anderson and he glanced up from where he had been reading something.
"It means we're going to land," he said, reaching down to fasten his own seatbelt.
"We're there already?" she asked, fastening her seatbelt.
"Ottawa isn't that far from Toronto by plane," replied Anderson, settling in as he put his reading materials away.
"But it hasn't even been an hour yet," said Ontario, who grabbed at her armrests and squeezed as the plane began to tilt downwards and caused her stomach to flutter. Maybe flying wasn't so great after all.
"We got to bypass a lot of traffic," said Anderson, apparently used to this, "And we're cutting through the landing pattern as well."
"Ok…" said Ontario with a gulp as the plane continued to descend, the plane seemingly descending at an even faster rate than before. She watched as the ground came closer and closer, when the plane suddenly began to turn, tilting her in her seat as the grips began to creak even more. The thunk of the landing gear again surprised her and combined with another drop as the plane descended even more, the creak in the seat became a crack, something in the underlying structure giving way underneath her strength.
Anderson glanced her way, his eyes concerned as the plane gets even lower. The trees and building look like their correct size now, flashing by at amazing speed as more thunks and whines come from the plane. Ontario can't help but look out the window and then close her eyes repeatedly, feeling certain somehow that the plane was going to crash. She opened her eyes once more in time to see the runway approach, the plane still tilted back. As the plane touched down the wheels started rumbling beneath them, the nose wheel coming down last as the engines behind them screeched at maximum thrust.
Ontario closed her eyes again until the rumbling of the tires and the whine of the engine died off, the plane now moving at a decent but much slower clip towards one of the hangars. She took a deep breath, not having realized until then that she had been holding it. Looking out the window again she caught a glimpse of what looked like the same convoy they used in Toronto, except for the addition of police cars in front and behind.
She finally looked back to Anderson again and saw him give her that look again, the one that seemed curious yet… somehow like he wasn't sure he should ask about it.
"How was your first flight?" he asked her as he unbuckled himself, the plane coming to a stop as he stood.
"I don't like takeoff," she said, unbuckling and following after him as the hatch was door was opened and the stairs deployed, "Or landing. But the middle wasn't so bad I guess."
He nodded, leading the way to the middle SUV of the convoy, more Canadian soldiers in full gear waiting for them as they got in.
"Well, hopefully it will grow on you," said Anderson as the vehicle started up and the convoy proceeded out of the airport with police lights flashing to clear the way, "I think you'll have a decent bit of flying in your future."
"Hopefully," said Ontario as she looked out the window, taking in the sights of Canada's capital city. She had of course never seen it in her previous life, but she had a vague sort of remembrance from her many crews. As the got on the highway Ontario watched various neighborhoods and buildings flash by, cars moving to the side as the police and armored vehicles came up behind them.
Anderson was quiet, letting her take in the sights for the twenty minute drive to NDHQ. When they arrived in the parking lot the soldiers hopped out of the vehicles, joining the ones already posted there. Anderson opened the door and led her towards the entrance, a squad of soldiers around them once more.
"Is this still necessary?" she asked, looking at them as they finally entered the doors to the home of Canada's armed forces.
"We don't know," said Anderson as they were waved past the security in the lobby, "So the brass thinks it's better to be safe than sorry."
Ontario looked around and saw some of the looks she was getting, people staring at her and whispering. It was different than the crowd at the stadium where it had been so overwhelming that she hadn't even had time to think about it. She was suddenly glad for the circle of heavily armed men around her, unsure as she was of what the people were whispering about.
Anderson led her to a bank of elevators and hit the button, the soldiers taking up position around them. She glanced back and saw a few people still staring and whispering, though most of them glanced away if she tried to look them in the eye. It was different than when she had been with the Clarks and she was pretty sure she didn't like it.
The elevator doors opened and she followed Anderson in, two of the soldiers joining them as the rest stayed by the doors. As they shut, Ontario's eyes went to the display as Anderson hit a button and they started to go up.
"Am I really that strange looking?" she asked, glancing down at her uniform.
Anderson looked at her and shrugged, the soldiers not turning or even indicating that they'd heard her.
"Like I said Ontario, ship-girls are still rare and most people have only heard rumors and hearsay. Things they don't understand make people nervous and to be frank… we don't know anything about where you came from or why." He paused and shook his head, giving her a bit of a grin. "Just give them some time and they'll get used to the idea of you being around and you won't have any more whispering."
Ontario nodded, her mind starting to wonder about why she had come back, where she had come back from. The elevator was quiet, neither of the soldiers speaking and Anderson once more descending into silence.
As the elevator lurched to a stop and the doors opened, Ontario found herself following Anderson once more. She didn't pay much attention to her surroundings beyond that, her mind still trying to come up with something beyond a vague feeling for why she came back. Finally it hit her, just as Anderson walked past a desk and towards a door that had VAdm Norman frosted onto it.
"The anthem," she said as he placed his hand on the doorknob, "I remember the anthem… everybody was singing together and… and they all believed in it, in the spirit of it." She looked up from where she had been staring at the ground, her eyes now focused on his. "That's why I came back."
Anderson paused with his hand on the door, taking in her statement. Ontario could feel her hands balled up into fists, her new muscles quivering and tight as she felt passion inside of her, passion flaring up like her boilers building up steam for flank. That reason and that reason alone was why she came back. She would stand on guard, she would protect and allow Cnada to stand strong and free.
Finally Anderson nodded, the grin returning to his face, though this one seemed a hair more open than before.
"That's a good enough reason for me," he said, "But let's not keep the Admiral waiting anymore."
"Right," said Ontario, nodding her head in agreement as she felt her body relax, then suddenly tense back up as she remembered she was meeting the head of the Royal Canadian Navy. She gulped as Anderson finally opened the door and stepped inside. She followed, determined to make a good impression.
--
Vice Admiral Norman looked up from his paperwork as he heard a knock on his door.
"Come in," he called, expecting the door to be opened promptly, but it took a few more seconds than normal for it to happen. Finally the knob turned and Anderson stepped in, giving him a salute as he did so.
"Sir," said Anderson, "May I introduce C53, HMCS Ontario."
Norman had heard the reports and even seen a brief picture gathered from somewhere, but he was still unprepared for the girl that entered his office and saluted, her back ramrod straight as her eyes bored a hole in the wall above his head.
"Sir, HMCS Ontario reporting for duty sir!" she said, her youthful sounding voice somehow filled with every bit of discipline he would expect from a long time service member. In the brief time he had he looked over her. Young was the right way to describe her; she looked like a newly minted cadet just out of one of the Royal Military College's. Despite that she also had an air about her of something more, something that he couldn't describe. Instead of trying to figure out what it was, he returned their salutes.
"Welcome," he said, "Sit down, both of you." Anderson immediately took one of the chairs in front of his desk, having reported to Norman several times before. Ontario took the other seat her eyes a bit downcast, almost as if she was nervous. That made two of them.
"So, Ontario," he said, focusing on the ship girl, "What has Anderson told you about our situation."
"Not much sir," she said, her eyes coming up to his at last, "Only that I was the first ship-girl to come back for Canada and that we are under attack. He said you would want to tell me the rest."
Norman looked to Anderson, who nodded.
"That's right," he said, returning to Ontario, "We're under attack, the whole world is under attack. The creatures that are attacking us, we call them Abyssals. We don't know where they come from or why, but they've attacked every country with a coastline and as you know, Canada has the largest in the world." He paused, gathering up the strength to continue. "To defend that coast, I currently have five ships," he said, watching as Ontario's eyes went wide, "Five frigates, all older than you were when you were retired. To say we are overstretched is an understatement. Even with what help we can get from the USN, shipping to and from Canada has almost completely stopped."
By now Ontario had gathered her composure and was looking at him intently, focused on every word that he was saying.
"My ships can only do so much," he said to her, "And against the enemy we face it isn't enough. That's where you come in, if you feel you're up for it."
"Anything you need Sir," she replied firmly, giving him a brief nod.
"Ontario," he said, leaning back in his chair, "Between the authority given to me by my superiors and the recommendations given by Lieutenant Anderson, I've come up with what I think will be the best solution for all of us. I would like you to swear the Oath of Allegiance and officially rejoin the Royal Canadian Navy, not only as a ship, but as a member of Her Majesty's armed forces at the provisional rank of Sub-Lieutenant. You'll be in charge of any other ship-girls that may come back at later dates and likely be on the front lines of this war for longer than any of us expect." He paused briefly, looking at her intently and seeing her looking back the same way. "I know I'm asking a lot of you, but right now you're the only chance I have to keep Canadian waters open. I won't lie to you, I doubt it will be easy and we aren't fully aware of the dangers involved. I don't feel like I can order this of you so instead I'm asking. Are you willing to do this?"
--
Ontario couldn't even begin to process all of the emotions running through her at the moment. Shock, confusion, nervousness and uncertainty all ran through her at the moment. Questions, so many of them, starting with where had the RCN she knew gone? What had happened to Canada's proud navy? But over all of that ran something more, something that ran through her, something that sang to her soul.
This was her moment; this was the time she could stand up and fulfill her purpose, to fulfill her duty to her people and nation. It wasn't a question of if; it was only a question of how well she could perform under the unknown circumstances. She nodded her head to Admiral Norman, her back straight as she returned his intent look.
"Yes sir," she said, never having felt more certain, "I am ready and willing to do my duty."
She thought she saw the ghost of a smile flit over Norman's face before he nodded and pulled out a Bible from a drawer in his desk.
"We'll perform the ceremony now then," he said holding out the Bible for her to lay her hand on, which she immediately did.
"Do you, HMCS Ontario, do swear that you will be faithful and bear true allegiance to Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth the Second, Queen of Canada, Her Heirs and Successors. So help you God?" he asked, stumbling only a little over her name.
"I, HMCS Ontario, do swear that I will be faithful and bear true allegiance to Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth the Second, Queen of Canada, Her Heirs and Successors. So help me God," she repeated, a bolt of cool lightning shooting up her spine and into her head as she repeated back the oath.
When she was finished, Norman put the bible back into his desk and then stood, offering his hand to her. "Welcome back to the RCN Ms. Ontario," he said, "It's good to have you again."
Taking his hand in return Ontario nodded and shook it. "Thank you Sir," she said, "It's good to be back."
"Uh… hello," she said to Ontario, the small brunette girl holding the microphone between them, "Who… who are you?"
Ontario blinked for the first time in her… life. Then she blinked again. "C53 HMCS Ontario at your service," she said, her own voice surprising her as she spoke for aloud for the first time, "who are you?"
"I'm Maria, Maria Clark," said the girl, holding out her hand for Ontario to take, "Nice to meet you."
Ontario looked down at the hand, then back up to Maria, memories of her crew exchanging them flashing through her mind. She started to shake Maria's hand, but then suddenly remembered that she was still wearing her gear. She wasn't sure, but somehow she knew that she probably shouldn't shake her hand with it on. Dismissing the rig in a sparkle of light, Ontario then reached out to shake her hand.
"Nice to meet you too," said Ontario, taking Maria's hand and shaking it. It felt…warm. It wasn't like her boilers starting up or her guns firing which were much different, hotter and more sudden. This was just… warm.
It was then that a nicely dressed employee came out on the ice, the roar of such a large crowd talking at even muted voices already washing over them.
"Uhm… ladies…" said the man, "If we could get you off of the ice now it's time for the game to start. Ms. Clark your suite is waiting and Ms. … uh… Ms. Ontario if you'd come with me we can find you a place to wait…"
"She can come with me," said Maria, moving and grabbing hold of Ontario's forearm, "And watch the game until she has to go." She turned to Ontario, "You like hockey right?"
Ontario paused at the question. She remembered her crew liking hockey, there were always wagers going on about who would win this season and hopes that they would get back to port in time to catch a big game. But she was a ship; she'd never actually seen a hockey game before. Her thought process was interrupted when Maria started pulling her along behind her.
"Of course you like hockey," she said, the man from the staff seeming a bit exasperated as he followed along, "You're Canadian."
That statement stunned Ontario long enough for Maria to pull Ontario off the ice and into the guts of the arena, where they were suddenly quickly but politely surrounded by staff and security as they made their way up and outwards towards wherever they were being taken. Though she'd only been around for bare minutes at this point, Ontario was already having something of an existential crisis. She was a ship, a proud warship of the RCN not a person… right?
She pondered this as they were led to more public areas, the security now necessary to keep back the mostly polite onlookers as they made their way to a more reserved area, all but two the security turning around and stopping the following crowd as they made their way down a long line of rooms to the one at the end. As the two security guards stopped at the door, Maria led Ontario into the room, which while large, was only occupied by a few people.
Those people stopped and looked at them, just as she did in return. There were five of them; one middle aged couple, a boy around Maria's age, a younger girl and one elderly man. Ontario felt a little bit awkward as they stared at her. Luckily for her Maria seemed to be on the ball.
"Ontario, this is my family, family Ontario," said Maria, now pointing out individual members, "Mom, Dad, Grandpa Jim, Daisy and Mark."
"Hello…" said Ontario as the five continued to stare at her.
It was the old man who got up first, walking over with the help of a cane.
"You really Ontario?" he asked her, slightly stooped back not lessening the solid look in his eye.
"Yes Sir," she said, something in his eyes reminding her of her old crew.
"Leading Seaman Walter Clark," he said to her, offering his other hand, "Pleasure to meet you. Served on HMCS Capilano during the war, saw you a few times afterwards."
"Nice to meet you too," said Ontario, starting to relax a little bit.
"Come on come on," he said, waving her towards the seats hanging above the ice, "The games about to start." Following after the old man, Ontario heard Maria and the rest of the family begin talking quietly and quickly. This was all entirely new to her, so she didn't know what to do besides follow after him.
Taking a seat next to the old man, she looked out wide eyed at the arena. It was so high! She'd been in storms and waves before, but the perspective of this was just so different than anything she'd ever experienced.
"So," said the old man, handing her a brown bottle with "Canadian" printed on the side, "You're one of those shipgirl's we've been hearing about?"
"I… I guess so?" said Ontario, looking at the open bottle before sniffing it carefully, "Are there more like me?"
"Yeah," said the form Seaman, popping open a brown bottle for himself "Or so they say." He turned to look at her, holding out the bottle, "Cheers."
Ontario looked at the man, looked down at her bottle and then lifted it up and held it towards him. "Cheers?"
"Cheers," said the old man, clinking their bottles together and then taking a pull from it.
"Grandpa," came Maria's voice from behind, "You shouldn't be drinking, your doctor said it was bad for you."
The man gave out a contented sigh as he pulled the bottle down, keeping it away from his Granddaughters hand. "Maria," he said, "I'm ninety four years old, a beer or two more isn't going to keep me around much less than not having them. Let an old man enjoy what he can."
Maria harrumphed a bit, but settled in next to her grandfather dotingly. The conversation also made Ontario remember something else. Many of the men who had served on her, many of the men she remembered as young and vital were now elderly or even passed away already. The thought was… sobering. She took the bottle in her hand and put it to her lips.
It came down seconds later, her body doing a new and unfamiliar sensation, coughing.
"What… what's that," she said, holding out the bottle, "It tastes horrible!"
"It's Molson's," said Walter, "One of the most Canadian of beers. Try it some more, you'll like it."
"Grandpa…" said Maria.
"Shh," he said, "The game's about to start." He turned to Ontario. "You're a Maple Leafs fan right?"
"Who are they playing?" asked Ontario, looking down at the teams.
"The Canadians," replied Maria.
"FUCK QUEBEC!" yelled Ontario before she even realized what she was saying. She immediately put her hands over her mouth and felt her…cheeks, warming into what felt like an inferno.
That got a laugh from Walter, a stare from Maria and a chuckle from behind her. Turning, Ontario saw Maria's father laughing as well, her mother covering her mouth primly…but she could see that the corner of her mouth was upturned.
"I think you'll fit right in here," said Walter, holding up his bottle again.
Ontario didn't say anything, but she did tap her bottle against his. After that things seemed to settle down a little bit. Maria's parents eventually came down to watch the game with them, her little sister stayed up at the top eating what she eventually found out were potato chips and her brother kept glancing at her while trying to watch the game. When she asked Maria about it she said he was at "that age" and she shouldn't worry about it too hard.
The game itself was an experience. At the same time that she was seeing things for herself for the first time, Ontario was remembering her crew talking about older games, putting words and rules to maneuvers and calls that she could see. At first she started out quiet, merely watching and trying to understand what was going on. By the time the third period came around, she was cheering and yelling and booing right along with the rest of the Clarks as the Maple Leafs and Canadians had a hard fought match, 1-1 going into the final period.
Several minutes into the period, Ontario and the Clark's heard someone politely clear their throat behind them, causing them all to turn despite the intense action currently down on the ice. Standing there in the entrance to the room was a young man of middle height, his hair shaved into close stubble and wearing a uniform remarkably similar to hers. Ontario immediately popped up from her seat and saluted the man.
"C53, Cruiser HMCS Ontario reporting for duty sir," she said, holding the salute until the man almost bemusedly returned it.
"Lieutenant Anderson," replied the man, "of the Royal Canadian Navy at your service." He looked around at the Clarks, all of them sitting in the forward seats. "Would you mind if you and I had a talk Ms.?"
"No not at all," said Ontario, glancing back at the ongoing hockey match, "Could…could we stay here though? I'd like to see the end of the game."
Anderson looked at her for a second, expression unreadable and then nodded, a small smile appearing on his face. "Sure," he said, gesturing to the row of stools along the bar behind the other seats which would give them a little bit of privacy, "We can talk here."
Ontario took a seat next to the man, still able to see the game which she watched mostly out of the corner of her eye, something she found strange but useful.
"So," said Lt. Anderson, glancing briefly at the bottle in Ontario's hand, "You're C53?"
"Yes, C53 Ontario" said Ontario, looking at the bottle and then offering it to Anderson, "Do you want one? There's some more."
"I probably shouldn't while I'm on duty," said Anderson.
Ontario widened her eyes and looked down at the bottle. "Oh no…" she said, setting it down, "I…I shouldn't be drinking should I, I'm a warship I'm on duty…" She felt a strange feeling in her…stomach, something twisty and tight. Images flashed through her head of crewmen doing similar things. Nerves, she had nerves.
Anderson immediately raised his hand at her and waved it, trying to get her to calm down. "I don't think you need to worry about that," he said to her, "I don't think anybody expected you to be on duty so fast. In fact, I'll have one too. We can watch the game, drink a few beers, have our talk and then head out ok?"
"O-ok," said Ontario, gingerly reaching her hand back to the bottle as if it might bite her, "You're sure?"
"I'm sure," said Anderson, giving her a reassuring smile as he got down of the stool and went to get his own beer, the murmurs of the Clarks suddenly overwhelmed by a cheer from the crowd. Turning to watch the ice, Ontario saw one of the Maple Leafs forwards dashing down the ice, puck in front of him with only one defender and the goalie in the way.
"Go, go!" she found herself crying out with the rest of the stadium as he managed to get past the defender and then slammed the puck into the goal just past the goalies outstretched hand. There was a loud roar from the crowd, Ontario standing up out of her seat to cheer along with them.
As the cheering died down, Ontario finally remembered that Lt. Anderson was there and turned to look. He was watching her, a bottle of beer in his hand and a curious look on his face.
"What?" said Ontario, looking at him as she sat down again, "You're supposed to cheer right?"
"Yeah," said Anderson as he moved back to sit next to her, "Yeah you are."
As he settled in next to her he pulled out a piece of paper, unfolding it and peering at it before turning to her once again, taking a pull from his beer. "Alright, so in the interest of proving who you are I'm going to ask you a few questions. Feel free to answer or not answer any of those you like alright?"
"Ok," said Ontario, turning to focus on him once more, "Do we start now?"
"Yeah," said Anderson, "We start now. Where were you laid down?"
"Belfast, by Harland and Wolff," replied Ontario instantly.
"When were you launched?"
"July 29, 1943," she said, again with no delay in the reply.
"What was your commissioning date?"
"May 25, 1945."
"When were you decommissioned?"
A brief pause, her voice sad, "October 15, 1958."
"What were your dimensions and displacement?" When she didn't reply right away, Anderson looked up to find Ontario red in the face, her hands touching her cheeks again in confusion.
"I…I don't think you're supposed to ask me that," she said, strange new feelings coming into her mind. Embarrassment, she didn't like embarrassment.
"Er…right," said Anderson, "What was your main armament?"
"Nine six inch, fifty caliber Mk 23 guns," came the reply, this time her voice warming back up as her face cooled down.
"Could you show me your… armament?" he asked her, putting the paper down.
"Sure," said Ontario, hopping down off of her chair to make room, summoning her rigging in a flash of light. All nine guns appeared around her body, stack on her back as she stood proudly in front of the Lieutenant. His eyes were wide, but quickly returned to normal.
"Can I touch it?" he asked.
"I suppose so…" she said, standing still as he gingerly reached out to touch her number one turret. He let his finger rest against it for a moment before pulling it away.
"Could you fire them for me?" he asked.
"I mean I could…" said Ontario, "But it'd blow up the room and most of the surrounding area."
"So it hits with the force of a real six inch gun?" he asked, clarifying.
"Of course," she said, looking at him like he was crazy, "Why wouldn't it?"
Anderson refrained from saying anything before shaking his head. "I guess that makes sense," he said, "Anyway, as far as I can tell you're… who, you say you are."
"What do we do now?" asked Ontario, dismissing her rig once again.
"Now," said Lt. Anderson as he grabbed his beer and took a swig, "We finish watching the Canadians lose."
--
In the end the Maple Leafs managed to stay ahead, winning the match 2-1 in normal time. Ontario found herself cheering alongside the Clarks as the teams left the arena the crowd starting to follow after them, a steady stream of humanity heading out of the once packed building.
The Clarks seemed to be getting ready to leave as well, the last of the beers being finished off and items being picked up. Maria's parents and her sister simply waved goodbye, her brother just nodding his head at her as they walked towards the exit. Maria and her grandfather came behind them, her Grandfather supporting himself on her arm as well as with his cane.
"Give em hell out there," said the old man, raising his head in a polite salute which Ontario returned, "I'll be rooting for you."
"Thank you," said Ontario, a slight blush coming onto her face.
"So will I," said Maria, handing Ontario a piece of paper, "So if you ever need someone to talk to, give me a call, that's my phone number."
"I… I will," said Ontario with a nod, taking the paper carefully and looking at it.
As the Clarks left, Ontario continued to stare at the paper until Lt. Anderson came up beside her again.
"Ready to go?" he asked her.
"Yeah… I mean, yes sir," she said, sticking the paper into the pocket of her uniform.
Following Anderson out of the now empty suite, Ontario noticed that the guards at the door weren't stadium security anymore. Instead they were guarded by a pair of soldiers in what looked like full combat gear. They turned and acknowledged Anderson as he walked out the door, falling into step behind Ontario as she exited the room. Looking around she could see nobody else, it seemed that the area had been cleared of people.
As they neared the exit of the suite area, Ontario could see what looked like a squad of soldiers, also in full battle gear, waiting for them. The squad leader, a sergeant by the looks of it, quickly gathered his men and they took up a circular formation around her and Lt. Anderson, whom she moved closer to.
"Is… is this all for me?" she asked, looking about at the soldiers as they were led towards what she presumed was the exit, what looked like police officers blocking off other avenues of approach until they were past, then following.
"Yes," said Anderson, "We weren't sure what to expect when we heard the news and well…" He stopped talking for a minute before resuming, the sound of boots on the ground and gear rattling echoing through what seemed to be an empty arena.
"You're a warship Ontario," he finally continued, "A valuable one at that considering our circumstances. We might have been a bit overzealous, but we wanted to make sure you were safe."
Ontario thought on that as they finally made their way to another exit. What he said made sense, she was a warship, but here and now she didn't know exactly how her body worked. Could she die if something happened to her without her rigging deployed? It seemed better to be on the safe side than risk getting injured before she could do her duty.
As they approached the large glass doors that seemed to lead outside, Ontario began to hear noise. A bark from the sergeant leading the soldiers caused them to stop, letting the police following them exit first. As the door opened a roar of noise came through, similar to what she had heard from the crowd earlier.
"Head straight to the car, don't stop," said Anderson, turning to look at her as the soldiers created two lines beside them instead of a circle.
"Ok…" said Ontario, following as the doors were opened once more, police officers waving them through. Anderson waved Ontario in front of him and she followed the instruction, stepping out of the building and into the sun for the first time in her new form. A wave of sound nearly overwhelmed her, only the presence of the soldiers beside her and Anderson behind her keeping her moving.
In front of her were five vehicles, two that looked like small tanks on wheels and three big black ones that looked like a cross between a truck and a van. Something in her head informed her that these were called SUV's. Around all five vehicles was a line of soldiers dressed similarly to the ones with her and Anderson, most of them facing outwards.
The reason for that was just a few feet further, held back by a thin line of what looked like both local police and what she recognized somehow as the RCMP and beyond that were people, thousands of them. It seemed that the entire stadium had gathered around the little half circle of police beyond the building, but Ontario couldn't be sure. She saw signs, so many signs that she couldn't even begin to read them.
It was thankfully only a few steps to the middle black vehicle, the door being held open by one of the many soldiers. Ontario climbed inside, followed by Anderson. There were already two soldiers in the front seat and as the door shut behind Anderson Ontario could feel the engine starting as the roar of the crowd dimmed.
The rest of the soldiers around the vehicles began to embark as well, the move seemingly practiced as the police kept back the crowd. When the last man made it inside of the tank like vehicles Ontario felt them start to move, heading away from the arena and the crowd surrounding it. Though they initially had to move slow, they quickly began to pick up speed and left the screaming crowds behind.
Ontario let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding when they could no longer hear the roar of voices, causing Anderson to turn and look at her.
"Are you alright?" he asked her.
"I'm… I'm fine," she said slowly, her hands gripping her legs tightly.
"You don't seem like it," said Anderson, his eyes darting up to the front of the car before back to her.
"It was just… all those people were waiting for me right?" she said, looking at him.
"Yes," said Anderson.
"I've never seen something like that before," said Ontario, "At least not for me, I've seen more people once."
"Where was that?" asked Anderson, tension seemingly running out of his shoulders.
"The Fleet Review," said Ontario, "For Queen Elizabeth." She smiled at the memory. "There were a lot of ships there, with more people who came to watch." She glanced out the window at the city, now moving by fast as they headed towards their destination, wherever that was. "It's all so different now," she remarked as she watched buildings flash by. She turned back to Anderson, "I suppose Charles is King by now?"
Anderson gave her that look again, the one she couldn't quite decipher, before he shook his head. "Not quite," he said, a small grin splitting his face, "Queen Elizabeth is still around. She's in her nineties of course, but that just means most people don't remember a day without her reign."
Ontario had to choke back a bit of emotion as she heard that the Queen was still around. She'd been built, laid down and served under King George, but she'd never had reason to visit Britain until the coronation. She remembered that well, ships from all around the world gathered together and shined for the new Queen to view. There was every kind of ship imaginable, down from humble dockyard craft, through destroyers, cruisers of all types, carriers of all shapes and even the last British battleship, HMS Vanguard. She'd been in line next to her sister ship Quebec and next to another Commonwealth ship, the RNZN Black Prince.
She remembered how proud she'd been, how proud everyone had been as the laid at anchor in shining rows, each ship immaculately painted, crews turned out in the same manner. It was a fleet fit for Queen to view and Ontario had been honored to have been part of it, part of that shining massive fleet. Out of all the things she'd done, that was pretty much the only one that stuck out in her memory, she had no battles, not even a skirmish to her name, no reason to be in the history books beyond that.
Thinking about the coronation review and her service or lack thereof as she saw it, passed the minutes quickly Lt. Anderson leaving her alone to her thoughts. By the time she bothered to look up again, they were slowing down, the roar of an aircraft overhead indicating their destination. Glancing out the window she saw a jet liner, something she at least could remember from her time even if they seemed to be much more advanced.
"Where are we going?" she finally asked Anderson, drawing a glance from him.
"National Defense Headquarters," said Anderson, "To see the Admiral."
"The Admiral?" said Ontario, "Which one?"
"Vice Admiral Norman," said Anderson, turning and looking at her seriously, "Commander of the RCN."
"C-c-comander of the navy?!?" exclaimed Ontario, causing one of the soldiers in the front to jump, "But, but I'm just a light cruiser! It's not like I'm a battlecruiser or carrier or somebody important!"
Anderson appeared surprised at Ontario's statement, taking a moment to recover before attempting to answer.
"Ontario," he said, "You're the first… shipgirl, that we've had come back. There've been others, but none for Canada. Of course the Admiral is going to want to talk to you."
"O-oh," said Ontario, calming down a little bit, "I guess that makes sense."
She paused, looking out of the window as they approached Toronto's airport, the tank like vehicle's driving directly through an opening made by another group of police.
"Are there a lot of… girls, like me?" Ontario asked, looking at Anderson.
"We're not sure," said Anderson as they drove towards a hangar in the distance, "Like I said, there have been others but we're not sure how many. Even our allies are keeping it a bit quiet."
"Why?" asked Ontario, her brows scrunching up, "I mean, isn't sharing intel important?"
"Let's just say that we still don't know exactly what we're dealing with and leave it at that," said Anderson, looking out the window as their small convoy pulled up next to a smallish passenger jet and stopped, the soldiers bailing out of the vehicles first, joining a small group of RCMP that appeared to be waiting for them.
"The flight is only about an hour and we won't have to wait for landing or takeoff," said Anderson as the doors were opened for both of them, "The Admiral pulled some strings so we could get there as soon as possible."
"Why is it so important that I get to Ottawa?" asked Ontario, following after Anderson as they headed for the steps into the plane.
"We're under attack," said Anderson as they ascended the steps, "By… things. We need all the help we can get. Everyone does. I'll let the Admiral explain everything else, I don't have all the information."
"Alright," said Ontario, climbing up the stairs and taking one of the seats across the aisle from Anderson as the engines started to rev up for takeoff, the door being shut by an RCMP crew member.
As the airplane began to taxi, Ontario felt nerves start to form in the pit of her stomach again. She was fine with ocean swells, but she wasn't so sure about this flying thing. A final turn and then the engines revved higher but they weren't moving. Then the pilot did something and they were rolling down the runway, quickly approaching and exceeding the highest speeds she'd ever managed to travel herself. Her hands clamped down on the armrests and then they began to creak as the plane tilted upwards and suddenly they were off the ground, a loud clunk sounding as the landing gear withdrew into the plane.
"H-how fast does this go?" she asked, her voice quavering as they seemed to speed up even more.
"Hmm?" said Anderson, glancing at her as he lay back in his seat calmly, "Somewhere around eight or nine hundred KPH I think."
Ontario let out a whimper at that number. That was around fifteen times her top speed! She'd never dreamed of going so fast when she was a ship, the thought was ludicrous. But now apparently it wasn't. She wanted to summon her rigging, she felt safe with her armor, speed and guns on. But something tickled at the back of her mind, telling her that would be a bad idea no matter how much she wanted it.
Instead she closed her eyes, not able to look out the small windows that dotted the side of the plane as they rose and rose and rose before finally they levelled off. As they settled in Ontario looked out the window, watching the land below roll by. She turned as she heard a click from where Anderson was sitting.
"Where are you going?" she asked as he started to move towards the cockpit, a little nervous about being alone.
"I need to make a call," said Anderson, "It shouldn't be too long. Hit the button for steward if you need anything."
"O-ok," said Ontario, daring once more to look out at the ground rolling beneath them. Though at first her stomach was rolling at the sight, she eventually began to calm down, her eyes watching with wonder as roads, fields and entire towns rolled by beneath them.
--
Vice Admiral Mark Norman, Commander of the RCN, sat behind his desk waiting for a phone-call. Normally he was the one making calls and expecting them to be picked up, as there was only one currently serving officer in the Canadian armed forces who outranked him and only a few politicians above him who could say the same. General Vance had dumped the problem on him, with a quick statement of "Ships are the navy's problem, especially if they're walking around!" and His Excellency the Right Honourable David Lloyd Johnston, Governor General and Commander-in-Chief in and over Canada apparently didn't want to deal with it either. But for this situation he had to wait, would wait as it was the only thing he could do until he received the call or had somebody else run in and inform him that most of downtown Toronto had been leveled.
He of course was thinking all of this in part to distract himself from the impossible problem that faced him and the RCN. After decades of no real enemy to fight, seemingly eternally lessening budgets and politicians who continued to promise new ships "Soon!" the RCN had fallen from a respectable first world navy with at least one light carrier and relatively modern escorts to one that had only had twelve surface combatants, none less than twenty years old and none larger than a frigate.
Though the Halifax class were good ships, they were small compared to modern destroyers, weighing only a bit more than half of a US Arleigh Burke and were designed largely for ASW and AA coverage. The eight Harpoon ASM's were the only weapons they carried that could do noticeable damage to their new opponents, their 57mm Bofors gun nearly worthless except on the smallest of them. They'd learned that the hard way, four of the Halifax's being destroyed in the first months of conflict, three more laid up in dock for repair. That left only five surface combatants for him to protect the longest coastline in the world, a task that was impossible on almost every level.
Beyond the deaths of his sailors, the largest thing weighing on him at the moment was uncertainty. It was true that the government had greenlighted the final implementation of the emergency naval expansion and Single Class Surface Combatant project, but even if they laid down ships immediately, it would be nearly two years before they were finished and they were still finalizing details on what they wanted to lay out. Without new surface ships Canada couldn't protect herself, much less support her allies. While they wouldn't starve to death, things would get tough for the Canadian people until they could hold open the sea lanes again. It was a simple matter of hulls, there weren't enough and they wouldn't have any more for quite some time.
That left him here, sitting behind his desk and waiting for a phone call in the hope that maybe they would have more hulls before too long. He let out a soft snort. The hopes of Canada rested on the idea that ships reincarnated from god only knew where or for what reason, would be willing to work for them. He had a few ideas in place to help with that but it was still up in the air until he got his call.
Suddenly his phone rang and he immediately reached out to pick it up.
"Vice Admiral Norman," he said, despite the fact that it was his direct line.
"Sir," came a familiar voice, "It's Anderson."
Norman let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Good to hear from you Lieutenant," he said, quickly getting down to business, "How's our guest?"
Anderson took a second before responding. "She's fine sir," he said, "In fact if I had to say anything about her it's that she seems eager to help us." Despite his words, Norman could feel a bit of hesitation in Anderson's voice.
"Is something wrong Lieutenant?" he asked, "I would think that having help would boost your spirits."
"Sir," said Anderson, "permission to speak freely?"
"Granted Lieutenant," he said, "Please speak your mind; nobody knows much about these girls in the first place."
"Sir," said Anderson, "I know she is what she said she is; she deployed her… weapons for me. But I found her sitting in a skybox watching the Maple Leafs and Canadians while drinking Molson's. If she wasn't wearing a uniform or so obviously new to everything I'd have passed her by on the street without much more than a second glance."
"What're you getting at Lieutenant?" asked Norman.
"Sir," said Anderson, "I don't think we should treat her like a ship. At least not exclusively, she has emotions, she likes things and right now," Norman heard the sound of a curtain being pulled to the side, "she's experiencing her first ride in an airplane and I'm not sure if she's scared or enjoying herself."
"So what you're saying is kid gloves," said Norman.
"Sir… I'm not saying kid gloves. She seems to want to fight, so don't coddle her. Just… treat her like a person who has some special abilities, not a ship that looks like a girl, if that makes sense."
"So what you're telling me Lieutenant, is that you're suggesting that I and by extension the entire Canadian Navy, try to treat the reincarnated soul of an eleven thousand ton cruiser which just happens to be able to walk on water, summon high caliber naval artillery from nowhere and is likely able to rip someone limb from limb if we make it angry, as just a girl with some quirks."
There was a moment of silence from the other line before Anderson replied. "Yes sir that is what I suggest. I'm sure there will be a few issues that need to be worked out and while she's a bit naïve she's not stupid. If we try to treat her differently she'll find out eventually and I'd rather not have her angry at us because we did something avoidable like lying straight to her face or treating her like a freak."
"A bit naïve?" asked Norman, "How naïve are we talking here Lieutenant? I don't want to have an easily distracted… ship girl wandering around."
"Not that naïve sir," said Anderson, "I think it's just that she's still learning how to be a person. Once she gets some experience under her belt I think she'll be pretty sharp."
"Alright Lieutenant," said Norman, "I think I have the picture. How long until you arrive at NDHQ?"
"We took off about fifteen minutes ago sir, so it shouldn't be much more than an hour and a half as long as we don't get caught up in traffic," said Anderson.
""Make it as quick as you can Lieutenant," said Norman, glancing at his computer screen and the list of attacks on ships in and around Canadian waters, "We need her help."
"Yes sir," said Anderson, "We'll be there soon. Any other orders sir?"
"Keep me updated on any developments," said Norman, "And call me when you land."
"Yes sir," said Anderson, "I'll contact you when we're on the ground. Anderson out."
With a click the call disconnected, leaving Norman to set down his phone and look at his screen again. Too many attacks for the RCN to deal with by themselves, the USN overstretched with their own commitments. He didn't want to rely on such an unknown quality as the newly arrived ship-girls, but he needed every hull he could get.
With a shake of his head he tried to clear his mind, turning back to the innumerable reports and requests that he had to deal with. He could worry about Ontario when she arrived, until then there were things to do.
--
Ontario eventually decided that while it wasn't her preferred method of travel, flying wasn't too bad. The flight was for the most part smooth with the occasional slight bump and though her new ears popped several times, looking at the ground as it passed by underneath the plane was enjoyable. She hardly even looked at Anderson as he came back from his call and only took some water when it was offered to her. Fresh water tasted different than the salty spray she remembered, though it wouldn't be fair to say she had tasted the ocean either.
When the fasten seatbelt light came on she turned to Anderson and he glanced up from where he had been reading something.
"It means we're going to land," he said, reaching down to fasten his own seatbelt.
"We're there already?" she asked, fastening her seatbelt.
"Ottawa isn't that far from Toronto by plane," replied Anderson, settling in as he put his reading materials away.
"But it hasn't even been an hour yet," said Ontario, who grabbed at her armrests and squeezed as the plane began to tilt downwards and caused her stomach to flutter. Maybe flying wasn't so great after all.
"We got to bypass a lot of traffic," said Anderson, apparently used to this, "And we're cutting through the landing pattern as well."
"Ok…" said Ontario with a gulp as the plane continued to descend, the plane seemingly descending at an even faster rate than before. She watched as the ground came closer and closer, when the plane suddenly began to turn, tilting her in her seat as the grips began to creak even more. The thunk of the landing gear again surprised her and combined with another drop as the plane descended even more, the creak in the seat became a crack, something in the underlying structure giving way underneath her strength.
Anderson glanced her way, his eyes concerned as the plane gets even lower. The trees and building look like their correct size now, flashing by at amazing speed as more thunks and whines come from the plane. Ontario can't help but look out the window and then close her eyes repeatedly, feeling certain somehow that the plane was going to crash. She opened her eyes once more in time to see the runway approach, the plane still tilted back. As the plane touched down the wheels started rumbling beneath them, the nose wheel coming down last as the engines behind them screeched at maximum thrust.
Ontario closed her eyes again until the rumbling of the tires and the whine of the engine died off, the plane now moving at a decent but much slower clip towards one of the hangars. She took a deep breath, not having realized until then that she had been holding it. Looking out the window again she caught a glimpse of what looked like the same convoy they used in Toronto, except for the addition of police cars in front and behind.
She finally looked back to Anderson again and saw him give her that look again, the one that seemed curious yet… somehow like he wasn't sure he should ask about it.
"How was your first flight?" he asked her as he unbuckled himself, the plane coming to a stop as he stood.
"I don't like takeoff," she said, unbuckling and following after him as the hatch was door was opened and the stairs deployed, "Or landing. But the middle wasn't so bad I guess."
He nodded, leading the way to the middle SUV of the convoy, more Canadian soldiers in full gear waiting for them as they got in.
"Well, hopefully it will grow on you," said Anderson as the vehicle started up and the convoy proceeded out of the airport with police lights flashing to clear the way, "I think you'll have a decent bit of flying in your future."
"Hopefully," said Ontario as she looked out the window, taking in the sights of Canada's capital city. She had of course never seen it in her previous life, but she had a vague sort of remembrance from her many crews. As the got on the highway Ontario watched various neighborhoods and buildings flash by, cars moving to the side as the police and armored vehicles came up behind them.
Anderson was quiet, letting her take in the sights for the twenty minute drive to NDHQ. When they arrived in the parking lot the soldiers hopped out of the vehicles, joining the ones already posted there. Anderson opened the door and led her towards the entrance, a squad of soldiers around them once more.
"Is this still necessary?" she asked, looking at them as they finally entered the doors to the home of Canada's armed forces.
"We don't know," said Anderson as they were waved past the security in the lobby, "So the brass thinks it's better to be safe than sorry."
Ontario looked around and saw some of the looks she was getting, people staring at her and whispering. It was different than the crowd at the stadium where it had been so overwhelming that she hadn't even had time to think about it. She was suddenly glad for the circle of heavily armed men around her, unsure as she was of what the people were whispering about.
Anderson led her to a bank of elevators and hit the button, the soldiers taking up position around them. She glanced back and saw a few people still staring and whispering, though most of them glanced away if she tried to look them in the eye. It was different than when she had been with the Clarks and she was pretty sure she didn't like it.
The elevator doors opened and she followed Anderson in, two of the soldiers joining them as the rest stayed by the doors. As they shut, Ontario's eyes went to the display as Anderson hit a button and they started to go up.
"Am I really that strange looking?" she asked, glancing down at her uniform.
Anderson looked at her and shrugged, the soldiers not turning or even indicating that they'd heard her.
"Like I said Ontario, ship-girls are still rare and most people have only heard rumors and hearsay. Things they don't understand make people nervous and to be frank… we don't know anything about where you came from or why." He paused and shook his head, giving her a bit of a grin. "Just give them some time and they'll get used to the idea of you being around and you won't have any more whispering."
Ontario nodded, her mind starting to wonder about why she had come back, where she had come back from. The elevator was quiet, neither of the soldiers speaking and Anderson once more descending into silence.
As the elevator lurched to a stop and the doors opened, Ontario found herself following Anderson once more. She didn't pay much attention to her surroundings beyond that, her mind still trying to come up with something beyond a vague feeling for why she came back. Finally it hit her, just as Anderson walked past a desk and towards a door that had VAdm Norman frosted onto it.
"The anthem," she said as he placed his hand on the doorknob, "I remember the anthem… everybody was singing together and… and they all believed in it, in the spirit of it." She looked up from where she had been staring at the ground, her eyes now focused on his. "That's why I came back."
Anderson paused with his hand on the door, taking in her statement. Ontario could feel her hands balled up into fists, her new muscles quivering and tight as she felt passion inside of her, passion flaring up like her boilers building up steam for flank. That reason and that reason alone was why she came back. She would stand on guard, she would protect and allow Cnada to stand strong and free.
Finally Anderson nodded, the grin returning to his face, though this one seemed a hair more open than before.
"That's a good enough reason for me," he said, "But let's not keep the Admiral waiting anymore."
"Right," said Ontario, nodding her head in agreement as she felt her body relax, then suddenly tense back up as she remembered she was meeting the head of the Royal Canadian Navy. She gulped as Anderson finally opened the door and stepped inside. She followed, determined to make a good impression.
--
Vice Admiral Norman looked up from his paperwork as he heard a knock on his door.
"Come in," he called, expecting the door to be opened promptly, but it took a few more seconds than normal for it to happen. Finally the knob turned and Anderson stepped in, giving him a salute as he did so.
"Sir," said Anderson, "May I introduce C53, HMCS Ontario."
Norman had heard the reports and even seen a brief picture gathered from somewhere, but he was still unprepared for the girl that entered his office and saluted, her back ramrod straight as her eyes bored a hole in the wall above his head.
"Sir, HMCS Ontario reporting for duty sir!" she said, her youthful sounding voice somehow filled with every bit of discipline he would expect from a long time service member. In the brief time he had he looked over her. Young was the right way to describe her; she looked like a newly minted cadet just out of one of the Royal Military College's. Despite that she also had an air about her of something more, something that he couldn't describe. Instead of trying to figure out what it was, he returned their salutes.
"Welcome," he said, "Sit down, both of you." Anderson immediately took one of the chairs in front of his desk, having reported to Norman several times before. Ontario took the other seat her eyes a bit downcast, almost as if she was nervous. That made two of them.
"So, Ontario," he said, focusing on the ship girl, "What has Anderson told you about our situation."
"Not much sir," she said, her eyes coming up to his at last, "Only that I was the first ship-girl to come back for Canada and that we are under attack. He said you would want to tell me the rest."
Norman looked to Anderson, who nodded.
"That's right," he said, returning to Ontario, "We're under attack, the whole world is under attack. The creatures that are attacking us, we call them Abyssals. We don't know where they come from or why, but they've attacked every country with a coastline and as you know, Canada has the largest in the world." He paused, gathering up the strength to continue. "To defend that coast, I currently have five ships," he said, watching as Ontario's eyes went wide, "Five frigates, all older than you were when you were retired. To say we are overstretched is an understatement. Even with what help we can get from the USN, shipping to and from Canada has almost completely stopped."
By now Ontario had gathered her composure and was looking at him intently, focused on every word that he was saying.
"My ships can only do so much," he said to her, "And against the enemy we face it isn't enough. That's where you come in, if you feel you're up for it."
"Anything you need Sir," she replied firmly, giving him a brief nod.
"Ontario," he said, leaning back in his chair, "Between the authority given to me by my superiors and the recommendations given by Lieutenant Anderson, I've come up with what I think will be the best solution for all of us. I would like you to swear the Oath of Allegiance and officially rejoin the Royal Canadian Navy, not only as a ship, but as a member of Her Majesty's armed forces at the provisional rank of Sub-Lieutenant. You'll be in charge of any other ship-girls that may come back at later dates and likely be on the front lines of this war for longer than any of us expect." He paused briefly, looking at her intently and seeing her looking back the same way. "I know I'm asking a lot of you, but right now you're the only chance I have to keep Canadian waters open. I won't lie to you, I doubt it will be easy and we aren't fully aware of the dangers involved. I don't feel like I can order this of you so instead I'm asking. Are you willing to do this?"
--
Ontario couldn't even begin to process all of the emotions running through her at the moment. Shock, confusion, nervousness and uncertainty all ran through her at the moment. Questions, so many of them, starting with where had the RCN she knew gone? What had happened to Canada's proud navy? But over all of that ran something more, something that ran through her, something that sang to her soul.
This was her moment; this was the time she could stand up and fulfill her purpose, to fulfill her duty to her people and nation. It wasn't a question of if; it was only a question of how well she could perform under the unknown circumstances. She nodded her head to Admiral Norman, her back straight as she returned his intent look.
"Yes sir," she said, never having felt more certain, "I am ready and willing to do my duty."
She thought she saw the ghost of a smile flit over Norman's face before he nodded and pulled out a Bible from a drawer in his desk.
"We'll perform the ceremony now then," he said holding out the Bible for her to lay her hand on, which she immediately did.
"Do you, HMCS Ontario, do swear that you will be faithful and bear true allegiance to Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth the Second, Queen of Canada, Her Heirs and Successors. So help you God?" he asked, stumbling only a little over her name.
"I, HMCS Ontario, do swear that I will be faithful and bear true allegiance to Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth the Second, Queen of Canada, Her Heirs and Successors. So help me God," she repeated, a bolt of cool lightning shooting up her spine and into her head as she repeated back the oath.
When she was finished, Norman put the bible back into his desk and then stood, offering his hand to her. "Welcome back to the RCN Ms. Ontario," he said, "It's good to have you again."
Taking his hand in return Ontario nodded and shook it. "Thank you Sir," she said, "It's good to be back."
Canadian Shipgirls 3
Ontario sighed as she walked up out of the water and dismissed her rig, having just led the convoy and the rest of the escort group back into Halifax Harbor. Looking up at the two Seaman waiting with leashes, she returned their salutes.
"Another successful run ma'am?" one of them asked as they lowered their hands.
"No contacts this time," she said, "So yes." She turned to watch the rest of her escort group come out of the water.
The four little girls that were immediately behind her simply stepped out of the water like she did, crowding around as they waited for her to lead them back to base. None of them looked much older than about eight, the youngest looking about six and two of them were wearing hockey jerseys. The River class girls on a whole were young and a bit childish but they did their jobs well.
The other eight "ships" of her patrol group leapt out of the water and onto the docks, jowl's shaking, tails wagging and tongues panting happily as each of the large black Newfoundland dogs shook themselves of the water they'd been happy to be in. They were the Flower class ships of the RCN, they'd seen a lot of use but were small and whatever caused them to come back had apparently decided they weren't big enough to be ship girls. The two seamen went to work with practiced ease, each taking a leash and attaching it to one of their four of the dogs, all of whom behaved and sat quietly until they were lead away.
Watching the dogs leave Ontario turned to the girls, all of whom were waiting on her.
"Who's hungry?" she asked, starting towards the barracks complex/kennel that her command lived in.
"Me, me, me!" announced all four of the girls, each of them taking several smaller steps to Ontario's one.
"What do you want to eat?" she asked them.
"Pancakes and syrup!" cried one of them.
"Montreal, it's lunch time not breakfast," she said a quick glance at the baggy Canadians jersey enough to confirm her identity, "So how about a sandwich?"
"Kraft!" cried Montreal after that, the cry quickly taken up by the other three, "Kraft, Kraft!"
Ontario let out a sigh of resignation as the girls cried out for their favorite meal. "Alright, but you have to eat some fruit too."
"Kay!" cried Montreal, the other three nodding and following her lead.
Ontario just shook her head as they neared the barracks. The River's went through Kraft like, well… Canadian children went through Kraft. Except with appetites that seemed to match their fuel intake on occasion, they had to order and make a lot of it. She still remembered the first time she had handed over an order for one metric ton of Kraft dinner to the quartermaster. The look on the poor man's face was enough to make anyone feel bad. Though it might've also had something to do with the several hundred gallons of good maple syrup and pancake batter that she'd included. He'd gotten used to it, but she was still pretty sure he found it all quite perplexing.
Opening the door to the barracks let forth a stream of excited giggles, talking and a few screams of happiness. The barracks had formerly been a storage building, cleaned out and furnished with twin beds for the girls. Originally it had been somewhat dull, with only Ontario and a few Rivers and Flowers inside. Now it was covered it drawings, decorations and assorted arts and crafts that had been picked by the River girls. It gave the room the look and feel of an elementary school classroom that just happened to contain a number of beds to sleep in.
With the general noise level of the barracks it took a minute for the others to realize that Ontario and the escort group had returned, but once they did a number of girls swarmed Ontario.
"Auntie, Auntie!" cried one of them, which she recognized as HMCS Grou, "Look what I have!" She held up a crayon picture of what looked like Ontario and her, along with several other girls and some big dogs.
"Thank you Grou," she said, taking the picture and giving the small girl a hug, "I'll put it on my wall."
Grou giggled and then backed off, a number of other girls wanting attention, hugs and occasional hair rufflings. It wasn't what Ontario had been expecting from her first command, not at all, but she did her best to keep the girls happy. Eventually most of them ran back to what they were doing before, leaving only three of the girls in front of her.
HMCS Stettler, New Glasgow and Swansea were some of the girls that had been mothballed and then rebuilt as Prestonian class frigates and served during the 50's and 60's as well as during WWII. They'd also managed to gain somewhat more mature personalities during the time, which thankfully gave Ontario some helpers for the rest of the girls.
"Any trouble while I was gone?" she asked them, to which she got shakes of the head.
"Breakfast went fine," said Stettler, "Everyone ate their fruit and drank their juice along with the pancakes."
"Valleyfield had bad dreams again," chimed in New Glasgow, "But she calmed down on her own. You might want to talk to her just in case."
"Nothing else to report," said Swansea, "But we were going to start preparing lunch if you didn't get back. We can still do it if you like."
"We know you're tired Sub-Lieutenant," said Stettler, the three before her the only ones who ever used her rank, "And you have to write a report for the Admiralty. We can do lunch."
Ontario gave the girls a tired smile, letting her gratitude show through.
"Thank you girls," she said, "Make sure it includes Kraft, I promised Montreal and the others since they did a good job on escort duty. I'll be in my room, dismissed."
"Yes ma'am," the three replied, giving her very brief salutes before heading over to the well equipped kitchen area that had been put in down at one end of the building. Ontario headed towards the other end, where her room was.
It was comparatively luxurious to what the River girls had, though nothing completely outrageous. They'd managed to cram in a Queen sized bed, which often doubled as a napping place for some of the girls when she was in, a decent sized desk with accompanying bookshelf and chair as well as a small dresser which contained a few sets of clothes she'd picked up for various reasons. Her desk had a sleek modern computer on top of it and the wall above her dresser mounted a flat-screen T.V. that she'd decided to buy on a whim. Several pin boards on the far wall covered with drawings by the girls completed the room. It was simple, but it was home.
Taking off her uniform cap she hung it on a small peg above her desk before moving to the far wall and adding Grou's picture to the mass. She smiled looking at all of them; she'd probably need to get another board soon. Her smile disappeared as she settled in behind her computer. While she wasn't quite an expert on the damn thing, she had become proficient in its use simply due to the amount of times she'd needed to write reports or file requests for food and equipment. Thankfully the number of reports was manageable, mostly due to their uniformly short nature. The only problem was translating them into something the military would understand.
Shaking her head at the small pile of them at her elbow, she began to translate, one line at a time.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Vice Admiral Mark Norman sat and listened along with the rest of the leaders of the Canadian military as his counterpart in the Royal Canadian Airforce, Lieutenant General Michael Hood, finished up his briefing.
"In short, with the addition of further ship-girl assets we've been able to catch up on maintenance cycles and bring all squadrons back up to nominal readiness. We plan to begin increasing the range of our patrol sweeps and stepping up direct convoy escort as needed. Plans for joint training operations with naval assets are in the works but are contingent on force levels and availability."
"Thank you Michael," said General John Vance, Chief of Canada's Defence staff and highest ranking military officer in Canada, "Anything else to add?"
"No sir," responded Hood, "Nothing else in my official report. Though my men wish to pass on their appreciation to Sub-Lieutenant Ontario for the translations she provided."
"Translations?" asked Lieutenant General Marquis Hainse, Commander of Canadian Army, looking between Hood and Norman.
"Some of the River Class girls are... less than professional on the radio," replied Norman, "So Lieutenant Ontario spoke to them about uniformity and provided a translation guide."
"Should we get this guide to all of our forces?" asked Vance.
"It's relatively simple," said Norman, "Standard convoy escort is "Keep away" or two barks from one of the Corvettes. Pursuit of a submerged target is "Hide and Seek" or three barks. Attacking a target is "Tag" and usually a growl. Most of the rest is situational or straightforward."
Hainse looked between Hood and Norman before speaking again. "This works for your pilots?" he asked.
Hood nodded. "I know it sounds unconventional it works. Habit is a hard thing to break and it's easier to hear an eight year old girl talk about tag or hide and seek than it is to hear them try to describe target acquisition in military terms. It helps with cooperation between units as well."
Norman chimed in. "The girls respond much better to the terminology. They're good at their duties, but a "game" is fun. Official things are boring and they can be a handful."
General Vance nodded his head. "As long as it keeps our shipping lanes open they can speak Martian for all I care." He turned to face Norman. "Admiral do you have any plans for offensive operations or expanded patrols on your end? I understand that your forces are still limited, but my reports are telling me Ontario is likely wasted on convoy escort given the current force dispositions."
Norman suppressed a sigh and instead shook his head negative. "Not at the moment sir. While it is true that Ontario is our most potent striking force, we have nothing to support her with. None of the other ship-girls can keep up with her, they top out at twenty knots and she does thirty two. We'd have to pull at least one of our Halifax's off patrol or standby to give her a proper escort and as thin as we're stretched it's simply not feasible given our other commitments. If and when we have a few destroyer girls come back we'll have a potential patrol group on our hands. Until then the Sub-Lieutenant will have to babysit."
Vance nodded his head. "Understandable Admiral, though if you have any destroyers come back try to get that patrol group of yours going as soon as you can. The government is looking for morale boosters and being able to announce we're going after them on the sea would be ideal."
"Yes sir," said Norman, "I will let you know as soon as anything changes in that regard."
The meeting went on for another half hour as other minor points were brought up, but soon after there were no more major points. The Canadian armed forces were at their highest readiness level in recent memory, with more members being inducted every day. The only problem they had was equipment. With only limited supplies of heavy gear, the Navy and Airforce were struggling to increase force levels. The army was doing slightly better, but with no enemies to fight on land expanding too far would do nothing. As it was, shore artillery parties and roaming patrols made the people feel better, but did little to actively combat the abyssal menace.
Finding his way back to his office, Norman sat down and began to go through the reports on his desk. Most were routine, overall readiness reports, status of emergency building programs and a note from his secretary reminding him that burn day was in another three days. After sifting through the mass he came across a smaller file, submitted by Lieutenant Anderson. Flipping it open he began to read, quickly taking in the straightforward plan of action outlined in the proposal. Finishing it he set the file on his desk and paged his secretary.
"Mathilda, please have Lieutenant Anderson come up to my office at his earliest convenience," he said.
"Yes sir," she replied, before he let go of the page and settled back to flip through the proposal once more. It took five minutes for Anderson to show up in his office and take a stance in front of his desk.
"You really think this has a chance of working Lieutenant?" he asked, holding up the file in one hand, "The US has been putting this off in fear that they might come back wrong."
"Sir," said Anderson, "The Japanese and UK have been summoning everything that they can think of, some of those ships have been gone a lot longer and were treated a lot worse than her."
"That is true Lieutenant," he said, "You think her war service is enough to make her come back?"
"We won't know until we try sir," said Anderson, "If we don't we'll never know. If we do try then maybe we'll get a proper destroyer back to help out Ontario. At worst…"
"At worst we summon an abyssal," said Norman, "On Canadian soil."
"That's part of the reason why I suggested Ontario be there sir," said Anderson, "She would be able to subdue her if she came back as an abyssal."
"The other reason?" asked Norman.
"The other reason I want her there is I think she could influence her to come back as one of our own if there was any question," said Anderson, his voice dipping a little lower, "Ontario wants to be here, wants to fight. If she asks her to come back…"
"You think it will help," said Norman.
"I think it could be decisive," said Anderson, "If it came down to that."
"Very well Lieutenant," said Norman, "You have my authorization to get this all prepared. When do you think we can do it?"
"Give me forty eight hours to get this set up sir," said Anderson, "We want to do this properly. If you could be there as well sir, I think that would be best."
"You get this set up Lieutenant and I'll be there," said Norman, "Several hours of my time is worth having another ship back."
"Yes sir," said Anderson, " Was there anything else you needed?"
"No," said Norman, "Just get me that ship. Dismissed."
"Sir!" said Anderson, before saluting and then leaving his office.
Looking down at the folder on his desk, Norman pondered the file marked "HMCS HAIDA" once more before he put it aside. This would either work or it wouldn't. Anderson seemed confident though and Norman agreed with him. With Ontario there as both backup and added pull, things would be as safe as they could be. He turned back to his desk, where there was always more work to do.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Two days later Ontario found herself standing on the dock next to the most successful surface vessel of the RCN. Haida had sunk more surface tonnage than any other RCN ship during WWII, credited with sinking or helping to sink a total of twelve vessels both above and below the waves. After being briefly de-commissioned she again served her country in Korea, joining exclusive and mildly prestigious "Trainbusters Club" of ships before being decommissioned again, restored, and then made into a floating museum. If there was a ship in the RCN that was respected by all, it was Haida.
Ontario felt a little small compared to all of that. She had no combat experience, had never fired her guns in anger. Even though she would likely take command of Haida if she arrived, she wasn't sure if she would feel comfortable in doing so. Still, she would have to try, if only to hold on to her promise. She would defend, would do her best to fulfill her duty.
Admiral Nelson was nearby and a glance at him got her a slight nod as Lieutenant Anderson finished the final preparations for the ceremony. They were on Pier 9 next to Haida, Admiral Nelson, his staff, a few local dignitaries and the band. Lieutenant Anderson had originally asked for the Stadacona band from Halifax, but upon hearing about the ceremony the band from HMCS Star had demanded to be included, seeing as how they were actually based in Hamilton right next to Haida. So instead of one band they had two.
"You ready?" Anderson asked her as they finished everything.
"Yes," she said, "Are you sure just hoping she's going to show up will work?"
"Not in the least," said Anderson, "But between everything we've heard, there's no one way to summon someone back. This covers most of the bases."
"Alright," said Ontario, already starting to think about what she might try and ask, how she could ask Haida to come back. Ontario was in a position right in front of the bands, closest to Haida. There had been a fierce but brief discussion on what they should actually play during the summoning, which had defaulted back to the National Anthem when it was pointed out that Heart of Oak was the naval anthem of a good portion of the Commonwealth.
As the first notes of O Canada began to swell through the air, Ontario felt a shiver run through her body. There seemed to be a solemnity that descended over the scene, the noise of Hamilton dimming as the notes began to crescendo. Bowing her head Ontario just let the thoughts flow. How much she needed somebody who had actual combat experience, how much she needed somebody trustworthy to run things more complicated than dinner and keeping the girls happy. How much she needed somebody she could confide to about how unsure she was in running what amounted to over half of the Canadian navy by herself.
It seemed to take no time at all until the national anthem was over, till Ontario had no more time to send in her heartfelt hope that Haida would come back to the nation that needed her. She felt a vague tug of something in her consciousness; she wasn't sure how to describe it other than as a mild but good natured grumble. Opening her eyes found nothing changed in front of her, which she found mildly disappointing at first. Turning back to the gathered crowd, she saw blank confused looks in turn.
"Anything?" asked Admiral Norman, looking between her and Anderson.
"I felt… something," said Ontario, "But I'm not sure if it worked or not."
"Give it time," said Anderson, "reports range from instantly to nearly half an hour at the latest."
"Well let's wait," said Norman, glancing at his watch, "She's been asleep for nearly sixty years, she may take some time to wake up."
"Oy!" came a shout from the rail of Haida, "You all waiting on me?"
Ontario turned, catching her first sight of the most experienced ship in the RCN. She looked to physically be about fourteen or fifteen, at least several years younger than Ontario herself while being short and solid to Ontario's tall and lean. Her brown hair was mid length, tied into a low ponytail that sat under a Chief Petty Officers cap. The rest of her uniform matched her cap, the only thing that vaguely looked out of place being the old fashioned tobacco pipe dangling from her lips. Immediately after she spoke, she reached into a pocket and pulled out a matchbook, taking it and lighting the pipe. It was then that Ontario noticed that despite the perfectly clear and smooth skin, her face seemed somehow weathered, as if she'd spent years at sea and survived every last one of them.
"You just gonna stand there like a bunch of slack jawed layabouts or is someone going to get the lead out of their ass and answer me?" she asked again, her voice carrying clearly despite the pipe and the fact she'd barely seemed to open her mouth.
"HMCS Haida?" finally called out Norman, stepping forward from the group of officers he'd brought with him.
"Aye that's me," she replied, her eyes focusing on his uniform before coming to attention and saluting him in an absolutely perfect motion, "Sir."
Norman returned the salute in a similar manner, before lowering his hand down to the side. "At ease… Chief," he said, the pause only barely noticeable, "To answer your question, yes we are waiting for you. We weren't sure if you'd even come back, so we wanted to make sure you had an appropriate welcome. I'm sure you have a few more given the situation and we'd be happy to answer them for you in a more appropriate area."
Haida shook her head after lowering her hand, taking a few more puffs of the pipe before speaking. "Not really Sir," she said, stepping up on the rail and then hopping down in what looked to be a more than mildly difficult maneuver, landing on her knee and then dusting off her uniform, "There's only one reason why you need an old salt like me and that's a fight." She looked about at the city behind them, bustling and alive with no sign of damage. "So the only questions are, where's it at and who're we fighting."
The corner of Norman's mouth quirked a little bit at Haida's questions. "Excellent questions Chief," he said in reply, "I'll let Sub Lieutenant Ontario answer them for you, as well as getting everything squared away in the paperwork department."
Haida's head immediately swiveled to Ontario, a glint of recognition in her eye as their faces met for the first time.
"Yes sir," replied Haida, before turning to Ontario. "Sir," she said saluting.
"Chief," said Ontario, managing to keep her voice calm as she returned the salute, "I look forward to working with you."
"Same here, Sir," replied Haida, as the rest of the crowd began to pack up, a few coming forward and talking to Norman or Anderson, "Can I get that briefing now?"
"Right," said Ontario, ""Let's...let's do that.""
She just hoped she didn't sound like a nervous ensign while she gave it.
Ontario sighed as she walked up out of the water and dismissed her rig, having just led the convoy and the rest of the escort group back into Halifax Harbor. Looking up at the two Seaman waiting with leashes, she returned their salutes.
"Another successful run ma'am?" one of them asked as they lowered their hands.
"No contacts this time," she said, "So yes." She turned to watch the rest of her escort group come out of the water.
The four little girls that were immediately behind her simply stepped out of the water like she did, crowding around as they waited for her to lead them back to base. None of them looked much older than about eight, the youngest looking about six and two of them were wearing hockey jerseys. The River class girls on a whole were young and a bit childish but they did their jobs well.
The other eight "ships" of her patrol group leapt out of the water and onto the docks, jowl's shaking, tails wagging and tongues panting happily as each of the large black Newfoundland dogs shook themselves of the water they'd been happy to be in. They were the Flower class ships of the RCN, they'd seen a lot of use but were small and whatever caused them to come back had apparently decided they weren't big enough to be ship girls. The two seamen went to work with practiced ease, each taking a leash and attaching it to one of their four of the dogs, all of whom behaved and sat quietly until they were lead away.
Watching the dogs leave Ontario turned to the girls, all of whom were waiting on her.
"Who's hungry?" she asked, starting towards the barracks complex/kennel that her command lived in.
"Me, me, me!" announced all four of the girls, each of them taking several smaller steps to Ontario's one.
"What do you want to eat?" she asked them.
"Pancakes and syrup!" cried one of them.
"Montreal, it's lunch time not breakfast," she said a quick glance at the baggy Canadians jersey enough to confirm her identity, "So how about a sandwich?"
"Kraft!" cried Montreal after that, the cry quickly taken up by the other three, "Kraft, Kraft!"
Ontario let out a sigh of resignation as the girls cried out for their favorite meal. "Alright, but you have to eat some fruit too."
"Kay!" cried Montreal, the other three nodding and following her lead.
Ontario just shook her head as they neared the barracks. The River's went through Kraft like, well… Canadian children went through Kraft. Except with appetites that seemed to match their fuel intake on occasion, they had to order and make a lot of it. She still remembered the first time she had handed over an order for one metric ton of Kraft dinner to the quartermaster. The look on the poor man's face was enough to make anyone feel bad. Though it might've also had something to do with the several hundred gallons of good maple syrup and pancake batter that she'd included. He'd gotten used to it, but she was still pretty sure he found it all quite perplexing.
Opening the door to the barracks let forth a stream of excited giggles, talking and a few screams of happiness. The barracks had formerly been a storage building, cleaned out and furnished with twin beds for the girls. Originally it had been somewhat dull, with only Ontario and a few Rivers and Flowers inside. Now it was covered it drawings, decorations and assorted arts and crafts that had been picked by the River girls. It gave the room the look and feel of an elementary school classroom that just happened to contain a number of beds to sleep in.
With the general noise level of the barracks it took a minute for the others to realize that Ontario and the escort group had returned, but once they did a number of girls swarmed Ontario.
"Auntie, Auntie!" cried one of them, which she recognized as HMCS Grou, "Look what I have!" She held up a crayon picture of what looked like Ontario and her, along with several other girls and some big dogs.
"Thank you Grou," she said, taking the picture and giving the small girl a hug, "I'll put it on my wall."
Grou giggled and then backed off, a number of other girls wanting attention, hugs and occasional hair rufflings. It wasn't what Ontario had been expecting from her first command, not at all, but she did her best to keep the girls happy. Eventually most of them ran back to what they were doing before, leaving only three of the girls in front of her.
HMCS Stettler, New Glasgow and Swansea were some of the girls that had been mothballed and then rebuilt as Prestonian class frigates and served during the 50's and 60's as well as during WWII. They'd also managed to gain somewhat more mature personalities during the time, which thankfully gave Ontario some helpers for the rest of the girls.
"Any trouble while I was gone?" she asked them, to which she got shakes of the head.
"Breakfast went fine," said Stettler, "Everyone ate their fruit and drank their juice along with the pancakes."
"Valleyfield had bad dreams again," chimed in New Glasgow, "But she calmed down on her own. You might want to talk to her just in case."
"Nothing else to report," said Swansea, "But we were going to start preparing lunch if you didn't get back. We can still do it if you like."
"We know you're tired Sub-Lieutenant," said Stettler, the three before her the only ones who ever used her rank, "And you have to write a report for the Admiralty. We can do lunch."
Ontario gave the girls a tired smile, letting her gratitude show through.
"Thank you girls," she said, "Make sure it includes Kraft, I promised Montreal and the others since they did a good job on escort duty. I'll be in my room, dismissed."
"Yes ma'am," the three replied, giving her very brief salutes before heading over to the well equipped kitchen area that had been put in down at one end of the building. Ontario headed towards the other end, where her room was.
It was comparatively luxurious to what the River girls had, though nothing completely outrageous. They'd managed to cram in a Queen sized bed, which often doubled as a napping place for some of the girls when she was in, a decent sized desk with accompanying bookshelf and chair as well as a small dresser which contained a few sets of clothes she'd picked up for various reasons. Her desk had a sleek modern computer on top of it and the wall above her dresser mounted a flat-screen T.V. that she'd decided to buy on a whim. Several pin boards on the far wall covered with drawings by the girls completed the room. It was simple, but it was home.
Taking off her uniform cap she hung it on a small peg above her desk before moving to the far wall and adding Grou's picture to the mass. She smiled looking at all of them; she'd probably need to get another board soon. Her smile disappeared as she settled in behind her computer. While she wasn't quite an expert on the damn thing, she had become proficient in its use simply due to the amount of times she'd needed to write reports or file requests for food and equipment. Thankfully the number of reports was manageable, mostly due to their uniformly short nature. The only problem was translating them into something the military would understand.
Shaking her head at the small pile of them at her elbow, she began to translate, one line at a time.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Vice Admiral Mark Norman sat and listened along with the rest of the leaders of the Canadian military as his counterpart in the Royal Canadian Airforce, Lieutenant General Michael Hood, finished up his briefing.
"In short, with the addition of further ship-girl assets we've been able to catch up on maintenance cycles and bring all squadrons back up to nominal readiness. We plan to begin increasing the range of our patrol sweeps and stepping up direct convoy escort as needed. Plans for joint training operations with naval assets are in the works but are contingent on force levels and availability."
"Thank you Michael," said General John Vance, Chief of Canada's Defence staff and highest ranking military officer in Canada, "Anything else to add?"
"No sir," responded Hood, "Nothing else in my official report. Though my men wish to pass on their appreciation to Sub-Lieutenant Ontario for the translations she provided."
"Translations?" asked Lieutenant General Marquis Hainse, Commander of Canadian Army, looking between Hood and Norman.
"Some of the River Class girls are... less than professional on the radio," replied Norman, "So Lieutenant Ontario spoke to them about uniformity and provided a translation guide."
"Should we get this guide to all of our forces?" asked Vance.
"It's relatively simple," said Norman, "Standard convoy escort is "Keep away" or two barks from one of the Corvettes. Pursuit of a submerged target is "Hide and Seek" or three barks. Attacking a target is "Tag" and usually a growl. Most of the rest is situational or straightforward."
Hainse looked between Hood and Norman before speaking again. "This works for your pilots?" he asked.
Hood nodded. "I know it sounds unconventional it works. Habit is a hard thing to break and it's easier to hear an eight year old girl talk about tag or hide and seek than it is to hear them try to describe target acquisition in military terms. It helps with cooperation between units as well."
Norman chimed in. "The girls respond much better to the terminology. They're good at their duties, but a "game" is fun. Official things are boring and they can be a handful."
General Vance nodded his head. "As long as it keeps our shipping lanes open they can speak Martian for all I care." He turned to face Norman. "Admiral do you have any plans for offensive operations or expanded patrols on your end? I understand that your forces are still limited, but my reports are telling me Ontario is likely wasted on convoy escort given the current force dispositions."
Norman suppressed a sigh and instead shook his head negative. "Not at the moment sir. While it is true that Ontario is our most potent striking force, we have nothing to support her with. None of the other ship-girls can keep up with her, they top out at twenty knots and she does thirty two. We'd have to pull at least one of our Halifax's off patrol or standby to give her a proper escort and as thin as we're stretched it's simply not feasible given our other commitments. If and when we have a few destroyer girls come back we'll have a potential patrol group on our hands. Until then the Sub-Lieutenant will have to babysit."
Vance nodded his head. "Understandable Admiral, though if you have any destroyers come back try to get that patrol group of yours going as soon as you can. The government is looking for morale boosters and being able to announce we're going after them on the sea would be ideal."
"Yes sir," said Norman, "I will let you know as soon as anything changes in that regard."
The meeting went on for another half hour as other minor points were brought up, but soon after there were no more major points. The Canadian armed forces were at their highest readiness level in recent memory, with more members being inducted every day. The only problem they had was equipment. With only limited supplies of heavy gear, the Navy and Airforce were struggling to increase force levels. The army was doing slightly better, but with no enemies to fight on land expanding too far would do nothing. As it was, shore artillery parties and roaming patrols made the people feel better, but did little to actively combat the abyssal menace.
Finding his way back to his office, Norman sat down and began to go through the reports on his desk. Most were routine, overall readiness reports, status of emergency building programs and a note from his secretary reminding him that burn day was in another three days. After sifting through the mass he came across a smaller file, submitted by Lieutenant Anderson. Flipping it open he began to read, quickly taking in the straightforward plan of action outlined in the proposal. Finishing it he set the file on his desk and paged his secretary.
"Mathilda, please have Lieutenant Anderson come up to my office at his earliest convenience," he said.
"Yes sir," she replied, before he let go of the page and settled back to flip through the proposal once more. It took five minutes for Anderson to show up in his office and take a stance in front of his desk.
"You really think this has a chance of working Lieutenant?" he asked, holding up the file in one hand, "The US has been putting this off in fear that they might come back wrong."
"Sir," said Anderson, "The Japanese and UK have been summoning everything that they can think of, some of those ships have been gone a lot longer and were treated a lot worse than her."
"That is true Lieutenant," he said, "You think her war service is enough to make her come back?"
"We won't know until we try sir," said Anderson, "If we don't we'll never know. If we do try then maybe we'll get a proper destroyer back to help out Ontario. At worst…"
"At worst we summon an abyssal," said Norman, "On Canadian soil."
"That's part of the reason why I suggested Ontario be there sir," said Anderson, "She would be able to subdue her if she came back as an abyssal."
"The other reason?" asked Norman.
"The other reason I want her there is I think she could influence her to come back as one of our own if there was any question," said Anderson, his voice dipping a little lower, "Ontario wants to be here, wants to fight. If she asks her to come back…"
"You think it will help," said Norman.
"I think it could be decisive," said Anderson, "If it came down to that."
"Very well Lieutenant," said Norman, "You have my authorization to get this all prepared. When do you think we can do it?"
"Give me forty eight hours to get this set up sir," said Anderson, "We want to do this properly. If you could be there as well sir, I think that would be best."
"You get this set up Lieutenant and I'll be there," said Norman, "Several hours of my time is worth having another ship back."
"Yes sir," said Anderson, " Was there anything else you needed?"
"No," said Norman, "Just get me that ship. Dismissed."
"Sir!" said Anderson, before saluting and then leaving his office.
Looking down at the folder on his desk, Norman pondered the file marked "HMCS HAIDA" once more before he put it aside. This would either work or it wouldn't. Anderson seemed confident though and Norman agreed with him. With Ontario there as both backup and added pull, things would be as safe as they could be. He turned back to his desk, where there was always more work to do.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Two days later Ontario found herself standing on the dock next to the most successful surface vessel of the RCN. Haida had sunk more surface tonnage than any other RCN ship during WWII, credited with sinking or helping to sink a total of twelve vessels both above and below the waves. After being briefly de-commissioned she again served her country in Korea, joining exclusive and mildly prestigious "Trainbusters Club" of ships before being decommissioned again, restored, and then made into a floating museum. If there was a ship in the RCN that was respected by all, it was Haida.
Ontario felt a little small compared to all of that. She had no combat experience, had never fired her guns in anger. Even though she would likely take command of Haida if she arrived, she wasn't sure if she would feel comfortable in doing so. Still, she would have to try, if only to hold on to her promise. She would defend, would do her best to fulfill her duty.
Admiral Nelson was nearby and a glance at him got her a slight nod as Lieutenant Anderson finished the final preparations for the ceremony. They were on Pier 9 next to Haida, Admiral Nelson, his staff, a few local dignitaries and the band. Lieutenant Anderson had originally asked for the Stadacona band from Halifax, but upon hearing about the ceremony the band from HMCS Star had demanded to be included, seeing as how they were actually based in Hamilton right next to Haida. So instead of one band they had two.
"You ready?" Anderson asked her as they finished everything.
"Yes," she said, "Are you sure just hoping she's going to show up will work?"
"Not in the least," said Anderson, "But between everything we've heard, there's no one way to summon someone back. This covers most of the bases."
"Alright," said Ontario, already starting to think about what she might try and ask, how she could ask Haida to come back. Ontario was in a position right in front of the bands, closest to Haida. There had been a fierce but brief discussion on what they should actually play during the summoning, which had defaulted back to the National Anthem when it was pointed out that Heart of Oak was the naval anthem of a good portion of the Commonwealth.
As the first notes of O Canada began to swell through the air, Ontario felt a shiver run through her body. There seemed to be a solemnity that descended over the scene, the noise of Hamilton dimming as the notes began to crescendo. Bowing her head Ontario just let the thoughts flow. How much she needed somebody who had actual combat experience, how much she needed somebody trustworthy to run things more complicated than dinner and keeping the girls happy. How much she needed somebody she could confide to about how unsure she was in running what amounted to over half of the Canadian navy by herself.
It seemed to take no time at all until the national anthem was over, till Ontario had no more time to send in her heartfelt hope that Haida would come back to the nation that needed her. She felt a vague tug of something in her consciousness; she wasn't sure how to describe it other than as a mild but good natured grumble. Opening her eyes found nothing changed in front of her, which she found mildly disappointing at first. Turning back to the gathered crowd, she saw blank confused looks in turn.
"Anything?" asked Admiral Norman, looking between her and Anderson.
"I felt… something," said Ontario, "But I'm not sure if it worked or not."
"Give it time," said Anderson, "reports range from instantly to nearly half an hour at the latest."
"Well let's wait," said Norman, glancing at his watch, "She's been asleep for nearly sixty years, she may take some time to wake up."
"Oy!" came a shout from the rail of Haida, "You all waiting on me?"
Ontario turned, catching her first sight of the most experienced ship in the RCN. She looked to physically be about fourteen or fifteen, at least several years younger than Ontario herself while being short and solid to Ontario's tall and lean. Her brown hair was mid length, tied into a low ponytail that sat under a Chief Petty Officers cap. The rest of her uniform matched her cap, the only thing that vaguely looked out of place being the old fashioned tobacco pipe dangling from her lips. Immediately after she spoke, she reached into a pocket and pulled out a matchbook, taking it and lighting the pipe. It was then that Ontario noticed that despite the perfectly clear and smooth skin, her face seemed somehow weathered, as if she'd spent years at sea and survived every last one of them.
"You just gonna stand there like a bunch of slack jawed layabouts or is someone going to get the lead out of their ass and answer me?" she asked again, her voice carrying clearly despite the pipe and the fact she'd barely seemed to open her mouth.
"HMCS Haida?" finally called out Norman, stepping forward from the group of officers he'd brought with him.
"Aye that's me," she replied, her eyes focusing on his uniform before coming to attention and saluting him in an absolutely perfect motion, "Sir."
Norman returned the salute in a similar manner, before lowering his hand down to the side. "At ease… Chief," he said, the pause only barely noticeable, "To answer your question, yes we are waiting for you. We weren't sure if you'd even come back, so we wanted to make sure you had an appropriate welcome. I'm sure you have a few more given the situation and we'd be happy to answer them for you in a more appropriate area."
Haida shook her head after lowering her hand, taking a few more puffs of the pipe before speaking. "Not really Sir," she said, stepping up on the rail and then hopping down in what looked to be a more than mildly difficult maneuver, landing on her knee and then dusting off her uniform, "There's only one reason why you need an old salt like me and that's a fight." She looked about at the city behind them, bustling and alive with no sign of damage. "So the only questions are, where's it at and who're we fighting."
The corner of Norman's mouth quirked a little bit at Haida's questions. "Excellent questions Chief," he said in reply, "I'll let Sub Lieutenant Ontario answer them for you, as well as getting everything squared away in the paperwork department."
Haida's head immediately swiveled to Ontario, a glint of recognition in her eye as their faces met for the first time.
"Yes sir," replied Haida, before turning to Ontario. "Sir," she said saluting.
"Chief," said Ontario, managing to keep her voice calm as she returned the salute, "I look forward to working with you."
"Same here, Sir," replied Haida, as the rest of the crowd began to pack up, a few coming forward and talking to Norman or Anderson, "Can I get that briefing now?"
"Right," said Ontario, ""Let's...let's do that.""
She just hoped she didn't sound like a nervous ensign while she gave it.
HMCS Ontario (art by 'shit-scribbler')
Ontario groaned as she settled onto her bed, the soft surface sinking under her weight. She had just gotten done training with Haida one on one. It had been… intense. Haida seemed to be capable of training with anyone all day without feeling fatigue or soreness, though Ontario knew that couldn't be true. Probably, maybe even. Despite the soreness, she knew that this was much needed training and that Haida was doing her damn best to get everybody in the best shape to fight and win this war.
It had only been two weeks since Haida had arrived and despite the fierce lessons she gave Ontario was already finding her indispensable. She'd quickly made herself at home, taking the bed closest to Ontario's room, a few storage trunks and not much else. It had taken her a few days to accept how the River girls worked, but like any good chief she had quickly adapted, suggesting a few changes to the training schedule that seemed to make the girls happier and improve their coordination. Throughout it all she'd maintained that same slightly serious, slightly bored expression. Somehow the girls took to her even though she became the disciplinarian for the group, though there were few incidents and she was exactingly fair in what punishments she doled out.
That left her with more than a little free time, so she spent as much of her time as she could pouring through history and what they knew about abyssal threat. Thankfully she took to new technology well; most of her reading done from a small tablet device, though she'd started a small bookshelf next to her bed that was filled with a number of volumes that Ontario wasn't sure quite how she'd gotten so quickly.
With such help Ontario had initially had more free time, but when Haida had discovered the state of her training or lack thereof, she'd quickly made some "suggestions" and they'd begun joint training maneuvers. Honestly Ontario needed them and she told herself that repeatedly even as her sore legs throbbed and her arms screamed that they were tired from gunnery practice. Thankfully Haida was a good teacher and Ontario a quick study, though she had to practice long range gunnery herself, Haida's guns being much lighter and lacking nearly 10,000 yards max range, that being before you counted accurate range, stability and all the other minutiae that went into naval gunnery.
Sighing, Ontario forced herself up and towards her desk. There was still paperwork she needed to fill out and reports to be filed for the Admiralty. Haida had started to sort through some of the reports and summarize them for her, but Ontario still had to file them directly.
Half an hour into her work there was a knock on her door and then a stone faced Haida came into the room without waiting for her to answer.
"Lieutenant," she said, "There's been an incident."
"What happened?" asked Ontario, turning her chair away from her desk and focusing on Haida.
"One of the convoys got hit," said Haida, after making sure the door was closed, "Surface raiders. Just came in over the radio, I happened to have my rig on when it happened. No firm reports on casualties yet, but at least one of our girls got hit. Sounded like some of the German girls got beat up too."
Ontario winced when Haida mentioned surface raiders. Every ship in the group had exactly one four inch gun and nothing else worth mentioning. Even a destroyer group would be able savage them with ease.
"Nothing else at all?" asked Ontario, standing to grab her cap and then head to HQ.
"Not yet at least," said Haida, who was chewing on the end of her pipe, as she didn't smoke inside around the girls, "Though we'll probably be hearing something soon."
"Alright," said Ontario as she set her cap properly on her head and moved towards the door, "Keep a lid on it for now until I can get something official, then I'll tell the girls."
"Yes Ma'am," said Haida, throwing off a quick salute to her before the door opened.
Ontario returned it before striding out of the door with a fake smile plastered on her face so the girls hopefully wouldn't notice that something was wrong until they had more answers.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Three days later Ontario was standing on the end of one of the piers on base with Haida and several officers from CFB Halifax, watching as HMCS Winnipeg docked, the ship one of the seven remaining "real" surface combatants in the RCN. Winnipeg had been diverted from its normal patrol route to pick up the wounded girls and their German counterparts and bring them back to Halifax.
Though the crew was quick and efficient about their docking, it still seemed to take forever to Ontario, as she wanted to see her girls. It had come down that none of them had been sunk, but one had been battered badly by near misses and a few light hits and most of the rest had taken various levels of damage. Further reports said that one of the German girls had taken a rather nasty hit to her engines, so there were medical and engineering personnel standing by if they were necessary.
Finally the Winnipeg was properly secured to the pier and a gangway moved to her side, allowing a small crowd of people to disembark. First down were a pair of sailors carrying a stretcher that had a quite awake and lively Montreal. She had reportedly been the worst beat up of all the escorts, but she was squirming like the little girl she looked like as soon as she saw Ontario.
"Auntie!" she cried out, attempting and then failing to sit up until one of the officers waved them to a stop and the stretcher stopped.
"Montreal," said Ontario as she approached the stretcher, taking in the brace on the girls leg and an arm in a sling, along with the entirely too large patients gown she was wearing, "How are you feeling?"
"I'm fine!" said the girl, who wiggled her foot and glared at the arm sling, "They won't let me swim or run anymore and they took away my jersey!"
Ontario looked to one of the men carrying her and he shook his head. "We brought her on board with a broken leg and arm ma'am, she was in no condition to go anywhere. She says she's better but the Doc wanted to run some test to make sure since we uh… still don't know how all that works exactly."
Ontario nodded, even the girls didn't know how much of them worked like a human and how much worked like a ship, even if they did have crews.
"Thank you, Seaman," she said, before turning back to Montreal, who was pouting. "You'll just have to wait until the doctors say you're better Montreal, I'm sure we can get you a new jersey though."
"Fine~" pouted Montreal, which along with a nod from Ontario got the seamen moving again towards the vehicle waiting to take them to the base medical center.
As Montreal was carried away, Ontario turned to find HMCS Trentonian standing there with what appeared to be Montreal's shredded Canadiens jersey in her hand, the girl looking up at her with slightly quivering eyes.
"Auntie…" she said, rushing forwards to give her a hug, the messed up cloth being thrown over her back.
"Are you alright?" asked Ontario, knowing Trentonian had been sunk before during the latter stages of WWII.
"Yeah…" said the little girl, sniffling a little bit, "It was scary, we couldn't even shoot at them, but they saved us." Trentonian turned and pointed to the final batch of girls down the ramp.
The first thing she noticed was the one with the hit; she was the most nervous looking and favoring her right foot, which was still wrapped up in bandages that seemed to be damp with either blood or oil, while leaning against one of her friends. The other thing that she noticed was that all four of them looked remarkably similar. All four were petite, with the blonde hair and blue eyes that seemed to be more common among the German ships than anywhere else. One seemed to be slightly more mature, more confident than the others, a look in her eyes that she'd seen things in her previous life. There were three of the Corvette dogs with them, all of them clustered close around the wounded girl.
"Are they nice?" Ontario asked the little frigate girl, who nodded, her sniffing calming down. Ontario smiled then and patted her on the head, "Why don't you go tell everyone else then, I'm sure they're going to be nervous meeting everybody." Trentonian nodded, the little girl scurrying off towards the barracks which was relatively nearby, even as more people came down from the Winnipeg.
As the four girls and three dogs approached her, most of the sailors giving them a bit of room, Ontario saluted them, causing the more mature one to stop and salute in return, quickly followed by the other three.
"My name is Sub-Lieutenant Ontario," she said formally before lowering her salute, "And I want to both welcome you to Halifax and thank you for saving my girls out there."
"U-318," said the more mature one, "These are U-317, 319 and 320." She pointed to the girl supporting the wounded girl, the wounded girl and the one who was watching the dogs warily, "It is a pleasure to meet you, but could we be shown to our quarters? 319 needs to rest."
"Yes of course," said Ontario, "We've made beds ready for you in our barracks, many of our girls are looking forwards to meeting you." She paused and looked at the wounded U-319. "Are you sure you don't want to get a stretcher or something? I'm sure they wouldn't mind."
"We… we did not want to be a burden on your crew," said 319, her voice still a little pained, "It is nothing, I will be fine after some rest…"
One of the Corvette's interrupted her with a bark, butting lightly up against her side as people continued to flow around them. 320 seemed to flinch a bit at the bark, then another of the trio brushed up against her, nuzzling her hand with its big head.
"They seem quite attached to you," said Ontario, looking between the girls as 319 rested a hand on the dog beside her and 320 attempted to scoot away, but grudgingly gave the dog a few scratches.
"They were the ones closest to the raider when it came in," said 318, "Under the most fire. Since our torpedo's chased it off they've stuck by us."
The dog under 319 ruffed, butting up against her again.
"They also keep doing that," said 317, openly petting the one standing beside her, "We don't know why."
"I think they've adopted you," said Ontario looking at the three, then at 319, "They do that sometimes, it comes with being an escort ship."
"And the headbutting?" asked 320.
"They probably want you to ride them," replied Ontario, switching her gaze to 320 before going back to 319, "Some of the girls do it and since they're rescue dogs and escorts, they can tell you're hurt."
"R-ride them?" said 320, who had distractedly sunk her hand into the corvette's shaggy mane and begun scratching, "B-but they're…"
"Adorable, sweet, and only attacked you because that's how they say hello," commented 317, who looked over at Ontario, "This is only 320's second patrol, you know how they are for the new girls."
"They're still ASW corvette's…" said 320, suddenly realizing she'd been happily petting the dog and withdrawing her hand, only for the corvette to lick her hand and demand more pets.
"Can they actually support us, though?" asked 319, looking at the dog standing and panting happily next to her.
"I don't see why not," said Ontario, glancing at 318, who seemed slightly concerned, "The girls are about your size, in gear they mass more and I've seen one of them get drug along by them."
319 looked at 317, something unspoken going through their eyes, then 317 helped 319 slide onto the back of the Newfie, which easily supported her weight. Once she wrapped her legs around it and placed her hands on its neck, the small girl looked like she was riding a small horse rather than a dog.
U-319 and her new friend (artist currently unknown)
Once she'd settled in the dog woofed happily and began trotting only pausing when it got to Ontario and panting at her. Ontario looked at 318, who seemed slightly confused by the whole thing, but simply nodded.
"If you'll follow me then I'll lead you to the barracks," said Ontario, waiting only until the German girls began following her to start striding away. The girls and the dogs managed to keep up with her, 317 deciding to hop on her own Newfoundland and ride with her wounded sister, who managed a smile out of the whole thing. As they walked they passed many members of the RCN, all of whom at least waved at the girls politely, a few greeting Ontario by name.
318, who was walking beside her, glanced up at Ontario as they neared the ship girl barracks.
"They don't seem nervous around you," she commented.
"Why would they?" said Ontario, looking to the small German girl, "We're on the same side, the same service. Everyone pulls together."
"That is… not what we are used to," said 318, looking over at 317 and 319 who seemed to be having fun waving at all the sailors who passed by and then to 320, who was glancing at the newfie by her side as if she was contemplating something similar despite her earlier show of dislike towards the corvettes.
"I don't think what we have here is probably normal," said Ontario as she opened up the door to the barracks and let the Germans go through first, "We make it work though."
U-319 and 317 went in first, their noble steeds panting and happy to go "home" with them, 320 and 318 stepping inside just after. Ontario was just about to go inside as well when a massive wall of little girl voices yelling, "THANK YOU!!!!" came out the door.
Stepping inside Ontario saw that the River girls had managed to complete their giant welcome banner, which was decorated in all sorts of things, with a big "Thank You!" painted in bright colors as the centerpiece.
"Was… was ist das?" said 318, slipping back into her native tongue out of surprise.
"Excuse me?" asked Ontario, even as dozens of little girls and dogs swarmed towards their new guests.
"What is this?" asked 318, as several River girls circled around her and offered up pictures and drawings.
"They wanted to say thank you for saving their sisters and friends," said Ontario, reaching down to pat the head of Trentonian, who'd once more come up and buried her face in her side, though one eye was on 318, "Is that so strange?"
318 looked over to her sisters, all three of which were surrounded by effusively praising little girls and happy dogs who occasionally woofed and alternated between licking and sniffing their guests. One of the girls finally managed to get 318 to take her picture, which was a remarkably decent drawing of four brave looking girls standing in front of several smaller ones, throwing several oblong objects that were supposed to be torpedo's at monsters who were apparently running away at full speed.
Ontario watched as 318 sniffed and tried to hold in her emotions, letting one hand rest on the head of the small River girl, who merely smiled and wrapped 318 in a hug. Finally the German girl managed to speak, her voice nearly cracking.
"No, no I suppose not," she said.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Soon the massive greeting at the door changed into a mostly normal atmosphere for the barracks, which just meant that the girls ran between their German guests or played with each other instead of swarming all at once. 319 was securely placed in one of the beds with her foot propped up, "her" newfie sitting near the head of her bed and resting its head near her pillow. 317 and 320 had been drawn into drawing and playing a game of Uno respectively and 318 had managed to mostly escape from the crowd and joined Ontario and Haida near the edge of the gathering. Stettler, New Glasgow and Swansea had joined them, taking a brief moment to enjoy attention from Ontario and Haida that normally went to the other girls.
"You all seem so… happy," said 318, one of the newfie's having taken a liking to her and sitting its big head in her lap.
"They are," said Haida, who was idly playing with her pipe, "The little ones don't care too much about anything if they aren't on duty."
"We have worries," said Ontario, rubbing Stettler's back as New Glasgow lay in her lap, "Me and Haida have to write reports, these three help us corral the others."
"They can be a handful," said Swansea, "They're good girls, though."
"Still…" said 318, "You do not seem too concerned about anything else. Back in England everyone is worried, nobody seems to know what to do with us."
"I suppose that's because we know where we stand," said Ontario, "Canada needs her shores and shipping lanes kept open, her people know that, our admirals know that and we know that. So we all work together to make it happen."
"That… sounds nice," said 318, her hand going dead on the newfies head.
"Is it not like that for you?" asked Haida, her mind as sharp as always.
"There is a reason we aren't based in the Fatherland," said 318 wistfully, "It is not because England needs us more. They… despise seems like the wrong word. They are afraid of us, ashamed of their own past so they try to shuffle us away to where we cannot be seen." She paused, then resumed scratching the dog as it licked her hand and whimpered. "I am sure some of them would be happy to see us all slip back under the waves once more."
There was a brief pause as the Canadian girls digested the news, as they hadn't heard such statements before.
"What about the English?" asked New Glasgow, "Are they…"
"Your cousins are very polite," said 318, "We are honored adversaries to them, not enemies. Still, being so close to the Fatherland and not even being allowed to visit… England is not much better, many are scared we will turn into abyssals, a few still remember the stories of their grandparents and the U-boat scourge, so we aren't very welcome off base."
"It's nothing like that here," said Ontario, part of her rather upset at the treatment the German girls had received, part of her wanting to show them better, "Admiral Norman speaks to me regularly and everyone is happy to have us around. Canada has lots of coast that needs to be covered and even though we can't cover it all, most of the people are happy to know we're around." She gestured towards the group of girls around 319, several of which were wearing hockey jerseys. "Some of them have even been formally adopted by their local hockey teams."
"Yeah, like the Sub-Lieutenant over there," said Haida with a grin, "She was the first, she just doesn't talk about it very much."
Ontario colored very faintly around her cheeks. "Simply because I need to maintain my image as an officer for the girls, I have nothing against being… adopted."
"The girls couldn't care less about what your image was," said Haida, with the other three girls trying to hide their smiles and mostly failing, "You are and always will be "Auntie" to them; it doesn't matter what you wear."
318 managed to smile at that, even as Ontario continued to blush. "We of course have our leaders, but Frau Bismarck… she is under too much stress, I think, trying to hold the morale of everyone else especially since she is the only one who speaks to ambassador."
"You have morale issues?" asked Ontario.
"Ah… ," said 318, suddenly quieting, "I have said too much."
"Covering it up isn't going to help anything," said Haida, sticking her pipe in her mouth, "Talking about it is one of the best ways to start fixing it."
"You are… not wrong," admitted 318, "But there is little we can do in England, our hosts are busy enough as it is and they are trying to rebuild much with little."
"What about here?" asked Ontario, causing 318 to look at her.
"What about here?" asked 318.
"Like you said, there is plenty of happiness here," said Ontario, waving towards 318 who was currently having some paper garlands put around her head and smiling like a loon, "You could send some of your girls over; we have plenty of room."
"I… I do not think that would be allowed…" said 318, "Our orders…"
"Screw your orders," said Haida, leaning back against her bedpost, "So a few of you have "Mechanical issues" every now and then and spend a few days here to get your spirits back up, nobody'll notice."
"But…" said 318.
"We'd love to see more of you," said Ontario, "The girls are always excited to have guests."
"Still…" said 318, only to have the very exuberant Montreal run over and dropping a paper hat onto her head.
"You should come play with us!" she said, pointing to 320, who was currently losing badly at Uno but clearly having a good time.
318 couldn't help but smile and then nodded to Montreal, "I'll be over in a little bit," she said, to which Montreal smiled in return and then ran back to the group excitedly.
Ontario just smiled at 318, who watched as 320 got hit with a draw four and simply laughed as she had nearly half the deck in her hand at this point.
"Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing," said 318 quietly, "If we were to have… mechanical issues." She looked at Ontario, "Our sisters, they could come, too?"
Ontario nodded, "We're all sisters in this fight," she said, "We'd be happy to help in any way we can."
"I see…" said 318, before standing up with a bit of a groan, "I shall have to discuss this with everyone, but I think the outcome will be somewhat positive." She paused, "Some of us our looking for anything good, I think we may have found it."
With that she walked over to the group playing Uno and Montreal promptly sat on her lap, the newfie following after her and laying its head on her knee.
Ontario watched a little bit, New Glasgow having fallen asleep in her lap.
"You think they'll actually take you up on your offer?" asked Haida.
"I think they will," said Ontario as 320 managed to finally use some of her cards on 318, "Even if it's just a few of them." She turned to look at Haida, who had her eyes closed as Swansea leaned against her, "What do you think, Chief?"
"I think," said Haida, propping one eye open, "That you might want to ask Admiral Norman for an increased budget for provisions. Just in case of course, our girls get hungry with all the patrolling they do."
"Right," said Ontario, turning back to the cheerful group in the middle of the room, "Patrolling."
Haida just let the corner of her mouth crook in a small grin, "Right, Lieutenant, patrols."
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Five days later when the next convoy was headed out of Halifax, Ontario and the rest of the River girls sent off U-318 and her sisters, 319 having healed up nicely in the intervening time period. They left much cheerier than they had when they arrived, each of them promising to visit again when they could.
A few days after that, four more German girls arrived, 318 apparently having gotten started on her way back. Despite the lack of warning, they were welcomed like old friends and treated like new ones, the River girls as always rushing around in happiness as they got to play, the ones who had been out on patrol or escort duty happy to have their own experience of new friends coming to visit.
Five days later another group arrived just as the second group left, leaving no time for a cleanup from the going away party, which simply segued back into a welcome party. Ontario and Haida found themselves a little bit busy making sure that everything was ordered on time, but the German girls asked for little and the sight of their faces slowly changing from constantly worried about something to smiling and happy was worth every extra minute of work.
A little over a month later and they'd gone through nearly forty U-boat girls visiting them as various convoys came, arrived and left with different escort groups. The River girls by this point had developed cheering up the German girls into its own game, one which they competed in happily. It had been determined that the corvette dogs were still one of their main weaknesses, with dog rides coming in a close second to visits around town to Tim Hortons and a few bars for the girls that liked to have a stiff drink. The people of Halifax had been extremely welcoming to their guests, individual places doing their best to serve the ship-girls just like normal customers, which was helped by Canada's pre-disposition towards adopting them as mascots.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Waking up early one morning only a couple days past their last arrival, Ontario proceeded with her morning routine. First she checked if any of the girls were in her bed, two this morning, then carefully crawled out over them. She managed to put on her uniform and put her hair into a manageable ponytail without waking them and then opened the door. Yawning sleepily she walked out of her room to see that Haida's bed was empty like normal. That meant coffee, which was good.
She walked down the dimly lit barracks, passing girls sleeping in their beds. The German girls were in the ones they'd started to reserve for guests, two of them with Newfoundland's acting as large fuzzy blankets, the other four with dogs under their bed. The dogs had slowly started to move into the main barracks from the kennels, which meant more cleaning, but the increase in morale for everyone was worth it.
Making it down to the end of the barracks and to the kitchen, Ontario found Haida making coffee. She wouldn't tell Ontario exactly how to make it, stating that it was a "Chief's secret" but she made enough for both of them.
"Morning Chief," said Ontario even as Haida passed her a large mug full of what some people would probably consider engine oil, but she knew was just the right thing for an early morning.
"Morning Sub-Lieutenant," said Haida, sipping at her own cup, "Any changes to the schedule today?"
"Not yet Chief," said Ontario as she let the taste of the coffee roll through her and shivered a bit, "I haven't checked my e-mail, so it could still change."
"Right, you do that then," said Haida, as she started walking down the rows of beds, "I'm going to wake the girls up and get breakfast going."
"Roger that Chief," said Ontario, stepping past Haida as she shook each of the River girls awake, starting with Stettler, Swansea, and New Glasgow. Making her way into her room once more Ontario shook awake the two girls in her bed and got them going before she plopped down in front of her computer, another sip of Chief level coffee brushing away most of the cobwebs in her head.
Waking up her computer and booting up email program, she noticed that she had received an email addressed from Admiral Norman marked *URGENT, OPEN IMMEDIATELY*. Following her orders she clicked on the link, which contained only a forwards from Norman and all of those that had sent it to him, starting with First Sea Lord of the Royal Navy, going up to the Ambassador's from both England and Germany to Canada, including the English Secretary of Defense and contained a small affirmation from the Bundeswehr Militärischer Führungsrat, which Ontario was pretty sure was the current German Military High Command. Whatever it was it was clearly important and Ontario began to read, her mind still processing the magnitude of the names attached to the email.
"Due to widespread and chronic mechanical failures in your area of operations, the battleship Bismarck, along with her escorts the cruisers Prinz Eugen and Blucher have requested and been allowed to conduct a personal inspection of all facilities pertaining to ship girls at CFB Halifax. All officers and crew are to extend them their every cooperation during their stay. Expected arrival is five days from now, visit lasting at least forty eight hours and no more than five days."
As Ontario read the names once again attached to the bottom of the email, including Admiral Norman and the governor general, she began to plan ahead for the upcoming visit as she took another sip from her mug. Three guests mean three beds, three more meals, and she'd have to schedule around training to make sure she was available for Bismarck to talk too… Her mind suddenly caught up to what she had read, causing her to nearly spit out her coffee and read it again to make sure she hadn't misread something.
Bismarck, the Bismarck was coming to see Halifax. Not only was she the de-facto head of the returned Kreigsmarine girls whatever the email she'd gotten claimed, she was a legend in her own right, alongside the likes of Hood, Warspite, Iowa and Yamato. She was coming to see Ontario's barracks, Ontario's girls and find out why so many of the U-boat girls were having "mechanical difficulties."
Ontario had the sudden image of fifty thousand tons of angry German coming at her at thirty knots, fifteen inch guns bellowing anger and death. Then she remembered that Bismarck wasn't coming alone, but was bringing two escorts, both of whom carried twice her tonnage and just as much speed. If measured by weight, the three German girls would match comparably to the entire returned Canadian Navy and that was before even considering that only Ontario and Haida would have a chance to hurt one of them if it had ever come down to an actual shooting match.
Forcing herself to calm down, Ontario called out her door.
"Chief, I need you in here now!" she said, her voice somehow carrying the authority that it should so as not to scare her girls.
Haida was by her side in less than thirty seconds, shutting the door as Ontario gestured for her to do so.
"Something wrong, Sub-Lieutenant?" asked Haida.
"Bismarck is coming to personally inspect Halifax," said Ontario simply, gesturing at her computer screen, "She will be here in five days along with escorts."
Haida paused, the closest thing to surprise Ontario had seen out of her since she returned.
"The Bismarck?" asked Haida, "Tall blonde German girl with an alcohol problem and fifteen inch guns? That Bismarck?"
"Yes Chief, that Bismarck," said Ontario, "Along with Prinz Eugen and Blucher."
"May god save the Queen and all her men," muttered Haida, "You think they brought along enough weight of fire?"
"It's not so much their weight of fire I'm concerned about," said Ontario, "It's more the pressure they can put on those poor U-boat girls. You've seen them when they come in Chief, I don't know if we do a lot but they need every bit of help they can get."
"Aye," said Haida, pulling out her pipe and chewing on it, "No disputing that. What do you want to do about the visit though? None of the have breakdowns and we can't fake them even if we wanted to."
Ontario paused, thinking a bit.
"We'll just have to show them that what we do is necessary," said Ontario, looking at Haida, "Their girls need a break when they can get one and we've got the facilities, girls and people to do it."
"So you want to sell R&R at a foreign military base and port to a girl who hasn't been allowed to see her homeland since she arrived," said Haida.
"Yes," said Ontario, her mind racing now, "Home is what they're missing. The only ones who've even seen Germany were those who arrived near the shore, most of them haven't gotten near it. England can't, they're too busy trying to rebuild and people are scared. Here…"
"We didn't get hit that bad comparatively, people are adopting the girls left and right and everyone loves having another girl out their protecting them," said Haida, "Even if they are technically German."
"Exactly," said Ontario, "So we convince Bismarck this is a good thing, get her approval and maybe even make this official. Germany seems eager to send their girls as far away as possible so I don't see them objecting."
"What about Admiral Norman?" asked Haida.
"He'll agree," said Ontario, "Every girl in Canadian waters is another bit of pressure off his back."
"So all we have to do is convince Bismarck," said Haida.
"Yes," said Ontario, "It won't be easy but I think we can do it. I'll need your help though Chief."
"Anything you need, Sub-Lieutenant," said Haida, giving her a salute.
Ontario smiled, returning the gesture. It would be a bit of a stretch, but she was confident that she could get Bismarck to see things her way.
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Dirtnap
Kanmusu Affecionado
Not yet. I think Harder will help with that, tbh.
Always Late
Lacking in coffee, sleep, and brains
- Location
- Ohio
I'm not Canadian, but that left me with patriotic chills down my spine. And it's good to see a shipgirl treated as a friendly rather than a ticking time bomb.
Dirtnap
Kanmusu Affecionado
They're Canadians. Like the nicest people on earth.
Always Late
Lacking in coffee, sleep, and brains
- Location
- Ohio
Until Hockey gets involved.
- Location
- Over the hill and far away
Hate. Shiny and Chrome.
....that was pretty awesome.
....that was pretty awesome.
Arvin_Larn
Caffeine Elemental
- Location
- The Land of Insomnia
You know your Security is useless when men armed with Wiffle Bats storm your office... and win.
Can't wait to see what he's going to do once they go Abyssal-Hunting in Iwo Jima.
- Location
- Over the hill and far away
Well, it was an office run by the Japanese whalers, so not exactly high security... but still funny as hell 
Honestly, I'm just glad I got some good book recommendations from the first thread that I could pass along to my family.
Greek Fire
One of these days, I'll actually start writing.
- Location
- The Earth Sphere
Guys, I made a thing:
Go ahead and post this on next thread when it starts.
Go ahead and post this on next thread when it starts.
Arvin_Larn
Caffeine Elemental
- Location
- The Land of Insomnia
Mind if I cross-post this on SB?Guys, I made a thing:
Go ahead and post this on next thread when it starts.
Greek Fire
One of these days, I'll actually start writing.
- Location
- The Earth Sphere
Not at all, go right ahead!
Or if you manage to piss them off than may some one have mercy on you soul cause the US is running away with God right behind them cause they want none of that.
jwolfe_beta
Semi Genre-Savvy Overlord
- Location
- Canada
We can be very stubborn however as the German's learned in WWI.
CompassJimbo
Where’s Your North?
- Location
- The former Rubber Capital of the World
Kongou's Love Quest continues to be hilarious. A tea party. Just so she can seduce him.
SV5195R
C-Weapon
- Location
- Russian Federation
Whom? Goto?
Dirtnap
Kanmusu Affecionado
Thats sadly all that was good about the first thread, besides the story posts.
True, which made me all the happier about it.
CompassJimbo
Where’s Your North?
- Location
- The former Rubber Capital of the World
I think most of goto's issues with Kongou is that she is his direct subordinate in the chain of command.
Even if he is interested he can't due to regs and there have been hints that he is.
Even if he is interested he can't due to regs and there have been hints that he is.
CompassJimbo
Where’s Your North?
- Location
- The former Rubber Capital of the World
You know, after reading the Kaga omake, I do wonder how she and Akagi would react if the other two Yorktown sisters came back?
Trent01
A Fountain of Quest Ideas
Terror. Likely sheer bloody terror.
The Big E was called the "Grey Ghost" and was the most decorated ship of the USN in WW2 for a reason afterall.