Remove ads

Kant-O-Celle Quest [a Kantai Collection game, transcribed from 4chan]

Reader mode
Someone remind in the next thread to thanks the Anons for the book suggestions. I got The Last Stand of the Tin Can Sailors and Stay the Rising Sun as belated birthday presents as a result of the Anons' helpfulness.
 
Aires Drake said:
Someone remind in the next thread to thanks the Anons for the book suggestions. I got The Last Stand of the Tin Can Sailors and Stay the Rising Sun as belated birthday presents as a result of the Anons' helpfulness.
Click to expand...
Click to shrink...

Still really recommend Eagle Against the Sun; it's a fantastic overview book.
 
And don't forget Shattered Sword for a look at the Battle of Midway that sees beyond the mythology.
 
I've updated Chief Parker (including 'Language Barrier', since it's part of the same storyline) and The Battle of Portsmouth. Other write-ups and the main thread will follow at first opportunity.
 
Remove ads
An Appeal to Sanity — the UN General Secretary addresses the world (by LurK)
  • Threadmarks
    • ---Two days after Day Zero of the Abyssal attacks across the world, the Secretary-General of the United Nations held an emergency press conference at the UN Headquarters in New York. Below is a copy of her now-famous emergency speech. ---

    ​

    Good morning to our friends in the UN Press Corps. I would like to thank you for answering the sudden summons and I would also like to apologize to you for having to report here today, especially considering the current situation we face. Indeed, it may be hard for some of you to attend to your duties as members of the press while feeling anxious over the safety of your loved ones at home. For that I salute you all.

    For many of us, the past 48 hours have been a whirlwind of bad news and worse news. The entire picture is still not clear to us, but the images that continue to trickle in are clear enough: from the roughed-up and nearly obliterated waterfront of Montreal, to the fire-engulfed silhouette of Tokyo, to the rubble and destruction of New York right outside this very room; all point to a deliberate and unprovoked attack on us all. Make no mistake, ladies and gentlemen: the world is at war.

    Indeed, we are at war. Probably for the first time in recent history, we are not at war amongst ourselves. Probably for the first time in recent history, we are at war with a force far more sinister than whatever weapon of war our own hands have created. Probably for the first time in recent history, we are fighting a war for the survival of the human race.

    Perhaps you think I may be exaggerating here. After all, the only places that have been attacked so far are countries that have a coastline, river or tributary that leads directly into the sea. Yet the brutality and sheer intensity of all the recent attacks point to one thing: this is only the beginning of a long, brutal war of extermination against us. These entities have shown that they will give no quarter, and that they do not differentiate between combatant and civilian alike. For what purpose, we do not know at this stage. Whatever it is, it is clear that they will not stop until they have annihilated us all.

    We cannot stand idle as these brutal, devastating attacks continue to disrupt the peace. Even as I speak, these monsters of unknown origin are rampaging through anything they perceive to be a threat; I fear that it will only be a matter of time before they move further inland and cause more devastation than what they are doing now. The lives of countless hapless citizens are at stake, and we cannot simply overlook that.

    In this time of crisis, we are fortunate that there are courageous men and women who, in utter disregard for their own safety, continue to stand fast and face the enemy on all fronts. They face the enemy, knowing that they are standing up against an unknown force with power that far exceeds anything that they have faced up to this point. Here is where I wish to make my point: For the past two days, military forces around the world continue to mount defensive operations against this unknown menace with little to no decisive action. Human lives continue to be thrown away in piecemeal defensive operations as the enemy slowly gains ground. This costly tactic has to stop.

    I call upon all countries suffering from these attacks. Your determination to protect your citizens from further devastation is commendable, but your efforts will be for naught unless you work more closely with each other. Now more than ever, the need for closer cooperation between nations is called for. To ignore the need for a unified strategy against this unknown threat is to ignore the undeniable truth that the enemy is out for total war. Act with purposed haste in order to better combat the enemy, and ensure that your forces are coordinated in order to avoid unnecessary loss of life.

    I call upon all the citizens who so far are trying to go on with their lives even in the midst of all this fighting. I urge you all to adhere to each and every advisory your individual governments will release. It is in your best interest to follow them, in order to avoid being put in situations where you will be in unavoidable danger. Continue to work together, avoid inciting panic, and most important of all, have faith in one another. Orderly conduct and absolute trust in each other is your best defense and means of survival in these trying times.

    Above all, I call upon the permanent members of the Security Council. We are facing a serious threat to the survival of humanity itself. As such, it would be in the best interest for all concerned if you could work around your differences with each other, and to actively seek a combined long-term strategy in combating the enemy. Individually you may have the strength to resist for far longer than any of the world right now; indeed, the United States or Russia, in their own capacity, have more than enough resources to survive longer than any of us can manage. However, we cannot say the same in the long run; even with production at full swing there is no telling when the enemy will step up its offensives and eventually overwhelm even two of the most powerful nations in the world. I am here to remind you: this fight is not your own. Within you five nations lay the power to mobilize the entire world in defense of our peaceful way of life. I urge you to pool your resources together; surely, with your combined might, the enemy will crumble in defeat. Do not let the powers of the Council's Military Staff Committee go to waste because of your ideological arguments. If we are to survive, your brightest military minds must work together in order to achieve absolute victory.

    This is a test of humanity, the likes of which we have not experienced since 1938. We are faced with an overwhelmingly powerful opponent, the likes of which we have never encountered before. The enemy threatens to lay waste all that we hold dear. Yet we must not let this shake our spirit. We must keep in mind: we are all in this war together. The road will be long. The road will be rough. We will have to make great sacrifices along the way. But in the end, I am confident that we shall triumph. After all, we have yet begun to fight.

    Thank you all for your time, and may you all stay safe.
     
  • Threadmarks
    • CNN.com reports on the Battle of Los Angeles (by Richard D. Fox)
  • Threadmarks
    • [CNN.com standard header menu]
    [Graphic: BREAKING NEWS]
    [Graphic: MYSTERY ATTACKS]

    MYSTERIOUS NAVAL FORCES ATTACK PORT CITIES WORLDWIDE; CIVILIAN CASUALTIES HIGH

    By R.D. Fox, Lee Toop, CNN
    Updated 9:03 AM ET, Mon June 25, 2018 | Video sources: CNN, KTLA, CBC/CBMT

    [Video: Port cities worldwide under mysterious attack]

    SAN PEDRO, CALIFORNIA (CNN)--Nearly a half-dozen major port cities worldwide were struck by attacks from the sea by
    bizarre, seemingly mutated versions of obsolete warships from the 19th and early 20th centuries in what appears to have
    been a coordinated opening strike against humanity as a whole.

    Within minutes of each other, mysterious storms arose just off the coast of Los Angeles; Montreal; Portsmouth, England;
    Kiel, Germany; and Tokyo. From the storms came black warships of another era, which proceeded to bombard the ports and the
    cities themselves.

    Little information is available on the attackers, but naval historians contacted by CNN agree that, based on what footage
    of the attacks is available, they appear to be using ships that come from before World War One. The few ships they were
    able to positively identify only deepen the mystery of the source of these attacks, as they appear to have been ships that
    sunk or were scrapped more than a century ago.

    ATTACK ON AMERICA

    The greatest mysteries, however, have come out of the attack we have the best documentation of--the attack on the Port of
    Los Angeles.

    [Video: Raw footage of the battle off Los Angeles from KTLA's news helicopter]

    At the beginning of the attack, the US Navy guided missile destroyer Higgins was leaving port, escorted by the Coast Guard
    cutter Sherman; a Navy spokesman stated that the Sherman was providing a security perimeter against Greenpeace vessels
    protesting the presence of depleted uranium aboard the Higgins. Video of the battle indicates that this included the
    icebreaker MV Arctic Sunrise.

    While both Higgins and Sherman engaged the attackers, their weapons proved to be of limited use against the attackers,
    which seem to have been heavily armored. Both ships fought valiantly, with the captain of the Sherman, after his ship was
    mortally wounded, electing to ram a low-profile enemy ship that neither one had managed to successfully engage.

    After the ramming, the Higgins used the wreckage of the Sherman as an aiming point for its missile armament, setting off
    the magazines of both Sherman and the enemy ship. There have been no confirmed reports of survivors among the Sherman's
    crew at this time.

    [Video: Sherman rams the attacker]

    Shortly after this, the Higgins was hit and seemingly crippled by the enemy, which began to move to shell the port--and
    here begins the greatest mystery of the day.

    Because immediately after this, the battleship Iowa, retired by the Navy in 1990 and turned into a museum ship in 2012,
    apparently broke free of its moorings and sailed into the battle.

    [Video: Iowa enters the fight]

    According to the curators of the USS Iowa Museum, this should be impossible. Not only does the ship require a crew of over
    1600 to operate, but its fuel tanks were drained and cleaned when the ship was retired, and the magazines for its sixteen-
    inch guns were emptied at the same time; the gun turrets were welded into their stowed position before the Navy turned it
    over to the museum foundation. Even if a crew was found to operate the ship, it would take hours to refuel it, and the
    better part of a day to rearm it, and its guns could not be trained on a target.

    Yet the ship is seen clearly sailing into the battle under its own power, using its guns to deliver devastating blows
    against the attackers, rapidly sinking the smaller ones and proceeding to target the large, seemingly immobilized ship that
    had been bombarding the Port until Iowa's arrival.

    Indeed, it was Iowa, acting in concert with Air Force F-15E Strike Eagles from Edwards Air Force Base, that destroyed this
    final attacker to end the battle. While the crippled Higgins limped back to port, the Iowa continued to sail inexplicably,
    seemingly patrolling the mouth of the harbor until sunrise, when it sailed back to its berth at Terminal Island, guns still
    trained out to sea.

    [Video: National Guardsmen seal off public access to the battleship Texas]

    While the entire involvement of the Iowa is unexplained, and seemingly completely inexplicable, action was immediately
    taken to ensure that such a thing would not happen again with any other museum ship. Acting under Presidential order, the
    National Guard was deployed to set up a security cordon around all museum ships in the United States, partly to prevent any
    possibility of these ships being "awakened" by visitors, and partly to ensure that, if they do spontaneously "awaken"
    during an attack, no civilian visitors will be in harm's way.

    RESULTS OF DEFENSE ATTEMPTS MIXED

    Local military forces and law enforcement in each city attempted to fight off the attacks. Early reports indicate that the
    attackers were able to overwhelm the defenders at Montreal and Portsmouth, with both cities suffering extremely heavy
    damage, with their waterfront areas almost completely destroyed before the attackers withdrew. Over 500 are already
    confirmed dead in Montreal, with thousands more reported as missing; casualty figures for Portsmouth are not yet available,
    but are reported to be "high."

    [Video: Helicopter view of devastation in Montreal]

    Only sketchy reports have come out of Kiel and Tokyo, though they indicate that damage was not as severe, with the
    attackers being driven off by mysterious human-sized figures that appeared on the water and proceeded to counterattack with
    what seem to have the effects of large-caliber naval guns. One unconfirmed report from NTV claims that, after the
    attackers were driven off, the figures "skated" across the waters of Tokyo Bay, pulling survivors of the sunken Japanese
    Maritime Self-Defense Force ships out of the water and bringing them ashore.

    Both the JMSDF and the German Bundesmarine have stated that they suffered heavy losses in fighting off these attacks, and
    have declined comment on the reports of the human-sized figures that assisted in the defense.

    CONTINUED ATTACKS ELSEWHERE

    Sketchy reports from around the globe indicate possible follow-up attacks on other port cities underway, including Hong
    Kong; Singapore; Capetown, South Africa; and Mumbai, India. The Pentagon confirms that an early-morning attack against
    New York was beaten back by air and naval forces before it could get close enough to inflict damage to the city; while no
    official comment has been made on losses, unnamed sources in the Pentagon indicate that "a significant number" of ships and
    airplanes were destroyed or damaged in fighting off the attack.

    Fires continue to burn in the Port of Los Angeles, despite efforts from firefighters from as far away as San Francisco and
    Phoenix. California has declared a state of emergency for the Los Angeles metropolitan area.

    (CNN's R.D. Fox reported from Los Angeles. CNN's Lee Toop wrote and reported from Atlanta. The Associated Press, BBC,
    ARD, CBC, and UPI also contributed to this report.)
     
  • Threadmarks
    • BB-bamalalamamlama (by Arty-anon)
  • Threadmarks

    • 'Alabama WIP', by ObershutzeWienman (sadly not visible on DeviantArt, for some reason)​

    The warm waves of the Pacific splashed against BB-60's grey sides. The 680 foot long monster slid through the evening fog along with the rest of TU 34.8.2. Men readied themselves at that their battle stations as they awaited their orders. Soon Hitachi would feel the fiery steel of America's might.

    At 23:10 Alabama's guns roared. Shell after shell flew through dark rain towards their targets. She and the other ships in the task force pounded the complex until 01:10. In the hours of the morning Alabama's guns fell silent, never to be fired in anger again.

    -

    Water rippled against the hull of BB-60. Alabama hadn't had any guests in months. Even the museum employee's stayed off of her decks. Police tape crossed the entrance to her parking lot, and armed guards kept curious eyes away. Helicopters patrolled nearly constantly overhead, at night their lights casting odd shadows across the decks. Coast Guard patrols kept other craft from getting too close to the old ship.

    After the U.S.S. Iowa moved from her berth in the attack on Los Angles, the government wasn't going to take any chances. With the monstrous Abyssals attacking, and no way of knowing who the reanimated ships would fight for, every memorial ship in country was put under constant surveillance. Patrols were even put near old shipwrecks after the U.S.S Arizona made her appearance. The American people remained split between jubilation and wariness of the returning ship girls. Debates raged across the media as to how they should be treated. For now, everyone waited for which ship would reanimate next.

    Storms caused people along the coasts to worry in recent times. In nearly every assault by the Abyssals, storms and heavy winds preceded them. Like a dark and angry messenger, the clouds seemed to warn of coming destruction. Soldiers watched with wary eyes as lightning streaked across the sky across Mobile Bay. Radar hadn't picked up any unusual activity across the bay, but no one was taking any chances. Coast guard cutters and helicopters kept their eyes and radar on the horizon. Thunder rolled in with the clouds, its rumbling shaking windows and rattling teeth.

    A single bolt raced across the sky, reaching its burning tendrils U.S.S Alabama's mast. Electricity seemed to jump across the ship, from her bow to her stern. Inside, lights flickered and sparked as the high voltage energy washed through the hull. Thunder cracked immediately, shaking the ground and sending ripples through the water.

    All around the barricaded perimeter men trained their weapons with renewed intensity at the berthed ship. They waited for something, anything to happen. Seconds that seemed like hours turned into minutes that seemed like days. Alabama remained in place. Some breathed sighs of relief as others let out nervous laughs. Eventually the rain followed, drenching the miserable men below as they settled back into their semi-relaxed over watch. Night followed close behind the clouds, as rain drizzled down on the bay through the night.

    Dawn brought clear skies and muggy weather. Warm rays washed across Alabama's deck, while her flags flapped lazily in the breeze. Along the perimeter men continued their watch, while essential industries continued through the city. Low flying C-130's rumbled across the sky, over BB-60, their flyover causing anything not tied down on the ship to vibrate and rattle.

    -

    In the stern of the ship, a pair of slightly tanned arms stretched over a pile of golden blond hair. A young woman, in her mid-twenties, stretched on her thin cot.

    "Hnnnnng. It's sooo noisy out there!"

    Swinging her legs over, she hopped off the cot with a jump.

    "Wait."

    She looked down at her legs.

    "What?"

    She stared at her hands and flexed each finger individually.

    "What is going on here?"

    She quickly made her way to the nearest head, her bare feet slapping against the cold floor.
    She ducked through bulkhead and ran the nearest mirror. Her feet squeaked to an abrupt stop. Standing in the mirror in front of her stood a beautiful, young woman with long blonde hair and piercing blue eyes.

    "Oh my gawd."

    She worked her mouth up and down after she uttered the quiet words. Alabama knew the words she spoke were English. Memories of men running up and down these halls, HER halls, trailed through her head. Her attention turned back to the image in the mirror. She looked drawn at the two lumps of flesh on her chest.

    "Oh my GAWD!"

    Alabama spun around, trying to look at herself from every angle.

    "OH MY GAWD! I am GORGEOUS!"

    Her giggles floated down the halls and bounced around the empty walls of the deck. Alabama practically danced out of the restroom, and bounced to the nearest locker. Flinging the door open, looked through clothes that hadn't been there moments before. She dug through a number of outfits. A dark blue sun dress, was tossed aside, along with something resembling an officer's uniform. A few minutes later she was walking through the ship in a black skirt and top, looking through all the exhibits on her decks. She read intently through every bit of information she could find.

    Throughout the ship she saw many photos and names of men she "remembered". Men who she had felt walk and run across her decks, men who fired her guns, who had fought ferociously, and even the few who died on her decks as well.

    "Lucky A, hm?"

    She smirked as her old nickname rolled off her tongue. More memories flashed again. Ships she sailed with, ships that weren't able to bring all their men home, or able to come home themselves. A new emotion filled her. She knew it was sadness, and she didn't like it. A small sigh escaped her lips as she let herself lean against the wall. Everything seemed to come in all at once as she slid down to rest on the floor.

    "Why?"

    The word came out as quite whisper into her knees. Why was she back? Why could she walk? Talk? Like all the men who served on her before. One hand traced small circles on the deck. She could 'feel' the water lap against her hull. The sun beating on her deck. She could even feel the wind as it brushed passed her side.

    Alabama's blonde head hit the wall with a soft thump. Well, no matter the reason, she was here. Flesh, and as far as she could tell, blood and bones. She looked at her hand again, studying it with renewed curiosity. She followed each line, each blood vessel. She finally noticed the heat from the interior of the ship-herself. She noticed for the first time the sweat beading on her bare arms. She felt thirsty.

    Pushing herself back to her feet, she clapped her hands together to clear off the dust, and then stretched her arms over her head. It would be better to make something of her new time, rather than sit around and mope.

    "I suppose it's time to get cleaned up."

    Alabama could hear her hull moan and creak through the halls and bulkheads. Her black boots clicked on the floor as lights flickered on throughout her interior. She looked at every exhibit she passed. It would be such a waste to toss out so much history. So much of her crews stories and life, and that of other ships as well. So many children and adults had learned much about history on her decks.

    "So much work to do..."She let out a small sigh. All this work would take hours, days, by herself.

    Eventually. her boots carried to her upper decks, reaching a door to the outside.

    "Oh my!"

    The morning sun lit up the grassy park that composed her museum. Sandbag bunkers surrounded the park perimeter. The already thick humidity made the men seems to jiggle and wave as they moved about.

    "Well ain't that somethin'! Looks like I got all the help in the world!"

    Alabama grinned to herself. Taking care of the exhibits shouldn't take any time at all.

    -

    Two soldiers trudged around the cement wall that surrounded Alabama. They were to radio any of activity on or around the ship.

    "So do ya think she'll come back hot?"

    The young specialist kicked a loose rock into the water.

    "Russell, I'm more worried whether or not she'll come back on our side." Sergeant Brocheque took another bite from his candy bar. "Nahw keef yoor eyes on tha boat." He chewed his sentence through the Snickers.

    "'Course she'd come back on our side. She's American ain't she? Hell, you and the captain both worry too much." Russell paused for moment, seemingly trying to gather a thought. "I bet she'd be hotter than Arizona at least. What do ya think constitutes them coming back attractive?"

    "I don't know, what makes you ask dumbass questions? This barge probably won't even do anything, anyway. No one's heard a peep since the Arizona came back anyway. Besides, if this rust bucket did come back as a cute girl, what would you do? 'Oh hello miss, I know you've been thousands of tons pile of steel for 80 years, but could I board your stern?'" He pointed at the rear section of the ship as they walked past. "Get real, guy."

    The two men shared a laugh as they rounded the corner of the walkway to the starboard side of the ship.

    "So you think a guy can actually get it with one of 'em, huh? I mean, if you're car came back tomorrow, would ya fuck it?"

    "Hah! Damn right I would. My Camaro is damn more reliable than my wife." He spit a stream of chewing tobacco into the bay. "Prettier too."

    "Aw hell Sar'nt, your wife ain't so bad. Just ask Potts!"

    "You need to knock that shit off, Specialist."

    Russell's laugh caught in his throat. Above them, an attractive, young blonde was waving for their attention.

    "Yoooohoooo! Boooooyss~" She leaned over her railing, as she waved energetically at the two soldiers walking along the pathway. "Ya mind giving a girl a hand?"

    Russell and Brocheque looked at the woman waving enthusiastically above them. Their eyes moved to her ample assets as they bounced dangerously in her black waistcoat, then too each other.

    "So, uh, Russell."

    "Yeah?"

    "You see that?"

    "Yeeeup. I see em."

    "Eyes up jackass!"

    "My eyes are up."

    "Goddamnit give me the radio."

    -

    Two tired men stared at the private on the radio. Captain Sweet of the United States Army and Lieutenant Casey, liaison for the United States Navy stood over the nervous private.

    "You wanna run that by me one more time, Joseph." Sweet's eyes bore into the younger man.

    "He, uh, he said she needed help moving her things, sir."

    "And who is 'she', soldier."

    Casey smirked at his companion's frustration. There were many protocols and procedures laid out for welcoming the new hulls back to 'life', for lack of a better word. Unfortunately the hull's personalities were just as diverse as the crews who had served on them. From feisty destroyers to sullen battleships, each had presented a different pain in the ass to manage.

    "Calm down, Terry." he put his hand on Captain Sweet's shoulder. "At least she seems to be on our side."

    "For now." Sweet grumbled as he massaged his brow.

    "Let's at least go meet her for now. And help her get moved, I guess." The shorter man laughed as he grabbed his cover.

    "Sure. Joseph, if she makes so much as a sneeze at the city, I want you to have every bit of artillery and close air support we have rain down on her ass."

    -

    Lieutenant Casey noticed the woman's hair first.

    Her blonde locks seemed to glow in the morning sun. Its radiance was only beaten by her warm smile. By the time they reached entrance ramp for the the ship, she seemed to be bouncing with excitement. Casey glanced at his partner next to him. Sweet was tensing up the closer they approached. The two squads of soldiers behind them kept their weapons at the low ready, fingers hovering over the triggers of their M4's.

    If she noticed the nervousness radiating from the soldiers, she didn't show it. She only seemed to smile brighter as they neared.

    "Hello boooys~ welcome aboard!" She spread her arms as the men stepped on her deck. "Are you fellas here to help me get cleaned up?"

    Casey couldn't help but think she cleaned up nicely already. He quickly brushed the thought away. "Welcome back, Alabama." He stuck his hand out to shake. "We've been expecting you, and I'm sure you have lots of quest—"

    His greeting was cut off abruptly as she grabbed his offered forearm and began shaking vigorously.

    "Oh goodness, you've been waiting for me?" Alabama began bouncing with exhilaration. "Are you getting ready for another film? Oh my, and everything is such a mess. We have to get everything cleaned up immediately!"

    Casey felt himself being dragged across the deck as the short woman pulled him by his arm, with no effort. He looked back to see Captain Sweet and his men tense and jerk their weapons. He quickly waved them down, before Alabama could see.

    "Whoa, whoa! I think there's a bit of confusion, miss."

    Alabama twirled around, still dragging the larger man with her.

    "Oh?"

    "I think it best we introduce ourselves." He gestured to himself and the fatigue clad men behind him.

    Her piercing blue eyes moved from him, to Captain Sweet, and the men behind him. The whole time her smile never faltering. She let go of his hand and gave a small curtsy.

    "You are absolutely right; come with me gentlemen! Let's head to the wardroom."

    -

    Casey, Sweet, and the squad of men with them stood in amazement at the sight before them. They had all studied pictures of the ships' interior, its layout, and many had even visited as guests to the museum itself before the Abyssals.

    Everything looked brand new. Not a speck of dust lay on any surface, all the metal shined to a mirror polish. The wooden furniture's finish radiated in the light from the ceiling fixtures. Electricity in itself should have been impossible, with power to the ship being cut off. One of the privates let out a low whistle.

    "Have a seat, gentlemen!" Alabama gently pushed the men to the waiting chairs. As soon as she was sure they were all comfortable, she disappeared out the hatch and back into the ship.

    "So uh," one of the sergeants leaned back in his chair. "What now, sirs?"

    Casey looked towards Sweet. Sweet looked at Casey.

    "Don't look at me, Navy, she's one of yours."

    Snickers flowed from the soldiers around the table. The lieutenant felt a grin stretch across his face.

    "True enough. At least it looks like she's on our side."

    "Hmph. That's to be seen."

    Casey sighed as he powered up his laptop.

    "She isn't shelling the city, or for that matter trying to kill us. So I'll take that as a good omen."

    "Sorry for the wait!" Alabama's sweet voice trilled through the bulkhead. Ten sets of eyes grew wide as she stepped back into the room. She had forgone her black skirt and top for a blue sundress, and her radiant blonde hair was not jet black, apart from the yellow roots at the top of her head. "I wanted to go ahead and get ready for my role!"

    Casey ogled at the transformed beauty in front of him.

    "Your role?" Sweet asked the question for him.

    "Why yes! Y'all are here to film right? With all that fancy equipment out there, and those costumes, y'all must need me for another movie, right?"

    Silence filled the room like water from an overflowing sink.

    "You don't need me to play as Iowa again?"

    Casey opened and closed his mouth several times, and Sweet just began to rub his temples. The silence was snickering from one of the soldiers in the back of the room.

    "Dammit Russel shut the fuck up." Brocheque elbowed his partner in the gut, replacing the giggling with wheezing. Sweet's tired eyes immediately shot daggers at them from down the table.

    "So that's what Iowa looks like," one of the men murmured to his neighbor.

    All the briefings began flooding back to him again. He finally understood why everyone who dealt with the returned girls seemed so exhausted. Their Japanese allies, having the greatest experience with their "kanmusu", sent advisors to help the Americans deal with their own returning girls. All of them had the look he remembered on his high school history teacher: fatigued, irritable, and constantly jumpy. He tried to swallow the lump that was forming in his throat.

    "I apologize Miss Alabama, but uh, I'm afraid we're not here to help you film."

    The smile only slightly faltered, but confusion began to show in her eyes. "There's no movie?"

    "No, ma'am."

    "Oh." The smile finally turned into a frown. "Well shoot, and I was looking forward to working with Mr. Seagal again too."

    Casey stood up from his seat and walked over to the young woman. It finally dawned on him how short she was: she couldn't have been taller than 5' 6". He stuck out his hand once more to shake.

    "I'm Lieutenant Joseph Casey, United States Navy." She gently grasped his hand. He noticed how soft her touch was compared to earlier, when it felt like she was nearly ripping his arm out. "To put it simply, we'd like to welcome you back to the land of the living."


    'bama was famished. (art by Pixel-anon)​

    The rest of the morning went by like a blur; Alabama focused on Lieutenant Casey's slide show with rapt attention. She had changed back into her original outfit, though her dark hair remained. He was surprised at how quickly she was absorbing all the information they were giving her. He showed her the highlights of the past several decades; Japan's defeat and it's rebuilding, as well as recent conflicts in the Middle East. The Abyssal attacks seemed to cause her to pale a little, he noticed, but he kept the observation to himself. Alabama made no inclination that she wanted him to stop.


    The laptop was also a marvel to her, and she fawned over the idea of the internet.

    "This is amazing!"

    "So I can type any question into this little box, and Google will tell me the answer?"

    Casey's nod sent her into a fit of giggles.

    "Land sakes, ain't that the darndest thing!"

    Alabama marveled as she pecked away at the keyboard.

    Casey smiled behind the enamored woman. It reminded him of when he was teaching his grandmother how to use her new computer.

    "Why don't you ask as Google to show you where U.S.S Ala... I mean, where you are on a map?"

    "Oh? Let's see then."

    She carefully typed the query into the search bar and hit Enter. A moment later, an overhead image of the ship flashed on the screen.

    "Oh my Gawd! That's something!"

    Alabama clapped in amusement. Casey reached over her shoulder to zoom in on the image, until her hull took up the entire screen.

    "You can see everything."

    She stared at the image, then looked down at herself. Casey jerked back, his cheeks flushing, and realized he had been gawking. You could definitely see everything, alright. Alabama clapped the laptop shut with one hand, while covering her bosom with the other.

    "Well, um, that was something else."

    Casey faked a cough to hide his grin.

    "And, anyone can see that?"

    "Yes, ma'am. In fact you could look into my house's front door if you wanted."

    "Oh my heavens."

    Alabama rose from her chair and brushed the wrinkles from her skirt.

    "I do believe that's enough fun with this internet for one day."

    She looked back at the closed laptop as Casey packed it back into his bag.

    "For a while, maybe. Let's get some fresh air, hmm?"

    Casey followed her as she stepped through the bulkhead and headed towards to the deck.

    "Oooh the sun feels so good!"

    Alabama thrust her arms over her head and stretched. Casey fought the urge to stare at the curves of her back. He shifted his gaze, his eyes falling to her plump rear. This was going to prove to be difficult. Alabama's sharp clap made him advert his gaze to more wholesome scenery.

    She spun back around, her bright smile was back again.

    "Lieutenant, I just thought of something!"

    "Y-yes?"

    "I feelin' hungry, down right famished even! How's about we head out and get something to eat?"

    Casey felt his pulse quicken. He had been in a few relationships in his life, but not with a woman of her, well, caliber.

    "That sounds like a great idea. I'll get us a ride into town."

    Alabama latched onto his arm before his phone was out of his pocket. He looked down at the sparkling blue eyes that seemed to suck him in.

    "I know just the place! There's a grill just down the road a bit."

    She pointed enthusiastically across the bay.

    "My guests used to say they serve the best crawdads in town!"

    The back of his neck flushed as she pressed up against him.

    "I think we can make that happen."

    He smiled, as he quick dialed Captain Sweet on his smart phone.

    "Sweet. Yeah, it's me, we're still fine. I need a ride for me and our guest to Felix's."

    Alabama's tugging cut him off. He looked back down at the blonde, and she pointed to a few of the men who were carefully carrying a glass case through a bulkhead.

    "Let's just make that a bus, Sweet."
    _
    Alabama mouth watered as she watched the plates of food brought to her table. Fish, shrimp, crawdads, corn, and rolls came out of the kitchen like a stream. Everything looked delicious; she didn't know where to begin. She picked up the bib one of the waitresses left on the table for her, and tied it around her neck.

    "Hmm..."

    She raised one finger into the air.

    "Eeny, meeny, miny, moe, which of these dishes will be the first to go?"

    She grinned as her finger came to a stop over a plate of shrimp.

    "There we go~"
    __
    All eyes in the room were focused on Alabama's table. Piles of empty plates surrounded the animated battleship. Plate full of food disappeared almost as rapidly as waitresses brought them from the kitchen.

    "Hoe, Lee. Sheit." Sweet took a sip of his drink. Where the hell does she pack it all away?"

    "Looks like her jugs."

    Sweet shot Russell a look.

    "Just sayin', sir."

    Casey laughed as he took another bite from his shrimp. The amount of food she was consuming was amazing. He had read the reports of the other returned ships: two or three girls putting a truck of food away wasn't an uncommon occurrence.

    "Well Miss Alabama, how are the crawdads?"

    Alabama smiled at Casey as best she could with a mouth full of crawdads and gave him a thumbs up.

    "I think don't think you'll get any complaints out of her, Casey."

    Sweet pushed his empty plate back.

    "So, what do we do with her now?"

    "She's caught up on the situation, and she wants to fight."

    Casey leaned back in his chair.

    "The Brass want to meet her too. From the sounds of it, they want to make a big deal about it."

    "Sounds like a bunch of bullshit to me."

    Sweet sighed and rubbed his temples.

    "Well I guess the only headache now is that sub. Did she know anything about the Drum?"

    "Nothing that's gonna help us."

    "Damn. Alright, I guess it's about time to pay this bill."

    Sweet waved to grab the attention of one of the waitresses.

    Casey nodded moved to sit next to Alabama. She slide her chair over so he could fit and continued eating, butter and sauce dripping from her chin.

    Casey grinned and grabbed a napkin.

    "I think you have a little something there, Miss."

    He dabbed the napkin on her chin.

    Alabama's face flushed blight red in embarrassment.

    "Oh goodness I am sooo sorry!"

    She grabbed the napkin from Casey and began cleaning her face. She removed her sauce and butter covered bib, carefully folding it up on the table.

    "That was delightful. Thank you sooo much for bringing me out here Casey!"

    She threw her arms around Casey's neck, pulling him into a tight hug.

    "HURK! Alabama!"

    He swore he could feel her squeeze tighter.

    "Y'all have been so nice to me. I just don't know what to say."

    His vision began to narrow.

    "Can't. Br-breath."

    Alabama's eyes shot open.

    "Oh goodness I'm so sorry!"

    She released Casey and smoothed the wrinkles out his uniform.

    "This is just still so new to me, and everything is so incredible!"

    "Ma'am, its fine."

    Casey coughed as he tried to catch his breath.

    "We're glad you enjoyed it."

    "It was even better than I could've hoped. It's just been so much fun. I never imagined food could be this good!"

    Alabama sat back down and sighed.

    A commotion behind him, caught distracted Casey from the now content Alabama.

    "Sir I'm gonna have to ask that you settle down."

    It sounded like Sweet was already in the middle of the situation.

    "Calm down? CALM DOWN?! Let me tell you about calm, buddy."

    Casey spotted the short, overweight man in a dirty apron and hairnet gesturing angrily at Sweet. Uh oh.

    "Excuse me for a moment, Alabama."

    "It's no trouble, Sugar- OOOOH, is that pecan pie!?"

    He left the distracted ship girl and made his way through the maze of chairs and tables to Sweet and now apparently the manager, who was unsuccessfully trying to calm the agitated man down.

    "I don't care HOW much you're paying us, we're running out of food, and we have other customers to feed. There was only like twenty of you anyhow, where the high hell are you throwing all my food? Out the window?"

    "I can promise you that's not the case. In fact, we're just about to leave."

    "Not till I figure out what the hell you've been doing with my food, dammit!"

    "Hey, Sweet, what's going on? What's the problem?"

    The cook rounded on Casey.

    "The problem is I've been slaving away over a hot stove, and I find it's a buncha army guys wasting all my food, that's my problem."

    "Sir I can assure you that your cooking has not been wasted. In fact it's been very delicious."

    "Well I sure hope so."

    The angry man yanked off his hair net.

    "It's only just after one, and we're all outta food."

    "Excuse me, Lieutenant?"

    Casey started when he felt a small tug on his sleeve. Alabama stood behind him, her sauce stained bib still tied around her neck.

    "Do you think we can see if they have any ice cream too? I bet the boys will absolutely love that!"

    The Cook put his fists on his hips.

    "Dammit, and who are you?"

    Alabama stepped next to Casey and gave a small courtesy.

    "Oh silly me! Please pardon my manners, I'm Alabama."

    She smiled and stuck her hand out to shake.

    The man looked at her hand like it was a rotten fish.

    "Alabama? What kinda name is that?"

    If Alabama noticed his hostility, she didn't show it.

    "Why it's *my* name, sweetie!"

    "Alright, fine."

    He grabbed her hand.

    "I'm the cook."


    "You're the cook? Oh my GAWD!"

    She yanked the fat man in a hug and lifted him off his feet.

    "That was the best thing I've EVER eaten! Thankyouthankyouthankyou!"

    She spun the man around and around with little effort.

    "Oh shit."

    Sweet jumped out of the way to keep from being knocked back by the swinging man's girth.

    "Alabama, I think we can put him down now."

    Casey dodged the fat man's swinging legs.

    "Of course!" she sat him back down gently, grabbing him again when he started to wobble in place.

    "Who-what are you?" The man wheezed as he caught his breath.

    "I done told ya, sweetie. I'm Alabama!"

    The cook took one last look at the smiling woman in front of him and fainted.

    __

    "That was marvelous!"

    Alabama sang as she hopped out of the Humvee.

    "Everything was so good! I can't wait to try all sorts of other foods too!"

    She twirled around to face Sweet and Casey as they followed.

    "You boys go on ahead, I need to freshen up."

    She skipped across the parking lot to the aircraft hangar, humming as she went.

    The two men watched her for a moment before she bounced away.

    "Dayum. I've heard the stories, but that girl can put away some food."

    Sweet adjusted his cover on his head.

    "Yeah but where the hell does it go?"

    "I can think of a couple of places. Russell was probably right."

    Both men chuckled at the lame joke, and made their way back to their tent.

    Joseph, looked up from his MRE as the two men entered, and tried to rise. Sweet waved him back down.

    "Finish eating Joseph. Anything come through while we were gone?"

    "No sir, nothing. We kept a squad at the Drum just in case, but no activity from her. Everyone else got chow."

    Sweet dropped into his camping chair with a pomf.

    "So, Case, now what?"

    Casey leaned on the table and sighed.

    "Well now we gotta see about getting her hull out."

    He paused to glance out of a small window.

    "That's gonna take a godawful lotta digging."

    "Can't she just, ya know."

    Sweet held his hands out and brought them together quickly.

    "Go small?"

    "We don't know. Can't hurt to ask her when she gets back. It'd make our live hell'ov a lot easier."

    He checked his smart phone, and brought up his emails.

    "Gonna have to get my report together soon, though. Don't wanna keep the Big Whigs waiting."

    "Mhm, same here. Need to explain these meal expenses too."

    Casey grinned. After they were able to wake the restaurant cook up, they were able to explain the situation. Alabama herself offered to help clean the kitchen after she realized the trouble she had caused. It was only the after the assurance from the restaurant owner, and the cook himself after he regained his wits, that she calmed down. She had insisted they leave a large tip, and even gave the cook a kiss on the cheek as a "little extra". The grumpy man had turned jolly in an instant.

    "I'm back~."

    The tent flaps swinging open interrupted his thoughts.

    Joseph looked up from his instant spaghetti, and immediately dropped it in his lap.

    "Hey there, sweetie! I'm Alabama."

    She bounced over to Joseph and stuck out her hand.

    Joseph stared into the blight eyes of the woman standing in front of him, his mouth hanging open.

    Alabama giggled.

    "What's wrong sugar? Cat got yer tongue? Don't be a stranger now!"

    Casey fought off laughter and shot a glance at Sweet. He was enjoying the show too. Alabama helped clean the young man up and squeezed him into a hug. Sweet couldn't help himself.

    "What's wrong, Joseph? You look like you're about to pop."

    Alabama released the squirming Private. "Joseph? Oh what a precious name. It's so nice to meet you!"

    "Y-you, too."

    Sweet exploded into laughter, doubling over in his chair. Casey covered his face with his hand, his shoulders convulsing with his laughter.

    "Well, Ma'am are you ready for us to get back to work? We still have a lot of stuff to move."

    "Oh, it's fine." Alabama twirled around. "Everything has been taken care of."

    "Taken care of?"

    Sweet was still trying to get himself back under control.

    "Joseph, how the hell did y'all get everything off so fast?"

    Joseph's eyes shot back up from behind Alabama.

    "W-what? N-no, sir! Aside from the guys with Drum, we've been eating."

    Sweet's laughter died in his throat.

    "What?"

    Alabama's face gleamed.

    "Oh it's fine, captain. I had my crew finish up while we were gone. Everything is safe and sound in the hangar."

    Confusion spilled over Sweet's face.

    "Huh?"

    "Your crew?"

    Casey hoped off the desk. This was sounding familiar.

    "Oh yes! Now I can move around a lil' easier."

    Shouting from outside caught Casey's attention.

    "Where the hell did it go?"

    "Fuck if I know."

    "Holy FUCK."

    Casey shot through the entrance of the tent, his head shooting back and forth. His eyes fell on a group of men point in the direction of Alabama's hull. Except there was no hull. Sweet materialized next to him a second later.

    "What the shit."

    Both men turned back around to look at Alabama. She smiled and gave a small wave from inside the tent.

    Casey could only point at the now empty pool of water.

    "Uh, Ma'am, did you…?"

    She stepped outside of the tent to join them.

    "Sure did! Ya wanna see?"

    Sweet started to visibly shake.

    "See? See what?"

    "See THIS!"

    Light blinded the two men as it absorbed the woman. Casey threw up his hands to shield his eyes, trying to catch a glimpse between his fingers.

    The light vanished as quickly as it appeared. Alabama stood as she did before, only now covered with battleship gray colored equipment. Three large turrets surrounded her, ten smaller ones hung closer to her waist. The number 60 was painted on either side of the armor belt. His eyes caught movement just above her head. A miniature float plane buzzed around her head, waggling its wings.

    "So whaddaya think?" She smiled expectantly.

    Joseph stumbled out of the tent, catching the end of the light show.

    "Oh dang."
    __

    Alabama stood proudly with her hands on her hips, her impressive armaments surrounding her.

    "Everything feels good as new!"

    She began gyrating her hips.

    "My crew did a great job of getting everything back into ship-shape. I wanna go try it out! Ya mind if I go for'a swim, Lieutenant?"

    "Bwuh, huh, what?"

    She giggled as the men tried to recover their composure.

    "It'll be just for a bit, I promise. Oh gosh it's been so long since I stretched my legs."

    Casey shook his head, and rose back to his feet. He stared at the smiling ship for a few seconds before slowly nodding.

    "Sure, but please stay close to shore."

    The words had only just left his mouth before Alabama had him in another bear hug.

    "Oh thankyouthankyouthankyou!"

    Casey gasped for breath. This was turning into an unwelcome habit.

    "Hnnngh! N-No. Pro-problem."

    Releasing him, Alabama made for the bay, eyes from everyone present following her.

    Casey dropped to the ground. Sweet squatted down next to him.

    "I think I'm going to need to start smoking again.

    Casey glanced at his comrade.

    "Yeah, probably, and I could really use a beer right now."
    __

    Elation flooded though Alabama as she glided across the water; it had so long since she'd gotten to run under her own steam. She increased to flank speed as she got further away from shore. Aside from a few patrol craft and Coast Guard cutters, it felt like she had the whole bay to herself. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. The salty air invigorated her. It felt like she was home.

    "Aaah, it feels so wonderful!"

    Alabama closed her eyes. She felt the heat from her boilers, "saw" the returns from her radar array, and heard the radio chatter from the Coast Guard ships keeping an eye on her.

    She sailed alongside one of the ships, waving at the bewildered sailors on the cutters deck.

    "Hello~ How're y'all doin' this afternoon?"

    Her sweet drawl seemed lost on them. One or two waved back weakly. At least one was holding up a small rectangle, it looked just like the mobile phone that Casey carried around.

    Alabama laughed and broke away; she didn't want them to start panicking. Turning south, she steamed towards the entrance of the Mobile River. A peculiar looking ship lay near the docks, its cannon aimed in the direction she had just traveled from. She wanted to take a closer look, but Casey's request made her pause. Well, she was sure she'd have time to explore more at a later date. In the meantime, she could ask Casey and Sweet when she got back. Setting a leisurely course back for her former dock, Alabama took a moment to feel the sun's warmth on her skin. She could get used to this.

    Thousands of people were gathered in the cold January air, their eager anticipation palpable despite the chill. The white beach the crowd celebrated on was the culmination of months of back-breaking work. The efforts of over a million children had spearheaded a momentous project of unimaginable scale: to tow 35,000 tons of fighting steel from Bremerton, Washington to Mobile, Alabama—an operation never attempted before in this magnitude and distance. Bands played patriotic songs, speeches were made, and tears fell when the culmination of years work had finally come to fruition: BB-60, USS Alabama, was finally ready to receive her visitors. Children ran across her wooden decks, marveling at the size of her armaments. For the next several decades, millions would come and learn of her history, and the history of those who fought on her. Alabama would keep watch over the bay, a silent guardian of the people who saved her from destruction.

    -

    Morning sunlight streamed through the gaps of the curtains, their rays gently caressing Alabama's face. Her eyes fluttered open before she shot up in response. It took her a few moments to recognize her surroundings; she vaguely recalled Casey showing her to her room in the Battleship Inn the night before. She swung her feet over the side of the bed and hopped to the floor.

    "I could get used to these beds."

    Alabama walked to the window, yawning and stretching her arms. She flung open the curtains, allowing light to flood the small room. Her face lit up at the morning view: small clouds dotted a bright blue sky, sunlight gleaming off the bay water.

    She sighed blissfully, soaking up the scene.

    "Mercy me. I do believe I could get used to all of this."

    Stretching her arms once more, she twirled around to study her simple room: a small table and chair sat in one corner, a large, flat-screen television resting atop the dresser set. That particular device had occupied the majority of her attention the evening before. A glance at the alarm clock showed it was just before eight: plenty of time to get ready for the day. Humming cheerily, Alabama floated to the bathroom. It was time to get ready to embrace the day.
    -

    Casey sipped his morning coffee in the seating area of the hotel lobby. Subtitles ran along the big screen TV that dominated the sitting area o the lobby, pictures and videos shifting across the screen, showing both American and Japanese ship-girls alike in various poses. The news outlets were still going crazy over the victory at the Philippine coast. Casey glanced at the screen, sipping his morning coffee. At least this was good news; news of decisive victories were always welcome. There seemed to be too few of those.

    The scene shifted back to the newscasters, something scrolling along the bottom of the breaking news report. He sighed—it looked like the news of Alabama's return was starting to spread. Of course, she would be delighted. The spirited woman loved attention: she loved getting her picture taken, and loved being videoed even more-so. More pictures materialized on screen. It looked like images from the day before. Photos from the restaurant appeared on screen, followed by blurry shots of her on the water. The screen went back to the talking heads. Some were worried about the returned ship's intentions; others asked when she would be introduced to the public.

    "Soon than you think." the weary Navy Lieutenant mumbled under his breath.

    The Powers That Be had made it clear they wanted to jump on this as soon as possible, especially after the victory at the Philippines. People needed hope, and these girls were giving it to them.

    "Good morning Loootenant~" Alabama's drawl floated through the lobby.

    Casey twisted in the direction of her voice. Her flowing hair was back its original blonde, as if it had never changed. That bright, white smile of hers lit the room brighter than any artificial light. That smile could wake a man up faster than any cup of coffee.

    "G'morning, Ma'am. Sleep well?" He rose, bracing himself for the incoming hug. She acted as if she was about to do just that, but paused and curtsied instead. Casey let out the small breath he had been holding.

    "Oh Casey, these beds are just Heavenly! I wish all my crew could've slept on something so comfortable."

    Casey led her over to the breakfast bar and handed her a plate. He had been up hours before to help make sure there was plenty of food for their returned guest: grits, biscuits and gravy, eggs, sausage, bacon, and tables of other foods lined the wall.

    "Oh heavens! Did y'all do all this for littl ol' me?" Alabama's eyes sparkled at the sight of the feast.

    "Well, we need to save enough for the soldiers, but go ahead and dig in ma'am. We have plenty to go around."

    Alabama paused from slathering gravy over her biscuits. "You mean those boys haven't eaten yet?"

    "Well, uh, not all of them." Casey stumbled. Alabama's eyes pierced into his; it reminded him of when his mother used to disapprove of something he said. "We try to ha—"

    "Oh that just won't do! Those poor boys need to eat. Lieutenant, I want them all going through this line before me." Alabama set her plate back down on the table. "They've got a hard day of work ahead of them and I want them good and full."

    "Ma'am everyone wi—" Casey tried to start again.

    "No no no!" Alabama put a hand on her hip and wagged a finger under Casey's nose. "I won't hear any excuses. I want those boys fed!"

    "Alabama-"

    She put a finger to his lips, and pointed at the door with her other hand.

    Casey let out a small sigh. "Yes Ma'am. You got it."

    -

    "She what now?" Sweet's voice was flat, not so much asking but stating the question.

    "That's what she said." Casey plopped down in his chair. "She's setting up as we speak."

    "So, we tell her it doesn't work like that."

    "Hah. Go ahead. Try it. I thought she was going to belt me for a second there."

    "Are you serious right now?"

    "As serious as cancer."

    "Just..." Sweet looked at Casey, whose face only showed tired resignation. "Ok, fine. Let's get this over with. Where the hell is Joseph?"

    -

    Ten minutes later, a line was formed outside of the hotel lobby. Confused enlisted chattered quietly in line, irritated NCOs and officers herding the late arrivals into line. Casey and Sweet overlooked the whole parade, shaking their heads in resignation.

    "Well, that's nearly everybody. Let's go see if she's ready to start." Casey pushed open doors and let Sweet through.

    Both men stopped dead in their tracks at the sight before them. Along with the food that had already been laid out, Alabama stood behind a fry grill, mothering some omelets on the hot surface. A huge freezer of food sat in the corner next to her. The tables had been moved to the conference room, a lot more tables and chairs set up to accommodate all the extra people.

    "Where the f—*ahem.* Uh, Miss Alabama… just where did all this come from?" Sweet asked after he regained his composure.

    Alabama looked up, surprised by the sudden presence of her guests. A pink apron covered her front, one hand holding a plate of freshly-cooked bacon.

    "Oh! Good morning Captain Sweet! You're gonna have to get in line with everyone else if you're hungry. No cutting~" She smiled, then paused for a moment. "But if you ask nicely, I might let you go ahead and take a piece of bacon!"

    Sweet eyed the plate, dumbfounded.

    Casey repeated Sweet's question. "Ma'am, where did all this stuff come from?"

    "Oh these? My crew moved it for me, of course! Do you think little old me could move all this by myself?"

    "Well no—I don't know, actually. Where is your crew? We haven't seen anyone else besides our men outside, and the hotel staff." Casey looked around the hotel again, noticing something. "Where's the staff?"

    "Oh, I sent them on a break." Alabama dismissed the question as she refocused on her cooking.

    "Right. And your crew?"

    "Oh don't worry about them, Sugar. They don't like to be seen too often. I don't think they're used to you yet."

    "Used to us. Right. Fine. Well, are you ready for everyone?"

    "Send 'em on in! Get it while it's hot!"

    -

    Two hours later, Alabama was helping the hotel staff wash the dishes and clean up. Satisfied soldiers with full stomachs walked out of the hotel lobby to start their daily duties.

    "Well, the lady can cook." Sweet relaxed into his camping chair in his tent.

    "I'll say." Casey chewed on an apple and leaned against a table.

    "So, what else is on the day's agenda? BBQ for lunch? Fish fry for supper?"

    "Hah! If only. We gotta get Alabama ready for her first press conference."

    Sweet grimaced. "What a pain in the ass."

    "Preachin' to the choir, my friend. They want to be ready to go by this evening."

    Sweet leaned forward to massage his temples. "Not a whole hell'ov a lot of time. Where are we doing this?"

    "Dunno yet. I need to go talk to Miss Movie Star and see what she wants to do." Casey bit off the last chunk of his apple.

    "Do I want to do what, now?"

    Both men hoped up. Neither of them had heard her walk up.

    "An interview? I'm gonna be on TV?"

    "Alabama, we—"

    "I'M GONNA BE ON TV AGAIN!"

    "God help us." Sweet shook his head.

    "Oh god oh GAWD we have so much to do! Goodness I'm nowhere near bein' presentable for a camera." Alabama ran back out of the tent before either man could stop her.

    Casey caught himself trying to give chase, giving up and plopping down in his own camping chair. "Goddammit."

    "Hah! Sucks to be you." Sweet laughed at his friend's plight.
    _

    The sun rose high in the sky as the hours went by. Alabama was a blur of motion in the summer heat, running to and fro, making sure everything was cleaned and organized to her liking. Soldiers mowed the grass and trimmed the bushes through the park. She had men clean all the memorials and wash the vehicle exhibits till they looked new again. Men with broom cleared dirt and trash from the parking lot, while others mopped inside the museum entrance. Every nook and cranny had to be spotless, or Alabama made them do it again.

    "She's just like my fucking Grandma." Russels showered down an M4 Sherman with a hose. "Ain't she getting her interview in the hotel or somethin'? Why do we have to clean all this shit? This is dumb."

    "Hey, you wanna present her with your complaints, be my guest." Brocheque dipped his brush into his bucket of soapy water. He had spent hours trying to clear cobwebs from the tank's suspension. "She might be pretty, but I'll be damned if I'm the one to piss her off."

    "You think she'd get pissed? She's always so happy. I mean, since we've met 'er, have you seen her with anything but a smile plastered on her face?"

    "Well, no. But she's still a ship, right? Hell, everyone's seen what those Jap girls can do. Remember last year when one smashed a bus?"

    Russels mulled over the memory as he lamely waved the hose around. "… Fair enough. Think this one is good for now?"

    Both men stepped back to admire their work.

    "Oh it looks WONDERFUL!"

    "FFFFWWAAAH!" Russels reacted on pure reflex. Diving and twisting, he aimed his only weapon, his hose, at the new threat.

    A jet of water soaked their assailant in the seconds it took for Russels to hit the ground. Brocheque's startled expression turned to amusement as he watched Russels overreact.

    Russels realized his mistake and quickly pinched off the hose. Alabama stood in front of them, drenched and sputtering. Her soaked bangs covered her eyes, and the cotton t-shirt she wore clung to her skin.

    "Um, Hi Miss Alabama." Russles turned the hose off and gently set it down.

    Alabama wiped her matted hair of her face. "Hello, Specialist Russels."

    "Are you ok, ma'am?" Brocheque peeked from under his covered arms.

    Alabama giggled. "Never better, sergeant~" Her laugh carried different tone than her normal cherry trill. Alabama took a slow, purposeful step towards the two cowering soldiers, her smile unwavering. "I do believe you've gone and missed a spot, though."

    Brocheque and Russels shared a worried glance. "Where would that be, ma'am?"

    She pulled a larger hose from behind her back, a high pressure firefighting hose. "Right here."

    The jet of water drowned out their screams.

    -

    People crowded the caution tapes and guards that surrounded the park. MP's and local police patrolled the line, keeping anyone from entering. News had spread fast of the celebrity inside, and everyone wanted a glimpse. Local news reporters babbled in front of their cameramen, looking for a preview shot of the returnee ship.

    Casey paced back and forth in his Dress Whites. The sun was setting, but the residual Southern heat made the already uncomfortable suit that much more unbearable. He checked his watch for the twelfth time and looked back to Alabama's room. Clattering and banging came from the other side of the door; she had spent the last hour fretting about what she would wear. He swore he could hear voices as well: tiny, high pitched voices just barely audible through the hotel's walls. He looked back at his watch again. Eighteen fourty-four. Broadcasting was supposed to start in sixteen minutes.

    "Dammit." Casey sighed and walked to Alabama's room door. "Alabama, ma'am, we need you out here."

    He heard rustling on the other side of the door.

    "Ma'am you're going to have to pick something and come out."

    More rustling.

    "Oh for the love of. Ma'am, I'm coming in." He slowly turned the handle. "Please at least be decent. Male on the floor."

    Casey walked into the room full of clothing, carefully stepping over an expensive-looking pair of high heels. Clothes littered the room: skirts, dresses, and blouses of all different styles and colors. But there was no sign of Alabama.

    "… Where the hell did she even get all of this stuff?"

    An open foot locker sat at the end of her bed, what looked like a Navy dress uniform hanging over the side. A uniform that seemed to be moving around as he glanced over it.

    Casey did a double take. The clothing stood still.

    "What?" He rubbed his eyes and looked again. The jacket popped up, as if someone—something—was trying to throw it. A small step toward the box seemed to spook whatever was shuffling the clothes around.

    "Rats." He spoke, as if to convince himself of the fact. He took another step towards the trunk.

    "Alabama, I think you have a rat problem in here." He bent over to pick up the outfit. "You really need to clean this thing out."

    Moving the jacket revealed two tiny, irate faces staring up at him, two human shaped creations shaking their tiny fists angrily at him. Casey's mouth opened, and then closed. He slowly lowered clothing back over the two hallucinations. There was no way anything like that could exist.

    "Naw."

    Sure, warships were coming back as little girls and young women, but tiny people? No. This would not be a thing. He immediately turned around, only to see two more of the creatures on the dresser, holding a pair of shoes. A tiny grunt floated through his ears. Then a shoe flew past his head.

    "What the FUCK." Casey covered his face with his hands. A second shoe bounced off his arms and landed at his feet. More clothes flew through air. Every article of clothing in the room seemed to come flying at him at once.

    "AAAAGH SHIT!" Casey dove to the floor, crawling to escape the bombardment. Something silky and white smacked him in the face. He clawed the cloth out of his eyes and held it up. Silky, white panties.

    "Casey?"

    He lowered the panties to see two white clad feet in the bathroom doorway. His eyes traveled up to see Alabama staring back down at him, in nothing but her white underwear and stockings.

    "Um, hi." A skirt smacked him in the head.

    "What are you doing?"

    "I was looking for you. We're waiting on you." A lacy black thong snapped passed his head like a rubber-band.

    "Well I obviously can't go out looking like this, can I?" She stepped past him into the living area. His gaze traveled to her swaying hips as she walked towards the bed.

    "Well, I'm-no, but you need to hurry and get dresse—" a blouse to his face cut him off.

    "But what will I *wear*?" Exasperation oozed from her question. "I can't just go out in any plain outfit for the camera, you know?"

    She bent over her trunk and pulled out more clothes. Another shoe to the chest brought Casey back to focus.

    "I'm sure you'll look great in anything, but we have ten minutes till we start broadcasting. Listen, these… people? Ok, whatever, they are kicking me out. Please, just be done in the next five minutes, ok?"

    "Oh fine, but if I look terrible it's going to be *your* fault." Alabama pouted as she pulled out another shirt.

    Casey dodged his way to the door. "I'm sure you'll look great, now please hurry." He pulled the door shut behind him as a Gideon's Bible smashed against the door frame.

    -

    "I thought you said she was deciding on something to wear?" Sweet stood at the back of the stage with Casey, while the cameras focused on Alabama.

    "Yeup," Casey replied flatly, crinkling a bottle of water in his hands.

    Sweet let out a small chuckle. "Hah! Rob, you know my wife, and I know some of the women you dated. You should not be surprised by this."

    "Oh shut it." Casey fumed into his water. Laughter from the stage redirected both men's attention. Alabama's smile flashed as she and the newscaster shared a laugh.

    "Looks like she's enjoying herself," Sweet noted.

    "Heh, when's she not? I think she takes to the camera better than she does to water."

    "I can't say I don't disagree. Damn woman's a charmer if I've ever seen one."

    Casey nodded. "I sure hope so. It's been two days and she's already got these boys looking up."

    "The free food helped, I think." Both men snickered quietly in the back of the room.

    -

    "Oh my stars that was so much FUN~" Alabama pranced away from the hotel lobby. "It felt so good being on camera again! How about we go celebrate?"

    Casey caught the door before it swung back into his face.

    "Celebrate? Alabama, it's been a busy day. How about we relax tonight? I hear some of the men are planning to have a barbecu—"

    "A barbecue? Oh wonderful! Oh, can we get some ribs? Oh! And how about some pork chops and some chicken and some hotdogs and hamburgers…" Alabama began counting off fingers.

    "Woah, woah, ma'am. They're gonna have plenty of food already. Consider this your unofficial welcome back party."

    Alabama's eyes grew wider and wider.

    "A party? For me? Y'all shouldn't have! Oooooooh!"

    Casey's eyes widened as well, from Alabama's crushing hug.

    "Oh thank you thank you thank you! Y'all have been nothin' but sweeter than sugar fer me since I've been back."

    "Hurraack!" Casey croaked, his back cracking under the strain. Alabama dropped him as quickly as she had grabbed him.

    "Come'on, let's hurry and get down there! I'm starving!" Alabama dragged Casey across the parking lot, back towards Battleship Park.

    -

    The buzz of the alarm matched the buzz in his head. Casey groaned and looked over at his clock: zero eight hundred. Too damn early for a Saturday. He smacked his lips; it tasted like cotton. He was starting to regret those Bud Lites last night. Swinging his feet over the side of the bed, he stood up, and promptly fell back on the mattress.

    "Yeeup. That's enough beer for a bit."

    The second attempt was more successful. The trip to the bathroom sink was treacherous, filled with trip hazards and a hangover-induced fog.

    Casey groggily fought with the childproof lid on his bottle of Tylenol. "Hello, little friends, it's so good to see you again." Casey groggily fought with the childproof lid on his bottle of Tylenol. Filling a plastic cup up, he tossed his head back and downed a few of the pills. Something caught his eye as swallowed: a red mark on his cheek.

    "Lipstick?" He lightly touched the side of his face. "Oh, yeah. Heh." The fuzzy memory of the beautiful blonde battleship giving him a kiss goodnight resurfaced. He grinned. "Hell, I guess it ain't so bad. Let's get to it."

    A short time later, Casey stood in front of the mirror adjusting his tie, feeling much better. He grabbed the pot from the small coffee maker, heading to tiny work desk. Firing up his laptop, he logged in to catch up on his emails. One in particular caught his eye.

    "What do we have here?"

    Casey opened the link, his eyes scanning back and forth.

    "Well."

    He silently closed the laptop up.

    "Shit."

    Lieutenant Casey's eye's scanned the email from the Commander of the 4th Fleet. His blood ran colder the longer he read.

    "Well."

    His hand closed the laptop lid with a muted click.

    "Shit."

    He glanced out the window and out across the open bay. It was eerily empty now that Alabama's hull was missing. He hopped to his feet and threw on a clean set of khakis. He needed to see her right away.
    _

    Alabama was nowhere to be found in the Hotel. Searching around the troop tents proved to be just as useless. After a fruitless walk through the aircraft pavilion, Casey changed course and headed for Sweet. He finally met the large man walking out of the Army command tent, with Russels hot on his heels with a stack of papers.

    "Sweet! Have you seen Alabama anywhere?" He gestured over to a very annoyed looking Russels. "And what's Tweedle Dee doing here? Ya fire Joseph?"

    Sweet nodded back towards Russels. "I got this joker, and his other half working for me today." As if summoned, Brocheque hopped out of the tent, smashing into his friend, and sending papers flying all over the place.

    Casey covered his mouth to keep from laughing. "Looks like you got yourself in good hands, bud."

    Sweet shot Casey a glare that could melt steel. "What do you want, Casey."

    "Calm down, calm down, geeze. Have you seen Alabama anywhere?"

    "Yeah, she insisted she needed to make a supply run, so I sent Joseph to escort her."

    Casey's amusement turned to dread in a second. "What?"

    "She said she wanted to update her wardrobe, and pick up a few other things." Russels piped up from the ground, as he swiped a piece of paper from Brocheque.

    "Yeah, we offered to go, but I don't think she's too happy with us right now." He tried to grab the paper back, but ended up tearing it half.

    "No one's happy with you idiots right now." Sweet snapped, before turning back to Casey. "But yeah, I sent someone who DOESN'T have his head up his ass, with her."
    _

    A fifteen minute car drive away, Alabama was having the time of her life. Stores and food stands of all types surrounded her. She chewed on a giant pretzel, dragging Joseph from store to store.

    "Oh my GAWD! There's so much to do and see! The future is so much fun~"

    Alabama pranced from window to window.

    "Oh! Joseph! What store is that? Let's go there next!"

    Joseph glimpsed from behind the growing stack of bags he carried.

    "Oh, um, that's f.y.e., Ma'am. They sell music and movies-"

    "Movies? You can buy them just like that?"

    "Yeah, the TV's in the hotel can play the-"

    "Then what are we waiting for? Come on Shug."

    Joseph slowly followed her in, pondering what he had done to anger Captain Sweet.

    "Film's sure have changed a lot since my last movie." The curious shipgirl roamed the isles, picking out any film that caught her eye and handing them off to Joseph. One in particular caught her eye.

    "Oh! Look at this one." She picked up a case off the shelf. "It has Missouri in it! We absolutely MUST get this one."

    Joseph looked at the cover.

    "'Battleship'? If you say so."

    The bewildered cashier rung the purchase as Alabama chatted away at her.

    "Oh sugar, you hair color is lovely! And who does your nails? Your make-up is so well done!"

    The younger girl could barely reply to all the rapid questions.

    "I-I do it myself."

    "All Yourself? Hun, you oughta be a professional!"

    "Thank you?" She accepted the credit card from Joseph, who mumbled an apology.

    "You are quite welcome dear. OH! Let's get a picture together. Joseph, what you be a dear?"

    "I really need to get back to wor-HURK."

    Alabama cut her off with a hug, squeezing their cheeks together.

    "I'm so sorry for this." Joseph apologized before snapping a picture with a small camera Alabama had bought earlier.

    They left the confused girl with an autograph, and moved to the next store.

    "Bama Fever? What's that place?" Alabama looked inquisitively into the shop. Crimson and white decorated the entire store. She eye's scanned to the other side of the shop. "And Tiger Pride?"

    Joseph wiped some sweat from his forehead after setting down his charges purchases. "It's a fan store for the University of Alabama and Auburn University. Mostly for the football teams."

    "Well I'll be. College football has come a long way, huh?"

    "Down here at least. I don't think can really live here without choosing either team."

    Alabama giggled at his answer. "So which team do you root for, hmm?"

    Joseph shruggd. "I can't say I keep up with it. It's all anyone talks about, no matter where I go. Even at home, my parents fight about it."

    "Oh my heavens!" Alabama brought a hand to her mouth. "That's terrible!"

    "Oh no, no. It's not that bad. They just have to watch different TV's during game day is all."

    "More than one TV? I reckon people these days just got too much free time."

    "Heh, maybe so. You wanna take a look?"

    "Well, I suppose that's alright!"

    Thirty minutes later, Alabama walked triumphantly out of the store. Her usual outfit was replaced by a cut-off Jersey and denim shorts, while white socks replaced her usual stockings.

    "New clothes are so refreshing. Whatcha think Joseph?" She twirled on the balls of her sneakers, giving the young man a full view.

    Joseph swallowed and looked down. His mouth felt suddenly very dry, and his face very hot "It. It looks good."

    Alabama's smile turned into a sly grin. "What's wrong, hmm? Ya never told a girl she looks cute before?" She slid up to him to look him in the eyes.

    She giggled as he jumped and made himself busy picking up all her purchases.

    "O-of course I have."

    "Oh? And who was the lucky girl?" Alabama grabbed some of the bags and latched onto his free arm.

    Joseph mumbled quietly. Alabama pulled him close, her lips brushing his ear.

    "You'll have to speak up Sugar, my ears ain't so great after firing those giant cannon's all my life."

    Joseph squeaked. "My sister."

    Alabama laughed, pulling him closer into her side. "You are just too sweet! I just wanna eat ya up." She pecked a kiss on his cheek and rested her head on his arm.

    "How old is your sister?"

    "She's 13 now." Joseph was painfully of aware of all the looks they were getting.

    "And hold are you?"

    "I turn 20 next month. Ma'am people are staring."

    "Well, let 'em stare Hun, there ain't nuthin' wrong with a handsome young soldier on a date with a cute girl."

    Joseph tensed at the word "date". Alabama giggled again, before another shop caught her attention.

    "Oh! Let's go here next." Alabama pointed excitedly in the direction she wanted to go.

    His stomach dropped as he followed her finger to the windows filled with manikins dressed in frilly negligee.

    "Victoria's Secret?"

    "Secret? It can't be a secret if they got it on display like that. Come on let's go in!"

    "I think I'll wait out here, Ma'am." he tried to pry his arm from her grip, panicking as it turned to steel.

    "Oh no no no. Yer comin' with me. There's no need to be shy now."

    His boots left skid marks on the tile floor as she drug him through the doors.

    "How else am I gonna decide what looks good, hmmm?"

    For the thirtieth time that day, Joseph questioned his choices leading to this moment.
    _

    "How about this one?" Alabama opened the door to the dressing room, for Joseph sitting on the bench. He was concentrating intently on a spot on his boot.

    "It uh, it looks great, Ma'am."

    "Joseeph~" She purred. "Look up."

    He let himself glance up, and his eyes nearly bugged out of his head. Alabama stood in front on him in
    a bright red babydoll top, and white silk stockings.

    "Well?"

    Joseph sat speechless, not moving.
    "I'll take that as a yes." She giggled and grabbed another set. "This is so much fun, isn't it?"

    Joseph didn't say a word, following her movements as she stepped back into the small dressing room.
    _

    Joseph couldn't see where he was going from all the baggage. He let Alabama guide him as he walked in a daze through the crowded mall.

    "Now where should we go, hmm? You choose this time."

    Alabama smiled up at Joseph.

    "Huh? What?" He jerked back into focus.

    "Oh, Sugar." She grinned. "What store do you want to visit?"

    "I think we-" His phone going off interrupted him. "Uh, just a second."

    He fumbled with the phone and packages, trying not to drop either, before Alabama snatched the device from his hand.

    "Allow me, Shug."

    She swiped the green bar on the screen and put the phone to her ear.

    "Hello! Joseph can't answer right now."

    Her cheery tone was lost on whoever was on the other side, Joseph noticed from the muffled yelling coming through the speaker. Alabama merely smiled and nodded as the voice continued.

    "Mhm. Yes. Alrighty! We'll be back soon!" She pressed the end call button. "Looks like we'll have to finish our lil' outing some other time Darlin'. Captain Sweet wants us to hurry back quick, fast, and inna hurry." She grabbed most of the bags from Joseph, and took off running down the hallway. A heartbeat later, he ran after her, confused onlookers watching them both run out.
    _

    Fifteen minutes later, Alabama burst through the command tent, sending Brocheque and the food he was carrying into the tent wall.

    "Casey, Sweet, what's going on?" She found the two looking at Casey's laptop.

    "Come over here Alabama, you need to see this. He moved his chair over to give her room, but his face never left the monitor.

    "Is there something wrong? What's that?" She pointed at a spinning black mass of clouds near the coast of Peru. Something deep within her told her she knew the answer.

    "We believe the Abyssals are using that cloud as cover." Casey's voice was calm and even. Alabama felt "There have already been reports of raids along the coast line, and they are moving north." He peeled his eyes away from the monitor, and looked into Alabama's.

    "Our Intel is confident they are making their way to the Panama Canal. We have forces moving to intercept, but 4th Fleet wants you down there as well."

    "Me?" Alabama fidgeted with her watch. "Just by myself? No escort?"

    "You'll have escort, yes. Part the group joining you will be the USS Chafee and the USS McFaul. USS Montgomery will follow you for the first leg as well. She's currently stationed of the entrance to the bay."

    "That weird looking girl?"

    "uh... Sure. Why not. How soon can you be ready to leave?"

    Alabama took a deep breath. "I can get underway now." She spun around and left swiftly through the tent flaps.

    "She seem different to you?" Sweet asked Casey. They both rose and hurried after the rushed ship-girl. "I figured she'd be more, I dunno, giddy to get at it."

    "Dunno. It's gonna be her first fight in decades. Probably nerves."

    Alabama led to the two officers to the edge of the wooden peer that stretched from the park. A glowing aurora surrounded her as she neared the end. With a small hop, she fell towards the murky water. Casey and Sweet threw their hands up to block their faces from the geyser of water from her impact. Water rained down, plastering their uniforms to their skin.

    "Oh goddammit. I just had these cleaned." Sweet sputtered and shook his arms angrily. Casey peeled a chunk of seaweed off his head.

    He wiped sea water from his eyes to see Alabama floating in front of them. She was back in her black dress, her sea fit-out surrounding her form. She rotated each turret, elevating and lowering the huge 16 inch cannons in their mounts.

    "Are you alright, Alabama?"

    "Just give the word, Casey. I'm ready to sortie out."

    He nodded. "Alright then. Head out to the bay entrance. I'll radio you more details on the way."

    "Sure thing, Shug. I'm headin' out." black smoke began to pour from her stack, and the bronze propellers on her boots started to spin. Slowly, she made her way to the bay entrance.

    "Yep, she's nervous." Casey turned to his comrade, who continued to watch the shipgirl head out.

    "I'm inclined to agree. Let's head back and get set up." He wrung water from his shirt, and turned back to the command tent. There was much to do, and not much time to make it happen.
    _

    A little later, Casey was following Alabama on camera in the tent. Other monitors had been set up, with feed and from drones, satellites, and observation planes. Video was already coming in, showing Alabama as she steamed out of the bay. The camera showed her waving to the USS Montgomery as she passed. Not long after, the two Destroyers Chafee and McFaul fell in with them.

    "Off they go." Sweet leaned back in his chair and took a sip from his Coke. His eyes cut to Casey, who was still glued to the screen. "Guy, are you gonna be alright?"

    "Huh? What, yeah. I'm fine." Casey jerked back from the screen. He tried to make himself look busy with another monitor.

    "With all due respect Sir, I think you got it bad." Russels piped up from behind a monitor, a bundle of cords in his hand.

    Casey shot a look at Russels, who didn't seem to notice, and continued on.

    "If ya need any advice, Sir, just let me know. I can learn ya what ya need to know about picking up the ladies."

    "Shut it, dumb ass. You haven't gotten laid since we've been here, and you're gonna try and brag?" Brocheque piped from under the next desk over, working on his own set of wires.

    "And yet I've still gotten more numbers then you." He grunted and yanked on the cables. The action jostled the desk next to him, sending the monitor standing on it crashing onto Brocheques' head.

    "GATDAMSONOVABITCH!"

    Sweet jumped from his seat his can of Coke crushed in his angry grip. "OK you dumb-asses, I've had enough of your stupidity. Get your asses out of my fucking tent." His rage was as thick as the lump forming on Broceques head. Both men bolted out the entrance. Sweet fumed and grumbled, following them out of the tent.

    "Jackasses." Casey muttered, and turned back to his monitor. Alabama had taken up in the center of the small fleet, as the other ships formed a triangle around her. He pulled on his head set, and adjusted his mike.

    "Casey, to Alabama. Casey, to Alabama. How do you copy?"

    On screen, Alabama looked around for a moment, confused.

    "Casey to Alabama, am I coming through?"

    Realization spread over her face, and he saw her mouth start moving.

    "I hear ya loud an' clear Lieutenant."

    "Fantastic. Ok, Alabama listen up. We need you at Balboa ASAP, so that means at your best speed. Montgomery doesn't have the endurance to make to keep, so she'll be breaking off."

    "She can't keep up? Can't I give her a little boost?"

    "She's diesel. So are Chafee and McFaul."

    "Gracious! Well this is a problem. And where are their guns? They can't just have those little pop guns can they? And they look so small! Where's their armor? They should have some meat on their bones for their size!" Alabama looked around at the ships around her.

    "Warfare has changed a lot, even since you were put in reserve. They carry a lot more firepower than they look."

    "Dear oh dear I'd hope so! These girls look downright scrawny. Monty looks like a skeleton over there."

    "Ma'am, what are you talking about?" Casey watched her gesture to the LCS.

    "You don't see 'em?" Alabama asked. She looked rather exasperated as she gestured to the other ships.

    "Alabama please, we have to focus here. We're still not even sure what we're going up against." Casey sighed.

    "Hmph. Well exsuuuse me for caring for these girls well-being." Alabama pouted and crossed her arms over her chest. "What *have* we heard?"

    "What we do know is that there is heavy caliber gunfire hitting small villages and port up the coasts of Chile and Peru. A small condensed storm front is crawling up the coast, concealing any satellite pictures."

    "Like that rude picture they took of me?"

    "Yes. The same kind."

    "Hmph! Serves those cameras right. Taking a girls picture without permission."

    Casey ignored her, and continued. "After you link with the rest of the force at Bolivia, our instructions are to intercept and destroy any Abyssal we come into contact with. I'll keep in contact with you from here. We'll have surveillance on your group at all times as well." Casey paused for a second, then continued. "Don't worry too much, Alabama. You'll do fine."

    Casey saw her nod over the video feed.
    _
    Alabama remained silent for a majority of the voyage. Her boilers were running hot to keep her going at twenty-seven knots, but speed was vital. Her thoughts kept going back to the past. Visions of planes filling the sky, and the flak from her and other ships anti air artillery filling the sky. The memory drifted to an earlier time, selling through the North Atlantic searching for an enemy that refused to reveal itself. She remembered bombing beaches and shelling towns. She frowned, remembering passing by Taffy 3. She and the other capitol ships had been sent after Japanese carriers reported in the area. She had tried to steam back as fast as she could, after news of the smaller fleets plight spread through the fleet. By the time she had made it back, however, the enemy had already retreated. Alabama swallowed the lump building in her throat. She would not be late this time. She would meet these Abyssals, and make them sorry they'd ever shown their selves to the light of day. Determination filled her, and she pushed her boilers a little farther, trying to ease out a few more knots. She'd show them what Lucky A could do.
    _

    In the port city of Tumaco bustled with activity. Word of Abyssal attacks traveling up the coast was spreading fast, and anyone who could was trying to reach safer grounds. Destroyers and frigates patrolled the perimeter set up around the city, every eye, machine and man, looking towards the Southern horizon. Dark clouds were forming in the distance, and these days, that usually meant one thing. The terrors from oceans deepest secret was quickly heading their way.


    The captain of the Almirante Padilla was worried. Captain Miguel's force consisted of three frigates, a corvette, and a handful of submarines. If the Abyssal force heading his way was as large and as powerful as the reports were saying, his small fleet would only be a speed bump in their path. The other nations in the region were scrambling anything they could to help, but any real hope was dim.

    His weathered eyes scanned the clouds in the distance. He wouldn't-no he couldn't let the Abyssals keep moving up the coast. No one could say positively, but the intended target seemed to be Panama, and if that fell, life would get that much harder for both North and South America.

    "Sir, we finally have hard contacts in range."

    The captain glanced towards the young sailor who had spoken.

    "Then lets give them our welcome."

    Missiles spewed from the frigates, and streaked over the horizon towards the coming Abyssals.
    _

    The passage through the canal was mostly uneventful, much to Alabama's chagrin.

    "They could have at least cheered me on." Alabama pouted. She pushed a few stands of hair from her face as the sea breeze blew past.

    Casey sighed into the radio. "Ma'am, this is exactly the time or place to worry about that. You are almost at your destination. Please, PLEASE, focus."

    "Hmph. Well fine." Alabama puffed her cheeks and whispered to herself. "At least some flowers would have been nice."

    Casey continued over the channel.

    "We lost contact with the ships that made the intial contact. The storm is playing serious interference with communications. There isn't much hope, but keep an eye out for them too."

    Alabama nodded.
    "I hope they're givin' it to 'em."
    _

    Miguel cursed as his ship burned around him. The 76mm cannon pounded at a dark silhouette in the distance, even as the fire engulfed the bow. The oceans burned around him, and his other ships. Another explosion rocked the frigate, throwing him to his feet.

    "Dammit! Juan, have you been able to get anything on the radio?"

    "N-no sir! Only static. Sir we need to get out of here!"

    "And if we leave then the path is wide open for these bitches to get through. No. We fight."

    Juan whimpered, before crackling from the radio caught his attention.

    "Sir, something is coming through. It's. Give me a moment sir."

    Juan adjusted the radio, till the sound came through clearer.

    "Any ...orces in the are... This is USS ...A ...an you read me?"

    "Sir, it's the American's! They've arrived!"

    "What? Tell them we're here!"

    "Yes sir."

    Juan made himself busy, speaking rapidly into the radio microphone.

    Captain Miquel looked across the stormy ocean. Something in the distance stood out among the fires and explosions. He brought up his binoculars, and focused in on the object.

    His blood ran cold. "Dios Mio."

    A figure, no a woman, clad in orange and steel stood on the waters surface. Four massive turrets surrounded her. They rotated as one, and fire belched from the muzzles. Many seconds later, the thunder from the cannons reverberated across the waves. The dark silhouette his ship was firing on disappeared in fiery blast.

    "Looks like you boys need some help." The mystery ship's voice flowed through the speakers. "Let's smack these bastards down!"

    Captain Miguel's fist slammed on to the console.

    "It's about damn time the Yankee's got here! Juan, get anyone you can on the radio. We need to give that ship as much support as we can."

    Thunder from the distant ships guns punctuated his sentence.

    45062137 -
    >>45062017
    Terminal Lance #350
    "For the thirtenth time that day, Joseph questioned his choices leading to this moment."
    Yup, that's what I thought of. All credit to Maximillian Uriarte.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...

    Alabama gazed at the storm on the horizon. She could 'see' the battle in the distance; her radar picking up dozens of contacts was just as valuable as if she was seeing them with her eyes. Bursts of static filled cries for help flowed through her communication array. Both her and her accompanying escorts at tried, in vain to contact them back.

    "They can't hear us, Casey." Alabama's worried voice floated through Casey's headset.

    "Something about that storm could be playing interference. We're starting to get interference on our end the closer you get." Casey paused for several seconds.

    "From the few images that have come in, we've made out what appears to be a mix of battleships, and cruisers. We're still trying to identify them, and there's more unaccounted for, so be prepared for the worst."

    Alabama swallowed down the lump forming in her throat.

    "Are we gonna be enough to fight 'em back?"

    "We're hoping for more help from Brazil and Mexico, but it won't be much. Air assets are already doing what they can as well. It's something, at least."

    Alabama struggled to catch Casey's words. The storm's interference was intensifying ever second.

    "Casey, you're breaking up."

    "Ju… be car.. ...ama."

    "We've lost contact, Ma'am." The voice of the USS Chafee's commander chimed through her radio.

    "Understood. I gotta feelin' we're gonna have the same problem too, so y'all try to stay on me, ya hear?"

    Receiving the affirmative from both ships, she focused her attention back on the contacts ahead of her. Her fire plotting rooms were working in high gear to get good coordinates on any targets of opportunity. Her gun crews readied her sixteen inch shells. It had been a long, long time since the world had heard their roar.
    _

    Nevada was angry. Her cannons spat another salvo. She was angry about the storm. The shells straddled an Abyssal cruiser 20,000 yards away.

    "DAMMIT!"

    She was angry that it had taken so long for her to catch up to these creepy bastards. The next set of rounds were rammed into place, her crews working quickly to get as much steel down range as possible. These screamed into their target true, turning the former Abysall into a pile of scrap.

    She was mad they there were shooting at her, as six and eight inch shells fell around her. Their aim was getting better.

    She was mad that orange paint covered every inch of her. It made her stand out like an orange in a pail of grapes. She curses and hit her rudder hard, dodging a trio of incoming torpedoes. She curses as the torpedoes threw of her targeting.

    "Quit fucking with me, Goddammit! Just stay still and die!"

    Her five inch secondaries turrets tracked the small craft that had launched the fish. A rapid salvo of HE crushed the foe into fiery splinters. To her irritation, several more contacts appeared on her radar, replacing the two she had just sent back to the deep.

    "Jesus H. Christ, why won't you bastards fuck off." Nevada's growl matched the growl of her turrets spinning.

    From the corner of her eye, she saw a missile launch from the one of the Colombian frigates. The projectile streaked towards a larger Abyssal craft, exploding against it's forecastle.

    "That's the stuff right there!"

    Nevada punched her fist in the air, as secondary explosions pulsed through the Abyssal wreck.

    "Now there's only a few dozen more to go!"

    The giant turrets slowly tracked her next target. Her firing computers calculated the targets heading, and sent it to her crews. The shells slammed home into the breeches, followed by the powder. The breech doors closed, and with a few more minute adjustments, she sent the fourteen inch projectiles screaming over the horizon. The opposing vessel sent her reply, straddling Nevada. The vibrations from the rounds rattled her hull, and caused her to shiver. Too close, any closer and they could crack her hull open. Adjusting fire, she willed the next salvo to hit it's mark. Flashes of fire from impacts sparked on the horizon. The adversary ship's return fire became more erratic Nevada's shells took their tool. Nevada fired her guns as fast as her crews could load them. She alternated her fire from turret to turret, not letting her opponent have an opportunity to breath.

    "Dance, you bitch."

    Nevada growled as the ship soaked another hit. Finally the Abyssal tried to break off, the damage inflicted too much to handle.

    "Not today, sucker."

    A final blast sent the vessel back into the abyss.

    "Ah HAH! And another one!" Nevada punched her fist in triumph.

    "Fellas I think we might just take this one all the wa-OOF!"

    A twelve inch shell to her armor belt cut off her cheer. Nevada lurched over, the huge shell failing to explode. The force of the impact, however, was enough to send her into a coughing fit. Another salvo smashed into her side, sending her reeling. The smaller armor piercing shells hit mostly harmlessly, against her armor belt, while a handful reek havoc on her upper decks.

    Crews run too and fro, fighting fires and bypassing electrical circuits. Nevada grimaced. The damage wasn't critical, but it was annoying, and throwing her off balance. She hit her rudder hard, trying to throw off their aim. Gushers of water flew high, as more shells straddled her. Things were starting to get dicey. Movement to her port side caught her eye. A small ship, a torpedo boat by the looks of it, was making a run towards her.

    "Not today, guy. Her hand shot to her side. In a blur of gray gun metal, she flipped up her single action army, five inch shells loaded and ready to go. With practiced grace, she fanned the hammer, unleashed six shots rapidly at the reckless ship. Four of the shells found their target, shredding the lightly armored vessel. It slowed, quickly sinking beneath the waves. The cursed ship's eyes pierced Nevada's as she slowly slipped beneath the waves.

    Nevada shivered.

    "Creepy bastards."

    She muttered, reloading her revolver. The trapdoor clapped shut, when another salvo soaked her decks with near misses.

    "Holy hell! What was that?"
    _

    Alabama frowned. Her gunnery was a little out of practice. Her computers made adjustments, but the target was moving again, a small blip on her radar. Shells thumped home into gun's breeches, and her crews readied another shot. Adjustments were sent to her turrets, and the barrels shifted ever so slightly. Her cannons sounded off just as a pair of incoming shells bracketed her. Alabama flinched as water slammed against her. She wiped water from her eyes, just as another shot struck her amid-ships.

    The explosion boomed over the water. Alabama shuddered from the impact, and alarms began to sound through her decks. The fire ball consumed a swathe of her teak decking, and blew away several of her 20mm Oerikon mounts. Her fire teams quickly began their work to keep the flames from spreading.

    "Aw Hell!"

    Alabama cursed and patted the flames outs from her clothes. Thankfully the rain was also helping to keep it under control.

    "Y'all sonsabitches are gonna get it now."

    Alabama growled and readied another salvo. A warning from her crews interrupted her shot. Torpedoes had been spotted off her port side. She cursed as she maneuvered to evade. She was paying to much attention to the one target. Her spotters quickly sighted the offending ship. A small torpedo boat was attempting to steam away. It wouldn't get far. Alabama's five inch cannons barked, quickly shredding the fleeing ship.

    The sinking vessels let out an otherworldly screech as it sank beneath the waves. Alabama shivered, goose bumps forming on her skin. She rubbed her arms and searched for a new target. The Large Ship she was initially tracking had disappeared back into the interference of the storm. Alabama was sure the ship would present itself again soon.

    Small flashes on the horizon caught her attention. Immediately, she kicked her rudder to port, and turned to dodge the incoming shells. Huge columns of water shot into the air from where she was moments before. Her turrets tracked the aggressors as she maneuvered to avoid anymore incoming fire. She waited for another flash, then fired her answer. For several seconds it seemed as if nothing had happened. She readied another salvo, then jumped when a fire ball lit of the horizon. It appeared that a magazine had gone off.

    The number of shells coming in dropped dramatically, a few smaller impacting against her thick armor belt, but causing little damage. This group of ships had lost it's drive to keep charging her. Alabama's screws churned the water, making ready to give chase, but the sight of a frigate in the distance stopped her.

    Could that be the friendly ships she was supposed to be linking up with? The Colombian flag flying from the mast quickly answered her question.

    "USS Alabama to unidentified ship, can you read me. Over."

    Alabama tried hailing the ship a number of times, willing the signal to pierce through the interference.

    "...bama. This is the Almirante ...dilla. We read… over."

    She shook her head. The heavily accented English was not making it any easier. Well, it was something, at least. It gave her hope that the local navy still had some fight in them.

    More shell impacts interrupted their attempts at communication.

    "Y'all com'on, let's shut these sapknockers up!"

    Alabama called to the Almirante Padilla, and scanned the oceans. She was getting tired of these harsh seas.
    _

    Nevada loaded six more five inch shells into her revolver, and watched as another small craft sank beneath the choppy waves. It's unearthly screeches were like nails on a chalk board. She spat, disgusted at the machine-beast.

    "Where do you ugly sons-a-bitches keep coming from?"

    She scowled at nothing in particular on the horizon. Wreckage from the battle surrounded her; oil, fuel, pieces of the wrecked ships defending the seas, and bodies floated on the waters surface. The storm was still blowing strong, meaning from her experience chasing these bastards, there had to still be a Big Boss somewhere hidden in the storm. The eye of the storm was probably the best bet.

    Nevada adjusted her heading, making best speed for the storms center, and whatever awaited her.
    __


    Captain Miguel could not believe his fortune. TWO of the American ship-girls showed up. And both of them were battleships at that. With such firepower, there was not way they couldn't drive away these demons of the sea.

    "Captain, she's asking where the rest of the fleet is. And how combat effective we are."

    Miguel looked out the window at the crashing waves.

    "Tell her that we're all that's left, as far we can tell. Anyone who is left is lost in the storm. Our missile cells are dry, and our cannon only has few dozen shells left."

    The ensign somberly passed the news to the American ship, then after a few seconds, began to furiously scribble something down on his notepad.

    "Well, what did she say?"

    "She gave us coordinates for the other U.S. ships in the area. She insists we rendezvous with them as soon as possible."

    Captain Miguel nodded.

    "And we will abide by her request. Make best speed to the provided coordinates, and let's try to catch up to our American companions."

    The crew sounded their acknowledgments, steering the battered vessel through the choppy waves.
    __

    Alabama's eyes darted left and right. No more enemy fire had come in since she had met the Colombian ship, but that didn't mean the Abyssal's weren't waiting for her. Her radar was picking up erratic signals a few dozen nautical miles west of her location. She pushed her speed to her full 27 knots, straining to get there as soon as possible.

    The ocean was fighting against her just as hard as the Abyssals. Waves crashed against her, trying to push her back. She pushed her hair out of her eyes as the wind whipped it about.

    "This damn storm is getting on my last nerve."

    Alabama grimaced as another wave broke against her, the spray flattening her flowing blonde hair.

    Shell's started to fall again, most exploding harmlessly in the ocean. She dodged to the left and right, following splashes, trying to keep moving.

    "Oooh! I'm gonna give these girls the whoopin' of their lives when I get my hands on them."

    Alabama fired in the general direction the attack was coming from, hoping she'd at least disrupt their fire. To her dismay, their fire only grew more accurate as she closed in.

    "Almost there."

    Alabama panted, trying to catch her breath. Her equipment was battered, and her clothes singed and tattered from the constant shelling.

    She could finally see the flashes from the guns again. Something to shoot at. She gritted her teeth, firing back at the flashes. More shells impacted against her hull, most exploding harmlessly against her belt. A few others shredded more of her super structure, sending anti air mounts and shrapnel flying.

    "Y'all are gonna pay for that!"

    She shouted over the wind and her cannons firing. She crested over a huge wave, crashing through the cloud cover on the other side.

    "What in th' Devil's name is this?"

    A large, lone ship sat in center of the eye. Alabama gasped at her appearance. The ship seemed to be some kind of dreadnought. It was old, even elegant, but something didn't add up. Chitinous tumors and growths covered the ship. Huge teeth surrounded her case mates, and the main cannons sticking out of giant mauls for turrets. The wet walls of the ship had a disgusting sheen too it. A slender, pale woman stood near the bow. She wore a black dress that looked like something from the early twentieth century. Her eyes glowed with a blue hue, but her iris's were pitch black, and Alabama could "feel" them peering into her soul.

    "Lord have mercy."

    Alabama breathed. Then steeled herself.

    "Stand down and surrender. You've caused enough trouble in these parts, Hun."

    A row of sharp, white teeth spread across the dreadnought's face in a hungry grin. Alabama realized her foe's cannons were already trained on her, and at this range, there was no way they would miss. Her own had only begun to rotate when cannon fire filled the air.

    The sides of Abyssal dreadnought exploded into flame and shrapnel as heavy shells impacted. Alabama started, looking for where the fire was coming from. About 200 meters to her left, another figure burst through the cloud cover. Alabama's jaw dropped. A woman, no another shipgirl, was firing round after round from her main cannons. And she was covered in orange paint. She held a revolver in her hand, fanning the hammer with the other, pounding the Abyssal ship.

    "Nevada, is that you?"

    Nevada loaded more rounds into her pistol.

    "No, dummy, I'm the Flying Dutchman. Quit with the chatter and start the shooting, dammit."

    Alabama nodded. Her own cannons joined Nevada's, shattering the Abyssal ship's hull. The Ship's Spirit screeched as her hull burned. The ugly black barrels barked back at the two American ship girls, striking where they had been only moments before. Nevada and Alabama circled around their enemy blasting holes into her armor. The dreadnought began to list as water flooded through the wounds inflicted by the fourteen and sixteen inch guns. The ship's spirit screeched as watered lapping up her deck. Cold water flooded into her lower decks, down her halls, finally reaching her boiler rooms. Fire burst through the ships deck, setting off more explosions. The Abyssal fell to her knees, screaming and clutching her chest.

    "Don't let up, Bama!"

    Nevada fired as fast her breeches slammed shut.

    The Abyssal directed one last screech at the two American battleships. A fireball exploded out of her chest, as an identical one exploded from her decks. The old battleship finally slipped beneath the waves.

    Alabama and Nevada stared at the wreckage, watching the bow sink into the deep. Almost immediately the winds died down, and radio communications began to flood in.

    Nevada clapped her hands together.

    "Well, that handles that bitc-OOF"

    "NEVADA! I'M SO GLAD T'SEE YOU AGAIN!"

    "Damm..it, Bam..ma. Can't. Breath."

    "Oh my gawd, it's been lonely with just me around."

    Alabama squeezed Nevada into her chest. Nevada tried to break away, her fists, pounding on Alabama's sides with no effect. One last squeeze.

    "BWUH! Dammit, Bama, ya almost killed me!"

    Alabama giggled.

    "Don't be silly, Shug! You look great! I gotta say, orange is a good color for ya."

    Nevada glared daggers at her comrade.

    Yeah, whatever, let's go. There's might be more of these bastards."

    The two battleships sailed back in the direction of their comrades, searching for any more signs of the Abyssals. A few pockets of the enemy fleet still remained, but it most had already fled when they realized they lost their flagship. Missile strikes from the Chafee and the McFaul helped make short work of the stragglers. More of the Colombian fleet was found, and the wounded were transferred to the American ships, or helicoptered to facilities on land.

    "Alabama, this is Casey, do you copy?"

    Alabama's radio crackled as Casey's voice finally flooded back through her speakers.

    "Casey! It's good to hear from you again! We're wrapping up everything here, and I found someone!"

    She wasn't sure, but Alabama thought she heard a sigh on the other side.

    "So I've heard. We'll brief Nevada in when you two get back."

    Alabama smiled cheerily.

    "We'll be back quick'r than a cat gettin' off a hot tin roof!"

    "Uh, what?"

    "I mean I'll be see'n y'all soon, Shug."

    Alabama closed the channel, humming happily to herself.

    "Friend of yours?"

    Nevada sailed to her side, the two ships forming up with the USS Chafee and USS McFaul. Alabama clapped her hands merrily and turned to Nevada.

    "Sure is! You'll meet him soon enough! You'll everyone back in Mobile. Everybody has been so friendly!"

    Nevada grunted.

    "Is that so. Well, I'm not going anywhere like this."

    Nevada tugged at her orange clothes, muttering.

    "Those jackasses couldn't have just left me a normal color."

    "Oh don't worry about that. When we get back, we'll get ya all fixed up!"

    Alabama threw her arm over Nevada's shoulder, hugging her cheek to cheek. Nevada let out a tired sigh.

    "Oh god, I can hardly wait."

    __

    "They on their way back?"

    Sweet sipped on his coffee, looking over Casey's shoulder.

    "Yep. And now we have another Hull coming back."

    "What."

    Casey took off his headset and rubbed his eyes.

    "You heard right. I'm prayin' she's not as..."

    He waved his headset in the air.

    "As eccentric as Alabama."

    "Judging from what I've heard about the other Hulls, I'm not holding my breath. Well, good luck with that, Navy."
    Sweet laughed, and turned to walk out the tent, only to nearly run headfirst into a woman trying to step inside.

    "Woah, hey, excuse me Miss, this is a restricted area!"

    "Pardon me, I'm looking for a Lieutenant Casey."

    The woman in the entrance replied. She seemed to wearing some odd variation of a Navy uniform, with her sandy blonde hair tied into a short pony tail. A pin shaped like a radar dish kept her bangs out of her eyes.

    The two men paused, and shared a look.

    "Uh, yeah, that would be me."

    Casey hooked his thumb at himself.

    The woman stepped into the tent.

    "Good afternoon, Lieutenant, I'm USS Massachusetts."

    She was answered with stares.

    "...I'm Alabama's sister."

    She spoke slowly, impatience betraying her tone.

    Sweet looked at his cup of coffee, then back at the women standing in front of him. He decided there was something wrong with the coffee.

    "Yo, Casey, you have fun with this. I'm out."

    Sweet excused himself, pushing passed the woman.

    Casey whimpered, and sank into his chair.

    "Oh Lord, why me?"

    USS Nevada, by Pixel-anon
    USS Massachusetts in her rigging, by ObershutzeWienman AKA Stacked-anon
    USS Massachusetts as a girl, by ObershutzeWienman AKA Stacked-anon
    Bubbly Bouncy 'Bama, by ObershutzeWienman AKA Stacked-anon

    46555650 -
    [...]
    >>46555603 (Bamalama)
    >Nevada by Pixel-anon.png
    OOOOOOH MANNNNN
    Look at that gunslinger yo.

    46555841 -
    >>46555603 (Bamalama)
    Woo Bama!
    Been way too fukkin long.

    46556040 -
    [...]
    >>46555603 (Bamalama)
    Leave it be 'Bama to be Big damn heroine.
    >>46555693 (Bamalama)
    >Massachusetts_in_rigging.png
    Definite a BB without a doubt. I wonder how Ari ended up with Sendai-class build.

    46556425 -
    >>46555603 (Bamalama)
    Good times, thanks!
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
     
    Last edited:
  • Threadmarks
    • Session #38 pt.1
  • Threadmarks

    • TWITTER: twitter.com/planefriend
    ARCHIVES: sup/tg/ - Archive


    A half-hour after trapping the Corgis in the USN Tortuga's well deck, you and your merry party are crammed into a pair of adjoining booths in Coco Ichibanya, demolished plates of curry before you. Hamp is cradling Ise in one arm, feeding her a steady trickle of Starbucks as the tears stream down her face - she borrowed Hate's punch-card to order something extra-spicy and doggedly finished the whole thing when Hyuuga recited a haiku about butterflies being patient in their cocoons or something. Kitakami is idly playing a game on her Vita. Arizona's sitting quietly with a styrofoam cup of green tea held in both hands before her, staring into its depths like she's meditating. Hate is tilting yet another plate of curry upwards as he just shovels it into his maw, water still dripping from his sodden uniform.

    "Hate?"

    "Mhurhrfm," he says, a single tear of joy trickling down his mug as he inhales the curry.

    "The fuck are you doing in ACUs?"

    The curry makes a visible bulge in his throat as he bolts it down, reminding you of a well-fed snake for a moment. "They were throwing out a whole shitload of 'em so I took them for shop rags, and stuff."

    "Took them, eh?"

    He shrugs. "I would've charged them for the service but the Army guys I got'em from were mechanics for Miserable Giggle Shits, so I took pity."

    "And that one wasn't cut up because..."

    "Right, so, you know how they blend in with couches-"

    "Everyone on earth has seen that .jpg, yes-"

    "Okay-" he holds up his hands to frame the issue. "Okay. *Indoor ghillie suit.*"

    You just kind of suck in your lips and lean back as you stare at him.

    "C'mon, it's brilliant."

    "Wouldn't holding a mop work better?"

    Hate snorts. "Passe. Push the limits. Evolve or die."


    "Who dares, wins?"

    "Exactly."

    "Realizing your full potential?"

    "Damn straight."

    "Being all you can be?"

    "Wow, fuck you."

    You tilt your head slightly in acknowledgment.

    "Are you sure the MP's can handle those mutts?" Hamp inquires, helping Ise up and handing her his coffee to continue suckling on.

    "They're trapped in the well deck," Hate replies, "so they can take all day to pussyfoot around and wrangle them with those snare-poles animal control uses."

    Hamp leans back and raises a dubious brow. "And those work?"

    "Yeah," Hate says, basking in the spicy afterglow of lunch. "Little dumbshits will just zoom in circles till they get tuckered out; even with their outfits on they're not much good once they splash."

    "How long will that take?"

    Hate shrugs and glances at his watch. "Going on forty-five minutes of zooming around to dodge the poles? Not much longer. They eat fuel fast."

    You nod. "They've got really short legs."

    Hate pans his cold, desolate gaze towards you like a CIWS turret tracking a crossing target. You give him a little smirk that says yes, I was saving that, you're welcome.

    "We didn't leave them hanging, did we? The crew?"


    You shrug. "I've got enough on my plate without an LSD Captain skinning me alive for-" you tick off on your fingers - "boarding his ship without permission, possibly inciting a riot in his mess and shutting down his well deck with five fugitive boatdogs. Star be damned, he has me dead to rights on all that."

    Hamp looks thoughtful, then shrugnods in agreement as he sips his Starbucks. "Point taken."

    Hate nudges you, then jerks his head towards the corner of the little curry joint. Packed into a booth are four classic delinquent types, all questionably-cut leather jackets and unconventional hairstyles - one of them has an actual, honest-to-god pompadour to put his eighties ancestors to shame. You're still staring at his hair as the quartet uncork from their booth and saunter on over, four pairs of trendy sunglasses sweeping your little entourage appraisingly.

    Hate sliiiiiiides his gaze sideways towards you, clearly asking for permission.

    [ ] Weapons free. Had enough of this shit.
    [ ] Weapons hold. They haven't even said anything yet.
    [ ] Weapons tight - let'em know they're on thin ice.

    43003942 -
    Just for the record does anyone have a list of current priorities? These wannabe gangster fucks are not on it obviously there are a lot of other things Settle is actually concerned with. Like what we are gonna do with the corgiboats now that we actually have the little buggers trapped. I suggest asking for their fairy captian to step forward and then do that whole 'communicate via frequency mudulation' as Hamp put it so eloquentely.

    43004257 -
    >>43003942
    Ninja'd by planefriend himself. I like that twist he put in, sometimes there really is a neat and perfectly harmless little event in life.
    Anyway.
    [X] Answer the call of duty.
    My phone refuses to copy paste stuff but in general we have certain responsibilities as an Admiral. So far Settle has been characterised as serious and professional where it counts and I'd like to continue that trend.
    Speakjng of to whomever wrote that Arilewds, the whole Dwarf Fortress thing isn't a thing I can see Settle enjoy, why did you pick that game?

    43004395 (demetrious) -
    >>43004257
    >Speakjng of to whomever wrote that Arilewds, the whole Dwarf Fortress thing isn't a thing I can see Settle enjoy, why did you pick that game?
    Because dorfs shares a similar trajectory to being a ship captain.
    Stage One: You don't know what the fuck is going on and half the time you're just pissed off by your inability to get the stupid little fucking men swarming through the anthill to do what you want them to do.
    Stage Two: You start to realize how much detail and verisimilitude is embedded in these creatures; how varied and different they are, their strengths and weaknesses, likes and dislikes. They come alive to you, and engender feelings of fondness and fatherly love in you.
    Stage Three: Despite your best efforts to help them, they cannot be helped. They cannot help but fuck up, they cannot help but leap into deep water to drown themselves, they cannot help but fuck up something as simple as putting on their socks before their shoes, despite their ability to crank out masterwork weapons and armor the envy of any civilization on the planet. Occasionally one of them will be struck by absolute brilliance and sequester themselves in a compartment for a while - they sometimes emerge with a game-changing work of sublime genius, but just as often its something fucking retarded like a legendary jewel-studded thong. You begin to hate them.
    Stage Four: You realize that they are all permutations of one another, with their alleged individual traits mere subservient details to their overwhelming need for alcohol and food. To them you are merely the faucet which controls the accessibility of booze and whores. They turn to refill their waterskin - you forbid all the alcohol and dedesignate the water zones. They turn to sleep - you lock the doors. Let them sleep on the floor, or standing up for all you care - when the goblins come knocking they'll wake up fast enough. They've got a job to do and by god they're going to fucking do it. TO HELL WITH THEM ALL.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...

    [X] Weapons hold. They haven't even said anything yet.

    You hold up a single finger - wait. There's a thin chance that they'll regain a shred of sanity once they recognize Ise and Hyuuga and politely piss off with all their bones intact.

    Alas, it was not to be. The four toughs saunter into a semi-circle by the ajoining booth, penning Hate in neatly. He's drumming his fingers on the table and giving you a bored look, clearly exasperated with your nunlike insistence on letting their sense of drama drag out the inevitable commencement of joyous asskicking. The young tough in the lead raises his hand, pauses, and then snatches his glasses off in a fashion he possibly thinks is cool. He leans over the table, staring down at Kitakami, who's entirely absorbed by her game.

    "... gokigenyou," he mutters, and bows sloppily, kind of bending his back rather than tilting from the waist.

    Hate's mouth drops open as Kitakami continues with her game, completely unaware.

    "Gokigenyou," he says again, a bit louder this time as he manages a proper bow. His fellows mimic his motion as woodenly as those bamboo things that go 'donk' in all the old movies.


    This time Kitakami looks up. She stares at him, clearly wondering if anything more is forthcoming. The young tough stammers something uncertain in Japanese. You cut your eyes sideways at Hyuuga.

    "Just asked for her autograph," Ise translates.

    Kitakami replies curtly.

    "She just asked what the heck that is."

    A few minutes later, all four young thugs are scurrying away with the corners of their tough-guy mouths curling upwards, nice autographs safely stashed under their badass leather jackets. Kitakami's back on her Vita, apparently unsurprised by the whole thing.

    You pay the bill and walk outside, your shipgirls and pet Marine trailing you like ducklings to the borrowed jeep. Hate groooans into the backseat with satisfaction, clearly topped off for the long haul. Arizona pulls Kitakami into her lap and buckles them both into the passenger seat as Ise squeezes in next to Hyuuga.

    "Rather forward of them to accost a young lady right there in a diner," Hyuuga complains.

    Ise giggles. "Are you just miffed they didn't ask for your autograph, too?"

    Hyuuga folds her arms primly. "I am not without my distinctions in combat, both recent and historical."

    Ise slides a sly look at her sister. "Cheer up, Hyuuga. The rose that blooms latest is usually the-"

    Hyuuga reaches out and bops her sister upside the head before she can continue. "The thorns stay on year-round, child."

    Your phone buzzes angrily in your pocket for the tenth time since lunch started - sounds like the piper is playing at last.

    [ ] Answer the call of duty - an extended meeting over the outcome of the Bonin Islands is scheduled to start in a few minutes. You should probably be there.
    [ ] You can afford to be late - it's time to see Goto about the whole Shigure incident and get your strategy straight before shit really hits the fan on that account.
    [ ] Wainwright texted you three times asking to see you in person during lunch - that takes priority.

    43003875 (demetrious) -
    protip I asked crix for a proper japanese greeting word so if its wrong its his fault kk

    43004122 -
    >>43003875
    beyond fedora tip m'lady
    almost equivalent to cavalier hat sweep enchanté
    they sound like huge dorks

    43004202 (demetrious) -
    [...]
    >>43004122
    Well seems crix nailed it then
    [...]
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...

    [X] Answer the call of duty - an extended meeting over the outcome of the Bonin Islands is scheduled to start in a few minutes. You should probably be there.

    Checking your text messages and calendar, you sigh - once again there's too many hotspots and not enough attack lines. But this time the decision is clear. The Bonin Islands changed everything - several times over. As the scope of it washes over you it seems incredible that you never really felt the impact till now, just cruising along on autopilot - but after the successive shocks to the psyche, there was little else you could have done. You doubt Goto or Thomas are doing any better. Those lessons need to be analyzed, diced up and digested as soon as possible, for the abyssals care nothing for human timetables. The health issues of the shipgirls are moot if they never return from battle to begin with.

    You break the base's draconian speed limit, going buster for the administrative building. Kitakami, and Arizona bail out there, and Hamp scoots over to drive Ise, Hyuuga and Hate back to the party. You hear Hate's wild war-whoop fade into the distance as Hamp peels out with a screech of rubber.

    "I'll wait here," Kitakami says, taking a seat on the edge of a decorative planter near the flagpoles, her Vita already in her hand.

    "You don't have to," you tell her. "If you have anything else to do-"

    She flicks you a Look over the edge of the Vita that says she has fuck-all to do, then goes back to her game in silence. "Be a while?"


    "Most likely?"

    "I'll come back, then."

    O-kay, then. Leaving Kitakami to her games (or lack thereof, not that you'd dare such blasphemies aloud near Hate,) you head inside. You're about to knock politely on the conference room door when you turn and find your shadow waiting quietly in your five o'clock position.

    "... Arizona?"

    The slender girls eyes sink to half-mast. She crosses her arms with solemn languor.

    "... I take it the bodyguard job is already filled."

    She doesn't even deign to reply to that one; simply letting her eyelids lower a little more.

    [ ] Bring her in with you. Everything revealed in the Battle - and everything you said in the CIC - will make the scuttlebutt rounds soon, if they haven't already. Best she hear it from the horses mouth.
    [ ] Ask her to wait outside. It's basic OPSEC, she won't mind - and personally, you don't think it'd be healthy for her to be confronted by the Big Questions that not even you can answer yet. You'd prefer a head start.

    43005929 -
    Hey planefriend dumb question, is the Admiral Goto in this quest based on this guy by any chance?
    Aritomo Goto | Nihon Kaigun

    43006278 -
    >>43005929
    Allegedly yes.
    Fun note, he served on the Kongo as a Lieutenant in his earlier days.

    43006640 (demetrious) -
    >>43005929
    >Aritomo
    Yes. That was the picture hanging on the wall of Goto's office many threads ago.
    Settle has his own family history of note, too.

    43006723 -
    >>43006640
    Would Settle be related to Thomas Settle?
    Thomas G. W. Settle - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

    43006756 -
    >>43006723
    If Settle's related to that guy, I'm surprised the errant corgis from last time didn't listen to him.

    43006790 (demetrious) -
    >>43006723
    Thomas G. W. Settle - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
    indeed!

    43006829 -
    >>43006790
    >indeed!
    USS Portland showing up with embarrassing stories about grandpa when?

    43006955 -
    >>43006829
    On the opening day of the invasion of Lingayen Gulf, January 9, 1945, when admiral Theodore E. Chandler was killed in a kamikaze attack against USS Louisville (CA-28), Settle assumed command of Chandler's cruiser division.[55] Settle's radical shiphandling skills saved Portland from direct kamikaze hits; ship's officers attributed their captain's luck to his former aviator experience.[56] Settle used to break formation under threat from the air, and at least once his maneuvering earned him a reprimand from a commanding admiral;[57] in another episode, it nearly led to the destruction of a landing craft full of troops.[58]
    Seems like Settle's performance at LA runs in the family.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...

    [X] Bring her in with you. Everything revealed in the Battle - and everything you said in the CIC - will make the scuttlebutt rounds soon, if they haven't already. Best she hear it from the horses mouth.

    "Ooookay," you say cautiously, pushing conference the room doors open and gesturing politely. "Ladies first."

    She strides past you primly, sliding you a glance tantamount to calling you a wiseass.

    "Sailor, what the-" you hear Admiral Thomas's voice die quite suddenly. "USS Arizona, I take it?"

    Arizona nods as you follow her into the room. The room's long table is surrounded by the intel weenies in various states of caffination and most of them are gaping at Arizona like she's a unicorn. Given their job, any living, breathing woman qualifies, and a petite redhead is a unicorn that sparkles. Admiral Thomas, however, has the solemn expression of a man standing at a gravestone.

    You've hardly known Arizona two weeks, but she's spent a lot of time at your side; her subtle mannerisms aren't completely invisible anymore. She seems to quaver slightly as Admiral Thomas approaches her slowly, his hat in hand.

    "Miss Arizona, I presume?" he says politely. "I don't believe we've met. Vice Admiral Robert Thomas, Commander of Seventh Fleet." He shakes Arizona's proffered hand politely. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

    That was directed at you, but from how Arizona rocked back on her heels ever-so-slightly she didn't seem to notice it. She steadies when you put your hand on her shoulder supportively. "The CNO told me to pick a bodyguard and keep her close at all times," you say. "I picked Arizona - in no small part because her OPSEC discipline is above reproach."

    Thomas absorbs that thoughtfully. "True," he decides, still gazing at Arizona with solemn respect bordering on reverence. "Let's get to business, then."


    You and Arizona take seats as Goto introduces you to the others present - CO of Fitzgerald and Mustin (Commander England and Commander Clare, respectively,) and Commander Tate and Lt. Cmdr Wilson, CO and XO of the Oregon. (New Jersey's CO is still at sea on an ASW tasking, according to Thomas.) Oregon's CO is new, but has an air of aggressiveness about him XOs weren't requested at this meeting, which means Wilson's here because Tate wants him - much like Arizona being your guest.

    With everyone settled, the shuffling and tapping of papers ceases at the spook's end of the table, and Thomas begins.

    "The purpose of this meeting is not to rehash the after-action reports that've already been submitted concerning the Bonin Islands," he states clearly. "We're here to discuss the... new developments, and try to decide what this means for our current anti-abyssal and sea control doctrine." He glances at Goto, passing the buck to him for now.

    Goto looks like you feel; his flinty eyes slicing around the table from his haggard face. He steeples his hands before him. "About twenty minutes ago, B-52s out of Guam hit Iwo Jima with a combination of targeted JDAM strikes and unguided iron bombs." He flips open a manilla folder and tosses the glossies within around the table, then slides the folder down to the intel weenies who fall upon it like a pack of dogs on a three-legged cat. Arizona nearly bumps heads with you in her haste to peruse your three copies of the aerial photos -

    the room begins to swim as the shadow silhouettes seem to fluctuate and morph like kelp in the waves on a moonless night, only the frozen electric intensity of those blue dots, only a few pixels each smoldering up at you, shining brighter than a still image should

    - the picture goes fluttering as Arizona swats it away. You wheeze out a pent-up breath and sink back in your chair.

    Everyone's looking at you.


    "Settle?" Thomas asks.

    Everyone at this table's read your AAR from LA, (aside from Arizona, thank god,) but you never did write about the figure you saw in the water before the shooting began.

    You never told anyone how you locked gazes with it - or what you felt when you did.

    "That's them," you say, still breathing a little too fast. "That-" your finger lands on the glossy - "is Abyssal."

    Thomas nods seriously. "Well, that's that - you've been closer to one than anyone else - well, Arizona-" he seems to be a little embarrassed, but Arizona just nods once, confirming your analysis.

    Goto sighs miserably. "Then that's that - a confirmed instance of Abyssals staging an invasion of dry land."

    His words seem to steal breath from every lung as they drift through the room, a poison cloud of ill omen.

    "People are going to panic," Goto says flatly. "They've never set foot on dry land before - shelled beaches and ports, sure. Attacked anything bigger than a surfboard, sure. But they have never *set foot* on dry land before this."

    "No one is safe, then," England says quietly. "Anywhere. And now they know it."

    "This is an escalation," Clare points out. "They didn't just invade dry land for grins and giggles; they achieved perfect surprise and staged a time-sensitive amphibious assault to capture strategic assets in support of a larger naval operation."

    "And?" you reply, knowing he's going somewhere with this.

    "It implies they've always been able to do this," Clare continues. "They were just waiting for the right time to do it - namely, when they could lay a trap for us."

    "If that's true," Goto asks, peering over his entwined fingers, "then why not stage an all-out invasion of dry land? There's plenty of places that'd benefit them immensely - hell, they could attack Yokosuka itself, if they wanted to. Was the element of surprise really worth holding back?"


    "We don't know that's true," England points out. "We have no idea what their logistical constraints are, or what logistics they even *need.* Hell, we don't even have a proper TO&E for our own NBEs!"

    "Well, Settle?" Goto asks. "What do you think?"

    [ ] England's right. We need more information, or we're just tossing darts in the dark.
    [ ] Clare's right - they're escalating. These bastards haven't held back once, not from the very beginning. I don't know what's constrained their operations up to now, but we can safely assume they've been maintaining the highest operational tempos they possibly could.
    [ ] Surprise attack on dry land near a beach isn't much different than shelling the beach from the water, when you come right down to it. I don't see that them setting foot on dry land is a game-changer on its own - it just means we need a mobile force with concentrated firepower, just like the shipgirls are for surface engagements. Their outfits work well enough on land. Let's not panic just yet.

    43006648 -
    This is hard guys.
    I mean. Info is critical, but staying calm is also vital.
    CAN'T CHOOSE

    43006737 -
    >>43006648
    Yeah.
    Something that's been bothering me: the Abyssals planned and almost pulled off a complicated trap -- but WHY? Sure, it almost worked, but Hate noted that the shipgirls have been maintaining an insane operational tempo. Why did the Abyssals take the risk with a trap, when they could have kept wearing us down with skirmish after skirmish?

    43006787 -
    >>43006737
    Another thing.
    Considering UNREP is still a thing for both ship spirit and abyssal (maybe), there's a possibility that they're trying to establish a more stable supply line while gaining forward operating bases.
    THE IMPLICATIONS ARE TOO MUCH

    43006820 -
    >>43006787
    Another excellent point!
    We saw abyssal OILERS, people.
    LOGISTICS NEEDS CONFIRMED, to some degree. Iwo very well may have been related to that need, and increased logistics needs leads to increased weight of operations

    43006841 (demetrious) -
    >>43006787
    >>43006820
    GOOD ANONS, GOOD!

    >>43006827
    >>Abyssals can land terrestrial units now
    >Hold on...is this going to mean we're going to get Tankgirls, too? Is Sherman-tan gonna show up next week lusting for Hate's cock?

    >giving anon ideas
    god damn you
    god damn you to hell
    VOTES CALLED, NEW THREAD SOON
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...

    43007209 (demetrious) -
    >>43007180 →
    NEW THREAD
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
     
  • Threadmarks
    • Session #38 pt.2
  • Threadmarks

    • "Commander England is right," you say after a moment's contemplation. "I've got my gut instinct on this, but - those abyssal carriers had a support fleet. Harder's AAR said that he dove under an oiler after his attack on that CV. So they clearly have logistical requirements for larger ops, but how much, on what scale, how much it impacts their ability to just magic themselves up out of thin air-" you shrug. "It doesn't matter one damn bit if they're escalating or not - we just don't know enough about them to translate that conclusion into actionable intel estimates on their supply line vulnerabilities, forces they'll need to allocate to it, what operational tempos they can sustain as determined by their supply chain, et cetera..."

    Thomas glances down the row of stubbled intel squirrels, their heads nodding agreement like bobble-heads on a recently-jostled table. "What are you driving at, Settle?"

    "Well - just because they can set foot on land doesn't mean they can go far from water. We have no damn idea how far they can go or what kind of firepower they can bring to bear, or how long they can do it. Just invading Iwo Jima isn't much different than bombarding it, when it comes to range of threat and staying power. It's taken them sixteen months to escalate from division and squadron scale attacks to a full carrier battle group strike. Who knows how long it'll take them to go from the beach to the breakwater?"


    "How many lives are you willing to gamble on that?" Clare cuts in sharply. "We need to gear up for this now - get beach defenses built, organize rapid response teams, so on. Plenty of infantry in the South Pacific that hasn't had much to do in this war - it won't cost our naval operations unduly."

    "Reactionary," England counters. "I appreciate the wisdom of not getting caught with your p- position unprepared," he says, studiously avoiding looking at Arizona, "but if we don't take the initiative somehow we're just going to keep repeating this pattern."

    "Pattern?" Tate asks.

    "Getting caught with nasty surprises and clobbered with them over and over," Wilson fills in dourly. You can't help but share a dark smirk with him - you've been on the receiving end of far too many of those in this war.

    "What do you want us to do!?" Goto almost snaps. "Draft Barbra Walters to go interview one of them!?"

    "Tail them," England says. "Task the Oregon with finding one of their playmates from the battle and gluing themselves to its ass till we get some idea of how they move. Do they just vanish till they want to fight again? Do they hide underwater? Do they have a *home* to go to? We just don't know!?"

    [ ] Bring up Hate's pet project... a live capture.
    [ ] Endorse England's plan - it's a big step forward without being openly suicidal.


    [X] Bring up Hate's pet project... a live capture.

    You tune out the debate as the submariners jump in with their own opinions on the mission, mulling over the constant advances Hate's been making on this same topic, direct and indirect. You've shot him down every time, and he dropped it entirely not long ago when he realized your patience on this topic was growing threadbare indeed - but even in his request to hit Iwo's beach as a grunt the chance, the possibility was still there, lurking. He might've given up on special equipment or a dedicated mission, but he still lusted for the opportunity to make a real difference.

    And now you're forced to admit that he might've been right all along.

    "We could capture an abyssal," you say.

    The debate dies a sudden death. Everyone assembled, even Arizona, is staring at you quietly.

    "Say that again?" Goto demands.

    "Capture. An. Abyssal," you say clearly.

    "And how, exactly, do you propose we achieve that?" Goto returns, sounding pissed. "And who would you nominate for that suicide mi-"

    "Goto," Thomas says quietly, and Goto reluctantly sinks into his chair again, having nearly leaped out of it.

    "He's got a point," Oregon's XO says softly. "How are we going to manage this?"

    "How did we capture U-505?" you retort. "Luck and swift exploitation of the opportunity. I'm sick and fucking tired of being clobbered by these bastards - I say we pay them back in their own coin for a change. Next time we rush off to put out a fire, come down on them with both feet - twice the force needed. Then we'll have the luxury of surrounding a disabled hostile."

    "They'll just open their sea-cocks-"

    "They attack the beach every chance they get," you retort. "Littoral zones, shallow waters. We can force them onto the beach."


    "But travel time-"

    "Forward deploy a few forces - we don't use our heavy hitters much as-is."

    "We'll still have to thin our patrols to give them escorts," Thomas points out.

    "Then do it. They're going to keep attacking beach targets and coastal population centers anyways. We need to bring them to battle and destroy them, one way or another -or force them to mass force so we can strike against it." You plant your fist in your palm with a whap. "Capture is just icing on the cake."

    The small group digests that silently.

    "Taken under advisement," Thomas says thoughtfully. "Now, the second issue - Akagi."

    *This* causes a significant susurration the room as the intel weenies shuffle new manilla folders to the top of their stacks eagerly. Thomas picks up a remote, and the room goes silent as Akagi appears on the pull-down projector screen - all of her, from her side-mounted stacks to her tawny-colored wooden flight deck. IJN Akagi, all 36,000 tons of her made manifest, the crumpled shape of a badly-damaged F-18 on her deck.

    "This happened," Admiral Thomas says quietly.

    Everyone stares at the projected image silently, you included.

    "This could change everything," Thomas said. "We could work on the shipgirls in normal yards, to upgrade them. Maybe equip them with modern info-link systems, directly."


    "Aren't they better as-is?" Goto says quickly, having clearly anticipated this argument. "As it stands they just... *spawn* their own munitions, and a few crates of hamburgers per girl is a hell of a lot cheaper than thousands of tons of fuel oil or a million dollars of uranium."

    "That F-18 shouldn't have been able to land on the IJN Akagi at all," Thomas points out gently. "It's thrice as heavy, thrice as big and lands thrice as fast as a Zero. It should've punched through that wooden deck like a rock through rice paper. It didn't."

    "Leveling effect," England murmurs.

    "Yes," Thomas concurs. "That level of interoperability with conventional forces could save more lives like that in the future. And who's to say they DO need conventional resupply if they're like that? The only way to find out..." he shrugs. "The only way to find out is firsthand."

    "How?" Goto points out.

    "I met Northampton at the docks," Thomas says. "He... had a very intriguing account of the circumstances of his return." Thomas gives you a direct Look that makes you squirm. "And he first manifested as a complete hull before reverting to his humanoid persona."

    Goto's face grows drawn as he sees where this is going.

    "The Japanese have the most experience with deliberate summoning of NBEs," Thomas continues. "Goto... if you spoke to your government about this...?"

    "... we could try," Goto admits. "But I'm not sure it's a good idea."

    "We're running out of options, Goto," Thomas says quietly. "You hear the same scuttlebutt I do. It's only a matter of time before the US has that experience too. But time is in increasingly short supply."

    Goto frowns, looking troubled.

    [ ] Try it - you're sure Hamp or someone else would volunteer to try, and the possibilities are incredible.
    [ ] Advise against it - Akagi was able to 'change' when it was needed. We should trust our ships more, like that Marine aviator trusted Akagi.

    43008750 -
    >>43008486
    "We have three baselines to work with; Iowa who manifested her persona, Hamp who manifested his Hull then despawned it, and Akagi who still has her entire superstructure manifested. Have Hamp and Akagi share thoughts on the subject like grown adults and take notes."

    43008933 (demetrious) -
    >>43008750
    >and Akagi who still has her entire superstructure manifested.
    but she doesn't

    43009059 -
    >>43008933
    >but she doesn't
    >Akagi ate the Hornet
    >worry.jpg
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...

    43008758 (Navy Vet) -
    For people debating the pros/cons of upgrading the sloops:
    These aren't just ships that can be thrown in dock and have systems installed/upgraded. What happens when surgical procedures (like implanted organs or artificial bones) are performed and later rejected by the host?

    43008794 -
    >ITT; people who don't understand that massive modifications and modernization are a normal part of ships lives
    The fuck is wrong with you people. They aren't going to sink because we gave them a SATNAV suite, or a new set of RADAR.

    43008828 -
    >[X] Try it - you're sure Hamp or someone else would volunteer to try, and the possibilities are incredible.
    >>43008794
    planefriend questers are incredibly cowardly after they've just been burnt by planefriend, it's the natural course of the threads.

    43008839 -
    >>43008794
    It's not about that man.
    We're worried about how the Levelling Effect will be affected by hard modernization. Will it mess about their magical/mechanical-biological systems?

    43008854 -
    >>43008794
    unless of course, doing so fucks up the SPOOKY MYSTERY Leveling Effect™ and renders them unable to transform back to human form OR stops allowing them access to SPOOKY MYSTERY INFINITE SUPPLY CACHE and suddenly we have to start using actual money-costing supplies to keep them stocked. These are NOT 'ships'. these are "shipgirls", and they are NOT the same thing.

    43008874 -
    >>43008758
    >>43008794
    >What happens when surgical procedures (like implanted organs or artificial bones) are performed and later rejected by the host?
    >massive modifications and modernization are a normal part of ships lives
    Congratulations. You guys figured out why this shit is so fucking confusing.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...

    [X] Try it - you're sure Hamp or someone else would volunteer to try, and the possibilities are incredible.

    "I think it's worth a shot," you offer. "I understand how you feel, Goto... but I want to give our girls every advantage we can, and as clever as those radar head-sets are, the seeker out of a Hellfire versus an AN/SPY-1 is like holding a candle up against the Sun. Even Bridgemaster sets work better than those little things do."

    Goto looks uncertain. "It's going to take some time to get in contact with the Navy department. Anything relating to summoning is highly classified, as you might well imagine. And then I'll need a ship willing to vol-"

    Arizona's small hand is already in the air.

    "Arizona?" you ask quietly. "Are you sure about this?"

    She nods once, not looking at you.

    "Arizona - your hull is still intact, and *visible,*-"

    She cocks her head.

    "It DOES matter!" you object - then catch yourself. Leaning in close, you speak so low that only she can hear you. "Arizona, you girls aren't just physical entities - that much is obvious to me. Your hull is still visible, a small part is still above water and it has a national memorial parked over it. It's not like Hamp, or anyone else who's hulls are ten fathoms deep and safely out of sight. This could be risky. This could *backfire.*"

    Arizona nods curtly, her expression set - but she refuses to meet your eyes.

    "It has to be done?"

    She nods.

    "Advantages outweigh, eh?"

    Nods again.

    "Arizona, you haven't been here a week and you're already carrying your weight," you say gently, placing a hand on her shoulder and squeezing her gently. "There's *plenty* of safer bets. You don't have to do this."

    Arizona just stares straight ahead - it seems she's forgotten how to breathe...

    ... didn't Naka say something about -

    - oh, *damn.*

    [ ] She'll acquiesce if you press. Ask her to hold back.
    [ ] She's not a child. Just make it clear that her volunteering scares you.

    43009626 (demetrious) -
    Hokay! I'm crashin fast so I'm gonna call the thread for tonight. In the next few days I need to drive downstate and upstate and hither and yon a lot, so I'm not 100% on my schedule for next week, but I'll try to hit my usual threads and free up an extra day soon to try and make up for the sick days!
    THANKS FOR PLAYIN, WE GOT [WRITE-UPS] INCOMIN
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
     
  • Threadmarks
    • The plot thickens. Doubt Alabama'll be sent our way, though. We could always use the reinforcements, but the Gulf Coast is poorly defended from sea attacks, it seems like.
     
    MissingJimbo said:
    The plot thickens. Doubt Alabama'll be sent our way, though. We could always use the reinforcements, but the Gulf Coast is poorly defended from sea attacks, it seems like.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    Also,the Mississippi River delta needs defending. Wouldn't be hard for shallowed-bottomed warship Abyssals to strike deep into the US using that river as a gateway. I hope planefriend doesn't read this thread, because I bet he'd get ideas from it.
     
    Reader mode
    You must login or register to reply here.
    Remove ads
    Back
    Top