A/N – See the first chapter for the full list of disclaimers, don't own a thing so I'm still just a poor fanfic writer and not a rich and successful author.
Reviews and recommendations are the bread and butter for me, I love them all even if they are critical. I'd like to thank everybody who has been so kind as to read, comment on, like, follow, or recommend this story!
I apologize for the delay this week in the story, had a very unfriendly week starting with my truck dying on me and ending with me having to shell out far too much money to buy a new vehicle. Writing time has been unfortunately limited.
Chapter 05
Location – Washington Naval Yard
It took between six and eight hours on average to turn around a summoning chamber from one attempt to the next. New supplies had to be brought in and stacked in the prescribed locations, replacement candles had to be set out, and the clouds of stale incense had to be ventilated to clear the air. Every so often a longer gap would be required in order to scrub down the summoning pool to ensure the water was nice and clean.
Ever since the breakthrough had occurred with the first known officially successful summoning in Hawaii every US naval facility around the world had been conducting ceremonies as quickly as the summoning chambers could be turned around. The Washington Naval Yard was no exception and, as it was also the navy's formal headquarters, those ceremonies tended to be attended by not only naval officers but also politicians and the media. It also boasted one of the most efficient turn arounds amongst all the chambers as the entire rear wall was actually a giant loading dock with hangar-style doors closing it off during the ceremonies themselves. As a consequence, they could turn around a ceremony every four hours.
The last summoning attempt here had netted a quartet of Brooklyn-class cruisers and a dozen destroyers mixed between Bensons and Fletchers. The very first attempt, a mere thirty minutes after the report from Pearl Harbor had galvanized the fleet, had yielded both of the North Carolina class battleships along with the Northampton-class cruisers Chicago and Houston. The twenty girls who'd already been summoned were mostly asleep in the spacious barracks set aside for them and now the crowds were gathered for another ceremony.
Unlike the other summoning pools, this one had a dedicated observation room for VIPs to observe, and like the last summoning it was packed to the rafters with politicians eager to see the results. Clouds of incense obscured the water in a filmy gauze, while massive drums pounded out a brutally martial rhythm and sailors chanted in hastily memorized Latin since it had been found that that worked just as well as Japanese and was easier for westerners to pronounce. Then it fell silent, and the pool erupted in a storm of bubbles that filled the entire chamber.
When the eruption cleared there were only three girls standing there in a triangular formation. The faint sense of disappointment faded almost before it could form. This may have been the smallest numerical summoning here at the Washington Naval Yard, but the onlookers realized just who they had summoned.
In the front was a somewhat older looking yet short and elegant ship girl. Out of all the ones summoned so far she looked the most old fashioned, wearing a modest country dress that would have been suitable for the set of Little House on the Prairie. She was cradling an old Henry rifle on one arm and had what looked for all the world like an old washboard marked up as a flight deck attached to the other.
Behind her were a pair of twins who towered over her yet seemed in some indescribable way to be subordinate to her. They were tall and strong and nearly absolutely identical. The only real way to tell them apart was that the one on the left had a red tropical flower tucked behind her ear while the one on the right had a blue one tucked in the same place. Each of them had a Springfield '03 tucked under one arm and a long flight deck attached to the other. Each had a substantial island and funnel structure as a backpack, with the one on the right having a broad black stripe painted down the center of her funnel.
The lead figure skated forward slightly then stiffened to attention before proffering a textbook perfect rifle salute. "Sir, USS Langley reporting for duty accompanied by USS Lexington and USS Saratoga." She said in a soft yet oddly compelling and commanding voice. She paused, then a slight quirk on her lips. "And if she'll come down from where the dear girl is hiding in the rafters, USS Los Angeles."
The observers all startled and looked up, to find a fourth girl was floating in midair up amongst the ceiling lights. She was wearing a blue and black dirndl of all things, albeit with a scarf that looked like an American flag around her neck and a pair of excessively large binoculars in a case on her belt. On her back was a massive cylindrical gas bag that held her up and she looked exceptionally sheepish as she drifted downwards to hover right over Saratoga. "Guten Morgan" she said in a soft voice, betraying her German origins as a product of Luftshiffbau Zeppelin. "Errr… good morning. USS Los Angeles, ZR-3 reporting in, ja?" She blushed slightly, the English spoken in a definitely mixed German and Californian accent. For all that she appeared to be the same age as the fleet carrier twins she was positively tiny, a perfect representation of proportional dwarfism in action.
Saratoga smiled faintly and lifted her left arm so that the zeppelin girl could take hold of the edge of her flight deck. Moments later she huffed as Los Angeles dismissed her rigging and wound up cradled against the much larger fleet carriers hip. Then the three carriers slid across the pools surface and up the ramp, dismissing their rigging as they did so. Saratoga immediately set the zeppelin girl down and aimed a slight smirk at her twin sister before schooling her expression back into professional calm. Lexington, on the other hand, rolled her eyes very slightly before she too returned to the placid professional demeanor they'd been showing.
The Lieutenant standing at the top of the ramp returned the salute and held it before snapping his arm down. "Ma'am, we've prepared quarters for all of you and the mess hall is open, if you would accompany me?"
Langley smiled gently, but her eyes were solid. "No need for either, Lieutenant. I'd like to get the girls into the water and practicing right away. Hopefully we'll be able to get them upgraded to more capable birds quickly since I do not relish sending them out with SBUs, T4Ms and F2Fs in their air groups." She paused and her smile broadened. "They can eat after a few hours of practice."
Behind her the two fleet carriers were actually pouting, and it is a terrible thing to see fleet carriers pouting. But neither raised any objections to Langley's pronouncement. Los Angeles, on the other hand, giggled and smirked as she ostentatiously patted her belly and silently mock yawned.
Langley didn't even turn around. "And, of course, we need to start working with Los Angeles to integrate zeppelin operations into the mix, best to start as we intend to continue." Her voice never changed but her eyes twinkled just a little bit.
The zeppelin girl's face immediately fell, but like the two much larger fleet carriers she raised no actual fuss about it beyond a slight sigh and a crestfallen expression.
The Lieutenant looked over his shoulder helplessly and started to open his mouth when Langley interrupted, lifting one finger chidingly. "Young man, you do not think that I will be able to stand in the line at my age, do you? My plane capacity is far too limited and I am much too old and slow to be effective. I will instead spend my time ensuring that my daughters are at their best." She glanced over to where an Admiral was standing and nodded respectfully to him. "And that they are treated properly. Am I clear, young man?"
The lieutenant paled slightly, swallowed, and resisted the urge to salute again. "Ma'am, yes ma'am." He nervously said instead.
Langley just smiled and patted the young lieutenant on the cheek in a quite motherly fashion. "Very good, young man. Be a dear and round up the other girls, no doubt lazing about in bed when there's practice to be done. Come along, ladies."
Location – Ventura County Naval Base
Buffy groaned a bit as she swum back to consciousness in an unfamiliar bed with an unfamiliar ceiling overhead. It took the slayer a few moments on the edge between sleep and wakefulness to remember where she was and she groaned again, forcing herself to actually wake up and swing out of bed rather than burrow under the sheets for some more shuteye. She then found herself blinking and a slow smile crossed her face as her faeries reported in about what had happened in her vicinity while she was sleeping.
The room she was in was a double, and across from her was Cordelia still snoring away as she'd obviously slept through her alarm. Buffy started giggling as she watched Cordy's faeries trying to wake the slumbering battleship up through increasingly bizarre means and nearly fell back onto her bed and started laughing uproariously at the sight of a team of faeries cooperating to maneuver a large glass of ice water into position via an improvised crane consisting of a pyramid of faeries, a ruler, and lots of ropes.
The water splashed, the tower collapsed, faeries were sprawled everywhere… and Cordelia was still snoring, only having shifted irritably in her sleep at the attempt. Buffy at this point completely lost it.
An evil grin graced Buffy's face as she had an idea and winked at the exasperated faeries. "I've got this." She said, winking again, then leaned in close to Cordy's ear.
"WILLOW WAS VOTED HOMECOMING QUEEN!" she suddenly shouted, causing the former cheerleader to surge upright looking absolutely horrified, which only caused the swiftly dodging slayer to laugh harder. Moments later she was dodging a pillow thrown by an irate fellow battleship girl but even that couldn't stop her mirth.
"Jeesh, Cordy, you sleep like a log. Reveille and all that jazz." Buffy picked herself up, still chuckling, and headed towards the en-suite bathroom that the battleship girls were privileged with as their quarters had been converted from BOQs.
"Some of us don't have slayer metabolism, slay girl." Cordy grumbled as she dragged herself out of her own bed. "And if you use up all the hot water…"
"You'll what, snore louder at me?" Buffy replied from the bathroom. "Don't worry about it, going to rinse off then head down to soak a bit at the docks. You'll want to do the same thing, the docks should wake you up better than a mere shower."
Cordy's grumbles could still be heard, even over the shower. Buffy grinned, luxuriated under the shower for a few more moments, then shut it off and stepped out. Wrapping a towel around herself, she left the bathroom and gestured for Cordy to go in before she paused and glared at the swimsuit that was in her closet.
"SPIKE!"
A few minutes later a still visibly fuming Buffy and a yawning Cordelia made their way to the pool that had been converted into a dock for the ship girls, both wearing matching American flag string micro thong bikinis that seemed more designed to cater to male eyes than anything else.
As soon as they reached the docks they ran into Joyce. Now, Joyce is a very nice woman in many ways, and very kind and understanding. But seeing her daughter wearing three postage stamps and some dental floss was just a bit infuriating.
"Where did you get those… those…" she glared at the two girls, who shifted a bit on their feet before Buffy planted her hands on her hips and glared back.
"Spike told us he'd left swimsuits in our rooms. He left these." Buffy grated. "Not that we don't look wonderful in them, but still. I'd rather wear these than skinny dip in the docks."
For the second time that morning a bellowed "SPIKE!" rang out loud and proud. Momma Bear was angry.
That shout brought results, as Spike poked his head out of his office, then his jaw promptly dropped upon seeing Buffy and Cordelia. "Cor… why aren't you girls wearing the navy issue suits I had delivered?" He wasn't drooling, but Spike being Spike he was certainly smirking and leering a bit, which resulted in Joyce smacking him upside the head.
"These ARE the suits that were delivered!" Buffy screeched at him, glaring furiously.
"Bloody hell they aren't. The quartermaster wouldn't even stock suits like that." He was now looking annoyed as he was being blamed for things he had absolutely nothing to do with.
Right then the doors opened and Dawn skipped in accompanied by the Amy, Jenny, and Willow. All four wearing nice proper US navy standard issue female swimsuits. Seeing Buffy and Cordy the three Des Moines girls blushed furiously while Dawn just started giggling. Buffy, Cordelia, Spike, and Joyce all looked at each other, then simultaneously… "DAWN!"
An hour, a good soak in the docks, a decent breakfast, and one extremely grounded Dawn later, the Sunnydale girls gathered in the briefing room along with the recently summoned escort force that had been commandeered by Spike. They could hear another summoning in progress nearby but had mostly tuned that out. Most of the girls were quite nervous. Despite the action that the Sunnydale girls had been in most were still woefully inexperienced.
Spike positively sauntered in, still wearing his trademark duster and with a cigarette held between his formerly undead lips, with Joyce and Drusilla flanking him. He preempted even the slightest attempt at military courtesy with a shouted "Anybody stands up and salutes or bloody shit like that I'll have you scrubbing the bloody mess."
Buffy rolled her eyes, like she'd do something like that period for Spike of all people.
"Alright, we've got harbor boats marking out an assault course and weapons range for you girls. We're going to be spending today in heavy training, both individual runs and group runs. I want all of you girls to get comfortable working with everybody else. We've got three bird farms, one fleet and two escort. You escort girls will be working up full ASW loadouts, Tarawa will be sticking with a full air superiority loadout. Our main striking force will be the battleships and cruisers, we don't have enough carriers to form proper strike packages." He looked up from some notes he'd pulled out of his pockets, then smirked. "So hurrah for the big bloody guns. Montana, you are overall field command, Porter, you're the most experienced of the destroyers so you'll be provisionally in command of the escort, likewise Tarawa will be in command of the air groups. Any questions?"
Witek started raising her hand, and Spike just rolled his eyes. "Yes, Witek, we will get you a lab to do your bloody boffin things in but not until I'm satisfied that you are fully up to speed combat wise. So work your bloody arse off and you'll get to play with your test tubes faster. And no, McCaffery, we're not going on a bloody field trip to NASA anytime soon." Spike smirked, lifting an eyebrow at the other destroyer girls. Ares had told him you had to be firm with the destroyers from the start or else they'd unleash their powers of cuteness and you'd find yourself agreeing to just about anything to keep the little terrors from pouting.
Buffy grinned and raised her hand, then spoke before Spike could even react. "How long do we have the range for?" she asked, smirking a bit.
"All day, the new arrivals will be getting settled in and we're the first coherent and organized battle group present." Spike replied.
Buffy promptly stood up. "Alright girls, form up on me. Dru, I'd like you to practice acting as comms support." She didn't pause as she strode towards the door, the girls falling in behind her almost on instinct. Alpha predator leading the pack and all that.
She started giving instructions even as they headed to the harbor slipway. "OK, Porter, is it? You set the marksmanship mark for the destroyers and let me know when each of your girls reach it. Fargo, you do the same for the light cruisers and Des Moines will do it for the heavies. Hawaii, you'll be with Cordy and I." she gave her little sister a smile that would send great whites fleeing in terror. "And I'll be setting the mark for us. Tarawa, you work out with Rabaul and Tinian how you'll handle flight training, but be ready to start launching target planes for AA practice later. We'll keep up the individual practice until noon or everybody hits the standard their type leader sets. Eat lunch, then group and AA training."
They reached the harbor slipway which had been modified into a mounting station for their rigging. None of the girls paused, Buffy's determination was infectious and even the most nervous of them couldn't help responding. They each stepped onto the platform that they instinctively knew was meant for them to use.
The sound of gears grinding and chains clanking sounded out from the quay as mechanical arms deployed around the platforms, each holding one piece of the rigging. How they'd gotten there was a mystery to everybody and was already being ascribed to magical sparkly shipgirl bullshit. The platforms slid down the slipway into the water as the mechanical arms worked their magic, bolting on the rigging in a hiss of pneumatics and buzz of motors so that by the time the girls touched the water they were fully rigged. They set off without pause, skating out into the harbor towards where the training area had been set up.
"First pass stationary, second at speed. Go." Buffy commanded before she led Cordelia and Dawn to where the longest ranged targets were placed, the most distant of them well beyond the harbor breakwater. "Training munitions loaded."
She came to a halt and straightened her shoulders, standing as tall as the sadly still diminutive slayer could, and thrust out one arm. "Thirty five thousand yards, solution set… bracket firing."
All twelve of her massive 16"/50 rifles spoke as one, obedient to her will and aimed by a potent combination of American Radar Master Race bullshit and slayer instincts. Dyed water erupted around the target raft. An airborne observer would have noted, no doubt with great incredulity that all twelve shots landed within 50 meters of the target in a near perfect straddling bracket. Buffy just smirked and adjusted her aim slightly. "Firing for effect!"
Another bellow of smoke and flame as the twelve cannons blasted out the training rounds downrange. Seconds passed, then the target raft vanished from sight as the practice rounds pummeled it down. "Direct hit." She turned and grinned at Cordelia.
"Louisiana, you are up!" she gestured grandly down range.
Cordelia skated forward a bit then came to a halt, closing her eyes and steepling her fingers in front of her face. She sat there in silence for several moments, moving with the gentle swells of the water in the harbor, then without saying a word she opened her eyes, straightened up, and her right hand thrust forward with her fingers splayed wide.
Her main battery bellowed, twelve gouts of flame erupting in unison. Her gaze remained fixed downrange and when the shells hit she easily replicated Buffy's second shot, her entire broadside striking the target with lethal accuracy. Being a member of the American Radar Master Race is one thing, being a slayer is another thing, yet being a seer with slayer faeries? If she wishes to hit something, it is hit. She looked over to Buffy with a smirk, while the slayer simply applauded then turned a truly evil smirk on her little sister.
Dawn was pouting, 35000 yards was a hard shot for any of them, but the 16"/50's of the Montana's were capable of reaching out that far much more readily than her 12"/50 Mk 8's. "It was just a prank, not like I stole your swimsuits and made you go skinny dipping." The large cruiser ship girl pointed out, seeking some measure of mercy from her prank victims… and finding none. "Fine…"
She skated forward to the firing line, aiming one last appealing look at her sister, sighed dramatically, then concentrated so hard that beads of sweat appeared on her forehead. This shot was almost at the absolute maximum range of her guns and she was neither a full slayer nor a seer. She closed her eyes, letting her radars do the seeing for her, locking on to the target. She could almost feel the whirring of her electro-mechanical fire control computers calculating trajectories and forming a firing solution. She felt the gentle waves, opening her eyes and visually orienting herself. She gritted her teeth, then flung out her hand much like Cordelia had. "FIRE!"
Her nine barrels spat out flame and smoke, albeit in not nearly the sheer quantity as the much larger battleships had. Nine super-heavy 12" shells flew downrange. And missed. Widely. Dawn glared as Buffy and Cordelia both smirked at her.
"Try again, Hawaii." Buffy said, eyes dancing. "We'll be waiting here until you manage to hit the target."
Cordelia then pulled out two bottles of chilled lemonade, one of which she passed over to Buffy. "Take your time, we'll just be laughing at you as you miss. Go on, Miss Prankster, Junior Edition."
Dawn huffed then turned back to the target, glaring at it and dialing in corrections to her firing solution. She wasn't a slayer despite having slayer faeries, she certainly wasn't a seer. Her targeting radar continued to track the target and she compared the impact point recorded with the desired target and shifted her point of aim slightly. Again she flung out her arm and shouted "Fire!" in a loud voice.
Once more her nine rifles spoke. Again the shells rumbled down range. And again she missed although she was much closer than before. "This is totally unfair, it's SO outside my effective range." She grumped as the two battleship girls chortled at her failure. But she knew they didn't care, not after her little prank, and deep down knew that this was proper sisterly retribution for it.
A third volley arced out after Dawn dialed yet more corrections in, this time missing a bit long. She glared, took a deep breath, and tried again. This time she finally managed to straddle the target, causing her to pump her fist triumphantly as she made a number of minute adjustments. "Firing for effect!"
Another volley and another. She kept on firing downrange and finally, FINALLY, she hit the target squarely. She turned to glare at the chortling duo, who instead of looking suitably impressed were still smirking. "Now to do this while moving instead of staying still. Targets marked 1 are mine, those marked 2 are Louisiana's, and those marked with a big ole L for loser are Hawaii's." Buffy ignored Dawn's put upon expression with appropriate sisterly disdain. "Minimum speed for the run is 25 knots, we'll go simultaneously and range control will post our results. See those slaloms that the destroyer girls are using? We'll be using them as well, try not to run into any of them. Score will be based on number of hits on target multiplied by average speed through the course with penalties for hitting the wrong target and running down a destroyer or hitting one of the slalom poles."
Buffy grinned then, as she saw the destroyer girls rather hastily clearing the course. "Pity, would have added a degree of difficulty." She winked at Porter, who grinned a bit uncertainly back. "Alright, ladies. On three…" she paused, rolled her shoulders. "Three."
And immediately took off, turrets already slewing about and locking on the first of her targets while Cordelia and Dawn both muttered about dirty rotten cheating battleships. She only fired one turret, trusting in her Slayer instincts and her fire control to hit the target while she slalomed around the first of the poles. She was running at the Montana class's normal 28 knot top speed, not wanting to reveal her full abilities here. Her second target was much closer in and she had one of her 5"/54 twins deal with it as she did a classic powerslide around the next marker.
Behind her Cordelia and Dawn had also started their runs, their own weapons barking out as they went. Cordy limited herself to 25 knots but was making up for it with laser perfect accuracy thanks to her seer powers, while Dawn was not nearly as accurate but was blazing along at 32 knots. She quickly overtook Buffy, giving her sister a raspberry as she passed, but Buffy kept her speed down and simply focused on keeping her turn's crisp and precise while maintaining nearly as high an accuracy as Cordelia.
The destroyer girls were gaping at the demonstration. Sure, battleships were far more powerful than they were and every destroyer girl secretly envied them, but to see battleships (and a large cruiser) racing through a course optimized for them at speeds almost as high as they were capable of and pulling turns just as tight as they could while their main and secondary batteries blasted targets almost faster than they could pop up. That, that was awe inspiring to them.
Bristol leaned in to whisper to Henley "How are they even doing that?" in a somewhat shaken voice. Battleships were the slow, ponderous, elegant ships in her mind, not what she was seeing here.
Henley shrugged. "I don't know… but… how the… she hit two targets at the same time!"
Behind them Willow chuckled, the set a hand on each of the smaller girls' shoulders. "Multiple fire control stations, one in the main tower and one in the aft superstructure. Add in twin balanced rudders placed optimally in the water flow for the maneuverability and you've got them. At a given speed, Montana and Louisiana can turn inside of Porter and match you turn for turn because of that. Throw in that they've got later model fire control radars to the sets you were summoned with, and you have the complete package." She then leaned down to their level. "But, I happen to know that Montana is the nicer of the two, and Louisiana is very ticklish behind her knees." She winked and straightened up.
