Lieutenant H.J. Jackson, USCG, looked up at the old battlewagon and began to doubt the wisdom of his plan. He had sold it to his CO, the Texas Parks & Wildlife, and the museum volunteers. Abbie attacks were growing more frequent now, and were beginning to occur on US soil. Recently, a U-boat had surfaced off Freeport, TX and shelled the chemical plants there. It had been chased off by shore batteries that had been put in place just a week before, and damage was contained without a major spill.
Still, it felt as though something big was on the way. And given the nature of the enemy, naval gunfire seemed to be the weapon of choice. So, here he was, serenading the Battleship Texas, trying to summon her. Scuttlebutt said the Navy was trying to get something lined up with the Iowa class Battleships. In the meantime, around the world, ship girls had appeared, some spontaneously, others called, or summoned.
Being a native Texan, and serving at Sector Houston-Galveston, he had taken it on himself to see if he could summon the first ship he had ever been aboard.
He and his band had played nearly every song that mentioned the word Texas. Country, western, rock. A buddy of his who fancied himself a rapper even did some Third Coast rap songs. Nothing.
Ballad of the Alamo, Songs about Texas, Wanna be a Baller, Thunderstruck. George Strait, Marty Robbins, Larry Joe Taylor, Brian Burns, Waylon Jennings, Alabama.
He was tired and his voice was shot. All the rest were tired too, and the heat and mosquitoes didn't help.
He said softly, "Please listen, old girl. We need help. I know you've earned your rest, but please, come back to us."
He turned to the band, "One more short song guys. Then we'll call it a day."
She looked down at the band playing. Her heart was stirred by the patriotic messages in some of the songs, and happy memories of the joys and celebrations of her crews were brought back by the others. "You don't need me, and you don't need this rusted through old hull. My time will come. You need eyes, you need wings. You need someone with far greater range than a naval rifle." Another song started.
"And I think I know exactly who you need."
"Hey, guys! What's the celebration?"
Jackson turned and looked. Whoever, or whatever she was, she was beautiful, but had a sense of
otherness about her. Was this ... Texas?
She held up her hand. "Hang on a second! I always feel better with a cap."
She grabbed a wood handled tomahawk from her belt and flung it into the air. It burst into a group of old style aircraft and they climbed into the sky until they had become full size.
"Now, then, what's the deal?"
Jackson cleared his throat. "I'm...uh...Lieutenant Jackson...uh...welcome to the 21st century?"
The girl smiled at his nervousness. "Very well, LT. I am USS Ranger, CV4. Ready for duty! Say, do you know any Glen Miller?"
