PAGDTenno
Verified Warmind. Probably on fire.
- Location
- South Carolina
No, that was entirely Jeek's idea. Kari was just a strong supporter.
Return to the Storm (Kancolle/Destroyermen)
- Thread starter PAGDTenno
- Start date
- Crossover
No, that was entirely Jeek's idea. Kari was just a strong supporter.
Tyrannops
Today, we're canceling the Apocalypse!
And Keje being um.. reprimanded for bringing Big Sal?
I personally think Reddy was amused on the inside when he heard.
- Location
- North Carolina
Probably, but to be fair the only reason that Big Sal got utterly wrecked doing that was because of the damn Grik suicide bombs. Had it not been for the arrival of those things, Big Sal would've destroyed the entirety of what remained of Kurokawa's Ironclad Dreadnought Fleet practically single-handily.
Tyrannops
Today, we're canceling the Apocalypse!
Yeah, I'm aware.
And that was an awesome battle.
One thing Anderson does is really connect us with the characters.
I was angry right along with Reddy when his best friend died.
- Location
- North Carolina
That was a very awesome battle, although Baalkpan was more epic.
I do agree with that, Anderson does makes grow attached to his characters. Which makes it all the more heart-wrenching when one that's been around for a long time croaks.
[SPOLIER]I wasn't angry, I was damned well shocked and saddened when Grey died. I actually had to put the book and take a moment. Although I felt incredibly smug about how that slimy bastard Kurokawa died. Thank you Mr. Silva for killing him using that hellduz stuff, it felt so good.
I don't understand why if you just type in the code why it won't just put in a spoiler.
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PAGDTenno
Verified Warmind. Probably on fire.
- Location
- South Carolina
Might wanna check your tags, @Thorthemighty
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Tyrannops
Today, we're canceling the Apocalypse!
deathzealotzero
Mecha Guru
- Location
- Las Vegas, NV
Shouldn't have clicked on the Spoiler then...
Tyrannops
Today, we're canceling the Apocalypse!
To be fair, i wasn't talking about the first part, more of the last part.
PAGDTenno
Verified Warmind. Probably on fire.
- Location
- South Carolina
Hmm.
I think I found the problem.
deathzealotzero
Mecha Guru
- Location
- Las Vegas, NV
Can't believe I missed that earlier! But still funny...
- Location
- North Carolina
How I feel over this whole inserting spoiler screw-up:
How I feel over this whole inserting spoiler screw-up:
1. Is that a photoshop or actually from an episode?
2. This is nowhere near as bad as the Leila tries to watch RWBY blind thread. It's an absolute spoiler train wreck.
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Chapter 11: Care and Feeding
PAGDTenno
Verified Warmind. Probably on fire.
- Location
- South Carolina
Chapter 11
Care and Feeding
26 July, 2015
----
Tokyo
Amagi knelt in Akagi's -her- quarters. Akashi had booted her out of the docks, saying that she needed to find -or in some cases, make- schematics for most of what had simply been blown away, and the entire new pair of turrets she needed were nowhere close to ready. Which Amagi supposed was all well and good, except for the problem that it left her half-blind and with but a single arm to manage her daily routine. It was fortunate indeed that Akagi's engines were the same as hers in this world as well, and the similarities had let Akashi make good much of the damage to her shafts, meaning that at least she needed no cane or wheelchair.
Her musing on the state of her repairs was interrupted by an extraordinarily familiar overjoyed shout.
"Hello, Amagi!" Atago giggled. "Out of the docks?"
Amagi rose. "Hello, Atago. Only temporarily, I fear. Akashi has to figure out the designs for my after mast, and she's busy building my new turrets, so she can make no meaningful progress on my repairs until those are finished."
"That's good! It just means you're most of the way better!" Atago grabbed the loose sleeve, inspecting it. "This is one of Akagi's, isn't it?"
"YesSS!" Amagi squeaked, as Atago yanked her shirt up and tugged the strap of her borrowed bra.
Atago panpakapaned disapprovingly. "That's not going to be comfortable at all. Akagi is bigger than you are." Then she giggled, taking Amagi's hand in both of hers. "Come on! We're going shopping! You need things that fit, and I know just where to get them!"
Amagi opened her mouth to argue, and then sighed resignedly. "I don't really have a choice, do I?"
Atago beamed as she more-or-less dragged Amagi out the door. "Nope!"
----
Fubuki worried her hands. "Are you sure this is okay? Maybe I should ask the commander…"
Yūdachi giggled. "You worry too much! He told you that you have leave today, poi! Now come on, Shigure's waiting!"
Fubuki sighed and smiled at her best friend. "Okay, Yūdachi. Race you!" she called as she dashed out the door.
"Hey, no fair, poi!" Yūdachi laughed as she charged after Fubuki.
Laughing madly, the two destroyers ran down the halls, matters of guns, torpedos and maneuvers left behind for a well-earned day of fun.
----
Amagi was extraordinarily confused. While novel, the subway ride had been far from difficult to understand. After all, trains had existed even in her day. And though Tokyo had changed since the last time she had seen it, that was to be expected with sixty-odd years of development. No, what had her confused was the endless array of numbers and letters Atago had bandied about. Even after Atago's patient explanation, Amagi still didn't quite understand what "30C" actually meant, except that it was a different size from the "30E" bra she had borrowed from Akagi's drawer, and therefore, wrong. Even a ship as new to the whole "girl" thing as her could figure that out!
Fortunately, she didn't have to actually understand what the numbers meant to match labels to what Atago had told her. Unfortunately, that only narrowed things down. She'd had no idea there were so many types of bras! From plain, practical ones much like the (now mostly ash) one she'd awoken with to fancy lacey ones she hadn't understood until Atago had noticed her confused looks and suggested she imagine North Carolina in one. Naturally, Amagi's incandescent flush as she figured out the implications set off a stream of giggles from Atago. Perhaps feeling merciful, the cruiser pointed her to a set of plain, practical-looking undergarments that Atago said kept heavy weather from getting too uncomfortable. Given her… extreme... topside displacement, Amagi was inclined to take Atago's word at face value.
Slipping the heavily laden bag into her stores, she turned to Atago and smiled. "Thank you, Atago. Is there anything else I need?"
Atago smiled and handed her an absurdly overstuffed bag. "You're pretty close to Akagi for everything else, so I bought you the basics in her sizes!"
Amagi blinked as she accepted the bag. She was reasonably certain that Atago had never left her side. But before she could think too much on that, Atago laughed again.
"All right! Your turn to lead!"
Amagi gulped, and hesitantly looked around. Clothing store… toy store… arcade… hobby store… bulk cloth…
As she scanned past the hobby store, a familiar character caught her eye in the window. Almost without conscious thought, her legs carried her over to the display. She knelt down, and re-read the box carefully.
"Aircraft… carrier… Amagi?" Her confusion only intensified. The box art looked absolutely nothing like Akagi's conversion. She turned back to Atago. "I thought…", she waved her hand, "Wasn't my counterpart destroyed in the earthquake?"
Atago's perpetual smile turned sad for a moment. "I forget sometimes." She brushed her gloved hand over the glass. "No, had your counterpart lived, that wouldn't be her. This is Unryū's younger sister. She wasn't even laid down until late 1942."
Amagi sighed, and got back to her feet. "I see. I just suppose I wonder what I would look like, had I been converted as well…" She shook her head. "I can't help but wonder what Akagi thinks of me. Her sister returned to her, but as a cripple, rather than as a carrier to steam by her side."
Atago shook her head, then flicked Amagi's nose and pulled her into an embrace. "You idiot. Do you really think Akagi cares about your armament? If you'd come back as a target ship, she'd still be delighted."
Amagi slowly nodded and opened her mouth, only to stop as Atago put a finger over her lips. "I wasn't finished!" Amagi closed her mouth, and Atago laughed. "You're so much like Takao. Worrying too much about how you can fight for your sisters instead of with them."
Atago winked. "Since Akashi has to do so much on you anyways, if you ask nicely I'm sure she can work some minor refits into your repairs." She paused for a heartbeat, then giggled and pointed to a spectacularly intricate model. "Assuming, of course, you frame the request properly."
----
Teruzuki swore as she struggled with the squirming Chou-chan in her lap. "Hold still! You know you're just making it worse!"
The turret squalled, only redoubling its efforts to escape, and Teruzuki growled in frustration as she scrubbed the inside of the turret, her progress frequently interrupted as one or another of the Chou-chan's attempts to free itself sent her tools flying, forcing her to get another from the pile on the workbench next to her.
Across the room, Hatsuzuki stifled a giggle, cuddling one of her napping Chou-chans. Watching Teruzuki's Chou-chan's desperate attempts to evade maintenance was always a good laugh.
Finally, a seeming eternity later, Teruzuki wiped her grease-stained hands on a rag, clicked the turret roof shut, and locked a new set of barrels in place.
"See? Isn't that better?" she asked, gently kissing the side of the turret. It turned away, attempting to cross its flippers and scowling. Teruzuki winked at Hatsuzuki, then picked it up and cuddled it to her chest. "You're such a great Hou-10cm-chou-chan, you know? You make me so proud."
Its face softened, then a massive smile broke across its face and it spun around to return her embrace. A small smile stole across Hatsuzuki's face as she idly stroked the roof of her second Hou-chan. She had the best big sisters.
"Come, Teruzuki", she said in her characteristic demure almost-whisper, "It's almost dinner, and the Americans took over the mess." Indeed, the smell of wood smoke had begun to permeate the base nearly six hours ago. "We shouldn't keep Akizuki waiting."
----
Matt leaned back in his seat, marveling at the spread Texas and North Carolina had put on - apparently spurred by a disagreement over how "Southern" North Carolina's namesake really was, eventually leading the two to determine that the only sensible way to settle the dispute was with a cookout. He couldn't bring himself to care about the highly questionable sanity of the resolution. Two entire hogs and what looked like most of a steer barbecued so tender the meat practically fell apart under its own weight, flanked by slabs of cornbread large enough to be used as serving platters, bowls of several slaws nearly two feet across, baked beans cooked in the drippings from the hogs, and everything else imaginable. All present in such quantities that one table had actually been crushed under the weight. Thankfully, the food had survived mostly unscathed.
Truly, a feast to make any host or hostess from his home state proud. A warm, earthen laugh came from his right side, and he turned to see the short, plump and cheery Texas standing next to him.
"Enjoy it, dear?"
Matt smiled and nodded, his empty plate a mute testament to the fine repast. "You did well. Both of you." He said, raising his voice to make sure North Carolina heard him as she replaced several empty dishes. "Almost - almost! - as good as Ma's cooking."
Both battleships blushed madly. "High praise indeed!" Texas recovered her composure first, curtsying before she bustled back to the serving line.
Thankfully for both battleships, they were spared further embarrassment as the door creaked open and the Akizuki triplets sidled over to the serving line and began carefully assembling a tray. Matt frowned, looking over to the section of the mess the destroyers had taken over. Sure enough, almost none of the other destroyers were sharing trays, except for a pair of the absolutely tiny "coastal defense ships". He caught North Carolina's eye, gestured towards the Akizukis, and settled back as North Carolina quietly slipped up behind them.
"What's the matter, girls?" North Carolina smiled, wrapping her arms around all three. "Not hungry? Don't like barbecue?"
Akizuki gulped, eyes wide as she shook her head. "No…"
"Then why so little? There's more than enough for all of you."
Teruzuki scuffed a shoe. "I'm… not sure what to get. There's so… much. And we didn't want to waste any."
The big battleship laughed. "Oh, is that all, love? Here, hold this." She produced a tray and laid it in Teruzuki's hands, and dropped two large scoops of pork onto the tray next to two equally large scoops of beef, then adding a large dish of slaw and an absolutely massive slab of cornbread on top of it. Teruzuki stared slack-jawed at the mountain of food on her tray, her sisters poking their heads over her shoulders to join her in slack-jawed wonder. North Carolina gently pushed her towards a table.
"Fill it up like that. That's everything important, love." The stunned destroyer slowly made her way to the table, followed by the reverent gazes of her sisters. North Carolina gently nudged both of them with her hips. "That's nowhere near enough for all three of you. Here. Kidd!" She held out two more trays, each just as overburdened as the one in Teruzuki's hands. As if accepting holy relics, both destroyers reverently accepted the trays, and slowly followed Teruzuki to the table. Moments later, Kidd materialized from the kitchen, hair tightly bound up in her Jolly Roger bandana with a large platter of fries in one hand and three enormous glasses of sweet tea in her other. Both were deposited in front of the Akizukis.
"Sweet potato fries, sweet tea." She winked, "Just like we do them back home in Louisiana." Then she vanished, a merry laugh on the air as the bewildered destroyers looked back and forth at each other. Tentatively, Teruzuki took a small bite of smoked beef. After a moment, her eyes widened with inarticulate bliss and she dove into her food, eating with such speed that it seemed like sauce should have been splattering everywhere. Her sisters, after a moment's hesitation, followed suit, food and drink alike vanishing with astounding speed. Minutes later, all that remained was a trio of destroyers and their empty dishes. Texas laughed.
"Enjoy it, girls?"
All three nodded enthusiastically. Texas smiled.
"Good! Go get more!" she chivvied them towards the serving line. "You need to put some meat on your bones!"
None needed further encouragement. Matt chuckled. "Save room for dessert, girls."
Akizuki stopped and groaned with pleasure. "You mean there's more!?"
-----
Fubuki put her hand over her mouth to stifle a yawn as she trudged down the hallway, followed by Yūdachi's sleepy giggles. Shigure laughed gently, shifting her grip on the enormous stuffed bear Yūdachi had acquired.
"Come on, you two. Quarters aren't that far."
Fubuki yawned again. "I almost miss just being a ship… I never remember being this tired."
Yūdachi laughed. "But then we couldn't have nearly as much fun!" She giggled, "And we would have never discovered the arcades!"
Shigure smiled, and tousled her younger sister's hair. "It seems this is just another reminder that, as the Americans are fond of saying, 'There's no such thing as a free lunch'."
Fubuki nodded, opened her door and stopped dead at the sight of Akizuki, Teruzuki, and Hatsuzuki snoring in a completely undignified heap on her bed, not even in sleepwear! Their turrets had all cuddled themselves into the gaps between the sisters, twelve 10cm barrels in a neatly organized pile next to the sisters' haphazardly discarded corsets. The long smear of pie filling down Hatsuzuki's face simply completed the image.
Shigure and Yūdachi stopped and poked their heads in the door. Shigure snickered.
"I think they went a little overboard at dinner tonight."
Fubuki nodded dumbly, as Yūdachi pulled her towards the bed. Yūdachi yawned, "Come on, I'm, like, sleepy!", as she pulled her down into the heap. Fubuki froze as Teruzuki shifted in her sleep, and then gulped as the big air-defense destroyer pulled her and Yūdachi into the heap.
"Looks like it's a sleepover tonight." Shigure observed, and Fubuki felt the bed shift as Shigure snuggled in against the other side of the heap. Behind her, she heard Yūdachi's soft snores. Surrendering to the inevitable, she snuggled in with the rest of her division and closed her eyes.
The last thing she noticed before she fell asleep was the gentle weight of a blanket falling over her and a receding hum.
Care and Feeding
26 July, 2015
----
Tokyo
Amagi knelt in Akagi's -her- quarters. Akashi had booted her out of the docks, saying that she needed to find -or in some cases, make- schematics for most of what had simply been blown away, and the entire new pair of turrets she needed were nowhere close to ready. Which Amagi supposed was all well and good, except for the problem that it left her half-blind and with but a single arm to manage her daily routine. It was fortunate indeed that Akagi's engines were the same as hers in this world as well, and the similarities had let Akashi make good much of the damage to her shafts, meaning that at least she needed no cane or wheelchair.
Her musing on the state of her repairs was interrupted by an extraordinarily familiar overjoyed shout.
"Hello, Amagi!" Atago giggled. "Out of the docks?"
Amagi rose. "Hello, Atago. Only temporarily, I fear. Akashi has to figure out the designs for my after mast, and she's busy building my new turrets, so she can make no meaningful progress on my repairs until those are finished."
"That's good! It just means you're most of the way better!" Atago grabbed the loose sleeve, inspecting it. "This is one of Akagi's, isn't it?"
"YesSS!" Amagi squeaked, as Atago yanked her shirt up and tugged the strap of her borrowed bra.
Atago panpakapaned disapprovingly. "That's not going to be comfortable at all. Akagi is bigger than you are." Then she giggled, taking Amagi's hand in both of hers. "Come on! We're going shopping! You need things that fit, and I know just where to get them!"
Amagi opened her mouth to argue, and then sighed resignedly. "I don't really have a choice, do I?"
Atago beamed as she more-or-less dragged Amagi out the door. "Nope!"
----
Fubuki worried her hands. "Are you sure this is okay? Maybe I should ask the commander…"
Yūdachi giggled. "You worry too much! He told you that you have leave today, poi! Now come on, Shigure's waiting!"
Fubuki sighed and smiled at her best friend. "Okay, Yūdachi. Race you!" she called as she dashed out the door.
"Hey, no fair, poi!" Yūdachi laughed as she charged after Fubuki.
Laughing madly, the two destroyers ran down the halls, matters of guns, torpedos and maneuvers left behind for a well-earned day of fun.
----
Amagi was extraordinarily confused. While novel, the subway ride had been far from difficult to understand. After all, trains had existed even in her day. And though Tokyo had changed since the last time she had seen it, that was to be expected with sixty-odd years of development. No, what had her confused was the endless array of numbers and letters Atago had bandied about. Even after Atago's patient explanation, Amagi still didn't quite understand what "30C" actually meant, except that it was a different size from the "30E" bra she had borrowed from Akagi's drawer, and therefore, wrong. Even a ship as new to the whole "girl" thing as her could figure that out!
Fortunately, she didn't have to actually understand what the numbers meant to match labels to what Atago had told her. Unfortunately, that only narrowed things down. She'd had no idea there were so many types of bras! From plain, practical ones much like the (now mostly ash) one she'd awoken with to fancy lacey ones she hadn't understood until Atago had noticed her confused looks and suggested she imagine North Carolina in one. Naturally, Amagi's incandescent flush as she figured out the implications set off a stream of giggles from Atago. Perhaps feeling merciful, the cruiser pointed her to a set of plain, practical-looking undergarments that Atago said kept heavy weather from getting too uncomfortable. Given her… extreme... topside displacement, Amagi was inclined to take Atago's word at face value.
Slipping the heavily laden bag into her stores, she turned to Atago and smiled. "Thank you, Atago. Is there anything else I need?"
Atago smiled and handed her an absurdly overstuffed bag. "You're pretty close to Akagi for everything else, so I bought you the basics in her sizes!"
Amagi blinked as she accepted the bag. She was reasonably certain that Atago had never left her side. But before she could think too much on that, Atago laughed again.
"All right! Your turn to lead!"
Amagi gulped, and hesitantly looked around. Clothing store… toy store… arcade… hobby store… bulk cloth…
As she scanned past the hobby store, a familiar character caught her eye in the window. Almost without conscious thought, her legs carried her over to the display. She knelt down, and re-read the box carefully.
"Aircraft… carrier… Amagi?" Her confusion only intensified. The box art looked absolutely nothing like Akagi's conversion. She turned back to Atago. "I thought…", she waved her hand, "Wasn't my counterpart destroyed in the earthquake?"
Atago's perpetual smile turned sad for a moment. "I forget sometimes." She brushed her gloved hand over the glass. "No, had your counterpart lived, that wouldn't be her. This is Unryū's younger sister. She wasn't even laid down until late 1942."
Amagi sighed, and got back to her feet. "I see. I just suppose I wonder what I would look like, had I been converted as well…" She shook her head. "I can't help but wonder what Akagi thinks of me. Her sister returned to her, but as a cripple, rather than as a carrier to steam by her side."
Atago shook her head, then flicked Amagi's nose and pulled her into an embrace. "You idiot. Do you really think Akagi cares about your armament? If you'd come back as a target ship, she'd still be delighted."
Amagi slowly nodded and opened her mouth, only to stop as Atago put a finger over her lips. "I wasn't finished!" Amagi closed her mouth, and Atago laughed. "You're so much like Takao. Worrying too much about how you can fight for your sisters instead of with them."
Atago winked. "Since Akashi has to do so much on you anyways, if you ask nicely I'm sure she can work some minor refits into your repairs." She paused for a heartbeat, then giggled and pointed to a spectacularly intricate model. "Assuming, of course, you frame the request properly."
----
Teruzuki swore as she struggled with the squirming Chou-chan in her lap. "Hold still! You know you're just making it worse!"
The turret squalled, only redoubling its efforts to escape, and Teruzuki growled in frustration as she scrubbed the inside of the turret, her progress frequently interrupted as one or another of the Chou-chan's attempts to free itself sent her tools flying, forcing her to get another from the pile on the workbench next to her.
Across the room, Hatsuzuki stifled a giggle, cuddling one of her napping Chou-chans. Watching Teruzuki's Chou-chan's desperate attempts to evade maintenance was always a good laugh.
Finally, a seeming eternity later, Teruzuki wiped her grease-stained hands on a rag, clicked the turret roof shut, and locked a new set of barrels in place.
"See? Isn't that better?" she asked, gently kissing the side of the turret. It turned away, attempting to cross its flippers and scowling. Teruzuki winked at Hatsuzuki, then picked it up and cuddled it to her chest. "You're such a great Hou-10cm-chou-chan, you know? You make me so proud."
Its face softened, then a massive smile broke across its face and it spun around to return her embrace. A small smile stole across Hatsuzuki's face as she idly stroked the roof of her second Hou-chan. She had the best big sisters.
"Come, Teruzuki", she said in her characteristic demure almost-whisper, "It's almost dinner, and the Americans took over the mess." Indeed, the smell of wood smoke had begun to permeate the base nearly six hours ago. "We shouldn't keep Akizuki waiting."
----
Matt leaned back in his seat, marveling at the spread Texas and North Carolina had put on - apparently spurred by a disagreement over how "Southern" North Carolina's namesake really was, eventually leading the two to determine that the only sensible way to settle the dispute was with a cookout. He couldn't bring himself to care about the highly questionable sanity of the resolution. Two entire hogs and what looked like most of a steer barbecued so tender the meat practically fell apart under its own weight, flanked by slabs of cornbread large enough to be used as serving platters, bowls of several slaws nearly two feet across, baked beans cooked in the drippings from the hogs, and everything else imaginable. All present in such quantities that one table had actually been crushed under the weight. Thankfully, the food had survived mostly unscathed.
Truly, a feast to make any host or hostess from his home state proud. A warm, earthen laugh came from his right side, and he turned to see the short, plump and cheery Texas standing next to him.
"Enjoy it, dear?"
Matt smiled and nodded, his empty plate a mute testament to the fine repast. "You did well. Both of you." He said, raising his voice to make sure North Carolina heard him as she replaced several empty dishes. "Almost - almost! - as good as Ma's cooking."
Both battleships blushed madly. "High praise indeed!" Texas recovered her composure first, curtsying before she bustled back to the serving line.
Thankfully for both battleships, they were spared further embarrassment as the door creaked open and the Akizuki triplets sidled over to the serving line and began carefully assembling a tray. Matt frowned, looking over to the section of the mess the destroyers had taken over. Sure enough, almost none of the other destroyers were sharing trays, except for a pair of the absolutely tiny "coastal defense ships". He caught North Carolina's eye, gestured towards the Akizukis, and settled back as North Carolina quietly slipped up behind them.
"What's the matter, girls?" North Carolina smiled, wrapping her arms around all three. "Not hungry? Don't like barbecue?"
Akizuki gulped, eyes wide as she shook her head. "No…"
"Then why so little? There's more than enough for all of you."
Teruzuki scuffed a shoe. "I'm… not sure what to get. There's so… much. And we didn't want to waste any."
The big battleship laughed. "Oh, is that all, love? Here, hold this." She produced a tray and laid it in Teruzuki's hands, and dropped two large scoops of pork onto the tray next to two equally large scoops of beef, then adding a large dish of slaw and an absolutely massive slab of cornbread on top of it. Teruzuki stared slack-jawed at the mountain of food on her tray, her sisters poking their heads over her shoulders to join her in slack-jawed wonder. North Carolina gently pushed her towards a table.
"Fill it up like that. That's everything important, love." The stunned destroyer slowly made her way to the table, followed by the reverent gazes of her sisters. North Carolina gently nudged both of them with her hips. "That's nowhere near enough for all three of you. Here. Kidd!" She held out two more trays, each just as overburdened as the one in Teruzuki's hands. As if accepting holy relics, both destroyers reverently accepted the trays, and slowly followed Teruzuki to the table. Moments later, Kidd materialized from the kitchen, hair tightly bound up in her Jolly Roger bandana with a large platter of fries in one hand and three enormous glasses of sweet tea in her other. Both were deposited in front of the Akizukis.
"Sweet potato fries, sweet tea." She winked, "Just like we do them back home in Louisiana." Then she vanished, a merry laugh on the air as the bewildered destroyers looked back and forth at each other. Tentatively, Teruzuki took a small bite of smoked beef. After a moment, her eyes widened with inarticulate bliss and she dove into her food, eating with such speed that it seemed like sauce should have been splattering everywhere. Her sisters, after a moment's hesitation, followed suit, food and drink alike vanishing with astounding speed. Minutes later, all that remained was a trio of destroyers and their empty dishes. Texas laughed.
"Enjoy it, girls?"
All three nodded enthusiastically. Texas smiled.
"Good! Go get more!" she chivvied them towards the serving line. "You need to put some meat on your bones!"
None needed further encouragement. Matt chuckled. "Save room for dessert, girls."
Akizuki stopped and groaned with pleasure. "You mean there's more!?"
-----
Fubuki put her hand over her mouth to stifle a yawn as she trudged down the hallway, followed by Yūdachi's sleepy giggles. Shigure laughed gently, shifting her grip on the enormous stuffed bear Yūdachi had acquired.
"Come on, you two. Quarters aren't that far."
Fubuki yawned again. "I almost miss just being a ship… I never remember being this tired."
Yūdachi laughed. "But then we couldn't have nearly as much fun!" She giggled, "And we would have never discovered the arcades!"
Shigure smiled, and tousled her younger sister's hair. "It seems this is just another reminder that, as the Americans are fond of saying, 'There's no such thing as a free lunch'."
Fubuki nodded, opened her door and stopped dead at the sight of Akizuki, Teruzuki, and Hatsuzuki snoring in a completely undignified heap on her bed, not even in sleepwear! Their turrets had all cuddled themselves into the gaps between the sisters, twelve 10cm barrels in a neatly organized pile next to the sisters' haphazardly discarded corsets. The long smear of pie filling down Hatsuzuki's face simply completed the image.
Shigure and Yūdachi stopped and poked their heads in the door. Shigure snickered.
"I think they went a little overboard at dinner tonight."
Fubuki nodded dumbly, as Yūdachi pulled her towards the bed. Yūdachi yawned, "Come on, I'm, like, sleepy!", as she pulled her down into the heap. Fubuki froze as Teruzuki shifted in her sleep, and then gulped as the big air-defense destroyer pulled her and Yūdachi into the heap.
"Looks like it's a sleepover tonight." Shigure observed, and Fubuki felt the bed shift as Shigure snuggled in against the other side of the heap. Behind her, she heard Yūdachi's soft snores. Surrendering to the inevitable, she snuggled in with the rest of her division and closed her eyes.
The last thing she noticed before she fell asleep was the gentle weight of a blanket falling over her and a receding hum.
Last edited:
Sandy River DL
(Verified Destroyer Leader)
- Location
- Lake Michigan
- Pronouns
- Her/She
The unfortunate lack of a 'D'awe' rating has forced the use of a Hug rating.
CV12Hornet
Riter.
- Location
- Tacoma, Washington
That was immensely adorable.
Tyrannops
Today, we're canceling the Apocalypse!
- Location
- North Carolina
I don't think cookout really explains how much food got cooked.
- Location
- Villa Straylight, Freeside, Earth Orbit
I know next to nothing about both series, but by god am I so very happy I just stumbled upon this and gave it a look! That last chapter was stupidly cute. Destroyer snuggle pile!
Can't wait for more.
Can't wait for more.
PAGDTenno
Verified Warmind. Probably on fire.
- Location
- South Carolina
Well, Tex and Showboat agreed to a cookout. Then they both went overboard in an attempt to outdo the other.
Borrowed them from my local library and was glad to discover it too.
Good to see it come back and good to see the Duckies being stuffed. They need their stuffing.
Chapter 12: Home Away From Home
PAGDTenno
Verified Warmind. Probably on fire.
- Location
- South Carolina
Chapter 12
Home Away From Home
---
27 July, 2015
Sea of Japan
Matt stood on Walker's bridge wing once more, watching his DesRon shake down into cruising formation around North Carolina and the convoy they were escorting home.
"Uhm, Skipper?" Walker asked, tugging his hand. "When we get to Pearl, can we get my bottom scraped? Please?"
Matt looked down at Walker, and raised an eyebrow. "I suppose so, but why?"
She blushed, scratching her leg. "It's, uh, been a while." Matt chuckled, and she glared at him, "S'not funny!" she growled as she scratched frantically.
Matt lifted her into his arms and closed his hands around hers. "Don't scratch, it'll just make it worse." he admonished before smiling at her, "And it is, a little. We're all so wrapped up in the magic of all this that we forgot the basics." Walker flushed brightly and squirmed free, then ran over to the railing, watching their DesRon.
---
26 August, 2015
Pearl Harbor, Hawaii
It was a somber fleet that entered Pearl Harbor two weeks later. For some, like North Carolina, Arizona's wreck was an old, painfully familiar sight. Others, like Walker and Captain Reddy, had never seen the wreck, or the memorial later erected over it. Still others, such as many of the Japanese ships, had never seen Pearl.
Slowly, they approached the place where it had all began, somber in their dress whites. Every ship's deck had been scrubbed to eye-watering shine, and their sides were freshly painted, splinter camo geometrically perfect and gleaming. Even the eternally bombastic Bradford seemed subdued as he stood by the railing in a simple tuxedo. As they came down the channel, the massive Iowa anchored behind the monument tracked them with her directors, smoke curling lazily from her stacks. An elementally simple message. I stand vigilant.
Then, a mere quarter-mile closer to the base, the bowed marble monument, immortalizing in stone the place Arizona's calamitous destruction had shaken worlds.
Matt watched Arizona's monument slowly disappear behind Ford island and looked down at Walker, resplendent in the old, well-cared for whites she'd found… somewhere. The wreck in the water wasn't their Arizona. Boat's son hadn't died a few hundred feet from that ship. But it was all too discomfitingly similar anyway. With an almost physical effort, Matt forced his thoughts away from the events of that long-past day.
"Sure has changed a lot since I was last here."
He pointed to one of the enormous modern destroyers -the size of the cruisers they'd known.
"I think one of the Fletchers I expected to be assigned to was over there. And my old girl, Champlin, over there with all the other destroyers." He gestured further astern. "The cruisers were moored over there… and Utah and some battleships were leaving for gunnery practice when I left for Manila." He looked towards the docks and Laffey's lean, powerful silhouette. "I guess we're about to see what else has changed."
Walker scratched her chin. "I keep expecting to see the Royal Navy flag all over the place, and Jenks or one of his people waiting to greet us at the Navy Pier."
Matt shook his head. "No, the sea level is too high. It's definitely Pearl, not New Ireland."
Walker's face grew pensive. "Doesn't feel like I expected it to. Not at all."
"Hrm."
They stood silently for a time, stewing in their thoughts as Walker slid up against the pier next to Laffey. Matt started down the gangway. "Doesn't feel like a homecoming." He squeezed her shoulder. "It shouldn't after thirty years, but it's definitely strange."
----
Atago walked up the landing ramp towards the brunette heavy cruiser waiting there and the enormous Des Moines moored besides her. This is not, she mused, how I expected to arrive here. As she walked towards Wichita and Salem, she noticed two figures on Salem's bow, one male, one female, clearly in the middle of a heated argument. She wondered if they realized how well their voices carried.
As she approached Wichita, the American cruiser casually waved without turning away from the bickering duo on Salem's bow.
"Yo. Come for the show?"
Atago blinked. "The… show?"
Wichita glanced towards her, red eyes gleaming with amusement. "Salem flirting with her boyfriend, duh." She pointed towards the man. "That's Lieutenant Commander Harkness. He's in charge of our docks, modernizations, and getting NAVSEA to give us what we need."
"Aren't they… arguing?"
Wichita grinned. "Oh yeah. They're really into it, too."
Atago looked at her askance. "About what?"
"They think there's a train fault with her forward three-inch fifties. He thinks it's the mount wiring, and wants to pull and replace it. She thinks it's the director wearing out, and wants it rebuilt. I think they want an excuse to fight."
Atago's frown deepened. "That doesn't explain why you called it flirting."
Wichita giggled. "They've been having this argument for weeks. And lemme tell ya a secret. Mark fifty-seven directors are real easy to diagnose, and so are Mark thirty-three mounts."
Atago rubbed her face. "I will never understand Americans." But she smiled as she did.
Wichita roared a laugh. "Oh, I like you!" She turned to face Atago and stuck out a hand. "USS Wichita. Pleased to meet ya."
Atago took the offered hand and shook it. "Thank you." She giggled. "Now, is there any way you might be convinced to show a tired old heavy cruiser to a mess and a bed?"
Wichita made a show of bowing deeply. "Why of course, milady!"
---
Matt walked up Laffey's gangway and over to the pair of legs sticking out of an access panel. A tall, muscular teenager with a massive burn scar rendering the tattoo on her left shoulder illegible dropped out of the access panel and tossed him a casual salute and a cocky grin. "Sir."
"Laffey."
He took a moment to look around. The veteran destroyer was bristling with armament. Depth charges, anti-aircraft guns, and what looked like a forward firing mortar abeam the second five-inch mount. It seemed one couldn't take two steps without walking into one weapon or another.
"Know how to use all this?"
She smiled broadly, displaying gleaming white teeth that seemed perhaps a tad sharper than they had any right to be. "And how, sir!"
"Know how to use it as part of a division?"
"Would have really sucked in Korea if I didn't."
Matt snorted. He'd read her service record.
"I didn't ask if your crew knew how, Laffey. I asked if you did. They took you on a lot of lone-wolf stunts."
She shrugged. "They were necessary. And Okinawa was radar picket duty, besides. Can't say I've had as much drill time or maneuver as I'd like, with all the time I've spent in yard hands, and I'd been retired forty years. But I can still hum the tune, even if I can't sing it as well as I could have back when I was with Sixth Fleet. And Maury and I have gotten some managed to get a couple days of maneuvers since she came back and the yard apes finally let go. It hasn't been as long for her."
She frowned pensively, rubbing her shoulder. "Speaking of teamwork, not sure how I feel working with DesDiv61, sir. I trust them not to shoot at us, but..." her voice trailed off, and she shook her head as she searched for the right words.
"They're not Navy."
Laffey shook her head. "No. They don't… Argh. Look. They're not fleet destroyers. Their ASW equipment is hot shit, their AA directors are salvo fire, not continuous, their guns are too small to work well for a destroyer fight, and Fubuki's the only one with a decent torpedo broadside, assuming the ducks could even get in position to launch theirs!"
Matt raised an eyebrow. "Their guns are barely smaller than Walker's."
"Yeah, and with a way smaller bursting charge. Look, I'm not insulting their guts, intelligence, or… team spirit, I guess. Really. They're just way overspecialized for air defense, and from what the Abyss has been tossing at us, they're going to be an anchor around our necks. This war's been surface actions and sub hunting, and the only aircraft they've got are occasional spotters and land-based bombers when we stray too close to one of their islands."
Matt nodded. He understood her concerns, and truthfully, they were things he should have considered when he'd taken command. Damnit. He was rustier than he'd thought. And, he admitted to himself, it's not like I wouldn't prefer more fleet destroyers myself. But if he'd always gotten what he wanted, he'd have been facing Amagi off Baalkpaan with more than two old thousand-ton destroyers with a single torpedo between them. But that left him with the problem of what to do with Laffey. He had to actually address her concerns. They were legitimate, and she had every right to bring them before him. Honesty, then.
"I understand your concerns, Laffey. And I'll admit, I'd be happier if they were a little less specialized, myself. That said, I don't expect the lack of carriers to continue forever. If nothing else, we have five, and they have to counter those somehow. And unfortunately, I don't think they're stupid enough to assume they can do it by just throwing enough battleships at the problem. In the meantime, it's our job to put them in the place where they can best contribute. Which is why we're going out on maneuvers tomorrow, to start working just how we can best coordinate those slow, undergunned ships with our faster division."
Laffey relaxed marginally.
"I will admit, however, that I had not considered anti submarine warfare. And since you brought the problem to my attention, I think it's only reasonable to ask you to help devise a solution. I'd like a proposal to bring DesDiv61 up to a reasonable proficiency in ASW on my desk by sundown tomorrow. Training, refits, whatever you think necessary. Consult with whoever you need."
Laffey squeaked in surprise, looking like she would rather clean out her bunkers with a toothbrush. There was, however, only one possible response. "Yes, sir."
---
Shimakaze squirmed uncomfortably under the weight of her diminutive division XO's gaze. She knew why she was here. The maneuvers en-route to Pearl had been a miserable failure, and she'd gone careening out of formation in all of them. And just to rub salt in the wound, Akizuki's division had been in view, practically dancing through their maneuvers with parade-ground perfection.
"Do you think you're a cruiser?" Walker asked calmly, leaning back in her chair and steepling her fingers. Shimakaze sputtered in shock. She'd expected, ranting, screaming, or shouting, not a calm, dismissive insult. Walker waited a moment, and continued. "You're acting like one. You're always raring to strike out on your own and fight independently, and it fucking shows. Like you are right now, you're a liability."
Shimakaze's temper flared. She knew she was a destroyer, damn it! "I'm not! You're all holding me back! You're too old and slow to understand!"
One of Walker's eyebrows raised fractionally, as Shimakaze belatedly realized she'd shouted at a superior. The old four-stacker's eyes gained a dangerous gleam, and her voice was as cold as the battered sword resting against the wall behind her. "True, I am old. I was launched fifty-eight years ago. Forty-nine years ago, Fubuki's launch made me obsolescent. Thirty years ago, I went up against new, modern destroyers, heavy cruisers, and a battlecruiser. Twenty-nine years ago, Mahan and I sunk Amagi. Twenty-eight years ago, I dueled Hidoiame to a standstill," she recounted, her voice taking an odd cadence as her eyes defocused and she slipped back into memory. "Twenty-five years ago, we won against the Grik and the Doms. And finally, fifteen years ago, I settled into retirement, granted a place of honor at the capital of the country my crew founded, offering the only service I could any longer, as a museum. Watching my beloved crew slowly grow old and die, and teaching those who they gave everything for what they sacrificed."
Her gaze refocused and she locked eyes with Shimakaze. "Seventy-two years ago, you launched. Seventy-one years ago, you helped evacuate Kiska. Seventy years ago, you were at Leyte Gulf, though you hardly participated in that one." Walker's voice turned deadly soft, "A month after that, you sank. Just two and a half years old." Shimakaze shrank into her chair.
"So tell me, Shimakaze. What did you learn in your thirty months of life that lets you be a loose cannon, and destroy my division's cohesion?" Shimakaze flinched, and hugged her legs against her chest. She hiccuped.
"I know! But I can't perform with a bunch of slow old ships! I'm worthless if I can't use my speed!" Shimakaze sniffled and rubbed her nose, then continued, "It's why I was built…"
Walker shook her head. "You really don't understand, do you? Your speed doesn't matter at all." Shimakaze's head snapped back in shock. Walker continued as if what she'd said was completely unremarkable, "Your speed doesn't matter because you don't matter. Yukikaze doesn't matter, Laffey doesn't matter, Maury doesn't matter, I don't matter, the Skipper doesn't matter." Walker tapped the desk for emphasis with each name, and continued. "The only thing that matters to anyone that matters is the Eighteenth Destroyer Division." She poked Shimakaze in the chest. "And the only way you can be worth your steel is if you're a contributing member of your destroyer division. And that means keeping pace with us when we move as a formation. Even if it means slowing down. Understand?"
Shimakaze hiccuped, and nodded. Walker smiled gently, and hopped out of her chair, collecting her sword on the way to the door. "Good. Why don't you take a couple days to think about it in your quarters?"
Shimakaze sniffled and slowly followed her out the door, stumbling down the halls towards the destroyer quarters.
---
Walker stopped in front of the door, checked the nameplate, took a deep breath, and slipped in. The man behind the desk looked up at her and raised an eyebrow.
"Yes?"
Walker fidgeted, rubbing her sword's handle with her fingers.
"Uhm. Commander Harkness? Sir?"
He nodded. "That's me. You're Walker, right? Our mysterious new arrival?"
She nodded. "Yes, sir. I, uh, need your help."
"What's the matter?" His tone was soft, welcoming, and he guided her into a surprisingly comfortable seat.
She fidgeted some more, turning bright red. "It's, uhm, embarrassing."
Harkness leaned back, waiting.
"CouldIgetmyhullscrapedplease," she blurted, looking down and away.
Harkness smiled. "Of course. We'll have to use a civilian dry dock, but I'll have it scheduled within an hour. And I've already let Captain Reddy know that you won't be available for maneuvers tomorrow while we complete your structural and mechanical survey."
Walker's eyes widened. "But we have to get the division shaken down! We still need a lot of practice!"
He reached out and ruffled her hair. "I know. But we need to know exactly what shape before we can design any refits and so we can have repair plans ready." He pushed a clipboard towards her, with a rough line drawing of her side by side with a standard Wickes. "You're pretty far from standard, kid. We've got to know how you differ from your sisters. Besides," he grinned, "we'll be done before you know it, and you can get back to whipping your division into shape."
Walker gave him a grudging nod, and trudged out of the office with her head hanging low. So this was why her crews hated doctors' offices so much.
---
14 July, 2015
The shadowy figure behind the desk seethed. Two big, modern battlecruisers. Swatted like flies by a cripple and an antique! He slammed a fist into his desk and growled, suppressing his temper with difficulty as he stalked to the window, resting clawed hands on the sill and gazing out at the fleet resting at anchor. Looking on them with his own eyes calmed him as it always did, cooling the fires of his rage to mere coals. So what if he'd lost a pair of battlecruisers? He turned his gaze to the slips, and the corner of his mouth turned up. There were, after all, plenty more where those had come from.
Yes, he mused, gazing at the four new battlecruisers coming together in the slips and the four super-battleships coming together on the next set of ways over. Battleships such that the world had never seen. Today's losses were painful, to be certain, but far from catastrophic.
This time, with such a fleet, Kantai Kessen could not help but succeed. The Americans and their traitorous allies would attack, be destroyed, and then he would liberate the world from that vile nation of merchants.
Finally, the world would know the face of its savior!
Home Away From Home
---
27 July, 2015
Sea of Japan
Matt stood on Walker's bridge wing once more, watching his DesRon shake down into cruising formation around North Carolina and the convoy they were escorting home.
"Uhm, Skipper?" Walker asked, tugging his hand. "When we get to Pearl, can we get my bottom scraped? Please?"
Matt looked down at Walker, and raised an eyebrow. "I suppose so, but why?"
She blushed, scratching her leg. "It's, uh, been a while." Matt chuckled, and she glared at him, "S'not funny!" she growled as she scratched frantically.
Matt lifted her into his arms and closed his hands around hers. "Don't scratch, it'll just make it worse." he admonished before smiling at her, "And it is, a little. We're all so wrapped up in the magic of all this that we forgot the basics." Walker flushed brightly and squirmed free, then ran over to the railing, watching their DesRon.
---
26 August, 2015
Pearl Harbor, Hawaii
It was a somber fleet that entered Pearl Harbor two weeks later. For some, like North Carolina, Arizona's wreck was an old, painfully familiar sight. Others, like Walker and Captain Reddy, had never seen the wreck, or the memorial later erected over it. Still others, such as many of the Japanese ships, had never seen Pearl.
Slowly, they approached the place where it had all began, somber in their dress whites. Every ship's deck had been scrubbed to eye-watering shine, and their sides were freshly painted, splinter camo geometrically perfect and gleaming. Even the eternally bombastic Bradford seemed subdued as he stood by the railing in a simple tuxedo. As they came down the channel, the massive Iowa anchored behind the monument tracked them with her directors, smoke curling lazily from her stacks. An elementally simple message. I stand vigilant.
Then, a mere quarter-mile closer to the base, the bowed marble monument, immortalizing in stone the place Arizona's calamitous destruction had shaken worlds.
Matt watched Arizona's monument slowly disappear behind Ford island and looked down at Walker, resplendent in the old, well-cared for whites she'd found… somewhere. The wreck in the water wasn't their Arizona. Boat's son hadn't died a few hundred feet from that ship. But it was all too discomfitingly similar anyway. With an almost physical effort, Matt forced his thoughts away from the events of that long-past day.
"Sure has changed a lot since I was last here."
He pointed to one of the enormous modern destroyers -the size of the cruisers they'd known.
"I think one of the Fletchers I expected to be assigned to was over there. And my old girl, Champlin, over there with all the other destroyers." He gestured further astern. "The cruisers were moored over there… and Utah and some battleships were leaving for gunnery practice when I left for Manila." He looked towards the docks and Laffey's lean, powerful silhouette. "I guess we're about to see what else has changed."
Walker scratched her chin. "I keep expecting to see the Royal Navy flag all over the place, and Jenks or one of his people waiting to greet us at the Navy Pier."
Matt shook his head. "No, the sea level is too high. It's definitely Pearl, not New Ireland."
Walker's face grew pensive. "Doesn't feel like I expected it to. Not at all."
"Hrm."
They stood silently for a time, stewing in their thoughts as Walker slid up against the pier next to Laffey. Matt started down the gangway. "Doesn't feel like a homecoming." He squeezed her shoulder. "It shouldn't after thirty years, but it's definitely strange."
----
Atago walked up the landing ramp towards the brunette heavy cruiser waiting there and the enormous Des Moines moored besides her. This is not, she mused, how I expected to arrive here. As she walked towards Wichita and Salem, she noticed two figures on Salem's bow, one male, one female, clearly in the middle of a heated argument. She wondered if they realized how well their voices carried.
As she approached Wichita, the American cruiser casually waved without turning away from the bickering duo on Salem's bow.
"Yo. Come for the show?"
Atago blinked. "The… show?"
Wichita glanced towards her, red eyes gleaming with amusement. "Salem flirting with her boyfriend, duh." She pointed towards the man. "That's Lieutenant Commander Harkness. He's in charge of our docks, modernizations, and getting NAVSEA to give us what we need."
"Aren't they… arguing?"
Wichita grinned. "Oh yeah. They're really into it, too."
Atago looked at her askance. "About what?"
"They think there's a train fault with her forward three-inch fifties. He thinks it's the mount wiring, and wants to pull and replace it. She thinks it's the director wearing out, and wants it rebuilt. I think they want an excuse to fight."
Atago's frown deepened. "That doesn't explain why you called it flirting."
Wichita giggled. "They've been having this argument for weeks. And lemme tell ya a secret. Mark fifty-seven directors are real easy to diagnose, and so are Mark thirty-three mounts."
Atago rubbed her face. "I will never understand Americans." But she smiled as she did.
Wichita roared a laugh. "Oh, I like you!" She turned to face Atago and stuck out a hand. "USS Wichita. Pleased to meet ya."
Atago took the offered hand and shook it. "Thank you." She giggled. "Now, is there any way you might be convinced to show a tired old heavy cruiser to a mess and a bed?"
Wichita made a show of bowing deeply. "Why of course, milady!"
---
Matt walked up Laffey's gangway and over to the pair of legs sticking out of an access panel. A tall, muscular teenager with a massive burn scar rendering the tattoo on her left shoulder illegible dropped out of the access panel and tossed him a casual salute and a cocky grin. "Sir."
"Laffey."
He took a moment to look around. The veteran destroyer was bristling with armament. Depth charges, anti-aircraft guns, and what looked like a forward firing mortar abeam the second five-inch mount. It seemed one couldn't take two steps without walking into one weapon or another.
"Know how to use all this?"
She smiled broadly, displaying gleaming white teeth that seemed perhaps a tad sharper than they had any right to be. "And how, sir!"
"Know how to use it as part of a division?"
"Would have really sucked in Korea if I didn't."
Matt snorted. He'd read her service record.
"I didn't ask if your crew knew how, Laffey. I asked if you did. They took you on a lot of lone-wolf stunts."
She shrugged. "They were necessary. And Okinawa was radar picket duty, besides. Can't say I've had as much drill time or maneuver as I'd like, with all the time I've spent in yard hands, and I'd been retired forty years. But I can still hum the tune, even if I can't sing it as well as I could have back when I was with Sixth Fleet. And Maury and I have gotten some managed to get a couple days of maneuvers since she came back and the yard apes finally let go. It hasn't been as long for her."
She frowned pensively, rubbing her shoulder. "Speaking of teamwork, not sure how I feel working with DesDiv61, sir. I trust them not to shoot at us, but..." her voice trailed off, and she shook her head as she searched for the right words.
"They're not Navy."
Laffey shook her head. "No. They don't… Argh. Look. They're not fleet destroyers. Their ASW equipment is hot shit, their AA directors are salvo fire, not continuous, their guns are too small to work well for a destroyer fight, and Fubuki's the only one with a decent torpedo broadside, assuming the ducks could even get in position to launch theirs!"
Matt raised an eyebrow. "Their guns are barely smaller than Walker's."
"Yeah, and with a way smaller bursting charge. Look, I'm not insulting their guts, intelligence, or… team spirit, I guess. Really. They're just way overspecialized for air defense, and from what the Abyss has been tossing at us, they're going to be an anchor around our necks. This war's been surface actions and sub hunting, and the only aircraft they've got are occasional spotters and land-based bombers when we stray too close to one of their islands."
Matt nodded. He understood her concerns, and truthfully, they were things he should have considered when he'd taken command. Damnit. He was rustier than he'd thought. And, he admitted to himself, it's not like I wouldn't prefer more fleet destroyers myself. But if he'd always gotten what he wanted, he'd have been facing Amagi off Baalkpaan with more than two old thousand-ton destroyers with a single torpedo between them. But that left him with the problem of what to do with Laffey. He had to actually address her concerns. They were legitimate, and she had every right to bring them before him. Honesty, then.
"I understand your concerns, Laffey. And I'll admit, I'd be happier if they were a little less specialized, myself. That said, I don't expect the lack of carriers to continue forever. If nothing else, we have five, and they have to counter those somehow. And unfortunately, I don't think they're stupid enough to assume they can do it by just throwing enough battleships at the problem. In the meantime, it's our job to put them in the place where they can best contribute. Which is why we're going out on maneuvers tomorrow, to start working just how we can best coordinate those slow, undergunned ships with our faster division."
Laffey relaxed marginally.
"I will admit, however, that I had not considered anti submarine warfare. And since you brought the problem to my attention, I think it's only reasonable to ask you to help devise a solution. I'd like a proposal to bring DesDiv61 up to a reasonable proficiency in ASW on my desk by sundown tomorrow. Training, refits, whatever you think necessary. Consult with whoever you need."
Laffey squeaked in surprise, looking like she would rather clean out her bunkers with a toothbrush. There was, however, only one possible response. "Yes, sir."
---
Shimakaze squirmed uncomfortably under the weight of her diminutive division XO's gaze. She knew why she was here. The maneuvers en-route to Pearl had been a miserable failure, and she'd gone careening out of formation in all of them. And just to rub salt in the wound, Akizuki's division had been in view, practically dancing through their maneuvers with parade-ground perfection.
"Do you think you're a cruiser?" Walker asked calmly, leaning back in her chair and steepling her fingers. Shimakaze sputtered in shock. She'd expected, ranting, screaming, or shouting, not a calm, dismissive insult. Walker waited a moment, and continued. "You're acting like one. You're always raring to strike out on your own and fight independently, and it fucking shows. Like you are right now, you're a liability."
Shimakaze's temper flared. She knew she was a destroyer, damn it! "I'm not! You're all holding me back! You're too old and slow to understand!"
One of Walker's eyebrows raised fractionally, as Shimakaze belatedly realized she'd shouted at a superior. The old four-stacker's eyes gained a dangerous gleam, and her voice was as cold as the battered sword resting against the wall behind her. "True, I am old. I was launched fifty-eight years ago. Forty-nine years ago, Fubuki's launch made me obsolescent. Thirty years ago, I went up against new, modern destroyers, heavy cruisers, and a battlecruiser. Twenty-nine years ago, Mahan and I sunk Amagi. Twenty-eight years ago, I dueled Hidoiame to a standstill," she recounted, her voice taking an odd cadence as her eyes defocused and she slipped back into memory. "Twenty-five years ago, we won against the Grik and the Doms. And finally, fifteen years ago, I settled into retirement, granted a place of honor at the capital of the country my crew founded, offering the only service I could any longer, as a museum. Watching my beloved crew slowly grow old and die, and teaching those who they gave everything for what they sacrificed."
Her gaze refocused and she locked eyes with Shimakaze. "Seventy-two years ago, you launched. Seventy-one years ago, you helped evacuate Kiska. Seventy years ago, you were at Leyte Gulf, though you hardly participated in that one." Walker's voice turned deadly soft, "A month after that, you sank. Just two and a half years old." Shimakaze shrank into her chair.
"So tell me, Shimakaze. What did you learn in your thirty months of life that lets you be a loose cannon, and destroy my division's cohesion?" Shimakaze flinched, and hugged her legs against her chest. She hiccuped.
"I know! But I can't perform with a bunch of slow old ships! I'm worthless if I can't use my speed!" Shimakaze sniffled and rubbed her nose, then continued, "It's why I was built…"
Walker shook her head. "You really don't understand, do you? Your speed doesn't matter at all." Shimakaze's head snapped back in shock. Walker continued as if what she'd said was completely unremarkable, "Your speed doesn't matter because you don't matter. Yukikaze doesn't matter, Laffey doesn't matter, Maury doesn't matter, I don't matter, the Skipper doesn't matter." Walker tapped the desk for emphasis with each name, and continued. "The only thing that matters to anyone that matters is the Eighteenth Destroyer Division." She poked Shimakaze in the chest. "And the only way you can be worth your steel is if you're a contributing member of your destroyer division. And that means keeping pace with us when we move as a formation. Even if it means slowing down. Understand?"
Shimakaze hiccuped, and nodded. Walker smiled gently, and hopped out of her chair, collecting her sword on the way to the door. "Good. Why don't you take a couple days to think about it in your quarters?"
Shimakaze sniffled and slowly followed her out the door, stumbling down the halls towards the destroyer quarters.
---
Walker stopped in front of the door, checked the nameplate, took a deep breath, and slipped in. The man behind the desk looked up at her and raised an eyebrow.
"Yes?"
Walker fidgeted, rubbing her sword's handle with her fingers.
"Uhm. Commander Harkness? Sir?"
He nodded. "That's me. You're Walker, right? Our mysterious new arrival?"
She nodded. "Yes, sir. I, uh, need your help."
"What's the matter?" His tone was soft, welcoming, and he guided her into a surprisingly comfortable seat.
She fidgeted some more, turning bright red. "It's, uhm, embarrassing."
Harkness leaned back, waiting.
"CouldIgetmyhullscrapedplease," she blurted, looking down and away.
Harkness smiled. "Of course. We'll have to use a civilian dry dock, but I'll have it scheduled within an hour. And I've already let Captain Reddy know that you won't be available for maneuvers tomorrow while we complete your structural and mechanical survey."
Walker's eyes widened. "But we have to get the division shaken down! We still need a lot of practice!"
He reached out and ruffled her hair. "I know. But we need to know exactly what shape before we can design any refits and so we can have repair plans ready." He pushed a clipboard towards her, with a rough line drawing of her side by side with a standard Wickes. "You're pretty far from standard, kid. We've got to know how you differ from your sisters. Besides," he grinned, "we'll be done before you know it, and you can get back to whipping your division into shape."
Walker gave him a grudging nod, and trudged out of the office with her head hanging low. So this was why her crews hated doctors' offices so much.
---
14 July, 2015
The shadowy figure behind the desk seethed. Two big, modern battlecruisers. Swatted like flies by a cripple and an antique! He slammed a fist into his desk and growled, suppressing his temper with difficulty as he stalked to the window, resting clawed hands on the sill and gazing out at the fleet resting at anchor. Looking on them with his own eyes calmed him as it always did, cooling the fires of his rage to mere coals. So what if he'd lost a pair of battlecruisers? He turned his gaze to the slips, and the corner of his mouth turned up. There were, after all, plenty more where those had come from.
Yes, he mused, gazing at the four new battlecruisers coming together in the slips and the four super-battleships coming together on the next set of ways over. Battleships such that the world had never seen. Today's losses were painful, to be certain, but far from catastrophic.
This time, with such a fleet, Kantai Kessen could not help but succeed. The Americans and their traitorous allies would attack, be destroyed, and then he would liberate the world from that vile nation of merchants.
Finally, the world would know the face of its savior!
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