Chapter 8
Well, it's been a very hot minute since I wrote for this story. Two months is no small stay, but with Fiery Rebirth wrapped up, I'm going to start updating this project again.
It might take a chapter or two before I find my footing again. But onto the emotional damage.
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"I think it might be classified," I muttered, hoping to get them not to ask me about it. I really, really, didn't want to talk or think about it.
I was here to have a good time. Not be worried about things that had happened.
They didn't ask anything else, but I could still see the two giving each other side-eye. As if realizing my words and Iowa's behavior made sense. But it made the air stale, and any topic of conversation was sucked away.
Luzon's hand tightened her grip, meaning she felt it, too. With the stillness of the destroyers, they even felt the lapse, like a dark little zone had been thrown up around us, draining the warmth of the festivities.
I should probably seek out clarification on the matter. Because that did seem like something the military would want to keep at least partially under wraps. At the very least, not talked about it in a public space. Maybe I was being paranoid, but that just didn't seem like a good idea. Eavesdroppers and all that.
Sure the odds of someone listening in, right now, at this moment, and would be recording or otherwise taking notes was small.
But small was not zero.
"So, how are you settling in?" Montpelier asked, finally breaking the ice. Rebreaking.
"Fine," I answered, surprisingly truthfully. "It's still a bit bare bones at the moment, but I've gotten new clothes and some food tucked away."
"That doesn't surprise me. Seattle gets out a bit too much, if you catch my drift," Montpelier shrugged, as I raised my eyebrow. I'd heard of not getting out enough, yes, but getting out too much?
Sure, it didn't leave much to the imagination, and it sounded fairly self explanatory. It would explain why the dorm room was so, bare.
I didn't exactly understand it myself, but Seattle seemed to be very, energetic, by every standard of measurement. I liked my alone time, so actually having things such as books ended up being essential to me.
"We made chicken tenders for dinner," Luzon happily beamed, drawing a few brief glances from the others.
"You cook?" Naka hid her surprise well, but her tone made it clear she hadn't expected something like that.
"I find it relaxing," I shrugged, "Nor is it exactly the most complicated recipe in the world."
"It's a good skill to have. More shipgirl's should have it," Montpelier grinned at me. "Even if I'm one of those that doesn't."
"Most of what I know is fairly simple," I bit back a chuckle. "Tender's aren't hard."
"I could make them myself!" Luzon once again beamed, and it wasn't like she was wrong. The recipe was very straightforward. I ruffled Luzon's hair, as the other four girls looked at us.
Shimikazi said something I couldn't understand, with Naka sending the destroyer a stern look.
Probably nothing to be too concerned about. Hopefully.
Hopefully, it was nothing to be concerned about.
Honestly, it could lean one way or another.
Luzon tugged on my sleeve. I looked down at her. She was holding her hand between her mouth and the other shipgirls. Was she trying to ask me something?
I obliged, bending down so she could place her hand right next to my ear.
"What does mom-boat mean?"
What? I felt as if my brain suffered a brief reboot. A. What?
That phrase made no sense. Boat was fairly self explanatory. We were anthropomorphized ships, after all. But mom? That.
Oh.
Oh.
Is that how it looked from the outside? Was that how it was?
Was I a mom?
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"She's so cute!" Baltimore did her best to tune out her younger sister. In part because she had other things on her mind. In part because she was trying to make sure Bremerton didn't pick up on her brief transmission to Montpelier. A brief clip back confirmed that the light cruiser would keep an eye out, allowing her to focus back on the task at hand.
She wasn't exactly sure about Isabella's story, but it was fairly obvious to anyone that she was a nervous wreck, and probably traumatized. Recently, at that.
Bremerton probably knew more about the whole affair than Baltimore herself, perks of actually working out of Sasebo and all. But even that seemed to be at least to be kept under some degree of lock and key. All she'd gotten was a rescue operation that the American and Japanese navies seemed to be keeping close at hand.
But given how such an operation just so happened to coincide with a major push at the Philippines, full operation secrecy wasn't going to last forever. People were likely already making guesses as to what happened, and it wouldn't be too surprising for people to already get close enough to the truth. Whatever that truth happened to be.
Clearly, Isabella and Luzon were involved. That would be an open secret among military members at best, even if it was being kept up the chain for the time being. But it would eventually filter down, and given how likely it was that Seattle had at least taken her sister shopping, a new light cruiser with a strongly attached torpedo boat would at least be known by the civilian population.
Baltimore didn't know what politics were happening behind the scene at the moment, but she figured that keeping Isabella in a state of tolerable mental health was the chief aim at the moment. At least until they decided to go public and explain the situation. Correction. If they decided to tell the public. But that hopefully meant getting Isabella the help she needed.
What Bremerton considered help would probably be a bit too much for the poor girl, so she had to keep that front from deteriorating at the moment, though Baltimore knew she wasn't going to be here forever. Sadly, her sister wasn't exactly good at half-measures. The fact that she and Seattle were on the same base was concerning, but the Admiral had handled it well.
What she could rely on was Bremerton being a trouble magnet. Not her sister's fault in the slightest, but many assumed based on her appearance that she would be easy to get with. This was not the case in the slightest, but most people paid attention to what they wanted to pay attention to.
Which ironically included their present position. But if her sister thought the present approach was a good idea, then so would many others.
Strange as it may be.
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Admiral Richardson sighed. He hadn't expected what Iowa had to say. Isabella had shown up at the party? He didn't doubt Iowa's words, there was too much concern with a pinch of anger.
An escort could work. A party it may have been, but it was a military base and a shipgirl one at that. Over the years, many things had become far less common. There were so many shipgirls that had been summoned over the years it was impossible to know all of them.
As such, certain types of troublemakers had been drastically reduced, by a combination of experience, and Japan started to make moves after prominent complaints due to the actions of certain parties. Getting handsy with someone carried greater risk when they could shatter your hand at best.
Though that was scarcely the real issue with Isabella. It was the fact she was traumatized. That alone made her a different type of target for a different type of troublemaker. You'd think people wouldn't try to piss off a shipgirl. But there were always those who didn't think things through. Or thought that restraint on their end was some form of weakness.
Or they just wanted to try getting a rise out of people. While it was less common in Japan, at the very least, directly so, he had heard of a few incidents involving those types of people and shipgirls.
One would think with just how important Arizona was, her close connections with the Second World War, and her sinking, that some people would treat her with a bit more respect.
Thankfully, there had been somebody to restrain Pennsylvania from pile-driving that bastard into the ground. He'd never admit it out loud, but the man responsible for that would have had it coming. But that would mean a body on their hands, and back in those days, trust in shipgirls was nowhere close to what it was today.
How Isabella would react in a similar situation, Admiral Richardson didn't know. And he didn't want to find out, either. It wouldn't be pretty, even at the best of times. At worst?
Nor was that touching on Luzon. Sure, she was pretty small compared to all but the smallest shipgirls, but her habit of going to her machine guns when panicked was far from ideal. While those weren't as devastating as, say, even a five-inch gun, a fifty caliber could still hurt and kill a lot of people. Three just added to the potential carnage.
Healing was going to have to come first. For both of them.
Of course, that was going to be a balancing act. Keeping them purely confined to their room was just cruel, and would feed their sense of isolation. They need to be around other shipgirls, and humans as well. That meant relaxing, breathing, and learning how to live. Possibly relearning, in Isabella's case, depending on if you subscribed to certain theories revolving around the girl.
But there was also too much, too fast. His concern, at this point, was this party too much, too fast? He hoped not. After everything, they deserved a sense of normalcy. Still, Iowa had everything under control. Or at least would be able to delegate unless things started to get out of hand.
Once again, Admiral Richardson's phone rang, cutting through his thoughts like a knife. He picked up the phone, before scowling.
There went his night off.
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A low whaling sound reached my ears, cutting the chatter around us to a screeching halt. It was an unfamiliar sound to me, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up on end, but. The closest thing I could compare it to was a tornado siren. A siren signaling that something had gone wrong.
Everyone's attitude had changed, going from relaxed chattering to looks of apprehension and fear on the faces of several people. However, a look of annoyance and determination took hold on the face of the shipgirls I was with. Even Spence, a girl I took for a bit of a crybaby, had a hostile look on her face.
A siren, the sudden change.
Were we? Under attack?
I nearly froze at the concept, an itch on my back beginning to grow.
My crews began to pick up radio chatter, transmissions going back and forth between different shipgirls.
"Get everyone to the shelters, now!" Montilper ordered, though it wasn't exactly needed, as several soldiers were already hurrying people toward shelter. But it did confirm my fears. Something was coming. Here. Abyssal? Most likely.
The itch at the base of my spine only grew, and grew. The only thing more pressing than the building pressure was the grip Luzon had on my leg. Her eyes were wide, terrified, filled with tears and panic. I picked her up, holding her as tightly as I could, as the itching felt like I was about to burst.
Gunfire sounded in the distance, upwards, tracer rounds streaking into the sky, far off, but getting closer.
I held it tell I couldn't any longer, rigging manifesting itself at last. My six-inch guns sprang forth, my mass increasing, stone nearly cracking beneath my feet under the strain. My crew began moving to combat stations, arming my anti-aircraft guns into a bristling array of death.
Couldn't run. Couldn't hide. The shelters were the safest place for Luzon, but she wasn't going to leave me, and I had no intention of leaving her. Not again. My crewmembers began lugging a new ammunition type they had found after my repairs. It was abnormal, and not meant for surface combat.
I was happy I was holding Luzon against my shoulder, as my mouth twitched into the beginnings of a mad grin.
For us to be safe, I needed to shoot down every one of those planes.
It might take a chapter or two before I find my footing again. But onto the emotional damage.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
"I think it might be classified," I muttered, hoping to get them not to ask me about it. I really, really, didn't want to talk or think about it.
I was here to have a good time. Not be worried about things that had happened.
They didn't ask anything else, but I could still see the two giving each other side-eye. As if realizing my words and Iowa's behavior made sense. But it made the air stale, and any topic of conversation was sucked away.
Luzon's hand tightened her grip, meaning she felt it, too. With the stillness of the destroyers, they even felt the lapse, like a dark little zone had been thrown up around us, draining the warmth of the festivities.
I should probably seek out clarification on the matter. Because that did seem like something the military would want to keep at least partially under wraps. At the very least, not talked about it in a public space. Maybe I was being paranoid, but that just didn't seem like a good idea. Eavesdroppers and all that.
Sure the odds of someone listening in, right now, at this moment, and would be recording or otherwise taking notes was small.
But small was not zero.
"So, how are you settling in?" Montpelier asked, finally breaking the ice. Rebreaking.
"Fine," I answered, surprisingly truthfully. "It's still a bit bare bones at the moment, but I've gotten new clothes and some food tucked away."
"That doesn't surprise me. Seattle gets out a bit too much, if you catch my drift," Montpelier shrugged, as I raised my eyebrow. I'd heard of not getting out enough, yes, but getting out too much?
Sure, it didn't leave much to the imagination, and it sounded fairly self explanatory. It would explain why the dorm room was so, bare.
I didn't exactly understand it myself, but Seattle seemed to be very, energetic, by every standard of measurement. I liked my alone time, so actually having things such as books ended up being essential to me.
"We made chicken tenders for dinner," Luzon happily beamed, drawing a few brief glances from the others.
"You cook?" Naka hid her surprise well, but her tone made it clear she hadn't expected something like that.
"I find it relaxing," I shrugged, "Nor is it exactly the most complicated recipe in the world."
"It's a good skill to have. More shipgirl's should have it," Montpelier grinned at me. "Even if I'm one of those that doesn't."
"Most of what I know is fairly simple," I bit back a chuckle. "Tender's aren't hard."
"I could make them myself!" Luzon once again beamed, and it wasn't like she was wrong. The recipe was very straightforward. I ruffled Luzon's hair, as the other four girls looked at us.
Shimikazi said something I couldn't understand, with Naka sending the destroyer a stern look.
Probably nothing to be too concerned about. Hopefully.
Hopefully, it was nothing to be concerned about.
Honestly, it could lean one way or another.
Luzon tugged on my sleeve. I looked down at her. She was holding her hand between her mouth and the other shipgirls. Was she trying to ask me something?
I obliged, bending down so she could place her hand right next to my ear.
"What does mom-boat mean?"
What? I felt as if my brain suffered a brief reboot. A. What?
That phrase made no sense. Boat was fairly self explanatory. We were anthropomorphized ships, after all. But mom? That.
Oh.
Oh.
Is that how it looked from the outside? Was that how it was?
Was I a mom?
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
"She's so cute!" Baltimore did her best to tune out her younger sister. In part because she had other things on her mind. In part because she was trying to make sure Bremerton didn't pick up on her brief transmission to Montpelier. A brief clip back confirmed that the light cruiser would keep an eye out, allowing her to focus back on the task at hand.
She wasn't exactly sure about Isabella's story, but it was fairly obvious to anyone that she was a nervous wreck, and probably traumatized. Recently, at that.
Bremerton probably knew more about the whole affair than Baltimore herself, perks of actually working out of Sasebo and all. But even that seemed to be at least to be kept under some degree of lock and key. All she'd gotten was a rescue operation that the American and Japanese navies seemed to be keeping close at hand.
But given how such an operation just so happened to coincide with a major push at the Philippines, full operation secrecy wasn't going to last forever. People were likely already making guesses as to what happened, and it wouldn't be too surprising for people to already get close enough to the truth. Whatever that truth happened to be.
Clearly, Isabella and Luzon were involved. That would be an open secret among military members at best, even if it was being kept up the chain for the time being. But it would eventually filter down, and given how likely it was that Seattle had at least taken her sister shopping, a new light cruiser with a strongly attached torpedo boat would at least be known by the civilian population.
Baltimore didn't know what politics were happening behind the scene at the moment, but she figured that keeping Isabella in a state of tolerable mental health was the chief aim at the moment. At least until they decided to go public and explain the situation. Correction. If they decided to tell the public. But that hopefully meant getting Isabella the help she needed.
What Bremerton considered help would probably be a bit too much for the poor girl, so she had to keep that front from deteriorating at the moment, though Baltimore knew she wasn't going to be here forever. Sadly, her sister wasn't exactly good at half-measures. The fact that she and Seattle were on the same base was concerning, but the Admiral had handled it well.
What she could rely on was Bremerton being a trouble magnet. Not her sister's fault in the slightest, but many assumed based on her appearance that she would be easy to get with. This was not the case in the slightest, but most people paid attention to what they wanted to pay attention to.
Which ironically included their present position. But if her sister thought the present approach was a good idea, then so would many others.
Strange as it may be.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
Admiral Richardson sighed. He hadn't expected what Iowa had to say. Isabella had shown up at the party? He didn't doubt Iowa's words, there was too much concern with a pinch of anger.
An escort could work. A party it may have been, but it was a military base and a shipgirl one at that. Over the years, many things had become far less common. There were so many shipgirls that had been summoned over the years it was impossible to know all of them.
As such, certain types of troublemakers had been drastically reduced, by a combination of experience, and Japan started to make moves after prominent complaints due to the actions of certain parties. Getting handsy with someone carried greater risk when they could shatter your hand at best.
Though that was scarcely the real issue with Isabella. It was the fact she was traumatized. That alone made her a different type of target for a different type of troublemaker. You'd think people wouldn't try to piss off a shipgirl. But there were always those who didn't think things through. Or thought that restraint on their end was some form of weakness.
Or they just wanted to try getting a rise out of people. While it was less common in Japan, at the very least, directly so, he had heard of a few incidents involving those types of people and shipgirls.
One would think with just how important Arizona was, her close connections with the Second World War, and her sinking, that some people would treat her with a bit more respect.
Thankfully, there had been somebody to restrain Pennsylvania from pile-driving that bastard into the ground. He'd never admit it out loud, but the man responsible for that would have had it coming. But that would mean a body on their hands, and back in those days, trust in shipgirls was nowhere close to what it was today.
How Isabella would react in a similar situation, Admiral Richardson didn't know. And he didn't want to find out, either. It wouldn't be pretty, even at the best of times. At worst?
Nor was that touching on Luzon. Sure, she was pretty small compared to all but the smallest shipgirls, but her habit of going to her machine guns when panicked was far from ideal. While those weren't as devastating as, say, even a five-inch gun, a fifty caliber could still hurt and kill a lot of people. Three just added to the potential carnage.
Healing was going to have to come first. For both of them.
Of course, that was going to be a balancing act. Keeping them purely confined to their room was just cruel, and would feed their sense of isolation. They need to be around other shipgirls, and humans as well. That meant relaxing, breathing, and learning how to live. Possibly relearning, in Isabella's case, depending on if you subscribed to certain theories revolving around the girl.
But there was also too much, too fast. His concern, at this point, was this party too much, too fast? He hoped not. After everything, they deserved a sense of normalcy. Still, Iowa had everything under control. Or at least would be able to delegate unless things started to get out of hand.
Once again, Admiral Richardson's phone rang, cutting through his thoughts like a knife. He picked up the phone, before scowling.
There went his night off.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
A low whaling sound reached my ears, cutting the chatter around us to a screeching halt. It was an unfamiliar sound to me, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up on end, but. The closest thing I could compare it to was a tornado siren. A siren signaling that something had gone wrong.
Everyone's attitude had changed, going from relaxed chattering to looks of apprehension and fear on the faces of several people. However, a look of annoyance and determination took hold on the face of the shipgirls I was with. Even Spence, a girl I took for a bit of a crybaby, had a hostile look on her face.
A siren, the sudden change.
Were we? Under attack?
I nearly froze at the concept, an itch on my back beginning to grow.
My crews began to pick up radio chatter, transmissions going back and forth between different shipgirls.
"Get everyone to the shelters, now!" Montilper ordered, though it wasn't exactly needed, as several soldiers were already hurrying people toward shelter. But it did confirm my fears. Something was coming. Here. Abyssal? Most likely.
The itch at the base of my spine only grew, and grew. The only thing more pressing than the building pressure was the grip Luzon had on my leg. Her eyes were wide, terrified, filled with tears and panic. I picked her up, holding her as tightly as I could, as the itching felt like I was about to burst.
Gunfire sounded in the distance, upwards, tracer rounds streaking into the sky, far off, but getting closer.
I held it tell I couldn't any longer, rigging manifesting itself at last. My six-inch guns sprang forth, my mass increasing, stone nearly cracking beneath my feet under the strain. My crew began moving to combat stations, arming my anti-aircraft guns into a bristling array of death.
Couldn't run. Couldn't hide. The shelters were the safest place for Luzon, but she wasn't going to leave me, and I had no intention of leaving her. Not again. My crewmembers began lugging a new ammunition type they had found after my repairs. It was abnormal, and not meant for surface combat.
I was happy I was holding Luzon against my shoulder, as my mouth twitched into the beginnings of a mad grin.
For us to be safe, I needed to shoot down every one of those planes.
