AUTHOR NOTE: This will be a one-shot for now, but might evolve into something else later. If there is a demand for it, I might continue.
In central Philadelphia, along the Delaware River, sits the small neighborhood of Port Richmond. As with anything, much had changed since the last time she had visited the place of her birth. An important shipyard used to produce mighty battleships, cruisers, and destroyers for the United States Navy. They were impressive and well-built ships. Some would go on and serve with distinction and valor. But now, the shipyard was gone, replaced long ago by an industrial park. She really shouldn't be there, in fact, if she stayed much longer she would likely be found and that would cause trouble she didn't necessarily want.
Regardless of the consequences, she found herself rooted to that spot, unwilling to move. She closed her eyes and sighed. If she tried hard enough, she could recall the sounds of men shouting to one another, the smell of coal, oil, and sweat, the rough feel of unfinished steel as it was cut and shaped into the recognizable forms that make up a ship.
The day was bright, but cool. Winds from New Jersey whipped across the water and tugged at her double breasted dark wool overcoat that fell just above her knees. A strong gust threatened to carry away her wide-brimmed hat. Part of her wondered if there was any who still lived that remembered the shipyard.
She heard footsteps behind her and turned to see a man wearing a security uniform approach her. Looks like the jig was up. "Can I help you?" she asked.
"Um, you ain't supposed to be here lady. This area is off limits," he said.
"I know. I'm sorry," she said and turned back to the river. If the water could speak, what memories would it share? Did the river remember a time when the warships were given birth and launched from here? Did the river ever wonder what had become of the once mighty ships that floated upon its waters? Probably not. That time was long ago and long forgotten in the dusty pages of history.
"Look lady, you really can't be here. You're going to get me in trouble," the man said. He stepped forward and put his hand on her shoulder. Without turning, she asked, "Are you from here?"
"From Philly? Sure. Born and raised," the man replied. He brought his hand down from her shoulder and grasped her upper arm. "C'mon now lady. If you don't come willingly, I'll have to force you and that won't be pleasant for either of us." He gave her arm a tug and was quite surprised when she didn't move. Maybe it was her bulky coat, but she was a lot more solid than she looked.
"I was born here too, you know," the woman said.
"Yeah? Come with me and we'll talk about it over a few beers," the man said, tugging more forcefully on her arm.
"Do you like your job?" the woman asked suddenly.
The man was taken aback. "What? Sure, I guess. It pays the bills. There are worse jobs I suppose."
"Do you ever feel like there is something else you could do, something you were born to do?" the woman asked and turned to face the guard. Under the hat, he could see she had light brown hair streaked with strands of silver and pulled back into a bun. She looked older, maybe mid-to-late 30s in age. She had light blue eyes and wore glasses with circular wire frames. The question was on her face, but he could see a hint of sadness in her eyes. Finally, he shook his head and said, "Look lady. I don't know who you are, or what your name is, but you've been here long enough and it's time for you to leave."
She sighed and the look on her face matched the sadness in her eyes. "Yes. Of course. Time moves on and old is replaced with new. No matter how much we might try, the wheel of time only moves forward."
Now the man was confused. He looked around and wondered what he'd gotten himself into. When he looked back, the strange woman was gone. It took a moment for his brain to process and he looked around wildly, but found no trace of the woman. Had he imagined the whole thing? He let out a long, frustrated breath and rubbed his hands over his face. "I don't get paid enough for this," he muttered. He decided he definitely need a few beers after work.
Three hours and 140 miles to the southwest lay Washington, D.C., the national capital of the United States. On the Anacostia River in southeast DC is the Navy Yard. Once, the Navy Yard was a shipyard and ordinance factory for the U.S Navy. Now, it served as the administrative center of the modern Navy and housed the headquarters of the different support commands. The Chief of Naval Operations also had his headquarters there.
She stood at the entrance of the Navy Museum, but she knew it as the former Breach Mechanism Shop where gun barrels for battleships were made. Just like in Philadelphia, memories of a time long past drifted through her mind. So much had changed since she last roamed this area. At first she seemed hesitant, but squared her shoulders and walked inside.
The first thing she saw when she walked inside was the replica of the top rigging of the USS Constitution. To her left was a short mock-up of Constitution's gun deck. The front half of the museum housed artifacts and exhibits from the U.S. Navy's early sailing days, but what really interested her was more towards the middle. This is where the museum had its World War I display.
As she neared the exhibit, she stopped. Just to the right of the exhibit's large signboard, an enormous ship's bell sat on a display stand. The bronze bell was old and looked in severe need of polishing, but what caused her breath to catch was the words on the bell:
U.S.S
WYOMING
1912
Behind the bell was a bronze plaque, commemorating the old battleship's participation in the war. Hesitantly, she reached out and touched the cool metal. Her touch then became a loving caress and tears formed in the corner of her eyes. She had always wondered what had happened to her bell and it brought her immense pride and sorrow to see it on display. Pride that an important piece of the ship still remained, and sorrow for the loss of the ship itself. She doubted that any who had once walked upon her decks still lived.
She sat on a bench nearby and tried to calm the raging storm in her heart. Her shoulders shuddered as she tried to keep from falling apart. She heard footsteps and quickly wiped her face with her hands and make herself more presentable. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw an old man and a young girl, who couldn't have been more than six or seven. The man looked positively ancient, but his eyes were bright and clear. He raised a shaking hand and pointed to the bell. "Do you see this?" he asked.
The girl nodded and asked, "Did that really go on a ship?"
"Yes. And what a magnificent ship she was," the man said. "Have you learned about the war yet?" She girl thought for a moment and shook her head. "Well, when I was a young lad, our country decided to go and fight because other countries were fighting."
"Why?" the girl asked.
The man chuckled and replied, "I think you're a bit young for that, but the reason was people were doing bad things, so we decided to go and stop them."
"Were you on this ship?" the girl asked.
"Yes," the man said. "I went to school to be a gunnery officer and me and a lot of other young men used this ship to train. So we would go out and practice shooting the guns at planes and other ships, so that by the time we got to the Navy, we knew what to do."
"Was it loud?" the little girl asked.
"Oh yes. The guns were so loud, sometimes they'd knock your teeth loose," the old man said. A voice called out and the little girl ran off, leaving the old man alone. After a moment, the woman stood up and made her way over to the old man. "Excuse me," she said gently. Startled, the man turned. "Oh. Hello there young lady," he said.
She smiled and said, "I'm sorry, but I couldn't help but overhear your story. Did you say you once served onboard the Wyoming?"
The old man nodded. "Was…was she a good ship?" the woman asked hesitantly.
The old man gave a short nod in reply. "Since it was only for gunnery training, I wasn't on board for very long, but there were some old salts still around who remembered her from the first war. They said she was a good ship and would treat us right. She might have been old, but her guns worked just fine." The man stared off, searching his memories. "Once I completed training, I was sent out to the Pacific to fight the Japanese. The days were long and brutal, but my gun crews were well-trained. By then, the Japanese had started ramming planes into ships rather than bombs. There was a few times I didn't think we were going to make it, but we pulled through somehow."
She reached out and gently took his old, gnarled hand into hers. "Thank you for telling me your story," she said.
"No problem at all young lady. There aren't many of us left who remember these things," he said.
With a sad smile, she thanked him and left him alone.
She then found herself across the Atlantic Ocean on a small island off the northern coast of Scotland. Here, was the tiny Scapa Flow visitor's center. Inside was a map of the islands and models of the British and German ships. She probably wasn't supposed to, but she made her way to the water and looked out. During both World Wars, Scapa Flow housed the British main fleet. Like everything else she had seen, much had changed.
Out on the water, she could see small boats with flags indicating divers in the water. She had heard that Scapa Flow had become a popular destination for diving on the wrecks of the German Fleet from WWI. Her eyes narrowed at the memory. The Germans had been defeated and the fleet was temporarily moored at Scapa Flow, while deliberations were made on what to do with them. Although they had been enemies, she didn't harbor any anger or resentment toward the Germans, just respect and acknowledgement. The sea is a cruel mistress and she cares little for the schemes of men. All who sail upon her waters consider themselves lucky to survive.
She shook her head. The German ships were very proud and rightfully so, and she was sorry when they had been scuttled, rather than let the British take control over them. Such a low and cowardly way to meet one's end! Of course, the death of a ship was a sad affair indeed, no matter what kind of end it was.
She reached into her coat and pulled out a small bottle of whiskey. She wasn't overly familiar with the custom, but she was sure the intent mattered more than the action. She opened the bottle, swallowed a mouthful and poured out the rest into the water. To some, it would seem like a waste, but she didn't care. "Sleep well, sisters. As long as a few of us remain, you will not be forgotten." She found a rock nearby and sat down.
The United States entered World War 1 in 1917. By then, the fighting had been going on for three years and Mainland Europe was growing tired of the loss and bloodshed. The Navy decided to send over a flotilla of battleships and support vessels to bolster the British Fleet. Wyoming, New York, Delaware, and Florida formed Battleship Division 9 and later joined the British Navy. By then, most of the fighting at sea had been done, so the American ships helped maintain the blockade of the German Navy and ran convoy escort duty.
The British had very strict gunnery requirements and as such, her crews were the best in the world. The Americans worked hard to catch up and by the end of the war, the crews were just as capable. She remembered how young the sailors had been, eager to prove themselves and show the world the Americans could fight as well as anybody. The young junior officers who cut their teeth on the rigors of combat would go on and train the next generation, using lessons learned from their own experience and from the experiences of others.
The comradery between the English and American sailors was an interesting thing to watch. They were the same, really, and bonded over a similar language and interests. The English thought the Americans were rowdy and unpredictable, while the Americans thought the English came off a bit snobby and standoffish. The division commander worked hard early on to press home that there was no need for rivalry with the English, but spirited competition was encouraged and helped foster relations between the two navies.
These fond memories brought a smile to her face. She would sometimes wonder what happened to the men after they left the ship. Did they go back to their families? Did they decided to stay in the Navy and go to different ships?
After the war, Wyoming slowly transitioned into a gunnery ship, a role she faithfully played during World War II. She training enlisted and officer alike in the latest gunnery and anti-aircraft principles, giving the men a taste of what they would find out in the fleet. She trained them well, and like any parent, she hoped that what they had learned would not only keep the men safe, but her sister ships as well.
Wyoming herself met a pitiable end, as she was sold for scrap and broken up after the war. She tried not to cry, but it was inevitable that tears would be shed by her own end. Perhaps this was a fitting end for the Wyoming, although she had served with distinction during the first war, she was regulated to a support role during the second. As a proud battleship, her job was to meet the enemy and exchange gunfire, perhaps to go out in a blaze of glory. At least then, she could say she did her job and met her end proudly.
Did it matter? No matter how much she tried to justify it to herself, there was a hole in her heart that could never be fulfilled. Never once did she meet the enemy on the seas, or shoot her mighty guns in anger. The world quickly passed her by and save for those that once walked her decks, Wyoming became brief paragraph in the history books.
However, the words of the old man brought peace to her heart. When she thought of the Wyoming and what it represented, she chastised herself for feeling down. The battleship Wyoming was named for the 44th state of the United States. The people of that state were descended from the pioneers, cowboys and native tribes that once roamed its boarders. Life in the high plains and mountains was hard and took a special kind of person to call it home. They couldn't afford to feel down or have pity on themselves. When times became hard, they stood up, banded together and survived. And so would she.
She stood up and brushed herself off. She didn't know why she was brought back, but somewhere, the gods above decided she could make a difference. She would take this second chance and make the best of it. She would take it upon herself to train the next generation to ensure that they would be able to survive whatever this new enemy threw at them, and hopefully return.
She bowed and said a short prayer, thanking the ghosts of her past. She then turned and walked away, to where she now belonged.
Ashigara sighed. She wasn't meant for this kind of thing. Whoever it was that decided (probably the Admiral) that she should be in charge of teaching the little destroyers, she wanted to stick her main armament up their backside and shoot them at the Abyssals. As it was, she was standing behind the lectern in her classroom, but no one was paying attention to her. Soon it wouldn't be her problem. "Listen up you little runts!" she called out. Instantly, the destroyers stopped talking and turned their attention to her. "Not through any fault of mine, it seems that most of the base, not just you destroyers, are having a bit of trouble with your gunnery skills, especially with anti-aircraft," she said.
Yuudachi opened her mouth to speak, but Ashigara held up her hand for silence. "I am supposed to inform you that tomorrow, we will be meeting our new instructor. Be in the assembly hall at 0800 sharp! Until then, you are dismissed!"
Needing no further instruction, Shimakaze quickly jetted out of the classroom, leaving a blur in her wake. The rest of the destroyers looked uncertainly at each other. "I wonder what this means, poi," Yuudachi said.
Fubuki frowned. "Hmm. I'm not sure. Well since we have the rest of the day off, maybe we should go out and get some training in?" Mutsuki and Yuudachi both nodded in agreement.
Elsewhere in the base, Nagato and Mutsu were having a discussion in the Admin Office. "I understand the reasoning, but are the Americans really okay with letting us borrow one of their training ships?" Mutsu asked.
Nagato shrugged. "It doesn't matter. With the girls, especially the destroyers, getting the new radar and fire control upgrades, we don't have anyone with experience to teach them."
Mustu looked down at the paper in her hand. "Maybe so, but is she the best choice? According to this, she's older than even Kongo and her sisters!"
"True, but only by a year," Nagato said. "I've seen the papers too." She sighed and added, "Whatever reservations we have, the Americans say she's the best, so I guess we'll have to go with that."
Mutsu frowned. "At least she won't take up a lot of resources." She looked up and asked, "Where should we put her?"
"With the other Americans would be best," Nagato replied. "I'm sure Iowa and Saratoga would like some company."
Mutsu nodded and made the appropriate notation. "I guess all that's left is to await her arrival," she said. Nagato nodded in agreement.
The next morning, the assembly hall was filled with the ship girls who were not out on patrol or in the repair docks. The little destroyers sat towards the front with the larger cruisers toward the back. The battleships and aircraft carriers sat mostly around the periphery. From the stage, Nagato could see Saratoga and Iowa standing together with Kongo and her sisters nearby. Even though the American ships were talking amongst themselves, Nagato could see Iowa sneaking glances at Yamato. Nagato spared a glance at Mutsu, who simply smiled.
With a sigh, Nagato stepped up to the lectern and spoke into the microphone. "Good morning everyone. Thank you for coming,"
"Not like we had much of a choice," Tenryuu shouted. Some of the girls snickered in reply.
Nagato glared at Tenryuu before continuing. "I know how hard all of you have worked and our recent success is a testament to that, but there is always room for improvement." She held up a stack of papers for emphasis. "Recent after action reports show that an increasing number of girls are being damaged due to enemy planes. This is in no way meant to detract from the skill of the carriers and their pilots, but rather your own anti-aircraft abilities. As such, the majority of you have already received upgrades to your radar and fire control systems, with the rest of you in line to do so. In order to train you effectively on your new equipment, the American Navy has graciously offered the services of one of their best instructors."
Instantly, the girls started whispering and muttering to each other. Iowa leaned into Saratoga and asked, "Who do you think it is?"
Saratoga shrugged and said, "Not sure. Of course, I don't really know the training ships all that well."
Nagato cleared her throat to get everyone's attention again. "I'll let our new instructor introduce herself, but before any of you get any funny ideas, I want you to know she served with distinction during the first World War and you will show her the respect she deserves."
Iowa and Saratoga's eyes went wide. "Is it really her?" Saratoga asked.
"I wonder if Kongo and her sisters will be a problem," Iowa whispered back. She cast a nervous glance at the battleship sisters and saw Kongo's eyes light up, however Hiei looked apprehensive.
Just offstage, she rolled her shoulders and adjusted her uniform. Nagato gave her the cue and she walked out. She stared straight ahead, her face a mask of professionalism. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the assembled ship girls. Most looked very young and she felt a quick stab in her heart. It was inevitable that a small number of them would be lost, but she would do everything in her power to train them properly. She nodded to Nagato and stood in the center of the stage, finally turning to face her audience.
Her uniform was patterned very closely to Saratoga, with a knee-length skirt, leggings and ankle boots. However, her top was an officer's full jacket and tie. She wore five ribbons above her left pocket. Around the cuffs of her jacket was a two inch gold band with a single star above. Unlike Saratoga, her uniform was khaki instead of white. Her hair was pulled back in a regulation bun and she wore a garrison cap with a single star on one side and the Navy officer crest on the other.
She looked over her audience and saw a few familiar faces in the back. She stood up as tall as she could and made her address. "Good morning. I am Untied States battleship Wyoming. I was asked to come here and train all of you in the art of gunnery and anti-aircraft." She let her gaze travel across the room before continuing. "Why me you ask? Because I am the best and I learned from the best." That statement brought a few chuckles from the audience, especially from the heavy cruisers and battleships. Wyoming slammed her hand on the wooden lectern, sending a loud BANG echoing through the room. "So. You don't believe me? You think I am nothing but a relic from an age long past? You're probably thinking 'What could this old granny possibly teach us?' Is that true?" This time, no one said anything.
Wyoming sighed. Good. She had their attention. Even Nagato and Mutsu were watching carefully. "Good. This is neither the time nor place to have such a discussion. This is meant to be an introduction, not a lecture. Expect the new training schedule to appear in a few days. The expectation is that attendance will be one hundred percent mandatory with allowances made for patrol rotation, repair times, and fleet maneuvers." Wyoming stepped away from the lectern and gave a short bow. "I look forward to working with you all. Please treat me well."
After a moment of hesitation, Nagato stepped up to the microphone and said, "Everyone, dismissed."