Western Pacific
1945
Last Stand of the United States Pacific Fleet

"Oh my god... I lost...?"

On the shattered bridge of a battleship, the personification of the USS Iowa was slumped over a broken radar console, spoke in a voice filled with numb shock and disbelief. Not that any of her crew would have been able to see or hear her if they'd still been present.

Bloodied and bruised, she'd seen better days. Her left eye was blackened and swollen shut. Cuts and scrapes covered Iowa's body and her gray clothing was in tatters. One hand clutched the gaping wound in her right side. Oily blood leaked from between her fingers to fall towards the deck, but always vanished before it landed.

The spirit's wounds mirrored the ones on her battered hull. Iowa could feel the icy chill of sea water as it gushed through rents as she continued to sink into the blue-green sea. It was only a matter of time until she rested at the bottom of the deep dark ocean.

"Aw shit. We fucking lost didn't we. How about that." She tried to laugh, but it hurt too much. So all Iowa got was a weak cough that tasted faintly of oil.

The so-called 'annihilation shells' of the Imperial Japanese Navy's battleships had torn through even Iowa's thick armor belt with ease. Still, she'd fought on. Until a shell from Nagato's 41-centimeter guns had penetrated into the magazine of Iowa's forward main turret, setting off the ammunition. It was only by a miracle that it'd only blown a massive hole in her deck and not blown her bow away. A wave of exhaustion hit Iowa, and she shook her head, fighting it off.

Even up on the bridge, the air was thick with the stench of blood and burning materials. Oil. Steel. Wood. And while the sounds of battle might have all but vanished, they'd been replaced with those of its aftermath.

The creaking and groaning of metal. The cracking of fires. The sounds of men trapped in her hull admits blasted metal and broken planking. Their screams of agony and cries for their mothers. Iowa's blue eyes squeezed back tears.

She was helpless to do anything for them or the men outside on the water. Though shattered bridge windows stained black with smoke, Iowa watched Zeros dive down to shred survivors on burned husks of Hellcats and B-52's. Or the handful of lifeboats that hadn't managed to be picked up by the fragmented remnants of the US fleet as they'd retreated. But most of the fighter-planes' efforts were concentrated on any large bits of flotsam and jetsam that any survivors might have clung to.

The horizon was splashed with oily columns of black smoke, sprouting up from the funeral pyres of other American warships. And, Iowa knew, a few Japanese ones. But too few. Far too few.

Movement drew Iowa's eyes to her last sister, the battered USS Missouri. Japanese planes circled around the ship like vultures over a dying animal. Yet none fired on her and the Missouri was not firing at them.

Despite the growing haze that filled Iowa's mind, she wondered what the meaning of this was. Did the IJN intend to board her sister by force and take her as a prize? Or had frantic desperation forced Missouri's captain to negotiate some sort of surrender? She had no way of knowing. Her hulls' power was fading and her radio receivers were out.

Iowa closed her eyes and fought off the wave of despair that threatened to swallow her. The last year had been disastrous. The Allies had been pushed out of Europe, Africa and Asia by armies backed up by mechanical monstrosities. The Panama Canal had been bombed by a Japaneses attack, cutting the US Atlantic and Pacific fleets off from each other. Then President Roosevelt had succumbed to a heart attack. Now only a handful of ships remained to stand between the Axis and America's coastlines.

She kept hope though, that at the very least that America would find a way to persevere through these dark times.

A thought struck Iowa then. She might not be able to receive messages because of battle damage, but she could still send them.

"Don't give up. Keep the American dream alive... do you hear me... we can't do this without you. ...Goodbye... everyone." She telegraphed to the surviving American ships that'd been ordered to retreat after the battle took a turn for the hopeless.

With that, the strength of her legs at last gave way. Slipping off the console, Iowa collapsed to the deck. As darkness faded in around her, the last sound Iowa heard was the droning of approaching Japaneses torpedo bombers as the planes set up for their attack run on her.

The nature of her message and the identity of it's sender would baffle researchers for decades.