On another base, far out on the Pacific, the harsh tropical sun beat down on the beaches of Pearl Harbour, baking the various loungers who dared to brave the fierce rays. The heat baked the tarmac on the roads, and every window was open – for such a hot day, only the gentlest of breezes shifted through the base.
A few miles away from the main base the American Admiral kept his island retreat – a handsome two-storey white-washed villa that stood among the broad palms of the island. Yells of delight and raucous laughter mingles with the wash of waves as a garden party played itself out on the beachfront of the Admiral's house.
The Admiral himself lay in a deckchair on the sand with a glass of chilled tropical punch in his hand. He was dressed in a white short-sleeved shirt and pressed shorts – a classic pair of sunglasses covered his eyes and his peaked officer's cap lay askew on top of his mop of tousled black hair. In his relaxed pose one could have said that he was living the American Dream – and if you were to ask him he would most likely agree.
He gazed out unconcernedly at the little group of girls that played on the sand, completely at ease. There was Jouett, Massey and Charrette, all destroyers, who were building little sand castles that surrounded them; Augusta, Helena (both charming and scandalous cruisers) and the old battleship Washington stood around the barbeque, happily gossiping away while the sausages slowly charred; San Jacinto and Yorktown, both vivacious carriers, paddled contentedly in the warm water with the dolphin-like Cachalot, who swam rings around the cumbersome carriers amid laughter and teasing.
"Sorry we're late, sir," the Admiral turned slightly in his chair, looking up at the newcomers. The battleship Pennsylvania stood there with a gaggle of little destroyers (mostly Gearings, the Admiral observed), who hung about behind her. The Admiral sensed that like Pennsylvania they too were awed to see the Admiral so relaxed. They were all wearing their swimsuits: Pennsylvania had her white bikini and the little destroyers wore one-pieces of varying colours, and some had floats on their hips and elbows.
"There's no need to call me 'sir', I'm not on duty, am I?"
"Guess not, si- I mean, Admiral."
"Good. Why don't you get yourself over to Washington? I'm sure she's finished cooking by now."
Pennsylvania walked over to the barbeque, while the destroyers ran helter-skelter for the water – in their rush they trampled over the ring of sand-forts the three already there built. Groans filled the air, but were soon replaced by mad dashes for the water as the builders sought revenge. Soon enough, a water fight broke out, with all the little destroyers splashing furiously.
The Admiral watched over this little scene with amusement and felt more at ease than ever. But even as he took another leisurely sip of his punch he heard another little movement behind him.
He looked around again, expecting another late arrival; instead he found the cruiser Brooklyn standing there, in her working uniform of mottled grey and blue and skirt of the same colour.
"Brooklyn? Are you here for the party as well?" the Admiral asked with a smile.
"No, sir." The Admiral winced. "I've just come here to deliver this message from HQ-"
"Can't it wait? I'm having a party here, you know-"
"They say it's urgent, sir."
"Urgent or not, just leave it in the house! I won't have any interruptions-"
The Admiral was interrupted by the letter falling neatly onto his lap – with a great sigh he took it up, straightened his cap, and tore it open.
"Communiqué from headquarters… wish to inform you of… wait… what?!"
"Is something the matter, sir?" Brooklyn enquired.
"What's the meaning of this? What do they mean, immediate commencement of new operations-"
The Admiral stopped himself hastily, but too late – Washington, the closest to him, was already staring at him with reproach – the others at the barbeque also turned to look at him with inquiring, almost patronizing expressions.
With a quick smile he waved at them, trying desperately to maintain his cheery expression. With great reluctance he rose out of his deckchair, and Brooklyn quickly sprang to attention as he straightened his shirt and turned to leave.
"Admiral? Where are you going?" Pennsylvania asked.
The Admiral turned to face the battleship. "Oh, I've just got some supplies to clear, nothing serious, be back within an hour or so." His heart was weighing heavier by the minute as he digested the unwelcome orders – but nevertheless he gave her another little smile in an effort to reassure her.
The Admiral walked with Brooklyn back towards the house. They got into the jeep waiting in the driveway, and together they drove back to the main compound.
"Did you hear that?" Pennsylvania asked Washington, as the crunch of tyres on gravel faded away. "New operations? In summer?"
"Yes, I heard," Washington replied, idly turning the sausages over. "Best not to think too much of it, though."
"Why?"
Washington did not answer.
"Are you sure of what you're saying? Are absolutely sure they're there?"
The Admiral paced the map table, throwing occasional glances at the marking blocks that were littered all over the table. There were many blocks with a red flag attached – they represented known Abyssal fleet positions. There were also blocks with blue flags – representing the USN's own fleets in the area.
But what was so strange about today was that a third colour was represented on the big map representing the entire Pacific region. It was the colour of green – the symbol of foreign, but not Abyssal ships. It was oddly jarring, yet comforting to see the presence of a foreign fleet in the area – but to see four blocks of green on the table was a dream, a legend that even veterans whispered of.
"Yes, latest patrol reports indicate the presence of four, I say again, four green fleets approaching the Pacific theatre of operations. This includes aerial reconnaissance taken from outpost bases in the Colombo, Guam, Samoa, and the Aleutians, as well as from escort carriers in the Eastern Indian Ocean and off Sumatra-"
The Admiral raised a hand to silence Alaska, who was reading off the operations clipboard. "Do we know the nationality of these ships?"
"Exact identification of ships composing said fleets is not possible at the moment, but headquarters analysts have been forwarded the recon photographs. We're still waiting on the results, sir."
The Admiral picked up a paddle from a nearby rack. "What are the compositions of our fleets closest to the aforementioned islands?"
This time Guam, who was sitting opposite to Alaska, spoke up. She wore a service uniform like the rest – mottled grey and blue cotton shirt and knee-hem skirt.
"Fleet Pacific North is stationed at Midway, comprising of two carriers, three escort carriers, one battleship, three cruisers and sixteen destroyers. Fleet Pacific South is stationed just east of the Samoan islands – three cruisers, five destroyers, accompanied by Submarine Task Force Six. We have no immediate resources near Colombo. The Philippines Fleet is standing by in the Surigao Strait, with four battleships, two carriers, five cruisers and fourteen destroyers."
The paddle came down onto the table, and in a few quick motions three blue-flagged blocks were shifted by the Admiral. There was a look of intense concentration on his face as he scrutinized the altered board, like a chess player contemplating the next move.
"What's Fleet Pacific Centre status?" he asked.
"Six battleships, four carriers, fifteen cruisers and over twenty destroyers, sir," Guam answered. "All based here in Hawaii. Morale is generally high."
The Admiral raised his paddle, and then put it back on the rack. His manner was brisk now, as he looked back at the two cruisers and the faces of the Operations volunteers as they awaited his orders.
"Alaska," he said, and she instantly stiffened in attention. "I want all non-essential ships gathered in the mess hall. I don't know what's going on with these foreigners, but it's important that we inform all personnel as soon as possible." The blonde cruiser stood up, saluted, and quickly left the room.
The Admiral turned to Guam now, who stared at him intently. "Guam, open all channels to HQ, and get me Cleveland from Communications. We've got to try and get a link open to the Japs in Iwo Jima."
"Iwo Jima, sir?" Guam queried.
"Yes. I know, it's a long shot, but they've got to know, if they haven't already seen it. My bets are that they haven't."
"Very good, sir." Guam stood, and followed her sister out of the room.
"Everyone else, we're on double take!" the Admiral barked. There was an instant flurry of movement as the board plotters began their work. Radios burst into life all around them as their operators fiddled their work.
The Admiral watched as the well-oiled system came back to life. As little destroyers ran the lengths of the room as message runners, he felt an old fire burn within himself. It was a fire that he had once wished to be rid of – the fires of war. He put his cap back on and headed for the mess.
There was a distinctive buzz in the mess hall as the assembled ship-girls chatted with each other, some excited, some apprehensive as to what occurrence could bring them together in such a fashion. The battleships and carriers sat in the back, while the cruisers and destroyers fidgeted and murmured on the floor.
"I reckon it's going to be a new exercise," muttered Chauncey to her neighbour.
"You think so? I don't think it'd be that," answered Leutze.
"What about the Japs? Heard they're up to something in the west," said Montpelier.
"Like what? Fishing? Would sure like to join 'em if they were," Tucson shot back.
"Hey, what's wrong with Spam? Not salty enough for you?" jibed Montpelier. The other two destroyers giggled.
"Naw, I just think-"
"Shh-h! The Admiral's just come in!" Atlanta admonished.
The Admiral walked up to the podium and looked at the expectant faces of the ships seated before him. Most were wearing their patterned working uniforms – some of the battleships, under special mandate, wore their own outfits (some of them real eye-catchers).
"Everyone, first of all I'm sorry for bringing you all here on such short notice. But with the current situation I think it's best if you all know exactly what's going on."
"The Operations room has been informed of the presence of four; I say again, four green fleets in our theatre of operations." There was an instant outbreak of murmuring as the girls digested this information.
"This is a most mysterious turn of events, but it's something needs further investigation. Therefore starting from today this entire base is under double take-" The murmurs grew louder, the excitement from the girls rising "and I trust that each of you will perform your duties with the utmost efficiency."
"There will be postings and more information put up on the noticeboards tomorrow. I want all of you prepare for an encounter with one of these fleets. I do not know what their intentions are this present time, but I am certain that from now on our guard must never waver." The Admiral paused for breath. "Girls, I thank you for your time."
All the girls stood and came to attention as the Admiral, with Cleveland, filed out of the room. As soon as the swing doors stilled the tension broke – anxious chatter filled the room as the girls debated with each other over the nature of the situation.
"I knew this was coming!" Maryland crowed.
"Knew what?" some destroyers chorused.
"Maryland, you knew nothing of this!" protested Colorado.
"Did so! Now we'll get to see some real action!"
"How do you know that? Maybe they're just visiting…" Montpelier mused.
"Naw, I don't think so, they wouldn't come all the way out here just for show," New Mexico answered sedately.
The bickering and speculation carried on as opinions among the girls clashed. There was a slight chill in the night air, but it did nothing to deaden the heated debates that broke out in the bungalows and dormitories all through the night.