NS Pearl Harbor
Honolulu, HI
22 June 2020
0420hrs
There were few things that annoyed Captain Robert Jeffery. Being woken up in the middle of the night was one of them. So when he woke to the sound of his phone ringing, he was more than a little ticked off. "Jeffery," he growled, snatching the offending telephone with all the grace of a man who has had less than three hours sleep.
"Sir," Jeffery could almost hear the hesitation in the voice on the other end, "I'm sorry to disturb you, but there's a situation developing. The Admiral wants you at Pacific Fleet headquarters within the hour."
"What's going on?" Jeffery replied, taking a deep breath to prevent himself from shouting.
"Sir, all I was told was to inform you to report to the headquarters," the reply came.
'What that means, is that I have no idea, stop arguing with me you crazy officer so I can do my job,' Jeffery thought, he replied, "I'll be there in half an hour. Is there anything else?"
"No sir, goodnight sir," the line disconnected so fast Jeffery could practically hear the phone on the other end being slammed down.
"Honey, what's going on," Jeffery mentally cursed himself, he had accidentally woken up his wife. While Barbara was a understanding woman, but she didn't like being woken up any more than he did.
"Nothing, the Admiral just wants me to come in for a bit, that's all," he said.
"What's wrong?" Barbara asked.
"I don't know," Jeffery replied, "Probably something stupid like one of my ships ran aground, again. I'll be home soon." He leaned over to give her a quick kiss, then stood up. He walked over to a closet and pulled on a uniform. Jeffery was a man of average height and average build. He wore hs salt and pepper hair just long enough to part. In other words the picture of a salty captain, even though he hadn't been to sea in months.
It took him about forty five minutes to reach the headquarters building. The drive had given him plenty of time to think, and he didn't particularly like the thought that kept running through his head. If the Admiral had simply called him in the middle of the night, he would have been worried. The Admiral had requested his personal presence. That could only mean something significant had happened, something that couldn't be explained over the telephone. Jeffery couldn't stop the idea that kept coming back. Something had happened to one of his ships.
Someone had told him once that being a squadron commander was a lot less stressful than captaining a ship. Jeffery now knew that was pure and utter bullshit. There were six ships under his direct command, and if something had happened to any of them, he didn't think he could forgive himself.
He was met by a yeoman when he stepped into the building. The man gave him a look over, then said tiredly, "If you would please come with me, sir."
"What's this all about?" Jeffery asked.
"All I know is the Admiral said to get you into his office as quickly as possible sir," he said. The yeoman led him to an office door, then knocked.
A moment later Jeffery heard the occupant shout, "Come." The yeoman helpfully held the door open for Jeffery, then closed the door behind the captain.
"You wanted to see me, Admiral?" Jeffery asked once he was alone with the Admiral.
Rear Admiral James Smith looked up from a stack of paper, and said, "Have a seat Bob. Sorry to get you up at this ungodly hour."
"It's no problem, Admiral," Jeffery replied, taking a seat in one of the chairs pushed up against the wall.
"I was a captain once," Smith replied with a wan smile, "I understand how annoying it is to be dragged out of bed by the brass."
"Sir, may I ask what this is about?" Jeffery asked, getting right to the point.
"You are going to hear more of this at the morning briefing, but a few hours ago a dozen of our ships were attacked. They are reporting major damage, and at least four ships are confirmed to be destroyed."
Jeffery had a panicky thought run through his head, 'He called me in to tell me one of my ships got blown away. He is about to tell me that people under my command died while I was asleep.'
As if Smith was reading Jeffery's mind, he continued, "What I'm about to tell you comes with that caveat that we don't have the full picture yet."
"But?" Jeffery asked in a tone that said, 'Do not bullshit me.'
"The Halsey and Higgins got hit, Bob. Hit bad." Jeffery's eyes went wide, and he felt a ball of ice forming in the pit of his stomach. Those were his ships. Members of his squadron.
Finally, he managed to croak, "How bad?"
"Higgins lost her engines and is under tow," Smith replied, sliding a sheet of paper across his desk, "Here's what we have. It's not much."
"What are the casualties?" Jeffery asked, looking Smith straight in the eye.
"Severe," Smith replied, sighing, "I can't give you an exact number, Bob, simply because I don't know."
Jeffery stared at the sheet of paper for a long moment, before asking, "Sir, who did this?"
"We don't know," Smith replied.
"You don't know?" Jeffery shouted, "My ships are being attacked, my men killed, and you don't know who fucking did it!" He stood up and slammed his fists down on Smith's desk.
"Captain," Smith said an ice in his voice rarely heard, "Get ahold of yourself. Losing your temper is not going to help anyone."
Jeffery took a deep breath, then said, "I apologize sir. It won't happen again." He fell back into his chair. It let out a loud whumph as it took his weight. Smith didn't reply, he simply pulled open a drawer in his desk. He came back a moment later with a bottle of expensive scotch and two glasses. He looked a Jeffery, who replied with a nod of his head. 'I could definitely use a drink right now,' Jeffery thought, bitterly.
"Things are happening fast, captain," Smith said, sliding the now full glass across the desk, "We may well be at war. I need you here leading your ships, Bob, because that's the only way we're going to stop more kids from being shipped home in body bags."
"I understand," Jeffery replied, taking a long swig from the glass, letting the whiskey burn his throat. He no longer felt angry, he simply felt tired. Then he had another thought, of a more personal nature, "Do you have any information on the Mustin?"
Smith twisted his face up in thought for a second, then replied, "Isn't she with 7th Fleet right now? Why do you ask?"
"Emily is doing her first tour aboard her right now," Jeffery replied.
"Your daughter? I didn't know she was out of the Academy," Smith replied, taking a pull from his own glass, "I don't know, Bob, but I'll see what I can find out."
"Thanks Jim, I'd appreciate it," Jeffery replied. He downed the last of his glass, then said, "I may as well try to get in touch with my ships. Is there anything else, sir?"
"Go, take care of your squadron," Smith replied, gesturing for him to leave, "I'll pass on what I hear." Jeffery nodded, then left the office. The only thing he could think about on his way over to his own office, was about his daughter. He had no idea if she was safe or not, and that terrified him more than anything else he had ever felt before
-[]-[]-[]-
USS Evans
"So are they just going to sit there?" Matt Dover looked over to see Master Chief Boggs had joined him on the weather deck. He turned back to look at where the two cruisers and four destroyers had fallen in behind their modern counterparts.
"They haven't responded to radio calls, signal lamps, hell we even tried letting Greg wave her semaphore flags," Dover replied, sighing, "There they sit, not getting closer, and not leaving." He had to admit to himself that he was a little disappointed the mystery ships were ignoring them. He would have loved to talk to the skipper of one of those Fletcher's.
"Think they're related to that phantom battleship?" Boggs asked, not looking away from the ships.
Dover shot the Master Chief a questioning look, then said, "Master Chief, we had a random pre-dreadnought battleship appear out of nowhere, and then had our asses saved by a bunch of ships that should not be following us like dogs after a steak. None of this situation makes any sense." He had been replaying the incident from start to finish in his mind for hours now, and just about the only thing he could gleam from his memories, was that none of it should have been possible. You get used to living in a world where everything works a certain way. Then it decides to go, "Fuck it," and throw all logic and sense out the window. Dover would have accepted any explanation at this point.
"You figure out which ones they are yet?" Boggs asked, changing the subject.
"The cruisers are St. Louis class, which means it's Lou and Helena, two ships that stopped existing years ago," Dover replied. That had taken some doing to find out. The ship's internet link had been destroyed in the attack. Luckily they had been able to find an old copy of Janes Fighting Ships of WWII in the Evans' library.
"So then they're ghost ships?" Boggs asked. How he could say that with a straight face escaped Dover.
"Certainly a better theory than Greg's aliens mimicking old ships idea," Dover replied, rolling his eyes, "That girl watches too much anime."
"Am I interrupting something?"
Dover spun around in surprise. Commander Lee Jones was standing in a hatchway, watching them. Jones was a tall, black man who had never lost his linebacker build.
"Just a bullshit session, skipper," Boggs replied, "Don't think you know what our friends out there are, do you?"
"The most beautiful goddamned ships I've ever seen, that's what they are," Jones replied, "When they came charging out of the storm, why it was like a scene from a western. You could almost hear someone sounding the charge as the cavalry rode in to save our sorry asses."
"I'll second that," Boggs said.
"Something you need, skipper?" Dover asked. He highly doubted the captain was out here to have a friendly conversation. The ship was still under repair, and the captain had far more important things to do than bullshit with a couple of his subordinates.
"I just got out of an interesting conversation with 7th Fleet HQ," Jones began, "But I digress, congratulations are in order, lieutenant commander." Jones tossed something to Dover. He caught it then saw it was a pair of gold oak leaves stuck to a piece of cardboard. The rank insignia of a Lieutenant Commander
"Sir, what's this?" Dover asked eyes wide with confusion. He wasn't supposed to be up for promotion for at least another six months, but there wasn't anything else the pin could mean.
"That," Jones replied, "Is your reward for a good job. It's just a brevet right now, but I'm sure PACFLT will okay it."
"Sir," Dover said with a sigh, "You misunderstand me. Why am I getting this right now?"
Jones was silent for a long moment, before finally replying, "I'm sure you know we took a beating. Mustin lost her CO, OOD, and a dozen odd senior personnel. 7th Fleet decided it would be easiest to assign her a new CO from within the task force, they decided on Ms. Wright."
"So the XO's finally getting a command?" Boggs asked, "About damn time if you ask me."
Dover had to agree with the Master Chief, but there was something else bothering him, "Then who's moving into the XO's slot for the Evans?"
"You're looking at him," Jones replied, inclining his head towards Dover, "Congratulations, XO." Dover was stunned speechless. He felt like someone had just punched him in the gut. He couldn't be an XO. Command officer's had years of training, he had six months at department head school. "Why am I not hearing jubilant cries of satisfaction? Most people would kill for this sort of thing," Jones asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Sir, I'm not ready for this," Dover replied, truthfully.
'Well that is neither here nor there, commander," Jones replied, "This ship needs a number two man, and right now you're it. I could give it to Greg if you don't want it."
"I understand sir," Dover said, "Thank you, sir."
"Well then, your first order of business is to figure out what the hell our guests are doing," Jones said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at the mystery ships, "When I tried to tell the Admiral about them, he laughed at me. Would you believe it? I had to show him our film before he believed me."
"Yes sir," Dover replied, trying to hide the smile forming on his face.
"Anyway, good luck, exec," Jones said, slapping Dover on the back. The force of the impact sent Dover staggering. Jones let out a hearty laugh, then walked away.
Regaining his breath, Dover asked, "What the hell just happened, Master Chief?"
"That, Commander, is what we refer to as a battlefield promotion," Boggs replied. Dover shot him a scathing look. A commotion from the deck below caused him to look up in confusion.
"What's going on?" he shouted.
"Sir," someone replied, "Look." Dover looked out at the water, and blinked in surprise. They mystery ships were gone. They had simply vanished.
"What the hell is going on here?" Boggs asked, "What's going to happen now, flying cows from Mars?"
"Don't say it out loud," Dover replied, his voice low enough that only Boggs could hear. "What happened?"
"I don't know, sir," the sailor replied, "One minute they were there, and the next…"
"Shit keeps getting weirder," Boggs said, ignoring Dover's earlier advice.
"Sir, look," another sailor shouted. Dover turned to see what looked like several girls standing on the water.
'Hell, that's exactly what it is. They are standing on the water,' he thought. The girls, there were six of them, seemed to be making a beeline for the Evans' fantail. "You don't think…" Dover asked, then quickly added, "Nah."
The girl in the lead stopped just off the fantail, then shouted, "There someone I can talk to?"
"Depends," one of the sailors replied, "On what the fuck you are."
Dover groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose, "Come on, before they some more stupid shit." He darted down to the fantail, hoping to get there before the sailors milling around did something dumb.
He heard the girl's reply while he was running, "I am the cruiser St. Louis, who are you?"
Dover skidded to a stop where he could see all six of the girls, saying loudly, "I am Lieutenant Commander Dover, XO of this ship. Who are you?"
St. Louis replied by giving a weak salute, saying, "Cruisers St. Louis, Helena, and a contingent of destroyers reporting, sir."
Dover opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by Boggs muttering under his breath, "I told you it was going to be weird shit."
-[]-[]-[]-
Fleet Activities Yokosuka
Lieutenant Commander Jack Shimada stood on the dock, staring out at the harbor. He was watching a group of warships as they nosed their way into the harbor. He had been tipped off to their arrival in the harbor by one of his friends in the JMSDF, and he had to get a look for himself. He was an officer of the Office of Naval Intelligence, which meant he kept tabs on everything. These ships had apparently been involved in a battle with the monster ships, and Shimada wanted to get a look at the damage they had taken. The intel he had was slim to none, and at this point he would take whatever he could get.
As soon as the bombshell of a major war had been dropped, Shimada went fully into his analyst mode, which meant gathering every shred of intelligence he could lay his hands on. Getting a look at a few ships that had been attacked would give him a wealth of information to forward to the main office. Unsurprisingly, he saw Commander Hisashi Goto standing on the dock. Goto was Shimada's counterpart in the JMSDF Fleet Intelligence command, and the man behind the tip. They had been friends for many years now, and often shared intel unofficially.
"I see ONI is sparing no expense," Goto said without looking.
"Yeah well, this ought to be the intel coup of the decade. No way I'm going to miss this," Shimada replied.
Goto continued to stare at the approaching ships, asking, "What was the final toll for your navy?"
"You know I can't tell you…" Shimada started to reply.
"How long have we been friends, Jack?" Goto asked, turning to give Shimada a small smile.
"Four ships," Shimada replied with a shake of his head, "Four that we know of."
Goto stood silent for a long moment before replying, "We lost two," adding a second later, "That we know of."
"You guys are the ones obsessed with monsters and spirits, what do you think did this?" Shimada asked a moment later, "Because that's just about the best report I can get, that monsters did it. I would have loved to actually had an intel officer aboard one of our ships who knew the difference between a report and an opinion."
Goto raised a questioning eyebrow, "Monsters? Is that what they call them?"
"The exact wording," Shimada replied, "You know what my boss will think if I tried to push that report up the chain?"
"That you are being funny?" Goto replied.
"That I'm crazy would be more likely," Shimada replied, then shook his head, "Monsters, heh, what's next, aliens? Ghosts?"
"My sailors call them monsters as well, but their wording is more, colorful," Goto said.
"I bet," Shimada quipped. He stared out at the ships, trying to catch any details that he could. One of the destroyers was missing the top part of its mast. It looked like it had been broken off halfway up the structure. The second destroyer had several dents and holes in its superstructure. "They certainly saw a lot," Shimada remarked.
"Destroyers Kongou and Ashigara," Goto explained, "They were in formation with another."
"Which you're not going to tell me about?" Shimada asked.
"No," Goto replied, "Not until we notify the families."
"Intelligence by CNN, the best type of intelligence," Shimada remarked. The destroyers were close now, close enough for Shimada to see the individual crew. Even burned and damaged, the crews still lined the rails wearing their white uniforms. Something caught Shimada's eye, something moving by one of the ships. When he looked closer, he almost fell into the water. There, pacing along next to the destroyer, was a person, standing on the water.
"You see that, right?" he asked, stunned, "Because I got nothing."
"I do," Goto replied, "That… yeah I have no clue either." They watched as the person, Shimada could see it was a young woman now, approached the dock. Several more figures appeared from behind the destroyer, but Shimada was focused on the first one. She approached where Shimada and Goto were standing, then stopped just out of reach. They stood staring at each other for several seconds. Shimada couldn't help but stare, she was beautiful. Tall, striking, with flowing brown hair. She was wearing some sort of flowing white gown. Shimada guessed it was ceremonial something or other, but he had no clue.
Then, before he could react, she leapt from the water and caught Shimada in a running tackle. The two rolled across the ground for several feet before coming to a stop. She began spouting rapid fire Japanese, "HELLO, battleship Kongou has returned. It's nice to meet you admiral."
Shimada finally sputtered, "I'm not an admiral dammit."
"Why wouldn't you be an admiral. You are too handsome to be anything else, Dess." Shimada let out a strangled cry, then looked up at Goto trying to quietly ask the man for help, but he saw that Goto was bellowing with laughter. The bastard was laughing at him, he was actually laughing at him.
"Would you help me with this, you rat bastard?" Shimada croaked. Kongou completely ignored him, deciding instead to keep holding him in the strangle hold of a hug.
"Why?" Goto asked, chuckling, "You appear to be enjoying it."
"Just help me already," Shimada asked again, pleaded really. Goto sighed, then reached down to grab Kongou by the back of the neck. With a pull he hauled her off of Shimada. The stunned analyst climbed to his feet a second later.
"My boss is going to love this," he finally said, "I can just see the headlines now, 'Japanese battleship returns as attractive human woman, assaults American officer'."
"You are American?" Kongou asked, "You don't look like an American."
"I am," Shimada replied, hesitantly, "Japanese American really." Somehow he knew that was the wrong thing to say.
"Aren't we at war?" Kongou continued, causing Goto to break out laughing again.
"This is going to be a long day, isn't it?" Shimada groaned, raising his hands to his face in consternation.
"Probably," Goto replied, then reached down to help Shimada to his feet.
-[]-[]-[]-
COMDESRON 15
Fleet Activities Yokosuka
Captain Robert Macklin was in a foul mood. Not only had several of his ships been damaged, the report they had sent back made no sense. Monster battleships? What type of insane excuse was that? This was so far from the norm he had no idea what to make of it. There had to be some reason for this report, and it was probably something he wouldn't like.
Macklin was tall in stature, who worked hard to keep his body in peak performance. He liked to joke he was in as good a shape now as he had been while at the Academy. He had spent several years in ships, before finding his real calling, leading from the shore. Someone had to stay behind to tell the ships where to go and what to do.
But right now he was supposed to be leading this squadron, not constantly cleaning up after the captains under him. Macklin had done his best to be supportive, and help the men under him. But then they go and do this? He half expected to read a report stating that one of his ships had been sunk, and then he would be in the shit. There was no way he would ever get his star if that happened.
He sighed, then leaned in his chair. There had to be some way of dealing with this, some way that wouldn't reflect negatively on himself or hamper his career. He would just have to figure out what had really happened and spin it for the admiral. Maybe he could find some way to make this not seem as bad. He looked towards his door and shouted, "CHIEF."
A second later Master Chief Eddy Riley stuck his head into the office. Riley was the squadron's command master chief. The highest ranking NCO in other words. He took one look at Macklin, then quipped, "You bellowed, sir?"
"Cut the shit, Chief," Macklin said in an exasperated tone, "Just go figure out what the hell happened to my ships."
The NCO stared at Macklin for a long moment, a look of disbelief on his face, "Didn't you hear, sir, about the monster attacks? It's all over the news."
"Not you too," Macklin groaned, placing his head in his hands, "Look, figure out something to tell the admiral that sounds better than, 'The ships got attacked by monsters'."
"Sir, the admiral already called to ask if we had any news about the monsters," the chief said. Macklin stared at the man for a long moment.
"And you didn't think the little detail about the Admiral calling wasn't important enough to notify me?" Macklin barked. He was beginning to lose his patience with this man.
"Sir, we didn't know anything to tell him, unless you've heard something," the chief hedged.
"Look," Macklin said, biting his lip in an attempt to keep from screaming, "Get the Admiral on the phone. Maybe I can sort this out myself."
"Aye, sir," the chief said, then quickly ducked out of the office. Macklin didn't watch the man leave, he had better things to worry about. Like how the hell he was going to explain this mess when the Admiral inevitably came to yell at him about this. Damn, this was already shaping up to be one shitter of a week.