28 January, 2017
Time: 11:00 Local Time
Location: Naval Base Coronado, San Diego, California
Admiral Dougherty paced nervously. It had been ten hours since he had heard from the patrol and seven since Texas and Alaska broke off contact.
"Latest situation report sir," California said, handing him a paper.
"When did this come in?", he asked, looking over the page.
"Texas just reported in, she had wounded."
Texas was exhausted, she had emptied her secondary magazines and depleted the ready queue of her main guns. Her radar and sonar worked overtime, assuring the safety of her charges. After making contact with San Diego, she sent Alaska ahead with Cleveland and Atlanta to prepare for the wounded battleships' arrival.
"Hey Nevada, how are you doing?", she asked.
"Better," Nevada replied just before crying out in pain once more.
"What's wrong?", Texas asked.
"One of my bulkheads just gave way, I'm taking in water," Nevada whimpered as she settled lower in the water, listing to starboard. Texas pulled up alongside the foundering battleship. "Chief," she ordered, "Get some of your crew to lash Nevada to my hull, and prepare to flood all uninhabitable compartments on the port side." Her Chief Engineer popped back up from Texas' pocket, and grumbled something.
"I don't care if it fouls up my oil, get it done!", Texas ordered. The figure gave a reluctant salute and disappeared once more. A mass of faeries crowded Texas' deck as they lashed the two battleships together. With a sound of groaning metal, Texas listed over, lifting Nevada out of the water. The old Standard hissed in pain as she settled against Texas' hull.
"It's only temporary, my Damage Control teams should have you patched up in no time," Texas said.
"Sir," Admiral Dougherty said, "I was not expecting you at all."
"I understand Admiral, I just arrived. Now I have some questions about the personnel file for your new battleship. Are you aware that her rank is listed as a Fleet Admiral?", asked the man sitting across from Dougherty.
"Yes, Mr. Secretary, I am aware. Texas… is an interesting ship to say the least, but given her performance so far, she deserves that rank," the Admiral replied.
"I don't understand," asked the official, "She's been under your command for less than a day. How can you be sure that she deserves that rank?" At that moment,thunder rang out from the harbor. Admiral Dougherty and the visitor stood and looked out the window overlooking the water. Outside, a battle raged. Battleship Colorado raced to shore trying to keep Nevada afloat with New Mexico and Tennessee in tow, their guns blasting over their shoulders. With a roar, Texas' guns brought the attention to an Abyssal cruiser who strayed too close. Its bow caved inwards, like it was trying to turn itself inside out, before the entire ship burst into shrapnel. As the two looked on, the blast from Texas' main battery hit the building. Both jumped as the once clear window turned white and then crumbled to the floor. Outside,what remained of the cruiser sinking into the bay seemed to deter the remaining Abyssal ships which turned, and with a final salvo, rapidly left the area.
"I now see what you mean Admiral, Texas is," He paused, "unique. Although battle performance is only part of what makes a good commander, for the other parts, we shall see."
Texas, wounded and weary, stepped onto the platform in the docks, her rigging being lifted away. As soon as she left the docks, an older woman appeared by her side.
"Vestal, I presume?", the super-battleship asked.
"Indeed, I would like to let you know how stupid you were with Nevada's repairs. Do you know how long it will take for me to realign her structure after that stunt you pulled?", she scolded.
"I have faith in your work. Now, if you would excuse me, I have pressing matters to attend to," Texas said.
"Damn self-inflated, pointy-eared hobgoblin," Vestal growled as Texas left.
A soft knock on Dougherty's door interrupted the conversation.
"Enter," the Admiral said. The door softly swung open and Texas stepped through.
"Dougherty, we need to talk," she said.
"Texas, this is Mr. Swanson, he's-"
"Howdy," Texas interrupted, "Admiral, we need to talk now. There's a bigger war goin' on here."
"Ahh, Texas," Mr. Swanson said, "Claude Swanson, Secretary of the Navy." Texas stopped, her head slowly turning towards the Secretary with oiled precision. After a few moments, Texas snapped to attention, hand raised in a salute,"Sir, my apologies."
The Secretary returned the salute,"At ease, Admiral. please , continue." She pulled out the Abyssal crest. It was made up of a globe, the Americas proudly displayed on the hemisphere, and a broadsword behind running vertically, handle above the North Pole.
"This is the emblem of the Terran Empire, Admiral. The Empire is the United States in some sort of mirror dimension. Everything that our country stands for is the exact opposite of the Terran Empire. War, conquest, subjugation, and treachery are the ways of life there. I picked this emblem off of what you call a Abyssal Battleship Princess. Admiral, if the Terran Empire is involved here, we could be facing a very bloody fight."
"And just how do you know all this?", Secretary Swanson asked.
"April 25, 1942, a inter-dimensional rift forms connecting our Earth with the Terran one. But, this is not just a tear in space, no, it is also a tear in time. A Terran battleship from the year 1960 traveled through the rift and engaged my fleet, thinking it was part of the Terran Earth's Japanese Navy. The First Fleet proceeded to disable the ship and recovered it along with its entire historical library. That Terran ship served under my flag for five months, until it was scuttled due to crippling and irreparable damage. From what we can tell, this rift is a natural phenomenon. It's anyone guess when or where it will reappear."
"Any idea of if this current crisis is due to another one of these rifts opening?", Swanson asked.
"All the evidence that I have on record suggests that it might be," the battleship replied.
"Thank you for this information. Now, Admiral, let's continue our discussion," the Secretary stated.
"Sir, permission to return to the docks? I need to check up on the wounded," Texas asked. "Permission granted, Admiral, see to your troops well being," Swanson replied.
"Aye Aye sir," Texas said. The battleship turned and left the office.
"Well, Mr. Secretary? I think that was a clear judge of character," Dougherty said, breaking the silence. The Secretary looked at the empty window frame.
"Indeed," he replied.
Thoughts raced through Texas' head as she headed back to the repair docks. She had faced the might of the Empire only once before, and Conqueror had almost sunk her. If this was the work of the Empire, then who knows what ships they brought through this time. But what if the Empire wasn't involved? What if the Abyss had found the wreckage of her Terran counterpart? What if it was Conqueror herself? The Fleet would have the answers, Texas thought, they always do. *Clang* Texas backwards, dazed.
"Hey! Watch where you're going you-", the voice faltered. Texas looked downwards, her gaze coming to rest on a woman with hair as black as night. The figure straightened her flight jacket and popped a salute.
"M'am, USS Midway CVB-41, my apologies M'am!", Midway shouted.
"At ease, Midway," Texas sighed.
"Is there something wrong M'am?", the carrier asked.
"Wha? Oh no, nothing's wrong. Just a lot of things goin' on in here," Texas said, pointing to her head. Midway watched as the white-clad man-of-war wandered away, obviously lost in thought, "Nothing wrong, yeah right."
How could she forget? Seventy-five years ago,seventy five years! The ship who had served with distinction since 1927, gone in an instant. It was her fault, Texas scolded herself, if she had been closer to Renegade during the Java Sea campaign.
"She still would have blown up sooner or later," a voice leered in her head.
"It was a design flaw of the Turmoils," Texas fought back, "Turmoil herself had the same thing happen to her."
The voice inside her head sneered, "You forget, 'Gade was pummeled to death before she was able to limp home. She died because YOU weren't there to help. She blew in the harbor because of your inability to act on the battlefield. You were lucky that her crew was not on board or you would have blood on your hands. Blood that would have stained your career, never to wash out." Texas could still see it, the battered, burning Turmoil-class listing heavily suddenly engulfed in a ball of flame, shattered into millions of pieces. 35 men aboard the two Recovery-class tugs destroyed died that day, never again would they see their families or loved ones, never again would those men laugh, cry, or fight for their country. Texas stopped, she needed to leave. The base was no place for a ship like her. The once strong facade was crumbling, Texas' true emotions were starting to break through. Her command crew was screaming in her head to leave the base before she broke down completely. Texas spied a cruiser, Helena, and after that everything was a blur. The next thing Texas knew, she was in her quarters. She looked around at the bland, Navy-issue room, and collapsed onto her bed.
