The sticks clattered and clacked as the women tapped them hard on the wooden floor; turning to each other, the Maori women threw them deftly to each other – a tap there, toss, clack, clack, toss again. All the while they sang their song:

"E pāpā Waiari,
Taku nei mahi
Taku nei mahi,
He tuku roimata…
"

Commodore Green sat the head of the audience, smiling broadly at the dextrous display. Next to him Ark sat quietly watching, with the rest of the British fleet beside her.

"Ē aue, ka mate au;
E hine hoki mai rā
Ē aue, ka mate au;
E hine hoki mai rā…
"

Clack, clack. The Maori women, smiling all the way, continued with their melodious song.

"Māku e kaute
Ō hīkoitanga
Māku e kaute
Ō hīkoitanga."

The Maori performers grinned, and raised their titirorea to mark the end of the performance. Ark and the fleet applauded heartily as the Maori women left the stage.

It was the fleet's fourth day in Wellington. Though treated as honoured guests of the base as well as the land, Ark and the rest of the senior girls had been busy lending help to the New Zealand girls in updating their information as well as training them in the latest manoeuvres.

But today Commodore Green treated his guests to a private native performance, as the fifth day was the day of their departure. The men and women of Te Āti Awa knew of their impending departure, and knowing only of the power the fleet girls held that protected their lands from the encroachments of the Abyssal tautangata, resolved to grace their departure with as much splendour as possible.

The next performance began – a pair of Maori warriors that handled flaming poi in an elaborate and daring sparring match. The warriors shouted and yelled war cries at each other, twirling the blazing poi at such a speed it seemed as though spirits of fire danced with them.

The destroyer girls gasped and cheered as the two warriors lunged and darted to and fro, their flaming weapons always just inches short of tangling with each other.

"Ark," Commodore Green whispered across to the quiet carrier, as the other girls watched the performance intently. "I hope you have enjoyed your stay here?"

Ark was silent for a moment. Then she turned her head imperceptibly towards the commodore.

"It has been a delightful few days, sir," Ark said, smiling slightly at the memories of the past few days. "It is easy to forget we still have a long journey ahead of us. But tomorrow our happy times here will come to an end."

"Yes, well…" the Commodore looked uneasy at the mention of their departure. "Ark, if I may…"

"Yes, Commodore?" Ark queried, half her attention on the whirling flames.

"I know your group have a mission to fulfil," the Commodore continued to whisper, his voice below even the gasps of the awestruck girls. "And we will release you to do that duty. But, if I may suggest to you…"

"You want us to exchange units, sir?" Ark interrupted.

The Commodore was taken aback at Ark's bluntness. "Yes, but not in so straightforward a manner-"

"I'm afraid we cannot exchange any units from this fleet to the service of your station, sir." Ark coolly replied. "It would be a direct contravention of our assigned orders."

The Commodore was silent. His attention turned back to the warriors, whose flaming poi began to slow down. One by one, they were extinguished, and the performance ended.

The other British girls murmured sounds of approval as they rose. The Commodore quickly regained his composure and beamed at the other girls, all the while not looking at Ark.

The day passed into night without another significant event. Though given free rein to visit any place in Wellington, the girls of the British Second Pacific Fleet preferred to stay in and prepare for the next leg of the journey.

Ark sat in her own cubicle, calmly reviewing the mission details with papers pinned on the cubicle walls and laid neatly around her. She studied the latest tidal reports and scrutinized the weather predictions closely.

The battleships sat at a green-baize table in one corner, playing whist under a single light bulb with the blackouts up on the windows. Victorious sat with them, but the other three eyed her with suspicion.

The destroyer sisters slept snugly in their bunks. Penelope lay on one bunk reading on her side. Berwick also slept.

"Trumps are hearts," Lion declared quietly, flipping over the last card dealt to her. The rest of the hand was played in silence.

"Seven to six. That's four-one to us." Warspite muttered as the hand ended.

"Feh, I could have done with better if-"

"You'll say no such thing, considering we've yet to have payback for that little incident at Port Stephens," Georgie cut across the startled Victorious. With vicious hands she began to shuffle the deck again.

Victorious blushed. Slowly, she rolled up her sleeves as a gesture of goodwill. The others were not convinced.

"Say, what should our payback be, friends?" Lion asked airily.

Warspite and Georgie turned to look at Victorious, whose face turned a deeper shade of red. Georgie stopped shuffling and set the cards down.

"Now, now, friends…."

"Did you hear that, Georgie?" Warspite said in a mocking, incredulous tone, turning to her with a smile. "She called us 'friends'."

"But we are, aren't we?" Victorious asked tentatively.

"I know!" Georgie piped up with a playful grin. "How about the old boiled egg? Haven't done that one in a while, have we?"

"I- I-"

"Good idea, Georgie. Now, whether or not she will co-operate-"

But it was too late. Victorious, fearing for her safety quickly rose and began to run towards the door. The others rose violently and began to give chase.

The carrier looked behind, and for a split second, was blind to Ark's outstretched leg. With a muffled shriek Victorious toppled over Ark's notes. This was just enough time for Lion and Georgie to catch up and haul Victorious up by the arms.

Warspite walked demurely over. Ark gave her a questioning look, but it was one without disapproval. Warspite thought she could even see the lines of a thin smile.

Victorious looked desperately at Ark, then to Warspite, then back to Ark. "Ark, please-"

Warspite gave Ark a meaningful look. The silver-haired carrier looked back down at her notes and straightened them idly.

"As long as you don't make too much noise," Ark said quietly.

Lion and Georgie grinned at each other. Victorious turned pale and shut her eyes in despair.

"Come on, here we go-"

"Vicky, you're not going to sleep well tonight-"

The three battleships hauled Victorious out of the hall, shutting the door behind them.

Outside in the total darkness the girls dragged Victorious to where complete black met the starry horizon. With a strong heave they threw her into the water, making a great splash.

"Feeling refreshed yet, Vicky?" Lion called. The other two giggled under their breaths.

"You-" Victorious was interrupted as a small rolling wave buffeted her, and she spluttered seawater when it subsided.

"Alright, that's enough," Warspite said. Taking a coil of rope from the water's edge she threw the line out, and pulled the sodden carrier in.

They carried her to the nearby shower stalls, which were devoid of any others. While Lion and Warspite returned to the dormitory, Georgie stayed behind to help.

The hiss of the hot water drowned out all other sounds as Georgie prodded the shivering Victorious into the shower. The icy chill of Wellington harbour was washed away.

Victorious showered in silence, while Georgie waited patiently off to one side.

"Soap," Victorious called, and at once Georgie thrust her arm into the cubicle, with soap in hand. Instead, there was a muffled shriek as Victorious pulled the unsuspecting battleship in.

Georgie's uniform became drenched immediately under the hot shower. The battleship could only make out a weird glint in the carrier's eye before she closed in…


The fifth day arrived. Over the horizon a flushed pink hue stretched as far as the eye could see. It was on this backdrop that the large party made its way to the central pier.

Song lifted the air, and within each heart of the British Second Pacific Fleet a warm glow spread as they found comfort within the charming melody of the Maori islanders as well as the smooth voices of the New Zealand Squadron:

"Pō atarau

E moea iho nei

E haere ana

koe ki pāmama…"

Some danced, others strode forward in time with the girls. Commodore Green walked at the head of the procession, with his girls arm in arm with the departing British girls.

"Haere rä
Ka hoki mai anö
Ki i te tau
E tangi atu nei."

"Now is the hour
For me to say goodbye…"

The party reached the quay. There a mixed regiment of uniformed guards as well as a war-band of wildly painted Maori warriors stood rigidly to attention, bayonets and spears tall and straight in stiff salute. The Maori women stayed behind while the New Zealand girls followed their sisters to the end of the pier.

The song continued unabated as each British girl shook hands and kissed the Commodore on the cheek as they hopped off into the water. Without any perfunctory order the fleet began its slow cruise out of Wellington.

Behind them they could still hear snatches of the farewell song:

"While you're away

Oh please remember me

When you return

You'll find me waiting here…"

The faint cheers of the farewell party mingled with the keening cry of wayward kestrels, and within minutes all that anyone could see of New Zealand was a green and brown smudge below a great white cloud.

The last strains of song died away. All that remained was the sounds of the never-ending ocean wash, and the slicing surf of the girls' wakes.

All faces turned to the west. Before them lay 1,300 miles of the Tasman Sea, untraversed for so many years.

"Squadron, formation B, maintain cruising speed, bearing zero-three-two-four." The ten ships of the squadron tacked slightly against the wind, maintaining the concentric formation.

The wind rose. As it did each girl's heart sank, for they knew what was coming. Dark grey clouds gathered, and the rumble of thunder could be heard.

Warspite put her whistle to her lips and blew hard. Three short bursts per bar and a rest, then again. The outermost circle tightened inwards, keeping each other in sight as the first curtain of black rain fell upon them.

The cold savaged them as they plodded on west. Pennants fluttered angrily on their lines and signal lights flickered as the fleet continued onwards. Their speed slowed to ten knots as they struggled to keep together, let alone hold their formation.

"Warspite to all ships, closing visual marking range to a quarter of a mile!" the old battleship shouted down the mike. "All ships will close the formation on my mark – three, two- argh!"

Warspite was knocked aside by the rising swell, and the screeching wind drowned out her curses. But as ordered, the girls closed their formation up and locked their rudders. The other battleships skidded backwards and helped Warspite back up.

"Warspite! Are you okay?!" Georgie yelled.

"I'm fine! Just fine! Curse this damned storm-"

"Come on, up you get, up you get!"

Others shouted encouragement above the din of the furious squall, but their words barely reached the ears of the comrades. The only thing they could do was to hold on, and wait.

Lightning arced freely across the darkened sky and rain fell so thickly that it overpowered any attempt by any girl to set up their tarpaulin covers. Cheviot lost her raincoat while trying to pull it out, the violent winds tearing it from her hands.

The whole fleet shivered miserably, but their formation held and the storm soon subsided. It was night before the last clouds gave way to the brilliant waxing moon and the glittering empire of stars above.

"Fleet, status report," Ark called.

"Red section, no significant damage!"

"Green section, no significant damage!"

"Yellow section, no injuries!"

"Well, it could have been a lot worse," Victorious drily commented, as the girls squeezed rainwater out of their hair and tried to wring water out of their sodden clothes.

"Remember that squall off the Scillies, Georgie?" Warspite asked. "It blew up old Yorkie's skirt when we were hunting the Lizard raiders-"

"I remember that. Blew another great fuss when we touched down at Plymouth-"

"Alright, alright, that's enough chitchat, let's get a move on… now, where are we?" Warspite looked around them. It was dark all around, and the scattered remains of the storm obscured much of the sky.

"Cheviot, give us a sounding, everyone else on full watch!" Warspite opened her knapsack while the bedraggled destroyer activated her ASDIC system.

"Right, let's see…" Warspite opened the lid of the box chronometer. "And the gyro compass says… huh."

"Got our bearings yet, Warspite?" asked Ark.

"We're not very far off course," Warspite replied, stowing away her instruments. "A few degrees north of our expected route, changing our approach angle by nine to eleven degrees."

"Noted." Ark turned to the rest of the girls. "Fleet will adjust and correct course on Warspite's direction."

"Yes, ma'am!"

The fleet continued on west. As they cruised on the sky began to lighten as the sun began to rise, basking them in warm light.

It was sunset again by the time Childers spotted that familiar smudge of black on the horizon. Warspite ordered a halt and spied it out with binoculars. She lowered them, and nodded to Ark.

Ark raised her bow, pointed at the coast, and loosed a single shot.


Garden Island

It was a Saturday; many on the shore felt disinclined to attend to their duties on such a fine day. Even with the threat of storm clouds on the horizon many lounged about on deckchairs at their posts, lazily reading, smoking, playing cards (almost certainly illegal but nobody really minded, so long as you didn't brag), and in rarer moments, actually do something productive.

Even the commanding officer resigned himself to the easy-going nature of the day. He sat with all the windows open in his office, feet up on the finely-carved wooden desk, reading the Sydney Morning Herald with a pipe in one hand and a breeze-cooled bottle of beer in the other. Ice and kerosene were very dear in Sydney.

With the spring heat taking cues from its hotter brother the admiral had his jacket unfastened and his shoes and socks off. Saturday was meant to be family day, but with the wife out of town, there was no place but the office to relax.

Besides, he had his girls to care for.

He cast a glance at the readiness board. Every single girl was slotted as 'ashore'.

He sighed. Was it not already hard as the Honourable Vice Admiral Richard Dalrymple to run this base with units with as much care as the wayward gull?

All off at the pub, he thought to himself.

He wasn't completely right, though, for the destroyers, however welcome at the bar, disdained lager at their age. They were instead encamped at the Heads, having issued their own warrants and gear, were engaged in their own little survival exercise.

But he was right about the pub.

"Barman! Another round, if you please!" Cheers rose like the tide as the men surged forward to the beer-slicked bar, where grinning servers and tapsters poured their glasses and mugs full.

"Hold up, Canberra! Mr Tiller won't be very happy with this, you know-"

"It's alright, Australia!" The freckled face of Canberra emerged, flushed but beaming, from the throng of eager sailors and workmen. "It's a lovely day, isn't it, fellows! Come on! Drink up!" Again that overwhelming roar of cheers.

"Oh, let her alone, Australia," said Vengeance, who sat with two others at a table close to the action. "After all, that includes us as well, doesn't it?" The auburn-haired, pigtailed, lanky carrier grinned broadly and held up her own empty glass. "Be a darling and go fill this up for me, hey?"

"Mine too!" Perth piped up. Perth, a dour but dependable Leander-class cruiser, raised her glass as well.

"Christ, Vengeance, you're gonna make me work on Saturday? What kind of torturous thing are you?"

"Oh relax, Australia, it's not as if we're making you sortie," the last girl giggled. Her name was Hobart, another of Leander's improved brood, sporting long silver hair and a breezy personality that endeared her to many of the sailors. "My glass too, please!"

Grumbling under her breath, Australia snatched their glasses out of their hands and pushed her way to the bar.

"What's this? A triple lager for today, Australia?" taunted Canberra, resting on the backs of the sailors as they drank. "Surely you're not trying to beat dear Hobart, are you?"

"Put a lid on it, Canberra. Or else I'll have you posted to god-knows-where!"

The three glasses were filled, and Australia struggled back out the crowd to the waiting girls. Their grins broadened mockingly as they received their beers.

"Taaaah! Great stuff!" Hobart exclaimed. "So, Perth, what's the deal with this supposed arrival, then?"

"Hey, hey, hey, don't go shootin' yer mouth off about that," Perth admonished. "Can' say fer sure, but I swear I caught a glimpse of that Admiralty blue paper a few days ago…" She took a swig of beer, then continued. "I reckon it came through the transport DC a couple of days ago."

"Any word from the girls west?" asked Hobart, drinking in every word.

"No, they're doing their annuals this week; most of them are probably off on exercises."

"Well, I don't know much about any passing fleet, we're having enough trouble as it is beating off damn raiders," added Vengeance. "It'd be a sure relief to have them on our side, though-"

"Shh-h!" Australia quickly put a finger to her lips, and the rest of the pub quickly followed suit. A low droning sound could be heard.

The pub's door banged open. In rushed a clean-shaved man of twenty, flustered and jersey soaked in sweat.

"Everyone back to their stations! Come on, let's go!" There was a hubbub as glasses dropped, beers were downed and the tide of navy men swept across the tables and out the open door. The girls remained where they were, slightly stunned.

"Oi! You four! To you posts, now!" Australia, Canberra, Hobart, and Vengeance shook themselves awake and quickly left.

Back at the Admiral's office, eight girls stood fast on the carpet as their commander looked over them sternly. Gone was his carefree demeanour earlier in the day, and a serious expression was set on his face. The harsh light of the room lamps only served to put the Vice Admiral's severe features in harsher relief.

"The Admiralty sent me word of the arrival of the British Second Pacific Fleet more than a month ago," the Vice Admiral began, his tone level but cold. "I sent operational dossiers to each relevant department more than a week ago. Why have none of you acted upon it?"

There was a sheepish silence among the assembled Australian girls. Dalrymple, though normally easy-going and reasonable, was frightening in this state of tranquil fury.

"Now we have them standing by five miles off the Heads and we have no procedure for accommodating them!" Dalrymple shouted suddenly, his voice and temper rising sharply. "This is inexcusable sloth with the enemy so close to our shores! Do you not know how many letters I get from the districts urging for action? I should have you all on-"

"Sir! I am really quite sorry about this!" Australia blurted out, tears welling up in her eyes. "Please, sir, let us hurry-"

"Hurry for what?" Dalrymple screeched, fixing the battlecruiser with a blazing eye. "Since half past six today I have the guard already at their posts, and the men of Logistics have been working all day to get their barracks in order! They don't need your help!"

The vice admiral sighed heavily, and leaned back against his chair. "All I know is that something has to be done about this…"

More silence at this. Without another word the vice admiral took up a blue envelope from the heap on his desk. A single flick of the letter opener and his fingers drew out the letter from within.

Instead of reading it aloud, however, he scanned it briefly then offered it to Australia, who stood closest. Her eyes widened as she comprehended the order written.

"Two girls," Dalrymple quietly said. "Two among you must leave us to go north."

"But sir, this must be some kind of mistake…" Hobart nervously ventured. "Why us? Why not Singapore?"

"The fleet isn't going to Singapore. They're going further north, possibly to the American base at Luzon."

"Luzon?" The eight looked at each other, confusion all over their faces. "Why Luzon, sir?"

"Just my guess, but that isn't the point now. The fleet is approaching steadily right now, and I suggest you make your way to the piers if you want to see your old sisters… in fact, so do I." Gone was his furious demeanour – in its place the calm solemnity. But his tone was no less chilly.

The eight girls – Australia, Melbourne, Hobart, Perth, Sydney, Canberra, Albatross, and Vengeance – saluted in unison, turned about, and filed out of the room.


"Permission granted to enter the bay, Warspite!" Ark shouted.

"Roger that! Yellow section will form perimeter," Warspite commanded. "Green section will form the centre!"

The three destroyers set off forward with the two cruisers, Berwick and Penelope sandwiched in the middle. On the flanks the destroyers activated their sonar. Slowly, the fleet passed through the heads.

South-west now, following the line of red flags and buoys along the coast that traced the route to Garden Island, the Royal Australian Navy's base in Sydney. Indeed, the base at Garden Island was perhaps the largest of all Commonwealth bases in the Southern Hemisphere.

The British girls sailed amid the growing dusk once more. But this time they could spot the familiar signal lamp in the distance, spelling out their welcome with each blink.

Only a small group were there to greet them as they landed at the northernmost pier. There wasn't a single guard in sight, and no man manned the anti-aircraft nests.

"Warspite! What a surprise!" A commanding girl bearing long brown locks strode forward, holding out a hand to Warspite.

Warspite took the hand and shook it. "It's good to see, you, Australia. Where's old Daltry at?"

"Right in front of you," said the bearded vice admiral, stepping out of the shadows with a small laugh. "Welcome to HMAS Kuttabul, Warspite, Ark," nodding to the carrier. "We shall get you unequipped inside, I think. My girls will lead you there. Hobart! Sydney!"

"Sir!"

"Kindly take Warspite and the other girls to the arsenal and assist them in any way possible. If you will, ladies, I shall see you later in the mess hall. I must go and see to your accommodation." Dalrymple saluted, and with nods of acknowledgement from the new arrivals, turned on the spot and left.

The two Leanders led the fleet down the quayside, along an ingenious line of indigo lamps that served to provide light while also being undetectable at long ranges.

They reached the arsenal. No workmen came to assist them, for there were none present. Instead, their Australian friends helped them.

"I don't suppose it's their day off?" Berwick remarked casually.

"What's that? Oh, the workmen," Sydney sighed, twisting her amber locks nervously. "They're off for the weekend. Most are with their families, in the 'burbs."

"No-one on duty?" Lion whispered to Ark quizzically. "Strange customs, eh?"

"Remember your experience," Ark sternly muttered back. "You've a lot to learn about the world yet, Lion."

Lion shut up. Ark cast her eye over the Australian cruisers. They were dressed informally; both wore loosened white-collar shirts, knee-length skirts and short black stockings. It was in stark contrast to the British girls' neatly cut and trimmed uniforms, every button done up and every shoelace tied the same way.

"Are we all done?" Hobart piped up, as everyone hung up their harnesses and kit in lockers. "Right, let's go!"

"Excitable, aren't they?" Penelope remarked as they set off again in the blue-lit darkness.

Cheviot ran up beside Hobart and tugged on her sleeve. "Miss, miss, is Warramunga still here?"

"Why yes, little one. And your name is?"

"Name's Cheviot, miss, and these are my sisters, Childers and Charity." Cheviot's sisters nodded and smiled. "What about old Nestor and Nizam?"

"Oh, they're off at Base West, I'm afraid," Hobart beamed. "I suspect they'll be on exercises now."

"Aw, that's a shame. Would have liked awfully to see them again…"

The light cruiser laughed. "Well, I'm sure Warramunga, Arunta and Bataan would love to see you. But the day is late, and I think you are quite hungry, hmmm?"

"Yes, ma'am!"

They reached the mess. Inside, they hung up their hats and caps on the coat hooks and went inside.

An overwhelming roar of welcome greeted the British girls as they entered the mess, as sailors and guards rushed forward, eager to welcome the new arrivals or to just simply shake their hands. Beer pots were thrust into their hands (and cordial flasks for the destroyers) without much care.

Slowly, the British girls nervously walked through the crowd, shaking hands with jubilant personnel. For the many in the fleet it was a welcome sight, but for Penelope and the destroyers they felt only fatigue as they almost fought to keep up with their comrades.

"Alright, alright, now," came a commanding voice, reaching high above the clamouring men. "Hands off our old friends! I'm sure they'd quite like to sit down!"

Some of the guards remembered their duty and separated themselves from the crowd to keep them back. There, standing at the head of the officer's table, stood the Honourable Vice Admiral Dalrymple.

The British girls sat down gratefully, some still holding onto the beer pots they'd been given.

"I am most relieved that you all managed to reach us in good order," Dalrymple said, holding up his own beer pot in salute. "I am sure you are all very tired from your journey, but you must forgive our ways if we do not let you rest. But now-" At this Dalrymple downed his beer in one long swig, to the rising cheers of the sailors, "-now we celebrate!"

Warspite lifted her beer up, smiled, and wordlessly drank the rest of her pot in one. The others looked upon the froth on her lip, and wordlessly downed theirs as well.


Notes:

The songs used are E papa Waiari, an old "stick game" song, and the second is the more well known "Maori's Farewell", otherwise know as "Now is the Hour".