"Awwww, he's so cute!"
Tirpitz had to smile at the sight of Prinz Eugen, still in uniform, following Bismarck's new kitten around the room on her hands and knees. "And you named him, 'Otto?'"
"You're sure this is a boy?" Eugen asked, scooping the calico into her hands.
"Well… no," admitted Bismarck. "But I'll worry about that later." She turned to glance over her shoulder at her sister. "And yes, I named him 'Otto,' after my captain."
"Didn't he insist that you were supposed to be male, though?"
A dark look momentarily crossed Bismarck's face. "Yes." At the time, she'd humored the man, thanking her luck that the magic combined with his desire and belief hadn't seen fit to change her from the female ship-spirit she had been from the instant she came into being, to a male.
Honestly, she'd had enough concerns without adding potential identity crises to the queue. Too powerful to be a female? Ha!
She shrugged. "He had his quirks. I'm sure your captains must have had quirks of their own?"
When her sister simply snorted a quiet laugh yet said nothing else, seemingly willing to let the topic drop, Bismarck shifted her gaze to Eugen. The cruiser was presently lying on the floor, letting the kitten traipse about on her stomach.
No doubt, if she had actually bothered to look, she'd find a rule or two prohibiting anyone at the base from keeping pets.
She didn't care.
The Admiral probably wouldn't do anything to place her crazy, jury-rigged scheme at risk. Her prized battleship was of little use if Bismarck were removed from active duty or tossed in confinement for breaking the rules.
All she wanted to do – for the time being, anyway – was adopt a tiny kitten, the Admiral be damned. An adorable little baby kitten that staggered around on shaky legs. Was that too much to ask?
The worst part was that she had no way of knowing if Iowa had received her email. If Iowa and… her former Admiral were acting on her suggestions… or an even better plan.
She couldn't justify sending U-100 back into the city to check her email account for replies.
Only thing I can do right now, is wait and see what happens, Bismarck thought, morosely. She watched as Eugen tried to convince a reluctant Tirpitz to hold the kitten. Thank god I'm not alone.
"I hate working in the Shipgirl Liaison Office," Yeoman Sarah O'Connell grumbled underneath her breath.
She forced a glare and what she believed to be a suitably severe scowl, causing a trio of destroyers to frantically scramble out of her way.
What in the world was running through these girls' heads? When one had to spend the better part of a morning at a construction job site in the city assuring the foreman that Honolulu must have had a good, sensible reason for appropriating fifteen of their bags of raw cement…
Well, now it was out of her hands. The NSFs would check in on Honolulu, try to reclaim the bags – or reimburse the company from the shipgirl's pay – and figure out what Honolulu actually intended to do with the cement.
In the meantime, she had been assigned to babysit another shipgirl, on the usual run into the city. Joy.
And because the Universe was confirmed to have it in for her, who should she be slated to escort, but Queen Klutz herself, Naval Base San Diego's own bad-luck charm… William D. Porter.
To be fair, she hadn't met "Willie" in person; the girl's rather damning reputation spoke for itself, however. How could anyone wreak so much damage with training torpedoes?
She'd stopped by the destroyers' barracks building first thing, and the girl's fellow destroyers had indicated Willie was at the torpedo training range. Didn't the girl ever get the hint?
The increasing number of disgruntled shipgirls who passed her as she neared the training ranges, each almost completely coated with more than one color of nigh-florescent training paint and muttering dark things about Willie and the destroyer's bizarre luck, proved that no, Willie hadn't.
She paused, as the part of her mind concerned with self-preservation questioned why she hadn't turned back, when she was extremely liable to meet the same fate as all the shipgirls who had walked past her? Training paint didn't wash off regular people as easily as it did with shipgirls!
It's not like I've got a choice, Sarah told herself. Nothing short of Willie being forced to sortie to deal with an Abyssal assault would justify abandoning her assigned job. The destroyer had been requesting a trip into the city for about a month, now, and no one would believe Willie canceled it at the last minute.
So. Onward, to quite possible death by training paint and shipgirl torpedoes.
Only one shipgirl remained on the range as she arrived – a young, strawberry-blonde-haired girl that had to be a destroyer.
Willie. With no traces of paint anywhere on her. Of course.
The destroyer dejectedly dragged herself from the water onto the pier, still clad in her rigging. Sarah noted, to her dismay, that at least half of the girl's torpedo tubes appeared to be loaded. "Man," groaned Willie. "The same thing every time. Nothing ever changes."
Sarah's heart skipped a beat. That… that voice…
She came to a halt, studying the shipgirl. Short, strawberry-blonde hair. Heterochromatic blue and gray eyes, behind a pair of thick glasses.
The same basic sailor-suit uniform blouse and cap. Cutoffs and sneakers.
It has to be… "Em!?" she exclaimed.
Willie turned to stare at her. "Wh–" Her eyes widened when she spotted the approaching woman, the color leaving her face. "N-no!" Panicked, she dove to the left of the woman, and bolted even before she was properly on her feet again, nearly stumbling in the process.
"Wait!" Cursing, Sarah spun and launched herself after the destroyer, grateful that she had chosen to wear pants with her uniform rather than a dress skirt. No doubt she'd need the extra protection.
Emily. Her older sister had been hiding here, at the base? Why?
She was the one who had wanted to enlist, not Emily! Sure, most of her stint thus far had seen her serving as little more than a file clerk… but she'd work her way up, right? How else would she follow in her grandfather's footsteps?
Emily had remained behind, unwilling to give up her supervisor's job at Target.
Eventually, however… everything began changing.
Wanting to spend Christmas and the last days of 2015 with her family, Sarah arranged for holiday leave. She'd arrived late in the evening to find their parents had guilted Emily into helping Jason, one of their cousins, study for an upcoming history test. Better Emily than her, she supposed. Jason didn't need to hear her rant about how stupid it was for teachers to schedule tests on the day their students returned from winter break, when everyone's minds were still full of slush.
So, she headed straight for her bedroom to dump her duffel bag in a corner, swap her uniform for a far more casual set of clothes, and crash on the bed.
Her eyelids had barely drooped closed for a second when Emily started to scream.
She was on her feet in an instant, and in the family room in time to see a strange younger girl with shipgirl rigging stop glowing with a soft golden light and floating to crash awkwardly down onto the spot where her sister had been sitting, shearing half of Jason's history textbook in the process and creating a shallow impact crater.
Jason swore the mystery shipgirl was Emily. They'd been running through a section about the USS Iowa's service record; Emily had… changed after insisting something in the text wasn't true.
Nobody could move the newly-Awakened shipgirl, let alone wake her… but Emily was breathing, thankfully, so they decided to cover her with a blanket and ease a pillow under her head. It was late, after all. Figuring out what was going on – including determining what ship Emily now apparently represented – could wait until morning, when everyone was properly awake and better able to field questions.
That… had been a mistake.
Somewhere after one AM, what had to be the entire neighborhood was jolted awake by a pair of loud explosions. The family room was opened to the outside air, a gaping, smoldering hole torn in the front wall where there had once been a bay window. And in the street… what was left of the O'Connells' SUV, a misshapen metal skeleton barely visible through the flames.
Sirens. Someone had called the fire department, and the engines were almost there.
Oh, and Emily the inexplicably young shipgirl was gone. Run away, leaving her family to explain to the police and insurance investigators just why whatever had blown a hole in the wall and window had clearly originated from inside the house.
Nobody could give a detailed description of Shipgirl Emily or knew exactly which shipgirl she was, making tracking the errant girl an almost impossible task.
Until now, Sarah concluded, determined, as "Willie" darted around the corner of a supply warehouse.
She'd originally decided that her sister had either reverted to the mentality of the child she currently was – or Emily was no more, lost to the insanity that was the shipgirl mind. Every example of oddball shipgirl behavior she had witnessed since that day only reinforced her beliefs.
But… reconciling what she knew of William D. Porter, the shipgirl, with her sister, she could easily imagine what had happened the night Emily Awakened. Regaining consciousness in the dark, wearing a completely different and smaller body, with shipgirl rigging attached.
A setup practically guaranteed to lead to the 'new' Willie tripping and accidentally launching a torpedo or two.
"Em, come on!" she pleaded. "We need to talk!"
The shipgirl in question juked, and scrambled up a nearby ramp into the adjoining warehouse while she caught herself.
Sarah frowned, surveying what she could see of the inside of the warehouse through the loading bay. Big building, lots of large crates. Plenty of places for a destroyer to hide.
"It's time to stop running, Em," she called, slipping into the warehouse. "I know where you live. Or are you planning on deserting? It's not like you can go to a different base and be a different shipgirl, you know. Your ship IDs are permanently logged in the Navy's databases as the William D. Porter."
No response.
She wandered further into the makeshift maze, trying to remain alert for any movement or sound that would give away her sister's position.
When the tall stack of crates slid into place behind her, cutting off her ability to backtrack, Sarah knew what tactic Emily had in mind.
Willie sprinted down the loading ramp she had used to enter the warehouse, picking up speed as she headed for the end of the pier.
Damn it! Now Sarah knew where she was, and… and…
She hated the need to trap her sister in the warehouse, but Sarah would hound her relentlessly, and she desperately needed time to consider her next move.
Sarah was right, though. She couldn't just run away, again. That had never been her intent.
Finally, she reached her goal and hesitated, staring at the water. All she had to do was hop off the pier, and she'd be where Sarah couldn't follow…
"DON'T YOU DARE TAKE THAT STEP!"
What!? Willie's head snapped up. She spun around, barely having time to wonder how the hell Sarah had escaped the trap so quickly before her sister barreled uncontrollably into her, inertia pitching them both off the pier.
Willie landed, somewhat unsteadily, on her feet atop the water… while Sarah pinwheeled, hitting the water like a stone that had failed to skip. The destroyer immediately rushed to the spot where her sister had gone under, waiting for Sarah to bob to the surface. Neither of them were at all new to swimming, so it wouldn't take long for her sister to regain her senses and head for shore.
That didn't stop her from worrying, however; Willie was one step from diving after her sister. The normal shipgirl aversion to swimming was easy to overcome when one ended up treading water as often as she did.
An instant, and one of Sarah's hands broke the surface of the water. She lunged for it, and without a word drew Sarah up, gently draping the hapless yeoman over her shoulder, and climbed back onto the pier.
Sarah managed a laugh. "Always could catch you… little sister," she wheezed.
Willie snorted, setting her down against the side of a forklift and taking a seat next to her. "Uh-huh. Whatever." She closed her eyes, finally allowing herself to relax. "So… how did you get out of that warehouse so quickly?"
It was Sarah's turn to snort. "Em, you only put a wall behind me. You didn't box me in."
"I… I didn't mean to run away, y'know," a subdued Willie admitted after a moment's sheepish pause. "But, well, when you wake up, don't know what's going on, and the first thing you do is blow stuff up…" She lowered her head into her hands. "I was probably halfway across the state by the time I realized it."
"'Probably?'" Sarah asked, raising an eyebrow.
Willie gestured to herself. "Shipgirl, remember? I don't really recall how far I got. After that, I figured I shouldn't go home until I could pay for all the damage I caused, and since the only place an underage shipgirl can get a job is a naval base..."
Sarah sighed. "Oh, Em… Did you even know this was where I was stationed?"
"Umm… no? I, uh, never had much reason to remember the name of your base before."
"Em! You could've asked someone if I was stationed here."
"Yes, and then they'd tell you a shipgirl was asking about you, and what I looked like."
"You don't know that for sure." A weak argument, definitely, but Sarah refused to believe her sister had had no options.
Willie only offered her an even grunt, for which she had no immediate response.
She caught sight of the look of misery the destroyer wore, and tried to hide her wince. Unbidden, memories of all the cruel comments she'd ever heard about shipgirl William D. Porter rose to the fore in her mind, and stubbornly refused to leave.
The mutterings of the shipgirls Willie had somehow covered in training paint, whom she'd passed on her way to the range.
What she herself had thought.
"How… how do you live with everyone making those… comments about you?"
Again, Willie snorted. "It's not like they aren't true. I'm William D. Porter. I'm a danger to both sides with a torpedo."
Her heart went out to her sister. "Em, they shouldn't be saying things like that about you at all," she asserted, drawing the young shipgirl into a hug. "I don't know how, but I'm gonna help make everything right."
"What?"
Sarah smiled, though her sister couldn't see it. "Trust in your big sister Sarah, okay?"
Willie had to admit she was confused. What did Sarah have in mind? The scorn and comments were one thing, which she did her level best to ignore – but it wasn't as if Sarah could change the fact that William D. Porter was a certifiable klutz.
Her confusion only grew when Sarah's body began to take on a soft, golden glow…
Yes, I know I'm being selfish when I wish that my little sister could be permanently reassigned to Yokosuka, and stay with us. I will freely admit that.
But, she's an officer assigned to a U.S. naval base. Inducted into the San Diego fleet even before she was moved into drydock for repairs.
And today, she's heading home.
Her home, I mean. Not ours.
The weather was overcast, today, which I guess helps begin to describe how I was feeling inside.
It was difficult to keep myself from trying to sneak glances at Shinano, who was seated beside me on the APC's cold metal seats, and as quiet as she had been when she arrived in Yokosuka. Or Nagato, who sat opposite us.
Musashi and Misa had had to offer their goodbyes early this morning; they'd both drawn escort duty. The Abyssals haven't tried to intercept any freighters for a handful of weeks, now, but nobody wanted to risk viewing that as anything other than a lull or calm before a storm. So, all ships operating in Japanese waters required an escort.
The Admiral preferred the escorts to look intimidating enough, assigning a battleship or two to accompany them whenever possible. Mutsu and I had gone on one run, Nagato and Fusou, another.
Most of the time, that's all we do – stand around, try to project that you really don't want to mess with us air.
Only Hiei was exempt from the roster, as the Admiral believed she wasn't entirely ready to be deployed. However, someone had started a rumor that Hiei was ready, and it was simply that Kongou had talked the Admiral out of sending Hiei into any sort of danger. An obvious lie – why wouldn't Kongou want to keep all her sisters safe? – though it had still managed to get Hiei worked up for a brief while.
"Oneesama?" Shinano's voice cut my mental wandering short. "We've arrived."
I raised my head and took a quick glance about the APC. The engine's been cut, and Nagato and Shinano were both staring at me, as if expecting me to be the first to stand.
As much as I wish we could start the APC again, turn around and take Shinano back to the base, I know we can't do that. I'm sure she misses her current home and friends. She has duties and responsibilities.
She… she has to leave, and we can't put this off. "I apologize," I hedged, drawing myself up. "I, Yamato, did not mean to spend all this time lost in thought." Not that the drive from the base to the airfield is that long…
Nagato quirked her eyebrows, in her usual who are you trying to fool? expression.
I shifted my attention to Shinano, and was stunned by the look of guilt that had surfaced on my little sister's face. "Yamato-oneesama, I will be fine," she assured me, though it sounded to me as if she may be attempting to convince herself, as well. "I've got Iowa and the rest of the Fleet to watch over me. And you know Akagi, Kaga and the others wouldn't have cleared me for duty unless they believed I was ready."
Well, that was true, but…
She weaved around me to get to the gate and stepped out onto the ramp, leaving Nagato and I to follow. "You have my email and regular mail addresses, and if you want to call me by phone or Skype, we'll have to set it up in advance. I can't afford to leave a line open all day like Iowa does."
"Did I give you my contact information?" I'm sure I did, but it never hurts to double-check.
"Yeah. I've got your cellphone number and the number for the main office, your email address and your Skype username. And Musashi and Misa gave me their information, too."
We paused at the bottom of the cargo plane's ramp. Shinano stared up into the darkened interior of the plane for an awkwardly long moment.
"Well…," she said at last. "I guess… I guess it's time for me to go."
Please, don't go! "You should not feel as though you have to rush," I told her, somewhat weakly.
She grimaced, then visibly collected herself. "Actually… I do have to rush, I think. With the way the U.S. has been having trouble getting any shipgirls above heavy cruiser classes, the Admiral has been very eager to get me back there, serving as a carrier."
Oh. I certainly can't counter her Admiral's commands. If he wants her to return as soon as possible, there's not much I can do.
Something of my depression must have been visible upon my face, because Shinano immediately closed the gap between us to hug me. "Like I said, I'll be fine." Her voice was stronger, now. More assured. "And I promise to stay in touch every chance I get."
I made an effort to rein in my emotions before returning the hug. "Of course you will. You are a Yamato." Moving her to arm's length, I added, "Just remember – be strong, but also sensible and safe."
"I will. Thank you, oneesama." She offered me a bow, and turned to head into the plane.
As Nagato and I cleared the runway, the ramp retracted with the chorus of older metal parts grinding, groaning and clanking that I'd come to expect from the cargo planes. The hatch sealed, and the plane began following the runway, picking up speed.
"Have faith in her, Yamato," Nagato strained to overcome the sounds of the plane's take-off. "I'm sure she will make you proud."
I closed my eyes. "I do have faith in her. But as her older sister, it is within my right to worry. And, we both know that anything can happen in a time of war." Deliberately ignoring the phantom twinge that made its presence known along my port side – a memory of the past that would haunt me forever – I sighed. "Even those believed to be powerful or invincible can be brought down." No matter what Musashi likes to claim, we shipgirls are not invulnerable or unsinkable. I can only hope Shinano doesn't forget that.
I am never taking any of those flying dumpsters, ever again! vowed Shinano, raising a hand to push one of the main doors to the Naval Base San Diego carriers' barracks open. Never ever. Never.
The flight between Yokosuka and San Diego was a mind-numbingly long and boring trip, over thirteen hours in the air slowly crossing the Pacific.
This time, she'd prepared for the boredom by stockpiling manga volumes and paperback novels in storage. Her faeries read just a little bit faster than her, however, which had led to a fair amount of frustration – and some heated arguments – whenever her crew refused to give her the next volume in a series.
What she hadn't anticipated was boarding a plane that creaked or groaned with the sounds of old, tortured metal and machinery far too often for her tastes. Damn it, she was already paranoid enough about how severely she must be stressing the aircraft without having more reason to believe the plane could disintegrate around her in mid-flight.
It doesn't really matter. I'm through. No more rides in flying dumpster deathtraps. Period.
Shinano frowned. Being Naval Base San Diego's solitary carrier meant she had the carriers' barracks all to herself, and spending some time alone in the relative peace of her quarters was sounding more and more like a very good idea.
Then she turned the corner, crossing into the hallway that led to her room, and froze.
The door to the room immediately to the right of hers was open, with a few moderately tall stacks of cardboard moving boxes lined against the wall.
Someone's moving in? But these are the carriers' barracks. Where could they have found another carrier? The base's track record with summoning wasn't likely to be broken anytime soon… so, the newcomer had to be another Awakened shipgirl.
She edged closer to the door, hoping to at least catch a glimpse of her new neighbor… only to nearly collide with Iowa, as the battleship strode from the room into the hall.
"Hey, Shinano," Iowa greeted her loudly, ignoring the other shipgirl's frantic gestures to convince her to lower her voice. "Sorry for not going to meet you myself. I've been helping the Fleet's newest member get settled in."
So much for any hope of stealth. "Who's the new recruit?"
Iowa gave her an odd look. "Haven't you been reading your text messages?" She quickly reconsidered, pushing Shinano into the room. "Never mind. I'll introduce you."
The recruit was an impressive carrier, she had to admit. A tall, somewhat willowy shipgirl with notable engines. Curiously, her uniform appeared more casual than formal, invoking the image of a belted sundress with a red bandanna tied around her neck. Short brown hair, a longer tail incongruously emerging from her funnel atop her head.
But, that face… she knew that face…
"Saratoga, I'd like to introduce the armored carrier, Shinano. Shinano, this is USS Saratoga, CV-3."
"…O'Connell!?" blurted Shinano.
"Ah," Saratoga replied, blinking. "Lieutenant Commander Kobayashi?"
"You?" Shinano asked in disbelief. "But… you hate shipgirls."
The American carrier gave her a small, knowing smile. "When did I ever actually say I hated shipgirls, Shinano?" she demurred. To herself, in a far quieter voice, she added, "Everything changes."
"Bismarck, please report to the Admiral's office. I repeat: Bismarck, please report to the Admiral's office."
At the docks, Prinz Eugen sighed, rolling her eyes skyward out of habit as the announcement was relayed over the base's public-address system. "What could she possibly want now?"
The Fleet was only now filing onto the docks from the water, returning from a sortie on which they'd repelled the Abyssal assault with surprisingly little damage all around.
They were proud of their hard-fought accomplishment, and happier than they had been on launch. Bismarck wasn't about to deny them the right to celebrate their minor victory in any way. Briefly, Bismarck met her sister's gaze. "I'll see what this is about. Keep an eye on everyone, okay?"
Yes, she decided, turning onto the path that led directly to the Admiral's office. Let them enjoy their victory, for as long as possible. She was sure she had a decent guess as to why the Admiral was requesting her presence…
Admiral Dietrich was not a patient woman.
Intercepting and sinking attacking Abyssal forces was a good thing; they were defending the country and its people, and every Abyssal they sank did contribute to the thinning of the enemy fleet.
But not fast or aggressive enough for the Admiral. No, the Admiral was most likely about to order them to deploy on runs to locate and smash whatever bases the Abyssals may have established within range of Kiel.
A tactic for which the Fleet was not prepared. And one that would leave the base and coastlines considerably under-defended.
If not that, then some other plan of attack geared for a much larger, complete fleet, as opposed to the small motley Kiel Fleet. It wasn't advisable to gamble when you've brought next to nothing to the table and bluffing is the only option left.
Could that be the Admiral's plan? Make the Fleet appear more impressive and intimidating than it was?
She slipped into the outer office and shut the door behind her.
The Admiral didn't need her permission or presence to run the Fleet to ruin. So what could she do to prevent… or even stop that?
When Admiral Dietrich emerged from her office a moment later, wrists secured behind her back and flanked by two stern Feldjäger officers, she blinked. Uh… that should do it, I guess?
The woman immediately spotted her, and snarled. "You!" She lunged, making it halfway to Bismarck before the Feldjäger could restrain her. "You're behind all this, aren't you, Bismarck? Answer me!"
A weatherbeaten and gruff older man in an Admiral's dress uniform stepped into the door frame behind them. "Get her out of here," he ordered, not giving Bismarck a chance to respond to the accusations.
As the Feldjäger hustled Dietrich out of the office, the apparent Admiral approached Bismarck. "And you must be Bismarck, I'm guessing?" he said, in a voice that, while softer than it had previously been, was clearly used to issuing orders on a regular basis. "Pleased to meet you, my dear. I'm Admiral Reinhold, and I am assuming command of this base, effective immediately. It was I who sent for you."
Bismarck hesitated. "And Admiral Dietrich…?"
"She'll be moved to a secure holding facility, while they determine the full extent of her crimes." The momentary flash of steel behind the man's gaze surprised Bismarck. "It's bound to be a long list. Sad to say, but certain people have a tendency to look the other way so long as the person 'under observation' is getting results."
Ah. That possibly helped to explain why Admiral Dietrich was willing to risk resorting to such a scheme – if the Fleet continued to achieve those results, would those 'certain people' never bother to investigate exactly how Dietrich had obtained the help of shipgirl Bismarck?
No, she concluded. It was just a half-assed plan, that's all.
"I must admit, you chose an interesting method to solve the problem," commented Admiral Reinhold. "Contacting your Admiral in the U.S. Navy, having him and his people approach the U.N. with your plight, and convince them to revisit their policies on the treatment of shipgirls before bringing everything to the attention of the German government and military command."
A pause, as he studied her. "I take it you weren't sure if there was anyone in the command chain here in Germany you could trust." When she averted her gaze, he forged onward. "…Anyway, you'll be pleased to know that your status and rights as a U.S. citizen have been fully restored. Effective immediately, I am hereby discharging you from service in the German Navy – a service into which you should never have been inducted – and whenever you wish to return to the United States, just let me know."
Bismarck was taken aback. Her own gamble had worked, apparently, and she was now free again. She could go home, to her family. Resume her commission with the U.S. Navy as though nothing had happened. No crazed German admirals trying to shanghai her into service.
But… she had family here, too. And the Kiel Fleet was absolutely no better off than when she had arrived.
If she left now, she'd be forcing her sisters to shoulder her responsibilities to the Fleet, and leave them down a battleship's strength in the face of a still-mounting Abyssal campaign.
"Umm… actually… sir, if you don't mind, and if it's at all possible… I'd like to stick around a little while longer. At least until the Fleet is better able to stand on its own."
The Admiral let himself slump somewhat against Hoffmann's desk in obvious relief. "My dear, you don't know just how much I've been hoping you would say that."
Hanne Dietrich stewed in silence.
She was under no illusions that she would be able to weather this storm with only a slap on the wrist and no loss of rank. Whatever that bitch had done… having that old fool Reinhold take her command, while others scrutinized her every action and decision for the past decade, or more?
No. She wasn't stupid. Bismarck had managed to call attention to her. Embarrassing, unwanted attention. So, naturally, the Navy would toss her to the wolves and insist she was to 'serve as an example.'
Her career was over, and only one specific disobedient and scheming shipgirl was to blame.
The wagon took a set of short curves at speed, letting her know the precise route they were following to the prison. She had used the road once or twice – a trail that largely followed the coastline from atop a graded slope some meters high.
Of course, everyone insisted upon treating it like a speedway, racing through despite the sheer drops and annoying twists and turns.
Not that the knowledge served as any sort of consolation. She deliberately settled further into her seat, half-heartedly tugging on her seat belt's shoulder strap for want of a distraction.
Her head shot up at the sound of a cannon discharging. Is that–
Then there was a loud explosion directly ahead, and she felt the wagon lift, pitch to the left… her center of gravity violently shifted, and she realized to her horror that the wagon had been thrown from the road.
They dropped, suddenly, and impacted hard against something, causing her to black out.
When she jolted back into consciousness, she found herself dangling from the ceiling. The wagon was no longer moving, but also upside down. If she hadn't been wearing her seat belt…
Something grabbed the outer shell of the wagon and tore it away as though it were merely aluminum foil, casually flinging it to one side. Rescuers? How long have we–
That thought abruptly died at the sight of the barely-teenage girl who casually walked through the jagged tear into the wagon.
Chalk-white skin. Wearing clothes and armor of varying shades of black. Her face framed by thick, wavy strands of glossy black hair that suggested, on some level, was meant to resemble seaweed. And her eyes… glowed a cold, electric red.
An Abyssal! She'd read all the intel, descriptions from shipgirls and others across the world, even studied the artists' renderings – as the damned things couldn't be caught on film or otherwise be detected by normal technology.
The closest she'd ever expected to come to an Abyssal was examining a dead Abyssal – intact or in pieces – on an autopsy table! Not meeting a decidedly living demon, capable of committing grievous bodily harm in so many different ways, especially now that she was restrained…
The Abyssal positioned herself face-to-upside-down-face with Hanne. "Well, well, well," she said, in a voice that spurred thoughts of an oil slick. "What do we have here, hmm?"
Hanne's body went limp as the darkness claimed her.
Author's notes: Now, I don't have any actual deadlines set in place for this story. I just release chapters as I finish them.
That said, Real Life went a long way in December toward keeping me from getting much work done on the story (and tried to do that in January, as well). Some scenes ended up longer than expected, and in addition, I ended up trying to work on it while very sick. Fun!
Special thanks: J. St. C. Patrick, Pyeknu, Captain Kurt Hoffman