Siren "shells" are really interesting and enigmatic. They have no physical components to them, and the most popular theory is that they are blobs of supersonic-speed superheated gas. It would explain their glowy and colorful nature, as well as how they interact with armor. While their standard projectiles lack penetration, they make up for it in starting fires almost every single damn time they land home. Unfortunately, all of our ships' original armor layout was designed around resisting actual shells. Nowadays, we end up installing heat sinks to hulls more than we do armor plating. On the plus side, I've heard good news about some advances in ceramics.

Still, they hit like a truck, and I don't mean a pickup. I'm talking something on the lines of an eighteen-wheeler. So, there I was; standing on the bridge and watching the shells come in. I wasn't doing just that either. They made a loud hissing noise as they burned the air around them. Even then at their apoapsis, I could tell they were going to be too short. Experience was correct, and they slammed into the ocean. The water immediately flash-boiled, sending out clouds of steam and an even larger spray.

Gascogne's guns made their counterpoint, and the entire ship rattled. The shipgirl's unbreaking and calculating gaze was on the coastline. Without moving, she said to me, "Report: Receiving a message via morse code. LSD's are two kilometers out and approaching at full speed."

I replied, somewhat embarrassed, "Excuse my Unionish, but how much is that in miles?"

"Calculation: One point two-four miles, commander."

"Ah." The ship's wheel moved on it's own. She was a battleship, but Gascogne had surprising evasion. Around this time, I was relieved to hear the sound of Yorktown's fighters and dive bombers overhead. It sounded like a squadron of each, but that was all we needed. Aircraft launched by shipgirls were (loosely) controlled by the girls' themselves for reasons I don't even want to know. Mass-produced ships required pilots as normal. Yorktown's disposition was calm, but every now and then during combat, it subtly switched to vengeful. Sure, the Dauntlesses were tough and slow, but as I turned my head upwards, I could hear something. The droning of the engines masked a scream of revenge above, just barely audible. What was less subtle were the unspoken changes to her squadrons she'd quietly requested from some Iron Blood engineers. Namely the installation and modification of some Jericho-Trompetes in each of the bombers. She liked to switch them on as then started their dive. It seemed the loss of speed didn't bother her.

Columbia reported that she'd finished bombardment of the airfield with only superficial damage and loss of one AA turret. However, she also reported at least one squadron of torpedo bombers had scrambled before the runway was unusable. She last saw them moving toward the southern end of the island. Airspace was clear from what she saw. I concurred. Yorktown moved her fighters away south to contest the airspace. The fort exchanged a few more volleys of shells and flak before falling silent. Gascogne only suffered two hits. One luckily struck her armor belt, while another smashed into the deck. It immediately burst into flames, sending yellow-hot shards of metal in all directions. The fire alarm went out throughout the ship, and I quietly noticed a bruise forming on her shoulder.

The guns silenced, the LSD's moved forward and we watched them move past us. One stopped next to the ship. According to reports of the marines, a hatch on the main deck flew open by itself, and some unseen force flung a massive data cable over the side and onto the LSD.

The larger dock ship then opened it's well doors and the sailors flung the cable onto the deck of an LCU coming out the front. Gascogne turned to me and said, "Wearied statement: I hope you realize how awkward this feels for me."

I replied, "Yeah, I know. Sorry. Wireless would be too slow for the amount of data we're probably going to have to handle."

"Message relay: Downes reports she and her destroyer group have finished sweeping for enemy vessels. They report siren forces of one cruiser and two destroyers patrolled into our operational zone by chance. They sank all of them. Superficial damage sustained."

"Great. Tha-" I suddenly paused, and almost immediately went into panic. I quickly asked, "Ask where; exactly where. Did the sirens get a signal out?"

Gascogne stood silent and still for a few seconds, they replied, "Statement: According to her report and my trigonometry calculations, the sirens were not out of jammer range."

My cold sweat stopped and I started breathing again. I also removed my hat and started fanning my face. Gascogne continued, "Addendum: Downes requests further orders."

A little bit overwhelmed, I said, "Shore support. Keep in contact with that crazy beachmaster. I don't know. Take a stroll down the damn beach and blow away anything that shoots at you."

Gascogne replied, "Conformation: Downes says, 'Aye, sir.'" She continued, "Request: What of my orders, commander?"

"Move in as close as the water depth lets you. The less distance we have to stretch that cable, the better."

[=============================]

Sergeant "Grafish" Grafis was in his element. He loved water, he loved boats, and he loved his job. He'd been the captain of his swim team in school. It was his team because he founded it, and single-handedly brought it to many victories. Later in life, he won more fishing tournaments than he could count. He spent all of his possible time in water, earning him the name "Grafish". One day, he decided to join the marine corps, because why the hell not? Despite the ocean waves pounding the landing craft he was in, he felt not the slightest bit sick. His sea legs and stomach were second to none. The same couldn't be said for his squadmates, but whatever. He'd keep them in line. The troops were chattering until the mortars on the rear of the vessel opened fire. A stray streak of purple light streaked past the craft. One private commented, "It's just like the movies."

Grafis commented, "Man, fuck aliens."

This garnered a repeat from somebody else, and pretty soon the entire craft was yelling it. This was one of their first offensives. In fact, it was their first land offensive against the sirens anybody could think of. Grafis guessed there was some kind of pride in this. For some stupid reason, the brass also wanted to lug this enormous cable to the beach as well. There were no questions from him. He just did his job.

The landing craft rammed the rocky beach and the door opened, exposing him to a small beach and a forest after that. He saw flashes of gunfire coming from the trees and noticed the bunker closest to him was busy tearing apart another landing craft. He and everyone else onboard wasted no time clamberring out, wading through the water, and getting behind an amtrac. The vehicle trudged through the mud and rocks. Grafis was close enough behind it to get sprayed with dirt as the treads spun. He took potshots in the dark toward the muzzle flashes.

Suddenly, he saw a red beam streak across his vision. It sliced the amtrac in half horizontally and left a purple streak in Grafis' vision. The squad had spread out, but now his cover was no longer mobile. He now had to think, but now that he started thinking, he started fearing. He felt a tab on his shoulder and a feminine voice asked, "Whatcha doin' here?"

He turned to his right to see a girl in casual clothing standing out in the open next to him. Her white hair reflected moonlight, and all he could see was a pair of red and yellow eyes.

He responded, "What? Get-"

He heard the whizz of an incoming bullet and couldn't turn his face away from the gory mess he was about to witness. The projectile struck home right on the girl's temple. However, it ricocheted off with a metallic "Ping!"

She continued, "What are you doing?"

Finding his voice and debating whether or not to point his gun at the girl in front of him, he said, "Gonna fuck up some aliens."

She rolled her heterochromatic eyes. "I mean, yeah. We all wanna do that, but what's your orders?"

"Charge the beach, protect the cable, and destroy shore defenses?"

"Really? Me too! I'm ordered to provide beachhead support! You in need of some support? Just ask and I'll blow it up!" Several bullets impacted the sand around her and two more bounced harmlessly off her arm.

"How about that pill box in front of us?"

"Sure thing! Cover your ears!" Grafis did so.

Suddenly, she deployed a pair of guns from her waist. She also grabbed one from seemingly nowhere from behind her back and strapped it to her wrist. She fearlessly took aim out in the open and fired her weapon.

The shockwave blew sargeant Grafis head over heels and face-down into the sand. As he lifted his head, a fiery explosion consumed the pillbox in the trees and debris sprayed into the sky. He turned to the girl and she struck a dramatic pose. "Union destroyer Downes at your service! Just pick your targets!"

Grafis stood up and a wave of unnatural confidence washed over him. He pointed toward another bunker and said, "How about there?"

Another staggering shockwave, followed by half the bunker collapsing. Downes threw both of her fists in the air and yelled, "Woooooooo!"

Now consumed by a lack of self-preservation and hysterical laughter, the hardened marine flamboyantly pointed to another structure, which Downes blew away. Grafis ran forward with wild abandon, pointing at whatever he wanted destroyed. Downes skipped alongside him, and did whatever he told her.

[====================]

I received many warnings from ship captains that a shipgirl had been spotted mingling among the marines. Naturally, I remembered being told at the beginning of the warship girl program that it was to not be kept secret, but not to publicly be announced. It was also strictly supposed to stay a navy program, and should be exposed as little as possible to other military branches.

As I thought this, I panned across the beach with my binoculars and spotted a familiar white head and stocky build. I calmly asked, "Gascogne, why is Downes standing on the beach?"

She replied, "Response: Because you ordered her to, sir."

"...Yeah, I kind of did, didn't I?"

"Query: Should I transmit a recall order?"

"No. She looks like she's having fun. I guess she's providing shore support."

"Addendum: Dancing and prancing all the way, sir."

"That she is."

[=============]

Grafis regrouped inside an abandoned bunker with the rest of his squad. He looked out the firing port and saw an amtrac carrying the precious cable up the beach. The radioman tried to signal command for further orders, but was having trouble remembering the one frequency that wasn't being jammed.

While waiting, the squad inspected the interior of the bunker. Despite being designed for people to walk around inside it, most of the equipment was automated. The only internal defenses were an autoturret and robot. Both were destroyed, and the robot appeared to be some kind of maintenance unit. That hadn't stopped it from dislocating private Harris' shoulder after attempting to tear off his arm. While Harris and the medic yelled at each other and the radioman radioed, the rest of the squad spent their time crudely inspecting(read:kicking and poking with a stick) the droid.

"It's real freaky. This is some Skynet shit right here. Rise of the machines."

"Sirens aren't machines, though. They're pretty alive. They've got tentacles and shit."

"Oh yeah, you think so. They thought that for the Cylons, too. Then bam, you don't even know who's human."

"The hell's a Cylon? I bet they're like the synths from-"

"Course you don't know what a Cylon is. It's before your time, kid."

"Suck your own cock. How many 'robots rise up' stories are out there on this damn planet?"

"Hell if I know. Speakin' of: Sarge, who's that?"

Grafis suddenly returned to reality and looked over to the girl in the t-shirt. "She's uh… She's… Who are you?"

Downes saluted. "Mahan-class destroyer. Downes, Hull number DD-375! Who are you?"

"Sargeant Grafis, 4th Marine Platoon."

Somebody asked, "Ain't destroyers supposed to be in the water?"

She smiled. "I'm special! I'm a destroyer, but I'm a person too."

"I don't get it."

Downes said, "Think about if a boat had a personality, then make that personality a person. I'm the boat and the spirit of the boat at the same time!"

"I still don't get it. Sarge, this girl thinks she's a destroyer."

Downes yelled, "I'll prove it! Shoot me!"

There was an immediate negative reaction from everyone.

"Fine! Punch me!"

The squad grumbled and somebody said, "My mama always told me not to punch girls. Why don't you punch one of us?"

"But you'd die."

Collective laughter.

Downes put on a pouty face. "I'll show you. See that weapon mount there?" The mount in question was a laser cannon that previously sliced the amtrac in half. It was placed on a wall several inches thick of that composite material sirens use. She brought her leg back and slammed into the wall. It immediately exploded into shrapnel and the weapon flew into the air, eventually landing in the water.

"Okay sarge, maybe she is a boat."

Downes yelled, "I am a boat!"

They all yelled, even Harris on the ground, "She's a boat!"

The squad received their new orders and moved out, under the equivalent support of a self-propelled gun in a humanoid package. The entire operation was basically a laugh as Downes hilariously outgunned everything in the compound they were approaching. As they started to secure the first building, Grafis asked, "How many shells do you have?"

Downes replied, "Oh, plenty. I've got shells for days."

"Shells for days?"

"Shells for days."

Most of the compound's defenses were automated. This made them immobile, but still deadly. Rooms had to be sweeped for turrets, mines, and other traps. After buildings were cleared, engineers grabbed every piece of equipment they could fit in their bags and took pictures of everything they couldn't. The data cable snaked it's way across the forest as platoons formed a wedge against the rapidly-organizing defenses of the island. The rest went off without much of a hitch. The server room was located after sweeping a few buildings and the data cable was hooked up.

Downes asked, "What now?"

Grafis replied, "Welp, command says we've got about four hours before sirens start to think something's up. Right now, we've just got to hold position until they're done doing… whatever they're doing with the cable."

"Oooo… and then sirens'll come."

"You ever seen a siren?"

"Yeah, I've seen 'em a bunch. They're really nasty."

"Are they scary?"

She paused. "Only if you're alone. That's one fear of mine."

"Mmmm."

They both saw a group of engineers walk by, carrying several satchel charges and some loose wiring. About ten minutes later, the radioman received a transmission calling all forces back to the beach for a retreat. The squad noticed a group of engineers running like something was chasing them out of a building, so the squad switched to a run as well. Downes was also forced into a sprint in order to keep up, because of her half-pint nature. On the beach and a few yards away now from the rest of the squad, she accidentally stepped on a landmine the sweepers missed. The sudden explosion made every marine nearby fling themselves into the sand. They all looked up at Downes spitting sand out of her mouth and brushing it out of her hair. After noticing everyone looking at her, she awkwardly smiled.

[===============]

Gascogne said, "Recollection: I thought warship girl policy was to attract as little attention as possible from other branches of the military.

I replied with my binoculars on, "Yeah, that's kind of gone out the window, hasn't it? We'll just deal with the aftermath when it comes. Send out the signal to retreat and escort the amphibious division. Let's get out of here."

The LCU's moved into the larger LSD's and we all moved back. As the island left jamming range, we switched them off and put the pedal to the metal. Chapayev reported a mirror sea forming around the island and detected a few sirens teleporting in. They moved toward the island itself and not us. I guessed their first goal was to defend the island's assets, but they must've not known where we were. I produced a device with a single, red button on it. Still wearing the radio headphones, I walked outside facing the island. Gascogne asked what I was doing.

"Parting gift." I pushed the button.

At first, nothing. Then we heard the distant rumble of explosives going off. We'd brought enough to level the island twice over. I turned back to face Gascogne with a massive grin on my face and said, "Just as planned." A moment after that and we heard this awful pained scream. I turned around as it formed itself into a wail of insult and vengeance. It was a sound that came from nothing alive I knew of. Even Gascogne grimaced and checked to make sure the throttle was at full.

The fleet returned to port for repair and refuel. As damage reports came in, Columbia was the only ship who took serious damage. A lucky citadel hit forced her to bandage half her head. I stood on Gascogne's bow and found great joy in catching sight of a very familiar island. As we got closer, I also caught sight of a familiar blond head standing on the dock. There was another white-haired and pigtailed head on the dock, but it walked off after we were a few hundred yards away.

Gascogne moored and I was nearly trampled in the horde of engineers boarding the ship. Gascogne herself seemed a little overwhelmed and nervously watched them to make sure they didn't break anything. I disembarked and stood face to face with Bismarck. Well, more like face to neck, but the point's made. She was standing as stiff and poised as ever.

"Welcome home commander. Judging by your expression, I trust the operation was a success?"

"Good to be back! Yes, a resounding one at that. How long have you been out here?"

"A few… hours, but that's not important. How did it go?"

"We took everything we could hold and blew up anything we couldn't."

"Excellent. How do you feel getting your feet wet again?"

"I stayed dry for too long, but I also…"

"What?"

"We… we won. We've never won before. They're always mocking us and only letting us get away with defense. Now, we struck them back. It makes me feel… It makes me feel like, for the first time, we can win this. Maybe we can break past all of their 'timelines' and all their crap. Maybe, one day, we can all go home." I forced back tears.

Bismarck also attempted stoicism. She failed, but also for the first time, she intentionally failed. With tears in her face, she picked me up in a bear hug, and spun me around the dock. Both of us laughed uncontrollably. She then flung me and herself off the dock and let go of me mid-air. Even as the ocean became increasingly closer, I couldn't break my hysterics. We both landed in the water. One of the engineers yelled, "Commander in the water!" I swam toward the ladder on the side of the dock. Bismarck did as well, but she didn't really swim. She just glided. At the ladder, I gestured, "Ladies first." Bismarck rolled her blue eyes and climbed. I started after her. Halfway up, Bismarck realized her exposed position. She looked down at me. I looked back with a sly grin and asked, "What? Why've you stopped?"

She blushed for a second, considered jumping down again, and then decided to continue. She muttered under her breath, "Confidence, confidence."

Both of us stood in the sun on the concrete dock, soaking wet. I proposed, "Let's get wasted. Victory celebration."

"Wunderbar. Let's do."