I would really like to thank the people who have favorited, followed, and reviewed this story. I wish I could meet all of you. But enough of that let's get on with what you signed up for.

Disclaimer: I don't own Azur Lane or any other properties I make references to.

"But more wonderful than the lore of old men and the lore of books is the secret lore of ocean."

-Howard Phillips Lovecraft

Chapter 10: The First Monster

Yet again both Commander and Nashville had entered the mess hall for breakfast after their morning routine. Even though neither showed it there was an unspoken tension that hung thickly and foully in the air because they both knew that they couldn't—or wouldn't—run away from what was coming. The time was coming for them to make their move against the superweapon. Yet both enjoyed a sort of potentially maddening and self-destructive procrastination of meeting whatever abomination awaited them on the bottom of Dean's Blue Hole. For the moment they could take solace in the fact that Commander's code remained uncracked, yet that was poised to change soon.

They went through the usual breakfast motions as they got their food and sat down at their usual table and were soon joined by the usual company. The food didn't taste as good as usual. Nashville ate more slowly due to her sisters' attention and conversation while Eldridge did nothing to slow Las Vegas, so he finished first and cleared his own tray. Out came Mr. Bond and he began his work and as usual he attracted some attention with is skill at operating the device to do his bidding. Morale was low for the duo.

But the cosmos decided that now was the time to toss them a bone, for into the mess hall entered Rear admiral Slade and attention was not called, leading the man to correctly assume that this was a more informal affair. He only spared the briefest of glances in the direction of the superior officer because he didn't know if she even wanted to talk to him, nor did he like it when he got the attention of whole crowds, so he returned the favor of not watching on principle. Her footsteps approached and she stopped adjacent to the still sitting codebreaker. Only now did he stop his work to look in her direction. In her hand was a folded-up newspaper and that could mean anything, perhaps the propaganda machine said something truly humorous this time? He hoped so, he could use a good laugh right now.

Instead of getting straight into her reasons for seeking out the codebreaker rather than contacting him to bring him to her office she said in an impressed tone of voice, "I have to say, watching you work is like asking a magician what their secret is, only to find out that the secret is real magic."

Commander felt a bit better already thanks to the compliment and he replied, "Thanks, but I assure you that this is not magic, but math."

"You're a magician in my eyes, being able to pull knowledge out of a hat like you do. I bet everyone else here thinks the same," stated Slade as she looked to the fleet around Las Vegas. Nods and other concurrences went to where he was.

However, the most vocal of these came from a table away from whence, Hornet was eavesdropping. She said, "Yeah, Commander Las Vegas. You're like a magician. Just like the magicians that helped win Midway back in '42." And from her expression Commander could see a lightbulb flick on. She excitedly continued, "I'm totally gonna call you that from now on! You're the Magician! The Magician of Las Vegas!"

Little did anyone know that rumors around the Eagle Union Navy about a commander called, "Magician," would begin with this very moment. And Commander could only respond with, "I think you're referring to Penn and Teller, Hornet. But still, thanks for the compliment."

Hornet plastered a grin from ear-to-ear on her face and said, "I'm glad you like it, Commander." And she sat down, now not needing to hide her listening in.

"I think that, 'Magician,' is a pretty apt name, Commander," opined Slade, getting his attention again. And she smiled, uncharacteristically so. It kind of put Commander on edge and stoked his curiosity. She handed out the still folded newspaper to the commander and said, "We made the headlines." In an instant every single ship girl in the mess hall jumped from their seats and crowded the newspaper.

He unfolded the paper and began to read aloud, "Double Navy Victory in the Caribbean." Cheers erupted briefly before they were stifled when the commander proceeded to read, "Three days ago, Wednesday, July 16, two fleets from Naval Station South Point in the Port of Miami encountered and completely destroyed two Siren fleets. Sources from the Pentagon state that combined, the Sirens had more than double the number of ships than the Union Navy in the region. The first theater was a clash of aircraft carriers from over the horizon all the while a tropical storm raged overhead. The Battle of the Antilles Sea, or as the locals call, 'The Battle of the Squall,' has been called the next Battle of Midway, where a fleet with two Eagle Union Carriers completely destroyed the enemy, but without any losses this time around. At the same time to the north-east a fleet of Union cruisers and destroyers ambushed and decimated a fleet three times their size led by the three battleships, a modern scenario of David versus Goliath. The Battle of Windward Passage, also called, 'The Battle of 10000 Shells,' for the incredible volume of union shellfire, like the aircraft carrier battle to the south-west concluded without any friendly ships sinking. The time may soon be at hand, when the Caribbean will be in human hands once again." Then Commander paused a moment and was greeted by a completely silent mess hall, so he said as he skimmed the rest of the front page, "It mentions that the world's major powers have already congratulated the Eagle Union for the victories and then it goes into a little more specific details of the two battles, but that's the gist of it."

His last words broke the spell over the crowd as they now truly erupted into cheers over their hard-won victories. Commander didn't pay attention to the ship girls as Slade extended her hand to Commander. In the first gesture of equality between the superior officer and inferior officer, congratulations were exchanged, and Slade said, "You've made a difference around here Commander. I'd be mighty pleased if you and Nashville could somehow stick around."

Commander's happy expression faltered, and he had to inform Slade, "I'm sorry Ma'am. But Nashville and I are looking to get moving on our own mission later today. I don't think that we'll be around for much longer, a few days, maybe a week at most. In fact, I wanted to inform you that we're setting sail to be gone for a few days once I finish cracking this code I'm working on."

Slade well understood that this was how things were going to be. She slowly said, "In that case, I wish the two of you luck. What will you do after you get back?"

"Get our real mission started."

Slade saw determination in Commander's eyes, and she was impressed by the young officer. She gave a quick salute, which was returned, and said, "I'm sure you'll do just fine, when the time comes." Then Slade left the mess hall amidst the revelry of those under her.

The attitude of celebration continued for a few minutes and Commander relinquished the newspaper to be posted on a bulletin in the corner of the hall. He turned back to his code and resumed working his magic. Based on his intuition, only another half hour would be required. People started to filter out to go and undertake their daily duties. Nashville waited patiently along with Honolulu, Helena, and Eldridge. The latter had transferred herself onto Commander's lap, just as predicted by the officer. Time passed, and conversation was scarce. But as Commander was wrapping up his work Honolulu asked, "So, where are you two going? You said to the Admiral that you and our sister are going to be gone for a day or two."

Nashville looked away opting silence over direct lies. The other Brooklyn sisters looked to Las Vegas and Eldridge craned her neck to look into his eyes. He mumbled to himself, "Aaaaannnndd done," code cracked he took his turns looking to those present, first to Nashville, then Eldridge, then Helena, and finally he settled on Honolulu and sighed, "It's classified."

Honolulu and Helena looked dejected; Eldridge didn't react. "But then you'll come back right?" questioned Helena, hoping that what was happening wouldn't end with them saying goodbye to their sister, or their new friend, for what might be the last time.

Commander knew that lying and saying that they would be at South Point in the long term would be cruel. Even though the truth stung, it's better to pull the nail out of your foot. He said, "There's a few more back-and-forth things that we have to do, but then we'll be leaving this base to carry on with our mission."

"Figures," said Honolulu, "I was stupid to hope that this may be a permanent thing."

He looked upon the red-head sympathetically and tried to console her, "We haven't left yet, but don't waste what little time remains." He then noticed that Nashville was fighting tears. He put on as sympathetic an expression as he could, which was made easier when he realized that his arrangement of being nameless and dead to his family meant that with each foe they faced, he had so much less to lose now, and the opposite applied to Nashville, now that that she wasn't the only Brooklyn-class cruiser in her mind.

He then gave what sounded as a suggestion, but was really an order, "We should get going." Eldridge moved to let him stand, so he did. Nashville stood as well. He then looked back to those who were with them and smirked a bit, "We could use a little escort to the docks though."

That was all the invitation that they needed to stand and follow the duo to Nashville's hull. As they arrived at the gangway Nashville requested that they could take a photo; all five of them. At Las Vegas's consent she ascended the gangway and then disappeared to find her camera. As they waited Helena was finally given an acceptably private opportunity to speak to Commander. "I never did thank you Commander," he looked her way, and she said, "I never did thank you for taking care of my sisters during the last battle." Honolulu smiled; she should have figured that her baby sister would do something like make someone promise that.

He replied, "Of course, Helena. And I never thanked you for keeping your own promise and making it back." She nodded and he thought for a few seconds and was about to say something when Nashville reappeared with her camera. It was kind of awkward fitting five people into frame when the camera can only be as far away as Commander's reach. Nevertheless, after a few tries a satisfactory photo was taken and those leaving stepped toward the gangway.

Goodbyes were exchanged but it was Honolulu that gave a final challenge, "Well, Magician, you better make sure both of you get back. Or I'll go out, kick your ass, and then drag you two back here myself."

"Does this mean that you do care?"

Honolulu went bright red, Las Vegas was pretty good at pushing her buttons. "Yeah, I do. Is there a problem with that?" she barked back. Helena, Nashville, and even Eldridge was clearly amused at the display.

Commander put his hands palm out as a mock surrender and said as he grinned mischievously, "It's not a problem at all. I'm glad you care." He met Nashville's gaze and they wordlessly agreed that now was the time. He looked back to say, "We'll be back in a few days. See all of you then." He gave a wave as he went up the gangway, Nashville behind him. On the bridge, they went through the normal procedure of leaving port. Nashville was pleased that Las Vegas was getting the hang of being not only a sailor, but captain of a warship. And they left, exchanging one last wave with Honolulu, Helena, and Eldridge.

XXXXXXXX

After they had left the port Commander did not have to give any orders as to where their destination would be. Nevertheless, they took some time to figure out from what direction would be safest to approach Dean's Blue Hole. When they had left the port, Commander had intended to make a more direct route to the location on the coast of an island called, "Long Island," where their quarry resided but a few problems arose within the first hour of making course. Nashville pointed out a potentially fatal mistake that could arise if they sailed right through the Bahamas, all the islands would make it really easy for a wolfpack of submarines to corner them against an island. Furthermore, the sporadic islands defeat Nashville's speed advantage and makes her that much easier to track and bring the superweapon to bare. She also pointed out how easy it would be for the Sirens to set up a picket line of submarines in between the islands, with no way to avoid them.

Commander considered ordering the direct course anyway. He figured that doing so would be so crazy that the Sirens would never expect it. He relented to Nashville's demands for a time as he caught up on the submarine deployment orders that had piled up for the past few days in order to prove or disprove Nashville's assessment. In the meantime, she set course to the South, just off the northern coast of Cuba, as if they were headed back to the Windward Passage.

They steamed southward with Nashville on the lookout in every way available to her while Commander handled exactly twenty-one of the submarine orders. He made a fascinating discovery. He called Nashville over to show her his findings on the display on the navigation table.

She approached and Commander typed in a command to Mr. Bond and all the search radii for the subs in the region appeared on the map. They were doing something contrary to known Siren submarine doctrine.

Normally the Sirens would organize wolfpacks of three to six submarines that would patrol a relatively large area hoping to use the sheer number of wolfpacks to serve as proverbial, "mines," for unsuspecting ships to fall into. But the whole of the Bahamas was organized into a whole host of very small search radii with a single submarine each. "What do you make of this?" asked Commander.

She stared at the map intently, formulating her hypotheses. She finally opened her mouth. "They're denying entry into the Bahamas, so much more thoroughly than you would expect them to."

"Exactly, but the question now becomes, 'Why?'"

She smirked knowingly, "To the Eagle Union Brass, they're increasing their chances of a convoy being detected as they pass through. But why is it spread out so evenly, instead of focusing on something that they should definitely protect with a picket line?"

Commander already had his assessment prepared, "What I see is an almost no loss situation for the Sirens, there is just one fatal flaw which as you can see, by forgoing the picket line of submarines the superweapon is relatively unguarded. But here's the stuff they win. Your thoughts on the brass are spot on. They have that. Then with so many submarines sporadically placed they can eliminate the speed advantage of surface vessels by passing the lightning targeting to another sub instead of giving chase and being spotted.

But think about it, the placement makes too much sense, even if it's contrary to their doctrine. To those not in the know, there is no way the Sirens are hiding something, because nothing seems off that we humans wouldn't be doing if the roles were reversed. So, what I'm getting at is that for all the advantages the Sirens have set up for themselves, they're taking a risk. They can flood the area with more submarines, leaving no holes, setting up picket lines, guard the superweapon, tip that something is off, and have the whole Eagle Union Navy on their heads or they can rely on deception to make up the difference of lacking numbers, and achieve the same goal more efficiently."

Nashville grinned evilly, "But deception has failed them, so now we have the advantage."

"You made a good call, going around the island chain instead of through it. But here's something else," and he made a few more search patterns appear that bordered the heretically doctrined Bahamas. He said, "But the search areas right outside the Bahamas have the normal doctrine of large areas with wolfpacks, which are easy for you and me to avoid. So, if we avoid going into the central Bahamas around, say, Nassau, to the north-west of where we're going to be, we can come and go at out leisure, through the gaps in the search areas around the island chain. So, maintain the present course. We'll approach Dean's Blue Hole from the south. Say, what kind of range do you have on your scout plane?"

"The range is just shy of six-hundred nautical miles, so if we can get within three-hundred or better, two-hundred-fifty miles just to be safe, we can launch without concerns. With range like that we can launch from the safety of the Cuban coast and be just fine, but that gives an awful lot of time for a submarine to be able to spot it. I think we should launch closer. Like fifty miles away to lessen the risk of it being spotted randomly."

Now came a crossroads of decision. They could play it safe physically and risk tipping the Sirens that something is up by launching far. It kept him and Nashville safer, but would possibly make their objective harder to fight when the time comes, or they could do what was already spoken of with the submarines and get close, making the risk of the plane being spotted minimal, but bring themselves closer to the monster. He paused for thought and after a short period, he decided. "Where are all these good ideas coming from today Nashville? First, it's, 'Hey, Las Vegas, let's not go direct,' and now it's, 'Let's launch close to the lion's den, they'll never see it coming.'" He chucked to himself and Nashville giggled at his impression of her. He continued, "Let's do it, launch close up. After all, we've never been detected by submarines unless we wanted to be."

A launching point south of Long Island was chosen and they were able to make good time getting there, easily avoiding any submarine patrols. But it would be night when they arrived at the launch point, so they made the decision to pass the night off the Cuban coastline and launch with the dawn, allowing the airplane to loop around to it's destination from the east, out of the morning sun, in an effort to make it harder to spot.

At the appointed hour, they left the coast to sail into position. And a little after 0600, they were at the launch position. Commander noted broken cloud cover that would come in handy. They went through the procedure of launching the scout plane, and once it was ready to be flung skyward Commander turned to his companion ship girl and sighed, "Well, now's when we actually get started. How do you feel?"

"I feel how you look; nervous. But we have a job to do, right?"

"You're right. Just like always. But anyways, launch the scout," ordered Las Vegas. The ship lurched just a bit as the biplane was propelled from it's catapult on the stern of the ship. It gradually climbed above the clouds to make detection more difficult for the radar-less submarines.

After it had reached it's intended altitude Nashville was able to report, "It will be over Dean's Blue Hole in about twenty-five minutes. Where do you want to land it so that we can taxi it over the hole to drop the sonar buoy?"

"Land in the cove just by the nearby Clarence Town, reports say it'd been abandoned for a few years now, so there shouldn't be anybody to see the plane as it lands. It's only three nautical miles east of where we want to be."

Nashville nodded and Commander felt to ask, "How do you feel about all this?"

She smiled nostalgically in response and said, "Even in WWII sailors told stories about sea monsters that lurk on the bottom and prey on unsuspecting ships, and I bet sailors have always been like that." Then the nostalgia faded, and she said, "But in the good old days, they were just stories. Not anymore."

"Good old days, huh? No offense, but what good old days?"

"While I did enjoy the catharsis of shore bombardment, I loved the cruises I did before the war," she said longingly, "Went all over the place, but I'd love to see Sydney, Australia again. My crew loved it there and always said it was their favorite port. Did you ever have, 'good old days,' Commander?"

"Even though the last time I remember a comfortable peace was when I was ten, I'm still partial to my college days. It was simple, you know? And more importantly, there were no sea monster superweapons or aliens."

"What about ships who are now women?" tested the ship girl.

"What are you talking about? That's the best part about all this craziness. I may not have spoken or hung out with many people back then, but I still liked meeting people. It's kind of oxymoronic, but that's how it was. But now, you, your sisters, and everyone else on the base are certainly the most interesting people I've ever met. I'm glad I was able to do that." He left out the part that ship girls tended to be very attractive to look at, instead pausing for a few seconds, "Do you ever wish you could go back to the late 1930's when there was no war, only sailing?"

Nashville thought on that. Just a little while back she would have been thrilled to go back to that time. But now, things were different. She finally found something she enjoyed, found a reason to be. She answered, "Nope. You?"

Now it was Las Vegas's turn to think. He considered what he had back in his old life; a name, a family, and a comfortable monotony, but he only had a small part of the bigger picture. Now, in exchange for the above he had something new, something he was coming to treasure, he had a new perspective. He was now able to see things better through someone else's eyes, understand, if only a little, of their plights. He had a greater perspective of his place in the grand scheme of things, and he could tell that he was only scratching the surface of his new understanding. He wanted to see how far down this hole goes. So, he looked Nashville in the eye and said, "Nope. And well, as much as I love talking with you, we should start paying attention to the task at hand."

"Of course, Commander Las Vegas. But humor me one last question?" He reluctantly nodded, so she smiled a bit teasingly, "What do you think of the name, 'Magician?'"

"I'm flattered in all honesty. Especially when I consider that it was the aircraft carrier Hornet that gave me the moniker. But I still prefer, 'Las Vegas,' because it's nearer and dearer to my heart. And what's more is that you gave me the name."

Nashville had to turn and look seaward as subtly yet quickly as she possibly could, lest Las Vegas catch her blushing. He preferred a name from her more than one given him by an aircraft carrier? How is this possible? Did he not understand how in the Eagle Union Navy, or in any navy really, an aircraft carrier is so much more valuable than a light cruiser like her? But no matter what he knew or understood, his preference to the name she gave him made her happy in a way she had never been before. She was at a loss for what it was. What is this kind of happiness? She was jarred from her thoughts when Commander asked, "Nashville, are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she responded a bit too quickly for her comfort. "I'm fine," she repeated more slowly, "You're right though, we should pay attention to the mission now."

"If you say so," said Commander after hesitating. And he went back to monitoring for any movement on the radar or for any radio intercepts. Nashville let out a breath that she was holding, it looked like Las Vegas had bought her subject change to avoid the embarrassment of being caught blushing for a reason that she didn't understand. Little did she know that Commander had noticed what was going on, but he couldn't figure out why, so he dropped it, the truth never having occurred to him. But in all fairness, the truth didn't occur to her either.

The airplane arrived over Clarence Town undetected. They could tell because no radio messages had been hastily sent during it's flight. It entered an approach into the cove and landed without any problems, the sonar buoy attached under one of it's wings. Now was the part where things started to get more intense. "Alright Nashville, you know where it's going. Try and maintain a speed of about twenty knots for it."

"Aye, sir. The scout will be over the blue hole in about ten minutes."

There was a saying that Commander had heard once that seemed appropriate about right now, "When you stare into the abyss, it stares right back at you." If only the abyss was another man, instead of some sort of alien eldritch abomination that can easily kill them if their cover is blown. Stress started to mount as the scout plane taxied closer to their destination. The duo stayed dead quiet, as if their talking could tip off the beast that something was up even if they were fifty nautical miles away. It got super close and Commander gave an order, "Once the plane is over the hole, don't do anything for a few minutes."

"Sir?"

"It's to fool the superweapon into thinking that divers are preparing themselves. But once the buoy is dropped, it won't be fooled for long, so get the plane out of there just after the drop but before it can confirm the plane is a plane, and a military one no less. It won't be able to tell between a regular civilian scientific buoy and a military one."

"Understood. It will be any minute now."

The plane arrived over Dean's Blue Hole, and the abyss began the stare off with the heroes. Fortunately, the buoy was one of such technology that it could function like a sonar array used by shipwreck hunters in that it could, "draw," a picture of what it heard given the right computer program. But Commander seeing a screen was so much less harrowing than Nashville, who could hear exactly what the buoy did as if it were whispering into her ear.

The ordered few minutes passed with Commander apprehensive, but Nashville was on the verge of panic. Commander gave the order, "Set the depth of the buoy for six-hundred feet, to go to the bottom, we have to make sure it isn't hiding in any side caves of the blue hole. Drop the buoy, we only need a few seconds."

"Buoy dropped," reported Nashville.

"Excellent, now get the scout out of there as casually as you can," he saw the state of his friend and added on, "You're doing great, Nashville. You can do this."

His words did wonders to encourage her, and she complied after whispering out her gratitude for the support. The plane crept out from directly over the blue hole at a slow speed that might suggest poor seamanship for keeping in place against the current without an anchor.

Just as the scout plane could be considered, "safe," data started to transmit from the active sonar pings from the buoy. There was something huge at the bottom of the blue hole and to Commander's eyes and Nashville's extra senses as a ship girl, the mass was indeed moving. It was so big that the ordered six-hundred-foot depth would only be about two-thirds successful.

The plane taxied away with Nashville silently panicking about being caught. She wanted so desperately to take off right away, distance from the hole be damned. But she knew the painful fact that sudden movements on her part would ruin the farce. So, she barely held herself together as the mass started to take more defined form.

Commander wasn't doing much better, but he was able to silently place a hand on Nashville's shoulder to remind her that she wasn't in this alone. He was terrified too, but they stood a chance as a team. She was pulled back from the brink of panic, but only just.

Commander looked to a display next to the radar where the form of the creature was becoming clearer. It's size wasn't an initial exaggeration. It had to be nearly two hundred feet long, and from what was displayed it had a few main parts of it's body. There was an elongated torpedo shape suspended vertical in the center of the hole that hinted at a main body of sorts. It was sharpened in definition like a shark, yet as the sound bounced off it, it pointed at something completely solid, like steel, or an armored carapace. Behind this main body was when things got more interesting. For trailing it was a horde of tentacles that had to be greater than one-hundred-fifty feet long each. He couldn't count how many. Yet to the buoy, some seemed hard like the main body and these were holding the monster in place in the hole. The rest, which constituted the majority of the tentacles were hanging loosely below and these weren't nearly as solid as the rest, it's as if these ones were fleshy.

The buoy descended even deeper into the superweapon's lair and the float plane was only about a half mile away from the hole. The more flexible tentacles started to organize themselves. Two in particular started to ascend from the depths to reach for the sinking intruder. The main body divided itself as if the jaws of hell were revealing their contents. The tentacles snapped upward and grabbed the buoy and dragging it down. A fraction of a second later the buoy stopped transmitting, probably because it was eaten.

Nashville gasped at the surprise of the buoy's demise and her head started to hurt, one of her senses being ripped from her. Commander gave his next order swiftly, with a slightly raised voice, "Raise the speed of the scout plane to thirty knots back to Clarence Town, take off and hide above the clouds to get back to our position once it gets to the cove. Set your course back in the same direction we came, full speed. Right now, speed is better for stealth than patience."

"Yes, sir," she said as she cradled her head with her hand and her hull began to turn in the water.

A few seconds later her huff-duff went off. She said, "Sir, the huff-duff just picked up a message from the direction of the superweapon."

"I got it. Maintain course and present actions," he ordered as he looked at the intercept. As expected, it was a hastily encoded emergency message, this would be easier than normal, a five-minute break, tops. "It's an emergency code, probably from our friendly neighborhood monstrosity. Give me five minutes."

"Take your time," retorted Nashville sarcastically.

The secret message knelt in defeat before the magician in record time. He read the four sentences aloud, "Intruder alert! Order local submarines to investigate northern side of Long Island. Regional alert in effect. Confirm civilian or military."

The plane reached the cove and in an instant the engine revved and it took to the skies. By this time Nashville had reached full speed and was flying through the gap in the submarine patrols before it closed in the ordered regional alert. Now as the plane was climbing into the cloud cover, she was screaming internally because there was no way it could climb fast enough. The only factor that would save or sink the operation was something so risky as how far away any of the investigating subs were from the blue hole. It would be tight.

The plane reached the clouds. She focused on the huff-duff now. If it went crazy that would mean that they were probably found out. A minute passed, and then two. The huff-duff stayed silent. They were in the clear. And she let out another breath. Wow, this stressed her out so much more than the Sakura Navy or any blockade run ever did.

They got out before the gap closed and about thirty minutes later of sailing toward Cuba, the scout plane dipped out from under the clouds. They dropped speed only long enough to recover the aircraft from the ocean.

A flurry of submarine orders flooded in from all directions. They were enacting an emergency reorganization of their patrols to try and catch what had eluded them so far. Commander was able to guide them through the shifting mine field as they made course for South Point along the Cuban coastline before sailing north. For the second time in a week, something major had eluded the eyes of the Sirens. And since they could never find what had stepped onto their turf, they could only assume that some human's dumb luck was conspiring against them, and they were none the wiser as a dazzle painted light cruiser slipped away in broad daylight.

XXXXXXXX

As they were sailing back for South Point, they finally found themselves in a position to try and get a plan together. And while things had gone very well the last time with only Las Vegas doing the planning, he now felt that Nashville's string of good ideas for the day would serve as a good omen, and as the famous Iron Blood Raider, Count Felix von Luckner, once said, "A sailor believes in signs," so she would be included.

But before they started planning Commander noticed that his friend was still rubbing her head like she was in pain. He asked, "Are you okay, Nashville? Does your head hurt or something?"

"Yeah, it started when the sonar buoy got eaten. Damage to the hull hurts my body too," she informed as she gestured to her flesh and blood body.

Commander had a moment of piercing guilt. His plan had hurt his friend. He had to say something, "I'm so sorry that my plan did that to you. I didn't know that's how it works."

Nashville turned to look at her commander and had another moment of gratitude that it was him that was by her side for this crazy adventure that might just see them killed. She smiled gently and said, "It's okay, by the sound of how you just apologized, I can tell that you didn't know. But, for the future, it would be nice if we can possibly try to avoid damage in such a way."

Commander nodded without any hesitation, "Of course, we'll, well, I'll be more careful with my plans in the future." And he considered a possibility that could skirt the problem all together, "Is it possible to separate something like that buoy from yourself?" She looked at him in a way that showed she didn't understand. He clarified, "I mean, if we were to launch another buoy like that expecting to lose it, can you make it so that the data only goes to my computer, instead of to my computer and you?"

"I don't know," she admitted, "I'd have to try it sometime to find out."

"We'll do that sometime then," he decided, "But if you can't we'll definitely be more careful from now on."

She smiled sweetly, "Thanks, Commander."

"No problem," he voiced, settling the matter, but then he grew more somber, "Now, we just have to figure out a way to destroy the superweapon."

"Right. Any ideas so far?"

"Fortunately, since it's in the center of a hole, and I think we can safely confirm that it's a blockade-class, I believe that we can take care of it with a depth charge attack."

"I like it. It's simple. But I feel a, 'but,' coming."

Las Vegas smiled just a bit in good humor, Nashville knew him well enough to know how he thinks and what he's going to say, most of the time. Well, he was getting to understand her too. He conceded to her astuteness, "Yes, there is a, 'but,' coming. I think that a depth charge attack will work decently well, but the problems arise with the, 'What ifs.'"

She folded her arms below her bust and nodded slowly in understanding, "Yeah. Like, what if it takes too long to die to depth charges and we get swarmed with submarines?"

"Precisely," said Commander as he stroked his chin in thought, "Or, what if it sends out an emergency distress call to get aircraft overhead somehow? But I don't think we need to worry about a surface battle. I'd wager the Siren surface fleet is going to be depleted in the area for a while. Huh, I guess that looking at it that way, I'm glad we got sidetracked for the last battle."

"I agree. So, what are we going to do about the what if's?"

"I think we should enlist Bogue. But the problem is, should she be depth charging the superweapon, or keeping subs off the rest of the fleet?"

Nashville happened to have an opinion or two, "I don't know what you know about her, but I've heard of Bogue. Apparently, she was the first escort carrier ever outfitted for anti-submarine warfare. If we bring her along, I think she should be on anti-sub patrol. I can launch up to four scout planes, all of them with depth charges, that should be enough for the superweapon."

"Okay then. But I think that we should get Hornet involved too. She can take care of the skies, and B-25 Mitchells would be a big comfort to have overhead."

Nashville agreed, "I like it, but we should have another light cruiser with us, just in case Hornet gets overwhelmed with top cover."

"Like who?" tested Las Vegas, curious if Nashville was the kind to try and protect her sisters by excluding them or protect them by bringing them along.

"Denver seems like a good choice," said Nashville. So, she protected by exclusion. He didn't see reason to disagree with her suggestion.

"Okay, that will work," he relied, but then he got a tingly feeling in his gut, like he was missing something important. He recapped, "So we have you, Bogue, Hornet, Denver, and Eldridge. But something doesn't feel right. I feel like the superweapon is concealing more tricks up it's sleeve." He interlocked the fingers of his hands and rested his chin on them as he sat. He thought a moment and then said, "I think we should bring a few more, in case the superweapon tries something really funny. I think we should have a battleship. And I want to bring Indianapolis, her shield saved us in the Windward Passage. I have a feeling it will be handy again."

"Which battleship do we want? We have West Virginia or Nevada," offered Nashville. She hoped that Las Vegas would choose West Virginia because she doesn't feel comfortable whenever Nevada is around. But she had come to trust Las Vegas's judgement. She would follow his decision.

He thought on which battleship would be better to take with them. He considered their personalities. He felt that he could rely on both to stand and give battle. But there was a question of numbers. West Virginia had eight sixteen-inch guns while Nevada had ten fourteen-inch guns. West Virginia gave more firepower and range and was marginally faster, not that the last point mattered, because whoever was decided on would ride in Nashville's hull. Nevada had marginally more armor though and fired more guns at once. He felt that both would be able to do about the same. He looked out to the sea from the bridge and he got the feeling that Nevada would be the better choice. He looked back to Nashville and said, "Something tells me we should take Nevada."

Nashville was a tad disappointed, but she couldn't argue against gut feelings, no matter how out of character it is for him to have them. She consented, "Okay. I assume that you want the fleet to ride aboard my hull again?"

Commander confirmed and said, "Only if it's okay with you. But I won't deny, being able to makes it a lot easier, especially with what will be planned."

Nashville nodded consent back and asked, "So, we have the fleet planned. But what are we going to do?"

"It'll be simple. Hornet hangs back just off the Florida coast, where it's safe and she has her air fleet of fighters and bombers overhead as we begin the operation to fend off any Siren counterattack from the air, or back up against the superweapon itself. Bogue goes with us because it will make her resupply of aircraft faster and if we really need to, we can use her depth charges on the superweapon. The rest will stay aboard, only to come out if needed, and we'll do this because I'm confident that your speed will be instrumental in avoiding any vortexes that the superweapon will no doubt use. What I don't know, is if we should attack from the north, where there are more submarines but it's easier to flee into the Atlantic once it's all done, or if we should attack from the south, where there's less submarines but the escape routes are a lot more limited by geography."

"We'll have lost stealth by that point, and I don't think we'll end up sinking all the submarines in the region, so let's attack from the south. We'll just have to count on Bogue to clear the way."

Commander felt more comfortable now that they had a plan. But one final thing came to mind, "I like what we have. It'll work. But for some reason just calling it, 'superweapon,' is getting kind of old. I think we should name it."

"Really?" she asked disbelievingly, "Well, I don't hate the idea. So, what do you want to call it?"

What did he want to call it? Something clicked in his mind. He said, "I think a better question is, 'How funny do the Sirens think they are?'" Nashville looked at him quizzically as he booted up Mr. Bond. He went to his favorite search engine and typed, "Sea Monster Bahamas," and lo and behold he found the name. He smiled and reported, "The Sirens seem to think that they're pretty funny. Listen to this, the natives have been telling stories of a sea monster that is a cross between a shark and an octopus called, 'Lusca,' and it's said to reside at the bottom of blue holes around the island chain." He looked to Nashville and humorously said, referencing his guilty pleasure of B-movies, "It's a sharktopus. And that sounds like what we found at the bottom of the blue hole."

"Lusca the sharktopus? I kinda like it. It's a funny sounding name for something super threatening."

With that, the planning was over and all that was left was to get back to South Point and assemble the fleet.

XXXXXXXX

They arrived late at night so, they spent the night as they usually do, in their respective quarters. But they began the day as usual, as if nothing was different. This time though, morale wasn't down in the dumps. They had a plan, their enemy had a face, and they had the advantage of surprise. As they approached the mess hall Commander dispensed some orders, "I'll track down Hornet, Nevada, and Bogue, if you could gather up Denver, Indianapolis, and maybe Eldridge to get them to come to your hull after breakfast."

"Yes, sir," replied Nashville plainly. He had his Writ of Commandeering just in case he had to wave it around.

They entered and as they were noticed, most of the ship girls present voiced their welcomes to the returning duo. Eldridge and Nashville's sisters stood and approached looking for hugs and comforting words. Eldridge again had Commander kneel down so he might as well get it out of the way now, "It's so good to see you, Eldridge. How have you been the past few days?" She gave a thumbs up, and Commander nodded before saying, "We're going to get moving for our objective later today. Can you report to Nashville's hull after breakfast?" Eldridge saluted adorably and Commander returned the salute for propriety's sake. "Thank you, but I have to talk to a few others now." She nodded and did something that surprised him, she took a hold of his hand as he stood. He couldn't find it in him to deny her, so he had an escort now. Plain greetings were exchanged with Honolulu and Helena, who were dumbfounded at what Eldridge was doing.

He proceeded with Eldridge over to where Nevada and Hornet were sitting, across from each other. Both turned and gave greetings before falling silent. Commander wondered why but Hornet answered the unspoken question. She said, "Magician, I've known Eldridge for about eleven or twelve years now and I've never seen her do that," and she pointed to their linked hands, "with anybody."

"Same here," recalled Nevada.

He looked down to Eldridge and she looked back up to him. "Never with anybody?" he asked her. She shook her head no. "Thanks for trusting me," he said. She only blinked slowly as she dipped her head in a nod. He turned back to the sitting ship girls and he sat down next to Hornet. He said in a hushed voice to both women, "So, I'm getting a fleet together for a super-secret mission that may just change the balance of power in the region. Interested?" He looked to Hornet specifically and added on, "I could use some planes from that new base in Shangri-la." Hornet smiled. He turned to Nevada and said, "I could use some heavy firepower."

Hornet spoke, still smiling, "So, Magician, what do you have planned?"

"I can't say right now. But are you in?"

"How dangerous?" she asked.

Commander thought for a second and replied honestly, "There's a distinct possibility that all or most of us die."

"Business as usual huh? Alright, I'm in."

"Sweet," said he, and he turned to Nevada. Her expression did not fill him with confidence, "What about you, Nevada?"

Her eyes were narrowed, and she looked skeptical. She asked, "What about West Virginia? She's got bigger guns, is faster, and is newer."

"Well, I'm asking you and not her," he pointed out the obvious. Nevada saw that he approached her for a reason. She would have said something back, but he continued, "Call it a gut feeling that you'll be better for the job at hand."

Nevada's expression turned charismatic in an instant. "I'm in. So, what are we doing?"

"Can you two report to Nashville's hull after breakfast please? We'll bring you up to speed there."

Both capital ship women gave their affirmatives and started to whisper speculations among themselves as the commander and his escort walked away. He caught something about a secret offensive with some other base. He smirked knowing that they'll be super surprised with the truth.

Now he had to introduce himself to Bogue. This would be the difficult one, if there was any. She was sitting down next to a few of the other destroyers. He tapped her shoulder, and she looked his way. She sent a smug grin his way and declared, "About time you show yourself in this field!" He was initially confused until he noted her baseball style garb. How had he not noticed this before? She spoke more before he could properly introduce himself, "I saw you talking with Hornet and Nevada, looking for their help. So, you want me to play ball with you?"

No use beating around the bush, "That's the idea." He then took a risk in the conversation and guessed her favorite position, "You're a pitcher, right? Think you can strike out a few submarines for the team?"

A wicked grin spread out across the escort carrier's face. "I'll strike em all out," promised Bogue.

"Now, there won't be stadium lights or cheering crowds, it'll be all hush-hush. But I promise a good game with life-or-death stakes." This was his way of saying the operation was secret and that they might all die.

Bogue liked those stakes, "You got it Magician. We're in the Major Leagues now."

"Excellent. We'll set up the rotations and lineup on Nashville's hull after breakfast." This was him telling her of the briefing on Nashville's hull.

"Think we can win?" she asked.

"By a landslide," replied Commander, "See you then Bogue."

"See you."

Well, that was easy. Now all he had to do was eat and then get the briefing underway. He got his food and Nashville was able to report that Denver and Indianapolis were both cooperative in following Commander into a battle in which they might die. Things were starting to come together.

XXXXXXXX

After breakfast was done Commander and Nashville again made their way to the gangway leading up to her deck. Eldridge, Denver, Indianapolis, and Bogue came along with them. But soon after, Nevada and Hornet came. Commander looked over the fleet that had been assembled, he said, "Everyone's here, but I want to give one last opportunity to back out. I won't force any of you into what's going to happen." Nobody backed out, he nodded approvingly and continued, "Let's get to the bridge and get all of you up to speed and get this operation planned."

They arrived and gathered around the navigation table, on which was shown a map of the Bahamas. Commander thought for a second how it would be best to start. He figured the story was best from the beginning. He started to explain, "I'd wager that all of you have some questions about what me and Nashville have for a mission. I seem to remember Rear admiral Slade only said something about obstructing the mission the day we arrived. Anyway, now is the time to answer some of those questions. I'm sure new questions will come up as I'm explaining but please, save those for the end."

He explained the mission from the beginning, the offer from Supreme Commander Roscoe and Axis Chairwoman Hara, the superweapons and what humanity knows of them, the overarching goal from the success of the operation, their investigations in Miami and on site itself, excluding what they know about the Heralds of the Deep, and finally the plan for defeating Lusca. Having finished and looked around to see varied reactions, ranging from fear to war fever, he asked, "Are there any questions?"

"What the hell?" asked Hornet.

"I swear I'm not making this up," defended Las Vegas, "But you're right, it's crazy, and someone's gotta do it."

Now Denver spoke up, "So, we're gonna sneak through the castle gates, trash the place, and then slay the dragon?"

"That's the gist of it," answered the commander.

"Young man, what have you gotten us into?" Nevada needed to know this.

Commander fixed Nevada with a stare that pierced down to her core. She felt small. He started to speak, "Are you tired of just waiting around for stuff to happen? Are you tired of only being able to react to the Siren's moves? All of you should understand better than I, that we can't hope to win this war unless we take the initiative and go on the offensive. And let me tell you, this is the first step. Is it a turning point? I like to think so, and I have full confidence that when we pull this off, we can get the ball rolling not just in the Eagle Union, but for all others in the world. And one day, we will win, and the Sirens will lose. There are still many battles to be fought, but this is the beginning of the end. We fight uphill from here." He looked around to the others on his bridge. He expected different reactions, but instead they converged. Fears were being forgotten, and intrepidity took it's place.

"Wow, that was the most badass thing I've ever heard you say," remarked Nashville.

"Thanks," replied Commander, "Is there anything else?" They were quiet yet chomping at the bit. "Alright then, so that we strike with the dawn, we leave base at 0200, in about six hours. Get started on your preparations. You're all dismissed." He saluted and the fleet did it back. They streamed out of the bridge leaving Nashville and Commander. "Do you even have preparations? I mean, you've been restocked on ammunition and you've been completely repainted."

"You're right I don't have anything I need to get done."

"Wanna come with me to inform Slade that a number of her fleet is being commandeered?"

She smirked as she pictured the occurrence. "Now this, I gotta see."

Slade wasn't pleased with the development, yet she didn't have any authority to say otherwise to what was happening with her fleet. She did insist on seeing the physical Writ of Commandeering though. Which was presented. She read it, trying to find a loophole, which eluded her. She could only wish them luck in their operation. And she gave some encouragement as the duo left.

The afternoon passed with Nashville spending time with her sisters. Commander, being without family, found solace in God; one of the few constants in his life. He opened his Bible randomly and chuckled to find the story of David and Goliath. He found his favorite verses.

Then said David to the Philistine, Thou comest to me with a sword, and with a spear, and with a shield: but I come to thee in the name of the Lord of hosts, the God of the armies of Israel, whom thou hast defied.

This day will the Lord deliver thee into mine hand; and I will smite thee, and take thine head from thee; and I will give the carcases of the host of the Philistines this day unto the fouls of the air, and to the wild beasts of the earth; that all the earth may know that there is a God in Israel.

It made him feel ready for the coming battle. Sure, he may not be representing God, but he fought for ideals, for peace, for life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. In the name of those ideals, he would lead those who fight for the same things. He would fight even unto his death if it came down to it. He would spend the rest of his time of preparation going over the systems of his own station. He ran diagnostics on Nashville's sensors and on Mr. Bond to ensure their optimum performance. He spared some time in prayer for victory, for the safety of those under him, and for ultimate success in his mission.

The time had come.

XXXXXXXX

The fleet sailed aboard Nashville's hull undetected until they got into position. Hornet had already launched all her aircraft from the safety of Florida a few hours earlier and would be overhead in about fifteen minutes. The aircraft would be operating at near maximum range, but it was decided to be sufficient. Besides, one of the perks for a ship girl was the relative ease with which aircraft can be regenerated after being lost in combat.

They had posted themselves about ten miles south of Dean's Blue Hole, so that Nashville could be in range with her main battery. In the grand scheme of naval warfare, with aircraft carriers and missiles on conventional warships this was widely considered touching distance.

It was time to get things started. He looked to Nashville and said what could be considered famous last words, "Here goes nothing."

"Here goes everything," she countered, "But we can do this. We have the advantage, and we have a plan. It'll work."

He grunted an agreement and said into the intercom, "Alright, Bogue, batter up. Get your anti-sub aircraft up as fast as possible. The rest of the operation will commence once you give the signal."

Bogue vaulted over the railing and sailed out with rigging that looked like a baseball bat bag. It dissolved into the now expected storm of miniature wisdom cubes to form her hull, and she jumped aboard. In an instant, radial engines whined over the sea and one after another Bogue pitched depth charge laden bombers into play.

While she was doing that, Commander ordered Nashville to load her two stern aircraft catapults. Two aircraft with the names of, "Lewis," and, "Clark," materialized with their own depth charges. Five minutes passed and Bogue flashed the signal, "Play ball. Tell if need help with Lusca."

"Launch the planes, and load the other two," ordered Commander to Nashville. She complied and the planes took to the skies and climbed in a shallow corkscrew while the other two planes, "Marco," and, "Polo," were loaded and launched. Once the formation came together, they started to make the flight to Dean's Blue Hole.

"It will take another five minutes before they arrive," informed Nashville. She smiled to her commander and said, "Here's to victory on the horizon."

He smiled back, "Here's to an approaching peace."

The scouts arrived over the blue hole and Commander gave his instructions, "Set the depth for four-hundred feet. We'll feed Lusca some high explosives. Stagger the drops by fifteen seconds, so that each blast won't knock the next charge off target."

"Ready," said Nashville.

"Drop," responded the Commander.

The first depth charge fell from the bomb rack of one of the scout biplanes. It hit the water dead center over the blue hole. It was halfway to it's designated depth when the second depth charge hit the water. Lusca had supposed that the humans from a few day's back had returned with more equipment. Not that it mattered, humans always dropped tasty things. While it did indeed understand that humans and human equipment were tasty, it was unprepared for a more "explosive" flavor. It was it's own fault though for what was coming, at the depth of 400 feet below the surface it would have had light enough if the sun was directly overhead to see what was coming for breakfast, but not at dawn when the sun was at the wrong angle. A blue hole was NOT a good place to set up shop.

Two of it's more fleshy tentacles snaked upwards and grabbed a hold of the metallic cylinder. It was dragged down quickly as it opened it's mouth. "Buen provecho, puta," muttered Nashville ten miles away under her breath as she was counting the seconds in her head. The first depth charge exploded only a few feet in front of Lusca. It did a number on the armored carapace, caving it in slightly and damaging some of the sensory equipment. One of it's two eyes was blown out, so it lost depth perception. The tentacles holding the depth charge were obliterated, somewhat lessening it's offensive capabilities. The creature, for as much as a machine with a dog's level of intelligence could, howled in pain and anger in it's own way.

Another effect of the first depth charge was to cause a mighty shaking in the sides of the blue hole, making a lot of sediment cloud the sight above and causing rocks to fall loose and make a lot of noise that covered the sound of the second depth charge's descent. This one exploded in about the same place as the first one, damaging the carapace further, knocking out most of it's sensory equipment, most importantly it's sonar, and limiting the effective range of it's on board radio to call for help. Only now did the monster recover enough mental faculties to understand that this was an attack. It hastily began to encode a message to the local submarines and get some aircraft on the scene to find and annihilate whatever caused it so much pain.

It missed the third depth charge too. This one caused huge swaths of alien metal to fall off of it's armor, compromising the armor as a whole, and the charge destroyed one of it's tertiary weapon systems. It's central processor was also damaged. So, Lusca wasn't out of the fight, not by a long shot, but it was seriously damaged. The walls of the blue hole were beginning to become unstable for the armored tentacles to hold it in place. Regardless of this problem, the horde of Lusca's tentacles rushed upward hoping to catch any more depth charges, which it did, and then proceeded to throw the last depth charge down a side cave where it exploded a safe distance away from the superweapon. It kept holding it's tentacles upward in preparation for any more depth charge attacks.

Only now did it get it's message sent off. Commander intercepted it as Nashville was able to report, "I count three successful depth charge hits, it blocked the fourth one somehow. And huff-duff just picked up a message."

"I got it. Let me work my magic before everything turns crazy." Just like last time, the hastily enciphered message fell before Las Vegas in minutes. He read it aloud over the intercom and gave orders for Nashville to send it to Bogue over signal light. He read, "Blue Hole under attack by unknown force. Subs and aircraft find them and sink them. Support from blue hole available."

Just then as if it condensed from the air a thick covering of dark storm clouds covered the area. If Commander could hazard a guess, it probably covered the whole region and into the Atlantic. He got on the intercom and said, "Eldridge, get ready for a lightning strike at any moment." Fortunately, with just her rigging active, the destroyer escort was able to redirect the lightning without putting her hull in the water. So, she simply closed her eyes and paid attention to the shifting electricity around her. She was ready at any moment.

A signal came back from Bogue as the rain and wind started to make the sea choppy, "Sub hunting hard in rough seas, be alert for base stealers."

"Acknowledged," signaled Nashville back. It was at this time that a flaw of the Brooklyn-class cruiser came to light. As with many of the light cruisers of the Eagle Union, they were top heavy, and this did not contribute to their seaworthiness. Commander, Nashville, and everyone aboard had to start bracing themselves for each sway of the hull as the storm picked up.

Commander wanted to get this over as fast as possible, so he made a potentially disastrous tactical error. He said to Nashville, "Signal Bogue to divert a few aircraft to the blue hole and drop depth charges, with depths starting at one hundred and growing to four-hundred feet. Let's get this over with."

As Bogue got the signal to send a few planes to attack Lusca, Commander was unaware of two things. The first was just how ineffective his idea would be of clearing out whatever defenses Lusca had set up. The second and much more disastrous, was that this left an appallingly large hole in his submarine defenses. In the five minutes it took for Bogue's planes to get to Lusca, Nashville reported in a strained, yet professional voice, "Huff-duff picks up a radio transmission from the near west." Commander's heart sank as he realized his error. "SHIT!" yelled Nashville, "Hydrophones pick up a torpedo spread in the water!"

"Evasive maneuvers!" commanded Las Vegas.

"You don't have to tell me twice!" And Nashville took the most aggressive turn he had yet experienced. As her hull turned hard to port, into the torpedo spread, the bridge, that was over four stories up from the surface of the water leaned to the outside of the turn by nearly thirty degrees. In a few harrowing seconds Commander watched a spread of torpedoes just under the surface of the water go past the port and starboard sides of Nashville. He looked up and saw the submarine.

Without any warning, a lightning strike streaked down from the heavens as if cast from the halls of Zeus himself. It bolted down yet was directed to strike where the torpedoes came from. The submarine lit up in an impressive fireball, but the point was moot. Their location had been found, and now all the submarines and presumably aircraft in the region would be on them. He'd have to treat Eldridge to something really nice once this was over, if they lived through it. He picked up the radio and said, "Drop radio silence, we've been found so it won't matter. Bogue. Status of depth charging?"

"All the charges have been thrown out of the hole. I'm calling my planes back for rearming!"

"Roger that, rearm and set the starting depth for even shallower and climb to four-hundred feet. We gotta destroy Lusca, or it'll whittle us down."

"Got it!" confirmed Bogue.

He now switched frequency to talk to Hornet. He said, "We've been found out. They have planes in the sky, keep them off us but if you even think your about to get too many tell us, Denver will take off some of the heat. Make sure the Mitchell's still have escort though."

"On it, Magician," replied Hornet. Funny, even in a time where things are looking bleak, these women still had enough faith in him to not only follow his orders but to respect him as if he were a miracle worker.

Hornet spoke again, "I've ran into fighters and dive bombers above the clouds in between you and Lusca. A dog fight is getting underway, but you should have Denver ready for dive bombers that break through."

"Roger. Thanks for the heads up," said Commander. He got on the intercom and gave his next order, "Denver, form a line with Nashville on one end, Bogue in the middle, and then you. Hornet just warned us of dive bombers in the air. So, keep your eyes up, but be alert for submarines."

Now Denver vaulted over the railing and rushed as fast as she could to make the ordered formation. Her rigging burst in a brilliant display to manifest her hull and she mounted without delay. Sure enough a few moments later a few dive bombers flew through the clouds. She began firing away immediately, while yelling to the sky, "Your weak point…is here!" And dive bombers began to tumble from the skies as burning wrecks. It was next to impossible for any of them to form a dive angle on anybody, all dropped ordinance exploded harmlessly in the ocean.

Commander said to Nashville, "Feel free to take on some aircraft too. I'd be nice to see the dual purpose five-inchers and extra bofors in action."

"Yes, sir," she said curtly, and the sky began to fill with her own clouds of lead.

Another bolt cascaded towards the fleet and this one was equally ineffective due to Eldridge's fine work. The thunder split the sky with a deafening roar.

Bogue spoke up into the radio now, "Magician! Do you want another run on the superweapon or do you want a submarine screen?"

This presented an interesting conundrum for the commander. He was a man of numbers and reason and rarely did things by feeling, excepting the Nevada or West Virginia debacle. But right now, he couldn't see or have any way to know how effective, or ineffective the depth charge runs were for the monster. He thought and thought. He snapped himself from his thoughts. The worst leaders are those who can't make decisions. He ordered, "Spare a flight of three to attack Lusca again. And use the rest to keep those subs off of our backs."

"Yes, sir," chanted Bogue and she complied rapidly. Luckily, as a light carrier she could get her aircraft in the air a lot faster than a fleet carrier. The flight of three took off for the blue hole.

Another lightning bolt struck the ocean harmlessly, thanks to Eldridge. Meanwhile, Lusca was getting frustrated. Why won't these insects just die already? But still, it had to realize that it's bolts were somehow being redirected. So, it might as well clear the storm to make it easier for the aircraft overhead to target it's secondary weapon, the vortex generator.

The storm cleared in minutes, and Commander had a stroke of intuition. He picked up the radio and said, "Bogue, form up on Nashville as quickly as you can. I have a feeling this thing is going to use vortexes soon. So be ready to convert to rigging to come aboard at my order." Before he could catch a response, he now ordered Denver, "Be ready for the vortexes now, increase speed." He turned to Nashville and ordered the same. She nodded her head.

The fleet of Siren aircraft was slowly thinning out, and even then, at best it had only provided an annoyance due to the hard work and professional marksmanship of Hornet, Denver, and Nashville. And no more submarines had been able to break through the human defenses from the sky. Lusca was losing it's ability to target. It's tentacles were being tied into a knot. It was starting to figuratively sweat. It didn't want to resort to it's remaining tertiary weapon, if it came to that, the battle was already lost and it's purpose frustrated. It had to finish this quickly, but it only had one shot with it's presently damaged state. It's eyes in the sky saw the aircraft carrier get close to one of the other warships. This was it's chance.

Nashville yelled to get his attention over all the noise, "COMMANDER!"

"Y-yeah?"

"LOOOOK!" and she pointed ahead in their present course. A vortex was forming, too close to avoid, and it didn't look like it would do anything but get bigger.

Commander got very close to panicking and swearing. But he was able to shout into the radio, "Bogue! Get you rigging on and get aboard Nashville! Unless you have the speed to get out of a vortex like the one dead ahead!"

Bogue did as she was told and formed her rigging and was sailing towards Nashville as fast as she could. Unfortunately, Escort Carriers weren't known for speed. The hole in the ocean's surface widened so fast that she might not make it. Nashville entered the vortex at an angle to avoid doing a nosedive into Davy Jones's Locker. Bogue jumped for Nashville's hull at the very edge of the range presented by her superhuman strength, just as the section with her target railing slipped into the vortex's grasp. If she didn't make it here, she would die. Time flowed slowly for the pitcher and she reached out for the railing. She noticed that Denver was screaming over the radio. She saw that with her trajectory she couldn't make it. Only now, just before the end, did she start screaming in terror for her demise.

She pinged off the side of Nashville's hull, the railing outside her reach, her reflexes closing her eyes and the impact silencing her scream. It looked like this was the last game before Bogue's eternal retirement. For a split second, she was falling. For a split second, she was dying. Then suddenly, she felt a hand grasp her wrist from above. Her eyes flew open and were greeted with heterochromatic eyes with bladelike horns, "Indy!" cried Bogue, and her eyes turned a little further up and on the other end of Indianapolis's reach was a familiar battleship, "Nevada!"

Nevada shouted over the din of rushing water, "We got you, Bogue! Just don't look down!"

So, naturally she did. She wasn't aware of the depth of the ocean around these parts but right now, it looked like thousands of feet. She clenched her teeth to avoid screaming again and looked up. Nevada, who was grasping the rail with her own hand, was nearly parallel with Nashville's deck as she hung precarioulsy. How were they not dead yet?

When Nashville saw the vortex forming, she accelerated to flank speed. Her radar said that Bogue should still be close enough that she could make it. Nashville saw that the vortex was turning in a clockwise rotation, so she resolved to hit it on the port side and let it's own rotation add to her speed and hopefully break out in the first turn. She entered the vortex and immediately she lost control of her rudders, not that it mattered, she didn't need them right now. She piled on as much speed as she possibly could, taxing her powerplants to the cracking point, as she entered the vortex even deeper. She felt a ping off her hull, and guilt racked her. Bogue didn't make it. She would cry and mourn for the death of her comrade, but right now she was so focused on surviving that no sound exited her throat. She didn't hear Las Vegas making any noise either. If he fainted, she was totally going to kick his ass and never let him live this down, especially after all that big talk earlier. Surprisingly, a hand landed on her shoulder and clear as day, she heard her commander's voice say, "You got this. I trust you." More speed piled on, having been invigorated by Las Vegas. She could now feel Nevada and Indianapolis had Bogue in hand, which was especially relieving at this time when they were so close to falling into the vortex that both Nashville and her commander had propped themselves against the helm to avoid falling out of the bridge to their dooms. They made a full rotation when Nashville finally built up enough speed to shoot her way out of the vortex, which had stopped widening.

Nashville wouldn't have made it, if at this very moment, Bogue's three airplanes hadn't reached the blue hole and dropped their depth charges. They plopped into the water and made Lusca panic. Tentacles scrambled to catch the depth charges, but it's central processer had been damaged in the initial assault so that it automatically rerouted decision making to self-preservation over enemy destruction. It's "concentration" broke and it's one and only vortex stopped accelerating. It finally managed to throw the depth charges down the side caves where it wouldn't kill it, but it could see, through it's last couple eyes in the sky that the target had escaped. Anger overcame the machine. This was the last straw. Time to make an appearance. The hardened tentacles holding it to the side of the blue hole retracted and started to climb upward, to the light.

Nashville's bow rose entirely out of the water as it came out of the vortex and in a giant splash it came back into the ocean, where it belonged. She let out a huge sigh and she felt Nevada, Indianapolis, and Bogue climb back onto her hull. She found that Eldridge was fine too, having stayed where she was since the beginning of the battle. Denver had just managed to down the last airplane in the sky. Looking up showed pinpricks of high-altitude Mitchell bombers, along with the veritable swarm of Wildcats from Hornet and Avengers from Bogue. The battle was pretty much theirs except for Lusca itself.

A few seconds of tentative silence passed when Nashville's radar picked up something from the north. She declared, "Lusca is coming out of the hole! It's…standing on land?!" She found that she could confirm with her own eyes, they had drifted so close to land during the battle, storm, and vortex. It looked like a mechanical shark sitting on top of a horde of tentacles. Not too surprising given the scouting a few days back.

Commander picked up the intercom's microphone one last time and said, "Sorry for the wait, Indianapolis and Nevada, but the monster is finally showing it's face. Get out there and show it what for! Bogue, you're back on sub duty, but don't stray too far."

These three jumped ship and got into position as fast as they could. Their riggings dissolved into hulls in what felt like seconds. Just then a great mechanical sounding roar tore through the air in their direction from Lusca. It seemed to hope to scare them off. Fat chance of that. Everyone got into a position that formed a line allowing all broadsides to point to the superweapon.

"Open fire!" ordered Commander over the radio. Every gun in the line roared right back as it fired toward their quarry. Still on the radio Commander said to Hornet, "Now's a good time for a Doolittle Raid part two."

"Copy that Magician. They're beginning their bombing runs now."

He now turned to his friend as gave his final order for the battle, "Continuous fire. And when it finishes charging let it have raining fire."

Before the first volley could hit, Lusca stood up a little straighter and it's tentacles that were still in the blue hole started to soak up and compress water. Time for the final attack, just like it was programmed. It's shark mouth opened to reveal it's final weapon, one that had evaded all knowledge. It was a high-pressure water cannon. It had a range well beyond what it's enemies were at now and it could slice through steel easily. But it only had one shot left before getting obliterated. It tried to reason the most likely effective target at stopping it's enemies. The battleship's forward magazine, an explosion that large in a formation so tight would certainly help Lusca, or at least avenge it.

Indianapolis felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, a big attack was coming so she said to nobody in particular, "…? It's my turn? Got it." And a familiar hexagonal lattice of light appeared to shield the fleet. A few seconds later, what looked like a beam shot out from Lusca towards Nevada.

What was immediately identified as a jet of water only stopped against the shield for a second before Nevada could tell it was for her, she said, "Hmph. You are still way off." Her own skill activated just as Indianapolis's shield broke. The jet sliced through Nevada's hull and she doubled over in pain, but it wasn't so bad because she could brace for it. It was also helped by her ability that greatly reduced damage taken to her. She now understood why Las Vegas had that feeling to ask her over West Virginia. West Virginia couldn't have taken the beating without blowing up because her ability adds to her firepower, not her armor.

The first salvo hit Lusca and it doubled over, nearly destroyed. This was it's final moments before going offline. It couldn't help but wonder in a moment of complete sentience for a machine, "Where do I go after I die?" The second salvo bolstered by the fleet's abilities that augmented firepower and Hornet's bombing run buckled the superweapon and made it's reactor overload. It exploded in a brilliant display of light and a massive concussion that shook the whole fleet.

Before any cheers could start Commander all but yelled into the radio, "I want damage reports now! Bogue?"

"Air-fleet almost depleted. We should get to home base as fast as possible."

"Acknowledged. Nevada?"

"Major hull breach, taking on water. I'll need help to get my rigging out of the water. But I'll make it."

"We'll get help right over. Indianapolis?"

"Undamaged…moving to Nevada."

"Thanks. Denver?"

"Undamaged. That was crazy."

"Agreed. Eldridge? Are you there?"

"…Sleepy, but okay."

"Hornet, how are things on your end?"

"My air fleet is mostly out of fuel and will have to be dumped in the ocean, but I'm undamaged."

"Better the planes than you. Alright everyone, great job. Get back aboard Nashville and we'll slip out of here before more submarines or aircraft swarm the place."

Only now did he turn to his friend, Nashville. She was quivering. He held out his arms just a bit as a gesture for her to come give him a hug. He could tell she wanted one. She complied and once she was there in his embrace he asked, "Are you okay, Nashville?"

"I'm undamaged sir," and she paused as she cried tears of relief. She started again, "We did it. We did it."

Tears came to his own eyes. He replied softly, "Yeah, we did. I think we can pull this mission off."

She nodded against his shoulder. No more words needed to be said. So, the duo passed the time in solitude in each other's arms as they waited for the fleet to get back.

I won't lie to you; this was the hardest chapter to write so far. But it's my favorite, without a doubt. I know that a whole lot happened in this chapter, but I couldn't find a place where I was comfortable to divide this into a two parter without seriously messing up the tone of the next chapter. Tell me. What worked? What didn't? I'm still open to recommendations for folkloric sea monsters by the way. I've only gotten one recommendation so far. But I see a few comments so let's get on to those.

Hey there SomeRand0m. It's nice to see you again. No problem for responding. I feel that responding to you (the readers) encourage greater participation in the story. Also, if an author replied to my comment it would make me feel great, so I return the favor. Improving Las Vegas's relations with the ship girls is a lot of fun for me to write and it's looking to get even better real soon. Nashville's reactions are probably my favorite thing in the writing process. I mean, it's something else, let me tell you, to have a character form in your head and then take shape in words. Bismarck and Enterprise or going to be pretty hardcore when they come up. They are both legendary in real life, so they are appropriately OP in-game. I appreciate your understanding with the romance aspect of my story. Nashville is elite rarity. Or at least, that's what I decided when I got her character together. Thanks for loving the story. I intend to keep it up. And sorry for the long delay for the chapter. This chapter is more than twice the length of the first.

Hey Zander22122, I'm glad you commented. I won't say much about your comment, but I just think that another OC kansen story is a great idea. I'd love to see it. Maybe in the future?

Well, it's late again where I am so I'm going to cut it off here. Take care friends. If you are having a bad day I hope it gets better, and if you are having a good day I hope it gets even better.