Chapter 4: Retribution
No one who knew Yamagumo would have recognized her now. Not with the disappearance of her normally laid-back attitude; not with her actually attending briefings herself instead of sending Asagumo in her stead; and not with the cool-looking overcoat that was issued to the Surigao Strait striking force. And today, the day before the offensive begins, Yamagumo was at the workshop to give her rigging a final check after breakfast, mostly to ease her nerves.
Yamagumo herself is unsure what the catalyst for the change really was. It may have been during the initial operations brief months ago, but remembering how everyone, herself included, were simply despondent for about a week after that, she shrugs off the possibility that something just connected in her head during the brief. It may have been Haruna, who sprang back on the day itself and tried to improve morale with her standard, if not overused, "everything will be alright" rhetoric. Eventually though preparations began in earnest, although the specter of fate-relived hung ominously over the base.
"Now why is she always so chipper? It is no secret she is the Admiral's favorite," Yamagumo let her mind wander as she subconsciously went through the motions of the check. There was no chance of missing anything though – it had become second-nature by now, and Yamagumo could feel if the metal had tarnished or corroded, of if there was anything amiss, and she had given the equipment a thorough check the day before anyway.
Fragments of the brief trickled into her thoughts. Reports of PT-imps seen in maneuvers, abyssal carrier task forces amassing in the Philippine sea, and increased screening around abyssal convoys. Instructions stating that the fleet was to sortie through the night to rendezvous at Leyte by morning. Rumors of both sides cracking each other's comms (why else were abyssal strike groups congregating in a sector they secured a decade ago, Yamagumo thought) amongst whispers of a new wave of abyssal offensives that the liberation of the Philippines is meant to thwart. These ideas danced in her head, and tip-tap of their footsteps in the ballroom of her skull soon produced a throbbing headache.
She put her equipment down to take a break and a cup of water. In the stifling stuffiness of the workshop she was grateful that the Admiral had water coolers (top-end ones, at that) installed in most communal buildings and ensured that each one of them worked on a regular basis. She drank most of the cup and let the last bit of ice-cold trickle over her forehead to soothe the pounding – it helped, at the very least.
"Hmm, I wonder if the seafloor is this cold." Yamagumo remembers the pain of her sinking, her last coherent memory just before she slid into the depths and hopes sarcastically that the cold will numb the pain. But of course, she knows that the Nishimura fleet would have the upper hand this time. 3 months of training and who knows how long was spent planning should have prepared them for any form and series of engagement, and in her own skill and that of the fleet she places her trust.
She looks back at her equipment with a light smirk and sat down beside it. Despite her fear of night battles generally overcome in training, some apprehension remains. But her squad needs her as much as she needs them, and for the sake of duty she must, no, she will deliver.
With one hand caressing with the radar on the mainmast of her rigging, she crumpled the paper cup slowly with her other hand and broadened her smirk.
"I guess I need to get a biiit more serious", she mutters with an air of defiance. The night will be won, if not for humanity, but for the fleet, for her sisters, and for all of those she loves.