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Chapter 6: The Summoning

"You're late," said Williams, his stern gaze seeming all the sterner framed by his crisp white uniform. His gloved hands were folded behind his back. His chest adorned with row after row of medals earned from sixteen months of desperate war.

"S-sorry, sir," panted Yeoman Gale, her chest heaving as she tried to force wind back into her vacant lungs. "We-" she held a hand up, begging for another moment.

"Truck broke down," said Jersey, looking not the slightest bit out of breath. If not for the blond braid hanging down past her waist, and the steel in her icy blue eyes, Williams could almost have mistaken her for an ordinary officer. Albeit, a very tall, quite shapeless one.

Gale nodded, stuffing her cover back on as she panted to attention.

"Think, uh… it was my fault," said Jersey, scuffing one of her white dress shoes against the floor. The soles were covered in muck, but there wasn't much anyone could do about that now. "Sorry, sir."

"We had-" gasped Gale, "To run- All the way here."

"Tailor's can't be more than…" Williams' narrowed his eyes by a fraction, mentally recalling the area layout, "Two-three miles away."

"Fitting," said Gale. Her voice was still shaky, but at least she had enough wind in her to speak, "The fitting took longer than we'd, uh, then we'd thought."

"Yeah…" Jersey bit her lip idly fiddling with the hilt of her dress sword, "that's my fault too." She glanced down at the medal-covered swell of her not-insubstantial bust.

"Commander?" Williams glanced between the two women—or woman and battleship— and put on his most Admiraly 'i'm waiting for an explanation. Give it before I order one' face.

"The, uh, Tailor," said Jersey, absent-mindedly fiddling with the medals on her chest, "didn't expect a BB to come back with double-"

Gale elbowed her in the flank. Hard.

"Oh!" Jersey's face went red, "Yes, uh, sir. Um… yeah," she glanced down at where her hands were. "Shit," her hands snapped to her side.

Williams let out a long-suffering sigh, "Gale?"

"Sir?"

"What do I pay you for?"

Jersey glanced wordlessly between the two sailors, trying her very hardest to just fade.

"Uh…" Gale was all but frozen in place by the Skipper Stare. "You mean my standing orders, sir?"

Williams nodded.

"To keep 'sparkly magical ship-girl bullshit off my desk.' Sir."

Williams nodded again, motioning for her to continue.

"Sorry, sir." Gale's hand snapped up in salute. "Won't happen again, sir."

"Understood, Sailor," said Williams, returning the salute and motioning for her to continue into the summoning chamber.

Jersey watched her go without a word. The battleships' lips were pursed, and a vein in her neck pulsed as she flexed and un-flexed her jaw. For a moment, she didn't say anything, only the subtle tension in her uniform betraying that she was breathing at all.

Then she pivoted to face him, her weight rotating on her heel like it was a polished bearing. Her eyes were wide, almost pleading as she looked to him, her body coiled to respond the second he gave the word.

It wasn't quite the puppy-dog eyes the destroyers gave him, but it was close enough for Williams to feel a migraine building up steam in his skull.

"Yes, Jersey?"

"It… it really was my fault," said Jersey. She sniffed, scrunching up her nose as she blinked back the first hint of a tear. "If- if I hadn't slept in late, if I wasn't so…" she trailed off, staring resignedly at her shoes. "I failed you," she said, her voice almost too quiet to be heard. "I'm the one who should be punished."

Williams huffed, clicking his tongue against his teeth in thought. "Jersey, look at me."

The battleship looked up, her icy blue eyes locked on his.

"You came back when we needed you," said Williams, "You got here just under the wire. You haven't failed me."

"Sir," Jersey stood a little straighter.

"Now get in there and let's summon you a friend."

"Aye Aye, Sir!" said Jersey, a ghost of a smile creeping back over her face.

—|—|—

Jersey felt her mouth fall open as she stepped though the double-doors to the so-called 'summoning chamber'. Other than a walkway around the edges, and a single narrow causeway going out to the exact center, the floor was open to the sea. Rows upon rows of flickering candles lined the walls, casting flickering reflections off the salty sea below.

Tapestries hung from the rafters. Some were decorated with stylized renderings of warships at sea. Others had inscriptions Jersey couldn't read, but somehow the far end of the room, an enormous 48 star flag—Jersey recognized it as the one she'd flown in battle— was on proud display.

"That's Old-English."

Jersey glanced over. She hadn't even noticed Professor Crowning walk over, looking very fancy in his suit and skinny blue tie.

"On the tapestries," said Crowning, waving at the hanging sheets of canvas, "We had a bunch like them hanging off you."

Jersey gave him a confused look.

"Back before you were… uh… you." Crowning drummed his fingers against the railing, looking out into the candlelit water. "They're, uh… they're made from the sails of the Constitution."

Before he could explain further, a barrel-chested Marine in full dress blues stomped the butt of his rifle against the walkway. "Ah-TEN… SHUN!" he barked, his hand snapping up in perfect military salute.

Jersey didn't even register that she'd snapped to. She simply realized she was standing at full attention, her hand held to her brow like her life, her crew-her very soul depended on it.

Somewhere to her right, she heard Williams step forwards. Each footstep came in perfect time with the last, his shoes clicking off the walkway as he moved with supernatural grace towards along the central causeway. Step. Step. Step. Jersey swore her heart was beating in time.

Finally he stopped. His right hand swept up to meet the brim of his cover. His left came down, barely kissing the hilt of his sword.

"Spirits of the deep," he said, his voice calm, yet thunderously loud. "Beneath this sea lies the body of American warriors. Ships and sailors who gave their last measure of devotion to the Constitution, and to the country that they loved. Spirits who now rest in glory."

Jersey felt eyes flicker towards her, watching for any sign of a reaction. She didn't move a muscle, she barely even breathed.

"Spirits," continued Williams, his body still at rigid salute, "whose rest we must disturb. Spirits we call to action once again in-"

The sound of a gaping yawn cut though the summoning room like an armor-piercing shell, echoing off the walls and only building in intensity with each bounce. Every eye in the building swiveled to locate the source.

Jersey's eyes were inhuman wide, her face beet red as she tried to physically muscle her mouth closed, the other still held up at full attention.

Williams glared at her, even her twenty-inch turret armor melting to slag under the force of her gaze.

"Sorry," she said, her voice very small and quiet after the force of her yawn. "S-sorry."

—|—|—

Jersey hadn't said a word since the incident at the summoning chamber. Even when Gale suggested visiting the Mess Hall to capitalize on Italian night the battleship hadn't offered more than a non-committal grunt.

Even then, she'd taken her food with the quietest of acknowledgements, shuffled over to the remotest table she could find, and hunched her back to make herself as small as her towering frame would allow.

Plus, she had three plates of lasagna sitting in front of her—not one of which had been licked clean. For a battleship, that was practically 'not eating.'

"It's… it's not your fault, you know," said Gale, balancing her own tray on one arm as she pulled a seat out.

Jersey glanced up, her eyes bleary and oozing utter despair. She sniffed, rubbing her nose with the end of her blue t-shirt.

"We've done that a hundred times," said Gale, dropping her tray down next to Jersey and sitting down. "Never worked before."

Jersey slumped forwards, her head falling against the table with a loud clunk of metal-on-metal.

Gale glanced over her shoulder. Technically, she was skirting regs by even being in the officers' mess. But.. damn it, she was supposed to look after the battleship, and she'd be damned if she left her to cry her eyes out alone. "Hun?" she said, reaching out to gently pet the girl's braid.

Jersey mumbled something very quiet.

"White should be back soon," said Gale, reaching across the table to stroke the battleship's head. "I'm.. I'm sure she'd be happy to see you."

Jersey shook her head. "Not today."

Gale paused, trying to make sense of that. "Jersey? I don't-" She stopped mid-sentence. Fuck. FUCK FUCK FUCK! October 25th. The Battle Off Samar.

Jersey's mouth twisted up in a sad imitation of a smile. "There you go… destroyers and carriers getting slaughters, and where was I? Where was I?" she hissed, her voice dripping venom, "the world wonders."

"Jersey, you-"

"I was sitting on my ass!" snapped the battleship, her hand slamming down against the table hard enough to make her plates jump. "Eating my own shit while those destroyers fought like lions."

"That's the past," said Gale, forcing herself not to flinch in the face of an angry, self-hating woman with guns bigger than she was. "You're back now. With us."

Jersey scowled, "Yeah? Look what good I fucking did." She threw herself to her feet, piling her dishes up with a rattle of plastic bouncing against plastic. "I'll be in my rack."

—|—|—

"We've gotta be missing something," said Williams, running his hands though his short, slowly-graying hair as he slouched down into his office chair. "Drink?"

Crowning shook his head, "Not after that." He sighed, looking over the row of delicate model ships decorating the Admiral's bookshelf. "She's pissed, you know."

"Who, Jersey?"

Crowning nodded. "Barely ate a thing, then stormed off to her room. She thinks she failed you."

Williams took a long breath, balling his hands into fists then slowly relaxing the muscles. "Hell… it was along shot at best. The Brits've been doing that exact same ritual for months. New boat every time."

"I know," said Crowning, slouching into a chair opposite the Admiral, "did the same thing on Jersey." He paused. "The, uh… the ship. Even had Victory on hand to make sure we did it right."

For a few long minutes, both men said nothing. Each stared off into the middle distance, wracking their brains for something, anything to work with.

Crownings' eyes went wide, and the corner of his mouth twitched upwards in an unbidden smile. "No they haven't."

"Doc?"

"The British don't mention the constitution, why would they," said Crowning, suddenly pacing frantically though the room.

"Yeah…" Williams nodded, motioning for the professor to get to the next point in his logical argument.

"Their summoning, they say all that 'for queen and country' rhetoric, right?"

"It's the same thing," said Williams, rubbing at his temples, "The monarch hasn't had real power for centuries. She just… she symbolizes the country. A figurehead. Constitution's gotta be close an analogue."

—|—|—

Jersey rolled over onto her belly, fumbling for the slender plastic cell phone the Navy'd been kind enough to issue her. She'd left it sitting on her bedside table out of confusion, and now the stupid thing was buzzing up an angry storm at her.

She liked to consider herself tech-savvy—she had been fitted with missiles and modern electronics in the 80's after all— but this twenty-first century stuff was just… far beyond her.

After a few minutes of angry fiddling, and about a third of her more profane vocabulary, she'd managed to unlock the goddamn thing. Alongside the mess of jewel-like buttons, she finally found one with a little red message box next to it.

A text message. Jersey sighed. This, she could deal with.

Sarah Gale said: "Hey, a few of us are gonna watch Top Gun with White. She wants to know if you'll join us."

—|—|—

Crowning stared at the map covering one wall of the Admiral's office, letting his mind wander as his eyes tracing out every one of the little navigational lines and notes. "Only it's not," he muttered, more to himself than anyone.

"Pardon?"

"The Constitution and the Queen," said Crowning, tapping his finger at the little island that was England. "You said the queen gave up power a few centuries ago."

"More or less, yeah," said Williams, suddenly on his feet, the gears of his mind ticking over one in furious sequence.

"For us that's a long time," said Crowning, "But for them…" he frantically tapped on the map, "But… but England as we know it started… what, 1066? That's almost a thousand years of history where the monarch was the country. And it's an island."

Williams nodded, motioning for the professor to continue.

"Britannia Rules the waves," said Crowning, his eyes wide as she smiled from ear to ear. "Up until… what, the forties? They were the naval power on this planet."

Williams nodded again crossing his arms as he stared at the map, "Just like Japan, their Navy's their shield."

"And their sword."

"Get to the point, Doc."

—|—|—

Jersey wrapped her knuckles against the laminated wood door, balancing a six-pack against the crook of her hip. It was the only familiar looking can she could find at the PX. Hopefully it'd be enough to make up for her shitty attitude earlier.

"'s open!" said something though a mouthful of popcorn.

Jersey opened the door with her free hand, ducking under the lintel with a humble little smile. "Hey. I, uh, brought booze."

The room itself was about the size of Jersey's, though there was a second bed where Jersey had a desk. Inside was at least a dozen men and women, some in uniform, the others in shorts, jeans, or even sweatpants.

Seated at the very front, facing the biggest television Jersey'd ever seen in her life, and surrounded by a small army of tiny faeries in minuscule leather jackets, was the only-slightly-less-tiny form of White Plains.

"Hey, Jersey!" said Gale, waving from the far side of the room, "Just sit wherever there's room."

Jersey got all of three steps in before a tiny escort carrier just appeared in front of her. She felt White's hands close around her waist, the tiny carrier nuzzling Jersey's tummy as she hugged with all her strength.

"I missed you," she said, her eyes huge as she beamed up at the battleship.

Jersey wiped at her face, suddenly very happy she had her aviators on.

—|—|—

"The point is," said Crowning, his words frantically tumbling out one after another, "Is we can't just- we can't just summon them to duty and expect them to come! Especially if we don't need them."

Williams narrowed his eyes, "Doctor, if the Abyssals own the sea, our allies-"

"Yes, our allies!" said Crowning, slapping his hand against the map. "If we loose the sea, we'll be fine. We've got-" he waved frantically at the map representation of North American, "We've got enough natural wealth to supply ourselves fifty times over."

Crowning stepped back running his hands though what hair he had left. Words poured into his mind in a glorious epiphany. "But Britain? Japan? The only countries to summon spirits?"

"Holy shit," breathed Williams.

Crowning nodded, his head flopping up and down with unbridled enthusiasm. "Their girls came because they were needed. Because no one else could help but a spirit. Ours? We can't summon them in our hour of direst need because that hour hasn't come yet."

"Ah, hell," Williams scowled, "If this war isn't theirs, how do we get them to fight?Especially since they've damn well earned their rest."

"We have to…" Crowning smiled, breathlessly pacing from one corner of the office to the other, "We have to recruit them."

—|—|—

Two minutes. White had gotten all of two goddamn minutes into Top Gun before she was reduced to utterly unintelligible gibbering and frantic vibrations of unbridled glee. Jersey had to use all her strength and coordination as a battleship to keep the tiny carrier from falling clean off her lap.

"Didyouseethat!" screamed White, holding her arms out like an airplane, then slowly sweeping them back in imitation of an F-14 Tomcat. "Theydon'tevenhaveprpoellersbutstilltheygo," she puckered her lips, "FOOOOOOOOSH!" she screamed. "THIS IS SO AWESOME!"

"Just wait," said Gale, throwing a handful of popcorn at the carrier. "It gets better."

"How could it-" And then White's jaw dropped. On the screen, an F-14—a forty-thousand pound fighter, if Jersey recalled correctly—was bodily hurled into the air by a mighty steam catapult like it was nothing more than a child's toy.

The very same instant, the soft, melodic ballad of the Top Gun Anthem was replaced by a roaring rock anthem. A few sailors started air-guitaring, and Jersey had to restrain herself from following suit. On her last cruise, every sailor aboard had seen this movie at least one. But now… seeing it with her own eyes… Jersey was starting to feel things she'd never felt before.

"Revving up your engine, listen to her howl and roar!" sang every single person in the room, USS White Plains excepted. Even Jersey's roaring contralto wasn't strong enough to drown them all out.

"EEEEEEE!" White was reduced to a screech of pure glee.

Jersey laughed, holding White's waist to keep her from falling off her lap. Then it hit her, some absent thought tickling the furthest corner of her mind. "Hey… Gale?"

The Yeoman looked over, her smile positively glowing as she rocked out to the guitar solo. "Yeah?"

"Doesn't… Naka have a guitar?"

Gale thought for a second, "Yeah. She or her band, yeah."

Jersey smirked.

—|—|—

The phone on William's desk rang. Not just any phone, The phone. The definite article. The bright-blue phone that was only to be called in—to use the Admiral's own words—the case of sparkly shipgirl bullshit.

"Williams," barked the Admiral, almost ripping the phone from its cradle.

"Sir, Yeoman Gale here," came a frantic voice. "You, uh… you should get everyone down to the summoning chamber."

Williams didn't think twice, snapping his fingers at his aide, "Get every MP we have down there ASAP-"

The aide saluted before scurrying off to fulfill the order.

"Gale, what exactly is going on?"

"I, uh… I don't know, sir," said Gale, "Jersey just ordered me to get everyone to meet her there. And…"

"And what, Yeoman?"

"And then she ran off with White. And, uh… they were both giggling."

—|—|—

The phone hadn't even hit the floor by the time Williams sprinted though the door.

Jersey cradled the guitar, running her hands up the fretboad and lazily plucking at the strings. It was the first time she'd held one. But—in between the moments of sheer pant-shitting terror—deployment at sea was a painfully boring experience. Sailors had to find ways to pass the time, and she'd had plenty of sailors aboard her.

"You sure this is a good idea?" said White, playing with a wireless microphone Naka'd been kind enough to loan.

"You'll do fine," said the torpedo cruiser, tactfully turning the microphone around.

"Just rock your little heart out," said Jersey, plucking a few experimental chords. "Naka, how do I sound?"

The Idol gave a thumbs up before disappearing behind her laptop.

Jersey took a breath as she stared out into the summoning chamber. Sailors and MPs were slowly filtering in, but so far no one'd risked the narrow causeway to reach Jersey and White. Come on, come on thought Jersey, her eyes narrowing as she scoured the crowed for any sight of her Admiral.

"Look, there he is!" said White, waving frantically with her microphone.

"Alright," said Jersey, her smirk graduating to a full-on shit-eating grin. Her hands ran over her guitar with practiced precision, strumming out the three notes everyone in the Navy knew. bum bum bum BUMBUM

—|—|—

Darkness. Peace. Calm.

That was her existence now. A warm, peaceful rest. The sea wrapped around her like a blanket, warm with the knowledge that she'd done her duty.

She'd fought like a wildcat, she'd gone down without a shell in her magazine or torpedo in her tubes.

She'd served with honor.

She'd died with valor.

She rests in glory.

She'd forgotten what it was like to sail. The crash of salt against her bow, the pounding of waves against her hull were nothing but dreamy, half-remembered feelings in the rearmost part of her mind.

She'd almost forgotten what it was like to fight.

Almost.

General Quarters

The call echoed though her hull. Machinery stirred to life that hadn't moved—hadn't even existed—in decades.

General Quarters

She heard a voice. No, voices. Hundred, at least, begging her to return.

It was coming back to her. A fight against overwhelming odds. A fight she wasn't expected to survive.

But she fought. Like **hell* did she fight. She charged straight into the danger zone without a moment's hesitation.

She'd only wanted to do what damage she could. To make her captain proud. To down swinging.

And she'd sent the Japanese fleet running with their tail between their legs.

She and her two sisters.

General Quarters.

She smiled. Not one step back. Never a step back.

RETREAT HELL!

—|—|—

Jersey's hands flew over her keyboard, her body pulsing with the rhythm as she pounded out the notes with all the energy she could muster. Eight boilers hot, a quarter million shaft horsepower, and the biggest speakers Naka could rustle up.

"Highway to the-" White held her mic out to the crowd of sailors filling the railings to capacity.

"DANGER ZONE!" bellowed the crowd. Even Admiral Williams was begrudgingly getting invested.

And then the chamber went deathly silent. Every eye was fixed on the water.

Crowning squinted, leaning over the railing to get the best possible view at the new arrivals.

Three girls, all of them around junior-high age, stood on the water in a ragged V formation. They all wore the same outfit, although the girl on the left had added a feathery war-bonnet.

Each wore running shoes, blue pants rolled up to their knees, a chunky gun belt, and a sailor-top with the sleeves ripped off. They all had the same anchor tattoo on their sinewy bicep, and the same devil-may-cry smirk on their faces.

"Who are-?" Crowning glanced over to the nearest Sailor, a red-headed man who looked like he was seconds away from crying with glee.

Jersey leaped off the makeshift stage, landing on the water with a splash and running over to grab all three girls in a huge hug. "I missed you all so much!" she said, spinning around with the three girls in her arms.

Feather-girl grunted something in response, but it was too muffled by Jersey's chest to be audible.

"Um…" Jersey finally put them down, her face seemingly stuck in an enormous smile. "Everyone… I'd like you to meet Taffy 3."

"JOHNSTON!" screamed White, leaping off the stage to catch the feathered girl in a flying tackle.