Chapter 40: What Wash Was Up Too...
North Carolina class battleship Washington pursed her lips, staring up at the brilliant crescent moon. Night was not a battleship's natural element. True, she'd earned her moment of glory under the cover of darkness, but even with her exhaustive suite of advanced radar, she couldn't hope to claim she owned the night.
At best, she merely rented it, sneaking the odd scrap from the banquet table of the night's true owners. Submarines. With no airplanes to spot them from above, nor light to detect their surfaced hulls, Submarines were as at home in the dark of night as they were in the dark of the depth.
Ever since Jersey's convoy left for Japan, the Abyssals had stepped up their efforts, including their submarine patrols. It'd gotten so bad that Williams simply couldn't afford the several hours it took Wash to steam up the Puget Sound and down the coast to wherever she was needed.
Which was why the battleship was out steaming lazy circles around an imaginary anchor point twenty miles off the coast of her namesake state. She could be anywhere between the Strait of Juan de Fuca and the port of Astoria inside of two hours if she had to be.
It was a rather boring assignment most of the time. She'd spend endless hours sailing in random circles while she tried as hard as she could not to think about submarines. It'd be hard enough to spot a Mark 14 in this gloom, let alone one of the bubble-less Japanese fish.
But tonight… the big battleship wasn't scared at all. Crowning and his team of slightly-crazy sailors might not have produced another battleship, but they'd delivered her a clutch of adorable escorts of her own.
"Hear anything?" asked Wash, her hands resting loosely on her hips as she threw her rudder over.
The diminutive form of DE-635, USS England held up a finger as she glided to a stop. Her button nose was scrunched up, and concentration oozed from her doll-like features a she focused on the sounds coming though her over sized SONAR headphones. The girl held one tiny hand against her earpiece, pressing it tight against her ear to make sure she caught every little sound.
Wash smiled at the little girl. Her first few weeks back as girl had been terribly lonely, but it was all worthy it for the lovely company she'd been graced with.
Finally, England pulled her headset up, her turbines humming to life as she caught up to her flagship. "We're good," she said, her cheeks puffing into a smile as her little chest swelled with pride. "Not even a whale!"
"Aww nuts." Wash's other escort, the far more precocious but equally adorable USS Boriemade an exaggerated scowl, one of her little fists resting against the pocket knife she wore on her gunbelt.
Wash smiled, reaching out to ruffle the hair of both her escorts. "Now now, you'll have your chance at action."
England shrugged, her oversized coat dragging behind her as she steamed a lazy course in a generally cuddle-wards direction. Meanwhile, Borie made finger-guns at random patches of ocean, complete with obligatory "pew pew" sound effects.
Wash laughed. It was good to be with friends, even if she did miss her sister so.
"Washington, this is Cominch" the tightly-wound voice of an Everett operations chief rattled though the battleship's radio room.
"Go for Washingtion," replied the battleship, instinctively resting two fingers against her ear for no readily apparent reason.
"Astoria's under attack," the voice slipped into cold, soulless rote as it rattled off the details of an attack in progress, "One, possibly two dreadnauts plus escorts. They're requested heavy gun support."
"Copy," said Washington, glancing at the 'GPS' on her 'phone' and doing a quick bit of mental arithmetic. "Making for Astoria at best possible speed. Eta two hours."
She signaled her escorts to form up on her as she threw her rudder hard over. Her turbines roared into life as she spooled up to her full twenty-eight knot sprint. "Will we have air cover?"
"Air Force is scrambling Vipers, but…" A resigned sigh, "They can't see shit in this light."
Wash scowled. She was a gunfighter, but she'd seen enough Carrier Air Groups in action to realize the awesome power of a proper airborne strike. She solely wished she had proper backup from above.
But she had her duty to do regardless.
"England," said Wash, glancing at the slow little Destroyer Escort.
"Mmm?" the little girl stared back at Wash with enormous sea-green eyes.
"I'm sorry, kiddo," said Wash, her five knot advantage already starting to build up distance, "Divert back to Everett. The coasties will escort you back."
"Okay," mumbled the little Destroyer Escort. Her shoulders slumped like half-filled sandbags at the thought of leaving her charge, but she didn't try and deviate from her course home.
"I'll nab one for ya!" cheered Borie, waving her little knife so energetically she almost dropped it in the inky-black water.
"Borie?" asked Wash with a smiling sigh.
"Yeah, boss?"
"Are you planning on stabbing a dreadnought?"
"No?" Borie shrugged, "But, you know… if the opportunity arises…"
Wash shot her a look, and the destroyer sheepishly put her knife away, mumbling something about "better than those fish…"
—|—|—
Wash heard the battle before she saw it. The rolling thunder of heavy guns ripple-firing rumbled though the still night air like an angry drumbeat. It mixed with the equally-thunderous sounds of shore-batteries, the crash of shells exploding against water and shore alike, and the occasional scream of "YASEN!"
Borie smiled a grin that seemed—somehow—to consist of nothing but razor-sharp canines as she stared in the general direction of the battle. Luckily, she glanced to Wash for permission before she bolted off to torpedo something.
"Stay tight on me," said Wash, squinting into the blackness as she tried to make sense of the muddled mess of radar returns she was getting. At this distance, all she could gather from the chaotic muck was that there were ships out there.
Which she knew already.
She couldn't break radio silence to contact the local fleet. Not without giving away her position. Direction-finding loops were a thing after all even in the forties. And even giving away her existence could cost her the precious element of surprise.
Luckily, this wasn't the forties. The battleship fished her phone out of her pocket and tapped in the lock code with her free hand. She still hadn't gotten the hang of typing on the featureless screen, but she could work the morse keyboard almost as fast as she could an actual key.
It took her all of a few seconds to get in touch with the local naval authorities, and a scant few more for her call to be bounced to the flotilla leader.
"Yo, Name's Maya," A surprisingly relaxed voice spoke over the rumble of gunfire, "Nice to-"
"YASEN!" screamed another voice.
"SENDAI! For the fuck of fucking fuck! I'm on a call!"
Wash blinked. "Maya, this is USS Washington," the battleship endeavored to keep her demeanor calm and professional in the face of such a battle-weary cruiser. "I'm here to assist."
"Gotcha," Maya grunted, and Wash heard a number of splashed that sounded like shells landing far to close for comfort. "Me 'n the girls knocked out the escorts, but there's one dread left, and we're all fresh outta fish."
Wash nodded, staring out into the soup of gloomy night and blazing muzzle flashes. She was almost close enough to get a good firing solution, but on what. She couldn't see well enough to distinguish friend from foe, and the battleship refused to have more friendly blood on her hands.
"Be advised," said Wash, "I can't acquire a target."
"Don't you have that fancy radar shit?"
"I do," said Wash, bristling internally at her top-of-the-line radar-assisted fire control being derided as 'radar shit.' "But it can't tell friend from foe."
"Heh, is that all?" Maya grunted as yet another volley bracketed her far too close for comfort. The heavy cruiser didn't seem that upset however, "Just tell us when you're in position and we'll illium that fucker."
Wash scowled. Using one's searchlights in a night battle was asking to be shot out of the water, especially if one as already being bracketed. "Illuminating at that range? Is that safe?"
"Eh, probably not. But Yasen-Baka-"
"Yasen!"
"-lives for that shit. Just give the word, Washington."
Wash nodded. One eye was glued to her radar as she steamed in, watching the range data plummet as she closed the distance to her ignorant prey. Ten thousand yards… nine… eight… seven… six….
"Now!"
"Light 'em up!"
Searchlights from a half-dozen ships erupted to life, bathing the Abyssal dreadnought in light. Every detail of its twisted carapace was on display, its six turrets skewed at every angle as they focused on every shipgirl at once. Its towering masts shown like polished bone in the manmade glow, and its stacks belched sickly black smoke.
Just looking at the horrid thing made Wash's stomach churn, but she had the advantage. While it struggled to bring its turrets to bear, hers were already within degrees of a perfect solution. Her guns were loaded, her solution perfected, her target was showing a fat broadside.
At this range, she simply couldn't miss.
"FIRE!" bellowed the battleship, her nine 16in/45s barking their thunderous reply. The massive Mark 8 rounds tore though the dreadnought's belt armor like it was tissue paper, burrowing deep into the citadel before exploding.
Great gouts of flame erupted from the dreadnought's superstructure, and Wash's secondaries opened fire, hosing down every exposed surface with high-exposive rounds.
While Wash reloaded her main batteries, Borie sprinted ahead, adding her torpedoes into the mix while her little four inch guns blasted away at anything that looked shootable. Wash even swore she heard the tiny ting of a pocketknife bouncing against battleship armor.
The dreadnought, already slowed by the damage Wash's first salvo had incurred, couldn't maneuver fast enough to avoid the spread of torpedoes. Two of them were duds, bouncing off the hull with an infuriating clang!. But the rest stuck true.
Geysers rippled down the dreadnought's side as its torpedo bulges were torn open by more explosive than they were ever intended to handle. The twisted abomination of a ship slumped to the side as water poured into her.
Wash felt her main guns slam back into battery. She had nine more rounds to deliver, and she refused to allow the Abyssal warship to remain afloat. Not after firing on her homeland.
She folded her arms, letting her guns speak as one. The deadly chorus of American Steel thundered over the ocean, crating the water with their voices.
The first hit sealed the Abyssal's fate. A single 2700 pound shell burrowed its way into the dreadnought's after magazine, touching off an explosion that tore the ship almost in half. The next eight merely removed any glimmer of doubt.
The dreadnought was denied even the privilege of sinking gracefully. A boiler explosion and detonation of the amidships magazine tore what was left of the ship into unrecognizable shrapnel. In an instant, the ship simply ceased to be, leaving nothing behind but a slick of burning oil at the mouth of the Columbia river.
Wash smiled. Tonight had not been a boring night.