Chapter 46: Damcon

Johnston glided to a halt alongside her bleeding sister, ignoring the flaming fuel oil licking at her hull as she tied herself off next to Heermann. Hoel could hose them down, and a little fire wouldn't hurt her while she…

The destroyer screeched to a halt. Her heart pounded in her ears as tears streamed down her face. She didn't know what to do. She… she knew how to effect damage control on a Fletcher class destroyer. Or at least her crew knew how to do it. Or did. Back when they were… were people. And she was steel, not a girl.

Johnston bit her lips, her cheeks puffing up as her hyperventilating breaths were trapped in her mouth. She didn't know what to do. She didn't know what to do! The destroyer looked over her wounded sister, her tiny hands wringing while Hoel hosed them both down with her firefighting gear.

Heermann was… she was in bad shape. Her legs just kinda… stopped at the knees. The tattered fabric of her torn up shorts blended in with the torn steel of her wrecked calves. Oil oozed from her body, firming rainbow swirls as it forced its way past water pouring into her hull.

Oh! Okay, Heermann was bleeding… Johnston gave a resolute nod. Bleeding she could deal with, she could fix this. She furiously tore at her neckerchief, her shaking hands got the knot on the third try. Okay, stop the bleeding… tourniquets. Those work right?

She fumbled the navy-blue fabric around her sister's bleeding let, twisting it up into the best knot she could remember while Hoel did the same on Heermann's other leg.

"C'mon, sis," pleaded Johnston. A stream of faeries sprinted down her arms, jumping over to the wounded Fletcher-class with welding tools, portable pumps, and every kind of damage-control gear she had in inventory.

"Please wake up," sniffed Hoel. Tears streamed down her face as she clung to her wounded sister, buoying her with her own hull to take the load off Heermann's torn bulkheads.

"'m…" Heermann mumbled something, her head lolling over as a wave crested over her messy ponytail. "Want… mama…" she whispered.

"Okay… okay," said Hoel, her faeries working triple time to lash the three Fletcher sisters together. "Jersey, Heermann-"

"Yeah, I know," came the battleship's curt response. She sounded almost out of breath, like she was sprinting as fast as her turbines would push her. "I'll be there in fifteen. Just… keep her talking, okay?"

"Okay," said Hoel, bending over to brush a chunk of sopping wet hair off Heermann's face. "It's okay, sis. Jersey's coming."

—|—|—

Destroyer Escort Samuel B Roberts wrung her hands in the pockets of her over sized field jacket, her huge russet-brown eyes bouncing between the spot beyond the horizon where she knew her friend was clinging to life and the much nearer spot where Akagi was recovering her planes.

The curvy flat-top didn't so much as glance in the tiny escort's direction. Her face was a portrait of concentration and focus as she steamed into the freezing wind. Her long hair billowed in the borderline-gale, a shimmering of black against the twilight sky.

Sammy didn't dare interrupt, even to ask if she could leave to check on her friend. Akagi was her carrier after all. She was on plane-guard duty, any pilot who missed the deck was her responsibility. The little destroyer escort didn't want to think about the poor fairies who plowed into the freezing Bearing sea swells. Just imagining it made the girl shiver all the way down to her keel.

"Hey," Fubuki pulled up abreast of the destroyer escort, her little ponytail whipping around in the Arctic wind.

Sammy almost leaped off the ocean surface when Fubuki broke her concentration. "Oh… uh, hi, Bucky."

Fubuki smiled before burrowing her face into her winter scarf. "I though you'd go running to your friend by now."

"I…" Sammy stopped, wiping at her ruddy nose with the back of her hand. The freezing cold wasn't doing anything to help her sniffles. "I want to, but-"

"But like… what?" asked Yuudachi with one of her trademark pois. "She's your friend, you should go."

"Yeah," said Fubuki, "We can help… Akagi-Sempai" the destroyer let out a dreamy sigh, her cheeks flushing red as her knees buckled under her.

Yuudachi looked at the special-type destroyer girl for a second. Then she shrugged and turned back to Sammy. "Don't worry, poi. We've done this before."

"Are-" Sammy glanced over her bow to where she knew her the other taffies were swarming around Heermann, "-Are you sure?"

This time, it was Akagi who spoke. "Go, Sammy," she said with a curt, focused breath. Her eyes never left the horizon as she guided her battered planes down onto her rolling deck, but Sammy could sense the warmth in the bigger girl's tone.

"Okaythanksmissakagi!" blurted the little destroyer escort, her pigtails streaming behind her as she rapidly accelerated all the way to flank.

—|—|—

Jersey scowled into the howling salt spray as her slender bow smashed though the frigid Bearing Sea waves. Tears fell from her eyes and boiled away to steam as they kissed her superheated skin. She was running her turbines flat out, her screws kicking up a tail of spray behind her as she sprinted to her wounded Fletchers.

She was a fast ship, the fastest every to bear the title of Battleship. But it wasn't enough. She wasn't fast enough to be there when her kids needed her, and she wasn't fast enough to be there to comfort Heermann after the little Fletcher got hurt.

Jersey let out a roar, water crashing around her as she slammed her foot into the surf. She wasn't fucking fast enough to help her beloved girls. They took the brunt because she wasn't fucking in position. A-fucking-gain.

And now she was throwing a hissy fit instead of doing something fucking useful to help her wounded kiddo. Fucking way to go, Jersey… The battleship scowled, tapping her fingers to her ear as her radio room got her admiral on the line. "Yo, Williams, you there?"

"That's afirm, Jersey," came the comforting gravel of her Admiral's voice, "What's the condition of the fleet."

"Mushi took a few hits, sir," said Jersey. The battleship grit her teeth, forcing herself to stay brutally on-focus, "But she's got it under control. Scattered damage on the rest of us, and Heermann's…" she trailed off, wiping a stray bit of salt off her cheekbone.

"Understood, Commander," was the surprisingly warm reply.

"Sir, we're pretty low on ammo here. We, uh…" Jersey shook her head, mentally shoving all of her worries off her plotting table and dropping a fresh set of logistics charts and maps in their place. "We're gonna have to stop over somewhere to resupply, and soon."

She paused, leaning over charts as she tried to pick out a safe harbor. "Hey, Adak Island's still populated in the future, right?"

"Sparsely, but yes, I'll let them know to expect you. Anything else?"

"One thing," said Jersey as she stepped down from full power. She didn't want to build up too harsh a wake, not around a destroyer as badly mangled as her Heermann, "There's a doc who looked after me in Japan, Major…" the battleship flipped though her logbook, "Solette. Mack Solette. Think you can get him to meet us?"

"I'll get him on a jet inside the hour, Jersey.

"Thank you, sir," said Jersey. Her relived smile didn't last long. She felt her face fall back into a sullen scowl as she saw the her three taffies floating together in the middle of a bloody oil slick.

Heermann was flanked by her two sisters, their hulls lashed to hers to support her while she slept. Sammy was there too, her eyes brimming with tears as she slowly circled the three destroyers, fire hose at the ready if any sudden sparks should land in the puddle of oil.

"Jersey," Johnston waved at the battleship. Her feathers were singed and her already-rumpled shirt was covered in oily bloodstains. "Hey," she ever so gently nudged her sisters' shoulder, "Hey, It's mama."

Jersey would've blushed beet red if her cheeks weren't already rosy from her sprint. "Hey, kiddo," she cooed, gently brushing the wounded girl's hair out of her face.

"Mmmm," mumbled Heermann, her mouth curling into an exhausted half-smile.

"It's okay," said Jersey in the most soothing voice she could manage, "We'll… we'll get you home safe. I promise."

—|—|—

Professor Crowning let out a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding. The drone footage wasn't the best, but it was enough. He… he never handled violence well, and watching Heermann bleed out like that was almost too much for him. "Gale."

The yeoman grunted, her half-finished cup of soup sitting forgotten in her hand as she stared transfixed at the images writ large on the bunker walls.

"Gale," said Crowning a bit more sharply than he'd intended.

"Yeah? Sorry, yeah?" The yeoman tore her eyes from the screen, meeting his with a sheepish half-smile. The kind of smile one puts on when one simply can't find any other way to deal with the situation one finds herself in.

"What, uh…" Crowning ran a hand though his beard, "What's going on?"

"You mean on the…" Gale waved to the screen.

"Yeah," said Crowning, pointedly not looking at said screen.

"They're uh…" Gale shrugged, the heavy fabric of her uniform creasing from the motion, "They're rigging Heermann up for a tow."

"Uh huh," Crowning stared back with a look of borderline comprehension.

"Right, uh…" Gale pursed her lips. "Okay… towing a ship's not like towing a car. Both hulls still have to stay buoyant, and if there's any holes in the hull…" Gale winced as she waved her half-finished cup of soup at the screen, "Like… the ones in Heermann's, the waves can batter them open. It's what sunk Kongou."

"Oh," Crowning nodded, his hands burrowing into the pockets of his pants, "Can't J just… carry Heermann?"

"What?"

"They're both girls," said Crowning. "Can't Jersey-" he held his arms out in a rough imitation of a bridal carry, "You know, carry her."

"No," said Gale with a shake of the head, "Because-" she stopped dead in her tracks. Her mouth hung open as her brows moved inwards by fractions. "Of… uh… reasons," she mumbled as she pushed her way deeper into the bunker, closer to the Admiral's position. "Uh, Sir?"

"Yeah?" Williams didn't look in her direction, but the slight tilt of the head was enough to indicate his attention was now solidly focused on the yeoman.

"What if Jersey carries her?"

"What?" Williams slowly pivoted on his heel to focus his attention on Gale.

"What if she carries Heermann," said Gale, pointing to where Crowning still had his hands out in bridal-carry position.

"Doc?" Williams shifted his attention to the professor. "Can they do that?"

"Probably?" said Crowning. "If they can ruffle each other's hair… Look, I'm no expert on ships, but it's gotta be better than trying to tow her though weather like that."

The Admiral nodded, his attention swinging back to the crowd of nervous sailors manning their consoles. "Jersey, what if you carry Heermann."

A pause.

"I can do that?"