Chapter 67: Two of a Kind

White Plains wandered though the Yokosuka carrier dormitory with her chubby little face all but buried in the study fabric of her blouse. Her neckerchief tickled at her nose and her cheeks all but glowed red. She wasn't used to attention—of any kind. She was just an escort carrier, she did the boring jobs so real carriers could do real carrier things. The most she ever expected was a nod, maybe even a smile, from her Admiral. That alone made her glow with pride.

But now, every carrier White passed lavished her with praise and thanks. They bowed deeply to her, thanking her for 'saving their lives'. Jun'you even offered to share some of her 'secret stash.'

But White didn't think she could take much credit. She was just repeating what the Navy taught her crew after all. But every time a carrier complimented her, she spent too much time blushing to squeak out anything more than a timid "t-thanks" before the Japanese girl went on her way.

It was kinda annoying, actually. White wasn't used to this kind of attention. She was starting to miss Choukai. At least her shoulder was healing up nice and cleanly. She could barely even tell where the arrow had punched though her deck!

White smiled as she bounced down the stairs to the 'fleet carrier wing'. It was kinda a silly title for a building that housed all of two fleet carriers. The Japanese must've been really optimistic, but at least there was lot of space to for the other girls to hang out and relax between missions.

The little carrier deftly wove between the worktables—most of which were close to overflowing with model kits and paint bottles—and worked her way towards the only actual dorm room on this floor.

Even with all this space, Akagi and Kaga refused to have separate rooms. The way Houshou explained it, it was something about neither one wanting to be a burden to anyone. White thought it was adorable. She always found it easier to sleep with a lot of friends—or better yet, Jersey—snuggling her.

She was just about to knock on the door frame when she heard a sound. A soft, rhythmicshhwwwwiiiick of oiled steel against stone. White scrunched up her face and tried to place the sound. She knew she'd heard it before, but where…

Then it came to her. The little carrier clapped her hand over her mouth too late to stifle a gasp. A sword. That was the sound of someone sharpening a sword.

Then, the sound stopped. Floorboards creaked as the massive weight of a proper fleet carrier shifted against them. Then, a curt puff of breath and a blunt, "Yes?"

"Um," White timidly poked her head around the half-open door. "Miss Kaga?"

The carrier nodded. She looked as beautiful and severe as ever as she sat on her knees before what White recognized as an officer's sword. Her hair was tied back into her usual side-tail, and her breastplate was tied on without so much as a thread out of position.

Slowly, methodically and gracefully, the carrier slid her sword back into its sheath. As the tang clicked home, Kaga's shoulders slumped by a fraction, almost trembling under an immense weight. "White-Sensei," she said with a deep bow.

White fought down her blush, "I didn't interrupt you or anything, did I?"

"You did," said Kaga. Her face was focused and stern, like a warrior staring down her opponent. But that didn't really mean anything. White had seen her use that face against a bowl of rice before, she didn't really have any others. "But I don't mind."

"Oh," White rocked on her heels. Even sitting on her haunches the carrier was taller than her. "Okay, I just wanted to let you know I'm feeling a lot better." White spun her arms in circles to demonstrate.

The corner of Kaga's mouth twitched up in the tiniest ghost of a smile White had ever seen. "Good," was her only response.

White rocked on her heels, her little cheeks puffing in and out as she thought. She couldn't think of what to say, other than… well… the sword reminded her of the whole 'sudoku' incident before Jersey left for Alaska. "Um, Miss Kaga?"

Kaga's brow crept up a fraction.

"Why do you have a sword?"

Kaga sighed. "Because," she said, "It is the way a warrior should kill herself."

White gasped. "Kaga! No, why?" The little carrier threw herself at Kaga. Her arms wrapped around the carrier's ribcage as her chest collided with her lacquered breastplate. If Kaga hadn't displaced more than thirty-eight thousand tons she might even have been moved by the sudden collision. "We need you!"

"Not now," said Kaga. If she found the little carrier squeezing her tight to be even the slightest bit cute she didn't show it. "After the war's over," her voice dropped by a wisper, "Akagi and I offered to visit Pearl Harbor and, if your nation wishes us to…" Kaga trailed off. Her eyes drifted to her sword, and her chest swelled as she took in a deep breath, "We will open our stomachs before any who wish to observe."

White gasped. "Why would you- A-Akagi too?"

"It was her idea," said Kaga, a tiny hint of a smile flickering at the corners of her mouth.

"B-But why?" said White. The little carrier hovered on the edge of outright bawling into the older carrier's shirt. "I love you," she muttered.

"There are many who don't," said Kaga. "Many who look at our actions in the war with disgust and hatred." The old carrier sighed, her hands awkwardly coming around to cradle the tiny carrier sniffling into her bosom. "And Japan can not stand alone. My home needs the support of the world or it will surely fall."

"But…" White sniffed. Her already ruddy nose almost glowed red as she looked up at the old fleet carrier, "But why would you- I mean… killing yourself?"

"The attack was a cowardly and shameful act," said Kaga. "The war itself was a fool's errant against a sleeping giant." She stopped, her chest heaving again as she took a deep breath.

"Akagi said it better than I when she said, 'people want to see the world in black and white. They want to see the defeated warriors prostrate themselves at the victor's seat'." Kaga's stare focused on a point just beyond the horizon. "If giving them that image saves my homeland, I will gladly offer my life for it."

White sniffed, then squeezed the carrier's ribs with all the strength she could manage. "You're good people Kaga."

Kaga was about to respond when White shoved her face into the carrier's exposed stomach. "Sooooo waaaaarm," purred the little American.

Kaga let out a long, resigned sigh. She didn't enjoy her stomach being co-opted as a space heater. Not one bit. Honest.

—|—|—

Naka closed her eyes and let the soft sound of freezing ocean water rushing past her slender hull sing to her. The water was ice-cold, almost as cold as the water off Adak island had been. But somehow… it didn't feel cold. Instead of a steel-gray plain that seemed to churn with fury at the mere presense of a warship within its bounds, this water was like… an infinite blanket in the deepest, brightest blue Naka had ever seen.

The sea felt alive and… almost happy that it could share its wonders with Naka and her little taskforce. The waves sang as they crashed against her bow, and she could almost feel the salty spray blush as it kissed her cheeks.

Yes, this was a good day to be at sea. Naka let out a contented sigh and slowly let her eyes flutter open. Tenryuu and her kindergarten were on screen duty. Naka knew this because Jersey had laid out everyone's duties very clearly before the fleet set sail—for how lazy she was, the American sure had a way with organizational charts.

But she also knew it because she could see a glint on the horizon whenever Tenryuu dramatically flourished her sword at something, and every so often she'd hear a very quiet "nanodesu" or "Lady!" float over the waves.

Kongou and Kirishima lead the formation, with Yuudachi and Fubuki attached as their close-escorts. Naka wasn't quite close enough to make out what the two battleships were talking about—at least not without straining her ears to a slightly impolite extreme—but whatever it was, Kongo was talking about it very energetically.

Every few minutes, the battleship would flail her arms to strike a pose, sending her long sleeves fluttering in the chilly December breeze. Kirishima would nod sagely, then scribble down another line or two on that notebook she always seemed to carry with her.

Fubuki and Yuudachi just lazily steamed around their charges. Fubuki wore a look of furious determination on her little face, while Yuudachi seemed utterly taken by her flowing white scarf, seemingly oblivious to the way tufts of her hair kept getting blown up by the wind. Naka knew better than to underestimate the blond destroyer, though. Yuudachi's record was second to none.

That just left Jersey, who carried a sleeping Heermann on her back, and Musashi, who was still nursing the massive ragged gash on her torpedo bulge, and their escorts to take up the rear of the little formation.

Hoel dutifully steamed along off Jersey's beam, her scruffy red ponytail bouncing around as her eyes flickered from the quiet horizon to the quietly snoring Heermann snuggling against Jersey's shoulder.

Johnston, on the other hand, didn't even try to hide her slack-jawed leering at Musashi's awesome topweight. The little destroyer's guns were trained on the horizon to ward off any threat that might appear, but her eyes were all but welded to the battleship's chest. Every bounce, every jiggle was mirrored perfectly in her wide-eyed stare.

Musashi didn't seem to mind the attention, as much as her haughty smirk might suggest otherwise. Ever few minutes, she'd make a show out of adjusting her bandages, puffing her chest, or otherwise drawing attention to her colossal chest that Naka was in no way jealous of. Then she'd glance at the drooling Fletcher off her beam and the two would share a conspiratorial wink.

Naka made a note to make sure Musashi never ever met Atago. The two would be insufferable. Or potentially hilarious, one of the two. The cruiser put the thought out of her mind as she drifted closer to where Jersey was steaming.

The old battleship was 'typing' on her phone. For certain, very generous, definitions of the word typing. She'd glare at the display for a few seconds, then sloooowly move one finger until it was over the button she'd hunted for, punch at the screen with a quiet 'fuck' then go back to scowling at the display.

"You're so old," teased Naka as she pulled alongside.

"Fuck you," grunted Jersey. The battleship's icy eye narrowed into a glare that could've punched though Musashi's belt. "When were you launched again?"

Naka made a show of putting one finger to her cheek, her lips puckering in an exaggerated display of girly cuteness that migrated all the way down to the silly tilt of her hips. "March 24th," she said.

"Fuck you, traffic cone," grumbled the towering American, "I mean which goddamn year?"

"Nineteen twenty five," said Naka with a giggle and a little peace sign. "That makes me nineteen, granny!"

"Hardy har-fuck you," shot back Jersey. "I hate the fucking interface… sit me in front of a fucking DOS box and I'd be fucking amazing."

Naka rolled her eyes. "You do know literal babies know how to work those, right?"

"You want me to shove a literal baby up your scrawny ass?" countered Jersey. Then, for a second she paused. "Shit, that came out wrong."

"You don't say," said Naka with a grin. Not one of her manufactured Idol-cutesy grins, an honest grin with just the right amount of mockery blended in. "Need any help, grannyboat?"

Jersey aimed a smack at Naka's buns that the cruiser deftly dodged. "Fuck it, sure."

Naka straighted her hair and smiled up at Jersey like a dutiful schoolgirl. "How can I help?"

"We'll have a few hours in Anchorage to get this little one," Jersey gently jostled the destroyer girl sleeping on her back, "Can I, uh, borrow your computer for a bit? I gotta send a few emails. Maybe make a call or two."

Naka smiled. She had a sneaking suspicion who that call would be headed towards. And in her humble opinion as an idol-cruiser of the Combined Fleet, Jersey had better call him and tell him just how she obviously feels. "Yeah, no problem!"

Jersey sighed, frustration melting off her face as she slipped her phone into the pocket of her puffy vest.

"You know," said Naka, "I checked, and there isn't actually any rail line from Anchorage to the lower forty eight."

"Yeah," Jersey nodded. "Train's just taking her to Wittier, they got a high-speed ferry to take her the rest of the way."

"Oh," Naka nodded, "A ferry? You sure that's safe?"

Jersey shrugged, "Those ferries make upwards of twenty knots, and it'll be running down a corridor patrolled by P-3s, Newfies, and more fucking coastal guns than… fucking…" the battleship flailed her hands in an inarticulate display of largeness, "there's a lotta fucking guns, okay?"

Naka pursed her lips, then made a show of admiring the massive number of five-inch and forty-milimiter guns mounted on nearly every flat surface the American battleship possessed. "Uh huh."

"'sides," Jersey shrugged, "I'll be free to fucking swoop in and save the day without a sleeping kiddo on my back."

Heermann let out a purring sigh and snuggled her nose deeper into the battleship's scarf.

Naka smiled. "You're a good mother Jersey."

The American just flexed her arms with a determined scowl. "Hell fucking yeah I am."

"But if you'll excuse me," Naka motioned to where Johnston was frantically trying to get the cruiser's attention. Not only was her mast festooned with "N-A-K-A" signal flags, she was waving out "NAKA" in semaphore, "Someone needs attention."

Jersey just rolled her eyes and waved off the cruiser.

Naka smiled as she lazily steamed over to the little destroyer and her not-so-little charge.

"Naka," Musashi smiled at Naka, her chest puffing out until her bandages threatened to give up what little restraint they still had.

"Musashi," Naka offered the brown-skinned battleship a bow. Braggart or not, she hadacquitted herself well.

"Naka!" Johnston ceased her energetic waving now that Naka was in vocal-bothering range. "NakaNakaNakaNaka!"

"Yes, Johnston," Naka sighed as she fell into position between Musashi and the Fletcher.

"Oh, hey," Johnston smiled, her feathers quivering to rest atop her little head. "You're here."

Naka rolled her eyes.

"Anyways, I was wondering," Johnston pulled a little closer to Naka, "They're still making Captain America movies, right?"

Naka nodded.

"Is he still from World War Two?"

Another nod.

"Then…" Johnston counted off on her fingers, "Wouldn't be he really old now?"

"Oh, no," Naka shook her head. "Well, he would be, but they put him on ice after the war. But he got thawed out when his nation needed him."

"Oh, cool!" Johnston beamed.

Naka smirked, then bent over to whisper into the little destroyer's ear. "Just like your old momboat," she pointed at Jersey.

"Huh?"

"After the war," said Naka, "they put Jersey and her sisters into mothballs, only to pull her out in the fifties. They did it again in the sixties, then again in the eighties."

"Oooooooh," Johnston cooed. "She's really really cool then!"

—|—|—

On the other side of the Pacific, Yeoman Sarah Gale stared off into the cloudless sky. The chill winter air bit at her exposed skin and turned each breath into a swirling ephemeral dance of fog and mist, and in the distance she saw the glimmering lights of Whidbey Island glowing like beacons in the night darkness.

"Gale?" The Yeoman almost restrained herself from jumping at the sudden arrival of Wash's calm, honey-sweet voice just a few feet away from her.

"Yeah, uh," Gale bit her lip. The battleship couldn't help her stealthy nature, it was just what she did… but it didn't make it any less annoying when Gale was furiously trying to think about anything but her. "The, uh, Doc put the girls to sleep."

"I'll make sure to thank him." The railing creaked as Wash rested her forearms against it, her stunningly pretty face, and stunningly large chest, just barely intruding into the sailor's peripheral vision.

Gale bit her lip and focused on an arbitrary point in the distance. Wash was pretty. She was so damn pretty she made everything else look prettier just by virtue of being nearher. And… and damn was she gorgeous. From the stem all the way down to that plump stern. Gale would've said hot, but that word felt too… crass for a woman like Wash.

"That was a very pleasant outing," said the battleship, her ivory face curving into the kind of idle half-smile she wore from time to time.

"Yeah, uh," Gale glanced over at the battleship for an instant. Wrong move. Very very wrong move. Wash was back into her uniform, and… well the snug black wool couldn't have fit her curves better if it was shrink-wrapped around them. The battleship's breasts pulled at the fabric just so, framing her bust, hips, and the slender waist between like a renaissance masterpiece. Her short splinter-patterned skirt and glimmering white-silk scarf only improved the perfection. "Yeah," was all the red-faced yeoman could squeeze out.

"I'm sorry it didn't go the way you wanted," said Wash. The warm curves of her gentle face was as unreadable as ever.

"It happens," sighed Gale. Dammit. Damnit. Wash was so hot it hurt to even think about. But… but that wasn't love, was it?

Crowning Loved Jersey. Not just lusted—who could blame him for that. Every man on the base would be head over heels for those hips—but loved. She could be flat as a board and ugly as a stump and he'd still love her. Gale scowled, could she ever measure up to that?

"If…" Wash's voice actually faltered for once, "If you wanted to go alone, I'm sorry."

"Hmm?" Gale risked another glance. Wash's face glowed as warmly as ever, but there was a tiny note of sadness in the way she held herself now. Her russet brown hair started to fall over her face, hiding her eyes for a brief second.

"I…" the battleship trailed off again, her gaze drifting to the horizon. There was a gentle creak of steel-on-steel as her uniformed bust kissed the railing. "Frisco thinks I'm not very attentive… sometimes."

Gale didn't know what to think about that. The cruiser had been getting awfully close at the diner. "She… does?"

"Mmm," Wash nodded. "I'm… not particularly used to attention." The battleship glanced over at Gale, her cheeks flushing a gentle rosy red. "The carriers… SoDak… Mo, they got the headlines. I just did my duty." She shrugged, "I was happy with that."

"Uh," Gale was caught flapping her mouth like a fish out of water. And for the first time, it wasn't because of the battleship's stunning figure. Or—Gale glanced down at where the Battleship's breasts brushed against her own much smaller pair—at least notentirely.

"A job well done is it's own reward," said Wash. A gust of wind blew a bit of that shimmering russet hair over her eyes, and she obligingly tossed it back with a flip of her head. "I… I didn't think anyone would… would pay attention to me as anything more than a part of a taskforce."

Gale felt her heartbeat skyrocket, and though the chest-to-chest contact, she swore she felt Wash's heartbeat do the same. It was the odd, eight-part purr of a battleship's boilers spooling up to the redline PAH-pahpahpahpahpahpahpah. "Um," was the most eloquent thing her mind could come up with.

Wash's smiled faded by a fraction, smoothing transitioning into that enigmatic half-grin she often wore. "Thank you for the treat," she said.

Gale wasn't sure how, but she suddenly noticed her hands were resting on the North Carolina class's broad hips. "Uh… yeah, you're welcome." Two words kept repeating around her mind, blaring like an alert klaxon banging away the general quarters warning. 'Kiss Her!' it demanded, 'Kiss Her! Kiss Her!'

Wash smiled, her skin glowing against her russet brown hair as she glanced over at the sea. Her hands were suddenly at Gale's hips, cradling the sailor in her steely grip. It felt… nice, warm… safe.

"Hey, Wash," Gale's voice trembled as she stared down the battleship. "Is it okay if, uh…"

Wash's eyes narrowed at a spot on the horizon. No, not the horizon, a spot much closer, a bit of concrete just behind the shipgirl docking facility. "Is that-"

Gale squinted, there was only one girl on base who was that short. Or so uniformly pink. Fucking Borie. "I see it t- wait."

"Is that-"

"Frisco?" the two women said in concert.

"WEEEEEEEEEE'REEEE!" Borie's tiny voice mixed with Frisco's much huskier song as the two streaked across the concrete, "NAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAKED!"

"Fuck," breathed Gale.