Chapter 70: The Gale Must Suffer
Professor Crowning was happily enjoying his breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast when a ragged Yeoman Gale lazily shuffled up to the table. Her messy brown hair was tied back in a what could be generously described as a bun that had to be kissing the very limit of what uniform regulations would allow. Her brows hung low over her eyes, and her face was stuck in an exhausted kind of scowl. Even by her standards, the poor girl looked spent.
"Morning," Crowning slid his tray over to make room. He'd offer her some of his coffee, but the sailor already had a full carafe resting in the corner of her tray.
"Hey." Gale unceremoniously collapsed into a chair, causing the worn pleather to let out an undignified fpoofh.
"Rough night?" said Crowning, a tiny sliver of a glint in his eye as he sprinkled more pepper onto his eggs.
"Ooooh yeah," crooned Gale. "But not… I wasn't…" She stopped. Her face screwed up and her brows knit into a palisade as she mentally rebooted. "It wasn't 'cause I spent the night with Wash or anything."
"You didn't?" Crowning cocked his eyebrow, honest surprise plastered on his face. "I thought you two were-"
"We are," said Gale. "At least… I am…" she trailed off. "I can't read her for shit, really."
"So then what?" Crowning tore a bit of toast off and popped it into his mouth. He smiled as he chewed, presenting a nice, calming visage for Gale to spin a tale to.
"So," Gale took a long, long gulp of coffee, "We were watching the water, right? So close I could taste her. Then fucking Frisco and Borie come streaking down the road butt naked."
"Cruisers streak?" Crowning stifled a chuckle.
"That's just it," said Gale, "She was streaking because she was scared out of her wits. It's like Pearl all over again for the poor thing, only this time we can't even replace our losses."
Crowning winced, but let the sailor continue her tale.
"So, uh…" Gale sighed, and inhaled an envier breakfast burrito without even the courtesy to chew it first. "I gave her ice cream. Then Jen and I just watched Star Wars with her until she fell asleep." The sailor slouch her shoulders, her hands idly drumming against her stomach as she let out a low sigh.
"She eats a lot, doesn't she?" guessed Crowning.
"Yeah," said Gale. "Yeah she does. Girl's got a waist like…" she held her hands up, making a circle with her thumbs and fore-fingers, "This big around and she scarfs down a half-dozen pints without breaking stride. I eat like… one of those and I feel like a fat fuck."
She let her hands fall back to the table, her glare hovering over the hearty shipgirl-approved mac'n'cheese on her tray. "I'd- I'd feel jealous of her if she wasn't so damn scared."
"You sure she's not just adjusting?" asked Crowning.
"No," Gale shook her head, "No you haven't seen her. The look in her eyes… poor girl knowsexactly how fucked we are, and it's scaring her shitless." She gulped down a mouthful of the cheese-soaked noodles, "Speaking of, uh, you make any progress on the summoning thing?"
Crowning shook his head. "Nothing I can think of fits right." He let out a huff and drew his hands though his hair. "And… and Jersey called me last night."
Gale's denouement instantly brightened, "She did? She feeling any better?" she blurted, "You gonna tell her you wanna marry her ass?"
The professor rolled his eyes, "Actually, she's having dreams." He scratched at the close-cropped stubble gracing the tip of his chin. "Very vivid dreams about very worrying subjects."
"That's happened befo-"
"No it hasn't," continued the professor. "Not like this. These are more vivid than anything a shipgirl's had before. By far."
"Shit," breathed Gale. For a second, she just stared into her meal with resigned indifference. Then, her brows started to scrunch, and her touge started to poke out from the corner of her pursed lips. "You know…"
Crowning leaned in, suddenly perfectly attentive.
"That…" Gale rubbed at her temples, "that almost sounds familiar but I can't remember why."
Crowning sunk back to his chair. "Well…" he scowled, pushing his half-finished breakfast away from him.
"If I think of it, I'll let you know," said Gale. She put on a weak smile, "Wouldn't want your girl loosing sleep with anyone but you, right?" She barely managed to duck the hurled bit of toast lobbed at her head.
—|—|—
There were many places battleship New Jersey imagined Musashi might be spending her downtime. The most obvious place would be a bar, or maybe a strip club. Somewhere where she could but those jiggly fuckhuge pagodas to work for a few free drinks or something. Girl was a fucking attention whore of the first order, and she was only the second of her class. Jersey paled to think about how insufferably arrogant fucking Yamato might be.
So Musashi's true location came as a surprise so shocking the American battleship almost didn't believe it. Musashi was… in the fucking library of all places. Libraries were the holdouts of stogies and nerds even in Jersey's time, and the decades had not been kind to the printed book.
Jersey would have been astonished if there were even ten people in there willing to oggle, grope, squish, and otherwise sexual the topheavy stripperboat. Which suited Jersey just fine. Musashi's ego was already massive enough without every male on the continent leering over those big, bouncy torpedo blisters.
Wait.
Jersey scowled, her already fine features hardening like steel in a tempering forge as she ducked though the library's door. Inside was, well, not warm, but at least not as bone-chillingly cold as the outside she'd just left. She hurriedly stuffed her cap into a pocket and started to loosen up her scarf as a smiling old woman tottered over in that unique old-woman-gait.
"Hey," Jersey smiled at the woman—she couldn't have been taller than the battleship's ribcage—and scuffed the snow out of her shoe's treads. "I'm looking for-"
The old woman pressed a finger to Jersey's lips, an action that forced her to stand on the very tip of her toes. "Quiet," she said with what Jersey could've sworn was a conspiratorial wink. "She's in reference." The old woman pointed to the back of the building.
Jersey nodded. It made sense, a towering tanned girl with snow-white hair was hard to misplace even when she isn't walking around with half the world's silicone production hanging uncovered off her chest. Not wanting another shushing, the battleship just nodded in response and headed off where the woman pointed.
And almost shouted—not squealed, shouted—when she felt the librarian give her ass a hard smack. Not… that Jersey was unopposed to people smacking her ass. From a purely objective point of view, it was quite a nice ass, the shipwrights at Philadelphia Naval Shipyard had done very good work, and Jersey was only being gratefully appreciative when she admired her own tush.
But still.
A librarian almost as old as she was was not high on the list of people she expected to be smacking her stern. So she shot a dirty look at the old woman, who responded with the shrug equivalent of 'I'm an old woman. I do what I want.'
Jersey could understand that. Not like it, but understand it. So she wandered off deeper into the library, letting the musty smell of books and well, and more books surround her like a blanket. She didn't know why, but something about the books made her smile. They felt so comforting, almost loving as they surrounded her.
Before she could contemplate it any further, the American super-battleship spotted her Japanese counterpart.
Musashi sat at a varnished wood reading table, her glasses perched at the tip of that slender oriental nose as she poured over her book of choice. Jersey didn't catch what book it was because she couldn't tear her eyes away from the way Musashi's colossal breasts piled up against the table.
She wasn't jealous just… distracted. She had been filled with thousands of lonely sailors after all. Sailors who'd come back from the dead just to smack the shit out of her if she passed up an opportunity to examine such a magnificent chest with the proper care. She was just doing good by her crew.
But when Jersey did realize the book Musashi was pouring over, it took every bit of self control she had not to howl with laughter. For Musashi was pouring over Janes' Fighting Ships of WWII. And judging by her place in the book, she was in the 'late-war American battleships section.'
"Oh Muu-Shieeeee!" Jersey planted her hands on her hips and let them rock from side to side like a belly dancer, her tone modulating up and down in a verbal… tilde. Fuck, that'show that tiny-skirted bitch did it!
Musashi yelped, her whole body—but some areas more than others—bouncing bouncing to attention as she frantically slammed the book shut.
Jersey hugged herself, squeezing with all her strength to keep from collapsing into uncontrollable peals of laughter. But even with her valiant efforts, a low rumbling 'hmhmhmhmhmhmhm' rattled past her gritted teeth.
Musashi straighted her glasses, her cheeks glowing crimson against her chocolate skin. "I, Musashi," somehow the battleship managed to bellow her name quietly, "was just… doing some light reading." Her gaze drifted over Jersey's much smaller bust. "Very light," she added.
Jersey rolled her eyes, and rolled her hips even harder until Musashi's gaze drifted back down. "You're pouting."
"Am not," was the Japanese girl's elegant reply.
"Yeah, what-fucking-ever," Jersey spun on her heel, making sure her hips were at just the right angle. "Get your tits in gear, we're feet wet in fifteen." The battleship sashayed back towards the door, smiling as she felt the air eat up from Musashi's impotent fuming.
Of course, she still had to make it past the perverted little librarian. Iowa-class hips are infinitely more attractive than Yamato class milkbags, so just having Musashi on her stern shouldn't be enough to loose the old woman.
Except, as it turned out, it was. Because the old woman had utterly terrible taste. Jersey scowled as she stepped back onto the snowing street, her cap snapping as she pulled it back on.
Musashi was, of course, drinking in every second of attention her stupid-ass topweight was getting. And Jersey was not jealous in the slightest. She was just furious at loosing a few more minutes before she could put to sea again.
Luckily, she didn't have to wait alone.
"New Jersey!" the unmistakable form of the fourth Shiratsuyu-class destroyer sprinted towards her, her long flowing silk scarf trailing behind her like a landgoing wake. But in her forgivable enthusiasm to be near the walking symbol of American Excellence that was Jersey, Yuudachi had neglected to slow down in time, and the little blond destroyer slammed into Jersey's belly with a quiet "poi~."
Jersey rolled her eyes and ruffled the girl's hair. Which apparently had dog-eared tufts now. They were actually fucking adorable, but Jersey didn't have to tell her that. "Hey, kiddo."
"Hello," Yuudachi smiled as she peeled herself off the American and dusted off her dark shirt.
"I like the scarf, kiddo." Jersey smiled a rakish, cunning kind of smile.
"Oh! Like… thank you!" Yuudachi spun on her heel to let the American see the full effect from all angles, "I think it, like, goes really well with my outfit!"
"You should keep it." Jersey tugged at her own scarf, "Badasses wear scarves."
Yuudachi nodded in agreement. "Oh, Jersey-sama?"
"Wut?" grunted the battleship.
"How do you, um," Yuudachi waved her hands in the air in inarticulate displays of inarticulation, "How do you make your hair do that, like thing, poi?"
Jersey bit the corner of her lip, trying to think of what she meant. She idly drew her braid over her shoulder, or what braid she had left. She'd taken to leaving half of it loose. Looked better that way and she didn't have to braid *all the fucking hair. Her icy-blue eyes traced down the carefully wound fibers. It started out a brilliant strawberry blond, only to fade to a fiery copper around the tips.
"Oh, you mean this?" Jersey waved her hand over the color transition.
Yuudachi nodded.
"I'll show you when we get back," Jersey ruffled the girl's hair—including those little tufts that were just adorable as fuck—"sound good?"
Yuudachi nodded happily.
"Cool," Jersey smiled. "Now run along, I gotta drag big-tits McBusty over there away from her adoring public."
"Like, have fun!" said Yuudachi as she bounced down the road.
—|—|—
"Huh," Gale pursed her lips and squinted at the white board. Her years of indulging in gratuitous amounts of pop culture had taught her that progress in the business of cracking difficult riddles all but required a white board. And ideally some print-outs, red string, and coffee. But as the past several hours had proved, simply gathering all the ingredients together and staring intently was not enough to force the universe to disgorge its secrets.
"What?" Crowning was by her side in an instant, "what do you see?"
"Ryuujou's smaller than White," said Gale, "I always thought it was the other way around."
Crowning scowled. In an attempt to shake out some kind of pattern, Gale'd had the idea to plot each success by tonnage. And it worked, to some extent. There was obviously a pattern, a very clear ebb and flow to the weight—the size—of ships coming back. It would spike, then slowly taper off to a trickle, only to spike again for no explainable reason.
There wasn't any pattern, the distance between two spikes—or even the size of the spikes themselves—didn't follow any rule or rhyme, it was all random. And other than occasionally interesting comparisons of size, it hadn't yielded anything of use.
"Also," said Gale, "You spelled it wrong. There's three 'u's."
"I did not," Crowning squinted as he leaned closer to the board. Only to read what was definitely 'Ryjou'. "Oh," he hastily erased it with the end of his sleeve and rewrote it properly.
"Told you," said Gale.
"Maybe it's-" Crowning stopped, his gaze going a little glassy as connections linked and unlinked faster than his mouth could keep up.
"Doc?" Gale spun on her heel, her pulse hammering against her chest. If he found something… maybe-
"No," Crowning shook his head. "No, doesn't work."
"Damn." Gale scowled. Then her face lit up and she snapped her fingers. "Wait."
"What?" Now it was Crowning's turn to round on her.
"I know why Jersey's having her dreams!"
The professor's face darkened by a shade, only to glow even brighter than before the next instant.
"She naps all the fucking time!" said Gale with a triumphant smile.
"Gale," Crowning rubbed at his temples, "This really isn't the time-"
"No, uh… sorry, that's how my dad explained it," said Gale. "He was on her back in the 80's."
Suddenly Crowning was intensely focused.
"She kept catching cat-naps. Fought in World War II, nap," Gale ticked off the wars on her fingers, "Fought in Korea, nap. Fought in 'nam, nap. Fought in the gulf, nap. All that time in mothballs…"
"She was in limbo," said Crowning as he picked up the threads. "That's why she can dream so vividly, she's closer to-" He stopped himself. He was not going to say Jersey was 'closer to hell' he simply refused to vocalize that thought, no matter how wrong it might turn out to be. "-To wherever ships go before they're summoned than anyone else."
"Yeah," said Gale. "Uh, doc?"
"Hmm?"
"Something wrong?" asked the sailor, "You just went white as a sheet."
Crowning shivered and stepped back to sit against the edge of his desk. "Not really, Gale." The professor sighed, then explained to Gale just what his beloved battleship had dreamed of.
"Oh…" Gale didn't quite loose her footing, but the sailor looked a hell of a lot more unsteady than she had a few moments before. "If… if she really is seeing where she was-"
"Yeah," said Crowning, cutting off that trail of conversation before it could go any further. "That's not good."
"Maybe…" Gale trailed off. "Yeah, sorry, doc, I got nothing." She yawned, her shoulders popping as she rolled a kink out of her muscles. "Been staring at a board too long," she muttered.
Crowning nodded in sad agreement.
"Look, doc," Gale shoved her hands into her pockets, "I've been working at this too long, gonna take a run. See if that shakes anything out."
"Yeah," Crowning sighed. "Yeah, that's a good idea. I'll… I'll be here."
Gale pursed her lips, then pulled Crowning into a gentle hug. "Don't worry about Jersey, she's a tough bitch."
Crowning let a single tired laugh slip though his mouth.
—|—|—
Meanwhile, on a makeshift navy base on the Louisiana coast, large cruiser Alaska of the Combined Gulf Fleet sprawled out on soft carpet of her room and let out a contented sigh. She'd had a hard few days at sea, and that made her smile. Her life as a ship had been short and, if she was being truthful, quite meaningless.
But now, not she'd done so much in less than a week. She'd steamed heroically to the rescue of a little flotilla of fishing boats and their lone Fubuki-class escort. She'd baited a trap near a disused oil rig and bagged herself a cruiser and three panzerschiffs—ships she'd been built to fight.
And now she was sitting on her floor, letting the evening sun soak into her snow-white skin while she enjoyed a good book—Hunt for Red October by someone named Tom Clancy—, and a sleepy Hamakaze purring away on her lap.
Alaska smiled as she brushed the busty destroyer's hair out of her eyes. There was very little the two ships had in common. Alaska was American, Hamakaze was Imperial Japanese. Alaska towered over her friends, Hamakaze could hide under Atago's chest without even slouching. Hamakaze was quite chesty by destroyer standards, while Alaska was flat by cruiser—or even destroyer—standards.
But the two girls had almost the same hair. Alaska's was much longer—a loose mane that reached to the small of her back instead of a cute little pixie cut—, and hers sparkled like new-fallen snow in anything other than pitch black. But Hamakaze's gorgeous silver-white hair was close enough to Alaska's own for her to consider the little Kagero her honorary little sister.
It didn't mean much, the destroyer had more sisters than Alaska would ever know. But still, the girl's little—or not so little—chest swelled with pride every time Alaska choose to sit with her for dinner instead of, say, Nachi.
But just as Alaska started to turn the page, her door exploded open with a giggly "PanPakaPan!" and Atago—her division-mate and best friend—bounced in. And bounced. And bounced and bounced and bounced.
Alaska felt sorry for the Takao-class cruiser. Her own chest got sore in harsh weather, even with her sports bra. She could only imagine how badly Atago handled high waves.
Hamakaze, being Hamakaze, dozed though the commotion without even batting an eye.
"Hey, 'tago." Alaska bookmarked her place and smiled up at the busty cruiser.
"Hey, 'laska." Atago giggled and dropped to her haunches next to the significantly taller American.
Alaska was proud of her own unique silhouette, being the flattest cruiser gave her a kind of distinction even her status as a large cruiser never could, but she had to admit that Atago's dress and frilly little ascot thing looked adorable on her. "So, I tried on that gown you brought."
Atago's smile somehow managed to become even brighter. Her round, smiling face beamed like a searchlight in the large cruiser's ice-cold face. "And?"
"It's really pretty," Alaska smiled. "It's way to big in the, uh," she patted her own chest region. "But I think I stuff-"
Atago planted a gloved hand on Alaska's face and squished her cheeks in with her thumb and forefinger, "No no, we'll get it taken in."
"You sure?" asked Alaska, "That sounds like a lot of work for-"
"MmmMm," Atago shook her head. And… other areas. Alaska suddenly felt like she had to use her boat davits for something, but she couldn't for the life of her figure out how a motor launch would improve the situation. "You're so proud of yourself," said Atago, "And it's no trouble, really."
"Are you sure?" Alaska shook of the smaller cruiser's hand. "I mean… It's really no trouble. There's this place called youtube where they show you how."
Atago rolled those big sapphire eyes of hers, "Silly Alaska, you don't 'make due' for Christmas Banquet!"
Alaska blinked.
"I'll take it in for you!" Atago thrust her hand into the air with determination and a little teasing giggle.
Alaska shrugged. Atago's skills with a needle were legendary on the base. Every item of clothing she owned—that wasn't her uniform—had gone under her needle to fit it to her exceptional proportions, but you'd never know it by looking at them. "Really?"
"Mmhm" Atago giggled and slumped against the wall next to Alaska. "It's what friends are for!"
"Thanks, 'tago," Alaska smiled, her head lolling over to rest against Atago's blond tresses.
"Anytime, 'laska," Atago let out a giggling yawn and leaned over to rest against Alaska. The large cruiser might not have anything like her topside displacement, but Atago alwaysdid manage to find the perfect way to nap on Alaska's breast.
And the large cruiser thought that suited her just fine.
—|—|—
"Fuck my life." Yeoman Gale mumbled with all the fury her exhausted lungs could manage as she shuffled into the women's locker room like a cardio-enthused zombie. Her legs burned and she could barely get her foot high enough to tear her shoe off. She'd always hated running, it was the reason she joined the navy instead of the army. Less walking around places.
At least… that's what she thought when she joined up. She wasn't entirely sure if that had been a wise course of action. But what's done is done, and not all of it can be undone.
Speaking of things that could be undone, though, she swore she could feel all the ice cream she'd gobbled down with Frisco sloshing around her stomach in mutiny. Frisco might not eat like a battleship, but she still devoured more than any human her size could possibly eat. And what was Gale going to do, let a scared cruisergirl eat ice cream all alone.
She might be a non-commissioned officer, one of a breed known for consisting mostly of hate, coffee, and more hate. But she still had a heart, especially when it came to the girls. They went though hell before, they weren't going to have to do it again. Not if Gale had anything to say for it.
So she'd eaten ice cream with Frisco, pacing herself as best she could until the stunningly beautiful cruiser fell asleep in a heap of scars and gorgeous oriental features. Now she was paying the price for it. Having to run her ass off to keep her tummy from going doughy.
But, because Gale was an NCO, even what shred of luck she had didn't hold for long. Because she'd just managed to get her shirt off—exposing that soft stomach she was so sensitive about—when Wash walked in.
Gale bit her lip to keep from squealing. The battleship looked… unspeakably gorgeous. Her russet brown hair was matted down with just the perfect amount of sweat to look beautifully unkempt. Her running shorts framed the spectacular stern that all American fast-battleships seemed to share, and the less said about her shirt, the better.
Things only got worse when Wash started undressing for her shower. Gale scowled as Wash pulled her bra off. The battleship was facing away, keeping her privacy and demure dignity even now, but in doing so she put her back on full display. A back the rippled with powerful muscle and tense sinew. Gale hadn't really noticed it before, but the battleship was just as powerful as she was beautiful.
So pretty, so strong. Like a Valkyrie or—
And then she realized it. And she threw her head back in a howling laugh.
—|—|—
Gale found Crowning eating his lunch in his usual spot. What wasn't quite so usual were the three destroyer girls—Kidd's KanDesRon 2 if she wasn't mistaken—sitting around him with rapt interest. The girls were all but entranced by his tale—which Gale was pretty sure was actually Beowulf. Each one leaned in when he dropped to a quiet wispier, each one tensed when he lead up to a climax, and each one roared with laughter when he wove a choice bit of humor into his tale.
"Yo, girls!" Gale waved at the trio.
"Huh?" The spell of the Lit Prof broken, the girls spun around to face the new speaker.
"Don't you have formation in, like, now?"
The girls glanced at one another, then at Kidd. Then at the clock, then back to Kidd. Then back to Gale. "Yeah," said Kidd with a matter-of-fact nod.
Gale made a shooing guesture.
"Oh," Kidd nodded. "CRAP!" She exploded off her chair, her little legs spinning for traction against the slippery linoleum floor. For a split-second it looked like she was going to fall flat on her chunky little braid. But at the last instant, her shoes found purchase, the chunky rubber tread biting into the flooring and sending her bolting for the pier like the tiny murderball she was.
Her two division-mates followed hot on her heels—after begging Crowning to continue the story next time they met. Dee even managed to make it all the way out the door without tripping or running into someone once. Good for her.
"So," Crowning turned to Gale, a smirk on his face, "Spill."
"What?" Gale tried to keep a straight face. But her cheeks hurt from smiling as widely as she was.
"What if she's not a demon," said Gale, "What if she's a Valkyrie?"
Crowning crossed his arms across his chest, his face quivering in suppressed interest. "Unpack that for me," he said guardedly.
"It-" Gale blinked. "That's it. Jersey's a Valkyrie and that icy plain she saw was Valhalla."
Crowning shook his head, "Gale… that's not even remotely close to what Valhalla is."
"Sush," said Gale. "Shushhhshshs. I don't mean people Valhalla, I mean shipgirl Valhalla. Look, all the girls that've come back were either sunk or scrapped right?"
Crowning leaned forwards, suddenly interested again. "Yeah…"
"They all came back like they'd never left." Gale started waving her hands in rough figure eights,"They had to come from somewhere, right?"
Crowning nodded for her to continue.
"That icy plain, it's not hell it's… it's…" Gale spun around on her heel and pointed to the kitchens, "Where do you stick something if you wanna keep it around for later? You put it on ice until you need it. She's seeing where the girls are… are spiritually mothballed."
"Gale," Crowning rubbed at the bridge of his nose, "Are you telling me that our girlsliterally come from Davy Jones' locker?"
Gale shrugged, "It would not be the weirdest thing that's happened all day."
"This is true," acquiesced the professor. "So what does this tell us?"
"Uh," Gale stopped, her mind going blank. "That your girls not a demon?"
Crowning let out a tired laugh, "That I already knew."