Chapter 83: Briefings and Memos

Jersey honestly didn't know what she was expecting when she ducked into Yeoman Bower's quarters.

Her knowledge of shore-side accommodations in general, all the memories she'd been able to glean from her crew's recollections were shrouded in a thick mist of jealousy. She liked having her seamen inside of her, thank you very much.

She knew even less about how base housing had changed in the two decades or so she'd been napping at her museum pier. And of course, she knew absolutely nothing whatsoever about what a woman's quarters looked like. (At least a single woman.)

But she certainly wasn't expecting that.

"Um, Bowers?" Jersey bit the corner of her mouth, "Is that a slave Leia dress?"

"Huh?" the bright-faced sailor followed the towering battleship's gaze into her closet. "Oh yeah! I wore that to comic con last year."

Jersey smirked. She might not have a rack to match the bouncy pagodas of IJN Shirtphobia… but she was well aware how often the big Japboat stared at her abs. "Think I could borrow it?"

Bowers looked up at the battleship. And up and up and up. "Jersey…"

"Yo?"

"There is no way in hell you're fitting into that."

Jersey planted her hands on her hips and pouted, "It might be a little tight, but-"

Bowers took a few steps forwards until she all but vanished under the swell of Jersey's chest.

"Okay, point taken."

"Thank you, ma'am," Bowers stepped back from the shadow of the towering battleship's superstructure. "I could probably whip something up for you if you're around for this year's con."

Jersey allowed herself a moment or two to enjoy the mental image of IJN bandaidbra drooling with lust—envy! she meant envy—over her abs/stern area. Payback's a bitch, innit? "Thanks, yeoman. I might take you up on that."

"It'd be a pleasure!" Bowers beamed up at the battleship. "Now take your vest off, I want to see how this fits."

"Bowers," Jersey shook her head. Every place she looked was another costume—or at least costume part. Half of them she recognized, but there were so many terribly intricate things she'd never even seen before. And also a really fetching short-shorts and flame-print bikini ensemble that Jersey just knew she'd have to borrow sometime. "What is all this stuff?"

"Oh, cosplay!" Bowers shrugged.

"Looks like a lot of work."

"Oh," Bowers nodded, "It is."

Jersey wadded up her vest and tossed it in the corner. Then a thought occurred to her. "Bowers… this is just a hobby, right?"

"Yes ma'am," the sailor nodded. "I mean, I've done some stuff on commission for Naka, but mostly yes."

"Okay, so," Jersey itched at her temple, "If this is just on your free time… what do you… actually… do."

Bowers looked at the battleship like she'd just defecated on her father's grave. "Jersey, I'm an NCO of the United States Navy. Never ask that question!"

"Oh," Jersey blushed. It all made so much sense now.

"And try this on," Bowers handed a neatly-folded packet of cloth to the towering battleship. It was the same deep-blue color as her usual vest, but the fabric was softer and… almost silkier.

It felt like woven steel against the battleship's—admittedly also steel—skin. The fabric flowed like molten copper as she put it on. Each dart and seam hugged her figure with perfect ease. Where her old vest had been more than a little shapeless, this one was all but molded to her body.

"Wow," Jersey admired herself in a mirror the yeoman had somehow produced. The thin fabric worked so much better than the bulky down-stuffed puffs. Her new vest shimmered ever so gently in the light, its careful seamwork drawing attention to the wasp-waist of the battleship's stunning hourglass figure.

And where her old outfit had squashed down her bustline with all the grace of a Chinese sledgehammer, this one had darts and seam-lines that cupped and molded to her breasts.

"Holy fuck," Jersey slapped her hands to her chest and squeezed. "I have boobs now what the fuck?" The towering battlewagon rounded on Bowers with a shocked look on her face, "why the fuck was I never told this before!"

"Um," Bowers bit her lip and tried to contain a laugh. She failed. Utterly and miserably. And then she fell back onto her bed while shaking with laughter.

"I'm fucking serious!" Jersey glanced back at the mirror and had to examine her figure again. She was proud of what her designers had done… but hot fucking damn was she hot. Holy fuuuuuuck was she hot. "Did I not get a goddamm memo or something? I'm a fucking lieutenant commander! Why was I not briefed about my fucking tits!"

"J-Jersey," Bowers hugged herself to try and stay the howls of laughter shaking her body apart.

"Wait," Jersey scowled. "Did anything I just said make any fucking sense at all?"

Bowers just shook her head.

"Fuck!" Jersey scowled deeper. She thought for a second, then added, "So, uh… I owe you for this or what?"

Bowers shook her head, "Nah."

"You sure?"

The sailor pulled herself to her feet. "Yeah. Really, it was nice making something for someone with actual boobs for a change."

"Well," Jersey glanced down. "Okay, point."

"Just promise me," said Bowers, "Next time you're in Japan, you'll stop by Akihabara and get me something."

The battleship blinked. "I don't know what that is, but okay."

"Ask Naka," said Bowers.

"Okay, I will."

"And, uh, commander?"

"Hmm?"

Bowers blushed, "You should probably stop groping yourself."

Jersey glanced down. "But… I don't wanna."

Bowers rolled her eyes. "Now I get why Sarah thinks you're a child."

"Hey!" Jersey snarled and waved an angry knife-hand at the sailor. Or she would've, if she could've pulled even one hand away from her breast for more than a few instants. "Okay… given."

Bowers laughed, "You're a good kid though, Jersey."

"Right back atcha, Bowers."

The sailor laughed. "Oh, by the way. I hear Musashi's heading to the mess hall."

Jersey's scowl morphed into a demonic smile.

"You want to go bother her?"

Jersey glanced down at her new outfit. "Really a lot."

—|—|—

Admiral Goto rocked on his heels at the front of the briefing room, letting the projector warm up while his girls settled into their seats. Handing out mission assignments to carriergirls was always a unique experience, but it wasn't because of the content of those assignments.

For the most part, his carriers had the same routine week after week: "patrol this area, sniff out any Abyssals, call for the battleships if you need them, don't stick your neck out." The location and quantity of carriers might change, but the general thrust of the briefings rarely did. Goto was fairly sure he could get his girls informed and sortied in his sleep if he had to.

No, the disconcerting part about briefing his carriers was that he wasn't briefing only his carriers.

Ryuujou, Jun'you, and Shinano sat waiting for his orders, each passing the time in their own way.

RJ sat back in her chair with an easy-going smile, but her razor-sharp gaze never wavered from Goto's. There wasn't much else to say about her, the light carrier might be old and tiny, but she knew her stuff. Goto'd give her as much slack as she asked for and them some, especially if it helped her keep her edge.

Jun'you, however, was busy folding up scraps of her notebook into paper footballs and egging her planeguard destroyer into joining her. Every so often, she'd throw her hands up in triumph and shout a tipsy "wooWoo!" and flash him a ruddy-nosed grin. Goto'd been working with Jun'you for almost four months now, and he wasn't sure if he'd ever seen her truly sober.

And then there was Shinano. The gigantic girl sat with the kind of ramrod straight attention even Kaga didn't normally display. Although there was none of the fleet carrier's self-assured dignity in Shinano's quivering form. She just stared straight ahead, her glasses glowing with reflected light while she awaited orders.

And there was a crisp red apple sitting on her desk for no apparent reason. It could've been a snack. Goto wouldn't have held it against her if it was, a carrier's appetite—especially a carrier of her size—was legendary. But there wasn't even a toothmark on it.

The destroyers were there too, most of them still yawning and kicking off the last cobwebs of sleep, but by far the most unique element was the teeny tiny pilots awaiting their instructions.

Goto hadn't seen more than a brief glimpse of faeries before, with air crewmen being the sole exception. He still wasn't sure what to think about them. The were cute, there was no denying that. Three inches of round-faced, silent aviator sitting with their stumpy legs splayed out and their equally tiny notebooks at the ready.

On the other hand, the were creepy as hell.

At least Ryuujou's pilots were relaxing like pilots should. They spiraled over her desk, leaning back against her notebook and silently told each other war stories. Jun'you's pilots were— well, half of them were stripped to the waist playing desktop volleyball while the other half just napped. Showing her Top Gun was a mistake.

But Shinano's pilots… they were as quiveringly timid as the carrier herself. They stared at him with rapt attention, those beady eyes taking in every detail like their tiny lives depended on it. Goto couldn't so much as blink without the pilots frantically scribbling it down on their tiny notebooks.

Goto cleared his throat, and flicked the projector's shade off. "Attention on deck."

Ryuujou sat up in her chair with a simple nod, Jun'you let out a giggling "Lezz Dodis!", and Shinano winced like someone smacked her in the face with a rolled-up newspaper.

Goto caught himself pitting the poor girl, but he forced it to the back of his mind. There was precious little he could do for her. Even if he didn't need all his ships, treating her with kid gloves would just convince her she was as broken as she thought she was.

"Alright, listen up." Goto flipped the projector over to a map of southern Japan and the surrounding waters. "I don't need to tell you how dire our supply situation is right now."

Shinano let out a very quiet wimpier and tried to make herself small.

Goto pressed on, "we're working on a plan to secure shipping lanes, but until then, Japan needs food." He waved a laser pointer over the tiny volcanic islands trailing out into the pacific. "The Nisshin Maru and about a dozen smaller whaling vessels are headed to the Bonins to do what they can."

The admiral pivoted on his heel to face his carriers—and their frantically scribbling pilot faeries. "That's contested waters at the best of times, and Iku's latest recon run spotted at least one enemy flattop in the area."

Ryuujou raised her hand. "Do we know what type?"

Goto shook his head. "I'm afraid not, Iku couldn't make more than general notes before it slipped into a fog bank."

The light carrier nodded and returned to her notebook.

"Shinano," Goto nodded to the largest girl in attendance.

The poor thing almost leaped out of her chair. "H-hai, admiral-dono."

"I understand Akashi's given you a clean bill of health."

The big support carrier nodded, "Y-yes, sir. She fixed up all my blown bulkheads, and White's been teaching my crew how to manage flooding better. But-" She stopped, blushed a brilliant red, and shoved her fist into her mouth with a muffled whimpering cry.

Jun'you reached over to pat the poor thing on the back.

"Shinano?" Goto rested his hands on the podium. He wanted to be kind to the girl, he really did. But there were a million other things that needed his attention right now. He couldn't afford to babysit the only armored carrier he had. Japan couldn't afford it.

"Sorry," she glanced at the ground, her glasses almost drooping off her nose. "It's my pilots. I've— I mean they… uh…" she sniffed and tried to compose herself. "They've been practicing twelve hours a day, and when they're not flying, they're reading up on theory."

Shinano scuffed one armored toe against the carpet. "And Akagi-sama loaned me a few of her consoles, I've even had them playing Ace Combat and War Thunder but…"

Goto cocked an eyebrow and motioned for her to continue.

"S-sir," Shinano glanced at the cluster of tiny pilots sitting on her desk. "They can fly and fight, but… they still can't, um… land. On me."

Goto cracked a grin. "I'll be honest, Shinano. I wasn't expecting even that."

"Really?" Shinano shot him a glowing half-grin. The poor girl looked like she was trying to figure out how to be depressed about what he'd just told her, but she hadn't quite figured out a way yet.

"Mmm," Goto nodded. "They're fast learners, but don't worry about their inexperience. You'll be serving purely in a support role today."

Shinano nodded with a glum smile.

"RJ and Jun'you," Goto flipped to the next slide, this one featuring a bold blue arrow thrusting down from Yokosuka to the Bonins, "will maintain a heavy CAP presence for the duration of this expedition, shouldn't be more than a week." He turned back to the girls, focusing the lion's share of his attention at the timid support carrier. "They'll be working their planes hard and draining their tanks fast. It'll be up to you to ensure they're supplied with avgas and parts."

Shinano offered a more certain nod this time. "Understood sir."

"Outstanding," Goto offered Shinano a warm smile before turning over to the next slide. "After the Tosa-princess incident, Kaga's been tasked with patrolling the East China Sea area," He pointed out a blue-tinged circle off Japan's southern tip.

"And Akagi's watching over fishing boats in the Emperor's Lake," Goto motioned to another blue blob filling most of the Sea of Japan. "That means you'll be heading out with no air support beyond what you're carrying. Ryuujou-"

"Sir!" the flat-decked carrier snapped to attention.

"You're in overall command here," said Goto. "If, in your judgment, the situation gets too hot, pull the fleet back. We can afford to loose a few days of fishing. We can't afford to loose a few whaling boats."

"Understood," Ryuujou scribbled a note down.

Goto flipped to the next slide. "Planeguard assignments are as follows. Kiyoshimo, Shinano planeguard—"

The little destroyer pumped her fist in the air. "Score!"

"—Hayashimo, Jun'you planeguard—"

Hayashimo just nodded in response, while Jun'you let out another tipsy "WooWoo!"

"—and Asashimo, that leaves you with Ryuujou."

"You can leave it to me, I'm fine with escorts."

Goto smiled at his girls, "Dismissed."