Chapter 96: Season's Gifts
"You wanted to see me, Admiral?"
Goto glanced up from the piles of supposedly-organized paperwork dominating his desk with a tired sigh. The logistics problem was as tight as it'd ever been, but hopefully the new arrival Richardson had been so kind to lend him would at least smooth over the more trivial matters. "Yeah," The Admiral leaned back in his chair, rubbing the grit from his eyes with the heel of his hand.
"Ahem," The lithe American stepped into his office proper, her gritty white-on-black swimsuit soaking up the office lighting like a sponge. "USS Albacore reporting, sir."
She wasn't anything like what he'd expected. His submarines bounced around in bright blue swimsuits perpetually glistening with a slick, wet sheen. Swimsuits that they'd come spilling out of if they so much as breathed the wrong way.
But not Albacore, her swimsuit couldn't have been more utilitarian if it tried. The high-necked cut kept any cleavage the American had neatly covered, and only the proud "US NAVY" painted across her otherwise unremarkable chest drew the eye from her salty spiked-up fauxhawk.
She was even wearing pants. Pants open at the front and rolled back over her hips to show where Albacore had written 'Albie's!' in pink glitter pen—complete with heart over the eye—over the original owner's sharpied-in 'Richardson' tag.
"Albacore," Goto smiled and offered her his hand. "It's good to have you here." His experience with the American sub was limited to her reports. Reports so text-book perfect he almost didn't notice they were written in gel pen with hearts over the I's.
"Thank you, Sir!" the submarine's cheeks glowed and her whole body seemed to swell with pride. "And, uh… you can just call me Ablie if you'd like."
"Albie then," Goto nodded. So she had a cute nickname. At least she wasn't bouncing around in a swimsuit three sizes too small while turning the mere mention of the word 'torpedo' into something unspeakably lewd. "You've gotten settled in?"
Albie nodded, "Nagato bunked me with Imuya and Shioi." The American planted her hands on her hips and tutted her tongue. "They, uh…" she scratched at her salty up-do, "what does 'sempai' mean?"
Goto hung his head, "Why do you ask?"
"Because they both insist on calling me that," said Albie, "It's really weird."
Goto sighed, "I'll tell you later. For the time being, I've got a job for you."
"Sir!" Albie instantly dropped her confused, girlish demeanor and fell back into proper military line.
"Shinano came back not long ago," said Goto, "but beyond her duty uniform, she doesn't have so much as a spare sarashi to wear."
"Yikes," Albie winced sympathetically.
"We've called around," Goto slid Shinano's section of Janes' Fighting Kanmusu towards the submarine, "But there's not a store in the city that carries anything in her size."
Albie scanned over the numbers, her eyebrows briefly jolting up. "So… you brought me all the way up here… for that?"
Goto shrugged, "You're an American submarine, my girls are Imperial Japanese. They don't have a hope in hell of matching your… logistical magics."
"Uh, sir," Albie coughed, "We prefer the term 'blatant, unrepentant thievery'."
Goto cocked an eyebrow.
"What?" Albie smiled sweetly at him.
bGoto rolled his eyes, "Look, Albie, we need your skills. And from what Richardson's told me, you've been begging to visit Akihabara?"
Albie nodded, "Really a lot, sir."
"You're on loan to me for a week," said Goto. "You finish up early, take the rest of it off."
Albie smiled from ear to ear. "Thank you, sir!"
Goto gave her a weary sliver of a smile. From what Richardson had told him, giving Albie an order was as good as declaring it done. "Dismissed."
Albie snapped off a salute and vanished.
Goto sighed and turned back to his paperwork. In the scant few minutes he'd been talking with the American submarine, the paper seemed to have multiplied. It was breeding. There was a giant paperwork orgy going on right on his desk, and it was all he could do to fill out forms faster than they were produced.
Good thing he had—
Goto's hand closed around air where his coffee mug… used… to be.
The Admiral glanced up at nothing and scowled. This was payback from Richarson, he just knew it.
—|—|—
Support carrier Shinano wasn't looking forwards to her bath. Partly because baths were scary. The giant carrier always felt uneasy when she slipped beneath the warm, soothing waters. Maybe if White was there to hold her hand it wouldn't be as scary, but the heroic little American was busy doing real carrier things in the Emperor's Lake. She couldn't come even if Shinano asked.
But mostly, Shinano wasn't looking forwards to her bath because that meant being naked. In front of Ryuujou and Jun'you. Shinano hated being naked, it made her feel… well, naked.
When she was at sea, she could be a carrier. She could bind down her battleship heritage under tightly-woven canvas and heavy steel. She could pick up her bow and sling her deck over her broad shoulders. She could fight, and she would fight for her beloved Japan. But that was while she was at sea.
In the baths, naked, what she was reared its ugly head at her. Without her tight bindings, breasts bigger than any carriers' bulge from her chest. Without her thick canvas kimono, her flanks rippled with an armor belt built for close-range brawling. In the bath, she was reduced to what she was. What she was born as.
The last Yamato.
A battleship obsolete before her keel kissed the ocean.
Shinano sniffed and pulled her massive legs up against her soft, squishy, uncarrierlikechest. She'd hug herself if her other arm wasn't a mangled stump. She hated being reminded of what she was, and she really hatedgetting attention.
She hadn't even done anything special. She'd just spotted handful of planes. Any other girl would've done the same in her position. The praise made her feel flighty…. Well, flightier than usual.
Shinano sniffed and rested her chin on her chest. And then she noticed something. Her locker was ajar. Strange, she swore she'd remembered to close it. White had been very specific about that, watertight doors aren't worth anything it you leave them open.
The big support carrier stood to her feet. Which was easier said than done. Shinano was not a very coordinated girl at the best of times, and her missing arm conspired with the slick tile to degrade her already feeble gymnastic skills. She fell flat on her stern with a wet squish and crack of shattering tile once before she got her screws under her.
She tried not to think about the damage her fall had done. The light carrier docks really weren't built for ships of her immense displacement. None of them really were except the battleship docks. And Shinano would giveanything to stay out of them.
She idly rubbed her sore stern with her only remaining hand and wandered towards her locker. There was something inside that she hadn't put there.
"Hmm?" Shinano muttered to herself and slowly settled onto her knees. She pushed the door aside with her hand. And then she started to cry.
Waiting for her in a neatly folded pile was a swimsuit. And not one of the perpetually glistening blue outfits the submarines threatened to burst out of with each bouncy step.
No, this one was… utilitarian. The fabric was a gritty black that seemed to soak up light like a sponge. Only storm-gray panels on the sides gave an indication of the wearer's figure. The high-necked cut covered all of Shinano's cleavage, and a stenciled rising sun on the bust gave her something to be proud of on her chest.
And there was also a little node. A small paper card filled with the most stunningly beautiful handwriting Shinano had ever seen.
Heard you were around, thought you could use this. -A
Shinano let out a squeal and hugged her new swimsuit to her breast. She didn't know who'd bought her this, but she didn't care. She'd treasure it for ever! Now if she could just figure out how to get it one with only one arm…
—|—|—
"S-so cold," Frisco hissed though chattering teeth and hugged herself tighter. Her raven black hair lay glued to her back like a wet, tired dog. Water dripped off the ragged tear in her soaked-though crop-top and ran down the pale skin of her scarred-over stomach.
A few hundred yards off her flank, Lou cupped her hands to her face and futilely tried to warm them up. Her flaming hair was throughly quenched from the days-long rainstorm, and her sunkissed skin showed even though the drenched fabric of her once-crisp whites. "Brazil… was…" she rubbed her hands together and whimpered, "Never like this."
"Mmm… Brazil," Frisco stuck her hands under her armpits and squeezed them tight. She was still as drenched as ever, but… Actually no. She wasn't any colder. She was just cold and miserable in a new, exciting way.
"The water's seventy degrees there," Lou wiped a dripping wet strand of hair from her face.
"Seventy degrees," Frisco moaned at the thought.
And then a sound wafted over the choppy waters. A sound that bounced with a happy lilt altogether unsuited for the soggy downpour. A sound that eerily resembled someone trying to staunch a strong, Teutonic laugh with a wet-gloved hand, but failing miserably at it.
Frisco scowled in the general direction of her German divisionmate.
True to her suspicious, the tall, blond, non-treaty-compliant German cruiser held both hands clapped over her mouth. It wasn't doing much. Prinz Eugen's cheeks were glowing even more than they normally did, and her whole body was quivering from the effort of holding back her giggles.
"What?" Frisco sighed and hiked up her gunbelt. She had to have gained half her weight in water. Good thing her hips weren't as flat as her chest, or she'd have lost her pants somewhere in the Bering sea.
"This…" Prinz Eugen's clipped accent rang with what could only be described as girlish Prussian giggles. "This is not cold."
Frisco shivered in protest. "This i-is c-cold, what're you t-talking about?"
Prinz Eugen shook her head. "No. This… This is nippy."
Frisco flinched and gave herself a quick once over. But no, her searchlights were still nice and secured. Lou didn't even bother to check. Either the light cruiser wasn't as jumpy as Frisco was, or she just didn't care anymore. South America did strange things to a girl.
The German-born cruiser giggled like a pigtailed school girl. "Come spend a few days in a Norwegian fjord-"
Frisco and Lou shivered.
"-in February-"
Frisco and Lou shivered more.
"And then we'll talk about cold, ja?"
For a minute, Prinz Eugen just beamed at the two American-born cruisers with a smile that put even Japanese night-fighting searchlights to shame while Frisco and Lou shivered at her.
Then Frisco snorted out a laugh and hugged herself not to keep warm, but to keep from exploding in giggles. Lou followed suit mere seconds later. The flame-haired light cruiser threw her head back and howled out a roaring belly laugh.
Before long, all three cruisers were doubled over with mirth.
"You know?" Lou slapped her thigh and smiled at the giggling German. "Whoever said Germans don't have a sense of humor lied."
"And whoever said," countered Prinz Eugen, "That Americans are friendly and welcoming did not know the half of it!"
—|—|—
It took Shinano quite a while to slip herself into her brand new swimsuit. Longer than she'd care to admit, actually, but having one arm end in a stump of twisted metal at the elbow complicated matters. The fit wasn't perfect either. The gritty black material was a little too snug over her chest, and Shinano would have liked a tad more room for her hips.
But the coal-black coloring blended her overbuild curves into a sleek, hard-to-define silhouette. It wasn't as good as her bindings, but it at least made her chest less noticeable, and that made Shinano happy.
Also, it was a gift from someone who cared about her. And that made it perfect. The big carrier smiled—actually smiled—as she examined herself in a steamed-over mirror. Whoever gave this to her knew exactly what she'd like. The gray accent panels on the sides… well accented all the parts of her body she liked while the deep black hid the many parts she didn't.
Shinano was so happy she could squeal.
So she did.
She let out a high-pitched girlish squeal and hugged herself for lack of anyone else to hug. She felt so happy, happier than she'd ever felt when White wasn't around.
She took one last glance at herself in the mirror before marching into the bath house. And then she stopped dead in her tracks.
Ryuujou and Jun'you had beaten her to the pool. Probably since they didn't have to fumble with heavy sarashi or squeeze themselves into a swimsuit. But that wasn't what gave her pause.
Both carriers were naked. Shinano could see every inch of their skin.
Nearly all of it was covered in bruises and tears. The water around both girls was stained a shimmering rainbow pink as blood, oil, and aviation fuel leeched though hastily-patched wounds. Ryuujou's chest quivered with halting breaths, and Jun'you's normally spiky hair had lost all its bounce.
Shinano felt her jaw hang slack as she stared at them. She'd thought her arm was bad, but… But other than her arm, she didn't have much to complain about. A few nicks and scrapes barely worth mentioning.
"W-wha," the giant carrier stammered as she shuffled into the water. To see her friends—her two closest friends out of the vanishingly small number she had—in such a state broke her heart.
"Hey." Ryuujou glanced over with painful exertion. Her blackened eyes were nearly swollen shut, it was all she could do to squint though bruised, bloodied flesh. Her voice rasped like a parched whisper, and even that single word seemed to take herculean effort.
"What happened to you?" Shinano settled onto her haunches in the warm, soothing water. Oil and blood lapped at her breast as she stood watch over her aching friend.
Ryuujou closed her eyes and hissed a breath though split, bloody lips. "Unarmored," she breathed.
"R-right," Shinano nodded. She thought taking a hit to her deck was painful, but… that was nothing. Scratch damage compared to what her friends endured. They'd felt bombs explode inside them. They'd felt their machinery spaces get torn apart by shrapnel and splinters. Judging by the charring on Jun'you's belly, she'd felt her hanger roast from the inside while her crews battled secondary fires.
Shinano couldn't imagine suffering like that. Just thinking about it made her want to crawl into her nice, safe corner in the shower and cry until she couldn't cry anymore.
But she was a support carrier. She might not be much use in a fight, but she was born to support her friends. She could—would—help however she could.
"Here," Shinano bit the corner of her mouth and fished around in her stores. It took her a while to find what she wanted. Most of her DC crews were busy repairing her own damage, and those that weren't were too tired of green to know where anything went anymore. But at long last she found what she was looking for.
Two fresh bowls of steaming hot noodle soup, and frosty bottles of Ramune. "It's not Mamiya's," Shinano blushed as she gently placed the bowls in the glass-smooth water and let them float like little boats. "It's…" the giant support carrier blushed. She'd done the best she could, but she just didn't have the kind of spices she'd want for good food. "It's the best I could do."
Ryuujou just smiled, and slooooowly shifted her arm to reach for the floating bowl.
Shinano gently pushed her arm back down. "No," she said in the calmest, gentlest voice she could manage. "Rest up."
The big carrier cradled the bowl against her breast with her ragged stump and fumbled a spoon between her fingers. She gathered a few noodles and a healthy helping of warm broth and carried it to Ryuujou's torn lips. "Open wide."
A battered smile passed over the light carrier's face as she obligingly took a slow sip of the soup. "T-thank you," she whispered.
Shinano blushed a brilliant crimson and hastily spun to face Jun'you. She repeated the process for almost an hour. She'd offer a small helping of soup to one girl, blush or whimper when she was thanked, and switch to the other for a bit.
But, finally, she ran out of soup. She didn't mind though, she could tell her friends were getting sleepy. The frantic palpitations of Ryuujou's chest had slowed into a steady rhythm, and Jun'you's eyes had slipped resolutely shut.
"G-good night," muttered Shinano as she slipped back to her own berth. The water felt amazing against her bare skin, and even against her slick swimsuit. The warm, wet air was heavy with the smells of healing oils and fresh noodle soup. Shinano felt sleep start to creep on her like a mist, but there was still one thing she had to do.
She was a support carrier. She existed to support the real carriers. And she'd do that with the last fiber of her being.
Now if she could just remember that lullaby White used to sing her to sleep with…
"How'd it go," Shinano sunk down in the pool until her chin ticked the surface and even her expansive breasts barely crested above the glassy smooth water. She screwed up her face in thought, and then it came to her.
"Rev'n up your engine," sang Shinano in the same gentle, soothing tone White would use when she couldn't sleep. "Listen to her howlin' roar."
A tiny chuckle slipped past Jun'you's lips, and the carrier sunk deeper into her berth.
"Metal under tension," Shinano closed her eyes and thought of White. Whenever she was scared, whenever she couldn't sleep and needed a glass of water to get settled, White was there. Whenever she got scared and couldn't find her plushie, White volunteered herself for cuddling purposes. White was the perfect support carrier. She was everything Shinano wanted to be. She just hoped she could do her momboat justice. "Begging you to touch an' go."
Shinano kept singing until the end of the song, but she was pretty sure both carriers fell asleep halfway though. She didn't mind, they'd worked hard. They'd worked so hard for so long… Shinano was just honored she got the opportunity to sing them to bed.
"That was very beautiful," said a voice Shinano recognized instantly, even though she'd only heard it in stories and legends. Her pulse instantly skyrocketed, and she had to scramble to avoid a catastrophic steam explosion.
"K-Kaga-dono!" Shinano whipped around in the pool and tried to bow, curtsy, and hide all at the same time. All she actually accomplished was cracking a dent in the poolside tile with her forehead. "Owwwwww."
Kaga's face was a mask of inscrutable stoic calm. She sat on her knees by the side of the pool, her hair tied back in its usual side-tail without a single strand out of place. Her lacquered breastplate bulged over her chest with curves that Shinano's armor struggled to repress, and an ebony-handled katana rested on her lap. "Shinano?"
"Y-yes," Shinano clenched at her forehead and stared at her own reflection. She wanted to bow deeper, but the water just wouldn't let her.
"Look into my eyes." Kaga's voice didn't waver from it's calm, controlled timbre, but there was the bite of a barked order wound tight into her tone.
Shinano whimpered, and forced herself to meet the fleet carrier's piercing gaze. Kaga's stern features stood in sharp relief in the dim dock lighting, as cold and unyielding as granite. Her deep brown eyes bored though Shinano's with unblinking intensity. "Y-yes, Kaga-dono," mumbled Shinano.
"They found the carrier who launched the strike," said Kaga with biting hatred tinting her clipped syllables. "It's helpless without its planes. Mogami and Choukai have engaged it in surface action." Kaga hissed out a breath though gleaming teeth and pulled the fabric of her hakama smooth. "I do not expect it to last until nightfall. I thought you would like to know."
Shinano nodded. "I… I would." She blushed and glanced down at the poolside again. "T-thank you, Kaga."
"Shinano," Kaga's voice was as harsh and curt as ever. But Shinano thought she heard—just for an instant, mind you—a warm shade to the cool, clipped tones.
"Yes?" murmured the giant converted carrier.
"Are you familiar with the battle of Midway?" asked Kaga.
Shinano hung her shoulders. "A- a little."
Kaga leaned forwards with the oiled precision of a battleship's main battery. Her hands stayed planted on her hips as her face came nose-to-nose with Shinano. "Are you familiar with how I died?"
Shinano bit her lip and shrank away from the fleet carrier's piercing gaze. "N-not really."
"A thousand pound bomb," explained Kaga with cool indifference, "punched though my flight deck and exploded in my upper hanger." The carrier grabbed Shinano's hand and planted it on the lacquered wood of her breastplate.
Shinano tried to squirm away, but Kaga as unyielding as a mountain. "The blast ruptured my avgas lines," she said, "and started secondary fires, destroyed my fire-suppression gear, and detonated eighty-thousand pounds of ordnance that blew out my sides."
Shinano shivered and felt her heart rate push the redline even further.
"You took a blow that shattered me." Kaga stood to her feet in one smooth motion. Her knees locked with mechanical grace and she pulled her uniform smooth. "And spotted a strike regardless." The old carrier stared though Shinano's glasses into her glassy purple eyes. "Never forget that."