The variety of the looks and the silence that followed her outburst gave Iowa pause.
"Wait, I'm confused…" Haggard exclaimed to the room, breaking the silence as she asked , "what's happening?"
"I-um" Commander Andrews clasped her hands together, deep in 'damage recovery' mode.
"You expected a different ship." Iowa sadly stated, slouching back and casually bending the metal backing of her chair. "Right?"
The woman was silent.
"I should have guessed, I had known the South Carolinas were being built after all." she stated with an empty smile.
"I can't say I know any ship of that class, though I'm hardly an expert, the ship we had mixed you up with was nameship of her class."
There was another short pause, filling the room again with awkward tension.
"So I take it there is still precious little room for a pre dreadnought in a fleet action?"
The refusal of the pause to vacate the room served as the majority of her answer.
"I will also admit that yes, you are less-" the woman paused glancing up at the ceiling to find the proper phrasing "-well designed to suit the naval doctrine we've adopted. The fact that you're not what we expected still doesn't change the importance of your arrival."
"Commander, Vincennes and Witchita both have greater firepower, armor, and speed. Also probably tonnage," Stewart explained out of hand while flipping through her notes and occasionally jotting down more information. She glanced in Iowa's direction, "in my opinion she's probably exactly as unsuited to frontline combat as she expects she is."
"Dammit Stewart you're not helping!"
"Apologies ma'am" Stewart stated unapologetically
"But I don't think she's wrong…" Iowa stated solemnly. "I mean, just over a decade into my service I was told the same thing."
The commander sighed, "Listen Iowa, we're pretty ludicrously short on ships as is. We'll manage to find something you're well suited to do, I promise."
Iowa nodded solemnly.
"But-uh, anyways, I guess I'll redress the interview, are there any questions you had in specific? I seem to have made a mess of things pretty thoroughly."
Iowa shook her head.
"Right well, I'll call this bit off for now, give you some time to recover. I seem to have managed to stress you out even more than being brought back to life did; for that I'm sorry," the woman smiled sympathetically before sending Stewart a serious look that seemed to insert even more over-professionalism into the tiny destroyer Stewart".
The destroyer stiffened further, "ma'am."
"Please escort Iowa to the dormitories and cafeteria, make sure to find her a room and ensure she's comfortable. Following that I think we need a short chat about courtesy and military bearing."
"Ma'am." Stewart confirmed.
As Stewart stood up rapidly in attention and Iowa seemed to pull herself up with great reluctance, Haggard gave a wide glance over the room before sending an adorably thoughtful
expression to the commander "I'm still confused…" she whined quietly.
Stewart per her part ignored the complaint and instead focused on the self loathing battleship hanging her head in front of her. "Miss Iowa, if you'd please follow me, I can show your accommodations". Seemingly unconcerned with whether or not the battleship actually followed, she proceeded out the door in crisp lockstep.
Andrews, upon watching the two ships depart pulled a photo out of her right shoulder pocket, unlocking it.
"Commander?"
"Yes Haggard?"
"I'm still confused" Haggard repeated
"Me too Haggard" Andrews agreed as she typed 'Iowa pre-dreadnaught' into her device's search engine, "me too…"
The stifling silence between Iowa and her escort was broken only sporadically by more of the, as far as Iowa was concerned, bizarrely uniformed sailors. Though Iowa privately estimated they had traveled a mere few hundred feet down the sterile white walls and subtle tiles of the military installation, her escort's silence and the awkward greetings of passing personnel did much to make the journey seem longer.
Eventually they reached a large door reading "authorized personnel only" with a plexiglass barrier housing a particularly unenthusiastic looking marine.
"IDs please." The man asked in a manner reinforcing his unenthusiastic-ness.
Stewart reached into her tiny uniform's shoulder pocket and pulled out a small plastic card from it, holding it up clearly. The Marine responded by giving her a slightly odd look, "Jesus Stewart, I was kidding, there aren't many teenage girls on post, I know who you are"
Stewart appeared to give him a slight glare, though Iowa could now no longer be sure that wasn't just her casual face. "Let's go Iowa".
Beyond the door the atmosphere seemed to lighten slightly, the floors were now (admittedly thinly) carpeted were and flanked by a warmer color of walls. Neither Stewart nor Iowa seemed to notice, or at least neither of their moods improved.
Reaching a set of double doors Stewart guided Iowa to glance inside, revealing a large number of tables in the foreground of a rather large and spacious room. In the far corner was a serving gallery which seemed to lead into a, from Iowa's distant perspective, unusually large kitchen area.
"Cafeterias here. Breakfast is zero six to ten hundred, lunch is eleven hundred to fifteen, dinner fourteen to twenty" Stewart confirmed, before closing the door.
She pointed down the hall, "battleship dorms are down there, I was told to set you up with the cruisers though." She continued walking, "They figured you'd want company".
Picking out a small key, Stewart followed her own guidance and proceeded past several doors before she began unlocking one, still unfocused on Iowa, "If the location or contents of the room are not to your liking let someone know." She stated flatly before opening the door.
The interior of the room was modestly furnished, home to two beds, two desks and a series of lamps and dressers it seemed to Iowa to lack for personality if not for comfort. The woman stopped sighed slightly and sat down on one of the neatly folded and white sheeted beds. Taking a further moment to lament her earlier realization in the meeting room
Stewart finally broke the silence.
"You want some advice?"
Iowa gave her a questioning look.
"Get over it."
Iowa stopped, finding her authoritative tone again "pardon?"
"I said get over it." The girl said, turning and stepping back into the hall, "feeling sorry for yourself won't upgrade your guns or increase your belt."
The door closed leaving Iowa to deal with the anger that now was replacing her self loathing. Eventually she sighed again and laid back on her bed, staring up at the ceiling until sleep overcame her.