NS Norfolk, July 17, 2018
Chief Farnsworth was a very hard man to find. Mack had spent the better part of an hour trying to find the British liaison, to no avail. She had visited the barracks assigned to the British transients, only to be told that he was out and, no, they did not know where he had gone. She had received similar news from the commissary, the NEX, and even the workshops given over for British use. She had come to the enlisted club in a last ditch attempt to find the man. She had no idea what he would do if he wasn't here. She pushed open the door and was immediately assaulted by the smell of stale beer, and old cigarette smoke. Curbing her revulsion, she walked over to the bar. A man wearing the insignia of a storekeeper 1st was wiping down the long, bar with a rag.
"What can I do for the commander, today?" he asked after shooting a glance to look at Mack's collarpoint devices.
"Is Chief Farnsworth in here, by any chance?" Mack asked.
"English? Yeah, he's over there, ma'am," the barkeeper said, using his rag to point towards a man seated at the end of the bar. Mack thanked him with a nod, then walked over to that end of the bar.
"Chief Petty Officer Farnsworth?" Mack asked the man.
"Who wants to know," he grunted.
"Chief, I don't know how things work in your Navy, but in my Navy it is customary for chiefs to display a higher level of respect toward officers," Mack said, her voice smoldering.
"I apologize, ma'am, but I just got some bad news and I'm not in the best mental state right now," Farnsworth said, his voice growing tired.
"What did you hear?" Mack asked, growing suddenly curious.
"One of the convoys got hit a few hours ago," Farnsworth explained, "My girls were the escorts. They saved the merchants, but we lost one of our destroyers."
"I'm sorry," Mack replied.
"That's alright, I didn't know her that well," Farnsworth replied, taking a slug from his drink, "She had just come back recently, and hadn't come through this post yet."
"It must be hard, to send them into battle when they look like they do," Mack figured.
"Yes, commander, it is," Farnsworth replied, "Now, what is it you wanted to talk to me about?"
"I need to ask you a few questions, chief," Mack said, once they were seated in a booth away from the rest of the people in the club.
"What about, commander?" Farnsworth asked.
"Chief, we are about to establish a US ship girl command on this base, and I'm going to be its commander," Mack explained, "And I need to know, what can you tell me about the ship girls? You seem to be the expert on this base."
Farnsworth leaned back in his seat, "Now there's a difficult one. Mine if I grab a drink?" Mack gave him a nod of approval, and he waved the bartender over. After ordering a drink, he continued, "They are probably the strangest people I've ever worked with."
"How so?" Mack asked.
"When you first look at a girl, you think, 'Why on earth would they let this young thing fight in this war?' And then you start talking to her," he said, then his gaze grew distant, and his tone melancholy, "Then you realize just how much these girls have seen."
"How do you deal with them, on base?" Mack asked.
"Well, we Brits are special, ma'am," Farnsworth replied, "Our girls aren't allowed to be ordered around by regulars like me. No, they take orders from their own only. All I can do is give suggestions."
"What do you mean by that?"
"In our ship girl corps, the girls can only take orders from other ship girls. They aren't in the Navy chain of command. I don't know why the admiralty set it up like that, but I can't complain," Farnsworth explained, "I can't take orders from them either."
"So, how do I deal with them?"
"First thing, ma'am, forget everything you've learned about how to treat sailors," Farnsworth began, "These girls will fight fanatically, when they're on a mission, but when they're on base, they act just like any other girl. Prepare to rescue them from the SPs on a regular basis."
"I think that they would be able to keep themselves out of that sort of trouble," Mack said, firmly.
"It's not that they try to get into trouble," Farnsworth said, "It's just that trouble has a bad habit of following them wherever they go. It's partly a lack of cultural expertise, and partly just not understanding how the outside world works. They tend to get into delicate situations on a regular basis."
"So I'm guessing that you have to visit the local police from time to time?" Mack asked.
"Sometimes, they tend to go bar crawling after a hard mission, and we put up with it," Farnsworth explained, "We worked out a deal with the local police and the SPs that if one of them gets picked up, they get put in the Norfolk brig to rest for a night, then turned back over to me and the ship girl OIC.
"What about training, weapons?" Mack asked, changing the subject.
"They'll have to train themselves for the most part, ma'am, but they should be well versed in that already," Farnsworth said, "And I'm sure that my girls wouldn't mind giving pointers when they're on base."
"Thanks chief," Mack said, standing up, "You've been helpful." She reached into her pocket, and passed Farnsworth a business card. "That's my contact info, and the location of our headquarters. Drop in sometime when the girls get here, and I'll let you talk to them."
"I might just take you up on that," Farnsworth said, taking the card, "If I may, when are the girls going to get here?"
"Sometime this week, chief. They're flying commercial," Mack explained, "This is still a sensitive subject in my government, and we didn't want to draw attention to them."
"That might have been a bad decision, ma'am. If experience has taught us anything, it's that these girls are anything but inconspicuous when it comes to flying," Farnsworth said.
"I don't make the rules, chief, I just follow them," Mack said, "Thanks for your time." Farnsworth nodded as Mack walked out of the club. "I do wonder how the girls are getting on," she muttered to herself as she made her way back to her new office.
Los Angeles International Airport
"What do you mean you lost Bogue and Clemson? How can you lose Bogue and Clemson? Those two stick out like sore thumbs," Nevada said, trying desperately to keep from shouting. After a long haul flight from Midway, the girls were sitting in LAX waiting for their flight to the east coast. Nevada had given permission for her girls to go wander around the terminal.
"I'm sorry, we were looking through the airport, and I got stopped by security, and I lost track of them for five minutes, at the most," replied a rather shaken Ranger. The raven haired aircraft carrier was about the same height and build as Nevada, and looked at her with pleading blue eyes.
"The way those two act, it's a wonder why they haven't burned down the airport yet," muttered Tuscaloosa who looked up briefly from her sports magazine to give Ranger a look, "How could you lose them?" The heavy cruiser was a bit shorter than Nevada, but had a heavier build.
"Would you be quiet," Ranger snapped, "And take that shirt off, you're going to get shot." Due to current naval regulations, the girls weren't allowed to wear their uniforms while flying commercial. Most of them had donned Navy related t-shirts, but Tuscaloosa had gone with something a bit different. She was wearing a dark red University of Alabama t-shirt.
"What, I like it," Tuscaloosa shot back, "Roll Tide." Ranger gave her a glare, then stuck out her tongue at the cruiser.
"You're not helping," Nevada said to Tuscaloosa, causing her to go back to flipping through her magazine. She turned back to Ranger, "Where did you lose them?"
"Near the food court," Ranger replied.
"Come on, let's go find them before they do something stupid," Nevada said, then quickly walked away. She wasn't proud that she had to ask for directions, twice, but LAX was a big place.
"I'm sorry for losing track of them," Ranger repeated.
"Its fine, if those two want to get away and cause trouble, they're going to get away and cause trouble," Nevada said, "Focus on finding them now."
"Aye, ma'am." She figured that it would be easy to locate the missing pair of girls. There weren't that many people in the airport today. Understandably, not many people were flying these days, what with the war suspending overseas flights, and the closure of the sea lanes putting a premium on oil. But the pair were proving exceedingly difficult to locate. The pair stopped when they ran into Wichita. The blonde haired cruiser was bent over, looking into the window of a shop.
She looked up when she heard Nevada and Ranger approach, then asked, "What are you doing running around over here, Nevada?"
Ranger answered before Nevada got the chance, "Bogue and Clemson ran off, we're trying to find them before the police do."
Wichita pointed down the corridor, "I think I saw them running that way."
"Thanks," Nevada replied, "Come on, let's go." Ranger nodded, then followed her CO deeper into the airport.
They finally caught a break as to the location of the wayward ship girls when they heard someone shout, "Hey, stop. Get back here with that." Nevada turned to look in the direction of the shout, and had to jump out of the way of a scooter. She had seen them being used by the airport security to patrol the terminal. Nevada was horrified to see Bogue standing on the thing, gripping the handlebars, and little Clemson had her arms wrapped tightly around Bogue's shoulders, trying to remain on the scooter.
The pair had been so focused on the airport security man chasing them that they didn't even see Nevada, until she shouted, "Petty officer, what the hell are you doing?" Bogue's head snapped around at the sound of her CO shouting, and she lost control of the scooter, causing it to crash into a bench. Nevada walked over to make sure that the girls were alright, and was relieved to see that they were no worse for wear. Bogue looked up at Nevada, and let out a squeak of surprise. "That's right, you're in trouble. It's a good thing we're not on Midway right now, or Chief Boggs would have a field day with you two."
Before she could say anything else, the airport cop that the scooter had belonged to ran up and said, "Miss, do you know these two."
"Unfortunately, yes, and they will be dealt with, officer," Nevada said, "I don't know what possessed you two to try this, but you will be going on report."
"Miss, I'm sorry but I have to take them into custody," the airport cop interrupted, "I'm sure the facility would like to press charges." Nevada sighed then fished out her wallet. The showed the officer her brand new Navy identification card.
"Lieutenant Siebert, these two are Petty officer Bogue, and Seaman Clemson," Nevada explained, pointing to the respective girls.
"You're Navy?" he said after getting a good look at the ID.
"Yes, and I'm their superior," Nevada explained, "I will deal with them accordingly." The cop had a pained look as he tried to decide what to do.
Finally he handed the ID card back, picked up his scooter, and said, "Have a nice day, ma'am." Nevada gave him a friendly wave, then turned to look at the two girls still sprawled out on the floor.
"Do I need to explain to you just how much trouble you two are in?" Nevada asked, her tone icily cold.
"No, we're going ma'am," Bogue said, slowly standing up. She reached down and hauled Clemson up.
After they had left, Ranger said, "I'm sorry, they were my responsibility, and I let them get past me."
"Would you quit apologizing," Nevada said, "I told you, those two could give anyone the runaround. They've been spending too much time with Sammy, and it's rubbed off on them." Nevada gave Ranger another look, then said, "Go on, keep up with them. You can talk to them first before I get around to it."
"Yes ma'am," Ranger barked, then ran after the pair. Nevada stood and simply shook her head. It took all of her control to keep from laughing her head off at the two escort's antics.
"You find them?" she head Wichita ask. Nevada turned to see the blonde cruiser walk up with Benson in tow.
"Yeah, I did," Nevada replied, "They stole, and then wrecked a police scooter."
"I guess that's better than the time Bogue used her fighters to buzz the skipper," Wichita mused.
"I guess," Nevada replied, then turned to Benson, "Where have you been?"
The younger destroyer replied, "We found a spot to watch the tarmac, and were watching airplanes when Wichita found me. It's amazing how big they are."
"So your Ron is?" Nevada asked, referring to DesRon 7, Benson's command.
"Back in the waiting room," Benson replied, "They called our flight five minutes ago, we need to start boarding soon."
"Then we better get going," Nevada announced, then began to walk back to their gate. She saw once they were back, that the plane had appeared while she had been gone. It was a large thing, with two jet engines hanging from the wings. She had had a bit of trouble trying to herd her girls onto the plane, but they went eventually. She was a bit startled by the amount of people that could be seated in this plane, but pushed that aside in order to locate their assigned seats. She made certain to sit Bogue and Clemson in the same row, then stuck Ranger on the aisle seat to keep them in check. A few minutes later she had seated herself, and a few minutes after that, they were airborne. She tried to sleep during the long flight, but she was too enthralled by the world passing by the window to sleep.
Norfolk International Airport
Nevada couldn't help but stretch her neck out once she left the airplane. Several hours sitting in that seat had left her with one monster crick. It had taken the rest of the day and another plane for the group of ship girls to arrive at their final destination, but they were here. She led the girls out into the main building, making sure to keep the pair of troublesome escorts well within her view. She had a bit of trouble finding their ride, but she spotted a man near the baggage claim, wearing NWUs and carrying a piece of cardboard with, "Lt. Siebert," written on it.
"I'm Lieutenant Sims," Nevada said, walking up to the man.
"Ma'am, I'm Petty Officer Harris, I'm supposed to take you back to the commander," the man explained.
"Very well then, lead on petty officer," Nevada said. Harris walked out of the terminal, tossing the sign into a trash can as he walked out. He led them to a Navy gray painted bus sitting in the parking lot. A few minutes later they were on the road to the Naval Station. Harris was driving the bus himself, and Nevada didn't waste the opportunity to ask him a few questions. "You said, the commander, which commander?"
"Lieutenant Commander Emily Mackenzie, ma'am," he replied, "But I've heard that people like to call her Mack. She used to be the XO on an LCS, got transferred to lead an admin command on the base. I guess you'll be working for her, lieutenant," Harris replied.
"So you don't work for the commander?"
"Nope, I work for Admiral Simms, the OIC of the station, ma'am."
"Ah, okay then," Nevada said, then sat back in her chair.
"Ma'am, may I ask you a question," Harris spoke up a minute later.
"Shoot."
"Ma'am, well I don't really know how to ask this," he stumbled.
"Just spit it out petty officer," Nevada said.
"Are you girls, ship girls?" he asked, stunning Nevada speechless.
When she finally regained her tongue, she said, "What makes you think that?"
"Ma'am, it's just that I work with the Brits when they're on base, and the only time I've seen girls as young as them," he nodded to the back of the bus where Benson and her DesRon were seated, "In uniform, is when they're ship girls." Nevada leaned in close to Harris, even though there was no one on this bus who didn't already know what she was about to say, she couldn't help but feel that this was a big secret.
"Yes, they are," she replied, "As a matter of fact, I'm one too. Jeep that on the down low, would you? It's still supposed to be secret."
"I've heard rumblings, ma'am, but it's just scuttlebutt right now," Harris said, then asked, "If you don't mind me asking, which ship were you? Are you?"
"The battleship USS Nevada BB-36," Nevada replied with a note of pride in her voice, "I took it on the chin at Pearl, but came back swinging and slammed the krauts at Normandy."
"Who else is in the bus, ma'am?" Harris asked next.
"The tall one behind me is Ranger, CV-4," Nevada said, pointing, "The two next to her are Bogue and Clemson. An escort carrier and a destroyer, respectively. The two older ones behind them are Tuscaloosa and Wichita, both heavy cruisers. And the five in the very back are Benson and her destroyer squadron, Mayo, Gleaves, Niblack, and Plunkett."
"Not many here, are you the only ship girls we have?" Harris asked.
"Oh, no, there are lots more here. It's just they wanted girls with experience in the Atlantic to come over to this base, and we all have that," Nevada explained, "Back on the main base there are dozens of girls, but we're still gearing up for war for the most part."
"I hope we get stuck in soon, ma'am," Harris said as he pulled the bus up to the main gate, "We've taken way too much of a beating from those Abyssal bastards."
"Me too, me too," Nevada muttered as the bus pulled through the gate and parked near the HQ building. "Is there somewhere where I could change into my uniform?" Nevada asked, "I would prefer to meet my new CO in something other than a 'Go Navy' t-shirt."
"NEX is one building over, they should have changing rooms," Harris said, then pointed to the building in question.
"Thanks," Nevada said, then hopped out of the bus, her seabag slung over her shoulder. Ten minutes later she was walking towards the headquarters wearing a fresh set of khakis, the lieutenant's bars weighing heavy on her collarpoints. The rest of her girls had similarly changed uniforms, and were waiting in the NEX food court for her to come back, or, in the case of a few, shopping for clothes. Nevada tried to not think about them as she made her way to talk to her new commander, wondering what the woman would be like.
Author's Note:
This story will have chapters a bit shorter than the main one. Partly for faster updates, partly because I don't expect there to be nearly as many subplots as the main one.
I'm going to go back to answering reviews, because I like doing this:
Colonel AmiruddinArifSulaiman: I hope so, I have plans for the future, but who knows how they'll turn out.
still-guns: Answered this one in PM, but I'll say it here too. Smith was injured during the fight that killed his ship. He lost his left eye due to that injury and wears an eyepatch now.
Lord Khuzdul: We really didn't use subs in the Atlantic, and I'm trying to use history as a basis for my force deployments, but we will get to see a few more of the "crazy" destroyers than the few I've shown.
Wolfman-053: Is my answer sufficient? In all honesty there were every few carriers in the Atlantic. The only famous ones were Ranger, Bogue, and Guadalcanal.
Thorthemighty321: I'm trying to keep this cast of characters a bit smaller than the first fic. When I start having trouble keeping them strait I know I have too many.