NS Midway Island, June 21, 2018
The first thing Fletcher became aware of when she came to was a pounding, throbbing sensation in her head. It was completely unlike anything that she had every felt before upon waking. She tried to remember what had happened to her before waking up here, but the only thing she remembered was being hit by that Abyssal shell and the stab of pain that it had sent through her body. Wait, I also remember firing that pistol at the bastard who shot me. She became acutely aware of something else, her left arm was completely numb, and it had some thing wrapped around it. When she poked at the wrapping, she found that it was rock hard. What the hell is this, she thought as she tried to move the arm. To her surprise, she found that the arm was pinned against her chest by a cloth and strap arrangement.
She reached up with her free arm trying to take the thing off. She could feel a buckle of some sort on the part of the strap lying against her back. What is it with people here making things so complicated, she though as she fumbled with it.
"Hold on a minute there Fletcher," she looked up to see Captain Smith standing in the door of the room, a look of concern on his face.
"Sir, what is this?" Fletcher asked, nodding at the immobilized arm.
"That shell you took broke your arm. The docs reset it and put it in a cast so it could heal," Smith explained walking over to her bedside. Fletcher nodded and continued to work on the buckle. Smith saw what she was doing and said, "Wait a minute, leave that alone. In order for the bone to heal, the arm has to be immobilized.." Fletcher grunted, then puller her arm out from behind her.
"Fine, I guess," she said, dejectedly, "How long will I have to leave this thing on?"
"The sling? Just a few days, but the cast will have to stay on for at st least three weeks, possibly more," Smith replied.
"Three weeks," Fletcher exclaimed, "From one hit?" Back then I could have taken several hits just like that one and kept fighting, but now just one will lay me up?
"You have to remember, you're human now, and humans don't fight well with broken limbs. You'll have to wait for it to heal," Smith said while he sat down on the bedside.
"But three weeks sir, isn't that a bit much?" Fletcher asked.
"I didn't say you had to be completely bedridden for that time, it is only a broken arm after all, but you will be on limited duty," Smith replied.
"What am I supposed to be doing while my sisters are out fighting?" Fletcher asked indignantly.
"We have a whole passel of new destroyers getting ready to go into basic, they need instructors and mentors. I think that you could handle that," Smith offered.
"Fine, but as soon as this thing," she placed a hand on the sling, "comes off, I want to go right back into the fight."
"I know how it feels to be laid up for a long time Fletcher, if you need to talk about anything, I'm here for you," Smith said.
"I'm fine sir, no problems," Fletcher replied levelly.
"Fair enough. And before I forget, this is yours," Smith reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a black, oblong box. Handing it to Fletcher he explained, "In recognition of wounds received while in combat in the vicinity of the USNS Arctic, I am happy to present the award of the Purple Heart to Petty Officer 3rd Class Fletcher."
Fletcher took the medal from Smith and looked at it for several seconds before realizing something, "Petty Officer 3rd Class?"
"Oh did I forget to mention," Smith unfolded a sheet of paper from his pocket and read, "Seaman Apprentice Fletcher is hereby advanced in grade to that of Petty Officer 3rd class so that she may take over duties as the second in command of DesRon 21." Fletcher looked up a Smith with a look of disbelief in her eyes. "Don't get too excited though, Nicholas has been advanced to Petty Officer 1st and is your new boss. O'Bannon and Radford are now have full Seaman grade and are the first members of DesRon 21," Smith continued.
"Sir, I don't know what to say," Fletcher muttered as she turned the medal over in her hand.
"Well let me say this, you did an amazing job out there Fletcher. Rest up, recover, then you will go right out again," Smith said, standing up and placing a hand on Fletcher's shoulder. He walked to the door then turned back, "There's someone here who wants to see you, would you mind?"
"Not at all," Fletcher said softly. Smith nodded then left. Fletcher only had seconds to identify the visitor as Radford, before a 5 foot blur of destroyer ran into the room and grabbed Fletcher in a hug.
"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," babbled Radford as she had to visibly hold back tears.
"What are you sorry for, I was the one who got hit," Fletcher said softly.
"I know but you only got hit because you shoved me out of the way. I should have been paying more attention," Radford said.
"You couldn't have know, I didn't know," Fletcher comforted. "I wish I had taken the hit differently though."
Radford stood up and looked at Fletcher, "I haven't known you like this for long, but I know that there's something bothering you, what is it?"
Do I tell her? Tell her that I have to be laid up for three weeks? Fletcher let out a loud sigh, then answered, "Skipper tells me that this injury, will keep me out of action for three weeks or more."
"That's good," Radford said, "At least there won't be any permanent damage." Fletcher gave her a look and Radford added, "What?"
"Three weeks Radford, I have to stay on the island for three weeks. That's three weeks that I can't help you, Nick, and O'Bannon with this war," Fletcher explained dejectedly.
"But then in three weeks you can come back and fight," Radford said, "What's the problem with that?"
"That was the damage from one hit Radford, one hit. Back when I was a destroyer it would have taken only a few hours to repair the damage from one hit," Fletcher said, eyes downcast, "If these new forms can be knocked out by taking that little damage, what good are they?"
"If you were still a ship could you feel the sea breeze whipping through your hair when you are out on patrol?" Radford asked suddenly.
"Well no of course not," Fletcher replied confused, "But I don't see..."
Radford cut her off, "Could you have felt the determination when we vowed together to get the best fitness scores on the base, or feel the satisfaction as we did it?"
"No, but..."
"How about being able to enjoy the taste of a freshly grilled hamburger on a cool summer night?"
"I don't see..."
"Could you have been able to look in your sister's eyes and know that she would give everything to keep you safe," Radford continued heedless of Fletcher's protests, "And know that she was thinking the same thing about you?"
"But what does any of that have to do with being able to fight?" Fletcher finally managed to say.
"Life isn't all about combat and fighting the enemy," Radford pointed out.
"But it's what we're here for, what we were built for," Fletcher protested.
"Maybe once, but not anymore," Radford announced, "You can still fight just as hard now as you did back then, but you also get to experience being human while doing it. So what if you have to put up with being a bit more squishy. Chief Zimmerman says that our equipment will take all of the damage when we get hit, and you only broke that arm because of the way you took that shot."
"I guess," Fletcher sighed.
"Could you have earned that if you were still a ship," Radford continued, pointing at the Purple Heart still clenched in Fletcher's hands.
"No I couldn't have," Fletcher admitted.
"Here," Radford said pulling something out form behind her back, "Captain says we got a crate of these on the Arctic and he's giving them out to all the experienced girls." When Fletcher took it she could see that it was a large rectangular object made of glass and plastic.
"What is this?" she asked after turning it over in her hands several times.
"It's a tablet computer, think of it as a book that can pull up any information you can think of," Radford explained. "Here," she said, taking it from Fletcher and turning it on. When she handed it back, Fletcher saw that on the screen was a picture that hadn't been there a second ago. It took Fletcher several seconds to realize that she was looking at an old black and white photo of a Fletcher class destroyer charging through the water. Then she noticed something about the ship, painted on its bow was the number 445.
"Is this me," Fletcher asked so softly that Radford could barely hear it.
"That was you," Radford corrected, then tapped on the screen, "This is you." Fletcher saw that the picture displayed had changed. Replacing the destroyer was a simple picture of her four sisters standing in front of a building. Nicholas was wearing her usual stoic smile, O'Bannon her ever present shit-eating grin, and Radford had a look of pure happiness, leaning against Fletcher's side. After a moment Fletcher remembered when they had taken that photo, it was right after they had arrived here, and Smith had taken the picture to commemorate their first day.
Fletcher looked up at Radford, blinking tears out of her eyes, "Thank you," was all she could say.
"I'm your sister, your twin, looking out for you is my job. And I can finally do that job now that we're human, so don't you dare tell me that being human is a bad thing," Radford said placing a finger on Fletcher's forehead.
Maybe she is right, maybe being human isn't so bad after all, Fletcher thought as she leaned up in her bed to give her sister a one-armed hug.
Smith, unseen just outside the door, smiled to himself at the scene. They really are sisters in every sense, he thought. He had suspected Fletcher might fall into depression upon learning that she couldn't fight to protect her sisters for several weeks, and there was no way she would open up to her CO about it. That was just how she was, the ever disciplined soldier. So he had arranged for Radford to be in the vicinity when she woke up, hoping events would fold out just like they had. As he walked away he reached a hand up to wipe away the moisture that was forming in his good eye. Damn these allergies.
"Captain, could I talk to you for a minute?" announced Nicholas as she stuck her head into the commander's officer. Smith was in the process of reading a comms message and held up a hand to indicate that he was busy.
"Interesting," he grunted as he finished and replaced the sheet of paper on his desk.
"May I ask what that was?" Nicholas asked as she walked up to his desk.
"Just a bit of traffic from 3rd Fleet HQ, with an addendum by Admiral Davies," Smith replied, "Apparently when the CNO got word of their little stunt with the Arctic, he was not pleased. Davies says that 3rd Fleet is now in full time CYA mode."
"CYA?" Nicholas asked, not familiar with the acronym.
"Cover your ass, you know passing the buck. Well anyway, right now there are so many fingers being pointed in 3rd Fleet that the CNO has no idea who is actually responsible. So, for now, he's holding off on disciplinary action," Smith explained, "But on a better note, it has been decided that sending the Arctic and the Halsey back to Pearl would be to risky, so they're gonna stay here for the time being."
"Sir we would be happy to escort them back to Pearl," Nicholas interjected.
"I know you would, but it doesn't have anything to do with escorts. The CNO is, effectively, letting us hold the ships hostage until whoever is responsible for this little shit storm fesses up," Smith replied.
"Why did they think it would be a good idea to try that?" Nicholas asked.
"They were trying to make us jump before we were ready, display to the world, and SecNav, that we weren't worth the taxpayers dollar. But now that we have proven them wrong, expect a lot more escort missions in the future," Smith said.
"Sir?" Nicholas asked.
"One of the long term goals of this program is the re-opening of the shipping lanes. Finally letting the free flow of maritime commerce begin again," Smith clarified, "Now that you've listened to me rant for ten minutes, what did you want to see me about?"
"Sir, I wish to report on the recent battle," Nicholas announced.
"Nicholas, when I said that you have a few days off for recuperative leave, I wasn't joking," Smith chided.
"But sir, I already typed it up, I just wanted to deliver it to you," Nicholas said pulling a sheet of paper out from behind her back.
Smith took it from her then asked, "When did you have time to work on this?"
"I left my computer on the helo. Wrote that up as soon as I had time," she replied.
"Has anyone told you yet that you would make a good chief?" Smith asked rhetorically, "Which reminds me..." Smith trailed off as he dug around in a desk drawer, finally coming up with a sheet of paper, "Petty Officer 1st Class Nicholas, you are hereby assigned as commander, DesRon 21."
"DesRon 21?" Nicholas said, confused, "Isn't that unit still in service?"
"It is, but to lessen confusion for new girls, we're gonna try assigning them to their historic units. We will be using different nomenclature only on paper," Smith explained, "Plus if it confuses some of the paper pushers over at 3rd Fleet... well their loss."
"Sir, is there anything else?" Nicholas asked.
"Nope, have a nice rest PO," Smith replied picking up the report. Nicholas came to attention, did a textbook about face, and marched out of the office. Smith got all of five minutes to start reading the report before he heard a knock on his door.
"Come in," he said loudly.
"You wanted to see me?" he looked up to see Enterprise standing in the door.
Smith looked down at his watch and commented, "It's 1000 already, where does the time go. Yes, lieutenant, I wanted to see you. I know you are on leave, but I have a little public relations mater to take care of."
"What is it," she said, walking into the office.
"We have a couple of new carriers on base, and I need some help running them through the range so they can pick out their weapons," Smith explained standing up from his chair.
"New carriers?" she asked excitedly, "Do you know who they are?"
"Unfortunately not," Smith replied, "Dr. Richter has been doing a good job of running that toy of his, just not so good of a job of filling out paperwork. I have no idea who is on my base right now."
"If you want, I could get everyone to come in and fill out personnel files," Enterprise offered.
"That's okay, I have a plan for that, but I'm going to deal with it later. Right now we have a range to visit. You haven't seen the new carrier range, have you?" Smith asked as he led Enterprise out of the building.
"No, I haven't," she replied, "I've been meaning to, but with the recuperative leave and all..."
"Rodger, well it looks pretty nice. Construction team really outdid themselves this time," Smith commented as he walked to a green humvee parked outside of the HQ. He held the door open for Enterprise, then got behind the wheel. The humvee bounced into the range a few minutes later. It was a small fenced off spit of land right on the coast of the lagoon. A row of shooting stations had been set up facing out into the water, and just visible in the distance were several wooden poles sunk into the shallow bottom of the lagoon. At the top of the poles were several white painted steel plates. The idea had been that target boats could be dragged out into the water using pulleys attached to the bottoms of the poles, and the ship girls could engage them at range. These poles were actually shared with the destroyer and cruiser range a little further down the coast.
"So when are these new carriers supposed to get here?" Enterprise asked as she slammed the door shut.
"I dunno, I told them to meet me here at 1030, and it's just now 1020. So, any minute," Smith replied walking to the back of the humvee. "Here help me with these would you?" he asked popping the tailgate up and revealing a stack of plastic rifle cases. Enterprise nodded then carried an armload of the things over to a low shooter's table set up just inside the range proper. Smith began to undo latches and lay out weapons on the table.
"Where did you get these?" Enterprise asked, taking a M1 Garand rifle out of a case.
"I sent in a requisition a few weeks ago for some WWII era weapons to be purchased from the civilian market, thought that it would be easier for transition purposes. Well, the admiral finally managed to get a pallet of these shipped out to us. These were on the Arctic," Smith said, laying down an M1 Carbine.
"Excuse me, this wouldn't happen to be the carrier range, would it?" Smith whirled around to see a woman standing at the gate. She looked old for a ship girl, mid to late twenties by appearance alone. She had a petite frame, a little over five feet, and a trim figure. Her sandy blonde hair was worn short, and she met Smith's gaze with a pair of intelligent brown eyes. Smith was a bit surprised to see that she was wearing khakis, most of the girls preferred to wear either NWUs or utilities.
"That's right, I'm Captain Smith the base CO, and you would be?" Smith asked, offering her his hand.
She took it with a firm grip and replied, "Langley, CV-1."
"Well Ms. Langley, you are right on time, this is Lieutenant Enterprise, my exec," Smith said pointed to Enterprise, still at the table.
"Hello little Enterprise," she said walking up to the taller carrier, "I've heard so many stories about you."
"Stories about me?" Enterprise replied confused.
"From the sailors on this base, they say you had quite the record back in the old war," Langley clarified, "I always knew that you Yorktown's would grow up to be good ships."
"You were watching us?" Enterprise remarked, disbelieving.
"They stole some of my pilots for Yorktown's first crew, and my old captain was a rather talkative man, who liked to ramble on for hours about how the other carriers in the fleet were doing. Even after I was sent to the Asiatic station," Langley said with a smile.
A new voice called out from the gate, "Sorry we're late, but missy here got lost again."
"I told you, that wasn't my fault," retorted a second voice, then said in a much quieter tone, "I just didn't know where we needed to go." Smith looked over at the two girls standing at the gate. They shared a familial resemblance with each other, both being about twenty, and were both about six feet tall. They were both wearing plain blue utility coveralls with khaki fore-and-aft caps. Something about these girls tickled at the back of his mind, but he suppressed it for now.
"You're not that late," Smith called back, "I'm Captain Smith commander of this base." The first one walked up, she had long black hair worn free around her shoulders, and icy blue eyes.
"USS Yorktown, CV-5, reporting for duty," she said with a salute that wasn't quite textbook.
"Hey wait for me," the second girl said as she ran up and skidded to a halt in front of Smith. "USS Hornet, CV-8, when do we get to go," she said, then tried to copy her sister's salute, but it was even sloppier. Hornet's hair was blonde and tied up in a low braid. Her brown eyes stared out at Smith from under a pair of thin glasses perched on her nose. Smith raised his arm, and returned the girl's salutes.
"My I present Ms. Langley," Smith said, pointing to the older carrier, "And my XO, Lieutenant Enterprise." Every eye on the range turned to look at Enterprise, who was was wearing an overwhelmed expression on her face. Smith finally made the connection that had thought of earlier. These girls looked like Enterprise, they all shared the same build and facial features.
Hornet was the first to recover, she bounded past Smith and grabbed her new sister in a tight embrace, "It's so good to see you again, and you look so good like this, just like I would have you would have. I had no idea you were here, we would have come sooner if we had, but we just got out of training. What are you doing here anyway..."
"Can't breath," Enterprise gasped over Hornet's rambling.
"Don't smother the poor girl," said Langley as she stepped in pulling Hornet away from Enterprise with little trouble. She held the enthusiastic carrier back to let Enterprise catch her breath.
Yorktown walked up and stuck out her hand, "It's good to see ya again little sis, how have ya been?"
Enterprise took the proffered hand in her own then replied, "I've done alright, I guess," a note of emotion creeping into her voice.
"Alright? You're the XO of this base, and a lieutenant. You've done better than alright sis," Yorktown said with a snort.
"How did that happen anyway?" asked Hornet, finally breaking free of Langley's restraining arm.
Smith stepped in and explained, "She was the first ship we brought back. I made her my XO so that she could offer a more me a more unique perspective on the ship girls."
"So you were the first one back? I guess that makes sense, you were always the best one of us," Hornet claimed.
"That's not true," Enterprise interjected, "I was just never knocked out."
"Girls why don't we give poor Enterprise some space, we did come down here for a specific reason after all," Langley announced, changing the subject.
"That's right," Smith jumped in, "If you would all please come all here, we have a selection of weapons for you to choose from."
"What's this stuff for?" Yorktown asked.
"When in battle, you use a rifle to launch your planes," Enterprise explained, "It really doesn't matter what type of rifle, so you get to pick what you would like." Smith moved to the table and picked up one of the Garands.
"This is the M1 Garand rifle, it fires off eight .30-06 caliber rounds from an en-bloc clip semi-automatically," he explained.
"Looks like a mickey mouse piece of shit," Yorktown stated, "You got a Springfield in that pile of novelty toys?"
Before Smith could reply she was slapped on the back of the head by Langley, "You watch your mouth young lady."
"Okay, okay, I'm sorry," Yorktown apologized.
Smith had to keep from chuckling as he replied, "Yeah, we got some Springfields. You want a standard or an A3?"
"A3," Yorktown replied, "Heard many a Marine in my old company complain about the sights on the standard." Smith nodded then tossed her the rifle in question, which she caught with ease. She turned the piece over in her hand and nodded her approval.
"Alright then, do the rest of you have a preference, or do I just go down the table?" Smith asked once he was sure Yorktown was satisfied.
"Do you have something a bit, lighter?" Hornet asked after looking at Yorktown's new rifle. Smith thought for a second before picking a different weapon up.
"This is an M1 Carbine, it fires a .30 caliber carbine cartridge from a 15 round detachable magazine," he explained.
"Looks even shittier than the Garand," Yorktown commented, before being smacked again by Langley, "Ow, okay sorry."
"I think it looks kind of cute," Hornet exclaimed, "I'll take it." Smith tossed her the carbine.
"What about you Ms. Langley, do you have a preference?" Smith asked.
"No, I'm afraid not. Could I just look at them and pick that way?" she asked.
"That would be fine," Smith replied, stepping out of the way to let Langley get to the table. She moved down it, lifting rifles as she went.
She finally came to a stop holding a particular rifle, "What's this captain?"
Smith looked at the rifle and grinned, "I just knew you'd pick that one. It's a Winchester 1873 lever action." Smith picked up the rifle and cycled the action to demonstrate it, then dry snapped it and handed it to Langley.
"I like it," said Langley as she took the piece.
"So, do we get to put some rounds through these?" asked Yorktown as she walked back up to the table.
"First you'll have to put these in," instructed Smith as he passed around a box of earplugs, "Ear protection, and you and Langley will have to wear glasses. Hornet your good with what you have on now. Would you please serve as my assistant safety officer Enterprise?"
"What do I have to do for that?" Enterprise asked, walking over to Smith.
"Simple, just follow any commands I give you and let me know immediately if you see something unsafe," Smith explained, "So, who wants to go first?"
"I will," Yorktown announced stepping forward. Smith nodded, then pointed to the position he wanted her to use. After she was set, he slid her an unopened box of .30-06 ammunition.
"Your targets are the white gongs at the top of those poles," Smith announced, pointing at the target poles, "Ready on the left. Ready on the right. Ready on the firing line. The flag is down. The flag is waving. At targets of opportunity, fire at will." Yorktown began to steadily fire the rifle at the gongs. She did well, most of her shots were on target, and the plates rang loudly each time a round struck it. Yorktown finally fired of her last shot and stood up, making sure that the rifle was cleared and the bolt was open. "So," Smith asked, "You like it?"
"I think this is perfect captain, so do I get to keep 'er?" Yorktown replied scooping up the weapon off of the ground.
"That is now your rifle, take good care of it," Smith replied. Yorktown walked to the back of the range with her new rifle clutched tightly in her hands. Hornet came up next, and did pretty well with the carbine. She was able to empty three magazines into the targets, but the weapon was overall less accurate than the Springfield, so she had a few more misses. Last Langley came up with the Winchester. Smith had to help her load the rifle, she didn't understand the loading gate at first.
But once 10 rounds had been loaded into the magazine tube, she stepped up to the line and said, "You'll have to forgive me if I don't do to well, this is my first time firing a rifle."
"That's fine," Smith replied, "Just do your best. We have some good instructors on base who can help you out if you need it later." Langley nodded, shifted the rifle into a more comfortable position, and began to fire. Langley emptied the entire 10 rounds in seconds, working the action so quickly that she fired faster than even Hornet's semi-automatic carbine, and every single one of those shots hit its target. It reminded Smith of a Cowboy Action Shooting competition he had watched a while ago.
"Was that alright," she asked once she had replaced the rifle on the table. Smith and the rest of the carriers stood in speechless shock for several seconds.
Enterprise was the first to regain her composure, "Ms. Langley, would you please teach me how to shoot like that?"
"If you teach me how to do that, I swear to you I'll never cuss again," Yorktown stated reverently.
"That was perfect Ms. Langley, that rifle doesn't do you justice. I've got a pretty good armorer on base that could work it over for you, make it even better," Smith announced once he was able to speak again.
"Thank you captain, that would be fine," Langley replied.
"Well I think we're done here. If you ladies would b so kind as to help me reload these pieces back into the truck, I'll get out of your hair and let you get lunch. Lieutenant Enterprise knows the way to the mess," Smith announced. With the carrier's help the job was quickly done and Smith was headed back to the HQ in no time.
His reasoning for leaving Enterprise alone with the new carriers was twofold. First, he had to go deal with the whole, no idea who's on my base problem, and second he had realized some time ago that Enterprise wasn't really accepting the fact that she was now human, only burying herself in work and other duties in order to distract herself from the issue. He figured that if he left her alone with her sisters, and the closest thing the trio had to a mother, than the issue would come up sooner or later. Maybe being with family is the best way to bring my XO around to accepting her humanity, and help them accept theirs.
There were two mess halls on Midway these days. One was for the base's regular navy personnel, while the second was for ship girls only. Smith had ordered the second one constructed after the number of girls on the base started to approach the maximum safe occupancy level of the old building. In the mess was packed with girls right now, all eating their lunches and chatting amicably. There was one girl in particular sitting alone at one of the back tables, a plate with a large burger and a handful of french fires in front of her. She had short brown hair so dark it was almost black, and a pair of icy blue eyes staring out from behind a pair of thin, rectangular glasses. Her name was Walker, formerly USS Walker DD-163, and she had barely touched the food in front of her. Not because she wasn't hungry, or freaked out at the thought of eating. Just lost in thought.
As an old Wickes class destroyer, Walker was one of the oldest and most out of date ships on the base, with a commissioning date of January 1919, and, to add insult to injury, the body that she now possessed was that of a 6 or 7 year old, making her one of the youngest and smallest on the base at four and a half feet, and a hundred pounds soaking wet. I guess it is nice being young again, not having to be held together with tape and patches. All the while having my chief engineer drive himself mad with the laundry list of broken parts every morning, she thought idly. She thought it was kinda funny that she could clearly remember that, her engineer climbing up the ladder to the pilothouse every morning to give the captain a list of nightly "casualties." There were other things that she remembered clearly, like when she lined up with her sisters to watch as that big Navy-Curtis flying boat flew overhead on the first transatlantic flight. She remembered what it felt like to cruise across the ocean at thirty plus knots while on sea trials, and the regret that she never got to sail that fast again.
What brought this line of thought on memory up for her was running into an old friend, or, at least, she thought it was an old friend. She had been walking to the mess hall from the destroyer barracks, and had run into the heavy cruiser Houston. Houston was another old Asiatic fleet hand, and Walker remember sailing with her many times back then. She also remembered sailing alongside Houston the night that she had been caught by Jap cruisers, and sent to the bottom along with the Aussie cruiser Perth. But when Walker tried to greet Houston as a friend and colleague, the old cruiser had told her, in no uncertain terms, that she had no memory of an old four stacker named Walker ever sailing with her.
Now that had shocked Walker, why didn't Houston remember her? That's why she was here now, trying to figure out if there was anything else she remembered that was wrong. And whose memories are wrong, hers or mine? Was there ever a destroyer named Walker serving with the Asiatic fleet? Her train of thought was brought to a screeching halt when she heard a voice above her ask, "This seat taken?" She looked up to see a man she didn't recognize standing over her with a plate of food.
"No, go ahead," she said motioning for him to take a seat. As he sits down she notices that he is wearing the khaki uniforms and the insignia of a Chief Petty Officer.
"I'm gonna have to apologize," he began, "I don't know who you are little lady."
"Walker," she replied simply.
"Walker Jones, Walker Smith?" the chief threw out.
"Just Walker, DD-163," she replied with a slight chuckle
"Well miss DD-163, my name is Chief Boggs. I'm this here base's master chief," Boggs said, offering her his hand.
"A pleasure chief," Walker said as she took the hand.
"Now that that's out of the way, I'm afraid I'm not that familiar with DD hull numbers. What class are you?" he asked.
Walker felt a spike of panic grip her, What happens when he finds out I'm nothing more than an old Wickes? She managed to push that thought back down and reply, "Wickes."
"Okay then, so what's got you so locked up over here?" he asked not even mentioning her class.
"What?" Walker said, taken aback.
"You've been sitting over here pushing the same food around the same plate for twenty minutes. That either means that the cooks are just bad as usual, or you are thinkin about something," he stated.
"Just... just memory," she replied after a second.
"Thinkin about memory, is that one of those oxy-morons I keep hearin about? You know like, military intelligence. Cause I never get those," he said in a humorous tone.
Walker let out a quiet laugh at the big man's humor, then admitted, "I was just trying to figure out why I remember something that no one else does."
"Listen here, your memories are your own, and no one else's. If there's something that you remember that someone else don't... well then they just don't remember right," he said giving her a friendly shove, "If you cast doubt on who you are, then you'll never figure it out." She had never thought of it that way, what Boggs was saying made sense. He continued, "Makin decisions for yourself is one of those things you're goin to have to figure out how to do on your own. No one can tell you what to remember, Walker, only you can do that."
"So who's right?" Walker asked.
"Does it matter? You remember it don't you?" Walker nodded, "Then you're right."
"Thanks chief," she said, a smile slowly forming on her face, "You know, you remind me of someone."
"And who's that?" Boggs asked.
"Oh, just my old bosun," she replied.
"Well I used to be an old bosun, but these days I feel like a cat wrangler more than a sailor," he lamented.
"Cat wrangler?" Walker asked.
"Do you know how hard it is to get you girls to follow orders sometimes, or how many I've had to sit down with?" Boggs asked rhetorically. "Well if you don't need my help anymore, I have to go see about keeping a destroyer named O'Bannon from blowing up the kitchen... again," he announced.
"No chief, I'm good," Walker replied finally beginning to eat her food.
"If you need anything, wanna talk, or need help with something, my office is in the HQ, just ask for Boggs," he said standing up. She nodded and watched as he walked towards the kitchen. He stopped for a minute in front of two girls that Walker didn't recognize, said something to them, and then walked off. The two girls looked almost identical, and were about the same age as Walker. One had long blue-black hair and the other had bright red hair tied up in a bun. They walked over to where Walker was sitting and sat down next to her without asking.
"Chief tells me you are another four stacker?" the one with black hair asked.
"That's right," Walker replied, "Wickes class." An enormous grin split the face of the girl.
"I'm Peary, Clemson class," she said, sticking her hand out.
"Walker," Walker replied, taking the hand.
"She's Pope by the way," Peary said pointing at the other girl, who gave a little wave, "So what unit were you with Walker?" Walker suddenly remembered Pope, she had been their when they had tried to escort the old British cruiser Exeter past the Jap lines.
Walker briefly wondered if Pope remembered her before replying, "DesRon 29."
"No, crap," Peary replied, shocked, "We were with DesRon 29. You must have been one of the DesDiv 57 girls. We were with 58 back in the day."
"So," Pope spoke up for the first time, "Do we let her in on it?"
"In on what?" Walker asked, confused.
"I say we do, us old flush deckers have to stick together, show those Fletchers and Bensons that we can fight just as good as they can," Peary replied, ignoring Walker. Pope nodded her approval and Peary turned to Walker. "If I'm going to do this, you're going to have to swear you wont run off and blab to the first person you see," Peary announced. Walker nodded, then Peary leaned in close so that no one could overhear them, "You hear that the skipper has a standing order that if anyone can find something that was left behind on the base by it's previous occupants, he will by them a weeks worth of ice cream from the mess?"
"Yeah," Walker replied cautiously.
"Well, let's just say that we stumbled onto something that guaranteed to get us at least a months worth of ice cream," Peary stated proudly.
"What is it?' Walker asked, now intrigued.
Peary glanced around to make sure that no one was listening before whispering in Walker's ear, "It's big, blue, and Childs dragged one around back in the old war," Peary said, cryptically.
It took Walker a moment to piece that one together, then she asked, "You found a Ca.." Peary clamped a hand on her mouth cutting off the rest of the reply.
"Shh, you want the entire room to know?" she asked. Walker shook her head and Peary slowly removed her hand.
Pope stuck her head into the conversation and explained, "We found the thing about a week ago, but we haven't been able to get the captain alone long enough to claim it."
"Then we just need to catch him while he's alone," Walker mused.
"Do you know how hard that is? The man's a workaholic. When he's not in his office filling out forms, he's off in the boondocks where no one can find him," Peary complained. Walker leaned back and thought about that for a few minutes, but before she could say anything else, the sound of jet engines reverberated through the building.
"Oh goody," Pope called, "Mail's here."
"What was that?" Walker exclaimed not recognizing the sound.
"Transport plane, they run the things back and forth between here and Pearl every so often," Peary exclaimed, "Let's go see if we got anything this time." Pope and Peary jumped to their feet, quickly followed by Walker. It didn't take long for her to realize that every single other girl in the mess was also getting to their feet and shuffling towards the door. They all left the building in a throng and ran towards the airfield.
Smith got the message a few minutes after the plane had landed. It had confused the hell out of him when the thing came over, he thought that the transport flights were still suspended, but after the copier spat out the sheet of paper, all was made clear. It was a message from Davies stating that due to extreme risk of continued maritime shipping, the Air Force would be re-starting transport flights. He quickly skimmed the message until his eyes caught something typed at the bottom of the page. "Oh shit," he swore running out of his office as fast as he could.
In his haste, he left the message lying on his desk, the line, "...ship girl liaisons from the JMSDF will be aboard..." clearly visible at the bottom. When Smith ran up to the parking apron, he could see that he was already to late. Spread around the area were about twenty ship girls milling around, waiting for the plane to come to a stop. He ran past them all, hoping to intercept the Japanese girl before she ran into one of her American counterparts with a grudge. He skidded to a stop just outside the plane's side door, surprised to see Chief Boggs and Commander Miyata already there waiting for him.
"What's with the jet skipper, I thought the Air Force had run and hid?" Boggs asked. Smith held up a hand, telling him to wait.
"Commander... message... Japanese kanmusu... aboard," Smith wheezed to Miyata trying to catch his breath.
Miyata's eyes widened, "Do you know which one?" he asked. Smith shook his head, still huffing for breath.
"I'll deal with our girls sir," Boggs offered, "Ain't no one getting murdered on my watch."
"Well it's to late now," Smith said watching as the door was opened from the inside. Miyata was the closest one to the door and judging by the way his eyes went wide, the girl was someone he recognized. Smith turned back to the plane just in time to see a ball of ship girl fly out of the plane and right towards him. He tried to flinch and duck out of the way, when the girl leaped over him and tackled Miyata, knocking him flat.
"The hell," was all Chief Boggs could say before they all heard the sound of a dozen guns being cocked around them.
Personal Communique
From: CPT James Smith, USN, CO NS Midway Island
To: CDR Sarah Smith, USN, CO USS Virginia (SSN-774)
Message reads:
Sarah,
Rear Admiral Steven Davies is my boss, and the head honcho of this whole shebang. He's a good man, and if he was briefing you personally, then that means he is seriously considering bringing you into the program. The man has the right ear of the President himself(hell he managed to sway the CNO over to our side) and probably could have a few frat regs bent if he so wished.
Good luck with the INSURV team, I remember those days. Many sleepless nights a week in advance, combing over the ship with a fine toothed comb only to have some over eager butter bar ensign screw the whole thing up two hours before the inspection, ah good times.
Just to let you know, there are sub girls out there, just none on our base right now. I would like your opinion on what exactly we could do with them when we get them. Just lemme know what you think.
As always,
James Smith
Author's note: And that's a wrap on chapter 6. We get to meet some new characters and the first Japanese girl comes to the base, but we have no idea who it is yet. We have officially reached the end of the introductory arc, and are now within the beginning of the character driven subplots, so expect about four different stories to take of from here.
So tune in next chapter when we reveal who the mystery girl is(for the two of you who didn't guess already), follow the continuing adventures of DesRon 29, get to see Enterprise finally open up, and meet a few new characters along the way.
Side note: USS Walker DD-163 didn't exist in the Asiatic fleet in our world(as referenced by her experiences) she is shamelessly stolen from the Destroyermen books.
Okay bit of an official Navy note here. The official USN uniform regs have now changed. Due to the fact the Navy Working Uniforms (NWU) will burn readily when exposed to flame, they are being phased out of shipborne service. The replacement is a new version of the Utility coverall made out flame retardant material. I had no idea this was happening because at our ROTC detachment(the closest I am to the real navy right now) uniform regs are a little... lax. (Hell, our skipper, a full captain, walks around campus on a regular basis wearing a flight suit)
Review answer time, my this is going to be long this go round:
SulliMike23: Well it was Japanese girls, but wait till next time to see who.
Wolfman-053: I think I actually have a way around the museum ship issue now, but it will be awhile before I get around to implementing it
On Silver Wings: Nevada(and her sister) were actually on my shortlist for characters to introduce. I will probably steal some of your suggestions for her character design though.
Jedii: Glad you liked the last chapter. No BB's this time unfortunately, but that is because most of the next chapter will be about battleships and cruisers.
Guest: Yeah my style of combat scene comes from the fact that I used to write submarine combat scenes in which the choreography of the battle is almost as important as the explosions. I do have plans for bringing in some of the British and Aussie Pacific Fleet ships(two of them named in this chapter) but that will be down the line.
Thorthemighty321: I was actually planning on bringing in Johnston in this chapter, but the scene didn't really work out the way I'd like it to. Expect her in the next chapter, and as for the most requested ships ever, here they are.
Potatoslayer4: Yeah I do have plans for a lot more interaction between the USN and the IJN/JMSDF ships in the future, but there are a few issues I have to resolve first, so that's a wait and see.
FrancisJames: I guess I'm to used to relying on timestamps, the battle for the Arctic takes place about a month after Enterprise is summoned. There is a substantial timeskip between each chapter, and all of the ships had a week to a train, and that's the American style up at 0300 asleep at 2200 style training. Lemme know if you would think time-date stamps would be useful in the story, and I'll go back and put them in.
Colonel Amiruddin Arif: I had a good idea for how I was going to implement sub girls, but after buying, and playing way to much of Silent Hunter IV, I have completely changed my mind on how they would work. So it might be a bit before I stick them in.
J: I honestly have no idea what the whole Pacific artbook situation is. I only know that Morganne was the one that put up the art on the WoWS forum, which is where I found it. And what do you mean by less than 1000 tons? Because the only thing I can think of in that regard is MTBs. And I do plan on putting in the mosquito boats, just not as full characters.
Russian Guest: I would absolutely love to write about that, and your comment got me thinking long and hard about ways to do it. I proceeded to fill about three pages of a notebook with ideas, and am going to try to start using them in the next chapter. I would love to hear any ideas you have on this, so lamme know what you think of