USS Halsey, June 25, 2018

Destroyer life had certainly changed from what Johnston remembered. The ship she was on right now didn't even resemble the tiny, cramped tin cans that were so prevalent in her memory. She had trouble believing that the Halsey was a destroyer at first, it was big enough to be cruiser easily, but with its one gun, it barely qualified as a frigate. It had taken some explaining by Captain Smith to convey the current theory of modern naval warfare, with the anti-ship guided missile taking the place of naval artillery. He had explained that even though American destroyers only had one gun, they had several hundred missiles mounted in tubes beneath the deck, unnoticeable to the untrained eye.

That had only been her thoughts about the outside of the ship, when she had stepped inside, it was almost like stepping onto a completely different planet. Gone were the narrow corridors and tiny spaces, and in their place, a completely different type of ship. While it was still cramped, there was enough room for two people to walk down a corridor without rubbing shoulders.

She had also been awed at the amount of high tech, cutting edge equipment that was spread throughout this ship. She had been used to being the very last ship to get new toys to play with, that was just how the tin can navy functioned back then, only getting new gear only after the rest of the Navy got their gear first.

Johnston was having a bit of a problem. Despite the fact that at one point she had been a warship intimately familiar with her own interior and the way that ships were laid out, she was a bit lost. No, that was a lie, she was completely lost. She had less idea of where she was now in relation to where she was supposed to be than a green 2nd Lieutenant with a map and compass. All she knew was that she had been assigned to an officer's stateroom with the rest of DesRon 21, it was located in a part of the ship where the rest of the ship girls were berthed, and the frame number. At first she had tried to follow the frame number to the quarters, but she had quickly discovered that the Navy had changed its numbering system from what she remembered. The alphanumeric code that should have told her exactly where she was supposed to go, was nothing more than useless gibberish to her.

She had finally decided just to keep going upwards, hoping to find officer's country, figuring that it was probably located in the superstructure. She caught a luck break when she saw Nicholas duck into a hatch. Nicholas was her new squadron commander, and was supposed to be berthed in the same quarters, so the other destroyer probably knew where they were. Johnston didn't call out to the other destroyer, but rather memorized the hatch that she had disappeared into and walked towards it herself. Nicholas now wore the gold bars of an ensign and an enlisted sailor like Johnston just didn't call out to an officer like Nicholas unless they had a damn good reason for it, and the admission that she was lost would only result in an ass chewing by her skipper.

When she had first reported aboard to Nicholas a few days ago, the girl who everyone on base remarked was friendly and cordial, had given Johnston something of a cold shoulder. She had politely—if a bit coldly—welcomed Johnston aboard, and had curtly told her what was expected of her. It had gotten even worse when she had tried to introduce herself to the other members of DesRon 21. Where Nicholas had been simply cold and distant, O'Bannon had been openly hostile. Publicly calling her out as an interloper, not fit to wear the title of destroyer. Johnston had been so shocked by the display of anger, that she had given O'Bannon a wide berth over the last few days.

It had taken several questions to the other ships of Midway before she had been able to put together a picture of what was going on. DesRon 21 was a bit more than just a combat unit, it was a family. The four current members were close sisters, two pairs of twins. A quick check of the records confirmed that Nicholas and O'Bannon had been laid out next to each other in Bath, while Fletcher and Radford had gone down together in Kearny, explaining their closeness. Johnston had briefly wondered if she would feel a similar attachment if she ever came across her sister Hailey, but had pushed that aside quickly. No sense dragging up old wounds. The theory that she had come up with was that due to Fletcher's current status on the inactive list, the three other members saw Johnston's transfer to their unit as a replacement for Fletcher, instead of the addition she really was. Now not only did she have to make a name for herself to break the image that she had been saddled with, she had to prove herself in order to gain favor with her new squadron mates, and admitting that she was lost with no idea where to go wouldn't do anything to help that.

Johnston quickly followed Nicholas through the hatch after giving the other destroyer few second's time, and was completely horrified to find herself step through on the other side to find the Halsey's main bridge. The bridge was one of the most strictly regulated spaces on the ship—with only CIC being harder to get into—the only people allowed to go there were those who had been given permission. Permission that Johnston didn't have. She tried to quickly duck back through the hatch, but someone challenged, "Hey you, what're you doing up here?"

"I'm sorry, I went down the wrong hatch," Johnston apologized, and tried to step back through the hatch.

She was stopped when a new voice called out, "Wait just a minute." She turned around to see a man step onto the bridge from the port bridge wing.

Johnston was absolutely horrified as one of the watch officers called, "Attention on deck," and stood up from his seat.

The man, a large, black man with a bald head and stern features, replied, "As you were." Only one member of the ship's company rated that kind of courtesy, the man who she was looking at, was the Halsey's captain. "Your one of the ship girls we took aboard, aren't you?" he asked, sitting down in the chair marked, "Captain," at the center of the bridge.

Johnston managed a stunned, "Yes sir."

"Judging by the age, size, and the fact that I know there are four DDs on my boat, you must be the forth destroyer," the captain mused, "So which one are you?" He quickly added, "I'm Captain Lee Jones by the way."

"Johnston," she replied, voice firm.

"Well now I know what Smith meant when he said we were sailing with a quartet of legends," Jones said, earning him a confused look from Johnston, "Chief, why don't you show Ms. Johnston down to her quarters, she's in the spare stateroom with the rest of the destroyers."

A Chief Petty Officer stood up from where he had been standing next to the wall and walked over to Johnston, "If you would please follow me."

Johnston nodded and began to follow the chief off the bridge, but stayed just long enough to hear Captain Jones call, "Bosun, make all preparations for getting underway."

"Bosun's mate aye," the Boatswain's Mate of the Watch blew a long note from his pipe into the bridge 1MC circuit box, and said, "Make all preparations for getting underway, take in all lines. Prepare to shove off." Johnston followed the chief down the corridor and down two flights of stairs before he stopped before a door.

"Here're your quarters miss," the chief announced, "You think you can find them again?"

"I think so," she said.

"Well alright then," he replied, "I better be getting back to the bridge, we'll be shoving off at any minute now."

Sure enough, not two seconds later the sound of the Halsey's horn sounding reverberated throughout the ship, and the 1MC squawked with the Bosun's voice, "Underway, shift colors."

"Well, goodbye miss," the chief said, "If you need any help, don't hesitate to ask." He disappeared back down the corridor, and Johnston rapped twice on the door.

A curt, "Come," was heard from inside the room. Johnston opened the door to find a small room with two beds against each wall. She saw Nicholas sitting at a desk, uniform jacket draped over the back of the chair, and a stack of paperwork sitting in front of her. "Oh, it's you," she said, "Stow your gear over there," she pointed to a locker with a pencil. "You'll have to take the bottom rack by the door," she said, pointing the pencil at the bed in question. Johnston nodded, and then threw her sea bag into the indicated locker. Nicholas turned back to her paperwork and said, "You'll take mess in the main mess at 1200. While at sea we'll be maintaining a round the clock watch for Abyssals, talk to Dakota about getting on the rotation when you have some free time. I don't think we have anything else to do today, but keep yourself ready in case something pops up. Questions?"
"No ensign, I'm good," Johnston replied. Nicholas only replied with a nod, then began to fill out the paperwork in front of her. Knowing that the other destroyer wouldn't start a conversation, and not wanting to rick starting one herself, Johnston climbed into her rack and pulled out a book that Captain Smith had loaned her. She had guessed what the subject was when she read the title Last Stand of the Tin Can Sailors, and had decided to read the book in order to see how many inaccuracies she could spot.

Thirty minutes later there was a knock on the door. Johnston lowered her book, and looked over the see Nicholas shout, "It's open," without looking up from the desk. Radford pushed the door open then walked over to sit on the rack next to Nicholas.

"How you doing Nick?" Radford asked, lying down in the bed.

"Fine so far, getting used the stack of paper that comes with these bars," Nicholas remarked idly giving the gold bars on her jacket a casual flick.

"How are you getting used to them?" Radford asked.

"You know the base telephones, the ones they use to relay orders?" Nicholas asked. When Radford nodded, Nicholas continued, "I got used to picking one up and answering, 'DesRon 21, Petty Officer Nicholas, how may I help you.' So after I got the bar, there was a couple of times when I picked up the phone and answered, 'Petty Officer Nicholas how may I help you,' usually to some feather merchant back in Pearl wanting to talk about something stupid. So about a day after I got the bar, Captain Smith came into my office and asked me to hold out my hand. When I did, he took out one of those indelible ink pens, you know the ones with the felt tip?" Radford nodded, and Nicholas continued, "He took it and wrote, 'ENSIGN,' on my palm, and then told me that the next time I answered my phone, I was to read my hand before I opened my mouth. He said he had gotten sick of explaining to people that I was retarded."

Radford sniggered, "Well at least it was you and not O'Bannon, if he had tried that with her, there would be a captain shaped hole in a wall somewhere."

"Speaking of O'Bannon, where is she?" Nicholas asked.

"Well you missed her getting chewed out big time by Dakota for not properly packing her gear," Radford said.

"What happened this time?" Nicholas asked.

"When Dakota went to open O-Boat's locker, all of the equipment inside came tumbling out, burying Dakota," Radford said sniggering, "She made O'Bannon take everything out, clean it, check it, and then repack it. All while Dakota stood over her shoulder making sure that she did it."

Nicholas let out a snort of laughter and said, "Well that's O'Bannon for you, anything else of note happen?"

"That Jap battlecruiser managed to stymie Dakota," Radford said after a moment's thought.

"How so?"

"Well first she ran into the hanger where everything is stored, and she popped off a salute to Dakota. This caused Dakota to go into a fifteen minute lecture as to why members of the United States Naval Service do not salute while uncovered and indoors. Then Kongou gave Dakota a pitiful look and said, 'But you're an officer, I'm supposed to salute all officers.' To which SoDak replied, 'Well, fine, but not indoors'."

"Doesn't sound that stymied to me," Nicholas replied.

"Wait a second, I'm getting to the good part," Radford said, "Kongou immediately replies, 'I will not salute you while indoors, Admiral.' I swear Dakota's eyes bugged completely out of her skull. She shouted, 'I'm not an admiral goddamn it! For the last time, I'm an officer yes, but I AM A LIEUTENNANT!' Then Kongou asked, 'But you are a leader of ships, right? So that makes you an admiral!'." Radford finished, "Dakota got so flustered trying to explain the concept of the rank structure to Kongou that she finally gave up and sent Kongou up to the wardroom to get tea."

Johnston had to choke down a laugh as a surprisingly clear image of a red-faced Dakota trying to yell at Kongou popped into her mind. She wasn't as successful as she had hoped, and Radford looked over at her, "When did she get here?"

Johnston replied before Nicholas had the chance, "I came in just before you did. Is there a problem?"

"I have no problem, as long as you don't have a problem," Radford replied. She turned back to Nicholas and said, "Wonder what we're missing main side? Anything good I wonder?"

Johnston replied again before Nicholas had the chance, "I'd take sea duty over an inspection by the IG from Washington any day of the week." She felt a surge a pride as Nicholas silently nodded her approval at Johnston's statement, and then went back to the paperwork.

"I'll have to give that one to you Johnny. Well if you don't need me, mess deck is supposed to have a coffee pitcher on round the clock. Think I'll go get me some," Radford said as she swung her legs out onto the floor, and pulled herself out of the rack.

"Go ahead, we don't have anything to do unless we get attacked," Nicholas acknowledged, "Well you don't at least, I still have this to work on." Radford nodded slowly, then walked out of the room. Johnston finally gave up trying to read the book, and allowed herself to nod off to sleep.

NS Midway Island

There are few things that frighten the United States Navy. One of them is the acronym IG, for Inspector General. Which usually means not only the officer bearing that title, but his entire staff. This ranges from senior non-commissioned officers upward, and what they do is visit a unit and compile long lists of the unit's shortcomings in all areas of military endeavor.

When a visit from the IG is scheduled, the unit to be inspected instantly begins a frenzied preparation for the inspection, so that the IG will find as little wrong as possible. The IG will find something wrong, or else the IG, including the staff, would not be doing the job properly. No IG report has ever said that the unit inspected was perfect in detail of its organization, personnel, and equipment. The best a unit can hope for is that the shortcomings the IG will detect are of a minor, easily correctable nature.

The fear and the near hysteria is compounded when the phrase "From Washington," is appended to IG. Captains, who could with complete calm, order a ship into an attack against overwhelming odds, and Master Chief Petty Officers, who would willingly take the helm and lead the charge themselves, break into cold sweats and suffer stomach distress when informed that their unit is about to be inspected by the, "IG from Washington."

There is a reason for this concern, an IG evaluation of unsatisfactory is tantamount to the announcement before God and the Navy that they have been weighed in the balance, and found not to be good sailors. Naval Station Midway Island was not immune to IG hysteria. There were several pre-inspections before the IG from Washington's inspection, during which the senior officers examined the equipment and personnel of the base, and searched for things that the IG would likely find fault with. And there were even more pre-pre-inspections, where the unit commanders and barracks captains sought to detect faults that would likely be uncovered by the base brass in their pre-inspections.

Depending on the individual, experience tends to lessen IG hysteria. Captain James Smith had been forced to stand at least four major inspections once a year back when he had been in the regular Navy. He knew how to stand an inspection, and wasn't too scared of it for himself. What he was scared of was the fact that none of his girls had ever actually been through an official inspection, and didn't have the experience of going through one.

He was currently walking towards his office having a conversation with Enterprise about what needed to be accomplished over the next few. "The one thing that absolutely needs to get done is to make damn sure that all of our personnel record are in order," he said, "If we screw up on the paperwork, that will make the inspection teams look extra hard at our personnel and I don't think that they could stand up to that kind of scrutiny."

"Why not sir? They've been through worse," Enterprise asked.

"They've never had to stand in a line wearing a flawless uniform, holding a spotless weapon in front of them," Smith replied, "Some of them could handle it with no problem, but others couldn't. And every black mark that the IG gives us is just another round to be used by the chair warmers back in Washington against us. That is why we have to make damn sure that the paperwork is in order."

"Aye sir," Enterprise acknowledged.

"We need to round up every single new girl not on our records, and draw up service records for all of them. Then we need full dress uniforms for everyone, and we need to make sure that everyone has been through a firearms qualification," Smith listed.

"Sir, what about ranks?" Enterprise asked, "For the girls who haven't been assigned them yet?"

Smith had to think for a minute before he replied, "Everyone who hasn't gone through basic yet will come in as a Seaman Recruit. Those who have been through basic, but haven't been assigned paygrades yet, assign them as a Seaman Apprentice."

Enterprise started to say something else, but was interrupted by someone behind Smith calling, "Skipper, there you are. I've been meaning to talk to you." Smith, more than a little peeved at the interruption, turned around to see standing behind him the walking uniform violation that was the heavy cruiser Houston. Smith groaned when he saw the black cowboy hat perched on Houston's head, the red bandanna tied around her neck, the cowboy boots, and the leather holster on her hip, with what looked like a Colt .45 Single Action Army revolver stuck inside.

"What is it Houston, I'm a bit busy right now," Smith said, trying not to let the irritation he felt sneak into his voice, "And you need to get rid of that getup before the IG gets here."

"What's wrong with my duds?" Houston asked a bit indignantly.

"Beside the fact that I don't even think you're wearing a uniform under all that? An inspector would take one look at you, and fail the entire cruiser fleet for cause," Smith said, "What is it you want again?"

"I just want to know what you want me to do around here," Houston said, "I know we've got the big inspection and all, but with the rest of the cruisers gone, no one has given me anything to do."

Smith thought about a reply for a second, then remembered something, "You used to lead the Asiatic Fleet right?"

"Yeah."

"And DesRon 29 was a part of you fleet, am I right?" upon seeing Houston's nod of acknowledgement, Smith continued, "The girls of DesRon 29 haven't finished filling out their personnel files yet. Could you go find them and tell them to come see me?"

"I think I can handle that," Houston said, "Later skipper."

"Energetic one she is," Enterprise muttered.

"Quite," Smith agreed, "Now send over a girl to Chief Zimmerman's shop, and make sure all his equipment is ready for the inspection. After that send someone over to Dr. Richter's warehouse and make sure he shuts that machine of his off for the time being. We don't need new girls in the middle of this."

Enterprise scribbled a few notes down on the clipboard that she was carrying and asked, "What do we do about Submarine Island?"

Smith grabbed his chin in thought, then said, "Send someone over to inventory the contents of their supply shed, then fill out the necessary requisition slips for all of it, appropriately backdated of course."

"Sir," Enterprise said incredulously, "Put false information on requisitions?"
"I'm giving Wahoo the benefit of the doubt," Smith explained, "I'm sure that she would have properly filled out the forms herself, if she had a girl who knew how. Speaking of which, make a note to assign a yeoman to Wahoo's command as soon as they get back."

"Any idea where they are?" Enterprise asked while she added another note.

"Should be a couple hundred miles along by now," Smith said looking at his watch and making a quick calculation, "No news as of yet, but they're under orders to keep radio silence. We don't know if the Abyssals have radio direction finding capability, and it's best to be cautious in this situation."

"Right," Enterprise acknowledged, "Anything else for me to deal with, sir?"

"That's all I can think of now, I need to go take a look through our files and make sure they're in order," Smit said.

Enterprise was about to say something when she was cut off by someone behind her shouting, "Captain, tell this maniac to let me go." Smith turned to see who it was, and immediately wished he hadn't. Houston had returned, with one of the Clemsons—Pope if he remembered right—tied up and slung over her shoulder. "Lemme go, will you. Come on lemme go," Pope pleaded. Houston marched up to Smith, and set Pope on her feet in front of him.

"One four piper ready for paperwork," Houston announced with pride. Smith pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance

"What the hell did you do Houston, throw a lasso around her shoulders?" Smith asked, checking Pope over to make sure that the small girl was alright. Houston didn't say anything, but the look in her eyes told Smith all he needed to know, "You did didn't you? Houston this is too much, even for you."

"You told me to bring you the tin can, you never said how," Houston pointed out.

"Houston, go to supply, get a set of summer whites, and put them on. The next time I see you, you better be in uniform," Smith said.

"But skip…" Houston tried to protest.

"No but nothing. I gave you a direct order sailor, do you read me?" Smith said in a tone that meant he was finished with discussion.

"Aye aye, skipper," Houston said sullenly, and then walked away.

Smith turned to Pope still standing in front of him, and asked, "You okay Pope?"

"I'll be fine captain, just a little shaken," she said with a sniffle.

"Could you do something for me?" Smith asked.

"Wha-what is it?" she replied.

"I need you and your sisters to fill out some forms for me, could you go find them and tell them to head down to the main HQ?" Smith detailed.

"Yes sir, I can do that," she said.

"Good, now off you go," Smith said, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder before she ran off.

"Now that was interesting," Enterprise said.

"I was this close to putting that girl on report," Smith said, holding out a hand with his thumb and forefinger almost touching, "If she steps out of line so much as once more, she will be going on report. Now go deal with that list, I'm going to swing by the commo shack and check in on the Halsey and send an updated map for the subs."

"Aye aye, sir," Enterprise said, then raised her arm in salute. Smith returned it quickly, and Enterprise walked off towards Chief Zimmerman's shop.

"It's like I'm in command of a high school at times," Smith muttered as he walked away.

Pacific Ocean, 1300

Wahoo couldn't decide at the moment if she wanted to praise her luck, or curse it. After cruising on the surface for a day and a half, the little task force of submarines had picked up an Abyssal convoy on radar. Wahoo had ordered her girls to dive, keeping tabs on the Abyssals via passive sonar. After a bit of debate, it had been decided to set up an intercept course with the convoy. In order to, at least, get a good look at the composition of forces, and maybe take a shot. They had given the convoy a good thirty minutes time in order to get into position, and now Wahoo had ascended up to periscope depth in order to take a look topside. The periscope in question was a handheld version of her old attack scope with a pad on the bottom that could allow her to brace it against her chest.

She lifted the thing out of he water, and took a look through the eyepiece. She could see the convoy alright, and if she had been on the surface, she would have let out a whoop of joy. The convoy was in a perfect position for the subs to launch an attack. She reached down to detach the diver's slate off of her belt, and began to sketch the formation of the convoy on the piece of plastic. She counted at least six of those transport Abyssals, with two destroyers as escorts. As she was scanning, she felt a tap on her leg. She looked away from the periscope to see Tang floating in the water just beneath her, holding up a hand with a crooked forefinger, meaning that she wanted to ask a question.

One of the main problems that submarine girls faced, was how to communicate underwater. Radios don't work very well underwater, and even the ones that do emit a signal so powerful that anyone within thirty miles can pick it up clearly, indicating that there is a submarine in the area. Underwater telephones present a similar problem. The audio signal that they broadcast is more than enough for a destroyer with listening gear to home in on. So the problem became, how do you communicate non-verbally underwater?

Surprisingly it had been Captain Smith who had provided the answer. Smith had admitted that he was and experienced Scuba diver, and divers had faced this problem for years. Smith had taught the subs a very simple set of hand signals that could be used to convey a variety of different messages. Tang had used one now, and Wahoo replied by holding her hand up with the thumb and forefinger pinched together in a symbol of ok, meaning this case that Wahoo was ready for Tang's question.

Tang pointed a finger to the surface, and then cupped both hand together. This one meant, "Is there a boat on the surface?" and in this case meant, "Are there bad guys up there?"

Wahoo relied with another ok gesture, and then made a sweeping motion around herself, then held out a clenched fist with her thumb pointed upwards, followed by opening the fist to point at herself. She was saying, "Tell everyone to come up to my depth."

Tang replied with an exaggerated nod, then dove away. Soon the rest of the girls were floating around Wahoo, waiting for her to outline the plan.

For complicated planning like this, hand signals just weren't enough to convey the message. So this is where the slate came into play. As well as teaching the hand signals, Captain Smith had put in an order for assorted dive equipment that he though the subs could use. They were each wearing a nylon web belt with pockets full of gear. Each girl had in their belt a waterproof flashlight, a noisemaker for signaling, a dive knife, a dive watch, a wrist compass, and a diver's slate. A diver's slate was a square of white plastic with a grease pencil tied to it with a retention lanyard. A message could be scrawled out on the slate, and then easily erased by wiping it off with a cloth. Wahoo actually had two slates in her gear, a smaller one strapped to her wrist for quick notes, and one the size of a sheet of paper for writing out maps and plans.

It had been this one which she had scrawled the convoy diagram on. She took one last look through the periscope to make sure that the drawing was still correct, and then marked two of the Abyssals on the map, indicating the convoy's escorts, a pair of destroyers on either side of the formation. She looked around at the girls assembled around her, then pointed at Harder and then Sealion. She then held both of her forefingers up in front of her, pressing them together lengthwise, which deciphered as, "Harder and Sealion, I want you two to buddy up." Wahoo repeated the gesture with Darter and Dace, then pointed at Tang and herself, splitting the sub girls up into three groups. Then by writing on her map, she explained that the convoy was moving in a roughly westerly course, at about four knots, and they were located north of the convoy.

She pointed at Harder, then circled two Abyssals on her map, meaning that Harder's group was attack those two Abyssals first. She made a similar indication for Darter, drawing a circle around two different Abyssals. Finally, she pointed to Tang, and circled the last two Abyssals. Once it was clear that the girls understood the sailing orders, Wahoo held up her diving computer, and pointed to the clock displayed on the face. The dive computers had been another piece of gear that Smith had requisitioned for them. It was a piece of plastic about the size and shape of a hockey puck that each girl wore on her wrist. On the face there was a clear LCD screen that could display a wealth of information, such as current time, time underwater, current depth, a compass heading, ambient water temperature, and nitrogen saturation. That last part didn't really apply to them because they weren't taking air from a tank, but the rest of the computer's functions were extremely useful.

When Wahoo pointed to the computer, she was saying that she wanted the girls to wait until a specific time to attack. She wrote down 1345 on the slate, a time about thirty minutes from now. Plenty of time for everyone to get into position and calculate firing solutions. She held up another ok sign, but this time it was a question, literally, "Is everyone okay—with the plan?"

The rest of them held up ok signs of their own, then began to swim towards their targets. Tang swam up next to Wahoo, and lifted her own periscope above the water. Wahoo tapped twice on Tang's back, indicating that she wanted the other submarine to attack the second Abyssal in the column. She began to set up a solution on the third Abyssals in the column using her equipment mounted torpedo data computer, and then waited. She lifted her torpedo tubes up to firing position. There were six tubes in total, mounted in a pair of ship's bows that were mounted to her hips.

As soon as her computer ticked to 1345, she pressed the firing button on two of her tubes, sending two gleaming Mk 14 torpedoes lancing off into the distance. A second later, she could hear Tang firing her own torpedoes. Wahoo watched through her periscope as she counted down the seconds to impact. At the exact second she had calculated, two towering geysers erupted from the water beneath her target. It began to list to port and lost all headway, obviously mortally wounded. As she watched, several other torpedoes found their marks. In seconds six of the seven transports in the convoy were hit and sinking, and one of the destroyers had rolled over, dead.

Then Wahoo heard the sound that could scare any submariner, the high pitched pinging of an active sonar set. The second destroyer had dodged the torpedoes fired at it, and was now saturating the area with sonar pings, trying to find the subs. Wahoo grabbed Tang's shoulder and jerked a thumb downwards. The message was clear, and Tang began to dive was fast as she could, trying to get below the thermocline and hide from the sonar. Wahoo stayed at periscope depth just long enough to see the other four subs come up to her, then dive. She was starting to head down herself, when she heard a sound that sent shivers down her spine, the sound of an ash can exploding in the distance.

She hadn't even known that the Abyssals had depth charges, but when she looked towards the surface, there was the form of a destroyer right above her. It had obviously found her with its sonar and was trying to hit her with a depth charge. Wahoo watched with horror as one of the cylindrical ash cans tumbled into the water, right above her. She tried as hard as she could to get out of its path, but it detonated less than twenty feet away, the concussive shockwave it created slamming into her like a sledgehammer. She was sent tumbling for a few seconds before she could regain her bearings and resume her dive.

She felt the temperature of the water noticeably drop as she dropped beneath the thermocline, and looked around for the rest of the subs. Visibility was good today, about 40 feet, and she spotted the other subs with ease. They waited there in the depth, not daring to make a sound, as the destroyer dropped several dozen depth charges. It felt like two years had passed, but it was probably closer to twenty minutes before the sonar pinging ceased, and the depth charges stopped coming. Wahoo gave the destroyer another twenty minutes to get clear, then pointed upwards, telling her girls to surface.

Wahoo broke the surface five minutes later, and filled her lungs with a deep breath of air, the first breath of fresh air she had taken in over six hours. She watched as the rest of the subs broached around her, then she said breathing hard, "Everyone okay?"

"We're fine skipper," replied Tang, "Good to go."

"Good hits everyone, seven out of nine," Wahoo said, "That's pretty good odds if I do say so. By the way, who got the tin can?" Harder slowly raised her hand and Wahoo chuckled, "Why am I not surprised?" Wahoo reached to her bag and pulled out her waterproof GPS unit, then said, "Alright campers, steer course 290, all ahead standard."

The subs replied with, "Aye skipper," then they began to cruise southwest along the surface.

Headquarters NS Midway Island

Currently Smith's office looked like a tornado had swept through it. There were stacks of paper spread out everywhere, it looked to the world like someone had chucked a grenade in Smith's filing cabinets. He was in the process of examining his files for errors, trying to catch all of them now. He was sitting at his desk with a personnel records jacket in one hand, and a lukewarm cup of coffee in the other. The phone on his desk rang, causing him to drop the file in a stack of others just like it. "Smith," he answered.

"Captain, this is Air Controlman Conners down at flight control. I have a plane about ten minutes out, call sign Convoy two-seven-niner. They want permission to land," the voice on the other end explained.

"Do they have a flight plan?" Smith asked.

"I don't know sir, I'll check," Conners' voice went off the phone and Smith could hear the sounds of furious typing as he tried to pull up the relevant information on his workstation. "Sir," he replied a minute later, "It was just forwarded to me from Pearl. It checks out."

"Then tell him he has permission to land," Smith ordered.

"Aye captain," Smith heard the line go dead as Conners hung up. A Convoy flight? It can't be the IG, they're not due for another two days, but who could it be? Smith thought as he pushed up from his desk and started to walk towards the airfield.

"Hey Captain, you hear about our visitor?" Smith turned to see that Commander Walker had walked up to join him.

"It's a Convoy flight, so I have no idea who it is, but I hope that it's not the IG," Smit remarked.

"Can't be, they'd use an Air Force transport from the West Coast, not a Navy transport from Pearl," Walker explained.

"Then who is it?" Smith asked.

"We're about to see," Walker said pointing at a rapidly approaching airplane, "There she is. Uh oh Captain, looks like the big brass."

"How so?" Smith asked.

"It's a C-37," Walker explained, then quickly clarified, "Navy version of a Gulfstream V. Only the big brass gets to use those." Smith watched as the business jet painted in Navy grey touched down on the main runway, and then taxied over to the parking apron where Smith and Walker were standing. The door was opened from inside, and the airstairs folded down.

Smith was unconsciously bracing himself for whoever came out of the plane, but not even he expected Admiral Steven Davies to step out the door and say, "So this is Midway a bit bigger than I remembered." Smith was dumbfounded at the sight of Davies. He finally remembered tradition, and raised a salute, which Davies returned saying, "Hello Captain, it's good to see you again."

"Sir, what are you doing here?" Smith asked.

"Simple son, politics," Davies explained cryptically, "And it has to do something with these, and my new job." Davies reached up to flick his rank devices. Smith noticed them for the first time. The last time Smith had seen him, Davies had held the rank of Rear Admiral Upper Half, a two star admiral. Davies now had three, silver stars on each of his collar points, indicating that he had been promoted to Vice Admiral. "With all the crap that's been flying around at 3rd Fleet HQ, CINCPAC decided that it was time for a new G-2 intelligence officer. My name came up top of the list of candidates. The third star came with the appointment," Davies explained.

"What about you shop, the Office of Management Analysis?" Smith asked.

"It got turned over to a bright young Marine Lieutenant Colonel named Harte," Davies said with a wink, "Only real choice if you ask me."

"So what is the 3rd Fleet Intel officer doing here?" Smit asked.

"Simple, politics," Davies repeated, "As a result of the crap that's being thrown at you from all sides, Secretary of the Navy Johnson—who's on your side by the way—decided that you need a liaison. Someone who speaks with his direct authority, and reports to no one but him."

"I assume this liaison came with you?" Smith asked.

"You would be correct there. She was a sub skipper previously, and my personal recommendation to the SecNav for the position," Davies said.

Something clicked in Smith's mind, "Sir you don't mean…"

He was cut off as another officer stepped out onto the air stairs and said, "James Smith, what is this I hear about you running a base full of young women?" Captain James Smith looked up at the C-37 to see none other than Sarah Smith standing in the door.

"But Admiral, doesn't this break frat regs?" Smith asked.

"Nope," Davies said with a smile, "Best part about her position is that because she reports directly to the SecNav, she's not in you chain of command."

"And a fact I intend to abuse often," Sarah said as she walked down the stairs towards her husband, "My job here, is to make sure that you don't get stalled by the feather merchants back in Pearl and Washington, and that your program gets everything you need."

"Now, where can a washed up old admiral get a bite to eat around here," Davies said, clapping a hand on Smith's shoulder.

"The wardroom should have something ready," Smith said.

"Well I'll leave you three to catch up," Walker announced, "Good to see you again Sarah."

"Charles, I don't think I've seen you since Annapolis," Sarah said.

"Diego ma'am, you and the Captain took me to dinner just before this whole mess started,' Walker corrected, "Well, I'll be going, I have a division to shape up, and a PBY engine to put back together." Walker gave Davies a salute, then walked off.

"PBY?" Davies asked.

"We found the thing in one of the old hangers, been trying to get it flying again," Smith explained, "If you will follow me sir, the wardroom is this way.

Smith began to walk forward, when he was stopped by Fletcher running up, "Sir," she said, panting with exertion, "We have a problem."

"What is it?" Smith asked.

"I just held muster, and some of the destroyers are missing," Fletcher explained.

"Is this one of those girls you mentioned?" Sarah asked.

"Yes, this is the destroyer Fletcher," Smith said, then turned back to the destroyer, "Who's missing?"

"William D. Porter and Samuel B. Robert," Fletcher replied.

Smith's face paled, Why Sammy, why are you trying to pull something now of all times. "I'm sorry admiral, I'm going to have to deal with this before lunch, if you will excuse me. The mess is just down that path and to the right, should be a sign out front."

"I can understand the interruption Captain. Come by and see me as soon as you're done here, I need to talk to you about something," Davies said.

"Aye aye, sir, I'll be back in a bit," Smith said, "Now where do you think they are." He said then let Fletcher lead him off.

Author's Note: Well that only took forever and an age to finish. I think I know why no one ever does subs on combat now, I hope the way I did things was at least partially understandable. I know I cut this off a little before I said I would (mostly with the Halsey not getting to Japan yet) but I came up with so much stuff for that trip, that it'll likely fill and entire chapter.

As to the WoWS snip in the last chapter, a good portion of the American fanbase became introduced to Kancolle through WoWS. (I know I was with the whole poi spamming of the early beta) So I thought it was a good thing to throw in.

Addendum: Skipped a page of reviews by accident, added in responses.

Review responses:

Thorthemighty321: Yeah, I love WoWS, and it was gonna come up eventually.

NVA Commander Taney-Chan: Both of those fall under the museum ship issue, which I need to resolve, but is going to be a complete pain at the same time.

Wolfman-053: Yes, why yes it is.

rstlss1: I like your idea about P-cola, but unfortunately, I couldn't write her in in this chapter, but she will have a role next chapter.

c0dy88: Taffy 3 is a bit of an issue because it was only a temporary unit. It was never meant to last longer than a few weeks, and the ships it was comprised of were stolen from half a dozen different units. When I start bringing in CVEs we will see some of the Taffy 3 carriers in the first batch.

FANFIC HUNTER: I agree about Willy D, as I put it on spacebattles, she's the one that always tries the hardest, but has the absolute worst luck and always screws up, but never does it on purpose.

Guest: Well if you think of anything lemme know.

Guest (2): I thank you for the praise, hope you like the update.

gensolo: Again another museum ship, I think I know a way to resolve it(for a few ships at least) but it'll be at least another chapter.

RDFox: Trying to stay away from cold war ships at the moment, mainly because of game breaking, and also because there's no proviso for them in the "official" cannon. I will be abusing the few ships I have that did get cold war weapons, but no one's getting 200 mile wave-skimming cruise missiles (well except the regular ships).

FrancisJames: I agree about the German ships, who knows, maybe Bismarck and her girls haven't made their trip to Japan yet, also Sammy, oh boy Sammy, if you can guess by the cutoff, she's getting a big scene next chapter.

PanzerIVAusfH: I do actually have plans for the reactivated Iowas in the story (Well two of them at least, but I will be getting into that next chapter)

hfdt123: The Alaskas oh lord the Alaskas, they will be fun to play with, and I might bring them in later.

Russian guest: Trying to keep things moving, I have a few long range plans that still need to be set up.

Colonel Amiruddin Arif: Thanks for the catch, I literally found that right as I was uploading.

NCGaming: There will be some, intended for it to happen in this chapter, but it would have delayed publishing by about a week.

Jedii: Well, I finally got all my computer issues worked out, so it might progress a bit faster now.

Hungrykiwi: They're good books, very much an alternate history series, and I love the fact that the author actually knows what he's talking about in relation to weapons and ships.

SulliMike23: Well yeah, not a lot of stereotypes besides that to pull for Houston.