Please note that part of this chapter has been re-written, the end is quite a bit different from the last submission
NS Midway Island, June, 25, 2018
"Look Willy, this is easy. All you have to do is point your tubes at the target, and shoot," explained the destroyer escort Samuel B. Roberts.
"It's just that… it's just that I don't like torpedoes," replied the destroyer William D. Porter. Sammy looked over at the Fletcher girl with a disbelieving look.
"But you're a destroyer, your main armament are your torpedoes," Sammy said. She was currently sailing next to Willy Dee as they approached the torpedo training range. Of all the unusual friendships that had formed between the girls of Midway Island, the pair of Samuel B. Roberts and William D. Porter was perhaps the most unexpected. The two girls had absolutely nothing in common. Sammy, with her destroyer escort lineage, was a small, slip of a girl at barely four foot nothing and one hundred pounds, but she had a reckless streak a country mile wide. This was displayed in her choice of uniform.
In the past few weeks, Captain Smith had started to relax the uniform restrictions for the ship girls, allowing them to choose the uniform that fit best for them. Sammy had chosen to wear old style Marine dungarees. The sage green jacket and pants were just a bit too large for her small frame, and had to be cut down to fit. No one knew why Sammy had decided to wear the Marine uniform other than the fact that it looked "salty." She had even neglected to remove the stenciled eagle, globe, and anchor off the breast pocket, and had stenciled her rank stripes on the sleeve in black paint, just like a Marine. The ensemble was topped off with a matching green field cap with black patch sewed to the face. It depicted the silhouette of a destroyer escort, and had the words "USS Samuel B. Roberts," stitched across the top in gold thread. It was similar to the ship specific veteran's ball caps that had been cropping up more and more around the base.
On the other hand, William D. Porter cut a much different figure. She had the Fletcher build and bearing that so many girls on the base shared, and she also wore dungarees. But she wore Navy dungarees consisting of a blue, long-sleeved shirt and blue jeans. Unlike Sammy, Willy Dee didn't have any rank stripes, being just a simple seaman apprentice, so the only markings on Willy's uniform were the legends, "US Navy," stenciled above the left pocket and, "W. D. Porter," written above the right. On her head she wore one of the now ubiquitous white, dixie cup hats.
Willy Dee and Sammy also differed greatly in terms of personality. While Sammy was brash and sure of her abilities, Willy tended to be more timid and fearful of her own strengths. There was a bit of rationality in this fear, due in part to her past service as a warship, and also due to the fact that on the day she was released into active service, she fell down two flights of stairs, tripped into a 55-gallon drum filled with stale grease, spilled coffee in Enterprise's lap, and managed to knock the captain off the end of a pier into the lagoon. These events had earned her the reputation of being a bearer of bad luck, and made everyone avoid her at all costs. In fact, the only girl that would even spend an extended amount of time near Willy Dee was Sammy.
Due to her lack of self-confidence, Willy now had the lowest combat effectiveness scores on the base. Sammy had made it her personal mission to help the destroyer improve her scores. That was what they were doing now, working on improving Willy's torpedo accuracy. "Okay, look, just watch what I do, and copy me," Sammy said. She lined up on one of the target boats, an aluminum skiff with a quarter-inch steel plate welded to the side in order to serve as a target face. Then she did something unexpected, she reached into her holster and drew her side arm. Along with relaxing the uniform restrictions, Captain Smith had given permission for the ship girls to arm themselves however they wished. Sammy had almost immediately taken the captain up on this, putting in a requisition for a very special pistol. The handgun was an enormous, black revolver with a long barrel.
"What is that?" Willy asked, a note of awe in her voice."
"This," said Sammy as she leveled the handgun, "Is the Smith & Wesson Model 29. It is a six shot revolver chambered in .44 Magnum, and this one comes with a handy 6-1/2" barrel."
"And what are you doing with it?" Willy asked.
"Using it to get the range to the target," Sammy replied, "I have the sights set so that the round will mimic the range of a torpedo."
"Is that the way to range a torpedo?" Willy asked confused.
"No, use your torpedo director for that," Sammy replied, "I just think that this way is more fun. Now hush, I'm trying to concentrate." Sammy let out a half-breath, and then cleanly squeezed the trigger. The revolver barked and the .44 slug was sent hurtling towards the target plate. It rang off the bottom and left behind a large, impact mark, indicating to Sammy that she was in range for a torpedo salvo. "Okay, this is where the fun starts," she said, and quickly re-holstered her pistol. She then took off along a parallel course to the target boat. When she was at about a 45 degree bearing to the target, she squeezed the trigger for her first tube. A gleaming 21" Mk 15 torpedo spat out of her tube mount and hit the water with a dull slap. Normally she would have fired all three of her loaded torpedoes at once, but this was an exercise about accuracy, not hit percentage.
Once the first fish was on its way, Sammy continued on her course, waiting until she was abeam the target before firing the second torpedo. Finally waiting until she was 45 degrees ahead of the target to fire off her last torpedo. With all tube expended and three fish in the water, all that was left to do was to wait and see if her accuracy was on. At this range it would take the torpedoes about twenty seconds to strike the target, and, sure enough, at the expected time, the first bubble trail intersected with the target boat. The torpedoes that Sammy had fired were only practice rounds, being fitted with a paint warhead instead of an actual explosive. When the torpedo struck its target, a bright red paint mark was left on the steel plate.
"One hit," Sammy yelled, followed a few seconds later by, "Two hits," as the second torpedo struck its mark. Then Sammy watched in horror as the third torpedo leaped into the air, before slamming back down with a splash. The action threw off the torpedo's course, and it veered off into the distance, completely missing the target. "Damn," Sammy cursed loudly.
"Two out of three, that's not bad," said Willy as she sailed up to Sammy's side.
"Would have been three out of three if it weren't for these crummy fish," Sammy spat angrily.
"Oh, you know as good as I do, porpoising doesn't have anything to do with the actual torpedo most of the time. It has to do with the launch angle," Willy said.
"I guess," Sammy said, "But still…" She then looked straight at Willy and said, "Your turn Willy Dee, show me what you've got."
Willy hesitantly looked at the target boat, and then back to Sammy, saying, "I don't think I can do this."
"Oh come on will you, you don't have to do it the way I did, just try to hit the thing once," Sammy replied.
"Okay…" Willy started to say, but was cut off as they heard a sound of an engine coming from the shore. The destroyer torpedo range was set up in the water about fifteen feet from the shoreline, in fact, it shared water with the destroyer gunnery range, with several shooting stations set up on the shore. Sammy looked over to the shore just in time to see a green, camo Humvee come bouncing into the range enclosure, and skid to a stop at the top of the concrete ramp used to enter and exit the water.
She watched in wide-eyed horror as Captain Smith jumped out of the driver's side door and yelled, "Samuel B. Roberts, what the hell are you doing?" Sammy jumped back in surprise at the challenge, and smacked right into Willy. The larger girl was sent sprawling backwards. When Willy hit the water, Sammy heard the unmistakable sound of a torpedo tube impulse charge firing. She looked over her shoulder to see a torpedo fling itself out of Willy's tubes, and splash into the water. Sammy watched in stunned surprise as the torpedo carved out a course in the water, straight towards Captain Smith's Humvee.
"Sir," she tried to yell, "Sir, there's a torpedo."
"What the hell are you two doing with torpedoes out here? There is a reason why you can't be out here with supervision," he yelled back, "Now you two get over here, and we'll have a talk about this."
"No, sir, there's a torpedo in the water," Willy yelled, "And it's headed straight for you!" Smith's good eye grew wide and he looked down at the water's surface to see the torpedo's bubble trail connect with the bottom of the ramp. They all watched as the torpedo skipped out of the water and skidded up the ramp on its built up momentum. It reached the top of the ramp and bumped into the Humvee's tire. Even though the practice torpedoes don't have torpex warheads, they do have a small bursting charge. Designed to evenly spread the paint charge over a hit target, the bursting charge was triggered by a contact plate on the nose of the torpedo.
When the errant fish bumped into the Humvee's tire, it was with enough force to trigger the charge. A cloud of red paint exploded from the torpedo and splattered everything in a six foot radius with the marker paint. Including the ramp, the Humvee, and Captain Smith. "Holy crap Willy, you just sunk a truck," Sammy said.
Captain Smith stood still for a second, covered from head to toe in red paint, then said, in a chillingly quiet voice, "Samuel B. Roberts and William D. Porter, you will consider yourselves on report from this moment forward. Get your asses to the destroyer barracks, now!"
"Yes, sir," Willy squeaked, then sailed as fast as she could back to the shore. Sammy simply groaned, then slowly made her way back to shore.
"And the bad luck comes again," Sammy muttered as she walked up the ramp.
Luckily the training paint had been designed with easy cleanup in mind. All Smith had to do was shower it out and change uniforms. All told, it took less than half an hour to remove all traces of the red paint. Smith made his way directly to the club after he had finished making himself a bit more presentable. As expected, he saw Admiral Davies sitting at one of the tables in the back of the room, a half-empty drink sitting on the table in front of him. "Where have you been?" Davies asked after Smith lowered himself into the seat next to him.
"Trying to wash off red paint," Smith replied, nonchalantly.
"I sense a story behind that remark, captain," Davies said, taking a sip from his drink.
"There is, but first," Smith leaned over to get the attention of the bartender, "Scotch, neat," he ordered. The sailor manning the bar nodded to say that he had received Smith's order, and began to pour the drink. Davies shot Smith a questioning look, as if to ask why he was drinking while still technically on duty. Smith decided to answer the unasked question, "Admiral, I have been on duty for forty-eight hours straight, I have two combat teams deployed at the moment, have been trying to juggle personnel forms, and now I have a pair of destroyers that thought it would be a good idea to steal a crate of practice torpedoes. I think I rate a drink, admiral."
"So that's where the paint came from?" Davies asked. The bartender came over and placed a glass in front of Smith, he thanked the man, and took a long sip.
Replacing the glass, Smith replied, "Yes, our practice shots are loaded with a red, water based paint. One of them was accidentally fired at me, it skipped up a ramp, and went off under my Humvee. Splattering paint all over it, and me."
"May I ask which girl fired this torpedo," Davies asked, trying to stifle a laugh.
Smith shot the Admiral a scathing look, and answered, "William D. Porter fired the fish, but she wasn't the one who stole it in the first place. No, that distinction goes to Samuel B. Roberts."
"Does William D. Porter the same bad luck that she had back in the day?" Davies asked.
"Pretty much," Smith said levelly, then added, "I don't know why they thought that it would be a god idea to pull a stunt like that, with the IG visit around the corner and everything."
Davies tone immediately changed when he asked, "What IG visit?"
"My base has been scheduled to be graced by the prescience of the IG from Washington," Smith explained. Seeing a look of confusion on Davies face, he added, "You didn't know?"
"No," Davies replied, "There hasn't been a request for inspection cleared through 3rd Fleet HQ, this must have come down from someone in the Pentagon."
"Any idea who?" Smith asked.
"A few ideas," Davies replied, then added, "But I'd rather retain plausible deniability on that subject, "But that does lead into the real reason for my visit here."
"And that would be?"
"I've told you how there are two factions forming in the upper echelons of the military, those who oppose this program, and those who don't," Davies said, "Well, it's a bit more complicated than that. The damn politicos are starting to become vested in this program."
"Who?" Smith asked, "The secretary of defense?"
"Bit higher than that, son," Davies said.
"Congress?" Smith asked again.
"Well, yes, they are involved, but I'm thinking higher," Davies said, then took a large swig of his drink, "The President has stated a genuine interest in your program. He thinks that it's just the ticket to beat back the Abyssals, and score him much needed publicity points in the process."
"What do you mean?" Smith asked, apprehensively.
"We're about to go public, son. We are going to reveal the nature of the ship girls to the general public. They already know about the Japanese program, and the Europeans went public with theirs a few days ago. You're going to show the American public that we have a program in place, just like the rest of the world."
"But sir," Smith protested, "Why are we revealing our program? Wouldn't that wreck operational security?"
"Operational security doesn't mean shit to an enemy that doesn't understand the concept of espionage," Davies said curtly, "And think about what would happen if the damned fourth estate got wind of what we're doing out here, and broadcast it for the world to see. We would be left cleaning up a political shit-storm of epic proportions."
"I don't understand, sir," Smith said, confused.
"The general public doesn't really know what the shipgirls are," Davies said, "They've seen them before in news broadcasts, but it really hasn't been discussed what exactly they are. To most of the public, the ship girls are nothing more than normal girls, and you know how big a problem the American public can make out of nothing."
"But sir, they're not normal girls," Smith said
"You know that, I know that, but the public doesn't know that. That's why we have to release this story on our terms," Davies announced.
"What do you have in mind, sir?" Smith asked.
"A press conference, son. We—I'm talking about myself and CINCPAC here—want you to hold a press conference in Pearl next week, with yourself and a few of your girls. Explain to the public just who our ship girls are," Davies explained.
"But sir, I can't leave the base," Smith replied, "We have combat teams in the field, we're about to begin full time operations, the damn IG will show up in a few days, and I have new girls to train. Can't I send someone else in my stead?"
Davies leaned back in his chair and said, "Son, the name, 'Captain James Smith' is already ingrained in the public mindset. To them, you are the hero of the Battle off Johnston Atoll." Smith groaned, predicting where this line of discussion was headed the instant Davies mentioned the island where his ship was sunk, "What you did with that tin can of yours, probably saved hundreds of lives."
"Sir, I was just doing my job…" Smith interrupted.
"Stow that BS right now," Davies cut him off, "You are a hero in the public's eyes, and if it was announced that you are the commander of the ship girl program, it would do wonders to increase its popularity."
"I'm no hero," Smith said wistfully "I'm just a washed up captain who's too broken to hold my own command anymore," he then threw back the rest of his drink, downing it in one gulp.
"Well, don't let the cameras see that," Davies remarked.
"Who do you want at this press conference anyway?" Smith asked.
"Yourself for one, Enterprise public would love to meet her, and three or four other girls of your choosing. Hopefully ones who could be trusted not to embarrass the USN on camera," Davies said.
"Admiral, if you have no other bombs to drop on my head, I have an IG inspection to prepare for," Smith said, standing up from his seat.
"Hopefully you get one of the good ones," Davies replied, "One who will ignore the crap and do his job without bias."
"We can only hope," Smith said, "Goodbye, sir."
"Goodbye captain" Davies replied. Smith walked out of the club, muttering curses to every politician, he could remember the name of.
Officer's Wardroom
Commander Sarah Smith was still amazed by this base. To think that the young girls she walked past outside, or sat next to in the mess were actually the spirits of warships, it was mind boggling. But for everything different on this base, there were still some things that never changed no matter where one went. Such as the fact that the officer's wardroom always had the best coffee on the base. She was currently playing a little game with herself, trying to figure out which women in the room were in fact, ship girls. Around the base it was fairly easy to spot the ship girls, they were usually the youngest girls around, and they wore all sorts of different outfits. While all still wearing uniforms, they seemed to prefer to wear older or more unique uniforms.
That was the enlisted girls, the ones holding officer rank tended to act and dress more in line with the regular Navy types. Of the women in the wardroom, she had positively pegged two of them as ship girls, but which ship they were was still a mystery to her. She was a bit surprised when a woman wearing the uniform and insignia of a full lieutenant came into the room, and walked up to the counter where Sarah was seated. She grabbed the stool next to Sarah, and asked the cook, "Seaman, could you make me a cup of coffee please?"
"Comin right up, Miss Enterprise," the culinary specialist behind the counter said, then disappeared into the kitchen. Sarah was a bit shocked, she had heard that Enterprise was on the base, but she wasn't expecting her to be a twenty something blonde with a tall frame and an attractive figure. Enterprise seemed to take notice of Sarah at the same time. "Commander," she greeted after reading Sarah's rank devices.
"Lieutenant," Sarah replied out of habit.
"You're new here aren't you, commander?" Enterprise said after looking over Sarah for a second, "I don't think I've seen you around the base before now."
"I just came in with the Admiral," Sarah replied, then held out her hand, "Sarah Smith."
Enterprise took the hand and replied, "Lieutenant Enterprise."
"So you're Enterprise," Sarah said, "I've heard so much about you."
Sarah caught a slight cringe in Enterprise's features as she asked, "What have you heard, commander?"
"Oh, nothing bad I can assure you," Sarah replied, with a slight laugh.
The cook came out of the kitchen and placed a mug of coffee in front of Enterprise, and then asked, "Is that all, ma'am?" Enterprise replied with a nod, then began to sip at the steaming liquid.
"Enterprise, I insist that you call me Sarah, we're friends here," Sarah said after Enterprise had replaced the mug on the table, "Smith if you must."
A look of puzzlement came over Enterprise's face and she asked, "Are you related to Captain Smith at all?"
"Yes, I am, but not by blood," Sarah replied. Now Enterprise looked completely confused, Sarah clarified, "I am related to James Smith by holy matrimony." Seeing that Enterprise was still confused, Sarah sighed, and then said, "I am Captain Smith's wife."
Enterprise's eyes went wide at that, and she asked, "But, I thought it was against regulations for married couples to serve on the same base?"
"It normally is, if they are in the same chain of command, but I am here as a special liaison officer from the office of the Secretary of the Navy," Sarah said, "The only chain of command that I am in at the moment is the secretary's."
"Just what exactly does a special liaison to the Secretary of the Navy do?" Enterprise asked.
"Part of it is reporting progress, sending informational reports back to the Secretary. The other half is using the Secretary's name to make sure you all aren't stonewalled by overeager bureaucrats in the Pentagon," Sarah explained, taking a sip of her coffee.
"Using the Secretary's name, come again?" Enterprise asked, confused.
"You would not believe how far people are willing to bend over backwards for a member of the Secretary's staff. It does wonders for blowtorching through the red tape," Sarah replied with a smile.
Enterprise looked at Sarah's uniform in thought for several seconds, then asked, "What did you do before you were a liaison?"
"Pardon me?"
"Your uniform, you're wearing dolphins. I know the warfare community pins, and the one you have on is for the submarine service," Enterprise said, pointing to her uniform.
"Oh that, yes, I was in the silent service before I was transferred. I was even a pretty high ranking member of the submarine community, I had my own boat before they took it away," Sarah replied, tone growing somber.
"Why would they do that?" Enterprise asked.
"You only get to hold a command for so many years before they take it away from you," Sarah explained, "And my time was up." Enterprise nodded acceptance of this, and then leaned back. Sarah could tell that there was a question that the girl hadn't asked yet, and was puzzling over whether or not to speak up. Sarah didn't give her the option, "Something on your mind, Enterprise?"
"It's just," she replied, "It's just that I didn't even know that the captain was married."
"You mean to tell me, that he hasn't so much as let on the fact that he is married?" Sarah asked, a tone of surprise in her voice.
"No, he hasn't, but I guess I've never really come out and asked," Enterprise replied.
They sat in silence for a few seconds, then Sarah asked, "May I ask you a few questions?"
"Certainly com," Enterprise started to say, then caught herself, "Sarah."
"What's it like for you? Serving here on this base, with your background, I mean," Sarah asked.
"I would say it's different, but that really doesn't cover it all," Enterprise began, "Back then, I didn't have anything really to do, no responsibilities no duties. Just do what the crew ordered, and not sink. Now, well, now I have the responsibilities of an officer. I have to fill out forms, perform inspections, stand as the officer of the day, and lead girls in combat. I didn't think that I would be able to hack it at first."
"And now?"
"Now, I'm better. I have experience now, and the captain has been a great teacher. Leading me through every step, and helping me to be a better officer," Enterprise said, "I think that of all the officers I've met, Captain Smith was the perfect choice to command this base."
"That's my James alright," Sarah said, smiling, "Always looking out for his subordinates."
Enterprise's watch bleeped an alarm at her, she looked down at it, disgusted, "I have a meeting at the carrier barracks in five minutes. If you will pardon me, it was nice meeting you Sarah. I hope to see you around again."
"Nice meeting you too, Enterprise. Anyone who can keep my husband from drowning in paperwork is okay in my book," Sarah said as Enterprise stood up from the counter, and left the wardroom.
"It's kind of hard to fathom the fact that I just had a conversation with the USS Enterprise," Sarah muttered to herself, "But I guess that's sort of a regular occurrence on this base." She shook her head and went back to her coffee.
USS Halsey, Mess Deck, June 27, 2018, 2145hrs
For everything that had changed from what Johnston remembered, Navy food really hadn't improved all that much. It was still just as nasty and inedible as she remembered, well, as she remembered her crew complaining about. She was trying to decide whether or not to choke down the lump of meat the cooks had generously called a, "burger," when she heard someone ask, "Mind if I sit here?" Johnston looked up to see the carrier Hornet standing over her.
"Go ahead," she replied. Hornet pulled out the chair across from her and sit down. Johnston shot the bigger girl a questioning look as if she was asking her why she had decided to grace Johnston with her presence.
"I'm just trying to lay low for a bit, and you're the only ship girl in the room," Hornet said, answering the unasked question. "I, uh… I almost shot the captain," she said, hesitantly. Johnston simply raised an eyebrow. "It wasn't my fault," Hornet said quickly, "Well not completely."
"What did you do?" Johnston asked, dryly.
"Well, you see, we were on the fantail getting a little rifle training in, and I was doing pretty well. So then I hear someone behind me say, 'good job,' and I whipped around to see who it was, and accidentally put a bullet two inches above the captain's head," Hornet said, slamming her head down on the table.
"Could have been worse," Johnston quipped, "Could have hit the captain."
"Don't even joke like that," Hornet whined, then sat up and asked, "By the way, what was your name again? There are so many destroyers on the base that I keep getting them mixed up."
"Johnston," she replied. Hornet's eyes went wide and her mouth began to open and close in shock.
Johnston braced herself internally for the next question, because she knew exactly what it would be, "Johnston, the Johnston? Hero of Samar? Fighter of Japs? Slayer of battleships? I've heard so much about you." Johnston groaned. This was worse than cold teammates, or a crazy escort, Hornet was a fan.
"Yes, I'm her," Johnston replied.
"What was it like? To charge those battleships? It must have been so scary. I would have been completely frozen with fear," Hornet rambled. Johnston held up a hand, cutting off the carrier mid ramble.
"Yes, I was scared, but I had nothing to do with that charge. That was completely Captain Evans, not me," Johnston said, bluntly.
"But, you must have had something to do with it," Hornet said.
"Did you have anything to do with the Doolittle raid?" Johnston asked, changing the subject.
"What?"
"You know, the mission where they loaded your decks up with Army bombers, and sailed you right up to the Japanese mainland?" Johnston said.
"What does that have to do with charging battleships?" Hornet asked.
"Did you have any control over what happened then?" Johnston asked.
"Well, no."
"Were you scared for what was going to happen?' Johnston continued.
Something in Hornet's face changed. She suddenly looked older, sadder maybe. "Yes, I was, I was scared that we were going to be caught, and that I couldn't do anything to defend myself with those bombers filling my deck. I was scared when Doolittle took off, that he would never make it to Japan, and that those Army fliers would never make it home again. I was scared," Hornet said, her tone completely different.
"That," Johnston said, "Is what it felt like for me that day. No adrenaline fueled charge, no sense of patriotic duty, just fear. Fear that the boys that I had been protecting, would never be able to make it home again."
Hornet's face grew somber, and she said quietly, "I must have really made an ass of myself."
"No more than anyone else I've met so far," Johnston replied, "At least you get it."
"Yeah, sorry for starting off on the wrong foot," Hornet said, "I really do have the unfortunate knack of knowing exactly the wrong thing to say at all times."
"It's just that I'd like for some memories to stay just that, memories," Johnston said, "You must feel the same thing at times. I would like to make some new friends, so if you don't mind talking to a destroyer with past issues."
Hornet's face brightened, and she replied, "I would like that Johnston, if you don't mind talking to a carrier with past issues." Johnston was about to say something else, when Nicholas sat down at the table.
"Johnston," she said.
"Ensign," Johnston replied, "May I help you?"
Sensing the tension between the two destroyers, Hornet hastily said, "I have somewhere to be, see you later, Johnston." The jumped up and ran out.
"What was that all about?" Nicholas asked.
"Just talking about our pasts," Johnston replied, "What was it you wanted to speak to me about?"
"Now that you're an official member of DesRon 21, you need to look the part," Nicholas said.
"What do you mean?" Johnston asked, completely confused.
"Here," Nicholas said, sliding a bundle of clothes over the table, "This is the official DesRon 21 uniform." Johnston picked up the clothes and looked them over. It was a modified set of camouflage fatigues with a jagged grey, blue, and white pattern. She realized that it was a version of the measure 12(Modified) camouflage scheme.
"Thank you, ma'am," Johnston said, then asked, "Are they the right size?"
"Should be, most Fletcher girls have the same build, so should fit," Nicholas replied.
Johnston thought of a potential problem and grimaced, "I was a square bridge." Johnston was referring to her old ship body. There were two main types of Fletcher class destroyer built during the war. The round, or high, bridge Fletchers had a tall rounded bridge structure. While, the square, or short, bridge ships had a smaller, more blocky superstructure. When the destroyer girls had started coming back, the round bridge Fletchers were about two or three inches taller than the square bridge ships.
"That might make things difficult," Nicholas replied, "Well, we could always have the pants taken up if we have to."
"Thank you, ma'am," Johnston replied, "Is that all?"
"So far," Nicholas replied, "We have patrol duty in two hours, briefing is at 2100," Nicholas said.
"I'll be there," Johnston said.
"Make sure that you are," Nicholas said, then stood up to leave. Johnston looked down at the bundle of clothes in her hands, trying to figure out what that was all about.
'A minor victory is still a victory', Johnston thought, then came to the decision that the food still on her plate was not worth finishing, and stood up to leave the mess hall herself. She barely made it two steps out the door when the general quarters alarm sounded.
Combat Information Center
Dakota was always amazed when she set foot in this room. The Combat Information Center, or CIC, was the tactical heart of the Halsey. In here were controls and displays to view and monitor every shred of information that was sucked in by the Halsey's extensive AEGIS sensor suite. Dakota had made it a habit during the trip to stop in the room every night in order to check the tactical plot for their current location and any enemy contacts. It was normally frowned upon for personnel not currently working in the space to enter, but Dakota had quickly remedied this by always bringing a tray full of coffee mugs whenever she visited the CIC. The techs had quickly made an exception for her visits.
She was a bit surprised to see that Captain Jones was already in the room, standing over the tactical plot table. While not unheard of for the captain to be in the CIC, he normally preferred to stay on the bridge, and left running the CIC to the XO. "Is there something wrong, captain?" Dakota asked as she set the coffee tray on a table.
Captain Jones looked up from the tac plot and said, "Maybe, we really don't know." Dakota walked over to look at the table. The tac plot was really a large, touchscreen display installed in the top of a table. I could display real time information about the Halsey and her surroundings. She could see the Halsey's current position indicated by a light blue circle. Jones pointed to a different mark to the south of the Halsey's position, it was a yellow box with a line extending from its center. "Sonar picked up a scent about half an hour ago," he explained, "We don't know for sure, but it could be an Abyssal task group."
"I thought we couldn't track the Abyssals?" Dakota asked.
"We can't," Jones replied, then added, "Not on the radar at least, but we can hear them just fine on sonar. Well, we can tell if they're there and get a general bearing."
"So what's this?" Dakota asked, tapping the yellow square, accidentally causing the screen to zoom in on it.
"This is the location of the sonar contact we picked up," Jones replied, and tapped the square once, causing a yellow circle to extend from its center, "And this the percent error. That contact is somewhere within that circle, we just don't know where. We have to have visual confirmation for that."
"Visual confirmation, isn't it dark topside?"
"That's why we have low light cameras," Jones said, then walked over to one of the main monitor screens against the wall, "Lieutenant, bring up the feed from the mast camera on this screen, please." Dakota watched as the screen's picture switched to that of a live camera feed, but she couldn't tell what it was of due to the fact that it was pitch black outside. "Now give me low light," Jones ordered. The picture suddenly took on a hazy green overlay as the camera switched modes. Dakota could now clearly make out the details of the Halsey's stern and the sea just behind it. "Pan to bearing 220 now if you would," the picture began to shift as the camera panned.
"I don't see anything," Dakota said.
"Neither do I, can we get infrared?" Jones ordered. The picture shifted again, this time the image overlaid with false colors. Everything was dark blue, save for a cluster of bright yellow and orange blobs at the center of the screen.
Jones cursed and Dakota asked, "What is that?"
"That," Jones said, tapping the blobs with a finger, "is our mystery contact, an Abyssals task group. Sound general quarters."
"What do you want me to do?" Dakota asked as the GQ alarm started to sound throughout the ship.
"Get to your battle station, and get your girls in the water. I'll coordinate tactical information from up here," Jones replied.
"Right, see you later captain," Dakota said, then ran out of the room as fast as she could.
Jones turned to the camera feed, then asked, "Can someone get me a composition of forces? I don't want to send those girls into battle blind."
A few seconds later, one of the techs replied, "New tracks, designate sierras one through fifteen. Identified as three battleships Ru-class, six cruisers indeterminate class, and six destroyers also indeterminate."
"Get me a firing solution. Get me something to shoot," Jones called, "Keep those damn things busy long enough for Dakota to get her girls in the water."
"Sir, I have a solution with the main gun," called a gunner's mate.
"By all means, fire at will," Jones said, then felt the deck plates vibrate slightly as the 5" gun barked.
"Damn, would you look at that," whistled Atlanta. She had just watched as a bright, orange tracer burst from the muzzle of the 5" gun up on the fo'c'sle. It sailed off into the night, then exploded with a bright flash as it hit something solid. "Tin can drivers are really earning their pay tonight," She said.
"Great, that's great, now will you keep moving," said Pensacola as she gave Atlanta a shove from behind, "We need to get into the water, preferably before the Abyssals put a few extra holes in our bottom."
"Alright, alright, I'm going," said Atlanta as she made her way across the flight deck. Someone had decided that the best way for ship girls to enter and exit conventional destroyers, was a deployable ramp that could be lowered over the fantail. The thing was about five feet wide, and made of steel with grip tape applied to its face. Atlanta ran down the thing as fast as she could. Then leaped off the end, hitting the water with a splash.
"Atlanta," she heard Salt Lake say in the darkness, "Form up with Northampton and wait for instructions." This order posed a bit of a problem. It was completely dark outside, and little was visible. She could see the other cruisers with her radar, but she had no idea which blip represented which ship. But for the first time since she could remember, they had come into a night battle prepared. She, and the rest of the ship girls, had been given something called Night Vision Goggles, well monocular really. It was a little plastic thing that fit over her right eye, and allowed her to see in the dark.
She reached up and flipped the thing over her eye, marveling at how much it allowed her to see. She scanned the area around her, quickly spotting her teammates. They were all wearing IR strobe lights clipped to their equipment. The little lights were completely invisible to the naked eye, but through the NVGs, they showed up clear and bright. It was easy to find Northampton with the NVG's help.
A few minutes later Salt Lake came up with Pensacola in tow. "Alright Halsey has just informed us that they spot three BBs, six CAs, and six DDs," She said, "Dakota has tasked us with dealing with the cruisers. They were last spotted at bearing 220 to the Halsey, but just follow her fire, should lead us right to them." As soon as she had finished talking, the Halsey fired again, its superior optics allowing it to find targets much easier than the ship girls. Atlanta watched the tracer round through her NVGs, and saw that it landed in the midst of a clump of black objects, obviously Abyssals.
"Got the targets," she said.
"Everybody else see them?" Salt Lake asked, "Hold fire until I command, we'll open with a volley." Atlanta waited patiently for the order to fire, watching as a pair of shots from the Halsey tore into a cruiser, causing it to explode with a brilliant fireball. Her NVG's automatically blacked out to protect her eyes from the bright light. The Abyssals now had an idea of where the ship shooting their comrades was located, they began to open up on the destroyer with several, stuttering broadsides.
"Open fire," Salt Lake called. The four American cruiser fired almost simultaneously. The cloud of tracers climbed high into the night before slamming back down right on top of the Abyssals. Two of their number fell immediately to the American's fire.
"That was fun," whooped Pensacola, "Now let's do it again." Unfortunately for her, the Abyssals now knew that there were two things shooting at them. The remaining cruisers began to open up on their American counterparts, doing little damage but ruffle a few uniforms.
"Independent fire at will," Salt Lake ordered, and the cruisers instantly obliged. The sea around Atlanta became a rolling, pulsing ball of smoke and fire as the line of cruisers poured everything they had into the Abyssals. The staggered fire was less effective, and the remaining three Abyssals were only hit a few times.
Their return fire this time was much more accurate. Four shells found their marks and struck Pensacola.
"Damn it," she swore loudly.
"You alright," Salt Lake yelled over the gunfire.
"Fine," Pensacola grunted, "The equipment took the damage, just like it's supposed to, but my number three turret's out of action for a bit."
"Then keep firing," Salt Lake said. During the diversion, Northampton was able to land a critical hit. An Abyssals was sent reeling as it four hits from her 8" guns. The enemy did not fare as well as Pensacola, and began to roll over, dead.
"One more down, two to go," she said simply. Pensacola fueled by rage, began to rapid fire her guns, hoping to score a hit through simple saturation. Her strategy was effective after a while, and a fourth remaining Abyssal lost all headway and began to sink.
"Take that, you sonava bitch," she spat.
"Good work," Salt Lake said, "Just one left." Atlanta had this particular Abyssals locked in her sights, so to say. She had already calculated a firing solution on its position, and was keeping it under a constant barrage. Her 5" guns were not as effective as the other girl's weapons, but she did have sixteen of them at her disposal. It finally turned into a case of death by a thousand cuts as Atlanta's 5" guns began to overwhelm the remaining Abyssal's defenses. A lucky shot from her caused the thing to detonate into a brilliant fireball as its ammunition cooked off.
"We're clear," she said, "That was the last one."
"Dakota, Dakota, this is cruiser 1 actual," Salt Lake said into the radio, "The cruisers have been dealt with. I say again, all cruisers sunk."
"Good work cruiser 1," Dakota replied after a second, "We're just mopping up here, and the destroyers are off hunting for the enemy tin cans. Stay on station for now, but I think that this fight is over."
"Affirmative Dakota, we will keep station off the Halsey's port quarter for now," Salt Lake said. She turned to Pensacola and asked, "You good? Or do you want to head in?"
"I'm good," she replied, "There probably isn't a scratch on me, and it only hurt for a minute, then the equipment absorbed the damage. I'm fine now."
Atlanta could see Salt Lake nod slightly, then say, "Alright, form up on me. We're on escort duty."
"What was that about?" asked Kongou, just before she fired her cannons.
"Cruisers were reporting that they had dealt with the Abyssals cruisers," replied South Dakota, "It's just those two and the tin cans left." The two battleships had engaged with the Abyssals battleships upon entering the water. For whatever the reason the Abyssals had decided to engage the Halsey from both directions, with the cruisers attacking from the port quarter and the battleships from the starboard. This had played to the American's favor as they were able to meet each attack separately.
Dakota and Kongou had been trading broadsides with the Abyssals for several minutes now, and had already scored one confirmed kill. Dakota had already taken two shells, but her equipment was able to absorb the damage with ease. Kongou had displayed herself to be a competent night fighter, scoring consistent hits even without the aid of a radar director like Dakota's. 'Must have experience with this sort of thing' Dakota thought.
"Those Abyssals will taste Kongou's Burning love, FIRE!" Kongou shouted as she loosed another volley. Dakota really didn't like the Japanese girl's constant yelling of her catchphrase, but she actually seemed to land better hits whenever she did. As displayed as that salvo hit its mark square on, crippling one of the Abyssals. Dakota quickly followed up with a salvo of her own, striking the same Abyssal with another devastating salvo. It was clear that it was not long for the world as it began to sink slowly.
"Two down, one to go," Dakota said unconsciously, then fired again.
She was a bit surprised when she heard Captain Jones' voice over the radio, "Dakota, Dakota, this is Halsey actual, we have a solution on the remaining battlewagon and are about to go hot, I suggest that you stand clear for this one."
"Rodger that Halsey, we're clear of the area," Dakota said quickly. She wondered what that was about for several seconds, and then the night sky was lit with fire.
"You may fire when ready," Captain Jones said calmly. A few seconds later he watched as his ship was bathed in fire as VLS tube doors popped open and missiles began to climb into the night trailing plumes of fire.
"Birds away, birds away on track, bearing 132," called a tech as the Halsey began to loose its deadly payload. One of the earliest problems that the US Navy had faced in their war against the Abyssals was the fact that they gave off no radar return. All modern ship launched missiles are radar guided, using internal radar transmitters to lock onto and hit a target. Because the Abyssals didn't show up on radar, they couldn't be targeted by missiles. This problem had very recently been remedied by a rather simple solution.
Lockheed Martin had approached the Navy with a version of its AGM-114 Hellfire anti-tank missile that could be loaded into and fired out of a standard VLS cell. This solved a lot of problems due to the fact that the Hellfire was a laser guided missile. An IR laser designator had been installed aboard every USN ship's mast, and could be used to lase Abyssals for the Hellfire's to lock onto. Also, due to the Hellfire's small size, four of the missiles could be packed into a single VLS cell, a single Arleigh Burke could carry hundreds of the things. Unfortunately the missiles didn't have that great of a range, only around 5 nautical miles, suicide range for a single ship without escort.
Jones watched as eight of the missiles, two cells worth, climbed into the night then dropped down in the terminal phase of their flights. His eyes were glued to the feed from the camera as it watched the missiles slam into the helpless Abyssal. The sea around it was enveloped in rolling cloud of fire and smoke as the eight missiles detonated a mix of thermobaric warheads and shaped charges. The Abyssal battleship didn't stand a chance.
"Clean hits, clean hits, sierra two destroyed," called the tech.
"Confirmed Halsey, all battleships sunk," replied Dakota over the radio.
"Now if we can just find those destroyers," Jones muttered.
"Where the hell are those tin cans," O'Bannon yelled for perhaps the fifth time.
"I don't know O'Bannon, I didn't know five minutes ago, I don't know now, and I probably won't know five minutes from now," replied Nicholas. Johnston really hadn't been paying attention to the back and forth banter, she had been completely awestruck as the Halsey fired its missiles. She hadn't known what was happening at first, the missiles making a completely different sound than guns, but it was easy to figure out what was going on when she saw the fire contrails streaming behind the missiles. If the radio was to be believed, all of the Abyssals had been sunk, save for the elusive destroyers.
"Maybe they ran away?" Radford suggested, "Maybe when they saw the rest of their fleet get pounded, they ran?"
"No," Johnston countered, "Doesn't fit their SOP. Abyssals don't run, ever. No matter how one sided a fight is."
"I have to agree with Johnston," Nichols said, "They won't be gone until they are resting on the bottom."
"Anybody got a radar return?" O'Bannon asked hopefully a few minutes later.
"Sorry O Boat, I've got nothing," replied Radford.
"Damn it, how hard is it to catch these things," O'Bannon swore loudly.
"Would you keep it down," Nicholas chastised, "No sense letting the entire world know we're here." Johnston was doing her best to tune out the discussion going on around her as she scanned the sea with her night vision optic. She had been doing it ever since they had left the Halsey hoping to spot any trace of the Abyssals. Something caught her eye as she panned the optic. She swung back to take a look at it, and was rewarded when she caught an Abyssal destroyer firmly in the center of the scope.
"Uh guys," she said, "I've got them."
"Where, where?" O'Bannon asked, eagerly.
"Bearing 1-2-0, range 1-double-0," Johnston said, making a rough estimate.
"Anybody else see them?" Nicholas asked.
"I've got 'em, sonova. Right where Johnston said they were," O'Bannon said, her face taking on a wide grin.
"I see them too," Radford replied, "I count six, all in column. What are they doing over here? We're nowhere near where the rest of the fleet engaged?"
"Probably trying for an end around," Johnston suggested.
"You're right, just like Tassafaronga," Nicholas realized. She quickly keyed her radio and called, "Halsey this is Nick, we've spotted the DDs. They're about two hundred yards off you port bow. We think they're trying for a surprise torpedo attack on your position."
A few seconds later Dakota replied, "Nick, Dakota, are you in a position to engage them?"
"We are, but if we miss any of them, you're going to have torpedoes in your lap real soon," Nick said.
"Rodger that Nick, we'll be ready," came the voice of Captain Jones.
"So, anybody got an idea about how to do this?" Nicholas asked.
"Guns blazing?" O'Bannon suggested.
"No, too many of them, we'd have to even the odds first," Nicholas replied. An idea came into Johnston's head, something she had read before.
"We could try a coordinated torpedo attack," she suggested, "Just like at Cape St. George."
Nicholas thought about it for several seconds, shot a bearing to the Abyssals, and then said, "That would work, and they're certainly close enough." She began to pull range and bearing data from her rangefinder, and then waited as the data was run through her torpedo computer. "Aright," she said after the solution had been spit out, "Tubes to bearing 130, set range for 150."
The other destroyers quickly replied, "Ready," when they were in position.
"Fire," Nicholas said, and 40 Mk 15 destroyer launched torpedoes were ejected into the ocean. The next few minutes crawled past as the destroyers waited for any signs that they had hit their targets. They were rewarded as seven bright flashes appeared in the distance, then, a split second later, the low rumbling of torpedoes detonating could be heard.
Radford let out a low whistle, "Is there anything left alive out there?"
Johnston quickly scanned the area with her optic, "I see one still floating, but it looks stunned. It's just swimming in circles."
"Anybody have it on radar?" Nicholas asked.
"I do," relied O'Bannon, "Once I knew where to look, getting them in the sights of my director was easy."
"Then, what are you waiting for, fire," Nicholas said.
"My pleasure," replied O'Bannon, and her cannon barked. The rapid firing 5"/38 caliber gun was reloaded and ready to fire again in seconds, and O'Bannon was using this to its fullest, keeping a constant rain of fire falling on the lone Abyssal.
It only took a few minutes before Johnston called, "Cease fire, cease fire, you got it."
"Dakota, Nick, all targets neutralized, we're heading home," Nicholas said, keying her mic.
"Well done, we'll see you back at the barn," came the reply seconds later.
"Good job Johnston, I don't think any of us had any idea where those things were," Nicholas said, completely shocking Johnston.
"I was just doing my job ma'am," she replied.
"Well good job," Nicholas confirmed, "Alright you heard the scary battleship on the radio, time to head for home." Johnston followed the rest of DesRon 21 as she tried to figure out just how sincere Nicholas' compliment had been. She finally decided that it was completely sincere.
NS Midway Island, June 28, 2018
The news of the Halsey's victory over the Abyssals had been welcome news to Midway, a victory always did wonders for morale, but Smith couldn't help but wonder when the battles would stop being so easy. 'The Abyssals didn't sweep the seas clean by being stupid, they will adapt soon, and we will be back at square one,' he thought. He was currently going over recent events in his head as he stood on the tarmac, waiting for a plane to arrive. The plane would have aboard the IG from Washington team, it was finally time to get that over with. He was standing, with the rest of his senior staff, in sharply crisped whites, waiting for the plane to arrive.
"Control shack just called, "shouted Commander Walker, "They're five minutes out." Smith silently nodded at the news, he had expected it. The plane was visible a few seconds later, it was a large C-17 Globemaster III cargo jet. The thing touched down and rolled into a parking spot, about twenty minutes after it landed, the first passenger made their way down the air stairs. Smith was a bit surprised to see a petit woman with blonde hair, wearing a Navy uniform with the four stripes of a captain on her shoulder boards.
"James Smith," Smith greeted, and held out a hand, "Welcome to Midway ma'am."
"Captain Ryan," she replied, "From the Office of the Inspector General. Is it true what I've heard about this base? Do you really have reincarnated ships here?" Smith was a bit stunned at the question, it was not something he expected the inspector to ask.
He replied by pushing Enterprise towards Captain Ryan, "This is my executive officer, Lieutenant Enterprise," he said.
Ryan's eyes went wide and she asked, "The Enterprise?"
"I do get that a lot," Enterprise replied casually, "Yes, USS Enterprise, CV-6, at your service."
"Well captain, I look forward to the inspection, just let me retrieve my staff, and we can start," Ryan said, then disappeared back into the plane. Smith found himself letting out a sigh of relief, he wasn't going to have any trouble from Captain Ryan, and in fact she seemed to be a like-minded individual. Still, this was going to be a long day.
Decided to rewrite this because I felt that I hadn't done enough with the battle at the end, and it was a bit to confusing at times.
So here is the revised version.
Reviews:
SulliMike23: Yeah, well there weren't very many ways for me to spin Houston. And I do have plans for Sister Sara and Lady Lex, but considering the amount of characters I have to keep track of as it is, it might be a bit.
Colonel Amiruddin Arif: Eh, just doing something she wasn't supposed to, but she is the troublemaker/prankster of the island, so expect more of her shenanigans.
Thorthemighty321: As to the tech, there is a reason why the subs were using Mk 14's. I didn't get to go into it but it will be soon, just rest assured, they are late war variant Mk 14's the ones that actually worked.
NVA Commander Taney-Chan: She would make a good character, and I have to admit not being that familiar with the puddle pirates(or the battle of the Atlantic in general) but I'll look into her.
rmanning3str: I have to admit also being a fan of the old stories of the silent service, and will probably be writing more of the Silent Service side stories in the future.
Guest: Well I can confirm that the Iowas won't show up anytime soon, as ship girls. And I have plans for Mrs. Smith interacting with the ship girls, and they will be fun to write.
Jedii: Somewhere hard to find probably.
FrancisJames: Well that ending remark did come from the fact that my Sammy is the base troublemaker, and will be the one telling Willy what to blow up.
c0dy88: I will sadly miss my Benson for some time to come, and hopefully get her back soon.
Guest(2): I have to admit that I was falling back on the crutch of uniforms because I didn't want to take time to actually design outfits, but I'm working on that. And I can tell you that the announcement that your ship is scheduled for an INSURV(ship inspection) visit is enough to send everyone scrambling for cover.
Guest(3): Been capping the chapters out at no less than 5000 words so I have to try to trim out all the stuff that is unnecessary or tedious.
Rapter267: I am starting to let the girls have a bit more leeway with their outfits, as I get better at character design, and there was a reason that Kongou was sent with the Halsey, but yes because she was under Smith's command, she would be subject to inspection.
NCGaming: I'm just going to stop guessing when scenes are going to happen, because it's never when I say they will, but I will say soon, very soon.
hfdt123: Part of that was trying to get the reader to emotionally connect with Johnston, so glad that worked, and Nick won't be a jerk to Johnston forever. Have to admit never going down the Jap cruiser line, I got the Cleveland and was sold to Americans from then on.
Wolfman-053: Well, bit of a tip at the end, but IG teams are supposed to be completely unbiased.
Andrey-159: I'm working on character design, little by little, and being a diver myself I was just trying to get across just how difficult trying to communicate underwater is, because it is a pain. I might have gone a bit overboard talking about something I like talking about though.