Theodore Roosevelt Battle Group, July 8, 2018
"About three squadrons of Abyssal aircraft just buzzed over my head, and they're headed for the TR," Nicholas had known that this moment would come for a long time, she just thought that she would feel a bit different when it did. The Abyssal bombers were on their way to attack the carrier that she had been assigned to protect. She was surprised at the fact that she hadn't given in to her fear just yet. The only thing she felt staring at the massive wave of approaching Abyssal, attack aircraft, was worried about the safety of her girls. "We're really in the shit now, ain't we, sis," muttered O'Bannon as she fired an airburst shell at the bombers. The shell arced right into the center of their formation, and detonated, leaving behind a large, black cloud.
"We've been in worse," Nicholas reassured, "This is just like any night in the slot." The rest of her statement was drowned out as her fairy gunners opened up with her quad 40mm Bofors mounts. Nicholas watched as several of the Abyssal bombers dove out of the formation, trailing black smoke. They impacted with the water a few seconds later, but for the four that they had managed to shoot down, six more took their place. It was soon obvious that there were just too many of them for the destroyers to stop.
"This might just be the end, but I'll be damned if I don't go out fighting. It took the entire might of the Japanese Navy to take me out the first time, and there's no way these pissant bombers are going to even come close to that," Johnston bellowed. Nicholas looked at the other destroyer in surprise, this was a side of Johnston she had never seen before. This must be the part of her that remembered the lopsided battle off Samar. The fire that appeared in Johnston's eyes was just a bit off-putting from how Nicholas regarded the normally laid-back destroyer.
"Let's hope it doesn't get that desperate," Radford remarked, "I'd hate to have to go back to wherever we came from now. We have a country to save, again." Nicholas was reassured that her destroyers weren't scared by the incoming attack, or were, at least, were trying to hide their fear.
She keyed her mic and asked, making sure to keep her voice calm, "Some support would be appreciated. I don't know how many of these things we can deal with."
A second later, Hornet jumped on the channel, "Nick, I've got fighters in the air, but they're going to be about five mikes, repeat support is five mikes out. Can you hold that long?"
Nicholas turned to look at her girls, and asked, "Can we hold on for five?"
"We've held on for this long, we can do five more," O'Bannon replied.
"Affirmative," Nicholas said into the radio, "We can wait five." She released the push to talk lying against her chest, and brought her 5" back up. The Abyssals were on top of them now. They passed over Nicholas' head with a monstrous roar before continuing on their way. The destroyers had managed to shoot down several of them, but there were just too many of them. It was as they were passing overhead that Nicholas realized something, their angle was wrong. "O'Bannon," she asked, "Do they look off to you?"
"What do you mean? They look just like the identification photos we were shown."
"It's just that if their target was the TR, they would be headed in that direction," She pointed towards the carrier off in the distance, "The way that they're flying, it looks like they're headed for the…" Nicholas trailed off as realization struck. There was only one ship on the edge of the formation that the Abyssals were headed for, and it was only there because it had broken loose to help her. Nicholas wasted no time in keying her mic, "Revise my earlier, Abyssal bombers appear to be making an attack run on the Halsey."
"What?" Dakota replied, stunned, "Nick, are you sure?" Nicholas watched the Abyssal bombers for several more seconds, but she was sure of it now. They were pointed right at where the Halsey was steaming.
"Rodger, they're going to attack the Halsey."
"Halsey actual, Dakota be advised that inbound hostiles appear to be targeting your ship. How copy?" Dakota said, trying to warn the destroyer.
Captain Jones came on a second later, "Dakota, we've been watching the inbound, and can confirm with Nick's assessment. They're definitely targeting us."
"Dakota, what do you want us to do?" Nicholas asked, trying to make sense of the rapidly changing situation.
"I don't know," Dakota replied, tension evident in her voice, "Halsey what sort of assistance do you want from me?"
Jones somewhat ignored Dakota's question, and said, "Nick, I need your girls to get clear. You are currently in my field of fire, and I can't go weapons free until you get clear."
Nicholas hastily keyed her mic, and said, "Sorry about that, Halsey, we're moving out now." She turned to look at where the rest of the girls of DesRon 21 were steaming, "If you didn't hear, we need to get out of here. The Halsey is about to open up with everything she has, and we don't want to get hit. So let's motor."
"Roger that, skipper," Johnston replied, then turned away and opened her throttle. A rooster tail of spray appeared behind the diminutive girl as she cranked her turbines as high as they could go. The rest of the destroyers quickly followed. Nicholas took one last look over her shoulder at the mass of Abyssal bombers, no question in her mind now that they were targeting the haze gray destroyer behind her. She sent a silent plea for the Halsey's safety, then turned to follow her own destroyers.
USS Halsey
"Weps, give me targeting solutions, now if you would," Captain Jones barked, using his CO voice for this situation. Now was not the time for his orders to be questioned. He was staring at the mass of bombers flying directly at his ship. They had been sure that they were making a run for the TR, so when they had changed course at the last second to target the Halsey, it had come as a surprise to everyone.
"Sir, the 5" is laid in, and the ready rack has airburst loaded," came the reply a second later.
"Then by all means, open fire." Jones could feel the deck under his feet shudder as the Mk45 5" gun up on the foredeck began to spit rounds at the incoming Abyssals. A monitor in the CIC had been tuned to the mount's gun camera, giving a real time view of the damage the gun was pumping out. The gun was cycling rounds just as fast as its autoloader could cycle, pumping shot after shot into the mass of approaching Abyssals, but there were just too many of them for the single gun to handle. "Weps, I need options in case they get though," Jones shouted. The tension in his voice was painfully obvious to everyone in the CIC.
"Sir, the CIWS can't fire in automatic, we can't get a lock. We could fire it in manual, but sir I can't guarantee its effectiveness."
"We target Abyssals all the time with that thing, tell fire control they are free to go local with the CIWS," Jones barked. It only took a moment for his order to be relayed to the petty officer manning the fire control terminal for the Phalanx CIWS mount. The Halsey's single Phalanx turned to face the incoming attack, then fired off a burst from its six barreled 20mm gatling cannon. A stream of tracers arced towards the mass of bombers, striking a few down with its first pass. The cannon quickly fired again and again, striking more and more Abyssals down with each burst, but it wasn't enough.
It was quickly becoming clear, that they we're going to be able to get out of this one unscathed. There were just too many aircraft for the Halsey to deal with. Those Abyssal CVs must have put every single bomber they had into the air to pull off this little stunt. Jones gave the last order he could give to try to save his ship, "Hard left rudder, full back on the port screw." He was hoping that the sudden course change would throw off the torpedo bomber's aim, causing them to miss. The Halsey lurched under his feet as the stern dug into the water. The bow began to come around, the destroyer's course swinging out away from the formation.
The bombers anticipated this move. The few that had made it through the gauntlet of fire, adjusted their course to intercept the Halsey's new course. Jones watched the screen as the first bombers dropped their fish. There was literally nothing he could do at this point. The torpedoes would either hit, or they wouldn't, there was nothing he could do to change that. With a note of grim finality, he ordered, "Sound collision, all hands brace for impact." He watched as the last bombers launched their torpedoes. Gripping the seat in front of him so tightly, that his knuckles turned a shade of pale white. He watched the screen with reservation as the collision alarms began to blare.
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"Halsey, sitrep." Dakota screamed into her radio. The ship had gone radio quiet several seconds prior. They were probably just focusing everything on the incoming attack, but Dakota was starting to get worried. "Halsey, what's happening?" she was pleading now, desperate to know what had happened. This how battle was starting to swing in the Abyssal's favor, and Dakota didn't know what to do to change that.
A series of loud explosions ripped through the air, stunning everyone into silence. A second later, Nicholas came on the net, confirming Dakota's worst fear, "Dakota, Nick, Halsey's been hit. Pretty bad too. I count at least five separate detonations. She's dead in the water."
"Affirmative, Nick, see if you can raise anyone over there. I'll keep trying from here," Dakota said, then lowered her gaze to the water, trying to think things through as quickly as she could. There was a disturbing thought beginning to form at the back of her mind. The Abyssal carriers had remained hidden for the entirety of the fight, only appearing to launch what amounted to an alpha strike, throwing every single aircraft a carrier had into one, devastating attack. Then, they had aimed their attack at a destroyer at the rear of the formation, rather than at the Roosevelt, their main target. There was only one reason that she could think of for the Abyssals to target the Halsey, the Hellfire missile system. The Halsey was the only ship in this formation that carried the missiles, and the Abyssals must have guessed this. They had waited until they could positively identify the ship carrying that weapon, then targeted it with everything they had. If that was the case, then the bombers weren't the only thing about to attack the destroyer. They had to have more planned for it.
Nicholas came back on, stopping Dakota from continuing down that train of thought, "Dakota, we have a signal lamp from the Halsey. They say that their main turbines have been disabled, and are having trouble with their backup generators. From what I read, they're on backup batteries only."
"Roger that, Nick," Dakota replied with a sigh, "Get close and render any aid you can."
"Solid copy, we're moving in now." Dakota nodded, not caring that no one could see the gesture. Her earlier though continued to gnaw at her.
So much so that she jumped back on the net and ordered, "Hornet, see if you can vector some aircraft over to the Halsey, I have a bad feeling about this one."
Hornet replied quickly, "They're already on the way, but I think the CVs are still operational in that area."
"Explain?"
"Fighters, I think they have fighters up there. I can't send in my attack birds or they'll get cut to ribbons. I have Wildcats on the way, but if anything major shows up, I don't know how much help I can be."
"Just do you best, that's all I can ask, Dakota out for now." Dakota had to physically stop herself from putting a fist through the ship she was sailing next to. This whole day had gone badly from minute one, and she was having trouble rolling with the Abyssals' punches. It took all her strength to not become completely overwhelmed, but she knew that they couldn't keep this up much longer. All of them were starting to get tired. Then with the loss of the Halsey's support, the ship girls were on their own once more.
Then things started to go from bad to really bad, "SoDak, we've got more tangos popping up," Nicholas announced, "I've got two cruiser types, possible heavies." Dakota swore loudly, and grabbed her face in exasperation.
It took her a second before she could reply, "What are they doing?"
"Looks like their targeting the Halsey. We've been plinking at them, but their shots are only landing around the big girl."
Hornet broke in, "Can confirm, there are two battlewagons approaching where the Halsey broke off."
"Can you help?" Dakota asked, desperate to end this fight.
"No," Hornet replied, "I was right earlier, there are enemy fighters in the air over that location. My fighters are engaging, but it'll be a few minutes until I can get attack birds over there."
"Nick, can your girls deal with this?" Dakota asked next, desperately trying to find a solution to this new problem.
"Sorry, SoDak, they're not shooting at us now, but we would have to use torps to make any sort of dent on them. I don't feel comfortable closing to that sort of range with these targets.."
"Affirmative, just keep it up," Dakota said sighing.
A new voice came over the tac net, "Dakota, this is Roosevelt CIC, flight deck reports that the earlier damage has been fixed, and that the alert fighters will be in the air momentarily. I am transferring their control over to you. Tell them what to shoot, and they'll shoot it." This news was somewhat of a relief to Dakota. The Roosevelt had taken a hit earlier on in the fight. The result of which had knocked out the steam generation system for the carrier's catapults. Without which the Roosevelt's air wing was useless.
"Just in time Roosevelt," Dakota said, then replied, "Nick, vector in the fighters please, you're the closest."
"Got it, we've got a laser, we'll mark the targets."
Another new voice came onto the channel, "Dakota, this is Nighthawk lead. I have a four ship element of Echo model Hornets. Give us a target, and we'll paste it."
Nicholas answered instead, "Nighthawk lead, this is DesRon 21 actual, the current threats are in the south end of the formation. I'm looking at two cruisers near my position doing their level best to smoke a DDG."
"On the way, we'll be there in five, Nighthawk out." Dakota had a different type of thought just then, that maybe, just maybe, they could turn this battle around.
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"Johnston, you still got that painter?" Nicholas asked. Johnston looked up from her cannon and looked over at Nicholas.
"Yeah, I've got it," she grabbed what looked like a pair of oversized binoculars from where they hung around her neck, "I still don't know why you trusted me with this thing."
"I need to focus on the bigger picture, I don't trust O'Bannon not to break them, and Radford doesn't need distractions," Nicholas explained, earning her a scathing look from O'Bannon. Nicholas ignored her and continued, "Dakota gave every division one of those things to look after, it's supposed to be able to guide the rockets from the air support we're about to get. Plus, you have the most experience with carrier ops here."
"I worked with an escort carrier group for two weeks, and I don't have to tell you how that ended," Johnston protested.
"That's two weeks more than the rest of us have."
Johnston sighed then asked, "So all I do it point this at the target we want to hit, press the trigger?"
"That's right. Their callsign is Nighthawk, and they're on frequency ten." Johnston nodded, then looked over at the pair of Abyssal cruisers. They had been pounding the crippled Halsey for the last five minutes. The destroyers had tried to engage them, but they were doing a good job of staying out of range for accurate return fire. Then throw in the fact that there were at least a dozen Abyssal fighters in the air zooming around, and they would swoop down to try strafing runs every so often, forcing the destroyers to constantly keep one eye pointing skywards. Hornet's Wildcats were trying to deal with the latter problem, they were dogfighting furiously up there now, but it would take some time before the Abyssals were destroyed.
Johnston changed the channel on her radio, then called, "Nighthawk, this is Johnston, I'm going to be your controller for today. I have two cruisers to my front, who are doing their level best to destroy the Halsey."
"Roger that, Johnston, Nighthawk lead here, someone told me that you have a target painter. Mark me up a target, and I'll put a Maverick right through its head," came the reply a second later.
"First target is marked, it's the cruiser closest to the DDG. If your missiles are anything like the Hellfires, then one should be enough." Johnston centered the indicated cruiser in the designator, then turned the device on. The beam of light it shot out was invisible to the naked eye, but it showed up clear as day through the designator. The Abyssal had no idea that it had been marked for death.
"I have good tone, rolling in now," the pilot called. She couldn't see the F-18 roll in overhead through the designator, but she could hear it. Its engines emitting an earsplitting shriek as it passed over her. The sound of the AGM-65 Maverick missile being ignited was almost drowned out in the engine noise. A second later Johnston saw the glowing dot of its exhaust impact with the Abyssal, leaving behind a growing cloud of smoke and fire.
"Good hit," Johnston called as she had been instructed, "Moving to the next target." It only took a few minutes before a second missile impacted with the last cruiser, leaving the expanse of water around free and clear of an Abyssal presence. "My area is clear Nighthawk, thanks for the help."
"Anytime Johnston, ya'll feel free to come by the VFA-136 ready room later and I'll buy the drinks," came the reply, the pilot's voice clearly jovial.
"I might just take you up on that Nighthawk."
He switched back to the tactical net and reported, "Dakota, Nighthawk lead, all targets prosecuted. We're moving to a patrol station over the TR. Give us a whistle if you need some more help." Johnston tuned out the rest of that conversation, focusing instead on how things were going on around her. She could see no Abyssals anywhere in her field of view, even the fighters were gone. Then, as if they were making a point, Hornet's Wildcats thundered overhead. A flight of Mitsubishi A6M Zeros buzzed past, causing Johnston to jump. She had to take a second to remind herself that those planes were no longer the enemy. A fact demonstrated when they formed up with the Wildcats. Obviously, the carriers were chasing down the last of the Abyssal aircraft.
Radford was the first one to find her voice, "We did it. We actually did it."
"Don't celebrate just yet," Nicholas chided, "I'd like to get a look at the big picture first."
"Fine, then let's ask the big boss," O'Bannon said, and keyed her own radio before Nicholas could stop her, "Hey, SoDak, how're things looking?"
"Who… O'Bannon? What are you doing on this channel?" Dakota replied, startled.
"Trying to be funny, again," Hornet replied. Nichols gave her sister a punch, but her face was clearly smiling.
"In all honesty, what does the situation look like?" Nicholas asked.
"We're clear," Salt Lake replied first, speaking for the first time in a while, "We've been clear for a bit, but Atlanta took a hit and had to be dropped off with one of the Ticos. Where do you want us?"
"I see no Abyssals, Dakota. I haven't seen anything other than a few destroyers all day," Fubuki replied, marking the first time the Japanese destroyer had used the radio.
"Save for a few fighters near the tin cans, CAP is clear as well," Hornet added, "I'm dealing with them now.
"Then if the destroyers are clear, and I'm not miscounting, then I'd say we're through. We've weathered the storm people."
"One question though," Hornet came back on, "Where are the carriers?"
"They tend to run away once the battle is no longer in their favor," Fubuki replied, "If we have not found them yet, then we probably never will."
"That sounds scary," Hornet commented.
Nicholas dropped her PTT, and said, "We did it, we're through," clearly not believing the fact completely herself. O'Bannon let out a whoop of joy, then clapped her sister on the back.
"We sure showed them who owns the sea. The US Navy bitches, come all ye hell or high waters be damned." Johnston nodded, preferring to remain silent. A load groan from behind her caused her to snap her head around. What she saw wasn't a pretty sight.
"Hey, guys, you might want to take a look at this." Behind them, the Halsey was still floating, but the destroyer looked much the worse for wear. Two ragged tears were visible below the waterline, clear damage from the torpedo assault, and her flank was littered with tears and gouges probably caused by fire from the two heavy cruisers. The mast was laid over on its side, only held in place by a single guy line. Smoke poured from some fire burning below deck, and the entire ship had a pronounced list to port. "I think she's sinking." Then, as if to punctuate Johnston's point, the earsplitting sound of rending steel ripped through the air, and the Halsey's list became more pronounced.
"I think she's had it," Radford said, "What are we going to do?"
"We're going to do what Chevalier did for Strong, we're going to get as many sailors off as we can," O'Bannon stated, her voice firm.
Nicholas wasted no time in asking over the radio, "Hey, I'm looking at the Halsey right now, and I don't think she is going to make it. Permission to go aboard and help the survivors?"
It took five, long minutes before a reply from Dakota came, "Go ahead, but be careful. There's a rescue chopper on the way, with more to follow if she's really sinking."
"Got it, we'll be careful," Nicholas replied, ten turned to look at her destroyers, "Come on, we don't have much time." Johnston followed her as she tore off towards the sinking destroyer, hoping that she could get there in time to be of some help to the dying ship.
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Somewhere in the South Pacific
Wahoo was worried. She had been carrying Tang's unconscious form for several hours, and the other submarine still showed no signs of improvement. The wound in her stomach had been hastily bandaged, but it was still leaking blood. Tang's breathing was shallow and ragged now, and her complexion was growing paler by the minute. "Isn't there something else we could do for Ms. Tang," Harder asked, frustrated that she couldn't do anything more to help her friend.
"We just have to wait a little bit longer," Wahoo said, "Help will come eventually."
"What gives you that idea?" Sealion snapped, "We're out in the middle of the ocean. What possible help could come to save us? We have to face facts, the cavalry isn't going to come riding over the hill, we're on our own. What do we do now?"
As if to answer Sealion's question, Dace yelled over from here she had been stationed for lookout duty, "I've got something coming, skipper. Something big."
"Where," Wahoo said, snapping her head around. Dace raised her hand to point. It took Wahoo a minute to see it, a roiling mass of bubbles churning the ocean that looked oddly familiar. Then, it broke through the surface, the black mass of a submarine's conning tower. Soon the entire form of a surfaced submarine appeared, and was quickly identified as a Virginia class boat. With a wide grin, Wahoo slapped Sealion on the back, "What were you saying again?"
"Wha… how?" was all Sealion could say.
Wahoo tossed her something from behind her back, then explained, "The CIA spook who gave us this job, also gave me this. He said it was a locater beacon that would call for help in case we ran into trouble."
"And you didn't tell us about this?" Harder asked, incredulously.
"I forgot," Wahoo said, with a shrug.
"YOU FORGOT?" Harder screamed, "HOW COULD YOU FORGET?"
"Calm down, I triggered it after Tang got hit, and we were so busy running, that it must have slipped my mind."
A figure appeared on the top of the sub's conning tower, and raised a megaphone, "Ahoy there, you called for help?"
"Come on you lot, we don't have time to argue this," Wahoo made sure that she had a tight grip on Tang, then began to sail towards the new arrival. She closed with the boat, and shouted as loudly as she could, "USS Wahoo here, I have a casualty who needs immediate medical attention. Permission to come aboard?"
"Granted," the reply came, then the figure leaned ducked out of view, probably running to fetch a corpsman. It didn't take the submarine girls long to reach the long deck of the Virginia. There they met a group of ratings who took Tang from Wahoo's grasp, and helped the rest of them below. Someone thrust a towel at Wahoo, which she gladly accepted, toweling off her soaking wet hair.
Someone approached her in the throng and asked, "Are you Wahoo?"
"The one and only." She replied.
"Captain Donald, welcome aboard the USS South Dakota," Donald extended his hand, which Wahoo promptly accepted
"So you're the help we were promised?"
"I don't know about that, all I know is that we were on a reconnaissance mission, and we were called to the surface. Then given a GPS coordinate, and told to pick someone up there. I never expected submarine girls. I didn't even know we had submarine girls. That is what you are isn't it?"
"That's right, I'm Wahoo, and those two are Darter and Dace. The one behind me with the scowl is Sealion, and her partner in crime to the left is Harder."
"It's good to meet you all, now if you will excuse me, where too ma'am?"
"Can you make it to Midway? That's where our main base is."
"We could sail all the way back to Norfolk if we needed to, these nuclear powered boats can go anywhere in the world."
Harder reached up and poked Wahoo in the shoulder, "Can we talk about this after we've found a place to store our rigs, and get some food?"
"She has a good point," Wahoo looked over at Donald, "Captain?"
Donald nodded, then shouted, "COB." A burly looking man wearing CPO's anchors appeared, this must be the chief of the boat, or COB, the highest ranking enlisted man aboard the sub.
"You bellowed, skipper?"
"Take the ladies here somewhere where they can get changed, then go find them some chow."
"Sure thing, skipper. Come on ladies." Wahoo followed the COB as he led them deeper into the sub.
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USS Halsey
The ship looked completely different from the last time Johnston had seen it. The corridors were dark, cluttered with debris, and filled with the type of smoke that can only be caused by burning fuel oil. What lights were working, glowed with the angry, red light of emergency lamps. The destroyers had found this scene upon first coming aboard the Halsey. Luckily, there were enough active crewmembers to help with the rescue effort, and both of the ship's zodiacs had been pushed over the rail to serve a lifeboats. Nicholas had ordered the girls to split up and comb the ship for survivors, then help whoever they could up to the deck.
Johnston had headed down, hoping to find survivors in the protected areas of the ship. She was poking her head into an empty room, when someone reached out and grabbed her. She let out a shriek of surprise and wheeled around to see the disheveled face of Captain Jones. "Johnston? When did you get here? Never mind, I need your help. The bridge got cut off, and I know there's someone up there."
"Captain," Johnston said, grabbing the man's shoulder, "How's your ship?"
"We're dead," Jones replied, his voice devoid of emotion, "The turbines are gone, and those damn battlewagons took out our backup generators. We're sinking, it's just a matter of when." He shook off her hand, then ran off down the corridor. As Johnston followed him, she noticed that he had not escaped the attack unscathed. His dark skin was stained with blood from half a dozen minor wounds, and he had a pronounced limp.
"Sir, what happened?"
Jones replied without looking back, "I was in the CIC when the torpedoes hit. One detonated right under engineering. Broke the old girl's back in exactly the wrong spot. Even if the turbines weren't trashed, the prop shafts have been snapped. I was trying to push my way back into engineering, when a steam line ruptured. I got caught by the shrapnel."
"Sir, where are we going?"
"There is a ladder well up ahead that will lead up to the bridge," Jones pointed down the corridor, "There are a few shops up ahead that might be occupied."
"I've been checking them as I went, and I haven't seen anyone yet. Everyone else is spread out through the rest of the ship, helping survivors."
They walked in silence for several minutes before Jones asked, "How did the battle end? I'm assuming that it's over, if you're in here instead of out there."
"Those last two battlewagons were the last ones. A flight of Hornets off the TR nailed them," Johnston replied, then said with a note of pride, "I painted them with the laser."
"So was it our missiles that made them attack my ship?" Jones asked quietly.
"That's what we figured," Johnston replied, "They only targeted her after she fired them."
"They told me that might happen, but we smoked the BBs before we got pasted, so there's at least that." Jones reached up to undog a hatch, explaining, "It's just through here." They climbed several flights of ladders, before coming out in the superstructure. Jones pointed down the new corridor, "You work your way forward. Check the chart room and the main bridge are that way. I'm heading aft."
"I'll see you later, sir."
Jones gave her one last look, and said, "Good luck, Johnston."
"You too, sir."
She had made it barely ten feet down the corridor before her headset barked with Nicholas's voice, "Johnston, where are you?"
"Making my way to the bridge, Captain Jones seems to think that someone's still up there," Johnston replied.
"You found Jones?"
"Yeah, he led me up to the pilothouse. We split up though." Johnston found the door marked, "Chart Room," towards the end of the corridor. This was the space just aft of the main bridge. She opened the hatch to find a room filled with loose paper and books spread everywhere, but no people.
Nicholas kept talking while she searched, "You need to hurry up, the list is increasing, and I don't know how much longer this ship can float. Do what you have to do, then high tail it back down to the deck."
"Got it, I'll be down in five." Johnston moved to the hatch leading to the main bridge, briefly remembering the first time she had stepped through this very hatch, what seemed like a lifetime ago. "Anybody here?" she shouted. There were several forms that she could see. There were two limp forms on the deck, enlisted by the look of their uniforms. Johnston swore, and moved to the first, a young man who looked barely old enough to shave. While his body sported several, superficial wounds, he seemed to be relatively okay. A quick finger to his neck confirmed that he was still alive, only unconscious. "Come on, wake up, we have to go," Johnston said, gently shaking his shoulders.
After several tries, each increasing in pressure, he coughed and looked up, "What happened?"
"Your ship got sunk, we have to go." She looked over at the other figure. This one was a woman, about Johnston's age, with short, blonde hair. Thankfully, she was only unconscious as well. She looked pretty banged up though. Her uniform was streaked with dried blood in several places, and her left leg was bent at an odd angle, indicating a possible break.
After trying, and failing, to rouse her, the young man stepped over, "Here, lemme help." He grabbed her around the neck, and hoisted her onto his shoulder, careful not to aggravate her injured leg.
"Come on, we have to get out of here. I don't know how much longer this ship can last," Johnston pushed her way back out into the corridor, leading her new charges.
"I'm Seaman Broun by the way, who are you? I don't think I've met you before, but then again, I've only been aboard this ship for three weeks. Just graduated from Great Lakes. This is my first assignment. I never expected the Navy to be this exciting," Broun said, not even pausing to take a breath.
"Almost getting killed is exciting?" Johnston deadpanned.
"It's, better than having to stand with the logbook all day."
"Johnston," she said suddenly
"Come again?" he said, clearly confused.
"My name is Johnston, I was one of the ship girls posted to your ship a week ago."
"Oh, nice to meet you Ms. Johnston. Do you have a first name? I just think it's weird to call a girl Johnston is all."
"I haven't thought about it that much, I've been too busy trying to adapt to this new life."
"You really used to be a ship? Like this one," Broun made a vague sweeping gesture.
Johnston nodded, then said, "I even went down just like she did."
"I think that's really cool, it must have been real neat to have been a…." Broun continued, but was cut off.
"Johnston, you made it to the bridge?" Captain Jones shouted, as he ran forward.
"Yes, sir," she replied, then pointed towards where Broun was standing, "These two were the only ones I found."
"Good, we have to get going, one of the bulkheads below must have given way. We're almost twenty degrees down at the stern." Johnston hadn't even noticed that while she was dealing with Broun and the mystery girl, but now she could see that the deck did have a pronounced slat to it. "Come on, there's no one else on this deck, and your friends are waiting for us topside." The deck shuddered violently, adding a few more degrees to the list.
"What are we waiting for?" Broun said, then made a beeline for the ladder well. Johnston shrugged, then following in his footsteps. It was tricky navigating the steep stairs with the ship's ever increasing list, but they eventually made it down to the level of the main deck. "Captain, you said something about help being on deck?" Broun asked once they reached the bottom, "I think she needs medical help as quickly as possible."
"Go, son, don't wait for my approval," Jones ordered. Broun nodded, then darted down the corridor towards the main deck.
"We're almost free, captain, just a few more feet," Johnston said, more in order to calm her own ragged nerves. She didn't get more than two. The unmistakable sound of rending metal caused her to snap her head up, just in time to see a structural member hurtling down towards her head. That beam must have weighed half a ton, and she was too stunned to jump out of the way. She felt a hand on her chest push her free at the last second, and was thrown several feet down the corridor. The member and a pile of loose piping and conduit came crashing to the deck with a roar. The plates under her shook with the violent impact. It took her several seconds to regain her footing, as the deck now was listing at greater than thirty degrees. She looked behind her to see a pile of debris blocking the entrance to the ladder well, and no sign of Captain Jones.
"CAPTAIN," Johnston screamed, then began to furiously dig at the pile.
"Go," came a weak reply from behind the detritus, "You can't do anything for me. But you can still save yourself."
"I'm not leaving you, sir. I already lost one skipper, I'm not losing another," Johnston said, her voice wavering.
"Johnston, this is an order. Save yourself, don't throw your life away like this. You were given a second chance, don't waste it for my sake."
"But sir," she was in tears now, "I can't abandon you."
Jones' voice was weaker now, fading with each passing moment, "I'm already gone, Johnston. I knew what the risks were when I volunteered for this job. I'm ready to pay that price, but it's not time for you, yet. Go, finish this war. Make Captain Evans proud."
"Tell him about me, tell him I'm doing my best," Johnston said, not able to stop herself, "Tell him I miss him, and tell my sisters I miss them too." She stood up, somehow filled with a new resolve, and pushed her way out of the dying ship.
Nicholas was standing on the other side of the hatch, obviously waiting for her to emerge, "What took you so long? I was starting to get worried." Then she noticed something, "Where is Jones? The Seaman said he was with you." Johnston didn't say a word, only shook her head, and walked past her commander. She picked up her rigging, but didn't bother to put it back on, instead deciding to hop down into one of the waiting RHIBs.
Seaman Broun was already there, looking at her in confusion, "Where is the captain? I thought he was with you."
"He," Johnston began, but had to spend several seconds chocking back her tears, "He didn't make it."
"We were so close," Broun said, shocked, "How did it happen."
"Giving me another chance," Johnston replied, "Giving me another chance." Broun didn't say another thing for the rest of the trip, and Johnston didn't do much but cry.
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Henderson Field, NS Midway Island, July 10, 2018
"What was the final count, sir?" Walker asked. Smith looked through the Seahawks forward bulkhead at the pilot.
"You didn't hear?" Smith asked, checking his harness to ensure that it was properly fastened.
"No, sir, I've been out laying early warning nets all week. I haven't had a chance to read over the latest news," Walker replied.
"We lost the Halsey. Dakota thinks that she was singled out because of the hellfires."
"Casualties?"
"Pretty bad. A large part of her crew, as well as her captain,"
"Damn, that bad?"
"He was a good man, we worked together several times before this whole mess started. A fine officer," Smith replied, giving one of his highest compliments, "They didn't run into any resistance after that fight. Abyssals probably devoted everything they had. Dakota figures that they be clear all the way back to Pearl."
"Well, sir, they are currently located one hour to our south, and I should have us there in about that time, weather permitting," Walker announced. The pitch of the engines changed, and the Seahawk leaped into the air. "You never told me why E's tagging along," Walker said, trying to change the subject.
Smith looked over to where Enterprise was strapped in next to him, "Admiral Davies wanted her to be a part of this process. He thinks that she'll be a good face for our program." Walker nodded silently, accepting the explanation.
"The Roosevelt is waiting for us, we better not waste any time," Walker said, then pointed the helicopter out towards the ocean, and began to accelerate. "Another thing, sir, what ever happened to the submarines?"
"Honestly? I have no idea. First, I get a call through Davies that they're wrapped up in some sort of intelligence matter, and when I try to get information from my ONI contacts, I get told its Langley's sort of intelligence."
"CIA? How did they get involved with those spooks?"
"I have no clue, but things don't stop there. Then my wife gets a call from one of her old submarine buddies. He says that his boat got a ping off a satellite tracker, and when they popped up to check it out, there's Wahoo, calmly waiting for a pickup."
"So, where are they now?"
"Halfway back to here by now. They'll probably get home just about the time we start the media circus in Pearl."
"Well, good luck with that, sir. I just fly the planes, I don't do the legwork."
"And it's something you excel at, commander," Smith replied, then leaned back, trying to catch at least a little sleep on this flight.
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Theodore Roosevelt
The Roosevelt's sick bay shared the same antiseptic smell possessed by all hospitals. It was a sparse space, a room of bare steel walls and the barest of essentials. Johnston had been standing a silent vigil in this room for two days now. Sitting beside the bed of the mystery girl who she had played a part in rescuing. She really didn't know why she felt a connection to this girl, but she just couldn't tear herself away from her side. She had been unconscious ever since Broun carried her aboard two days ago. The doc claimed that she would come around on her own in time. Johnston couldn't bear to not be with her when that did happen. She was reading through the book Captain Smith had leant her, when someone asked, "How is she?" Johnston looked up to see Broun standing over her bed.
"Doc says she's going to be fine. Just a broken leg and some cuts. It's just a matter of time before she wakes up."
Broun pulled a chair over to Johnston's side and said, "How have you been? Your sisters are all worried about you. They say that you've been holed up in here ever since the battle ended. They want to know if you need any help."
Johnson scoffed, "What's it to them, or you for that matter."
Broun put a hand to his chest in mock horror, "What? I'm not allowed to be worried for the health of the person who saved my life? And as to you sisters, I see that there's some bad blood there, but I can assure you, they do care for you."
"I'm sorry," Johnston apologized, "This whole affair has just left me a little ragged. I'm still not used to being pushed this far."
"Hey, why don't you come with me down to the mess, and we can grab some grub? I heard that today's lunch is supposed to be tolerable."
"Can I take a raincheck on that? I don't think I can leave her alone just yet."
"They why don't I go get some coffee, and we can wait with her together?"
"That would be fine," Johnston said, giving Broun a friendly smile, which caused him to break out into a deep blush.
"I'll- I'll just go get that then," he stammered, then forced his way out of the room. Johnston sat back in her chair, shaking her head. She spent several minutes trying to figure out what Broun's connection was with her, failing on all attempts. A sudden sound from the bed caused Johnston to look down. The girl was starting to come around. She groaned loudly then her eyes fluttered open. She blinked several times, as if she was unprepared for the harsh light of the room.
"What hit me," she groaned, then looked around the room, "Better still, where am I?"
"You're okay, you're safe," Johnston said, reaching down to take the girl's hand, "You're aboard the Roosevelt getting medical treatment." She looked up at Johnston for several seconds, obviously trying to process something, then grabbed Johnston in a tight embrace.
"Thank you Johnston, I just know you would come through for me. You and your sisters certainly are a wonderful bunch."
"I'm sorry," Johnston said, confused, "Do I know you?"
"You do," she announced with conviction, "Or you did, or maybe you still do? But not like this, I'm a bit surprised to be like this myself. I thought I was too young for something like this."
"Johnston broke free from her embrace and held up a hand, "Stop, you're confusing me. Take it from the beginning. Who are you?"
"I am, or rather I was, the USS Halsey, 46th of the Arleigh Burke class of guided missile destroyers. Now I guess I'm the first of the guided missile ship girls?"
"What?" Johnston said, shocked, "How? Why are you here?"
"I can only answer one at a time," Halsey said, giggling, "I guess I'm like you. As to how, I don't know, all I know is that I was getting pounded by the Abyssals. I got hit pretty badly, and I just knew that I wasn't going to get out of this one. I just couldn't let it end here, not when there was so much fighting left to do. Then I remembered you and your sisters, and thought that it would be nice if I could fight again just like you are. Something snapped, I blacked out, and woke up here." Johnston stood in stunned silence, trying to make sense of this, and failing miserably.
She didn't even hear Broun returning with the coffee, "Hey, they were out of sugar, so I hope you like it black. Oh look, she's awake. How are you? I'm Seaman Broun. I carried you clear of the Halsey."
"You didn't carry me clear, how could I be clear of myself," Halsey said, giggling fiercely. Even Broun was confused by that, casting a questioning look at Johnston.
"Seaman," Johnston said, after regaining her voice, "I would like you to meet Halsey. The former spirit of the USS Halsey."
"So, she's like you now? How did that happen? If that's possible why haven't we seen more new shipgirls?"
"I'm sorry, I don't know," Johnston said, cutting off Broun's stream of questions, "Could you please go find Dakota. I need a word with her."
"Sure thing," Broun began to leave, then turned back, "It's nice to meet you, Halsey. Maybe we could talk again later? And I hope you like the coffee Johnston, I'd really like to get that dinner sometime."
After he had left, Halsey looked up and said, "I think he has a crush on you." Johnston ignored the comment and sat back down in her chair.
"When did my life get so strange?" she said, putting her head in her hands. This had to be the roughest week of her entire life.
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A/N: HA, finally done with that chapter. That took entirely too long, but I had a series of finals sap the will to write, and then writers block did the rest.
Well now that we're past the climax for this arc, it's time to ride back to port. There will be one or two more chapters in this arc, then I'm going to pick up the tempo of this story. So expect things to start happening much faster.
Review time!:
Thorthemighty321: Things can never be easy for the good guys, even if I write it that way sometimes.
SulliMike23: You'll just have to wait and see, but it can't be good.
Bohba13: War never is a clean affair, and as to the Crossroads ships. I was thinking about a major get together down the road for ships from every nation. How that ends up is still up for grabs, but we'll see.
Rubin34: Thank you very much.
Hayane234: I like to think that as I write more I improve my skills, and as to problems, we've pretty much hit the end for the next few chapters.
Wolfman-053: Tang's still with us for a while, and as for museum ships. I've established that they can self-summon, now it's just a case of waiting for the situations to present themselves.
Adm: Most of the engagements between Wildcats and Zeroes involved turnfighting. It was the standard Japanese tactic for the entire war, and why their fighters were built so light. Honestly, that was the main advantage I could think of that the Zero had over the Wildcat.
Revinator: You have some pretty good ideas, and while I can't use some of them for plot reasons, I'll look into it.
Advancer231: Thank you for the comment. As to Iowa, all I'm going to say is that she might show up in the next arc.
F-14 Tomcat Lover: The captured tincan you're thinking of is the Stewart, and I have a plan for her, and for quite a few of the other ships you mentioned. We're going to see some new characters towards the end of this arc, so look forward to that. Also, finally, someone got my blatant referencing.
Anonymous: Hope this is satisfactory.