Now usually, the members rotated. The First Pacific East Division did regular patrols and had done a few minor sorties, but someone was on the island. So someone was always there to “Play with our little sister.” This time, when Shinigami’s Second came back with morning assignments, one was waiting for Taylor as well. Her crane was still a mess, but with the generators running she could power it. It protested under the rough handling, but it worked. With the materials she could earn she would get the gremlins running around her to start making repairs.

Running the pumps was proving frustratingly pointless. She was at land. But her ship self, her was buried between two sandbars, in the sea. It didn’t matter what she did, her footsteps leaked with every step until she could fix her. The pumps were pointless until she could patch up her hull. So she followed the instruction the Ne-Class heavy cruiser had given her. While Shinigami commanded FPE, Sapphire kept track of everything. For the first time Taylor was left alone to report to the docks for service. She got lost quickly, but managed to find her way with a few careful radar pings.

The harbor was crowded. Lesser monsters, tug boats and PTs swarmed the area, along with multiple Wa-Class transports unloading their cargo. Three Ra-Class repair ships oversaw it all, directing the flow of traffic. And somewhere in that whole mess was the Midway Princess. Taylor really didn’t want to call her attention on herself, so she kept low, pulling in on herself not to tower over the others. She huddled and hustled, trying to keep the warehouses and buildings between herself and the main square where the Princess held court.

Scurrying past dilapidated warehouses made her feel nostalgic. Finally she found her assigned pier and started unloading the Wa-Class anchored there. It was boring, painful work. Her crane ached and she sorely missed the other one. Still, an extra crane was an extra crane. She kept at it. The temptation was there, as she unloaded ton after ton of materials. Oil, steel, goods and weapons. Turrets and torpedoes and shells. Planes and more. It all passed through her hands and she was well tempted to skim off the top. This at least, was a temptation she could resist. Even if no one was watching, even if they were that careless, it would be the height of stupidity to just assume no one would notice.

So she made a repeat performance, a role she’d played since coming to this damn place. She shut up, did her job and listened. Pretty quickly she noticed patterns. The Wa-s weren’t exactly bright. They were dullards even for monster ships. They needed constant supervision not to drift away and go chase some fish. That supervision was present. The repair ships knew where every monster, every ship, every item was at all times. Whenever one of the harbor cranes or monsters fucked up, they were quick to correct and punish them.

And if they missed something, the Princess would correct them, personally. Usually at the price of taking a finger from the offending Ra-Class. Taylor’s attempt to stay under the radar had failed the instant she’d stepped into the harbor district. But while she was in the open, feeling every ping of their attentions wash over her, she was still invisible. Unimportant. Just a cog in the machine, to be ignored as long as she spun. Within the first hour the overseers knew exactly how fast she was and adjusted a hundred big and little things to make the cargo flow. She tried slacking off, once.

The Ra-Class overseeing her quadrant docked her supper. For a first offense. She got the message. It was dull, tiring work. But at least there were no barbs. No snide comments or abuse. She worked, she was left alone. Which isn’t to say there were no politics. Each of the repair ships was messing with the other. Taylor couldn’t really see it all, but multiple times there were pile ups, or ships coming too soon, or being late. Her own berth was left empty for over half an hour when one of them stole an incoming Wa that was meant for her. Every time there was a snag, the Princess would get a faraway look in her eyes, and gift one of her subordinates with a slight nod or a frown.

The nods produced hidden smiles, the frowns left them pale. Taylor didn’t want to know what the one that got the fewest nods and the most frowns would experience at the end of the day. The reactions told the story. She’d noticed there were three major factions on the island and it looked like her Ra-Class was allied with Shinigami, with how smug she looked today and how often she sent stolen Wa’s her way. A number of ships came and went from outlaying buildings, haggling with the overseers. Each had its own customer base.

This all felt familiar and not in a good way. Like high school or gang politics. Shouldn’t it be office politics? Whatever. This was just her first day. So she tried to remember faces and who talked to which shopkeeper. A single person skipped the line and went straight to Midway, a Battleship. Even when talking to her, the Princess never took her eyes off the docks.

As Taylor trudged back, her mind dead tired to familiar transponders after nearly twelve hours without a break, she had an epiphany. She was a dockworker now. And that thought? It filled her with warmth. She wished dad could see her now. He’d be proud. If not so much about her employer. Still pretty sure they were the villains here. Something about the black, white and sea monster theme just fit the mold. Even if her pets were adorable.

***

Taylor spent several days working at the docks. She missed her first major sortie and got to listen to war stories in the aftermath. They’d lost two dozen monsters in a light skirmish, but had gotten one of the other sides girls, so they considered it a resources well spent. Apparently, the other side didn’t play fair. Neither did the Abyss. It fought with masses of monsters supported by a few girls. The Enemy fought with entire Fleets of Girls and theirs were better. The how escaped her, as it was difficult to separate fact from fiction, but it was clear most of the First Pacific East Division had absolutely no desire to face one of the Enemy girls in a duel.

Shinigami had earned her name by being willing and more, able to take those duel and win them. It earned her respect and admiration. Not against all of them, but she could match at least some of the Enemy one on one and have a reasonable chance of victory. Which meant that Taylor now had a clear watermark for the kind of skill she should expect to face in the future. If she challenge Shinigami, she could take on threats beyond the horizon.

That a freighter was planning how to fight warships would be ludicrous to nearly all of her Division mates and that suited Taylor just fine. Her work, rest, a decent diet and time had allowed her to repair, rebuild. She still felt like she was missing something, but that was a dull and persistent ache, nothing like the burning hunger that threatened to consume her world. She’d figure it out later. She’d convinced her quadrant benefactor to lend her an extra crane and installed it herself in her copious free time. At last, she was symmetrical and nearly twice as fast on her job.

And with the last hole in her hull patched, it was time for her sea-trials. Taylor was looking forward to stretching her legs.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

***

See, naturally, the trick to floating was not to have all your decks flooded. Simple, right? Well for days after her arrival, new girl had kept trying to set sail without turning on her generators, or her pumps. While still flooded and mostly underwater. So she failed, obviously, naturally, obliviously, stupidly. There was a reason most ships thought Fat Bertha was a useless lump of iron, totally incompetent and heading for the breakers. But no, their littlest sister was just slow.

Not in the head, as those with a lick of sense had quickly picked up, but her instincts were shit. Which was to be expected from a civilian, really. The Wa-s were no great minds, even among monsters, it figured that a Wa-Girl would be a dim bulb. But here they were, more than two weeks after her appearance, watching the waters froth as Fat Bertha emptied compartment after compartment while in the lee of the lagoon. Abyss knows she’d probably find a way to sink if she tried setting sail for the first time on the open ocean.

Bit by bit, the pressure rose. Bertha stood on the shore, leaking, until finally there was a shudder. She shook, like life-raft being thrown about by the storm as her spirit boiled. Her deck emerged from the sea, followed by her stern and keel. Shinigami was off negotiating re-armament, bored after the first ten minutes of watching Bertha leak. So Sapphire was left with her subordinates to watch in disbelief as Fat Bertha emerged. She wasn’t the only one paying attention.

Fat Bertha was fat for a simple reason. They couldn’t see much of her, but what they did was grotesque. Modern freighters had a beam of 50-60ft. (15.24-18.29m). Maybe a 100ft (30.48m) for grain or ore barges, and those were dumpy, fat ships. Fat Bertha had a beam of at least 70-80ft (21.34-24.38) by her bridge alone. They were wrong. Fat Bertha wasn’t fat, she was very fat. Her beam came in at 102ft (31,09m), but that wasn’t the stunning part.

“I guess she wasn’t fat after all.” Sapphire said, slowly shaking off her reaction. The ship size and type wasn’t new after all. Not an unknown. It was just new on this size, or in this shape. They’d sunk a fair number of them in the early days of the war, before the Enemy learned to guard them well. The Enemy still used them. But it was the first time Sapphire saw one on their side. She shook her head, trying and mostly succeeding to shake off her shock. She had trials to run. Even if the lagoon was suddenly hosting a 928ft (282.85m) long container ship. One she got to name, a new class and didn’t that bring a smile to her face?

“I christen you, the Uwi-Class container ship.” she declared.

Girl was taller than most battleships, no wonder she was slouching all the time. She could look any of them in the eye, which was impressive. For a cargo vessel and wasn’t that a joke. Yeah, Sapphire could see it now, why the girl looked so twiggy. It wasn’t just the starvation, she was a lean transcontinental sailing ship. Maybe they could call her Big Bertha, it certainly fit.

And she was all hers. Well and Shinigami’s but she wasn’t all that great at logistics. Tactics were a breeze, she had well developed instincts for the flow of battle but strategy was more Sapphire’s thing. Now to give her a whirl.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” she asked, with great restraint. They’d been here for over four hours watching her leak, it was about time for some action. Big Bertha walked out into the surf with timid steps. Sapphire suppressed a flinch when her feet landed in the waves and fell through. But she kept going. Each step taking her deeper until the water was past her feet. Past her ankles. Half way up her shin.

The waves were lapping at her knees already and Sapphire was bracing for another disappointment, another issue, when she kept going. Her feet left the bottom. It was bizarre. Her ship-self was slowly setting sail, but the sandbanks and the shoals were coming along with her. Not keeping pace, but sort of there. Sliding out of existence behind her and coming back in in-front. She wobbled as she walked, feet rising out of the water and falling again, in a manner familiar to many. Mainly many Canadians who had new neighbors. Neighbors who’d not prepared, forgot to buy snow-shoes before winter and now had to waddle through the knee deep snow.

To Sapphire it just looked bizarre.

***

Taylor? She was an old hand, with how harsh winters could get that far north. She was starting to find her balance, finding a comfortable pace. Four knots, five. She opened up her engines, thrilling in their first real run, drunk on power. She promptly ran aground one of the shoals and face planted right into the sea. She tried to catch herself, but her hands went through the surface like it was soft powder well past the elbow. At least her body stopped at the surface of the sea, even if it hurt.

She got up and tried again. And again. She kept at it for hours. Every time she tried to transition from walking to sailing, skating on the surface, something would trip her up. One of the shoals following her would inevitably pop up right under her bow and knock her back between the sandbars. She scowled. She was allowed to, it was irritating as all hell. Another stumbling block she had to overcome, literally. Sapphire and the rest of the Division shouting advice and mocking her didn’t help. At least the humiliation was familiar by now. She tuned them out after the first ten minutes. And no one was beating her. That’s always a plus.

Taylor frowned, stopping for a moment, feeling a bruised nose and ribs. Her legs weren’t great either. Oh, fucking wonderful. She was beating up herself. Every fall stressed her superstructure. Just great, at least if she had to fall on her front every time, her boobs weren’t sticking out to get squished with each fall. Silver linings to being as flat as a carrier. Except they actually weren’t, which just wasn’t fair.

At this point, Taylor drew what happiness she could out of the situation. And hey, at least she was entertaining the warships, judging by the laughter. That had to be worth something, right?

***

Sapphire watched Big Bertha. She watched her try. Try and fail. Get up again. Keep trying. It was funny at the start. It wasn’t that funny three hours in. Newcomers would come around to laugh at the ship that couldn't sail, but quickly get bored. Sapphire wasn't laughing anymore. She dragged the concussed and battered ship back to her bunk, because she had one now. They’d picked one in a beach house near the sub-pens so she could keep her toes wet in her sleep.

Really, if any other girl was doing this, she’d write her off. But Bertha wasn’t complaining. She didn’t whine or grow despondent or give up. She didn’t plead for more time or resources or that she could do it. She just got up and kept trying. It was her face. She wasn’t trying out of stubbornness. It was like she knew she was doing something wrong, that the problem was her and she work at it until she figured it out. And really, with how the radar and the engine trouble had gone? She’d get one of her girls to keep an eye on her and give her the benefit of the doubt.

She had much bigger fish to fry. The others weren’t happy with First Pacific East Division claiming the new girl. It was fine while she was a useless mess, but with her performance at the docks and now this? Girls were making moves again. It was time to set up an object lesson.

***

Taylor would keep at it. She went to work, cooked, ate, took care of her pets and four hours every day she plowed the sea with her face. For four days, she was bruised and battered and her condition deteriorated, her work starting to suffer. And on the fourth day, in the second hour she screamed:

“You crazy fucking lunatic. That doesn’t make any sense, but fuck you!”

Sapphire was summoned by the watcher and arrived to find Bertha had gone quite mad. It happened sometimes. Magical Sparkly Shipgirl Bullshit and Spooky Abyssal Bullshit were familiar phenomenon’s by now. No one really understood them, but they were there. She’d seen things.

So watching Big Bertha deploy lines to the sandbars? Silly, pointless, but go on.

Watching her drop multiple anchors and hammer them into the shoals? Sure, whatever.

Watching a ship that dwarfed some battleships slowly accelerate while so bound?

Watching those lines go taut as something flowed within them?

As the sea of her spirit boiled and broiled?

As the sandbars and shoals started to slide like mud, keeping pace?

It was spooky. Bertha wasn’t sailing. She wasn’t skating on the surface of the sea.

Her feet sunk into the surf up to the middle of her calves with every step. But she was jogging, and she kept going.

With each step her spirit slid on. Six knots, ten. Then she left the lagoon and Sapphire had to scramble an escort for the brainless civilian.

Berta would go up to 24 knots before she started turning back. By then she was miles of shore and had left the tugs far behind. It would take her more than five hours to return to port. Her rate of turn was absolutely atrocious, her turning radius huge. She couldn’t turn to save her life. She could turn in place, if she stopped first. But it took her upwards of half an hour to get up to speed and almost an hour to come to a full stop. That was without cargo.

The good news? She could carry just a smidge over 76,000 DWT, in a volume of about 4800 TEU. Which made her a bit better than sending eight Wa-class freighters. She could replace a whole convoy. And Sapphire? Sapphire had plans for her. If Bertha could survive her maiden voyage.

Taylor? She was trying to acquire contacts and leverage of her own. Even as FPE’s enemies and rivals turned their eyes to her, she was busy making her own arrangements.

It was a potent brew, a storm on the horizon. After all, what’s a little betrayal between friends? It keeps girls on their toes. Really, for what would happen, the Midway Princess had only herself to blame. She had a fine attention to detail but wasn’t all that great at actually managing her subordinates. Her leadership was lacking but then no one was perfect. Haven't you seen her construction and manufacturing? Top of the line, pride of the Abyssal Fleet.

Yet as had in the past, this flaw would prove…costly.