*One day prior*

The Sasebo naval base was bustling with activity. After the onset of the Abyssal war, the base saw a ballooning of activity, much like every other surviving naval base in the world. Numerous vessels, girl or otherwise, made their home here, acting as a defense force for the entire Kyushu region. Thousands of sailors, cooks, and other personnel did everything in their power to keep things running as smoothly as possible.

Given the number of shipgirl's from Japan and America, that could sometimes be, problematic. While there was occasionally some hostility when a shipgirl was newly summoned, it swiftly defused.

No, what was more common than not the primary source of chaos, besides shipgirls doing shipgirl things, were prank wars.

The most recent of which had delayed the delivery of an intelligence report as the light cruiser had to find her way around the carriage. If what she held was accurate then something needed to be done at once.

"Admiral?" she knocked lightly on the door, finally arriving at her destination. She shifted on her feet, an action she knew wasn't like her. This was being nervous? It was a foreign feeling to her. Perhaps, given the circumstances, it was warranted. A fellow shipgirl, trapped behind Abyssal lines?

She did not have the power to organize a scouting party to investigate the matter. The Admiral?

He could.

"Enter," Admiral Richardson spoke, as she made her way through the door.

"I brought the most recent report from intelligence, as you requested," she put the large folder on his desk, shifting slightly.

"Is something wrong, Seattle?" Richardson frowned. Seattle was generally happy, a social butterfly in almost all respects. Her personality might seem like a hindrance to her duties, but Seattle often turned them into a boon.

"There appears to be a distress signal coming out of the Philipines, Admiral, on pages seven, nine, and ten," she spoke softly, again, very much unlike her loud and cheerful self. "If the sender is to be believed, then there is a shipgirl trapped behind enemy lines."

That got his attention, raising several questions in the process. Flipping through the report, he found the transcripts of the distress call. He frowned. His first impression was some sort of prank made in poor taste. The Philippines had been solidly in Abyssal hands for three years, though they had been making headway. For a craft to be talking over open channels nor able to give her name to be just off the coast?

That raised a few red flags. A shipgirl being unable to recall their names was an extraordinarily rare event. Not unheard of, though. Often associated with ships that were never given names in the first place, or simply never built.

Or cases like Seattle, who never had a name in the first place.

But what had the ship been doing out there? There were simply too many blanks left unexplained.

Then came the second set. Nearly a whole hour of screams, shouts, swearing, and gunfire. The message was punctuated by a notable scream before cutting to a repeated S-O-S.

"Did any part of her message indicate what she was doing out there?" he asked, finally looking up from the report.

"No sir. She did not," Seattle was keeping herself unnaturally still while he read.

"Any hypothesis, then?" Richardson watched his secretary nod.

"Yes sir. I believe the shipgirl in question is a Natural Summon," that took Richardson aback in surprise. A Natural Summon? One of those hadn't occurred in the past two years. They were some of the first back, the likes of Enterprise, Yamato, Bismark, and Hood. Ships with long storied histories and were renown throughout the world. Come back to defend humanity in one of its darkest hours.

Most of them were clustered towards the start of the war, though it wasn't unheard that for one to appear along an unprotected stretch of coastline as an Abyssal force was about to make landfall.

If this was a natural summon, that raised several questions. Concerning ones. And to get answers, they needed her back.

There was just one issue. The Philippines. They had been making headway in the region, having freed up Taiwan just a few years prior. Sure, Taiwan had become more of an outpost for the time being, but progress had stalled after an Abyssal fleet launched an attack against the Philippine Islands.

Infighting between Abyssals was quite common, and as a result, exploitable. However, rather than using the island as a means to attack holdings, instead, the new group dug in. Hard. While there had been talks for an assault, nothing had been authorized. This combined with other, more concerning threats, had forced them down the pile.

Even though the uncharacteristic behavior was quite worrying.

"Seattle," He looked up, noticing that the normally energetic girl was nearly completely still. Even in times when most would feel fear, anger, or any other negative emotions, Seattle didn't.

"Yes sir?" She inclined her head to the side, looking at him with odd eyes, that lacked their usual sparkle.

"What submarines do we have on base at the moment? Scouting the area for more information would prove beneficial to the rescue effort," Richardson watched Seattle go from melancholic to gleeful in but a mear moment, rushing over to her desk, flipping through a neat stack of papers that he would pretend wasn't full of party invitations.

"Mackerel is currently on base, awaiting assignment," she said, pausing for a moment.

"That's all? I'm fairly certain I-402 is present as well, unless she's off visiting her sisters," Richardson frowned. No, he was certain the Japanese aviation submarine was on base.

"She just finished training sir. " Seattle had a point. "Plus, you know how Mackeral can be sometimes. On both accounts, I don't think I would recommend sending the two of them together. They'd clash too much."

I-402 was one of the base's most recent returnees. Why she didn't appear in Yokosuka, with her two sisters was unknown. Richardson had a few suspicions on the matter, but that was neither here nor there.

"Mackerel has no means to recon inland areas safely. I-402 can. I could make contact with Yokosuka, but there is no guarantee either of her sisters are there right now. It's not a perfect option, but it's the best we have," Richardson sighed. I-402 was the best option they had on hand for this mission. He didn't want to send her alone, either. He'd sooner choose any other submarine than Mackerel for this, but he didn't have a choice. It was either that or send the aviation sub alone.

"I understand sir. Should I get in touch with them?" Seattle beamed, turning around with a small stack of paper in her hands. Richardson frowned. As much as he would like to have her send the two out first hand, he knew the next few hours were going to be even busier than normal.

"No, send work to South Dakota of what's happening. She'll handle the briefing. You and I will be quite busy," Richardson nodded up at his subordinate.

"Yes sir. I'll be back momentarily," Seattle closed the door gently behind her, and Richardson heard clicks of her footfalls down the hall.

Now, how many phone calls was he going to have to make?

And why did he have the sinking suspicion that Seattle was going to throw a party for this new girl the moment she stepped onto base?

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

This child was putting away food like mad. Seriously! I thought I ate like something out of a cartoon, but she was making look like a slow and measured eater!

One should not be able to shove an entire pineapple into their mouth, but she was somehow doing so without breaking her jaw.

Or was this simply because I couldn't see myself wolf down food, so seeing someone else do so just looked weird. Speaking of which, why hadn't she stopped yet?

I understood being malnourished. I understood puberty. But this? This went beyond that. It had too. Was it possible?

That she was a shipgirl?

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

I looked at her again. Way too small to be anything larger than a Destroyer. Destroyer's tended to look like children in Kancolle, I do recall. Act like them, too.

Of course, without seeing any rigging or other armaments, I wouldn't be able to say for certain. Unless she told me otherwise.

Still, that wasn't the only thing screwy going on here. I was far too busy dealing with the child I now had on my hands, so I hadn't noticed the change immediately. Part of my skirt had repaired itself. It was still far from pristine, but some dirt was now gone, some holes stitched together.

Underneath the USS, which had once been baren, were now filled with letters.

Isabella.

Had I named myself? What was the naval term? Christening? No, that wasn't it. That was smashing the champagne bottle against the hull of a ship or something like that.

Yeah, not the dumbest thing that has happened over the past week. But was there a town called Isabella in the first place?

Probably. The US was a large place, and no small portion of it had been ruled by Spain in the past.

Wait? Had I just caused a diplomatic incident by accidentally naming myself after the Queen of Spain?

"There wasn't an Isabell during the war," I looked down at the small girl, her finally speaking for the first time since she started eating. Yeah, here came the awkward questions I didn't have the answers too.

"I don't think I was ever built," I frowned, wanting to break eye contact. That made the most sense. My captain had no idea what ship I was, or could even identify my class. And unless my human memories were completely blocking out my ship ones, I couldn't recall any time spent as a vessel.

"That can happen?" she blinked, before returning to her meal at a more reserved pace.

"So, what about you?" I asked, desperate to keep the conversation going. That was not the right question to ask though. She just stopped, midway through shoveling another slice of pineapple into her mouth. Oh god, I hit the wrong button.

"You don't need to tell me if you don't want to!" I waved my hands in panic, hoping to prevent another sobbing fit.

"I'm unworthy of my name," I barely picked up her voice, it has dropped to the faintest of whispers, pineapple now forgotten. "I was built to, to defend these islands and her people. We fought as long as we could. But we could only run, in the end. Then, then!"

Her voice cracked, breaking apart into screams of sorrow and tears. Okay, okay, breathe. I had a screaming child on my hands, who was mourning the loss something, and if I had to guess, that something was her family. In a panic, I did the only thing I could think of.

My arms wrapped around her shaking frame, encircling her in a warm embrace. She froze for a moment as if to recoil from my touch. Then, she just began to sob more.

I held on. Until her tears finally stopped.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Shiho looked around the room. Was, was she in trouble? She hadn't done anything wrong. So why was she in the same room as her?

Shiho's eyes shifted across the room, landing on another girl with dyed blue hair, with faint red tips sticking out. Mackerel. Her gaze immediately retreated, squeezing the plush in her arms. It was a replica of her Seiran floatplanes. A gift from her older sisters Shion and Shioi. A welcome back present, just for her.

"What're you looking at?" Mackerel snapped, foot lifting off her table they were resting upon. Shiho recoiled away from the submarine, as the door swung open.

"Mackerel! Feet off the table!" South Dakota entered the briefing room, breaded hair flowing behind her. The submarine in question would normally raise her voice in protest, but ultimately decided it wasn't worth angering the battleship, putting her feet on the ground, letting her chair return to its natural position.

"Normally, the Admiral would hand this briefing himself. However, present events have seen to it that he is quite busy," the battleship glared at Mackerel, who's snort interrupted her. "Currently, he is contacting many others for additional reinforcements, should your mission prove successful."

Shiho's breath of relief ceased up in her throat. She wasn't in trouble. She was in for something much much worse. A mission. From the sound of it, a big one.

She wasn't like her sisters. Even they had seen combat. Her? She never saw any, not even a faint hint. She wasn't like them.

"Reinforcements! What type of mission are we being sent on!" Mackerel's hand slammed against the table, as Shiho let out a squeak of surprise.

"If you would stop interrupting, I'd tell you," South Dakota's eyes narrowed as a final warning. Mackerel slumped back down into her seat. The battleship paused for a moment.

"As of 16:00 yesterday, an unknown US cruiser sent out a distress signal in two waves off the Philippine coast. To our knowledge, she successfully made landfall in Northern Luzon and has retreated further inland. Your mission is to find any signs of this cruiser and track her down. Seeing as she's retreated inland, Shiho, your planes would have the best chance of spotting her. Try to establish contact with her by any means necessary."

If Shiho had been standing, she would have staggered. It was if the weight of the entire planet had been dropped unto her shoulders without warning. A shipgirl? Trapped behind enemy lines? And out of everyone, she was the one most likely to help her?

"Mackerel, that means you're on escort duty," South Dakota's eyes narrowed, killing any protest before the in question could open her mouth. "Get Shiho to her destination, and keep her safe. Only engage if you have no other choice. Is that clear?"

"Crystal, Ma'am," Mackerel crossed her arms in a heated huff, glaring at the larger battleship.

"Good. Be prepared to leave at 16 hundred."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Poor thing. I hope she felt better when she woke up. She'd cried herself to sleep in my arms.

I'd learned a few more things about her though. Her name is Luzon. Named after the largest and most populated island in the Philippines.

It was also one that tickled the back of my mind. She was a shipgirl, that much was becoming increasingly clear. But I didn't know if the Philippines had a naval fleet in World War 2. It was a US colony at the time, or close enough to it.

If I was younger, I'd probably be able to pin it down. I loved naval history World War 2 especially, back when a certain channel did history segments. But that knowledge had sadly left my brain at this point.

Still, this complicated matters. How are my boilers doing? Three's still down? If I was at top speed I might be willing to make a break for it, even with me carrying her on my back. Down a boiler? My top speed was what now? Around twenty knots?

Oh, higher? By how much? Yeah, no, still not fast enough. Please try to get it up and running as swiftly as you can. If I can sneak out, great. But I wasn't going out onto the open ocean at a speed a battleship could keep pace with.

That was dumb. Needlessly risky and dumb. But staying put was risky and dumb. Luzon had escaped from the Abyssals, which meant they were likely looking for her. Movement would only keep us safe for so long.

A scowl broke out across my face. Until the pineapples ran out, I didn't want to leave, either. Wasting resources was the last thing I wanted to do because I had no idea when we'd run across something another stache again.

Damn! This cave was nice too! If only I had some means to fortify this position!

Wait? Fortify?

Hey, do we have any bomb crews? Oh, that was you guys? Nice! What do you think of using depth charges as explosive traps? Possible? Excellent! Let's get started first thing in the morning, then. I'm going to clock out and get some rest.

I stretched, laying down across the smooth stone with a bit of a shudder. Merely moments later, I felt a pair of arms wrap around me, a head nuzzles into my ribcage. So, I was a pillow now.

Well, I can honestly get used to that.