We couldn't run forever. The sun was dipping ever lower in the sky, and to be frank, there was no way we could make it back to our original location before dark. I didn't know if I had spotlights in the first place, and using them would be a dead give away.

My only advantage was that destroyers were not meant for land-based operations. I had functioning legs. They had stubs. Built for overland pursuit, they were certainly not.

It was a miracle we found the cave when we did, with the last of the light fading swiftly. Small, and cramped, but it was better than being out in the open. More defensible too, if the destroyers followed my trail and caught up. Getting in was a bit of a struggle, with Luzon applying a death grip on my body. If I wasn't a shipgirl at this point, she could have taken my head off.

Damnit, I really should have packed supplies for this. But what was done was done. Slowly, Luzon unwound herself from my frame, before falling asleep yet again. I'm not sure what all the napping was about, but I'd have to deal with it later.

Ultimately, instead of resting myself, I listened as my crew members filled me in on what our guest had to say.

As it turned out, he was not from a carrier, but rather one of the I-400 aviation submarines. I-402, to be exact. She and the US submarine Mackeral had been sent to scout out the area for my presence. He'd gone down due to engine troubles and was attempting to radio in about his situation.

Instead, he ended up being saved by the very same person he was sent here to find. Funny thing, that was. However, his communication system was completely down after the crash.

We could use mine. I mean, if he had the codes, he could use my radio to contact I-402, and from there formulate a larger plan of attack. Hell, that would put me just a stone's thrown removed from the Admiral himself. Even if Abyssal's could locate my signal, I'd be on the move again, leaving them with little to go off of.

Sure, I-402 and Mackeral would probably need to bolt like hell, but that could probably be accounted for. It wasn't much, but being able to talk and get a better grasp of what was going on? It was a start. And the sooner Luzon and I were out of here, the better off I'd feel.

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Shiho continued her panic. It had been over twelve hours already, breaking into the next day, yet he had still yet to return to her hull or contact her. At this point, he had to have been captured. Could Abyssal's even do that?

It was so overwhelming, she nearly missed it, despite nearly all her attention is on her radio. If she wasn't underwater, she would have made a squeak of joy, answering without a second thought.

She had expected a flurry of Desu's from the other end of the line. She hadn't expected a human voice.

"Hello. This is Isabell, United States Navy. Is this I-402 of the Japanese Navy?" Shiho sputtered in surprise.

"Uh, yes, I am I-402," she stammered, coming to a halt. "How do have these codes?" That was the question she probably should have lead with.

"I recovered one of your downed aviation crewmembers. He was willing to share the codes through my radio system," the shipgirl on the other end spoke clearly, though there was a rustling in the background.

"You didn't use that identification when you released your distress signal," there was a pregnant pause in the air.

"I named myself," Shiho blinked in surprise. Could a ship do that? Sure, her and many of the Japanese submarines had nicknames, but that was different.

"I've also been joined by another shipgirl, the USS Luzon. We are currently headed northward."

"No! Don't say what direction you are heading! This line of communication may be compromised!" she shouted, in panic, resulting in a pause on the other end followed by a loud, rattling smack.

"Look, I'm contacting you to let you know I'm here, I'm alive, and there's another person that needs rescuing. In terms of information, all I can tell you is that the Abbysals here have captives and that there is a Re in charge of the place," Shiho gasped. Prisoners? That was something to report to the Admiral as soon as possible.

"What is your current status between the two of you?" That elicited a notable sound of irritation from the cruiser.

"Me? I'm down a boiler, down one of my primary turrets, and lucky to only be missing only that much. Luzon? I don't see a lot of direct damage, but a lot of neglect and lack of upkeep or repair," for a moment, Isabell sounded like she was about to continue, only to seemingly bite her tongue.

"How long can you keep hidden?" the pause range in the air.

"However long it takes for the Abyssal in charge to get tired of this," Isabell's voice had fallen to a whisper barely audible above the rustling leaves. She was scared of it, wasn't she? A Re class was no joking matter.

"Look, I'll try to keep as close to the shoreline as possible without being blown into smithereens. If my boilers get repaired, I might just make a break for it. 275 out," the transmission cut off, and in an instant, she was plugging in another.

"Who gave you permission to break," before Mackerel could continue, Shiho cut off the aggressive submarine.

"I've received contact from our target," it was a simple sentence, but it was enough to make Mackerel pause.

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He couldn't exactly blame I-402 for one of her planes having engine trouble, nor could he blame her for picking up said transmission, even if it was sending the Abbysal fleet into overdrive. Both submarines were getting out of patrol range, and the cruiser had provided some information.

And raised a few more questions. The biggest of which is her new name. She stated to I-402 that she'd named herself, but that didn't make sense. Though that was something he could put a pin in until after she was retrieved.

Then there were her specs, which I-402's fairy passenger had managed to slip through. They were concerning, for lack of a better word. Not because of their firepower, but rather, their familiarity. Now, while a great many cruisers carried six-inch, forty-seven caliber guns, her reported turret layout suggested a total of twelve total batteries. Cleveland's had the same number of guns.

But, instead, this new cruiser lacked secondaries. Entirely. That, combined with her exactly four quad Bofors, gave him an all too familiar picture.

This mystery cruiser was identical to Seattle. But Seattle had already been summoned. That shouldn't be possible. Sure, there was much they didn't yet understand about shipgirl summoning. And that wasn't even touching on all the complications about unbuilt shipgirls.

This wasn't even the case of multiple planned builds falling through. Seattle had existed purely as a design on paper. No plans, no orders, no names. She was unique, one of a kind, in a sense. So having another of her nonexistent class be summoned? Either this was some incredible long game bluff, or something impossible had happened. And if the impossible had indeed happened, then it was very possible.

Of course, he had zero ideas of how to approach the subject with Seattle herself. Now wasn't the best time, but it was eventually going to happen. He could only imagine the conversation. 'Surprise, you have a sister now, when you never thought you would get one'. He could already hear the party noises.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Then there was the USS Luzon. She wasn't with the cruiser before she landed in the Philipines. Was she a natural summon as well? He scowled. Something told that wasn't the case. Isabell had stated neglect as part of Luzon's damage assessment. There was something in the wording that just rubbed him the wrong way. Of course, he couldn't forget that Isabell had mentioned the Abyssal's had taken captives. Could they be the source of Luzon's summoning?

It didn't help that there were quite a few vessels with the name Luzon. AGR-2 was a repair ship and would be an absolute blessing. Japan had Akashi as their sole repair ship for their entire navy, and it was difficult to get a United States repair ship all the way out to Japan. Then there was PG-47, which would be interesting, to say the least, as she served on both under the USN and IJN.

"So, the situation is even worse than we originally thought," Admiral Goto's fingers remained crossed.

"Enough so that my superiors granted me permission to use the Vestal we stationed in the Sea of Japan," he frowned. That certainly got the slightly younger Admiral's attention.

"So it is that serious. I thought the United States produced those to make a statement," Goto wasn't wrong in his assessment. The new Vestal class ships were brought about as a response to the existence of shipgirls, and was tailor-made to enhance their capacities. Unlike most navies, which found themselves repurposing older vessels to support shipgirl operations, the United States had produced something brand new.

"They told me to think of it as a stress test," and that was the problem. For all of how it was supposed to work, it had never been properly tested in the field. At some point, the project became wrapped in PR, and as a result, hadn't been allowed to see combat out of concerns that its failure would result in a considerable loss of moral.

"Will it work?" that was the question of the hour.

"It will. I've looked over everything. Armor thick enough to withstand even Yamoto's guns, yet fast enough that it transport larger shipgirls faster than they can move," Richardson nodded. It had other advantages too, bristling with considerable anti-air guns, which could be further reinforced by shipgirls, on top of its main guns.

Inside was enough food to feed several armies, alongside repair baths and other essential equipment for shipgirl upkeep. And entertainment. That could not be overstated.

"Very well," Goto closed his eyes briefly. "I'll spare who I can from Yokosuka, but I can't send much. I'll get in touch with any other Admirals I can, but beyond that, I can't make any promises."

"I cannot ask for anything else, Goto. Thank you," Richardson said as the call came to an end. He was asking a lot of the man, and considering the Admiral ran the largest shipgirl base in all of Japan, he'd likely added more to his overworked schedule.

He'd sooner not, but as things stood, he didn't have a choice. If Sasebo was completely emptied, he'd have the numbers for this operation, but like Goto, he had dozens of other operations, from patrols to escorts, that he couldn't just abandon, not to mention base defense.

He just hoped Isabell could hold out long enough for rescue.

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I had no idea how to cook meat in the field. But I was smart. Surely, I could figure out something as primitive as how to properly use fire. Our campsite was small, a considerable distance inland, just to stay safe from patrols and the occasional crab.

Actually, no, scratch that. We might need crab. But I wasn't going to risk being spotted by any more Abyssals to get them. We hadn't been spotted since the crash site, either a miracle or a planned occurrence.

Right now, I leaned towards planned. That was the only thing that made sense. Maybe I was just being …

Underbrush rustled, causing me to whip around, turrets raised. Abyssal? Plants continued to twitch, leaves rubbing against one another as something moved in them.

Out popped a bird of some kind. My batteries lowered as my crew stood down. No need to blast a small bird with a six-inch shell. My crew had much smaller shells for that.

The avian likely sensed the danger, as it began to take flight. But my crew weren't any Elmer Fudds, and they certainly weren't hunting rabbits. It was almost cute how the rifles sounded. Like party poppers.

Tentatively, I grabbed the body, trying not to focus too much on it. A meal was a meal, with Luzon and I needing whatever food we could get as I stuffed it into my hull.

I still couldn't entirely get over it. Sure, it made sense, but whatever internal rules it played by was unclear. Putting things into my hull struck it down while taking it out would return it to its original size. That included meals and cooking, so I wasn't going to be struggling with a fire for cooking. Yet.

But guns kept in my crew's armory? No, those would remain the same size, for some reason. Not that I'd be able to handle them too well. My knowledge around a firearm went as far as knowing where the safety was, how to aim down sight, and how to reload it.

Even with radar, I'd be a worse marksman than they were anyway.

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She had expected the humans to come in, all guns blazing to rescue their lost cruiser. Not to send scouts! Her growl of frustration sent many of her smaller ships scattering around in an attempt to avoid her wrath.

Tracking the brief transmission was easy, but by the time her destroyers arrived, the submarines had fled the scene, likely sending word to their human masters about the strange cruiser.

As for the cruiser itself? It had been moving north at the time the transmission was cut. But after that? Gone. Vanished. Into the jungle without the slightest hint to her presence. If only they'd captured the pilot of that downed plane, this never would have happened!

Damnit! Stone crumbled into the dust beneath her grasp. Letting the cruiser, even as damaged as she was, wonder freely was becoming more and more a poor idea. Worse was the patrols she sent out returned with nothing. Not a hint of Kanmusu on the shorelines, either.

In fact, to her knowledge, the Kanmusu had avoided the ocean since her arrival. Wounds could explain part of it, but she'd lost several destroyers on dry land by this point.

It was unnatural for a Kanmusu to fight in such a manner. Could it be the second soul? How much influence did it have over the Kanmusu? A little? A lot? Even entirely?

That raised questions of its own. Such as who was it? Surely not a simple animal. Could it be human?

Her chuckle was short and cruel. Of course not. A human becoming a Kanmusu? Madness.

Still, she needed that Kanmusu. Alive. Before the humans could arrive and ruin her long term plans.