After my ships finally limped back to Port Nine, it seems the enemy decided to call it a day and not follow us home. The floating fortresses managed to lift off and retreat, which is a relief, but it's a temporary breather. My real headache is the state of my battleships. They’ve turned into glorified piñatas—seriously, if there were a contest for most holes, they'd take first prize. Everywhere I look, there are gaping breaches, crumpled armor, and battle damage that makes them look like they've been trying to outdo the SMS Seydlitz after Jutland.
It’s a complete mess. I can't even tell where the original paint ends, and the scars begin. The battleships look like they've been through a blender. For now, I’ll count my blessings, patch up the ships, and get ready for whatever the enemy decides to throw at us next.
*
For two straight days, my battleships are stuck in the repair docks. It feels like an eternity, watching the magical dust and particles patch, weld, and replace damaged parts.
Finally, after these grueling days of relentless work, the ships are ready to set sail again, and the girls manifest back into their humanoid forms. As we gather in the living room to mark their return, the mood is a heavy cloud of disappointment and sadness. The ships are back in one piece, but they are far from their former selves.
The scars of battle are still glaringly visible. The weight of what has happened hangs over them like a dense fog.
"We’re sorry, Beatrice," North Carolina says, stepping forward with a look of deep regret. The other girls, standing behind her, mirror her sadness.
"It’s... I’m sorry, too," I reply, my voice heavy with guilt. "It was my fault that you all were put in such great danger. I should’ve been more attentive. I didn’t realize how bad things were until it was too late."
North Carolina looks taken aback, clearly not expecting this.
"But I failed," she insists, her voice tight with emotion. "I brought the fleet to the brink of ruin because of my incompetence."
I let out a long sigh and pull North Carolina into a hug.
"It doesn’t matter as long as you all are safe," I say, my voice soft but firm. "I don’t want to lose any of you. I’m not going to blame anyone."
I then turn to the others standing behind her and gesture for them to join us. They move closer, forming a tight circle of support and comfort.
In the end, the girls seem to feel a bit better after hearing that no one was at fault. I decide to drop the topic for now, letting everyone regroup and take a breather. It’s clear that we all need a moment to catch our breath.
As lunchtime rolls around, Kansas and I dive into the kitchen, whipping up some Korean-style hotpot and a spread of other dishes. The kitchen fills with the mouth-watering aroma of simmering broth and sizzling ingredients. The warmth of the food and the casual chatter help lift everyone's spirits a little.
At this moment, I think it’s time to dig into what really happened.
"So, what exactly happened yesterday?" I ask, sipping on the chicken soup.
"We’re fairly certain that our communications were disrupted," Washington explains. "We should be able to talk through you, Beatrice."
"I see so same as mine," I reply, nodding. "My control mask also failed to connect with you guys. Even from my Fleet Control Room, your locations were unknown. I had to send a strike based on your last known positions, which clearly shows something went wrong."
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"So, it’s likely that something is interfering with our communications," North Carolina adds thoughtfully. "But our fleet-to-fleet comms are still operational, and our AWACS craft kept feeding us data on enemy movements and our own numbers."
The tablet goes quiet as we all start brainstorming, grabbing some noodles from the hotpot and letting the rich flavors distract us momentarily. The room is filled with the clatter of utensils and the hum of conversation as we piece together the puzzle, trying to figure out where things went off track and how to prevent it from happening again.
"It could be something that’s blocking our communications in that specific area," Kansas suggests, her eyes narrowing as she pieces together the information. "I remember that the only reason we managed to reestablish contact during our retreat was because we moved far enough away from the last target."
"Beatrice, what happened during the last fight you had against those giant fortresses? Can you give us more details?" Massachusetts asks, her voice steady and her gaze intent.
"Well," I begin, leaning forward as I think back on the details, "as I mentioned, I caught them off-guard. The enemy barely put up a fight. My planes struck down a lot of their defenses, and their structures absorbed at least hundreds of 500kg bombs."
"That’s consistent with what I'm thinking right now," Tennessee says thoughtfully. "It’s likely that the surprise factor significantly impaired their ability to use their guns effectively. If they were caught off-guard, their defensive systems wouldn’t have had time to engage properly."
"So, a surprise attack might be our best option to quickly neutralize their ability to jam our communications," North Carolina concludes, her tone analytical as she weighs the possibilities. "However, we need to consider how feasible it is to execute such an attack, given their size and defensive capabilities."
Massachusetts nods, adding, "A surprise attack sounds ideal in theory, but their sheer size and defensive measures make it challenging. The logistics of getting close enough to deliver a decisive strike without detection are complex. We’d need precise coordination and a lot of luck to pull it off."
North Carolina frowns, thinking through the implications. "If we can’t guarantee a successful surprise attack, we might have to consider a full-on assault. This would involve engaging them head-on and dealing with their defenses directly."
"That’s true," Kansas agree, "but a full-on assault comes with its own set of risks. We’d be exposing our fleet to their full defensive capabilities, and if our communications are still being jammed, coordinating such an attack could be chaotic."
Tennessee leans back, considering the options. "A full-on attack would require overwhelming force and precise timing. We’d need to ensure our ships and planes are well-coordinated and that we have a clear strategy to deal with their defensive systems."
Washington looks thoughtful. "Given the complexity of a surprise attack and the risks of a full assault, we might need to prepare for both scenarios. Start with the possibility of a surprise attack, but be ready to shift to a full assault if it becomes clear that stealth isn’t an option."
The conversation falls into a strategic silence as everyone ponders this dual approach. The clinking of utensils and the soft bubbling of the hotpot provide a backdrop to our intense analysis. We continue to discuss and refine our plans, each of us contributing to the intricate puzzle of our next move.
As the ship girls discuss strategies for a direct confrontation, I suddenly chime in.
"So, what do you guys need?" I ask, cutting through the tactical talk with a directness that seems to catch everyone off guard.
"Beatrice, we don’t need anything—our forces are suffi—" North Carolina starts to say, but I cut her off with a dismissive wave of my hand. Enough with the "I can handle it" attitude.
"Tell me what you really need. Be honest. I’ll provide everything I can," I insist, locking eyes with each of them.
The ship girls exchange uneasy glances, the weight of the situation palpable. Finally, North Carolina speaks up. "We need more numbers, more guns to overwhelm the enemy with firepower, and better anti-aircraft coverage. The enemy’s firepower is considerable, but their accuracy and the size of their large cannons are lacking. Most of the hits we took were from smaller caliber weapons."
"So, you need guns to silence their guns, correct?" I confirm, and she nods.
Questions continue to fly back and forth as we fine-tune the requirements. The delicious food on the table seems to lose its appeal as the urgency of our needs takes center stage.
We go through a list of what’s necessary: additional ships, and more anti-aircraft defenses. As we finalize our plans, the focus remains sharp, with everyone contributing ideas and suggestions.
Eventually, the conversation slows, and we return to eating. Yet, my mind is racing, already formulating a plan. I need to design a type of ship that meets our requirements: one that can keep pace with the enemy, has powerful guns capable of counter-battery fire, and extensive anti-aircraft coverage. And of course, it needs to be numerous to be effective.
"It needs to be cheap." I mutter to myself as I continue eating lunch, the words barely escaping my lips.