Legends

Chapter 55: The Pains of Red Tape

For Admiral Williams, it was just a normal day. Well, it started off that way as they all did. Rarely did they end that way. Case in point, this day although he remained blissfully unaware of that for the moment.

New Jersey had left with her sisters and the Taffies this morning, taking the latest convoy on to Japan. She was still not talking to Missouri, nor was Missouri talking to her. And from what he'd heard, Wisconsin was getting really tired of acting as a relay. To the point where she quoted Hermione Granger in an exclamation of "I'm not an owl!"

That left Iowa and if there was one ship who couldn't have been more different than what Williams had expected based upon what he'd heard, then it was her. The fast battleship was far from the loud, bombastic displays her younger sister employed. She was withdrawn and silent but it was the type of silence that hid a seething anger and preceded an ass whooping the likes of which only a battleship could put forth. The trouble was, there wasn't anyone she could give that ass whooping to. The range helped and it became a regular thing for the gunnery officers to clean up the area after she'd finished her near daily venting.

Thankfully, she'd obeyed Williams' order to limit her ordinance delivery to the late morning so as not to disturb anyone who was still resting. And when she wasn't at the range, she was displaying what he could assume was her old habits. Namely, drinking the nearest bars dry. Already, several had called him to compliment her tolerance and ask for the option of moving on the base itself. So far, Williams had deferred that question to the Public Relations department. He supposed he should be grateful that Iowa could not only hold her liquor, but her drunken shenanigans were tame relatively speaking.

Said battleship was in his office. While Vestal repaired her rig, a slow process given her constant penchant for the gun range, she had offered to assist him as his "secretary ship". Hardly a fitting role for a warship of her caliber but Williams got the sense that she was punishing herself. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't worried but he had little ability to force her to talk. Kanmusu counseling was a very new field and he wasn't even remotely qualified for it. Vestal was probably the best option although she knew little about emotions herself. She was however, respected by all the ships. If Iowa was going to talk to someone, it would be the plucky repair ship.

Williams continued to sort through his own stack almost absentmindedly. In the chaos of the last few weeks, a lot of these forms had gone unread or unfiled. They piled up quickly, hence why he didn't object to Iowa's presence nearly as much as he could or should have. Despite her self-destructive reasons, she was useful in this endeavor.

Mixed in with the random logistic reports and requisition forms (why someone needed eighteen tons of glitter, sequins, and stuffed animals he really didn't want to know and shuddered to imagine it even as he stamped denied on it) was a small page typed in all caps. It looked almost normal and reminded him heavily of the reports the fleet's submarines sent before the war. He almost believed COMSUBPAC sent this to him by accident until he saw the ship's name in the top left hand corner of the stationary. USS George Washington SSBN-598. There was only one George Washington in the fleet now and that was the carrier, stuck in a Yokosuka repair yard with her sister Ronald Reagan as she had been since Blood Week. But this clearly wasn't a carrier. It was the submarine. A nuclear powered submarine that had been out of service since the mid-1980s. Her hull was scrapped here in Puget Sound in '98. He remembered seeing it as a young ensign. And if it was that Washington, then that meant only one thing.

"Iowa!"

The battleship responded immediately to his call, arriving at his side in just two seconds. "Yes Admiral?"

"Look at this. Tell me what you think?" He handed her the slip and she read it quickly.

"It appears legit to me, sir." She replied, setting it down. "But I don't understand. Georgefish was decommed shortly after I was pulled from Mothballs. If she's running around now then-" She didn't need to finish the sentence as they both understood the implications too well.

"Are there any more of these reports?" He asked.

She flipped through her own stack and pulled out another two. He read them quickly, noting the date on the oldest. The same day that the battleship Washington had been lost. This report read simply "ENGAGED SMALL FLEET OF ABYSSALS 200 MILES WEST OF LOS ANGELES. ALL SHIPS SUNK."

The other two reports provided intelligence on the whereabouts of another Abyssal fleet hanging around South America. Williams had suspected their existence for some time but it was nice to have it confirmed. Even as it was equally terrifying to think who had filed this report. "How did we miss these?" He asked in a resigned tone. Eight weeks. Eight long weeks that a nuclear powered ballistic submarine kanmusu with a grudge was on the loose. He had never been so grateful for the navy's strict policies on nuclear warheads. Clearly 'Georgefish' had enough respect for protocol to await a launch order and limit herself to reconnaissance and torpedoes.

"Unfortunately, bureaucracy seems just as real today as it did in the 80s sir." Iowa replied, sounding just as resigned. She'd had nearly as much experience with it as he had, spread over a longer time period.

"Get COMSUBPAC on the phone. I want a recall order sent out yesterday! Get her back here for a debrief." Williams ordered.

"Aye sir!"

As Iowa rushed off on her task, putting on the yeet speed (dammit the memes were affecting him now too!) Williams had the time to consider the implications of welcoming a modern submarine into the same base that her mother had once lived and that her other mother was still sequestered away in her grief. Perhaps it wouldn't be... No! Willams refused to allow himself to even think it. Best not tempt fate.