Thousands of people were gathered in the cold January air, their eager anticipation palpable despite the chill. The white beach the crowd celebrated on was the culmination of months of back-breaking work. The efforts of over a million children had spearheaded a momentous project of unimaginable scale: to tow 35,000 tons of fighting steel from Bremerton, Washington to Mobile, Alabama—an operation never attempted before in this magnitude and distance. Bands played patriotic songs, speeches were made, and tears fell when the culmination of years work had finally come to fruition: BB-60, USS Alabama, was finally ready to receive her visitors. Children ran across her wooden decks, marveling at the size of her armaments. For the next several decades, millions would come and learn of her history, and the history of those who fought on her. Alabama would keep watch over the bay, a silent guardian of the people who saved her from destruction. - Morning sunlight streamed through the gaps of the curtains, their rays gently caressing Alabama’s face. Her eyes fluttered open before she shot up in response. It took her a few moments to recognize her surroundings; she vaguely recalled Casey showing her to her room in the Battleship Inn the night before. She swung her feet over the side of the bed and hopped to the floor. “I could get used to these beds.” Alabama walked to the window, yawning and stretching her arms. She flung open the curtains, allowing light to flood the small room. Her face lit up at the morning view: small clouds dotted a bright blue sky, sunlight gleaming off the bay water. She sighed blissfully, soaking up the scene. “Mercy me. I do believe I could get used to all of this.” Stretching her arms once more, she twirled around to study her simple room: a small table and chair sat in one corner, a large, flat-screen television resting atop the dresser set. That particular device had occupied the majority of her attention the evening before. A glance at the alarm clock showed it was just before eight: plenty of time to get ready for the day. Humming cheerily, Alabama floated to the bathroom. It was time to get ready to embrace the day. - Casey sipped his morning coffee in the seating area of the hotel lobby. Subtitles ran along the big screen TV that dominated the sitting area o the lobby, pictures and videos shifting across the screen, showing both American and Japanese ship-girls alike in various poses. The news outlets were still going crazy over the victory at the Philippine coast. Casey glanced at the screen, sipping his morning coffee. At least this was good news; news of decisive victories were always welcome. There seemed to be too few of those. The scene shifted back to the newscasters, something scrolling along the bottom of the breaking news report. He sighed—it looked like the news of Alabama's return was starting to spread. Of course, she would be delighted. The spirited woman loved attention: she loved getting her picture taken, and loved being videoed even more-so. More pictures materialized on screen. It looked like images from the day before. Photos from the restaurant appeared on screen, followed by blurry shots of her on the water. The screen went back to the talking heads. Some were worried about the returned ship's intentions; others asked when she would be introduced to the public. “Soon than you think." the weary Navy Lieutenant mumbled under his breath. The Powers That Be had made it clear they wanted to jump on this as soon as possible, especially after the victory at the Philippines. People needed hope, and these girls were giving it to them. “Good morning Loootenant~” Alabama's drawl floated through the lobby. Casey twisted in the direction of her voice. Her flowing hair was back its original blonde, as if it had never changed. That bright, white smile of hers lit the room brighter than any artificial light. That smile could wake a man up faster than any cup of coffee. “G'morning, Ma'am. Sleep well?” He rose, bracing himself for the incoming hug. She acted as if she was about to do just that, but paused and curtsied instead. Casey let out the small breath he had been holding. “Oh Casey, these beds are just Heavenly! I wish all my crew could've slept on something so comfortable.” Casey led her over to the breakfast bar and handed her a plate. He had been up hours before to help make sure there was plenty of food for their returned guest: grits, biscuits and gravy, eggs, sausage, bacon, and tables of other foods lined the wall. “Oh heavens! Did y'all do all this for littl ol' me?” Alabama's eyes sparkled at the sight of the feast. “Well, we need to save enough for the soldiers, but go ahead and dig in ma’am. We have plenty to go around.” Alabama paused from slathering gravy over her biscuits. “You mean those boys haven't eaten yet?” “Well, uh, not all of them.” Casey stumbled. Alabama's eyes pierced into his; it reminded him of when his mother used to disapprove of something he said. “We try to ha—” “Oh that just won't do! Those poor boys need to eat. Lieutenant, I want them all going through this line before me.” Alabama set her plate back down on the table. “They've got a hard day of work ahead of them and I want them good and full.” “Ma'am everyone wi—” Casey tried to start again. “No no no!” Alabama put a hand on her hip and wagged a finger under Casey's nose. “I won't hear any excuses. I want those boys fed!” “Alabama-” She put a finger to his lips, and pointed at the door with her other hand. Casey let out a small sigh. “Yes Ma'am. You got it.” - “She what now?” Sweet's voice was flat, not so much asking but stating the question. “That's what she said.” Casey plopped down in his chair. “She's setting up as we speak.” “So, we tell her it doesn't work like that.” “Hah. Go ahead. Try it. I thought she was going to belt me for a second there.” “Are you serious right now?” “As serious as cancer.” “Just...” Sweet looked at Casey, whose face only showed tired resignation. “Ok, fine. Let's get this over with. Where the hell is Joseph?” - Ten minutes later, a line was formed outside of the hotel lobby. Confused enlisted chattered quietly in line, irritated NCOs and officers herding the late arrivals into line. Casey and Sweet overlooked the whole parade, shaking their heads in resignation. “Well, that's nearly everybody. Let's go see if she's ready to start.” Casey pushed open doors and let Sweet through. Both men stopped dead in their tracks at the sight before them. Along with the food that had already been laid out, Alabama stood behind a fry grill, mothering some omelets on the hot surface. A huge freezer of food sat in the corner next to her. The tables had been moved to the conference room, a lot more tables and chairs set up to accommodate all the extra people. “Where the f—*ahem.* Uh, Miss Alabama… just where did all this come from?” Sweet asked after he regained his composure. Alabama looked up, surprised by the sudden presence of her guests. A pink apron covered her front, one hand holding a plate of freshly-cooked bacon. “Oh! Good morning Captain Sweet! You’re gonna have to get in line with everyone else if you’re hungry. No cutting~” She smiled, then paused for a moment. “But if you ask nicely, I might let you go ahead and take a piece of bacon!” Sweet eyed the plate, dumbfounded. Casey repeated Sweet’s question. “Ma'am, where did all this stuff come from?” “Oh these? My crew moved it for me, of course! Do you think little old me could move all this by myself?” “Well no—I don't know, actually. Where is your crew? We haven't seen anyone else besides our men outside, and the hotel staff.” Casey looked around the hotel again, noticing something. “Where's the staff?” “Oh, I sent them on a break.” Alabama dismissed the question as she refocused on her cooking. “Right. And your crew?” “Oh don't worry about them, Sugar. They don't like to be seen too often. I don't think they're used to you yet.” “Used to us. Right. Fine. Well, are you ready for everyone?” “Send 'em on in! Get it while it's hot!” - Two hours later, Alabama was helping the hotel staff wash the dishes and clean up. Satisfied soldiers with full stomachs walked out of the hotel lobby to start their daily duties. “Well, the lady can cook.” Sweet relaxed into his camping chair in his tent. “I'll say.” Casey chewed on an apple and leaned against a table. “So, what else is on the day's agenda? BBQ for lunch? Fish fry for supper?” “Hah! If only. We gotta get Alabama ready for her first press conference.” Sweet grimaced. “What a pain in the ass.” “Preachin' to the choir, my friend. They want to be ready to go by this evening.” Sweet leaned forward to massage his temples. “Not a whole hell'ov a lot of time. Where are we doing this?” “Dunno yet. I need to go talk to Miss Movie Star and see what she wants to do.” Casey bit off the last chunk of his apple. “Do I want to do what, now?” Both men hoped up. Neither of them had heard her walk up. “An interview? I'm gonna be on TV?” “Alabama, we—” “I'M GONNA BE ON TV AGAIN!” “God help us.” Sweet shook his head. “Oh god oh GAWD we have so much to do! Goodness I'm nowhere near bein' presentable for a camera.” Alabama ran back out of the tent before either man could stop her. Casey caught himself trying to give chase, giving up and plopping down in his own camping chair. “Goddammit.” “Hah! Sucks to be you.” Sweet laughed at his friend’s plight. _ The sun rose high in the sky as the hours went by. Alabama was a blur of motion in the summer heat, running to and fro, making sure everything was cleaned and organized to her liking. Soldiers mowed the grass and trimmed the bushes through the park. She had men clean all the memorials and wash the vehicle exhibits till they looked new again. Men with broom cleared dirt and trash from the parking lot, while others mopped inside the museum entrance. Every nook and cranny had to be spotless, or Alabama made them do it again. “She's just like my fucking Grandma.” Russels showered down an M4 Sherman with a hose. “Ain't she getting her interview in the hotel or somethin'? Why do we have to clean all this shit? This is dumb.” “Hey, you wanna present her with your complaints, be my guest.” Brocheque dipped his brush into his bucket of soapy water. He had spent hours trying to clear cobwebs from the tank’s suspension. “She might be pretty, but I'll be damned if I'm the one to piss her off.” “You think she'd get pissed? She's always so happy. I mean, since we've met 'er, have you seen her with anything but a smile plastered on her face?” “Well, no. But she's still a ship, right? Hell, everyone's seen what those Jap girls can do. Remember last year when one smashed a bus?” Russels mulled over the memory as he lamely waved the hose around. “… Fair enough. Think this one is good for now?” Both men stepped back to admire their work. “Oh it looks WONDERFUL!” “FFFFWWAAAH!” Russels reacted on pure reflex. Diving and twisting, he aimed his only weapon, his hose, at the new threat. A jet of water soaked their assailant in the seconds it took for Russels to hit the ground. Brocheque's startled expression turned to amusement as he watched Russels overreact. Russels realized his mistake and quickly pinched off the hose. Alabama stood in front of them, drenched and sputtering. Her soaked bangs covered her eyes, and the cotton t-shirt she wore clung to her skin. “Um, Hi Miss Alabama.” Russles turned the hose off and gently set it down. Alabama wiped her matted hair of her face. “Hello, Specialist Russels.” “Are you ok, ma'am?” Brocheque peeked from under his covered arms. Alabama giggled. “Never better, sergeant~” Her laugh carried different tone than her normal cherry trill. Alabama took a slow, purposeful step towards the two cowering soldiers, her smile unwavering. “I do believe you've gone and missed a spot, though.” Brocheque and Russels shared a worried glance. “Where would that be, ma'am?” She pulled a larger hose from behind her back, a high pressure firefighting hose. “Right here.” The jet of water drowned out their screams. - People crowded the caution tapes and guards that surrounded the park. MP's and local police patrolled the line, keeping anyone from entering. News had spread fast of the celebrity inside, and everyone wanted a glimpse. Local news reporters babbled in front of their cameramen, looking for a preview shot of the returnee ship. Casey paced back and forth in his Dress Whites. The sun was setting, but the residual Southern heat made the already uncomfortable suit that much more unbearable. He checked his watch for the twelfth time and looked back to Alabama's room. Clattering and banging came from the other side of the door; she had spent the last hour fretting about what she would wear. He swore he could hear voices as well: tiny, high pitched voices just barely audible through the hotel's walls. He looked back at his watch again. Eighteen fourty-four. Broadcasting was supposed to start in sixteen minutes. “Dammit.” Casey sighed and walked to Alabama's room door. “Alabama, ma’am, we need you out here.” He heard rustling on the other side of the door. “Ma'am you're going to have to pick something and come out.” More rustling. “Oh for the love of. Ma'am, I'm coming in.” He slowly turned the handle. “Please at least be decent. Male on the floor.” Casey walked into the room full of clothing, carefully stepping over an expensive-looking pair of high heels. Clothes littered the room: skirts, dresses, and blouses of all different styles and colors. But there was no sign of Alabama. “… Where the hell did she even get all of this stuff?” An open foot locker sat at the end of her bed, what looked like a Navy dress uniform hanging over the side. A uniform that seemed to be moving around as he glanced over it. Casey did a double take. The clothing stood still. “What?” He rubbed his eyes and looked again. The jacket popped up, as if someone—something—was trying to throw it. A small step toward the box seemed to spook whatever was shuffling the clothes around. “Rats.” He spoke, as if to convince himself of the fact. He took another step towards the trunk. “Alabama, I think you have a rat problem in here.” He bent over to pick up the outfit. “You really need to clean this thing out.” Moving the jacket revealed two tiny, irate faces staring up at him, two human shaped creations shaking their tiny fists angrily at him. Casey’s mouth opened, and then closed. He slowly lowered clothing back over the two hallucinations. There was no way anything like that could exist. “Naw.” Sure, warships were coming back as little girls and young women, but tiny people? No. This would not be a thing. He immediately turned around, only to see two more of the creatures on the dresser, holding a pair of shoes. A tiny grunt floated through his ears. Then a shoe flew past his head. “What the FUCK.” Casey covered his face with his hands. A second shoe bounced off his arms and landed at his feet. More clothes flew through air. Every article of clothing in the room seemed to come flying at him at once. “AAAAGH SHIT!” Casey dove to the floor, crawling to escape the bombardment. Something silky and white smacked him in the face. He clawed the cloth out of his eyes and held it up. Silky, white panties. “Casey?” He lowered the panties to see two white clad feet in the bathroom doorway. His eyes traveled up to see Alabama staring back down at him, in nothing but her white underwear and stockings. “Um, hi.” A skirt smacked him in the head. “What are you doing?” “I was looking for you. We're waiting on you.” A lacy black thong snapped passed his head like a rubber-band. “Well I obviously can't go out looking like this, can I?” She stepped past him into the living area. His gaze traveled to her swaying hips as she walked towards the bed. “Well, I'm-no, but you need to hurry and get dresse—” a blouse to his face cut him off. “But what will I *wear*?” Exasperation oozed from her question. “I can't just go out in any plain outfit for the camera, you know?” She bent over her trunk and pulled out more clothes. Another shoe to the chest brought Casey back to focus. “I'm sure you’ll look great in anything, but we have ten minutes till we start broadcasting. Listen, these… people? Ok, whatever, they are kicking me out. Please, just be done in the next five minutes, ok?” “Oh fine, but if I look terrible it's going to be *your* fault.” Alabama pouted as she pulled out another shirt. Casey dodged his way to the door. “I'm sure you'll look great, now please hurry.” He pulled the door shut behind him as a Gideon's Bible smashed against the door frame. - “I thought you said she was deciding on something to wear?” Sweet stood at the back of the stage with Casey, while the cameras focused on Alabama. “Yeup,” Casey replied flatly, crinkling a bottle of water in his hands. Sweet let out a small chuckle. “Hah! Rob, you know my wife, and I know some of the women you dated. You should not be surprised by this.” “Oh shut it.” Casey fumed into his water. Laughter from the stage redirected both men's attention. Alabama's smile flashed as she and the newscaster shared a laugh. “Looks like she's enjoying herself,” Sweet noted. “Heh, when's she not? I think she takes to the camera better than she does to water.” “I can't say I don't disagree. Damn woman's a charmer if I've ever seen one.” Casey nodded. “I sure hope so. It's been two days and she's already got these boys looking up.” "The free food helped, I think." Both men snickered quietly in the back of the room. - “Oh my stars that was so much FUN~” Alabama pranced away from the hotel lobby. “It felt so good being on camera again! How about we go celebrate?” Casey caught the door before it swung back into his face. “Celebrate? Alabama, it's been a busy day. How about we relax tonight? I hear some of the men are planning to have a barbecu—” “A barbecue? Oh wonderful! Oh, can we get some ribs? Oh! And how about some pork chops and some chicken and some hotdogs and hamburgers…” Alabama began counting off fingers. “Woah, woah, ma'am. They're gonna have plenty of food already. Consider this your unofficial welcome back party.” Alabama's eyes grew wider and wider. “A party? For me? Y'all shouldn't have! Oooooooh!” Casey's eyes widened as well, from Alabama's crushing hug. “Oh thank you thank you thank you! Y'all have been nothin' but sweeter than sugar fer me since I've been back.” “Hurraack!” Casey croaked, his back cracking under the strain. Alabama dropped him as quickly as she had grabbed him. “Come'on, let’s hurry and get down there! I'm starving!” Alabama dragged Casey across the parking lot, back towards Battleship Park. - The buzz of the alarm matched the buzz in his head. Casey groaned and looked over at his clock: zero eight hundred. Too damn early for a Saturday. He smacked his lips; it tasted like cotton. He was starting to regret those Bud Lites last night. Swinging his feet over the side of the bed, he stood up, and promptly fell back on the mattress. “Yeeup. That's enough beer for a bit.” The second attempt was more successful. The trip to the bathroom sink was treacherous, filled with trip hazards and a hangover-induced fog. Casey groggily fought with the childproof lid on his bottle of Tylenol. “Hello, little friends, it's so good to see you again.” Casey groggily fought with the childproof lid on his bottle of Tylenol. Filling a plastic cup up, he tossed his head back and downed a few of the pills. Something caught his eye as swallowed: a red mark on his cheek. “Lipstick?” He lightly touched the side of his face. “Oh, yeah. Heh.” The fuzzy memory of the beautiful blonde battleship giving him a kiss goodnight resurfaced. He grinned. “Hell, I guess it ain't so bad. Let's get to it.” A short time later, Casey stood in front of the mirror adjusting his tie, feeling much better. He grabbed the pot from the small coffee maker, heading to tiny work desk. Firing up his laptop, he logged in to catch up on his emails. One in particular caught his eye. “What do we have here?” Casey opened the link, his eyes scanning back and forth. “Well.” He silently closed the laptop up. “Shit.”