Alabama gazed at the storm on the horizon. She could 'see' the battle in the distance; her radar picking up dozens of contacts was just as valuable as if she was seeing them with her eyes. Bursts of static filled cries for help flowed through her communication array. Both her and her accompanying escorts at tried, in vain to contact them back. 

“They can't hear us, Casey.” Alabama's worried voice floated through Casey's headset.

“Something about that storm could be playing interference. We're starting to get interference on our end the closer you get.”  Casey paused for several seconds. 

“From the few images that have come in, we've made out what appears to be a mix of battleships, and cruisers. We're still trying to identify them, and there's more unaccounted for, so be prepared for the worst.”

Alabama swallowed down the lump forming in her throat. 

“Are we gonna be enough to fight 'em back?”

“We're hoping for more help from Brazil and Mexico, but it won't be much. Air assets are already doing what they can as well. It's something, at least.”

Alabama struggled to catch Casey's words. The storm's interference was intensifying ever second. 

“Casey, you're breaking up.”

“Ju… be car.. ...ama.”

“We've lost contact, Ma'am.”  The voice of the USS Chafee’s commander chimed through her radio.

“Understood.  I gotta feelin' we're gonna have the same problem too, so y'all try to stay on me, ya hear?”

Receiving the affirmative from both ships, she focused her attention back on the contacts ahead of her. Her fire plotting rooms were working in high gear to get good coordinates on any targets of opportunity. Her gun crews readied her sixteen inch shells. It had been a long, long time since the world had heard their roar.
_

Nevada was angry. Her cannons spat another salvo. She was angry about the storm. The shells straddled an Abyssal cruiser 20,000 yards away.

“DAMMIT!”

She was angry that it had taken so long for her to catch up to these creepy bastards. The next set of rounds were rammed into place, her crews working quickly to get as much steel down range as possible. These screamed into their target true, turning the former Abysall into a pile of scrap.

She was mad they there were shooting at her, as six and eight inch shells fell around her. Their aim was getting better. 

She was mad that orange paint covered every inch of her. It made her stand out like an orange in a pail of grapes. She curses and hit her rudder hard, dodging a trio of incoming torpedoes. She curses as the torpedoes threw of her targeting.

“Quit fucking with me, Goddammit! Just stay still and die!” 

Her five inch secondaries turrets tracked the small craft that had launched the fish. A rapid salvo of HE crushed the foe into fiery splinters. To her irritation, several more contacts appeared on her radar, replacing the two she had just sent back to the deep.

“Jesus H. Christ, why won't you bastards fuck off.” Nevada's growl matched the growl of her turrets spinning.

From the corner of her eye, she saw a missile launch from the one of the Colombian frigates. The projectile streaked towards a larger Abyssal craft, exploding against it's forecastle. 

“That's the stuff right there!”

Nevada punched her fist in the air, as secondary explosions pulsed through the Abyssal wreck.

“Now there's only a few dozen more to go!” 

The giant turrets slowly tracked her next target. Her firing computers calculated the targets heading, and sent it to her crews. The shells slammed home into the breeches, followed by the powder. The breech doors closed, and with a few more minute adjustments, she sent the fourteen inch projectiles screaming over the horizon.  The opposing vessel sent her reply, straddling Nevada. The vibrations from the rounds rattled her hull, and caused her to shiver. Too close, any closer and they could crack her hull open. Adjusting fire, she willed the next salvo to hit it’s mark. Flashes of fire from impacts sparked on the horizon. The adversary ship’s return fire became more erratic Nevada’s shells took their tool. Nevada fired her guns as fast as her crews could load them. She alternated her fire from turret to turret, not letting her opponent have an opportunity to breath. 

“Dance, you bitch.”

Nevada growled as the ship soaked another hit. Finally the Abyssal tried to break off, the damage inflicted too much to handle.

“Not today, sucker.”

A final blast sent the vessel back into the abyss.

“Ah HAH! And another one!” Nevada punched her fist in triumph. 

“Fellas I think we might just take this one all the wa-OOF!”

A twelve inch shell to her armor belt cut off her cheer. Nevada lurched over, the huge shell failing to explode. The force of the impact, however, was enough to send her into a coughing fit. Another salvo smashed into her side, sending her reeling. The smaller armor piercing shells hit mostly harmlessly, against her armor belt, while a handful reek havoc on her upper decks. 

Crews run too and fro, fighting fires and bypassing electrical circuits. Nevada grimaced. The damage wasn’t critical, but it was annoying, and throwing her off balance. She hit her rudder hard, trying to throw off their aim. Gushers of water flew high, as more shells straddled her. Things were starting to get dicey. Movement to her port side caught her eye. A small ship, a torpedo boat by the looks of it, was making a run towards her. 

“Not today, guy. Her hand shot to her side. In a blur of gray gun metal, she flipped up her single action army, five inch shells loaded and ready to go. With practiced grace, she fanned the hammer, unleashed six shots rapidly at the reckless ship. Four of the shells found their target, shredding the lightly armored vessel. It slowed, quickly sinking beneath the waves. The cursed ship’s eyes pierced Nevada’s as she slowly slipped beneath the waves.

Nevada shivered.

“Creepy bastards.”

She muttered, reloading her revolver. The trapdoor clapped shut, when another salvo soaked her decks with near misses. 

“Holy hell! What was that?”
_

Alabama frowned. Her gunnery was a little out of practice. Her computers made adjustments, but the target was moving again, a small blip on her radar. Shells thumped home into gun’s breeches, and her crews readied another shot. Adjustments were sent to her turrets, and the barrels shifted ever so slightly.  Her cannons sounded off just as a pair of incoming shells bracketed her.  Alabama flinched as water slammed against her. She wiped water from her eyes, just as another shot struck her amid-ships. 

The explosion boomed over the water. Alabama shuddered from the impact, and alarms began to sound through her decks. The fire ball consumed a swathe of her teak decking, and  blew away several of her 20mm Oerikon mounts. Her fire teams quickly began their work to keep the flames from spreading.

“Aw Hell!” 

Alabama cursed and patted the flames outs from her clothes. Thankfully the rain was also helping to keep it under control.

“Y’all sonsabitches are gonna get it now.” 

Alabama growled and readied another salvo. A warning from her crews interrupted her shot. Torpedoes had been spotted off her port side. She cursed as she maneuvered to evade. She was paying to much attention to the one target. Her spotters quickly sighted the offending ship. A small torpedo boat was attempting to steam away. It wouldn’t get far. Alabama’s five inch cannons barked, quickly shredding the fleeing ship.

The sinking vessels let out an otherworldly screech as it sank beneath the waves. Alabama shivered, goose bumps forming on her skin. She rubbed her arms and searched for a new target. The Large Ship she was initially tracking had disappeared back into the interference of the storm. Alabama was sure the ship would present itself again soon. 

Small flashes on the horizon caught her attention. Immediately, she kicked her rudder to port, and turned to dodge the incoming shells. Huge columns of water shot into the air from where she was moments before. Her turrets tracked the aggressors as she maneuvered to avoid anymore incoming fire. She waited for another flash, then fired her answer. For several seconds it seemed as if nothing had happened. She readied another salvo, then jumped when a fire ball lit of the horizon. It appeared that a magazine had gone off. 

The number of shells coming in dropped dramatically, a few smaller impacting against her thick armor belt, but causing little damage. This group of ships had lost it’s drive to keep charging her. Alabama’s screws churned the water, making ready to give chase, but the sight of a frigate in the distance stopped her.

Could that be the friendly ships she was supposed to be linking up with? The Colombian flag flying from the mast quickly answered her question. 

“USS Alabama to unidentified ship, can you read me. Over.”

Alabama tried hailing the ship a number of times, willing the signal to pierce through the interference.

“...bama. This is the Almirante ...dilla. We read… over.”

She shook her head. The heavily accented English was not making it any easier. Well, it was something, at least. It gave her hope that the local navy still had some fight in them.

More shell impacts interrupted their attempts at communication. 

“Y’all com’on, let’s shut these sapknockers up!” 

Alabama called to the  Almirante Padilla, and scanned the oceans. She was getting tired of these harsh seas.
_

Nevada loaded six more five inch shells into her revolver, and watched as another small craft sank beneath the choppy waves. It’s unearthly screeches were like nails on a chalk board. She spat, disgusted at the machine-beast. 

“Where do you ugly sons-a-bitches keep coming from?”

She scowled at nothing in particular on the horizon. Wreckage from the battle surrounded her; oil, fuel, pieces of the wrecked ships defending the seas, and bodies floated on the waters surface.  The storm was still blowing strong, meaning from her experience chasing these bastards, there had to still be a Big Boss somewhere hidden in the storm. The eye of the storm was probably the best bet. 

Nevada adjusted her heading, making best speed for the storms center, and whatever awaited her. 
__


Captain Miguel could not believe his fortune. TWO of the American ship-girls showed up. And both of them were battleships at that. With such firepower, there was not way they couldn’t drive away these demons of the sea. 

“Captain, she’s asking where the rest of the fleet is. And how combat effective we are.”

Miguel looked out the window at the crashing waves. 

“Tell her that we’re all that’s left, as far we can tell. Anyone who is left is lost in the storm. Our missile cells are dry, and our cannon only has few dozen shells left.”

The ensign somberly passed the news to the American ship, then after a few seconds, began to furiously scribble something down on his notepad.

“Well, what did she say?”

“She gave us coordinates for the other U.S. ships in the area. She insists we rendezvous with them as soon as possible.”

Captain Miguel nodded.

“And we will abide by her request. Make best speed to the provided coordinates, and let’s try to catch up to our American companions.” 

The crew sounded their acknowledgments, steering the battered vessel through the choppy waves.
__

Alabama's eyes darted left and right. No more enemy fire had come in since she had met the Colombian ship, but that didn’t mean the Abyssal’s weren’t waiting for her. Her radar was picking up erratic signals a few dozen nautical miles west of her location. She pushed her speed to her full 27 knots, straining to get there as soon as possible.

The ocean was fighting against her just as hard as the Abyssals. Waves crashed against her, trying to push her back. She pushed her hair out of her eyes as the wind whipped it about. 

“This damn storm is getting on my last nerve.”

Alabama grimaced as another wave broke against her, the spray flattening her flowing blonde hair.

Shell’s started to fall again, most exploding harmlessly in the ocean. She dodged to the left and right, following splashes, trying to keep moving. 

“Oooh! I’m gonna give these girls the whoopin’ of their lives when I get my hands on them.”

Alabama fired in the general direction the attack was coming from, hoping she’d at least disrupt their fire. To her dismay, their fire only grew more accurate as she closed in. 

“Almost there.”

Alabama panted, trying to catch her breath. Her equipment was battered, and her clothes singed and tattered from the constant shelling.

She could finally see the flashes from the guns again. Something to shoot at. She gritted her teeth, firing back at the flashes. More shells impacted against her hull, most exploding harmlessly against her belt. A few others shredded more of her super structure, sending anti air mounts and shrapnel flying. 

“Y’all are gonna pay for that!”

She shouted over the wind and her cannons firing. She crested over a huge wave, crashing through the cloud cover on the other side.

“What in th’ Devil’s name is this?”

A large, lone ship sat in center of the eye. Alabama gasped at her appearance. The ship seemed to be some kind of dreadnought. It was old, even elegant, but something didn’t add up. Chitinous tumors and growths covered the ship. Huge teeth surrounded her case mates, and the main cannons sticking out of giant mauls for turrets. The wet walls of the ship had a disgusting sheen too it. A slender, pale woman stood near the bow. She wore a black dress that looked like something from the early twentieth century. Her eyes glowed with a blue hue, but her iris’s were pitch black, and Alabama could “feel” them peering into her soul.

“Lord have mercy.”

Alabama breathed. Then steeled herself.

“Stand down and surrender. You’ve caused enough trouble in these parts, Hun.” 

A row of sharp, white teeth spread across the dreadnought's face in a hungry grin. Alabama realized her foe’s cannons were already trained on her, and at this range, there was no way they would miss. Her own had only begun to rotate when cannon fire filled the air.

The sides of Abyssal dreadnought exploded into flame and shrapnel as heavy shells impacted. Alabama started, looking for where the fire was coming from. About 200 meters to her left, another figure burst through the cloud cover. Alabama’s jaw dropped. A woman, no another shipgirl, was firing round after round from her main cannons. And she was covered in orange paint. She held a revolver in her hand, fanning the hammer with the other, pounding the Abyssal ship.

“Nevada, is that you?”

Nevada loaded more rounds into her pistol.

“No, dummy, I’m the Flying Dutchman. Quit with the chatter and start the shooting, dammit.”

Alabama nodded. Her own cannons joined Nevada’s, shattering the Abyssal ship’s hull. The Ship’s Spirit screeched as her hull burned. The ugly black barrels barked back at the two American ship girls, striking where they had been only moments before. Nevada and Alabama circled around their enemy blasting holes into her armor. The dreadnought began to list as water flooded through the wounds inflicted by the fourteen and sixteen inch guns. The ship’s spirit screeched as watered lapping up her deck. Cold water flooded into her lower decks, down her halls, finally reaching her boiler rooms. Fire burst through the ships deck, setting off more explosions. The Abyssal fell to her knees, screaming and clutching her chest.

“Don’t let up, Bama!” 

Nevada fired as fast her breeches slammed shut.

The Abyssal directed one last screech at the two American battleships. A fireball exploded out of her chest, as an identical one exploded from her decks. The old battleship finally slipped beneath the waves.

Alabama and Nevada stared at the wreckage, watching the bow sink into the deep. Almost immediately the winds died down, and radio communications began to flood in.

Nevada clapped her hands together.

“Well, that handles that bitc-OOF”

“NEVADA! I’M SO GLAD T’SEE YOU AGAIN!”

“Damm..it, Bam..ma. Can’t. Breath.”

“Oh my gawd, it’s been lonely with just me around.”

Alabama squeezed Nevada into her chest. Nevada tried to break away, her fists, pounding on Alabama’s sides with no effect. One last squeeze.

“BWUH! Dammit, Bama, ya almost killed me!”

Alabama giggled. 

“Don’t be silly, Shug! You look great! I gotta say, orange is a good color for ya.”

Nevada glared daggers at her comrade. 

Yeah, whatever, let’s go. There’s might be more of these bastards.”

The two battleships sailed back in the direction of their comrades, searching for any more signs of the Abyssals. A few pockets of the enemy fleet still remained, but it most had already fled when they realized they lost their flagship. Missile strikes from the Chafee and the McFaul helped make short work of the stragglers. More of the Colombian fleet was found, and the wounded were transferred to the American ships, or helicoptered to facilities on land. 

“Alabama, this is Casey, do you copy?”

Alabama’s radio crackled as Casey’s voice finally flooded back through her speakers. 

“Casey! It’s good to hear from you again! We’re wrapping up everything here, and I found someone!”

She wasn’t sure, but Alabama thought she heard a sigh on the other side.

“So I’ve heard. We’ll brief Nevada in when you two get back.”

Alabama smiled cheerily.

“We’ll be back quick’r than a cat gettin’ off a hot tin roof!”

“Uh, what?”

“I mean I’ll be see’n y’all soon, Shug.” 

Alabama closed the channel, humming happily to herself.

“Friend of yours?”

Nevada sailed to her side, the two ships forming up with the USS Chafee and USS McFaul. Alabama clapped her hands merrily and turned to Nevada.

“Sure is! You’ll meet him soon enough! You’ll everyone back in Mobile. Everybody has been so friendly!”

Nevada grunted.

“Is that so. Well, I’m not going anywhere like this.”

Nevada tugged at her orange clothes, muttering.

“Those jackasses couldn’t have just left me a normal color.”

“Oh don’t worry about that. When we get back, we’ll get ya all fixed up!”

Alabama threw her arm over Nevada’s shoulder, hugging her cheek to cheek. Nevada let out a tired sigh.

“Oh god, I can hardly wait.”

__

“They on their way back?”

Sweet sipped on his coffee, looking over Casey’s shoulder. 

“Yep. And now we have another Hull coming back.”

“What.”

Casey took off his headset and rubbed his eyes. 

“You heard right. I’m prayin' she’s not as..."

He waved his headset in the air.

"As eccentric as Alabama.”

“Judging from what I’ve heard about the other Hulls, I’m not holding my breath. Well, good luck with that, Navy.”
Sweet laughed, and turned to walk out the tent, only to nearly run headfirst into a woman trying to step inside.

“Woah, hey, excuse me Miss, this is a restricted area!”

“Pardon me, I’m looking for a Lieutenant Casey.” 

The woman in the entrance replied. She seemed to wearing some odd variation of a Navy uniform, with her sandy blonde hair tied into a short pony tail. A pin shaped like a radar dish kept her bangs out of her eyes.

The two men paused, and shared a look. 

“Uh, yeah, that would be me.”

Casey hooked his thumb at himself.

The woman stepped into the tent.

“Good afternoon, Lieutenant, I’m USS Massachusetts.”

She was answered with stares.

“...I’m Alabama’s sister.”

She spoke slowly, impatience betraying her tone. 

Sweet looked at his cup of coffee, then back at the women standing in front of him. He decided there was something wrong with the coffee. 

“Yo, Casey, you have fun with this. I’m out.” 

Sweet excused himself, pushing passed the woman.

Casey whimpered, and sank into his chair. 

“Oh Lord, why me?”