CSG part 3.

Canadian Shipgirls 3

	Ontario sighed as she walked up out of the water and dismissed her rig, having just led the convoy and the rest of the escort group back into Halifax Harbor. Looking up at the two Seaman waiting with leashes, she returned their salutes.

	“Another successful run ma’am?” one of them asked as they lowered their hands.

	“No contacts this time,” she said, “So yes.” She turned to watch the rest of her escort group come out of the water.

	The four little girls that were immediately behind her simply stepped out of the water like she did, crowding around as they waited for her to lead them back to base. None of them looked much older than about eight, the youngest looking about six and two of them were wearing hockey jerseys. The River class girls on a whole were young and a bit childish but they did their jobs well.

	The other eight “ships” of her patrol group leapt out of the water and onto the docks, jowl’s shaking, tails wagging and tongues panting happily as each of the large black Newfoundland dogs shook themselves of the water they’d been happy to be in. They were the Flower class ships of the RCN, they’d seen a lot of use but were small and whatever caused them to come back had apparently decided they weren’t big enough to be ship girls. The two seamen went to work with practiced ease, each taking a leash and attaching it to one of their four of the dogs, all of whom behaved and sat quietly until they were lead away.

	Watching the dogs leave Ontario turned to the girls, all of whom were waiting on her.

	“Who’s hungry?” she asked, starting towards the barracks complex/kennel that her command lived in.

	“Me, me, me!” announced all four of the girls, each of them taking several smaller steps to Ontario’s one.

	“What do you want to eat?” she asked them.

	“Pancakes and syrup!” cried one of them.

	“Montreal, it’s lunch time not breakfast,” she said a quick glance at the baggy Canadians jersey enough to confirm her identity, “So how about a sandwich?”

	“Kraft!” cried Montreal after that, the cry quickly taken up by the other three, “Kraft, Kraft!”

	Ontario let out a sigh of resignation as the girls cried out for their favorite meal. “Alright, but you have to eat some fruit too.”

	“Kay!” cried Montreal, the other three nodding and following her lead.

	Ontario just shook her head as they neared the barracks. The River’s went through Kraft like, well… Canadian children went through Kraft. Except with appetites that seemed to match their fuel intake on occasion, they had to order and make a lot of it. She still remembered the first time she had handed over an order for one metric ton of Kraft dinner to the quartermaster. The look on the poor man’s face was enough to make anyone feel bad. Though it might’ve also had something to do with the several hundred gallons of good maple syrup and pancake batter that she’d included. He’d gotten used to it, but she was still pretty sure he found it all quite perplexing.

	Opening the door to the barracks let forth a stream of excited giggles, talking and a few screams of happiness. The barracks had formerly been a storage building, cleaned out and furnished with twin beds for the girls. Originally it had been somewhat dull, with only Ontario and a few Rivers and Flowers inside. Now it was covered it drawings, decorations and assorted arts and crafts that had been picked by the River girls. It gave the room the look and feel of an elementary school classroom that just happened to contain a number of beds to sleep in.

	With the general noise level of the barracks it took a minute for the others to realize that Ontario and the escort group had returned, but once they did a number of girls swarmed Ontario.

	“Auntie, Auntie!” cried one of them, which she recognized as HMCS Grou, “Look what I have!” She held up a crayon picture of what looked like Ontario and her, along with several other girls and some big dogs.

	“Thank you Grou,” she said, taking the picture and giving the small girl a hug, “I’ll put it on my wall.”

	Grou giggled and then backed off, a number of other girls wanting attention, hugs and occasional hair rufflings. It wasn’t what Ontario had been expecting from her first command, not at all, but she did her best to keep the girls happy. Eventually most of them ran back to what they were doing before, leaving only three of the girls in front of her.

	HMCS Stettler, New Glasgow and Swansea were some of the girls that had been mothballed and then rebuilt as Prestonian class frigates and served during the 50’s and 60’s as well as during WWII. They’d also managed to gain somewhat more mature personalities during the time, which thankfully gave Ontario some helpers for the rest of the girls.

	“Any trouble while I was gone?” she asked them, to which she got shakes of the head.

	“Breakfast went fine,” said Stettler, “Everyone ate their fruit and drank their juice along with the pancakes.”

	“Valleyfield had bad dreams again,” chimed in New Glasgow, “But she calmed down on her own. You might want to talk to her just in case.”

	“Nothing else to report,” said Swansea, “But we were going to start preparing lunch if you didn’t get back. We can still do it if you like.”

	“We know you’re tired Sub-Lieutenant,” said Stettler, the three before her the only ones who ever used her rank, “And you have to write a report for the Admiralty. We can do lunch.”

	Ontario gave the girls a tired smile, letting her gratitude show through.

	“Thank you girls,” she said, “Make sure it includes Kraft, I promised Montreal and the others since they did a good job on escort duty. I’ll be in my room, dismissed.”

	“Yes ma’am,” the three replied, giving her very brief salutes before heading over to the well equipped kitchen area that had been put in down at one end of the building. Ontario headed towards the other end, where her room was.

	It was comparatively luxurious to what the River girls had, though nothing completely outrageous. They’d managed to cram in a Queen sized bed, which often doubled as a napping place for some of the girls when she was in, a decent sized desk with accompanying bookshelf and chair as well as a small dresser which contained a few sets of clothes she’d picked up for various reasons. Her desk had a sleek modern computer on top of it and the wall above her dresser mounted a flat-screen T.V. that she’d decided to buy on a whim. Several pin boards on the far wall covered with drawings by the girls completed the room. It was simple, but it was home.

	Taking off her uniform cap she hung it on a small peg above her desk before moving to the far wall and adding Grou’s picture to the mass. She smiled looking at all of them; she’d probably need to get another board soon. Her smile disappeared as she settled in behind her computer. While she wasn’t quite an expert on the damn thing, she had become proficient in its use simply due to the amount of times she’d needed to write reports or file requests for food and equipment. Thankfully the number of reports was manageable, mostly due to their uniformly short nature. The only problem was translating them into something the military would understand.

	Shaking her head at the small pile of them at her elbow, she began to translate, one line at a time.

							/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

	Vice Admiral Mark Norman sat and listened along with the rest of the leaders of the Canadian military as his counterpart in the Royal Canadian Airforce, Lieutenant General Michael Hood, finished up his briefing.

	“In short, with the addition of further ship-girl assets we’ve been able to catch up on maintenance cycles and bring all squadrons back up to nominal readiness. We plan to begin increasing the range of our patrol sweeps and stepping up direct convoy escort as needed. Plans for joint training operations with naval assets are in the works but are contingent on force levels and availability.”

	“Thank you Michael,” said General John Vance, Chief of Canada’s Defence staff and highest ranking military officer in Canada, “Anything else to add?”

	“No sir,” responded Hood, “Nothing else in my official report. Though my men wish to pass on their appreciation to Sub-Lieutenant Ontario for the translations she provided.”

	“Translations?” asked Lieutenant General Marquis Hainse, Commander of Canadian Army, looking between Hood and Norman.

	“Some of the River Class girls are... less than professional on the radio,” replied Norman, “So Lieutenant Ontario spoke to them about uniformity and provided a translation guide.”

	“Should we get this guide to all of our forces?” asked Vance.

	“It’s relatively simple,” said Norman, “Standard convoy escort is “Keep away” or two barks from one of the Corvettes. Pursuit of a submerged target is “Hide and Seek” or three barks. Attacking a target is “Tag” and usually a growl. Most of the rest is situational or straightforward.”

	Hainse looked between Hood and Norman before speaking again. “This works for your pilots?” he asked.

	Hood nodded. “I know it sounds unconventional it works. Habit is a hard thing to break and it’s easier to hear an eight year old girl talk about tag or hide and seek than it is to hear them try to describe target acquisition in military terms. It helps with cooperation between units as well.”

	Norman chimed in. “The girls respond much better to the terminology. They’re good at their duties, but a “game” is fun. Official things are boring and they can be a handful.”

	General Vance nodded his head. “As long as it keeps our shipping lanes open they can speak Martian for all I care.” He turned to face Norman. “Admiral do you have any plans for offensive operations or expanded patrols on your end? I understand that your forces are still limited, but my reports are telling me Ontario is likely wasted on convoy escort given the current force dispositions.”

	Norman suppressed a sigh and instead shook his head negative. “Not at the moment sir. While it is true that Ontario is our most potent striking force, we have nothing to support her with. None of the other ship-girls can keep up with her, they top out at twenty knots and she does thirty two. We’d have to pull at least one of our Halifax’s off patrol or standby to give her a proper escort and as thin as we’re stretched it’s simply not feasible given our other commitments. If and when we have a few destroyer girls come back we’ll have a potential patrol group on our hands. Until then the Sub-Lieutenant will have to babysit.”

	Vance nodded his head. “Understandable Admiral, though if you have any destroyers come back try to get that patrol group of yours going as soon as you can. The government is looking for morale boosters and being able to announce we’re going after them on the sea would be ideal.”

	“Yes sir,” said Norman, “I will let you know as soon as anything changes in that regard.”

	The meeting went on for another half hour as other minor points were brought up, but soon after there were no more major points. The Canadian armed forces were at their highest readiness level in recent memory, with more members being inducted every day. The only problem they had was equipment. With only limited supplies of heavy gear, the Navy and Airforce were struggling to increase force levels. The army was doing slightly better, but with no enemies to fight on land expanding too far would do nothing. As it was, shore artillery parties and roaming patrols made the people feel better, but did little to actively combat the abyssal menace.

	Finding his way back to his office, Norman sat down and began to go through the reports on his desk. Most were routine, overall readiness reports, status of emergency building programs and a note from his secretary reminding him that burn day was in another three days.  After sifting through the mass he came across a smaller file, submitted by Lieutenant Anderson. Flipping it open he began to read, quickly taking in the straightforward plan of action outlined in the proposal. Finishing it he set the file on his desk and paged his secretary.

	“Mathilda, please have Lieutenant Anderson come up to my office at his earliest convenience,” he said.

	“Yes sir,” she replied, before he let go of the page and settled back to flip through the proposal once more. It took five minutes for Anderson to show up in his office and take a stance in front of his desk.

	“You really think this has a chance of working Lieutenant?” he asked, holding up the file in one hand, “The US has been putting this off in fear that they might come back wrong.”

	“Sir,” said Anderson, “The Japanese and UK have been summoning everything that they can think of, some of those ships have been gone a lot longer and were treated a lot worse than her.”

	“That is true Lieutenant,” he said, “You think her war service is enough to make her come back?”

	“We won’t know until we try sir,” said Anderson, “If we don’t we’ll never know. If we do try then maybe we’ll get a proper destroyer back to help out Ontario. At worst…”

	“At worst we summon an abyssal,” said Norman, “On Canadian soil.”

	“That’s part of the reason why I suggested Ontario be there sir,” said Anderson, “She would be able to subdue her if she came back as an abyssal.”

	“The other reason?” asked Norman.

	“The other reason I want her there is I think she could influence her to come back as one of our own if there was any question,” said Anderson, his voice dipping a little lower, “Ontario wants to be here, wants to fight. If she asks her to come back…”

	“You think it will help,” said Norman.

	“I think it could be decisive,” said Anderson, “If it came down to that.”

	“Very well Lieutenant,” said Norman, “You have my authorization to get this all prepared. When do you think we can do it?”

	“Give me forty eight hours to get this set up sir,” said Anderson, “We want to do this properly. If you could be there as well sir, I think that would be best.”

	“You get this set up Lieutenant and I’ll be there,” said Norman, “Several hours of my time is worth having another ship back.”

	“Yes sir,” said Anderson, “ Was there anything else you needed?”

	“No,” said Norman, “Just get me that ship. Dismissed.”

	“Sir!” said Anderson, before saluting and then leaving his office.

	Looking down at the folder on his desk, Norman pondered the file marked “HMCS HAIDA” once more before he put it aside. This would either work or it wouldn’t. Anderson seemed confident though and Norman agreed with him. With Ontario there as both backup and added pull, things would be as safe as they could be. He turned back to his desk, where there was always more work to do.

								/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Two days later Ontario found herself standing on the dock next to the most successful surface vessel of the RCN. Haida had sunk more surface tonnage than any other RCN ship during WWII, credited with sinking or helping to sink a total of twelve vessels both above and below the waves. After being briefly de-commissioned she again served her country in Korea, joining exclusive and mildly prestigious “Trainbusters Club” of ships before being decommissioned again, restored, and then made into a floating museum. If there was a ship in the RCN that was respected by all, it was Haida.

	Ontario felt a little small compared to all of that. She had no combat experience, had never fired her guns in anger. Even though she would likely take command of Haida if she arrived, she wasn’t sure if she would feel comfortable in doing so. Still, she would have to try, if only to hold on to her promise. She would defend, would do her best to fulfill her duty.

	Admiral Nelson was nearby and a glance at him got her a slight nod as Lieutenant Anderson finished the final preparations for the ceremony. They were on Pier 9 next to Haida, Admiral Nelson, his staff, a few local dignitaries and the band. Lieutenant Anderson had originally asked for the Stadacona band from Halifax, but upon hearing about the ceremony the band from HMCS Star had demanded to be included, seeing as how they were actually based in Hamilton right next to Haida. So instead of one band they had two.

	“You ready?” Anderson asked her as they finished everything.

	“Yes,” she said, “Are you sure just hoping she’s going to show up will work?”

	“Not in the least,” said Anderson, “But between everything we’ve heard, there’s no one way to summon someone back. This covers most of the bases.”

	“Alright,” said Ontario, already starting to think about what she might try and ask, how she could ask Haida to come back. Ontario was in a position right in front of the bands, closest to Haida. There had been a fierce but brief discussion on what they should actually play during the summoning, which had defaulted back to the National Anthem when it was pointed out that Heart of Oak was the naval anthem of a good portion of the Commonwealth.

	As the first notes of O Canada began to swell through the air, Ontario felt a shiver run through her body. There seemed to be a solemnity that descended over the scene, the noise of Hamilton dimming as the notes began to crescendo. Bowing her head Ontario just let the thoughts flow. How much she needed somebody who had actual combat experience, how much she needed somebody trustworthy to run things more complicated than dinner and keeping the girls happy. How much she needed somebody she could confide to about how unsure she was in running what amounted to over half of the Canadian navy by herself.

	It seemed to take no time at all until the national anthem was over, till Ontario had no more time to send in her heartfelt hope that Haida would come back to the nation that needed her. She felt a vague tug of something in her consciousness; she wasn’t sure how to describe it other than as a mild but good natured grumble. Opening her eyes found nothing changed in front of her, which she found mildly disappointing at first. Turning back to the gathered crowd, she saw blank confused looks in turn.

	“Anything?” asked Admiral Norman, looking between her and Anderson.

	“I felt… something,” said Ontario, “But I’m not sure if it worked or not.”

	“Give it time,” said Anderson, “reports range from instantly to nearly half an hour at the latest.”

	“Well let’s wait,” said Norman, glancing at his watch, “She’s been asleep for nearly sixty years, she may take some time to wake up.”

	“Oy!” came a shout from the rail of Haida, “You all waiting on me?”

	Ontario turned, catching her first sight of the most experienced ship in the RCN. She looked to physically be about fourteen or fifteen, at least several years younger than Ontario herself while being short and solid to Ontario’s tall and lean. Her brown hair was mid length, tied into a low ponytail that sat under a Chief Petty Officers cap. The rest of her uniform matched her cap, the only thing that vaguely looked out of place being the old fashioned tobacco pipe dangling from her lips. Immediately after she spoke, she reached into a pocket and pulled out a matchbook, taking it and lighting the pipe. It was then that Ontario noticed that despite the perfectly clear and smooth skin, her face seemed somehow weathered, as if she’d spent years at sea and survived every last one of them.

	“You just gonna stand there like a bunch of slack jawed layabouts or is someone going to get the lead out of their ass and answer me?” she asked again, her voice carrying clearly despite the pipe and the fact she’d barely seemed to open her mouth.

	“HMCS Haida?” finally called out Norman, stepping forward from the group of officers he’d brought with him.

	“Aye that’s me,” she replied, her eyes focusing on his uniform before coming to attention and saluting him in an absolutely perfect motion, “Sir.”

	Norman returned the salute in a similar manner, before lowering his hand down to the side. “At ease… Chief,” he said, the pause only barely noticeable, “To answer your question, yes we are waiting for you. We weren’t sure if you’d even come back, so we wanted to make sure you had an appropriate welcome. I’m sure you have a few more given the situation and we’d be happy to answer them for you in a more appropriate area.”

	Haida shook her head after lowering her hand, taking a few more puffs of the pipe before speaking. “Not really Sir,” she said, stepping up on the rail and then hopping down in what looked to be a more than mildly difficult maneuver, landing on her knee and then dusting off her uniform, “There’s only one reason why you need an old salt like me and that’s a fight.” She looked about at the city behind them, bustling and alive with no sign of damage. “So the only questions are, where’s it at and who’re we fighting.”

	The corner of Norman’s mouth quirked a little bit at Haida’s questions. “Excellent questions Chief,” he said in reply, “I’ll let Sub Lieutenant Ontario answer them for you, as well as getting everything squared away in the paperwork department.”

	Haida’s head immediately swiveled to Ontario, a glint of recognition in her eye as their faces met for the first time.

	“Yes sir,” replied Haida, before turning to Ontario. “Sir,” she said saluting.

	“Chief,” said Ontario, managing to keep her voice calm as she returned the salute, “I look forward to working with you.”

	“Same here, Sir,” replied Haida, as the rest of the crowd began to pack up, a few coming forward and talking to Norman or Anderson, “Can I get that briefing now?”

	“Right,” said Ontario, “"Let's...let's do that."”

	She just hoped she didn't sound like a nervous ensign while she gave it.