BB-bamalalamamlama

The warm waves of the Pacific splashed against BB-60's grey sides. The 680 foot long monster slid through the evening fog along with the rest of TU 34.8.2. Men readied themselves at that their battle stations as they awaited their orders. Soon Hitachi would feel the fiery steel of America's might.

At 23:10 Alabama's guns roared. Shell after shell flew through dark rain towards their targets. She and the other ships in the task force pounded the complex until 01:10. In the hours of the morning Alabama's guns fell silent, never to be fired in anger again.

-

Water rippled against the hull of BB-60. Alabama hadn't had any guests in months. Even the museum employee's stayed off of her decks. Police tape crossed the entrance to her parking lot, and armed guards kept curious eyes away. Helicopters patrolled nearly constantly overhead, at night their lights casting odd shadows across the decks. Coast Guard patrols kept other craft from getting too close to the old ship.

After the U.S.S. Iowa moved from her berth in the attack on Los Angles, the government wasn't going to take any chances. With the monstrous Abyssals attacking, and no way of knowing who the reanimated ships would fight for, every memorial ship in country was put under constant surveillance. Patrols were even put near old shipwrecks after the U.S.S Arizona made her appearance. The American people remained split between jubilation and wariness of the returning ship girls. Debates raged across the media as to how they should be treated. For now, everyone waited for which ship would reanimate next.

Storms caused people along the coasts to worry in recent times. In nearly every assault by the Abyssals, storms and heavy winds preceded them. Like a dark and angry messenger, the clouds seemed to warn of coming destruction. Soldiers watched with wary eyes as lightning streaked across the sky across Mobile Bay. Radar hadn't picked up any unusual activity across the bay, but no one was taking any chances. Coast guard cutters and helicopters kept their eyes and radar on the horizon. Thunder rolled in with the clouds, its rumbling shaking windows and rattling teeth.

A single bolt raced across the sky, reaching its burning tendrils U.S.S Alabama's mast. Electricity seemed to jump across the ship, from her bow to her stern. Inside, lights flickered and sparked as the high voltage energy washed through the hull. Thunder cracked immediately, shaking the ground and sending ripples through the water.

All around the barricaded perimeter men trained their weapons with renewed intensity at the berthed ship. They waited for something, anything to happen. Seconds that seemed like hours turned into minutes that seemed like days. Alabama remained in place. Some breathed sighs of relief as others let out nervous laughs. Eventually the rain followed, drenching the miserable men below as they settled back into their semi-relaxed over watch. Night followed close behind the clouds, as rain drizzled down on the bay through the night.

Dawn brought clear skies and muggy weather. Warm rays washed across Alabama's deck, while her flags flapped lazily in the breeze. Along the perimeter men continued their watch, while essential industries continued through the city. Low flying C-130's rumbled across the sky, over BB-60, their flyover causing anything not tied down on the ship to vibrate and rattle.

-

In the stern of the ship, a pair of slightly tanned arms stretched over a pile of golden blond hair. A young woman, in her mid-twenties, stretched on her thin cot.

“Hnnnnng. It's sooo noisy out there!”

Swinging her legs over, she hopped off the cot with a jump.

“Wait.”

She looked down at her legs.

“What?”

She stared at her hands and flexed each finger individually.

“What is going on here?”

She quickly made her way to the nearest head, her bare feet slapping against the cold floor.
She ducked through bulkhead and ran the nearest mirror. Her feet squeaked to an abrupt stop. Standing in the mirror in front of her stood a beautiful, young woman with long blonde hair and piercing blue eyes.

“Oh my gawd.”

She worked her mouth up and down after she uttered the quiet words. Alabama knew the words she spoke were English. Memories of men running up and down these halls, HER halls, trailed through her head. Her attention turned back to the image in the mirror. She looked drawn at the two lumps of flesh on her chest.

“Oh my GAWD!”

Alabama spun around, trying to look at herself from every angle.

“OH MY GAWD! I am GORGEOUS!”

Her giggles floated down the halls and bounced around the empty walls of the deck. Alabama practically danced out of the restroom, and bounced to the nearest locker. Flinging the door open, looked through clothes that hadn't been there moments before. She dug through a number of outfits. A dark blue sun dress, was tossed aside, along with something resembling an officer's uniform. A few minutes later she was walking through the ship in a black skirt and top, looking through all the exhibits on her decks. She read intently through every bit of information she could find.

Throughout the ship she saw many photos and names of men she “remembered”. Men who she had felt walk and run across her decks, men who fired her guns, who had fought ferociously, and even the few who died on her decks as well.

“Lucky A, hm?”

She smirked as her old nickname rolled off her tongue. More memories flashed again. Ships she sailed with, ships that weren't able to bring all their men home, or able to come home themselves. A new emotion filled her. She knew it was sadness, and she didn't like it. A small sigh escaped her lips as she let herself lean against the wall. Everything seemed to come in all at once as she slid down to rest on the floor.

“Why?”

The word came out as quite whisper into her knees. Why was she back? Why could she walk? Talk? Like all the men who served on her before. One hand traced small circles on the deck. She could 'feel' the water lap against her hull. The sun beating on her deck. She could even feel the wind as it brushed passed her side.

Alabama's blonde head hit the wall with a soft thump. Well, no matter the reason, she was here. Flesh, and as far as she could tell, blood and bones. She looked at her hand again, studying it with renewed curiosity. She followed each line, each blood vessel. She finally noticed the heat from the interior of the ship-herself. She noticed for the first time the sweat beading on her bare arms. She felt thirsty.

Pushing herself back to her feet, she clapped her hands together to clear off the dust, and then stretched her arms over her head. It would be better to make something of her new time, rather than sit around and mope.

“I suppose it's time to get cleaned up.”

Alabama could hear her hull moan and creak through the halls and bulkheads. Her black boots clicked on the floor as lights flickered on throughout her interior. She looked at every exhibit she passed. It would be such a waste to toss out so much history. So much of her crews stories and life, and that of other ships as well. So many children and adults had learned much about history on her decks.

“So much work to do...”She let out a small sigh. All this work would take hours, days, by herself.

Eventually. her boots carried to her upper decks, reaching a door to the outside.

“Oh my!”

The morning sun lit up the grassy park that composed her museum. Sandbag bunkers surrounded the park perimeter. The already thick humidity made the men seems to jiggle and wave as they moved about.

“Well ain't that somethin'! Looks like I got all the help in the world!”

Alabama grinned to herself. Taking care of the exhibits shouldn't take any time at all.

-

Two soldiers trudged around the cement wall that surrounded Alabama. They were to radio any of activity on or around the ship.

“So do ya think she'll come back hot?”

The young specialist kicked a loose rock into the water.

“Russell, I'm more worried whether or not she'll come back on our side.” Sergeant Brocheque took another bite from his candy bar. “Nahw keef yoor eyes on tha boat.”  He chewed his sentence through the Snickers.

“'Course she'd come back on our side. She's American ain't she? Hell, you and the captain both worry too much.” Russell paused for moment, seemingly trying to gather a thought. “I bet she'd be hotter than Arizona at least. What do ya think constitutes them coming back attractive?”

“I don't know, what makes you ask dumbass questions? This barge probably won't even do anything, anyway. No one's heard a peep since the Arizona came back anyway. Besides, if this rust bucket did come back as a cute girl, what would you do? 'Oh hello miss, I know you've been thousands of tons pile of steel for 80 years, but could I board your stern?'” He pointed at the rear section of the ship as they walked past. “Get real, guy.”

The two men shared a laugh as they rounded the corner of the walkway to the starboard side of the ship.

“So you think a guy can actually get it with one of 'em, huh? I mean, if you're car came back tomorrow, would ya fuck it?”

“Hah! Damn right I would. My Camaro is damn more reliable than my wife.” He spit a stream of chewing tobacco into the bay. “Prettier too.”

“Aw hell Sar'nt, your wife ain't so bad. Just ask Potts!”

“You need to knock that shit off, Specialist.”

Russell’s laugh caught in his throat. Above them, an attractive, young blonde was waving for their attention.

“Yoooohoooo! Boooooyss~” She leaned over her railing, as she waved energetically at the two soldiers walking along the pathway. “Ya mind giving a girl a hand?”

Russell and Brocheque looked at the woman waving enthusiastically above them. Their eyes moved to her ample assets as they bounced dangerously in her black waistcoat, then too each other.

“So, uh, Russell.”

“Yeah?”

“You see that?”

“Yeeeup. I see em.”

“Eyes up jackass!”

“My eyes are up.”

“Goddamnit give me the radio.”

-

Two tired men stared at the private on the radio. Captain Sweet of the United States Army and Lieutenant Casey, liaison for the United States Navy stood over the nervous private.

“You wanna run that by me one more time, Joseph.” Sweet's eyes bore into the younger man.

“He, uh, he said she needed help moving her things, sir.”

“And who is 'she', soldier.”

Casey smirked at his companion’s frustration. There were many protocols and procedures laid out for welcoming the new hulls back to ‘life’, for lack of a better word. Unfortunately the hull's personalities were just as diverse as the crews who had served on them.  From feisty destroyers to sullen battleships, each had presented a different pain in the ass to manage.

“Calm down, Terry.” he put his hand on Captain Sweet's shoulder. “At least she seems to be on our side.”

“For now.” Sweet grumbled as he massaged his brow.

“Let's at least go meet her for now. And help her get moved, I guess.” The shorter man laughed as he grabbed his cover.

“Sure. Joseph, if she makes so much as a sneeze at the city, I want you to have every bit of artillery and close air support we have rain down on her ass.”

-

Lieutenant Casey noticed the woman’s hair first.

Her blonde locks seemed to glow in the morning sun.  Its radiance was only beaten by her warm smile. By the time they reached entrance ramp for the the ship, she seemed to be bouncing with excitement. Casey glanced at his partner next to him. Sweet was tensing up the closer they approached. The two squads of soldiers behind them kept their weapons at the low ready, fingers hovering over the triggers of their M4's.

If she noticed the nervousness radiating from the soldiers, she didn't show it. She only seemed to smile brighter as they neared.

“Hello boooys~ welcome aboard!” She spread her arms as the men stepped on her deck. “Are you fellas here to help me get cleaned up?”

Casey couldn't help but think she cleaned up nicely already. He quickly brushed the thought away. “Welcome back, Alabama.” He stuck his hand out to shake. “We've been expecting you, and I'm sure you have lots of quest—”

His greeting was cut off abruptly as she grabbed his offered forearm and began shaking vigorously.

“Oh goodness, you've been waiting for me?" Alabama began bouncing with exhilaration. "Are you getting ready for another film? Oh my, and everything is such a mess. We have to get everything cleaned up immediately!”

Casey felt himself being dragged across the deck as the short woman pulled him by his arm, with no effort. He looked back to see Captain Sweet and his men tense and jerk their weapons. He quickly waved them down, before Alabama could see.

“Whoa, whoa! I think there's a bit of confusion, miss.”

Alabama twirled around, still dragging the larger man with her.

“Oh?”

“I think it best we introduce ourselves.” He gestured to himself and the fatigue clad men behind him.

Her piercing blue eyes moved from him, to Captain Sweet, and the men behind him. The whole time her smile never faltering. She let go of his hand and gave a small curtsy.

“You are absolutely right; come with me gentlemen! Let’s head to the wardroom.”

-

Casey, Sweet, and the squad of men with them stood in amazement at the sight before them. They had all studied pictures of the ships’ interior, its layout, and many had even visited as guests to the museum itself before the Abyssals.

Everything looked brand new. Not a speck of dust lay on any surface, all the metal shined to a mirror polish. The wooden furniture's finish radiated in the light from the ceiling fixtures. Electricity in itself should have been impossible, with power to the ship being cut off. One of the privates let out a low whistle.

“Have a seat, gentlemen!” Alabama gently pushed the men to the waiting chairs. As soon as she was sure they were all comfortable, she disappeared out the hatch and back into the ship.

“So uh,” one of the sergeants leaned back in his chair. “What now, sirs?”

Casey looked towards Sweet. Sweet looked at Casey.

“Don’t look at me, Navy, she’s one of yours.”

Snickers flowed from the soldiers around the table. The lieutenant felt a grin stretch across his face.

“True enough. At least it looks like she’s on our side.”

“Hmph. That’s to be seen.”

Casey sighed as he powered up his laptop.

“She isn’t shelling the city, or for that matter trying to kill us. So I’ll take that as a good omen.”

“Sorry for the wait!” Alabama’s sweet voice trilled through the bulkhead. Ten sets of eyes grew wide as she stepped back into the room. She had forgone her black skirt and top for a blue sundress, and her radiant blonde hair was not jet black, apart from the yellow roots at the top of her head. “I wanted to go ahead and get ready for my role!”

Casey ogled at the transformed beauty in front of him.

“Your role?” Sweet asked the question for him.

“Why yes! Y’all are here to film right? With all that fancy equipment out there, and those costumes, y’all must need me for another movie, right?”

Silence filled the room like water from an overflowing sink.

“You don’t need me to play as Iowa again?”

Casey opened and closed his mouth several times, and Sweet just began to rub his temples. The silence was snickering from one of the soldiers in the back of the room.

“Dammit Russel shut the fuck up.” Brocheque elbowed his partner in the gut, replacing the giggling with wheezing. Sweet’s tired eyes immediately shot daggers at them from down the table.

“So that’s what Iowa looks like,” one of the men murmured to his neighbor.

All the briefings began flooding back to him again. He finally understood why everyone who dealt with the returned girls seemed so exhausted. Their Japanese allies, having the greatest experience with their “kanmusu”, sent advisors to help the Americans deal with their own returning girls. All of them had the look he remembered on his high school history teacher: fatigued, irritable, and constantly jumpy.  He tried to swallow the lump that was forming in his throat.

“I apologize Miss Alabama, but uh, I’m afraid we’re not here to help you film.”

The smile only slightly faltered, but confusion began to show in her eyes. “There’s no movie?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Oh.” The smile finally turned into a frown. “Well shoot, and I was looking forward to working with Mr. Seagal again too.”

Casey stood up from his seat and walked over to the young woman. It finally dawned on him how short she was: she couldn’t have been taller than 5’ 6”. He stuck out his hand once more to shake.

“I’m Lieutenant Joseph Casey, United States Navy.” She gently grasped his hand.  He noticed how soft her touch was compared to earlier, when it felt like she was nearly ripping his arm out. “To put it simply, we'd like to welcome you back to the land of the living.”