Everything around him was in flames. The fire was slowly consuming his ship, igniting anything on her that would burn. It had been raging for almost an hour now, and he knew that there was probably not enough ratings left alive to fight the fire. There had to be someone else on his ship still alive, becuase he could still make out the steady Bang-Clink-Bang-Clink of the 5" gun cycling rounds, but it would only be a matter of time before that too fell silent. Looking out the shattered bridge windows, he could barely make out their attackers. They appeared only as blurry blobs in his damaged and blood soaked eyes. The ship had no chance of survival, burning and dead in the water, it was only a matter of time before it fell, but it was still damned and determined to take as many of the attackers down to the depths with it.

Captain James Smith, USN, woke from the dream with a shout. He then spent several seconds, frantically looking around the room before he realized what had happened. Even though it had been more than two weeks since that fateful day, he had had that same damn nightmare almost every night since then. From experience he knew that trying to go back to sleep after being woken by it would be pointless. So he simply swung his legs over the side of the bed, and sat still until his nerves calmed and his body stopped shaking. He was startled to hear the door to his little, hospital room being opened, and when he looked up he saw one of the nurse lieutenants stick her head in. "Captain Smith, are you alright," the nurse asked, worriedly.

Smith gave her a dismissive gesture and replied, "I'm fine lieutenant, just memories."

"Do you want me to get Doctor Callahan?" she asked. Commander Callahan was one of the attending psychiatrists here, and Smith's personal shrink.

"No, lieutenant, I'm fine. It was just a nightmare, it's over now," Smith said.

"Very well Captain. Don't hesitate to call me if you need anything," she said before closing the door.

If that nurse does what I she will do, I am almost certainly going to be visited by Doc Callahan sometime today. Well, might as well look my best for the good doctor. Smith pulled himself off of the bed, wincing as a stab of pain came from the four inch long scar on his thigh, and staggered into the tiny, adjoining bathroom. He took a moment to splash water onto his face from the small sink, then looked up into the mirror as he toweled himself dry. Smith had always thought of himself as an average looking man, with fair skin and a tanned complexion. He noticed that his closely cropped brown hair was beginning to gray a bit at the temples. Understandable, I guess, with all the stress I've had over the last year.

One thing he saw in the mirror caught his eye instantly. As if the constant nightmares aren't enough, all I have to do to remember is look into a goddamned mirror, he thought to himself bitterly. He tentatively reached up to run a finger along the web of scars that lined the left side of his face, and over the flap of skin that covered the socket where his left eye used to be. Sighing softly, he stripped down and entered the shower. After he was finished, he went back into his room and pulled a book out of the stack of books on his desk at random, then plopped down onto the bed and began to read. Smith had always been something of an amateur historian, so when he had first been hospitalized, he had made sure that a part of his substantial collection of history books had been shipped to Pearl. He had read and re-read several of them over the last two weeks, mainly out of boredom.

A few hours later his door was opened for a second time, he lowered the book to see Commander Eric Callahan enter the room.

"You gave the nurse quite a scare today Captain," Callahan began.

"I can assure you that I wasn't trying to," Smith replied. Callahan walked up and sat down on the end of the bed.

"I didn't wake you captain, did I," he asked.

"No, I've been awake for a few hours now," Smith replied.

"Nightmares, son?" he asked in a comforting tone.

"Yes, commander, it was a nightmare," Smith replied curtly.

"Captain, I get the distinct feeling that you're trying to avoid me," Callahan said.

Smith sighed before replying, "Yes, I've been trying to avoid you."

"And why is that?" he asked. "I'm only here to help you."

"I've been having nightmares every night for the past two weeks. I don't want you to say I have PTSD or something so I can get drummed out of the service," Smith replied, bluntly.

"Son," Callahan began, "You just came out of a harrowing ordeal, one that would test any man. Nightmares are an expected and normal reaction to a situation like that. Now if you still have the nightmares in six months, then we can talk about PTSD. But until then, you are just as sane as any other man who came out of that battle."

Smith leaned back, a look of relief crossing his face, "Okay doc, thanks."

"You want to talk about it?" Callahan asked.

"What's there to say? We were attacked by the Abyssals, they destroyed our ships, and I was knocked unconscious and dragged away in a RHIB by my master chief," Smith replied.

"You commanded the Evans, am I right?" he asked.

"Yeah, I was her skipper for eight years," Smith replied.

"Do you feel any guilt, for surviving I mean," he asked.

"Doc, I don't think I will ever forgive myself." Smith replied, giving the doctor a hard stare.

"For what."

"For living, when my men didn't. But do I want to join them? No, no I don't," Smith answered, sinking back into the bed and staring at the ceiling. "I lived, I can still make a difference in this fight. Throwing away my life because I feel a little guilty is just stupid."

"Well, captain, I think you've just answered a lot of questions," Callahan announced, standing up, "You have physical therapy in an hour, right?"

"Yeah, I do," Smith replied.

"Okay, then I have some paperwork to go fill out. See you later captain," Callahan left the room, closing the door behind him.

Why do I get the feeling I just said something I shouldn't have. Well, he was right about the physical therapy, might as well get ready for that. He got out of bed and replaced the book on the stack. Then he went over to the bedside table and retrieved a small, black eye patch, which he then settled over his empty socket. Smith had only received the patch recently, and was still getting used to the feel of it. He had learned that seeing the patch startled people less than seeing his empty socket, even though it had completely healed by now. He left the little room and headed for the physical therapy area, knowing that the next hour was going to hurt. Hell, it's going to hurt worse than those damn sea trials back at the academy.

Smith staggered back to his room a little over three hours later. He had spent an hour running laps and doing calisthenics under the watch of one of the physical therapists. Damn people must have been stolen from Paris Island. When he entered his room, he was surprised to see a man he didn't recognize sitting at his desk, flipping through a book. Smith was about to challenge the man, when he recognized the two, silver stars of a rear admiral, upper half, on each of the man's collar points. Instantly hard drilled discipline took over and Smith popped to attention. "May I help the admiral?" he asked.

The man looked up from the book and said, "Ah there you are. Doctor Callahan said you would be back soon."

"I was in the mess getting breakfast. May I ask what you are here for, sir?" Smith asked, desperately trying to identify the admiral. There weren't that many two stars in Pearl. Smith thought that he knew all of them, but this man was unknown to him.

"My name is Admiral Steven Davies, I head up the Department of Management Analysis here in Pearl. I have a proposition for you captain," Davies explained.

"Excuse me, sir, but what is the Office of Management Analysis?" Smith asked, confused.

Davies though for a moment, before replying, "Let's just say that my boss is Admiral Lockart and leave it at that." Smith knew that name immediately, Admiral Thomas Lockart was the current director of ONI, the Office of Naval Intelligence.

This guy is a spook, or at least he leads spooks. What does he want with me, I was never a spook. This wasn't the first run in Smith had had with the intelligence community. They had tried to poach him for intelligence work coming out of the academy, something about the fact that he spoke fluent French, German, and Russian. He had managed to avoid their efforts, and had instead earned a billet as a divo aboard the old Halsey. He had made a career for himself in the surface fleet, serving in various officer billets, both at sea and ashore. So he was a bit confused as to why this intelligence officer wanted to see him. "Sir, what do you want with me?"

"Recently a new unit has come under the command of my organization. It's a bit of an unusual unit, and I need a man to lead it. While going through the service records of possible commanders, your name came up," Davies explained.

"Sir, I was never intelligence," Smith added.

"That's alright son, I'm not looking for an intelligence officer. I'm looking for a surface commander, and you're that in spades," Davies replied.

One question stuck out in Smith's mind, "Why me?"

"Son," Davies began, "You are a gifted commander, who has seen combat against the Abyssals firsthand. Not only seen combat, but proven that you are capable of remaining calm and collected while under fire. I need a man like that to command this unit."

"Sir, I already have a command, with 3rd Fleet," Smith replied.

Davies gave Smith a wistful look, before saying. "The Navy is currently planning on shipping you back to the states, where you will spend the rest of your commission pushing papers at the Pentagon. They quote something about wanting front line commanders to be at the peak of physical condition." Smith walked over and collapsed, hard, into his bed. He had expected something like that to come down the pipe for him. Being shuffled off to some bureaucratic position because he was no longer fit for active line duty due to medical restrictions.

"Sir, what exactly are you offering me?" Smith asked.

"It's a command posting, that draws full at sea pay. You will, however, be spending most of your time ashore, and you will be on the very front lines of our war against the Abyssals," Davies explained. "I would explain further, but as the old cliché goes, these walls have ears."

What do I have to lose doing whatever job he wants me to do? It'll probably beat sailing a desk somewhere, and at sea pay isn't something to sneeze at. "I'll do it, sir," Smith announced.

"Very good," Davies pulled a card out of his breast pocket and handed it to Smith, "Here's my address, be there in an hour and we'll talk more about your assignment." Davies stood up, then pointed to something on Smith's desk, "That came for you while you were out. See you soon, captain." Then he walked out. Smith looked briefly at the card he had been handed, it was a simple business card with an address at the naval base printed on it: Building 1024, room 28. He put the card in his pocket, then walked over to the desk to see what Davies had pointed at. On top of the stack of books was a large cardboard box. He picked up the box and weighed it in his hands. He had a pretty good inclination as to what it contained. Removing a box cutter from the desk, he slit open the tape holding the box closed. Just inside the top he found a piece of paper, obviously inserted by whoever packed the box.

He read it, "I couldn't find any of your old uniforms around the house, so I bought a new set from the navy exchange. See you soon, Commander Sarah Smith." Smith couldn't help from smiling a bit after he read the note. He had been convinced that his wife was an amazing woman when he had married her. Now, ten years later, he still thought she was an amazing woman. He had lost all of his uniforms when they had gone down with the rest of the contents of his cabin on the Evans. Now, without his asking, his wife had bought him a full set of brand new uniforms as replacements. Laying the box on his bed, he began to unpack its contents. When he was done, there was a full set of whites, a set of service khakis, and a set of NWUs laying on the bed. He also found a combo cover and a garrison cap in the box. However, the uniforms were completely bare. A small bag filled with accoutrements was in the bottom of the box. Deciding that the khakis would be the most appropriate – that had been what Davies was wearing – he began to lay out the uniform. He was so busy pinning devices onto the jacket, that he didn't hear Commander Callahan enter the room.

"Getting ready to go somewhere captain?" Callahan's question startled Smith, he looked up to see the man standing in his doorway.

"Yeah," Smith answered, "I got an offer from one Admiral Steven Davies to go work for him. He offered to show me around his shop and give me a rundown of my new billet."

"Well then, I'm sure you will be happy to hear that you have been hereby cleared for limited duty pending a further medical exam," he announced.

Smith looked at Callahan, startled, then asked, "When did this happen?"

"Well, Admiral Davies came by earlier this morning and asked how hard it would get you cleared. I told him that you were physically ready for it, all you needed was a little more mental examination."

Realization dawned on Smith's face, "Our little talk this morning..."

"Was me confirming what I had already diagnosed with you," Callahan finished.

"So what's my prognosis doc?" Smith asked, interest piqued.

"You are a man who has been through a tough ordeal, and as such, has been traumatized by it. However, you are recovering, but I believe that in time, you will make a full recovery," he said.

"Thanks doc," Smith said as he finished buttoning up his jacket.

"Well, captain, I don't think I can say anything else to help you, so I will just say this, good luck," Callahan said before leaving the room. Smith picked up his new garrison cap and placed it snugly on his head. Then he retrieved Davies' card and read the address printed on it one more time. Now to find a ride, or a map. Smith stuck the card in his pocket and left the room.

As it turned out, building 1024 was only three blocks away. Smith was able to find it in about thirty minutes after he left the hospital. Now Smith had seen quite a few office doors during his time in the Navy. Most of them had a sign announcing in some detail what was carried out in the room, and by whom. The door to room 28 didn't even have a room number. Smith had to find it by counting up from room 12, which did have a sign, Officer's Head. Even then he wasn't sure that he had the right room, room 28 had two strong deadbolts on it, making it look like a storage closet. With no other option, he knocked on the door. However, as soon as he knocked, he heard movement inside, then the sound of the deadbolts being opened, and a moment later the door opened just wide enough to reveal a man's face. The man said nothing, but his expression asked Smith to state his business. "I'm looking for room 28," Smith said. The man nodded, waiting for Smith to continue. "I was told to come to room 28 by Admiral Davies," Smith said.

"What's your name, please," the man asked.

"Smith."

"May I see some identification, please," the man asked. Smith reached into his back pocket and removed his wallet, handing the man his officer's identification card a second later. The man studied it carefully, then looked at Smith's face. A second later, he opened the door just wide enough for Smith to enter. Inside was a small area, just enough for a desk. On the other side of the room there was another door, again with two deadbolts. When the man walked over to the telephone on the desk, Smith saw that he was wearing a pistol in a skeleton holster on his back.

"I have a Captain Smith here," the man said into the telephone, "He says he's here for the admiral." There was a pause, "Well, damn, I suppose everyone was told but me. What does he need?" There was obviously a reply, but Smith couldn't hear it. The man put the phone down, then reached into his desk and came out with a clipboard and a small, plastic ID badge. "Sign here, sir," he said. "Just your signature, not your rank and unit." Smith signed his name. The man handed him the badge and said, "This is a temporary ID, you use it until we can get you your own, sir." Smith looked at it before he pinned it on, it was a simple piece of plastic covered cardboard. It said, "Visitor," and had the insignia of Pearl Harbor Naval Station. "This is good for anywhere in the building sir," the man said, "Or almost anywhere. It's not good for the ONI building, or 3rd Fleet HQ. Until you're further cleared, you better stay away from there."

"Okay," Smith said.

The man stuck out his hand, "I'm Petty Officer Hartman, sir. The admiral was a little vague about when you were coming down."

"So I heard you say," Smith said, taking Hartman's hand.

"Well, you're here now," he said as he took out a set of keys and unlocked the second door. "I was told that you're supposed to go see Major Harte upstairs, sir. Someone will tell you where to go when you get there."

"Thank you PO," Smith said as he went through the door. He found a flight of stairs on the other side that led up into a large room filled with a strange assortment of machinery. There were computer monitors lining a wall displaying what Smith thought was a live feed from a satellite, a large touch table displaying a map with photographs overlaid, a bank of photocopiers and fax machines, and a good deal of other equipment that looked expensive and complicated. Smith couldn't even guess the purpose of some of it. The machinery was being operated by a strange looking assortment of personnel, some in NWU's, some in MCCUU's, and some wearing civilian clothes. Smith stood in the doorway watching the people in the room do their jobs with rapt fascination, before he was noticed. A man wearing NWU's and the insignia of a full lieutenant approached him.

"May I help you, captain?" he asked.

"I was told to find a Major Harte," Smith replied.

"Ah, first door on the left," the lieutenant said, and pointed down a hallway.

"Thank you, lieutenant," Smith said. There was a sign hanging on Major Kevin Harte's door. It simply listed his name and XO. Smith found Harte sitting behind his desk when he entered the room. He was a short man, but muscular and so erect, that he looked taller than he really was. His desk was neatly organized, and bore a name board with his name on it. Behind his desk was a second door, this one with a sign that read: "Rear Admiral Steven Davies, Commanding."

"Are you Captain Smith?" Harte asked.

"I'm Smith," Smith replied.

"Admiral Davies told me to expect you. I have some paperwork for you to fill out captain," he said.

"What kind of paperwork," Smith asked, warily.

"Just some transfer orders, a statement of clearance, and a non-disclosure agreement. Basically a lot of signatures," Harte explained. He then reached into his desk and pulled out a stack of papers, which he then slid over the desk towards Smith. "All of the places that need your signature have been flagged, all you have to do is sign them all," he said. Smith removed a pen from his breast pocket and began to work on the paperwork.

Twenty minutes later the door opened, and Admiral Davies walked in. Smith and Harte jumped to their feet out of reflex upon seeing the superior officer. "As you were," Davies said, and the two other men sat back down. Davies turned to look at Smith, then said, "Come on Smith, whatever that is, it can wait." Then he turned to Harte, "Just what exactly is that major?"

"Just paperwork that the captain needs to sign, mostly statements of clearance" Harte replied.

"Well, do you think he can put that off for forty or so minutes while I brief him?" Davies asked.

"Sir," Smith interrupted, "I'm almost done with this."

"Well then, come with me captain," said Davies. He then turned towards Harte and said, "Kevin, why don't you collect everything Captain Smith still needs to sign and get it ready for him. Then go get yourself something to eat."

"Aye aye, sir," he replied. Davies opened the door to his office, then waved Smith in.

"Close the door, would you captain," he said when Smith was in the room. Smith closed the door, then sat down across from the admiral. "I bet you have a lot of questions for me," said Davies. "But first I want you to answer one question for me. What are the Abyssals captain?"

Smith was a little shocked by the question, "Sir, I think you know more about them than I do."

"I want to hear it in your words captain. What are the Abyssals?" Davies asked.

Smith though for a few seconds before replying, "The Abyssals are bio-mechanical lifeforms that are extremely hostile. They will attack anything on the ocean's surface, be it military or civilian, that is not one of their own. Their existence was first confirmed about two years ago, when a Japanese fishing trawler managed to get one on video. They had probably been sighted before then, but had been ignored as some conspiracy theory. Back then the attacks were still small scale, a fishing trawler here a pleasure cruiser there, nothing over a thousand tons Then, about a year and half ago, the attacks stepped up in severity. Larger commercial freighters and tankers, as well as military frigates and corvettes, were attacked, with devastating results. The Abyssals seem to be armed with a variety of small to medium caliber guns and old style dumb torpedoes, which have proven very effective at sinking ships."

Smith paused for a second to take a breath, then continued, "When the navy learned of these attacks, it was put on full wartime alert. Every asset not in workups or dry dock was put to sea. It was about that time that we learned that the Abyssals give off a radar return so small, that it is almost impossible to detect them until they are within spitting range. Two carrier groups were hit in quick succession with massive loss of life and the utter destruction of both groups. This seemed to act as a rallying cry for the Abyssals, and soon the attacks worldwide began to rapidly escalate in severity. Soon it was too dangerous for any ship in the open ocean to continue operating, the sea lanes were cut and there was mass panic worldwide.

"Using the lessons learned from the first two attacks, new strategies were developed and new ideas on how to fight them were put forward. A third carrier was attacked two weeks later, however, this time it was able to stave off the attack, and managed to limp home. Over the next year a pattern of quick strike attacks became the norm, the Abyssals would appear out of nowhere, hit a ship, and then disappear back into the depths. It soon became a war of attrition, and they had the numbers to burn. Navies around the world were rendered useless as their ships were sent to the bottom. We were only able to fight off the Abyssals as long as he have because we had the most ships before the war began. It was about that time that I got hit, and they managed to sink a third carrier in the process."

"Well son, that wasn't a pretty bad summation for a non-Intel officer," said Davies as soon as Smith had finished his brief. "Now, what is your opinion on how the war is going?" Davies asked.

"Sir, we are fighting a war we cannot win. We simply can't match the rate of attrition the Abyssals are maintaining," Smith replied.

"Alright son, you satisfied my need to know that you aren't completely ignorant about our enemies," said Davies. "First, do you have any idea what we do here?"

"Intelligence analysis?" Smith guessed.

"Close," Davies replied, "This office was set up ten years ago as sort of a clearing house for Intel gathered by the fleet. We take information, analyze and find the relevant bits, then send that onto ONI. So when the Abyssals first appeared, we were the first ones to hear about them."

"Sir, what does this have to do with me," Smith interrupted.

"Because we have been gathering and analyzing information about the Abyssals for nearly two years now, we have taken on the role of the de-facto experts on them," Davies explained. "So when information about a new way to fight them came through, we got it first."

"Sir, what do you mean, a new way to fight them?" Smith asked, interest piqued.

"What do you know about the ship girls," Davies asked.

"I don't know much, just what's shown up in the news of late. They're girls who possess the spirit and strength of warships of the past," Smith replied.

"Correct, well, partly at least," Davies said. He reached into a drawer and pulled out a large folder with "Top Secret" liberally stamped across its front. When he slid it across the table, Smith saw that it was full of pictures. "These are snapshots from our Japanese counterparts. They distributed them to all of the major naval powers so that everyone knows just what exactly to look out for in case they start finding ship girls of their own," he explained. Smith picked up the folder and flipped through it. The pictures were of several different young women wearing what looked like pieces of ships on their backs. However, what was most startling about the photographs was the fact that each of the girls were standing on water as if it was solid ground.

Then something that Davies had said clicked in Smith's mind, "Wait, sir, are you saying other navies have started ship girl programs?"

"When the Japanese started to show progress with their program, they divulged all of the details to the UN. Several other navies picked up the baton and started programs of their own." Davies reached into his desk and pulled out a few more photos. He slid the first one towards Smith then said, "Here are the Royal Navy girls Hood and Ark Royal." After Smith had a chance to look at it, he slid the second one over, "The former Kriegsmarine – now Deutsche Marine – girls Bismark, Tirpitz, and Prinz Eugen."

Davies paused before saying, "They have already seen great success with their programs after only a few weeks, so much so that the President asked when we were going to start a program of our own. With the surface boys still busy fighting and licking their wounds, the task fell to the experts on the Abyssals, us."

"Are you saying that we have a ship girl program?" Smith asked.

"Not yet, all we have right now is an empty naval base, on Midway Atoll," said Davies.

"Sir, Midway? Hasn't that base been abandoned?"

"It was, up until about two weeks ago. It got reactivated as a part of the overall war effort, along with half a dozen other bases around the world. We stole it to set up as a HQ for our ship girl program because it's far from prying eyes, it has direct access to the Pacific, it's relatively close to the front lines, and it's got an airstrip long enough for strategic air lifters to land on," said Davies.

"It is, however, still a bit run down. The buildings were abandoned for thirty years, so there isn't much in the way of suitable housing right now. I did manage to steal a Seabee company to go in and build some new living quarters and facilities. So one of your first tasks as CO is to supervise their work," he said.

"Alright admiral, I think I get the picture. When do I leave?" Smith asked.

"In about a week, captain. We want to try to bring a USN ship girl here before we activate the base. No sense wasting taxpayer money on a project that doesn't work. We're going to try tomorrow night, so you might want to be there to watch," said Davies.

"May I make a request, sir?" Smith asked.

"Depends on what it is."

"Can I get my old chief to serve on staff?" he asked.

"You got a name, and know where he is now?" Davies asked.

"He's a man by the name of Rowin Boggs, Master Chief Boggs, and he was the best CMC I ever had under my command. I think he's still in Pearl doing some administrative work," Smith said.

"Well, I'll do what I can, but I'm not making any promises. Before you leave, are you planning on moving into the BOQ?" Davies asked.

"Yes, sir, they cleared me for limited duty, so I'm going to go see about getting a bigger room," Smith replied.

Davies retrieved a sticky note and quickly wrote down a phone number. "This is the number for this office, just call and ask for me if you have any questions," Davies said as he handed Smith the note.

"I don't think I have any further questions, sir," Smith said as he stuck the note in his pocket.

"One last thing," Davies slid the photographs on the table back into the folder, then held it out for Smith, "This has everything you'd ever want to know about ship girls, please read it before tomorrow night."

Smith took the folder, then said, "Thank you, sir, I look forward to working with you in the future." Davies nodded, then held out his hand for Smith.

"Likewise," he said as Smith shook the offered hand. Smith then turned and began to find his way out of the building. Once this was achieved, he started towards the staff officer's BOQ, hoping to get all of his things moved before lunchtime. This has certainly been one hell of a day, he thought as he walked away.

Author's Note: I'll try to keep this short 'cause I know how much everyone hates these things. First, I don't have a beta, and I am terrible at proofreading, so I expect their to be grammatical and punctuation errors in this. Please let me know if you find any. Second, the first couple of chapter are meant as characterization/world-building, there will be a bit more action in later ones. Third, names of ships when referring to the actual ship are italicized, names of ships when referring to a girl, are not.