Colonel Crimson Dawn, Queen Atlanta, and Princess Cadence watched from the Manehattan naval pier as the tattered remnants of the USS Ronald Reagan Task Force began to sail into the harbor at ‘ahead one-third.’ The guided missile cruiser Ticonderoga had journeyed out to meet them as soon as communications were established. What she’d reported back was a sorry sight. A second and even a third Russian force attacked the continually slowing carrier group, claiming the lives of everyone aboard the submarines Scorpion, Omaha, and Annapolis, including the famed undersea sailor Captain Reynolds, who’d turned down a promotion to admiral in favor of ending his career at sea. They were also close to losing the old hit-tanking frigate Klakring. Ticonderoga was currently escorting the heavily damaged ship ahead of the rest of the fleet.
As they watched, Klakring heaved and pitched horribly little with all the water her bilges had yet to pump out. Several continuous arcs of water showed the amount of overwork the Americans were forced to put their machinery through. The frigate approached the pier specially built to accommodate the large American vessels, visibly shaking and audibly wheezing. As soon as she reached it, the skeleton crew aboard her (the rest taken off by Ticonderoga) began to gather on the main deck for standard procedures. Men from the tied-up destroyer John Paul Jones hurried to secure the lines cast.
In that final moment, Klakring gave up. Her overworked bilges ran out of pressure as her engine room flooded. The arcs of water died out, and the sea began spilling through holes originally high above the waterline. The hull groaned, her blackened superstructure became hit by the low waves, and she rested at a slight list to port. Her crew was picked up by small fishing boats waiting around in case.
Cadence sighed. The warship had definitely earned her many battle scars over the course of her decades of service, the princess had heard, and seeing Klakring finally give in to the sea was heartbreaking, even for someone who never knew she existed until now. She walked down the pier, past John Paul Jones, to stand beside the sunken ship.
Captain Reynolds strode to her as soon as his own ship was parked. “She was a good ship. Reagan should be here tomorrow afternoon if there’s no more delays. Before she gets here, the tankers, the last two American submarines in this world, and the rest of the surface escort’ll come in at ten hundred. Reagan and Pennsylvania arrive at thirteen hundred.”
“What’s the news for Old Pennsy’s status?” Atlanta suddenly asked.
“She’s lost her engines. Her amphibious craft took as many as they could and will arrive with the tankers. Any extra will have gone to Reagan. The old battleship’s running on less than a skeleton crew, and they’re the only ones with any experience whatsoever using sails. Problem is, they’ve lost steerage as well, and Reagan’s towing her in. And since there’s a tow cable between the two ships, Robinson can’t go as fast as he’d like.”
Cadence looked at Crimson, who walked down the pier with the rest of the princess’ guard. “How is the naval project going? I meant to ask earlier.”
“It’s fine, ma’am. Operation Soaking Steel is picking up the pace. We should have the first Stardust-class ship ready for christening and launch by fourteen hundred.” He gestured to across the bay, where an ironclad based loosely on Captain Reynolds’ references to the first United States ironclad, USS Monitor, lay in drydock. The ENS Stardust would be the first of her class, followed by Strawberry Sunrise and Dazzleflash, the latter two named for lost heroes of the war effort. The keels of Sunrise and Dazzleflash had been laid just seven hours earlier as Stardust neared the day she would be sent down the drydock into the harbor behind her. “Her maiden voyage is still a week or so away, but she can get to the fitting-out pier.”
“That’s good to hear. These Russians that Reynolds speaks of will still have quite the advantage over us, but this is a step toward closing the gap.”
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Everyone watched as the massive steel ship hove to in the harbor. Above her, a large American flag flapped in the wind, with its Equestrian counterpart beside it on a separate mast. A long, hollow blast came from her horn as she slowed to just creeping along. It was followed by a second note, just as hollow.
Behind the flat-topped vessel sailed a ship much smaller in size if not the power she displayed with her presence. The massive fourteen-inch guns, already trained to starboard, fired a loud and glorious salute to the fort with precision Equestrians could only dream of. Every gun went off at the exact same time. The carrier probably would’ve as well had she any weapons that weren’t machine guns or missile launchers. As it was, she fired a green flare that one would miss if he sailed directly beneath the flight deck.
Reagan reeled in the tow line as fishing boats and ferries took up the slack, nudging Pennsylvania to a shallow basin where her crew could do many of her repairs. The carrier sailed towards the massive American pier jutting into Twin Cantons Harbor.
Celestia looked out at the busy Manehattan Shipyard, built in an inlet past the still-proud Bricklyn Bridge and the ruined Withersburg Bridge. She saw three ironclad warships in varying stages of construction. Her heart sank. Of course Cadence would do what she believed would help them, but Equestria’s navy consisted of ages-old Marine transports for several generations. Each of these was in some form of disrepair, but Celestia knew they’d work in a pinch. The Navy was practically never needed. Now her country was moving to ships even more expensive than what they already had.
Robinson saw it too, through his binoculars. “Based on the old Monitor, I see. Just with what looks like a higher ride height and a deeper hull, probably to help prevent storms from flipping her over. Pretty deep keel. They won’t be drawing any more water than Reagan, though.”
“That’s good to hear. The bottom here isn’t very far from the keel.”
As if to prove the princess’ point, the talker called out, “Four fathoms beneath the keel!”
Robinson nodded to Celestia. “Take your place at the Helm, will you, milady?”
She smiled. “I have the Helm and direct engine control.” The princess then held the wheel still while she mentally ran the math she never thought she’d have to learn, judging the angles and distances. Her hand spun subconsciously, steering Reagan to starboard. The pier disappeared under the Flight Deck and she spun harder. As soon as her instincts told her she was perpendicular to the city, she spun the wheel back to port, cancelling the turn before letting it rest. Celestia pulled the throttle down and then reversed. The massive ship stopped, the water around it churning with little ferocity. She bumped the ground ahead of her with a loud but tiny thump, killing any motion still left.
Robinson looked at her, seeing nervous sweat streaks from her armpits all the way down to her waist. Celestia’s flowing hair had plastered itself to her face as well. She wiped it back behind her ears. “Not bad for your first time piloting her into port.”
“Thanks.” Celestia looked down. “I’m going to change my shirt.”
“Don’t worry about that. You’re home. The alicorn form should be fine.”
“I’m still changing.”
“I won’t stop you.”
She giggled and left the bridge. The normal pilot had retained a position near the wheel, and now resumed his post. The OOD (Officer of the Deck) ordered Engineering to secure all engines and shut down whichever reactor they thought needed inspection most, then switch after said inspections were done and (hopefully) showed no damage. One reactor would provide plenty of power for the time they’d be in port.
Robinson walked to the starboard bridge wing and took in the view of the sprawling cities before him. USS Ronald Reagan, CVN-76, and her escort had finally reached a place to rest.
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Celestia was on a lower deck, staring at the steel hull. Suddenly, the plating opened up to reveal the ship’s “gangplank.” on the other side waited Crimson, Cadence, and Atlanta. She bolted to them as soon as allowed.
“Thank Harmony you’re safe!” The princess’ eyes watered as she embraced her adopted niece.
Cadence returned the hug. For a moment, they just stood there with the other in reunion. Finally, Celestia released Cadence and took Atlanta in her grip, then Crimson.
“I assume the army is somewhere else?”
“Yes, Princess. We’re gearing up for an offensive outside Ponyville. After the fiasco the damn - excuse me, ma’am - the Russians dropped on us when my Queen arrived, the Domination Army is not optional; it’s required.” Crimson stopped when the sailors filed out to their first shore leave in practically forever. “I’m not sure if we can handle all of them.”
“It’s only five thousand plus survivors of other ships. Manehattan will endure.” Celestia replied.
A high-pitched whistle blew from the shipyard, causing Cadence to perk up quite a bit. “Oh, Celestia! Our first ironclad’s being launched in half an hour! You can christen her!”
“Sure.” The white alicorn glanced at Crimson and Atlanta, who only smiled at her confusion. As they headed to the drydocks, Celestia saw the queen and colonel talking about… something excitedly. “What are they up to?”
“Atlanta and Crimson just have a lot of catching up to do still. They’re also planning the campaign and trying to cope with dealing with the Dominion on our side.” Cadence smirked. “It’s amusing.”
“Yes it is.”
“Welcome back, Celestia.”