Blood Week II
Sandy River DL
(Verified Destroyer Leader)
- Location
- Lake Michigan
- Pronouns
- Her/She
Taylor directed a flat look at the hero. "Masks? Why would warships need masks? We've got more important things to deal with than LARPing old comics! Brockton Bay was just attacked by obsidian Kriegsmarine knock-offs flying flags not in any of our recognition manuals!" She then paused, raising one hand to her ear. "Looks like Boston's been hit too. Radio's full of chatter on civilian bands about sea demons and pale women in black."
Armsmaster opened his mouth, but was cut off as sirens began wailing an unfamiliar wavering tone over the devastated city. Within moments the various ashen-faced staffers were rushing back into the structure while the hero growled at whatever he was hearing over his comms, before grimly stating, "As of 1652 hours, the President has declared a national State of Emergency and requested a State of War declaration from Congress, citing massed assaults on coastal settlements by an unknown party. Furthermore, reports of similar attacks are coming in from across the globe. In light of this, full Truce conditions have been instated as per Endbringer Protocols due to the scale of the crisis. Are you willing to lend your services for the duration?"
Water Witch snorted. "Fuck yeah Armsie! Blasting enemies of the USA out of the water is kinda what we're meant for! Of course, I won't be much good 'til morning 'cause a single triple eight-fifty-five ain't much use in a fight and I can't use my planes in the dark. Bullshit, I know, but I don't got the fittings for night ops and my birds are all Pre-War."
"So long as the city gets a blackout and curfew going, we shouldn't have to worry about a night raid, especially since our enemy's probably stretched pretty thin if they've hit every significant population center in gunnery range of the coast. And with it being world-wide, it's unlikely we'll see another strike here for at least a day, if at all. Depends on just how many formations they have and how quickly they can replenish their forces." Both Water Witch and Armsmaster focused on Taylor. "What? I'm a light cruiser. Intel's kinda my thing. Besides, if they had enough assets to hit everything near the sea, they'd be stupid to hold anything in reserve when they could drop overwhelming power on everything we'd need to retaliate. Now, give me a moment so I can grab my scout."
With that the Treaty cruiser pulled away from the Rig, maneuvering to face the bay entrance once more. She then reached up one hand and snagged the inbound Kingfisher's centerline float, causing it to collapse into a miniature version resting comfortably in her outstretched palm. Returning the aircraft to her catapult, Taylor turned back towards her prior location, smirking internally at the palpable bafflement of the government cape observing her. "So, with the low likelihood of further attack, what do you, as senior government official on the scene, think we should deploy for Armsmaster?" the ravenette queried.
"How much use would the two of you be in search and rescue? Brutes, even if merely highly durable are appreciated in that role."
Nodding, Taylor returned "I'd say being armored against five and six-inch gunfire counts, as does one-hundred-thousand horsepower. I think we might also be able to land some crew to help too."
Not bothering to wait for a response from the blue-armored Tinker, who was mouthing soundlessly, the pair of shipgirls turned towards the Boardwalk beachfront for easy access to downtown. As they steamed across the half-mile to land, Water Witch began transmitting. {So, I'm Aisha. You?}
{Taylor. Were you feeling a sense of inescapable dread earlier? Before the attack I mean.}
{Yeah, that was weird. Made me antsy, so I went for a walk along the beach at the Boardwalk. Brian wasn't happy 'bout that though. Still, listening to my overprotective big bro would've meant being stuck indoors, which wasn't really appealing. Good thing I didn't though, as then you'd have had to fight off those fuckers yourself. Five-to-one ain't good odds for a CL, 'specially when capships are involved.}
{That would've sucked. Pretty sure I could've taken the destroyers and Panzerschiffe, but that battlewagon? I doubt I'd have been able to kill it without help.}
As they approached the shore, both cruisers cycled radio frequencies until they found the emergency responder channel, at which point Taylor began broadcasting. {This is USS Lordsport, with USS Water Witch, requesting direction to locations most in need of Strength-Armor Brutes.}
Several moments passed, with the channel quiet, before {I know things have been bullshit since '82, but this is a new level of bullshit. Shore bombardment and a naval battle right outside the bay, and then two girls walk up off the water covered in guns looking to help dig through fallen buildings? I'm getting so drunk when I get the chance.}
Taylor blinked, then looked down at herself. Her normal winter jacket-hoodie-jeans-boots combo was replaced by a gold-trimmed light grey blouse paired with a brass-bottoned white bodice and blue A-line skirt coming halfway down her thighs. She also had knee-length stockings a few shades darker than her blouse and a pair of dark grey thigh-high boots with red feet and blue trim, along with rudders on the one-inch heels. Then, hanging off her hips was a mass of blue-grey steel sporting two plate-sized triple turrets, four twins on panels lower down, and two quad torpedo launchers on the inner surfaces of the panels. Across her chest was shoulder-strap on which a third triple turret was mounted with a semi-grip stock protruding from the back and a black widow spider painted on the roof. All of this linked to a backpack that she more felt than saw, either by directly emerging from it like the turret farm on her hips, or by a long machine gun-style feed belt for the independent turret. Twisting to see over her shoulder confirmed the presence of a tripod mast and a set of funnels dominating the central element.
A glance at Aisha revealed a larger pack on the younger girl along with a small tiered tower on the right side of her head near the start of her purple streak. Her left arm had a small flight deck stretching from elbow out to around her fingertips while her right hand clutched a two foot long triple turret and a smaller twin mount sat just behind that shoulder. An almost business-like white sleeveless dress shirt, a matching navy-blue tie and side-slitted pencil skirt with belt, dark grey pantyhose, and ruddered dress shoes made up her outfit.
Taylor then turned back to the task at hand and made another broadcast, {So, anyone who isn't contemplating alcoholism have anything to say? We'd really rather help out than stand around.}
{Well, one of you could come to Third and Pier and clear a path so that Brockton General can be evacuated, then dig out of what's left of ER,} came an absolutely drained feminine voice a moment later. Then a second transmission came in {If you aren't both needed for the hospital, we could use a Brute at Seawind Meadows. We have multiple partially collapsed apartment buildings here and a lot of survivors trapped inside and a significant fire risk.}
Aisha turned south and called over her shoulder, "I'll take the apartments, since I've got more firefighting gear. You've got a better deck for taking falling concrete too, so you'll do better at the hospital." Taylor nodded and set off inland towards the nearest street she could take to Brockton General.
Under normal circumstances, one could expect to walk from the Boardwalk to the Bay's main hospital in around ten minutes on average. With a dozen twenty-eight-centimeter shells having landed in the area, it took Taylor closer to an hour to cover the quarter-mile between the two locations. Between craters, rubble, and smoldering asphalt, the light cruiser had had to make multiple detours and do a fair amount of climbing, during which she had discovered how to stow her ship elements for better mobility. Even without the extra bulk, the ravenette's pace didn't increase much simply because of the devastation inflicted on the hospital's surroundings.
By the time she reached Brockton General, the building was swarming with rescue workers and a bulldozer had cleared the Third Avenue entrance of debris. Taylor, therefor, made her way to the crumpled structure of the Emergency Wing on Pier Street, calling up every gunnery crew she could as she did in preparation to start sifting through the rubble for survivors. Upon reaching the edge of the hospital, she crouched down, laid a hand palm up on the ground, and gave the order to disembark. Everyone, including her, stared as three-inch tall people in World War Two sailor's uniforms began pouring out of her sleeve and into the wreckage in front of her.
"You know," Taylor said aloud, "I was expecting normal people who could bolster the number of workers digging, but tiny searchers are probably far more useful…"
Beside her a man in disheveled firefighter's gear responded "I heard we were getting a Brute, not a Master!"
The teen shrugged. "Far as I know I'd probably get most of the list thrown at me. Let me know where I can start moving things off and I'll use my crewmen to find openings and people." Ignoring the wary glances from the surrounding rescue workers, she then plucked a warped I-beam out of the ruins and carried it to a near-by debris pile where she'd seen others moving cleared rubble.
As the hours past, suspicion waned as Taylor's crew found an increasing number of survivors and helped safely remove unstable portions of the wreckage that would have likely collapsed otherwise. Now with midnight nearing, progress was beginning to slow as exhaustion set in for the ordinary responders and relief workers from inland would not be arriving for several days. Then one of the cruiser's petty officers reported an examination room with three living occupants, one of whom was awake. Taylor immediately shifted her effort to clearing an opening to access that location.
As soon as the ravenette had dismantled an unstable section that separated her from the loose wreckage remaining between her and the room, her sonar operator reported a large impact on the far side. Moments later a Japanese destroyer of the Akizuki-class burst from the rubble in a cloud of dust and plowed into Taylor in a sprinting tackle-hug. The younger girl's chatter was too fast-paced for the American's radio operator to translate properly, but the gratitude was clear enough. Extricating herself from the smaller shipgirl and sending her off to get something to eat, Taylor picked her way through the newly made path to check on the other two survivors.
Inside the room were two more girls, one blonde and the other brunette, both dressed in white. The brunette stirred as Taylor entered, looking up at her with bloodshot hazel eyes set in a freckled face. "Who…?" A yawn cut her short.
"Taylor, or Lordsport. Either's fine, as both are my name. Now let's get your cute butt out of here, along with your friend." Internally, the cruiser blinked. Did she really just say that? Since when did she like girls? Then she felt her captain smack her upside the head and remind her of just how often she would sneak looks at some of her female classmates who weren't active participants in the bullying. Putting that revelation to the side, Taylor walked over to the blonde to collect her for transport back to the street. She then stopped and turned back to the brunette, who was sporting a massive blush. "Um, is she safe to move, or does she have any injuries to be mindful of?"
"V-vick… erm… G-glory Girl's fine, just sleeping off a minor case of shock. I healed everything else hours ago…" Panacea replied, apparently somewhat flustered. Lordsport's boiler temperature began to rise as she realized that she had just flirted with an actual hero and was rescuing both her and another member of the New Wave team. That… that was not something she'd expected to do today. There'd been a lot of that though, honestly.
Armsmaster opened his mouth, but was cut off as sirens began wailing an unfamiliar wavering tone over the devastated city. Within moments the various ashen-faced staffers were rushing back into the structure while the hero growled at whatever he was hearing over his comms, before grimly stating, "As of 1652 hours, the President has declared a national State of Emergency and requested a State of War declaration from Congress, citing massed assaults on coastal settlements by an unknown party. Furthermore, reports of similar attacks are coming in from across the globe. In light of this, full Truce conditions have been instated as per Endbringer Protocols due to the scale of the crisis. Are you willing to lend your services for the duration?"
Water Witch snorted. "Fuck yeah Armsie! Blasting enemies of the USA out of the water is kinda what we're meant for! Of course, I won't be much good 'til morning 'cause a single triple eight-fifty-five ain't much use in a fight and I can't use my planes in the dark. Bullshit, I know, but I don't got the fittings for night ops and my birds are all Pre-War."
"So long as the city gets a blackout and curfew going, we shouldn't have to worry about a night raid, especially since our enemy's probably stretched pretty thin if they've hit every significant population center in gunnery range of the coast. And with it being world-wide, it's unlikely we'll see another strike here for at least a day, if at all. Depends on just how many formations they have and how quickly they can replenish their forces." Both Water Witch and Armsmaster focused on Taylor. "What? I'm a light cruiser. Intel's kinda my thing. Besides, if they had enough assets to hit everything near the sea, they'd be stupid to hold anything in reserve when they could drop overwhelming power on everything we'd need to retaliate. Now, give me a moment so I can grab my scout."
With that the Treaty cruiser pulled away from the Rig, maneuvering to face the bay entrance once more. She then reached up one hand and snagged the inbound Kingfisher's centerline float, causing it to collapse into a miniature version resting comfortably in her outstretched palm. Returning the aircraft to her catapult, Taylor turned back towards her prior location, smirking internally at the palpable bafflement of the government cape observing her. "So, with the low likelihood of further attack, what do you, as senior government official on the scene, think we should deploy for Armsmaster?" the ravenette queried.
"How much use would the two of you be in search and rescue? Brutes, even if merely highly durable are appreciated in that role."
Nodding, Taylor returned "I'd say being armored against five and six-inch gunfire counts, as does one-hundred-thousand horsepower. I think we might also be able to land some crew to help too."
Not bothering to wait for a response from the blue-armored Tinker, who was mouthing soundlessly, the pair of shipgirls turned towards the Boardwalk beachfront for easy access to downtown. As they steamed across the half-mile to land, Water Witch began transmitting. {So, I'm Aisha. You?}
{Taylor. Were you feeling a sense of inescapable dread earlier? Before the attack I mean.}
{Yeah, that was weird. Made me antsy, so I went for a walk along the beach at the Boardwalk. Brian wasn't happy 'bout that though. Still, listening to my overprotective big bro would've meant being stuck indoors, which wasn't really appealing. Good thing I didn't though, as then you'd have had to fight off those fuckers yourself. Five-to-one ain't good odds for a CL, 'specially when capships are involved.}
{That would've sucked. Pretty sure I could've taken the destroyers and Panzerschiffe, but that battlewagon? I doubt I'd have been able to kill it without help.}
As they approached the shore, both cruisers cycled radio frequencies until they found the emergency responder channel, at which point Taylor began broadcasting. {This is USS Lordsport, with USS Water Witch, requesting direction to locations most in need of Strength-Armor Brutes.}
Several moments passed, with the channel quiet, before {I know things have been bullshit since '82, but this is a new level of bullshit. Shore bombardment and a naval battle right outside the bay, and then two girls walk up off the water covered in guns looking to help dig through fallen buildings? I'm getting so drunk when I get the chance.}
Taylor blinked, then looked down at herself. Her normal winter jacket-hoodie-jeans-boots combo was replaced by a gold-trimmed light grey blouse paired with a brass-bottoned white bodice and blue A-line skirt coming halfway down her thighs. She also had knee-length stockings a few shades darker than her blouse and a pair of dark grey thigh-high boots with red feet and blue trim, along with rudders on the one-inch heels. Then, hanging off her hips was a mass of blue-grey steel sporting two plate-sized triple turrets, four twins on panels lower down, and two quad torpedo launchers on the inner surfaces of the panels. Across her chest was shoulder-strap on which a third triple turret was mounted with a semi-grip stock protruding from the back and a black widow spider painted on the roof. All of this linked to a backpack that she more felt than saw, either by directly emerging from it like the turret farm on her hips, or by a long machine gun-style feed belt for the independent turret. Twisting to see over her shoulder confirmed the presence of a tripod mast and a set of funnels dominating the central element.
A glance at Aisha revealed a larger pack on the younger girl along with a small tiered tower on the right side of her head near the start of her purple streak. Her left arm had a small flight deck stretching from elbow out to around her fingertips while her right hand clutched a two foot long triple turret and a smaller twin mount sat just behind that shoulder. An almost business-like white sleeveless dress shirt, a matching navy-blue tie and side-slitted pencil skirt with belt, dark grey pantyhose, and ruddered dress shoes made up her outfit.
Taylor then turned back to the task at hand and made another broadcast, {So, anyone who isn't contemplating alcoholism have anything to say? We'd really rather help out than stand around.}
{Well, one of you could come to Third and Pier and clear a path so that Brockton General can be evacuated, then dig out of what's left of ER,} came an absolutely drained feminine voice a moment later. Then a second transmission came in {If you aren't both needed for the hospital, we could use a Brute at Seawind Meadows. We have multiple partially collapsed apartment buildings here and a lot of survivors trapped inside and a significant fire risk.}
Aisha turned south and called over her shoulder, "I'll take the apartments, since I've got more firefighting gear. You've got a better deck for taking falling concrete too, so you'll do better at the hospital." Taylor nodded and set off inland towards the nearest street she could take to Brockton General.
Under normal circumstances, one could expect to walk from the Boardwalk to the Bay's main hospital in around ten minutes on average. With a dozen twenty-eight-centimeter shells having landed in the area, it took Taylor closer to an hour to cover the quarter-mile between the two locations. Between craters, rubble, and smoldering asphalt, the light cruiser had had to make multiple detours and do a fair amount of climbing, during which she had discovered how to stow her ship elements for better mobility. Even without the extra bulk, the ravenette's pace didn't increase much simply because of the devastation inflicted on the hospital's surroundings.
By the time she reached Brockton General, the building was swarming with rescue workers and a bulldozer had cleared the Third Avenue entrance of debris. Taylor, therefor, made her way to the crumpled structure of the Emergency Wing on Pier Street, calling up every gunnery crew she could as she did in preparation to start sifting through the rubble for survivors. Upon reaching the edge of the hospital, she crouched down, laid a hand palm up on the ground, and gave the order to disembark. Everyone, including her, stared as three-inch tall people in World War Two sailor's uniforms began pouring out of her sleeve and into the wreckage in front of her.
"You know," Taylor said aloud, "I was expecting normal people who could bolster the number of workers digging, but tiny searchers are probably far more useful…"
Beside her a man in disheveled firefighter's gear responded "I heard we were getting a Brute, not a Master!"
The teen shrugged. "Far as I know I'd probably get most of the list thrown at me. Let me know where I can start moving things off and I'll use my crewmen to find openings and people." Ignoring the wary glances from the surrounding rescue workers, she then plucked a warped I-beam out of the ruins and carried it to a near-by debris pile where she'd seen others moving cleared rubble.
As the hours past, suspicion waned as Taylor's crew found an increasing number of survivors and helped safely remove unstable portions of the wreckage that would have likely collapsed otherwise. Now with midnight nearing, progress was beginning to slow as exhaustion set in for the ordinary responders and relief workers from inland would not be arriving for several days. Then one of the cruiser's petty officers reported an examination room with three living occupants, one of whom was awake. Taylor immediately shifted her effort to clearing an opening to access that location.
As soon as the ravenette had dismantled an unstable section that separated her from the loose wreckage remaining between her and the room, her sonar operator reported a large impact on the far side. Moments later a Japanese destroyer of the Akizuki-class burst from the rubble in a cloud of dust and plowed into Taylor in a sprinting tackle-hug. The younger girl's chatter was too fast-paced for the American's radio operator to translate properly, but the gratitude was clear enough. Extricating herself from the smaller shipgirl and sending her off to get something to eat, Taylor picked her way through the newly made path to check on the other two survivors.
Inside the room were two more girls, one blonde and the other brunette, both dressed in white. The brunette stirred as Taylor entered, looking up at her with bloodshot hazel eyes set in a freckled face. "Who…?" A yawn cut her short.
"Taylor, or Lordsport. Either's fine, as both are my name. Now let's get your cute butt out of here, along with your friend." Internally, the cruiser blinked. Did she really just say that? Since when did she like girls? Then she felt her captain smack her upside the head and remind her of just how often she would sneak looks at some of her female classmates who weren't active participants in the bullying. Putting that revelation to the side, Taylor walked over to the blonde to collect her for transport back to the street. She then stopped and turned back to the brunette, who was sporting a massive blush. "Um, is she safe to move, or does she have any injuries to be mindful of?"
"V-vick… erm… G-glory Girl's fine, just sleeping off a minor case of shock. I healed everything else hours ago…" Panacea replied, apparently somewhat flustered. Lordsport's boiler temperature began to rise as she realized that she had just flirted with an actual hero and was rescuing both her and another member of the New Wave team. That… that was not something she'd expected to do today. There'd been a lot of that though, honestly.
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