- Location
- North Carolina
Against the Odds (Kantai Collection/Worm AU)
Timeline Post X
- Location
- North Carolina
7 July 1898
The former Spanish Armored Cruiser Cristóbal Colón weighed anchor and began to leave Key West, passing the American Dynamite Cruiser Vesuvius as she did so. She had been ordered to head to the newly incorporated city of Brockton Bay up in New Hampshire, more specifically to Lords Port Naval Yard for overhaul. The United States Navy had drawn up plans to rip out her current armament and install an American-manufactured armament of four 8-inch guns, ten 6-inch guns, sixteen 3-inch guns, and 18-inch torpedo tubes. The Maxim Guns she had onboard had already been removed and had been handed over to the US Army for testing at the Sandy Hook Proving Ground to see how they compared to the M1895 Machine Gun that was the current US Army and Marine Corps standard issue. The only aspect of her original armament that she would maintain would be her 37mm Pom-Pom of which two were going to be sent to the Naval Gun Factory for possible reverse engineering as the weapon offered to be a significantly better weapon than the old Gatling Guns for last-ditch defense against torpedo boats.
Her spirit was frankly confused about the whole matter - she couldn't remember the last time a ship had been captured and put into service by a hostile power. Yet the Americans seemed to be ready to treat her already as one of their own - if anything, that made her hopeful. Spain had rejected her main armament that her original builders, Italy, had outfitted her with due to being 'defective' in their own words. More than that, Spain had never replaced her main battery and then had sent her on what had been essentially a death ride. She was now, flying a new national flag and heading to a place she had never heard of before.
The former Spanish Armored Cruiser Cristóbal Colón weighed anchor and began to leave Key West, passing the American Dynamite Cruiser Vesuvius as she did so. She had been ordered to head to the newly incorporated city of Brockton Bay up in New Hampshire, more specifically to Lords Port Naval Yard for overhaul. The United States Navy had drawn up plans to rip out her current armament and install an American-manufactured armament of four 8-inch guns, ten 6-inch guns, sixteen 3-inch guns, and 18-inch torpedo tubes. The Maxim Guns she had onboard had already been removed and had been handed over to the US Army for testing at the Sandy Hook Proving Ground to see how they compared to the M1895 Machine Gun that was the current US Army and Marine Corps standard issue. The only aspect of her original armament that she would maintain would be her 37mm Pom-Pom of which two were going to be sent to the Naval Gun Factory for possible reverse engineering as the weapon offered to be a significantly better weapon than the old Gatling Guns for last-ditch defense against torpedo boats.
Her spirit was frankly confused about the whole matter - she couldn't remember the last time a ship had been captured and put into service by a hostile power. Yet the Americans seemed to be ready to treat her already as one of their own - if anything, that made her hopeful. Spain had rejected her main armament that her original builders, Italy, had outfitted her with due to being 'defective' in their own words. More than that, Spain had never replaced her main battery and then had sent her on what had been essentially a death ride. She was now, flying a new national flag and heading to a place she had never heard of before.
Whose in Charge?
The following is a transcript of a Youtube video by Royal Navy Historian Alex Docklington posted in 2012.
The CINCPACFLT debacle of 1941 - Who is in command? And where is he?
As the fires were still being fought while others were desperately trying to save their shipmates, another issue arose. The air attack not only crippled the battle force of the United States Pacific Fleet, they had, albeit indirectly, decapitated the command of the Pacific Fleet when a 37 mm shell most unhelpfully smashed into the US Navy Pacific Fleet Submarine HQ, specifically into Admiral Kimmel's office, where he and his next in command Admiral Pye were sheltering. This left command of the fleet at anchor at the hands one dazed Admiral Isaac Kidd, who must be said, did an excellent job of commanding the salvage effort which would see all but two of the fleet's battleships salvaged" his flagship, USS Arizona, and USS Oklahoma, which took so long to right that she was ordered scrapped at war's end.
Kidd was still sorting out the mess when on December 8th, Admiral Halsey came in with his taskforce, consisting of USS Enterprise and her escorts. Halsey was enraged by what he saw of the Pacific Fleet, which led him to utter his famous line about hell being full of Japanese. Halsey quickly made his job to get his aircraft carrier and their escorts loaded up with fuel, ammo and spares and get them out to sea as soon as possible. He allowed himself to be briefed by Admiral Kidd about the situation in Pearl Harbour. Kidd recalled seeing Halsey becoming increasingly infuriated as he informed Halsey how licked the Pacific Fleet was.
Kidd left the briefing to get back to the work of getting the base back to running order. At the same time, Halsey was itching to get back at the Japanese as soon as possible and he already had a target: Wake Island, which was screaming for reinforcements because the Japanese decided that Wake was part of their Great Co-Prosperity Sphere and wouldn't take no for an answer. Halsey in his haste had not realized the odd fact that Kidd briefed him on the situation and not Kimmel, but he somewhat understandably surmised that Kimmel was busy with the clean-up operation and had instructed Kidd to brief Halsey on the situation.
Kidd on the other hand made the erroneous assumption that Halsey had already been informed of Kimmel's death and was to take command of the fleet. So you can imagine his surprise when Admiral King called on December 9th, inquiring where in God's name was Kimmel and Pye; he was expecting a report of the situation from one of them and not Kidd. Kidd explained as best he could to Admiral King that neither Kimmel or Pye could give the report as both men were more a pile of flesh and bones than functional naval officers. This however gave Kidd pause; if Admiral King wasn't aware that the CINCPACFLT commander was dead, it was most certain that Halsey wasn't aware either. Any more thoughts on the matter were halted when King asked who was in command of the Pacific Fleet to which Kidd replied automatically, Admiral Halsey; to which King then asked was Halsey aware that he was the commander.
It was then that Kidd's stomach sank to the bottom of the harbour as in his shaken state, he had not told his new boss that he was in fact the boss of the fleet. Kidd immediately and as best he could ended the call with King and raced out to find Admiral Halsey; however, when he arrived at the carriers' berths, he was horrified to find an empty carrier berth and that the harbour was not as crowded as before. He contacted the Nevada if they had seen an angry carrier and escort head out to sea to which the crew of the Nevada, rather confused, said yes, they saw Enterprise and her escorts sail out early in the morning. It would not be until December 12th at the Battle of Wake Island before Halsey finally got the message that he was the new CINCPACFLT until a new replacement could be arranged. This meant, for the first time since the age of sail, a theater commander saw active battle and luckily for Halsey, his action to provide relief to Wake Island to reinforce the base ended in success as the island held against the Japanese attempts to take it.
The CINCPACFLT debacle of 1941 - Who is in command? And where is he?
As the fires were still being fought while others were desperately trying to save their shipmates, another issue arose. The air attack not only crippled the battle force of the United States Pacific Fleet, they had, albeit indirectly, decapitated the command of the Pacific Fleet when a 37 mm shell most unhelpfully smashed into the US Navy Pacific Fleet Submarine HQ, specifically into Admiral Kimmel's office, where he and his next in command Admiral Pye were sheltering. This left command of the fleet at anchor at the hands one dazed Admiral Isaac Kidd, who must be said, did an excellent job of commanding the salvage effort which would see all but two of the fleet's battleships salvaged" his flagship, USS Arizona, and USS Oklahoma, which took so long to right that she was ordered scrapped at war's end.
Kidd was still sorting out the mess when on December 8th, Admiral Halsey came in with his taskforce, consisting of USS Enterprise and her escorts. Halsey was enraged by what he saw of the Pacific Fleet, which led him to utter his famous line about hell being full of Japanese. Halsey quickly made his job to get his aircraft carrier and their escorts loaded up with fuel, ammo and spares and get them out to sea as soon as possible. He allowed himself to be briefed by Admiral Kidd about the situation in Pearl Harbour. Kidd recalled seeing Halsey becoming increasingly infuriated as he informed Halsey how licked the Pacific Fleet was.
Kidd left the briefing to get back to the work of getting the base back to running order. At the same time, Halsey was itching to get back at the Japanese as soon as possible and he already had a target: Wake Island, which was screaming for reinforcements because the Japanese decided that Wake was part of their Great Co-Prosperity Sphere and wouldn't take no for an answer. Halsey in his haste had not realized the odd fact that Kidd briefed him on the situation and not Kimmel, but he somewhat understandably surmised that Kimmel was busy with the clean-up operation and had instructed Kidd to brief Halsey on the situation.
Kidd on the other hand made the erroneous assumption that Halsey had already been informed of Kimmel's death and was to take command of the fleet. So you can imagine his surprise when Admiral King called on December 9th, inquiring where in God's name was Kimmel and Pye; he was expecting a report of the situation from one of them and not Kidd. Kidd explained as best he could to Admiral King that neither Kimmel or Pye could give the report as both men were more a pile of flesh and bones than functional naval officers. This however gave Kidd pause; if Admiral King wasn't aware that the CINCPACFLT commander was dead, it was most certain that Halsey wasn't aware either. Any more thoughts on the matter were halted when King asked who was in command of the Pacific Fleet to which Kidd replied automatically, Admiral Halsey; to which King then asked was Halsey aware that he was the commander.
It was then that Kidd's stomach sank to the bottom of the harbour as in his shaken state, he had not told his new boss that he was in fact the boss of the fleet. Kidd immediately and as best he could ended the call with King and raced out to find Admiral Halsey; however, when he arrived at the carriers' berths, he was horrified to find an empty carrier berth and that the harbour was not as crowded as before. He contacted the Nevada if they had seen an angry carrier and escort head out to sea to which the crew of the Nevada, rather confused, said yes, they saw Enterprise and her escorts sail out early in the morning. It would not be until December 12th at the Battle of Wake Island before Halsey finally got the message that he was the new CINCPACFLT until a new replacement could be arranged. This meant, for the first time since the age of sail, a theater commander saw active battle and luckily for Halsey, his action to provide relief to Wake Island to reinforce the base ended in success as the island held against the Japanese attempts to take it.
Onslaught 2.9
- Location
- North Carolina
"7 And when he had opened the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the fourth beast say, Come and see.
8 And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him. And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth." - Book of Revelations 6:7-8 King James Version.
8 And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him. And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth." - Book of Revelations 6:7-8 King James Version.
Major Richard Hunter
(Multiple Blue Force Indicators have gone dark! The enemy is attacking Brockton Bay!) Corsair all but shouted as the Owl's engines came online and with speed well past supersonic, the fighter raced towards the city of Brockton Bay. Blasting over the Adirondack Mountains and rapidly approaching the Green Mountains. The city of Brockton Bay was nestled up against the White Mountains and even from here, through the vast array of sensors of the Owl, Richard could see the flashes of bomb blasts blooming against the surface, the streams of tracers racing into the sky, and the curling trails of missiles.
Allied units were blinking off of his HUD as enemy bombs destroyed either the BFTs or the units they were attached to. This was carnage, the enemy had sent two bomber forces. The smaller one was indiscriminately bombing civilian population centers while the larger one was plastering Pease AFB meanwhile just to the north of Lords Port, Brockton Bay International Airport had been hit as well, and one of the above-ground fuel storage tanks had ruptured and the Jet-A was now spreading across the ground like a burning flood.
(Kei, time to missile range?) Richard grunted sharply as he resisted the urge to push the fighter into WEP which would dump Rocket-A into the exhaust in addition to normal fuel. But so fresh off an orbital hop, god knew if the frame could take the acceleration forces.
(At Mach 2.25, three minutes thirty seconds! If we can push it up to Mach 2.75, much less!) Kei snapped and Richard nodded.
(We'll remain at Mach 2.25! Tracks?) Richard decided he didn't want to push the airframe too hard, especially when they were likely about to be in a twisting, maneuvering dogfight.
(Solid tracks on twenty aircraft with no IFFs - looks like eight are hitting Brockton with the rest smashing Pease! Heads up, another heavy group, looks like about sixty aircraft with no IFFs swinging in from the south! We had aircraft dogleg in the vicinity of Boston, possibly a mix of carrier-based bombers and fighters! Another heavy group, eight fighters with IFFs, coming out of the West! The Soviets are here, I got Flankers!) Kei called and Richard cursed in surprise, how the fuck did the Soviets get Flankers this far west?
(Interrogate them immediately!) Richard snarled over the MIU. If this was a trick, then they would be in serious trouble actually as airspace was already very damn crowded. Not to mention the distinct lack of friends to help them in the face of so many enemies.
(Interrogating!) Kei snapped back and Richard waited tensely for several seconds before finally the relieved voice of his SIO came back to him via the MIU. (They're friendly! I am tagging them as such in the Battle Network.)
Richard exhaled in relief as Corsair automatically tagged the Flankers as friendly, that was good actually. This meant that he actually could very well fight this out now as now he wasn't facing impossible odds anymore. He could delegate this actually, if he set the Flankers on the enemy forces sweeping in from the south while he focused on the enemy over Brockton Bay that way they could effortlessly mop the enemy up.
(I'll inform the Flankers that they're to hit the enemy force moving in from the south, we can handle the bombers.) Richard informed Kei before keying his radio. "Attention incoming Soviet Flankers, this is Corsair, I recommend you engage enemy aircraft approaching Brockton Bay from the south!" he barked.
There was a pause before a heavily accented English voice responded. "Da, Corsair, Strigon Squadron can handle it. Good Hunting!"
"Good hunting!" Richard called back, the phrase was old, referring back to World War I.
Then he glanced at the range and said two words. "Go live."
In an instant, the Owl's powerful FCS system went from passive search to active tracking. Richard can practically taste the surprise of the drivers of those Flankers as their RWRs and LWRs begin chirping at them simultaneously. The various tracks that were on the radar almost instantly firmed up, each dot went from having a small probability circle indicating where it probably was, to having a solidified track and firing solution. It was something that Richard had come to enjoy seeing vastly, the enemy seemed to have a field that was severely fucking with radar, but lasers cut right through it.
(Multiple locks! AMRAAMs on your trigger!) Kei called out over the MIU.
"Fox Three! Fox Three!" Richard called as he pressed the trigger cleanly - the forward bay door snapped open revealing six lethal AMRAAMs which rippled away from the rotary launcher as the pneumatic system kicked them clear, and then their motors ignited as the missiles blazed away like streaking daggers. The rotary launcher then cycled to the next station and six more AMRAAMs leaped off the rails, then the doors snapped shut.
Guided via telemetry transmitted via datalinks the AMRAAMs closed on their targets which glowed brilliantly in their receivers as their radars also quested for the enemy which had no idea that they were closing in on them. The missiles kept closing at an extremely high rate of speed until they passed a certain point. The telemetry went quiet and the radars went from passive search to active tracking. They already knew where the targets were, the datalinks had provided them with a solid enough picture that even though the dots that their seekerheads could see grew fuzzy, it wasn't enough to assure a miss.
On the horizon, fireballs twinkled as the Owl closed as the missiles impacted their targeted bombers, of the dozen targeted, only two survived, judging by how they were flying. Those two aircraft were both badly damaged, they swept north, obviously trying to get away from the city. Likely to give their crews the best chance of survival for when they inevitably came down. Richard elected to ignore them and focus on the remaining aircraft as anti-aircraft fire from the vicinity of LPNY managed to down another two bombers.
To the east, his radar picked up missile launches. Four, eight, twelve, and thirty-two R-77s were in the air and screaming towards the incoming strike wave that was swinging in from the south as the Soviets engaged, ripple shooting their medium-range missiles at the enemy. But something was wrong, their missiles weren't tracking anywhere near as well as what was even considered normal in this war so far. Richard snarled as he realized that a new surprise had just been dropped on them.
Great. (Corsair!) He queried the AI.
(Already on it, Strigon Leader is not happy about it.) Corsair replied.
(Got it.) Richard responded as his fighter now closed rapidly, shrieking towards a merge. The enemy bombers were seemingly sluggish due to the sheer speed at which the AI was helping his brain process information, one thing was for certain though, he was going to need to be semi-stingy with his remaining missiles. He only had eight AIM-9Xs and six AIM-120s left and there was a shit ton of enemy fighters.
He switched to guns and brought the piper up; strangely, the bombers that the AMRAAM attack had maimed were the closest ones to him. The farther one saw him coming and began to dive for it while the other one seemingly accepted its fate. Bringing the piper up, the twin GAU-13s roared and twin cones of red tracers were spat from the Owl. The effect was devastating, everything aft of the trailing edge of the wings was blown to fragments in an apocalypse of fire, shattered chitin, and torn metal that sent the ruined remains of the bomber tumbling end over end.
The diving bomber sprayed frantic defensive fire, but the guns that could bear, couldn't track fast enough as the Owl hauled itself across the sky - the tracers falling short as one of the nacelle bays snapped open and an AIM-9X Sidewinder kicked clear. The Block III weapon's electro-optical enhanced IIR/UV seeker immediately caught the engines of the enemy bomber in its deadly gaze as its rocket motor fired, very rapidly accelerating the gleaming white spear to supersonic. Then the missile several seconds later, buried itself in the right wing and ripped the entire structure away.
Richard pulled Corsair around as the remaining enemy bombers started to scramble away for safety while over the bay proper a furball was developing. The Flankers were mixing it up with the enemy fighters and they seemed to be winning that one as there were multiple trails of fire arcing down towards the ground. The night vision systems of the Owl allowed Richard to determine who seemed to be winning that one.
Smiling grimly, he closed on the last eight bombers which were scattering now. Racing in, he closed on one of the bombers who never saw him coming until a burst from the GAU-13s demolished the tail and left wing, which was left disintegrating amidst a streak of fire.
A quick glance at the radar showed that two of the Flankers had already died, dammit. But considering that they were mixing it up with nearly thrice their numbers of enemy fighters. The thing that seemed to be keeping the remaining six Flankers alive was the fact that the enemy appeared to be actively tripping over each other and as it was, the Flankers had already downed about a dozen enemy fighters.
He pulled up, gaining altitude over the enemy bombers that were fleeing, and then dove again. He lined one up, fired a half-second burst, and ripped one bomber in half outright at the aft wing root, the bomber catastrophically broke up and plunged from the sky in flames. Thanks to his HMD, he still had enough time to fire a Sidewinder at another, the targeted bomber survived the missile hit intact but its controls locked and the plane entered a dive.
The carrier-based dive bombers started their runs on Fort Dearborn which retaliated with what weapons had survived the first day of the war. Tracers rose up to cage the bombers as they plunged towards their target as did, projected by the computer system on his HMD, the strobing red lances of light from the Fort's surviving lasers. Richard however pushed that out of his mind as he focused on the fighters, another Flanker had gone down which had resulted in a fourth bugging out, headed north, probably vectored towards NAS Bangor. Thus, electing to ignore the bombers he swung Corsair around and quickly accelerated towards the dogfight that the Flankers were now losing as the fighting was devolving into a series of twisting-turning fights. He brought up his missiles, engaged the multi-target mode, and rippled off two Sidewinders with a simple call of "Fox Two! Fox Two!"
Neither enemy fighter knew what hit it and suddenly one of the Flankers was clear to freely maneuver and it immediately arced up and raced to the aid of his wingman. The Gsh 30-1 cannon fired a very powerful shell and that weapon fired a brief burst, one of the fighters disintegrated and the other broke away, then the hunter became the hunted as the Flanker it had been pursuing rolled around and let an R-74 fly with predictable results.
The remaining four enemy fighters broke off and dove for the deck.
Then, without warning, Fort Dearborn erupted like a fiery volcano, chunks of concrete and metal flew through the air amidst a towering fiery mushroom cloud. "JESUS CHRIST!" Kei shouted, so loudly, that he was able to hear her clearly over the roar of the engines, even though she was wearing an oxygen mask.
(Corsair! What the fuck was that?!) Richard demanded as the Owl shook as the shockwave belted the aircraft.
(Magazine for Battery Two went up! Fort Dearborn is checking on Battery One, but the base commander is already fearing that the mounts are jammed!) Corsair replied and Richard swore vividly.
"Right." He keyed his radio. "All surviving Strigons, on me. Assume orbit over Brockton Bay, we're on top cover now."
Far to the south, a blinding series of flashes erupted, three minutes later, much closer and to the north another series of flashes bloomed. He recognized that was naval gunfire.
Emma Barnes
A warbling wail made the tall redhead want to duck as enemy shells from the eightieth salvo roared in and then they impacted amidst a heavy clang forward, eleven great plumes of water shot skywards. "We've been bracketed!" someone called.
"Helm, shift your rudder!" Emma called as she peered through her binoculars, trying to figure out what in the world she was facing. With a great roar, her own tens crashed out in unison hurling six shells into the sky back towards her opponent - followed immediately by the sixes that could bear. Their concussive shockwave left Emma's ears ringing loudly as the shells rose into the heavens. She needed to get illumination on that thing somehow and she wasn't going to risk using searchlights, but she wasn't in arc for the 4-inch guns yet even as her hull shifted and slewed around her main battery slowly tracking the enemy as her hull turned.
The horizon illuminated again as the guns of her enemy crashed out in unison. Whatever it was, it had a dozen guns in its main battery, but the configuration wasn't normal like hers which ruled out the British Black Prince class Large Cruisers. This meant that she was likely facing a Pendragon class Large Cruiser - which wasn't good. Those ships had been designed alongside the Royal Oak class and the N3 class and thus shared many of the features - machinery located aft with the main battery clustered around the Queen Anne's Mansion superstructure forward. They were armored similarly to the Venerable class with a full 7 inches of armor on the belt but had an inclined belt similar to the big Nelson class, thus to call them a terrifyingly tough nut to crack was a massive understatement. The fact that they had a dozen 9.2-inch Mark XII Guns and eight 4.7-inch Mark VIII Guns didn't help matters.
The shells plunged down, twelve great plumes of water from the 9.2s followed by four smaller plumes from the 4.7s. Emma gritted her teeth as her own guns responded, yes, she was zigzagging, but that's because she knew that she needed to get close. The heavy concussion of her ten-inch guns was a dull whump of sound that rattled her bones sending shells hurling into the sky. Meanwhile, her six-inch and four-inch guns were slamming out rapid-fire salvoes, hurling red tracers at the Abyssal.
She looked back on her bridge and barked an order. "Come around bearing 265, open up our A-Arc!" she barked.
"Come to bearing 265, aye!" The helmsman said and he shifted her rudder, causing her hull to shift through the surf and spray as more columns of water erupted and more enemy shells landed sharply, something went bang aft and Emma gasped.
"What in the hell was that?" she croaked.
"New hole in the forward funnel!" The talker, Mister Hutchinson called.
"Fuck me! Get the aft sixes and fours involved, or this bastard might very well tear us apart!" Emma snarled.
"Ma'am!" Hutchinson called a moment later. "Forward control top reports that there are enemy destroyers! First World War R class! About six of them!"
"Great! Get the Fletchers and Alert up here! We need them to screen us properly and someone find out what the hell that blast in the vicinity of Brockton Bay was!" Emma shouted her next set of orders as her guns retaliated with a whumping thud of noise from the heavy tens, the rapid-fire slamming of the 6-inch and 4-inch guns, however, increased in intensity as more barrels were brought into play.
This time her efforts from her main battery were rewarded with a blinding flash of a hit on the enemy, but where and what damage it possibly did, she couldn't tell. The darkness was too much to tell if she had been effective or not. But as ten splashes rose amidst fire illuminated bases and there was a heavy bang aft. One thing that she did know was that the enemy had found the range.
"Helm, open the range!" She barked as her guns roared again, the heaving whump of noise rattling her bones.
"Ma'am! Report from Admiral Holloway! That blast was the magazine for Fort Dearborn's Battery Two going up! Fort Dearborn is completely out of action!" Mister Hutchinson shouted and Emma swore viciously as she took another hit, a loud crash of noise as steel tore from the hit, causing the redhead to yelp in pain. She glanced down at the ragged red gash, she could take a beating like this, but for how long was another matter entirely.
Still, the fact that the battery had exploded was not good - as that had effectively crippled the coastal defenses of Brockton Bay as those heavy guns were the meanest things around for shore defenses.
"Goddammit! Mister Hutchinson, I want our spotters to try and spot anything beyond the enemy! I have a sinking feeling that there's a reason for the madness as to why this large cruiser is here and not bombarding Brockton Bay!" Emma snapped as three flashes erupted on the enemy ship as her guns landed heavy blows. Still, Emma was now suspecting that something about this engagement just wasn't right.
Primarily because it didn't make any sense. Something this big and powerful should be more focused on Brockton Bay instead of blocking her from getting back to the city to resume her vigil. So why were they blocking her? Unless. Unless.
"Mister Hutchinson!" she shouted, horrified. "Inform Admiral Holloway that he has a hostile landing incoming!" That was the only reason why this Pendragon class was here, it was explicitly fighting tooth and nail to prevent her from getting into a position to destroy the landing ships. But a landing of the size needed to open up another theater of operations would have been much larger than this.
That meant only one thing, this was a raid. Similar to what the Slaughterhouse 9 usually did and thus this was going to be a quick in-and-out adventure for them. Emma brought her ten power binoculars up and peered at her enemy, trying to find them. The flash of the guns in the gathering gloom was the only way that she could see them now, this would never do. She needed to illuminate that bastard.
Her fire control chiefs must have been reading her mind for starshells started bursting down range bathing the battlefield in ghostly light. A moment later, star shells burst over her hull with a series of shrieking cracks. The battle continued to rage and Emma indeed could see the destroyers that were protectively sheltering around their charge.
"Ma'am!" Mister Hutchinson called.
"What is it?" Emma shouted back as the decking shook under her feet as her main guns fired, followed immediately by the secondary and tertiary guns.
"Battleship Montana reports that they're engaging enemy ships off the coast of Rockport, it's nothing she can't handle but it will delay them," Hutchinson reported and Emma cursed loudly as another shell landed nearby and detonated with a thunderous roar of sound that hurled shrapnel and spray in all directions. A shell burst like that could only mean one thing and one thing… the enemy had switched to high explosive - which meant that things were likely going to get a lot more painful from here.
She was proven right two minutes later when a shell impacted her near the ruins of Turret III. "Son of a bitch!" Emma roared in pain, clutching her side as blood and oil squirted between her fingers as a crackling heat began spreading within her, the wound stung like a thousand knives. "Fuck! Fuck!" she mumbled, that hit had hurt worse than the thirteen-inch AP hits she had taken at the Battle of Saco Bay.
"You alright ma'am?" Someone asked.
"I am fine! That just, ow! The enemy has switched to high-explosive." Emma snapped in reply through gritted teeth as her guns slammed out their steel and fire in response - the shells arced through the air and she saw flashes for sure on target. Then the enemy's guns flashed.
Several seconds later Emma shrieked in pain as a shell slammed into the base of her aft mast, the lattice came tumbling down amid a roar of sundering steel and snapping cables, sending the immense structure tumbling into the water amidst blinding pain for the girl-who-was-also-a-ship. Her hand came up to touch her face and Emma realized that she had lost an eye entirely - it having been replaced by a ragged bloody gash from which blood cascaded down the front of her face. She realized faintly that it was likely a good thing that Taylor wasn't here to see it, another thought came to her, Mom was going to freak. On the bright side, she hadn't been knocked out immediately, but she was more dependent on more than just her own eyes which were as sharp as her optical rangefinders now given that her aft rangefinders were destroyed.
Exhaling she put more trust in her lookouts as the clash around her continued as shells kept falling and the guns kept roaring and the hits kept piling up. She was doing damage, she knew that she was, but Emma wasn't sure if she was doing enough damage fast enough to actually have a chance to win this engagement.
Mister Hutchinson called out again. "Ma'am! Report from one of the destroyers! Enemy ships on radar are entering Brockton Bay!"
Emma cursed loudly at that for there was nothing she could do about it.
The fact that Brockton Bay was under attack caused the great bureaucratic engine that was the American Armed Forces to quickly analyze the ongoing situation and react. Almost immediately, a C-17 Globemaster III that was en route to New York City loaded with Battle Flares was diverted to the city, ready to turn night into day to the city of Brockton Bay.
Right behind it came a flight of eight freshly reactivated F-105 Thunderchiefs and their escort of F-16s which had been rerouted from a sortie heading into New York City. Furthermore, an Armored Cavalry Regiment which had passed through the city heading to New York City just hours previously was ordered to turn around and haul ass back to the city - the unit was fully equipped with the new Ridgeway IIIs, M8A2 Buford Armored Gun Systems, and Stillwell Main Battle Tanks. Meanwhile, to the west, the New Hampshire State Militia ordered two formations to head to Brockton Bay - the Militia in question was like many of the State Sponsored Militias that had been created in the wake of the 1993 Militia Enhancement and Enforcement Act which effectively expanded the line about a "Well Regulated Militia" in Amendment Two of the United States Constitution and were considered supplements to the National Guard. These two formations like all State Militia Forces used a mixture of ancient and modern equipment, but their combat effectiveness was unknown, but they were fighting to defend their homes and thus would fight like bastards.
These ground forces were to reinforce the Marine Security Regiment located in Brockton Bay that was responsible for defending Lords Port Naval Yard and Pease Air Force Base, along with what was left of the Brockton Bay Parahuman Response Taskforce and Brockton Bay Police Department - plus the various capes and gangsters. The United States Armed Forces considered this battle do or die for the entirety of the United States East Coast because if the enemy managed to kill Admiral Holloway, it could effortlessly shatter what was left of the Atlantic Fleet and leave that entire coast completely undefended and at mercy of the Abyssals. This was a state of affairs that was completely unacceptable.
But this still left the matter of the ships that were forcing their way into Brockton Bay, past the guns that could fire and putting up sufficient anti-aircraft fire that the planes already on station couldn't make their attack runs out of fear of being shot down; their tracer fire illuminating the sky while faceless soldiers manned their boats and eldritch duplex drive tanks - which then began their voyage. As they reached Southshore, New Hampshire, ramps dropped causing the boats to release their deadly cargoes while the tanks roared ashore. There was no resistance to be found in that part of the city, the meager defenses of Brockton Bay having been concentrated further north fearing a strike aimed at Lords Port Naval Yard or Brockton - this meant that they advanced rapidly.
Within minutes the marina and the fishing docks were completely overrun, the surviving dock workers who had stayed behind to try and find survivors amongst the rubble were almost completely massacred - the few survivors having started running as soon as they had spotted the boats coming in. With the fishing docks secured within barely twenty minutes, the Abyss moved into the city proper.
Southshore, New Hampshire due to wind patterns hadn't been affected by gas like Lords Port and Brockton had been, the exact reason for this was rather unknown. But it had made things easier for triaging gas victims to a considerable degree - now though, the area that had been thought to be safe, very much wasn't as enemy troops and tanks began to run riot through the streets - killing almost everyone in their path. Ironically, the ones killed by the Abyss, it would turn out were the lucky ones.
A young girl hid in an alley as the method grinding of tracks echoed nearby while boots thumped against concrete and pavement. If she could just get her hands on a gun, she could shoot her way to safety. She crouched, ready to spring as a squad approached. They moved into sight properly covering each other, she adjusted her aim and sprang, her hands tightening upon the surprisingly hot barrel, but she held on and tried to yank the weapon away. The soldier had much better leverage however thanks to the rifle and proceeded to use the weapon to violently hurl her to the ground, something in her chest creaking alarmingly as she landed.
Gasping for breath, the girl tried to roll onto her back so she could then start running only for a boot to place itself upon the small of her back. She looked up into the faceless soldier, down the barrel of the rifle, but before she could try anything else, a grip like iron grabbed each of her arms and she was hauled up to her feet so violently that she feared that her arms were going to be dislocated. Then she looked over her shoulder as another of the faceless soldiers pulled out irons and chains that were painfully clamped around her wrists. A hand then planted itself between her shoulders, she stumbled and with tears leaking from her eyes, allowed herself to be frog-marched in the direction from which the faceless soldiers had come as she prayed for her brother to save her.
Elsewhere in Southshore, another woman on oxygen lay in bed when she suddenly heard gunshots and screaming. She cautiously moved her head towards the tent entrance. When suddenly a group of faceless soldiers charged in and snapped out orders in words that were wrong and grated on her ears. She felt nothing but fear as she pulled her mask off and put her hands on her head. Walking out of the tent revealed a massacre, at least twenty members of the local Yakuza lay dead along with the capes Cricket and Krieg along with at least that many of the faceless soldiers. Thus under armed guard, she, along with dozens of others, was shepherded to the rear and all she could think about was how this wasn't good.
Kid Win
High above Southshore, a drone hovered, its anti-gravity drives humming softly. Its multifunction sensors grabbed 8k images of the butchery and frantic holding actions in the city as the Brockton Bay Yakuza along with a few scattered capes were pushed slowly back by the armed assault. It wasn't good, the Yakuza were fighting like bastards but the limited numbers of anti-tank rockets were telling, but what was telling was the trail of devastation that Oni Lee was leaving in his wake. Whether he went, whole squads of enemy infantry died to grenades, knives, and the revolver that he carried.
Kid Win glowered at the tablet screen as he watched the 'battle' unfold. Caught flat-footed and unable to quickly move troops because of damage to infrastructure. They were mobilizing but the big question right now is would they be able to arrive in time or would everyone in Southshore be massacred? He tightened his grip and then looked up, Armsmaster was furiously directing the response and he flicked through several screens on his tablet until he got to the battle plan screen.
It was already coming together - the Marines and PRT were going to move into a blocking position to prevent the enemy from swinging north toward LPNY. They would then skirmish with the enemy until the ACR, the 25th out of Maine, arrived from the South along with two formations from the New Hampshire State Militia, the 5th and 21st New Hampshire State Rifles. Then airstrikes and cruise missiles would come in and at the same time, they would start their advance. It was a classic four-layer envelopment attack. In which the first layer was ground forces, the second layer was artillery, the third layer was air strikes using iron bombs, and the fourth layer was cruise missiles launched by ships in the Gulf of Maine.
Well, Kid Win thought as he saw the battle plan, at least Southshore will be open to widespread urban renewal later. This sort of plan was likely going to do damage of some kind to over sixty percent of the buildings in Southshore. But all he could think about was as he looked at the force dispositions and he realized that this was going to be bloody.
"Kid Win! Come on!" Rune said and Kid Win looked up, Rune was standing in front of him, wearing body armor judging by how her cloak looked, secured to her back was a quiver filled with long rods. She moved nervously, Kid Win noted that the pistol, a revolver of some kind, sat snugly in a holster.
"Coming, hey, do you know how to use that thing?" Kid Win asked as he grabbed his recently built full-face helmet and slapped it on.
"The revolver?" Rune asked nervously and Kid Win nodded in response. "No, not really. I've gone through familiarization courses, Armsmaster was a taskmaster on that, but beyond that." she trailed off and Kid Win grunted, was it only the 4th of January? It didn't feel like it.
"So I guess it's your OS weapon then?" Kid Win asked as he placed his hoverboard on the ground and activated it, the device hummed softly and rose about a half meter in the air.
"OS Weapon?" Rune asked as she stooped and drew something with her fingers in the sidewalk slab she was standing on, with an unholy roar of noise, the slab came free and started to hover in the air.
"Oh shit weapon, basically something happened to you and you lost your primary weapon and you have a bad guy that you need to shoot or stab right now. Armsmaster carries a bastard sword as his OS weapon. I have had my regular laser pistols for mine ever since I built this thing a day and a half ago." Kid Win said as with a hiss, the butt of a rifle appeared over his shoulder and Kid Win unslung a laser rifle, the main lens glimmered in the low ambient light that was available.
"Yeah, you could say that," Rune said in a worried tone.
"Hey, we got this Tammi." Kid Win said he had seen the tail end of Rune's breakdown yesterday and like Gallant had unmasked.
"Thanks, Chris," Rune replied and she took a deep breath. "Any idea what we're doing?"
"According to Armsmaster's plan, the two of us are to check the line of probable advance towards the bridges that cross the Piscataqua River and if the enemy isn't using those, we're to try and find where they actually are." Kid Win said and Rune grunted.
"Merchant Territory at least around the first bridge, on Archer's Street. Who the fuck knows how Skidmark and his crew will react," Rune snarled and Kid Win exhaled, that was the fucking truth, the Merchants didn't abide by any of the Unwritten Rules. It had long since put the Merchants on the shit lists of just about everyone, but the problem was that they had a tinker who specialized in making fuck off powerful vehicles.
"Hey, if we're lucky, they were stoned out of their minds when the gas dropped and thus, they're dead." Kid Win said and Rune huffed out a laugh at that.
"Good, fuck'em." The villainess grunted out firmly and her concrete slab rose higher and higher into the sky, Kid Win engaged his hoverboard and did the same thing.
"How high do you want to go up?" Kid Win called.
"Five stories should get us high enough that we're relatively hard to spot in the darkness. Thank Scion for the blackout order." Rune said and her slab began to level off.
"Ain't that the truth, I have to ask though, why aren't we checking the Lord's Street Bridge? The enemy would be fools not to use that." Kid Win said and Rune groaned.
"That's because of the petroleum fire from that complex. The wind is blowing that smoke, so anyone who tries to cross it will probably choke and die from the fumes." Rune explained and Kid Win nodded, that made as much sense as anything.
"Let's head to that bridge and do some recon." Kid Win said and he brought his board through a fast turn, the light from the rampaging inferno that was the former petroleum complex caused a slight glow in his armor as he turned towards the east. The flashes of gunfire outside the harbor and the low, heavy, whumping thundercracks of the cannons was a steady drumbeat that contrasted sharply with the roar of the flames and the steady crackle of gunfire. It was something that was damn unnerving, but as they flew Kid Win couldn't help but think about how if he tuned out the gunfire that this could be Brockton Bay after a Lung Rampage through the outskirts of Empire 88 or Lavere Crime Family territory. It was oddly, despite the insanity - oddly - normal for Brockton Bay.
Normal. He could work with that actually as finally some part of this horrible week seemed to finally be making sense. He could already in his mind's eye replace Rune with Aegis and while it hurt, thinking of him. It made the sense of normalcy seem out of place, Carlos and Dennis were dead and they wouldn't be coming back and yet - the fact that things did feel at least semi-normal put him at ease. Before them, a yawning chasm with black water ran through it, the mighty river that flowed through the heart of Brockton Bay like a pounding heart.
The Archer's Street Bridge wasn't the massively impressive steel and concrete through-arch bridge that the Lord's Street Bridge was, it was a more traditional box-sectional highway bridge with six wide lanes. Kid Win decided to follow the bridge and he raced over it, Rune in hot pursuit. From there, they started to proscribe a circle that checked the main roads that approached the bridge. Meanwhile, Purity's blazing form shone like a star to the east, tracer fire caging her - in response, she fired and a stream of white light lanced down and an explosion erupted.
Wow, if it weren't for the dull roar of naval guns and the fact that he could see ships in the vicinity of Southshore that reeked of hatred and evil. He really could believe that this was just a regular day in Brockton Bay and thus he turned his gaze away from the coast and looked down at the streets. A lot of them were filled with people, just regular people, running for their lives to get away from the monsters that were coming in from the east - interspersed amongst them however, holding the street corners, were people of the Brockton Yakuza, informally known as the ABB, and they were uniformly armed - and not with only pistols. But she was seeing a lot of submachine guns and even full-blown assault rifles, he cataloged their weapons using the sensors in his armor. Mostly things like Uzis and Erma MP66s for submachine guns but there are quite a few AR-10s and AR-15s with a couple scattered Klashinkovs.
Rune broke into his train of thought. "I must admit, I keep on expecting Oni Lee to appear and chase me off," she said numbly as they completed another sweep.
Kid Win couldn't help it, he laughed at that. "Yeah, same here. But I can't help but wonder where he is."
"Given our luck? He's probably fucked off somewhere." Rune grumbled and Kid Win snorted.
"Yeah, that would be typical of our luck so far." Kid Win said and there was a snort from the Empire 88 Cape.
"True, I, what's that?" Rune said pointing and Kid Win followed her gaze. Shapes were moving through the streets with purpose, covering a massive hulking thing that was slowly and methodically advancing.
"No idea!" Kid Win said his helmet didn't have the best night vision system, mostly because the damn thing had been a rush job to get himself something that was fully CBRN rated, and as such, secondary systems had suffered. Most notably the night vision system, it wasn't that much better than Gen I Night Vision, decent enough for navigation purposes, but not so much for fighting. Rune appeared to have a more advanced set of night vision goggles that she had acquired from somewhere.
"I am going to investigate," Rune said and she descended, Kid Win readied his newly made laser rifle as he assumed overwatch for her as she descended.
A line of blinding green and white tracers erupted, streaking into the heavens. Rune rose frantically, shouting about how it was the enemy.
From the hulking monstrosity, flame and smoke belched from a protruding tube followed by sound, Rune's cement slab disintegrated and she fell the equal of several stories to the ground below. It wasn't the smoothest of landings, in fact, judging by how she hit the ground, Rune had probably clipped something with her foot. "RUNE!" Kid Win yelled and he dove, his laser rifle firing - streaks of red light spearing into the midst of the enemy as illuminated by his HUD.
The tank, which was the only thing it could be, opened fire with what could only be a heavy machine gun. The rapid fire slam slam slam of its voice and the deadly tracers it spat caused Kid Win to steepen his dive as he bolted towards the deck. But he wasn't fast enough for his hoverboard to jerk and started whining ominously while on his HUD, alarms and alerts flashed. Shit, no! He thought as a scattering of rifle fire came his way now and he tried to evade, but his board was just too badly damaged. Bullets thunked into it and smoke billowed while through his feet, he felt heat bloom.
Swearing, he dove off the board, three seconds later it detonated with a heavy thunderclap that shattered windows and set off about fifty car alarms. His landing was a sloppy tumble that if Shadow Stalker had seen it, would have given him grief for it as she was probably the best gymnast/acrobat on the team - even though it wasn't saying much - she had still arguably gotten them into better shape than ever before. Gunfire cracked, he brought his laser rifle up and fired several times, this time something screamed and fell.
The tank fired again, the shot landed semi-wide, and the concussion from the shell exploding hurled him to the ground while shrapnel pinged off his armor. He came up to a kneeling position and fired his laser rifle methodically - but the slapdash vision systems worked against him here as the flash from the beams, though very brief, was nearly blinding. Despite that though, he was still rewarded with several sibilant shrieks of agony as the beams made contact.
Another shell roared from the barrel of the tank and though it missed, the supersonic roar of noise from its passage was enough to toss him to the ground again as machine gun fire began ranging on him. Blinding tracers of red, green, and white caged him and he scrambled towards cover, a stone stairway that led into one of the buildings. Despite that as he ran, he stumbled twice as something slammed into him and the tank's next shell almost sent him sprawling.
He slid into cover and opened fire again with his rifle, keeping an eye on the shot count left in the current energy cell as he did so until suddenly his HUD went dark. Two seconds later it switched to conventional light mode and Kid Win cursed at the top of his voice at his helmet. The night vision system had just been burnt out by the pulses of light from his laser rifle, goddammit!
He keyed his radio so a shout wouldn't be heard over the roar of gunfire. "Rune, status!"
A low groan of pain answered him. "I think my right foot and ankle are busted. And if I move, I am as good as dead."
Well, shit. He keyed his radio as another shell landed nearby, the shockwave and shrapnel staggering him, he couldn't believe that he was honestly about to say what he had to say. "Purity! I need you here right now! Rune's down and I can't get to her!"
"On my way!" She said as the heavy machine gun roared and the rounds began shredding his cover.
"Move your glowing backside!" He snapped, and an instant later the staircase exploded. The roar of sound was unexpected, the masonry flying in all directions even less, the pain though - that was the least welcome thing. Kid Win couldn't help it, he screamed as agony lanced through his right arm as the plating buckled and caved, shrapnel and pieces of stone piercing the padding underneath to reach the delicate flesh beyond.
Then he was on his back, gasping and clutching his right arm with his left hand, blood was leaking and oozing out from the rents in the armor plate and the padding felt soaked. That told him it was bad, really bad. There was a flash of white light near the bottom of his vision followed by an explosion and then chunks of burning metal went flying through his field of view. Next thing he knew, Purity was above him, propping him up in order to get a better grip on him. "What about Rune?" he gasped.
"You're in far worse shape than she is! I know Rune, she can handle herself!" Purity responded and Kid Win tried to fight out of her grip, but the mousy woman was much stronger than she appeared, the fact that he was down an arm didn't really help as Purity merely tightened her grip.
Then she took off.
Purity was one of the fastest known fliers on Earth Bet, the list of fliers who were faster than her when she was even partially charged was short. When she was fully charged, it was shorter still. Kid Win knew this from how fast she could appear, outright nuke something, then vanish before any of the other fliers in Brockton Bay could get a bead on her - let alone actually get in position to start fighting her. To call it infuriating was an understatement.
However, knowing that Purity was one of the fastest fliers on Earth Bet and actually experiencing it? Those were two completely different things. The Legend Package leaped into the air, accelerating so hard and fast that the bottom dropped out of his stomach as she soared into the air, the wind rushing through his ears. Within seconds, the place that they had taken off from was at least ten stories below them, and then Purity rolled onto her back and she proceeded to fly backward, like she was a lifeguard helping a drowning man to the edge of a pool - only instead of water, the air was beneath them and the ground was over a hundred feet below them. Within a matter of seconds, the river was then below them, followed by the city of Brockton.
Descending now, they were at one of the triage centers. "Medic! I need a medic over here!" he heard Purity shout.
Running feet followed by "Jesus Fuck! Get him in the hospital, proper to look at that arm."
Then he was placed on a bed, and a mousy woman was helping him lay down, Kayden's concerned face was the last thing he saw before blackness swallowed her face and he was cast into unconsciousness.
The Longest Raid
The Longest Raid
An Account of the First B-35 Albatross Mission of WW2
By
Jacktank10
Nov 25th, 1943
Hickam Field, Hawaii
An Account of the First B-35 Albatross Mission of WW2
By
Jacktank10
Nov 25th, 1943
Hickam Field, Hawaii
In the early morning, rising from the morning mist covering Hickam Field, a unique group of 30 aircraft, best described by some locals who witnessed the takeoff as a flying triangle, lifted off. After a year of rigorous training, 450 of the Army Air Force's most experienced airmen embarked on what some consider the most audacious missions in aviation history. Their determination to bomb Tokyo and then land the bombers on Midway Atoll, their future home airfield, was unwavering. They would have to fly for almost 36 hours, navigating the open ocean with razor-thin fuel margins. The only plane in the world capable of this feat of range and endurance was the B-35 Albatross. Each Albatross embarked with a crew of 15, ready to face the challenges ahead. The two flight teams, composed of six crew members each, would operate the aircraft in shifts of eight hours on and off by hot bunking six beds in the central cabin with the three gunners rigging hammocks up in spare space to rest. The group would fly together in a box formation at an altitude of 40000 feet, the maximum service ceiling to give the group's navigators the best shot at a clear view of the stars. The planes were under strict radio silence and had to communicate with small signal lamps located in the navigator bubble.
Mission time 8 Hours
Lead Bomber Arrowhead, somewhere west of Hawaii
Lead Bomber Arrowhead, somewhere west of Hawaii
Colonel John Henebry addressed his aircraft over the intercom. "Okay, boys, we are eight hours in and commencing our first crew change. Before that, however, it's time for dinner, and my lovely copilot, Jack, here, will serve everyone from the meal cart. Your menu tonight includes ham sandwiches, pineapple cubes, and cheese that I managed to liberate from the quartermaster back at Hickman. My aircraft will only serve the finest cuisine on this Hawaii Express to Tokyo. George, can you signal the rest of the squadron to commence meal service and crew change? After that, work with Sam to update the flight group on our newest navigational information. I want to make sure we're still on target."
Mission Time 18 Hours
Lead Bomber Arrowhead, somewhere east of Japan
Lead Bomber Arrowhead, somewhere east of Japan
George spoke up. "Good news, John. As best as they can tell, Broadhead managed to fix its engine trouble and does not need to divert to Midway. The engineer on board managed to get to the inner port engine and fix the problem. It looked like an issue with the fuel intakes, but lucky for Broadhead, the backups are working fine." John replied, "That's great, George. Signal Broadhead and tell him that engineer Smith, I believe that's his name, will get a medal out of this once we return home."
Mission Time 22 hours
Approaching Tokyo
Approaching Tokyo
John told his bombardier, Smith, "I'm relinquishing control of the aircraft; guide us in nice and steady Smith. George, signal the flight, and we are starting our run."
At approximately 0800 on the morning of November 26, local Tokyo time, 30 B-35s released a payload of 2000 lb, 1000 lb, and incendiary bombs from approximately 40000 feet. Analysis after the war would conclude that B-35 and later B-29 raids had horrendous accuracy. However, the wooden construction method of building favored by the Japanese would come to haunt their nation. This first raid managed to saturate an area of approximately 3 miles of Eastern Tokyo with almost random waves of fires and bomb damage. A firestorm started, only quenched by luck when a rainstorm rolled in. This first firestorm would herald dark days ahead as the B-35 raids would saturate the cities throughout Japan with almost random bombing raids, causing immense damage to civilian and military infrastructure.
Japanese early warning and patrols failed to detect the incoming raid. Similarly, Japanese intelligence was unaware of the B-35 program, range, and flight ceiling. It would take until late 1944 for Japan to have a fighter that could reliably reach the B-35's flight ceiling.
Mission time 30 Hours
Western Pacific 6 Hours from Midway
Western Pacific 6 Hours from Midway
Colonel Henebry looked nervously at his fuel indicator. Thinking to himself, we have about 8 hours of fuel left. He called out to George to do a formation fuel check. After a few minutes of rapid signaling, George shouted back, "We have confirmation all fuel levels remain green if Sam's calculations are right on where we are positioned. Sam also wanted me to mention that we should start to pick up Midway and Robalo's LORAN signals in the next 2 hours."
Mission Time 36 hours
Henderson Field, Midway
Henderson Field, Midway
In the early morning of November 27, Midway lit up its runway as 30 large flying-wing aircraft lumbered out of the darkness. After landing, the aircraft got rolled into specially prepared hardened aircraft hangers designed specifically for them. The after-action report noted that the bombers had between 30 and 10 minutes of fuel left.
This raid would hold the record for the longest bomber raid ever performed by the US Air Force, with the record only being broken during the Triarchy-Israeli War of the 1990s. Navigating by the stars, the 30 aircraft flew across the largest ocean in the world to hit a single city and were off target by only around 10 miles. They then managed to fly back over the great abyss of water and successfully found Midway. Even in 2011, this would be considered the finest manual navigation job ever.
Following this effort, the squadron would average five or six long-range raids of various strategic targets in Japan every month for the rest of the war, with the frequency of the raids increasing every few months. The squadron would only lose 15 aircraft to combat. The B-35 proved to be an incredible challenge to intercept, with the Japanese Air Force only managing three intercepts of B-35 bomber formations for the duration of the war.
Night
Widow Null
- Location
- Hoff
Well there's my suspension of disbelief broken.
(Midway's not nearly big enough.)
A B-35 has the following dimensions.
- Length: 53 ft 1 in (16.18 m)
- Wingspan: 172 ft 0 in (52.43 m)
- Height: 20 ft 3.5 in (6.185 m)
Last edited:
Onslaught 2.10
- Location
- North Carolina
AN: Should all go well, the Onslaught Arc has at least three and probably four chapters left. After that, there will be only one more arc left in Blood Week before things finally calm down - though who knows how many arcs the next segment will be.
Rune
Rune tried to reload her Smith and Wesson 625 as half a dozen faceless soldiers rushed her. Empty bullet casings clattered to the pavement while she fumbled for a new speed loader. She could escape if she could kill the next few before they reached her. The new speed loader came free and she was about to load it when a rifle boomed, almost immediately followed by a deafeningly loud thwack that zipped past her ear. Both the revolver and speed loader fell to the pavement while her hands rushed to protect her ears.
That was her mistake.
A soldier lunged for her and its cool, clammy hand clamped around her wrist. She screamed and thrashed, her free hand aiming for joints that she could reach which were the knees and ankles. One of the soldiers yelped and let her go, only for a boot to bury itself in her stomach. She exhaled explosively, feeling her ribs creak ominously as the soldiers grabbed her while she screamed and thrashed, trying to get out of their grip desperately. But her assailants were larger and stronger than her, the fact that one stomped hard on her hands and the bones underneath let out a crackling pop amid an explosion of pain that caused stars to dance in her eyes didn't help.
Next thing she knew, she was being roughly and violently hauled to her feet while a pair of cold irons went around her wrists and closed with an ominous click click click like it was the prophecy of her doom. A clammy hand planted it between her shoulders while a rough, inhuman voice snarled: "Satrt wlaknig."
Fiery pain lit up her nerves as she shambled, her broken foot and likely thoroughly dislocated ankle protesting as she was forced to walk on her broken bones. Her teeth gritted as she tried to avoid screaming, she was well aware of the rifle at her back and thus she walked, unable to take a break lest she get shot. They walked for who knows how long before they came to the shoreline. Dozens of people under armed guard were being herded towards boats. Someone fell to their knees in pain, faceless soldiers hauled them out of line and a single gunshot echoed off the buildings.
Rune shuddered at that as she was guided down a dock towards where the landing craft and other vessels were waiting. In the distance, ships of malice sat seemingly at anchor. She was forced down into the boat and so were other people, until the boat seemed to be packed beyond capacity. The engine grumbled and it pulled away from the dock and then spun, before heading towards those ships. Unease settled in Rune's stomach as the boat grew closer, the malice that oozed off the ships grew stronger and stronger like a stubborn miasma that would waft off roadkill that had been baking in the sun for a couple of days.
There wasn't a davit crane to carry the boat up to the deck, Rune looked up in horror at the cargo nets and ladders that were draped over the side. Her foot was already in very severe pain. This was going to be a painful adventure - she grasped one of the ladders and started to climb. Each step was an exercise in unrivaled agony that caused stars to dance and glitter in her field of vision and still, grunting and snarling in pain, she climbed the unstable ladder. She heard a scream below her followed by a heavy thud and looked down.
She wished that she hadn't. Someone had fallen off one of the cargo nets and taken three or four people with them as gravity's harsh mistress sent them hurtling back into the boat that had carried them here. Their bodies lay broken in the bay where she had been not so long ago, blood pooling under the bodies. Faceless soldiers picked up the corpses and without a sound, pitched them overboard - or at least, she thought they were all corpses. One very clearly tried to put up a struggle before she too was thrown over the side, vanishing into the dark waters with a spall of white. Bile rose in her throat at the sight of that, just…just cruel and callous, a blatant disregard for human life. She swallowed it down and looked up, she was maybe halfway up the ladder, and her eyes widened at the creature pointing a pistol at her.
She began to resume her climb, panting and snarling as she did so until finally, she gained the deck and tumbled to it thanks to her broken foot and dislocated ankle. The deck was made of tarnished, semi-rotten wood that bowed under her weight but by some miracle didn't break. She looked up at the creature that stood at about her height, with arms that were amalgams of flippers and human arms that ended in lobster-like claws - but the more she looked at it, the more she realized how off the creature was. The torso was far too narrow, with thin spindly legs that were too long and thick and intimidating arms that looked a little short - the six inwardly slanted triangular eyes of the creature glowered at her, they were windows into the soul and despite having no mouth, Rune realized that this thing would be screaming otherwise. Held in its claw was a pistol, which clicked ominously.
"Give me a minute! Give me a minute! My foot is broken!" she cried out weakly as she slowly rose to her feet. The hulking thing of a crew member thought that she was going to slow, for one of its crusher claws clamped around her arm. She cried out painfully as she was hauled up by her arm to her feet, a shriek of pain leaving her lips as her weight settled on her broken foot and dislocated ankle. She looked at the thing again as the pistol was shoved into her back and was well aware of the cold circle being pressed into her skin.
"Satrt wlaknig," came the response, the words weren't so much spoken as vibrated into existence. She hobbled to a hatch and stared in horror at the steepness of the ladder she had to descend. She looked at the soldier and silently asked the question. "Dcesned," it growled at her and Rune gulped nervously and slowly, ever so slowly, descended into the bowels of the ship. Something gnawed at her but by some miracle, she managed to keep her footing until she was a single step up. Instead of a nasty fall that likely would have exacerbated her injuries if not rendered her completely immobile, Rune was confident she had only managed to take what little pride she had left and shoot it in the back of the head.
Thus slowly and painfully picking herself up, she began walking again until she came down to another ladder, and holding onto the guard rails for support she descended. This time she managed to keep her footing on the way down, but as she walked to the third set of stairs, there was a crash behind her followed by someone screaming in pain. The sound was horrible, good god was it horrible.
A bolt cycled.
There was a gunshot.
The pained screams ended.
Wails of terror began.
Rune tightened her cloak around her and hobbled on, trying to ignore the screams and the inhuman alien shouts that grated her ears. She reached another ladder, it too was guarded and they gestured down it. Grimacing, Rune began descending again. This ladder was steeper and it descended into pure umbra. She could barely see where she was going and struggled to find the ladder's rungs. With each step deeper, the air grew thinner and hotter, the roar of whatever powered this beast became louder, and the gentle movement of the ship became far more pronounced. She lost her balance. She plunged into the darkness landing on cold steel, landing with a crack that sent an explosion of agony lancing across her chest and up her right leg, a glance back into the darkness told her what had probably happened. Her kneecap was busted, she didn't know if it was broken or if it was merely dislocated, throbbing agony skittered across her leg, the bruises already forming. She tried to stand only for her right leg to explode into pain, it felt like the limb was on fire. She crumpled, her screams echoing like she was in a massive steel echo chamber while something scratched across her mind that sounded like cruel mocking laughter.
Gasping for breath as the pain receded somewhat, she heard something ignite and a red comet went arcing end over end into wherever she was. It illuminated the staircase which revealed just how steep and high it was, that was at least two stories without a landing. She was probably damn lucky to have not killed herself - which was a bonus in her books. She shuddered as that horrific sound scratched across her mind again, almost as if the thing she was on was alive and it found that she considered herself lucky that she survived her fall to be amusing. But the sight of people coming down, she shuffled out of the way, fiery pain licking up her right side as she shuffled over to the edge, each movement was exhausting, the thin air sapping her strength.
People piled in, first dozens and then quite possibly hundreds, the air grew thinner and hotter. People moaned and a few shouted that this was inhumane. Laughter was the only answer, along with the echoing cli-clack of a machine gun being primed followed by the echoing bang of the hatchway that let so many people in closing. As Rune tried to make herself comfortable, she realized with horror and sickening dread at what she was on and it chilled her to her core. She thus did something that she hadn't done in ages, she prayed.
Montana
An enormous construct of metal powered through the surface as plumes of spray erupted close by, the thumping roar of the British 16-inch/45-caliber Mark I guns rolling over her. She was meant for this, she could take this sort of fire.
The salvo buzzer rang.
A dozen American 16-inch/50-caliber Mark 7 naval guns roared, followed by the thumping rumble of their voice briefly drowning out the rapid-fire slamming of the ten 5in/54 caliber guns that could bear on target - the result was that over 32,000 pounds of metal howled through the air while the concussive blast from the guns cratered the water. Her immense hull however kept on going, the recoil force from that many guns not affecting her in the slightest.
Meanwhile, the heavy slams of the eight-inch guns all echoed around her lofting glowing shells up. Montana couldn't help but feel like whoever was commanding this battle had sent this battleship, two cruisers, and about four destroyers to their deaths, all in the name of delaying her from arriving in Brockton Bay. It was brutal and in many ways, it was smart if callous. But it was fucking annoying, she needed to get to Brockton Bay as fast as humanly possible and this fucking Royal Oak class was refusing to die.
Annoying.
The horizon flashed and more shells howled in from that damn Royal Oak class. They were based on the Nelson class that had been authorized for construction after Jutland and they retained the all-forward main battery of that class, but instead of mounting the secondary guns in casemates, they had their 6-inch guns in eight twin turrets with four to a side plus eight 4.7-inch guns. Furthermore, they were quite heavily armored, particularly for the period where they had been designed and built, with their protection equal to that of the Nelsons.
The one that she was facing however, seemed to be in an as-built configuration. The primary difference between the Nelson class and the Royal Oak class was that the former had a casemate secondary battery and a tripod mast - while the latter had a turreted secondary battery and a Queen Anne's Mansion superstructure. Regardless, Montana knew that she could beat this thing, she outclassed it in every way. But the reason it was here was obvious, it was delaying her.
On the horizon, smaller flashes stuttered and Montana nodded, she was scoring hits - the horizon flashed again as the enemy returned fire - but from what she could tell thanks to her radar, the enemy was still afloat. The shells howled in and Montana grunted as a 16-inch shell plowed into her armored belt and bounced off - she could take that sort of punishment.
Salvo Buzzer.
The guns crashed out their wrath - spray from her bow wave snapping out of the way of the concussive force of her guns. She quickly looked at her accompanying heavy cruisers, Quincy and Fall River. The other two cruisers seemed to be in decent condition all things considered despite the gunfight. She didn't know what they were facing, but judging by the splashes that were landing around them, heavy cruisers. That was nothing that they couldn't take and they could handle the punishment being mettled out as well.
The horizon pulsed again.
Montana found that she was steadily finding the rhythm of the fight - yes, it was a night action, but her radars and combat information center provided her with sufficient situational awareness that she figured it would be extremely difficult for her to lose control of the night action as had occurred during Callaghan's Folly, Savo Island, and some of the battles in the South China Sea. More importantly, however, the numbers of each side weren't too large either - which was definitely helping in making sure that she stayed in control of the fight.
The shells howled in and the spray from 16-inch, 6-inch, and 4.7-inch shells cascaded down on her hull as her armor effortlessly defeated two 16-inch shells. With a heaving crash, her own guns crashed out a salvo in response. All the while as this happened, however, Montana was well aware that the minutes were ticking by. Each minute wasted here was another minute that the enemy would have to ravage Southshore.
Three hits.
The horizon pulsed with fire and light.
Salvo buzzer.
Her guns roared.
Enemy shells roared in and this time, the blizzard of steel had far better aim. Montana snarled in pain as a shell plunged through her shell plating, speared her armored deck, bounced off, and proceeded to destroy a kitchen. While another shell found the front of Turret II and bounced right off the turret face, the black corrupted projectile pinwheeled through the air as it detonated. Montana ignored the reports that flowed in, her turrets and guns were fine.
Two hits.
Montana couldn't help but feel helpless as she continued dropping super-heavy shells onto her opponent. For she was helpless to provide aid to Brockton Bay. It was something that she absolutely hated, she was grinding her opponent into dust and yet the enemy was succeeding in its objective to keep her from helping. This was infuriating, she was doing what she meant to do and what she had never gotten the chance to do during World War II, and yet the enemy was succeeding in its objective.
Montana couldn't help but wonder if she should close more. The range was currently something like 28,000 yards. The enemy's fire was horribly inaccurate, any hits were more scored by luck than any actual aiming. Whereas she could reliably score hits at this range thanks to her radar gun fire control systems. This was madness, the enemy was suicidal, it couldn't defeat her, and she held all of the advantages except for maybe speed, and yet its presence here, to die as slowly as possible told her otherwise.
Salvo Buzzer.
Her guns roared.
The horizon pulsed, the shells screamed in, landing in a bracket, and the rumble of the guns washed over her in the span of maybe forty-five seconds.
Her salvo buzzer rang twenty seconds later and her guns spat fire and noise as her battle continued.
Romeo "Uber" Nash
Uber was thankful that Armsmaster had looked over the suits of CMC Armor that Leet had made prior to Blood Week breaking out. The man had seemed impressed by the power armor, but he had completely rewritten the software, to call the code amazingly efficient now was understating things. The capabilities of his armor's sensor suite and the other nine were impressive. But he couldn't help but feel nervous, in a way that went beyond the Pre-Villain jitters. This was something more. Something deeper. It was a primal fear that he couldn't quite shake no matter how much he tried to do so and thus his hands shook almost imperceptibly.
He looked over at where Velocity and Grue were - the minor villain had been following the hero around like almost a lost puppy. He thought it was strange, but the man was now seemingly wearing armor under his leather jacket judging by how he was moving. What was even more disconcerting was the SMG he held almost casually in his hands, the man looked grim - but the way that Grue was shifting his weight told Uber that like him the man was nervous. By comparison, Velocity was still, almost like a mountain made out of iron - it was disconcerting, Velocity was acting as if he had gone through things that were worse than this. This was absurd as frankly the only comparison that Uber could think about was that this was going to be, was that to an Endbringer Battle and what could be worse than fighting Endbringers?
As he thought about what could be worse than the Endbringers, only one group came to mind, the Slaughterhouse 9 - their raids had a terrifying reputation - quick and deadly affairs. Sure there were some copycats but almost nothing else could compare. As he looked around, Uber couldn't help but notice how other capes were nervous or skittish many of the PRT Troopers and surviving members of BBPD were the same, visibly nervous about what they would do.
Chirp. Uber looked at his HUD - one of the minions was querying him with point-to-point intersuit communications. He accepted and opened the link and Rhett's voice greeted his ears. "How are you holding up?" he asked, his voice crisp and clear - but there was an undercurrent to it.
"Not good man, the internet is a mess, but the combat footage that I am seeing? It reminds me of Call of Duty." Uber said stiffly and Rhett grunted.
"Don't watch that shit, man. We're about to deal with our own onslaught of shit and trust me, this isn't going to be pretty." Rhett said and Uber remembered that the man was cagey about his past.
"How can you tell? Ever since this started it's been like you're a different person." Uber demanded, he missed his quirky friend and Rhett gave the impression that he was grinning.
"Oh I am the same old notable maniac you know that I am. It's just that there's no such thing as an ex-Marine." Rhett said and Uber blinked in surprise.
"Wait, you served in the Marines?" Uber said and Rhett nodded.
"I did, the Gulf War, now that was a very nasty conflict," Rhett said and Uber cringed at that. Far away in the distance from the city of Southshore, Uber was aware of the incessant rattling of rifles. This staccato noise was never-ending and reminded him all too much about how everything had changed dramatically over the past few days. It was more than just the burning of the Petroleum Complex or the rumble of naval guns in the distance. The sound of those weapons discharging did more to rattle the video gamer than anything else that had occurred.
"Do you think we can win here?" Uber asked the former Marine and the man's voice turned hard.
"We must, we have to. This is make or break for the Eastern Seaboard." Rhett said resolutely and under his helmet, Uber paled. That was news that he really could have done without, to put it bluntly. Frankly, though, it was also a surprise to hear that things were that drastic and that apparently, it was hold Brockton Bay or lose the eastern seaboard.
"Why?" Uber asked, stunned.
"Because I heard from Armsmaster that Admiral Holloway is CINCLANTFLT," Rhett said and Uber frowned.
"What does Sink, Lan, and Fleet have to do with anything?" Uber asked and Rhett facepalmed. "What?" he continued, seriously.
"CINCLANTFLT means Commander-in-Chief Atlantic Fleet, to put it simply Holloway is coordinating every single American ship from here to Europe and the Caribbean," Rhett explained and under his helmet, Uber paled.
"Shit."
"Exactly."
Leet's voice cut across the room, sounding triumphant. "MULTIPLAYER, SQUAD UP!"
Uber and Rhett stood up along with the others as Leet strolled into the room, Armsmaster right behind him, following them was a PRT employee pushing a cart with enormous C-14 Impaler rifles on it. Uber eagerly walked forward and scooped up the enormous weapon, its weight was somehow reassuring. The jitters were still there, but having the Impaler made him feel safer already. The magazines that were on the cart and which he added to the pouches on his belt. As he watched, Rhett accepted something from Armsmaster.
He looked at the nine other members of Multiplayer, two other Capes - Leet and Circus - plus seven close buddies who they always played with online. Uber knew that they had his back during multiplayer games, he just hoped that they had his back. But, as he looked at the other members of Multiplayer as they accepted their weapons and ammunition. They exchanged looks and smiles through their open dust shields - they had their weapons and Uber realized that they would have his back. The jitters were still there but things were honestly looking up in his opinion. He knew that his buddies would have his back and thus he would have their back.
"Armsmaster, time until reinforcements arrive?" Rhett asked.
"The militia units are twenty minutes out, the 25th ACR is forty-five minutes out." The Protectorate leader replied.
"How well are we holding?" Jessica, another minion, asked.
"We're holding, but we're not winning either. However, we can definitely hold until our reinforcements arrive." Armsmaster replied and Uber's heart sank. They weren't winning, they were merely holding, this sucked. It was comparable to some games of Battlefield that he had played where things were annoyingly even, you couldn't advance worth shit but neither could the opposing team. Stalemate, that's what this was. But then again, what could suits of power armor do to stalemates? What could having several thousand friendlies arrive do to stalemates? He smiled again as he figured it out, that sort of stuff smashed stalemates flat.
"So what's the goal of the enemy raid here? If it's to sow panic and confusion, it's failed there, all it's done is got me very damn angry." Jessica said and a chorus of agreements swept through the room.
Armsmaster suddenly looked uneasy, as if he had seen something from the drone footage. That immediately set Uber on edge because if something could make Armsmaster uneasy, then that was definitely something to be concerned about. He looked around at how the others were and he could tell that they were worried as well. It was amazing, Uber couldn't help but note cynically, how with just one man being uneasy, it was affecting the whole room. To call it disconcerting was an understatement.
"Armsie, what's going on?" Rhett asked and Uber's eyes about popped out of his skull.
"RHETT! Are you fucking insane!?" Uber hissed as surprisingly a nervous chuckle rippled through the crowd of their "reserve" forces.
Rhett had the audacity to laugh. "I am a jarhead, Uber, being insane comes with the territory." his statement caused a few more chuckles to ripple through the crowd and it caused Armsmaster to relax. There was still tension in the air, but it wasn't as bad as it had been.
"True enough, and I learned the hard way that prank wars could almost get out of hand if Piggot ever got involved, she was Corps too." Velocity said to more laughter.
"Anyways, to get things back on track," Armsmaster began, and the humor that the former Marine and the hero had nurtured withered and died. "The enemy has been shooting civilians who try to run along with active combatants for the most part in clear defiance of the Geneva and Hague Protocols regarding civilians. Furthermore some civilians, along with Rune were seen by drones being loaded into boats and taken to enemy ships."
Rhett snarled angrily, memories of a deployment to Africa running through his mind. "It's a motherfucking slave raid!" he snarled. Uber looked around as the room seemed to boil with raw fury.
Leet spoke up, his voice shaking with honest-to-god righteous anger. "My armour is contempt, my shield is disgust, my sword is hatred. In the Emperor's name." he finished and Uber, for once in his life couldn't help but realize just how accurate the response to that was. What surprised him, even more, was how the responding chorus went beyond just Multiplayer and involved who knows how many of their reserves. "LET NONE SURVIVE!"
"They said that Brockton Bay was make or break for the Northeast. They were more right than they knew actually; if the Abyss had realized that Brockton Bay was the GHQ for the Atlantic Fleet, they would have hit it a lot harder than they did in their little raid and if we failed to hold, not only would have hundreds of thousands had died in the city of Brockton Bay before the US Army arrived in strength to drive the enemy out. But the Atlantic Fleet would have been decapitated again and given the myriad of battles that were ongoing at that time and what Admiral Holloway was managing, it likely would have seen the Atlantic Fleet effectively shattered with the survivors being scattered to the four winds, then the Abyss could have burned down the Atlantic Seaboard at their leisure." - Chief Warrant Officer Chris "Kid Win" Rodriguez
Rune
Rune tried to reload her Smith and Wesson 625 as half a dozen faceless soldiers rushed her. Empty bullet casings clattered to the pavement while she fumbled for a new speed loader. She could escape if she could kill the next few before they reached her. The new speed loader came free and she was about to load it when a rifle boomed, almost immediately followed by a deafeningly loud thwack that zipped past her ear. Both the revolver and speed loader fell to the pavement while her hands rushed to protect her ears.
That was her mistake.
A soldier lunged for her and its cool, clammy hand clamped around her wrist. She screamed and thrashed, her free hand aiming for joints that she could reach which were the knees and ankles. One of the soldiers yelped and let her go, only for a boot to bury itself in her stomach. She exhaled explosively, feeling her ribs creak ominously as the soldiers grabbed her while she screamed and thrashed, trying to get out of their grip desperately. But her assailants were larger and stronger than her, the fact that one stomped hard on her hands and the bones underneath let out a crackling pop amid an explosion of pain that caused stars to dance in her eyes didn't help.
Next thing she knew, she was being roughly and violently hauled to her feet while a pair of cold irons went around her wrists and closed with an ominous click click click like it was the prophecy of her doom. A clammy hand planted it between her shoulders while a rough, inhuman voice snarled: "Satrt wlaknig."
Fiery pain lit up her nerves as she shambled, her broken foot and likely thoroughly dislocated ankle protesting as she was forced to walk on her broken bones. Her teeth gritted as she tried to avoid screaming, she was well aware of the rifle at her back and thus she walked, unable to take a break lest she get shot. They walked for who knows how long before they came to the shoreline. Dozens of people under armed guard were being herded towards boats. Someone fell to their knees in pain, faceless soldiers hauled them out of line and a single gunshot echoed off the buildings.
Rune shuddered at that as she was guided down a dock towards where the landing craft and other vessels were waiting. In the distance, ships of malice sat seemingly at anchor. She was forced down into the boat and so were other people, until the boat seemed to be packed beyond capacity. The engine grumbled and it pulled away from the dock and then spun, before heading towards those ships. Unease settled in Rune's stomach as the boat grew closer, the malice that oozed off the ships grew stronger and stronger like a stubborn miasma that would waft off roadkill that had been baking in the sun for a couple of days.
There wasn't a davit crane to carry the boat up to the deck, Rune looked up in horror at the cargo nets and ladders that were draped over the side. Her foot was already in very severe pain. This was going to be a painful adventure - she grasped one of the ladders and started to climb. Each step was an exercise in unrivaled agony that caused stars to dance and glitter in her field of vision and still, grunting and snarling in pain, she climbed the unstable ladder. She heard a scream below her followed by a heavy thud and looked down.
She wished that she hadn't. Someone had fallen off one of the cargo nets and taken three or four people with them as gravity's harsh mistress sent them hurtling back into the boat that had carried them here. Their bodies lay broken in the bay where she had been not so long ago, blood pooling under the bodies. Faceless soldiers picked up the corpses and without a sound, pitched them overboard - or at least, she thought they were all corpses. One very clearly tried to put up a struggle before she too was thrown over the side, vanishing into the dark waters with a spall of white. Bile rose in her throat at the sight of that, just…just cruel and callous, a blatant disregard for human life. She swallowed it down and looked up, she was maybe halfway up the ladder, and her eyes widened at the creature pointing a pistol at her.
She began to resume her climb, panting and snarling as she did so until finally, she gained the deck and tumbled to it thanks to her broken foot and dislocated ankle. The deck was made of tarnished, semi-rotten wood that bowed under her weight but by some miracle didn't break. She looked up at the creature that stood at about her height, with arms that were amalgams of flippers and human arms that ended in lobster-like claws - but the more she looked at it, the more she realized how off the creature was. The torso was far too narrow, with thin spindly legs that were too long and thick and intimidating arms that looked a little short - the six inwardly slanted triangular eyes of the creature glowered at her, they were windows into the soul and despite having no mouth, Rune realized that this thing would be screaming otherwise. Held in its claw was a pistol, which clicked ominously.
"Give me a minute! Give me a minute! My foot is broken!" she cried out weakly as she slowly rose to her feet. The hulking thing of a crew member thought that she was going to slow, for one of its crusher claws clamped around her arm. She cried out painfully as she was hauled up by her arm to her feet, a shriek of pain leaving her lips as her weight settled on her broken foot and dislocated ankle. She looked at the thing again as the pistol was shoved into her back and was well aware of the cold circle being pressed into her skin.
"Satrt wlaknig," came the response, the words weren't so much spoken as vibrated into existence. She hobbled to a hatch and stared in horror at the steepness of the ladder she had to descend. She looked at the soldier and silently asked the question. "Dcesned," it growled at her and Rune gulped nervously and slowly, ever so slowly, descended into the bowels of the ship. Something gnawed at her but by some miracle, she managed to keep her footing until she was a single step up. Instead of a nasty fall that likely would have exacerbated her injuries if not rendered her completely immobile, Rune was confident she had only managed to take what little pride she had left and shoot it in the back of the head.
Thus slowly and painfully picking herself up, she began walking again until she came down to another ladder, and holding onto the guard rails for support she descended. This time she managed to keep her footing on the way down, but as she walked to the third set of stairs, there was a crash behind her followed by someone screaming in pain. The sound was horrible, good god was it horrible.
A bolt cycled.
There was a gunshot.
The pained screams ended.
Wails of terror began.
Rune tightened her cloak around her and hobbled on, trying to ignore the screams and the inhuman alien shouts that grated her ears. She reached another ladder, it too was guarded and they gestured down it. Grimacing, Rune began descending again. This ladder was steeper and it descended into pure umbra. She could barely see where she was going and struggled to find the ladder's rungs. With each step deeper, the air grew thinner and hotter, the roar of whatever powered this beast became louder, and the gentle movement of the ship became far more pronounced. She lost her balance. She plunged into the darkness landing on cold steel, landing with a crack that sent an explosion of agony lancing across her chest and up her right leg, a glance back into the darkness told her what had probably happened. Her kneecap was busted, she didn't know if it was broken or if it was merely dislocated, throbbing agony skittered across her leg, the bruises already forming. She tried to stand only for her right leg to explode into pain, it felt like the limb was on fire. She crumpled, her screams echoing like she was in a massive steel echo chamber while something scratched across her mind that sounded like cruel mocking laughter.
Gasping for breath as the pain receded somewhat, she heard something ignite and a red comet went arcing end over end into wherever she was. It illuminated the staircase which revealed just how steep and high it was, that was at least two stories without a landing. She was probably damn lucky to have not killed herself - which was a bonus in her books. She shuddered as that horrific sound scratched across her mind again, almost as if the thing she was on was alive and it found that she considered herself lucky that she survived her fall to be amusing. But the sight of people coming down, she shuffled out of the way, fiery pain licking up her right side as she shuffled over to the edge, each movement was exhausting, the thin air sapping her strength.
People piled in, first dozens and then quite possibly hundreds, the air grew thinner and hotter. People moaned and a few shouted that this was inhumane. Laughter was the only answer, along with the echoing cli-clack of a machine gun being primed followed by the echoing bang of the hatchway that let so many people in closing. As Rune tried to make herself comfortable, she realized with horror and sickening dread at what she was on and it chilled her to her core. She thus did something that she hadn't done in ages, she prayed.
Montana
An enormous construct of metal powered through the surface as plumes of spray erupted close by, the thumping roar of the British 16-inch/45-caliber Mark I guns rolling over her. She was meant for this, she could take this sort of fire.
The salvo buzzer rang.
A dozen American 16-inch/50-caliber Mark 7 naval guns roared, followed by the thumping rumble of their voice briefly drowning out the rapid-fire slamming of the ten 5in/54 caliber guns that could bear on target - the result was that over 32,000 pounds of metal howled through the air while the concussive blast from the guns cratered the water. Her immense hull however kept on going, the recoil force from that many guns not affecting her in the slightest.
Meanwhile, the heavy slams of the eight-inch guns all echoed around her lofting glowing shells up. Montana couldn't help but feel like whoever was commanding this battle had sent this battleship, two cruisers, and about four destroyers to their deaths, all in the name of delaying her from arriving in Brockton Bay. It was brutal and in many ways, it was smart if callous. But it was fucking annoying, she needed to get to Brockton Bay as fast as humanly possible and this fucking Royal Oak class was refusing to die.
Annoying.
The horizon flashed and more shells howled in from that damn Royal Oak class. They were based on the Nelson class that had been authorized for construction after Jutland and they retained the all-forward main battery of that class, but instead of mounting the secondary guns in casemates, they had their 6-inch guns in eight twin turrets with four to a side plus eight 4.7-inch guns. Furthermore, they were quite heavily armored, particularly for the period where they had been designed and built, with their protection equal to that of the Nelsons.
The one that she was facing however, seemed to be in an as-built configuration. The primary difference between the Nelson class and the Royal Oak class was that the former had a casemate secondary battery and a tripod mast - while the latter had a turreted secondary battery and a Queen Anne's Mansion superstructure. Regardless, Montana knew that she could beat this thing, she outclassed it in every way. But the reason it was here was obvious, it was delaying her.
On the horizon, smaller flashes stuttered and Montana nodded, she was scoring hits - the horizon flashed again as the enemy returned fire - but from what she could tell thanks to her radar, the enemy was still afloat. The shells howled in and Montana grunted as a 16-inch shell plowed into her armored belt and bounced off - she could take that sort of punishment.
Salvo Buzzer.
The guns crashed out their wrath - spray from her bow wave snapping out of the way of the concussive force of her guns. She quickly looked at her accompanying heavy cruisers, Quincy and Fall River. The other two cruisers seemed to be in decent condition all things considered despite the gunfight. She didn't know what they were facing, but judging by the splashes that were landing around them, heavy cruisers. That was nothing that they couldn't take and they could handle the punishment being mettled out as well.
The horizon pulsed again.
Montana found that she was steadily finding the rhythm of the fight - yes, it was a night action, but her radars and combat information center provided her with sufficient situational awareness that she figured it would be extremely difficult for her to lose control of the night action as had occurred during Callaghan's Folly, Savo Island, and some of the battles in the South China Sea. More importantly, however, the numbers of each side weren't too large either - which was definitely helping in making sure that she stayed in control of the fight.
The shells howled in and the spray from 16-inch, 6-inch, and 4.7-inch shells cascaded down on her hull as her armor effortlessly defeated two 16-inch shells. With a heaving crash, her own guns crashed out a salvo in response. All the while as this happened, however, Montana was well aware that the minutes were ticking by. Each minute wasted here was another minute that the enemy would have to ravage Southshore.
Three hits.
The horizon pulsed with fire and light.
Salvo buzzer.
Her guns roared.
Enemy shells roared in and this time, the blizzard of steel had far better aim. Montana snarled in pain as a shell plunged through her shell plating, speared her armored deck, bounced off, and proceeded to destroy a kitchen. While another shell found the front of Turret II and bounced right off the turret face, the black corrupted projectile pinwheeled through the air as it detonated. Montana ignored the reports that flowed in, her turrets and guns were fine.
Two hits.
Montana couldn't help but feel helpless as she continued dropping super-heavy shells onto her opponent. For she was helpless to provide aid to Brockton Bay. It was something that she absolutely hated, she was grinding her opponent into dust and yet the enemy was succeeding in its objective to keep her from helping. This was infuriating, she was doing what she meant to do and what she had never gotten the chance to do during World War II, and yet the enemy was succeeding in its objective.
Montana couldn't help but wonder if she should close more. The range was currently something like 28,000 yards. The enemy's fire was horribly inaccurate, any hits were more scored by luck than any actual aiming. Whereas she could reliably score hits at this range thanks to her radar gun fire control systems. This was madness, the enemy was suicidal, it couldn't defeat her, and she held all of the advantages except for maybe speed, and yet its presence here, to die as slowly as possible told her otherwise.
Salvo Buzzer.
Her guns roared.
The horizon pulsed, the shells screamed in, landing in a bracket, and the rumble of the guns washed over her in the span of maybe forty-five seconds.
Her salvo buzzer rang twenty seconds later and her guns spat fire and noise as her battle continued.
Romeo "Uber" Nash
Uber was thankful that Armsmaster had looked over the suits of CMC Armor that Leet had made prior to Blood Week breaking out. The man had seemed impressed by the power armor, but he had completely rewritten the software, to call the code amazingly efficient now was understating things. The capabilities of his armor's sensor suite and the other nine were impressive. But he couldn't help but feel nervous, in a way that went beyond the Pre-Villain jitters. This was something more. Something deeper. It was a primal fear that he couldn't quite shake no matter how much he tried to do so and thus his hands shook almost imperceptibly.
He looked over at where Velocity and Grue were - the minor villain had been following the hero around like almost a lost puppy. He thought it was strange, but the man was now seemingly wearing armor under his leather jacket judging by how he was moving. What was even more disconcerting was the SMG he held almost casually in his hands, the man looked grim - but the way that Grue was shifting his weight told Uber that like him the man was nervous. By comparison, Velocity was still, almost like a mountain made out of iron - it was disconcerting, Velocity was acting as if he had gone through things that were worse than this. This was absurd as frankly the only comparison that Uber could think about was that this was going to be, was that to an Endbringer Battle and what could be worse than fighting Endbringers?
As he thought about what could be worse than the Endbringers, only one group came to mind, the Slaughterhouse 9 - their raids had a terrifying reputation - quick and deadly affairs. Sure there were some copycats but almost nothing else could compare. As he looked around, Uber couldn't help but notice how other capes were nervous or skittish many of the PRT Troopers and surviving members of BBPD were the same, visibly nervous about what they would do.
Chirp. Uber looked at his HUD - one of the minions was querying him with point-to-point intersuit communications. He accepted and opened the link and Rhett's voice greeted his ears. "How are you holding up?" he asked, his voice crisp and clear - but there was an undercurrent to it.
"Not good man, the internet is a mess, but the combat footage that I am seeing? It reminds me of Call of Duty." Uber said stiffly and Rhett grunted.
"Don't watch that shit, man. We're about to deal with our own onslaught of shit and trust me, this isn't going to be pretty." Rhett said and Uber remembered that the man was cagey about his past.
"How can you tell? Ever since this started it's been like you're a different person." Uber demanded, he missed his quirky friend and Rhett gave the impression that he was grinning.
"Oh I am the same old notable maniac you know that I am. It's just that there's no such thing as an ex-Marine." Rhett said and Uber blinked in surprise.
"Wait, you served in the Marines?" Uber said and Rhett nodded.
"I did, the Gulf War, now that was a very nasty conflict," Rhett said and Uber cringed at that. Far away in the distance from the city of Southshore, Uber was aware of the incessant rattling of rifles. This staccato noise was never-ending and reminded him all too much about how everything had changed dramatically over the past few days. It was more than just the burning of the Petroleum Complex or the rumble of naval guns in the distance. The sound of those weapons discharging did more to rattle the video gamer than anything else that had occurred.
"Do you think we can win here?" Uber asked the former Marine and the man's voice turned hard.
"We must, we have to. This is make or break for the Eastern Seaboard." Rhett said resolutely and under his helmet, Uber paled. That was news that he really could have done without, to put it bluntly. Frankly, though, it was also a surprise to hear that things were that drastic and that apparently, it was hold Brockton Bay or lose the eastern seaboard.
"Why?" Uber asked, stunned.
"Because I heard from Armsmaster that Admiral Holloway is CINCLANTFLT," Rhett said and Uber frowned.
"What does Sink, Lan, and Fleet have to do with anything?" Uber asked and Rhett facepalmed. "What?" he continued, seriously.
"CINCLANTFLT means Commander-in-Chief Atlantic Fleet, to put it simply Holloway is coordinating every single American ship from here to Europe and the Caribbean," Rhett explained and under his helmet, Uber paled.
"Shit."
"Exactly."
Leet's voice cut across the room, sounding triumphant. "MULTIPLAYER, SQUAD UP!"
Uber and Rhett stood up along with the others as Leet strolled into the room, Armsmaster right behind him, following them was a PRT employee pushing a cart with enormous C-14 Impaler rifles on it. Uber eagerly walked forward and scooped up the enormous weapon, its weight was somehow reassuring. The jitters were still there, but having the Impaler made him feel safer already. The magazines that were on the cart and which he added to the pouches on his belt. As he watched, Rhett accepted something from Armsmaster.
He looked at the nine other members of Multiplayer, two other Capes - Leet and Circus - plus seven close buddies who they always played with online. Uber knew that they had his back during multiplayer games, he just hoped that they had his back. But, as he looked at the other members of Multiplayer as they accepted their weapons and ammunition. They exchanged looks and smiles through their open dust shields - they had their weapons and Uber realized that they would have his back. The jitters were still there but things were honestly looking up in his opinion. He knew that his buddies would have his back and thus he would have their back.
"Armsmaster, time until reinforcements arrive?" Rhett asked.
"The militia units are twenty minutes out, the 25th ACR is forty-five minutes out." The Protectorate leader replied.
"How well are we holding?" Jessica, another minion, asked.
"We're holding, but we're not winning either. However, we can definitely hold until our reinforcements arrive." Armsmaster replied and Uber's heart sank. They weren't winning, they were merely holding, this sucked. It was comparable to some games of Battlefield that he had played where things were annoyingly even, you couldn't advance worth shit but neither could the opposing team. Stalemate, that's what this was. But then again, what could suits of power armor do to stalemates? What could having several thousand friendlies arrive do to stalemates? He smiled again as he figured it out, that sort of stuff smashed stalemates flat.
"So what's the goal of the enemy raid here? If it's to sow panic and confusion, it's failed there, all it's done is got me very damn angry." Jessica said and a chorus of agreements swept through the room.
Armsmaster suddenly looked uneasy, as if he had seen something from the drone footage. That immediately set Uber on edge because if something could make Armsmaster uneasy, then that was definitely something to be concerned about. He looked around at how the others were and he could tell that they were worried as well. It was amazing, Uber couldn't help but note cynically, how with just one man being uneasy, it was affecting the whole room. To call it disconcerting was an understatement.
"Armsie, what's going on?" Rhett asked and Uber's eyes about popped out of his skull.
"RHETT! Are you fucking insane!?" Uber hissed as surprisingly a nervous chuckle rippled through the crowd of their "reserve" forces.
Rhett had the audacity to laugh. "I am a jarhead, Uber, being insane comes with the territory." his statement caused a few more chuckles to ripple through the crowd and it caused Armsmaster to relax. There was still tension in the air, but it wasn't as bad as it had been.
"True enough, and I learned the hard way that prank wars could almost get out of hand if Piggot ever got involved, she was Corps too." Velocity said to more laughter.
"Anyways, to get things back on track," Armsmaster began, and the humor that the former Marine and the hero had nurtured withered and died. "The enemy has been shooting civilians who try to run along with active combatants for the most part in clear defiance of the Geneva and Hague Protocols regarding civilians. Furthermore some civilians, along with Rune were seen by drones being loaded into boats and taken to enemy ships."
Rhett snarled angrily, memories of a deployment to Africa running through his mind. "It's a motherfucking slave raid!" he snarled. Uber looked around as the room seemed to boil with raw fury.
Leet spoke up, his voice shaking with honest-to-god righteous anger. "My armour is contempt, my shield is disgust, my sword is hatred. In the Emperor's name." he finished and Uber, for once in his life couldn't help but realize just how accurate the response to that was. What surprised him, even more, was how the responding chorus went beyond just Multiplayer and involved who knows how many of their reserves. "LET NONE SURVIVE!"
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Fury and 14s
Sandy River DL
(Verified Destroyer Leader)
- Location
- Lake Michigan
- Pronouns
- Her/She
The new year, Jasmine Tanaka thought, was not off to a good start.
First, she'd been blown up and had to dig herself out of the ruins of her family's apartment. Then, she'd been gassed with fucking phosgene by what had to be some sort of warship off the coast. And now, after having finally found an evacuation point, she'd been kidnapped by demonic soldiers, stuffed into a cramped pinnace with a bunch of other captives, and finally dumped into a dark and dank hold aboard a world war vintage destroyer that positively reeked of unsettled grudges and hatred.
She idly wondered if this was how it'd feel to visit her family's former homeland after Khonsu buried it under three meters of ash?
Not a great place to be in regardless, especially not when her wounds from earlier had been reopened and her lungs felt like lead. Probably plasma leaking out of the abused organs. Not good at all.
She was no medical expert - the kami only knew how she passed bio -, but she was pretty sure that she wasn't going to make it much longer without proper medical attention.
Attention that the enemy, whoever they were, clearly weren't going to give her.
And the fact that she was going to die in the hold of what she was beginning to suspect was a fucking slave ship because of a different one of Man's inhumanities... it burned worse than her lungs.
Jasmine wasn't sure how long it was after that thought crossed her mind when her vision began to fade as her breaths became shallower and shallower. But at the same time, she could feel something beyond her slow and painful death. It felt like... turbines?
-
Out.
She had to get out. It was too small here, but she could feel the open ocean close-by. If she could just...
A fist smashed through the thin steel of the bulkhead next her and a casual motion tore the black metal asunder as 280,000 horsepower surged through her extended limb.
A second blow opened a large enough gap that she could just about reach the hull plating. There was also a structural rib visible, and if she grabbed that... lashing out with one foot, she kicked with enough force to knock out an entire hull plate with crash. At the same time, the heavy steel beam she'd braced against snapped under the strain.
It was then that she noticed a sound other than the squeal of abused metal and the thrum of a ship in motion. Screaming. Faint, weak, and hoarse, but still audible.
Oh.
Oh fuck.
She'd forgotten about the other captives!
Before she could do anything else though, a large wave crashed through the hole she'd opened in the side and the destroyer lurched and then twisted.
Grabbing the closest people to her, a redheaded middle schooler and a dusky-skinned girl around nine, Jasmine hauled them out of the water and pulled them close. Then another wave struck and the battered destroyer snapped.
As the vessel came apart around them and began foundering, the Japanese girl did her level best to hold the younger girls even closer to herself in a desperate effort to not lose them to the frigid sea. Then suddenly, they were not longer in her arms, but stumbling on her deck. Around her great slabs of gray metal materialized, forming two massive quadruple turrets set into a hull-like bulk bristling with her lesser guns along her left side. The vast bulk felt both weightless and like a part of her that had until that moment been missing.
It was... exhilarating...
At the same time, she could feel her crew rushing the nine-year-old below to her sickbay while the ginger girl remained rooted to the deck where she'd landed next to Turret I, gaping at the unfamiliar ship she'd just found herself aboard.
"What the fuck is this?" The middle-schooler's voice was little more than a whisper, but Jasmine could hear it as clearly as if she were standing right next to her. "Bullshit. Pure, utter, bullshit. There was supposed to be an Endbringer attack, but then we got hit by some sort of naval strike and then kidnapped by demon soldiers and hauled off to who-knows-where and now I'm on a fucking battleship after being grabbed by a girl who's Brute enough to rip open a cruiser like it was tin foil?!"
That voice and potty mouth seemed familiar. She'd definitely heard it before, but where? She wanted to say Battlefront: Titan, but wasn't sure...
Then Jasmine heard/saw/felt another of the hostile ships, another destroyer, open fire on her. Before she could do more than turn to look, a wave of... something washed over her and the girl on her deck was casting a shimmering mirage-like field across the intervening ocean. Four-inch shells froze mid-air, and torpedoes stilled half-way out of their tubes. The enemy vessel locked up as if it were nothing more than a detailed model.
Jasmine didn't hesitate for more than a heartbeat as the realization struck. Turbines roared louder than even that akuma Lung and the battlecruiser-girl Cyane surged forward as her full power began accelerating her towards 37 knots.
She couldn't save anyone else who had been taken. She couldn't even fight without killing more than she already had done by accident.
She could save those she had aboard though, and she would. Her doctors would have to be enough to keep the younger alive until the girl could be brought to a hospital. They had to be.
And the redhead on her deck? She seemed fine for now. Even if she seemed rather rattled and was muttering something about her brother.
As she began picking up speed, Jasmine focused her attention on the middle schooler and directed her voice to reach her.
"There's a hatch on the underside of the turret. Get inside and find a seat. I don't think you'd enjoy being on deck for much longer!"
The girl practically jumped out of her skin, but ran for the superfiring mount and scrambled inside.
"I'll say it again. This is bullshit," exclaimed the redhead as she hauled herself into the cramped interior. "I have powers now? And I froze a ship. That has got to be the most insane power ever!"
A petty officer sitting at the range-finder laughed. "You think that's crazy kiddo? I got a visit from Admiral King himself in Fiddler's Green about this here posting. Admiral King! And I'm a mere CPO whose sea-sickness was bad enough I could never go to sea!"
"Admiral… King?" she asked. "Who's he? Name's sounding vaguely familiar…"
"Only the CNO who tore BuOrd such a new one for their fuck-ups that the entire bureau ceased to exist!" was the reply.
"So…" the girl said slowly, "he was an angry admiral who destroyed part of his own organization?"
That got another laugh. "No, he was the Angry Admiral, who built BuWeaps."
Then the red-haired man leaned over to get a look at the girl. "Say, you rather resemble my little sister. The name 'Clara Jameson' ring a bell?"
"That's my grandmother's name before she married Grandpa!" she exclaimed. "But if she's your sister… that'd make you Great Uncle Sean. Which is impossible, as he died…"
"In 1948 when a Banshee fighter crashed on take-off and slammed into my office?" the CPO gave her a wry grin. "Yeah. Wasn't fun, I can assure you of that. So, can I know my grandniece's name?"
The girl eyed him for a moment, assessing him. "Dorothy. Dorothy Peters."
"So she actually married her school sweetheart? Good for her," he then shook his head. "We can get to know each other properly later. I need to get back to my station, I can't stay off long when we're at Zebra."
Just then, a piercing whistle resounded through the turret and a voice called "General Quarters, General Quarters. All hands man your battle stations," followed by a clanging electric bell.
Sean groaned. "Definitely putting off that chat. We've got something inbound and that means we're likely not going to be hearing ourselves think, let alone being able to talk. He then rummaged through a pocket and pulled out a couple of cotton wads, which he passed to Dorothy.
"Here, get these in your ears. Unless you want to lose your hearing, that is."
The girl obediently stuffed the cotton into her ears and then hunkered down in a narrow space as the 2400-ton quadruple mount began its ponderous traversal to port.
Dorothy could hear muted orders being called, men confirming angles and statuses. From her position, she could even see into the forward part of the turret through a small window. On the other side was a complex mass of machinery surrounding what she knew had to be one of the gigantic guns the ship-that-was-also-a-girl carried.
"Battleship sighted, bearing 330, range 32000. Load AP!"
At that call, the great block of steel split, a wedge of metal rising as an arm slid it upwards, revealing an opening within. A yellow-banded black object almost as large as Dorothy herself rolled into a concave tray, before being thrown forwards by a colossal ram, which then cycled twice more, this time forcing brass canisters as wide as dinner plates into what the girl now realized must be the gun's breach and the wedge locked back into its starting position.
Then a buzzer rang, and the turret shook.
Thunder reverberated within Dorothy's bones as the massive gun in front of her hurled itself backwards. The breach slid open again, disgorging two smoking cylinders of blacked brass, only for them to be replaced by another shell and set of cartridges.
Again, the turret was filled with the roar of naval artillery. Again, the breach opened to release the spent cases and accept new ordinance. This time though, only a single piece of brass arrived. Curses barely audible to the young teen filled the air and she could swear she could see wisps of blue drifting through the cramped space. Three of the four shell hoists and two powder hoists had jammed.
Meanwhile, Jasmine snarled as reports of the jams came to her. The first salvo had been perfect, landing seven of the eight fourteen-inch heavy shells directly atop the limping battleship bearing the same flag as the destroyers that she'd just escaped. The second, however, merely added to the spray the target was already receiving. Salvo three, what of it had actually fired, hadn't even managed that.
In the distance, six fireballs bloomed as the twisted battleship responded to the battlecruiser. Cursing harder, Jasmine threw her three rudders hard over to starboard to evade. Massive plumes of water erupted a hundred yards away, a clear sign of just what she was facing.
She needed her guns operational again fast or else she and her precious cargo were doomed. Her armor was good, but she knew she couldn't survive repeated sixteen-inch hits. And even at full power, she wouldn't be able to open the range in time to escape. Turret One roared, three shells lancing out and throwing up two columns of spray. The third struck home on what she was beginning to think might be a fast battleship of some sort.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then four bright flashes lit up the enemy, three from the muzzles of the guns, and one much larger one immediately ahead in the lower turret. The bow lurched downward as a jet of hellish flame shot upward from it. She'd scored a major hit, possibly even a fatal one!
Then the battleship heeled over in a turn to unshadow her aft mounts, slowing in the process. Good and bad. On the one hand, the enemy was no longer closing at thirty knots. On the other, now she was facing nine sixteen-inch/50s instead of six.
"Oh come on!" Jasmine groaned. "Why couldn't that have set off the fucking magazine!?"
She still couldn't get out of range fast enough to not get her stern shot off.
There was only one thing Cyane could think of at this point that might let her escape. "Load HC!" She called. If she could destroy the primary rangefinders, she had a chance.
As she made another sharp turn to evade the incoming fire, she grinned as both turrets reported the jams cleared. The moment she had a firing solution again, she'd take the shot. And keep doing so until that abomination's superstructure was demolished. It was the only way she could actually get the enemy off her tail.
Carefully adjusting her rudders for a better angle, the battlecruiser watched her foe intently. Almost... almost...
"Shoot!"
Eight 1500 lb shells arced across the 23000 yards separating the two ships. Eight shells bearing 120 lbs of Explosive D each slammed into the black mass of steel amidships of the target. Seventeen fireballs erupted along the hulking form of the battleship.
Jasmine smirked smugly as the forward tower of her enemy began to crumple in on itself, spewing smoke and flame. A good hit.
"Right, Engineering? I need overload power for five minutes! We're de-assing the area at best possible speed!"
Disregarding the scattered columns of spray from the last inbound salvo, the battlecruiser heeled over in a sharp turn away and her boilers hummed eerily as they were pushed to their maximum rated temperature. Turbines were spun up to their limits, and the stern sank as the four screws clawed at the ocean like a demon. Cyane was gasping for breath, straining to reach the highest speed possible for a ship her size.
37 knots.
37.1.
37.3.
37.5.
A strange sensation began building in her chest, as if her heart was being shaken loose, even though the organ was no longer present. It wasn't pain, not as any understood it. No, it was the feeling of pressing against an absolute. A ship of 33,000 tons should not be moving as fast as she was. Jasmine didn't care.
She hit 38 knots, turbines howling like a Category 5 hurricane.
With overwhelming power surging through her, Cyane dove into the gathering mists, ensuring her breakaway's success. She could double back and head for the coast again once she was sure she was clear.
First, she'd been blown up and had to dig herself out of the ruins of her family's apartment. Then, she'd been gassed with fucking phosgene by what had to be some sort of warship off the coast. And now, after having finally found an evacuation point, she'd been kidnapped by demonic soldiers, stuffed into a cramped pinnace with a bunch of other captives, and finally dumped into a dark and dank hold aboard a world war vintage destroyer that positively reeked of unsettled grudges and hatred.
She idly wondered if this was how it'd feel to visit her family's former homeland after Khonsu buried it under three meters of ash?
Not a great place to be in regardless, especially not when her wounds from earlier had been reopened and her lungs felt like lead. Probably plasma leaking out of the abused organs. Not good at all.
She was no medical expert - the kami only knew how she passed bio -, but she was pretty sure that she wasn't going to make it much longer without proper medical attention.
Attention that the enemy, whoever they were, clearly weren't going to give her.
And the fact that she was going to die in the hold of what she was beginning to suspect was a fucking slave ship because of a different one of Man's inhumanities... it burned worse than her lungs.
Jasmine wasn't sure how long it was after that thought crossed her mind when her vision began to fade as her breaths became shallower and shallower. But at the same time, she could feel something beyond her slow and painful death. It felt like... turbines?
-
Out.
She had to get out. It was too small here, but she could feel the open ocean close-by. If she could just...
A fist smashed through the thin steel of the bulkhead next her and a casual motion tore the black metal asunder as 280,000 horsepower surged through her extended limb.
A second blow opened a large enough gap that she could just about reach the hull plating. There was also a structural rib visible, and if she grabbed that... lashing out with one foot, she kicked with enough force to knock out an entire hull plate with crash. At the same time, the heavy steel beam she'd braced against snapped under the strain.
It was then that she noticed a sound other than the squeal of abused metal and the thrum of a ship in motion. Screaming. Faint, weak, and hoarse, but still audible.
Oh.
Oh fuck.
She'd forgotten about the other captives!
Before she could do anything else though, a large wave crashed through the hole she'd opened in the side and the destroyer lurched and then twisted.
Grabbing the closest people to her, a redheaded middle schooler and a dusky-skinned girl around nine, Jasmine hauled them out of the water and pulled them close. Then another wave struck and the battered destroyer snapped.
As the vessel came apart around them and began foundering, the Japanese girl did her level best to hold the younger girls even closer to herself in a desperate effort to not lose them to the frigid sea. Then suddenly, they were not longer in her arms, but stumbling on her deck. Around her great slabs of gray metal materialized, forming two massive quadruple turrets set into a hull-like bulk bristling with her lesser guns along her left side. The vast bulk felt both weightless and like a part of her that had until that moment been missing.
It was... exhilarating...
At the same time, she could feel her crew rushing the nine-year-old below to her sickbay while the ginger girl remained rooted to the deck where she'd landed next to Turret I, gaping at the unfamiliar ship she'd just found herself aboard.
"What the fuck is this?" The middle-schooler's voice was little more than a whisper, but Jasmine could hear it as clearly as if she were standing right next to her. "Bullshit. Pure, utter, bullshit. There was supposed to be an Endbringer attack, but then we got hit by some sort of naval strike and then kidnapped by demon soldiers and hauled off to who-knows-where and now I'm on a fucking battleship after being grabbed by a girl who's Brute enough to rip open a cruiser like it was tin foil?!"
That voice and potty mouth seemed familiar. She'd definitely heard it before, but where? She wanted to say Battlefront: Titan, but wasn't sure...
Then Jasmine heard/saw/felt another of the hostile ships, another destroyer, open fire on her. Before she could do more than turn to look, a wave of... something washed over her and the girl on her deck was casting a shimmering mirage-like field across the intervening ocean. Four-inch shells froze mid-air, and torpedoes stilled half-way out of their tubes. The enemy vessel locked up as if it were nothing more than a detailed model.
Jasmine didn't hesitate for more than a heartbeat as the realization struck. Turbines roared louder than even that akuma Lung and the battlecruiser-girl Cyane surged forward as her full power began accelerating her towards 37 knots.
She couldn't save anyone else who had been taken. She couldn't even fight without killing more than she already had done by accident.
She could save those she had aboard though, and she would. Her doctors would have to be enough to keep the younger alive until the girl could be brought to a hospital. They had to be.
And the redhead on her deck? She seemed fine for now. Even if she seemed rather rattled and was muttering something about her brother.
As she began picking up speed, Jasmine focused her attention on the middle schooler and directed her voice to reach her.
"There's a hatch on the underside of the turret. Get inside and find a seat. I don't think you'd enjoy being on deck for much longer!"
The girl practically jumped out of her skin, but ran for the superfiring mount and scrambled inside.
"I'll say it again. This is bullshit," exclaimed the redhead as she hauled herself into the cramped interior. "I have powers now? And I froze a ship. That has got to be the most insane power ever!"
A petty officer sitting at the range-finder laughed. "You think that's crazy kiddo? I got a visit from Admiral King himself in Fiddler's Green about this here posting. Admiral King! And I'm a mere CPO whose sea-sickness was bad enough I could never go to sea!"
"Admiral… King?" she asked. "Who's he? Name's sounding vaguely familiar…"
"Only the CNO who tore BuOrd such a new one for their fuck-ups that the entire bureau ceased to exist!" was the reply.
"So…" the girl said slowly, "he was an angry admiral who destroyed part of his own organization?"
That got another laugh. "No, he was the Angry Admiral, who built BuWeaps."
Then the red-haired man leaned over to get a look at the girl. "Say, you rather resemble my little sister. The name 'Clara Jameson' ring a bell?"
"That's my grandmother's name before she married Grandpa!" she exclaimed. "But if she's your sister… that'd make you Great Uncle Sean. Which is impossible, as he died…"
"In 1948 when a Banshee fighter crashed on take-off and slammed into my office?" the CPO gave her a wry grin. "Yeah. Wasn't fun, I can assure you of that. So, can I know my grandniece's name?"
The girl eyed him for a moment, assessing him. "Dorothy. Dorothy Peters."
"So she actually married her school sweetheart? Good for her," he then shook his head. "We can get to know each other properly later. I need to get back to my station, I can't stay off long when we're at Zebra."
Just then, a piercing whistle resounded through the turret and a voice called "General Quarters, General Quarters. All hands man your battle stations," followed by a clanging electric bell.
Sean groaned. "Definitely putting off that chat. We've got something inbound and that means we're likely not going to be hearing ourselves think, let alone being able to talk. He then rummaged through a pocket and pulled out a couple of cotton wads, which he passed to Dorothy.
"Here, get these in your ears. Unless you want to lose your hearing, that is."
The girl obediently stuffed the cotton into her ears and then hunkered down in a narrow space as the 2400-ton quadruple mount began its ponderous traversal to port.
Dorothy could hear muted orders being called, men confirming angles and statuses. From her position, she could even see into the forward part of the turret through a small window. On the other side was a complex mass of machinery surrounding what she knew had to be one of the gigantic guns the ship-that-was-also-a-girl carried.
"Battleship sighted, bearing 330, range 32000. Load AP!"
At that call, the great block of steel split, a wedge of metal rising as an arm slid it upwards, revealing an opening within. A yellow-banded black object almost as large as Dorothy herself rolled into a concave tray, before being thrown forwards by a colossal ram, which then cycled twice more, this time forcing brass canisters as wide as dinner plates into what the girl now realized must be the gun's breach and the wedge locked back into its starting position.
Then a buzzer rang, and the turret shook.
Thunder reverberated within Dorothy's bones as the massive gun in front of her hurled itself backwards. The breach slid open again, disgorging two smoking cylinders of blacked brass, only for them to be replaced by another shell and set of cartridges.
Again, the turret was filled with the roar of naval artillery. Again, the breach opened to release the spent cases and accept new ordinance. This time though, only a single piece of brass arrived. Curses barely audible to the young teen filled the air and she could swear she could see wisps of blue drifting through the cramped space. Three of the four shell hoists and two powder hoists had jammed.
Meanwhile, Jasmine snarled as reports of the jams came to her. The first salvo had been perfect, landing seven of the eight fourteen-inch heavy shells directly atop the limping battleship bearing the same flag as the destroyers that she'd just escaped. The second, however, merely added to the spray the target was already receiving. Salvo three, what of it had actually fired, hadn't even managed that.
In the distance, six fireballs bloomed as the twisted battleship responded to the battlecruiser. Cursing harder, Jasmine threw her three rudders hard over to starboard to evade. Massive plumes of water erupted a hundred yards away, a clear sign of just what she was facing.
She needed her guns operational again fast or else she and her precious cargo were doomed. Her armor was good, but she knew she couldn't survive repeated sixteen-inch hits. And even at full power, she wouldn't be able to open the range in time to escape. Turret One roared, three shells lancing out and throwing up two columns of spray. The third struck home on what she was beginning to think might be a fast battleship of some sort.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then four bright flashes lit up the enemy, three from the muzzles of the guns, and one much larger one immediately ahead in the lower turret. The bow lurched downward as a jet of hellish flame shot upward from it. She'd scored a major hit, possibly even a fatal one!
Then the battleship heeled over in a turn to unshadow her aft mounts, slowing in the process. Good and bad. On the one hand, the enemy was no longer closing at thirty knots. On the other, now she was facing nine sixteen-inch/50s instead of six.
"Oh come on!" Jasmine groaned. "Why couldn't that have set off the fucking magazine!?"
She still couldn't get out of range fast enough to not get her stern shot off.
There was only one thing Cyane could think of at this point that might let her escape. "Load HC!" She called. If she could destroy the primary rangefinders, she had a chance.
As she made another sharp turn to evade the incoming fire, she grinned as both turrets reported the jams cleared. The moment she had a firing solution again, she'd take the shot. And keep doing so until that abomination's superstructure was demolished. It was the only way she could actually get the enemy off her tail.
Carefully adjusting her rudders for a better angle, the battlecruiser watched her foe intently. Almost... almost...
"Shoot!"
Eight 1500 lb shells arced across the 23000 yards separating the two ships. Eight shells bearing 120 lbs of Explosive D each slammed into the black mass of steel amidships of the target. Seventeen fireballs erupted along the hulking form of the battleship.
Jasmine smirked smugly as the forward tower of her enemy began to crumple in on itself, spewing smoke and flame. A good hit.
"Right, Engineering? I need overload power for five minutes! We're de-assing the area at best possible speed!"
Disregarding the scattered columns of spray from the last inbound salvo, the battlecruiser heeled over in a sharp turn away and her boilers hummed eerily as they were pushed to their maximum rated temperature. Turbines were spun up to their limits, and the stern sank as the four screws clawed at the ocean like a demon. Cyane was gasping for breath, straining to reach the highest speed possible for a ship her size.
37 knots.
37.1.
37.3.
37.5.
A strange sensation began building in her chest, as if her heart was being shaken loose, even though the organ was no longer present. It wasn't pain, not as any understood it. No, it was the feeling of pressing against an absolute. A ship of 33,000 tons should not be moving as fast as she was. Jasmine didn't care.
She hit 38 knots, turbines howling like a Category 5 hurricane.
With overwhelming power surging through her, Cyane dove into the gathering mists, ensuring her breakaway's success. She could double back and head for the coast again once she was sure she was clear.