Things had been going so well, too.
In a way, CFS Trinitite had been relieved when one of...
In a way, CFS Trinitite had been relieved when one of...
All Wo-rk and No Play: An Abyssal's Trials in the Job Market (KC)
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1: One Lucky Missile
PyrrhicSteel
Look natural.
- Location
- Idaho
Things had been going so well, too.
In a way, CFS Trinitite had been relieved when one of Firestorm's scouting aircraft spotted the enemy fleet. The Firebringers had been hitting the Princess's throne for weeks now, forcing her to abandon it and putting the Crossroads Fleet on edge. The incoming fleet was worrying, but it meant that things were going to be resolved, one way or another.
"So… you've reached this place..."
They were outnumbered. The fleet steaming in from the northwest contained six carriers, while between Trinitite's sisters and The Princess herself, they could only answer with four. However, the comforting layer of fog that blanketed The Princess's abode concealed her comrades, breaking up the enemy's strikes without firing a shot. For the first few hours of the battle, it seemed the invaders would either find themselves driven off or at the bottom of the sea.
Then the rockets hit.
Trinitite was halfway through launching another bomber strike when one of her Bearcats detected a flicker of movement below. It was too fast to be an airplane, and nothing that small was one of The Firebringers…
It detonated right above her deck, peppering the Wo-class with supersonic shrapnel. If the missile- its payload only able to poke a hole in her deck on it's own- had arrived at any other time, she would have absorbed its shrapnel and barely notice. The six fully fueled and armed bombers on her deck, however, weren't nearly as well-protected. A white-hot shard of the rocket's casing, traveling just under Mach 3, cut through one of waiting hell dive bombers like wadded-up paper and into the high-explosive bomb slung underneath.
Half of the Abyssal's strike evaporated as Trinitite was engulfed in a fireball, the shockwave tearing one of the launching Hell Divers off her catapult and sending it spinning into the atoll's bay. The explosion shattered the Wo-class's bridge, tearing through her command crew before She'd fully comprehended what had happened. Like a fuse had been blown, the light in Trinitite's eyes disappeared and the blast knocked the abyssal out. With that, a fourth of the Crossroads Fleet's carrier division was disabled, fires scouring the unconscious Abyssal as she wallowed in the Atoll's subdued waves.
- - -
Bridge Casualties stabilized. Command re-established.
CFS Trinitite could have been out for minutes, or maybe hours. One moment, she had been launching bombers, the next her bow was buried in one of the Atoll's sand bars.
Fires extinguished. Assessing damage to the flight deck and superstructure.
She groaned, raising a hand to her burned deck. The pain that had up until now been unnoticed flared, and with a sharp inhale the Carrier removed her hand. Groaning, Trinitite rolled onto her back, easing herself further onto the beach. Had it gotten... brighter?
A good portion of the flight deck is missing. 1 catapult is still operational, and we still have functional arresting gear, but there isn't much deck in between them.
We've kept the damage in the hangar low, but there's significant warping around both elevators. If you want any of the aircraft inside, you'll have to re-assemble them topside.
Ignoring the horde of damage reports flooding her bridge, Trinitite propped herself up on her elbows and directed her attention to the battle around her.
There, not more than 600 yards in front of her, floated an enemy battleship.
Fire director's damaged. If you shift a few degrees starboard we might be able to get one of the remaining secondaries to bear, but I can guarantee you won't hit anything.
The Wo-class froze, eyes locked onto the behemoth that had barged into the bay. The Titan's eight massive cannons, each enough to break her on their own, were facing away from her, thank the deep, but she had plenty of company. The battleship's firepower was doubled by a sister ship, and the pair were surrounded by a collection of enemy cruisers and destroyers. The mass of firepower that had entered the bay was overwhelming, and all of it was aimed at one point.
"Maybe… maybe this is a good thing…"
She always spoke so softly, but still Her Princess's words carried to her. Trinitite's breath caught in her throat as she caught sight of her leader, the Hime battered and burning in the center of the enemy's fleet. The rest of the Crossroads Fleet was nowhere to be seen, but Trinitite knew her princess hadn't been abandoned. The enemy had been forced to fight through every ship in the fleet to get to her, except for one.
"Mother…" Trinitite tried to call out, but what should have been a strong message of encouragement came out as a raspy whisper.
Radio array is thrashed. We won't be transmitting anything today.
The enemy battleship must have said something, but Trinitite was too far to make out her words.
"With this knowledge, I can at last sleep… What?"
Air contact, bearing 043.
Trinitite hadn't noticed the sound of the helicopter's rotors until it had almost passed her. The massive thing briefly blocked out the sun (when had that been so visible through their mist?), turbulence sending ocean spray over Trinitite as it barreled past her. At the last moment, the ungainly thing's nose jerked upwards, and it began to lower. Another one of the enemy's ships- a carrier, with a build not unlike herself- bailed into the water.
"Lexie?"
That… wasn't the tone of voice Trinitite would have expected in this situation, and the shock was enough to keep her on the beach, watching. She… Mother knew one of them?
The enemy carrier rushed towards The Princess, shouting something Trinitite couldn't determine. The Wo-class almost attempted to stand, but the attempt was forgotten as the two carriers collided. Were… were they hugging?
No. The blast must have knocked something serious loose, because there was no way her princess could have known one of the enemy that well. She'd said so herself, when she was talking about the old times. That The Firebringers had destroyed her to prove that her daughters were obsolete. That her failure to stand up to their weapons meant that her kin were doomed in this new kind of warfare. Trinitite had inspected the wrecks of Mother's fleet herself!
What was going on?
The Wo-class, mouth wordlessly opening and closing like a suffocating fish, could do nothing but stare into the bay as the two carriers sobbed into each other's shoulders.
"But… you're dead. I failed you… The Air Force, it-"
The other carrier cut Trinitite's princess off, and held her by the shoulders at arm's reach. How often had The Princess done the same to Trinitite? Was she… attempting to comfort her? From her binoculars, the Wo-class could see tear-streaks marring The Princess's face, but that smile Trinitite knew so well had returned. She… didn't know what was going on anymore. How could they act so familiar after all of her comrades, her sisters, had been sunk?
Trinitite blinked, wiped her eyes with her hand, and took another look at her princess. Yes, the crest on her chest was undoubtedly glowing. What did that mean? It was obscured when the other carrier drew her into a second hug, but returned with force as the glow spread across her body. CFS Trinitite was forced to look away as the glow intensified, blotting out the forms in the bay and surpassing the sun in its intensity. Shielding her eyes, Trinitite was reminded of Her Princess's descriptions of The Fire. Had the enemy carrier snuck one of those weapons on board while they were hugging? No, the enemy was many things, but suicidal was not one of them.
The glow suddenly abated, and Trinitite tried to get another look at her princess before her mind came to an abrupt halt.
Her flowing white hair had become cropped, and red. Her loose gown had become a tight-fitting, buttoned dress. The glow in her eyes had disappeared, and her skin, once the perfect white that all abyssals sported, had become the sandy tone of the enemy. Like one of them.
What had they done to her?
In a way, CFS Trinitite had been relieved when one of Firestorm's scouting aircraft spotted the enemy fleet. The Firebringers had been hitting the Princess's throne for weeks now, forcing her to abandon it and putting the Crossroads Fleet on edge. The incoming fleet was worrying, but it meant that things were going to be resolved, one way or another.
"So… you've reached this place..."
They were outnumbered. The fleet steaming in from the northwest contained six carriers, while between Trinitite's sisters and The Princess herself, they could only answer with four. However, the comforting layer of fog that blanketed The Princess's abode concealed her comrades, breaking up the enemy's strikes without firing a shot. For the first few hours of the battle, it seemed the invaders would either find themselves driven off or at the bottom of the sea.
Then the rockets hit.
Trinitite was halfway through launching another bomber strike when one of her Bearcats detected a flicker of movement below. It was too fast to be an airplane, and nothing that small was one of The Firebringers…
It detonated right above her deck, peppering the Wo-class with supersonic shrapnel. If the missile- its payload only able to poke a hole in her deck on it's own- had arrived at any other time, she would have absorbed its shrapnel and barely notice. The six fully fueled and armed bombers on her deck, however, weren't nearly as well-protected. A white-hot shard of the rocket's casing, traveling just under Mach 3, cut through one of waiting hell dive bombers like wadded-up paper and into the high-explosive bomb slung underneath.
Half of the Abyssal's strike evaporated as Trinitite was engulfed in a fireball, the shockwave tearing one of the launching Hell Divers off her catapult and sending it spinning into the atoll's bay. The explosion shattered the Wo-class's bridge, tearing through her command crew before She'd fully comprehended what had happened. Like a fuse had been blown, the light in Trinitite's eyes disappeared and the blast knocked the abyssal out. With that, a fourth of the Crossroads Fleet's carrier division was disabled, fires scouring the unconscious Abyssal as she wallowed in the Atoll's subdued waves.
- - -
Bridge Casualties stabilized. Command re-established.
CFS Trinitite could have been out for minutes, or maybe hours. One moment, she had been launching bombers, the next her bow was buried in one of the Atoll's sand bars.
Fires extinguished. Assessing damage to the flight deck and superstructure.
She groaned, raising a hand to her burned deck. The pain that had up until now been unnoticed flared, and with a sharp inhale the Carrier removed her hand. Groaning, Trinitite rolled onto her back, easing herself further onto the beach. Had it gotten... brighter?
A good portion of the flight deck is missing. 1 catapult is still operational, and we still have functional arresting gear, but there isn't much deck in between them.
We've kept the damage in the hangar low, but there's significant warping around both elevators. If you want any of the aircraft inside, you'll have to re-assemble them topside.
Ignoring the horde of damage reports flooding her bridge, Trinitite propped herself up on her elbows and directed her attention to the battle around her.
There, not more than 600 yards in front of her, floated an enemy battleship.
Fire director's damaged. If you shift a few degrees starboard we might be able to get one of the remaining secondaries to bear, but I can guarantee you won't hit anything.
The Wo-class froze, eyes locked onto the behemoth that had barged into the bay. The Titan's eight massive cannons, each enough to break her on their own, were facing away from her, thank the deep, but she had plenty of company. The battleship's firepower was doubled by a sister ship, and the pair were surrounded by a collection of enemy cruisers and destroyers. The mass of firepower that had entered the bay was overwhelming, and all of it was aimed at one point.
"Maybe… maybe this is a good thing…"
She always spoke so softly, but still Her Princess's words carried to her. Trinitite's breath caught in her throat as she caught sight of her leader, the Hime battered and burning in the center of the enemy's fleet. The rest of the Crossroads Fleet was nowhere to be seen, but Trinitite knew her princess hadn't been abandoned. The enemy had been forced to fight through every ship in the fleet to get to her, except for one.
"Mother…" Trinitite tried to call out, but what should have been a strong message of encouragement came out as a raspy whisper.
Radio array is thrashed. We won't be transmitting anything today.
The enemy battleship must have said something, but Trinitite was too far to make out her words.
"With this knowledge, I can at last sleep… What?"
Air contact, bearing 043.
Trinitite hadn't noticed the sound of the helicopter's rotors until it had almost passed her. The massive thing briefly blocked out the sun (when had that been so visible through their mist?), turbulence sending ocean spray over Trinitite as it barreled past her. At the last moment, the ungainly thing's nose jerked upwards, and it began to lower. Another one of the enemy's ships- a carrier, with a build not unlike herself- bailed into the water.
"Lexie?"
That… wasn't the tone of voice Trinitite would have expected in this situation, and the shock was enough to keep her on the beach, watching. She… Mother knew one of them?
The enemy carrier rushed towards The Princess, shouting something Trinitite couldn't determine. The Wo-class almost attempted to stand, but the attempt was forgotten as the two carriers collided. Were… were they hugging?
No. The blast must have knocked something serious loose, because there was no way her princess could have known one of the enemy that well. She'd said so herself, when she was talking about the old times. That The Firebringers had destroyed her to prove that her daughters were obsolete. That her failure to stand up to their weapons meant that her kin were doomed in this new kind of warfare. Trinitite had inspected the wrecks of Mother's fleet herself!
What was going on?
The Wo-class, mouth wordlessly opening and closing like a suffocating fish, could do nothing but stare into the bay as the two carriers sobbed into each other's shoulders.
"But… you're dead. I failed you… The Air Force, it-"
The other carrier cut Trinitite's princess off, and held her by the shoulders at arm's reach. How often had The Princess done the same to Trinitite? Was she… attempting to comfort her? From her binoculars, the Wo-class could see tear-streaks marring The Princess's face, but that smile Trinitite knew so well had returned. She… didn't know what was going on anymore. How could they act so familiar after all of her comrades, her sisters, had been sunk?
Trinitite blinked, wiped her eyes with her hand, and took another look at her princess. Yes, the crest on her chest was undoubtedly glowing. What did that mean? It was obscured when the other carrier drew her into a second hug, but returned with force as the glow spread across her body. CFS Trinitite was forced to look away as the glow intensified, blotting out the forms in the bay and surpassing the sun in its intensity. Shielding her eyes, Trinitite was reminded of Her Princess's descriptions of The Fire. Had the enemy carrier snuck one of those weapons on board while they were hugging? No, the enemy was many things, but suicidal was not one of them.
The glow suddenly abated, and Trinitite tried to get another look at her princess before her mind came to an abrupt halt.
Her flowing white hair had become cropped, and red. Her loose gown had become a tight-fitting, buttoned dress. The glow in her eyes had disappeared, and her skin, once the perfect white that all abyssals sported, had become the sandy tone of the enemy. Like one of them.
What had they done to her?
I posted an idea on SB's KC ideas and recs thread, and since it sparked some entertaining discussion I started writing. I've got a few chapters together, now, and I figure you guys would enjoy it here as well. Enjoy!
Last edited:
2: Finding a Purpose
PyrrhicSteel
Look natural.
- Location
- Idaho
CFS Trinitite had always hated the sun. It reminded the carrier of her time spent outside of The Princess's protective haze, where she couldn't trust nearby fleets and the threat of raiders bore down on her. She missed the fog that took the edge off the sunlight, filtering out the worst of its' rays and tickling her skin as a reminder of home.
Except she was home. When the enemy had done that… thing to Her Princess, the blinding light had scoured Bikini atoll of its protective haze. Now, the sun's rays beat down on Trinitite's hull, irritating the burns on her deck even further. Seeing the entire bay- along with the remains of its defenses and fleet- certainly didn't make things better.
…Perhaps she should drop the CFS prefix.
While making her way into the former resort that had become the Crossroad Fleet's ground facilities, Trinitite stumbled upon her sister. The lifeless eyes of her CFS Hypocenter peered past her, while a look of faint shock had been frozen onto her face. Whatever had tossed her onto land must have thrown her headgear elsewhere, while large portions of her hull seemed to be missing. Some kind of magazine detonation, then. As Trinitite carefully stepped around her sister's corpse, she wondered if she'd shared her late sister's expression when the human rocket had struck her.
The enemy had practically ignored the base on Bikini island, leaving even the obvious abyssal modifications in pristine condition. That meant Trinitite would have plenty of fuel to go… somewhere. The menial and familiar task of filling her bunkers allowed the Wo-class to ignore the gaping hole in her deck, and if it wasn't for that damnable sun she could have pretended that her life hadn't fallen apart.
The Abyssal's mood soured further when she reached the base's drydocks. Usually, a drydock would signal its availability with a hum with power and malevolence, a clear sign that its crew was ready for another job. Now, the uninspiring pools of water sat desolate, dead as surely as rest of the Crossroads Fleet was. If Trinitite stripped and dove into waves of the Pacific, she would get just as much help.
Resigned, Trinitite stepped back into the ocean, screws engaging as she left the base behind her. The enemy had wasted no time in Bikini Atoll once they had gotten to Her Princess. With the Crossroads Fleet shattered and their supplies in pristine condition, she couldn't fault their judgement. Soon, like a horde of spider crabs around a sunken corpse, the surrounding abyssal fleets would close on Bikini Atoll and strip it of anything remotely useful.
Anger flared inside of her at the thought. Her Princess had been frank in responding to the demands their "allies" would send to her: If the humans had truly considered the fleets of the Abyss a threat, they would have scoured them from the face of the ocean with Their Fire. Some day, their little crusade would wipe them out, and the Crossroads Fleet wasn't going to help them earn obliteration.
An exception had been the Supply Depot Princess, who had been reasonable enough to earn a few favors from the Crossroads Fleet, but even she hadn't transmitted a word when not one but two human fleets sailed into the heart of abyssal territory to smash the Crossroads Fleet. Who were they to reap all the resources Her Princess had earned? They deserved a torpedo in their keel for betraying their sister, and now they were going to be swimming in the fuel and ammunition the Crossroads Fleet had gathered! This bounty of supplies was the only thing The Fleet had ventured outside the Atoll to get, otherwise content to leave their allies to their own business.
The Wo-class found herself turning back towards her former home. Before she left, she had some unfinished matters to attend to.
- - -
Trinitite was running out of time. One of her lookouts had spotted a hell diver overhead, meaning someone was scouting out Bikini Atoll for an incoming fleet. This would have to do.
The Wo-class aircraft carrier sighed, laying the bag of 14-inch shell propellant snug against the base's avgas bunker. She hadn't covered the entirety of the base with explosives from its magazines, but she'd gotten everything she cared about. Whatever bitch was about to make her move on Bikini could have the drydocks. Trinitite snapped a valve off the endangered avgas tank, allowing the vapor to drift across her former base as she took her leave.
Her fire director really was broken. It took 3 salvos from her remaining secondaries before something was caught in the blasts, and even then the detonation only covered the base's magazine. Disappointing, but perhaps not all the damage she had done. There were open flames, as well as plenty of gas vapor. Eventually, the former would meet the latter and chemistry would finish Trinitite's job for her. It would have to do. The Carrier turned, allowing what was left of her life to burn down behind her.
Where now?
Even if the scout plane hadn't reported what she'd done to its superior, and even if she could bring herself to, Trinitite couldn't really ally herself with another one of the Princesses. Many would probably execute her to tie up loose ends, and those who didn't would probably find it more cost-effective to scrap her and summon an entirely new carrier. In theory, the warping around her flight deck could be repaired, but the time it would take wouldn't be worth it for even the most elite carriers, and Trinitite didn't exactly have an impressive service history. That didn't leave her with much, did it?
The image of what Her Princess had become still lingered in her mind. The waves of red hair, the white dress, and that same subdued smile Trinitite had known for years. She was still out there, somewhere. She had changed, yes, boarding the human helicopter and leaving with the rest of the enemy fleet, but by how much? Had the enemy completely erased the Princess she once knew, replacing it with a carrier that only resembled her Mother? Or was she still in there, somewhere?
She needed to know.
As the Wo-class carrier cruised north, she started riffing through her charts. Who did Her Princess say built her? Right. The Eastern Enemy, this "United States." In order to get there, she would have to cruise… northeast, before threading the Midway and Wake Princess's territories and taking an easterly course to the large continent there. Even allowing for combat maneuvers as well as the general zig-zagging she would have to practice to avoid submarines, she would have enough fuel. If she could slip the enemy's patrols, she could disappear into the vast tracts of land on the continent, safe from patrolling destroyers and using the vegetation to hide from enemy aircraft.
She… wasn't sure where to go from there, but Trinitite figured she could think of something after "slipping their patrols" had been taken care of. That would be tricky enough, without having to worry about what came next.
Except she was home. When the enemy had done that… thing to Her Princess, the blinding light had scoured Bikini atoll of its protective haze. Now, the sun's rays beat down on Trinitite's hull, irritating the burns on her deck even further. Seeing the entire bay- along with the remains of its defenses and fleet- certainly didn't make things better.
…Perhaps she should drop the CFS prefix.
While making her way into the former resort that had become the Crossroad Fleet's ground facilities, Trinitite stumbled upon her sister. The lifeless eyes of her CFS Hypocenter peered past her, while a look of faint shock had been frozen onto her face. Whatever had tossed her onto land must have thrown her headgear elsewhere, while large portions of her hull seemed to be missing. Some kind of magazine detonation, then. As Trinitite carefully stepped around her sister's corpse, she wondered if she'd shared her late sister's expression when the human rocket had struck her.
The enemy had practically ignored the base on Bikini island, leaving even the obvious abyssal modifications in pristine condition. That meant Trinitite would have plenty of fuel to go… somewhere. The menial and familiar task of filling her bunkers allowed the Wo-class to ignore the gaping hole in her deck, and if it wasn't for that damnable sun she could have pretended that her life hadn't fallen apart.
The Abyssal's mood soured further when she reached the base's drydocks. Usually, a drydock would signal its availability with a hum with power and malevolence, a clear sign that its crew was ready for another job. Now, the uninspiring pools of water sat desolate, dead as surely as rest of the Crossroads Fleet was. If Trinitite stripped and dove into waves of the Pacific, she would get just as much help.
Resigned, Trinitite stepped back into the ocean, screws engaging as she left the base behind her. The enemy had wasted no time in Bikini Atoll once they had gotten to Her Princess. With the Crossroads Fleet shattered and their supplies in pristine condition, she couldn't fault their judgement. Soon, like a horde of spider crabs around a sunken corpse, the surrounding abyssal fleets would close on Bikini Atoll and strip it of anything remotely useful.
Anger flared inside of her at the thought. Her Princess had been frank in responding to the demands their "allies" would send to her: If the humans had truly considered the fleets of the Abyss a threat, they would have scoured them from the face of the ocean with Their Fire. Some day, their little crusade would wipe them out, and the Crossroads Fleet wasn't going to help them earn obliteration.
An exception had been the Supply Depot Princess, who had been reasonable enough to earn a few favors from the Crossroads Fleet, but even she hadn't transmitted a word when not one but two human fleets sailed into the heart of abyssal territory to smash the Crossroads Fleet. Who were they to reap all the resources Her Princess had earned? They deserved a torpedo in their keel for betraying their sister, and now they were going to be swimming in the fuel and ammunition the Crossroads Fleet had gathered! This bounty of supplies was the only thing The Fleet had ventured outside the Atoll to get, otherwise content to leave their allies to their own business.
The Wo-class found herself turning back towards her former home. Before she left, she had some unfinished matters to attend to.
- - -
Trinitite was running out of time. One of her lookouts had spotted a hell diver overhead, meaning someone was scouting out Bikini Atoll for an incoming fleet. This would have to do.
The Wo-class aircraft carrier sighed, laying the bag of 14-inch shell propellant snug against the base's avgas bunker. She hadn't covered the entirety of the base with explosives from its magazines, but she'd gotten everything she cared about. Whatever bitch was about to make her move on Bikini could have the drydocks. Trinitite snapped a valve off the endangered avgas tank, allowing the vapor to drift across her former base as she took her leave.
Her fire director really was broken. It took 3 salvos from her remaining secondaries before something was caught in the blasts, and even then the detonation only covered the base's magazine. Disappointing, but perhaps not all the damage she had done. There were open flames, as well as plenty of gas vapor. Eventually, the former would meet the latter and chemistry would finish Trinitite's job for her. It would have to do. The Carrier turned, allowing what was left of her life to burn down behind her.
Where now?
Even if the scout plane hadn't reported what she'd done to its superior, and even if she could bring herself to, Trinitite couldn't really ally herself with another one of the Princesses. Many would probably execute her to tie up loose ends, and those who didn't would probably find it more cost-effective to scrap her and summon an entirely new carrier. In theory, the warping around her flight deck could be repaired, but the time it would take wouldn't be worth it for even the most elite carriers, and Trinitite didn't exactly have an impressive service history. That didn't leave her with much, did it?
The image of what Her Princess had become still lingered in her mind. The waves of red hair, the white dress, and that same subdued smile Trinitite had known for years. She was still out there, somewhere. She had changed, yes, boarding the human helicopter and leaving with the rest of the enemy fleet, but by how much? Had the enemy completely erased the Princess she once knew, replacing it with a carrier that only resembled her Mother? Or was she still in there, somewhere?
She needed to know.
As the Wo-class carrier cruised north, she started riffing through her charts. Who did Her Princess say built her? Right. The Eastern Enemy, this "United States." In order to get there, she would have to cruise… northeast, before threading the Midway and Wake Princess's territories and taking an easterly course to the large continent there. Even allowing for combat maneuvers as well as the general zig-zagging she would have to practice to avoid submarines, she would have enough fuel. If she could slip the enemy's patrols, she could disappear into the vast tracts of land on the continent, safe from patrolling destroyers and using the vegetation to hide from enemy aircraft.
She… wasn't sure where to go from there, but Trinitite figured she could think of something after "slipping their patrols" had been taken care of. That would be tricky enough, without having to worry about what came next.
Last edited:
Interlude: Petty Mercy
PyrrhicSteel
Look natural.
- Location
- Idaho
Rain fell in indiscriminate sheets, the constant drizzle transformed into a torrent as her foul mood played on the weather. Wind rose to a horrific, screeching crescendo, then fell to eerie silence, weaving through the waiting aircraft, weapons emplacements, and chitinous structures that composed the installation's being. Among it all, her humanoid form paced, impotent rage tearing at her soul with no clear outlet in sight.
The Midway Princess had been so close!
She tried to remind herself that she was still in a good position. The installation wasn't under any direct threat, her fleet was still at full strength, and there was still the chance that the enemy fleet could take losses as they fought their way out of abyssal territory.
Still, it could have been so much more!
The massive enemy fleet- at least ten carriers from the great powers on either side of the pacific, escorted by an irreplaceable number of battleships, cruisers, and other escorts- could all be rusting in the depths by now! According to the plan she'd made and her 'allies' had agreed to, all of those ships would be in mortal peril, battered into the sea by waves of aircraft as the cluttered carriers struggled to coordinate in the saturated airspace. They'd be isolated and surrounded, trading their lives for those of the princess of little strategic import. As far as battles went, this one would have blown the clash in her previous life out of the water, her strategic genius opening the entire pacific to The Abyss!
Of course, the plan had failed to account for one critical weakness. The humans had acted exactly how she'd expected, but her comrades…
"Oh," she fumed, her loose dress angrily whipping in the wind, "it's a damn good thing I'm never going to see those bitches face-to-face."
The pawn walking alongside her nodded, remaining silent as she listened to her Princess rant. She was an excellent warship: a Ta-class fast battleship armed with several 16-inch guns, but far more importantly a respectable air search radar and a large battery of dual-purpose 5-inch guns. While the real muscle of her fleet, her invaluable carriers, focused on their duties, the battleship had all the command and control capabilities to act as a forward commander while the fleet sallied forth, away from her protective umbrella of coastal guns and aircraft. Because of that, she wasn't really a pawn… more of a bishop, or a rook, which is why Midway had graced the battleship with a name: "Second."
Sometimes, the installation wondered what it would be like to be able to step into the waters and sail, enjoying the freedom to chase the enemy to their homes and end things once and for all, but that was impatience talking. She was grafted into, inextricably linked to the most important island in the world, and as long as it stayed above the waves she would persist. They would have to come to her… eventually.
"Those supplies will still be on Bikini after the humans are destroyed, you know." The installation continued to fume. "The Jellyfish had plenty of fuel and ammunition for everyone, once the humans had been taken care of."
The three fleets, based at Kwajalein, Eniwetok, and Majuro respectively, were supposed to be nipping at the heels of the retreating humans, harassing them until the combined forces from the Aircraft Carrier Princess, Central, and herself could catch them. If they'd followed the very simple plan, the humans would be crushed by strikes from every point of the compass. Instead, the three fleets had instead fixated on the cache of supplies the humans had spared in the Jellyfish's abode. They had sent scouts, then small parties, then threw Midway's plan out of the window as they dedicated their entire fleets to the three-way standoff over the Crossroads Fleet's corpse.
It was infuriating.
At least the humans had done her the favor of removing that self-absorbed defeatist at Bikini. Watching the princess continue to deny her purpose had been grating, her constant weeping about some imaginary 'fire' making her even more irritating than other fleets who'd chosen to mope on an island rather than take advantage of the opportunity a second life provided.
That was why, when news of the first bombings at Bikini had arrived, she'd been ecstatic! It felt like the humans had committed a terrible blunder, baiting their own trap for Midway to spring, but if they'd deliberately left the supplies behind for her allies to fight over…
It was still frustrating, but she could respect it. The more cunning the enemy proved to be, the more triumphant her eventual victory would be, once she'd achieved it.
Of course, she couldn't achieve it alone! Why had she been given allies who were so short-sighted, petty, or just stupid?
"I wonder," She mused, "how many bombs would it take to sink an island? Break it up until the waves can reclaim it?"
That was a question that the humans were probably better qualified to answer. Whatever process the abyss used to create her was unknown to Midway's enemies as well as herself, and as far as she was aware they'd never managed to kill an installation yet.
"At least I could count on the Jellyfish Princess being uncooperative…" She complained.
"Do… you still want me to deploy, Princess?" Second asked, her voice hesitant.
A spike of rage, as fierce and sudden as a bolt of lightning, flashed through the Midway Princess's mind. Was she stupid? Had Midway put this much effort into training this rook only for her to decide to throw herself- along with all Midway's invaluable carriers- away?
With the three stooges infighting back at Bikini, the coalition Midway had assembled for the blocking force was dead on arrival. The Central Princess was in a state of near-constant panic over the human forces that stubbornly clung to her islands. Only a watertight guarantee of success had convinced her to temporarily relinquish control of some of her battle lines. On paper, the handful of battleships and their escorts wouldn't do much to tip the balance, but they were supposed to be screening the Aircraft Carrier Princess and her strike groups! No ships from Oahu meant she wouldn't be coming either. Second should have guessed all that, and the fool was still considering going out there?
The princess paused, forcing her eyes shut. It would be far too easy to reach out and grab the idiot Ta-class. She was a battleship, a damn fine battleship, but the midway princess wasn't just some pale-skinned human. She was the entire island of Midway… every building, aircraft, generator, shadow-shaped guard, and grain of sand here. She could tear the battleship apart if she lost her temper- she had, to Second's predecessor, and accidentally, too. It was a blunder, and one the midway princess still didn't forgive herself for.
Such valuable material wasted for no gain… it had been criminal.
She felt her dress whipping around her knees, against her legs, and behind her, an elegant flag differentiating her from her pieces. She felt the wheels of another one of her liberators rolling against the tarmac as it taxied onto one of her runways. She felt the rain on her face, in her hair, and on the chitinous roofs of hangars and barracks. She felt the waves slamming against her shore, throwing themselves against her banks… then inevitably withdrawing. A hand reached up and started fiddling with her crown of protruding spikes that jutted from her neck, freeing some of her hair that had become tangled in there.
Then, finally, the anger faded.
At least, the anger towards Second had faded.
"Don't bother." The princess opened her eyes, and the Ta-class visibly relaxed. In hindsight, the question had been a gentle recommendation against sortieing, drawing her attention away from the squabble that had torn her plan apart and back towards practical matters. All that training of her mind hadn't been a waste, after all. "Their fleet survived, but so did ours. We'll have another chance."
They'd have to. Why else would The Abyss have called her, molding her from sand and concrete and memories, if not for that chance?
Besides, the three's betrayal could hold potential for an opportunity. If she made it known to some of their mutual allies that they'd saved a human fleet by betraying her plan, perhaps some pressure could be applied to-
Incoming message. It's using Enewetak's code prefix.
She felt something tighten in her brow as her cryptographers grappled with the message. What now?
HELL HATH NO FURY TT ENEMY CARRIER MOVING NORTH BETWEEN WAKE AND MIDWAY TRAITOR WO-CLASS DAMAGED FLIGHT DECK DEPLETED AIR WING SABOTAGED IMPORTANT SUPPLIES JJ EVEN DEATH MAY DIE
First off, there was that embarrassing padding phrase at the end. Midway didn't remember where that line came from, but it wasn't original, and considering it was the fourth time she'd read it from Enewtak's communications it certainly wasn't random. Laziness like that was why Midway gave a unique cypher for each princess she dealt with.
Second, what had she meant by a 'Traitor Wo-class?' The important supplies were probably the cache on Bikini, and if a damaged carrier was fleeing the island, that meant…
Unbidden, a snort escaped the Midway Princess's lips. Then, an uncharacteristic giggle overcame the noise of the calming storm around her. Second recoiled, the Ta-class's facade of control cracking at the unheard-of reaction as the abyssal princess's laughter escalated.
The shock on the Ta-class's face was understandable. Midway wasn't even certain she could laugh, before now, but the sudden and unexpected onset of justice had caught her completely off guard.
"So, the cache of supplies that was apparently so important they had to fuck my plan over?" The Ta nodded. "It's gone. Some straggler from the Jellyfish's Fleet destroyed at least a part of the cache, and is running north."
Second smiled back, nodding hesitant at first, but the smile gained depth as understanding dawned.
"Exactly. All that treachery has exploded in their faces, and now they have the gall to think I'd do any favors for them."
"Favors?" The Ta-class asked, but Midway waved her hand dismissively.
"Don't worry about it." Midway dismissed. Part of her floated the idea of sending her fleet out to try and find the wayward carrier, but it didn't last long. Even ignoring the impracticality of scouring several thousand square miles of open ocean for one ship, Midway didn't like the idea of sending her fleet away in case the human armada was planning on doing more than just fleeing abyssal territory. Besides, while any fleet carrier was a significant asset, at the end of the day it was just one Wo-class. Who knew if the work it would take to repair her, retrain her, and get her integrated into the well-oiled machine that was Midway's fleet would balance out the risk of finding her. On top of that, she was Jellyfish's carrier, and no doubt poisoned by that apocalyptic defeatism that made her fleet such a bother in the first place. Midway couldn't trust her to make any important sacrifices, even when they became necessary.
Recognizing her dismissal, the Ta-class didn't follow her as the Midway Princess walked towards her hangars. Only a handful of liberator bombers remained on the taxiway, their bellies filled with parting gifts for the departing human fleet. High altitude level bombing wasn't going to do much to the departing fleet, but she wasn't going to let them leave completely unopposed.
Thoughts of the Wo-class her southern… acquaintances wanted sunk faded from her mind as she focused on the forming strike in the clouds above. She'd already served her purpose. For now, Midway had some real targets to bomb.
The Midway Princess had been so close!
She tried to remind herself that she was still in a good position. The installation wasn't under any direct threat, her fleet was still at full strength, and there was still the chance that the enemy fleet could take losses as they fought their way out of abyssal territory.
Still, it could have been so much more!
The massive enemy fleet- at least ten carriers from the great powers on either side of the pacific, escorted by an irreplaceable number of battleships, cruisers, and other escorts- could all be rusting in the depths by now! According to the plan she'd made and her 'allies' had agreed to, all of those ships would be in mortal peril, battered into the sea by waves of aircraft as the cluttered carriers struggled to coordinate in the saturated airspace. They'd be isolated and surrounded, trading their lives for those of the princess of little strategic import. As far as battles went, this one would have blown the clash in her previous life out of the water, her strategic genius opening the entire pacific to The Abyss!
Of course, the plan had failed to account for one critical weakness. The humans had acted exactly how she'd expected, but her comrades…
"Oh," she fumed, her loose dress angrily whipping in the wind, "it's a damn good thing I'm never going to see those bitches face-to-face."
The pawn walking alongside her nodded, remaining silent as she listened to her Princess rant. She was an excellent warship: a Ta-class fast battleship armed with several 16-inch guns, but far more importantly a respectable air search radar and a large battery of dual-purpose 5-inch guns. While the real muscle of her fleet, her invaluable carriers, focused on their duties, the battleship had all the command and control capabilities to act as a forward commander while the fleet sallied forth, away from her protective umbrella of coastal guns and aircraft. Because of that, she wasn't really a pawn… more of a bishop, or a rook, which is why Midway had graced the battleship with a name: "Second."
Sometimes, the installation wondered what it would be like to be able to step into the waters and sail, enjoying the freedom to chase the enemy to their homes and end things once and for all, but that was impatience talking. She was grafted into, inextricably linked to the most important island in the world, and as long as it stayed above the waves she would persist. They would have to come to her… eventually.
"Those supplies will still be on Bikini after the humans are destroyed, you know." The installation continued to fume. "The Jellyfish had plenty of fuel and ammunition for everyone, once the humans had been taken care of."
The three fleets, based at Kwajalein, Eniwetok, and Majuro respectively, were supposed to be nipping at the heels of the retreating humans, harassing them until the combined forces from the Aircraft Carrier Princess, Central, and herself could catch them. If they'd followed the very simple plan, the humans would be crushed by strikes from every point of the compass. Instead, the three fleets had instead fixated on the cache of supplies the humans had spared in the Jellyfish's abode. They had sent scouts, then small parties, then threw Midway's plan out of the window as they dedicated their entire fleets to the three-way standoff over the Crossroads Fleet's corpse.
It was infuriating.
At least the humans had done her the favor of removing that self-absorbed defeatist at Bikini. Watching the princess continue to deny her purpose had been grating, her constant weeping about some imaginary 'fire' making her even more irritating than other fleets who'd chosen to mope on an island rather than take advantage of the opportunity a second life provided.
That was why, when news of the first bombings at Bikini had arrived, she'd been ecstatic! It felt like the humans had committed a terrible blunder, baiting their own trap for Midway to spring, but if they'd deliberately left the supplies behind for her allies to fight over…
It was still frustrating, but she could respect it. The more cunning the enemy proved to be, the more triumphant her eventual victory would be, once she'd achieved it.
Of course, she couldn't achieve it alone! Why had she been given allies who were so short-sighted, petty, or just stupid?
"I wonder," She mused, "how many bombs would it take to sink an island? Break it up until the waves can reclaim it?"
That was a question that the humans were probably better qualified to answer. Whatever process the abyss used to create her was unknown to Midway's enemies as well as herself, and as far as she was aware they'd never managed to kill an installation yet.
"At least I could count on the Jellyfish Princess being uncooperative…" She complained.
"Do… you still want me to deploy, Princess?" Second asked, her voice hesitant.
A spike of rage, as fierce and sudden as a bolt of lightning, flashed through the Midway Princess's mind. Was she stupid? Had Midway put this much effort into training this rook only for her to decide to throw herself- along with all Midway's invaluable carriers- away?
With the three stooges infighting back at Bikini, the coalition Midway had assembled for the blocking force was dead on arrival. The Central Princess was in a state of near-constant panic over the human forces that stubbornly clung to her islands. Only a watertight guarantee of success had convinced her to temporarily relinquish control of some of her battle lines. On paper, the handful of battleships and their escorts wouldn't do much to tip the balance, but they were supposed to be screening the Aircraft Carrier Princess and her strike groups! No ships from Oahu meant she wouldn't be coming either. Second should have guessed all that, and the fool was still considering going out there?
The princess paused, forcing her eyes shut. It would be far too easy to reach out and grab the idiot Ta-class. She was a battleship, a damn fine battleship, but the midway princess wasn't just some pale-skinned human. She was the entire island of Midway… every building, aircraft, generator, shadow-shaped guard, and grain of sand here. She could tear the battleship apart if she lost her temper- she had, to Second's predecessor, and accidentally, too. It was a blunder, and one the midway princess still didn't forgive herself for.
Such valuable material wasted for no gain… it had been criminal.
She felt her dress whipping around her knees, against her legs, and behind her, an elegant flag differentiating her from her pieces. She felt the wheels of another one of her liberators rolling against the tarmac as it taxied onto one of her runways. She felt the rain on her face, in her hair, and on the chitinous roofs of hangars and barracks. She felt the waves slamming against her shore, throwing themselves against her banks… then inevitably withdrawing. A hand reached up and started fiddling with her crown of protruding spikes that jutted from her neck, freeing some of her hair that had become tangled in there.
Then, finally, the anger faded.
At least, the anger towards Second had faded.
"Don't bother." The princess opened her eyes, and the Ta-class visibly relaxed. In hindsight, the question had been a gentle recommendation against sortieing, drawing her attention away from the squabble that had torn her plan apart and back towards practical matters. All that training of her mind hadn't been a waste, after all. "Their fleet survived, but so did ours. We'll have another chance."
They'd have to. Why else would The Abyss have called her, molding her from sand and concrete and memories, if not for that chance?
Besides, the three's betrayal could hold potential for an opportunity. If she made it known to some of their mutual allies that they'd saved a human fleet by betraying her plan, perhaps some pressure could be applied to-
Incoming message. It's using Enewetak's code prefix.
She felt something tighten in her brow as her cryptographers grappled with the message. What now?
HELL HATH NO FURY TT ENEMY CARRIER MOVING NORTH BETWEEN WAKE AND MIDWAY TRAITOR WO-CLASS DAMAGED FLIGHT DECK DEPLETED AIR WING SABOTAGED IMPORTANT SUPPLIES JJ EVEN DEATH MAY DIE
First off, there was that embarrassing padding phrase at the end. Midway didn't remember where that line came from, but it wasn't original, and considering it was the fourth time she'd read it from Enewtak's communications it certainly wasn't random. Laziness like that was why Midway gave a unique cypher for each princess she dealt with.
Second, what had she meant by a 'Traitor Wo-class?' The important supplies were probably the cache on Bikini, and if a damaged carrier was fleeing the island, that meant…
Unbidden, a snort escaped the Midway Princess's lips. Then, an uncharacteristic giggle overcame the noise of the calming storm around her. Second recoiled, the Ta-class's facade of control cracking at the unheard-of reaction as the abyssal princess's laughter escalated.
The shock on the Ta-class's face was understandable. Midway wasn't even certain she could laugh, before now, but the sudden and unexpected onset of justice had caught her completely off guard.
"So, the cache of supplies that was apparently so important they had to fuck my plan over?" The Ta nodded. "It's gone. Some straggler from the Jellyfish's Fleet destroyed at least a part of the cache, and is running north."
Second smiled back, nodding hesitant at first, but the smile gained depth as understanding dawned.
"Exactly. All that treachery has exploded in their faces, and now they have the gall to think I'd do any favors for them."
"Favors?" The Ta-class asked, but Midway waved her hand dismissively.
"Don't worry about it." Midway dismissed. Part of her floated the idea of sending her fleet out to try and find the wayward carrier, but it didn't last long. Even ignoring the impracticality of scouring several thousand square miles of open ocean for one ship, Midway didn't like the idea of sending her fleet away in case the human armada was planning on doing more than just fleeing abyssal territory. Besides, while any fleet carrier was a significant asset, at the end of the day it was just one Wo-class. Who knew if the work it would take to repair her, retrain her, and get her integrated into the well-oiled machine that was Midway's fleet would balance out the risk of finding her. On top of that, she was Jellyfish's carrier, and no doubt poisoned by that apocalyptic defeatism that made her fleet such a bother in the first place. Midway couldn't trust her to make any important sacrifices, even when they became necessary.
Recognizing her dismissal, the Ta-class didn't follow her as the Midway Princess walked towards her hangars. Only a handful of liberator bombers remained on the taxiway, their bellies filled with parting gifts for the departing human fleet. High altitude level bombing wasn't going to do much to the departing fleet, but she wasn't going to let them leave completely unopposed.
Thoughts of the Wo-class her southern… acquaintances wanted sunk faded from her mind as she focused on the forming strike in the clouds above. She'd already served her purpose. For now, Midway had some real targets to bomb.
This isn't version of the chapter that initially released. I wasn't entirely happy with this first interlude, so I completely rewrote it in 2024. The original chapter is here:
Rain came down in sheets, the wind alternately remaining unnaturally still and blowing hard enough to topple trees. Waves battered the atoll, spray drifting against waiting aircraft and against structures, their battered frames reinforced with growths of dark steel and teeth.
The Princess was not in a good mood.
On an intellectual level, Midway knew things were going well for her. She wasn't under any real threat, the self-absorbed defeatist in the south had been crushed by the two human fleets, and now the combined fleet was surrounded by Abyssal forces. Even if the enemy fleet broke out of their trap, they would have an empty set of islands a more useful princess could set up on.
If everyone had actually followed the plan she had set up, then she might have been enjoying herself. The enemy fleet, no matter how large, should be getting battered into the sea by waves of abyssal aircraft, flowing from every point on the compass. They weren't.
"Oh, it's a good thing I'm never going to see those idiots face-to-face." The Princess ranted, pacing in front of her second. "I don't think I could control myself in front of those impulsive whelps."
The Ta-Class battleship, who needed no name other than 'Second,' nodded, but otherwise stayed silent.
"I thought I was pretty clear when I explained the order of battle. The fleets from Kwajalein, Eniwetok, and Majuro were to chase the enemy, harassing them from behind while you intercepted them. Nowhere in my plans did I state that everyone in the Marshall Islands should drop everything and start pointing guns at each other!"
Now, with a three-way standoff over the supply cache the enemy had left on Bikini, getting a combined fleet from the Marshalls before the enemy left Midway's effective combat range was all but impossible. An entire plan, ruined because of some boxes.
"At least I could count on the Jellyfish Princess being uncooperative."
There was no point in sortieing her fleet, now. The Central Princess's island was still contested, and without support from the Marshalls she wouldn't be willing to risk forces in a battle. No Oahu fleet meant the Aircraft Carrier Princess wasn't going to risk her ships, facing the enemy alone. Alone, her own force would be overwhelmed. She was still hammering the enemy with her wing of liberation bombers, but by flying above the enemy's CAP hit rates would be pathetic. The decisive battle she had been dreaming of since the moment the strategic bombers had started hitting Bikini had evaporated before it could truly form.
Incoming message. It has Enewetak's code Prefix.
The Princesses' pacing came to an immediate halt. What, exactly, would one of those failures from The Marshalls want to say to her? An apology, perhaps?
ENEMY CARRIER MOVING NORTH
MOVING BETWEEN WAKE AND MIDWAY
TRAITOR WO-CLASS
DAMAGED FLIGHT DECK
DEPLETED AIR WING
SABOTAGED SUPPLIES NECESSARY FOR WAR EFFORT
It took a moment for Midway to decode the statement, then decipher what the idiot was actually telling her. The "supplies necessary for War Effort" were obviously the cache on Bikini, while the only way an Abyssal could have taken damage like that...
Midway couldn't contain herself. A giggle forced its way past her lips as the Abyssal's rant was firmly derailed. The Ta's facade of calm shattered, Midway's sudden change of mood causing the battleship to take a few steps back. The giggle escalated to a hearty laugh as the Ta's face changed from surprise to shock.
Seeing the look on her second, the Midway Princess brought her mirth under control, placing a hand on the battleship's shoulder to steady herself. This was the first genuine laugh she'd experienced in memory.
"So, the cache of supplies that was apparently so important they had to fuck my plan over?" The Ta nodded. "It's gone. Some straggler from the Jellyfish's Fleet destroyed at least a part of the cache, and is running north."
The look of shock disappeared, and the Ta smiled back at her leader.
"Exactly. I don't know what's better: That the Marshall's betrayal blew up in their face so quickly, or that they'd think, after all they've done to me, that I'd do any favors for them."
It was impressive, in a way.
"So…" The Ta-Class piped up, finally finding her voice. "What do you want me to do?"
"Stay here." The Midway Princess replied, turning from the battleship. "I have a real fleet to bomb."
The Princess was not in a good mood.
On an intellectual level, Midway knew things were going well for her. She wasn't under any real threat, the self-absorbed defeatist in the south had been crushed by the two human fleets, and now the combined fleet was surrounded by Abyssal forces. Even if the enemy fleet broke out of their trap, they would have an empty set of islands a more useful princess could set up on.
If everyone had actually followed the plan she had set up, then she might have been enjoying herself. The enemy fleet, no matter how large, should be getting battered into the sea by waves of abyssal aircraft, flowing from every point on the compass. They weren't.
"Oh, it's a good thing I'm never going to see those idiots face-to-face." The Princess ranted, pacing in front of her second. "I don't think I could control myself in front of those impulsive whelps."
The Ta-Class battleship, who needed no name other than 'Second,' nodded, but otherwise stayed silent.
"I thought I was pretty clear when I explained the order of battle. The fleets from Kwajalein, Eniwetok, and Majuro were to chase the enemy, harassing them from behind while you intercepted them. Nowhere in my plans did I state that everyone in the Marshall Islands should drop everything and start pointing guns at each other!"
Now, with a three-way standoff over the supply cache the enemy had left on Bikini, getting a combined fleet from the Marshalls before the enemy left Midway's effective combat range was all but impossible. An entire plan, ruined because of some boxes.
"At least I could count on the Jellyfish Princess being uncooperative."
There was no point in sortieing her fleet, now. The Central Princess's island was still contested, and without support from the Marshalls she wouldn't be willing to risk forces in a battle. No Oahu fleet meant the Aircraft Carrier Princess wasn't going to risk her ships, facing the enemy alone. Alone, her own force would be overwhelmed. She was still hammering the enemy with her wing of liberation bombers, but by flying above the enemy's CAP hit rates would be pathetic. The decisive battle she had been dreaming of since the moment the strategic bombers had started hitting Bikini had evaporated before it could truly form.
Incoming message. It has Enewetak's code Prefix.
The Princesses' pacing came to an immediate halt. What, exactly, would one of those failures from The Marshalls want to say to her? An apology, perhaps?
ENEMY CARRIER MOVING NORTH
MOVING BETWEEN WAKE AND MIDWAY
TRAITOR WO-CLASS
DAMAGED FLIGHT DECK
DEPLETED AIR WING
SABOTAGED SUPPLIES NECESSARY FOR WAR EFFORT
It took a moment for Midway to decode the statement, then decipher what the idiot was actually telling her. The "supplies necessary for War Effort" were obviously the cache on Bikini, while the only way an Abyssal could have taken damage like that...
Midway couldn't contain herself. A giggle forced its way past her lips as the Abyssal's rant was firmly derailed. The Ta's facade of calm shattered, Midway's sudden change of mood causing the battleship to take a few steps back. The giggle escalated to a hearty laugh as the Ta's face changed from surprise to shock.
Seeing the look on her second, the Midway Princess brought her mirth under control, placing a hand on the battleship's shoulder to steady herself. This was the first genuine laugh she'd experienced in memory.
"So, the cache of supplies that was apparently so important they had to fuck my plan over?" The Ta nodded. "It's gone. Some straggler from the Jellyfish's Fleet destroyed at least a part of the cache, and is running north."
The look of shock disappeared, and the Ta smiled back at her leader.
"Exactly. I don't know what's better: That the Marshall's betrayal blew up in their face so quickly, or that they'd think, after all they've done to me, that I'd do any favors for them."
It was impressive, in a way.
"So…" The Ta-Class piped up, finally finding her voice. "What do you want me to do?"
"Stay here." The Midway Princess replied, turning from the battleship. "I have a real fleet to bomb."
Have a short interlude. This is where I start trying to include more comedy in this fic, and maybe the one where I made the most changes from the KC thread.
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3: Look at me: Wo's the Captain now.
PyrrhicSteel
Look natural.
- Location
- Idaho
A high layer of clouds hung above the ocean, a soft blanket that reduced the sun's glare without truly darkening the sky. The moderate sea chopped and slapped at The Fishing Trawler's hull, a steady metronome that lulled her crew into their routine. It was a lovely day.
For besieged island nations like England and Japan, fishing was a vital to a nation's survival. Fishing missions were of military import, guarded jealously, and the humble fisherman was a celebrated hero.
None of that applied to the Oregonian Fishing Trawler Pacific Lilly. She, along with her crew, were out there because fishing was their way life, and they weren't going to allow some ghost ships change that. The Pacific's navies would prefer it if she wasn't there, and the majority of the people on the mainland thought her crew were a special kind of crazy, but they also hadn't experienced perfect days like this, where she was reminded why fishing was one of mankind's oldest professions.
The skyrocketing price for cod and other ocean-dwellers helped, as well.
Pacific Lilly loved her job, and she could say with certainty that her skipper would agree with her. Fred Kelly grew up at sea, and was a man who lived and breathed fishing. His crew had total trust in him, and while he'd gained a reputation for straying particularly far from shore, their results couldn't be argued with. The closer to Abyssal Territory, the more pronounced the recent boom in sea life was, which meant a shorter trips and a higher income. With news of some kind of battle keeping the abyssals in The Central Pacific busy, Pacific Lilly found herself venturing deeper than ever.
"Lilly, Lilly, this is Peregrine, over." The VHF crackled, and Her Captain let out an audible sigh. Ever since the start of the war, the government had been flooding the Navy, Coast Guard, and even the Civil Air Patrol with look-down radar aircraft. Unfortunately, against the weirdness that surrounded shipgirls and abyssals, the powerful radar sets they sported were only useful in the hands of a skilled operator. There weren't many of those.
In the last three months, Pacific Lilly had been diverted around four random shipgirl patrols and eight anomalies that turned out to be nothing at all. The aircraft with the "Peregrine" call-sign, in particular, had been bothering them all along this voyage, even reporting that they had diverted to follow the trawler out 'for security purposes.' She would have been thankful if it hadn't been accompanied by almost constant bitching over the VHF.
"Peregrine, this is Lilly, over." Captain Kelly replied, resigned to another verbal browbeating from the government aircraft.
"Peregrine, continue on Two-Two, over."
That got the bridge crew's attention. The aircraft that was following them wouldn't send any of its 'recommendations' over a reserved safety channel. More likely than not, it would be another false alarm, but out this far…
"Copy, Two-Two, out." Kelly keyed off the radio, hand darting to adjust the VHF perhaps a little too quickly. "Peregrine. Lilly."
"Lilly, this is Peregrine. Uh… we're picking up one Alpha-Sierra contact, cruiser profile, thirteen miles from your location, should be bearing 247 for you."
"Didn't the weather-heads say these clouds were natural?" Pacific Lilly's sonar technician interjected, looking up from her scope and grabbing a pair of binoculars. "If it isn't a false alarm, I should be able to see it."
"Repeat, one cruiser profile Alpha-Sierra, thirteen miles, 247, over."
"Go ahead." Kelly nodded, keying the radio as the sailor left. "Thanks for the heads up, Peregrine. We're diverting now, over."
As Pacific Lilly began to veer starboard, the trawler started scanning the south-western horizon. If something as big as a cruiser was bearing down on them, it should be just visible over the-
There
The technician slammed the hatch open, eyes wide.
"Holy shit, Skipper! He's right! There's a bridge, sticking just over the horizon!"
"Peregrine, We have a confirmation on that Abyssal." To his credit, Captain Kelly kept his voice even as he made perhaps his last report. "We'll keep you updated, over."
"Copy that Lilly. I'll try and get some help to you, o-"
Peregrine's statement suddenly died in a wave of static. The noise flooded the ship's bridge, causing everyone inside to flinch visibly as the new transmission overwhelmed the aircraft's words.
"-̶̷̵-̵̀͡͝-̡̧̀҉-̴̴̀-̛͢͞n͘t҉io͢n̡ -̴̀-͟i҉den̛t̢i-̸̷̕íe͢d͟ v͝-̴͟-̴̧͞͝-̸̕̕҉̛e̕l҉.̵ ̢Sl-̴̡-̵͟-҉̧͝d͜ow̷ń ̛a-̧́͘d̨ ͡p͝-͘-̸͟-͏҉-̶̡̡̀͢re҉̶ ̸̢̡-̸̸́̀͟or͢ ҉b̴-̵͘-̶̕͟͡r̸d͝in̕g͜-̶̷́͠-͏̴-̷̀͘͢-̸ȩr̶."
As the wave of static subsided, silence filled the bridge. The otherworldly message echoed in their minds, the crew continued to stare at each other. Finally, the sonar technician spoke up.
"What the hell was that?"
- - -
This… this was dumb.
As CFS Trinitite neared human territory, she felt herself getting more and more desperate. An unescorted aircraft carrier, with no way to launch and rearm more than two or three aircraft at a time, was vulnerable to just about anything she could run into. If she wanted to get to the mainland, she was going to have to get very creative. She'd spotted her target half an hour ago, the one aircraft she'd managed to launch keeping the fishing trawler in sight as she racked her brain on what to say to it.
"Attention unidentified vessel. Slow down and prepare for boarding, over."
Trinitite wasn't entirely happy with the repairs to her radio, so blasting the thing at maximum power seemed like the only way to guarantee the message got across. Tuning the damaged transmitter was also difficult, even after picking up on what frequency the fishing boat was speaking at. It wasn't like she had anyone to test it with, either. Still, she had been spotted, and although she was fairly confident her sleek hull would catch up with the ungainly trawler, there was no telling when a warship would intercept them. No point wasting time, then. A few seconds passed. Then, half a minute.
"Attention, unidentified vessel. Slow down and prepare for boarding, over."
No change.
Suppressing the frustration welling in her heart, she keyed the radio again.
"Unidentified vessel. Can you hear me?"
More silence. The fishing boat had just been talking to someone, but now it had gone completely silent.
"Unidentified vessel. You were conversing with another party earlier, I know your radio is functional."
"Abyssal. Your transmitter seems to be mis-tuned, over."
Of course. Her plan hadn't even gotten past step one and she'd already screwed it up. She couldn't do anything right, could she?
- - -
"Uni̷den̶tífie̷d Vessel. Does this work better?"
Pacific Lilly never expected one of those things to be trying to talk with her, but if she had been asked to guess, she wouldn't have thought the first portion of the conversation to be wasted on technical issues.
"This is Lilly to Abyssal Vessel." Captain Kelly responded, his gaze locked on the approaching monster "...we can hear you, over."
"I see." The abyssal responded. As the carrier (Peregrine had misidentified the signature, to no one's surprise) gained on them, its form started to make itself clear. The thing towered above Pacific Lilly, guns angrily poking from around its flat surface. The thing's superstructure, barely visible, seemed to be alive with movement- although when the fishing trawler focused she couldn't make out anyone on board. The deep paint and varnished wood that covered the warship transformed the ship into a dark blot on the ocean, but as it neared them the Fishing Trawler got the impression that it wasn't made of wood and steel at all- just a convincing impression. Like an alien got detailed plans to a warship, but didn't actually know what one looked like.
Yet impossibly, in the same time and space, the ship took the form of a woman, gliding across the water. The humanoid was only slightly taller than Pacific Lilly's sonarman, although her crew's practical clothing made it difficult to compare their actual proportions. Growths of teeth and metal decorated her form, to the point where the fishing trawler wasn't sure what was being worn, and what had burst from her skin like some kind of science-fiction parasite. They left her mostly exposed, but her modesty was almost preserved by a form fitting bodysuit, the same color as her pale skin. From the distance Pacific Lilly couldn't make out what it actually covered, so similar was it in texture and shade to its deathly-white skin.
"Attention, fishing trawler Lilly. Slow down and prepare for boarding, over."
Dead silence.
"Board us?" The sonar technician started. "What can they do? Do they have crew?" Captain Kelly didn't respond, instead activating the VMF.
"I'm sorry Abyssal vessel, will you repeat that, over?"
"Lilly," The abyssal started. Up until this point, the monster had been fairly brisk and stoic, but now that familiar undercurrent of anger she'd heard about was presenting itself. "you said you could understand me just fine, over."
"Abyssal Vessel, I copy. However, I'll need a guarantee you won't harm any of my crew, over."
"Lilly, if I wanted to kill you, we wouldn't be talking." As if to accentuate the point, something appeared from within the clouds, gliding in lazy circles as it descended towards the carrier. "Slow down or you will see your people 'harmed'. Over."
- - -
As if to capitalize on the day's embarrassments, they had to throw Trinitite a rope to get her aboard. With her rigging out, she would break the green-hulled ship into splinters if they made contact. Without her rigging, she'd quickly get carried away by the ocean currents, helpless until she resummoned her engines. She supposed she could use her strength to punch a hole in the trawler's hull, using that as a hand-hold to climb aboard, but compromising her only ticket to the mainland seemed like a bad idea.
The rope they threw Trinitite seemed solid enough. The carrier dismissed her rigging before hauling herself up, her most painful damage dissolving into the breeze. Now a dull ache in the back of her mind, Trinitite knew it wouldn't go away, but she could ignore it for now. Hopefully they hadn't gotten a good enough look to realize her compromised state.
With flushed cheeks and thin lips, the embarrassed carrier hauled herself up the trawler's side. At least they allowed herself to do it on her own power.
The deck was empty, save two sailors in heavy clothing that concealed their figure. One was already hauling the rope back up, while the other stood in front of her, defiant.
"Welcome aboard." The man said, his tone making it clear he didn't mean it.
Trinitite took a moment to clear the hair from her face, purposefully ignoring the man as she tried to think of something to say.
"You're the Captain?" Idiot. Of course he is.
"I am." He replied, straightening his shoulders.
"Good." She started, mentally preparing the line she'd practiced. "Take me to The United States."
Whatever the human was expecting, it clearly wasn't that.
"I'm sorry?"
"I need you to take me to The Mainland." Trinitite repeated, before walking past the human and towards the ship's bridge. Had she messed it up? English was the only language she knew, but what if the land-dwellers spoke a different form of it? She'll just have to find a chart and point the location out. The Captain wordlessly followed behind her, his steps slow and hesitant at first, but quickening as the human caught up to her.
"Lilly, Lilly, this is Peregrine. The Alpha-Sierra just dropped off our scopes, were you really boarded, over?"
Besides the radio, the bridge was silent. Three sets of eyes followed Trinitite as she made her way inside.
"Lilly, Lilly, this is Peregrine, over."
There was the third party. Not only was the Pacific Lilly picking up on transmissions Trinitite couldn't, the clarity of the transmission was astounding. Were human radios that much better? Before she'd realized it, the Abyssal found herself approaching the radio.
"Lilly, Lilly, this is Peregrine. What is your status, over?" No one made a move to counter her as she reached for the device.
"Peregrine, this is Lilly." Trinitite stated, bringing what she assumed to be the mic up to her face. "I'll be borrowing this ship. If you want it and its crew back, you'll have to leave it alone for a while. Out."
With that, she reached for the radio's volume dial and spun it to zero. She'd debated silencing the radio, but figured negotiating with the enemy would only give them intelligence to work with. Plus, that meant she wouldn't have to talk to anyone else.
She turned, coming face-to-face with the enemy Captain.
Okay, maybe that wasn't entirely true…
"Well?"
"They'll want proof we're alive." The Captain said, his eyes unflinching as he met hers. Was he always this intense?
"I don't see how that's a problem. They'll see people on the deck, yes?"
"Okay." The Captain replied, breaking their stare to take a seat. Trinitite wasn't sure if she'd convinced him, or if he didn't care to push the issue. "Shall we get going?"
"Do so."
As the ship accelerated, Trinitite found an open chair and took an opportunity to relax. That was her biggest issue, taken care of. After she snuck off the trawler and made a dash to the mainland, she could find her Princess!
How big could this 'United States' be, anyways?
For besieged island nations like England and Japan, fishing was a vital to a nation's survival. Fishing missions were of military import, guarded jealously, and the humble fisherman was a celebrated hero.
None of that applied to the Oregonian Fishing Trawler Pacific Lilly. She, along with her crew, were out there because fishing was their way life, and they weren't going to allow some ghost ships change that. The Pacific's navies would prefer it if she wasn't there, and the majority of the people on the mainland thought her crew were a special kind of crazy, but they also hadn't experienced perfect days like this, where she was reminded why fishing was one of mankind's oldest professions.
The skyrocketing price for cod and other ocean-dwellers helped, as well.
Pacific Lilly loved her job, and she could say with certainty that her skipper would agree with her. Fred Kelly grew up at sea, and was a man who lived and breathed fishing. His crew had total trust in him, and while he'd gained a reputation for straying particularly far from shore, their results couldn't be argued with. The closer to Abyssal Territory, the more pronounced the recent boom in sea life was, which meant a shorter trips and a higher income. With news of some kind of battle keeping the abyssals in The Central Pacific busy, Pacific Lilly found herself venturing deeper than ever.
"Lilly, Lilly, this is Peregrine, over." The VHF crackled, and Her Captain let out an audible sigh. Ever since the start of the war, the government had been flooding the Navy, Coast Guard, and even the Civil Air Patrol with look-down radar aircraft. Unfortunately, against the weirdness that surrounded shipgirls and abyssals, the powerful radar sets they sported were only useful in the hands of a skilled operator. There weren't many of those.
In the last three months, Pacific Lilly had been diverted around four random shipgirl patrols and eight anomalies that turned out to be nothing at all. The aircraft with the "Peregrine" call-sign, in particular, had been bothering them all along this voyage, even reporting that they had diverted to follow the trawler out 'for security purposes.' She would have been thankful if it hadn't been accompanied by almost constant bitching over the VHF.
"Peregrine, this is Lilly, over." Captain Kelly replied, resigned to another verbal browbeating from the government aircraft.
"Peregrine, continue on Two-Two, over."
That got the bridge crew's attention. The aircraft that was following them wouldn't send any of its 'recommendations' over a reserved safety channel. More likely than not, it would be another false alarm, but out this far…
"Copy, Two-Two, out." Kelly keyed off the radio, hand darting to adjust the VHF perhaps a little too quickly. "Peregrine. Lilly."
"Lilly, this is Peregrine. Uh… we're picking up one Alpha-Sierra contact, cruiser profile, thirteen miles from your location, should be bearing 247 for you."
"Didn't the weather-heads say these clouds were natural?" Pacific Lilly's sonar technician interjected, looking up from her scope and grabbing a pair of binoculars. "If it isn't a false alarm, I should be able to see it."
"Repeat, one cruiser profile Alpha-Sierra, thirteen miles, 247, over."
"Go ahead." Kelly nodded, keying the radio as the sailor left. "Thanks for the heads up, Peregrine. We're diverting now, over."
As Pacific Lilly began to veer starboard, the trawler started scanning the south-western horizon. If something as big as a cruiser was bearing down on them, it should be just visible over the-
There
The technician slammed the hatch open, eyes wide.
"Holy shit, Skipper! He's right! There's a bridge, sticking just over the horizon!"
"Peregrine, We have a confirmation on that Abyssal." To his credit, Captain Kelly kept his voice even as he made perhaps his last report. "We'll keep you updated, over."
"Copy that Lilly. I'll try and get some help to you, o-"
Peregrine's statement suddenly died in a wave of static. The noise flooded the ship's bridge, causing everyone inside to flinch visibly as the new transmission overwhelmed the aircraft's words.
"-̶̷̵-̵̀͡͝-̡̧̀҉-̴̴̀-̛͢͞n͘t҉io͢n̡ -̴̀-͟i҉den̛t̢i-̸̷̕íe͢d͟ v͝-̴͟-̴̧͞͝-̸̕̕҉̛e̕l҉.̵ ̢Sl-̴̡-̵͟-҉̧͝d͜ow̷ń ̛a-̧́͘d̨ ͡p͝-͘-̸͟-͏҉-̶̡̡̀͢re҉̶ ̸̢̡-̸̸́̀͟or͢ ҉b̴-̵͘-̶̕͟͡r̸d͝in̕g͜-̶̷́͠-͏̴-̷̀͘͢-̸ȩr̶."
As the wave of static subsided, silence filled the bridge. The otherworldly message echoed in their minds, the crew continued to stare at each other. Finally, the sonar technician spoke up.
"What the hell was that?"
- - -
This… this was dumb.
As CFS Trinitite neared human territory, she felt herself getting more and more desperate. An unescorted aircraft carrier, with no way to launch and rearm more than two or three aircraft at a time, was vulnerable to just about anything she could run into. If she wanted to get to the mainland, she was going to have to get very creative. She'd spotted her target half an hour ago, the one aircraft she'd managed to launch keeping the fishing trawler in sight as she racked her brain on what to say to it.
"Attention unidentified vessel. Slow down and prepare for boarding, over."
Trinitite wasn't entirely happy with the repairs to her radio, so blasting the thing at maximum power seemed like the only way to guarantee the message got across. Tuning the damaged transmitter was also difficult, even after picking up on what frequency the fishing boat was speaking at. It wasn't like she had anyone to test it with, either. Still, she had been spotted, and although she was fairly confident her sleek hull would catch up with the ungainly trawler, there was no telling when a warship would intercept them. No point wasting time, then. A few seconds passed. Then, half a minute.
"Attention, unidentified vessel. Slow down and prepare for boarding, over."
No change.
Suppressing the frustration welling in her heart, she keyed the radio again.
"Unidentified vessel. Can you hear me?"
More silence. The fishing boat had just been talking to someone, but now it had gone completely silent.
"Unidentified vessel. You were conversing with another party earlier, I know your radio is functional."
"Abyssal. Your transmitter seems to be mis-tuned, over."
Of course. Her plan hadn't even gotten past step one and she'd already screwed it up. She couldn't do anything right, could she?
- - -
"Uni̷den̶tífie̷d Vessel. Does this work better?"
Pacific Lilly never expected one of those things to be trying to talk with her, but if she had been asked to guess, she wouldn't have thought the first portion of the conversation to be wasted on technical issues.
"This is Lilly to Abyssal Vessel." Captain Kelly responded, his gaze locked on the approaching monster "...we can hear you, over."
"I see." The abyssal responded. As the carrier (Peregrine had misidentified the signature, to no one's surprise) gained on them, its form started to make itself clear. The thing towered above Pacific Lilly, guns angrily poking from around its flat surface. The thing's superstructure, barely visible, seemed to be alive with movement- although when the fishing trawler focused she couldn't make out anyone on board. The deep paint and varnished wood that covered the warship transformed the ship into a dark blot on the ocean, but as it neared them the Fishing Trawler got the impression that it wasn't made of wood and steel at all- just a convincing impression. Like an alien got detailed plans to a warship, but didn't actually know what one looked like.
Yet impossibly, in the same time and space, the ship took the form of a woman, gliding across the water. The humanoid was only slightly taller than Pacific Lilly's sonarman, although her crew's practical clothing made it difficult to compare their actual proportions. Growths of teeth and metal decorated her form, to the point where the fishing trawler wasn't sure what was being worn, and what had burst from her skin like some kind of science-fiction parasite. They left her mostly exposed, but her modesty was almost preserved by a form fitting bodysuit, the same color as her pale skin. From the distance Pacific Lilly couldn't make out what it actually covered, so similar was it in texture and shade to its deathly-white skin.
"Attention, fishing trawler Lilly. Slow down and prepare for boarding, over."
Dead silence.
"Board us?" The sonar technician started. "What can they do? Do they have crew?" Captain Kelly didn't respond, instead activating the VMF.
"I'm sorry Abyssal vessel, will you repeat that, over?"
"Lilly," The abyssal started. Up until this point, the monster had been fairly brisk and stoic, but now that familiar undercurrent of anger she'd heard about was presenting itself. "you said you could understand me just fine, over."
"Abyssal Vessel, I copy. However, I'll need a guarantee you won't harm any of my crew, over."
"Lilly, if I wanted to kill you, we wouldn't be talking." As if to accentuate the point, something appeared from within the clouds, gliding in lazy circles as it descended towards the carrier. "Slow down or you will see your people 'harmed'. Over."
- - -
As if to capitalize on the day's embarrassments, they had to throw Trinitite a rope to get her aboard. With her rigging out, she would break the green-hulled ship into splinters if they made contact. Without her rigging, she'd quickly get carried away by the ocean currents, helpless until she resummoned her engines. She supposed she could use her strength to punch a hole in the trawler's hull, using that as a hand-hold to climb aboard, but compromising her only ticket to the mainland seemed like a bad idea.
The rope they threw Trinitite seemed solid enough. The carrier dismissed her rigging before hauling herself up, her most painful damage dissolving into the breeze. Now a dull ache in the back of her mind, Trinitite knew it wouldn't go away, but she could ignore it for now. Hopefully they hadn't gotten a good enough look to realize her compromised state.
With flushed cheeks and thin lips, the embarrassed carrier hauled herself up the trawler's side. At least they allowed herself to do it on her own power.
The deck was empty, save two sailors in heavy clothing that concealed their figure. One was already hauling the rope back up, while the other stood in front of her, defiant.
"Welcome aboard." The man said, his tone making it clear he didn't mean it.
Trinitite took a moment to clear the hair from her face, purposefully ignoring the man as she tried to think of something to say.
"You're the Captain?" Idiot. Of course he is.
"I am." He replied, straightening his shoulders.
"Good." She started, mentally preparing the line she'd practiced. "Take me to The United States."
Whatever the human was expecting, it clearly wasn't that.
"I'm sorry?"
"I need you to take me to The Mainland." Trinitite repeated, before walking past the human and towards the ship's bridge. Had she messed it up? English was the only language she knew, but what if the land-dwellers spoke a different form of it? She'll just have to find a chart and point the location out. The Captain wordlessly followed behind her, his steps slow and hesitant at first, but quickening as the human caught up to her.
"Lilly, Lilly, this is Peregrine. The Alpha-Sierra just dropped off our scopes, were you really boarded, over?"
Besides the radio, the bridge was silent. Three sets of eyes followed Trinitite as she made her way inside.
"Lilly, Lilly, this is Peregrine, over."
There was the third party. Not only was the Pacific Lilly picking up on transmissions Trinitite couldn't, the clarity of the transmission was astounding. Were human radios that much better? Before she'd realized it, the Abyssal found herself approaching the radio.
"Lilly, Lilly, this is Peregrine. What is your status, over?" No one made a move to counter her as she reached for the device.
"Peregrine, this is Lilly." Trinitite stated, bringing what she assumed to be the mic up to her face. "I'll be borrowing this ship. If you want it and its crew back, you'll have to leave it alone for a while. Out."
With that, she reached for the radio's volume dial and spun it to zero. She'd debated silencing the radio, but figured negotiating with the enemy would only give them intelligence to work with. Plus, that meant she wouldn't have to talk to anyone else.
She turned, coming face-to-face with the enemy Captain.
Okay, maybe that wasn't entirely true…
"Well?"
"They'll want proof we're alive." The Captain said, his eyes unflinching as he met hers. Was he always this intense?
"I don't see how that's a problem. They'll see people on the deck, yes?"
"Okay." The Captain replied, breaking their stare to take a seat. Trinitite wasn't sure if she'd convinced him, or if he didn't care to push the issue. "Shall we get going?"
"Do so."
As the ship accelerated, Trinitite found an open chair and took an opportunity to relax. That was her biggest issue, taken care of. After she snuck off the trawler and made a dash to the mainland, she could find her Princess!
How big could this 'United States' be, anyways?
...aaaand we've caught up. Don't expect such rapid updates after this.
I'm wondering how much time I want to dedicate to the Pacific Lilly- it's the first opportunity I have to start messing with the kind of comedy I'm focusing on, but I'll have plenty of other opportunities in the future. Expect next snippet to be another interlude, though, were I take a moment to check on our damsel in distress and introduce this story's antagonist...
I'm wondering how much time I want to dedicate to the Pacific Lilly- it's the first opportunity I have to start messing with the kind of comedy I'm focusing on, but I'll have plenty of other opportunities in the future. Expect next snippet to be another interlude, though, were I take a moment to check on our damsel in distress and introduce this story's antagonist...
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Interlude: Meanwhile...
PyrrhicSteel
Look natural.
- Location
- Idaho
With the threat of abyssal submarines lurking below them and the Midway Princess' aircraft looming above, the deck of the USS John F. Kennedy was alive with activity. Sailors in jumpsuits of all colors scurried across the deck, waving and signaling to each other in a manner one might interpret as an intricate dance. An aircraft on one of the catapults, sleek and angular like an arrowhead, lurched forwards, leaping off the deck without a puff of steam. A prop-driven airplane, the size of a C-47 and carrying some kind of massive dish, skidded to a halt on the deck and started folding up its giant wings.
It was a symphony of roaring engines and spinning rotors, and the aircraft carrier Saratoga couldn't tear her eyes away from it.
"So… this is Langley's legacy."
The words came out in a whisper, drowned out by the noise below. The carrier (woman? shipgirl?) stood in the Kennedy's island, ignored by the busy sailors around her. Besides those seriously damaged in the battle with… her… Saratoga was the only carrier who wasn't out there, launching aircraft and contributing to the fleet's defense. Anywhere else on the Kennedy, the fact that she was sitting out another battle would be driving her up the wall, but out here…
A sudden tap on her shoulder sent the carrier jumping, spinning to face the presence behind her. If she had yelped in surprise, it was lost in the roar of engines below. From the smug look on the man standing behind her, perhaps it wouldn't have mattered. Regaining her composure, Saratoga glanced at the officer's name tag.
"Lieutenant Murray?" Saratoga asked, recalling several jokes and stories she'd heard since she had… recovered. One of the masterminds behind the operation to rescue her. The Spook who'd lock himself in a room with nothing but intercepted transmissions and a notepad to keep him company. 'ONI's Abyssal Guy.'
He shouted something, pointing to his helmet ear protection.
Right. The noise.
Once a closed hatch was between the pair and the active flight deck, the officer ripped his helmet off, turning to the carrier.
Saratoga would describe the man as… average. Besides his older blue uniform, the intelligence officer didn't particularly distinguish himself. His vaguely mixed ethnicity wouldn't have seemed out of place even during her time in the navy, and while he might have been considered well-built outside of the military, on this ship he certainly didn't stand out. Saratoga probably passed him in a passageway several times during her time on the Kennedy without noticing.
"Magnificent, isn't it?" He asked, smoothing his strictly-regulation hair.
"On deck?" Saratoga started, her questions temporarily forgotten. "Yeah. I was always looking for information on the future of carriers, but this…" The carrier waved her hand over the passageway, stepping aside to let a sailor past her.
"Launching and receiving at the same time? Electric catapults? Computers? Practically infinite service range?" Saratoga shook her head. The realization that the power that pundits had claimed would doom her children was instead their greatest asset didn't sit well with the carrier, but it had an irony that was growing on her. "And seeing it all… Even the passageways are wider."
The spook nodded.
"Have you had lunch? I didn't catch you at the galley."
It was only then that the carrier noticed the gnawing feeling in her gut. Was watching the Kennedy's flight deck so enthralling?
"I… guess it had slipped my mind." Saratoga admitted, only allowing the thought to distract her for a moment. "You were waiting for me?"
"I was, yes." Murray nodded, starting down the passage and motioning for Saratoga to follow.
"I was wondering when you'd want to talk." She said, not content to leave the space between them filled with the Kennedy's ambient noise. "Lexie said you practically pounced on the last two former Princesses you were involved in."
"As it turns out, it seems that wasn't entirely necessary." The intel officer replied, looking over his shoulder before descending the first ladder. "It doesn't seem your memories as a Princess are stored in a regular manner."
She could have told him that. It was like she'd kept a log as an Abyssal Princess, but someone had torn all the pages out and left them scattered them around her decks. She could find a page and view a snippet of her life, but stringing them together was an arduous task.
A Wo-class Carrier, wallowing in the gentle waves of the Atoll as it burned.
Another princesses' Ri-class cruiser, fear and contempt equal on her face as Saratoga denied The Abyssal's Master.
Crying into Lexie's shoulder, clinging to the Essex as if she was a life preserver.
Emotions, too, but they were scattered and mismatched. Perhaps she could have put it all together, but she firmly wanted to keep that part of her life behind her. On top of that, she feared there might be a threat in immersing herself in the past. Who knew if she could relapse, becoming the monster in the Atoll once again?
Better to ignore it, focusing on her time before Crossroads and the now. There was nothing good in that pit of self-pity and despair. Still… if the spooks needed something, she'd do her duty.
"They don't fade?" She questioned. The idea of those memories, that other self, lingering under the surface for the rest of her life, was terrifying.
"Everything fades," The Lieutenant replied, "but they never really go away. We're after the factual stuff, so giving you time seems like the best way to go about things." Opening the hatch to the officer's galley, Lieutenant Murray made a show of holding it open for the Carrier. "Ideally, we'd be talking about this in San Diego."
"What's the rush, then?"
"Something else just came up." Murray stated, following Saratoga into the galley. "You know why an Abyssal would hijack a fishing trawler?"
"They don't." She deadpanned.
"This one did." Murray shrugged.
The galley itself was fairly empty, with the Kennedy in GQ, not many sailors had the time to sit down for their meal. Among the occasional off-shift officer, a woman out of uniform- no, a Japanese Carrier- stood out from the rest. Seeing them, She got up from her meal, limping her way towards the pair.
"This one did what?" The carrier asked, half-eaten chicken wing in hand. "Zuikaku, by the way. I'm the one your girls stuck two torpedoes in."
"Oh…" Like an unexpected squall, guilt washed over Saratoga. She had been told she wouldn't be held responsible for her actions under the sway of the Abyss, but-
"Wa- wait!" The carrier flushed, grabbing Saratoga by the shoulder. "That wasn't your fault! I mean, the you you I'm talking to!" The woman shook her head, her pigtails brushing her shoulders. "Look, a while back I was one of them too. I understand."
"Really?"
"We'll talk about that once she's gotten some food." Murray interjected. "If a mere human like me got hungry waiting for her, I can't imagine what it's like for a fleet carrier."
She didn't feel too hungry, but if The Lieutenant wanted them to settle down before speaking she wasn't going to interject.
- - -
They'd found a table at the edge of the room, far away from the the rest of the galley's occupants.
"Now that we're eating, I'll try introducing myself again." Zuikaku said, placing a pair a chopsticks she must have brought with her on the table. "JS Zuikaku, former Abyssal Crane Princess."
Something clicked in the back of Saratoga's mind. A deathly white face, twisted in scorn. A coward like you is a shame to your fleet.
"You're one of the princesses that visited me personally." She'd thought the japanese carrier had been familiar, but had assumed it had happened during the war. Only after reviewing her shattered memories as an abyssal did she match her face to a ship. "You wanted my help in taking Okinawa, right?"
"Yeah." The japanese carrier said, pausing to take a bite of orange chicken. "It's a good thing you refused. If the Abyssals had one more capital ship in the Okinawa campaign, a lot of people would have died and I might have never come to my senses." If Saratoga remembered correctly, 'refused' was a serious understatement. The argument had devolved into an hours-long standoff.
"Oh." Saratoga replied, poking at a pile of mash potatoes the size of her head. "We still hold Okinawa?"
"Yes," Murray replied. "but it's not much more than a military base at this point."
The trio settled into a silence as they went over their lunch, the hum of the Kennedy's air conditioning and the distant activity of the kitchen providing them company.
Saratoga, despite her appetite, found it hard to focus on her meal. The conversation on their past lives had been surprisingly easy. Recalling the actual memories of the events had been confusing and more than a little frightening, but simply pulling facts from her previous life came easily and painlessly. Like she had a dispassionate report on the subject in front of her.
Her gaze drifted from her tray and to the damaged Japanese Carrier sitting across from her. As far as she knew, the only ships that had been modified with repair baths were the Amphibious Assault Ships that were sailing with their fleet, yet Zuikaku was relaxing on the American fleet's flagship. Murray and Saratoga meeting the the green-haired girl was no accident.
"So…" She started, sticking her fork in the pile of mashed potatoes like a flagpole. "Murray had you transferred here?"
The carrier looked up from her meal, her chopsticks still stuck in her mouth. "Hmm?"
"I did." The Lieutenant replied, before pointing his fork at the carrier. "That's an Abyssal expert."
"Rude to point, you know." Zuikaku replied, her words muffled by the meat she was chewing. The carrier stopped, swallowed, and spoke up again. "Anyways, you were talking about something earlier. Asking for Saratoga's advice, I think."
"Yes." Murray replied. "Before I start, though, the Navy's keeping a tight lid on this. The DIH is probably going to bring you into the loop the moment you get back to Japan, but until then I haven't told you anything, alright?"
Zuikaku nodded, looking back at Saratoga. At the American Carrier's shrug, Lieutenant Murray spoke up again.
"34 hours ago, some Abyssal cruiser snuck under some natural weather and jumped a fishing boat. Instead of blasting the idiots, who'd sailed way west of our coverage, she hailed them and requested they surrender. Then, the Abyssal's signature dropped off the radar, and the fishing boat stopped responding to hails. It's currently sailing east, and so far reconnaissance suggests she's still manned by her original crew."
"A lot of what you said there doesn't make sense." Zuikaku shook her head, her meal forgotten. "Princesses use human frequencies all the time for taunting, and sometimes submarines will watch any open channel they can find, but a cruiser?" As the carrier thought, the chopsticks started idly spinning in her hands. "Then they start sailing back towards America like nothing's happened?"
"That's correct."
"You sure this wasn't a princess? Some of the raiders in the Atlantic can hide their signature weather activity pretty well."
"Well ladies, it's going to be my job to find out." Murray sighed. "I've been reassigned to that case. My helicopter leaves in two hours."
"Let's spend that time figuring out this hijacking thing." Zuikaku interjected, tapping her chopsticks against the table. "You can leave debriefing Sara to me."
Saratoga nodded. "I don't know how ONI will feel about that, but this must be important. I don't have a good impression of the other princesses in the Pacific, but I'm sure a stunt like this would never cross their mind."
"Someone else in San Diego will handle Saratoga's debriefing." Lieutenant Murray said, standing and grabbing his tray. "Zuikaku, you know where my office is. I'll start looking through reports while you two finish eating."
As the spook left, Zuikaku turned back to her food. "So…" she said, grabbing another piece of orange chicken in her chopsticks. "Any ideas?"
It was a symphony of roaring engines and spinning rotors, and the aircraft carrier Saratoga couldn't tear her eyes away from it.
"So… this is Langley's legacy."
The words came out in a whisper, drowned out by the noise below. The carrier (woman? shipgirl?) stood in the Kennedy's island, ignored by the busy sailors around her. Besides those seriously damaged in the battle with… her… Saratoga was the only carrier who wasn't out there, launching aircraft and contributing to the fleet's defense. Anywhere else on the Kennedy, the fact that she was sitting out another battle would be driving her up the wall, but out here…
A sudden tap on her shoulder sent the carrier jumping, spinning to face the presence behind her. If she had yelped in surprise, it was lost in the roar of engines below. From the smug look on the man standing behind her, perhaps it wouldn't have mattered. Regaining her composure, Saratoga glanced at the officer's name tag.
"Lieutenant Murray?" Saratoga asked, recalling several jokes and stories she'd heard since she had… recovered. One of the masterminds behind the operation to rescue her. The Spook who'd lock himself in a room with nothing but intercepted transmissions and a notepad to keep him company. 'ONI's Abyssal Guy.'
He shouted something, pointing to his helmet ear protection.
Right. The noise.
Once a closed hatch was between the pair and the active flight deck, the officer ripped his helmet off, turning to the carrier.
Saratoga would describe the man as… average. Besides his older blue uniform, the intelligence officer didn't particularly distinguish himself. His vaguely mixed ethnicity wouldn't have seemed out of place even during her time in the navy, and while he might have been considered well-built outside of the military, on this ship he certainly didn't stand out. Saratoga probably passed him in a passageway several times during her time on the Kennedy without noticing.
"Magnificent, isn't it?" He asked, smoothing his strictly-regulation hair.
"On deck?" Saratoga started, her questions temporarily forgotten. "Yeah. I was always looking for information on the future of carriers, but this…" The carrier waved her hand over the passageway, stepping aside to let a sailor past her.
"Launching and receiving at the same time? Electric catapults? Computers? Practically infinite service range?" Saratoga shook her head. The realization that the power that pundits had claimed would doom her children was instead their greatest asset didn't sit well with the carrier, but it had an irony that was growing on her. "And seeing it all… Even the passageways are wider."
The spook nodded.
"Have you had lunch? I didn't catch you at the galley."
It was only then that the carrier noticed the gnawing feeling in her gut. Was watching the Kennedy's flight deck so enthralling?
"I… guess it had slipped my mind." Saratoga admitted, only allowing the thought to distract her for a moment. "You were waiting for me?"
"I was, yes." Murray nodded, starting down the passage and motioning for Saratoga to follow.
"I was wondering when you'd want to talk." She said, not content to leave the space between them filled with the Kennedy's ambient noise. "Lexie said you practically pounced on the last two former Princesses you were involved in."
"As it turns out, it seems that wasn't entirely necessary." The intel officer replied, looking over his shoulder before descending the first ladder. "It doesn't seem your memories as a Princess are stored in a regular manner."
She could have told him that. It was like she'd kept a log as an Abyssal Princess, but someone had torn all the pages out and left them scattered them around her decks. She could find a page and view a snippet of her life, but stringing them together was an arduous task.
A Wo-class Carrier, wallowing in the gentle waves of the Atoll as it burned.
Another princesses' Ri-class cruiser, fear and contempt equal on her face as Saratoga denied The Abyssal's Master.
Crying into Lexie's shoulder, clinging to the Essex as if she was a life preserver.
Emotions, too, but they were scattered and mismatched. Perhaps she could have put it all together, but she firmly wanted to keep that part of her life behind her. On top of that, she feared there might be a threat in immersing herself in the past. Who knew if she could relapse, becoming the monster in the Atoll once again?
Better to ignore it, focusing on her time before Crossroads and the now. There was nothing good in that pit of self-pity and despair. Still… if the spooks needed something, she'd do her duty.
"They don't fade?" She questioned. The idea of those memories, that other self, lingering under the surface for the rest of her life, was terrifying.
"Everything fades," The Lieutenant replied, "but they never really go away. We're after the factual stuff, so giving you time seems like the best way to go about things." Opening the hatch to the officer's galley, Lieutenant Murray made a show of holding it open for the Carrier. "Ideally, we'd be talking about this in San Diego."
"What's the rush, then?"
"Something else just came up." Murray stated, following Saratoga into the galley. "You know why an Abyssal would hijack a fishing trawler?"
"They don't." She deadpanned.
"This one did." Murray shrugged.
The galley itself was fairly empty, with the Kennedy in GQ, not many sailors had the time to sit down for their meal. Among the occasional off-shift officer, a woman out of uniform- no, a Japanese Carrier- stood out from the rest. Seeing them, She got up from her meal, limping her way towards the pair.
"This one did what?" The carrier asked, half-eaten chicken wing in hand. "Zuikaku, by the way. I'm the one your girls stuck two torpedoes in."
"Oh…" Like an unexpected squall, guilt washed over Saratoga. She had been told she wouldn't be held responsible for her actions under the sway of the Abyss, but-
"Wa- wait!" The carrier flushed, grabbing Saratoga by the shoulder. "That wasn't your fault! I mean, the you you I'm talking to!" The woman shook her head, her pigtails brushing her shoulders. "Look, a while back I was one of them too. I understand."
"Really?"
"We'll talk about that once she's gotten some food." Murray interjected. "If a mere human like me got hungry waiting for her, I can't imagine what it's like for a fleet carrier."
She didn't feel too hungry, but if The Lieutenant wanted them to settle down before speaking she wasn't going to interject.
- - -
They'd found a table at the edge of the room, far away from the the rest of the galley's occupants.
"Now that we're eating, I'll try introducing myself again." Zuikaku said, placing a pair a chopsticks she must have brought with her on the table. "JS Zuikaku, former Abyssal Crane Princess."
Something clicked in the back of Saratoga's mind. A deathly white face, twisted in scorn. A coward like you is a shame to your fleet.
"You're one of the princesses that visited me personally." She'd thought the japanese carrier had been familiar, but had assumed it had happened during the war. Only after reviewing her shattered memories as an abyssal did she match her face to a ship. "You wanted my help in taking Okinawa, right?"
"Yeah." The japanese carrier said, pausing to take a bite of orange chicken. "It's a good thing you refused. If the Abyssals had one more capital ship in the Okinawa campaign, a lot of people would have died and I might have never come to my senses." If Saratoga remembered correctly, 'refused' was a serious understatement. The argument had devolved into an hours-long standoff.
"Oh." Saratoga replied, poking at a pile of mash potatoes the size of her head. "We still hold Okinawa?"
"Yes," Murray replied. "but it's not much more than a military base at this point."
The trio settled into a silence as they went over their lunch, the hum of the Kennedy's air conditioning and the distant activity of the kitchen providing them company.
Saratoga, despite her appetite, found it hard to focus on her meal. The conversation on their past lives had been surprisingly easy. Recalling the actual memories of the events had been confusing and more than a little frightening, but simply pulling facts from her previous life came easily and painlessly. Like she had a dispassionate report on the subject in front of her.
Her gaze drifted from her tray and to the damaged Japanese Carrier sitting across from her. As far as she knew, the only ships that had been modified with repair baths were the Amphibious Assault Ships that were sailing with their fleet, yet Zuikaku was relaxing on the American fleet's flagship. Murray and Saratoga meeting the the green-haired girl was no accident.
"So…" She started, sticking her fork in the pile of mashed potatoes like a flagpole. "Murray had you transferred here?"
The carrier looked up from her meal, her chopsticks still stuck in her mouth. "Hmm?"
"I did." The Lieutenant replied, before pointing his fork at the carrier. "That's an Abyssal expert."
"Rude to point, you know." Zuikaku replied, her words muffled by the meat she was chewing. The carrier stopped, swallowed, and spoke up again. "Anyways, you were talking about something earlier. Asking for Saratoga's advice, I think."
"Yes." Murray replied. "Before I start, though, the Navy's keeping a tight lid on this. The DIH is probably going to bring you into the loop the moment you get back to Japan, but until then I haven't told you anything, alright?"
Zuikaku nodded, looking back at Saratoga. At the American Carrier's shrug, Lieutenant Murray spoke up again.
"34 hours ago, some Abyssal cruiser snuck under some natural weather and jumped a fishing boat. Instead of blasting the idiots, who'd sailed way west of our coverage, she hailed them and requested they surrender. Then, the Abyssal's signature dropped off the radar, and the fishing boat stopped responding to hails. It's currently sailing east, and so far reconnaissance suggests she's still manned by her original crew."
"A lot of what you said there doesn't make sense." Zuikaku shook her head, her meal forgotten. "Princesses use human frequencies all the time for taunting, and sometimes submarines will watch any open channel they can find, but a cruiser?" As the carrier thought, the chopsticks started idly spinning in her hands. "Then they start sailing back towards America like nothing's happened?"
"That's correct."
"You sure this wasn't a princess? Some of the raiders in the Atlantic can hide their signature weather activity pretty well."
"Well ladies, it's going to be my job to find out." Murray sighed. "I've been reassigned to that case. My helicopter leaves in two hours."
"Let's spend that time figuring out this hijacking thing." Zuikaku interjected, tapping her chopsticks against the table. "You can leave debriefing Sara to me."
Saratoga nodded. "I don't know how ONI will feel about that, but this must be important. I don't have a good impression of the other princesses in the Pacific, but I'm sure a stunt like this would never cross their mind."
"Someone else in San Diego will handle Saratoga's debriefing." Lieutenant Murray said, standing and grabbing his tray. "Zuikaku, you know where my office is. I'll start looking through reports while you two finish eating."
As the spook left, Zuikaku turned back to her food. "So…" she said, grabbing another piece of orange chicken in her chopsticks. "Any ideas?"
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4: Dinner and a Flight
PyrrhicSteel
Look natural.
- Location
- Idaho
Trinitite had to admit, boarding the fishing trawler and gazing at its inner workings had piqued her curiosity. She knew what one was, of course, as the one she had boarded matched the one in her identification charts pretty well, but she wasn't at all sure how it worked. The Crossroads Fleet did plenty of fishing, but when Trinitite wasn't asking the subs to bring a little extra up with them, her method usually involved finding where all the sea birds were feeding and dropping a depth charge on them. By the time she had cruised to the target location, the birds that survived the explosion had enjoyed their meal and moved on, leaving plenty of food floating there for her to enjoy.
However, while this trawler seemed to have a fairly sophisticated sonar system, the Wo-class carrier couldn't find a depth charge launcher anywhere on the ship. How could they get fish in their nets when they were still swimming around?
So, when the human watching the sonar called out a large school of fish, Trinity got a little excited.
When the sailor cut herself off and spun to face Trinitite, the carrier was… confused, to say the least. They had just found a school of fish, and instead of doing anything everyone on the bridge was sitting there, staring at either her or the girl on the sonar.
"Well?"
Every moment she spent around humans, they got stranger.
At her word, the bridge sprung into action. Their Captain started issuing orders over the intercom and the Trawler sprung to life. Guided by her curiosity, the Wo-class Abyssal found herself leaving the bridge of the trawler behind and wondering the main deck. The large net in the center of the ship had been lowered, with the sailors at its controls. Trinity wasn't sure about that: Even with a net that big, wouldn't the fish just swim out of the way? Curiosity peaked, the Wo class found a comfortable spot on the deck, wrapping her cape around her as she watched the working sailors.
Eventually, the motors on the deck activated, and the net was slowly drug aboard. As the massive contraption rose, Trinitite stood, walking next to one of the waiting sailors. Swiping at fish with a net seemed awfully hit-and-miss, no matter how big it was, but the human next to her seemed oddly confident.
Then the first fish actually showed itself, and the Carrier's boiler pressure skyrocketed.
"What- how?" The carrier sputtered, incredulous. Engines wined as the net, practically bursting with fish, hauled itself upon the trawler's deck. It was far more than twice the most fish she'd ever seen at once, a school of all kinds of that filled the deck and rose to her waist. As the fishermen advanced on the ocean's bounty, Trinitite numbly followed them, in awe of the feast in front of her.
The sailors undid the net and fish started pouring through the grate below, and Trinitite found herself reaching into the mass of sea life. Plucking out one she hadn't seen before and taking a few steps away from the working fishermen, the Carrier admired her catch. This one comfortably filled both hands, its gold scaling interrupted by regular black stripes. Intrigued, the Abyssal dug in. It had been a while since she'd eaten.
The fish did not disappoint. Its taste was a bit more mild than she was used to, but the way its juices flowed when her teeth shredded it was delightful. Taking another bite, Trinitite yanked the fish away from her face, enjoying the feeling of the flesh as it tore and rended away. Sucking the meat dangling from her lips in, she enjoyed the feeling of the fish melting in her mouth, before finally swallowing her meal. The Abyssal smacked her lips, wiping the blood from her face and savoring the flavor that still lingered. It had been a far too long since she'd been able to properly enjoy a fish.
Huh. All the fishermen who had previously been working on the net were staring at her, the whites of their eyes standing out from their bulky coats and bushy beards.
What, had they never eaten a fish before?
A glare sent them back to their work, and Trinitite walked forward for some privacy. How were you supposed to eat a fish, then?
As machinery hummed belowdecks, Trinitite attempted to enjoy her meal. She had plotted a course she was fairly confident in, and so far The Captain seemed to be following it. Once they got there… She needed more information. Perhaps asking around would be the best option, but to put it bluntly she doubted she'd get a straight answer from them.
Her meal finished, Trinitite stood, throwing what remained of the fish's carcass over the side. She wouldn't be able to trust their information, but there might be a sliver of truth in what they said. Trinitite turned, making her way back to the bridge-
Something in the corner of her eye caught her attention. The abyssal stopped, walking to the edge of the railing and staring at the object peeking out from over the horizon. A huge antenna array, situated atop an angular grey superstructure. Massive, although she remembered it was supposedly 'just' a destroyer. Probably the same class of ship that knocked her out of the battle for Bikini.
Trinitite sighed, leaning back against the trawler's superstructure. Well, this was never going to be easy, was it?
- - -
"You doing alright?"
USS Nashville groaned, leveling a glare at the spook across from her. If she'd known her first sortie as a woman would end in her getting into one of these… things, she would have 'accidentally' stripped a turbine during the battle of Bikini. Nobody would have blamed her: this mission was her first after her recommissioning, and it had been considered an unofficial shakedown. Then, she wouldn't be strapped hundreds of feet above the sea, desperately trying to hold her guts in while the contraption tried to vibrate itself apart. How did carriers deal so well with air travel? How did humans? Who thought helicopters were a good idea, let alone this hybrid abomination that was hurling them away from the carrier group?
Hell, "forgetting" to dodge some of the fire from the Midway Princess's high-altitude bombers was didn't sound so bad anymore. The thought of spending more time with Honolulu and Brooklyn aboard the Tripoli as she underwent repairs taunted her. Alas, they'd passed outside the Abyssal's strike range just before she'd been 'volunteered' for this little fun ride, meaning she was stuck in here.
A transport aircraft meant to seat 34 people.
With one other person.
Why did it still feel too small?
"I see." The lieutenant replied, leaning back into his seat. She'd only known the man for a few hours and the Light Cruiser already hated him. In her three months as a woman, she'd been on the receiving end of plenty of glares, smiles, ogglings, and sympathetic looks. The spy was completely unreadable. No respect for a warship that could paste him in a heartbeat, no humor from watching her suffer, no pity for the proverbial fish-out-of-water, just a flat poker face.
The smug bastard could have been thinking anything, but Nashville wasn't feeling particularly charitable.
"Remind me." She spat out, trying to distract herself from the mutiny in her gut. "Why am I in this thing?"
"A Seahawk is too slow," The Lieutenant said, looking up from a laptop he'd unfolded. That wasn't allowed, right? "Nothing faster than an Osprey can land on the Benfold."
That wasn't what Nashville meant, and Murray knew it. Nashville sent the ONI officer another glare, and returned to enduring the ride in silence.
"Looks like we've got a new report from the Benfold." The man nodded, suddenly breaking the silence. "Our Eldritch friend is letting The Pacific Lilly do her job, it seems."
"That's polite." Nashville said. There were implications there, but she'd rather mull over them when her head didn't feel like an overloaded boiler. "Week's salary says their stock's poisoned now."
"No deal." Murray replied, his flat expression marred by the ghost of a smile. Well, he wasn't a robot, at least. "We don't know if she's left the entire crew untouched or if what we're seeing is the only survivors. We don't know if there's an actual hostage situation here, or if this abyssal's just hitchhiking." He paused, closing his laptop. "If they're trying to infiltrate us, a submarine would do a lot better. If they were trying to take prisoners, they wouldn't be sailing back to the US. If they were trying to defect-"
"Defect?" Nashville choked. Abyssals were hate machines that did nothing but kill and burn. Such an idea… it was ridiculous!
"At this point, Nash, we're grasping at straws." The spook shook his head. "If they were, though, they'd be more open with their radio than they are. I think we can rule that out."
"We aren't on nickname terms, Lieutenant." Nashville scolded, before leaning back in her harness.
"Noted." Lieutenant murray nodded, looking up at the roof of the aircraft. "Unless they thought someone was listening and feared reprisal…"
A silence settled between the Lieutenant and Light Cruiser, filled by the hum of distant rotors. As her gut churned, Nashville realized the problem had diverted her attention, at least somewhat.
"Maybe they don't have a plan." Nashville piped up, desperate to ignore the fact that she, a warship, was flying.
"Hmm?" Lieutenant Murray responded, permission to let Nashville think aloud.
"All of this…" The Light Cruiser mulled, her thoughts continuing to drift to her violently shaking seat. "It's sloppy, you know? Maybe this Abyssal had a plan, but it's already blown up in her face and she's improvising."
"...so when we get there, getting an irrational response might be more likely than something calculated and logical."
"Yeah," she replied, brushing a lock of brown hair out of her eyes "like a cornered animal."
Conversation stalled after that, but the pair had plenty to think about. The idea of a 'cruiser'- but spotting Abyssals with radar was a crapshoot, so it could be anything- suddenly lashing out at them with crazed desperation wasn't something she was looking forwards to dealing with.
"We're the only backup DESRON 1 is getting, right?"
"That's correct." Murray replied, lips pursing. "But it's only part of DESRON 1. The Benfold and three of the Farragut sisters."
"Shit." Nashville replied. "That's it?" This thing was barreling towards the mainland and the largest navy in the world couldn't spare a single capital ship?
"We're trying to keep this quiet until we know what's going on." The Lieutenant replied. "An Abyssal just jumped a ship without killing everyone on it. The more people that know about the Pacific Lilly, the bigger chance we have of someone jumping to a wrong conclusion and screwing all of this up."
"An enemy vessel is heading directly for the mainland..." Nashville replied slowly. "...and when the shooting starts, all that stands in their way is going to be light cruiser and four destroyers."
"Even if it's a Re-class, it'll be knife-fighting with three destroyers.That's a volley of…" Lieutenant Murray paused. "12 torpedoes at once, plus whatever Benfold can get off before she's mulched."
"And that's where you'll be." Nashville finished the Murray's thought. The Lieutenant might be one of the plan's supporters, but he was perhaps in greater danger than Nashville would be. "These early-war Mark 14's?"
"I hope not." He replied, cracking his laptop back open. "We'll have to ask them."
The pair continued hashing out details, forming contingencies and recommendations for the scenario ahead. The practice didn't entirely take Nashville's mind off the sickness flying induced in the light cruiser, but at this point this wasn't her intention: worrying about the road ahead was distracting enough.
However, while this trawler seemed to have a fairly sophisticated sonar system, the Wo-class carrier couldn't find a depth charge launcher anywhere on the ship. How could they get fish in their nets when they were still swimming around?
So, when the human watching the sonar called out a large school of fish, Trinity got a little excited.
When the sailor cut herself off and spun to face Trinitite, the carrier was… confused, to say the least. They had just found a school of fish, and instead of doing anything everyone on the bridge was sitting there, staring at either her or the girl on the sonar.
"Well?"
Every moment she spent around humans, they got stranger.
At her word, the bridge sprung into action. Their Captain started issuing orders over the intercom and the Trawler sprung to life. Guided by her curiosity, the Wo-class Abyssal found herself leaving the bridge of the trawler behind and wondering the main deck. The large net in the center of the ship had been lowered, with the sailors at its controls. Trinity wasn't sure about that: Even with a net that big, wouldn't the fish just swim out of the way? Curiosity peaked, the Wo class found a comfortable spot on the deck, wrapping her cape around her as she watched the working sailors.
Eventually, the motors on the deck activated, and the net was slowly drug aboard. As the massive contraption rose, Trinitite stood, walking next to one of the waiting sailors. Swiping at fish with a net seemed awfully hit-and-miss, no matter how big it was, but the human next to her seemed oddly confident.
Then the first fish actually showed itself, and the Carrier's boiler pressure skyrocketed.
"What- how?" The carrier sputtered, incredulous. Engines wined as the net, practically bursting with fish, hauled itself upon the trawler's deck. It was far more than twice the most fish she'd ever seen at once, a school of all kinds of that filled the deck and rose to her waist. As the fishermen advanced on the ocean's bounty, Trinitite numbly followed them, in awe of the feast in front of her.
The sailors undid the net and fish started pouring through the grate below, and Trinitite found herself reaching into the mass of sea life. Plucking out one she hadn't seen before and taking a few steps away from the working fishermen, the Carrier admired her catch. This one comfortably filled both hands, its gold scaling interrupted by regular black stripes. Intrigued, the Abyssal dug in. It had been a while since she'd eaten.
The fish did not disappoint. Its taste was a bit more mild than she was used to, but the way its juices flowed when her teeth shredded it was delightful. Taking another bite, Trinitite yanked the fish away from her face, enjoying the feeling of the flesh as it tore and rended away. Sucking the meat dangling from her lips in, she enjoyed the feeling of the fish melting in her mouth, before finally swallowing her meal. The Abyssal smacked her lips, wiping the blood from her face and savoring the flavor that still lingered. It had been a far too long since she'd been able to properly enjoy a fish.
Huh. All the fishermen who had previously been working on the net were staring at her, the whites of their eyes standing out from their bulky coats and bushy beards.
What, had they never eaten a fish before?
A glare sent them back to their work, and Trinitite walked forward for some privacy. How were you supposed to eat a fish, then?
As machinery hummed belowdecks, Trinitite attempted to enjoy her meal. She had plotted a course she was fairly confident in, and so far The Captain seemed to be following it. Once they got there… She needed more information. Perhaps asking around would be the best option, but to put it bluntly she doubted she'd get a straight answer from them.
Her meal finished, Trinitite stood, throwing what remained of the fish's carcass over the side. She wouldn't be able to trust their information, but there might be a sliver of truth in what they said. Trinitite turned, making her way back to the bridge-
Something in the corner of her eye caught her attention. The abyssal stopped, walking to the edge of the railing and staring at the object peeking out from over the horizon. A huge antenna array, situated atop an angular grey superstructure. Massive, although she remembered it was supposedly 'just' a destroyer. Probably the same class of ship that knocked her out of the battle for Bikini.
Trinitite sighed, leaning back against the trawler's superstructure. Well, this was never going to be easy, was it?
- - -
"You doing alright?"
USS Nashville groaned, leveling a glare at the spook across from her. If she'd known her first sortie as a woman would end in her getting into one of these… things, she would have 'accidentally' stripped a turbine during the battle of Bikini. Nobody would have blamed her: this mission was her first after her recommissioning, and it had been considered an unofficial shakedown. Then, she wouldn't be strapped hundreds of feet above the sea, desperately trying to hold her guts in while the contraption tried to vibrate itself apart. How did carriers deal so well with air travel? How did humans? Who thought helicopters were a good idea, let alone this hybrid abomination that was hurling them away from the carrier group?
Hell, "forgetting" to dodge some of the fire from the Midway Princess's high-altitude bombers was didn't sound so bad anymore. The thought of spending more time with Honolulu and Brooklyn aboard the Tripoli as she underwent repairs taunted her. Alas, they'd passed outside the Abyssal's strike range just before she'd been 'volunteered' for this little fun ride, meaning she was stuck in here.
A transport aircraft meant to seat 34 people.
With one other person.
Why did it still feel too small?
"I see." The lieutenant replied, leaning back into his seat. She'd only known the man for a few hours and the Light Cruiser already hated him. In her three months as a woman, she'd been on the receiving end of plenty of glares, smiles, ogglings, and sympathetic looks. The spy was completely unreadable. No respect for a warship that could paste him in a heartbeat, no humor from watching her suffer, no pity for the proverbial fish-out-of-water, just a flat poker face.
The smug bastard could have been thinking anything, but Nashville wasn't feeling particularly charitable.
"Remind me." She spat out, trying to distract herself from the mutiny in her gut. "Why am I in this thing?"
"A Seahawk is too slow," The Lieutenant said, looking up from a laptop he'd unfolded. That wasn't allowed, right? "Nothing faster than an Osprey can land on the Benfold."
That wasn't what Nashville meant, and Murray knew it. Nashville sent the ONI officer another glare, and returned to enduring the ride in silence.
"Looks like we've got a new report from the Benfold." The man nodded, suddenly breaking the silence. "Our Eldritch friend is letting The Pacific Lilly do her job, it seems."
"That's polite." Nashville said. There were implications there, but she'd rather mull over them when her head didn't feel like an overloaded boiler. "Week's salary says their stock's poisoned now."
"No deal." Murray replied, his flat expression marred by the ghost of a smile. Well, he wasn't a robot, at least. "We don't know if she's left the entire crew untouched or if what we're seeing is the only survivors. We don't know if there's an actual hostage situation here, or if this abyssal's just hitchhiking." He paused, closing his laptop. "If they're trying to infiltrate us, a submarine would do a lot better. If they were trying to take prisoners, they wouldn't be sailing back to the US. If they were trying to defect-"
"Defect?" Nashville choked. Abyssals were hate machines that did nothing but kill and burn. Such an idea… it was ridiculous!
"At this point, Nash, we're grasping at straws." The spook shook his head. "If they were, though, they'd be more open with their radio than they are. I think we can rule that out."
"We aren't on nickname terms, Lieutenant." Nashville scolded, before leaning back in her harness.
"Noted." Lieutenant murray nodded, looking up at the roof of the aircraft. "Unless they thought someone was listening and feared reprisal…"
A silence settled between the Lieutenant and Light Cruiser, filled by the hum of distant rotors. As her gut churned, Nashville realized the problem had diverted her attention, at least somewhat.
"Maybe they don't have a plan." Nashville piped up, desperate to ignore the fact that she, a warship, was flying.
"Hmm?" Lieutenant Murray responded, permission to let Nashville think aloud.
"All of this…" The Light Cruiser mulled, her thoughts continuing to drift to her violently shaking seat. "It's sloppy, you know? Maybe this Abyssal had a plan, but it's already blown up in her face and she's improvising."
"...so when we get there, getting an irrational response might be more likely than something calculated and logical."
"Yeah," she replied, brushing a lock of brown hair out of her eyes "like a cornered animal."
Conversation stalled after that, but the pair had plenty to think about. The idea of a 'cruiser'- but spotting Abyssals with radar was a crapshoot, so it could be anything- suddenly lashing out at them with crazed desperation wasn't something she was looking forwards to dealing with.
"We're the only backup DESRON 1 is getting, right?"
"That's correct." Murray replied, lips pursing. "But it's only part of DESRON 1. The Benfold and three of the Farragut sisters."
"Shit." Nashville replied. "That's it?" This thing was barreling towards the mainland and the largest navy in the world couldn't spare a single capital ship?
"We're trying to keep this quiet until we know what's going on." The Lieutenant replied. "An Abyssal just jumped a ship without killing everyone on it. The more people that know about the Pacific Lilly, the bigger chance we have of someone jumping to a wrong conclusion and screwing all of this up."
"An enemy vessel is heading directly for the mainland..." Nashville replied slowly. "...and when the shooting starts, all that stands in their way is going to be light cruiser and four destroyers."
"Even if it's a Re-class, it'll be knife-fighting with three destroyers.That's a volley of…" Lieutenant Murray paused. "12 torpedoes at once, plus whatever Benfold can get off before she's mulched."
"And that's where you'll be." Nashville finished the Murray's thought. The Lieutenant might be one of the plan's supporters, but he was perhaps in greater danger than Nashville would be. "These early-war Mark 14's?"
"I hope not." He replied, cracking his laptop back open. "We'll have to ask them."
The pair continued hashing out details, forming contingencies and recommendations for the scenario ahead. The practice didn't entirely take Nashville's mind off the sickness flying induced in the light cruiser, but at this point this wasn't her intention: worrying about the road ahead was distracting enough.
Another chapter that got massive and I had to split into two pieces. Expect the next part on Saturday, but I could get it edited and out on Friday. Hope you enjoy!
When I first started writing this fic, I set a rule for myself: No OC ships. Well, that rule died quickly, and here's why: My plan was to find a historically interesting ship, then go to AL, The Pacific, Warship Girls, or Victory Bells designs where there wasn't a KC one. The problem is even among 5 sources, coverage of the US navy is actually pretty spotty and there are a lot of designs I just don't like.
Still, reading up on the Brooklyn sisters meant that I had to use them. Nashville is original, but I figure she follows the same design philosophy as the Brooklyn sisters in AL (although I'm pretending their rigging looks a bit more like a ship or something we see in KC). Why go for them specifically? Because they actually seem pretty interesting, especially one of them who's got a really sad "fall from grace" history. A guaranteed Antagonist of the family, if you will.
When I first started writing this fic, I set a rule for myself: No OC ships. Well, that rule died quickly, and here's why: My plan was to find a historically interesting ship, then go to AL, The Pacific, Warship Girls, or Victory Bells designs where there wasn't a KC one. The problem is even among 5 sources, coverage of the US navy is actually pretty spotty and there are a lot of designs I just don't like.
Still, reading up on the Brooklyn sisters meant that I had to use them. Nashville is original, but I figure she follows the same design philosophy as the Brooklyn sisters in AL (although I'm pretending their rigging looks a bit more like a ship or something we see in KC). Why go for them specifically? Because they actually seem pretty interesting, especially one of them who's got a really sad "fall from grace" history. A guaranteed Antagonist of the family, if you will.
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5: Trinitite Learns Utilitarianism
PyrrhicSteel
Look natural.
- Location
- Idaho
The steel-hulled destroyer was accompanied by three others, these ones sharing Trinitite's dual nature. If that was the full extent of the force, Trinitite would already be in trouble, but the enemy had been reinforced when a helicopter had landed on the destroyer. It could have been anything from a squadron of destroyers to a line of battleships. As the human ship towered over the fishing trawler, she was starting to feel a little cornered.
"Are you certain this ship can't go any faster?" This wasn't the first time Trinitite asked this question, but with the task force hovering behind them, the helpless Abyssal found herself querying the Captain with greater desperation. The fishing trawler wasn't built for speed, yes, but surely without armor and weapons they could go a little faster?
"Aye." The captain replied, nodding solemnly. She'd plotted a course for a section of the American coast that didn't seem particularly inhabited, and so far it seemed the Captain was holding to it. Trinitite reviewed the trawler's navigation equipment again, including the ever-intriguing 'GPS' device, but couldn't find anything suspicious. It seemed like they were cooperating with her, although she knew their true loyalties lay with her pursuers.
"Attention Pacific Lilly!" Trinitite jumped, spinning to face the approaching destroyer. The human ship had closed to less than 100 yards, and on her bow stood a sailor with a surprisingly small speaking trumpet.
Huh. When she muted the radio, she hadn't expected them to just sail up and start talking, although of course they would. Trinitite, you idiot! Stupid, stupid Wo!
"Abyssal Vessel. I can see you in the bridge."
Trinitite stared blankly at the enemy sailor, her mouth agape. What now? Obviously they weren't going away any time soon. Should she tell The Captain to talk to them? Just walk out and start speaking? What would she even say? She needed a moment to get her thoughts together.
"Captain…" Trinitite started, grabbing the back of the man's jacket and pushing him towards the door. "Deal with them!"
Captain Kelly paused, turning craning his neck to get a look at the abyssal. "What, they clearly want to talk to-"
"You first!" She barked, grabbing a similarly small speaking trumpet from the bridge's bulkhead and shoving it into the larger man's chest. Over the week she'd spent riding on The Pacific Lilly, the crew had started to relax around her. She was starting to regret that.
As The Captain stumbled outside to face the destroyer, Trinitite plopped down in his chair, staring into the GPS screen. The Pacific Lilly was over four hundred miles from the mainland. Hopefully keeping the crew of the trawler intact would stop them from outright sinking her, but they had plenty of shipgirls. What was going to stop them from boarding, wrestling Trinitite off the ship, and then sinking her? The ship had to throw Trinitite a rope to let her board, but the massive destroyer next to the trawler provided a great point for them to to throw a rope themselves or just jump.
So… she had to convince them to let her onto their mainland. She briefly thought of telling them about her princess, but that thought was crushed in an instant. These were the people who had almost used her mother up, then turned on her the moment the opportunity for a better weapon presented itself. These were the people who would sink her in a heartbeat if she wasn't surrounded by some of their own. These were the people who took her Princess from her.
If she wanted the time to make it to the mainland, Trinitite was going to have to get creative, wasn't she?
- - -
"That's a relief."
Nashville blinked, turning away from the CIC's display.
"What?"
"Looks like the target is an aircraft carrier. Easy pickings, at this range."
Like almost every officer Nashville had encountered, Commander Michael Iniguez was younger than his rank would hint at. Between massive casualties at the beginning of the war, more than one political shakeup, and the Navy's major expansion, pretty much everyone in the prewar navy found themselves at least one paygrade above where they'd started. Nashville didn't know how the man landed his post as the Captain of the Benfold, but so far he seemed worthy of it.
Nashville looked back at the screen, currently displaying a feed taken from a sailor next to Lieutenant Murray. As the ONI Lieutenant started interrogating the Pacific Lilly's Captain over megaphone, the camera focused on the monster huddled in the fishing trawler's bridge. Nashville had studied her identification charts whenever she had the time to, but she couldn't immediately draw a parallel from the cowering girl in the ship and the tall, mushroom-capped monsters who defined any fleet they were a part of. Here, seeing her without her most identifying features and through a camera, her true nature was pretty obscured.
"You can tell from the cape." Captain Iniguez continued, his voice echoing even in the busy CIC. "That toothy neck guard seems to stay behind when they dismiss their rigging."
"I didn't know abyssals had rigging." Nashville replied. She felt something like that would be good to know, although she couldn't think of many situations where it would be useful knowledge. Then again, she wouldn't have thought this could happen, either. Better throw that suggestion up the chain of command when she had the time.
"We see it pretty often when we spy on them." Captain Iniguez replied, not taking his eyes off the screen. "You were part of the force that hit Bikini, right? You must have missed them in the reconnaissance reports."
Nashville grunted noncommittally, turning back to the live feed. The Captain of the fishing trawler was saying that so far none of his crew had been hurt by the creature when the Wo-class abruptly stood, striding out of the bridge and grabbing the megaphone from the human. She brought the thing to her mouth, said something which the camera's microphone couldn't pick up, then brought it down and looked at The Fisherman. He pointed to a spot on the device, and the Abyssal nodded. When the megaphone finally crackled to life, the Abyssal's surprisingly human voice emanated from the computer's speakers.
"I'm borrowing this ship. Go away."
There was a moment of silence as the intelligence officer mulled over the abrupt statement. Nashville recalled something from her initial briefing. She'd said the same thing over the radio, right?
"…I'm afraid we can't do that, Miss." Murray's reply was exactly what she would expect.
"You'll get them back." The Abyssal replied, and Nashville couldn't help but snort. Did an Abyssal think her word meant anything?
"Forgive us if we don't trust you." Murray replied. Why was he bothering with such politeness? Was this a game to him? "How about you hand her crew over and we'll talk about this without resorting to hostages?"
"No! I know why you haven't sunk me already!" The response was immediate, hurried.
"Okay." The Lieutenant replied, drawing out his response. "You're heading for land, correct? Why don't you leave these poor fishermen alone and come aboard? We can take you where you need to go."
"I'm not letting that thing on my ship." Captain Iniguez growled, and Nashville found herself nodding. What was the Spook trying to do?
"Really?" The Abyssal's voice rose in excitement, before she suddenly stopped and shook her head. "No, you're trying to trick me."
"I guess it was worth a try?" Nashville commented, shaking her head in return. That got a lot closer to working than it had any right to. She didn't realize 'hopeful' was an adjective you could use to describe abyssals. This one must be particularly desperate.
"If you don't trust us not to give you a ride, why do you trust us not to sink the Pacific Lilly?"
"You wouldn't do that! You're belong to the same nation, right? Humans don't kill their own people!" Somebody behind the pair barked a laugh, but when the Captain turned the CIC's crew had returned to their duties.
"I think my theory was correct." Nashville stated, watching the monster's pose as she shouted back at the Benfold.
"Your theory?" Captain Iniguez asked, turning away from the monitor.
"This Abyssal's an idiot. We're overestimating her."
"It could be an act." The Captain pointed out, but Nashville only returned his statement with a shrug.
"You know, a carrier like you probably has a lot of bombers. At this range, our ship's guns would down anything you launched, but once you get on land? She couldn't follow you, and you could launch them with impunity. If we let that happen, how many people could die?"
"I'm not going to hurt anyone!" The abyssal shouted. Nashville wasn't sure if she was a camera artifact, but it seemed like the abyssal's eyes were glowing in different colors. That meant she was, at least to some degree, a veteran of the war so far. 'Not going to hurt anyone' her aft.
"We don't know that." The Lieutenant replied, his voice even. "How many people could you kill with your bombers? More than the crew of the Pacific Lilly?"
Silence descended between the two ships as the Abyssal stared back at the Lieutenant. Nashville could almost feel the little carrier's plans falling apart around her.
"You're threatening them?" She shouted, incredulous and desperate. "Isn't that my job?"
"You seem pretty reasonable, so I'll give you this to think about: Whatever it is that's so important you have to get to the coast?" The abyssal said nothing, so Lieutenant Murray continued. "If you keep doing this, you won't make it. We've given you other options, ma'am, consider them."
At that, the Lieutenant brought the megaphone down, turned his back on the Abyssal, and walked away.
"She could break him in two, yet he played her like a fiddle the entire time." Nashville piped up, watching the Abyssal drop the megaphone and dash belowdecks. "Remind me never play that man in poker."
"She might also be more inclined to talk next time he calls her." The Commander looked away from the feed, shaking his head. "But I'm afraid the Abyssal going to be more likely to try something desperate."
"Let her." Nashville replied, flexing her fingers and letting her knuckles pop. "I've never gotten to sink another ship before." There wasn't any way to be sure, but Nashville was certain Benfold agreed with her statement.
"Are you certain this ship can't go any faster?" This wasn't the first time Trinitite asked this question, but with the task force hovering behind them, the helpless Abyssal found herself querying the Captain with greater desperation. The fishing trawler wasn't built for speed, yes, but surely without armor and weapons they could go a little faster?
"Aye." The captain replied, nodding solemnly. She'd plotted a course for a section of the American coast that didn't seem particularly inhabited, and so far it seemed the Captain was holding to it. Trinitite reviewed the trawler's navigation equipment again, including the ever-intriguing 'GPS' device, but couldn't find anything suspicious. It seemed like they were cooperating with her, although she knew their true loyalties lay with her pursuers.
"Attention Pacific Lilly!" Trinitite jumped, spinning to face the approaching destroyer. The human ship had closed to less than 100 yards, and on her bow stood a sailor with a surprisingly small speaking trumpet.
Huh. When she muted the radio, she hadn't expected them to just sail up and start talking, although of course they would. Trinitite, you idiot! Stupid, stupid Wo!
"Abyssal Vessel. I can see you in the bridge."
Trinitite stared blankly at the enemy sailor, her mouth agape. What now? Obviously they weren't going away any time soon. Should she tell The Captain to talk to them? Just walk out and start speaking? What would she even say? She needed a moment to get her thoughts together.
"Captain…" Trinitite started, grabbing the back of the man's jacket and pushing him towards the door. "Deal with them!"
Captain Kelly paused, turning craning his neck to get a look at the abyssal. "What, they clearly want to talk to-"
"You first!" She barked, grabbing a similarly small speaking trumpet from the bridge's bulkhead and shoving it into the larger man's chest. Over the week she'd spent riding on The Pacific Lilly, the crew had started to relax around her. She was starting to regret that.
As The Captain stumbled outside to face the destroyer, Trinitite plopped down in his chair, staring into the GPS screen. The Pacific Lilly was over four hundred miles from the mainland. Hopefully keeping the crew of the trawler intact would stop them from outright sinking her, but they had plenty of shipgirls. What was going to stop them from boarding, wrestling Trinitite off the ship, and then sinking her? The ship had to throw Trinitite a rope to let her board, but the massive destroyer next to the trawler provided a great point for them to to throw a rope themselves or just jump.
So… she had to convince them to let her onto their mainland. She briefly thought of telling them about her princess, but that thought was crushed in an instant. These were the people who had almost used her mother up, then turned on her the moment the opportunity for a better weapon presented itself. These were the people who would sink her in a heartbeat if she wasn't surrounded by some of their own. These were the people who took her Princess from her.
If she wanted the time to make it to the mainland, Trinitite was going to have to get creative, wasn't she?
- - -
"That's a relief."
Nashville blinked, turning away from the CIC's display.
"What?"
"Looks like the target is an aircraft carrier. Easy pickings, at this range."
Like almost every officer Nashville had encountered, Commander Michael Iniguez was younger than his rank would hint at. Between massive casualties at the beginning of the war, more than one political shakeup, and the Navy's major expansion, pretty much everyone in the prewar navy found themselves at least one paygrade above where they'd started. Nashville didn't know how the man landed his post as the Captain of the Benfold, but so far he seemed worthy of it.
Nashville looked back at the screen, currently displaying a feed taken from a sailor next to Lieutenant Murray. As the ONI Lieutenant started interrogating the Pacific Lilly's Captain over megaphone, the camera focused on the monster huddled in the fishing trawler's bridge. Nashville had studied her identification charts whenever she had the time to, but she couldn't immediately draw a parallel from the cowering girl in the ship and the tall, mushroom-capped monsters who defined any fleet they were a part of. Here, seeing her without her most identifying features and through a camera, her true nature was pretty obscured.
"You can tell from the cape." Captain Iniguez continued, his voice echoing even in the busy CIC. "That toothy neck guard seems to stay behind when they dismiss their rigging."
"I didn't know abyssals had rigging." Nashville replied. She felt something like that would be good to know, although she couldn't think of many situations where it would be useful knowledge. Then again, she wouldn't have thought this could happen, either. Better throw that suggestion up the chain of command when she had the time.
"We see it pretty often when we spy on them." Captain Iniguez replied, not taking his eyes off the screen. "You were part of the force that hit Bikini, right? You must have missed them in the reconnaissance reports."
Nashville grunted noncommittally, turning back to the live feed. The Captain of the fishing trawler was saying that so far none of his crew had been hurt by the creature when the Wo-class abruptly stood, striding out of the bridge and grabbing the megaphone from the human. She brought the thing to her mouth, said something which the camera's microphone couldn't pick up, then brought it down and looked at The Fisherman. He pointed to a spot on the device, and the Abyssal nodded. When the megaphone finally crackled to life, the Abyssal's surprisingly human voice emanated from the computer's speakers.
"I'm borrowing this ship. Go away."
There was a moment of silence as the intelligence officer mulled over the abrupt statement. Nashville recalled something from her initial briefing. She'd said the same thing over the radio, right?
"…I'm afraid we can't do that, Miss." Murray's reply was exactly what she would expect.
"You'll get them back." The Abyssal replied, and Nashville couldn't help but snort. Did an Abyssal think her word meant anything?
"Forgive us if we don't trust you." Murray replied. Why was he bothering with such politeness? Was this a game to him? "How about you hand her crew over and we'll talk about this without resorting to hostages?"
"No! I know why you haven't sunk me already!" The response was immediate, hurried.
"Okay." The Lieutenant replied, drawing out his response. "You're heading for land, correct? Why don't you leave these poor fishermen alone and come aboard? We can take you where you need to go."
"I'm not letting that thing on my ship." Captain Iniguez growled, and Nashville found herself nodding. What was the Spook trying to do?
"Really?" The Abyssal's voice rose in excitement, before she suddenly stopped and shook her head. "No, you're trying to trick me."
"I guess it was worth a try?" Nashville commented, shaking her head in return. That got a lot closer to working than it had any right to. She didn't realize 'hopeful' was an adjective you could use to describe abyssals. This one must be particularly desperate.
"If you don't trust us not to give you a ride, why do you trust us not to sink the Pacific Lilly?"
"You wouldn't do that! You're belong to the same nation, right? Humans don't kill their own people!" Somebody behind the pair barked a laugh, but when the Captain turned the CIC's crew had returned to their duties.
"I think my theory was correct." Nashville stated, watching the monster's pose as she shouted back at the Benfold.
"Your theory?" Captain Iniguez asked, turning away from the monitor.
"This Abyssal's an idiot. We're overestimating her."
"It could be an act." The Captain pointed out, but Nashville only returned his statement with a shrug.
"You know, a carrier like you probably has a lot of bombers. At this range, our ship's guns would down anything you launched, but once you get on land? She couldn't follow you, and you could launch them with impunity. If we let that happen, how many people could die?"
"I'm not going to hurt anyone!" The abyssal shouted. Nashville wasn't sure if she was a camera artifact, but it seemed like the abyssal's eyes were glowing in different colors. That meant she was, at least to some degree, a veteran of the war so far. 'Not going to hurt anyone' her aft.
"We don't know that." The Lieutenant replied, his voice even. "How many people could you kill with your bombers? More than the crew of the Pacific Lilly?"
Silence descended between the two ships as the Abyssal stared back at the Lieutenant. Nashville could almost feel the little carrier's plans falling apart around her.
"You're threatening them?" She shouted, incredulous and desperate. "Isn't that my job?"
"You seem pretty reasonable, so I'll give you this to think about: Whatever it is that's so important you have to get to the coast?" The abyssal said nothing, so Lieutenant Murray continued. "If you keep doing this, you won't make it. We've given you other options, ma'am, consider them."
At that, the Lieutenant brought the megaphone down, turned his back on the Abyssal, and walked away.
"She could break him in two, yet he played her like a fiddle the entire time." Nashville piped up, watching the Abyssal drop the megaphone and dash belowdecks. "Remind me never play that man in poker."
"She might also be more inclined to talk next time he calls her." The Commander looked away from the feed, shaking his head. "But I'm afraid the Abyssal going to be more likely to try something desperate."
"Let her." Nashville replied, flexing her fingers and letting her knuckles pop. "I've never gotten to sink another ship before." There wasn't any way to be sure, but Nashville was certain Benfold agreed with her statement.
Well, that went out faster than I expected. Hope you enjoy!
We're looking at one more part of this ocean shit before we move on to the point of this fic.
We're looking at one more part of this ocean shit before we move on to the point of this fic.
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6: Shots Fired
PyrrhicSteel
Look natural.
- Location
- Idaho
Before they encountered the Navy Strike Force, Trinitite hadn't interacted much with the crew. She still had plenty of food stored from Bikini, so there wasn't much reason to enter the galley beyond curiosity. She hadn't slept since the Firebringers first hit Bikini, but she still figured she had three weeks or so before rest became a serious issue. As far as she was concerned, there wasn't much reason to do more than hover around the bridge, watching and adjusting The Pacific Lilly's course while everyone else pretended the Abyssal wasn't there.
Now? Standing on the bridge meant she was in clear sight of four enemy warships, and every moment she watched she could feel their rangefinders boring into her hull. She was running out of ideas, and standing still no longer sat well with her. Finally, the ultimatum from the Navy meant that her actions would have a significant effect on the crew of the Pacific Lilly, a responsibility she hadn't had before.
So, here she was, inside the Trawler's minuscule galley, watching the normal bridge crew eat as she continued racking her brain.
"God damnit." A sailor cursed, staring at a device on the table. "You'd think we'd get cell coverage this close to shore."
The 'negotiations' had stretched on for days, due in part to Trinitite's efforts in making sure they went nowhere. It would have been more than enough time for the Fishing Trawler to make it to shore, if the steel-hull destroyer hadn't fired a shell over The Pacific Lilly's bow and stated the ship had gotten close enough, thank you.
Not that she could blame Captain Kelley for stopping. While the hills and trees of the mainland were barely visible over the horizon, getting any closer would only result in all of them sinking. One, maybe two more nautical miles, and she might consider taking her chances and make a dash ashore, but out here they could easily run her down and tear her apart. With the Navy's ultimatum, The Pacific Lilly couldn't make that distance without itself getting sunk.
"That's a national park out there." The sonar operator muttered, taking a bite from a strange meal in front of her. "Not many cell towers."
"They're jamming us." Captain Kelly grunted, dropping a plate of similar food on the table and taking a seat. "They don't want this situation getting out to the public."
Apparently, you were supposed to burn a fish, before tearing it apart with tools designed specifically for preparing it for consumption. Then you were allowed to eat it. For the life of her Trinitite couldn't figure out why they made process so complicated.
Still, they had to make all those changes for a reason. Trinitite had her doubts on the meal in front of the Captain, but she figured trying it out wouldn't hurt anything.
"Give me one of those." Trinitite stated, pointing at the strange food. Idly, she wondered what they had done with the rest of the fish. She wouldn't put it past the humans to toss 90% of a meal out, but even that seemed excessively wasteful.
"My dinner?"
"Yes."
The Captain grunted, standing back up and sliding the plate to Trinitite. "I'll be right back."
Trinitite stared at the dish, using one of the tools to poke at the strange meat in front of her. On closer inspection, the meat wasn't like anything she'd she'd seen before: A bit stringy, but a poke with the multi-pronged tool revealed it to be surprisingly tender. The yellow sauce that coated the meat, along with the strange white pellets it sat upon, didn't help in identifying it. What kind of fish was this?
"Never eaten chicken before?"
The sudden comment caused Trinitite to jump, looking up to view the sonar operator. Her and the other sailor were watching her poke at her meal, wearing perhaps the least hostile expressions the Abyssal had seen on them.
"Chicken?"
"It's a bird."
Trinitite stared back at her food with a noncommittal "Oh." She'd had birds before, but they tended to be too tough for her liking. Experimental prodding yielded significantly softer meat than what she would expect, which was odd. Didn't birds have to be lean and tough in order to fly and catch their prey? Whatever bird this came from must have been fat and lazy. Maybe that was why she hadn't immediately drawn the connection.
She stabbed one of the chunks of meat, bringing it up to her face and slowly spinning it in front of her. The morsel steamed, and a smell unlike anything she'd experienced before tickled her nostrils as it's scent wafted towards her. Some of the strange white pellets hung in the thick sauce that encased it. The carrier… wasn't sure what to make of it.
With a sigh, The Abyssal placed the food back on it's plate and leaned back in her chair. She should be eating whenever she had the opportunity, but food wasn't all that appealing when you knew death was bearing down on you like an impossibly thick spread of torpedoes.
"I'm going to die here, aren't I?"
This was it. No matter what she did here, the sheer amount of firepower the Navy had arrayed against her would smash her like a lifeboat in a typhoon. She was never going to make it to her mainland. She was never going to get a chance to investigate her princess, and she would never enjoy her sweet, cool embrace again.
She was going to try, of course. She'd never consider giving anything less than her life for her Princess, after all. Trinitite had some experience dealing with incoming missiles and torpedoes, but the guns on the destroyers were a threat she wasn't sure how to handle.
"That's not guaranteed." Trinitite's attention was pulled back to the two sailors at the table. The sonar operator's statement, while not comforting like she'd expect from her old fleet, at least seemed neutral.
"Why not?" She replied, confused.
The woman stared at her for half a second, a thoughtful look on her face.
"You know, I've been thinking." She said, turning her attention back to her food. "What's so important to an Abyssal they're willing to put up with a boat-full of people?" She speared a chunk of chicken with one of her tools, pointing the meat at Trinitite. "Your and our kind aren't exactly on speaking terms."
"Yeah," The other man interjected. "What in The States is so important?"
Trinitite stared back at the pair, her mind racing. Before this point, they hadn't shown any interest in her motives, only her actions. If they were prying into them, did that mean they were thinking about helping her, or were they just curious? They Abyssal looked back at her food, sighed, and took a chance. She was dead if she didn't try, anyways.
"I'm… looking for someone." She started, mentally rearranging the truth into something she would be comfortable sharing. "We were close before she suddenly left, and I think she ran here." Whatever she told them, the Navy could interrogate out of them, so she wanted to be vague. No point giving the enemy a reason to hide Her Princess.
"What, like an, undercover agent?"
"I wish it was that simple." Trinitite replied, shaking her head. "I don't know where she is or what she's doing. I don't even know why she's in 'The States'."
"Then how do you know she's there?" The man replied, pointing over his shoulder towards the hidden shore.
"I do." Trinitite replied, certainty in her voice. "I'm not sure I want the Navy to know how."
"So you're looking for a lost friend?" The woman said, a smirk appearing on her features. "Or lover?"
Trinitite nodded. "Yes, that's true." She did love her mother, after all.
"Alright…" the man nodded, sharing a glance with his partner. "Because Kelley and I had an idea…"
As the fishermen explained their plan, Trinitite found herself more at ease. She didn't see it giving her much more of a chance, but it just might be enough.
Without fully thinking about it, The Abyssal grabbed the tool on her plate, popping the piece of chicken in her mouth. Even with the blood that had been drained out, it was pleasantly juicy, and while the flavor on the sauce was unique, she couldn't say she hated it. There was another feeling, though, that she registered as she swallowed her bite. A faint tingle, that seemed to get stronger as she thought about it.
Trinitite's eyes widened, before she suddenly coughed. The odd tingle started to burn, before spiking in intensity and scorching her throat. Forget the meat, what… what kind of weapon was in that sauce?
Alarms sounded inside her. Fire suppression systems activated as damage control personnel scurried through her decks, frantically searching for the damage. As the Wo-Class carrier keeled over, clawing at her throat, the portion of her mind not consumed by pain detected… laughter?
"Oh god, there's nothing spicy in the Ocean, is there?" The sonar operator laughed, ignoring Trinitite's glare and pushing a glass full of some white substance towards her. "Drink this. It should help with the curry."
As the strange liquid poured down her throat and doused the fire raging below-decks, Trinitite made note in her log: Just like in a real battle, incomplete knowledge about the human world was going to get her killed.
- - -
Where are you going now?
At first, USS Benfold had pitied the Pacific Lilly. She wouldn't have approved of the poor Trawler's decision to venture beyond the Navy's protection, but having to host an Abyssal was a fate she wouldn't wish on any ship, let alone a civilian one. The terrified vessel had been hysteric when the missile destroyer had arrived, pleading with Benfold to remove the monster that had taken her hostage.
Then the ultimatum had been delivered, and after a few days of pointless chatter between that thing and Lieutenant Murray, Benfold had been forced to fire a warning shot over the Pacific Lilly.
South.
She'd become much less cooperative after that.
I could tell that, Lilly. Why?
If Benfold hadn't known better, she would have thought the fishing trawler was working with The Abyssal, now. Her responses were irritated, and unhelpful, and the ship took every opportunity she could to insult the Benfold.
You don't need to know that.
Benfold could feel her temper rising, but she tried to stay calm. This was a stressful situation, after all, and rationality was unfortunately rare in stressful situations. If she just explained things…
Yes, I do. If that thing gets too close to a population center-
You'll sink me. Yes, you made that pretty clear.
What was with this civvie? Was the Abyssal slowly subverting the Pacific Lilly's judgement? Or was the life of her and her crew so much more important than the lives of thousands? Anger flared in the Missile Destroyer. Of any family that had suffered from the Abyssal war, perhaps none was more impacted than the DDG-51s and their foreign cousins. A third of the original DESRON 1 had been lost in the war so far, and Benfold knew her unit had gotten off relatively easy. Still, she understood her sisters had given their lives freely, knowing that their sacrifice had been made so that others may live. Every ship loved their crew, but to see one so selfish to put the lives of their sailors above those of so many-
"Benfold, this is Dewey." A girl's voice crackled over the net, her report cutting the Missile Destroyer before she could start talking sense to the Trawler. "I'm seeing a man overboard near the Lilly, over."
What?
"Benfold, this is Monaghan. I can confirm the report on the man overboard, I'm seeing two life vests."
Excluding negotiation sessions with The Abyssal, Benfold stayed in formation about two and a half klicks from the fishing boat. Still spitting distance if shooting started, but there was enough space for the Farragut Sisters to establish a nominal screen between her and the enemy capital ship. Thus, spotting the two overboard civilians on her own was… difficult. However, the drone they'd launched had no issue picking out the two heat signatures bobbing next to the trawler, crawling towards the three destroyers as the trawler pulled away from them.
"Dewy, Mohnagan, this is Benfold" Captain Iniguez replied from Benfold's bridge, his gaze focused on the trawler. "Fish 'em out. Nashville will cover you while we send a RHIB."
That was a shame. They'd hoped to keep Nashville a secret until the Abyssal did something stupid, but dedicating two destroyers to picking up the escapees was going to open a hole in their defenses they couldn't ignore. Benfold was glad two more people wouldn't be in danger from that thing, but if The Abyssal was going to attack (and she didn't really have another option besides surrender) she'd do it now. Farragut seemed to have the same idea, guns pointing at the trawler as her sisters made their way for the two sailors. Once her UAV had confirmed the running civvies were secure, Benfold would do the same.
Five minutes ticked by, then ten, but it seemed like the abyssal aboard the Pacific Lilly was content to let her hostages run for it. Odd, as they were the only thing keeping her alive. Maybe she thought keeping the others under her gaze was more important, or maybe the Abyssal was starting to crack under pressure.
Come to think of it, Benfold thought that the Trawler would have alerted her of two escapees…
"New surface contact, enemy carrier! Four klicks, bearing zero-five-eight!"
Benfold noticed the sudden return on her radar almost as soon as her weapons officer did.
What?
"Her signature just got a lot worse. She's deploying smoke!"
The question as to how the Wo-class carrier ended up a full kilometer away from The Pacific Lilly was one for another day. Right now, they had to worry about the hostile disappearing behind a silky black cloud and steaming directly for Washington. Iniguez seemed to agree.
"Alpha strike that contact!"
Unfortunately, America's weapons industry hadn't quite caught up with the demand the Abyssal war was placing on the nation and her allies. Thus, only 34 of her 90 missile tubes were loaded, with only eight of the old anti-Ship Tomahawks. Still, saturating the smoke screen with ERAMs, ASROCs and ESSMs guaranteed she'd hit something, even if it might not do the damage she'd like to. Under normal circumstances, the Captain would be rebuked for wasting so many munitions, but now? That monster deserve nothing but the best.
As her 5 inch gun beat a thunderous tattoo and her aft deck was obscured by a rippling wave of death, USS Benfold found herself stunned by her first alpha strike. Even if it wasn't close to her full potential, and even if the majority of her striking power wasn't designed for use against ships at all, and even though the Carrier's smoke would almost guarantee the majority of her shots would miss, she figured it might just be enough.
This is for Stockdale, bitch.
Now? Standing on the bridge meant she was in clear sight of four enemy warships, and every moment she watched she could feel their rangefinders boring into her hull. She was running out of ideas, and standing still no longer sat well with her. Finally, the ultimatum from the Navy meant that her actions would have a significant effect on the crew of the Pacific Lilly, a responsibility she hadn't had before.
So, here she was, inside the Trawler's minuscule galley, watching the normal bridge crew eat as she continued racking her brain.
"God damnit." A sailor cursed, staring at a device on the table. "You'd think we'd get cell coverage this close to shore."
The 'negotiations' had stretched on for days, due in part to Trinitite's efforts in making sure they went nowhere. It would have been more than enough time for the Fishing Trawler to make it to shore, if the steel-hull destroyer hadn't fired a shell over The Pacific Lilly's bow and stated the ship had gotten close enough, thank you.
Not that she could blame Captain Kelley for stopping. While the hills and trees of the mainland were barely visible over the horizon, getting any closer would only result in all of them sinking. One, maybe two more nautical miles, and she might consider taking her chances and make a dash ashore, but out here they could easily run her down and tear her apart. With the Navy's ultimatum, The Pacific Lilly couldn't make that distance without itself getting sunk.
"That's a national park out there." The sonar operator muttered, taking a bite from a strange meal in front of her. "Not many cell towers."
"They're jamming us." Captain Kelly grunted, dropping a plate of similar food on the table and taking a seat. "They don't want this situation getting out to the public."
Apparently, you were supposed to burn a fish, before tearing it apart with tools designed specifically for preparing it for consumption. Then you were allowed to eat it. For the life of her Trinitite couldn't figure out why they made process so complicated.
Still, they had to make all those changes for a reason. Trinitite had her doubts on the meal in front of the Captain, but she figured trying it out wouldn't hurt anything.
"Give me one of those." Trinitite stated, pointing at the strange food. Idly, she wondered what they had done with the rest of the fish. She wouldn't put it past the humans to toss 90% of a meal out, but even that seemed excessively wasteful.
"My dinner?"
"Yes."
The Captain grunted, standing back up and sliding the plate to Trinitite. "I'll be right back."
Trinitite stared at the dish, using one of the tools to poke at the strange meat in front of her. On closer inspection, the meat wasn't like anything she'd she'd seen before: A bit stringy, but a poke with the multi-pronged tool revealed it to be surprisingly tender. The yellow sauce that coated the meat, along with the strange white pellets it sat upon, didn't help in identifying it. What kind of fish was this?
"Never eaten chicken before?"
The sudden comment caused Trinitite to jump, looking up to view the sonar operator. Her and the other sailor were watching her poke at her meal, wearing perhaps the least hostile expressions the Abyssal had seen on them.
"Chicken?"
"It's a bird."
Trinitite stared back at her food with a noncommittal "Oh." She'd had birds before, but they tended to be too tough for her liking. Experimental prodding yielded significantly softer meat than what she would expect, which was odd. Didn't birds have to be lean and tough in order to fly and catch their prey? Whatever bird this came from must have been fat and lazy. Maybe that was why she hadn't immediately drawn the connection.
She stabbed one of the chunks of meat, bringing it up to her face and slowly spinning it in front of her. The morsel steamed, and a smell unlike anything she'd experienced before tickled her nostrils as it's scent wafted towards her. Some of the strange white pellets hung in the thick sauce that encased it. The carrier… wasn't sure what to make of it.
With a sigh, The Abyssal placed the food back on it's plate and leaned back in her chair. She should be eating whenever she had the opportunity, but food wasn't all that appealing when you knew death was bearing down on you like an impossibly thick spread of torpedoes.
"I'm going to die here, aren't I?"
This was it. No matter what she did here, the sheer amount of firepower the Navy had arrayed against her would smash her like a lifeboat in a typhoon. She was never going to make it to her mainland. She was never going to get a chance to investigate her princess, and she would never enjoy her sweet, cool embrace again.
She was going to try, of course. She'd never consider giving anything less than her life for her Princess, after all. Trinitite had some experience dealing with incoming missiles and torpedoes, but the guns on the destroyers were a threat she wasn't sure how to handle.
"That's not guaranteed." Trinitite's attention was pulled back to the two sailors at the table. The sonar operator's statement, while not comforting like she'd expect from her old fleet, at least seemed neutral.
"Why not?" She replied, confused.
The woman stared at her for half a second, a thoughtful look on her face.
"You know, I've been thinking." She said, turning her attention back to her food. "What's so important to an Abyssal they're willing to put up with a boat-full of people?" She speared a chunk of chicken with one of her tools, pointing the meat at Trinitite. "Your and our kind aren't exactly on speaking terms."
"Yeah," The other man interjected. "What in The States is so important?"
Trinitite stared back at the pair, her mind racing. Before this point, they hadn't shown any interest in her motives, only her actions. If they were prying into them, did that mean they were thinking about helping her, or were they just curious? They Abyssal looked back at her food, sighed, and took a chance. She was dead if she didn't try, anyways.
"I'm… looking for someone." She started, mentally rearranging the truth into something she would be comfortable sharing. "We were close before she suddenly left, and I think she ran here." Whatever she told them, the Navy could interrogate out of them, so she wanted to be vague. No point giving the enemy a reason to hide Her Princess.
"What, like an, undercover agent?"
"I wish it was that simple." Trinitite replied, shaking her head. "I don't know where she is or what she's doing. I don't even know why she's in 'The States'."
"Then how do you know she's there?" The man replied, pointing over his shoulder towards the hidden shore.
"I do." Trinitite replied, certainty in her voice. "I'm not sure I want the Navy to know how."
"So you're looking for a lost friend?" The woman said, a smirk appearing on her features. "Or lover?"
Trinitite nodded. "Yes, that's true." She did love her mother, after all.
"Alright…" the man nodded, sharing a glance with his partner. "Because Kelley and I had an idea…"
As the fishermen explained their plan, Trinitite found herself more at ease. She didn't see it giving her much more of a chance, but it just might be enough.
Without fully thinking about it, The Abyssal grabbed the tool on her plate, popping the piece of chicken in her mouth. Even with the blood that had been drained out, it was pleasantly juicy, and while the flavor on the sauce was unique, she couldn't say she hated it. There was another feeling, though, that she registered as she swallowed her bite. A faint tingle, that seemed to get stronger as she thought about it.
Trinitite's eyes widened, before she suddenly coughed. The odd tingle started to burn, before spiking in intensity and scorching her throat. Forget the meat, what… what kind of weapon was in that sauce?
Alarms sounded inside her. Fire suppression systems activated as damage control personnel scurried through her decks, frantically searching for the damage. As the Wo-Class carrier keeled over, clawing at her throat, the portion of her mind not consumed by pain detected… laughter?
"Oh god, there's nothing spicy in the Ocean, is there?" The sonar operator laughed, ignoring Trinitite's glare and pushing a glass full of some white substance towards her. "Drink this. It should help with the curry."
As the strange liquid poured down her throat and doused the fire raging below-decks, Trinitite made note in her log: Just like in a real battle, incomplete knowledge about the human world was going to get her killed.
- - -
Where are you going now?
At first, USS Benfold had pitied the Pacific Lilly. She wouldn't have approved of the poor Trawler's decision to venture beyond the Navy's protection, but having to host an Abyssal was a fate she wouldn't wish on any ship, let alone a civilian one. The terrified vessel had been hysteric when the missile destroyer had arrived, pleading with Benfold to remove the monster that had taken her hostage.
Then the ultimatum had been delivered, and after a few days of pointless chatter between that thing and Lieutenant Murray, Benfold had been forced to fire a warning shot over the Pacific Lilly.
South.
She'd become much less cooperative after that.
I could tell that, Lilly. Why?
If Benfold hadn't known better, she would have thought the fishing trawler was working with The Abyssal, now. Her responses were irritated, and unhelpful, and the ship took every opportunity she could to insult the Benfold.
You don't need to know that.
Benfold could feel her temper rising, but she tried to stay calm. This was a stressful situation, after all, and rationality was unfortunately rare in stressful situations. If she just explained things…
Yes, I do. If that thing gets too close to a population center-
You'll sink me. Yes, you made that pretty clear.
What was with this civvie? Was the Abyssal slowly subverting the Pacific Lilly's judgement? Or was the life of her and her crew so much more important than the lives of thousands? Anger flared in the Missile Destroyer. Of any family that had suffered from the Abyssal war, perhaps none was more impacted than the DDG-51s and their foreign cousins. A third of the original DESRON 1 had been lost in the war so far, and Benfold knew her unit had gotten off relatively easy. Still, she understood her sisters had given their lives freely, knowing that their sacrifice had been made so that others may live. Every ship loved their crew, but to see one so selfish to put the lives of their sailors above those of so many-
"Benfold, this is Dewey." A girl's voice crackled over the net, her report cutting the Missile Destroyer before she could start talking sense to the Trawler. "I'm seeing a man overboard near the Lilly, over."
What?
"Benfold, this is Monaghan. I can confirm the report on the man overboard, I'm seeing two life vests."
Excluding negotiation sessions with The Abyssal, Benfold stayed in formation about two and a half klicks from the fishing boat. Still spitting distance if shooting started, but there was enough space for the Farragut Sisters to establish a nominal screen between her and the enemy capital ship. Thus, spotting the two overboard civilians on her own was… difficult. However, the drone they'd launched had no issue picking out the two heat signatures bobbing next to the trawler, crawling towards the three destroyers as the trawler pulled away from them.
"Dewy, Mohnagan, this is Benfold" Captain Iniguez replied from Benfold's bridge, his gaze focused on the trawler. "Fish 'em out. Nashville will cover you while we send a RHIB."
That was a shame. They'd hoped to keep Nashville a secret until the Abyssal did something stupid, but dedicating two destroyers to picking up the escapees was going to open a hole in their defenses they couldn't ignore. Benfold was glad two more people wouldn't be in danger from that thing, but if The Abyssal was going to attack (and she didn't really have another option besides surrender) she'd do it now. Farragut seemed to have the same idea, guns pointing at the trawler as her sisters made their way for the two sailors. Once her UAV had confirmed the running civvies were secure, Benfold would do the same.
Five minutes ticked by, then ten, but it seemed like the abyssal aboard the Pacific Lilly was content to let her hostages run for it. Odd, as they were the only thing keeping her alive. Maybe she thought keeping the others under her gaze was more important, or maybe the Abyssal was starting to crack under pressure.
Come to think of it, Benfold thought that the Trawler would have alerted her of two escapees…
"New surface contact, enemy carrier! Four klicks, bearing zero-five-eight!"
Benfold noticed the sudden return on her radar almost as soon as her weapons officer did.
What?
"Her signature just got a lot worse. She's deploying smoke!"
The question as to how the Wo-class carrier ended up a full kilometer away from The Pacific Lilly was one for another day. Right now, they had to worry about the hostile disappearing behind a silky black cloud and steaming directly for Washington. Iniguez seemed to agree.
"Alpha strike that contact!"
Unfortunately, America's weapons industry hadn't quite caught up with the demand the Abyssal war was placing on the nation and her allies. Thus, only 34 of her 90 missile tubes were loaded, with only eight of the old anti-Ship Tomahawks. Still, saturating the smoke screen with ERAMs, ASROCs and ESSMs guaranteed she'd hit something, even if it might not do the damage she'd like to. Under normal circumstances, the Captain would be rebuked for wasting so many munitions, but now? That monster deserve nothing but the best.
As her 5 inch gun beat a thunderous tattoo and her aft deck was obscured by a rippling wave of death, USS Benfold found herself stunned by her first alpha strike. Even if it wasn't close to her full potential, and even if the majority of her striking power wasn't designed for use against ships at all, and even though the Carrier's smoke would almost guarantee the majority of her shots would miss, she figured it might just be enough.
This is for Stockdale, bitch.
You know how I said we'd be out of the ocean in the next part. This chapter's size ran away from me again, so here's the first half. Guess I lied.
Anyways, hope you enjoyed!
Anyways, hope you enjoyed!
Last edited:
7: The Battle off Kalaloch
PyrrhicSteel
Look natural.
- Location
- Idaho
Trinitite had to admit: Swimming with her rigging stowed never would have occurred to her. She'd seen the Crossroads Fleet's submarines swim, of course, but the thought that she could as well, never really occurred to her. She was an Aircraft Carrier. They don't do that.
She knew it was necessary, but if she had truly understood what the process was like, Trinitite doubted she could have summoned the will to do it. Coordinating her kicks and strokes to actually produce forward momentum proved more difficult than she thought, and while the ocean's waves and her natural temperature prevented her from being too visible from above, the waves that she could normally ignore tossed her around like driftwood and hampered her progress even further.
Thus, Trinitite was forced dive underwater, playing submarine until her very limited air supply forced her back to the surface.
It was hellish work. Swimming came easier than she thought it would, but it was anything but enjoyable. The very idea of the ocean's embrace surrounding her completely reminded her far too much of sinking, and with water pressing in on every inch of her skin, she started to find it hard to think straight. As a result, she was forced to surface out of desperate panic almost as often as her need for air would. Then, after regaining her bearings and realizing her time above water was just aimlessly knocking her about, she would dive again, swim for as long as she could tolerate it, and suffer another panic attack. After she'd lost track of the number of times she'd repeated this process, she started feeling disconnected from this whole situation, as if the last week or so was just some protracted nightmare. If it wasn't for her quite literal internal compass she would have lost her bearings entirely.
Every time she surfaced, a the majority of her being screamed never again, that it would be so easy to call her rigging back and make more progress than she ever could like this, but she endured. The distraction the two sailors volunteered to create wasn't going to last forever, and sooner or later the task force was going to realize she was missing. They might have spotted her already, but if she waited too long a determined search would mean she could be fairly certain. However, if she squandered her opportunity by deploying early, the Navy would have that much more time to beat her into the sea.
Had it been minutes? hours? In the stress of swimming, she lost track.
She would endure this for as long as she needed to, but now that she wasn't sure it was becoming unbearable.
Screw it.
After surfacing one last time and drawing in a desperate gulp of air, Trinitite concentrated her thoughts on traveling the ocean the proper way. A sudden buoyancy lifted Trinity out of the water, a wave of power surging through her as she found herself plowing through the waves instead of getting thrown about by them.
We've replaced your superstructure equipment. New radars, new fire directors, and updated radio equipment.
A familiar weight settled upon her head, and with the expansion of her senses Trinitite found herself instinctively relaxing. Taking control of one of her previously unavailable tentacles, she reached up to her hair, brushing a strand out of her face without having to let go of her returned cane.
The elevators are still dysfunctional. That, as well as serious support for the patch we put on your deck and fixing the busted catapult, isn't going to happen without a proper drydock.
Boilers roared to life, A light cough escaping the Abyssal's lips as her engineers poured additional oil into her smoke stack. The resulting thick, white fog poured from her rigging and started pooling around her like a gathering thunderhead. She wouldn't accelerate as quickly, but with her destination lying just over the horizon, concealment was more important than speed.
The Hell Diver you wanted is stationed on the working catapult, and your secondaries are loaded.
As Trinitite had predicted, her RDF equipment sprung to life, a tingling in the back of her mind that pointed back at the enemy Task Force. Was there… three sources? Right, the Destroyers.
No matter. As her boilers hadn't generated enough smoke to totally obscure her, her secondaries that had survived thundered. 5 inch guns barked as shells hurtled towards the enemy. When they crashed into the sea barely a hundred yards astern, kicking up towers of spray that gave to more smoke, she found herself smiling. That should do for now.
The screen obscured her fire direction equipment, and using her radar to pick out the hostiles behind her would broadcast her location in the smokescreen. Thus, her first volley was the only one Trinitite planned on firing, thinking it better to push for shore at flank and focus on surviving the Navy's onslaught.
Her surviving catapult sprung as the Hell Diver rocketed off her flight deck, the bomber hugging the waves in an attempt to gain additional speed. That aircraft was her greatest advantage, but with her elevators out it was going to be the only one she could bring to this engagement.
She had experience dealing with the Navy's response. The Crossroads fleet didn't seek out human forces to fight, per-say, but it wasn't self-sufficient. When supplies were needed, her Princess would reluctantly offer the aid of her fleet, given they wouldn't be provoking the humans into using The Fire. This offer was denied by everyone the Crossroads Fleet had contacted, until a surprise response returned from Mindoro.
The Supply Depot Princess was not particularly invested in the greater war effort, beyond her contribution to it. She would insure raw material, specialized tools, and fuel got from its location to its destination intact. To her, the prospect of drawing on the powers of another fleet entirely, no matter their reputation, was irresistible.
And so, Trinitite found herself outside of her home more often than not, guarding someone else's transports as the enemy threw missiles, aircraft, and submarines at her. It was dull, stressful work, but it came with plenty of reward.
Knowing her work was keeping the Crossroads Fleet armed and fed was enough to keep Trinitite going until she could return home, loaded with new supplies for their stockpile and knowing her Mother's embrace would be well earned. Meeting other Abyssal Princesses, enduring their inane rants and witnessing the callous treatment of their children, gave her a sense of perspective that only deepened her love for her leader.
Perhaps the greatest reward for this duty, however, was experience. Dealing with the waves of the onslaught of fire humans constantly threw at her was no small task, and if Trinitite could boast in any sort of specialty, it would be in her ability to run a CAP and direct an escort screen. The battle at Bikini wasn't her first fight, just her first encounter with other surface ships.
Almost as soon as her smoke shells had landed, the enemy's first response arrived. Starboard and ahead of Trinitite, a column of spray sprouted frighteningly close to the carrier. After a moment, another joined, slightly northwest of the last, and then another. One of the fast-firing guns from the steel-hulled destroyers, then. She wouldn't enjoy getting hit by their projectiles, but she had already survived much worse. With a minor adjustment to her course, her slowly increasing acceleration, and the thickening smokescreen, the human cannon grew more and more inaccurate, until Trinitite was fairly certain she wouldn't have to worry about it.
The Carrier had just dismissed the shell splashes when two ultra-fast rockets appeared from the smoke. One passed narrowly by her starboard, it's exhaust leaving a trail on her hull, while the other slammed into her stern. The rocket detonated behind her hangar deck, the bulkhead disappearing into shrapnel.
Trinitite screamed as the supersonic shrapnel tore though her hangar deck, cutting down crew and perforating her waiting aircraft. Casualties were obscene, and her entire air wing was going to need at some repairs, but it would have been much, much worse.
If she was refueling or rearming, or if the rocket had struck any lower, and Trinitite would be bathing in the fire of her primary avgas storage. The same kind of rocket that had cratered her deck earlier would have finished her off for good. Briefly, she worried about her Hell Diver ahead of her, but since it had only exploded after it had hit her directly she doubted they were in the proper mode to threaten the bomber. She had much more to worry about, anyways.
New contacts on the RDF. Bearing's changing rapidly, they're close!
Some of their powerful anti-ship missiles, then. Moving twice as fast as a dive bomber and filled with a mass of explosives nothing but the most determined battleship could withstand, these fat rockets bore in on Abyssal fleets only a few feet above wave crests, under the majority of their anti-aircraft guns. A powerful radar set mounted in the nose blanketed the sea in front of them, constantly hunting for prey as it sped over the ocean.
Trinitite herself had witnessed three transports, two cruisers, and eight particularly unlucky destroyers bear the brunt of their massive warhead, and knew for certain that if one connected it would be the end of her. If she, by some miracle, managed to survive the hit, her fight to stay together would give the enemy destroyers plenty of time to catch up to her.
Normally, her strategy would be to place the fleet in the standard anti-aircraft formation, with one of her own aircraft laying a screen of smoke. Hopefully, the majority of them would dash into the large target, while those who weren't fooled were cut down by the fleet's volume of fire.
As the Abyssal glided through her own smoke, she kept her Air-Search radar inactive. When the enemy was more concerned with bleeding her escorts than killing her transports, their rockets would lock onto her picket's radars and follow them into the ships themselves. With the thick cloud of smoke they were dealing with, the blinded rockets should sail directly through…
Trinitite witnessed one of the fat missiles sail through the smoke, transforming from a distant blur to a rough silhouette to and back into a blur as it glided only a few feet from her hull. The carrier breathed a sigh of as her smoke obscured it once more, its powerful search radar fading as it blasted the the sea ahead of it. At one point the thing's search signal had gotten strong enough the Carrier could feel a headache developing, but it must not have detected her.
Another series of splashes appeared next to her, several shells landing in a tight cluster. That would be one of the three destroyers, then. Judging by how close they'd gotten to the carrier, it seemed their radar was tied into their fire control. Not ideal, but Trinitite but while the light guns from the three ships would cause serious damage, they wouldn't have enough time to sink her before she was safe on land. Still, the carrier altered her dash for the shore into a gentle weave. No reason to make their job easy.
Another cluster of shells landed near Trinitite, obscuring the sound of her Hell Diver as it returned. The bomber passed just aft of its mothership, a curtain of smoke descending behind it to obscure the Carrier further. She veered to port, a moment too late to avoid another volley of shells.
One of the 5 inch projectiles slammed into her deck, burrowing through the decking behind her aft elevator and into her hangar deck. The shell detonated inside her hangar, ruining several damaged aircraft, the three arresting cables on the deck above, and a good portion of her crew spaces.
Trinitite's eyes widened as reports flooded her bridge, her nearby crew scrambling to prevent the shell from doing any more damage. If she'd known a destroyer could hurt her that badly...
It was a good thing she wasn't planning on recovering that Hell Diver, because that might not be possible anymore.
Her aircraft continued to climb as another volley of fire slammed into the sea, a sure hit on Trinitite if she hadn't started more serious maneuvering.
Assuming the destroyers didn't outrun her, she could do this all day. And, given her rapidly closing distance to the shore, they wouldn't. It seemed like the fisherman's crazy plan had worked.
ping
The Abyssal froze, her boiler pressure spiking as the noise reverberated throughout her hull. They had launched torpedoes at her? Nothing launched from the task force should have gotten to her already, right? Had a submarine been tailing her? No, their destroyers could launch torpedoes, right?
Ping
Almost instinctively, she cut power to her screws and her speed started to drop. If the thing was close enough a Wo like her could hear it, there was a good chance it would get a return from the Abyssal anyways, but there was no use guiding it in with her cavitation noises.
PING
Another volley of shells bracketed the water ahead of her, but she hardly noticed. For a moment, she visualised jumping, safe in the air while the torpedoes glided below, but even if it was possible (she'd never see someone try jumping while underway) the shock of crashing back into her water might do more damage than one of the torpedoes could.
Ping
They were gliding away from her already, which meant they must have been closer than she realized. It wouldn't be a good idea, but at that moment The Carrier felt like she would trade two boilers for a proper hydrophone.
ping
Trinitite waited for another moment, and then two. Two more volleys crashed around the slowing carrier as the Abyssal waited for the torpedoes to pass outside of their hearing range.
The enemy's homing torpedoes were nasty things, as her sister Hypocenter would attest. Trinitite had almost lost her when four of the things mangled her starboard side in the Bismarck Sea. Getting her to a drydock had been one of her worst experiences she'd had, until she'd lost everyone in the final battle over her home. She didn't have the support her sister had needed to get to safety, and if one of those torpedoes had hit the Destroyers chasing her would be given plenty of time to catch up and fill her with their own fish.
Another volley of shells descended, this one finally hitting home. Two more 5-inch shells plowed into the deck, one shouldering through her thinly-armored side as the other slammed almost in the center of her crew's hasty patch job. The carrier screamed as the explosions compromised the bracing her crew had thrown together, her free hand darting to her head as half of the patch caved in on the hangar. Almost belatedly, another report came in, reporting serious damage in her workshop, with her Galley and Laundry a complete loss.
Time to get moving again.
The water behind Trinitite sprung to life as her screws re-engaged. As much as she feared the torpedoes ahead of her, she couldn't afford to keep bleeding speed.
Enemy aircraft above. One of those tiny human airplanes that doesn't seem to have a pilot.
Her Hell Diver had spotted an aircraft above. She wasn't sure if the bomber could intercept the peering enemy, but at least interrupting the spotting aircraft would-
Another salvo of shells dived into the sea, but instead of the two-to-five she'd grown accustomed to, fifteen plumes of spray rose at once. Trinitite was too shocked by the volume of fire to be sure, but they seemed larger than the the others. The enemy destroyers could shred her superstructure and crater her flight deck, but as long as Trinitite stayed outside of torpedo range they weren't a serious threat. Whatever this was? Trinitite's armor didn't feel so thick anymore.
The Wo-class was out of surprises, and the Navy just revealed one of their own…
She knew it was necessary, but if she had truly understood what the process was like, Trinitite doubted she could have summoned the will to do it. Coordinating her kicks and strokes to actually produce forward momentum proved more difficult than she thought, and while the ocean's waves and her natural temperature prevented her from being too visible from above, the waves that she could normally ignore tossed her around like driftwood and hampered her progress even further.
Thus, Trinitite was forced dive underwater, playing submarine until her very limited air supply forced her back to the surface.
It was hellish work. Swimming came easier than she thought it would, but it was anything but enjoyable. The very idea of the ocean's embrace surrounding her completely reminded her far too much of sinking, and with water pressing in on every inch of her skin, she started to find it hard to think straight. As a result, she was forced to surface out of desperate panic almost as often as her need for air would. Then, after regaining her bearings and realizing her time above water was just aimlessly knocking her about, she would dive again, swim for as long as she could tolerate it, and suffer another panic attack. After she'd lost track of the number of times she'd repeated this process, she started feeling disconnected from this whole situation, as if the last week or so was just some protracted nightmare. If it wasn't for her quite literal internal compass she would have lost her bearings entirely.
Every time she surfaced, a the majority of her being screamed never again, that it would be so easy to call her rigging back and make more progress than she ever could like this, but she endured. The distraction the two sailors volunteered to create wasn't going to last forever, and sooner or later the task force was going to realize she was missing. They might have spotted her already, but if she waited too long a determined search would mean she could be fairly certain. However, if she squandered her opportunity by deploying early, the Navy would have that much more time to beat her into the sea.
Had it been minutes? hours? In the stress of swimming, she lost track.
She would endure this for as long as she needed to, but now that she wasn't sure it was becoming unbearable.
Screw it.
After surfacing one last time and drawing in a desperate gulp of air, Trinitite concentrated her thoughts on traveling the ocean the proper way. A sudden buoyancy lifted Trinity out of the water, a wave of power surging through her as she found herself plowing through the waves instead of getting thrown about by them.
We've replaced your superstructure equipment. New radars, new fire directors, and updated radio equipment.
A familiar weight settled upon her head, and with the expansion of her senses Trinitite found herself instinctively relaxing. Taking control of one of her previously unavailable tentacles, she reached up to her hair, brushing a strand out of her face without having to let go of her returned cane.
The elevators are still dysfunctional. That, as well as serious support for the patch we put on your deck and fixing the busted catapult, isn't going to happen without a proper drydock.
Boilers roared to life, A light cough escaping the Abyssal's lips as her engineers poured additional oil into her smoke stack. The resulting thick, white fog poured from her rigging and started pooling around her like a gathering thunderhead. She wouldn't accelerate as quickly, but with her destination lying just over the horizon, concealment was more important than speed.
The Hell Diver you wanted is stationed on the working catapult, and your secondaries are loaded.
As Trinitite had predicted, her RDF equipment sprung to life, a tingling in the back of her mind that pointed back at the enemy Task Force. Was there… three sources? Right, the Destroyers.
No matter. As her boilers hadn't generated enough smoke to totally obscure her, her secondaries that had survived thundered. 5 inch guns barked as shells hurtled towards the enemy. When they crashed into the sea barely a hundred yards astern, kicking up towers of spray that gave to more smoke, she found herself smiling. That should do for now.
The screen obscured her fire direction equipment, and using her radar to pick out the hostiles behind her would broadcast her location in the smokescreen. Thus, her first volley was the only one Trinitite planned on firing, thinking it better to push for shore at flank and focus on surviving the Navy's onslaught.
Her surviving catapult sprung as the Hell Diver rocketed off her flight deck, the bomber hugging the waves in an attempt to gain additional speed. That aircraft was her greatest advantage, but with her elevators out it was going to be the only one she could bring to this engagement.
She had experience dealing with the Navy's response. The Crossroads fleet didn't seek out human forces to fight, per-say, but it wasn't self-sufficient. When supplies were needed, her Princess would reluctantly offer the aid of her fleet, given they wouldn't be provoking the humans into using The Fire. This offer was denied by everyone the Crossroads Fleet had contacted, until a surprise response returned from Mindoro.
The Supply Depot Princess was not particularly invested in the greater war effort, beyond her contribution to it. She would insure raw material, specialized tools, and fuel got from its location to its destination intact. To her, the prospect of drawing on the powers of another fleet entirely, no matter their reputation, was irresistible.
And so, Trinitite found herself outside of her home more often than not, guarding someone else's transports as the enemy threw missiles, aircraft, and submarines at her. It was dull, stressful work, but it came with plenty of reward.
Knowing her work was keeping the Crossroads Fleet armed and fed was enough to keep Trinitite going until she could return home, loaded with new supplies for their stockpile and knowing her Mother's embrace would be well earned. Meeting other Abyssal Princesses, enduring their inane rants and witnessing the callous treatment of their children, gave her a sense of perspective that only deepened her love for her leader.
Perhaps the greatest reward for this duty, however, was experience. Dealing with the waves of the onslaught of fire humans constantly threw at her was no small task, and if Trinitite could boast in any sort of specialty, it would be in her ability to run a CAP and direct an escort screen. The battle at Bikini wasn't her first fight, just her first encounter with other surface ships.
Almost as soon as her smoke shells had landed, the enemy's first response arrived. Starboard and ahead of Trinitite, a column of spray sprouted frighteningly close to the carrier. After a moment, another joined, slightly northwest of the last, and then another. One of the fast-firing guns from the steel-hulled destroyers, then. She wouldn't enjoy getting hit by their projectiles, but she had already survived much worse. With a minor adjustment to her course, her slowly increasing acceleration, and the thickening smokescreen, the human cannon grew more and more inaccurate, until Trinitite was fairly certain she wouldn't have to worry about it.
The Carrier had just dismissed the shell splashes when two ultra-fast rockets appeared from the smoke. One passed narrowly by her starboard, it's exhaust leaving a trail on her hull, while the other slammed into her stern. The rocket detonated behind her hangar deck, the bulkhead disappearing into shrapnel.
Trinitite screamed as the supersonic shrapnel tore though her hangar deck, cutting down crew and perforating her waiting aircraft. Casualties were obscene, and her entire air wing was going to need at some repairs, but it would have been much, much worse.
If she was refueling or rearming, or if the rocket had struck any lower, and Trinitite would be bathing in the fire of her primary avgas storage. The same kind of rocket that had cratered her deck earlier would have finished her off for good. Briefly, she worried about her Hell Diver ahead of her, but since it had only exploded after it had hit her directly she doubted they were in the proper mode to threaten the bomber. She had much more to worry about, anyways.
New contacts on the RDF. Bearing's changing rapidly, they're close!
Some of their powerful anti-ship missiles, then. Moving twice as fast as a dive bomber and filled with a mass of explosives nothing but the most determined battleship could withstand, these fat rockets bore in on Abyssal fleets only a few feet above wave crests, under the majority of their anti-aircraft guns. A powerful radar set mounted in the nose blanketed the sea in front of them, constantly hunting for prey as it sped over the ocean.
Trinitite herself had witnessed three transports, two cruisers, and eight particularly unlucky destroyers bear the brunt of their massive warhead, and knew for certain that if one connected it would be the end of her. If she, by some miracle, managed to survive the hit, her fight to stay together would give the enemy destroyers plenty of time to catch up to her.
Normally, her strategy would be to place the fleet in the standard anti-aircraft formation, with one of her own aircraft laying a screen of smoke. Hopefully, the majority of them would dash into the large target, while those who weren't fooled were cut down by the fleet's volume of fire.
As the Abyssal glided through her own smoke, she kept her Air-Search radar inactive. When the enemy was more concerned with bleeding her escorts than killing her transports, their rockets would lock onto her picket's radars and follow them into the ships themselves. With the thick cloud of smoke they were dealing with, the blinded rockets should sail directly through…
Trinitite witnessed one of the fat missiles sail through the smoke, transforming from a distant blur to a rough silhouette to and back into a blur as it glided only a few feet from her hull. The carrier breathed a sigh of as her smoke obscured it once more, its powerful search radar fading as it blasted the the sea ahead of it. At one point the thing's search signal had gotten strong enough the Carrier could feel a headache developing, but it must not have detected her.
Another series of splashes appeared next to her, several shells landing in a tight cluster. That would be one of the three destroyers, then. Judging by how close they'd gotten to the carrier, it seemed their radar was tied into their fire control. Not ideal, but Trinitite but while the light guns from the three ships would cause serious damage, they wouldn't have enough time to sink her before she was safe on land. Still, the carrier altered her dash for the shore into a gentle weave. No reason to make their job easy.
Another cluster of shells landed near Trinitite, obscuring the sound of her Hell Diver as it returned. The bomber passed just aft of its mothership, a curtain of smoke descending behind it to obscure the Carrier further. She veered to port, a moment too late to avoid another volley of shells.
One of the 5 inch projectiles slammed into her deck, burrowing through the decking behind her aft elevator and into her hangar deck. The shell detonated inside her hangar, ruining several damaged aircraft, the three arresting cables on the deck above, and a good portion of her crew spaces.
Trinitite's eyes widened as reports flooded her bridge, her nearby crew scrambling to prevent the shell from doing any more damage. If she'd known a destroyer could hurt her that badly...
It was a good thing she wasn't planning on recovering that Hell Diver, because that might not be possible anymore.
Her aircraft continued to climb as another volley of fire slammed into the sea, a sure hit on Trinitite if she hadn't started more serious maneuvering.
Assuming the destroyers didn't outrun her, she could do this all day. And, given her rapidly closing distance to the shore, they wouldn't. It seemed like the fisherman's crazy plan had worked.
ping
The Abyssal froze, her boiler pressure spiking as the noise reverberated throughout her hull. They had launched torpedoes at her? Nothing launched from the task force should have gotten to her already, right? Had a submarine been tailing her? No, their destroyers could launch torpedoes, right?
Ping
Almost instinctively, she cut power to her screws and her speed started to drop. If the thing was close enough a Wo like her could hear it, there was a good chance it would get a return from the Abyssal anyways, but there was no use guiding it in with her cavitation noises.
PING
Another volley of shells bracketed the water ahead of her, but she hardly noticed. For a moment, she visualised jumping, safe in the air while the torpedoes glided below, but even if it was possible (she'd never see someone try jumping while underway) the shock of crashing back into her water might do more damage than one of the torpedoes could.
Ping
They were gliding away from her already, which meant they must have been closer than she realized. It wouldn't be a good idea, but at that moment The Carrier felt like she would trade two boilers for a proper hydrophone.
ping
Trinitite waited for another moment, and then two. Two more volleys crashed around the slowing carrier as the Abyssal waited for the torpedoes to pass outside of their hearing range.
The enemy's homing torpedoes were nasty things, as her sister Hypocenter would attest. Trinitite had almost lost her when four of the things mangled her starboard side in the Bismarck Sea. Getting her to a drydock had been one of her worst experiences she'd had, until she'd lost everyone in the final battle over her home. She didn't have the support her sister had needed to get to safety, and if one of those torpedoes had hit the Destroyers chasing her would be given plenty of time to catch up and fill her with their own fish.
Another volley of shells descended, this one finally hitting home. Two more 5-inch shells plowed into the deck, one shouldering through her thinly-armored side as the other slammed almost in the center of her crew's hasty patch job. The carrier screamed as the explosions compromised the bracing her crew had thrown together, her free hand darting to her head as half of the patch caved in on the hangar. Almost belatedly, another report came in, reporting serious damage in her workshop, with her Galley and Laundry a complete loss.
Time to get moving again.
The water behind Trinitite sprung to life as her screws re-engaged. As much as she feared the torpedoes ahead of her, she couldn't afford to keep bleeding speed.
Enemy aircraft above. One of those tiny human airplanes that doesn't seem to have a pilot.
Her Hell Diver had spotted an aircraft above. She wasn't sure if the bomber could intercept the peering enemy, but at least interrupting the spotting aircraft would-
Another salvo of shells dived into the sea, but instead of the two-to-five she'd grown accustomed to, fifteen plumes of spray rose at once. Trinitite was too shocked by the volume of fire to be sure, but they seemed larger than the the others. The enemy destroyers could shred her superstructure and crater her flight deck, but as long as Trinitite stayed outside of torpedo range they weren't a serious threat. Whatever this was? Trinitite's armor didn't feel so thick anymore.
The Wo-class was out of surprises, and the Navy just revealed one of their own…
"But PyrrhicSteel! You said last snip was going to be the last naval chapter, and then you said this one was, but it doesn't look done at all!"
You are correct, hypothetical SV user. I did say this was the last one. However, after finishing the chapter, I found myself staring at 9 pages of text, so I decided to split things up further. The next part is done, and just needs another editing pass before I post it. You can expect it tonight or tomorrow morning. I honestly expected all I've written so far to be 4 chapters when I was planning things out, but I guess I found myself asking "how was she supposed to get to the US again?" and explaining that took a lot longer than I expected. I hope you enjoyed this, even though it wasn't what I've advertised so far.
Anyways, one of the interesting consequences of having the Navy being the antagonist is buffing steel hulls compared to other KC works starts to feel like a smart idea to a perspective author. A greater diversity in threats gives an author more tools to play with, and this snip sort of gave an overview of what those threats are to Abyssals (and how they deal with them). If I continue this past its premise or write a sequel, referencing this snippet would become pretty important.
A huge thank you for all your comments, by the way. They really help keeping me exited to plan out and execute this story.
You are correct, hypothetical SV user. I did say this was the last one. However, after finishing the chapter, I found myself staring at 9 pages of text, so I decided to split things up further. The next part is done, and just needs another editing pass before I post it. You can expect it tonight or tomorrow morning. I honestly expected all I've written so far to be 4 chapters when I was planning things out, but I guess I found myself asking "how was she supposed to get to the US again?" and explaining that took a lot longer than I expected. I hope you enjoyed this, even though it wasn't what I've advertised so far.
Anyways, one of the interesting consequences of having the Navy being the antagonist is buffing steel hulls compared to other KC works starts to feel like a smart idea to a perspective author. A greater diversity in threats gives an author more tools to play with, and this snip sort of gave an overview of what those threats are to Abyssals (and how they deal with them). If I continue this past its premise or write a sequel, referencing this snippet would become pretty important.
A huge thank you for all your comments, by the way. They really help keeping me exited to plan out and execute this story.
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8: We'll get 'er next time
PyrrhicSteel
Look natural.
- Location
- Idaho
"The air contact's heading for our drone!"
Nashville cursed, staring at the screen in front of her. The enemy carrier had already pulled it's little teleportation trick by the time she was in the water and deploying her rigging, meaning she didn't have any time to prepare her floatplane before the shock from her own guns made such a task impossible. Instead, she'd used her device- calling the strange screen in her hands a phone bothered her- to display the feed from the drone, using the machine's camera to spot for her. If that went down, she'd have to launch her own floatplane- and doing so would mean a break in her fire that they couldn't afford right now.
The Wo-Class Carrier was closing on the shore, A wedge of billowing clouds pointing to the carrier's smoke stack. Alone, the Benfold and Nashville couldn't fire through the smokescreen- with her prewar equipment her radar wasn't nearly good enough to direct her 6-inch rifles, and Abyssal Smoke was completely opaque to the DDG's sophisticated sensors, so loosing that drone meant the Carrier was getting to shore, full stop.
She'd read up on the Wo-Class before: These massive fleet carriers were the size of some of the largest carriers launched in the war, although their actual setup varied widely. Some carried no catapults, forced to turn into the wind whenever they launched aircraft, while others carried up to two. Their secondary armament was all over the board, from enough guns to rival some cruisers to almost none at all. Their decks…
Nashville fired off another salvo, holding the phone against her breast to prevent it from being jolted out of her hand and thrown into the sea. She might have been mistaken, as the Abyssal's nature meant the feed had trouble displaying both it's humanoid and hull forms, so picking out details was difficult at best. After a followup volley from her secondaries, Nashville brought the screen back into view and confirmed her suspicions.
She was no Carrier expert, but Nashville was pretty sure no flight deck was supposed give way in it's center, slumping like an old barn into the hangar deck. Between them, the Farragut sisters sported 15 five inch guns, and their late-war radar and fire control meant they must have scored several hits, but completely collapsing the Flight Deck? The Light cruiser couldn't imagine how damage like that could happen.
Nashville's broadside thundered again, her gunners scrambling to reload her 6"/47 rifles. "Uh… Benfold, this is Nashville." The light cruiser stated, keying her radio as she watched the drone's feed.
"Nashville, this is Benfold. Go ahead."
"Benfold, I'm seeing some odd damage on the Alpha-Sierra." Nashville reported, watching the feed for her shellfall. "It's deck seems to have caved-in, can you confirm?"
Her timer clicked over the expected fifteen seconds, and the Light Cruiser scowled. Her volley must have landed in the smoke, then.
"Nashville, we can confirm the damage on the Alpha-Sierra. Looks like the Farraguts hit something important."
"Yeah. Remind me to buy them something later."
With a stutter, the drone feed abruptly cut out. Nashville sighed, holding her next volley as her flight crew rushed to a waiting floatplane. It wouldn't get in the air in time, but firing blind would be just as useless. The Abyssal was going to get away.
"Benfold, this is Nashville." The Brooklyn-class cruiser started again, turning to the distant fishing boat. The RHIB was stationed alongside the trawler, leading the rest of the Pacific Lilly's crew to be inspected aboard the Benfold. "Permission to land ashore and continue searching on foot?"
"Wait one, Nashville." The destroyer's communication's officer replied, resignation clear in his voice. "High's pursuing other options."
What, were they going to call the Army? If High was trying to keep this secret, asking the Washington National Guard to deploy didn't seem like a good way to keep a lid on things. How do you fight an Abyssal on land, anyways? Nashville knew it happened, but she never read into it.
The Abyssal's crazy gambit had worked. She might be too damaged to pose a threat to a military base or port, but the media certainly weren't going to see it that way. Unless the Navy executed a major cover-up, Nashville foresaw her first naval battle ending in a national panic.
As the Light Cruiser stewed, She could already imagine the talking heads on television summoning panels of 'experts' to tear down every decision they had made, spreading words of doom and gloom now that a single abyssal had set foot on the mainland. Even if the Abyssal failed to hurt anyone, the task force's failure would be a national disgrace, and Nashville was an embarrassment to her class and the Navy. And what if the Wo-Class did manage to evade them and complete her scheme? What was she planning, anyways?
Nothing good for us, that's for sure.
- - -
Trinitite hurt.
As the water below the Abyssal's feet gave way to sand, she couldn't help but groan.
Her boilers had been at flank for too long, and ached for a rest. Her airways were dirty from all the smoke she had been producing, and the abyssal found herself frequently racked by coughing fits. Her deck had been mangled, five-inch shells making a mockery of her ad-hoc repair work. Her hangar had taken so much damage she wasn't sure she had an air wing anymore. With the damage to her galley, Trinitite was already starting to feel hungry. A report claimed that equipment in her machine shop could be repaired, but that still meant any other repairs she needed would be delayed. As a small mercy, her superstructure hadn't been hit by anything more than shrapnel, but that just meant she had a clear view of the damage.
That was something she could worry about when she wasn't being shelled. As she scrambled up the beach, her rigging still spewing smoke, another cluster of shells slammed into the ridge in front of her. Dirt, stone and sand flew into the air as trees toppled over, tapping out an uneven rhythm as they bounced off the Wo-class's rigging. Her heels and cane dug into the sand as she ran, slowing her dash to the woods ahead to a depressingly slow stumble.
As the sand gave way to a carpet of dead wood, Trinitite found her progress slow even further. Her heels, normally great at cutting through the ocean's waves, found themselves catching on the odd branches and the Carrier had to catch herself with her cane with embarrassing frequency. By the time she was scrambling up the steep, brush-covered hill, Trinitite realized the enemy's artillery had gone silent. Apparently they didn't want to shell their own land.
As the Wo-Class dived into the forest across the road, she sent a final transmission to her hell diver and dissolved her rigging. The crew would have to bail over the forest, with the hope that Trinitite would run into them while she ventured further inland. It was a slim chance, and Trinitite hated the idea that she might never find them, but the need to get as far inland as possible trumped the need to recover a few volunteers for a suicide mission. If she was going to get on with the next part of her plan, she had to make distance from the shore, and fast.
Without realizing it, the out-of breath Abyssal started laughing. She was walking on land, in the interior of one of the most protected human nations in the world! She imagined the look on the faces of some Princesses if they realized that mere fodder like her had managed something they had been trying to do for years. She was the first Abyssal to do something like this, right? It hadn't gone to plan at all, and Trinitite had probably gotten close to death more often then she realized, but that meant the worst part was merely behind her. It had to be smooth sailing from here.
Now, where was her Princess?
Nashville cursed, staring at the screen in front of her. The enemy carrier had already pulled it's little teleportation trick by the time she was in the water and deploying her rigging, meaning she didn't have any time to prepare her floatplane before the shock from her own guns made such a task impossible. Instead, she'd used her device- calling the strange screen in her hands a phone bothered her- to display the feed from the drone, using the machine's camera to spot for her. If that went down, she'd have to launch her own floatplane- and doing so would mean a break in her fire that they couldn't afford right now.
The Wo-Class Carrier was closing on the shore, A wedge of billowing clouds pointing to the carrier's smoke stack. Alone, the Benfold and Nashville couldn't fire through the smokescreen- with her prewar equipment her radar wasn't nearly good enough to direct her 6-inch rifles, and Abyssal Smoke was completely opaque to the DDG's sophisticated sensors, so loosing that drone meant the Carrier was getting to shore, full stop.
She'd read up on the Wo-Class before: These massive fleet carriers were the size of some of the largest carriers launched in the war, although their actual setup varied widely. Some carried no catapults, forced to turn into the wind whenever they launched aircraft, while others carried up to two. Their secondary armament was all over the board, from enough guns to rival some cruisers to almost none at all. Their decks…
Nashville fired off another salvo, holding the phone against her breast to prevent it from being jolted out of her hand and thrown into the sea. She might have been mistaken, as the Abyssal's nature meant the feed had trouble displaying both it's humanoid and hull forms, so picking out details was difficult at best. After a followup volley from her secondaries, Nashville brought the screen back into view and confirmed her suspicions.
She was no Carrier expert, but Nashville was pretty sure no flight deck was supposed give way in it's center, slumping like an old barn into the hangar deck. Between them, the Farragut sisters sported 15 five inch guns, and their late-war radar and fire control meant they must have scored several hits, but completely collapsing the Flight Deck? The Light cruiser couldn't imagine how damage like that could happen.
Nashville's broadside thundered again, her gunners scrambling to reload her 6"/47 rifles. "Uh… Benfold, this is Nashville." The light cruiser stated, keying her radio as she watched the drone's feed.
"Nashville, this is Benfold. Go ahead."
"Benfold, I'm seeing some odd damage on the Alpha-Sierra." Nashville reported, watching the feed for her shellfall. "It's deck seems to have caved-in, can you confirm?"
Her timer clicked over the expected fifteen seconds, and the Light Cruiser scowled. Her volley must have landed in the smoke, then.
"Nashville, we can confirm the damage on the Alpha-Sierra. Looks like the Farraguts hit something important."
"Yeah. Remind me to buy them something later."
With a stutter, the drone feed abruptly cut out. Nashville sighed, holding her next volley as her flight crew rushed to a waiting floatplane. It wouldn't get in the air in time, but firing blind would be just as useless. The Abyssal was going to get away.
"Benfold, this is Nashville." The Brooklyn-class cruiser started again, turning to the distant fishing boat. The RHIB was stationed alongside the trawler, leading the rest of the Pacific Lilly's crew to be inspected aboard the Benfold. "Permission to land ashore and continue searching on foot?"
"Wait one, Nashville." The destroyer's communication's officer replied, resignation clear in his voice. "High's pursuing other options."
What, were they going to call the Army? If High was trying to keep this secret, asking the Washington National Guard to deploy didn't seem like a good way to keep a lid on things. How do you fight an Abyssal on land, anyways? Nashville knew it happened, but she never read into it.
The Abyssal's crazy gambit had worked. She might be too damaged to pose a threat to a military base or port, but the media certainly weren't going to see it that way. Unless the Navy executed a major cover-up, Nashville foresaw her first naval battle ending in a national panic.
As the Light Cruiser stewed, She could already imagine the talking heads on television summoning panels of 'experts' to tear down every decision they had made, spreading words of doom and gloom now that a single abyssal had set foot on the mainland. Even if the Abyssal failed to hurt anyone, the task force's failure would be a national disgrace, and Nashville was an embarrassment to her class and the Navy. And what if the Wo-Class did manage to evade them and complete her scheme? What was she planning, anyways?
Nothing good for us, that's for sure.
- - -
Trinitite hurt.
As the water below the Abyssal's feet gave way to sand, she couldn't help but groan.
Her boilers had been at flank for too long, and ached for a rest. Her airways were dirty from all the smoke she had been producing, and the abyssal found herself frequently racked by coughing fits. Her deck had been mangled, five-inch shells making a mockery of her ad-hoc repair work. Her hangar had taken so much damage she wasn't sure she had an air wing anymore. With the damage to her galley, Trinitite was already starting to feel hungry. A report claimed that equipment in her machine shop could be repaired, but that still meant any other repairs she needed would be delayed. As a small mercy, her superstructure hadn't been hit by anything more than shrapnel, but that just meant she had a clear view of the damage.
That was something she could worry about when she wasn't being shelled. As she scrambled up the beach, her rigging still spewing smoke, another cluster of shells slammed into the ridge in front of her. Dirt, stone and sand flew into the air as trees toppled over, tapping out an uneven rhythm as they bounced off the Wo-class's rigging. Her heels and cane dug into the sand as she ran, slowing her dash to the woods ahead to a depressingly slow stumble.
As the sand gave way to a carpet of dead wood, Trinitite found her progress slow even further. Her heels, normally great at cutting through the ocean's waves, found themselves catching on the odd branches and the Carrier had to catch herself with her cane with embarrassing frequency. By the time she was scrambling up the steep, brush-covered hill, Trinitite realized the enemy's artillery had gone silent. Apparently they didn't want to shell their own land.
As the Wo-Class dived into the forest across the road, she sent a final transmission to her hell diver and dissolved her rigging. The crew would have to bail over the forest, with the hope that Trinitite would run into them while she ventured further inland. It was a slim chance, and Trinitite hated the idea that she might never find them, but the need to get as far inland as possible trumped the need to recover a few volunteers for a suicide mission. If she was going to get on with the next part of her plan, she had to make distance from the shore, and fast.
Without realizing it, the out-of breath Abyssal started laughing. She was walking on land, in the interior of one of the most protected human nations in the world! She imagined the look on the faces of some Princesses if they realized that mere fodder like her had managed something they had been trying to do for years. She was the first Abyssal to do something like this, right? It hadn't gone to plan at all, and Trinitite had probably gotten close to death more often then she realized, but that meant the worst part was merely behind her. It had to be smooth sailing from here.
Now, where was her Princess?
Here's the last part of the chapter, which was supposed to be one chapter, but instead ballooned into three. Now there isn't a Navy between Trinitite and Shenanigans, the real fun can start.
After I get through this schoolwork.
Also, have a video I was reminded of.
After I get through this schoolwork.
Also, have a video I was reminded of.
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