Leafninja91
The man that makes the impossible real.
- Location
- The Great White North
It's when a show or book or something gets a big boost in popularity from being mentioned by somebody famous, such as Steven Colbert.
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Belated Battleships (KanColle) [REHOST]
- Thread starter theJMPer
- Start date
wtdtd
slow thinker, with crippling abundance of time
- Location
- The Netherlands
I never would have guessed that.
I was already thinking what this had to do with professor Colbert from ZnT.
- Location
- North Carolina
What does that mean? Not to be blunt or anything, but I don't get reference.
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wtdtd
slow thinker, with crippling abundance of time
- Location
- The Netherlands
This guy, from Familiar of Zero (or Zero No Tsukaima in japanese).
- Location
- North Carolina
This guy, from Familiar of Zero (or Zero No Tsukaima in japanese).
Oh! Okay! Thanks, that clears that up a lot!
On an entirely different note, if you want to know something funny. The American V-Boats on the surface displace nearly 1,500 tons more than a fully loaded Mutsuki class Destroyer, while submerged displacement is only 11 tons less than a standard loaded Tenryuu class Light Cruiser! Plus they are only 5 feet shorter than a Fletcher class Destroyer! But wait, it gets even better! They have two 6in/53 Caliber Deck Guns, six torpedo tubes, four forward and two aft, four external torpedo tubes two forward and two aft were added in 1942 overhaul, anywhere between twenty-four to twenty-six torpedoes can be carried internally, and also thanks to the '42 refit they can carry eight to twelve torpedoes externally! No offense Albacore, but while you might be a member of one the best submarine classes of WWII, the Gato which is up their with the Balalo, the Tench, and the German Type VII U-Boats, you weren't the biggest fish in the pond in terms of submarines in the pacific. That title goes to the V-boats with several members being famous for their deployment of the Marine Raiders during WWII.
Hey Jersey! What is your opinion on the Marine Raiders? I think they were pretty fucking badass! I mean they did all but wipe out the Japanese Garrison on the island of Makin single-handily!
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- Location
- 'Murica
Jersey: What kind of fucking question is that? What the fucking hell do you think I'm gonna say?
- Location
- North Carolina
Exactly! They are pretty badass, but not as badass as the Navy SEALS!
Dirtnap
Kanmusu Affecionado
Excuse you, Marine Raiders were one of the reasons the SEALs were founded.
- Location
- North Carolina
They were? Damn, who knew! Well you what they say. You learn something new every day.
I HAVE A SWORD!!!!!!!!!!
- Location
- 'Murica
"HA HA, BITCHES!" Jersey flailed at a stack of cardboard boxes, tearing them to ribbons with her brand new weapon. "I HAVE A MOTHERFUCKING SWORD!"
Tenryuu hugged her gut tight and try not to burst out laughing. After her sparing match with Major Solette, she'd started to feel like her skills were a blade weren't worth mentioning. It was nice to get some perspective for what 'bad with a sword' really looks like.
"SWORD!" Jersey cackled and bashed a box with the dull back of her blade. Tenryuu wasn't sure if that was planned, or if the battleship had simply lost track of which end was which. She leaned more towards the latter one, though.
Seriously, Jersey was bad at this. It was like watching a fat kid with a mullet flail around with his twenty dollar E-bay 'samurah sword', only somehow worse. At least Jersey was in good enough shape to hurt herself.
"HA! HA!" Jersey drew the sword high over one shoulder and brought it swinging down again, only to do the same over her other shoulder. "HIIIIIIIIAH!" The battleship did a spinning jump and slashed at the pile of tattered cardboard.
Tenryuu couldn't hold in her laughter anymore. The old cruiser toppled off her feet and landed square on her stern with a howling laugh.
Jersey scowled and planted her hands on her hips. Or at least tried to, before a sharp poke in the thigh reminded her she still had a blade in her hand. "Fuck you, chunniboat."
Tenryuu tried to say something in response, but all that happened was a slight modulation of her shrieking laugh. She kicked at the pavement and tried to get her bearings again. "You're…" she gasped out between howls, "So… Bad!"
Jersey's scowl deepened, and she swung the blade though the air. It skipped off her nose with a pathetic metallic tink, leaving the battleship stunned and her sword with a little nick on the flat. "I'm so bad, huh?"
Tenryuu nodded. The laughter she'd been getting under control only flared up again after the nose incident.
"Well," Jersey flourished her blade again, though she was extra careful to keep it away from any extremities. "En garde, Chunniboat. Come at me if you think you're hard enough!"
Tenryuu's laughter died in an instant. Her lips twisted into a predatory smirk, and she slowly planted her hands on the pavement. "Hmm…" She backflipped herself onto her feet, "You wish to face the might of the heavenly dragon?"
The cruiser planted one hand on her scabbard and let the other close around the grip of her beloved katana. "To face the steel of the mighty waterline?"
Jersey blinked. "Well, duh."
But Tenryuu wasn't finished. "A weapon handed down through centuries," the cruiser smiled and slowly drew the blade with practiced grace. "Folded a million times by the greatest smiths of Japan."
"No it wasn't," sighed Jersey.
Tenryuu'd already worked up steam. She was going to finish her monologue, no matter what the irreverent American had to say. "Thrice as sharp as a European sword, and thrice as hard." She flashed Jersey a grin, "Ever wonder why medieval knights never tried to conquer Japan?"
"Because fucking Russia?"
"That's right," hissed Tenryuu, slowly drawing the tip of her blade from its sheath. The red-tempered steel seemed to glow in the floodlit parking lot. "They were too scared to fight the disciplined samurai and their katanas of destruction."
"No, they fucking weren't."
"Even in world war II," Tenryuu flourished the sword and held the flat against her nose. It might have looked impressive if her boobs weren't getting squished out of the way. "American soldiers targeted the men with the katanas first because their killing power was feared and respected."
Jersey rolled her eyes. "That's not even remotely fucking true."
Tenryuu bopped Jersey in the face with the flat of her blade. "Who's the katana expert here, me or you?"
Jersey just growled under her breath. "Are we fucking doing this or not?"
"Well," Tenryuu flourished her blade again, "If you insist."
The battle was short and pointed. For once, Tenryuu had someone to spar with that she didn't have to tip-toe around. She didn't have to hold herself back like when she sparred with the Major. She could hit Jersey with every fiber of muscle in her body, and the big battleship would just shrug it off.
It was a nice ego-boost too. After her last match with Solette, she'd felt hopelessly left in the dust. Now she knew she wasn't even in the same ocean as a true beginner. Like Jersey.
She sucked.
The battleship towered over Tenryuu, her arms rippled with coiled muscle, and she moved with the boldness of one fully aware she was beyond invincible. And she had absolutely no idea what she was doing.
She just flailed her sword around with a limp wrist, apparently praying that the law of averages would eventually win her a solid blow. Which, at long last, it did.
Jersey's blade came down on Tenryuu's right floater, but the angle was too steep. Instead of biting in, the sword just skittered off the hovering metal and ricochet away. Then, carried by its own momentum, the sword bounced back to hit Jersey square in the nose. Again.
"OW!" Jersey scowled and planted a hand on her face. There was yet another barely-visible dent in the flat of the blade. "This is stupid."
"I told you you'd lose," teased Tenryuu.
"WHY DID WE DO THIS," grumbled Jersey. "we have guns."
"Fufufufu," Tenryuu sheathed her sword with a flourish. "You scared?"
"Fuck you, chunniboat," Jersey scowled and slid her own blade back into its scabbard. "I want pie."
"Mess hall?"
"Mess hall."
Captain John Henry Solomon hunkered low in his bridge chair and clutched a coffee mug close to his chest. Not so much to protect it from the elements—the seas off Hawaii were gentle and the winds non-existent this morning—but to shield himself from the judging eyes of his crew.
Solomon'd never developed a taste for coffee, in all his years with the navy, the best he was ever able to do was tolerate the stuff. Some might call it heresy, but the captain preferred throughly-iced tea as his beverage of choice.
In any case, it was his boat. To quote the famous and eloquent words of New Jersey herself, he could do what he wanted.
"Captain." Solomon's XO, a New Englander named Bill Holland with the resolute countenance and non-existent neck of a bulldog, smirked at him and took a sip from a mug of the blackest coffee the navy could offer. The man said nothing, but the subtle twinge in his massive jaw betrayed a slight distaste for the bitter brew.
"XO," Solommon smirked, and took a long, luxurious drag from his beverage of choice.
"Fine day to be at sea," Holland leaned against the bridge railing, peering over at the glassy smooth sea the ship ever so lazily paddled though.
"Mmm," Solomon nodded. To tell the truth, he hated it. His was a ship of war, she was meant to take the fight to the enemy, not sail lazily around an island paradise hoping to frighten the demons away. It felt wrong, almost sickening. There were so many places—entire countries, even—burning away while he steamed around looking pretty. This wasn't what he joined up for.
He knew his XO felt the same, and he had to suspect most if not all of his crew felt the same. They yearned for action. But in this new world where the presence of magic was made suddenly and painfully obvious, nobody wanted to jinx the whole thing by complaining of boredom.
For a moment, the two men just stared into the salty sea and tried not to think about action.
"Sir!" the OOD's taut voice cut though the silence, sounding a little to tense for any normal action.
"I wasn't thinking anything," said Holland.
"Me either," muttered Solomon. "OOD, what's up?"
The Officer of the Deck, a freckle-faced Lieutenant Sam Ryan, gulped for air for a second. "Message from the Jones, sir. She's under attack."
Solomon cursed under his breath and glanced at the plotting display. John Paul Jones,Halsey, and Amatsukaze were less than two hundred miles south of Kauai. So close to safety they could almost taste it.
"Sound general quarters." Solomon pulled heavy flash gloves on with a grimace. He hated wearing the darn things, especially in the Hawaiian heat. "OOD!"
"Sir?" Ryan glanced at him with taut, tense eyes. He was one of the younger officers on the ship, and one of precious few who hadn't had a ship all but shot out from them.
"What's she facing?"
The OOD nodded, and hastily passed the request back do the CIC. "Amutsukaze reports two Scharnhorst-class battleships."
Solomon cursed. Taking destroyers, even ones as good as Burkes or Kagerous, against hunting battleships like that was a suicide mission.
"XO," barked the captain. "Contact Admiral Kinsey, tell him—"
"Sir," Ryan cut him off. "Orders from the Admiral, we're released from our patrol station."
Solomon nodded.
Taking a destroyer into a battle like this would be suicide.
"Plot intercept course and engage at three-zero knots." barked the Captain. Deeo below his feet, he could feel the gentle hum of idling turbines turn into into a furious roar. "Get our UAV in the air. And get me the Jones."
"Sir," the OOD gave him a nod. "you're go for the Jones."
Solomon cradled the handset. He was damn lucky he wasn't on a destroyer. "John Paul Jones, this is USS Missouri-actual. Turn west under smoke, we're en-route to support you."
"Understood sir," came the wire-tense voice of Jones' radioman.
"Sir, all stations manned and ready."
Solomon smiled. For a second, just the tiniest shade of a second, he'd heard a calm contralto join his OOD's voice. Deep beneath his feet, recruits fresh out of training and grizzled sea dogs from Big Mo's last sortie worked as one, coaxing life out of the old battleship's boilers.
She was an old ship, the oldest ship in the navy that didn't sail under canvas wings. She shouldn't have even been in the water. Decades of neglect as a museum hadn't been kind to the old girl, her boilers were rusted and filled with silty debris, half her gun mounts had frozen in place, and her wiring was frayed and broken.
Only they weren't.
When it came time to pull her back out of mothballs, the museum curators swore up and down she was exactly like they left her all those years ago. Time and salt are harsh mistresses to ships of steel. But this time… this one time they'd made an exception for Big Mo.
Solomon let out a giddy howl as the battleship roared to life. Even on the bridge, he could hear—feel—her turbines thunder. The gentle idling purr was gone, replaced by a quarter-million horsepower of howling American fury.
The sea to her stern churned to foaming white as her screws bit in without mercy. Waves piled up against her slender bow before streaming off to each side, terrified by the presence and fury of a truly angry battleship.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the angular form of the Chafee working up to full speed.
The destroyer was a fifth Mo's displacement and a sixth her age. She was built with the most modern construction and engineering techniques known to man. She was powered by literal jet engines.
And she was panting to keep up with his ancient battlewagon.
"OOD, get me Chafee-actual!" barked Solomon.
"Sir," Ryan gave him a nod.
The captain plucked the handset from its cradle with a smirk. "What's the matter, Fremming?" he teased, "The old girl too slow for you?"
"Age before beauty, my friend."
Solomon laughed and slammed the handset back. He'd spent enough time waiting around, now it was time to hunt.
"Hey, Doc," Jersey stuck her head into the professor's office. "You got a minute?"
The battleship must've just finished a pie binge. Crowning could tell because of the subtle way she kept hugging her washboard-flat belly. Battleships might not get fat, but they could still feel their dinners sloshing around inside them if they ate enough. And, knowing Jersey's ravenous gluttony, she most certainly ate enough to feel stuffed.
They never looked full, but a skilled eye could pick things out from the way they moved. Jersey'd just eaten her fill, he could tell from the gentle swoosh of her hips and the slightly lazier pace of her gait.
Also, the spots of blueberry around her lips helped.
"Of course," Crowning set down his latest choice of reading material, a scholarly examination of shipgirls though history. After making sure his place was properly marked, and the three highlighters he kept at the ready were capped, he turned a gentle smile to the towering battlewagon.
"Great," Jersey smiled and slid into the room. That was the only way to describe the way she moved, it wasn't the energetic trot of her usual gait. Her whole body seemed to glide, like honey poured over hot glass. It would've been entrancing even if she wasn't stunning.
"Enjoy your pie?" asked Crowning, desperate to keep himself from falling too entranced by the battleship's—by the woman's body.
Jersey froze, and both hands clapped to her belly. "I—"
"You have some on your face," Crowning smirked.
"Oh," Jersey blushed, and scrubbed herself with her sleeve. "So… I'm not getting fat?"
"Jersey, all the fat you have," Crowning cast a brief glance at the battleship's newly-displayed chest. Not enough to qualify as a leer, he respected her too much for that, but enough to let her know he noticed and appreciated, "Is in exactly the right places."
The battleship thought for a second, the bit her lip to stifle a girlish titter. "Um…" she looked around, "Think you could… uh… check anyways?"
Before Crowning could answer, the battleship zipped open her vest and pulled her shirt up. It wasn't all the way, just enough to get an eyeful of a stomach that could've been chiseled by Adonis himself. Her muscles rippled under her pale skin in defiance of the vast bounty of pie she must've gorged herself on mere moments ago.
But what drew his attention most as the scar on her side. The same one she'd worn all these months, only this time it was so faint it was all but unnoticeable.
"Hey," Jersey flexed her belly. Already chiseled muscles leaped out in sharp relief. "Too much?"
Crowning smirked, "since when do those words even exist in your vocabulary?"
"Since…" Jersey set her shirt down. "Uh… fucking…" She sighed and slumped to the floor. "Head scratchy?"
Crowning blinked. "You're such a child."
"Hey!" Jersey pointed a finger at him. "Fourth-youngest battleship ever."
"Fair enough," Crowning smiled and started massaging the girl's golden blond hair. "That the only reason you wanted me here?"
"Uh," Jersey shrugged, "No, not really. It's… about my bedtime." She glanced at her toes and scuffed her shoe against the carpet. "If, uh… you're still willing to—"
"I am," Crowning ran a hand though her hair.
"Good." Jersey leaned against his leg and made another of those quiet almost-purr noises.
It took Crowning almost twenty minutes to coax the happy battleship off the floor and over to her bedroom. Luckily, it didn't take her nearly as long to get changed into her pajamas—long sleep pants and a tank-top that said "MAXIMUM OVERTSUN" on the front. Apparently it was a present from Kongou.
Then, without further ado, Jersey flopped onto her bed in a heap of limbs and shimmering strawberry-blond hair. She didn't even remotely fit onto the mattress, her legs hung off the end and one arm was almost totally on the floor.
But somehow, Crowning just found that more endearing. He settled into a chair with a smile, cracked open his book, and began the night's watch.
For the past three days, the sky had been dark and thick with choppy overcast clouds. The lead blanket had fallen over the whaling fleet hours after they'd left Tokyo bay, grounding their aircraft and forcing the ships to stare nervously into the dark water.
Shinano hated herself for it, but some part of her preferred the overcast gloom of the trip up to the cloudless blue sky she steamed under now. At least… at least under the clouds she could pretend she was a real carrier. She was just as helpless as Jun'you and Ryuujou. Her planes were just as pointless on her hastily converted deck.
But now that little measure of solace was gone. Jun'you and Ryuujou launched their planes with abandon. They smiled and laughed as glistening white fighter-bombers roared down their decks and burst into the sweet pale-blue sky. They were carriers, real carriers.
Shinano just sailed lazy circles around the Nisshin Maru and tried not to think about what they were doing. She didn't have a problem with whaling, but she did appreciate how hard they worked.
Manning a factory ship wasn't an easy ride under the best of conditions, and doing so in the middle of winter? With the ever present threat of submarine and air attack looming over their necks? And those sailors did it without complaint, day after day, month after month.
And so much of their hard labor would never be seen by the people of Japan. Shinano sniffed and hugged herself tight. Far, far too much of it would go straight to her useless belly!
"Hey, Shinano?" Kiyoshimo tugged at the streaming tail of Shinano's long overskirt.
Shinano sniffed, and pulled her glasses off. Maybe if she cleaned them hard enough, the destroyer wouldn't notice the red in her eyes. "Yes?"
"You okay?" She'd been awfully quiet this whole trip, especially after Shinano started crying when she asked her about becoming a battleship. Shinano hated herself for that too. Look at her, proud sister of the Yamato triplets crying like a baby in front of a destroyer who called her what she was.
Shinano nodded, and turned her face into the wind. Ostensibly to… look for planes… or something else that carriers do. But really, she didn't want Kiyoshimo to see her misery. The destroyer was more battleship than she'd ever be.
"You sure?" Kiyoshimo puffed her little chest and planted her hands on her hips with defiance. "A ba— a warship must always look after her division mates!"
Shinano sniffed, and slid her glasses back on. "I am," she said. "And thank you."
Kiyoshimo smiled. For a moment, the girl tried to give Shinano a nice pat on the head, but even standing on tip-toes she didn't have the reach.
"Hey hey!" Jun'you's giggling voice carried over the waves with a hint of sake-lubricated levity. Her long, gravity-defying hair wafted in the sea breeze, and her eyes wore the thousand-yard stare of a carrier focusing on her aircraft. "Got something here!"
Shinano glanced over, her curiosity overcoming her misery for the time being.
"Huhh…" Jun'you stared down, her eyes twitching like she was watching ants crawl along the waves. "Looks like there be whales, here!" she laughed, "I count…." she flourished a hand and started counting on her fingers. "one, two, three, four, five… looks like five humpbacks! 'bout thirty miles south-west of us, heading closer."
"Copy that," said Nisshin Maru. Or at least one the factory ship's radiomen. "Keep them spotted, will you?"
Jun'you nodded, her eyes still glued to something far below her. "Okie Dokie!"
"Hey, Shina?" Ryuujou's laid-back accent crashed over the converted battleship's timid ears.
"Hmm?" Shinano worried her wrought-iron bow and braced herself.
"I'm, uh…" Ryuujou shrugged as a flight of zeros bounced down onto her deck. "Getting a little thirsty here."
"Me too!" added Jun'you. "A carrier can't live off just sake, you knoww~"
Shinano blinked. She might be a useless carrier, but her avgas tanks were full to bursting, and she had plenty of ordnance for her acrophobic planes aboard. "Y-yes," she stammered, slinging her bow over her shoulder and fishing around in her armored quiver.
It took her a minute, she was still learning the ins and outs of her own hull. But eventually her quartermasters found what she was looking for and placed it in her hands. "Here!"
Shinano's face blushed into a timid smile, and she handed out nice blue bottles of Ramune to the two proper carriers. "It's… it might be a little warm."
Ryuujou shrugged, and took a gulp of the depressingly lukewarm beverage. Just one, little sip before she put it back down. "Thanks, Shina."
Shinano blushed, and nodded at the light carrier. "I— if I could get it colder—"
"Dun' worry!" Jun'you clapped a hand on the towering girl's back. "'s fine the way it is."
"Yeah," added Ryuujou, "It's a chilly day anyways."
Shinano smiled. She could almost believe them. Almost. But it was nice of them to try. "Thanks."
Tenryuu hugged her gut tight and try not to burst out laughing. After her sparing match with Major Solette, she'd started to feel like her skills were a blade weren't worth mentioning. It was nice to get some perspective for what 'bad with a sword' really looks like.
"SWORD!" Jersey cackled and bashed a box with the dull back of her blade. Tenryuu wasn't sure if that was planned, or if the battleship had simply lost track of which end was which. She leaned more towards the latter one, though.
Seriously, Jersey was bad at this. It was like watching a fat kid with a mullet flail around with his twenty dollar E-bay 'samurah sword', only somehow worse. At least Jersey was in good enough shape to hurt herself.
"HA! HA!" Jersey drew the sword high over one shoulder and brought it swinging down again, only to do the same over her other shoulder. "HIIIIIIIIAH!" The battleship did a spinning jump and slashed at the pile of tattered cardboard.
Tenryuu couldn't hold in her laughter anymore. The old cruiser toppled off her feet and landed square on her stern with a howling laugh.
Jersey scowled and planted her hands on her hips. Or at least tried to, before a sharp poke in the thigh reminded her she still had a blade in her hand. "Fuck you, chunniboat."
Tenryuu tried to say something in response, but all that happened was a slight modulation of her shrieking laugh. She kicked at the pavement and tried to get her bearings again. "You're…" she gasped out between howls, "So… Bad!"
Jersey's scowl deepened, and she swung the blade though the air. It skipped off her nose with a pathetic metallic tink, leaving the battleship stunned and her sword with a little nick on the flat. "I'm so bad, huh?"
Tenryuu nodded. The laughter she'd been getting under control only flared up again after the nose incident.
"Well," Jersey flourished her blade again, though she was extra careful to keep it away from any extremities. "En garde, Chunniboat. Come at me if you think you're hard enough!"
Tenryuu's laughter died in an instant. Her lips twisted into a predatory smirk, and she slowly planted her hands on the pavement. "Hmm…" She backflipped herself onto her feet, "You wish to face the might of the heavenly dragon?"
The cruiser planted one hand on her scabbard and let the other close around the grip of her beloved katana. "To face the steel of the mighty waterline?"
Jersey blinked. "Well, duh."
But Tenryuu wasn't finished. "A weapon handed down through centuries," the cruiser smiled and slowly drew the blade with practiced grace. "Folded a million times by the greatest smiths of Japan."
"No it wasn't," sighed Jersey.
Tenryuu'd already worked up steam. She was going to finish her monologue, no matter what the irreverent American had to say. "Thrice as sharp as a European sword, and thrice as hard." She flashed Jersey a grin, "Ever wonder why medieval knights never tried to conquer Japan?"
"Because fucking Russia?"
"That's right," hissed Tenryuu, slowly drawing the tip of her blade from its sheath. The red-tempered steel seemed to glow in the floodlit parking lot. "They were too scared to fight the disciplined samurai and their katanas of destruction."
"No, they fucking weren't."
"Even in world war II," Tenryuu flourished the sword and held the flat against her nose. It might have looked impressive if her boobs weren't getting squished out of the way. "American soldiers targeted the men with the katanas first because their killing power was feared and respected."
Jersey rolled her eyes. "That's not even remotely fucking true."
Tenryuu bopped Jersey in the face with the flat of her blade. "Who's the katana expert here, me or you?"
Jersey just growled under her breath. "Are we fucking doing this or not?"
"Well," Tenryuu flourished her blade again, "If you insist."
The battle was short and pointed. For once, Tenryuu had someone to spar with that she didn't have to tip-toe around. She didn't have to hold herself back like when she sparred with the Major. She could hit Jersey with every fiber of muscle in her body, and the big battleship would just shrug it off.
It was a nice ego-boost too. After her last match with Solette, she'd felt hopelessly left in the dust. Now she knew she wasn't even in the same ocean as a true beginner. Like Jersey.
She sucked.
The battleship towered over Tenryuu, her arms rippled with coiled muscle, and she moved with the boldness of one fully aware she was beyond invincible. And she had absolutely no idea what she was doing.
She just flailed her sword around with a limp wrist, apparently praying that the law of averages would eventually win her a solid blow. Which, at long last, it did.
Jersey's blade came down on Tenryuu's right floater, but the angle was too steep. Instead of biting in, the sword just skittered off the hovering metal and ricochet away. Then, carried by its own momentum, the sword bounced back to hit Jersey square in the nose. Again.
"OW!" Jersey scowled and planted a hand on her face. There was yet another barely-visible dent in the flat of the blade. "This is stupid."
"I told you you'd lose," teased Tenryuu.
"WHY DID WE DO THIS," grumbled Jersey. "we have guns."
"Fufufufu," Tenryuu sheathed her sword with a flourish. "You scared?"
"Fuck you, chunniboat," Jersey scowled and slid her own blade back into its scabbard. "I want pie."
"Mess hall?"
"Mess hall."
—|—|—
Captain John Henry Solomon hunkered low in his bridge chair and clutched a coffee mug close to his chest. Not so much to protect it from the elements—the seas off Hawaii were gentle and the winds non-existent this morning—but to shield himself from the judging eyes of his crew.
Solomon'd never developed a taste for coffee, in all his years with the navy, the best he was ever able to do was tolerate the stuff. Some might call it heresy, but the captain preferred throughly-iced tea as his beverage of choice.
In any case, it was his boat. To quote the famous and eloquent words of New Jersey herself, he could do what he wanted.
"Captain." Solomon's XO, a New Englander named Bill Holland with the resolute countenance and non-existent neck of a bulldog, smirked at him and took a sip from a mug of the blackest coffee the navy could offer. The man said nothing, but the subtle twinge in his massive jaw betrayed a slight distaste for the bitter brew.
"XO," Solommon smirked, and took a long, luxurious drag from his beverage of choice.
"Fine day to be at sea," Holland leaned against the bridge railing, peering over at the glassy smooth sea the ship ever so lazily paddled though.
"Mmm," Solomon nodded. To tell the truth, he hated it. His was a ship of war, she was meant to take the fight to the enemy, not sail lazily around an island paradise hoping to frighten the demons away. It felt wrong, almost sickening. There were so many places—entire countries, even—burning away while he steamed around looking pretty. This wasn't what he joined up for.
He knew his XO felt the same, and he had to suspect most if not all of his crew felt the same. They yearned for action. But in this new world where the presence of magic was made suddenly and painfully obvious, nobody wanted to jinx the whole thing by complaining of boredom.
For a moment, the two men just stared into the salty sea and tried not to think about action.
"Sir!" the OOD's taut voice cut though the silence, sounding a little to tense for any normal action.
"I wasn't thinking anything," said Holland.
"Me either," muttered Solomon. "OOD, what's up?"
The Officer of the Deck, a freckle-faced Lieutenant Sam Ryan, gulped for air for a second. "Message from the Jones, sir. She's under attack."
Solomon cursed under his breath and glanced at the plotting display. John Paul Jones,Halsey, and Amatsukaze were less than two hundred miles south of Kauai. So close to safety they could almost taste it.
"Sound general quarters." Solomon pulled heavy flash gloves on with a grimace. He hated wearing the darn things, especially in the Hawaiian heat. "OOD!"
"Sir?" Ryan glanced at him with taut, tense eyes. He was one of the younger officers on the ship, and one of precious few who hadn't had a ship all but shot out from them.
"What's she facing?"
The OOD nodded, and hastily passed the request back do the CIC. "Amutsukaze reports two Scharnhorst-class battleships."
Solomon cursed. Taking destroyers, even ones as good as Burkes or Kagerous, against hunting battleships like that was a suicide mission.
"XO," barked the captain. "Contact Admiral Kinsey, tell him—"
"Sir," Ryan cut him off. "Orders from the Admiral, we're released from our patrol station."
Solomon nodded.
Taking a destroyer into a battle like this would be suicide.
"Plot intercept course and engage at three-zero knots." barked the Captain. Deeo below his feet, he could feel the gentle hum of idling turbines turn into into a furious roar. "Get our UAV in the air. And get me the Jones."
"Sir," the OOD gave him a nod. "you're go for the Jones."
Solomon cradled the handset. He was damn lucky he wasn't on a destroyer. "John Paul Jones, this is USS Missouri-actual. Turn west under smoke, we're en-route to support you."
"Understood sir," came the wire-tense voice of Jones' radioman.
"Sir, all stations manned and ready."
Solomon smiled. For a second, just the tiniest shade of a second, he'd heard a calm contralto join his OOD's voice. Deep beneath his feet, recruits fresh out of training and grizzled sea dogs from Big Mo's last sortie worked as one, coaxing life out of the old battleship's boilers.
She was an old ship, the oldest ship in the navy that didn't sail under canvas wings. She shouldn't have even been in the water. Decades of neglect as a museum hadn't been kind to the old girl, her boilers were rusted and filled with silty debris, half her gun mounts had frozen in place, and her wiring was frayed and broken.
Only they weren't.
When it came time to pull her back out of mothballs, the museum curators swore up and down she was exactly like they left her all those years ago. Time and salt are harsh mistresses to ships of steel. But this time… this one time they'd made an exception for Big Mo.
Solomon let out a giddy howl as the battleship roared to life. Even on the bridge, he could hear—feel—her turbines thunder. The gentle idling purr was gone, replaced by a quarter-million horsepower of howling American fury.
The sea to her stern churned to foaming white as her screws bit in without mercy. Waves piled up against her slender bow before streaming off to each side, terrified by the presence and fury of a truly angry battleship.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the angular form of the Chafee working up to full speed.
The destroyer was a fifth Mo's displacement and a sixth her age. She was built with the most modern construction and engineering techniques known to man. She was powered by literal jet engines.
And she was panting to keep up with his ancient battlewagon.
"OOD, get me Chafee-actual!" barked Solomon.
"Sir," Ryan gave him a nod.
The captain plucked the handset from its cradle with a smirk. "What's the matter, Fremming?" he teased, "The old girl too slow for you?"
"Age before beauty, my friend."
Solomon laughed and slammed the handset back. He'd spent enough time waiting around, now it was time to hunt.
—|—|—
"Hey, Doc," Jersey stuck her head into the professor's office. "You got a minute?"
The battleship must've just finished a pie binge. Crowning could tell because of the subtle way she kept hugging her washboard-flat belly. Battleships might not get fat, but they could still feel their dinners sloshing around inside them if they ate enough. And, knowing Jersey's ravenous gluttony, she most certainly ate enough to feel stuffed.
They never looked full, but a skilled eye could pick things out from the way they moved. Jersey'd just eaten her fill, he could tell from the gentle swoosh of her hips and the slightly lazier pace of her gait.
Also, the spots of blueberry around her lips helped.
"Of course," Crowning set down his latest choice of reading material, a scholarly examination of shipgirls though history. After making sure his place was properly marked, and the three highlighters he kept at the ready were capped, he turned a gentle smile to the towering battlewagon.
"Great," Jersey smiled and slid into the room. That was the only way to describe the way she moved, it wasn't the energetic trot of her usual gait. Her whole body seemed to glide, like honey poured over hot glass. It would've been entrancing even if she wasn't stunning.
"Enjoy your pie?" asked Crowning, desperate to keep himself from falling too entranced by the battleship's—by the woman's body.
Jersey froze, and both hands clapped to her belly. "I—"
"You have some on your face," Crowning smirked.
"Oh," Jersey blushed, and scrubbed herself with her sleeve. "So… I'm not getting fat?"
"Jersey, all the fat you have," Crowning cast a brief glance at the battleship's newly-displayed chest. Not enough to qualify as a leer, he respected her too much for that, but enough to let her know he noticed and appreciated, "Is in exactly the right places."
The battleship thought for a second, the bit her lip to stifle a girlish titter. "Um…" she looked around, "Think you could… uh… check anyways?"
Before Crowning could answer, the battleship zipped open her vest and pulled her shirt up. It wasn't all the way, just enough to get an eyeful of a stomach that could've been chiseled by Adonis himself. Her muscles rippled under her pale skin in defiance of the vast bounty of pie she must've gorged herself on mere moments ago.
But what drew his attention most as the scar on her side. The same one she'd worn all these months, only this time it was so faint it was all but unnoticeable.
"Hey," Jersey flexed her belly. Already chiseled muscles leaped out in sharp relief. "Too much?"
Crowning smirked, "since when do those words even exist in your vocabulary?"
"Since…" Jersey set her shirt down. "Uh… fucking…" She sighed and slumped to the floor. "Head scratchy?"
Crowning blinked. "You're such a child."
"Hey!" Jersey pointed a finger at him. "Fourth-youngest battleship ever."
"Fair enough," Crowning smiled and started massaging the girl's golden blond hair. "That the only reason you wanted me here?"
"Uh," Jersey shrugged, "No, not really. It's… about my bedtime." She glanced at her toes and scuffed her shoe against the carpet. "If, uh… you're still willing to—"
"I am," Crowning ran a hand though her hair.
"Good." Jersey leaned against his leg and made another of those quiet almost-purr noises.
It took Crowning almost twenty minutes to coax the happy battleship off the floor and over to her bedroom. Luckily, it didn't take her nearly as long to get changed into her pajamas—long sleep pants and a tank-top that said "MAXIMUM OVERTSUN" on the front. Apparently it was a present from Kongou.
Then, without further ado, Jersey flopped onto her bed in a heap of limbs and shimmering strawberry-blond hair. She didn't even remotely fit onto the mattress, her legs hung off the end and one arm was almost totally on the floor.
But somehow, Crowning just found that more endearing. He settled into a chair with a smile, cracked open his book, and began the night's watch.
—|—|—
For the past three days, the sky had been dark and thick with choppy overcast clouds. The lead blanket had fallen over the whaling fleet hours after they'd left Tokyo bay, grounding their aircraft and forcing the ships to stare nervously into the dark water.
Shinano hated herself for it, but some part of her preferred the overcast gloom of the trip up to the cloudless blue sky she steamed under now. At least… at least under the clouds she could pretend she was a real carrier. She was just as helpless as Jun'you and Ryuujou. Her planes were just as pointless on her hastily converted deck.
But now that little measure of solace was gone. Jun'you and Ryuujou launched their planes with abandon. They smiled and laughed as glistening white fighter-bombers roared down their decks and burst into the sweet pale-blue sky. They were carriers, real carriers.
Shinano just sailed lazy circles around the Nisshin Maru and tried not to think about what they were doing. She didn't have a problem with whaling, but she did appreciate how hard they worked.
Manning a factory ship wasn't an easy ride under the best of conditions, and doing so in the middle of winter? With the ever present threat of submarine and air attack looming over their necks? And those sailors did it without complaint, day after day, month after month.
And so much of their hard labor would never be seen by the people of Japan. Shinano sniffed and hugged herself tight. Far, far too much of it would go straight to her useless belly!
"Hey, Shinano?" Kiyoshimo tugged at the streaming tail of Shinano's long overskirt.
Shinano sniffed, and pulled her glasses off. Maybe if she cleaned them hard enough, the destroyer wouldn't notice the red in her eyes. "Yes?"
"You okay?" She'd been awfully quiet this whole trip, especially after Shinano started crying when she asked her about becoming a battleship. Shinano hated herself for that too. Look at her, proud sister of the Yamato triplets crying like a baby in front of a destroyer who called her what she was.
Shinano nodded, and turned her face into the wind. Ostensibly to… look for planes… or something else that carriers do. But really, she didn't want Kiyoshimo to see her misery. The destroyer was more battleship than she'd ever be.
"You sure?" Kiyoshimo puffed her little chest and planted her hands on her hips with defiance. "A ba— a warship must always look after her division mates!"
Shinano sniffed, and slid her glasses back on. "I am," she said. "And thank you."
Kiyoshimo smiled. For a moment, the girl tried to give Shinano a nice pat on the head, but even standing on tip-toes she didn't have the reach.
"Hey hey!" Jun'you's giggling voice carried over the waves with a hint of sake-lubricated levity. Her long, gravity-defying hair wafted in the sea breeze, and her eyes wore the thousand-yard stare of a carrier focusing on her aircraft. "Got something here!"
Shinano glanced over, her curiosity overcoming her misery for the time being.
"Huhh…" Jun'you stared down, her eyes twitching like she was watching ants crawl along the waves. "Looks like there be whales, here!" she laughed, "I count…." she flourished a hand and started counting on her fingers. "one, two, three, four, five… looks like five humpbacks! 'bout thirty miles south-west of us, heading closer."
"Copy that," said Nisshin Maru. Or at least one the factory ship's radiomen. "Keep them spotted, will you?"
Jun'you nodded, her eyes still glued to something far below her. "Okie Dokie!"
"Hey, Shina?" Ryuujou's laid-back accent crashed over the converted battleship's timid ears.
"Hmm?" Shinano worried her wrought-iron bow and braced herself.
"I'm, uh…" Ryuujou shrugged as a flight of zeros bounced down onto her deck. "Getting a little thirsty here."
"Me too!" added Jun'you. "A carrier can't live off just sake, you knoww~"
Shinano blinked. She might be a useless carrier, but her avgas tanks were full to bursting, and she had plenty of ordnance for her acrophobic planes aboard. "Y-yes," she stammered, slinging her bow over her shoulder and fishing around in her armored quiver.
It took her a minute, she was still learning the ins and outs of her own hull. But eventually her quartermasters found what she was looking for and placed it in her hands. "Here!"
Shinano's face blushed into a timid smile, and she handed out nice blue bottles of Ramune to the two proper carriers. "It's… it might be a little warm."
Ryuujou shrugged, and took a gulp of the depressingly lukewarm beverage. Just one, little sip before she put it back down. "Thanks, Shina."
Shinano blushed, and nodded at the light carrier. "I— if I could get it colder—"
"Dun' worry!" Jun'you clapped a hand on the towering girl's back. "'s fine the way it is."
"Yeah," added Ryuujou, "It's a chilly day anyways."
Shinano smiled. She could almost believe them. Almost. But it was nice of them to try. "Thanks."
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- Location
- North Carolina
Oh Jersey, that was incredibly amusing. Don't worry, Tenryuu will teach you how to use a sword, either that or Crowning will teach you how to do proper swordplay.
Also, it's alright Shinano, you can take a punch if it comes to that. You don't need to be a proper fleet carrier to be awesome. If anything, you likely have better AA then Ryuujou and Jun'you combined, I mean you have those freaking hyper-velocity 10cm guns. So don't worry comrade, besides you can do well if you just believe in yourself, don't be down about yourself because you are a Support Carrier, be proud of the fact that you are a support carrier.
Also, it's alright Shinano, you can take a punch if it comes to that. You don't need to be a proper fleet carrier to be awesome. If anything, you likely have better AA then Ryuujou and Jun'you combined, I mean you have those freaking hyper-velocity 10cm guns. So don't worry comrade, besides you can do well if you just believe in yourself, don't be down about yourself because you are a Support Carrier, be proud of the fact that you are a support carrier.
Dirtnap
Kanmusu Affecionado
Shinano needs all the hugs.
Always Late
Lacking in coffee, sleep, and brains
- Location
- Ohio
rofl:@Strypgia, come take a look at this magnificence!
This is going to be fun.
Classic.
Chunni Intensifies.
Or how much anyone laughs at you for it.
Russia blocking Medieval Europe=too scared to fight Samurai.
Did Chunni just call Russians Samurai?
And that's something completely intact from the
That's it. I'm sick of all this "Masterwork Bastard Sword" bullshit that's going on in the d20 system right now. Katanas deserve much better than that. Much, much better than that.
I should know what I'm talking about. I myself commissioned a genuine katana in Japan for 2,400,000 Yen (that's about $20,000) and have been practicing with it for almost 2 years now. I can even cut slabs of solid steel with my katana.
Japanese smiths spend years working on a single katana and fold it up to a million times to produce the finest blades known to mankind.
Katanas are thrice as sharp as European swords and thrice as hard for that matter too. Anything a longsword can cut through, a katana can cut through better. I'm pretty sure a katana could easily bisect a knight wearing full plate with a simple vertical slash.
Ever wonder why medieval Europe never bothered conquering Japan? That's right, they were too scared to fight the disciplined Samurai and their katanas of destruction. Even in World War II, American soldiers targeted the men with the katanas first because their killing power was feared and respected.
So what am I saying? Katanas are simply the best sword that the world has ever seen, and thus, require better stats in the d20 system. Here is the stat block I propose for Katanas:
(One-Handed Exotic Weapon)
1d12 Damage
19-20 x4 Crit
+2 to hit and damage
Counts as Masterwork
(Two-Handed Exotic Weapon)
2d10 Damage
17-20 x4 Crit
+5 to hit and damage
Counts as Masterwork
Now that seems a lot more representative of the cutting power of Katanas in real life, don't you think?
tl;dr = Katanas need to do more damage in d20, see my new stat block
I should know what I'm talking about. I myself commissioned a genuine katana in Japan for 2,400,000 Yen (that's about $20,000) and have been practicing with it for almost 2 years now. I can even cut slabs of solid steel with my katana.
Japanese smiths spend years working on a single katana and fold it up to a million times to produce the finest blades known to mankind.
Katanas are thrice as sharp as European swords and thrice as hard for that matter too. Anything a longsword can cut through, a katana can cut through better. I'm pretty sure a katana could easily bisect a knight wearing full plate with a simple vertical slash.
Ever wonder why medieval Europe never bothered conquering Japan? That's right, they were too scared to fight the disciplined Samurai and their katanas of destruction. Even in World War II, American soldiers targeted the men with the katanas first because their killing power was feared and respected.
So what am I saying? Katanas are simply the best sword that the world has ever seen, and thus, require better stats in the d20 system. Here is the stat block I propose for Katanas:
(One-Handed Exotic Weapon)
1d12 Damage
19-20 x4 Crit
+2 to hit and damage
Counts as Masterwork
(Two-Handed Exotic Weapon)
2d10 Damage
17-20 x4 Crit
+5 to hit and damage
Counts as Masterwork
Now that seems a lot more representative of the cutting power of Katanas in real life, don't you think?
tl;dr = Katanas need to do more damage in d20, see my new stat block
Me. You're a Chunni, Jersey's a five-year old, and the author is a perverted old man we all love.
Yup.
You just say that because you're losing.
Line drop.
We need fanart of 'Jersey's brain'. You know, those ones where it's an outline of the character's head and there's a bunch of words crammed inside it?
If he is from California or the South that is not a sin.
Fixed.
Whelp. Found the battlegroup.
'Against' 'Hunting' Pick one or the other.
Here we go...
Mo: "MAGIC, BITCHES!"
*checks speed*
USS Chafee, Arleigh-Burke DDG speed, Excess of 30 knots, (56 km/h; 35 mph)
USS Missouri, Iowa-Class BB speed, 32.5 knots, up to 35 knots on a light load, (60.2 km/h; 37.4 mph), (65.2 km/h; 40.5 mph)
Conclusion: Realistic. Not sustainable for Mo, but realistic.
HEEEEEREE'S MO!
Jersey, for Crowning to adequately do that, he'd have to do things only suitable for QQ.
1. If you can see muscle, there's probably no fat.
2. Shipgirl healing.
Never.
That explains a lot.
rofl:Jersey must not know what that means, otherwise she'd have tried to strangle Kongou with them.
Whaling... Don't suppose the Sea Shepard's are still around?
You drastically overestimate her performance.
Velocity is but one component in Air defense.
Does Shinano have the necessary fire control systems, does she have the air radar, does she have other satisfactory weapon systems, does she have the trained crew to use them effectively?
I can answer two and three for you: NO. If there's any documentation that Shinano had air defense radar, I have been unable to find it. Also, she still has this piece of garbage. Four should be obvious.
I agree with the whole 'take pride in being a support carrier', but this? This is just sad. [/spoiler]
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Always Late
Lacking in coffee, sleep, and brains
- Location
- Ohio
You want to know what caused that? This little bugger: '
I put an apostrophe in the title of the spoiler, and apparently that's a BB code for EAT EVERYTHING.
- Location
- 'Murica
because of course it is...
The dds are going up against Scharnhorst-class battleships. Ships that were built mostly for convoy raiding, and are thus "Hunting battleships." One is a verb, the other is an adjective.
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Dirtnap
Kanmusu Affecionado
TBF, the 10cm guns were actually pretty effective in the AAD role. 16° elevation/sec and up to 16° horizontal training/sec plus many were paired with AA Fire Directors even in the 'carriage' mounts Shinano (and Oyodo and Taihou) carried. They were also 15 rpm guns, much like the fletechers, except they were twin mounts not singles. They could be loaded at any angle, unlike the 12.7cm model B DP guns, which had to depress to be reloaded, then retrained up to AA elevation. The IJN also had a copy of the British 40mm pom pom, the Type-BI 40mm.
from wiki article on shinano said:
still_guns
For the Empire!
- Location
- Bridge of ISS Conundrum
Something tells me that Mighty Mo won't be so mighty soon.
And is that a little Yamato chan foreshadowing I see there?
And is that a little Yamato chan foreshadowing I see there?
Dirtnap
Kanmusu Affecionado
Are you kiddin? The Iowa can eat what ever a scharnhorst throws at her and dish it back with interest.
Always Late
Lacking in coffee, sleep, and brains
- Location
- Ohio
If you're using that made-up title, which I'll admit is fitting, capitalize them both.
Also, 'Jagerschlachtschiff'. That is badass.
That is basically a twin-barreled version of the Two-Pounder MK VIII AA gun. It is super-garbage. That is what the 25mm replaced. It has Low velocity, and low effective range.
Not Quite depends on the Range If they are stupid enough to get too close even their guns can pen Mo's belt and deck.
khan2012
Very Tired.
- Location
- North Carolina
- Pronouns
- He/Him/They/Them
I'm sensing a trap. Bisko and Tirpitz are still out there, remember?
Always Late
Lacking in coffee, sleep, and brains
- Location
- Ohio
Mo has the speed advantage, in both dashing and endurance.
Thus, she can keep them at long range and demolish them.
Yes,No one alive has fought a surface gun action in almost a century and the Captain is champing at the bit to close for action.
Experience,Chance and Luck all play apart in a in a fight and sad to say the Abyssals got the Experience for such an action.
Which is why I said Stupid.
Experience,Chance and Luck all play apart in a in a fight and sad to say the Abyssals got the Experience for such an action.
Which is why I said Stupid.