Belated Battleships (KanColle) [REHOST]
- Thread starter theJMPer
- Start date
Rajvik_wolfboy
Wolf amongst the stars.
- Location
- Florida
Have this to make you feel better:
LEGO!Ari.
Harry I could treat you to a barrel of your fav tipple for this, do you know where they got the plans
Harry Leferts
Suave Shadow Cabal Kaiju
Here's more pics:
USS Arizona: A LEGO® creation by jim mcdonough : MOCpages.com
He's also done other USN ships as well as IJN ships.
Old Iron
Admiral Unfun
- Location
- The Southwestern Deadlands of America
*happy Iron noises*
That is amazing. He's really got some incredible skill.
Old Iron
Admiral Unfun
- Location
- The Southwestern Deadlands of America
Very good to know. With sufficient time, I could have my own Ari and all my organs intact.
War Machine
- Location
- 'Murica
"Wait," Ryuujou's voice washed over the steel-gray sea. Her usually laid-back voice was suddenly clipped and precise, "I've got something?"
"Hmm?" Jun'you straighted out. There was nothing more than a vague aftertaste of the drunken giggles she'd been indulging in mere seconds before.
"Incoming strike package," said Ryuujou. "Three hundred miles, bearing one-seven-nine."
"Copy," Jun'you tilted her head to the side by a fraction while Shinano watched in awe. The gigantic conversion hadn't seen carriers—real carriers, proper carriers—in battle before. The way the moved and spoke… she was in awe.
"Looks like… Stukas?" Ryuujou shot Jun'you a sideways glance. "I count sixteen."
"Stukas?" Jun'you messed with one of her gravity-defying hair tufts. "This far from a shore base?"
"There's a flattop around here somewhere," said Ryuujou, causing Shinano to whimper quietly and hug her chest as tightly as she could.
The converted battleship knew she was utterly useless without even a single carrier-qualified pilot aboard. But watching the two real carriers work… they moved with the kind of precise grace she'd only imagined. Everything they did only drove home how much betterthey were at this than her.
"No…" Jun'you shook her head. "You're not thinking—"
"Graf Zeppelin," said Ryuujou. "Or… some twisted version of her."
Jun'you cursed under her breath. "Want me to vector a few planes over?"
Shinano cocked her head. She was no expert like the two real carriers, but even she knew what a Stuka was. An excellent ground-attack plane, yes. But it as slow, underarmed, and lumbered around the air like a pregnant hippo. Even a handful of fast, agile Zeros could tear the whole pack apart.
"Yeah," Ryuujou nodded. "Could be escorts I'm not seeing."
Shinano winced. She should have thought of that! Stupid… shitty almost-carrier!
"Gotcha," Jun'you flicked her head to the side, her hands fidgeting in a way too deliberate to be nervous flutter. "Six birds moving to link up with yours."
"Thank you," Ryuujou nodded, but her attention was clearly focused on setting up her fighters' attack run.
"Should be on-station in ten minutes," said Jun'you, "They'll be coming in from the East at ten-thou."
"Gotcha," Ryuujou put a finger to her ear and relayed the info to her pilots.
"Please don't shoot my boys down," teased Jun'you with just a hint of levity.
"Don't plan on it," said Ryuujou with a smirk.
Shinano rubbed her neck. She'd practically gotten whiplash from watching the two professionals do their job. She'd tried to take notes so she could improve herself, but… but every passing second made the gulf between them and her feel all the more vast.
She'd thought she as doing well in her training sessions with White, but the little escort carrier must've been slowing things down so Shinano could follow. What Ryuujou and Jun'you were doing… it wasn't even a set of actions. It was just one long continue dance they did without a moment's hesitation.
"Wait," Ryuujou froze, her gaze locked on the burning midday sun. "Something in the s— BREAK!"
Jun'you's head whipped to the side as she ordered her planes to scatter, but it was too late. Her muscles tensed and she let out a scream as the pain of shredded airframes was transmitted back to her. "W-what?" she stammered out.
"I don't know!" Ryuujou's voice hovered just below full-out panic as the little carrier frantically bobbed and weaved. Her teeth clenched and blood dripped from her fingers, "Damn, they're fast!"
"Gah!" Jun'you howled like someone punched her in the gut. "Lost another one. I've got three—" She screamed again as, "Two! I have two planes left! What are these things?"
"Damn they're fast," Ryuujou screeched as a gash appeared across her cheek. She shook her head, sweat and blood dripping off her brow. "I, uh… I see tapered wings, blunt tips…"
"Radial eng-" Jun'you stopped, and the two carriers shared a glance for a heartbeat. "Focke-wulfs."
Shinano cringed. The A6M Zero was a brilliant turnfighter, but it lacked any armor, and and the FW-190 was notoriously good at murdering turnfighters. They tore spitfires to shreds, and spitfires had armor. It's how they got their nickname, Butcher Bird.
The only planes the little fleet had that could stand up to the Abyssal Butcher Birds were her own Shiden Kais. But they were uselessly lashed to her pointless deck with pilots who didn't know how to fly while all the realaces were getting cut to ribbons in zeros.
Shinano would have cried if she wasn't so angry at her own uselessness.
"AH!" Jun'you screamed and fell to her knees. "That's… I'm out."
"Me too," Ryuujou wiped at her brow, but only smeared more sweat-thinned blood over her quivering features.
"They're still coming," said Jun'you.
"I know," Ryuujou winced as she tried to make her summoning gestures with battered, bloody arms. "Vector— vector everything you've got left in the air."
"Mm," Jun'you nodded and relayed the order to the handful of pilots she had left. By Shinano's count, she'd lost fully a third of her fighter wing in less than five minutes, and Ryuujou had to be almost out. The big converted carrier clutched at the heavy wrought-iron grips of her bow. If… if only she could just help!
"Launch everything you've got spotted," ordered Ryuujou, "Then batten down and head for home."
"But," Shinano winced, "But what about the whaling?"
"They can fish another time!" Ryuujou spat blood with every word. "We can't afford to loose those ships."
"R-right," Shinano stammered. Her crews bolted to their stations, following all the drills White had taught her. Damage control teams stood ready with hoses while her hanger crews purged her lines. Gunners scrambled to man her AAA batteries. She might not be able to launch the planes sitting in her belly, but she could at least help where she could.
"Um," She bit her lip, "How… how many did we get?"
"One," said Jun'you. "One Stuka."
The Battlecruiser princess smiled as the last rays of sunlight washed over her hull. By daybreak, she'd be well within the Gulf of Mexico. By daybreak, her guns would be hot with the sweet stench of burning propellant. By daybreak, she'd be wreaking hell against a spineless, traitorous nation.
She'd fought well. For years she soldiered on in the service of her country, and she was rewarded at the end by a glorious baptism in the atomic light. Her hull glowed with that great and terrible power, but her heart burned with furious indignation.
Her country, the country she so proudly served, had bent the very might of God to their will. They'd harnessed the atom into the most awesomely destructive weapon man had ever dreamed of. And then they used it only twice.
TWICE!
They could have purged the red stain! Wiped the malignant Communist tumor from this earth with the cleansing fire of the atom! Instead they grew weak and timid, refusing to unleash the atomic might even when they learned of its true and terrible power!
They emptied their coffers raising up their beaten foes, instead of burning them to glass!
They were weak! They were cowards and traitors! And she would punish them for what they'd done.
She would show this festering scar that called itself America the true glory of war. The gulf would run red with their traitorous blood by the time she was through.
But first… first she had her part to play. She was but a piece in the vast game of shadows, and she knew her role. Smash the oil rigs. Spill the precious lifeblood of trade into the gulf. Throttle the vast trading fleet until they gasped at fumes just to keep their lights on.
Force the traitors to watch their heretic allies starve while mountains of food piled up on their docks.
A wicked smile crossed her lips as she steamed past Florida unopposed. A few fighters had tried to stall her progress. Tried. Her escorts shredded the strange propellerless aircraft like chaff before a combine until there was nothing left but a powder dissolving into the sea.
She would not be stopped by such trivial means. She would have her price in blood.
For the glory of the Atom.
"Alright, I'll keep this brief," Alaska's head rang with the sound her Admiral's voice."We've got a P-8 shadowing the—" there was a brief catch in his voice, "Battlecruiser princess. She's headed into the center planning area, home of over thirty-three hundred active oil rigs. We loose those rigs we can't fuel our convoys."
Atago spoke up, grim determination darkening her usually sunny countenance, "Can we try an aerial attack."
"Florida ANG tried," said The Admiral, "They lost a half-dozen Eagles before they even reached weapons release. This is going to be a purely surface action."
Alaska nodded. She wasn't a battle cruiser, but… maybe… she could fight like one if she had to, "Understood sir."
"Plan is as follows," her Admiral barked out, "Hamakaze, you're on Alaska. Isokaze, you're on Atago. Urakaze, you're on Nachi."
The three destroyers issued curt words of acknowledgement and took up position off their charges.
"Vicksburg and Normandy are diverting up from Panama to join you."
"Sir, is that wise?" asked Alaska. As much as she appreciated the extra firepower, she hated to think she was sapping Wiskey's escort to get it.
"It'll have to be," said her Admiral though gritted teeth, "I can't hold those ships back from an imminent threat to fend off a potential one."
"Understood sir."
"Captain Takeda knows you're coming. Wiskey's raring for a fight. Push the princess south if you can, west if you have to. But do not let it raise hell in the oil fields."
"Understood, sir."
A tiny glimmer of appreciation—the closest thing her stoic face had achieved to a smile—passed over the bone-white skin of her pale features. The American had done her job splendidly. She closed her eyes, and listened to the song of her victims.
The two long, fast ships peeled off with a hum of slashing screws and a rumble of turbines. They were the ones who gave her such a cutting headache with their constant pinging. Not that it mattered, with her belly firmly planted in the icy embrace of the sea floor, there was nothing for them to see but an oddly-shaped bit of silty rock.
They tried to find her, she knew they did. But they were weak, out of practice. And she was very, very good. Slipping past the hunting gaze of those aerostatic annoyances had meant a long, boring trip up the South American coast.
But once she was in the Gulf… it was a happy time. Those ships above her tried to sniff her out, but they were simply no match for her skill. They'd gone complacent with their fancy buoys and aerial assistance.
They couldn't believe anyone was really lurking under the placid waves. They'd grown complacent, and she would punish them for their error.
Not that it mattered anymore. The roar of their screws drowned out whatever quite sounds she made. The two long, fast ships were scrambling to put distance between her and her… targets.
A few ancient frigates, and a half-crippled battleship with two screws already firmly in the grave.
They were not, as some might claim, her prey. Nor was she a predator. To use such words implied an emotions connection that simply didn't exist.
She didn't lust for battle, she didn't thrill in the chase or revel in the kill.
She didn't even hunt for sport.
She killed because that's what she was made to do.
There was no glory in what she did, just grim mathematical operations. She never expected to come home alive, nor did she expect to die with glory and valor. She would die, forgotten and alone in the freezing depths.
Her only prayer was that she'd sink enough to hurt her foe. That she'd live long enough to earn back the steel put into her.
She wasn't a predator, she was a weapon.
A killing machine so utterly devoid of soul and emotion she didn't even have a name.
Just a number.
Five-one-one.
"Hmm?" Jun'you straighted out. There was nothing more than a vague aftertaste of the drunken giggles she'd been indulging in mere seconds before.
"Incoming strike package," said Ryuujou. "Three hundred miles, bearing one-seven-nine."
"Copy," Jun'you tilted her head to the side by a fraction while Shinano watched in awe. The gigantic conversion hadn't seen carriers—real carriers, proper carriers—in battle before. The way the moved and spoke… she was in awe.
"Looks like… Stukas?" Ryuujou shot Jun'you a sideways glance. "I count sixteen."
"Stukas?" Jun'you messed with one of her gravity-defying hair tufts. "This far from a shore base?"
"There's a flattop around here somewhere," said Ryuujou, causing Shinano to whimper quietly and hug her chest as tightly as she could.
The converted battleship knew she was utterly useless without even a single carrier-qualified pilot aboard. But watching the two real carriers work… they moved with the kind of precise grace she'd only imagined. Everything they did only drove home how much betterthey were at this than her.
"No…" Jun'you shook her head. "You're not thinking—"
"Graf Zeppelin," said Ryuujou. "Or… some twisted version of her."
Jun'you cursed under her breath. "Want me to vector a few planes over?"
Shinano cocked her head. She was no expert like the two real carriers, but even she knew what a Stuka was. An excellent ground-attack plane, yes. But it as slow, underarmed, and lumbered around the air like a pregnant hippo. Even a handful of fast, agile Zeros could tear the whole pack apart.
"Yeah," Ryuujou nodded. "Could be escorts I'm not seeing."
Shinano winced. She should have thought of that! Stupid… shitty almost-carrier!
"Gotcha," Jun'you flicked her head to the side, her hands fidgeting in a way too deliberate to be nervous flutter. "Six birds moving to link up with yours."
"Thank you," Ryuujou nodded, but her attention was clearly focused on setting up her fighters' attack run.
"Should be on-station in ten minutes," said Jun'you, "They'll be coming in from the East at ten-thou."
"Gotcha," Ryuujou put a finger to her ear and relayed the info to her pilots.
"Please don't shoot my boys down," teased Jun'you with just a hint of levity.
"Don't plan on it," said Ryuujou with a smirk.
Shinano rubbed her neck. She'd practically gotten whiplash from watching the two professionals do their job. She'd tried to take notes so she could improve herself, but… but every passing second made the gulf between them and her feel all the more vast.
She'd thought she as doing well in her training sessions with White, but the little escort carrier must've been slowing things down so Shinano could follow. What Ryuujou and Jun'you were doing… it wasn't even a set of actions. It was just one long continue dance they did without a moment's hesitation.
"Wait," Ryuujou froze, her gaze locked on the burning midday sun. "Something in the s— BREAK!"
Jun'you's head whipped to the side as she ordered her planes to scatter, but it was too late. Her muscles tensed and she let out a scream as the pain of shredded airframes was transmitted back to her. "W-what?" she stammered out.
"I don't know!" Ryuujou's voice hovered just below full-out panic as the little carrier frantically bobbed and weaved. Her teeth clenched and blood dripped from her fingers, "Damn, they're fast!"
"Gah!" Jun'you howled like someone punched her in the gut. "Lost another one. I've got three—" She screamed again as, "Two! I have two planes left! What are these things?"
"Damn they're fast," Ryuujou screeched as a gash appeared across her cheek. She shook her head, sweat and blood dripping off her brow. "I, uh… I see tapered wings, blunt tips…"
"Radial eng-" Jun'you stopped, and the two carriers shared a glance for a heartbeat. "Focke-wulfs."
Shinano cringed. The A6M Zero was a brilliant turnfighter, but it lacked any armor, and and the FW-190 was notoriously good at murdering turnfighters. They tore spitfires to shreds, and spitfires had armor. It's how they got their nickname, Butcher Bird.
The only planes the little fleet had that could stand up to the Abyssal Butcher Birds were her own Shiden Kais. But they were uselessly lashed to her pointless deck with pilots who didn't know how to fly while all the realaces were getting cut to ribbons in zeros.
Shinano would have cried if she wasn't so angry at her own uselessness.
"AH!" Jun'you screamed and fell to her knees. "That's… I'm out."
"Me too," Ryuujou wiped at her brow, but only smeared more sweat-thinned blood over her quivering features.
"They're still coming," said Jun'you.
"I know," Ryuujou winced as she tried to make her summoning gestures with battered, bloody arms. "Vector— vector everything you've got left in the air."
"Mm," Jun'you nodded and relayed the order to the handful of pilots she had left. By Shinano's count, she'd lost fully a third of her fighter wing in less than five minutes, and Ryuujou had to be almost out. The big converted carrier clutched at the heavy wrought-iron grips of her bow. If… if only she could just help!
"Launch everything you've got spotted," ordered Ryuujou, "Then batten down and head for home."
"But," Shinano winced, "But what about the whaling?"
"They can fish another time!" Ryuujou spat blood with every word. "We can't afford to loose those ships."
"R-right," Shinano stammered. Her crews bolted to their stations, following all the drills White had taught her. Damage control teams stood ready with hoses while her hanger crews purged her lines. Gunners scrambled to man her AAA batteries. She might not be able to launch the planes sitting in her belly, but she could at least help where she could.
"Um," She bit her lip, "How… how many did we get?"
"One," said Jun'you. "One Stuka."
—|—|—
The Battlecruiser princess smiled as the last rays of sunlight washed over her hull. By daybreak, she'd be well within the Gulf of Mexico. By daybreak, her guns would be hot with the sweet stench of burning propellant. By daybreak, she'd be wreaking hell against a spineless, traitorous nation.
She'd fought well. For years she soldiered on in the service of her country, and she was rewarded at the end by a glorious baptism in the atomic light. Her hull glowed with that great and terrible power, but her heart burned with furious indignation.
Her country, the country she so proudly served, had bent the very might of God to their will. They'd harnessed the atom into the most awesomely destructive weapon man had ever dreamed of. And then they used it only twice.
TWICE!
They could have purged the red stain! Wiped the malignant Communist tumor from this earth with the cleansing fire of the atom! Instead they grew weak and timid, refusing to unleash the atomic might even when they learned of its true and terrible power!
They emptied their coffers raising up their beaten foes, instead of burning them to glass!
They were weak! They were cowards and traitors! And she would punish them for what they'd done.
She would show this festering scar that called itself America the true glory of war. The gulf would run red with their traitorous blood by the time she was through.
But first… first she had her part to play. She was but a piece in the vast game of shadows, and she knew her role. Smash the oil rigs. Spill the precious lifeblood of trade into the gulf. Throttle the vast trading fleet until they gasped at fumes just to keep their lights on.
Force the traitors to watch their heretic allies starve while mountains of food piled up on their docks.
A wicked smile crossed her lips as she steamed past Florida unopposed. A few fighters had tried to stall her progress. Tried. Her escorts shredded the strange propellerless aircraft like chaff before a combine until there was nothing left but a powder dissolving into the sea.
She would not be stopped by such trivial means. She would have her price in blood.
For the glory of the Atom.
—|—|—
"Alright, I'll keep this brief," Alaska's head rang with the sound her Admiral's voice."We've got a P-8 shadowing the—" there was a brief catch in his voice, "Battlecruiser princess. She's headed into the center planning area, home of over thirty-three hundred active oil rigs. We loose those rigs we can't fuel our convoys."
Atago spoke up, grim determination darkening her usually sunny countenance, "Can we try an aerial attack."
"Florida ANG tried," said The Admiral, "They lost a half-dozen Eagles before they even reached weapons release. This is going to be a purely surface action."
Alaska nodded. She wasn't a battle cruiser, but… maybe… she could fight like one if she had to, "Understood sir."
"Plan is as follows," her Admiral barked out, "Hamakaze, you're on Alaska. Isokaze, you're on Atago. Urakaze, you're on Nachi."
The three destroyers issued curt words of acknowledgement and took up position off their charges.
"Vicksburg and Normandy are diverting up from Panama to join you."
"Sir, is that wise?" asked Alaska. As much as she appreciated the extra firepower, she hated to think she was sapping Wiskey's escort to get it.
"It'll have to be," said her Admiral though gritted teeth, "I can't hold those ships back from an imminent threat to fend off a potential one."
"Understood sir."
"Captain Takeda knows you're coming. Wiskey's raring for a fight. Push the princess south if you can, west if you have to. But do not let it raise hell in the oil fields."
"Understood, sir."
—|—|—
A tiny glimmer of appreciation—the closest thing her stoic face had achieved to a smile—passed over the bone-white skin of her pale features. The American had done her job splendidly. She closed her eyes, and listened to the song of her victims.
The two long, fast ships peeled off with a hum of slashing screws and a rumble of turbines. They were the ones who gave her such a cutting headache with their constant pinging. Not that it mattered, with her belly firmly planted in the icy embrace of the sea floor, there was nothing for them to see but an oddly-shaped bit of silty rock.
They tried to find her, she knew they did. But they were weak, out of practice. And she was very, very good. Slipping past the hunting gaze of those aerostatic annoyances had meant a long, boring trip up the South American coast.
But once she was in the Gulf… it was a happy time. Those ships above her tried to sniff her out, but they were simply no match for her skill. They'd gone complacent with their fancy buoys and aerial assistance.
They couldn't believe anyone was really lurking under the placid waves. They'd grown complacent, and she would punish them for their error.
Not that it mattered anymore. The roar of their screws drowned out whatever quite sounds she made. The two long, fast ships were scrambling to put distance between her and her… targets.
A few ancient frigates, and a half-crippled battleship with two screws already firmly in the grave.
They were not, as some might claim, her prey. Nor was she a predator. To use such words implied an emotions connection that simply didn't exist.
She didn't lust for battle, she didn't thrill in the chase or revel in the kill.
She didn't even hunt for sport.
She killed because that's what she was made to do.
There was no glory in what she did, just grim mathematical operations. She never expected to come home alive, nor did she expect to die with glory and valor. She would die, forgotten and alone in the freezing depths.
Her only prayer was that she'd sink enough to hurt her foe. That she'd live long enough to earn back the steel put into her.
She wasn't a predator, she was a weapon.
A killing machine so utterly devoid of soul and emotion she didn't even have a name.
Just a number.
Five-one-one.
Last edited:
wtdtd
slow thinker, with crippling abundance of time
- Location
- The Netherlands
explain how.
Relevant
Harry Leferts
Suave Shadow Cabal Kaiju
Group of cultists in FallOut 4 who worship nukes/radiation under the name of "The Atom".
Always Late
Lacking in coffee, sleep, and brains
- Location
- Ohio
Graf.
Yup.
Yup. They planned to navalize those.
Well that sucks.
Huh. So Sara doesn't feel the test was worth her being sacrificed, that going hot with the Soviets was her price.
Shame Jersey isn't here.
Wolf packs gonna wolf pack.
Wouldn't Sara know what jets are? She survived long enough to see them enter service.
Seconded.
Relevant
Nope. You can't. You're a heavy cruiser with low-grade battleship guns. You fight like a cruiser.
Happy time. That's a U-boat term.
Those modern ships that got diverted to the fight... but is this submarine a kanmusu or an Abyssal?
... if she's not a kanmusu, she's an Abyssal gone rogue.
... And Ze Germans make their appearance.
Very ominous chapter TheJMPer. I especially liked U-501's section, kept me guessing right up to the end what her plan was, whose side she was on.
- Location
- State of Denial
Yuuuuuuuu, noooooooo.
Although, I do enjoy the Abyssal POVs.
Although, I do enjoy the Abyssal POVs.
- Location
- 'Murica
It's not U-501. It's U-511
I'm...not sure I would say that? Alaska's 12 in. guns could penetrate armor roughly as well as 14 in. guns, I thought, due to improved characteristics.
- Location
- North Carolina
Submarine princess anyone, in the form of a German Type IXC U-Boat, U-511? Well if that's case at least it ain't U-48, still good god this ain't good. A submarine is hunting Whisky or is it?
Last edited:
FUCK NEMO!!
- Location
- North Carolina
Not Nemo, that was U-505, this is U-511.
Lady Darkhound
Haha, tanks!
- Location
- My very own personal hell
- Pronouns
- She/Her
So there's going to be 4 different fights going on involving US ships? Alaska vs Sara, U-511 "hunting" at Panama, Mo doing her thing at Hawaii, plus whatever Jersey is about to get up to while on convoy duty. Welp, I'm expecting we're going to lose an Iowa class battleship, but get her back as a Kanmusu.
All in all, an excellent chapter. Can't wait for more
All in all, an excellent chapter. Can't wait for more
Oh right....U-511, isn't that RO-chan?
- Location
- North Carolina
Yes it is, I did a bit of research, U-511 over the course of WWII sank five Comerical ships for 41,373 Gross Registered Tonnage and damaged another Commerical ship for 8,773 Gross Registered Tonnage. Pretty average for a German U-Boat, but then again she did serve in the Indian Ocean Theater so not as much tonnage out their to sink.
Stahor
BookWorm
- Location
- Russia, Moscow
Hmm... Do her position is a mirror for 'Murica Fuck Yeah! from 50ies perspective coupled with weapon mind-set (to latter i need to comment with "Arpeggio intensifies")?
- Location
- 'Murica
Not even the 50's. Operation Unthinkable was drawn up in 1945.