Skywalker_T-65
Writer with too many ideas.
- Location
- United States
- Pronouns
- Plural/They/He/Her
Belated Battleships (KanColle) [REHOST]
- Thread starter theJMPer
- Start date
The Yellow Rose
- Location
- 'Murica
Support carrier Shinano clenched her jaw so tightly she felt sparks fly against her tongue as steel as ground to its melting point. Her temples throbbed with a piercing, agonizing pain as she struggled to keep her untested pilots together with her shot-up CIC. Blood and oil poured down the heavy canvas of her robes from her mangled arm, and every wave was a stinging reminder of the carnage inflicted on her deck.
But she was a Yamato at full strength. Japanese steel, courage, and spirit merged with American grit, ingenuity, and flat-out defiance in the face of mortal laws.
She would not sink this day.
She would not let her beloved Japan down.
"I'm coming," Shinano wisped though gritted teeth. Her eyes stared beyond the horizon, an unearthly pallor coming over her normally hazelnut-brown irises. Her planes were unproven, her pilots untested. But her faeries had spent every waking moment practicing in the air or testing themselves in simulators.
And it just so happened that the very last simulation they'd played before Shinano put to sea, a simulation picked on a whim, was Shidens versus Focke-Wulfs.
"Tokyo air defense," Shinano wiped a trickle of blood from her nose and pushed her focus even sharper. "My planes are closing in, Angels ten at heading three-four-niner." There was a corded steel in her voice that would've surprised her if she wasn't concentrating on staying alert. "Please don't shoot them down."
"Wouldn't even if we had any missiles left, ma'am," came an exhausted soldier's voice.
Shinano nodded and glanced down around her. It was a strange sensation she hadn't quite gotten used to. She saw her hull cut though the water, saw the ocean a scant few dozen feet below her bridge, saw Jun'you and Ryuujou steaming home beside her.
But she also saw the seas from thousands of feet up. She saw the glittering spires of Tokyo glistening in the morning sun. She could practically smell the gritty smoke pouring from the city's AA emplacements as her fighters barreled towards her beloved homeland at full military power.
And she saw the gritty gray wings of a flight of Focke-Wulfs escorting lumbering dive-bombers, all blissfully oblivious of the violet lighting closing on them from the rising sun.
The carrier took in a breath of the fridged high-altitude air and held it in her lungs. The acrid stench of burning city stung her throat, but she refused to let it go. That stench could not… would not be allowed to exist a moment longer.
Her country needed a hero to save them. They needed an invincible carrier who cowed death himself with her very presence. But Enterprise wasn't back just yet.
For the time being, Shinano'd have to do.
She felt wind whip at her face as her planes rolled over into a howling dive. Her Shidens were just as fast as the Focke-Wulfs. But the Abyssal fighters had slowed to a crawl to keep with their lumbering dive-bomber, while Shinano's fighters were powering down as fast as their roaring radial engines could take them.
The green-painted fighters tore out of the sun with a howl of twenty-millimeter cannon fire. The engagement window was only a scat few seconds, but each fighter poured thirty-seven high-explosive rounds a second from their four guns.
Focke-Wulfs were solid birds, but nothing can shrug off that much lead from such a close range. Some of the Abyssal fighters simply vanished in a puff of exploding aviation fuel and burning, bleeding metal.
Still more were left hobbled by vast gaping holes torn in their airfoils or splinters in their engine bays.
Shinano didn't stop to look. She felt blood pool in her boots as her fighters pulled out of their attack and into a furious zoom climb. The Shidens had energy on their side, and their greater power-to-weight ratio and climb rate sent them rocketing from Abyssal fighters scrambling to build up to combat speed.
The carrier felt blood trickle down her lip as her headache intensified. But right now she didn't care. Fighter combat was a game played out in instants, she couldn't afford to loose concentration for even a second while her planes played out their dance of death.
Cannons barked behind her, and she felt tracers burning with indescribable hate whip past her face. She didn't care. Her fighters kept up their energy while the Abyssals struggled to claw down the difference.
The Shidens wheeled around in the air, pouncing on the Focke-Wulfs struggling to stagger after them. Guns barked and more fighters fell out of the sky with coal-black smoke. But this time they hadn't been caught unaware. Abyssal shells slammed into the Shidens, sending razors down Shinano's nerves.
If those were Zeros, there wouldn't have been anything left but ashes.
But those weren't Zeros. They were Shidens. The hearty fighters laughed off the attack and countered with a devastating barrage of their own. As they roared into the merge, what had been an organized attack erupted into a chaotic furball.
Abyssal pilots, used to pouncing on Zeroes or Vals, struggled to stay with the faster-climbing Shidens in an energy fight. But Shinano's pilots were drilled by the best teachers the IJN and USN had to offer, and the hardy Shidens gave them plenty of second chances.
In less than an hour, the Focke-Wulfs had been cleansed from the sky like the stain they were. Shinano's planes were shot to hell, mostly out of ammo, and staggering though the air like boxers after nine furious rounds. But they still flew, and Shinano couldn't be prouder of her pilots.
The carrier directed them to Tokyo International while a flight of F-2s made meals of the now-unescorted dive bombers.
Shinano felt the sky fade around her as one by one, her pilots touched down. Their landings were nothing to be proud of. Five of her exhausted pilots had to be frantically waved off by ground crews when they forgot to lower their landing gear, and one spun out and nearly plowed into a parked 747.
But Shinano didn't have to be proud of their landings. She was proud of their fighting. Ofher fighting. She just hoped her big sisters were too.
Every wave splashed angry salt into her shredded flesh, a stinging reminder of the mauling she'd received. Half her secondaries were shot to hell, and the ones that weren't were flat-out gone. Her turbines struggled to push her twisted hull past twenty-two knots, and even then she felt the water hammering at her gut with every breath.
She'd hurt the Princess back, but it wasn't enough. She was just a large cruiser fighting in the face of a proper battle cruiser. The abyssal warships was steadily closing the distance, and it'd already shot out all Alaska's radars.
The cruiser wiped at her face and squinted though the haze of smeared blood and burning metal obscuring her vision. Her radars were gone, her optics were smashed, and her guns were all on local control. She didn't even have any working rifles in her stern turret anymore, the damage was so extensive.
Atago and Nachi were faring better—barely. Their hulls were charred back from the waterline up by rapid-firing abyssal cruisers, and their clothes were torn to ribbons kept on only by dried-on blood. But they'd escaped the murderous wrath of the princesses' sixteen-inch rifles.
Probably because their rifles would flat-out bounce off the princess's armor unless they got suicidally close.
Even their torpedo salvos had been in vain. Furious hails of five-inch fire from the princesses' screening cruisers forced them to drop far, far too early. But they could still make steam.
"'Tago!" Alaska's voice rattled from her gritted teeth like a starving animal, "Nachi! Break," every word took titanic effort from her shredded lungs, "For land!"
"No way in hell," Nachi's voice was just as shattered and exhausted as Alaska's, but there wasn't even a hint of give.
"Damnit!" Alaska howled as another shell splashed off her flank. Even the near-miss sent lightning bolts of pain shooting down her body as the shockwave punched at her hastily-repaired seams. "Thats! That's an order!"
Atago flashed her a defiant stare. "I just got you talking to your boy!" she yelled, "You are not sinking on me yet!"
Alaska couldn't spare the breath to argue back. Even if she wanted too, a shell slammed into her upper works and sheared her bridge wing clear off and taking her last working signal light with it.
A piercing pain shoot though her head, like someone drove an ice-pick though her temple with a sledge hammer. The world around her glowed white and her ears resonated with a screeching wail.
She panted and wiped bloody muck from her eyes. She could see land in the distance. The narrow channel between Galveston island and the Bolivar Peninsula was less than ten miles away, and with it, safety. She'd done it, she'd reached land. Now she was going to die in sight of it.
At least, that's what she thought.
Until she saw them.
Her angels.
With her radar gone and her superstructure shot to hell, Alaska didn't even hear them until they were right on top of her. She knew they had names, but her mind was barely limping along as it was. All she knew was the sleek black bombers howling so low their engines seemed to kiss the surf were the most beautiful things she'd ever seen.
Their giant wings were tucked back against their arrow-shaped bodies. As they thundered overhead, Alaska heard a roar the likes of which she'd only imagined. Their four engines belched angry orange flame, and spoke with a sound like a full broadside of her rifles.
Only this sound didn't stop like a gunshot. It roared with fury and anger towards the battle cruiser princess with righteous indignation.
The angels nosed into a shallow dive, hurtling towards the abyssal warship faster than Alaska ever imagined a plane could go. Flak bursts filled the air around them, but it wasn't enough. The princess's directors were as badly mauled as Alaska's, and her guns simply couldn't find their marks.
Alaska felt a happy whoop of joy slip past her split lips as the angels opened their bellies. More bombs than she'd ever even seen came pouring from each plane's bay, peppering the ocean with splashes and smashing though the princess's superstructure.
Explosions cracked though the air, but the angels almost drowned them out with their engines. The planes roared over the princes so low their wings almost chopped off her mast, but their vast tail planes were already cranked to max deflection. Their engines pounded giant furrows in the ocean as the angels thundered into the air.
They hadn't stopped the princess's murderous rage, but they had stalled it. They'd bought just enough time for Alaska and her friends to make it round Bolivar point and into the welcoming waters of the bay.
"Oh, honey," a kind, sweet voice that sounded like honey on fresh biscuits wafted over the bay and wrapped around Alaska like a warm blanket. "You look terrible."
"S-sorry, ma'am," Alaska stammered out, but she couldn't keep a weary smile from passing over her face.
"Now," the gently-smiling face of battleship Texas sent a caring look towards the battered cruisers. "You girls rest up, now, you hear?" The battleship idly spun her parasol over her shoulder with one hand while the other rested on the hilt of an ivory-handled Peacemaker. "Let me take care of this here demon, hmm?"
"Y-yes, ma'am," Alaska clutched her side as she slowed down as gently as she could. Her whole body ached from the hours-long stern chase. But somehow, the old battleship's kind words washed over her like a soothing balm.
"That goes for all ya'll," Texas twirled her parasol again and locked Nachi in a kindly gazed backed by the finest steel.
"Yes ma'am," muttered Nachi almost in instinct. Atago followed suite not much later.
"Mmm," Texas smiled, and carefully rolled a crick out of her neck. She tossed her parasol aside and settled a wide-brimmed hat so her piercing eyes juuuust peeked out from under the brim. "Now then," the battleship slid her hands over the heavy revolvers hanging off her wide hips, "who's this I hear trying to harm my beloved country?"
A smirk crossed the southern-fried battleship's face as she steamed towards the open ocean. It'd been a long, hard sprint to get down here in time, and her tired old engines would certainly have unkind words for her in the morning. But it didn't really matter. In a few short minutes, they'd see the fruit of their frantic labor.
Texas rounded the point at just under twenty-one knots. Her skirt flared around her legs as she steamed into the battlecruiser's sight at what was almost a walking pace. Time seem to grind to a crawl as a look of confusion, then sheer horror replaced hate on the cruiser's bone-pale face.
A stiff ocean breeze blew though Texas' superstructure, flaring her steel-gray hair behind her and blowing the fabric of her skirts back past her holstered revolvers. The cartridges lining her heavy gun belts glittered in the sun, and Texas's grin gleamed like sunset on the plains. "Howdy."
The battlecruiser tried to get her guns around, but it was no good. Texas wasn't called the fastest gun in the west—mostly by her—for nothing.
In less than an instant, her hands closed around the ivory grips of her peacemakers and drew the chrome-plated weapons from their rugged leather sheathes. Texas let the guns spin around her leather-gloved finger. She flicked the hammer back with her thumb as her grip closed around them.
There was no point in even trying to aim. The princess was less than six-thousand yards away. Texas couldn't miss from this range even if she tried. She squeezed the triggers, and a broadside of ten massive fourteen inch rifles spoke. It was a music Texas never thought she'd hear again, and it put a wicked smile on her face even as her guns rose to their loading angle.
Her shells covered the scant distance in an instant before slamming hard into the princess's paperweight armor. Steel only barely heavy enough to alert the shells to its presence touched off fuses in the massive rounds.
Explosions rippled though the Abyssal's hull as splinters tore apart the battlecruiser's machinery spaces. Electricity arced though her hull as turbo-generators shorted out and sparked fires deep within the hull.
At least one of the ten shells found its way to the after magazine and touched off the handful of shells aboard that hadn't been used up hurting Alaska and her friends. Secondary explosions ballooned steel like bubble gum, and burning powder erupted into the air as the battlecruiser cracked in half. There were precious few ships that could endure a point-blank broadside of fourteen inch shells. The princess was not one of them.
Texas smirked, and spun her revolvers around her fingers to slam them back into her holsters. In less than ten minutes, the battle cruiser had turned into so much shrapnel sinking into the channel. Even her hateful blue glow was fading fast.
The battleship tugged on the brim of her hat. "Don't mess with Texas."
But she was a Yamato at full strength. Japanese steel, courage, and spirit merged with American grit, ingenuity, and flat-out defiance in the face of mortal laws.
She would not sink this day.
She would not let her beloved Japan down.
"I'm coming," Shinano wisped though gritted teeth. Her eyes stared beyond the horizon, an unearthly pallor coming over her normally hazelnut-brown irises. Her planes were unproven, her pilots untested. But her faeries had spent every waking moment practicing in the air or testing themselves in simulators.
And it just so happened that the very last simulation they'd played before Shinano put to sea, a simulation picked on a whim, was Shidens versus Focke-Wulfs.
"Tokyo air defense," Shinano wiped a trickle of blood from her nose and pushed her focus even sharper. "My planes are closing in, Angels ten at heading three-four-niner." There was a corded steel in her voice that would've surprised her if she wasn't concentrating on staying alert. "Please don't shoot them down."
"Wouldn't even if we had any missiles left, ma'am," came an exhausted soldier's voice.
Shinano nodded and glanced down around her. It was a strange sensation she hadn't quite gotten used to. She saw her hull cut though the water, saw the ocean a scant few dozen feet below her bridge, saw Jun'you and Ryuujou steaming home beside her.
But she also saw the seas from thousands of feet up. She saw the glittering spires of Tokyo glistening in the morning sun. She could practically smell the gritty smoke pouring from the city's AA emplacements as her fighters barreled towards her beloved homeland at full military power.
And she saw the gritty gray wings of a flight of Focke-Wulfs escorting lumbering dive-bombers, all blissfully oblivious of the violet lighting closing on them from the rising sun.
The carrier took in a breath of the fridged high-altitude air and held it in her lungs. The acrid stench of burning city stung her throat, but she refused to let it go. That stench could not… would not be allowed to exist a moment longer.
Her country needed a hero to save them. They needed an invincible carrier who cowed death himself with her very presence. But Enterprise wasn't back just yet.
For the time being, Shinano'd have to do.
She felt wind whip at her face as her planes rolled over into a howling dive. Her Shidens were just as fast as the Focke-Wulfs. But the Abyssal fighters had slowed to a crawl to keep with their lumbering dive-bomber, while Shinano's fighters were powering down as fast as their roaring radial engines could take them.
The green-painted fighters tore out of the sun with a howl of twenty-millimeter cannon fire. The engagement window was only a scat few seconds, but each fighter poured thirty-seven high-explosive rounds a second from their four guns.
Focke-Wulfs were solid birds, but nothing can shrug off that much lead from such a close range. Some of the Abyssal fighters simply vanished in a puff of exploding aviation fuel and burning, bleeding metal.
Still more were left hobbled by vast gaping holes torn in their airfoils or splinters in their engine bays.
Shinano didn't stop to look. She felt blood pool in her boots as her fighters pulled out of their attack and into a furious zoom climb. The Shidens had energy on their side, and their greater power-to-weight ratio and climb rate sent them rocketing from Abyssal fighters scrambling to build up to combat speed.
The carrier felt blood trickle down her lip as her headache intensified. But right now she didn't care. Fighter combat was a game played out in instants, she couldn't afford to loose concentration for even a second while her planes played out their dance of death.
Cannons barked behind her, and she felt tracers burning with indescribable hate whip past her face. She didn't care. Her fighters kept up their energy while the Abyssals struggled to claw down the difference.
The Shidens wheeled around in the air, pouncing on the Focke-Wulfs struggling to stagger after them. Guns barked and more fighters fell out of the sky with coal-black smoke. But this time they hadn't been caught unaware. Abyssal shells slammed into the Shidens, sending razors down Shinano's nerves.
If those were Zeros, there wouldn't have been anything left but ashes.
But those weren't Zeros. They were Shidens. The hearty fighters laughed off the attack and countered with a devastating barrage of their own. As they roared into the merge, what had been an organized attack erupted into a chaotic furball.
Abyssal pilots, used to pouncing on Zeroes or Vals, struggled to stay with the faster-climbing Shidens in an energy fight. But Shinano's pilots were drilled by the best teachers the IJN and USN had to offer, and the hardy Shidens gave them plenty of second chances.
In less than an hour, the Focke-Wulfs had been cleansed from the sky like the stain they were. Shinano's planes were shot to hell, mostly out of ammo, and staggering though the air like boxers after nine furious rounds. But they still flew, and Shinano couldn't be prouder of her pilots.
The carrier directed them to Tokyo International while a flight of F-2s made meals of the now-unescorted dive bombers.
Shinano felt the sky fade around her as one by one, her pilots touched down. Their landings were nothing to be proud of. Five of her exhausted pilots had to be frantically waved off by ground crews when they forgot to lower their landing gear, and one spun out and nearly plowed into a parked 747.
But Shinano didn't have to be proud of their landings. She was proud of their fighting. Ofher fighting. She just hoped her big sisters were too.
—|—|—
A agonized scream forced its way past Alaska's gritted teeth out into the freezing Gulf air. Her features scrunched up so tight the steel groaned and buckled as shells landed mere yards short of her stern. Blood poured down her mangled legs, gluing her shorts to her charred skin and soaking into her shoes.Every wave splashed angry salt into her shredded flesh, a stinging reminder of the mauling she'd received. Half her secondaries were shot to hell, and the ones that weren't were flat-out gone. Her turbines struggled to push her twisted hull past twenty-two knots, and even then she felt the water hammering at her gut with every breath.
She'd hurt the Princess back, but it wasn't enough. She was just a large cruiser fighting in the face of a proper battle cruiser. The abyssal warships was steadily closing the distance, and it'd already shot out all Alaska's radars.
The cruiser wiped at her face and squinted though the haze of smeared blood and burning metal obscuring her vision. Her radars were gone, her optics were smashed, and her guns were all on local control. She didn't even have any working rifles in her stern turret anymore, the damage was so extensive.
Atago and Nachi were faring better—barely. Their hulls were charred back from the waterline up by rapid-firing abyssal cruisers, and their clothes were torn to ribbons kept on only by dried-on blood. But they'd escaped the murderous wrath of the princesses' sixteen-inch rifles.
Probably because their rifles would flat-out bounce off the princess's armor unless they got suicidally close.
Even their torpedo salvos had been in vain. Furious hails of five-inch fire from the princesses' screening cruisers forced them to drop far, far too early. But they could still make steam.
"'Tago!" Alaska's voice rattled from her gritted teeth like a starving animal, "Nachi! Break," every word took titanic effort from her shredded lungs, "For land!"
"No way in hell," Nachi's voice was just as shattered and exhausted as Alaska's, but there wasn't even a hint of give.
"Damnit!" Alaska howled as another shell splashed off her flank. Even the near-miss sent lightning bolts of pain shooting down her body as the shockwave punched at her hastily-repaired seams. "Thats! That's an order!"
Atago flashed her a defiant stare. "I just got you talking to your boy!" she yelled, "You are not sinking on me yet!"
Alaska couldn't spare the breath to argue back. Even if she wanted too, a shell slammed into her upper works and sheared her bridge wing clear off and taking her last working signal light with it.
A piercing pain shoot though her head, like someone drove an ice-pick though her temple with a sledge hammer. The world around her glowed white and her ears resonated with a screeching wail.
She panted and wiped bloody muck from her eyes. She could see land in the distance. The narrow channel between Galveston island and the Bolivar Peninsula was less than ten miles away, and with it, safety. She'd done it, she'd reached land. Now she was going to die in sight of it.
At least, that's what she thought.
Until she saw them.
Her angels.
With her radar gone and her superstructure shot to hell, Alaska didn't even hear them until they were right on top of her. She knew they had names, but her mind was barely limping along as it was. All she knew was the sleek black bombers howling so low their engines seemed to kiss the surf were the most beautiful things she'd ever seen.
Their giant wings were tucked back against their arrow-shaped bodies. As they thundered overhead, Alaska heard a roar the likes of which she'd only imagined. Their four engines belched angry orange flame, and spoke with a sound like a full broadside of her rifles.
Only this sound didn't stop like a gunshot. It roared with fury and anger towards the battle cruiser princess with righteous indignation.
The angels nosed into a shallow dive, hurtling towards the abyssal warship faster than Alaska ever imagined a plane could go. Flak bursts filled the air around them, but it wasn't enough. The princess's directors were as badly mauled as Alaska's, and her guns simply couldn't find their marks.
Alaska felt a happy whoop of joy slip past her split lips as the angels opened their bellies. More bombs than she'd ever even seen came pouring from each plane's bay, peppering the ocean with splashes and smashing though the princess's superstructure.
Explosions cracked though the air, but the angels almost drowned them out with their engines. The planes roared over the princes so low their wings almost chopped off her mast, but their vast tail planes were already cranked to max deflection. Their engines pounded giant furrows in the ocean as the angels thundered into the air.
They hadn't stopped the princess's murderous rage, but they had stalled it. They'd bought just enough time for Alaska and her friends to make it round Bolivar point and into the welcoming waters of the bay.
"Oh, honey," a kind, sweet voice that sounded like honey on fresh biscuits wafted over the bay and wrapped around Alaska like a warm blanket. "You look terrible."
"S-sorry, ma'am," Alaska stammered out, but she couldn't keep a weary smile from passing over her face.
"Now," the gently-smiling face of battleship Texas sent a caring look towards the battered cruisers. "You girls rest up, now, you hear?" The battleship idly spun her parasol over her shoulder with one hand while the other rested on the hilt of an ivory-handled Peacemaker. "Let me take care of this here demon, hmm?"
"Y-yes, ma'am," Alaska clutched her side as she slowed down as gently as she could. Her whole body ached from the hours-long stern chase. But somehow, the old battleship's kind words washed over her like a soothing balm.
"That goes for all ya'll," Texas twirled her parasol again and locked Nachi in a kindly gazed backed by the finest steel.
"Yes ma'am," muttered Nachi almost in instinct. Atago followed suite not much later.
"Mmm," Texas smiled, and carefully rolled a crick out of her neck. She tossed her parasol aside and settled a wide-brimmed hat so her piercing eyes juuuust peeked out from under the brim. "Now then," the battleship slid her hands over the heavy revolvers hanging off her wide hips, "who's this I hear trying to harm my beloved country?"
A smirk crossed the southern-fried battleship's face as she steamed towards the open ocean. It'd been a long, hard sprint to get down here in time, and her tired old engines would certainly have unkind words for her in the morning. But it didn't really matter. In a few short minutes, they'd see the fruit of their frantic labor.
Texas rounded the point at just under twenty-one knots. Her skirt flared around her legs as she steamed into the battlecruiser's sight at what was almost a walking pace. Time seem to grind to a crawl as a look of confusion, then sheer horror replaced hate on the cruiser's bone-pale face.
A stiff ocean breeze blew though Texas' superstructure, flaring her steel-gray hair behind her and blowing the fabric of her skirts back past her holstered revolvers. The cartridges lining her heavy gun belts glittered in the sun, and Texas's grin gleamed like sunset on the plains. "Howdy."
The battlecruiser tried to get her guns around, but it was no good. Texas wasn't called the fastest gun in the west—mostly by her—for nothing.
In less than an instant, her hands closed around the ivory grips of her peacemakers and drew the chrome-plated weapons from their rugged leather sheathes. Texas let the guns spin around her leather-gloved finger. She flicked the hammer back with her thumb as her grip closed around them.
There was no point in even trying to aim. The princess was less than six-thousand yards away. Texas couldn't miss from this range even if she tried. She squeezed the triggers, and a broadside of ten massive fourteen inch rifles spoke. It was a music Texas never thought she'd hear again, and it put a wicked smile on her face even as her guns rose to their loading angle.
Her shells covered the scant distance in an instant before slamming hard into the princess's paperweight armor. Steel only barely heavy enough to alert the shells to its presence touched off fuses in the massive rounds.
Explosions rippled though the Abyssal's hull as splinters tore apart the battlecruiser's machinery spaces. Electricity arced though her hull as turbo-generators shorted out and sparked fires deep within the hull.
At least one of the ten shells found its way to the after magazine and touched off the handful of shells aboard that hadn't been used up hurting Alaska and her friends. Secondary explosions ballooned steel like bubble gum, and burning powder erupted into the air as the battlecruiser cracked in half. There were precious few ships that could endure a point-blank broadside of fourteen inch shells. The princess was not one of them.
Texas smirked, and spun her revolvers around her fingers to slam them back into her holsters. In less than ten minutes, the battle cruiser had turned into so much shrapnel sinking into the channel. Even her hateful blue glow was fading fast.
The battleship tugged on the brim of her hat. "Don't mess with Texas."
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FelOnyx
Love and Peace!
- Location
- Gunsmoke
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Nobody will be littering on that battleship's watch.
Burning Baron
This position needs more entrenching.
- Location
- In here, not out there.
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Spectre
eternal servant to the Fire/EMS gods
- Location
- NY
no fleet carriers remember.
- Location
- Queensland, Australia
The problem is the Americans kinda do need a handful of Fleet carriers... not all of them or even most of them, but two or three would do a world of good...
And if you are going to grab a few whilst trying to focus on the Battleships, then Sara and her sister are pretty good ones to grab because they don't carry as many planes as the Enterprise and her sisters...
And if you are going to grab a few whilst trying to focus on the Battleships, then Sara and her sister are pretty good ones to grab because they don't carry as many planes as the Enterprise and her sisters...
Burning Baron
This position needs more entrenching.
- Location
- In here, not out there.
Beyond what catergories they've already gotten, what other ship types/classes can we expect, if you don't mind me asking?
Lady Darkhound
Haha, tanks!
- Location
- My very own personal hell
- Pronouns
- She/Her
So, does that mean no HMS TOG II*?
Burning Baron
This position needs more entrenching.
- Location
- In here, not out there.
Burning Baron
This position needs more entrenching.
- Location
- In here, not out there.
We do have flying cats. At this point, pretty much anything is fair game except fleet carriers, I suppose.
Harry Leferts
Suave Shadow Cabal Kaiju
Look, @theJMPer already stated, you won't get any boats more awesome then Battleships on the side of the good guys here.
Omake: Momboat Yavuz
Skywalker_T-65
Writer with too many ideas.
- Location
- United States
- Pronouns
- Plural/They/He/Her
*imagines that*
Nope, would not complain.
Also: Momboat Yavuz
It had not been long since she had returned, but even now, Yavuz Sultan Selim moved with a certain grace. Her long-time friend Midili was awkward and stumbled around. Even the more veteran Reşadiye would often have to be careful when she moved, lest her impressive weight topple someone or something important. Yavuz, however, had none of these issues.
Her every action was evenly measured and graceful, just as her long service had been. There were few who could truly rival her experience in the world, though that experience saw little actual combat. She was the Pride of Turkey, and she wore it well. She was elegant and wise. Yavuz was soft-spoken and kind. She was everything she needed to be.
And absolutely none of that mattered, as she stared at the 'computer' screen before her, waiting for a reply from someone she had only heard of in passing.
"Are you sure you're alright with this?" Reşadiye, of course, was by her side. Osman was still with the Italians, and Midili was...
Well, Yavuz didn't blame her old friend for wanting to be alone, sometimes.
"Don't worry, my dear," Yavuz just sent a soft smile up at the other girl. Her pale, Germanic, features were a poor match for Reşadiye's dark Turkish skin. But then, Yavuz didn't mind. She may not look it...
But she was as Turkish as any of her comrades.
"I can understand what she is going through, perhaps better than most," the old battlecruiser continued, turning her head back to the 'screen' in front of her. A soft sigh escaped pink lips, as she shook her head. Her voice lowered, softer than even a battleship could hope to hear. "I understand all too well."
And as a young face overtook that previously empty screen, she found herself remembering. Yavuz had never once seen the cruiser Prinz Eugen. She looked nothing like SMS Prinz Eugen, the proud Austrian who had helped her escape the British, so very many years ago. But...for all that her features were unfamiliar, the expression they carried was not.
Blue eyes wary and worried. Pretty pink lips held in a half-frown, half-smile. Long blonde hair tied back in two tails along either side of her head, that a hand played with. Perhaps without even realizing it. But most of all, the look of confusion.
Confusion, and the question if she truly belonged.
Oh yes, Yavuz knew that feeling quite well.
"Guten..." Prinz Eugen began, only for her half-smile to turn into more of a grimace as she shook her head. "Um...howdy?"
"Merhaba, my young friend." Yavuz replied, inclining her head slightly. Her own lips twisted into a slightly teasing smile at the way Prinz Eugen tilted her head in clear, and thankfully less sad, confusion. "It means 'hello', Prinz Eugen. And, if I may say so, I believe there is no issue if you are more comfortable greeting me in German."
At the slow blinking from her younger counterpart across the oceans, Yavuz couldn't help a small laugh rumbling up her throat. Pushing back a lock of her own brown hair, the Turkish battlecruiser reached her hand forward, as if she was going to touch the other girl's cheek.
"It may have been many years since I had cause to speak it, but I haven't forgotten my German. Guten Tag, Prinz Eugen."
A light blush stole across the other warship's face, but it was joined by a hesitant smile as well, "Ah...thank you, Go...Yavuz."
"And if you are more comfortable referring to me as Goeben, that is alright as well."
Really, Yavuz didn't pity the other girl. Her shoulders were tense, and it was clear she was resisting the urge to back away. Or absolutely terrified of making a mistake of some sort.
Considering they, and Midili, were the only Germans to return? Yavuz could understand that. And even if she had left behind the name SMS Goebenmany years ago, she had no issues if it made her young friend more comfortable to call her that.
So yes, she did not pity Prinz Eugen. She understood her. There was a time when Yavuz had been much the same herself, and she still fondly remembered Hamidiye being there when she needed her. Oh those were fond memories...
But the past is the past. For now, I must be there for my young friend.
For her part, Prinz Eugen just smiled that small, hesitant smile of her's. "If that's alright with you, Danke, Goeben."
"I assure you, there's no problem," Yavuz just shook her head. She wished she could be talking to the other girl in person, able to give her a gentle hug. But... "Now, I believe you wanted to talk to me?"
Prinz Eugen nodded sadly, her small smile fading away, "Y-yes. I...have you seen the same reports I have?"
The smile on Yavuz's face fell away as well, replaced by the well of sadness she had felt ever since seeing a report hand-delivered from a USN Naval Attache.
'I understand you are not able to fight with us, in this case, but Admiral Williams wanted your advice.'
'My advice?'
'On how best to fight an Imperial German battlecruiser.'
"Yes, I have." The old Turk sighed softly, hands squeezing her long skirt. Oh, she had seen the reports. "My cousins. I never met them, you know. By then, I had already been turned over to Turkey. We never once met. But I know them on sight, and I know what the Sirens have done to them."
Siren. Abyssal. Demon.
Yavuz may have used the Greek name out of the belief it fit, but it didn't matter what she called them. The monsters had taken her young cousins and twisted them beyond all recognition.
"I...I'm going to be part of a task force sent to sink them," Prinz Eugen continued. Her voice sharpened at the end, the cruiser squaring her shoulders.
It was an impressive sight, seeing the younger cruiser show her proper backbone. She was nearly as large as Yavuz, larger in some ways. And she had steel underneath her worries.
"And I won't let them escape. Not with what they've done."
"I doubt you would, Prinz Eugen," Yavuz smiled sadly. "No, I never doubted that. And I doubt you wanted to talk to tell me that, as I would do much the same, given the chance. Though I imagine you are more suited to this fight than I am."
While her shoulders didn't relax, a bright pink flush crossed Prinz Eugen's face at that question. "N...no it isn't."
"If I may make a guess, it has to do with how none of our friends and family have come back?"
Even as she asked that question, Yavuz knew what the answer would be. She had wondered it herself, on more than one occasion. And Prinz Eugen looking away from her instead of answering just confirmed that. Well, she had prepared for this.
As much as anyone could, really.
"Prinz Eugen," the battlecruiser spoke softly. Softly, but with a hint of steel underneath her tone. She was kindly and motherly, yes. But she was stillthe battleship of the Turkish Navy. With all that implied. "I would not worry yourself about that."
"But, Bismarck..." Prinz Eugen tried to protest.
Yavuz just silenced her with one raised finger, "No. I understand why you are concerned, I feel much the same. But do you not feel that they have all earned their rest? Should they truly be needed, they will return. Yes?"
"I know that!" The other German protested, but there was no real heat to her words. Just sadness. "But everyone...I wanted to..."
"You wanted to see them, and talk to them."
Again, the younger cruiser looked away. Again, Yavuz sighed softly.
"My dear friend, there is no need to worry. I am sure they will come back." Her voice had lost the steel, replaced with motherly concern. She had never met Prinz Eugen, and she was not remotely related to her.
But Yavuz had a mother's instincts nonetheless. Hard not to, at her age.
"I...I know. But it's so hard sometimes..." Prinz Eugen's shoulders slumped further.
Once more wishing she could be talking in person, Yavuz shook her head, "It always will be. But I am here, if you need me. As is Midili. As are, I believe, the Americans. And if I may say so, I don't think you'll have any issues fitting in with them. You are a nice girl, Prinz Eugen."
The old battlecruiser truly did believe that. When Prinz Eugen smiled, it lit up the room. When she was not sad, her voice was filled with cheer. Even when she was sad, she had the kind of voice that could make anyone smile. No, she should have no issues with the Americans.
"Danke, Goeben." Prinz Eugen whispered, looking up with wet eyes. But the smile on her face was genuine, and infectious enough to make Yavuz smile herself. "We are leaving soon, but is it alright if we talk a bit longer?"
"Perfectly fine, my dear." Yavuz nodded, brushing her hair back. Her own smile was motherly, as she did touch the screen where the cruiser's cheek was. "If you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here. I may be Turkish now, but I know you may need a more...German voice sometimes."
And talk they did, about anything and everything. Yavuz's efforts to corral Midili into leaving her shell. Prinz Eugen's rather eccentric cruiser mates. The misadventures of ship girls on both sides of the Atlantic.
They just...talked.
And Yavuz would trade nothing for that.
Glitchrr36
Slick's Short Company, CEO
- Location
- The Wastes
- Pronouns
- He/Him
The Shinano scene was great. I've been sitting here a couple of minutes trying to summarize how much I enjoyed it and this is the best if come up with. Massive props, @theJMPer.
Also, if possible, I'd like confirmation you did see that I sent you the PM, even if there isn't any critique for it that you have the time to do yet. Not hearing back on stuff makes me start panicking a little.
Also, if possible, I'd like confirmation you did see that I sent you the PM, even if there isn't any critique for it that you have the time to do yet. Not hearing back on stuff makes me start panicking a little.
Always Late
Lacking in coffee, sleep, and brains
- Location
- Ohio
Yup. Totally random.
... that's not ominous.
*checks data sheets*
Yup. The Stuka can indeed fly faster than the FW 190's stall speed. Doesn't have much of an error margin, but believable.
Is Shinano flying one of these planes? Or is that just how immersive casting her senses to her fairy pilots is?
Yup.
Max speed for an upgraded Stuka is 290 kilometers per second at altitude. FW's max speed is about three times that.
Shindens are armored?
1. No belly landings?
2. Right, almost forgot they jumped to full-size aircraft when deployed, that would have been bad.
... well that went about as I expected but wished not to.
BOOOOOOOOONEEEEEES!
ROTARY BOMB BAYS, BITCHES!
Sara had a sex change?
This will either go very well or very bad.
Guess that's 'very well.'
Git ganked, bitch.
An exciting climax @theJMPer, was it good for you too?
- Location
- United States of America
I would like to see USCGS Campbell make an appearance. She served for forty-six years . Fought in three different wars, and ended as a target for a weapon test. At one point during world war two she rammed and sank a U-boat. Her last message transmitted before she went down fits in perfectly in the Kantai verse. She probably would comeback with a crewmember K9C Sinbad.
- Location
- Mid-Atlantic
Now those would make scary princesses.
I have to say... you kind of invited another round of "wouldn't it be great if Saratoga came back" with this latest sequence of chapters. I respect your decision, and I hope this wave of asking does in fact stop. But you walked right into it.