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Belated Battleships (KanColle) [REHOST]

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So is Jersey aware of the issue? And was she taking a nap in the dock in the hope that it would repair the torepedo damage?
 
Firefinder12-B said:
There is a trick called the "barn door stop" that the Navy tried on the Wisconsin.
What they did was got her up to flank then slam the engines into full reverse and turn her rubbers inwards until they were flat like close barn doors, hence the name, causing them to act as a water brake.

She stopped within 600 meters. That from the bow to either directly behind or in front of turret three, inside her own length. Her rubbers were known to be loose after that.
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USS Wisconsin was 270m long. 600m is impressively short stopping distance but it's not her own length.
 
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Part 20: They LIGHT UP!
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    • part 20​
    "What you doing there, kiddo?"

    Fubuki jolted awake, her body stiff with shock. She'd allowed herself to fall asleep! While she was guarding her beloved Sempai! That was- that was- The destroyer's eyes slowly ratcheted wider, letting out a very visible gulp as she suddenly realized where she was sleeping.

    Her head was firmly planted on Jersey-Sempai's chest, her short black hair sticking to the battleship's wet skin. For once, Fubuki was actually glad the Americans insisted on wearing swimwear into the docks.

    "S-s-sorry, Sempai," she muttered, pulling herself away with as much grace as she could manage. She sat up straight against the poolside, staring at the opposite wall as she awaited her punishment. She'd made a mistake, and the least she could do was own up to it. It's what real warships did, after all!

    "Hey… kiddo?" said Jersey, water rippling as she sat up.

    "H-hai?" said Fubuki, still looking intently ahead. She'd… she'd been to personal already! She wouldn't stare at Jersey's… at Jersey, that she could do!

    "The fuck does Sempai mean?" said the Battleship, her hip bumping against Fubuki's as she scooted closer.

    Fubuki felt the cogs in her brain come grinding to a halt while some fairy officer yelled her tiny little mouth off. "It…" The special-type destroyer paused, pursing her lips as she thought. "It means… it's an honorific."

    "Uh huh," said Jersey.

    "It… it's a way to respect you," said Fubuki, "to respect your wisdom and knowledge."

    For a few seconds Jersey didn't say a word. Then her hearty laughter started echoing off every surface in the dock building.

    "J-Jersey, Sempai?" said Fubuki, deciding she could risk a quick glance.

    Jersey had sunken down up to her neck, her whole body shaking as she laughed so hard she was almost crying. "Oh… 'buki…"

    "Sempai?"

    Jersey waved at the destroyer, accidentally smacking her in the face with her hand. "You- you don't need to do that," she said, barely sneaking the words out between thundering laughs.

    "But-"

    "But nothing!" Jersey shook her head, propping her sinewy arms up on the poolside, "You're the mother of all fucking destroyers, if anyone's calling anyone Some-pie it should be me."

    Fubuki felt her face go red. So red they could probably see it all the way home. "I- I'm just a-"

    "A destroyer?" said Jersey, reaching over to muss Fubuki's hair. "Yeah… but you're thefirst destroyer, or the first real one."

    Fubuki stared into the water, glancing past her chest—such that it was—to the rippling reflection of her toes, "But Johnston-"

    "Owes her very existence to you," said Jersey, "same with Turner Joy, and Shoup. When you hit the water, you made every other destroyer in the world obsolete."

    Fubuki beamed, her body starting to vibrate with sheer unrestrained glee. Sempai calledher Sempai! "R-really?"

    "Hell yeah," said Jersey, pulling herself up out of the water with a surging splash. Her butt landed on the poolside with a squelch of of her soggy swim trunks. "I'm American, we never lie."

    "I don't think-"

    Jersey shut her up with a quick pat to the head. "Never. Lie."

    Fubuki laughed, trying her hardest not to stare too much at the battleship. She was about to ask about the tear she'd seen in Jersey's hull… but it had vanished. In its place, tearing across the battleship's muscled tummy like a lightning, was an ugly white scar.

    Jersey's smile faded, her face darkening as she followed the destroyer's gaze, her hand idly tracing along the ragged tear. "Yeah… not pretty, is it?"

    Fubuki shook her head.

    "It…. it looks worse than it is," said Jersey, her voice weaker and softer than normal, almost like she was trying to convince herself. "Took a torpedo to the boilers… fucking hurt."

    Fubuki nodded a little too quickly. "I- I thought you weren't hit in combat."

    "Wasn't," said Jersey, running her hands though her sopping wet hair to at least instil some sort of order to the shimmering mess. "Hit me in the middle of the fucking Delaware, right when they were trying to summon me too. Hell of a wake-up call, right?" said the battleship with a bitterly dry laugh.

    "Well…" Fubuki shifted in place, water rippling around her as she forced herself to keep a straight face, "Get-get better soon!"

    "Yeah," said Jersey, her shoulders slouching as she stared at the tile. For what felt like hours, she didn't say a thing. Then her gaze drifted to one of the four watches hanging around her wrist. "Oh… shiiiiiiiiit."

    "Sempai?"

    Jersey shot Fubuki a dirty look, then quickly sighed and rolled her eyes. "I slept for, like… four hours."

    The destroyer sat in silence, her head tilting to the side ever so slightly.

    "And the taffies didn't once cause enough trouble for someone to wake me," Jersey glanced at Fubuki for a split-second. Then the battleship exploded into action, tearing across the poolside in a flat-out sprint for the locker rooms. "They're up to something!"

    —|—|—

    Gale let out a long, ragged sigh. She'd spent enough time with Yuudachi and Naka to know that dealing with shipgirls was never ever a cut and dry situation. Murphy and his triple-damned law was a heartless bastard at the best of times. No plan survives first contact with an enemy and all that.

    But shipgirls—especially the tenacious little murderballs of Taffy 3—they thumbed their noses to the laws of probability, ensuring each and every thing that could make her day worse, possible or no, happened. All at once. To her. And ninety percent of the time it was somehow Johnston's fault.

    And yet… in some naive corner of her mind still held on to the hope that today would be different. She was taking three thirteen year old girls to the mall—with a credit line direct from the Department of the Navy. If there was ever anything that should have gone smoothly, it should have been trip to the goddamn mall.

    "GALE!" shouted Hoel, the sound her feet slapping against the carpeted floor somehow louder than the generically-obnoxious boy-band music blaring over the store speakers. How that was supposed to encourage purchases was beyond her.

    "GALE GALE GALE GALE!" Hoel slammed her heels down at the last second, skidding to a… not so much a stop as a 'barely controlled crash' in front of the Yeoman. "GALE!"

    Gale sighed. If she ever found that heartless bastard who sold the taffies coffee… "What?"

    "LOOKIT!" Hoel back stepped, slapping her heels against the floor until the chunky new shoes she'd bought started glowing. "THEY LIGHT UP! I LOVE THE FUTURE! THANK YOU SO MUCH!" The little destroyer threw her arms around Gale's middle, ramming her face against the Yeoman's belly as she gave a typically enthusiastic Taffy hug.

    Gale smiled, giving Hoel a pat on the head. She was exhausted and miserable, not heartless! "You- you're welcome, Hoel."

    Hoel giggled, squeezing even tighter before letting go.

    "Hoel, look what I found!" said Johnston, careening over with a pile of clothing in her hand. At least she didn't seem noticeably affected by her caffeine intake, if only because she ran with her boilers wide open anyways.

    "OH, WHAT?" said Hoel, bouncing off the ground as she spun around.

    "Look!" Johnston held up a red-white-and-blue hoodie with a star proudly displayed on the breast. "They have Captain America stuff!"

    "WHAT!" shouted Hoel, almost vibrating off the visible spectrum in excitement. "THEY STILL KNOW ABOUT THE CAP?"

    Gale laughed, but the two taffies were so deep in their conversation neither one even noticed. Nor did they notice the restrained arrival of Heermann.

    "But he's army," said the third destroyer, her hands in her pockets as she idly browsed the racks of clothing.

    "So?" said Johnston, hurling a hoodie at Heermann. "He punched Hitler! In the Face!"

    Heermann gave a shrug of acquiescence as she wordlessly pulled the snugly-fitting hoodie on over her ragged sailor-top.

    "Can we get them?" said Johnston, spinning on her heel and staring up at Gale with the huge, innocent eyes of a girl who hadn't been running rampant though a mall for the pastseveralhours.

    "PLEASE?" added Hoel.

    Heermann didn't say anything, but the way her face lit up… she was begging just as hard as the rest of them.

    Gale sighed, rubbing her temples with one hand. "You have a navy credit card. You can pay for shit if you want it."

    "Actually," a young man—boy really. He couldn't be much older than… fifteen or sixteen—waved at the group, "I'll, uh, I can get those for you."

    Gale gave him a testing look. If this is what kids called flirting, "You… do know they're-"

    "Destroyers? yeah," said the boy, "Taffy 3, right?"

    "Yeah!" said Johnston, pivoting on her heel to look at Gale, "We're famous?"

    "Not…really," said Gale, one eyebrow arching upwards. "How did you-"

    "My grand-dad," said the boy. "He… he was on the Kalinin Bay. He told me all about you."

    All three taffies froze in place, their eyes starting to water as they stared at him.

    "It's not gonna be cheap, you know," said Gale.

    "I know," said the boy, "But… you know, I owe my life to them. If they didn't save-" His next words were lost under the assault of three Fletcher class destroyers running on pure caffeine all tackle-hugging as one.

    It took a good twenty minutes to pry the taffies off him and get their clothes rung up. After a brief moment of sticker shock—both from the destroyers and their would-be benefactor—Gale slipped the cashier a fifty to cover the difference. The girls were too busy getting their pictures taken to notice, and Johnston even offered a parting kiss.

    "Okay," said Johnston, bouncing over with a smirk on her face, "We can go now."

    "Yeah, thanks for taking us, Gale," said Heermann, her voice muffled as she pulled her hoodie on.

    "THANKS!" said Hoel, hurling herself at the Sailor and grabbing her waist in a tight hug.

    Gale smiled in-spite of herself, "You're welcome g-"The tell-tale sound of fabric being torn apart stopped her dead in her tracks. Gale sloooowly turned on her heel, bracing herself for whatever calamity the taffies had caused.

    Johnston had—somehow—managed not only to get her hoodie on in the brief instant Gale hadn't been watching her, but also managed to tear the sleeves off perfectly along the seam lines. Her now-detached sleeves hung loose around her elbows, showing of the muscles of her scrappy little arms.

    "What the hell," monotoned Gale.

    In response, Hoel tore the sleeves off her own hoodie like it was a perfectly natural thing to do.

    "We're badasses!" said Johnston, crossing her arms over her chest like it was the most rational explanation in the world. "Taffy 3 don't need sleeves, fool!"

    Gale blinked. Whoever showed the taffies The A-team would suffer.

    "Yo, Heermann!" Johnston spun on her heel to the sole girl who was wearing her clothing the way it was intended.

    "Yeah?"

    "Loose those sleeves!" said Johnston, pouncing on her sister to do the deed herself. "You're a taffy!"

    Heermann's smile was so bright it was borderline nuclear.
    - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
    A/N: No relation to the story, but I found this picture of USS Iowa's bathtub (installed when she ferried FDR across the Atlantic.) There's a shelf for the president's reading material, and a toy battleship to play with. Iowa confirmed toy-store owner!
     
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    • theJMPer said:
    A/N: No relation to the story, but I found this picture of USS Iowa's bathtub (installed when she ferried FDR across the Atlantic.) There's a shelf for the president's reading material, and a toy battleship to play with. Iowa confirmed toy-store owner!
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    If I could see the toy boat a little clearer, and knew enough ships on sight, then I could probably even guess which ship it was based off of. Though I'm pretty sure it wasn't an Iowa class, mostly since it looks like there are four main gun turrets instead of three. Also that it had something like C-70 on the side.
     
    Guys. It's a mash up of a Montana-class battleship and a New Orleans-class heavy cruiser.
     
    But the bow's not nearly long enough and obviously toy manufacturers insist on perfect accuracy for all their bath toys!
     
    I'd say a cruiser of some kind, though probably a more-or-less fictional design
     
    So after the war, will Iowa retire to Los Angeles and open up a model shop, selling highly detailed models of herself and the rest of the ships?
     
    Hey, she isn't Jersey enough, she hasn't asked to go to the shore or asked for Pork Roll, (also another question, is it only wrecked kanmuso, if so, Thresher and Scorpion should be summoned (and they could probably beat almost everything here in speed, but that's the advantage of a reactor, burning fuel out takes decades vs hours)
     
    NHO said:
    Action figures, shipgirl miniatures, lewd ship models?
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    Is there any other kind? I mean... you can see her screws and everything!
    Ryand-Smith said:
    Hey, she isn't Jersey enough, she hasn't asked to go to the shore or asked for Pork Roll, (also another question, is it only wrecked kanmuso, if so, Thresher and Scorpion should be summoned (and they could probably beat almost everything here in speed, but that's the advantage of a reactor, burning fuel out takes decades vs hours)
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    Not just wrecked, but the kanmusu can't exist at the same time as their hull is service-ready. (It doesn't matter if the real-steel ship was sunk or scrapped.)

    And there will probably be no SSN kanmusu, they'd just be too OP.

    EDIT: and Jersey only burned though her fuel that fast because she was already running on fumes. She'd puked up most of it on the plane ride over and hadn't had anything to eat. With full tanks she's got a bit over 7 days before she runs herself dry. (Assuming nothing breaks from the stress of running with everything wide open that long.)
     
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    Fair enough, I hope we get CV-6 (she was unfairly wrecked), just so we can have a battlegroup (also scare Yamato if she shows up). Awesome story, a friend linked me and it was good, but as a Jersian, she seems about right (that interview was Chris Christie worthy, and a mark of a true Jersian)
     
    Why would a CV want to romance a BB? They'd have little BBV babies, and BBVs are useless!

    See, if Jersey and Yamato got it on, you'd have little baby BBs with 18 inch guns, torpedo protection that works, and AA that actually, you know, didn't suck.
     
    BBs give CVs AA support and a shield to protect the CV from incoming fire.
     
    Reposting this from SB, because...Well, I can.
    theJMPer said:
    Actually, I was thinking the other way around. There's a certain amount of parallels between the two classes, both are the biggest, baddest surface combatants their nation fielded. (And the appearance of the Kirovs played a key role in recommissioning the Iowa sisters.)

    But the Kirovs have an awe inspiring punch... until they've fired off all twenty of their missiles, then they're down to peashooters, and only have 76mm of armor around their reactor. There's WWII tanks with more armor than that!

    Although they would be husky ruskies, that's gotta get a shipgirl's heart a flitter.
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    To shamelessly paraphrase a line from one of the C&C Red Alert games for a Kirov's pick-up line to an Iowa:
    "Russian waters are very cold in winter. Perhaps you and I could...warm them up together."
    I feel no guilt in this.
    EDIT: Eyebrow waggling is a must for the last part of it.
    EDIT2: This works best in the case of Russian shipboys. For reasons.
     
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    Aires Drake said:
    Reposting this from SB, because...Well, I can.

    To shamelessly paraphrase a line from one of the C&C Red Alert games for a Kirov's pick-up line to an Iowa:
    "Russian waters are very cold in winter. Perhaps you and I could...warm them up together."
    I feel no guilt in this.
    EDIT: Eyebrow waggling is a must for the last part of it.
    EDIT2: This works best in the case of Russian shipboys. For reasons.
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    Awaiting Kirov to be stuttering after saying that, then the two blush hard before saying 'yes!' at the same time.
     
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