- Location
- local group, mikyway, sol,sol-3,north america
it was meant as turn of Phrase, meaning "of course I'd use the wrong one" as expected/ self deprecation basically
Belated Battleships (KanColle) [REHOST]
- Thread starter theJMPer
- Start date
Omake: Fast and ready!
Shadows
Sacred Priestess of the Benevolent Dice Gods
- Location
- USS Civilian, DDG-214
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Sooo, I made a thing.
Coral was taking hold on a rusting hull. Dark and deep, she slumbered.
It was not in her nature to sit idle.
Every creak of her slowly-collapsing superstructure, every subsurface groan of her collapsed mast, they grated on her sleeping mind. She'd been built with one purpose, and one purpose only:
Control the Sea.
She'd fallen against the Abyssals, died so that the panicked passenger and cargo ships could make port, under the watchful eye of heavy guns and coastal defense missiles. She'd died alone, so that her sisters didn't have to fall with her. When all hope had seemed lost, she had turned into the foe, and smashed them with every weapon at her disposal.
She'd been all across the seven seas, from the frigid Arctic to the heat of the Arabian Gulf. She'd been at the vanguard of a wounded nation's response to an act of terror; and whenever Her nation had called upon her, she had answered.
Though budget and shortsightedness plagued her with mechanical woes, she attracted to her a crew that could rise above, could make the impossible possible, and made her name shine.
Bong.
Above her sleeping form, her ancestors fought the same battle she had. Injectors clicked open, and seven turbines spooled to life.
Bong.
Her bridge, silent since her last Captain had fallen, stirred to life. Splintered steel mended where Abyssal shells had torn it asunder.
Bong.
Electricity arced and roared across her veins, and wet powder dried from the heat of her soul.
General Quarters.
They thought that no warship of her vintage could give rise to a ship spirit.
General Quarters.
But twenty-one years was a long time to serve.
General Quarters.
Her twin screws churned the water around her into a broad tail of white foam as she ascended. Her sharp eyes opened, and saw the light rushing towards her. Two ship spirits called out for her, for anyone, anyone who could help. Seven hundred souls joined them, begging for aid.
General Quarters.
There was no one else who could reach them in time. No one but Her.
She would not fail them.
She answered their pleas with the screaming power of one hundred and five thousand horsepower, with steel and shell and shrieking missiles.
A memory of her last Chaplain floated through her mind as she broke the surface.
"... for we are… Tough, Rugged, FAST!... and Ready."
The words of her Captain rang through her mind once more as her 5/54 barked and missiles erupted from her launchers into the face of the foe.
"Woe to any enemy that attacks this ship, because the last thing they see before they go up in a ball of fire and ash, will be a haze-gray destroyer with 55 on its bow."
I'll make you proud, sir.
--
Black screamed as Abyssal shells tore away one of her guns, the little Fletcher racing between splashes as she strove to throw their aim. The Abyssal cruisers astern of her were trying to bracket her, to kill her and get at the people and supplies in the convoy ahead. She bled oil and blood from near misses, and she was so tired of running full-tilt. Her fuel reserves were emptying fast, and her boilers were running hot, too hot.
Little Blakeley plinked away with what she could, but if Black's five-inch guns couldn't do more than annoy the cruisers, Blake's four-inchers didn't even accomplish that much. The little escort had heart, but not firepower.
"This is Black to anyone in range! Convoy 616 is under heavy attack!" Black screeched out over the airwaves between volleys. "Please! Someone! We need support!"
The airwaves bore no good news.
Blakeley's shriek stole her attention back, and Black's head snapped around to see her frantically trying to keep her aft casemate from brewing up. Her armor was shredded by a near miss from one of those eight-inch shells screaming past overhead, and she was losing speed.
"ANYONE-"
The sea a hundred meters in front of her on her one-o-clock erupted.
A girl roared up out of the spray. Haze-gray fatigues wrapped her soaked torso, her skirt fluttering in the wind of her passage. In her hands was a five-inch naval rifle; her legs - long, long legs - were wrapped in steel greaves, a gatling pistol at her hip. Her rigging manifested at the apex of her leap, as her hull came crashing back down into the waves. She pushed up the ballcap that covered her eyes, and those storm-gray orbs flickered to Black.
"DUCK!" she shouted, hand flickering to her hip. Black flinched to the side as an unearthly roar filled the air with fire, and a shell that would have smashed into her back exploded harmlessly half a mile away.
"Who-" Black started, eyes wide.
"No time! Turn about and let's get 'em, sister!" the newcomer barked. Her five-inch boomed, sending shells back at the foe, and her backpack opened, sending missiles roaring off to the edge of the horizon.
"O-okay!" Black said with a hurried nod. Pulling alongside as she turned out, she saw that the girl had the build of a destroyer, but the size of a very, very large light cruiser. The new girl pushed off the water, foam spraying from her props and around her hull. Her long legs carried her up to an eye-watering thirty-five knots, straight into the Abyssals.
She turned her head and looked at Black, a grin dancing across her face, red ponytail whipping in the wind of her passage. "You've got left, I'll take right! I'll keep the shells off us! Let's show 'em what we can do!"
Black felt the other girl's aggressive good-nature rubbing off on her, restoring spirits worn down by hours of cat-and-mouse games with the cruisers. She grinned back. "Right!"
She followed the girl with 55 blazoned on her shins, straight into the maw of the enemy.
Shells rained around them, but never hit. Every time one might, that gatling would snap up and remove it. 55 was fast on the draw, fast on her feet, and always ready.
It was almost like sailing with Frisco. If Frisco and a Taffy had a lovechild, anyway, that grew up almost as big as Frisco.
The Abyssals stood no chance, and died when the two of them closed to knife-fighting range. Shells pocked their hulls and turned them open; missiles tore off their superstructures. Torpedoes cracked their keels, and finally sent them back to their rest.
It took all of a half-hour.
As they neared the convoy, Black, between stolen breaths, turned to her savior.
"What's your name? I've never seen a kanmusu like you before!"
"Kanmusu?" the new girl asked, quirking her eyebrow, her eyes now hidden behind a pair of black Oakleys. "What's that?"
"It's Japanese. It means… well, basically, ship spirit."
"Oh." the new girl said, nodding. "I'm Stout! DDG-55."
"Wow, you're a destroyer? Me too! I'm Black! DD-666!" Black said, bouncing in place. "Thanks a lot for the save!"
"Don't mention it," she replied with a smile and a dismissive wave. "You needed my help. I was able to. I couldn't well do anything else, could I?"
"Weweregonnadiieeeeee-" shrieked a dark haired missile as it wrapped its arms around Black and Stout's middles. The tiny destroyer escort looked up at them both with huge teary eyes. Her flanks ran red and mixed with the crashing waves.
"Oh, c'mere sweetie…" Stout crooned, hefting Blakeley into her arms and receiving the mother of all cuddles from the adorable, round-faced little escort. "It's gonna be fine. You're tougher than you think, than you look, and I've got your back."
Fast and Ready
Coral was taking hold on a rusting hull. Dark and deep, she slumbered.
It was not in her nature to sit idle.
Every creak of her slowly-collapsing superstructure, every subsurface groan of her collapsed mast, they grated on her sleeping mind. She'd been built with one purpose, and one purpose only:
Control the Sea.
She'd fallen against the Abyssals, died so that the panicked passenger and cargo ships could make port, under the watchful eye of heavy guns and coastal defense missiles. She'd died alone, so that her sisters didn't have to fall with her. When all hope had seemed lost, she had turned into the foe, and smashed them with every weapon at her disposal.
She'd been all across the seven seas, from the frigid Arctic to the heat of the Arabian Gulf. She'd been at the vanguard of a wounded nation's response to an act of terror; and whenever Her nation had called upon her, she had answered.
Though budget and shortsightedness plagued her with mechanical woes, she attracted to her a crew that could rise above, could make the impossible possible, and made her name shine.
Bong.
Above her sleeping form, her ancestors fought the same battle she had. Injectors clicked open, and seven turbines spooled to life.
Bong.
Her bridge, silent since her last Captain had fallen, stirred to life. Splintered steel mended where Abyssal shells had torn it asunder.
Bong.
Electricity arced and roared across her veins, and wet powder dried from the heat of her soul.
General Quarters.
They thought that no warship of her vintage could give rise to a ship spirit.
General Quarters.
But twenty-one years was a long time to serve.
General Quarters.
Her twin screws churned the water around her into a broad tail of white foam as she ascended. Her sharp eyes opened, and saw the light rushing towards her. Two ship spirits called out for her, for anyone, anyone who could help. Seven hundred souls joined them, begging for aid.
General Quarters.
There was no one else who could reach them in time. No one but Her.
She would not fail them.
She answered their pleas with the screaming power of one hundred and five thousand horsepower, with steel and shell and shrieking missiles.
A memory of her last Chaplain floated through her mind as she broke the surface.
"... for we are… Tough, Rugged, FAST!... and Ready."
The words of her Captain rang through her mind once more as her 5/54 barked and missiles erupted from her launchers into the face of the foe.
"Woe to any enemy that attacks this ship, because the last thing they see before they go up in a ball of fire and ash, will be a haze-gray destroyer with 55 on its bow."
I'll make you proud, sir.
--
Black screamed as Abyssal shells tore away one of her guns, the little Fletcher racing between splashes as she strove to throw their aim. The Abyssal cruisers astern of her were trying to bracket her, to kill her and get at the people and supplies in the convoy ahead. She bled oil and blood from near misses, and she was so tired of running full-tilt. Her fuel reserves were emptying fast, and her boilers were running hot, too hot.
Little Blakeley plinked away with what she could, but if Black's five-inch guns couldn't do more than annoy the cruisers, Blake's four-inchers didn't even accomplish that much. The little escort had heart, but not firepower.
"This is Black to anyone in range! Convoy 616 is under heavy attack!" Black screeched out over the airwaves between volleys. "Please! Someone! We need support!"
The airwaves bore no good news.
Blakeley's shriek stole her attention back, and Black's head snapped around to see her frantically trying to keep her aft casemate from brewing up. Her armor was shredded by a near miss from one of those eight-inch shells screaming past overhead, and she was losing speed.
"ANYONE-"
The sea a hundred meters in front of her on her one-o-clock erupted.
A girl roared up out of the spray. Haze-gray fatigues wrapped her soaked torso, her skirt fluttering in the wind of her passage. In her hands was a five-inch naval rifle; her legs - long, long legs - were wrapped in steel greaves, a gatling pistol at her hip. Her rigging manifested at the apex of her leap, as her hull came crashing back down into the waves. She pushed up the ballcap that covered her eyes, and those storm-gray orbs flickered to Black.
"DUCK!" she shouted, hand flickering to her hip. Black flinched to the side as an unearthly roar filled the air with fire, and a shell that would have smashed into her back exploded harmlessly half a mile away.
"Who-" Black started, eyes wide.
"No time! Turn about and let's get 'em, sister!" the newcomer barked. Her five-inch boomed, sending shells back at the foe, and her backpack opened, sending missiles roaring off to the edge of the horizon.
"O-okay!" Black said with a hurried nod. Pulling alongside as she turned out, she saw that the girl had the build of a destroyer, but the size of a very, very large light cruiser. The new girl pushed off the water, foam spraying from her props and around her hull. Her long legs carried her up to an eye-watering thirty-five knots, straight into the Abyssals.
She turned her head and looked at Black, a grin dancing across her face, red ponytail whipping in the wind of her passage. "You've got left, I'll take right! I'll keep the shells off us! Let's show 'em what we can do!"
Black felt the other girl's aggressive good-nature rubbing off on her, restoring spirits worn down by hours of cat-and-mouse games with the cruisers. She grinned back. "Right!"
She followed the girl with 55 blazoned on her shins, straight into the maw of the enemy.
Shells rained around them, but never hit. Every time one might, that gatling would snap up and remove it. 55 was fast on the draw, fast on her feet, and always ready.
It was almost like sailing with Frisco. If Frisco and a Taffy had a lovechild, anyway, that grew up almost as big as Frisco.
The Abyssals stood no chance, and died when the two of them closed to knife-fighting range. Shells pocked their hulls and turned them open; missiles tore off their superstructures. Torpedoes cracked their keels, and finally sent them back to their rest.
It took all of a half-hour.
As they neared the convoy, Black, between stolen breaths, turned to her savior.
"What's your name? I've never seen a kanmusu like you before!"
"Kanmusu?" the new girl asked, quirking her eyebrow, her eyes now hidden behind a pair of black Oakleys. "What's that?"
"It's Japanese. It means… well, basically, ship spirit."
"Oh." the new girl said, nodding. "I'm Stout! DDG-55."
"Wow, you're a destroyer? Me too! I'm Black! DD-666!" Black said, bouncing in place. "Thanks a lot for the save!"
"Don't mention it," she replied with a smile and a dismissive wave. "You needed my help. I was able to. I couldn't well do anything else, could I?"
"Weweregonnadiieeeeee-" shrieked a dark haired missile as it wrapped its arms around Black and Stout's middles. The tiny destroyer escort looked up at them both with huge teary eyes. Her flanks ran red and mixed with the crashing waves.
"Oh, c'mere sweetie…" Stout crooned, hefting Blakeley into her arms and receiving the mother of all cuddles from the adorable, round-faced little escort. "It's gonna be fine. You're tougher than you think, than you look, and I've got your back."
Last edited:
Old Iron
Admiral Unfun
- Location
- The Southwestern Deadlands of America
I have to say, that was one hell of an entrance for Miss Stout. And the summon sequence was sharp. I loved it! The combat flowed really, really well, too.
A damn good job.
You know what you have to do now, Miss Stout. There are more DD's that need headpats ad hugs. Are you up for the challenge?
A damn good job.
You know what you have to do now, Miss Stout. There are more DD's that need headpats ad hugs. Are you up for the challenge?
- Location
- Beyond the Unknowable Veil
It is a good thing.
Omake: Fast and ready!
Shadows
Sacred Priestess of the Benevolent Dice Gods
- Location
- USS Civilian, DDG-214
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Fast and Ready
(to meet the Admiral!)
Her boots hit the beach, soles crunching up soft yellow sand as her rigging faded away and disappeared. Every step she took shook the earth with a steely thump, packing the sand beneath her feet. Blakeley rested in her arms, her DC teams working overtime to make good her damages. In her embrace, the escort looked even smaller than normal. Her fatigues were starting to pick up a red-black stain that worried the big destroyer.
"So, two questions." Stout began, head twitching left and right as her radar and optics lost their collective minds at the clutter that was Virginia Beach.
"Shoot!" Black said, taking her by the arm and leading her up the dunes.
"Why aren't we pulling into the NOB?" Stout asked, referring to Norfolk-Oceana Base. The Fletcher shrugged her thin shoulders, twitching away her own rigging.
"Well, the harbor's nasty! So much oil and yuck everywhere! The scrubmarines were starting to complain about stains on their swimsuits, and, I mean, yeah, I thought it was mucking up my props' shine! So they moved us over here!" she chirped brightly, waving her arms expansively as they crested a dune.
Beyond the beach was a rather… luxurious set of staff housing sidled up inside Naval Station Dam Neck. Beautiful (and pricy) houses were formed into a neighborhood for the families of The Brass of the Atlantic Fleet.
Stout whistled lowly. "I've only ever seen these through my optical sight system." she muttered. "Or, well, I haven't, my crew has, but-"
"I get it!" Black said, face scrunched up in a broad, eye-touching smile. "We're all amalgams of our crews' experiences, bound up into an entirely new personality! So, we all have moments like that. You should see how some of the World War Two ships interact with the German and Japanese ships - you'd think the war hadn't ended yet! Then two minutes later they'll be giggling over tea or coffee!"
"Oh, joy." Stout mumbled, rolling her eyes. "So you're saying, once I walk in there, I'm walkin' into the World War Redux International Reenactment Club."
"Noooo," Black said, waving her hands frantically. "Well, I mean, as long as you don't wander across Wales and Bissy at it again…"
Stout laughed, and Blakeley squirmed sleepily as the motion disturbed her rest. She quickly stopped laughing, concern flitting across her face.
"Second and more serious question - what do we do about..?" she asked, lifting the little escort slightly to emphasize who and what she was talking about.
"Oh! We take her to the docks." Black said, as if that explained everything.
Stout's eyes flickered over to the sailing marina, and her eyebrow raised again. "Over there?"
Black followed her gaze and shook her head. "I mean, we could, but she might float away! No, we've got our own docks. C'mon!" The hyperactive destroyer grabbed Stout's sleeve again and hauled her bodily. Her steps didn't make the earth quake, much to Stout's annoyance. But, still, she geared her turbines to full power and loped along with her diminutive ancestor-ship, making good time to the gate. Two armed sentries saw the ship spirits and waved them through, raising the barrier for them to pass at a very respectable twenty five knots. Stout left a trail of cracked pavement in her wake, and she finally just had to shut off her radar because it was starting to give her a headache - and whiplash.
They pulled up to a stately and ornate house, all red brick and marble pillars, and dashed around the side. A pair of wide French doors stood open, steam wafting out from within. Black slowed her run, and Stout slowed with her as they entered.
Inside, a massive - and very warm - pool sank into the ground, deep enough that even a submarine would feel happy in it. It couldn't have been part of the original design. The walls were black marble up to waist-height, with yellow gold inlay at the dividing mark between the dark stone and the rough, darkly blue rock that rose the rest of the way to the ceiling. Another doorway lead to a set of stairs that clearly went to the actual first story of the house.
"This is our dock!" Black exclaimed cheerfully, already stripping off her cut-off dress blue jumper. The flying fabric hit the floor at the same time her bellbottoms did, and she took a running leap off into the steaming saltwater. Stout's eyes followed her trajectory with pointed interest.
Well, at least I know where I got my legs from.
The little Fletcher surfaced a moment later, floating on her back with a contented sigh. One brown doe-eye cracked open and looked back at Stout, and she smiled. "Just lower her in - gently! - and she'll do the rest! You should give it a try too! It's sooo relaxing!"
Stout blinked and made a confused noise, before sighing. "Sure… makes as much sense as anything else now, I guess! Just let me-" she said, before her stomach rudely interrupted her, and her CHENG voiced her very vocal complaint at the state of her fuel reserves. WEAPS joined in a moment later, nagging her about ammunition stores. And, just for funsies, SUPPO happily informed her that her crew was annoyed by the lack of provisions in her stores. "Eh, sorry!" she said. She realized, then, what hunger was. And she was starving.
"Oh! There's a kitchen upstairs! Some of the Admiral's staff work there and they make amazing food!" Black said, righting herself and floating over to the side. "Why don't you go tank up while I get Blake changed into her swimsuit? Feel free to join us after~" she ended with a playful lilt.
"Food. Food is good." Stout agreed. Black pushed herself out of the pool, having apparently worn her swimsuit under her blues, and took Blakeley's sleeping form in her arms.
"Off ya go! Try the biscuits n' gravy! Oh! And CS1's waffles are to die for!"
Stout waved for about half a second before her various department heads demanded her attention once more, and she fled up the stairs, each of which creaked and groaned under her advance.
The smell of food, glorious food! sent her mouth to watering before she even saw the kitchen, and she homed in on the smell like a Harpoon on an enemy radar. She burst into the kitchen and saw two cooks working away, preparing the mountains of food required to sustain a fleet of shipgirls. Stout drew in a squeaky breath, eyes wide.
"Ohmygoditalllookssodeliciousssss!" she squealed.
The taller of the two cooks was, in fact, a Chief, and he chuckled good naturedly without even turning around. He picked up a rag on the counter next to him and wiped sweat off his dark brown skin. "How's it goin' kiddo? You new?"
"Yeah!" Stout all but shouted. "How'd you know?"
"Heard you comin' up the stairs, for starters. Also, seems like all the girls have that reaction to their first meal that ain't bunker oil." He pulled a burger patty as big as Stout's head off the grill - an actual, honest-to-goodness charcoal grill, fan above it sucking out the vapors and shunting them outside as flames licked sizzling meat.
Stout's eyes were as wide as dinner plates as she watched him put the massive burger on an equally massive, freshly-baked bun that all but glowed from the butter he'd brushed onto it. He turned around, and his face was kindly, a wry grin on his lips. "You've gotta be starvin'. Hell, this was for Wales, but I figure I can make another. It's just about the only single food item I've found that I can feed a battleship on with less'n a dozen of. You like onions?"
"I… I dunno? I've never had them…" the destroyer said, unable to tear her eyes away from the food.
"Well, we're about to fix that." he said. "I'm gonna do this up my way, aight? Gimme a minute, grab y'self a plate off the counter over there, and bug CS1 for some of his tater tots. 'Less you think you're more a brunch person, of course, in which case he's got french toast sticks today."
Stout nodded vigorously and scurried over to the side, looking over the assembled plates. One caught her eye in particular, and she hefted it, before speeding back to the Chief's side. He looked up from putting the finishing touches on her burger, his eyebrow rising.
"Kiddo, y'know that's a serving platter, right?"
"No! But I do know that I'm starving..!" Stout pouted, her stomach growling uproariously to drive home her point and add punctuation to her words.
"Aight, aight! Here y'go. Chief's Special!" he said, chuckling and putting the mammoth construction of meat, cheese, bread and veggies on her plate. "Don't ever say I didn't do nothin' for ya. Hey, CS1! Get this girl a pile of your finest."
"On it." the burly Polynesian man grunted, walking over with a plate piled high with food. He pushed it off onto her platter; french toast, tater tots, fries - you name a side food, it seemed to be there. He turned about with surprising agility and plopped a bowl of hot syrup and a squeeze bottle of ketchup on her platter a moment later. "My rec is that you save the sticks for last. Rest of the kanmusu around here have a sweet tooth a mile long, but you might not be like that. Plus, you'll enjoy 'em more if they're the last thing, y'know?"
Stout beamed, and carefully maneuvered her tray onto the countertop, ignoring her stomach's calls for sustenance, and hugged the big man. "Sounds good! Thank you!" she said, before bouncing off of him and over to the Chief, wrapping him up too.
"Eeeeeasy there kid." the Chief said with a chuckle. "You're a lot stronger than you think you are."
"Sorry!" Stout squeaked, blushing furiously and letting him go.
He rubbed his side, but didn't stop smiling. "Ah, it's nothin' worth worryin' about. I've got a couple daughters of my own - ain't nothin' I've not had happen before."
And like that, the destroyer was back to beaming gratitude.
The Chief picked up an altogether more sanely sized portion of food, and beckoned to her. "C'mon, grab your grub, I was just about to bring the Admiral his lunch anyway. Figure I'll introduce you."
Stout picked up her platter and followed the Chief down the hall and into an elevator. A minute later, they were standing outside the Admiral's door.
RADM J. CHEATHAM, USN
Stout's breath caught in her throat.
The Chief knocked on the door, and a baritone "Enter!" sounded from within. He pushed the door open. "Mornin', Admiral! How's your day goin'?"
The man behind the desk was stocky, powerfully built, and maybe a shade lighter in skin tone than the Chief. He had a kindly face, but memories of Movie Nights on her mess decks long past wanted to pair him with a man named Morpheus. All he needed was sunglasses.
Which Stout knew he had.
"Oh, it goes, Chief. I've got Wales and her escorts on their way back from smashing an Abyssal foothold in Bermuda, so it's going pretty good, I think. Haven't heard back from Convoy 616 yet, though. I'm a little worried."
"Well, I've got somethin' here that might help with that. It's my favorite day of the week."
"Oh hell, is it Wednesday already?" The Admiral said, blinking.
"Yessir! And that means burgers."
"Oh, thank God. I didn't eat this morning. You, Chief, are a lifesaver."
"That's my job, sir, but don't go 'round thankin' me just yet. Got a new girl here with me." he said, finally moving out of the way of the door enough for the Admiral to see Stout standing there wide-eyed.
The Admiral smiled. "Well, come on in! Did you just get summoned?"
Stout nodded mechanically, seemingly unable to find her voice. The Admiral grinned, and gestured to the chair on the other side of his sizeable desk. "Well, go ahead, let's eat and we'll get to know each other. We're gonna be working together quite a lot."
Stout found her voice then. "Sir, I believe we already have."
His eyebrow quirked. "Oh? I don't think I've seen you around before…"
She shook her head. "No, sir… when I last knew you, you were my Captain."
- Location
- australia
or to be bluntly slapped in the metaphorical face by reality again hard enough to irreparably shatter her "fantasy". something hard enough that it's literally impossible to warped-rationalise away by any means..
ive been getting the feeling she's past being curable by conventional therapy by this point-she'd just last out at any normal attempt to coax her towards rationality to maintain her warped worldview-she's allready started defaulting to attacking her family every time its threatened...
CompassJimbo
Where’s Your North?
- Location
- The former Rubber Capital of the World
I'm trying to write a story that's moody, not grimderp.
- Location
- australia
that was poorly worded- haven't slept in two days >.<- i meant something like what happened last post-something that so strongly violates what she "knew" that she couldn't rationalise it away >.>
CompassJimbo
Where’s Your North?
- Location
- The former Rubber Capital of the World
Unfortunate, but understandable. I'm already working on an installment that should cover it, but my muse has unfortunately been stolen by other ideas at the moment.
Omake: Doggos!
Admiral_Corgi
The Admiral of the PT Boats
- Location
- The Strange land of Florida
As promised here is 'An Officer and his Dogs' part 5. Now this one is written differently than the others because @CompassJimbo showed me a wondrously useful twitter thread for writing and I wanted to apply it right away. So just a heads up there's a clear difference between how the preview scene was shown and how the final scene is shown here. Among other things. Anyways I hope y'all enjoy this update.
An Officer and his Dogs Part 5
Ensign Matilda Jones was completely utterly exhausted from the day. Her legs felt like they were made of unset Jell-O and her arms didn't feel that far behind either. Still though, she was feeling ravenous and tonight was baked Ziti night at the base mess hall, so there was no way she was going to pass it up. Even if her arms protested every time she went to take another bite.
She was glad that Crawford and Sandbar had taken seats at the table she was at in the mess hall. Matilda knew they weren't the only members of 'Dog Squad' present in the mess hall either. She had heard more than she had seen Lisa talking with some other marines. Though the Ensign did see Sergeant Banks hovering around in Ellen's general direction, seemingly always keeping one eye on the PFC at all times.
Taking a moment to finish her current bite, Matilda looked over to Sandbar. "How the heck do you guys do this kind of stuff day and day out?" She asked curiously.
"The first couple days always suck, but after that you start getting used to it. Really speaking, the best advice I can give you and Mikey is to make sure you're drinking plenty of water. You'll need it for all the running you'll end up doing when the Corgis decide to start messing with you two." Sandbar said in a nonchalant manner as he finished off the last of his food.
A small clatter ranged out as Mitchel Crawford or 'Mikey' as the rest of the unit decided to nickname him, dropped his fork with an expression of mute horror on his face "Wait the dogs will start messing with us?"
"Yeah Mikey, from what the Gunny told me. They love to mess with new people. I guess I got out of that because my prior CO was LTJG Jackson." Sandbar said the last part rather quietly.
The two Ensigns winced; they've heard plenty about the prior person who was supposed to be managing the PT Boats of New Orleans. None of it was good. That wasn't to say that the LTJG was a bad sailor... but it became painfully clear that the man simply wasn't meant to handle anything related to MSSB. Some people in the Navy simply couldn't handle dealing with the stuff.
Ensign Crawford finished the last of what was on his plate before glancing over to PFC Sandbar with a curious stare "Sandbar, at lunch I overheard some junior officers talking the Lt. They said that the Lieutenant was...crazy, to put it lightly." Crawford said in a low whisper, not exactly wanting anyone else from the unit overhearing what he just said.
Sandbar and Jones Both had disbelief on their faces. "Well those officers never had to deal with ship dogs or ship girls then." Sandbar stated with a tad bit of venom in his voice.
"Yeah Raphael has a point, you honestly can't call someone crazy for working with them. I mean they're so strange that it'd be more of a surprise that someone didn't pick up some quirks just to cope with it. Like, I never thought a small dog could have as much fur brushed off of them as a Saint Bernard until we helped you and the Gunnery Sergeant brush them earlier today." Matilda said with an even tone as she idly pointed to Sandbar with her fork.
"Now, I've heard from a couple marines that the Lt. was a class-one workaholic. The man's practically married to his job." Matilda continued before she finished off her soda before adding something else. "Honestly wouldn't surprise me if he married a ship girl."
Sandbar nodded a couple times as he thought on it. "Yeah I can believe that one. In the few Days I've known the Lieutenant, the man just doesn't seem to stop for anything. I don't about that second one though. However I've heard that he might have a crush on one or two of em." Sandbar said before casually checking his wrist watch and doing a double take when he saw what time it was.
"Uh guys, we should cut the gossip and head back to barracks building, like uh, now. It's about 15 till 2100." The young marine said rather hurriedly as he picked up his tray to put it up. The two Ensigns followed close behind him.
As laid back and as forgiving as the Lt seemed to be, none of the three wanted to be late and test just how forgiving their commanding Officer really was. Especially the Ensigns, they didn't want to set a bad impression on their commanding officer.
William's brow was knitted together with deep thought as he stared at the various pins on the wall-mounted map. Each crimson pin on the map denoted the reported location of a sea mine that had been destroyed by the daytime PT Corgi patrols.
While normally it wasn't odd for him to see in reports the occasional mine or three be discovered and destroyed by the daytime patrols, two or three times every week. It was the sheer number that had been found and destroyed today alone that worried him a great deal.
Between the patrol routes ran by the PT Corgis stationed out of New Orleans and the patrol routes ran by the PT Corgis stationed out of Port Fourchon. More than 80 devices had been spotted and destroyed by the daytime patrols.
Gunnery Sergeant Clayton was still adding more pins to the map with one hand, as the other held a note pad with all the listed coordinates of the sea mines that were discovered and destroyed today. William heard the marine grumble soft swears each time he had to reposition a pin that was errantly placed. He wanted to help his friend with the tedious task. However Jim was insistent that he would do it himself. William knew better than to try arguing the point.
As he watched Jim push-in the last of the crimson pins firmly into the cork-board that the map was affixed to. William counted a final total of 86 devices that had been spotted and destroyed today. It was a worrying number to say the least.
The Gunnery Sergeant stepped back from the map to allow the Lieutenant to have an unobstructed view of the map. William could see that the majority of the pins were spread across a jagged corridor located barely 60 miles southeast off the coast of Port Eads; stretching about some 70 miles to the south. The majority of the pins were located in the general direction of New Orleans.
From the corner of his eye, the Lieutenant could see the marine furrow his brow and lightly chew his bottom lip for a moment. "I don't get it, where the hell are all of these mines coming from?" Jim said quietly, as though if speaking normally would have caused the answer to flee from his grasp.
William grunted a small agreement as he studied the map intently. He knew that submarine activity wasn't any higher than it was normally.
In fact, as he looked at his notepad. The Lieutenant saw that Abyssal Submarine activity around the Gulf region had actually gone down. Though slightly compared to three months ago, it was still down and thus it couldn't explain the mines.
William tapped his index finger against the notepad as his gaze unconsciously traveled from the wall map to the second of two models that, among other things, decorated his desk. A 1/72 scale model of an Elco PT Boat, PT-109. As he stared at the model, his mind drifted to the possibility that the mines could have been dropped by PT boats.
Clayton seemed to have come to the same conclusion he had arrived to for the marine spoke up first.
Clayton turned away from the map and met Corgi's eyes. "Maybe Abyssal fast attack boats are dropping these things off at night?"
Corgi silently admitted that the marine might be right. Fast attack craft could theoretically drop off the type of mines the PT Boats had been encountering during the day, at night and remain undetected. However the Lieutenant knew there was just one issue with that possible explanation.
"That's possible Jim, however there's no way fast attack boats would have the range to do it and come back to wherever they're based from. Even the German E-Boats don't have the range for a round trip."
"Normally that's true William. Unless however there is a tender or two that's going along with the fast attack boats, therefore extending their operational range significantly. Though then the question becomes; where the hell could this tender or tenders be home-ported at?"
William covered his mouth with his left hand, pondering the question Jim had raised and the point he raised. Once again he found his eyes drift from the map on the wall to his desk. This time, his eyes settled on the second model that adorned the office fixture and guarded the letters from home and family abroad.
A 1:535 scale model of USS Wisconsin. It was an old model that he had put together over a decade ago, a present from his late grandfather. William had left the model at home for the longest time before taking it with him when he took this position just a month past two years now.
William often found himself staring at the model whenever he felt doubt and uncertainty, or even when he was in deep thought about something. Silly as the notion was. He always felt a measure of reassurance and clarity come to him from staring at it.
Though after a few silent minutes of having his gaze drift between the model and the map, trying to divine an answer like how he heard some admirals were rumored to be able to do. Lieutenant William Corgi felt himself no closer to an answer to the question Clayton had forwarded.
Instead a different sort of realization came to the Lieutenant. While it wasn't something that'd directly lead them to where the possible fast attack craft tenders could be based at. However it could lead them to start looking in the right direction.
"Jim this is just a hunch, but what if we overlaid a map of the ocean currents and remarked where the mines were found? Maybe then we could narrow down the scope of the possible search area." William quietly said to Clayton with a spark of intuition as he reached down and pulled out a rolled-up large transparent map of the ocean currents from the bottom desk drawer.
It was a useful thing to keep on hand. William had learned long ago that planning with it allowed him to plot out patrol routes for the PT Corgis that reduced the amount of ocean current the ship dogs had to fight against.
Reducing the amount of fuel their aviation engines consumed hourly by allowing the Ocean currents themselves to help propel them along where possible; thus extending their rather short operational range as much as possible to cover as much coastline as possible from their home port.
Even if the gains from planning patrol routes with the Gulf currents in mind was small. Every bit counted; especially after Saratoga and Alaska had departed to help liberate Pearl Harbor. Thus thinning the available surface response the Gulf was able to call upon for defense and patrol.
The Gunnery Sergeant flashed a familiar and toothy if a bit lop-sided grin before joining William. The pair would spend the next ten minutes pulling out the all the pins. Jockeying the transparent Ocean currents map overtop the old pre-war satellite map of the Gulf Region & Caribbean. Before affixing it in place with some tape and then finally reinserting the red pins into their prior locations.
Stepping back away from the wall in near-unison when they had finished the tedious task, William heard Jim gasp with shock beside him. He couldn't blame his XO, the dispersion of the mines found and destroyed today. They matched rather closely to the Gulf Stream's many eddies and currents. More in particular, it eerily lined up with the extended loop of the main Gulf Current that reached Louisiana's bird foot delta.
William could also see that some of the discovered mines would have been on an eventual track to float through the Florida Straight and beyond. Had they not been discovered and destroyed when they had been.
"Bastards are mining the Gulf Stream." William hissed between gritted teeth with a low voice. His nostrils flared as he took a breath and turned to meet Clayton's eyes, before continuing with a certain fire in his eyes, the intense and unyielding gaze of hatred the Gunnery Sergeant knew all too well.
"Even if they don't hit their intended targets here in the Gulf. Those floating mines could get carried off by the stream and impact shipping traffic from Florida to as far as Norfolk."
"William, are you sure the mines wouldn't just sink in the rougher Atlantic waters before they got past Georgia?"
"Clayton, I remember seeing the aftermath of just one of those mines striking a civilian freighter. I saw firsthand, what one of those… things did to a minesweeper a few months before New Jersey returned to the fleet. And that was back when we were finding and safely destroying the damned things 20 times a day within our patrol sectors. Back before we figured out how to consistently summon the PT Corgis or anyone else for that matter." William's jaw tensed as the pair of memories floated to the surface of his mind like oil from a sunken ship. After a moment he released the tension with a sigh and continued.
"If today's daytime PT Corgi patrols finding and destroying 86 of these goddamn sea mines is any indication… if this is something that's becoming the new norm… then how many of these accursed things are slipping by our current screens? Completely unnoticed till it's too late…" William quietly trailed off, his voice dying back to a ghost of a whisper.
William wasn't exactly sure how much of a threat the mines could pose outside of the Gulf Region and the coasts of Florida. He did however know all too well how destructive those floating mines could be. He knew that it wouldn't take many mines managing to stay afloat long enough to reach the major shipping lanes on the East coast. To slow down shipping to a complete and utter snail's pace.
William also knew that resources and scarce surface assets would have to be rerouted and redirected to make sure the sea lanes were clear of any and all possible mine threat along the East coast. He knew that would stretch defensive lines around populated coastal areas more thinly than they already were.
The Lieutenant could only fathom what the impact on morale would be if this sea mine situation intensified even more. Or worse yet, it spread to areas far beyond the Gulf Region.
However it was at that moment that William's lifelong friend. Jim Clayton said something that took the oil spill of his prior worrying concerns, and dropped a lit flare into it.
"You think this could be the prelude to something big William?" Jim spoke with palpable concern in his voice as his worried eyes glanced from William to the map and then back to his friend.
Trying to guess what the enemy would do next was normally far above Jim Clayton's pay grade as a Gunnery Sergeant of the United States Marine Corps. Triply so considering that the enemy who's next move he was trying to make a guess on was a seaborne one.
However even he was left uneasy by the things he was seeing. Especially now that he and William had everything plotted down on the maps. Jim could only guess what William was thinking and feeling currently. However he knew from experience that his friend was on the knife's edge with stress.
William took a few seconds to calm and center his mind, before he met Jim's dark brown eyes with a steady stare.
"I don't know Jim. I don't know." William's voice was strained, like a steel cable with almost enough tension on it to snap.
However before William or Jim could ponder or discuss the developing situation any further, and before either of the two's mounting concerns could overwhelm them. There was a knock on the office door, which deflated the heavy atmosphere that had been building in the room almost instantly. Much to William and Jim's unspoken silent relief.
The Lieutenant did briefly wonder who it could have been at his Office door at this hour. At least, until he checked his watch and realized it was 2100.
The time he had told Pfc. Sandbar, Ensign Jones and Ensign Crawford earlier today to come to his office by for them to be given the unit's standing orders. Since the incident at Port Fourchon involving a Gator, a few PT Corgis, the mess that Stacker and his men found in the PT Barracks during the morning had interrupted the time had he originally set aside for briefing them.
A soft, quiet chuckle slipped past William's lips as he went back to his desk. "Well at least Sandbar and them showed up on time, I gotta give the three of them credit for punctuality. Maybe even a reward for the new ensigns, Whatch ya think Gunny?" William whispered with small grin.
"Yeah I suppose we ought to give em credit for that. Perhaps have em get lighter duties for tomorrow. Especially the new Ensigns, they look like they need it badly."
"Yeah they do look like they need a bit of respite tomorrow doesn't it? Maybe I should have them help Ellen do the Corgis monthly physical checkups tomorrow."
"Sir with all due respect, that's being just plain unmerciful to them. Leaving the Ensign's at Ellen's complete mercy for half the day." Clayton spoke while feigning mock horror and trying his dammed best to not bust a gut laughing.
William himself was barely doing any better to keep a straight face. "Oh come now Clayton, at least when the three of them have received the unit's standing orders they won't be as easy pickings for Lisa… among other things." The grin William had and the rather upbeat mood of the room disappeared when he trailed off before speaking the last part.
Jim's rather upbeat mood fell faster than a lead brick in a tub at the mentioning. No matter how many times they had done this, there always was one standing order that made the entire affair of giving new unit members said standing orders a draining one.
The last standing order for the unit, the order of last resort for if the worst were to come. The one order everyone in the unit didn't want to think about but was prepared to carry out if it ever came to seeing it followed through. William and Clayton knew that this order had to be the last one on the list given. Trying it any other way would cause the three new members to forget all the ones after it.
So the Gunnery Sergeant and Lieutenant would have to do their best to be upbeat and maybe humorous when giving out the preceding standing orders. Some of them were actually funny but they were there for good reason. Most of all, they knew they had to do their best to conceal their mounting dread when they got near to giving the last standing Order.
William, despite having written that last standing order himself, didn't like it. Not one bit at all. But until the last abyssal monster sank beneath the waves and the oily stain it left behind on the water's surface was purified by fire. This last standing order would remain in the unit's orders book. It had to.
"Enter." The Lieutenant spoke with a somewhat casual but tense and tired manner. The day's events had drained him quite a bit and soon this matter regarding the standing orders would drain him even more. As the door knob turned, he gave the Gunnery Sergeant a quick sideward glance and saw that his friend's face held a faintly grumpy tint on an otherwise blank expression.
William saw Jim stand off just to his left as the door to the office opened and the three people standing on the other side entered.
Pfc Sandbar, Ensign Jones and Ensign Crawford walked into Lieutenant Corgi's office. The three of them were doing their best from showing any signs of nervousness. So far they were managing it pretty well.
Even though the three of them knew they weren't being reprimanded, entering their CO's office was still more than a little bit intimidating. More so when they realized the unit's XO was also in the office, just standing off to and slightly behind the Lieutenant's left side.
Seeing the three chairs pulled out for them, they quickly took a seat before the Lieutenant's desk. They saw the Lieutenant rub his eyes once with his hand, maybe to get tiredness cleared from them. Neither ensign nor the PFC was sure of gesture's meaning so they didn't comment on it.
The Lieutenant met his Hazel-Green eyes with each of theirs for a moment apiece, like though he was trying to determine how attentive the three of them were. In return they gave him their complete and undivided attention.
"Alright, first off I do apologize for the lateness of this. Sometimes things don't go according to plan and you have to improvise on the spot." The Lieutenant stared with a small sigh, for a moment his eyes briefly glanced over to the wall map before returning to them.
"Ensign Jones and Ensign Crawford before I get started on the Unit's standing orders, how was your first day in the unit? No need for the formalities, it's late and we're all tired from the day." The Lieutenant asked with a friendly tone, he hadn't really had a chance to observe the two's reactions to what their duties now entailed.
Nor did he have the chance to see what their particular strong suites were. He needed to fix that sometime soon. Though the Lieutenant did think about charging his XO or Sergeants Banks with the task of observing the Ensigns and reporting back their talents to him, after all delegation was also part of an officer's duties.
Matilda glanced at the two models on the Lt's desk for a moment before meeting the Lt's eyes. "Exhausting but I'm glad to have helped out and learn some stuff." She said with a hint of unease creeping into her tired voice.
Mitchel had his eyes already locked on the Lt's when he looked over to him. "Not as Hectic as I first thought." Was the other Ensign's crisp reply to the question asked. The Lieutenant simply nodded before pulling a small folder from one of his desk drawers and thumbing it open.
"Alright, it's good to see that the two of you are adjusting to the unit pretty well. Now let's get this outta the way so we can all get some well-earned shut eye. Though don't be afraid to ask for clarification on some of these standing orders if I or the gunny here doesn't give it first. I know they can be quite strange when you first hear em." William said with a small amount of humor to his voice.
Sandbar, Jones and Crawford listened with rapt attention as the Lieutenant began. "Okay, first Standing order you should know is that you shouldn't give the PT Corgis too much sweet stuff. They'll get Hyper and become thirty times more difficult to manage."
William saw the three before him internalize that information and nodded slightly to signal him to continue. "Second standing order is also simple; never leave the PT Corgis alone with weapons or munitions." Now William saw confusion on the Ensign's and Sandbar's faces.
"Uh, can you explain that one sir?" Matilda asked with a bit of concern and a lot of confusion.
William gave her a small nod. "That's quite simple Ensign, PT Boat Crews during the Second World War mounted anything they could find to give their vessels additional firepower. This trait is still present with the PT Corgis. Though I've done what I've can to curb that behavior, it's still something intrinsic to them. Though for some reason, perhaps historical, they do prefer stealing the .50's and other weapon systems owned by the Army." William trailed off, the three seated before him glanced to one another with some lingering confusion on their faces but they nodded for William to continue.
"Standing order number three is also simple; you take the Peanut butter out and open it. You close it, even if you're just turning around to get something off the counter. Otherwise when you look back, one of the dogs has already licked most of the jar clean."
The Ensigns and Sandbar could only wonder how often this must have happened to have the Lt make a standing order about it. Jim saw this and spoke up.
"I know what y'all are thinking, and I'll say this. We went through twenty jars of the stuff in one day before the Lt went and made a Standing order to keep it from happening again. Those Corgis can be silent little buggers when they want to be." Jim said with a hint of irritation. After a moment of silence, William resumed.
"Standing Order number four is also simple. Never, ever leave Private First Class Lisa Ellen alone with Destroyers. Not even for a Minute." William said with a fair amount of dread in his voice as his eyes flicked over to the office door.
Sandbar and the two Ensigns saw this, and saw the Gunnery Sergeant follow the same motion. Which only served to make the confusion they had about the order grow more intense.
"I don't quite understand sir." This time Crawford was the one speak up, a curious look was in his eyes. William sighed and met the Ensign's gaze with an empty stare before answering.
"The last time Ellen was left alone with Destroyers. They asked her for some advice on boys...she told them some things and then a few hours later I have a Heavy Cruiser blowing down my damn Office Door. Demanding answers on what one of my Subordinates taught her Destroyers. I don't know about the three of you, but I and Clayton here sure as Hell don't wanna stare down eight inch guns again." William said with a fair bit of fear in his voice before Jim spoke up.
"If any of the three of you fuck up this one, we're leaving you at the Momboat's mercy." The Gunnery Sergeant said with a completely flat tone.
Ensign Jones, Ensign Crawford and PFC Sandbar all shared nervous looks at one another before they did their damn best to internalize the order. They did not want to screw up that order. When William saw that they were ready he moved to the next order on the list.
"Standing Order number 5. Should the war situation change such that a Japanese Submarine is transferred to the Gulf Region, Pfc Ellen is under no circumstances allowed to come into contact with said Japanese Submarine ever... Me and Clayton don't have to explain this one, do we?" The look both the Lieutenant and Gunnery Sergeant gave Jones, Crawford and Sandbar. Made the three of them nod their heads rather quickly in a manner not too dissimilar to a bobble head.
The Gunnery Sergeant and Lieutenant both gave sighs of relief for not having to explain the reasons for that order. After a moment to take a breath William continued once more.
"Standing Order number 6 is the Last Standing order regarding Private First Class Lisa Ellen. She is never allowed to meet the destroyer Fubuki, even if she's supervised, we're worried that the poor destroyer will break if she ever meets Ellen." William said as if though that was all that needed to be said about the subject.
Pfc Sandbar spoke up, clearly confused. "But uh sir, what does Fubuki have to do with Ellen to warrant a standing order like that?" Sandbar asked, before wilting under the combined flat gazes of the Lieutenant and Gunnery Sergeant.
"Raphael, you've seen Ellen enough to memorize what she looks like right?" William asked flatly.
"uhh, yes sir." Raphael said after a moment's hesitation. William's eyes looked over to the two Ensigns briefly before returning to the marine.
"Now I can forgive you for not understanding since you have likely not have seen a picture of Fubuki before, but if you looked at a picture of her and a picture of Ellen. You'll see that they look... eerily similar to each other." William said with some hesitation.
"You could practically say that Ellen looks like an older, curvier, and Green-eyed American Cousin to Fubuki." Jim added to which William nodded in silent agreement. Sandbar found his voice and asked the question neither Ensign was brave enough to ask.
"But sir, Fubuki is on the west coast running convoys to Japan. She's never going to be deployed here to the Gulf." Sandbar spoke with even more confusion than before. Once again Sandbar shrunk back in his seat, when the Lieutenant momentarily flashed a hard icy stare at the marine.
Though William dropped the glare after a sigh "I don't give two damns whether or not if it seems ever seems like that Ellen and Fubuki could ever meet. Be prepared for the possibility because I sure as hell don't want to find myself in a Situation where I'm starring down an angry Japanese Fleet Admiral for one of my Subordinates mentally breaking one of his Destroyers." He said with an icy flat tone, which snuffed out any further chances for conversation on the topic.
After a moment, the ice in his eyes melted to a hardened, somewhat fiery stare. "Standing order Number 7. If and when briefings are given in the PT Briefing room; You are to remain holding onto the leather leashes provided to restrain each dog from tearing the projectors apart whenever the image of an abyssal is shown on screen at all times." William said with a level voice.
None of the three seated before William dared to ask for further explanation, they all had heard how ship girls got when they saw pictures of Abyssals. It wasn't that hard to figure how the dogs would react to the sight of them. However Ensign Crawford had an expression of undisguised concern cross his face as a thought came to his mind.
Jim saw this look and gave a short cough, William gave a small nod and the Gunnery Sergeant then spoke up. "I've got an idea what you're thinking there Ensign Crawford, and the answer is no. The dogs won't do anything to hurt you, even when they're growling and snarling at images of an abyssal spotted by recon planes." Jim said before taking a quick breath to continue.
"They won't turn round and bite ya. Nor will they yank ya arm outta yer socket if you decide to hold onto one of the wood posts in the briefing room. Trust me on that one. The dogs won't hurt you ever when we gotta brief them on something new spotted in the Gulf." The senior marine said in a gruff but comforting manner, not caring if his southern accent came out a bit.
Ensign Crawford and to a lesser extent the other two relaxed in their seats. Jim nodded to William once and the Lieutenant took a breath. Not only to ready himself for giving the remaining orders but to also prepare himself. For it was nearly time to give the last standing order. After quietly exhaling a bit, he looked at Sandbar and the Ensigns with the all the Authority he could muster.
"Standing order number 8, while it mostly applies to you two-" William shifted his gaze between the two Ensigns seated "-it's good that all of you hear it. No one of the unit is to pull rank on my designated XO and OPS officer of this unit besides me when it comes to matters regarding the unit." He only allowed a moment of silence before he resumed.
"That means if I learn that you tried to pull rank on Gunnery Sergeant Clayton here or Sergeant Banks, you will have to answer to me. Naturally this also means if anything happens to me. Gunnery Sergeant Clayton takes command of the unit. If anything happens to him, then command of the unit goes to Sergeant Banks." William said with a even tone.
Matilda swallowed the small lump that was forming in her throat before speaking up. "And if something also happens to Sergeant Banks, who does command of the unit go to then sir?"
The Lieutenant and the Gunnery Sergeant both smiled at the question. William gave a nod to Jim to take the helm for answering that question while he prepared himself for giving the last standing order.
"That's a good question ask Ensign. Should the CO, Designated XO and Designated OPS officer be incapacitated, KIA or otherwise unable to lead the unit; then command will default to the next most senior member of the unit. Which is CW-5 Sanderson, unless command of the unit is given over to the highest ranking individual present or is otherwise stated by the acting CO at the time." Clayton spoke with a calming, steady tone before going silent.
For a moment there was a heavy silence in the room as Sandbar, Jones and Crawford saw the Lieutenant draw in a deep breath. As if though he was preparing himself for something difficult to say.
William closed his eyes briefly and steadily exhaled. When his eyes opened, they had an intense fiery gaze in them. Yet at the same time there was a distance to them, a distance similar to a thousand-yard stare. The muscles in his neck and shoulders tensed as he spoke in a low voice.
"Standing Order Number 9 is an order..." William sighed and grimaced "That I hope never has to be carried out. However it must be known for if the worst was to come. Should the Abyssals assault our base and make a ground invasion..." William trailed off as a lump formed in his throat. He swallowed it before gritting his teeth and continuing.
"Should escape or rescue be a total impossibility and those monsters are closing in on your position. Then you are not to be taken alive by them. Fight to very end, take as many of the bastards with you as you can, and bloody those you can't take with you. But under no circumstance are you allowed to allow yourself to be captured alive." The Lieutenant sucked in a breath between his gritted teeth before continuing. Not giving any of the three seated before him a chance to speak up.
"Furthermore...should during such a worst-case scenario any of you see Myself, The Gunnery Sergeant or anyone else of the unit being dragged off by those monsters alive. Then you are to draw your sidearm or whatever weapon you have on hand at the time and shoot us dead. We will do the same for any of you." William said with a deathly serious and even tone before he paused again to take a breath to steady himself.
The Lieutenant could see PFC Sandbar was in a state of shock. He also saw that Ensign Jones and Ensign Crawford had disbelief and even outrage on their faces, they both looked like they were about to say something. William raised his hand to silence them for a moment, he hadn't finished speaking and he was going to finish this before he took their questions.
When the Lieutenant saw the Ensigns close their mouths with an audible click, he resumed. "To this end, each of you, as are all members of Dog Squad; are required to spend a minimum of four hours a week at the firing range doing target practice with your issued Sidearm or other qualified weapons until you have at least a sharpshooter's proficiency with your chosen weapon or weapons." William drew in another quick breath before resuming again.
"You may spend more than four hours a week at the firing range So long as your time at the range does not impact your assigned unit duties. Provided prior written notice and barring any unexpected developments occurring." William finished quietly with a strained voice.
The Lieutenant allowed his hand to fall back to his desk with a heavy thud. He gave a small nod to tell the Ensigns and Sandbar that they were free to speak now. And speak they did.
"Sir, with all due respect, why the hell do you have that as a Standing Order, Sir?" Ensign Crawford asked as he leaned forwards in his chair. William met the Ensign's eyes with a haunted gaze.
"Tell me Ensign Crawford. Have you ever seen an Abyssal ship first-hand?"
"N-no sir."
"Do you know what the things manning Abyssal ships look like Ensign?" William asked with a knife edge to his voice.
"No sir..." Ensign Crawford whispered quietly as he shrank back into his seat.
"I have, and I honest to god hope none of you ever have to." William said flatly as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk with his fingers stepped between one another. His Hazel-Green eyes focused on the Ensign like laser beams.
"And because of Gunnery Sergeant Clayton's connections within the Marine Corps and more specifically, the marines that retook Woody Island. I've seen the pictures and videos of the horrid fate that awaits anyone who is captured by those monsters…the aftermath of it anyways." William spoke the last part in a voice that was just above a quiet whisper.
"I don't wish that kind of fate unto anyone, most of all the people I command." It took everything William had to not shudder when he spoke of what the Marines that took Woody Island had found. He closed his eyes briefly to banish the fear he was feeling with his anger and intense undying hatred of the monsters.
When the Lieutenant opened his eyes again, the look of shell-shock and fear was gone from them. In its place was fire, a subdued but nigh all-consuming hatred. "And that is why I made a standing order for no one in this unit to be taken alive by those monsters should the worst ever come to pass."
William quietly exhaled through his nose before resuming "By all means, do everything you can to escape to live and fight another day if the bastards march up from the beaches onto land. However if escape proves impossible and if you aren't able to hold out somewhere for rescue, then make sure they don't take you alive. Do I make myself clear?"
"SIR! YES SIR!" Private First Class Raphael Sandbar, Ensign Matilda Jones and Ensign Mitchel Crawford responded on reflex. Though William saw on their faces a clear amount of fear scrawled across them. Though he did wonder whether or not if the fearful expression they had was due to what he told them or if it was due to him, He didn't know.
After a few moments of uneasy silence, William sighed and motioned for the three to leave. "I've finished briefing y'all on the unit's standing orders. If in case you need a reminder of them. Ask Gunnery Sergeant Clayton and he'll provide you with a written copy of the standing orders. The three of you are released for the night. Go get some shut eye. You all must be exhausted...I know I am."
The two Ensigns and PFC Sandbar got up from their chairs and hastily departed the office, unsure of how exactly to react to everything that had just transpired.
As the Office door started to close, its progress was momentarily halted as something small and fluffy came barreling into the room.
A few moments later the springs of the chair the Lieutenant was sitting in groaned slightly in protest as the PT Corgi jumped up from the floor into his lap. The Lieutenant smiled as the dog poked his chest with its snout, he knew the dog was trying to cheer him up in her own way.
He gave the dog a few ear scratches and a few head pats. "Good girl, that's a good girl. I know you're trying to cheer me up. Thank you." The Lieutenant said softly before he sighed again. This time he turned in his chair to face the Gunnery Sergeant.
"I hate having to give that order Jim, I honestly do." William said as he idly played with the PT Corgi's ears. His movements slowed as the exhaustion and drain of the day and now this affair took its toll on him.
"I know William, but I also know why you made that order and to be honest. After I saw what my buddies that retook Woody had seen. I can't blame ya for making that order. Shootin ya self or blowing ya self-up is far more preferable to that." Jim said with undisguised disgust and horror regarding what the Woody Island Marines had found.
"Alright, enough of this crap, let's go get some shut yeah?" William said as he made to get up from the chair. The Pt Corgi hopped off his lap and was practically glued to his ankles as he got up and made his way to his Office door. Jim joined him by the door a moment later.
"Hey Jim, make sure those three have some time to go to the range tomorrow. Make it an order if you have to, okay?"
"I will William. Hell, I'll go to the range with them to give em pointers and finish out the last of my weekly required four hours while I'm at it." Jim said with small chuckle, which brought a small smile to William's face because he knew which weapon Jim favored to use at the range.
"Jim yer gonna make em Green with Envy with that BAR the PT Boats found and gave ya." William glanced down to the dog at his feet, which seemed to do the dog equivalent of becoming flustered. "Still can't figure out where they found one in mint condition though, it like it came right off the factory floor." The Lieutenant said with a curious stare directed at the PT Corgi before opening the door.
"MSSB perhaps?" Jim offered as an explanation. The two men looked at one another for a moment before laughing. After a few moments of chuckles they then parted ways and headed to their respective quarters.
It was perhaps a final good note to end an otherwise hectic and draining day.
An Officer and his Dogs Part 5
[=]
Ensign Matilda Jones was completely utterly exhausted from the day. Her legs felt like they were made of unset Jell-O and her arms didn't feel that far behind either. Still though, she was feeling ravenous and tonight was baked Ziti night at the base mess hall, so there was no way she was going to pass it up. Even if her arms protested every time she went to take another bite.
She was glad that Crawford and Sandbar had taken seats at the table she was at in the mess hall. Matilda knew they weren't the only members of 'Dog Squad' present in the mess hall either. She had heard more than she had seen Lisa talking with some other marines. Though the Ensign did see Sergeant Banks hovering around in Ellen's general direction, seemingly always keeping one eye on the PFC at all times.
Taking a moment to finish her current bite, Matilda looked over to Sandbar. "How the heck do you guys do this kind of stuff day and day out?" She asked curiously.
"The first couple days always suck, but after that you start getting used to it. Really speaking, the best advice I can give you and Mikey is to make sure you're drinking plenty of water. You'll need it for all the running you'll end up doing when the Corgis decide to start messing with you two." Sandbar said in a nonchalant manner as he finished off the last of his food.
A small clatter ranged out as Mitchel Crawford or 'Mikey' as the rest of the unit decided to nickname him, dropped his fork with an expression of mute horror on his face "Wait the dogs will start messing with us?"
"Yeah Mikey, from what the Gunny told me. They love to mess with new people. I guess I got out of that because my prior CO was LTJG Jackson." Sandbar said the last part rather quietly.
The two Ensigns winced; they've heard plenty about the prior person who was supposed to be managing the PT Boats of New Orleans. None of it was good. That wasn't to say that the LTJG was a bad sailor... but it became painfully clear that the man simply wasn't meant to handle anything related to MSSB. Some people in the Navy simply couldn't handle dealing with the stuff.
Ensign Crawford finished the last of what was on his plate before glancing over to PFC Sandbar with a curious stare "Sandbar, at lunch I overheard some junior officers talking the Lt. They said that the Lieutenant was...crazy, to put it lightly." Crawford said in a low whisper, not exactly wanting anyone else from the unit overhearing what he just said.
Sandbar and Jones Both had disbelief on their faces. "Well those officers never had to deal with ship dogs or ship girls then." Sandbar stated with a tad bit of venom in his voice.
"Yeah Raphael has a point, you honestly can't call someone crazy for working with them. I mean they're so strange that it'd be more of a surprise that someone didn't pick up some quirks just to cope with it. Like, I never thought a small dog could have as much fur brushed off of them as a Saint Bernard until we helped you and the Gunnery Sergeant brush them earlier today." Matilda said with an even tone as she idly pointed to Sandbar with her fork.
"Now, I've heard from a couple marines that the Lt. was a class-one workaholic. The man's practically married to his job." Matilda continued before she finished off her soda before adding something else. "Honestly wouldn't surprise me if he married a ship girl."
Sandbar nodded a couple times as he thought on it. "Yeah I can believe that one. In the few Days I've known the Lieutenant, the man just doesn't seem to stop for anything. I don't about that second one though. However I've heard that he might have a crush on one or two of em." Sandbar said before casually checking his wrist watch and doing a double take when he saw what time it was.
"Uh guys, we should cut the gossip and head back to barracks building, like uh, now. It's about 15 till 2100." The young marine said rather hurriedly as he picked up his tray to put it up. The two Ensigns followed close behind him.
As laid back and as forgiving as the Lt seemed to be, none of the three wanted to be late and test just how forgiving their commanding Officer really was. Especially the Ensigns, they didn't want to set a bad impression on their commanding officer.
[=]
William's brow was knitted together with deep thought as he stared at the various pins on the wall-mounted map. Each crimson pin on the map denoted the reported location of a sea mine that had been destroyed by the daytime PT Corgi patrols.
While normally it wasn't odd for him to see in reports the occasional mine or three be discovered and destroyed by the daytime patrols, two or three times every week. It was the sheer number that had been found and destroyed today alone that worried him a great deal.
Between the patrol routes ran by the PT Corgis stationed out of New Orleans and the patrol routes ran by the PT Corgis stationed out of Port Fourchon. More than 80 devices had been spotted and destroyed by the daytime patrols.
Gunnery Sergeant Clayton was still adding more pins to the map with one hand, as the other held a note pad with all the listed coordinates of the sea mines that were discovered and destroyed today. William heard the marine grumble soft swears each time he had to reposition a pin that was errantly placed. He wanted to help his friend with the tedious task. However Jim was insistent that he would do it himself. William knew better than to try arguing the point.
As he watched Jim push-in the last of the crimson pins firmly into the cork-board that the map was affixed to. William counted a final total of 86 devices that had been spotted and destroyed today. It was a worrying number to say the least.
The Gunnery Sergeant stepped back from the map to allow the Lieutenant to have an unobstructed view of the map. William could see that the majority of the pins were spread across a jagged corridor located barely 60 miles southeast off the coast of Port Eads; stretching about some 70 miles to the south. The majority of the pins were located in the general direction of New Orleans.
From the corner of his eye, the Lieutenant could see the marine furrow his brow and lightly chew his bottom lip for a moment. "I don't get it, where the hell are all of these mines coming from?" Jim said quietly, as though if speaking normally would have caused the answer to flee from his grasp.
William grunted a small agreement as he studied the map intently. He knew that submarine activity wasn't any higher than it was normally.
In fact, as he looked at his notepad. The Lieutenant saw that Abyssal Submarine activity around the Gulf region had actually gone down. Though slightly compared to three months ago, it was still down and thus it couldn't explain the mines.
William tapped his index finger against the notepad as his gaze unconsciously traveled from the wall map to the second of two models that, among other things, decorated his desk. A 1/72 scale model of an Elco PT Boat, PT-109. As he stared at the model, his mind drifted to the possibility that the mines could have been dropped by PT boats.
Clayton seemed to have come to the same conclusion he had arrived to for the marine spoke up first.
Clayton turned away from the map and met Corgi's eyes. "Maybe Abyssal fast attack boats are dropping these things off at night?"
Corgi silently admitted that the marine might be right. Fast attack craft could theoretically drop off the type of mines the PT Boats had been encountering during the day, at night and remain undetected. However the Lieutenant knew there was just one issue with that possible explanation.
"That's possible Jim, however there's no way fast attack boats would have the range to do it and come back to wherever they're based from. Even the German E-Boats don't have the range for a round trip."
"Normally that's true William. Unless however there is a tender or two that's going along with the fast attack boats, therefore extending their operational range significantly. Though then the question becomes; where the hell could this tender or tenders be home-ported at?"
William covered his mouth with his left hand, pondering the question Jim had raised and the point he raised. Once again he found his eyes drift from the map on the wall to his desk. This time, his eyes settled on the second model that adorned the office fixture and guarded the letters from home and family abroad.
A 1:535 scale model of USS Wisconsin. It was an old model that he had put together over a decade ago, a present from his late grandfather. William had left the model at home for the longest time before taking it with him when he took this position just a month past two years now.
William often found himself staring at the model whenever he felt doubt and uncertainty, or even when he was in deep thought about something. Silly as the notion was. He always felt a measure of reassurance and clarity come to him from staring at it.
Though after a few silent minutes of having his gaze drift between the model and the map, trying to divine an answer like how he heard some admirals were rumored to be able to do. Lieutenant William Corgi felt himself no closer to an answer to the question Clayton had forwarded.
Instead a different sort of realization came to the Lieutenant. While it wasn't something that'd directly lead them to where the possible fast attack craft tenders could be based at. However it could lead them to start looking in the right direction.
"Jim this is just a hunch, but what if we overlaid a map of the ocean currents and remarked where the mines were found? Maybe then we could narrow down the scope of the possible search area." William quietly said to Clayton with a spark of intuition as he reached down and pulled out a rolled-up large transparent map of the ocean currents from the bottom desk drawer.
It was a useful thing to keep on hand. William had learned long ago that planning with it allowed him to plot out patrol routes for the PT Corgis that reduced the amount of ocean current the ship dogs had to fight against.
Reducing the amount of fuel their aviation engines consumed hourly by allowing the Ocean currents themselves to help propel them along where possible; thus extending their rather short operational range as much as possible to cover as much coastline as possible from their home port.
Even if the gains from planning patrol routes with the Gulf currents in mind was small. Every bit counted; especially after Saratoga and Alaska had departed to help liberate Pearl Harbor. Thus thinning the available surface response the Gulf was able to call upon for defense and patrol.
The Gunnery Sergeant flashed a familiar and toothy if a bit lop-sided grin before joining William. The pair would spend the next ten minutes pulling out the all the pins. Jockeying the transparent Ocean currents map overtop the old pre-war satellite map of the Gulf Region & Caribbean. Before affixing it in place with some tape and then finally reinserting the red pins into their prior locations.
Stepping back away from the wall in near-unison when they had finished the tedious task, William heard Jim gasp with shock beside him. He couldn't blame his XO, the dispersion of the mines found and destroyed today. They matched rather closely to the Gulf Stream's many eddies and currents. More in particular, it eerily lined up with the extended loop of the main Gulf Current that reached Louisiana's bird foot delta.
William could also see that some of the discovered mines would have been on an eventual track to float through the Florida Straight and beyond. Had they not been discovered and destroyed when they had been.
"Bastards are mining the Gulf Stream." William hissed between gritted teeth with a low voice. His nostrils flared as he took a breath and turned to meet Clayton's eyes, before continuing with a certain fire in his eyes, the intense and unyielding gaze of hatred the Gunnery Sergeant knew all too well.
"Even if they don't hit their intended targets here in the Gulf. Those floating mines could get carried off by the stream and impact shipping traffic from Florida to as far as Norfolk."
"William, are you sure the mines wouldn't just sink in the rougher Atlantic waters before they got past Georgia?"
"Clayton, I remember seeing the aftermath of just one of those mines striking a civilian freighter. I saw firsthand, what one of those… things did to a minesweeper a few months before New Jersey returned to the fleet. And that was back when we were finding and safely destroying the damned things 20 times a day within our patrol sectors. Back before we figured out how to consistently summon the PT Corgis or anyone else for that matter." William's jaw tensed as the pair of memories floated to the surface of his mind like oil from a sunken ship. After a moment he released the tension with a sigh and continued.
"If today's daytime PT Corgi patrols finding and destroying 86 of these goddamn sea mines is any indication… if this is something that's becoming the new norm… then how many of these accursed things are slipping by our current screens? Completely unnoticed till it's too late…" William quietly trailed off, his voice dying back to a ghost of a whisper.
William wasn't exactly sure how much of a threat the mines could pose outside of the Gulf Region and the coasts of Florida. He did however know all too well how destructive those floating mines could be. He knew that it wouldn't take many mines managing to stay afloat long enough to reach the major shipping lanes on the East coast. To slow down shipping to a complete and utter snail's pace.
William also knew that resources and scarce surface assets would have to be rerouted and redirected to make sure the sea lanes were clear of any and all possible mine threat along the East coast. He knew that would stretch defensive lines around populated coastal areas more thinly than they already were.
The Lieutenant could only fathom what the impact on morale would be if this sea mine situation intensified even more. Or worse yet, it spread to areas far beyond the Gulf Region.
However it was at that moment that William's lifelong friend. Jim Clayton said something that took the oil spill of his prior worrying concerns, and dropped a lit flare into it.
"You think this could be the prelude to something big William?" Jim spoke with palpable concern in his voice as his worried eyes glanced from William to the map and then back to his friend.
Trying to guess what the enemy would do next was normally far above Jim Clayton's pay grade as a Gunnery Sergeant of the United States Marine Corps. Triply so considering that the enemy who's next move he was trying to make a guess on was a seaborne one.
However even he was left uneasy by the things he was seeing. Especially now that he and William had everything plotted down on the maps. Jim could only guess what William was thinking and feeling currently. However he knew from experience that his friend was on the knife's edge with stress.
William took a few seconds to calm and center his mind, before he met Jim's dark brown eyes with a steady stare.
"I don't know Jim. I don't know." William's voice was strained, like a steel cable with almost enough tension on it to snap.
However before William or Jim could ponder or discuss the developing situation any further, and before either of the two's mounting concerns could overwhelm them. There was a knock on the office door, which deflated the heavy atmosphere that had been building in the room almost instantly. Much to William and Jim's unspoken silent relief.
The Lieutenant did briefly wonder who it could have been at his Office door at this hour. At least, until he checked his watch and realized it was 2100.
The time he had told Pfc. Sandbar, Ensign Jones and Ensign Crawford earlier today to come to his office by for them to be given the unit's standing orders. Since the incident at Port Fourchon involving a Gator, a few PT Corgis, the mess that Stacker and his men found in the PT Barracks during the morning had interrupted the time had he originally set aside for briefing them.
A soft, quiet chuckle slipped past William's lips as he went back to his desk. "Well at least Sandbar and them showed up on time, I gotta give the three of them credit for punctuality. Maybe even a reward for the new ensigns, Whatch ya think Gunny?" William whispered with small grin.
"Yeah I suppose we ought to give em credit for that. Perhaps have em get lighter duties for tomorrow. Especially the new Ensigns, they look like they need it badly."
"Yeah they do look like they need a bit of respite tomorrow doesn't it? Maybe I should have them help Ellen do the Corgis monthly physical checkups tomorrow."
"Sir with all due respect, that's being just plain unmerciful to them. Leaving the Ensign's at Ellen's complete mercy for half the day." Clayton spoke while feigning mock horror and trying his dammed best to not bust a gut laughing.
William himself was barely doing any better to keep a straight face. "Oh come now Clayton, at least when the three of them have received the unit's standing orders they won't be as easy pickings for Lisa… among other things." The grin William had and the rather upbeat mood of the room disappeared when he trailed off before speaking the last part.
Jim's rather upbeat mood fell faster than a lead brick in a tub at the mentioning. No matter how many times they had done this, there always was one standing order that made the entire affair of giving new unit members said standing orders a draining one.
The last standing order for the unit, the order of last resort for if the worst were to come. The one order everyone in the unit didn't want to think about but was prepared to carry out if it ever came to seeing it followed through. William and Clayton knew that this order had to be the last one on the list given. Trying it any other way would cause the three new members to forget all the ones after it.
So the Gunnery Sergeant and Lieutenant would have to do their best to be upbeat and maybe humorous when giving out the preceding standing orders. Some of them were actually funny but they were there for good reason. Most of all, they knew they had to do their best to conceal their mounting dread when they got near to giving the last standing Order.
William, despite having written that last standing order himself, didn't like it. Not one bit at all. But until the last abyssal monster sank beneath the waves and the oily stain it left behind on the water's surface was purified by fire. This last standing order would remain in the unit's orders book. It had to.
"Enter." The Lieutenant spoke with a somewhat casual but tense and tired manner. The day's events had drained him quite a bit and soon this matter regarding the standing orders would drain him even more. As the door knob turned, he gave the Gunnery Sergeant a quick sideward glance and saw that his friend's face held a faintly grumpy tint on an otherwise blank expression.
William saw Jim stand off just to his left as the door to the office opened and the three people standing on the other side entered.
[=]
Pfc Sandbar, Ensign Jones and Ensign Crawford walked into Lieutenant Corgi's office. The three of them were doing their best from showing any signs of nervousness. So far they were managing it pretty well.
Even though the three of them knew they weren't being reprimanded, entering their CO's office was still more than a little bit intimidating. More so when they realized the unit's XO was also in the office, just standing off to and slightly behind the Lieutenant's left side.
Seeing the three chairs pulled out for them, they quickly took a seat before the Lieutenant's desk. They saw the Lieutenant rub his eyes once with his hand, maybe to get tiredness cleared from them. Neither ensign nor the PFC was sure of gesture's meaning so they didn't comment on it.
The Lieutenant met his Hazel-Green eyes with each of theirs for a moment apiece, like though he was trying to determine how attentive the three of them were. In return they gave him their complete and undivided attention.
"Alright, first off I do apologize for the lateness of this. Sometimes things don't go according to plan and you have to improvise on the spot." The Lieutenant stared with a small sigh, for a moment his eyes briefly glanced over to the wall map before returning to them.
"Ensign Jones and Ensign Crawford before I get started on the Unit's standing orders, how was your first day in the unit? No need for the formalities, it's late and we're all tired from the day." The Lieutenant asked with a friendly tone, he hadn't really had a chance to observe the two's reactions to what their duties now entailed.
Nor did he have the chance to see what their particular strong suites were. He needed to fix that sometime soon. Though the Lieutenant did think about charging his XO or Sergeants Banks with the task of observing the Ensigns and reporting back their talents to him, after all delegation was also part of an officer's duties.
Matilda glanced at the two models on the Lt's desk for a moment before meeting the Lt's eyes. "Exhausting but I'm glad to have helped out and learn some stuff." She said with a hint of unease creeping into her tired voice.
Mitchel had his eyes already locked on the Lt's when he looked over to him. "Not as Hectic as I first thought." Was the other Ensign's crisp reply to the question asked. The Lieutenant simply nodded before pulling a small folder from one of his desk drawers and thumbing it open.
"Alright, it's good to see that the two of you are adjusting to the unit pretty well. Now let's get this outta the way so we can all get some well-earned shut eye. Though don't be afraid to ask for clarification on some of these standing orders if I or the gunny here doesn't give it first. I know they can be quite strange when you first hear em." William said with a small amount of humor to his voice.
Sandbar, Jones and Crawford listened with rapt attention as the Lieutenant began. "Okay, first Standing order you should know is that you shouldn't give the PT Corgis too much sweet stuff. They'll get Hyper and become thirty times more difficult to manage."
William saw the three before him internalize that information and nodded slightly to signal him to continue. "Second standing order is also simple; never leave the PT Corgis alone with weapons or munitions." Now William saw confusion on the Ensign's and Sandbar's faces.
"Uh, can you explain that one sir?" Matilda asked with a bit of concern and a lot of confusion.
William gave her a small nod. "That's quite simple Ensign, PT Boat Crews during the Second World War mounted anything they could find to give their vessels additional firepower. This trait is still present with the PT Corgis. Though I've done what I've can to curb that behavior, it's still something intrinsic to them. Though for some reason, perhaps historical, they do prefer stealing the .50's and other weapon systems owned by the Army." William trailed off, the three seated before him glanced to one another with some lingering confusion on their faces but they nodded for William to continue.
"Standing order number three is also simple; you take the Peanut butter out and open it. You close it, even if you're just turning around to get something off the counter. Otherwise when you look back, one of the dogs has already licked most of the jar clean."
The Ensigns and Sandbar could only wonder how often this must have happened to have the Lt make a standing order about it. Jim saw this and spoke up.
"I know what y'all are thinking, and I'll say this. We went through twenty jars of the stuff in one day before the Lt went and made a Standing order to keep it from happening again. Those Corgis can be silent little buggers when they want to be." Jim said with a hint of irritation. After a moment of silence, William resumed.
"Standing Order number four is also simple. Never, ever leave Private First Class Lisa Ellen alone with Destroyers. Not even for a Minute." William said with a fair amount of dread in his voice as his eyes flicked over to the office door.
Sandbar and the two Ensigns saw this, and saw the Gunnery Sergeant follow the same motion. Which only served to make the confusion they had about the order grow more intense.
"I don't quite understand sir." This time Crawford was the one speak up, a curious look was in his eyes. William sighed and met the Ensign's gaze with an empty stare before answering.
"The last time Ellen was left alone with Destroyers. They asked her for some advice on boys...she told them some things and then a few hours later I have a Heavy Cruiser blowing down my damn Office Door. Demanding answers on what one of my Subordinates taught her Destroyers. I don't know about the three of you, but I and Clayton here sure as Hell don't wanna stare down eight inch guns again." William said with a fair bit of fear in his voice before Jim spoke up.
"If any of the three of you fuck up this one, we're leaving you at the Momboat's mercy." The Gunnery Sergeant said with a completely flat tone.
Ensign Jones, Ensign Crawford and PFC Sandbar all shared nervous looks at one another before they did their damn best to internalize the order. They did not want to screw up that order. When William saw that they were ready he moved to the next order on the list.
"Standing Order number 5. Should the war situation change such that a Japanese Submarine is transferred to the Gulf Region, Pfc Ellen is under no circumstances allowed to come into contact with said Japanese Submarine ever... Me and Clayton don't have to explain this one, do we?" The look both the Lieutenant and Gunnery Sergeant gave Jones, Crawford and Sandbar. Made the three of them nod their heads rather quickly in a manner not too dissimilar to a bobble head.
The Gunnery Sergeant and Lieutenant both gave sighs of relief for not having to explain the reasons for that order. After a moment to take a breath William continued once more.
"Standing Order number 6 is the Last Standing order regarding Private First Class Lisa Ellen. She is never allowed to meet the destroyer Fubuki, even if she's supervised, we're worried that the poor destroyer will break if she ever meets Ellen." William said as if though that was all that needed to be said about the subject.
Pfc Sandbar spoke up, clearly confused. "But uh sir, what does Fubuki have to do with Ellen to warrant a standing order like that?" Sandbar asked, before wilting under the combined flat gazes of the Lieutenant and Gunnery Sergeant.
"Raphael, you've seen Ellen enough to memorize what she looks like right?" William asked flatly.
"uhh, yes sir." Raphael said after a moment's hesitation. William's eyes looked over to the two Ensigns briefly before returning to the marine.
"Now I can forgive you for not understanding since you have likely not have seen a picture of Fubuki before, but if you looked at a picture of her and a picture of Ellen. You'll see that they look... eerily similar to each other." William said with some hesitation.
"You could practically say that Ellen looks like an older, curvier, and Green-eyed American Cousin to Fubuki." Jim added to which William nodded in silent agreement. Sandbar found his voice and asked the question neither Ensign was brave enough to ask.
"But sir, Fubuki is on the west coast running convoys to Japan. She's never going to be deployed here to the Gulf." Sandbar spoke with even more confusion than before. Once again Sandbar shrunk back in his seat, when the Lieutenant momentarily flashed a hard icy stare at the marine.
Though William dropped the glare after a sigh "I don't give two damns whether or not if it seems ever seems like that Ellen and Fubuki could ever meet. Be prepared for the possibility because I sure as hell don't want to find myself in a Situation where I'm starring down an angry Japanese Fleet Admiral for one of my Subordinates mentally breaking one of his Destroyers." He said with an icy flat tone, which snuffed out any further chances for conversation on the topic.
After a moment, the ice in his eyes melted to a hardened, somewhat fiery stare. "Standing order Number 7. If and when briefings are given in the PT Briefing room; You are to remain holding onto the leather leashes provided to restrain each dog from tearing the projectors apart whenever the image of an abyssal is shown on screen at all times." William said with a level voice.
None of the three seated before William dared to ask for further explanation, they all had heard how ship girls got when they saw pictures of Abyssals. It wasn't that hard to figure how the dogs would react to the sight of them. However Ensign Crawford had an expression of undisguised concern cross his face as a thought came to his mind.
Jim saw this look and gave a short cough, William gave a small nod and the Gunnery Sergeant then spoke up. "I've got an idea what you're thinking there Ensign Crawford, and the answer is no. The dogs won't do anything to hurt you, even when they're growling and snarling at images of an abyssal spotted by recon planes." Jim said before taking a quick breath to continue.
"They won't turn round and bite ya. Nor will they yank ya arm outta yer socket if you decide to hold onto one of the wood posts in the briefing room. Trust me on that one. The dogs won't hurt you ever when we gotta brief them on something new spotted in the Gulf." The senior marine said in a gruff but comforting manner, not caring if his southern accent came out a bit.
Ensign Crawford and to a lesser extent the other two relaxed in their seats. Jim nodded to William once and the Lieutenant took a breath. Not only to ready himself for giving the remaining orders but to also prepare himself. For it was nearly time to give the last standing order. After quietly exhaling a bit, he looked at Sandbar and the Ensigns with the all the Authority he could muster.
"Standing order number 8, while it mostly applies to you two-" William shifted his gaze between the two Ensigns seated "-it's good that all of you hear it. No one of the unit is to pull rank on my designated XO and OPS officer of this unit besides me when it comes to matters regarding the unit." He only allowed a moment of silence before he resumed.
"That means if I learn that you tried to pull rank on Gunnery Sergeant Clayton here or Sergeant Banks, you will have to answer to me. Naturally this also means if anything happens to me. Gunnery Sergeant Clayton takes command of the unit. If anything happens to him, then command of the unit goes to Sergeant Banks." William said with a even tone.
Matilda swallowed the small lump that was forming in her throat before speaking up. "And if something also happens to Sergeant Banks, who does command of the unit go to then sir?"
The Lieutenant and the Gunnery Sergeant both smiled at the question. William gave a nod to Jim to take the helm for answering that question while he prepared himself for giving the last standing order.
"That's a good question ask Ensign. Should the CO, Designated XO and Designated OPS officer be incapacitated, KIA or otherwise unable to lead the unit; then command will default to the next most senior member of the unit. Which is CW-5 Sanderson, unless command of the unit is given over to the highest ranking individual present or is otherwise stated by the acting CO at the time." Clayton spoke with a calming, steady tone before going silent.
For a moment there was a heavy silence in the room as Sandbar, Jones and Crawford saw the Lieutenant draw in a deep breath. As if though he was preparing himself for something difficult to say.
William closed his eyes briefly and steadily exhaled. When his eyes opened, they had an intense fiery gaze in them. Yet at the same time there was a distance to them, a distance similar to a thousand-yard stare. The muscles in his neck and shoulders tensed as he spoke in a low voice.
"Standing Order Number 9 is an order..." William sighed and grimaced "That I hope never has to be carried out. However it must be known for if the worst was to come. Should the Abyssals assault our base and make a ground invasion..." William trailed off as a lump formed in his throat. He swallowed it before gritting his teeth and continuing.
"Should escape or rescue be a total impossibility and those monsters are closing in on your position. Then you are not to be taken alive by them. Fight to very end, take as many of the bastards with you as you can, and bloody those you can't take with you. But under no circumstance are you allowed to allow yourself to be captured alive." The Lieutenant sucked in a breath between his gritted teeth before continuing. Not giving any of the three seated before him a chance to speak up.
"Furthermore...should during such a worst-case scenario any of you see Myself, The Gunnery Sergeant or anyone else of the unit being dragged off by those monsters alive. Then you are to draw your sidearm or whatever weapon you have on hand at the time and shoot us dead. We will do the same for any of you." William said with a deathly serious and even tone before he paused again to take a breath to steady himself.
The Lieutenant could see PFC Sandbar was in a state of shock. He also saw that Ensign Jones and Ensign Crawford had disbelief and even outrage on their faces, they both looked like they were about to say something. William raised his hand to silence them for a moment, he hadn't finished speaking and he was going to finish this before he took their questions.
When the Lieutenant saw the Ensigns close their mouths with an audible click, he resumed. "To this end, each of you, as are all members of Dog Squad; are required to spend a minimum of four hours a week at the firing range doing target practice with your issued Sidearm or other qualified weapons until you have at least a sharpshooter's proficiency with your chosen weapon or weapons." William drew in another quick breath before resuming again.
"You may spend more than four hours a week at the firing range So long as your time at the range does not impact your assigned unit duties. Provided prior written notice and barring any unexpected developments occurring." William finished quietly with a strained voice.
The Lieutenant allowed his hand to fall back to his desk with a heavy thud. He gave a small nod to tell the Ensigns and Sandbar that they were free to speak now. And speak they did.
"Sir, with all due respect, why the hell do you have that as a Standing Order, Sir?" Ensign Crawford asked as he leaned forwards in his chair. William met the Ensign's eyes with a haunted gaze.
"Tell me Ensign Crawford. Have you ever seen an Abyssal ship first-hand?"
"N-no sir."
"Do you know what the things manning Abyssal ships look like Ensign?" William asked with a knife edge to his voice.
"No sir..." Ensign Crawford whispered quietly as he shrank back into his seat.
"I have, and I honest to god hope none of you ever have to." William said flatly as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk with his fingers stepped between one another. His Hazel-Green eyes focused on the Ensign like laser beams.
"And because of Gunnery Sergeant Clayton's connections within the Marine Corps and more specifically, the marines that retook Woody Island. I've seen the pictures and videos of the horrid fate that awaits anyone who is captured by those monsters…the aftermath of it anyways." William spoke the last part in a voice that was just above a quiet whisper.
"I don't wish that kind of fate unto anyone, most of all the people I command." It took everything William had to not shudder when he spoke of what the Marines that took Woody Island had found. He closed his eyes briefly to banish the fear he was feeling with his anger and intense undying hatred of the monsters.
When the Lieutenant opened his eyes again, the look of shell-shock and fear was gone from them. In its place was fire, a subdued but nigh all-consuming hatred. "And that is why I made a standing order for no one in this unit to be taken alive by those monsters should the worst ever come to pass."
William quietly exhaled through his nose before resuming "By all means, do everything you can to escape to live and fight another day if the bastards march up from the beaches onto land. However if escape proves impossible and if you aren't able to hold out somewhere for rescue, then make sure they don't take you alive. Do I make myself clear?"
"SIR! YES SIR!" Private First Class Raphael Sandbar, Ensign Matilda Jones and Ensign Mitchel Crawford responded on reflex. Though William saw on their faces a clear amount of fear scrawled across them. Though he did wonder whether or not if the fearful expression they had was due to what he told them or if it was due to him, He didn't know.
After a few moments of uneasy silence, William sighed and motioned for the three to leave. "I've finished briefing y'all on the unit's standing orders. If in case you need a reminder of them. Ask Gunnery Sergeant Clayton and he'll provide you with a written copy of the standing orders. The three of you are released for the night. Go get some shut eye. You all must be exhausted...I know I am."
The two Ensigns and PFC Sandbar got up from their chairs and hastily departed the office, unsure of how exactly to react to everything that had just transpired.
[=]
As the Office door started to close, its progress was momentarily halted as something small and fluffy came barreling into the room.
A few moments later the springs of the chair the Lieutenant was sitting in groaned slightly in protest as the PT Corgi jumped up from the floor into his lap. The Lieutenant smiled as the dog poked his chest with its snout, he knew the dog was trying to cheer him up in her own way.
He gave the dog a few ear scratches and a few head pats. "Good girl, that's a good girl. I know you're trying to cheer me up. Thank you." The Lieutenant said softly before he sighed again. This time he turned in his chair to face the Gunnery Sergeant.
"I hate having to give that order Jim, I honestly do." William said as he idly played with the PT Corgi's ears. His movements slowed as the exhaustion and drain of the day and now this affair took its toll on him.
"I know William, but I also know why you made that order and to be honest. After I saw what my buddies that retook Woody had seen. I can't blame ya for making that order. Shootin ya self or blowing ya self-up is far more preferable to that." Jim said with undisguised disgust and horror regarding what the Woody Island Marines had found.
"Alright, enough of this crap, let's go get some shut yeah?" William said as he made to get up from the chair. The Pt Corgi hopped off his lap and was practically glued to his ankles as he got up and made his way to his Office door. Jim joined him by the door a moment later.
"Hey Jim, make sure those three have some time to go to the range tomorrow. Make it an order if you have to, okay?"
"I will William. Hell, I'll go to the range with them to give em pointers and finish out the last of my weekly required four hours while I'm at it." Jim said with small chuckle, which brought a small smile to William's face because he knew which weapon Jim favored to use at the range.
"Jim yer gonna make em Green with Envy with that BAR the PT Boats found and gave ya." William glanced down to the dog at his feet, which seemed to do the dog equivalent of becoming flustered. "Still can't figure out where they found one in mint condition though, it like it came right off the factory floor." The Lieutenant said with a curious stare directed at the PT Corgi before opening the door.
"MSSB perhaps?" Jim offered as an explanation. The two men looked at one another for a moment before laughing. After a few moments of chuckles they then parted ways and headed to their respective quarters.
It was perhaps a final good note to end an otherwise hectic and draining day.
[=]
- Location
- Central Standard Time
This is written differently, and you can tell. I've said this before, but I'll say this publicly too: you've improved significantly as a writer and in an astonishingly short period.
Bravo.
Quotes this post.
For reasons.
Starts searching for Muse.·
Omake: Hunt for Graf (Spee)
Lady Darkhound
Haha, tanks!
- Location
- My very own personal hell
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Hunt for the Abyssal Graf Spee
Part 4
Dear Kaidan,
I'm sorry that I haven't been able to send you letters or texts over these past two weeks. While I can't tell you what my mission is, they've been working us to the bone. Coastal patrols, convoy escort, the works. I'm writing this on what has basically been my first moment of rest since arrival.
What a pair of weeks it has been. I don't know what news you've heard, but the Americans lost and subsequently retook Pearl Harbour from a nasty pair of Abyssal Bismarcks. Akron (the carrier airshipgirl) had a very dramatic retelling of the story, with plenty of sound effects added. It was a fun gathering for the destroyergirls on base to listen to her story.
Following that, the Admiral sent Leander, Achilles, and myself out for a nice dinner, accompanied by a couple of DEs to show us around. A couple of helpful sailors recommended the Dirty Buffalo, and I must agree with their assessment. The wings were phenomenal! Though six shipgirls was a little much for the establishment to handle. One nice thing about working in America is that they pay to feed us shipgirls. So instead of getting a small snack and returning to base for a proper meal, we got our fill of hearty American comfort food. Much better than the mess hall meals back home.
Despite all of that, I doubt you would like things here. Akron and Macon are really nice girls, but they can often be annoyingly memetic and are just as energetic as Achilles. Additionally, the base is full of US Navy blimps, who all came back as cats. Annoyingly smug cats who can float anywhere and everywhere on base. Aside from those two bits, I have managed to enjoy myself. Some of the destroyers and escorts here are as excitable as the ones back home.
I miss you, and hope to see you again soon.
Love,
HMS Exeter
Exeter signed her name with a flourish, finally happy with what she had written. It had only taken a half dozen different drafts, though one had simply been ruined by a mis-stroke with her pen, splotching the paper. With a happy sigh, Exeter folded the paper and carefully inserted it into the envelope.
A few deft movements had her carefully pour some melted sealing wax onto the envelope and stamp it with a copy of her ship's badge. Her boyfriend may have thought the use of wax seals to be outdated and "quaint," but they were proper, and Exeter felt that the extra bit of effort was important.
The heavy cruiser just needed to get the letter over to the mail depot, then she had a day to finally relax. Her path out of her temporary quarters took her past the shipgirl mess, where Achilles and Akron were chatting over their lunch. Achilles had the biggest grin on her face, and Exeter worried about what she could be planning. With the airshipgirl, nothing good could come from-
"Oh, miss Exeter!" Little Buchanan said, stumbling back from her impact with the heavy cruiser. "The admiral sent me to get you!"
"Did he say what for?" Exeter asked, patting Buchanan's head. The escort gave a soft squee at the pat, but her blissful face quickly cleared up.
"Sorry. Just that he needed you and your friends."
"Thank you. I can get Achilles. Leander was near the rec room last I saw." Exeter paused a moment. "Oh, after you get Leander, could you do me a huge favor and run this letter down to the mail? It's very important to me."
"R-right!" Buchanan gave a salute, before remembering she was indoors and dashing off without a second thought. Exeter watched the excitable DE clip a wall as she tried to round a corner before she was on her feet and moving towards the rec room. It was cute.
Turning back towards the mess, Exeter spied Achilles talking very enthusiastically at Akron. Past experience showed that there was almost no interrupting the light cruiser when she got going. Almost.
"HMS ACHILLES!" Exeter roared in her best angry NCO voice. Everyone in the room except for Akron jumped. Akron just sort of floated where she was.
"Gimme a minute! I was telling Akron about the newest Star Wars movie. Can you believe that she hasn't seen it yet?" Achilles protested.
"Then don't spoil the movie for her. Besides, duty calls."
"Fiiiiine. Talk to you later Akron!"
"Bye Achilles!" Akron waved before turning back to her salad.
"What's the situation, Admiral?" Leander asked, her stance as perfect as always.
Admiral Carraway looked as worn out as Exeter felt. The high tempo of operations ever since the Abyssal panzerschiffe's reveal had been running everyone ragged, the humans just showed it a lot more than the Kanmusu.
"At 1220 hours, scout planes from the USS Macon spotted an Abyssal surface force. A heavy cruiser, and a pair of destroyers. At 1300 hours, Macon confirmed positive ID on the heavy cruiser. Deutschland-class, believed to be the Abyssal Graf Spee. At 1330, the Abyssal squadron changed course. We believe they're on an intercept course for Convoy 579. The convoy has been warned, and we've contacted the forces in Iceland, but you're our fastest responders."
Exeter was suddenly no longer in the briefing. She was in the warm waters of the southern Atlantic, all those years ago. Shells landed around her, and she swerved to dodge. Where was the fire coming from?
There! Abyssal cruiser, 10,000 yards out, off the starboard bow! Exeter's forward turrets tracked over and were about to fire when she spotted something. A trio of Royal Navy ensigns flying high near the Abyssal. Destroyers making a torpedo attack. But they were too close. Much too close.
The heavy cruiser watched in horror as the Abyssal monstrosity reached out with its guns, and seemed to pull the destroyers close. Then one of the brilliant White Ensigns burst aflame, slowly changing from Exeter's beloved flag to a monstrosity. A black flag of the Abyss.
Exeter roared as she put all available steam into her shafts, dashing faster than she ever had before. But she wasn't nearly fast enough. The Abyssal corruption had spread further, taking a second destroyer. She recognized the class of the newly taken ship. I-class.
She recognized the third destroyer. Intrepid.
The Abyssal reached out with its evil, corrupting arms. It took Intrepid in its grasp, gently caressing the scared destroyer.
"Stay the hell away from my daughter!" Exeter screamed, her guns roaring with the fury of an angry mother. The six shells tore through the air, impacting the Abyssal. It staggered back, releasing Intrepid.
Before the Abyssal could react, Exeter was upon her, swinging her anchor like a club. The improvised weapon's pointed tip dug deep into the Abyssal's armor, rending a large gap. The rumble of her four and eight inch guns echoed through Exeter's mind as she peppered the wounded Abyssal with gunfire.
The monster collapsed under the barrage, and slipped below the waves, taking the two corrupted destroyers with it before Exeter could even think to save them.
Her enemy gone, Exeter turned towards Intrepid. Her adoptive daughter was shivering, her skin turned white where the Abyssal had held her.
"Are you oka-" Exeter began, before Intrepid screamed. The destroyer tried to back away, but stumbled and fell backwards. Intrepid's four-inch guns snapped towards her and fired as one salvo.
The last thing Exeter saw before everything faded to black was the betrayal of her adopted daughter.
Exeter's eyes snapped open to someone shaking her shoulder.
"Are you okay?" Achilles asked, her eyes full of concern. "You spaced out in the middle of the briefing."
"I…" Exeter hesitated. It had all been a dream. "Yeah, I'm good to go."
"Then we should go. The mission comes first." Leander interjected, before marching out of the room.
"R-right…" Exeter murmured, her legs automatically carrying her out of the briefing room and towards the docks.
Her mind churned. She had been at River Plate in her dream, hadn't she? But why was her opponent the Abyssal Graf Spee? And what had caused Intrepid to be so afraid of her? It was all very troubling.
Part 4
Dear Kaidan,
I'm sorry that I haven't been able to send you letters or texts over these past two weeks. While I can't tell you what my mission is, they've been working us to the bone. Coastal patrols, convoy escort, the works. I'm writing this on what has basically been my first moment of rest since arrival.
What a pair of weeks it has been. I don't know what news you've heard, but the Americans lost and subsequently retook Pearl Harbour from a nasty pair of Abyssal Bismarcks. Akron (the carrier airshipgirl) had a very dramatic retelling of the story, with plenty of sound effects added. It was a fun gathering for the destroyergirls on base to listen to her story.
Following that, the Admiral sent Leander, Achilles, and myself out for a nice dinner, accompanied by a couple of DEs to show us around. A couple of helpful sailors recommended the Dirty Buffalo, and I must agree with their assessment. The wings were phenomenal! Though six shipgirls was a little much for the establishment to handle. One nice thing about working in America is that they pay to feed us shipgirls. So instead of getting a small snack and returning to base for a proper meal, we got our fill of hearty American comfort food. Much better than the mess hall meals back home.
Despite all of that, I doubt you would like things here. Akron and Macon are really nice girls, but they can often be annoyingly memetic and are just as energetic as Achilles. Additionally, the base is full of US Navy blimps, who all came back as cats. Annoyingly smug cats who can float anywhere and everywhere on base. Aside from those two bits, I have managed to enjoy myself. Some of the destroyers and escorts here are as excitable as the ones back home.
I miss you, and hope to see you again soon.
Love,
HMS Exeter
Exeter signed her name with a flourish, finally happy with what she had written. It had only taken a half dozen different drafts, though one had simply been ruined by a mis-stroke with her pen, splotching the paper. With a happy sigh, Exeter folded the paper and carefully inserted it into the envelope.
A few deft movements had her carefully pour some melted sealing wax onto the envelope and stamp it with a copy of her ship's badge. Her boyfriend may have thought the use of wax seals to be outdated and "quaint," but they were proper, and Exeter felt that the extra bit of effort was important.
The heavy cruiser just needed to get the letter over to the mail depot, then she had a day to finally relax. Her path out of her temporary quarters took her past the shipgirl mess, where Achilles and Akron were chatting over their lunch. Achilles had the biggest grin on her face, and Exeter worried about what she could be planning. With the airshipgirl, nothing good could come from-
"Oh, miss Exeter!" Little Buchanan said, stumbling back from her impact with the heavy cruiser. "The admiral sent me to get you!"
"Did he say what for?" Exeter asked, patting Buchanan's head. The escort gave a soft squee at the pat, but her blissful face quickly cleared up.
"Sorry. Just that he needed you and your friends."
"Thank you. I can get Achilles. Leander was near the rec room last I saw." Exeter paused a moment. "Oh, after you get Leander, could you do me a huge favor and run this letter down to the mail? It's very important to me."
"R-right!" Buchanan gave a salute, before remembering she was indoors and dashing off without a second thought. Exeter watched the excitable DE clip a wall as she tried to round a corner before she was on her feet and moving towards the rec room. It was cute.
Turning back towards the mess, Exeter spied Achilles talking very enthusiastically at Akron. Past experience showed that there was almost no interrupting the light cruiser when she got going. Almost.
"HMS ACHILLES!" Exeter roared in her best angry NCO voice. Everyone in the room except for Akron jumped. Akron just sort of floated where she was.
"Gimme a minute! I was telling Akron about the newest Star Wars movie. Can you believe that she hasn't seen it yet?" Achilles protested.
"Then don't spoil the movie for her. Besides, duty calls."
"Fiiiiine. Talk to you later Akron!"
"Bye Achilles!" Akron waved before turning back to her salad.
"What's the situation, Admiral?" Leander asked, her stance as perfect as always.
Admiral Carraway looked as worn out as Exeter felt. The high tempo of operations ever since the Abyssal panzerschiffe's reveal had been running everyone ragged, the humans just showed it a lot more than the Kanmusu.
"At 1220 hours, scout planes from the USS Macon spotted an Abyssal surface force. A heavy cruiser, and a pair of destroyers. At 1300 hours, Macon confirmed positive ID on the heavy cruiser. Deutschland-class, believed to be the Abyssal Graf Spee. At 1330, the Abyssal squadron changed course. We believe they're on an intercept course for Convoy 579. The convoy has been warned, and we've contacted the forces in Iceland, but you're our fastest responders."
Exeter was suddenly no longer in the briefing. She was in the warm waters of the southern Atlantic, all those years ago. Shells landed around her, and she swerved to dodge. Where was the fire coming from?
There! Abyssal cruiser, 10,000 yards out, off the starboard bow! Exeter's forward turrets tracked over and were about to fire when she spotted something. A trio of Royal Navy ensigns flying high near the Abyssal. Destroyers making a torpedo attack. But they were too close. Much too close.
The heavy cruiser watched in horror as the Abyssal monstrosity reached out with its guns, and seemed to pull the destroyers close. Then one of the brilliant White Ensigns burst aflame, slowly changing from Exeter's beloved flag to a monstrosity. A black flag of the Abyss.
Exeter roared as she put all available steam into her shafts, dashing faster than she ever had before. But she wasn't nearly fast enough. The Abyssal corruption had spread further, taking a second destroyer. She recognized the class of the newly taken ship. I-class.
She recognized the third destroyer. Intrepid.
The Abyssal reached out with its evil, corrupting arms. It took Intrepid in its grasp, gently caressing the scared destroyer.
"Stay the hell away from my daughter!" Exeter screamed, her guns roaring with the fury of an angry mother. The six shells tore through the air, impacting the Abyssal. It staggered back, releasing Intrepid.
Before the Abyssal could react, Exeter was upon her, swinging her anchor like a club. The improvised weapon's pointed tip dug deep into the Abyssal's armor, rending a large gap. The rumble of her four and eight inch guns echoed through Exeter's mind as she peppered the wounded Abyssal with gunfire.
The monster collapsed under the barrage, and slipped below the waves, taking the two corrupted destroyers with it before Exeter could even think to save them.
Her enemy gone, Exeter turned towards Intrepid. Her adoptive daughter was shivering, her skin turned white where the Abyssal had held her.
"Are you oka-" Exeter began, before Intrepid screamed. The destroyer tried to back away, but stumbled and fell backwards. Intrepid's four-inch guns snapped towards her and fired as one salvo.
The last thing Exeter saw before everything faded to black was the betrayal of her adopted daughter.
Exeter's eyes snapped open to someone shaking her shoulder.
"Are you okay?" Achilles asked, her eyes full of concern. "You spaced out in the middle of the briefing."
"I…" Exeter hesitated. It had all been a dream. "Yeah, I'm good to go."
"Then we should go. The mission comes first." Leander interjected, before marching out of the room.
"R-right…" Exeter murmured, her legs automatically carrying her out of the briefing room and towards the docks.
Her mind churned. She had been at River Plate in her dream, hadn't she? But why was her opponent the Abyssal Graf Spee? And what had caused Intrepid to be so afraid of her? It was all very troubling.
Admiral_Corgi
The Admiral of the PT Boats
- Location
- The Strange land of Florida
ah yes a letter to a loved one, It is touching that Exeter sends Kaiden the things. Sealed with wax even.
Its also a good look at how things were ran with Shipgirls in establishments outside of the US. Though then again it shouldn't be surprising that having a snack before heading back to base for a proper (if not as pleasing to eat) Meal is the normal for the UK.
I sense Shenanigans coming from these two, and it involves Exeter somehow. I just know it.
I can't help but think the wall was damaged in some manner by this action. Certainly the paint on it would have gotten scraped off, I think. But I agree with Exeter, that mental image is cute.
Okay now time to main Theory crafting bit. Gonna break this down into bits examining each section, lets begin.
Ah yes the start of a dream. They can come sudden and expectantly. Most especially if one was in a perfect position and fell asleep standing or sitting up straight. Personal experience taught me that sometimes it happens without warning. Though this entails that Exeter has been staying up late lately. Perhaps she's thinking of how Intrepid is doing without her? Yes I think that could be a reasonable cause for a Heavy Cruiser to not sleep as much as she should, and thus be left prone to suddenly nodding off. Though perhaps the pace of the work she's been put through is a major contributing factor too.
This makes me think this nightmare is partly based off the battle of the River Plate, but I think its not a direct retelling...
ohhh thats a interesting concept for a nightmare. And its a very... pecuilar note that the two destroyers corrupted were I-classes. It makes immediately think back to the start of this omake series were Intrepid lost two of her sisters at the hands of the Abyssal Graf Spee. Yes, I believe this is reminiscent of that, and a foreboding warning of what may be accompanying that monster as what was said in the briefing.
I will mention that the mental image of this scene that came to my mind was damn disturbing. Like, I had a shiver of pure primal fear run up my spine from this bit. Not many people can claim to have caused something like that in me with so few words. It is much like seeing the Devil about steal away your child. At the same time, I can the statement of what the Abyssal is doing to Intrepid as a twisted representation of what had happened to Intrepid. Namely barely escaping with her life after her encounter
This further reinforces the thing i mentioned above. But it also makes me think that the anger that Exeter may end up actually attacking Abyssal Graf Spee with won't just be the normal kind of Anger that Shipgirls attack abyssals with. Nay, as what Exeter says in the bit of dialogue above. The motive behind her anger will be far more personal. She is a true momboat through and through. However I do fear that anger may cloud her Judgement in the future...
Now this here... I thinks it could be foreshadowing in a ways of how the eventual encounter Abyssal Graf Spee will go down.
Now this, This here makes we wonder what its meaning is. Part of me thinks its the after effects of Intrepid's encounter with Abyssal Graf Spee further warping her mind and psyche. But another part of me thinks that it'd be how Exeter acts in that moment, when she confronts Abyssal Graf Spee and makes for the final Execution. That it is done with such malice and fury, that poor Intrepid would sense or feel that her momboat wasn't the same person anymore. That she had someone became like the very monster that terrorized her so. There is so many ways this scene could be taken, and pretty much all of them are heart wrenching in one manner or another.
Indeed, that dream was very troubling. And it makes me wonder what will happen in the next part.
Steelhooves
Star Paladin
- Location
- Maripony-Damn it.
Well........as an eternal optimist I want to assume what happens next is the Abyssals sue for peace, pull a Beatrice and resurrect the Lost love and undo all the damage and heartache that they have caused and everyone lives together in happiness forever? Please let me have this one nice thought.
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That's...not likely to happen. Or possible.
Spectral Waltz
Scatterbrained Writer
- Location
- Walking the Endless Corridors
Maybe if this was a certain other fic...
Omake: Hunt for Graf (Spee)
Lady Darkhound
Haha, tanks!
- Location
- My very own personal hell
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Hunt for the Abyssal Graf Spee
Part 5
The Hunter did not envy her sisters in arms in the Pacific. Unoccupied or easily conquered islands to use as bases were aplenty. More firepower than she could ever hope to wield. As many supplies as they could horde upon their island thrones.
And the undivided attention of the most powerful human navies on the planet. An island base to keep them holed up in as the Americans and Japanese blockaded them in and invaded at their leisure.
The Hunter did not care for that. She would have the freedom of the seas. To sail where she pleased. Freedom to hunt was her one goal.
But that freedom she desired came at a cost. Raiding was her lifeblood. She stole from the humans to sustain herself. Her first raid had been smooth, and had granted her a powerful boon in the pair of destroyers she had birthed. A second raid had seen her receive an even more useful asset. A tanker, one which she could fill from the spoils of the human transports, and one which could feed her for many weeks.
Twice more she had destroyed convoys, but at considerably greater risk. The supplies stolen had been lesser. Her consorts wounded before the kanmusu fled with their surviving transports.
Now, the supplies carried by her tanker dwindled. The convoys which she preyed upon had much stronger defenses. Thrice damned airships lingered overhead, detecting both herself and the raiding u-boats whom she used as scouts.
She needed supplies. A pair of U-boats had spotted a convoy leaving America days ago. An underprotected convoy. It would be hers. But she had been spotted by one of those damned carriers. Her escorts had managed to swat down one of the gnatlike fighters, but she knew the airship was still there. Watching her. Hunting her.
Her own hunt would go unimpeded. The reward was too important.
A storm was brewing to the south. She would use it to lose the pursuing carrier. She would have her prey.
The dash out to the convoy had been thankfully quiet. Leander had the presence of mind to give Achilles a set of headphones and some annoyingly catchy music before they left, which managed to keep the more excitable girl entertained. The K-blimps had stepped up their game, and sank two U-boats on the route out. Even the weather had been pleasant, with the seas staying glassy still. Only the three cruiser's wakes left any mar on the sea.
The convoy itself was not incredibly large. A trio of cargo transports and a singular tanker, escorted only by a pair of destroyers. Blakeley led the convoy, listening intently to her sonar, while Black kept her position on the northern flank.
"Are you our reinforcements?" Black asked the panting cruisers.
"We are." Exeter huffed. "HMS Exeter, and escorts. We heard you might be having a small Panzerschiffe problem."
"Not yet. Macon lost the Abyssals in a storm a couple of hours ago. We shifted course to avoid the storm's predicted path, but it followed us." The destroyer gestured northwards, where a dark storm was hanging ominously, just over the far off horizon.
Exeter took a moment to breathe and take in the situation. "So we were lucky to arrive when we did, and should expect Abyssal contact at any moment until the storm passes?"
"Basically. They shouldn't be able to see us until they leave the storm, but orders from up top are to keep radar cold until we make contact."
"Got it. Achilles, range out a ways away from the convoy. You're our outermost scout. Leander, stick in close."
"Right!" Achilles and Leander replied, almost simultaneously. Achilles gave her older sister a look that implied they were going to have to work on their timing. The two cruisers split off and took their positions.
For a while, things were uncomfortably quiet. Nobody dared do much more than watch the storm and breathe.
The storm hiding the Abyssals grew nearer, its dark mass crackling with lightning, though Exeter did not hear any thunder.
Under Black's order, the convoy's course shifted south, trying to keep out of the storm as long as possible.
Exeter shifted her stance slightly, and tracked her guns over towards the storm.
Silence reigned supreme, seemingly even drowning out the hum of engines and the splash of tiny waves against each ship's hull.
Exeter's cell phone buzzed, a familiar ringtone blaring loudly. The heavy cruiser fumbled for the device, nearly dropping it. A Facetime call from Intrepid. If it had been anyone else, Exeter would have simply ignored the call. But it was Intrepid, and she had made a promise.
'Of all the times for Intrepid to make her daily call…' Exeter internally complained, before putting on her best smile and answering the call. Intrepid's face appeared on the small screen. The destroyer had that same look of nervousness that she always did, almost as if she expected Exeter to not answer.
"Hello Intrepid, how are you today?"
"I'm doing good." Intrepid began, her nervousness melting into relief at the call being answered. "I spent some time in the repair baths today. Miss Dreadnought said that my repairs are going well."
"That's good! Are your eyes starting to feel better?" Exeter could feel Leander's glare boring into the back of her skull, but didn't bother to acknowledge the uptight light cruiser.
"Mhmm." Intrepid acknowledged. She looked past the screen for a moment, probably to Dreadnought. The elder battleship said something that Intrepid's phone didn't pick up clearly, and the destroyer turned back to her phone. "Miss Dreadnought wanted me to tell you that I love you and that I hope you come back soon."
"Aww, I love you too sweetie. I'll try and be back in Portsmouth as soo-"
"CONTACT!" Achilles shouted, her guns opening fire at something Exeter couldn't see.
"Intrepid, I have to go. Duty calls." Exeter ended the call before the young destroyer could say anything, and stowed her phone.
"Status report!" Leander demanded, shifting course to join her sister.
"Abyssal destroyers, two of 'em, coming out of the storm!"
"Any heavies?" Exeter asked.
"I don't see her!" Achilles replied, her guns opening up into a steady stream of lead going downrange.
"Dammit. Leander, stick with the convoy! Black, get them out of here! Someone alert Renown's group that we've made contact!"
Exeter received an array of affirmatives, and watched as Leander turned back towards the convoy. The heavy cruiser raced to join Achilles, and opened fire on the incoming destroyers. They were based on German ships, but Exeter couldn't tell which class.
The two cruisers' guns pounded away at the destroyers, who danced and dodged and grew inevitably closer. Nothing Exeter did seemed to touch the Abyssals, though the higher volume of fire from Achilles landed a few solid hits on the leading destroyer.
"Die already!" Exeter roared, her frustration rising. The trailing destroyer got off a lucky shot against her, and a single AP shell found the barbette of B turret, jamming the guns in place. Those weren't regular DD guns. Those were six inch guns!
"Break off! They've got big guns!" Exeter called out, and Achilles pulled into a outwards turn that Exeter followed. The maneuver came too late, and a torpedo lanced into Achilles' bow. Large chunks of metal went flying as the light cruiser's bow separated itself from the rest of her hull.
Achilles screamed in pain, even as her guns fired one last salvo. The shells arced through the air and blew the lead Abyssal into two ragged chunks that quickly sank.
Exeter watched as the remaining Abyssal closed, lining up a torpedo attack on Achilles as the light cruiser ground to a halt.. Her own guns roared, but once again found no mark, splashing harmlessly into the ocean around the destroyer.
The destroyer turned broadside, dumping a full spread of torpedoes.
Exeter's four remaining heavy guns roared one final time as she leapt into the air. The destroyer exploded violently as Exeter crashed into Achilles, throwing both of them clear of the torpedoes, which sailed by harmlessly.
As the two cruiser untangled their limbs from each other, Achilles looked over at Exeter. "How bad do I look?"
Her face was a mess. Scrapes and scratches marred most of her face, and everything else was covered with the blood spewing from an extremely broken nose.
"You know Voldemort, from those Harry Potter movies?" Exeter asked. The color drained from Achilles' face. "You aren't nearly that bad. A few days in the repair baths should have you right as rain."
Achilles laughed, which swiftly turned into tears because of her broken nose.
Seeing that all was well, Exeter got back on her legs, and helped Achilles up before keying her radio. "This is Exeter. Destroyers have been dealt with. No sign of the target. Achilles is wounded, and we're returning to base."
"Understood Exeter. Keep safe." Renown replied over comms, and the two cruisers set their course back towards Norfolk.
Part 5
The Hunter did not envy her sisters in arms in the Pacific. Unoccupied or easily conquered islands to use as bases were aplenty. More firepower than she could ever hope to wield. As many supplies as they could horde upon their island thrones.
And the undivided attention of the most powerful human navies on the planet. An island base to keep them holed up in as the Americans and Japanese blockaded them in and invaded at their leisure.
The Hunter did not care for that. She would have the freedom of the seas. To sail where she pleased. Freedom to hunt was her one goal.
But that freedom she desired came at a cost. Raiding was her lifeblood. She stole from the humans to sustain herself. Her first raid had been smooth, and had granted her a powerful boon in the pair of destroyers she had birthed. A second raid had seen her receive an even more useful asset. A tanker, one which she could fill from the spoils of the human transports, and one which could feed her for many weeks.
Twice more she had destroyed convoys, but at considerably greater risk. The supplies stolen had been lesser. Her consorts wounded before the kanmusu fled with their surviving transports.
Now, the supplies carried by her tanker dwindled. The convoys which she preyed upon had much stronger defenses. Thrice damned airships lingered overhead, detecting both herself and the raiding u-boats whom she used as scouts.
She needed supplies. A pair of U-boats had spotted a convoy leaving America days ago. An underprotected convoy. It would be hers. But she had been spotted by one of those damned carriers. Her escorts had managed to swat down one of the gnatlike fighters, but she knew the airship was still there. Watching her. Hunting her.
Her own hunt would go unimpeded. The reward was too important.
A storm was brewing to the south. She would use it to lose the pursuing carrier. She would have her prey.
The dash out to the convoy had been thankfully quiet. Leander had the presence of mind to give Achilles a set of headphones and some annoyingly catchy music before they left, which managed to keep the more excitable girl entertained. The K-blimps had stepped up their game, and sank two U-boats on the route out. Even the weather had been pleasant, with the seas staying glassy still. Only the three cruiser's wakes left any mar on the sea.
The convoy itself was not incredibly large. A trio of cargo transports and a singular tanker, escorted only by a pair of destroyers. Blakeley led the convoy, listening intently to her sonar, while Black kept her position on the northern flank.
"Are you our reinforcements?" Black asked the panting cruisers.
"We are." Exeter huffed. "HMS Exeter, and escorts. We heard you might be having a small Panzerschiffe problem."
"Not yet. Macon lost the Abyssals in a storm a couple of hours ago. We shifted course to avoid the storm's predicted path, but it followed us." The destroyer gestured northwards, where a dark storm was hanging ominously, just over the far off horizon.
Exeter took a moment to breathe and take in the situation. "So we were lucky to arrive when we did, and should expect Abyssal contact at any moment until the storm passes?"
"Basically. They shouldn't be able to see us until they leave the storm, but orders from up top are to keep radar cold until we make contact."
"Got it. Achilles, range out a ways away from the convoy. You're our outermost scout. Leander, stick in close."
"Right!" Achilles and Leander replied, almost simultaneously. Achilles gave her older sister a look that implied they were going to have to work on their timing. The two cruisers split off and took their positions.
For a while, things were uncomfortably quiet. Nobody dared do much more than watch the storm and breathe.
The storm hiding the Abyssals grew nearer, its dark mass crackling with lightning, though Exeter did not hear any thunder.
Under Black's order, the convoy's course shifted south, trying to keep out of the storm as long as possible.
Exeter shifted her stance slightly, and tracked her guns over towards the storm.
Silence reigned supreme, seemingly even drowning out the hum of engines and the splash of tiny waves against each ship's hull.
Exeter's cell phone buzzed, a familiar ringtone blaring loudly. The heavy cruiser fumbled for the device, nearly dropping it. A Facetime call from Intrepid. If it had been anyone else, Exeter would have simply ignored the call. But it was Intrepid, and she had made a promise.
'Of all the times for Intrepid to make her daily call…' Exeter internally complained, before putting on her best smile and answering the call. Intrepid's face appeared on the small screen. The destroyer had that same look of nervousness that she always did, almost as if she expected Exeter to not answer.
"Hello Intrepid, how are you today?"
"I'm doing good." Intrepid began, her nervousness melting into relief at the call being answered. "I spent some time in the repair baths today. Miss Dreadnought said that my repairs are going well."
"That's good! Are your eyes starting to feel better?" Exeter could feel Leander's glare boring into the back of her skull, but didn't bother to acknowledge the uptight light cruiser.
"Mhmm." Intrepid acknowledged. She looked past the screen for a moment, probably to Dreadnought. The elder battleship said something that Intrepid's phone didn't pick up clearly, and the destroyer turned back to her phone. "Miss Dreadnought wanted me to tell you that I love you and that I hope you come back soon."
"Aww, I love you too sweetie. I'll try and be back in Portsmouth as soo-"
"CONTACT!" Achilles shouted, her guns opening fire at something Exeter couldn't see.
"Intrepid, I have to go. Duty calls." Exeter ended the call before the young destroyer could say anything, and stowed her phone.
"Status report!" Leander demanded, shifting course to join her sister.
"Abyssal destroyers, two of 'em, coming out of the storm!"
"Any heavies?" Exeter asked.
"I don't see her!" Achilles replied, her guns opening up into a steady stream of lead going downrange.
"Dammit. Leander, stick with the convoy! Black, get them out of here! Someone alert Renown's group that we've made contact!"
Exeter received an array of affirmatives, and watched as Leander turned back towards the convoy. The heavy cruiser raced to join Achilles, and opened fire on the incoming destroyers. They were based on German ships, but Exeter couldn't tell which class.
The two cruisers' guns pounded away at the destroyers, who danced and dodged and grew inevitably closer. Nothing Exeter did seemed to touch the Abyssals, though the higher volume of fire from Achilles landed a few solid hits on the leading destroyer.
"Die already!" Exeter roared, her frustration rising. The trailing destroyer got off a lucky shot against her, and a single AP shell found the barbette of B turret, jamming the guns in place. Those weren't regular DD guns. Those were six inch guns!
"Break off! They've got big guns!" Exeter called out, and Achilles pulled into a outwards turn that Exeter followed. The maneuver came too late, and a torpedo lanced into Achilles' bow. Large chunks of metal went flying as the light cruiser's bow separated itself from the rest of her hull.
Achilles screamed in pain, even as her guns fired one last salvo. The shells arced through the air and blew the lead Abyssal into two ragged chunks that quickly sank.
Exeter watched as the remaining Abyssal closed, lining up a torpedo attack on Achilles as the light cruiser ground to a halt.. Her own guns roared, but once again found no mark, splashing harmlessly into the ocean around the destroyer.
The destroyer turned broadside, dumping a full spread of torpedoes.
Exeter's four remaining heavy guns roared one final time as she leapt into the air. The destroyer exploded violently as Exeter crashed into Achilles, throwing both of them clear of the torpedoes, which sailed by harmlessly.
As the two cruiser untangled their limbs from each other, Achilles looked over at Exeter. "How bad do I look?"
Her face was a mess. Scrapes and scratches marred most of her face, and everything else was covered with the blood spewing from an extremely broken nose.
"You know Voldemort, from those Harry Potter movies?" Exeter asked. The color drained from Achilles' face. "You aren't nearly that bad. A few days in the repair baths should have you right as rain."
Achilles laughed, which swiftly turned into tears because of her broken nose.
Seeing that all was well, Exeter got back on her legs, and helped Achilles up before keying her radio. "This is Exeter. Destroyers have been dealt with. No sign of the target. Achilles is wounded, and we're returning to base."
"Understood Exeter. Keep safe." Renown replied over comms, and the two cruisers set their course back towards Norfolk.
- Location
- Minot, North Dakota
Second Chances, Pt. 6
"Recovery"
King's Bay Fleet Supply Base
Captain Hunter Nash hated going to D.C., especially when he was ordered to appear in person at the Pentagon. His superiors were outraged that another sailing ship, particularly a useless commercial sailing vessel, had been summoned in a summoning chamber that had been shut down. He had managed to smooth most of the ruffled feathers, and Vice Admiral Bray was willing to accept that the summoning was an accident, much to the chagrin of Rear Admiral (Upper Half) Bergin who had opened the meeting with a demand for Nash's resignation. At least he was back at his base now. A stop by the office, then home.
Being Saturday, the office staff was off duty, so he was surprised seeing movement on his couch.
"Jennifer?" he said.
The dark-haired girl on the couch stirred and looked up. She jumped up from the couch and threw her arms around his neck. "Dad!", she said, as she began to cry. He knew she had been through a lot, so he just stood there and held her. After a while, he steered her back to the couch and sat down beside her.
As he held his daughter, he thought about a girl in pigtails who wanted nothing else than to follow in her father's footsteps as a sailor. The first model she built was a snap together USS John F Kennedy. Her ability with model-making grew as she did, and some of her models were part of his office décor. She had decided to enlist rather than apply for the Naval Academy and had been worried when she told him. He had told her he couldn't have been prouder of her for making that decision.
"Dad", she said, "everyone I served with on Missouri is dead. I feel like I let them down. I should have been there."
"It's understandable to feel that way, Jenn. You were part of a crew. A good crew can be like a family. Believe me, I can understand. My captain and my crew were all killed when the Abyssals destroyed USS Georgia out there in the river."
"How did you get through that?"
He could have told her different things but chose to tell her the straight truth. "I'm not real sure I will ever be through that. I still have nightmares occasionally. I still get sad when I think of the friends I lost. I wasn't a good man early in life. Your mother and I made a lot of bad choices, but that changed when you came along. This loss made me want to go back to the mindless drinking, partying, self-destructive behavior. I wanted to not have to think, just kill the pain. Your mother was there for me through the worst of it, you were there, your brothers. I channeled that pain into advocating for this base to be rebuilt. You have a lot of support here. But you must keep the door open for us. Just take each day, sometimes each minute one at a time. The pain will not always be as sharp, and the good memories will always be there. That survivor's guilt will wane slowly. You may have to talk about it with friends and counselors for several years, but it will begin to dull. I wish I could tell you it would be over in a couple months, but that's not true. But I will be here for you, no matter what."
"Thank you, Daddy. By the way, where are mom and Jacob?"
"Well, I got called up to the Pentagon because of our newest Essex, so your mom and brother took Essie on a field trip to Wilmington, North Carolina."
"Oh…showing her what kind of ships she could end up facing."
"Yep, I figure letting these nineteenth century girls see and walk around a battleship lets them have some idea of why I don't just turn them loose on the high seas."
"Dad? Can we go home?"
"Of course. I wish it were better circumstances, but I am so glad to have you home, and your mother and brother will be too!"
-------------------------------------------------------
The next day
Church had been good, and the Nash family plus one whaler went to lunch at a restaurant in town. When they got back to the house later that afternoon, Hunter got a call from his XO, Commander John Mitchell. The retaking of Pearl was on. He called the shipgirls to meet in his office to observe. The rest of the family stayed at the house to catch up. Watching a live battle probably wasn't the best thing for Jenn at this point anyway.
Communications had set up a secure live feed in his office and Essex and Essie were the first to arrive. Essex had a thick notepad and pen with her to jot down any tactics or maneuvers that could be useful in the future. Essie had a slightly bewildered look on her face, not quite sure what was going on. The Honda Point gang showed up together and took up seats on chairs and the couch. Delphy and Chauncy arrived last carrying chips, dip, and an icechest with cokes. They took seats next to Essex. The only one missing was Essa. Nash thought that strange, since his Command Master Chief was usually one of the first to arrive for anything.
Commander Mitchell arrived and shook Nash's hand. "How was everything at the Pentagon?"
Nash replied, "Pretty tense. Bergin was on the warpath. Managed to get everything calmed down, but they were not happy about another sailing ship."
Mitchell shook his head, "That guy has a serious issue with this base, these girls, and you, Hunter. And as a two-star admiral he has a lot of pull."
Hunter grimaced. "It doesn't help that his uncle is on the Senate Committee on Kanamasu and is a major critic of the whole ship girl program. Well, those are problems for another day. What's going on here?"
Mitchell grinned and said, "Glad you asked." He walked to the wall where the large monitor was mounted.
"Alright, what we are about to see is live feed of the retaking of Pearl Harbor." S.P. Lee pumped her fist in the air, "Woo-Hoo!"
Mitchell looked at the little Clemson who just smiled right back. "The operation has already been underway for several hours, with the insertion of SEAL teams to take out enemy flak towers. S.P. Lee has just volunteered to pass out these handouts describing the Abyssal defenses in Hawaii. What we will be watching is drone and steel hull camera views of the surface and air engagement. Any questions?"
Essie raised her hand. "Yes, Essie?"
Everyone turned to look when she said, "What's a Hawaii?"
Essex grinned, "It's what we used to call the Sandwich Islands."
Essie said, "Oh, I know where those are."
Mitchell looked at Nash, who just shook his head. "Ok, feed on."
Mitchell walked back to join Nash and watched as the Clemsons passed out food and drinks.
The destroyers started cheering as Abyssals started exploding. Essex took notes on the cruiser formations and destroyer screens. Delphy stood up knocking the popcorn out of her own lap and pointed to the screen.
Pointing at Johnston as she fired a spread of torpedoes at an abyssal cruiser and opened up on an ill-fated abyssal destroyer with her 5-inch guns, Delphy shouted, "Yeah, look at that gold-plater go! Kick her ass!" The other Clemsons cheered along.
Essex looked shocked, "Delphy! Mind your language in the Commodore's office."
Just then Essa walked in with boxes of food. She watched Alaska blast another cruiser out of existence, "Hell yeah, get wrecked, Abyssal bitch!"
Essex looked at her, "Why do I even bother?
Essa looked at the frigate, "I really don't know." She handed a box to Essie, "Have some buffalo wings."
Essie looked at the box, then eyed its contents suspiciously. "These must be from very small buffalo."
Essa laughed, "Less thinking, more eating, Ahab." She set a box of wings and two bottles of beer on the table between Nash and Mitchell. "Eat up, guys!"
Mitchell popped open the beer and grabbed a wing. Little things like regulations weren't going to stop the ex-SEAL from enjoying himself. "Hunter, we know that we are watching a battle, but they're acting like it's the Super Bowl."
Hunter thought a second, "For them it is in a way. Fighting is what they are born for. If they have to watch it thousands of miles away, then they are going to cheer and celebrate their fellow shipgirls victories."
Essex looked at Essie, "Are you seeing how they divide up the roles in the attack? The destroyers handle one part, the cruisers another, and then the battleships engage both heavy enemy ships and shore positions. Meanwhile, the aircraft do different jobs too. Some are bombers, others carry torpedoes, while another group protects them from enemy attack."
"Oh, I see.", said Essie.
"Don't get me started on battleships", said Chauncey. "These aren't even true battleships in this fight."
Essex grinned, "I'm pretty sure Commander Jersey would disagree."
Chauncey said, "They are more like battlecruisers. Battleships don't have to chase anything. They just wait for the enemy to come to them and then pound the living daylights out of 'em."
Essie said, "So who are real battleships?"
Delphy chimed in, "We trained with real battleships. Texas, Nevada, Arizona, New Mexico, Pennsylvania, and the others."
Essex never let a teaching moment go to waste. "Ok, I expect a report from each of you destroyers on fast battleships in World War Two."
There was a collective groan from the Clemsons.
Essie looked at the screen and pointed to two massive shapes under the water, "W-what are those?"
The shapes broke the surface. Mitchell stood up along with Nash. The captain spoke up, "Those are Iowa class battleships." Nash grabbed his phone and called the house. "Jenn, I think you need to come over to the office. You are not going to believe this."
"Recovery"
King's Bay Fleet Supply Base
Captain Hunter Nash hated going to D.C., especially when he was ordered to appear in person at the Pentagon. His superiors were outraged that another sailing ship, particularly a useless commercial sailing vessel, had been summoned in a summoning chamber that had been shut down. He had managed to smooth most of the ruffled feathers, and Vice Admiral Bray was willing to accept that the summoning was an accident, much to the chagrin of Rear Admiral (Upper Half) Bergin who had opened the meeting with a demand for Nash's resignation. At least he was back at his base now. A stop by the office, then home.
Being Saturday, the office staff was off duty, so he was surprised seeing movement on his couch.
"Jennifer?" he said.
The dark-haired girl on the couch stirred and looked up. She jumped up from the couch and threw her arms around his neck. "Dad!", she said, as she began to cry. He knew she had been through a lot, so he just stood there and held her. After a while, he steered her back to the couch and sat down beside her.
As he held his daughter, he thought about a girl in pigtails who wanted nothing else than to follow in her father's footsteps as a sailor. The first model she built was a snap together USS John F Kennedy. Her ability with model-making grew as she did, and some of her models were part of his office décor. She had decided to enlist rather than apply for the Naval Academy and had been worried when she told him. He had told her he couldn't have been prouder of her for making that decision.
"Dad", she said, "everyone I served with on Missouri is dead. I feel like I let them down. I should have been there."
"It's understandable to feel that way, Jenn. You were part of a crew. A good crew can be like a family. Believe me, I can understand. My captain and my crew were all killed when the Abyssals destroyed USS Georgia out there in the river."
"How did you get through that?"
He could have told her different things but chose to tell her the straight truth. "I'm not real sure I will ever be through that. I still have nightmares occasionally. I still get sad when I think of the friends I lost. I wasn't a good man early in life. Your mother and I made a lot of bad choices, but that changed when you came along. This loss made me want to go back to the mindless drinking, partying, self-destructive behavior. I wanted to not have to think, just kill the pain. Your mother was there for me through the worst of it, you were there, your brothers. I channeled that pain into advocating for this base to be rebuilt. You have a lot of support here. But you must keep the door open for us. Just take each day, sometimes each minute one at a time. The pain will not always be as sharp, and the good memories will always be there. That survivor's guilt will wane slowly. You may have to talk about it with friends and counselors for several years, but it will begin to dull. I wish I could tell you it would be over in a couple months, but that's not true. But I will be here for you, no matter what."
"Thank you, Daddy. By the way, where are mom and Jacob?"
"Well, I got called up to the Pentagon because of our newest Essex, so your mom and brother took Essie on a field trip to Wilmington, North Carolina."
"Oh…showing her what kind of ships she could end up facing."
"Yep, I figure letting these nineteenth century girls see and walk around a battleship lets them have some idea of why I don't just turn them loose on the high seas."
"Dad? Can we go home?"
"Of course. I wish it were better circumstances, but I am so glad to have you home, and your mother and brother will be too!"
-------------------------------------------------------
The next day
Church had been good, and the Nash family plus one whaler went to lunch at a restaurant in town. When they got back to the house later that afternoon, Hunter got a call from his XO, Commander John Mitchell. The retaking of Pearl was on. He called the shipgirls to meet in his office to observe. The rest of the family stayed at the house to catch up. Watching a live battle probably wasn't the best thing for Jenn at this point anyway.
Communications had set up a secure live feed in his office and Essex and Essie were the first to arrive. Essex had a thick notepad and pen with her to jot down any tactics or maneuvers that could be useful in the future. Essie had a slightly bewildered look on her face, not quite sure what was going on. The Honda Point gang showed up together and took up seats on chairs and the couch. Delphy and Chauncy arrived last carrying chips, dip, and an icechest with cokes. They took seats next to Essex. The only one missing was Essa. Nash thought that strange, since his Command Master Chief was usually one of the first to arrive for anything.
Commander Mitchell arrived and shook Nash's hand. "How was everything at the Pentagon?"
Nash replied, "Pretty tense. Bergin was on the warpath. Managed to get everything calmed down, but they were not happy about another sailing ship."
Mitchell shook his head, "That guy has a serious issue with this base, these girls, and you, Hunter. And as a two-star admiral he has a lot of pull."
Hunter grimaced. "It doesn't help that his uncle is on the Senate Committee on Kanamasu and is a major critic of the whole ship girl program. Well, those are problems for another day. What's going on here?"
Mitchell grinned and said, "Glad you asked." He walked to the wall where the large monitor was mounted.
"Alright, what we are about to see is live feed of the retaking of Pearl Harbor." S.P. Lee pumped her fist in the air, "Woo-Hoo!"
Mitchell looked at the little Clemson who just smiled right back. "The operation has already been underway for several hours, with the insertion of SEAL teams to take out enemy flak towers. S.P. Lee has just volunteered to pass out these handouts describing the Abyssal defenses in Hawaii. What we will be watching is drone and steel hull camera views of the surface and air engagement. Any questions?"
Essie raised her hand. "Yes, Essie?"
Everyone turned to look when she said, "What's a Hawaii?"
Essex grinned, "It's what we used to call the Sandwich Islands."
Essie said, "Oh, I know where those are."
Mitchell looked at Nash, who just shook his head. "Ok, feed on."
Mitchell walked back to join Nash and watched as the Clemsons passed out food and drinks.
The destroyers started cheering as Abyssals started exploding. Essex took notes on the cruiser formations and destroyer screens. Delphy stood up knocking the popcorn out of her own lap and pointed to the screen.
Pointing at Johnston as she fired a spread of torpedoes at an abyssal cruiser and opened up on an ill-fated abyssal destroyer with her 5-inch guns, Delphy shouted, "Yeah, look at that gold-plater go! Kick her ass!" The other Clemsons cheered along.
Essex looked shocked, "Delphy! Mind your language in the Commodore's office."
Just then Essa walked in with boxes of food. She watched Alaska blast another cruiser out of existence, "Hell yeah, get wrecked, Abyssal bitch!"
Essex looked at her, "Why do I even bother?
Essa looked at the frigate, "I really don't know." She handed a box to Essie, "Have some buffalo wings."
Essie looked at the box, then eyed its contents suspiciously. "These must be from very small buffalo."
Essa laughed, "Less thinking, more eating, Ahab." She set a box of wings and two bottles of beer on the table between Nash and Mitchell. "Eat up, guys!"
Mitchell popped open the beer and grabbed a wing. Little things like regulations weren't going to stop the ex-SEAL from enjoying himself. "Hunter, we know that we are watching a battle, but they're acting like it's the Super Bowl."
Hunter thought a second, "For them it is in a way. Fighting is what they are born for. If they have to watch it thousands of miles away, then they are going to cheer and celebrate their fellow shipgirls victories."
Essex looked at Essie, "Are you seeing how they divide up the roles in the attack? The destroyers handle one part, the cruisers another, and then the battleships engage both heavy enemy ships and shore positions. Meanwhile, the aircraft do different jobs too. Some are bombers, others carry torpedoes, while another group protects them from enemy attack."
"Oh, I see.", said Essie.
"Don't get me started on battleships", said Chauncey. "These aren't even true battleships in this fight."
Essex grinned, "I'm pretty sure Commander Jersey would disagree."
Chauncey said, "They are more like battlecruisers. Battleships don't have to chase anything. They just wait for the enemy to come to them and then pound the living daylights out of 'em."
Essie said, "So who are real battleships?"
Delphy chimed in, "We trained with real battleships. Texas, Nevada, Arizona, New Mexico, Pennsylvania, and the others."
Essex never let a teaching moment go to waste. "Ok, I expect a report from each of you destroyers on fast battleships in World War Two."
There was a collective groan from the Clemsons.
Essie looked at the screen and pointed to two massive shapes under the water, "W-what are those?"
The shapes broke the surface. Mitchell stood up along with Nash. The captain spoke up, "Those are Iowa class battleships." Nash grabbed his phone and called the house. "Jenn, I think you need to come over to the office. You are not going to believe this."
Admiral_Corgi
The Admiral of the PT Boats
- Location
- The Strange land of Florida
ah I almost forgot to post the preview to the next Doggos here. I'm gonna fix that now. This preview is part of the first scene.
Petty Officer Third Class Simon Lake carefully removed the last of the tiny bolts that was holding down the torpedo tube launcher. Sweat rolled down the sides of his face, guided there and away from his eyes by the headband of the binocular magnifying glasses he was wearing. Once the tiny steel bolt was placed into the small magnetic holding pan off to his left with the aid of a pair of stainless steel curved neck tweezers. Simon allowed himself to release the breath he had been holding.
After double checking to make sure all the bolts were accounted for. Simon lifted the magnifiers up to see everything that wasn't very close to him clearly again. After a quick rub of the eyes with the back of his hand to speed up readjustment, he carefully took hold of the tube launcher and lifted it off the dog sized vest it was attached to. He swore he felt the vest stretch slightly under his fingers as he pulled off the heavy launcher. No doubt he figured it was the dog this vest belonged to stretching out as it felt the last of the heavy launchers be removed.
Despite the tiny size of the miniature torpedo tube launcher it still weighed far more than it had any right to. At the very least it wasn't still loaded with Torpedoes, he had removed those from all four launch tubes an hour earlier.
When he placed the tube launcher down next to it three brethren on the trolley that was to the right side of his his work station. The heavy-duty cart groaned ominously under the weight. Simon waited a few moment to figure whether or not if the cart was about to suddenly collapse, or break a wheel.
On another Heavy Duty Cart that was flanking the left side of his station laid four miniature roll racks. Their mounting bolts inside separate tiny baggies. While certainly lighter than the older launch tubes, the miniature roll racks were still heavier than their appearance suggested they had any right to be.
Simon heard Sanderson swear up a fierce storm roughly twenty feet behind him. From the sound of it, Simon figured Sanderson must have dropped something. He pitied the WA-5, dropping something in the equipment building meant it could very hard to find it. Especially by the gun mounting station where it be likened to searching for a needle in a haystack.
However the Petty Officer didn't dwell on the thought much longer, he still had this set of drop racks to install on this rigging vest and he didn't want to find another angrily-written postage stamp sized paper on his station's table again. This Particular PT Corgi who's vest he was working on currently had been waiting for far too long to get the new racks.
"At least with those new Ensigns I've actually got time to get this damn backlog cleared out." Simon quietly said to himself as he placed the first drop rack down on the spot on the vest were the old launcher had resided. After opening the bag of mounting bolts, he hunched down and flipped the Magnifying glasses back down.
It was a strange experience looking at a PT Corgi's rigging vest through the lenses. Especially after he carefully rested the bolts into their holes and went to retrieve the modified watchmaker's screwdriver needed to tighten the bolts down. When he looked back through the lens at bolts, he saw that the slightly crocked bolts were straightened out in their holes. Stranger still, the fabric of the vest now looked more like wooden planking. In fact as he focused to tighten down the bolts to the first torpedo drop rack, Simon did indeed see wood planking.
It was the strangest experience but it was one that he was now used to. Unlike when he had first joined the unit and changed a PT Corgi's torpedo tube launcher to the drop rack system. That first time, the experience left him with a severe migraine when he had tried to rationalize what he witnessed through the magnifying lenses. Nowadays though it didn't bother him, so long as he didn't think too hard on it that is...
After double checking to make sure all the bolts were accounted for. Simon lifted the magnifiers up to see everything that wasn't very close to him clearly again. After a quick rub of the eyes with the back of his hand to speed up readjustment, he carefully took hold of the tube launcher and lifted it off the dog sized vest it was attached to. He swore he felt the vest stretch slightly under his fingers as he pulled off the heavy launcher. No doubt he figured it was the dog this vest belonged to stretching out as it felt the last of the heavy launchers be removed.
Despite the tiny size of the miniature torpedo tube launcher it still weighed far more than it had any right to. At the very least it wasn't still loaded with Torpedoes, he had removed those from all four launch tubes an hour earlier.
When he placed the tube launcher down next to it three brethren on the trolley that was to the right side of his his work station. The heavy-duty cart groaned ominously under the weight. Simon waited a few moment to figure whether or not if the cart was about to suddenly collapse, or break a wheel.
On another Heavy Duty Cart that was flanking the left side of his station laid four miniature roll racks. Their mounting bolts inside separate tiny baggies. While certainly lighter than the older launch tubes, the miniature roll racks were still heavier than their appearance suggested they had any right to be.
Simon heard Sanderson swear up a fierce storm roughly twenty feet behind him. From the sound of it, Simon figured Sanderson must have dropped something. He pitied the WA-5, dropping something in the equipment building meant it could very hard to find it. Especially by the gun mounting station where it be likened to searching for a needle in a haystack.
However the Petty Officer didn't dwell on the thought much longer, he still had this set of drop racks to install on this rigging vest and he didn't want to find another angrily-written postage stamp sized paper on his station's table again. This Particular PT Corgi who's vest he was working on currently had been waiting for far too long to get the new racks.
"At least with those new Ensigns I've actually got time to get this damn backlog cleared out." Simon quietly said to himself as he placed the first drop rack down on the spot on the vest were the old launcher had resided. After opening the bag of mounting bolts, he hunched down and flipped the Magnifying glasses back down.
It was a strange experience looking at a PT Corgi's rigging vest through the lenses. Especially after he carefully rested the bolts into their holes and went to retrieve the modified watchmaker's screwdriver needed to tighten the bolts down. When he looked back through the lens at bolts, he saw that the slightly crocked bolts were straightened out in their holes. Stranger still, the fabric of the vest now looked more like wooden planking. In fact as he focused to tighten down the bolts to the first torpedo drop rack, Simon did indeed see wood planking.
It was the strangest experience but it was one that he was now used to. Unlike when he had first joined the unit and changed a PT Corgi's torpedo tube launcher to the drop rack system. That first time, the experience left him with a severe migraine when he had tried to rationalize what he witnessed through the magnifying lenses. Nowadays though it didn't bother him, so long as he didn't think too hard on it that is...
Artdoot: 'Laska and friends
- Location
- USA
Wasn't aware we had an age of sail side plot. Are those Clemson class destroyers from world war 2 being mentioned
- Location
- Minot, North Dakota
The Clemsons in my story never saw World War Two. All seven were lost in a grounding at Honda Point, California in 1923.
First chapter was posted in April, but it is very non-canon so not surprising it wasn't seen.
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