Dirtnap
Kanmusu Affecionado
I meant specifically after that in the 50s when she was sunk off San Diego as a target.
Changing Destiny (Kancolle)
- Thread starter Skywalker_T-65
- Start date
Pensacola and her sister were built tough.
Dirtnap
Kanmusu Affecionado
Reserve buoyancy is a thing yes.
Taranto
Skywalker_T-65
Writer with too many ideas.
- Location
- United States
- Pronouns
- Plural/They/He/Her
Moving back to Europe...butterflies continue to spread.
Taranto
The cool breeze of a Mediterranean night was a familiar experience in the port of Taranto. The key Italian naval base, tucked away in the 'heel' of the nation. A base that had been quiet, save for the occasional overflight of British recon birds. Perhaps understandably, the forces in this base had grown just as quiet. Complacent. There were no sounds, save for the quiet lapping of water against dark hulls, and the occasional man wandering on patrol. Taranto was asleep, the base dreaming away what was for all intents and purposes an average night.
Ah, I do enjoy quiet nights. There is far too much noise during the day, I never get any time to think.
The old battleship Andrea Doria smiled, as she walked along her hull. Cool wood echoed with each step, as the battleship paced along the silent deck. Wind brushed back dark brown hair. And equally brown eyes looked out at the twinkling of lights around the harbor. The light reflected off the dark metal of her hull, as the old warship listened to the sounds of night in Taranto. Familiar sounds, that had a smile tugging at her lips.
Doria had lived for a long time. She had seen many things. But nothing was ever quite like the gentle waves caressing her hull, and the quiet of a slumbering naval base. Her smile refused to fade away, as she carefully stepped around her night watch. The young man, face pinched in a scowl, didn't notice her. Doria just laughed softly at his expression. Oh, she did so enjoy seeing how her crew reacted to their duties. Many young men just like this one had walked through her hull. Each and every one of them was unique, and Doria was fond of them all.
"Nothing ever happens at night." The man grumbled, a sudden gust of wind making him tug at his cap. "Waste of my time."
"Ah ah," Doria waved her finger. "Always be vigilant. Your fathers taught the Austrians that lesson."
Of course, the young man- a boy, really -made no sign he noticed her. It didn't bother the old battleship though. She knew he wouldn't react, even as she watched him leave. Oh, it might have hurt her at one time. Doria's smile fell slightly, when she remembered the heady days of her early years. But honestly? As she turned back to the harbor, it didn't bother her anymore. She loved her crew, and wouldn't trade them for anything.
Even if that meant she could never actually talk to them.
Oh well. She had learned long ago to not dwell on those thoughts. It was unbecoming of her, a proper battleship. Not like those harlots in the Royal Navy, strutting around like they owned the globe. Rule Britannia her finely shaped stern! Though, despite herself, Doria felt soft laughter building up in her chest. Soft, genuine laughter. It was good to poke fun at the Royal Navy. Though...
"I do worry, sometimes." The battleship rubbed her chin, as her boots tapped against the hardwood of her deck.
Poking fun at the Royal Navy let her avoid thinking about the battles between her comrades and the English. Conflicts hadn't...hadn't been in the Italians favor. Doria's laughter faded away, like the sound of her night-watch's footsteps. Brushing back her long hair, the Italian blew a stray lock from her face. She worried sometimes, even if she would never readily admit it. Poking fun at the Royal Navy was all well and good, and she enjoyed doing it. Arrogant assholes.
But.
But, Doria knew the truth better than most. Like young little Littorio, off in the dark distance. Doria turned around, her dark eyes trailing along the sleek form of the new battleship, admiring her lean lines. Littorio was a new breed, her long hull spread out like a lounging cat. Beautiful lines. A sharp bow. A shapely stern that had Doria feeling almost envious...almost! And her guns. Those powerful, elegant fifteen inch rifles. So powerful...
Wait. What was she thinking?
Ah, my mind was drifting again. Still, Littorio is a fine successor.
Doria just wished the younger girl didn't have to face her trial by fire with the Royal Navy. Far better to fight the French, whom she was designed to beat. The old battleship, sighing as her feet carried her to her own forward turrets, was confident against the cheese eaters. France was neither a naval power, nor a match for the Regia Marina. Not in the slightest, or Doria wasn't a battleship. The Royal Navy though...Doria shuddered. The wind suddenly felt much colder, as she remembered her older cousin, Giulio Cesare, bore a wound from HMS Warspite.
Still though, they were safe in Taranto. Doria did not have the urge for battle that the younger ships felt, and was perfectly content where she was.
We're safe here, of course. Not even the Royal Navy can break Taranto op...op...
Brown eyes widening in sudden shock, Doria spun around. Her feet cracked against her deck, as she sprinted to the side of her hull. Dark eyes stared out at the water, as her hands gripped down on the railing by her side. Her already pale skin was almost ghostly translucent, white-knuckles gripping the old metal. Like her life depended on it.
She had never felt fear before, but Andrea Doria imagined this might be it.
"No..." she breathed out, her deep voice cracking like a broken record.
This was impossible. It was impossible!
"Aircraft! Aircraft in the harbor!"
But as the young man she had been doting over shouted out, Doria looked out at the harbor. Her face twisted into a frown, as dark eyes scanned for any sign of what she heard. The dull roar of piston engines. Pale hands gripping her railing so hard she almost wondered how it was intact, Doria rapidly scanned the sky.
Luckily for her, the British made it easier.
Pale green and red lights sprung to life, behind her and the other battleships. Pulling back from her side, Doria's feet pounded along her deck, as she ran back. Her lithe body used her new speed to duck and weave around her crew, many of them not even dressed. Confusion reigned supreme, not least from the battleship herself. She vaulted up her superstructure, taking the steps two at a time. Doria panted heavily, as her long skirt flew around her legs.
She couldn't believe it. It didn't seem possible!
Biplanes...
But as she crested the last steps, only narrowly avoiding running smack into her lookout, the battleship looked out from the base of her mast. Her brown eyes had not fooled her.
Biplanes. The British had sent in biplanes! The aircraft she saw illuminated by their own flares, by searchlights and the first antiaircraft fire from herself and the other battleships, wouldn't have looked out of place when she was commissioned. Doria was in shock. Who in their right mind would send aircraft like that to attack Taranto?!
"Cavour was hit!"
"Keep firing!"
"Where the hell did they come from?"
Shouts reached the old battleship, forcing her head away from the aircraft. Her eyes burned, as the sight of a flaming biplane shooting into the harbor was burned in her vision. Doria shook her head, clearing her eyes as she grabbed the railing by her side. The battleship slid down the rail, not a care in the world for how her skirt fluttered around her hips. No one could see her anyway!
But she needed to get to her bridge, and find out what the hell was happening.
Letting go of the rail the moment she reached the bottom of the stairs, Doria crashed on her shapely stern, wincing softly. But only wincing, as she forced herself up, and sprinted the remaining distance to her rebuilt bridge. Her Captain was barking out orders, as men scattered through the bridge, struggling to make sense of the madness. Doria felt for them, she really did. All of these men...young boys, who had yet to even fully work up from her long refit. But there was no time for that now. She was a battleship, and there was a battle on.
And I won't fail.
"Captain," Doria panted out, even though she knew he couldn't hear her. "What is even going on? How...?"
Her Captain indeed made no sign he heard her, as he turned around, eyes narrowed. He looked out at the harbor for what felt like an eternity, before turning back to his crew. Her crew.
"Continue firing!" The elder man barked out, before turning away from the weapons officers, and marching over to the inter-ship communication systems. He picked up the 'phone' and held it to his ear, as Doria stood behind him. "Engineering, can we get underway?"
"No sir!" Was the immediate response, as the sounds of frantic activity rang through the system. "Even if we had pressure in the boilers, the torpedo nets are still in place!"
Doria felt the sudden urge to hug her Captain, as the man held a hand to his face. She felt...she felt pain in her chest. He looked so lost...
"Right...right. The nets." Shaking his head, the man dropped the phone and marched back over to look out at the harbor. His hands clenched by his sides, as the young- for a Captain -man grimaced. He took in a breath, working to calm himself. It didn't do much good, and even Doria could see that. Still, he turned his head, and looked out at the other crewmembers nonetheless. "Get the guns going, and keep up the attack. Do not let those English bastards hit us."
A chorus of nods answered that, as the inexperienced crew set out to their jobs.
For her part, Doria looked out at the harbor. Her hands itched to do something. She didn't even know what either. But the battleship wanted to do something to help. She felt the dull thud of her own anti-aircraft weaponry, so recently added, firing into the sky. Tracers lit the sky like the Christmas tree her crew occasionally brought out. Doria hissed softly, when she saw the British aircraft illuminated by the light.
Two were peeling away from Cavour, her elder counterpart already riding low in the water.
Two more were even now diving on Littorio's sister, Vittorio Veneto. Doria held her hand up, clenching her fist over the aircraft. It took every ounce of self-control she had to not scream in frustration. She was not typically loud or quick to anger. But...but...
Damn it this was not a normal situation!
"Miss...miss...miss..."
Muttering under her breath, the battleship ducked past the outstretched arm of her Captain, her boots clacking against the metal of her bridge. At least, until the noise was absorbed by the rattle of machinegun and cannon fire. Doria paid little mind to her guns, her attention entirely focused on the planes diving on Veneto. One of the slow British planes burst into flame, making a small smile cross Doria's face.
Take that!
The top wing of the bomber fell away, as it crashed into the harbor just short of Veneto's stern. The other bomber, however, managed to peel away. Doria watched it go, the cold grip of fear clenching around her heart. Her anger fled as quickly as it had come, as she looked at Veneto. The young battleship, complete for a scarce few months, shuddered.
Fire and water shot into the sky, Veneto's bow hit directly by a torpedo. That shouldn't have been possible! They all, Doria and the other battleships, had torpedo nets. It should have stopped that warhead. Why didn't it? How did she get hit? What was even going on?!
"This is impossible...we were safe. We were safe. We were..."
Doria repeated this mantra, even as she felt her legs give out underneath her. Cold water sprayed up, soaking her hair and uniform. The torpedo from the first bomber had been in the water...it had only narrowly missed her!
"They're leaving..."
The battleship's head snapped up, a member of her crew standing by her side. The man wore only a shirt and his underclothing, and made no indication he saw her. But Doria hardly noticed. A weary smile crossed her face in fact. Cavour and Veneto...both were hit, but the English had lost four planes in doing so. They had hurt the Italian fleet. But Doria felt a small hint of triumph in her heart...they had hurt the Englanders as well!
Yes, they were bloodied. But they were not beaten! But...
Her hope was fleeting.
"Second wave!" Her lookout cried, his voice reaching even from the tall mast.
The man next to Doria cursed lowly, his eyes looking up at the sky, "Where are the bastards coming from?!"
Climbing to her feet, eyes narrowed, Doria agreed, "Indeed."
Both battleship and sailor turned as one, the sharp crack of Doria's boots joined by the soft patter of his bare feet. She wasn't focused on that though. Or even on dodging out of the way of her crew, ignoring as the men...phased through her. The experience was unpleasant. Like someone dropped ice water down her spine. But Doria forced that feeling aside.
She couldn't focus on that, not when there was another wave of biplanes coming into view. Dull green flares joined stabbing searchlights, as the antique looking aircraft dove down to the water. They flew so slow and low that Doria almost felt she could reach a hand out and grab one, if it were close enough. The English were insane, they had to be!
But insane or not...
They just kept on coming.
-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-
Lieutenant Aubrey Brown bit his lip, as wind rushed through the open canopy of his old Stringbag. Blue eyes stared out at the harbor beneath him, as the pilot nosed down to wave-top level. Searchlights broke into the night sky, brilliant white beams searching for himself and his comrades in the second wave. His eyes quickly moved away from the searchlights though, to preserve his night vision. Instead, the young Englishman focused in on his target. The recon photos he and the rest of the men had gone over were fresh in mind.
Pulling hard on the controls of his antique looking bomber, Brown cursed softly. His arms ached with the pressure of flying the old biplane. Sweat dotted his brow. His legs shook sympathetically with the plane he was flying, as the big engine shook the light frame. But through it all, he felt a sense of pride. The Royal Navy was not out of this war yet!
"Bloody hell Aubrey, they're really hammering the sky aren't they?" His gunner, John Taylor, shouted over the wind rushing past the men.
Brown snorted, though the sound was lost in the wind, "That they are! Hold on back there, we're heading in low!"
"Hanging on for dear life, aye!"
"Smartass!"
Whatever Taylor shouted back was lost, as Brown kicked the Stringbag's engine to full power, nosing over into a dive. Ack-ack from the Italian battleships burst all around, some coming uncomfortably close. The young pilot grimaced, as he felt the sharp rush of shrapnel flying past his face. His arms shook with more than just exertion now, to say the least!
But he didn't let it get to him. He couldn't.
Forcing his mind and body to cooperate with each other, Brown leveled out a scant fifty feet from the water's surface. So close, he could see the small waves lapping against the Italian battleships. So close, he could taste the salt from water kicked up by his plane's engine. The Lieutenant tore his focus from that though, as he saw the thing that should have his focus.
There you are, you pretty thing...
The new Italian battleship, either Littorio or her sister Veneto. The pretty ship, about all she had really, loomed out of the darkness. Her hull bristled with guns, all spewing lead into the sky around the old Stringbag. Brown softly let out a prayer, as he nosed over slightly. His plane responded promptly, even loaded down with a heavy torpedo. She moved slightly over to the left, as the following two Swordfish mimicked the move. Brown assumed they did anyway, not like he could look over his shoulder to check! No, all his focus was on one simple thing.
Slamming this torpedo up that pretty girl's skirt.
"Right...right..." The young pilot muttered, as he shook sweat from his face. He bit his lip, the imposing form of the battleship continuing to fire at his fragile plane. He ignored the fire, though. All his attention on...on...
"Torpedo away!"
A dull thump sounded over the roar of his engine and Italian gunfire, as the Stringbag almost bounced upwards with the sudden lack of weight. Grinning at the picture-perfect launch, Brown tugged up. The old bomber responded quickly, peeling away from the enemy fire, as Brown focused on getting out of sight and out of mind. He couldn't afford to watch his torpedo, however much he wanted to. He had seen a Swordfish plunge into the water aflame, and had no intention of the same happening to him.
No sir!
That said, as he grunted against the force of the wind trying to tug his plane back down, he heard a thunderous roar. Soon joined by a whoop of joy from the seat to his rear.
"Direct hit! I repeat, direct hit! Look at that fire!"
Brown grinned, even as he leveled his Stringbag out and set off out of the danger zone, "I would love to, but unless you want to join them down there, I need to get us out of here!"
There was nothing but a deep laugh in response to that, as the Royal Navy bird flew out of Taranto as fast as it could.
Leaving behind a burning battleship, Littorio. And a harbor that burned just as brightly...quite a fitting tribute to Trafalgar Day. Maybe October 21, 1940 would go down in history as the same...the crippling of another enemy fleet by the Royal Navy!
Taranto
The cool breeze of a Mediterranean night was a familiar experience in the port of Taranto. The key Italian naval base, tucked away in the 'heel' of the nation. A base that had been quiet, save for the occasional overflight of British recon birds. Perhaps understandably, the forces in this base had grown just as quiet. Complacent. There were no sounds, save for the quiet lapping of water against dark hulls, and the occasional man wandering on patrol. Taranto was asleep, the base dreaming away what was for all intents and purposes an average night.
Ah, I do enjoy quiet nights. There is far too much noise during the day, I never get any time to think.
The old battleship Andrea Doria smiled, as she walked along her hull. Cool wood echoed with each step, as the battleship paced along the silent deck. Wind brushed back dark brown hair. And equally brown eyes looked out at the twinkling of lights around the harbor. The light reflected off the dark metal of her hull, as the old warship listened to the sounds of night in Taranto. Familiar sounds, that had a smile tugging at her lips.
Doria had lived for a long time. She had seen many things. But nothing was ever quite like the gentle waves caressing her hull, and the quiet of a slumbering naval base. Her smile refused to fade away, as she carefully stepped around her night watch. The young man, face pinched in a scowl, didn't notice her. Doria just laughed softly at his expression. Oh, she did so enjoy seeing how her crew reacted to their duties. Many young men just like this one had walked through her hull. Each and every one of them was unique, and Doria was fond of them all.
"Nothing ever happens at night." The man grumbled, a sudden gust of wind making him tug at his cap. "Waste of my time."
"Ah ah," Doria waved her finger. "Always be vigilant. Your fathers taught the Austrians that lesson."
Of course, the young man- a boy, really -made no sign he noticed her. It didn't bother the old battleship though. She knew he wouldn't react, even as she watched him leave. Oh, it might have hurt her at one time. Doria's smile fell slightly, when she remembered the heady days of her early years. But honestly? As she turned back to the harbor, it didn't bother her anymore. She loved her crew, and wouldn't trade them for anything.
Even if that meant she could never actually talk to them.
Oh well. She had learned long ago to not dwell on those thoughts. It was unbecoming of her, a proper battleship. Not like those harlots in the Royal Navy, strutting around like they owned the globe. Rule Britannia her finely shaped stern! Though, despite herself, Doria felt soft laughter building up in her chest. Soft, genuine laughter. It was good to poke fun at the Royal Navy. Though...
"I do worry, sometimes." The battleship rubbed her chin, as her boots tapped against the hardwood of her deck.
Poking fun at the Royal Navy let her avoid thinking about the battles between her comrades and the English. Conflicts hadn't...hadn't been in the Italians favor. Doria's laughter faded away, like the sound of her night-watch's footsteps. Brushing back her long hair, the Italian blew a stray lock from her face. She worried sometimes, even if she would never readily admit it. Poking fun at the Royal Navy was all well and good, and she enjoyed doing it. Arrogant assholes.
But.
But, Doria knew the truth better than most. Like young little Littorio, off in the dark distance. Doria turned around, her dark eyes trailing along the sleek form of the new battleship, admiring her lean lines. Littorio was a new breed, her long hull spread out like a lounging cat. Beautiful lines. A sharp bow. A shapely stern that had Doria feeling almost envious...almost! And her guns. Those powerful, elegant fifteen inch rifles. So powerful...
Wait. What was she thinking?
Ah, my mind was drifting again. Still, Littorio is a fine successor.
Doria just wished the younger girl didn't have to face her trial by fire with the Royal Navy. Far better to fight the French, whom she was designed to beat. The old battleship, sighing as her feet carried her to her own forward turrets, was confident against the cheese eaters. France was neither a naval power, nor a match for the Regia Marina. Not in the slightest, or Doria wasn't a battleship. The Royal Navy though...Doria shuddered. The wind suddenly felt much colder, as she remembered her older cousin, Giulio Cesare, bore a wound from HMS Warspite.
Still though, they were safe in Taranto. Doria did not have the urge for battle that the younger ships felt, and was perfectly content where she was.
We're safe here, of course. Not even the Royal Navy can break Taranto op...op...
Brown eyes widening in sudden shock, Doria spun around. Her feet cracked against her deck, as she sprinted to the side of her hull. Dark eyes stared out at the water, as her hands gripped down on the railing by her side. Her already pale skin was almost ghostly translucent, white-knuckles gripping the old metal. Like her life depended on it.
She had never felt fear before, but Andrea Doria imagined this might be it.
"No..." she breathed out, her deep voice cracking like a broken record.
This was impossible. It was impossible!
"Aircraft! Aircraft in the harbor!"
But as the young man she had been doting over shouted out, Doria looked out at the harbor. Her face twisted into a frown, as dark eyes scanned for any sign of what she heard. The dull roar of piston engines. Pale hands gripping her railing so hard she almost wondered how it was intact, Doria rapidly scanned the sky.
Luckily for her, the British made it easier.
Pale green and red lights sprung to life, behind her and the other battleships. Pulling back from her side, Doria's feet pounded along her deck, as she ran back. Her lithe body used her new speed to duck and weave around her crew, many of them not even dressed. Confusion reigned supreme, not least from the battleship herself. She vaulted up her superstructure, taking the steps two at a time. Doria panted heavily, as her long skirt flew around her legs.
She couldn't believe it. It didn't seem possible!
Biplanes...
But as she crested the last steps, only narrowly avoiding running smack into her lookout, the battleship looked out from the base of her mast. Her brown eyes had not fooled her.
Biplanes. The British had sent in biplanes! The aircraft she saw illuminated by their own flares, by searchlights and the first antiaircraft fire from herself and the other battleships, wouldn't have looked out of place when she was commissioned. Doria was in shock. Who in their right mind would send aircraft like that to attack Taranto?!
"Cavour was hit!"
"Keep firing!"
"Where the hell did they come from?"
Shouts reached the old battleship, forcing her head away from the aircraft. Her eyes burned, as the sight of a flaming biplane shooting into the harbor was burned in her vision. Doria shook her head, clearing her eyes as she grabbed the railing by her side. The battleship slid down the rail, not a care in the world for how her skirt fluttered around her hips. No one could see her anyway!
But she needed to get to her bridge, and find out what the hell was happening.
Letting go of the rail the moment she reached the bottom of the stairs, Doria crashed on her shapely stern, wincing softly. But only wincing, as she forced herself up, and sprinted the remaining distance to her rebuilt bridge. Her Captain was barking out orders, as men scattered through the bridge, struggling to make sense of the madness. Doria felt for them, she really did. All of these men...young boys, who had yet to even fully work up from her long refit. But there was no time for that now. She was a battleship, and there was a battle on.
And I won't fail.
"Captain," Doria panted out, even though she knew he couldn't hear her. "What is even going on? How...?"
Her Captain indeed made no sign he heard her, as he turned around, eyes narrowed. He looked out at the harbor for what felt like an eternity, before turning back to his crew. Her crew.
"Continue firing!" The elder man barked out, before turning away from the weapons officers, and marching over to the inter-ship communication systems. He picked up the 'phone' and held it to his ear, as Doria stood behind him. "Engineering, can we get underway?"
"No sir!" Was the immediate response, as the sounds of frantic activity rang through the system. "Even if we had pressure in the boilers, the torpedo nets are still in place!"
Doria felt the sudden urge to hug her Captain, as the man held a hand to his face. She felt...she felt pain in her chest. He looked so lost...
"Right...right. The nets." Shaking his head, the man dropped the phone and marched back over to look out at the harbor. His hands clenched by his sides, as the young- for a Captain -man grimaced. He took in a breath, working to calm himself. It didn't do much good, and even Doria could see that. Still, he turned his head, and looked out at the other crewmembers nonetheless. "Get the guns going, and keep up the attack. Do not let those English bastards hit us."
A chorus of nods answered that, as the inexperienced crew set out to their jobs.
For her part, Doria looked out at the harbor. Her hands itched to do something. She didn't even know what either. But the battleship wanted to do something to help. She felt the dull thud of her own anti-aircraft weaponry, so recently added, firing into the sky. Tracers lit the sky like the Christmas tree her crew occasionally brought out. Doria hissed softly, when she saw the British aircraft illuminated by the light.
Two were peeling away from Cavour, her elder counterpart already riding low in the water.
Two more were even now diving on Littorio's sister, Vittorio Veneto. Doria held her hand up, clenching her fist over the aircraft. It took every ounce of self-control she had to not scream in frustration. She was not typically loud or quick to anger. But...but...
Damn it this was not a normal situation!
"Miss...miss...miss..."
Muttering under her breath, the battleship ducked past the outstretched arm of her Captain, her boots clacking against the metal of her bridge. At least, until the noise was absorbed by the rattle of machinegun and cannon fire. Doria paid little mind to her guns, her attention entirely focused on the planes diving on Veneto. One of the slow British planes burst into flame, making a small smile cross Doria's face.
Take that!
The top wing of the bomber fell away, as it crashed into the harbor just short of Veneto's stern. The other bomber, however, managed to peel away. Doria watched it go, the cold grip of fear clenching around her heart. Her anger fled as quickly as it had come, as she looked at Veneto. The young battleship, complete for a scarce few months, shuddered.
Fire and water shot into the sky, Veneto's bow hit directly by a torpedo. That shouldn't have been possible! They all, Doria and the other battleships, had torpedo nets. It should have stopped that warhead. Why didn't it? How did she get hit? What was even going on?!
"This is impossible...we were safe. We were safe. We were..."
Doria repeated this mantra, even as she felt her legs give out underneath her. Cold water sprayed up, soaking her hair and uniform. The torpedo from the first bomber had been in the water...it had only narrowly missed her!
"They're leaving..."
The battleship's head snapped up, a member of her crew standing by her side. The man wore only a shirt and his underclothing, and made no indication he saw her. But Doria hardly noticed. A weary smile crossed her face in fact. Cavour and Veneto...both were hit, but the English had lost four planes in doing so. They had hurt the Italian fleet. But Doria felt a small hint of triumph in her heart...they had hurt the Englanders as well!
Yes, they were bloodied. But they were not beaten! But...
Her hope was fleeting.
"Second wave!" Her lookout cried, his voice reaching even from the tall mast.
The man next to Doria cursed lowly, his eyes looking up at the sky, "Where are the bastards coming from?!"
Climbing to her feet, eyes narrowed, Doria agreed, "Indeed."
Both battleship and sailor turned as one, the sharp crack of Doria's boots joined by the soft patter of his bare feet. She wasn't focused on that though. Or even on dodging out of the way of her crew, ignoring as the men...phased through her. The experience was unpleasant. Like someone dropped ice water down her spine. But Doria forced that feeling aside.
She couldn't focus on that, not when there was another wave of biplanes coming into view. Dull green flares joined stabbing searchlights, as the antique looking aircraft dove down to the water. They flew so slow and low that Doria almost felt she could reach a hand out and grab one, if it were close enough. The English were insane, they had to be!
But insane or not...
They just kept on coming.
-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-
Lieutenant Aubrey Brown bit his lip, as wind rushed through the open canopy of his old Stringbag. Blue eyes stared out at the harbor beneath him, as the pilot nosed down to wave-top level. Searchlights broke into the night sky, brilliant white beams searching for himself and his comrades in the second wave. His eyes quickly moved away from the searchlights though, to preserve his night vision. Instead, the young Englishman focused in on his target. The recon photos he and the rest of the men had gone over were fresh in mind.
Pulling hard on the controls of his antique looking bomber, Brown cursed softly. His arms ached with the pressure of flying the old biplane. Sweat dotted his brow. His legs shook sympathetically with the plane he was flying, as the big engine shook the light frame. But through it all, he felt a sense of pride. The Royal Navy was not out of this war yet!
"Bloody hell Aubrey, they're really hammering the sky aren't they?" His gunner, John Taylor, shouted over the wind rushing past the men.
Brown snorted, though the sound was lost in the wind, "That they are! Hold on back there, we're heading in low!"
"Hanging on for dear life, aye!"
"Smartass!"
Whatever Taylor shouted back was lost, as Brown kicked the Stringbag's engine to full power, nosing over into a dive. Ack-ack from the Italian battleships burst all around, some coming uncomfortably close. The young pilot grimaced, as he felt the sharp rush of shrapnel flying past his face. His arms shook with more than just exertion now, to say the least!
But he didn't let it get to him. He couldn't.
Forcing his mind and body to cooperate with each other, Brown leveled out a scant fifty feet from the water's surface. So close, he could see the small waves lapping against the Italian battleships. So close, he could taste the salt from water kicked up by his plane's engine. The Lieutenant tore his focus from that though, as he saw the thing that should have his focus.
There you are, you pretty thing...
The new Italian battleship, either Littorio or her sister Veneto. The pretty ship, about all she had really, loomed out of the darkness. Her hull bristled with guns, all spewing lead into the sky around the old Stringbag. Brown softly let out a prayer, as he nosed over slightly. His plane responded promptly, even loaded down with a heavy torpedo. She moved slightly over to the left, as the following two Swordfish mimicked the move. Brown assumed they did anyway, not like he could look over his shoulder to check! No, all his focus was on one simple thing.
Slamming this torpedo up that pretty girl's skirt.
"Right...right..." The young pilot muttered, as he shook sweat from his face. He bit his lip, the imposing form of the battleship continuing to fire at his fragile plane. He ignored the fire, though. All his attention on...on...
"Torpedo away!"
A dull thump sounded over the roar of his engine and Italian gunfire, as the Stringbag almost bounced upwards with the sudden lack of weight. Grinning at the picture-perfect launch, Brown tugged up. The old bomber responded quickly, peeling away from the enemy fire, as Brown focused on getting out of sight and out of mind. He couldn't afford to watch his torpedo, however much he wanted to. He had seen a Swordfish plunge into the water aflame, and had no intention of the same happening to him.
No sir!
That said, as he grunted against the force of the wind trying to tug his plane back down, he heard a thunderous roar. Soon joined by a whoop of joy from the seat to his rear.
"Direct hit! I repeat, direct hit! Look at that fire!"
Brown grinned, even as he leveled his Stringbag out and set off out of the danger zone, "I would love to, but unless you want to join them down there, I need to get us out of here!"
There was nothing but a deep laugh in response to that, as the Royal Navy bird flew out of Taranto as fast as it could.
Leaving behind a burning battleship, Littorio. And a harbor that burned just as brightly...quite a fitting tribute to Trafalgar Day. Maybe October 21, 1940 would go down in history as the same...the crippling of another enemy fleet by the Royal Navy!
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CV12Hornet
Riter.
- Location
- Tacoma, Washington
Well, VV got hit, that's one change. Gonna have to see the full butcher's bill to know all the butterflies.
Mizu
Software Developer
- Location
- Victoria, Australia
ignoring the sensation of her men...phasing through her.
his antique-looking bomber
So, the chapter. Anyone happen to know if the date is important?
- Location
- 'Murica
*Shipping noises*
NO BULLY THE STRINGBAG!
I don't think that's a sentence.
"hadn't been in Italy's favor" would probably be better.
- Location
- In the depts of despair.
I also wonder if the changes were partially because Washington has been sharing intelligence with London, including some revolutionary carrier tactics. Maybe we even get to see a british naval attaché in Pearl, who will quietly spread the shipgirl fenomenon to the Royal Navy.
- Location
- State of Denial
Doritorrio is a go
Skywalker_T-65
Writer with too many ideas.
- Location
- United States
- Pronouns
- Plural/They/He/Her
Well, I intend the next chapter to start with a report on Taranto, so we'll have that soon.
Will fix tomorrow.
As for me, I've always used x-looking...haven't ever heard anyone say different, really. As for the date...well...Trafalgar Day was the intended target for Taranto.
Will fix those as well.
Also, heh.
Hmm.
Speaking of Pasta-BB, I used Doria instead of Littorio for one major reason. Considering we have a canonical Littorio, and as Bisko shows, I have no issue using the European KC girls.
But in this case, all I know of her is that she's Shipgirl!Mami Tomoe in her character design. I know nowhere near enough personality wise, and I decided to go with an OC instead, while I try to get a handle on her (and Roma) before I try writing her (them).
Mizu
Software Developer
- Location
- Victoria, Australia
Appletank
Acquire Cheese
Until she lost her head.Poor Littorio
- Location
- Hampden Park
Smartarse.
Edit: though given the period, I image 'clever dick' would be more likely.
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Hm... Butterflies... I wonder if Willie D's luck will change for the better. Or for worse if she did manage to accidentally kill the president this time then get pounded by the Iowa.
I never see her as a woobie and instead I see her as a hot head glory seeker with a short attention span. Think Tanizaki Yukari of Azumanga Daioh.
I never see her as a woobie and instead I see her as a hot head glory seeker with a short attention span. Think Tanizaki Yukari of Azumanga Daioh.
Ah, Doria. Was your mind really drifting?
Hoo boy, Doria just attracted Murphy's attention.
The Italian fleet came off the the worse here though. Four planes for heavily damaging at least two battleships seems like a good trade for the RN.
My my, how lewd.
A second pre-emptive strike by the Royal Navy. Rather aggressive behavior being exhibited.
Poor Andrea Doria...
. I get the feeling she's not in for good times ahead.
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jwolfe_beta
Semi Genre-Savvy Overlord
- Location
- Canada
Considering the situation they're in, they don't have a ton of choices.
obssesednuker
Commander of 10 Million Men
- Location
- In the Kremlin, activating Perimtr.
Huh... It's early. I wonder how it will effect the talks between Molotov and Ribbentrop when the former comes to Berlin in early-November. OTL, the Italians were still doing damage assessment do the impact was minor. Those talks were a big factor in Hitler's decision to attack Russia and if the butterflies develop in the right direction we might not see a Barbarossa!
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- Location
- Australia
I've been reading this timeline and it is excellent all round, especially on how Admiral Thompson managed to deal with being sent back to Pearl circa 1940. It is exiting to read and I can't wait to see the aftermath of ATL Taranto.
So I assume the butterfly was that Operation Judgement did not get delayed due to that Swordfish Fire on HMS Eagle, which posponed the strike to November 11, 1940 and leaving only. Since that fire did not happen, I assume that HMS Eagle and/or HMS Illustrious launched the strike on schedule, on Trafalgar Day.
Also, since Andrea Doria OTL only joined the fleet in Taranto on October 26, it is assumed that she finished her 3-year refit faster this time, if she was present at ATL Taranto.
So I assume the butterfly was that Operation Judgement did not get delayed due to that Swordfish Fire on HMS Eagle, which posponed the strike to November 11, 1940 and leaving only. Since that fire did not happen, I assume that HMS Eagle and/or HMS Illustrious launched the strike on schedule, on Trafalgar Day.
Also, since Andrea Doria OTL only joined the fleet in Taranto on October 26, it is assumed that she finished her 3-year refit faster this time, if she was present at ATL Taranto.
From the sound of it VV took it right in midships.
In the strongest part of her TDS.
She took one there in real life and was back in action within four months. So not that big of lost.
If I wasn't on my phone I could give you the proper anylist from the first time around.
But just by looking at it I think they actaully came off better then the first time.
In the strongest part of her TDS.
She took one there in real life and was back in action within four months. So not that big of lost.
If I wasn't on my phone I could give you the proper anylist from the first time around.
But just by looking at it I think they actaully came off better then the first time.
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Not quite:
As for the second wave, either Veneto was struck by a second torpedo, or her sister ship Litorrio got hit. In either case, we don't know for sure just yet where it hit.
Either way those two ships took several torpedoes hits in their careers, including a similar shot that killed the bismarck, and they went on to survive the war.
The Littorios were tough when it came to torpedo attacks.
- Location
- United States
BRITISH STRINGBAGS BULLY YOU!
Old Iron
Admiral Unfun
- Location
- The Southwestern Deadlands of America
A goodly amount of action in this installment. I'm not nearly as familiar with Italy's naval forces, but I really enjoyed the chapter regardless.
The changing of the date for the raid is one heck of a butterfly. This is probably going to be just as big a wave as the new carrier tactics. Different people have been affected. Different ships. Positioning... Egads.
I am also envisioning a bizarre encounter where Lieutenant Brown is told off by Veneto.
Excellent chapter good chap!
...I will admit to have read that as Dorito.
And now I am hungry.
Given Doria's calm behavior when there's not fighting occurring, gotta be Cool Ranch.