Fleetgirls at Floodtide (Azur Lane/1900s Alternate History)
- Thread starter Erien
- Start date
- Mature Alt. History Action
Videogamer921
oh god it’s him
- Location
- 10th circle of Hell; Ohio
- Pronouns
- He/Him
We'll tear this world down to its core before we let leviathan and her amazing coffee skills get killed
[X] [Ingraham]
Big gun go boom
Erien
God's Weakest Soldier
- Location
- Georgia
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Reflection at the start. Then they add.
[X] [Leviathan]
Been a bit too stand offish for a while, so more bonding please.
Been a bit too stand offish for a while, so more bonding please.
- Location
- USA
[x] [Ingraham]
- Location
- Texas
She's having a Ship of Theseus identity crisis, having had so many pieces replaced she isn't even sure what she is anymore! Genuinely fascinating to see it from the ship's perspective of the subject instead of just a thought experiment. It even explains why she wanted the all german crew, as to her being german was part of her identity and was wanting to try and rebuild herself around that. But with the unintentional metaphor mentioned above she may get a chance to get some help in putting herself back together.
[X] [Ingraham]
Let's find out loadout so we know what tricks we're working with.
Crisis averted?
[X] [Ingraham]
Would have gone for Cassin, but I think getting to know a new TF member first is ok.
[X] [Ingraham]
Would have gone for Cassin, but I think getting to know a new TF member first is ok.
[X] [Cassin]
[X] [Cassin]
Dragontrapper
Homeless Draconis
- Location
- A Tower in the middle of nowhere
Me: Spend five months at sea on a Destroyer. Immediately get back and read a quest about a destroyer.
This is fun so far; sad about the lack of Bunker Hill so far, but the quest is young.
[x] [Leviathan]
Because I wanna see more of... whatever the hell is going on.
This is fun so far; sad about the lack of Bunker Hill so far, but the quest is young.
[x] [Leviathan]
Because I wanna see more of... whatever the hell is going on.
2.2 - Mad Scientists
Erien
God's Weakest Soldier
- Location
- Georgia
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[Ingraham]
She had… done what to her turrets? How was that even possible?
Thanks to @Armoury for the beta!
—
A horrific noise fills the task group, and I stumble back as the firing demonstration ceased. Smoke surrounds the Ingraham in such violence and volume that for a brief moment I fear she damaged herself. Cassin likely thinks much the same, as the destroyer stands just beside me with a look of horror and amazement. The smoke dissipates quickly, revealing the three twin turrets of the Ingraham still sitting in their mounts, each with barrels glowing red as a steady stream of gunsmoke lingers in the air.
"Six guns, five inchers. Each fires at fifteen rounds a minute for a total of ninety rounds a minute." Ingraham says with a smile, adjusting her glasses. "I found that insufficient. Humans put too much stock in things like 'safety' or 'human compatible designs'.
"How… how fast was that firing?" Cassin asks.
"Forty rounds a minute, per gun, two-hundred and forty overall. Ran into a siren destroyer that suffered an interregnum between life and death as eighty-seven shells hit it in forty-three point six seconds."
I turn my head to look at the target that was, until a brief moment ago, being towed by another destroyer. Now that we were relatively safe, I had ordered gunnery practice for that afternoon along with dummy bombing drills for the pilots. To that end, for the last several hours dye rounds had been firing at various targets, tracers had filled the air, and planes dived and soared repeatedly.
Cassin has just bracketed the target mere minutes ago, getting good hits.
Ingraham however, has destroyed the target. It has ceased to be, it is no longer in existence. The floating metal target is sinking with all hands, which, thankfully, are none. Barring perhaps an annoyed sailor having to cut the tow rope leading to it. I look back to Ingraham, and to my surprise… she doesn't seem proud, in fact, she seems rather annoyed. Her eyes flick to me, and she looks away, crossing her arms. "The stern turret only fired seventy-five shots instead of the eighty I wanted. The starboard gun got jammed up."
I desire, greatly, to ask if seventy-five shots from a naval rifle in a minute was not good enough. But the Admiral side of me instead wants something rather different. "Has this been vetted by the Navy? The Bureau of Ordnance?"
Ingraham looks back at me, but doesn't meet my eyes. "It… hasn't been forbidden by either."
"That isn't an answer."
"It is an answer, just maybe not the one you want." Ingraham replies with a shrug of her shoulders. "It doesn't really matter anyway, I set this up because I was bored and human crewmen are far too slow."
… It was not necessarily an unheard of opinion from shipgirls, but it was one that was always far from popular. The stares we were getting on the bridge wing proof enough of that as Ingraham spoke her piece. "Is this… practical?"
"Only in emergencies," Ingraham replies. "Too much smoke, and if I do that for more than a minute there's a chance of the rounds detonating in the loading mechanism… or the barrels melting. But it works well enough." She raises a hand, adjusting her glasses momentarily before fully facing me with a small smile. "I've banned my crew from entering the turret space, far too dangerous for them."
"You banned the crew from their own ship?" Cassin asks.
Ingraham looks at Cassin, expression unchanging. "It isn't their ship, it's me, and I can ban people from wherever I want. Especially if the firing is so violent it will kill them from the smoke alone." She then looks back at me. "Speaking of which, can I work on that helicopter of you-"
"No, no you may not." Leviathan answers for me. She had disappeared a few moments ago, and has now returned with a tray of three cups of coffee. Cassin stares at her for a moment, then at the tray.
Leviathan nods.
Cassin takes the cup and downs it, which, given the amount of steam coming off of it… is rather impressive. Ingraham takes her own a moment later, and I grab mine as well… though I don't drink it immediately, for it is currently at first-degree burn levels of heat and I'm not quite that tired where that would be a good perk-up.
Cassin then looks at Ingraham, frowning. "I could fire that quickly, with my crew. I just prefer accuracy over fire rate. And besides, that seems way too dangerous to be useful."
"I'm still here," Ingraham replies. "And dangerous how? We're loaded with oil and gunpowder, we're already sailing bom-" She pauses, then smirks. "Well, some of us are walking bombs."
"Some of us are veterans." Cassin replies.
Ingraham says nothing, instead she looks back at the target, back at Cassin. Smirks, then drinks her coffee.
Cassin's eyes narrow, a faint growl sounding out from her throat. Ingraham glares back, both destroyer's sizing each other up.
Leviathan leans over, her voice a low whisper. "Admiral, isn't this… volatile?"
"It's normal," I whisper back. "And healthy competition is good."
"Don't be jealous just because you're old and outdated." Ingraham says, leaning back and taking a sip from her cup.
Cassin slaps the cup up and into Ingraham's face. The ceramic shatters, painting Ingraham in steaming coffee. The newer destroyer surges forward, grabbing Cassin by the lapel of her uniform. Cassin shouts and grabs Ingraham by the hair, and I neatly step to the side as the two of them go tumbling off the bridge wing and into the ocean, cursing and shouting at each other all the way down.
Sailors rush to the edge of the flightdeck and to the windows of the bridge, watching as both shipgirls hit the surface of the water with a dull thwack, neither of them actually sinking into it. Then the catfight begins, pulled hair, slaps, punches, kicks. The works.
"Admiral, shouldn't you be stopping this?"
I take my first sip of the coffee. It's good, shame Cassin wasted Ingraham's. "Leviathan, I was taught by the Navy to be courageous, and I'd like to think myself wise." I smile. "I am not going to be getting into a catfight between shipgirls. I'll reprimand them later once they've worn each other out."
"YOU TECHNOCRATIC BITCH!"
"BETTER THAN A COLLIER WITH GUNS!"
I take another sip of the coffee.
—
Norfolk was always always a busy port. It was the Atlantic port for the USN, and I have been to it more times than I can count in my career… though admittedly not since I was assigned to Cassin. Submarines, destroyers, cruisers and capitals. There had never been a shortage of men, machines, and material going in and out.
I had never seen it this busy. Horns, both ship and megaphone, sounded throughout the dock as vessels waited to dock or be put to sea. There was a good dozen carriers here, an equal number of battleships, dozens of cruisers and an uncountable amount of destroyers around. Some, like mine, had battle damage. Others were near pristine, their paint having hardly been scratched. Leviathan was standing at the starboard bridge wing, her arms crossed below her bust as she brought the ship into dock herself. The tugs unneeded, saved for vessels that didn't have shipgirls. She glided into port, past the picket ships, of which there were many, and came to a rest at dock forty-seven, just beside the USS Bunker Hill and USS Intrepid.
I had never seen so many carriers except in fleet review. It was both heartening and… admittedly worrying, the amount of force necessary for the upcoming operation. The upcoming operation that…
There they are.
A car is already pulling up to the dock. I, and I alone, was to report to CINCLANT, the Commander in Chief of the Atlantic Forces. Not Leviathan, not Cassin. Just myself. I stare at the car for a moment, briefly wondering what form of mess I was about to get into, before I turn to Captain Sebastian and nod. "XO you have the bridge."
—
It was a short journey off the vessel, though unlike with Cassin I had to actually wait for the gangway to be put into place, and in a short amount of time I was ushered into the car, driven across the base, and deposited in front of the brick building that was CINCLANT headquarters. Just nearby it, a rather odd looking building of steel and glass was the SCAHR building, where shipgirls were prepared to actually enter the world of humanity. I stare at it for a moment, wondering who, or what might be inside. Before I walked across the sidewalk and into the building. It was… busy, as expected. I was surrounded by semi-open offices, few had any doors. And the sound of mimeographs, typewriters, and hurried conversations filled the room as clerks moved about with all the speed of a busy beehive.
Offices to my right and left, while ahead sat a small desk littered with letters. It didn't seem to be caused by any slobbishness, indeed, one did not keep a job here without being inefficient. But the poor man's IN and OUT slots were filled to the brim. He was hunched over the desk, revealing a poster of the blue haired USS Constitution behind him, pointing at the viewer, calling them forth to join the Navy while grinning from ear to ear… they could never make her take things seriously.
I walked to the desk and waited, and it was a good minute before the man had the chance to look up from his papers to acknowledge me. His eyes flicked to my shoulders, then he straightened with a noted effort. "How can I help you sir?"
"Admiral Stevens, I was ordered to report here." I reply with a small smile. That was, quite literally, it. Whether I would be meeting the man himself, which would be slightly terrifying, or another Admiral for my orders I couldn't say.
His eyes go back down to his desk, and he shuffles papers for a moment. "Admiral Anderson Stevens?"
"Aye."
"Up the stairs sir, first door on the left. Admiral Ingersoll is waiting for you."
…
The actual CINCLANT wants to meet with me directly.
…
Alright.
"Thank you." I drop the smile and make my way up the stairs, my mind abuzz. A four star admiral wanted to meet with me directly. Men aren't briefed directly by four star admirals, not unless they are about to be told to do something very stupid, about to be executed, or both.
I pause just before the door to his office, it is open, which is a slight surprise. Before I suck in a breath and walked inside…
…
It was likely a nice office, once. Fine furniture filled the space, old paintings, fine shelves. It is all currently being drowned by work. The Admiral's desk, much like the clerk's, is littered by papers. Admiral Ingersoll sits behind it… he looks more than a little tired. His eyes flick up to look at me as I enter, his expression unchanging. "Stevens?"
"Yes si-"
"Good, close the door."
I close the door sheepishly like a new ensign, and then hurry over to his desk to stand rigidly in front of it. The admiral leans back in his seat, looking at me, then at my stump. "How's the hand?"
"Painless, sir."
"Good," Ingersoll replies. He then grabs a mimeograph print off the desk and offers it to me. "These three will be joining you."
I take the paper and look it over.
'Office of Naval Operations
Washington, D.C.
Date: January 29th, 1942
Assignment of Vessels to Rear Admiral Anderson Stevens
Effective immediately, the following vessels are hereby assigned to the command of Rear Admiral Anderson Stevens:
USS Bunker Hill (CV-14)
USS Lafayette (DD-283)
USS Texas (BB-35)
Rear Admiral Stevens will assume full operational command of the above-mentioned vessels as per standard U.S. Navy protocols. All subordinate officers and personnel aboard these vessels are to render proper respect and adhere to his command directives.
Signed,
Ernest J. King
Chief of Naval Operations, U.S. Navy'
"Now," Ingersoll continues, not bothering to wait for my response. He stands up from his desk, moves to a blackboard against the wall, and pulls back a curtain that has been covering it. It reveals… a map.
View: https://i.imgur.com/snps7Su.jpeg
It's an older map of the English channel, with just about every port listed. All across it I could see little American flags pinned to it on the west side, and English flags on the east. In the center, surrounded by various circles, marks, and labels for possible minefields, were German flags.
"I'm briefing Admiral's as they come in, we don't have time for a large meeting. Washington's already agreed to the plan," Ingersoll then looks at me. "It's about the only thing they do agree on. We'll be hitting the Germans from the west, the English from the east. The Germans are already a dozen miles inland so we don't have a lot of time, not if we want a base anywhere near Europe to work with."
"You'll-"
—
[] [Be dealing with any Siren ships coming from the north]
A dreadnought, like that of which had never been seen before. A valuable target.
[] [Be dealing with Italian spoiling attacks from the south]
Air power against air power, a shock. New plans to be drawn up.
[] [Joining the main force straight down the channel]
A knife fight like never before seen. A new card at the table.
She had… done what to her turrets? How was that even possible?
Thanks to @Armoury for the beta!
—
A horrific noise fills the task group, and I stumble back as the firing demonstration ceased. Smoke surrounds the Ingraham in such violence and volume that for a brief moment I fear she damaged herself. Cassin likely thinks much the same, as the destroyer stands just beside me with a look of horror and amazement. The smoke dissipates quickly, revealing the three twin turrets of the Ingraham still sitting in their mounts, each with barrels glowing red as a steady stream of gunsmoke lingers in the air.
"Six guns, five inchers. Each fires at fifteen rounds a minute for a total of ninety rounds a minute." Ingraham says with a smile, adjusting her glasses. "I found that insufficient. Humans put too much stock in things like 'safety' or 'human compatible designs'.
"How… how fast was that firing?" Cassin asks.
"Forty rounds a minute, per gun, two-hundred and forty overall. Ran into a siren destroyer that suffered an interregnum between life and death as eighty-seven shells hit it in forty-three point six seconds."
I turn my head to look at the target that was, until a brief moment ago, being towed by another destroyer. Now that we were relatively safe, I had ordered gunnery practice for that afternoon along with dummy bombing drills for the pilots. To that end, for the last several hours dye rounds had been firing at various targets, tracers had filled the air, and planes dived and soared repeatedly.
Cassin has just bracketed the target mere minutes ago, getting good hits.
Ingraham however, has destroyed the target. It has ceased to be, it is no longer in existence. The floating metal target is sinking with all hands, which, thankfully, are none. Barring perhaps an annoyed sailor having to cut the tow rope leading to it. I look back to Ingraham, and to my surprise… she doesn't seem proud, in fact, she seems rather annoyed. Her eyes flick to me, and she looks away, crossing her arms. "The stern turret only fired seventy-five shots instead of the eighty I wanted. The starboard gun got jammed up."
I desire, greatly, to ask if seventy-five shots from a naval rifle in a minute was not good enough. But the Admiral side of me instead wants something rather different. "Has this been vetted by the Navy? The Bureau of Ordnance?"
Ingraham looks back at me, but doesn't meet my eyes. "It… hasn't been forbidden by either."
"That isn't an answer."
"It is an answer, just maybe not the one you want." Ingraham replies with a shrug of her shoulders. "It doesn't really matter anyway, I set this up because I was bored and human crewmen are far too slow."
… It was not necessarily an unheard of opinion from shipgirls, but it was one that was always far from popular. The stares we were getting on the bridge wing proof enough of that as Ingraham spoke her piece. "Is this… practical?"
"Only in emergencies," Ingraham replies. "Too much smoke, and if I do that for more than a minute there's a chance of the rounds detonating in the loading mechanism… or the barrels melting. But it works well enough." She raises a hand, adjusting her glasses momentarily before fully facing me with a small smile. "I've banned my crew from entering the turret space, far too dangerous for them."
"You banned the crew from their own ship?" Cassin asks.
Ingraham looks at Cassin, expression unchanging. "It isn't their ship, it's me, and I can ban people from wherever I want. Especially if the firing is so violent it will kill them from the smoke alone." She then looks back at me. "Speaking of which, can I work on that helicopter of you-"
"No, no you may not." Leviathan answers for me. She had disappeared a few moments ago, and has now returned with a tray of three cups of coffee. Cassin stares at her for a moment, then at the tray.
Leviathan nods.
Cassin takes the cup and downs it, which, given the amount of steam coming off of it… is rather impressive. Ingraham takes her own a moment later, and I grab mine as well… though I don't drink it immediately, for it is currently at first-degree burn levels of heat and I'm not quite that tired where that would be a good perk-up.
Cassin then looks at Ingraham, frowning. "I could fire that quickly, with my crew. I just prefer accuracy over fire rate. And besides, that seems way too dangerous to be useful."
"I'm still here," Ingraham replies. "And dangerous how? We're loaded with oil and gunpowder, we're already sailing bom-" She pauses, then smirks. "Well, some of us are walking bombs."
"Some of us are veterans." Cassin replies.
Ingraham says nothing, instead she looks back at the target, back at Cassin. Smirks, then drinks her coffee.
Cassin's eyes narrow, a faint growl sounding out from her throat. Ingraham glares back, both destroyer's sizing each other up.
Leviathan leans over, her voice a low whisper. "Admiral, isn't this… volatile?"
"It's normal," I whisper back. "And healthy competition is good."
"Don't be jealous just because you're old and outdated." Ingraham says, leaning back and taking a sip from her cup.
Cassin slaps the cup up and into Ingraham's face. The ceramic shatters, painting Ingraham in steaming coffee. The newer destroyer surges forward, grabbing Cassin by the lapel of her uniform. Cassin shouts and grabs Ingraham by the hair, and I neatly step to the side as the two of them go tumbling off the bridge wing and into the ocean, cursing and shouting at each other all the way down.
Sailors rush to the edge of the flightdeck and to the windows of the bridge, watching as both shipgirls hit the surface of the water with a dull thwack, neither of them actually sinking into it. Then the catfight begins, pulled hair, slaps, punches, kicks. The works.
"Admiral, shouldn't you be stopping this?"
I take my first sip of the coffee. It's good, shame Cassin wasted Ingraham's. "Leviathan, I was taught by the Navy to be courageous, and I'd like to think myself wise." I smile. "I am not going to be getting into a catfight between shipgirls. I'll reprimand them later once they've worn each other out."
"YOU TECHNOCRATIC BITCH!"
"BETTER THAN A COLLIER WITH GUNS!"
I take another sip of the coffee.
—
Norfolk was always always a busy port. It was the Atlantic port for the USN, and I have been to it more times than I can count in my career… though admittedly not since I was assigned to Cassin. Submarines, destroyers, cruisers and capitals. There had never been a shortage of men, machines, and material going in and out.
I had never seen it this busy. Horns, both ship and megaphone, sounded throughout the dock as vessels waited to dock or be put to sea. There was a good dozen carriers here, an equal number of battleships, dozens of cruisers and an uncountable amount of destroyers around. Some, like mine, had battle damage. Others were near pristine, their paint having hardly been scratched. Leviathan was standing at the starboard bridge wing, her arms crossed below her bust as she brought the ship into dock herself. The tugs unneeded, saved for vessels that didn't have shipgirls. She glided into port, past the picket ships, of which there were many, and came to a rest at dock forty-seven, just beside the USS Bunker Hill and USS Intrepid.
I had never seen so many carriers except in fleet review. It was both heartening and… admittedly worrying, the amount of force necessary for the upcoming operation. The upcoming operation that…
There they are.
A car is already pulling up to the dock. I, and I alone, was to report to CINCLANT, the Commander in Chief of the Atlantic Forces. Not Leviathan, not Cassin. Just myself. I stare at the car for a moment, briefly wondering what form of mess I was about to get into, before I turn to Captain Sebastian and nod. "XO you have the bridge."
—
It was a short journey off the vessel, though unlike with Cassin I had to actually wait for the gangway to be put into place, and in a short amount of time I was ushered into the car, driven across the base, and deposited in front of the brick building that was CINCLANT headquarters. Just nearby it, a rather odd looking building of steel and glass was the SCAHR building, where shipgirls were prepared to actually enter the world of humanity. I stare at it for a moment, wondering who, or what might be inside. Before I walked across the sidewalk and into the building. It was… busy, as expected. I was surrounded by semi-open offices, few had any doors. And the sound of mimeographs, typewriters, and hurried conversations filled the room as clerks moved about with all the speed of a busy beehive.
Offices to my right and left, while ahead sat a small desk littered with letters. It didn't seem to be caused by any slobbishness, indeed, one did not keep a job here without being inefficient. But the poor man's IN and OUT slots were filled to the brim. He was hunched over the desk, revealing a poster of the blue haired USS Constitution behind him, pointing at the viewer, calling them forth to join the Navy while grinning from ear to ear… they could never make her take things seriously.
I walked to the desk and waited, and it was a good minute before the man had the chance to look up from his papers to acknowledge me. His eyes flicked to my shoulders, then he straightened with a noted effort. "How can I help you sir?"
"Admiral Stevens, I was ordered to report here." I reply with a small smile. That was, quite literally, it. Whether I would be meeting the man himself, which would be slightly terrifying, or another Admiral for my orders I couldn't say.
His eyes go back down to his desk, and he shuffles papers for a moment. "Admiral Anderson Stevens?"
"Aye."
"Up the stairs sir, first door on the left. Admiral Ingersoll is waiting for you."
…
The actual CINCLANT wants to meet with me directly.
…
Alright.
"Thank you." I drop the smile and make my way up the stairs, my mind abuzz. A four star admiral wanted to meet with me directly. Men aren't briefed directly by four star admirals, not unless they are about to be told to do something very stupid, about to be executed, or both.
I pause just before the door to his office, it is open, which is a slight surprise. Before I suck in a breath and walked inside…
…
It was likely a nice office, once. Fine furniture filled the space, old paintings, fine shelves. It is all currently being drowned by work. The Admiral's desk, much like the clerk's, is littered by papers. Admiral Ingersoll sits behind it… he looks more than a little tired. His eyes flick up to look at me as I enter, his expression unchanging. "Stevens?"
"Yes si-"
"Good, close the door."
I close the door sheepishly like a new ensign, and then hurry over to his desk to stand rigidly in front of it. The admiral leans back in his seat, looking at me, then at my stump. "How's the hand?"
"Painless, sir."
"Good," Ingersoll replies. He then grabs a mimeograph print off the desk and offers it to me. "These three will be joining you."
I take the paper and look it over.
'Office of Naval Operations
Washington, D.C.
Date: January 29th, 1942
Assignment of Vessels to Rear Admiral Anderson Stevens
Effective immediately, the following vessels are hereby assigned to the command of Rear Admiral Anderson Stevens:
USS Bunker Hill (CV-14)
USS Lafayette (DD-283)
USS Texas (BB-35)
Rear Admiral Stevens will assume full operational command of the above-mentioned vessels as per standard U.S. Navy protocols. All subordinate officers and personnel aboard these vessels are to render proper respect and adhere to his command directives.
Signed,
Ernest J. King
Chief of Naval Operations, U.S. Navy'
"Now," Ingersoll continues, not bothering to wait for my response. He stands up from his desk, moves to a blackboard against the wall, and pulls back a curtain that has been covering it. It reveals… a map.
View: https://i.imgur.com/snps7Su.jpeg
It's an older map of the English channel, with just about every port listed. All across it I could see little American flags pinned to it on the west side, and English flags on the east. In the center, surrounded by various circles, marks, and labels for possible minefields, were German flags.
"I'm briefing Admiral's as they come in, we don't have time for a large meeting. Washington's already agreed to the plan," Ingersoll then looks at me. "It's about the only thing they do agree on. We'll be hitting the Germans from the west, the English from the east. The Germans are already a dozen miles inland so we don't have a lot of time, not if we want a base anywhere near Europe to work with."
"You'll-"
—
[] [Be dealing with any Siren ships coming from the north]
A dreadnought, like that of which had never been seen before. A valuable target.
[] [Be dealing with Italian spoiling attacks from the south]
Air power against air power, a shock. New plans to be drawn up.
[] [Joining the main force straight down the channel]
A knife fight like never before seen. A new card at the table.
Last edited:
NuclearConsensus
Herald of the Thorned One
- Location
- the Philippines
[X] [Be dealing with Italian spoiling attacks from the south]
Carrier operations is Anderson's specialty. Don't think our rag-tag group is ready to deal with a dreadnought just yet.
Carrier operations is Anderson's specialty. Don't think our rag-tag group is ready to deal with a dreadnought just yet.
[X] [Be dealing with Italian spoiling attacks from the south]
- Location
- Texas
Well damn, that's gotta be bad for the barrels.
I get the impression this will violently bite Ingraham in the ass at some point. And it'll be funny.
These two are either gonna be best friends, or mortal enemies. I don't really see any middle ground there.
Best friends it is!
Ah yes, I recognize that sensation. That's the sensation I get when the CEO has computer issues and calls me in to take a look.
Heyyy, the gang is back!
[X] [Joining the main force straight down the channel]
A knife fight like never before seen. A new card at the table.
I think we bring a lot of really good ground support options to the table, and it's a viewpoint we don't get to see that often, let's go for it!
