[X] [Force the issue]
Fleetgirls at Floodtide (Azur Lane/1900s Alternate History)
- Thread starter Erien
- Start date
- Mature Alt. History Action
Everything's bigger in Texas.
Erien
God's Weakest Soldier
- Location
- Georgia
- Pronouns
- He/Him
She's a big woman. Though notable shorter than Lev.
[X] [Force the issue]
- Location
- Texas
[X] [Leave her be]
DB_Explorer
Purveyor of alternate realities.
- Location
- San Diego, California
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[JK] Abscond with the owl and feed it ice cream aboard Levi untill bunker hill emerges
2.5 - Battle, Gala, Battle
New
Erien
God's Weakest Soldier
- Location
- Georgia
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[Force the issue]
I am an admiral, I would meet my charges.
Thanks to @Armoury for the beta!
—
I stare down at the owl for several moments, pondering what precisely my life had become. Shipgirls tended to be odd at the best of times, I had a destroyer who thought she is a battleship. A carrier who is suffering from critical and apparently debilitating image issues to the point where she may be a literal Ship of Theseus, a Cowboy who seemingly didn't much like the prospect of another war… and an owl functioning as some form of simulacrum. Annapolis is a lovely academy, and it taught me a great many things. But it had… limitations. Namely, how to deal with the incredibly irregular in the painfully practiced regularity of the United States Navy.
The surprising? The shocking? I could deal with that, ambushes, counterattacks, shipborne emergencies. The life of a sailor is endless drudgery punctuated by points of sheer terror. Yet… little of it prepared me for this, the concept of having to communicate with an owl in order to send a carrier into battle. It is unique, it is different, it is very in line with general shipgirl nonsense.
It is also something I am not going to put up with as an Admiral in the United States Navy. "No." I say simply. "No this shall not be how this is done. O'Keefe, kindly escort me to Bunker's quarters, I would speak to the shipgirl in person."
"Hoo!?"
I stare down at the owl. "We shall be heading into battle, and I shall not be relying upon an owl for communication."
"Hoo!"
I ignore it. Turning instead to fully focus on O'keefe. The captain, to his credit, didn't even seem slightly off put by the request, if anything… he actually looked rather grateful. "Where is she?"
"Her room appeared in the aft section of the hangar deck, near the sheet-plate storage."
I smile. "Thank you, you will take me to her. Cassin, could you please keep ahold of the owl?" my previous charge nods, then snatches up the owl in her arms, causing much in the way of flapping wings, kicking feet, and the rabid, angry warcry of a pissed off bird.
Then we all head down below the bridge and into the hangar, where, much like my own vessel. It is a buzz of activity. The sound of metal grinders working, engines firing, and men shouting to one another is almost as loud as the Mk.1 Pissed Off Owl behind me. After a few minutes of walking we come to a large steel door, the same type I'd find all over the rest of the vessel. Only this one is bright yellow… and as I approached the door itself, it dogged. Locking itself fully on its own, the wheel in the center turning as the door firmly sealed itself. I stare at it, ignoring the continued cries of the owl behind me and the grunts of the struggling destroyer attempting to contain its fury.
"Leviathan, the door if you please."
"HOO!"
Leviathan steps past me. She stops just before the door, sizing it up for a moment, then she pulls off her gloves and hands them to me. I take them, then watch as she grabs onto the wheel with both hands, an-
"HOO! "HOO!"
Turns it with such force that the metal bends. With a crunch the mechanism on the door breaks, something apparently had been trying to hold it closed until just a moment prior. Then, with a flourish, Leviathan steps to the side, pulling the door ope-.
Well, hello Bunker Hill.
A blonde woman is sitting in the midst of a cramped space. It is… filled. It is maybe twenty feet in each direction, a full fifth of the size of Leviathan's room. But it is quite used. Shelves lined the wall, filled with everything from technical manuals to textbooks to comic books. Various bits and bobs were all over, toys, playing cards, sets of dice and dominos. Posters lined the wall, some naval recruiting posters, others for films and artists. The floor was covered in discarded rations, ice cream tubs, candy wrappers… and in the midst of it, just below a small plinth were the wisdom cube rested, was Bunker Hill. An obviously tall woman even sitting down, with long blonde hair that draped over her. She blinks up at you, amber eyes the same color as the owl looking up at you curiously, her face was covered in the remnants of chocolate.
She is also, somewhat importantly, naked as a newborn. She is beautiful of course, she was skinny and tall, yet not gangly, with breasts that fit her frame well, and… quite an impressive anchor. I quickly cast my gaze towards the ceiling, as is proper. "Bunker Hill?"
"... Yes sir." Bunker Hill replies, her voice very soft and quite, with a hint of a Bostonian accent to it.
"I will require you to be at a…" I pause for a moment. "A dinner," not a gala. "Tonight on the USS Leviathan. I will be meeting the ships assigned to me and discussing our future assignments. Please come dressed."
"... Okay."
"Thank you." I then step back away from the door's threshold, signal to Leviathan, and the door is pushed closed once more.
I sigh, then turn around, O'Keefe was making an admirable effort to look stoic. Leviathan looked vaguely amused, and Cassin… Cassin looked annoyed.
"Oh, so she can just hang around naked?!"
I flick the destroyer on the forehead, distantly, her foghorn blares.
—
The 'Gala' as Leviathan had so eloquently put it, was a rather fancy, if subdued affair. Far from the usual dinner I would put on, which was little more than a quick meeting in the Officer's Mess as I got to know my new subordinates. This is in my own private mess hall, something I was still rather unused to as a concept. Sailors moved around me with clinical precision, setting plates and pouring drinks. It is not something I hadn't experienced before, I have dined with Admirals in the past. But there is a difference from dining with, to being the host of the show yourself. Gentle music played from a record player in the corner, filling the space with the sound of a gentle solo clarinet.
I sat at the head of the table, with Leviathan flanking me just to my left… and Cassin just to my right, sat next to my former XO, now her CO. Parker Jones. A black man who I had watched grow steadily from a nervous Lieutenant to now a proud captain. He smiles at me as our eyes meet, then returns to the food in front of him, chatting amicably with the man to his left all the while. O'Keefe, the man whom I had just met earlier, sitting next to Bunker Hill, the shipgirl in question poking at the steak on the plate in front of her quizzically with a fork. She stared at it for several seconds, then she calmly picked it up with her bare hands and began to dig into it with gusto. The owl perched on her shoulder slowly raises a wing to rub at its head in seeming… exhaustion?
Texas, just across from her, watches the show with an arched brow. She indeed, as promised, had switched from her custom getup to her naval uniform, something which could noticeably barely… contain her. To her right sat her Captain, a rather tired looking officer named Clarent, white, who was seemingly as transfixed at watching Bunker Hill go after the meat with all the gusto of a dog as Texas was. Ingraham meanwhile, just to his right was paying little attention, the food on her plate ignored in favor of a book of some variety in her hands. Her Commander sat just next to her of course, doing his best to keep his head down in the face of some many senior officers. Nixon, I believe his name was, only just recently promoted. He was white as well, with a rather heavy set of jowls on him. Finally, there was the USS Lafayette, who, notably, was not in uniform. Instead she is dressed up as… I would suppose a french pirate. It was a black outfit, complete with a good deal of frills, a leather vest, and a particularly large bicorn on her head completely with brocade and feather. She isn't eating, instead she was looking around the table curiously, blonde hair… I had a lot of blondes I noted, observing everyone in turn, green eyes sizing everyone up. Flanking her is her Captain, an Asian man I had yet to properly meet named George. He has mostly been keeping quiet this entire time. I take this all in, then speak quietly to Leviathan. "Nobody has started throwing food yet, so this is rather well behaved for a large group of vessels."
"Their… table manners could use work." Leviathan says curtly, pointedly not looking at Bunker as she continues to enjoy the steak.
"Perhaps," I admit. "But then your manners more than make up for it."
"Flatterer."
I smile. "Simply honest." I then raise a fork and tap it gently, but loudly against my glass. Heads turn to look at me, and I smile a touch wider. "Good evening, my apologies for dragging you all from your vessels on such a short notice, I fear we shall not have a chance to truly meet each other again until we reach England."
George's eyes widen slightly, giving proof to my suspicion that not all of my officers knew where we were going yet. "We're sailing first thing in the morning to the west of France, to join a screening force blocking Italian and German movements from reinforcing the Channel while the rest of the Navy has the big fight."
"Oui?" Lafayette asks, leaning back in her chair. "We're not fighting?"
"I fully expect a fight before this is over," I reply, "whether that's sirens, subs, or anything else I can't say. We've lost contact with Gibraltar, and we don't know the Italian's movements anymore since losing North Africa. We're in the dark, whatever we find… we're going to be some of the first to know about it."
Looks are shared across the table, some confident, some guarded, none worried, at least, not openly. "This won't be guard duty, I fully expect to be dealing with siren forces before this week is over. They always show up where you least expect them."
I hear wood creaking, and I quickly glance to the side to see the lip of Leviathan's chair, gripping in her left hand, is bending slightly. The shipgirl however was still smiling pleasantly. "The orders are simple, make sure your crew is ready, we're sailing east in a staggered convoy. We don't know what's out there Gentlemen, the Atlantic isn't friendly." I draw in a breath. "What forces the English have left are completely bottled up on their coasts, waiting to strike against the Germans in a final effort. Whatever happens in this next week will likely decide the fate of the Atlantic for the next several years."
I look at each man in turn. "We have our part to play, I expect all ship's to be ready to leave port at 0300."
…
"We'll kick some fuckin' ass." Texas says with a smile.
Leviathan glares.
"Language!" Cassin adds cheerfully.
—
2350, February 2nd, The Atlantic.
It had been smooth sailing so far, that was to be expected. We had been still under our own air cover until recently, though, as a piece of paper was shoved into my hand, dimly illuminated by a lamp… I knew things were about to change.
'ATTENTION SUBMARINES SIGHTED ON CURRENT ROUTE, WARDOG DAMAGED. ADVISED TO CHANGE COURSE.'
"From CINCLANT sir."
I nod to the man. Wardog… that was the Princeton.
"Admiral?" Leviathan says quietly, her face full of barely controlled fear.
—
[] [Stay the current course]
I was sailing directly into an ambush, but I know it's an ambush. That at least was something. But I'd be with the convoy ahead of me still.
[] [Veer off]
Try and swing around the hunting group, but we'll be leaving the wider convoy. But at the same time, the submarines were likely converging where they knew the ships were.
I am an admiral, I would meet my charges.
Thanks to @Armoury for the beta!
—
I stare down at the owl for several moments, pondering what precisely my life had become. Shipgirls tended to be odd at the best of times, I had a destroyer who thought she is a battleship. A carrier who is suffering from critical and apparently debilitating image issues to the point where she may be a literal Ship of Theseus, a Cowboy who seemingly didn't much like the prospect of another war… and an owl functioning as some form of simulacrum. Annapolis is a lovely academy, and it taught me a great many things. But it had… limitations. Namely, how to deal with the incredibly irregular in the painfully practiced regularity of the United States Navy.
The surprising? The shocking? I could deal with that, ambushes, counterattacks, shipborne emergencies. The life of a sailor is endless drudgery punctuated by points of sheer terror. Yet… little of it prepared me for this, the concept of having to communicate with an owl in order to send a carrier into battle. It is unique, it is different, it is very in line with general shipgirl nonsense.
It is also something I am not going to put up with as an Admiral in the United States Navy. "No." I say simply. "No this shall not be how this is done. O'Keefe, kindly escort me to Bunker's quarters, I would speak to the shipgirl in person."
"Hoo!?"
I stare down at the owl. "We shall be heading into battle, and I shall not be relying upon an owl for communication."
"Hoo!"
I ignore it. Turning instead to fully focus on O'keefe. The captain, to his credit, didn't even seem slightly off put by the request, if anything… he actually looked rather grateful. "Where is she?"
"Her room appeared in the aft section of the hangar deck, near the sheet-plate storage."
I smile. "Thank you, you will take me to her. Cassin, could you please keep ahold of the owl?" my previous charge nods, then snatches up the owl in her arms, causing much in the way of flapping wings, kicking feet, and the rabid, angry warcry of a pissed off bird.
Then we all head down below the bridge and into the hangar, where, much like my own vessel. It is a buzz of activity. The sound of metal grinders working, engines firing, and men shouting to one another is almost as loud as the Mk.1 Pissed Off Owl behind me. After a few minutes of walking we come to a large steel door, the same type I'd find all over the rest of the vessel. Only this one is bright yellow… and as I approached the door itself, it dogged. Locking itself fully on its own, the wheel in the center turning as the door firmly sealed itself. I stare at it, ignoring the continued cries of the owl behind me and the grunts of the struggling destroyer attempting to contain its fury.
"Leviathan, the door if you please."
"HOO!"
Leviathan steps past me. She stops just before the door, sizing it up for a moment, then she pulls off her gloves and hands them to me. I take them, then watch as she grabs onto the wheel with both hands, an-
"HOO! "HOO!"
Turns it with such force that the metal bends. With a crunch the mechanism on the door breaks, something apparently had been trying to hold it closed until just a moment prior. Then, with a flourish, Leviathan steps to the side, pulling the door ope-.
Well, hello Bunker Hill.
A blonde woman is sitting in the midst of a cramped space. It is… filled. It is maybe twenty feet in each direction, a full fifth of the size of Leviathan's room. But it is quite used. Shelves lined the wall, filled with everything from technical manuals to textbooks to comic books. Various bits and bobs were all over, toys, playing cards, sets of dice and dominos. Posters lined the wall, some naval recruiting posters, others for films and artists. The floor was covered in discarded rations, ice cream tubs, candy wrappers… and in the midst of it, just below a small plinth were the wisdom cube rested, was Bunker Hill. An obviously tall woman even sitting down, with long blonde hair that draped over her. She blinks up at you, amber eyes the same color as the owl looking up at you curiously, her face was covered in the remnants of chocolate.
She is also, somewhat importantly, naked as a newborn. She is beautiful of course, she was skinny and tall, yet not gangly, with breasts that fit her frame well, and… quite an impressive anchor. I quickly cast my gaze towards the ceiling, as is proper. "Bunker Hill?"
"... Yes sir." Bunker Hill replies, her voice very soft and quite, with a hint of a Bostonian accent to it.
"I will require you to be at a…" I pause for a moment. "A dinner," not a gala. "Tonight on the USS Leviathan. I will be meeting the ships assigned to me and discussing our future assignments. Please come dressed."
"... Okay."
"Thank you." I then step back away from the door's threshold, signal to Leviathan, and the door is pushed closed once more.
I sigh, then turn around, O'Keefe was making an admirable effort to look stoic. Leviathan looked vaguely amused, and Cassin… Cassin looked annoyed.
"Oh, so she can just hang around naked?!"
I flick the destroyer on the forehead, distantly, her foghorn blares.
—
The 'Gala' as Leviathan had so eloquently put it, was a rather fancy, if subdued affair. Far from the usual dinner I would put on, which was little more than a quick meeting in the Officer's Mess as I got to know my new subordinates. This is in my own private mess hall, something I was still rather unused to as a concept. Sailors moved around me with clinical precision, setting plates and pouring drinks. It is not something I hadn't experienced before, I have dined with Admirals in the past. But there is a difference from dining with, to being the host of the show yourself. Gentle music played from a record player in the corner, filling the space with the sound of a gentle solo clarinet.
I sat at the head of the table, with Leviathan flanking me just to my left… and Cassin just to my right, sat next to my former XO, now her CO. Parker Jones. A black man who I had watched grow steadily from a nervous Lieutenant to now a proud captain. He smiles at me as our eyes meet, then returns to the food in front of him, chatting amicably with the man to his left all the while. O'Keefe, the man whom I had just met earlier, sitting next to Bunker Hill, the shipgirl in question poking at the steak on the plate in front of her quizzically with a fork. She stared at it for several seconds, then she calmly picked it up with her bare hands and began to dig into it with gusto. The owl perched on her shoulder slowly raises a wing to rub at its head in seeming… exhaustion?
Texas, just across from her, watches the show with an arched brow. She indeed, as promised, had switched from her custom getup to her naval uniform, something which could noticeably barely… contain her. To her right sat her Captain, a rather tired looking officer named Clarent, white, who was seemingly as transfixed at watching Bunker Hill go after the meat with all the gusto of a dog as Texas was. Ingraham meanwhile, just to his right was paying little attention, the food on her plate ignored in favor of a book of some variety in her hands. Her Commander sat just next to her of course, doing his best to keep his head down in the face of some many senior officers. Nixon, I believe his name was, only just recently promoted. He was white as well, with a rather heavy set of jowls on him. Finally, there was the USS Lafayette, who, notably, was not in uniform. Instead she is dressed up as… I would suppose a french pirate. It was a black outfit, complete with a good deal of frills, a leather vest, and a particularly large bicorn on her head completely with brocade and feather. She isn't eating, instead she was looking around the table curiously, blonde hair… I had a lot of blondes I noted, observing everyone in turn, green eyes sizing everyone up. Flanking her is her Captain, an Asian man I had yet to properly meet named George. He has mostly been keeping quiet this entire time. I take this all in, then speak quietly to Leviathan. "Nobody has started throwing food yet, so this is rather well behaved for a large group of vessels."
"Their… table manners could use work." Leviathan says curtly, pointedly not looking at Bunker as she continues to enjoy the steak.
"Perhaps," I admit. "But then your manners more than make up for it."
"Flatterer."
I smile. "Simply honest." I then raise a fork and tap it gently, but loudly against my glass. Heads turn to look at me, and I smile a touch wider. "Good evening, my apologies for dragging you all from your vessels on such a short notice, I fear we shall not have a chance to truly meet each other again until we reach England."
George's eyes widen slightly, giving proof to my suspicion that not all of my officers knew where we were going yet. "We're sailing first thing in the morning to the west of France, to join a screening force blocking Italian and German movements from reinforcing the Channel while the rest of the Navy has the big fight."
"Oui?" Lafayette asks, leaning back in her chair. "We're not fighting?"
"I fully expect a fight before this is over," I reply, "whether that's sirens, subs, or anything else I can't say. We've lost contact with Gibraltar, and we don't know the Italian's movements anymore since losing North Africa. We're in the dark, whatever we find… we're going to be some of the first to know about it."
Looks are shared across the table, some confident, some guarded, none worried, at least, not openly. "This won't be guard duty, I fully expect to be dealing with siren forces before this week is over. They always show up where you least expect them."
I hear wood creaking, and I quickly glance to the side to see the lip of Leviathan's chair, gripping in her left hand, is bending slightly. The shipgirl however was still smiling pleasantly. "The orders are simple, make sure your crew is ready, we're sailing east in a staggered convoy. We don't know what's out there Gentlemen, the Atlantic isn't friendly." I draw in a breath. "What forces the English have left are completely bottled up on their coasts, waiting to strike against the Germans in a final effort. Whatever happens in this next week will likely decide the fate of the Atlantic for the next several years."
I look at each man in turn. "We have our part to play, I expect all ship's to be ready to leave port at 0300."
…
"We'll kick some fuckin' ass." Texas says with a smile.
Leviathan glares.
"Language!" Cassin adds cheerfully.
—
2350, February 2nd, The Atlantic.
It had been smooth sailing so far, that was to be expected. We had been still under our own air cover until recently, though, as a piece of paper was shoved into my hand, dimly illuminated by a lamp… I knew things were about to change.
'ATTENTION SUBMARINES SIGHTED ON CURRENT ROUTE, WARDOG DAMAGED. ADVISED TO CHANGE COURSE.'
"From CINCLANT sir."
I nod to the man. Wardog… that was the Princeton.
"Admiral?" Leviathan says quietly, her face full of barely controlled fear.
—
[] [Stay the current course]
I was sailing directly into an ambush, but I know it's an ambush. That at least was something. But I'd be with the convoy ahead of me still.
[] [Veer off]
Try and swing around the hunting group, but we'll be leaving the wider convoy. But at the same time, the submarines were likely converging where they knew the ships were.
[X] [Stay the current course]
Sometimes the best way to disarm a trap is to step into it knowing it's there.
...wait, that's not the right wording of the quote? Whoops!~
Sometimes the best way to disarm a trap is to step into it knowing it's there.
...wait, that's not the right wording of the quote? Whoops!~
- Location
- Auckland
[x] [Stay the current course]
I was sailing directly into an ambush, but I know it's an ambush. That at least was something. But I'd be with the convoy ahead of me still.
I was sailing directly into an ambush, but I know it's an ambush. That at least was something. But I'd be with the convoy ahead of me still.
- Location
- Texas
Ah, I see Bunker Hill has decided to go FULL gremlin mode. I approve.
Cassin, have you talked to your new captain about your exhibitionist streak yet?
Aww, poor Bubo, trying to educate Bunker Hill. And it's not geing well.
Fuck, that's way to early to be awake, much less to be getting an entire fleet underway. Sure, benefit of a bit of stealth, but also, it sounds likely to lose and forget a lot of stuff.
[X] [Stay the current course]
I was sailing directly into an ambush, but I know it's an ambush. That at least was something. But I'd be with the convoy ahead of me still.
Splitting off sounds like it leaves the rest of the convoy unprotected. I think getting planes in the air and smashing the subs is our best bet.
[X] [Stay the current course]
[X] [Stay the current course]
Detaching from the convoy and being alone in the place full of subs? Eh...
Detaching from the convoy and being alone in the place full of subs? Eh...
NuclearConsensus
Herald of the Thorned One
- Location
- the Philippines
[X] [Stay the current course]
- Location
- Georgia
[x] [Stay the current course]
Stay on target. We're part of the escort, kinda bad form to leave our charges.
I know its not an uncommon name, but this can't be a certain President in an alternate timeline can it?
Cassin pls.
Leviathan is just having the worst time in this war and I imagine its only gonna get worse.
Stay on target. We're part of the escort, kinda bad form to leave our charges.
Oh so this is what Bunker Hill is like without Anderson's direct influence. . . this is about what I expected lol.
I know its not an uncommon name, but this can't be a certain President in an alternate timeline can it?
Cassin pls.
Leviathan is just having the worst time in this war and I imagine its only gonna get worse.
Erien
God's Weakest Soldier
- Location
- Georgia
- Pronouns
- He/Him
It's the President yes.
- Location
- USA
Now all we need to do is run into some kid named Kennedy.
[x] [Stay the current course]
[x] [Stay the current course]
XylemAmethystone
"Walk the lonely Road, will you?" -A soft Whisper
[x] [Stay the current course]
Would it be foolishness for the brain to leave the body unattended? Such is the burden of a Carrier, Miss Leviathan.
Hello there,Sancho Don Quixote. 'Tis a merry sight of you in your natural habitat. I have concieved an idea most ingenious! Let's have an Adventure, shall we?
Would it be foolishness for the brain to leave the body unattended? Such is the burden of a Carrier, Miss Leviathan.
Hello there,
Erien
God's Weakest Soldier
- Location
- Georgia
- Pronouns
- He/Him
...Pardon?
She's gonna be drunk and streaking some day I'm sure we'd find out when they get us to stop her
DB_Explorer
Purveyor of alternate realities.
- Location
- San Diego, California
- Pronouns
- He/Him
.... shut in Bunker Hill I see
... this is gonna take some work....
future conversation:
Levi:... Bunker what have I said about panties?
Bunker: ah.... I forgot
So thats where the chocolate went
Maybe teaching Bunker manners can be a distraction/break from the pressures of war
Bubo has all of Bunker's common sense it seems
the fleet likely already has rumors on Anderson's type..
Practice will help... I hope
this is what coffee is for! and prayers about being able to go to bed at decent time the day before
[X] [Veer off]
[X] [Stay the current course]
I was sailing directly into an ambush, but I know it's an ambush. That at least was something. But I'd be with the convoy ahead of me still.
Bunker being a full shut-in with next to no knowledge and common sense of outside world is expected and delivered.
The first thing and the last to find in this trip will be subs. Atleast we got 2 carriers and some destroyers. Can I change the convoy formation to Texas, Bunker and Levi at center with us form a triangle about 750m apart, destroyers evenly split to two side of the convoy, speed down to 2/3 ahead. And start launching aircrafts out.
I was sailing directly into an ambush, but I know it's an ambush. That at least was something. But I'd be with the convoy ahead of me still.
Bunker being a full shut-in with next to no knowledge and common sense of outside world is expected and delivered.
The first thing and the last to find in this trip will be subs. Atleast we got 2 carriers and some destroyers. Can I change the convoy formation to Texas, Bunker and Levi at center with us form a triangle about 750m apart, destroyers evenly split to two side of the convoy, speed down to 2/3 ahead. And start launching aircrafts out.