In the year 1918, an Alien race known as the Sirens invaded the Earth. It is now 1941. Peace remains elusive.
Fleetgirls at Floodtide (Azur Lane/1900s Alternate History)
- Thread starter Erien
- Start date
- Mature Alt. History Action
- Created
- Status
- Dropped
- Watchers
- 92
- Recent readers
- 0
- Threadmarks
- 27
-
Statistics (21 threadmarks, 44k words)
User Total Erien 21 -
Loading…
-
Loading…
-
Loading…
-
Loading…
1.0 - The Past
Erien
God's Weakest Soldier
- Location
- Georgia
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Hello, and thanks for checking this out. This is an alternate-history story using elements from Azur Lane. It follows the career of Anderson L. Stevens, an American who is thrust into the second World War with the bombing of Pearl Harbor. The questers will be in control of his actions, and his task group, to turn the tide of the war in the Allies' favor.
This story is, as mentioned, alternate history, and many things have turned out for the worse. This will not be a grand strategy quest, you will vote on actions to take in battle, which operations are decided upon by the allies, and character interactions day to day, but the minutiae of logistics and ornaments will be handled by the officers who specialize in such things. In addition, while I study history, I am not a naval historian and have never served in the military, so please forgive any errors. Any pointed out will be happily fixed, as I'm doing this as much to learn about the time period as I am to write this story.
This story will feature mature content, both in terms of violence and of a sexual nature. All shipgirl designs have been aged up accordingly.
With all that said, please enjoy!
And of course,
Thanks to Armoury for the beta, and thanks to Malicia and Seimic for keeping things sane.
—
My name is Admiral Anderson L. Stevens. Commander, Naval Air Force Atlantic, Retired. I am seventy years old and live in a modest home not far from where I grew up in Yonkers. I still take the boat out on weekends, and there isn't a day that goes by that I don't recall the war. It isn't something that easily leaves the mind… the senses. The breeze carrying salt water can make a man feel fifty years younger just by the smell of it. The well-wishers were fewer these days, the writers seeking interviews even less. My generation, the greatest generation some may call it, was dying off. But… the true greatest generation remained deep underneath the oceans, their bones resting but their spirits still present. The time would come that I would join them, them and the proud ships we lost beside them.
Do you hear that? The breeze coming through the trees? If you listen, just carefully enough. You can hear them still, the jostling of bones in the ocean, the roar of the guns, and the shouts in the wind.
I still miss it.
I joined in 1918, fresh out of Annapolis, of course, then, it was to fight the Germans. That changed, of course, with the arrival of the Sirens. Alien beings, some shaped like humans, most not, monstrosities of steel and biology. Their motives were unknown, the responded to no communications, and the world paused, wars forgotten.
And then they attacked, and the nations of the world were crippled in an instant. Whether the ship was made for cargo or war it mattered little, they were either sunk or narrowly escaped. The armor of the siren vessels was impenetrable to artillery and bombs, and the humanoids could tear through a hull as easily as a man could tissue paper. By 1919 there was little in the way left of global economics, and the world waited, crippled, hurting, bleeding. Defenseless against the silent invaders.
Then, the Russian Empire… partook in a miracle. A ship gained conscience, found in human form and sleeping deep within the hull, clutching a blue cube in her hand. At once, things changed, the city of Leningrad was saved, the ship sailing out of its own volition to batter the siren ships away with ease. Then others awoke, again and again. HMS Warspite, USS Texas, IJN Mikasa. More and more came to life, ships gained wills of their own, and through their firepower, the oceans were taken back into the grasp of humanity.
But that did not mean peace.
The sirens retreated to the ice caps, northern and southern, and since, besides raids and scouting parties, have done little. But that did not mean the world was saved.
The Russian Empire was a broken, fractured thing. It narrowly remained whole following several successive failed revolutions, and now it stands as a failing, dying beast of an empire.
Imperial Japan was on a war footing, stretching its influence across the Pacific and invading China in the name of glory and Empire.
Germany had fallen sway to a dictatorial government, led by the National Socialist Party, led by a madman. They had made arguments on the world stage that mankind should be working with the Sirens.
America… we kept to ourselves, we fought the Sirens, kept up our watch as we should, and helped others do the same. But we would not be involved in any more foreign wars, too many had died in the trenches, and too many more died in distant, foreign oceans. Under President Alf Landon we had continued to build our naval and air forces, technological advancements thoughts only a dream just a few years ago coming to the fore under the power of the almighty American dollar and refugees from abroad.
But for me, that meant little, as I had been fighting since 1918.
—
Commander Anderson L. Stevens, Commanding Officer of the USS Cassin. Point Opal, The Antarctic. October 20th, 1939.
"Hard left rudder, hard over."
"Hard left rudder, hard over, aye sir!"
Cassin lurches, and swings to the left, some men brace themselves, and some men stumble. Wait for it… "All ahead flank! Fire as you bear!"
I reach up to grab the strap above the window, bracing. Then the side of the Cassin opens up, the five inchers firing with abandon into the surfaced siren submarine. The thing is a twisted amalgamation of metal and flesh, pulsing green and threshing in the water, unable to sink from the damage the depth charges had done to it. The first few shots go well high, skipping across the water to slam into the nearby ice shelf. The next-
"It's hit below the waterline!" my XO calls out.
A loud, mechanical shriek fills the air as the thing flails in the water. Its guns swivel around, aiming directly for the Cassin.
*BANG*
The shots go wildly off target, one screaming over the bridge, the other not firing at all. Where the gun emplacement had been was now nothing more than a smoking wreck. Because Cassin herself was on her now. A goddess of war, black hair whipping in the wind as she presses her wrist-mounted gun pressing against its hull and firing, again and again.
"Die you fucking prick!" Cassin's voice shouts over the intercom.
"Cassin, Language," I remind gently.
"Gunboat, starboard side!"
I jerk my head to see a mess of flesh and guns dive off the ice shelf and into the water, her guns swinging around to fire upon the HMAS Melbourne. "Cassin, support Texas in dealing with that cruiser, we're moving in support of the Melbourne."
"Aye sir!" Cassin replies over the intercom, then fires one more fusillade into the now-sinking destroyer before tearing off over the surface of the water to chase after Texas. The woman in question firing a pair of revolvers at one of the humanoid sirens, a short squat thing that had a mechanical squid for a head. Behind them, behind both of them, was the Texas herself, her guns firing as fast as they could be loaded into a battlecruiser a mere hundred yards away from her.
I drew in a breath, "Bring us to one-three-zero, prepare to fire as soon as the Melbourne is clear."
"Aye sir, one-three-zero sir!"
I then turn my head towards the radioman. "Get Melbourne on the horn, order him to veer off."
The man… kid turned. "Aye sir!"
So went the days work.
—
View: https://youtu.be/og2Fn0f8WJA?si=mS-rVu6ahv8a-FVV
Captain Anderson L. Stevens, Commanding Officer of the USS Cassin. Pearl Harbor, Oahu, Hawaii. November 11th, 1939.
—
There was something homey about a destroyer, it didn't have the glamour of a battleship, and it didn't have the creature comforts of a carrier. But there was a pleasantness to it all the same. One could never be fooled that they weren't on the ocean, and I had, through effort, gotten to know every member of my crew quite well. Some more than well, at great insistence on their part.
"Cassin, I am trying to write the log, please kindly stop kicking the back of my seat."
"Hmm… could do that, or you could write faster," Cassin replies, then kicks… gently thankfully, the back of my chair once more.
I look up momentarily, then sigh. "I recognize you are excited to be on leave, but I have to write my reports regardless."
"Can't it wait until after we're done though?" Cassin asks. "We just got here last night, now I'm tied to a pier and you are writing log!"
"If you don't wish for me to sing your praises to the CincPAC, please just let me know. I am currently writing about how you tore a destroyer in half."
"Oooh, tell them I did it while singing the national anthem, maybe they'll make a new propaganda poster!" Cassin then snorts, rolling over on my bed. "They're getting tougher though, that one almost made me break a sweat."
"Noted," then I look up as a knock sounds on the door to my quarters. "Cassin, the door please."
Cassin raises a ringer, thankfully, the pointer finger, and the lock to the door undoes itself. The door opens a moment later to reveal my XO, more specifically, my XO looking rather shocked.
"Jones?" I ask, staring at the sweat covering the man's near-pitch-black skin. "Did you run all the way here?"
My executive officer says nothing for several moments. "Stevens, Sir. News… orders from CincPac." Then he offers a piece of paper forward.
I take it, and read it over, twice.
"Well?" Cassin asks, appearing over my shoulder.
"Germany has invaded Poland, our mutual defense operation against the Sirens is considered no longer active as… the Sirens are…." I continue to stare at the paper, not believing the last line. The sirens are supporting the Germans on land?
—
Captain Anderson L. Stevens, Commanding Officer of the USS Cassin. Pearl Harbor, Oahu, Hawaii. In drydock for ordnance alterations in Pearl Harbor and rest. December 6th, 1941.
—
I awoke as was the norm for a man of my station. With a young woman poking me in the face repeatedly. I open my eyes slowly, first taking stock of the situation. First, it was dawn, which was good. I wasn't exactly on leave, but I didn't have to get up at four in the morning either. Second, I was in my bed, which was also good. Cassin had a nasty habit of moving me around the ship while I slept as she found it amusing. Third is that Cassin was laying on my chest, her legs kicking up in the air, a bright smile on her face as she grinned from mere inches away. "Morning Captain~"
I stare at her, blinking. "You are neither a cup of coffee, nor does it appear you have prepared one. So, Cassin, might I ask why you are waking me up on this particular morning?"
"Because you," Cassin reaches forward to poke my nose. "Promised me a vacation after that last siren sub hunt."
I close my eyes, then nod my head. "Then enjoy Hawaii, I'm going back to sleep."
I feel Cassin slide off the bed, then I feel myself being lifted off of it. I open my eyes to see Cassin grabbing me by the front of my sleepwear and hauling me off the bed one-handed. "Captain, vacation."
"Cassin, manners."
Cassin sticks her tongue out at me, then drops me back down onto the ground. She, for her part, is fully dressed in her uniform already. A modified version of the already existing WAVES uniform, her blue uniform was crisp and suspiciously perfect. Even the hat was clean and free of wrinkles.
I observed that for a moment, then made my way over to my clothing stand. "You are suspiciously well put together this morning Cassin, that excited to be around Pennsylvania?"
Cassin opens her mouth to reply, then shuts it. But the wide grin on her face told me enough. She had been berthed behind Pennsylvania just yesterday, right beside her sister Downes in drydock, and ever since she had been bouncing around the place looking forward to bugging the 'big ships'. It wasn't something necessarily uncommon, for the shipgirls of destroyers and the like to be excited to be in their presence. But in my experience, it was one of two things, awe, or a need to show off how great they were in comparison. With Cassin, thankfully, it was the former. There was no such thing as 'too big a gun' for the girl.
"I mean…" Cassin kicks her polished shoes against the flooring. "I guess they are kinda cool, you think I could… maybe play with Pennsylvania later?"
"You certainly can, but for now we have some assignments to get to, namely some meetings about your refit."
Cassin groans. "Don't remind me, you know how uncomfortable it is to feel all those cables being shoved onboard? I'm fine the way I am regardless."
"While I don't disagree, what the Navy says goes Cassin." I reply. I finish buttoning up the jacket, then turn to see Cassin idly twirling her hair. She always kept it in a long ponytail that always ended up either down to her waist, or up on her shoulder. Now though, she was twisting it around her finger while glancing at the porthole of myr in-port cabin.
"Well, what do you think?"
"Meaning?" I ask, bending down to tie my shoes.
"Well, you've been heading a Destroyer flotilla for a bit, and as far as you ever mentioned you commanded a Destroyer before me as well." Cassin says.
"The Wainwright, yes."
Cassin's face twists. "Stuck up bitch threatening people for drinking alcohol."
I finish tying the shoe, then stand up straight, looking down at Cassin. "The point?"
"Did you focus on Destroyer's or something back at Annapolis? Or is this just where they stuck ya?"
—
This will mark your flagship and point of command going forward after Pearl.
[] [I was a Destroyer Man]
[] [Cruisers, middleweights, best of both worlds.]
[] [Battleships, the big guns.]
[] [Naval Aviation, a relatively new field, but an interesting one.]
—
General history of the world.
In 1918, an alien race known as the 'Sirens' appeared at the north and south poles. In due time they had heavily damaged most ports in the world and made shipping hazardous. Through a combined effort, of the United States, France, the United Kingdom, Russia, and Japan. The 'Azur Lane' was formed to defeat them, after several years of fighting…
They succeeded. The Sirens retreated into the Arctic to lick their wounds, fortifying themselves in a position none could assault them.
The world's economy collapsed, due to a mix of already overtaxed economies still recovering from the First World War, and the near global collapse in shipping, the world fell into a deep depression. The watch against the Sirens continued, but the alliance known as 'Azur Lane' collapsed.
The year is now 1941, Nazi Germany has risen again from the ashes of the First World War to wreak havoc across Europe and Africa, the nation controls as far west as the French Coast, and as far east as Moscow. On their side… is the Sirens, ships that have wrested control of the Mediterranean, and alien troops that have been pushing across the continent. They, with their ally Italy, have made the continent of Europe grow dark under tyranny.
The United States is an isolationist nation, now in the second term of President Alf Landon, the United States is a naval superpower without a peer, however, the Sirens have once again started to wage war out of the Arctic, and even their resources are being tested. To the chagrin of some of their former allies, however, America has refused to be involved with wars or aid to Europe in any way.
France has fallen, the country as a whole has become little more than disparate fighting forces, and a government in exile in London. There is no Vichy France.
Poland, Czechslokavia, Hungary, Romania, Norway, The Low Countries, and the Balkans have all fallen under the boot of Germany. With Italy laying claim to Greece and parts of Africa. The British and French Empires no longer hold any sway over Northern Africa and the Middle East.
The United Kingdom stands alone, their fleet, once the pride of the world, is fighting a heroic battle around their island. Having already fought off two attempted naval invasions at Dover, the English people are truly in their finest hour.
The Dai-Nippon Teikoku Kaigun is four hundred miles from Oahu. The Kriegsmarine is three hundred miles from New York City.
The day is December 6th, the year is 1941.
This is the Second Siren War.
This story is, as mentioned, alternate history, and many things have turned out for the worse. This will not be a grand strategy quest, you will vote on actions to take in battle, which operations are decided upon by the allies, and character interactions day to day, but the minutiae of logistics and ornaments will be handled by the officers who specialize in such things. In addition, while I study history, I am not a naval historian and have never served in the military, so please forgive any errors. Any pointed out will be happily fixed, as I'm doing this as much to learn about the time period as I am to write this story.
This story will feature mature content, both in terms of violence and of a sexual nature. All shipgirl designs have been aged up accordingly.
With all that said, please enjoy!
And of course,
Thanks to Armoury for the beta, and thanks to Malicia and Seimic for keeping things sane.
—
My name is Admiral Anderson L. Stevens. Commander, Naval Air Force Atlantic, Retired. I am seventy years old and live in a modest home not far from where I grew up in Yonkers. I still take the boat out on weekends, and there isn't a day that goes by that I don't recall the war. It isn't something that easily leaves the mind… the senses. The breeze carrying salt water can make a man feel fifty years younger just by the smell of it. The well-wishers were fewer these days, the writers seeking interviews even less. My generation, the greatest generation some may call it, was dying off. But… the true greatest generation remained deep underneath the oceans, their bones resting but their spirits still present. The time would come that I would join them, them and the proud ships we lost beside them.
Do you hear that? The breeze coming through the trees? If you listen, just carefully enough. You can hear them still, the jostling of bones in the ocean, the roar of the guns, and the shouts in the wind.
I still miss it.
I joined in 1918, fresh out of Annapolis, of course, then, it was to fight the Germans. That changed, of course, with the arrival of the Sirens. Alien beings, some shaped like humans, most not, monstrosities of steel and biology. Their motives were unknown, the responded to no communications, and the world paused, wars forgotten.
And then they attacked, and the nations of the world were crippled in an instant. Whether the ship was made for cargo or war it mattered little, they were either sunk or narrowly escaped. The armor of the siren vessels was impenetrable to artillery and bombs, and the humanoids could tear through a hull as easily as a man could tissue paper. By 1919 there was little in the way left of global economics, and the world waited, crippled, hurting, bleeding. Defenseless against the silent invaders.
Then, the Russian Empire… partook in a miracle. A ship gained conscience, found in human form and sleeping deep within the hull, clutching a blue cube in her hand. At once, things changed, the city of Leningrad was saved, the ship sailing out of its own volition to batter the siren ships away with ease. Then others awoke, again and again. HMS Warspite, USS Texas, IJN Mikasa. More and more came to life, ships gained wills of their own, and through their firepower, the oceans were taken back into the grasp of humanity.
But that did not mean peace.
The sirens retreated to the ice caps, northern and southern, and since, besides raids and scouting parties, have done little. But that did not mean the world was saved.
The Russian Empire was a broken, fractured thing. It narrowly remained whole following several successive failed revolutions, and now it stands as a failing, dying beast of an empire.
Imperial Japan was on a war footing, stretching its influence across the Pacific and invading China in the name of glory and Empire.
Germany had fallen sway to a dictatorial government, led by the National Socialist Party, led by a madman. They had made arguments on the world stage that mankind should be working with the Sirens.
America… we kept to ourselves, we fought the Sirens, kept up our watch as we should, and helped others do the same. But we would not be involved in any more foreign wars, too many had died in the trenches, and too many more died in distant, foreign oceans. Under President Alf Landon we had continued to build our naval and air forces, technological advancements thoughts only a dream just a few years ago coming to the fore under the power of the almighty American dollar and refugees from abroad.
But for me, that meant little, as I had been fighting since 1918.
—
Commander Anderson L. Stevens, Commanding Officer of the USS Cassin. Point Opal, The Antarctic. October 20th, 1939.
"Hard left rudder, hard over."
"Hard left rudder, hard over, aye sir!"
Cassin lurches, and swings to the left, some men brace themselves, and some men stumble. Wait for it… "All ahead flank! Fire as you bear!"
I reach up to grab the strap above the window, bracing. Then the side of the Cassin opens up, the five inchers firing with abandon into the surfaced siren submarine. The thing is a twisted amalgamation of metal and flesh, pulsing green and threshing in the water, unable to sink from the damage the depth charges had done to it. The first few shots go well high, skipping across the water to slam into the nearby ice shelf. The next-
"It's hit below the waterline!" my XO calls out.
A loud, mechanical shriek fills the air as the thing flails in the water. Its guns swivel around, aiming directly for the Cassin.
*BANG*
The shots go wildly off target, one screaming over the bridge, the other not firing at all. Where the gun emplacement had been was now nothing more than a smoking wreck. Because Cassin herself was on her now. A goddess of war, black hair whipping in the wind as she presses her wrist-mounted gun pressing against its hull and firing, again and again.
"Die you fucking prick!" Cassin's voice shouts over the intercom.
"Cassin, Language," I remind gently.
"Gunboat, starboard side!"
I jerk my head to see a mess of flesh and guns dive off the ice shelf and into the water, her guns swinging around to fire upon the HMAS Melbourne. "Cassin, support Texas in dealing with that cruiser, we're moving in support of the Melbourne."
"Aye sir!" Cassin replies over the intercom, then fires one more fusillade into the now-sinking destroyer before tearing off over the surface of the water to chase after Texas. The woman in question firing a pair of revolvers at one of the humanoid sirens, a short squat thing that had a mechanical squid for a head. Behind them, behind both of them, was the Texas herself, her guns firing as fast as they could be loaded into a battlecruiser a mere hundred yards away from her.
I drew in a breath, "Bring us to one-three-zero, prepare to fire as soon as the Melbourne is clear."
"Aye sir, one-three-zero sir!"
I then turn my head towards the radioman. "Get Melbourne on the horn, order him to veer off."
The man… kid turned. "Aye sir!"
So went the days work.
—
View: https://youtu.be/og2Fn0f8WJA?si=mS-rVu6ahv8a-FVV
Captain Anderson L. Stevens, Commanding Officer of the USS Cassin. Pearl Harbor, Oahu, Hawaii. November 11th, 1939.
—
There was something homey about a destroyer, it didn't have the glamour of a battleship, and it didn't have the creature comforts of a carrier. But there was a pleasantness to it all the same. One could never be fooled that they weren't on the ocean, and I had, through effort, gotten to know every member of my crew quite well. Some more than well, at great insistence on their part.
"Cassin, I am trying to write the log, please kindly stop kicking the back of my seat."
"Hmm… could do that, or you could write faster," Cassin replies, then kicks… gently thankfully, the back of my chair once more.
I look up momentarily, then sigh. "I recognize you are excited to be on leave, but I have to write my reports regardless."
"Can't it wait until after we're done though?" Cassin asks. "We just got here last night, now I'm tied to a pier and you are writing log!"
"If you don't wish for me to sing your praises to the CincPAC, please just let me know. I am currently writing about how you tore a destroyer in half."
"Oooh, tell them I did it while singing the national anthem, maybe they'll make a new propaganda poster!" Cassin then snorts, rolling over on my bed. "They're getting tougher though, that one almost made me break a sweat."
"Noted," then I look up as a knock sounds on the door to my quarters. "Cassin, the door please."
Cassin raises a ringer, thankfully, the pointer finger, and the lock to the door undoes itself. The door opens a moment later to reveal my XO, more specifically, my XO looking rather shocked.
"Jones?" I ask, staring at the sweat covering the man's near-pitch-black skin. "Did you run all the way here?"
My executive officer says nothing for several moments. "Stevens, Sir. News… orders from CincPac." Then he offers a piece of paper forward.
I take it, and read it over, twice.
"Well?" Cassin asks, appearing over my shoulder.
"Germany has invaded Poland, our mutual defense operation against the Sirens is considered no longer active as… the Sirens are…." I continue to stare at the paper, not believing the last line. The sirens are supporting the Germans on land?
—
Captain Anderson L. Stevens, Commanding Officer of the USS Cassin. Pearl Harbor, Oahu, Hawaii. In drydock for ordnance alterations in Pearl Harbor and rest. December 6th, 1941.
—
I awoke as was the norm for a man of my station. With a young woman poking me in the face repeatedly. I open my eyes slowly, first taking stock of the situation. First, it was dawn, which was good. I wasn't exactly on leave, but I didn't have to get up at four in the morning either. Second, I was in my bed, which was also good. Cassin had a nasty habit of moving me around the ship while I slept as she found it amusing. Third is that Cassin was laying on my chest, her legs kicking up in the air, a bright smile on her face as she grinned from mere inches away. "Morning Captain~"
I stare at her, blinking. "You are neither a cup of coffee, nor does it appear you have prepared one. So, Cassin, might I ask why you are waking me up on this particular morning?"
"Because you," Cassin reaches forward to poke my nose. "Promised me a vacation after that last siren sub hunt."
I close my eyes, then nod my head. "Then enjoy Hawaii, I'm going back to sleep."
I feel Cassin slide off the bed, then I feel myself being lifted off of it. I open my eyes to see Cassin grabbing me by the front of my sleepwear and hauling me off the bed one-handed. "Captain, vacation."
"Cassin, manners."
Cassin sticks her tongue out at me, then drops me back down onto the ground. She, for her part, is fully dressed in her uniform already. A modified version of the already existing WAVES uniform, her blue uniform was crisp and suspiciously perfect. Even the hat was clean and free of wrinkles.
I observed that for a moment, then made my way over to my clothing stand. "You are suspiciously well put together this morning Cassin, that excited to be around Pennsylvania?"
Cassin opens her mouth to reply, then shuts it. But the wide grin on her face told me enough. She had been berthed behind Pennsylvania just yesterday, right beside her sister Downes in drydock, and ever since she had been bouncing around the place looking forward to bugging the 'big ships'. It wasn't something necessarily uncommon, for the shipgirls of destroyers and the like to be excited to be in their presence. But in my experience, it was one of two things, awe, or a need to show off how great they were in comparison. With Cassin, thankfully, it was the former. There was no such thing as 'too big a gun' for the girl.
"I mean…" Cassin kicks her polished shoes against the flooring. "I guess they are kinda cool, you think I could… maybe play with Pennsylvania later?"
"You certainly can, but for now we have some assignments to get to, namely some meetings about your refit."
Cassin groans. "Don't remind me, you know how uncomfortable it is to feel all those cables being shoved onboard? I'm fine the way I am regardless."
"While I don't disagree, what the Navy says goes Cassin." I reply. I finish buttoning up the jacket, then turn to see Cassin idly twirling her hair. She always kept it in a long ponytail that always ended up either down to her waist, or up on her shoulder. Now though, she was twisting it around her finger while glancing at the porthole of myr in-port cabin.
"Well, what do you think?"
"Meaning?" I ask, bending down to tie my shoes.
"Well, you've been heading a Destroyer flotilla for a bit, and as far as you ever mentioned you commanded a Destroyer before me as well." Cassin says.
"The Wainwright, yes."
Cassin's face twists. "Stuck up bitch threatening people for drinking alcohol."
I finish tying the shoe, then stand up straight, looking down at Cassin. "The point?"
"Did you focus on Destroyer's or something back at Annapolis? Or is this just where they stuck ya?"
—
This will mark your flagship and point of command going forward after Pearl.
[] [I was a Destroyer Man]
[] [Cruisers, middleweights, best of both worlds.]
[] [Battleships, the big guns.]
[] [Naval Aviation, a relatively new field, but an interesting one.]
—
General history of the world.
In 1918, an alien race known as the 'Sirens' appeared at the north and south poles. In due time they had heavily damaged most ports in the world and made shipping hazardous. Through a combined effort, of the United States, France, the United Kingdom, Russia, and Japan. The 'Azur Lane' was formed to defeat them, after several years of fighting…
They succeeded. The Sirens retreated into the Arctic to lick their wounds, fortifying themselves in a position none could assault them.
The world's economy collapsed, due to a mix of already overtaxed economies still recovering from the First World War, and the near global collapse in shipping, the world fell into a deep depression. The watch against the Sirens continued, but the alliance known as 'Azur Lane' collapsed.
The year is now 1941, Nazi Germany has risen again from the ashes of the First World War to wreak havoc across Europe and Africa, the nation controls as far west as the French Coast, and as far east as Moscow. On their side… is the Sirens, ships that have wrested control of the Mediterranean, and alien troops that have been pushing across the continent. They, with their ally Italy, have made the continent of Europe grow dark under tyranny.
The United States is an isolationist nation, now in the second term of President Alf Landon, the United States is a naval superpower without a peer, however, the Sirens have once again started to wage war out of the Arctic, and even their resources are being tested. To the chagrin of some of their former allies, however, America has refused to be involved with wars or aid to Europe in any way.
France has fallen, the country as a whole has become little more than disparate fighting forces, and a government in exile in London. There is no Vichy France.
Poland, Czechslokavia, Hungary, Romania, Norway, The Low Countries, and the Balkans have all fallen under the boot of Germany. With Italy laying claim to Greece and parts of Africa. The British and French Empires no longer hold any sway over Northern Africa and the Middle East.
The United Kingdom stands alone, their fleet, once the pride of the world, is fighting a heroic battle around their island. Having already fought off two attempted naval invasions at Dover, the English people are truly in their finest hour.
The Dai-Nippon Teikoku Kaigun is four hundred miles from Oahu. The Kriegsmarine is three hundred miles from New York City.
The day is December 6th, the year is 1941.
This is the Second Siren War.
Last edited:
1.1 - Dec 6th, Part One
Erien
God's Weakest Soldier
- Location
- Georgia
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[Naval Aviation, a relatively new field, but an interesting one.]
Thanks to @Armoury for the beta!
—
I adjust my tie for a moment longer, then look back at my dear destroyer. She was slightly shorter than me, which was true of several shipgirls. I was not an especially tall man, but the size of the girl depended on the height and length of the vessel, and the Mahan class wasn't a particularly large series of ships. "Oh, I was as far away from destroyers as possible," I reply with a smile. "Carriers, that is what I studied. A new field of warfare, less focus on guns and torpedoes." I smile wider, teasing my charge. "Oh how I long for it, to not be saddled with a destroyer with a crippling ice cream addiction."
"Hey!" Cassin half shouts, half growls. "I've put up with your ass for five years, don't I deserve a little credit?"
"Are you capable of launching planes?" I ask innocently.
"Leviathan's in the harbor," Cassin replies, "I could always steal one of hers and we can find out as I throw it at you."
"Leviathan hardly counts as a normal aircraft carrier," I reply. "And in any case, no, her temper is legendary."
Cassin rolls her eyes, making her way over to the door as she does so. "Can't believe you'd pick something like a carrier though."
"It was merely my field of study, I would suggest not looking into it."
Cassin crosses her arms and hums. "I dunno, I could milk this so that you buy me lunch."
"Is the mess not enoug-"
Cassin spins around and grabs me by the tie, gently but abruptly. "Anderson, we've been at sea for two months. If I have to eat another bite of dry toast and wash it down with the fuel oil our mess officers call 'coffee' I'll sink myself."
"Noted, breakfast on land then?"
Cassin grins broadly, releasing my tie. With a slight squeak to the hinges the door to my cabin opens, and she skips off towards the ladder. I reach it a few seconds later, though, unlike Cassin who teleports up to the top, I need to physically climb up and into the bridge. It's as empty as expected, though the ship itself wasn't lacking activity. It was our first day back in Pearl now in months, and I had given blanket permission to my crew to enjoy shore leave while they could, barring the essential maintenance personnel involving themselves in the refit, and they were on a generous rotating shift for a reason.
Still, it was only o-six-hundred… and wonderful hot in comparison to some early mornings I had had lately. Pearl was busy, but then, it was always busy. Tugs moved about, haulers, ferries, patrol craft. Ships moved between ships, men moved on the docks, sparks flew in the distance from men working, horns honked, and engines both big and small roared. We were in drydock at the moment, dry and high. Ahead of me, through the glass of the bridge, was the far larger USS Pennsylvania, the battleship glinting in the sunrise as men hung alongside the ship on hoists to give her a fresh coat of paint. To the left was the Downes, a twin of Cassin in every way, a sister ship in the same class. And, further to the left, hugging a cup of coffee to his chest and doing his best to not look like a corpse was Jones, my executive officer.
Cassin, for her part, was already on the wing of the bridge, taking in the open air and shouting something down at the dockworkers below. I ignored her for the moment, instead focusing on Jones. "Long night?"
Jones shakes his head. "Was in my bunk by twenty-two-hundred. Just couldn't sleep."
I grin. "Nervous about seeing the wife again?"
Jones takes a sip of his coffee, a smile finding its way onto his face. "Don't rub in you aren't married Captain."
"My first love remains the sea," I reply.
"Hey!"
"And Cassin, at times." I continue. "Take off, let the maintenance crews take over."
"Aye sir, won't argue with that." Jones says, "Brewed you a cup as well, could hear Cassin from even up here." He gestures behind him towards a cup of coffee sitting on top of the radio stack.
"Appreciated, now vacate yourself from my ship and into your wife's arms."
Jones snorts. "More likely just her heels in my a-"
"Come on, are we leaving already!?" Cassin shouts, sticking her head back into the bridge. "I can feel all the electrical cabling being moved about and it's weird!"
"Not married, am I?" I ask, smiling at Jones, then take the cup of coffee and make my way over to the bridge wing. There I found Cassin sitting on the rail, her hair moving lazily in the warm, salty breeze. "And what, precisely, does the USS Cassin want for breakfast?"
Cassin hums, looking out over the port. "Think we can get some good pancakes around here?"
"I know a place, come on, my car is already ready at the end of the dock." Then I stepped past her and made my way down the staircase.
The crew, those actually on the deck at the moment amidst the draped cables running across it keep working as we walk past. They paid us little attention as we made our way towards the gangway, too busy with their tasks. My car was sitting where I had requested it, having been brought over last night, it was a small, cherry-red Buick. One of the few luxuries I afforded myself. Though, given my job, it had taken me a full year before its first tank of gas was used up. I open the passenger door, letting Cassin slide inside before I moved over to the driver's seat myself.
Cassin leans back immediately, cranking the seat as far back as it could go before resting her head on her hands. "Driver, I wish to partake in a lovely Sunday drive, do prepare my hat."
I smirk, then close the door. "It's Saturday."
"Details." Cassin replies.
With a turn of the key, the engine comes alive, as does the radio a moment later.
"This is CBS New York, bringing news around the world. Reports today from the German press announced that the German army has captured Moscow, reports from the Russian Empire are still unconfirmed at this ti-"
With a click I turn the radio off, frowning at it before I start to move the car out of the dock.
"When do you think we'll be dragged into all of that?" Cassin asks.
"No idea," I answer honestly. "Landon wants no part of it, though by this point it may be too late in any case."
Cassin hums as the car makes its way out of the drydock and onto the connecting street. "I still don't understand how the managed to get the Sirens on their side."
"The moment you figure it out, let me know," I reply. "I've been trying to figure that one out for two years. Not like the Sirens have a representative to speak to."
"That we know of," Cassin counters.
"That we know of," I admit. "Still, it's most of Europe now. Would be a tough nut to crack."
"Be fucking impossible if they manage to take England." Cassin replies bitterly.
"Language," I reply. "And I know, wish we could do something too, but we have our orders."
Cassin rolls her eyes and turns her full attention to the window instead as we pass by the oil storage yard just outside the drydock. We aren't going exactly quickly, which may be the reason why I rather quickly heard a voice.
"Hey, Cassin! How many Sirens ya get?"
The destroyer jerks her head back to the front, looking wide-eyed as a small group… gaggle? Of Marines was jogging on the sidewalk in PT gear. With a rapidity that threatens to break the lever of the window as she winds it down, she sticks a hand outside the car and holds up four fingers while grinning wide.
Cheers sound, and Cassin giggles. Her morose mood forgotten, we pass by the dive tower, CINCPAC, and all the other various administrative buildings before we begin making our way towards Honolulu itself. The streets aren't busy, and besides a few of the submarine girls frolicking in the water… under careful watch by the Marines for multiple reasons, I see few other shipgirls either. I turn my head as we pass the port once more, no longer blocked by the Pennsylvania, and take in the sight. Three carriers were in the port at the moment, with one of them being the USS Leviathan that Cassin was talking about earlier. They had just arrived from a delivery at Wake, I believe. Near them was Battleship Row, where I could see the proud forms of Maryland, Oklahoma, Tennessee, West Virginia, Arizona, and Nevada. Beyond them I watch as a plane takes off from Ford Island, beginning a lazy turn over the harbor as it begins a morning patrol.
I think about it a moment, looking out over the vessels, then glance back at Cassin. She was staring at them all, transfixed and wide-eyed.
"Hey Cassin, how'd you like to meet one of them?"
Cassin looks at me with confusion. "Waddya mean?"
"After breakfast," I continue. "I know most of their COs, could get you a tour if you wanted to see the big guns."
Cassin tilts her head. "But I've already served with Texas."
"Do you need an excuse to see more? Might even get you out of drydock for a bit to sail around in the harbor. The CO of the Pennsylvania owes me a favor."
"Like… just you and me? Sailing together? No crew?"
I nod my head.
Cassin goes beet red and stares down at her lap. "... Yes, that'd be nice."
I smile, then ruffle her head.
The destroyer, for her part, pouts, immediately pushing it back into place and fixing her hat. "Hey! For that, you owe me two!"
"Who do you want to see?" I ask.
"Weeeell." Cassin begins.
—
The ship you choose here will survive Pearl Harbor. There will be a second vote to save a carrier. The ship chosen here will be involved in the plot going forward.
View: https://i.imgur.com/cVI7D1O.png
[] [Arizona] - Total Loss
A kind if quiet girl, purported to be the best cook in the harbor.
View: https://i.imgur.com/jFmF3AE.png
[] [Oklahoma] - Total Loss
One of the most cheerful girls in the fleet, always bubbly.
View: https://i.imgur.com/lqZ6Stk.png
[] [California] - Sunk, in active duty come 1944.
Laid back, but proud. She's not one for boasting.
View: https://i.imgur.com/IYoxyzh.png
[] [West Virginia] - Sunk, in active duty come 1944.
A shipgirl that kept to herself, rumor has it she has gotten into trouble repeatedly with the brass.
Thanks to @Armoury for the beta!
—
I adjust my tie for a moment longer, then look back at my dear destroyer. She was slightly shorter than me, which was true of several shipgirls. I was not an especially tall man, but the size of the girl depended on the height and length of the vessel, and the Mahan class wasn't a particularly large series of ships. "Oh, I was as far away from destroyers as possible," I reply with a smile. "Carriers, that is what I studied. A new field of warfare, less focus on guns and torpedoes." I smile wider, teasing my charge. "Oh how I long for it, to not be saddled with a destroyer with a crippling ice cream addiction."
"Hey!" Cassin half shouts, half growls. "I've put up with your ass for five years, don't I deserve a little credit?"
"Are you capable of launching planes?" I ask innocently.
"Leviathan's in the harbor," Cassin replies, "I could always steal one of hers and we can find out as I throw it at you."
"Leviathan hardly counts as a normal aircraft carrier," I reply. "And in any case, no, her temper is legendary."
Cassin rolls her eyes, making her way over to the door as she does so. "Can't believe you'd pick something like a carrier though."
"It was merely my field of study, I would suggest not looking into it."
Cassin crosses her arms and hums. "I dunno, I could milk this so that you buy me lunch."
"Is the mess not enoug-"
Cassin spins around and grabs me by the tie, gently but abruptly. "Anderson, we've been at sea for two months. If I have to eat another bite of dry toast and wash it down with the fuel oil our mess officers call 'coffee' I'll sink myself."
"Noted, breakfast on land then?"
Cassin grins broadly, releasing my tie. With a slight squeak to the hinges the door to my cabin opens, and she skips off towards the ladder. I reach it a few seconds later, though, unlike Cassin who teleports up to the top, I need to physically climb up and into the bridge. It's as empty as expected, though the ship itself wasn't lacking activity. It was our first day back in Pearl now in months, and I had given blanket permission to my crew to enjoy shore leave while they could, barring the essential maintenance personnel involving themselves in the refit, and they were on a generous rotating shift for a reason.
Still, it was only o-six-hundred… and wonderful hot in comparison to some early mornings I had had lately. Pearl was busy, but then, it was always busy. Tugs moved about, haulers, ferries, patrol craft. Ships moved between ships, men moved on the docks, sparks flew in the distance from men working, horns honked, and engines both big and small roared. We were in drydock at the moment, dry and high. Ahead of me, through the glass of the bridge, was the far larger USS Pennsylvania, the battleship glinting in the sunrise as men hung alongside the ship on hoists to give her a fresh coat of paint. To the left was the Downes, a twin of Cassin in every way, a sister ship in the same class. And, further to the left, hugging a cup of coffee to his chest and doing his best to not look like a corpse was Jones, my executive officer.
Cassin, for her part, was already on the wing of the bridge, taking in the open air and shouting something down at the dockworkers below. I ignored her for the moment, instead focusing on Jones. "Long night?"
Jones shakes his head. "Was in my bunk by twenty-two-hundred. Just couldn't sleep."
I grin. "Nervous about seeing the wife again?"
Jones takes a sip of his coffee, a smile finding its way onto his face. "Don't rub in you aren't married Captain."
"My first love remains the sea," I reply.
"Hey!"
"And Cassin, at times." I continue. "Take off, let the maintenance crews take over."
"Aye sir, won't argue with that." Jones says, "Brewed you a cup as well, could hear Cassin from even up here." He gestures behind him towards a cup of coffee sitting on top of the radio stack.
"Appreciated, now vacate yourself from my ship and into your wife's arms."
Jones snorts. "More likely just her heels in my a-"
"Come on, are we leaving already!?" Cassin shouts, sticking her head back into the bridge. "I can feel all the electrical cabling being moved about and it's weird!"
"Not married, am I?" I ask, smiling at Jones, then take the cup of coffee and make my way over to the bridge wing. There I found Cassin sitting on the rail, her hair moving lazily in the warm, salty breeze. "And what, precisely, does the USS Cassin want for breakfast?"
Cassin hums, looking out over the port. "Think we can get some good pancakes around here?"
"I know a place, come on, my car is already ready at the end of the dock." Then I stepped past her and made my way down the staircase.
The crew, those actually on the deck at the moment amidst the draped cables running across it keep working as we walk past. They paid us little attention as we made our way towards the gangway, too busy with their tasks. My car was sitting where I had requested it, having been brought over last night, it was a small, cherry-red Buick. One of the few luxuries I afforded myself. Though, given my job, it had taken me a full year before its first tank of gas was used up. I open the passenger door, letting Cassin slide inside before I moved over to the driver's seat myself.
Cassin leans back immediately, cranking the seat as far back as it could go before resting her head on her hands. "Driver, I wish to partake in a lovely Sunday drive, do prepare my hat."
I smirk, then close the door. "It's Saturday."
"Details." Cassin replies.
With a turn of the key, the engine comes alive, as does the radio a moment later.
"This is CBS New York, bringing news around the world. Reports today from the German press announced that the German army has captured Moscow, reports from the Russian Empire are still unconfirmed at this ti-"
With a click I turn the radio off, frowning at it before I start to move the car out of the dock.
"When do you think we'll be dragged into all of that?" Cassin asks.
"No idea," I answer honestly. "Landon wants no part of it, though by this point it may be too late in any case."
Cassin hums as the car makes its way out of the drydock and onto the connecting street. "I still don't understand how the managed to get the Sirens on their side."
"The moment you figure it out, let me know," I reply. "I've been trying to figure that one out for two years. Not like the Sirens have a representative to speak to."
"That we know of," Cassin counters.
"That we know of," I admit. "Still, it's most of Europe now. Would be a tough nut to crack."
"Be fucking impossible if they manage to take England." Cassin replies bitterly.
"Language," I reply. "And I know, wish we could do something too, but we have our orders."
Cassin rolls her eyes and turns her full attention to the window instead as we pass by the oil storage yard just outside the drydock. We aren't going exactly quickly, which may be the reason why I rather quickly heard a voice.
"Hey, Cassin! How many Sirens ya get?"
The destroyer jerks her head back to the front, looking wide-eyed as a small group… gaggle? Of Marines was jogging on the sidewalk in PT gear. With a rapidity that threatens to break the lever of the window as she winds it down, she sticks a hand outside the car and holds up four fingers while grinning wide.
Cheers sound, and Cassin giggles. Her morose mood forgotten, we pass by the dive tower, CINCPAC, and all the other various administrative buildings before we begin making our way towards Honolulu itself. The streets aren't busy, and besides a few of the submarine girls frolicking in the water… under careful watch by the Marines for multiple reasons, I see few other shipgirls either. I turn my head as we pass the port once more, no longer blocked by the Pennsylvania, and take in the sight. Three carriers were in the port at the moment, with one of them being the USS Leviathan that Cassin was talking about earlier. They had just arrived from a delivery at Wake, I believe. Near them was Battleship Row, where I could see the proud forms of Maryland, Oklahoma, Tennessee, West Virginia, Arizona, and Nevada. Beyond them I watch as a plane takes off from Ford Island, beginning a lazy turn over the harbor as it begins a morning patrol.
I think about it a moment, looking out over the vessels, then glance back at Cassin. She was staring at them all, transfixed and wide-eyed.
"Hey Cassin, how'd you like to meet one of them?"
Cassin looks at me with confusion. "Waddya mean?"
"After breakfast," I continue. "I know most of their COs, could get you a tour if you wanted to see the big guns."
Cassin tilts her head. "But I've already served with Texas."
"Do you need an excuse to see more? Might even get you out of drydock for a bit to sail around in the harbor. The CO of the Pennsylvania owes me a favor."
"Like… just you and me? Sailing together? No crew?"
I nod my head.
Cassin goes beet red and stares down at her lap. "... Yes, that'd be nice."
I smile, then ruffle her head.
The destroyer, for her part, pouts, immediately pushing it back into place and fixing her hat. "Hey! For that, you owe me two!"
"Who do you want to see?" I ask.
"Weeeell." Cassin begins.
—
The ship you choose here will survive Pearl Harbor. There will be a second vote to save a carrier. The ship chosen here will be involved in the plot going forward.
View: https://i.imgur.com/cVI7D1O.png
[] [Arizona] - Total Loss
A kind if quiet girl, purported to be the best cook in the harbor.
View: https://i.imgur.com/jFmF3AE.png
[] [Oklahoma] - Total Loss
One of the most cheerful girls in the fleet, always bubbly.
View: https://i.imgur.com/lqZ6Stk.png
[] [California] - Sunk, in active duty come 1944.
Laid back, but proud. She's not one for boasting.
View: https://i.imgur.com/IYoxyzh.png
[] [West Virginia] - Sunk, in active duty come 1944.
A shipgirl that kept to herself, rumor has it she has gotten into trouble repeatedly with the brass.
Last edited:
1.2 - Dec 6th, Part Two
Erien
God's Weakest Soldier
- Location
- Georgia
- Pronouns
- He/Him
View: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tSo4Zf9jnqU
[Arizona] - Total Loss
Thanks to @Armoury for the beta!
—
"I always thought Arizona was pretty neat." Cassin says, kicking her feet up and onto the dash as she does so.
"That old battlewagon? She was already sailing before I even joined the navy," I reply, turning slowly to get on the main road towards Honolulu. We were in flag country, and it paid to be careful lest one accidentally run over someone with more stars than brains.
"Yeah? And she has fourteen-inchers, that's awesome!"
"So does a large chunk of the fleet, so I ask, why Arizona? Is it due to the rumors I've heard of her spoiling destroyers and escorts?"
Cassin pointedly looks out the window, suddenly very interested in the enlisted barracks as we drive by it.
"Fine," I reply with a smile after a few moments. "I know Admiral Kidd, the man currently using her as a flagship.."
"How'd you manage that?"
"He was teaching at the naval academy when I was there, he went off to captain the New Mexico, I went off to destroyer work. But still, I knew him, and have worked with him again more than once, though never in any of our anti-Siren missions. Tell you what, breakfast, then you can carry me over to his ship, we'll skip the ferry."
"You'll let me carry you? Even with all these people around?"
I smile a touch wider. "Cassin, I command the most effective destroyer in this nation's navy. Of course I would wish everyone to see the two of us together."
Her smile could have powered her boilers.
—
I stood now at the edge of the docks at Ford Island, the airbase, refueling hub, and general… everything that powered Pearl. Battleship row was just south of it, and I found myself looking up appreciatively at all the ships as Cassin skipped around me. She was incapable of a sugar rush, she had neither a circulatory system or organs. This was simply raw excitement, and I couldn't help but enjoy the exuberance.
Crates were piled around me as I stood on the precipice where concrete meets saltwater, and the Arizona was at her mooring just a few dozen feet off the shore. "Cassin, would you mind?"
Cassin leaps past you and into the water, her rigging appearing around her in midair as she falls. A torpedo battery appears behind her on the starboard side, with pipes running through her clothes to where they connected to her spine, on her porta cut in half simulacrum of her bow formed, with her two forward five-inch guns. Both are far, far smaller than the real things. Then, without a word, I stepped off the dock after her. A second later I was in her arms, the destroyer carrying me with ease as she stood atop the gently moving water. With one arm beneath my legs, the other supporting my neck, you were for all appearances the new bride, not helped by the fact you were wearing white. But it didn't matter much either.
She then turns and is gliding across the water. It was always an interesting sight, the shipgirls didn't 'walk' so much as they 'sailed'. From there, it's a very short trip to the Arizona, and, as normal, Cassin ignores the gangway that had been lowered for ferries and whaleboats. With a rush of air, I found myself now on top of the Arizona's bow, and a moment later I was deposited onto her tan deck.
"Must you always ignore the quarterdeck? There's likely a poor Lieutenant running here now."
Cassin grins up at me. "Well you've got to keep them on their toes or they'll get complacent."
I roll my eyes, then make my way to the quarterdeck so that I could be announced aboard properly, one didn't sneak aboard a warship. Especially since Arizona already likely knew I was here. The Navy's usual ceremony passed quickly, and myself and Cassin quickly made our way to the port quarters to find… Admiral Kidd. Waiting on the opposite side of the door.
His face was wizened, but not in the manner of an old man. More that of someone who lived a life at sea. I had just recently turned forty-one myself, and I was beginning to grow gray early. The Admiral had the classic look, callused hands, a rough face, but the warm brown eyes gave him a youth despite. He shoved a hand forward, and I took it, shaking it vigorously as the two of us grinned at one another. "Back from your Antarctic hunt then Stevens? How many is that now?"
I think on that question a moment, my eyes flitting past him to the room. An Admiral's in-port quarters, especially that on a battleship, were far beyond anything a destroyer could manage. Actual furniture for starters, and the bastard even had a rug. "My fourth, and the most productive one yet, three submarines and a destroyer in one action."
"Very nice, what brings about Captain Valkenburgh's ship?"
I arch a brow. "It's your flag Admiral, technically she belongs to you at the moment."
"And if I was to suggest that around Arizona she would likely tie me to the superstructure, now answer the question."
I step to the side and gesture to the destroyer standing just beside me. "This little lady wanted a tour, not many battleships on our expeditions."
A twinkle forms in Kidd's eyes, "Oho? Is that the case?" He looks down at my charge, a wide grin on his face. "Well, welcome aboard the ol '39 little miss. I take it you want to meet the gal?"
Cassin's head nods so fast that, were she human, she would have likely broken her neck.
Isaac looks back into the room. "Arizona, report."
The woman appears a split second later in the middle of the room. She, like most capital ships, wasn't in the uniform that Cassin and others like her had to wear. I wasn't sure who made the rule exactly, and who enforced it. But battleships, carriers, some cruisers… They tended to wear whatever they wanted. And that could get rather… egregious. Arizona, at least, was reasonable. A blue long-sleeved shirt, cuffed at the elbows, with white garters and a little hat on her head. "Admiral? You summoned me?"
"Indeed," Isaac replies. "Would you mind asking Valkenburgh if he would mind getting this vessel out of the row to stretch your legs a bit?" Isaac's grin aged him back a good twenty years as he looked at the battleship. "I've got a little miss here who wants to meet you and it'd be good to test out the work Vestal has been doing on you."
Arizona's head turns from Kidd, to Cassin, then back to the admiral. "But what about Nevada sir? She is moored behind and blocking us."
"Commanded by Captain Scanland, who'll move if I ask." Then the admiral steps to the side as Cassin rushes past him, hopping on her feet as she moves around the battleship. "Stretch your legs a little Arizona, Admiral's orders."
"You're awesome!" Cassin says, loud enough the light fixtures ring.
The battleship takes a halting step back, and I begin to order Cassin off before there is a tap on my shoulder. Looking back… there stood Captain Valkenburgh. "Still drink scotch, Stevens?"
I smile.
—
Valkenburgh was using a spare room with Kidd having claimed his previous quarters. It didn't much matter, it was still palatial when compared to my own. But… I wasn't much one for opulence to begin with. Not that Valkenburgh flaunted his command, but there was so much space I couldn't begin to figure out what I'd do with it. A long table rests on the blue carpeting in the center of the room. While his desk, clean and showing little sign of actual busywork besides some neatly stacked papers sits against the far wall. Isaac had taken a spot on the couch, while Valkenburgh was leaning against the table. Kidd began speaking almost the moment I closed the door.
"So how was it down there, really?" the Admiral asks, his voice lacking any of the previous joviality.
"Bad." I reply plainly. "There's more every sortie, and we can't keep up with more than half of it. None of their observers or controllers, least, not that I've seen. Just their automated ships, easy enough to handle… barely more than automatons that can fire shells at you or launch torpedoes. But there's more of them, constantly more."
"Is your strategy still working on their submarines?"
I smile, slightly. Siren submarines are damn near impossible to detect underwater, something about them makes it so they aren't exactly impossible to hear, but they have a strange echo that makes any form of triangulation result in a rather sizable area to search. My solution to this, after much trial and error, was to basically tie a whole grouping of depth charges together, having Cassin launch them from the ship, then hauling out of there before it detonated. It usually worked, though it was a little unorthodox.
"Well enough to sink them," I reply. "Commander Roper on the Downes has started doing the same thing. But they've become more aggressive, the last one we sunk surfaced to fire her guns at us without torpedoes."
"Stupidity," Kidd says.
"Or confidence," Valkenburgh replies. "Maybe with how successful they've been working with the Germans they might be thinking they can run us over just as easily."
Kidd grunts. "With the Kraut's pushing into Russia with their help, and the Italians controlling the mediterranean with their help… well, I don't know. Not like they speak on diplomatic channels. I just hope we get into this before it becomes too late."
"The Nazis are knocking on Dover as we speak," I reply. "Are we sure it isn't already?"
Neither man speaks at that. Then Kidd sighs, now looking his age as he rubs his face with his hand. "Well, Japan at least hasn't shown any signs of pushing this way, the least we could deal with is a three-front war at the moment."
"Regardless," Valkenburgh replies. "We don't know where the sirens are going, unless you've found a way to track them from the ice packs Stevens."
I shake my head, "not a clue, if we don't catch them they just go right on by without a care in the world. We haven't found anything interesting either, they detonate the moment they take too much damage."
Kidd shoots a look to Valkenburgh, then looks at me while leaning forward. "We were actually looking into that. The USS Marquis De Lafayette, are you familiar with her?"
I think for a moment, then shake my head. "No, not particularly."
"French ship, Le Fantasque class. We bought one from their government in the 30's before the war. Fast little destroyers, we've taken to outfitting them with an oversized marine complement for boarding actions."
I blink, slowly. "You're pulling my leg."
"The marines were all for it," Kidd continues.. "And we need all the intelligence about how those ships work we can get. We haven't tried it yet, she's currently docked on the north side of the island. But I was thinking of putting her under your command."
"You want me in control of a French pirate?"
"No, I'm giving you a French pirate." Kidd replies. The admiral sighs then, leaning back in his chair. "We need to get into this damn war."
"Thinking of running for president?" Valkenburgh asks.
Kidd snorts. "No I'd rather work for a living. Come on… let's get to that scotch."
Valkenburgh dutifully obeys, moving over to a nearby cabinet. The Admiral watches him for a moment, then looks my way once more. "Going somewhere after this Stevens?"
"Was debating visiting one of the carriers actually, haven't had a chance to work with them and I trained on the-"
"Back at Annapolis yes." Kidd replies with a smile. "Well, we've got a few in from plane transfers, Cassin been on one yet?"
I smile back. "Not yet, though I can change that. Who's in?"
"Ranger, Yorktown, Enterprise," Valkenburgh replies, returning with a clear bottle of brown liquid. "Any of those catch your fancy? Leviathan is also in port, but she's in drydock at the moment."
—
The ship you choose here will survive Pearl Harbor. The other two… won't. The winner will be involved with the plot moving forward, much like the Battleship is.
View: https://i.imgur.com/FvYVcfr.png
[] [Ranger]
View: https://i.imgur.com/8UDyJgs.png
[] [Enterprise]
View: https://i.imgur.com/053KAgU.png
[] [Yorktown]
Last edited:
1.3 - Dec 6th, Part Three
Erien
God's Weakest Soldier
- Location
- Georgia
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[Enterprise]
Thanks to @Armoury for the beta!
—
"Enterprise…" I say quietly. "I served with her briefly on one of our sorties up north, not on her, but her air support was valuable. Though she nearly took a torpedo in her stern."
Kidd smiles. "She's a rather determined girl, definitely one of the more 'by the book' girls we have.
"Still doesn't wear the uniform," Valkenburgh says before taking a sip of the scotch.
Kidd shrugs in a very lackadaisical 'what can you do' kind of gesture. "Neither does Arizona, she and Pennsylvania designed their own. You want to argue with the capital ships Valkenburgh?"
"I enjoy the water in my shower being warm," Valkenburgh replies.
"A wise man, so, Enterprise, a fine ship… though older compared to the Essex's coming out now." Kidd says.
"It's not the age or the armament, but how you use her Admiral," I reply with a smile. "I would trust Cassin against any capital ship in the fleet."
"And she'd take those odds too," Kidd replies. "But that's less ability and more just her being a destroyer. Mad, the lot of them."
"And I wouldn't change her for someone saner in a moment," I reply.
"Course not," Valkenburgh says with a grin. "You captain her, so you're mad by association."
"If throwing ten depth charges off my stern then hauling away at full flank is ma-"
"It is," Kidd replies. "But we don't keep you around for your brains Stevens."
"For my stunning good looks then?" I ask.
"No, your humility, clearly." Valkenburgh replies.
I smile, then take a drink of the scotch. "I am but a man of god and an instrument of his and my country's will. I don't have an ego, we save that for the battleship drivers."
"Some men are simply born with the desire for firepower, Stevens." Valkenburgh says.
"Gentlemen, behave yourselves," Kidd says warmly. "You still have that Buick Stevens?"
"Indeed sir," I reply.
"Then what are we waiting for? Lets drive her out to Enterprise, I assume you can handle things while I'm away Valkenburgh?" the Admiral asks, turning and looking at the Captain.
"I'll certainly give it my best effort sir," the Captain replies.
—
It is quite a sight to see the USS Arizona tearing around pearl, her smokestacks billowing as she pushes a good fifteen knots in port. She turns with grace however, the benefit of having a shipgirl directly at the helm, and the tugs keep well out of the way as she rounds Ford's island with the tiny and silent, but still exuberant Cassin in tow. Just in shipgirl form mind, her 1500 tonne butt still rests in drydock.
The carriers are all bunched together in the docks, Hornet is the furthest off, separate from the three carriers already here. Distantly I can see men moving about atop her deck, working on planes in the fresh Hawaiian air instead of in the humid and cramped hangers. To my right, and adjacent to my now parked car was the USS Leviathan, a converted german Liner, CV-2 is one of the oldest carriers in the fleet, and indeed one of the oldest ships overall. Past her prominent bow, a relic from her previous years as a troop transport, I can hear the sound of machinery, her engines being replaced amongst other things. Ahead, parked side by side, was the USS Yorktown and the USS Enterprise, CV 4 and CV 5 respectively.
"How long have you had the Buick Sstevens?" Kidd asks.
"'25, got it with my first command." I reply. "Your wife let you drive the Bugatti again?"
"No, but then she lives in California." He says with a smile.
I look up at the gargantuan hulls of the two carriers in front of me. Cassin could comfortably sit atop their flight decks, and I wouldn't doubt either could still get to speed with the weight of her. There was always something so very… impressive about the power of these vessels, the size. They always attracted me even more than battleships did. But then, I much-preferred speed over firepower, and they had that in spades as well.
"You planning on going aboard?" Kidd asks.
I continue to stare up at the craft for a few moments, then look at the Admiral. "Not particularly, her crews resting from her haul I imagine, and if I know anything about Murray he's probably already taken Enterprise into town for some proper R&R."
Kidd grins. "Good instincts, I gave him the go-ahead two days ago, he's currently up in his cabin at North Shore. They're actually moving Enterprise in a few hours to another harbor for refits."
"Engines like Leviathan?"
Kidd shakes his head. "Adding in hanger catapults. The shipgirls seem to believe they can use them to launch planes as emergency combat air patrol. I won't argue if the pilots are crazy enough to do it. They are throwing the planes out of the hanger via arm strength."
"We build em crazy," I reply. "But regardless, no, just wanted a good look at 'em. Don't tell Cassin but I'd love to helm a carrier someday."
"Oh, she'd cry and cry." Kidd says.
"Hence why I asked you not to tell her," I then turned my head to look back over the water again. "When are we heading out again?"
Kidd lets out a long, and slow breath. "Can't say yet, soon though. I'd suggest you enjoy your time in Pearl while you can."
I watch the Arizona steam along, a tiny little figure making wide circles around it. "I already am Admiral."
—
The Buick hums along, making its way down the coastal road to the 'secret' beach Cassin picked out sometime back. The shipgirl in question is lounging in your passenger seat again, hands on her stomach, a wide smile on her face.
"Enjoy your time with the big guns?" I ask.
"Hell yeah," Cassin replies, her smile somehow widening further. "Then she fed me icecream, homemade."
"How very spoiled."
"Oh like I don't deserve it." Cassin replies with a grin. "You have fun talking to the stars?"
"It was a pleasant enough conversation," I reply, then drive the car slowly off the road to park on the sand. The passenger door opens immediately, Cassin slides out and leaps onto the sand. I get out far more slowly, grabbing the keys and locking the door before I follow her. Or, rather, attempt to. No sooner am I out of the car then she has her hand wrapped around my wrist and is dragging me down the beach towards the water.
"I missed these sands, so much better than the Antarctic~"
View: https://i.imgur.com/DIts9x1.png
"It's certainly warmer at least," I reply. "Enjoying your time in Pearl then?"
Cassin drops my wrist, turning to look out over the sunset of the Pacific coast. "Won't last, but it's nice to get a break from running my boilers at full blast chasing submarines. What's the plan for tomorrow?"
"More refit work for you," I reply. "Then I thought we'd get some shopping done in Honolulu, I don't have orders yet and likely won't for a fair bit."
Cassin smiles, then moves to rub her shoulder against me. "Hey, you remember how you said you'd let me out of drydock for a bit, and how the captain of Pennsylvania owed you a favor?"
I arch a brow. "This late in the evening I'd likely have half the harbor tugs in Pearl annoyed at me, you realize that right."
Cassin's smile disappears. "Hey now, you promised, and besides, I let you talk to those boring officers."
"Yes, 'let', you weren't distracted by Arizona, absolutely not."
Cassin rolls her eyes. "I always kept tabs on where you were Captain. So come on, please? A nice evening sail, just you and me? This sunset is too good to waste."
I think about her request for a moment, it is late in the evening, and I will likely annoy more than one person making it happen. But… it is Cassin.
—
[] [Save the USS Cassin]
The Cassin won't be in drydock and can move if Pennsylvania moves.
[] [Save the USS Pennslyvania]
The Pennsylvania will be stuck out of drydock for a bit and will be a large target if Cassin moves.
This is the last vote before Dec 7th.
Thanks to @Armoury for the beta!
—
"Enterprise…" I say quietly. "I served with her briefly on one of our sorties up north, not on her, but her air support was valuable. Though she nearly took a torpedo in her stern."
Kidd smiles. "She's a rather determined girl, definitely one of the more 'by the book' girls we have.
"Still doesn't wear the uniform," Valkenburgh says before taking a sip of the scotch.
Kidd shrugs in a very lackadaisical 'what can you do' kind of gesture. "Neither does Arizona, she and Pennsylvania designed their own. You want to argue with the capital ships Valkenburgh?"
"I enjoy the water in my shower being warm," Valkenburgh replies.
"A wise man, so, Enterprise, a fine ship… though older compared to the Essex's coming out now." Kidd says.
"It's not the age or the armament, but how you use her Admiral," I reply with a smile. "I would trust Cassin against any capital ship in the fleet."
"And she'd take those odds too," Kidd replies. "But that's less ability and more just her being a destroyer. Mad, the lot of them."
"And I wouldn't change her for someone saner in a moment," I reply.
"Course not," Valkenburgh says with a grin. "You captain her, so you're mad by association."
"If throwing ten depth charges off my stern then hauling away at full flank is ma-"
"It is," Kidd replies. "But we don't keep you around for your brains Stevens."
"For my stunning good looks then?" I ask.
"No, your humility, clearly." Valkenburgh replies.
I smile, then take a drink of the scotch. "I am but a man of god and an instrument of his and my country's will. I don't have an ego, we save that for the battleship drivers."
"Some men are simply born with the desire for firepower, Stevens." Valkenburgh says.
"Gentlemen, behave yourselves," Kidd says warmly. "You still have that Buick Stevens?"
"Indeed sir," I reply.
"Then what are we waiting for? Lets drive her out to Enterprise, I assume you can handle things while I'm away Valkenburgh?" the Admiral asks, turning and looking at the Captain.
"I'll certainly give it my best effort sir," the Captain replies.
—
It is quite a sight to see the USS Arizona tearing around pearl, her smokestacks billowing as she pushes a good fifteen knots in port. She turns with grace however, the benefit of having a shipgirl directly at the helm, and the tugs keep well out of the way as she rounds Ford's island with the tiny and silent, but still exuberant Cassin in tow. Just in shipgirl form mind, her 1500 tonne butt still rests in drydock.
The carriers are all bunched together in the docks, Hornet is the furthest off, separate from the three carriers already here. Distantly I can see men moving about atop her deck, working on planes in the fresh Hawaiian air instead of in the humid and cramped hangers. To my right, and adjacent to my now parked car was the USS Leviathan, a converted german Liner, CV-2 is one of the oldest carriers in the fleet, and indeed one of the oldest ships overall. Past her prominent bow, a relic from her previous years as a troop transport, I can hear the sound of machinery, her engines being replaced amongst other things. Ahead, parked side by side, was the USS Yorktown and the USS Enterprise, CV 4 and CV 5 respectively.
"How long have you had the Buick Sstevens?" Kidd asks.
"'25, got it with my first command." I reply. "Your wife let you drive the Bugatti again?"
"No, but then she lives in California." He says with a smile.
I look up at the gargantuan hulls of the two carriers in front of me. Cassin could comfortably sit atop their flight decks, and I wouldn't doubt either could still get to speed with the weight of her. There was always something so very… impressive about the power of these vessels, the size. They always attracted me even more than battleships did. But then, I much-preferred speed over firepower, and they had that in spades as well.
"You planning on going aboard?" Kidd asks.
I continue to stare up at the craft for a few moments, then look at the Admiral. "Not particularly, her crews resting from her haul I imagine, and if I know anything about Murray he's probably already taken Enterprise into town for some proper R&R."
Kidd grins. "Good instincts, I gave him the go-ahead two days ago, he's currently up in his cabin at North Shore. They're actually moving Enterprise in a few hours to another harbor for refits."
"Engines like Leviathan?"
Kidd shakes his head. "Adding in hanger catapults. The shipgirls seem to believe they can use them to launch planes as emergency combat air patrol. I won't argue if the pilots are crazy enough to do it. They are throwing the planes out of the hanger via arm strength."
"We build em crazy," I reply. "But regardless, no, just wanted a good look at 'em. Don't tell Cassin but I'd love to helm a carrier someday."
"Oh, she'd cry and cry." Kidd says.
"Hence why I asked you not to tell her," I then turned my head to look back over the water again. "When are we heading out again?"
Kidd lets out a long, and slow breath. "Can't say yet, soon though. I'd suggest you enjoy your time in Pearl while you can."
I watch the Arizona steam along, a tiny little figure making wide circles around it. "I already am Admiral."
—
The Buick hums along, making its way down the coastal road to the 'secret' beach Cassin picked out sometime back. The shipgirl in question is lounging in your passenger seat again, hands on her stomach, a wide smile on her face.
"Enjoy your time with the big guns?" I ask.
"Hell yeah," Cassin replies, her smile somehow widening further. "Then she fed me icecream, homemade."
"How very spoiled."
"Oh like I don't deserve it." Cassin replies with a grin. "You have fun talking to the stars?"
"It was a pleasant enough conversation," I reply, then drive the car slowly off the road to park on the sand. The passenger door opens immediately, Cassin slides out and leaps onto the sand. I get out far more slowly, grabbing the keys and locking the door before I follow her. Or, rather, attempt to. No sooner am I out of the car then she has her hand wrapped around my wrist and is dragging me down the beach towards the water.
"I missed these sands, so much better than the Antarctic~"
View: https://i.imgur.com/DIts9x1.png
"It's certainly warmer at least," I reply. "Enjoying your time in Pearl then?"
Cassin drops my wrist, turning to look out over the sunset of the Pacific coast. "Won't last, but it's nice to get a break from running my boilers at full blast chasing submarines. What's the plan for tomorrow?"
"More refit work for you," I reply. "Then I thought we'd get some shopping done in Honolulu, I don't have orders yet and likely won't for a fair bit."
Cassin smiles, then moves to rub her shoulder against me. "Hey, you remember how you said you'd let me out of drydock for a bit, and how the captain of Pennsylvania owed you a favor?"
I arch a brow. "This late in the evening I'd likely have half the harbor tugs in Pearl annoyed at me, you realize that right."
Cassin's smile disappears. "Hey now, you promised, and besides, I let you talk to those boring officers."
"Yes, 'let', you weren't distracted by Arizona, absolutely not."
Cassin rolls her eyes. "I always kept tabs on where you were Captain. So come on, please? A nice evening sail, just you and me? This sunset is too good to waste."
I think about her request for a moment, it is late in the evening, and I will likely annoy more than one person making it happen. But… it is Cassin.
—
[] [Save the USS Cassin]
The Cassin won't be in drydock and can move if Pennsylvania moves.
[] [Save the USS Pennslyvania]
The Pennsylvania will be stuck out of drydock for a bit and will be a large target if Cassin moves.
This is the last vote before Dec 7th.
Last edited:
1.4 - Dec 7th, 1941
Erien
God's Weakest Soldier
- Location
- Georgia
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[Save the USS Cassin]
[Attack on New York City and on Pearl Harbor, Dec 7th, 1941]
Thanks to @Armoury for the beta!
The decisions have been made, and now, the war begins.
—
Cassin is many things, many, many things. But above all else, she is a friend. "Of course, I did promise after all."
Cassin beamed brighter than the Hawaiin sunset behind her. Then she sprinted past me towards the car, giggling all the while. I smile, watching her, then look back towards the golden sunset. It is good to be back.
From there it is a quick drive back to the ship, and… not a lot of convincing needed for the crew, those few that remained, to leave their bunks and head to a night of actual beds and more than a little alcohol. From there it is simply disconnecting the cabling running through the ship for the refit, and a quick call to the Captain of the Pennsylvania you had saved the life of some years before. Then, once all of that is done…
"Hahaha yes! I am the queen of this port!" Cassin cries, standing on the bow of the ship, arms crossed. Grinning at the various docked destroyers as she sails past them all. I watch a trio with a small smile on my face, three girls of the Clemson class looking up from a game of poker they were playing on the bow of the Perry curiously.
Rude gestures were exchanged between Cassin and the shipgirls, as is naval tradition. Then it is off around Ford Island. I stand beside Cassin, watching as we round the bend, a small smile on my own face. It is always a strange thing, to be on a ship that is, by all appearances moving on its own. The valves turned, the rudder moved, steam is monitored and the boilers were maintained. All by this young woman standing on the bow currently grinning like a drunken cat. Some viewed shipgirls merely as extensions of the ship, or a manifestation of it. They were both more, and less than that. There is no great philosophy behind it, and I didn't pretend to understand the science, I'm not sure anyone truly did. But Cassin simply is the ship, every bolt, every metal plate, and pipe, that is Cassin. She knew everything that occurred on the vessel, which did, admittedly, make the life of the engineers a fair bit simpler.
And when she had it under her full…
The ship roared around the island, the stern fishtailing as she swung it around at a good twenty knots.
"Keep it under control Cassin."
"Please Captain, I'm the best destroyer in the fleet. Wanna see me squeeze through battleship row?"
I think about that for a moment. "No, while I don't doubt your ability I wish to not be executed until I'm at least an Admiral, when an Admiral is executed it sends a message, a mere Captain is just a footnote."
"Smartass," Cassin snorts.
"It did go to Annapolis, yes." I reply. "When you've had your fun, settle off next to Yorktown alright?"
"Aye Captain, back to drydock in the morning then?"
"You need that refit done, your rust squeals when you walk."
"Oh I do not!"
—
ELSEWHERE.
Dec 7th, 1941, 1230
Brooklyn Navy Yard.
"And I'm telling you DiMaggio is overrated compared to Dickey you stupid mick!"
"Oh you wouldn't know a proper player if he batted you upside the head, literally! Who in the hell is caring about catchers when you've got Joltin' Joe!?"
"Oh just shut the hell up and toss me that tank would ya? Got to work in the forward turret this morn-" The man stopped, and looked up towards the sky. "What in the hell's that?"
The other man looked, along with many others as dozens upon dozens of planes roared past the Brooklyn Bridge then split into two groups. One headed for lower Manhattan, the other for the Navy Yard. The men continued to watch, even as the planes came closer and closer.
"That the Nav-" the first man started. He never finished, the cannons from the leading plane ripped into him mid sentence.
He is the first death that day, but not the last.
—
Dec 7th, 1941 0700.
Pearl Harbor.
*BANG*
My eyes snap open just before I hit the floor. My vision flashes white, and for a moment I don't move, processing the sudden change in location and the fact that the entire ship is moving around me. My first thought, my immediate thought as most of my belongings tumbled off the shelf around me and onto the floor is that I needed to yell at Cassin immediately. My second thought wa-
*BANG*
*BANG*
*BANG*
is trying to find out the source of that noise. I move out of my cabin dressed in naught but the pants I had been wearing the night before. All around me I could hear loud repeated bangs, within a few seconds, they were joined by another sound that I knew. The chatter of guns. My walk turned into a run, then a sprint as I hauled myself up the ladder and onto the bridge. I nearly fall back down it a moment later as my vision is assaulted by a bright white and a explosion, far louder than the rest rings out.
View: https://youtu.be/fZ__LK7GNpg
Cassin appears in front of me, grabs me by the shoulder, and hauls me onto the bridge. I stumble for a moment, then turn my attention towards the source of noise and light.
I wish I didn't.
There, burning, is the USS Yorktown. Fire is tearing across her flight deck, and a large gaping hole is sucking in at the waterline. I push past Cassin, making my way to the bridge wing, watching as men dive off the flightdeck and into the water. Some men are aflame, tumbling, screaming over the edge, others don't even make it that far, stumbling near the edge before falling onto the flightdeck itself. Around them the guns along the catwalk fire up into the sky, she isn't the only ship doing so. Enterprise is doing the same right besides her, and the Leviathan joined up a few seconds later.
"What… Cassin?"
Cassin appeared beside me, and we both watched as a plane tore down the Enterprise's flightdeck, with the carrier docked it didn't have a chance or actually gaining enough speed for takeoff, not even the Hellcat could do it. But it rumbled along regardless, and for one, brief moment it became airborne.
Only for it to burst into flames as a white plane went screaming past it. It is thinner, sleeker than the Hellcat, and as it turned to go past the north side of Ford Island. My eyes caught the roundel on the wings.
"Captain it's the Japs!?" Cassin shrieks.
I run to the opposite wing, sprinting through the bridge as the sounds of explosions ring the harbor. My hands catch onto the railing, and I look out towards Forward Island. There dozens, hundreds of planes circle, dive, climb, bomb, torpedo. Fighters, bombers, and other shapes, familiar shapes. Black, half-biological things of metal and flesh dive through the air, unleashing payloads onto targets beyond the island you could not see.
The Sirens…
The Sirens and the Japanese were at Pearl.
Bombs fell and detonated onto the island, in the water, and on ships. I watch them, my mouth agape, unmoving. Only for a hand to grab me by the back of the trousers and yank me back into the bridge as bullets tear across Cassin's deck. The sound of screeching, tearing metal fills my ears as the planes roars overhead, and I push Cassin off of me the moment they pass, my feet carrying me to the bow windows. "Cassin, is anyone else onboard?"
"I… is that-"
"Yes or no Cassin!?"
"No sir, just you sir!"
My next order came with little thought, just instincts. "Cassin, take full control, we're getting this ship out of Pearl. Now."
"Captain, but they are…" Cassin goes quiet, raising a hand to point at the Yorktown.
"There are rescue vessels Cassin, right now I need to get you out of this port. We are a sitting duck next to the carriers."
Cassin says nothing, staring at me.
"Cassin you can either control the ship or you can rescue men in the water, my order is to get out of Pearl, you cannot do both and you know it."
The ship vibrates beneath me, and I hear the familiar roar of Cassin taking over the engines. Cassin disappears, reappearing a moment later on the bow, her hand stretched out over the water. Then the chatter of guns erupts around me, the .50s along the deck firing on anything, everything. There were targets in every direction. I stayed on the bridge, it isn't a safe place to be, but it is safer than the deck, and Cassin could hear me regardless. Then the ship jerks to the side, tilting in the water, my hands stab out, grabbing onto the bridge railing. My eyes snap to movement, and I watch as two furrows in the water shoot past the Cassin, a good ten feet of separation and speed towards the Hornet. I watch, even as the Cassin rights herself. Hornet's boilers were running, smoke is rising from her stacks. But she is still moored as they come in.
The first torpedo disappears, doing nothing. The seco-
*BANG*
Hornet lifts a good half foot out of the water by her bow. The sound of screaming, men and metal, fills the air somehow louder than the fireball erupting from her side. The Hornet crashes back down into the water an impossible amount of time later, planes, men, and carts falling into the water below.
The Cassin charges on. The tinkle of brass casings hitting the deck compete with the machine guns firing from the planes overhead. Every gun on the Cassin that could fire, is. The main guns, the anti aircraft guns, the machine guns. It isn't enough. It isn't near enough. Fireboats raced past, their crews hurried and half-dressed. Men shouted in the water, oil burned, men were dying. Pearl is dying. One of the fireboats is hit nearby, a black machine, half biological made of pulsating black tumors and tentacles, half obsidian black metal roars overhead just past it. Cannons chattering. Men simply cease to be. My eyes fixate on the lone sailor on deck, he is dressed in nothing but his skivvies and his hat. He is still walking, stumbling, even though there is a giant gaping, bleeding hole where his stomach had been. He tip over the side into the water, and I look forward. Cassin is rounding Ford Islan-
*BANG*
The ship lurches, jerking in the water as a column of water erupts off the port side. The sound of shrapnel hitting the hull fills my ears. The windows shatter around me, broken glass flying into the bridge.
"Cassin, report."
"The bastard missed us with a bomb, Captain!" Cassin replies over the intercom. "Going ahead fla-"
Cassin stops then, cutoff mid sentence.
I force myself to stand from where I have ducked, ignoring the pain I is feeling along my side. My uniform felt wet, I didn't much like the idea of finding out why. "Cassin?"
She doesn't respond. But she is still standing on the deck, arm outstretched. Only, she isn't looking forward anymore. She is looking to port. I follow her gaze.
I wish I didn't. Battleship Row is gone. It has been replaced by a flaming, choking, screaming hell. The California, the foremost battleship and the closest to the harbor exit, looks like she tried to get out. She is resting on her side, her entire superstructure melting in an oil fire as men scramble along her hull. I don't see the shipgirl, Oklahoma, however I do see across the channel, she was completely turned over, her hull glinting in the morning sun. Oklahoma herself is walking along the hull, she pauses here and there, then, as I watch. She reaches down and rips out a chunk of her own bottom, reaching down a hand, she pulls trapped sailors out of the burning, capsized wreckage. She takes another step, ready to do it again, only to pause and tilt over the side, disappearing into the water below.
"Sir, Pennsylvania's making a break!"
My eyes snap to the drydock where Pennsylvania had been moored. She was sailing free, her guns firing into the sk-
I didn't even see the plane that hit her. One moment Pennsylvania was there. The next is only fire as something impacts her forward turret. I watch as the entire forward superstructure rockets into the air as the Pennsylvania disappears in a cloud of smoke and flame.
Cassin's wail of anguish carries over the speakers.
But I only pay attention to that for a moment, "get us out of the water!" a voice cries out to starboard. My head snaps back to the right, there sat, listing to her side in a spill of her own oil is the USS Helena. Men are leaping off the side of the ship and into the oily muck, the Helena is aflame, her superstructure alight and a gaping torpedo wound along her side. The oil hasn't lit, only by the miracle that her superstructure had yet to hit the water. A good fifty men are in the water, I didn't have the time or the manpower for them.
…
"Cassin, full stop. Get Helena's crew out of that oil."
"Aye sir!"
I feel the boilers die down, and the ship turns hard to starboard. In the space of a hundred yards the Cassin was already down to five knots, and I have never been more grateful for Shipgirl nonsense.
"Leaving the ship!" Cassin calls out.
And then she is gone, leaping off the side to land on top of the water, I for my part run to the starboard wing. By the time I do, Cassin was already back, carrying a sailor covered head to foot in oil. She drops him onto the bow, then darts off again. "Sailor?" I ask, looking the man over.
"This thing have guns?"
A point of my finger towards the nearby mount, and the nearest .50 starts up again, even without Cassin being on the deck. The sailor was half naked and covered in oil, but that didn't stop the anger. Then there is another, and another, Cassin moving as fast as her mystical body could take her until there wasn't a soul left in the water.
"Where's the rest!?" I shout over the sound of the guns firing around me, Cassin isn't in control of them anymore. It was all the crew of the Helena now.
"On the Port!" Cassin shouts. "They got Helena herself off too! She's hurt bad but she's still with us!"
"Then take us out of here Cassin!"
"Aye aye sir!"
The ship thrums again, and Cassin turns through the now burning oil. I move back to the bridge, ignoring the broken glass underneath my bare feet. The ship finishes swinging around, then with the ring of a bell she begins her charge once more. Only this time… we aren't alone. Two gargantuan ships are making their way down the channel. The first, the closest, is the Nevada, she was burning from bow to stern. But she was fighting. Tracers erupted along her length, firing at anything, everything. Japanese or Siren. Men fought the sky as well as the fires along her deck. The further one, smoking on her stern was the… Arizona. The twin giants were sailing together, charging down the same channel Cassin is.
"Cassin, lead. We'll follow the battlewagons the moment they are out of harbo-"
Nevada veers off, turning towards the shore. With a crash she slams into it, just shy of Hickam Field.
Fuck.
"Follow the Arizona when we are out of harbor, in the meantime we're going to be a prime target in this channel… Think you can handle it?"
The ship's horn roars and Cassin surges past Arizona.
"Come on you fucking bastards! I'm right here! The USS Cassin! I'm right fucking here! You can't fucking sink me you bastards!" Cassin howls over the intercom. She isn't the only one. Arizona is screaming rage into the sky, the shipgirl standing atop her own bridge firing her rigging towards everything that dares to enter her airspace.
It is a half mile to the Pacific.
Another siren screams past, followed by two white planes. Bullets hit it, causing it to go spiraling towards the water howling, its dying screech a mix of an engine and a screaming beast. Limbs shoot out as it passes mere feet by the ship, colliding with the railings along the side, tearing them and one of the .50 gunners in half. It passes into the water a split second later, leaving nothing behind but flaming wreckage and another bloodstain on the deck. I look forwa-
*BANG*
Metal whistles and whips around me as I fall through the air to land on the deck below. What was until a moment ago the bridge was now a broken mess of twisted metal and fire. Men are screaming around me, howling, shouting, guns are firing. Horns are blaring. But… it is decidedly hard to focus. Why was that? I saw another then, another plane. It is carving its way down the the strait. Men cry for their mothers, for their fathers, for their god. Their voices muddle, join together, it was hard to… seperate them all.
The plane begins to fire, and I watch as holes begin to puncture Cassin's beautiful deck. The bullets get closer, closer. Then she's in front of me like a guardian angel, Cassin stands in front of me, one leg kicks me back into cover as bullets bounce off her flesh. A hand raises, the rigging in her hand fires, and I watch as the plane disintegrates. Then she looks back to me, and her face goes white.
I wonder what made her so upse…
My vision cuts out, I feel… far away now. "Cassin… ship… safety…"
Safe…
Have to… protect… the ship…
Safe…
Saf…
…
—
[To be Continued]
[Attack on New York City and on Pearl Harbor, Dec 7th, 1941]
Thanks to @Armoury for the beta!
The decisions have been made, and now, the war begins.
—
Cassin is many things, many, many things. But above all else, she is a friend. "Of course, I did promise after all."
Cassin beamed brighter than the Hawaiin sunset behind her. Then she sprinted past me towards the car, giggling all the while. I smile, watching her, then look back towards the golden sunset. It is good to be back.
From there it is a quick drive back to the ship, and… not a lot of convincing needed for the crew, those few that remained, to leave their bunks and head to a night of actual beds and more than a little alcohol. From there it is simply disconnecting the cabling running through the ship for the refit, and a quick call to the Captain of the Pennsylvania you had saved the life of some years before. Then, once all of that is done…
"Hahaha yes! I am the queen of this port!" Cassin cries, standing on the bow of the ship, arms crossed. Grinning at the various docked destroyers as she sails past them all. I watch a trio with a small smile on my face, three girls of the Clemson class looking up from a game of poker they were playing on the bow of the Perry curiously.
Rude gestures were exchanged between Cassin and the shipgirls, as is naval tradition. Then it is off around Ford Island. I stand beside Cassin, watching as we round the bend, a small smile on my own face. It is always a strange thing, to be on a ship that is, by all appearances moving on its own. The valves turned, the rudder moved, steam is monitored and the boilers were maintained. All by this young woman standing on the bow currently grinning like a drunken cat. Some viewed shipgirls merely as extensions of the ship, or a manifestation of it. They were both more, and less than that. There is no great philosophy behind it, and I didn't pretend to understand the science, I'm not sure anyone truly did. But Cassin simply is the ship, every bolt, every metal plate, and pipe, that is Cassin. She knew everything that occurred on the vessel, which did, admittedly, make the life of the engineers a fair bit simpler.
And when she had it under her full…
The ship roared around the island, the stern fishtailing as she swung it around at a good twenty knots.
"Keep it under control Cassin."
"Please Captain, I'm the best destroyer in the fleet. Wanna see me squeeze through battleship row?"
I think about that for a moment. "No, while I don't doubt your ability I wish to not be executed until I'm at least an Admiral, when an Admiral is executed it sends a message, a mere Captain is just a footnote."
"Smartass," Cassin snorts.
"It did go to Annapolis, yes." I reply. "When you've had your fun, settle off next to Yorktown alright?"
"Aye Captain, back to drydock in the morning then?"
"You need that refit done, your rust squeals when you walk."
"Oh I do not!"
—
ELSEWHERE.
Dec 7th, 1941, 1230
Brooklyn Navy Yard.
"And I'm telling you DiMaggio is overrated compared to Dickey you stupid mick!"
"Oh you wouldn't know a proper player if he batted you upside the head, literally! Who in the hell is caring about catchers when you've got Joltin' Joe!?"
"Oh just shut the hell up and toss me that tank would ya? Got to work in the forward turret this morn-" The man stopped, and looked up towards the sky. "What in the hell's that?"
The other man looked, along with many others as dozens upon dozens of planes roared past the Brooklyn Bridge then split into two groups. One headed for lower Manhattan, the other for the Navy Yard. The men continued to watch, even as the planes came closer and closer.
"That the Nav-" the first man started. He never finished, the cannons from the leading plane ripped into him mid sentence.
He is the first death that day, but not the last.
—
Dec 7th, 1941 0700.
Pearl Harbor.
*BANG*
My eyes snap open just before I hit the floor. My vision flashes white, and for a moment I don't move, processing the sudden change in location and the fact that the entire ship is moving around me. My first thought, my immediate thought as most of my belongings tumbled off the shelf around me and onto the floor is that I needed to yell at Cassin immediately. My second thought wa-
*BANG*
*BANG*
*BANG*
is trying to find out the source of that noise. I move out of my cabin dressed in naught but the pants I had been wearing the night before. All around me I could hear loud repeated bangs, within a few seconds, they were joined by another sound that I knew. The chatter of guns. My walk turned into a run, then a sprint as I hauled myself up the ladder and onto the bridge. I nearly fall back down it a moment later as my vision is assaulted by a bright white and a explosion, far louder than the rest rings out.
View: https://youtu.be/fZ__LK7GNpg
Cassin appears in front of me, grabs me by the shoulder, and hauls me onto the bridge. I stumble for a moment, then turn my attention towards the source of noise and light.
I wish I didn't.
There, burning, is the USS Yorktown. Fire is tearing across her flight deck, and a large gaping hole is sucking in at the waterline. I push past Cassin, making my way to the bridge wing, watching as men dive off the flightdeck and into the water. Some men are aflame, tumbling, screaming over the edge, others don't even make it that far, stumbling near the edge before falling onto the flightdeck itself. Around them the guns along the catwalk fire up into the sky, she isn't the only ship doing so. Enterprise is doing the same right besides her, and the Leviathan joined up a few seconds later.
"What… Cassin?"
Cassin appeared beside me, and we both watched as a plane tore down the Enterprise's flightdeck, with the carrier docked it didn't have a chance or actually gaining enough speed for takeoff, not even the Hellcat could do it. But it rumbled along regardless, and for one, brief moment it became airborne.
Only for it to burst into flames as a white plane went screaming past it. It is thinner, sleeker than the Hellcat, and as it turned to go past the north side of Ford Island. My eyes caught the roundel on the wings.
"Captain it's the Japs!?" Cassin shrieks.
I run to the opposite wing, sprinting through the bridge as the sounds of explosions ring the harbor. My hands catch onto the railing, and I look out towards Forward Island. There dozens, hundreds of planes circle, dive, climb, bomb, torpedo. Fighters, bombers, and other shapes, familiar shapes. Black, half-biological things of metal and flesh dive through the air, unleashing payloads onto targets beyond the island you could not see.
The Sirens…
The Sirens and the Japanese were at Pearl.
Bombs fell and detonated onto the island, in the water, and on ships. I watch them, my mouth agape, unmoving. Only for a hand to grab me by the back of the trousers and yank me back into the bridge as bullets tear across Cassin's deck. The sound of screeching, tearing metal fills my ears as the planes roars overhead, and I push Cassin off of me the moment they pass, my feet carrying me to the bow windows. "Cassin, is anyone else onboard?"
"I… is that-"
"Yes or no Cassin!?"
"No sir, just you sir!"
My next order came with little thought, just instincts. "Cassin, take full control, we're getting this ship out of Pearl. Now."
"Captain, but they are…" Cassin goes quiet, raising a hand to point at the Yorktown.
"There are rescue vessels Cassin, right now I need to get you out of this port. We are a sitting duck next to the carriers."
Cassin says nothing, staring at me.
"Cassin you can either control the ship or you can rescue men in the water, my order is to get out of Pearl, you cannot do both and you know it."
The ship vibrates beneath me, and I hear the familiar roar of Cassin taking over the engines. Cassin disappears, reappearing a moment later on the bow, her hand stretched out over the water. Then the chatter of guns erupts around me, the .50s along the deck firing on anything, everything. There were targets in every direction. I stayed on the bridge, it isn't a safe place to be, but it is safer than the deck, and Cassin could hear me regardless. Then the ship jerks to the side, tilting in the water, my hands stab out, grabbing onto the bridge railing. My eyes snap to movement, and I watch as two furrows in the water shoot past the Cassin, a good ten feet of separation and speed towards the Hornet. I watch, even as the Cassin rights herself. Hornet's boilers were running, smoke is rising from her stacks. But she is still moored as they come in.
The first torpedo disappears, doing nothing. The seco-
*BANG*
Hornet lifts a good half foot out of the water by her bow. The sound of screaming, men and metal, fills the air somehow louder than the fireball erupting from her side. The Hornet crashes back down into the water an impossible amount of time later, planes, men, and carts falling into the water below.
The Cassin charges on. The tinkle of brass casings hitting the deck compete with the machine guns firing from the planes overhead. Every gun on the Cassin that could fire, is. The main guns, the anti aircraft guns, the machine guns. It isn't enough. It isn't near enough. Fireboats raced past, their crews hurried and half-dressed. Men shouted in the water, oil burned, men were dying. Pearl is dying. One of the fireboats is hit nearby, a black machine, half biological made of pulsating black tumors and tentacles, half obsidian black metal roars overhead just past it. Cannons chattering. Men simply cease to be. My eyes fixate on the lone sailor on deck, he is dressed in nothing but his skivvies and his hat. He is still walking, stumbling, even though there is a giant gaping, bleeding hole where his stomach had been. He tip over the side into the water, and I look forward. Cassin is rounding Ford Islan-
*BANG*
The ship lurches, jerking in the water as a column of water erupts off the port side. The sound of shrapnel hitting the hull fills my ears. The windows shatter around me, broken glass flying into the bridge.
"Cassin, report."
"The bastard missed us with a bomb, Captain!" Cassin replies over the intercom. "Going ahead fla-"
Cassin stops then, cutoff mid sentence.
I force myself to stand from where I have ducked, ignoring the pain I is feeling along my side. My uniform felt wet, I didn't much like the idea of finding out why. "Cassin?"
She doesn't respond. But she is still standing on the deck, arm outstretched. Only, she isn't looking forward anymore. She is looking to port. I follow her gaze.
I wish I didn't. Battleship Row is gone. It has been replaced by a flaming, choking, screaming hell. The California, the foremost battleship and the closest to the harbor exit, looks like she tried to get out. She is resting on her side, her entire superstructure melting in an oil fire as men scramble along her hull. I don't see the shipgirl, Oklahoma, however I do see across the channel, she was completely turned over, her hull glinting in the morning sun. Oklahoma herself is walking along the hull, she pauses here and there, then, as I watch. She reaches down and rips out a chunk of her own bottom, reaching down a hand, she pulls trapped sailors out of the burning, capsized wreckage. She takes another step, ready to do it again, only to pause and tilt over the side, disappearing into the water below.
"Sir, Pennsylvania's making a break!"
My eyes snap to the drydock where Pennsylvania had been moored. She was sailing free, her guns firing into the sk-
I didn't even see the plane that hit her. One moment Pennsylvania was there. The next is only fire as something impacts her forward turret. I watch as the entire forward superstructure rockets into the air as the Pennsylvania disappears in a cloud of smoke and flame.
Cassin's wail of anguish carries over the speakers.
But I only pay attention to that for a moment, "get us out of the water!" a voice cries out to starboard. My head snaps back to the right, there sat, listing to her side in a spill of her own oil is the USS Helena. Men are leaping off the side of the ship and into the oily muck, the Helena is aflame, her superstructure alight and a gaping torpedo wound along her side. The oil hasn't lit, only by the miracle that her superstructure had yet to hit the water. A good fifty men are in the water, I didn't have the time or the manpower for them.
…
"Cassin, full stop. Get Helena's crew out of that oil."
"Aye sir!"
I feel the boilers die down, and the ship turns hard to starboard. In the space of a hundred yards the Cassin was already down to five knots, and I have never been more grateful for Shipgirl nonsense.
"Leaving the ship!" Cassin calls out.
And then she is gone, leaping off the side to land on top of the water, I for my part run to the starboard wing. By the time I do, Cassin was already back, carrying a sailor covered head to foot in oil. She drops him onto the bow, then darts off again. "Sailor?" I ask, looking the man over.
"This thing have guns?"
A point of my finger towards the nearby mount, and the nearest .50 starts up again, even without Cassin being on the deck. The sailor was half naked and covered in oil, but that didn't stop the anger. Then there is another, and another, Cassin moving as fast as her mystical body could take her until there wasn't a soul left in the water.
"Where's the rest!?" I shout over the sound of the guns firing around me, Cassin isn't in control of them anymore. It was all the crew of the Helena now.
"On the Port!" Cassin shouts. "They got Helena herself off too! She's hurt bad but she's still with us!"
"Then take us out of here Cassin!"
"Aye aye sir!"
The ship thrums again, and Cassin turns through the now burning oil. I move back to the bridge, ignoring the broken glass underneath my bare feet. The ship finishes swinging around, then with the ring of a bell she begins her charge once more. Only this time… we aren't alone. Two gargantuan ships are making their way down the channel. The first, the closest, is the Nevada, she was burning from bow to stern. But she was fighting. Tracers erupted along her length, firing at anything, everything. Japanese or Siren. Men fought the sky as well as the fires along her deck. The further one, smoking on her stern was the… Arizona. The twin giants were sailing together, charging down the same channel Cassin is.
"Cassin, lead. We'll follow the battlewagons the moment they are out of harbo-"
Nevada veers off, turning towards the shore. With a crash she slams into it, just shy of Hickam Field.
Fuck.
"Follow the Arizona when we are out of harbor, in the meantime we're going to be a prime target in this channel… Think you can handle it?"
The ship's horn roars and Cassin surges past Arizona.
"Come on you fucking bastards! I'm right here! The USS Cassin! I'm right fucking here! You can't fucking sink me you bastards!" Cassin howls over the intercom. She isn't the only one. Arizona is screaming rage into the sky, the shipgirl standing atop her own bridge firing her rigging towards everything that dares to enter her airspace.
It is a half mile to the Pacific.
Another siren screams past, followed by two white planes. Bullets hit it, causing it to go spiraling towards the water howling, its dying screech a mix of an engine and a screaming beast. Limbs shoot out as it passes mere feet by the ship, colliding with the railings along the side, tearing them and one of the .50 gunners in half. It passes into the water a split second later, leaving nothing behind but flaming wreckage and another bloodstain on the deck. I look forwa-
*BANG*
Metal whistles and whips around me as I fall through the air to land on the deck below. What was until a moment ago the bridge was now a broken mess of twisted metal and fire. Men are screaming around me, howling, shouting, guns are firing. Horns are blaring. But… it is decidedly hard to focus. Why was that? I saw another then, another plane. It is carving its way down the the strait. Men cry for their mothers, for their fathers, for their god. Their voices muddle, join together, it was hard to… seperate them all.
The plane begins to fire, and I watch as holes begin to puncture Cassin's beautiful deck. The bullets get closer, closer. Then she's in front of me like a guardian angel, Cassin stands in front of me, one leg kicks me back into cover as bullets bounce off her flesh. A hand raises, the rigging in her hand fires, and I watch as the plane disintegrates. Then she looks back to me, and her face goes white.
I wonder what made her so upse…
My vision cuts out, I feel… far away now. "Cassin… ship… safety…"
Safe…
Have to… protect… the ship…
Safe…
Saf…
…
—
[To be Continued]
1.5 - Dec 11th, 1941
Erien
God's Weakest Soldier
- Location
- Georgia
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Dec 11th.
Thanks to @Armoury for the beta!
---
I remember shouting, I remember screaming. I remember men dying all around me and crying out to god and family. Men begged for release, people with more burns than flesh. Men so utterly ruined I couldn't tell where the dead ended and the living began. I lost count of the amount of times I blacked out. I would awaken in pain, panicked and confused as doctors and nurses either applied bandages or pulled them off of me. I was never awake for more than a few seconds at a time, and each time the scenes in the hospital only got worse. Then, one day.
I awoke.
My eyes slowly open, and the first thing that hit my senses was the strong smell of disinfectant and… petroleum. Then, a stabbing pain in my arm causes me to suck in a breath and my head to jerk to the side. There, to my right was a nurse dressed in the usual frock. She looks… tired, very tired as she wraps a bandage around my…
My…
Stump.
I stare at it,
Where my right hand had been only recently, was now a bandaged, flat stump.
…
Well.
…
I'll deal with that later.
"Good morning," I say to the nurse, "am I dead?"
The nurse starts, her head jerking up to look at me in surprise before… she runs off and out of sight. The curtains around my hospital bed prevented me from seeing anymore than that. I smile, I can't help it. "I didn't think I was that ugly."
I lift the bandaged stump, staring at it. It was a clean cut, and I didn't even remember getting the wound. But then, adrenaline. I follow the bandage down, more bandages were there, all over my side. Pushing my elbows down slowly, I begin to press myself u-
No, right. Don't sit up. Bad idea. I settle back down with a groan of pain, my vision flashing as my back makes its opinion of that known.
"Eager are we?" a voice asks.
Two new figures were standing at the end of the bed. One is… a doctor, the 'uniform' gave him away. As did the bags under his eyes and the fact he hadn't visibly shaved in days. The other man is…
"You're alive, Kidd?" I ask, staring at the admiral.
He had his arm in a sling but was the same old bastard as always.
"Despite the Siren's and the Jap's best attempts, yes." Kidd replies.
"Move your feet for me." The doctor says, interrupting us.
I look down my body towards the feet, both were… heavily bandaged. But with effort they bend and flex.
"Good," the doctor says with a sigh of relief. "We'll have you out of here in a week."
Then… he's gone as soon as he arrived. Already moving onto the next patient as Kidd watches him leave. A frown briefly crosses the admiral's features before he shakes his head. "The man hasn't slept more than six hours in four days."
"Doesn't sound healthy for a doctor."
"He hasn't had a choice," Kidd replies quietly. Then he walks forward, moving to stand just beside me on the bed. He looks down at me, saying nothing for several moments. "It's bad out there Stevens."
"Cassin?" I ask, hoping.
"She's fine," Kidd says with a small smile. "She's getting fixed up in drydock, kept asking about you and trying to sneak off." Then the smile drops, and the admiral suddenly looks very stoic, a very… practiced, form of stoic. "We're estimating several thousand casualties, with over half that killed in action. And that's just the navy, we've lost plenty of Marines and civilians as well. With a chunk of those Marines dying defending against a naval landing."
"They invaded?"
"Sirens attempted a naval landing along with a small amount of Japanese troops in Haleiwa, landed nearly right on top of the USS Lafayette, she managed to fight them off after several hours but… she's in drydock now."
"And the fleet?" I ask.
Isaac closes his eyes and hands me a scrap of paper from his pocket. "Top secret, but you'll need to know."
I stare at the paper, eyes scanning briefly down the list of cruisers and destroyers as well before looking up at the admiral. "What's even left of the capital ships?"
"In Hawaii? Not much," Kidd replies, before grabbing the paper back and looking at it himself. "With Vestal sunk we've got Medusa putting in overtime to see what she can do. Bridgeport has been brought back into service as well to work on it."
My head hits the pillow. "So, we're at war then?"
Kidd nods. "Japan, three days ago. Germany declared war soon after… they hit New York the same time the Japs hit Pearl. No real ship casualties, just civilians."
"Yonkers?" I ask, thinking of home.
"Untouched," Kidd reassures me. "In any case, the staff back in Washington is scrambling to put a plan together, and that's what I've come to talk to you about."
I stare at him, saying nothing as he pulls two boxes from his pocket. He places them on a small table near the bed and flips both of them open. One contains a purple heart, the other contains… the NC and a pair of single gold stars.
"We need you back out there as soon as possible, Admiral Stevens. Any past hesitance on the part of this government is off, we have started full scale shipping to England and the fleet is being prepared at both ends of the country.
"... I hate to break this to you Admiral, but I'm missing a hand."
"And we lost a full half of our flag staff in a day," Kidd replies. "The Naval Office has chosen to overlook your disability," the Admiral then smiles. "While I'm glad to see you aren't letting it bother you too much, you can function without the hand Stevens."
"I'm still waking up to be honest with you," I reply. "Give me some time, I'll start screaming about the unfairness of it all."
"So be it, but are you able?"
I stare at the boxes, then look to the Admiral. "Just point me to my ship."
Kidd smiles. "Well, we haven't told Cassin yet, but you're getting a new flagship, we lost too many flight officers and you have the training we need. We're giving you a carrier command with Cassin in the task group."
"She's going to be furious."
"She's going to have to deal with it," Kidd then produces a piece of paper from his pocket, and hands it forward. It's an order slip, commanding me to report to my new station as soon as physically able. The ship is the-
---
Vote for you new ship, you will be serving in an Aircraft Carrier Taskgroup, but will be heading your own Task Force.
[] [USS Bunker Hill]
The newest ship of the Essex class. A quiet girl with a lot of firepower, her knowledge of the world was so lacking she was nearly alien.
[] [USS Leviathan]
A converted German Liner of the first World War, she carried nearly as many planes as the Essex did, and her manners around the fleet were legendary. Though she apparently had some… quirks of her own.
[] [USS Enterprise]
A Yorktown class aircraft carrier, an older model, but proud. The shipgirl was famously rather taciturn.
Thanks to @Armoury for the beta!
---
I remember shouting, I remember screaming. I remember men dying all around me and crying out to god and family. Men begged for release, people with more burns than flesh. Men so utterly ruined I couldn't tell where the dead ended and the living began. I lost count of the amount of times I blacked out. I would awaken in pain, panicked and confused as doctors and nurses either applied bandages or pulled them off of me. I was never awake for more than a few seconds at a time, and each time the scenes in the hospital only got worse. Then, one day.
I awoke.
My eyes slowly open, and the first thing that hit my senses was the strong smell of disinfectant and… petroleum. Then, a stabbing pain in my arm causes me to suck in a breath and my head to jerk to the side. There, to my right was a nurse dressed in the usual frock. She looks… tired, very tired as she wraps a bandage around my…
My…
Stump.
I stare at it,
Where my right hand had been only recently, was now a bandaged, flat stump.
…
Well.
…
I'll deal with that later.
"Good morning," I say to the nurse, "am I dead?"
The nurse starts, her head jerking up to look at me in surprise before… she runs off and out of sight. The curtains around my hospital bed prevented me from seeing anymore than that. I smile, I can't help it. "I didn't think I was that ugly."
I lift the bandaged stump, staring at it. It was a clean cut, and I didn't even remember getting the wound. But then, adrenaline. I follow the bandage down, more bandages were there, all over my side. Pushing my elbows down slowly, I begin to press myself u-
No, right. Don't sit up. Bad idea. I settle back down with a groan of pain, my vision flashing as my back makes its opinion of that known.
"Eager are we?" a voice asks.
Two new figures were standing at the end of the bed. One is… a doctor, the 'uniform' gave him away. As did the bags under his eyes and the fact he hadn't visibly shaved in days. The other man is…
"You're alive, Kidd?" I ask, staring at the admiral.
He had his arm in a sling but was the same old bastard as always.
"Despite the Siren's and the Jap's best attempts, yes." Kidd replies.
"Move your feet for me." The doctor says, interrupting us.
I look down my body towards the feet, both were… heavily bandaged. But with effort they bend and flex.
"Good," the doctor says with a sigh of relief. "We'll have you out of here in a week."
Then… he's gone as soon as he arrived. Already moving onto the next patient as Kidd watches him leave. A frown briefly crosses the admiral's features before he shakes his head. "The man hasn't slept more than six hours in four days."
"Doesn't sound healthy for a doctor."
"He hasn't had a choice," Kidd replies quietly. Then he walks forward, moving to stand just beside me on the bed. He looks down at me, saying nothing for several moments. "It's bad out there Stevens."
"Cassin?" I ask, hoping.
"She's fine," Kidd says with a small smile. "She's getting fixed up in drydock, kept asking about you and trying to sneak off." Then the smile drops, and the admiral suddenly looks very stoic, a very… practiced, form of stoic. "We're estimating several thousand casualties, with over half that killed in action. And that's just the navy, we've lost plenty of Marines and civilians as well. With a chunk of those Marines dying defending against a naval landing."
"They invaded?"
"Sirens attempted a naval landing along with a small amount of Japanese troops in Haleiwa, landed nearly right on top of the USS Lafayette, she managed to fight them off after several hours but… she's in drydock now."
"And the fleet?" I ask.
Isaac closes his eyes and hands me a scrap of paper from his pocket. "Top secret, but you'll need to know."
I stare at the paper, eyes scanning briefly down the list of cruisers and destroyers as well before looking up at the admiral. "What's even left of the capital ships?"
"In Hawaii? Not much," Kidd replies, before grabbing the paper back and looking at it himself. "With Vestal sunk we've got Medusa putting in overtime to see what she can do. Bridgeport has been brought back into service as well to work on it."
My head hits the pillow. "So, we're at war then?"
Kidd nods. "Japan, three days ago. Germany declared war soon after… they hit New York the same time the Japs hit Pearl. No real ship casualties, just civilians."
"Yonkers?" I ask, thinking of home.
"Untouched," Kidd reassures me. "In any case, the staff back in Washington is scrambling to put a plan together, and that's what I've come to talk to you about."
I stare at him, saying nothing as he pulls two boxes from his pocket. He places them on a small table near the bed and flips both of them open. One contains a purple heart, the other contains… the NC and a pair of single gold stars.
"We need you back out there as soon as possible, Admiral Stevens. Any past hesitance on the part of this government is off, we have started full scale shipping to England and the fleet is being prepared at both ends of the country.
"... I hate to break this to you Admiral, but I'm missing a hand."
"And we lost a full half of our flag staff in a day," Kidd replies. "The Naval Office has chosen to overlook your disability," the Admiral then smiles. "While I'm glad to see you aren't letting it bother you too much, you can function without the hand Stevens."
"I'm still waking up to be honest with you," I reply. "Give me some time, I'll start screaming about the unfairness of it all."
"So be it, but are you able?"
I stare at the boxes, then look to the Admiral. "Just point me to my ship."
Kidd smiles. "Well, we haven't told Cassin yet, but you're getting a new flagship, we lost too many flight officers and you have the training we need. We're giving you a carrier command with Cassin in the task group."
"She's going to be furious."
"She's going to have to deal with it," Kidd then produces a piece of paper from his pocket, and hands it forward. It's an order slip, commanding me to report to my new station as soon as physically able. The ship is the-
---
Vote for you new ship, you will be serving in an Aircraft Carrier Taskgroup, but will be heading your own Task Force.
[] [USS Bunker Hill]
The newest ship of the Essex class. A quiet girl with a lot of firepower, her knowledge of the world was so lacking she was nearly alien.
[] [USS Leviathan]
A converted German Liner of the first World War, she carried nearly as many planes as the Essex did, and her manners around the fleet were legendary. Though she apparently had some… quirks of her own.
[] [USS Enterprise]
A Yorktown class aircraft carrier, an older model, but proud. The shipgirl was famously rather taciturn.
Last edited:
1.6 - Leviathan
Erien
God's Weakest Soldier
- Location
- Georgia
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[USS Leviathan]
A converted German Liner of the first World War, she carried nearly as many planes as the Essex did, and her manners around the fleet were legendary. Though she apparently had some… quirks of her own.
—
I look at the paper for several moments, she was going to be headed to Norfolk. She was being prepared to sail out into the Atlantic, she was… a carrier. I lower the paper slowly, looking at Kidd in both alarm and confusion. The painkillers weren't helping in that regard. "You're moving me onto a carrier? My specialty is destroyer operations."
Kidd smiles, then sits on a chair beside the bed. "Steven," the Admiral's eyes flit to the floor, and for a moment, he shows his age. "It's bad out there, we're not on the ropes but we're on the backfoot. You have training in carriers, even if only from Annapolis, and the Navy needs every officer it has with that training right now. We have destroyermen, we need someone to fill the slots for the carriers. Leviathan hadn't been assigned a permanent CO yet, she's been undergoing refits for the last five years." He then looks up at me. "You have the slot, it's not my order, it's Truman's."
"The Secretary of the Navy assigned me?"
"DC's currently on fire, not literally, thankfully, not yet," Kidd says with a sigh. "But yes, many things are moving around in a hurry now."
"Cassin's going to be beyond furious." I reply. "And regardless, I haven't been aboard a carrier since Annapolis."
"You'll have to get up to speed quickly then," Kidd replies. "You up for it?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"Not particularly."
"Then absolutely, sir."
Kidd's lip turns slightly upwards. "We're the same rank now, Admiral."
I sigh, and lift up my arm to wave my hand, only to recall… I was missing that hand. "Does that mean I can walk on water now?"
"Glad you see you haven't lost your sense of humor, Stevens," Kidd replies, smiling now.
"The Good Lord knows I don't get by on my good looks and firm handshake," I say, smiling back. "When do they think I'll be getting out of here? And who am I serving under?"
"Few days, doctor's managed to remove most of the metal from your side. You'll be sore for a while yet. As for the second question, we're still sorting all that out, we're putting together a task group for you, Leviathan will be your flagship… Cassin's coming along, she'd make too much noise otherwise."
"That she would," I admit. "I assume I'll be getting my orders once aboard?"
Kidd nods. "You just focus on resting, and brace yourself, you're likely getting tackled by a destroyer the moment you step out of this hospital."
"Risk of the job," I reply. "How's Arizona by the way?"
"Superficial damage… but the woman…" Kidd frowns. "Pennsylvania is a total loss, she detonated. Downes didn't get out either, Cassin… she hasn't mentioned her sister at all."
"... I'll handle it."
Kidd reaches forward, placing his hand on my arm. Then he stands. "Get some rest Anderson."
Then he was gone, leaving me alone on the bed with nothing but the sound of hissing machines and groaning men. Sleep, at the very least, came easy.
—
Dec 14th.
—
"Captain!" Kidd's warning was, as expected of an Admiral, accurate but less than useful. As there was only so much one could do when a young woman who was capable of moving at the speed of a racecar slammed into my midsection to hug me the moment I stepped out of the hospital.
I grunt, taking several steps back and doing my best to ignore the sudden, rapid, and unwelcome pain shooting up my back. My hand and stump move on instinct, wrapping around the destroyer as she clutches me for dear life.
"You're okay!" Cassin wails, pulling back to look me over. "You can walk, which is good as I was really worried when you fell off the bridge and landed on all the glass and OH DEAR GOD YOU ARE MISSING A HAND!?"
My right arm is raised forcefully, revealing the bandaged stump there. The destroyer is looking between it, and me with alarm.
"I'll be fine Cassin," then I place my remaining hand on her shoulder and lead her to a bench just nearby the building. The destroy sits, then pushes herself against me as tightly as she could. "Are you doing alright?"
Cassin nods. "Got a few holes in me, but nothing bad. None of our crew is hurt either, some of Helena's guys were, but Jones and the like are fine." Cassin says, finishing off the statement with a smile. "Oh, Helena is already floating again too! They got her up this morning!"
"That's… that's good, are you… doing alright, personally Cassin?" I ask.
"Yeah?" Cassin asks, looking confused.
Oh, to hell with it. "Downes?" I prompt.
Cassin's mouth opens, then closes. "I…" She looks forward, toward the harbor itself. "When do we leave Captain?"
I say nothing for several moments, staring at the destroyer avoiding the question I asked entirely. Then I lean forward, idly gripping my right wrist with my left hand. "I'm still healing up, they had to remove a lot of shrapnel from me. I'm also no longer a Captain."
"They drummed you ou-" Cassin's head whips back, then she pauses, her mouth hanging open. She closes it a moment later, squinting. "Oh, oh they promoted you!" she wraps her arms around me once more, pressing her face against my shoulder as she looks at the star on my shoulder. "That's amazing, so… guess I'm an Admiral too then?"
Shipgirl rankings were a rather simple affair, the shipgirl held the same rank as her commanding officer. It kept things easy to maintain and monitor and allowed a rather easy hierarchy to be established. Of course, it also from time to time let a destroyer order a battleship around, but then… shipgirls tended to not follow the orders of other shipgirls. It was mostly a prestige thing.
"Captain," I reply. "They're putting me in charge of the Leviathan. They need someone with carrier experience. Jones will be taking you over, while I will head the Leviathan as the flag of a new taskgroup."
"So after all that I'm losing you?" Cassin asks, tears starting to form.
"Do you think I'd let them do that?" I reply. "No, you're part of the task group, I'm just changing what ship I'm living on day to day." In truth, I had no control over where she was going. But the Navy knew better than to separate a shipgirl from someone she had grown close to over a half-decade. And Officer's were allowed to lie. "I don't know when we'll be going, I'm heading over to Leviathan today to meet her. But you aren't going anywhere without me."
Tears were still coming down Cassin's face. "No, no you're lying, they are taking you away from me!"
I smile, moving my hand to her face. "You think I'd leave you?"
"Not… not without buying me 'Anderson's better Ice-Cream'." Cassin says, sniffling.
…
"Cassin I'm going to throw you into the harbor."
"One-handed?"
I smile, "perhaps it's not too late to write to Truman and ask him to remove you from my task group."
"What, and lose the best destroyer in the fleet?" Cassin asks with a grin.
—
The Leviathan was an odd vessel, a cruise liner converted to a troop ship converted to an aircraft carrier. She still had the hallmarks of her past. She was a long vessel, with a bow that jutted out past the flight deck. She was gray, like every other ship in the fleet, but her deck was bright redwood that stuck out and helped her look rather flashy. Fitting, considering what I knew of the shipgirl herself. The officer manning the gangway was looking at me with stars in his eyes, the poor man couldn't have been older than eighteen, and I was likely the first star he'd ever seen. My visit to the ship, my first visit to my new home was deliberately lowkey, I never desired ceremony, and I'd rather see my ship as it was, then what it was spruced up to be.
That, and with the amount of work going on in Pearl at the moment, the sparks flying from welding torches, the cranes moving supplies around, the men still covered in oil from the water… it felt inappropriate. The deck was empty at the moment, no planes were sitting upon it, tractors laid about, idly and unused, and no men were stationed along the guns either. It was… a quiet vessel, the only signs of life being two men standing just by the door to the bridge staircase. One was younger, with thin cut brown hair and an air of young nervousness about himself. The other was older, silver haired, and looked completely relaxed as he leaned against the tower and smoked a cigarette. They were a study in contrasts, they were also, obviously, pilots.
Why else would the silver haired man be wearing tan overalls and cowboy boots on the flight deck?
I begin making my way towards them, stopping just before the door. The two men, having been in conversation with each other, don't pay me much mind until I'm right up on them. Then the younger of the two men jolts, and the older simply removes the cigarette from his mouth and straightens up.
"Admiral Stevens." The older one says after a moment of looking at my shoulder boards. "It's a pleasure to meet you." His voice was accented German, though of the sort that had been in the states for a while.
"Likewise…" I prompt.
"Lieutenant Commander Ernst Schreiber," the man takes another drag of his cigarette before flicking it off the deck and into the water. "Commander of your air group."
"And how is our airgroup doing?" I ask.
Ernst tilts his head towards the rear elevator. "Thirty two Hellcats, twenty-six Helldivers, and twenty-two Avengers." He then produces another cigarette. "The planes are in good shape, the pilots…" Ernst shoots a look to the man standing awkwardly beside him. "They'll learn."
"Rather blunt man, aren't you?"
Ernst shrugs, then lights the cigarette. "I didn't come into this hair from age alone. Are you looking for the girl?"
"Yes, where is she?"
Ernst points a finger straight up. "On the flag bridge, though she won't be happy to see you."
"And why is that?"
At that the man pauses, he weighs his words for a moment before speaking once more. "It's best you speak to her yourself, sir."
I smile, "well, I thank you for your candidness. Expect flight operations to begin soon, the both of you." My eyes flick then to the other man. "Your name?"
"Er… Bauer sir!" the younger man replies, a thick German accent coming out.
My smile widens a touch, then I step past them both and into the bridge tower.
"That guy was old for a pilot," Cassin says after the second staircase.
"It happens, especially when you have experience." I reply. "And he looked about the same age I am, am I old Cassin?"
Cassin says nothing until we make it to the bridge.
—
The bridge was far, far larger than that of the Cassin and broken up into three levels. However, with the amount of equipment around it is still cramped. It was, regardless, far higher as well. I had to climb five flights of stairs to actually reach the flag bridge, the highest level, and the most open at that. Little was up here besides compasses and radio sets, with a chart along the wall for marking ship positions and a hallway behind me for charts and maps. Setup so that multiple men would be working to keep track of things. Cassin had much the same, only it was a far, far smaller space and it involved a lot of yelling to keep track of things.
This was, in comparison, palatial.
The other two bridges, the navigation and command bridge, were equally large. But I had skipped over both of them, and my cabin to instead make my way all the way up to the top. After all, I had someone to meet. Only one person was present on the flag bridge, I had seen and heard others coming up. But in port, with no command, the flag bridge served little purpose. Unlike on the Cassin, the windows here contained no glass, and standing just by the fore window, with her hands held tight behind her back was a woman in a red dress. She was tall, that was the first thing I noted; she easily cleared me by a full head and a bit more, her hair brushing the ceiling as she turned her head to look back at me. Blonde hair, kept in a tight, controlled bun shifted ever so slightly, and blue eyes snapped to me like a predator. Leviathan was dressed to the nines, in a long red dress with a slit at the waist to reveal her legs. High heels of gold, and white gloves. She had a reputation for being in a continuous contest with St. Louis to be the classiest woman in the fleet, though… none of that was immediately present.
For she was frowning, her eyes looking me up and down like something to be studied. "English?" she finally says, her tone soft but clipped, with a German accent.
"Irish, second generation. No mainland Europe in my bloodline that I'm aware of."
The frown disappears, instead… she adopts a practiced, neutral expression that shows precisely nothing. "I specifically requested a German commander to complement my German crew. I will not sail with any other."
"I'm afraid there I have to disappoint, might I ask why?"
"I wish for revenge against those bastardizing my country," Leviathan stands a bit more proudly. "I was built in Prussia. My crew is made of those who wish the same as I do, I informed the Navy that I didn't wish to be commanded by a non-German."
The sentiment is understandable, if highly impractical. But then, shipgirls tend to be impractical by nature. How was one meant to argue with a ship? It was a common mistake to see them as merely representatives, or avatars of the vessel. They weren't: they were the vessel. They were to the ship where the consciousness was. They weren't an extension. What the ship desired, the woman desired, what the ship wanted, the girl wanted.
In this case, the ship wanted revenge. "That may not have been an issue before the war, Leviathan. But we lost a good deal of good men, we don't have the luxury of choice."
"I will not sail unless I have a German Captain."
I stare at her, "then you shall rot here, in the dock, accomplishing nothing but rusting your hull as others deal with the war and you are labeled a traitor. Is that what you desire?" Perhaps I was grumpy, the painkillers were wearing off, it was hot in the flag bridge, and I had little desire to entertain this nonsense. Perhaps I was just feeling insulted.
Leviathan stares back, then turns her head and disappears from view, leaving me alone on the bridge with Cassin.
"... Wow, bitch." The destroyer comments.
"She's feeling frustrated, frankly, so am I," I reply with a sigh.
"Yeah, frustrated is a good excuse for racism, we sure she isn't a Naz-"
The siren on the left side of the bridge, just next to Cassin for that matter, wails. The destroyer recoils, covering her ears. "Jesus! Okay!"
Cassin rubs her left ear, then looks at me. "What are we gonna do Admiral?"
…
—
Welcome to the people management part of the quest.
[] [Find Leviathan]
The shipgirls, when annoyed or wanting to be left alone. Usually retreat to the 'intelligence chamber' or the 'cube room' in more common parlance. It's where their wisdom cube, their 'soul' was stored.
[] [Find my Quarters]
The pain was returning, and I didn't feel much like arguing. A good way to catch up with Cassin as well.
[] [Explore the Vessel]
See who else was around, perhaps I could find my XO and Chief Petty Officer.
A converted German Liner of the first World War, she carried nearly as many planes as the Essex did, and her manners around the fleet were legendary. Though she apparently had some… quirks of her own.
—
I look at the paper for several moments, she was going to be headed to Norfolk. She was being prepared to sail out into the Atlantic, she was… a carrier. I lower the paper slowly, looking at Kidd in both alarm and confusion. The painkillers weren't helping in that regard. "You're moving me onto a carrier? My specialty is destroyer operations."
Kidd smiles, then sits on a chair beside the bed. "Steven," the Admiral's eyes flit to the floor, and for a moment, he shows his age. "It's bad out there, we're not on the ropes but we're on the backfoot. You have training in carriers, even if only from Annapolis, and the Navy needs every officer it has with that training right now. We have destroyermen, we need someone to fill the slots for the carriers. Leviathan hadn't been assigned a permanent CO yet, she's been undergoing refits for the last five years." He then looks up at me. "You have the slot, it's not my order, it's Truman's."
"The Secretary of the Navy assigned me?"
"DC's currently on fire, not literally, thankfully, not yet," Kidd says with a sigh. "But yes, many things are moving around in a hurry now."
"Cassin's going to be beyond furious." I reply. "And regardless, I haven't been aboard a carrier since Annapolis."
"You'll have to get up to speed quickly then," Kidd replies. "You up for it?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"Not particularly."
"Then absolutely, sir."
Kidd's lip turns slightly upwards. "We're the same rank now, Admiral."
I sigh, and lift up my arm to wave my hand, only to recall… I was missing that hand. "Does that mean I can walk on water now?"
"Glad you see you haven't lost your sense of humor, Stevens," Kidd replies, smiling now.
"The Good Lord knows I don't get by on my good looks and firm handshake," I say, smiling back. "When do they think I'll be getting out of here? And who am I serving under?"
"Few days, doctor's managed to remove most of the metal from your side. You'll be sore for a while yet. As for the second question, we're still sorting all that out, we're putting together a task group for you, Leviathan will be your flagship… Cassin's coming along, she'd make too much noise otherwise."
"That she would," I admit. "I assume I'll be getting my orders once aboard?"
Kidd nods. "You just focus on resting, and brace yourself, you're likely getting tackled by a destroyer the moment you step out of this hospital."
"Risk of the job," I reply. "How's Arizona by the way?"
"Superficial damage… but the woman…" Kidd frowns. "Pennsylvania is a total loss, she detonated. Downes didn't get out either, Cassin… she hasn't mentioned her sister at all."
"... I'll handle it."
Kidd reaches forward, placing his hand on my arm. Then he stands. "Get some rest Anderson."
Then he was gone, leaving me alone on the bed with nothing but the sound of hissing machines and groaning men. Sleep, at the very least, came easy.
—
Dec 14th.
—
"Captain!" Kidd's warning was, as expected of an Admiral, accurate but less than useful. As there was only so much one could do when a young woman who was capable of moving at the speed of a racecar slammed into my midsection to hug me the moment I stepped out of the hospital.
I grunt, taking several steps back and doing my best to ignore the sudden, rapid, and unwelcome pain shooting up my back. My hand and stump move on instinct, wrapping around the destroyer as she clutches me for dear life.
"You're okay!" Cassin wails, pulling back to look me over. "You can walk, which is good as I was really worried when you fell off the bridge and landed on all the glass and OH DEAR GOD YOU ARE MISSING A HAND!?"
My right arm is raised forcefully, revealing the bandaged stump there. The destroyer is looking between it, and me with alarm.
"I'll be fine Cassin," then I place my remaining hand on her shoulder and lead her to a bench just nearby the building. The destroy sits, then pushes herself against me as tightly as she could. "Are you doing alright?"
Cassin nods. "Got a few holes in me, but nothing bad. None of our crew is hurt either, some of Helena's guys were, but Jones and the like are fine." Cassin says, finishing off the statement with a smile. "Oh, Helena is already floating again too! They got her up this morning!"
"That's… that's good, are you… doing alright, personally Cassin?" I ask.
"Yeah?" Cassin asks, looking confused.
Oh, to hell with it. "Downes?" I prompt.
Cassin's mouth opens, then closes. "I…" She looks forward, toward the harbor itself. "When do we leave Captain?"
I say nothing for several moments, staring at the destroyer avoiding the question I asked entirely. Then I lean forward, idly gripping my right wrist with my left hand. "I'm still healing up, they had to remove a lot of shrapnel from me. I'm also no longer a Captain."
"They drummed you ou-" Cassin's head whips back, then she pauses, her mouth hanging open. She closes it a moment later, squinting. "Oh, oh they promoted you!" she wraps her arms around me once more, pressing her face against my shoulder as she looks at the star on my shoulder. "That's amazing, so… guess I'm an Admiral too then?"
Shipgirl rankings were a rather simple affair, the shipgirl held the same rank as her commanding officer. It kept things easy to maintain and monitor and allowed a rather easy hierarchy to be established. Of course, it also from time to time let a destroyer order a battleship around, but then… shipgirls tended to not follow the orders of other shipgirls. It was mostly a prestige thing.
"Captain," I reply. "They're putting me in charge of the Leviathan. They need someone with carrier experience. Jones will be taking you over, while I will head the Leviathan as the flag of a new taskgroup."
"So after all that I'm losing you?" Cassin asks, tears starting to form.
"Do you think I'd let them do that?" I reply. "No, you're part of the task group, I'm just changing what ship I'm living on day to day." In truth, I had no control over where she was going. But the Navy knew better than to separate a shipgirl from someone she had grown close to over a half-decade. And Officer's were allowed to lie. "I don't know when we'll be going, I'm heading over to Leviathan today to meet her. But you aren't going anywhere without me."
Tears were still coming down Cassin's face. "No, no you're lying, they are taking you away from me!"
I smile, moving my hand to her face. "You think I'd leave you?"
"Not… not without buying me 'Anderson's better Ice-Cream'." Cassin says, sniffling.
…
"Cassin I'm going to throw you into the harbor."
"One-handed?"
I smile, "perhaps it's not too late to write to Truman and ask him to remove you from my task group."
"What, and lose the best destroyer in the fleet?" Cassin asks with a grin.
—
The Leviathan was an odd vessel, a cruise liner converted to a troop ship converted to an aircraft carrier. She still had the hallmarks of her past. She was a long vessel, with a bow that jutted out past the flight deck. She was gray, like every other ship in the fleet, but her deck was bright redwood that stuck out and helped her look rather flashy. Fitting, considering what I knew of the shipgirl herself. The officer manning the gangway was looking at me with stars in his eyes, the poor man couldn't have been older than eighteen, and I was likely the first star he'd ever seen. My visit to the ship, my first visit to my new home was deliberately lowkey, I never desired ceremony, and I'd rather see my ship as it was, then what it was spruced up to be.
That, and with the amount of work going on in Pearl at the moment, the sparks flying from welding torches, the cranes moving supplies around, the men still covered in oil from the water… it felt inappropriate. The deck was empty at the moment, no planes were sitting upon it, tractors laid about, idly and unused, and no men were stationed along the guns either. It was… a quiet vessel, the only signs of life being two men standing just by the door to the bridge staircase. One was younger, with thin cut brown hair and an air of young nervousness about himself. The other was older, silver haired, and looked completely relaxed as he leaned against the tower and smoked a cigarette. They were a study in contrasts, they were also, obviously, pilots.
Why else would the silver haired man be wearing tan overalls and cowboy boots on the flight deck?
I begin making my way towards them, stopping just before the door. The two men, having been in conversation with each other, don't pay me much mind until I'm right up on them. Then the younger of the two men jolts, and the older simply removes the cigarette from his mouth and straightens up.
"Admiral Stevens." The older one says after a moment of looking at my shoulder boards. "It's a pleasure to meet you." His voice was accented German, though of the sort that had been in the states for a while.
"Likewise…" I prompt.
"Lieutenant Commander Ernst Schreiber," the man takes another drag of his cigarette before flicking it off the deck and into the water. "Commander of your air group."
"And how is our airgroup doing?" I ask.
Ernst tilts his head towards the rear elevator. "Thirty two Hellcats, twenty-six Helldivers, and twenty-two Avengers." He then produces another cigarette. "The planes are in good shape, the pilots…" Ernst shoots a look to the man standing awkwardly beside him. "They'll learn."
"Rather blunt man, aren't you?"
Ernst shrugs, then lights the cigarette. "I didn't come into this hair from age alone. Are you looking for the girl?"
"Yes, where is she?"
Ernst points a finger straight up. "On the flag bridge, though she won't be happy to see you."
"And why is that?"
At that the man pauses, he weighs his words for a moment before speaking once more. "It's best you speak to her yourself, sir."
I smile, "well, I thank you for your candidness. Expect flight operations to begin soon, the both of you." My eyes flick then to the other man. "Your name?"
"Er… Bauer sir!" the younger man replies, a thick German accent coming out.
My smile widens a touch, then I step past them both and into the bridge tower.
"That guy was old for a pilot," Cassin says after the second staircase.
"It happens, especially when you have experience." I reply. "And he looked about the same age I am, am I old Cassin?"
Cassin says nothing until we make it to the bridge.
—
The bridge was far, far larger than that of the Cassin and broken up into three levels. However, with the amount of equipment around it is still cramped. It was, regardless, far higher as well. I had to climb five flights of stairs to actually reach the flag bridge, the highest level, and the most open at that. Little was up here besides compasses and radio sets, with a chart along the wall for marking ship positions and a hallway behind me for charts and maps. Setup so that multiple men would be working to keep track of things. Cassin had much the same, only it was a far, far smaller space and it involved a lot of yelling to keep track of things.
This was, in comparison, palatial.
The other two bridges, the navigation and command bridge, were equally large. But I had skipped over both of them, and my cabin to instead make my way all the way up to the top. After all, I had someone to meet. Only one person was present on the flag bridge, I had seen and heard others coming up. But in port, with no command, the flag bridge served little purpose. Unlike on the Cassin, the windows here contained no glass, and standing just by the fore window, with her hands held tight behind her back was a woman in a red dress. She was tall, that was the first thing I noted; she easily cleared me by a full head and a bit more, her hair brushing the ceiling as she turned her head to look back at me. Blonde hair, kept in a tight, controlled bun shifted ever so slightly, and blue eyes snapped to me like a predator. Leviathan was dressed to the nines, in a long red dress with a slit at the waist to reveal her legs. High heels of gold, and white gloves. She had a reputation for being in a continuous contest with St. Louis to be the classiest woman in the fleet, though… none of that was immediately present.
For she was frowning, her eyes looking me up and down like something to be studied. "English?" she finally says, her tone soft but clipped, with a German accent.
"Irish, second generation. No mainland Europe in my bloodline that I'm aware of."
The frown disappears, instead… she adopts a practiced, neutral expression that shows precisely nothing. "I specifically requested a German commander to complement my German crew. I will not sail with any other."
"I'm afraid there I have to disappoint, might I ask why?"
"I wish for revenge against those bastardizing my country," Leviathan stands a bit more proudly. "I was built in Prussia. My crew is made of those who wish the same as I do, I informed the Navy that I didn't wish to be commanded by a non-German."
The sentiment is understandable, if highly impractical. But then, shipgirls tend to be impractical by nature. How was one meant to argue with a ship? It was a common mistake to see them as merely representatives, or avatars of the vessel. They weren't: they were the vessel. They were to the ship where the consciousness was. They weren't an extension. What the ship desired, the woman desired, what the ship wanted, the girl wanted.
In this case, the ship wanted revenge. "That may not have been an issue before the war, Leviathan. But we lost a good deal of good men, we don't have the luxury of choice."
"I will not sail unless I have a German Captain."
I stare at her, "then you shall rot here, in the dock, accomplishing nothing but rusting your hull as others deal with the war and you are labeled a traitor. Is that what you desire?" Perhaps I was grumpy, the painkillers were wearing off, it was hot in the flag bridge, and I had little desire to entertain this nonsense. Perhaps I was just feeling insulted.
Leviathan stares back, then turns her head and disappears from view, leaving me alone on the bridge with Cassin.
"... Wow, bitch." The destroyer comments.
"She's feeling frustrated, frankly, so am I," I reply with a sigh.
"Yeah, frustrated is a good excuse for racism, we sure she isn't a Naz-"
The siren on the left side of the bridge, just next to Cassin for that matter, wails. The destroyer recoils, covering her ears. "Jesus! Okay!"
Cassin rubs her left ear, then looks at me. "What are we gonna do Admiral?"
…
—
Welcome to the people management part of the quest.
[] [Find Leviathan]
The shipgirls, when annoyed or wanting to be left alone. Usually retreat to the 'intelligence chamber' or the 'cube room' in more common parlance. It's where their wisdom cube, their 'soul' was stored.
[] [Find my Quarters]
The pain was returning, and I didn't feel much like arguing. A good way to catch up with Cassin as well.
[] [Explore the Vessel]
See who else was around, perhaps I could find my XO and Chief Petty Officer.
Last edited:
1.7 - The Crew
Erien
God's Weakest Soldier
- Location
- Georgia
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[Explore the Vessel]
See who else was around, perhaps I could find my XO and Chief Petty Officer.
Thanks to @Armoury for the beta!
—
I sigh, staring at the spot Leviathan had been standing only a few moments prior. "We shall explore the ship then, find our new Chief and XO if we can. I was hoping to invite everyone to a dinner tonight, but it's rather short notice at this point and I do believe Leviathan is upset with me."
"Bitch." Cassin snarls.
"Misplaced idealism more likely," I reply. "Everyone that has ever spoken about her has remarked about her pleasantness."
"Could be putting on a kind face." Cassin remarks.
I think on that for a moment, then shake my head. "No, I don't believe so. I think she just has an idea in her head of how this should go. And I do understand her frustration, but it's not going to work, the Navy doesn't have time to entertain it."
"And if she refuses to sail?" Cassin asks, the destroyer moving up to the open windows of the bridge.
"She doesn't have a choice," I say quietly. "The navy wants its carrier, and cube can be removed from the ship if necessary."
Cassin pales slightly, her hand closing and opening repeatedly in nervousness. It wasn't something I could blame her for. For a shipgirl, it was a death. Their conciousness, their existence was held in the 'Wisdom Cube' a brilliant sapphire box contained within the vessel. They could summon their rigging when around it, and it was, in essence, their 'soul'. To remove it from their vessel is the equivalent of tearing out a man's soul and putting it in a box. It had only been done a handful of times, at the consequence of the death of the girl in question.
"Do… do you think it will-"
"No, no I do not." I reply, cutting Cassin off. "She's being foolish, but that can change. Give me time. For now, lets find the Chief."
"Oh, that's an easy one," Cassin says, pointing a finger behind me towards the door.
I turn my head, and see… a man standing there with an eagle patch on his shoulder. He wasn't a tall man, a few inches shorter than me. Bald, with no facial hair to speak up, the bit of pudge he carried was enough to give him a rather doughy face with nothing to hide it. But the wizened lines and sharp look in his eyes told me enough of the mans experience.
"Admiral." The man greets, his accent germanic like the rest. "Chief Petty Officer Walter Klein, I heard you were aboard."
"You heard correctly," I then offer a hand forward. "How'd you find me?"
The man takes it and shakes it, his grip firm. "The pilots on the deck were talking about your arrival, and I was told to expect the CO to come aboard today." He then looks past me towards Cassin curiously.
"DD-372, Cassin," Cassin says. "His previous… and more pleasant command."
Walter adopts a confused and mildly insulted look, and I speak up before he can ask. "We met Leviathan."
"... Ah." Walter replies. "Unless you happen to have changed your name…"
"I'm Irish-American." I reply.
"My apologies Admiral, she's rather deadset on this idea." Walter says after a few moments.
I shrug my shoulders. "She's entitled to her ideals, but that isn't how things are going to go." I then tilt my head slightly, "immigrant, or born here if I may ask?"
Walter straightens up a bit. "Born here sir, family came here a good decade before the war."
"How long you been aboard?"
"Leviathan?" Walter asks.
I nod.
"Two years, I was serving on the Chattanooga when I was reassigned here, before that I was on the Langley and the Yorktown."
"Good, you have carrier experience, and a long career. How's the crew?"
"Motivated sir, very motivated. A group of them is whitewashing a wall in the hanger now to make space for kill-markers."
"All of Pearl is motivated at the moment," I reply, not that I'm disinterested myself. My ship and crew made it out okay, but my home had been bombed and good men had died. "I still need to find my XO, any idea where he might be?"
"Last I saw him he was in the hanger helping get things moved around," Walter replies.
"Would you mind leading me there then?" I ask.
—
It's a quick trip back through the two bridges below me, then out the 'backdoor' of the tower and onto the gunwell. It was one of two that were on either side of the bridge, a large metal platform that jutted off the side, covered with anti-aircraft guns, with a small railing to keep sailors from tumbling off the side and into the water. It was… different, than the Cassin, who kept all her guns on the ship itself, but the pilots might well complain if there was a Bofors gun in the middle of the runway. Regardless, the gunwell was lower than the deck itself, and mostly hidden from view, to the point where now I can see there actually are men about, besides those two pilots I saw earlier.
Clangs, hammering, drilling, and general work abounded. Men were taking apart the guns or putting them back together. Cleaning, oiling, repairing, replacing, every battery, every firing position, every nut and bolt. There wasn't a single piece of machinery on the gunwell that wasn't in active work by someone. Quad-mounts swung, .50s pivoted, and men worked. Few noticed my presence, so busy in their task, those that did simply moved out of the way, too busy for anything else. Curses in German, conversation in English, and the sound of machinery and handtools create a cacophony that was familiar. But it all paled in comparison as Walter, Cassin and I stepped into the hanger.
Before there was noise.
Now there was noise.
Bells rung, engines fired, and the ship lived. I stepped into a large space, open and bright with the hanger doors open. Allowing sunlight to pour into the hanger, complimenting the lighting coming from above and revealing a shop floor roughly the length of the entire ship. Sparks flew, illuminating men crouched atop planes. A plane–cart drove past, hauling behind it a trailer with an entire entire on it. Past it was a series of men hauling a wing across the hanger on a long blanket, carefully moving to not trip over it or other people. Planes, bombs and guns. Hundreds of men were down here working, preparing. All the planes were in various states, some hung from the ceiling on hooks, freshly painting and looking ready to go. Others were in pieces, little more than fuselages without wings, or tails, or noses.
"Holy fuck." Cassin gasps.
"Language."
"Holy shit."
"Not better."
Walter smiles. "She's been busier than ever since the attack. Still has a bit of cosmetic damage on her port side from a near miss, but she'll be sailing again soon." He then looks around for a moment, then points a finger towards the far wall. "Captain Sebastian."
It's a quick walk over, with Cassin rubbernecking the entire time. Distracted from her dislike of Leviathan, and the fact we were moving. By the fact that we could likely fit her entire hull in this space with room to spare. I couldn't blame her, it was impressive, and damned busy besides. The Captain was a younger looking man, far younger than the Chief, I would put him at maybe thirty. He turned to look at the lot of us as we approached, and I saw his eye widen before he rather quickly ignored the man he was talking to to focus on me. "Admiral sir, I wasn't aware you were aboard."
"I know," I reply. "Finish what you were doing, this can wait."
"It was nothing sir," the Captain replies. "Just going over the maintenance plan."
"Is our maintenance plan not important?"
The Captain hesitates for a moment, "it is sir, but it's already in progress… I don't really need to be involved."
"The XO isn't involved in the day-to-day on this ship?" Cassin asks.
The Captain's eyes flit to Cassin, then to me.
"If I may," Walter says, and my attention turns to the Chief. "The Captain here has been working with the repair crews for the past few days and is just making sure things are going as they should. He also has hardly slept since the seventh."
The Captain flushes slightly, making the young man look even younger. I give him mercy, stepping forward, I offer my hand. "Admiral Stevens."
The man pauses, switches gears, then takes it. "Captain Sebastian Babler…" he replies. "You are not…"
"German, no. Yes, I've met Leviathan. Yes, I'm aware. No, you don't need to apologize for it." I reply.
The man opens his mouth, then closes it after several moments processing all that. Cassin, meanwhile for her part. Was watching as a Hellcat was pushed down the hanger, a classy pinup on Leviathan painted on its fuselage. Above us, true to what Walter was saying earlier, a section of the hanger wall was being painted a stark white, a contrast to the grey steel otherwise around. Someone else was busy above it on a ladder, stenciling in 'Kills'.
"How are the repairs coming along?" I ask.
"Rapid and well," Sebastian replies. "We only took minor damage, and the engine upgrade we were slated for has been expedited. We had been on the waitlist for some time. They're undergoing testing at the moment."
I nod. "That's good, I expect us to be underway soon. We can't start flight training until we're out of Pearl, but expect a steady rotation of pilots going in and out. They'll need all the experience they can get before we see combat."
"This is my first assignment on a carrier sir, I was on cruisers until about a month ago." Sebastian says.
I smile. "Leviathan based reassignment?"
The man nods.
"Well, that will likely end today. We're going into combat and we can expect to take losses, we can't afford to be picky. Least of all with pilots. The sirens… they move like nothing else, it takes a skilled pilot to shoot them down."
"When are we heading out anyways?" Cassin asks.
"Soon, as stated." I reply. "That's up to how the repairs go on the Leviathan, but I have our orders already." I tap my back pocket for emphasis. I had planned on going over them tonight, at dinner with the other officers. But I hadn't even had a chance to mention my plan for that with Leviathan before… that entire debacle had occurred.
Both men, Walter and Sebastian, seem to become rather interested at that. Though Sebastian also has an air of nervousness around him, it may be permanent. "The Japs? Or the Germans?" Walter asks quietly.
It wasn't the Japs, the Navy apparently had made it rather clear. Or rather, the Brits had. The Germans were landing at Dover and controlled the English Channel. It was a slow going mess of a thing, but they were pushing in now on their second attempt at a landing. The British Navy meanwhile was in port, waiting for a moment to try and clear the channel, but the sheer amount of vessels the Nazis had was staggering.
The objective was simple. Clear the channel. The US Navy coming from one direction, the Royal Navy from another. A classic pincer, but… it was more complicated than that. The Germans owned the air, and they had their Italian allies in complete control of the Mediterranean as well, and the Navy didn't much enjoy the idea of Regia Marina sneaking out to cause havoc on the flank in the midst of the attack. So a decently sized screening force was sailing to the Strait of Gibraltar, both to relieve the British force held up there, and to keep the Italians from trying anything too tricky. The rest, of course, was going to be the anvil for the British hammer.
Operation Alamo, apparently it was known as. And the war planners had been coming up with it since the first attempted German invasion. That one, at least, wasn't necessary as the Brits had thrown them back in to the channel. This time however, it was going. Along with more than half of the US Navy. If we lost Britain, we'd be in for a much longer war after all…
I produce the slip of paper from my back pocket with my good hand, folding it open. "We're going-"
—
Note regardless you'll be fighting both at one point or another, this is just how we start.
[] [To North Africa]
Fight the Italian Navy, liberate Northern Africa and save Gibraltar. Get involved in a conspiracy far beyond your station.
[] [To the English Channel]
Fight the Kriesgmarine, chase submarines, and get involved in far more politics than you have stomach for.
See who else was around, perhaps I could find my XO and Chief Petty Officer.
Thanks to @Armoury for the beta!
—
I sigh, staring at the spot Leviathan had been standing only a few moments prior. "We shall explore the ship then, find our new Chief and XO if we can. I was hoping to invite everyone to a dinner tonight, but it's rather short notice at this point and I do believe Leviathan is upset with me."
"Bitch." Cassin snarls.
"Misplaced idealism more likely," I reply. "Everyone that has ever spoken about her has remarked about her pleasantness."
"Could be putting on a kind face." Cassin remarks.
I think on that for a moment, then shake my head. "No, I don't believe so. I think she just has an idea in her head of how this should go. And I do understand her frustration, but it's not going to work, the Navy doesn't have time to entertain it."
"And if she refuses to sail?" Cassin asks, the destroyer moving up to the open windows of the bridge.
"She doesn't have a choice," I say quietly. "The navy wants its carrier, and cube can be removed from the ship if necessary."
Cassin pales slightly, her hand closing and opening repeatedly in nervousness. It wasn't something I could blame her for. For a shipgirl, it was a death. Their conciousness, their existence was held in the 'Wisdom Cube' a brilliant sapphire box contained within the vessel. They could summon their rigging when around it, and it was, in essence, their 'soul'. To remove it from their vessel is the equivalent of tearing out a man's soul and putting it in a box. It had only been done a handful of times, at the consequence of the death of the girl in question.
"Do… do you think it will-"
"No, no I do not." I reply, cutting Cassin off. "She's being foolish, but that can change. Give me time. For now, lets find the Chief."
"Oh, that's an easy one," Cassin says, pointing a finger behind me towards the door.
I turn my head, and see… a man standing there with an eagle patch on his shoulder. He wasn't a tall man, a few inches shorter than me. Bald, with no facial hair to speak up, the bit of pudge he carried was enough to give him a rather doughy face with nothing to hide it. But the wizened lines and sharp look in his eyes told me enough of the mans experience.
"Admiral." The man greets, his accent germanic like the rest. "Chief Petty Officer Walter Klein, I heard you were aboard."
"You heard correctly," I then offer a hand forward. "How'd you find me?"
The man takes it and shakes it, his grip firm. "The pilots on the deck were talking about your arrival, and I was told to expect the CO to come aboard today." He then looks past me towards Cassin curiously.
"DD-372, Cassin," Cassin says. "His previous… and more pleasant command."
Walter adopts a confused and mildly insulted look, and I speak up before he can ask. "We met Leviathan."
"... Ah." Walter replies. "Unless you happen to have changed your name…"
"I'm Irish-American." I reply.
"My apologies Admiral, she's rather deadset on this idea." Walter says after a few moments.
I shrug my shoulders. "She's entitled to her ideals, but that isn't how things are going to go." I then tilt my head slightly, "immigrant, or born here if I may ask?"
Walter straightens up a bit. "Born here sir, family came here a good decade before the war."
"How long you been aboard?"
"Leviathan?" Walter asks.
I nod.
"Two years, I was serving on the Chattanooga when I was reassigned here, before that I was on the Langley and the Yorktown."
"Good, you have carrier experience, and a long career. How's the crew?"
"Motivated sir, very motivated. A group of them is whitewashing a wall in the hanger now to make space for kill-markers."
"All of Pearl is motivated at the moment," I reply, not that I'm disinterested myself. My ship and crew made it out okay, but my home had been bombed and good men had died. "I still need to find my XO, any idea where he might be?"
"Last I saw him he was in the hanger helping get things moved around," Walter replies.
"Would you mind leading me there then?" I ask.
—
It's a quick trip back through the two bridges below me, then out the 'backdoor' of the tower and onto the gunwell. It was one of two that were on either side of the bridge, a large metal platform that jutted off the side, covered with anti-aircraft guns, with a small railing to keep sailors from tumbling off the side and into the water. It was… different, than the Cassin, who kept all her guns on the ship itself, but the pilots might well complain if there was a Bofors gun in the middle of the runway. Regardless, the gunwell was lower than the deck itself, and mostly hidden from view, to the point where now I can see there actually are men about, besides those two pilots I saw earlier.
Clangs, hammering, drilling, and general work abounded. Men were taking apart the guns or putting them back together. Cleaning, oiling, repairing, replacing, every battery, every firing position, every nut and bolt. There wasn't a single piece of machinery on the gunwell that wasn't in active work by someone. Quad-mounts swung, .50s pivoted, and men worked. Few noticed my presence, so busy in their task, those that did simply moved out of the way, too busy for anything else. Curses in German, conversation in English, and the sound of machinery and handtools create a cacophony that was familiar. But it all paled in comparison as Walter, Cassin and I stepped into the hanger.
Before there was noise.
Now there was noise.
Bells rung, engines fired, and the ship lived. I stepped into a large space, open and bright with the hanger doors open. Allowing sunlight to pour into the hanger, complimenting the lighting coming from above and revealing a shop floor roughly the length of the entire ship. Sparks flew, illuminating men crouched atop planes. A plane–cart drove past, hauling behind it a trailer with an entire entire on it. Past it was a series of men hauling a wing across the hanger on a long blanket, carefully moving to not trip over it or other people. Planes, bombs and guns. Hundreds of men were down here working, preparing. All the planes were in various states, some hung from the ceiling on hooks, freshly painting and looking ready to go. Others were in pieces, little more than fuselages without wings, or tails, or noses.
"Holy fuck." Cassin gasps.
"Language."
"Holy shit."
"Not better."
Walter smiles. "She's been busier than ever since the attack. Still has a bit of cosmetic damage on her port side from a near miss, but she'll be sailing again soon." He then looks around for a moment, then points a finger towards the far wall. "Captain Sebastian."
It's a quick walk over, with Cassin rubbernecking the entire time. Distracted from her dislike of Leviathan, and the fact we were moving. By the fact that we could likely fit her entire hull in this space with room to spare. I couldn't blame her, it was impressive, and damned busy besides. The Captain was a younger looking man, far younger than the Chief, I would put him at maybe thirty. He turned to look at the lot of us as we approached, and I saw his eye widen before he rather quickly ignored the man he was talking to to focus on me. "Admiral sir, I wasn't aware you were aboard."
"I know," I reply. "Finish what you were doing, this can wait."
"It was nothing sir," the Captain replies. "Just going over the maintenance plan."
"Is our maintenance plan not important?"
The Captain hesitates for a moment, "it is sir, but it's already in progress… I don't really need to be involved."
"The XO isn't involved in the day-to-day on this ship?" Cassin asks.
The Captain's eyes flit to Cassin, then to me.
"If I may," Walter says, and my attention turns to the Chief. "The Captain here has been working with the repair crews for the past few days and is just making sure things are going as they should. He also has hardly slept since the seventh."
The Captain flushes slightly, making the young man look even younger. I give him mercy, stepping forward, I offer my hand. "Admiral Stevens."
The man pauses, switches gears, then takes it. "Captain Sebastian Babler…" he replies. "You are not…"
"German, no. Yes, I've met Leviathan. Yes, I'm aware. No, you don't need to apologize for it." I reply.
The man opens his mouth, then closes it after several moments processing all that. Cassin, meanwhile for her part. Was watching as a Hellcat was pushed down the hanger, a classy pinup on Leviathan painted on its fuselage. Above us, true to what Walter was saying earlier, a section of the hanger wall was being painted a stark white, a contrast to the grey steel otherwise around. Someone else was busy above it on a ladder, stenciling in 'Kills'.
"How are the repairs coming along?" I ask.
"Rapid and well," Sebastian replies. "We only took minor damage, and the engine upgrade we were slated for has been expedited. We had been on the waitlist for some time. They're undergoing testing at the moment."
I nod. "That's good, I expect us to be underway soon. We can't start flight training until we're out of Pearl, but expect a steady rotation of pilots going in and out. They'll need all the experience they can get before we see combat."
"This is my first assignment on a carrier sir, I was on cruisers until about a month ago." Sebastian says.
I smile. "Leviathan based reassignment?"
The man nods.
"Well, that will likely end today. We're going into combat and we can expect to take losses, we can't afford to be picky. Least of all with pilots. The sirens… they move like nothing else, it takes a skilled pilot to shoot them down."
"When are we heading out anyways?" Cassin asks.
"Soon, as stated." I reply. "That's up to how the repairs go on the Leviathan, but I have our orders already." I tap my back pocket for emphasis. I had planned on going over them tonight, at dinner with the other officers. But I hadn't even had a chance to mention my plan for that with Leviathan before… that entire debacle had occurred.
Both men, Walter and Sebastian, seem to become rather interested at that. Though Sebastian also has an air of nervousness around him, it may be permanent. "The Japs? Or the Germans?" Walter asks quietly.
It wasn't the Japs, the Navy apparently had made it rather clear. Or rather, the Brits had. The Germans were landing at Dover and controlled the English Channel. It was a slow going mess of a thing, but they were pushing in now on their second attempt at a landing. The British Navy meanwhile was in port, waiting for a moment to try and clear the channel, but the sheer amount of vessels the Nazis had was staggering.
The objective was simple. Clear the channel. The US Navy coming from one direction, the Royal Navy from another. A classic pincer, but… it was more complicated than that. The Germans owned the air, and they had their Italian allies in complete control of the Mediterranean as well, and the Navy didn't much enjoy the idea of Regia Marina sneaking out to cause havoc on the flank in the midst of the attack. So a decently sized screening force was sailing to the Strait of Gibraltar, both to relieve the British force held up there, and to keep the Italians from trying anything too tricky. The rest, of course, was going to be the anvil for the British hammer.
Operation Alamo, apparently it was known as. And the war planners had been coming up with it since the first attempted German invasion. That one, at least, wasn't necessary as the Brits had thrown them back in to the channel. This time however, it was going. Along with more than half of the US Navy. If we lost Britain, we'd be in for a much longer war after all…
I produce the slip of paper from my back pocket with my good hand, folding it open. "We're going-"
—
Note regardless you'll be fighting both at one point or another, this is just how we start.
[] [To North Africa]
Fight the Italian Navy, liberate Northern Africa and save Gibraltar. Get involved in a conspiracy far beyond your station.
[] [To the English Channel]
Fight the Kriesgmarine, chase submarines, and get involved in far more politics than you have stomach for.
Last edited:
1.75 - Executive Order 9066
Erien
God's Weakest Soldier
- Location
- Georgia
- Pronouns
- He/Him
*In the Presidential Study*
---
"Sir, the naval landings off of Oahu have been confirmed. The remains have been brought to the labs, but there are heavy reports of civilian casualties as well."
Landon moved his hands to rub his eyes, he hadn't slept in a day… he hadn't been sleeping much in general since December. "How many?"
The general placed a piece of paper on the desk, and Landon looked at it briefly before looking out the window toward the garden. "We only found out about this now?"
"The sirens were still active until late last week sir, and the civilians had armed themselves to join the fighting. The marines reported on them rather favorably for Japs."
The hand returned to his forehead, and with a groan, Landon pushed himself up from his chair to make his way over to the large desk resting against the window itself. Four hundred dead civilians, mixed with several dozen dead marines from the USS Lafayette. Upon the sirens landing the local population… which was mainly Japanese armed itself and took to fighting them off house to house until the army could be roused. Since then they had refused to pull out, doing sweeps and picking off stragglers.
"Order the army to get the civilians out of there, we don't know if the sirens left any traps behind. Then get them housed, they are American citizens, and they are the first of possibly many to suffer from attacks from ground forces on our soil."
"Sir?"
Landon turned around, leaning back against the desk. A piece of paper was held in his hand, left there earlier for him to sign. 'Executive Order 9066', with an application of force the paper crumpled in his hand and he tossed it aside. "Our enemy is the sirens, and the Japanese they control. This extends to the Nazis, the Italians, and anyone else they have gotten their alien hands on. But we are not at war with our citizens. I will not hear anything more from the military regarding this."
… "Yes sir."
---
Actual chapter next week.
---
"Sir, the naval landings off of Oahu have been confirmed. The remains have been brought to the labs, but there are heavy reports of civilian casualties as well."
Landon moved his hands to rub his eyes, he hadn't slept in a day… he hadn't been sleeping much in general since December. "How many?"
The general placed a piece of paper on the desk, and Landon looked at it briefly before looking out the window toward the garden. "We only found out about this now?"
"The sirens were still active until late last week sir, and the civilians had armed themselves to join the fighting. The marines reported on them rather favorably for Japs."
The hand returned to his forehead, and with a groan, Landon pushed himself up from his chair to make his way over to the large desk resting against the window itself. Four hundred dead civilians, mixed with several dozen dead marines from the USS Lafayette. Upon the sirens landing the local population… which was mainly Japanese armed itself and took to fighting them off house to house until the army could be roused. Since then they had refused to pull out, doing sweeps and picking off stragglers.
"Order the army to get the civilians out of there, we don't know if the sirens left any traps behind. Then get them housed, they are American citizens, and they are the first of possibly many to suffer from attacks from ground forces on our soil."
"Sir?"
Landon turned around, leaning back against the desk. A piece of paper was held in his hand, left there earlier for him to sign. 'Executive Order 9066', with an application of force the paper crumpled in his hand and he tossed it aside. "Our enemy is the sirens, and the Japanese they control. This extends to the Nazis, the Italians, and anyone else they have gotten their alien hands on. But we are not at war with our citizens. I will not hear anything more from the military regarding this."
… "Yes sir."
---
Actual chapter next week.
1.8 - Confrontations
Erien
God's Weakest Soldier
- Location
- Georgia
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[To North Africa] Fight the Italian Navy, liberate Northern Africa and save Gibraltar. Get involved in a conspiracy far beyond your station.
Thanks to @Armoury for the beta!
—
"We're going to the Strait of Gibraltar, I can't say more than that, at least, not with this many ears around and while we are still in port," I say quietly.
I am the only one who is quiet, as Cassin audibly groans. "Gibraltar!? Come on, the Regia Marina girls always cared more about food and wine than fighting shit. They hardly ever came out with us to fight the si-"
I look at Cassin, and her jaw clicks shut. "Lower your voice or I shall have you removed from this vessel Cassin. We have our orders, which need to be kept quiet until we are underway."
"Are we… relieving the rock?" Sebastian asks.
"Possibly," I reply. "I don't have anything more than basic orders myself. We'll be sailing out to meet with the rest of our…" I pause. "My task group in time, then we'll be on our way."
"Leviathan's not happy," Walter mutters.
"I'm aware."
"She's standing right behind you Admiral," Walter continues.
I close my eyes for a few moments, centering myself. Then I turn around to see Leviathan again, she's standing no more than a few feet away. Her blonde hair was glowing in the golden lights granted by the carrier's electrics above, and her red dress gleamed with every motion, glinting with every distant spark of a welder's torch. She was beautiful, but the frown on her face, and the crossed arms made all of that rather easy to ignore.
"We aren't fighting the Nazis?" Leviathan hisses.
…
Right. I look past her towards the aft elevator, it was empty at the moment, barring some toolboxes laid out, and one of the new HRP Rescuer helicopters. "There, we'll speak there."
The group, with various levels of anger, annoyance, confusion and hesitance makes its way over, and I look over the helicopter for a moment before casting my gaze towards the blue sky above.
"The… the heck is that thing?" Cassin asks, no longer glaring at Leviathan, instead now wholly transfixed by the twin rotored beast now standing between us and the hanger.
"It's like a P-38 fucked a submarine."
"Cassin, please."
"A banana had a midlife crisis."
"Cassin."
"Something new," Leviathan replies, steering the conversation away from the helicopter, but not removing her gaze from me. "To rescue downed pilots and spot submarines. Now, Admiral. Explain."
"A large chunk of the US Navy is heading to the English Channel in order to defeat the German fleet there and relieve the attack on Dover. We, along with several other task groups will be heading to the Strait of Gibraltar, both to relieve that island, and to screen that body of water from Italian and German flanking maneuvers. We'll be dealing with the Kriegsmarine regardless, I assure you. But for this, we will likely be dealing with the Regia Marina."
I meet the carrier eye to eye. "Someone has to protect the fleet, that's us."
"I want to fight the Nazis, not the Italians," Leviathan says, her voice calm and cool, but with a hint of a threat behind it, like a tiger watching, but not pouncing.
"I… kinda don't want to either, but I'll follow the orders of the Navy."
Leviathan's gaze shifts to Cassin. "I will not. My crew is here to fight the Nazis, I'm ready to fight the Nazis."
I draw in a breath, controlling my temper. I understand her drive, I really did. I could only imagine her anger at what had been occurring in Europe since 1939. But... "We have our orders, I cannot, and will not supersede them. We will fight the Nazis, we will fight the Italians, and with any luck we'll fight the Japanese too. But right now, right here? The Navy needs us to focus on Gibraltar."
Leviathan loses all subtlety, glaring at me in pure disgust. I see Sebastian, the young captan stepping back nervously in the corner of my eye. Shooting glances to Walter in concern as he does so. I pay him little attention, instead, I meet the gaze of Leviathan. If she wanted, she could rip me limb from limb and toss me across this harbor.
"You are a coward," Leviathan hisses. "You are running from the main battle."
I stare at her, I stare at her for a good long while. Saying nothing, my gaze unwavering. I don't blink, I don't say anything. Leviathan finally wavers after a half minute, glancing away.
I raise my right arm. The sleeve falls away, revealing a white, bandaged, stump. "I would dearly love to get back at the Japanese for killing several of my friends and taking my hand from me. I would like to get back at the Nazis for bombing the city I grew up in. But, Leviathan, I have a job to do. I have a nation to support. And the nation has a war to win. I am only a small part of that, so are you. You can follow orders, or you can simply be removed from this equation like any other mutinous sailor."
I lower the arm. "You will never speak to me like that again, I am an Admiral of the United States Navy and commander of this vessel. You may hold my rank through common courtesy and administrative ease, but I remain, am, and will be, in command of you."
Leviathan opens her mouth to respond, or retort, frankly, I don't care.
"Sailor, you are dismissed."
The carrier's mouth shuts, and she disappears from sight, glaring. I stare at the spot she vacated for several moments, then raise my remaining hand to rub at my brow. I felt a headache coming on, "would someone kindly lead me to my quarters?"
"Did you just stare down a fucking carrier?" Cassin asks.
"Language, Cassin. For the love of all that is good in this world, language."
—
Walter is kind enough to give me a cup of coffee and show me to my quarters. The coffee was surprisingly nice, especially given the standards I was living with until now. The quarters were also nice, too nice, in fact.
"This is amazing!" Cassin cries out.
Amazing, to be astonishing. Astonishing, to be greatly surprised. It is an accurate assessment. My in-port cabin on the Cassin was a simple thing, a room, roughly the size of a broom closet with dreams for the future. It contained a bed, a sink, a closet, and a very small pullout desk. It was my home for several years, though not frequently, with how much I had been at sea I had used the smaller, sea-cabin far more often. This room, meanwhile, is a palace masquerading as an officer's quarters. The room is split in half, with a central dividing wall in the center, placed horizontally separating the 'office' from the 'bedroom', a setup I have never seen before in my career. Upon it is the Stars and Bars, which is just about the only thing I recognize. In front of it sat a long and dark wooden desk, upon which sat a typewriter and several neat stacks of paper. Underneath it, and covering the entire room, is a deep azure carpet, soft and plush with no single stain or mark. The walls to either side were flush with couches and chairs, with small end tables with checkers and chess sets, between which lay a porthole to look out over Pearl.
Beyond the wall lies the bedroom, and it is somehow more egregious. A very large bed sits against the far wall, with a bedspread stretched across it, larger than my entire previous quarters, emblazoned with a golden anchor. There is an ensuite bathroom, two closets, a writing desk, several lounge chairs, a wine rack… a full wine rack.
"This is… much." I finally say, taking it all in. "It appears this room hasn't changed much from when she was a liner."
"If you don't like it, can I have it?" Cassin asks, moving to sit on the bed.
"You have your own quarters, on your own vessel, so no," I reply.
"Spoooilsport." Cassin
—
It is quite a sight, to see the large carrier leaving the port. It is an interesting sight from a destroyer, yet it is even more impressive from the bridge. A dozen planes were tied down on the aft deck, their metal glinting in the morning sun, each decorated by a simple white cross on their tail to designate their home carrier being the USS Leviathan. It was 0600, and the sun was only just rising over Pearl, but it was busy, even now two weeks after the attack. In truth, Pearl was always busy, but this was different.
Repairs were underway, distant sparks shone from torches working along the port. Tugs moved about, barges moved metal and parts. But it paused, if only briefly as the Leviathan went through the channel. Men stood upon decks and docks, watching in silence as the behemoth floated by, she still had her scars from Pearl, minor though they were compared to the other carriers. Leviathan was standing next to you, arms crossed under her bust as she guided the ship out of the harbor. A nice quirk of shipgirls was, due to them being the ship, they knew where they were at all times and what was around them… though to a very limited extent for the latter. It meant, regardless, that the job of a pilot when it came to docking or leaving port was unnecessary as long as a shipgirl was in charge. Her face spoke of concentration, and the bridge was completely silent as she worked.
That was unusual. The shipgirl could manage without her crew just fine, if less efficiently, the silence was more because Leviathan and myself were still not on speaking terms. It had been some time since my 'encounter' with her in the hanger, and since then there hadn't been a single word spoken between us.
… At least she hasn't blown her boilers.
Ahead of us was the Cassin steaming along, 'screening' the carrier as the two ships came out of port. Then I heard it, the first shout, followed by another, then another. The shouts are indistinct. But the cheers that followed later were anything but. Men lean over railings, waving hats as the carrier moves out of the port.
I smile. So does Leviathan, however briefly.
Just a few miles west to meet up with the convoy, then it was off to Panama. From there, Norfolk. From there, Europe.
—
Eight days later.
—
Thirty-some-odd destroyers, twelve cruisers, three battleships, and one carrier. That was the force complement that had just finished squeezing itself through the Panama Canal and was now steaming into the Caribbean. Of them, only Cassin was part of 'my' task group, the rest I was to be meeting with in Norfolk. Who, exactly, is still being decided. In any case, the trip so far has been thankfully uneventful, there had been fears of Japanese submarines along the way to Panama, but while they had been present, they had all been well to the west of Pearl. And that is… something I was trying to keep out of my mind.
As much as Leviathan wishes to take the fight to the Germans, I wish to take the fight to the Japanese. But I have my orders. As did she for that matter. Leviathan herself was currently down on the flightdeck, speaking to one of the many pilots I have yet to learn the name of. She said 'good morning' to me when I arrived at the bridge this morning. Which I consider a notable improvement in German-Irish relations. That, of course, had been the only words between the two of us. But one takes what joys one can find in the Navy. The roar of an engine sounds, and I look down as a pilot guns the engine, his head and arm over the side of the cockpit to shout down at an engineer below. Ever since the Carrier had left Pearl I had put the crew on 0600 to 1800 flight training. As long as there was light, they were working, taking off, landing, chasing target dummies, and dropping dye bombs.
Quite a few were experienced already, flyers from the First World War. Such things happened when one deliberately hunted out German pilots. The rest however were learning well enough, at least that's what I could see with my eyes and what my chiefs were telling me. It was going to be another week to Norfolk, and I was going to have them as ready as they could be before…
Well.
I didn't really know what to expect at this point. Carriers didn't go siren hunting, they were too big of targets, and where the hunting had to happen the weather was anything but predictable. I sigh, then lean back from the window I had been leaning against. It was 1830, the sun was set already, and the only lights around were dim hooded things set about the flightdeck so the mechanics could work above for a short while longer.
I turn my head to look about the bridge, the crew is fitting in nicely, even if sometimes I get rather lost in the accents. Sebastian, my XO, is talking amicably to the radioman about the Cincinnati Reds. I am starting to get to know the man, but much to my shame, I haven't had much of a chance to meet my officers with how busy things have been. The ship was running well enough, and I would like to schedule a dinner once we are with the rest of the task group at least.
My eyes slip over to Cassin. The shipgirl is sitting on one of the chart tables behind the bridge. She hasn't bothered to actually stay on the Cassin, instead choosing to hang around with me instead. It wasn't something that particularly bothered me, I trusted Jones in running the ship. And, frankly, it was good to have a friend on the vessel. Leviathan was still pouting.
"Good to be back in the Carribean Cassin?"
The destroyer shrugs. "I'm not looking forward to those Atlantic storms," she then turns her head to look out the paneless window. "Good to be near the States again though."
I smile, then open my mouth to speak.
It is then that the night becomes day.
A brilliant flash illuminates the landscape as a fireball erupts from the USS Honolulu just in front of us. A loud crack and bang sounds out, and I watch in confusion and horror as an explosion of water erupts around the vessel. Silence fills the bridge for a moment, then men are moving.
"Tuscaloosa is firing flares!" a voice shouts. "So's Lafayette!" comes another.
"Sebastian, sound general quarters."
"General quarters, aye sir!"
A stomp of feet, a shrill whistle, and men are running on the deck if they weren't already. Cassin is gone, returning to her vessel as spotlights crank on around her hull.
"Torpedo in the water, starboard side!" a watchman shouts.
I jerk my head, but all I can see is the form of Leviathan, standing on the bridge wing where only moments ago there was nothing. The ship careens in the water, turning sharply to Starboard. My hand stabs out, grabbing onto the windowsill for balance as we turn. Then, I see it, a white streak churning through the water, passing by our hull by a mere dozen yards. Men shout, tumbling on the gundeck from the sudden yanking turn. But it's better than a hit by a torpedo to the bow.
Another flash from further ahead in the column, and another ship is illuminated, one I cannot immediately recognize in the chaos. Then the guns on the Cassin open up, firing to starboard, flares launching on parachutes as she pummels the water five hundred yards to starboard. There, illuminated by the tracers and slowly coming into the light of her flares I can see the form of a submarine sailing parallel to the formation, diving down into the water as fast as she can go.
"Admiral, orders?" Leviathan asks, the shipgirl turning her head towards me.
…
—
So it begins. The situation is as follows, it is early night, and the Leviathan is in a warship convoy heading north. There are no reinforcements nearby. The convoy numbers roughly fifty vessels, and she is the only carrier present. They are under attack by an unknown number of submarines, she is currently sailing into the wind and cannot launch her planes, to do so she will need to leave the convoy, but can take Cassin with her. Or, she can remain in the convoy, trusting on the vessels around her for protection.
[] [Send up the Planes]
Turn into the wind, load the depth charges. The ship will be leaving the convoy, however briefly. But the planes will be an asset for spotting, and hunting the submarines.
[] [Keep with the Convoy]
Evasive maneuvers, stick with the group. Let the destroyers do their work.
Thanks to @Armoury for the beta!
—
"We're going to the Strait of Gibraltar, I can't say more than that, at least, not with this many ears around and while we are still in port," I say quietly.
I am the only one who is quiet, as Cassin audibly groans. "Gibraltar!? Come on, the Regia Marina girls always cared more about food and wine than fighting shit. They hardly ever came out with us to fight the si-"
I look at Cassin, and her jaw clicks shut. "Lower your voice or I shall have you removed from this vessel Cassin. We have our orders, which need to be kept quiet until we are underway."
"Are we… relieving the rock?" Sebastian asks.
"Possibly," I reply. "I don't have anything more than basic orders myself. We'll be sailing out to meet with the rest of our…" I pause. "My task group in time, then we'll be on our way."
"Leviathan's not happy," Walter mutters.
"I'm aware."
"She's standing right behind you Admiral," Walter continues.
I close my eyes for a few moments, centering myself. Then I turn around to see Leviathan again, she's standing no more than a few feet away. Her blonde hair was glowing in the golden lights granted by the carrier's electrics above, and her red dress gleamed with every motion, glinting with every distant spark of a welder's torch. She was beautiful, but the frown on her face, and the crossed arms made all of that rather easy to ignore.
"We aren't fighting the Nazis?" Leviathan hisses.
…
Right. I look past her towards the aft elevator, it was empty at the moment, barring some toolboxes laid out, and one of the new HRP Rescuer helicopters. "There, we'll speak there."
The group, with various levels of anger, annoyance, confusion and hesitance makes its way over, and I look over the helicopter for a moment before casting my gaze towards the blue sky above.
"The… the heck is that thing?" Cassin asks, no longer glaring at Leviathan, instead now wholly transfixed by the twin rotored beast now standing between us and the hanger.
"It's like a P-38 fucked a submarine."
"Cassin, please."
"A banana had a midlife crisis."
"Cassin."
"Something new," Leviathan replies, steering the conversation away from the helicopter, but not removing her gaze from me. "To rescue downed pilots and spot submarines. Now, Admiral. Explain."
"A large chunk of the US Navy is heading to the English Channel in order to defeat the German fleet there and relieve the attack on Dover. We, along with several other task groups will be heading to the Strait of Gibraltar, both to relieve that island, and to screen that body of water from Italian and German flanking maneuvers. We'll be dealing with the Kriegsmarine regardless, I assure you. But for this, we will likely be dealing with the Regia Marina."
I meet the carrier eye to eye. "Someone has to protect the fleet, that's us."
"I want to fight the Nazis, not the Italians," Leviathan says, her voice calm and cool, but with a hint of a threat behind it, like a tiger watching, but not pouncing.
"I… kinda don't want to either, but I'll follow the orders of the Navy."
Leviathan's gaze shifts to Cassin. "I will not. My crew is here to fight the Nazis, I'm ready to fight the Nazis."
I draw in a breath, controlling my temper. I understand her drive, I really did. I could only imagine her anger at what had been occurring in Europe since 1939. But... "We have our orders, I cannot, and will not supersede them. We will fight the Nazis, we will fight the Italians, and with any luck we'll fight the Japanese too. But right now, right here? The Navy needs us to focus on Gibraltar."
Leviathan loses all subtlety, glaring at me in pure disgust. I see Sebastian, the young captan stepping back nervously in the corner of my eye. Shooting glances to Walter in concern as he does so. I pay him little attention, instead, I meet the gaze of Leviathan. If she wanted, she could rip me limb from limb and toss me across this harbor.
"You are a coward," Leviathan hisses. "You are running from the main battle."
I stare at her, I stare at her for a good long while. Saying nothing, my gaze unwavering. I don't blink, I don't say anything. Leviathan finally wavers after a half minute, glancing away.
I raise my right arm. The sleeve falls away, revealing a white, bandaged, stump. "I would dearly love to get back at the Japanese for killing several of my friends and taking my hand from me. I would like to get back at the Nazis for bombing the city I grew up in. But, Leviathan, I have a job to do. I have a nation to support. And the nation has a war to win. I am only a small part of that, so are you. You can follow orders, or you can simply be removed from this equation like any other mutinous sailor."
I lower the arm. "You will never speak to me like that again, I am an Admiral of the United States Navy and commander of this vessel. You may hold my rank through common courtesy and administrative ease, but I remain, am, and will be, in command of you."
Leviathan opens her mouth to respond, or retort, frankly, I don't care.
"Sailor, you are dismissed."
The carrier's mouth shuts, and she disappears from sight, glaring. I stare at the spot she vacated for several moments, then raise my remaining hand to rub at my brow. I felt a headache coming on, "would someone kindly lead me to my quarters?"
"Did you just stare down a fucking carrier?" Cassin asks.
"Language, Cassin. For the love of all that is good in this world, language."
—
Walter is kind enough to give me a cup of coffee and show me to my quarters. The coffee was surprisingly nice, especially given the standards I was living with until now. The quarters were also nice, too nice, in fact.
"This is amazing!" Cassin cries out.
Amazing, to be astonishing. Astonishing, to be greatly surprised. It is an accurate assessment. My in-port cabin on the Cassin was a simple thing, a room, roughly the size of a broom closet with dreams for the future. It contained a bed, a sink, a closet, and a very small pullout desk. It was my home for several years, though not frequently, with how much I had been at sea I had used the smaller, sea-cabin far more often. This room, meanwhile, is a palace masquerading as an officer's quarters. The room is split in half, with a central dividing wall in the center, placed horizontally separating the 'office' from the 'bedroom', a setup I have never seen before in my career. Upon it is the Stars and Bars, which is just about the only thing I recognize. In front of it sat a long and dark wooden desk, upon which sat a typewriter and several neat stacks of paper. Underneath it, and covering the entire room, is a deep azure carpet, soft and plush with no single stain or mark. The walls to either side were flush with couches and chairs, with small end tables with checkers and chess sets, between which lay a porthole to look out over Pearl.
Beyond the wall lies the bedroom, and it is somehow more egregious. A very large bed sits against the far wall, with a bedspread stretched across it, larger than my entire previous quarters, emblazoned with a golden anchor. There is an ensuite bathroom, two closets, a writing desk, several lounge chairs, a wine rack… a full wine rack.
"This is… much." I finally say, taking it all in. "It appears this room hasn't changed much from when she was a liner."
"If you don't like it, can I have it?" Cassin asks, moving to sit on the bed.
"You have your own quarters, on your own vessel, so no," I reply.
"Spoooilsport." Cassin
—
It is quite a sight, to see the large carrier leaving the port. It is an interesting sight from a destroyer, yet it is even more impressive from the bridge. A dozen planes were tied down on the aft deck, their metal glinting in the morning sun, each decorated by a simple white cross on their tail to designate their home carrier being the USS Leviathan. It was 0600, and the sun was only just rising over Pearl, but it was busy, even now two weeks after the attack. In truth, Pearl was always busy, but this was different.
Repairs were underway, distant sparks shone from torches working along the port. Tugs moved about, barges moved metal and parts. But it paused, if only briefly as the Leviathan went through the channel. Men stood upon decks and docks, watching in silence as the behemoth floated by, she still had her scars from Pearl, minor though they were compared to the other carriers. Leviathan was standing next to you, arms crossed under her bust as she guided the ship out of the harbor. A nice quirk of shipgirls was, due to them being the ship, they knew where they were at all times and what was around them… though to a very limited extent for the latter. It meant, regardless, that the job of a pilot when it came to docking or leaving port was unnecessary as long as a shipgirl was in charge. Her face spoke of concentration, and the bridge was completely silent as she worked.
That was unusual. The shipgirl could manage without her crew just fine, if less efficiently, the silence was more because Leviathan and myself were still not on speaking terms. It had been some time since my 'encounter' with her in the hanger, and since then there hadn't been a single word spoken between us.
… At least she hasn't blown her boilers.
Ahead of us was the Cassin steaming along, 'screening' the carrier as the two ships came out of port. Then I heard it, the first shout, followed by another, then another. The shouts are indistinct. But the cheers that followed later were anything but. Men lean over railings, waving hats as the carrier moves out of the port.
I smile. So does Leviathan, however briefly.
Just a few miles west to meet up with the convoy, then it was off to Panama. From there, Norfolk. From there, Europe.
—
Eight days later.
—
Thirty-some-odd destroyers, twelve cruisers, three battleships, and one carrier. That was the force complement that had just finished squeezing itself through the Panama Canal and was now steaming into the Caribbean. Of them, only Cassin was part of 'my' task group, the rest I was to be meeting with in Norfolk. Who, exactly, is still being decided. In any case, the trip so far has been thankfully uneventful, there had been fears of Japanese submarines along the way to Panama, but while they had been present, they had all been well to the west of Pearl. And that is… something I was trying to keep out of my mind.
As much as Leviathan wishes to take the fight to the Germans, I wish to take the fight to the Japanese. But I have my orders. As did she for that matter. Leviathan herself was currently down on the flightdeck, speaking to one of the many pilots I have yet to learn the name of. She said 'good morning' to me when I arrived at the bridge this morning. Which I consider a notable improvement in German-Irish relations. That, of course, had been the only words between the two of us. But one takes what joys one can find in the Navy. The roar of an engine sounds, and I look down as a pilot guns the engine, his head and arm over the side of the cockpit to shout down at an engineer below. Ever since the Carrier had left Pearl I had put the crew on 0600 to 1800 flight training. As long as there was light, they were working, taking off, landing, chasing target dummies, and dropping dye bombs.
Quite a few were experienced already, flyers from the First World War. Such things happened when one deliberately hunted out German pilots. The rest however were learning well enough, at least that's what I could see with my eyes and what my chiefs were telling me. It was going to be another week to Norfolk, and I was going to have them as ready as they could be before…
Well.
I didn't really know what to expect at this point. Carriers didn't go siren hunting, they were too big of targets, and where the hunting had to happen the weather was anything but predictable. I sigh, then lean back from the window I had been leaning against. It was 1830, the sun was set already, and the only lights around were dim hooded things set about the flightdeck so the mechanics could work above for a short while longer.
I turn my head to look about the bridge, the crew is fitting in nicely, even if sometimes I get rather lost in the accents. Sebastian, my XO, is talking amicably to the radioman about the Cincinnati Reds. I am starting to get to know the man, but much to my shame, I haven't had much of a chance to meet my officers with how busy things have been. The ship was running well enough, and I would like to schedule a dinner once we are with the rest of the task group at least.
My eyes slip over to Cassin. The shipgirl is sitting on one of the chart tables behind the bridge. She hasn't bothered to actually stay on the Cassin, instead choosing to hang around with me instead. It wasn't something that particularly bothered me, I trusted Jones in running the ship. And, frankly, it was good to have a friend on the vessel. Leviathan was still pouting.
"Good to be back in the Carribean Cassin?"
The destroyer shrugs. "I'm not looking forward to those Atlantic storms," she then turns her head to look out the paneless window. "Good to be near the States again though."
I smile, then open my mouth to speak.
It is then that the night becomes day.
A brilliant flash illuminates the landscape as a fireball erupts from the USS Honolulu just in front of us. A loud crack and bang sounds out, and I watch in confusion and horror as an explosion of water erupts around the vessel. Silence fills the bridge for a moment, then men are moving.
"Tuscaloosa is firing flares!" a voice shouts. "So's Lafayette!" comes another.
"Sebastian, sound general quarters."
"General quarters, aye sir!"
A stomp of feet, a shrill whistle, and men are running on the deck if they weren't already. Cassin is gone, returning to her vessel as spotlights crank on around her hull.
"Torpedo in the water, starboard side!" a watchman shouts.
I jerk my head, but all I can see is the form of Leviathan, standing on the bridge wing where only moments ago there was nothing. The ship careens in the water, turning sharply to Starboard. My hand stabs out, grabbing onto the windowsill for balance as we turn. Then, I see it, a white streak churning through the water, passing by our hull by a mere dozen yards. Men shout, tumbling on the gundeck from the sudden yanking turn. But it's better than a hit by a torpedo to the bow.
Another flash from further ahead in the column, and another ship is illuminated, one I cannot immediately recognize in the chaos. Then the guns on the Cassin open up, firing to starboard, flares launching on parachutes as she pummels the water five hundred yards to starboard. There, illuminated by the tracers and slowly coming into the light of her flares I can see the form of a submarine sailing parallel to the formation, diving down into the water as fast as she can go.
"Admiral, orders?" Leviathan asks, the shipgirl turning her head towards me.
…
—
So it begins. The situation is as follows, it is early night, and the Leviathan is in a warship convoy heading north. There are no reinforcements nearby. The convoy numbers roughly fifty vessels, and she is the only carrier present. They are under attack by an unknown number of submarines, she is currently sailing into the wind and cannot launch her planes, to do so she will need to leave the convoy, but can take Cassin with her. Or, she can remain in the convoy, trusting on the vessels around her for protection.
[] [Send up the Planes]
Turn into the wind, load the depth charges. The ship will be leaving the convoy, however briefly. But the planes will be an asset for spotting, and hunting the submarines.
[] [Keep with the Convoy]
Evasive maneuvers, stick with the group. Let the destroyers do their work.