For Earth...And Her Colonies (KC/Halo)
- Thread starter Nicholas
- Start date
Crystalwatcher
(Verified GM)
- Location
- Limbo
This? This is fucking golden.
Richardson
CAN YOU HEAR THE PEOPLE SING?
- Location
- Yes
And on this day Harvest had a terrible, no-good, most despicable and vilely evil plan.
And the gods smiled, for it was excellent.
It probably involved riding Abyssals like bulls while hijacking their guns. Why? Because they didn't feel like doing things the easy way.
And the gods smiled, for it was excellent.
It probably involved riding Abyssals like bulls while hijacking their guns. Why? Because they didn't feel like doing things the easy way.
aledeth
The Flesh is Weak
- Pronouns
- He/Him
So... how many Abyssals were actually on the Island? Was it primarily automated Orbital Cannons/Shore Batteries and AA guns with a few Abyssals keeping watch?
- Location
- Over the hill and far away
I can't imagine they'd need that many of their shipgirl types on the island itself; the guns seem kinda like a grow-yer-own sort of creation. They're probably semisentient in their own rights.
Nicholas
No longer teaching battlethings on a battleship
- Location
- Ashore again
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Pretty much. There used to be a larger fleet there, but the Japanese smashed it during the Midway/Hawaii strike. There wasn't much time to replace fleet assets.
Mizu
Software Developer
- Location
- Victoria, Australia
would have
Wonder if similar things are a problem with Western gunmen?
Heh. The little ODST beating up stuff twenty times as big as them's never gonna get old.
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aeqnai
Nerdy Homu
- Location
- Laniakea Supercluster
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Would have run, as a matter of fact.
Mizu
Software Developer
- Location
- Victoria, Australia
...Ah. How did I miss that?
- Location
- United States
What terrorists in the Middle-East? With the massive increase in needed resources for the war-effort, and the cutting of oceanic supply lines, what makes you think the European powers haven't just parked a huge army on top of all those vital war resources? It's closer to Europe proper than Russian oil, and a hell of a lot easier to just take when they need to have ships operating in the Med anyways. Plus, it's not like most of their military has anything better to be doing.
Mizu
Software Developer
- Location
- Victoria, Australia
While some soldiers of Harvest's future performed such duties, I don't believe she was one of them. Or, uh, anyone but SPARTAN and maybe~ ODST. Beyond which, I'm doubtful such things have a 1:1 to here and now with the addition of another world-wide war to mix things up.
Infighting and hatred between groups, sure. Just not so sure that the West is a target anymore when they can't intervene due to Abyssals.
Omake: The Deadliest S.O.B. in Space (Non-Canon)
Nicholas
No longer teaching battlethings on a battleship
- Location
- Ashore again
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Someone on the SB thread asked what happened to the MAC round Harvest fired in Part 1 after it killed the Re-class, and as things tend to do on SB or SV, it kind of snowballed from there. So enjoy an omake.
-----
UNSC Harvest found herself rather impressed at the sword skills shown by the eyepatch-wearing girl facing off against snakebitch. She smiled at the sword attacks keeping it off balance, and she cheered internally as she used snakebitch's laziness against her, launching a close-range explosive attack. But she winced at the hits eyepatch took, and as snakebitch loomed over her, Harvest realized she was out of time.
She glanced at the charge on her MAC. Eighty-seven percent. It'll have to do. She shouldered the weapon, and taking notes from her compliment of ODST's and Marines, aimed at snakebitch's center mass.
Here goes everything, she thought. Please, let this be enough to get snakebitch's attention away from that ship!
She squeezed the trigger.
*POW!*
Harvest blinked, staring with her mouth half-open as the MAC round obliterated Snakebitch's upper body before continuing on into the heavens. Time seemed to pause for a brief moment, as though reality itself could hardly believe what had happened. What…the hell, Harvest thought. I only meant to distract her!
Eyepatch suddenly grit her teeth, seized her sword in her left hand, and drove it through the snake's head before it could recover from the death of its master. Panting from the exertion put on her obviously damaged state, Eyepatch collapsed back to the surface. She shook her head at the rapidly sinking form of Snakebitch, before turning and calling out to Harvest. Harvest blinked; these figures looked human, but they spoke a language Harvest was unfamiliar with.
Then again, when Harvest tried to introduce herself, it seemed like Eyepatch and her friends didn't understand her, either. Still, they seemed to offer her the chance to come along. Harvest gave a mental shrug; it wasn't like she could communicate with command on her own. Maybe following them would gain her some clues, or maybe even supplies.
As she sailed off, however, she completely forgot about the three-hundred ton ferric tungsten shell she had just fired off at thirty kilometers per second—three times the escape velocity of the gravity well she stood on.
And so the projectile sailed off into the great beyond…
---
The figures standing around the planning table scowled. At long last, they were on the cusp of victory; the San 'Shyuum Civil War was finally almost at an end. Only one thousand or so of the Reformist heretics remained. Unfortunately, said holdout had barricaded themselves inside the figure's holiest of places: the great dreadnought of the Gods.
"Do these heretics know no bounds?" one figure cried. "With their very presence they defile the sacred site. We must remove them!"
"Of course we must remove them, but how?" another figure snarled in frustration. "We cannot simply assault up the passageway—confined to a narrow entrance will only play into their hands. We shall be massacred, and they shall but laugh at us. We must make another entrance!"
"You wish to deface our most holy relic? How dare you!"
"I wish our most holy relics' return from the clutches of the unbelievers! But studiously avoiding damage at this point only plays into their hands. We must do whatever it takes to liberate it; surely a tiny bit of superficial damage would be preferable to whatever they have planned for it!"
"My fellow Stoics, please! Arguing will get us nowhere. We must come up with some plan—" The figures suddenly ceased speaking and grabbed any support they could find as the very ground shook beneath their feet.
The shaking finally subsided with a loud crack, but a great and terrific roar still filled the air around them. A guard dashed into the conference. "Hierarchs! The Relic! Hurry!"
The figures dashed outside, only to come to a screeching halt. "No…" the figures muttered in utter horror. "No! You heretical fools!"
The ship of the gods was moving. Overwhelmed with sorrow and fury, the not-quite-so Stoic San 'Shyuum could only stare as the Reformists made away with their most holy relic, slowly climbing into the heavens.
Many years later, recounting the event from their memories to the holy scribes, the figures would testify that a spear of light shot out of the clouds and impacted the dreadnought directly at the joint where one of its legs connected to the main body. The mighty ship, struck in such a suspiciously convenient unarmored spot, was gutted, crashing back down to the planet's surface in a heap of mangled metal and dead heretics.
All the while, the San 'Shyuum outside could only stare.
---
The young figure pressed his face against the protective panel that separated the small but surprisingly-heavy object from the viewing public. "I can hardly believe my eyes," the youngling spoke wondrously. "The Spear of Light! I'm looking right at the Spear of Light itself!"
The elder standing behind the youngling smiled at the joy on the younger's face. One of the benefits of working at the Shrine of the Divine Judgment was the opportunity to take one's kin to view what many pilgrims wait years for the chance to view. "Indeed, my son. That is the Spear of Light, the exact one sent by the servant of the Gods to smite the unbelievers so many years ago."
"I'm surprised…Forgive my insolence, father, but I am surprised: from the reproduction in our school's chapel, I expected it to be so much bigger."
The elder chuckled. "It is nothing to be ashamed of, my son. Many before you have said the same thing, and many after you will as well. But though small it may be, its power is undeniable. After all, the unbelievers had seized a starship used by the Gods themselves, and yet the Spear laid them low."
"For the tools you use matter little against the purpose for which you use them," the younger intoned. The elder smiled; his child's teacher may occasionally complain of his son's wandering mind, but at least the most important things were getting through. "Father, what are these? The replica at school had no inscriptions on it."
The elder leaned closer to the window, and nodded at his son's confused gaze at the hieroglyphs carved into the side of the Spear facing the window. "Those sigils are exactly what our ancestors found inscribed in the Spear so long ago." He leaned his arm over his son's shoulder, pointing at the symbols that, in a language unknown to the San 'Shyuum, read 42546754/32577309/MAC MISRIAH ARMORY. "Scholars have wondered over their meaning ever since. To this day, no one is certain of the meaning of the first two sequences, but after them you can see the name of our Savior, the wrath of the Gods made manifest."
"MAC is the Judgment of the Righteous," his son breathed. He whirled around. "Dad, I'm going to be a Scholar when I grow up, just you see! I'll finally decipher the sigils, and bring yet more of MAC's wisdom to our people!" He threw his arms around his father.
Desperately trying to disguise the tear of pride falling down his cheek, the father returned his son's hug. They stayed in their embrace for a long time. The elder cracked one eye slightly, sending a quick prayer to the Forerunners that he might live to see his son's success. In the name of your servant in our time of need, our Savior MAC, Amen.
"Um, Father?"
"Yes, my son?"
"Can…we go get something to eat?"
The elder laughed. Younglings, always requiring sustenance! He turned off the lights to the exhibit and made their way towards the exit.
"You know, son, if you want to be a Scholar, you're going to need to bring your grades up."
"Dad!" the youngling groaned.
-----
UNSC Harvest found herself rather impressed at the sword skills shown by the eyepatch-wearing girl facing off against snakebitch. She smiled at the sword attacks keeping it off balance, and she cheered internally as she used snakebitch's laziness against her, launching a close-range explosive attack. But she winced at the hits eyepatch took, and as snakebitch loomed over her, Harvest realized she was out of time.
She glanced at the charge on her MAC. Eighty-seven percent. It'll have to do. She shouldered the weapon, and taking notes from her compliment of ODST's and Marines, aimed at snakebitch's center mass.
Here goes everything, she thought. Please, let this be enough to get snakebitch's attention away from that ship!
She squeezed the trigger.
*POW!*
Harvest blinked, staring with her mouth half-open as the MAC round obliterated Snakebitch's upper body before continuing on into the heavens. Time seemed to pause for a brief moment, as though reality itself could hardly believe what had happened. What…the hell, Harvest thought. I only meant to distract her!
Eyepatch suddenly grit her teeth, seized her sword in her left hand, and drove it through the snake's head before it could recover from the death of its master. Panting from the exertion put on her obviously damaged state, Eyepatch collapsed back to the surface. She shook her head at the rapidly sinking form of Snakebitch, before turning and calling out to Harvest. Harvest blinked; these figures looked human, but they spoke a language Harvest was unfamiliar with.
Then again, when Harvest tried to introduce herself, it seemed like Eyepatch and her friends didn't understand her, either. Still, they seemed to offer her the chance to come along. Harvest gave a mental shrug; it wasn't like she could communicate with command on her own. Maybe following them would gain her some clues, or maybe even supplies.
As she sailed off, however, she completely forgot about the three-hundred ton ferric tungsten shell she had just fired off at thirty kilometers per second—three times the escape velocity of the gravity well she stood on.
And so the projectile sailed off into the great beyond…
---
The figures standing around the planning table scowled. At long last, they were on the cusp of victory; the San 'Shyuum Civil War was finally almost at an end. Only one thousand or so of the Reformist heretics remained. Unfortunately, said holdout had barricaded themselves inside the figure's holiest of places: the great dreadnought of the Gods.
"Do these heretics know no bounds?" one figure cried. "With their very presence they defile the sacred site. We must remove them!"
"Of course we must remove them, but how?" another figure snarled in frustration. "We cannot simply assault up the passageway—confined to a narrow entrance will only play into their hands. We shall be massacred, and they shall but laugh at us. We must make another entrance!"
"You wish to deface our most holy relic? How dare you!"
"I wish our most holy relics' return from the clutches of the unbelievers! But studiously avoiding damage at this point only plays into their hands. We must do whatever it takes to liberate it; surely a tiny bit of superficial damage would be preferable to whatever they have planned for it!"
"My fellow Stoics, please! Arguing will get us nowhere. We must come up with some plan—" The figures suddenly ceased speaking and grabbed any support they could find as the very ground shook beneath their feet.
The shaking finally subsided with a loud crack, but a great and terrific roar still filled the air around them. A guard dashed into the conference. "Hierarchs! The Relic! Hurry!"
The figures dashed outside, only to come to a screeching halt. "No…" the figures muttered in utter horror. "No! You heretical fools!"
The ship of the gods was moving. Overwhelmed with sorrow and fury, the not-quite-so Stoic San 'Shyuum could only stare as the Reformists made away with their most holy relic, slowly climbing into the heavens.
Many years later, recounting the event from their memories to the holy scribes, the figures would testify that a spear of light shot out of the clouds and impacted the dreadnought directly at the joint where one of its legs connected to the main body. The mighty ship, struck in such a suspiciously convenient unarmored spot, was gutted, crashing back down to the planet's surface in a heap of mangled metal and dead heretics.
All the while, the San 'Shyuum outside could only stare.
---
The young figure pressed his face against the protective panel that separated the small but surprisingly-heavy object from the viewing public. "I can hardly believe my eyes," the youngling spoke wondrously. "The Spear of Light! I'm looking right at the Spear of Light itself!"
The elder standing behind the youngling smiled at the joy on the younger's face. One of the benefits of working at the Shrine of the Divine Judgment was the opportunity to take one's kin to view what many pilgrims wait years for the chance to view. "Indeed, my son. That is the Spear of Light, the exact one sent by the servant of the Gods to smite the unbelievers so many years ago."
"I'm surprised…Forgive my insolence, father, but I am surprised: from the reproduction in our school's chapel, I expected it to be so much bigger."
The elder chuckled. "It is nothing to be ashamed of, my son. Many before you have said the same thing, and many after you will as well. But though small it may be, its power is undeniable. After all, the unbelievers had seized a starship used by the Gods themselves, and yet the Spear laid them low."
"For the tools you use matter little against the purpose for which you use them," the younger intoned. The elder smiled; his child's teacher may occasionally complain of his son's wandering mind, but at least the most important things were getting through. "Father, what are these? The replica at school had no inscriptions on it."
The elder leaned closer to the window, and nodded at his son's confused gaze at the hieroglyphs carved into the side of the Spear facing the window. "Those sigils are exactly what our ancestors found inscribed in the Spear so long ago." He leaned his arm over his son's shoulder, pointing at the symbols that, in a language unknown to the San 'Shyuum, read 42546754/32577309/MAC MISRIAH ARMORY. "Scholars have wondered over their meaning ever since. To this day, no one is certain of the meaning of the first two sequences, but after them you can see the name of our Savior, the wrath of the Gods made manifest."
"MAC is the Judgment of the Righteous," his son breathed. He whirled around. "Dad, I'm going to be a Scholar when I grow up, just you see! I'll finally decipher the sigils, and bring yet more of MAC's wisdom to our people!" He threw his arms around his father.
Desperately trying to disguise the tear of pride falling down his cheek, the father returned his son's hug. They stayed in their embrace for a long time. The elder cracked one eye slightly, sending a quick prayer to the Forerunners that he might live to see his son's success. In the name of your servant in our time of need, our Savior MAC, Amen.
"Um, Father?"
"Yes, my son?"
"Can…we go get something to eat?"
The elder laughed. Younglings, always requiring sustenance! He turned off the lights to the exhibit and made their way towards the exit.
"You know, son, if you want to be a Scholar, you're going to need to bring your grades up."
"Dad!" the youngling groaned.
Whale said:
Decim said:
Twei said:
Nicholas said:
Whale said:
Nicholas said:
Decim said:
Nicholas said:
Decim
On again, off again lurker.
- Location
- St. Louis, MO
I think I speak for everyone when I say that escalated quickly.
Crystalwatcher
(Verified GM)
- Location
- Limbo
- Location
- United States
I'll be waiting for omakes where the post-Abyssal War UNSC encounters them for the first time and they treat the human weapons as divine instruments.
Part 16: Not Dead Yet
Nicholas
No longer teaching battlethings on a battleship
- Location
- Ashore again
- Pronouns
- He/Him
A/N: Be advised, this chapter has not been betaed. My beta has a bit too much going on in his life at the moment and has asked for a break. I wish him all the best, and hope his life calms down soon!
In the meantime, I would greatly appreciate if anyone offered to be an interim beta for this story; if any of you have the time and are willing, please let me know in thread or by PM. Thank you very much in advance!
And now, on with the show!
-----
"Another op'nin', Another show!"
USS Saratoga found herself murmuring the words to that song as she sailed westwards across the Pacific. Most of the past couple weeks had been spent preparing for the big operation she and the others were now embarked on, so she had been surprised when Langley suddenly appeared in her office with theater tickets. She tried to beg off, saying (truthfully) that she really did have a lot of work she had to get done, but the coal ship-turned-aircraft carrier could be quite stubborn when she wanted to. And the worst part was that Langley could be so motherly that Saratoga couldn't bark at her for distracting her like that.
Not that Saratoga ever would bark at the mother of U.S. Naval Aviation. The only one of the pre-war American carriers not garbed like she just came from a Revolutionary War re-enactment, Langley dressed like a pioneer for good reason. And she was just so damn caring; she saw how hard Saratoga was pushing herself preparing for the upcoming operation, legitimately thought to herself that Sara needed a break, and went out and bought theater tickets. And now Saratoga was sailing into battle with that damn song stuck in her head.
"In Philly, Boston or Baltimo'!"
From what Saratoga had heard, Langley was not alone in having that effect on people. Houshou, the pioneer of Japanese naval aviation, was apparently able to step in between Kaga and Zuikaku and stop the fiercest fights just through her sheer presence. British carriers were just matronly in general in Saratoga's opinion, but she supposed Argus was motherly-matronly rather than just ornery-matronly.
Of course, one could make the argument that other "pioneering ships" felt much the same way. HMS Victory certainly seemed to be for many British ships, and as did Mikasa for the Japanese. Constitution was definitely the pioneer for any American ship, though she always gave off the "cool grandma" vibe rather than the "doting mother" feel. One thing Saratoga was sure of, however, was that she never wanted to be in a car Constitution was driving. She may have spent the centuries docked in Massachusetts, but with good reason did people whisper "The Little Old Lady from Pasadena" behind her back.
"A chance for stage folks to say hello!"
"Another op'nin' of another show!" Saratoga jumped as the girls around her roared the next line. Her cheeks glowing red, the carrier buried her face in her hands as laughter filled the formation. She hadn't been that loud, had she?
"I thought you were too old to know that play," someone commented.
"Oh shove off, you damn whippersnapper," she called out, yet more laughter breaking out at her choice of language. "And for your information, I am a ship of culture, thank you very much. Who the hell do you think I am, my sister?"
Lexington looked back and stuck her tongue out, the question and its response generating yet more laughs from the formation around. An arm suddenly wrapped around Saratoga's shoulder; "Kiss me, Kate!" Wasp called out, a grin splitting her face. Sara pouted and pretended to slap the ersatz-Yorktown, who in turn pretended to reel away from the hit.
Saratoga grinned at the mirth their exchange had created amongst the dark-blue-clad carriers around them. Though the Fast Carrier Task Force constantly and mercilessly ribbed each other, Saratoga knew the Essex-class carriers never quite felt comfortable teasing their pre-war brethren. A combination of deep respect for what they had to go through before re-enforcements could arrive and (in Enterprise's case) abiding fear of incurring their wrath, the late-war carriers always treaded on eggshells around their older comrades at first. Eventually, the late-war carriers would be persuaded to give as good as they got, but there were always unofficial 'rules' they seemed to follow when interacting with the pre-war ships. If teased, tease back. With some (Yorktown in particular), give as good as you got, but never initiate. Even when the two sets of carriers were really going at it, Saratoga could sense the tiny bit of hesitation in the late-war ships, trying to be careful not to say anything that went "over the line".
When the pre-war carriers went at each other on the other hand…then the Essexes sat back and grabbed popcorn.
"If y'all are done playing with each other," Alabama called out, not quite able to suppress the smirk on her face from the interplay, "We're gettin' close to our target."
As Lexington nodded and starting giving orders to her carrier groups, Saratoga split off for bit, Wasp and Ranger joining her. She reached up and activated the special communications bud in her ear. "This is Saratoga, checking in. We're almost in position."
"Battleship Nagato here. Likewise."
"Prince of Wales. Almost ready."
"Canberra. We're in position, ready and waiting to start the show!"
"All callsigns, UNSC Harvest. I'll be above in a couple minutes."
Saratoga smiled. She could hardly believe how close the Abyssal war was to being over. After almost six long years of fighting, the only known Abyssal base left in the world was the gigantic series of bases in the Mariana Islands. Saratoga took a deep breath. Guam. Tinian. Saipan. These were the last remnants of the threat that has infested the oceans for so long. No wonder Saratoga could not remain behind a desk in San Diego.
This operation—maybe, even, the last operation—was indeed an "all hands on deck" affair, and ship girls were approaching from all points on the compass. Nagato led the Japanese and the Russian Vladivostok garrison from the north. Prince of Wales led her Singapore garrison, coupled with the India garrison and every ocean-faring Chinese ship girl, from the west. Canberra headed the Australian contingent, reinforced by those heavier ships from Britain that were fast enough to make the journey in time, from the south. Saratoga led the United States Navy from the east, and just for good measure the space-traveling frigate, UNSC Harvest, would rain death from above.
No one expected this to be a quick fight. This was the Abyssals' last stand, and everyone knew they would give it their all. Every ship girl had received a briefing on the gigantic Abyssal encountered in the Marshalls and on Iwo Jima. Just last week one of those monsters had appeared when the Europeans assaulted a base on Jan Mayen, a small island north of Iceland and east of Greenland. Though Harvest had immediately jumped into the air and started making her way over once she heard about it on the radio, as it turned out, her help wasn't needed. Before Harvest could arrive to assist, the big guns of Britain, Germany, France, and even Russia had blasted the Abyssal into oblivion. The lesson was not lost on any of the ship girls approaching the Marianas: even without the spaceship, such a monster could be killed. You just needed a lot of gun.
Despite the hard fight obviously on the horizon, morale was high. Everyone knew victory today meant the end of the war; the end of years of struggle, pain, terror, and intense effort. No matter what resistance they faced, no matter how hard the Abyssals fought, every ship girl could see the light at the end of the tunnel, the victory almost within their grasp.
For some ship girls, it was a callback to their feelings so long ago. For others, it was a feeling they never had the chance to experience before. But for every last ship girl sailing that day, a small, insidious thought was worming its way through their minds: "I have a future!"
None of them knew what that future would be. None of them knew what challenges the world would face on the road ahead. None of them believed the future would be painless, but all of them knew that a future, any future, was far better than the alternative.
That alternative was what the Abyssals were facing now. They would fight savagely, no doubt; the day will not be won easily. The Abyssals would do their damndest to take as many ship girls with them into the night, but Saratoga knew her comrades would do their best not to join them.
This would be no 'decisive battle'; there was nothing left to decide. The ship girls of the world, of humanity, would be victorious by the end of the battle. Three Abyssal bases, no matter how large, had no chance of halting the offensive arrayed at it. They could make it bloody, they could make it hard, they could make it take a long time. But, no matter how hard, how long, how bloody, at the end, humanity would stand victorious.
Ranger clapped slowly when Saratoga stopped talking at last, a smirk on her face. Saratoga returned with a playful glare. "Oh, hush," the convert complained. "You try coming up with an inspirational speech for the end of a war."
Ranger opened her mouth to respond, only to be cut off when the radio picked up again. "What she said," Canberra injected, "But when all this is over, no matter how whatever they make it, we. Will. Party!" Saratoga laughed as cheers exploded over the radio, the yelling from the Fast Carrier Task Force probably loud enough for the Abyssals to hear. "Let's go get 'em, girls!"
Saratoga grinned as the Big Blue Fleet, on her sister's orders, leveled their rifles at the horizon. Watching the horizon disappear in the billowing clouds of black powder smoke, Saratoga's grin stayed on her face, only faltering a little when her traitorous brain restarted the song it was stuck on this morning. "Another op'nin' of another show!"
---
By Nagato's count, the battle had been going on for almost seven long hours, and she knew there was much progress still to be made. Neither of those facts, however, diminished the fighting spirit of her or her comrades in any way.
Those facts did see a diminishment, however, in their supplies. Not for the first time this battle Nagato found herself grateful that they thought to pack extra supplies, but even those were swiftly diminished in the first few hours.
Thus, then, the supply ships. It had not taken long for the Americans to come up with the idea of repurposing some of their amphibious warfare ships as kanmusu tenders, equipped with a cafeteria, some bunks, and even a small repair dock. The ships got a lot of use throughout the Abyssal War, especially when most kanmusu effort had been directed at supply convoys. Having a place to rest and resupply, even repair if needed, was a godsend to many a kanmusu.
That said, the ships' utility also made them major targets, especially considering the possibility that destroying a single conventional ship could kill several kanmusu within it. Even with kanmusu working shifts—no kanmusu force was stupid enough to load everyone onto a single ship, no matter how safe the route—the most common cause of death for many kanmusu had been the misfortune of being unable to escape a sinking tender. Despite their obvious utility, therefore, the tactic of using a kanmusu tender had been shelved by 2023. Since then the tenders had sat in harbor, ship and crew alike waiting for the chance to be useful again.
Given what she knew of the operation, and given the fact that the enemy could only come from one direction, Nagato decided the utility a kanmusu tender finally outweighed their danger again. And so USS Independence, LCS-2, trailed a few minutes sailing behind Japan's fleets, the kanmusu rotating in pre-planned shifts back to the ship for a few hours of rest and resupply.
Any heavily damaged kanmusu was sent back there immediately, even against their will when Naka and Jintsu dragged their crazy older sister back a few hours ago. This was the last battle, damnit, and Nagato had no intention of losing subordinates now with the end so close.
Sailing beside the battleship, Zuikaku rolled her shoulders and cracked her neck. "Been a long time since I've napped in one of those. Forgot how stiff those damn cots are."
Murmurs of agreement arose from Zuiho and Taiho nearby. Nagato could not help but agree, but it was better than nothing. She sailed up to Mutsu, who nodded as she passed the communicator to her sister. "This is Nagato; I am resuming command," she said on the radio to her fellow kanmusu. "Mutsu's group may head back to resupply."
The battleship watched as CarDiv One recovered their planes before heading back to the Independence, Unryu, Amagi, and Katsuragi following shortly behind. As her own group started putting planes in the air, Nagato placed the communicator back in her ear. "Harvest, Nagato, how is the assault going?"
"Slow progress," the spaceship responded, sounding utterly exhausted. "The southernmost island looks mostly clear, but those two to the north are still going strong." She grunted, coming back onto the line a short time later. "Those two islands have a lot of guns on them, too. Taking a lot of fire every time I pass over them."
Guam can be assaulted, Saipan and Tinian still need to be worn down, Nagato's mind translated. "Just do what you can, Harvest. That's all we can ask."
"Yeah, no shit," the frigate replied. "Making another pass now, those damn guns are—" The frigate suddenly cut off, and a moment later a scream echoed over the communicator.
"Harvest? Harvest!" Calls from the other forces echoed over the line, to no response. Nagato's mind raced. Had the enemy finally hit her? She said those guns had no aiming mechanism beyond "point and shoot"; had the Abyssals finally gotten lucky?
"Comm discipline!" Saratoga shouted over the line. In the brief silence that followed, she continued, "No matter what happened, there's nothing we can do for her now. We can't let up the assault; keep pressing!"
Nagato grit her teeth, but she knew her friend was right. They had to press on. The battleship looked up, meeting Shoukaku's eyes. Nagato shook her head at the unasked question, and called out "Press on!" The carrier nodded and turned back to the battle.
Despite it all, however, Nagato could not stop the worry gnawing at her gut. The spaceship may have only been around for less than a year, but Nagato still felt like she'd worked alongside Harvest for a long time. She knew that if anyone could tank a hit from one of those guns, it was Harvest, but she still feared for her comrade nonetheless.
An explosion of chatter on the radio brought Nagato out of her worry, refocusing the secretary ship on the here and now. "Woah!" Zuikaku shouted nearby. "One of those monsters just showed up! No; three of them!"
"Keep your distance!" Nagato called out, silencing the moment of panic on the radio. "They can be beaten; it just takes firepower! Cruisers and destroyers, fall back; Battleships, move in but stay at range. Carriers, concentrate your attacks! This is the Abyssal's last force!" Acknowledgements chorused over the radio. I see now, you bastards, Nagato thought. The biggest threat has been forced away, so now your big boys think it's safe to come out. You've got another think coming!
A smirk spread across the battleship's face at that thought. Watching as the carriers drew back their bows, Nagato increased her speed, joining the battleships shifting up to meet the smaller ships sailing back. Nagato spotted DesDiv Six and their two cruisers coming back just as she raised her guns and fired. "Joining the fight, secretary ship?" Tenryuu called.
Nagato nodded, and with her ever-present smirk adorning her face, Tenryuu and the others circled around to follow behind, ready to charge in if the need—or opportunity—arose. Already Nagato could see the island of Saipan on the horizon, the massive orbital guns still firing into the sky. Her rangefinders easily picked out the gigantic Abyssals, one of them slowly making its way towards the Japanese kanmusu as large-caliber shells landed around it.
Her guns signaled that they were loaded and ready to fire. This is for whatever you bastards did to Harvest, the battleship thought. As her turrets raised into position, Nagato furrowed her brow, holding her arm and hand outstretched.
"Get out of there!" A call over the radio brought Nagato up short, and to her surprise, it seemed like the other ships heard the call too.
Nagato placed a hand to her ear. "UNSC Harvest, Nagato. What is going on; are you alright?"
"You have to get out of there!" The frigate sounded panic-stricken, utterly unlike anything Nagato had ever heard from her before. "They're coming!"
Perhaps getting hit has reawakened her fear? Nagato thought. "Harvest, calm down. We can handle anything the Abyss—"
"You don't understand!" the frigate sobbed. "You have to get out of there! The—" Whatever the frigate meant to say next disappeared in static. Nagato looked down to retrieve the communicator out of her ear and check it, but any move she made was interrupted when she was suddenly bathed in a bright red light.
Nagato's head shot back up, her arm instinctively raising to shield her eyes. A shaft of light, its color a furious red, speared down from the sky right onto the island of Saipan. As Nagato and the other kanmusu looked on, the shaft of light moved, sweeping over Tinian as well before continuing on towards Guam. Nagato blinked; once covered in uncountable eldritch structures, Saipan looked leveled, its surface red hot before cooling into a dark, reflective black.
It took a moment before Nagato placed the familiar image—Saipan resembled the beach of Bikini Atoll after the tests. The sand was turned to glass.
"Get out of there!" Harvest screamed over the radio, shocking Nagato back into action. As the kanmusu turned away, Nagato looked upward through the clouds, taking in the gigantic, bulbous purple shape that hovered above her head.
In the meantime, I would greatly appreciate if anyone offered to be an interim beta for this story; if any of you have the time and are willing, please let me know in thread or by PM. Thank you very much in advance!
And now, on with the show!
-----
"Another op'nin', Another show!"
USS Saratoga found herself murmuring the words to that song as she sailed westwards across the Pacific. Most of the past couple weeks had been spent preparing for the big operation she and the others were now embarked on, so she had been surprised when Langley suddenly appeared in her office with theater tickets. She tried to beg off, saying (truthfully) that she really did have a lot of work she had to get done, but the coal ship-turned-aircraft carrier could be quite stubborn when she wanted to. And the worst part was that Langley could be so motherly that Saratoga couldn't bark at her for distracting her like that.
Not that Saratoga ever would bark at the mother of U.S. Naval Aviation. The only one of the pre-war American carriers not garbed like she just came from a Revolutionary War re-enactment, Langley dressed like a pioneer for good reason. And she was just so damn caring; she saw how hard Saratoga was pushing herself preparing for the upcoming operation, legitimately thought to herself that Sara needed a break, and went out and bought theater tickets. And now Saratoga was sailing into battle with that damn song stuck in her head.
"In Philly, Boston or Baltimo'!"
From what Saratoga had heard, Langley was not alone in having that effect on people. Houshou, the pioneer of Japanese naval aviation, was apparently able to step in between Kaga and Zuikaku and stop the fiercest fights just through her sheer presence. British carriers were just matronly in general in Saratoga's opinion, but she supposed Argus was motherly-matronly rather than just ornery-matronly.
Of course, one could make the argument that other "pioneering ships" felt much the same way. HMS Victory certainly seemed to be for many British ships, and as did Mikasa for the Japanese. Constitution was definitely the pioneer for any American ship, though she always gave off the "cool grandma" vibe rather than the "doting mother" feel. One thing Saratoga was sure of, however, was that she never wanted to be in a car Constitution was driving. She may have spent the centuries docked in Massachusetts, but with good reason did people whisper "The Little Old Lady from Pasadena" behind her back.
"A chance for stage folks to say hello!"
"Another op'nin' of another show!" Saratoga jumped as the girls around her roared the next line. Her cheeks glowing red, the carrier buried her face in her hands as laughter filled the formation. She hadn't been that loud, had she?
"I thought you were too old to know that play," someone commented.
"Oh shove off, you damn whippersnapper," she called out, yet more laughter breaking out at her choice of language. "And for your information, I am a ship of culture, thank you very much. Who the hell do you think I am, my sister?"
Lexington looked back and stuck her tongue out, the question and its response generating yet more laughs from the formation around. An arm suddenly wrapped around Saratoga's shoulder; "Kiss me, Kate!" Wasp called out, a grin splitting her face. Sara pouted and pretended to slap the ersatz-Yorktown, who in turn pretended to reel away from the hit.
Saratoga grinned at the mirth their exchange had created amongst the dark-blue-clad carriers around them. Though the Fast Carrier Task Force constantly and mercilessly ribbed each other, Saratoga knew the Essex-class carriers never quite felt comfortable teasing their pre-war brethren. A combination of deep respect for what they had to go through before re-enforcements could arrive and (in Enterprise's case) abiding fear of incurring their wrath, the late-war carriers always treaded on eggshells around their older comrades at first. Eventually, the late-war carriers would be persuaded to give as good as they got, but there were always unofficial 'rules' they seemed to follow when interacting with the pre-war ships. If teased, tease back. With some (Yorktown in particular), give as good as you got, but never initiate. Even when the two sets of carriers were really going at it, Saratoga could sense the tiny bit of hesitation in the late-war ships, trying to be careful not to say anything that went "over the line".
When the pre-war carriers went at each other on the other hand…then the Essexes sat back and grabbed popcorn.
"If y'all are done playing with each other," Alabama called out, not quite able to suppress the smirk on her face from the interplay, "We're gettin' close to our target."
As Lexington nodded and starting giving orders to her carrier groups, Saratoga split off for bit, Wasp and Ranger joining her. She reached up and activated the special communications bud in her ear. "This is Saratoga, checking in. We're almost in position."
"Battleship Nagato here. Likewise."
"Prince of Wales. Almost ready."
"Canberra. We're in position, ready and waiting to start the show!"
"All callsigns, UNSC Harvest. I'll be above in a couple minutes."
Saratoga smiled. She could hardly believe how close the Abyssal war was to being over. After almost six long years of fighting, the only known Abyssal base left in the world was the gigantic series of bases in the Mariana Islands. Saratoga took a deep breath. Guam. Tinian. Saipan. These were the last remnants of the threat that has infested the oceans for so long. No wonder Saratoga could not remain behind a desk in San Diego.
This operation—maybe, even, the last operation—was indeed an "all hands on deck" affair, and ship girls were approaching from all points on the compass. Nagato led the Japanese and the Russian Vladivostok garrison from the north. Prince of Wales led her Singapore garrison, coupled with the India garrison and every ocean-faring Chinese ship girl, from the west. Canberra headed the Australian contingent, reinforced by those heavier ships from Britain that were fast enough to make the journey in time, from the south. Saratoga led the United States Navy from the east, and just for good measure the space-traveling frigate, UNSC Harvest, would rain death from above.
No one expected this to be a quick fight. This was the Abyssals' last stand, and everyone knew they would give it their all. Every ship girl had received a briefing on the gigantic Abyssal encountered in the Marshalls and on Iwo Jima. Just last week one of those monsters had appeared when the Europeans assaulted a base on Jan Mayen, a small island north of Iceland and east of Greenland. Though Harvest had immediately jumped into the air and started making her way over once she heard about it on the radio, as it turned out, her help wasn't needed. Before Harvest could arrive to assist, the big guns of Britain, Germany, France, and even Russia had blasted the Abyssal into oblivion. The lesson was not lost on any of the ship girls approaching the Marianas: even without the spaceship, such a monster could be killed. You just needed a lot of gun.
Despite the hard fight obviously on the horizon, morale was high. Everyone knew victory today meant the end of the war; the end of years of struggle, pain, terror, and intense effort. No matter what resistance they faced, no matter how hard the Abyssals fought, every ship girl could see the light at the end of the tunnel, the victory almost within their grasp.
For some ship girls, it was a callback to their feelings so long ago. For others, it was a feeling they never had the chance to experience before. But for every last ship girl sailing that day, a small, insidious thought was worming its way through their minds: "I have a future!"
None of them knew what that future would be. None of them knew what challenges the world would face on the road ahead. None of them believed the future would be painless, but all of them knew that a future, any future, was far better than the alternative.
That alternative was what the Abyssals were facing now. They would fight savagely, no doubt; the day will not be won easily. The Abyssals would do their damndest to take as many ship girls with them into the night, but Saratoga knew her comrades would do their best not to join them.
This would be no 'decisive battle'; there was nothing left to decide. The ship girls of the world, of humanity, would be victorious by the end of the battle. Three Abyssal bases, no matter how large, had no chance of halting the offensive arrayed at it. They could make it bloody, they could make it hard, they could make it take a long time. But, no matter how hard, how long, how bloody, at the end, humanity would stand victorious.
Ranger clapped slowly when Saratoga stopped talking at last, a smirk on her face. Saratoga returned with a playful glare. "Oh, hush," the convert complained. "You try coming up with an inspirational speech for the end of a war."
Ranger opened her mouth to respond, only to be cut off when the radio picked up again. "What she said," Canberra injected, "But when all this is over, no matter how whatever they make it, we. Will. Party!" Saratoga laughed as cheers exploded over the radio, the yelling from the Fast Carrier Task Force probably loud enough for the Abyssals to hear. "Let's go get 'em, girls!"
Saratoga grinned as the Big Blue Fleet, on her sister's orders, leveled their rifles at the horizon. Watching the horizon disappear in the billowing clouds of black powder smoke, Saratoga's grin stayed on her face, only faltering a little when her traitorous brain restarted the song it was stuck on this morning. "Another op'nin' of another show!"
---
By Nagato's count, the battle had been going on for almost seven long hours, and she knew there was much progress still to be made. Neither of those facts, however, diminished the fighting spirit of her or her comrades in any way.
Those facts did see a diminishment, however, in their supplies. Not for the first time this battle Nagato found herself grateful that they thought to pack extra supplies, but even those were swiftly diminished in the first few hours.
Thus, then, the supply ships. It had not taken long for the Americans to come up with the idea of repurposing some of their amphibious warfare ships as kanmusu tenders, equipped with a cafeteria, some bunks, and even a small repair dock. The ships got a lot of use throughout the Abyssal War, especially when most kanmusu effort had been directed at supply convoys. Having a place to rest and resupply, even repair if needed, was a godsend to many a kanmusu.
That said, the ships' utility also made them major targets, especially considering the possibility that destroying a single conventional ship could kill several kanmusu within it. Even with kanmusu working shifts—no kanmusu force was stupid enough to load everyone onto a single ship, no matter how safe the route—the most common cause of death for many kanmusu had been the misfortune of being unable to escape a sinking tender. Despite their obvious utility, therefore, the tactic of using a kanmusu tender had been shelved by 2023. Since then the tenders had sat in harbor, ship and crew alike waiting for the chance to be useful again.
Given what she knew of the operation, and given the fact that the enemy could only come from one direction, Nagato decided the utility a kanmusu tender finally outweighed their danger again. And so USS Independence, LCS-2, trailed a few minutes sailing behind Japan's fleets, the kanmusu rotating in pre-planned shifts back to the ship for a few hours of rest and resupply.
Any heavily damaged kanmusu was sent back there immediately, even against their will when Naka and Jintsu dragged their crazy older sister back a few hours ago. This was the last battle, damnit, and Nagato had no intention of losing subordinates now with the end so close.
Sailing beside the battleship, Zuikaku rolled her shoulders and cracked her neck. "Been a long time since I've napped in one of those. Forgot how stiff those damn cots are."
Murmurs of agreement arose from Zuiho and Taiho nearby. Nagato could not help but agree, but it was better than nothing. She sailed up to Mutsu, who nodded as she passed the communicator to her sister. "This is Nagato; I am resuming command," she said on the radio to her fellow kanmusu. "Mutsu's group may head back to resupply."
The battleship watched as CarDiv One recovered their planes before heading back to the Independence, Unryu, Amagi, and Katsuragi following shortly behind. As her own group started putting planes in the air, Nagato placed the communicator back in her ear. "Harvest, Nagato, how is the assault going?"
"Slow progress," the spaceship responded, sounding utterly exhausted. "The southernmost island looks mostly clear, but those two to the north are still going strong." She grunted, coming back onto the line a short time later. "Those two islands have a lot of guns on them, too. Taking a lot of fire every time I pass over them."
Guam can be assaulted, Saipan and Tinian still need to be worn down, Nagato's mind translated. "Just do what you can, Harvest. That's all we can ask."
"Yeah, no shit," the frigate replied. "Making another pass now, those damn guns are—" The frigate suddenly cut off, and a moment later a scream echoed over the communicator.
"Harvest? Harvest!" Calls from the other forces echoed over the line, to no response. Nagato's mind raced. Had the enemy finally hit her? She said those guns had no aiming mechanism beyond "point and shoot"; had the Abyssals finally gotten lucky?
"Comm discipline!" Saratoga shouted over the line. In the brief silence that followed, she continued, "No matter what happened, there's nothing we can do for her now. We can't let up the assault; keep pressing!"
Nagato grit her teeth, but she knew her friend was right. They had to press on. The battleship looked up, meeting Shoukaku's eyes. Nagato shook her head at the unasked question, and called out "Press on!" The carrier nodded and turned back to the battle.
Despite it all, however, Nagato could not stop the worry gnawing at her gut. The spaceship may have only been around for less than a year, but Nagato still felt like she'd worked alongside Harvest for a long time. She knew that if anyone could tank a hit from one of those guns, it was Harvest, but she still feared for her comrade nonetheless.
An explosion of chatter on the radio brought Nagato out of her worry, refocusing the secretary ship on the here and now. "Woah!" Zuikaku shouted nearby. "One of those monsters just showed up! No; three of them!"
"Keep your distance!" Nagato called out, silencing the moment of panic on the radio. "They can be beaten; it just takes firepower! Cruisers and destroyers, fall back; Battleships, move in but stay at range. Carriers, concentrate your attacks! This is the Abyssal's last force!" Acknowledgements chorused over the radio. I see now, you bastards, Nagato thought. The biggest threat has been forced away, so now your big boys think it's safe to come out. You've got another think coming!
A smirk spread across the battleship's face at that thought. Watching as the carriers drew back their bows, Nagato increased her speed, joining the battleships shifting up to meet the smaller ships sailing back. Nagato spotted DesDiv Six and their two cruisers coming back just as she raised her guns and fired. "Joining the fight, secretary ship?" Tenryuu called.
Nagato nodded, and with her ever-present smirk adorning her face, Tenryuu and the others circled around to follow behind, ready to charge in if the need—or opportunity—arose. Already Nagato could see the island of Saipan on the horizon, the massive orbital guns still firing into the sky. Her rangefinders easily picked out the gigantic Abyssals, one of them slowly making its way towards the Japanese kanmusu as large-caliber shells landed around it.
Her guns signaled that they were loaded and ready to fire. This is for whatever you bastards did to Harvest, the battleship thought. As her turrets raised into position, Nagato furrowed her brow, holding her arm and hand outstretched.
"Get out of there!" A call over the radio brought Nagato up short, and to her surprise, it seemed like the other ships heard the call too.
Nagato placed a hand to her ear. "UNSC Harvest, Nagato. What is going on; are you alright?"
"You have to get out of there!" The frigate sounded panic-stricken, utterly unlike anything Nagato had ever heard from her before. "They're coming!"
Perhaps getting hit has reawakened her fear? Nagato thought. "Harvest, calm down. We can handle anything the Abyss—"
"You don't understand!" the frigate sobbed. "You have to get out of there! The—" Whatever the frigate meant to say next disappeared in static. Nagato looked down to retrieve the communicator out of her ear and check it, but any move she made was interrupted when she was suddenly bathed in a bright red light.
Nagato's head shot back up, her arm instinctively raising to shield her eyes. A shaft of light, its color a furious red, speared down from the sky right onto the island of Saipan. As Nagato and the other kanmusu looked on, the shaft of light moved, sweeping over Tinian as well before continuing on towards Guam. Nagato blinked; once covered in uncountable eldritch structures, Saipan looked leveled, its surface red hot before cooling into a dark, reflective black.
It took a moment before Nagato placed the familiar image—Saipan resembled the beach of Bikini Atoll after the tests. The sand was turned to glass.
"Get out of there!" Harvest screamed over the radio, shocking Nagato back into action. As the kanmusu turned away, Nagato looked upward through the clouds, taking in the gigantic, bulbous purple shape that hovered above her head.
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Chimeraguard
We do deserve to exist.
First intro to the Covenant is Saipan getting glassed.
Well, this isn't going to be pleasant.
Well, this isn't going to be pleasant.
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- Location
- Over the hill and far away
They called up that which put her down.
Well played, Abyssals!
Also, eat tactical nukes, because I'm sure the various nations haven't got a thing hanging around with loads of those aimed at this site just in case.
Well played, Abyssals!
Also, eat tactical nukes, because I'm sure the various nations haven't got a thing hanging around with loads of those aimed at this site just in case.
globalwarmth
ruining the weather.
- Location
- Polar ice caps
ah shit. better hope its the post h3 arbiter...
CV12Hornet
Riter.
- Location
- Tacoma, Washington
Motherfucker!
Night_stalker
Slava Ukraini!
- Pronouns
- He/Him
I dunno, it IS Saipan....
KleverKil'Vanya
Ortillery Operator
And thus ended the story as Earth was glassed down to the bedrock.
Glitchrr36
Slick's Short Company, CEO
- Location
- The Wastes
- Pronouns
- He/Him
oh shit