I'm gonna feel horrible about this, but that would only be the case if Nagato, Nevada, or Saratoga showed up in KCQ.
Kant-O-Celle Quest [a Kantai Collection game, transcribed from 4chan]
- Thread starter Trace Coburn
- Start date
CompassJimbo
Where’s Your North?
- Location
- The former Rubber Capital of the World
Suffice to say, don't expect it here.
All planefriend has to do to enjoy the Chaos is stay silent.
AnonymousRabbit
Rabbit Faced
I just checked the thread and holy shity sides are in orbit.
That fucking anon's sodium level could probably power an entire country economy solely on salt trade
- Location
- United States, EST
- Pronouns
- He/Him
I'm just sitting out here, wondering if this is one of those times where I'm happy to not 4chan and thus be unable to see what's going on real-time, or sad for the same reasons.
Currently, I'm leaning towards a bit of both.
Currently, I'm leaning towards a bit of both.
Trace Coburn
BattleTech Starfighter Analyst
- Location
- NDBBM, New Zealand
mikelima777 has heard the feedback on his piece and he's doing a rewrite.
Just wait for the transcription, mate. Trust me, you don't want to see even the fringes of that shitstorm.
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Epic is the word there Just Epic.
Dirtnap
Kanmusu Affecionado
The worst part is that it isn't even that bad. It was like, two dudes. One was demanding Gap make it 'noncanon' so they wouldn't get 'routelocked'. Other dude was like, 'is it canon'?
I'm just imagining Gap, sitting in the IRC, laughing his ass off at the whole thread by that point. He knew what he was doing when he had Merc post it.
Actually, it was GhostDivision who posted it if I recall correctly. The shitstormers were hilarious though.
EDIT: Written by feelthyhornet of course.
Dirtnap
Kanmusu Affecionado
Oh right it was Ghostdiva. muh bad.
My question is is it hornets?
because it is not here with their other stuff
HORRUU-NEEEETOOH's Pastebin - Pastebin.com
because it is not here with their other stuff
HORRUU-NEEEETOOH's Pastebin - Pastebin.com
Nothing everything is shown in Feelthy's pastebin. I don't know how it works off the top of my head, but it does.
Dirtnap
Kanmusu Affecionado
he generally posts the lewd stuff as a guest so that he can keep his fluffy stuff as it's own thing.
GhostStalker
Jeopardy! contestant
- Location
- NYC
Reading that shit last night when I should've been asleep and I'd have to agree with you, that anon was super salty. And planefriend's reactions to those two anons makes it obvious that we know exactly how much he's enjoying all of that.
Really, it's all like that edited Terminal Lance strip that gets thrown around KCQ threads all the time with planefriend drinking the tears of anons. It's great! Begun, (a new phase in) the waifu wars have.
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Session #37 pt.1
Trace Coburn
BattleTech Starfighter Analyst
- Location
- NDBBM, New Zealand
A(nother) labelled map of Yokosuka, to orient readers during their search for the wayward Corgi horde.
>repost follwed by new content: read all of it.
>See map: return coffee/tea party is at the docks at "4," base theater is at "8."
"Have the planes shadow them," you order. "Don't get too low and don't let them spot you; they might split up and they carry a shitload of light AA." You round up your posse and dash to the jeep, where a brief struggle for seating arrangements ensues. Hamp has the driver's seat, which promps Hate to move towards the passenger seat you're already occupying. He eyes you warily, then jumps in the back where he wedges himself between Ise and Hyuuga, where he looks fairly happy. Kitakami eyeballs the crowded backseat dully, then slides her dark eyes to you, where Arizona is plopping down in your lap.
"I liked it better," she mutters, "when it was abstract." She piles in, kneeling just behind the front seats, giving her a good view forward over the shifter. "Isn't this vehicle a bit crowded?"
"Oh I'm *so* sorry," Hamp rejoins instantly. "You want us to swing by the fucking motor pool and borrow a tour bus? With seperate powder rooms for men and women?" He revs the engine with a scream and pops the clutch, flinging the vehicle around the first curve. He angles due south, gunning it for all its worth towards a narrow alleyway. Ise and Hyuuga's eyes are widening terribly in the rear-view mirror.
"Mabye we don't *all* have to go?" Kitakami observes cooly as the two BBVs begin to hyperventilate. Hamp thunders down the narrow alleyway with inches to spare on both sides, then wrenches the wheel violently as soon as he's cleared the bottleneck, tires squealing for purchase. A long line of pallets lies before you, loaded with what you recognize as the first-stage booster of the SM-2 ER being moved into the assembly building. From the way Arizona's ass is clenching on your lap, she's recognized them too.
"Why not?" Hamp replies. "You heard the girls. My planes don't have *offensive capability.*" He begins slaloming around the crates as hard-hatted dockworkers scream and dive left and right.
"But if we're arresting those dogs," Kitakami points out, "then where are we gonna put them?"
"Oh god *dammit,*" Hamp snarls as a rough-terrain forklift looms from a side-street, blocking the entrance to the main road from the loading docks. "You just have ALL the comebacks, don't you?" He wrenches the wheel violently and the jeep climbs the angled concrete divider seperating one loading dock from the next like a ramp, the machine's brush-plate protecting the axle as it slides precariously up. Hamp shifts his weight to one side to keep the balance until the front tires manage to catch the concrete lip, and then he's spinning the wheel left and right, somehow walking the goddamn Jeep sideways through a loading door. You're about to scream for him to aboard when you see that the muntiions building must be the one opposite; this is a large, open warehouse for large-scale fabrication. Hamp floors the throttle and ratchets the jeep into third as he goes weaving through the many obstructions. Before him looms a huge, squarish structure - it looks like a new section of superstructure being built for a chop-and-extend job, sans the actual hull below the waterline. Japanese dockworkers go scrambling away in a swarm of bobbing hardhats as Hamp drifts the jeep around a steel support pillar to clear a tricky angle between a massive marine diesel motor still dripping packing grease and what looks like a damaged deck crane.
"WHAT ARE YOU TYRING TO DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-" Ise squeals as she clings for dear life against centrifugal forces.
"JUST TRYING TO MAKE ROOM FOR THE PT BOATS, MISS!" Hamp replies as he finally finds a clear lane - the spaces on each side of the big hull section, left open for transport and access. "HI HO SILVER - AWAAAAAAY!" The tires screech as he floors it down the straightaway. You have a brief glimpse of someone in a dress similar to Akagi's toppling into the superstructure section as if fainting, and then there's the WHUMP and crunch of splintering scaffolding. You emerge into glorious daylight again with a Japanese contractor riding the hood, his face pressed against the windshield. He picks you out to make eye contact with past Arizona's side - considering his other options, you can't blame him. Between his grizzled stubble, youth, and yakuza tattoo exposed by a stained tank-top you peg him as a welder, a rough-and-tumble kind, but right now his eyes seek only reassurance that this all makes some sort of sense, somehow. You shrug your shoulders and give him a sad shake of the head, sharing a moment of true empathy for this poor bastard. If he only knew. If he only *knew.* "Hamp?"
"Yeah? Kind busy here."
You point to the man squashed against the windshield.
Hamp glances over and presses the quick-wash button, spraying the dockworker down and whapping his face with the wiper blades.
"HAMP!"
"FINE!" With a long, deliberate squeal of the brakes Hamp accelerates with precision. Inertia slides the poor man further down the hood, his confused eyes turning to track your sympathetic face as his cheek squeaks down the wet glass like a squeegee. At last Hamp slams on the e-brake, the worker's remaining inertia just enough to deposit him on the grassy shoulder next to the narrow access road. "THERE!" He takes off again with a loud squeal.
"Sitrep," Hamp says confidently. "Seems they've entered a building."
"Shit," Hate snaps. "It's gonna be hell getting them out of there. Where are they?"
"A... big building? Some kind of billboard on the front with letters?"
You rub your head. "Fuck. What's over there, Hate?"
"Afloat Training Group?" Hate guesses. "Or most of their classrooms and-"
"The theater," you reply.
"Fuck."
"Ayep."
Hamp brings the Jeep to a stop outside the base's movie theater; the best place to watch movies you got on DVD-R in an envelope from home three months ago during port call in Signapore. You all disembark without trouble (aside from Hate's exaggerated eyewaggle as Arizona decamps from your lap) and stand before the glass doors, unsure what to do next. Just above the marquee sign you see the many wee floatplanes holding a stable orbit.
"Got your woooden leg?" Hate asks as he hands you your cane.
"Didn't know you liked ebony," you reply as you accept it.
"I bought it for you."
"Right before you did everything possible to make me beat you with it, or break it off in your ass," you point out. "Just get it off your chest, Hate."
"Okay," he says, thumping his ribs and clearing his throat. "Dear Skipper - go climb a wall of dicks."
"So I can unfurl your mainsail?"
"Run backwards through a FIELD of dicks."
"So you want to run to meet me in a verdant field," you say, "except backwards to meet my meat."
"What are they talking about?" Ise asks.
"I think it's an analogy," Hyuuga whispers back, a decibel or two over what anyone would consider a stage whisper.
"About what?"
"I'll know when they mention the four seasons."
Kitakami rolls her eyes at the amateurs, confident in her original diagnosis as she leads the way, pushing through the glass doors into the lovely A/C of the theater. You duck into two small theaters and find nothing, then converge on the big one.
"What's showing in there?" Ise wonders.
"SHARP," Hate mutters. "Always with the fucking SHARP." He slips through the double doors first.
The theater is filled with the unmistakable rustling of bored young men shifting around a lot; and the show on-screen is indeed SHARP. You begin scanning the dark room, searching for your culprits, when a familiar voice draws your eyes back to the screen in a snap.
"Going somewhere, sailor?" You gape at the screen as Naka gazes out at you, her dark eyes limpid and clear with affection, lips pursed ever so slightly in silent promise. She crosses her legs sloooowly, letting her black stockings fwwwwip over each other with sensuous promise.
The room itself is struck dumb - not a chair squeaks, vent rattles or occupant breathes.
On-screen Naka leans back ever-so-slightly, arching her back just enough to make the hoisting of her modest breasts evident under the orange uniform. Her lidded eyes lower duskily as the tip of her tongue moistens her lips. "C'mere, hon. Let's see if you're better than your sister."
(Archivist's note: again, the Vocaroo of the SHARP announcer is provided by FeelthyHornet.)
The video freezes, showcasing the insane giggly grin in the act of exploding across Naka's face for a heartbeat before the title text comes zooming in with an effect worthy of 90s editing software: "SEXUAL HARRASMENT AND RAPE PREVENTION: FOR PERSONNEL NEAR OR AROUND SHIPGIRLS."
To its credit, it's the first SHARP video you've ever seen that actually snagged a room's attention for even this long. Everyone in the theater stands stock-still, holding their breath.
"Shipgirls are miracles, returned from the deeps to serve our nations and peoples once more," the Announcer Guy voice intoned. "But they are also individuals who are struggling to adjust to modern society." An image of Akagi and Shoukaku flash on screen, wearing their old-fahsioned clothing and drawing their old-fashioned bows in the old-fashioned style, then cuts to an image of them both exploring the claw-catcher machine inside the entrance of the main PX as Akagi pokes the joystick curiously. "Many of them have old-fashioned social mores - such as young, unmarried women being privileged to not suffer the attention of single males talking to her without the permission - and presence - of her family. The traditional punishment for breaking this taboo was an unusually swift NJP." The video cuts to Shoukaku making plaintive gestures as Zuikaku chases an unknown marine around a room with a bokken in her hands and wild glee in her eyes. "Others are less reserved." The camera cuts to -
- you blink, and rub your eyes. It appears to be a stripper in shipgirl-themed outfit wearing high-heels styled as rudders. She flips her blonde hair over her shoulder and waves at the camera.
"But don't be fooled - they're warships, not oilers! Dip your wick in that and you might never get it back!" The girl on-screen is sliding a carrot into her mouth wetly. She seems to pause, glances aside at something off-frame, and promptly bites the carrot off and gives the camera a 'scary look.' "Keep the following in mind whenever you are around, or working with shipgirls:-"
Hate nudges your elbow, and points past the very bottom row. With your eyes adjusting to the dark interior, you can just make out five tiny heads in the glow of the big screen, their noses tracking to and fro as they watch the video intently.
Got'em.
"Ise, Hyuuga," you say quietly. "Pop outside and circle around to cover the rear emergency exit doors."
"How will we know which ones they are?" Ise asks.
"They probably say 'exit' over them," Hyuuga points out.
"But they'll be in English!" Ise objects.
You hear Hyuuga take in a breath before thinking better of it. She simply takes her sibling by the wrist and leads her outside to execute a flanking maneuver.
"Okay," you whisper. "Hamp, Kitakami, slide the right wall. Hate, you're with me on the left. Arizona, hang back and cover the entrance. Slow and easy, now."
Hamp and Kitakami slink away in the gloom as you and Hate start down the steps slowly.
"Slide the wall?" Hate whispers. "Have you *ever* gotten laid?"
"Says the guy who got the reference."
A few sailors near the edge turn to see who's talking, spot your conspicuous white jacket and cover and quickly regain interest in the screen again.
"Just because you watch anime doesn't mean you wallpaper your room with Evangelion posters, asshole. How the hell do you have everyone gunning for your dick?"
"You might *think* that destroyer girl looks innocent and adorable," the Announcer Voice intones seriously as Akatsuiki appears on-screen, striking her patented Cool Lady pose. "But it's the shipgirl you *don't* see that will get you!" The screen pulls back to show two submarine girls in their bathing suits popping out of the bushes with horse masks on. The screen flickers, and they're maskless, their smoldering eyes sizing up the camera - or the man behind it - as knowing, satisfied smiles grow on their lips. A frame later, the masks are back on. "They are clever girls, built and trained for offensive operations - the difference between a 1940s warship and a 2020s warfighter means nothing to them!"
You jab a finger at the screen a few times.
Hate rolls his eyes, still crouch-walking down the stairs behind you.
"Keep the following in mind," the Voice continues. "Always keep high situational awareness of your personal space, workplace and battlespace when in Shipgirl Operating Zones! Use the Buddy System. Never be without your Emergency Alert Whistle!"
You turn back to Hate and jerk a thumb at the screen as you tilt your head quizzically. He nods, his disconcerted expression clear in the screen's glow as he verifies that this is, in fact, happening. At the base of the screen, you see five little pairs of triangular ears tracking to and fro as the dogs watch the video intently.
"All enlisted personnel regularly serving in Shipgirl Operating Zones are required to carry a sidearm at all times." A murmur of grumbly anger drifts through the room. "Authorized firearms are M4 carbines, M9 pistols-" a susurration of relieved sighs - "and personal firearms as authorized by your Armory Chief." The video cuts to a grizzled looking Chief opening a box, lighting his weathered mug in a reflected golden sheen. His face does a passable imitation of the sea as a nasty squall is forming.
"Specialty frangible ammunition will be issued to you which functions as non-lethal rounds against shipgirls and level II body armor. Loading *any other* kind of ammunition is strictly prohibited." A quiet chuckle goes through the room. "Regular inspections of personnel arms will be carried out to ensure compliance." A bigger chuckle, almost laughter. "Violators will be immediately re-assigned to Twenty-Nine Palms for the duration of their obligation." The chuckles stop. "Personnel must qualify as 'Expert' in their selected sidearm before allowed to work regularly in Shipgirl Operating Zones, or be assigned to work details with at least three other qualified and carrying personnel."
The official SHARP policy for when the Tenryū sisters are wrasslin' like this is "just walk away and leave 'em to it". (art by Pixel-anon)
You ease down the last few steps - you can actually see the corgi's outlines now, plopped on their haunches, noses in the air as they watch intently. On the other side of the room, you see Hamp and Kitakami creeping up, well-hidden by their darker attire. You hold up your fist in a "stop" signal, then glance over your shoulder at Hate before holding up one finger and flicking a fingergun forward in a "go" signal.
He gives you a long, sad look, then shakes his head slowly.
You grab the lapel of his ACU's and pull him forward, then shove him towards the Corgis. This translates well enough - he takes point as you try to crouchwalk behind him, mindful of your white uniform.
"-attempt to intervene in anything you might classify as barracks rough-housing," the voice is saying, the screen cutting to a shot of Tatsuta with Tenryuu in a headlock, calmly giving her a noogie as Tenryuu flails and struggles helplessly. A big red X begins blinking over the image. "ONLY act if a human life is in immediate physical danger." The screen switches to a shot of Goto atop a flag pole outside the administration building, stuck like a treed bear. He begins to sink, and the camera pulls back to show Kongou industriously bending the aluminum flagpole in half around head-height. A big green check-mark starts flashing over the image. "The only exception is destroyer-class shipgirls in danger of immediate physical or mental harm. Do NOT attempt open-hand restraint techniques in situations like these." The camera cuts to a shot of Shigure in her tree, clearly filmed without her knowledge. One slender arm's wrapped around the trunk while the other wipes at her eyes miserably, her mouth wavy, but glued shut. Below is Iku, looking around with a puzzled and slightly crestfallen expression.
The corgis immediately stiffen, hopping up on their feet, low growls starting in their throats.
"Follow the quick-response checklist," the Voice drones on. "One. Issue verbal cease-and-desist commands in a loud, clear voice and fire warning shots in the air to attract help. Two. Radio for immediate backup. Three-"
The corgis go *apeshit,* leaping off the floor as they erupt into loud, furious barking, their furry little bodies springing clear over the heads of the sailors in the front row. Hamp is in mid-air when his quarry leaps clear over him. He lands with an OOF and the dog lands upon his back before leaping airborne again, his little Outfit still manifested and already spraying miniscule .50 cal and 40mm shells at the screen. The tinny sound of the guns firing is drowned out by supersonic cracks of full-sized shells punching through the screen and slamming into the theater's outer brick wall behind.
That's about when all hell breaks loose. The theater erupts in shouts, bellows and a few decidedly unmanly shrieks as a hundred sailors try to spring out of their seats at the same time. You charge in after Hate in a desperate bid to snag the little bastards out of the air, but with their Outfits manifested their mass is significant; you snag one's collar only to feel the cheap plastic clasp snap as it bolts past you; it felt like trying to stop a 12-pound bowling ball with a loop of string. The corgis hit the emergency doors like little cannonballs, punching small, neat dog-shaped holes in them as they smash clean through. You and Hate hit the door at the same time, your combined weight defeating the warped frame and spilling you out into the alleyway. The corgis are staring at the rear wall of the theater, as if baffled that Shigure isn't emerging from it.
"YOU!" comes Ise's voice ringing down the brick walls of the alley. "SURRENDER, YANKEE DOGS!"
The five corgis turn to see Ise standing wide, blocking the narrow exit to the street. She thrusts her hand forth as her Outfit shimmers into being about her in a haze of purple light, her eyes aglow with determination. "It's over, mongrels! Against the finest of the Fuso class, in this narrow shooting gallery you have no chaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH-" she shrieks as the corgis *blur* towards her, their snarly little replies magnified tenfold by the echos. You and Hate are already on your feet, Hamp and Kitakami right behind you.
Ise manages to get halfway to the exit before the corgis launch their fish, the little projectiles hitting the asphalt with loud CLANGS, skittering and sliding around uselessly. Ise manages to trip in a pothole just short of the street, going down on her considerable bosom with a thud as the corgis steamroll right over her and into the street.
"DOUBLETIME," Hate yells raggedly, encouraging you to hop right over Ise as you strain to keep eyes on the dogs. They hook south, cross the main road and angle straight for the docks, sprinting down the closest pier. If they reach open water you might never catch them.
Hate is pulling ahead, his legs pumping in short, quick steps as he sprints like an athlete, easily outdistancing you and your gimp leg. He's just about to latch onto the tail of tail-end-charlie when the dogs buttonhook after their squadron leader. Hate leans into a hasty turn, but the dogs manage to keep a hairs breadth ahead of them as they make a perfect line turn and bolt for the only available escape - a gangplank. The man on deck has enough time to yelp before the dogs hit him like a freight train, bowling him over with the impact. He's just flailing his way upright when Hate charges over him, flattening him to the deckplates again.
From within the ship, an alarm starts hooting.
[ ] Now we got'em - slip the moorings and park that boat somewhere the dogs can't possibly escape from!
[ ] No time to lose - AFTER THEM!
[ ] Write-in?
[X] No time to lose - AFTER THEM!
You pause at the bottom of the gangplank to catch your breath, waiting for the others to catch up. Hamp shows up first with Kitakami in tow, both of them breathing heavily. Ise and Hyuuga catch up a minute later, and Arizona is last, adjusting her rumpled uniform a bit as she strolls in - apparently she had to shove her way past the fleeing theater denizens to reach you.
"The dogs?" Hamp pants.
You point at the ship looming aside the pier, an amphibious landing ship. "46" is emblazoned on her bow. "Somewhere in there, with Hate."
They take one look at it and sigh.
"Ise, Hyuuga, transform and roll out or whatever the fuck you do," you say wearily. "Guard the water side. Arizona, guard the dock." You point at Kitakami and Hamp, your two fast cruisers. "You two - with me." You're halfway up the gangplank when a confused looking officer appears at the top and stares dumbly at the scrambled eggs advancing towards him.
"H-h-alt and b-b-e recognized!" he says.
"On who's authority!?" Hamp demands.
The young man draws himself up to his full height and glares down at Hamp - you recognize the youthful pride and crisp-uniformed care of a young Annapolis graduate on his first cruise. "The Officer On Deck demands that you-"
A pair of brief blue streaks scream out of the blue and hit the hapless man in the shoulders, hurling him over the rail so forcefully that his nose almost skims the hull as he's flung into the drink.
"Not anymore!" Hamp declares cheerfully. He sweeps past the paralyzed seaman on deck watch, casually unplugging the telephone he's holding in one shaking hand as he breezes past. "So, where do we start?" Hamp's two seaplanes return to him, orbiting his head a few feet out like wasps patrolling near their nest.
[ ] The galley - they'll go for food. Sailors always do.
[ ] The well deck - boats always want room to maneuver.
[ ] Engineering - they're probably low on fuel after all this running about.
[X] The galley - they'll go for food. Sailors always do.
"The galley," you say immediately. "They're boats... but they're also... you know, dogs."
Hamp shrugs. "If you say so, sir." His wee Kingfishers float towards him, flaps down, and alight on his shoulders like two small fixed-wing parrots. He leads you and Kitakami through the nearest passageway and through a crowd of bleary-eyed men who just rolled out of their bunks at the sound of what you recognize as a collision klaxon. The alarm stops, followed by someone keying the 1MC. "All departments - what the hell is going on?"
The bleary-eyed boys finally focus on your uniform. Instead of snapping to attention, they simply converge on you with sleepy wonder in their eyes, reaching out to feel your uniform softly.
"You... you see that?" one of them asks sleepily.
"I do."
"A man?"
"In *white.*"
"It kind of looks like oh god it's flashing, is it really flashing?" another one marvels before shaking their head. "Nope! Nope. Nope, nevermind... nope. NOOOOOOOPE!"
"NOOOOOOOOOOOPE!" another one calls back. "... sorry."
You back up against the bulkhead warily as the sailors pat your uniform curiously. "But we all see him, right?"
"He has to be real."
"Dude, we're on an LSD. No way."
"But we're TOUCHING him!"
"Group hallucinations happen," someone else says, their voice strained and flat. "Haven't we all seen everyone else in the department spontaneously igniting in a pillar of flames, leaving only a pristine engine room scoured clean of all you dumbfucks?"
An awkward silence.
"... I have!"
"Fuck you, dumbfuck."
Kitakami is watching with thumb and forefinger cradling her chin as she scrutinizes the proceedings carefully. She tilts her head slightly, thinking. "Yaoi," she decides with a nod.
The watch's worth of sailors turns their bleary gazes upon Kitakami and stare dumbfounded.
"Short...." one says.
"Shiny... black... hair..." says a second.
"Braids..." a third adds, his voice on the edge of breaking.
"Cute," they all murmur together. "So... cute..." A collective sigh goes through the group as they break up, drifting back towards their bunks, heads hanging with sad realization. One of them pats you on the shoulder companionably. "Goodbye, hallucination~"
42877417 -
>>42877332
>>42877376
This is one of the most normal things that's happened to us all week
42877422 -
>>42877376
>>42877332
>Goodbye, hallucination
That brings back memories
42877571 -
>>42877376
Oh god those guys are adorable.
But I have not idea what's wrong with them. Can somebody enlighten me?
42877450 -
>>42877418
Good god. Are they all fucking high as kites?
42877511 (demetrious) -
>>42877450
>Good god. Are they all fucking high as kites?
LSDs have a problem that the FFGs had (guided missile frigates.) They used to call FFGs "Forever Fucking Gone," because of how often they deployed. Even in peacetime, sleep deprivation isn't uncommon amongst crews.
It's currently wartime, and this ship is an LSD, and not a day or two ago they found out that there's an island named Iwo Jima that needs the shit invaded out of it.
Do the math.
>>42877332
>>42877376
This is one of the most normal things that's happened to us all week
42877422 -
>>42877376
>>42877332
>Goodbye, hallucination
That brings back memories
42877571 -
>>42877376
Oh god those guys are adorable.
But I have not idea what's wrong with them. Can somebody enlighten me?
42877450 -
>>42877418
Good god. Are they all fucking high as kites?
42877511 (demetrious) -
>>42877450
>Good god. Are they all fucking high as kites?
LSDs have a problem that the FFGs had (guided missile frigates.) They used to call FFGs "Forever Fucking Gone," because of how often they deployed. Even in peacetime, sleep deprivation isn't uncommon amongst crews.
It's currently wartime, and this ship is an LSD, and not a day or two ago they found out that there's an island named Iwo Jima that needs the shit invaded out of it.
Do the math.
Hamp's eyes twitch back and forth quickly. "So yeah, that happened," he says briskly before starting off once more. Your little group manages to reach the galley without further incident, where you find it in the middle of a shift change; a line forming for grub as the prior one deposits a small mountain of dirty trays near the kitchen. A sailor with tongs is listlessly chasing a slice of bacon around a deep pan filled with lukewarm grease. Before he can catch it, a fuzzy head pops over the kitchen side of the chow line and snags the bacon in one lighting-fast snap. The sailor blinks, his tongs dangling listlessly.
"Keep the line movin," a cook growls.
"But-"
"One piece of bacon apiece. You know the ration rules, there's a war on you know!"
"But a dog just-"
"Whatever you say, wiseass," the cook says, waving him away. "Maybe he stole it for the CIWS turret that SMILED at you the other day."
The sailor slams his half-loaded tray onto the bar, making his mystery meat bounce. "It wasn't a seawhiz!"
"It even had a life ring, like a skirt," the sailor behind him adds helpfully. "If you'd taken our advice in Subic Bay you wouldn't be this fucked up right now, dude."
The sailor rounds on his companion. "Any more people take YOUR fucking advice they're gonna clear out the forward DC locker and put some chairs and magazines in it for people waiting in line for Captain's Mast! Hey, how many asschewings do you need before you start earning frequent fuckup miles?" The other sailor shoves him, sending him stumbling backwards into the guy in front, splattering mystery meat gravy all over his uniform. The victim - a rather large-looking Marine - begins to make a slow, ominous turn, before you see his shoulders slump in weary defeat. He just reaches for the tongs to get more meat.
"Holy shit," the sailor behind him breathes as his victim tries to haul himself off the deck. He points at the corgi who's clawing his way onto the bar, ears flattened back to clear the sneeze-shield. "DOG!"
The WHAAANG! of the Marine's aluminum tray impacting the sailor's jaw reverberates around the entire mess, mashed potatoes and gravy spraying everywhere. The big man seems to start in surprise as he sees the Corgi retching and spitting a bit of mystery meat back into the pan. "... oh, shit," he says apologetically just before another sailor hits him from behind in a flying tackle.
The entire mess becomes a hailstorm of flying food, fists and bodies within ten seconds flat, an all-out melee. Through the chaos and deafening roaring rage careening around the compartment you see the Corgis making for the opposite door, their jaws laden with various purloined goodies.
[ ] DOG. DOWN. *EVERYTHING.* They cannot leave this compartment!
[ ] You'll be thrice fucked before you chase these little retards all over the ship. Lets see how well they run in firefighting foam.
[ ] DEPLOY THE KTKM
42877088 (UnAble Seaman Brit-anon) -
>>42876780
Iowa is fantastic, don't get me wrong. But she doesn't have the same character as Yamato.
Yamato is the hope and pride of her nation. She's a princess with unfathomable power, who was sheltered and never allowed to serve the purpose for which she was built. When she finally sailed, it was too late and she died a tragic death by a thousand cuts she could do nothing to abate.
Now she's returned and once again her nation is in desperate peril. Again she weilds power sufficient to perhaps turn the tide of the way, if applied wisely... And again she is forced to sit at anchor.
Not only that, she is now a young girl. A living heart, mind and soul in soft skin and emotion. On top of the heavy burden she bears with unbelievable grace and elegance, she has to deal with the sudden adaptation of being a living, breathing human, rife with new experiences, worries, joys, connections and emotions... And yet she still carries herself with such strength. It awes me.
That is why, to me, she is the best shipfu, even ahead of the grand ships of my beloved home nation.
Anyway, I need to slink away to sleep. I keep closing my eyes to blink and opening hem 5 or 10 minutes later. I look forward to reading through the archives when I wake up.
Try not to get anything destroyed AGAIN, folks?
42877184 (CPL Hate) -
>>42877088
Yeah, that's pretty fucking close. She's frustrated at being kept back so fucking long, and how NOFUCKINGBODY would go to bat for her, but she's too fucking well-trained and nice to say a fucking thing about it. I mean, I fucking understand why Goto wouldn't but it's fucking stupid and needs to fucking end. This ain't the kind of fucking war where you can leave warfighters sitting on the bench cos you're afraid a pack of retarded fucking political extremists would try to rally around them or some dumbfuck move like that.
42877434 (UnAble Seaman Brit-anon) -
>>42877184
Corporal, while I may disagree with you on several issues, the point is, I respect the fact you get straight to the point and treat political bullshit the way it ought to be treated.
On the matter of Yamato however, we are 100% in agreement. I can see Goto's reasoning as well, but quite apart from the practical aspects of Yamato's potential impact on the war, we have to consider the morale and the political message she would send.
Nationalists MAY try to rally around her, for sure, but she is YAMATO. She perfectly fits the idea of yamato nadeshiko, even to her name. She would not even need to address them or their action directly, to utterly defeat them. She is not a ship anymore; she is a shipGIRL and by her personality, her actions, her very BEING, there is nothing the crazed relics of a bygone era can use to further their agenda. She is Japan's strength in tradition, peace and military discipline. She is not a force that lusts after dominion or sets itself as pre-eminent in the world. She simply endures and protects what matters. Japan, Empire or Democracy, could not possess a more worthy flagship or role model for the entire nation.
Now where's my bed..? Apparently I wax eloquent when I'm sleepy.
>>42876780
Iowa is fantastic, don't get me wrong. But she doesn't have the same character as Yamato.
Yamato is the hope and pride of her nation. She's a princess with unfathomable power, who was sheltered and never allowed to serve the purpose for which she was built. When she finally sailed, it was too late and she died a tragic death by a thousand cuts she could do nothing to abate.
Now she's returned and once again her nation is in desperate peril. Again she weilds power sufficient to perhaps turn the tide of the way, if applied wisely... And again she is forced to sit at anchor.
Not only that, she is now a young girl. A living heart, mind and soul in soft skin and emotion. On top of the heavy burden she bears with unbelievable grace and elegance, she has to deal with the sudden adaptation of being a living, breathing human, rife with new experiences, worries, joys, connections and emotions... And yet she still carries herself with such strength. It awes me.
That is why, to me, she is the best shipfu, even ahead of the grand ships of my beloved home nation.
Anyway, I need to slink away to sleep. I keep closing my eyes to blink and opening hem 5 or 10 minutes later. I look forward to reading through the archives when I wake up.
Try not to get anything destroyed AGAIN, folks?
42877184 (CPL Hate) -
>>42877088
Yeah, that's pretty fucking close. She's frustrated at being kept back so fucking long, and how NOFUCKINGBODY would go to bat for her, but she's too fucking well-trained and nice to say a fucking thing about it. I mean, I fucking understand why Goto wouldn't but it's fucking stupid and needs to fucking end. This ain't the kind of fucking war where you can leave warfighters sitting on the bench cos you're afraid a pack of retarded fucking political extremists would try to rally around them or some dumbfuck move like that.
42877434 (UnAble Seaman Brit-anon) -
>>42877184
Corporal, while I may disagree with you on several issues, the point is, I respect the fact you get straight to the point and treat political bullshit the way it ought to be treated.
On the matter of Yamato however, we are 100% in agreement. I can see Goto's reasoning as well, but quite apart from the practical aspects of Yamato's potential impact on the war, we have to consider the morale and the political message she would send.
Nationalists MAY try to rally around her, for sure, but she is YAMATO. She perfectly fits the idea of yamato nadeshiko, even to her name. She would not even need to address them or their action directly, to utterly defeat them. She is not a ship anymore; she is a shipGIRL and by her personality, her actions, her very BEING, there is nothing the crazed relics of a bygone era can use to further their agenda. She is Japan's strength in tradition, peace and military discipline. She is not a force that lusts after dominion or sets itself as pre-eminent in the world. She simply endures and protects what matters. Japan, Empire or Democracy, could not possess a more worthy flagship or role model for the entire nation.
Now where's my bed..? Apparently I wax eloquent when I'm sleepy.
42875590 -
[...]
Limey admiral when
42875697 (UnAble Seaman Brit-anon) -
>>42875590
How does 'First Sea Lord' sound to you? Or the Lord High Admiral?
HMS Warspite shenanigans
Warspite 1 - Pastebin.com
Incidentally, I think there were questions being thrown around last thread regarding Prince Andrew being Lord High Admiral, rather than Prince Philip? The reason's quite simple; Prince Philip either gave up the post due to infirmity, or died of old age. Interpretation's up to whoever wants to clarify that.
42875714 -
>>42875697
>First Sea Lord
I have to hand it to you Brits.
That's a pretty baller title.
42875751 -
>>42875714
It helps lessen the sting of the frogs having a better navy.
42875817 (UnAble Seaman Brit-anon) -
>>42875714
It used to be 'First Lord of the Admiralty' but that title got phased out in 1964 for reasons that escape me at present. Now there's the Admiralty board, headed by the First Sea Lord, with the Lord High Admiral holding supreme command. Her Majesty DID hold that title, but passed it to Prince Philip as age took its toll. I figure by the 2020s, he's either dead or passed it on for the same reasons. He can walk for about an hour with a stick today, so... Yeah...
And in response to the confusion over the fact that fairies seems to speak Japanese, even on a British ship in British waters... I don't fucking know. Arizona's fairies desu'd Settle, so I figured it was universal. Warspite's got as much clue as I do and just decides not to worry about it. [...]
42875843 (Bentus the Great Harbour Ship) -
>>42875751
... Well, the French always were a proud lot, with good reason.
But don't despair, the Entente has held for more than a century now. Two old enemies, now steadfast allies...
Wait, that also describes the French and the Germans. Or as I like to call them, the reunited Carolingian Empire.
42876006 (UnAble Seaman Brit-anon) -
>>42875843
You know, if someone doesn't beat me to the punch, I was considering having HMS Hood or HMS Valiant write a letter to any returned French shipgirls, personally apologising for Mers el-Kebir. I'm pretty sure that the entire British taskforce feels thoroughly dirty about that whole affair... [...]
[...]
Limey admiral when
42875697 (UnAble Seaman Brit-anon) -
>>42875590
How does 'First Sea Lord' sound to you? Or the Lord High Admiral?
HMS Warspite shenanigans
Warspite 1 - Pastebin.com
Incidentally, I think there were questions being thrown around last thread regarding Prince Andrew being Lord High Admiral, rather than Prince Philip? The reason's quite simple; Prince Philip either gave up the post due to infirmity, or died of old age. Interpretation's up to whoever wants to clarify that.
42875714 -
>>42875697
>First Sea Lord
I have to hand it to you Brits.
That's a pretty baller title.
42875751 -
>>42875714
It helps lessen the sting of the frogs having a better navy.
42875817 (UnAble Seaman Brit-anon) -
>>42875714
It used to be 'First Lord of the Admiralty' but that title got phased out in 1964 for reasons that escape me at present. Now there's the Admiralty board, headed by the First Sea Lord, with the Lord High Admiral holding supreme command. Her Majesty DID hold that title, but passed it to Prince Philip as age took its toll. I figure by the 2020s, he's either dead or passed it on for the same reasons. He can walk for about an hour with a stick today, so... Yeah...
And in response to the confusion over the fact that fairies seems to speak Japanese, even on a British ship in British waters... I don't fucking know. Arizona's fairies desu'd Settle, so I figured it was universal. Warspite's got as much clue as I do and just decides not to worry about it. [...]
42875843 (Bentus the Great Harbour Ship) -
>>42875751
... Well, the French always were a proud lot, with good reason.
But don't despair, the Entente has held for more than a century now. Two old enemies, now steadfast allies...
Wait, that also describes the French and the Germans. Or as I like to call them, the reunited Carolingian Empire.
42876006 (UnAble Seaman Brit-anon) -
>>42875843
You know, if someone doesn't beat me to the punch, I was considering having HMS Hood or HMS Valiant write a letter to any returned French shipgirls, personally apologising for Mers el-Kebir. I'm pretty sure that the entire British taskforce feels thoroughly dirty about that whole affair... [...]
Session #37 pt.2
Trace Coburn
BattleTech Starfighter Analyst
- Location
- NDBBM, New Zealand
[X] You'll be thrice fucked before you chase these little retards all over the ship. Lets see how well they run in firefighting foam.
[X] DEPLOY THE KTKM
While Kitakami and Hamp just stare at the erupting brawl, completely at a loss, you dive into the fray, limping towards the food counter between the mess and the kitchen. An angry-looking sailor finishes sliding his hapless buddy down the length of the table and into the wall, then rounds on you with a wild-eyed charge. You react on reflex, the tip of your cane jabbing his solar plexus and leaving him wheezing on the ground. Another one tries to jump off a table at you only to sail overhead as you duck and knock himself cold on a support column. The cook has vacated the immediate area, allowing you access through the little half-door without opposition. Snatching the sound-powered phone off the hook, you press it to your ear and shout into it urgently.
Two heartbeats later you hear the rapid bleating of the alarm bell through the ship's PA speakers, followed by two short rings. "Fire, fire fire! Class K in Galley and Mess Deck! Away the IET, provide from Repair 3!"
Every US Navy warship built since the early 40s has placed a high emphasis on damage control and LSDs are no exception. The fire protection is the galley is second only to the aviation hangars; the gas stoves and other apparatus being high-risk components. Within seconds the system goes into effect, triggered by someone in DamCon. Fire-retardant foam begins gushing from overhead pipes, saturating the deck in the slippery stuff.
The raging brawl dies a sudden death as combatants flail around blindly, big piles of foam growing on their head. Two men cannonball into one another and go down hard as their feet fly out from under them on the suddenly slick deck. One man who was holding his own pretty ably in the corner, using his tray as a weapon and shield hunkers down and covers his head with it. He catches sight of you and stares dumbly as you shrug apologetically before scanning the room for your query. Hamp is on top of things, crossing the room by leaping from one poor bastard's back to another, their clothing providing more-or-less sure footing. He covers the wide-open deck quickly, a trail of flattened and groaning victims in his wake. The dogs spot him coming and abandon their prizes to scramble for the door, but their little paws find scant purchase on the rapidly-foaming deck. Hamp lunges for one and catches it with a triumphant cry, but the damned thing simply pops out of his embrace like a cork, shaggy coat trailing foam.
God help you, you've greased the goddamn pigs - and with your leg, you'll never make it there in time to help. "KITAKAMI!" you bellow.
Kitakami's leaning against the opposite hatch, watching the foam sprays with mild interest. She looks left, then right, as if she can't find you. You wave your cane wildly to catch her eye. "KITAKAMI!"
She seems to focus on you, then tilts her head quizzically.
For *fucks* sake - "GET THOSE LITTLE FUZZY BASTARDS!"
Kitakami sloooowly scans the foam-filled air again, heaves an obvious sigh - and then she *moves.* She almost seems to kick off from the wall, accelerating from a standing start to a green blur trailing black braids. She hits the deck with both boots braced and simply surfs through the thick foam on the deck like she's in her Outfit and cruising the big blue; kicking up a bow-wave of tan foam as she shoves off from tables here and there - her eyes half-lidded with boredom all the while. The last of the corgis manage to escape through the hatch opposite a hairs breadth ahead of her, but she's after them in a flash. You and Hamp manage to stagger through the hatch in time to keep on their tail as they race aft.
The dogs emerge from the superstructure onto the wide top deck, one big chopper landing pad that extends to the stern. They angle left, only to retreat from the light pop-pop-pop of Arizona's secondary batteries firing warning shots. The seaward exit is likewise blocked by Ise and Hyuuga's vengeful scowls. They make a mad dash for the stern, only to find that direction blocked by a Chinook parked aft.
They take the only remaining exit; tucking their legs up beneath them and tobogganing down the vehicle ramp on their fuzzy little bellies. Kitakami is hot on their heels, crouching low and flinging her arms out like a skateboarder to maintain balance as she surfs the streaks of foam squeegeed out of the corgi's fur.
You and Hamp fly down the nearest stairwell three narrow steps at a time till you reach the well deck level, sprinting onto the raised catwalk bordering the cavernous space just in time to see the last of the corgis thundering away towards the aft door, wide open to the sea. Kitakami's just coming off the ramp with a nimble leap, hitting the water with her Outfit already summoned, but the little boats are kicking up tiny rooster-tail wakes as they gun their triple Allisons for all they're worth, accelerating towards forty knots as they scram for the one exit you didn't think to cover.
But covered it is - by another cover, a three-point marine one floating on the surface near the well-deck doors. As the lead corgi approaches it, something ugly and mottled green explodes from the water like something from a NatGeo documentary, seizing one slippery corgi in a bearhug. It's compatriots heel over in panicked turns, sprays of water kicking up from their paws as they lean into the tight maneuvers to flee back towards the railing you're standing at. Before they can think better of it you leap towards the control panel and hit the door control, shutting the deck to the sea and trapping the little bastards in.
Hate is just pulling himself up the ladder when you and Hamp meet him.
"The hell were you doing down there?" Hamp asks.
"It's made for small boats," he says, waving at the space around you. "Figured it was just a matter of time till you guys chased them down here."
"Gee, thanks," you mutter.
[ ] Chew those little furballs out personally. They have seriously fucked up. They are BAD DOGS.
[ ] Let Hate grill them - what he lacks in direct line-of-command over Navy boats, he makes up for in sheer... well, hate.
[ ] Phone it in to base security and save the drama for later - you want off this boat before its CO finds you. See nuting, hear nuting, KNOW NUTING
42879272 (CPL Hate) -
>>42879112
Protip: HE'S STILL FUCKING LIKE THAT.
(Archivist's clarification: 'Demetrious is still a BattleTech nerd')
42879319 -
>>42879272
Deep down, you know you never lost your fascination with Big O, Leftenant.
Gundam stilllll makes you a little excited.
Megas XLR still makes you smile.
Chicks Dig Giant Robots. (Nice~)
42879355 (CPL Hate) -
>>42879319
You're right on Megas.
Otherwise I was a Macross fan, mostly. If they'd only fucking pay more attention to the Valkyries and less on the fucking whiny bitchass characters they've been shitting out since forever.
And don't get me fucking started on Evangelion.
42879372 -
>>42879355
Valk-HUD1.png
May I interest you in [VF-1 Valkyrie] HUDs then?
42879423 (LT Hate) -
>>42879372
No. Fuck you, eyesight cost me my shot at flight school.
42879450 -
>>42879423
>He wanted to be in the Wing
Valk-HUD2.png
HA
HAHA
HAHAHA
42879497 (LT Hate) -
>>42879450
I grew the fuck up on Baa! Baa! Blacksheep! and Midway and fucking Tora! Tora! Tora! And Top Gun and reruns of SWAT Katz and fucking Ring Raiders and all that shit. Can you fucking blame me for wanting to fly the fast fucking jets?
>>42879112
Protip: HE'S STILL FUCKING LIKE THAT.
(Archivist's clarification: 'Demetrious is still a BattleTech nerd')
42879319 -
>>42879272
Deep down, you know you never lost your fascination with Big O, Leftenant.
Gundam stilllll makes you a little excited.
Megas XLR still makes you smile.
Chicks Dig Giant Robots. (Nice~)
42879355 (CPL Hate) -
>>42879319
You're right on Megas.
Otherwise I was a Macross fan, mostly. If they'd only fucking pay more attention to the Valkyries and less on the fucking whiny bitchass characters they've been shitting out since forever.
And don't get me fucking started on Evangelion.
42879372 -
>>42879355
Valk-HUD1.png
May I interest you in [VF-1 Valkyrie] HUDs then?
42879423 (LT Hate) -
>>42879372
No. Fuck you, eyesight cost me my shot at flight school.
42879450 -
>>42879423
>He wanted to be in the Wing
Valk-HUD2.png
HA
HAHA
HAHAHA
42879497 (LT Hate) -
>>42879450
I grew the fuck up on Baa! Baa! Blacksheep! and Midway and fucking Tora! Tora! Tora! And Top Gun and reruns of SWAT Katz and fucking Ring Raiders and all that shit. Can you fucking blame me for wanting to fly the fast fucking jets?
42879457 -
>>42879423
>Lt. Hate
>Lt
Finally give up, huh?
42879777 (LT Hate) -
>>42879457
Got yelled at. They sent Sammy B in with my pins and orders not to leave till they were on me.
42879791 -
>>42879777
Kinky
42879815 (LT Hate) -
>>42879791
That's fucking pedophilia, you nasty shithead.
42879927 -
>>42879815
she's like 50 years old though
42879949 (LT Hate) -
>>42879927
Yeah, and she came back in the body of a 10 fucking year old, with a 10 year old's mentality and a foul fucking mouth.
42879986 (RADM Settle) -
>>42879949
>Yeah, and she came back in the body of a 10 fucking year old, with a 10 year old's mentality and a foul fucking mouth.
... nah, too easy.
42880024 (LT Hate)
>>42879986
yeah, yeah. What do you think *SHE'D* fucking say if she learned I was trying to put the fucking moves to Sammy B.
Remember, Valhalla's fucking picky about how you die, too.
>>42879423
>Lt. Hate
>Lt
Finally give up, huh?
42879777 (LT Hate) -
>>42879457
Got yelled at. They sent Sammy B in with my pins and orders not to leave till they were on me.
42879791 -
>>42879777
Kinky
42879815 (LT Hate) -
>>42879791
That's fucking pedophilia, you nasty shithead.
42879927 -
>>42879815
she's like 50 years old though
42879949 (LT Hate) -
>>42879927
Yeah, and she came back in the body of a 10 fucking year old, with a 10 year old's mentality and a foul fucking mouth.
42879986 (RADM Settle) -
>>42879949
>Yeah, and she came back in the body of a 10 fucking year old, with a 10 year old's mentality and a foul fucking mouth.
... nah, too easy.
42880024 (LT Hate)
>>42879986
yeah, yeah. What do you think *SHE'D* fucking say if she learned I was trying to put the fucking moves to Sammy B.
Remember, Valhalla's fucking picky about how you die, too.
Hate has good taste with the classics.
To Do One’s Duty — The British Prime Minister addresses the Commons (by LurK)
Trace Coburn
BattleTech Starfighter Analyst
- Location
- NDBBM, New Zealand
---The following is a copy of the address delivered by The Right Honourable David Cameron MP, Prime Minister of the United Kingdom, to the members of the House of Commons in the weeks following the disastrous first days of the Abyssal offensives across various parts of the British Isles.---
To you, Mister Speaker, and to the Members of the House:
A pleasant afternoon to you all.
First and foremost, I would like to commend you all in your dedication to duty as Members of Parliament, continuing to go about your work even as the din of battle comes ever closer to these hallowed Chambers. Let me daresay that your presence today is a reassuring testament that the Crown can rely on its loyal subjects to be at their posts at all times, steadfast in their role of keeping the government going amidst these trying times. Yet, we must not forget that in the past few days, some of your number fell to these continuous attacks, either as hapless victims caught in the crossfire, or as uncommon heroes who gave the last ounce of their lives to protect their constituents. MPs Curtiss, Horton, Arondale, McLaughlin, Farrow, Jenner. We remember them today, and I am certain that the House will continue to hold their names in honoured memory, long after this conflict is over.
These are indeed dark days that we face. Not a few days ago you, as Members of Parliament, were discussing further means to make every bit of our national budget count, laying out a new roadmap for the educational reform plan, and finalising the exit policy for dealing with the refugees from the Middle East who wish to acquire permanent residence after their asylum status expires in a few months. Yet now, we are faced with a dire challenge to the very existence of our island nation itself. It cannot be argued that all of us were caught unawares by such a malevolent and devious force, so sudden in its arrival, so swift in its assault. Playing the blame game at this point is of no value to us now; instead, we must seek to enact decisive action against the looming threat.
I need not remind you, ladies and gentlemen, of the heavy toll the past few weeks have enacted upon the British people. In just a matter of days—in some parts of the Realm, hours even—a great deal of this nation's economic infrastructure was laid waste. Vital exports, ready to be shipped out, were ripped apart and made worthless. Homes and lives, built upon years of toil and dedication, reduced to rubble by a few well-placed shells fired from eldritch guns. Who can forget the devastation of the various districts sprawled alongside the Thames? Who can forget the destruction wrought upon the shipbuilding facilities of Barrow-upon-Furness, Belfast, and Liverpool? Worst yet, who can forget the leveling of Brighton Beach which, at the time of the attack, was hosting a fete for the local children?
I could go on and on about how much devastation our beloved Isles have sustained in the past few weeks, but I fear that they are merely the first of many more indiscriminate attacks by the dark beings that suddenly appeared on that fine dusk not too long ago. They are entities of the strangest kind: nightmarish and paradoxical at the same time. They are wrought in iron, flames, and flesh, something that cannot be, and yet here they are, our darkest fears made manifest. We have yet to face any of their kind before, and yet, a good number of them have taken the form of fighting ships of old: torpedo rams clad in some form of ungodly armour, battleships from the days of the First Earl Jellicoe, coastal craft from the days of Dynamo. And let's not forget, that leading these devious and malevolent packs are beings that defy all logic of existence and creation: women of various appearances, fused to ghastly-looking weapons and masts like armoured sirens at the vanguard of a dark force from the deep. It is quite fitting, indeed, that they are being called 'Abyssals', monsters that come forth and ravage all that we hold dear, only to return to the dark depths from whence they came once their lust for rampage is satisfied…
These abominations continue to wage war upon us as we speak. For what reason or purpose, we do not know. Even at this late hour, we have yet to decipher their motivation for laying siege to our Realm, and to any nation across the world that has a coast. Some consider them as a new form of calamity, brought upon us by some undetermined process that has been going on behind the scenes for the longest time. Others see them as a weapon created by human hands, developed by madmen as a sort of revenge on a planet that has overlooked their twisted genius. Still others see them as nothing more than harbingers of the End Times, rising from the depths as prophesied in the Good Book.
We, as a nation, are yet again pushed into a situation where we are at the brink. The Abyssals, by some form of tactical foresight or sheer instinct, have clamped down many of our vital sea routes, denying our citizens vital and life-sustaining commodities, and our industries crucial raw materials. Many of our prosperous coastal towns and cities lay in ruins and abandoned. Our forces are stretched too thin, facing the enemy to the point of exhaustion, a stance they have maintained since the first shots were exchanged at Portsmouth. The danger to our very existence as a nation is real, and once again, as it was seven decades ago, that danger hits home.
Yet I see this not as a reason to lose fate, but as a chance for the good people of these Islands to once again show the world what the true British Fighting Spirit can do. We have the odds stacked considerably against us; then again, it is by these odds that our dogged determination shines through. Let us not forget the exploits of the Defence of Portsmouth on Day Zero where, hopelessly outnumbered and with nary a chance to regroup or consolidate their forces, the valiant men and women of the Navy faced the Abyssals on near-equal footing, making the most of their capabilities and demonstrating the finest form any fighting man or woman in the Armed Services can muster. Let us not forget the aviators of the Royal Air Force, whose daring and intrepid spirit drives them to continuously face withering fire from the hellish anti-aircraft batteries in order to assist their beleaguered compatriots on the ground. Let us not forget the troops of the Army, who faced off with the Abyssals on several occasions even if they fought on terms that would put any battle-hardened rifle regiment in a serious disadvantage. Let us not forget the various elements of law enforcement who contribute to the fighting cause by maintaining order, conducting rescue work, assisting in evacuations and, if needed, taking part in direct combat with the enemy.
Above all this, Let us not forget the contribution of the greatest asset of these Isles: the British People. In the face of death and destruction, in the face of all the carnage, in the face of the uncertain future that lies ahead, they continue to stand together. Their tenacity as a people emulates the same tenacity that held the Empire together in the dark days of the Second World War, and their unwavering faith in our troops and our drive for ultimate victory fuels the fire of courage that burns within each serviceman and woman committed to the defence of the Realm. That fate is not misplaced, for now more than ever, we have the opportunity to fight back and gain the inevitable triumph.
It is as clear as day to us now that, just as there have arisen from the Abyss the dark manifestations of war vessels long lost to the sea, there are also those same beings who, by some fortunate circumstance, have chosen to fight alongside us in our struggle for survival. We are quite fortunate, indeed, that they manifested at the nick of time, providing relief to our battered forces when they needed it the most. I am pleased to report that similar manifestations of these 'ship-girls' have been confirmed, not only across the Commonwealth, but in many other nations affected by the Abyssal menace.
In light of all this, however, I urge you all: let us not be complacent. Now, more than ever, we must stand fast as a people, united in the common cause of peace and survival. I urge our fighting men and women to never let down their guard, even as we gain new allies in the fight. Remember that in the near future, you may be called upon to strike at the heart of the enemy directly, and so you must be ready at all times for that inevitability. I urge you to work closely with our 'ship-girls', that we may be able to make the most out of their services to the Realm. Finally, I urge our people: never lose hope. Never let the light flicker and die. You have been an important part of this fight we are in, and your continued orderly conduct, as is typical of what the world views as the Stiff Upper Lip, will be as much an important asset for us as every weapon we have at our disposal. If you wish to fight, however, I urge you to do so as an official member of the Armed Services, so that you will be provided with proper training in that regard.
To our 'ship-girls', I extend my greatest gratitude on behalf of the Crown, the Realm, and the British People. In this dark hour you came to our aid, bearing the torch of hope for us all. We have no right to demand your services, and yet you are here now, standing ready to fight for Britain as you once did in your previous lives. I will not forget that, the Crown will not forget that, and most important of all, the People will not forget that. We welcome you into our fold once more, and rest assured that we shall stand together with you until the day of victory, and beyond.
Britain Expects Every Briton to Do His Duty. Therefore let us move forward as one people, one nation, one United Kingdom, playing our own assigned roles, determined to fight it out to the bitter end. Together with our greater family in the Commonwealth, together with our neighbours in Europe, and together with all the other nations of the world, let us move forward. Let us rise from the ashes of fear and death, and spread the blazing wings of a Reborn Britain. Let us push the dark forces back into the Abyss, and seal them there forevermore. With our spirits aflame with courage, let us grasp the ultimate victory.
Godspeed to us all.
The Seal of the British House of Commons.
To you, Mister Speaker, and to the Members of the House:
A pleasant afternoon to you all.
First and foremost, I would like to commend you all in your dedication to duty as Members of Parliament, continuing to go about your work even as the din of battle comes ever closer to these hallowed Chambers. Let me daresay that your presence today is a reassuring testament that the Crown can rely on its loyal subjects to be at their posts at all times, steadfast in their role of keeping the government going amidst these trying times. Yet, we must not forget that in the past few days, some of your number fell to these continuous attacks, either as hapless victims caught in the crossfire, or as uncommon heroes who gave the last ounce of their lives to protect their constituents. MPs Curtiss, Horton, Arondale, McLaughlin, Farrow, Jenner. We remember them today, and I am certain that the House will continue to hold their names in honoured memory, long after this conflict is over.
These are indeed dark days that we face. Not a few days ago you, as Members of Parliament, were discussing further means to make every bit of our national budget count, laying out a new roadmap for the educational reform plan, and finalising the exit policy for dealing with the refugees from the Middle East who wish to acquire permanent residence after their asylum status expires in a few months. Yet now, we are faced with a dire challenge to the very existence of our island nation itself. It cannot be argued that all of us were caught unawares by such a malevolent and devious force, so sudden in its arrival, so swift in its assault. Playing the blame game at this point is of no value to us now; instead, we must seek to enact decisive action against the looming threat.
I need not remind you, ladies and gentlemen, of the heavy toll the past few weeks have enacted upon the British people. In just a matter of days—in some parts of the Realm, hours even—a great deal of this nation's economic infrastructure was laid waste. Vital exports, ready to be shipped out, were ripped apart and made worthless. Homes and lives, built upon years of toil and dedication, reduced to rubble by a few well-placed shells fired from eldritch guns. Who can forget the devastation of the various districts sprawled alongside the Thames? Who can forget the destruction wrought upon the shipbuilding facilities of Barrow-upon-Furness, Belfast, and Liverpool? Worst yet, who can forget the leveling of Brighton Beach which, at the time of the attack, was hosting a fete for the local children?
I could go on and on about how much devastation our beloved Isles have sustained in the past few weeks, but I fear that they are merely the first of many more indiscriminate attacks by the dark beings that suddenly appeared on that fine dusk not too long ago. They are entities of the strangest kind: nightmarish and paradoxical at the same time. They are wrought in iron, flames, and flesh, something that cannot be, and yet here they are, our darkest fears made manifest. We have yet to face any of their kind before, and yet, a good number of them have taken the form of fighting ships of old: torpedo rams clad in some form of ungodly armour, battleships from the days of the First Earl Jellicoe, coastal craft from the days of Dynamo. And let's not forget, that leading these devious and malevolent packs are beings that defy all logic of existence and creation: women of various appearances, fused to ghastly-looking weapons and masts like armoured sirens at the vanguard of a dark force from the deep. It is quite fitting, indeed, that they are being called 'Abyssals', monsters that come forth and ravage all that we hold dear, only to return to the dark depths from whence they came once their lust for rampage is satisfied…
These abominations continue to wage war upon us as we speak. For what reason or purpose, we do not know. Even at this late hour, we have yet to decipher their motivation for laying siege to our Realm, and to any nation across the world that has a coast. Some consider them as a new form of calamity, brought upon us by some undetermined process that has been going on behind the scenes for the longest time. Others see them as a weapon created by human hands, developed by madmen as a sort of revenge on a planet that has overlooked their twisted genius. Still others see them as nothing more than harbingers of the End Times, rising from the depths as prophesied in the Good Book.
We, as a nation, are yet again pushed into a situation where we are at the brink. The Abyssals, by some form of tactical foresight or sheer instinct, have clamped down many of our vital sea routes, denying our citizens vital and life-sustaining commodities, and our industries crucial raw materials. Many of our prosperous coastal towns and cities lay in ruins and abandoned. Our forces are stretched too thin, facing the enemy to the point of exhaustion, a stance they have maintained since the first shots were exchanged at Portsmouth. The danger to our very existence as a nation is real, and once again, as it was seven decades ago, that danger hits home.
Yet I see this not as a reason to lose fate, but as a chance for the good people of these Islands to once again show the world what the true British Fighting Spirit can do. We have the odds stacked considerably against us; then again, it is by these odds that our dogged determination shines through. Let us not forget the exploits of the Defence of Portsmouth on Day Zero where, hopelessly outnumbered and with nary a chance to regroup or consolidate their forces, the valiant men and women of the Navy faced the Abyssals on near-equal footing, making the most of their capabilities and demonstrating the finest form any fighting man or woman in the Armed Services can muster. Let us not forget the aviators of the Royal Air Force, whose daring and intrepid spirit drives them to continuously face withering fire from the hellish anti-aircraft batteries in order to assist their beleaguered compatriots on the ground. Let us not forget the troops of the Army, who faced off with the Abyssals on several occasions even if they fought on terms that would put any battle-hardened rifle regiment in a serious disadvantage. Let us not forget the various elements of law enforcement who contribute to the fighting cause by maintaining order, conducting rescue work, assisting in evacuations and, if needed, taking part in direct combat with the enemy.
Above all this, Let us not forget the contribution of the greatest asset of these Isles: the British People. In the face of death and destruction, in the face of all the carnage, in the face of the uncertain future that lies ahead, they continue to stand together. Their tenacity as a people emulates the same tenacity that held the Empire together in the dark days of the Second World War, and their unwavering faith in our troops and our drive for ultimate victory fuels the fire of courage that burns within each serviceman and woman committed to the defence of the Realm. That fate is not misplaced, for now more than ever, we have the opportunity to fight back and gain the inevitable triumph.
It is as clear as day to us now that, just as there have arisen from the Abyss the dark manifestations of war vessels long lost to the sea, there are also those same beings who, by some fortunate circumstance, have chosen to fight alongside us in our struggle for survival. We are quite fortunate, indeed, that they manifested at the nick of time, providing relief to our battered forces when they needed it the most. I am pleased to report that similar manifestations of these 'ship-girls' have been confirmed, not only across the Commonwealth, but in many other nations affected by the Abyssal menace.
In light of all this, however, I urge you all: let us not be complacent. Now, more than ever, we must stand fast as a people, united in the common cause of peace and survival. I urge our fighting men and women to never let down their guard, even as we gain new allies in the fight. Remember that in the near future, you may be called upon to strike at the heart of the enemy directly, and so you must be ready at all times for that inevitability. I urge you to work closely with our 'ship-girls', that we may be able to make the most out of their services to the Realm. Finally, I urge our people: never lose hope. Never let the light flicker and die. You have been an important part of this fight we are in, and your continued orderly conduct, as is typical of what the world views as the Stiff Upper Lip, will be as much an important asset for us as every weapon we have at our disposal. If you wish to fight, however, I urge you to do so as an official member of the Armed Services, so that you will be provided with proper training in that regard.
To our 'ship-girls', I extend my greatest gratitude on behalf of the Crown, the Realm, and the British People. In this dark hour you came to our aid, bearing the torch of hope for us all. We have no right to demand your services, and yet you are here now, standing ready to fight for Britain as you once did in your previous lives. I will not forget that, the Crown will not forget that, and most important of all, the People will not forget that. We welcome you into our fold once more, and rest assured that we shall stand together with you until the day of victory, and beyond.
Britain Expects Every Briton to Do His Duty. Therefore let us move forward as one people, one nation, one United Kingdom, playing our own assigned roles, determined to fight it out to the bitter end. Together with our greater family in the Commonwealth, together with our neighbours in Europe, and together with all the other nations of the world, let us move forward. Let us rise from the ashes of fear and death, and spread the blazing wings of a Reborn Britain. Let us push the dark forces back into the Abyss, and seal them there forevermore. With our spirits aflame with courage, let us grasp the ultimate victory.
Godspeed to us all.
Language Barrier (by Navy-Vet)
Trace Coburn
BattleTech Starfighter Analyst
- Location
- NDBBM, New Zealand
"Pencil, geroff me or I swear on me mum I'll -!" howled Liverpool.
Graf Spee had the errant Town-class cruiser held in a headlock as she escorted her back to the common area of the dorms at Portsmouth.
"Livvie, ye dinnae even have a mum. Yir aff yir heid," calmly explained Glasgow.
"Ye dinnae want to git nabbed by the black maria an' taken to the tanty, do ye?" continued Edinburgh.
Liverpool stopped struggling. "De' feck are you gobshites even saying? I ain't no whopper, but even I can speak the Queen's feckin' english."
Glasgow and Edinburgh started giggling. Graf held out as long as she could, but she too succumbed once Liverpool started chuckling underneath her arm.
"I swear, between you three, I'm surprised anyone can understand anything you say," Graf said once her laughing had subsided.
"Az if, those two arl arse Texans on top te fuck with commos," rebutted Liverpool, send all four girls into another fit of laughter.
"Oy, Pencil, you can get off me now, I'm done bein' a divvy."
Graf let up off Liverpool, and the cruiser girl rose, ceremonially dusting off her clothes. Graf, Edinburgh and Glasgow all stared at Liverpool expectantly. She coughed embarrassingly into a fist. "What?" The three girls merely turned up the intensity of their stares.
"Fiiine. I'm sorry for makin' a scene at tha' pub. Even if that wanker deserves a good thrashing."
Graf loomed closer to her than the other two, a smile on her lips. "Unnnnd...?"
Liverpool threw up her arms in defeat. "Gawd. Fine." She turned to Edinburgh and Glasgow. "I'm..." She made an aborted attempt to start. "Abou' wha' happened..." Before she could even really start, Edinburgh and Glasgow both had her wrapped up in a hug.
"We love ye for why ye did it, Livvie. Yer our sister-" Started Glasgow.
"-Cousin." Interrupted Edinburgh.
"Yer our cousin," continued Glasgow, "and we'll love ye no matter what."
Graf merely stood back with a smile, content at watching the three Town-class girls hug it out. That is, until Liverpool stuck an arm out and dragged her into the group hug. "Oy, Pencil. Yer one of us, now."
After a few minutes, Liverpool broke the hug, surreptitiously wiping away a few tears. "Well, we better 'ead to the common room before they send out the Bizzies." As the four walked through the dorms, Graf marveled at the three 'cousins'.
The same general class of cruiser had resulted in radically different girls. Edinburgh was slightly taller than the other two, with short, dark blonde hair neatly tucked under what she learned was called a 'Balmoral' hat. Glasgow had an unruly mop of red hair barely held underneath her own hat, a more military-styled 'Glengarry'. They both wore fairly similar outfits most of the time, their pleated tartan skirts in a darker pattern than Graf had expected.
Liverpool, or Livvie as her friends would call her, was radically different. Back-length brown hair held roughly in a ponytail, dress shirt untucked from her own skirt with the sleeves pulled up to her elbows; and a perpetual scowl on her face when she wasn't with her friends. Their ordnance might not have been the most potent ever put on a cruiser, but the three girls more than made up for it with their tenacity and willingness to fight.
Graf started to think back to her own involvement in 'the war', as they collectively called their shared history, as the four approached the common room. Her train of thought was quickly derailed, however, from what sounded like a fight brewing inside. One voice she knew all too well; it all but called out to her from the year 1939.
Exeter.
Graf quietly opened the door to the common room and peered inside; her three friends sneaking a glance in with her. Exeter stood imperiously over the the struck form of HMS Electra. The poor destroyer-girl had, to all observers, tears in her eyes and a red mark blooming across one of her cheeks. There were roughly half a dozen other girls in the room, a few light cruisers and destroyers; all of them frozen at the scene.
"Foolish girl. I was the pride of the Royal Navy. I was- AM a hero to England! Why in God's name would I ever want to sail again with the likes of YOU?!" Exeter practically screamed the last part at now shaking Electra.
Graf remembered the ship HMS Exeter. A good, solid heavy cruiser and a worthy foe. If it weren't for the more modern design and technology Graf had at the time, the one time they had met in combat might have turned out radically different. As it was, Exeter the woman, she of the almost stereotypical British snaggleteeth, a woman who perpetually smelled of burnt tea. She dressed proper, true; but she carried with her an air of self-importance and what some of the RN lads had called 'resting bitch face'.
Graf made a quick assessment of the room from her vantage point. She knew none of the other girls would stop Exeter; she'd just bully them into submission. She was the only one who could really stand up to Exeter on her own.
"AAAACH-TUNG!" The call to attention was universal. No matter the language, it seemed; the harsh, guttural shout commanded immediate respect.
"Was- What is the meaning of this?" Graf said as she stepped into the room, her three friends following behind.
Exeter started and stared in Graf's direction, glaring daggers. "Shut up, Kraut. This is a matter for the Royal Navy. Your presence is neither asked for nor desired," she said as soon as she recovered.
Graf bent down to help up Electra. "Last time I checked, Exeter, our two navies were allied. You would do well to remember that we are ALL in this together."
Exeter scoffed as Electra took cover behind Graf. "Please, Kraut. We've never needed help from YOUR kind before; besides, it's not you actually do anything here."
There were gasps from all the other shipgirls in the room; Graf could sense Electra tense up from behind her. She narrowed her eyes at Exeter, white-hot rage working its way into her system. Her still-missing rangefinder crippled her combat abilities well enough that it had been decided, outside of local defense, she would remain in Portsmouth to provide logistical support for the Kriegsmarine girls. It was public knowledge, true; but it was a low and dirty blow. She clenched her fists and stepped up to Exeter, looming over the slightly shorter girl.
"You want a repeat of Plate, Exeter? Even half blind I can still take you." She saw Exeter's eyes flicker slightly behind her, and she knew that her three friends had moved up to support her.
"Oy, Eggsy. Piss off ya posh twat before we send ya' to the Royal 'ozzy," threatened Liverpool.
Exeter glared at Liverpool. "Why you support the enemy I'll never know. She should just go back to her home; back where she belongs." The room grew tense at that. The gauntlet had been thrown down, now it was just a matter of time before the first punch was let loose.
"... At least you have a home."
All eyes turned to face the speaker. In an ancillary doorway stood Bismarck, Hood, and Prinz Eugen. The sheer presence of what was often called the "Allied Heavy Fleet" diffused the brewing fight. Bismarck, strode across the room to one of the liquor cabinets that dotted the far wall, her eyes dark; while Prinz sauntered over to Graf. Hood merely stood in the doorway and looked at Exeter.
"We just got back from London. Herr Ambassador turned down Bismarck's proposal for port calls in the Fatherland. He also feels it might be necessary to loan some of us out to other allied nations," Prinz quietly explained to Graf, a sad look in her eyes. Graf shivered at her words.
Bismarck said nothing as she approached, a bottle of gin in her hand. Graf quickly glanced down at the label and made out the words "Navy Strength" on the label. Bismarck always seemed to hit the bottle hard after meeting with the German Ambassador. She took a strong pull off the bottle as she walked out of the room, Prinz moving to follow her.
Hood chose that moment to speak up. "It is late, ladies. I suggest everyone turn in for the night. Exeter, I shall speak to you in the hall."
Color drained from Exeter's face at that, as the other girls in the room started to make their exits. The walls will definitely have ears tonight, thought Graf as she and her friends escorted the nearly-forgotten Electra out.
"Tha' bint needs to check herself bad. Everyone else seems to know the war's over," muttered Glasgow as they walked to their rooms. Graf smiled weakly at her, her mind roiling at both her predicament, and the possible future of all the Krieg-girls.
The left Electra at the room she shared with a few other destroyers, a quiet "thank you" trailing from her as she went in. The four girls continued on to their rooms. The three 'cousins' all noticed Graf's melancholy mood. Liverpool nudged her with her shoulder as they walked.
"Oy, Pencil, that twat'll get what's comin' to her, I swear on me mum." For once, no one corrected Liverpool.
"An' dinnae worry, the Admiralty won't give in to some paper-pushers an' ship yer girls off," chipped in Edinburgh, patting Graf on the shoulder.
Graf smiled weakly at the trio as she arrived at her room. "Danke, meine freunde. Even if they do, though, I'm sure it would be to somewhere pleasant." Graf entered her room. "Guten nacht, my friends." She politely shut the door on the girls.
She opened the small refrigerator she had and pulled out a bottle she had picked up at the recommendation of that American, James Parker. She idly wondered if he was working as she went to the personal computer the Royal Navy had provided to every returned ship-girl. She saw that he was 'online', if this 'skype' thing was any measure. She pressed the 'call' button and sipped from her bottle as she waited for his pickup.
Graf Spee had the errant Town-class cruiser held in a headlock as she escorted her back to the common area of the dorms at Portsmouth.
"Livvie, ye dinnae even have a mum. Yir aff yir heid," calmly explained Glasgow.
"Ye dinnae want to git nabbed by the black maria an' taken to the tanty, do ye?" continued Edinburgh.
Liverpool stopped struggling. "De' feck are you gobshites even saying? I ain't no whopper, but even I can speak the Queen's feckin' english."
Glasgow and Edinburgh started giggling. Graf held out as long as she could, but she too succumbed once Liverpool started chuckling underneath her arm.
"I swear, between you three, I'm surprised anyone can understand anything you say," Graf said once her laughing had subsided.
"Az if, those two arl arse Texans on top te fuck with commos," rebutted Liverpool, send all four girls into another fit of laughter.
"Oy, Pencil, you can get off me now, I'm done bein' a divvy."
Graf let up off Liverpool, and the cruiser girl rose, ceremonially dusting off her clothes. Graf, Edinburgh and Glasgow all stared at Liverpool expectantly. She coughed embarrassingly into a fist. "What?" The three girls merely turned up the intensity of their stares.
"Fiiine. I'm sorry for makin' a scene at tha' pub. Even if that wanker deserves a good thrashing."
Graf loomed closer to her than the other two, a smile on her lips. "Unnnnd...?"
Liverpool threw up her arms in defeat. "Gawd. Fine." She turned to Edinburgh and Glasgow. "I'm..." She made an aborted attempt to start. "Abou' wha' happened..." Before she could even really start, Edinburgh and Glasgow both had her wrapped up in a hug.
"We love ye for why ye did it, Livvie. Yer our sister-" Started Glasgow.
"-Cousin." Interrupted Edinburgh.
"Yer our cousin," continued Glasgow, "and we'll love ye no matter what."
Graf merely stood back with a smile, content at watching the three Town-class girls hug it out. That is, until Liverpool stuck an arm out and dragged her into the group hug. "Oy, Pencil. Yer one of us, now."
After a few minutes, Liverpool broke the hug, surreptitiously wiping away a few tears. "Well, we better 'ead to the common room before they send out the Bizzies." As the four walked through the dorms, Graf marveled at the three 'cousins'.
The same general class of cruiser had resulted in radically different girls. Edinburgh was slightly taller than the other two, with short, dark blonde hair neatly tucked under what she learned was called a 'Balmoral' hat. Glasgow had an unruly mop of red hair barely held underneath her own hat, a more military-styled 'Glengarry'. They both wore fairly similar outfits most of the time, their pleated tartan skirts in a darker pattern than Graf had expected.
Liverpool, or Livvie as her friends would call her, was radically different. Back-length brown hair held roughly in a ponytail, dress shirt untucked from her own skirt with the sleeves pulled up to her elbows; and a perpetual scowl on her face when she wasn't with her friends. Their ordnance might not have been the most potent ever put on a cruiser, but the three girls more than made up for it with their tenacity and willingness to fight.
Graf started to think back to her own involvement in 'the war', as they collectively called their shared history, as the four approached the common room. Her train of thought was quickly derailed, however, from what sounded like a fight brewing inside. One voice she knew all too well; it all but called out to her from the year 1939.
Exeter.
Graf quietly opened the door to the common room and peered inside; her three friends sneaking a glance in with her. Exeter stood imperiously over the the struck form of HMS Electra. The poor destroyer-girl had, to all observers, tears in her eyes and a red mark blooming across one of her cheeks. There were roughly half a dozen other girls in the room, a few light cruisers and destroyers; all of them frozen at the scene.
"Foolish girl. I was the pride of the Royal Navy. I was- AM a hero to England! Why in God's name would I ever want to sail again with the likes of YOU?!" Exeter practically screamed the last part at now shaking Electra.
Graf remembered the ship HMS Exeter. A good, solid heavy cruiser and a worthy foe. If it weren't for the more modern design and technology Graf had at the time, the one time they had met in combat might have turned out radically different. As it was, Exeter the woman, she of the almost stereotypical British snaggleteeth, a woman who perpetually smelled of burnt tea. She dressed proper, true; but she carried with her an air of self-importance and what some of the RN lads had called 'resting bitch face'.
Graf made a quick assessment of the room from her vantage point. She knew none of the other girls would stop Exeter; she'd just bully them into submission. She was the only one who could really stand up to Exeter on her own.
"AAAACH-TUNG!" The call to attention was universal. No matter the language, it seemed; the harsh, guttural shout commanded immediate respect.
"Was- What is the meaning of this?" Graf said as she stepped into the room, her three friends following behind.
Exeter started and stared in Graf's direction, glaring daggers. "Shut up, Kraut. This is a matter for the Royal Navy. Your presence is neither asked for nor desired," she said as soon as she recovered.
Graf bent down to help up Electra. "Last time I checked, Exeter, our two navies were allied. You would do well to remember that we are ALL in this together."
Exeter scoffed as Electra took cover behind Graf. "Please, Kraut. We've never needed help from YOUR kind before; besides, it's not you actually do anything here."
There were gasps from all the other shipgirls in the room; Graf could sense Electra tense up from behind her. She narrowed her eyes at Exeter, white-hot rage working its way into her system. Her still-missing rangefinder crippled her combat abilities well enough that it had been decided, outside of local defense, she would remain in Portsmouth to provide logistical support for the Kriegsmarine girls. It was public knowledge, true; but it was a low and dirty blow. She clenched her fists and stepped up to Exeter, looming over the slightly shorter girl.
"You want a repeat of Plate, Exeter? Even half blind I can still take you." She saw Exeter's eyes flicker slightly behind her, and she knew that her three friends had moved up to support her.
"Oy, Eggsy. Piss off ya posh twat before we send ya' to the Royal 'ozzy," threatened Liverpool.
Exeter glared at Liverpool. "Why you support the enemy I'll never know. She should just go back to her home; back where she belongs." The room grew tense at that. The gauntlet had been thrown down, now it was just a matter of time before the first punch was let loose.
"... At least you have a home."
All eyes turned to face the speaker. In an ancillary doorway stood Bismarck, Hood, and Prinz Eugen. The sheer presence of what was often called the "Allied Heavy Fleet" diffused the brewing fight. Bismarck, strode across the room to one of the liquor cabinets that dotted the far wall, her eyes dark; while Prinz sauntered over to Graf. Hood merely stood in the doorway and looked at Exeter.
"We just got back from London. Herr Ambassador turned down Bismarck's proposal for port calls in the Fatherland. He also feels it might be necessary to loan some of us out to other allied nations," Prinz quietly explained to Graf, a sad look in her eyes. Graf shivered at her words.
Bismarck said nothing as she approached, a bottle of gin in her hand. Graf quickly glanced down at the label and made out the words "Navy Strength" on the label. Bismarck always seemed to hit the bottle hard after meeting with the German Ambassador. She took a strong pull off the bottle as she walked out of the room, Prinz moving to follow her.
Hood chose that moment to speak up. "It is late, ladies. I suggest everyone turn in for the night. Exeter, I shall speak to you in the hall."
Color drained from Exeter's face at that, as the other girls in the room started to make their exits. The walls will definitely have ears tonight, thought Graf as she and her friends escorted the nearly-forgotten Electra out.
"Tha' bint needs to check herself bad. Everyone else seems to know the war's over," muttered Glasgow as they walked to their rooms. Graf smiled weakly at her, her mind roiling at both her predicament, and the possible future of all the Krieg-girls.
The left Electra at the room she shared with a few other destroyers, a quiet "thank you" trailing from her as she went in. The four girls continued on to their rooms. The three 'cousins' all noticed Graf's melancholy mood. Liverpool nudged her with her shoulder as they walked.
"Oy, Pencil, that twat'll get what's comin' to her, I swear on me mum." For once, no one corrected Liverpool.
"An' dinnae worry, the Admiralty won't give in to some paper-pushers an' ship yer girls off," chipped in Edinburgh, patting Graf on the shoulder.
Graf smiled weakly at the trio as she arrived at her room. "Danke, meine freunde. Even if they do, though, I'm sure it would be to somewhere pleasant." Graf entered her room. "Guten nacht, my friends." She politely shut the door on the girls.
She opened the small refrigerator she had and pulled out a bottle she had picked up at the recommendation of that American, James Parker. She idly wondered if he was working as she went to the personal computer the Royal Navy had provided to every returned ship-girl. She saw that he was 'online', if this 'skype' thing was any measure. She pressed the 'call' button and sipped from her bottle as she waited for his pickup.
Of Storms, Sweet Water and Spirits: The Fresh Water Fleet (by Fluffbringer)
Trace Coburn
BattleTech Starfighter Analyst
- Location
- NDBBM, New Zealand
'I'm damn glad I'm not in that mad house.' Thought Lt. Gen. Vincent R. Stewart in exhaustion as he flopped the latest report he was reading to his desk. Admiral Settle over in Japan was making quite a show of taking it to those 'Abyssals', but all the data and intelligence that was flowing back was more illuminating than just the battle's results. Figuring out how those hull tick is something everyone wants to know. Learning that Hulls can return as men and boys rather than just woman at various ages and dogs. That fact alone has thrown all our expectations and Coming into work in the wee hours of the morning to get a jump on the paper work is a habit that came with the job of being the recently appointed Director of National Intelligence. At least his coffee with him was nice and hot.
But any worries about Settle's trials and tribulations was pale to the ominous report from an Agent Ramo from inside the Bureau of Indian Affairs that was sitting right in the middle of his desk. In this new age of the scientific unexplainable 'Abyssals' and 'Ship people', Vincent had a gut feeling this report was going to veer off into magical lala land. But swallowing his concerns, he reached for the file and opened it up. The first page showed that the CIA already checked and cleared facts on this report, and that pissed him off a bit seeing they got to this before he did.
Lt. Gen Vincent R. Stewart read the report. Nobody interfered while he read it as much he wanted some excuse to look away from what was inside it. Gently closing it and leaving it on his desk and leaned back in his chair, starting off into space as he let the shocking information sink in. To summarize what he read was this
1: Nearly all of recognized Tribes and many who were not recognized tribes had started an active and secured communication between themselves eight months ago. Normally this would be filed under 'I don't give a damn, this is nothing to me.' But it lead into point two.
2: The wealthier tribes has been funneling money and materials to the poorer tribes. Seeing many of the richer tribes own and operate gambling casinos chains and make a lot of sales of untaxed gas and other goods, they have a huge bankroll to spread around. Again, he didn't care about that but the next point started raising flags in his mind.
3: The ATF picked up that a good deal of the money that was being moved went into buying a sizable amount of firearms, ammo, boats and vehicles of a mix of types. It was estimated that it was more than enough to equip at least a regiment of troops and maybe more if the tribes are tapping into black market connections to arm up. This now rating rather high on the 'well shit' meter in his head. But again, this is now seeming like a mundane Indian uprising on our hands. But this shit shouldn't be in his lap, but the FBI and more likely National Guard and the Army's problem. That was his original idea, but the final bit hit home.
4: In the last week and a half, nearly two thousand Native Americans has gathered on the L'Anse Indian Reservation next to the town of Baraga Bay, MI. They have barred any non Indian tribe member from entering the reserve for any reason, but allow other Indians in and out. There is more than likely more tribe members will arrive soon from across the nation. The report also had a number of photos taken from spy drones. They were not the best, but did show that a large tribal rituals are being performed near the shore line. Something in the area was causing the photos from being any clearer. Performing what appears be a summoning ritual to bring in a 'Ship Person'. From the way the agent Ramo wrote the report was the assumption that if they can summon a 'Ship Person', they could very will bind it to their will.
It's not the first time the Indians kicked up an insurrection in U.S. history. But if they could call up even one cruiser class, that could make a rebellion turn very bloody. If they can get any more of a heavy weight war ship on their side, the death toll would be astronomical. But so far none has appeared. Yet.
Vincent turned to his typewriter on his desk to punch out an urgent report to the President. He missed using a PC to write up reports. Now after NSA and CIA figured out that a number of other foreign nations could compromise nearly any PC, the top secret reports and files now will have to be written up on a manual typewriter as exactly how the Russians have been using for years themselves. His Secretary knocked on his door as he was well into writing up his report to the President. and Vincent paged her into his office.
"What do you have now?" Vincent asked while still typing away and not really looking at his Secretary. "Sir, Thunder Bay is being attacked by what appears to be a monster. It's on all the news channels now." She said sounding very scared by this turn of events. Vincent stood up, grabbing the remote from his desk and turned on his flat screen to the default of FOX News. What was showing on live TV was a nightmare.
A camera shot of a news helicopter scanning over the city that is currently being shelled in the early morning dawn. Billowing pillars of smoke from the burning oil fuel tanks near the shore line help cover the extent of the damages in the city. The camera pans over to the grand I-43 bridge over the mouth of Fox river that bisects Green Bay. Small fires from burning vehicles on the bridge stand prominent in the morning light. Suddenly a volley of shells slam into the steel span over the river causing it to collapse into the water below. The camera still panning over to the open water to what was doing the shelling. Vincent's secretary turned her head way from the screen in fear and revulsion. He keep staring at it in all it's complete wrongness of it's presence. It was a massive feline like quadruped that stretched bigger than most battleships. With a pair of what looks like a 16 inch main cannons from an Iowa class on head mounted like a bull's horns. It also had a mix of other types of guns all along it's spine.
It was a hell of a thing to look at. Even when most of it was likely still under the water, it was still noticeable that it's hide was made up an unholy mixture of flesh and metal. But it was it's eyes that struck Vincent the most. The points of blue light in bottomless pits of darkness that made up it's eyes. Exactly as Settle described how those Abyssial looks like.
That's it! Looking at that monster made all snap into place in his mind. But it's not 100% proof yet. We still need more investigation and for what he has in mind was going to be ran past the President himself.
"Miss O'Connell. Please get on the phone with the White House. I think I can debrief the President on this situation. Give me two hours to make my report." "Yes Sir, is there anything else you'll need?" "Yea, get me a way to contact this Agent Ramo in the Bureau of Indian Affairs as well as pull up for me the fresh Satellite photos of the those Indian reservations and any new intelligence we have on this attack. We'll need him later for contacting the tribes. I can't say for sure what their goal is now, but with this changes everything." Vincent said gesturing toward the flat screen. The camera feed still on the beast as it stops it's shelling. It turns it's head around to look off into the distance as if it hears something. Then instantly it spins around to dive back into the deeper waters of the lake to escape. Moments later, four missiles from off the side of the view screen steaks down into the lake right where the beast dived into uselessly.
"I'll bring this Abyssial down. One way or another..." Vincent said menacingly as he turned the TV off.
But any worries about Settle's trials and tribulations was pale to the ominous report from an Agent Ramo from inside the Bureau of Indian Affairs that was sitting right in the middle of his desk. In this new age of the scientific unexplainable 'Abyssals' and 'Ship people', Vincent had a gut feeling this report was going to veer off into magical lala land. But swallowing his concerns, he reached for the file and opened it up. The first page showed that the CIA already checked and cleared facts on this report, and that pissed him off a bit seeing they got to this before he did.
Lt. Gen Vincent R. Stewart read the report. Nobody interfered while he read it as much he wanted some excuse to look away from what was inside it. Gently closing it and leaving it on his desk and leaned back in his chair, starting off into space as he let the shocking information sink in. To summarize what he read was this
1: Nearly all of recognized Tribes and many who were not recognized tribes had started an active and secured communication between themselves eight months ago. Normally this would be filed under 'I don't give a damn, this is nothing to me.' But it lead into point two.
2: The wealthier tribes has been funneling money and materials to the poorer tribes. Seeing many of the richer tribes own and operate gambling casinos chains and make a lot of sales of untaxed gas and other goods, they have a huge bankroll to spread around. Again, he didn't care about that but the next point started raising flags in his mind.
3: The ATF picked up that a good deal of the money that was being moved went into buying a sizable amount of firearms, ammo, boats and vehicles of a mix of types. It was estimated that it was more than enough to equip at least a regiment of troops and maybe more if the tribes are tapping into black market connections to arm up. This now rating rather high on the 'well shit' meter in his head. But again, this is now seeming like a mundane Indian uprising on our hands. But this shit shouldn't be in his lap, but the FBI and more likely National Guard and the Army's problem. That was his original idea, but the final bit hit home.
4: In the last week and a half, nearly two thousand Native Americans has gathered on the L'Anse Indian Reservation next to the town of Baraga Bay, MI. They have barred any non Indian tribe member from entering the reserve for any reason, but allow other Indians in and out. There is more than likely more tribe members will arrive soon from across the nation. The report also had a number of photos taken from spy drones. They were not the best, but did show that a large tribal rituals are being performed near the shore line. Something in the area was causing the photos from being any clearer. Performing what appears be a summoning ritual to bring in a 'Ship Person'. From the way the agent Ramo wrote the report was the assumption that if they can summon a 'Ship Person', they could very will bind it to their will.
It's not the first time the Indians kicked up an insurrection in U.S. history. But if they could call up even one cruiser class, that could make a rebellion turn very bloody. If they can get any more of a heavy weight war ship on their side, the death toll would be astronomical. But so far none has appeared. Yet.
Vincent turned to his typewriter on his desk to punch out an urgent report to the President. He missed using a PC to write up reports. Now after NSA and CIA figured out that a number of other foreign nations could compromise nearly any PC, the top secret reports and files now will have to be written up on a manual typewriter as exactly how the Russians have been using for years themselves. His Secretary knocked on his door as he was well into writing up his report to the President. and Vincent paged her into his office.
"What do you have now?" Vincent asked while still typing away and not really looking at his Secretary. "Sir, Thunder Bay is being attacked by what appears to be a monster. It's on all the news channels now." She said sounding very scared by this turn of events. Vincent stood up, grabbing the remote from his desk and turned on his flat screen to the default of FOX News. What was showing on live TV was a nightmare.
A camera shot of a news helicopter scanning over the city that is currently being shelled in the early morning dawn. Billowing pillars of smoke from the burning oil fuel tanks near the shore line help cover the extent of the damages in the city. The camera pans over to the grand I-43 bridge over the mouth of Fox river that bisects Green Bay. Small fires from burning vehicles on the bridge stand prominent in the morning light. Suddenly a volley of shells slam into the steel span over the river causing it to collapse into the water below. The camera still panning over to the open water to what was doing the shelling. Vincent's secretary turned her head way from the screen in fear and revulsion. He keep staring at it in all it's complete wrongness of it's presence. It was a massive feline like quadruped that stretched bigger than most battleships. With a pair of what looks like a 16 inch main cannons from an Iowa class on head mounted like a bull's horns. It also had a mix of other types of guns all along it's spine.
It was a hell of a thing to look at. Even when most of it was likely still under the water, it was still noticeable that it's hide was made up an unholy mixture of flesh and metal. But it was it's eyes that struck Vincent the most. The points of blue light in bottomless pits of darkness that made up it's eyes. Exactly as Settle described how those Abyssial looks like.
That's it! Looking at that monster made all snap into place in his mind. But it's not 100% proof yet. We still need more investigation and for what he has in mind was going to be ran past the President himself.
"Miss O'Connell. Please get on the phone with the White House. I think I can debrief the President on this situation. Give me two hours to make my report." "Yes Sir, is there anything else you'll need?" "Yea, get me a way to contact this Agent Ramo in the Bureau of Indian Affairs as well as pull up for me the fresh Satellite photos of the those Indian reservations and any new intelligence we have on this attack. We'll need him later for contacting the tribes. I can't say for sure what their goal is now, but with this changes everything." Vincent said gesturing toward the flat screen. The camera feed still on the beast as it stops it's shelling. It turns it's head around to look off into the distance as if it hears something. Then instantly it spins around to dive back into the deeper waters of the lake to escape. Moments later, four missiles from off the side of the view screen steaks down into the lake right where the beast dived into uselessly.
"I'll bring this Abyssial down. One way or another..." Vincent said menacingly as he turned the TV off.
"So you're basically telling me these Native Americans that are armed to the teeth and are trying to summon a Hull might not be attempting an insurrection?" The President of the United States asked.
The quickly summoned cabinet meeting of the law enforcement and military branches in the White House's under ground command center has been going on for some time. With the new type of Abyssal's assault on Green Bay just yesterday has sent the nation, if not the world, into a new wave of panic and worry. The Abyssals had before this kept themselves confined to the open salt water seas. Attacking the shore line was bad enough. With the invasion and loss of Iwo Jima to the Abyssals, combined with the appearance that they can strike further inland via rivers and lakes, then far more of the population centers and industry could be targeted by them. The deafening demands of the people of the U.S. to redouble to defense budget, reopening of closed military bases and creating new military installations and bases and adding a standing defense force in or near every major city near large bodies of water poured into the Capital.
Between the previous president's brutal defense cuts and the new surge in spending demands to deal with the advent of the Abyssal assault on the U.S. shores, the military is stretched badly and have no means to catch up with the demands any time soon.
"Yes Mr. President. If they wanted to fight us they would have already started it. But they haven't. All they appear to do is to bunker up. They could have fired on our agents from sniper nests they got, but not a single shot yet. If they say this way long enough, I can have that entire perimeter of the reservation blocked off to contain them enough so we can reopen the highway for the civilian use" The head of Homeland Security said as he pointed out on a wide screen TV a live feed of the barricaded road way into a tall pine forest off the main highway.
"I have new information just before we convened this meeting. The Indians have successfully summoned Hulls. We have identified at least four of them but we don't know what class or name. Here is the details Sir." Lt General Vincent R. Stewart said as he handed over a file folder with photos and documents of the intelligence to the president. "How the hell did they notice them?" The head of the ATF piped up sounding confused. "They where the only white people in a completely Indian reservation. They stood out to the drones. We also picked up pack of dogs inside as well, but we can't confirm if they are returned PT boats or just normal dogs."
"I already have my agents blockading the Indians in with ten swat teams on site with fast intercept boats encase the hulls attempt to escape by water ready Mr. President. I'm bring in more agents and teams as we speak right now to the site. If we can strike before those Hulls can get their bearings, we might be able to take them down" Said the head of the FBI.
The President took that in and leaned back in his chair thinking what to do. Looking at the FBI head of the FBI and said,"You realize if we send those boys in right now, this will likely end in a massacre on one side or the other, maybe even both sides. Any Hull are powerhouses in their own right. I already know that our nation has taken notice that we have a stand off siege of their reservation. It's already showing up on the damn news feeds! The last thing I need is the world to see the U.S. having internal strife breaking out with a side of bloodbath on top of everything else going now."
"Mr. President, I may have an alternative we can use before we have to use force." Vincent spoke up. President turned to Vincent and said,"I would like to hear it." Opening up a personal file and talked as he looked over it, "I got into contact with an Agent Hub Ramo from the Bureau of Indian Affairs. He was enlisted in the Navy, served his term with out issue, left to work over at the B.I.A.. He's the same agent that alerted us of whole mess in the first place and he is present on the scene. He has a friendly relationships with a number of the heads and prominent members of the Ojibwa tribe before all this went down. He told me he thinks he can get a chance to have an open dialogue between us and them directly." "And what do you think they want? Some Marxist revolutionary crap?" The president said with a dismissive look on his face. "Not likely Mr. President. Probably just an expansion of their reservation territory or concessions for more favorable taxing and regulations. Agent Ramo isn't entirely sure what started this, but from what he told me he has a shot at talking to their leaders. I advise trying that option before we use force. Besides, if this plays out right, we can get something we badly need." Vincent said.
"What do you mean we need?" The President asked quizzically. "What we could get from them is their skill in that... summoning they use to bring in Hulls. I would like to stress to everyone here we are falling behind nearly everyone else in the world in summon Hulls to their side. To many people are to damn scared of calling our Hulls back. We're lucky the few we do have came on their own accord, barring what ever Admiral Settle is doing over in the pacific theater. Japan seems to have mastered it, but they refuse to share how they do it with us. If these tribes can do it for us instead, we won't have to go begging Japan to bring our Hulls back for us. If they have four hulls already, that is a good start if you ask me." Vincent said in finishing.
The President had a look of deep consideration and went quiet for a bit then said, "I got elected on the promise to make America great once more by getting her economy back on it's feet as one of my major leg of my campaign vow. Now that the Abyssals have nearly shut down international trade by their attacks on our merchant transports. I can not afford to have our fresh water trade routes cut off as well. I'll see into cutting a deal with these Indians to get our Hull fleet up to full strength, the less blood shed and sooner our nation can get back on her feet the better." "Mr. President! Are you seriously thinking they will just back down if we just give them a few concessions, much less work for us? They have enough fire power on their side to fight a war." The head of the FBI said indignantly. "Don't be an idiot. I'm keeping the use of force on the table. I just want to negotiate with them first. Now then Mr. Steward, get this agent Ramo on the phone for us." The President said firmly.
///
"Yes Mr. President. I understand. As soon as I meet with the ones calling the shots here, I'll call this number again and pass the phone to him. … Mr. President, they will let me in because I am half Ojibwa myself. I have been working with them for years so all of them know of me." Agent Hub Ramo said into his iphone. "..Very well Mr. President. They will either let me in, or shoot me at the gates. One way or another we'll find out shortly how this will play out. I'll call back in an hour or less if I can get to the leaders."
After finishing up the call and hanging up, Hub got out of his car and walked up to the make shift security line the FBI had set up out side the Reservation. Even with his thick coat, hat and blue jeans on, it was still chilly in the morning this time of the year in the Keweenaw. "You got the clearance now?" A masked agent asked Hub. "Yep, wish me luck." Hub said confidently as he started to stroll down the empty road toward the reservation and the armed men behind a surprisingly well made barrier. He didn't swagger, hustle, or purposely slowed his pace. Hub knew what he needed to do. First thing is to do his job and find a way to end this stand off with out getting anyone killed, mainly himself in the cross fire. The second thing is a rather personal matter with a certain family and acquaintances Hub had not seen nor contacted much in some time. But first things first.
"Hold it right there" A muffled voice said from behind the barrier. A short helmeted figure in over sized cloths and wearing a paintball mask painted up to look like classic Gundam head popped up and pointed a scoped Marlin 338 mxlr rifle at Hub. "Morning Johnny. Mind letting me in? I need to talk to grandpa." "Darn it Hub, how'd you know it was me?" The masked person said in frustrated surprise. "Oh I don't know. Maybe it was the fact I had to baby sit you for Auntie Mae all those years ago? Or was it the fact I was the one who gave you that mask of yours for your 12th birthday last year?" "Alright Hub, just say what the feds told you too and get gone. I really don't want you be in this mess when the feds open up on us." Said by another masked armed guard at the barrier. "They are holding back for now. The feds want to talk to leaders of this mayhem here. I'm just a messenger." Hub said holding his hands up in a peaceful way. "You'll be let in when w-"The same man said before getting cut off by his walkie talkie. "We see him. Let him though. Bring him to the HQ." A woman's voice said out loud. "Alright Hub, you heard her. Get moving." The masked man waved him in.
The two of them retreated down the paved road deeper into the trees and out of sight of the siege line. A golf cart driven by another tribes member who was new to Hub pulled up to let him on the passenger side and the armed guard hopped on the back. Five minutes later, they arrive in what is now an armed camp with recently built building butt up next to a group of civilian housing. Hub remembered this place well seeing that he was raised in this place when he was a child, but the changes that has happened here since he was gone was jarring to him. 'Good God, is that a 155 howitzer over there?' Hub though to himself in stunned amazement.
At arriving at the main lodge hall hadn't changed too much since Hub was was here last. Hub and the two guards hopped off the cart and started up the front steps when the doors open and a woman he hadn't seen in ages step out to greet him. "Rain? Why are... No, I should have known better." Hub said shaking his head in resignation. Seeing his younger sister show up now shouldn't have been a surprise. She stayed on the reservation to look after great grandpa and keep an eye out for grandma and grandpa as well. "Hey big bro, welcome back." Rain said smiling at Hub, then to the guards and adding,"I got it from here guys, thanks a lot. Hub, come in now, the Council is waiting for you and the call with the President." "Wait! What?!? How did you know about that?" "We've been predicting things for some time now. Nearly everyone here have been getting dream visions and more for months now. Haven't you having any visions yourself?" Rain asked genuinely concerned while the two of them talked as they moved their way though the meeting hall front office spaces. This part has not changed a bit since Hub was away.
When the two of them opened up the doors to the meeting hall proper, an impressive sight of where one half of the Hall is the old and well used round the fire pit style that Hub was use to see. The other half was walled off and turned into a nearly an effective C&C center with huge wide screen TVs, communication equipment off all types, and banks of networked computer systems humming away with men and women of various ages typing way at them. A small group noticed Hub and Rain and welcomed them over to them. Most notably his grandfather with six odd people behind him. "Welcome back Hub. I'm happy to see again, but it's an ominous time for it." "As much as I want to be here to spend time with you all. I am here first to talk with the leaders here over the stand off and what you all are doing here? We need to get the ball rolling in an hour or things will get bad in a hurry." Hub said.
"But before that... Um, are they the returned ships? I was told that there was four ships..." Hub pointed to the odd bunch behind his granddad. "Yep! We've got seven so far, but two of them are asleep right now. They just materialized just a little while ago. Let me introduce them." Rain chipper explained. "This is HMS St. Lawrence." Rained said pointing out a much older woman in a way out of date fashion sense. "These two are U.S.S Wolverine and U.S.S. Sable." They looked like a pair of sisters who were over worked and under fed who wore a mishmash of flight suits and protective gear. "This one is U-505." She looked like a perfect image of an Aryan young girl, but her eyes looked like she's suffering from a bad case of PTSD. "And lastly, this is burly fellow is Edmond Fitzgerald himself!" Rain finished.
'Oh boy, this is not what we expected...' Hub though to hiself.
The quickly summoned cabinet meeting of the law enforcement and military branches in the White House's under ground command center has been going on for some time. With the new type of Abyssal's assault on Green Bay just yesterday has sent the nation, if not the world, into a new wave of panic and worry. The Abyssals had before this kept themselves confined to the open salt water seas. Attacking the shore line was bad enough. With the invasion and loss of Iwo Jima to the Abyssals, combined with the appearance that they can strike further inland via rivers and lakes, then far more of the population centers and industry could be targeted by them. The deafening demands of the people of the U.S. to redouble to defense budget, reopening of closed military bases and creating new military installations and bases and adding a standing defense force in or near every major city near large bodies of water poured into the Capital.
Between the previous president's brutal defense cuts and the new surge in spending demands to deal with the advent of the Abyssal assault on the U.S. shores, the military is stretched badly and have no means to catch up with the demands any time soon.
"Yes Mr. President. If they wanted to fight us they would have already started it. But they haven't. All they appear to do is to bunker up. They could have fired on our agents from sniper nests they got, but not a single shot yet. If they say this way long enough, I can have that entire perimeter of the reservation blocked off to contain them enough so we can reopen the highway for the civilian use" The head of Homeland Security said as he pointed out on a wide screen TV a live feed of the barricaded road way into a tall pine forest off the main highway.
"I have new information just before we convened this meeting. The Indians have successfully summoned Hulls. We have identified at least four of them but we don't know what class or name. Here is the details Sir." Lt General Vincent R. Stewart said as he handed over a file folder with photos and documents of the intelligence to the president. "How the hell did they notice them?" The head of the ATF piped up sounding confused. "They where the only white people in a completely Indian reservation. They stood out to the drones. We also picked up pack of dogs inside as well, but we can't confirm if they are returned PT boats or just normal dogs."
"I already have my agents blockading the Indians in with ten swat teams on site with fast intercept boats encase the hulls attempt to escape by water ready Mr. President. I'm bring in more agents and teams as we speak right now to the site. If we can strike before those Hulls can get their bearings, we might be able to take them down" Said the head of the FBI.
The President took that in and leaned back in his chair thinking what to do. Looking at the FBI head of the FBI and said,"You realize if we send those boys in right now, this will likely end in a massacre on one side or the other, maybe even both sides. Any Hull are powerhouses in their own right. I already know that our nation has taken notice that we have a stand off siege of their reservation. It's already showing up on the damn news feeds! The last thing I need is the world to see the U.S. having internal strife breaking out with a side of bloodbath on top of everything else going now."
"Mr. President, I may have an alternative we can use before we have to use force." Vincent spoke up. President turned to Vincent and said,"I would like to hear it." Opening up a personal file and talked as he looked over it, "I got into contact with an Agent Hub Ramo from the Bureau of Indian Affairs. He was enlisted in the Navy, served his term with out issue, left to work over at the B.I.A.. He's the same agent that alerted us of whole mess in the first place and he is present on the scene. He has a friendly relationships with a number of the heads and prominent members of the Ojibwa tribe before all this went down. He told me he thinks he can get a chance to have an open dialogue between us and them directly." "And what do you think they want? Some Marxist revolutionary crap?" The president said with a dismissive look on his face. "Not likely Mr. President. Probably just an expansion of their reservation territory or concessions for more favorable taxing and regulations. Agent Ramo isn't entirely sure what started this, but from what he told me he has a shot at talking to their leaders. I advise trying that option before we use force. Besides, if this plays out right, we can get something we badly need." Vincent said.
"What do you mean we need?" The President asked quizzically. "What we could get from them is their skill in that... summoning they use to bring in Hulls. I would like to stress to everyone here we are falling behind nearly everyone else in the world in summon Hulls to their side. To many people are to damn scared of calling our Hulls back. We're lucky the few we do have came on their own accord, barring what ever Admiral Settle is doing over in the pacific theater. Japan seems to have mastered it, but they refuse to share how they do it with us. If these tribes can do it for us instead, we won't have to go begging Japan to bring our Hulls back for us. If they have four hulls already, that is a good start if you ask me." Vincent said in finishing.
The President had a look of deep consideration and went quiet for a bit then said, "I got elected on the promise to make America great once more by getting her economy back on it's feet as one of my major leg of my campaign vow. Now that the Abyssals have nearly shut down international trade by their attacks on our merchant transports. I can not afford to have our fresh water trade routes cut off as well. I'll see into cutting a deal with these Indians to get our Hull fleet up to full strength, the less blood shed and sooner our nation can get back on her feet the better." "Mr. President! Are you seriously thinking they will just back down if we just give them a few concessions, much less work for us? They have enough fire power on their side to fight a war." The head of the FBI said indignantly. "Don't be an idiot. I'm keeping the use of force on the table. I just want to negotiate with them first. Now then Mr. Steward, get this agent Ramo on the phone for us." The President said firmly.
///
"Yes Mr. President. I understand. As soon as I meet with the ones calling the shots here, I'll call this number again and pass the phone to him. … Mr. President, they will let me in because I am half Ojibwa myself. I have been working with them for years so all of them know of me." Agent Hub Ramo said into his iphone. "..Very well Mr. President. They will either let me in, or shoot me at the gates. One way or another we'll find out shortly how this will play out. I'll call back in an hour or less if I can get to the leaders."
After finishing up the call and hanging up, Hub got out of his car and walked up to the make shift security line the FBI had set up out side the Reservation. Even with his thick coat, hat and blue jeans on, it was still chilly in the morning this time of the year in the Keweenaw. "You got the clearance now?" A masked agent asked Hub. "Yep, wish me luck." Hub said confidently as he started to stroll down the empty road toward the reservation and the armed men behind a surprisingly well made barrier. He didn't swagger, hustle, or purposely slowed his pace. Hub knew what he needed to do. First thing is to do his job and find a way to end this stand off with out getting anyone killed, mainly himself in the cross fire. The second thing is a rather personal matter with a certain family and acquaintances Hub had not seen nor contacted much in some time. But first things first.
"Hold it right there" A muffled voice said from behind the barrier. A short helmeted figure in over sized cloths and wearing a paintball mask painted up to look like classic Gundam head popped up and pointed a scoped Marlin 338 mxlr rifle at Hub. "Morning Johnny. Mind letting me in? I need to talk to grandpa." "Darn it Hub, how'd you know it was me?" The masked person said in frustrated surprise. "Oh I don't know. Maybe it was the fact I had to baby sit you for Auntie Mae all those years ago? Or was it the fact I was the one who gave you that mask of yours for your 12th birthday last year?" "Alright Hub, just say what the feds told you too and get gone. I really don't want you be in this mess when the feds open up on us." Said by another masked armed guard at the barrier. "They are holding back for now. The feds want to talk to leaders of this mayhem here. I'm just a messenger." Hub said holding his hands up in a peaceful way. "You'll be let in when w-"The same man said before getting cut off by his walkie talkie. "We see him. Let him though. Bring him to the HQ." A woman's voice said out loud. "Alright Hub, you heard her. Get moving." The masked man waved him in.
The two of them retreated down the paved road deeper into the trees and out of sight of the siege line. A golf cart driven by another tribes member who was new to Hub pulled up to let him on the passenger side and the armed guard hopped on the back. Five minutes later, they arrive in what is now an armed camp with recently built building butt up next to a group of civilian housing. Hub remembered this place well seeing that he was raised in this place when he was a child, but the changes that has happened here since he was gone was jarring to him. 'Good God, is that a 155 howitzer over there?' Hub though to himself in stunned amazement.
At arriving at the main lodge hall hadn't changed too much since Hub was was here last. Hub and the two guards hopped off the cart and started up the front steps when the doors open and a woman he hadn't seen in ages step out to greet him. "Rain? Why are... No, I should have known better." Hub said shaking his head in resignation. Seeing his younger sister show up now shouldn't have been a surprise. She stayed on the reservation to look after great grandpa and keep an eye out for grandma and grandpa as well. "Hey big bro, welcome back." Rain said smiling at Hub, then to the guards and adding,"I got it from here guys, thanks a lot. Hub, come in now, the Council is waiting for you and the call with the President." "Wait! What?!? How did you know about that?" "We've been predicting things for some time now. Nearly everyone here have been getting dream visions and more for months now. Haven't you having any visions yourself?" Rain asked genuinely concerned while the two of them talked as they moved their way though the meeting hall front office spaces. This part has not changed a bit since Hub was away.
When the two of them opened up the doors to the meeting hall proper, an impressive sight of where one half of the Hall is the old and well used round the fire pit style that Hub was use to see. The other half was walled off and turned into a nearly an effective C&C center with huge wide screen TVs, communication equipment off all types, and banks of networked computer systems humming away with men and women of various ages typing way at them. A small group noticed Hub and Rain and welcomed them over to them. Most notably his grandfather with six odd people behind him. "Welcome back Hub. I'm happy to see again, but it's an ominous time for it." "As much as I want to be here to spend time with you all. I am here first to talk with the leaders here over the stand off and what you all are doing here? We need to get the ball rolling in an hour or things will get bad in a hurry." Hub said.
"But before that... Um, are they the returned ships? I was told that there was four ships..." Hub pointed to the odd bunch behind his granddad. "Yep! We've got seven so far, but two of them are asleep right now. They just materialized just a little while ago. Let me introduce them." Rain chipper explained. "This is HMS St. Lawrence." Rained said pointing out a much older woman in a way out of date fashion sense. "These two are U.S.S Wolverine and U.S.S. Sable." They looked like a pair of sisters who were over worked and under fed who wore a mishmash of flight suits and protective gear. "This one is U-505." She looked like a perfect image of an Aryan young girl, but her eyes looked like she's suffering from a bad case of PTSD. "And lastly, this is burly fellow is Edmond Fitzgerald himself!" Rain finished.
'Oh boy, this is not what we expected...' Hub though to hiself.
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Avalanche
Atypical Netizen
- Location
- Australia
@Trace Coburn
For future reference, can you not put quotes inside spoiler boxes? You can't expand them if you do.
For future reference, can you not put quotes inside spoiler boxes? You can't expand them if you do.
Trace Coburn
BattleTech Starfighter Analyst
- Location
- NDBBM, New Zealand
Are you sure? It works just fine for me, but that might just be Firefox playing nice with me for once....
Native American lore really is scary as hell for parts of it. Scary as in running away just means you suffer longer so your best bet is to run at the scary thing so you get put out of your misery faster. Also, killing family in Native American lore (nearly) ALWAYS has horrible ramifications.
Always Late
Lacking in coffee, sleep, and brains
- Location
- Ohio
I'm seconding Avalanche. The quote box isn't expanding for me.