Kant-O-Celle Quest [a Kantai Collection game, transcribed from 4chan]
- Thread starter Trace Coburn
- Start date
Session #21 pt.1
Trace Coburn
BattleTech Starfighter Analyst
- Location
- NDBBM, New Zealand
THREAD 35:
TWITTER: twitter.com/planefriend
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Lying in a hard hospital bed, with Arizona sleeping soundly on your chest (all cried out and, judging from the circles around her eyes, exhausted after a late-night vigil,) you contemplate your options. Some kind soul left you your watch; turning your wrist over you discover that it's 0430. You sigh quietly - you've been kicking a tin can down Memory Lane while there's a combat sortie to plan. Christ.
But, for all that, you're awake, you're alive, and there's abyssals on the rampage out there.
>Call Goto. Yes, it's only 0430, but if you've read him right he might not've been to bed yet; handling both your workloads. No time like the present.
>Call Goto's staff, get his secretary on the horn. The poor bastard's probably grabbing the few hours of sleep he'll get out of the next thirty-six; and that's what secretaries are for.
>Call your own secretary to get a sitrep, first - if you've got to wake someone up, it may as well be someone with enough rapport to not hate you too much for it.
>Call Hate - he's your best friend, when you get right down to it, and here you are being very not-dead after an apparent scare.
>Press the nurse call button, let the doctors know you are not a vegetable, all evidence to the contrary, and badger them for an extra blanket for Arizona. No sense in putting the cart before the horse, imminent combat be damned.
>Call your own secretary to get a sitrep, first - if you've got to wake someone up, it may as well be someone with enough rapport to not hate you too much for it.
>Press the nurse call button, let the doctors know you are not a vegetable, all evidence to the contrary, and badger them for an extra blanket for Arizona. No sense in putting the cart before the horse, imminent combat be damned.
The first thing you do is reach out and press the nurse call button; a little blinking red LED informing you that Help Is On The Way. Your responsibilities loom large, but your deep desire to understand *what the fuck just happened* is slightly larger. You're downright afraid to go feeling around your body, but do so anyway - discovering a large fluffy gauze bandage on the upper-right side of your dome.
Probably means they shaved your hair, too. Oh well, you're used to wearing a cover everywhere anyways, you can get away with it indoors. Maybe you'll even stick your hands in your pockets. Yep, that star is going straight to your head. The transformation into Flag-Rank-Fucker is well underway, if not complete. Hell, you're even in bed with a beautiful underling.
You rub Arizona's hair affectionately, and find the energy to chuckle. Once upon a time, that would've been a serious concern. But after seeing how much baggage the "kanmasu" carry, how displaced out of time they are, even understanding how deep and powerful the undertow of awful memories can be - the thought of those gulfs being bridged by mere lust is laughable. You've got to cling to each other as tightly as possible just to keep semi-sane, really - maybe that's why Kongou is always driving Goto up the wall. And, come to think, maybe he likes being driven, just a little bit - it's so much easier than dealing with the darkness welling from within these girls.
You think back to the date with Shoukaku - how stunned you were when she showed up in casual dress, looking for all the world like an ordinary young woman (aside from that shimmering quicksilver hair, enchanting, haunting,) and how quickly the facade of normality had slipped; as she found entire sections of "her" city obliterated during the War; her sudden pathetic eagerness to know if humanity viewed her as a person or as a disposable machine.
Fraternization is small-fry compared to *that.*
The door latch works with a quiet click-clack, and you hear the nurse arriving, her sensible shoes click-clacking across the tiled floor. The privacy curtain is tugged aside gently, and you find yourself staring at your nurse.
Who is Shoukaku.
In a nurse uniform.
A very, very flattering pale-pink nurse uniform that ends halfway down her thigh, where the tight white stockings take over. The clipboard she clutches against her chest does little to hide how the tight starched fabric accentuates her impressive bust, and as always that shimmering silver waist-length hair is impossible to ignore, especially with the little pink cap on her head setting it off so nicely. Her warm, affectionate smile seems to slide right off her face as she gets a good look at you.
You and Arizona, who is still fast asleep on your chest, her arms wrapped possessively around your middle; rich red locks tumbling across your tear-damped shirt.
Suddenly, fraternization seems like a big deal again.
>Can I get a blanket for her, please?
>... okay, you first.
>... what the actual fu-
>I CAN EXPLAIN
>write-in?
WRITE-IN: "I think it's a battleship thing, honestly. Less chatty than Kongou, too.
"Must be a battleship thing," you say matter-of-factly. "Less chatty than Kongou, too."
Shoukaku blinks. "*Thing,*" she says, her tone locked and loaded.
"Well, maybe just a flagship thing," you clarify, stroking Arizona's hair and tucking her loose bangs back behind her ears, making her look presentable again. "Akagi doesn't seem to fit the pattern, but still. They want their admirals, for some reason."
"She seems to have found hers," Shoukaku says softly - maybe even sadly. "She seems quite fond of you... she wouldn't leave your side for anything, no matter how much we cajoled." Shoukaku smiles at you, and it hurts you to see how hard it is for her to lift her expression to it. "She trust-"
"No," you cut her off abruptly. "No, Shoukaku, it's not like that."
She tilts her head, and deliberately scans you and Arizona from head to foot. "It doesn't look like that fr-"
"Issac C. Kidd," you cut her off. "You ever hear about him?"
She blinks. "Who?"
"Rear Admiral. My own rank. They named a class of destroyers and an Arleigh-Burke after him. Won the Medal of Honor. Died on Arizona's bridge during the attack on Pearl."
Shoukaku's face pales. "O-oh. I, uh-"
"They found his Annapolis class ring fused to the rear wall of her bridge, afterwards."
"I'm s-sorry-"
"You remember what we talked about? On our date? About Arizona, and me?"
She nods. "You already left one ship in a dry-dock, and you don't intend to leave another."
"Right. She just feels the same way." You cover your eyes, rubbing your temples as an excuse to hide your tears. The roughness in your voice - well, you're thirsty and sick, aren't you? "That's all it is, Shoukaku. We've all got our regrets, and that one's hers."
"... I'll fetch her a blanket," Shoukaku says, her voice gentle with sympathy. With that, she slips out, heading for a linen closet. Searching the room, you find your cell phone and a few other personal affects laid on the small table to your side. You flip through the menu, find Naka's contact number, and call.
Naka's ring-tone
The disgustingly sugary tunes of some old ear-worm you vaguely remember begin chiming tinnily from one corner of the room.
"Aaaaah, drat."
Your cane is leaning against the table. Snatching it up, you sweep the privacy curtain all the way open with the tip to find Naka reclining in the adjustable guest chair and blinking sleepily. A pair of earphones are resting around her neck, cord leading to a CD player on her thigh. And, of course, she's got a nurse uniform on.
"It would seem the tables haaaAAAAAAVEEEE TUuuuhhhrned, wuh," she says through a long yawn and stretch, "Misther Bhond."
"How long have you been awake?" you demand.
"Since Shoukaku came in. I was hoping it wouldn't stick, but then you called."
"Hmm. I don't suppose you know what the HELL happened to me in the command room, Nurse Naka?"
"You had shrapnel moving in your brain," she says bluntly.
You feel the gauze on your skull gingerly. "Fuck. How bad?"
"No more brain damage than you came in with," she says brightly. "Gave you some drug cocktail to reduce bleeding and put you through an emery - uh, Em Ar Eye - and just yanked it out with a tiny cut and a little robot with a magnet."
You wince at the word 'yank.' "Your bedside manner needs some work, you know that?"
"It stops you from asking and puts you off-guard, letting me steer the conversation." She yawns, trying to cover her mouth primly but running out of strength halfway there.
"So Shoukaku raided your agencies costume department or something?"
She grins at you sleepily. "Other way around. She found where they keep the spare staff uniforms and I had her scare me one up, too."
You give her a lidded-eyed look. "Kick a man when he's down, eh?"
"Just trying to get him back up," she says, giving you a wink and an impish grin, no less bright for her weariness. "But no, Shoukaku did that entirely for your benefit."
"Uhm," you say, glancing at the floor. You're not quite sure how to answer that, so you return the serve. "So who are *you* benefiting?"
She gives you a lazy, smoky, wicked smile. "Harder's meeting me later today, per your orders."
"Kid," you say with naked admiration, "next time I hear someone hand-wringing over ship-girls emphasizing with humanity, I'm giving them your business card."
Naka doesn't grin at this - she simply bites one knuckle as she regards you with dark, serious eyes. "Yeah... I spent a lot of time learning. How to read people, and... and stuff. I was amazed at how much talking people do without, uh, talking." Her usual frolicsome flair is absent. "So you pick up on words unspoken..."
"..." you reply.
You watch her struggle with her phrasing for a few seconds before she rolls her weary eyes upwards with a sigh. "Okay. Her?" She points at Arizona. "She is all-" she makes a circle with thumb and forefinger, and starts thrusting her other index finger through it, rapidly intensifying the speed faster and faster till her dainty little hands collapse together in a mismash of flailing fingers that slowly expand into a jazz-hands finish.
You lock eyes with the petite, hollow-eyed light cruiser, and see nothing but exhausted, flat frankness.
>... that doesn't make any sense. She's an American Battleship, not a damn schoolgirl with a crush because some has-been cripple halfassed a job best left to professionals. This isn't your damn chinese cartoons, as they say in the vernacular. Get *real.*
>... please elaborate on your fascinating theorem, Dr. Naka, as evidenced by your keen and careful observations.
>Don't even talk about that. I couldn't possibly - nobody could. She's - she's holy ground, Naka. Literally. I don't even want to think about it.
>... please elaborate on your fascinating theorem, Dr. Naka, as evidenced by your keen and careful observations.
"I do not believe you," you say with prim precision.
Naka blinks.
"My theory," you say, touching your chest with a flourish of your hand. "Shipgirl with terrible trauma from her past latches onto the closest one-star admiral in an attempt to make up for past regrets and failings. Ooooooooor, YOUR theory-" you flip a fingergun level with Naka - "soul of America's most beloved and mourned battleship falls in love with a crippled old has-been because he half-assed a procedure best left to professionals. I'm sorry, but that's some Chinese cartoon tier bullshit, Naka. Gonna have to pitch me better logic than that."
Naka tilts her head forward and squeezes it slowly in her hands, breathing shallowly. "Logic," she moans. "Boys and their god damned logic."
"Sorry, I left my Ouija board at..." you sigh.
"Do I even have to say anything there?"
"Nope," you concede. "Talking with a literal ship spirit and still-"
"Open mouth, insert foot."
"Yeeap."
Naka smiles through her tiredness - somehow you two always find the right wavelength in a conversation, no matter what. "Well for your information, oh great and logical Admiral, I don't even bother with that can of worms. I just know what I see."
You do, too - Arizona's a quiet, dutiful girl with unshakable poise and courage, eyes always steadfast on her duty. "And what do you see?"
"Well... earlier, in the command room? When you were hanging onto her shoulder, and kind of leaning on her?"
You peer at her. "Weren't you watching the battle?"
"Yeah, but my *ears* still work. She didn't take a single breath while you were touching her."
"That's...."
True, your memory reports. You didn't really think about it at the time, but-
"Conversations with multiple people, she only ever looks at you," Naka continues. "When you say something to her and turn away, she just keeps looking at you, waiting for you to turn back. When you're not there and someone mentions your name, she looks up like she just heard her own. When she overhears someone talking bad about you, she tenses up like a wound spring." Naka says this all matter-of-factly; and you know her well enough by now not to doubt her honesty. "Haven't you noticed anything like that? Anything at all?"
Well... when you put the radar set on h- "none of that is contradictory," you insist. "If she's fixated on me because she's trying to make up for Kidd - fuck, she *is* fixated on me." You squeeze your eyes shut and drag a clawed hand through your mussed hair. "Aw, *hell*."
"Admiral Settle," Naka says seriously, "I think that's your own demons talking, not hers."
"The hell you say?"
"I heard what you said to Shoukaku," she says, her voice low and sympathetic. "About not losing another ship. Don't you think you're projecting?"
>What the fuck would you know about it?
>Too far, shitbird. You don't know the half of it.
>How do you think I understand it so well, kid?
>How do you think I understand it so well, kid?
You snicker. "How do you think I understand it so well, kid?"
She blinks, her mouth falling open as she stares at you.
"Like that whole Shell Incident. I couldn't help myself." The visions of LA flash through your mind again, vivid and awful once again after that goddamned coma-induced dream. "I don't think she can, either. Me, Hate - we both lost people in that battle. And then we had to watch the military and the media make us poster boys to boost morale because we were one of the few success stories of that whole godawful first month, and -" you sigh. "Arizona sailed right by her own memorial on the way to her old berth. She dropped anchor on the other side of it. She sat there next to her own goddamn corpse, with a thousand of her boys still IN it. And she didn't shy away from it, because that was her *assigned berth,* Naka. No matter how much she wanted to turn and run away from it."
Naka sits up in her guest chair, staring at the floor. "You can't get away from it, though. No matter where you go. It happened, and it was your fault." Her voice is so sepulchral and hollow that it chills you. She draws up her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around her skinny legs. "So all you have left is... duty."
You remain silent, because there's nothing left to say. Naka understands just as well as you do, it seems. She hides her face against her knees, and shortly you see her shaking slightly, as if she's sobbing, but used to keeping it silent. You pick up your cane, intending to slide the privacy curtain shut out of respect for her, but before you can poke the thin white barrier back with your awkward whacks, you see her peek at Arizona - and in those dark, wet eyes is nothing but seething envy.
>Go back to sleep - none of you are in any condition to get any work done tonight. Not after that.
>Like the girl said - all you have is duty. Get her working, get both your minds back on track.
Session #21 pt.2
Trace Coburn
BattleTech Starfighter Analyst
- Location
- NDBBM, New Zealand
>Go back to sleep - none of you are in any condition to get any work done tonight. Not after that.
Shoukaku returns shortly with the blanket, only to have you shake your head and point at Naka. She pokes Naka a few times, but the girl refuses to unfold, so Shoukaku simply flicks it into the air and drapes it right over her whole body, head included, with feminine flair. By the time she's returned with another blanket for Arizona, Naka's rolled onto her side and fallen asleep again, knees still hugged to her chest. Shoukaku helps you try to pry Arizona off and give her one side of the bed, but she just gimps up her face in her sleep and ratchets her arms a few notches tighter around your chest. At last Shoukaku just lays the blanket over her and gently slips off her shoes.
"Can I get you anything?" Shoukaku asks as you tuck the blanket snugly around Arizona's neck.
"Nah," you reply with a yawn. "God, I can barely keep my eyes open."
"Anesthesia is till wearing off," she points out. "I'll see you tomorrow, admiral." She closes the door behind her gently, and you finally let yourself drift off to sleep.
The next morning you wake up bright and early at 0723 hours by sheer force of habit. Your right leg is tingling and numb because of Arizona's kneecap pressing down in the wrong spot, which does nothing to dampen the familiar morning agony in your upper right thigh. You need the head, your head wound is itching like mad and Arizona's drooling on your chest, still fast asleep and not inclined to move.
In short, things are almost back to the warm, familiar embrace of SNAFU. You snag your cell phone off the side table and dial up Goto's cellular. It rings several times, which lets you know instantly that something's off - you can't recall Goto ever taking longer than three rings to answer.
At last the line picks up. "Ah, hello?" It's a sweet, feminine voice you don't recognize.
"BREAKFAST IN BED TEITOKU~"
That one, on the other hand, you *do.*
"I take it Admiral Goto is unavailable," you reply flatly.
"He's... out," the voice replies. From the background you hear scraping and thumping sounds, and Kongou's bright voice promising Goto that 'love is going to find him.'
"... out, huh?"
"The window," the new voice confirms under her breath. "Can I take a message?"
"You're his secretary, right?"
"Yes, sir!" she replies cheerfully. "You can count on me!"
"In that case, could you come to the base infirmary, room 22A? I need some help from somebody that won't spread rumors."
"Ah, I'm sorry, Admiral Goto is going to need my help cleaning up after Kongou-"
You know exactly why she's dissembling, but you really do need discreet help. Preferably with a crowbar.
>Let her off the hook and call Hate. If you know him, he'll be too busy squinting away a hangover to rib you much over it, and besides, you've got two arrows in your quiver - won't hurt to let him have one.
>You really don't have time for this cloak-and-wazikashi bullshit - nobody cares that you're Ho~te~ru, get over here already!
>Other?
>You really don't have time for this cloak-and-wazikashi bullshit - nobody cares that you're Ho~te~ru, get over here already!
"Oh god," you moan - you're already desperate to choke down your first stiff painkiller of the day and you're not even out of bed yet. And after that dream that miserable damned nightmare rising from the murky memories to swallow you again you want to get back to Your Duty so bad it almost hurts more than your leg.
Almost.
"No, you do not need to help Goto," you groan. "Nobody can help Goto. She's got his scent."
"Ah, I'm sorry, I have to go," the voice replies, "Admiral Goto is running for it and I need to keep-"
"EXCEPT YOU CAN'T," you snap, not yelling so much as Speaking In Capital Letters, a skill unique to caffeine-deprived skippers worldwide. "BECAUSE KONGOU MAKES THIRTY KNOTS AND YOU MAKE TWENTY-SEVEN."
"Bu-b-bu-t I'm not even a sh-"
"Yes, you are."
"I have no idea what you're talking about," she replies primly, regaining her composure.
"Oh my god I do NOT have time for this cloak-and-wazikashi bullshit," you groan. "It's been seventy blooming years! We know who you are. We ALL know who you are."
"Y-you have n-"
"Your main battery's shells come in two varieties - AP with the terminal ballistics of a brick and gigantic fireworks to amuse attacking dive-bombers. You suck fuel faster than a destroyer with a flat bow, you have padogas atop your padogas to support your primary rangefinder, you're so wide people can play badminton on your rear aviation deck and your picture's in the dictionary underneath 'hotel'!"
A kind of quiet choking sound is coming from the other end of the line which evokes images of fish gasping for air out of water.
"H-h-how-"
"It is a cipher," you say mysteriously, "wrapped in an Enigma. Now get over here quick because I need somebody who knows how to keep NEW secrets and you're probably the only breathing soul on a naval base who understands the value of said discretion because Reasons!"
"O-okay?" she says, unsettled, and hangs up.
You spend the intervening time trying to reach Naka's chair with your cane to poke her awake. When you finally make contact she just mewls like a cat and rolls away from you, wrapping the big blanket around her an extra layer deep, so she looks like a cocoon-girl. Like a miniature Yamato-class in a graving dock, who will emerge as a poorly-designed carrier come Fall. Just as you're searching for a good lightweight projectile, Yamato herself arrives. Or rather, a tall, oddly-lumpy trench-coat arrives, complete with a wide-brimmed hat and sunglasses. Completing the display is the pretty peach-colored parasol she's cradling gingerly in the crook of one arm, hovering over the whole ensemble like a neon sign begging for attention.
You and the Trenchcoat lock gazes for a long, awkward moment.
"Precautions," she says, and closes the door, then locks it. "Who's in the blanket?"
"Naka."
"She... I think she knows, but-"
"Just wrap my belt around her and slide her in the closet."
"I'll take my chances," Yamato replies, fumbling with the buttons on the trenchcoat, and finally manages to pull it off. You take a moment to appreciate the bulbousness of her bow as she wrestles with the floppy hat, which has become entangled in the jutting "wings" of her fire-control directors. Her long locks have been pulled back in a ponytail that accentuates every movement of her head; waist-length hair swishing about animatedly as she moves. Finally tugging the hat free, she thinks to remove the dark sunglasses, which are doing her no favors in a room with dark lights and closed blinds. When she finally gets a good look at you - and Arizona - she starts blushing pink, her hands pressing the floppy hat against her mouth.
"Um..."
"Admiral Ryan Settle, United States Navy," you offer, extending your hand. "Glad to meet you. Wish I was more composed, but, uh, I kind of almost died yesterday."
Yamato leans forward to gingerly take your hand and shake it, one hand still hiding her face behind the hat. "Ahnoooo..." she says.
"I don't know what that means," you reply. "Maybe if you used English?"
"Why... do you have a girl... sleeping on your b-"
"Why does Goto have a glorified battle-cruiser trying to cross his T?"
"Because- uh- *oh.*"
"Something like that, yeah. Could you pry her loose? She doesn't want to let go."
Yamato creeps closer with small, chary steps till she can slip both arms underneath Arizona's elbows. With firm, steady pressure she manages to break her death-grip on your middle and gently lay her to one side of the bed, allowing you to roll out the other. You're just creeping around the end of the bed when Arizona starts groping blindly for her lost pillow. Much like an Exocet, having missed the original mark she begins a pattern search for the next valid target return, IFF be damned.
You're alerted to the crisis when Yamato squeaks in alarm. Pausing halfway through pulling your pants on, you glance over to find Yamato's arm firmly in Arizona's grip.
"Uhh," she stammers. "Help?"
>Substitution!
>Lubrication!
>Rorschach.png
>Substitution!
"Uh," you say intelligently as you contemplate your options. "Have you ever seen Indiana Jones?"
"W-who?" Yamato says. "I haaaAAAAAEEEEELLLLPPPPP-" she starts stammering as Arizona begins to reel her in, locking elbow behind elbow to pull the bigger girl down into the bed.
"I'm coming!" you reply, advancing on Naka, who's still wrapped up snugly and as dead to the world as she can manage. You slip your arms under her and lift the compact little package - easy enough to do, she can't weigh ninety pounds soaking wet - and cart her over to the bed.
"On three," you say.
"On three, what!?" Yamato exclaims.
"One."
"Wait, g-go on th-three or three and THEN go!?"
"Two."
"C-c-can't you brief me properly fi-"
"THREE!" you exclaim, balancing Naka in the crook of one arm long enough to pinch Yamato's well-shaped rear. She emits a pitch somewhere north of a jammed steam whistle, leaping backwards so violently that she describes a short ballistic arc. So swiftly does she de-ass the area that Arizona's arms are still hovering in air where her captive used to be, allowing you to sling Naka into her waiting embrace without hesitation. Arizona engulfs the new victim without hesitation. Naka murmurs sleepily, then goes silent.
You take a moment to pull the covers over them both again - they're both dead to the world on account of staying up to watch you.
"Y-y-y-y-yyyyyyyyaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-"
You turn to find Yamato with her back pressed against a closet, her face a shade or two pinker than her little parasol.
You sigh. It's 0745, and this is your new normal.
CompassJimbo
Where’s Your North?
- Location
- The former Rubber Capital of the World
I laughed so hard at this.
HarakoniWarhawk
Striking from the Skies
- Location
- Holy Terra
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Hotel Yamato has arrived!
meganeshounen
*tips glasses*
- Location
- Far East Asia
Even if it could be considered... bullying towards Yamato.
The sad thing is it's true.
Yamato needs an
Chojomeka
Behold! QUEEN MONKE!
Yamato got back!
CompassJimbo
Where’s Your North?
- Location
- The former Rubber Capital of the World
Everyone wants her to show up. I have a feeling that if she comes back as a shipgirl, she'll be racked with survivor's guilt. Or she'll be an Abyssal.
Regardless, I'm hoping for a CL or a CA to round out Settle's fleet.
SKsniper128
22050 kg of ordinance per minute
Dirtnap
Kanmusu Affecionado
I think he meant one like, Atlanta or Oakland. One with a half decent AA package instead of shitty 25mm french knock-offs.
Trace Coburn
BattleTech Starfighter Analyst
- Location
- NDBBM, New Zealand
Settle's got two Arleigh Burke DDGs at his disposal. Not only do they match or beat many CLs for tonnage, but as demonstrated in Session #20, they provide AA coverage on the order of 'if it flies, it dies'. 
SKsniper128
22050 kg of ordinance per minute
Settle's got two Arleigh Burke DDGs at his disposal. Not only do they match or beat many CLs for tonnage, but as demonstrated in Session #20, they provide AA coverage on the order of 'if it flies, it dies'.
For the low, low cost of several tens of millions of USD per salvo. Besides, they are on loan from the 7th Fleet, which is rather pressed for assets. So they're not his technically, those ships belong to Vice Admiral Thomas.
All he needs is for Higgins to come back, either out of dry dock, so he could have his own mobile command center, or as a shipgirl, because he clearly doesn't have enough on his plate.
-SK
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CompassJimbo
Where’s Your North?
- Location
- The former Rubber Capital of the World
Can't wait for Part Two of Iowa's POV.
Higgins is the newest, therefore youngest, she is The Imouto.
Dirtnap
Kanmusu Affecionado
If she comes back as a kanmusu. I dunno if she will since her hull is still intact. Though, if feelthy's stuff is canon, she definitely has a spirit.
HarakoniWarhawk
Striking from the Skies
- Location
- Holy Terra
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Sad news indeed.
CompassJimbo
Where’s Your North?
- Location
- The former Rubber Capital of the World
Ah, crap. Hope things get better for him.
Chojomeka
Behold! QUEEN MONKE!
I believe it's the work kind....he said ;
"Cannot ships tonight, must doctor tonight, emergency"
But we might be getting a fri/sat double.
Doctor for him or someone he knows? Or is HE a doctor? Wow, saving lives and entertaining them too, I have a new hero
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Chojomeka
Behold! QUEEN MONKE!
And now everyone can imagine that whenever you go into surgery it's Fap Angel cutting into you
Session #22 pt.1
Trace Coburn
BattleTech Starfighter Analyst
- Location
- NDBBM, New Zealand
TWITTER: twitter.com/planefriend
ARCHIVE: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive.html?tags=Kant-O-Celle Quest
Its 0745, you've got your pants half-on, half-off, a gorgeous brunette with a great figure is doing her best to turn the metaphorical comparison of Japanese beauty with cherry blossoms into a literal one and your leg and head and fucking everything hurt hurt HURTS.
Also, you have a few hours to plan a major carrier battle that might significantly effect the battle for the Pacific. It's going to be One Of Those Days.
As Yamato continues to turn a lovely shade of pink, face hidden behind her hands, the door opens to reveal a rumpled, harried Wainwright tapping a clipboard against one thigh and carrying a five-foot long breaker bar over his left shoulder.
"Naaah....." his voice trails off as he takes in the scene. "I. Uh. I'm interrupting-" he stops halfway through turning to leave and swivels back to face you, his hand flexing on the breaker bar. "Wait, where the hell is Naka?"
"Uhm," you begin.
"What the hell are you doing with all these girls?" Wainwright demands, tapping the breaker bar against his shoulder as he catches sight of Yamato's pastel panic.
>You're a doctor-type person kinda-sorta sometimes, right? Do I have permission to, uh, get the hell out of bed and go do things?
>Do you have the authority to scare up a Vicodin or something? My everything is fucking killing me right now.
>I'LL BE DAMNED IF I KNOW, BUDDY!
>write-in?
>You're a doctor-type person kinda-sorta sometimes, right? Do I have permission to, uh, get the hell out of bed and go do things?
>Do you have the authority to scare up a Vicodin or something? My everything is fucking killing me right now.
You stare blearily at Wainwright, trying to process the oil-stained jeans combined with the half-buttoned dress shirt. "Uh. You. Wainwright."
He glowers. "Very good. Now where the hell is my patient?"
You jerk your thumb at the bed, where Arizona is clinging tightly to the little blanketed bundle that is Naka. Wainwright studies the fuzzy cocoon before turning a quizzical look upon you.
"Long story," you say fuzzily. "Listen, you think-"
"And who's Miss Cardiac Arrest here?" he says, tilting his head at Yamato, who seems to be in the process of smothering herself as you fumble to buckle your pants.
"Uh, that's kind of class-"
The hefty breaker bar comes down on the padded seat of the guest chair hard enough to make it bounce.
"-AMATO MISS YAMATO HOLD FIRE CHILL OUT Jee-sus," you snap back. "Just don't tell anyone or Yamato - I mean Goto will - I-" you grab your head in both hands and take a deep, stabilizing breath, trying not to cry. "Wainwright, my leg and head and everything is hurting like a motherfucker so if they let you into the medication cabinet, I'm begging you, *get me something.*"
He does a decent impression of a fish for a few seconds - and then sighs, sagging as he does so. "Yeah, sure. Just... wait here."
You manage to get most of your underclothes on by the time he gets back - uniform slacks and undershirt. Your uniform jacket is so rumpled and dirty that you can't bear to put it on. Wainwright returns in a few minutes with two pills and a plastic cup. "Here," he says, dumping the pills into your hand. He's opening the door to the bathroom before you can call out a warning. He's met with a truly rousing shriek of terror followed by something impacting the door with Toyota-tier impetus, sending him reeling within an ace of being knocked on his ass.
He blinks. "Uh-"
"N-N-NEVER W-W-W-ALK IN ON A L-L-LADY!" Yamato stammers through the door.
"Uh... all due respect, lady, you're fully dressed and-"
"TH-THATS NOT THE P-P-POOOINT!"
You just pop the big pills in your mouth and manage to dry-swallow them painfully down your parched throat, wincing as the huge oblong bastards gouge their way down your gullet. Wainwright turns a sidelong glance at you, pointing to the door and mouthing 'really?'
You shrug and shake your head, deciding to change the topic to something more fathomable. "Uh, what's with the breaker bar?"
"Classified," he sniffs.
"Ship-girl maintenance?" You raise an eyebrow. "Fixing a tire? Gonna change her oil, too?"
"You're the one using your dipstick, from the looks of it," Wainwright shoots back with a glare.
You snort, massaging your head as you wait for the painkillers to kick in. "A little protective, are we?"
"Says the guy who almost got his arms pulled off and beaten to death with 'em becu-"
"THANK, YOU, MARINE," you say, pauses loaded with sarcasm. "But seriously, just what the hell does Naka have that you're gonna crank with that thing?"
Wainwright opens his mouth - then bites his lip. "That was low," he mutters as he relaxes his grip and lets a thousand great penis jokes fly away untold.
"I've got my own marine to practice on," you explain. "So what's with it?"
He smirks at you. "Admiral, you're the first one with the balls to ask." He seems amused by this. "It's not a breaker bar. It's a sleepy stick. Lay it up someone's head, they take a nap." He pulls up his untucked shirt to reveal the blued butt of an M9 in a crossdraw holster tucked against his belly. "Maybe a long nap."
You squint at him. "Still worried?"
"As you should be," he retorts. "Naka keeps giving her bodyguard the goddamned slip, and once she's discharged it'll be damn near impossible."
"How close *is* she to being discharged?"
"Eh," he says, waggling his hand up and down in midair. "It's not like her keel was broken, but she was basically gutted damn near to the waterline where those torpedoes blew. She can walk around okay - even thinks she's hiding the pain, little shitbird - and she doesn't technically need a hospital bed anymore, but I'm keeping her here for observation. Make sure her bandages are changed regularly, so she doesn't get an infection or anything."
You lean back in the guest chair, enjoying its abundant comfyness. "How long will she be in ordinary, you think?"
His expression takes a set like concrete. "Four to five weeks, I should think. They heal fast, but she needs a *lot* of structural reinforcement."
You give him a long, searching stare, just long enough to convey that you think he's lying to your face, then nod slowly. "You're the expert," you state, and leave it at that. "Now, uh-" you tap your head. "How long am *I* in ordinary?"
Wainwright shrugs helplessly. "I was a medic, Admiral. This brain surgery shit is beyond me. Why don't we see your doctor?"
"Lead on."
Wainwright leads you at a considerately slow gait to the office of your surgeon, who sits you down and calls you a raving fucking moron for not seeking immediate medical attention when you first started to suffer headaches. You think about your little constellation of orbiting headache-inducers, starting with Hate and ending with Hate, for he is the alpha and omega of Pains In Your Skull, and snicker. This does not endear the doctor to you. He explains that the surgery was thankfully simple and quick, as such things go, but until the little capillaries in your brain heal up you need to take it easy, cut down on the caffeine and above all, keep your blood pressure down.
This last bit inspires a giggle that starts a landslide. Wainwright helps you limp out of the room as you wail with laughter, pursued by the Dark Terrible Stare of the Physician Scorned. He helps you as far as the guest lobby before pausing.
"I ought to get back up there," he says apologetically, clearly not wanting to leave Naka unguarded for too long. "Think you'll be okay?"
"I'll bully a Sergeant into giving me a ride," you tell him.
"Call someone," he says. "The doc wasn't kidding when he said you need an escort; you might not be steady on your feet for a day or two. And if you keel over a-"
"I'll press my fucking life-alert button so the nice big lads in the white coats will come and fix my fucking hip," you say, shoving him good-naturedly. "Get the fuck out of here, Marine."
Wainwright snorts, and gets. You hobble into the lobby to find none other than Corporal Hate asleep in one of those awful little guest chairs, head lolling against the wall behind him, fast asleep. He's wearing only an OD green tank top, his uniform shirt covering Hornet, who's lying with her body across four chairs, head pillowed on Hate's lap.
You turn and look out the glass doors of the base hospital to see thirty-odd corgis sitting and staring at Hate woefully, their sad, soulful eyes begging for breakfast. Once you open that door the horde will be unleashed, and your quiet escape spoiled. Best to take the bull by the horns.
>Wake up Hate and have him accompany you - you've got a battle to plan, and what you need more than anything is a man who can keep the shipgirls off you - or Goto - long enough to accomplish that. Send Hornet upstairs to nudge poor Arizona awake and help corral Naka for Wainwright.
>Wake Hornet up and have her accompany you - you owe her an apology for blowing up on her yesterday, and she's going to be part of the carrier task force anyways. Inform Hate that there's a barricaded gunwoman in an upstairs bathroom that requires dynamic Marine techniques to coax out.
>Page Shoukaku, see if she's still in the hospital. She doesn't seem to be a bundle of Repressed Issues or Smoldering Wrath and Arizona's earned the right to sleep in today.
>Page Shoukaku, see if she's still in the hospital. She doesn't seem to be a bundle of Repressed Issues or Smoldering Wrath and Arizona's earned the right to sleep in today.
>Wake Hornet up and have her accompany you - you owe her an apology for blowing up on her yesterday, and she's going to be part of the carrier task force anyways. Inform Hate that there's a barricaded gunwoman in an upstairs bathroom that requires dynamic Marine techniques to coax out.
You study the dreamland duo for a moment, thinking through your options in terms of what combination of psychotic marine and traumatized shipgirl is least likely to impede your duties as a United States Naval Officer today, and realize with a start that this is Goto's life. This is Goto's *existence.* Except he's not stuck with two devoted, sweet, self-blaming girls counterbalanced by Wee Willie Fuckup and Death Rides A DE. He has all that and more, plus Kongou, who alone throws the whole equation into a cocked hat.
Sixteen MONTHS of that shit. Christ.
No matter who gets stuck with Settle Support for the day, you can't walk out of here without letting these two know you're all right; not after they slept in the hospital lobby for your sake. You lean over and poke Hornet's cheek gently. She murmurs in her sleep and shuffles a little further under Hate's shirt, protecting herself from the dry chill of the AC vent overhead.
You snap your fingers over her face. "Up! Upsie-Daisy! Wake up! Reveille!" You even whistle reveille to no avail. "Way hay and up she rises! CHICKEN ARISE! C'MON!"
Hornet finally opens her eyes and blinks blearily. "Ahdmiral?"
"It's almost 0800 honey, time to wake up and smell the WAAA!" you yelp as Hornet fairly *pops* off the chairs; her whole body seeming to flex and jump airborne like a piece of flexed spring steel being released. Before you know what's happening, she's hugging you fiercely. You hear your spine pop as she squeezes several nasty kinks out of it just by gripping you - you start to worry when your heels lift off the floor.
She lets up the pressure a little bit, but keeps her arms cinched around you. "Are you okay?" she whispers.
"Doc says so, at least."
"Good," she says. Hornet's all lean, toned muscle; her slender figure just makes her seem tougher; like a sword blade that will bend rather than break. She rests her forehead atop your shoulder, holding you tightly. A wave of dizziness strikes you, forcing you to lean against her as you pat her back awkwardly.
"Hornet," you begin, "I owe you an apology-"
She cuts you off by kissing you on the cheek.
"-about, the, day other, before in that I, uh."
"I've got a lot to say too," Hornet says, leaning back to look you in the eyes, her expression solemn and intense. "And..." she dispells her half-formed words with a subtle shake of her head. "Thank you. *Thank you,* Admiral. I've been waiting all night to say thank you." She turns and ever-so-gently lowers you into a chair as the room seems to wobble and spin a bit. "We can talk about it after the operation." You try to look up at her, but twitch your head and blink as her face seems to swim around in front of your eyes. You feel her small brown hand massaging your scalp affectionately, and for a minute you almost forget about your headache. "Is Arizona still upstairs?"
You make a sound that might've been an affirmative. "Ah doo belieeev dem viccerdinz are kikkin ihn," you say woozily.
"Just rest here," Hornet says. "I'll find a nurse. And I'll see to Arizona... and Hate, for that matter."
You shake your head. "Jess, could you hep me outshide... Goto's... expecting me-"
"Admiral, if you were meant to pull all that weight alone, you would've been born a harbor tug." She gives you one last pat and skips away to the desk, and a moment later you hear them paging for a nurse.
Before you can steal a little more rack-time, Corporal Hate slumps against you, his arm falling across your shoulders companionably. "Aaaaaaaay skippa."
"Hate," you say, seizing your senses a little more firmly with an effort of will. "You... are drunk."
"Cuzzah YOU," he says, tapping your skull with his as aggressively as he can. "Inna dish hoshpital. Fhukkin hate hoshpitals."
"Yeah," you mutter. You spent plenty of time in one - and Hate, as well. "They suck."
"The fhukkin... like... ish bullshit, yunno. Like dair ah'em and dakkadakka poppop watchin deez muddafuggaz drop and, aaay valhalla 'ere I cum muffafuggas. Cuz. dats howIroll. yeah." he says, pausing to focus his thoughts and polish his erudite diction. "But thenyoush indis place that SMELLLLLLLLS LIIIIIIIIKE SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT," he yodels, thrusting an Angry Finger at the reception desk, "ahand it HUURTS and HURTS so fuhkkin much, so, so fhukin muh and you're like, lemme, jes, finish me, you know, but pussyfuckerbitchtitFUUUUUUUUUUUCKING QUAAAAAACKS," he thunders at the ceiling, flapping his free arm to illustrate, "WON'T FUKKKIN SAK UP'N DO IT-" he smashes his head into the wall behind him so hard that you hear the plasterboard crunch. "Buh yuhknow, what shaves you?"
"A razor?"
"That's shutpid, ur sthupid, y'listen here nigger," he slurs into your ear companionably. "Ish dis tosh, so soft, all tiny and ghentl'n'shit, n, askin you, telln you, you die'n'me I dump youinnasheet with PUSSY written on it don't you, don't you go nowhere muffafugga, ur mine, dun you leave me alone, you're the... only one now..." he wiggles his head side-to-side like he's sifting the thoughts through a bullshit strainer. "Ish... ish errythin... y'know?"
"I do," you say.
"LYIN, LIKE, A ruuuuuuuuuuuuug ya dumb shit," he opines, and passes out again.
Shoukaku comes to your rescue a little later, patiently explaining that the drugs they've pumped you full of to keep your blood pressure low combined with your lack of liquid intake has dropped your blood pressure a little too low. She keeps this chat up so effectively that you haven't noticed she's slipped an IV needle into your arm until after she's administered one to Hate as well. She leaves and returns with an entire carafe of coffee liberated from the staff break room and proceeds to feed it to Hate, who imbibes it in small sips while staring brazenly at her chest. You're just starting to feel steady again when Hornet comes back down the hallway.
"How are dey?" you manage.
"Arizona's brushing Naka's hair," Hornet says.
You snort. "How she taking that?"
"She doesn't have a choice - Arizona won't let her get away." She smiles, looking tremendously amused. "But I still can't get Yamato out of the bathroom."
"... Yamato?" Shoukaku says, giving you a look that even her wondrous social warmth can't blunt.
"Yeah... to get that girl out, we're gonna need a door-breaching team-"
Hate snatches the carafe from Shoukaku's hands and tips it bottom-up. Everyone in the room, even the receptionist, watch in mute amazement as Hate chugs 3/4ths of a pot in one go, steam rising from his nostrils. He sets it aside and stands with exaggerated care, then gropes around for his cover. He perches the battered hat on his head, pushing it back and forth with both hands as he struggles to verify it's on straight before he notices the ceiling overhead and tosses it over his shoulder with disgust.
"HOOORNIT!" Hate chops his knife-hand through the air straight out before him. "MUSH!"
Shoukaku watches with a blank expression of wonder as Hornet leads him upstairs. "Where... where did you find him?"
"The pound," you reply honestly.
Shoukaku helps you outside and flags down an unfortunate seaman to drive you both to your apartment, where she waits politely in the main room while you blunder through a hasty toilet. You emerge looking shipshape again - if nothing else, Annapolis teaches you how to clean yourself up perfectly while half-dead and a quarter-conscious. You toss the empty IV bag in the trash and shake some food into the fishbowl. The creature within seems to give you a narrow-eyed look before it deigns to eat, as if scolding you for neglecting it so long. Your "volunteer" driver ferries you to the administration building and roars off in his motor-pool jeep before you can change your mind and further disrupt his day.
"Admiral, do you mind if I ask you something?" Shoukaku says as she escorts you up the walk. She's keeping her hand on the inside of your elbow, letting you hobble unassisted, but ready to catch you if needed.
"Shoot."
"Do you live... frugally?"
"Hell no," you snort. "Just haven't had time to unpack. I've got boxes and boxes of shit down at the post office waiting for me to pick 'em up."
"Oh," Shoukaku says thoughtfully. "It... has been a rather fast introduction, hasn't it?"
"No sh-oot-"
"You can say shit, Admiral," Shoukaku giggles. "It sure has been a right crock of it dumped in you in your first week, you know?"
>You've got a few moments to ask her something in the relative privacy of the halls before you reach the CIC for the days planning.
>Ask Shoukaku about the other CVs - are you on solid-enough ground with them that it won't endanger the operation?
>Ask Shoukaku about Goto - was his first weeks like this?
>Ask Shoukaku about the other CVs - are you on solid-enough ground with them that it won't endanger the operation?
"Yeah, almost like there's a war on," you reply noncommittally. "Now can I ask you something?"
"My three sizes?"
You huff at her. "Flirt."
"I aim to please, Admiral."
"Is Kaga backed up some, now?"
"Backed... up?" Shoukaku blinks. "Oh! Like they mean in those cowboy movies the girls-"
"Yeah, you know. Not acting like I'm walking scum every time I'm in the room."
Shoukaku pats your shoulder. "She's really not that bad at all, she's just... falling back on what she knows."
"But she won't give me trouble?"
"Hardly. After that demonstration yesterday, she takes you seriously, at least."
"And Hornet?"
"Hornet showed her up and highlighted just what got her, Akagi and Hiryuu killed at Midway," Shoukaku says quietly, pulling you closer by your elbow to speak into your ear. "She learned her lesson, all right, but she can't openly admit it. She can't admit it to herself, I think. She was the Pride of Japan once, and she still carries that on her shoulders. She... she tries to carry us all, sometimes." Shoukaku looks down at the hallway floor, pensive. "Sometimes I wonder if she's not trying to fool herself with that... that air of superiority. Like the high-class have; this Essence that you're born with, so innate to you that you can't possibly lose it."
"That sounds like the kind of aura easily punctured," you murmur.
"Yes, you understand."
"So what about that thing that starts with "M" and ends with "IDWA-"
Shoukaku elbows you just enough to jostle the name out of your mouth. "That's my point!" she hisses. Heeding her wisdom, you button up before entering the CIC.
The room is mostly deserted of the usual operations staff; the main wall display showing a huge overhead map of the Pacific; little icons all over highlighting bases, ships and probable enemy operating areas. There's more of the latter on the map than you're comfortable with.
Staring up at the screen with tired eyes are Goto and Admiral Robert L. Thomas, commander of 7th fleet. Goto's holding a smoldering cigarette in his mouth that he seems to have forgotten about, and Thomas is tossing a half-empty bottle of Pepsi between his hands.
"Defend everywhere, be strong nowhere," Thomas says wearily. "Or... some Sun Tzu shit like that. Pardon my French."
"Mmm," Goto concurs, staring up at the map.
"You'd think they'd want to cover Singapore and Indonesia," Thomas sighs. "Fits their party line perfectly. Just Defending Regional Security," he mutters, the air quotes apparent in his tone.
"They've got enough patrol boats to cover their own coast," Goto replies thoughtfully. "All their bluewater stuff is tied up with convoys-"
"-and they need the convoys desperately, and their littoral shit doesn't have the legs, and air attacks will massacre them and nobody down there's got airpower and even if they did Singapore's government won't have them."
"And Borneo and Sumatra would sooner give birth to porcupines on fire than host the JSDF," Goto says.
Thomas glances askance at him.
"What?" Goto says with a shrug. "It's true."
You slip out of Shoukaku's grasp and cough politely to attract their attention. They turn around, and you salute crisply as you're able.
Thomas's Pepsi bounces off his opposite hand and rolls across the floor, forgotten. Goto's cigarette falls out of his mouth. They both turn to look at each other, than turn back to you. You try to nudge your hat down with your saluting hand to cover your rising eyebrows - what's with them?
"Settle," Thomas says first. "What the hell are you doing on your feet?"
"Saluting, sir."
Thomas blinks, than returns your salute quickly. As soon as your hand lowers, he repeats his question. "What are you doing ambulatory?"
"Reporting for duty," you reply slowly, half-expecting a trick question to pop out of the dim corners.
"Didn't they cut into your head?" Goto asks bluntly.
"The naval surgeon said I'm good to go, as long as I don't do any jumping jacks," you reply.
Goto and Thomas share a quick look of surprise, then they both seem to shrug without moving. "Well, take a seat, Settle, and I'll give you the sitrep," Thomas says, shuffling through some papers on the central table and fishing out a manilla folder. "Take a gander."
You gander. The document is a sitrep on 7ths fleet ready and operational status, and it's a tale of woe - worn-out ships, ships badly in need of refit and repair and several ships still trucking with patched over battle damage months old. The flagship herself, USS Ronald Reagan, is in good enough shape, but her air wing is depleted from losses and constant operations since the war began, and the bill has finally come due.
"Well," you say flatly.
"Exactly," Thomas sighs. "The kanmasu are going to have to carry this one, I'm afraid."
"That's why we've got them," Goto replies.
"So what's the strike force looking like?" you ask.
"That's what we could use your opinion on," Goto replies. He slides over a legal pad filled with scrawling. The first notes compare and contrast CARDIV 1 and 5. Kaga and Akagi are considered the best at launching uniform strikes that can hit the enemy with "maximum inertia and concentration of force," and to navigate the best - which means you can risk extreme-range strikes with more impunity. On the other hand, Shoukaku and Zuikaku are much more practiced in effective CAP doctrine the Japanese developed after Midway.
Under a line labeled "sea control/follow-up/supplemental scouting" is two lines - "SUBS" and "SURFACE GROUP" with a big question mark after them. Lastly is a lot of scribbling under "ASW cover," where the choices seem to boil down to Ryujo, the light carrier with the funny hat you met in here yesterday, or two names that you're unfamiliar with - "Oregon" and "New Jersey."
You flick your eyes up at Goto for clarification.
"Assuming the carrier battle goes our way, we'll want to move in and mop up stragglers trying to motor out of airstrike range before the next morning. I think a light surface action group could do it - we've got plenty of heavy cruisers chomping at the bit and even some destroyers in shape to sortie, all the damn littoral patrols be damned. Our girls excel at night action; they'd crush them."
"We need to hold something back for sudden attacks elsewhere," Thomas counters, "and the subs have even less to do than the cruisers, right now. Without a supply line to attack... or even abyssals in-transit - if they *do* transit - the subs are pretty much useless. You don't send diesel boats charging to the rescue if there's an attack somewhere; you send cruisers. Against an abyssal carrier group, though - especially with the hulls we've got available - I think they could manage Nautilus redux; a major pain in the ass for the enemy."
"Well, if you're just picking off survivors after a successful air battle-"
"-a fast surface force is better," Thomas finishes for Goto. "But the subs can harass them during the daylight action... which brings me to the next issue. You said something about smelling subs in the area yesterday, Settle?"
"Yes sir."
"You have a good nose," Thomas says. "Any way you dice it, they know we're coming, and I think they're laying for us. They'll have subs. And that could cause all sorts of damn mayhem for us."
You think of Midway - USS Nautilus's endless, dogged attacks that perchance led some of Yorktown's bombers to the Japanese fleet. I-168 sealing Yorktown's fate as she was on the brink of being saved. Even Mogami's collision which sealed Mikuma's fate; emergency evasives after a submarine was spotted in the dark.
In short, a massive wrench in the works.
"I'm pulling for Ryujo," Goto says. "An entire deck just for ASW patrols."
"The only good news for 7th fleet is on that sheet of paper," Thomas counters. "Two brand-spanking-new Virgina-class SSNs. Bring those with us and they'll devour any hostile subs that come sniffing around the carriers."
You frown at the legal pad, thinking furiously, then glancing back up at the map and all those populated island chains you're responsible for defending. Whatever you send after those carriers won't be available to respond to any other attack - but you need to dispatch a proper force that can deal with the unexpected.
>(vote for one from each category.)
>Send Cardiv 1.
>Send Cardiv 5
>Send the Light Surface Group for the anti-surface complement.
>Send your ship-girls (and ship-boy) submarines for the anti-surface complement.
>Send Ryujo for the ASW complement.
>Send the two fast-attack subs as the ASW complement.
Session #22 pt.2
Trace Coburn
BattleTech Starfighter Analyst
- Location
- NDBBM, New Zealand
>Send Cardiv 1.
>Send your ship-girls (and ship-boy) submarines for the anti-surface complement.
>Send the two fast-attack subs as the ASW complement.
You study the legal pad carefully, and then cautiously peer over the top at Admiral Thomas. Vice-Admiral Robert L. Thomas, commander of the US 7th fleet, a three-star who commands at least 80 ships, 40,000 men and a few thousand marines as well. You haven't really thought about it much, but with all the kanmasu - musu? masu? Whatever - all the shipgirls running around this place, Goto's commanding a force at least a third the size of the entire JMSDF itself; at least in combat assets. Whatever his actual rank is, his actual pull amongst his own military is probably greater than the rank on his shoulder might suggest.
And here you stand, the One-Star-Wonder.
"Pardon, sir, but... you two want my advice on this?"
They blink.
"... me."
"Settle," Thomas says after a moment. "What do you think you're here to do?"
"Command a division," you answer promptly. "And look after the United States Navy's returned shipgirls - and boy. And we happen to have about a division's worth of ships. Maybe two, if you squint."
"Sure, that's what the CNO stamped on your orders," Thomas says. "But you're also the only commanding officer who's survived close combat with multiple abyssal forces."
"What about t-"
"Spare me the modest hero bullshit, Settle," Thomas says curtly. "I've read the reports. I've read reports you're not authorized to read. I say you're the USN officer with the most intimate experience and understanding of the abyssal threat, so I want your input on our force compositions." He leans against the table and crosses his arms. "Besides, I've spent my time trying to put 7th fleet back together. I hear you've spent your time familiarizing with the kanmusu."
"That's a word for it," you mutter dourly, but bow to the wisdom of the man with the two-star lead. Scowling at the legal pad, you finally set it aside.
"I'd suggest CarDiv 1. I've been with Hornet since she first returned, and if nothing else, she's frikkin *fast* about launching CAP. The only thing worse than a slow shot is a slow shot that misses, as far as she's concerned. As for the surface complement... I suggest we deploy the sub-girls - sub-people? Whatever."
"Are you suuuure?" Goto asks. "This is a perfect chance to close for night surface action after the day battle."
"Well, here's my concern," you say, picking up a laser pointer off the table and shining it on the map. "This is going down just north of the Bonin islands, right?" You shine your light around. "So here's Yokota airbase, a few miles north of here... and here's Kaneda AFB on Okinawa... and here's Anderson, on Guam. Kaneda is almost 800nm distant, Guam is pushing 1,000, and Yokota is about 450. Unfortunately Yokota is mostly JSDF aircraft right now since we're splitting longer-ranged stuff between Guam, Singapore and Kaneda to try and cover the island chains and the South China Sea. So Super Hornets from Kaneda or Anderson are going to *have* to tank to reach. F-2s from Yokota can just about reach the AO for a strike mission, but they'll have to tank as well if they want to loiter." You set the laser pointer down. "And we all know how excited the Air Force is about putting their KC-135s up against abyssals."
Both men frown. The abyssals ability to show up damn near anywhere cost the Air Force two tankers early in the war, which shook everyone's confidence badly - entire doctrines needed to be re-written, and the enemy could always cheat the rules of time and space in some new and awful way. "So, what's your point, Settle?"
"My point is, the tankers will need escort, which reduces the number of fighters we can keep on CAP, so on and so forth - basically, if we screw up and our decks are put out of commission, unable to launch or recover or god forbid, dead in the water -" you shake your head. "It'd be Mikuma all over again; a mad melee to get the hell away from their airpower range. And we just can't throw up enough air cover from land right now, not spread so thin with so many planes in maint cycles. So I figure, we give them as few targets as possible."
They absorb this silently and thoughtfully.
"As for ASW, I want the SSNs," you say flat-out. "We still don't know exactly how these bastards move around, so maybe they'll be kept at bay and underwater poking along at four knots due to constant air patrols... and maybe they won't. Nautilus pursued the Japanese carrier fleet for the whole damn day while they were conducting active air operations and was never spotted. And these crews have been training recently for ASW against Chinese diesel boats, yeah?"
Thomas nods.
"Right. Keep them close, let Harder and the Japanese subs do what they do best. The SSNs can keep up with our surface forces, too."
Thomas smiles. "I'll accept Settle's decisions, then - Goto and I have been talking each other into and out of these positions all morning."
" My experience says differently," Goto says, "but that doesn't mean spit, since our subs haven't had much chance to operate, so I've got not experience to go on, there. I trust your judgment on Hornet, I'm no career fast-attack skipper and-" he checks his watch. "We're simply running out of time. It'll take us all day to get the girls ready and on the water if we start right now."
"I suppose..." Thomas begins.
"You could consider..." Goto chimes in.
"The matter settled!" Shoukaku finishes brightly.
After you're done groaning, you all clear off the tables and get to work. Shoukaku stays close by your side, clearing off tables, fetching extra office supplies, placing calls and even running out for food, returning with some take-out curry. Goto and Thomas both watch you carefully from the corners of their eyes when you open yours, so you gird yourself before biting. As expected, it's *incredibly* hot. Unfortunately for your two "allies," you earned the nicknames "ironbelly" from the crew (and "fucking lunatic" from the ship's doctor) for eating monkey brains on your first cruise to Indochina, so mere agony on the tongue is old hat. After Goto raises his eyebrow a milliliter in silent salute, he pops the plastic lid off his own meal and digs in-
"aaaahhhhoooooooot," he gasps, stealing Thomas's warm Pepsi and downing it in one go. "Shoukaku, what the hell is that?"
"Hmm?" she says, steadying herself with a grip on your shoulder as she leans over to peer at Goto's dish. "Oh, dear. I must've ordered the same one for all three."
Goto gives her a lidded-eyed look that whispers "traitor." Shoukaku lightly trails her fingertips along the back of your neck, sending little electric shivers down your spine, and she turns her profile to you long enough to wink as she walks away to her next assignment.
As you polish off your curry, Yamato bursts into the room with an armful of folders. "I've got them, teikt- oh!" She stops dead in her tracks when she sees you.
"... who is this?" you ask innocently.
Goto glares dirks and daggers at you.
Hate walks into the room behind Yamato, properly dressed and looking absolutely wired. Goto's eyes widen in horror.
"... who is this!?" Yamato says, turning to Hate with badly-feigned suprise.
"Yamato," Goto says, rubbing his face. "Come here. Come *heah.*"
You lean back and manage to sail your empty takeout container into the trashcan from halfway across the room. As you're turning to ask Hate to stand in a corner where you can keep a close eye on him, there's a disturbance outside. Hate produces an M9 from his waistband and racks it by shoving the rear sight against a table edge, refusing to relinquish his massive 64 ounce travel mug of coffee.
The door shudders beneath a blow, then pops open as the latch fails, a bruised MP scrabbling across the floor away from the portal. Standing in the doorway is Harder. His eyes are wide and wild, his small hands curled into hard-looking fists. He's breathing raggedly, hunched over, somewhere between a prizefighter and a feral wolf. Thomas backs against the wall, prudently scared of the boy wielding the power of a five-inch gun... at the very least. Goto and Hate just regard him with the emotion you're fast becoming used to - mild interest, in case the same old shit evolves into something novel.
Harder makes a beeline for you, flopping to his knees and grabbing your uniform jacket, beeseeching you.
"SKIPPER."
"Harder."
"HELP!"
"... what's wrong, sailor?"
"NAKA. SHE. A THING. EVIL. WITCH. EVIL. EVIL! AMBUSH!" He shakes you desperately; you wave off Hate; your head is rocking on your neck but it's in no danger of whiplash. "A DATE! NO ESCAPE! A FUCKING DATE, SKIPPER!"
"So...?"
"I DON'T KNOW HOW TO GIRL, SKIPPER! TEACH ME HOW TO GIRL!"
And that's when that no good lousy dirty rotten son-of-a-bitch jarhead shitkicker in the back of the room begins to laugh like a lunatic.
... Hate may be an asshole, but honestly? It IS pretty funny. (Art by toorops.)