I think I get why people wear aviators now. Julianne never approved, but I think I look very sharp in my...
...hybridized outfit? It's the deep blues and greens of the dress uniform, combined with combat webbing and armor of an Armsieur, and then I have my Captain's rank pins. Not just any, hers specifically because they're really REALLY beat up.
"...you glorious, glorious cheapskate."
I keep sailing, looking off into the sunset, covered in ship parts, no longer slowly bleeding out from having a chunk of my thigh missing. As, uh, one does.
===
Fleet Of Wrecks — Damage Control 1.1
===
"Can we outrun them?"
Iowa snorted. "Hah! Maybe if we hadn't all been shredded in that last fight... With a twenty knot top speed... that recon plane is gonna get back to the carrier and there's gonna be a strike comin down on our heads reaaaal quick."
"...Fighting isn't an option. Not like this." Iowa nods, still looking out at the contact.
"Yeah. Which is why... I'm gonna cut the knot." What? Cut the knot?
Apparently sensing my confusion, the battleship explains. "So basically, in ancient mythology, there was this reaaaaally big knot, all tangled, covered with dirt, basically impossible to undo. King of the city it was in said whoever managed to get it open would become the new king. Anyways, a dude came along and instead of untangling it, just cut it."
"...so, simplifying the problem with an alternative solution?" Iowa nods, and begins steaming away, making a turn southward.
"I'm gonna be bait. You and yours get along now will ya? Fix up my lil sisters and yours too."
"No! What the hell are you thinking?!" I go to rush after her, but despite the 5 something times less tonnage I have on her, she's almost twice as fast as I am!
The battleship glances back, a bit of the old fire in her eyes. Briefly, I see the glint of her stars, as she raises a fist. "Listen! They don't have the resources to keep me up anymore! It's all on the carriers, you and I both know that! If we get swarmed, Hornet over there'd save ya better than I ever could! So I'll make this difference where I can!"
"...no..." Both of us stop, looking back to the battered carrier being towed by several cruisers. One trembling arm reaches out.
"don't... Go." The arm wavers, and falls back down. Iowa grimaces.
"...Hornet, I'm sorry. I really am. But... Even when I was built, the days of the big heavy gun juggernaut were endin. They had three ships o' the battle line back at Wake and all of em are scrap except me even with the anti air fire they pumped out. You had a few minutes and I saw your planes bust twice as many at least!"
The battleship gives a proud smile.
"You're the future, kiddo! So, I'm gonna pass the torch I guess. Besides. 's the older siblin's job to keep you all safe, isn't it?"
The smile turns a bit sad, before she turns back around, continuing her course.
There's a moment, before over the radio, she starts broadcasting the familiar bars of Over There, humming along...
"...that the Yanks are coming, the Yanks are coming..."
She doesn't stop, even as dusk turns to night and we continued our course, her song growing ever fainter.
===
Ping! Hmm? passive RADAR contact, heading 44. That's... Scarily close range. About... 125km?
...is it a submarine? No, can't be, it'd have heard me by now. But... If it hasn't seen me yet, turning on my RADAR...
...
Here goes nothing then. Hopefully I'm not about to get turned to a wreck...
I clear my throat, and key the com. "Now hear this, now hear this. Set condition Xerxes across the ship, all hands to ready positions."
Perfectly said, and all in order.
...If the Captain wasn't gone and the crew wasn't naught but actual literal ghosts... And, y'know, if I wasn't already at Zebra.
'Now's not the time.' Back to work Rampart! You're not done yet!
I brace, missiles armed, and with a thought-
Active RADAR paints a very interesting picture. "Oh fuck me..."
I have sensor tracks on a half dozen warships, all capitals, judging by the monstrous signatures, and what looks like most of an air force. There's one capital ship apparently leaving one of them, and they seem to be in two distinct groups. Also up in the sky is dozens of planes, all heading towards the lone capital.
'Decision time. None of them are emitting and nobody's firing at me even with active RADAR. It... looks like a combat operation. But who...?'
Skimming the airwaves, I see about listening in. Music, radio stations, everything goes into the battle computer databank. Never know what freq might come in handy-
"-Damnit I know that! I even told it to her face! She blew me off!" Female, younger. Upset. Wait, that accent...!
"And she still fucking left! You-you...!" That... that's a Graznian accent. Fuck, these... These are old Graznian Navy codes!
...I-I need to be sure.
"Flight crew, prep and launch one scout drone for positive identification operation, over.
===
It takes awhile for the drone to get out there. The dusky sky's gone to night.
In that time, a bomber run has gone over the lone capital, but it hasn't sunk yet.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
...the shape on the lightamp looks familiar. The colors are somewhat washed out and the quality is grainy at this range, but...
"...Torol?!" I-what?! That ship was decommissioned decades ago! What the hell is it doing?! It's been sent back to its Second War setup too!
Shit. If anything, that confirms it. Graznian Navy, enemy forces unknown.
Not enough missiles to kill all the planes, but the approaching force of capital ships...
That, I think I can do something about.
'...Seer guide me, I'm actually going to do this. Damnit.'
"Now hear this, now hear this. Action stations, action stations. Set material condition Zebra across the ship, damage control teams report to central. Missiles standby for antiship operation."
With a thought, eight cells click open, revealing their payload of Extended Range Anti Surface Missiles. Hopefully, this is enough.
'Sixteen shots left. No, make that fifteen, one of them's been shot away. Damnit. Fucking shrapnel damage...' I inhale, exhale, and pull the trigger.
Ten pillars of fire scream into the sky.
===
I still wonder why everything turned out like this. I've been around for a while, hell I was right behind Yamato when we first got called back in! Heh...
Good memories, I guess. Shit, we thought we were invincible in the early days. All heavy cruisers, battlecruisers sometimes... nothin much to it.
'...I hope she's still around. Last I heard she'd pulled back to the Tokyo lines, and then the Abyssals blew the sats and we lost comms. Hope she's doin better than I am...'
The DC fairies call in, one last time. Crew's ready, if a bit scared. Flooding's controlled, the citadel's not penetrated, and secondaries are loaded with what ammo's left.
"...Gettin my ticket punched, huh? Took you bastards long nuff." The I wiped at my eyes, glaring into the black specks. The two remaining Mk 7 guns slewed to bear.
"FIRE!" The thunder of my RADAR guided guns rippled across the waters, three-gun 16 inchers sending six Mk 8 superheavy AP shells soaring across the range.
Even with the RADAR battered by almost a week of continuous combat action, I'm still just as good as ever! One of the leading battleships gets hit by a solid bracket and she explodes, definitely magazines.
"Helluva way to go buddy." My crew begin their work, safety disregarded for the sake of getting those rounds up just a little bit quicker, bless them. They'd slow soon, but for now even one more salvo might help.
Shells begin to land all around me, throwing up gouts of water as they missed or shatter against citadel armor.
Flak shells load and anti air fairies stand to. Not long now. 'Wisconson, I'll see ya soon...'
THOOM-THOOM! Another salvo goes downrange from my Mk 7s, smashing apart the armor of another battleship and stopping her in her tracks, her engineering spaces quickly filling.
"One more down. C'mon boys, let's get ourselves a few more!" I hear a ragged cheer from my crew over the thunder of another bracketing strike punching some more holes into my bow and stern, shells glancing away from my citadel.
Fuck, that's starting to hurt!
As I glance at the water for torpedoes, I catch a glimpse of myself in the shell-whipped seas. Biiiit of a hot mess. All wounds and red stains, nearly naked and with smoke billowing from a turret.
Another shell screaming past my head pulls my attention back up. "One wound is nothing! I'm still here! Go fuck yourselves!"
I loose another flak salvo, Bofors and some eager Oerlikon gunners joining the fray. They just keep coming!
It's like stopping rain with a knife. They're coming from all sides, and I'm starting to wonder if I even have enough goddamn ammo to shoot at all of them. Some of the crew who aren't doing anything else are actually just shootin at the fuckers with their rifles and pistols, I think someone has a twelve gauge!
Here come the bombs again. I close my eyes to avoid the flash-
KRAKOOM! KRACKOOM! Spang-BLAM! THOOM!
"UNGH! Haaah..."
The bombs do their work, carving away decking and steel, exposing muscle and bone to the elements. Saltwater spray sends shocks of pain through my body, but I have lived.
My RADAR's torn to smithereens, but my Rangekeeper doesn't just rely on that. A slide rule will do fine!
THOOM THOOM THOOM! I aim and fire my last Mark 7, firing one shot per target. Might as well try for crippling now, rather than kills...
One battleship loses a turret, another suffering a hole at the waterline. Without my RADAR though, I do miss one.
That was that then. The black smoke of a broadsiding battleline puffed gently in the distance. I brace for impact-
"...What the sam hell is that?!" I see a bright streak in the distance, rapidly approaching, no several bright streaks, before it looks like the Abyssal battle line evaporates.
A dozen ships just stop being there, massive explosions as...
My memory comes in for me. I've seen those before, the Iraqis.
Those were missiles.
...someone new is looking out for us? I key the radio. Open transmission, no encoding. "...this is the Iowa, to whoever it might concern. Take care of em for-"
SPANG-BLAM-BONG-SPAK-SPANG-TAK
I feel my legs give out under me, engines dying. My vision begins to darken.
Even the best armor in the world has a limit. Guess being pounded by a dozen Abyssals gets ya there. I don't have to look down, I know it's bad. Probably got a big ol hole riiight around my bellybutton. Something hot runs down my stomach and legs...
But... One last message. I order the radio team to boost the gain, as much as it'll take. "This is the USS Iowa, to... Jane Doe. I say again... Take care of them... won't you?"
I see another wave of bombers on the horizon, the mounts that aren't ruined now coming into action again, black angry puffs appearing on the horizon.
'It's not gonna matter anyways... But hell, we sure did give em a fight.' The sea rushes up to greet me, cold and...