Captain's Log
Date: Unknown
6:00 am: Wake up onboard a vessel. Location unknown, date unknown. The date shall be referred too as A for future logs. Roused and gathered crew, taking stock of the situation. Attempts to rouse vessel where meet with mediocre success. Class and identification number are unknown.
8:00 am: Vessel becomes operational. Ship's hull and internal structures appear to be fused with a woman. She appears to be the ship itself, and is incredibly confused about present events, as is the crew. Finally, the ship begins cruising North-Northeast. Speed, 20 knots.
Captain's Log
Date: A+1
1:35 am: Land is found after an uneventful voyage. Attempts to stop the woman before she beached herself failed. The crew has discovered that the vessel is now land capable.
1:56 am: Armor-piercing shell is nearly discharged at a spider. Vessel retreats to the beach. Watch is set up while both the vessel and crew sleep.
7:00 am: Vessel wakens, throwing a large crustation that grappled itself to her face. The night watch was unable to dislodge the creature. Shortly thereafter, she enters the jungle. She managed to diminish her armaments to make treating through the jungle easier.
1:06 pm: Village is found. Damage is moderate to heavy, though it is unknown whether the worst was due to combat or natural degradation. Vessel begins looking for supplies and other items
2:31 pm: Food is discovered and eaten. Vessel sees an increase in our food storage, mostly in tomatoes.
3:09 pm: Ship begins to search for maps or any other documentation. This effort would prove useful in discovering our present location.
7:35 pm: Hole is put through the wall. Vessel possesses beyond human strength.
7:39 pm: Map's are uncovered. Based on navigation's best estimates we are in the pacific theater, along the outer edge of the Caroline Islands. The current political state of the world is unknown. Last I remember, the war had long since passed, but these are abnormal circumstances. We must be prepared for anything.
8:00 pm: Vessel suffers a mental break down before passing out. Appears to have memories of a previous life. Concern runs high among the crew.
Captain's Log
Date: A+2
8:36 am: Vessel and crew awaken. Hostile encountered nearby. Vessel calls it an Abssyal, and herself a shipgirl. The name fits. She waits for hostile to leave before making her way to the shoreline.
9:07 am: Abnormal weather pattern spotted. Shipgirl believes it is caused by Abyssal influence. The original plan is scrapped, preparing to head east to meet up with the fleet at Pearl Harbor.
9:10 am: Plan B is also scrapped, as a second fleet is between us and Pearl Harbor. Both clouds seem to be heading our direction. Retreat recommended, whether we are compromised or not.
12:30 pm: Crew engages with the vessel throughout the day. She helps to keep her distracted from things she doesn't want to think about while also giving her someone to talk too.
3:04 pm: Crew member manifests outside the ship for the first time, resulting in one overboard member that was swiftly picked up by the vessel. The crew has considered taking her up on this club offer.
6:10 pm: Landfall is made. Vessel beings searching for a food source immediately. Nourishment is found shortly thereafter, leading to a sizable increase to stores.
7:30 pm: Cave is found, suitable protection from the elements. Vessel hunkers down for the night.
Captain's Log
Date: A+3
8:00 am: Vessel awakens, ingesting more provisions before heading to the shoreline.
8:35 am: Enemy elements encountered. Two scouting vessels, likely some form of an unknown twisted destroyer. Both are eliminated without direct damage, though there is a risk our position has become compromised. As such, we flee westward.
12:09 pm: Vessel has an idea about using depth charges as makeshift grenades. This has potential but is unlikely to do much against more heavily armored ships.
4:37 pm: Aircraft are spotted. It is first believed to be allied aircraft, however, it is swiftly revealed to be an Abssyal air attack. The air wing was destroyed, but the vessel engaged in a risky maneuver.
9:47 pm: We arrive on land, and damage control is allowed to examine the exterior of the hull. Damage is minimal, but present, mostly contained bellow the waterline. Hardest hit was the rudder. While it remains completely operational, a good hit will cause more harm to structural integrity than it should. Damage teams will attempt to fix this issue throughout the night.
Captain's Log
Date: A+4
7:00 am: Repairs are as complete as they're going to get. Food supply is further bolstered. The rest of the day remains uneventful sailing.
Captain's Log
Date: A+5
8:09 am: Another Abssyal is spotted near shore. Alone, akin to one of the first we saw. Another land-based ambush killed the creature, though it was able to land a much more accurate return salvo, before being sunk. We can now undoubtedly confirm our vessel's armor is quite light. Damage is, quite thankfully, minimal.
12:07 pm: Potential submarine spotted. The crew set to high alert, as is the vessel.
6:08 pm: Everyone is taken off high alert due to a lack of submarine action. The vessel remains paranoid that a submarine may still strike.
7:00 pm: Land is found. The vessel is quite pleased that she does not need to spend her night out on the open waves.
Captain's Log
Date: A+6
9:08 am: Vessel was late to leave the island due to scavenging runs beforehand. Still, whatever supplies we can find, we'll take.
1:05 pm: Some of the crew found a plane hanger, alongside equipment for a catapult to launch aircraft from. Having eyes in the sky would be a blessing right now. Currently sent teams to get it set up.
6:09 pm: Catapult is completed around the same time we reach land. The test flight will be taken tomorrow.
Captain's Log
Date: A+7
8:05 am: Catapult does not appear upon rigging. Plane merely appears in the vessel's hand.
8:25 am: Plane is thrown by a frustrated vessel. Success?
8:30 am: Plane is airborne.
Captain's Log
Date: A+8
One more day until we reach the Philippines.
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We were so fucked. If it wasn't for the spotter plane that my crew finally got operational, I would have sailed our ass into a trap. Nearly twenty Abyssal's hung just offshore of my landing zone. The only mercy is that they lacked a dedicated carrier.
Beyond the sheer numbers arrayed against me, was the figure at the center of the formation. I didn't know much about individual Abyssal classes when it came to ships. But this? This one I knew through reputation. An aviation battleship. A Re-class.
A nearly unstoppable unit. Torpedoes, battleship sized guns, airplanes, the whole circus. The strengths of a carrier and a battleship with none of the weaknesses. Fighting that was not just beyond my weight class, it was beyond that of entire fleets, from what I heard.
I didn't know if that's how it was in reality, but regardless. I wasn't a Taffy, and there was nothing me retreating would risk. But where? There was another, much smaller fleet I had spotted, and while they looked beat up, attacking a larger force was simply a bad idea. A pincer movement to cut off my retreat back west.
Air raids were still coming from a southern direction, either suggesting carriers, or worst, some type of land base. If that was the case, it wouldn't be too much a stretch to think Papua New Guinea had fallen. Worst case scenario, even Australia.
Which left one option. Go north across the Philippine Sea, towards the island chain between Tawain and Japan. However, that would put me on the open sea. I would be run down by destroyers before having to deal with whatever else was out there.
To quote one of the three cyclopes I was familiar with, we were on a hell ride without a paddle.
Yeah, the situation was that bad. Well, I could move the landing zone northward, and make a break towards the inland. Sure, it was Abssyal territory as well, if that fleet was anything to go by. But as a human, I gave myself better odds on land. Terrain, concealment, and ambushes. Marginally better odds, but I'd take it.
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After short steam northward, which would have put me out of the fleet's detection range, I launched another scout plane. Just to be safe, as a lack of information is what landed me in this situation, and I wasn't about to repeat the same mistake twice.
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A choice that paid off, because the entire Abssyal flotilla also moved northward. Which meant one thing.
They had eyes on me. Airplanes had already been ruled out, which meant one thing. A submarine. Of course, why didn't they just sink me? Sure, I could evade a torpedo I was aware of, but it was a submarine. They were good at remaining undetected. I knew I should have pushed more with that sighting.
Still, this was bad. Very bad. I was caught between several rocks, with my ass being tailed by something I couldn't see nor actively fight against. With that thing feeding Abyssal's information about my location, there was no way in hell I could simply hole up on an island, for they'd know exactly which island I was on.
I turned somewhat inward, trying to get in tune with my internal sense. My crew. They were just as frustrated as I was. We had been played, and hard. I was out of my depth, and so were they.
My eyes flickered over to the radio. I had ordered that silence be maintained. If Abyssal's could listen in, then I'd have my location pinned down for anyone to find.
However, my location was already compromised. So what was the harm of hitting the bright red panic button? If I served long enough, and my transmission was heard, then there was a chance at rescue. Sure, they might not decide one light cruiser was worth the effort.
But if I didn't take this risk, then I was likely dead meat anyway.
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I don't think static is supposed to sound like people moaning and screaming in pain. But Abssyal bullshit was likely responsible. Can we get the signal across without it being corrupted? Not picked up, that's a given. But I want it as whole and complete as possible. That is the most likely way to get people to pull our ass out of the fire.
Okay? Good. We have our lives riding on this. I cannot stress enough that the events of the next few hours will determine whether we live or die. Are we live with this?
Oh, God, what were the proper protocols for this? I had no idea. Shit, I needed to start speaking or I was going to sound like an idiot!
"This is a USS cruiser speaking. I'm currently 20 miles off the coast of the Philippine at islands and caught between two Abyssal groups. I will make a break towards land, trying to make my way as far north as possible before making landfall. I have no idea as too my identification number or class. My current location is around 13 degrees north and 127 degrees east."
I repeated the message three times, before sending out a short SOS burst. I hope I didn't stutter or otherwise screw things up. Hell, I didn't even think of adding in my coordinates until the last minute.
Who was I kidding? I probably forgot something. At least I attempted to sound professional. Now?
I found myself needing to steady my breath. I was about to be sailing into the first actual naval battle I ever had. One where I was impossibly outnumbered, outgunned, and outranged.
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My scream of pain was drowned out by gunfire, my leg nearly giving out completely as an armor-piercing round drilled through it. My guns returned fire, sending my shells at the larger cruiser. A handful of penetrations got the message across as it banked away smoking.
Another shot, this one exploding as it impacted my stomach caused me to lurch gritting my teeth through the pain. Shit! Guns, reload, and fire! Another salvo obliterated the destroyer, but with my shells spent, it's friend leaped toward me, fangs bared. It was a miracle that my fist connected with its stomach, knocking back into the water.
Everything hurt. Boilers screamed in strain, as shells continued to rain down around me. I tried to weave and bob around, moving erratically to through off their aim. But if you threw enough shit at a wall, eventually, something would end up sticking.
I couldn't take much more of this. But I was so close to land! I didn't come this far to give up now!
Water erupted right in front of me, a geyser of saltwater that caused me to swerve around. Another high explosive shell slammed into me as I turned, and this time, I scream. My body gave out, crashing onto the water's surface.
My head screamed in agony, as every functioning part of my brain shouted at me to get up! Another geyser covered my prone form, giving me precious seconds to pull myself back up to my feet. I needed to move! Get to cover!
Explosions signaled my own guns retort, though I saw every shot go completely wide. Damnit! Not now! Just a few more meters! Come on!
My feet meet sand, a brief kiss before I broke off running towards the treeline, shots thundering in return. Just as I managed to break through the tree line, I felt a crack run through my body.
Pain.
Then nothing.
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When I finally came too, it was with a groan. Everything hurt. Slowly, but surely, I began pushing myself up, trying to take stock of my surroundings. What happened? The last thing I remember was a pain, and, nothing.
Did I blackout? Where was I? Had I been captured?
My head was about to whip around wildly, only to stop from a hammering inside my skull.
Okay, ow, I get your point! I'm laying back down! Just get me damage control!
I closed my eyes laying back down against the cool stone.
The good news was, I wasn't dead. The bad news? I should be.
There was damage all across my hull and superstructure. Dozens, if not hundreds of rents and tears from shells, one of which even scrapped by one of my boilers, damaging it and forcing my crew to shut it down for repairs.
My radar and battery directors? They could be simply described as FUBAR. The high explosive shell that caught me in the face took down everything! I couldn't hit the broad side of a barn now.
Then there was the hit that could have killed if the shell had gone off. An armor-piercing shell punctured into my forwardmost turret. My crew was currently trying to disarm then dislodge the shell, but I wasn't going to be able to use it. The damage was too extensive for it to be even remotely safe. Hell, could they even repair it? I didn't want to be fighting with a quarter of my firepower missing!
I probably shouldn't be fighting at all. Not in this shape. I couldn't flee either. Not with a boiler down.
It took a few moments to feel the faint shaking of the earth. Shell's were falling somewhere in the distance, probably trying to flush me out. How far were we from the shoreline, anyway?
Really? How did I manage to crawl that far? Hopefully, I didn't get any infections from dragging my semi-conscious bleeding body across the jungle floor. Yes, I know ships can't get infections, but ships can't jump either. Yeah, that's what I thought.
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It took a few hours, but finally, the shell was dislodged, and I was able to see the damage for myself. I didn't know what I was expecting, but that confirmed it. Completely unusable, and I didn't think we could repair it.
Could we repair it? No. Okay. If that's the case, scrap it. Use the metal it has to act as a patch job. Sure, it sucks, but it's better than nothing. Other than that, try to get the battery director on the stern operational.
I don't care if you have to salvage the other director and the radar to do it. Lastly, get that boiler up and running. The sooner the better. If that transmission didn't get through, no wait transmissions?
Did you launch multiple? Okay, that's fine, I guess.
Back on topic, downed boiler, up and running. If the transmission failed or got intercepted, then we needed to run. Run like hell, and we needed every ounce of speed. We can't do that with our speed cut.
But I was alive. A miracle, but I wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Not this time. I'm unsure how I managed to evade shots from those…
She hadn't fired a single shot. The battleship hadn't sent a single shell at me. No, that couldn't be right. I was out of her range, or something. Yeah, that was it.
Okay, I was lying to myself. I'd kept an eye on her to the best of my ability. I was well within her range. If she didn't fire, it was on purpose. And that left me with a single disturbing question.
Why?