///Location: Forty Kilometers within Elysian Fields, 44.8951°N, -30.6622°E

///Date: D32-M11-YR1588

///Time: 0877 Local Time

Clouds of black smoke blowing across mirror like seas, the pitch of warfare concealing firing lines of battleships.

Massive shapes of steel sailing through incoming fire, cannon shells sending plumes of water into the sky as their wasted payloads of high explosives detonate beneath waves.

The Operations Officer finds the target. “Master nineteen contact identified, it's a Gaelsin battleship alright!”

Almost two hundred fifty meters long, the towering superstructure sticks out of the hostile line against its own brethren. Main guns still smoking from firing, a cloud of unburned propellant shadowing the thing.

“Confirmed.” The Vessel itself replies as optical sensors attempt to peer through distance and countermeasures. “However, I cannot determine its class at the current angle. Suggest focusing on the target.”

The Captain turns from his standing position at the planning table, giving orders to the officer. “Gunnery, target on Master Nineteen. All guns.”

“Copy that!” The Tactical Officer replies with a smile, fingers dancing across her control console.

Four turrets across the battleship shift, twelve mounted guns elevating to distant targets. Shells of ungodly caliber, huge things rammed into barrels by soulless autoloaders. 

The Vessel assists the woman, vocalizing targeting data and selected weapon payloads. “All guns armor piercing. Distance to target: thirty five point four-nine-zero kilometers. Relative speed: sixteen knots. Wind speed adjustment executed, ready to fire.”

The Captain rises. “Fire.”

Air cracks under power, shockwaves from colossal ordnance sent into the world. Water against an armored hull evaporates as the ocean itself gives way to divine fire, a muzzle flash powerful enough to deafen the crew atop nearby escort cruisers.

Shells sent into the world, a tactical link updating with trajectories.

Atop the display each of the twelve are tracked, strike percentages calculated in real time. An artificial mind crushing numbers with impossible speed, combat data returned in qualitative values towards human crew.

Stolen novel; please report.

Nine rounds rejected as aerodynamics pull them away from the target, three remaining barreling down towards lethal trajectories.

A hull bristled with impenetrable armor plating and countless gunmounts, anti-aircraft firepower intermixed with massive naval cannons and secondary batteries. A battleship created in Kith Gaelsin’s industrial facilities, steel construction brutishly effective in mass production.

Two shells impact sheets of armoring, kinetic force easily shrugged off.

The remainder finds its mark.

Layers of metal peel away armor, the thing crashing through folded plates of protection and into the soft interiors held within. In a single moment triggers activate, explosive payloads carrying lethal playloads detonating within hulls. Lethal force shredding internal structure, crew liquefied and machinery ruined beyond repair. 

 The Gaelsin vessel groans in pain, construction tearing at itself in a rejection of damage. Wounds compartmentalized, the ship continues forth as its guns flare towards hostiles.

“Confirmed hit on target.” Tactical updates.

“Minimal damage.” The Vessel adds alongside her.

The Executive Officer curses to herself, gritting teeth as she pulls the readout from the hostile vessel. “Gods damned Gaelsins. This isn’t working!”

“We need to remove more guns from that firing line.” The Captain agrees. “Tactical, get a… ”

Alarms automatically sound, blaring tones followed by the voice of Operations. “Incoming!”

“Shell impact in thirty five seconds, please place yourself in brace positions.” The Vessel acknowledges calmly.

Holding himself in the command chair the Captain barks out orders. “Helm: bearing one three one, flank speed. Full evasive!”

“Aye!” The Officer yells back as she pulls the wheel aside.

Water churns as engines roar power to propellers, fifty thousand tons of battleship listing as the monster maneuvers away from the path of screaming ordnance. The crew of six placing themselves against consoles and secured bulkheads, human bodies awaiting incoming carnage.

Shells collapse across her shape, geysers of water sent soaring from missed shots and blasts of shrapnel from impact. A superstructure of steel struck by incoming ordnance, explosive payloads detonating across fragile construction.

Fires struck, flames erupting across the battleship.

“Fire on the deck!” Operations reports.

The X.O. takes the initiative, pulling the intercom from her station. “Damage control priority one: fire on upper deck.” 

 From within the lower reaches of the battleship the Engineering Officer responds. “Understood.”

An army of soulless sailors come to life: drones created from artificial minds animated by orders of code. Gray steel plating covering hydraulics and sensor suits, tactical packages of firefighting equipment automatically selected for tasks at hand.

Stepping out into carnage the things let loose a torrent of foam atop the blaze, a barrage of suppression stifling roaring flames.

One of the neighboring battleships detonates.

A hostile shell penetrating into munition stores, a chain reaction held within sealed compartments creates deadly consequences. The secondary magazine cooks off into the primary stores of shells, three hundred shots of munitions released in milliseconds.

The shockwave shakes the entire battlefield, burning debris sent hundreds of meters skyward as black smoke consumes the firing line. Two thousand, seven hundred crew vaporized in an instant, charred remains raining down alongside lethal shrapnel.

“Battleship Polaris has been destroyed.” The Vessel coldly updates the crew.

The Executive Officer turns to the Captain, eyes staring daggers at the equally young form. “Gods below, we’re not going to last long like this!”

The young man stares back at her. “No, we’re not.”