Standing on the ruined deck of the IJN Destroyer Yukikaze, the smell of fresh fire still lingering in the air, is a welcome sight. A youthful woman with blonde hair reaching her shoulders beams confidently at the stunned and weary crew, hands on her hips and a smile on her face. She gazes at the crowd, taking in their reactions to her extravagant entrance. Her smile slowly fades as much of the crew returns to work, clearing damaged pieces of the ship as they struggle to protect it from more attacks. Irritated, she tilts her head. "Hellooo, didn't you hear me? The Wizards of Oz are here!" Again she looks at the crew, frustration growing until she snaps her fingers. "Oh, of course. Jappers. Of course they wouldn't understand." She rolls her eyes self-mockingly. "Come on Sarah, you should have known better," she scolds herself. She makes to take flight once more but ceases as you catch her eye. "Ah! Surely you have heard of the Wizards of Oz!" she says to you. You furrow your brow, confused. "What, do you mean like the book?" "No!" she says, angered. "I mean, yes, but not..." Her posture slumps as she stares at you incredulously. "You really don't know?"You turn to Henrieta and Miranda, hoping either one might know what this Sarah was talking about. They look as confused as you. You turn back to this strange witch and in unison, the three of you shake your heads. "But we're-"
BOOM. An explosion interrupts her as a failing Martian fighter detonates several hundred feet above the Yukikaze, ending its journey into the sea early. With a determined look, Sarah once again takes to the skies, joining the three planes you can see in fending off the Martian attack. You turn to your allies, confused. "What the hell was that?" Shrugs are your only answer. Finding your current tasks currently completed, you stand at a crossroads. Socks and Rae should be on the Jintsu, Rae hopefully successful in fending off Socks from attacks by twitchy crew members. Miranda and Yetta look at you curiously, having decided informally to let you take charge of this situation; you shift uncomfortably at the prospect of leadership. The Yukikaze is no longer burning, the crew working quickly on damage control. The sky is filled with small but sleek Martian craft that should be making quick work of your small reinforcements, but they seem to be having a devil of a time living up to those expectations. Your M1911 still has plenty of rounds left and shells for the deck gun litter the deck. The majority of Martian commandos are now dead or in the drink. What do you do?[ ] Sweep the Yukikaze; the crew could use all the help they can get.[ ] Head to the Jintsu; you're worried about Socks and need to deal with the sub's tac display.[ ] Take to the skies; Wizards be damned, they could use some (inexperienced) help.[ ] Other
[X] Head to the Jintsu; you're worried about Socks and need to deal with the sub's tac display.
>>19625479SKYTIME MOTHER FUCKER
[x] Head to the Jintsu; you're worried about Socks and need to deal with the sub's tac display.
>>19625479>[ ] Head to the Jintsu; you're worried about Socks and need to deal with the sub's tac display.Also, you are indeed a madman, Kotters.
>>19625531>Dat video>>19625556Go big or go home. That's how I roll.
Fucking christ, let me post!Rounding out the decisions...>Sweep the YukikazeCaptcha... that is a list of gun calibers. That's sideways. What the hell.
rolled 3 = 3[ ] Head to the Jintsu; you're worried about Socks and need to deal with the sub's tac display.Sooooocks
At work, and I really shouldn't be on /tg/....>[x] Head to the Jintsu, Sub and tac display and Sooooooocks!
>>19625479Head to the Juntsu
Why can't I hold all of these Socks.
[X] SOCKSall day erry day we martian'ing
Above you, the Martian fights twist and turn, struggling to make their faster and sleeker aircraft match the moves of the more skilled Wizards as they slice through the sky. Fascinated, you pause to watch the delicate dance of the pilots. You wince a few times as you think the Martians are about to get a bead on them, only to be relieved when the maneuver is completed and the chasing Martian has to break off or becomes a smoldering wreck. Yeah, fuck that. "Miranda, Yetta, think you'll be ok over here?" you ask, not wanting to go gallivanting on your own if they need your help. Miranda nods. "Yes, I think we can handle it. Why? Going somewhere?" Her face twists in worry as her eyes focus on your Strikers. "Don't worry, I'm not about to join that chaos," you assure her as you point to the air battle. Another Martian craft smacks the water several hundred meters out as you do so. "I'm going to join Rae on the Jintsu, I'm worried about Socks." Miranda and Yetta give you a curious look, but nod. "Alright, take care of yourself," Miranda says. "We'll do our best to help the crew."
>Oh god double witch>My body is not ready
>>19625818 You nod and do your best to appear confident. You feel nothing like it, though, with these Strikers you're wearing being rather foreign objects. You should be fine for such a short journey over, but should any Martians get bored of being shot up by your reinforcements... Shaking that thought from your head, you again leap off the Yukikaze, taking flight several feet over the water. The Jintsu is some ways ahead, but they've drawn in closer to try and concentrate the fleet's AA, a questionable choice; it also allows the enemy to concentrate their attack. The sea has grown more violent, the wind having picked up. Occasional spray comes up to hit you and you're ill-prepared to deal with being wet. Annoyed, you gain some altitude. Please with your new immunity to the ocean, you smile. And then the air to your left cooks your arm.[ ] OW. DIVE.[ ] FUCK. CLIMB.[ ] SHIT. BREAK TO THE SIDE[ ] GOD DAMMIT. OTHER.
rolled 6 = 6[x] SHIT. BREAK TO THE SIDE
DIVE DIVE HIT YOUR WEP PILOTSea-spray/moisture in the air should diffuse the maser's beams, and the low visibility will inhibit minirocket/bullet aiming. TOOT TOOT
>>19625830How about SPEED UP?
>>19625830Roll to the side!
>>19625830Break to the side
>>19625830>[ ] OW. DIVE.
>>19625850Now that just seems like cheating.
>>19625886Planefag's world, planefag's rules.But so far he's outvoted~
The pain is incredible. Only your quick reflexes, magical abilities, and an early push of the trigger keep you alive as Martian Masers cross your profile. Nursing a badly-burned arm as best you can in flight, you quickly break to the side, trying to evade your unseen attacker. Again, the air becomes unbearably hot as the alien weapon is fired at you, your shield doing nothing against the ambient temperature as it absorbs the energy of the Maser. Turning your head to find your attacker, you find him tailing you, his craft moving as slowly as it can. If you were a more experienced flier, you'd have an easy time making him regret such an arrogant decision. As it stands, however, you can't shake him as you sweep side to side. He's slowly getting closer, but he won't overshoot you before he gets on top of you...and you'd rather not test your shields at point-blank. Panicking, you yell. <HELP! Martian on my tail!> You try not to think of your magical tail roasting as you say so. Over conventional radio, you miraculously hear a response. <Who's this?> comes a confident voice. <CPO Cleona Kukyendall, USN. I left the Yukikaze, I'm en route to the Jints-OW!> Another burst of Maser fire heats the air uncomfortably around you. He's getting closer.
>>19626094 <That you in the Striker, honey? Hold on, missy. I've got him.> You can almost see the cocky smile of this responder. Must be a... The pilot of the Hawker Tempest screams by like a bat out of hell, coming at you from just barely above and directly opposite of the Martian. The alien realizes his mistake and attempts to accelerate, pulling hard to the right, but the pilot aims true. The Martian flies off, brand new holes gaping in his craft, before he ejects. You know nothing about Martian escape systems, but the way he hits the ocean makes you think there might have been a malfunction. <Haha, did you see that?> asks the pilot, enjoying himself. <The name's Max Caulders. Nice to meet you, Cleona.>[ ] Nice to meet you too. Thanks![ ] You nearly hit me![ ] Other
>>19626104That was a bit too close for comfort, but thanks.
>>19626104[other]"How are you communicating over my magic radio?"
>>19626104>[ ] Nice to meet you too. Thanks!Then >>19626124
>>19626104>[x] Nice to meet you too! Thanks!OI Planefag and Panzerhexen! Can you two talk about me becoming a writefag for TWQ? I'm at work and will be for the next 5 hours or so (Aus time is best time!). Somebody shoot me an email or something, Panzer has it.
>>19626221The main thread is up right now, if you want to ask in it.
>>19626221Or just join the IRC, one of the three quest givers is always on.Except Demetrious. He's never on ;-;.
>>19626233Hey thanks Kotters!Keep up the good work in Subwitches, eh?
>>19626104[x] Nice to meet you too. Thanks!Should at least thank a man for getting a Martian off of us.
>>19626245Sure thing. >mfw Planefag likes my writing
>>19625907Actually, anon voted pretty well - a sharp break-turn is the classic, most basic guns-defense maneuver in dogfighting. >DOOP DOOP
>>19626420>implying I know much about aerial combatThankfully Kukyendall doesn't either.
>>19626420You better stick around in #writescribbles after the quests, I have so much shit to ask you.
>>19626262Welp, time to delete all my work on TWQ, and burn all my notebooks
>>19626449Nnoooooo.You just need to be able to run it more frequently and/or longer.
you nearly hit me!
Checking for permasage.
>>19626475huh, so it is. Balls.
>>19626487Can always make another thread when it reaches page 13 or so.Page 8 right now.
>>19626495Well, sure. Doesn't make it not a bugger of a thing.
>>19626104<Thanks,> you say. <My arm's burned pretty bad. I didn't know what to do.> <What? A Martian begging to get pegged like that and you were clueless?> Max asks, his cocky pilot voice either taken up a notch or gone, you can't tell. <How long have you been using those Strikers?> <...A couple days,> you answer truthfully. <A couple days!? You've either got a death wish or bigger balls than me, taking to the air during combat with a couple days of use on those things.> <Well, I...um...> You can't really think of an excuse that would please this pilot. You decide not to try. <How are you talking to me, anyway?> you ask instead. <...Ever hear of a little invention called the radio?> he asks back, his patience likely wearing thin. <It's real helpful. Lets people talk at a distance. You're using a form of it right now. Ring any bells?>
>>19626520 You don't dignify that with an answer. Instead, you continue to the Jintsu, landing on the deck with a thud. You put out your good hand (thankfully your right and not your left), making sure you don't crash or fall over. Various Japanese crew members scurry about, doing lord knows what, but they certainly don't notice you. You struggle to head inside, hoping to maybe wander into someone that knows English and can point you towards the infirmary. "Cleo!" comes a voice. "My god, what happened to your arm!?" Rae Caulders appears from the nearest hatch, a curious Martian peeking over her shoulder. Socks doesn't appear to be shot yet, which is a good sign. Rae's found some string and tied the Strikers together, hanging them over her shoulder. "Nothing much, just bumped into an angry alien..." "You got into a dogfight with an alien!? You!?"[ ] Not now, get me some fucking medical attention.[ ] Yeah, took him down real good.[ ] One of the Wizards "helped" me.[ ] Other.
>>19626533>[ ] Not now, get me some fucking medical attention."It was more like unintentional bait."
>>19626533[x] Not now, get me some fucking medical attention.Yes, it was a bad idea. But it can wait until either a doctor or a medic Witch takes care of my arm.
Interesting. Beg for aid.
Oh, and huge props to dongfix and the other mods on #4chan for un-permasaging this thread,
>>19626685Good on ya for going to talk to 'em.
rolled 16 = 16>"Yeah, gave him a real whatfor, socked him good, now, get me some fucking medical attention - This hurts like a bitch"
>>19626533 "We can talk about that later, Rae. My arm hurts like hell." She blinks. "Yeah, you're right. Let's get you to a medic-type." She begins to lead you inside, apparently knowing something of the layout of the ship. You teeter as best you can on your Strikers, falling greatly behind before you realize it. Luckily, she realizes her mistake and doubles back, this time lifting you by your shoulder and helping you walk. It would probably have been easier to take the damned things off, now that you think about it. [Kukyendall, what happened?] asks Socks, again linking your minds. [Is the flotilla in danger?] [Yeah, some of those Martian fighters are zooming around. Don't worry though, the pilots we got flying around seem to be doing really well.] With that, he surveys your mind, feeling the pain of your burned arm. [You require medical attention, Kukyendall. Maser fire can be quite serious. We must locate the medical faci-] [It's ok, Socks. Rae's taking us there right now. We can do a lot with magic, so don't worry.] You nod at the alien, trying to assure him that you'll be fine. He cautiously backs off and resumes watching any regular of the Jintsu that looks his way.
>>19626838 "Alright, here we are." Rae leads you into the infirmary, a medic team waiting for any casualties to come through the door. They're all Japanese, but the lead physician speaks up. "Get on the bed," he says in a heavy accent. With no one else yet harmed, you have his full attention. You comply, sitting on one of several stiff beds with Rae's help. She takes off your Strikers, setting them aside as the bespectacled man examines your burned arm. "This is very bad," he says expertly. "Yeah, I could tell," you manage. He looks at his staff, none of them witches, then looks at Rae. "This will not heal very well or very quickly. You must help." "I'll do whatever I can," Rae says, advancing. She places her hands on you, directing magic into your body. It's very soothing and a calmness overtakes you. Laying back, you close your eyes...[ ] Let sleep overtake you, life is sucking a bit right now[ ] Fight it[ ] Other
>>19626939>[ ] Fight it>[ ] OtherTalk to Socks bout... stuff?
[x] Let sleep overtake you, life is sucking a bit right nowHealing is harder if you're awake for it.
>>19626939[x] Fight itThere's still a fight going on outside.
>>19626939 As tempting as it might be to get some sleep, you fight the urge. There's a battle going on outside, and though you might not be useful in the air, you're still a witch. You'd rather be awake for when you might be needed than sleeping the battle away. You grunt as your skin heals itself, potential scarring wearing away. After awhile, Rae steps back, your arm as healed as it'll ever be. She sighs, surveying her handiwork. "Well, at least it looks good," she says. "I might have missed a spot or two underneath, but that should heal fine...right?" She looks to the Japanese man nervously. "Yes, well enough," he says. He produces a sling, putting it around your neck. "Is this really necessary?" you ask. Your arm feels pretty good right now, and Rae's right. It looks great. "Better safe than sorry," he replies. You struggle not to laugh at his pronunciation. You hop down from the bed, your left arm secure in its sling. Rae helps you up and the three of you walk out of the infirmary with the doc's blessing. Heads turn as Socks leaves as silently as he came. "So, what the hell, Cleo?" Rae asks, leaning against a bulkhead. If you guys are needed, the yells and explosions that would accompany such a situation should alert you. "What do you mean?" you ask. "There's a lot that just happened, and I nearly died twice. You looking for specifics?"
>>19627217 "Yeah, give me something. I've been cradling this guy for most of the fight and he's not exactly talkative." Socks stares at her as she points. She tries to stare back, but quickly averts her gaze. "Well.." you begin.[ ] Met some Wizards[ ] Pressed a big red button[ ] Fought some fires[ ] Other
[ ] Met some WizardsWe deserve our lumps
>>19627217>>19627238>all of the above, explain everything because why the fuck not.
>>19627238[x] Met some Wizards[x] Pressed a big red button[x] Fought some firesMight as well regal her with stories.
>>19627238Meet some wizards
>>19627238Met some wizards.And what exactly do you mean by "cradling" him? Bitch better not lay a finger on our Socks.
>>19627238 "I got toasted on my way back here. I flew a little too high, attracted the attention of a Martian," you say, looking away. "Then, uh, I asked for some help." Rae waits for you to continue. When you don't, she rolls her eyes. "And? Come on, Icarus, there's more." "And I got some help. Pilot shot down the Martian and I landed here." "Oh. Well, that's fine, I guess. Any idea who they are?" You rack your brain, trying to remember the names of the extravagant bastards that came to your aid, but with the pain and the healing, you can't quite remember. "Can't remember their names, but they call themselves the Wizards of Oz." Rae goes blank. "Did you say 'Wizards of Oz?'" "Yeah, why?" "Oh, um...nothing."[ ] That doesn't sound like nothing[ ] Alright. Any problems with the crew and Socks?[ ] Other
>>19627488"We can let you reveal that he's your brother later. In the meantime, Socks, you OK?"
>>19627504this, say this.
>>19627504Thirding this.But also, how's Socks? We can ignore the wizards of oz thing for now
>>19627488[x] Alright. Any problems with the crew and Socks?She can tell us on her own time.
>>19627488You give her a look. The look. "Rae, we can deal with your family issues later, alright?" She jumps a bit. "You know!? Nooooo! Look, I know that they can be a handful and everything and that they even act like assholes sometimes-" she cries, pouting a bit. Before she can fully launch into her apologetic rant over her relatives, however, you raise your hand and interrupt. "Look, I get it. It's cool. You can introduce me later, alright?" you plead. "...Alright. I just...They can be so full of themselves! Even when I was a kid Max would-" You give her the look again, and she backs off from her rant. "Good. Thanks, Rae. Now, have you had any trouble with Socks? I imagine things are a little tense, what with the attack and everything. Anyone try to pull a gun on him?" "No! I mean, well, one, but he put it down real fast when I asked," Rae replies, smiling. "Oh? You speak Japanese?" "...Well, when I say 'ask,' I mean..." she trails off.
>>19628120 "As long as Socks is safe, I guess that's fine. He saved my life again today. We keep him around much longer, we might have to give the guy a medal." "Saved your life?" "Well...the sub started sinking while I was in it, trying to bring it back to the Yukikaze. Some Martians hijacked it." "And it just randomly started sinking!?" "Er..no. There was a big red button..." This time it's Rae's turn to use the look. "You pushed the big red button? Seriously? You never push the big red button! Ever!" She sighs. "And how did Socks play into this?" "I needed help driving the sub," you say meekly. "But the Martians were using some psionic somethings to attack his mind, so-" "So you had me barrel of the ship, carrying Socks out of there." Rae smiles. "Sounds like you owe both of us, Cleo." "Hey, I saved your life back on the Harbinger with Socks' help. We're even." "Wait, Socks helped?" Rae asks. "Yeah, actually. If not for him, then...Oh, wow." The two of you turn to Socks. Incredibly, you both owe your lives to the same Martian. Startled by the attention, he turns to you. [Yes, Kukyendall? Is something the matter?][ ] We owe you our lives, you big lump.[ ] Nothing, you bozo.[ ] Other.
[ ] We owe you our lives, you big lump.
>>19628126[x] We owe you our lives, you big lump.Also, you're NEVER going to let us forget the red button, are you?
>>19628157I'll use it as long as it's plot-relevant, baby.
>>19628126[x] We owe you our lives, you big lump.But then again, since we protected him from the Martian Commandos, I think we're even.
>>19628126>[ ] We owe you our lives, you big lump.>>19628176They're martians! They shouldn't work on the same color philosophies!Though, it only really screwed us because we fucked the hatch. And it was only bad from our point of view.
>>19628126 [Nothing you big lump. We're just talking about how we owe you our lives.] Socks' confusion pours through the link. [What are you talking about? Until recently I've been a part of your enemy.] [You help heal Rae when she was dying in the cell. You helped me when I was about to drown in that sub. If not for you, we'd be dead. Did you forget about that?] [If that is the case, then we are even; you've protected me from your and my own people constantly since I have been in your custody. There is no debt here.] You smirk. [Oh, did they ever have a gun pointed at your head? We were in immediate danger of dying, Socks. Did those commandos even ever see you? Sure, you've been our enemy. Sure, we don't completely trust you. That doesn't mean you should sell yourself short. We owe you one.] Not fully convinced, he thinks about what you've said for a few moments. [Believe what you will,] he finally says. [I could all too easily be part of an elaborate ruse. Don't forget that, Kukyendall.] [You're right, but I'm not exactly feeling that from you.] [I am not only an expert researcher in the field of Psionics, I am a top practicioner. I could easily be hiding something from you,] he warns. [And you could not be.] [...Are you always so overly trusting?] [Believe what you will,] you say. "Finished with your moment?" asks Rae. "Yeah."
>>19628767 The three of you mill around for a bit, not entirely sure what to do. Nothing requiring your skills turns up, and slowly you begin to see some of the crew move about, no longer rushing to their stations and staying there. They cast their eyes towards the three of you, all foreign in some way to their ship. One or two let a murderous glance out toward Socks, but with two witch bodyguards, they think better of it. Shooting small-talk with Rae, you all finally tire of standing around and attempt to find Admiral Isaki for some guidance. As you make your way to the bridge, you swing by the stern of the ship, hoping to get a glance at the rest of the fleet. The battle seems to have died down, the crew more in clean-up mode than battle. Several destroyers seem to have smoke coming from their decks, but nothing too serious. "Well, seems like we survived that successfully," Rae comments, leaning on the railing as she surveys the flotilla. "More than that, Rae!" comes a loud voice. "They didn't know what hit them!" Rae spins around with such speed, you might be convinced she hadn't moved between positions. "S-Sarah! What are you doing here!?" she asks with a nervous smile. "I'd do anything to help out my little sis!" Sarah says, punching Rae's shoulder. The way Rae flinches hints at the strength behind the punch.[ ] Well, aren't you going to introduce me?[ ] Let the two catch up[ ] Other
[ ] Well, aren't you going to introduce me?We should be here for this.
>>19628782[x] Well, aren't you going to introduce me?
>>19628782[x] Well, aren't you going to introduce me?As funny as it would be to see her deal with uncomfortable family times, let's step in and save her, hmmm?
>>19628782[x]Aren't you going to introduce me?
[x] Well, aren't you going to introduce me?youwho are youtell me
>>19628782 "So Rae," you ask, "who's this?" She jerks her head in your direction, shaking as she does so. Her face is pale with the look of death, eyes wide as saucers. "Eh? W-who?" she stammers. "...Your sister. Sarah. Aren't you going to introduce me?" "Ahahahaha," she laughs; it's a horrid laugh of pure terror. "O-of course I will!" Seconds pass as both you and Sarah stare at Rae. "Oh, forget it, she always gets this way around strangers," says Sarah. "I'm Sarah Caulders, part of the Wizards of Oz." She looks at you seriously. "You really haven't heard of us?" You shake your head. "No, we've spent the last week or so stuck on a Martian sub. Popped up around here a few days ago." "Ah, newbi-did you just say you were stuck on a Martian sub?" Sarah darts her eyes towards Rae, a deadly look in her eyes. Rae shrinks against the railing, and for a moment you fear she might flip over it. "What were you doing on a Martian sub, Rae? You told me you were headed for some training in Hawaii!" "B-b-but I was there for some training!" she sputters. "And Martian!? Well, I guess that explains this guy," Sarah says, giving Socks a hard slap on the...well, what qualifies as a back, for a Martian. Socks falls forward a bit, tentacles flailing wildly in anger. "Bit of a freak, isn't he? Surprised you haven't shot him yet."[ ] ...What did you just suggest?[ ] Let it slide[ ] Other
>>19629204[x] ...WhatDude, Socks here saved all our lives, and he's a pretty good guy. Pluuuuus there was that time in the mess.
[ ] Let it slideEasy, easy, she's new here. And she's clearly well-tempered. Let's just be straightforward.
>>19629204[x] ...What did you just suggest?"He's one of the Martians' top scientists who decided to defect, who aided us in capturing an intact Martian sub with the strategic display still tied into the Martian command network, and who might have just given us a way to win the war, and you're suggesting we shoot him?"Obviously Rae got the brains in the family."
>>19629231This is go—>that time in the messPFaahahahahahaha
>>19629204[x] THE FUCK YOU JUST SAY ABOUT MAI HUSBANDO?
>>19629231>>19629277I fucking hate you guys
>>19629333You linked it last week, it's your fault!
>>19629351What
>>19629351Nah, it was a Kota impersonator. LOOK AT THE TRIPS MAN, THE TRIPS.
>>19629401Oh, whoops. Guess I wasn't paying enough attention.
>>19629371Guess I misremembered, my fault entirely.
>>19629485The trips, they are the same.>>19629542No I didn't. And it wasn't quite a week ago.http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/19546695/#p19551672Happy un-birthday, Kotters.
>>19629685Oh god why don't I remember that at allllll
>>19629724For what it's worth, I think it's a lovely present.
>>19629204 "Excuse me?" you ask, irritated. "I'm just saying," she says as she dances in front of Socks' tentacles, weaving to and fro, "that I'm surprised you haven't kill him. Martians are Martians, you know? I mean, I can see why you keep him around, but..." You manage to cool your growing irritation into a more concentrated emotion. Quietly, you begin. "Socks is a top researcher in his field. He's risked his life to bring us Martian-built Strikers and busted us out of captivity in a Martian minisub. He's helped me save Rae's life and I owe him mine personally. Every second he's here he's at risk of dying. I'd appreciate it if you didn't joke about that." Sarah stares at you, frozen in place. "Well hey, I didn't know, alright? Sheesh." She turns to her still-petrified sister. "I'll talk to you later, Rae." Sarah turns around and heads back to where she came from, a small hanger in the rear of the ship. As the distance grows, color slowly returns to Rae's face. "Sorry," she finally manages to say normally. "She means well, but she's a bit of a handful..." "No, it's fine. She didn't know," you say, almost truthfully. Is this really how people are going to treat Socks? you ask yourself. Glancing at him, you can see him glaring at Rae's sister as she makes her way to the hanger. Focusing on your link, you sense him sigh in resignation.
>>19629933 You turn to face the sunset as the flotilla steams onward towards Brisbane. About a week remains of the journey, and you hope things will be better once you're there, though you know they probably won't.NEXT TIME ON SUBMERSIBLE WITCHES – TAKE A DEEP BREATHMONDAY, 9 PM EST, 8 PM CST – BREATHE FREELY!
>>19629940Good show Kota, I'm digging your writing.
Indeed, good show Kotters.
>>19629973>>19630010Thanks.Just wish I planned stuff more.
UND NOW...The World Premiere of Corsair Witches! With Kota's blessing, we begin the telling of the tale of First Lieutenant Wallace G. Chrichton, AKA Paladin Thirteen.
“Lieutenant Chrichton?” a voice asked.The Lieutenant looked up from his well-worn copy of Stars and Stripes. “Yeah?”“Captain Kelman wants to see you NOW,” an unconcerned engineer reported from the door of the lounge.First Lieutenant Wallace Chrichton groaned miserably. “Fantastic.”“Fear not, warrior, for our noble Captain has infinite patience, and even more restraint,” a mocking voice called from deeper in the Officer’s lounge.“Choke on ten dicks, Meeker,” Chrichton said calmly, closing the magazine and stowing it in one of the many pockets festooning his outfit. He clambered to his feet, downing the last of his coffee in one go. “Not all at once, mind,” he added on his way out the door.Wending his way through the halls of the airbase, he stopped at a door with two little silver blocks next to the blank name tag. Wondering briefly why the silver ones outranked the gold ones, he rapped the door twice.“Come in.”Chrichton pushed the door open, saluting as the room’s occupants came into view. “Captain, Lieutenant Chrichton reporting as ordered.”The youthful man behind the desk returned the salute, gesturing to a chair as he did so. “Come in, Lieutenant, and shut the door, you won’t be here long.”“Thanks, Kelman,” Chrichton said. He sat in the seat, grabbing one of the pens off of Kelman’s desk as he did, out of sheer habit.The Captain frowned, leaning forward in his seat and clenching his hands over each other. “Lieutenant,” he started, his voice cooling by at least forty degrees, “do you have ANY IDEA what you’ve done?”
Chrichton’s blood chilled. He dropped the pen back onto the desk, sitting up straighter. “Uh…no, sir.”“No clue why I’m here? No clue why you’re here?” Kelman asked, his hands tightening over each other.“None, sir. Have I done something wrong?” Chrichton asked nervously.Kelman tapped his balled firsts against his lips as he leaned forward. “Lieutenant, I’ll be frank. I had a good, long chat with your personnel file today.”“May I inquire as to the subject, sir?” Chichton asked.“Let me save you the trouble.” Kelman snatched a paper folder off the desk in front of him. “Let’s have us a little look-see, hmm?” He rifled through the papers. “Seven spoken languages. That true?”“No sir. I am conversational in English, Italian, French, Russian, German, Spanish, and Portugese, and I can sort of get by in Mandarin and Catalon,” Chrichton said, a little defensively. He’d worked hard for those skills. He didn’t like his Captain disrespecting them.“Well, it impressed the Major, certainly. And the Lieutenant Colonel,” Kelman grumbled as an aside. Well, that part at least seemed normal. It took effort for the American pilots to get along with their French commander. “I note also that you’ve had two altercations with base personnel since you arrived.”“Now that just isn’t fair, sir,” Chrichton said defensively. “Both times I was the one who was attacked.”“Oh? The MP report says specifically that you swung the first blow of the second fight. Against an Italian crewer.”“What can I say, sir? The report is wrong.”
Kelman stared at the brown-haired young pilot. “Really.” With a heavy sigh, he dropped the folder back down on his desk. “Wallace, you’ve been leading fourth flight for a while now. So far, you’ve done a pretty good job. And with the death of Captain Adams, the need to appoint a replacement for his flight has grown considerably.” Kelman rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Smith, the Major, and I have been debating his replacement for some time. To be honest, other pilots have more experience, better disciplinary records, all manner of things over you. But your linguistic skills make you an indispensable part of this squadron, and your kill record is exemplary.” He leaned forward again. Chrichton sat up straighter, feeling a bit of nerves come over him.“Lieutenant, as of this moment, you are hereby brevetted up to the rank of Captain. You will assume the role of Flight Leader of flight four, and will retain the callsign you have used thus far.”“Th-thank you, sir,” Chrichton stammered. His eyes narrowed as his brain caught up to his ears. “Wait, why did you give me all that about my record if you were going to brevet me anyway?”“Just in case you had some sort of ideas about the breveting’s permanence,” Kelman said slyly. “If you can’t hack it, you’ll remain as flight leader, just not a two-bar.”“I…see. Well. Thank you, Captain,” Chrichton said, standing up to acknowledge the other man’s salute. “May I have my new insignia now, sir? I am inspired to deviltry.”Kelman stared at the younger pilot, then gave a single, curt laugh. “Why the fuck not.”
Chrichton swaggered back into the lounge, whistling loudly to himself. Once he was sure he had every eye in the room, he sat down loudly at his old table with a *thunk.*“GOD, that tongue-lashing from the Captain sure was thorough, I am filled with such incredible remorse for my evil ways right now,” he said loudly, his voice cutting through the general din.“The fuck did you do?” Lieutenant Garibaldi hollered from the other end of the room.“Unspeakable evil, of course, why do you even have to ask?” Chrichton said back, “Are you unfamiliar with my sinful ways? Perhaps I shall show you them.” Reaching into his pocket, he drew forth a little leather-clad book. “I shall now begin insulting you, fluently, in Armenian.”“…The hell? Lieutenant, what’s up with you?” his wingman, Beyside, asked.“‘Lieutenant?’ I assume you’re not talking to me,” Chrichton said, putting his book down and pulling the paper envelope Kelman had given him out of his pocket.“You’ve gotta be shitting me,” Lieutenant Eastmond said, his reedy voice nearly drowned out by a chorus of gasps.“Shit you, never,” Chrichton said, affixing his new insignia to his collar.“And thus, our fates sealed, the Paladins fell, one by one, not struck down in battle, but by the inability to stop laughing,” Meeker spoke up.“Laugh all you want, but I get my own room now,” Chrichton said airily.“Who did you have to tongue off to get that?” Paladin 15, Blair, called from his seat.“Well, my tongue did play a role, of the speaking sort,” Chrichton said happily. “Apparently speaking nine languages is sort of impressive, or something.”
“I certainly thought so,” a quiet, female voice said from the doorway. Every eye in the room swiveled to see a young, pantsless woman leaning on the doorframe, one black eyebrow raised in silent mirth. “Congratulations, Captain.”“Thank you, Major Girroti,” Chrichton said, standing to an uncomfortable attention. Most of the rest of the room slouched to attention as well. Nobody was ever quite sure how to treat the Witches’ ranks. Goodness knows that few even bothered trying to get to know the men they served alongside.This one wasn’t so terrible, though. At least she was the same age that most of the Americans had been when they started training. “Major Heidmack and Lieutenant Colonel Algoud thought you were a natural addition to the officer’s ranks here,” she continued.“Well, thanks, Major, but all American pilots are officers,” Chrichton pointed out.“I know, but the seaplane unit I find myself commanding is mostly Sergeants,” Girroti said with a dry grin. “Well. In any case, I wanted to pass along my congratulations in person.”“It’s appreciated, ma’am,” Chrichton said, sketching a perfunctory salute.
Girroti turned on her heel and walked out, her pleasant backside drawing the eye of every man in the room. There were, some of the pilots reflected, a very few small benefits to working on a Joint Command base. To Chrichton’s relief, before the room could fill with the jeers that the Major’s proclamation would normally provoke, a shrill whine sounded outside the window. Beyond, a tender chugged out to the side of one of the two Italian cruisers docked at Colhelm Base, sounding its alarm whistle. The cruiser’s crew responded by lowering the pipe they utilized to draw fuel from the tender, and started exchanging as soon as it was in place. The aliens, after all, hardly felt obligated to wait for the human forces to finish their prepwork.Chrichton made his escape, following Girroti out into the hallway, and glancing from side to side. The base was a nightmarish mix of architecture. Part French castle, part Italian port, part American fighter base, part native fishing village, part farmland, the six-mile square of land tentatively marked by rusting wire fences was about as confusing to navigate as it was ugly. Modern AA turrets and Roman columns stood beside seventeenth century houses and a pair of Italian cruisers, one of which was so new the paint above the waterline hadn’t corroded yet.An airsptrip, more than two thirds again the length actually needed for the 396th Paladins’ 25A variant Mustangs, stretched across the base, with a pair of heavy AA turrets bracketing both ends. A hangar building housed the planes, fire trucks, ambulances, and other essentials of the base, with an emergency gasoline generator tucked away in an outbuilding.
Luckily the local townships had ample power generation for the base, so the generator was only used in real emergencies. Such as the attack the Martians had launched not two days before. The squiddly bastards had landed a pair of walkers right in the middle of the base with an orbital capsule, and it had managed to kill one of the squadron’s flight commanders before the Muzio Attendolo had managed to put six 152mm rounds through them from the port, shattering nearly every window on the base in the process.Chrichton walked out into the open air, breathing the Mediterranean breeze deep. Aside from the smoldering piles of wreckage that dotted the base from the attack, life was returning to normal, as much as it could.A rumble of diesel engines caught his ear. He glanced over to see a truck full of MPs with those funny French army hats they used roll by, heading into town. Wondering idly which cruiser’s crew had gotten a bit too drunk this time, he stretched, feeling his spirits lift with the warm spring winds. A Captain. He was a Captain. Well, a brevet Captain, but whatever, that was just a detail.
“HEY YOU LOOK OUT OH FUCK” a high-pitched voice suddenly squealed. Chrichton had just enough time to leap back into the building as a little girl and a pile of metal and plastic rolled past him. He watched, jaw agape, as the pile rolled to a halt, and a young girl wobbled out. “Oh, my head,” she whimpered, cradling her bruised cranium.“Uh, are you all right, Lieutenant Molinelli?” Chrichton asked, eyeing the mess.“Of course I’m not all right you bloody Yank,” the girl mumbled, jerking her head up to glare at him. She immediately went back to cradling it as the motion caused her headache to flare up. “How often do people in crashes usually feel?”“Your Strikers aren’t on,” Chrichton noted, eying her bare legs.“Not a Striker crash,” she moaned. She shook her head gingerly. “Ugh, fuck it. I need to lie down,” she said, walking slowly towards the barracks the Witches got to use. Chrichton stepped out into the open air, examining the pile of crap she had been rolling around in, but if there was a pattern to it, he couldn’t see it.“Is this what Italian witches do with their free time?” he asked under his breath. A shadow fell over the pile of junk as someone else arrived at the scene of the crash. Chrichton glanced up, and got an eyeful of the third Italian witch on the base.“Hey, Lieutenant, is my idiot partner still here?” the witch demanded. Chrichton had to think of this one’s name.“Uh, no, Lieutenant Morticia,” he said after a moment’s recollection.“That’s Moricia,” she said irritably. “Why do you Yanks all get that wrong?”
Chrichton shrugged uncomfortably. “I dunno.”Moricia sighed. “Fine. Whatever. I’ll find her.” She stomped off for the barracks, leaving Chrichton behind.“Fucking witches,” the young pilot muttered under his breath. He stood up from the pile of crap, deciding that it was someone else’s problem now. Alighting his eyes on the hangar for the base, he wandered off thataways.A shadow soared overhead, accompanied by the loud buzz of an airplane engine. Chrichton watched with his ears covered as two seaplanes with National Navy insignia flew overhead, costing for the water next to the cruisers. They must have been on spotting duty, he though to himself.“Captain!” a voice behind him called. After a second, he realized that the voice was speaking to him. He turned to the speaker, and saw a harried-looking base guard running up to him. “There you are! Algoud says he wants you and the other flight leaders in the Ops room, now!”
“Sure thing, Sergeant,” Chrichton said. The guard took the lead, jogging back to the lumpy stone building that housed the Operations center. It had to be new, from the way everything seemed integrated into the building rather than tacked on, like the wiring and plumbing did in so many other buildings, but it had clearly been built for style as much as anything else. It certainly looked better than the buildings around it. The structure was chased with local marble, which, if nothing else, was durable as hell.The guard showed Chrichton to the Ops center, pausing outside. “I hope you ate before you showed, Captain, because you might be in there for a while,” he muttered as Chrichton pushed the door open.Inside, Lieutenant Colonel Algoud was already glowering. He did that frequently, in fact. Whenever he had to tolerate Italian or American boots on his precious Free French Soil, in fact. “There you are,” his voice an accusation.“I came as soon as I was called,” Chrichton replied in French, which he knew irritated the older officer. He snapped to a razor-sharp salute, which the Frenchman reluctantly returned.
“Yes. Well.” Algoud gestured to an empty chair in the oblong room. “Now that you’re here, I want to inform you all of an emergency change in protocol,” he said, directing his attention to the massive paper map of the northern Mediterranean behind him. He placed a sticky card over one patch of blue between the base and the Italian coastline. “Two nights ago, a Martian warship was spotted here. Prior to this observation, no vessels of its class have ever been observed. The reconnoiter unit that made the observation have dubbed it the Leviathan-class destroyer, in accordance with Allied Command’s recommendation. The vessel sortied a flight of Needle-class air superiority fighters, all of which were destroyed. The recon unit called in a squadron of Italian Navy ships to destroy the vessel, however, by the time the ships had reached the scene, the alien vessel had deployed an aerial Black Smoke capsule and disappeared.Chrichton shuddered. He, and every single pilot on the base, Italian, French, American, Monegasque, all of them, had sworn up and down to swallow a bullet before diving through the Smoke. The very small handful of men who had been through it and lived described it as the most horrifying thing they had ever felt, and none had survived it by more than a week.The door swung open before Algoud could resume his speech. Luisa Girroti walked in, closing the door behind her. “So glad you could join us, Major,” Algoud growled.“I can tell,” she said coyly, slinking into a seat by the head of the table. Chrichton shot a smirk at the man next to him, the leader of Third Flight, Captain Smith. The much taller man was quietly suppressing a smirk of his own.
And that's chapter one! Enjoy!
>>19630355Incoming no responses because no one reads SuWQ.huehuehuehuehue
>>19630363hush
>>19630363Nah, I just lurk after the quest itself ends.
>>19630395Lurk what? There's usually about two posts and then nothing.
>>19630355I like it. The Leviathan fits with the Martian supertech theme Kotters is working with.Which is an interesting feeling. It reminds me of Zeon almost, with their crazy superweapon of the week.
>>19630415I get an Ace Combat vibe from the Martians.
>>19630426And I can count to potato
>>19630455Go home Panzer
>>19630415Hah, yeah.Planefag and I chatted about how the Martians would begin adopting surface warfare units, since they thought nobody would EVER be CRAZY enough to fight on SALTWATER. I mean, that's bonkers.Basically, the Leviathan isn't much bigger than a dreadnought, but it can control its immersion level. It can't submerge entirely, but it can reduce its target profile greatly. Not that it helps much when it's just one gigantic target underwater and the armor is only a bit thicker than Dreadnought armor.
>>19630517I could see the Martians making some interesting design choices as a result of that perspective. Maybe they think submerging in saltwater boatwise is just a little unsafe, so they'll only build their larger boats like that.They might never really go for a patrol/speedboat equivalent either, instead choosing ground effect ships, which might give them quite the speed advantage, if not nearly as much endurance or durability.If they're launching planes from their leviathan classes, I could see their seagoing "fleets" transforming into carrier type ships that are the tenders, that launch and maintain all the smaller skimmers.
That's the idea. Since the Martians are starting from scratch, and all. But then, human technology was changing pretty fast too.
>>19630355First bit of post-quest write faggan I've read, seems neat.>>19630363Suck it Kotters.
>>19630355There better be more!
>>19631118>There's actually post-quest posting>I miss itWell.
>>19631190Heh.Heh heh heh.I write in bulk, my friend. I'm already a thousand words into the next chunk.
>>19630957I actually have a folder full of GEVs. Things are cool.
>>19631587
