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/tg/ - Traditional Games


It's a beautiful evening in Los Angeles.

The setting sun's long rays glow golden in the glassy water of the West Basin, the oppressive heat of day already fading to a comfortable warmth. You lean against the railing, clutching your travel mug in both hands, but you needn't have bothered – you seem to be gliding away from the dock on skates. The harbor tugs are handling you with the same easygoing care that seems to suffuse the still evening air. You close your eyes for a second and enjoy the calm; the distant, sonorous moan of a freighter's horn; the muted, halfhearted cries of wheeling gulls – the rare few minutes when one of the world's busiest ports seems to pause and breathe.

“Skipper.”

You glance aside to find Hate joining you at the rail. “Want a refill?”

You pop the lid off your travel mug and let the Lance Corporal top it off from the carafe he's carrying. “The galley boys still trying to put a stop to this shit?”

Hate gives you that small smile unique to supremely smug Marines. “They gave me my own, actually.”
“Ha!” you snort. “Taking third watch with me?”

“Hell yes,” he growls as he slurps at the carafe crudely. “I wouldn't miss this for the world.”

You hear the harbor pilot's voice from the wheelhouse, and the tugs let off their throttles, letting the tow-lines go slack before your crew casts them off. The deck of the Higgins vibrates very slightly as the gas turbines begin to purr, gliding her towards the harbor's exit. Hate rests his carafe against the rail to free a hand for his binoculars.
>>
IT BEGINS
>>
>>40809479
FUCKING HABBENING
>>
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>>40809479
SETTLE BACKSTORY TIME
>>
>>40809479
MY BODY IS READY
>>
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>>40809479
IT'S

HAPPENING
>>
If we've caught a Japanese cold we panic.
>>
>>40809521
hahaha, this image fucking kills me
>>
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“Skipper,” he says, passing the glasses to you. You apply your eyes, your privileged position high on the ship letting you gaze over the rooftops on the mole. The surface of San Pedro bay is a dazzling, shimmer of flaming orange light, but on the smooth surface you can just make out -

“Well, well.”

“Yeah,” Hate says. “Like I said. Ain't gonna miss this for nuthin.”

“Shall we?” you gesture at the door leading off the wing and onto the bridge proper.

“Visibility is better from here, Skipper,” Hate says straight-faced, and you find yourself unable to deny his logic. You lean against the railing again and take a deep breath as the Higgins glides towards the exit channel at a sedate four knots.

“Happy to be going out again?” Hate asks.

You open your mouth to reply – then pause, tapping your mug on the rail to make some noise. “Always,” you reply with a smile that doesn't reach your eyes. “Harder for the paperwork to find me... usually.”

Hate sips at his carafe again, glancing back at the bay. You lean over the railing a bit, studying the white lids of Higgin's forward 29-cell VLS. A moment passes in companionable silence as your ship slips alongside the mole at fast walking speed, the purring props barely disturbing the glimmering waters.

“Think they'll work?”
>>
>>40809479
...but everything changed when the Fire Na- I mean, the Abyssals, attacked.
>>
>>40809541
Bomber Grape, man.
>>
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KONGOU
O
N
G
O
U
>>
>be at Long Beach airport right now

I hope I live!
>>
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HAHA TIME FOR FUN
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>>40809551
BAD KONGOU
STOP THIS
>>
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You almost drop the damn mug. “What?”

“The LRASMs,” Hate replies, applying the optics to his face again.

You glance back at the VLS doors, freshly loaded with the latest greatest firecrackers not two days ago. “Oh. They'll work.” You tap your mug on the railing again, and give in with a sigh. “You ever get some just-in-country FNG start talkin bout how bad he wants to frag a haji? What'd you think of him?”

Hate's eyebrow quirks underneath the binocular's eyepiece before he responds. “Every time he opened his mouth we shit down his throat till he couldn't squeeze a word out. Why?”

You just snigger and return to staring at the VLS doors, hands cupping your cooling mug. Hate drops his optics again and sliiiides his pupils to the corner of his eyes to study you.

“They're still talking about promoting you, aren't they?”

You click your mug on the rail again, a little too sharply. Hot coffee splashes out and a drop sears your finger. “Dammit – uh, yeah.”

“When?”

You kick the deck with your toe, leaning further over the rail. “They laid this girl's keel in 1990. She's getting along, you know. And my Holy Nation says there might be a flag slot opening up in a few years.”

“Just when everything's going to hell,” Hate observes.

“Yeah.”
>>
>>40809579
Is it a bad sign that as this quest progresses this is looking more and more of a good idea?
>>
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>>40809551
This doujin should be recommended reading. Because it's probably going to be close to cannon.
>>
>>40809605
Settle should just carry his academy sabre around with him 24/7 now
>>
You both keep the peace for a few minutes more, and you even drink some of your damn coffee. You can hear Hate thinking; a reluctant, rusty sound of just-woken entropy flaking off. Before he can finish, the Higgins rounds the mole and turns for the main channel, giving you both a good look at the twenty-foot launch lying in wait for you to starboard, just barely outside the restricted passage. Their banners and signs are already deployed. You borrow Hate's optics and read the signs from three hundred yards distant.

“Uranium?” You lower the glasses and glance at Hate quizzically.

“Depleted uranium,” Hate says. “New warheads have some penetrator-rod bundle... thing in'em. I dunno.”

As you pass even with the fire-boat station, muted voices begin to reach you over the water; the banners and signs on the launch beginning to jiggle and jostle exuberantly. You sliiide your eyes towards Hate, who's already slipping the tablet out of his pocket. He flips the cover up with exaggerated flair, and gives you a sly look.

“I dunno,” you say thoughtfully. “They wouldn't be stupid enough to do anything here, would they?” You nod at the not-too-distant shape of a Coast Guard cutter prowling near the breakwater.

“They never do,” Hate replies. “They just shadow you to the AO and start shit there.”

“Hmmm,” you muse as the Higgins approaches the launch; which is, if you remember the chart right, *awfully* close to nosing into the protected channel. “Can't have that... but, still.” Now the tranquil air is disrupted by the faint strain of music being blasted out of speakers being pushed past their limit for maximum volume; the tortured measures wailing across the water.

“... what the fuck is that?” you ask.

“Green Day, sir,” Hate replies with unmitigated disgust.

“Right, *that* does it,” you mutter. “Let'em have it.”
>>
>40809467
I would put the prioties as

1. Fire control
1. Radar upgrade
2. Gun caliber upgrade
3. Streamlining
4. Boiler upgrades
>>
Ooooooooh fucking good. Here we fucking go.

You just gotta tell 'em this story, don't you?

god fuck. and the day started out so fucking well.
>>
>Chow finishes just in time for the other shoe to drop
ohboyohboyohboyohboyohboyohboyohboy
>>
>>40809611
I see Goto there too.
>>
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Jes' gonna leave these here, aye
>>
With a truly predatory grin, Hate hovers his finger over the tablet. “And let slip... the dogs of war,” he sniggers, before tapping the screen.

The evening solitude is shredded by the bright screams of outboard engines coming up fast from the rear. Six small rigid inflatable boats come screaming past the Higgins, three to a side, kicking up towers of spray behind them as they tear past. You see a panicked flailing aboard the launch as the boats fall upon it like a wolfpack on a three-legged cat.

“AAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAA!” Hate screams across the water as the boats smash their rubber nose-bumpers into the launches side and begin hustling it away like team of bouncers. “FLY, MY PRETTIES! FLY!” He taps his screen again and the robotic boats change programs, taking turns ramming the launch away from the channel before roaring away and soaking the decks with propeller spray as they circle around for another go. The self-driving drones swarm the hapless launch until the pilot manages to gun it. It flees for the breakwater, the hand-lettered GREENPEACE banner drifting lazily into the water behind it as the robotic RIGs pursue, driving and nipping at its heels as they herd it safely away.

“I fucking *love* these things,” Hate says with rapture.
>>
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>>40809667
n-no don't
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>>40809667
Two!
>>
>>40809667
I fucking love War Damage Reports. Some of the best reading I've ever had.
>>
Midway in a nutshell...
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>>40809680
Oh man.
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>>40809680
HAHAHA drone zodiacs bumping the shit out of fucking greenpeace. Harass the sea sheperds next.
>>
>>40809680
MY FUCKING SIDES. Now we know why Hate gets the corgis
>>
>>40809698
>>
You turn sideways and lean against the rail as the Higgins putters down the channel towards the gap in the breakwater, heading for deep water. Terminal Island is strangely empty-looking in the failing rays of the Californian sun. The major drydock and shipyard that cranked out so many Liberty Ships during The War now lies empty and desolate of the Chinese freighters that usually crowd its piers in the modern era – the most serious indicator yet of the rising tensions. The commercial anchorages are better populated; men moving about their decks as they secure for the night. You glance towards the mouth of the main channel as Higgins clears the breakwater, wondering idly if there'll be a museum berth for an Arleigh-Burke one of these days...

“Oh fuck me,” you mutter, whipping Hate's optics off his neck and pressing them to your eyes. Sure enough, you're looking at the high green prow of the MV Arctic Sunrise. You don't know what they're planning – Greenpeace has been squigglier than usual the last couple years – and you really don't care to find out, not on this deployment. “Hate,” you say as you point. “Take your team over there and inspect those assholes. And take your time, please.”

“SO IT SHALL BE WRITTEN,” Hate declares dramatically, completely failing to keep a shit-eating grin off his face – not that he was trying very hard. “SO IT SHALL BE DONE.” He double-times off the wing, and a moment later you hear the intercom calling the VBSS team to the rear boat deck. You sigh, drain your mug and finally stroll onto the bridge. The XO looking at the Greenpeace icebreaker with his own binoculars. “Captain on the bridge,” he says lackadaisically. “Finally.”

“Meh,” you say, waving away the smell of his shitty opinions.

“We waiting?” the pilot asks.

“Hell no,” you reply. “Take us straight out, they'll catch up once those clowns are too far behind to catch up.”

“Want me to step on it, Captain?”
>>
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>>40809698
I know, right?
Three!
>>
Oh for fuck sake. Fuck this, Fuck you, I'm going to go get fucking hammered.
>>
“No need,” you say, imagining the fuming on the bridge of the Greenpeace boat as the Higgins sedately slides out of reach, into the sunset. Poetry. Besides, cutting Hate's playtime short would be... unproductive.

You take your seat, the old pleather creaking under your ass as you settle in. You've spent a lot of time in this chair, staring out these weather-beaten windows. The thought of leaving it for the last time – leaving the sea – doesn't sit well with you. You know every creak and groan of Higgins, every quirk and foible. When you wake in the middle of the night, you can tell what she's doing just by her sound; what speed she's making by the vibration in the deck; how sharp she's turning by the groaning of her structure; even the sea condition from how it drums against her steel sides. Your old boat lasted longer than she was intended, but the new generation of surface combatants are finally arriving, and for a Flight I destroyer... the breakers are in sight. And you know that the museum berth will go to Arleigh-Burke, the name ship of her class – not old worn-out Higgins.

But until then – she's yours, and you are hers.

Dusk is dying before you; a last sliver of the sun resting on the horizon. The thin, wispy cloud deck has been set ablaze by the day's last light; the shimmering waters mirroring their brilliant orange glow. As the sky and sea seem to melt together; only the sun's bright blazing ribbon of radiance stretching into the horizon is distinct. Down that golden path the Higgins sails, heading out past the drab silhouetted bulks of freighters sailing into port.

The magic minute is soon over, the orange radiance fading as the sun finally slips below the waves. The clouds turn pink, then purple as darkness claims dominion.

“Captain. Boarding team's on the phone.”

You start slightly, your reverie broken, and reach for your bridge phone. “Patch him through.”
>>
>>40809720
Four!
Uploaded to uguu.se because too big
http://a.uguu.se/orvbzw_PlateIV%5B1%5D.jpg
>>
>>40809718
>That worthless, piece of shit 70s ice breaker Arctic Sunrise
They get blown up, yeah?
>>
>>40809707
I'm guessing that artist is making fun of Japan's ability to make reliable armored carriers?
>>
>>40809732
Definitely earned it
>>
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Hate's voice sounds even smugger than you thought possible. “Skipper,” he says. “Seems there's a problem with their logs. We're going over it, but their handwriting is horrible.”

“Shame, isn't it?” you smirk into the phone. “They don't even teach kids cursive anymore.”

“Sure is. We'll catch up with you in a bit, skipper.”

“Roger that. Over and out.” You hang up the phone with a discreet click, and turn back to the ocean, turning your eyes towards the sky. The darkness spreading through sea and sky has gained a grainy texture, snarled and coarse with clouds. The full moon, so crisp in the cornflower blue Californian skies a few hours ago is nowhere to be found.

Your eyes flick towards the electronic display over the windows; a brief synopsis of wind, (none,) sea state (flat) and mercury (1020.21 milibars.) Red sky at night, et cetera. A vague sense of duty itches at the back of your brain, making you grope guiltily for your clipboard, but something keeps your eyes glued to the window. Darkness is full upon the sea; too closely upon dusk's heels. The water ripples like rumpled velvet under a steady breeze that slices in through an open vent window somewhere, clean and sharp. The minute squeak behind you; a slight change in the deckplate's thrum as the helmsman adjusts his wheel and tweaks the throttle to fend off the waves.

You spin your chair around – you remember the morning's weather forecast just damn fine. “Nav, anything on your scope?”

The navigation officer is glaring at his screens like they're a lying wife, eyes twitching suspiciously between weather radar, satellite feeds and the surface scope. “No, sir.”

You open your mouth to express doubt, and you hear your ears pop. Your eyes flick back to the barometer-
>>
>>40809765

Maybe armored deck, no torpedo blisters?
>>
>>40809720
Man, Hornet took a beating before going under, just like her eldest nee-chan.
>>
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>>40809720
They just have this special talent for presenting horrifying information in a clinical context.

>Men manning the filling lines were killed at their stations. The man on watch in the after gasoline pump room immediately stopped the pumps and secured the system so as to permit gasoline in the lines to drain back into the stowage tanks. He then left the pump room, closed and dogged the hatch on the second deck, and pulled the CO2 control. The trunk and pump room subsequently flooded to a depth of about 20 feet through the hatch at the second deck which apparently had not been tightly dogged.
>>
>>40809718
Blue guns?
>>
“The fuck?” your XO summarizes eloquently. Your boots are clanking over the deck before you realize you've left your chair, spooking the bridge watch as you slam the hatch open. He salutes warily as you stand in the growing sea breeze – *all* sea breeze; Higgins isn't making enough headway for a foamy wake. You're forced to snatch at your cap by a strong crossbreeze that buffets you and tugs at your uniform; a wild wind that throws faint spray in your face as it dashes waves against Higgin's bow.

You check your watch, noting the scant minutes since Higgins slipped her mooring.

This literally can't be happening, and yet – it is. You glance out to sea again, where minutes earlier you gazed into a serene sunset. The last fading light is enough to silhouette a tall column of cloud rising rapidly for the stratosphere, roiling overhead into a ceiling on the sky. That itch behind your brain leaps to your neck and runs down your spine, your cap damn near lifting off your head as your close-cropped hair stands on end. You bolt back into the bridge.

“XO!” you shout, making him jerk as he tears his eyes away from the windows.

“Sir?”

“Take the conn. Now.” You sling yourself into the skipper's chair, queasiness fluttering around your stomach as the harbor pilot trades with your usual helmsman, exchanging formalities with the XO.

“Sir, VBSS on-”

“Tell him I want his ass back on the boat, double time,” you say, cutting the radioman off. Hate's a vet; he can smell funny air fine, but you doubt he knows – hell, you don't know, either. The sea's supposed to rush out before a tsunami hits, but not always, not everywhere – but the birds, the bees, everything knows it, senses it smells it before it rolls in, a tension, a tightness in the air – but the barometer is still falling, your ears popping.

You're the first to see it.
>>
>>40809796
You don't just SINK a Yorktown-class carrier. You have to expend an entire fleet on them and even that's not a sure-fire method.
>>
>>40809785
motherfuck
>>
>>40809809
Training weapons.
>>
>>40809732
I'll pour your drinks sweetie.
>>
>>40809811
Here she comes.
>>
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>>40809811
>>
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Wispy blue radiance rising, tail chasing it upwards as it winds and wends into nothingness; a sinuous blue flame crawling like cloud-lightning. Your head turns to track it as Higgins swings through her turn, and -

“The fuck,” your XO breathes as he catches sight of the blue-white light snapping and leaping just under the water's surface with electrical hysteria; crawling wider in an oval just off the bow some indeterminate distance out. It draws every eye and optic like moths to flame; ethereal and spellbinding. The radiance brightened as it spread; the choppy waves catching fire as more wisps of licking electric flame leap heavenward. Backlit by the blue ghostlights rising from the black sea a silhouette is seen, a void against the luminance. Your eye seeks the familiar shapes of ships; your spinning thoughts left out-of-gear till you've something tangible to mesh them with. You stare at it uncomprehendingly, searching the sea for *more,* the rest of it, when two bright winks of blue flicker into being. They rivet your eyes; condensed and intense, wispy blue flame rising from them like smoking coals of light. The tremors of the optics blur any details into mere suggestions of shape glimpsed in the afterimage... but for the bright nuclei of the cerulean embers.

You stare into those motes, enraptured, optics fixed to your eyes firmer than Odysseus lashed to his mast. As you gaze into the dark abyss it completes a circuit somewhere deep in your soul; the place that *knows* without asking, believes without seeing and fears without doubting. The ancestral Id which compelled your ancestors to sacrifice to their gods before trusting their tiny boats to the dark and fathomless Sea – eternal and unchanged within you. You shiver, awestruck and cowed as the abyss stares into you.

And then those blue motes *blink.*
>>
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>>40809845
NOoOOOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE
>>
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panic
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>>40809845
>And then those blue motes *blink.*

Oh, fuck all kinds of duck.
>>
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>>40809845
SHIT'S GETTING SPOOKY
>>
>>40809845
haHA WE HAVE WON THE STARING CONTEST

Surely the battle will go well for us now!
>>
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>>40809845
>>
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>>40809845
FUUUUUUUUUUUUU-
>>
>>40809845
shit
>>
>>40809845
WRITE FASTER ANGEL OF FAP.
We must see how fucked Settle truly was that day.
>>
>>40809875
>stared into the abyss
>abyss stared back
The hell makes you think this was a contest?
>>
Music to set the mood
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WNOGjdFJ5Fg
>>
The spell snaps with a flash of pure terror as you seize control once more, hurling the optics away from you. “GENERAL QUARTERS! SOUND GENERAL QUARTERS!” You scream at the pilot station, ignoring protocol - “EOT TO FLANK, HELM COME LEFT TO 090!”

Every man on the bridge stares at you for a long, terrible second, rattled out of their reverie by your cries. The bosun recovers first; leaping to the 1MC and snatching the mic off the hook. “General Quarters, General Quarters! All hands man your battle-stations!”

The deckplates of Higgins thrum awake; the vibrations of hundreds of feet rushing through narrow passages, heavy hatches being slammed shut and her own gas-turbines snarling up to full power giving her very steel a living pulse.

“Jesus-” the XO breathes; hands gripping his binoculars white-knuckled. Applying your own you find those eyes they're EYES once more; their auroral luminance fading into the inky pool of the Pacific. But behind them the gloom is coalescing into a void in the water; a sharp absence upon which the waves crash.
>>
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>>40809845
>>
>>40809913
fucking perfect timing /k/ripple.
>>
>>40809932
It just randomly came up on Pandora, and it fit so perfectly.
>>
>>40809918
Who is it?

Which elder ships soul have we wronged so?
>>
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>>40809918
>>
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>Nothing but trauma incoming
>>
>>40809949
I think PF said in an earlier thread that it was an Ironclad of somesort.
>>
HERE WE GO GENTS

BATTLE STATIONS, BATTLE STATIONS
>>
>>40809964
A torpedo ram, I believe.
We're about to find out rather thoroughly, in either case
>>
High above, a star-shell ignites – probably from the coastie. Hot orange light shimmers across the waves but the coal-black carapace of the silhouette seems to soak up the luminance hungrily. Its smooth inward-sweeping sides yield to a towering mass of skeletal masts and ghostly billowing sails barely glimpsed through the haze of black smoke billowing from the stack amidships. Gun ports along its broadside open to present cannon muzzles. Its somewhere between the floating castles of old and the sleek modern lethality; a gothic beast of smoke and sail and wrought-iron.

And it's coming right at you.

Your snatch up your phone before it can ring; the TAOs steady voice on the line. “Five contacts due South, range six-thousand, coming straight in at ten knots! One - battleship!?, two destroyers and three gunboats by the RCS. Recommend heading two-seven-zero-”

The bugling center battery of the ironclad flashes; flames lancing down her sides as she fires dead ahead. The echoing concussions of her guns chase the supersonic scream of shells across the water, but they sail clean over Higgins without effect. The sea blazes alight with muzzle flashes and bass thunder as the mystery flotilla opens up in earnest; all of it sailing overhead without harm.

“Sir,” - the TAO - “shellfire, shooting high-”

You look left in time to see the fuel tanks near the mouth of the main channel go up; a colossal fireball climbing into the sky over Los Angeles. Burning oil comes raining down across the port and San Pedro as shells continue to plunge into storefronts and freighters and piers; an indiscriminate massacre at maximum range.

As the sound of the blast rattles the bridge-windows of Higgins, something closes with a gentle 'click' in your mind. You stab the 21MC, sending your voice bellowing throughout the command decks.

“SHOOT SHOOT SHOOT!”
>>
>>40809964
>inb4 Thunderchild
>>
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http://ibiblio.org/hyperwar/USN/WarDamageReports/ More battle damage info
>>
Bentus is on station.
>>
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>>40809977
>>
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>>40809977
>Five contacts
Wait.
What?
>>
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>>40809977
>Redoubtable
>>
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>>40809977
FIRE EVERYTHING!
>>
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>>40809977
>six Abyssal ships
Oh god oh fuck oh shit
>>
>torpedo ram

Jesus Christ no

Of all the things that Poseidon decided to spit back at us.
>>
To the Anon in the last thread who said "Pennsylvania was never given any upgrades". This is untrue. She was refitted, as ALL the battleships damaged at Pearl Harbor were, with more modern radar and fire control equipment. Also, her original 5 inch guns were all removed and replaced with the standard twin barrel DP 5 inch gun turrets mounted on all the other US ships. Not sure, but I believe it was 8 turrets, 4 per side. She also recieved a healthy supply of 40mm and 20mm anti-aircraft weapons. These changes are known as "upgrades". There is a very excellent book from Squadron/Signal Productions about US Battleships. It is two volumes, but was initially printed about 20 years ago, may be hard to find. The publisher has an EXTENSIVE library of books covering numerous kinds of ships, aircraft, and armored vehicles. They average about 80 pages or so each and are filled with photos and other information.
>>
And you guys thought it was just a single abyssal that creamed Los Angeles that day.
>>
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bfskFravnWM

The 5-inch mount's heavy KAWHAM! thumps through the bridge before you've finished shouting; a bright flash blossoming on the ironclad heartbeats later.

“No effect on target, no effect on target!” a lookout is yelling into his phone. The Mark 45 slings high-explosive shells; the Navy never figured on having to shoot through 14-inch iron plates again. But it does have an effect – the hulking ironclad's bow swings eastward, billowing shrouds climbing towards their spars as she rigs for combat sail. The gun KAWHAMs again, the blast bounding off her iron sides without effect.

The rumbling roar of a rocket engine igniting sounds aft as Higgins hurls a Harpoon from her crisscrossed tubes, the bright flame lancing into the night sky before plunging straight for the ironclad, barely beyond minimum range. You watch it just miss the deck; detonating against the stack. The 488 pound warhead blasts the nightmare's rigging asunder; timbers and flaming ropes arcing away from the stricken vessel; her stack shattered. An eerie, keening note underlies the flat sound of the detonation as it races over the water, like a stifled scream. The ghost ship's gunports flash with staccato thunder; a line of reports marching down her beam; and you duck instinctively as the shells come screaming in, the shots falling just short, giant plumes of water so close the starboard bridge watch shies away from the railing.

“The fuck!?” you demand of your phone, linked to the CIC's main circuit.

“No track!” comes the reply. “Returns are hopping like frogs!”
>>
>>40810051
We've only been told so much about this day, man.
Oh god my hype
>>
>>40810064
did it just scream in pain?
>>
>>40810064
>That music
oh god why are you so good at this planefag
oh god
>>
The forward VLS hatches pop open and SM-2s come rippling out, blinding your forward view in pillars of flame and smoke as the igniting rockets rattle the bridge windows; angling towards the ironclad before the weapons officer brings them hurtling down on command guidance like flung meteors. A few miss just abeam, but elation surges through you as two plunge clean through the deck before detonating; the blasts flinging flaming shreds of decking through the air. The 5-incher KAWHAMs! again and this time the bright flash of detonation leaves a jagged scar in the smooth armor; the gunner's switched to time-delay fuzes. The spent casing flies out of the breech ejector and clangs against the deck at almost the same instant a ten-inch shell punches clean through Higgins bow; smashing through the deck at a shallow angle and blowing out the other side in a cloud of shredded chain links. It detonates a few feet left of the exit wound; the hardened glass before you crazing as it catches a chunk of twisted shrapnel.

“He's firing AP,” the bosun says.

“Make your heading two-twenty-five, hard-over!” the XO demands. The helmsman swings the wheel against the stops and Higgins heels over, sending everyone flailing for handholds as your warship demonstrates the power of her gas-turbines and sleek destroyer hull. The ironclad hoves into sight before you; the bright flames engulfing her rigging making her hard to miss.

“Keep us AWAY from the son-of-a-bitch!” you demand, but your XO just chops his hand through the air sharply.

“SIR, LET ME DO MY JOB, SIR!”

In the distance you see muzzle-flashes from the ironclad's waterline. The XO's jaw tightens as he waits, silently counting the seconds till towering columns of spray erupt to port; drenching the deck and sending a tremor through the hull.
>>
>>40810085
yes, yes it did.

Wait, you saying your car doesn't do that when you take it on the highway?
>>
>>40810085
Yes, yes it did. And that is freaky.
>>
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So when is Higgins going to track down Settle in Japan. Mount him in his sleep as she watches silently, only to tell him MAKE US WHOLE. MAKE US WHOLE AGAIN. when he wakes up staring her straight in the eyes?
>>
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iwLyIMqfbf0

RAM IT HOME
>>
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>>40810104
>“SIR, LET ME DO MY JOB, SIR!”
Pictured, his current job
>>
“Eight,” the XO whispers. “Slow. Old guns. He's at long range!” He keeps you on that heading for long seconds, stray splashes from the ironclad's secondaries dotting the dark water as the five-incher keeps slamming away, bright winks of light sparking on the foe's sides as shells connect. Presently its broadside lights up again; flat thunder of cannon shot booming across the ocean with death following close behind.

“HARD PORT!” the XO demands, and Higgins heels over sharply; a salvo straddling where you would've been a few seconds later. He keeps her in the turn for a while before ordering rudder amidships; keeping oblique angles to the enemy. From somewhere aft you hear rocket engines igniting as Higgins tosses four Sea Sparrows over her shoulder at the ancient battleship. They angle downwards, achieving good track and slamming one after another into the target.

“You have a solution!?” you demand into the phone. “Harpoons?”

“No,” the TAO replies. “We're illuminating with the main radar - we got that fucker lit up like a Christmas tree!” Higgins shudders as another tube's worth of Sparrows scream into the air. “Aiming for his gunports-”
>>
>>40810104
Motherfucker is chasing the splashes. Hot Damn.
>>
>>40810114
Only to find either Shoukaku or Arizona holding on to him as they sleep.
>>
>>40809804
Now, just for fun, see if we can do one for the Higgins after this thread.
>>
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>>40810160
>>40810154
>>
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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sMejhjMfKj4

Your XO keeps chasing salvos, always presenting obliques to the enemy as the CIC flings a steady stream of missiles and shells at the ironclad; steering Sparrows with pencil-thin beams of radio energy, the missiles twitching spasmodically like kittens chasing a laser pointer; angling towards the muzzle flashes of the battleship's main batteries. The SM-2s need no help; blasting into the dark sky on pillars of smoke and flame before hurtling down, their terminal IR sensors homing on the flaming ruins of the ironclad's rigging. You watch through your binoculars as Higgins gives her everything she's got; but your missiles are SAMs, and their tiny warheads just aren't doing enough damage. The ironclad sails along like the ghostly fireships of maritime legend; dancing flames of the burning rigging mirrored in the water below, with the ghostly iron carapace barley visible between them.

The ghost ship jitters and vanishes as something smashes into Higgins and knocks her right out from under you. Struggling upright, you look at the XO, who's still standing, feet braced wide like a boxer.

“Near miss off the bow,” he explains. “He finally switched to HE. Don't have to worry about raking fire now.” He orders another course change; and you see Higgin's bow move to point directly at the enemy; the distant blob of fire obscured by the regular muzzle-flash of your forward gun.

“Katie, we're not doing enough damage!” you yell into your phone.

“I know, I know! The LRASMs can filter out ECM but we've got no preprogrammed profile i-”

An awful sound shreds the air like God's buzzsaw growling -

- something hits the starboard side of the bridge like a rubber mallet, a diffuse KWHAM! that kicks in your eardrums. Everyone staggers for a moment as their ringing ears slowly return to normal.

“Katie, what the fuck?”
>>
Here's some high-energy music to go with the thread, I think
>>
>>40810173
I think you mean both Shoukaku and Arizona, one on each side.
>>
WHELP
>>
Where's that spooky gif of the ship shilouettes that people used to post when we needed it.
>>
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>>40810173
No, Higgins wants you inside of her and she will not stop until you are. So Settle and Higgins can be one again.
>>
>>40810207
I forgot my link.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=raxEmANPTVc
>>
I wonder how abyssal gun crews work. I mean, a lot of ships of that time period had mostly-unshielded gun crews
>>
>>40810154
rip in peace unnamed XO, you done gud
>>
>>40810173
>>40810209
In all truth, Arizona is going to be freaking out when Settle wake up. We might have to let her spend the night in our room to keep her from worrying.
>>
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“CIWS just nailed a shell.”

“What.”

“CIWS just nailed a shell,” she says again, voice brittle, the victorious whooping of the CIWS operator audible in the background.

“Skipper,” another voice cuts in, “those destroyers are flanking east and west, western contact is closing at twenty-five knots.”

“Katie?”

“Must be a short sumbitch, RCS is nothing;” she replies. “Recommend the gun-”

“Do it!”

Desperation screams through your nerves as another SM-2 leaps from the VLS - Higgins only carries so many missiles; and your luck against those huge shells can't hold much longer. You'd been sailing to join 7th fleet as an auxiliary picket; your cells are stuffed with Sparrows and SM-2s - but even that can only last so long.

The ironclad's secondary batteries have fallen silent at last shattered by shellfire or torn to shreds by shrapnel from airbursting Sparrows. Replacing it is a hail of shellfire from left and right; the destroyers that flanked you. The XO keeps Higgins chasing salvos, weaving and darting through the towering columns of spray the ironclad's big guns kick up, but no matter how he turns at least one enemy has a wide-aspect shot on you. You hear the CIC staff cursing as auxiliary sensors are knocked out by a shell detonating in Higgins mast; infrared imagers, short-range surface radar-

“Sir,” the bosun says from behind you. “We just took a shell in the forward engine room!”

“Damage?”

“Can't tell - a fire started; they pulled everyone out and hit the HALON.”

Before you can reply a heavy shell detonates against the forecastle; just below and forward of the bridge. You hear the shouts in the CIC as the blast buffets them. Higgins is armored against blast and fragmentation; kevlar/steel armor layered over her vitals and the CIC, but she was never meant to take a beating like this, trapped in a triangle of guns.
>>
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DRtnWVvDX6k
'...Tongues of fire on Idris flaring...news of foemen near declaring...'
>>
List of hits thus far:

>bow, possibly skimming through the deck
>mast, destroying IR and short-range radar
>forward engine room
>forecastle
>>
“New contact west!” the TAO snarls into your ear, his control slipping. “Returns are solid, though-”

The port lookout *screams,* “YES YES YES YES GET'M GET THAT MOTHERFUCKER GET HIM-” You pick up your glasses to find the low, curved hull of an old ironclad monitor, scuttling through the waves like some armored prehistoric horror returned from hell. It's circled by the foaming wake of the coast guard cutter; sailing circles at it as it slams 3-inch shells into its iron sides from point-blank range. The monitor's twin turrets are helpless, turning too slowly to track the brisk-moving cutter. Sparks fly up and down the sides; bright tracers leaping and bouncing high into the dark night as the cutter's fantail 20mm CIWS rakes it with tugsten-tipped AP rounds.

“Contact two engaged in close action with USS Sherman! Contact three is breaking off!” the TAO cries jubilantly. “The gun got the son-of-a-bitch, he's burning!”

Another salvo of ten-inch haymakers lands nearby, bracketing Higgins - but the CIWS nails one of them; shrapnel rattling off the window and forecastle as it detonates fifty yards forwards of the bow.

“Skip-” your radio shack on the horn - “I've got Edwards AFB on the line - they're vectoring Strike Eagles they had doing night maneuvers! ETA, fifteen minutes!”

Fifteen minutes is a lifetime. But Higgins is dodging, your crew's learned how to draw blood and you even have help. You might just last a lifetime.

You might just win.
>>
>>40810300
>Edwards AFB
Ha-hey, go home team!
15 minutes is too much, but I guess the thought counts.
>>
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“SONAR CONTACT, HIGH-SPEED SCREWS BEARING 227!”

“HARD PORT!” the XO screams. Alarms sound throughout the ship as the helmsman puts her hard over once more and the EOT slams port throttle to emergency back. Higgins digs into the waves as she heels over sharply. You watch the digital compass above your chair rotate with dizzying speed.

“Sonar?” you demand.

“Going active... fifteen hundred yards!”

Every asshole on the bridge tenses for the sledgehammer shock that will signal a torpedo snapping Higgins keel.

“Eight-hundred!”

Someone is praying, low and intense -“hallowed be thy name-”

“KAWHAM!”

“Thy kingdom come, thy will be done-”

“on earth as it is in heaven-”

“KAWHAM!”

“Four hundred!”

The XO says nothing, still standing braced wide, hands balled into white-knuckled fists as he seems to will the ship to turn tighter.

“ONE-HUNDRED-”

You brace, your entire body cringing in expectation of the blast -
>>
DAMN THE TORPEDOES! FULL SPEED AHEAD!
>>
>>40810219
>Mech Engineer quest will never run again
>>
>>40810323
late 1800's torpedoes?

Have to be contact fuses. Hopefully sucky ones at that.
>>
>>40810323
is this where hate blows it up with the .50?
>>
>>40810256
Ciws operator is a god
>>
>>40810300
>Monitor

wait

USS Terror?
>>
>>40810323
HAAATE! SHOOT THEM! SHOOT THEM! SHOOT THEM!
>>
>>40810344
That's what I was betting on.
>>
>>40810121
While I love watching Jap ships burning, these old depictions of the Battle of Midway really irks the historian in me.
>>
“.... One-hundred fifty close astern starboard! Two hundred! Clean miss, clean miss!”

You turn to the XO, a wild whoop of success on your lips, and that's when everything goes dark.

You wake up against a console, blood dripping down your face. There's a buzzing in your ear, and the XO is kneeling in front of you, snapping his fingers. His lips are moving, but you can't make anything out.

“Can't hear you.” Glancing over his shoulder, you see the window in front of your captain's chair has been crazed and pocked by shrapnel - and as you feel the side of your head, you discover a few small bits embedded firmly in your skull.

... strange. Just sunk in there firmly, like they belong - like horns.

“Skipper?” the voice comes through a long tunnel with a bad synth distort added, like the Jefferson Starships. “Skipper, you here?”

You grab his shoulder and let him heave you upright. “S-status,” you slur.

“We took a salvo,” the XO says grimly. “Fire in the foreward berthing spaces. Sonar's out, too.”

You pick up your phone, your link to CIC. “Report.”

“Phalanx is down, remote fifty-cals and Bushmaster out of action,” the steady voice of the TAO replies. “Flooding in the rear shaft gallery, one might be bent. Direct hit to rear DC locker.”

The XO calls out another evasive maneuver, but you don't even flinch this time as heavy shells fall just shy of the ship.

You're not doing enough damage. The old Harpoons can't properly track that... thing, if it's moving. And its only a matter of time before your ship is shot out from under you, or a shell nails the VLS magazine.
>>
>>40810350
fjuk off,.

there is no hate only zull
>>
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>>40810223
>>
>>40810361
Here it comes...
>>
>>40810369
Where the hell is this from?
>>
>>40810394
a cancelled game, IIRC.
>>
>>40810366
Fine. ZUUULLL! SHOOT IT!
>>
>>40810366
No dear, I am here too.
>>
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fXRJBK8oJSA
No one's left. Everything's gone. Kharak is burning...
>>
Settle's current BGM:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iGtEH1i78sI
>>
Does the Higgins have any torpedoes?
>>
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9lHfF5dsZB4

Just after nightfall, trapped between nightmares from demenses unknown and the burning ruins of Long Beach harbor, you have to make a decision. Squeezing your phone, you speak into the CIC circut.

“Can you make the Mark 46s do a straight run?”

“A bearing-only-launch, yeah-”

“From the ASROC?”

“No. They've got a gyroscope, not a compass.”

“Fuck. Get the tubes ready, then,” you order. “We're making a torpedo run.”

The XO stares at you. “With *what!?*”

“Whatever we've got,” you tell him grimly.

“They've got 100 pound warheads,” the XO says dubiously. “What are they gonna do?”

“Shear his fucking screws, that's what,” you reply. “Get us as close as you can!”
>>
>>40810436
Not yet. We're not fucked yet.
>>
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>>40810439
>>40810442
>MUSIC
>>
>>40810442
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Fucking torp runs in the 21st Centuryyyy
>>
>>40810442
right,

NOW were fucked
>>
>>40810436

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=03qBqP2I4p8
>>
The XO studies you for a heartbeat; fear in his eyes - then they harden over, a strange, bright luster coming into them. “Aye, Captain,” he breathes, and turns back to the shattered bridge windows again, studying the burning ocean before commanding the helm again. Usually you'd be commanding from the CIC, watching the battle unfold on the plotting screen, but with radar unreliable and the visual ranges involved, the bridge is better. The CIC is the best protected place on the ship, of course - but admirals of old remained here, by their windows and wheel rather than hide in the armored citadel of the conning tower. Deep in the bowels of the ship, the CIC protects the men who can keep her fighting. Your job is to make the best decisions you can, while those decisions can still change anything.

Higgins swings her burning, holed bow southward and holds course, accelerating towards her tormentor. Even with the battle damage, your destroyer is pushing past 30 knots. You soon lose sight of the dueling monitor and coastie cutter as Higgins thunders straight down the throat of the battlewagon's guns, a 3,000 yard run to your launch point.

“Switch the five-inch to WP marker,” you order. The forward gun has finally fallen silent as the crew strains to reload the ready magazine, groping their way through smoke-choked compartments in emergency respirators as the fire eats towards the magazine. Every muscle in your body tenses as the ironclad fires again, and again, shells screaming past you as the helmsman jinks the ship; the ironclad unable to handle the rapid closure rate. Soon, though, you'll be in his flat trajectories, and then he can't possibly miss.
>>
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The XO orders another sharp evasive maneuver to escape the high-climbing flare marking your position. The five-inch opens fire again; a cloud of flaming phosphorus blossoming in air just over a torpedo destroyer. It plows through it, unconcerned; no crew visible on its exposed deck; black smoke pouring from its stack. It heaves to port, aiming in front of Higgins, preparing to loose its fish -

- and then it explodes; bow and stern climbing upwards as it folds in half down the middle and vanishes in flames. The clean white shape of the Sherman appears from behind, cutting through the wakes of the torpedo boats as her sides light up with gunfire; 40mm, .50 cal, small arms; even the tiny bright pops of grenades, fired and flung. The boats scatter, the slow staccato cracks of their hand-cranked Nordenfelt guns returning fire. The Sherman circles through the boats once and is in the middle of a high-rate turn when the ironclad, with a clear shot at last, puts a carronade shell into her forward hull.

The 76mm gun heaves and lurches as its ammo hoist is torn from underneath it; but miraculously the magazine survives. You stare helplessly as Sherman begins sinking by the bow, her keel snapped. She turns sharply, still answering the helm; a fantail of water kicking up from the elevated screws as the pilot overrevs her for everything she's got. A streak of light screams over the water and smashes through her forecastle from fore to stern; kindling fires throughout her superstructure - incendiary shot; rolled out of the monitor's boiler furnaces before loading into the cannons.

Burning, broken and sinking, USS Sherman picks her target and accelerates; cutting across your bow.
>>
>>40810436
/k/ripple, you bring great happiness and terrible sadness to my heart simultaneously.
>>
The torpedo ram changes course too late, barely beginning her turn before the cutter bears down on her. The forward gun is impossibly still firing; the gun crew still loading the ready ammunition instead of escaping. Burning men leap for the embrace of the dark waters as Sherman's superstructure goes up like a pyre; the glass of the bridge windows shattering and blowing outward from a pressure wave as something amidships detonates. Her narrow, clean bow smashes into the curved, low hull of the ironclad at twenty-five knots; powerful gas-turbine engines driving the doomed ship up and over its foe. Thousands of tons of steel and iron crumple against each other, twisting and squealing with violence audible from hundreds of yards distant. The collision was almost head-on, leaving the twisted vessels nearly motionless -

- and the low-profile torpedo ram with the massive, flat-sided hull of Sherman atop her. You stare at the entwined ships, a silent scream racing through your soul as you watch men still racing down her decks, leaping from the ship, seeking escape -

- but Sherman's pilot has given you a chance, a chance you don't dare discard.

You press your phone against your ear forcefully, its shattered plastic edges cutting your hand. “Alpha strike,” you instruct. “Alpha strike. Empty the cells!”
>>
>Harpoons can't track the ironclad
>Target the cutter

damn
>>
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The foreward VLS erupts; SM-2s and Sea Sparrows thundering heavenward on pillars of smoke and flame; a curtain that blinds you to the carnage outside - until they come down again and again and again; slamming into the ruins of Sherman relentlessly, detonating her foreward magazine against the torpedo ram's narrow bow. The coast guard cutter and her crew are obliterated in a hail of missiles, and still they come down; blowing craters in the ghost ship's decking; clouds of burning wooden splinters filling the air before more and more come slamming into the wounds; the light warheads hammering deeper and deeper with every blow until one reaches the torpedo magazine.

“Contact three, eliminated,” the TAO says, his voice hollow.

Higgins charges past the flaming pyres at flank speed; her way clear to the ironclad.
>>
>>40810521
Oh shit...
>>
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>>40810495
>>40810473
>>40810514
>>
>>40810473
TORPEDO RUN

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8ErxIUWTz7U
>>
Fucking christ. There is not enough booze in the world for that.
>>
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AniH_l_ViTE

The bright phosphorus flame is subsiding from the huge battlewagon's sides as your destroyer heels sharp to the left. After a heartbeat, you hear the FWHAAA-HISSS! of Mark 46s hitting the water from the rear triple-tube launcher. The ironclad is hardly 3,000 yards distant now and his fire is horrifically close, but his shells are now flying high, one exploding in your stacks just aft. You've got seconds till he finds the range again, and then - then, your ship will be blown into little pieces. The XO heaves to, unshadowing the port-side launchers and they fire too; the tiny anti-submarine torpedoes with their miniscule warheads streaking away through the dark water. With her rigging shredded and stack blown off the ironclad is slow, so you might - might - just have a chance.

In olden days you'd have a stopwatch to track the time. You raise your wrist to find your own watch stopped a nasty-looking piece of shrapnel. The TAO's voice rasps through your damaged phone, counting down the seconds to expected impact.

It doesn't look like much through your fifty-power optics - but with the long, empty muzzles of the battleship's central battery tracking you, you realize just how long it is. Without sonar, all you can do is watch the dark, blurry waterline of the enemy - and pray.

A blast -

- a gout!

Two, three, four gouts of water spouting from the bastards aft end!

Cheering erupts on the bridge as the ironclad begins to visibly slow, it's screws blasted off her shafts along with her rudder.

“Unshadow the Harpoons,” you order, “and let's MURDER that cocksucker!”
>>
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>>40810532
>>
>>40810410
Diluvion got cancelled? Naw

>34k out of 40k funding goal
>>
“Aye! Helm, hard to p-”

This time, you wake up in Hell.

Half the bridge is nothing but shredded metal and torn flesh splattered around the interior; shreds of fabric tangled with chunks of meat. An arm here, a finely shredded console there - a twisted jigsaw puzzle of the world you know. Looking up, you see stars - a ragged hole in the starboard side of the bridge's roof. Where the bridge wing should be, only a twisted metal catwalk that ends in thin air.

You grab the nearest console with numb hands and try to hoist yourself up, but your right leg won't work; dangling limp. You look down and find a shard of twisted metal the size of your palm sunk deep into your thigh. It burns like hell, like a red-hot poker, searing your leg - but it's not bleeding. You look for your XO, but you can't find him, unless he's - he's one of the -
>>
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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UtKlQNMIAAQ

Fire up that thread music.
>>
>>40810571
>Diluvion
Huh. Interesting.
https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/1075607244/diluvion Link to kickstarter.
>>
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>>40810555
>MUSIIIIIIIIC
>>
- he's busy, you decide. You crawl deeper into the bridge, finding the pilot slumped against the rear wall, mouth twitching, glassy-eyed. Pushing him aside you drag yourself up against the pilot's console. You find your optics around your neck, still intact by some miracle, and press them to your eyes, trying to orient yourself. You don't realize Higgins is still turning till Long Beach appears in front of you, the bay well-lit by the towering orange flames from the shattered fuel facility. The dark shapes of torpedo destroyers are scuttling through puddles of burning oil floating on the surface; the hulking humpacked silhouette of the monitor amongst them. As they move in to shell the city, you see something massive slipping out of the main channel; sleek lines half-glimpsed against the billowing pyre of flames behind it. Before you can process it your eyes snag on motion; a rigid inflatable go-fast skipping through the water, outboard engines chased by a rooster-tail of spray as the pintle-mounted gun twinkles. You've hardly spotted it when a cannonball detonates almost underneath it; the boat flipping backwards through the air as tiny bodes tumble and cartwheel into the water.

“Haaa,” you wheeze through the numbness in your mind - then shove it away, groping for your purpose through the haze. Turning. Turning. Muscles screaming in chord with a tired, weary part of your hind-brain that just wants to lie down and sleep, you crank the wheel the opposite direction, bringing Higgins broadside once again. The ignition of rocket motors roars loudly from aft as the TAO takes the shot; the remaining three starboard Harpoons thundering out of their tubes and angling for the stationary ironclad. They sway to and fro, seeking the center-mass of shifting returns, but at this range against a stationary target they cannot possibly fail. The titanic blasts of the huge warheads races across the water and slaps against Higgin's side.
>>
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The 21MC is making noise. You stagger towards it, careening into the bulkhead next to it and stabbing the button. “I'm... here,” you say lamely.

“Skipper?” The TAO.

“BDA?”

“The lookouts are dead,” he replies flatly, “and we lost the director optics when the bridge was hit - but she's still firing on us.” As if to underscore the point, the ship bucks and leaps underneath you.

“You...” your forehead clangs off the bulkhead forcefully, the pain bringing you back into focus. “Fuck, fuck, what just happened!”

A pause. “Torpedo in the forward engine room. They're dogging the hatches. Turbines are fucked.”

“Prepare port tubes,” you order, and crawl back to the pilot station to turn the wheel. You lose your grip and slip to the floor, feeling Higgins buck and shudder beneath you as shells continue to pound her - and then the remaining four Harpoons plunging into the ironclad with titanic blasts. The few LSRAMs in your foreward VLS are modified cruise missiles; almost like little planes with pop-out wings. They take time and space to deploy and stabilize and track; at least nine or ten miles of space - but the humble old missile-shaped Harpoon has no such problems. But they have the newest warhead; the explosive-driven AP penetration rod bundles buried in a heavy fragmentation jacket; and you know that huge armored bitch isn't going down for the count until you use them. If it wasn't for the Harpoon's pop-up attack, their massive warheads would have been spent impotently on the beast's iron hide - they were never meant to penetrate armor like that. In time, the fire will eat downwards from the ironclad's shattered upper decks, find her coal bunkers and her powder magazines and finish her.

But you don't have time. Higgins doesn't have time. Long Beach and Los Angeles doesn't have time. And somewhere between you and the shore, the monitor and its massive carronades is still waiting, untouched.
>>
>>40810607
>As they move in to shell the city, you see something massive slipping out of the main channel; sleek lines half-glimpsed against the billowing pyre of flames behind it.
>>40810587

I can't select an image in a timely manner to express how jesus fucking christ planefag holy fuck I am shaking
>>
You put the wheel over and cut behind the burning ironclad's stern from a few hundred yards, the five-incher still slamming away with whatever ammo it has left, the brittle iron plates cracking under the HE blasts as your gunners aim for optics and gun ports. The battleship is listing badly to port, perhaps from your torpedoes; her lethal primary battery's snout is aimed too high to threaten Higgins as you cut behind it, using the smoke and flames to shield yourself from the monitor's searching eyes. You steer north-east, hoping to beach Higgins Huntington Beach - you've no idea how many times she was holed, and you can't risk your ship and everyone on her on guesses.

From the dark Pacific to the south comes distant flashes - and then the scream of shells, ragged salvos landing wide on either side.

As the ringing in your head slowly subsides, you realize that the Eagles aren't going to get here in time. Your XO is dead, splattered across the deck besides you. Hate... Hate is dead. And Higgins will follow soon.

The directors might be out, but your spotting glasses and the intercom still work - you can give CIC one last lookout. If you can light up something with the 5-inchers Willy Pete, the LRASM's terminal infrared guidance should be able to track for that, no problem. It should give the crew time to get away.
>>
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>>40810607
>As they move in to shell the city, you see something massive slipping out of the main channel; sleek lines half-glimpsed against the billowing pyre of flames behind it.
Something massive, with sleek lines, coming out of the main channel of San Pedro?
>>
I haven't hit F5 in a long time due to 4chanx. I am hammering it tonight.
>>
>>40810593
3-dimensional sonar in pitch black underwater sounds thrilling.

Next closest thing is that crude 8-bitesque I-20000 indie game on Playism.
>>
>>40810675
Dunno. Possibly the container ship Greenpeace had. Ramming speed motherfuckers.
>>
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>>40810675
>>
I fucking love having an overactive imagination sometimes
>>
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>>40810642
Try this
>>
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>>40810675
>>
>>40810607
>As they move in to shell the city, you see something massive slipping out of the main channel; sleek lines half-glimpsed against the billowing pyre of flames behind it.
Incoming Big Stick~
>>
Not that I don't love this flashback, I'm really looking forward to seeing Settle wake up.
>>
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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uRZ07C4c4CA

The Port of Long Beach lights up with a brilliant flash, and a roaring report that blasts over the water like thunder; thrice as loud and long as the old ironclads main battery. You look towards the port, expecting to see another freighter in flames and sinking - but instead you only see the briefest flash of gunfire; the barest glimpse of a sillouete - and now you hear the low, sibilant whistle of a very big fucking shell moving very fast.

The flaming wreck of the ironclad is blown clean through, the thick armored hide which resisted so much punishment caving before some titanic force. A third report sounds from the beach and it's blown asunder; the shell sucking flames into a powder magazine.

You press your binoculars to your eyes. Backlit by the burning city you can see something massive moving towards the breakwater passage, the snouts of mighty guns visible over a long, clean flush-deck design. You're still trying to process how it got past you, why it fired on its fellow (confusion, fog of war in the general melee!?) when a hostile star-shell ignites high over the bay.

Cutting through the burning water and past the shattered freighters is the USS Iowa, her snapped mooring lines still trailing in the water beside her.

And she is pissed off.
>>
My god. The crew of Higgins and the Coast Guard cutter. It's enough to bring a tear to the eyes.
>>
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>>40810733
FUCK YEAAAAAAA
>>
>>40810532
>Crew of 167... gone
Damn

>>40810555
>>40810587
And then it got worse...
>>
>>40810733
OH YES, HERE WE GO! GET FUCKING HYPE! HERE COMES THE BB TRAIN!
>>
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>>40810733
>>
>>40810733
YES

YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
>>
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>>40810733
ASDFGASTGFSHDHFJ,
>>
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>>40810733
>>
Oh my. Here comes a fine lady, indeed.
>>
HUMANITY CALLS FOR AID
AND THE IOWA ANSWERS
>>
>>40810733
THE HYPE IS REAL
>>
>>40810733
The Grey Ghost
>>
>>40810733
Wait... is the Iowa crewed, or is it just FUCKING PISSED OFF MACHINE SPIRITS REMOVE ABYSSAL REMOVE ABYSSAL WO-CLASS CARRIERS A SHIT SUPPLY RUN MASS MURDER BEST OPERATIONS OF MY OPERATIONAL LIFE SPAN
>>
>>40810733
...Planefag. Why the hell do you believe Decu writes better than you when you can pull off a thread like this one?
>>
>>40810786
wrong ship
>>
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AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
>>
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>>40810733
>>
>>40810786
Nah that's Houston bud.
>>
IT WAS EVERYTHING I HAD HOPED FOR

AND MUCH

MUCH

MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORRRRRRRE
>>
>>40810733
Poster of >>>40809481 here.

Let this post stand for all time as a record that I fucking called it.
>>
>>40810733

I thojt wae weren't going to tal k abut ths.

I thougt we werejt going to atalk about HER.
>>
>>40810786
nah, that's cv6.
>>
>>40810733
EVEN AS A MUSEUM SHIP SHE STILL SERVES DAMNCOMMIENAZIALIUMS THEIR ASSES
>>
>>40810798
the USS Iowa was called the grey ghost during the Korean war
>>
>>40810733
>>
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>>40810792
I... I think the latter
>>
>>40810792
no way you can gather the skeleton crew of folks who know how to operate a BB in less than an hour.

Thats her alright.
>>
>>40810815
Fine, we'll take all of the Grey Ghosts of America then.
>>
So... it seems like real-life guns cut both ways too.

Doesn't that mean you could refurbish an ancient museum ship and laugh and shout Ave Roma as all the abyssal stuff turns into sticks arrows and rocks and bounce off?
>>
>>40810811
Settle's having a nightmare/dream/flashback thing. How did you get here?
>>
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>>40810792
I hope it's just the fucking machine spirits
>>
>>40810733
>Iowa shows up
>Uses an image of the New Jersey
>>
>>40810826
In less than fifteen minutes. Holy fuck planefag you glorious bastard.
>>
>>40810811
Go home hate, you're drunk
>>
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>>40810811

>>40810831
Same way he's in threads at all
>>
>>40810835
Hey, shut up.
>>
>>40810826
Veterans association was having a meeting

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YBg66wA19Dk
>>
>>40810839

WAR IS HJOME
>>
>>40810811
Oh, dear... are you all right, Corporal? You seem to have drunk way too much... Tatsuta-kun, you should not let the good Corporal drink himself to oblivion. It is bad for his liver.
>>
>>40810831
Shitposting need not obey the laws of time and space.
>>
What power starts the engines of a battleship turned museum?
What force loads the guns of a decommed warship?
Only the ghosts of the sea know.
>>
I AM GOING TO SEA AGAIN

TO SEA

TO SEA
>>
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Iowa Class BB-61-64

BB-61 Iowa "The Big Stick/The Grey Ghost"
Motto: "Our Liberties We Prize, Our Rights We Will Maintain"

BB-62 New Jersey "Big J"
Motto: "Firepower For Freedom"

BB-63 Missouri "Mighty Mo/Big Mo"
Motto: "Strength For Freedom"

BB-64 Wisconsin "Wisky"
Motto: "Forward For Freedom"
>>
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=piOYjQJd974
>>
>>40810733
Looks like Iowa decided to bring the thunder
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fU0bKMj9Kgo
>>
>>40810835
To an anon that only has alot of book knowledge about the military, how do you tell the different ships of the Iowa class apart?
>>
>>40810812
Iowa picked up the nickname during the Korean War.

Sailors are unimaginative.
>>
Rolled 10 (1d10)

>Ships can just up and leave port and fight on their own
...rolling SAN loss
>>
>>40810874
Dan Forrest's a fantastic composer. Great guy, too.
>>
I HAD TO COME OUT OF RETIREMENT FOR THIS SHIT
>>
This.... This is going to end with the Iowa's last transmission being "Superman" isn't it?
>>
>>40810852
Go drunk home, you’re Hate.
>>
>>40810904
Sorry for waking you, ma'am.
>>
>>40810905

ijts going to end with me tellig my end of it. Fuckin A. Gie me oxygen from some fucking zoomie i don't give a fuckj
>>
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>>40810886
Iowa has the presidential tub
>>
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It devolves into a haze after that; just flashes; impressions as brief as the glimpses of Iowa as her muzzle flashes lit her up - backlit in one second, a hulking, vengeful silhouette, then revealed in the fire and thunder of her guns as she engages targets on both sides, secondary batteries slamming away at the torpedo boats as they try to close with her. You remember the flames eating towards your position as you dragged somebody for the door; somebody who would they were already dead they never pleaded with you to kill them, the burns hurt too much, leave them be; the shudder through Higgins hull as the CIC touched off the LRASMs and (as they told you later, oh so much later,) vectored them towards the burning decks of ships scoured by Iowa. The odd moment of perfectly-recalled clarity as you stared across the water at Iowa, exiting the breakwater not a few hundred yards distant; firing from Y turret; Y turret, that was shattered and should never speak again, but spoke, and spoke and spoke, unstoppable and alone as she took on the vast dark Sea - and won.

The explosions that tore Higgins; the screams, the voices calling for you as fire-suited men reached out to pluck you from the flames. The thunder of salvation; the sternum-shaking roar of Strike Eagles on full afterburner screaming overhead; skipping iron bombs across the water; the throaty ripping roar of 20mm guns, and then just the thunder, thunder thunder as they made dry runs to draw fire and guide Iowa's fire, as if she needed guidance.

Smoke.

Fire.

Death.

The glowing blue coals of something....

something...

something....

... very

a n g r y
>>
>>40810918

>>40810660
>Hate... Hate is dead.

Aren't you supposed to be dead?
>>
>>40810905
why superman?
>>
>>40810886
Iowa herself is easy: she's the one with only two working turrets.
>>
>>40810892
>>rolling SAN loss
>>Rolled 10 (1d10)
Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn!
>>
>>40810934
Iron Giant
>>
>>40810811
Me? I'm flattered.
>>40810853
I don't let him do this often at all. But I feel that once in awhile he needs to do this. It's... for the best. Please understand.
>>
>>40810930
>as if she needed guidence

divine forces guide her shells
>>
>>40810950
Isn't CoC a d100 system?
>>
>>40810944
>The odd moment of perfectly-recalled clarity as you stared across the water at Iowa, exiting the breakwater not a few hundred yards distant; firing from Y turret; Y turret, that was shattered and should never speak again, but spoke, and spoke and spoke, unstoppable and alone as she took on the vast dark Sea - and won

Y turret is working bub. The Fae don't give a fuck.
>>
>>40810853
Oh look, this anon showed up again. Was looking for an excuse to post this.
>>
>>40810930
>firing from Y turret; Y turret, that was shattered and should never speak again, but spoke, and spoke and spoke
>>40810944

FAT LOT OF GOOD THAT DOES US, APPARENTLY
>>
>>40810733
Oh fucking god. This is, I have no words.
>>
>>40810969
Well, I assumed anon was asking how to tell them apart IRL.
>>
>>40810873
You forgot NJ's best nickname dude, the Black Dragon.
>>
>>40810930
I... I can't express my emotions.

Go Iowa!
>>
>>40810982
FUCKING MAGICAL SHIPS COMING TO LIFE TO SMACK THE SHIT OUT OF OTHER MAGICAL SHIPS. Y TURRET'S STATUS SHOULD NOT BE A CONCERN
>>
>>40810930
This is some Bolo tier shit right here
>>
>>40811017
FOR THE HONOR OF THE PACIFIC FLEET
>>
>>40810979
(arch eyebrow) Katori-san? Care to explain?
>>
I think this the quietest a planefag thread has ever been, holy shit...
>>
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So is there, uh, a new category we should be considering? Ships crewed by men. Ships sunk and given human form...
And now terrifying revenant hulls without a speck of humanity in or around them?

Jesus christ
>>
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>>40811033
houshou is best mom of the fleet
>>
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Return to sender.
>>
>>40811017
...Bolo girls.

Yeah, I could definitely dig it.
>>
>>40811046
We're fucking riveted to our seats. Now shut up and listen.
>>
>>40811052
Mum boat a best.

The fact that she didn't appear in the command centre with the other CVs (meaning shes not here) makes me sad.
>>
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>>40811033
>(arch eyebrow)
>>
>>40811052
If it wasn't for Shokuhou or Arizona Maybe Hornet I wanted Houshou.
>>
>>40811033
>(action posting)
I really can't tell if you're new, or just dumb. Half the time your posts are garbled, so it's probably the latter.
>>
>>40811060
+1
>>40811051
>Iowa is off the table in the present because she's still there in LA. Watching, waiting, empty save for purpose.
>>
>>40810933

I live, I die, I live again.

You get the fucking idea. Also, pure oxygen and IV lines may cure a lot of things but god FUCK are they not fucking fun.
>>
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O7
>>
>>40811098

Every days a lovely day for you ain't it?
>>
>>40810959
Is that so? I see... then, Tatsuta-kun, we should keep him company so that he doesn't hurt himself. I would not want to lose such a fine student.

>>40810979
Oh, my, you caught my good side there. I'm flattered, thank you~

>>40811033
Ufufu, I was caught red-handed... I was attempting to teach your sister Tenryuu the difference between bravado and bravery, but my lesson got out of hand. It was a shame since Goto-teitoku went out of his way to help, too.
>>
>>40811104

You have no fuckin idea.
>>
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>>40811104
>>
>>40811090
dumb probably. reading the posts with that name makes me die a little inside.
>>
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>>40811109
Christ...
>>
>>40811099
Which ship eventually got the gun barrels?
>>
>>40811098
Calm your tits. IT'S are nothing and pure O2 is not gonna kill you unless your army.

Well, are you?
>>
>>40811051
A ship that needs no harbor, powered by the souls of her crew and the rage of generations past. Her and her sisters sorrow, the last of an extinct breed.

For half a century she protected us, and she will continue to protect us until her decks rot and her hull rusts. Until her mighty screws turn no more and the barrels of her rifles are stripped of their lining. Then and only then will she allow herself and her sisters to slip into the deep.
>>
>>40811052

She's got yakuza ties, don't fuck with her
>>
>>40811121
Ara, I became so engrossed in my memory of that prank that I completely forgot my identification. My apologies for horrifying you~
>>
>>40811124

I should be allowed to enjoy being fucking drunk. It's one of the few vices I get to have anymore and they're trying to take it the fuck away too. Always on duty the fattest, hairiest part of my fucking ass.
>>
>>40811124
No he's a marine. Which means that IV+O2 makes his system run too rich. Too much fuel, not enough engine to use it all.
>>
>>40811123
Pennsylvania, though some were installed as shore batteries http://www.fortwiki.com/Battery_Arizona
>>
>>40811113
Every day you're with me, it's a good one.
>>
Hey, you fuckers who are roleplaying poorly, cut that shit out right now. You're ruining this glorious thread.
>>
>>40811141

Why don't you take Harder out drinking?

You can write it off as an on duty expense.
>>
>>40811123
Went to the Coastal Battery "Arizona"
>>
>>40811139
>>40811150
Please stop sullying this beautiful thread
>>
>>40811147
Don't you mean it causes circular runs
>>
>>40811154
This. It is wholly unnecessary and benefits no one but yourself.
>>
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[spoiler[Roll Tide.[/spoiler]
I'm really a LSU fan
>>
>>40811150
No really stop posting. Shit is cringe worthy. And not in a good way.
>>
>>40809479
>BEGINNING OF BOOK II
So that's a thing, how many books are there?
>>
>>40811154
>>40811160
>>40811170
Anons, do you even know where you are at? This shit is normal for a planefag thread.
>>
>>40811176
bollocks.
>>
Contain the bullshit RP crap, were having a serious moment here.

It's not every day that one of the greatest ships ever built decides that shes going to break her moorings and blast some uppity ironclad back to the 1800's.
>>
>>40811185
You get the fuck out too
>>
>>40811185
Shut up fluff, you are an even more persistant problem.
>>
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The first thing you notice is the beeping. It's persistent, and steady, and rather annoying. There's a slight breeze and it feels chilly on your skin - you've been sweating?

Cranking your eyes open, you find a shadowed ceiling; the boring white squares typical to every office building everywhere. A vague memory swims through your mind of being amongst ships andsmokeandfire[/i] girls, shipgirls, the command room, the dim glow of the monitors...

... but there are none. Just a small, claustrophobic room. A white curtain hiding a sterile white-sheeted bed from the world. And something, some*one* breathing slowly and quietly, and why the hell is your hand tingling?

You groan with exertion as you force yourself up a little on one elbow - your head feels like it weighs a million goddamned tons. You try to raise your tingly hand, see what cut off the blood flow, but it's trapped by something soft and warm and firm -

- glancing down the bedspread, you find a shock of short red hair, mussed and frazzled by a long day underneath a tight hat; the rich red locks spread free across the white bedclothes. She's shed her jacket; and from the gentle, steady rise and fall of her slender torso you guess that she fell asleep while kneeling by your bedside and keeled right over to fall asleep in your lap. She's still got your hand clasped in both of hers, fingers entwined so tightly you can't recover it.
You fall back onto the pillow and sigh with relief, the memory - the nightmare - of LA still screaming through your head. The steady beeping is slowing in pace - you glance to the side and watch your heart-rate slowing in realtime as you adjust to Arizona's presence.

Thank god. Thank god for shipgirls.

>Let her sleep.
>Wake her up.
>>
>>40811185
And it's always shit, but we tolerate it, because there's a lot of commotion in these threads. Not so much now, because this is a substantially more engaging thread.
>>
>>40811210
>>Let her sleep.

Get out of bed. Put her in bed.

She needs her rest. Time for us to do our job.
>>
>>40811210
>loltags

too lazy to fix it sorry
>>
>>40811210
>>Let her sleep.
pet her head a little.
She's a good girl.
>>
>>40811210
>>Wake her up.
Can't move if she's got a grip on out hand.
>>
>>40811210
>Let her sleep.

She's been through a lot today, and we've got experience dealing with things being fucked up
>>
>>40811210
b-but what happened to Iowa?

Nice spoiler btw

Also, mega dawwwwwwww at Arizona
>>
>>40811210
If we can leg go of her/she can let go of us without waking up
>Let her sleep

Otherwise,
>wake her up
>>
>>40811210
>Wake her up.
>>
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>>40811210
>>Wake her up.

She needs to know we're ok
>>
>>40811210
>>Wake her up.

She's probably worried sick. We should let her know we're fine.
>>
>>40811210
>Let her sleep.
>>
>>40811210
>Let her sleep.
>>
>>40811210
>>Wake her up.
She obviously is worried about us. Not being there when we wake up is not a good idea.
>>
>>40811210
>Wake her up.
>>
>>40811210
>Let her sleep.
Think both of us deserve this for the moment
>>
>>40811210
>>Let her sleep.
>>
>>40811210
>Wake her up.
>>
>>40811210
>>Wake her up.
we're not getting our hand loose otherwise.
>>
>>40811185
I didn't have a pic for it until this thread. It was and always will be a nuisance, much like yourself.
>>
>>40811210
>>Let her sleep.
>>
>>40811210
>Let her sleep.
>>
>>40811210
>>Let her sleep.
>>
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>>40811236
>b-but what happened to Iowa?

Sorry, that's not my story to tell.

>innocent whistling
>>
>>40811210
>>Let her sleep.

but get to work.

put her to bed too.
>>
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>>40811185
>>
>>40811210
>Let her sleep.

>>40811226
lazy shit
>>
>>40811210

Let her sleep for a few minutes as you spend them to yourself, then wake her up with "I'm hungry, you want donuts?"
>>
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Wake her up, let her know that we're OK.

and ask her what she knows about Iowa
>>
>>40811210
>Wake her up.
>>
>>40811210
>>40811242
>Wake her up.
>>40811236
Now now, the planefag needs to keep some secrets so he can fuck them down our throats again like he just did now!
>>
>>40811210
>Wake her up.
Better to wake her now before we leave.
>>
>>40811210
>Wake her up.
She's got legitimate interest in knowing Settle's OK.
>>
>>40811210
>[x] Wake her up.
>>
>>40811210
>>Let her sleep.
>>
>>40811210
>>Wake her up.

Damn it, Arizona, why are you so adorable? Now I have to rewrite so much of the writefaggotry I promised to post today.
>>
>>40811210
>attempt to dislodge and hand hold in a way to not wake up minion. only wake up minion if it is the only way to restore blood flow.

>also, hand holding
>>
>>40811262

I ever mention how much I hate you somfuckingtimes?
>>
>>40811210
>Wake her up.
I think she'd want to know if we were okay ASAP.
>>
>>40811210
>>Wake her up.
>>
>Let her sleep.
>>
>>40811262
Was that shipslut Iowa, ship Iowa, or could Settle just not tell?
>>
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>>40811210
>Let her sleep.
>>
>>40811247

So let's not leave. Do we actually have anything on the immediate todo list that we can't handle via our Secretary, who we appointed for the express purpose of handling bullshit for us?
>>
>>40811210
>Wake her up
We can let her know we're alright before we pass out again. She won't have to worry as much when she next wakes up that way.

Also, thank her for trying to be more than what Iowa was, I guess. Not that we'd be able to actually say that properly.
>>
>>40811210
>Wake her up.
>>
>>40811210
>Let her sleep.
>>
>>40811210
>Wake her up.
>>
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>>40811262
>>
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>>40811294

Shh, we wouldn't want people figuring out who's really telling this story, would we?
>>
>>40811210
>>Wake her up
>>
>>40811210
>Wake her up.
>>
>>40811210
>>Let her sleep
>>
>>40811241
I know it's just the way the picture is scaled wrong but that booty tho.
>>
>>40811300
Something in between. Sounds like the machine spirit of Iowa simply woke up to protect that US.
>>
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>>40811210
>>Wake her up.
Woah this vote is contested.

Also planefag. That flashback was really fucking good. Be proud of that mah man.
>>
>>40811210
>>Wake her up.
>>
>>40811210
>Wake her up
>>
>>40811210
>>Wake her up.
>>
>>40811323
>1423092012980.jpg
Shipslut shitposting status: revoked
Hand over your badge
>>
>>40811300
>Was that shipslut Iowa, ship Iowa, or could Settle just not tell?

You'll find out right quick~

Calling vote for WAKE HER UP!
>>
>>40811210
>Wake her up.
RISE AND SHINE, MS. ARIZONA.

RISE,
AND SHINE
>>
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>This entire thread
>>
>>40811176
War Damn Eagle, good sir, and may you team(s) find success in sports this year.

Iron Bowl is best Bowl.
>>
48 votes, Jesus Christ.
>>
>>40811351
>You'll find out right quick~

inb4 Iowas been docked right there the entire fucking time, crewed by a bunch of scared teenagers who don't know if shes going to take off and do her own thing again
>>
>>40811351
>You'll find out right quick~
Good 'nuff.
>>
>>40811372
73 IPs and the fact EVERYONE was waiting for the next update on the edge of their seats.
>>
>>40811351
Damn, why are we waking her up. To tell her we're okay?
>>
>>40811351
Alrighty then.
>>
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>Wake her up
>Buy her a box of donuts
>Take her to the R&D nerds
>Bribe her with the box of donuts to try out their new active battleship armor and belts.
>>
>>40811397
Yes.
>>
So. Why doesn't planefag do stuff like the big story dump more often? he's awesome at it.
>>
>>40811392
I know, I know. I was right there with you!
>>40811397
Look, she was worried about us enough that she slept by our side for... however long it was. Waking her up is the best choice for that reason. She needs to know that we're okay.
>>
>>40811397
Basically. She can go back to sleep afterward if she wants. We're hardly going anywhere in the near future.
>>
>>40811397
Yeah, she'd want that.

>>40811407
Well it wouldn't be quest anymore. I also think that flashback took a lot of time and editing.
>>
>>40811407
Because this most likely took like a week(s) to write?
>>
>>40811407
Takes time to set up.
>>
>>40811407
These take a long time to write and have low player agency.
>>
This might be the best thread of all time.

Planefag, consider editing some of this shit down a little and turning the entire quest into a book.
>>
>>40811410

We need to get up though.

The Carrier strike force is probably already underway. We need to get to the Command Centre.
>>
>>40811407
Probably because he wrote all of that in advance over a week or so, and because our input is a good third of the fun in most cases.

Plus it makes it all the more impactful when this kinda thing does happen
>>
>>40811046
Everyone was too busy F5ing while being in shock from the sheer amount of horror, drama, and awesome.
>>
>>40811392
It's a lot, but I've seen more before.
>>40811407
He's been working on this for some time.
>>
>>40811407
I think this was what Ghostdivision said he was helping Planefag with yesterday.
>>
>>40811428
So we wake up Arizona and have her help us there. Having us not be there when she wakes up after she was so worried about us would be a terrible thing.
>>
>>40811402
Cute, though her hair feels a bit too wavy and that jaw is WEAK
>>
>>40811402
Draw shokaku
>>
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With your free hand you brush some of Arizona's rubescent locks away from her face. Her delicate cheeks are still tear-stained; but her features are blissfully relaxed in slumber; none of the resolute eyes and stiff jaw she usually faces the world with. You want to let her sleep - god knows she deserves it, standing vigil by your bedside like this - but you imagine her waking up to find you asleep again and not knowing anything happened. You imagine her being led away, reluctantly, by Hornet, or Naka, or someone else, only to come rushing back feeling guilty when you wake ten minutes later as she's finally getting something to eat.

And maybe, just maybe you don't want to be alone in this cold, sterile hospital room with your memories nipping at your heels.

“Arizona?” you say softly, shaking her hand, then tapping it on her head. “Arizona!”

She murmurs and stirs, then pulls your hand back in, clutching it close like a safety blanket.

“WAKE UP, KID!” you exclaim, a surge of desperation racing through your veins. You purse your lips and try to emulate the whee-oooh of a boatswain's whistle, the first part of a traditional call to general quarters. That alarm is enough to bring any sailor from dead asleep to wide awake and screaming within seconds; and Arizona is hardly an exception - she jerks and starts instantly, blinking blearily and looking around for the problem.

“Arizona!”

She gasps as her eyes clear with recognition - and then she's in your arms, burying her sobs in your chest, arms wrapped tightly 'round your middle. You stroke her hair with one hand, falling back onto your pillow and sighing with relief.

Arizona understands, you think. Memories.

Fucking memories.
>>
>>40811402
I thought Arizona was supposed to look a bit...older? I dunno, I can't draw to save my life
>>
>>40811419

You have no idea how right you are. That thing's been cooking a long while, hahaha!
>>
>>40811457
>been cooking a long while
Like the Cutter's crew
>>
>>40811467
No, they cooked very briefly.
>>
Shokaku is the one true waifu but why does Arizona have to be so fucking adorable.
>>
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>>40811457
well it was fucking worth it
>>
>>40811451
o-oh

goddammit, my heart cant take this
>>
>>40811483
Too long even then. They didn't come out right afterward.
>>
>>40811483
They demonstrated a rare level of bravery.
>>
So. You want to know what the fuck happened in LA, huh? The whole nine, everything I committed to the record that's now so classified I'm not even allowed to fucking look at it?

You want to know where me and the skipper got our scars?

I can't tell you the skipper's end of it, you get that right? I wasn't aboard the Higgins for her fight. I can tell you what I saw, but keep in mind I spent most of the skipper's fight, the real fight, aboard a RIG shooting at fifty plus knots through four and five foot seas. I didn't get to see much, is what I'm fucking saying here.

But fine. I'm in a talkative mood. Go get the rum from the cabinet over there and grab a seat. It's a bit of a fucking story.

Normally, I wouldn't tell anyone this, but I'll make an exception for you. Pour me a shot of that.

Captain Settle had- what do you mean what the fuck do I mean Captain. Of fucking course he was still a captain back then, what, you fucking think they just park one-stars on busted-ass flight I Arleigh Burkes? Please. Now stop interrupting and fucking listen, I'm not going to repeat myself.
>>
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>>40811451
>Arizona understands, you think. Memories.

>Fucking memories.
>>
Oh boy, another perspective
>>
>>40811498
If any survived, I would tell them "Well done!".
>>
I suppose I owe those stupid greenpeace fuckers a little bit. They really didn't fucking like the depleted uranium long-rod perpetrators in the new LRASMs the Higgins had loaded. The stupid fucks had caused nothing but problems up to that point, chaining themselves across the gates of the base, trying to fucking 'infiltrate' the post to spray-paint the Higgins, all kinds of retarded fucking shit. I had fun with the last one, hear the stupid asshole tried to drum up a court case against me and my team for 'brutality', dropped 'em when he heard he could be detained on terrorism charges.

The dipshits parked a fucking twenty foot launch there near the channel. I'm gonna fucking assume they were too busy getting an eco-boner or whatever the fuck they call it to actually read their charts. They were inside the channel, though they fucking argued that they weren't later. Not like anyone fucking cared later anyway. Captain Settle more-or-less ordered me to deploy the robotic interceptors. Not really my fucking job, shoulda fallen to the watch officer, but hey, I fucking get around. 'Sides, he and I had an understanding. Have an understanding. Whatever.

I loved those little fuckers. I suppose I shoulda seen it coming, ya know, that I'd get 'command' of those fuzzy little dipshits after I had as much experience as I did with the 'bots, but what the fuck you gonna do, you know?

Anyway, I'd have let 'em go, but then the faggots crossed a line. The chanting I can fucking stand, the banners, what the fuck ever, ya know? But then, then the fuckers decided to start blasting green day. Like I said, over the fucking line there. I mean, real fuckin talk right now? You leave me alone, I'll usually leave you the fuck alone. But there's some fucking shit I cannot abide, and that's one of those things. It's a fucking affront, ya know?
>>
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>>40811503
Oh SHIT
>>
>>40811513
It's not even planefag.
>>
>>40811503
Hey! Listen!
>>
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3meta5me

Is hornet the only one listening in? Or are the other CVs listening in as well?
>>
>>40811523
a fakefag is fine too
>>
>>40811523

100% CANON AND NETTLE APPROVED doot doot
>>
So after the skipper and I fucking had a laugh at the dipshit's expense while my interceptors damn near capsized their dumb asses, we got an unwelcome little shock when we caught sight of the queer-ass Arctic sunrise. I mean, for fucking real, who the fuck paints rainbows and shit all over their fucking shit? Who thinks that's a good idea?

Not that the retarded fuckers had been full of good ideas the last couple years. No one really knows what the fuck set them off, and it doesn't really fucking matter. Point is, they weren't exactly known for not doing completely retarded fucking shit whenever they got the chance, and doing something like harassing a US Navy destroyer would be right the fuck up their alley.

Anyway, it's not like she was bad news. The Arctic Sunrise was a forty year old icebreaker, one they'd used to piss off whalers and shit for years. The Russians impounded it after the eco-shitbags got a little big for their britches and tried to board an oil rig or something. She'd been impounded a little over a year, and when they got her back, they went right back to pissing everyone off with her.

Personally, I'd have loved if the captain had ordered us to fuckin man general quarters and put a LRASM or two into her. But I guess his fuckin answer was almost as fun. He ordered me to, and I'm fuckin paraphrasing here, board them and search them. Search them real good.

Sometimes, man, the dude speaks my language.
>>
>>40811528
>Hornet, D and Sammy all crowded around a slightly drunk Hate as he tells his tale.
>>
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>>40811515
>>40811498
>>40811496
>>40811483
>>40811467
All of you are terrible people!
>>
He and I had been up on a bridge wing when he gave me the order to 'board and search'. We both knew that that was bullshit, it was board and irritate the unholy living fuck out of. It was strongly fucking hinted that I probably ought to find something 'amiss' in their logs so I could call the coasties in, too, let them in on the fucking fun. We'd seen them out there lurking, that bigassed cutter they had standing out in the water of the bay, just inside the breakwater. Probably there just for something like that, it wasn't any secret the greenpeace shitlers were getting belligerently fucking stupid of late.

Got a death glare from the ship's exec when I had to cut back through the bridge. Dude was old navy, and I think didn't much fucking appreciate me. I ain't gonna shit talk the dead, but me and him didn't always get along.

I tapped the girl sitting there at some watch station or other to summon my VBSS team to the boat deck. Julie, her name was. Me and her had a thing. And yeah, it was MY fuckin VBSS team. The corps was just as short handed then as it is now, maybe even more shorthanded, and I had the training and combat experience, and after Ramadi, sticking me on a VBSS team on a burke headed into the pacific probably seemed like a great way to get me out of sight and keep me from causing problems. I've never been noted for having a great attitude.

Gimme a refill over here, wouldya? 'Preciate it.
>>
>>40811515

Well they were survived, alright.
>>
>>40811551
Only in that darkly comedic sort of way.
>>
Anywa- No. Had is the fuckin key word there. She bought her farm when the Higgins went in. Stop fuckin interrupting. And don't ask about Ramadi. You want to know, go fuckin look the shit up. They've written a couple books. I won't stop you.

We had a four man team. On the small side, but we weren't expected to really be doing a damn thing, and some cocksucker somewhere decided the Higgins needed a VBSS team for a deployment in the pacific. Don't fucking ask me, I don't fucking know. I had team lead, Bronski, a corporal, he was my #2 dude. Had his shit wired down tight. Probably still has, last I heard he was running the team. Besides me and him, there was Johnston and Garcia.

I met up with 'em on the boat deck, Bronski'd thought to bring my shit up with him. Shit like that was why he and I got along so fucking well, dude could fucking use his brain. He'd done some time in the sandbox too, but he was up north, not really part of the whole bag of shit that went down along the corridor. Garcia and Johnston were both new, they'd just been assigned to teams. Kind of a shit assignment, but hey, it's a good taste of what to expect, am I fucking right?

I gave them the skinny while I got my shit on. Simple shit, really, really, ass-simple shit that even Johnston grabbed onto pretty quickly. Go over there, make nuisances of ourselves. Check their log book, see if we couldn't find a reason to call the coasties in, let them have more fun. Ideally we could do this long enough to make it so the stupid shitbags couldn't fucking try and tail the Higgins.
>>
The four of us mount up, along with some rating coming along to drive the RIG. Who the fuck named it a RIG anyway? Sure it's a go-fast boat, and no, I'm not making that name up, it's a fucking thing. But really, it's a fucking rigid hulled inflatable boat, except it's got tweaked engines and it's streamlined as hell. But some fucking queer decided to call it a RIG because of reasons. Probably some jackass at the pentagon that drove fighters off a carrier or fucking something and thought it had to have a 'more badass' name. Whatever, doesn't fucking matter.

Point being, we were mounted up and on the way in less than five fucking minutes. I was still getting my IOTV seated just right when we hit the water and the rating gunned it. Fucker damn near sent me ass over elbows, I wasn't fucking ready for that.

So we go charging straight at the Arctic fag or whatever the fuck, while someone back on the Higgins tells them to stand by to receive us. Only reason I know that happened is because it's fucking supposed to.

So we come up alongside them and I'm pissed off because at this point I'm eyeballing the nice big helipad and wishing we were on something that actually carried choppers most of the time, not the Higgins, cos apparently, fucking, they designed her with a pad, but no fucking hangar. Fucking geniuses, am I right? Anyfuck, we pull alongside and they toss down a ladder, which, everything fucking considered, is pretty nice of them.

I go up second, just behind Garcia. He's talking with an older-looking dude with this gaggle of teens and young adults behind him. Fucking college kids, ya know? Look, here's a fucking tip. Want to change the world? Get fucking rich or go into fucking politics. Want to make a difference in somebody's life, go into public fucking service. Want to feel fucking good about yourself? Become a loudmouth hippie. Trust me, they don't do shit 'cept maybe piss some people off and then feel good about themselves. But this ain't about them.
>>
>>40811573
I know, I was laughing all the way, and I feel bad for it.
>>
I'll give them this, they're pretty well fucking drilled. Their captain handled the visit like an old pro, which, given what the fuck he was captain of, he probably was. Handled himself well, no screaming or hysterics or theatrics or anything.

Some of his 'crew' seemed to disagree, especially when I called up the log and started going over it from the fucking beginning. Funny thing about that, it takes time, especially on a forty year old fucking icebreaker. I could practically feel the captain's frustration while the Higgins glided past, all serene and shit, out into the sunset.

Something about that sunset bothered me, but I didn't fucking know what and squelched it.

It took me a fair few fucking minutes to find what I was after, but you always can. It depends on how much of an asshole you want to be, and given the green day earlier in the channel, I wasn't real inclined towards being nice. "Huh." I said to the captain. "Looks like some of your log isn't jiving with other parts."

"What?" He asked, sounding absolutely shocked.

"Right here." I said, pointing. "Bahrain, right around '08?"

"We were never in Bahrain." He shot back. "My logs are in perfect order."

I shrugged. "Looks like fucking Bahrain to me. Maybe Bermuda, I don't know. Handwriting in this thing is shit. I'm going to have to call over the coast guard and let them sort this out, I have a ship to catch." I said to him. He looked like he was about to blow his fucking stack, but ended up just sighing and deflating. I had Bronski get on the horn with coasties while I fired a report off to the skipper.

I'd just gotten off the horn with the skipper when it hit me.
>>
No, not the thing that gave me these scars. What did I say about interrupting? We'll get to that part anyway, now shut up.

You're a vet, right? Early part of the war, in the south pacific? You've seen combat, then. Maybe not my flavor of it, in the dust and the mud and the sand, but I can respect another vet. Hell, that's why I'm telling you this anyway. 'Cos, maybe, unlike everyone else who's ever wanted my side of it, maybe you'll understand. But you know the feeling when you fucking know when shit's going to pop off, you can fucking FEEL it, like every fucking cell of your body going to general fucking quarters? You probably do with your- Nevermind. Yeah, I know about them. Don't ask how, I'll tell you later. Anyway.

This time that fucking feeling of just sheer fucking WRONG slammed into me like a runaway fucking train. Like a goddamned dumpster full of bricks with a bunch of RATO bottles attached to it. Shit damn near staggered me. It was enough that everyone else felt it too. See, weather had been clear, was supposed to fucking stay clear. Nothing on anyone's radar for miles, the storms way out over the Pacific were losing steam, falling apart.

What? RATO. Rocket assisted take off. They designed it in the fifties or sixties I guess. I dunno, look it up.

But it was clear as motherfucking day, the squall line on the Arctic Bullshit's nav radar. The captain, the greenpeace captain, I mean, not Settle, had the sense to look at it. Fucking, sundown had come too quick, way, way too quick, and the moon was hidden behind clouds. We'd have had to boogie to make the Higgins at that point, if it was even fucking safe to try. None of us wanted to be on a fucking light craft in the middle of an open ocean squall. Honestly, at that point, we'd have probably headed back to the cutter coming alongside and tried to catch a ride on a helo or something. RIGs don't do well in storms, you know?
>>
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BOLLUCKS PF. Last Thread made me draw this. It honestly turned out bad but WTF here, 2 hrs of my soul sacrificed in the name of the glorious temple of Planefaggotry
>>
>>40811620
He knows.
>>
But it wasn't the fucking storm or the barometer in fucking freefall that got me. It wasn't the sudden wind or the light bullshit rain that started dusting the deck. It wasn't the fact that my fucking ears started popping with the pressure loss, like this was a fucking HALO or something. It was the fire in the motherfucking sky.

Don't look at me like that. It was blue-white fucking fire. Like goddamned... I don't even fucking know. Like lightning, but... rounder. Fucking, I don't know what to call it. Nobody else does either, so what the fuck ever. Not many people have seen it anyway, since the best anyone can fucking guess is it only happens when the bitches manifest for the first time from... where the fuck ever. Point being, the shit weirded me out bad, and I already had the mother of all fucking bad feelings playing hopscotch on my fucking spine.

I looked over at Bronski. "Get the skipper on the horn. Now." I said to him, not really daring to take my eyes off the fire in the sky. What the fuck was it, ya know?

He kept staring, but nodded, commandeering the Arctic deathtrap's radio to do it. The skipper, ours, I mean, fucking Settle, was a lot more blunt and to the point. He wanted us back aboard muy fucking pronto. Right the fuck now.

"Wave the fucking coasties off!" I shouted at Garcia- he was closest to the port side, where the cutter was coming alongside already, ready to 'visit, board, search, and seize'. Yeah, pissing off some ecobastards didn't seem so fucking important now. He didn't argue, just repeated my command down. Felt weird, telling a coast guard boat, one that had a skipper no doubt several ranks above me, to get the fuck out.
>>
>>40811624
Hideous lad.
>>
>>40811624

>bunny costume but no rabbit ear radar set

ONE JOB
>>
>>40811624
christ anon, never speak of that again
>>
I guess it was just a fucking sign about how bad shit was about to get that he did it without question, their VBSS team still on deck as the cutter, gods fucking keep her and everyone on her, punched it, her CODAG audible even over everything else as she went straight to flank. We heard her shit blaring as she went to general quarters.

It's fucking important here to note that that cutter, she wasn't a warship, not like the Higgins. She wasn't ever fucking meant to tangle with another surface combatant, her only weapons of note were a single automatic deck gun, a little fucking seventy six mike mike peashooter that wasn't enough to threaten anything except the occasional drug runner, and a pair of CWIS. That was fucking it.

The Higgins was coming about, we could fucking see her when the cutter put up a flare. Her turret, the one lone deck gun, was swiveling to engage-

And man, the shit it was about to engage. Black, old. The shit out of nightmares. I'd fucking know, I have my fair share.

What got me was how old we were talking. This fucking thing had broadsides. BROADSIDES for Christ’s sake! Her sides curved up into tall masts- fucking... halfway between a fucking wooden ship of the line and a modern girl, I guess. I've learned, since then, that she was probably in that weird transitional phase of iron hulled broadside battleships, the ones they had around the turn of the century, maybe a bit earlier. Shit that, by rights, shouldn't have been fucking sailing in out of a flash squall like that, and certainly not with her fucking guns run out like they were.

We all stood there for a fucking second, awestruck by the sight of this ship. She fucking leaked fucking bad juju like a goddamn sieve though, like when everybody cleared off the street before they hit us in the sandbox. Well, and like I just fucking said, the guns run out were a dead fucking giveaway.

Fucking... sorry. Wrong fucking story.
>>
Any more planefag tonight or do we get the joy of hate/torpedosluts/naka-chan?
>>
Point is, you could tell she wasn't there for a friendly fucking chat on old times just by looking at her.

She broke that fucking spell by firing. From where we were the flash of her broadside lighting up hit us before the sound of her cannon firing and the shells thundering overhead. They were on a long, low trajectory, probably out at the hairiest limit of their range, and that with a damn good fucking gun crew. Her fire was joined by the rest of her little flotilla, fucking, escorts and shit. Pretty small, eight fucking ships give or take, counting those fucking torpedo ships as proper ships and not escorts.

But if you fucking think about it, we didn't have but one- the Higgins. I mean, I know the cutter was there, shit, but she wasn't a warship. I already fucking told you that.

Those first shots, they hit the tank farm there near the mouth of the channel, sent the whole thing up. That was the one that kinda clued everyone in that this shit was for real, motherfuckers were shooting at them. The fireball it sent up looked like someone set off a baby nuke in there, couple million tons of fuel and shit all going up. I guess the fires it set off in there and elsewhere when the debris started coming down damn near overwhelmed the LAFD, and the ones inside the tank farm, those burned for weeks after the battle.

We were mounting up in the RIG when the Higgins started to hit back, her deck gun engaging that lead ship. Her deck gun was a five incher, one twenty seven mil, nothing big, but still a damn sight better than the popgun the cutter had.

It wasn't shit against that thing coming in from the Pacific. We could see the flash of the high-ex shell detonating against it's armor. See, funny fucking thing about ships, back in the day, they had fucking armor. Not the Kevlar-and-aluminum spall lining if you're lucky shit we have now, but honest to god armor plate, iron, later on steel, shit designed to take a beating and keep fighting.
>>
I guess you knew that though, huh? Yeah, sorry. Pour me another. Thanks.

Normally, this wouldn't have been shit, a bad joke, at best. Old ships like that, they don't have the range or the speed to really tangle with a modern ship, their armor's good, sure, but the rest of the ship doesn't have a fucking prayer. In tight like this though, they could have done some hurt, even if they were just fucking normal human crewed ships. Fact is, the Higgins was designed not to get hit in the first place, she'd traded her armor long ago for sensors, missiles, long range guns, and speed.

We dropped into the RIG and the rating looked about like he was ready to puke. No special warfare surface combatant whatever the fuck, this kid, just some rating from the Higgins. Shit, normally we say, ya know, he knew what the fuck he was getting into when he signed the papers, and sure, fucking, combat at sea, yeah. He knew he'd be getting into that when he enlisted, but against this? Against those things?

Fuck sake, man. I was having second thoughts, and back then I really didn't give much of a fuck.

Don't look at me like that, yes I mean back then. There are a bunch more things I give a fuck about now, I really didn't back then. I wasn't gonna pull the trigger on myself, but I wasn't real concerned with being able to make it outta the shit I got into. Yeah, it's a bad fucking quality in a guy who leads from the front, don't fucking tell me. I know.
>>
"What do we do?" This kid asked, and like I said, he didn't sound that great. Like he wanted to hide under a rock. Meanwhile, I was having visions of these things just chugging right up the channel, broadsides slinging all kinds of kill in both directions.

Yeah, I know. I'm a grumpy bastard. I've seen a lot of shit and don't give much of a fuck. But I'm still a fucking marine, it's still my fucking job to put myself between home and war's desolation or some such poetic shit from some dude I can't fucking remember. Point fucking being, if we didn't engage, a lotta people were gonna get real fucked up, and it didn't look like help was on the fucking way anytime fucking soon.

"Garcia, get on the forty" I responded to the kid- it was a good enough answer. Like fuck we weren't going to get ourselves stuck in. No idea how much good a mark nineteen would do, but fuck, it was something. And if we could sweep a deck, we could make a landing, and I didn't give a fuck about the ships, I knew we'd fuck up some old-timey sailing fags easy. We had the weapons, we had the training, we had the ammo, and we were ready to fucking rock.

All that aside, what other option did we have? We're marines, we weren't about to run, and even if we were- where would we have gone? That RIG wasn't suitable for the open ocean for long, especially not in a squall, and it's not like we had nav gear or supplies. If we'd headed back inland, yeah, maybe we'd have been able to get clear of their killzone, and maybe not. No way of knowing, no way to get out. For completely practical reasons, we had to fight.

Anyway, all we had to do was get aboard.
>>
Given the squall that was moving in, I didn't rate our chances real fucking high of pulling even that off. But fuck it, if we were going down, we were going down swinging, ya know? Fuck, couldn't let the navy or the coasties get all the attention any fucking way.

"Fucking punch it!" I yelled., and the rating did it. One thing I learned, fucking, an order, any order, is better than nothing, direction is better than fucking chaos. And if you jump out front, people are gonna follow.

I outlined my plan as our driver fucking redlined the engines and the RIG took off after the cutter. We weren't going to try and link back up with the Higgins. There was no fucking point to it, we were superfluous aboard the destroyer, fucking, a weapon unused. We were gonna try and board and knock out one of the trailing ships, one of the smaller ones.

This was not a good fucking plan. It was a good ten-fifteen thousand yard run, in a squall, across open water, in the middle of a gunfight between old ships of the line, a missile destroyer, and a coastguard cutter. And here we were, five swingin dicks in an open-hull inflatable with two fuckoff big motors and a pintle mounted forty mil up front, and we were gonna get stuck in?

Yeah, fucking sure.

But like I fucking said, any plan is better than nothing, and we had a plan. Shit, we hadn't even stopped to fucking consider all the shit I just told you. We were all like fuck yeah, we're gonna fuck these assholes up, show them what the fuck happens when you fuck with the US of fucking A!

I'll admit, it was kinda fucking stupid, now that I'm looking back on it. Don’t agree with that.
>>
So we're barreling across the water like a bareassed chimp with it's fucking hair on fire, going into the biggest shitstorm I'd seen since Ramadi. I was real glad for my haji rag. I'd picked it up in the sandbox, wore it all the time since then. It's fucking handy, you know? In this case it kept the fifty plus knot spray from sandblasting my fucking face.

We were scooting past the cutter and one of those brave sonsabitches came out on their bridge wing and fucking saluted. Johnston returned it, stood the fuck up on the RIG to do it. If we'da hit a wave wrong, he'da been thrown clear outta the damn thing and spent the battle ducking shells that missed.

To be fucking fair, it's not like that's not what he probably ended up doing any fucking way.

I think that was the second that it fucking hit me just how fucked we were if the Higgins couldn't do it. The crew of that cutter, they fucking knew, they fucking KNEW that we were fucked. They knew it, and that fucking salute was one group of dead men walking acknowledging another group of 'em.

We were still a couple thousand yards out when we heard a Tomahawk come roaring out of one of the Higgin's cans. We all watched the flare of it's rocket against the night- I think Garcia said a prayer.

I fucking remember feeling my gut drop through my boots when it hit high up on the stack. five fucking hundred pounds of HE, all of it wasted against fucking cloth and rope.

I'll give it to the skipper, he wasn't willing to call it fucking quits just yet. The deck gun started barking again, and this time they started doing damage. Not fucking much, mind, the Higgins was never designed for a gunfight like that.
>>
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>>40811707
>We were gonna try and board and knock out one of the trailing ships, one of the smaller ones.
>>
'Course, that's when they landed the first hit on her. Far up, on her prow. Round blew clean through the Higgins, exploded on the far side. I guess our badguys had expected to find armor on her. Good thing they hadn't, if she'd have been armored, that round would have detonated inside and done a lot more damage than just trashing the chain locker.

Shit started in real earnest then. The bitches started shifting to catch the Higgins in a pincer while she started punching back with her VLS cells. We were still too far the fuck away to do a damn thing, but we were closing in quick. I guess they didn't notice us.

As we closed in, we started being able to see, actually see, what the fuck we were fighting. Old ships, old, old ships. One of them looked like a fucking monitor. Yeah, THAT kind of monitor. One of the later-war models, this one had a pair of turrets, but it was still the cheese box on a raft bullshit the first one of her kind was.

Two cheese boxes. Whatever.

So the Higgins is stuck in a slugging match with a ship built to fucking win slugging matches against other ships built to do the same fucking thing, and she sure as fuck ain't. Mismatched to all hell. Still, she was slinging everything she had out at 'em, and we heard her CWIS engaging shit too- caught sight of a couple fireballs in the air. Guess they figured out how to shoot down incoming shells with it. Good on 'em.

Still, it didn't take a fucking genius off war to see the Higgins, for all her crazing around, was fucked. They had her in a pincer. We'd had to swing off wide of the main battlezone when one of the little ships, little pre-destroyer destroyers, took a fucking interest in us and started lobbing shells en mass our way. Say what you want about it, but getting real fucking dead right there wouldn't have done us a damn bit of good.
>>
We swing back in as the coasties engaged, using the cutter to screen us from those fucking destroyers. They got in tight and hard with that monitor and started kidney punching the bitch, her deck gun down at maximum depression. From that angle, in that close, even that little peashooter seventy six did damage. Not a lot, but at that point anything was better than something.

Problem was, the Higgins was taking hits. Had been taking hits. I don't know what the skipper was thinking, I don't know what he ordered. But you could feel the change in plans. All of a fucking sudden the Higgins looked like it said 'alright. I might be fucked but if I'm fucked I'm taking the biggest one of you cunts with me.'

She lined up and started barreling straight for the big one. Had to be a torpedo run, that's the only fucking thing I can think. Like the skipper was suddenly overcome by the spirits of Taffy fucking three or something. Her deck gun started firing Willie Pete all over-

What the fuck do you mean who's taffy three? I guess that was after you- yeah. Ok, fair enough. The battle off Samar. Last stand of the tin can sailors. Sammy B, that was her fight. You get her in the right mood, she might tell you about it sometime. Her and a couple of her sister ships, a handful of destroyers, and some escort carriers against one of the most powerful surface action groups ever put together. And they won.

What, you think we invented the bullshit last stand at LA? Fucking please. Hell, your fights in the south pacific taught us a couple things about being tenacious as fuck too. Never say die, right?

Problem fucking was, from where we were sitting, we could see those shitassed destroyers lining up in parallel to the Higgins. They'd been designed to do the exact same thing the skipper was trying, and if they pulled it at the same time, the skipper would have to break off, lose his chance, and by the looks of things, he didn't have many chances to take. Maybe just the one.
>>
Now I don't know if I've made it clear to you just how much I respect the crew of that fucking cutter. Ever last one of those fuckers was a fucking hero for the shit they pulled here. She was caught in the same bullshit situation we were, if you think about it. They were inside the bay when the traitor bitches manifested and hulled up, even if they'd wanted to, there was no way for them to get away. I guess they could have beached and made a run for it, but-

Well, I already told you what we thought of that idea.

She saw what was up, and broke off, using her guns to take those destroyers under fire.

Remember what I said earlier? about how that fucking popgun wasn't shit against a proper warship? Funny thing about those early fucking destroyers. They really weren't proper warships. Not like we think of today, not like the Higgins. Not even like Willie D. They were torpedo delivery systems, way light on armor and high on speed for their fucking day. Almost no guns to speak of, really, couple six pounders, something like that, and that's it.

Kinda a lot like a drug runner would be.

The coasties engaged the whole little swarm of them, seventy six blasting, guys out on deck with M14s and shit popping away. They threw everything they could at 'em.

Meantime, we'd shifted our targets- we wanted that fucking monitor. All we had to do was get in close.

We'd shifted like that because the monitor wasn't paying attention to us. No one was. Problem was, she was fucking paying attention to the cutter. I told you her name, right?

No? She was the Sherman. I mean, everyone knows it by now, she's damn near a shrine, but yeah. The Sherman.

That Monitor fired one broadside. Like, four fucking guns, ancient ones, civil-war era shit.
>>
>>40811698
>I knew we'd fuck up some old-timey sailing fags easy
haw, good man
>>
I think at that point her skipper knew how fucked he was. She was on fire, only offensive system gone, and locked in a fight that gave all the odds to the badguys. He had two options left, at that fucking point. Bug out, try and save what was left of his crew and his ship and leave the Higgins out there alone, or keep fucking swinging.

I don't know what was going on aboard that cutter. I don't know what was left of her crew, I don't know what kinda damage she'd taken in the fight, other than that one hit. I didn't know then, and right now, nobody else does either. That kinda ranks them right the fuck up there for what they did.

So the Sherman, on fucking fire, already at flank, heels over in a hard, hard turn and SLAMS right into the fucking torpedo ram, locking both ships together. You ever hear one of those bitches scream? I have. I did that night. I still do sometimes. Shit wakes me up.

Anyfuck, The Sherman slammed into that fucking ram and stopped her damn near dead in her tracks. Let the fire start spreading over her deck, while what crew could abandon ship were bailing off that cutter as fast as they could. Some of 'em went over the side on fire, or without life jackets. Maybe they knew what was coming.

Fast as you could fucking blink, the Higgins opens the fuck up. Captain must have ordered an alpha. Every cell she had opened up and it was like.

Shit I don't even know. It was like the wrath of god made fucking manifest.
>>
>>40811772
Uh, Hate, it's "CIWS", not "CWIS".
>>
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>>40811783
I need a drink.
>>
>>40811786
Hate is drunk. Cut him some slack.
>>
>>40811786
hes still technically drunk
>>
They hit like the wrath of fucking god, too. Any god, take your fucking pick. Pro fucking tip, those bitches explode when their magazines go up, just like you'd fucking think they do. The ram and the cutter went up like a fucking orgy of fire, damn near capsized us and we were a couple thousand yards away and shielded from the worst of it by the monitor. I felt a flash of pity for the poor fuckers that had just abandoned the cutter, that blast had to have killed some of them. One hundred sixty seven coasties on that ship. I think something like thirty survived.

There was a third scream as the first missiles hit. Pain and fear, I guess. The ram knew she was fucked when they started coming down. Even without the cutter locked against her hull, even with the dinky ass charge in those missiles, there was no surviving a hit like that. It got cut off midway through when they both went up, hurling flaming wreckage all over the damn place. Couple pieces of plate from one or other of the ships came down near enough they'd looked like they were going to hit us. Couple of them did hit the monitor, but she kept chugging on, her armor more than enough to handle a couple pieces of debris.

She'd turned inbound to the harbor. Shit, why not? The Higgins was screwed anyway, and if she engaged the harbor now, it reduced the chance another warship would show up to fight her, right? Made sense. We'd turned to intercept, but it'd take a couple minutes; we had to dodge some potshots from those fucking destroyers, first. She'd be inside the harbor by the time we reached her.

The Higgins was still plowing hell for leather at the big one, slewing to one side and letting her torpedoes go, just like in an old school straight-line torpedo run. They musta hit- that weird fucking screaming happened again, just like when the torpedo ram went up. The skipper started a turn to get his other tubes into play.
>>
And that's about the time three things happened. We got in range of the nineteen and Garcia opened up as the Monitor turned her turrets to engage us. At that point we were deeply fucking committed, and we knew we were fucked. We'd been chasing this thing back up into the bay the whole time after she hit the Sherman, she'd been firing on everything she could reach. The whole fight had been shifting back this way, and we'd been inside the breakwater for a minute. The captain's duel to the death was just outside the breakwater, and those torpedo destroyers were coming around for another go. Shit was bleak.

We got hit right as we got turned to heading to come up on the monitor. Shell hit in front of us, traveled below us, and went off. Blasted us right out of the fucking water. Garcia musta held onto the nineteen on the way back down, I could hear it thunking out rounds the entire time.

I didn't know it then, but that's when the Higgins took a shot to the bridge. That's the one that tuned Julie out. She was twenty four. Doesn't matter now, I know, but it hurt when I found out, ya know?

Yeah. Yeah, I'm sorry. I guess you do. My bust.

I got thrown up into the channel, must have cleared a good few hundred yards in the air. came down hard, knocked me silly. I only just barely held onto my rifle.

What do you mean I shoulda let go of it. Look, you ain't a fucking marine, you wouldn't fucking get it.
>>
>>40811786
>Not knowing about the Close Weapons In System
>>
So I'm in the channel, underwater, trying to re-orient my fucking self, when I feel this... SHAPE thundering past me like it's got rockets in it's ass. It felt like someone took a fucking mountain, said "You float now, motherfucker" and sent it on it's way down the channel. A piece of line it was trailing behind it hit one of my hands, I grabbed it by instinct.

Best decision I made all damn day. At least I thought so at that point.

So I'm in the water, running out of breath, being dragged who knows the fuck where by who knows the fuck what. So what does my dumb ass do? Let go of the line?

Noooooo! I start climbing!

Like a lot of shit I did that night, looking back on it, it's fucking stupid. There was no telling what it was. I mean, yeah, I knew it was going to be a fucking ship, and a big one at that, but odds were, it was just a freighter. I'd have had a better chance in the water.

So I climb up and the first thing I see when I break the water is this navy-grey hull towering up over me. That was a good sign. She was probably a warship, someone else moving to engage. Maybe the Higgins had a chance of making it out if one of her sister ships was joining in the fight. We knew these things could die, now. We had a shot.

Problem was that hull was fucking tall! Whatever she was, she was no petite little girl. At least a cruiser. I don't think I really realized till I actually flopped over on the deck and rolled under the chain.

We don't use wood decks anymore. Haven't in years. Actually, I think she might have been one of the last classes to really have a wood deck.

So I lay there for a second, head still swimming. I was concussed, disoriented, and I'd sucked in a good bit of salt water, but I was still breathing, and you know how it is. Even hurt, you know how to fight.
>>
>>40811786
but everyone pronounces it see-whiz anyway
>>
>>40811825
here we fucking go
>>
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>>40811811
>it hurt when I found out, ya know?
>Yeah. Yeah, I'm sorry. I guess you do
>>
So I managed to get to my feet. I'd been aboard long enough to learn that trailing lines like that is a real good way to get your props all fucked up and jammed. Part of me was sitting there wondering how damn fast they'd moved to get her fired up and untied from her mooring there. By now I'd figured out I was aboard Iowa. I just... hadn't really realized yet.

I pulled this mooring line up and- yeah.

She'd not been untied. She'd fucking snapped her lines.

I stood there for a second like a dumbass, staring at the end of this line all fucked up like it was. I mean, these things were high-test mooring lines, something like fifty, fifty five thousand pound test. These things should not just break. But here this fucking thing was, the end all fucked up, snapped through.

I- Look, ok. Iowa was a fucking museum ship. She'd had a turret explosion in her Y turret back in the eighties, they just sealed it up and never repaired it. Her guns were demilled, I'm not even sure there was still fuel oil in her bunkers. Part of me knew that, I mean, I fucking knew that, but I wasn't thinking about it for shit. All I guess I knew was I was on a battleship, arguably THE battleship, of the U.S. Navy and there was no way I was letting it, er, letting HER, fucking, sorry, go to war without at least one fighting man aboard. But right then, I was zoned out, just staring at this fucking line like what the fuck.

Not really sure what brought me back into it. Maybe it was something landing close by, a round from that fucking monitor, maybe. Maybe it was the sounds of the Iowa going into it. She wasn't a quiet, dainty little fucking girl. She was a battleship, the biggest, meanest, deadliest and sexiest surface combatant an American shipyard ever put out.
>>
>>40811825
>>40811837
oh.

...OH.
>>
Shit, come to that, maybe it was her, you know? I hadn't quite clued into that there as something weird about her yet- sure, her decks were empty, but there was no way she had anything other than the most skeleton of fucking crews aboard. I hadn't really thought of how they'd have gotten her steam up, or what they'd do with a whole lot of display ammo and demilled guns.

Hell, I hadn't even noticed that all those removed forty and twenty mil guns were back and swiveling out to the ready. Didn't see that her launch boxes were gone, or that all her five inch emplacements were still there. Too focused on where I knew I needed to be.

What's that? Oh. Out on the prow. She's got a pair of single mount twenty mil guns. Light AA stuff, good for shooting down planes and chasing small craft off. That's where I needed to be. I don't... I still don't really know how I knew that. I just did. She needed me out there, WANTED me out there. So that's where I went.

I didn't think about how all those guns were moving of their own accord, loading ammo from thin air. How I was the only person on deck. I suppose if I had, I might have stopped to think that I was aboard an uncrewed, old ship. You know. Just like the ones that had been tearing us up.

I'm really, really glad that wasn't the case.

I ran past the aft most starboard five inch turret on the way forward, noting the EGA there. By tradition, you know, the shipboard marines manned that position at general quarters. I would have, but fuck, it was just me. I'm good, but no way can I fill in for a whole gun crew, you know? Still, it hit me. Here was this pride of the navy going back to war... and all she had aboard was one lone marine lance corporal, an orphan kinda, without a unit anymore. Hell, it looked like I wouldn't even have a ship pretty soon, the Higgins, last I'd seen her, was in a bad way.
>>
>>40811837
I've been waiting for this literally since April
>>
So- yeah. It was just me and the Iowa, at that point. I'm not sure what was happening with the Higgins, and I've never asked the skipper. I've read the official reports, of course, that she was still fighting with her deck gun and the missiles she had left, but against that ironclad?

Forget it. No chance.

I made it to the prow twenty mil about the same time the Iowa cleared the channel. You ever see someone realize they're completely screwed? Like they've been picking on someone, and that someone's monster of a big sibling shows up and ruins them forever?

That's the impression I got from the Monitor when the Iowa swept out into the bay. She'd been out there, merrily putting cannon fire into everything in reach, freighters, tankers, warships still lashed to the pier, everything. The Iowa went charging into the bay like an avenging angel.

Assuming you allow for your avenging angels to weigh fifty seven thousand tons, have a foot thick armored belt, and nine of the most powerful guns ever mated to a warship. Her fore turrets, the big sixteen inch guns, were already swiveling to engage.

Remember what I said about the wrath of god, earlier? Gods love her, the Higgins had firepower. the VLS on her carried enough explosives to wreck a carrier's air wing, with plenty left over for her escorts or whatever else the skipper wanted to put missiles into. We'd used them for years, shooting cruise missiles into the desert, and even recently, loading those fucking LRASMs into her tubes to combat other surface ships.
>>
>>40811862
>That's where I needed to be. I don't... I still don't really know how I knew that. I just did. She needed me out there, WANTED me out there. So that's where I went.
More than slightly terrifying
>>
But that saying, it's just... fucking... Inadequate for the pure, unadulterated fucking wrath that nine sixteen inch, fifty caliber guns puts into a target. That close, she couldn't miss. Hell, her main battery was practically at maximum depression just to acquire the target, let alone fire on it.

One salvo. That's all it took, just one salvo that damn near blew out my eardrums. The monitor didn't even have time to scream, the shells just turned her to dinner plate sized chunks. Iowa swept past the debris field like that wasn't anything- she was just getting warmed up. I didn't look to close at the sinking wreck. I've seen bodies before, I don't care to look at them for fun, ya know?
She hauled ass out of the bay, already coming around to get her big guns broadside on to that Ironclad. With the monitor gone, and the torpedo ram claimed by the Sherman, it was just that big bitch and the Higgins still fighting.

Well, not fighting, not really. The Higgins had blown her load with the alpha strike, and with her cells empty, and even the little antisubmarine torpedoes gone, all she really had was the deck gun, and that wasn't worth a shit. But she was still swinging, there was still life in her, and I guess Iowa saw that when she came about. Me, I was watching those little fucking torpedo destroyers lining up out there just in the squall line. I knew what they were gonna do.

Problem was, Iowa knows she's hot shit. She knows how armored she is, how deadly and every ounce of how badass she is. She knows she's the best killer put afloat by man's hands, and doesn't give a shit about any lesser ships. Well, and she wanted to save the Higgins, I think. We'd bought her the time to figure herself out, to break away from her mooring and go back to war.
>>
Hate's waifu is Iowa.
>>
>>40811888
the machine spirit compels you
>>
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>>40811862
Keep going I'm almost there...
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>>40811888
>Hate got mind-controlled by a literal ghost ship
>>
>>40811862
>She's got a pair of single mount twenty mil guns. Light AA stuff, good for shooting down planes and chasing small craft off. That's where I needed to be. I don't... I still don't really know how I knew that. I just did. She needed me out there, WANTED me out there. So that's where I went.
That's one step shy of assuming direct control.
>>
>>40811862
>That's where I needed to be. I don't... I still don't really know how I knew that. I just did. She needed me out there, WANTED me out there. So that's where I went.

Damn son, That's a rather important point there.
>>
>>40811884
>>
Those little torpedo ships? In the scheme of things, yeah, they were a danger, a deadly one, but they didn't rate her concern right now. She had to break out into the open ocean and get that Ironclad, the one that was taking the Higgins apart with broadsides. She didn't have the time to handle a swarm of destroyers, no matter how easy her five inch battery could have done it.

And they knew it.

They started forming up for a hasty run way out, across her prow. You know what crossing the T is, right?

Well, it looked like they wanted to do that with torpedoes. They weren't that fast, but they were fast enough, and there were a bunch of the little bastards. Iowa's secondary battery, the twin mounted dual-purpose five inch guns, like Willie has, only ten of them on each side, didn't have good angles on that kind of attack, even with the piss poor range of old torps like that.

The twenty mil didn't have the reach, and Iowa's main guns weren't fast enough to track something like that. Instead, she sent six shells at the ironclad, still tangling with the Higgins. I was glad to see she was still in the fight, but gods, she was a fucking wreck. Even from as far out as we were, I could see she'd taken hits. Lots of bad ones. There was a fire and she was listing pretty bad. I was amazed she was still in it, to be fucking honest. Didn't know the skipper didn't have her anymore, and the CIC was calling the shots.

Didn't know Juile had bought her farm. Kinda glad I didn't learn about that until later. She'd have understood everything that happened down the road, I think, ya know, between me and Iowa.

Alls I saw was this Ironclad break away from the Higgins while the Iowa flung abuse at her, not caring about those damned little destroyers beyond a couple shells she sent their way. Range was too long for the twenty mil, and Iowa wasn't paying enough attention to the small fry to send more than a couple five inch rounds at them as they lined up and made their run.
>>
>>40811911
>>40811910
>>40811901
So I guess you could say Hate is the only one who's had Iowa inside him?
>>
>>40811900
You're lucky you can still hear after those shots.

Wasn't 16" gunfire supposed to be temporarily/permanently deafening to anyone not wearing ear protection within 50 feet of them?
>>
Each of them had, shit, I don't know. Three, four torps? They launched them in a spread that'd intersect on Iowa's bow and trash everything forward of her conning tower, I was damn sure of it. Seemed like there were a lot more fish in the water than just the fifteen or twenty that they should have been able to launch, but I guess that was just excitement making me miscount.

Iowa, like I said, just didn't seem give a shit. She was fixated on something else; Namely, saving the Higgins. She wanted the ironclad gone, dead or run off, as soon as possible. Every time her fore turrets spoke, it was like someone punched me in the chest, and my ears rung, peltors or no. If I hadn't had tinnitus already. She'd bracketed it with her first two salvos, one punching in just forward of it, the second falling just short.

I figured, you know, the hell with it. I'd stay where I was, that was my fucking job right then. That twenty mil and me, we were all that stood between Iowa and a few thousand pounds of explosive. I wasn't real eager to test her torpedo protection, and I'm sure she wasn't either. We got lucky that the idiots had ripple fired their fish, so they were coming at us in a nice, neat, diagonal line, their wakes bubbling white even in the storm. They'd just opened up on me with their own deck mounts, trying to get me off the gun. I guess we're all glad their fire control considered a one percent hit rate acceptable, cos most of their shit missed clean. A couple rounds hit Iowa, but her armor didn't even bother laughing at the hits. She'd been meant to take far, far worse than a couple six pound shells.
>>
>>40811901
It's pretty fucking obvious really.
Settle's face is going to fucking split open when Iowa comes back as a real ship girl and Hate fucking sputters like a schoolboy.
>>
>>40811917
>She'd have understood everything that happened down the road, I think, ya know, between me and Iowa.

umm

ummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
>>
>>40811922
The concussion from Yamato's main guns could knock men unconscious 50 meters from the muzzle.
>>
I was drawing bead on them just as Iowa heeled over hard on her rudder, slewing off to port. It wasn't an evasion attempt- not at all.

She'd suckered them in. She wanted them to commit to the run before she turned and they didn't have the maneuver room to get away. Her five inch guns opened up in a furious broadside, their rate of fire making their barrels glow red in the night. She busted her sustained ROF easy, you could almost hear the rain boiling away as it hit the guns.

Problem was, instead of taking a bad hit, now she was set up to take a lethal hit. It wasn't hard to see what she was planning on. She knew I was up there, and that my gun had a good sweep of the torps in the water. I think I talked to her then. Something like "Alright, that's how you want to play this, I got your back."

Pretty sure she heard me.

I engaged them as soon as it looked like they were in range of the twenty. I wasn't going to do any damage to the destroyers, and they were getting fucked up by Iowa's secondary turrets, two of them riddled and sinking, a third, the lead ship, eating a half dozen shells as I watched, her aft quarter getting chewed apart, her rear gun mount knocked out. She went up when a shell found her magazine.

I had to ignore them for the fish. Thank fuck there were old type, straight line running, slower than their modern counterparts. Bigger though. A lot fucking bigger. These had been meant to kill ships of the line. Ships like Iowa. Granted, it wasn't quite the heroic fucking target I'd wanted, but same as always, I'd do what I had to, you know?

Of fucking course you know. Sorry, that was stupid of me.
>>
>>40811922
Didn't South Dakota trash her seaplane with her 16?
>>
>>40811911
>>40811915
Well, not like she could just count on him assuming his duty station as part of her non-existent crew, so issuing orders telepathically was pretty much her only option.
>>
It took me a minute to learn how to bust the fish. You have to give them lead, yeah, but it's weird because your rounds get fucked up when they hit the water. Guess I should be glad the little fuckers weren't more advanced, couldn't run deeper. If there had been, I couldn't have done shit. Took me a bit to learn how to kill the torpedoes, how many shells, where to put 'em, that kind of thing.

Time I really, honestly, didn't fucking have.

Remember how I was out over the prow? The torps had been coming right for me, before she'd come about to get her guns on the destroyers. Now, they'd have been hitting in a staggered line all down her port side, but the last couple were still way, way too close to me. Fight or die, it really was that simple.

What do you mean I could have run? Maybe, maybe I could have gotten far enough back from the prow that when they hit I'd have been fine, but then what? Stand there with my thumb up my ass on a ship I just let take a crippling blow? Abandon her, let her face her fate alone while I swam back to shore like a coward? After she pulled me out of the water and was trying to save the Higgins?

Never gonna happen. Besides, I'd already told her I'd watch her back, and you never renege on a promise like that. Never. Better to die.
>>
>>40811921
The next time I get a chance to talk to her, I'll ask how she did that. That is new to me.
>>
The warheads those fish had wasn't the most stable, and the twenty mil shells I was shooting at 'em didn't help. I was racing against time to kill the last ones when Iowa dropped her guns on a straight shot into the Ironclad and cut loose. Six sixteen inch shells went screaming over my head while their blast punched me in the chest hard enough it felt like it cracked a few ribs.

Turns out it broke them and did some pretty severe internal damage too. S'allright, she and I are square on that. Besides. She wasn't trying to kill me, and all in all, I've been hurt worse.

It also knocked me off the gun for a second and blew out my eardrums. Yeah, got lucky I wasn't deaf forever after that one. I'd had to struggle to keep one hand on the grips. You're supposed to have a strap so you can lean way back into the gun, but do you think I'd had fucking time to get it on? shit, my M14 was still slung, I hadn't even blown off my IOTV when I'd hit the water.

Kinda glad I didn't, now that I think about it.

It took me a second to get enough air back into my lungs to get back on the gun. That fucking hurt. Shooting hurt more, sending recoil through my guts. I didn't know how badly fucked up I was, adrenaline is a hell of a drug, but the pain that made it through meant it was bad. Like I said, it wasn't the worst I've ever been hurt, I knew injury pretty well by that point. I figured if it hurt that bad, my insides were pulped, and I had a couple minutes at best.

What? Oh, yeah. I guess you wouldn't understand. It's kinda like a bomb sending shockwaves through your hull and damaging internal spaces. Sorta. Maybe you ougghta ask Wainright or Crab, assuming you can ever get Crab to, you know, act like a person and not a strung out arc welder with an angle grinder and a coke addiction.
>>
>>40811954
I'm not sure it's even as overt as telepathy, just, like. Like he said. It's where he was needed, so it's where he needed to be.
>>
did we just lose iowa before we even began
>>
Anyway, I didn't have any time left, those last couple fish were right on top of us. I got the second to last, then hit the last right as it hit Iowa.

I'm pretty sure it didn't actually hit her, but it was close. Close enough that it sent shrapnel up and into my ass, threw me off the gun. I bounced off one of the forty mil emplacements, ended up half in and half out of the tub. Probably lucky I only broke a couple more bones in it, and I figured the one punctured lung was a bonus.

After all, could have been both my fucking airbags, then I'd have been in real trouble.

I managed to flop myself back down into the actual tub, trying to get some protection for myself from the blast pressure of Iowa's main guns. I honestly don't know why it hadn't killed me, I still don't. By rights, it should have. I didn't see much after that, though I know she started slewing to starboard, bringing herself broadside onto something else coming in from the pacific. I know I heard her secondary mounts open up again, no idea on what though. Seemed like I laid there for a long, long time.

It was seven minutes, give or take. Maybe a hair less. Felt like I was bleeding from everywhere. I took a piece here, that's what gave me this scar, and a buncha little shit in along my jawline. Another piece went through my neck here, missed my carotid by about an nth of an inch. I'd have bled out if it'd nicked it, regardless of what she'd have wanted.

It's not lying to say I'd have died fucking happy. The sky had started to clear up as the pain crept up on me with the adrenaline wearing off. Everything fucking hurt, I won't lie. But the fucked up part was, I think I knew I was on the way out, and all I could think about was the sky. The stars were pretty blurry, but with the ship blacked out, there were just so damn many of them.

Not a bad way to make it to Valhalla. I was kinda fading in and out when she found me.
>>
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>>40811930
>>
I guess 'found' me isn't the right fucking term. I was on her, she knew exactly where her one marine was. She said she 'felt' me there while I was bleeding out. Blood, she said, was different from salt water. Felt different on her deck.

I only found out about that later, though, when I'd spent a day or two in her sickbay. Before that, I was wondering where this girl came from, why she was dressed like that, and what she was talking about. I had no idea what she was on about, blood feeling different than water on her deck. I guess you'd have known what she was fucking talking about better sooner than I did, huh?

Oh. Yeah. Fuck, sorry. Didn't mean it like that.
>>
So I'm swimming in and out of semi-consciousness when this goddess appears over me and starts crying and begging me not to die. She had to have been a Valkyrie, I'd decided. Had to be. They're the choosers of the slain, you know? Die in battle, go to Valhalla, escorted by one of Odin's handmaidens. That's the way it works. But I thought it weird that she had on that weird costume of hers, her hair was dark, not blonde like we've always seen, and she wasn't armored or anything. Just a girl, you know? One who was crying, at that.

Pretty weird behavior for a Valkyrie. Said she didn't want to lose her only friend. I thought that was weird- I'd never seen this girl before and I'm pretty the choosers of the slain don't have friends like that. I think I laughed. That fucking hurt pretty bad. Nobody ever said anything about getting a Valkyrie that didn't want you to die, you know?

So she asks if I can move. I didn't think so, but figured I'd try. Managed to get to my feet. That hurt worse than laughing did. She told me to lean on her on the way down to sick bay, and that I didn't look like any sailor she'd ever seen. I managed to snarl a response enough that she apologized and said I didn't look like any Marine she'd ever seen, either. I told her she didn't look like any Valkyrie I'd ever seen. Since when did they wear costumes based on old-time navy uniforms? Since never, that's since when. Short little blue skirt, thigh-highs with lace across the top, garter straps... yeah, no, didn't look like I expected a chooser of the slain to look.

She introduced herself, saying she wasn't choosing any of her 'crew' to die, and I blacked out. I blame my wounds. Guess she was stronger than she looked, she must have carried me.
>>
>>40811984
>"wharglbrfl... IOWA?"
>"Tonight, you.
>>
>>40811994
Sweet old Iowa
>>
>>40811981
>ot a bad way to make it to Valhalla. I was kinda fading in and out when she found me.
>>40811994
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Does anybody have that picture of Kongou on her own prow?
>>
I came to in a rack in her sickbay. She was still there with me, said she'd done the best she could with what she knew, but that she wasn't a doctor, and didn't remember first aid all that well, just what the park rangers had learned. Basic stuff, certainly not combat treatment of extensive internal injuries and the shrapnel wounds. But she'd made sure I wasn't going to bleed out, and had anchored off Terminal Island. She was broadcasting in Morse, old navy phonetic for injured on board, but it had been a day or two.

I wasn't surprised it'd been so long. LA must have taken a beating, and there had to have been plenty of people that'd seen her snap her mooring lines and go charging into the fucking bay like that. Probably no one wanted to get near her, even though if she'd have been on the other side, LA would have been wrecked by now. Fucking stupid, but that's how people were, I guess. Scared.

Heh. I say that like I fucking wasn't, but that first day, I kinda was, I won't fucking lie. Being a person, that was a new fucking thing for her, and all she had to help sort it out was a broken marine. It's amazing she didn't change sides on us then and there, ya know? Fuck, in her place I might have.
>>
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>>40811984
My body is ready planefag!
>>
She'd rigged me for an IV, even though the drip looked like she'd taken five or six tries to find a vein. Arm hurt like hell, I'll tell you that much. Course, everything else hurt a lot too. Didn't have much in the way of food, she said, just vending machine shit. I'd had some energy bars in my vest, we ended up splitting those. She didn't much care for them, but we were both pretty fucking hungry. What was weird, though, was that she never left the sickbay. Slept in a rack near mine, stayed up most of the day just talking to me. Occasionally, she'd bail to find us something to eat, but never for long. And never real successfully either. We got lucky that, when the shooting had started, she'd been able to 'convince' the civilians to get the fuck off, like, right the fuck now. Some of the tour guides had food locked up, it had survived her... transition, I guess we could call it. Yeah. We lived on their lunches and snacks and shit for a couple days. Two or three, I guess.

She and I talked a long, long time before help showed up in the form of a boarding team from Pendleton. They were scared, jumpy. Weren't expecting to find me there, I'll tell you that fucking much. Talked long enough to confirm I was who I said I was, let their doc come aboard and take a look at me. Turns out there was a full sized team standing by, waiting to come aboard to 'secure' the ship. Their CO had been in OCS when Ramadi went down, and had the good sense to fucking listen to me. She was on our side, wanted to be on our side, but... she wanted time. That was good enough for him. They pulled me off the ship and double timed it the fuck outta there. Left my rifle and vest in the sickbay. Faggots.
>>
>>40811922

>The first time the South Dakota’s main battery was tested with a full nine-gun broadside, the wave of blast pressure pushed through the passageway where Captain Thomas Gatch was standing, tearing his pants right off him. The vast power of the sixteen-inch guns required a perfect physical apparatus to ensure not only their working order but also the safety of the ship.

>Hornfischer, James D. (2011-01-25). Neptune's Inferno: The U.S. Navy at Guadalcanal (Kindle Locations 6458-6461). Random House Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.
>>
>>40811984
DO IT

I need flustered hate in my life.
>>
>>40812018
?
>>
By that point, fucking, the news was breaking this was all over the globe, ya know? You showed up a couple days later, while I was still in the hospital, being treated for everything. Glad you did, too. Looked dicey there for a while, fucking, we didn't have enough ships in the right places to defend our own coast, let alone assist our allies, you know?

What? Fucking, no, I won't tell you what we talked about about, that's a whole 'nother story, and besides, it's fucking private. If she decides to join us, ask her.

They never saw her. Er, I mean, they never fucking saw her body? I guess? It's hard to miss her hull, but they didn't see the girl I did. That make sense? Anyway, She stepped out when we heard the boots coming down the corridor, and didn't step back in. Wasn't quite ready to do this whole thing yet, and I agreed with her then. Still do now. We've got the luxury of time, we still have a navy worth a shit. The Japs don't, you know? It ain't like it used to be for them.

Don't give me that fucking look. I know how much everyone's waiting for her to show up, she does too. We both know how much she could do out here, just like I fucking said, she's the biggest, baddest warship ever put to sea. And she knows it too. But she ain't ready yet. She's going to take time to adjust, she never really dealt with... everything that you and your sisters did. Maybe some things you and your sisters never had to worry about too, if you catch my meaning.

Of course, we could try to call her out early. Shit, I probably could with a day and a visit to her hull. It's still there, you know, anchored off terminal island. Wouldn't be hard, really. But then there's the worry that we'd have an unstable Iowa running around here, and neither of us want that, do we? Besides. Till the army finishes reinstalling the fucking shore batteries and recommissioning all those fucking forts, she's the best LA has. Shit, she's all LA fucking has. Can't leave the port undefended, right?
>>
>>40812009
>Iowa curls her arms with Settle in one Smooth motion.

>Arizona quietly takes Settle's other arm and glares at her
>>
Iowa is the captain of Iowa and can control the entire fucking ship by herself.

This is fucking perfect, all of the museum girls coming back with their entire fucking ship.

Thank you Hate.
>>
Didn't think so. I mean, I don't think that shit's gonna be a problem. Iowa is a fucking warrior, just like the rest of us. She knows her duty. But that new body of hers, it throws her off, ya know? Being able to interact with people like this, it's new to her.

Right. Yeah, that was fucking stupid, sorry. Of course you know.

So, yeah. That was my battle of LA. a whole lot of doing nothing, then a whole lot of getting beat up by my own ship and shooting at some torpedoes. Nothing fucking heroic about it at all, I don't fucking care what they say about it. You want heroes, look at the crew of the Sherman, or the skipper. Me and Iowa just did our jobs. That's it.

Anyway, go ahead and finish off that bottle. Shit, take it with you. You've got that fucking look like you're about to go picking at wounds that don't need it, you'll fucking want it.
>>
>>40812047
No, literally standing on the prow
>>
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>>40812063
>>
>>40812054
>Iowa
>Settle
huh
>>
>>40812006
REEVALUATION
Nigga isn't going to stutter. He's going to just straight lock up. And Settle is going to grin so hard and fast that his head's going to just fucking pop off above the jaw line.
>>
>>40812054
>Iowa curls her arms with Settle in one Smooth motion.
You mean Hate right?
>>
>>40812082

"I didn't come to help them."

"I came to help you."
>>
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Jesus christ.

This fucking thread.

>>40812079
That's the one
>>
Why is a kancolle quest so damn engaging, fuck.
>>
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That was awesome.
>>
>Iowa protecting the coast as a ghost ship

w-will we be seeing the rest of our grand old ladies?
>>
helluva pair of threads. So many answered questions.
>>
>>40812080
>>40812086
>>40812054
Really now?
>>
>>40812080
>>40812086
Huh, Oh yeah, I meant Iowa and and batch of corgis.
>>
>>40812101
Because these shitty animes have got really cool underlying concepts when you strip away all the bullshit the japs saddle them with.
>>
>>40812101
Because despite all of QTG's impotent whining, Planefag is a *good* writer.
>>
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I BET THE AMERICANS REGRET BOMBING ALL THEIR OLD SHIT AT CROSSROADS NOW
>>
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>this entire thread
>that entire last thread

this shit is good

this is good shit
>>
>>40812056
U-2540 when?
>>
So who was Hate talking to?

Personally, I'm guessing Arizona.
>>
>>40812125
What is dead may never die, but rises again, harder and stronger!
>>
>>40812135
NASA I bet
>>
>>40812135
Hint: Check his first story post.
>>
>>40812135
Hornet. That's why she's in the first Hatepost.
>>
>>40812135
No, it was Harder you dip
>>
>>40812135
Hornet, go check his first post. Namely the picture and filename
>>
>>40812135

Hornet. It says so in the first damn pic.

Also, implying Arizona would be asking all those questions.
>>
Im surprised they haven't reactivated all the Iowa's after what happened at LA
>>
>>40812135
Iowa, duh.
>>
>>40812101
>>40812122
He is better than he thinks he is, and one day I hope to match him.
>>
>>40812135
Hornet
>>
>Left my rifle and vest in the sickbay. Faggots.
Cute, that means Iowa will have to bring them back to him.

>>40812135
It's Hornet, per the first picture. Sammy doesn't need an explanation for what Taffy 3 means and Arizona can't talk.
>>
>>40812151
Maybe they're e trying. And the Alabama and Massachusetts and the north Carolina and the Texas
>>
>>40812036
>Left my rifle and vest in the sickbay.
Alright, REREEEVALUATION.
He gets these back. That's what sets off The Statue & The Champagne Bottle impression duo.
>>
>>40812101
Because naval warfare is fascinating both historical and modern. It's got that kind of camaraderie and coordination that a tank crew has but a few orders of magnitude greater- it's not just small groups doing battle, it's veritable towns and cities waging war, with the largest weapons and the toughest defenses made by mad.

Add to that the human element, even without the weeb shit.

Add to that the human element of the weeb shit, that cocktail of innocents taken into being soldiers that planefag's refined to an art, mixed up with the ramifications of the premise.

Strike Witches said "what if fighter aces were girls who didn't wear pants?" and its answer was "fanservice"
SWQ's answer was "no, seriously, what if we did have magical child soldiers fighting in world war 2. What if indeed?"

Kancolle's a bit deeper than SW (not hard), but still the primary planefag special is sussing out the questions raised by an odd premise to their raw, emotional, and sometimes horrifying conclusions.


Also the faggot just writes good.
>>
Next big question:
NEXT SHIPSLUTS WHEN.

This is basically crack and planefag is my dealer.
>>
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Well holy shit, that was a fucking ride.
>>
>>40812151
protip

they're all sailing around to meet up at Pearl

You thought the Kongos were a problem, now you have four, bigger, faster more powerful and more experienced ships all of the same class, and all are still alive.
>>
>>40812179
*made by man, fuck.

Also jesus christ we blew past 500 posts
>>
>>40812125
The only big ships that sunk during those tests was Saratoga and Arkansas. Everyone else was used to research radiation and then sunk to be made into an artificial reef.
>>
>>40812199
AWWW KAN SAWWWW
>>
I wonder if we'll have more write ups?
>>
Didn't want to interrupt during the story dump, so late post incoming.

>>40811643
>It wasn't the fact that my fucking ears started popping with the pressure loss, like this was a fucking HALO or something.
Oh, Hate has experience with HALO jumps? That's reassuring, considering I have some questions which stemmed from this post here >>40806828
>>The area of the attack is only about a day's sail away, if they make twenty knots. The sooner you get them out there, the better. Every minute counts.

So here it is. Why bother with having the shipgrills sail out from port? Is it possible to load them into an aircraft alongside some troops experienced in tandem parachuting, then have them drop at the fringes of where the Abyssal Fleet might be?
>>
>>40812061
Gee, thanks, Hate. Now I have to rewrite PRETTY MUCH THE ENTIRE STORY that I promised to Anons two weeks ago.

...I'm going to write WAFF about you as revenge.

Anons, please help me out here. I need someone to be the Naka to Hate's Harder.
>>
and now you faggots have made me start listening to Amon amarth again. Good fucking job. I haven't listened to this band since Iraq.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f2cZlLrVP7E

good fucking band though.
>>
>>40812150
>>40812166
Arizona is pretty good at making herself understood even without a voice.

That said, I'm phone-posting and didn't enlarge the thumbnail in the first Hate storypost, so I didn’t see the filename. Now that I know to look, it is pretty obvious he's talking to Hornet. Feel kinda silly right now.
>>
So was this it for tonight? If so, I just want to say: Thank you, Planefag. That was amazing. I loved every moment of it.
>>
>>40812183
I really love how every Iowa was saved as a museum ship, shows how much they were respected and loved.
>>
>>40812225
The hell are you talking about.
>>
>>40812225
Iowa, duh. Did you even read the story?
>>
>>40812217
Well, summoning the outfits takes time and they're too heavy to haul when they're active
>>
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>Oklahoma comes back
>just as PTSD riddled as Arizona
>asks where her older sister is
>"We uh, we kinda blew her up, sorry"
>Okhs face when
>>
This whole thread has been fucking incredible, I have no words. Well done to all of you who edited and wrote two of the best short stories I've read in a long time.
>>
I'm still kind of lost what type of ship they were fighting, do we have a clear designation?
>>
>>40812235
And yet we didn't save the Big E.

The only remotely equivalent travesty is that the Brits didn't save Warspite.
>>
>>40812228
Hey Hate, do you know if thats it for the thread?
>>
>>40812228
Cheers, Hate.

>>40811451
And cheers, planefag. Made my whole fucking week, you guys did.
>>
>>40812199
>Salvage efforts were frustrated, and crews could not approach to re-board the vessels to stop flooding and study damage. The great water spray cannons of fireboats and tugs were turned on the target ships, in an attempt to `rinse' them clean, but to no avail. Unable to re-board her, the sailors were forced to watch sadly as the gallant Saratoga slowly settled from her wounds, and seven hours after the blast, she slipped under stern first on a near even keel. The great bow reared high the last to slip from sight at 1616. To starboard, the Nagato watched with silent foreboding.

Pretty depressing stuff.
>>
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>>40812266
Unfortunately, the Brits kinda, like, had no money whatsoever at that time.
>>
>Iowa is a MM

PF cribbing from Arpeggio or did he finally stop being a flaming faggot and read the mango?
>>
Are...are we done for tonight? I don't want it to be done yet :(
>>
>>40812265
Well planefag posted some accurate images of the big ironclad and one of the monitors, so
>>
>>40812265
An old Ironclad battleship, a twin turreted monitor, a torpedo ram, and a gaggle of pre-destroyers.
>>
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>>40812277
>>40812283
>Arpeggio of Blue Cosplay
>>
>>40812285
I would like to think that planefag got caught up in something again. I hope he will be back soon.
>>
>>40812235
It's not so much how they were respected and loved. It's more that they lasted long enough to get recommissioned in the 1980s, and thus only went into terminal reserve in the 1990s. They stuck around long enough to be caught in age that actually seeks to preserve their warships.
>>
>>40812246
>summoning the outfits takes time
Animu [REDACTED] seem to have adjusted easily enough after being towed while in a raft. Which really should've sunk, if you're gonna pull the tonnage card too.
>>
>>40812255
It's really not much different than getting scrapped.
>>
>>40812277
Preggio a shit
>>
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Planefag, I am blown away by the awesome of these threads today. If not for my work schedule (and lack thereof) I would happily be your secretary and fat weeaboo bride.

Don't ever beleve anyone who says you can't write good.
>>
>>40812265
At least one Monitor (An ironclad with turrets), an honest to god turn of the 20th century ironclad BB. Several 'torpedo boats' much like PT boats and two destroyers.
>>
>>40812181

Saturday! We will also have a new NAKA TIME ready to go then!
>>
>>40812238
Two weeks ago, I made a joking WAFF scenario with Settle and Arizona. I was told to "put your shitty writefagging on a pastebin, jesus christ". So I began to do so. And now I have to rewrite it all, ahaha.

>>40812240
I need more than one option to maximize the WAFF. I intend to give Hate diabetes.
>>
>>40812317
So we calling the thread?
>>
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>>40812309
Anon, they painted her BRIGHT RED and used her as THE target ship.
>>
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>>40812300
At least actual ships are involved.
>>
>>40812317
I'll be there!
>>
>>40812286
>>40812295
>>40812316

So BB-1? I mean we saw and destroyed BB-2 and 3
>>
>>40812318

The adventures of Big Brother Hate and little sisters Willie and Sammy
>>
>>40812308
I have literally no idea what you're talking about.
I'm just going off of what we saw from the carriers during the air raid.
>>
>>40812217
>So here it is. Why bother with having the shipgrills sail out from port? Is it possible to load them into an aircraft alongside some troops experienced in tandem parachuting, then have them drop at the fringes of where the Abyssal Fleet might be?

It is! In fact this was used before to move the girls to the general area of the sea north of Luzon for that first battle.

But this battle is only about 480 nautical miles South South-east from Yokosuka, so there's almost no point in arranging for a C-5... if the local airport can even handle that bitch.
>>
>>40812332
Nah don't think so.
>>
>>40812317
Planefar, so we have any designation on the Abyssal ships? Like what class or designation?
>>
So, are we all mentally prepared to have all four of the Iowa sisters join us?
I'm not.
>>
Do the shipgirls dump gash at sea?
>>
>>40812339
......oh. That's interesting.
>>40812347
google image search the pictures he posted.
>>
>>40812332
doubt it was Indiana
>>
>>40812351
Better question. I hate's body prepared for all four Iowa sisters to jump his pelvis.
>>
>>40812339
I can't imagine that the shipgrills displace the same weight as their real hulls, but how much do they actually weigh all kitted up?
>>
>>40812351
That's what we keep the Kongo Sisters around for, for helping the Iowa sisters.
>>
>>40812351
I think The Mo is gonna be the first to show up and join us. No way shes gonna let Arizona get hurt again on her watch.
>>
>>40811210
>Let her sleep.

She's had enough stress for one day. Let her rest.
>>
>>40812339
So you're saying we would totally have the chance to toss one of our shipsluts out of a plane if we ever have them sortie a long ways away?
>>
>>40812364
No, which is why he'll distract the ones who aren't Iowa with Corgis.
>>
>>40812317
Yay. Thanks, Planefag. Today was a heckuva ride, totally more than I expected.

>>40812336
>>The adventures of Big Brother Hate and little sisters Willie and Sammy
Thank you, that'll do just fine.
>>
>>40812318
>WAFF

The fuck is a WAFF scenario?
>>
>>40812380
...
>>
>>40812389
Warm And Fuzzy Feeling.
>>
>>40812389
waff = warm and fuzzy feelings. Muh Feels stuff, more or less.
>>
>>40812351
>>40812364

I bet all the Iowas will fawn over Hate because of how he saved their sister. Hates a real man, he can do four at once. They all have similar "dimensions", after all.

But Iowa and Hate will always have that special place;

the Presidential bathtub
>>
>>40812339
planefag, has the carrier force departed already?
>>
>>40812380
>literally hours late and a dollar short
>>
>>40812412

Aw hell naw. don't go puttin that shit on me. Don't you put that fucking evil on me!
>>
>>40812380
Damn man

Also, this thread was a fucking RIDE
Good on both PF and Hate
>>40812412
>Iowa making love inside of...Iowa
>>
>>40812423
You'll love it.
>>
>>40812423
Hate, that tub managed to fit a crippled Roosevelt comfortably.

I'm sure you could fit at least four in there.
>>
>>40812423
So does Iowa send you letters? She figured out email yet?
Or is she not keeping the human body thing going
>>
>>40812423
Don't worry Hate, they're all Vets, just like you.

I'm sure they know plenty of tricks
>>
>>40812423
Too late, Hate. You chose to ply this sea lane. You will reap a rich catch of American fast battleships. And you will like them when they offer themselves up to you as human sushi plates.
>>
>>40812277
>>40812277
>NOW WE MUST ESTABLISH OUR PREMISE
>THE COMBINED NAVAL MIGHT OF THE WORLD IS FUCKING USELESS AND GOT BTFO OVERNIGHT
>UH, BECAUSE, THE PLOT REQUIRES IT

More than anything, it's just... lazy. It lets the author sweep Reality right off the table and start with a clean slate where his special whatevers don't have to share elbow room with anyone or anything else. It's not having special whatevers that's bad, but the laziness implicit in doing that. There's *so much more* you can do without taking a huge chunk of the setting and tossing it in the damn bin. Tsk tsk.

>>40812286

Specifically, one ironclad ocean-going battleship (modeled on the French Redoubtable,) one dual-turreted Monitor (the picture anon posted as a guess is fairly representative of the type) and the torpedo boats were actually "torpedo destroyers," the forerunner of the ship that would later evolve into the proper destroyer; and the prototype concept of the torpedo boat itself (when diesel engines became a thing they'd prove much more successful:) https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/4/4c/HMS_Havock_%281893%29.jpg

The torpedo ram was, well, a torpedo ram: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Torpedo_ram

HMS Polyphemus and USS Intrepid are fairly representative of the type. Not many were built and they were never used in war before being scrapped ignominiously. They were destroyer-sized or bigger; built very low and armed with torpedoes plus a heavy underwater ram.

Story's done for tonight, but does anyone else have questions or whatnot?
>>
>>40812423
It hasn't even fucking begun yet, you nasty little jarhead.
Just you wait until, it started with Iowa and it'll end with you underneath a pile of four of the most powerful ships to ever sail the seas, bitch.
You'll get in that bathtub regardless of if you want to or not.
>>
>>40812425
>>40812421
>>40812391
Looks like this is what I get for reading the whole thread.
>>
>>40812481

Valhalla calls. They won't have me before the choosers of the slain find me!
>>
>>40812483
*not reading
>>
>>40812473
How many Iowa class ships can you fit in a Marine sized bunk at once?
>>
>>40812457
I kind of doubt that a 70-year old warship in the middle of the ocean gets Wi-Fi.
>>
>>40812423
Hateeee.

Are you sending mail to Iowa?

Her USN Mail address probably still works.

Send her post cards, 'wish you were here~'
>>
>>40812492
Too late Hate, you were already chosen.
>>
>>40812492
In before you charm all of the Valkyries, you sly devil dog, you.
>>
>>40812492
They already have you, Marine. You just haven't realized it yet.
>>
>>40812492
Sorry, but America has a goddamn embargo on Valhalla right now.
Looks like you best get ready for the storm, because it's not going to wait for you to -be- ready.
>>
>>40812502

No.

It's fine like it is.

This is why I didn't want to tell the story.
>>
>>40812492
Ahhh but Hate, Valhalla does offer bathtubs really big ones.
>>
>>40812473
But if an alien race came down to Earth with earth splitting beam cannons and impenetrable energy shields, how would humanity not get BTFO? Besides, only 40% of the world's navies got fried, they are smart not to use them until a countermeasure is found.
>>
>>40812473
Just so we're all on the same page here- the monitors and torpedo destroyers all seemed to be fully ships, right? Screaming aside?
And the battleship was mostly ship, except for when it was staring back?
>>
>>40812492
Not only will you have all four Iowas, but every fast battleship in the United States Navy will be trying to get a piece of you.
>>
>>40812473
>https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Torpedo_ram
Yes, can understand BB-2 and BB-3 due to their own people using them as target practice and I'm worried when we meet ships from operation crossroads.

However, what do these ships have a bone to pick with us, from what I can tell most of these ships were never really used in combat and most were properly disposed or sold off.
>>
>>40812473
hey planefag someone already archived the thread but its missing hates write in
>>
>>40812521
Save some fast battleships for Settle and Goto, anon-chan.
>>
>>40812423
Hey now, I'm going to take part of that you know sweetie.
>>
>>40812519
He's not saying that, given those assumptions, it's wrong.
He's just saying it's boring as fuck
>>
>>40812529
It refreshes automatically. Give it time.
>>
>>40812515
Fair enough.

Just know.

Shes gonna come.

And the first question shes gonna ask is:
"Why didn't you write to me?"
>>
>>40812515
You got down and jiggy with the biggest, heaviest and fastest super-dreadnought we ever built.

how quick was she
>>
>>40812500
>Ara ara~

>Are you sure you're OK with an old BB like me?
>>
>>40812492
We already picked you dear.
>>
>>40812539
No anon.
She'll ask him why he didn't buy a new rubber ducky for the bathtub.
>>
>>40812473
Goodnight, you glorious bastard
>>
>>40812497
>How many Iowa class ships can you fit in a Marine sized bunk at once?

How many Iowa-class? Four.

How many WITH Iowa? Depends on how tightly Iowa's tied up. She's possessive and doesn't like to share.

Also, now I really know why settings that begin with NUKE ALL OF THE X piss me off. I love sci-fi, and the essence of sci-fi is to change one thing - just one thing - and explore all the possible consequences of that change. And these settings, the first thing they do is take the one thing that would be the most dramatically impacted by that change and NUKE IT FROM ORBIT just to avoid all the hard work and interesting exploration involved so they can dive right into the waifus.

ARGH
>>
>Hate fucking Iowa is now canon

welp

WELP
>>
>>40812565
hate fucking Iowa
Kek.
>>40812562
>Also, now I really know why settings that begin with NUKE ALL OF THE X piss me off.
Nuke the whales?
>>
>>40812562
Iowa wouldn't even share with her precious sisters?
Well, I wonder if Arizona would be willing to share Settle with Missouri...
>>
>>40809479
Best. Thread. EVER!!!!

Also, imagine the Shitstorm that will develope if an Abyssal kills Hate and Iowa finds out.
>>
>>40812492
>>40812550
There is no escape from us, my dependable student~
>>
>>40812565
I mean, a Marine alone in a room with a girl for most of a week. What did you think would happen?
>>
>>40812565
Inb4 the doctors just thought the broken pelvis was from the shockwaves from the torpedos.

But we know better right?
>>
>>40812577
>Nuke the whales?
Whoa, whoa! This isn't Star Trek.
>>40812581
She might be willing to share Settle with Missouri.
>>
>>40812492
>Still pinning for Valhalla
Look how worked out last time dumbass. One "Valkyrie" not good enough for you dipshit?
>>
>>40812585
That Marine was pretty close to dead, though.
>>
>>40812585

To be fair, I was way fucked up, and took weeks of 24/7 medical care to get back to anything approaching decent. I'm still not back in shape yet, I lost a good hundred pounds on my squat. it's fucking bullshit. But it's kinda safe to assume we didn't do anything.
>>
>>40812526
>never really used in combat and most were properly disposed or sold off.
Nigga it's old accepted canon that shipsluts can hate that shit too.
>>
>>40812519
>But if an alien race came down to Earth with earth splitting beam cannons and impenetrable energy shields, how would humanity not get BTFO?

Good question. How did they not get BTFO?

Well, because apparently the aliens were content to stop at every shoreline across the world. Why? Because fuck you, that's why, sit down shut up and read about your boatsluts.

SEE? IT'S SHIT.
>>
>>40812582
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/W19_%28nuclear_artillery_shell%29
>>
>>40812562
>>40812562
This is why the War of the World approach always struck chords with me.

They are aliens

They are invading

Their tech is fucking amazing, but ours can still punch them in the dick when used properly

That.s why the 2005 one pissed me off so much, shields are such fucking bullshit plot devices. The bacteria killing them actually makes sense.
>>
>>40812526
>However, what do these ships have a bone to pick with us, from what I can tell most of these ships were never really used in combat and most were properly disposed or sold off.

Gee

>built to fuck people up
>never ever fire a weapon in anger
>blown up as a target and discarded

THAT, DETECTIVE, IS THE RIGHT QUESTION
>>
>>40812596
Still Hate x Iowa Tho
>>
>>40812607
hey if you had read the manga the humans are keeping their navy in reserve and the japs developed super-subs to sneak through them

just sayin
>>
>>40812616
Fo sho, but they didn't do the deed. YET
>>
>>40812623
>but it isn't shit we all promise

I've heard this a lot but I just don't care
>>
>>40812562
>She's possessive and doesn't like to share.
That is a problem.

I don't mind sharing with Iowa Not like I could stop her or anything I just don't want for her to keep my beloved all to herself.
>>
>>40812585
They'd hold hands tightly like Arizona and Settle did at the end of this run.
>>
Hate and Iowa probably just fooled around a little.

Iowas bust is classified anyways, and I doubt that she'd let a marine view "sensitive information"
>>
>>40812623
yeah but sill why doesn't the fog just bombard anything in gun range that's a pretty big plot hole tho
>>
>>40812628
Naw, it's still shit and I agree with you - the author wanted to gimp the surface navies on purpose so that the MC's crew and the JSDF's subs would have the chance to sneeki breeki.

Initially, at least, things have changed.
>>
>>40812634
Would you please just fucking stop already Jesus Christ.
>>
>>40812641

Lots of handholding.
>>
>>40812645
muh admiralty code

¯\_(ツ)_/¯
>>
>>40812636
Oh my! Katori-san, I never thought that you would have such a dirty mind.
>>
>>40812654
>Would you please just fucking stop already Jesus Christ.

you heard him stop having fun

this is a very serious thread about ships who turn into girls
>>
Hate can't handle the banter.
>>
>>40812641
He's her one and only crew, they bled and fought together. She'll show him anything eventually.

They just held hands when he was hurt and talked and talked...
>>
>>40812645
Because their directives are to keep humanity landlocked, nothing more. If they really wanted to, they could easily wipe out the entire military of the world, but that would go against their mission.
>>
>>40812673
I shoulda just stayed drunk.
>>
>>40812664
Oh yes, we must be quite serious about this planefag-sama.
>>
>>40812664
Don't you start with me, you shitposting greek bastard.
I can only take so much of that awful shipposting before it becomes too much for even my autism to withstand.
>>
>>40812673
Maybe the realization is just sinking in.

>Saved by a valkyrie
>Iowa and Hate have been inside each other
>Hate left his stuff in her house
>Hate carries a bit of Iowa everywhere he goes in his ribs.

There is no escape.
>>
>>40812664

So are all of the museum ship girls essentially haunted now? Is their visage walking the corridors, and scaring park rangers who want to get a good look at their rear quarters to death?
>>
>>40812664
>encouraging shitposting
m8 I know you're insecure about how good you are at writing but you really, you don't need them
>>
>>40812684
So, she basically wants a solid, long-term relationship. Given her history, that makes sense.
>>
>>40812615
>THAT, DETECTIVE, IS THE RIGHT QUESTION

A fucking I, Robot reference? I don't know how I feel about this.
>>
>>40812688
Hate, do you remember when we talked about shipping and waifu's and shit before?

You're now officially shipped, Iowa is your waifu and anon will never let it go. Just so you know.
>>
>>40812694
>haunted now?
>implying they weren't already spoopy as fuck.
>>
>>40812690

hehehehehehheeeeee
>>
>>40812664
Planefag pls. It's painful to read.
>>
>>40812694
>So are all of the museum ship girls essentially haunted now? Is their visage walking the corridors, and scaring park rangers who want to get a good look at their rear quarters to death?

As a direct result of the Iowa Incident, every museum ship is closed - even the fucking ore freighter museum in Michigan. Everyone's terrified of what would happen if one was woken up and it wasn't friendly.
>>
So Iowa had enough of being a museum, when will the other super battleship get tired of being a hotel?
>>
>>40812687
that's the point the only thing in the series stopping them from destroying humanity is the asspull known as the "Admiralty code" when your reason is so flimsy it can be replaced with space fairy's you have a problem in your story
>>
>>40812710
Yamato is Goto's secretary ship.
>>
>>40812698

I just want everyone to take it easy and have fun. I don't like dictating what entails fun.
>>
>>40812710
She's Goto's secretary.
>>
>>40812699
Seeing as how, "she needs time" and Hate lost his flame Julie on the Higgins, they probably both need time. It's also likely why Hate hasn't actually gone after a ship girl, Iowa and him bonded. She fucking SAVED HIS LIFE. He's probably got it bad and is doing the standard, "Gruff faced, hard fighting, pussy chasing marine."

Except it's just like Settle and Arizona. Fuck Memories, except theirs are shared.
>>
>>40812706
His thread, his opinion is the only one that matters.
>>
>>40812707
>museum ships all over the country crewed only by themselves, waiting for the order to set sail
>waiting...
>waiting......

Get some damn people in their to talk to those girls. Fuck, the last thing we want is them thinking that we forgot about them.
>>
>>40812717
Yeah but...-those- two are really shit.
>>
So planefag, when the war's over, who would play Settle in the inevitable movie adaptation?
Who would play Arizona?
Or would they pull an Audie Murphy and play themselves?
>>
>>40811888
>>40811954
>Was made 'part of the crew'
>Took injuries that should have killed him and stayed in the fight until the battle was done.

I don't think it was Adrenaline.
>>
>>40812717
fair enough, I just hate it when kids are talking over a nice movie with barely-relevant idiocy
>>
>>40812717
It's taking away from my fun that they're doing it here. Mostly because it's bad.
>>
>>40812734
PART OF THE SHIP!
PART OF THE CREW!
Where's Davy Jones when you need him
>>
>>40812733
the movie directed by Micheal Bay
>>
>>40812725

Fuck off, shrink. I didn't need your kind after Ramadi, I don't need you now.
>>
>>40812692
>>Hate carries a bit of Iowa everywhere he goes in his ribs.

Hate is a KC Muhreen equivalent of Fronk?!

Oh, gods. He's museum ship-girl catnip! We need to lock him down! Before he charms every single one of them by accident! It's for the good of the world!
>>
>>40812728
This is standard United States operating procedure, Anon.
>Is it Dangerous?
>Dance around the problem until it fixes itself or something magical happens.
Or blow it up, but that isn't the proper course of action in this particular case.
>>
so are we done tonight? I was preoccupied with unfucking something
>>
>>40812755
pretty much.
>>
>>40812755
Yup
>>
>>40812746
Remember kids, the ones who say they don't need the shrink are the ones who -really- need the shrink.
>>
>>40812746
So, I'm right.

At least partially, seeing as how I'm not even a fucking shrink, just a headcase who knows how they talk to and about headcases.
>>
>>40812729
I am tired of you bitching about others. I swear YOU are making more shit then they are. seriously, you're disturbing my calm.
>>
>>40812733
Admiral Settle as played by Kevin Spacey
>>
>>40812717
Speaking of fun and namefagging, you heard anything from Navyfag on your end, planefag?
This thread could've been even better with him in it.
>>
>>40812766
>you're disturbing my calm.
Really? Realllllly?
>>
>>40812753
North Carolinas gonna get tired of being a showboat eventually, and start asking questions about where Washington is....
>>
>>40812746
>You might be mad
>FUCK YOU I'M NOT MAD
You mad.
>>
>>40812766
There's a pretty high bar to reach the 'complaining is worse than the problem' threshold, and we're not there yet
>>
>>40812774
>Washington is one of two US BB's to directly engage an enemy BB
>actually sinks her target one on one
>gets scrapped

we have a funny way of doing things here in the states
>>
>>40812746
Look buddy, if you're going to be capital THE battleship's bed warmer we need you in good mental health. It's for the greater good you understand.
>>
>>40812797
Yep, it's just too bad she didn't kill more the Kongou sisters instead of just glasses. But hey, being a member of Enterprise's goon squad has it's perks when it means sinking Japs.
>>
>>40812820

good fucking luck. You know how many times I've been recommended for a section?
>>
>>40812797
I wonder if Kirishima regrets not being able to have a rematch with Washington?
>>
>>40812729
Just hide by name. It's not like they contribute anything whatsoever to the thread, unlike the Hate-poster, nettle-trip, or Navyfag. There's nothing to lose.
>>
>>40812842
When Iowa fucking walks up to the admiralty and politely asks for you to be assigned to her/be assigned to where you are, they're going to fucking do it.
>>
>>40812848
Unless she upgraded those peashooters of hers, Kirishima is going to get her guts blown out even faster the second time.
>>
>>40812842
What if one of "Odin's handmaidens" asked you nicely? A "Valkyrie" gives you the puppy dog look? You secretly like cute dogs if I remember right.
>>
>>40812856
>Hate gets reassigned as Iowas fuckboy

hey BB
>>
>>40812900
10/10
>>
>>40812900
Hell she probably would just like him there, being as how he's her only friend in the world etc. etc. Sex would be far down the line.
>>
>>40812897

The fuck are you talking about? She's not a Valkyrie. I thought she was because I was concussed, bleeding to death, and completely physically exhausted.

Of course I'd do what she asked, she's the only person I've got left that I've been in combat with. Everyone else bought it. I'm just calling out >>40812820 and saying there's no damn way anyone in their right fucking mind is going to ever consider me as being in my right fucking mind.
>>
>>40812937
I'm pretty sure I laid the air quotes on pretty fucking thick son, not quite sure how you missed them. Oh well, they do say love is blind. and you've got it fuckin bad.
>>
>>40812931
A Marine and a woman can't just "be together as friends" for very long anon.

The Marine is a very simple creature, with very basic animal needs.

Iowa provides it all, food, shelter, and a mate
>>
>>40812615
Oklahoma is so going to be an Abyssal then.
>>
Wait wait wait.

Does that mean assigning Hate to the Corgis might have been intentional and a form of therapy for the crazy marine?

Go ahead Hate, pet the corgi, you know you want to.
>>
>>40812733

I don't know actors nearly well enough to tell you

but it would be directed by Michael Bay
>>
>>40812962
Iowa is Hate's only surviving combat buddy, saved his life and is the physical manifestation of the most powerful surface combatant ever created.

I don't think Hate's going to be pushing to have sex at all, much less if she doesn't want to.
>>
>>40812968
Okh sank herself before she could be scrapped though. She didn't want to end up like one of those...THINGS

there's still hope for her
>>
>>40812986
Would it have a soundtrack by James Horner?
RIP
>>
>>40812986
Why not duo-directoring with JJ Abrams for maximum scenery porn and lens flares?
>>
>>40812744
So Hate is part Fae
now?
>>
>>40812989
>I don't think hes going to be pushing to have sex

for fucks sake anon, HES A MARINE ITS WHAT THEY DO

you might as well say he should stop breathing, or shooting things
>>
>>40812989
>I don't think Hate's going to be pushing to have sex at all
Nobody else really does either mang. Hate's going to be too busy twiddling his fingers and avoiding eye contact.
>>
>>40813003
just a few tiny bits, around his ribs.
>>
>>40813007
People who don't actually use their brains to think, a-la >>40813006
this dude do.

But I agree with you.
>>
>>40812992
>Oklahoma comes back part abyssal
>we detain her when shes spotted between pearl and Cali, sailing around aimlessly
>navy wants to sink her immediately
>give the kid a chance
>learn more about Abyssals in the process

the perfect crime
>>
>>40812984

Hate still doesn't know of the photo.

Obviously,

we need to mail the photo to Iowa.
>>
>>40813003

What? fucking no. Don't fucking forget, as soon as we were off Iowa, they had me on a medivac bird to an inland trauma center. I've had just about every medical test known to fucking man done on me. I'm not one of them.
>>