After much thought, consideration and countless hours reading the stories of others, I have decided to throw my Admirals hat into the Kancolle fic ring, so to speak. I hope you enjoy! Here's a little run down of my formatting.
Italics represent ship names or emphasis.
Bold text is the setting.
'Inner dialogue'
Chapter 1: Revenants
9:30 am, January 7th, 2021
Somewhere Off The Coast Of Nova Scotia, Northern Atlantic Ocean
The prow of the HMCS Halifax cleanly slices through the unusually calm water of the Northern Atlantic, creating a gentle wave that travels along the surface. The morning sky is extremely clear, there's little cloud cover and only a dull breeze pulls at the Canadian Naval Ensign.
Deep inside the hull of the ship however, a situation is developing.
Captain William MacIntosh hops through the bulkhead leading towards his shared bunk, his voice echoing down the hallways.
"Richard? Richard?! Where the fuck are you?"
William skids to a halt beside his friends bunk, the dull grey sheets doing little to hid the technician.
A face sticks out from the top of the bunk, plastered with a mix of ire and confusion.
"What the hell do you want William." He says, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "I'm not supposed to..."
"No time for that." William says, pulling the covers from Richards bunk. "Get up, we have a problem in the mess hall."
Richards expression suddenly hardens, "What's the problem?"
Cracking a faint smirk, William starts throwing clothes at Richard.
"I found the Captain hunched over one of the tables, I-I dunno what to do, so I came to get you!"
"You didn't think to see what the problem was first idiot?" Richard scowls.
Quickly putting on a shirt and pair of pants, Richard tears off through the hallways of the Frigate with William in hot pursuit.
Reaching the bulkhead door to the mess hall, William steps back, allowing Richard to open the heavy door.
The large grey pressure door opens with a creak and to Richards surprise, a flurry of silly string and streamers.
With a flicker, the lights in the mess hall come to life, revealing a good chunk of the ship's crew.
"Happy Birthday!" the group hollers, Richards face glowing red like a tomato.
William picks Richard up in a bear hug from behind, "Congratz buddy!"
The pair walk into the mess hall, the crowd parting in reveal a large white cake and table filled with various kinds of junk food. 'Happy Birthday' banners and heaps of cliché party decorations plaster the large room.
Captain Sims makes his way through the crowd, finding William and Richard at the heart of the party.
"Have a good party boys, you've sure earned it. Now, if you will excuse me, I'll be on the bridge."
Making sure the Captain has left, William pats Richard on the back.
"That guy sure isn't very social is he?"
Pouring a glass of Orange Crush, Richard looks back up at William.
"He's not a bad guy or anything, just leave him be."
One of the sailors produces a large chef's knife, "Time to cut the cake, make a wish Richard!"
The twenty one candles embedded in the frosting of the cake give little resistance and soon, the cheering of the crew echoes throughout the room.
Retrieving his rather generous slice of cake, Richard waits a few moments before silently retreating out from under the heavy air of the room.
After scoffing down what must be an inhuman amount of cake and Pepsi while somehow simultaneously playing a game of pool, William finally notices that Richard isn't at the party, his own damn party. With a quick check around the room and in surrounding hallways, William pushes his way out onto the deck.
On the edge of the helipad, Richard dangles his feet over the stern of the ship. Nursing his glass of Orange Crush, he hears footsteps mix with gentle sounds of the ocean.
"You aren't really that good at hiding, are you?" Williams says, plopping down beside his friend.
Richard leans back, "That's not very funny joke to play on a Medical tech, you know..."
"Yeah well, it was the only way to get you out of bed, you lazy bastard."
Richard looks back down over the stern of the ship, white frothing water flowing from the ships twin propellers.
"That's not what you're sitting out here for, is it Richard? William sighs, "I've known you too goddamn long, what's going on?"
"I just...have a bad feeling that something's going to happen soon."
Looking at Richard for a few seconds, William bursts out into laughter.
"Are you serious? Come on man, this isn't the time for some shitty Star Wars reference. You don't even know how fucking cheesy you sound."
Looking at the solemn expression on Richards face however, Williams laughter quickly fades away.
"I really don't know how to explain it, I have this feeling of dread tugging at me. That's why I was trying to sleep in today."
"Wow, so fucking edgy."
William hops to his feet, pulling Richard up with him.
"Come on man, it's your birthday! Stop being so negative, let's go back to the Mess Hall and..."
The unmistakable static of the ships intercom fills the air, sending a pair of Seagulls perched on the hanger roof flying.
The ships intercom crackles to life, "This is your Captain speaking, we have just received a distress call from the USS Cole. We will be moving at flank speed to provide support. The ship is being brought up to a state of combat alert, ETA is close to two hours, the Sea King crew is to report to the helipad immediately!"
"Now this is what we get for saying foreboding bullshit like that."
The atmosphere on deck takes an almost audible plummet.
William weakly smacks his fist against the railings, "God damn it, just when the I was starting to have a little bit of fun..."
Richard suddenly places his hands on Williams shoulders and staring into his eyes.
"Take this shit seriously, you hear me? I don't want you going off and dying on my Birthday!"
William shrugs off his friend, "Yeah, yeah I know. Now go get some gear on, lets just hope we don't need you."
"A little thank you for organizing the party wouldn't hurt either." William grins.
"Later." Richard smirks back, lingering for a second before quickly disappearing down into dull coloured hallways of the ship, leaving William alone with nothing but the sea.
William sighs, "And yet again, the plot thickens."
Setting his pace at a brisk jog, William starts making his way towards the equipment room. The halls of the ship quickly become hectic and packed with people, considerably slowing his progress. Passing crew members run in every direction, clad in olive green flak protection equipment and anti-flash gear. Finally coming around the corner to his locker, William slings open the door and starts digging its contents apart.
Retrieving his olive flight suit, William quickly slips it on, zipping up the front and donning the accompanying vest. Grabbing his P226 and a handful of magazines from the top shelf of his locker, William readies the weapon with a satisfying click before sliding it into his holster.
Glancing into mirror on his locker door, William adjusts his suit. The emblem on his shoulder shows a bald eagle with its talons poised adorning the center. Atop that is a golden and red jeweled crown, while gold maple leaves border around it. The motto below states in Latin "Quærimus et petimus" or in English, "We search and strike." The emblem of the 423 Maritime Helicopter Squadron.
Double checking all his gear, William trounces his way in the direction of the helipad, his brain trying to drown out the now wining klaxons of the ship.
The helipad is abuzz with activity, deck crew and technicians run back and forth from the hanger as the Sea King helicopter is rolled out onto the deck.
"Hey William!", a familiar voice rings out from the hanger. With a glance, the rest of Williams flight team approaches him.
Corporal Daniels, the AES Officer, cracks his knuckles.
"You hear what's up sir?"
William shakes his head, "Not a thing. I'm guessing we'll be sent to provide assistance to the USS Cole, since apparently she sent out for help."
Lieutenant Miranda, the Co-Pilot and Master Corporal Cotter, the Navigator quickly fall in behind William as he makes his way towards the Sea King. As the crew board the grey helo and take their seats, William grabs his clipboard, scouring the outside of the helo, a flurry of pen checks in his wake.
Seeing the deckhands clear from the surrounding area, William finishes his check and steps inside the helo, pulling the grey door shut behind him.
Plopping down in the pilot's seat, William goes through his pre-flight checks one last time. Even though it had become almost second nature, failing to do so is a rookie mistake. Fuel, engines, munitions, airframe, everything was green and good to go. William gropes under his seat, retrieving his pride and joy, a custom flight helmet. The matte grey helmet that his crew wears sports three white lines that run the entire length of the helmet, from visor cover to back, fairly standard issue.
Williams helmet is the same matte grey, however it sports the rather large head of a Sabre Tooth tiger, jaw open, teeth bared, it's signature red fur and black stripes contrasting the dull grey of the helmet. This emblem covers almost the entire front right side of the helmet. The frontal left of the helmet proudly displays, "FANGS OF DEATH" inscribed with yellow and red trim. Both the left and right sides of the helmet also have the same yellow and red text only with the numbers "439"
Patting down his short, dark brown hair, William plops the helmet onto his head, adjusting the chin strap and testing the radio.
"Radio check."
Three "Rogers" affirm the com systems status.
"Captain, you really like that helmet, don't you? You never take the damn thing off." Master Corporal Cotter pokes through his radio.
"Don't be jealous that the Wing Commander let me rock a custom helmet, instead of that boring hunk of standard issue garbage!"
"Yeah Captain, I thought I remember you begging and pleading for weeks before Colonel Evans finally let you wear that helmet..." Lieutenant Miranda cuts in.
With a dismissing glance and a rapid motion of fingers, William starts the engine, the blades of the eagerly helo tearing at the air.
The deck crew begins to pull out, William radios the Bridge.
"This is Talon-1 to Eagles Nest, permission for takeoff."
For a few seconds, the only thing audible is the whirring of blades.
"Roger that Talon-1, you are cleared for takeoff. Watch yourselves out there."
William slowly guides the helicopter skywards and banks right, setting the helo on its flight pattern.
"Captain, we're receiving our mission parameters."
"Patch them through."
Williams headset makes an audible click as Captain Sims voice becomes audible.
"Talon-1, we have lost contact with the USS Cole. We are picking her up on radar but we have no trace of anything else in the area. Scout ahead and link up with the Cole and provide any assistance they need, understood?"
"Copy that sir, Talon-1 out."
9:50 am, January 7th, 2021
Northern Atlantic Ocean
The dull blue of the ocean does little to improve the tension inside the cockpit. The crew is completely silent, leaving William to his own thoughts. The realization of real combat is finally starting to set in for the crew.
'This is what we trained for, this is the real deal. Get in, provide assistance and get out. It's most likely just coms failure...right?'
Master Corporal Cotter finally cracks the silence, "Sir, we're only a few minutes out. I've been trying to raise coms with the USS Cole but I'm getting static."
"L..l...like it has to be a malfunction right? You don't think they got..." William praters off..
Lieutenant Miranda's calm and cool demeanor drifts over the radio, "If they can take out an Arleigh Burke-class destroyer, our little Frigate doesn't stand a chance in hell."
William pushes the old bird forward, the anticipation weighing heavily in the bowels of his stomach. Suddenly, the crew notices grey clouds on the horizon. The anticipation turns to fear as William noticed their source, a flaming pile of debris.
Miranda shakily flicks up her helmets visor, "W-where's the ship?"
'Good to know I'm not the only one a little worried about this. If we weren't most likely about to recover bodies, this would be the perfect time to poke some fun at the Lieutenant.'
"Radar is clear sir, nothing inbound or outbound." Daniels says.
Williams gulps, "Get those Mark 46's ready just in case."
With a sharp dive, the Sea King whirs towards the mayhem below. Upon closer inspection, parts of the ship's hull are floating along, fuel blazing on the water. Besides the obvious fires and smoke, the ship must not have been gone for long, as large oil slick still glimmers on the surface.
The day sky fills with the vibrant light of an emergency flair from the north. A small orange raft floats a few hundred feet off the ships starboard side, filled to the hilt with sailors.
"Miranda, get ready to take on some passengers, we're fishing those boys out."
All Sea King pilots undergo water bird training, a procedure in which the helo is safely landed on water, thanks to its boat shaped hull. Although the process is usually only reserved for emergency landings because of its probability of water damage to sensitive equipment, however, this isn't a time to be worrying about damage to government property.
As William slows the Sea King into a gradual glide towards the life raft, it's crew notices the water is cluttered with debris. Nosing the aircraft up slightly, the decades old bird smoothly splashes down into the frigid waters of the Atlantic. Bits of debris slide across the airframe, the smell of death and oil fresh in the air.
After some intense rowing, the lifeboat nears the heli. Cotter and Miranda slide the rear door of the Sea King open and throw a thick rope over to the raft, pulling it to the side of the grey air frame.
William twitches slightly, "How many people in the raft?"
"Uhh..." Cotter pauses, "About thirteen sir."
His brain races, "That's it? That can't be all, that ship's crew is over 300!"
Miranda and Cotter start bringing the sailors of the USS Cole on-board. The rear area of the Sea King quickly becomes lathered with blood. The men are in hard shape, two of them have open stomach wounds while almost all of them have serious burns and heavily bleeding cuts. One of the men's legs from below the knees has been turned to something resembling hamburger.
Cotter grimaces as he breaks open a First Aid kit, "Jesus, where the fuck do we even start?"
"Where the fuck is the rest of their crew, should be the main question." William exclaims, "There isn't even any bodies in the water!"
The sailors give no answer, only moans of pain and misery.
"Just focus on the most wounded first, we just have to stabilize them and get back to the ship."
William sends the grey giant on a beeline towards their home ship.
"Talon-1 to Eagles Nest, we found what's left of the USS Cole. She appears to have been sunk with almost all hands, we have thirteen survivors who all need immediate medical attention. How copy?"
The radio is silent, repeating his message once again, William receives the same reply.
"Corporal, is our radio fucked? I can't reach the ship."
"No sir, the equipment is working properly. Might be on their end."
Williams heart skips a beat.
'No, this can't be happening.'
10:25 am, January 7th, 2021
Northern Atlantic Ocean
William nervously adjusts himself in the seat, his hands tightening around the flight stick. Having communications cut off in this day and age is almost unheard of...unless the ship had taken a direct hit to her communication mast.
"We should be entering visual range shortly."
"Roger," William says, his voice shaking. "I'll try one more time."
"Eagles Nest, this is Talon-1, do you read me?"
The long pause resonates inside the helicopter, punctuated by the low moans and sobbing of the injured crew men. Without warning, blaring static sound pierces Williams eardrums, causing him to recoil and slap at his microphone.
"This is Eagles Nest, how copy Talon-1?" The sound is slightly garbled but still audible.
Williams heart leaps in his chest.
"You guy's having technical difficulties Eagles Nest? We couldn't reach you until now."
"Unknown Talon-1, we've been unable to make contact with you but our equipment is working fine. Can we have a sitrep over?"
Looking back into the bay of the helo, William expression turns grim.
"USS Cole sunk before we could reach her...with almost every hand on-board. No probably cause or attacker. We've recovered thirteen sailors and most are seriously injured. Coming in for immediate landing, over."
"Roger that, we have a medical team on route to the helipad."
Because of the particularly fine weather, William easily spots the HMCS Halifax and her light gray paintjob in the swells of the Atlantic. Flipping up the tinted visor of the flight helmet, he inspects the Frigate with the ol' Mark 1 Eyeballs. Though she is considered slightly slow with a max speed of just under 30 knots, her twin gas turbines are chugging along at flank speed.
The Sea King descends on a very methodical course to not disturb the already badly wounded passengers. As William sets the aircraft into a gentle hover above the ships helipad, the white topped Phalanx CWIS atop the hanger starts to rotate.
"What in the ever living fuck?!"
William turns to Daniels, "Is our own CWIS targeting us?"
"If so, kiss our asses goodb..."
Like a chain reaction, the ship suddenly bears it's teeth, bristling with defensive fire. The vertical launch cells erupt in a cloud of smoke, a group of Sea Sparrows leaping from their berths and streaking across the horizon.
William silently curses, "Damn it, they must have followed us back from the Cole!"
"How'd they get this close to the ship though Captain?"
"I don't fucking know, could be secret Russian stealth UFO's for all I care. Lets get these sailors dropped out and..."
The Phalanx's six barrels throws up a roaring wall of lead across the sky. Even over the roaring blades of the helo, William could hear a growing, whistle like sound. The crew of the Sea King simply watch in awe as the missiles intercept their target on the horizon, huge plumes of orange fire fill the sky a few miles off the port side.
William slowly guides the helo down towards the ship, the wheels impacting the deck with a violent thud. The ship shudders violently as a plume of water shoots up from the stern, sloshing sea water across the deck.
Klaxons are audible even over the still screaming blades of the helicopter. Before William can fully power down the helo, another explosion tears through the upper works of the ship. The sheer size of the blast rocks the ship, sending the helicopter into the deck.
"FUCK!", Williams screams as he tries to right the sliding bird, the engines roaring to avoid flipping the helo onto its side. Nearby crew scramble for safety, away from the whirring death. Yanking hard up on the stick and gaining altitude, the Sea King's blades carve into the helipad, deadly shrapnel tearing up through the vehicles airframe. William feels an enormous force slam into the back of his seat, accompanied by a searing pain in his lower back.
Gritting against teary eyes and with damaged steering gear, the vehicle pulls up uncontrollably, careening out over the stern of the ship. William desperately tries to lurch the doomed Sea King out of the death dive, the sounds of injured sailors screaming fills his ear drums. Looking ahead, the deep blue of the Atlantic completely shrouds the windscreen, beckoning them into it's cold embrace.
A high pitched ringing borrows through Williams skull, bringing him back from darkness.
Groggily opening his eyes against the throbbing pain in his head, William stares directly out of the cockpit glass through the shattered visor of his flight helmet.
"Well fuck me, guess I'm not dead..."
Trying to push himself up out of the pilots seat brings a burning wave of pain, exploding from his lower back.
"Yet."
Slowly craning his aching neck downwards, Williams eyes widen in horror.
A large, jagged sharp of metal has penetrated the back of his seat, lodging itself through the back of Williams ribcage and exiting through his abdomen.
Pinned into the seat, William shakes violently as his body starts going into shock. He tries to avert his eyes away from the jagged surface slick with his own blood, no good. Each breathe is accompanied by a burning pain, most by likely a few broken ribs. While the wound isn't bleeding too heavily, William is forced into the seat, getting up now would only make the wound worse.
A warm feeling trickles down his face, driblets of blood fall from his nose and onto the knees of the now shredded flight suit.
William smirks, "Well, seems like this is the end of the fucking road." He violently coughs, causing the metal shard to slice flesh further..
"And I made fun of him for being cliche."
Straining his gaze over his shoulder, William's heart almost makes an audible drop in his chest. The entire back of the aircraft is missing, exposing the inside of the helo to the elements. Almost everyone who was previously inside the helicopter is now missing, barring the lower half of a US sailor, a few hunks of viscera and Master Corporal Cotter, limply slouched over his computer console.
As he slouches back, the HMCS Halifax limps into view, not even sixty or seventy feet off their front side.
The frigate is badly damaged, her grey paint blackened and peeling from the multiple shell hits. William watches what he assumes is the last salvo of Sea Sparrow missiles leave their cells, a low rumbling sound drowns out the 57mm deck guns rapid salvos.
An unbearable rumbling sound pierces William as he spots a massive fire bolt lancing down from the heavens onto Halifax's bow. The hull of the ship simply buckles under the blatant overkill of the impact.
Williams eyes grow wide with shock. "No", he sputters. "This can't be happening..."
An ear-splitting sound tears across the ocean as the magazines aboard the HMCS Halifax light up, completely consuming the entire ship in a bright fireball.
William desperately throws his arms over his eyes, trying to block out the miniature sun that has formed right in front of him. Once the light fades slightly, a huge wave roar towards the barely floating helicopter.
Thrashed from his seat, William slams into the hard steel of the fuselage.
Roughly one kilometer from the wreckage...
The two Ta-Class Battleships slowly advance towards the husk of their kill, bodies littering the oil streaked ocean.
"What a waste, a loss of six destroyers, five submarines and three cruisers."
"And all for two of their ships."
The Ta-class scowls at the sight of her comrades corpses through one of the fleet scout planes aerial view.
"Gather our sisters and round up any bodies, we have to get out of here before anymore of those pests show up."
The other Battleship nods, green hue reflecting off the water as she sprints forward.
One of the scout planes reports back in, they've spotted a small, human flying vehicle floating along the surface. Cracking a wide smile, the Elite plots her course forward at flank speed.
Inching himself up from the plating of the Sea King deck, William could feel the numbness of blood loss finally setting in. Thrown from his seat, the wound in his abdomen is freely gushing blood at this point. His extremities tingle as sloppily unzips his flight suit, weakly cutting long strips from it as a makeshift bandage. Tightening the long strip around the jagged wound, he grits his teeth against the excruciating, numbing pain.
'You'd think that getting knocked out this many times would make me the Protagonist in some shitty FPS game.'
Slouching against the intact cabin wall of the Sea King, William nudges his foot at Cotters legs.
"Please don't be dead, for fucks sake, I can't handle all this shit by myself."
Repeatedly driving his boot into Cotter leg produces no results.
Removing his helmet, he lets out a low whistle. His flight helmet has basically kept him alive up until this point, the visor filled with spider web cracks and the left side is heavily scratched and dented. Cradling the helmet in his arms and closing his eyes, William awaits the inevitable.
After sometime has passed, he hears a faint skimming sound outside the helicopter.
The hulk of the Sea King lets out a creaking sound as a tall, pale figure steps through the remains of the cabin door.
Looking at the stricken airman through piercing crimson eyes, the woman begins to move forward.
Stopping only a few feet from him, the woman stops, eyeing the man over.
"Not having a good day, are we?" Her voice sounds like an echo, almost ethereal.
"That does not matter, it is lucky that I found one alive. Those ships were a costly endeavor, the least I can get is an alive specimen."
His mind starts racing a mile a minute, 'What the fuck is that? A woman? A monster? People don't glow red. Did she take out the ship? She just said...'
William smirks, his hand slowly inching towards his belt.
"Yeah?" He spits, "Let's see about that BITCH!"
Pulling from the remainder of his strength and with one hand, William levels the P226 on the creatures chest, her red aura flickering off the bare metal of the helo.
The sleek handgun jumps in his bloodied hand as he fingers the trigger, 9mm Parabellum impacting the creatures chest. Rapidly letting off twelve of his fifteen shots, William simply stares in awe as the creature stands, completely unscathed and smirking. In one final gamble, William pushes the handgun up and fires the three remaining bullets towards it's skull, one cuts through the creatures eyeball.
Her red hue intensifies, "YOU INSIGNIFICANT LITTLE RAT" She screams, lunging forward and gripping William by the throat.
Face to face with the monster, her eye spouts a vicious black liquid. As she tightens the grip around Williams neck, all the airman could hear is the sound of a faint rumbling as his consciousness finally fades away.
Unknown Time and Date
Location Unknown
William quickly opens his eyes, gripping for a handgun that doesn't exist. Wherever he is, he's laying in a bed, thoroughly soaking with sweat.
'I recognize these tight blankets and sterile smell, guess the afterlife doesn't look like a Hospital after all.'
Kicking out the tucked in corners of his bed sheets, a sharp pain jolts any bit of sleep out of Williams system. Pulling up his hospital gown, he spots the thick bandages that cover his stomach.
'I guess I'm not dead after all huh?'
A multitude of smaller bandages cover his chest, arms, head and legs.
Easing himself to a sitting position in the bed, William looks around at the room, taking in the darkness and ambient noises of the Hospital.
"Fuck me." He grumbles as he rubs at his eyes. Stretching, his hand knocks something onto the floor, the empty sound reverberates through the pitch black room.
William squints his eyes to scan the room, a nearby clock says 3:51 am, it's green letters beckoning from the darkness. He spots what made the noise earlier, his flight helmet laying on the floor.
"Heh, at least I don't have to get another one of these bad boys ordered." William chuckles weakly as he grabs the helmet and places it on the bed with him.
Staring at the crimson Tigers face, the mental images of the HMCS Halifax and the menacing red woman come flooding back. Williams eyes start growing heavy with tears, his chest twinging with pain.
"Please buddy." He whispers, "You better not have died on your Birthday..."
AN: Well, thanks for reading everyone! I plan on releasing the next chapter in a week or so but we shall see. Next chapter will mostly be world building and character into's. There's gonna be some OC ship girls coming next chapter along side some of the official characters. Have a good one!
