A/N: Just watched the Azur Lane anime the day before I started writing this, and I'm not proud of it, but I've got some ideas I wanted to throw out there and get seen, so here we go! A note of clarification, by the way, I won't be doing Japanese honorifics, since I'm not familiar with how they work and what circumstances they apply to.
The Tide's Rollin' In
Azur Lane Pacific Naval Base
Dawn. The orange glow of the sun rising across the bay was one of the few times Enterprise could appreciate the beauty of the ocean, and leave her fear of it behind. Orochi was gone, destroyed in a massive battle that united the Azur Lane and Crimson Axis for the first time since the Sirens appeared on Earth. For once, the alien invaders were on the back foot, their secret weapon and it's terrifying missiles destroyed before it could be unleashed upon the world at large, and little activity from them since then.
Kaga and Akagi were taken as prisoners by the Sakura Empire, presumably to be punished for what they'd done, though Enterprise had not bothered to keep herself updated with that. Water licked at the toes of her boots, the soft waves of the early morning breeze just enough to inch water up the shoreline of the incoming tide.
Footsteps crunched in the sand behind her, and a small and equally rare smile crossed her face, "Belfast, good morning."
The Royal Navy Light Cruiser stepped up next to her, staring out at the glowing bay, look and posture as prim as ever. "Good morning, Enterprise. You're up early, did you have trouble sleeping again?"
"Ah, no, I wanted to see the sunrise. It's been too long since I had the opportunity to do this without the stress of the war weighing me down." Enterprise explains, comforted by the other woman's presence. Belfast had been with her through thick and thin and hadn't once given up on her, even when she'd tried to push everyone away during the hunt for Orochi. It was also well said that Belfast was a strong fighter in her own right, and her ongoing rivalry with Prinz Eugen was a story Enterprise still hadn't managed to pry out of the Light Cruiser.
Tearing her eyes away from the sunrise, she turned to Belfast and gave her a proper smile, "Seeing the sunrise is one of the few things I can enjoy about the ocean. It makes me feel like I'm rising, instead of sinking."
Belfast's smile in turn was as gentle as ever, hinting that she understood exactly what the 'Grey Ghost' was saying. Enterprise had always seen herself as a war machine, a weapon to be pointed at an enemy; Belfast, however, could quite easily see the very human woman hiding beneath that shell, behind that bow and flight deck. "Come now, Enterprise. It's still quite chilly out, you'll catch a cold like this. Breakfast has already been prepared, as well."
Giving the maid a humouring smile, she turned to walk back towards the base. "I hope you've made coffee this time, instead of that lemon juice you call tea."
Behind her, Belfast chuffed as she followed along, "Just you wait, Enterprise, I'll make you a proper gentlewoman someday."
Enterprise laughed in turn, "That'll be the day you get me into one of those Maid Uniforms!"
Ever since Belfast had been assigned by Queen Elizabeth to help the Eagle Union Carrier, she'd learned to appreciate the hardy archer's company in her own unique way. Her taste in food and drink was abysmal, but that was more for a lack of experience otherwise, Belfast presumed. Not to mention her social life was near non-existent due to the pedestal the Eagle Union stood her upon, likely due to her history and skills. Fortunately, Enterprise was breaking out of her shell, slowly but surely. She'd taken to spending her breakfast in the mess hall, rather than her room, and actually spoke with the others more often.
Coffee burbled out of the pitcher Belfast held, down into a mug held in Enterprise's hands. That done, and two plates of food sat on the table, the Royal Navy maid sat down across from the legendary carrier, her posture straight and utensils laid out to almost instinctively perfect measurements. "What's on your agenda for today, Enterprise?" she asked, almost surprising herself with her forwardness. Perhaps Enterprise had been having an effect on her, too?
The other woman looked almost as surprised as Belfast felt at the sudden question. "Ah, I think I'm going to resume my patrols today, I've been idle too long as it is." Not unexpected, really, Enterprise had seemed rather antsy lately.
"I hope you plan to start off slowly, your repairs only just finished a few days ago, and throwing yourself back into the thick of it won't help you."
Enterprise sighed and gives her a flat look, "You're just like Vestal sometimes, Belfast…"
In return, she laughed, "Thank you for the compliment, Enterprise, though I doubt I could compare to Vestal's repair skills!"
Enterprise shakes her head quickly. "That's not what I meant! I meant you're both….oh." She trails off as Belfast laughs quietly, "You're messing with me again."
Belfast gives a small smile. "I'm sorry Enty, but you really need to work on your sense of humour. You're far too easy to tease, for being the flagship of the Eagle Union fleet."
"Hmph, I'll work on my humour when there's not a war to fight, Bel."
Rude, but not an unsurprising attitude from the Union Carrier. She had always been a rather no-nonsense person, but Belfast had been hoping to work a little more out of the woman by this point. "You sound like that old warfighter that didn't know when to slow down again, Enterprise," Belfast grumbled, noting that Enterprise flinched like she'd been struck.
"S-Sorry…" The normally proud Carrier mumbles, rubbing her neck.
Belfast could sense the awkwardness slowly descending on the table, and sighs, pointing a finger at the other woman's plate. "Eat. Your food's going to get cold. And if you keep up that sort of talk, I'll give you tea instead."
Enterprise narrows her eyes, "You wouldn't…" to which Belfast merely gives her a mischievous smile.
South Pacific, 150 Nautical Miles Southeast of Wake Island
The water skipped past beneath their feet, the lack of any real wind leaving the seas flat and devoid of any waves. It was...peaceful. The sun was out, there were no clouds in the sky, and there wasn't a problem in sight! The Destroyers out ahead were laughing and joking with each other, though still careful to keep a fair enough distance to avoid tangling their rigging. Cassin, Downes, and Hammann were good friends it seemed, the three former Pacific Fleet Destroyers having spent enough time on base together to be very close. In the rear of the patrol formation, Enterprise and Belfast were joined by Cleveland, the ever-confident and optimistic Light Cruiser cruising along further ahead of the two, keeping an eye on the giggling younger ones.
Belfast shifted her gaze from the horizon to Enterprise, catching her for a moment with a surprisingly thoughtful expression on her face, before the other woman noticed her attention and schooled said expression into something more neutral.
Enterprise sighed and raised an eyebrow. "What is it, Belfast? Something on your mind?"
An offered opening? Interesting, and something Belfast wouldn't hesitate to take advantage of. "Nothing really, Enterprise, merely wondering what you were thinking about. You had a very thoughtful expression on your face just now."
The Eagle Carrier let out another explosive sigh. "There's a lot from the Orochi incident I haven't told anyone, especially about the Black Box. Once we get back to Base, I'll tell you a bit about it. I should probably get it off my chest anyway…" She smirks, looking forward once more, "In the meantime, we're falling behind, let's catch up!"
The Grey Ghost of the Eagle Union shot forward with a massive splash of water, twisting around and giving a 'what are you waiting for?' look to Belfast. In turn, the maid smirked and lunged forward as well, pushing herself to catch up with the slower Carrier, sliding next to her with a nonplussed look and a challenging gleam in her eyes. "Too slow, Enterprise! You'll have to be faster than that!"
As Belfast practically glided past her, Enterprise let a competitive grin overtake her features as she surged forward, leaving a small wave of water thrown up behind her as she pushed her rigging to go even faster. She may be a Carrier, but out here on flat seas and in a straight line, even she could make an impressive speed. Out here, skipping over the chop left by Belfast, she felt at peace on the ocean for the first time in a long time. There was no war to fight right now, new comrades to save from almost certain doom, and no mad Sakura women to kick in the ass.
As the two caught up to the others, Cleveland gave them a thumbs up and a smile, nodding at the Destroyers continued antics. "We're nearing the busier Trade Routes now, Enterprise, we might run into a freighter or two if we're lucky. Sirens are up to something for sure, considering how many ships have been slipping through as of late!"
"Speaking of which," Belfast interrupts, "I'm receiving a Distress Call from a Merchant Convoy to our North, they report a Siren Submersible Attack. We're the closest forces to assist, 15 nautical miles."
Before Belfast had even finished speaking, Enterprise had slowed down and drawn her bow, angling it into the sky and releasing the glowing arrow into the air, a burst of light signalling the emergence of a flight of F4F Wildcats from her reserves. They wouldn't do a thing to a submerged Submarine, but it would at least allow her to get 'eyes' on the situation until they arrived.
The concept of remotely flying fully functional aircraft was a difficult one to explain, given that the planes carried no pilots, and were fully bound to her will as long as she could divert some semblance of her focus to them. She could see from the cockpits of each plane if she so chose, through the perspective of what some of the other Carriers theorised were similar to AI or perhaps the spirits of the planes former Pilots. It was almost like having a second set of eyes, really, considering she was still coasting along the ocean's surface, following slightly behind the front line combat ships. Cleveland, she vaguely realized, had wrangled the Destroyers, Cassin, her sister Downes, and Hamman, into changing their course towards the Convoy, while Belfast and Cleveland herself followed right behind them.
When the Kansen themselves were about ten miles out, her Wildcats finally arrived overhead, circling above the relatively small convoy at an altitude of several thousand feet. Below, three Freighters were already burning, leaving six of the lumbering ships to engage in shallow twists and turns in attempts to evade torpedoes as what appeared to be three of the Union Navy's manned Littoral Combat Ships darted between them, occasionally launching anti-submarine torpedoes.
The compact coastal patrol ships didn't seem to be having much luck against the Siren submarines, though, given the almost continuous stream of torpedoes rising from the depths to chase after them. The HVAR Rockets Enterprise's Wildcats were armed with wouldn't be of any use here, simply exploding on the ocean surface if fired, and her Dauntlesses and Devastators weren't equipped for it, either. What a terrible time to not have Bogue nearby…
Based on the various angles, though, it seemed like just a single wolfpack had stumbled onto the convoy, or vice versa. She counted seven submarines, tracing back the torpedo launch points. A lot, but nothing their Destroyers couldn't handle, Enterprise hoped. Setting the compact fighters into a holding pattern above the convoy, the Union Carrier returns to the present fully, calling out to the others, "I count seven Submarines, submerged launches, so I can't hit them! Cassin, Downes, Hamman, this one's on you!"
Downes threw a smirk and a lazy salute back her way, spinning around on the water as the three nimble Destroyers surged ahead. As Enterprise slowly fell behind, she frowned and launched a second Wildcat squadron. If there was a wolfpack in the area, then chances were that there was a surface group nearby as backup. While she diverted her attention fully two her two Squadrons of planes, one keeping an eye on the convoy, while the other searched for surface contacts, she prayed that the others could handle themselves without her.
Lieutenant Commander Madison DeLaine was not having a good afternoon. Assigned to Convoy Escort for what felt like the dozenth time in a row, the USS Detroit and her crew had been joined by two other Freedom Class LCS and ten Merchantman Freighters, leaving San Francisco for Australia, with their course taking them through Siren filled waters. Detroit, Freedom, and Wichita had thankfully been mounted with the new Mk.44A Anti-Submarine Torpedoes, but they were still corvettes fighting against alien submarines.
A cry of "Torpedoes in the water!" followed by a bearing to starboard had DeLaine rushing to that side of the ship, calling out for a course change to starboard to meet the strangely unguided munitions bow on. The torpedoes whirred past either side of the ship, arcing out into open water where they'd either run out of thrust or detonate without anyone being hit. "Sendago, get a trace-back on those Torpedoes! Reeves, as soon as we've got a sonar lock on the bastard that fired those, hit 'em right back with two of the Mark Forty Fours!"
As the two crewmen rushed to do as asked, another call rang out, this time from the Radar station near the back of the command deck, reporting aircraft overhead, no IFFs detected. "Someone get me a visual on those planes!"
Stepping out onto the rolling deck for a moment, one of the spotters typically watching for torpedoes cranes his neck upwards and looks through a set of old-fashioned binoculars. "Ma'am… I don't quite know what I'm looking at here…"
Leaving her Exec, Rhone, in charge, DeLaine steps off the bridge and practically swipes the binoculars out of the younger man's hands, peering up at the dark spots in the sky above. Don't you recognize your own history, James? Those are F4F Wildcats, World War II-era pieces. The only people crazy enough to use those still are Azur Lane!"
James, an enlisted man from Tennessee, perked up for a moment until it clicked that Wildcats were fighters, not anti-submarine planes. DeLaine handed him back the binoculars, then stepped back onto the bridge. "Help is on the way, people, but we're not out of the woods yet! Pass the word on to Wichita and Freedom, we've got Azur Lane aircraft overhead, which means a Carrier Group, which means help for us!"
No cheers greeted her declaration, not that she expected or wanted them. Her people remained focused on their tasks, and aside from the murmur of men and women exchanging vital information as quickly and efficiently as possible, undistracted. A pillar of water and oil erupted from their port side, and Sendago reported the sounds of a vessel sinking. They'd finally managed to nail one of the subs!
"Distress Rocket, to the rear of the convoy!" Came the call from one of the spotters, and DeLaine cursed. While they'd been tied up with the Subs near the front of the convoy, it seemed like one or two had slipped in behind.
"Wichita and Freedom report they're still tied up with the Siren Subs on the right side, ma'am!" reported Crewman Adams, manning the radio. A cry of alarm from James on the starboard side signalled yet another issue, or it would have if the slim blonde woman with red eyes that barged onto the bridge didn't send an immediate wave of relief through her. "U.S.S Cleveland, CL-55, reporting to assist!"
Past the personification of the progenitor of the Cleveland Class of Cruisers, four more women swept past the already quickly moving LCS, three teenagers and a woman in a maid's uniform rushing towards the rear of the convoy. "Glad to have you and yours here, Cleveland! We've sunk one submarine, but two slipped past and our sister ships are reporting another four ahead of the convoy."
Cleveland nods in turn, giving DeLaine a peppy salute before rushing back out and leaping over the side, rushing over the waves a moment later to follow the other Kansen. The Lieutenant Commander cast a glance around the bridge, seeing her crew goggling after the rare and unusual encounter. She scowls and claps loudly, startling the nearest crewman. "Back to it, everyone! Just because we've got the help of the Kansen doesn't mean our job is done! We'll support them as best we can, and get those torpedo tubes reloaded!"
Cleveland grinned confidently as she heard the Freedom Classes Rolls-Royce engines roar behind her, the gunboat accelerating to an impressive 45 knots. It seemed like the regular humans weren't going to let them do all the work! Up ahead, Hamman cheered to herself as a spread of depth charges arced away from her rigging and sent up columns of water, presumably already chasing after one of the submarines. Cassin and Downes were off on the other side of one of the massive freighters, and if the spikes of water barely visible over the ships hull were any indication, they had found their own prey.
Cleveland didn't slow down as she skimmed past the Destroyers, aiming herself towards the burning wreck of the freighter North Star, the only one of the struck ships to remain afloat. A gaping hole in its side assured that it wouldn't remain that way for long, and taking perhaps an unnecessary risk, Cleveland dismissed her rigging in favour of summoning the steel hull of CL-55 and her namesake. Leaping aboard the ship with little effort, she directed the ship's hull to do as she wished, and began deploying scramble nets over the side for anyone in the water to grab onto.
Overhead, the roar of jet engines clashed with the consistent dull hum of Enterprise's Wildcats, and a dogfight broke out as Siren jet fighters slammed into the friendly formation. As the first merchant sailors started to clamber aboard, helping their comrades over the sides, Cleveland grinned and unleashed her Anti-Aircraft guns on the unsuspecting Siren aircraft. Yellow tracers and black puffs of smoke filled the air as the unsuspecting jets were torn apart caught between the Wildcats and her guns.
"Downes, Cassin, Hammann! We've got a Siren surface group somewhere nearby, a fighter squadron just attacked Enty's planes! Quit toying with those Subs and warn the regulars!" Cleveland shouted seemingly into thin air, but the radio cabin aboard the CL-55 broadcast the message to the Destroyer's rigging, ensuring that the Kansen heard her message regardless of their distance.
Turning her attention back to the horizon, the slowly setting sun made for both a beautiful and dangerous sight, with the blinding light preventing any chance of spotting the silhouettes of enemy ships from that bearing should they approach as such. Something flashed against the horizon, and Cleveland squinted into the sun, her eyes widening as the eerie shriek of Siren shells careening overhead and slamming into the still burning North Star, tearing a new hole in its hull and hastening its trip to the seafloor.
The CL-55s heavy guns begin rotating seemingly of their own volition, even as Cleveland instinctively knows what range to sight them at. As the turrets lock into their firing positions, a deafening ripple of fire cloaks half the ship in gunsmoke as a dozen high explosive shells arc towards the sun. Cleveland turns to the still-recovering merchant crewmen and shouts for them to get below-decks as soon as possible, returning her attention after several seconds to the battle at hand.
Hearing unimpeded by the thunderous fire of her own guns, Cleveland let out a chuckle as the quick staccato of a Bofors Quick-Firing 57mm echoed to her port side, the Detroit roaring past as it targeted the oncoming Siren ships. A ballsy move for a manned ship, even if it was a stupid one. Manned ships didn't tend to last very long even against Mass-Produced Siren ships.
DeLaine grimaced as she watched through the targeting scope, tracing the three-round burst of Armor Piercing shells the Gunner had placed almost dead centre of the lead Siren Cruiser. All three rounds ricocheted off the Reinforced deck of the ship and spiralled into the water beyond the enemy formation. "Switch us to HE! Target their superstructure and any exposed equipment. If we can't kill them, maim and disable!"
Next to her, Reeves reported that the gun stabilizer was having difficulty with the high speed they were maintaining. Before she could say anything, another volley of bright yellow shells arced overhead and impacted one of the Destroyers flanking the lead Cruiser, shattering the superstructure and nearly cracking the smaller ship in half. "Those Kansen guns are something else, aren't they?"
Despite the situation, she nodded and let out a chuckle. "That they are, Reeves. I wish we had something that powerful aboard."
The Gunner gave her a mischievous look, "My birthday's coming up in a few weeks, Boss, would be a real treat to have something more substantial than a 57 to work with…"
She gave him a raised eyebrow, his smirk hidden as he invested himself fully into his work. "What, the RGM-184s aren't enough for you?"
"Nah, we've got to be careful with those, can't resupply them at sea and we've only got a few. We need a bigger gun if we want to compete with the Alien Surface Ships that we're fighting."
Fair enough, DeLaine supposed. She patted him on the shoulder as she stepped away, "Do the best you can, Reeves, I'll see what I can do about getting you a bigger gun when we get into a port."
The windows rattled and a brief wave of smoke washed over them as another burst of shells went out, this time High-Explosive rounds that would hopefully do more damage than the Armor Piercing ones from before. Reeves gave her a thumbs up and called out as she walked away, "You're the best, Ma'am!"
"Damned right, I am!" She called back as she returned to her position at the centre of the bridge. They'd taken the pressure off the Cruiser rescuing stranded sailors, now it was their turn to wait and see and pray that the as of yet unnamed Carrier she knew to be accompanying this patrol of Kansen would show her hand.
Roughly ten nautical miles away, Enterprise and Belfast skipped over the waves, with growing concern. Listening in on the chatter between Cleveland and the Destroyers, and the reports from her own fighter squadrons were painting a bad picture. Based on the force projection from the Sirens, it was likely at least a Light Carrier group, and that meant at least one Battleship. A battleship meant they were outgunned at long range, and the Carrier meant her planes couldn't get close enough to bomb them without getting torn apart.
It likely wasn't hard for Belfast to notice her hesitance to launch planes. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the made frown her way. "You have to launch those planes, Enterprise. Cleveland and the others can't deal with a Siren Carrier Group by themselves. Your bombs and torpedoes are the only chance they have of safely escorting that Convoy to safety. We can send out another group to hunt down the Sirens later, we just need to delay them."
Enterprise sighed and relented, drawing her bow back with a groan of straining metal. "Fine, but we'll have little air cover on the return journey."
Belfast merely smiled, "I know. We have Cleveland, the Destroyers, and the manned ships for Anti-Aircraft duties, though, and I'm no slouch myself."
Without further reply, the air was filled by the high pitched shriek of Enterprise's 'arrows' arching into the sky, splitting into a volley of smaller beams which, upon reaching a suitable altitude, transformed into a squadron of Dauntless Dive Bombers. Over the next minute or so, they were joined by a Squadron of Wildcats and a Squadron of Devastator Torpedo Bombers.
As the planes roared off into the distance, Enterprise and Belfast skirted off across the water once more. "Let's just hope we're not too late."
The Siren Carrier was launching more fighters, the alien jet aircraft roaring off the flight deck and climbing rapidly into the sky, far quicker than the already half-strength Wildcat squadron could intercept them. Even as they screamed past the old F4Fs though, a trio of RIM-116 Surface to Air missiles from Detroit slammed into the rearmost three Sirens, shattering their airframes and denying them total air superiority and altitude as the surviving ones went evasive.
The Detroit had been joined by the Freedom and Wichita along the flank, and as columns of smoke emerged from the Mark.49 SAM Launcher mounted on the rear of the Detroit, the RGM-184 Anti-Ship Missile launchers mounted aboard all three ships had hatches slam open as target locks were acquired for the forward three Siren Cruisers. With flares of smoke and jet wash, three of the almost drone-like missiles shot from their tubes and roared low across the water towards the chosen enemies.
Point defence fire from the Cruisers struck out across the waves, swatting two of the missiles from the air with impressive explosions as the warheads were detonated early by the alien defensive fire. The third missile, however, juked and jinked around the defensive fire as it's defensive programming took control, moments before the 400-kilogram missile slammed into the leading Siren Cruiser just aft of its forward gun, the high-yield blast warhead snapping the ship's keel and nearly blowing the bow clean off, the hull held together only by a few structural supports, of which several were already starting to fail. The ship began to sink almost immediately.
However, even for this small victory there came a price. More Siren shells shrieked overhead, one of two Battleships at the centre of the formation announcing itself as it directed its fire towards Cleveland. Still pulling the final survivors of the North Star aboard, the Kansen was helpless to avoid the volley of HE shells that plunged towards her summoned hull. Her lightly armoured Number 4 turret went up in flames, and the detonation warped two of three guns on Number 3.
The Kansen herself grimaced and dropped to one knee on the forward deck, drawing the concerned attention of the sailors helping with the rescue operations. She waved them off and forced herself back up, finishing the reload of Number 1 and Number 2, and designating them to return fire on the Battleship, for what little it would do. The booms of half and dozen HE shells launching away at least brought a little smile to her face.
What drew her attention even over the roaring of her own guns, though, was the shrieking launch of another RGM-184 volley. The impressive missiles roared out of their tubes with a thunderous noise and streaked off towards the horizon. Those manned ships had made an impressive showing of themselves so far, especially with how much there was to cover, and how few of them there were. That none had been even hit yet was a miracle, and not one Cleveland was sure would last.
Right on queue, a flight of Siren Bombers launched out of the clouds overhead, hitting a near 90-degree dive on the trailing Freedom Class, the Wichita. Doing something they were never designed to do, the two Bushmaster II mounts on the forward section of the LCS strained up towards their maximum elevation and began firing, high explosive shells detonating harmlessly around the sleek alien planes as the ship began evasive manoeuvring.
Making this unnecessary, however, was the appearance of the second Squadron of Wildcats, these fresh from Enterprise. They tore into the diving bombers without any hesitation, wrending the aircraft apart with their machine guns as they tore past. The way for the moment cleared, the accompanying Dauntlesses and Devastators roared towards the Siren fleet, even as the enemy Carrier scrambled to launch another fighter group.
Conveniently for Enterprise, the Siren close in defences prioritized the oncoming Strike Missiles from the Freedoms over the ageing bombers, and as such the flak they encountered as they approached was far less than expected. Watching from long-range, Cleveland saw every moment as the Dauntless Dive Bombers tore down from on high and grouped their bombs on the deck of the Light Carrier, shattering its runway and tearing apart several readying fighters.
The Devastator Torpedo Bombers, on the other hand, swooped low and manoeuvred past the obviously surprised escort ships with ease, deploying their payloads into the water with a series of quick splashes as they pulled up and away. Just seconds later, the rearmost Siren Battleship groaned and buckled as half a dozen torpedoes slammed into its armour belts, tearing holes in its hull and pulling it into a slow roll onto its side.
From either side, the echoing rumble of 5 Inch guns rang out as Cassin, Downes, and Hammann all broke past the wallowing North Star, hulls deployed in place of rigging for more punch and range than their smaller and more mobile forms would allow. Sims and Mahan Class Destroyers ploughed through the water, their thin bows and narrow hulls slipping around the heavier Cruiser like a knife between ribs. Hammann blared her fog-horn as she passed.
Cleveland had faith in the peppy Destroyers, that they could hold the line or even knock out the enemy forces with the assistance of her artillery and Enterprise's planes. It might have been easier, though, if Belfast hadn't presumably gone off with the Union Carrier. The tomboy Cruiser frowned at the thought, even as her guns rumbled once again. She knew Belfast had been assigned to assist and protect Enterprise, but sometimes it felt like she took it too far.
While it was far from proper to leave a Carrier without escort, sometimes, such as this, the situation demanded it. As Belfast raced over the waves, she'd taken the time to circle around behind the Siren fleet while they were occupied with the Destroyers and Cleveland. Not an elegant solution, but an effective one at least. Production Sirens, as they'd been dubbed, were not terribly efficient things without a Humanoid Siren nearby to coordinate them. While their technology may be advanced, whatever programming or intelligence that guided them was almost human in its focus and tended to zero in on whatever was in front of it, and rarely sought to secure its flanks or rear.
As she gazed at the distant enemies, she judged herself to be close enough and leapt into the air, dismissing her rigging and reforming her namesake hull, HMS Belfast(C35) beneath her. Landing lightly on the forward deck, the engines roared to life and her propellers spun into motion, quickly accelerating to an impressive 32 knots. The rudder kicked to starboard, pushing the ship into a turn that angled the hull into a not-quite broadside approach, still vectored to approach the enemy fleet from behind, but allowing for all four of her turrets to bear.
Belfast was armed with four triple six-inch guns, and within seconds of initiating her turn, they fired in a deafening salvo. The forward two turrets were loaded with Armor Piercing, while the rear two were loaded with High Explosive. Mostly a ranging volley, the shells arced down from the heavens and slammed into a Siren Cruiser at the rear of the formation, several shells splashing into the water while the majority wrecked the ship's upper decks and superstructure. It wasn't a killing blow, unfortunately, but it was a start.
It was almost like leading an orchestra, Belfast reflected as with but a flicker of thought, her port screw slowed it's RPMs as the rudder swung around, the ship's bow twisting through the growing waves as she avoided a scattered volley of return fire. Every time she made a gesture or sent a mental command, her hull followed through the same instant, and the music that was her guns firing was the reward. Another mixed volley rang from her guns, and HMS Belfast crashed through a wave as the purple and blue shells from Siren Production ships rained around her. They'd diverted no small part of their firepower towards their flanking enemy, but it would hardly be enough, especially at long range, while Cleveland and the others kept up the pressure on their front.
Planes buzzed overhead, heading back further out to sea. One of Lucky E's flights returning for reloading and repair, the Royal Navy Cruiser assumed. The Siren formation was beginning to fall apart as the distance was closed, as more and more of the enemy ships were shot to pieces or disabled. Another volley of RGM-184s slammed into the Sirens as well, two missiles splitting a Heavy Cruiser in half, even as the third detonated the ammunition storage on a Destroyer.
Unfortunately, one of the two remaining Heavy Cruisers finally found their mark, and the LCS Freedom erupted in flames as two Armor Piercing shells punched into its hull and wrecked its engine room, igniting a fuel store on the way. The small ship foundered and began to drift, burning oil pouring through the compromised hull, and flooding the lowest decks with a lethal mixture of water and fuel. Within moments, munitions would likely start cooking off, depending on how quickly the fires spread, and the crew would need to be evacuated in short order.
Even from nearly 15 kilometres away, Belfast heard Cleveland's angered cries as her hull started moving. She was the closest ship and already set up for water rescue, but it would further move her out of formation, and expose her to more enemy fire. Belfast quickly ran through her options. Hammann, Cassin, and Downes seemed to have the enemy formation mostly handled by this point, and Enterprise was even further away, so it was on her to compensate for the changing battlespace.
Swapping to full AP volleys, Belfast shattered the side plating on a Siren Cruiser as she swept around the flank, leaving the autonomous ship flooding and disabled even as she shifted from evasive manoeuvres to full speed towards their line. Every eight or so seconds her guns bellowed, and the previously targeted Cruiser erupted in flames as shells pierced its power source or ammunition, she wasn't sure which.
After several minutes of harrowing combat, HMS Belfast sailed past Cleveland and the Freedom, tow lines tying the two ships together as some of the more able-bodied survivors of North Star helped with the rescue, Union Sailors swinging across the cables in impressive feats of strength and dexterity, or jumping into the water and climbing up the rescue-nets cast over the sides of the Light Cruiser's hull.
As the Royal Navy Cruiser swept past, she decided to indulge in a little bit of theatrics to hopefully raise morale a little with the rescue and blared her horn for a few seconds, the bellowing sound accompanied by her guns firing again as she powered into the gap between the rescue operation and the rapidly dwindling number of Sirens. Scattered cheers echoed across the water, and Belfast heard Cleveland give a hearty laugh across the radio, no words were spoken but the thanks conveyed all the same. It was, the Head Maid of the Royal Family decided, time to finish this.
"Ah, damn…" Cleveland muttered, watching flames crawl over the rear deck of Freedom. They were slowly quickly closing in on the RGM-184 launch-tubes, and she did not at all want to be near them when they cooked off. There were no more sailors on the ship's deck, and few left in the water, but she couldn't wait any longer. If she didn't widen the distance, the explosive force of the LCS cooking off would buckle her hull and possibly sink her, too.
With a blast of her own horn to get anyone who still might be in the water to divert their attention to her, she maxed out the volume of her PA system and shouted, "Get underwater and as far away from the wreck as you can, the fires are about to reach the ammunition stores! I'm sorry, but I can't wait any longer…"
The cables tying the two ships together were jettisoned, limply dropping into the water and sinking below the surface in short order, and her screws spun to life beneath the waves, CL-55s acceleration painfully slow in comparison to how quickly the death of Freedom approached. Cleveland realized then, that even if she had cast off the lines and gotten moving another thirty seconds earlier, she might've been entirely clear of the blast, but not now. Monty was right, her confidence was going to be her downfall one of these days.
10 knots. 15 knots. Cleveland felt the ship's speed build, even as she watched white and green uniforms disappear beneath the waves. Casting a glance upwards, she realized that a storm was building, and was honestly surprised the rains hadn't started already. Somehow, she missed the moment that it happened, and her attention was forcibly returned to Freedom as the ship detonated in a pillar of flame, and she winced as half a dozen meter-long pieces of shrapnel tore into the aft plating of her hull, thankfully above the waterline, and shattered one of her drive-shafts.
It was far from the worst hit she'd ever taken, but it felt like one of her legs had been broken regardless, cries of alarm from the humans still on deck muted in comparison as she stumbled back, dropping down onto one of the vents that dotted the deck of the ship. She probably looked like shit, she thought absently as she tried to steady her breathing and get past the phantom pain of her link with the ship.
Casting a glance back, she affirmed for herself that the rescue nets were still intact and kicked the rudder to starboard, cut power to the damaged propeller, and reduced speed to half to avoid straining the remaining three. The wreck of Freedom had practically sunk already, the munitions detonating having practically vaporized the central superstructure of the ship, leaving nothing but the buckled and broken hull to slip beneath the waves. Several sailors were on the surface once more, making their way back towards her, but there were more bodies simply floating, and even then there were less visible than before. The underwater shockwaves had probably been crushing, and anyone who'd stayed above the surface had probably caught shrapnel and debris.
Her radio popped and crackled for a moment, and the distinctly human Commander of one of the other LCS's came over the line. "Detroit to Cleveland, you alright over there? We're seeing some signs of damage, and you've reduced speed."
Ah, humans. Perhaps a bit squishy, but the military types were some of the most reliable you could find, outside of other Kansen. "Cleveland here. Thanks, Detroit, but I'll be fine, lost a screw is all, thought I had more time than I did."
A Flare of light on the water signalled the demise of the final Siren, its ammunition or fuel cooking off in a show of brilliant pyrotechnics. "That looks like the show's over, Detroit, you made a pretty good kill count, eh?"
Azur Lane Pacific Naval Base
With the damaged Merchant Convoy hidden behind a renewed Escort fleet, Enterprise, Belfast, and the others guided them back to the Azur Lane base. Detroit and Wichita both needed minor repairs, and the worsening seas were no place for Cleveland to transfer personnel to other ships, so it was reasoned that they could offer a safe port for at least one night while the storm blew over.
Going unsaid, though, was the opportunity for some of the younger Kansen to interact with base humanity, which outside of the Brass or engineers and scientists often present when they were summoned, was something that many hadn't ever had.
So when Enterprise glided into port alongside Belfast, only to be greeted by half a dozen unfamiliar styles of superstructure, she was understandably surprised. There'd been no scheduled visits from the Brass, and anything larger than Littorals like the two they sailed in the company of was usually relegated to coastal patrol or mothballed. Either someone had sprung a surprise visit, and come by sea rather than air, or something new had happened. Before she could even say anything, Bel chuckled and shook her head, "I'll make the report, and see our guests squared away. You go and greet our new arrivals, just fill me in after, hmm?"
Cheeks reddening at how obvious she'd been about her curiosity, the Union's luckiest carrier chuckled and rubbed her neck, nodding in thanks. "Thanks, Belfast. I'll see you this evening."
In return, the Maid simply nodded her head and broke away, leading the Kansen and manned ships deeper into the docks, while Enterprise headed towards the new ships.
Reeves cocked his head to the side, then turned to DeLaine. "Hey, Lieutenant Commander. Mind if I use the 5-Incher's camera for a moment?"
The woman in question gave him a questioning stare. "What for, Reeves?"
"I wanna verify something, I think my eyes are playing tricks on me." was his answer, as he stared at a group of distant masts to their port side.
"Fine, go ahead, keep the safety on, though." DeLaine returned, stepping closer to watch the display as he pivoted the camera and enhanced the magnification.
"Roran MacKindsey in Engineering was in the Fleet during Desert Storm and Desert Shield, right?" Reeves asked after a moment, an almost disbelieving look on his face.
"I do believe he was, Reeves. Give me a moment." DeLaine returns, stepping away from the gunnery station, and whispering something to a runner, who nodded and quickly left the bridge.
Roran MacKindsey was an old man, pushing 70 years of age, and still seemed the spry and spirited man he'd been when he first enlisted in the Fleet. How he was still Active Duty, and how he'd never surpassed Senior Chief Petty Officer, nobody knew, but he was one of the most capable engineers DeLaine had ever met. So when he stepped onto the bridge and gave her an impeccable salute, she returned it just as earnestly. "What can I do for ya, Ma'am?"
Instead of answering him, she gave him a simple smile and pointed him towards Reeves and the gunnery station. With a confused look from the ageing engineer, he tentatively stepped forward and rested a hand on the console, looking to the Gunner for an explanation. "You remember the ship you served on during Desert Storm, Mister MacKindsey?"
The old man let out a hearty laugh, then sighed morosely, "As if I could ever forget the old girl, no offence, ma'am, but she was the finest ship I ever served on. What's this all about?"
"Now, correct me if I'm wrong…" Reeves started, "But Old 64 is still moored halfway across the planet, in Norfolk Harbor as a Museum Ship, no?"
MacKindsey nods, "Aye, I visit her every few years, see how they're maintaining the old girl."
"And you're familiar with the concept of the Kansen, yeah?" Reeves again asks, to the Engineer's growing chagrin.
"Yes, I'm familiar with the Kansen, bizarre creation that they are," he answers.
"Then tell me, please," the Gunner flicks on the screen for the 5 inch gun on the forward bow, the camera fixed on a position at least a kilometre away. "What's U.S.S Wisconsin, BB-64, doing here at Azur Lane Pacific Command?"
As Enterprise slipped into what was colloquially known as the 'Overflow Harbor,' where new ships that didn't have assigned berths were docked, her gaze was focused on the largest of the ships among the new arrivals, and the most familiar to her. At a distance, she hadn't recognized the configuration due to more modern radar and communications arrays than she was accustomed to, but up close the nine 16 inch guns and distinctive command bridge of the U.S.S Wisconsin were unmistakable. As far as she'd known, Wisconsin was still moored in Norfolk, at the Nauticus museum there.
Closing in on the massive hull, she ran a hand across the smooth steel and almost jerked back at the power flowing just beneath the surface. This was no mere man-made hull, but a summoned one! Enterprise kicked off the surface of the water, launching herself up onto the deck of the infamous battleship. The last battleship to see action in the time before the Sirens arrived, and the first of her kind to be outfitted with modern weaponry, she'd made a fearsome foe on the seas, even Enterprise knew that despite her own namesake having been long decommissioned.
Somewhere amidships, Enterprise gazed around in open wonder at the ship before her. No ship that had been retrofitted or built past 1945 had ever been summoned as a Kansen, until now it seemed. Stepping around a secondary gun, the Grey Ghost of the Union's jaw dropped. Angled at somewhere around 30-40 degrees upwards were four shipping container-sized steel objects, painted the same grey as the rest of the ship. These were Tomahawk Cruise Missile launchers, each launcher carrying four of the long-range multi-purpose warheads. This...this would change everything!
So wrapped up in her observations and the ramifications of this discovery, Enterprise failed to notice the footfalls behind her and yelped(rather loudly) in surprise as a pair of strong arms wrapped around her and lifted her off the deck in a surprisingly tight bear hug. The laughter in reaction told her it was a woman, and the sheer strength required to move her in such a way told her it was another Kansen. Dropping her after a moment, and spinning the still off-guard carrier around to face her with hands on her shoulders, she was pulled into another, more tender hug. Slowly returning the gesture, noting the distinct smell of sea-salt and gunpowder in the woman's hair.
After a moment, the bewildered carrier was once again grabbed by the shoulders and could finally get a good look at the other woman. Bright green eyes, long black hair tied back in two braids, one long braid down her back and one shorter down the side of her head, and lots of freckles, she was unfamiliar but easily recognizable, thanks to the bright white 64 on her blue tank top, and the odd brown and tan camouflage BDU pants she wore. "Enterprise! I haven't seen you since...what, '45? You look great, how's Azur Lane been treating you? Killed many Sirens yet?"
"Wha-what? Wisconsin?" was all Enterprise could get out as the Last Battleship kept talking, asking her question after question and never relenting in her impressively tight grip on the carrier's shoulders. Utterly caught off guard, she was forced to take the first opportunity the other woman offered to get a word in. "Wisconsin, please! Slow down for a moment, this is a lot to take in!"
The...actually rather tall woman, standing at more than six foot three, audibly shut herself up, jaw clicking shut as she realized how surprised Enterprise was. After a moment, she let an embarrassed grin cross her features and she rubbed at her neck, chuckling. "Sorry about that, I got a bit carried away I suppose. I suppose you've got questions of your own, too?"
"Believe me, Wisconsin, I have so many," Enterprise replied with a rare grin. Wisconsin, while she hadn't served with her for long during the Pacific Campaign, had been an erstwhile companion and a deadly ship, and had one of the longest service records for a battleship on the planet, one that would seemingly be renewed. This, Enterprise realized, was the start of a new phase in the Siren War, and it was only going to get more intense from here on...
Golden/Yellow eyes watched as a stream of cubes arced away from the new arrival, the modernized battleship, and reformed into the hull of the Key's hull, the infamous Enterprise. She'd been hoping to approach the 'young' summon first, to gauge their capabilities and gather information, but with the Union Carrier present that was inadvisable. It was a shame, really. Considering the service record both ships held, especially with each other, they'd likely be together for some time, and she was rapidly running out of that herself. They'd be rebooting their little trinket on the dawn for a software update, and this time the possibility of being able to prevent any alerts going out was minuscule, close enough to zero that even Strategist Alpha would be impressed.
Unfortunate, but her time among her 'sisters' was close to an end anyway, so it was no huge loss, especially with the information she had already acquired. Perhaps she could arrange for a bit of a 'parting shot', as she thought the human saying went. If she remembered correctly, and Infiltrator Alpha always remembered correctly, Chaser was in charge of patrol sorties for the next day, perhaps she could see if she could arrange to join the Light Patrol going out in the early morning? Decisions, decisions, so many opportunities, and so little time to make use of them...
Sidling along the dock back towards her ship, the Destroyer Zumwalt DDG-1000 was nearly knocked into the water when what she was reasonably sure was an old Heavy Cruiser ploughed past her, apparently uncaring of whoever was in her way. Zumwalt made it halfway through forming a callout or insult, she wasn't sure which, when she decided it wasn't worth it to care and moved on. At five foot eight, Zumwalt wasn't as short as the older Destroyers she'd seen around the base were, but she wasn't exactly tall either. With blond hair billowing down to the nape of her neck, and glaring red eyes, someone had actually confused her with an Ironblood Cruiser earlier! The gall of them, it would likely never cease to amaze and frustrate her.
With an unusually styled white dress uniform heavily overlaid with black and red, it wasn't surprising that she might resemble an Ironblood, but if they'd bothered to speak with her, they would have easily recognized their mistake, given her rather obvious California accent. Regardless, that combined with her encounter moments ago was enough to sour her mood, most advanced destroyer class in the fleet be damned, apparently.
As she brooded, she failed to note the approach of one of the few familiar faces on base, and with reckless abandon, Arleigh Burke slammed bodily into her, a wide grin on her face. "Zoomie, this place is so awesome! Did you know they've got an entire town set up on the island for everyone to live in and visit!?"
With a few moments of difficulty, Zumwalt managed to pry the overeager Destroyer off of her, pushing the relentless annoyance to arms length. Despite the burning glower she gave her older cousin, there was zero change in attitude from her. "Do not call me that, Arleigh. It's supremely undignifying."
Arleigh Burke, it seemed, did not care in the slightest. She instead latched onto her fellow Destroyer's arm and started dragging her away from the docks and her potential brooding, smiling the whole time. "Come on! There's this really nice cat lady from the Sakura Empire who runs a shop in the town, her prices are super good, she says!"
Somewhere between the Marshall and Solomon Islands...
Though the time of the Military Sailor had seemingly passed, with the advent of the Kansen and the functionality they brought, the same could not be readily said of the pilots of the world's Air Forces, nor the soldiers of their Armies. It was an odd thought, Flight Lieutenant Logan Porter reflected, that entire ships could be moved at the behest of a single woman, yet the multi-million dollar aircraft that rattled around him required an entire factory to build, and an academy solely to train its totally human pilot. It was with the wind whipping through the shattered canopy, and the stuttering roar of the twin Pratt and Whitney F100 Turbojets slowly fading behind him, that he knew he was probably not going to make it home.
In an effort to lighten his plane, he'd already dumped the remaining munitions his plane had been carrying, but it seemed that the engines had taken more damage than originally thought. Not that it really mattered, what with the blood slowly bubbling past his lips, courtesy of a punctured lung, which itself had been caused by the same burst of weapons fire from a Siren Interceptor that had shattered his cockpit's canopy. It wasn't one of the rounds that had actually hit him, he'd likely have been killed instantly if so, but a piece of the extraordinarily tough glass used in the canopy, granted an incredibly small piece. Most of his instruments, too, were inoperable, and he had no clue how much fuel he had in his tanks, nor where he actually was, given the mid-afternoon time.
Porter and his Wingman had been scrambled from an Australian air base in Papua New Guinea to intercept a probing flight of Siren Fighters scouting the defensive perimeter, in the absence of a Kansen Carrier nearby. It was a shame, he thought, that he'd never get to go back home to Sydney again, walk the streets and visit his parents. As his thoughts drifted, he was kicked back to reality by a gust of turbulence... No, backwash buffeting his plane, and his blurry vision locked onto a smaller plane slotting in next to him. For a moment he believed it to be a Siren Fighter, coming to finish the job, before his vision focused and he saw an aircraft that he'd never expected to see, let alone this far out. An A-4G Skyhawk, emblazoned with the markings of the Royal Australian Navy, was coasting alongside off his port side. The plane's pilot waved to him and flashed a series of numbers with one hand, a radio channel. Luckily, his radio remained functional at least on the short range, and he slowly and clumsily swapped frequencies to the aforementioned one. The voice that echoed over the channel was female, confident, and oddly endearing. "You've had a rough go of it, eh? You're leaking oil and fuel, and it looks like your Number 2 engine's about to crap out."
Shit, that wasn't good. While part of his mind vaguely reverted to a more calculating perspective, the rest was still drifting. "Wh-" he let out a hacking cough, blood staining the inside of his breather, "Who are you?"
"Ah shit, that doesn't sound good either. Well, you're in good hands now! Call me Melbourne, Majestic Class Light Carrier, Hull number R21!" Majestic class? She was...a Kansen? That didn't make sense. Logan didn't claim by any means to be an expert on the Kansen, but there'd never been a Kansen that was built past '45, and none of them could deploy Jet aircraft.
Not giving him time to drift away into his thoughts again, the woman on the other end of the radio coughed to get his attention. "What's your name, pilot? Your IFF's boned, it's a miracle I could find you out here."
Ah, that explained why he hadn't been tailed by his wingman when they'd wiped the last of those fighters, his IFF was out. "Flight Lieutenant…" he coughed again, worse than before, "Porter, call me Porter."
"All right, Porter, bear with me here. Your plane's beat to hell and back, and I'm not confident in your ability to land on a flight deck, especially not my flight deck. There's an Azur Lane base maybe a hundred miles from here, I'm going to guide you there. I'm calling in ahead for them to expect us, so just stay with me, alright?" Came the possibly over-long explanation from Melbourne, and Porter just gave the woman a thumbs up through his canopy, trying not to talk.
After a few moments of radio silence, her voice came back once more, crackling with slight interference. "Alright, buddy, we're heading for Guam. We're about eighty miles out, think you can make that? I've got an idea if there's problems, but it's beyond dangerous for both of us."
"What's...that?" Came the slow reply over the channel, the wounded pilot taking the time to carefully enunciate what he wanted to say without choking.
He could practically feel her grin on the other end of the radio "Ah, nothing too out there. Tell me, have you ever heard of Pardo's Push?"
Azur Lane Pacific Naval Base
When the old alert siren started playing from the moderately sized airfield attached to the Azur Lane base, Enterprise and Wisconsin were torn from their mutual reverie as their eyes were drawn to the runway running down the center of the field, about a kilometer inland from the docks. With their enhanced eyesight, it was easily possible to see the rarely used emergency vehicles being deployed from their garages.
Wisconsin turned to the veteran Carrier, a look of confusion on her face. She wasn't familiar with FlightOps or what might cause that sort of alarm, being a Battleship and all. Enterprise, on the other hand, recognized the sound all too well. It was similar to what was played on the PA systems of a Carrier when a damaged or failing aircraft was making an emergency landing. "What's happening, Enty?"
Outside of Belfast, Wisconsin was probably the first person to ever use that nickname on her and not get a scowl in return. Enterprise stood up from where they'd been sitting on the forward deck of the Battleship hull and grabbed Wisconsin's hand. "Come on, we should go lend a hand. That's an emergency landing warning, it's supposed to warn any aircraft on the strip to get out of the way."
Rather than summon their riggings just to dismiss them within moments, the two ran lengthwise back along the ship, leaping over the side onto the docks with nary a problem between them. It'd take more than a (relatively) short fall to hurt either of them. Instead, as they ran closer to the airfield, their ears picked up the sound of jet engines, and the flashing running lights of a compact but quick looking single-seater drew Enterprise's eye. It wasn't a model she recognized, but that went for most modern aircraft, though it looked distinctly older than others she'd seen during visits from the Brass before.
The leading plane looked fine, and touched down as they got within 500 meters of the airstrip, tires squealing as the pilot hit the brakes hard, taxi'ing the plane off the main runway as a far more erratic sounding engine filled the air. Eyes going back towards the sky, what was probably a normally sleek looking aircraft was lumbering downwards, not quite stalling out but looking very close. The plane's canopy was shattered in the front, and there were holes up and down the fuselage. Dregs of oil and fuel splattered the runway behind the plane as it leaked from hits to the tanks containing both. Of the plane's two engines, only one was ignited, and that one sounded like it was well on its way to a permanent shutdown too.
The pilot of the first plane had already clambered from their cockpit, flight helmet still on their head as they sprinted alongside the runway, seemingly uncaring for their own safety. Enterprise pointed the pilot out to Wisconsin, "Make sure they don't get too close to the plane on approach, that angle's way too steep for a soft landing!"
The newer looking plane's landing gear began to drop down, much slower than they should've, signalling damage to the hydraulics or components themselves, and then the world went silent. Well, not truly silent, but the practically deafening jet noise had disappeared, leaving Enterprise disoriented for a moment as she realized that the plane's other engine had died, out of fuel or finally failing completely, she didn't know, but she did know that this landing was going to hurt.
Without what little thrust the jet had left, and with so many holes and so much damage to the plane overall, physics took over and the plane dropped like a rock, stalling immediately as drag resistance caught the plane. Logan Porter had a brief moment to panic as he felt the plane drop, before the landing gear, still only partially deployed, slammed into the tarmac and tore away, the nose of the F-15 digging into the ground as the whole aircraft spun. His whole body jerked forward with the impact, and his head slammed into the display in front of him, his whole world going black.
Out of the corner of her eye, Enterprise saw Wisconsin practically tackle the other pilot to prevent them from running towards the still skidding fighter jet, even as she did the exact same thing. The firetrucks and ambulances were seconds away, but if she could get there even a moment before they did, the pilot had a better chance of surviving than otherwise. The slumped figure in the cockpit was easily visible, and the Union's luckiest Carrier leaped up onto the intake as the plane finally slowed to a stop, a firm grasp on the already shattered canopy allowing her to tear the broken part away and grasp for the pilot's harness to unlock him from the unused ejection seat.
Unclasping the restraining belts, she noted with some concern that there was a small amount of blood coming from inside the helmet, indicative of a head wound, and a dark patch on his chest, a possible chest wound. His choked breathing told her that one of his lungs had been punctured or collapsed, and maybe some ribs, too. Lifting him out of the cockpit, she turned to find two Bulins emerging from the ambulance, even as several more swarmed over the two fire trucks that began to coat the plane in flame retardant. One pulled a gurney from the back of the vehicle, and pointed at the man in Enterprise's arms and then at the gurney. "Purin!"
Nobody quite knew for sure what the Bulins were, but they were quite useful, and could speak almost any language if it suited them. When they got angry or stressed though, they tended to resort to shouts or exclamations in their own language, which they had so far refused to teach any of the Kansen to understand. Nonetheless, the meaning was quite easy to understand, and Enterprise quickly and gently placed the injured man on the gurney, which was promptly tucked into the back of the ambulance.
The other pilot, having somehow gotten away from Wisconsin, skidded to a stop next to Enterprise as the ambulance drove off. She tore the helmet from her head, revealing short cut blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and a tanned face. "Was he alright? He sounded pretty bad on the radio."
Australian, then, by the accent. Enterprise gave the woman what she hoped was a comforting nod, "He'll be fine. Vestal and Akashi are no slouches when it comes to this sort of thing, Kansen and Human differences aside. I'll take you to him, if you'd like, I'm Enterprise. That was Wisconsin back there, how'd you get away from her, anyways?"
The slightly shorter woman grinned at her. "Oh, Enterprise, you of all people should know that we Carriers are far more difficult to get a grip on than we have any right to be. I'm Melbourne, Majestic Class Light Carrier from the Design Light Fleet Carrier Program, Hull Number R21!"
Enterprise opened her mouth to reply, but her gaze was drawn back to the small jet Melbourne had flown in. No way. "You can deploy fighter jets?!"
Melbourne's grin widened. "A-4G Skyhawks! Air Defense Fighters designed by your people. I can also deploy S-2E Trackers and WS-61 Sea King helos for Anti-Submarine Warfare! I may be powerful, but I'm brand new to this form. I was supposed to be a bit of a surprise for y'all, arriving next week, but...well, circumstances insisted otherwise. I hope you'll show me the ropes, Lucky E!"
Wisconsin stumbled over a moment later, rubbing her neck nervously. "Sorry, she got away from me, slippery little bugger. What'd I miss?"
A/N: And that's a wrap for the first chapter! *Swipes brow* Whew, that was a long one, and honestly took me far longer than it should have to get out. This single chapter represents nearly half of This Is Not The Earth We Know in pure word count, and I couldn't be prouder of it. Chapters for this story will be sporading and probably far between, as I still intend to focus on TINTEWK first and foremost. Now, I know some of you might not be familiar with Azur Lane, or at least the intrinsics of such, and it's really not something I can explain here, though it should be fairly self-explanatory throughout the chapter. I will give you all a quick rundown of the OC's I've added before I go, so that they're not confused with canon characters. Also, PLEASE, criticism is welcome on the constructive level, too much information, too little, confusing plot points? Please, let me know!
HMAS Melbourne(R21): Majestic Class Carrier deployed by the Australian Navy, Kansen and one of the few Aussies on the block.
USS Arleigh Burke(DDG-51): Arleigh Burke Class Destroyer from the Union/US, Modern Missile Destroyer and packs a mean punch.
USS Zumwalt(DDG-1000): Zumwalt Class Stealth/Missile Destroyer, Union/US make, class of three Destroyers widely regarded as a failed program, but the Navy hasn't given up on them yet.
USS Wisconsin(BB-64): Iowa Class Battleship, refitted 1988 with Cruise Missiles and CIWS, Whiskey as she was known was the last Battleship to see action on Earth(until now:)).
The crew of the Detroit: This bunch are mostly going to be secondary characters, considering they're regular old humies, but they'll stick around for now and have their roles to play.
Flight Lieutenant Logan Porter(RAAF): An unlucky Australian pilot who may have more to him than meets the eye, he's the most unusual part of this motley crew.
Infiltrator Alpha: ^-^ You'll see~
Anyways, that's about it, I think! Thanks to Perseus, Wedge, Florida Man, AP, Matrex, Penguin, and a bunch of others for editing, brainstorming, or generally just being around for me to throw content at as I worked through this, and see you all soon!
Oh, right, before I forget! My DeviantArt, I'm going to be posting what some of these OC's look like. None of the art is mine(yet), unfortunately, and all credit will go where it's due, but if/when it's there, please take a look! ( www . / prometheus-23)