Thanks for sticking around. Tissues, mouthwash, and soap needed later on in this chapter. Maybe some bleach as well.
Disclaimer: Universe and recognizable characters belong to their owners. I own my OC's and the plot.
Enjoy.
}*{ BO,MD }*{ 2 }*{
Smoke and ash, collapsing infrastructure, scorching avgas-fueled flames, and the scent of melting metals filled the air over a floating platform base. A radioman flinches as a shell lands too close for comfort. "I, William Terse, am the last survivor of Base Ivy".
Overlooking the harbor and the waters beyond, he sees the sky tinged a foreboding purple and the sea stained a ruby red. In the sea are hulks of shipgirls mangled until only its type can be observed. "Our two Fletchers put up a hell of lot of flak but there were just too many planes. The Abyssals have overwhelmed them and proceeded to pummel our remaining heavy cruisers to dust."
The piers are bombed. The Factory has collapsed. The Docks are no more, repair fluid mixing with fuel and blood. "Admiral Dalina Frieda, all staff, and almost all existing infrastructure have been destroyed. Last report, Radioman Terse out."
He idly wonders if it was from a battleship type rifle. His face is stained purple from the light. Sweat drips from his reading hairline like a light rain. Tears stream down his cheeks into his honey brown moustache. His shaking hands have dropped the transmitter, yet remained steady as he slowly loaded six rounds into the late admiral's S&W M29 revolver.
"One for Maya, who kept us all sane." Clink
"One for Pringles, she never deserved this." Clink
"One for Heerman, who was like a daughter to me" Clink
"One for Johnston, that little shit." He smiled fondly. Clink
"One for my mates, may their sorrows guide my shots." His teeth ground together in determination. Clink
"One for… for my dear Delilah, I'll see you soon." Fresh tears pour from his eyes. His hand slips. Clatter
He wipes his eyes and closes the chamber quickly-a cannon has just punched through the radio room's regulation plastic door. The cannon withdrew and the hole was then filled with the grinning visage of wrong.
*BANGsnick*BANGsnick*BANGsnick*CLICK*
The face quickly withdrew.
He cursed the empty chamber.
The door flew inwards and shattered into thousands of fragments.
William reflexively covered his face and momentarily forgot about the gun. He lowered them just in time to see a figure glide in.
Armoured boot heels led to long tight black leggings riding salaciously low on its hips. Its torso was encased in an arctic white body sleeve. A massive grinning gorget jutted out like a ship's prow, resting upon its shoulders and dipping into its modest cleavage. Loose black elbow long gloves gripped a 2.5 meter long staff that seems to suck in light while reflecting a subtle poisonous green light as the purple light played over its surface. The other gloved hand brushed away the debris that landed on its ragged, layered matte-black cloak. A single thin white stripe can be seen crossing the cloak from the right shoulder to the left hip. The most distinguishing item of this figure was its hat. Resembling an over sized bunker-ized toothed tricorne hat and armed with four turrets with two dual-purpose cannons each and four large tentacles freely floating as though riding an ethereal wind.
Radioman William Terse took this all in at once. In another life, he would have considered this creature a regal beauty whose affection he would strive for ceaselessly. Now with his fiance dead and nothing else to lose, he only raised his late fiance's gun to its face. In the time between aiming the barrel and pulling the trigger, he noted that its emotionless face was marred by a large scar stretching from its mouth's right corner to its right ear.
-Heh, good job girls. Least ya injured the fucker didnja?- *BANG*
The .44 bullet struck the scar, gouging it deeper but the creature stood still, its frost gold eyes staring at him emptily, a wince not even clearing its thoughts.
He knew it was futile to continue.
-Dalina, I shall definitely join you soon, in the next life.-
"Fuck you! Fuck your mothers. Fuck your toasters. And fuck your everything! Especially fuck you toasters for fucking up my everything!"
Perhaps the stress became too much for him. Perhaps he wanted to scream his vengeance to the heavens. Perhaps he wanted to rage against the injustice. Perhaps he was afraid of preferential Abyssal hospitality. Regardless, the wall behind his head was thoroughly painted with fresh medium. The paint glistened with a purple sheen.
The rain starts to fall.
The communication array lay scattered around the building.
}*{
The Wo-Class Aircraft Carrier is a very dangerous adversary. When supported by a destroyer screen, battleship support, it is become truly, a whirlwind of death. This Wo-Class is one of the first of the Abyss to rise. Though older than many of its short lived siblings, it is a learned predator with many tricks and methods.
The Re-Class is a new ship, a combination of a destroyer's speed, a battleship's armour and armament, a carrier's complement, but with the experience of a dumb tuna. With the proper training, it has the potential to be the next greatest of all standard Abyssal classes.
Wo looked at the Re nursing its face due to shock over pain behind her. The garish scar on its face further underlined the aura of amusement directed towards the Re class. The Re pouted but then peeked around the Wo at the human who attacked them.
R-Confusion.-R
W-Finality-W
It inspected the body before looking at the weapon.
R-Curiosity-R
W-Continue-W
The Re picked up the weapon and mimed shooting it at imaginary targets throughout the room.
W-Calm Urgency-W
R-Pleading-R
W-...-W
R-Meek Acceptance-R
The two Abyssal Capital Ships left the burning base and rejoined their comrades. Two Ru-Class Battleships stood vigil at the port, watching and observing everything. Dressed in a tight smart black dress suit, they wielded two massive tower shields with six large rifles per shield. This devastating combination of armour and firepower makes them excellent bastions of Abyssal might. Two more boats are on scene combing through the wreckage of the base. The Chi-Class torpedo cruiser is a nimble fighter armed with devastating torpedoes. They ride upon an amalgamation of an eldritch abomination and a jet ski. However it is a glass cannon-it can not take what it gives out.
The two Chi-Classes finished their salvaging of resources when the Flagship Wo proclaimed all clear on channels. They then loaded some of the goods onto the Ru's and then departed the ransacked naval base.
W-Course set. Move out-W
}*{
A Pacific Director Base is deep underground, further reinforced by several meters of concrete on all sides. It is defended by concrete pillboxes facing the ocean armed with repaired, jury-rigged, salvaged, or new coastal guns in a chain that makes the Maginot Line look like a playground trench. Unlike the Maginot, North and South America somehow found a way to fund a wall spanning the Aleutians to Argentina filled with such installations. Though rare, coastal attacks are nevertheless repelled thanks to the wall.
In P.D.B. CA.13, an ensign rushed through the hallways with loose leaves of paper almost spilling from his arms. His thoughts wandered to the wall outside. -They're holding up fine now, but what if our line in the Pacific collapses!? I must get these reports to Director 13!-
"Sir! You must see these reports!" A very frazzled ensign shouted from the doorway to the Director's room. The secretary was fidgeting behind him, wringing her hands and trying to convey to the ensign to at least make an appointment.
"Our bases are failing, if this continues, we may have a possible breach that will erupt into Californian soil! Sir!"
"When did this come to your attention?" The Director didn't bother looking up from her paperwork.
"Just now! Eight bases have just gone dark one after the other! If this continues…!"
The Director held up a finger. "Mavis, I'll take care of this gentlemen. Please, return to your duties." She turned back to the ensign with a sigh. "Yes, it'll be difficult now, but we have a plan for this already. Or did you forget?" A glance over her glances confirms her suspicions.
"I know you are new here, but this has happened before. I thank you for bringing this to me as soon as possible, but do keep a calm head above your shoulders and between your ears for the next time you make an impromptu report." She stands on front of the ensign. "Now, what is the protocol, Ensign Gallahad?"
"In the event of a breach, rotate all acting Admiral-Commanders and replace vacated spots with top scorers of our SeaDEF program.", the ensign recited. "But sir, it doesn't seem enough! We're only prolonging a stalemate that has no end in sight!"
"I agree, those protocols were hastily created but they have served us well for now. But I've got a fellow in mind. He will break through this."
She turned back to the file on her desk.
"He must."
}*{
_/For P.D.B. Directors & Higher Only/_
Candidate Number [ 3 ] of [ 7 ]
Name: Septimus Dillard
Age: 22
Rank: Top 2% of [ 3655 ] candidates.
About: Displays a near unhealthy determination to keep subordinates alive. Eager to learn and research all aspects of recommended curriculum. Gets along well with all members of staff. Overly cautious in determining plans of attack-unable to react within desirable margins to spontaneous events.
Notes: War-Orphan. Father, captain of a PT boat, killed in First Wave (Age 9). Mother killed during coastal shelling of pre-wall Oregon(Age 11). Away at Academy during both events. No remaining family.
Recommended Ships:
CV: HMS Ark Royal
BB: IJN Yamato & IJN Haruna
CH: KGM Admiral Hipper
DD: USS Fletcher & IJN Shimakaze
End
}*{ -A/N- }*{
I listened to "The Enforcer" by Simon Viklund whilst describing our Wo-ntagonist. Fitting, I think. Wow, nearly 1.5k words. Helluva fun write when the plot bunnies are rampaging. I like spelling armour as armour, color as colour, et al. I use both but adding a "u" just looks nicer. It bugs me when spell check flags them with that red squiggly.
Again, I have not played Kancolle, nor am I militarily inclined. I will try to make it as accurate as possible but most of all, en-bubbling-joyable.
Ignore the real world, you are here to read some gods damned fanfiction. Don't let the real world ruin that for you. Escape and enjoy.
Thanks for choosing to read Battle On, My Daughters. Any critiques, comments, and marshmallows, send 'em all my way.
