Welcome to a new chapter, fellas.
And welcome, Killroy122496, and Hoten for joining the follow and favorite list! Thanks for choosing to read this piece.
Any reviews you send I will reply with PM's. Any tips and thoughts will be happily recieved. Any flames(none yet-crosses fingers) I receive shall fuel my s'mores campfire even further.
Enjoy.
Disclaimer: Universe and recognizable characters belong to their respective owners. I own my OC's and plot, and marshmallows, and chocolate, and some graham crackers, shared with a few friends.
}*{
Base Charity is a shipgirl base on an island. It boasts an impressive airfield capable of supplying four full six battleship teams for three full weeks of heavy action, a chain of coastal batteries aimed at all directions at the seas horizon, and blisters of anti-air installations creating a net of airbourne deterrent spanning the entire island. It is also here where the majority of shipgirls and admirals return for rest and relaxation before returning to the front. At this moment in time, Base Charity plays host to three admirals and eleven shipgirls. Five of them are in critical condition and resting at the repair docks. The shortest timer reads 1D:22H:33M:12S.
}*{
"So, which fleet are you from?" Tashkent asks a beat up Iowa. "Admiral Gilbert… Base Trek. Not that it matters anymore." Iowa's eye lost its sparkle, the other lost to a dud 300kg AP bomb. She looks forlornly over to an unconscious Bismarck, then at her timer: 4D:00H:22M:57S.
"We couldn't do anything. I was with my group coming back from a resource expedition, laden with fuel and metals, low on fuel, tired yet relaxed." She rotates her shoulder blades, wincing when her damage control fairies let out piercingly harsh "Hey!'s" in protest. "Then I see this figure just standing there. I think it sensed me, then charged us like we were fresh blood and it, a rabid shark. We got a few shots in, but they didn't seem to do jack shit." Her gunnery fairies let out grumbly "Hey's". "Then the torpedoes came. Oh, by Davy Jones the torpedoes." Iowa tries to draw her slashed knees to her chin. "Two heavy cruisers, one escort carrier, and one destroyer, just gone in an instant. They missed me, however." She then looks at Bismarck fondly again. "Maybe it's her service record but she just jumped straight onto my back like I'm a table and torpedoes were mice." The small smile fell. "Twenty-Four battleship calibre shells, AP and HE mix. Everything critically damaged, she went unconscious but she's still alive. She protected me. All the while, I'm there trying to dodge torpedoes, shells, and running from the closing combatant with her body on my back." Her legs ache at the thought. Then she shadows her eyes and looks down at her twisted ankles, her slashed thighs, and blown open stomach. "I swear, my radar went white with aerial contacts. More bombs and torpedoes than I can remember ever seeing in my entire service career with Admiral… Admiral Gilbert." Tears slide down her cheeks upon mentioning her late Admiral. "That thing wore a hoodie, armed with sharp claws and teeth, hosting a tail with even more planes joining the swarm. It slashed my legs to pieces. Then watched me when the torpedoes and bombs finally struck me." Iowa then gestures to her wounds. "Seven torpedoes taken, twenty-two bomb penetrations with twenty detonations, four magazines almost detonated if they were filled, three hits to the citadel, lost fire control and radar, and shafts obliterated into slivers." The other four shipgirls look at her in a growing mix of admiration and horror.
"Sorry. I'm sorry you had to suffer more when I found you." Gangut winced as her jaw twinged painfully around her pipe. "No no, I don't think I was awake when you came to me. I'm glad I'm still alive. I do not want to die just yet. I am afraid of what I might become if I sink." Iowa rushes to comfort the Russian battleship.
"Why were you there around my area though?" Iowa asks the Russian ships. Gangut motions to Tashkent with her pipe, obviously not comfortable talking with almost half of her jaw gone.
"It was when the sun was high and bright over the icebergs. Shch-117, our submarine on patrol, detected them and alerted us. However, we didn't have the firepower to face them: two battleships with elite auras, one Wo-class, definitely with a elite flagship aura, and three small vessels, each with a small aura as well. I don't know how Shch-117 knows this but perhaps her random disappearances may have something to do with it." "Khorosho," agrees a drowsy Verniy, "she comes back with so many nice things though. Weird, but nice"
"Yes, comrade Tiny One, she's a weird one but she's quite useful when she's around." Tashkent turns back to her audience. "Well, Admiral Sidorvich decided to escape. Sister Leningrad decided to stay at the base, bring glory worthy of her name. I know not her fate. But I do know the planes spotted us. We have lost Sister Moskva to their bombs and Sister Gangut took a bomb that almost hit the Admiral." "Bitch took my best pipe too." grumbled the surly battleship. "At least we are still alive." Tashkent fires back with a glare. "We escaped, found your bodies, and towed you here to Base Charity."
Iowa was fast asleep, leaning against Bismarck's shoulder.
"Sigh, leave it to the Americans to fall asleep to a war story."
"Mmph"
"Khoro… yawn*...sho…"
}*{
"Shankee… much, Berry." Admiral Sidorvich slurs with his head down near an empty pint glass.
"Only way I can help you today mate." Admiral Barry replies and refills it with some whiskey. "Why are you folks here with some of Gilbert's girls? In such bad shape as well."
"Sasha, elites, flagships, escape, fucking bombs, my Leningrad, oh, sweet Moskva." Sidorvich says with gulps of whiskey between each word. "Give me the bottle man."
"And Gilbert's girls?" Barry slides the whiskey over to Sidorvich.
"Found 'em like that. Must've been hit first by the same bastards. Before us." He shoves away the offered whiskey and gestures for the vodka bottle.
"Yep, you'll need it. Here's to Gilbert and Leningrad, may they find peace, wherever they are now."
*Clink
}*{ EXTRA }*{
Bullets whizz over their masks as Ria and Nerissa took cover behind a shop counter. Nerissa was curled in a ball around her matte black m249 LMG, spent casings all around her. Her mask was clear over her right eye, clearly showing panic and on the verge of tears. "I don't understand!" She wailed as Ria calmly returned fire with her Joceline O/U shotgun with its distinctive blue plaid paint job. Each blast from its long barrel took out at most two Heavy SWAT Units, popping their helmets into the sunny DC sky. Ria smoothly slid back to cover next to Nerissa and calmly reloaded her shotgun.
"It was only robbing a Jewelry Store! Why is all of DC heavy response here?!" *Bang Bang!* Two FBI Riot Shielders collapsed as the AP slugs bit through the armor. She ducked once again before four near-simultaneous cracks of sniper bullets tore through where her head was. Ria looked at her own smart Two-Piece suit, her shotgun, and some electronic jammers. She looked over at Nerissa, shivering in her ICTV Bomb Squad vest, her LMG and bandolier of grenades minus one. The pin and spoon in her shaking hands and a smoking crater filled with civilian bits and pieces nearby. CLOMP CLOMP CLOMP "YOU'RE UP AGAINST A WALL! AND I AM THE FUCKING WALL!" "We are fucked." Thought Ria. wwhheEEEEEE "TASERS CHARGED AND READY!" "Deefinitely fucked." "I was only reaching for my knife!" screams Nerissa. wuululululuLULULULULULU *SMASH!* "Alright ladies! The safeword is police brutality!" "sigh"
While Ria was getting beat down by a Cloaker doing his best impression of a drum solo, she glared daggers at Nerissa getting tazed and beat down by a full squad of tasers and a Z-SkullDozer's Russian KPV HMG. Two years in jail waiting for a shitty drill ain't worth this shit anymore. Was her last thought before succumbing to a particularly enthusiastic nightstick hit.
Jewelry Store: FAILED
RISK: * * * * * * One Down
*You failed. No money will be paid out, all assets have been locked, and any valuables you held have been confiscated*
}*{ A/N }*{
I uh, don't have a reviewer/beta-reader fellow to point out any typos I've got here. You don't have to beta, just point out some typos/weird words here and there for me. Pretty please?
Some after action reports/narrations to solidify the antagonists. Perhaps you'd all want to see more of those fellas from their point of view? Your answer is yes, cost the next chapter has already been written. Just pending some self-review.
Another addition to the "Ri-ally skits". Perhaps you fellas have heard of PayDay 2? Newbie shenanigans are the best shenanigans, especially when you gotta carry them hard and it still ends badly for you anyway.
We now visit Big Comrade, Comrade Medium One, and Comrade Tiny One. I hope I've introduced them true to their character.
Krupp Stars is my ship name for Bismarck and Iowa. I ship 'em.
Headcannon: Soviet Submarine Shchuka-117 is Spartan-117. IDK why but when I saw that there was a real sub in the WW2 era with that designation, it's what I immediately jumped to. Maybe I'll make a S-117 one shot in the future Soon™. I'm not really familiar with the Halo verse but I'm pretty sure Humanity wins the ground battles therefore purples glass the planets is all I need to know.
Send blankets and camping supplies. We'd like to be more comfortable sharing s'mores 'round the fire.
