11695: Max is to be reminded for the upteenth time that excessive use of force is not authorized! And firing your 102s until an entire Abyssal fleet's magazines go off just because you can counts as excessive use of force!
11695a: Taffy 3 is not to encourage Max shooting just because it "looks awesome"!
11696: Max, yes you are awesome! Yes you are the epitome of badassary for planes. Yes you are still not a kanmusu and as such you need to excercise some caution!
11696a: "Eight hour's in the drink? It's a wonder she's still alive!"~ Vestal
11696b: *worried whimpers*~ Archerfish
11696c: *Pained groans and soothing noises*~ Max
11697: 6 months in the hanger and that's with the mechanics working around the clock to fix you! Let that be a lesson to you Max. Do not go charging a fucking Montana-class abyssal on your own. Especially not when it's being supported by a squadron of H-classes!
It was supposed to be just a routine patrol. Note the words "Supposed to be". As if anything would ever go according to plan when Sparkly Magical Shipgirl Bullshit was involved. Sure, Max was not a shipgirl but she was in love with one and had associated herself with them long enough for the magic to rub off on her she liked to think. At least that's what other pilots said. She was the only aircraft to show signs of "life". So people thought anyways. Max knew her fellow P8s were alive, they just chose not to show it like she did. But she also knew they were considering it. Max thought it would be funny if they one day chose to take control themselves. A good Halloween trick anyways.
Max took off from Runway 5 at Norfolk, turning right after departure as she headed out to sea. She joined up with another 3 P8s out of Jacksonville, part of VP16. Max was a one plane show, not belonging to any squadron but she happily joined the formation, noting with some glee that the aircraft next to her waggled its wings slightly under its own doing. Its pilot cheerfully came over the radio. "Good morning Max. Ready to do some hunting?" Max wished she could speak like a person could. There were so many words! So much variety in speech. All she had was the automated system that Boeing had installed. Usually used only for alerting the crew or making brief announcements to passengers, she used it now to communicate with the other aircraft and crews in her formation. "Good morning. Yes I am." The bland female voice was devoid of the excitement she felt, at least she was convinced she felt. She had no heart to cause an increased heart rate. Not blood to pump faster around her body. But her flaps quivered as she retracted them. Her rudder shivered and she wiggled in her flight path.
Lt. Jack "Fishbone" Angler (Long story, don't ask) of the nearest P8, number 764 chuckled as he observed the aircraft off his left wing. Max was well known amongst the Navy flying community for her Top Gun worthy flying skills as well as her shipgirl like antics. Her battle against Abyssal Task Force 9 was legendary! Her old Southwest livery had been replaced with Navy gray. She bore her registration on her nose like the other P8s in the flight did, 8701 in bold black letters. Her radar dome was painted black. Unlike the others she lacked any squadron markings. Instead, a pair of gold dolphins were painted on either side of her nose, just below the cockpit windows. Those fish were Max's proudest feature, a tribute to her lover and a mark of her current assignment as the lone plane in SUBDESRON 12 out of New London CT. Along her flanks were a pair of bulges that hid torpedoes. On her wings, outboard of her engines were harpoon missiles, 12 in all. Inboard of her engines, almost hidden in the wing roots were gun barrels. Massive ones. These had been installed to replace the phoelinx. Usually designed for tanks, Science! had permitted that Max could carry a pair of 102s. The damage she could do with those! The thought of sharpshooting Max wielding a pair of 102s coupled with her new Aegis systems on unsuspecting Abyssals made Angler quiver with glee and Max eager to test her new weapons. Neither would have to wait long.
Less than an hour into the patrol, the lead P8s radar began to light up with contacts but they didn't need any visual confirmation that they were Abyssals. The chill that worked its way across Max's wings was more than enough. For some reason, the 738M could sense the evil ships in the same way a shipgirl could. The clouds beneath them parted to reveal a massive fleet lead by a Montana-class battleship. And she was not alone. 3 H-classes hugged her flanks along with an assortment of cruisers and destroyers. "That's a lot of guns." whistled Angler. "But no air cover." Max's automated or "Alexa" voice as the pilots liked calling it. They flew over and circled back for another look and sure enough, no carriers were present. "That's still a lot of guns Max." Angler said, knowing what the trigger happy plane was thinking. "You've got Neo warheads right?" She asked, speaking of a brand new addition to the weapons the Poseidon's carried on their Harpoons. The Neo warhead was unaffected by the field Abyssals put off and thus allowed the more modern remains of the Navy to fight in a war they previously had witnessed from the sidelines. The problem was, the weapons were so new that only a handful were in existence. Not nearly enough to take out a whole fleet. "We have two each, but this fleet is full of tough bitches. More than tough enough to take whatever we have in our arsonal." "I'm aware of that. Just cover me." "Understood." Angler knew he couldn't argue with Max.
Max had made a few modifications to her systems since her last flight and instead of having to climb, she rolled over in a dive like a WW2 bomber. Her wings were reinforced to take the increased loads and she gained speed rapidly. She dove straight down on the Montana-class. She lacked the Neo warheads that her fellow P8s had and was forced to launch her weapons at low altitude. At 2000 feet she prepared to deploy. It took seconds for her pass 1000 feet. She launched the harpoon from her left side. It streaked down, slamming into the Montana. The other ships in the fleet opened up with their guns as she pulled up, forcing her to stay on the deck. From above, more harpoons streaked down from the other three P8s hidden in the clouds. They took down one H-class. Max took pleasure in seeing her magazine explode. She banked hard left, her wingtip just feet from the swells as she lined up another shot. She fired off three harpoons in a series. The weapons flew low as they were designed before shooting up and slamming into the Montana's decks. Her thick armor held and Max stifled a curse when fire from the destroyers started hitting her. Bullets struck the fan blades on her right engine and it started to surge. Max shut it down quickly to prevent further damage. Now running on just one engine, she weaved her way around the remaining two H-classes trying to find a way out. Despite the risks she often took, she wasn't suicidal. But this task force wasn't about to let her go. Heavy antiaircraft fire from the destroyer screen blocked her path. After four tries Max was running out of options. Taking near continuous fire, she had lost hydraulics on her right side. Her left wing was punctured and leaking fuel. It was fortunate she had launched all her missiles on that side before those bullets struck. "If I can't escape, I may as well go down fighting!" She thought and lining up a shot, she launched the last two harpoons she had straight at the Montana.
From 20,000 feet, Angler cheered as he saw the large battleship explode. But Max was still trapped. He'd radioed for help but it would take another few hours before Massachusetts could arrive. An hour Max didn't have. Her fuel leak had become critical and she had to be careful in how she presented herself to the enemy, exposing only her right flank. A direct hit on that stream of JetA could cause a massive fireball. Down to torpedoes and a few rounds for her 102s, Max launched a salvo into one of the H-classes. The weapons remained finicky despite her efforts to protect them from the abyssal's field. One torpedo broached, another swam off towards Europe and another struck without detonating. Only one exploded and it took out the H-class' rudder. "Something I can work with." Max thought. She circled back around, climbing steeply to present a smaller target before diving back down. Once again she launched a salvo of torpedoes. Two more struck in close succession but did little damage. The Mark 48s the Navy was so proud of were as useless as the Mark 13. The ability to detonate underneath the ship was the weapons' Achilles heel. They always struck the hull, if they struck at all. The warhead's strength ensured the H-class suffered some flooding and Max resolved to use what she had left to sink it. A slow, vulnerable target with its rudder sheered off, it was easy pickings. Easy being relative of course. There were still quite a few friends there. Those friends now opened up with everything they had against her. Despite her impressive flying skills, Max could only avoid their strikes for so long.
A pair of 5 inch shells went off directly underneath her, shrapnel penetrating her belly and severing her manual control cables. Her only source of control. The pain was unbearable. With a harsh cry, Max's nose lifted and her left engine screamed as it tried to lift her bulk out of the fight. As she gained altitude the flak got worse and worse and worse. The other P8s circling above tried to help. Of their own accords they launched salvo after salvo of harpoons and torpedoes even though there was no chance they'd get a hit. Maybe they could distract the Abyssals long enough for Max to escape. It nearly worked. Max had just passed 3500 feet when a lucky shot from one of the ships below struck her remaining working engine. It practically exploded! Max screamed, nothing automated about it. She literally screamed. "No..." Angler could only watch in horror as the famed 737 nosed down towards the sea. Without control, a rough landing was inevitable. Max practically dove into the swells, leveling off at the last second due to the lift generated over her wings. It was still a very hard landing. Once the spray settled there was some relief at seeing her floating on the surface but no one knew for how long she'd stay there. Planes were not designed to float. They were not boats. The Abyssal fleet steamed off, avoiding Massachusetts fleet with a course change to the south. The US Navy tore after them and requested the remaining P8s fly ahead and keep tabs on the enemy. Except none of the P8s did. Despite the efforts of their crews to turn them around, all three stayed where they were. In formation circling above Max. Every once in a while, one would dive down to a scant 1000 feet and overfly Max seemingly to check on her, wave its wings then return to the group. Max was struggling just to keep her head above water. She'd thrown the ditching switch before she impacted but was still flooding nonetheless. Her bullet ridden wings were rapidly filling with water. Never mind that, the pain she was in was unbearable and the biting cold of the ocean made it worse. Max was still confused as to how she could feel all that but she could.
At one point she lost consciousness. She must have because she dreamed of Archerfish. Her lover was calling to her, whispering soothing words. Everything felt warm, pleasant almost. Max felt like she could just lay down and collapse into that warmth... then a tug. A harsh tug and pain! The pain brought her back and she realized she was moving, being lifted out of the water. Harsh straps dug into her skin and her wounds. Out of the water and now exposed to air she started shivering. She was carried 50 miles to Norfolk by a rescue ship, then lifted by crane onto the pier. Max had used her emergency systems to blow her landing gear down but the instant she touched the tarmac, her gear gave way and she collapsed hard on her wounded belly. She was too tired to cry out and instead a low pitiful groan escaped her. Her radar alerted her to a pair of people standing over her and one was very familiar. Seeing her mate gave Max some relief and she relaxed a little.
Archerfish was stunned at seeing how badly Max was hurt. Her entire body was covered with bullet holes and tracer burns. Her wings were so perforated it was a wonder they were still intact. Her left engine had lost its cowling and the melted remains dangled off her wing. Her right engine was nothing more than a pile of burned junk. Her tailfin was mostly shot away. It had been shot up early in the fight. It was remarkable she could still control her flying despite that injury. These injuries, coupled with her long stay in the water, left Max in critical condition. "8 hours in the drink, it's a wonder she's still alive." whispered Vestal as she got to work. South Dakota joined her. As the shipgirl responsible for a large number of Max's modifications, she had the most knowledge of how the former 737-8 worked. Max was silent as they worked, shutting down her radar as she slowly warmed. Once almost completely numb from her immersion, Max's senses slowly returned as did the pain. It was so fierce she was trembling constantly. Archerfish soothed her as best she could, holding her nose and stroking her head. Without her radar, Max was blind but she could feel Archerfish's hands and their touch helped relax her. Her trembling eased.
After a couple of hours, Max had regained enough strength to find her wheels and limp into her hanger. Technitions started work on her right away. Archerfish never left her side, stroking her nose continuously. "You were so brave." She whispered, her eyes dark as her gaze traveled across Max's badly mawled frame. No aircraft in history had ever returned from battle this severely damaged. Max let out a soft groan that was meant to be a purr but the pain prevented her from giving it correctly. A low rumble rocked her body and she nuzzled Archerfish who got the message. The submarine took Max's nose in her hands and kissed it. "My beautiful, wonderful, brave Max. Don't ever do that again. How could I ever find another as wonderful and precious as you? You are irreplaceable."