Transient Harbor

KC/Azur Lane RP blog. SFW unless personally requested.

[abyssalspace]

Changing of the Guard

December 20th, 20XX, 1436 hours.

It was miserably hot on the ocean for so late in the year; what Volley would give to be in Russia already. Those plans couldn't be set in motion for another few days, however, and she had other, bigger fish to fry. Her destination wasn't exactly clear to her, but from the brief Ev gave her, UNSC Spirit of Fire had retired completely, finding a new soul to bear the rigging.

A new soul who knew nothing of modern naval warfare, much less 2500s naval warfare. It seemed that HMNZS Rūhia would have her work cut out for her.

As she thought, a bridge fairy brought to her attention land on the horizon! That had to be the place.

"Allied Command, this is HMNZS Rūhia, approaching via Southwest. Please give vectors to Port entrance, over."

@transientharbor

[transientharbor]

abyssalspace‌:

Changing of the Guard

December 20th, 20XX, 1436 hours.

It was miserably hot on the ocean for so late in the year; what Volley would give to be in Russia already. Those plans couldn’t be set in motion for another few days, however, and she had other, bigger fish to fry. Her destination wasn’t exactly clear to her, but from the brief Ev gave her, UNSC Spirit of Fire had retired completely, finding a new soul to bear the rigging.

A new soul who knew nothing of modern naval warfare, much less 2500s naval warfare. It seemed that HMNZS Rūhia would have her work cut out for her.

As she thought, a bridge fairy brought to her attention land on the horizon! That had to be the place.

“Allied Command, this is HMNZS Rūhia, approaching via Southwest. Please give vectors to Port entrance, over.”

@transientharbor

There was a pause, the personnel on the receiver side processing the information and attempting to cross-reference Volokolamsk’s name. There were hardly any visitors to this lonely harbor in the middle of the Pacific, and those that did visit or were transferred to its shores had itineraries assigned. Still, credit when credit was due, they were professional and the hiccup was almost undetectable.

“HMNZS Rūhia, we have you on scope. Continue your current approach and follow the guide buoys in. An escort will greet you when you are within 5 nautical miles of the port. Your escort for today will be MCRN Grom-welcome to the Remote Pacific Outpost.”

- - - - - - - -

Grom unwittingly shared the newcomer’s sentiments regarding the weather-she absolutely loathed the heat. Despite her hull being made to withstand even Venus’ hostile atmosphere for short periods of time, the stress of reentry, or the harsh environment of the void, the heat on Earth was utterly unbearable, especially for her human body. She was currently on duty and as such, bore her armor, its internal AC unit working overtime with the “fairies” attempting to keep it running at full capacity.  Her HUD picked up  HMNZS Rūhia on her own radar as the shipgirl approached the Isle of Misfits, sharp eyes keeping tabs on her course from the sea as she waited by the docks for her cue. By her right side was a weapon that approximated the MCRN’s assault rifle but functioned as her railgun, while her left side had rigging equipped with the bow of her hull and its torpedo tubes. Gloved fingers tapped idly on her armor plating as she counted down the minutes until their visitor arrived at the checkpoint, her fusion engine igniting and propelling her forward while her booted feet skimmed the waves. “ HMNZS Rūhia, I am MCRN Grom. Please, follow me if you will to the docks and debriefing room.” 

[transientharbor]

Deceptive Seas

[transientharbor]

abyssalspace‌:

Very little of the enemy force remained, the Carrier princess and her few remaining forces pulling tight, trying fruitlessly to condense their AA against the vastly superior air attacks pelting them. Another wave of Harriers launched from their carrier, bearing a heavy load of JDAMs; the battle was over.

With a feast of fire and smoke, the few ships left went up in massive explosions as the guided high-penetration munitions met their marks. All that was left was the Princess, oozing black ichor from places unimaginable and half-sunken into the sea.

“I’ll leave the honors to you, Roon. Sink her; teach her it’s only polite to respond in kind.”

“It would be my greatest pleasure.” The German cruiser replied simply, eyes full of utter contempt for the ghastly specter whose churning, viscous fluids spilled into the open sea and stained it black with its filth. She raised her main guns as she came to a halt beside Bleikr, training all three barrels of her forward turret at the spiteful glare.  There were no other words as her guns belched their astounding report, smoke billowing forth from their rifling, holing the carrier princess twice over with 203mm armor-piercing shells. Loathing filled her thoughts as she watched the pale corpse bubble and gurgle as it sank beneath the waves, hands stiff and raised in either defiance or terror before the ocean reclaimed its lost soul.  “Let us be off. I hope none of your fighters were badly damaged in the skirmish,” Roon voiced, looking at the pink-haired sub-carrier as she began to steam forward again, heading towards her next checkpoint so many miles away.

[transientharbor]

Deceptive Seas

[transientharbor]

abyssalspace‌:

A Ri-class suddenly exploded, her port side lighting up with a massive spray of water as a torpedo from the megasub hit true. Small lines of smoke traced their ways in, followed by the jets that launched them. Pristine F-35Cs tore into the enemy fleet with gusto, dropping long-range anti-ship missiles like candy against the lighter enemy vessels. Destroyers went up like fireworks, their thin armor the perfect targets for the low-penetration munitions.

“That’s why I chose you. Sending a single cruiser, alone, from the Pacific to the Atlantic? It’s like they wanted to lose you to the waves. The pleasure’s mine, Roon; call me Bleikrfaxi. Bleikr for short, if you must.” Another huge spray of foam and fire showed another torpedo hit true, this time the Ru-class crying out in agony and fighting the flooding in her rigging.

“I realize you may not have an IFF system on-board tied to your radar. I would ask that you avoid medium to long-range anti-aircraft fire to help me minimize casualties to my air wings. Even at this scale, fighter jets are damned expensive.” A froth of bubbles gave away the submarine’s position momentarily, another SLBM breaking the surface of the water. This time, however, it simply flew off, bound direct north into the horizon.

“We’re almost done here. How badly wounded are you? Will you be able to make it to Britain with the supplies you have on board?” She seemed awfully familiar with the mission for someone who certainly didn’t identify herself as part of the same military.

“The supplies I have on board are sufficient enough for me to make it to the next stop towards my destination. My ammunition count is fine, though a few of my mountings will need to be repaired en route. I recently resupplied at the cape itself, so thankfully this attack occurred sooner rather than later...” Roon sighed as she directed the medium range and over gun mounts to quiet themselves, brushing a lock of hair that fell out of place during combat. Keeping up her main battery fire, she continued to use the opportunities as given to her by Bleikrfaxi’s attacks, helping quell the Abyssal assault. She remembered the reason behind her lone attempt to cross the treacherous waters. Spirit of Fire was near useless, and Grom wasn’t capable of fending off an attack of this size, even with more advanced torpedoes. Salem and Roanoke were being deployed elsewhere at the time, and Seydlitz... Seydlitz was supposedly in Britain already.

With all other theaters of war currently involved and with their closest allies unable to provide assistance other than shipments of supplies to the harbor, the situation had become dire for Roon’s home port. Another sigh escaped her lips as the smoke from her guns and the increasing number of abyssal wrecks washed over her, watching as the submarine carrier’s angels of death struck daggers into the hearts of beasts. “They had no other choice. I don’t know if they contacted you or you were listening in, Bleikrfaxi, but I am far too grateful today to care. If you still wish to escort me, I’d be interested in hearing how you came about information on my reassignment.”

[transientharbor]

Deceptive Seas

[transientharbor]

abyssalspace‌:

Half a nail-biting hour later, the submarine decided she had waited long enough. Already more contacts were showing up on sonar, within the thirty kilometer range. With their largest batteries now in firing range, the smoke began to clear, the destroyers scattering to the four winds in time for a harrowing sight.

The sea was black with the hulls of Abyssal ships. Towards the rear of the fleet appeared to be some make of Carrier Princess, much larger than a Wo, leading the battlegroup. If one had to guess, a Princess just got booted from her home and was hoping to recoup the loss with a very nice heavy cruiser. A fleet of strike craft, barely audible over the din of short-range combat, closed in on the isolated cruiser, ready for the kill. The batteries of a Ru-class battleship barked in the rear, her massive shells streaking in, a mess of 5 cruisers and a dozen destroyers all turning their batteries to face their sole target.

To Roon’s rear, a different sound rapidly approached. Overhead a pinprick of light flashed, then grew, then became almost blinding. A sudden explosion at about 5,000 feet sent streaks of light across the battlefield, culminating in a chorus of secondary explosions. The Abyssal strike craft burst into flames, all but a handful screeching in agony as they plummeted from the sky. Shrieks and cries of pain and surprise washed over the Abyssal fleet, numerous ships falling victim to the surprise SLBM strike. Jet engines roared overhead as four wings of fairy-sized Sea Harriers flew past, already burning to engage with the reinforcement craft launched by the Abyssal carrier force, now shy one Wo-class. Roon’s radar would pick up another three squadrons on the way from the same vector. 

Over the radio, a strange, Slavic voice introduced herself.

“Unidentified surface vessel, this is Yuktobanian Navy Scinfaxi-class SSBVN AK-303. I’ll take it from here.” Fighters launched and message relayed, the submarine drove back into the depths, moving at a steady 30 knots submerged straight below the beleaguered cruiser. Torpedo tubes open, she was already prepared to send more of their risen foe back to the depths.

The sky was ripped open, with a great, bellowing howl and a light that eclipsed the sun. It blinded her, forcing her eyes shut against the torrent of light, her ears filled with the shrieks of Abyssals both sea and air alike, their haunting, gurgling cries rolling over her in agonized waves. 

Shielding her vision, she cracked her brown orbs open to witness the sheer carnage that had come from the strange weapon, black, acrid smoke billowing around her in the wake of the destruction. The Wo-class herself had almost been completely vaporized, what was left sinking underneath the waves as swarms of unfamiliar jet aircraft buzzed overhead, immediately beginning attack runs on the remaining Abyssal craft and whatever reinforcements they were scrambling in the aftermath. 

Yuktobanian? AK-303? What kind of submarine could unleash carnage on the scale of this surprise assault, sowing chaos among the enemy fleet with one almighty bomb that outshone anything she had witnessed until this point? Still, as her fairies performed damage control and several, in fact, dropped to her side to start repairing the gaps and leaks in her armor, she nodded slowly, Roon coasting away from the battle and just far enough so that she could fire supporting salvos. 

“...Thank you for the assistance, AK-303. I am KMS Roon, first and only of her kind. It seems our intel was wrong about the cape, and I was lured here on the pretense that it was safe.” 

Her gun directors slew around and her gunners sighted in once more, now free to perform their duties with her long-range firepower. With the blistering report of her 203mm rifles, she aimed at the surface vessels she knew she could sink, providing another distraction along with the buzzing Sea Harriers overhead.

[transientharbor]

Deceptive Seas

[transientharbor]

abyssalspace‌:

Unbeknownst to the German cruiser, escort was spared for her; just not by her superiors. Deep beneath the waves, silent enough she was invisible to Roon’s hydrophone, swam a vessel who had made it her mission to ensure safe passage of loners through the tumultuous seas. It was good that she was on standby, too; It looked like there would be action soon.

“Crew to battle stations. our friend looks capable, but may be wandering into far more than she can handle.” Ready to jump in if need be, the mystery ship vented ballast, starting the climb to the surface. She wouldn’t breach yet, but just in case.

Meanwhile the Abyssal destroyers began to spread out. A couple fired their 5-inch gun batteries, but this was a distraction. The rest were surrounding the isolated cruiser and deploying a deep grey smokescreen. At the horizon, already visible were a couple of wings of small, toothy Abyssal strike craft, quickly obscured by the growing smoke. Soon, all Roon could see around her would be about a kilometer square of roiling, empty seas, five inch shells piercing the veil from seemingly random locations at seemingly random intervals.

It may well have been a trap.

“Impact on the starboard secondaries! 150mm down!”

“Torpedo reloading has slowed! Maintain safety of our current munitions!”

“Fire directors still functioning. Hydroacoustic search vectors are currently saturated-if you can, aim towards the muzzle flashes at this distance!”

Things weren’t going quite well for Roon. While powerful and more than capable on her own, she was dealing with an entire squadron of destroyers.

Destroyers that had been taught pack tactics, and how to deal with ships whose shells could rend them asunder.

The battle had already gone on for half an hour already, and the constant peppering of shells was starting to wear on her patience. A vein throbbed in her forehead, and it was taking every ounce of control that she had to keep her ‘break’ from rushing in and potentially getting herself sunk. Her right hand was gripped so tightly that she thought it would bleed through the gauntlet as she swung around her Anton turret, directing her frustrations towards a flash of gunfire hidden in the smoke.

A great belch erupted from her 203mm rifles and three shells stabbed into the smoke, searching and teething for a target. This time, Roon would be blessed with a howl and the sound of rending metal, black ichor leaking into the sea. The reprieve would be short lived however as 5-inch shells raked the back of her superstructure, her Bruno and Caesar turrets rolling around to bark return fire. Before she could focus on her next target, her hydrophone operators reported in frantic tones-

“Torpedoes off our port! Three fish in the water!”

Hauling herself around with a hard turn to port to face the incoming torpedoes and her boilers churning as she commanded her throttle to full speed, Roon was left open on her starboard flank, eating a couple more shells that managed to hit where her armor was weakest. She stumbled with seething fury spilling from clenched teeth, oil leaking out of her wound as she struggled to keep her berserker side under control.

“Lookout! What about aircraft?!” “Negative on sightings! The smoke is too thick still, we lost them as soon as the screen was deployed!”

“Damn it all…” Roon spat, steadying herself for another assault. “Ready the AA guns! Keep the crew on high alert!”

“Aye-aye, ma’am!”

[transientharbor]

Deceptive Seas

“You are being transferred to the Atlantic theatre. Normally, we’d send you through the Suez Canal and said trip would be fairly uneventful. However, this a world where you exist, and where your sunken counterparts have swarmed the sea. No one can spare an escort for you right now, not enough to keep you safe through those waters. For how much power you might have, we’re sending you through a safer route: around the Southern Horn of Africa, and up the western coast. Reports say that Abyssal activity is low, but make no mistake: do not pursue enemy forces. Fight only if you have to. We can’t afford to lose you.”

A solemn nod, and a salute with an armored hand. “Yes, sir.” 

- - - - - - - - - - - 

Somewhere off the Cape of Good Hope, Southern Africa 

 The waves kicked around Roon’s armored legs, the bulwarks of her rigging bracing her against the spray of the ocean as she surged forward across the sea. Thanks to the superhuman endurance and capabilities of a shipgirl’s construction, sailing at her top, safe cruising speed was relatively easy with nothing else to focus on. Her radar and lookouts were diligent as they scanned the horizon, fairies mingling among themselves to deliver reports to their shipgirl host. 

So far, the sea had been quiet, and it was better than she could ask for. Though part of her mind itched for combat, to feel steel and iron buckle underneath her armored hands, Roon knew it was much better for the trip to be mundane; any sign of trouble would meant time wasted, and a higher chance that she’d be ambushed by greater Abyssal forces. She had been making good time away from the Cape of Good Hope, having stopped by to top off at a local port and ensure that she ate something before continuing on the next leg of her journey.  Unfortunately, all that would change as the seas grew rougher and the sky darkened...

“Contact, bearing 330 degrees. Silhouettes suggest a squadron of I-class destroyers. No other surface contacts at the time. Be advised, we have limited information,” the lead fairy reported, and as Roon looked towards her port side, her gun turrets swing in unison, gears and motors cranking along to slew them to intercept.  “It was getting a little boring anyway. Some target practice would do me well before I arrive in Britain,” Roon muttered to herself, sliding a clawed hand through her dusky pink hair.

[transientharbor]

Training Days

“Do you think she’s gonna be able to do it today?” 

A snicker. “Pfft, naaaaah. It’s been a nightmare for her to get down the basics! No way she can pull this off yet.” 

“You really shouldn’t be talking about her like this. It’s not like she’s a natural shipgirl, like all of us. She was gifted the...uh...mantle, I think she described it.”

“Why does it matter where she came from? If she’s not any good, she’s dead weight and it’s better to cut her than pull us all down,” another scoffs. 

“We should give her the benefit of the doubt; we need all forces capable, and unlike me, who was born of an unfinished dream, she is manifested from a ship that has long faced combat in theaters we can’t imagine.” 

“None of that matters if she can’t fight!” 

“Hey, hey, hey! All of this was ‘sposed to be in good fun, now stop raining on it! Geez...make everything serious, why don’tcha?”  - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Spirit did her best to ignore the peanut gallery on the docks. Here she stood, in fully armored rigging, with Serina’s fairy whispering in her ear about the current trial to come. It was a training exercise the ‘allied’ Supply Depot HIme had set up on recommendation of the transitory island’s commanding officer-something simple 

Or, at least, it would be simple for any other shipgirl. For Spirit, or Sofie Roux, it was hell. 

As the others had been discussing, she wasn’t a natural shipgirl. She had taken the mantle up from a now-retired vessel that had come from a time and place far beyond their current era, to assist the world in its fight against the abyssal fleets. Despite all the power she had been granted, she had little idea on how to use it, with her attempts so far at surfing the waves or even attempting to fly being catastrophic failures. 

The fairy floating next to her uncovered ear was discussing how to paint targets with the heavy pistol she carried as her personal arm, using a small ranging laser attached to its frame. It was slaved to the Archer missile pods’ targeting systems, which were the subject of the exercises for the next few days.  Sofie wasn’t going to give up so easily, however, even with the stinging words from some of her cohorts at this small remedial training facility. Raising up the pistol, a firearm she at least had some training with for self-protection, she took aim at the target buoys set to float in the harbor. 

“Please...show me how this works.”

[transientharbor]

To do list: 

Add Salem. Add Seydlitz. Add this training base’s commanding officer. 

Add MCRN Grom. 

Start little shorts which go into what goes on around this dinky harbor in the Pacific. 

Bully Spirit-

“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?!” 

I mean, you’re a shipgirl. Who wasn’t a shipgirl. Who is now in command of a colony ship-turned-assault carrier rigging system. 

“And?!” 

Well, do you know how to use any of it? 

“Uh...n...no...not yet! B-but Serina’s been teaching me!”

You know what comes next. 

“You....you...*cad!*”

[transientharbor]

electricboatss-315‌:

transientharbor‌:

electricboatss-315‌:

Indeed, Sealion was coming back from an overnight patrol. What was originally meant to be on station until the base and surrounding area could be cleaned up has turned into the longest open ended tour since his time in Vietnam. However he couldn’t complain as Admiral Williams was one of the few exemplary commanders he’s worked with and the Auckland fleetgirls were also easy to sortie alongside. 

The old salt was climbing onto the pier and proceeded to slip out of his wetsuit, underneath revealed a remarkably still well pressed khaki uniform. He was returning from an ambush on an abyssal convoy, hence the newest markings on his rigging signifying he sunk 6 cargo ships and 3 destroyers…Using all nine of his torpedoes thus forcing him to return to the base. Finally out of the wetsuit and stretching his arms, his eyes caught sight of the redheaded girl looking as if she wanted a word with him. “Hrm, am I in trouble already?” He muttered to himself, then recalled the letter he received sometime ago from some journalist named Sofie. Apparently she wanted his side of the story on the invasion of Auckland from the abyssal and the subsequent debris clearing and rebuilding of the area. 

“Hey’o, would you happen to be Ms. Sofie? I got this letter about someone wishing to interview me for…something. I’m Chief Sealion, sorry about being a little worse for wear as you saw I just got back from a patrol…”  He yawned and stretched his arms a little bit, his head was still ringing from the constant sound of the General alarm.

Sealion looked just as she remembered him from the little glimpses she had the first time around. The biggest difference was on his khakis; well-kept and pressed despite being crammed into a frogsuit, it was pinned with a rank she knew only in passing but knew the importance of. 

When the introduction came, a smile played at her lips, her eyes twinkling. “Chief Sealion. I like the sound of that. Fits a man of both your achievements and your ability! I am indeed Ms. Sofie. I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a long time, ever since this whole cluster started, but it seems it was decided that we’d finally meet today instead.” 

Stepping over to his side, she shook her head and the smile turned into a good-natured grin, waving Sealion’s apology off. “I’m not like the stuffier journalists, I promise. I always want to talk to people in the now and capture things as they are. Doctoring them doesn’t feel genuine to me. Ce n’est pas du couer. It’s not from the heart, right? Still, I don’t want to nag you for anything right now. You just got back, and I’m sure you’re tired and hungry.”  She put her right hand out, other hand in her pocket. “How about I treat you for all the work you’ve done? Any place you want, any drink you want, it’s on me. My questions can wait.”

With a slight blush and a laugh, Sealion nodded and waved off  her compliments. “Please, its just a job…To be honest I just go wherever they tell me, if they want me to go to amphibious school or BUDS I do it, but when I heard about the attack here it was the only time I dropped everything. This place had been more like a second home really…” He mused, then grabbed his side cap and put on his head.

“I would appreciate the chance to actually talk about it, I honestly haven’t beyond official statements since we got back. Just don’t teak my words and make my life more miserable than it already is, you may not believe it but being the only male in this fight you get the short end of the stick…” With that he grinned slightly at the offer, however he wouldn’t abuse anyone’s hospitality. 

“Well now that you mention it….I can’t turn down an offer like that, there is a small pub just off the stations gates. Needless to say the drinks are stiffer a steel girder. Plus I could use some company, the rest of the task force is still out ‘hunting’ as they say.” Then he grabbed his jacket and gestured the way he and Sofie would be walking.

“I probably won’t be able to handle my drink as well as you, so I’ll take something a bit lighter. Maybe an aluminium girder versus steel,” Sofie replied, the grin cracking wider at her own lame joke before following Sealion’s lead. The city had definitely changed in the months she had been gone; while there was still plenty of work to be done with reconstruction, it was recovering, and that was the important part.  They were human, after all, and humans knew how to pick themselves up after a disaster. 

Sofie waved off his concerns and gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “I can only imagine. An anomaly among anomalies. I’m sure there might be more out there, or more waiting to be discovered, but seriously, they give you too much ache for your uniqueness. I promise, I’ll only report what you say, and any thoughts I have on the matter will be relegated to a related opinion piece. Besides, I know a lot of people are interested in hearing from first responders on the fleet-person side.” She grew somber, however, as she continued. “After all...there are people out there who would’ve given anything to do more. Even me. Kinda silly, being a journalist and tagging behind all of these events, trying to catch a glimpse of the truth or catalog the events of you brave sailors as you fight against something incomprehensible.” The smile on her face was wistful, and if it weren’t for the clear day, one could say that fog had clouded her eyes. 

[transientharbor]

electricboatss-315‌:

Indeed, Sealion was coming back from an overnight patrol. What was originally meant to be on station until the base and surrounding area could be cleaned up has turned into the longest open ended tour since his time in Vietnam. However he couldn’t complain as Admiral Williams was one of the few exemplary commanders he’s worked with and the Auckland fleetgirls were also easy to sortie alongside. 

The old salt was climbing onto the pier and proceeded to slip out of his wetsuit, underneath revealed a remarkably still well pressed khaki uniform. He was returning from an ambush on an abyssal convoy, hence the newest markings on his rigging signifying he sunk 6 cargo ships and 3 destroyers…Using all nine of his torpedoes thus forcing him to return to the base. Finally out of the wetsuit and stretching his arms, his eyes caught sight of the redheaded girl looking as if she wanted a word with him. “Hrm, am I in trouble already?” He muttered to himself, then recalled the letter he received sometime ago from some journalist named Sofie. Apparently she wanted his side of the story on the invasion of Auckland from the abyssal and the subsequent debris clearing and rebuilding of the area. 

“Hey’o, would you happen to be Ms. Sofie? I got this letter about someone wishing to interview me for…something. I’m Chief Sealion, sorry about being a little worse for wear as you saw I just got back from a patrol…”  He yawned and stretched his arms a little bit, his head was still ringing from the constant sound of the General alarm.

Sealion looked just as she remembered him from the little glimpses she had the first time around. The biggest difference was on his khakis; well-kept and pressed despite being crammed into a frogsuit, it was pinned with a rank she knew only in passing but knew the importance of. 

When the introduction came, a smile played at her lips, her eyes twinkling. “Chief Sealion. I like the sound of that. Fits a man of both your achievements and your ability! I am indeed Ms. Sofie. I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a long time, ever since this whole cluster started, but it seems it was decided that we’d finally meet today instead.” 

Stepping over to his side, she shook her head and the smile turned into a good-natured grin, waving Sealion’s apology off. “I’m not like the stuffier journalists, I promise. I always want to talk to people in the now and capture things as they are. Doctoring them doesn’t feel genuine to me. Ce n’est pas du couer. It’s not from the heart, right? Still, I don’t want to nag you for anything right now. You just got back, and I’m sure you’re tired and hungry.”  She put her right hand out, other hand in her pocket. “How about I treat you for all the work you’ve done? Any place you want, any drink you want, it’s on me. My questions can wait.”

[transientharbor]

It had been a while since she had last stepped on Auckland’s shores, long after she had visited Spirit of Fire and Trench Cafe for one last meeting before they retired from service. In the meantime, something strange had happened to her, and she had spent the time between wrestling what it meant for as a normal person. It threw her understanding of ship-girls (or people, as it would seem that ship-guys existed too) for a loop, and what it could potentially mean for those that had retired but whose riggings had yet to be broken down.

Today, she was dressed for the balmy weather-blue capris with cargo pockets down the sides, a pair of hiking shoes that looked well-worn, and a scarlet shirt with a cream-colored cut at the collar. Sofie breathed in the salty air, and relished the bit of freedom she had from the uniform that had become somewhat normal to her whenever she donned the rigging she was gifted. 

The redheaded journalist(or is it former journalist? Could she still perform her passion while serving?) stood near the rebuilt docks, looking out across the bay. Sofie had sent a letter(old-fashioned letter too!) addressed to a particular submarine, USS Sealion, in hopes of meeting him again. He was one of the quickest responses for New Zealand’s call for assistance, and she had seen him briefly while doing her own part as a volunteer for recovery efforts. Always interested in the new warriors of humanity against the eldritch adversary from beyond, she wanted to get a chance to chat with him and a brief, casual interview, but due to the sheer workload of both seeking out the Abyssal fleet which had led the assault and providing disaster relief for Auckland, Sofie never managed to make the opportunity happen.

Now, with Auckland somewhat settled and the Abyssal fleet responsible being hounded to the ends of the Earth by other allied fleets, she hoped that her letter had reached him during his downtime so she could finally meet who she considered the famous ‘Torpedoman’ of the undersea fleets. The first place Sofie thought of looking was the docks, maybe to catch him early in the morning before he went off about his day, or perhaps as he made his way back from his latest assignment. 

Hope was strong, but in her line of work, Sofie knew that circumstances were rarely favorable for what she wanted to cover.

[transientharbor]

Log Entry, 29 May 20XX

Begin log!

Small one today. I’m a liiiittle worried that my original memories will be displaced by those of Spirit of Fire, though Serina tells me I shouldn’t really worry. It’s not just me in my own body now, after all, but Spirit’s, well, spirit is like a cowling of sorts. Whenever I don her rigging the connection grows stronger... 

Can’t help but imagine the bad end to that though and it turns out that I’m right! I gave my resolve, yet the thought of being swallowed up like that is terrifiant!  Damn it, the French came out. C’est dommage...not like I’m not proud of it, but I don’t speak it much anymore. 

A few more things for posterity, I guess. I am-was-a freelance journalist, and I’ve been following the shipgirls and their fight against the Abyssal fleets for almost as long as I’ve been in the profession. 

I’ve witnessed so many events, great, terrible, and both great and terrible, arise as the war intensified against their infernal existence. Everything that I have seen, I have chronicled in photos, in articles, in stories, to share them with the world in hopes of some remembrance. Humans have short memories, sometimes. I don’t want any of the shipgirls’ sacrifices to go forgotten, not for everything they’ve done. This conflict is especially brutal, and I’ve done my best up until donning Spirit of Fire’s mantle to preserve it for future generations.

I don’t know whether there is a true beginning for the fleets that come from beneath the surface, but if we find one, I hope we don’t repeat the mistake.

Time for practice though. Serina said I was supposed to start learning how to manipulate the rigging. The only thing I can do so far is walk with the thrusters’ assistance and pull up a basic command menu for myself. I wonder if natural shipgirls have this kind of problem...?

End log.

[transientharbor]

Musings of a newly risen ship

Log Entry, 28 May 20XX

Begin log. ...Is that all I have to do? There’s not a light or anything that shows that I’m being recorded...oh! There it is! Ah, no, it caught everything I just said! Oooh...but if I terminate it now... Deep sigh, followed by a chuckle. 

Guess I’ll wing it like everything else I tend to do. This is the first log of the...kanmusu? Shipgirl? Uh...okay. Your suggestion then. 

A small cough.  This is the first log entry of the United Nations Space Command vessel, CFV-88 Spirit of Fire. I was human and think I still am, but I harbor something more now. Something that’s as warm as the name itself, but filled too with a cool sadness of many years of service and a bitter end. I...don’t know how to process any of this yet. As long as I’m connected to the rigging, I’m awash in so many memories that they all blend together, of a place and time I couldn’t even imagine. 

It’s only my first day with the rigging and already I feel a burden, a mantle of responsibility that falls over my shoulders. It’s not that I thought becoming a shipgirl or bearer of a vessel would be fun and games; no, I knew what I was getting into. But the reality is so very, very somber, and my eyes water at the thought of what it means.

Besides the machinery itself, powerful, well-worn, old but willing to fight on, the spirits of the crew are with me too as ‘fairies.’ People whose lives have passed on, but were raised with the ship. They all want to talk to me, clamor to me, vying for my attention as they want to teach me so many things and show me the vessel that was christened with such a brilliant name. 

Another sigh, softer. 

But the only one I can understand right now is the one named Serina. A ‘smart Ai’ is what she called herself, but smartass is more like it-OW! Okay, you didn’t like the joke! Haaa...she’s tough and doesn’t take my lip.

I wanted to start this log series as a personal journal for my new life as Spirit of Fire, to describe what I’ve become and how it affects me. I want to look back and hopefully see how much I’ve grown.

Ah, right. To remember my human name too. My name is...

Sofie Roux. Part cheese-eater, heeeh! 

Serina, how do I get it to stop recording? 

Silence. Soft noises of affirmation. 

Okay. 

End log. 

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

Her immense rigging was off, the partitions of hull and structure which represented Spirit of Fire’s original vessel hanging in a specially made dock that could withstand the immense tonnage of the space carrier. Sofie was dressed in a black, slightly fitted version of the UNSC officer’s uniform with her magnum holstered and strapped to her right leg, though for now she had her boots off and her feet dipped into the cool waters of the bay. Her crimson hair was a sharp contrast to the dark, sleek colors of the uniform, and was probably her most identifying feature. 

Stretching backwards, Sofie groaned loudly as she felt her back crack, giving a small grin as she looked upwards at the boundless blue sky above. While her rigging may have been gifted to her on Earth, her actual station was to be in space.

With all of its unknown vastness, good or ill.

“My new journey starts today...” She muttered to herself, staring solemnly at the sky before a giggling snort broke her composure.

“If I can ever figure out how to take off!”