Chapter Text

Kantai Collection: Operation Lookout

Fleet composition:

North Pacific Ocean, 204 nautical miles to the east of Nauru island.

A large convoy moved through the seas, dozens of ships moved through the sea drawing lines as smoke popped out of their towers. A Carrier, cruisers, destroyers, convoy ships, all formed part of it, with destination to the Australian island, more specifically the Sydney Harbor. 

The convoy moved in a diamond shaped formation, destroyers and escorts formed the bulk of it, and they stretched across the outer edges forming walls of metal. These others are not important for the story, but their effort and assistance will be duly noted.

The main outlines were the USS Woodworth and USS Fletcher, both localized in the top bottom but on different sides, Woodworth to the left looking to the west, and Fletcher to the right of the convoy and looking east in direction to the North Pacific Ocean. Upwards, IJN Wakaba made guard on the same side of the Benson Class destroyer and IJN Akizuki on the Right.

The inner belt was made of convoy’s that moved precious goods like food, machinery, fuel, and many other things necessary for the Country of Australia, tanker’s also helped around, carrying fuel for the fleet, alongside the transport ships loaded with ammunition for the main defenders of the fleet.

There, in the heart of it, the carrier stood; The IJN Ryujo sailed tranquil, and surrounded by all sides the USS Houston, the leader of the convoy, and USS Helena awaited behind, one to the right and the latter to the left, and in front IJN Mogami to the left and IJN Yahagi to the right. Prinz Eugen stood alone right in front of the carrier.

Now, the story;

North Pacific Ocean I

“Enemy planes approaching from the west”

Helena roared to everyone on the radio. Her voice broke as she screamed, followed by the screeching sound of every gramophone stopping at the same time, as every alarm started ringing, first hers, then on Yahagi, then on every cruiser and destroyer and carrier and tanker and convoy.

Every able man stopped whatever they were doing—some reading, some drawing, some talking—and began running through the decks and hallways of the ships, reaching for the guns on the deck. For every Oerlikon twenty-milliliters to the Bofors forty-millimeters to their place below deck in the five-inch-twenty-five-caliber guns that rested on the sides of cruisers.

Hurriedly each man grabbed boxes, moving across the ships and stacking them near the guns for their use, putting with care bullets in the long guns as they adjusted the sights and looked to the distance.

All the shipgirls quickly jolted in haste, all the shipgirls rushed and manned the guns, from Woodworth to Mogami, From Helena to Prinz Eugen. Every weapon, everything that could be used in defence was quickly put into action. Every rangefinder, every cannon from the convoy they  escorted, every machine gun that sailors could muster on the deck. They all readied, and turned to the left.

To Houston's front, she saw how the flat top of the IJN Ryujo prepared it’s first Zeros. She saw them rise from their hangar as fast as it could, accompanied by a small truck that guided the planes forward and parked them on deck, with the pilots rushing towards them.

As the small cargo trucks left the runway back towards the hangar from the elevator,  the pilots climbed up into the cockpit, they put their helmets and goggles and adjusted their clocks one last time as they looked up, and the men that hanged from the rails raised their flags and indicated clear as day; Ready to take off.

Those engines quietly roared while the blades started turning, smoke began to pour from the tunnels inside like a dragon puffing, and in moments, they quietly began to roll off the deck one by one, first the leader with a dozen marks on the front of the plane, and then the 2nd with a couple of kills marked in lines. 

All moved through the flattop, all twenty of them, and took off into the air, flying into the sun while they gained altitude.

Then, silence. No man or woman said a word. Their eyes laid quiet looking into the distance with an excited heart and an anxious mind. Softly tapping the walls or the barrels of their guns. Waiting for it to start.

Houston POV begins ;

This was always the worst part for me, the wait, the idleness before every combat. Seeing how the planes slowly approach like clouds in the skies, how their dots grew closer to us with each passing second, seconds that seemed to last hours while you waited on the deck for it to start.

It ate me alive, it still does. I like to believe I'm not weak at heart, after all I'm still here, but sometimes I would prefer to just be the same ship I was before. Before all the wars, before all the pain and suffering, when the USS Houston simply sailed across the seven seas and stopped at ports wearing those glamour attires and said; “Here I am, leader of the Pacific forces in all it's splendour!”

Those were the good days, I can tell now. Because I see as clear as day it's all gone now, and as I raise my eyes and look into the distance I recognize who and why did this. Them, the abyssals. With their enemy planes roaring in the distance. 

Houston POV ends.

The enemy planes approached in formations, extending across the skies in waves like tiny black dots akin to mosquitoes. 

Boom!

The first guns fired, the five-inch barrels of the USS Woodworth rumbled the seas, the IJN Wakaba followed suit, with it's double mounting twelve-point-seven milliliters raised high. Balls of fire expunged themselves from those cannons, time and time again like a symphony, accompanied by the guns of the escorts and deck guns of the convoys.

And the enemy planes approached without fear, without care of the exploding shells around them that fell from the skies and created those spheres of dark carbon color that began coloring the heavens like stars in the night skies.

But they rode on, even as the entire formation focused on them, as every five-inch from Woodworth, Fletcher, Houston and Helena fired, and Type-89s from the Japanese ships and the ten-point-five centimetre flak-38 gun from Prinz Eugen opened up. 

Guns fired, more and more, sailors hurried to load, because now the enemy planes split in half, half of them went downwards into the sea and immutably the rest kept on going forward. The final approach had begun.

Suddenly, those bombers high up in the skies twisted to the right and left, one of them burst into flames, another exploded and another got ripped in half.

Planes spammed from above. fighters were above them, Then in a second they lunged down like small dots,  spreading their wings like hawks diving towards their prey.

Their guns fired, and in seconds planes were sawed off in half by the power of those 20mm cannons. The enemy formation broke off into different places, right, left, and the zeroes rose into the clouds for another go.

They turned, they dived, dodged and fired. Contrails drew themselves in the skies. What once was a squadron of dive bombers soon became a mausoleum of tattered and broken planes that akin to zombies carried on towards the formation.

Below the abyssal bombers separated into two different formations. Two headed towards the middle, and one circled around to go from the other side.

“Woodworth and Wakaba, focus on the left formation!” 

Houston yelled.

Both ship-girls aimed their guns there, and opened fire.

Tchk—Tchk—Tchk!

Their man guns roared, all turned to the left and aiming as low to the sea as they could. 

Boom!

One plane went down, a piece of flak exploded beside and engulfed into a ball of fire, Another had its wing torn by the fragmentation of a shell, making it twist in the air before plunging down straight

Now they were within AA range. The deck gunners of the Wakaba and Woodworth racked the bolts on their guns, and fired without fear, because a faint feeling told each that they weren't the targets, no. It was Ryūjō, And they'd be damned if they were gonna let their carrier— even if Woodworth hated her—take even the slightest inch of damage.

The Bofors screamed as bullets left their barrels, as the planes grew larger on the sights, and each barrel spit venomous flak. The Oerlikons soon joined, followed by the twin barrelled type 96 of Wakaba.

Tchn—Tchn—Tchn!

Yellow flashes of light jolted into the air, hundreds of bullets of every caliber hurried towards the planes. The barrels recoiled as rounds were quickly channeled into the guns.

—Boom!

A bomber burst into flames, below a torpedo that would never hit anything. 

—Boom!

Another had it's wing removed, fire leaked from it as it plunged.

Rounds poured into the Bofors as the air turned to lead and smoke, as flames spit from the broadside of each ship-girl. 

The formation grew thinner, from eight to four, to four to two, then, one.

Now they could see them, only less than a hundred feet separated them. All the insignias were visible. Woodworth saw them, They were B5 Kate's. She didn't doubt, she didn't blink, she just kept on firing.

Tyck—Tyck—Tyck!

An Oerlikon emptied it's magazine, and before the last—click— of the empty gun hit, the last plane exploded in flames, it pummeled down, straight to them. 

Every sailor jumped into the ground, the burning cadaver of the torpedo bomber grazed the deck like a bike going at 100mph. The water behind the USS Woodworth rose like a skyscraper. 

Tons of water splashed them, bathed them. Hurriedly they moved, some crawling and steered away from it. 

Fear sunk into the sailor’s heart, as they rushed to the side with desperation, mentally preparing themselves for what they knew would be the end result of such a collision. All the death and horror that it’s fires would bring, all the splattered bodies and maimed man—because they had heard those stories, seen the end result of the comrades of different ships that now rested on graves or in hospital beds being half the men.

But with great surprise, they sighed and smiled, and some even laughed, because their home didn’t withhold an inch of damage, no sailor was hurt— not even a scratch—and the torpedo bomber slowly sank with the fire on the cabin that would soon be put down by the Pacific ocean.

Woodworth smiled like someone who just dodged a car, and sighed. That was the last one, but the sounds of explosions kept on going in the distance.

The 2d formation had gone forward, and had now seen itself under fire by the side guns of Mogami, Houston, Fletcher, and Akizuki. Their combined might tore into them like fish in a barrel, none got close enough to even see the faces of the sailors firing at them. 

As the last remnants of the enemy bombers died out, the entire fleet of ships turned hard to the right, showing their broadside to the last formation that had now finished their circle, and opened fire.

The first flak landed near them, and the following were closer, the abyssal bombers were slow, but they were close too, and even with the entire fleet firing at them they rode on, in seconds they passed above the formation of Akizuki and Fletcher.

Every gun on all the cruisers and escorts and destroyers opened up on them, it looked like a party of yellow lights being sent to the skies.

Holes were punched into the planes, grilling them no different than a french cheese, but they rode, passing above convoys and escorts, the marks of those strange abyssal planes now visible to everyone.

They look like aliens, like ghosts, like Betty’s or TBD Devastators, their images morphed and changed, what were they? no one could tell.

Then, it happened,  The long torpedoes left their home and dove into the ocean, splashing and rushing towards it's target; Ryūjō.

Several lines drew themselves in the water thanks to the propulsion of them, and the carrier turned to the left, right into them.

The ship inclined hard, a perfect incline of 35% degrees, sailors inside of her clanged into anything that may hold them in place, because the ship now looked like it was in diagonal. You could have thrown a ball from the deck and it would have landed straight into the waves.

With each second the man inside the carrier began to pray, the torpedoes moved so fast it didn’t make sense,  it was like they were missiles instead, and the ship roared due to the effort, with the rudders pushed to the limit. 

Then it happened, In seconds, the torpedoes whistled through the water, missing the ship. Ship's on it's route turned into it too. And those abyssal weapons kept going forward, with it’s target skipping by share miracle.

But the crew of the carrier didn’t have time to cheer or even react, moments later rounds began flying over their heads, flak shattered the skies near them. They threw themselves into cover as The remaining bombers scattered away, passing over them so close they could’ve handshake them.

 Then, they moved on, moving across all the fire and flak, and rode on in the distance, to somewhere only they knew. Of the eight only two remained, escaping with smoke leaking from them and enough holes to put an arm through the wings.

Woodworth suddenly raised her eyes, and a zero approached her, the plane flew in a static line without care.

In a second she grabbed whatever she had near and started firing. A festival guns began firing into it. The plane quickly turned to the right and began trying to dodge, As explosions shaked everything around him.

“Woodworth! Woodworth!”

Houston roared on the radio.

“What!?”

“You're firing at a friendly!”

The destroyer raised it's eyes to the zero that hurriedly ran, smoke now leaked from it's new many holes.

For a moment she wondered what her commander was on about, until it hit her.

Every gun suddenly ceased, and all the guns began smoking from all the bullets. That fizzing sound like opening a cold coke filled the void.

Thousands of rounds laid on the deck of her, boxes were thrown around without care, and those large remains of the five-inch barrels plagged the surroundings of the gun mounts.

Woodworth grinned as the plane quickly turned around and limped towards the Japanese carrier, the friendly carrier.