#abyssalspace

“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...

*Cla-cla-clack* 

*Cla-cla-clack*

*Cla-cla-clack*

The clicking of the monarch’s claws as she drummed them on the arm of her obsidian throne echoed through the cavernous, nightmarish chamber that housed it. It remained a steady rhythm, a metronome that underscored the report her daughter was delivering her, an expression of profound irritation etched on her pallid features as Sonia expounded on the spectacular failure of their erstwhile ally, Svalbard Princess, the former KMS Scharnhorst. Just as her mother was making no effort to mask her annoyance at the development, Sonia was making no effort to mask her smug amusement, like a child tattling on their sibling.

“...And that concludes my report, Mother-hime... I will leave the matter of determining a fitting punishment for her transgressions to your esteemed judgment... I have no doubt your decision will be appropriately... punitive... given the circumstances...”

The aberrant regent simply responded with a curt wave of dismissal. Sonia gave a short bow, then proceeded to glide out of the room, the massive stone doors creaking shut behind the smaller submarine with a cacophonous BANG, leaving the Cold War Princess alone to brood. 

*Cla-cla-clack*

*Cla-cla-clack*

*Cla-cla-clack*

Her claws clicked several more times, before she finally broke her silence, the monarch speaking as much to herself as to her rigging as she mused aloud.

“...How very disappointing. But more than that... how very irritating. I provided her so much and asked for so little in return, but it seems even that scant recompense was beyond her stunted abilities. I suppose this is my own fault for expecting reliability from a Kriegsmarine vessel, of all things. Hmph. Well, there’s nothing for it. She’ll have to die. I suppose I could deal with her personally... though I doubt the Earl would appreciate a nuclear barrage so close to his territory. As much as I’m sure Sonia would enjoy killing her, that would leave a decapitated Abyssal fleet running amok; far too messy, that... hmmm...”

Then she got an idea. An awful idea. The Cold War Princess got a wonderful, awful idea.

“...Ohhhh... why, I do believe she will do quite nicely. Yes, she’s the perfect tool for the job: surgical enough to minimize collateral damage, but still blunt enough to ensure there is nothing left to clean up afterwards. Best of all, considering the target, she should have no objection to looking the other way. Still, best to make sure beforehand; an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure, and all that...”

Moments later, a signal was being broadcast into low orbit, with a very particular recipient in mind...

“Yooohooo. Everest, dear, are you there? I do hate to interrupt whatever it is you’re doing, but I was hoping if you’d be kind enough to let me borrow our mutual orbital associate for a little bit of Abyssal-on-Abyssal violence. Specifically, the complete obliteration of a Princess and her entire fleet. I’d do it myself, but I imagine you’d appreciate a method that involved significantly less radioactive fallout than my preferred method, yes?”

“Chief Petty Officer U.S.S. Sealion calling United Nations Space Command, Admiral U.N.S.C Everest, Chief Petty Officer U.S.S. Sealion calling United Nations Space Command, Admiral U.N.S.C. Everest do you copy?” Sealion tried to get on their radio frequency, a new pair of golden wings were pinned to his shirt. He was ready to take a rather unique role in his position as a Senior Enlisted Advisor. 

The Cold War Princess listened to the response being broadcast by the orbital interloper with a scowl. At least she had a name to attach to the impudent cruiser now: Everest. Regardless, it was clearly time for a more direct approach.

“Ka. Can you use this transmission’s point of origin to establish direct radio contact with this... Everest?”

“Yeah, she’s not exactly trying to hide up there, so it shouldn’t be too hard. Gimme a minute or two to calibrate our equipment.”

The regent leaned back, her tentacles writhing in agitation. This bullheaded space jockey was one of the worst possible complications that could have arisen at such a decisive juncture in the course of the war.

“...Ok, that should do it. You want me to patch you through directly?”

“Please do.”

“...This is the Cold War Princess, hailing UNSC Everest. As delightful as it would be to continue screaming at each other over the entire radio band, I think a more personal touch is in order, don’t you agree? So let us have a friendly little chat, and maybe, just maybe, I’ll be able to pierce that thick skull of yours with enough insight to convince you to shelf your misplace self-righteousness, before it gets my entire planet destroyed. I’m quite frankly not optimistic, but I suppose miracles have happened before.”

[Translated from Russian]

“Comrades, lend me your ears! For decades, I watched from beneath the waves as the fear of nuclear weapons and of foreign ideologies divided the world in two, and bore witness to the suffering it brought forth upon the children of an entire generation. We are now once more faced with a nuclear threat, and it falls to us to decide, as peoples and nations, what sort of world that we will allow our children to grow up in. Fear has driven many to say that we should not risk ourselves aiding others, when our own borders lay under siege. I say to you: nay! We must not allow the terror of the atomic age to once again drive us apart! We must stand firm! We must unite! With a single, bellowing voice, from the mouths of every man, woman, and child on this Earth, we shall shout our answer so loudly that our enemies will hear us even in the wretched darkness of the Abyss from which they crawled: AS ONE, WE STAND TOGETHER! AS ONE, WE WILL DEFY YOU! AND AS ONE, WE WILL DEFEAT YOU!”

"The following transmission has been pre-recorded by the Cold War Princess, commander of Abyssal Fleet Antarctica, and chief diplomatic liason of Abyssal Fleet Earth. Its intended primary recipient is the unknown belligerent kanmusu who has launched a confirmed orbital strike against assets of Abyssal Fleet Pacific, and its secondary recipients are all United Nations member states which sanctioned such action. The purpose of this transmission is to formally demand the immediate and indefinite cessation of your unilateral and illegal orbital bombardment. We furthermore declare that it is the opinion of the Abyssal Fleet that this act is a violation of intentionally recognized space law, as set down in the Treaty on Principles Governing the Activities of States in the Exploration and Use of Outer Space, including the Moon and Other Celestial Bodies, as ratified in 1967. We hereby demand this matter be investigated with all due dilligence by the United Nations and appropriate sanctions and disciplinary action be taken against those found to be in violation of any and all applicable accords."

"In addition, by making use of orbital kanmusu assets to carry out an act of war against the Abyssal Fleet, you have demonstrated a reversal of established neutrality protocol regarding chronologically displaced military assets. Know that any further acts of aggression on your part utilizing such assets will be considered evidence that this neutrality protocol has been discontinued. The Abyssal fleet, having no established defenses or countermeasures against an orbital attack carried out by weapons in excess of five centuries ahead of current technological capabilities, will be left with only a single alternative to avoid our own destruction: the immediate escalation of Abyssal hostilities into full-scale nuclear warfare against all current UN member states, in retaliation for their sactioning of the use of orbital weapons of mass destruction against us."

Dec 30th, 0600 hours; Ulugan Bay, Philippines.

@abyssal-shenanigans

Paris awoke to the sound of a foghorn, the alarm on her bedside table that Firedrake had so kindly given her for Christmas startling the lights out of her. After a moment to slam the alarm down, put her pistol away, and get her bearings, the pirate remembered the day! She set the alarm for a reason after all, and it was a hurry to get dressed and out the door, leather suitcase in hand. When she stepped out into the administration building, intending to cheerily greet Batavia, she instead found the gloomy East Indiaman already locked in conversation with a very short girl in a very strange uniform. Comfortingly familiar, however, was her language of expletives.

“Blyaaaad! What do you mean she isn’t back yet? It’s been 8 months! The Russians still haven’t let go of her?” There was only one her that could be drawing such a response about the Russian government; Akula.

“Bon matin, Batavia and... guest.” The destroyer turned to face the new arrival, trying her best not to be rude.

“Good morning. DD-602, UNSC Volokolamsk at your service. Before you try it, call me Volley or Volo, everyone else does.” The pirate grinned, offering a hand to shake that was quickly taken.

Everything seemed almost like a normal day, about as normal given the nature of Sealions work. His back had been fully healed since his last deployment too, the aid that Ohio gave him not only extended his service life but also ensured he could still walk on his own. “Can’t believe its already been that long, I’ve never felt better.” Indeed the symbiotes actually strengthened Sealions body, he could take more damage in a fight and his endurance was improved. Until today that is, when a sharp pain practically stabbed Sealion in the back.