Deployment Log 0: "The Preparations" - Revised December 12, 2015
BATTLESHIP - EQUESTRIA: RESTITUTION BY RAILGUNS
By: CommanderWolffe and Dasubur
--PROLOGUE--
"Admiral! The storm's picking up in intensity!" ... "The wind speed's reading is over 120 Nautical Miles an hour, and climbing fast!" ... "The Capacitors aren't rated for Gale-force winds like this! We've got to abandon the test, or else there'll be even more repairs needed! I don't think that you want to explain that one to the DOD, now do you?"
Admiral Sturm, the Commanding Officer of the NATO-Joint-Testbed Y-BB-248, nicknamed "The Wrath of Geneva" frowned at the news, the lines of stress creasing his forehead were a testament to the long sleepless nights spent on this project. He looked over his bunk with pride. "The Wrath", as the ship had been nicknamed by her crew, found its namesake and its entire existance from the former home to the Geneva Conventions which, during its last anti-nuclear proliferation summit, attracted a group of radicalized individuals, who called themselves the "Khanates", from Mongolia, claiming that their efforts were to reincarnate the classical Ruler of The Golden Horde, Genghis Kahn. Their first strike, was to hit the world where it would be impossible to ignore. Not that the world would ignore a terrorist organization detonating a stolen nuke bought on the black market, but they went beyond and hit one of the homes of the United Nations. Needless to say for any terrorists wielding tactical nuclear warheads, they committed suicide with their detonation, and rendered Geneva into a more modern version of Pripyat, Ukraine, or Fukushima, Japan. Also needless to say, the world was pissed. Thankfully the terrorists weren't as organized as the last terrorist organization to plague the world, Daesh, but they still had that nasty habit of popping up where you don't want them to at the worst possible time.
One of their raids into an American naval shipyard had led to the sabotaging of the Power Capacitors for the Wrath's experimental armament of four Railgun Batteries, which had cost the testing of the power conversion from the ship's nuclear reactors a two year delay, and the American Department of Defense another 3.7 billion US Dollars in repair, labor, and grant money to continue with the testbed. Upon finally finishing the repairs, and ultimately the construction of the 970,000 Metric Ton Dreadnought, the nautical fortress received its indoctrination as a prototype for, as the Chief Admiral of the Navy called it, a "New generation of extended-range coastal artillery and naval engagement platform"; or, as every single Armchair General and naval force enthusiast on the internet knew, a 'Battleship' (the DOD, or United States Department of Defense, refuses to officially refer to the prototype class of vessel as that due to Military Doctrines stating that the Battleship is officially obsolete and never to be re-introduced; however, the Department Chair agreed it is easier, more fitting, and "More Nostalgic", to call her as such). "The Wrath" had then promptly been 'Crewed and Brewed', or staffed and supplied for her Maiden Voyage from the Norfolk Naval Base, Norfolk, Virginia to her first stationed port at Pearl Harbor, Honolulu, Hawaii; as well as testing the capacitor's capability to hold a charge for extended lengths and rapid discharge-to-recharge limits. The powerhouse was slated to test the maximum range at this part of the journey, at about 200 Nautical Miles North-Northwest of the northern-most point of the Bermuda Triangle, as foretold by the GPS's positioning of the Island of Bermuda. Unfortunately, as soon as the Capacitors were charged to a suitable power quantity to launch a round at combat power from batteries One and Two, the Category 3 Hurricane, named "Aileta", that was bearing in towards the American coastline had performed a drastic leap in speed, throwing the Wrath into the wrath of her own Eye-wall, throwing gallons of briny sea water onto the main deck of the ship herself. All around the deck Sailors braved the harsh conditions and hazardous deck surfaces to reach their post or make last minute checks, the harsh conditions making being on deck all-the-more lethal, due to the capacitors meant to power the rail cannons. This weather also posed a danger in that, if one of the capacitors was to become too moist, then the power would discharge and fry a large portion of the Wrath's electronic equipment in the process. The Capacitors were housed in domes meant to avoid such a situation, but only so much can be done due to residual atmospheric humidity, which had been drastically amplified by Aileta raging overhead. This left the Admiral with a dilemma: to test and risk damage, while potentially providing valuable data to the engineers and technicians, or to let the capacitors discharge without firing, and lower them below the main deck line to help preserve their electronics.
The Admiral smiled to himself, a dry chuckle leaving his lips as he weighed the options he had. The risk of damage to the system was a very considerable threat, but the cost of another delay in testing might spell doom to this project, there were already rumors of the project not meeting expectations, rumors of future cancellations and scrapping if the project had any more delays. The Admiral would be damned before let this ship be scrapped so easily. So the decision came easily to him, he already knew the answer.
The order was quickly relayed to clear the decks, and to prepare to fire batteries one and two.
"XO, wait for me to get to the Bridge. I want the Trigger Boys and Power Jockeys for each battery assembly on the Bridge when I get there, there's no time for any Sea-Horsing around in this kind of weather." Sturm replied
"Sir!" was all the reply Sturm needed before setting off on the short jaunt to the bridge from his bunkroom, making his way towards the bridge with a brisk pace and a slight air of nervousness in his wake. All around him crewmen rushed around stations, checking gauges and pipes, double checking wires and giving their stations final once-overs, only stopping when they noticed the Admiral's presence to give hasty salutes which the Admiral waved down with a short "At ease..." to get the men moving again. after a while his thoughts turned back to the weather.
'This kind of weather is rather extreme for just a Category 3, it is more like the reports of what Sandy was like while over Coney Island back in 2012... I've got a bad feeling about the imminent future of this vessel....' Rambling through his thought process and intuition about the current situation, the Admiral failed to notice that he was already in the bridge and at his post; his train of thought was derailed rather viciously when the Chief Gunnery Officer made his presence and current location known to him.
"Lost in thought again, Fritz?" Asked a chuckling, yet slightly concerned Gunnery Captain by the name of Dimitri Kalatnivovich, one of the most experienced personnel on the vessel - and the one with what was probably the oddest service record. Having started in the Army, he was one of the most promising members of his class at West Point, finishing third in class - he was downgraded from first because of his unauthorized construction of a miniature Mass-Driver cannon made out of parts that were supposed to be used to build an assault rifle with a holographic scope from a kit. To this day, no one but him knows how he did it with nothing but impulses as to what goes where, and all in fewer than 45 minutes. He was demoted for not obeying a direct order from a superior officer, yet was then discreetly transferred to the Navy, where he was quickly enrolled in the Naval Command School, followed immediately after graduation with a rapid transfer to an Above-Top-Secret SOCOM project's training course to become one of the Commanding Officers on a prototype ship aiming at reviving a lost breed of sailor. His strong knowledge in, and unique grasp of practical use of, exotic projectile launching and propulsion systems, proved to be invaluable in aiding the engineers designing the cannons to consume 37% less energy per shot while achieving the same results and performance characteristics as before. He was then, upon the choosing of the crew, hand-picked by Admiral Sturm to be the leading officer into the weapons systems and their usage. His ability to think on his feet had already proven invaluable when a Capacitor had seized during an earlier charge test, rapidly troubleshooting and resolving the issue before any harm could arise. His ability to diagnose, and rapidly repair, issues that had arose with the railguns would be an immense asset, in the event problems arose. Shaking his head, the Admiral's mental freight yards finally accepted the new shipment, bringing his focus back to the Bridge.
"Yes, I've got one of those hunches again... Well, there's nothing I can do about an impulsive intestine, but there is something I can do about this ship, yes?" The Admiral said with a sigh, Glancing around the bridge and its Crewman all running around double checking their work.
"Of course, Admiral. All of the crews that you ordered onto deck are here, and are awaiting orders," Replied Dimitri, returning to his console and his work. The Admiral nodded, and turned to the crew teams of gunners and power regulator control teams, more commonly referred to as "Trigger Boys" and "Power Jockeys", respectively.
"Okay men, I'm going to cut to the chase. We are still performing the test; HOWEVER: it will be at only quarter power, and the projectile will be aimed towards the water line as close as safely possible, so as to discharge safely and let us see the launch and impact. We're going to do this as safely as possible, we don't need to be carelessly destructive in this test, we all want out in one piece. Are we ready?"
"SIR!" Resounded the chorus around the Bridge, leaving a small smile on the Admiral's face.
‘They really are proud to be here, aren't they all... Well, let's not disappoint, let's make this so special it's written down in the history books forevermore!'
"Thenmen, let's ace this so hard that we take Physic's testicles, and remove them through its anus! Let's go!""Cconcluded the Admiral, earning a resoundingly hearty chorus of cheers and laughter from his personification.
What none of them realized, however, is just how much they would literally be doing that in the coming months.....
-////END OF PROLOUGE\\-
Author's Note
Meh, first fanfic published here, I hope it's alright for that aspect... I do plan to work on my writing skills, although between Junior Year of High School, being the VP of Outreach of my High School's Robotics Club, and several other aspects, the updates might not be as frequent as I may have hoped for, but I do plan on still getting the chapters out there, however long it takes to do so be damned. Thank you, and please enjoy! If you're going to downvote, then at least tell me what I can do to improve myself to better fit your liking....
EDIT: This chapter received a rather large update, modernization (the story originally included aspects that were in major news headlines at that time, and have since been forgotten by most-everyone's collective memory), and editing after being on Hiatus for over two years. It's about time I get some more work done on this, and I recently came across a few of the earlier brainstorming drafts for this story that I thought lost to a bluescreen on a laptop that I haven't had for almost as long as this chapter's been uploaded. Now, with some more creative juices running, I'm going to see where I can take this!
Chapter 1 - A plan in motion. By: Dasubur
Throughout history, there are certain individuals who are different from the rest.
Individuals who go beyond what would be considered possible, achieving things no one else even attempted, understanding things better than anyone else ever could. Ones who shaped the world with a single word or idea.
They are remembered as innovators, pioneers or captains of industry. But there are also those whose memories live only in infamy. The manipulative kind who use their influence to rule with an iron fist, one of which nearly swallows the whole world. Forgers of monopolies that rivaled the governments they supposedly served under. Monsters that are whispered of in the dark, all drawing from these few individuals.
Far out in the great mysterious sea, on an isolated island far away from prying eyes and questions of morals could reach, lay a property were countless lives were destroyed or changed forever, all on the whim of a single stallion who stood in his office, checking his weekly reports from his various organizations and operations that he made possible. Drugs, weapons, and even living souls were his prime trading ventures that backed his master plan. Of course he had numerous other endeavors and business all influenced behind the scenes by his efficient hands, illegal or otherwise.
After all, He mentally commented if it is not efficient then what purpose does it serve? But there were more important matters to attend to. It had taken years of personal involvement and underhanded wheeling and dealing, but now all the pieces of his plot to bring the world to his vision were all starting to fall into place. First the location, being one of the most important of details, providing the very means to even have a chance at success. The area of the world he currently rested his hoofs on was the now infamous Eastern Isles, a mass cluster of islands and small insignificant continents containing hundreds of small insignificant countries, all in one huge political firestorm constantly. It was also rife with crime and corruption. Originally it all amounted into small time pirate operations and dictatorships harboring said pirates. All he had to do was give it a push, and it became a perfect haven for his criminal enterprise.
An assassination here, a bribe over there, and few pirates supplied along the way was all it took to turn a minor annoying political environment into a massive Festering cycle of corruption and incompetence that he could exploit freely.
It was fitting that The Eastern Isles being one of his most successful projects would play an important role in his current plan, a plan that would make the previous one look like child’s play in comparison; the first step being a minor massacre to start the metaphorical ball rolling.
The unlucky targets of said assassination ended up being a one Princess Celestia, followed by the six ponies making up the elements of harmony. Their deaths would leave the great nation of Equestria without their most successful leader and their best weapon, in addition to rendering a massive blow to the morale of the remaining princess and to the leaders of the crystal empire, effectively killing two birds with one stone as the saying goes. The targets were right where he wanted them, passing through the Eastern isles, practically his backyard, returning from a diplomatic mission which he had stirred up. Traveling on the open ocean with a light escort would make them perfect targets for a band of pirates he had armed in exchange for the assassination. The band of cut throats he hired were not particularly special in any regard, in fact he chose them for that very factor making them the perfectly expendable to use as a tool and later dispose of. It did not matter, the weapons he had armed them with were more than enough, their instructions clear (or at least he had made them clear enough).
With that thought he decided he should remind the Captain one last time.
Rising from his chair, the earth pony stallion made his way across the sparsely furnished room, his hooves noisily crossing the wooden floor. As he made his way to his destination he took the opportunity to inspect his “Work force.” Gazing through the windows at the numerous sweatshops and indoor farms, slaves toiled at each of them, working at paces found to be most efficient by the very stallion that was now judging them. He ran his eyes over each one of them, endlessly computing numbers in his mind, comparing speeds and production quotas. Nearing the end of the hallway, almost finding everything in order, he stopped. One of the guards had left his post, said Pegasus was smiling and approaching one of the slaves, he was approaching with an almost skip in his trot. The stallion watched this display unfold while already heading through the door the guards straightening their postures when he came into view.
He knew who the guard who left his post was, and his face to on a frown as he watched what he predicted would happen unfolded.
The slave in question was working at a more than efficient pace, the baskets around her were already filled with the various harvested narcotic plants that grew in this farm.
The guard whose name was Shimmer Wing, finally reached his target. “look at you, workin’ like the bitch you are, what’s your name sweety?” Shimmering asked, a nasty grin taking up his face. The Zebra slave before him hesitated for only a fraction of a second before resuming her work, her hands working faster than before.
Shimmer wing sneered viscously. “It ain’t polite to ignore ponies like that.” He said in a sickeningly sweet tone, he suddenly shot his right leg forward, his hoof connecting with the Mare’s right shoulder bone with a sickening thump! The Mare fell to the floor, crying out in pain as her fall knocked over one of her baskets, scattering the freshly harvested plants as she collided with the floor with a meaty smack.
“Shimmer Wing.” Said a voice directly behind Shimmer Wing, he whirled around at the call of his name. In an instant the sadistic grin was wiped from his face has he beheld the casually attired form of the stallion that employed him.
“Oh…hey boss.” Replied Shimmer Wing as he shifted nervously in his armor.
The stallion’s neutral expression bored into the Pegasus before him. “Why are you away from your post, disrupting the flow of work and damaging the merchandise?” he asked in a calm tone.
“Well boss I was just havin’ a little fu-“
BLAM!
Shimmer Wing collapsed to the floor, a hole neatly punched through his forehead. The back of his skull ripped open from where the bullet had exited. The room fell silent for just a second before the slaves all resumed working. The Zebra slave before him started to pick herself back up. He looked her over quickly calculating wether or not injuries would affect her performance.
“What is your name?” He asked her as he stowed his still smoking weapon.
The mare hesitated a bit before looking him in the eyes.”I..Ime.” she said hesitantly.
“Grab his corpse and follow me.” The stallion stated simply, already heading for the door at a brisk pace. Ime, confused by the surrealness of the request, paused before realizing the reality of the situation and grimaced as she grasped her former tormentor by his hooves and hauled him through the door after her “Owner.”.
After a few minutes of struggling, she managed to catch up to him, he walked down the hallway while she struggled to drag the body after him, her sweat soaking into her ramshackle clothing as she put more and more effort into her work.
After a few agonizing minutes of walking/dragging the two finally arrived at their destination, before them stood an impressive Iron portcullis with several heavily armed guards on patrol. With few words from the earth pony a few shouted orders from the guards in response. The portcullis rose revealing the barracks, packed to the brim with guards all in general states of time wasting. As soon as they walked in the room fell into a deafing silence only broken when The stallion looked at two nearby guards and said
“You two, dispose of the corpse.” He said pointing towards Ime still holding the decaying tormentor. As those two hopped too their task, he turned to the next nearest guard, who quickly stood to attention.
“You’re his replacement, please escort miss Ime back to farm 15.” He stated simply
The guard and Ime briskly left without a word, while the stallion continued onwards into the second most heavily guarded spot in his compound. As he passed through the next doorway the guards standing beside it swiftly sealed it, blocking any noise and prying eyes from witnessing what was inside.
Inside lay the object of the stallion’s whole venture, before him lay a complicated array of crystals and magical runes on various mechanical parts all connected to a small panel a little ways of from the main contraption in the center of the room to which the stallion approached with vigor in his step. He twisted a few knobs and the contraption sprang to life. The crystals sprang to life as projected image was formed by the now glowing crystals. The visage of a grizzled griffon with several scars came into focus, that visage belonging to none other than Blood Beak the Pirate.
“wat’s can eh do fer yah Boss?” Rasped the gruff captain. His face alit with a smirk.
“I would like to go over the plan with you one more time with you…” the stallion replied calmly. Blood beak only frowned in response. “Really Boss?” he replied with a hint of frustration. “This bein’ the fifth time youse told me this, why don’ I just recite it to yas?”
“If you are willing too….” The stallion replied emotionlessly.
The now thoroughly peeved captain sighed before rolling his eyes and began reciting the plan. “First wes gonna lay a trap for the pretty princess and her band of merry mares, then using this shiny new ‘ardware you so generously stocked us with, promptly blow ‘em to bits.” The stallion’s gaze remained unchangeing throughout the whole process. “Remember to use the special weapons on the princess herself, the rest is up to you but leave no survivors.” The earth pony concluded with finality.
“What’evrs you say boss.” Blood Beak replied before the connection was terminated.
Author's Note
Dasubur:
[The Plot Intensifies]
CommanderWolffe:
*facepalms*
