Proof Through The Night: Yet Another Kill-The-Draka Fic

[Vehrec]

I would not be surprised if the drakka, in their pursuit of efficiency, had gone down the 'one big factory' route. One factory builds the Hond. One factory builds all their small arms, another or a different part owned by the same family/company makes all the bullets. One shipyard for major vessels or submarines, One massive airbase in central Africa that trains every single pilot.

[spartasman]

well, the major Draka factories were all operated by 'Combines', which may operate similarly, having each Combine manufacture certain materials.

[KlavoHunter]

Where is the Draka Nuclear Program based? Has that been nuked?

Presumably, wherever the Snakes plan to fall back to, they know full well they must get more of their own nukes as fast as they can.

[ChaserGrey]

It's based somewhere in the Sahara. Hasn't been nuked yet, but the Draka used their whole stockpile forcing the Pyrenees so it'll probably be a few weeks before they can scrape together enough material to assemble another device even with a crash program. United States can be in position within ten days or so after she polishes off Abyssinia Province, and then it's goodbye to all that.

The Draka might get one device together, but even if they do I'm not sure they'll use it unless it's in a fit of post-Nietzschian pique. It's not as though they can deliver a similar knockout blow to their opponents, and if they do nuke, say, London or Zurich they'll definitely suffer massive retaliation. Any remaining cities and concentrations of troops or refugees are going to go bye-bye, and that'll knock the Draka population down even more than it is already.

EDIT: After posting this, I realized that it might not even be 10 days before the Draka bomb project gets hit. We have B-29s based in England, and they should be able to hit Saharan Africa and return, especially if they do a mod like the Drakaverse B-29Ds for longer range. For that matter, conventional carriers could probably reach the coast of Africa in less than a week even if they start off in Norfolk or Cuba [part of the US in this TL] to avoid suspicion.

[Simon_Jester]

Hmm.

B-29s flying over Europe and North Africa are liable to run into Draka airpower somewhere along the route.

[ChaserGrey]

Probably. The question then becomes what the Draka have in terms of early warning systems, high-altitude capable fighter aircraft, and a communications network to tie all of those together. P-51s based in England should be able to escort them at least some of the way as well. The Superforts will take losses, but if you're aiming for one target as opposed to a campaign you might be able to accept higher losses in return for success.

For that matter, I'm not sure what would be available in terms of airfields in Spain or Gibraltar, now that the Draka armies are definitely in retreat. Even if the Superforts have to base in England, long-range P-51 models flying out of southern Spain should be able to cover them a good way into Africa.

[Pelranius]

How far north is the extent of the Drakan territory in Europe?

It's pretty obvious that they have Munich and areas to the north of that, and probably Ukraine but how much of, say Germany, is left?

[Simon_Jester]

Probably. The question then becomes what the Draka have in terms of early warning systems, high-altitude capable fighter aircraft, and a communications network to tie all of those together. P-51s based in England should be able to escort them at least some of the way as well. The Superforts will take losses, but if you're aiming for one target as opposed to a campaign you might be able to accept higher losses in return for success.

Yes, I suppose. I was thinking in terms of nuclear bombing, where you can't put nukes on every plane and losing the plane with a bomb on it means you might as well not bother.

For that matter, I'm not sure what would be available in terms of airfields in Spain or Gibraltar, now that the Draka armies are definitely in retreat. Even if the Superforts have to base in England, long-range P-51 models flying out of southern Spain should be able to cover them a good way into Africa.

A distinct point.

Someone get me a big map and a pair of calipers...

[declan]

Where is the Draka Nuclear Program based? Has that been nuked?

Presumably, wherever the Snakes plan to fall back to, they know full well they must get more of their own nukes as fast as they can.

I'd kind of wonder if getting more nukes would be useful to them at present, even if they collect all the loose nukes that they have left , be it gravity bombs, depth charges, torpedos and started a crash program to build more, then they have to be able to hit a target that they can't reach at present, save for subs shooting torps into harbors.

If I was the head snake, I'd be thinking in terms of giving the alliance a reason to back off and let the snakes rebuild. If the head hunters are using nerve gas to put down a riot, then I would assume that the snakes have a healthy bio and chem weapons stockpile, and maybe even a guess that they might even have some stockpiled in the USA, for when its time to break the yankees to the yoke.

Dusting England and western europe with a bio weapon, would probably put a major crimp into the alliance time line for blowing the crap out of whats left of the draka empire.

Declan

[Simon_Jester]

On the other hand it will also convince everyone, even insofar as they aren't convinced already, that the snakes are snakes, to be killed regardless of the costs or risks or consequences.

What Chaser called that "post-Nietzschean pique" is the most likely thing to motivate them to try such a gambit, and it'd just get them hammered into the ground more ruthlessly than they would be otherwise.

[Aceraptor]

Where is the Draka Nuclear Program based? Has that been nuked?

Presumably, wherever the Snakes plan to fall back to, they know full well they must get more of their own nukes as fast as they can.

I'd kind of wonder if getting more nukes would be useful to them at present, even if they collect all the loose nukes that they have left , be it gravity bombs, depth charges, torpedos and started a crash program to build more, then they have to be able to hit a target that they can't reach at present, save for subs shooting torps into harbors.

If I was the head snake, I'd be thinking in terms of giving the alliance a reason to back off and let the snakes rebuild. If the head hunters are using nerve gas to put down a riot, then I would assume that the snakes have a healthy bio and chem weapons stockpile, and maybe even a guess that they might even have some stockpiled in the USA, for when its time to break the yankees to the yoke.

Dusting England and western europe with a bio weapon, would probably put a major crimp into the alliance time line for blowing the crap out of whats left of the draka empire.

Declan

Except that wont do anything to the USA, and in fact gives the USA more incentive to utterly exterminate the Draka with nuclear fire.

[declan]

Except that wont do anything to the USA, and in fact gives the USA more incentive to utterly exterminate the Draka with nuclear fire.

Well to be honest, thats what the ultimatum that Roosevelt gave Eric implied, the wording sounds like we are going to give you a choice, but in reality, our shrinks say that you are going to utterly reject the ultimatum and we can look good in the future.


I can get behind the fact that the snakes are going to be utterly exterminated, but what I cant get behind is them going quietly into the night.

Declan

[ChaserGrey]

Apologies for the delay in the next chapter, all. Work's picked up just before the holidays and I've had another project take up most of my mindspace. Should be able to catch up when I take off for Thanksgiving- until then, just letting you know I won't let this be abandoned.

[declan]

Apologies for the delay in the next chapter, all. Work's picked up just before the holidays and I've had another project take up most of my mindspace. Should be able to catch up when I take off for Thanksgiving- until then, just letting you know I won't let this be abandoned.

Oh sure , leave us hanging like a prom date

Declan

[ChaserGrey]

Are you flirting with me, declan?

[[R_H]]

Are you flirting with me, declan?

If that motivates you, then yes, declan is.

[ChaserGrey]

Hmmm. I suppose I should work slower to show that it *doesn't* motivate me, then. Next update in January!

Kidding, kidding. No, really, I was kidding. Put the torches and pitchforks down, please. Thank you.

[KlavoHunter]

Torches and pitchforks?

Nah, sharpenin' an impaling-stake fo' yo'.

[ChaserGrey]

Looks like we missed one. Arm up the spare bomb, I need a B/N and a gunner...

[ChaserGrey]

A/N: Real update this time, folks. Next one will probably also be slow due to the holidaze, but I think I'm back on track.

1845 Hours
T + 18 Hours, 45 Minutes and Counting
Flight Deck, USS Reprisal

There was something eerie about preflighting Spirit of Rio just as he’d done nearly 24 hours before, his hands and eyes tracing over the same curves and control surfaces as he moved automatically through the task of making sure his mount was ready to fly. The task was one that had grown familiar over the past year of training, but the setting was like an odd sort of nightmare- Reprisal’s flight deck still showed signs of being hastily patched with steel matting, her island was a smoking ruin of twisted, blackened steel, and the sea around them looked empty with a bare four escorts surrounding the carrier. Crippled Evans had given up the ghost shortly after the last Draka attack, but Altoona still steamed gamely along with the other three destroyers.

The fact that he’d only managed to snatch a few disconnected catnaps in the past thirty or so hours probably wasn’t helping matters either.

As he came around the Spirit’s nose to check the portside wing, Rosemont stopped in his tracks, lifting an eyebrow. The bomb bay doors were open, and there was a suspiciously large number of feet protruding from beneath them. For a minute his heart pounded as he crossed the deck and dropped down, swinging under the doors. The bomb was supposed to have been prepped and loaded belowdecks- was something wrong? Was there somehow, incredibly, a Draka saboteur onboard the ship?

Rosemont’s mind stopped whirring as he stood up inside the bay- there was just enough room to do that, with the doors open and the high-up shackles used to carry an atomic bomb. He took in the sheepishly grinning faces of his squadron, jammed shoulder to shoulder next to each other along both sides of the bomb bay, squeezed between the doors and the bulbous black shape of the bomb casing. He cleared his throat.

“I assume there’s some kind of explanation for this? Other than a sudden mass fascination with nuclear materials, perhaps?” Predictably enough, it was Fujita who held up a hand. There was a ground-down nub of chalk in it, and his deep olive skin was caked with white dust.

“Well, sir…we all figured that since this'll be the last nuke from the old Reprisal, we ought to make it a little special. We’ve all been writing some sweet nothings on her for the Snakes.” Now that his eyes were adapting to the dimness inside the bomb bay, Rosemont could see the messages chalked onto the bomb, and he grinned. “Take that, Lex Luthor!”- that would be from Saint-Lawrence and his crew, funnybook readers to a man whose plane was named Truth, Justice, and the American Way. “Complements from Renown” sounded like Walker, and Fujita had contributed a scrawl of Japanese characters that could have been anything from a prayer commending the Draka’s souls to the Almighty to an obscene limerick for all Rosemont knew. Others were less distinctive- “Made in the U.S.A.”, a hand holding up a hammer labeled “Serf’s Up”, and a line near the radar fuze that simply read “Yoke This”, along with a scrawled mass of signatures that must have included everyone from the fuse technicians on up. Fujita was handing his bit of chalk over the top of the bomb casing.

“Would the Commander care to add his sentiments?” Rosemont grinned and took the chalk, digging in his pocket until he found a bit of cord and a satiny ribbon.

“I would. In fact, I planned on doing this anyway. Delighted to have you all as witnesses.” He drew the Domination Flying Medal he’d received back in ’29 from the pocket of his flight jacket, a brass flying dragon with spread wings, its neck craned down to look over the earth below. There was a moment of silence from his squadronmates as he tied it onto the bomb casing with the strong twine, then carefully wrote next to it so they all could see, “Return to Sender. Refused. J.R.” There was a wave of laughter, and a bit of tension that had always been there between all of them dissolved. Rosemont had never denied his past, but they’d all ignored the subject by mutual agreement. Now he’d made his declaration, and he felt cleaner than he had in years.

Rosemont dug into his pocket and pulled out a glass quart bottle, nodding to Fujita as the navigator passed around glasses- anything they could scrounge in the hour or so before takeoff, from china coffee mugs to waxed paper Coke cups from the mess of the ship’s wardroom. Silently, Rosemont passed the whiskey bottle he’d taken from Flannery’s desk around, watching as each man poured a measure of the dead man’s bourbon into his glass. When the bottle came back to him he tucked it away, then raised his up.

“Gentlemen.” He looked around the circle of faces. “I think I have something we can all drink to. To the Draka.” He paused. “May they get everything they deserve.”

He tossed down the whiskey, and handed the glass back to Fujita. All the Myrmidons were smiling at him around the bulk of the A-bomb, and to Rosemont their grins looked very much like Death beckoning new souls down to Hell. Much the same as his own.

“Thank you, gentlemen. Man your planes.”

1810 Hours

Rosemont stared into the rapidly darkening sky ahead as Reprisal swung her bow around into the wind. Behind them in the west the sun was dipping below the horizon, and the ship forged forward into the night, her speed slowly picking up as her engineers sweated and strained to force every knot they could from her battered hull. No Draka on her radar screens yet, but unless the Snakes had suddenly converted to the ways of love and peace that wouldn’t be long in coming. Time.

With a snarling roar, Spirit of Rio’s left engine caught, spooling up to full power as Rosemont carefully pushed the cooling flaps open. The catapult shooter’s hands moved almost faster than he could respond now, and in a blink the man’s hands were already moving through run-‘em-up. The night seemed to yawn ahead of them as Rosemont keyed the intercom.

“Pilot ready.”
“BN ready”
“Gunner, ready.” Walker’s voice was perfectly calm now.

Rosemont brought his hand up in a careful, crisp salute, and then the merciless press of the catapult came down on them. He had just enough time to wonder if they would get a cold-shot and go into the sea before he felt the Spirit’s wings lift and she soared up into the dark. Rosemont carefully tilted the yoke off to one side and started a spiraling left-hand climb. He’d let the rest of the squadron take off behind him, then form them all up for the first part of the flight.

As he pulled Spirit off into the gloom, though, Rosemont allowed himself to relax- not much, but a fraction of tension sliding out of his spine. The tough part of the takeoff was over, at least.

1812 Hours
Control Room, DWS Graiae

“Got the bastard!” Lieutenant Commander Edward Delapore centered the massive ship in his periscope, lining it up carefully in the crosshairs. That was it, right enough- even with her island knocked askew, the long straight-decked silhouette was unmistakably a damnyank United States class attack carrier, the one that was murdering his people and his blood. As he watched, a black fly-shape flew off her deck- very possibly one of their damned hell-bombers on another mission to rain destruction down on the Race. Well. They’d see about that.

“Bearing, mark! Range, mark!” Delapore barely heard the soft accents counting off his marks and the whirring sounds of the electromechanical torpedo brain as it fed gyro angles into his torpedoes. His crew was good- hunter submarines were the elite of the Navy, like the Army’s Airborne legions manned entirely by Citizen volunteers. “Set run depth, two-zero feet. Open outer doors.” A dot near the back of the carrier began to move- looked like they were flying off some planes conventionally as well. “Fire one! Fire two! Fire three! Fire four!” Delapore slapped his periscope handles up, turning to the communications officer. “Make a signal to squadron in Genoa, sighting report, brevity code only. Now!”

“Suh?” The boy’s mouth hung open. Doctrine said that after you shot you dove deep, ran as far as you could, and hoped they didn’t find you. Putting anything out over the radio right now would be like leaving a trail of blood in a shark tank.

“Do it! Now!” He’d gotten his shots off at the carrier, might stop it from launching more nuclear bombers. Next priority was warning the last real port the Race had left in Europe that there might be bombers already on the way. His own survival and that of his boat came a very distant third.

By the time the six-group message was in the air, Delapore could already hear the pounding screws of a Yankee destroyer coming for them. He leaned against the periscope rail as his boat finally angled down for the depths, casually wondering if this one was going to come out his way.

On the whole, he rather thought not.

1814 Hours
Warhammer 09

Lieutenant Dan Yarrow had just released the brakes on Snake Eater and was watching the airspeed indicator start to lift off its bottom peg when all hell broke loose. Reprisal shuddered, enough that he could actually feel the deck pitch under his wheels and his Revenant took a half-foot hop into the air before coming back down to thunder along the deck. As she howled past the island, Yarrow felt the deck tilt away under him as whatever-it-was made Reprisal pitch sideways and over into a list. Suddenly he wasn’t just heading for the bow- he was also slipping sideways towards the side of the flight deck, and the sea below.

Yarrow jammed the throttles forward against their stops, willing them to somehow pull out a few more horsepower. He heard his bombardier scream over the intercom as the nose slewed towards the ocean. Slammed the flaps down to the full setting as their nosewheel slipped off, praying that somehow they’d have enough speed to claw into the air.

The nosewheel dipped off, diagonal to the bow. The rest of the Revenant followed. Yarrow hauled back desperately on the yoke. Come on. Come on. Not like this! We’re finally on the mission! Not like this!

“Come on, you bitch!” The ocean filled his windscreen. “Come on, fly!”

The wings caught.

Snake Eater’s nose came up, and Yarrow barely managed to reach over and wrench the gear up in time. Otherwise the tires might well have caught a wave and swamped the plane.

The AR-1 climbed away into the sky, with three utterly astonished men aboard as it rose to join its fellows. Yarrow took a long breath.

“Everyone allright?” The gunner spoke for all of them in his broad Texas drawl.

“All right? Good Lord, Skipper, how’s about we-all just fly all the way to Genoa just for the hell of it? After that takeoff I don’t think even flyin’ into an atomic bomb blast could scare me.” Yarrow laughed as he soared up to join the other three Revenants, feeling weak with relief.

The radio crackled. “Warhammer 09, this is 03. You good to go?” Yarrow grinned and keyed his mic.

“03, this is 09. Snakes just took their best shot at us, and it didn’t work. We’re mission-ready.”

1814 Hours
Docking Bridge, USS Reprisal

If Warhammer 09’s takeoff was thrilling from the cockpit, it was hardly less so from the docking bridge. Built to allow harbor pilots and a secondary conning team better visibility in close quarters then her rather anemic island allowed, it stretched across the front of the ship just below the level of the flight deck. When the Draka torpedoes slammed into the side of the ship just behind the bow and near the stern, it knocked everyone but the helmsman off their feet. They had barely gotten back up when a Revenant screamed off the deck, right in front of them, dropping down for the ocean in full view of the bridge windows. Captain Guitierrez barely had time to shout orders to push the rudder over to port when the plane somehow stopped its dive for the sea and pulled up, crossing in front of them and quickly climbing out of sight. Guitierrez slumped in his chair, one hand over his chest. That had been close.

The bridge phone rang, and Guitierrez grabbed it off its clips.

“Docking Bridge, Captain.”

“Skipper, we’ve got to slow down!” Reprisal had already started to lose way since the torpedo hit, but that didn’t seem to make Commander Calvin down with the black gang any less worried. “Two torpedo hits, flooding near the bow and stern, and that patch my men put on the last bomb hit is gone too. If we don’t stop the water’s going to keep forcing in and she’ll flip!”

“Do it.” Guitierrez glanced over at the sailor on the lee helm and jerked his thumb, watching the man pull the telegraph back to “dead slow”. “Can you give me a few knots? We might still have a Snake sub out there.” Calvin sounded a bit dubious.

“We’ll try, Skipper. There’s still one set of boilers working, and two of the screws. Probably won’t be much more than steerage way, though, and when that goes we’ll lose power throughout the ship too.” Guitierrez winced. When that went down they’d lose most of their firefighting and damage control capability as well.

“Do your best, Eng.” Guitierrez hung up the phone, then turned to the OOD.

“Anything from the screen?”

“Yessir. Snake sub, running silent. Damn fool stopped to send off a contact report before he dove for it. Riviera and Wickett whipsawed him with a depth charge pattern and report debris, oil, and bodies floating to the surface. Looks like we got him, Sir.” Guitierrez grunted.

“Maybe not such a damn fool. Get a message off on the VAH-1 common frequency. Warn the Warhammers that they might have a reception prepared for them.”

“Aye aye.” A messenger sprinted for the ladder up to the radio room. “Anything else, Sir?”

“Yes.” Guitierrez stared at the sea ahead. They were reduced to a crawl, but at least it looked like they had the night to prepare for what had to come. “Order all nonessential personnel topside to the flight deck. Have the surgeon prepare to move all sickbay cases to the boat deck, and tell the First Lieutenant to call up crews and handling details for all small craft. Order all three destroyers to prepare to lie alongside and ask them to ready any small craft they have to help transfer the wounded. Have the communications officer start destroying his cipher machines and papers.” Which included the manuals left aboard for VAH-1’s nuclear bombs. Guitierrez closed his eyes, and gave the final order that Naval tradition demanded at a time like this.

“Prepare to abandon ship.”

[declan]

Charlie don't serf

Awesome chapter

Declan

[Vehrec]

Wouldn't the destroyers be beating the ocean with their active sonar?

[ChaserGrey]

Depends on the situation. I think at this point they're trying to get Reprisal's evacuation started as quickly as possible. Once they have boats in the water and going, they'll probably release a couple of the destroyers to make sure that no submarines are nearby, but I didn't think an extended discussion of the logistics would be interesting.

Using escorts for damage control and evacuation versus letting them well, escort is a tough call for task force commanders at times like this. Look up what happened to USS Hammann at Midway for one particularly tragic example.

Reprisal is in a bit of a unique situation here- she's not that badly damaged in terms of flotation or integrity, but since her machinery is essentially shot that leaves her stuck in enemy territory without any way of dodging bombs, meaning she's effectively lost at this stage. However, any Draka attacks are probably going to concentrate on the carrier, since they won't know how badly hurt she is. If the Americans take advantage of that, she might be able to soak up damage for long enough to get her ship's company up and everyone to book it for Gibraltar.

It's not a *good* option by any conventional definition, but it might well be the best one they have at this point. They can use the nighttime hours and early morning to abandon Reprisal, and try to be away with as many men as possible by dawn.

[Junghalli]

“Of course, if you don’t like it…the second is always open to you.”  Roosevelt’s voice was cool again, without the barest hint of the olive brach he’d just offered.  “If you think you can regroup your Race in Italy, Syria, or on the dark side of the Moon, you’re welcome to try.

The obvious reference to the Secret Nazi Moonbase meme made me think; it'd be an amusing reversal of what happened in canon if they actually tried something like that at the end of the war. SECRET DRAKA MOONBASE.

Whether something like that would be remotely feasible with WWII technology I'm not sure of, but by the standards of the timeline it's probably not all that ridiculous. And it would make for an interesting space race as the victors on Earth desperately scramble to develop the technology to reach the final Draka stronghold IN SPACE.

Which would actually be basically the world's most expensive and isolated shitty 200 person subsistence village.

[CaptainChewbacca]

Wouldn't the destroyers be beating the ocean with their active sonar?

I didn't think sonar existed in world war two, at least not in its' modern form.