Cruising at a short distance on a parallel course, Ulyanovsk closely observed his partner.
Focusing entirely on tracking the plane, she looked exactly like a scorpion ready to strike.
Primarily because of her combat rigging, which looked highly unusual for a Shipgirl.
Attached behind her back was a pyramid-shaped superstructure, wrapping around her waist with the protrusions of a navigation bridge.
Connected to it by mechanical manipulator arms were two massive structures resembling the forward half of a hull sliced straight down the keel.
Each half could move independently, split into two unequal parts like a giant claw.
The upper section housed the eight inclined launch canisters of Komsomolets’s main armament.
To prevent the rocket exhaust from cooking their host, the inner sides of the launchers were shielded by a metal plate mirroring the side wall of the original ship’s superstructure.
The lower section was separated by a split just above the waterline, serving as a mount for a five-tube torpedo launcher on the inside.
On the outer side sat the compact turrets of the AK-630 six-barreled rotary cannons (CIWS).
Two sat on a small ledge above the torpedo tubes, and one on the upper half, their barrels facing each other.
At the very bottom, near the joint connecting the two halves of the “claw,” the RBU anti-submarine rocket launchers aimed down at the water.
Curving behind her back like an arched tail was a structural spine, ending not with a stinger, but with the massive turret of the AK-130 twin naval gun, followed by a radar antenna block.
The segment just before it was adorned with the hatches of the Osa SAM complex, while the four segments prior held the eight-missile rotary magazines of the Fort surface-to-air missile system on each side.
Detached from its host, Komsomolets’s equipment looked incredibly intimidating, amplified by two searchlights resembling glowing eyes on the roof of the bridge, left and right.
The Kanmusu herself, however, looked a bit out of place.
She wore dark gray boots with red soles and a rudder-shaped high heel, smoothly transitioning into light gray thigh-high stockings.
Her clothes consisted of a gunmetal-colored pleated skirt—woven as if made of liquid metal—cinched by a wide leather belt sporting a red five-pointed star on the buckle.
Her chest was covered by a short white crop top styled like a traditional Russian kosovorotka (side-collar shirt), topped with a light steel-colored jacket.
If she had been wearing a proper tunic, the intensely focused girl staring into the sky would have inspired awe and commanded respect from any normal human.
However, her entirely exposed, flat stomach—featuring clearly defined abs—contrasted sharply against the dark clothing.
To Ulyanovsk, it looked like a literal bullseye; even in pitch darkness without night vision, you couldn’t miss it.
He involuntarily recalled Sirius’s excuse—”This is how we were summoned”—when he had teased the guest about her outfit.
“Vagabond-One, should we prep the surface targets?” the shore ops asked over the encrypted channel.
“Not yet.
Let her shoot at the waves and scare the seagulls for a bit,” Ulyanovsk replied.
“Komi…” he called out to his partner, deciding to find out why she had kept the lid of a launch tube open for the past ten minutes.
He didn’t get to finish—his words acted like a literal trigger.
With a deafening roar, spewing solid-fuel exhaust, the first missile shot out of the canister and bolted toward the horizon.
A second later, a second fiery spear launched from the opposite side.
The third flew a few meters before pathetically splashing into the water.
The Kanmusu launched the rest without any issues, save for one.
Detaching from the host, the missile began doing loop-de-loops in the air, climbing higher and higher, until it was intercepted by the aviation cruiser to prevent unnecessary casualties.
“Too early!” Ulyanovsk yelled, while the girl coughed, choking on the exhaust smoke.
“I said—when it hits two thousand meters!” “I held it too long,” Komsomolets answered guiltily.
“I told you not to drill a hole in it with your eyes,” the guy sighed, sailing closer to his partner.
“Any damage?” “None,” the Kanmusu shook her head.
The aviation cruiser sighed in relief, pulling his hand away from the emergency repair kit on his belt.
“Why jump straight to full salvos?” Admiral Gusoyedov asked.
“To determine her full reload cycle time.
And secondly, so she can practice the second part of the program with an empty magazine,” the guy answered.
“You’re taking a risk,” the commander voiced his displeasure.
“We have too little time for a full trial cycle.
I spent two months practicing with my onboard armament before my first combat deployment.
From what I understand, we don’t have that luxury, and doing this in hostile waters is way too risky,” Ulyanovsk explained his logic.
The shore ops remained silent, which he took as a green light to continue the drills.
“Speed thirty, distance ten,” the guy commanded.
“Do as I do and don’t lose sight of the plane.” Accelerating, the aviation cruiser set a course for the area designated for the next phase of today’s maneuvers.
The girl took her position off his port side, shadowing her flagship, allowing him to properly evaluate the quality of Kommuna’s seamanship lessons.
The cruiser made a few minor mistakes during turns, but with every zigzag, they became fewer and fewer.
However, the reason for this wasn’t the Kanmusu’s inexperience, but simple physics.
Weighing six times more than his partner, Ulyanovsk physically couldn’t change direction and speed as fast as Komsomolets could.
He had never really noticed this before, always considering his handling characteristics to be more than adequate.
But having a highly agile partner right next to him, who he had to constantly keep in his line of sight, made the unrealized flagship of the Soviet Union feel like a charging rhino.
“How are the Vulkans?” the aviation cruiser asked.
“Just a minute…” Komsomolets replied, turning her head toward the starboard row of launch canisters.
Opening and closing the protective covers one by one, she shook her head negatively.
“Can you give me an ETA?” “How?!” she blurted out the second he finished his sentence.
“Did they explain to you how to gauge your remaining fuel?” Receiving an affirmative nod, Ulyanovsk continued: “Same principle, just try to focus on the missiles instead of the fuel.” “Hmm…” the Kanmusu began intensely staring at her main battery.
And completely missed the moment Ulyanovsk changed course.
“Another half an hour!” the girl exclaimed happily, looking to her right.
Not finding her flagship where he was supposed to be, she frantically whipped her head around looking for him.
“What do you have radars for?” the aviation cruiser reminded her, gliding right behind her.
Komsomolets sharply spun around.
“Half an hour!” she repeated, right before losing her balance due to the sudden course correction.
Tripping over a wave, the Kanmusu almost faceplanted into the water, managing to thrust the claws of her rigging forward at the very last second to brake.
They submerged almost entirely but did the job.
For a second, the cruiser froze in a half-bow before straightening up.
“You have to feel the space around you, even without looking at a specific point.
Besides, I’m not stealthy enough to vanish from radar,” Ulyanovsk advised, while Komsomolets spat out the salty spray that had drenched the very weapons she just pulled out of the water.
“Even right now, can you tell me exactly where my plane is without looking at it?” “Yes,” she nodded, calling out the exact coordinates.
“Same thing here.
We’re going to practice, so run an ASW zigzag ahead of me,” the aviation cruiser ordered.
“HQ, launch a couple of seagulls our way, standard altitude.” “Copy that, Vagabond-One, standby,” the shore responded.
Thanks to the loitering radar in the sky, he instantly detected the launch of the training drones.
Knowing the radius of his partner’s local arrays, he just had to wait for the cruiser to detect the two new targets.
The task was slightly complicated by the actual seabirds having a feast at the spot where the missiles had crashed, but Ulyanovsk hoped the cruiser wouldn’t repeat his past mistakes.
“Unidentified targets,” he almost cheered upon hearing the girl’s shout, but his joy was short-lived.
“Forty-three targets, low altitude, dead ahead!
Two more approaching from the east!” “Did you run a diagnostic sweep?!” the aviation cruiser practically growled.
“Oops,” the cruiser blushed.
A few seconds later, she reported again: “Two unidentified targets, moving toward us!” “Never forget to calibrate your sonar and radars before heading out to sea,” Ulyanovsk sighed in disappointment.
The memories of a massacre—which the environmentalists must never find out about—that he had orchestrated during his first live-fire drills were still fresh in his mind.
“Alright,” banishing the distracting thoughts of an insane targeting system, the aviation cruiser turned to the girl, “accepting IFF (Identify Friend or Foe) codes.” Komsomolets looked questioningly at the small printed circuit board resting on his palm.
Then, a spark of realization lit up in her eyes.
Taking the board, she touched an element of the superstructure on her belt with her other hand.
A small hatch popped open right where she touched, swallowing the microchip.
“Codes accepted,” Komsomolets reported, looking up at the sky.
“Confirming one friendly airborne object.” “HQ, initiating the Anti-Air Defense program,” Ulyanovsk reported aloud.
“Proceed,” the commander’s voice echoed over the general channel.
“Clear the skies of the enemy,” the aviation cruiser made an inviting gesture with his hand, turning to his partner.
“Yes, sir!” she shouted.
The hatch of the SAM complex flipped open, spitting out its payload.
Once airborne, the missile ignited its engines and bolted toward the target.
Following closely behind, leaving a smoky trail from its solid-fuel boosters, the secondary missile gave chase.
Another launch canister repeated the procedure, sending a deadly package toward the drones.
For a brief moment, two small clouds of debris blossomed on the radar, and Komsomolets reported successful target elimination with a deeply satisfied look.
But the guy had absolutely zero reasons to be happy for his partner.
A massive first wave of flying targets simulating both bombers and torpedo bombers had already launched from the shore.
Ulyanovsk carried the exact same long-range SAM system as the Kanmusu in front of him, so he knew all of its quirks intimately.
Fort was a fantastic anti-aircraft missile, but the launcher took a full ten minutes to reload, and only after expending the entire magazine.
Judging by Komsomolets’s behavior, the guy safely assumed that after dumping all 64 missiles at the attacking wave, she’d be left completely alone against a couple of hundred drones armed with paint bombs.
Whether the two Osa-M pop-up launchers and her artillery could protect the missile cruiser was highly doubtful.
Ulyanovsk didn’t have these problems, carrying three times the payload of long-range missiles alone, not to mention having the far superior Kortik CIWS.
However, the point of reenacting Yamato’s final stand for a lone cruiser wasn’t just to learn how to shoot down air targets, but to learn how to conserve ammo.
“Try not to get dirty,” Ulyanovsk smirked, the moment Komsomolets noticed the multitude of new blips on her radar.
“What do you mean?” the girl asked.
“The drones are carrying simulated aircraft bombs and torpedoes.
Only instead of explosives, they have pressurized paint canisters,” he explained, increasing the distance between himself and his partner.
“I’ll just stand off to the side and watch…” “But…” “You need to learn how to repel massive air raids.” “Alone?!” Komsomolets yelled indignantly.
“Stranger things happen in the ocean, believe me.
I’ll give you one hint—factor in the fragmentation spread.
Oh, and maneuver more aggressively…” Biting her lip, the girl turned her head to face the approaching aerial armada.
She struggled to determine the exact number of targets, seeing practically a solid cloud moving toward her on the radar.
Above her head, her mechanical ‘tail’ arched, aiming its stinger at the horizon and tracking the twin barrels up and down.
*** “…Thus, due to certain circumstances, we were unable to fully complete today’s training program,” Ulyanovsk concluded his report, sitting in the commander’s office.
The admiral spent a few minutes silently reviewing the reports from the coastal observation posts and the technical support service.
“How is she?” Gusoyedov set the documents aside.
“Washing herself off,” the aviation cruiser answered with a smile.
“I’m just wondering which genius decided to mix thickener into the paint.” “I’ll deal with the paint.
I’m more interested in something else,” the man specified.
“How did she handle the task?
Considering that, under the guise of teaching her how to walk, you basically shoved the poor girl off a cliff.” “I need to know how Komsomolets will behave out there,” Ulyanovsk pointed toward the window, offering a clear view of the base’s outer roadstead.
“If we had stuck to the standard program with single launches, we definitely wouldn’t have made the deadline.” “Isn’t simulating an attack with two hundred drones overkill?” “It was the only way to break her habit of using standard anti-air engagement protocols.
Two missiles per enemy aircraft is fine against jet fighters or guided weapons.
But the Abyssals rely primarily on sheer numbers.
Massive air raids like that are rare, but they do happen, so it was critical she figured out how to fight aerial swarms on her own.” “Did Komi manage?” “Long-range interception still needs work, but I have absolutely zero complaints about her artillery.
In fact, her rotary cannons are the only thing that saved her from turning into a giant blob of snot.
She’s pretty accurate with the 130mm twin gun, too.
Tomorrow, I’ll show her how to use the Fort properly, and we’ll start practicing ASW sweeps.
We’ll have to combine that with surface target practice.” “I hope you aren’t planning to pull another stunt like today?” the admiral asked, jotting notes in his notebook.
“I don’t intend to expose her to anything I wouldn’t face myself,” Ulyanovsk replied.
“And to be honest, I probably wouldn’t survive a massive underwater ambush myself…
without scrambling my entire ASW helicopter wing, preferably reinforced.” “You know better what’s out there,” the man pointed his pen over his shoulder toward the window, “so I’ll leave that on your conscience.
However, I ask you not to rub the girl’s face in the mud.
For a Kanmusu, the first live-fire drills are a crucial stage in forming her personality.
Try not to repeat this ‘beating up a toddler’ routine.” “Doesn’t their personality form the moment they’re summoned?” “Not entirely,” closing his notebook, the commander leaned back in his chair, looking at his subordinate with paternal warmth.
“The environment has a massive impact.
That’s why, after a new Kanmusu is summoned, she’s gradually taught how to use her equipment.
To awaken the instincts hardcoded into her by the designers, so she can sort out the mess in her head that newly summoned girls experience.
It’s easier with a second summoning, thanks to partially retained memories of life as a Shipgirl.
Now imagine the mindset a girl will have when, on her very first test, she’s given an impossible task?” Ulyanovsk pondered his commander’s words.
There was some truth to them, and the officer possessed vastly more extensive and multifaceted experience working with Kanmusu.
However, his current wards used combat styles fundamentally different from what the admiral was used to.
The aviation cruiser had a wealth of practical experience using onboard weaponry, paid for in blood and sweat.
That was exactly what he relied on when developing his partner’s training program.
“Ivan Sergeyevich, if we didn’t have such a compressed timeline, I wouldn’t resort to these methods.
But given the circumstances, sending Komsomolets out to sea right now means guaranteed loss during the first serious combat contact.
As humiliating as it sounds, for the upcoming mission, I’m treating her strictly as a mobile platform with extra anti-ship missiles and a bonus of six Fort launch systems.
That’s exactly why I intend to teach her to shoot where she’s told, and to do it in a way that ensures her anti-air doesn’t shred my air group.” “Harsh, but fair,” Gusoyedov agreed.
“Still, please take my request into consideration.” “I’ll keep it in mind.
Now, please sign this,” Ulyanovsk handed the commander a request for a city gate pass.
“The supply guys can’t handle this?” the admiral asked, though he signed it anyway.
“I have an unfed cruiser at home.
And right now, the ‘Carrier Killer’ looks more like a Cookie Killer and Candy Destroyer.
I have no idea how much she can pack away, so transport would be appreciated,” the guy handed the officer a second form.
“Make the girl happy,” skimming the paper, the admiral signed the second document.
“Thank you, Ivan Sergeyevich.
Permission to be dismissed?” “Dismissed.
And don’t forget to get the stamps,” the man tapped the documents before handing them back to Ulyanovsk.
The aviation cruiser handled the paperwork quickly, thankful that everyone required for signatures and stamps was actually at their desks.
The guy had to fight a brief battle with the Head of POL (Petroleum, Oil, and Lubricants), who acted like parting with every hundred grams of fuel was physically tearing out a piece of his heart, but getting the rest was smooth sailing.
Except the missile cruiser, the entire reason for this errand, was missing from the designated meeting spot.
A 360-degree radar sweep yielded zero results.
After standing near HQ for a bit, Ulyanovsk decided to go looking for his partner.
He knew of cases where some Kanmusu suffered from severe topographical disorientation, and he desperately tried to push away the thought that Komsomolets might have it.
However, the nasty little whisper in the back of his mind kept reminding him about the cruiser’s total lack of navigation equipment at the time of her sinking.
The missing girl was found in the locker room assigned to the squadron.
Sitting on a bench, she was silently examining the fleet emblem on her garrison cap, periodically stroking the wings of the gilded double-headed eagle with her finger.
Ulyanovsk was about to call out to her but stopped when he noticed her reddened eyes and slightly puffy cheeks.
‘Yeah, I really pushed the poor girl too far,’ he mentally slapped himself.
“Komi.” “Mmm?” the Kanmusu perked up.
“Sorry…
I spaced out, lost track of time,” wiping her face with the back of her hand, she stood up from the bench.
“Hold on,” the aviation cruiser stopped her.
“Have a seat for a minute,” he offered, sitting down nearby.
Komsomolets silently returned to her spot, actively avoiding looking at her flagship.
A heavy silence settled between them for a while, neither daring to break it.
But the two ships needed to talk to prevent the specialists—who could find sexual subtext in a snake crawling through the grass—from getting involved.
“They’ll find the comedian who came up with the brilliant idea to mix thickener into the paint,” Ulyanovsk began.
“Though I’m pretty sure that’s not the reason for your mood.” Komsomolets nodded silently.
The guy took that as a green light and continued: “About today…
Don’t take your failures on the firing range to heart.” “But…” the Kanmusu swallowed a lump in her throat.
“I couldn’t even handle simulated flying plywood!
I failed the combat mission!” she blurted out, squeezing the cap in her hands.
“What’s the point of me going out to sea if I can’t even handle this?!
What’s the point of me at all…” Komsomolets whispered the last words.
“But you did accomplish your mission,” Ulyanovsk reminded her.
“By conditionally dying in combat,” the girl sighed doomed.
“Did you get the lectures on the Abyssal Fleet classifications?” “The flashcards, you mean?” she asked.
“Yes.
Even passed the exam…” “Then remind me, how many air units can a standard carrier launch at once?” “Around sixty.
But encountering more than two Wo-class carriers simultaneously is highly unlikely, and engaging a large swarm alone is strictly prohibited.” “Unfortunately, the specifics of our future work practically guarantee encounters exactly like that.
I won’t say it’s frequent, but it’s regular.
However, returning to the firing range—you grasped the core principle, entirely on your own without any hints.
And you did it very quickly.
As a result, you managed to destroy an attacking air wing that not every carrier squadron with escorts could have repelled.” “You know,” the girl began slowly.
“When I was summoned—I was happy.
To serve the country, even if it wasn’t the one that gave me life, to be useful…
I don’t want to be useless dead weight again.” “I don’t possess a silver tongue like Major Shmatko,” an involuntary smile crept onto Ulyanovsk’s face at the mention of the only sane psychologist on the fleet’s payroll.
“So I’ll be blunt.
Don’t beat yourself up over failing a job you weren’t designed to do.
Your primary objective is to deliver fast, lethal strikes against an unsuspecting enemy, and you have everything you need for that.
Encountering 215 aircraft simultaneously wasn’t even accounted for in your original design project.
Even if they were propeller-driven, they can easily overload targeting systems.
Nobody would have fought that off.
Yet you did.
You didn’t panic, you drew the right conclusions in time.
For ships with a fate like ours, that’s a reason to be proud.
I doubt even Ustinov, with all her modernizations, would have done better.” “She has the Palash CIWS,” Komsomolets reminded him, placing her mangled cap on her lap.
“And the Redut and Triumfator.” “And I’m still not convinced,” the aviation cruiser said with a hint of doubt.
“Serious weapons, sure, but what’s the point when the sheer number of targets exceeds the targeting system’s capacity?” “I doubt anything would have even reached her,” the girl sighed.
“But then what’s the point of these drills?” “First, to psychologically prepare you for a combat encounter with this kind of enemy.
Shipgirls sometimes freeze up in these situations, which leads to casualties.
Second, to ascertain your armament’s capabilities under a compressed timeline.
Kanmusu cruiser armament differs from an aircraft carrier’s, even if they’re absolute equivalents on paper.
Some reload faster, others take slightly longer.
That’s why we jumped straight into volley fire and massive air raids.” “The Commander said something like that,” Komsomolets frowned, replaying the morning briefing in her head.
“Not exactly, and I skipped a few points in the program, but the intent was the same.
Simply put…
I needed to see exactly whose hands I was entrusting my life to,” Ulyanovsk placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder and nodded toward the ocean, “out there.
So…
peace?” “We weren’t fighting,” the girl shook her head.
“Besides, I’m angry at myself, not you.” “You shouldn’t be.
But you know, there’s a great remedy to calm the nerves.
Come on, the store awaits.” “With candy?” a spark of hope ignited in the Kanmusu’s eyes.
“With candy, yes.” *** “She went that way, I saw her!” an indignant female voice echoed from around the corner of the building.
The warrior froze, hiding in the shadows of the structure, blending perfectly into the vegetation growing along the blind area.
The physical exhaustion from the long chase was catching up, and thoughts of simply surrendering to the guards were beginning to creep into her mind.
But she had a goal, one she couldn’t abandon without paying a heavy price.
Too heavy a price, in the warrior’s opinion.
The master of this place was cruel and ruthless; the maiden had absolutely no desire to fall into his hands.
So, waiting until the footsteps faded away, she continued her path, stepping carefully along the wall.
The safehouse was just a little further, and once there, using her gifts, the shadow-dweller could wait out the storm.
Sneaking the final few meters, the girl peeked around the corner and immediately pulled back.
The enemy was cunning, and she had to stay alert.
However, luck was on her side, and the street was empty.
The guards had followed the false trail she had prudently laid using handy spirits.
Gathering the hem of her garment, the warrior dashed across to the other side and dove into the bushes, listening intently to the sounds of the street.
Luck favored her once again.
One step, then another, and the saving door was an arm’s length away.
But the moment she reached for the handle, her keen hearing picked up movement inside.
The young ninja didn’t even have time to react before a firm hand clamped down on her shoulder.
“Gotcha,” the ambusher purred like a satisfied cat.
Two rubies stared down at the dulled amethysts with sheer superiority.
The fingers on her shoulder tightened warningly, completely nullifying the warrior’s attempt to break free.
With her other hand, the red-eyed woman pulled out a clothes hanger from behind her back holding…
The girl barely suppressed a gag reflex out of pure disgust.
Such heresy, which her captor held out at arm’s length, simply should not exist!
The air around the warrior rippled, and her palms ignited with bright blue flames.
“Don’t even think about it!
You don’t want the others finding out where you are, do you?” the red-eyed woman warned.
However, the choice had already been made.
A slight wave of her palm, and the maiden broke free from the grip, while the world-defying abomination crumbled into ash on the wooden porch.
She had blown her cover, and now she had to run again, but the cold steel of a blade rested against her throat.
“Thank you, Taihou,” the red-eyed woman thanked someone behind her back.
Looking back, the maiden saw the literal incarnation of fury wearing a white kimono, pointing a sword directly at her throat.
Standing next to her was another one, holding the exact same clothes hanger that had turned to ash a second ago.
“It’s time you tasted some suffering,” the red-eyed woman licked her lips, grabbing the warrior’s hands and pinning them behind her back.
“N-o-o-o-o!” a scream full of absolute despair echoed down the street.