This summer, capt_dan and I decided to try the White Mountain Direttissima: climbing all 48 4000' NH peaks in one continuous hike. We were both looking for a trip where we could push ourselves and finish in 8-9 days. Also didn’t want to resupply for COVID reasons. The direttissima fit the bill, with tons of climbing and no town stops. It was simultaneously a blast and the hardest hiking I’ve ever done.
(I know that this trip report is super long and super late, so thanks for reading!)
Where: White Mountains, New Hampshire
When: July 18th - 27th, 2020
Distance: 223 miles, ~ 76,000 feet of elevation gain
Conditions: We were lucky with weather. Mostly clear skies, temps between 40 and 80, and only one day of rain.
Gear Lists: Bill: https://lighterpack.com/onspp2 Dan: https://www.trailpost.com/packs/3136
Pre-Trip Information: I’d only hiked the AT through the Whites and Dan had never been up there before, so we didn’t know about trail conditions before the hike. We looked at a lot of direttissima / White Mountain trip reports (Arlette Laan, Andrew Drummond, Philip Werner) and cooked up a map with our days of hiking and possible campsites laid out. Once we started, though, we realized that we’d been too optimistic. Here’s our final route: https://caltopo.com/m/QDS8.
Training: Since we knew the hiking would be tough, we both trained beforehand. Problem: we were training in NYC, which is super flat. I was walking 8-10 miles a day with a 20lb pack and climbing stairs; Dan was running 70ish miles a week with a lot of climbing on bridges. This training was totally insufficient for the mileage / climbing we wanted to do, but we made it work by hiking long days.
Photo Album: https://imgur.com/a/B0XSeFj
Day 1 - Beaver Brook Trailhead >> Cannon Mountain (19 miles, +9,270 ft, 4/48)
Peaks: Moosilauke, South Kinsman, North Kinsman, Cannon
We drove up to the Beaver Brook Trailhead by Moosilauke on Friday night, wanting to get an early start on Saturday. It was 10:30 by the time we got there, so we camped in the parking lot: Dan slept in the car while I cowboyed by the outhouse.
Woke up around 5:00, feeling clammy from condensation. As we packed, a car pulled up at the trailhead. Two guys got out, pulled on fully-loaded packs (a KS 50 and a ZPacks something or other), and immediately started booking it towards Moosilauke.
As we started hiking (at 5:46), I said to Dan: "I wonder if those guys were starting a direttissima too... why else would they be out here so early?"
The Beaver Brook Trail follows a series of waterfalls up a steep ravine, and it's fairly hard hiking. Towards the top, we climbed above treeline and met the two guys from the parking lot coming back down. Their names were Chris and Shann, and I'd guessed right: they were out for their second direttissima. They'd done their first one in seventeen days a few years before, and were shooting for nine days this time around. We said we'd see them up the trail and hiked on.
Great views from Moosilauke. It was fun (... intimidating?) to look northeast towards Franconia and the Presidentials and see all of the peaks we still had to climb.
The afternoon is a blur to me. It was hard hiking, and we were clearly falling behind the schedule that we'd laid out: our original plan called for ending the day in or beyond Franconia Notch, but by evening we were only starting a series of small, rolling mountains called the Cannonballs. We decided to camp on Cannon Mountain.
And though I'd started the day feeling fresh, by 6:30 I was feeling weird. I was getting hungry, but we decided to hike on while we had daylight and wait to eat dinner at camp. Big mistake! Even though I was snacking a little, by 8:00 I felt queasy (too hungry to really drink water, to thirsty to really eat), and by the time we got to Cannon at 9:00 I was crashing for lack of calories.
We sat on the viewing platform up top to eat and look at the stars, and I could feel my body shutting down. I was freezing, and pulled on every piece of clothing I had: fleece, beanie, frog toggs, quilt. As I sat there shivering and trying to choke down cold Skurka Beans, I found myself wondering if I was really going to die of hypothermia on the first day.
I ate some dried mandarin orange slices for quick energy, and we climbed back down a little to find stealth sites. I was warmer but still feeling terrible. As I got into my quilt, I thought: if I still feel like this in the morning, I'm hiking to the road and going home.
After a hard day, that thought was comforting.
Day 2 - Franconia Ridge + Owl's Head (17.4 miles, +7,480 ft, 9/48)
Peaks: Liberty, Flume, Lincoln, Lafayette, Owl's Head
Woke up six hours later feeling... not awful? I don't know how, but my body had recovered overnight. Damnit, I thought. No excuse to quit hiking. It was already shaping up to be a fun trip.
We descended quickly into Franconia Notch, cruising through the Lafayette Campground and down the Pemigewasset. As we passed through the campground and saw people emerging from their eight-person tents to cook bacon over fires, we questioned why we hadn't taken up car camping.
We must have gotten out earlier than Chris and Shann, because they flew past us on the way to the top of Franconia Ridge. It was beautiful on top and we flew. We dropped our packs to do Liberty and Flume as a long out-and back, passing tons of day hikers and ultra-runners.
By 3:15, we were on top of Lafayette and feeling great, having soaked in the glorious views of Moosilauke and the Presidentials the whole way.
But next came the tricky part. Almost all of the 4,000 footers in the Pemi Wilderness are on the Pemi Loop, which follows an elegant circle around the outside of the wilderness. But one 4,000 footer isn't: Owl's Head. It's smack-dab in the middle, so you have to descend off of the Pemi Loop to climb it.
We were following Andrew Drummond's route down the Lincoln Slide bushwhack down to the base of Owl's Head. After some creative rock hopping to avoid damaging alpine plants, we had fun following a long rock-slide down towards a creek (good views, off-trail navigation). We had less fun once the valley narrowed and we started hiking in the creek itself (slippery footing, mosquitos, big drops off of rocks). We had very little fun once we had to leave the creek itself and bushwhack through the woods off to the right (branches, bogs).
By 6:30, we made it to the trail at the base of Owl's Head. It was about 3 miles round-trip to the top, so we decided to drop our packs, leave our dinners soaking, and eat after we hiked the peak. I chugged some water beforehand and brought a bar, thinking I'd be alright till we got back (It's evening! It's cool!) ... Big mistake!
The climb up Owl's Head was fine. Rocky, loose, and steep, but it went quickly. We got to the top as the sun was setting, and I was already thirsty. By the time we started descending, I was feeling parched. The steep, loose sections that had been so quick on the way up took much longer in the dark, and by the bottom, I was looking desperately at every little trickle of water running down the rock.
To compound matters, I hadn't been able to eat my bar because I was thirsty, leading to... the exact same f*cking situation as the first night. As we finished the descent and started back up the flat trail towards our packs, I could feel my body shutting down again. I was stumbling, and my body seemed to have lost its ability to regulate its temperature. Even though it was a cool night, I was boiling, and I remember unbuttoning my shirt to try to cool down.
Eventually we got back to our packs, and I chugged the quarter-liter of water I had left. But it wasn't enough. I left Dan sitting there and shambled towards the nearest stream crossing, a tenth of a mile up trail. There, I drank more, and poured water on my head to cool down. Which, with my calorie-deprived body, worked all too well. By the time I got back to Dan, I was shivering and slurring my words a little. Obviously a bad situation.
I pulled on my fleece and huddled by my pack. Couldn't stomach beans, so I mixed tiny, watery portions of instant mashed potatoes and olive oil in the lid of my Talenti jar and sipped as much as I could. It was a low point.
We couldn't hike on, so we climbed above the trail into the woods and pitched our tents. I was warmer but still feeling terrible. As I got into my quilt, I thought: if I still feel like this in the morning, I'm hiking to the road and going home.
After a second hard day, that thought was comforting.
Day 3 - Owl's Head >> Bondicliff Trail (21.9 miles, +7,680 ft, 17/48)
Peaks: Garfield, Galehead, South Twin, North Twin, Zealand, West Bond, Bond, Bondcliff
Woke up six hours later feeling... not awful again? How?? Again, my body had recovered overnight. Damnit, I thought. I still couldn't excuse quitting. And so started day three.
We started hiking, and after a few miles crossed Franconia Branch by the Thirteen Falls Tentsite. Chris and Shann had planned to stay there last night, and we figured that they were miles ahead by now. Looking at the map, we were at least half a day behind our plan, and we already felt like we were hiking as hard as we could. The long days and difficulty eating in the evenings meant that I felt tired, even in the morning.
The first mountain of the day was Garfield. Enjoyed the view of Franconia Ridge, cursed Owls Head, ate a snack, and then pushed on.
We got to Galehead Hut around 12:30, had a cup of coffee on the porch, and ordered burritos for after we hiked Galehead Mountain as an out-and-back. The burritos were mouth-burning hot, but we didn't care. The caloric / mental boost of those burritos kept me on trail after a rough first two days.
Did the peaks on the eastern part of the Pemi Loop in the afternoon, with a couple of long out-and-backs to the Twins and Zealand. In the early evening, we climbed down to the Guyot shelter for water and (jealously) saw people relaxing in their sleeping bags, jetboils blazing, getting ready for dinner. Why are we doing this to ourselves? I thought.
We'd learned from the first two days: we got to the base of West Bond at 6:45 and left our dinners soaking while we tagged the peak. Afterwards, we came back and ate before hiking on. It was an important lesson for food management on long days, and meant that we could hike into the night without crashing.
Incredible sunset from Bondcliff. Looking at the map, I expected the climb down the Bondicliff trail to be steep, but it actually ended up being a smooth, gradual trail. Hiked on in the dark until we saw a campsite off to the right. Fell asleep around 11:00, feeling satisfied with how the day had gone.
Day 4 - Bondicliff Trail >> Waterville Gap (27.2 miles, +8,640 ft, 22/48)
Peaks: South Hancock, Hancock, Osceola East, Osceola, Tecumseh
Even though yesterday had been better, this morning I was doubting that we'd be able to finish the hike. We were way behind our plan, and each day had been harder than we were expecting. We crossed the Pemi (waded it, but it wasn't too high) and headed towards the Hancocks. As we turned off onto the Hancock Loop Trail, we saw Chris and Shann's backpacks by the side of the trail, and a few minutes later we ran across them. We were really excited to see them - they hiked fast, and really seemed to know what they were doing. If we were only a few miles behind them, maybe we had a chance of finishing.
The Hancocks were fun for a bit and then tiring. Straight up one, loop trail on top, straight down the other. At the bottom, I noticed that my achilles was sore, and it kept getting worse through the afternoon as we climbed the Osceolas. Sat for a little to have a snack and watch some Ravens playing at the top. It got dark as we climbed Tecumseh, and we saw some great stars as we called our partners from the top.
We decided to descend into Waterville Gap that night and camp somewhere on the other side of town. Instead of taking the regular trail, we hiked down the ski runs at the Waterville Ski Area. Climbing down ski runs is harder than I expected - like hiking through a meadow, with lots of waist-high, dewey plants. Was amazed at the diversity of plants: each slope seemed to have different flowers and grasses. Enjoyed the night: quiet, cool air, a last view of comet NEOWISE.
But it took more than an hour to climb down, and it was past eleven by the time we made it to the bottom. We'd come 26 miles and I was beyond tired. By midnight we found a spot by an XC ski trail on the other side of town to pitch our tarps. I was asleep the moment I lay down.
Day 5 - Waterville Gap >> Mt. Carrigain (27.4 miles, +8,910 ft, 26/48)
Peaks: North Tripyramid, Middle Tripyramid, Whiteface, Passaconaway
Woke up around 5:00, exhausted. I rolled out of my tarp and packed on autopilot. The first few miles of the day were still on XC ski trials and we should have been cruising, but we were both lethargic... the miles and lack of sleep were starting to catch up with us. An hour in, Dan stopped to mix some coffee in his water bottle and I put on some pop punk for us to listen to. "I'm Not Ok" quickly became the anthem of the trip.
The first climb of the day was a fun scramble up the slide on North Tripyramid. I don't really remember much else until the late afternoon, when we descended off of Passaconaway and cruised on the Sawyer Pond Trail towards Carrigan. It had a bunch of mosquitos, but it was pancake-flat and we flew.
Climbed Carrigan at night. Jammed out to music most of the way up, and felt like I was floating in the dark. We had expected to descend and camp on the other side, but as we got near the summit we saw two tents pitched by the trail.
"No way," said Dan. "Is that... Chris and Shann?"
Again, we thought that they had left us behind forever. They sounded excited that we'd caught them again. Chris warned us that there was going to be a storm, possibly a thunderstorm, in the next hour or so, and that the trail down on the other side of Carrigan would be nasty in the dark, especially if it started raining. They thought our best bet for camping was a stealth site 30 or 40 feet higher, on the summit ridge.
F\ck*, I thought. Camping at 4500 feet in a lightning storm? I was pretty uncomfortable with the idea but Dan didn't didn't feel good about hiking down in the dark. Eventually we agreed that we'd try it, and that if we heard thunder we'd hike back down the way we came and wait it out.
The rain broke just as we were getting set up. Luckily our shelter choices (Hexamid Pocket Tarp with so-called "storm doors" and a 5x7 flat tarp) were spacious and protected us fully (ha!). Fell asleep to the relaxing patter of torrential rain on DCF.
Day 6 - The Low Point (28 miles, +7,350 ft, 32/48)
A lot happened today, so pardon the long write-up!
Peaks: Carrigan, Hale, Field, Willey, Tom, Jackson
TL;DR: Day Six started on Carrigan, where we woke to find that the storm had passed, and ended, 20 hours later, with us bailing off of Mt. Jackson, quitting the Direttissima, and falling asleep (at 2:00 AM) in the middle of the trail. Definitely the low point of the trip, definitely made two questionable decisions.
When we woke up the storm had passed, with no more damage than a damp quilt footbox from splashback. As far as we could tell, it never thundered. We quickly summited Carrigan, and started the descent. I was excited for the morning, because the trail between Carrigan and Hale - the Shoal Pond Trail - looked flat on the map, and we would be walking right by the burritos and coffee at Zealand Hut. Oh ignorance! Oh naïvety! The Shoal Pond Trail ended up being the worst f*cking trail I've ever had the misfortune to hike.* Four and half miles of fighting through soaking-wet, scratchy underbrush while slipping off of rotten bog bridges into calf-deep muck. Miserable.
We got to Zealand Hut just as it started to rain again, and watched the downpour while drinking hot coffee on the porch. Chris and Shann hiked up as we sat there, and I remember Shann saying "the Shoal Pond trail broke me" with a haunted look in his eyes.
Eventually the rain lifted and, full of coffee, we zipped from Zealand Hut up to Mt. Hale. We got cell service at the top, so we sat for a minute and texted. I poked around the summit as Dan called home, and came back to learn that he needed to get off trail for some family stuff. He arranged to get picked up on top of Mt. Washington the next day, since we figured that that would be a good place to end the hike. When he offered me a ride home, I was torn - I felt exhausted and couldn't really imagine continuing alone, but we had come so far that I wanted to finish.
In the afternoon, clouds started to gather again as we hit Mts. Field, Willey, and Tom. They're out-and-backs, connected by a long ridgeline. As we dropped our packs and started towards Field, I heard a low rumble in the distance. Thunder?
We passed Chris and Shann hurrying back the other way. Shann shook his head and said "We're trying to get down before this storm hits."
And so came the first questionable decision of the day: I looked at the map. It was about a mile from where we were to the summit of Willey. Whatever rumble I'd heard seemed pretty far in the distance and there was still intermittent sun. If I had any hope of actually finishing the Direttissima, I needed to hit Willey this afternoon. With Dan leaving, there was no way I was hiking back up here. Dan didn't want to take any more risks, given that he was getting picked up tomorrow. So he waited in the gap between Field and Willey (maybe 300ft below the actual ridge) while I ran for it. I don't remember much of the run, except that a lot of it was power-hiking and I was focused on my footing. While the storm never actually materialized, in retrospect it was a poor call to continue for two miles along a ridge instead of descending.
It got dark as we hiked down into Crawford Notch. We wanted to get to the tent platforms near Mitzpah Spring Hut so that Dan could get to the summit of Washington by noon the next day. That left us with a choice: take the (easier) Crawford Path to the campsite and do Mt. Jackson as an out-and-back in the morning or take the (harder) Webster-Jackson trail and go over Jackson at night. It being, apparently, a dumb day, we made our second questionable decision.
Easier trail? Extra miles? NO! We looked at the map and opted to go over Mount Jackson. But... it was 10:00 PM, we'd already been on our feet for sixteen hours, and, to top it off, my headlamp was dying. As we picked our way up the rocky trail in the dark, we were only making about a mile an hour. Besides the trail itself, there weren't any spots to stealth camp on the way up - just rocks and streams. As we got higher (11:00, then 11:30...) we climbed into a cloud. Then we hit scrambly rock slabs. (Midnight...) Then we passed treeline. By 12:15 am, we were standing at the summit of Jackson. The wind was blowing clouds across the damp slabs, and my dying headlamp wasn't bright enough to find the blazes or cairns - just to illuminate the rocks in front of my feet.
I can't speak for Dan, but I was in a sleep-deprived haze, focused on getting to our planned campsite. We rounded a corner, expecting to find a trail back below treeline, but all we could see were more cloud, and more exposed slabs. F*ck.
Dan was the first to say it: "Hey dude, this is really sketchy. We need to drop down and find a place to camp."
Initially, in a haze and still focused on our plan, I said "but there aren't campsites down below!" But I snapped out of that line of thinking real quick. We had no idea what the trail was like coming up. It was time to get off the mountain.
We picked our way back over the rocks, scrambled back down the slabs to treeline, and stumbled back down the trail. We talked over what had just happened, agreeing that we hadn't been in actual danger, but that the situation could have turned quickly.** We got close to Crawford Notch by 2:00 AM, found a flat-ish spot in the trail, rolled out our sleeping mats, and fell asleep.
Mentally, I was done: exhausted after a week of hard hiking, shaken by what had just happened, I decided to quit the trail with Dan the next morning.
* That's how I felt at least. Of course it's never a misfortune (and is, in fact a privilege) to be able to get out and hike. Thank you to all the trail crews doing maintenance in the Whites!
** Both Dan and I agree that our experience on Jackson showed our biggest weakness in terms of preparation: Unlike many other people who have done the Direttissima (Arlette Laan, Andrew Drummond, Philip Carcia, Chris and Shaan), we hadn't spent a lot of time in the Whites before. Better knowledge of local terrain (ie knowing what the trails at the top of Jackson looked like) would have enabled us to make a less risky decision.
Day 7 - The Southern Presidentials (15.9 miles, +5,990 ft, 37/48)
Peaks: Peirce, Eisenhower, Monroe, Washington, Isolation
Ugh. Woke up after four hours of sleep. But we revived as we hiked back into Crawford Notch. I was feeling relieved to have quit. Dan's ride wasn't coming until noon, we headed into the AMC's Highland Center for breakfast. Had a cup of coffee, some french toast, some scrambled eggs, and a breakfast burrito. Then went back for another cup of coffee and more eggs, and another burrito and a parfait and... While we sat there, I texted Chris and Shann to let them know that we were getting off trail.
By noon, the sun was shining and I was feeling good. Ahhh... to have quit a trail, to be going home. Could anything feel nicer? And next time, we'll be better prepar-- WAIT*. NEXT TIME?? This trip's been miserable! There's not going to BE a next time! I'm not climbing all of those stupid mountains again!*
That's actually a fairly faithful transcription: fueled up on coffee and hot food, I decided that I could last another four days, even alone. I said goodbye to Dan when his ride pulled up. He gave me his extra bag of cookies (a powerful mix of crushed oreos and pecan sandies) and wished me godspeed. And I was off again, this time climbing the easier Crawford Path.
It was a great afternoon in the Presidentials. No wind, blue skies, views for miles, plenty of day-hikers to chat with. I felt great, and was on top of Mt. Washington by 5:15. Our original plan called for doing Mt. Isolation as an out-and-back, then descending the Glen Boulder Trail into Pinkham Notch. As I asked passing hikers, though, I learned that Glen Boulder would involve steep rock-hopping. With the sun going down (and wanting to avoid further nighttime adventures) I decided to descend into Pinkham closer to Isolation and take XC ski trails into the Wildcats the next day.
As the sun set, my good spirits wore off and sleep deprivation hit me hard. The Isolation Trail crossed stream after stream, with no place to stealth camp. After a slow mile, exhausted, alone in the dark, I was close to crying with frustration and exhaustion. Eventually, I hiked off trail to find a marked campsite.
Before I went to bed I texted Chris and Shann that I had decided to keep going. Since I'd lost half a day to the Highland Center's buffet, I figured that I'd never see them again.
Day 8 - The Wildcats and Carters (28.7 miles, +7,780 ft, 43/48)
Peaks: Wildcat D, Wildcat, Carter Dome, South Carter, Middle Carter, Moriah
Woke up feeling drained, but looking forward to hot coffee at Carter Notch Hut. Checked my phone and saw a text from Chris saying that instead of making it to the Wildcats, they'd stopped at the base of the Glenn Boulder Trail. They were heading for the Dolly Copp Campground that evening and said that if I caught up they'd be happy to let me join them for the northern Presidentials. I was excited about hiking with them, but wanted to take it one step at a time - I remembered the Wildcat and Carter ranges from the AT and knew that they were tough hiking.
Instead of taking the regular AT route up to Wildcat D, I took gentler ski trails that went up the south side. Again, they looked easy on the map - I figured I would cruise to the top in no time. HA! As if.
The lower parts of the ski trails were wide and well-groomed, but as I got higher it turned into a bushwhack. I remember seeing fresh moose tracks as I fought my way through long clearings of waist-high blackberry bushes. Luckily failed to see any moose up close.
It was 11:30 by the time I got to the top of Wildcat, and I figured that my chance of catching Chris and Shann were basically zero. But as I started into the Wildcats, everything felt... easy. The sun was shining, the trail wasn't too muddy, and it was Saturday, which meant plenty of trail runners and day hikers. Seeing other people out hiking always gives me a mental boost, and I cruised all afternoon.
By 1:00 I was at Carter Notch Hut, shoving a burrito in my face. By 3:45 I was on top of South Carter. There was plenty of daylight left. Wait, I thought, I can catch them! As evening came, I left my Skurka beans soaking at the bottom of Mt. Moriah. It was a long out-and-back, but I had beautiful views of the sun sinking over the Presidentials the whole way. Wolfed my beans when I got back, then hiked on.
The last challenge of the day was a road walk: two and a half miles on neighborhood streets and NH Route 16. The sun had set by the time I started, and I didn't love the idea of night hiking a highway. To reduce the amount of time I'd be on the road I jogged most of the highway part. I was amazed that my body still had energy for it, but running in the dark felt smooth and dreamlike.
Chris had said that they'd be camping at the back of Dolly Copp on a ski trail. I confidently walked to the back of Dolly Copp and (of course) found no sign of them. Checked my phone. No service. Paced around, shining my headlamp into campsites. No luck. As I passed the caretaker's site, I looked at the weather and saw that 40-50 mph winds were forecast for the Presidentials the next morning, picking up to 60-70 in the afternoon. Damn, I thought. I really want people to hike with for that.
I camped off of an xc ski trail around 11:00 after looking for Chris and Shann for an hour. I regretted losing the hour's sleep, but decided to get up early to catch them on the way out. I really didn't want to hike in the wind alone. I'd spent more energy than I should have jogging the highway and looking for them - although I'd felt great in the Wildcats this afternoon, I could tell that today had worn me down.
Day 9 - The Northern Presidentials ++ Road Walk (22.7 miles, +8,760 ft, 46/48)
Peaks: Madison, Adams, Jefferson
My alarm was set for 5:00 am, but I woke up to the sound of rushing wind before it went off. By 5:30 I was heading up the trail, praying that I hadn't missed Chris and Shann. As soon as I'd climbed high enough to send a text, I told them where I was and sat down on a rock to wait. The trees were whipping and creaking in the wind, and I brewed up a cold jar of instant coffee and listened to some music to calm down.
Eventually Chris and Shann came up the trail. It was the first time I'd seen them since we'd passed each other before Hale. We decided to see how conditions were above treeline and bail if we needed to.
I don't remember that much of the hike above treeline. The wind was strong, but manageable if we took it slowly. Just constant whipping clothes and shouting to be heard. We stopped for coffee and burritos at Madison Spring Hut, then did Adams and Jefferson. I remember looking down from the summits: the whole mountain would be white with cloud then, with a sudden shift in the wind, the clouds would part and we'd see the sunny valley floor below.
As we went on, I felt depleted, and was lagging behind Chris and Shann on climbs and descents. They were gracious in waiting for me, but it was clear that I was slower. The long days and lack of sleep were taking their toll on my body, and I hadn't been recovering properly.
We descended through lush woods down the Castle Ravine Trail - I'd love to come back and hike there another time. At the bottom, Chris's dad met them for trail magic, and they were generous enough to include me.
The afternoon was the final, long-awaited road walk down US 2. We stayed along the Presidential Range Rail Trail to stay off the road, then cut up to the highway a few miles. Lots of trucks roaring by.
By late afternoon, I was feeling even more exhausted. The climbing in the Northern Presidentials had sapped me. As long as we kept walking toward the end, I could march on, mind and body on auto-pilot. But if we stopped along the side of the road for water or pictures, I had to double over and put my hands on my knees.
In the evening, we started up the Starr King towards the Kilkenney Ridge Trail. We only had Mts. Waumbek and Cabot left to do, 16 or so miles. Chris and Shann were throwing around the idea of hiking all night and trying to finish in one push, but I could feel that I didn't have the energy, so we ended up stealth camping on top of Starr King.
Day 10 - The End (15.1 miles, +4,225 ft 48/48)
Peaks: Waumbek, Cabot
The last day! It was a drizzly morning, and I was still exhausted as we headed over Waumbek. 47/48 done! All I really remember from this part were blowdowns and mist in the trees. Chris and Shann went ahead at the top of Waumbek to finish together.
After Waumbek, I started to perk up. 47/48 done! One mountain left! I started calculating the time - if I was at the trailhead by 1:46, I’d have finished in 9 days, 8 hours. It was a totally arbitrary goal, but got me motivated.
Dropped my pack at the bottom of Cabot, slammed down some water and pecan sandy crumbs, and took off jogging, figuring that I’d have enough energy to get back. Long climb up, passed some summer camp groups. Jogged by the cabin, took a picture at the summit, jogged back. Maybe the pecan sandies weren’t as strong as I thought, or maybe my body had no energy reserves left, but either way I got pretty woozy on the jog down. Like hands-on-knees, am I going to pass out? woozy. Recovered with yet more pecan sandies and oreo crumbs once I got to my pack, and booked it to the York Pond Trailhead from there. Made it at 1:45, with a minute to spare.
Best way to finish out the trail: Chris and Shann waited for me at the trailhead with a cold pomegranate seltzer, then I rode in the back of Chris’s pickup, music blasting, until we met my ride at the intersection of York Pond Rd and NH 110.
As I write this, I realize that I don’t remember that much of the last two days: I was pretty deep in the hole, physically and mentally, and mostly just ready to be done. When I finished my ankles and feet were super swollen and I was clearly skinnier than I’d been a week before. Took almost a full week of sleeping and eating to feel alive again.
Gear Thoughts:
Bill:
Layering: Was initially worried about being cold, since people on the AT hype up the unpredictability of weather in the Whites. Based on recommendations from a UL shakedown, left the puffy at home. Was mostly warm with just a fleece + hat + frog togg. Love the dance pants.
Thinlight: Besides waking up a little sore, actually didn’t mind the thinlight. Would probably use again on a warm trip where weight is a priority.
MLD Solo Inner Paired with Hexamid: I was looking for an inner net for the Hexamid that had a floor, and couldn’t find many posts online about how well the MLD Solo Inner fits. After using it, it definitely fits. I never got the tightest pitch on the inner because the MLD tie-outs don’t match exactly with the ZPacks, but it kept me dry and kept the bugs off.
Fast Food Spoon: Started out as a full-length spoon from Subway. Too-thick mashed potatoes broke the handle off, so it became a thumbprint spoon. Free and very light.
Sleep Socks (beyond a second pair of hiking socks) / Underwear: I'd always carried these on previous trips. Dan converted me to the sleeping in hiking clothes lifestyle, so never used them. Wasn’t too bad, and was too exhausted to feel dirty after a few days. Seems like a personal choice, don’t know that I’d recommend it.
Injinji Lightweight No-Show Socks: I wouldn’t get the no-show version again: a combination of grit after creek crossings and my opposite foot kicking the inside of my ankle (if that makes sense?) led to nasty open cuts on both ankles. Next time I'd go for the mini-crews.
Wish I had brought a little bug spray for the low-lying parts on days four, five, and six.
Dan:
small tarp is great. site selection is super important though. sleeping in a slight depression in that storm i get pretty wet
i somehow sliced the top off one of those carbon core stakes with my thin guy lines 🤷‍♂️
frogg toggs got shredded but that’s because i slept in in in the middle of the trail on rocks and stuff
altra superiors are not good shoes for the whites. 0/10 would not use on the east coast anymore (Note: no grip ++ they shredded - Bill)
didn’t reallly need the dance pants but worth it for style points!

Ok folks, I think I have it. I have the full story and I will keep updating these as SrGrafo continues to release related templates. I will include the template names along with their section of the story:
​
Our story begins with Hobo Grafo trying to survive on the streets of Editopia, begging for change. One kind gentleman really likes our protagonist's sign and decides to give him some Graf Bucks, the currency of this universe. ("Good Sign")
One day, Hobo Grafo decides he's had enough of living on the streets. He wants to go somewhere, do something, be someone. So, he attempts to get a job at Grafo Corp LLC, but faces scrutiny and humiliation from others because he's a bum. They believe there's no way he could make it in their world. However, there is one person who stands out among the smug and laughing faces. Let's call this kind soul, Grafoline, because why not. ("Light at the End of the Tunnel")
Anyway, Grafo manages to get at least an interview and surprisingly, he does get the job. Unfortunately, his new boss, Chadfo, is a complete pepperoni. Like this dude would sell his wife to buy another yacht. He lets Hobo Grafo know that he got very lucky in regards to this job and that he only hired him because it would be good publicity. We see our hero wondering what in the world he just got himself into. ("The Worst Boss")
Grafoline overhears the entire interaction and makes a major decision. She decides to not only show that soggy pancake Chadfo what a soggy pancake he is, but that Hobo Grafo has great potential. She tells Hobo Grafo that she can help him reach his full potential and help him stick it to his new boss. Our hero agrees, knowing that an opportunity like this may never present itself again. They cut his hair, trim his beard, clean him up. He has gone through a metamorphosis. He is no longer Hobo Grafo, he has ascended to become SrGrafo!
SrGrafo works hard at Grafo Corp LLC. Thanks to the assistance provided to him by Grafoline, he is excelling in the job. His sales numbers are through the roof. Everything is going great for him. Chadfo is seething in rage and eventually finds out that Grafoline is the one who helped this man, who was supposed to be a worthless hobo, become a prodigy. So, Chadfo calls SrGrafo into his office. He offers Grafs an ultimatum. Either SrGrafo quits the job, or Grafoline gets the axe instead. Grafo know what he has to do. He owes everything to Grafoline, his mentor and best friend. He loves his job, but he knows that Grafoline loves it even more. So, if he's going out, he's going out on his terms. He goes absolute ape shit. He's kicking things off Chadfo's desk, calling him a damp sock, and so much more. However, this is a little over the line. Chadfo tells Grafs that he's calling the police, but that he wasn't actually going to fire Grafoline. SrGrafo immediately regrets this decision and tries to play nice, but to no avail. ("Tantrum Canceler")
Our hero is arrested for assault, because to some people that is assault. Grafo searches the crowd of faces, looking for his best friend, only to find her with her head turned away from him in shame. She had taken a chance on him, and he let her down.
Later, Grafo is in court on charges of assault. At the start of the trial, the honorable judge Judgefo begins to read off the charges. He unrolls the paper and reads aloud, "SrGrafo, you are charged with..." He squints at the paper, which reads, "Assaulting his boss and telling him what everyone thinks of him." The judge looks over at Grafs, "Bruh, that's awesome. Unfortunately, I have to sentence you to 7 to 10 years in prison, but still." Thus, the trial of SrGrafo has come to an end. ("Cool Crimes")
In prison, SrGrafo meets his cell mate. A large man built like a brick house named...Rebecca, but he goes by Beck. Beck is in for murder, but he refuses to say any more than that. He asks Grafs what he's in for, and SrGrafo tells him that he stuck it to his boss. Even Beck is surprised at the audacity of this man. ("I Killed a Man")
SrGrafo and Beck become fast friends however. Grafo is the brains and Beck is the brawn.
Two years pass. Grafo and Beck are essentially brothers in arms at this point. They trust each other and essentially run the prison at this point. To this day, however, the image of a disappointed Grafoline haunts SrGrafo every night. He begins to wonder if he should find a way out and explain everything to her. Maybe she could find a way to forgive him and they can be friends like they used to. One day, all of Grafo's doubt turns into determination. He gets a call from the hospital. A doctor informs Grafo that his grandmother is now in intensive care at the hospital. As the only remaining family that Grandma Grafo has, thought they should inform him. Grafo gives the doctor access to the funds he saved up at Grafo Corp LLC to do whatever is necessary to treat his grandmother and keep her alive. After he hangs up, Grafo returns to his cell and says one thing to Beck, "We're getting out."
Grafo has Beck gather the other inmates in the rec room. After bribing a guard, Grafo begins to give a presentation on a detailed escape plan. Grafo knows he can't escape alone and that he'll need all the help he can get. The other prisoners agree to the plan and praise SrGrafo as the genius that he is. However, the sooner they put this plan into action the better. They decided to attempt it tomorrow night. ("The Escape Plan")
The night of the escape, the prisoners are on the move. Everything is going perfectly. They are moving, cell block by cell block, and getting everyone out. Despite the size of the group, they are still moving with all the grace and silence of a tiger hunting its prey. They get out to the yard. At this time, the guard is being changed, so this is their chance. However, one guard stands in their path. The veteran, Officer Andrew. He turns at just the wrong moment and spots SrGrafo. The other prisoners freeze in place, afraid of being spotted. Grafo knows what he has to do. He sacrifices himself to distract Andrew, allowing the others to escape. Beck swears that he will never forget his brother and that he will do whatever it takes to get him out. Grafo is immediately taken to interrogation, where the guards threaten to increase his sentence to life if he doesn't tell where the others are. Grafo tries to lie his way through it, creating a very elaborate story that goes on a little too long, much like this text wall you won't actually read through. Unfortunately, SrGrafo was born with a condition that causes his nose to grow when he lies, Pinocchio style. Grafo's sentence is increased to life. ("Unlucky Fella" & "Awful Snitch")
Months later, Grafo gets a call from an old friend. On the other end of the line, Beck tells Grafo that he got one of the best lawyers he knows to take care of the appeal for Grafo's freedom. Grafo lets Beck know that he appreciates everything and that they'll have to hang out sometime. He also tells his brother that he's been doing some working out. At this point, Grafo is now 6'5" and can lift an elephant with one hand. Later, at the appeal, Judgefo III wants to know why he should approve of Grafo getting his freedom after everything he's done. SrGrafo is quick to fire back at the judge, "Because, only a pepperoni would keep me locked up for something so foolish." Grafo's lawyer, Lawfo, fires at the judge with all the grace of the perfect hype man, "Your honor you just got owned, my client is free to go." Thus, Grafo was granted parole. ("Prison Call" & "Parole")
SrGrafo immediately rushes to the hospital after the appeal hearing to visit his grandmother. The doctor tells Grafo that his grandmother doesn't have much time. In a string of bad decisions, the hospital lets SrGrafo take his grandmother home, so that she may pass on under the roof his grandfather hand built so long ago. Grafo spends the little time he has left with Grandma Grafo. Whether it be baking with her or showing her stupid meme videos, the two enjoy the little time they have left. One night, Grandma Grafo's time finally comes. The door to her bedroom swings open and Grafo turns to face the Reaper himself. Grafo, stands tall however, not ready to let go just yet. However, Death had seen this too many times to count. He tells SrGrafo how it is: either he moves or Grandma Grafo is guaranteed to suffer in whatever afterlife she believes in. Grafo reluctantly steps aside, allowing Death to take his grandmother to the Underworld. There she will face judgement and move on to the afterlife that she believes in. ("Before the Storm," "Sweetie," "It's Time," & "Can't Argue With That")
After Death leaves and returns to the Underworld, Grafo realizes he that he isn't ready to let go. Even though his grandmother's soul is on the line, he makes a decision. He grabs his battle helmet, realizes that it is now or never, and jumps into the portal to the Underworld. He comes crashing down from above, taking out as many minions as he can on the way down. The Reaper can only look in awe at the audacity of this mortal. He gently places Grandma Grafo on the ground and turns to face this new foe. The two go to war, each beast throwing blow after blow. Every time a shot lands, it sends echoes through the Underworld. The minions of Death watch the two with amazement. They're selling concessions, taking bets, providing play-by-play and color commentary on USN (Underworld Sports Network). Both SrGrafo and Death are evenly matched, either man needing the other to make a mistake to end it. Fortunately for Grafo, the Reaper slips up and leaves an opening. Grafo knows that this may be the only chance he gets. He counters a punch by Death and sweeps the monster off his feet. Death lands on the ground hard and Grafo goes in for the kill, but something stops him. He feels something holding his arm back. SrGrafo turns to find Grandma Grafo, preventing her grandson from ending Death. "You need to learn to let go sweetie. Death is a natural part of life. I accepted my fate a while ago and I am ready to move on. I will always be with you in your heart. I love you and I always will, even as I am watching from beyond world of the living," Grandma Grafo tells her grandson reassuringly.
"But-" Grafo starts.
"No 'buts.' Please, allow me to move on. You will never grow if you never learn to let go and move forward. Holding on to the past will only make life harder than it needs to be. Learn from your experiences, never forget the time we spent together. You have made this old woman proud to be your grandmother," Grandma Grafo tells him lovingly. Grafo collapses to the ground and begins to cry. All the stress of the last few years finally crashes into him at once and he just lets it flow. Grandma Grafo walks over to Death. "I'm ready, it's time to go," she tells him. Death nods and picks up the frail old woman. As Grafo sits there crying, a minion walks up to him and offers him a drink. Grafo accepts the little beasts offer, thanks him, and turns to walk away.
As Death and Grafo are walking their separate ways, the little minion stands between the two, trying to decide who to go with. He wants to do something else with his life. He is tired of the typical nine to five job of wandering around in Death's palace. He decides to run along with our hero. Grafo hears the sound of little foot steps behind him. He turns around and finds a small child. Grafo looks at the boy with curiosity. "What's up buddy?" he asks the child. The little boy seems to want to go with him, asking silently but pleadingly. Grafo nods, happy to have a new friend in his travels. ("Just Doing My Job," "What A Show!," "It's Ok," "You Need This More Than I Do," "Decisions," & "A Friendly Disguise")
Cut to a farm house, just outside the town of Zoeville. It's a calm night and the air cool like a fall day. Everything is quiet, everything is calm. Sam has just laid down to go to bed. It is a school night after all and it's about the same time his dad would tell him to go to bed. He was just starting to drift away into the world of dream and wonder when suddenly, he could hear the sound of music. It started to get louder and louder. "Is that, metal?" Sam asks himself. At that moment, the floor of his room begins to crack. Sam stared in confusion. "What is happening?" Sam wondered. The crack grew and grew, until finally it burst open. The sound of electric guitar fills the air. Sam stares in absolute shock as SrGrafo and a small child pop out of the hole. Grafo looks around the room. "Wait," Grafo says confused, "this isn't my grandma's house." He notices Sam, who has the most confused look on his face. "Hey little dude, what city is this?" Grafo asks the small and dumbstruck child.
"We're just outside of Zoeville. Can I ask who you are and where you just came from?" asks Sam, trying to figure out if he took too much of his melatonin and is having one heck of a dream.
"Well dang it, I was trying to get to Chloefield. Well, I'm SrGrafo and this is my new friend..." Grafo trails off, realizing he doesn't know the child's name, "Billy. Anyway we're trying to get home from the Underworld after I fought, and almost killed, Death in an attempt to save my grandmother's soul so that I could spend more time with her before she moved on the next life. You know that sounded way less odd in my head. Can I use your phone?" Sam tells Grafo where the phone is and he goes to make a call. ("Wrong Room")
SrGrafo walks into the living room looking for the phone when he turns and finds a familiar face. Andrew had come home without Grafo ever hearing him. Grafo stood there, staring at the man who had prevented his escape from prison. Both men afraid to move, but well aware of the other's presence. Grafs decided to make the first move, stepping towards Andrew. The old officer was quick to try and disarm any potential violence. "We can throw fists, but I think we're mature enough to solve this without violence," Andrew says, attempting to sound confident. SrGrafo stops right in front of the man, towering over him. "You're right," says Grafo, "It's been a while since we last spoke. I've done a lot of growing in that time." He turns to the phone next to them and notices a photo of a very young officer. "Is that you?" Grafo asks the officer.
"Yea, but that's an old photo," replies Andrew, "That was my photo from when I was first instated as an officer."
"Been an officer a long time?" Grafo asks.
"Yea, about 20 years," says Andrew, as he's turning the TV to the news. As Grafo goes to make his call, the news caster cuts off a news report about a man who was partaking in suspicious activity with a duck. "We're sorry to interrupt you DeJMan, but we have a major news bulletin. There was a major crash on the highway near Zoeville," says the newscaster.
"Well that's not so bad," comments Andrew.
"A semi in the collision was carrying an experimental bio-weapon," continues the newscaster. Both Grafo and Andrew freeze at this. They rush over to the window and look out. An explosion in the distance brightens the night sky, almost as if the sky had never been dark before. The mushroom cloud loomed over the horizon like a storm cloud on approach. Andrew opens the window a little bit and yells at a man standing nearby, "Hey! Is it safe to go outside?" The man turns, his eyes bloodshot and almost popping out of his head. "Always, in fact, you should join me," the stranger replies, smiling and laughing, almost as if there's a joke that only he's in on. Andrew turns back to Grafo, "Yea, we should probably stay inside for a little bit. I have Uno if you're interested!" As Andrew went to go get the cards, a loud rumble starts up outside. "What now?" Andrew asks, clearly exhausted. As he moves towards the window, they bust open. A horde of crazed people try to crawl through the window to get to those inside, all of them screaming, "Join us you f**kin p***ies!"
"Now, that's toxic people," Grafo adds. One of them manages to force the front door open, the chain bolt the only thing stopping them from getting in. "Hey, let me in!" they demand, "I'm not infected! I can prove it! I repost art without giving credit to the original artist!" Andrew slams the door in his face. One of them manages to get in while the Grafo and Andrew weren't looking and begins to vomit his blood all over the place. "EEWWWW!" Grafo cries out, holding up the picture of man who writes long text walls on the internet that over analyze meme templates. He turns to Andrew, "Why do you have this in your house?" Grafo, realizing that they are running out of time and that this many crazed fools presents a risk to the kids back in Sam's room. readies himself for battle. He charges into the mob, swinging left and right, taking out as many as he can. Bodies flying everywhere, hitting the floor. As he thins the hoard, Grafo notices an odd sight. He sees...a clown. Intrigued, Grafo stops and picks up the clown. "I found a clown," he informs Andrew. ("Awkward Stare," "Let's Talk," Old Photo," "Breaking News," "The Nuke," "Fallout," "The Virus," Not Infected," "Disgusting!," & "Apocalypse Clown")
​
OP's Message: That's the end of part one! I want to see how well this actual post does and if it gets taken down before I do the rest. Thank you so much to u/SrGrafo for creating these templates. It's pretty cool that there is a consistent story line. I enjoyed doing this part and I hope that I can do the rest!

[A/N: Happy New Year everyone! Hopefully, this year blesses us with good rolls and units. And other stuff. This piece has been in the works for quite a while. Special Thank you to u/Krossbone1038, u/Endclaim, u/Adm_Farhan, and u/Web_Trekker for allowing me to make a version of their OC Commanders/characters for my Azur Land Fanfic world(Still need an overreaching title for this world). I have asked them for details about these characters and wanted to make sure I do them justice as well as put my own twist about them. I hope I did them well. Again Thank you and enjoy.]
--Azur Lane Pearl Harbor--
--Afternoon--
Azur Lane Pearl Harbor. One of the bases stationed in the Pacific ocean alongside Azur Main. Usually stationed with both shipgirls and humans and run by USS Missouri and human Commander Santiago. The recent transfer of shipgirls haven’t affected much of base life. The human crew does their training and daily duties, while shipgirls do their own thing as well. Sometimes the crew would ask for a picture with them, talk with them, asking them to hang out later, etc. It was different compared to Azur Main, as the only human there was the commander, but here in Azur Pearl, there were both US navy and shipgirls. An interesting change of pace.
Pennsylvania sways in her hammock, watching as most of the other shipgirls play on the beach. “Ahh, another peaceful day. I forgot how peaceful Pearl Harbor was.” She watches as Halsey Powell and Ardent splash water at each other; Kirishma, Nachi, Myoukou, Princeton, and Bremerton surfing the waves; Gneisenau, Scharnhorst, Arizona, and Oklahoma were playing a volleyball match against some of the humans sailors. It was a vacation of sorts.
Pennsylvania continued reading a book, while Cassin was soundly sleeping on her. Penny rubs her small companion’s head as she reads. “Peaceful day.”
“It sure is.” The battleship turns to see Missouri leaning against the palm tree she was swinging on. Pennsylvania narrowed her green eyes as she looked to where the commanding shipgirl was staring towards. She turns to see her staring in the general direction of the volleyball match.
“Argh.” Pennsylvania groans, marking her spot in her book, before smacking Missouri with it. “I swear Missouri if you keep eyeing Arizona, I will report you to Iowa.”
“Oh come on Penny!” Missouri chuckles. “I only dote on her.”
Pennsylvania rolls her eyes. “Shouldn’t you be in the office? Signing paperwork?”
“Oh I left that to Santiago and Maryland.” The commanding shipgirl explains. Penny, again, rolls her eyes. “Oh come on! I am sure he does it too!”
“He does,” She agrees with her. “However, he brings whoever his secretary is with him. He does not leave them to suffer paperwork alone.”
Missouri grabs her heart. “You wound me Penny. You wound me.”
“Yeah.” The battleship was about to continue reading before ice-cold water got dumped over her and Cassin. “AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!??!?!?!?!??!!!”
“Surprised!!” Pennsylvania quickly jumps upright, she and Cassin dretch in cold water. She angrily turns to see Downes, holding a large bucket, and holding her stomach as she laughed.
“DOWNES!!!” Penny gently sets Cassin in the hammock and charges at the other destroyer. Downes drops the bucket and bolts it. Missouri chuckles as Cassin yawns, sitting up.
“How did I get wet?” Cassin yawns.
“Your sister dumped cold water on you and Penny.” Missouri explains through her laughter. The destroyer looks dead at the command ship and just sighs.
“....Great… thanks Downes…” Cassin yawns as Missouri takes her naval jacket, using it as a towel to dry the NEET destroyer. “Thank… you.”
“Your welcome.” Missouri smiles as Penny continues to chase Downes the shoreline.
--Pearl Command HQ--
Maryland sighs, laying on the leather couch in Missouri’s office, signing off reports and documents.
“Argh.” She groans as she sets the papers on the coffee table. “This is pain.”
“Yeah, Another day at the office.” Santiago taps down a stack of finished documents. She places them in a cabinet and sits back down at her desk. “Surprised you are able to get through the paperwork.”
Maryland turns to her partner and shrugs. “My Commander in Azur Main made me secretary for a week or two, so understand how to sign this stuff, but…” She looks at the current document in her hands. “One: the commander was always here, in the office with the secretary, signing reports and documents. And Two: Doesn’t have to deal with human needs.”
“True.” Santiago nods but puts a hand up. “However, I heard from Missouri that the commander over there has to deal with more statical work as well as missions.”
“True. I remember he had a spreadsheet for our pay, what we order to base, and other random stuff.” Maryland looks up at the ceiling.
“Oh, the Azur Main Commander is a guy?” Santiago looked surprised. “Huh. Guess Sarah, May, Crowe, and I own John, Cross, and Yamamoto money.”
The redhead cocks her head. “You didn’t know that?”
“No,” Santiago rested her head on her hands, leaning on the desk. “No other commander across all Azur bases, no one knowns who runs Azur Main. We know it is a human commander, but we didn’t know who they were. A lot of rumors and speculations and fakes. Every time at a gathering with other bases, some of us try to find who commands that base or any information regarding that commander. Closest we got was when John got some information from Akagi. She said that the commander in Azur Main is a nice and caring person. That they make sure the shipgirls on base are happy and help them through difficult times.”
“Yeah. That information is right.” Maryland sits up from the couch, head hanged a bit low. “He cares for us. He always takes time out of his day to talk to us, hang out, and sort problems out. He looks for the best of us. He… he is a great commander.” She grins, remembering his last words to her. To learn from her mistakes and come back home. She wipes a tear out of her eyes.
“Mmm, sounds like he is a great man.” Santiago comments. “This Azur Main Commander, I guess he looks after you girls like family.”
“Hehe… its something like that.” Maryland chuckles. “He puts up with our mistakes but forgives us at the end of the day. Ahhh…” She starts to remember her mistakes again.
Santiago stares back at the redhead battleship. Seeing her down is depressing. An idea pops into her head. She stands up from her desk and walks over to her. “Hey Maryland, let’s go get lunch.”
Maryland looks up at her. “To the cafeteria?”
“No.” She smiles, putting out car keys. “Know a great local food stand. Severe some great local food and seafood. Want to go?”
“Do they have crab cakes?”
“Yes.”
Immediately, Maryland stands up. “Yup. Let’s go.” She starts to head to the door.
“Umm, Maryland? Don’t you want to change out of that maid uniform?” Santiago points out. The battleship stops at the door, her hand on the handle as she looks down and remembers she was wearing that maid uniform.
“Right… Umm…” The battleship turns red. “Help.”
“Got it.” Santiago helps her change back into her black jacket uniform. “You got really used to that uniform. And it’s only been a few days since your transfer.” They walk out of the office and head to the building entrance.
“Yeah… Okie loves seeing me wearing it.” Maryland blushes. “And Missouri removing that lock, it's a bit easier to wear. I also call Belfast about how to act like a maid. Just some pointers, but now, I notice my posture has been better now, so… I have to thank her.” They exit the building and head towards the parking lot. Along the way, they notice Missouri talking with the battleship row girls. Oklahoma notices and runs towards them.
“Mary!!” Oklahoma hugs the redhead. “Are you done with work?”
“Sadly no.” Maryland glares over at the approaching Missouri. “We are heading to lunch. Taking a break from the paperwork you left us.”
“Okay.” Missouri nods. “Have fun! I’ll be at the beach.”
“Oh no you don’t!” Pennsylvania grabs her by the arm before escaping her tasks. “You are going back to the office to sign documents and reports.” She begins to drag her back to the office. “COME ON!!”
“Penny!!” Missouri tries to out of her iron grip. “PLEASE!!!!” Santiago, Maryland, and Oklahoma watch with amusement.
Santiago chuckles. “Our Commander everyone. Great in combat and chill base atmosphere, but lazy with paperwork.” She looks at Oklahoma. “Want to come?”
“I already ate, but you two have fun!” Okie smiles. “And Mary, will you wear the maid outfit to sleep tonight?”
A pink hue streaks Maryland’s cheeks as Okie asks that. “Hehe, if it's for you, sure.”
“Thank you Mary! I love you!” Okie gives her a kiss on the cheek. “Have fun!” With that Okie returned to the beach, waving them off. Maryland waves back, before following Santiago to the parking lot.
“Here the ride.” Santiago got into the driver seat of a grey jeep pickup. Maryland gets into the passenger side and they head off. Maryland looks out at the drive, watching the scenario go by. Driving through the city, they head up towards the mountains. She could see on the horizon the deep blue pacific ocean. She smiles, taking in the tropical scenery.
“So, Maryland,” The redhead turns back to the driver. “Tell me more about the Azur Main commander, what is he like? How old is he?”
“Well,” Maryland leans back in the seat. “Like I said back in the office, he is a kind and caring person. He can be a bit flighty at times if you catch him off-guard, but he is a good person. Pretty average height like five foot six I think. A bit of a nerd, which Reno and Cooper love, knowledgeable on some pop-culture trivia. Also, he never had any military experience before he started four years ago.”
*SWWWWWWWEEEEEEE* The tires squeals on the asphalts. The jeep came to a complete halt as Maryland jolts forwards.
“EXCUSE ME!?!” Santiago looks at her, green eyes wide open. “The Azur Main commander had no military background before being selected to be the commander there?!”
“Yeah.” Maryland nods. “He has a Computer Science BS and Math minor degree before he got three months of navy training by Missouri, Constitution, and Victory.”
Santiago sighs heavily as they continue the drive. “To think someone like that is able to fight and lead you guys to victory.”
“I know,” The battleship laughs. “It is a surprise, but for a twenty-six-year-old commander who started when he was twenty-two, he is pretty good at commanding us.”
“Wow, he is very young for this job.”
“Yup.” After ten minutes of silence, they arrive at the food stall. It was a decent size stall with a couple of cars parked on the side of the road, which overlooked a mountainside, city, and then towards the ocean.
“No seating, so we will be eating in the flatbed,” Santiago explains as they approach the stall. The sound of something on the grill sizzling makes Maryland salivate as Santiago places their order. “We will take two orders of Loco Moco, an order of crab cakes, and a young coconut and sugar cane juice.”
“Okay.” The stall lady nods. “Be ready in a bit.”
“Okay. Thank you.” Santiago pays and is handed a freshly cut young coconut and a can of sugar cane juice. She tosses Maryland the can as they sit in the flat of the truck.
“This stall has some great local food,” Santiago explains, drinking from her coconut. “You will enjoy it.”
“I bet.” Maryland pops open the can and drinks the contents. “Mmm, I can drink more of this.”
“Yeah.” They look out at the cliff side, looking over the city and out towards the sea.
“Hey Santiago,” Maryland turns to her. “Could you tell me more about yourself?”
“Sure.” Santiago sets down the coconut. “Well, I was born and raised in the state of Maryland. So eating with you is really an honor. I was raised in Annapolis by my mother, father, and grandmother. I was an only child and both my parents worked, so my abuela [A/T: Grandma] mostly took care of me during my childhood.” She chuckles. “I was an average student during school and was quite a rebellious child. Wanting to be cool and stuff. Did some petty crimes like shoplifting and pickpocketing. Abuela did not like what I was doing, but I did not care. Hehe ahh.” She frowns. “When I was eighteen, I ran away with a “circle of friends” that I committed these crimes with, to New York City, to hit it big. We wanted some bigger score, and well, we scored it big.”
“I pickpocket this really cool hand cannon, inline with silver roses and a black stained oak grip. It looked like a family heirloom. We were about to pawn it off, but the one I pickpocketed confronted us. The person I picked pocketed was a tall lady, black hair tied in a pony tail that goes halfway down her back, light blue eyes that shine like the sky, and wore a US navy badge. The rest of my “friends” book it, leaving me with her. I was frozen in fear as she stood over me. I was about 5’9” at the time, she was like 6’5” or something. I handed her gun back and the curious thing was she brought me to a bar. She introduced herself as Sophia Maggio Mori and said `I looked like someone who was lost.’” She smiles. “Well, at the time I was. During high school, my parents stressed me to go to college and get a degree, but I didn’t know where I wanted to go or what career I wanted to pursue. I only did petty theft to distract myself from that decision. I told this to Sophia and she gave me some thoughtful advice: ‘I think this may help, this may not, but I believe you should forget these habits and don’t stress too much about the future, look at the now, not tomorrow.’ Honestly, it was terrible advice, but gave me something to think about.”
“Sophia then told me to get my stuff from where I was staying and she drove me back from. Along the way, she talked about her experience in the Navy, how she was the Admiral of the shipgirl Iowa, and her accomplishment with her. Defending humanity against the Siren with the shipgirls as partners. Honestly, after listening to her talk about it, I decided right then and there, I wanted to join the navy.” Santiago shrugs. “I want to improve myself. I made some bad choices and wanted to improve my life. So after I graduated high school, I went into the navy. Trained my ass off and got stationed on a mass-produced vessel. Everything was fine until then Iowa vs. The US Navy happened and the Azur Lane Initiative. Hearing what you guys have gone through… honestly, I wanted to help. So when I heard that I got elected by Azur High Command to be the human commander for Azur Pearl Harbor, I wanted to make sure everyone on base gets along.”
“Wow.” Maryland sips on the sugarcane as they hear their order be done. Santiago goes get their food. “I guess every commander has their own stories.” Santiago returns to the flatbed with three styrofoam containers and two more cans of sugarcane juice. She hands Maryland one of the containers and can and takes a seat across from her. Maryland opens it to see a fried eye atop cooked hamburger meat with grilled onions, which sits on a bed of white rice and is sauced with brown gravy. It smelled good.
“It's called the Loco Moco.” Santiago explains as digs in. “A local comfort food that is similar to hamburger steak. Serena and John say that this is the true Hawaiian burger dish of Hawaii.” Maryland nods and breaks the egg yoke, letting the running liquid down to the dish. She takes a scope of everything and eats it.
“MMmmmmmmm! Dam this is good!” Maryland approved the dish as she continues to devour it. Santiago laughs as she watches the battleship ‘sink’ her meal. After finishing their meals and munching on the crabcakes. They look out at the tropical cliffside.
“Thank you for lunch, Santiago,” Maryland tells her companion.
Santiago smiles, sipping on her sugarcane juice. “Your welcome. Any more questions by the way about me? I also know other commanders at other bases.”
“Curious about this Sophia character,” Maryland says. “Heard of a Commander May that works with Iowa, but never a Sophia.”
“Oh yeah,” Santiago exclaims. “Sophia Maggio Mori goes by Commander May most of the time because she usually says: ‘I may. I may not.’”
“OHHH,” Maryland munches on a crabcake. “Well, that explains the name.”
Santiago nods. “Sophia Maggio Mori or May as she is commonly called, she is an older lady, says she is in her early 40s, but she is 54. A tall lightly tan woman with black hair tied in a ponytail that goes halfway to her back and light blue eyes like the sky. She is a very laid back commander, usually likes to show off her skills with very unorthodox but effective tactics. She once jumped on one of Saratoga’s hellcats and jumped onto an Explorer Siren, which she killed with her signature hand cannon.”
“Remember Saratoga complaining about that.” Maryland chuckles.
“She is also an inventor.” Santiago continues. “That hand cannon I pickpocketed, she made that gun using Siren technology. She had many and I mean many failures. Her right arm has burn scarring to show for it, but she is good at her craft sometimes. Anyway, she doesn’t really like it when people are sad and tries to make them happy without them knowing. Results vary, but she is funny. She plays the fiddle and harmonica really well. And she loves to spoil her junior commanders, like me, the Lockees, Crowe, Yamamoto, and especially Cross.” Santiago leans back. “She is like the mother figure to us commanders, being that she commanded Iowa before the Azur Lane Initiative.”
“Mmm.” Maryland nods as she sips her drink. “Sounds like a cool lady.”
“She is.”
“Now,” Maryland puts down the empty can. “Crowe sounds like an interesting name. Let’s go with them.”
“Urgh,” Santiago groans, rolling her eyes. “Well, Victor Cornwell Crowe, he is the human commander of Azur Sydney in Australia. He is also the next in line for the British crown.” The battleship chokes on the crabcake.
“ARGh Ack! Cough! Hulp!” Maryland pats her chest as she manages to swallow the food. She drinks the remaining juice to help her “Excuse you, but he is royalty?!”
“Yeah… but he is not the royal rich posh type,” Santiago explains. “The raven black hair trickster prince of the Royal family. He has deep blue eyes, about 5’9”, and he is… annoying some days. He has a prosthetic robotic right arm. Lost his actual arm when he was fixing his Seafire. He is an adventurer by heart, so doesn’t really care about being a crown prince. As soon as the Azur Initiative started, he applied and got sent to Australia. I also mention he is a troublemaker right? Well, he is also the biggest pervert I have ever seen.”
“What do you mean: biggest pervert?” Maryland inquired.
“Well,” Santiago takes a deep breath. “May told me that when she visited him in Azur Sydney, he was… enjoying some shipgirl stern…”
“Who’s?” A menacing aura forms around Fighting Mary as she cracks her knuckles.
“It was consensual.” Santiago quickly tells her. “And it was Illustrious.” She continues. “I think I also heard he has a collection of lingerie shots of the Royal Navy girls that he has on his com… pu… ter…” Her voice lowers as she notices Maryland simmering with anger. “Not helping his case?”
“Yup.” The battleship cracks her knuckles. “Going to give him a good old nut bust when I see him.”
“I heard he survived Chapayev’s CBT… so probably not going to work. He is a very open pervert.”
The Battleship sighs. “Any other notable things about this guy?”
“He is a really good pilot.” Santiago offers. “His Seafire, nicknamed: Elysium V, is able to shoot down most Siren fighter craft. Has a rivalry with Commander John Lockee and Sarah Lockee for who is the best pilot.”
“Anything else?” Maryland’s eyebrows twitch as they continue talking about him.
“He has a younger brother who is a Commander as well.”
The redhead sighs, calming herself. “Hopefully this one is better. Who is his brother?”
“Commander Raul Baltra Cruzar Crowe or Cross as we commonly called him.” Santiago begins. “A 6ft guy with jet black hair and brown eyes. He is third-in-line for the crown, behind his brother, Victor, and his older sister, Plemora. He works under Commander May in Azur New York. Cross is a bit reversed, not much of a social person, hating parties and gathering unless May drags him to it. Get him outside to the wildness, he changes from a quiet, shy, introvert into an outgoing, lively, and energetic person. Knows a lot about wildness survival. He is a bit impulsive and holds long grudges.”
She sighs. “There was still one time that Cross held a grudge against May for six months because she forced him to miss his pet Iguana, Mobius, birthday for a Commanders’ gathering. Petty, yes it is. He let go of it eventually. He is a really good tactician, winning several skirmishes in the Atlantic. Also, he is a bit of an alcoholic when he is stressed. May is trying to make him stop, which is going okay, but still. He is also a closet pervert.”
Maryland shakes her head. “Of course he is. Guess the apple doesn’t fall from the tree.”
Santiago chuckles. “Yeah. But he has a type. He likes blondes, twintails, and the athletic type of girl.”
“Alright, let’s move to a different commander.” The battleship heavily sighs, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “Are all these commanders perverts? We establish the Azur Lane Initiative to get rid of those types of commanders! I do hope they don’t abuse their power to ‘inspect’ shipgirls.”
“They don’t,” Santiago informs her. “They both may be perverts, but they are good commanders.”
“Let’s move to another commander, at least one that is decent.”
“Yeah…” Santiago looks at the time. “Lunch is over, but I’ll tell you about Yamamoto Ishida while we head back to base.” They collect their trash and put it in a nearby trash bin near the stall. After that, they drive back to the base. “Yamamoto Ishida is the Azur Tokyo commander. He is thirty-one years old. He is pretty tall (6’1”) and has yellow eyes. His family runs a shrine in Tokyo. It is primarily run by his two older sisters and by their mother, Nagashima Ishida, who is a retired admiral for the IJN. He is a force to be reckoned with. Other than receiving training from his mother, he was also trained by Amagi and Jinstuu in war strategies, so he is the best commander in terms of tactics; however, he is pretty strict with his commands. Every command he issues is one he thought about carefully. He does care for his fleet, giving them gifts every once and awhile, but hides his feelings about it.”
“So he is a tsundere?” Maryland asks as they approach a stoplight.
“Kinda.” Santiago wavers. “When he is confronted for these acts of kindness, he goes shy and quiet. He is not aggressive like Hipper, Nelson, Hammann, etc. He is also pretty skilled with a katana. Trained by his mother and Kii.” They arrive at base, showing the guards their IDs, and then park the jeep.
“Okay.” Maryland continues the conversation as they walk back to the office. “So you, Santiago, are a commander who wants to better themselves and possibly others; May is the cool mother type commander, but a showoff; Crowe is a… harem protagonist; Cross is the better brother, but still a pervert like his brother; and Yamamoto is the optimal commander, with the strategic ability on par with Amagi and Jinstuu, but is a bit of a shy man.”
“That sums it up.” Santiago nods as they reach Missouri’s office doors. “I still have to talk about the Lockee siblings at Azur San Diego. I will tell you about them after work.”
“Sure.” They open the doors and see Pennsylvania angrily pinning Missouri on the coffee table, with documents scattered on the floor. They both don’t notice the two of them enter. Maryland seems unfazed as she starts to pick up papers off the floor. “Another day at the office…shipment of experimental “Lightning” crude oil from High Command… okay”
--Later--
--Evening--
After a hard day of logging, signing, and filing all the reports and documents, Santiago and Maryland sit on the beach, drinking a can of beer.
“So much paperwork.” Maryland complains. “I don’t know how you Commanders can sign so many reports each day.”
“Practice.” Santiago chuckles. “Shall we continue our conversation?”“Sure, the Lockees please.”
“Got it.” Santiago swirls her beer can as she begins. “Azur San Diego is run by three human Commanders: Serena Mary Lockee, John Solomon Lockee, and Sarah Therese Lockee. All three of them are siblings with Serene being the oldest and John and Sarah being twins and seven years younger than Serena.”
“They all used to live here in Hawaii when they were young, but they got caught in a Siren attack. Their family house got caught in a bombing and… Serena was sixteen and the twins were nine… and they lost their parents during that attack. The house collapsed on them, trapping them inside the wreck. They yelled and cried for help as things were dire. John was getting crushed by a support beam, Sarah got burns on the left side of her face, and Serena lost three fingers from her left hand, her middle, ring, and pinkie, trying to save her brother. It was a miracle that North Carolina and Washington heard them and quickly got them out and to the nearest hospital.”
“Damn…” Maryland looks over to see tears in Santiago’s eyes. “You need some tissues?”
“Hehe, I am fine.” She quickly wipes her eyes. “It just… they have scars to remind them of that day. Serena has prosthetic fingers for the ones she lost. John has a scar across his back. And Sarah has lost her left ear. After that event, they were sent to Oregan to live with their Uncle Parker. It was a rough life as they live on, but they got through it. Their uncle wasn’t a rich man, but they managed. Serena took a maternal role with the twins. In addition, North Carolina and Washington often visited them, so they consider them family members.” She takes a sip out of her beer.
“Time to give a description of them. Serena is five foot six inches. She is the shortest of the siblings. She is thirty-five years old, has blonde hair that goes halfway down her back, and has blue eyes. John and Sarah like to joke that she is North Carolina’s younger sister, but Serena and North Carolina laugh it off. She has prosthetic fingers for her left hand. Serena is a calm and gentle sister and loves to embarrass and tease her younger siblings as well as spoil them. She loves to surf and Uncle Parker got her into photography and trivia. Serena is really knowledgeable about trivia that she is nicknamed the Queen of Trivia. Don’t challenge her or you will be stomped. She was a tourist guide before she joined the navy. She did not want to be in the military; however, John and Sarah joined and she did not want to lose them, so she joined as well. She is a good commander, so much so that even though John is the Commander for Azur SD, Midway relies on Serena to issue commands. She also operates a mass-produced Lexington model nicknamed: Serenity. Another detail is that Serena is a little bit religious, coming from their parents. She wears her mother’s cross necklace as a reminder.” She pauses, catching her breath.
“Commander John Solomon Lockee, he is, on paper, the main human commander on Azur SD, but most of the time, Midway just gives the orders to Serena. He is the first born of the twins, being older than Sarah by twenty seconds. He stands at five foot nine inches, has blue eyes, and he had blonde hair. He dyed his hair black and Akagi said he looks good with it and kept it since. He is a good man, but when things go wrong on his watch, he personally blames himself. He was also a player…”
Maryland rolls her eyes. “Here is another pervert commander. Great.”
Santiago shakes her head. “Nah, he is way better than Crowe or Cross. And he WAS a player. Growing up, he and Sarah had a streak of bad romantic decisions. From dating everyone on the cheer squad/sports team all at once, dating the same guy, cheating on shipgirls; they have been through it all. After getting scolded by their Uncle and Serena for this behavior multiple times, they both learn some restraints of choosing a new partner. So not the worst compared to Crowe and Cross.”
Maryland nods and slips on her beer. “Okay, he is redeemed.”
“Anyway,” Santiago continues. “John is a great pilot. His Uncle owns an old P-38 Lightning and when John or Sarah had their bad days, he would fly them across Oregan. In addition, his Uncle got him into building model airplanes. He is passionate about the hobby that he makes sure they have no mold lines, no scratches, and everything being exact. Being an aviation lover, he joined the navy and became a fighter pilot and a damn good one. His custom Hellcat: Fox-9, has scored many kills against Siren drone fighters. Decal with a Red Fox on fire at the nose of the plane and a green leaf with a raccoon tail near the cockpit, seeing his plane is a good sign. He is nicknamed: “Flyboy'' for this reason.”
Santiago pauses, finishing her can of beer as the battleship rubs her chin. “Hey Santiago, wasn’t John Lockee also the one to jumpstart the PR program?” The redhead asks.
“Yes.” Santiago nods. “John is very interested in Wisdom Cubes, so much so he has researched shipgirl history and Sirens to understand the blue cube. During the first six months of the Azur Lane Initiative after talking to a lot of shipgirls, he theorized that we could make new shipgirls based on unused blueprints designs and retired wisdom cubes. Existing cubes that were retired from older shipgirls or halted in awakening like Monarch, Ibuki, Izumo, Roon, French Saint Louis were put into the program, while Neptune had to be manifested and created to be a part of the program. He never saw the program through as it was sent to Azur Main, but it was successful in creating power shipgirls. And he is proud of that.”
“Hmmm, you sure know a lot about them.” Maryland remarks.
“Yeah. I dated Sarah Lockee for about two months two years ago… and when Missouri and I visited Azur SD for a meeting, I got to know the Lockees. It was fun, although… The night before Missouri and I had to leave, Sarah and I decided to have some bedroom time. At the same time, John and Akagi had the same idea. The loud sexual moaning from both parties woke up Serena and well… she was not a happy sailor.” Both of them chuckle.
“Wow. Smooth moves twins. Smooth moves.” Maryland leans back. “Are you still dating her?”
“No…” Santiago rubs the back of her head. “It was only for another month before we decided to just be friends.” She stretches her arms. “Now for the last commander, Sarah Therese Lockee, the youngest of the Lockee siblings. She is five foot ten inches, one inch taller than John. Like Serena, she has blonde hair and blue eyes. Because of losing her left ear, she can only hear out of the right side. It does not stop her from doing what she loves. She is the most athletic out of the Lockees. She loves to swim and scuba dive, and when moved to Oregan, her Uncle Parker gave her a love for hiking and snowboarding. Sarah has some weird eating habits like blending cereal and black coffee and downing that for breakfast. She is also a big scaredy-cat and hates horrors. When we were dating, we watched a horror film and she could not stop hiding behind me, clutching my arm, screaming, and shaking like a scared dog. It was kind of cute…”
Maryland chuckles. “Reminds me of when the Takao sisters play horror games. Would scream and shout till they quit. One time, after they played this one horror game, they accidentally smack the commander in the head, knocking him out.”
Santiago laughs. “Nice. Sarah does get punchy if you scare her. Anyway,” She continues. “She joined John in becoming a pilot. Flying a Wildcat with a water decal, her call sign is “Raindrop”. Sarah is a good pilot, equal to John’s piloting skills. She may be deaf on her left side, but she knows when they are there.” She leans back. “And that is all of them. Commander May and Cross in Azur New York. Commander Yamamoto at Azur Tokyo. Commander Crowe of Azur Sydney. Commande Serena, John, and Sarah Lockee of Azur San Diego.”
“And Commander Santiago of Azur Pearl.” Maryland finishes. “Thanks, Santiago for educating me on the other commanders.”
“No worries, Maryland. Sides, they are all good people and great friends.” Santiago yawns. “I'm going to hit the hay. I’ll see you tomorrow in the office. Night.”
“Night Santiago.” Maryland waves her goodbye, leaving her sitting on the beach. She stares out at the calm waters, the waves quietly rolling as she looks out.
“Hey Mary. How was your day today?” The battleship turns to see Bremerton joining her. The counselor takes a seat next to her.
“Good Bremerton.” Maryland answers. “It was a good day today.”
The heavy cruiser smiles. “That’s good.” The pink hair heavy cruiser sides up to her. “You know, after leaving Azur Main, you seem to be more open about yourself. Talking with others about problems and understanding their point of view. Even calling Belfast during lunch and chatting with her about the day. You made good progress in such a short time.”
“Thank you, Bremerton.” The battleship blushes. “Yeah. I mean your advice to not bottle up your emotions is helping and talking to someone close about these issues helps. And chatting with Belfast… even though she forgives me, it is hard to forget the stuff I did to her… but constantly talking to her every lunch really helps. She considers me a friend.”
Bremerton sees a soft smile roll across Maryland’s face. She smiles and gives her a hug. “Like the commander always says, we are family. Does not matter what faction, ship class, or whatnot, we are one big, a bit weird, family.”
Maryland chuckles. “Yeah.”
---
After that little chat, they both retire back to the shipgirl dormitory. Washing up, Maryland puts on her maid uniform and walks out to find Oklahoma in her cute pajamas, swaying back and forth in anticipation with the plushy blue crab and horse in her lap. Seeing her in the maid outfit, Okie squeals in delight.
“Yay!!!” Okie smiles as Maryland takes a seat next to her. “Thank you Mary!!” She hugs her.
Maryland laughs, petting the white hair of her sweet pie. “Anything for you, Okie.” Oklahoma pulls her girl onto the comfy bed and cuddles up to her.
“Love you, Mary.” Okie kisses her on the cheek.
“Love you too, Okie.” The redhead returns the affection as they hear a buzzing sound. They turn to see Maryland’s phone buzzing on the nightstand.
Okie grabs it and sees who was calling. “It’s Bel! She is video-calling you!”
“Start the video call.” Mary and Okie sit back on the bed as they bring up Belfast on the phone. They see the silver hair headmaid in the main office back at Azur Main.
“Evening Miss. Maryland. Evening Miss. Oklahoma.” Belfast greets them.
“Evening Bel.” Mary and Okie returned. “How was the base? Everything is fine over there?”
“Everything is okay… At the moment.” Belfast lets out a heavy sigh.
Mary frowns. “What is the matter?”
“Well,” Belfast begins. “The inactive Siren Portal that is being housed in the Research Lab, something came out of it, so we have been on guard and trying to find our intruder. In addition, the master has come under a sort of health condition.” Both battleships exchange concerned looks.
“What happened to the Commander?” Okie asked.
“He has been having waves of nausea, vertigo, and heartache,” Belfast explains. “In addition, fainting when this happens. Doctor Mercy and Comfort, the hospital shipgirls, did a medical check-up on him and noticed a very faint second heartbeat. He does not have a second heart in his body, thankfully, but it is concerning. Doctor Comfort stayed back to watch over us while Vestal is in Fiji. She has been monitoring him, but the waves of illness have become more prevalent, so he has been under Dr. Comfort care for most of the day.” The battleship could see the headmaid deeply frown as she talks about what is happening. Maryland could feel the sadness behind her voice as she talked about these events.
“Hey, Belfast,” Maryland calls to her. “You know what I did today?” Belfast looks at her. “I learn about the other human commanders at the other Azur bases.” She tries to distract her from the current events.
“Really?” Belfast smiles, Maryland distraction worked. “What did you learn?”
“Well…” The redhead gives a deadeye as she begins with the first one. “I heard that two princes to the English crown are commanders for Azur Lane.”
“Ahh yes,” Belfast giggles. “Prince Victor and Prince Raul. Those brothers.”
“Yeah.” Maryland rolled her eyes. “You know, I heard that Victor one is a total pervert.”
“Why yes. Yes he is.” Belfast tries to hide her giggles, but it was not effective. “Before Azur Lane, when the Royal maids worked for the British Queen, Victor had a huge crush on me. He would try to pull pranks on me and get a sneak peek at my knickers, but I knew when he was trying. He is easy to read and has a tell.”
“A tell?” Maryland asked, intrigued.
“He starts to have this, what do you Eagle Union call a “Shiteating grin”, when everything falls into place,” Belfast explains. “You know when something is going to happen when he has that look.”
“Noted.” Maryland nods. “And Raul? Also, do you know why people call him Cross?”
“Oh, he is a good man.” The maid smiles. “Quiet and shy, but he is a good lad. He is pretty attached to Glasgow and Nelson. Nelson disliked him at first, seeing him as weak, but she softened up to him after he started to focus on his work. And Glasgow likes him for giving her romance manga to read in her spare time. And why does everyone call him Cross? Other than Cruzar in his name being Spanish for cross, people call him Cross because, during a drink out with May, he drunkenly challenged May to DDR, where the loser has to do what the winner commands. May is exceptional at the game and Prince Raul thought he could win; however, he lost. May force him to get a golden cross tattoo on his left butt cheek.”
“That is funny.” Maryland chuckles. Okie yawns and nuzzles up to Maryland. “Well, I guess our time is up, Belfast.”
“Yes, quite.” The headmaid smiles. “Have a good night, Maryland and Oklahoma. I will talk to you tomorrow at lunchtime.”
“Sure Bel, good night, and tell the Commander to get well,” Maryland tells her. Belfast nods.
“Good night." With that exchange, the call ends. The redhead puts down the phone and turns towards Okie. She turns off the lights and both fast asleep.
--Azur Main--
--Night--
An invisible Electrum walks across the base, heading to the communication towers on base. Scaling the tower, she quickly gets onto top of the tower and places a white robotic frog on one of the satellite dishes. Once the frog is placed, it shimmers and becomes invisible to the naked eye. Electrum quickly places more of these frogs on more dishes before opening an emergency hatch and heads into the communication control center. Placing more of these robotic frogs in the computers and equipment, Electrum chuckles as everything is falling into plan.
“A bang to start this siege.” Electrum smiles before vanishing from the scene.

No. You don't frighten me, Mollari. If you try to go up against our forces, you'll lose.
Yes, your ships are very impressive in the air, or in space--but at this moment, they are on the ground.
Right--they're on the ground. But they can sense an approaching ship from miles away. So what are you going to do, Mollari, blow up the island?
Actually--now that you mention it--[pulls detonator from pocket]
No!
[presses detonator]
Babylon 5, explaining the vulnerability of aircraft to ground attack in typical hammy fashion
Hello, and welcome to another episode of "AmericanNewt8 explains the global military situation at present in a convenient, possibly easy-to-read guide". Maybe I should make a YouTube channel or something. All the cool kids [and a lot of idiots who know nothing about military equipment] are doing it. Anyway, today we have the US Air [and, for the moment, Space Force--they haven't fully separated yet], and, surprisingly for once, a somewhat more positive message. I'm sorry this one took so long; I've been busy for the past month or so, but I figured I should get this one out I already had 80% done before talking about Turkey and the war in the Caucuses, which are likely to be shorter, more current, and arrive sometime in the next week if all goes as planned.
​
Current Effortposts In My Series:

1. What you [might] need to know about South Korea's ludicrous arms buildup
2. We shall fight on the seas and oceans, we shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in the air, we shall defend our island, whatever the cost may be. We shall fight on the beaches.... uh, what do we do after that again?: The Perilous Defensive Position of Taiwan
3. "You've hit another cargo ship? The Problems with the US Navy: Not all of them begin with "Seven" and end with "th Fleet"."
4. Will China's PLAN survive contact with the enemy?
5. Biden's New START and modern nuclear war
6. Boned: Problems (but not too many) in the US Air [and Space!] Force
7. Erdogan Sallies Forth [inserted largely on account of the recent breakout of a war between Armenia and Azerbaijan]
8. Begun, the Drone Wars Have: Why You Should Pay Attention To This "Tiny" War
9. First And Last Stand Of The Tin Can Navies [ASEAN + Australia and the smaller adversaries China may contend with]
10. --Unnamed-- effortpost on Japanese military matters, mostly about how weird the JSDF status is
11. --Unnamed--effortpost on Indian military matters, and why they can't focus on China or buy anything that works
12. --Unnamed--effortpost on the rest of the PLA, mostly the air force though
13. --Unnamed--effortpost on the rest of the US Armed Forces, mostly talking about how the marines are changing and the Army's new love affair with INF-busting weapons
14. Conclusion?

1. Our Pride And Joy

America's Navy may be its key instrument of power projection abroad and in some ways the most important service branch, but the one that is by far the greatest beneficiary of American skill, the apex of our capabilities, is without a doubt the US Space Force. From Day 1 the US has had a commanding lead in the field. Mind you, that's not saying that nobody's ever challenged or exceeded the US in limited areas for limited periods of time--the early 1950s were about the last time that happened though [aside for commercial launch vehicles from around 1980-2010]. In the modern era, it is very rare that buying something other than an American-made aircraft or rocket makes any sort of economic or strategic sense [political is of course a different matter entirely]. The US Air Force has generally benefited from high, consistent levels of investment and has had relatively light burdens placed on it operationally [though in recent years post 9/11 this has changed to an extent], and it has developed into one of the best-trained and most doctrinally sophisticated forces in the world. More on that later. Anyway, the Air Force is probably the best-loved branch politically [Marines might be more respected but they get budgetary scraps], at least of the military as a whole, and it ends up with more funding, smarter people, and a much better QOL as a result. In fact Air Force personnel are usually treated to quite a bit of envy and ribbing about how much better their conditions are than their Army, Marine, or Navy counterparts.
​

2. Aging Equipment [again!]

Guess what? The same problem that seems to afflict most of the US military [and, for that matter, most European, Latin American, and non-East Asian militaries] is aging equipment from the Cold War finally wearing out. In the Air Force, this takes a number of different forms. Often, it's a case of "if it ain't broke, don't fix it", but even then airframes do wear out eventually and need replacement and a lot of them are getting to that point.
Logistics, Support, That Kind of Thing
One of the least glamorous parts of the Air Force, logistical and support capabilities are rapidly aging. The primary airframe the Air Force uses for these is the.. wait for it... Dash 80, as the C-135 whose commercial variant is better known as the Boeing 707. It was a very impressive aircraft, but it was designed in the 1950s. Even though we've reengined the C-135 with more modern engines, and done some serious overhauls, they're getting pretty long in the tooth. Most notably we have the 398 KC-135 Stratotankers which make up the bulk of the US midair refueling fleet, which are joined by 31 E-3 Sentry AWACs, a number of specialized RC-135 derivatives doing everything from SIGINT to hunting for nuclear weapons and 17 E-8 Joint STARS. While these were produced up until the early 1990s, the airframes are aging and they need replacements, and the sheer quantity of aircraft is likely to cause trouble. There are also other aircraft that have to be replaced in the mid-term [by the early 2040s] like the C-5 Galaxy and the KC-10 Extender, but these are somewhat less of an immediate concern. There are some C-130 Hercules replacements also needed but those are largely being done with newer versions of the same aircraft.
Bombers
The B-1 Lancer is first on the chopping block, due to high maintenance costs and time [it generally takes 120 hours of maintenance for an hour of flight time]. That represents 60 bombers, on paper anyway, and a good chunk of the USAF's supersonic strike capability. However, cutting it should free up resources for new hardware, and in fact new USAF budget proposals suggest rapidly retiring the B-1. The B-2 Spirit is also on the chopping block due to high price and high maintenance demands, but it can't really be replaced until the B-21 Raider shows up. There is also a need to find a replacement for the B-52, but nobody is really sure what that looks like and it's much less urgent--the B-52 will soldier on for the indefinite future and may well hit a full century in operational service. Even if one runs into the "airplane of Thesus" the fact that you could well have fourth or fifth generation B-52 pilots flying on 90-year-old aircraft is, to be honest, kind of neat.
Fighters
The F-15 and F-16 originally took flight in the 1970s and are still seeing interest today, though the modern F-15 and F-16 are very different beasts from their originals. However, the overall fleet is starting to age--primarily the F-15C fleet operated by the US Air National Guard which does air policing in the US. This is why the Guard is actually first in line for new F-15EX aircraft and has even received brand new F-35s [that, and the fact that the Air National Guard is actually pretty integrated with the Air Force]. F-16s are also starting to wear out; the USAF still operates over a thousand of the type. They are set to primarily be replaced with the F-35, though, with around 1500 aircraft on order. They will also replace the A-10 [along with drones, I suppose], and I'll take a moment to say that the A-10 is heavily overrated, there's a reason the USAF wants to dump it, and it's notorious for friendly fire incidents. Its job would be better done by drones or even aircraft like the Super Tucano.
Trainers
These are, guess what, also wearing out. The USAF currently operates over 500 T-38 Talon trainers, but it already has a replacement lined up for this aircraft which was first flown in 1959. It just adds to the list of things that need replacing.
ICBMs
Also should mention these, I suppose. The US is currently operating the Minuteman-III) as its sole ground-based nuclear deterrent/ICBM, and these 1970s-era missiles have survived their replacement, the LGM-118 Peacekeeper. They have to be replaced as well, and the USAF actually recently awarded a contract to do so to Northrop Grumman [though there are issues with that mentioned below].
Maintenance
One side-effect of all this is that the Air Force has increasingly high demands for maintenance which are simply not met, which combined with a shortage of maintainers [partially due to good outside pay but mostly because anecdotal reports suggest life as an Air Force maintainer is terrible] means that the Air Force has a poor readiness rate, especially because a lot of airframes aren't in good condition to begin with, having been worn out by decades of use.
​

3. Procurement Woes... fixed?

So, the Air Force has had a pretty troubled history with procurement in recent years. By far the most infamous one is the F-35. Well, yes, the F-35 was a procurement disaster. Another Redditor has done a great service by writing up the account Ash Carter [Secretary of Defense under Obama] gave of the program. It's long [full version here] and probably doesn't give a full account as it is Carter's memoir--but I'll just pick out one of the most significant parts of it:

At one point of the meeting, after we'd made it abundantly clear that the grossly inflated price for the JSF jets was unacceptable, CEO Bob Stevens casually said to me, "Well, if you tell me how much money you have, I'll tell you how many planes you can buy."
I was taken aback. Rather than negotiating a fair price with us, Stevens was behaving as if his company were entitled to all the money the taxpayers could afford. And although he obviously had a per-plane price in mind, he didn't care to divulge it openly, nor would he agree to a fixed-price contract holding him to it. I found this cavalier attitude offensive. With deeper disrepute, the JSF program would go down the political drain, and we wouldn't be able to buy any of these needed aircraft.
With all this in mind, I let his question hang in the air unanswered for a moment. Then I replied, "How about none?" With that, I walked out of the room. "None" was a reasonable prediction in the political climate surrounding this out-of-control program.

However, the F-35 was a pretty uniquely messed up procurement program due to suffering from what I'd broadly call "jointness", where interservice procurement made things less efficient.
​
The Air Force on its own has had some pretty impressive procurement messups though. Look no further than the KC-46 Pegasus, a tanker designed to replace the KC-135 [as mentioned above loads of these are getting retired in the next couple years]. The first sign of trouble probably should have been when the first program to replace the tankers with the KC-767 [now the KC-46] was cancelled on account of a bribery scandal involving the CFO of Boeing offering the procurement official an executive position. The second sign probably should have been the whole bit where, unlike its competitor, the A330 MRTT, the KC-767 didn't actually exist. And when the A330 won the contract bid, Boeing of course protested and, ultimately, got the contract evaluated again, with [at least per Northrop Grumman's claims, who was running a joint bid with Airbus] requirements rigged for the KC-767, and, finally, almost a decade after the program started, Boeing won the bid.
​
Except there was the small problem that Boeing hadn't built the plane yet, which turned into a large one. Ultimately the program was marred by years of delays and major technical problems. It only recently finally began delivering aircraft to the Air Force, years late and over-budget [though the USAF did manage to claw quite a bit of it back from Boeing].
​
However, there are some positive signs that future procurement will be better. Besides the F-35 being saved, there's the example of the T-X program, which is to replace the elderly T-38 Talon trainer. It invited foreign competition to the field, featured vigorous competition, and resulted in an actually effective aircraft--developed by both Boeing [of course] but also Saab--yes, the Swedes have a significant hand in the trainer jet likely to equip much of the world.
​
In particular, something very interesting the US Air Force is doing is diving heavily into computer design and open systems architecture. What this means, in short, is that they'll design new planes with a heavy emphasis on doing detailed computer design and simulation, only finally building an aircraft to demonstrate it works IRL--which of course cuts costs substantially--and they'll try to build common hardware and software that will work in any number of aircraft. The overall idea is to make aircraft inexpensive, easy to design, and modular. The Air Force even has a buzzword for this already, the "Digital Century Series", referring to the last time the Air Force very rapidly built a whole bunch of aircraft on a relatively common hardware platform. Whether this will bear fruit remains yet to be seen.

4. Fighting the Peer Conflict

The USAF, for the past thirty years, has not faced a peer competitor. Arguably it didn't even face one before that--the Soviet Air Force was no match for what the USAF could field, as was demonstrated quite well in a number of conflicts. The good news is that the USAF has had a long time to build up a lead, and is still far ahead of China or Russia, further ahead than the Army or Navy is by a long shot--Americans like their planes and electronics. For an illustrative example, China'sJ-20 stealth fighter has been produced in a quantity of... 50; while the USAF has almost 200 F-22s and is ordering over a thousand F-35s. The Su-57 barely even flies and is nowhere near peer to what the United States can field despite whatever scary articles you might have read. The bad news is that only recently has the USAF actually begun preparing to fight a peer conflict, which will tax it in different ways.
​
The main vulnerabilities the Air Force has in a peer conflict are more logistical and operational than regarding the quality of its aircraft or pilots, which are moreless unmatched. The first problem is that readiness isn't fantastic thanks to the War on Terror burning through all the ancient Cold War aircraft that the USAF has operated, and yes, aircraft do wear out. In fact, large numbers of F-15Cs operated by the US Air National Guard have been grounded due to age and fatigue. The shortage of maintainers also plays a role here. There's also the problem that the US Air Force is still quite vulnerable on the ground in any peer conflict; especially to precision strikes with ballistic and cruise missiles--the US Air Force has downsized considerably and now only has a handful of bases for both political and budgetary reasons, but that means that, when facing, for instance, China, the USAF must rely heavily on just six airfields--Osan, Kunsan, Misawa, Yokota, Kadena and Andersen [maybe bring that to 9 by adding USMC and Navy installations, which field fewer and less capable aircraft].
​
Thus, the primary challenge that the USAF faces is a quiet one--ensuring that it can operate from dispersed locations, at high opstempo, and repair its facilities rapidly. This is really also the biggest question mark in terms of the USAF's performance, but there's some reason to be optimistic here--the USAF is aware of the threat and is actually working to solve it. However, ultimately only changes in the political environment [the addition of bases in the Philippines or Palau, or the development of readied airfields in Japan] will fix the basing problem. Better ballistic missile defense will probably also help here. Russia or China will probably have poor luck against the USAF in the air; seeking primarily to deny the USAF free reign and thus the ability to support ground offensives, but they could cause significant damage by hitting ground facilities, and everyone knows it.
​
There's also the question of surface-to-air missiles; which have driven quite a bit of concern the past few years as China and Russia field increasingly capable systems like the S-400 and HQ-9. It is feared that the sophistication of these weapons could create "A2/AD bubbles" where the USAF and USN are unable to operate. While the access bubble does still look quite real for the Navy, recent developments have seriously called the efficacy of surface-to-air missiles into question--particularly the fact that the Israelis and Turks seem to be able to almost ignore them, or at least their shorter-range counterparts. The destruction of Armenian S-300 launchers by Azerbaijan with Turkish drones is certainly an ominous signal for anyone thinking advanced air defenses would keep them safe. How good the full-scale systems are against conventional targets is still unknown, but my guess is much less effective than the marketing--and keep in mind that despite years of concerns, SAMs have only been successful from about 1960-1980, and even then relatively minor adjustments in strategy seemed to significantly mitigate damage--so it's unclear how concerned we should actually be about such technology.
​
There are also questions about whether or not the USAF is operating the right mix of aircraft for the job, and these are valid ones. The USAF is buying new F-15EX, which has literally been described as not survivable after 2028 [though there is a case for the plane as a carrier of standoff weapons or a homeland defense fighter], and still operates the A-10 [an aircraft now mostly known for a number of notorious blue-on-blue (friendly fire) incidents] which, if used in a modern environment where the USAF didn't have total air supremacy, would simply not be able to survive. Yes, there's a reason the USAF wants to scrap the A-10, and no, the GAU-8 is cool but it doesn't even kill columns of modern main battle tanks. Unless you're primarily planning on fighting North Korea, the A-10 is close to useless(ly dangerous). The B-1 has also been highlighted as obsolete, largely due to high maintenance costs. However, the USAF is working hard to scrap these aircraft as fast as politically feasible.

5. New Technologies

The Air Force has always had a certain inclination towards adopting the newest, shiniest technologies, and at the moment there are a number of interesting concepts that it is exploring. I'll talk about two of the most significant ones [especially combined] here.
​
First, the Air Force is seeking to create future aircraft entirely virtually--using highly detailed computer models to design numerous types of specialist aircraft, and only building prototypes to test the results that simulations produce. Their latest trainer, the "eT-7", uses this methodology--the "e" is supposed to designate that it was designed this way. There's also a move towards using common avionics and software for a variety of different aircraft. Figures high up at the Pentagon have discussed a "Digital Century Series", modeled after a chain of fighters rapidly developed in the 1950s for a number of different roles, from the F-102 interceptor to the F-105 fighter-bomber. This could potentially create numerous new aircraft rapidly; a shift back towards the times before the 1990s where a single fighter project took the entire attention and budget of the Air Force. Nobody is really sure how this will pan out but it looks quite promising. In particular, the fact that the USAF was able to take its new prototype fighter jet into the skies a year after it was originally envisioned is stunning--and suggests that this potential return to the old days of the 1940s and 1950s when new aircraft showed up every year is not just a pipe dream.
​
Second, the Air Force is investing in UCAVs [Unmanned Combat Aerial Vehicles], most notably in the Skyborg concept. The goal is to develop a low-cost drone that can both deliver additional weapons to target while being accompanied by a manned fighter--a sort of drone wingman, which is cheap enough to be expendable [thus serving a secondary purpose, soaking up enemy air to air missiles]. Numerous companies have been awarded contracts to develop UCAVs and this program is looking quite promising, so expect to hear more of it in the future.

6. Drones

Drones are a rather interesting topic and one that I'll most likely get into more detail in on my next two posts specifically regarding Turkey. The US was one of the pioneers of UAVs, with the other big player in the field being Israel--in fact the US has bought Israeli drones from time to time, though of course China and Russia have also established a presence, without even mentioning Turkey. The US has a number of drones for different purposes--largely for reconnaissance of different types and precision-strike capability. It has the RQ-4 Global Hawk, for reconnaissance, the MQ-9A Reaper, for strike missions, and the RQ-170, which.... well, probably something involving reconnaissance, it's half-CIA so who knows. However, the US may not have kept up on the ongoing drone revolution, which is actually something I can't really blame them for since the 'revolution' only started in January. Yes. Last January.
​
This 'revolution' began on January 5, 2020, to be exact, and was led by an unlikely candidate: Turkey. They say necessity is the mother of invention, and this was certainly the case for the Turkish drone program. After the US refused to sell Turkey drones on account of the fact that they might be used against Kurds [use of Turkish drones suggests they definitely are used against Kurds], Turkey decided to make their own drone program with blackjack and hookers--or, well, just drones. Their DIY effort didn't really garner much attention until sent to Libya,but investment in their program skyrocketed, largely for two reasons. First, Turkey has been largely barred from major hardware acquisitions from the US and, to an increasing extent, Europe. Second, Erdogan deeply distrusts the Turkish Air Force and has dramatically cut pilot numbers through his multiple purges of the service. Third, Turkey is competing out of its class, against Russia, the UAE, and other major regional powers.
​
Once it arrived in Libya, it suddenly became clear that the Turkish drone program was much more important than previously thought. In many ways it bore the primary responsibility for turning the war around from what looked to be almost certain defeat for the UN-recognized GNA into a state where whether or not Haftar could survive was in question. In particular, it came as a great shock to most how easily Turkey defeated the very systems that were designed to shoot down UAVs--the Russian Pantsir in particular, which has been destroyed in great quantities with few Turkish casualties to show for it--and with the sticker price for a Turkish drone less than half of the Pantsir systems they kill, it could well revolutionize warfare. Experiences in Syria, and now in Armenia, where Turkish drones have destroyed hundreds of main battle tanks and casually destroyed SAM systems from some distance above, continue to bring into question just how vast the drone revolution is going to be. I'll cover this in more explicit detail in my next two posts.
​
However, the USAF is watching and learning--its main difficulty with drones is more political than anything. Drones are often considered less important than manned aircraft by a leadership that largely flew manned aircraft [particularly fighters at that], and it is the bottom tier of officer recruits that fly drones [though, interestingly, some drones are actually flown by enlisted pilots] and even then there's usually a shortage of RPA pilots--that's why a few are flown by enlisted in the first place. Whether or not they'll take these lessons to heart, only time will tell, but the history of the Air Force leaves me relatively optimistic on the matter--more than many other services, it's willing to embrace change.

7. Nukes

The US Air Force runs two legs of the nuclear triad--the air and ground portions. The first is dominated by, believe it or not, gravity bombs--mostly the B61. This weapon has been sitting around in the United States [and Europe under nuclear sharing, in Belgium, the Netherlands, Italy, Germany, and Turkey] for a while now, the first variants being made in 1968, and has recently been updated to the latest B61-12 variant, which offers high precision [as precise as JDAMs, not that it's likely to matter in most situations where nukes are being dropped] and flexibility--the bomb can be deployed from low altitudes at high speeds, and from within the internal weapons bay of the F-22 and F-35 [not to mention the B-2 and future B-21], so it's not as dumb as it might sound. Air-launched weapons also have useful features like the ability to recall them once launched, which isn't an option for missiles, along with fitting into doctrine for a tactical nuclear war. While I could go on about the lack of air-launched nuclear cruise missiles [which hopefully will be fixed by the end of the Intermediate Forces Treaty] it's not a big deal.
​
The main concern here [and perhaps a suggestion that procurement is still messed up] is the ground-based deterrent, which currently consists of a few hundred Minuteman III missiles buried in the northern central United States. These missiles, like much of the Air Force, date to the 1970s and have outlasted their supposed replacement--the MX Peacekeeper. These missiles are finally approaching end of life and are to be replaced by a new ICBM system. This process is... problematic. First off, it was a sole-source bid because Northrop Grumman acquired Orbital ATK Systems, the primary American producer of solid-fuelled rockets and missiles, and this resulted in Boeing pulling out of the competition. Second, the cost seems rather high, at least in my view, with lifetime cost estimates of as much as $90 billion, with development alone amounting to $13 billion at sticker price. It positions the cost of rebuilding the ground-based deterrent as comparable to the US Navy's program to replace the Ohio-class submarines with the Columbias. The ground-based deterrent has also lost substantial importance as sea-launched and air-launched weapons have become much more accurate and capable of fulfilling the ground-based counterforce mission [which arguably died with Peacekeeper], and it remains the most vulnerable portion of the triad. What good it does is largely as another independent nuclear deterrent and one that soaks up enemy warheads in the event of nuclear war that could be directed towards other targets. A disastrous procurement here could cause problems for the Air Force you will see in the future. My suggestion would be either to continue modernizing the Minuteman IIIs or aim to replace them with the cheapest option possible--something like, for instance, a land-based Trident missile [as if the Air Force would ever allow such a thing to be built]. All the ground-based deterrent needs to do is be there, be a credible threat, and soak up enemy fire. That's it.

8. Space Force

The Space Force is now its own service branch, but as it really hasn't emerged yet I'll cover it here. In fact, just recently, the Space Force enlisted its first trainees. This is somewhat less in my area of expertise; but at the moment things look fairly promising. While the Space Force sounds silly it's almost certainly the part of the military you interact with the most in your daily life on account of running the GPS network. They also operate a variety of communications satellites and the system for monitoring ballistic missile launches, among other pieces of hardware. Expect to hear more about these guys in the future, as space becomes a potential battlefield--we've seen the deployment of a space-based anti-satellite weapon by the Russians just recently, and numerous powers now field anti-satellite missiles along with jamming equipment that can blind reconnaissance satellites, so space is becoming much more militarily important. I don't have much more to say about these guys at the moment, though, other than noting that they're already talking about being even "less physical" than the Air Force--translation: Less mandatory exercise--and they're teaching classes about space law, which is neat I guess. The main downside of the Space Force is that it's going to be very small, around 20-30,000 people, which is half what even the Coast Guard fields, and that could lead to problems with maintaining personnel and inefficiencies with redundant missions, procurement, and the like.

9. Conclusion

The USAF has problems; particularly with aging equipment and manpower, but it seems to realize that most of them exist and is moving to address them. Political constraints mean that the USAF is stuck supporting a variety of obsolete platforms and investing its large budget poorly in new ICBMs and poorly managed tankers, and procurement continues to be a struggle for the USAF, though nowhere near as bad as with the US Navy. Drones have the potential to revolutionize warfare and the USAF is working to develop capabilities in that area, albeit maybe not as fast as some other players in the field, and digital design promises more aircraft designed and produced faster--much, much faster. The USAF faces logistical challenges in a peer conflict, but nothing insurmountable--though the work there is likely to be painful and sidelined because it's less interesting than buying shiny new toys. The Space Force seems to be going along well though they could face some problems in the medium term from losing access to the USAF's resources--political, financial, and of personnel--until/unless they develop into a larger, more influential service. On the whole, though, the outlook for the USAF, at least, looks quite bright--a hope spot, along with the Army and Marines, that the serious problems of the Navy will not cripple the entire military capability of the United States.

10. Citations

Uh, I mostly embedded them in the post, and I don't want to go back and hunt for what I used after a month, but here are some good longer-form ones:
RAND, Chinese Attacks on Air Bases in Asia on the ballistic missile threat
Ryan Snyder, The Future of the ICBM Force: Should the Least Valuable Leg of the Triad Be Replaced?
​
RAND, Creating a Separate Space Force mostly focusing on administrative difficulties and personnel issues
​
RAND, Drone-Era Warfare Shows the Operatoinal Limits of Air Defense Systems on drones and the conflicts in Libya and Syria [yes, it's all RAND, no Brookings Institute or such this time round]. It also explains why air defense systems are perhaps much more vulnerable than commonly thought, which I didn't really get into here.
​
Washington Post, Air Force seeks a radical shift in how jets, missiles, and satellites are designed with more detail on the shift to more computerized design the US Air Force wants to make
​
CSIS, The Air Force Digital Century Series: Beyond the Buzzwords taking apart the "Digital Century Series" push

As I stood at the dock’s edge, gazing at the tempestuous sea I couldn’t help but wonder why I had decided to come to this desolate rock. Could it have been a fickle attempt to escape the everyday humdrum of life? Or had some enigmatic force of fate brought me to this rickety atoll? My dismal rumination was abruptly quelled by a stout hand-clapping my shoulder, my thoughts still roared as I turned to see the briny barge captain who had stirred me. He must have noticed my vacant stare because he immediately led me to a musty wooden tavern not thirty yards away from the dock’s cragged edge. As we ambled through the swinging saloon doors I began to grasp how meager this hamlet was. My inattentive thoughts were jarred by the bartender gruffly asking for my drink of choice, I simply abstained myself which elicited a grumble from the chapped man. As I sat in the bar, I could feel manifold sets of eyes scouring my slouched shoulders. I could hear hushed voices redound off the rotting walls “Looks like a fresh continental.”, “Come next barge he’s gone go back home cryin’ to mama.” I stood from my seat and left the peculiar locals to their swill.
I noticed a filmy patch of fog rolling through the cobbled stone streets as I left. As I looked back to the dock I noticed the vessel that I had arrived on was now a distant mote on the horizon. I began combing the stark streets for any refuge that didn’t contain unsavory locals or fetid scents. As I strolled through the fog the warm effulgence of oil lamps illuminated a small chain bound wooden sign that merely read “INN”. As I entered the lobby, I saw that the inn was well lit and unsoiled by rot or water damage. As I strode to the end of the reception area I noticed a golden service bell on the edge of a glossy wooden desk labeled “Check-In” I rang the small bell and not a second later a small elderly woman scooted from a small curtained room to the side of the desk opposite me. I examined her face more closely to see keen exuberance in her eyes as if I were an old friend she hadn’t spoken to in some time. “Hello, my name is Ida and welcome to my Inn. How long would you like to stay my dear?” “I’ll stay for a week.” I said reluctantly, I had no idea when the next ship would come to this port and the locals are no help whatsoever. “Wonderful!” she croaked “So many continentals come to stay here, my business has been booming since I opened four years ago.” This comment confused me greatly because the keyboard behind her was completely full. “This way young man you’ll be staying in room 3.” The woman quickly shuffled up a flight of burnished wooden stairs to reveal a carpeted hallway with 5 rooms on each side. “You said your business was booming…” I alluded “…but the other rooms are vacant.” Ida smiled at me and asserted “The other patrons left the village to get closer to the island.” This statement perplexed me, “This place is so bleak. Why would anyone want to make a home here?” I thought to myself as Ida’s face receded with the closing door.
My room was a spacious 40 square meter box with red curtains covering immaculate double windows. I took to lying down on the cushy king bed so that I could reflect on my circumstances comfortably. After some ephemeral solitary deliberation, I heard a feeble knock on my door. When I opened the door there stood the slightly wilted figure of Ida, but this time she was holding a small sheet of paper. “Since you’re going to be here for a bit, I thought you might want to know this town’s history.” The paper had a picture of a gaping cave entrance that gave me a disconcerting chill. I gripped the pamphlet, but the woman maintained her grip. “Watch yourself when you leave your room you hear? The folk who live in this town are the least of your worries.” She then released the brochure and retired to the lobby. The leaflet described the founding of the town by a small fleet of European trading ships that were immobilized by a severe tropical storm that devastated the area. These settlers lived on the island for nearly a century, but one day a military vessel docked, and the men were astonished to find the settlement and the entire island to be empty. It was as if the people had vanished into thin air. Soon the settlement was repopulated during the Industrial Revolution in hopes that the island had hidden riches to strip and sell to the highest bidder. However, many of the prospectors reported seeing pale slick-headed figures stalking the dark inlets of the cave system. These legends were never confirmed, and no lives were lost until one day the miner’s exit had a massive cave in and hundreds of men were killed along with the island’s economy. The island is now a secluded community that feeds itself with the sea’s bounty. As I flipped to the back of the handout, I found a map of the island with important locations corresponding to its history each marked with a crudely written title and small “x” to specify. My eyes scanned the map I saw a small gray patch of land near the watery center of the atoll. The patch was marked “Murky Grotto”, this was the location that was pictured on the front of the pamphlet and the site where the cave-in occurred. I flipped the paper back to its face and studied the maw of the cave closely, I’m positive I saw something in that cave. I could feel the hand holding the picture drifting closer to my face until I could see nothing but the darkness within.
My vision was completely darkened by the picture, but when I moved the photo away from my eyes, I realized that I was no longer in the warm hotel room. I was totally enveloped by inky blackness on all sides, the only thing my senses could interpret was the biting chill in the air and the faint dripping of water. My heart jumped from resting to throbbing against my rib cage. As my breath became faster, I began to hear clumsy footsteps accompanied by ear-shattering wails and erratic cries of primal rage. I couldn’t tell what was making the peculiar noise, but all I knew was that it was getting louder and therefore closer. I reduced my breathing to remain completely silent. I could feel its frenzied breath on my face. Standing before me was what may seem human, but this beast was coated and continuously secreting a sickly lemon-colored mucous, sporting a near melanin free outer membrane, the eyes must be completely worthless as the beast does not acknowledge visual stimuli its bulbous and milky eyes seem to be an evolutionary mutation as useful as the human appendix, the mutant also didn’t have a single visible hair on its body. The mutant’s physical condition is questionable, to say the least. Much of its body was simply gaunt deformity. The torso is mostly stretched thin skin over protruding bones. The mutant’s prominent facial features include its lack of a nose, instead, it has two nostrils nestled in a small facial ridge where its nose should be was. The mutant’s ears are also embedded into its head rather than protruding. My blood ran cold as the creature’s dead eyes bulged while it silently stood in front of me, baring its rows of deformed teeth in my face almost as if it knew it was standing inches away but preferred to taunt me instead. I began to slowly inch away from the mutant as quietly as possible step by step. However, my fear overtook my footing as I backed into what must have been a thick stalagmite and began to plunge to the floor. As I fell, I could see the creature aimlessly swiping toward me, the monstrosity wore a tattered black cloak, but no shoes. The creature’s feet were densely webbed to the point where what would be toes were nearly fused together. The last thing I heard before I collapsed was another spine-chilling scream coming from the creature.
I shot up from lying down, once again blind for a moment until the small pamphlet flaked off my face and into my lap. My body was shaking immensely as I tried reassuring myself that I had just fallen asleep and had a terrible nightmare, but I could feel the dull flow of adrenaline through my body. I sauntered into the bathroom to use the sink to cool my sweat laden forehead, as I refreshed myself, I chuckled because I had gotten myself so worked up over a stupid nightmare. As I dried my hands however I could feel something warm running down my neck, I used a few sheets of toilet paper to clear my sweat, but as I brought the paper to my face to examine the amount of sweat my vision began to blur as I saw that I had not cleaned sweat off my neck rather the wipe was stained red with fresh blood. I stumbled into the stand-in shower and activated the tepid flow of water. I faced the shiny silver floor drain as I watched diluted blood swirl into the pipes below just trying to distract myself from the I implored myself to think of any logical answer other than the repulsive possibility that was slowly pushing its way to the forefront of my mind. “The nightmare.” I blankly uttered. Soon afterward the blood stopped flowing down my back and shoulders and I stepped out of the shower shaking profusely even though the temperature was better than most showers I’ve used. I threw myself toward my duffel bag to retrieve my meds. “Don’t think about it. None of it makes sense so don’t delude yourself by trying to make it logical.” I chanted as I downed my medicine with a swig of water I spread myself across the bed, staring up at the ceiling with my mind still racing, but eventually my medication eased my mind enough that my heart resumed its normal resting pattern. I was determined to stay awake until I could convince myself that I was just anxious about staying in this eerie hamlet. I soon pushed it to the back of my mind and decided that I would go back to the tavern and look for a guide and something to eat. As I descended the stairs, I could see that the old woman was nowhere to be found in the lobby, so I simply left a generous payment for the weeks lodging next to the cramped guest ledger. I took a closer look at the paper to notice that Ida was, in fact, right that many travelers had come to the inn, however, there was a column marked “Room Status” and every single name except for mine was marked vacated on the same date and within the same hour. This confused me at first, but I then realized that these people must have come together, perhaps they checked out to explore the island’s entirety. As I left the Inn I was again greeted with a thick fog and dark skies. As I returned to the coast where I arrived I felt a few raindrops hit the nape of my neck as thunder rolled in the distance. I stopped before I entered the bar again because I could once more feel eyes on my back.
I turned to see a man dressed in a navy-blue police uniform with an aged 1911 pistol model on one hip and a sleek nightstick on the other. The man raised one of his gloved hands and motioned for me to come closer. As I approached I saw the man’s gaunt features, his eyes were baggy and dark as his suit, immense stress markings on his forehead, and an unsightly scar stretching from his left commissure to the corresponding earlobe. “Hello son, you’re the new cont’nental arrived yesterday right?” he coolly inquired, “Continental?” I quizzically asked, “Everyone keeps calling me that, but I don’t know what it means.” “Means you’re from the mainland, means they don’t trust you neither. These folks only care for their own and don’t take well to outsiders meddling with their traditions.” The officer said overly nonchalantly. “I noticed that they weren’t very fond of me as soon as I walked into the bar. Do the locals even speak to newcomers unless they have to?” I inquired genuinely regretting not stepping back onto the barge instead of being distracted by the queer community of ruffled fishermen. “Most folk just keep a sour look til’ newcomers get the message.” He punctuated his sentence by grabbing a small canteen and taking a swig of what I assumed was water. “Do you know when the next barge will come here? I made a mistake staying here and I need the first boat back to the mainland.” The officer chuckled and looked at me as if I had told him a joke he had heard many times before. “Next barge carrying general good’s comin’ in 13 days. Til’ then you’re stuck on this berg.” My heart sank as I had enough money to last that period, but I was reluctant because of the lack of activities since I was technically a second-class citizen to the locals. The officer surely noticed my expression because he put his white pristine white glove on my shoulder and stated “I know it’s inconvenient son, but the locals don’t want nothin’ to do with the mainland less’ they can’t find it on the island. The only boats the locals own are small rowboats nd’ they only use em’ for haulin’ fish n’ firewood.” “Say…” he blurted “…I’ll bet you haven’t got a tour of the town yet. How’d you like a po-lice escort, son?” “Sure.” I relented “But how much of this dinky shantytown is there to tour?” I mentally scoffed. Instantly after I accepted his offer the officer turned 180 degrees and began rigidly marching down the street opposite of the bar. The thick fog gave the officer a strange appearance, his dark figure seemed to push the fog to his side while my thin frame was seemingly consumed by the syrupy haze. The officer suddenly stopped and clicked his polished shoes together to face the second-best kept building I’d seen “This’s the general store, here’s where most of the goods from the barge go.” “Finally!” I thought “I don’t have to go to that dingy bar to get food and drink. I thought I’d never find a store here.” The officer began to say something, but I was only interested in the small wooden shelves freshly stocked with ample instant food that only requires water, seasoning shakers, various tools, and various fishing gear and accessories. I grabbed a small paper bag and filled it with instant food and some bottled water. However, the cashier stopped totaling my items when I opened my wallet and took out a couple of 5-dollar bills. “Sir you don’t have enough capital for your items.” the man groaned “You need more than ten dollars for some lousy instant food and bottled water?” I griped. The man started to respond but closed his mouth as I felt a familiar feeling on my shoulder. I turned to see the officer with a small but smug grin on his face “We don’t accept continental cash here son.” he ribbed. I then noticed both men had small canvas sacks attached to their belts, the officer removed his and took out a few slimy segments of what looked like fish scales. “I’ll pay for your food this time ‘round, but we don’t use no paper money with nobody but the barge captain.” The cashier shot the officer a quick grin, but his expression changed to a scowl when he returned my bag of items. As I walked down the creaky wooden steps the officer snickered “I was tryin’ to tell you we ain’t got any use for mainland cash, do us both a favor and let me finish next time.” Embarrassed and agitated by how obsolete my savings were in this backwater I simply nodded my head at the officer and dreaded having to return to the Inn and be confronted about my useless money. The officer continued his foggy march through the town showing me the town hall, small woodworking shop, and finally a cramped post office. As both of us exited the building I noticed that the rain that had only been a drizzle earlier was beginning to intensify.
The officer turned to me and said “That’s it for the important places here. Now if you want me to show you a good place to see the beauty of this here island, we can make it there and back before the rain gets too heavy if you wanna take a gander.” Not caring about either the rain or how much time it took I agreed to follow him once more. As usual, he began marching up the cobbled streets, but when we reached the end of the road he didn’t break stride for a moment despite the unruly grass and bumpy terrain. We eventually reached and traversed an outlandishly symmetrical plateau. The top of the highland was shaped like a hexagon. When I averted my gaze from the odd highland I was greeted with the serene sight of the watery center of the atoll and the distant curve of the rest of the island. As both of us gazed in silence I made out what looked to be a protruding rock face with a dark yawning maw. As I looked closer I could see what looked like a line of figures filing into the mouth of the cavern. My trance was cut short by the policeman nudging me and pointing to the center of the band “That water there goes down deeper than any man could ever go. Locals go out and catch fish there, folk say that the deeper you go the bigger the catch.” The man then mumbled something to himself that was near indecipherable from what I heard it sounded like he mentioned something called “The Deep Sleeper”. He then turned to me as if he had said nothing at all and yapped “Whelp! We best get back ‘afore the storm gets nasty.”
On the way back through town the officer did not march confidently as he had previously, he continuously turned his head to look at me until we reached the Inn as if he were looking at my expression to determine whether or not I had heard his preceding utterance. “Hope you had a hoot on the tour! Come by the town hall if anything’s troubling you. The locals may not acknowledge you, but just know I’m here night r’ day if need be.” he insisted. “Thank you officer…” “Name’s Tate, just give me a holler if you need anythin’” he jovially repeated. As Officer Tate departed, he resumed his austere march, not once looking back or breaking his stride until he disappeared from my sight. My body fluttered as I left the cold streets and entered the toasty lobby. Instead of a vacant front desk, Ida was reading quietly at the end of the room. I strode to the desk to apologize for using outmoded currency, but instead of anger, the senior matriarch gave a warm smile and politely said “The locals may use those stupid scales, but I still use mainland currency because that barge not only brings patrons but supplies to keep my Inn in the sterling condition it’s in now. You don’t need to worry about those gross scales here young man.” Relief washed over me as I thanked her profusely as I lumbered up the stairs with my groceries.
When I finally locked my room door I was ready to sleep sometime in this dingy town away. Soon after I killed the lights I was enveloped in the thick curtain of sleep. I was awoken this time not by a nightmare, but by the sound of a door being continuously pounded on. At first, I groggily wrapped my pillow around my ears, but the pounding didn’t stop so I shifted out of bed and into my shoes. The blows were growing in intensity to the point where I believed that the entire door would break. As I cleaned out my sleepy eyes I listened for the sound of Ida, hoping that she would rebuke the antagonist, but the beating continued uninterrupted. Now irritated with being awoken by some instigator I swung my door open to catch the aggressor by surprise, but there was not a person in sight. I paced the length of the hall and every door was locked and the hall was barren of life. The more I thought about the situation the more irate I became, I stormed back into my room closing the door and went to sit on my bed, but as soon as my door was shut the pounding came back in full force, but this time the sound had switched locations. The unit next to me was shaking with the thundering boom from the sheer force of the blows. My body began to tense in anger as I whirled around to my door and again threw it open to find no life or unlocked doors. Thoroughly enraged, I walked to the sink to cool down. As I was splashing water on my face my blood began to boil as the booming sound was now coming from my door. I slowly crept to the threshold readying myself for a possible fight with some punk, but before I opened the door I decided to look through the peephole. However, as I focused my eye I could only see pitch blackness as if the hole were being covered, so I threw the door open with more force than I’ve ever mustered only to be greeted with cold murky darkness.
My stomach felt like a deflating balloon as I recognized the echoing drips of water hitting the cavern floor. I held my breath waiting for the same depraved creature to begin its horrid patrol, but the creature did not come. My eyes soon adjusted to the darkness enough that I could see outlines of the cold stone bulwark, as I felt my way along the icy walls my foot kicked a small metal object. I slowly moved down to pick up what I had kicked, the object was a metal cylinder with a small rubber button on one end “A flashlight!” my brain exclaimed. With the click of a button, the dingy cave was bathed in a radiant glow. The cave was adjoined to what seemed to be my Inn room, out of curiosity I pulled the curtains in the room and was met with cold stone on the other side of the double window. Dejected, I scanned the cave for any sign of an opening. As I walked out of the room, I spotted a small dried bloodstain nearly two meters from a small stalagmite. There was no explanation other than the inane theory that not only are my nightmares connected but that these bizarre occurrences are in some way rooted in reality. The very thought made my brain begin to pirouette in blighting befuddlement, I could not stand to come to terms with such an absurd reality lest I lose my mind. As my flashlight shone on a far wall, I could see an exit from this godforsaken room, but as I approached the outlet I noticed the frame of the exit had chiseled petroglyphs of three heads. There were two heads on each support of the exit; at the lowest point was a glyph of a man, above him was a glyph of the pale oddity I encountered the night before, but at the top of the frame held by the beams was a carving of a giant beast with tendrils preceding its mouth and a cephalopod shaped head. The very sight of the squid-like beast chilled my very bones causing me to shudder like an abject recreant, but as promptly as I averted my eyes the feeling subsided.
I recommenced my trek through the dank tunnels discerning only the sounds of rocks I dislocated ricocheting off the floor, every few minutes I’d hear mortified screams echo off the ceiling for it only to be met with primal bellowing and eventual silence, and the ever-rhythmic oozing of freezing water from all directions. The dreary grotto seemed to impede the constancy of time itself as I found myself endlessly wandering through dead end after dead end, destroyed refuge after destroyed refuge. I began to wonder as more and more unknown amounts of time passed what about eating and drinking? I had to have been in the hole for more than 6 hours, but I never felt the sharp pang of hunger, the slow parching of dehydration, nor the burn of muscle fatigue. After plenty of trial and error, I came to a fork in the path, as I looked to the right my gag reflex triggered as I heard gut-wrenching screams for mercy followed by frenzied wailing saw the floor was caked with dry blood and littered with bones from all parts of the human body and with one cursory smell I was inundated with the stench of decay. The path to the left was clear of any debris, and I could see a dim light illuminate the cave wall farther down the path. As I walked down the path I could feel frigid goosebumps radiate from my neck to my toes, my very eupnea felt like ice in my lungs, and yet my breath remained unseen. When I came near the light on the cave wall I peered my head around the corner only to see a stone brazier lit with a flame as blue as the depths of the sea itself. The flame burnt endlessly without tinder or fuel of any kind, I tried to warm myself with this fire, but as I drew nearer my blood grew colder and my body quivered more fiercely. I was astonished by this simple defiance of my fickle reality.
I kept walking the path, distancing myself from each brazier as much as possible, but after passing the fifth brazier I could hear distant voices echoing off the walls, but I couldn’t decipher the muted murmurs that reverberated from wall to wall. As I grew closer to the voices I desperately wished to call for help, but those thoughts were admonished with the searing reminiscence of the path I repudiated. Would I be dismembered and picked clean if I so much as alerted one of the inhabitants? I wasn’t going to take that incurable risk, as I drew closer to the speaking figures, I could clearly hear what they said, but they spoke in a guttural consonant laden tongue that was not the least bit decipherable. I peered around the corner to see two men in black tattered cloaks standing on either side of one of the braziers chanting continuously. I watched curiously as the men looked to be in a trance of some sort, but the men suddenly rolled up their sleeves to reveal countless laceration scars some healed, others infected, and some fresh. As I was gawking at their many skin carvings both men unsheathed otherworldly daggers that measured about 20 centimeters, my stomach tensed as I watched them dig the blades into their wrists and hew down to their elbows. The men didn’t cry out in pain or even grimace as they tilted their lacerated arms into the bowl of the brazier, and as their blood cascaded into the bowl the men continued their chants. Suddenly the fire in the bowl changed into water but still moved as if it were scorching flame. The men then submerged their lacerated arms into the water and affixed their forearms, after doing this the men started to cry out in ecstasy. Following this, the men removed their arms from the bowl and began to stumble about with their eyes rolled back in unmitigated euphoria. In mere seconds the men were slouched against the wall, made comatose by otherworldly bliss. As the second man closed his eyes I crept past, warily navigating the twisting stone tunnels I stumbled across scores of hooded figures who took part in the same macabre ceremony all splayed on the floor arms still spurting sticky pools of blood.
After the twentieth duo of masochistic freaks, I stumbled upon a massive clearing adorned with stone statues of the hideous winged cephalopod deity fraught with hooded figures, each was wearing wooden ceremonial masks fashioned to please the grotesque cephalopod creature. These cultists knelt around an ominous black obelisk that was pulsating gleaming energy seemingly due to their worship. Looking beyond the cultists I could see mighty pillars of white-hot lightning mirroring off the water’s surface that flowed from the center of the atoll, I’d have to cross the entire stone mezzanine and exit down a slab of stairs. As I began navigating my way toward the back of the cave, I grimaced at the mere audition of these chanting to their god in unholy unison. As I crossed the mezzanine directly behind the cultists, I noticed that this sect of mutants were the same humanoid beasts from my previous calamity, none of the figures wore shoes and their feet were also densely webbed. I knew I had to move quickly and carefully if I wanted to keep my skin as I approached the top of the staircase, I took a deep breath and began to surge down the stairs. I made it nearly halfway down before I heard a gut-wrenching wail coming from the depraved mutants below. I began to descend faster as most of the masked mutants didn’t move a muscle, but those who did began howling like tortured animals toward me. As soon as I hit the last stair I broke into a sprint for the mouth of the cave, but as I darted past the depraved creatures, I felt the ground begin to rattle and fissure, while the walls and ceilings begin to collapse upon. There was no time to waste in escaping from the depraved followers, I could hear their psychotic babbling as if they were close enough for a ride on my back. I felt the adrenaline numbing my every stride as I reached the edge of the cave’s gaping aperture and dove into the cloudy waves.
Never had such cold and bemired water felt so liberating or invigorating, but even as I fled I could feel tremors rattling the very depths of the island. I slowly clambered out of the water to try and gather my bearings, but as I glanced upward I saw portentous black clouds fiercely merging into a whirling waterspout over the atoll’s center. The very earth beneath me rifted into fragments of dust infertile dust, cragged walls of lighting were hurled from the sky to destroy the wildlife, and in the distance, a tidal wave the size of the island came raging toward the island. As I lay in the grass I gazed at the waterspout, but as time passed the waterspout went from gargantuan to dwarf. But as the waterspout halted I witnessed a bulbous mass of gray flesh begin to rise from the water, I could feel an icy chill in each of my atoms as I watched the protracted tendrils rise from the murky depths. The cephalopod horror seemed disappointed that he had been freed to erase such a pathetic race of shallow mortals, and yet when its blistering red gaze met mine my lucid psyche howled in sanity searing anguish as I beheld The Deep One reclaiming its celestial cathedra as the harbinger, the lone horseman of mind-bending Armageddon. As the tidal wave drew fatally close to the island I took a deep breath of salty ocean air and closed my eyes accepting my fate. Just as I heard the wave make landfall I jolted awake and gasping for air in a deluge of my own sweat.