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ID: Ybars1bO/qst/6253377#6257361
6/13/2025, 12:36:40 AM
>>6257359
On the other hand, 6 hours of rest- that's a bit under the endurance of an E-2. If you sent one out as your very last sortie and had it fly a max-endurance profile, it could provide early warning throughout the night.
“… What can I do, then?”
“You can keep a helo or two up, so long they're not doing anything complicated, and put a few fighters on Ready 15, the same as you normally would in a war zone,” Raleigh says. “And remember you’re not alone out there.”
You take a deep breath. “Okay, sleep. What’s next?”
“This one isn’t bad, per se: you don’t need to eat, not yet, so don’t worry about it until you’re at least aboard the Mustin or Higgins.”
You recall your captain-fairy’s words from earlier. “Do we resupply by eating?”
“Very slowly. Some higher-up or other decided it would be amusing to call it organic replenishment, or ORGANREP. We’ll talk more about it once you’re off the water. Though that does bring me to the next point, resupply. Given how much a supercarrier like you holds I doubt you’ll need it, but I’m afraid our options for resupply are pretty limited; anything that isn’t aboard one of the destroyer girls we’re sending your way will have to come by air.”
“That’s more or less what I anticipated,” you say. But you aren’t concerned. It’s not for nothing supercarriers like you routinely out-displace your strike groups by a factor of two - you’re built to produce 160 strike sorties a day for two full weeks and have all the depth of magazine and fuel reserves to prove it. And now you know that your weapons are more than adequate to render a direct confrontation with these Abyssals a one-sided slaughter, even when outnumbered… when you’re able to get your planes into the fight in time, that is. “What’s next?”
Raleigh consults her papers again. “Your crew. You may have noticed you have one by now?”
“I, uh, have, yes,” you say, thinking about the thousands of little creatures within. “What… are they?”
“Fairies,” Raleigh says. “That’s what everyone calls them, and honestly that’s the best I can give you. If you find the real answer, publish it, you’ll probably win a Nobel Prize or something. As to how they work, trust that they know their shit, but not to be independent - particularly very clever ant drones is how they’re usually described.
On the other hand, 6 hours of rest- that's a bit under the endurance of an E-2. If you sent one out as your very last sortie and had it fly a max-endurance profile, it could provide early warning throughout the night.
“… What can I do, then?”
“You can keep a helo or two up, so long they're not doing anything complicated, and put a few fighters on Ready 15, the same as you normally would in a war zone,” Raleigh says. “And remember you’re not alone out there.”
You take a deep breath. “Okay, sleep. What’s next?”
“This one isn’t bad, per se: you don’t need to eat, not yet, so don’t worry about it until you’re at least aboard the Mustin or Higgins.”
You recall your captain-fairy’s words from earlier. “Do we resupply by eating?”
“Very slowly. Some higher-up or other decided it would be amusing to call it organic replenishment, or ORGANREP. We’ll talk more about it once you’re off the water. Though that does bring me to the next point, resupply. Given how much a supercarrier like you holds I doubt you’ll need it, but I’m afraid our options for resupply are pretty limited; anything that isn’t aboard one of the destroyer girls we’re sending your way will have to come by air.”
“That’s more or less what I anticipated,” you say. But you aren’t concerned. It’s not for nothing supercarriers like you routinely out-displace your strike groups by a factor of two - you’re built to produce 160 strike sorties a day for two full weeks and have all the depth of magazine and fuel reserves to prove it. And now you know that your weapons are more than adequate to render a direct confrontation with these Abyssals a one-sided slaughter, even when outnumbered… when you’re able to get your planes into the fight in time, that is. “What’s next?”
Raleigh consults her papers again. “Your crew. You may have noticed you have one by now?”
“I, uh, have, yes,” you say, thinking about the thousands of little creatures within. “What… are they?”
“Fairies,” Raleigh says. “That’s what everyone calls them, and honestly that’s the best I can give you. If you find the real answer, publish it, you’ll probably win a Nobel Prize or something. As to how they work, trust that they know their shit, but not to be independent - particularly very clever ant drones is how they’re usually described.
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