Approximately 15 miles off the coast of the Isle of Glastov, HMS Invincible, The greatest battleship that has ever been built, is steaming along at 11 knots. The sun is high in the sky, the water blue-green beneath the ship, the sounds of sailors grumbling about this or that punctuated with hearty laughter and jaunty stories. Below decks, the berthings are near silent, shipmates playing poker, reading, or sleeping for later. The engines thrum softly beneath all of that, driving the ship through the water, leaving short trails of smoke. The guns are manned only by the normal skeleton crew to stop fires and unwanted firing. The bridge is relaxed and talking about their most recent patrol in the north sea. The mess deck is being cleaned. All in all, It's peaceful.
One of the lookouts reports to the bridge via sound powered phone. "Air contacts! Bearing 290 relative! My god..." He drops the phone. Those air contacts are carrying torpedoes and bombs.
GENERAL QUARTERS, GENERAL QUARTERS! ALL HANDS MAN BATTLESTATIONS! GENERAL QUARTERS, GENERAL QUARTERS. ALL HANDS MAN BATTLESTATIONS!
You were hanging out in the ship's armory as the new JO in weapons division. The small arms before you are great. Several machine guns of various calibers, weights, and rates of fire, some small cannons, pistols beyond reason, short rifles, and shotguns, plenty of small grenades and ammo to last at least 1 day of brutal close quarters combat, should it come down to it. When the call came to man battlestations, [19] you were more than prepared. You memorized your battlestation: assistant gunnery officer for #3 Turret.
Status: Fine
Location: Armory, 0-01-135
You had just finished patching up some poor shipmate who had broken his hand in an unfortunate altercation with a wall. You knew better, but the "wall" wasn't in bad shape. As you clean up, doc walks in. "Johnson, we've another patient. I'll need your help in the surgery room."
When General Quarters was called [13] You were about as prepared as most others, having been caught a bit off guard. Luckily, you're in the right place as a corpsman.
Status: Fine
Location: Medical 0-2-147
You were tired. Like ridiculously so. Ludicrously even. After a quick shower, you were out like a light when you hit the rack. [2] You do not wake to the sound of General Quarters. God help you.
Status: Asleep
Location: Berthing 0-3-320
After a quick inventory of all the ammo in the aft magazine, you stop to actually just admire the rounds. Massive fuckers those are. 15 inch shells, both armor piercing and high explosive. Jesus H Christ, there's nothing that could possibly survive that kind of shell. [11] When General Quarters sounded, you were as prepared as most others. Your battlestation is in #1 magazine.
Status: Fine
Location: #2 Magazine 3-9-285
As you sit on the bridge and entertain the bridge watchstanders with the tough life questions (and blaze some lower enlisted's QA qual card), the lookout can be heard through the 1XJV1 circuit. He repeats what was written above. A cursory glance outside shows dozens of planes all marked with the crest of Cantolia. They are carrying bombs and torpedoes. Even as this knowledge enters your brain, more planes crest the horizon from over Glastov. [17] Relatively calmly, you pick up the 1MC and give the order to set General Quarters. God help us all.
Status: Fine
Location: Bridge 4-06-100
(I plan on this being a bloodbath. We shall see if it is.)