Just had to get this out of my system...
Ping... p2
It took hours before Albacore was certain she was alone. The low droning hum of the Sendai-class's turbine had remained long after the loud bustle of human sailors had filed out of… of whatever the hell this building was. Albacore could
feel the light cruiser searching, she could sense her eyes panning across the gloomy water for any hint of a submarine hull.
The Submarine was just glad whatever insane Jap architect built this structure had decided to light it with candles instead of floodlights. The water couldn't be much more than twenty feet deep, and it was clear as crystal. Even a Jap couldn't miss the submerged shadow of her hull though
that.
But finally, even the patient hum of Japanese turbines faded to nothing, and Albacore was left with nothing but the sound of gentle eddies washing against her skin. She glanced at her watch, squinting at the dimly-glowing radium numerals though the dark, clear water. She'd lost contact with the cruiser a solid forty-five minutes ago, and her last track had the cruiser steaming out of the building.
Albacore flipped her watch's anti-glare cover back on, and angled herself for the surface. A few strong kicks sent her on the way to periscope depth, and she went still as she glided to a stop just below the glass-calm surface.
A quick check with her scope only verified what her hydrophones had already told her. She was absolutely, totally alone.
Albacore swam the last foot or so to the surface, her fauxhawk cutting though the water like her bow used to do, although with considerably less churned-up surf. The submarine swam for the first ladder she saw, her long legs speeding her though the dark water at a solid clip.
She paused as she grabbed hold of the painted-steel ladder, squinting in the gloom at the sign hanging from the top two rungs.
A very clear "NO DIVING" picture was framed by a row of illegible Japanese squiggles on top and much more legible "No diving" lettering in English. Strange. Strange and mildly worrying. The only reason Albacore could think of to put two languages on a sigh like that was occupation. And she couldn't imagine the US every putting their language on the bottom.
The submarine scowled, pulling herself up the ladder one rung at a time as she tried to minimize the sound of water pouring off her swim suited body. Something was very very off here.
But regardless of how many strange things were going on, Albacore was certain she wouldn't find any answers in this… bizarre candle-lit room. She pushed her growing reservations to the back corner of her mind and powered up the ladder and made her way to the first door she saw.
The submarine stopped a few feet short, pressing her slick body against the wall without a sound as she opened her ears. She could hear the wisps of a gentle breeze wafting though streets outside.
Muted conversations—in both Japanese and occasionally English—mingled with the dull sound of rubber-soled boots against concrete. There were people about, but none of them sounded closer than a few dozen yards. With a little luck—something Albacore'd never lacked for—she should be able to slip out unseen.
The submarine was
just about to make a break for open… land when she glimpsed her reflection in the mirror. She was still getting used to being a girl, much less one so…
shapely.
She didn't mind her salt-caked hair, and her stern aquiline features were the very model of a cold, calculating submariner. But her
stern… The
Gato-class's four after torpedo tubes had apparently translated to a very… pronounced stern. One that her tight-fitting swimsuit was cut far to high to properly cover.
Albacore scowled. If she wasn't deep within Jap territory, she
might have considered flaunting what BuShips had so graciously given her. But now wasn't the time… now was the time to act!
The submarine peeked around the corner, making sure no prying eyes were looking in her direction. Then she sprinted though the door, carefully placing her feet to minimize noise as she bolted for the nearest bush.
Neither her skin nor swimsuit were the best camouflage, but in the evening gloom, they worked well enough. Any passers-by would be too blinded by the bright streetlights to spot a lone
Gato lurking in the grass.
For the next hour, Albacore slowly made her way though the base. Her stomach twisting itself about inside her slender waist, and it was all the submarine could do to keep it from letting its displeasure known with a loud growl. She
needed something to eat, and soon.
But she hadn't panicked before, and she wasn't going to start now. She couldn't risk looking for a mess hall, that many sailors in close proximity would spot her no matter how stealthy she tried to be. No, she'd need to find a private home and break in.
At least she was on a Military base. Security might be tight, but it was concentrated at the gates, anyone already inside the base could move about at will. And with such a large military presence keeping the cordon secure, anyone living on base wouldn't have a reason to lock their doors.
That's what the Albacore kept telling herself. That, and fantasizing about warm biscuits and fresh fruit. Anything to keep her aching belly from giving her position away.
Finally, after another hour of slinking about, the girl found her mark. A distinctly American house with a distinctly empty driveway. The lights were on, but with no car parked outside, Albacore figured the owners had to be away. And if they weren't… anyone with such a fancy house this deep in Jap-held territory was either Japanese or working for them. Neither one was particularly dear to her heart.
Getting in proved harder than she'd hoped. The owner—someone by the name of 'Richardson' if the welcome mat was to be believed—had locked all the ground-level doors, and Albacore wasn't brave enough to test her brand-new legs with a climb.
Fortunately, she was a submarine, the red-headed stepchild of the Navy. She and her sisters had earned the reputation of stealing everything even remotely stealable every time they made port. They
had to to fill out their meager handouts from 'proper channels.' And that skill had made Albacore
very practiced in picking locks.
It took her less than a minute to gain entrance, and the submarine instantly angled for what she assumed was the kitchen.
Everything inside looked fancier than anything she'd ever seen. What wasn't brushed steel was polished stone or glistening black plastic. More importantly, there was a refrigerator, its door adorned with dozens of mediocre drawings 'to daddy' lovingly attached with magnets.
Her stomach frantically cramping inside her, Albacore threw caution to the wind and flung open the polished metal door. She basked in the sudden light and
smell of food for all of a second before frantically grabbing for everything her sinewy arms could reach.
She tore open a plastic bag of…she didn't even
know what and gulped down the contents with a greedy pant. She'd barely swallowed when she zeroed in on a bottle of milk. The starving submarine tore off the cap so violently the top half-inch of the bottle came with it, spilling chilly milk all over her feet.
Ablacore was too hungry to care, she raised what was left of the gallon jug to her lips and downed it all in one long swallow. She wiped at her mouth, letting the empty-jug fall to her feet as she scrambled for something else to eat. Her belly had been roused from its forced-hibernation, she needed—
Oh, pizza! The Submarine stacked two species atop one another and shoved the improvised sandwich into her mouth. The cold meat and bread felt better than the finest French cuisine to the famished submarine. She was still hungry, but at least she'd driven off her need for food long enough to claw her way back to rational thought.
"Oh, hello?" a very tiny voice said. She seemed… she wasn't scared, was barely even
surprised.
Albacore froze, instinctively rigging for silent running and trying to
fade into the tile floor. Sadly, crash-diving into the open ocean is a lot less painful than belly-flopping onto wet tile.
"Who are you?" hissed Albacore, rolling onto her back as she struggled to gain situational awareness. She'd been backed into a corner by her own stupidity! She'd been thinking with her belly instead of her brain, and now she was going to pay for it! But she wouldn't go gentle!
"I'm Jane!" said the source of the voice, a smiling little girl—
Caucasian girl—who could only be described as
utterly adorable. The girl offered one hand to the terrified submarine, "You looking for a midnight snack?"
The Submarine slowly nodded.
"Let's make a cake!"
Albacore blinked. "Uh… okay?"
