Changing Destiny (Kancolle)

Magery · Mar 22, 2019

stop

Guardian54 said:
snip

This is not the first time you've brought up or participated in this exact derail before, @Guardian54, to say nothing of your history of derails over a multitude of other topics. The OP has asked you to stop before, has posted WOG before that says this particular derail was going nowhere from the start—which you have previously acknowledged—and yet you have consistently refused to stop. Your behaviour in these posts is exceedingly disruptive to this thread. You have a pattern of behaviour of being exceedingly disruptive to this thread. And you do not appear to have taken any of the several Staff posts directed toward you addressing this pattern of behaviour to heart.

I am forced, therefore, to not only infract you for 25 points under Rule 4 but also ban you permanently from the thread.

Skywalker_T-65 · Mar 27, 2019

Chapter 54

He's...really really nice, isn't he?

Turbine couldn't help but smile, despite herself. She walked alongside her father, through the streets and canals of Venice. If they got odd looks from civilians, she barely noticed. She imagined that a girl like her, walking with an Italian officer and a German Admiral, probably wasn't something that people saw often. It was hard to care. Since, every so often, her eyes would drift over to the German. And snap right back, when his blue gaze turned to her. He knew something. She could tell.

That man knew more about her than he was letting on. Yet, he was nothing but kind to her. He was nothing like the SS officer.

"It's been too long," Schreiber's rough voice tore her from her musings. Turbine chanced a look over at the German, only to see that he wasn't looking at her, but at Venice. "I haven't seen Venice in years. It's nice to see the City in such pristine condition, despite everything else."

Shaking his head, the Admiral turned to look over at Turbine, and not her engineer. His aged face crinkled in a kind smile, as he continued. "Though, I'll admit, it's much better to see you so well, Turbine."

While Turbine flushed and muttered a 'thank you' in a squeaky voice, her father stared at Schreiber with an appraising look. Carlo had been silent for most of the walk, seemingly content to just listen. And watch. Turbine hadn't really noticed that. She would now.

"You're handling this remarkably well." Carlo didn't mince words, either. He jumped right in, staring hard at the Admiral. His lips worked a little over his next words, before he continued, "You don't seem to be bothered at all. What do you know about this?"

Schreiber smiled, and shook his head. "Perhaps I do more know than you. Perhaps I don't, and I'm simply old enough that nothing surprises me anymore. Who really knows."

Turbine blinked, "What are you talking about?"

All she got was a shrug. A shrug pointedly in the direction behind them, where a group of German soldiers followed at a respectful distance. Now, Turbine wasn't young. She may have looked like a teenage girl, sure. By the standards of a warship, especially a destroyer, she was actually quite old. With age, came...not quite wisdom. More the ability to tell when something was off. And if there were visible Germans following them, there were probably ones hiding too. Watching. Listening.

He doesn't want the others to know anything?

Confusion showing on her face now, Turbine absently rubbed at her cheek and the mark under her eye. Why didn't he...?

"I see," Carlo had hit upon the same realization. The Italian didn't so much as look back at the Germans, settling instead for a shrug of his own. "That can wait for later. Is there anything you want to know?"

Schreiber smiled, if only slightly. "Many things, though I'll settle for knowing how the war is progressing down here. Being in Norway doesn't give me much room for finding out how your country is doing, you understand."

"Norway?" Carlo shivered, his scarred visage twisting in obvious distaste. "Who, in their right mind, would go to Norway?"

There was something that she was missing. Wasn't there? Turbine tugged on her father's sleeve, looking up at him with her bright brown eyes. "Where's Norway?"

"Very far north from here, even further than Germany." Schreiber answered with a chuckle, reaching out a hand to pat the destroyer on her head. A move that seemed entirely too familiar, even as Turbine instinctively leaned into it. Why did that feel so good? "It's very..."

"Cold. With a lot of ice and bears," Carlo deadpanned, still shivering despite the warm- salty -Venetian air rushing around them. He pointedly ignored the looks that civilians along the walkways, and in the canals, were giving him. "I wouldn't go there if you ordered me."

While Turbine stared in confusion, Schreiber laughed and it seemed like years came off his shoulders. The man was still bowed down by some unseen weight, it just seemed a little lighter now. If nothing else, if Norway was that bad, being in Venice had to be helping! Turbine may have spent more time in Taranto or Libya, yet, she loved Venice. It was so warm and peaceful here. The chattering crowds that bustled around them, showing no signs of acknowledging the very real war going on. The lack of bomb craters or flames.

The way that everyone just went about their lives in peace.

If nothing else, Turbine would never be able to thank her father enough for this. As uncomfortable as being away from the water made her feel...well. She loved being able to walk and talk with people. If the Germans weren't there, she'd probably be bouncing from store to store, trying out various things. Gossiping like she had done with her sisters.

"I'll be sure to tell the Führer how you feel, when I return to Germany." Schreiber joked, though the man twitched a little when he said that strange German word. Turbine didn't know what 'Führer' meant, though it was probably important?

For his part, the Admiral wasn't clarifying. He just sighed, and looked over at the various crowds.

"Be that as it may, I'm assuming the War isn't going that bad here. I couldn't see something like this in Germany, not with the British bombing us every night."

Picking up on the seriousness of that statement, Carlo stopped his mock shivering. He sighed deeply and raised a hand up to pinch at his nose, instead. "I wouldn't say that. While I've been ashore since Turbine was sunk, I still have friends in the Navy. After Taranto...we aren't beating the Royal Navy, not without the Regia Aeronautica doing more work." The engineer laughed mirthlessly, shaking his head in a mix of annoyance and resignation. "And it's hard enough to keep them from bombing our own ships."

Schreiber nodded along, even as he shifted his legs a little. His footsteps began to move in the direction of a busy street-cafe, the crowd shifting around to allow him his progress. "It's a similar situation in Germany, I'm afraid. Marshal Goering is quite stingy with his precious aircraft."

"Air Forces." Carlo spoke sagely, as if that explained everything.

Turbine just giggled and followed along, as they walked towards the cafe. Bright colors advertised some sort of food she'd never seen before. An absolutely delicious smell radiated out from the building too, overwhelming the smell of the canals. It was enough to make her mouth water and her stomach growl. Loudly. Turbine let out an embarrassed squeak, and looked down at her stomach is if it had betrayed her. The men on either side of her chuckled at her reaction, even while they both escorted her along.

Curious glances came their way, from the workers of the cafe and customers, when the door creaked open. A harried looking man walked over to direct them to seats, and Turbine couldn't tear her eyes away from the food.

There's...there's so much! I never saw food like this before!

Perhaps being a warship had some consequences she hadn't thought of before...

"If you would," Admiral Schreiber spoke in pitch-perfect Italian, when the younger man reached them. "Please give us an empty table, well away from anyone else. I would like some privacy."

"O--of course, sir. Please, right this way."

Turbine was too distracted to notice, of course, but the German Admiral had managed to land them seating well away from anyone else, with all the nearby ones already filled with chattering civilians. Creating enough noise that not a single person could possibly overhear an individual conversation. Especially if the people doing the conversation had no desire to be heard. For all that the food was important, that privacy was even more important.

And while Turbine didn't notice a thing...

...the same couldn't be said for her father figure.

This man is...interesting. Very interesting indeed.

Carlo Lombardi had not reached his age and experience without being observant. He had to keep an eye out for even the smallest of faults in an engine or boiler. He had to constantly watch for any of his crew making mistakes. He knew how to see even the smallest of details. He would never be a spy, of course. However, that was of little importance when it came to identifying someone trying to hide something. Admiral Schreiber was very good at hiding things. Even Carlo had no real idea what it was, that he was hiding. Just that it was something important.

Going into this cafe, where the German escorts and SS spies couldn't hear anything?

"There's something you want to talk about that you don't want them hearing, yes?" Carlo asked, rather bluntly, once they were seated. Turbine was too busy eating food she had never seen before, to notice. "Otherwise, you wouldn't have gone out of your way like this. I noticed what you did, out there."

Schreiber smiled, sardonically. "Yes, I imagine you would have. There are things that my countrymen are unaware of, and I would rather keep it that way." Here, he pushed silverware towards Turbine. Not a wasted movement. "First and foremost, I know quite a lot more about ship spirits than they realize."

Carlo nodded, "I expected to hear that. You're too familiar with Turbine."

"Hmm?" The destroyer looked up, curiosity shining in her brown-eyed gaze. "I noticed that too! You didn't seem to be surprised by me! At all!"

With a small sigh, the German shrugged. He didn't make any move to eat the food that had been left for him, as he continued to stare at Carlo instead. "Suffice to say, I've been familiar with the concept a lot longer than you could know. My old Blücher is much the same as Turbine, here. I might as well be her father."

That last word was directed with a hard stare, at the Italian engineer. Carlo met the stare, a hand creeping over to rest on Turbine's shoulder. Strange as it felt to acknowledge her as his daughter instead of his ship...he couldn't deny it. Turbine was the closest thing to a daughter he would ever have.

"As for keeping my countrymen in the dark? I'm sure you're quite familiar with how the SS views Turbine."

Needless to say, Carlo knew what Schreiber was getting at. He dropped the fork that he had picked up, suddenly sick to his stomach. Turbine looked at him with a concerned expression.

"Father? Are you alright?" Her voice radiated concern and worry. Carlo could only pat her on the head, absently.

"That monster doesn't deserve to be anywhere near Turbine." The Italian didn't mince words. His voice was every bit as cold as he thought Norway to be, and his eyes were hard as flint. "I've seen his eyes. I know exactly what he expects to do with her, and what he wants to do with the rest of our Navy."

Schreiber nodded, sighed, and leaned back in his chair. He placed his hands atop one another, tapping on the table. "You see my position, then. As a man of the Navy, I could never condemn my warships- my daughter -to the SS. That they sent me here, implies one thing. And one thing only."

"They suspect that I know more than I'm letting on."

Those words hung in the air. They answered a question that had been eating at Carlo Lombardy, ever since he had seen Admiral Schreiber for the very first time. Why did the Germans send this man? Even in Italy, the adventures of Bismarck were well known. Perhaps not as famous as in Germany, yet, still known. Why would the Germans willingly take the man who had lead them to such great successes, and send him to Italy over Turbine? They could surely spare an Admiral or two, yes?

If they suspected that Schreiber knew more than he let on...if they thought he could give them their own ship spirits...

I don't want to imagine what could happen. This alliance with Germany is one that I have little trust in. If they can conquer us, would they miss the chance? They already have so many men in our country...

"Why?" Carlo spoke just one word, though it was a loaded question. Why, indeed.

To that, Schreiber could only look at his hands and let out a weary laugh. He shook his head, amusement warring with exhaustion. "Blücher and Bismarck are impulsive girls, as I'm sure you can imagine." Considering what Turbine acted like- and was acting like now, with her cheeks stuffed with fine Venetian dining -Carlo couldn't deny the point. Schreiber knew that. "They have taken my dislike of the SS and made it their own. More often than not, I have to explain away things happening to SS or Gestapo men aboard my vessels. Events that can't be explained, and never happen to the regular Kriegsmarine crew."

Carlo nodded along, "Your superiors are starting to ask questions, now that Turbine has returned."

"Awkward questions that I find increasingly difficult to answer, yes." The German sighed deeply, a twisted smile on his lips. "Amusing it may have been at first, it is dangerous now. I can't protect them forever. Not with everything else."

Once more, Carlo had the feeling that Schreiber was referring to more than just the War. What, exactly, he was talking about? That was harder to say. He certainly couldn't be talking about working with the British or anything like that. Not the man who did so much harm to the Royal Navy. Perhaps he wasn't fond of the Nazis?

Ha. How many people are fond of the Nazis? I don't much like the Fascists, and the Nazis are every excess of Mussolini and then some.

"And that is why you're telling me this, now?" Carlo put that thought away for later, and got back to the point. "To...what? Prepare me for keeping secret how I brought Turbine back?"

Schreiber shook his head, "I don't expect that to happen. That secret will get out at some point, and I doubt we can do anything to stop it. No. What I want to do..."

The Admiral leaned forward, staring Carlo dead in the eyes. Blue cold as ice, and serious as any man had ever been.

"Is prepare for the fall of our governments. We cannot win this war. Even with girls like Turbine, we can't. I want to make sure our nations don't suffer, for the crimes of fools. The best way to do that, is to have our Navies loyal to us. Would I be wrong in assuming that you are loyal to the King, first and foremost?"

Carlo gulped, despite himself. What Schreiber was telling him...did he trust Carlo that much? Just because of how protective he was over Turbine? If the Italian were to tell the SS what he was hearing right now...

No.

Even if I did, they'd just throw me in a cell. An Italian? No German believes us. No German likes us. Schreiber...he's not a normal German.

And so, Carlo Lombardi sucked in a breath, and nodded. "Yes. If it comes down to it, I will follow the King over any orders from Rome."

"Good." Schreiber pulled back, and finally took a bite of his food. A small smile crossed his face, as he reached an arm over and pulled a squeaking Turbine into a side-hug. The Italian destroyer turned bright pink, even though she leaned into the gentle hug. Schreiber just continued eating with his free hand, while speaking between bites. "I do admit, it's been a long time since I had proper Italian food. You could teach the chefs back home quite a few lessons."

Carlo, recognizing what was happening, smirked. "You northerners don't know the first thing about proper cuisine."

"I can hardly dispute that point."

The two of them continued to make mindless conversation, while the words of earlier rang in Carlo's mind...

And now, we set out again. Without our best ships.

Standing atop her bridge, a young woman stared out at Taranto harbor. A dozen transports milled about, taking on the final supplies destined for Tripoli. Balbo and Guderian were ravenous for supplies and it took all Italy and the Regia Marina had- and more -to keep them supplied. This was the largest convoy thus far, and the escort reflected that. All three functional battleships in the Regia Marina were committed, in addition to every cruiser that could be spared. More than a few destroyers and torpedo boats ranged around the formation, preparing to take up their escort duties.

The battleship, standing atop her bridge, barely noticed that. Her attention was drawn to her sister and her...cousin. Caio Duilio and Giulio Cesare. The two battleships were never intended to do this alone. Nor was the battleship herself, really. They should have had the Littorio sisters to help.

Of course, Impero and Roma were incomplete. Littorio and Veneto were either being repaired from Taranto, or working up after those repairs. None of the modern ships would be here.

"Hey, big sis!" Duilio's voice rang over the harbor, from her close-by hull. "Are you ready to get some revenge?!"

A smile crossing her lips, the battleship pushed her brownish-red ponytail from her eyes. "Of course! If the English try that again, they won't know what hit them!"

"That's the spirit!"

Smiling at her sister, the battleship turned her eyes out to sea. Somewhere, out there, the Royal Navy lurked. They had more battleships. They had bigger and more modern battleships. Italy had not come out well, in her battles to-date. Yet...it didn't matter.

She wouldn't lose. She had seen Littorio burn and Cavour nearly roll over. Those memories were burned into her mind.

Andrea Doria was not going to let that happen again. Not if she could do anything about it.

...yeah. Same as last time. Work hates me and I loathe it. I've reset my availability (again) to get me off early enough that I'm not dead on my feet after every shift and have time to myself at night. Though that won't take effect for at least a month. That should work a lot to help me get back into the swing of writing, though. As will moving forward with some stuff I've wanted to do with the Italians for a long time.

We get Andrea Doria back, for that reason, as you can tell. I'll have to get back into her head again

Anyway, I hope everyone enjoyed the chapter, despite the delay. Again. >.>

(I'll also have character art to toss in the post after this one)

Skywalker_T-65 · Mar 27, 2019

First up, we have the resident cute destroyer of the story and of the Italians:

And, as per usual with her, Turbine is a cute.

On the second side of things, the battleship from way back in the story:

I will add more to this post, as needed. Other Italian warships will have original designs. Clearly, Littorio/Roma/Pola/Zara don't count, since they have KC artwork already.

Magery · Apr 7, 2019

official staff communication @Vianca, I remind you of where @Skywalker_T-65 has said before that these sorts of derails are pointless from the very beginning. You should probably pay attention to this in future—by which I mean not start them.

BungieONI · Apr 8, 2019

stop When a mod says stop.

You should stop.

Vianca said:
Sorry about that one, was more thinking on how the SI Admiral might try to prevent some future bad ends for Saratoga and potentially Enterprise.
It is not like the public or most of the military knows or even believes in the existence of shipgirls, so altering certain events would be hard to do.
Added to this is that some of the technological development that could have potentially prevented this, started way to late thanks to several reason, one of them being lack of money to do the needed research.
Then a lack of interest or simply not yet thought up yet.

That was my the core of my thought behind it, what for butterflies could prevent those ending from happening.
Realising it needed to be several things stacked together to even make a change, at all.

I will admit Admiral SI is probably more focussed on the more direct future, like making sure Saratoga still exist next week or so.
I guess that the SI admiral just hasn't had the time to really think long term, yet.
Then ad the mind fog slowely starting to hide the future memories of events, thanks to the butterfly effect or something like it... (not remembering how Saratoga or Enterprise had their ends, could.....)
Wonder how boared(?) he will be by his forced bed-rest, though or how long it will be.
Well, atleast the few shipgirls that exist already, will help with this all, if it doesn't start a faith war in the shadows, that is.
People are people, after all.

Part of me is just wondering how many things the SI Admiral will be documenting in terms of technological concepts, but never ever showing this to anybody, for various reasons.
Then years or even decades later, somebody finding this, when everything has been developed naturally as it has in our own world.
Could such a thing be used for a omake or a afterword portion, by change?
Guess only time can tell that one.

I will (try) not (to) bring it up in the future.
Honestly, can we get some prove this future event knowledge based mind fog is also clouding future tech development knowledge?
Would make things simpler, you know.

So back to the last chapter, Admiral SI is out of it for now.
What does thin mean for him and Saratoga?
How long will they both be out of action, for one and could it potentially have unwanted after effects, like say his recovery time being too long and thus getting assigned to some other ship or so?
Or did something like this actually happen to Saratoga, for real???
If so, what did happen, then?

That does not mean try to continue it by explaining it differently @Vianca. You're getting a three-day thread ban and 25 points under rule 4 and rule 5 for being disruptive and not following a mod decision.

Everyone else please have a nice day.

Skywalker_T-65 · May 7, 2019

Side Story: Memories of the Great War

"No sign of the Italians. Cowards."

To HMS Queen Elizabeth, the Mediterranean was as familiar as breathing. The warm waters and calm Sea was more familiar than the North Sea that her family operated in. Fighting in this Sea was, if anything, even more familiar. Her very first battles had been fought here. Against the Turks, in the Great War. Then, the Italians had been allies. She may well have sailed with them against the Austrians, if the cowards had ever bothered to properly sortie.

Now, the Italians were her enemy and she was sailing against them. Against ships that may, once, have been friends. Ships as old and heavily rebuilt as she was. The Italians didn't have any of their modern battleships in the fight, from what she knew. With Bismarck and the other Germans up in Norway, none of her modern cousins were around either. If they found the Italians, this would be a fight between old ships. Her, Barham and Valiant against three or so smaller Italian dreadnoughts.

It's like Jutland all over again. At least that idiot Beatty isn't in charge this time.

It went without saying that she also didn't have the entire Grand Fleet ranged behind her, either.

"Any idea where they are, sis?" Barham's smooth voice, silk upon her ears, echoed in Elizabeth's head. Whomever had come up with this system of talking to each other was a madman. A genius, but a madman. "I can't see a thing out here."

Ah, of course. She didn't get the same refits as herself and Valiant.

"I can't see anything, Barham. Not a damn thing." Elizabeth was always more foul-mouthed than her sister. Back when the Grand Fleet was around, the battlecruisers liked to say it was because she was a redhead and took after her namesake. 'Queen Liz' never quite understood that. "Bloody Italians are a bunch of cowards."

"Come now, sister, isn't that a bit harsh?" Valiant's coarse tone was nothing like Barham, and much more like Elizabeth herself. "We may be enemies now...but they were allies once. Just as the French were."

That got a wince from Barham, audible even over this distance. And a scoff from Elizabeth. The French were a bunch of cowards too. Even the bloody Dutch were more willing to fight on than the French, and their entire country was occupied. So did the Belgians and the Polish and the Norwegians. The French? Oh no, let's surrender and let our fleet sit where the Germans can get it! Brilliant!

I wish I'd been in Barham's place. I would have shown that Frenchie what for!

"I'm not as eager to get into a fight as you are, sis." Speaking of which, Barham's silky voice rang out again. The least-modernized battleship in their little squadron, she sat at the rear of the formation. Her old bridge distinctive in the thin morning sunlight. "Remember what happened at Jutland? Or what happened to Revenge? Do you really want to risk that happening again?"

Elizabeth had the grace to at least look away. A hand rose up to brush at her long red hair, idly flipping a lock away from her ice-blue eyes. Her long dress shifted with the movement, blowing in the wind. If anyone could see her, they'd see someone who wore the air of a proper Queen, even if lacking a crown. The dark fabric of her dress contrasted sharply with her pale skin and red hair, her high- aristocratic -cheeks narrowed in a frown.

"I remember Jutland."

She didn't need to say anything else. She had missed that battle. Her sisters? They'd come home in varying degrees of pain. Elizabeth had been utterly frantic with worry, looking over Warspite. Her little sister still didn't quite walk right, all these years later. She never wanted to see her sisters come home like that again. She certainly didn't want it to happen when she wasn't in a place to help them, like Jutland.

Even so. Even so.

"I also remember Gallipoli. You know what happened there, yeah?" Elizabeth turned her ice-cold eyes over on Barham and Valiant. Her sisters were silent. "If we just let the Italians go, it's just as bad as that was. Do either of you want Guderian in Egypt?"

"...you aren't wrong, sister." Valiant sighed heavily. In the distance, a light flashed atop her mast. A signal. "Still, I find no joy in fighting former allies."

"I don't want you getting hurt, that's all." Barham was, if nothing else, always completely honest. She couldn't lie if she tried. "Do we even know that the new ships aren't there?"

It was impossible to know that, for sure. Every indication was that the Littorios weren't around. It was only the old battleships. A right battle of the geriatrics, really. Elizabeth couldn't help but snort at the thought. She wasn't worried like Barham was. This was going to be an old-fashioned brawl right out of the Great War, wasn't it? Something she had missed because of a refit.

She wouldn't miss it again.

"Should only be those old dreadnoughts. And they're not a threat. You know what Warspite did to Cesare, right?" Elizabeth felt a rush of pride for her sister, when she thought about it. Warspite had landed a hit at a range no other battleship could even come close to. Her little sister was a crack shot, she was! "'sides, those old guns aren't even close to our own."

"...the Germans had smaller guns too, you know." Barham's voice was quiet and filled with old pain.

Elizabeth fought the sudden urge to hug her sister, and settled instead for scoffing. No need to show any worry. "Bah! The Germans knew what to do with their ships. The Italians can't find their way out to sea without help. I'm not worried! They can't hit the broadside of a barn, and even if they could, their guns are weak."

"I hope that you're correct, sister, because I have little desire to repeat Jutland." Valiant gave off the impression of a shrug over their little communication link. And the impression of stiffening in place. "Radar is picking something up. We don't have any other ships out here, correct?"

"Not that I know of. Do you think...?" Barham was instantly all business. Whatever doubts she may have held buried deep under a veneer of experience and professionalism. She was a veteran.

"Most likely. Sister?" Directing that question at Elizabeth, Valiant's signals officers were sending similar messages to the flagship's own crew.

For her part? Elizabeth wore a wide grin on her pale face. This was her chance to shine. She had missed Jutland. She hadn't been used properly at Gallipoli. She was the flagship. The lead ship of her class. She'd never properly seen combat.

It was time to change that, yeah?

"Come on sisters, let's go show the Italians what the Royal Navy can do." Her voice dropped an octave, smoke pouring from her stack. Elizabeth brushed lingering red hair from her face, baring her teeth in a smirk. "They won't know what hit them. You two fought at Jutland, and I'm the big sister. I don't think they have any chance, do you?"

"I certainly know they aren't as experienced." Valiant was serious as ever.

Barham was silent, before sighing. Her smooth voice much less sure, though still filled with the steel of a battleship. "We're right behind you, sis. Don't do anything reckless."

"Bah! I'm not a young idiot like Wales. I won't do anything stupid, you know that!"

Even so, Elizabeth couldn't hold back her excitement at finally getting to put her guns to their proper job. Who cared about shooting up some unfortunate shoreline. This was what she was built for!

And she wasn't going to fail.

Initially, I wanted to put this as part of the proper chapter. Then I looked at the pacing, and the fact I struggle enough with big combat sequences as is. So I decided, instead, to make this a side story. To introduce the Royal Navy side of the battle.

Liz is...yeah.

Barham clearly wasn't sunk, since her sinking was around when the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor in this timeline (November 1941, OTL). Clearly, well past the point of butterflies. She's probably the most cautious of her sisters, in light of her experiences.

Valiant is the serious sister.

Next, we'll actually have the battle. I don't need to do something similar for Doria, clearly, since she got that with Taranto. Hopefully it won't take as long to get that up >.>

Skywalker_T-65 · Jul 11, 2019

Prelude to Battle: Regia Marina

There were times, if rarely, that Andrea Doria wished Italy and Britain were still allies. Not out of any fear of fighting the British, or any particular love for them. After Taranto, she had nothing but disdain for the Royal Navy. The only regret she had, was that it prevented sharing their technology. She'd heard that the British had something called 'radar' from her Admiral and Captain. They didn't seem to know exactly what it was either, just that the Regia Marina saved whatever they had for the more modern warships. And that it let the British see them, before she could see them. Not a fun feeling.

Doria was used to it by now, though. It isn't like this is anything new...

Brushing her ponytail from her face, the Italian stared out at the calm seas. Her brown eyes scanning the horizon. She...couldn't see anything. Only her own fleet, nothing more. It couldn't possibly be that easy, could it? Where were the British planes? Their ships? There was no way they would just let the transports through. The British always knew when they ran convoys.

"Where are they?" Doria mused aloud, her voice carrying over the steady wind. She frowned lightly, turning and walking towards her lookout. The man, high in her spotting top, didn't reply. "Sometimes, I really wish that everyone could hear me. Ugh."

She didn't hesitate to walk right through the man. He shuddered in place...she didn't feel a thing. No, Doria never did. Not anymore. She was too focused on staring out in a different direction. It would be a lie to say she wasn't eager for battle. She was a battleship. It was in her bones. And she'd never, not once, actually fought. It was a strange situation to be in.

Then again, at least I'm not Cesare. She's got a score to settle.

"Hey, Cesare!" Doria, in fact, turned her head towards that battleship. Cesare was very distinctive, with her older modernization. "You ready to hit that English battleship again?"

There was silence at first, before a soft snort came back. Doria got the impression of her cousin shrugging her shoulders. "Ready? Yes. Eager? Not particularly. I'd rather we didn't have to fight at all, at least until we've got the convoy into port."

"Aww. Come on, Cesare, where's your spine?" Doria was mostly just ribbing the other girl. She didn't really think that she was a coward.

"I want to get back at her. I just don't relish the idea of having to tie ourselves to the convoy." Once again, there was the impression of a shrug. "Our refits gave us speed, after all. I want to be able to use it."

"...you raise a good point."

Really, she did. Doria's eyes drifted away from Cesare, and towards the distant merchants. This wasn't a fleet battle, it was an escort mission. They couldn't just break off from the convoy entirely, and expect the British not to take advantage. That took away their advantage of speed. Which, she reflected, was the main advantage they had in the first place. She could feel her boilers practically itching to be let loose...and couldn't do anything about it. Well, damnit.

"I just want to get back at the English," sighing deeply, the battleship turned back to her cousin. "Taranto was the worst night of my life, and we've had no chance to fight back. Repay them for that."

Silence greeted her. A silence drawn out juuuuusssttt long enough to worry her, looking at Cesare. Until, with a heavy sigh of her own, the battleship responded.

"Yes. I am aware." Her voice was clipped and formal. Dry and dead. "My sister is never sailing again."

Oops?

Doria didn't reply to that. She couldn't reply to that. Cesare was silent, and the brunette was inclined to let her be. That was a trauma that she would rather not pick at, considering the situation. Her own sister was alive and well. Cesare...Cesare had lost both of her sisters. Leo was long dead, and was never going to come back. Cavour was floating in Trieste, languishing for lack of materials. If she ever sailed again, it wouldn't be for years. There was every chance that Cesare would die before then. Doria couldn't possibly understand that feeling.

She didn't want to understand it. Never.

"So," instead, she turned her gaze towards her distant sibling. Caio had been studiously silent the entire conversation, not wanting to get involved. She always was like that. "What do you think the British are up to, little sister?"

With a puff of smoke from her stack, Caio stiffened in place. Doria had the impression of vivid blue eyes glaring at her. "Oh no, don't drag me into this, sis. I'm not helping you!"

"Who said anything about helping me?" Doria snorted, holding a hand over her mouth to cover her laughter. Oh dear. "I'm just wondering if you've seen anything."

Caio sniffled a bit, before replying. "No, I haven't. I think they don't know where we are, personally. Wouldn't they have attacked us if they did?"

A valid point, to be sure. Doria had thought much the same, at first. There was something though. Something tingling at her as wrong about the situation. Turbine. She, and so many others, had been caught flat-footed. It was like the British always knew when and where a convoy would be.

"I'm more concerned about how they always know where we are."

"Are you sure you aren't worrying too much, sis?" Caio didn't have the experience, really. Even what little Doria had...was far more than her inexperienced sister.

With her eyes once more drifting away, Doria bit her lip. "I hope I am. I want to fight the British, but not on their terms."

Gaze finally settling on the distant shape of Zara, the battleship shook her head. If anyone would see the British first, it would be one of the cruisers. They were the eyes of the fleet. They were the ones who would fight first. She could only hope that they saw the British...before the British saw them.

Admiral Carlo Cattaneo stood on Zara's bridge, his eyes behind binoculars. He was scanning the horizon, a job for the lookout, out of a sense of duty. He was the squadron commander of the Second Division. He would, probably, be the first to fight. Keeping a lid on his Captains was difficult enough as it was, and he wanted to be ready when the British showed up. For that, he needed to know as soon as they were sighted. Thus, binoculars. He would know as soon as the lookout did. Or, so he hoped, at least. It was anyone's guess.

"Admiral, you do realize there is no sign of the British, yes?"

Zara's Captain was by his side, as he should have been. The two men were given a respectful distance by the rest of the crew, as they went about their duties. Zara, herself, steamed at the front of her division. Pola and Fiume were in-line behind her, with destroyers ranged around the flanks. Even further out, torpedo boats kept a wary eye on the horizon. It was a while yet, before the Regia Aeronautica provided their promised air cover. Until then, it was up to lookouts aboard the ships to find any enemy.

It was like the Great War, in a way.

"Perhaps," Cattaneo acknowledged, without removing his eyes from the binoculars. He looked towards smoke in the distance, that marked the furthest ranging Italian ships. "I don't expect that to last. Do you?"

The Captain chuckled, "Of course not. The English never miss the chance to attack a convoy."

"Exactly."

Moving his gaze further afield, the Admiral frowned slightly. In the distance, smoke rose on the horizon that was not where it should have been. He couldn't see much else, even in the bright sunlight he was provided with. That smoke, though...

"Captain?" Holding out the binoculars, Cattaneo stared at his subordinate. "Does this look out of place to you? I believe it is."

Raising an eyebrow, the younger man took the binoculars and scanned the horizon himself. It took only a matter of seconds for him to notice what was being pointed out. Even less time to lower the binoculars, and stare at the Admiral. Both men knew what they were seeing. Something only confirmed, when the lookout and contact from other vessels reported the same situation.

"British warships, approaching from the west!"

Cattaneo nodded his head, absorbing the information. Here they come. How many and what they have...if they have battleships, this could be a problem.

"Continue observing the British!" Zara's Captain was quick to command his crew, stepping aside and allowing the Admiral to move past him. "Prepare for combat! The English won't get to the Convoy. Not by getting past us!"

Walking towards the radio, Cattaneo allowed his subordinate to do his job. It was not his place to command Zara. He was the commander of the Second Division. The eyes of the fleet and the escort for the escorts. He needed to do two things, and neither of them were fighting the ship.

"Andrea Doria," Cattaneo spoke without preamble, his eyes noting how the smoke on the horizon grew thicker. The British had certainly seen him as much as he had seen them. "Second Division reports contact with Royal Navy warships. Count currently unknown, however--"

As he spoke, a report was handed to him by a harried young man. Nodding absently, the Admiral read it over. Hm.

"--two Battleships are seen in concert with the enemy fleet. Possible identification on a third. All appear to be Queen Elizabeth-class. Do you read?"

With a crackle of static, the communications officer aboard Doria was quick to respond. "We copy, Zara. Orders are to engage screening forces at your discretion. Destroyers and torpedo craft are to pull back until such a time as a gap has been created in the British line. Andrea Doria, Caio Dulio and Giulio Cesare are moving to provide support. Over."

"Copy, Andrea Doria."

With a nod at the man controlling the radio, Cattaneo changed channels. He was now connected to his direct command. Pola and Fiume. The destroyer leaders further out, only under his general command, their own officers largely operating on their own initiative.

"Orders from command are as follows..."

While Cattaneo gave out his orders, and the fleet began to coalesce into a proper fighting formation, a young woman stood beside him. Violet eyes looked at the Admiral, and at the crew rushing around. She bit her lip, her hands firmly placed on the medium-length skirt gracing her hips. Blonde hair fell in front of her face, covering her expression, even were anyone able to see it.

She was ready to fight. She wasn't sure that her sisters were. Or that this battle would go in their favor. She worried, more than anyone. It was in her nature as a big sister and flotilla leader. It wouldn't stop her from fighting with everything she had, when it came down to it.

For she was Zara of the Regia Marina, and she would never, ever turn away from her duty.

I would apologize for the lengthy hiatus...but at this point, I have to do that almost every time I update. I don't know how much words mean at this point >.>

Now that I'm out of Walmart, I should be able to write more often. This is still priority one. I just...hm. Destiny takes a lot more out of me than my other fics, because of how much I juggle and research for each chapter. In addition to this, battles are the bane of my existence. I'm much more comfortable with character work and (ironically) politicking than I am with battles. That's why I, once again, just do a prelude to it.

In the end, I don't like writing more than 3k or so for a chapter. This would be 5-6k if I wrote even half of the battle I've had percolating for months. I...considering time and how long it's been, I wanted to get something out before I work again. I work at a theater now. Which is normally much easier and less stressful...but Lion King comes out next week. Yeah.

So I, in the end, am putting this up as a counterpart to the Liz bit. Zara will be properly introduced next chapter. Expect some differences from KC!Zara since I tend towards doing my own thing. Pola will be much more different when she crops up too.

I hope to get the next one up quickly. Hope.

Skywalker_T-65 · Sep 16, 2019

Around the world, birthdays are celebrated in many different ways. A traditional celebration in Central Africa would be unrecognizable to a French family in Paris. Similarly, a Japanese celebration would be quite different from one in Argentina. For all the differences, though, there are certain similarities. Almost every culture on the planet has some sort of celebration of birth. The importance and specifics change, yet, the core remains. A celebration of life and all its challenges. Of love and companionship. Of family and friendship.

Even warships, built for combat before anything else, can see the appeal.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

"Is this...?"

Saratoga was many things. Loyal to a fault, a bit of a motherly figure, and someone quite used to her Admiral's many quirks. One of the first things she had thought she was used to, was his tendency to treat her as if she was human. She wasn't, not really, though the gesture was always appreciated. For all that her soul was human, her body wasn't, and a lot of expectations came from that. Expectations that she'd be treated as a warship first and foremost, for instance. That her Admiral treated her as human was almost expected, since he knew a version of her from the future. That her crew followed suit never ceased to surprise her. She'd not encountered one person who didn't treat her as 'Sister Sara'.

And yet, even with all of that, she hadn't quite expected this.

"Well, I figured that you deserved this after...everything." Admiral Thompson shrugged his shoulders, a smirk crossing his lips. His eyes were still a bit haggard and he was clearly still tired from the effort of the war. It did little to dim the smirk. "After all, everyone deserves to celebrate their birthday."

Above him, in Sara's expansive mess hall, a massive banner hung. 'Happy birthday, Sister Sara'.

This is---I don't know what to say? How should I act in this situation?

For all her experience and skills, Sara could only gape in shocked silence. Until, at least, Jimmy Thach decided to elbow her in the side. The pilot had been the one to bring her here in the first place, and he wore a smirk on his face like always.

"Come on, we didn't put all this together for no reason, y'know. You've saved us more times than we can count, especially when the Japs started getting all sneaky." Thach's grin widened, at the flustered expression on Saratoga's face. Though the corners of his eyes softened, just a little, as he placed a hand on her shoulder. "As weird as this all is, we trust you. The Admiral knows what he's doing, and neither of you have ever done anything to make us regret this. So..."

With a gentle shove, the pilot pushed the carrier towards the Admiral. Sara stumbled, despite her best efforts, and fell into Thompson's waiting arms. She couldn't see the sour look on the Admiral's face, glaring over at the unrepentant pilot. She could hear the chuckles of her crew, while her face turned crimson beneath her blue hair.

"Thanks for this, Jimmy. Thanks a lot." Thompson's voice was deadpan and dry. He didn't move his arms, though.

"Anytime, sir." Thach tossed a lazy salute in response, grin stubbornly fixed in place. The man had a devilish sense of humor, at the best of times. He was certainly enjoying this situation. "Everyone agrees with me, on this one. You two are..."

Thompson's glare intensified, when Sara looked up through her bangs. "Don't even finish that sentence."

While Thach chuckled, Sara relaxed. Thompson's words may have been harsh and full of denial...but she knew better. The way he tightened his grip on her. How he sent glances down her way, his eyes much softer than when he glared at his pilot. Keeping up appearances. Thach may say the crew put this together, and it may even be true. Sara knew that it was really her Admiral who had gotten things going. He hadn't been around as much as he could have been, lately, and he knew that. He wanted to remind her just how much he cared for her, in his own little ways. This was...this was nice.

"Thank you, Admiral." Sara whispered against his chest, tightening her own grip.

This meant more to her, than she'd ever let anyone see. And as her crew launched into a raucous jingle of 'happy birthday' lead by a few buff marines, she saw the smile on her Admiral's face. No cake brought out by her mess attendants, no sing along, could ever match the smile. Nothing ever could.

"Anything for you, Sara. You've known that since the day we first met each other."

And, perhaps, she really had. In this time, and in his future. It didn't dim the radiant smile she sent up at him in the slightest. Nor the flush on her cheeks, when she leaned up and kissed her Admiral on the cheek. If any of her crew noticed, she didn't care.

Neither did Thompson, when he gently returned the gesture.

"Happy birthday, Sara."

Sitting in his quarters, Gustav Schreiber smiled softly. In front of him, a pink-haired girl was like a child in a candy store. He couldn't even blame her. This was very new for both of them, even with his experience in the future. In this time...no one else had ever done this. For her. For anyone, really.

"This is all for me?" Blücher's voice was filled with awe, when she looked at the spread of presents laid out before her.

Schreiber nodded, smile softening upon her words. "Of course. You have done more than enough to deserve this, Blücher."

"But...isn't this too much?" The cruiser turned wide blue eyes upon her Admiral, shaking her head at everything. She couldn't quite believe what she was being given. "I'm...what am I even going to do with all of these things? My crew doesn't know I exist or anything!"

"What you do with them is your choice, Blücher. Even if that's not using them at all." Admiral Schreiber stood up, his bones creaking as he walked over to his cruiser. The first person he had met, upon entering this time. The one person he trusted with his very life. "That's the point of a present, you know. We give them, but we don't choose how they're used. That's up to you, and only you."

Sitting down beside her, Schreiber let his arm come to rest around Blücher's shoulder, her long pink hair falling over it.

"You already know that you're the closest thing I have to a daughter, Blücher. Let an old man spoil his daughter, alright?"

At those words, the cruiser's face turned brighter than her hair. A stray tear rolled down her cheeks, even when she turned the brightest smile yet upon her Admiral. The man who, much as he considered her a daughter, she considered her father. Blücher wasn't the best with words. She tended to let her actions speak for her, and her temper get the better of her. Certainly the times she'd thrown SS men overboard or into lockers or into toilets...

Well.

She didn't know how to really respond, other than to lean into her Admiral's side. The physicality of it never did get old to her. She'd been so young, fresh out of trials, when he took command. In the other world, she would have died in Norway. Just that, alone, was more than enough reason to love Schreiber. How he had treated her since then, just reinforced the feeling. He cared for her as a person. That meant more than he could ever know.

Actually, I think he does know how much that means to me. He's smart like that. Smarter than that stick in the mud on the bridge!

"Blücher, open this one first." Schreiber's wizened voice broke the cruiser from her musings on her Captain. He held out a small, thin package towards her. The wrapping was amateur at best, even to Blücher's eyes.

She still took it as if it were made of solid gold, clutching it to her chest. "What is this, Admiral? Did you get some candy for me?"

"Yes, but not in that one." The Admiral's smile stretched wider, as he chuckled softly. "Honestly, you are a child when it comes to chocolate, Blücher."

"Because I am a child, you know!" Sticking her tongue out at the old man, the cruiser looked down at her package. It was thin and small. She held it up to her ear, and shook it a little. No noise greeted her. "Huh...what is in here?"

At the look her Admiral sent her, Blücher giggled a little. She could see the 'just open it and check' clear on his face. Sending a goofy smile his way, the teenage-appearing girl did just that. Her hands deftly tore the wrapping from the package. Careful to not let her strength damage whatever was in---inside--

Oh. Oh Ad...father.

Blücher's eyes misted, when she looked down at what was revealed. Her hands brought it to her chest again, much more gently this time. She smiled at her Admiral, and leaned into his hug. Schreiber returned the gesture, running soft circles through her hair. He knew just what to do, didn't he? Of course he did. What father didn't know what their daughter liked?

"I can see you like it, Blücher." Schreiber smiled, holding the pink-haired girl close.

Giggling softly, Blücher looked up with wet eyes. "I love it, Admiral."

Clutched against her chest, as she leaned against her Admiral, was a simple picture. A picture of the two of them, taken by her Captain, standing atop her bridge wing in the cold Norwegian waters. The first time he had hugged her. The first time she had begun to look at him as her father as much as her Captain or Admiral.

It was more important to her than any other present ever could be.

Decided to go with the (short little) birthday-themed omake. When these take place during the story is up in the air, really. It doesn't quite matter in the grand scheme of things. I just wanted to write something cute on my birthday

While the project with Sheo is taking up my writing energies, I am going to try and get going again on here. Flashbacks it is, so the next chapter will rotate back to Schreiber properly.

Skywalker_T-65 · Oct 29, 2019

Chapter 55

It never got any easier. It hadn't been easy to see Bismarck like this. It had hurt to see Blücher in pain, even after so much effort had been made to keep her from that fortress. Many other ships, from destroyers to cruisers, had been in similar states over the course of this goddamned war. That it was an Italian ship this time made no difference. It was still a young woman laid out on a deck. Bandages covering her body and trying so very hard to keep from crying out in pain. No one could see her and comfort her.

No one but him and the younger girl by his side.

"Doria!" Turbine's cry of alarm was accompanied by the girl rushing towards the battleship, laying against one of her turrets.

With a soft sigh, Admiral Schreiber followed along. "Careful, Turbine. You can't do any more damage, but I don't imagine she would appreciate a hug right now."

"I wasn't going to---" Turbine tried to protest, before trailing off. A blush dusted her youthful cheeks. "Sorry. I'll be careful, I promise!"

And she was. The destroyer gently sat down beside the battleship, reaching out to hold one of Doria's hands in her own. It looked for all the world like a little sister holding the hand of her big sister. Doria's slightly darker complexion was pale from her wounds, bringing her closer to Turbine. They shared the same hair color and near-enough the same eyes. Turbine wasn't helping the image either. She was softly running her hands over the battleship, gently brushing against the myriad of wounds. Blood red soaked through her uniform and the bandages covering her limbs, staining Turbine's probing hands.

"You fought hard, didn't you?" Schreiber's voice was soft when he knelt down next to the girls.

Doria lifted her head up at the unfamiliar voice, cracking open a bloodshot brown eye. "Who...?"

"Shh. Don't push yourself." Placing a hand on the battleship's head, the German Admiral carefully ran his fingers through her hair. Long experience told him exactly what to do. "I'll talk to your Captain and make sure you get some good rest. You won't need to worry about fighting again, not for a good, long time."

Smiling ever so slightly at the sigh of relief those words elicited, the Admiral shifted his gaze over to Turbine. "Turbine? Can I trust you to keep an eye on her while I go? I know that Carlo is busy with the other captains right now. Are you alright being alone?"

"I'll be fine!" Turbine was quick to reply, her head bobbing up and down as if it were a cork.

Hmm.

Ah, destroyers. Always so quick on the draw. Even more so when it came to escorting a battleship. Still, though... "That wasn't what I was asking, Turbine." Schreiber lay his hand on her shoulder, gently squeezing. Turbine looked away and bit her lip. "Are you going to be fine being alone?"

"Uhhh...."

Shaking her head sharply, the destroyer cut off her little drawl. She recentered herself and the shy, timid girl was replaced by the old warship. While Schreiber couldn't quite help his sigh, Turbine was doing her best to act the part. She preferred being the little girl spoiled by her engineer. Beneath that, however, still lay the warship. The girl of steel.

"I'll be alright, Admiral." Turbine's voice was much more serious now, reflected in a dimness in her brown eyes. She curled against Doria, wrapping an arm around the battleship's back. Her eyes never once left Schreiber. "I...don't like being alone. But I'm not alone here, am I? I've got Doria." With that statement, she finally turned and looked at the battleship that could be her big sister. "I won't leave her, don't worry."

Schreiber nodded, slowly rising to his feet. Biting back a groan at the movement, he smiled at Turbine. "I understand, better than you'd know. I'll be back soon."

"Admiral...?" Turbine's gaze was filled with unasked questions, when she looked at him.

It hurt more than he'd like to admit, to ignore her gaze. I can't tell her everything. There's too much risk. I can't let what I am be known, not by anyone that I don't trust.

Shaking his head, the Admiral just continued to smile. "It's nothing, Turbine."

"If you say so," the destroyer clearly didn't believe him, but she didn't press either.

Nodding his thanks, Schreiber turned on his heel and left the girls behind. Doria had fallen back into a fitful rest and Turbine was there to comfort her. They didn't need him and, to be frank, no one aboard would touch Turbine. If they did...there'd be more than just a hunt. They would likely never be found. Besides, Carlo was only a few minutes away. Schreiber pitied anyone who tried anything to Turbine with that man around.

"You're the German I've been hearing so much about, then?"

Upon Doria's bridge, her Captain stood against the backdrop of shattered windows. Around him, men worked to clean up the area and repair what needed repairs. Schreiber expertly dodged around those men, coming to a halt right before the Captain. "Yes, I am. You knew I was coming?"

"It's hard to miss a German coming aboard with a teenage girl in one of our uniforms." The Italian snorted softly, absently waving a hand towards where Turbine had been left behind. His dark eyes narrowed in thought, staring down the Admiral. "To think that all those rumors were true. I'm not sure what to think about it."

Schreiber nodded, "You are far from the only one to feel that way, I assure you. It's quite hard to believe."

"You Germans and your talent for understatements never ceases to amaze me." Reaching out his hand, the Italian gave Schreiber a thin- nearly nonexistent -smile. "Luigi Vitale. I would welcome you aboard..." Jerking his head at the mess around them, Vitale sighed. "There isn't much to welcome you."

"I have seen worse," Schreiber took the hand. "Gustav Schreiber. I'm sure you know why I'm here."

Releasing their grip at the same time, the two men walked over to look out the bridge window. What was left of it. Andrea Doria had come out with relatively minor damage, considering what she had been up against. Of course, 'relatively minor' didn't do any justice to it. Men were visible working her decks, clearing debris and patching holes. She'd been a bit too close to the British, and that she hadn't sunk was a miracle. Perhaps she had just been lucky that Barham hadn't been modernized.

"I'm not alone in feeling insulted at the idea we need a German to help us fight the British," Vitale replied, shrugging a bit. His eyes glanced at Schreiber from the side, evaluating the Admiral beside him. "But you're not here for that. You're here because your government wants someone to figure out how Turbine came about."

Schreiber nodded, "You would be correct in that assumption. Though I am the first to admit I don't know why they sent me. I haven't seen anything like this, before." Lying through his teeth he may have been, Schreiber was technically telling a truth. He hadn't seen this before, from the Italians. "That being said, you have seen the girl Turbine is with, yes?"

With a soft sigh, Vitale shrugged again. "There have been strange events happening since before Taranto. It never occurred to anyone that it could be something like a woman aboard. However...yes. Yes, I've seen her, now. Ever since the battle."

"I'm sure I will hear that story at some point." Smiling slightly, the German brought a hand up and waved it out at the damaged hull. Since Taranto? Before then? Was my journey here responsible for all of this? Bringing the girls out and making them visible? I don't feel egotistical about it. If anything...

I'm worried that I may have created an opening for much, much worse things.

"You probably will, from your spies if nothing else." Vitale couldn't keep a hint of disdain out of his voice. The Italian turned fully to the German, crossing his arms and stomping his booted foot to the deck. "I'm far from the one you should talk to about that. Did you come here to ask permission to talk to Andrea Doria? Or something else?"

This man wasn't Carlo Lombardi, and Admiral Schreiber had no intention of treating him that way. Instead, he just looked out at the deck in silence. He acted as if he were deep in thought. In reality, he was simply waiting for the right moment. For the moment when Vitale grew tired of waiting. The time when he could create a credible...

"To be completely honest, I was curious about Doria herself." Schreiber finally spoke, when he felt the Italian move to stand beside him again. A half-smile hidden by the shadow of his cap. "As well as how you and your crew are treating her. I am far from the most religious man myself, though I do know how important the Church is in Italy."

Vitale shook his head almost bemusedly. "That is a stereotype, you know."

"Like Germans always drinking beer and eating pretzels?" Schreiber replied, not even bothering to hide the smile.

If nothing else, laughter always defused situations. Vitale let out a startled snort, raising a hand to cover his chuckles. The man sighed past his laughs, the lingering tenseness mostly fading from his form. Not entirely. It was still, at least, enough to calm the situation and get the two men on a more even field. Schreiber wasn't the expert at manipulation that his daughters- for how else could you describe them? -thought he was. But enough time lying to Nazis, and anyone would learn how to manipulate a conversation a bit.

Plus he'd been saving that joke for a long time.

"To answer the question you aren't asking," the Italian finally got his laughter under control, letting his hand fall back down. He looked more thoughtful now, than anything else. "The Church isn't sure what to think about Turbine and the others. They're clearly not demons or the like, but are they angels?"

"Speaking in my own opinion, I think that may be the best description of them." With a shrug, Schreiber tapped his arm. "Certainly they're here to help us, first."

Vitale waved his hand dismissively, "No one denies that. To my understanding, the main question for the Priests is if this is unique to ships. It proves, beyond any doubt, that souls are real. However...do tanks have the same? Planes? The rifle of an infantryman or the home of an engineer? What if the Pantheon has a spirit?"

They don't. At least, not that I've seen.

"It is an interesting question, for sure. I'm sure the Churches will be arguing this at least as long as they've argued theology." Smiling at the sour expression on Vitale's face, Schreiber let out a breath and shrugged his shoulders. "The more pertinent question, I feel, is if the British or the Americans have figured this out as well. If they have, they certainly have many more ships to call upon."

Though...if all went according to plan, Schreiber would know his answer soon enough. The answer to that question and to many others...

In a place about as far from Italy as possible while remaining in Europe, a man and a woman were alone in a manor house. Hidden from sight by the average citizen, who would have raised an eyebrow at the sight. And why wouldn't they? It wasn't every day that a German Admiral was being treated by a maid in a British manor. Then again, was it really that common for a German Admiral to be in the United Kingdom at all? Certainly in wartime.

Of course, this man was hardly average or normal. Nor was his situation.

"...what is this, my dear?"

Admiral Lütjens frowned, as he looked down on the letter in his hands. Before him, the friendly maid Sascha shuffled slightly. Her normally confident features marred by a deep blush, hands clenching in her dark skirt. She was normally much more confident than this. He was still confused how a German ended up as a maid in a British manor, no matter her claims that it was because she spoke the same language. It was strange enough on its own. But this? This was a step beyond that.

"That is a letter from my sister, Herr Admiral. I--please don't think less of her, but she is a rather prominent member of a resistance to the Nazi Party. She asked me to get the message to you, from an Admiral Schreiber." Sascha Gerhardt blushed even deeper, were it possible, sucking in a steadying breath. "I haven't met him myself, you know. I don't...I don't know much about him, other than what my sister has written."

If Lütjens had been confused before, it was only growing in prominence. His eyes trailed down on the letter in hand, wondering just what it contained. An Anti-Nazi sister? Admiral Schreiber working through channels in opposition to the government? He had only met the older man in passing, but this was certainly not something he expected from the former captain of Blucher. Hm. What was the man up to?

"I see..." Muttering softly, the Admiral opened the letter and began reading. His eyebrow climbing further and further up his brow as he did. What in the world?

"Admiral Lütjens,

I understand that this message will come as a surprise to you. It was not easy to get this message out or to find out you were alive. I apologize that I was unable to sortie all those months ago, to help you against the British. Gneisenau sinking was not something I had anticipated. However, this may work in both our favors and, indeed, in the favor of our nation herself. You, I am sure, understand how dangerous Hitler is for Germany. We may have him to thank for the return to prominence after Versailles, however, his continued efforts undermine all of this.

The war in Russia is not going well, nor will it end well. I have never been more certain of anything in my life. Germany will fall. It may take months, it may take years, but she cannot stand against the West and East united. If Germany is to survive, if we are all to survive in a nation that is not humbled at the feet of our enemies, we must remove Hitler and attempt to negotiate with the West. No matter what.

I don't hold much hope for this. I am aware of how set they are on unconditional surrender. I can't even blame them for it, after Versailles and Weimar. However, I want you to talk with the British. Perhaps they would be willing to listen to two Admirals. I can only hope so. I pray they do.

-Gustav Schreiber"

Tearing his eyes from the letter, Lütjens frowned deeply. He stared at Sascha, one question above all on his lips. The most obvious question that he could think of.

"Just who is your sister? How did she get this message out?"

Sascha continued to blush, only mumbling under her breath. What she said had the Admiral's eyes widening in dawning comprehension...and more than a little confusion.

"...my sister is Scharnhorst, Herr Admiral." Sascha's words made no sense...and yet all the sense in the world. "I didn't want to tell you. I didn't think you'd ever believe me, and if the British ever found out who I was--"

Who you were. How was I so blind?

"Gneisenau. So that's what was happening. I was so blind..." Lütjens shook his head, sighing heavily. It all made sense now, in a twisted sort of way. "You're the one who threw me overboard, aren't you? I wanted to go down with the ship."

With a barely hidden wince, Sascha pulled her hands from her skirt and flung them out in front of her. While her face remained stubbornly red, her eyes had taken on a hardness that Lütjens had never seen before. "I wasn't going to let you die, Admiral! I didn't care about what happened, if I ever met you, or anything like that. I couldn't let you--I couldn't let you die because I wasn't good enough!"

Lütjens could only stare at her, as the maid- battleship -panted heavily. Her entirely too slim body shook with every breath, as he climbed to his feet and walked over to her. The Admiral was silent...until he reached out and pulled her into a hug. Sascha, and he couldn't call her anything else, squeaked in shock. Lütjens smiled against her long brown hair, gently patting her on the back. It was an entirely platonic hug on his part, but it didn't matter. It made the tension fade from her body. The woman slowly, hesitatingly, returning the hug.

"I may not have wanted to survive, but I can't blame you for what you did." He whispered softly, holding the slim woman to his chest. He at least knew why she was so thin now. "If nothing else, I am quite happy to still be alive. Maybe like this, I can still do some good for Germany."

Pulling back, just enough to stare into her Prussian-blue eyes, Lütjens shook his head in bemusement. "Honestly, to think that you and your sister have been working against the Nazis. I'm proud of you, but that is dangerous. Even if Schreiber is the only one who knows about it."

With a small laugh, Sascha shook her own head. Her hair bounced in rivers down her back, getting tangled in Lütjens' grip while she tightened her own arms around him. "We couldn't not do something. Admiral Schreiber has told us about what will happen to Germany if we lose. And with America in the war..."

Right. There isn't a chance that Germany can win a war against the largest Empires on Earth, not alone. Italy and Japan aren't enough.

Lütjens knew that much, and it was why he was generally fine with his situation. He had done his duty, and now, it was up to fate. He couldn't do anything and even if he were still in Germany, what could one man and one ship do?

"We'll do whatever our Admirals order us to do, Herr Admiral," Sascha continued, a bit more subdued now. The core of hard steel remained, however, beneath it. "Saving Germany is our main duty, though. No matter what. If that means saving Germany from itself, we'll do it! It's what we were built to do."

"I see." Lütjens nodded, pulling fully away. Sascha retained a grip on his arm, though, and he couldn't say anything about it.

After all, how long had she been waiting to get this off her chest?

"I imagine that you want me to work with the British, then?" Looking up at the ceiling, Lütjens reflected on how odd that would feel. I can't say it isn't the best idea, though.

Before Sascha could reply or the Admiral could say anything else, a cough interrupted them. A cough that came from a British officer, though one that Lütjens didn't recognize. The man was standing in the doorway, in full uniform, save for the cap at his side. He smiled thinly and raised the hand not holding the cap, to point at the two Germans. His eyes had no mirth and were deadly serious in how they narrowed.

"In point of fact, my government was hoping for exactly that." The man spoke up, not bothering to give his name nor to explain how long he was listening. No. He just stared at the Germans, and continued speaking. "Admiral Lütjens? You and your...associate...are to join the Prime Minister for a meeting with the Americans."

Lütjens frowned at that, "Is that a request?"

"I'm afraid not." There was no tone of apology in his voice, whatsoever. "This was requested by the Americans and the Prime Minister agreed. You'll find that your little friend isn't the only girl like her."

The implication of those words had Lütjens and Sascha sharing a look that conveyed many things. First and foremost among them? A worry for their homeland...

...insert rote apology here?

My muse is being fickle as ever. Couple with getting distracted by work and having to help around home, and it isn't fun. That said, after this chapter, we'll rotate back to Thompson for a bit, though I'll likely as not do an omake for the continued adventures of Frieda Hacke as well. Don't really expect any combat in the Pacific for a bit, though. At least not here. Once the timeline has moved a bit further along, we'll get more in Holding the Line at least. Thompson isn't going to be around any combat for a good bit.

For fairly obvious reasons.

Skywalker_T-65 · Dec 8, 2019

Chapter 56

Admiral Lütjens would be the first to say that he had never, in his wildest dreams, expected to be in this position. As an officer of the German Navy- any variation of it -being ashore in Britain would have been a rare enough occurrence. As an Admiral? One at war with Britain? He'd never thought it would happen.

I most certainly never expected that I'd be in the same room as Churchill himself.

Yet, here he stood, across from the bulldog himself. Churchill was every bit as imposing in person as he was in the news reels. He wasn't the tallest man, nor the most physically built. If Lütjens had to describe him, he'd call Churchill stocky. However, the man radiated the kind of aura that only true leaders could. Hitler lacked the natural charisma that Churchill possessed, and the German could see it the moment he stepped into the room. There was a reason that this man had kept Britain in the war, through mostly his own iron-will. Hmm.

"Relax, Admiral. If I wanted to have you harmed, I would hardly have brought you into my office to do it!" Churchill's voice was, just as the man, every bit as booming in person as on the radio. The stocky politician placed his hands on the desk, his beady eyes staring into Lütjens' with a cunning intellect behind them. "Though, you remain a fascinating one to watch. That your little maid over there could hide who she was, for so long, is equally impressive. I don't put much stock into you Germans and your little Navy, but I will admit, you know how to use what you have."

Beside the Admiral, Gneisenau bristled like a cat being threatened by a rival. "Our Navy is---"

"Peace, Sascha." Lütjens placed a calming hand on the woman's arm, calling her by the human name she had taken. He knew her better as Sascha, and more importantly, he felt it humanized her. She wasn't a weapon, not anymore, and he refused to treat her as one. "Mr. Churchill, did you want to talk to us just to insult Germany, or is there a purpose to this?" Staring directly at the Prime Minister, Lütjens rose to his full height and narrowed his eyes slightly. "I will have you know, that I have no intention of betraying Germany. And if it comes down to it, I will gladly stare a firing squad down to keep Sascha safe."

Churchill smiled back, though it was a grim expression with no genuineness to it. "So I imagine. For all that I loathe your dictator, I have never doubted that Germans will fight to the last. Not after the last war. No, I called you here for a different reason, Admiral. Tell me...how much do you know about an Admiral Schreiber?"

There it was. The real question, and the one that Lütjens had half-expected. They clearly overheard the conversation and wanted to know what Schreiber was up to. A question that Lütjens dearly wished he knew the answer to, himself. He'd never have pegged the captain of Blücher as a traitor or a subversive. Then, he never would have imagined that he'd be standing next to the spirit of his flagship either.

One wondered when the world went completely mad.

"I'm afraid I will disappoint you, then." All the German could do was smile slightly, and shake his head. "My knowledge of Admiral Schreiber is fairly limited. I know him as the captain of our newest cruiser, and not much more. His men trust him and he ran a good ship, but I can hardly say why he would have done what he has. He never gave me the impression of someone willing to stand against the Nazis."

"Pity that few of you Germans were willing to in the first place. Maybe we wouldn't be fighting the second war in as many decades if they had." Churchill sighed deeply, standing from his desk. He walked around to stand before Lütjens.

The German could sense the broad-shouldered woman behind Sascha tense slightly, when Churchill grew closer. Which only served to confirm that theory. He had no idea who she was, though.

"I will be frank with you, Lütjens. I don't trust you, and my trust for Germans has been sorely strained by events after your little Führer decided to stab us in the back over and over again." Churchill seemed to enjoy the little twitch that Lütjens gave at that specific terminology. The man was a politician, who had never been friends with Germany. He knew, as well as anyone, about the Dolchstoss. "Oh, don't think I don't know about that piece of rubbish. You bloody Germans couldn't take the loss, and here we are again. That's why I don't know if I should trust anything you, or this Schreiber, say. Chamberlain trusted Hitler, and look where we are. Give me a reason to trust anything a German says, right now. Especially if it involves saving your own skins from the mess you started."

"You're just as responsible for this!" Sascha, while still normally fairly meek in private, was a firestorm when riled enough. Little point in denying what she had been, anymore. "You and the French punished us for a war we didn't start! Holstein told me everything about the Kaiser and about the Austrians. If you had just---"

"Done what? Let Germany walk without any punishment after raping Belgium and ruining France? Do you know how many of our boys died in the trenches? We could hardly let Germany off with a slap on the bloody wrist after what had happened. I hardly regret our choices at Versailles. If anything, we were too lenient."

Sascha prickled even further, to the point that it was possible to see- just barely -the outline of a warship around her. "How dare you..."

Coughing softly, Lütjens cut off the argument. He looked past Sascha, towards the woman behind her. The twist of his head didn't go unnoticed. The burly woman, looking more like a prize fighter than the lithe elegance of his flagship, stared back. Her arms were crossed over an imposing chest, as she raised an eyebrow at him. "Keep her on a tight leash, Admiral. I'd hate to have to dirty the Prime Minister's office."

"Quite." Lütjens sighed softly, and turned his eyes on Sascha, who had deflated slightly and sent him a guilty expression. "Don't worry, my dear. The Prime Minister is blunt, but he isn't incorrect. We, Germany as a whole, caused this war. Maybe not the last one, but certainly this one. Let's try to avoid escalating it."

Looking back at Churchill, the Admiral continued with a much harder tone. "I would appreciate if you kept your feelings to yourself, Mr. Churchill. I wish to help you, damn my soul, if it will keep Germany from suffering any more than she already has. I get the feeling you feel the same way, or you wouldn't have called this meeting."

"I find much more interest in maintaining Germany as a bulwark against Stalin," Churchill was quite blunt, Lütjens was right about that. "However, if I could end this war before it costs as many lives as the Great War, that would be ideal. Oak, show him the message."

Oak?

The woman behind Sascha sighed and stepped forward. She uncrossed her arms, and pulled a slip of paper from a pocket on her skirt. She handed it over to Lütjens, the German recognizing it as a printout from a wireless set. Eyebrow climbing up his face, he read the message. Each line drove deeper into his heart. His eyes widened further and further, until he was looking between Sascha, Churchill, and the message. This was...this was...

Schreiber, you madman. Are you seriously considering this? Working against the Nazis to the point of...giving away secrets to the British? Are you that desperate to keep the Soviets out?

Letting the message fall from shaking hands, the Admiral turned to the Prime Minister. "When Sascha told me that Schreiber was working against the Nazis, I didn't expect it to go this far. I thought he was just trying to secure Germany. That he didn't trust Hitler or the others. I had no idea...how long have you known about this? How long have you been working with him?"

"Working with him? Hardly." Churchill bit out a laugh, fishing around in his pocket for a cigar. Coming up with one, the older man stuck it in his mouth and gestured at the open window of the office. "Does it look like we're working with a German? We're still fighting the same war. I called you here, because I was hoping you would have some insight into the man who sent this. Do you know how we got this message?"

Lütjens followed the gesture, wondering what the Prime Minister was getting at. "No, I do not. I wasn't even aware that Sascha was who she was until today, certainly I had no idea a man I knew as an old Captain was a traitor."

He didn't use the word lightly. It was, technically, what he and Schreiber were. Traitors to the legitimate government, however one may feel about that government. After all, he was in the office of the leader of an enemy nation. Making small talk with him and talking about how to work against the German government. There wasn't any other word that really fit, was there?

"I see. I'll grant that man this, he is no fool." Idly chewing on the cigar, the stocky man shrugged his shoulders. "That message was sent directly from Bismarck to Revenge after your Admiral crippled her. That was after you were captured, of course. He seems to want to set up a working relationship with my government. A secret agreement that we won't force Germany to submit to occupation by our allies to the East. He seemed rather insistent on not wanting 'unconditional surrender'. I don't even bloody well know where he got that idea."

Lütjens didn't feel the need to tell Churchill that his own reactions indicated he was looking in that direction. The Prime Minister had been pretty clear over the course of this little meeting that he had little real intention of treating Germany leniently. If he considered Versailles as not going far enough to keep the German people down. The damndest thing, was that Lütjens knew he was right. At least in regards to the Nazis. Would punishing Germany further have stopped the war?

The nationalistic side of him railed against that idea. Germany had been punished beyond what was reasonable.

"Regardless, here we are." Lütjens shook his head, and looked down at his hands. He wished, not for the first time, that he had his old academy dirk. It was comforting to hold it. "I am...uncomfortable with the idea of working against a government that is legitimate, no matter my own feelings about them. However, if Admiral Schreiber is even remotely correct about the Soviets and what they'd do to our people..."

Churchill bit out a bitter chuckle. "This is probably the one thing we're in agreement on. I've never trusted Stalin. I'm only working with the man because Hitler is a greater threat to the world, and I'd send tanks and food to Satan himself if it meant killing that madman." The Prime Minister walked forward, and held his hand out. Lütjens looked down, and hesitantly, took it. Churchill grimly smiled. "I make no promises, you understand. I want to know more about you and the man you're representing. That is why you're here, and why I'm willing to do this meeting. If I can keep Stalin in Russia and send Hitler to Hell, it may be worth trying."

Letting go of Lütjens' hand, Churchill turned to Sascha. He stuck his hand out to the battleship, who looked at it with narrowed blue eyes. "It may turn out that we can't work together and that Germany will need to surrender, without any conditions. I have learned not to trust Germans. I won't let that leave my mind. However, I hope that you can teach us more about the ships."

"I don't know how I ended up like this." Sascha bit out, refusing to take the hand. She just crossed her arms instead. "Why don't you ask your lapdog?"

"I do so love a woman with fire in her." The Prime Minister laughed, warmly this time, and shook his head. He looked past Sascha and towards 'Oak', shrugging magnanimously. "We don't know how she's here either. There is someone who might, though."

Walking right past everyone else, Churchill flung his door open and looked out into the hallway. Past him, Lütjens could see the form of a shockingly young man for the Admiral uniform he wore. A uniform that was not British, nor German. Standing beside the man who couldn't be older than his mid-thirties, was a woman who looked only slightly older. A woman with unnatural gray hair, in a feminine version of a naval uniform cut in the same pattern.

"Admiral Thompson, Utah, we have much to talk about."

Not as long as I would like, nor is it getting back to Thompson (yet) but it seemed a good point to stop. Not least because Star Wars is coming out next week and I work at a theater...so I wanted to get something up first.

Now, this was difficult for much the same reason as the Roosevelt and Hitler chapters were. Writing major historical figures is hard. Rewarding, mind, but very very hard. Hopefully this worked well enough. Churchill is a man who is blunt, hides nothing, and doesn't like Germans. He didn't before WW1, he didn't after, and he sure as hell doesn't now. But he's also the man who was perfectly willing to rearm Germans and send them against the Russians after the surrender (see: Unthinkable) soooo....yeah.

This subplot will be FUN.

(also, continuing the trend from this and Holding the Line of there being a specific reason why certain girls are coming back. Sascha/Gneisenau is the outlier.)

Changing Destiny (Kancolle)

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Magery

Life blooms like a flower, far away or by the road

Skywalker_T-65

Writer with too many ideas.

Skywalker_T-65

Writer with too many ideas.

Magery

Life blooms like a flower, far away or by the road

BungieONI

Seven gremlins in a trench coat

Skywalker_T-65

Writer with too many ideas.

Skywalker_T-65

Writer with too many ideas.

Skywalker_T-65

Writer with too many ideas.

Skywalker_T-65

Writer with too many ideas.

Skywalker_T-65

Writer with too many ideas.

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