Changing Destiny (Kancolle)

Omake: Frieda
This is a fairly heavy chapter.

Omake: Frieda Hacke

Ahhh...

With nothing but the crackling light of a fire illuminating her, a young woman sat in a lavish living room. Her legs were bare, boots long since discarded in favor of movement and comfort. She lounged in her comfy chair, staring up at the ceiling. Her eyes were shut tightly and her hands held a pipe to her lips. She sucked in a deep sigh, letting the smoke spread through her lungs. She barely paid any mind to the man sitting across from her, nor the woman standing at his back. She'd talk when she was ready to talk.

Exhaling a puff of smoke that more resembled the plume of a ship at sea than a human breath, she cracked open brilliant green eyes.

"So. You want to know more about my Admiral and what we've been up to?" Frieda Hacke let her gaze fall down, locking onto the man and woman across from her.

"I'll admit to being curious about it." Louis returned the look, crossing his fingers under his chin. The young man was more curious than anything else, something reflected in the firelight on his eyes. The expression of someone hunting for an answer. "I trust you, and your Admiral, enough to agree to help these poor people. My...my grandfather and father were not always the most forgiving of the Jews, but I can't just let them suffer. If even a tenth of what I've been told about the Camps in Poland is true, I would damn my own soul to ignore it and not use what power I have to help."

Louis narrowed his eyes, ever so slightly, with his next words. "However, asking me to make a statement against the Nazis and to try and become the figurehead of this movement? My family has survived the insanity of those butchers because we renounced everything. If I, or any of us, made any claim otherwise..."

"If I may?" Frieda held up a hand, waving it a little in the air. At the reluctant nod, she let a grim smile cross her face. "There's no one else who could be a figurehead. My Admiral...he doesn't trust himself with that kind of power, and doesn't believe that the other officers would let him have it anyway. If we just kill Hitler and his lackeys, all we'd do is create an empty seat. The Generals will ignore my Admiral or Herr Oster and just create a council to continue the War. Germany would burn."

What neither the woman, nor the man, vocalized was the knowledge that it would destroy Germany. There were not enough people who hated Hitler. If they just killed him, even if the military stepped into control and purged the Nazis, it would do nothing but damage the country even further. Doom it to foreign rule and destruction.

"And that is why you need me instead." Louis finished, leaning back in his own chair. He let out a soft sigh when his wife, Kira, placed a hand on his shoulder. "I...am loathe to admit it, but you are hardly wrong. My family may not be what it once was, but if anyone could convince the Generals to fall in line, it would be myself or my father. And my father is in ill-health."

It was also left unsaid that Louis' father would hardly do anything to help the Jews, other than stop killing them in droves. That he wouldn't sign any peace with the West that didn't involve territorial gains for Germany and recognition of the Polish border and puppet. Maybe even continuing the war with the Bolsheviks. Louis was not his father, thankfully. He was friends with the American President, even. He would never, ever, continue any policy of Hitler or his cronies.

Otherwise, Frieda and her Admiral wouldn't work with him. Even though the former was loyal to this man, second only to her Admiral.

"This is all academic, of course. You already have my support." The young man sighed heavily, shaking his head. A remorseful expression alighted across his face, the first lines beginning to crinkle around his eyes. "I already regret that Wilhelm and I couldn't do anything to stop this madness. All the power our family still had, and we just...sat by and watched. Bless his soul, Wilhelm even fought in France. We were loyal to Germany first. We always were..."

As Louis trailed off, his wife squeezed his shoulder. Kira looked despondently on her husband, before turning her gaze on Frieda. A calculating look entered into the Russian's eyes, as she seemed to struggle for something to say. Frieda merely rose her eyebrow, and took another long puff on her pipe.

"I think I already know what you're going to ask about, my Lady." Frieda let out a soft breath, smoke blowing through her nostrils. She looked past Kira, towards the starry night outside the only window. Oh how she wished she were out there, under the stars on the waves.

No, she was here. She had a different duty now.

"Then you should have no problem answering." Kira's voice was cold and even past her accent, Frieda could feel the vehemence in it. "All this talk about replacing the butchers in Germany. Saving the Jews." Here, her eyes narrowed slightly. "And what is being done to save my people? How many must die before you are willing to throw down the madmen?"

Frieda took a drag on her pipe, and raised an eyebrow. Her next words were bitter all on their own. "Are they your people? I was under the impression that wasn't the case, after they murdered most of your family and threw the rest out with the rags on their backs. Or am I wrong?"

That rather quickly took the wind out of Kira's sails. "I--I hate the Bolsheviks. More than you could possibly imagine."

"On that, we're all in agreement. I came too close to seeing them do the same in Germany, all those years ago." Frieda's voice softened, as her own memories took over. She remembered a crew that refused to sortie. Men that looked at the Communists as an ideal. She hadn't seen the end-result of that, but she knew what had happened nonetheless.

Still, when she looked at Kira, she felt a pang in her heart. Frieda had seen enough suffering in her time in Holland to recognize it, and she'd softened substantially from her time in the Hochseeflotte.

Oh, Franz. You'd not recognize me anymore. I'm not the same woman who just charged into the fangs of death itself without a care in the world.


And so, instead of berating Kira or speaking her feeling of 'why should I care about the Russians?', Frieda got to her feet. She walked towards Louis and Kira...and bowed her head slightly. "For what it is worth, my Lady, the Admiral has said much the same to me."

Kira blinked, and stared at the top of Frieda's head. "What do you mean? From what Louis has told me, your Admiral loathes the Bolsheviks. Why would he have any reason to care about your army killing my people?"

Instead of answering, Frieda thought back to much the same conversation...

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"I understand why you hate the Nazis, Admiral. But...why do you have the Reds that much?"

Admiral Schreiber had looked past her, towards a similarly crackling fire. It had been only a few days before she had been sent to Holland, and the last time she had talked to the man in person. Even then, she had seen the weight of worlds upon his shoulders. He was thinner than any man his age should have been, thinner for sure than Franz had been. He looked tired all the time. This was a man who pushed himself for no material gain, despite having every reason to just go with the Nazis.

She deeply respected him for that, even after he had brought her back.

"...you already know that I'm not from this time, my friend." He finally spoke, his voice every bit as tired as his body. Faded blue stared into green, as Schreiber looked away from the fire. "I grew up during what the Americans called a 'Cold War' with the Russians. Communism and Capitalism against each other. Germany was, as it is now, caught in the middle. After this war...after Hitler ruined our nation, the Soviets controlled half of the country, after giving all of Prussia to the Poles. My family had to leave Prussia."

"You were---"

Holding up a hand, Schreiber shook his head. His eyes had reddened, ever so slightly. "No, if it were only that, I would dislike them but not hate them as I do. You must understand. The West created a democratic German Republic, the one that I eventually served in my own time. The Soviets refused to let Germany reunify, and their little puppets in Berlin were all too eager to have their own power. The Stasi was every bit as bad as the Gestapo, in their own way. Thousands vanished. Thousands more were broken in their interrogation rooms. I had to watch many good men come home, broken and beaten down. You couldn't even talk about it, because every other man or woman or child could be an informant. One word. One word of dissent, and you were gone."

With each word, his voice grew softer and more embittered. Frieda could only listen silently, unable to comprehend what he was telling her. It seemed so...wrong. To believe that, even after the Nazis were gone, Germany would continue like that. The Empire had never been so bad, even at its worst.

"My own father was taken from me, when I was but a little child." The Admiral finally whispered, at the end. His shoulder slumped down, as a far-away look entered his eyes. The kind of look that spoke of deep, unfading trauma. "When Germany finally unified, again, I was happy to join the Bundesmarine. I could finally follow my dream of seeing the sea. I never dreamed I'd end up in the here and now, in a state worse than even the Germany I grew up in."

"You...you hate the Russians for what they did to your family, sir?" Frieda asked, figuring that she finally had her answer. She wasn't entirely wrong.

Schreiber nodded, tiredly. "I do. For my father, and for so many other innocent lives taken. It wasn't just Germany. Poland, Romania, Hungary...so many died in their control. It's hard, you know." The Admiral turned, and looked in the direction of the Ostfront. East. "I know how many lives are being taken, even now, by Hitler's men. I've sent Blücher to fight against them as well. Millions will die and I...I can't bring myself to do anything to stop it."

Frieda stared at him. "Aren't you doing everything you can to stop Hitler? I'm going to Holland to save the Jews, too. That is something."

"True." Even with that word, the Admiral still shook his head. He looked almost broken, by what he said next. "And yet, I sink transports bringing supplies there. I am eager to fight against the Arctic Convoys. I can't, I never have been able to, forget or forgive. If I need to damn my own soul, to keep Germany safe from the Russians, I will do it. If...if I can just keep my father from ever knowing the suffering he faced, it would be worth it in the end."

The Admiral looked Frieda dead in the eyes, his entire expression radiating a deep and hidden pain. She would never know, but not even Blücher had been told what he told her now. What father wanted his daughter to see him at his worst?

"I hate myself, every day, for the knowledge that so many will die in the fires of the East, because I want to preserve a Germany worth living in."


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"...as hard as it may be to believe, he hates the Russians, but hates himself even more." Frieda finished her story, finally looking up at the nobility before her. Louis' face held a pained grimace, the man slowly shaking his head. Kira held a hand to her mouth, the barest hint of tears at the corner of her eyes.

"Millions...millions will die in the East?"

It was rather telling, that neither of them reacted to the revelation that her Admiral wasn't from this time. Frieda had felt little need to conceal it. Not from this man, not when Louis was the best hope they had for a unified Germany. No. Both of them were struck by the pain her Admiral felt, and by the knowledge of what was to come, in the East.

So, all Frieda did was nod her head. "Millions. Germans, Russians, Poles, Ukrainians, Romanians..."

Kira shook her head jerkily, "Stop...please. Stop. I can't take hearing anything else."

"I asked, you know." Frieda's voice softened, and she looked Kira in the eye. "I asked if I could have gone to the East, to try and stop the war. Or at least break up the camps killing so many. The Admiral told me that doing that would only risk everything we're working for. The quickest way to end the war, is to build up our Resistance and take our chance to remove Hitler. If we can do that even two years early..."

"...then millions will live, who would have died." Louis finished, speaking for the first time since Kira had spoken. His eyes had hardened, and the spark of fire had entered into them. He sat straighter, looking much more like the man he should have been. "You're certain that we can't do anything to stop the War sooner? A negotiated peace?"

Frieda could only shrug. "The Admiral is trying, with the British. The Reds would never accept anything that involves them not taking Eastern Europe. From what he's told me, if we aren't careful to discredit Hitler first, the best case we could get is having to spend years convincing Germany he isn't a martyr who was stabbed in the back."

Both Louis and Kira almost hissed at that terminology. Frieda could understand the reaction. No matter how she felt about the mutinies, it hadn't been the German government that lost the Great War. She knew that much. If Germany felt that they were betrayed again...

An armistice for twenty years? Is that what the French bastard called it?

"So we must save Germany, while destroying Germany." Louis finished, his eyes narrowed in thought.

"So the Admiral says." Frieda nodded. "I have the feeling he has some sort of plan to cause losses in the East that would embarrass the Nazis while improving his own reputation. At least, the reputation of people who he trusts. I know he wants to try and get Guderian on-side with the Italians, too."

Louis nodded, climbing to his feet. He sent a steadying smile at his wife, before turning fully to face Frieda. "I will help, in any way I can. I still have friends in the press and the military. Wilhelm, bless his memory, had many friends as well. I will find a way to expose the camps. No good German will accept such horrors."

He had no way of knowing that plenty of Germans had. However, when spoken by that man, it seemed almost like you could believe him. And, who knows, he may be right. When told by their own countrymen...when shown it and when shown how the Nazis would try to justify it...

Maybe, just maybe, Germany wouldn't doom its soul and memory to hell.

"You have my support until the end, Your Majesty." Freida Hacke snapped off a perfect Kaiserliche Marine salute. Heels clicked together, as she smiled at the man before her.

Louis Ferdinand von Hohenzollern smiled back, clumsily returning the salute. "I, for one, am thankful to have you...Seydlitz."



I had this one in the pipeline for a long time. Yes, every bit of it. I just had to rush it out now. For obvious reasons.

I operate on a 'show things when they need to be shown' theory of writing. Schreiber considers Blücher to be his daughter. We've already established he hates how he's made her and Bismarck hate the Russians like he does. It is not that hard a leap to go from there, to he deliberately hides the worst of his pain from them.

Like, seriously, what man wants his daughter to see the very worst of him?

Frieda- Seydlitz -is different. She's a close confidant, the first ship girl he brought back. He can tell her things he wouldn't dare let his daughter know. If he told Blücher half of what he told her, she would tear her way off her hull and go strangle Hitler. So, ergo, this omake was always intended to dig more into his mentality. That I had to bring it forward more than I wanted, is unfortunate, but it doesn't really materially change anything in it.

As for Frieda...this is a lot of hints in her name and mannerisms, as well as a walking homage to her namesake on her part.

Frieda=feminine form of Friedrich (von Seydlitz)
Hacke=maiden name of his wife
pipe=a reference to being a coal burner...and something that von Seydlitz was known for. Specifically, he smoked a pipe and used throwing it away as a signal to attack.
Franz von Hipper had Seydlitz as his flagship

I don't know when the next update will be, for obvious Star Wars related reasons. We'll see. >.>
 
That Kind-Hearted Light
S/N: Belated Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, everyone.

(Insert JoJo joke about "You thought it was Sky, but it was me, Sheo!" followed by well-deserved beatings administered by fluffy clouds. I'm sorry T-T)

I haven't written anything KanColle-related in a while. Nor have I written any omake for
Changing Destiny despite my desire to do so for the longest time.

However, the last couple of chapters provided my muse with sufficient fuel to light an inspirational hotfoot. (Ouch.) Silver lining in the thunderhead, so to speak.

Thus, I came up with this omake. I showed the first draft and final version to Sky for his guidance and received his approval to post it. I hope you enjoy my contribution to his fine story.


X===X===X​

30 November 1941
Tokyo, Empire of Japan


At first glance, the kimono-clad woman occupying the electric-lit living room fit the archetype of the Yamato Nadeshiko. Her fair skin and peach-dyed clothing made the midnight mane that reached her hips stand out all the more, and she gave off the reserved air of a noble princess straight out of The Tale of Genji, a copy of which occupied her small hands and attention.

A closer look revealed discrepancies in the image of the perfect Japanese lady. The eyes that browsed the pages of the book were pools of grey, a color uncommon among her people. If she chose to stand straight, she would prove taller than most of her countrymen - including the majority of the men, much to their masculine displeasure. And within the folds of her kimono hid a lush figure usually ascribed to Western women rather than local ladies.

The tallest tree always experienced the strongest winds. Likewise, her physical features made her stand out in a society that prized homogeneity. And she did not desire any attention since she didn't belong here.

She remembered the "girls' night" with Riain and their respective subordinates. They had traded hilarious stories about Goto (Rian won the contest by way of the infamous "date") while watching their companions get smashed on various drinks with funny names. And while she gave in to her friend's bad influence and imbibed more alcohol than usual, she made her way back to her quarters, where her waiting secretary helped onto her Western bunk right before she blacked out.

When she came to, she found herself on a futon spread across the tatami-covered floor of a traditionally-furnished room. The familiar but unexpected change in scenery had sobered her up faster than blood-red battle lighting to the tune of klaxons.

"...Did Rian prank me?"

As she gawked at a room that she hadn't seen since she last paid her respects to her family's ancestral home, the paper-walled sliding door drew open. She had instantly recognized the careworn woman from black-and-white photographs and portrait paintings that survived the War.

"Oh, Hina!" The older woman had immediately burst into tears before tackling her in a mighty hug. "You're finally awake! Everyone! Hina woke up!"

Caught in a tight embrace, disoriented by her situation, Hina had murmured something unwise but understandable.

"Sousobo?" Great-grandmother?

"Eh?" Her great-grandmother had mirrored her dumbfounded stare. "Hina, do you not recognize me? I'm your mother. Sousobo died long before you were born..."

According to her 'mother,' Hina had caught a mysterious "brain fever" several weeks ago. She had remained asleep throughout the illness, and her 'family' feared the worst up until the miraculous moment that their darling "Light" had woken up from her coma.

That... That was not right. Her great-grandparents were long dead by the time she was born. And her grandfather was their only child.

And yet here they were, alive and much younger, fussing over her as if she had always been a part of their lives.

She had restrained the urge to ask for the date. Instead, she bid her time until she got her hands on the day's newspaper.

"It's April 30… 1940… I got isekai'd to the past..."

Fearing the discovery of her true identity, Hina took steps to protect herself, knowing that not even her family name would protect her from the brutal interrogation practices of what passed for military intelligence here.

To better blend into her surroundings, she adjusted her natural sunny demeanor into a self-effacing one. She never stood up unless necessary. When she did, she took steps to obscure her significant height and eyes, usually by leaning forward and bowing her head in the submissive manner that Japanese men expected of Japanese women and other... inferiors. And she always wore a kimono, a distinctly native apparel that also hid her generous feminine curves from jealous women or nationalists suspicious of any foreign elements.

The first few weeks of the facade rubbed her nerves raw. Only after she confirmed that her 'family' didn't harbor any concern regarding her more un-Japanese traits - they only worried that her 'illness' affected her more seriously than the doctor assured them, with her 'Ryoichi-oniisama' making grim threats toward said medical expert if his cute 'little sister' could no longer get married - did she relent. And even then she behaved carefully around them, which they indulged as an aftereffect of her 'illness.'

That hubbub lay in the past. Today was a rare day off for Hina. Her 'mother' was visiting relatives; she insisted that her younger child and only daughter stay home out of concern for her health. Her 'father' and 'older brother' were on duty. The household staff adored her to a fault. And she did not expect anything earthshaking from her network this month.

Next month was another story. But she had spent more than a year preparing for the backlash of 7 December 1941. She was as ready as she could ever be.

Today, she took the opportunity to continue reading the latest serial release of the Fumiko Enchi translation of Prince Genji's saga. Murasaki Shikibu's famous novel served as an entertaining mental exercise. Not only did it use the Japanese equivalent of the Old English found in the epic poem Beowulf, but it also followed the antiquated and convoluted writing system restricted to the imperial court of Heian era Japan.

Further, the manners of the time dictated that one must never refer to another person by the latter's given name. "Murasaki Shikibu" was the descriptive name of the author, not her real name. True to form, Lady Murasaki identified her hundreds of characters by the position they occupied in the court, honorifics, their relationship to other people, or even their clothes - and those identifiers changed over the decades spanned by the novel.

Hina admired Murasaki ever since her mother gifted her with a copy of the writer's masterpiece during her 10th birthday. She considered it a matter of pride that her younger self remembered every character and accurately tracked their development throughout the saga without resorting to memory aids, much like her idol did during the 11th century.

'Let's see you manage that feat of memory, Goto,' she rather snidely thought of the one person in the world that she personally loathed.

"Hina-nee! Hina-nee! There's big news!"

Looking up from a description of the multi-layered sleeve of a noblewoman's kimono, Hina's grey eyes tracked the brunette hastening toward her at flank speed. She noticed that the fourteen-year-old girl looked appalled, and that she gripped a newspaper rather forcefully.

"Slow down, Miyu-chan," she kindly reminded the speeding child. "You don't want to end up in a collision again."

"Sorry, Hina-nee!" As she came to a crash stop before the older woman, Miyu flashed an apologetic grimace. "But you have got to see this!"

The breathless girl held up the evening edition of the Japan Times & Advertiser for her adoptive big sister to examine. A single article dominated the front page of the newspaper. It bore the august title of Imperial Rescript, a proclamation of the Emperor Himself.


We, by grace of heaven, Emperor of Japan, seated on the throne of a line unbroken for ages eternal, enjoin upon ye, our loyal and brave subjects:

We hereby declare War on the United States of America and the British Empire...


The Tale of Genji snapped shut. Setting the novel aside, Hina took the newspaper from Miyu's hands. She pored over the official announcement twice, reading between the lines of half-truths and blatant lies presented as justification for the act of aggression against a foreign country, and compared its wording to the one stored in her near-eidetic memory.

By the time she finished reviewing the rescript, her eyes were narrowed in deep thought. The grey pupils seemed like discs of steel as hard as the armor plate of a battleship, several of which she had commanded once upon a time.

The full force of her stare fell upon the date, the 30th of November, a day that will live in infamy forever, the lone item in the news that diverged from her memory and the history she knew.

"It's early," she murmured. "A week ahead of when it was supposed to take place..."

"I know, right?" Miyu's messy hair bobbed in concern. "You told us that when you first summoned us. Did something change here in Japan?"

Hina pursed her lips. She combed through her memory for the appropriate data.

A petty part of her wished that Goto could see her now, weaving gold thread out of thin air to accommodate unceasing demands for more miracles. Then he'd realize that there was far more to her career than coasting on her illustrious family name.

Her sense of professionalism quickly suppressed that snide thought. As much as Hina disliked Goto -and he, her- she never denied his competence and would have welcomed his presence. After all, two heads were better than one. And there were opportunities available to him that Hina's sex and prestigious family name prevented her from accessing.

"Kana-san and the others haven't found any signs of my colleagues here," Hina reiterated for Miyu's benefit. "Ryoichi-oniisama didn't mention anything amiss during his leave, but he returned to Maya earlier than I expected. And there have already been divergences in the War."

France had fallen faster than expected. The Germans had conquered Norway in less than half the time they should have taken - but Scharn and Gneis had also missed a chance to sink Glorious. The British had hit Taranto nearly a month ahead of schedule, and the Swordfish bombers had inflicted even more damage than expected.

And then came the shocking news of the battleship Bismarck's triumph over her British counterpart several months back. The Japanese media trumpeted how the Pride of Deutschland had sunk a senkan, a battleship, of the Royal Navy during a raid on a convoy.

Hina knew better than to believe the Japanese media when it came to the details of the War. If she needed any reason aside from automatic distrust of propaganda based on flimsy intelligence, she only needed to glance at how the papers whitewashed the campaign in China, the occupation of Chousen, and the treatment of Formosa and the Ryukyu Islands.

Still, she had expected the Bismarck to succeed in sinking a British capital ship. And she did get intelligence from trusted sources that confirmed the tremendous naval victory of the Kriegsmarine.

Yet her sources also stated that the German battleship only crippled its opponent instead of outright sinking it. And they described the victim as another senkan, an old battleship that was defending a convoy. The age and class of the ship implied it was either a Queen Elizabeth or a Revenge.

'That's not how it should have happened. Bisko should have sunk Hood-san, a battlecruiser, and damaged Wales-san, a new battleship, before getting hunted down and sunk...'

The Japanese military knew the difference between a junyou'senkan and a senkan. After all, the Imperial Japanese Navy possessed four battlecruisers, albeit rebuilt to the minimum standard of fast battleship.

'It's the English-born returnee, Kongou! Nice to meet you!'

'You are a nice girl, Kongou-san,' Hina thought fondly before automatically taking a mental pot shot at the fast battleship's love interest. 'It is a shame that your taste in men is terrible...'

"Yamamoto-teitoku probably advanced the timetable in response to Taranto," she surmised to Miyu. "But we took this into consideration when we laid out our plans."

The increasingly deviant history gave her a new sense of purpose. Hina thought she was alone and powerless here, at least until Miyu and the others answered her summons. But if the timeline changed despite her deliberate abstention, then at least one other like her might have come here. And recent propaganda featuring the newest hero of Doitsu had confirmed her educated guess.

'Gustav-san, I know you're doing this for a good reason,' Hina thought. 'You wouldn't help the Nazis even if your life depended on it. But you would give anything for a chance to save your father and your people from their fate under the Soviets.

'I envy your courage and wish you well in your mission. I cannot send you any aid without endangering myself.

'I wonder if any of the others I know ended up here? The girls haven't found Goto, which even I have to admit is a shame. But maybe Riain or James-san made it in America, although Riain would have it almost as hard as myself. Ah, the lack of reliable intelligence is truly vexing...'

"Then what should we do, Hina-nee?"

She sensed the urgency in Miyu's query. It felt much like the same fear that gripped her thumping heart.

'The Empire of Japan has begun its dive into the Dark Valley,' Hina thought. 'And I do not have the power to stop it. Even if I abandon all care and summon everyone willing to hear me, even if I somehow persuade all of the girls to fight the Japanese military, I cannot convince fanatics against their will.

'The only one who can rein in the madmen in the military and government is His Imperial Majesty - and He will not listen to me. Not to a woman, however famous my family is, especially after my supposed brain fever. Not unless He is convinced that Japan cannot win this war.

'And it took the threat of a Soviet invasion and occupation to force Him to swallow the bitter pill of unconditional surrender back in my time. He remained willing to fight even after the annihilation of the Imperial Japanese Navy, even after years of starvation caused by Allied submarines and mines, even after the fire bombings and atom bombs killed so many of His people, because He thought Japan might still extract a "honorable" peace settlement on the "soft-hearted" Western Allies.

'And today it must seem to Him that Japan struck a fatal blow against the United States. How can His country lose after smashing the Americans' mighty Pacific Fleet? Why should Japan lose face by giving up, apologizing for its actions, and accepting the consequences? Why should He listen to a frail, naive woman, even if she is of the bloodline of his mentor - or comes from the future with knowledge of the past?'

Oh, yes, Hina knew all too well what the attack on Pearl Harbor led to. She'd met the Grey Ghost.

'Enterprise-san terrifies me without even trying. I will never truly understand why Hiryuu-san wants to be her rival.'

But Hina couldn't afford to show her bitterness, much less succumb to her weakness. Miyu depended on her strength. So did the others, whom she called upon to serve anew and dispatched throughout the Home Islands to obtain that most precious of military ammunition - accurate information - to prepare for a war unlike what the rest of Japan expected.

'I have my duty,' she reminded herself. 'I am sworn to protect Japan from enemies within and without. And Japan...

'For me, Japan is the Japanese people. Not the military or the politicians or even the Chrysanthemum Throne. But the civilians, the people who go through their everyday lives believing they are safe from harm.

'I will do whatever I can to protect them from the consequences of its leaders' actions. Even if I must refuse to help them against the ones they believe are their enemies. Even if I must eventually oppose them - and my family.'

She thought of her stern but kind 'father,' a rear admiral who ruled the big naval base at Sasebo. Of her overly-protective 'big brother,' currently aboard a modern heavy cruiser near the Pescadores Islands in the Pacific, possibly fending off attempts by his ship-mates to snatch his photo of his "adorable imouto."

Most of all, she keenly felt the long shadow cast by their ancestor, the Eastern Nelson whose celebrated victories over the Imperial Russians more than three decades ago infected his country and his people with Victory Disease, thus setting the stage for their descent into the dark depths of Yomi-no-Kuni.

'I'm sorry, Ryoichi-ojiisan and Minoru-sousobu... Please forgive me, Gensui... But I will protect the Japanese people in my own way, not yours.'

Having cemented her break with the past, she returned to the present, finding her subordinate waiting for her command.

"Please call Ama and the others, Miyu," Hina murmured. "Tell them to convene here as soon as possible if they can manage it. We will need to update our plans now that Japan is at war."

The combination of her smile and assured command galvanized Miyu. The girl stood at attention and brought her open palm up to her forehead.

"Roger, Admiral!"

Until a minute ago, Hina would have gently but firmly reminded the exuberant "Miyu" to avoid addressing her by that title in places where other people might hear them. The taboo went double for a salute.

Now, she merely checked the room to make sure they were alone before returning the gesture.

It had been a year since she last saluted anyone. Doing so reminded her of who she really was.

She wasn't the beloved yet frail daughter of one of the most famous families in Japan. She was their highly-capable descendant, dispatched here by an unknown power to change destiny as best as she could. And she did not plan to fail to discharge her duty, even if it weighed upon her shoulders like Fujiyama.

"Sally forth, Miyuki-san. And be safe."

So spake Hina Togo, an admiral of the Japanese Maritime Self-Defense Force, stranded in the Empire of Japan…


That Kind-Hearted Light

A Changing Destiny Omake


X===X===X​


S/N: Again, thank you so much to Skywalker T-65 to not only providing me with a wonderful story to read, but allowing me to write in the setting he created.

So, what's a worse situation than a modern-day East German transported to Nazi Germany? A modern-day Japanese woman stuck in the patriarchal, oppressive, and xenophobic environment of the Empire of Japan, that's what. Because as anyone who knows me well can tell you, I'm a B U L L Y.

I jokingly blame Sky and my younger self for this. Years ago, I promised to write an omake with Rochester. But I got so busy that Sky beat me to writing Roch, which lead to me getting beaten by a disappointed armored cruiser. (Ouch ouch ouch, I'm sorry, Roch T_T)

Since I couldn't write Roch anymore, I decided to write about someone else. And that recent hullabaloo gave me the impetus to try my hand at writing a person stuck between a rock and a hard place.

Hina Togo is a supporting character from my old fic Eternity. She's the descendant of Heihachiro Togo by way of his younger son Minoru, which makes her situation even more poignant. She got transplanted into the era as Togo's 'granddaughter' at around the same time as James Thompson and Gustav Schreiber. She retains her Eternity origin's personal animosity toward her coworker Admiral Goto a.k.a. the go-to Japanese admiral for most English language Kancolle fan works.

Hina's 'brother' is her grandfather Ryoichi Togo, a grandson of Gensui Togo by the latter's younger son Minoru. In the OTL, Ryoichi died aboard Maya in the prelude to the Battle of Leyte Gulf. Those who read my fic Tsun Silent, Tsun Deep will recognize the Japanese admiral who keeps banging Kaga.

Riain is Riain Nettles, another Eternity immigrant, family-friendly Rule 63 take on Admiral Settle of KC Quest fame, and Lady-Not-Appearing-In-This-Omake.

Miyu is Miyuki, the only member of the Fubuki class who sank before World War Two. She replaces Murakumo as Hina's secretary ship since Mura is still afloat as of the latest chapter.

Yes, Hina summoned other ship-girls, including "Ama" and "Kana." I intend them to appear in the next installment.

The title is derived from the song by Masterplan. Hina means "light" in Japanese. And one of Hina Togo's characteristics is kindness to anyone who isn't named Goto.

Again, I hope you all enjoyed this omake and hope it follows the spirit set by Changing Destiny. Have a good 2020 ^_^
 
Chapter 57
Chapter 57
Not what I expected to be doing with my life, when I left home.

Admiral Thompson squared his shoulders and resisted the urge to pace. He stood beside Utah, outside the office of another ghost from the past. It wasn't enough that he spent time with the likes of Bull Halsey or James Richardson. Nor was it enough that he was a personal advisor to Franklin Roosevelt now- and hadn't that been a fun conversation -and spent a lot of his time telling the President about future events. No. He had to also be the one sent across the Atlantic to brief Winston motherfucking Churchill on ship spirits. He was lucky that Roosevelt didn't want him telling Churchill about the time travel.

'You are an asset we can ill-afford to share, I'm afraid. For now, I believe we will keep your secret just that. A secret between myself, Admirals Halsey and Richardson, and yourself.'

"...well, can't deny that logic." Thompson muttered to himself, prompting Utah to turn curious eyes on him. He waved a hand, shrugging as well. "Don't worry, just talking to myself. Who do you think we're going to be meeting? There's supposed to be at least one of you here."

Utah shrugged right back. "I haven't the faintest idea, Admiral. The British are...well. I have never really met any of them. Not well enough to say who may have come back."

"About what I expected." Turning to look at the walls and paintings around him, Thompson crossed his arms in thought. If it isn't a batleship, I'll be amazed. It doesn't seem quite right to be someone other than a battleship, not in the Royal Navy. But who? Hood didn't sink. Bismarck sank Revenge, so maybe her...? Or Royal Oak?

Times like this, Thompson almost regretted that he had served in the Pacific and Japan during the attacks by the Abyssals. He didn't really know the British ships all that well, outside of his odd visit to Hood here and there. And that was this timeline's Hood, not the one he would have met in the future. He didn't have the slightest idea of what to expect.

"First time for everything, I guess."

"What do you mean, sir?" Utah asked, curiously looking at the Admiral.

Thompson just smiled, "First time for everything. I've never really had the chance to meet the British girls, other than Hood. So this is new for both of us. Not that I expected what I knew to help me much here, anyway. I wasn't expecting Little E to be so...so..."

Laughter greeted his words. Utah held a hand to her mouth, mirth in her grey eyes. "Yes, I imagine that was the case. Enterprise is...a special girl. I can see that even more, now that you've told me what she could become. I never would have imagined her as the one to lead us to victory. I would have expected that to be my daughters."

"I'm sure they'll still have a role to play. You should meet Iowa, one of these days. I'm sure she'd love to talk to you."

Though, when he thought about it, Thompson wondered what he should expect out of Iowa. So much of what she was came after the war...what was she like during it? He'd be lying if he said that, despite everything else, he wasn't enjoying meeting these girls in their prime. He vastly preferred the Enterprise of today, to the Grey Ghost of tomorrow. Even if he was fairly certain that Halsey probably almost shot one of his crew on a daily basis. For all that the man said he wasn't a good father, he had a protective streak bigger than the Pacific.

'Damnit, I'm her Admiral, not her father! I command her, I don't raise her!'

'B-but, I...'


Shaking his head bemusedly, Thompson straightened his back out and returned to staring at the door to Churchill's office. As amusing as the image of Enterprise pouting at Halsey until he patted her on the head was, he did have a job to do here. Enough of the past and the future, he needed to focus on the present. After all, he could hear someone moving behind that door.

"Get ready, Utah. I may not have met any British ships, but I know enough about Churchill to know this will be fun." Thompson saw the door begin to swing open, and mentally chuckled at one thing. At least he wasn't Admiral King.

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

Those words came from the mouth of Winston Churchill himself. The bulldog of Britain stood in front of Thompson, his square-jawed face showing a jovial sort of cheer that seemed distinctly out of place for how serious the man acted in public. Behind his stocky frame, three other figures stood, just out of sight. Thompson caught glimpses of an average looking man who was slightly familiar. A slim and lean blonde woman, who had narrowed her blue eyes at him. Or, more accurately, at Utah. The final person in the room was a woman so stocky and built like a tank, that she made Churchill look like a petite ballerina in comparison.

Guess I was right about the British ship being a battleship. Who is the other one, though? And why is she dressed like a maid?

He figured that the blonde wasn't the British ship. The dark-red haired woman, on the other hand, probably was. She certainly looked the part, from her repurposed naval jacket right down to her burly frame.

"Mr. Prime Minister," Thompson inclined his head, slightly, reaching a hand out to shake Churchill's. The British man had a strong grip when he returned the gesture. "Did you already have guests? I didn't know we'd have to talk with someone else."

Churchill chuckled, retracting his hand only long enough to gesture at the man and two women behind him. "My guests are partly why I insisted on having this meeting be today. I have the feeling you will answer questions that we both have."

"...right. Who are they, then?" Thompson stepped past Churchill, staring at the others in the room. Utah followed him as if she were a shadow, her own grey eyes meeting the blue of the blond woman.

For his part, the Admiral was more focused on the other man in the room. Despite the civilian suit he wore, he carried himself like a career soldier. His back was ramrod straight, his dark gaze staring directly at Thompson. Evaluating him. Looking for answers in what he saw, just as much as the American was doing. He was...well. He was certainly someone to take notice of, even if he weren't in Winston Churchill's office.

"Admiral Günther Lütjens." The other man finally spoke, as his eyes continued to examine Thompson. He didn't hold his hand out. "You are very young for an Admiral. Are the Americans desperate, or is there something special about you?"

....Lütjens? I thought he was...Bismarck's Admiral. If I'm remembering correctly. How did he end up here? Bismarck hasn't been sunk. She's been doing better than she should have, actually. And who does that make the woman with him?

Even past the shock he knew must have been on his face, Thompson hadn't failed to notice how the blonde stuck close to the now-named German. She had to have been related, somehow.

"I can see you're curious about my friend," Lütjens smiled, thinly. He still didn't hold a hand out, though he did turn his eyes away to look at the woman by his side. The woman who continued to stare down Utah. "Sascha, relax. She is no threat to you, or I, not here." It was only when the blonde reluctantly crossed her arms over her chest, that Lütjens turned back to Thompson. His smile softened, ever so slightly. "This is Sascha, though you may know her better as Gneisenau. She has been at my side ever since our battle with Hood. I am alive because of her."

"Gneisenau." Thompson sounded out the word, wincing at the wince from the Germans at his pronunciation. Ignoring that for the moment, he reflected that this war got stranger every day. A German Admiral and battleship, in the office of Winston Churchill.

Speaking of which, Churchill stepped back into view. He stood beside the woman who looked like she was related to him, waving a hand in her direction. "And this is Royal Oak, my own self-appointed bodyguard. So long as no one starts shooting, she'll leave everything to us. Doesn't talk much, if I'm being frank."

The stocky woman just shrugged her shoulders. "I'm a fighter. Not a talker."

"Exactly my point, my dear." Churchill chuckled, turning around to stare at Thompson and Utah. "Now. We've all been introduced to each other, so it is time to ask some questions. Oak here hasn't the foggiest on how she returned as she did. I was lead to believe that you two know more about how this all works, since our German friends don't." His eyes drifted to Lütjens, a little bit of the good cheer leaving. "Or won't tell me."

Lütjens shook his head, "As I have said, neither myself nor Sascha have any more idea than you do."

While the Prime Minister waved a dismissive hand at the German officer, Thompson sighed softly. He glanced at Utah, seeing her sending him the same look. They were, now as ever, on the same page. Without the ability to explain the time-traveling part, they had to improvise. Improvise off guesses. It was, after all, not as if Thompson knew exactly how Utah had come back. He had some guesses, to be sure, but that's all they were. He could easily enough tell them how to summon ship girls. Roosevelt had told him to do much the same, in their meetings, though Thompson had made it clear they shouldn't until and unless Abyssals showed up.

'You seem quite terrified of these...demons. Were they truly worse than the Nazis? The Japanese?'

'Maybe not in how many they killed, but certainly in how hard they are to fight. I don't want to risk even more people dying because we can't use the oceans...sir.'


Pushing the memories down, the young Admiral looked at Lütjens first. There was a question to answer. "I'm only thirty-eight, so I know I'm young for my position. Before all of...before all of this, I was only an Admiral because I'd pioneered a lot of what our carriers use. I don't think you'd understand that. Germany doesn't have a carrier, right?"

Lütjens laughed, in a self-deprecating manner. "We would, if Goering were less of a fat bastard. The Luftwaffe refuses to part with any useful aircraft. I find myself wondering if we would even get any use out of a carrier if we had one." He placed a hand on Gne...Sascha's shoulder. Squeezed softly, in a way that reminded Thompson of Halsey and Enterprise. "I've had to reflect on a lot of my beliefs, in the last few hours."

That gave Thompson an answer that was actually helpful. He didn't comment on that, though. "I see. Well, I'm afraid to say that even we only have guesses right now." That was directed at Churchill, who raised an eyebrow. "I've been able to talk with the spirits of the ships longer than anyone, and I have spent a lot of time talking with Utah about how she came back. Our best guess is just that. A guess."

"Humor me," the Prime Minister placed his hands on his desk, having moved back towards it. "What is your guess about how this occurred? And if we should worry about the Huns or Japs figuring it out."

Ignoring the way Churchill spoke, Thompson turned to his own companion. "Utah, can you bring out the papers we brought?"

"Certainly."

With a smile on her face, Utah walked up to Churchill's desk. She fished in her uniform and came out with a stack of papers, placing them gingerly down upon the wooden frame. She, with a slightly scarred hand, opened up the first folder and took out a spreadsheet that wouldn't have looked out of place in an office of the 21st century. At least in design. It did get a raised eyebrow from Churchill at how different items were connected by lines.

Utah hardly seemed to notice his reaction. She just looked down at the paper, before turning her expression on everyone else in the room. Other than Thompson, anyway, as he was the one who put the thing together.

"As the Admiral said, this is all guesswork. I'm the only...point of data?" Utah looked at Thompson, a hint of confusion in her eyes. The Admiral just smiled and nodded, waving a hand for her to continue. "Right. I'm the only point of data we have. I came back, when the others who were sunk at Pearl didn't."

To her credit, Utah kept a tremor out of her voice when she spoke about that day. Even though Thompson could see the lingering pain and, yes, self-loathing in her eyes. He probably imagined things, when he saw Sascha narrow her eyes.

"Right now, our best guess is that I came back because of Admiral Thompson and my Captain being able to talk to me. Something about how they were so kind and took the time to communicate with me, to..." Face flushing, the battleship cut herself off from finishing her statement. She coughed lightly and continued. "We believe that it has something to do with care. How much we care about someone and want to protect them, or how much we care about a place and want to protect it."

As one, everyone in the room turned to look at Sascha and Oak, when Utah finished speaking. Lütjens, especially so, as he looked over at the woman by his side. "Sascha? Does that sound at all accurate?"

With a dusting of light pink on her cheeks, the blonde shrugged her shoulders. "I...perhaps? It is all a bit of a blur after I threw you overboard, Admiral."

"She threw you overboard?" Thompson blinked slowly, staring at the two Germans.

Sascha just blushed even brighter. "I wasn't going to let my Admiral die! Would Utah have let you die like that? Because you were too honorable and wanted to go down with the ship?"

"I wouldn't want Admiral Thompson to do that," Utah raised a finger, a small smile on her lips. "But he is not my Admiral, nor was I his flagship. You would have to ask Saratoga that question. Though I imagine you would get quite a different answer from her."

It was Thompson's turn to have everyone stare at him, as he tugged up the collar of his uniform and coughed into his hand. He tried to ignore the appraising look from Churchill the most, knowing the man was sharp. He didn't want to answer that particular question, when he wasn't even sure what the answer was himself. He especially didn't want to put words into Sara's mouth, when she wasn't able to speak for herself. So. In lieu of avoiding that problem, he pointed at the table instead.

Better to keep my mind off that question.

"I'd like to question Sascha and Oak a bit more, so I have more data to work with. Right now I only have Utah and what I can guess from talking with Sara and the others. If I can talk with a few other warships, especially ones like Utah, I might have a better idea of what's making them come back like this. Do we know if the Germans have any more ships like this? If anyone can talk with them?"

At that question, Churchill sighed deeply and pulled out a cigar. As the thick smell of smoke began to fill the room, the old man took a long drag on the cigar. He was deep in thought, before he blew out a soft breath. Smoke drifted around his face, as the Prime Minister looked at Thompson. For the first time, his face was entirely serious and missing even the slightest hint of levity. He was not joking around anymore.

"This is something that will not leave this room, understand? I am showing a great deal of trust in you, by telling you this. I suspect it will reach Franklin soon enough." Churchill took another drag on the cigar, chomping it between his teeth while he continued. "This is far beyond top secret. If word of this reached the press, or god forbid the Russians, we'll never hear the end of it. It may end the war."

Thompson and Utah shared a look, before the former stepped to the plate. "I understand. What are you talking about, Mr. Churchill? Is it that important, really?"

Because what he's saying sounds a lot like how my secret would work, if it got out. Assuming people didn't just throw me in the loony bin.

That went unsaid, of course, as the burly British man pulled his cigar free and pointed over at Lütjens and Sascha. Thompson followed the finger, raising an eyebrow. What was he getting at? He felt like he was missing something important. Something very important.

"Our German friends didn't know about it," Churchill finally spoke again, turning his cigar towards his desk, where a paper was buried beneath Utah's stack. "You've heard about what happened to Revenge, I assume? How that bastard in Bismarck knocked her around?"

The American nodded, "A bit hard not to hear about that, even in the Pacific. General Marshall raised hell over those tanks that were captured. Why? Did something happen to Revenge? Is she like this too?"

What Thompson didn't say, was that he was curious about that himself. Whoever was in command of Bismarck- because it clearly wasn't Lütjens -knew how to use his ship. And knew to get the hell out of dodge, instead of staying around to get attacked by the Royal Navy's carriers. The man was smart and cagey, at least.

"No, she isn't." Churchill snorted, looking over at Oak.

Who just uncrossed her thick arms, and held them out in a gesture of confusion. "Don't look at me, I don't bloody know. I still don't know how I'm here for fuck's sake."

"Yes, thank you, dear." Even the Prime Minister flinched at her choice of vernacular.

Hell, the only one who didn't flinch was Thompson. He was born in a time where women spoke that way all the damn time. And, for that matter, he'd heard much worse from some of the girls he worked with back in the day. Kongou had a mouth on her when she got riled up.

"If Revenge isn't back, what are you getting at?" Thompson, in fact, just brushed it off and returned to the matter at hand. He needed a straight answer to his question. It, of course, wasn't lost on him that he was famous for being cagey about direct answers himself.

It was a strange sensation, being on the other side of that. He didn't like it.

"The answer to that is simple. Admiral Schreiber, the man in command of Bismarck, is just like you."

When Churchill spoke those words, Thompson and Utah flinched and stared at each other. Their eyes spoke what their mouths, hanging open, wouldn't dare voice. Like him? Did Churchill know? Had Roosevelt told him, despite telling Thompson to not mention it? It...it didn't make sense. Roosevelt was a man of his word, politician or not. He had sworn that he wouldn't tell anyone Thompson's secret without permission. That he wouldn't rat him out.

Surely that wasn't a lie. The President wouldn't have sold Thompson out like that. He couldn't have. He wouldn't have.

There must be something different here, something that Thompson was still missing. That made a lot more sense. If Churchill didn't know the truth, what else could he possibly mean? How was this Schreiber like Thompson? He...he...

"He can talk with the ships like me...?" Thompson knew his voice was shaking, and he cursed that mentally. But he could hardly stop it, not when he felt a cold chill running down his spine. "Is that what you mean, Mr. Churchill?"

Churchill nodded, "That's exactly what I mean. Our friend Lütjens had no idea he could do that. We wouldn't have known, if this Schreiber hadn't seen fit to send a message via-Bismarck to Revenge. A message asking for us to help him overthrow that murdering bastard in Berlin, so long as we agreed to keep the Russians out of Germany."

Thompson felt a jolt of relief that this other Admiral didn't seem to be from the future, and a surge of confusion at what he had heard. "Pardon?"

"Exactly what I said. The Hun wants us to agree to recognize his little Resistance, in exchange for keeping Stalin's hordes out of Germany." Churchill shrugged again, shaking his head in clear annoyance. "I'm still not sure what to think of that, considering we are allies with the Reds. I don't like them much, but I hate Hitler even more. Asking my government to support a resistance to the Nazis in exchange for stabbing Stalin in the back..."

Lütjens coughed, "As he stabbed you and Poland in the back? Stalin is hardly blameless in this current mess of a War."

"Of this I am very well aware, Lütjens." Churchill didn't even bother looking over at the man, instead keeping his attention focused on Thompson. "I want the opinion of your government on that matter, and your opinion on how this Schreiber can shape the war. I've heard rumors out of Italy as it is, we have spies convinced they have a destroyer running around."

Germany and Italy both? What about Japan, then?

It was safe to say that Thompson believed Japan wouldn't be far behind her allies. Not when they had been the first to clue in on ship girls in the future. This war was going to get a lot more complicated, even ignoring the idea of a German Admiral being able to talk with the girls. As impossible as that sounded.

"Schreiber..." Thompson mouthed the name, trying to think if he had heard it before.

Was this a man who had existed in the past and never reached flag rank? Was it a man who had popped into existence because of the changes he had made? Or...was this a man from his time? Never before had Thompson hated himself more, for the fact he had never been high enough ranked to know the other Admirals in the future. He had only known a couple, like Takeda, that he had actually worked with. He couldn't begin to say who the German Admiral had been.

Was it Schreiber? He both welcomed and dreaded the idea.

No no no. I'm paranoid enough as is. I can't obsess over this...I'll just have to ask Churchill to get me in touch, somehow. Then I can ask questions. For now, I have to assume he's from this time, not my own. Because if I'm not the only one who came back...who's to say there isn't someone in Japan, right now? Or Russia? Or Italy?

Sucking in a breath, the American Admiral calmed his rapidly beating heart. "Admiral Lütjens?"

"Ja?"

"Can you tell me everything you know about Schreiber? If I'm going to make any guesses about how he can talk to the spirits, I need to know about him." Thompson had ulterior motives, of course, but the fact remained...he needed to know more.

Lütjens may or may not have clued in on what the Admiral was asking, but he just nodded. "I can't tell you much, I'm afraid. I only knew him as Blücher's Captain. I'll tell you everything I can, however, as I'm interested in the answer as well."

"Good, good. We'll call this meeting over for now." Churchill clapped his hands, waving at the door. "I have work to do, and papers to look over." Here, he pointed at the stack that Utah had left on his desk. "We will talk more about this, rest assured. I have as many questions as I do answers, now."

Thompson felt much the same way, for the first time in a long time...



...speaking of long times, this took much longer than I wanted. But anyone who reads my other threads knows what work put me through. Hell, anyone who read this thread knows that. At least I'm out of there now, though I need to find a new job.

Either way, this chapter is a bit longer than my current average. Kind of got away from me a bit, tbh. Hopefully it worked out. Even if it is a lot of talking more than anything else >.>

I will do the meeting with Roosevelt as a flashback omake thing, maybe this week if I have time and muse fuel.
 
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Cruisers
A little something @MagisterAurelius and I cooked up. Derpcruiser meets uberserious cruiser, what could go wrong...
-----

A sigh escaped Atlanta's lips as she leaned against the railing outside her bridge. It had been two days since the start of her post-shakedown refit. Of course she'd tried helping her crew out with repairs and the new additions they were planning to add to her, but after a few polite rebuttals from her crew... and a direct order from Captain Jenkins to take it easy, she'd finally given up.

She'd have to remember to thank him for that. Atlanta hadn't realized just how sore her shakedown trails had left her until she finally stopped and tried to rest. Today was a little better, but every muscle in her body, her mind briefly wondered if they actually were muscles, screamed at her as her crew worked on a few minor repairs.

"Well aren't you a cute little thing." Atlanta heard a perky voice over the radio. Looking around the harbor, she spotted a figure standing on the B turret of the heavy cruiser sitting next to her. The figure, a teenage girl about Atlanta's 'age' with a platinum blond bob haircut jumped off the turret, landing on her deck and smoothing out her grey sundress. "Like an over-sized destroyer. You must be a new Destroyer Leader like Porter or Somers."

Atlanta felt her eyebrows twitch as the new girl continued on, and she had no doubt anyone in her engine room would have noticed a sharp increase in her pressure gauges. "Excuse me!" She shouted at the heavy cruiser, startling Emory and a few other officers working inside. "Who the hell are you calling an oversized destroyer!"

"Everything alright Atlanta?" Emory asked.

Atlanta sighed. "Yeah, just dealing with our new neighbor who keeps calling me an oversized destroyer." She grumbled.

"Wichita?" He asked, more than a little indignation in his own voice. Behind him, Atlanta noticed one of the junior officers go a bit pale at the mention of that name. "Here, tell her this." He then whispered into Atlanta's ear, the grin on the cruiser's face soon matching his.

"Well at least I'm actually treaty compliant." Atlanta said with a smirk.

"But I am treaty compliant. It never said anything about full loads being... " Atlanta's smirk widened as she watched Wichita slowly realize what she meant. "Hey, I'm not fat! In fact, I bet you wished you had my curves!" Atlanta looked at Wichita and then down at her chest.

Somehow she really doubted that last part.

Giving Emory a smirk, Atlanta jumped over the railing and landed on her deck. She heard a whistle as she smoothed out her skirt. "You look like someone out of one of those posters." Wichita said, a slight blush on her cheeks. Atlanta herself blushed, knowing exactly what posters Wichita was talking about. "Wait, what do you come in at fully loaded?"

"8300 tons, give or take." Atlanta admitted

"So how…" Wichita began to ask, noticeably crossing her arms over her chest.

"How does anything regarding us work?"

"Fair point." Wichita admitted, before sticking out her hand. "USS Wichita, CA-45."

"USS Atlanta, CL-51."

"Post shakedown refit?" Wichita asked. "So what are they adding?"

"Couple more Oerlikons, upgraded radar that nobody is saying anything about but has my gunnery officer giddy as a school girl over. What about you?"

"Got into a fight with a hurricane off of Iceland… that also turned into a fight with a freighter… and a trawler… and with the Icelandic coast."

"Sounds rough." Atlanta winced. "Makes me glad I'm headed to the Pacific."

"I don't know Atlanta." Wichita replied, losing her smirk in the process. "It sounds like the Arctic convoys are getting hammered by bombers coming from Norway, and judging by the fact it looks like you mugged one of the North Carolina's for their secondary battery you'd probably be a good fit for solving that problem."

"I'll pass." Atlanta admitted. "Not that I don't believe the Brits could use a hand, but me and rough seas really don't agree. I have a bit of an issue with being top heavy."

"So I've noticed…" Wichita muttered with a twinge of jealousy. "I see your point. That storm was pretty bad. Poor Baboo still hasn't come out of his hiding spot yet and it's been over a month."

"Baboo?" Atlanta cautiously asked.

"My kitty." Wichita joyfully told her. "He's my best friend and the crew love him. Well, except for Captain Mullins. You should really think about getting one Atlanta."

"I-" Atlanta was interrupted by a loud crash coming from Wichita's bridge. "WICHITA!" someone, most likely the aforementioned captain Atlanta guessed, shouted from roughly the same spot.

"Sorrygottogo!" Wichita said, before running back up her superstructure. "No Baboo! Bad Kitty! No peeing on the captain's uniform!"

"Well…" A slightly puzzled Atlanta said, watching the scene unfold. "That just happened." Walking back to her own bridge, she just gave Emory and the others a puzzled look. "I'm the only sane cruiser, aren't I." No one on the bridge dared comment. "Commander, what's Captain's Jenkins position on having a pet on board?"

"I'll ask him." Emory replied with a chuckle. "Just no cats."

"Agreed."
 
Interlude: Utah and The Old Guard
Interlude: Utah

Compared to any city in the United States, it was not hard to see that London was a city at war. People were thin on the ground, darting to and from storefronts in ways that spoke to long practice. More than a few would look to the sky, nervously gulping as if they expected bombs to fall any second. Even the more relaxed walked with a purpose and wasted little time. Compared to New York, lights shining into the night, or any other American city? Where people didn't act like they were in any danger, and just went about business as usual? It was a sharp and unwelcome contrast and a reminder of what could happen if the war turned truly sour. Not a good thing to contemplate.

As if Pearl hadn't been enough of a reminder, as a gray-haired woman brought a hand to the thin scars crisscrossing her face and let out a little sigh.

'Admiral, do you mind if I walk around London? I'm curious about how different it is.'

'Have you never been to London before?'

'I've been to Britain. Did I go to London...? I don't honestly remember, that was a long time ago. But...I want to see it with my own eyes. Walk with my own feet. This is something I feel like I need to do.'

'Don't let me stop you! I've got too much work to do here, so I won't be able to join you, though. Just remember to take your papers with you. No one will mess with you if you do.'


So, with the harried Admiral Thompson's permission, Utah had decided to wander London. Not sure exactly what she was looking for, beyond just base curiosity. Perhaps she wanted to see what life at war was like.

I'm not even sure why I asked to do this. I...feel I had to do this. Maybe I'll learn why before I return.

Shaking her head, Utah brushed a lock of silver hair back and tried to ignore the looks she was getting. More pity than any worry or curiosity about her. Perhaps, despite her relatively youthful features, the people assumed she was an old woman who was wounded in a bombing raid. Ha. They wouldn't exactly be wrong, now would they? Wrong reasons, right conclusion. Stranger things had happened.

"Excuse me, miss? You need to step back, this is a military base." The first person to talk to her, in fact, was a young man in some form of uniform. He looked apologetic for interrupting her, though his rifle wasn't far from hand. "Are you lost? First time in London, right? I know the look."

Utah smiled softly, despite herself. "I don't know if this is my first time. It would have been years ago, though, so I may just not remember it." Smiling a little more at the confused look from the young man- the boy, really -Utah shook her head again. "Sorry, just an old woman rattling on. Where am I, exactly? I don't want to go somewhere important."

Tilting his head to the side, the soldier scratched at the side of his scalp, beneath his old helmet. "This is the docks, ma'am. I would have thought the smell would have tipped you off! Right stinky place, it is."

"I've been to docks many times. The smell is something I'm very used to now." Utah couldn't help the small amount of amusement she got out of confusing the poor boy. Being able to talk to someone outside the Navy was...she could never get enough of it. "Sorry, sorry. Though...do you mind answering an old woman's question? I promise I'll be out of your way after that. Don't want to be getting a nice boy like you in trouble."

"Ask away, madame." The boy flushed a little, coughing at the way Utah smiled at him.

I wonder if he feels like I'm his mother. Perhaps his grandmother.

It didn't occur to the boy, nor the woman, that Utah was probably only a decade or so older than the boy.

"I've heard that Victory is in drydock to become a museum. Could you direct me to where she is?" If she were asked, Utah wouldn't be able to tell anyone what prompted that question. She just felt...right.

"Victory?" For his part, the boy was confused more than anything else. "Erm...right. I'm sorry, ma'am, but Victory hasn't been in London in decades. Far as I know, she's down in Portsmouth. Do you know where that is? It's not that far from here, really, though you might have some trouble catching a train. What with the war and all."

Utah simply shrugged, and pulled out her papers. When she showed the picture- with a fake name, admittedly -and the signature of Churchill himself, the poor lad's eyes practically bugged out. He coughed, almost choking on his own breath. "W--well, that would work, yes. Would you like me to get my Leftenant to escort you, madame? I imagine someone as important as you would--"

"That won't be necessary. I'd like to look around the countryside a bit, anyway."

Giving the poor boy a little wave, Utah continued on her way. The map in her mind- her navigator, seemingly reincarnated, looking over it -pointed her in the right direction better than any young soldier could. She could visit Portsmouth and be back to Admiral Thompson within the day, if she was quick about it. Why she wanted to see Victory so much? That she couldn't answer. Not until she had actually talked to the old girl...

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"Ma'am, can I ask why you're wanting to board Victory? She's still being refit at the moment and isn't open to the public. Doubly so with the War."

It was hard to resist the temptation to sigh, it really was. Utah stood before a portly middle-aged man, who wore an ill-fitting Commander uniform. Or so her crew said it was, those who had served in the Great War. Did he expect her to be a German spy wanting to set Victory alight or something? She'd make a poor spy indeed, if she were trying to do that in broad daylight.

"I have...personal reasons to see Victory." Utah still didn't have a direct answer to give, so she wasn't even lying. "I won't go anywhere dangerous."

The man stared at her, suspicion in his beady eyes. "Hm. You a descendant of a crewman or something? Can't imagine why you'd want to board her until after the War if you aren't something like that. It's not like Victory is going anywhere!" His face twisted into a deep, dark scowl. "Unless the Huns manage to actually bomb her. Bastards can't resist trying to spit in our eyes. See how they like it when we burn one of their fancy museums to the ground."

Perhaps it was because she had already looked at the depths of her anger and come back from the brink- though it would always be lurking beneath the surface -but Utah couldn't stop from rolling her eyes this time. Luckily, the man didn't notice. Revenge. What good was revenge, when it only hurt the people you cared about? She'd never forget the sight of that burning plane. She wouldn't let herself forget.

"That's part of why I want to see her now," and this time she was lying through her teeth. "I don't know when I will get another chance. I'm only in Britain for a little while before I head back to the States. Victory may not be here when I return, if I ever do."

If I even survive this war. Admiral Thompson is still worried that I may have to fight something I can't beat, though I can't get a straight answer out of him.

"A Yankee?" The middle-aged Commander blanched, his face showing more annoyance now. "A Yank wants to board Victory, in the middle of the War, when we're trying to refit her? You expect me to---"

Tiring of the man's blustering, Utah just pulled the papers out again. She got a little vindictive amusement out of the way he paled, when he saw her picture and Churchill's signature authorizing her access to anything short of the Admiralty. And even that was allowed, provided she was with Admiral Thompson. The man reminded her of some truly unsavory types she'd had in her crew over the years. His stubborn resistance, in particular, reminded her of the officers who had ignored her when she tried to talk to them. Until...until Joe had listened.

It wasn't a fond memory, and if she could push it down by making this man splutter, well...it pleased a part of her she'd rather not talk about.

"A--aah--" Struggling to put words together, the man thrust the papers back at Utah and looked at her with a very sour expression. "...I don't know, or want to know, why the Prime Minister gave you permission to come here, Mrs. Jackson--"

...Admiral Thompson still has a strange sense of humor. Utah still couldn't hide the flush when she heard that name. Or how she remembered the gobsmacked look on her Engineer's face.

"---but if you want to board Victory, you may. I'm sure you'll understand if I have men keep an eye on you. For your own safety, of course."

"If they must."

Utah knew, very well, that it wasn't about her safety. She was a woman, with the Prime Minister's signature. Intruding on a man's personal fiefdom. A man who, if his appearance was any indication, had been enjoying his cushy assignment far from the frontlines. Hm. Maybe she'd drop a comment around Oak, next time she saw the younger battleship. If Utah was lithe and elegant in a motherly way, Oak was built like a brawler and a proper battleship. Imagining her reaction to the man in charge of Victory acting like this?

Laughing softly to herself, Utah boarded the gangplank to Victory, electing to ignore the uniformed men following behind her at a respectful distance. They, at least, seemed more awkward about things than anything else and were giving her space. As, indeed, did the many laborers toiling to shore up Victory and replace rotted planks. A few curious glances directed her way, nothing more.

I wonder...where would Victory be hiding?

The old battleship wasn't interested in any of the various men wandering around anyway. She was only interested in one person.

"Victory...can you hear me?" Utah whispered, knowing very well that her voice would carry. If Victory were like her, the old girl could hear anything on her hull, no matter how quiet. If she just listened.

A theory quickly confirmed, when a rough voice spoke up from beside her. "W--who the bloody hell are you?"

The voice was rough and gravelly, from disuse or age, it was hard to tell. Maybe it was both. Utah couldn't tell, when she turned her head and looked at the source. The first thing she noticed was how short the woman was. She only came up to Utah's elbow, more or less, and Utah wasn't the tallest woman around in her own right. The second thing that she noticed, was that the woman was dressed in a positively antique uniform. The coat had gold thread on the shoulders, and she carried a sword that wouldn't have looked out of place in a museum.

"You going to stare, or are you going to talk?" The woman's rough voice drew Utah's eyes back to her face, sallow and sullen.

Her skin was pockmarked, as if heavily injured and barely healed over, and her nose looked like it had been broken and reset poorly. Crooked and rough. Bushy eyebrows, gray streaked blonde, sat above watery brown eyes. The woman's shoulder-length dark blonde hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail, and the only thing that seemed to be missing was a stereotypical tricorn hat. Well, that and anything resembling a smile.

"Sorry, you're...not quite what I expected." Utah apologized, her grey eyes shifting to look back at the men following her. They weren't paying too much attention. Still, better safe than sorry. "We should sit down..."

Not waiting for a response, Utah found a bench that had clearly been set for the workers. As none were around at the moment, Utah took advantage to sit down. She even let out a drawn out sigh, to play up her apparent age. It worked, as the men watching her settled for leaning against the railing around Victory's deck and talk with each other, while keeping an eye on her.

As for the ship herself? Victory, for who else could it be, sat next to Utah with a huff. Her stocking-clad legs shifted, the scuffed boots on her heels clacking against the wood. "So. You are clearly not human. No human could see me."

Her accent was so thickly British that Utah got the feeling Victory was deliberately talking slowly, so the 'foreigner' could understand her. "You'd be correct. USS Utah, BB-31. Would I be right to guess you're Victory then?"

"Naturally. Who else would I be?" Victory seemed to be more annoyed than curious as to how someone could see her. "BB...what the 'ell does that mean, anyway? Never heard a Pennant Number like that one."

Utah chuckled softly, "It isn't a Pennant Number. Our navy doesn't use those, we use identification codes. BB is for battleship." Looking at Victory out of the corner of her eye, the old battleship turned her gaze skyward and sighed. "I think that makes you my great-grandmother, at least if you use our roles. I'm the new 'Line of Battle' ship."

For the sake of Victory, Utah didn't mention that she was nothing new and that much better battleships were afloat. Or that, if Admiral Thompson was correct, battleships wouldn't last past this war. Not as the pride of any navy.

"You Yankees and your special names for everything under the sun..." Victory just grumbled anyway, rubbing at her brow. Bloodshot eyes looked at Utah, and did so with a challenging air to them. "So. What's a fancy battleship doing visiting little old me? Surely you have more important things to do. How in the bloody hell are you even here anyway? Ships just up and walking around now? What else have I missed, cooped up here all the time?"

She's bitter. I wonder...no, I don't wonder why. I know exactly how she feels.

"It isn't fun being cooped up here for decades, is it?" Utah asked her own question, instead of answering. If the way Victory twitched was any indication, she wasn't wrong either. "I know how it feels, for what that is worth. I've spent the last decade or so as a target ship for my daughters."

Victory quirked an eyebrow, "What kind of...a target ship? What, your navy too cheap to buy disposable targets?"

"Perhaps." Utah shrugged her shoulders, figuring it would be for another time to explain the concept of moving targets and fire control systems.

"Forget that," Victory continued to stare at her, evidently deciding that she didn't much care anyway. "You never answered my question. Besides, you cannot understand what my life has been like. Flagship of Nelson, victor of Trafalgar, and the Navy let me rot at dock for decades before stuffing me in here. And what good did that bloody do? I have spent the last couple years being attacked by flying machines from the Germans, if the gossipers are telling the truth." Victory glared up at the sky, before turning her gaze back to Utah. "And for all of that, they still haven't done much more than shore up my old beams. Give it a few more years, and I will bloody well sink into the dock in pieces."

To be fair, Utah hadn't been down to Victory's keel or anything like that. But from the amount of workers and wood laying around...she could believe the old warrior. "Maybe I can't understand that. Even so, I was barely keeping myself moving before the Japanese sank me. I know the feeling of dying and being unable to do anything about it."

That, finally, got an appraising look from Victory. "Asians sank you? How did they possibly pull that off?"

"Underestimating them because they're not white was a bad idea." Utah was dry in her response. Casual racism was still a sore point with her, when Admiral Thompson had berated each and every one of the ships he could talk to about it.

None of them had ever looked at their African-American cooks and laborers the same way again.

Victory shrugged her shoulders, covering a soft wince at the movement. "I've been in my fair share of battles, and my fair share of near-death moments. Is that how you are here, then? You died and somehow you can...bloody walk and talk like a normal person? How does that even happen?"

"I wish I had an answer to that. I don't know myself."

Utah let that hang in the air, leaning back to let the sun warm her skin. Cool, salty air wafted over from the busy port, the sounds of men and ships echoing even here. Victory would never see the sea again, but she was close enough to still hear every single one of the newer ships moving by. Was it any wonder she was sour? Utah had felt similarly, when she was torn down and made a target while her daughters were upgraded and sent out to potentially fight wars. She'd never get the chance to sail in formation with them again. She would have to always sit back and watch them leave.

Yes. She could understand Victory better than the old tall-ship thought she did.

"Victory." Utah turned her gaze fully onto the older ship, raising an eyebrow at how Victory had her eyes shut and was leaning back herself. "Can I ask you something?"

The ancient warship snorted in a distinctly un-ladylike manner. Didn't even open her eyes. "You already have been, Yankee. Feel free."

"Did you ever feel like the warships around you are your daughters? I wasn't lying earlier, you are my ancestor in a lot of ways. Did you ever look at Dreadnought or the others and think they were your children?" Utah didn't know exactly what she was expecting to hear from Victory. Or even why she was asking the question.

There wasn't an answer, at least not right away. Victory hummed softly, continuing to keep her eyes shut. As if she were deep in thought, or merely resting off the aches and pains she had to be feeling. Utah couldn't blame her for that. Her old body had hurt at times, and she hadn't been in nearly as bad of a shape.

"That is a hard question to answer, Yankee." Victory finally spoke up, her gravelly voice rough with emotions that were hard to decipher. Her eyes remained shut. "I rarely saw any ship newer than Warrior, you know. Not to any great extent. I know Dreadnought and what she created, but...haaaa." Letting out a long, drawn out sigh, Victory held a calloused hand up and shook it. "Were they my children? Not any more than Warrior or other ironclads. We were always different breeds. I never even got to know them."

Utah felt her shoulders slump, just a little. Had she honestly expected anything else?

"I always looked at the younger battleships as my daughters, my children." Utah whispered softly, brushing her hair back and not looking at Victory's stubbornly shut eyes. "I know they weren't. Not biologically, not by design, and certainly not because I was the first of my kind. I wasn't even the second or third or fourth." The battleship laughed, softly and weakly. "They still treated me as their mother anyway. It was silly, but I loved them all the same."

Victory was silent, before sighing heavily. She finally opened her eyes, bloodshot brown looking at Utah with a calculating expression. "You came to the wrong person to ask about that, Utah." She actually used the battleship's name, and it wasn't sarcastic at all. "For what it may be worth, that sounds like what a mother should do. I had elders like that, when I was your age."

Climbing to her feet, Victory smoothed her skirt and limped over towards a hatch leading down into her hull. The ancient warship looked back at Utah, eyebrow raised high and a sardonic smile on her face.

"They may not have been my mother, but I sure as hell loved them like they were. That is what matters, innit? Remember that, next time you wonder if you deserve to be called a mother." Victory raised a hand in a wave, descending into her hull with a final parting shot. "Maybe the next time we meet, I will have a different answer for you. Might as well see if any of those metal monstrosities think I was their mother..."

In her own, rough and callous way, Victory had answered the question Utah hadn't asked. It had the gray-haired woman looking up at the overcast sky, with a smile that refused to fade.

Yes...I'm their mother, despite everything. I shouldn't doubt that...I love Ari, Okie, Cali and all the others. And they love me too...

She sat there for a long time, lost in thought as men continued to do what they could to fix up Victory around her.


You would think being stuck at home would help my muse. It might, if I weren't sick half the time, or not sleeping the rest of the time, or any number of things that have left me in bed and not able to really do anything. I may like being at home, but even I'm having my limits pressed.

It hasn't been a fun couple months.

As for this...initially, I was going to do a short little 1-1.5k interlude for Mother's Day yesterday. Then Victory took over my keyboard and, well, we get the above. :p


(I'm going to try to work on the next proper chapter soon, though it'll be a long one to make up for the wait. So it may take a little bit more to write, though I'm going to try and make it soon.)
 
Chapter 58
Chapter 58

Sitting in his bed, James Thompson stared up at the ceiling. He had not moved once since returning to this hotel room. Utah had left to get food and he'd barely even looked. He was entirely too preoccupied by thoughts that refused to leave him. All about one man and what he meant for this war.

Gustav Schreiber. The name means nothing to me. But his actions...goddamnit. I can't make any sense of what he's doing unless he's like me. That can't be possible though, we still don't even know how I'm here. I can't believe that someone else came back like this. Yet...

Sucking in a breath, Thompson held up a hand and stared at it, as if it could answer his questions. No answers would come.

"Yeah, that's about what I expected." With a soft chuckle, the Admiral let his hand fall back down. His eyes shifted, just enough, to look over at papers Churchill had sent to his room. "This is a mess. I thought dealing with the President was bad enough. Sometimes I wish I'd just kept my mouth shut and stuck with Sara until the War ended..."

Well, that was a lie. He couldn't regret the work he was doing to save lives. Things had been so much simpler, though, when all he was doing was talking with Sara and the others.

"I'm not going to get anything done just sitting here. Need to think about what I'm going to do." Rolling over in bed, the young Admiral climbed back to his feet and walked over to the desk and the papers. "Schreiber...what's going through your head right now? If you aren't like me, why are you doing this? I don't remember anyone doing anything like this in my time."

Granted, this entire timeline has been just a bit off since I woke up on Sara. So can I really predict anything at all? For all I know this is just an entirely different timeline from start to finish. The Japanese attacked early, after all. Sighing once more, the Admiral picked up a picture of Bismarck moored beside Tirpitz and Scharnhorst in a fjord. Well, nothing for it. I've been asked to figure this man out, so I should probably do that.

Setting the picture down, Thompson sat at the desk and crossed his legs. His eyes roamed over the papers, looking for any clues that he could work with. Anything that would give him a clearer picture of the man on the other side of the War. What did he know, really? Gustav Schreiber had begun in command of Blücher and no one in Britain- not even Lütjens -knew his previous career. The man hadn't done anything truly notable until the action against the Norwegians.

It had been a pain to wrack his own memory on the matter, but Thompson was fairly certain that Blücher was supposed to sink there. He vaguely remembered the Germans losing a brand new cruiser in that campaign, though it was so vague he couldn't be certain.

"So we have someone save a ship that should have sunk, and no idea of what he was doing before that." Thompson scratched his chin, and winced slightly. That was hardly helping the issue of 'is Schreiber also from the future or not?' since it was exactly what Thompson had been trying to do. "Okay...not proving anything. What has he done since then?"

Picking up other papers, the Admiral continued to read. Schreiber had been promoted up to Admiral and given command of Bismarck and Blücher as a battlegroup upon the former's commissioning. That had leapfrogged Lütjens, yet wasn't really indicative of anything else. The original Admiral of Bismarck was in Britain now, after all. So. Schreiber did well in Norway and got to be in charge of the newest battleship in Germany. He took the ship out on one major raid and disabled a British battleship while capturing- not sinking -a convoy. He hadn't even sunk the battleship, though Revenge had been a functional loss anyway.

What was stranger than that, was how he sent the message to Revenge. Schreiber, somehow, knew about the ship spirits. He knew, and he was using it to try and get the British to support him against Hitler and the Soviets. How? And why? He was so specific about the Soviets...

I wonder.

Looking down at his hands, Thompson thought back to his last meeting with the President. He had discussed similar things, hadn't he?

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In the dimness of the Oval Office, Admiral Thompson stared at the President. Roosevelt stared back, a cigarette casting flickers of light in his eyes as he took a drag of it. The President let his hand fall from his lips, blowing out a cloud of thick tobacco smoke. His sharp eyes staring directly into the much younger man, as if he was looking for something. It was always like this. Roosevelt, more than anyone else, knew how to read Thompson.

He always had.

"You are far from the first to raise concerns about Stalin." Roosevelt's voice was as strong as ever. Even with the stress of war and the knowledge of what was to come, the man maintained his composure and strength of will. His body may be failing him, yet his mind remained sharp. "It is a foolish man who trusts the word of a dictator with no concerns, nor complaints. However, I have seen little enough indication he plans on doing what you suggest. If nothing else, the Soviets are hardly in a position to dictate terms with the Germans at the gates of Moscow."

Thompson nodded, his own hands far from the cigarette that Roosevelt had offered him. "It certainly looks that way, doesn't it? If I didn't know how things were going, I'd think the Germans were about to win. But they won't. And the country is going to spend decades staring the Soviets down in Europe."

"Hm. Perhaps." Roosevelt replied, an amicable tone to his voice. "Perhaps what you knew is different from what will happen. Certainly I still find it hard to believe, even after everything you've been proven correct about. I may not trust Stalin completely, however, I trust enough to know that making a friend is better than viewing everyone who disagrees with us as an enemy." Tapping the table, as much to clear his cigarette as to make a point, the President continued. "Like it or not, the Soviets are our ally in this battle. We must acknowledge that and that, God willing, they survive this war in a shape to help us rebuild the World when all is said and done."

It was no secret that FDR trusted the Soviets more than anyone else did. He thought that he could work with them and tame the worst impulses of Stalin and his clique. It wasn't an incorrect belief, from what Thompson knew. Certainly Stalin had gotten along better with Roosevelt than anyone else, and vice-versa. Yet, he couldn't help but feel it was somewhat naive. The Cold War wouldn't have happened if the Soviets could be trusted...right? They were, even now, riddling the American government and the Manhattan Project with spies. His knowledge of that particular project had largely been what convinced the President he was telling the truth.

And the explosion of anger at the Soviet spies, captured after Thompson remembered the names of a couple- only a couple, he was no historian -of the more prominent ones? It was legendary to behold.

"I...well." Thompson sucked in a deep breath, and squared his shoulders. "I'm not going to say we should be ready to stab Stalin in the back when the War's over, or anything like that. I didn't grow up in the Cold War. Everything about that is...second-hand to me. Though, if my father or grandfather were in this room right now, they'd be screaming in your face that we should stop supplying anything to the Soviets and let them and the Nazis kill each other off and wipe our hands of the whole mess, other than stopping the Holocaust."

Roosevelt raised an eyebrow, yet said nothing. He simply took another puff of his cigarette and let the Admiral continue speaking.

"I can't claim to understand it, but my parents and grandparents lived through it, sir. They lived in a world where everyone was constantly afraid of the entire human race blowing themselves up with nuclear weapons. The Soviets spent millions, billions, of dollars and spent thousands of lives propping up Communist states across the world. From the day the war with Hitler ended, until the day the Wall fell, we were at ideological war with the Soviets." Thompson shook his head and sighed. "Again, I didn't live through that. I'm more worried about how many people are dying right now, and if we have to work with the Soviets to stop that, we should. I just..."

"You desire to stop the bloodshed and avoid the suffering of what you know as the post-war world." The President spoke, his face wreathed in smoke. His face was unreadable, yet his eyes held a certain sympathetic glint to them. He sighed as well, and looked down at the table. "I do understand what you are telling me, Admiral. I do not even doubt that you are correct. It hasn't escaped me that the Soviets would happily take all of Eastern Europe for their own. Nor do I doubt that they would cause such an orgy of destruction upon the Germans that it would make the Great War appear as children playing with toys."

Here, the President looked as if he wanted to stand and pace around his desk. He could not. Sighing once more, Roosevelt simply stared at Thompson with tired eyes.

"Yet, the other choice is to allow the Germans to do much the same, if not worse. What you have told me of the Holocaust...I would not have believed it, coming from anyone else. Even as much as I loathe Hitler and his followers, the idea that the German people would willingly slaughter millions upon millions out of a misguided belief in racial superiority...it boggles the mind. I never doubted that we were on a righteous path in our quest to destroy that loathsome government. Your words merely proved my point correct."

Thompson nodded, his own shoulders slumping tiredly. "Japan isn't much better. If there was ever a war where one side was completely evil, this is it. I'm not going to say we shouldn't do everything we can to win this as quickly as possible, and most of my focus is on the Pacific and my girls anyway. I just...you asked me about the future. I can't rightfully tell you about it without mentioning the Cold War and warning you about what Stalin is going to do, as soon as the War is over."

Shrugging helplessly, Thompson looked at the President with a crooked smile. "East Germany and Eastern Europe were not nice places, and I don't think being even nicer to the Soviets is going to do much to convince them to listen. They happily stomped down on anyone who thought about being anything other than hardcore Communist to the end. We have to help them and I will never say otherwise, though."

"Rest assured, Admiral. If nothing else, your words and the capture of the spies has convinced me that we should be more careful in our handling of that relationship. I still trust Stalin further than I would ever trust Hitler or anyone who is in his government, but I will not make the same mistakes you told me of." Roosevelt held a hand out, and Thompson reached out to take it. The President gripped it tightly, his hand showing no signs of the weakness of his body. "I assure you, I will do what I can to safeguard Democracy in Europe and Asia. So long as I live, I will fight for that. Even if it is at odds with our allies."

"As long as we win this war, I think I can deal with whatever else comes after it. As long as we don't die in a nuclear war." Thompson smiled, and Roosevelt chuckled softly. "Or the Abyssals showing up."

"And there is something you will have to tell me more about, before you head to Britain..."


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Looking back at the message from Admiral Schreiber, the American let his head fall to his desk. A deep sigh escaped his lips at the memory and the thoughts of how he was going to explain this to Roosevelt.

"A German Admiral who wants to unseat the Nazis and sign a peace that is unconditional, other than keeping Stalin from getting his gloves all over Germany." Thompson muttered, turning the words over in his head. He already knew what the President would say. "Damn it all...Roosevelt isn't going to want to play ball on that, not without some sort of promise to turn over anyone who committed war crimes. Even then, how the hell are we going to tell Stalin to not march into Germany after what the Germans did?"

As he had told the President, the Cold War was a distant thing for him. In a lot of ways, World War Two- even before he had ended up living it -was more real to him than the Cold War. He knew plenty of girls who had lived and died in the War, after all. He couldn't say the same for Cold Warriors, and since he hadn't had to live with the threat of nukes hanging over his head, he couldn't remotely claim to understand it. He knew that Imperial Japan and Nazi Germany were evil. In his heart and his mind.

It was harder to think the same about the Soviets, simply because he hadn't experienced it.

Can I blame Schreiber for wanting to protect his country, though? If I were living in Germany, I wouldn't want to have the Soviets merrily rampaging across the country, looting and raping as they go. No matter how justified they are in doing that. Or feel they are...I couldn't justify raping innocent women or slaughtering men who had no crime but working a farm.

This was part of why he had been content with his little corner of the War to be. Helping the ship girls to survive and limiting the damage Japan could do at Pearl and beyond. That was nice and simple. He hadn't had to worry about the politics of it all, or about how the Eastern Front was a mess where no one was the good guy, just that the Soviets had more cause for their coming blood-rage than the Nazis did.

Fucking hell, it all kept coming back around to the fact he had no practical experience with the Soviets or what they would do. Intellectually, he knew that letting them have Eastern Europe and start the Cold War would be a disaster. That countries would be stripped bare and turned into meat-shield colonies for the Soviets, and it wasn't just going to be Germany. Emotionally, he couldn't get past the fact that the Soviets were the ones having millions of their people herded up and slaughtered by the Nazis right now. It made getting into Schreiber's head almost impossible for him. He just....he just didn't have the ability to do it.

"I miss Sara." Thompson grunted, slamming his head against his desk repeatedly. "I miss Enterprise. I miss Halsey being an asshole to everyone. It was so much simpler and I don't like what I'm having to do now."

A soft cough caused him to stop the repeated slamming, and instead turn his green-gaze towards the doorway. Utah stood there, holding a tray of food with a worried smile on her face. "I apologize, Admiral. Am I interrupting something important?"

"Nah, just me complaining about how my life sucks now." Thompson replied, waving a hand at the way Utah tilted her head in confusion. "Don't worry, I'll figure things out. So, you do what you needed to do?"

Utah smiled, and moved to set the tray down on the newly-clear desk. "Yes, I did. Talking with Victory was...interesting. I think I'll be meeting with her again before we go home, if that isn't a problem?"

Shrugging and scooting over so Utah had somewhere to sit, the Admiral smiled. "I don't see why not. Besides, we both need to talk to more people. I've been cooped up too much."

"I doubt that you would complain, or that Sister Sara would." Utah smiled back, happily grabbing an apple from the tray.

To his credit, Thompson only blushed a little bit as he reached out and grabbed a piece of fruit for himself. As the two of them ate in silence, the young man could only think. His train of thought had been derailed by Utah's arrival...but maybe that wasn't a bad thing? She could probably give him some more material to work with, anyway. Another voice to talk to and another person to bounce ideas off of. If he just kept up as he had, he'd keep running himself in circles.

He wasn't, and never would be, a politician. All of the political questions were way above his pay grade, yet here he was. The curses of being useful. For something that was out of his control, even.

"Hey, Utah." Thompson asked, when he had no food in his mouth. The battleship- on her third sandwich, now -turned and gave him a sheepish smile. Thompson just smiled back. "I was wondering what you thought about Schreiber? I can't really get into his head, myself, since I've never been in the same kind of position."

Utah swallowed the sandwich, a thoughtful expression flitting across her scarred face. "Honestly, the same is true for me, Admiral. However..." Tapping her chin, Utah leaned back in her chair and looked up a little. "From what we know, he seems to be a man in a difficult place, trying to do the best he can for his country? I know I would do anything to protect America and, more importantly, to protect my daughters. I...you've seen how far I can go, if I must."

The haunted look in her eyes prompted Thompson to place a comforting hand on her arm and give it a little squeeze. "No one blames you for that, y'know. You lost control because you were angry. Happens to us all, every once in a while."

"I know...it still hurts when I remember, though." Utah returned the smile he gave her, and placed her free hand on his own. "I do not really understand all of the political issues myself, but that is what I feel. He feels the same as I do, just for his entire country instead of for a few daughters. Until we talk to him ourselves, I really can't say anything else."

Thompson nodded, "Until we talk to him ourselves..."

The two fell silent, returning to their meal as they were lost in their own thoughts. Utah in her memories of the Pearl Harbor attack. Thompson in thoughts of Schreiber and his motivations. Perhaps he really did just need to talk to the man, face to face. Or as close as they could manage, on opposing sides of the greatest war in human history. If he could talk to the man, he could understand more of his motivations. Why he fought on for a Germany he clearly hated.

Why he was doing everything he possibly could to preserve Germany and keep Stalin out, against all the odds.

Schreiber...I can't understand you, not yet. But maybe I can at least try. If nothing else, I would love to believe we can end this war before so many people have to die...



Hasn't really been a fun few months, but I think everyone can understand that. Toss in that this chapter fought me something fierce and...well. Yeah. Hopefully it lives up to the wait, at least >.>

The hardest part is getting the right mix with Thompson here. He doesn't have anywhere near the emotional connection to things that Schreiber does. He doesn't much like Stalin or the Soviets, but for Thompson, it's more in the way of 'I know they're brutal and we are in a Cold War for decades' sort of way. He didn't live it like the German Admiral did. To him, WW2 and the Nazis/Japanese are a much more real thing than the Soviets ever were.

He's still going to tell Roosevelt that he shouldn't trust Stalin farther than he can throw him, but in a 'you asked me about the future, so I'm telling you' sort of way. Instead of a 'you killed my father, prepare to die.' sort of way. Intellectual vs Emotional.

Hopefully that worked out.

(equally difficult is the Roosevelt view on Stalin, since so much of that is subject to biased reporting, one way or the other. It's difficult to get to the meat of that in research, which took up a lot of time in making this. Not helped by Roosevelt's views on Stalin evolving during the war, once they met in person.)
 
Chapter 59
Chapter 59

"I feel as if the war left us behind a very long time ago, Sascha."

Günther Lütjens slid into his customary chair with a heavy sigh, his bones protesting every movement. He wasn't a young man anymore and he had just been party to his world being turned upside down. This day had been one thing after another. Learning that Sascha was not a maid, and in fact, was his old flagship. Meeting with Winston Churchill to discuss betraying his homeland. Learning that the man who had taken his place, the most famous naval officer- perhaps rivaling even Rommel in fame -was already subverting the war effort. It was maddening.

"To be entirely fair, Admiral, it did." Sascha gave him a small smile, though her muscles and shoulders remained stiff. Her lingering frustration with Churchill, perhaps? "It's hardly as if we have had any way to influence it from here."

The old man could only snort at that. "That is not what I meant, though I appreciate the attempt at humor. Sascha, what is your opinion on all of this?" Sending her a dry look, Lütjens knew what he was asking. "You know more about Gustav's plans than I ever will. What, exactly, does he intend to do with all of this? I can't help but see this as a repeat of the lies that brought Hitler to power in the first place."

Maybe it was his time in Britain, away from Germany, that let him see the Stab in the Back for what it was. A convenient rallying point for keeping Germany angry at the Entente, more than any real truth. He still loathed Versailles, as did any patriotic German, especially one in the military. Yet...

Hmph.

We let his words sway us onto a path that can only end in loss. Germany could possibly have beaten Britain and France alone. Germany has no hope of defeating Britain, Russia and America all working in concert with each other. We were all blind. Blind to follow a madman into the depths of Hell.

"...I'm sure you see my concern." Lütjens finished, tiredly reaching a hand up to rub at his face.

Sascha, to her credit, shifted uncomfortably on her feet. "I am not privy to everything the Admiral is planning, sir. Even with our unique abilities, he isn't comfortable sending everything over radio or wireless. He knows that the Gestapo watch his every step." Folding her hands behind her back, the battleship continued, nerves clear and obvious. "I am sure he is aware of the risks, however. He certainly doesn't want a repeat of what happened after the last war."

Lütjens wanted to believe those words. He truly, honestly, did. However, he could hardly help but acknowledge that Sascha had no first-hand experience with how Germany had been between the wars. She couldn't have. And for all that he acknowledged, now, that Hitler was a madman dragging Germany down with him? Removing him at the moment may not be the best plan. How would the people react if Germany were truly 'stabbed in the back' at the height of their success, when it looked like her armies were invincible?

Sighing once more, the Admiral shook his head. There was nothing he could do to influence events in Germany. What would happen, would happen. "I have to trust in your judgement, Sascha. I hope that Gustav knows what he is doing. I cannot see where he plans to end. Unless he intends to see Germany burnt to the ground before making any sort of move..."

At the way Sascha looked away from him, Lütjens slowly raised a hand to his brow and rubbed at it tiredly. Of course. He should have known the answer to his question, before he so much as asked it. There was only going to be one response. He hated the response, with everything in his being, but it was the only one that made any sense.

"...I shouldn't be surprised by that." So, acknowledging that point, the old Admiral looked at the door. And beyond it, to where the British were waiting for their next meeting, whenever that came. "Fine. Sascha, we must do everything in our power to limit the damage. I will not see Germany destroyed to save her. There must be a way to end this madness before it goes that far."

"Of course, Admiral!" Sascha snapped to attention, firing off a picture perfect salute. A picture perfect Kaiserliche Marine salute. "I'll do anything I can to help you, I promise! Just say the word, and it will be done. Even if I have to fight again!"

"No need for that, dear." Lütjens smiled, before sighing softly.

Waving off the concerned look that Sascha sent his way, the Admiral leaned back in his chair and held a hand to his face. It hid things he would rather not have her see. This...he had his own reasons to not want Germany destroyed. Reasons that had nothing to do with loyalty to the nation.

My boys...my dear daughter. I don't want them to grow up in a country in ruins. I don't want them to constantly be at risk of dying, from starvation or bombs or vengeful soldiers. Even as I contemplate betraying everything I stood for, I fear more for their sake than my own. I will accept whatever my people deem necessary of me, when this war is over. I will not allow my children to suffer. No matter what I must do. Sascha...there is one more thing I must ask of you, my dear friend.

Letting his hand fall, the old Admiral looked over at the battleship. She had dropped her own salute, yet she still stood at parade-ground attention. "Sascha, there is one request I have of you. One more important than any other."

"What is that, Admiral?" Her voice was entirely serious, not a hint of her old act in it. The immigrant maid had been replaced by the calm and collected sailor. Warship. "If it's in my power, I am glad to do it!"

"I need you to contact your sister, and Gustav. I will do what I can to help him. However," here, he stared directly into Sascha's eyes. He wanted no questions to come from what he was about to say, and he wanted everything to be very clear. "I want him to protect my family. I do not care how he does so. If he must have another woman like you do it, I do not care." Lütjens was not a man given to exaggerations, nor to grand gestures. Even so, he stared Sascha down. "If I am to betray my country, if I am to see it burn to end this war, I must know my family will survive."

Something flashed behind Sascha's eyes, yet she nodded her head anyway. "Of course, Admiral. I...I would do the same for my sister."

"So I imagine." Lütjens smiled and relented from his stare. "That is all I ask of you, Sascha. You may go now...I think I'd like to rest a while."

After all, the old Admiral had the distinct feeling that the next few days, months, years...were not going to be fun for him. He would need his rest where he could find it.



The coming days are going to be interesting. And not in a good way.

While Admiral Lütjens rested, Admiral Thompson found it impossible to do so. He paced in his room, while Utah poured over the details of how Royal Oak had woken up in Scapa. And what little that Gneis...Sascha...had been willing to share of her own experience. He wasn't entirely sure if she was reading all of that because she was curious, or if it was to let him have peace to think to himself. Either way, he was taking advantage of the spare time.

"Right. I can't confirm anything about Schreiber without talking to him myself, but there's no way that will work. Not in the middle of a war..." muttering to himself, Thompson looked down at his bed. His own notes scattered over it, his attempts at remembering the names of everyone he had worked with in the future. His past. "Damnit, I wish I could remember. I haven't had to think about things back then in years. I didn't think I would have to."

"Are you concerned he is like you are, Admiral?" Utah piped up, though her grey eyes remained focused on what she was reading. He forgot how good her- any of the women, really -hearing was. "I admit, it would make a certain amount of sense. I can hardly imagine why anyone without your experience would know we exist."

Thompson sighed deeply, "Same here, Utah. It doesn't make any sense. But it also doesn't make any sense that he wouldn't just defect if he was like me. Why bother working for Germany at all?"

"I believe we already answered that question. Just as I would do anything for my daughters, or you would do anything for any of us..." Utah trailed off, sending a significant look at the Admiral, instead of looking at her papers.

"...he'd do anything for his country and girls. Right."

Utah smiled, and returned to what she was doing. Thompson took her example and returned to his own pacing. Alright. There was almost zero chance that Schreiber wasn't from the future, based on the available data. He'd looked at absolutely everything they had on the man, from British intelligence to what his fellow Admiral and Sascha had said. Everything pointed to a man who knew things he shouldn't, who had been in just the right place at just the right times, and who had a strong desire to make peace with the West while keeping the Soviets out. No matter what it meant for Germany as a whole.

Most of it could just point to a man who saw how the cards were arranged, with the United States in the War now and was unusually lucky. If not for the singular fact that he knew about ship girls and ship spirits.

She's right, I can't see how he could have known about the girls like this, if he weren't like me. No one in my time, no one, knew about the girls until the Abyssals showed up. I don't see anything different about this world that could cause that, other than me being here and...he's been doing things before I showed up.

Letting out an explosive sigh, the Admiral did the only thing he could. Sit down and stare at Utah. "So, if Schreiber is like me, how are we going to do this? I can't stay here forever, and neither can you. How do we know he'll be able to respond while I'm still here?"

"We can't know for sure." Utah replied, pulling out a picture of Royal Oak's hull and looking at it intently. She bit her lip, shook her head, and continued speaking. "You want to be back with Saratoga, don't you?"

"...you aren't wrong." Thompson forced the flush down, while smiling a crooked smile at Utah. "And you want to be back with Jackson, I'm sure."

The battleship didn't respond to that bait, simply blushing and returning to her work. Chuckling slightly at that, Thompson fell back on his bed and stared up at the ceiling. Times like this, he felt like he was a cadet at the Academy again. Tasked with some absurd situation that he had to come up with a solution to. Never had something quite as outlandish as this though. Figuring out what a German Admiral was doing in World War Two, while he was talking with USS Utah as a woman.

Hm. Well, he couldn't stay with the British forever. He was needed back in the Pacific. Sara's refit wouldn't take that much longer and he'd be damned if someone else took her out.

"Right. If we can't say for sure when he'll respond, we need a different plan. We should put something together for the British." Thompson spoke up, just loud enough for Utah to know he wasn't muttering to himself.

At those words, Utah actually pushed herself out, and turned her chair around to look at the Admiral. "What do you suggest, Admiral?"

"I think we need to tell Churchill everything, and create a list of things that we can relay to Schreiber whenever Gne...Sascha can talk to him." At the dubious look he got, Thompson raised a hand and smiled. "I know, I know. I don't much want to tell Churchill what I am either, but the President gave me permission if we found it necessary. It isn't something any of us are fond about doing, but we need Churchill onboard with what we're doing or we're just going to fail."

What was left unsaid was that any other President would have forbidden him from saying anything. Roosevelt was the rare breed who had his secrets, yet also felt much less in the way of problems with telling others things. He was never going to march up to Joe Stalin and tell him about the Manhattan Project- ignoring the spies, obviously -but he also shared damn near everything with Churchill. Out of necessity or trust for the post-war world. Something like this was just par for the course, really.

A small chuckle came from the battleship. "I do not doubt that, I'm simply surprised you are willing to tell him about yourself. You hate anyone knowing other than all of us."

"Because I didn't want to get tossed into a loony bin." Thompson's reply was dry and to the point. Utah laughed at it, while he chuckled softly. "At any rate, we have the letter from the President. That'll have to be enough. I just...how to put this..."

Tapping his chin, the Admiral looked at the ceiling and frowned a little. Utah knew the future, of course. He had told her everything he knew about the Pacific War, just as he had told all the other girls. Sara the first and the one who knew the most, obviously. Yet he hadn't spoken all that much about the European part of the war. Unless he ran into Ranger or Wasp, he hadn't really felt the need.

But...

"...I really want Churchill to know, because he'll be the one who has to work with Schreiber. He needs to know how the war went, so he can avoid the same mistakes and knows how the Germans are going to act. I can't be here to guide him along, y'know?"

Utah nodded, slowly, as she looked over her shoulder at her own research. Before turning back to the Admiral, an aura of understanding forming around her. She knew what he meant. Not surprising, considering she was a smart one.

"Just like in the Pacific, since you taught us all those new tactics. You don't want us to suffer." Utah clarified, more for her own sake than anything. Nodding to herself, the battleship continued. "Do you think Churchill will trust Schreiber more if he knows about the future, sir?"

Thompson shook his head, "Not necessarily. Churchill isn't an idiot...if he puts two and two together like I did, he may be even more suspicious about Schreiber. But!" Holding a hand up to forestall Utah's likely complaint, the Admiral continued explaining. "It's probably a good thing if he does. I'm not great at this whole 'spy' business--"

"Not at all. You can't tell a lie to save your life." Utah cut in, giggling at the dry look she received in return.

"---but I know it isn't a good idea to trust someone just because we have one of you girls vouching for him." Thompson finished, grumbling at Utah. "And I know I'm not good at lies. Damnit."

Electing to ignore her continued giggles, Thompson hopped to his feet and started to gather up papers to use. He needed to write down everything he remembered about the European War and the German leadership. Both to have it for the meeting with Churchill, and for when he left. He had very little hope he would happen to be here when Schreiber was able to make contact, and frankly, it wouldn't matter if he was. He knew that Bismarck hardly had the codes to get into British radio or wireless networks. And without those, any sort of long-distance real-time communication was impossible. Schreiber would have to be a complete and utter fool to try and broadcast over the open like that, after all.

Which left them back at square one of this conversation. If he couldn't reliably talk with Schreiber in real time, he didn't see as much reason to stay here. He could help Churchill plan things out for later, he could give his opinions on Schreiber and hope for the best. The best bet that he had in the long run, really, was just getting that information to the Prime Minister and then getting back to Sara and the Pacific.

Intellectually, I know I'm more valuable on the home front. Supplying them with everything I know, even if a lot of it is guesswork. Can't tell them how to make assault rifles or nuclear engines, beyond the very basics, after all. And there's always knowing the future. But...that is going to be less and less useful the longer the war goes on, and the more things change. Not to mention my skills are best used with Sara. I may be a novice compared to Halsey, but with my ability to work with the girls...

It hadn't been fun, already, to have to explain to Roosevelt what an 'assault rifle' was and how he could point things in the right direction but not actually design one himself. And that was just one thing the President had tried to get him to design.

"Okay...I'll get things together for my part. Utah?" Thompson set his papers down, and walked over to the desk where the battleship sat. "You figure anything out about Oak or Sascha yet? You'd know better than me, there."

Thompson could tell someone exactly how to summon a new ship girl. That knowledge was completely useless for figuring out how Utah had summoned herself. It was even less helpful now that Oak, Sascha, and that rumored Italian girl were around. More data points, yet not enough hard information to work from.

"I have some ideas." Utah replied, looking up at the Admiral. Her scarred face twisted into a thoughtful frown, beneath her long grey hair. "The nearest thing I can tell is that all of us share some need to come back. I desperately wanted to protect my daughters. Sascha wanted to save her Admiral. Oak...I think she wanted to save her crew? She doesn't say exactly what she felt, just that she needed to be able to fight. We should ask her about that when we see her again."

"Noted." Nodding along to that, the young Admiral placed a hand on Utah's shoulder. "We'll need to talk to both of them in a bit more detail. And see if Schreiber knows anything about that Italian. For now..."

Well, for now they at least had a plan. They would go to Churchill the next time they saw the man, and set everything up, no matter what happened. Thompson and Utah would make it where, even if they had to go back to the Pacific, the British would know what to do. Schreiber...

If Schreiber is from the future or not, he will have a proper conduit into the British government now. If he is honest about wanting to end this war as soon as possible, even if it means losing in every way, then we need to help him. Millions of lives are at stake. Not just the people in the camps, either.

I have to hope that he knows what he's doing.




As I said in Purple Phoenix, this has been a...fun time. The year as a whole, really, has been a fun time. Sorry about how long this took. I wasn't expecting it to be this difficult to rally the muse for writing, well, anything. But...well. It's how things have gone. Hopefully this chapter makes up for that, at least a little bit.

Thompson is making proper moves and has a PLAN (tm). And we'll get him back to the Pacific, soon enough, as a result. Europe will still be primarily Schreiber's story.
 
Stop: ship (no longer) happens
That Kind Hearted Light 2
Belated happy 2021, Changing Destiny fans! I hope you have been having a good year so far.

To tide you over until Sky's next update, here's something from your unreliable cloud wrangler who's running on sleep debt.



X===X===X

30 November 1941
Hinata Kohi (Sunshine Coffee)
Metropolitan Tokyo, Empire of Japan


"Welcome to Hinata Kohi!" A brown ponytail swished over the right shoulder of the brunette poised at the entrance. Her brown eyes shone bright and warm like the fire burning merrily in a traditional home's central hearth. She beckoned the visitors to enter with energetic gestures of her right hand. "Come in, come in!"

"Thank you, Sato-san!"

Many nations employed espionage to discern the plans and plots of their potential enemies and allies alike. The Empire of Japan set up Special Service Organs in areas like Manchuria and the occupied parts of China to root out resistance and sniff out rebels. Its newly-declared enemies, the United States of America and the British Empire, relied on the Special Intelligence Service (better known as MI6) and the Office of Strategic Services, respectively, to gather intelligence and sabotage the opposing war effort. And Japan's distant ally Nazi Germany laid these tasks on the Abwehr, not knowing that Admiral Wilhelm Canaris sought to undermine the Nazis he secretly loathed.

"Would you like your usual breakfast?" Another female employee brushed back the locks of chocolate hair that spilled across her rosy face. She winked at the tongue-tied regular as her way of encouraging him to speak up. No order pad for her; she trusted her memory and the notebook got in the way of the bountiful chest that strained against the confines of her blouse and apron. "A Dutch coffee, thick toast, fried eggs, and bacon?"

"Ah, um, yes, please, Akagi-san..."

"Right away~"

The resistance group headed by Junior Admiral Hina Togo, JMSDF, hid in plain sight. A small two-storey commercial building served as the nerve center of their intelligence operations against their own nation. The top floor served as office space while the ground floor presented their official facade to Tokyo - a coffee shop called Hinata Kohi, Sunshine Coffee.

"Here you are, Sir." A bespectacled waitress carefully transferred a cup of freshly-brewed coffee and a warm sweet roll from her serving tray to the customer's table. Unlike the manager, she kept her long hair in a bun to keep it out of her heart-shaped face's way. "Please enjoy your drink," she bid with a small bow while holding the empty tray against her chest.

"Thank you, Momiko-chan, you're cute as always..."

Hinata Kohi's proximity to a major public transport hub made it easy to gauge the pulse of the nation. Regulars and new arrivals frequented the establishment from the moment they opened their doors to the late hour they closed shop. Many customers dropped by for a quick bite and sip while others spent hours talking over cups of piping hot kohi. Most visitors were civilians from all walks of life, and sailors of the Imperial Japanese Navy stood out because they wore their uniforms to get the discount and special service for uniformed military personnel.

"Kawana-san, we need four servings of hot coffee," Momiko reported to the cook.

"Coming right up!" The dark-haired barista-slash-cook popped her knuckles before starting on the first cup of hand-drip coffee.

Both civilians and servicemen alike looked forward to the regular appearances of the establishment's very own geisha. Kana Sutezawa entertained the customers with traditional song and dance without charging the hefty price of commissioning a typical 'artist.' After every performance, she always approached any military personnel and lavished special attention on the "brave samurai who safeguard Japanese lives and wealth," a description and service that the lusty young sailors appreciated.

"Thank you for your patronage." Kana's graceful bow shook the maple leaf accessory decorating the brown coil of her chignon-styled hair. "Please visit us again."

"We'll definitely come back, Kana-chan!"

The idea for Hinata Kohi first took root inside Hina's mind the day after she found herself in the Japan of her grandfather's time. She refined her initial plan with every passing day, taking into account her place in the Togo clan, the resources and options within her grasp, and the limitations imposed by her sex and stature. Once satisfied, she waited for the right opportunity to take advantage of her family's connections.

"Dear mother," Hina brought up on a fine May day, less than a month after waking up in Imperial Japan. "I would like to run a kissaten..."

Kissaten were the Japanese spin on the Western coffeehouse. Essentially commercialized tea rooms, they served coffee and other foreign tidbits alongside the traditional Japanese beverages and snacks. Compared to noisy cafes that served alcohol and held rambunctious events, tea-drinking shops were quiet places for people to relax.

Hina's request caught her family by surprise. While the traditionally-minded Togo clan generally preferred tea over coffee, they would still drink the latter if someone offered the beverage to them. Then there was Ryoichi, who trusted coffee to keep him awake during night watches.

Only Hina rejected coffee outright. She had always complained about the drink smelling like burnt water and claimed it churned her frail stomach. And now she wanted to not only drink coffee, but run a coffee shop?

"Why do you want to open a shop, Hina-chan?" wondered her mother.

"While I was sick, I dreamed that I ran a kissaten," Hina lied. "It is the only thing I could remember from that time... It felt so real... After thinking about it, I think it's an omen from the kami that watch over us..."

The Togos were not superstitious. But they were devout Shintoists. They honored their ancestors, the most famous of whom dwelt in a popular shrine in Harajuku. Perhaps the Marshal Admiral himself dispatched the dream to his descendant. After all, Heihachiro Togo had studied in Britain, where he developed a taste for Western foodstuffs like curry and coffee.

And it was their darling Hina who begged for their aid. Ever since she had roused from her coma, she brought up her needs so very rarely that they happily made allowance for this rare expression of selfishness.

The Togo clan threw their energy and resources into making Hina's innocent wish come true. Her 'uncle' Takeshi Togo, 2nd Marquess Togo, paid for his niece's pet project out of his deep pockets. He and his younger brother, Hina's 'father' Vice Admiral Minoru Togo, pulled strings to get the permits approved. Her 'mother' extracted a discount from a Brazilian merchant who sold coffee by the bulk. And her 'brother' Ryoichi encouraged his navy friends to patronize the place whenever possible while also reminding them not to hit on his little sister lest he hit them.

Like her grandfather, Junior Admiral Hina Togo preferred coffee. She even knew a few barista tricks such as dark roasting coffee beans and using flannel to filter the grounds. Running a coffee house gave her an obvious reason to stockpile sizable amounts of an imported good for the dark day that Imperial Japan would cut itself off from almost the entire world. She did not look forward to subsisting on coffee made from roasted rice once the embargo turned into a blockade.

Her real reason for founding Hinata Kohi was to create a safehouse and base of operations for her resistance movement. Hina couldn't plot against the Imperial Japanese military in the Togo home because of her real fear that her mother or a servant might overhear them. She needed a place away from her family that she could secure from eavesdroppers and hide, say, certain protected cruisers who would otherwise stick out in Japan because of their Caucasian features.

By and large she succeeded in her goal. Hinata Kohi was staffed by souls she trusted with her life. She won them over the moment they crossed the boundary between this world and the next...


x---x---x​


1 June 1940
Togo Shrine
Shibuya Ward, Empire of Japan


When Heihachiro Togo died in 1934, his family buried his cremated ashes in Tama Cemetery, the final resting place of many Japanese. Several years later, the Imperial Japanese Navy elevated him to the status of a Shinto kami and built a shrine in Harajuku district to honor his life's deeds and legacy.

While Togo believed he was Nelson reborn, he rejected any attempts to turn him into a god. But the IJN needed to compete with the Imperial Japanese Army enshrining Togo's land-based counterpart, General Maresuke Nogi. So, they waited until the Marshal Admiral was well and truly dead before taking advantage of his fame.

Back in her original timeline, Hina paid many visits to the Togo Shrine. She remembered strolling through the garden's wooden-planked paths, visiting the small museum dedicated to Marshal Admiral Togo, and praying to his enshrined kami at the temple. After the shipgirls awakened, Hina took Murakumo and some of the others there, playing tour guide and ignoring jokes about her marrying her secretary-shipgirl there.

The original complex burned down with the rest of Tokyo during the 1945 bombing campaign. The Togo Shrine they visited was a concrete reconstruction built during the Sixties, when Japan did some soul searching and rehabilitated what they could of their pre-war culture.

'I never thought I would get a chance to visit my ancestor's original shrine,' Hina thought as she strode between the red-painted legs of the traditional gate at the entrance.

Her pretense for going here was to thank her ancestor for helping her wake up from her coma. Hina insisted on going alone, claiming she didn't want to trouble her family and assuring her mother that she felt well enough to make the short trip by her lonesome.

Her real reason was the shrine's suitability for summoning Japanese shipgirls. The IJN may have raised the Togo Shrine out of interservice rivalry, but its ships admired the Nelson of the East to a fault. Only Mikasa's hull made for a better summoning spot, and Yokosuka was too far away for her family to permit a trip by her lonesome just two months after her coma.

Hina needed to summon shipgirls as soon as possible. Right now, she was alone, one woman against an empire. With even one shipgirl on her side, she would once more become a commander, an admiral with the power to change Japan's destiny.

The train ride to Harajuku took much longer than what she was accustomed to. Imperial Japan's rolling stock ran much slower than its future successor, and their smaller passenger cars cooled themselves with electric fans instead of air conditioning.

Still, Hina made it to Harajuku Station without trouble. A folding fan helped her cope with the heat during the trip. Once she alighted from the train, the Togo Shrine's main entrance was a short walk away. Her oil paper parasol kept the sun's rays off her head until she found a secluded spot far from potential prying eyes, a small clearing screened by trees and bamboo.

The summoning ritual worked best with physical catalysts. Summoners offered token amounts of fuel, ammunition, steel, and aluminum to increase the chances of materializing a shipgirl. Using artifacts taken from a warship's steel hull guaranteed summoning that particular ship's soul.

Hina lacked access to either conventional catalysts or artifacts. There was no legal way a civilian woman could get her hands on military supplies and equipment in Imperial Japan. As for artifacts, all the ships she could summon had either been sunk or scrapped years before her arrival.

Fortunately, she did possess an unconventional option for summoning Japanese shipgirls. After checking her surroundings one last time, she reached into her kimono's wide belt and withdrew the kaiken tucked between the sash and her robed body.

Hina discovered the dagger in her bedside drawer. She interpreted it as a traditional weapon intended for self-defense. The sheepish Ryoichi explained that he gave the kaiken to her as a prank before her coma. His sister's reaction to getting a knife infamous for its use in ritual suicide had been to chase her cackling brother around the dinner table with said dagger drawn.

'I don't think I'll ever get used to how Grandfather and Hina-chan got along...'

Hina didn't dare keep the kaiken in her handbag for fear that the guards would examine her belongings and find it there. But Japanese didn't like physical contact, so the chances of a guard frisking her body were slim.

'Thank you, Grandfather, Hina-chan,' the time-displaced Hina thought. 'I'll put your gift to the best use.'

Freed from its wooden sheath, the kaiken's blade gleamed in the sunlight. After slipping the scabbard into her bag, Hina slowly drew the knife's sharp edge across her left palm. While she winced as the knife cut into her skin and flesh, she managed to preserve some dignity by suppressing the urge to hiss.

'I should be more careful the next time I do this...'

Shinto considered blood impure and unclean. But blood was thicker than water. And the blood of the Nelson of the East flowed through Hina's veins. There were few better catalysts for summoning Japanese shipgirls than the blood of a Togo.

'Back in my timeline, Grandfather always insisted the spirit of his ship saved his life when his ship sank.' Enduring the pain in her hand, Hina wiped the kaiken's bloody edge with a handkerchief before sheathing it anew. 'Maya-sama confirmed it when I met her during the Abyssal War. She dragged Grandfather out of her sinking hull and threw him overboard. My country's shipgirls will keep the Gensui's descendants safe, even if it costs them their lives...'

She stretched out her left arm with her wounded palm facing downward to let the blood drip freeky. Once the red droplets splattered on the ground, she closed her eyes and quietly recited the prayer she had devised for the summoning ritual.



"Oh, Spirits of Seagoing Castles of Steel,
Hearken my humble appeal.

"Countless foes approach from all four directions
And they have torn away all my protections."


Hina came up with the prayer as a personal touch to the summoning ceremonies she had overseen. She believed shipgirls deserved respect and even reverence for leaving their well-deserved afterlife to answer humankind's cry for their protection. This was the least she could do for them as a supplicant.


"Thus, I turn to you once more in this, my darkest hour
And plead you lend me your power once more.

"Return to the Land of the Rising Sun,
Warship Goddesses of the Empire of Japan."


It was as if her lips poured her words straight into the listening ears of those goddesses. The moment Hina concluded her prayer, the warm June air abruptly stirred into a small tempest centered on her. The sudden updraft sent her long hair flaring upward like the wings of a startled blackbird.

'It worked!' she thought, recognizing one of the signs of a successful summon.

Four women of varying ages and appearances formed an orderly row before her grey eyes. Each woman bore the Rigging that defined them as kantai musume, ship-girls, steel warships reborn into human form, mankind's protectors against the hateful Shinkai, Abyssals.

'One aircraft carrier, one battleship or battlecruiser, one light cruiser, and one destroyer...'

"The great Miyuki-sama has arrived!"

The destroyer looked and dressed like a junior high school student, what with her white blouse and bluish skirt. Her tousled brown hair could use a thorough combing, but her huge smile and confident posture suggested she didn't care about small details like her messy mane.

Having commanded a squadron of the Fubuki class shipgirl in her timeline, Hina immediately recognized this destroyer's outfit as the same clothes worn by Murakumo's sisters. And since only one of the Special-Type destroyers was lost before the Pacific War...

"Oh? Well, isn't this a nice surprise..."

At first Hina thought Akagi had appeared before her in a bizarre violation of the general rule that only sunken or scrapped ships could appear as shipgirls. The most egregious example was USS Iowa, who had only shown up immediately after the Abyssals sank the museum ship to the bottom of her berth in the Port of Los Angeles.

Then the admiral caught the differences between Akagi and this woman: longer locks, the knowing look and teasing smile, and a different Rigging with a trio of superimposed flight decks and no visible island superstructure.

"Finally, I have been completed..."

In a similar vein, the shipgirl standing next to Akagi's look-alike strongly bore a strong resemblance to Kaga. Yet her ponytail was also longer and thicker and dangled from the right side of her head, and her openly smug expression ran counter to the ex-battleship's stoic demeanor.

Furthermore, this woman wore an entirely different yet still-familiar outfit: a white sleeveless top with a striking similarity to a modern sports bra, black arm sleeves that covered her muscular arms, a grey metal corset that exposed her sculpted abdomen, and a pleated white skirt.

"..."

The final shipgirl wore a formal orange-and-black kimono. She wore her dark brown hair in a style that looked like the wigs worn by geisha on official duties. A green willow leaf decoration adorned her coif; Hina recalled that the willow represented June and the rainy season.

While she had met these shipgirls before, Hina didn't know them personally. The three older women served under her Yokosuka-based colleague and professional rival, Hiroshi Goto, much to the delight of their younger sisters in the same fleet. The destroyer likewise belonged to a different naval base.

Still, the weight on her shoulders felt much lighter. Beggars were not choosers, as Riain liked to remind her back in her timeline. Hina would have settled for the warships her ancestor commanded at Tsushima, so getting more recent ships made the ache in her wounded hand feel better.

'I am an Admiral once more.' Realizing she had been holding her breath since her prayer ended, Hina let out a relieved sigh. 'With their help, I can save Japan from itself.'

"Were you the one who summoned us?" asked the shrine maiden on behalf of her companions.

"Yes." After checking her surroundings for any onlookers or eavesdroppers, Hina saluted. "I am Hina Togo, the descendant of Marshal-Admiral Heihachiro Togo."

Name-dropping her ancestor's name did the trick. All four shipgirls stared at her with varying degrees of shock.

"You're the Marshal-Admiral's descendant?" Miyuki-sama's lower jaw looked ready to hit the ground.

"Yes. Here is proof of it-"

Hina kept her personal identification in her bag to prove her identity. As she moved to retrieve the papers, the sharp sting and wet feeling on her left palm reminded her that she had cut herself with the knife in the grip of her right hand.

"Oh!" That came from the shipgirl who looked like Kaga but dressed like Nagato. "Your hand is bleeding!"

The geisha did her better. Even as her other companions gasped at Hina's wound, she stepped forward with a handkerchief. She bound the injured hand wordlessly and with such expertise that Hina barely felt the swift first aid treatment.

"Thank you." Hina had been so happy to summon shipgirls that she somehow forgot about her wound and the knife she used to cut herself. Some eidetic memory she possessed if the obvious slipped past her. Riain would never let her live this down and she was sure that jerk Goto would use this incident against her...

The geisha's only response was a curt nod. She stepped back to give Hina space.

'She looks familiar. Wait, isn't she-'

Suppressing her initial urge to react, Hina handed her personal identification to the geisha as her wordless way of thanking her for the first aid. The latter's brown eyes briefly roved over the papers before she nodded and handed the documents to Akagi's doppelganger, who shared it with Kaga's near-double.

"This looks legitimate."

"Yes, everything looks in order…"

"I never thought I'd get the chance to meet the granddaughter of the legendary Marshal-Admiral..." Miyuki didn't spare even a glance for the identification. She was too busy fawning over a descendant of the foremost representative of Japan's greatest generation.

Hina smiled at the enthusiastic teenager. Miyuki was nothing like Murakumo, but the older
Fubuki class destroyer was endearing in her own way.

"We should get your hand treated properly, Togo-sama," Kaga's mirror image mentioned as she returned the papers to their owner.

"It would be a shame for a beautiful woman like you to bear a scar there," the shrine maiden agreed.

"I'm fine for now." Relegated to a desk job before the Abyssal War while Riain and Goto had fought on the frontlines, Hina had envied her colleagues winning their spurs in real battles. She considered her self-inflicted cut the next best thing to getting wounded in action. "I believe we should introduce ourselves to each other first."

"As you wish, Togo-sama." The shrine maiden bowed gracefully. "I am the aircraft carrier Amagi, the name ship of my class. I look forward to finally forming a carrier division."

"And I am super dreadnought Tosa." Kaga's older sister thumped her fist upon her impressive chest. "If you are my Admiral, I expect the heavens out of you!"

"Fourth of the Special-type destroyers, Miyuki-sama!" The young destroyer posed exuberantly. "I'm ready for action!"

Hina turned her gaze to the last member of the shipgirl quartet. At last her memory put a name to that different-looking yet familiar face. Many shipgirls made up the Combined Fleet, but only one proclaimed herself an idol.

The fourth shipgirl bowed deeply. She shared the same voice as her uptime counterpart, but she looked and sounded so much more serious, more like her younger sister who styled herself a samurai.

"And I am the light cruiser-"



x---x---x​


30 November 1941
Hinata Kohi
Metropolitan Tokyo, Empire of Japan


It was Kana Sutezawa's turn to man the phone in the second-floor office after entertaining off-duty Imperial Japanese Army soldiers. While they belonged to a rival service, the infantrymen were customers and behaved nicely for Rikugun soldiers.

Besides, Kana had never served in the Imperial Japanese Navy and now belonged to a different force. She lacked the deep attachment to her service and prerequisite hostility toward the Imperial Army.

Like any task assigned to her, she took the job of secretary seriously. At the very first ring, Kana snatched the handset and brought it to her ear with a single smooth motion of her right arm.

"Good evening, this is Hinata Kohi," she greeted in the same soft voice she used in public.

"Naka-san! It's me, Miyuki!"

The temporary secretary frowned. Miyuki had forgotten about the rules on operational security again. The Special-type Destroyer was too gung-ho for her own good.

Well, that was why the IJN built destroyer flotilla leaders like Naka. She and her fellow light cruisers reined the rambunctious destroyers and kept them out of trouble.

"Miyu," she coolly reminded her caller, putting steel into her tone. "My name is Kana, not Naka."

Hina had repeatedly stressed the importance of operational secrecy. The Special Higher Police - Tokubetsu Kōtō Keisatsu, Tokko for short, the civilian secret police of Imperial Japan - was always on the lookout for traitors. If they suspected anyone of treason, not even the Togo name would deter the secret police from trying to arrest their targets. And while the shipgirls could shrug off anything mere policemen could throw at them, Hina was an ordinary human with only a basic knowledge of unarmed self-defense.

"Oh!" Miyuki immediately became contrite. "I'm really sorry, Sutezawa-sama..."

Naka let the younger shipgirl stew for several heartbeats. She wasn't her Jintsuu whom Hina had described as a Prussian drill master. Among other things, Naka considered Jintsuu a softie who went easy on her subordinates. Naka entertained no such illusions about destroyers, no matter how cute they acted outside combat - or even during battle. One did not go from maika to geisha without a healthy dose of discipline.

"I expect you to remember next time," she finally allowed. "Now, why have you called at this hour?"

"Um, Hina-nee is coming over there in a bit," Miyuki mumbled. "She's going to check on how business is doing."

Naka could read between the destroyer's lines. Today was Hina's day off. Her admiral would only return if something critical came up. And while the day that would forever live in infamy was still a week away, Naka had found herself on edge all month long.

'Admiral Yamamoto hasn't called for me…'

"Understood, Miyu," she replied. " I'll inform the others."

"Thank you, Sutezawa-sama. Oh, can you also get copies of the evening news for everyone?"

"I will do that."

After concluding the call, Naka left the office and headed back to the ground floor. She found the glasses-wearing Momi, the lead ship of the Momi class destroyers, busy in her cover identity as trainee waitress Momiko Enoki, the oldest of the Enoki sisters who led her siblings to Tokyo in search of jobs to support their impoverished family.

"Momiko, I want you to buy copies of the evening news. If you notice anything odd, keep it secret from your sisters until we tell you it's fine to share it," Naka added. She trusted Momi, having personally instructed the destroyer to serve as her adjutant.

"Yes, Sutezawa-sama." The second-class destroyer left at a leisurely pace while Naka put on an apron to cover for Momi during her absence.

By the time Hina Togo and Miyuki stepped into Hinata Kohi two hours later, the older shipgirls knew about Imperial Japan's declaration of war on the Allied powers. So did Momi, sworn to secrecy by Naka and doing a good job of hiding it from her three younger sisters, Warabi, Kaya, and Nashi.

"Welcome back, Togo-sama!" Naka and her sisters-in-arms greeted.

"Good evening, everyone." Hina took the time to chat with every customer and get their feedback on service. Hinata Kohi was just a cover for her resistance group, but it needed to look like a real business. And she enjoyed getting to know new faces and rekindling old bonds.

"Akagi-san, Sato-san, Sutezawa-san, I'd like to have a word with you in the office," she told the older shipgirls. "Kawana-san, please look after the shop in the meantime. Miyu-chan, would you mind helping the others?"

"Yes, Hina-nee!" Miyuki scampered off to change into her waitress uniform. Like the Momi sisters, she worked as a part-time trainee at Hinata Kohi to free up the older shipgirls for missions. But her primary role was Hina's bodyguard, much like Murakumo had done for the admiral back in Hina's home timeline.

Hina followed her three employees to the office on the second floor. Naka locked the door and stood guard near the entrance, one ear taking in the briefing while the other listened for potential eavesdroppers at the door.

"Everyone," Hina began. "As you know, our country has declared war on the United States of America. The Imperial Japanese military has already attacked various American and British possessions, including Pearl Harbor, Wake, and the Philippines."

Ama Akagi and Sato Satomi - Amagi and Tosa, respectively - had already gotten over their initial shock at the premature declaration of war. Still, the realization that Japan was now at war affected them. Open concern marred the usually flirty carrier's lovely features, while the boisterous battleship dropped the brave face she kept up for her customers' sake let her internal scowl show.

'They are right to be worried,' Hina thought. 'Their younger sisters are part of Pearl Harbor strike force. They know that Akagi and Kaga were sunk seven months later at Midway when the Americans struck back.'

"The surprise attack on Pearl Harbor took place a week earlier than in my timeline." Out of the corner of her eye, Hina noticed the corners of Naka's mouth curled slightly downward. "However, we made plans that accounted for this possibility. I want to go over those plans to refresh our memories. Perhaps we can find new ways to improve them."

"Of course, Admiral!"

Six months had passed since Hina summoned her first four shipgirls. She now commanded every steel ship that Imperial Japan had lost or scrapped before the dawn of the 19th century. Her fleet of pre-dreadnoughts, steel-clad cruisers, and early destroyers made for an impressive sight on paper.

But the victors of the First Sino-Japanese War, Russo-Japanese War, and the Great War were horrifically obsolete by the standards of the Second World War. Hina's most modern and powerful shipgirls used outdated equipment from the Interwar period. Even Miyuki, the newest and most modern hull, lacked even primitive radar and sonar sets, and her torpedoes were older models that preceded the deadly Type 93 Oxygen Torpedoes.

Instead, Hina positioned most of her shipgirls near the various naval bases in the Japanese Home Islands and its colonies of Taiwan, Korea, and Manchukuo. Disguised as ordinary women, they gathered accurate information about the IJN's movements and dispatched their findings to their admiral.

"Soya-san hasn't sent any word yet," Amagi reminded her admiral as they went over their roster.

"The Americans would have locked down the Hawaiian Islands after the attack on Pearl Harbor," Hina replied. "But Soya-san should be fine. The Americans will be looking for Japanese and German spies, not Russian expatriates."

Until a few hours ago, Soya had been one of Hina's most critical agents. The protected cruiser had reincarnated as a woman with pale skin, red curls, and sky blue eyes who stood head and shoulders over her admiral, and Hina herself already towered over most Japanese of this era thanks to her modern diet.

Some Japanese-built shipgirls did possess exotic looks like nonstandard hair and eye colors. Hina's old secretary ship, Murakumo, had hair as white as snow and pupils that gleamed like gold. But Murakumo still bore strong Japanese features, whereas Soya looked very Slavic.

After all, the latter was the Imperial Russian Navy cruiser Varyag. Sunk in Chemulpo Bay during the Russo-Japanese War, Varyag rose from the depths to serve the navy that defeated her before returning to her original owners during the Great War.

Hina had been stunned when the kreyser answered her summons as Soya. She didn't think a Russian shipgirl would heed the call of a Japanese admiral. But Varyag assured Hina that she respected the IJN of Heihachiro Togo's era as an honorable adversary. She definitely preferred fighting alongside the Marshal-Admiral's descendant as Soya rather than serve under the godless Soviets.

Hiding the painfully obvious gaijin Varyag in Japan until they could smuggle her to the Philippines had been a dangerous ordeal. But once she reached Honolulu via a steamer from Manila, Soya gave her admiral trusted eyes on the Pacific Theater's ground zero, the American naval base at Pearl Harbor.

Disguised as Russian expatriate Varvara Rudnev and working various odd jobs to support herself, the Russian cruiser kept track of both the Japanese spies and the U.S. Navy in Honolulu. Soya sent coded reports via civilian telegraph to the Soviet-held northern Sakhalin, where trusted contacts passed her messages to a waiting destroyer in the Japanese-owned southern half of the island. The shipgirl would sail for Honshu under the cover of night, take a train to Tokyo, and deliver the message to Hinata Kohi. Any orders would take the reverse route.

Now that Imperial Japan and the United States were at war, it would become much more dangerous for Soya to contact Hina, even taking into consideration their roundabout method. Before they parted, the JMSDF admiral had told her Russian subordinate to lie low once the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor. The Americans might still try to arrest Soya on suspicion that she was a Soviet spy. And while the cruiser could fight her way past anything short of another shipgirl, any conflict and casualties would make them hostile and less receptive to working together in the future.

"Former Vice Admiral Sakonji remains in charge of the North Sakhalin Oil Company," Tosa continued. "Iwate reported that the government hasn't contacted them yet."

"Tell them to stay on alert," Hina told her. "The IJN accelerated its attack plan for Pearl Harbor. Who's to say the government won't try to recruit him earlier? He's our best bet to get to the Emperor and bring the militarists to heel."

Other shipgirls monitored influential Japanese personalities with moderate or liberal leanings. One example of the IJN's moderate flag officers during the Interwar years was Seizo Sakonji. His honest support for the Washington Naval Treaty led to his forced retirement in 1934. Right now, he currently ran a Japanese oil company that cooperated with the Soviets to tap the oil fields in Sakhalin.

In Hina's timeline, the Konoe government had approached Sakonji in 1941 and asked him to serve as the Minister of Commerce of Industry. Eventually rising to the position of Minister of State, he helped secure Japan's acceptance of the Potsdam Declaration. Sakonji's pursuit of peace during his tenure saved him from prosecution by the victorious Allies after the war. He even helped found the JMSDF that Hina continued to serve and embody in this dark valley.

Sakonji wasn't alone. The similarly retired Admiral Takeshi Takarabe was an Anglophile who nearly got assassinated for his adherence to the London Treaty and support for civilian control of the military.

And there was Teikichi Hori, who not only backed the same moderate position but also enjoyed a close friendship with none other than Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto, the IJN's commander-in-chief. Indeed, Hori insisted Yamamoto remain in the Navy when the latter loyally wished to join him in forced retirement. More importantly, the two friends maintained an active correspondence until Yamamoto's death in 1943. Hori now served as the president of the Uraga Dock Company, one of the world's biggest and best private shipbuilders.

These moderate naval officers had opposed war with the United States and United Kingdom on both moral and practical grounds. Once the extreme Fleet Faction took control of the Navy during the early 1930s, they bowed out of active service and sought different ways to serve their country.

While the moderates possessed considerable economic and political clout, the militarists controlled the armed forces. The latter were also far too willing to resort to violence to get their way. Even notional allies were not safe from intimidation and assassination.

That was where Hina came in. Her shipgirls were far from modern and her fleet lacked air power outside of Amagi's air group, but even a 1910s destroyer could rout a conventional IJA or SNLF battalion by herself. And while it sounded very bleak, Hina knew she could get modern reinforcements once the IJN started taking losses against the Allies.

Combining her shipgirls' firepower with the soft power of the moderates could create a proper domestic resistance that was loyal to the Japanese people, unafraid of the militarists, and acceptable to Allied opinion post-war.

To sway the moderate officers, Hina sent the shipgirls of their former commands. The armored cruiser Iwate currently worked as a maid in Sakonji's firm. Similarly, the destroyer Niji and the pre-dreadnought battleship Fuji lived near Takarabe. Mori was won over when Hina invited him to meet aboard the Mikasa, where she introduced him to both the pre-dreadnought and Amagi. And so on and so forth.

Hina could expect more recruits in the future if they survived their fall from grace in this warped timeline. The liberal Vice Admiral Shigeyoshi Inoue currently commanded the IJN Fourth Fleet. In Hina's timeline, Hiei's favorite admiral was relieved of command and recalled home after losing the Battle of the Coral Sea in May 1942. If the Pacific war progressed alongside similar lines, the disgraced Inoue would find protected cruisers Takachiho and Suma waiting for him with an offer he couldn't refuse.

As the militarists discredited themselves with the Emperor by failing to stop the eventual Allied counter-offensives, Hina would prompt the moderates to arrange an Imperial interview. She would reveal her identity to Hirohito, tell him about shipgirls, and make her case for surrendering to the Allies at the earliest possible time.

If Hirohito persisted in the delusion that Imperial Japan could get a negotiated peace by holding out against the "soft-hearted" Allies, Hina would share the gruesome details of Operations Downfall and Coronet, including the planned use of as many as 17 atomic bombs and chemical defoliants to break the Japanese will to fight. And to twist the kaiken even further, she would also mention the Soviet plans to invade Hokkaido with Allied assistance while carefully neglecting to mention that said invasion plans were merely mental exercises in Stalin's paranoid mind. Anything to convince the Emperor to accept surrender was fair game.

Hina personally didn't care if Hirohito remained Emperor. As long as the remaining Imperial Japanese military obeyed him before the Americans could start firebombing and nuking and starving Japanese civilians, he could sit on the Chrysanthemum Throne for the rest of his life.

But if he refused… Or if he pretended to go along with the surrender only to betray them at the last second…

...The strings on Naka's shamisen were not limited to playing soothing music, and Akihito could serve as the figurehead of the postwar monarchy even better than his father.

Speaking of Naka, the light cruiser continued to look disenchanted. Something had been nagging at the shipgirl since the meeting started.

"Is there something wrong, Naka?" Hina asked.

"My apologies, Admiral," Naka muttered. "I didn't hear anything from Admiral Yamamoto this month. If I had met with him, I could have found out about his plan to launch Operation AI earlier."

The commander-in-chief of the IJN Combined Fleet was not perfect. Yamamoto was an inveterate gambler and often joked that he wanted to become a casino owner in Monaco. He also loved geisha more than he did his own wife. While he didn't sleep with them, he did spend much of his free time in their company and poured his heart out to them, even as he demanded discounts on their manicure service because he lost two fingers during the Battle of Tsushima.

Hina took full advantage of that weakness by ordering Naka to insinuate herself in Yamamoto's good graces. The light cruiser was a skilled geisha and mastered the admiral's favorite game, bridge, by playing with Hina and her fleet mates. Naka's mysterious origin quickly drew Yamamoto's interest while her natural intelligence held his attention.

Unfortunately, Naka achieved her intelligence coup by stepping on the toes of the other geisha who enjoyed Yamamoto's patronage. The admiral's historical favorite, Chiyoko Kawai, felt so offended by the usurpation that she took drastic action to get rid of the unwanted competition.

Naka had reported spotting suspicious men looking for her while she was returning to the apartment Hina rented for her shipgirls. Since Hina forbade her from doing anything that might draw attention, Naka simply flipped their positions and tailed those men back to their employer.

"It's all right, Naka," Hina assured the sour-looking light cruiser. "Yamamoto patronizes many geisha, and he's only known you for a few months. He was bound to visit the others to keep them happy."

"I should have arranged for Kawai to have an accident back in October," Naka groused. "That would have gotten her out of my way."

Hina fought the urge to wince at Naka's candid cold-bloodedness. The Naka from her timeline was an upbeat idol who wouldn't hurt anything that wasn't an Abyssal. While she appreciated the professional efficiency of this Naka, the shipgirl's ruthlessness sometimes gave her pause.

"Naka-san," she sighed.

"I wasn't going to kill her, Admiral," Naka promised. "But she would not have been able to paint Yamamoto's fingernails with a sprained wrist."

"Why are you so angry with her?"

"She tricked me, Admiral." Naka's eyes flashed like gunfire from her 14cm battery. "Yamamoto always visits geisha before he goes back to sea. During our last session together, I made sure to stalemate our Go match to give him the incentive of returning to finish our game. If he had visited me earlier than he had visited Kawai in your timeline, I would have known something was up. But I didn't hear from him or my contacts in the Floating World, so I spent my time helping out at Hinata Kohi."

Hina saw it, too. Hindsight was 20/20.

"So you suspect Kawai-san did something to grab Yamamoto's attention and keep you from learning about his visit," she prompted the displeased light cruiser.

"Yes. Kawai is a popular person in the Floating World. She has the influence to keep the news of Yamamoto's visit from reaching me."

"I never imagined politics in the pleasure district could influence military intelligence operations." Hina gave the matter some thought. "In the future, we will take Kawai's interference into consideration. Naka, I want you to come up with a discreet and non-lethal proposal to handle her. You're the expert in that field, so I leave it up to you."

"Understood, Admiral." Naka bowed. "I won't fail you again."

"I know you won't, Naka." Hina cast her gaze among the other shipgirls. "Is there anything else we should discuss?"

"It's not related to our plans, but I'm worried about Ryoichi-sama." Amagi dropped her usual sensuous disposition to show her honest concern. "Will he be all right, Hina-oneechan?"

The aircraft carrier wasn't the only one with vested interest in Ryoichi Togo's immediate future. Naka went from apologetic to quietly intense at the mention of Hina's grandfather.

"If the IJN followed the same plan as in my time, Grandfather is probably in the Pescadores aboard Maya-sama," Hina replied. "He should be fine for now. The Philippines Force didn't face heavy opposition during the Lingayen landings because they caught the defenders off-guard and American torpedoes at this point are practically useless."

I can't keep your country from falling into Imperial Japanese hands, Captain Darren, she thought, remembering the Chinese Filipino commander who had humorously described Murakumo as 'evil Japanese Downes' during a joint operation between the US, Japanese, and Philippine navies. But Naka managed to eliminate Masanobu Tsuji when he returned here to plan the assassination of Prime Minister Konoye. Without that vile snake undermining General Homma's authority and encouraging other IJA officers to commit atrocities against Americans and Filipinos after the fall of Bataan, there should be fewer deaths during the Death March and the Japanese occupation. I can sleep easier knowing that your grandfather's family and many more good people will survive the war...

"That makes me relieved," Amagi sighed deeply while placing a hand on her chest.

"You should have told him the truth before he returned to service, Hina-nee," Tosa chimed in.

Hina fought down the urge to frown. This was where the Japanese shipgirls' instinctive admiration of the Togo clan worked against her. Why settle for one Togo when they could get more of the Nelson of the East's descendants on their side?

They had immediately written off her great-grandfathers as lost causes. Minoru and Takeshi Togo inherited their father's conservative stance and loyalty to the imperial government. They benefited from the Empire and would never act against the Emperor.

Hina's grandfather was much more promising. Ryoichi Togo went through the motions expected of an imperial servant, but he didn't share the fanaticism of many Japanese. He treated foreigners with utmost respect and behaved like a gentleman to the incognito shipgirls he met during his visits to Hinata Kohi. And Hina knew that Ryoichi was just as kind at home as he was in the public eye.

Understandably, Hina's shipgirls fell for him hard. Amagi made no secret about her desire to bed Ryoichi. Tosa considered him a good match for either herself, her younger sister Kaga, or both of them. Naka put 110 percent effort into every performance he attended. And the destroyers all treated him like a big brother.

Recruiting Ryoichi would not only make her shipgirls happy, but give an insight into any IJN operations that Maya participated in. Hina even suspected her grandfather would agree with their goals. At the very least, he would not turn them over to the secret police for torture and execution.

And yet...

"He thinks I'm his adorable sister, the girl who teases him about being a siscon bachelor, the girl who chased him with the knife he gifted her." Hina addressed herself as much as she did Tosa. "How would he react if he learned a stranger had traveled to the past, replaced his Hina-chan, and pretended to be her with amnesia?"

'In my timeline, Grandfather was an only child,' she thought. 'He didn't have a younger sister who was also named Hina.'

Yet Hina-chan existed here in the past. And going by her family's memories, she behaved very differently from the woman in her body. Despite being a career sailor, Admiral Togo would never even dream of threatening physical violence on anyone, even her rival Goto. In contrast, Hina-chan saw nothing wrong in chasing her brother with the keiken he had pranked her with.

'And she disappeared because of me.' Hina stared at her palms, the hands of her innocent grandaunt who never existed in her timeline, gentle hands she had repeatedly cut open to call forth the souls of Imperial Japan's warships. 'Her brain fever put her in a coma, which is probably the only reason I could take over her body. I possess none of her memories, so my consciousness must have overwritten hers. And she definitely existed because my grandfather and great-grandfather remembered "me" acting differently...

'My grandfather's sister is gone. And I'm responsible for it. I didn't intend to replace her, but she disappeared because of me. I killed her.

'I'm willing to do whatever it takes to save Japan, even if I have to destroy the entire Imperial Japanese military. But I cannot face my grandfather and tell him that his sister disappeared… no, died because of me.
Not until I've saved Japan.'

Her hands closed into small fists. Hina could feel her meticulously trimmed fingernails press into her slightly-scarred palms.

'Who else will save my country and my people? Who else will care about them?'

Fair hands cupped her clenched fists between their warm fingers. The startled Hina looked up to find Amagi giving her a sisterly smile.

"You're not just a stranger to Ryoichi-sama, Hina-oneechan," the aircraft carrier assured. "You're his granddaughter. His descendant. And blood is thicker than water. You proved that when you summoned us. You are a Togo. A part of his family."

Amagi misunderstood the reason for her fugue. But Hina drew a measure of relief from the shipgirl's honest concern. Her bloodline may have made it possible for Japan to fall into the Dark Valley, but being a Togo also gave her the power to change her people's future.

"I'm from a different future," she did persist, but weakly. "A future that may never come to pass because we will change so much."

"Some things never change." Tosa clapped a companionable hand on Hina's shoulder and gave her admiral a reassuring squeeze. "Ryoichi-sama was a good man in your timeline. You yourself told us that he never hated the Americans for killing his friends or sinking Maya during the war. Well, he is a good man here, too. We have all seen it for ourselves."

'They are probably right. Perhaps I am being scared for no reason.'

"Did Maya-chan ever return to Japan before she sank in your timeline?" Naka asked.

Grateful for the escape route charted by the light cruiser, Hina reviewed her photographic memory. She quickly found the relevant datum from Maya's tabular record of movement, having read the documentation as a child after her grandfather told her tales of his wartime service aboard the heavy cruiser.

"Maya-sama returned to Yokosuka a number of times before she sank in the Palawan Passage 1944," she replied. "The earliest was for a refit that lasted from March 19 to 28, 1942."

"Then you should visit your grandfather when Maya-chan returns to port," Amagi advised with a persuasive squeeze of the hands she still held captive in her own.

"We don't know if that schedule will hold true," Hina remonstrated. "The Combined Fleet attacked Pearl Harbor early."

"Which means Maya-chan will return earlier!" Tosa patted her admiral's shoulder enthusiastically.

Hina opened her mouth to protest that leap of logic. Then she thought better of it.

"Very well," she conceded. "When Grandfather returns, I'll meet with him and tell him the truth about our plans."

The relieved looks on Amagi, Tosa, and Naka's faces made her decision worth it.

"If it makes you feel better, Hina-oneechan, I'll go with you," Naka offered.

"You just want the chance to spend time with my grandfather," Hina said dryly.

"You're not wrong," the light cruiser confirmed.

"Ah, no fair, Naka-chan!" Amagi protested. "Why do I have to stay here while you get to form a threesome with Ryoichi-sama and Hina-nee?"

"Because you're Hinata Kohi's manager, Amagi-san," Naka pointed out to her rival in Ryoichi's love. "I'm just a passing-through geisha. And I'm not interested in Hina-nee that way," she added with a slight grimace.

"No seducing my grandfather, Naka-chan," Hina told the all-too-clever cruiser while reminiscing about how Murakumo would firmly intercede on her behalf when her own love life came up for discussion.

"Of course, Hina-oneechan." Naka smiled crookedly. "But what if he seduces me?"

"I know Grandfather's type of woman." It was Hina's turn to flash a knowing smile. "And you don't look anything like Grandmother."

'Thank goodness I never told Naka that Grandfather liked traditional Japanese women like Grandmother,' she thought while pretending to ignore Naka's flabbergasted reaction. 'Or that Grandfather asked me about her after he met her for the first time.

'I suppose Naka is already in Grandfather's strike zone since she acts like a Yamato Nadeshiko in public. But her ruthless side might shock him… If he does join us, I will have to prepare him to accept all of Naka...'


"If we're truly done..." Seeing no objections, Hina stood up. "I'll inform Kawachi about our situation."

The old battleship was just as eager to serve on the frontline as the others, but Kawachi lacked a suitable partner who matched her speed. Her sister ship Settsu remained afloat in IJN service, the slower pre-dreadnoughts would hold her back, and she couldn't keep up with the newer capital ships like Amagi, Tosa, and the battlecruisers.

Thus, Kawachi acted as Hina's reserve, allowing Amagi and Tosa to sortie in an emergency while leaving a big-gun capital warship available as a last-ditch force. She usually stayed in Hinata Kohi''s kitchen, laboring under the guise of cook and barista Misaki Kawana. The battleship even developed a taste for coffee that exceeded Hina's thirst for the beverage.

"I'll tell my sisters about our plans," Amagi offered. Atago and Ashitaka - the youngest battlecruiser insisted on using her original name because it shared the same first letter as her older sisters - were in Taiwan right now, accompanied by the Kawakaze (1917) sisters and the four Isokaze (1916) girls. Their task force kept an eye on the Philippines Force - and, by extension, Ryoichi Togo - and could steam back to the Home Islands at high speeds if necessary.

"Thank you, Amagi."

As her shipgirls followed her out of the office and down the stairs, Hina remained in deep thought.

'I'm walking a fine line between my timeline and this one. Every step I take blurs the already flimsy border between history and uncertainty. As I change the present, I become less sure of how the future will unfold.

'But I'm not afraid. I'm not alone. I have the girls with me. Schreiber-san is surely doing his part on the other side of the world. Perhaps there are others trying to do the same as well.

'We can do this,'
Hina swore. 'We can save Japan...'


X===X===X


That Kind-Hearted Light

A Changing Destiny Omake


Chapter 2

X===X===X​


8 December, 1941
Several hundred miles from Wake
Western Pacific


The last thing Kaga clearly remembered was the wet darkness of the Pacific Ocean as its cold depths swallowed up her sizzling hull.


"Here's your order-what? Kaga-chan?"


The operation to capture Wake started out so well. Her still-significant air group worked together with Hiryuu's planes to give the American defenders a sound thrashing in the skies over the contested island. Thanks to their air superiority, the transports and their escort cruisers came within gun range of Wake practically unmolested.

Then the US Navy appeared like the cavalry in their westerns. Navy Wildcats joined their Marine brethren in dueling Zero Fighters while Devastators pressed suicidal attack runs on the Japanese carriers without flinching. And while the Japanese combat air patrol devastated the American torpedo bombers boring straight for Kaga, the Zero pilots failed to notice the helldivers stooping down on their carrier Kaga like hunting falcons on a rabbit.

Kaga was a samurai, and she kept her stoic demeanor as a battleship despite her conversion into a far flimsier aircraft carrier. She did not cry out when American bombs punched through her wooden flight deck with such force that her aviation fuel tanks cracked open. Nor did she scream as the Mark 65s detonated within her hangars, igniting flammables and volatiles such as ammunition, fuel vapor, spare aircraft, and crewmen.

Despite her lack of visceral reaction to fatal injuries, Kaga was dead in the water and knew it. As the destroyer Kasumi hastily took off her surviving crew, the dying carrier made the most of what little time remained before they scuttled her hull to keep her out of American hands.

'Hiryuu, don't forget my words… I hold you to your promise...'

Kaga did not fear death. Like any samurai, she considered life brilliant, delicate, and transient like the cherry blossoms her people cherished. Age and wisdom tempered her enthusiasm, as did the blood that covered her figurative hands ever since her air group deliberately attacked neutral shipping in the Yangtze River, including the USS Panay in a dark prelude to the later all-out assault on Pearl Harbor. She would never regret her actions, but neither would she ever feel pride in slaughtering ships and humans.

'Akagi-san, if you're safe then it's fine... I'm going first... I will be waiting for you...

And she knew what to expect. Several Japanese warships had sunk and were raised up to continue serving the IJN. Perhaps the most famous victim was Mikasa herself; the Marshal-Admiral's prized flagship sank at her mooring in Sasebo less than a week after the end of the Russo-Japanese War, the victim of an accidental magazine explosion. And Mikasa had been willing to share what she remembered of the somber experience before the Navy retired her from active service and made her into a museum ship in Yokosuka.

'Mother, I'm so sorry for hurting you this way… Please stay safe...'

Kaga would not get the second chance at life that Mikasa had enjoyed. Unlike the inland waters at Sasebo or Pearl Harbor, the Pacific was many miles deep. Her underwater grave would lay far beyond the reach of man.

She watched from her vantage point within her abandoned bridge tower as Kasumi pulled away from her burning hull at high speed. The distraught grey-haired spirit of the Asashio class destroyer stood on top of her own bridge, furiously rubbing her right forearm across her face.

'It's all right, Kasumi-chan,' Kaga whispered even as Kasumi's forward amidship torpedo launcher trained on her. 'This was not your fault. We are at war. I do not blame you for this, so you should not lay the blame on yourself, even if that is what the admirals and sailors claim.'

Four 1,000 pound high-explosive warheads tore open her port side. Much like before, Kaga gnashed her teeth together to stifle her natural urge to scream. Her steel hull listed toward her wounded side, but she fought the urge to roll over like a cowed dog. When the waves finally washed over her the tips of her radio aerials, she managed to keep her dignity by going down more or less upright.

'Goodbye...'


"Hina-nee! I need your help! Kaga-chan is in trouble! You have to come here immediately!"


Wreckage trailed Kaga on her one-way trip to the seabed miles below. Cold seawater sluiced into every natural port and gaping hole. The flood rushed through open hatches and passageways, caring with it oil and blood and bodies and anything not bolted down. In her boiler rooms, the seawater hissed upon reaching her disabled boilers. The lack of steam explosions was a small mercy that she didn't notice.


"Hang in there a little while longer, Kaga-chan! My admiral is almost here!"


As her consciousness faded, Kaga thought she could hear a voice calling her name. It didn't belong to Akagi or Hiryuu or any of the other warships she knew.

Yet even though she had never heard the voice before, she knew who was talking to her. Only one ship would ever worry about her like this.

'Ah… Tosa-oneechan… I truly am dying if I'm hearing your voice...'


"Kaga-chan!"


'But it's all right…' In the darkness of the flooded bridge, no one could see the small smile form on the bloody lips of the faint spirit. 'We'll finally be together… Oneechan...'

And then everything went dark…


x---x---x


"Oh, Spirits of Seagoing Castles of Steel, hearken my humble appeal!"


That was strange. Mikasa had described sinking as a quiet blackness that only ended when her hull breached the surface of the sea once more. Kaga should not hear anything, much less anyone.

Unless… Unless she was being raised much like Mikasa had been resurrected from the shallow waters of Sasebo. But that should be impossible. The nearest friendly port was thousands of miles away. And even the combined might of the world's navies couldn't pull her free of the western Pacific's abyssal plain.


"Countless foes approach from all four directions and they have torn away all my protections!"


Kaga did not recognize the voice of the praying woman. Yet she found herself captivated by her warmth. The more she listened to the prayer, the more she wanted to answer. As if it was her duty as a warship of Japan to accept that call to arms.

[I am firmly convinced that I am the re-incarnation of Horatio Nelson…]


"Thus, I turn to you once more in this, my darkest hour, and plead you lend me your power once more!"


And so she pulled her shattered self together again. Pulled her reconstituted hull out of Yomi-ni-kuni, the World of Darkness. Pulled herself back into the world of light and warmth.


"Return to the Land of the Rising Sun! Carrier Kaga of the Empire of Japan!"

"Please come, Kaga-chan!"



x---x---x​


8 December, 1941
Hinata Kohi
Metropolitan Tokyo, Empire of Japan


Kaga had seen office spaces before. Her steel hull had the military equivalents that her officers used for meetings and paperwork. But the office she now stood in had concrete walls and a wooden floor instead of steel bulkheads and deck, and it also featured amenities and frivolous decorations that would never pass strict military regulations.

'How strange,' she thought. 'Am I outside my hull somehow? That should be impossible. And yet I know I sank-'

"Kaga-chan?"

She stared into a mirror. The woman's hair was much longer, her chest was bigger, and the arms protruding out of her Western blouse's sleeves showed more muscle. But she still looked like Kaga if the spirit could grow older.

Kaga knew. Despite never having seen this woman before, the carrier knew who she was. The tears brimming in the woman's brown eyes matched the ones dripping from her own.

"Tosa-oneechan?" she murmured.

"Kaga-chan!" In the blink of an eye, Tosa closed the distance between them and threw her mighty arms around her sister. The aircraft carrier gasped as her older sister squeezed the breath out of her body. "I'm so glad to see you at last, Kaga-chan!"

"Oneechan…" There was no need to hold back her sobs or tears. Even samurai could cry. And so Kaga wept freely while returning her sister's hug. "It really is you, Tosa-oneechan…"

She didn't know how long they spent crying in each other's arms. She didn't care. This meeting was sixteen years in the making. It was their first meeting in the flesh and Kaga was going to savor it.

"Um… I hate to interrupt you, Kaga-san and Kaga-san's lookalike… But I have no idea what's going on..."

A confused Japanese teenager looked to her for an answer. Dressed in a high school uniform with a white blouse and grey skirt, the dark-haired girl also wore a cap that resembled the funnel of an IJN destroyer.

Kaga recognized Kasumi's sister Arare. The Asashio class destroyer had sunk ahead of her, struck by an American torpedo as well as a bomb and possessing far less flotation than the aircraft carrier she failed to protect.

"Arare? Did you also hear that call?"

"Yes, Kaga-san, I did." The destroyer's gaze bounced between her carrier and the unknown woman. "Pardon me for interrupting… But why does that woman look like you?"

"She's my older sister Tosa. The Navy scuttled her long before they laid down your keel."

Kaga didn't blame Japan or its Imperial Navy for sacrificing Tosa back in the 1920s. They had given her sister the next best thing to a warrior's funeral. And Kaga herself should have gotten scrapped or scuttled alongside Tosa if it weren't for the Great Kanto Earthquake rendering Amagi unfit for further conversion. And her cousin Akagi had welcomed her as a surrogate sister despite the former battlecruiser's own personal tragedy. Kaga owed both the living and the dead.

Besides, Tosa was with her again. All was right with Kaga's world.

"Oh…" Arare perked up. "I see now… Huh, Tosa-san and Kaga-san resemble each other... but Nagato-sama and Mutsu-oneesan don't look anything alike..."

"Hey, there, kiddo." Tosa flashed a broad smile at Arare. "Is she your plane guard ship, Kaga-chan?"

"Yes," Kaga immediately replied. "Her name is Arare."

"Then she's part of our family! Come here, Arare-chan!" Keeping one brawny arm around Kaga, Tosa reached out with her other hand to add Arare into their embrace.

"Mmmppphhh!" Although startled, Arare didn't resist, mainly because her face was full of Tosa and Kaga's soft, sweet-smelling sideboobs.

"Welcome to our family, kiddo!" Unable to ruffle the destroyer's hair because the latter's bulky cap got in the way of her headpats, Tosa settled for a hearty laugh.

While she quietly enjoyed Arare's sudden adoption, something occurred to Kaga. Tosa had been scuttled in 1925. Her sister would know what an aircraft carrier was, but she shouldn't know about carrier operations developed after the Navy deliberately sank her battered hull in the deep waters west of Okinoshima Island.

"Tosa-oneechan, you know what a plane guard ship is?"

"Yeah, my admiral brought me up to date," Tosa chuckled. "She knows way more about carrier ops than Amagi , and Amagi's an actual carrier while Hina-nee's maritime self-defense force officially doesn't have one!"

"Amagi-san is here as well?" Kaga automatically thought of her adopted sister. Akagi would be overjoyed to learn about her sister's return. "And you say you have an admiral… Who is a woman?"

The IJN didn't have any female personnel, much less female flag officers. And what's this about a Kaijō Jieitai?

"Yeah!" Tosa turned her head to grin at the other occupant of the room, and Kaga followed her gaze. "Sorry to steal your thunder, Hina-nee!"

"It's all right, Tosa-san."

Tosa's admiral was a kimono-clad woman who stood a head taller than Kaga. Her jet black hair reached down to her waist and her eyes were as grey as battleship armor plating.

Kaga recognized her voice as the one reciting the prayer. The carrier's sharp eyes spotted the bandages wrapped around the woman's right hand. She wondered about the story behind that recent injury.

"Hello, Kaga-san, Arare-chan. I'm Junior Admiral Hina Togo, the descendant of Marshal-Admiral Heihachiro Togo." As Kaga's eyes widened and Arare finally managed to free her crimson face, Hina saluted. "I know this is very sudden, especially since you have just been summoned, but I'd like to ask for your help to save Japan…"


to be continued/itutuloy/つづく


X===X===X​


S/N: I know what some of you are thinking. New Ironsides update when? I had promised to work on it last year, but things happened at work and home, so I am taking a long while to get around to it -_-

Going back to
Changing Destiny, this chapter took a long while because I was working on other projects that have yet to see the light of day while also laboring to finish my backlog at work. It also ballooned into something much bigger. I re-read many earlier chapters to make sure I got things right. I also had Sky go over the draft and he cleared everything.

Onward to the technical details! (I'd put this in spoilers to save space, but SV is being wonky and keeps splitting the content between two or even three separate spoilers whenever I changed the font color, added/removed italics, or added hyperlinks.)

Readers of
Tsun Silent, Tsun Deep (which I looted for much of this omake) will find my depiction of Naka very familiar. For those who don't know, I'm taking advantage of the fact that the Great Kanto Earthquake of 1923 damaged the unfinished Naka so badly that the IJN scrapped her and laid down a new traffic cone Sendai class cruiser with the same name. Hina's Naka is that ill-fated original and a geisha to contrast with the canon Naka, who is still afloat and coming up with the lyrics of Love Is 2-4-11.

The windy side-effect of a successful summoning comes from
Carlo Lombardi's flashback where he summoned Turbine in Chapter 53.

Amagi reincarnated as an aircraft carrier because her conversion was underway at the time of the Great Kanto Earthquake that wrecked her hull. However, she came back with the weird triple flight deck seen in Akagi and Kaga's original configuration before their 1930s refit. Amagi also carries early naval aircraft -
Mitsubishi B1M torpedo bombers and Mitsubishi 1MF fighters - that make the Swordfish look like a state-of-the-art design.

I haven't talked to Sky yet if Amagi can be upgraded to Akagi's post-1930s refit since it wasn't important to this chapter. I assume it can be done and that Hina did it during the interval between Amagi's summoning.

I also came this close to using
Warship Girls R's Akagi as Amagi before settling for an older KanColle Akagi (plus accompanying Tosa) instead. Tosa herself is wearing an outfit similar to Nagato as the
Tosa class battleships were essentially improved Nagato class. The unseen Atago and Ashitaka are also wearing clothes similar to Nagato and Tosa given the Amagi class is the battlecruiser variant of the Tosa class.

I came up with the shipgirls' assumed identities based on various factors. Amagi and Tosa use parts of their real names and Akagi. I flipped Naka's name for her first name and used her last captain's surname. Soya/Varyag pairs the Russian version of Barbara with her captain's surname. And Kawachi is named after my favorite character in the Key visual novel ONE.

The English language records on Ryoichi Togo are sparse and brief. In Heihachiro Togo's Wikipedia article, he is described as an older brother. Logically speaking, he has at least one younger sibling, but no further information is available. For the purpose of maintaining narrative continuity with my first chapter, Hina's grandfather is an only child in her timeline.

I added the native/downtime Hina and made her personality very different from uptime!Hina. I recall an old idea where installing the parts of an old ship i.e. CV-6 on a new ship i.e. CVN-65 effectively installed the old ship's personality in the new ship. So I took the concept and applied it to humans. Because I'm a Sith Lord who bullies my OCs and feeds on the Dark Side energies released by their anguish.


*is beaten by annoyed clouds with blue and green lightsabers*

I'm sorry, I can't help it >///<

I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. All mistakes are mine. I enjoyed writing for
Changing Destiny
, and I hope this honors the spirit of Sky's story. Until next time.
 
Chapter 60
Chapter 60

Winston Churchill was many things. A veteran politician, who had been serving his country since before the Great War. One of the few, in his opinion, to have seen Hitler for the madman he was. The man who had kept Britain in the war during the hard period after France threw in the towel, and before the Americans had entered. A man who had seen the war on the Western Front, up close and personal, in the last War. The leader of the opposition, the leader of Britain, the man who fought against German tyranny. All together, a man who was not easy to surprise.

Or so he had thought. He was quickly learning that, no matter what experience a man had, it would not be enough to prepare him for listening to anything related to Admiral James Thompson.

What I wouldn't give for a brandy, right about now. Churchill rubbed at his brow, staring at the American officer who was giving him such a pounding headache. Thompson at least had the grace to look sheepish, for all the good that did. If it had not been for the letter from Franklin, I would call this man a bloody madman. I'm still tempted to do so.

"If I didn't know better, I would say you are deliberately trying to give me a heart attack." Churchill's voice was gruff, and perhaps the slightest bit sour. He shook his head and sighed, continuing to rub at his brow. "Franklin believes what you have to say, so I suppose I will give you the courtesy of listening."

"I still don't believe it myself, sometimes, for what that's worth." Thompson shrugged his shoulders, his eyes drifting over to Utah, by his side as ever. "But I'm here for a reason, I know that. If that's only ending this war before so many people have to die...I'll take what I can get. Sir."

Churchill waved his hand, "If that's so, I want you to tell me what we should expect moving forward. I can safely assume we do win, or you'd be speaking German."

"...you aren't wrong. And we do win, in 1945."

That brought a new frown to Churchill's face. Oh, sure, it was hardly as if he expected the war to be over by Christmas. The Great War had made that lesson abundantly clear, and they didn't even have a foothold in Europe yet. Discounting Stalin's red hordes, at any rate. But 1945? With Hitler at war against the British Empire, the Soviet Union and the United States? How could the Germans possibly endure all of that for three more years?

Thompson seemed to read Churchill's mind, reaching a hand up to scratch at his neck, a bit of sweat running down his cheek. "The Nazis really don't like surrendering. Hitler keeps them going until the Soviets are battering down Berlin, and they only surrender after he shoots himself in his bunker. By that point...let me think..." The hand that had been scratching his neck moved to tapping the table, as Thompson muttered under his breath. "...we were on the Elbe, right. And Austria and near the Czechs. Where else..."

Familiar, even from a couple meetings, with Thompson's muttering habit, Churchill cleared his throat. That got the Admiral to wince and shake his head to clear his thoughts.

"Right, sorry. Germany only had a little bit of their own country and some of Czechoslovakia left. If they're anything like that again, it won't be easy to win the War." Thompson shrugged again, his eyes suddenly looking very tired. "A lot of people are going to die."

"That's war, son." Churchill leaned back in his chair, and reached in a pocket to fish out a cigar. Soon enough, the smell of cigar smoke filled the meeting room once more.

The two men were alone this time, their respective ship spirits having their own meeting. Churchill had wanted to talk to Thompson alone, when the man had dropped the supposed 'I'm from the future' bombshell on him. It had taken hours for Thompson to convince the Prime Minister that he wasn't lying. So many arguments and the letter from Franklin finally getting the old bulldog to at least listen. And now, after all that time, the sun was setting and the wide windows cast only enough light to shadow the Admiral's face, and make him seem more mysterious.

Or it would, if the man were anything more than eager to please.

"As I understand this, the Germans are lead by a madman and are quite happy following him into the depths of hell itself. They'll make us wish the bloody Kaiser was back, because then they'd at least listen to reason. Am I incorrect?" Churchill lowered his cigar, and frowned deeply. That was something he expected of the damned Japs, not the Germans.

Thompson helplessly shrugged, "If we surround them, they'll surrender. They won't fight to the last man. It's just...the government won't stop, as long as Hitler and the Nazis are in charge. Harris can burn as many of their cities as he wants, it won't make them quit."

That shot across the bow had Churchill's frown deepen. It wasn't the first time he'd heard someone level that particular criticism at Harris and his Strategic Bombing campaign, new as it was. Only a month or so old and it was already being hung over the head of his government by some bleeding hearts. As if the Germans weren't doing the same.

"What would you suggest, then, Admiral?" In spite of being something of a Navy man himself, Churchill put emphasis on that last word. Even if this man was from the future, he was still an Admiral. What could he really offer for land conflicts? And make no mistake, even before this, Churchill had known that Germany could only truly be defeated on land. "Give me a method to win this war quicker. The Soft Underbelly? Hit Mussolini and knock him out of the war?"

Thompson flinched at that, and gave a slightly nervous chuckle. He started pacing and looking anywhere but directly at the Prime Minister. Churchill let him, honestly more confused than anything. What was with that reaction? It was no secret that Italy was the weak link in this little Axis alliance. He would have thought it was Japan, but then, the Japs were currently knocking on Singapore's gates. At least the Italians couldn't find their way out of a paper bag with a German holding the bag open.

Or so it seemed, gauging on how reliant they were on Guderian to do their dirty work.

"I'm going to apologize when I say this, sir." Thompson stopped pacing and ran a hand through his dark hair. He put on a serious expression, his lips thinning to a straight line. "There is no 'Soft Underbelly'. You can knock Italy out of the war, easily enough, but you won't be able to use that to defeat the Germans." Holding up his hand, the first time the Admiral had actually stopped Churchill from making an angry retort, Thompson sighed heavily. "Listen to me here, please. The Germans throw everything they can spare at keeping Italy in the War and even by 1945, we hadn't kicked them completely out. Focusing there is just...I can't say it's wasting time, since the Germans had to spend resources on it, but it won't win the war quicker."

Giving a mighty shrug of his shoulders, the Admiral wore a slightly crooked smile now.

"I'm no General, but I remember reading that in my Academy days. There isn't the room to maneuver in Italy, and all the mountains make advancing hell on the troops. Obsessing over it does no good."

I see why he looked at me like that, then. Churchill was definitely showing a sour expression now, realizing what Thompson had been doing. He was prone to pushing through his ideas against all resistance, and he did feel that Italy was the weak link.

And, perhaps, they still were. But not in the way he thought. Maybe it would be better to try and sway the Italians to swapping sides again...it had worked in the Great War, hadn't it? For a certain value of 'worked' considering how the Italians were never useful for anything but tying down the Austrians. Thoughts for later. Not important right now.

"If not Italy, then where? When?" The Prime Minister pushed aside his, in his mind justifiable, annoyance. If he had a time traveler before him- as insane as that still felt -then he needed to take advantage.

Thompson could only slump into a chair, tiredly sighing, whatever energy he had gained now spent. "I don't know. I am an Admiral, not a General. I know some things about what happened in my past, but not enough. I know that we tricked Hitler into thinking that we were going to invade Calais and hit France in Normandy. And I know that we took back North Africa before then, and then Italy. I couldn't begin to tell you how to plan any of these operations."

Churchill nodded, taking a long drag on his cigar. He couldn't say that answer was unexpected. Letting the smoke and flavor settle in his lungs before blowing it out, the Prime Minister reflected. Here he had a golden opportunity, and it wasn't even helpful for what he truly needed. Then again...as the smoke filled the room instead of his lungs, perhaps there were other ways to take advantage of a time traveler. He was nothing if not adaptable.

"Hm. In that case, I want to know everything you know about the future. Even if it is bare on details. Anything that can give those bloody Germans a fit trying to get one over on us. Technology, tactics, everything." Churchill smiled thinly, placing his cigar into an ashtray. "I want everything you can give me, before you run back off to the Pacific and that carrier of yours."

To his great credit, the Admiral only coughed slightly at that jab. He leaned down to his side and pulled out a stack of papers from his suitcase, setting it upon the desk. A very, very large stack of papers. Clearly, the man had come prepared. Churchill could respect that.

"Utah and I put our heads together and came up with everything we could offer." Thompson explained, as he tapped the massive stack of papers. "I'm not an engineer, or a general, but I've given you everything I can remember. And more besides, since Utah remembered things I've told her that I forgot. Though..." here, the young Admiral could only throw his hands up and give a crooked smile. "I'm not sure how much use the specifics on battles and the like will be. The longer I'm here, the more things will change. After a certain point, everything will be different. Things in the Pacific already are, and then there's...well. There's Schreiber to keep in mind."

Churchill absently nodded, looking at the stack of papers. Of course, things couldn't be the exact same, that would be silly. Not with so many people...changing...

Wait a tick.

"Schreiber," Churchill turned his gaze on Thompson again, his eyes narrowing to sharp flints. "I was wondering how that man could possibly know about the ship spirits like you do. Now that I know you're from the future, supposedly, I have to ask---"

"---if he is too?" Thompson finished the question, a bitter look crossing his face. He had thought about it too, clearly. "I don't know. I knew a few other Admirals in my time, but I can't tell you if I ever met anyone from Germany. If I had to guess, though?"

Thompson leaned back in the chair, and brought a hand to his face. He sighed and let the hand fall, staring Churchill directly in the eye. Not showing any signs of looking away, this time.

"He probably is. I couldn't come up with any other explanation for how he knows about these things. About the girls. I only know because of when I'm from. I can't see how a random German Admiral, who I don't know from what I remember of my history lessons, could possibly know. Things would be far more different than they are if something like that were the case."

That was...about what Churchill expected to hear. He sighed all on his own, pulling his cigar back to his lips. If his hand shook, just a little, neither man would comment on it. A German from the future. That could have been a very, very bad situation. If that man had used his own knowledge to help the Nazis, it could have lead to so many issues. So many losses. Worse than what they already had faced, with Revenge and what happened in Norway.

Yet, it hadn't gone that way. Not at first glance, anyway.

Why would a German from the future be wanting to overthrow his own government and help us? I don't have the foggiest idea. It doesn't make sense. He should be wanting his nation to win...right?

"Why would a man from the future want his own country to lose a war? He must be aware we won't treat Germany with kid gloves, this time around." Churchill stared at Thompson. At the closest thing to an expert he was rapidly realizing he had.

Thompson only shrugged, "If he was an Admiral in the future, he almost certainly hates the Nazis. I won't say there weren't still Nazis in my time, but they weren't near the seat of power anymore. Germany did a pretty good job at rooting them out. Germany couldn't win even if they had future knowledge, anyway. I'd guess he wants to keep as many people from dying, just like I do."

Tapping his papers again, the Admiral got to his feet and stared at Churchill. "I can't stay here, but I put some stuff in that for Schreiber too. If he is from my time, he'll recognize it. If not, we don't lose anything, because it won't mean anything to him. I'd suggest working with him, though. We won't get a better chance to subvert the Nazis than this, I think."

"A spy now, are we?" Churchill chuckled, climbing to his own feet. His meaty hand held out to give Thompson a firm handshake. "I'm not going to trust the man. Not yet. However, I will keep your advice in mind. Make sure you tell Franklin about this." His grip tightened on Thompson's hand, a serious frown on his lips. "I have the feeling we will need to work ever closer together, especially if this Schreiber is correct about Stalin."

"He is. Believe me, he is." Thompson pulled his hand back and frowned. "Stalin is in this for his own gain, I know that. We need him, but..."

Nothing more needed to be said. Churchill would move to look at the stack of papers, and Thompson would move to collect Utah. The Americans would return to their own homes, to their own war, while the Prime Minister would begin crafting new plans and new orders. The war would continue marching on. In different directions, perhaps, but Churchill had been correct to say that 'it was war'. No one man could truly change that.

Not even with a man on the inside of the enemy, willing to work with them.



Taranto, Italy

"I have to admit, you have proven quite adept at forming connections." Gustav Schreiber rarely smiled, these days. The stress of the war, of being away from Bismarck and Blücher for so long. "I wouldn't have guessed it, based on where you were serving before all this began."

Beside him, Carlo Lombardi snorted softly. "You don't see many new people, buried in the engines of an old destroyer, no. I surprise myself with how easy this has been."

The two men stood on a lonely pier in Taranto, looking out upon what had been the Regia Marina's greatest naval base. Several capital ships were still present, though no where near what it had been. Andrea Doria was one of the most notable in her absence, having been moved further north for extensive repair work. Turbine, sitting between the Admiral and the engineer, had been distraught over that. The destroyer had grown quite close to the battleship, in the time they had been together while Doria was prepped for the journey. And now, she was gone, for who even knew how long.

Well. Schreiber had a fairly good idea, based on how long the Italians took to repair similar damage in his time. Albeit to different ships.

At any rate, Taranto's harbor was missing quite a few ships that had been present even a few months before. It was a sign of just how much the Italian navy had suffered and bled for Mussolini's ambitions. The Italians weren't his people, and the ships weren't his ships, but Schreiber couldn't help the frown on his face nonetheless. What a waste. They fought as bravely and valiantly as anyone, even though it was a war they had never intended to fight.

I must do what I can to end this war. Before they all must die. Before my own countrymen destroy what little remains.

Sighing softly, the old Admiral sat down next to Turbine. "I'm afraid that it will be some time before you see Andrea Doria again, my dear. Are you alright with that?"

"I'm fine!" Turbine was quick to answer, her tanned skin darkening just a little. She averted her eyes from Schreiber, and looked down at her own reflection in the calm waters. "She'll be fine, I know that! Doria is a battleship, after all, and she's a lot tougher than I'll ever be."

"Even battleships can hurt." Schreiber's voice was soft, though he refrained from putting a hand on Turbine's shoulder. He would have, were she one of his, but she was Lombardi's, not his. And on that note...

"Even if she can convince her Captain to listen, you are aware that won't change much, yes?" Lombardi had also sat down, grimacing slightly as it pulled at old wounds. His scarred face twisted into a deep frown. "I will admit, we have made good progress on getting in contact with various officers. But you have to realize that we won't subvert the Fascists that easily. They've had too much time to root themselves into the government."

Schreiber nodded, absently, and looked out at the distant Vittorio Veneto, making slow progress towards her mooring. "I am very aware of that. In Germany, the situation is much the same. And I have spent the last two years doing everything in my power to attempt to subvert the Nazis. It is...a lonely mission that I have set myself. I must always look over my shoulder and wonder 'is this the man who will send me to my death?'" Turning to give Lombardi a crooked smile, the old man shrugged his shoulders. "I'm not afraid of death. I've lived a long life. Yet, if I die, I know that Germany will suffer more. I am one of the few who truly understands that."

"Hm." Lombardi tapped his finger against the wooden planks of the pier. His face bearing a thoughtful look, even as his other hand came to rest on Turbine's, prompting the destroyer to blush even more. "I can hardly claim to understand Germany. I'm just a lowly engineer, after all."

The sardonic smile that came over his face there, along with Schreiber's soft chuckle, took the bite out of those words. Not that it stopped Turbine from staring at him and reaching a hand up to...knock her engineer over the head.

"You're more important than that!" She huffed, before turning back to look out at the harbor, absently kicking her legs over the water.

Lombardi just chuckled, rubbing his head and continuing as if nothing happened. "Of course, Turbine, you're right like usual." While the destroyer giggled, the engineer focused back on Schreiber. "You haven't lied to me yet, so I will believe you when you say that Germany will suffer. And I'm certain that, if you're doing even half as much for Italy as you are for Germany, that you're working yourself to the bone. Am I wrong?"

"Not at all. Some days I consider what my life would have been like if I just served as a loyal naval officer and put aside all of my qualms of serving the Nazis." And completely ignore the knowledge of what my family will face if I did so.

Leaning back, just enough to direct his gaze at an overhead flight of Italian fighters, Schreiber let his mind drift. There were many things that he had done, and many more he could have done. It truly would have been easier to just give up, albeit not in the way Lombardi might have thought. He would never have willingly helped the Nazis without the goal of subverting them at every turn. He could have retired and lived life ashore, allowing events to continue as they would. He knew that Germany would lose in the end, of course.

He could also have defected to the allies and used his knowledge to their advantage. Swallowed the knowledge that he would be hurting the girls he knew as daughter figures in the future. It was all for the greater good, yes?

I'm a tired old man, though. I want the best for my girls, for my family, and not for myself. If that means I must suffer to bear this burden, so be it. If it means I must fight against men who would be my allies, I will do it. That was never in question.

Letting his gaze fall back down as the fighters rolled away, Schreiber gave a small smile at Lombardi. "How to save Germany is my burden to bear. You have your own country to worry about, my friend. If I am not wrong, your navy is much the same as my own."

"Conservative and not at all fans of the pompous idiots in the halls of power?" Lombardi smirked back, his scars turning what may have been amusement into a predatory expression. He didn't notice. "No, you aren't wrong at all. The Navy has fools as any place does, though I doubt you will find many fans of Mussolini in the higher echelons of command. Not many at all."

"It is fortunate, I suppose, that the Navies are what they are. Our greatest chance lay with the spirits, after all." Schreiber did place a hand on Turbine's shoulder, this time, giving the girl a gentle squeeze.

That prompted Turbine to look over at him, and smile widely. "You can count on us! I don't know everyone else in the Navy, but we want to help however we can, I'm sure of it!" Her smile did fade a little, though, when she continued. "...but I don't know how much we really can help. I don't know how to really use my weapons anymore, and I don't know if anyone else can even leave their hull...."

Schreiber squeezed her shoulder again, "Don't worry about that, my dear. We have time to figure all of that out. Just knowing that you are here is a great aid to me and my mission, I assure you. And to your country."

"Thank you, sir!" Turbine brightened, and turned to look at her engineer with a wide grin. "I'm important now, Carlo! I'm not just an old destroyer anymore!"

"You always were important, to me." Lombardi smiled back, his own hand gripping Turbine's. The smile didn't quite reach his eyes, though, when he looked over her blushing face and back at Schreiber's aged visage. "I don't know, and don't want to know, what you're working on in Germany. But I will honor your request, Schreiber."

The request to continue making contact with as many anti-Fascists as possible. Even if it were just men who were realizing that Mussolini was dragging Italy into Hitler's doomed crusade, tearing the country and its navy apart. There were more of those men every day, as ships came back damaged or didn't come back at all. As stories of Italian soldiers suffering in Africa- even if Guderian didn't waste their lives like some Germans would have -filtered in. The home front was never happy about tying themselves to Germany and entering a war that was destroying the Italian Empire for no apparent gains, save some pitiful border lands in France.

Lands that Germany may not even let the Italians keep.

No, it wouldn't be hard to find people dissatisfied with the War. People who could form the core of a Co-Belligerent force, if Italy should ever switch sides. The core of a new Italian state, free of Mussolini.

"That is all I can ask for." Schreiber didn't move from his position. Content, for now, with letting the salty breeze of Taranto warm his old bones before he returned to the frozen fjords of Norway. "In return, I will do whatever I can to keep the SS from interfering with your navy. You know how to bring the spirits forth, and I would suggest holding that knowledge close to your chest. Only bring them forth when you absolutely must to support our mission."

Lombardi nodded back, his own gaze focusing on another Turbine-class destroyer sailing out of the harbor. Probably Euro, and Lombardi didn't need to look to know that Turbine was following her surviving sister with her own eyes. Aching to be out there, with her sister. Knowing that she was unable to be, just as she had been unable to be by the sides of her lost sisters.

Rubbing soft circles into Turbine's tense hand, Lombardi sighed softly. "I will keep that in mind. Is there anything else you want to warn me of?"

Schreiber shook his head, "Not at all. I feel we have had enough of the difficult talk for now. Let us enjoy this moment of peace, while it lasts. I know we will all miss it, soon enough."

And so, they did just that. Lombardi and Turbine watched the various ships come and go, lost in their own thoughts. Lombardi about what he was going to do to try and help his country, Turbine in worry about her surviving sister. Schreiber let them be. He simply let the breeze wash over him, as he turned his own thoughts to Bismarck and Blücher. He was dreading returning to the cold of Norway...yet he was looking forward to seeing those two again, as well as Tirpitz, Scharnhorst and the others.

Most especially, he was looking forward to seeing the pink-haired cruiser again. Blücher had been by his side since he first started this insane mission of his. He missed her presence, even if only from her position alongside Bismarck.

The war is entering its darkest phase, my dears. I hope we are all ready for that. I truly, dearly, hope for that.



AN: I AM BACK. AGAIN.

One of these days, my muse will stop fighting me. I don't know when that will be, though :V

That being said, hopefully the chapter works out well enough. We're done with the big meetings (more or less) for now. Thompson will be returning to the Pacific, and Schreiber to Norway. Both will have detours, of course, but that's the general plan. Next chapter will have Thompson on the East Coast and reintroduce a certain British character to the story, but other than that...well. Current plan is that chapter (probably also involve Schreiber a bit) and then a little omake covering the various other characters, with a particular focus on Schreiber's network and what it is up to.

Then a time skip to get our main characters back where they belong. Thompson in the Pacific with Sara, and Schreiber with Bismarck and Blücher.

Hopefully, at that point, my muse will start cooperating more again. Familiar ground and all that.
 
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