Changing Destiny (Kancolle)

Skywalker_T-65 · Jul 2, 2016

Chapter 23

Staring out at the dockyard workers swarming over her hull, Saratoga sighed softly. This was far from her first refit, but on the other hand, it was the first since she had...met her Admiral. Yes, that was true. She had never really had to worry about being apart from him, for any significant amount of time. He would spend time with the other girls, sure. Sometimes, Sara had to squash a hint of unfamiliar jealousy with how much time her Admiral spent with the others. Not so much Little E- oh, Captain Halsey would tear Admiral Thompson apart if he tried anything -but Arizona, certainly.

It was silly of her of course. Why would she need to worry? Her Admiral was her Admiral.

But still, she worried. She worried even more now, knowing that Admiral Thompson was going to be across the country from her, for who even knew how long. President Roosevelt was a navy man, through and through, no matter his civilian credentials. He had been the most active Assistant Naval Secretary there ever was. He had pushed to have the ships worked on to create jobs. If there wasany politician, any President who would listen to what the Admiral had to say, it was Roosevelt.

And still I worry. I can't help it, I've never had an Admiral so precious to me before. Not even Captain Halsey. I don't want him hurt when I'm not there to help.

Sara wasn't blind, nor deaf. And while she knew she was still learning how to be human, to some extent, she also knew. She knew that her Admiral relied on her to keep the demons away. To stand strong and do what he needed to do. And now, he was going to be so far...

"Hey, you okay?"

Speak of the devil...

"I'm fine, Admiral," Sara turned around, brushing a lock of blue hair from her face. The sound of the dock workers faded away, a small smile crossing the carrier's face when she looked at her Admiral.

For his part, Thompson returned the smile, though his was substantially more weary, "Good to know. I was worried that all this work might be hurting you." The Admiral rubbed at his face, sighing ever so softly when he did. His eyes looked the carrier up and down, the smile at least remaining in place. "I'm still not really sure how all this works, if we're being honest with each other."

"I don't think anyone is sir," the carrier walked forward, her footsteps unheard over the clang and din of work being done on her hull. She brushed against Admiral Thompson's side, smile widening at the now-familiar contact. "Least of all us. I do feel it, you know. Like an itch I can't scratch, as they chip away at my paint and rust. But it's not painful."

"And that is good to know." Thompson repeated himself, brushing his own arm against Sara's. "Very good. The last thing I want is you to be in pain while I'm not here."

That struck closer to home than Sara would have otherwise liked to admit. She shifted uncomfortably, drawing closer to the Admiral. To his warmth and steady presence, taking comfort from it.

And she had just been thinking that she was the one keeping him calm, not the other way around. How ironic.

"Hey now, what's wrong?" The young man asked, letting Sara lean against his side. Green eyes were questioning, as Thompson twisted his head to look down on the carrier. "I say something bad?"

Sara shook her head, "No, not that at all. I'm just...it's silly, really."

"Nothing is silly if it worries you." Thompson shook his own head, smile crossing his weary lips. "So spill."

A soft giggle came from the carrier girl's lips when the Admiral said that, her grip tightening on his arm. Even in serious situation, he could find some way to make her laugh. It was one reason why she was so very fond of her Admiral. Captain Halsey cared about his ships and the men underneath him, but he was always...apart. He maintained the proper distance from his subordinates, for all that he cared about them and tried to make their lives easier. That was changing with Little E, but just with her.

Admiral Thompson, on the other hand...well. He'd always been willing to drop anything to talk with her. To just spend time with her.

It was not a stretch to say Sara valued that dearly. And she knew it was only because he had lived with another her for years, working together with the other ship girls. The Admiral knew how to act with her and was able to act so calm and close, because he had done it before. Regardless though, it didn't change how much she appreciated it, especially now.

"I'm..." Sara sighed softly, burrowing deeper into Thompson's side. Her blue hair fell around both of them, entangling the two together with the wind blowing strands between them. Sighing again, the carrier looked up at her Admiral, "Like I said, it's silly. But I'm not used to you not being there. I went years, over a decade really, without worrying about that. Even Captain Halsey was just temporary...my Captains and Admirals rotated out and that was how it worked. But now that I can talk with you...I..."

"Don't want me to leave." Thompson finished, brushing a hand through Sara's long hair. The girl leaned into that touch, small smile crossing her face. Thompson just snorted softly, but didn't stop moving either, "Yeah, I can see why. I can't say I understand what it feels like to not be able to talk with anyone, and then when you get the chance...have that one person leave. But you know?"

The Admiral pulled away slightly, though not far enough that Sara couldn't still grab his arm and hold on tightly. His face, smile or no, had gone rather more serious. Green eyes stared into identical ones, the man making sure his carrier understood just how serious he was being.

"I can't always be here, Sara. When you're in refit, I would normally be reassigned. Since you and Lex are in the same division, I'd be assigned to her if I weren't going with Admiral Richardson to Washington." Thompson let his serious expression drop ever so slightly, a hint of wry amusement overtaking his face. "Between the two of us, I almost prefer going to Washington. Lex is nice and all, but she is so...teasing. I much prefer serving with you. No offense to your sister."

Sara couldn't help it. She let go of her Admiral, and held a dainty hand to her mouth, soft laughs coming from behind it. She knew her sister better than anyone, especially now that they talked to each other regularly. Lex was...well, teasing probably fit. Sara could understand why her Admiral preferred her, knowing his personality like she did.

And of course, she preferred that he stay with her anyway, so there was that.

"Still though, until you're done with your refit, I probably won't be around. I imagine I might get some shore leave once I get done in Washington, provided they don't just toss me in an institution..." The Admiral shuddered at that. He knew what institutions in the days before mental care was really understood were like. And he had no desire to end up in one of those. "Anyway, if I do get shore leave, I need to see the family. I may not be back for months, you know that, right?"

I do...I don't like it, but I do. Admiral...

A small nod came from the carrier as she began talking again, "I understand that sir. I just...don't like it. I don't want you to be away that long, since no one else here cares about me like you do. I have Ari to talk to, but her refit is almost done. Then it's just me and whoever else comes around and that's..."

Thompson finally dropped the serious expression on his face. He pulled his arm from Sara's grip, making the carrier grab at him to try and pull him back.

She didn't need to try.

Because the Admiral had only pulled his arm away to wrap it around Sara's shoulder, pulling the carrier to his side. A brilliant flush crossed Sara's face at that, and indeed, Thompson's own. But at the same time, the smile on her face had grown softer. Happier. Sara leaned into the man's side, quite content where she was. She wasn't sure if this was really proper. In fact, if Admiral Richardson saw, he would probably have some choice words for the younger Admiral.

But, honestly? The girl couldn't bring herself to care. The warmth of her Admiral's arm wrapped around her brought comfort she really needed right now. And she wasn't about to give that up, no sir.

"Don't worry about that Sara. If all goes well, more people will be able to hear you girls soon enough," Thompson squeezed her shoulder gently, allowing the girl to stay burrowed into his side.

"But I..." Comfortable or not, the blue-haired carrier still tried to speak. To protest.

She didn't really want other people to talk to her. Not in the way that Ari did, only caring about talking with Admiral Thompson. But Sara, nonetheless, cared more about talking with him than anyone else. If she had the choice between her crew and her Admiral, she knew which she would pick. Not that she didn't want to talk with other people. Just...

"And I'll be back soon enough. Relax, Sara." Thompson grinned down on her, a confident tilt to his lips. Confidence that was almost infectious, and entirely unlike him. "While I may be gone for a bit, so long as this goes like I'm hoping, I won't let them assign me to another ship. Besides, it makes sense to keep us together since we're so familiar with each other by now. Right?"

Sara smiled softly, "Right."

Falling silent at that, the two looked out at the workers running across her hull. It was only a matter of time until Admiral Thompson had to leave...

But at least Sara knew. Knew that he would come back.

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"Saying goodbye always is painful."

Admiral Thompson pulled his cover down, covering his wet eyes. The clang and clatter of men laboring away on Saratoga faded behind him, replaced by the roar of an antique- to him at least -car motor. He sat in the back of an officer's staff car, Admiral Richardson his only companion. The older man had given him the chance to go see Sara one last time before they left, and for that, Thompson could never thank him quite enough.

For all his confidence around Sara, he truly didn't know if he would ever see her again.

"I imagine that is more true now than before," Richardson spoke, his gruff voice contrasting with the look on his face. The usual 'Admiral expression' as Thompson had heard ship girls call it, was missing. Instead, there was just a regular older man sitting with him. "I know that it was hard seeing Delaware for the last time, and that was without knowing what is really aboard these ships."

Thompson nodded, not disputing the point, "Exactly. And Sara...I don't blame her, really. I wouldn't want to be apart from the one person who cared enough about me to actually see me. And talk to me."

Though, that isn't entirely true.

"Indeed," Richardson nodded himself, expression dropping at least somewhat back into it's usual form as he did so. The man pulled papers from the briefcase by his side, leafing through them while he continued to speak, his eyes roaming over the pages. "Nonetheless, there is no time to waste on what-ifs. We must be as prepared as possible for this, you understand that, correct?"

"Of course, Admiral." The younger man agreed, his own briefcase unopened by his side.

Thompson had gone over these papers so many times, he had them memorized. The work he had done with Halsey and Sara was extensive, and as well-prepped as he could possibly hope to be, going into this.

And it still may not be enough.

"Now, the important thing to remember is that we have no hard evidence," Richardson continued, holding up a photograph of Saratoga. That picture had been an attempt to see if the ship girls could appear on film, and while Thompson could see Sara...his subordinates could not. It was almost like a ghost picture, in a way. "We have no way of proving, without relying on visiting a ship, that we are saying the truth." Putting the picture away, Richardson narrowed his eyes, his glasses doing little to hide the intensity of the expression. "Which means, we must hope that Admiral King is willing to listen and visit a warship."

"Or the President," Thompson pointed out. In any other situation, the idea of going straight to the President of the United States with something like this would be ludicrous. Why would the President care?

But Franklin Delano Roosevelt was not the average President. If any one man in the Oval Office would care enough about the Navy to potentially see a ship girl, it was that man.

Richardson just nodded again, "Or the President indeed. Now, is there any ship you would suggest we visit, Admiral?"

Any ship indeed. Thompson had familiarized himself with naval deployments, and had come down to just one option. An old warhorse, older than even Arizona. One that had enough history to her name, even now, that Roosevelt may be willing to agree to visit her. If he believed anything at all, about what the two Admirals had to say. Because...

What better ship to have the President visit in 1941, than a battleship?

"USS New York."

The sounds of dockyard workers were the same, no matter where one was in the world. In the United Kingdom, there was a bit more smoke and yelling than others. In Japan, it may be more regimented and formal. In the United States, speed was the name of the game. In Germany?

Efficiency.

Or so, Bismarck liked to tell herself. Workers clamored around her hull and those of the cruisers and destroyers nearby. Hamburg was a busy port, during peace or war. That the greatest War known to man raged across Europe right now, helped in forcing the men to work themselves even faster and harder than usual. Germany faced no continental foes, for the moment. But the constant fear of English attacks kept the men working round the clock, to finish the pride of the Kriegsmarine as quickly as possible.

The loss of Gneisenau had made the need ever greater. The Führer had been greatly angered by Admiral Lütjens failure, and had forced the yard workers to get Bismarck done as quickly as possible.

And for all of that...

It wasn't what had her attention.

"Admiral, you can...that can't be true. It...Germany would never..." The blonde battleship held a hand to her heart, staring at the old man across from her with wide blue eyes. Admiral Schreiber returned the expression, though his was far more tired. The aged man looked even older than his already long years, slumped shouldered and tired.

"I truly wish it were not the truth, Bismarck," Schreiber whispered. His voice, once happy at the sight of her, was worn-down. Exhausted. Weak.

"But it can't be," Bismarck continued to protest. She loved Germany. She loved the nation that had built her, and would serve it to her dying breath. She couldn't comprehend that the nation she so loved, could be so...horrible.

Evil.

Her Admiral just shook his head sadly, "Bismarck, if there is one thing I learned long ago, it was that no matter how much we Germans may wish this didn't happen, it did. Germany was the cause of one of the worst events in human history, and there is nothing changing that."

The old man climbed to his feet, walking over to the end of his cabin. Blue eyes looked out at the harbor, at the men working to finish fitting out the mighty battleship. Schreiber sighed softly, shaking his head, but not turning around.

"The Holocaust, as it has become known. That word, has so many connotations for Germans. Our greatest shame. Our greatest failure." Only as he said that, did Schreiber turn around. For all the weariness in his expression, there was now an undisguised disgust and anger as well. An expression Bismarck might have feared being directed at her...

Were it directed at her.

"We, the German people, allowed the rise of the Nazi Party. Many of my brothers and sisters, though in the past from my perspective, knew about this. But it was something we put from our minds. See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil," The old Admiral listed off, his voice growing more bitter with each statement. "And because we let it happen, Germany was forever scarred and we still struggle to make up for what happened. Do you understand, Bismarck? Why I wish for nothing more than to stop this madness?"

Bismarck, however much she desperately wanted to believe that her Admiral was lying to her...couldn't. She shook her head, the unfamiliar feeling of tears falling from her eyes making the battleship rub at her face. She...couldn't believe it. And yet, she knew he wasn't lying. Her Admiral, her precious Admiral, had never lied to her. Not once. He hadn't even twisted the truth. He had told her, without any prompting, exactly why he could see her. Talk to her.

A man from the future...it seemed too impossible to believe, but yet, it was the truth.

And now, he was telling her that the Germany she loved and served happily, was a nation doomed to ruin. A society marching in lockstep to become the most reviled state in modern human history. And there was nothing she could hope to do about it. The 'little man with the funny mustache' was the progenitor of a mass murder the likes of which Europe had never seen.

What was she supposed to feel?

"I...I wish I could do something to help you, Admiral," Bismarck finally got out. Her strong voice, once a source of pride, was now weak and cracked. "But I'm just a battleship...no one else can even see me."

At that, Admiral Schreiber shook his head again. The old man moved from the window, his steps sure and steady despite his age. He walked right to Bismarck, leaning down to place a hand on her shoulder. Schreiber looked directly in her eyes, squeezing Bismarck's shoulder softly. Almost fatherly.

"You are helping me immensely, just by being here, my old friend." Schreiber smiled gently, sitting down next to the battleship. "Believe me, while I am fond of Blücher, it is nice to have you once again."

Face flushing slightly, Bismarck nodded with a small smile of her own, "Thank you, Admiral."

"No, thank you." Smile remaining in place, the Admiral released his grip on Bismarck's shoulder, looking down at his feet. "Even so, I sometimes wonder. If I am doing the right thing, in trying to help Germany. Does such a nation deserve help? The Germany I serve, is not the Germany I know. Nor is it the Germany I grew up in. And yet, here I am. An Admiral in the Kriegsmarine, in command of the pride of her fleet."

Sighing, Schreiber clenched his hands by his sides. He turned his head to look at Bismarck, worry lines drawing his aged face even tighter.

"Germany, the Federal Republic I served, only existed because the Third Reich was burnt to the ground. Torn asunder, forced to endure occupation by both the West and the Communists. The unconditional surrender of the Nazis allowed for a proper democracy to come into being, one that I was proud to serve. And that could stand in the heart of Europe, a nation reborn and free from the shadows of her past."

Bismarck felt something stir in her chest, when her Admiral talked of the Federal Republic. A sense of pride that she had lost, when thinking of the Germany she served. A sense that yes, Germany was doing wrong. But her nation was not evil. Her people were not monsters. Germany could, and had, proven over and over that when given the chance...she could be a force for good in the world.

The young battleship wanted, so desperately, to be able to say that.

But...

"Admiral, you said that Germany was burnt to the ground." Bismarck pointed out, worry tinging her voice. No matter the horrors of the Third Reich, was it...truly worth it? "How many died? How did Germany...?"

Schreiber looked directly into Bismarck's eyes, not flinching. Not moving back an inch. Dark blue stared into ice blue, silence in the room.

At least, until the Admiral let out a world-weary sigh.

"Somewhere between six to seven million Germans will die, if the War goes as I remember," Schreiber turned away, his eyes looking at his lined hands. Hands that clenched in the fabric of his uniform, nearly tearing it were it not for Bismarck's hand landing on his own. The Admiral smiled at her, but it didn't last. The expression faded, in place of a pale and sick expression. "Eleven million will die in the camps. The Soviets will lose over twenty million."

Bismarck flinched back, her own pale face becoming whiter than the snow lining her deck. Her eyes were impossibly wide, and why shouldn't they be? That was...impossible. Millions...she couldn't even comprehend how so many could die, in so little time. How? How could the war possibly get that violent and...no. She knew why. Her Admiral had told her.

The Nazis and Communists alike, would stop at nothing to kill each other. Add in the Nazi policies in relation to undesirables and...it made the battleship sick. If she were capable of eating, she would likely be throwing up.

It was so horrible to imagine.

"Now you see my dilemma," Schreiber laughed humorlessly, the sound broken. His eyes turned to look at her once again, pain clear as day in those blue pools. "I know the future. I know that, for Germany to become the Germany I remember and the Germany I know she can be? I have to accept that Germany must be burnt to the ground, cleansed of the Nazi Party and it's terrible legacy. And yet, that means I must allow untold millions to die? Untold numbers of cities and villages be destroyed?"

The Admiral's shoulders slumped, his face falling into his hands. Bismarck hesitantly reached out, and wrapped her arms around the man. He was...he was almost like a father to her. Or, at the very least, a fond uncle. And she hated seeing him like this.

But she couldn't very well blame him. How painful must it be, to know what was coming? Know that he couldn't possibly stop millions upon millions of deaths and so much destruction? If Germany was to become the Germany it could be, did it truly require so much death? So much ruin?

"Is there anything we can do, Admiral? Perhaps remove the Führer and end the War before that comes to pass?" Bismarck suggested, desperate for a way to help her Admiral. Even as she cursed that she couldn't do anything.

Schreiber sighed into his hands, "I have asked myself that question many times Bismarck and..."

Bismarck could only listen, as her Admiral told her what he had come to believe...

Skywalker_T-65 · Jul 13, 2016

Chapter 24

"Hood...I wonder if I'm the right man for this job."

Captain Todd Harrington stood at the gangway leading up to HMS Hood, wincing despite himself. It may have been months since that fateful battle in the North Sea, but the old girl was still battered and showing her wounds. Even for the Mighty Hood, the Royal Navy just didn't have the time or resources to fix her quickly. Hood had taken so much damage...keeping Renown and his old Repulse in service and fighting was more important. That the battered old girl was even still in Britain was because of how few resources and skilled workers were really available.

But then, that was why he was boarding her now, wasn't it?

We're off to the United States. I hope the Yanks know what they're doing, we're putting a lot of bloody trust in them right now.

Hood bore her wounds, but she was at least seaworthy again. Seaworthy enough for the long trip across the Atlantic, to the United States. Neutral. That was what the Americans wanted people to believe, but anyone who paid any attention could see how President Roosevelt favored the British and French in this war.

He was even allowing for American dockyards and American labor being used to refit Hood. Give her what she should have received, years ago. Maybe by the end of this, she would be a proper battlecruiser again. What she should have been, in that battle with the Germans. The Jerries should never have done that much damage to Hood. And if a refit had her back in proper fighting form...

Well, that would be wonderful.

"Welcome aboard Captain."

Harrington shook his head, belatedly realizing he had continued walking up the gangway while he had been thinking. Mentally slapping himself for that, the man returned the salute he had been given. His XO had a sly smile on his face at that, but didn't say anything.

Cheeky bastard.

"Good to be aboard," Harrington dropped his salute, letting his hand slap against his thigh. His dark blue eyes scanned across the hull, wincing again despite himself. Bloody... "Hell."

"Sir?" Commander Patterson blinked, confusion now on his face.

The Captain realized too late that he had said the last bit aloud, and coughed to cover his mistake, "Sorry, just...I hadn't expected Hood to still be in this kind of shape. That's all."

"Ah." Patterson nodded, walking up to his Captain. His footsteps crunched more than they normally would have, visible charring still present in patches on Hood's aged deck. "Yes, that is true. I've been here from day one, sir. Since I was the highest-ranked survivor of that battle. And let me tell you something." The XO flung one of his hands out, a bitter expression crossing his face as he waved at the scarred superstructure in front of the two men, and the burnt deck underfoot. "Hood should have finished being repaired months ago."

Neither man disputed that point. Neither man could dispute that point. Repulse had been the one to win that skirmish, true. But Hood was still the pride of the Royal Navy, in a way that not even the Grand Old Lady could match. So, seeing her in this condition was...

Well, if not painful, at the very least uncomfortable.

Shaking his head, Harrington sighed softly, "Yeah, I know. She should have. But keeping my old girl out there was more important."

Patterson didn't deny that. No, he just shook his own head, "Bloody hell sir, couldn't they have spared a few more workers? I..."

Harrington held a hand up, "I know, again. But there's nothing we can do about it. Is Hood at least ready to go to America?"

There was silence at that, Harrington staring at his new XO. Patterson stared back, a fairly mutinous expression on his face. In point of fact, the two men had drawn a small crowd, the few crew aboard Hood watching the two with baited breath. There was no noise, save for the small murmurs any crowd came with. And the soft sound of water brushing against the old battlecruiser's battered hull. No man dared to so much as breathe, waiting to see what happened.

Waiting to see who broke first.

I can't say I blame him, for this.

For his part, Harrington resisted the urge to shake his head. He didn't and couldn't blame Patterson for how he likely felt. Not when he felt much the same, no. Because the idea of...

"I hate sending Hood to the Yanks," Patterson finally broke the silence, matching the thoughts running through his Captain's head. "I know we can't repair her here, not really. I know the Yanks won't do anything, not when their President hates the Jerries just as much as we do. But I still don't like it."

"Not one of us do, son," Harrington placed his hand on the younger officer's shoulder. And Patterson was young. Barely thirty, he had been propelled to a position he wasn't ready for. Just as Harrington himself, the Royal Navy starved for good, young blood. And, that meant putting the best they had on the best they had. And, that was HMS Hood.

Biting back a frustrated noise, the new Captain of the old battlecruiser squeezed his XO's shoulder gently.

"Hood is the pride of the Navy, and sending her to the Yanks to be repaired is a bitter pill to swallow for sure. But, well, we don't have a choice. Jerry wankers hit her good, and Hood needs the help." The Captain did shrug his shoulders this time, clearly unhappy, but aware of the necessity of what they were doing. Letting his grip on the XO go, Harrington stepped back, looking up at the sky. Nary a cloud in the sky, save for the RAF patrols, keeping a wary eye out for Nazi bombers. Harrington didn't look away, as he continued speaking, "And, frankly, I hope they can fix her properl..."

Head snapping down, the Captain didn't resist the scowl now. His sharp eyes scanned the crew surrounding him, looking for...something. Because as he had spoke, he could have sworn he had heard a ghostly voice. Not one of his men. Not a voice he knew.

But a bloody voice nonetheless.

One that had sounded resigned to her fate.

"I hope so..."

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"...too, Captain." HMS Hood held a hand to her head, wincing slightly as it touched the soft gauze covering her forehead. She had woken up with that gauze, stained red with blood, some time ago.

And she had woken up in dock.

Not at sea, where the last thing she remembered were the screams of her Captain and Admiral, swallowed by the impact of German shellfire upon her bridge. Mercifully, she didn't remember the aftermath.

If this was what combat was like...what Tiger had felt at Jutland...then Hood didn't want to experience it again, any time soon. Strange for a warship maybe...but how many warships survived their Admiral's dying on their bridge? Victory? Perhaps, if she ever had the chance, Hood needed to talk with the old warrior. For now though...for now, she just wanted to rest. While the months spent in dock had made slow progress to repair her, the old battlecruiser had relished it. It had been so long since she had refit, that even this was enough to give her tired old frame some relief.

Short-lived as it may have been.

"Captain...I hope that the Yanks treat me well too. If they don't, I'll find some way to give them a stern talking to!"

Clearly, Hood had no reply to that. Her Captain, the captain that had so ably lead Repulse in that battle after Hood had fallen, had simply shook his head and set back off along her hull. Hood followed, her false bravado- honestly, what could she actually do if the Yanks messed something up? -fading as she did so. It was replaced by the lingering pain through her entire body.

Red bruises covered her torso and then there was the gauze on her head. Hood was hurting, in ways she had never felt before.

"Günther sure did a number on the old girl," Captain Harrington muttered, softly enough that only Hood heard him.

Words that had her stopping in place, the battlecruiser's blue eyes widening in shock. Her heart pounded in her chest, and it took everything she had not to fall to her knees on the spot.

Günther!

Why would her Captain say a German name? Who could he be...

No.

No.

Shaking her head, Hood forced herself to walk again. She sped up even, her feet slapping against the old wood of her deck, as she rushed to catch up to her Captain. She had to know the answer, even if the man couldn't hear her. So concerned with this was the old girl, she didn't even notice when they walked past her crew. She walked through several.

Not even that cold could break Hood's concentration.

I have to be imagining things. There isn't...bloody hell, he can't be serious!

Mind racing faster than her screws, Hood resisted the urge to reach out and tug on her Captain's shoulder. It would do no good. He couldn't feel her, and she would just go right through him. She knew that. But it was so hard to resist doing it anyway.

But resist it she did, following her Captain into his temporary quarters. Spartan, with only a small bed and no desk, hardly befitting the officer in charge of the Mighty Hood. But it was all there was for him, and Hood could hardly do anything about it. Nor was she inclined to either. Not when her mind had latched onto that name. And the implications therein.

"Captain, you aren't a traitor...are you?" Hood whispered, holding a hand to her chest. Her heart pounded in rhythm with her fears, driving her to a need to know. Was her Captain a traitor? Or was he not?

"Well, I hate to say this," Captain Harrington spoke, his voice soft and measured...and giving Hood a heart attack, as she stared at him with wide eyes.

He can hear...

"But Hood is in horrible shape. I hope the Yanks can fix her up, or Günther won in the end."

And just like that, Hood's shoulders slumped again. The old girl sniffled, rubbing at her nose, her mood punctured like her belt had been. She had thought her Captain had heard her. But he hadn't. And he spoke that name again too.

Who was he talking about?

"Who are you talking to, Admiral?" Hood muttered, looking up with wet blue eyes. Her long blonde hair fell in front of those eyes, but she made no move to brush it away. She stared at her Captain through her hair, wishing nothing more than the could hear her. And answer her question. Tell her why he was talking to a German. Their enemy. The ones who had nearly killed her.

And had killed Royal Oak, and so many brave men in Europe and over the skies of Britain.

So why was he talking with one?

"Now, I need to figure out what MI6 gave me...reports on German fleet movements," Harrington sat down atop his bed, completely ignoring Hood. Ignoring her, and pulling out papers from his uniform, unfolding them upon his lap. The young Captain's eyes scanned over those papers, completely wrapped up in whatever they said.

All Hood could do was watch, and wait. Hopefully...hopefully, she would find out who he had been talking about.

Because she needed to know who Günther was.

"Admiral!"

In the bright Pacific, far from the dreary Winter skies of Great Britain, USS Enterprise smiled brightly. She was finally back out at sea, and it felt so very liberating! How could it not? She had just been complaining to her Admiral about how much she disliked being cooped up in harbor. Enterprise wasn't her big sister, but she did far prefer being able to go out and sail on her own to being stuck in harbor. No matter how important their work towards making contact was.

Something that had, admittedly, rapidly began to speed up. More and more ships were getting through every day, and it was probably just a matter of time until everyone in the Pacific Fleet knew something was up.

And she could, finally, say she was the first in something! It wasn't Yorktown who was first. It wasn't Lexington. It wasn't, technically, even Aunt Sara!

Well, if only because Admiral Thompson already knew her!

A small smile crossed Enterprise's young face at that, while she waited for her broad-shouldered Admiral to make his way to her. She didn't know much about it herself, of course. She was young after all.

But she thought that Sara really liked her Admiral, and Admiral Thompson felt the same way. It was nice, to see her Aunt so happy!

"Heh heh...I think they just don't want anyone to see..." Enterprise giggled softly, holding a hand to her mouth. Merriment danced in her red eyes at the thought, even as her Admiral finally reached her.

For his part, Bull Halsey just raised an eyebrow, silently judging his carrier.

At least, until she stopped laughing, Enterprise's giggles trailing off in favor of the rigid discipline her Admiral was so very fond of.

"Good, if anyone else can see you, I want them to see a proper sailor." Halsey looked Enterprise up and down, before nodding in satisfaction. "Now, what did you want to tell me?"

"Oh!" Enterprise nodded sharply herself, her hair shaking around her head. Her wide grin returned, the little blonde pointing out at the distant blue sky. "I just wanted to let you know I can watch what my pilots are doing!"

Halsey's eyebrow went right back up, clearly impressed. Or confused. "Hm. And by that you mean...?"

Enterprise just continued to smile, holding her hands up in front of her and between herself and the Admiral. The little girl waved them around in a rough approximation of the flight pattern of her chubby little Brewster fighters.

"I can't see what my pilots see," the blonde continued, her hands twisting and turning as she spoke. "But I can see where the planes are and what is around them. It's...odd. I can't explain it very well..."

It was only now that her smile fell, Enterprise trailing off when she said those last words. Her head drooped slightly, the girl wanting nothing more than to say she could explain everything perfectly. But sometimes, even she couldn't explain what she felt. It really was that strange!

"Good to know," Halsey though, he never judged her for that. He had more difficulty with the...oddities...of the girls than they did, but the man was nothing if not adapative.

Sure, he was bull-headed. He charged in at full speed, heedless of the risk in a lot of cases.

But it didn't mean he couldn't adapt to changes. Halsey would not have gotten as far as the man had, if he weren't able to do so. It was a hallmark of his leadership style, that the man learned and integrated things into his command abilities. And considering how strange this situation was, it was good to have a man who could do that at the helm of one of the newest carriers in the Navy.

"That said, why tell me now?"

Not that Halsey wasn't going to ask a question, of course.

The little carrier blinked slowly, before a flush crawled it's way up her face. A flush that spread across her youthful features, accompanied by a nervous giggle when she answered, "I hadn't thought to tell you before Admiral..."

"Oh?" The old Admiral replied, voice lowering ever so slightly in tone. Not enough to be considered angry.

No, it was probably impossible for even Bull Halsey to ever be angry with this little girl.

"It never came up, that's all!" Enterprise hastily waved her hands in front of her again, but this time to ward off the anger she did worry would come. The blonde gulped, red eyes wide and filled with worry. "I couldn't launch planes in harbor, and this is the first time we've left in a long time. I didn't think to say anything before."

There was silence after she said that, the two staring each other down. Or, rather, Halsey staring Enterprise down. The carrier, for her part, shuffled nervously. No matter how many times this happened, it always ended up this way. She'd put her foot in her mouth, and he'd just stare silently. How many times had this happened since they had started talking? She honestly didn't even know.

It never did get any easier either.

Because Enterprise hated disappointing her Admiral. Her father.

Wouldn't any child?

I hope he isn't actually angry. I just forgot, that's all!

But even as she thought that, Enterprise made a promise to herself to try and not forget again. If that happened, she would make the promise again and again until she could say that she wouldn't forget to tell her Admiral important things like this. She was a sailor, and she wouldn't forget to...

Wait.

Was he laughing?

Enterprise blinked slowly, as she stared at Admiral Halsey. It would be a stretch to say the man was 'laughing', perhaps. But there were deep chuckles coming from him, entirely unlike the man.

"You worry entirely too much, Enterprise." Bull Halsey shook his head, reaching out a hand to pat the girl on the shoulder. It was the closest to 'fatherly love' he ever showed her, in all honesty. But it was still a mark of how he cared for her. "I'm neither angry nor surprised. Damn it girl, everyone forgets things some times. I 'forgot' to tell my wife I got my wings before I took over on Sara."

That was enough to get Enterprise giggling again, despite everything. The dry tone her Admiral delivered that statement in was just too much! Not to mention the implication that his wife was...

Unhappy about his choice.

Though Enterprise didn't actually know Mrs. Halsey.

"And I don't blame you, just do better. That's all I ever ask of any man, or girl in this case," Halsey's dry tone remained, as he jutted his square chin out at Enterprise's flight deck, before nodding at her. A small smile had crossed his face though, while he continued speaking, "Do your best, get better, and prove you're a proper sailor. Now, is there anything else you needed to tell me?"

The non-sequitur may have confused most, but Enterprise knew what it was for. Admiral Halsey was not Admiral Thompson. He would take time out of his duties to talk to her, but he would never let that time last very long. Halsey spent more time actually working at his duties. Not that it was a bad thing, what Admiral Thompson did. But it was certainly a difference between the two men, according to Sara.

Not that Enterprise would know for sure.

"No, that was all...Admiral," it didn't stop Enterprise from deflating slightly though, when she nodded. She liked talking to her Admiral. They didn't do it nearly enough, in her opinion!

Halsey just shook his head, wry twitch of his lips making his amusement clear, "Right. Now, if you can watch through your planes, I want you to keep an eye out for any visitors."

The tone of voice on that last word was completely counter to how Admiral Halsey had been talking. No more was there the wry amusement. Or the dry, sarcastic tone of voice. There wasn't even the gruff acceptance of the strangeness of the situation.

No.

There was nothing but hard seriousness in his voice, the Admiral making it abundantly clear exactly what he meant by 'visitors'. And having heard it from Admiral Thompson well before she had ever talked with her own Admiral, Enterprise knew what he was talking about.

"Right! No one is going to sneak up on us, Admiral!" Enterprise snapped off a salute, childish seriousness all across her youthful face.

While she dreaded the idea of a war, especially the war she had been told was coming, Enterprise would not be caught off guard, if the Japanese attempted to sneak up on her early!

Looking up from the paper in his hand, Captain Harrington let out a frustrated sigh. Hood was due to depart to the United States the very next day, and by all rights he should be aboard her. But he wasn't.

Instead, he was sitting across from the most unlikely friend he had ever made.

"You know I cannot, and will not, answer that question." Günther Lütjens spoke softly. Softly, but with steel resolve.

"Günther, I am not asking this as an enemy naval officer," Harrington bit back another sigh, knowing why the German was being reticent. If their situations were reversed, there wasn't a bloody chance in hell that Harrington would willingly give up information on his navy.

That Lütjens was one of few Admirals in a Navy that was barely worth the name, meant he had even less reason to risk the few ships available.

Still, Harrington had to at least try to get an answer.

"I'm asking this as a friend, who only wants to protect his crew," the younger British officer continued. His hand's gripped the report in his hand's tightly, doing his level best to not accidentally tear it. "I know that if Hood is finally put back into duty, she'll probably fight more of your ships. But I can't let her sink under me, and for that..."

Lütjens looked up from his lap, dour face hiding the sharp resolve of a career Kaiserliche Marine officer, "You would request of me, as a friend, to sell my comrades out. Ja?"

Harrington winced, "Not in..."

"Captain Harrington, I assure you, I am a loyal officer of Germany. I am neither fond of the current government, nor willing to see my men die. I cannot tell you what you request." Lütjens shook his head, expression not once changing.

Even as he fell silent again.

For Admiral Lütjens, Harrington had discovered, was a man of few words. When he spoke, it was with customary Germanic seriousness...but it was rare indeed. The man could make his point quite clearly with just expressions and gestures. He spoke little, but spoke importantly. And that he spoke this much, right now, only showed how very serious he was.

Something that had the Brit officer sweating slightly.

For all that they were odd friends, after the discussions they had upon Repulse after the battle and since Lütjens had been put in this manor for the rare captured German naval officer, Harrington knew something. Lütjens was a naval officer of the old school. When honor was still important, more important than many other things. The German would never willingly give up information on his navy, his subordinates.

He had refused to give any information on where Scharnhorst and Admiral Hipper may have gone.

Refused to tell any details on the technical specifications of that new battleship the Nazis were building.

And even now, Lütjens would not tell a single bit of how accurate the paper Harrington held in his hands truly was. Frustrating, but not surprising.

"Right, I guess that was a long shot anyway," Harrington grimaced, putting the paper down. Instead, he turned to look at the German Admiral with a different question at the tip of his tongue, "So, if you won't tell me that, can I at least ask what you feel about this?"

Lütjens raised an eyebrow, "About your new command, I assume."

A nod, "Yes. Repulse was a good ship, but I admit, Hood is the prestigious post, even after what you lot did to her. Bloody hell, I don't even know if I'm cut out for this. After actually boarding her, I feel like...almost like she's alive and judging me."

The very faintest sliver of a smile crossed the old Admiral's lips when he heard that. Lütjens rarely smiled. Even more rarely than he spoke. But this was one of those occasions, as he shook his head again.

"That is a feeling I am very familiar with, my friend," it was a sign of how much more comfortable he was, that Lütjens didn't call the younger man by his title. Instead, he had an almost nostalgic expression in his dull eyes, looking directly into the brighter eyes of his British counterpart. "Gneisenau felt much the same. It was the first, and I now imagine only, time I had ever commanded a warship larger than a cruiser. And I still remember, even now, what it felt the first time I boarded her."

It was times like this, that reminded Harrington why he was friends with his former enemy. They could bond over topics such as this, yes. But more importantly, despite all the differences between them. Despite the Captain being British and the Admiral German. No matter that they were enemies, their nations mortal foes in two Great Wars now.

They could understand each other.

And Günther Lütjens, at the least, was not a fanatic like so many German officers in their new Reich.

"I feel..." Harrington sighed softly, rubbing his forehead lightly. He didn't know quite what he felt, about Hood, sometimes. "I feel like I don't deserve this post. If you had divided fire between Repulse and Hood, I may well have died. I know those guns would have sank my old ship, just as surely as they crippled Hood. I'm not sure I am the one who should be placed in command of our pride."

Lütjens just stared at the British Captain, shrugging ever so slowly, "I do not believe so, my friend. Focusing on Hood was my error, yes, but even had I done so, Gneisenau would not have survived that engagement. She had been crippled, and you would have at the least, traded your warships for my own."

There was no trace of bitterness in the German Admiral's words, or his tone. He had been bested in combat, and was not bitter over that. He had cursed his own failings, of course, but now? Lütjens was content in the knowledge that, at the least, most of his crew had survived. He had lost his flagship, but his crew had survived. And perhaps, that was more important.

"Maybe," Harrington, on the other hand, was not so easily convinced. But if he had learned anything, arguing with his strange friend was not a good idea. Lütjens could stonewall him for days if he wanted to. Instead, he just let a lopsided smile cross his face, "Well, you get to live in this bloody manor while I'm cooped up on Hood and then in America. So let's talk about something else, until I need to set sail. You never have told me about your wife."

Again, the barest hint of a smile crossed Lütjens face, "Nein. And I have no intention of doing so."

A long, heartfelt laugh echoed from Harrington's lungs at that statement, mimicked in the small smile on the German Admiral's lips. Times like this, it was almost possible to forget they had been enemies.

And that Harrington would return to war, soon enough.

Skywalker_T-65 · Aug 18, 2016

Apologies for the delay everyone, but here we are! And a double feature too! The proper chapter, here, and a French omake to go with it.

First though, I now have this as well. For all your naval history needs!

Now, the chapter:

Chapter 25

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

The sound of construction had become quite familiar to Saratoga, as had the feeling of welding and riveting throughout her hull. An itch she couldn't scratch. The occasional jab to parts of her body. She had never really noticed it before. Not in her older refits, where she had just...gone to sleep and woken up again when the refit was complete.

But she couldn't just sleep. Not now.

I...

Letting a sigh escape her lips, the old carrier shook her head. She was like a lovesick schoolgirl...

Well, she assumed that anyway. She wouldn't know really, now would she?

"I miss him already," Sara's hand rose from her side, coming to rest against her chest. The thump of her heart comforted her. Reminded her she was alive...and more than just a pile of steel. Sometimes she needed that. Like...like she needed the reassurance of her Admiral. "Listen to me. He's gone for a week and I already..."

Shaking her head again, Sara clenched her fist in her uniform. The white fabric, red ribbon laying over it, was rough against her hand. But again, it was still feeling. That was more than she could have said, as short as a year ago. A year ago, she was just...existing. Going along with the whims of her crew, a silent observer. She spent most of her time just standing atop her island, looking at the waves and clouds pass her by. Watching her aircrew take to the air and learn to fly.

Sara had been proud of them. They were the best in the world, and it was her and Lex who had created that force. Why shouldn't she have been proud?

But for all that pride, she couldn't forget. She was invisible, silent, and completely unnoticed. Not one person had ever noticed her, not that she had made any real effort to be noticed. There hadn't been much of a need. No one could hear her, trying to talk was a waste of time. And...and...a sigh rushed up again. If Sara was being brutally honest, she had never cared enough. She had not been attached enough to anyone to try.

And now that she was, losing him was all the more painful.

"This is silly. It's all so silly. Mama Langley would..." The bluenette grimaced, her hand clenching tighter in her uniform. Mama...she could really use talking with her mother right about now. Langley would know just what to say, she knew that.

Her Mother was in the Philippines though.

Finally letting her hand drop, Sara felt an itch in her eye. A wetness...

A tear.

"We need each other, don't we?"

Hand shaking as she raised it to wipe away the tear, she let out a shaky laugh. The comforting beat of her heart was painful now, when Sara looked out at the men swarming upon her deck. They weren't her crew. They weren't special to her. She wasn't special to them either, was she? Sara wasn't the pride of the navy, not anymore. She was another old ship they were fixing up.

'They only don't care because they don't know you. How wonderful you are.'

She could hear her Admiral saying that, if she brought up that feeling. It was enough to bring a small smile to the old carrier's face at the thought. He didn't realize how wonderful he was, just being there. She had no one else to talk to, not before and not now. Was it any wonder she missed him? No, it wasn't. And that was why Sara found herself so very...melancholy.

"Hey! Put your backs into it down there!"

Sara sighed softly, looking down on the man who had shouted that. She didn't know his name. But he was the one in charge of the work crews swarming her hull, and at least was respectful of her. More than she could say about many people who had walked her halls over the years. It might have helped that the rather...substantial...refit she was undergoing made more money for him and those who worked under him.

Regardless, at least he wasn't treating her like a pile of steel.

"Come on boss, it's not like the Japs are going to attack or anything," one of the other workers groaned. That man was rubbing his back after setting down a toolbox, looking distinctly put-out by his job. "'sides, this old girl isn't anything special now. Just really big."

I...

"Jenkins, if you complain one more time, I'm taking you off shift," the 'boss' shot back. His eyes narrowed at the younger man, his hand flung out to gesture at the long hull they stood on. "I will not be the one responsible for failing our job. Especially not on Sister Sara."

"Why?"

That question was asked by both 'Jenkins' and Sara herself. Of course, only one of them was heard. And only one of them would be answered.

"Because my son is a fly-boy off her." The boss replied harshly, pointing at the deck beneath his feet. His eyes narrowed at the other worker, "And I don't want him getting in trouble out there because we slacked off. 'sides, these ships are our job. We keep them running. So don't even think about slacking off."

Grumbles answered that, but the other men got back to their work. And Sara watched them go, heart stopped. At least, until she shook her head, feeling a flush cross her pale face.

Why not?

Because she hadn't expected to hear that from some dockyard worker. He clearly had no idea what they were, but he didn't care either. Hunk of steel she may have been to these men, but some of them really did care about her. They wanted the best for her. The old 'Queen of the Seas'. It had been a long time since anyone had sung that song on her decks...

But it reminded her of one thing.

Even if they can't see me, some of these men...they still want the best for me.

Maybe it was just their jobs. Maybe it wasn't because it was her, outside a few cases. But the point remained that other people did care about her and the other girls.

"Admiral...is this what you meant?" Sara whispered, clutching at her chest again. A small smile crossed her face, despite the aches and pains in her body. Her bright green eyes were wet, when she looked up at the clear blue sky above her. "You said that you wouldn't be the only one who cared about me. That Captain Halsey isn't the only one for Little E."

Sara's smile didn't fade, when she shut her eyes. She could imagine Admiral Thompson's smiling face by her side, the Admiral embarrassingly scratching the back of his head like he always did.

'Well, I may be the only one right now, but it won't always be like that Sara.'

'It won't?'

'Not at all! If I've learned anything, it's that you girls won't stop at anything. If you want to be heard, you'll be heard. And...' The Admiral had sighed, shaking his head bemusedly. He placed a hand on Sara's shoulder, squeezing gently. 'I've been in the Navy long enough to know how much sailors care for their ships. Someone else will get through to you, eventually.'

Opening her eyes, Sara reached her free hand up to wipe at them. Her hand came away wet again...but they were happy tears now. Yes, her Admiral was gone. But his words remained. She believed in what he said, that one day, others could care about her.

But...

Not like he did. What they had was special. And she cherished it...so very much.

"I'll be ready when you come back Admiral," Sara whispered, making a silent promise to herself. A promise that... "I'll be the best I can be when you return. And I will never let you down!"

"I really hope I don't let them all down..."

Admiral Thompson resisted the urge to wince, when the car he rode in went over a pothole. The novelty of riding in a classic car had very quickly faded. Now, he just wanted it to be over with...while also wanting to not reach his destination.

That he was alone in the back of this car at least meant he could suitably worry without having Admiral Richardson sending him odd looks.

And worry he did.

This is...something I have no idea how to do. Convincing Richardson and Halsey...hell, Little E did most of the work with Halsey. Richardson got lucky with Utah. I have no idea how I'm going to convince the President!

Sighing, Thompson tapped his foot against the floor of the old car. The rattle of the antique engine more than disguised the noise, not that the much lower ranked man driving the thing would have commented had he noticed. The Admiral knew that much, both from the here and now and from his own time. Ratings didn't comment on what Admiral's did unless directly asked.

Well, not when the Admiral could hear anyway.

"Sara..." Thompson sighed again, his green eyes trailing to the briefcase by his side. So much of his evidence and arguments depended on her. They had spent long nights, hunched over his table, trying to put something together.

He owed that woman more than she would ever know. If it weren't for her, he wouldn't be half as prepared for all of this as he was.

A small smile crossed his face at the thought, Thompson shaking his head, "Who am I kidding...if it weren't for her I'd have gone crazy by now."

Ignoring a particularly sudden jerk of the car, the young Admiral reflected on that statement. The funny thing was, he knew that wasn't even a joke. Oh sure it may have been phrased as such. But just as the times he'd talked to Sara...that wasn't the case. It wasn't a joke. If it were not for Saratoga, he may well have cracked under the pressure. He was one man, trying to save millions of lives. Trying to forge the United States Navy of 1945, in 1941. And were he trying that alone?

Well, Thompson was not so egotistical to think he would have been capable of that.

Sometimes, in the week since he had left her, he wondered how Sara was fairing without him. She didn't have anyone else to talk to but Ari, he knew that. Just like...well, just like he didn't have anyone to talk to.

Richardson was a good confidant, a smart man.

But Thompson could hardly go telling him the real truth. Or talking about his worries for the future. Only Sara could talk with him about that...and she was all the way across the country.

I wonder when we started to rely on each other so much?

Shaking his head, Thompson pulled his briefcase into his lap. Thinking about how much he missed his closest friend wasn't going to do much good, if he never actually saw her again. And if he wanted any chance of that...

He had to do the next bit of his job perfectly.

One misstep, and he may never see anything but the walls of a mental institution ever again. And wouldn't that be a fine capstone on his career?

"Admiral, we've arrived."

Broken from his brooding, Thompson looked up at the rating in front of him. The much younger man had turned his head, a confused expression on it. One that became quite apparent, when the Admiral realized why there had been a sudden jerk. Because they had arrived at their destination...the current headquarters of the CNO, at least until the Pentagon was complete.

He hadn't even realized they had arrived.

Not a good start, was it?

"I see we have," Thompson covered his inattention with a light cough, nodding at the younger man. He put a small smile on his face as well, doing his best not to think about what awaited him. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, sir." The other man still looked quite confused, but again...do not comment on the Admiral's actions.

Though the rumors were probably going to spread.

Lovely.

"Carry on then."

With one final nod, Thompson pulled his cover down and stepped out of the staff car. The glare of a midday sun greeted him, pounding down on the man despite the time of year. Though bright as it may have been, it didn't change that fact. Because the Admiral felt a chill when he exited the vehicle. Both because of the winter winds...and because of what he was going to do.

At least he could see Admiral Richardson awaiting him, having arrived sooner than he himself had. The older man was bundled up in a thick coat, but his face remained clear. In fact, he sent the younger man a disappointed look...probably for his late arrival. His hard-featured face made the expression even harsher than it might otherwise have been.

Funny, Halsey couldn't do the same!

"Sorry for the delay, Admiral," Thompson hid a wince when he saw the flinty eyes behind Richardson's glasses.

"Come on," Richardson didn't comment on the apology either. He merely nodded at the door behind the two officers, held open by two young MPs. "Admiral Stark is in a meeting, at the moment. That will not last long." Not giving Thompson a chance to reply, the elder officer strode through the open door and into the long halls of the headquarters, the other Admiral following his superior into the breach...so to speak.

Secretaries typed away on old typewriters all around the two men upon entering the building, running official dispatches back and forth. Younger officers dashed from room to room. Only a relative few of the various workers even acknowledged the officers, a sign of just how focused they were.

After all, even here, two Admirals- most certainly the CinCUS -coming into the building couldn't be common.

But...the point remained. And for Thompson, it was a very new and surreal experience. More and more, whenever he was off Sara, he felt like he was walking through a period movie. The workers surrounding him felt like something out of an old sitcom or movie that his grandparents would have watched. But he was living it. It was an...decidedly odd experience. To say the least.

"Sir, do we know how long the meeting will last?" Thompson spoke up softly, careful to not disturb the workers around them.

He rather liked not having all the attention.

Richardson didn't so much as break stride when he shook his head, "No."

"Well then..." Sighing softly, Thompson could only frown. On the one hand, he'd have time to talk to Richardson before the meeting began. On the other hand...well, more time to worry over it.

Nothing for it though.

"I'd like to talk things over before we meet Admiral Stark then," the younger Admiral quietly added. His eyes roamed over the workers surrounding the pair of men, wincing slightly at the attention. "Preferably somewhere without everyone watching us."

He may have been imagining things, but Thompson could have sworn he saw Richardson's lips twitch upward, "Indeed."

The elder man didn't say anything else, as he switched trajectories, moving towards a side-office. Thompson was all too happy to follow Richardson in that regard, as he had no idea where he was going. The Pentagon hadn't even begun construction yet...the time-traveler was understandably not familiar with it's predecessor. He shouldn't have been.

Did force him to follow Richardson around like a lost puppy though. Which had to be doing wonder for his image.

Still, he had no problems with it, as the elder man lead him into the office, and towards a long table. Clearly a proper meeting room, it was completely empty at the moment. Which suited Thompson just fine, the Admiral setting his briefcase down on the table and taking a seat across from his superior. Richardson merely laced his fingers together, raising his eyebrow at the younger officer.

"What do you want to talk about, Admiral Thompson?" Richardson asked calmly, not a hint of worry in his features.

"..." Thompson wished he could feel like that. Sighing softly, he shook his head and just plowed ahead at full speed, "I wonder how you're so calm about this, sir. If I can speak freely...I'm not."

Richardson's lips did move to a small, barely noticeable, smile this time. His square and rugged features didn't lend themselves well to the smile, but it was there.

"If you think I am not worried, you're wrong, son." Richardson shook his head, clear bemusement present. "No, I imagine I'm as worried as you are. This is far from a standard meeting."

Not able to help it, Thompson snorted, "No, it isn't. I'd say this stopped being standard the moment Sara talked to me."

Or, rather, the moment he came back in time. But no need for Richardson to know that. Not now, maybe not ever.

"I imagine." The elder Admiral's lips twitched further upwards, if only for a second. But only for a second, before a frown overtook his features. A frown directed at the door the two had entered from. More importantly...at... "Admiral Stark, on the other hand, may not believe it so easily. He is not an easy man to convince."

Thompson could only sigh. He really...he didn't know enough about Admiral Stark. He was familiar enough with the big names. Nimitz. Spruance. Fletcher. Halsey. Even Richardson. But Stark? No, he couldn't say what to expect with the man. Would he believe them? Or would they be laughed out without so much as a chance to argue? Who knew. He didn't.

But he also knew there wasn't a choice. If they wanted to get to President Roosevelt, they needed to go through Admiral Stark first and foremost. The CNO could get them to the Secretary of the Navy, and from there, to the President. And if the goal was to convince the high-command that the girls were real, they needed to convince the President himself.

It wouldn't matter if the whole damn Navy saw them, if the President didn't believe them. Especially this President.

Roosevelt had more power than any other President that Thompson could think of, off the top of his head.

"I figured as much," Thompson shook his head, looking down at his lap. Another sigh escaped his lips, when he turned an eye back up at Richardson, "But what choice do we really have, sir? If we can't convince him, we'll be..."

"Retired. Perhaps sent to Pennhurst." Richardson spoke with complete flatness, utterly unbefitting the situation. In fact, his expression didn't even change.

"...you're so calm about this."

Richardson just shook his head, "Again, no. Admiral Thompson, this is the most serious situation that either of us have ever been in. The Navy took a lot of risk promoting someone so young to your rank, yes, but that is nothing on this. We are going to argue a revelation that throws everything we know on it's head." The older Admiral frowned, tapping the table idly with one of his fingers. "Religion, society, our very existence is in question, with the knowledge that the ships we build have souls. Every bit as human as our own."

This was...something Thompson knew very well.

'Ship girls?'

'Nonsense, there must be some sort of explanation. Logic and science...'

'It's all magic, dess!'

'She is right...'

Shaking his head, Thompson forced those memories- especially the voice of a certain Japanese fast battleship -back from his mind. Thinking on those days...right. The point remained though, he knew what would happen. He had seen it happen. Religious figures would adapt, outside the fringe extremists. Scientists would pound their heads in the proverbial brick walls. And politicians would start raising a fuss over the rights of the girls.

It had all happened before.

But...

It's different this time, isn't it? They're very clearly spirits this time. And the hulls have them. And it's the '40s.

Frowning, the young Admiral tapped his own finger on his briefcase, "I know that, sir. But...we just don't have a choice. I won't let Sara just be ignored, and I know Bu...Admiral Halsey feels the same about Enterprise."

"You will have no argument from me," Richardson shrugged, ever so slightly. The older man looked Thompson straight in the eye, his flinty eyes staring into the younger Admiral's green. "In fact, I agree with you. It is only a matter of time until all the ships in our fleet begin talking with their crews. Not just their Captains or Admirals or Engineering officers. The entire crews. It is far better..."

"That we get it out of the way now." Thompson finished.

His superior officer nodded, "Indeed. Now..."

Before the CinCUS could do more than open his mouth, the pair of Admirals were interrupted. And not just interrupted by anyone. Because while Thompson couldn't tell the man's personality from any other Admiral...

He at least knew enough to know Admiral Harold Stark on sight. The man next to him was rather more familiar...Ernst King was one of the single most influential and famous figures in the United States Navy, after all.

And both men were standing in the doorway, the former lowering his hand from a polite cough.

"Our ships talking with their crews, you say?" Stark's voice was incredulous, as was his raised eyebrow.

And all Thompson could do was blink and curse his luck.

Shit...

Skywalker_T-65 · Aug 18, 2016

Omake: Strasbourg

The hustle and bustle of Toulon was...gone. The proud port, home of the Marine Nationale's Mediterranean Squadron, was eerily silent. Shipping that had once prowled the waves between the Métropole and North Africa hid in the port. France, the true France, was neutral in the War. Her territory was under German occupation, yes. Her proud capitol of Paris languished under the heel of the Boche. But France was free.

Vichy may rule the nation.

Her armies and fleets may be crippled.

But she was not a puppet. She was not under German rule, no matter what that fool de Gaulle crowed over in the Colonies. That was the truth. France was free, and so long as her proud fleet and what remained of her army remained, that would not change. She would continue her neutrality. There would be no further war on French soil, mainland or African.

Or...so was what the battleship Strasbourg told herself.

"Those bastards...my sister is dead because of them..." Strasbourg had taken to pacing along the length of her hull, in lieu of anything else to do. She was not allowed to sortie, France lacking the fuel to do so. And the ever-present danger that the Royal Navy may attempt to finish the job. "Allies...I knew we couldn't trust the English!"

The young battleship was not headstrong, or so she liked to think. But what she was? Angry. And frustrated.

I saw our allies betray us. I saw them kill Bretagne and my sister.

And there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. Strasbourg would love nothing more than to pay back the French blood spilled at Mers-el-Kebir with an equal amount of English blood. But she couldn't. Because even if there were fuel to sortie, it wouldn't have mattered. There was no way she could win. Not alone, not even in concert with what little remained loyal to France.

Richelieu and Jean Bart...her successors, stranded in African ports that couldn't support them.

Provence, Bretagne, Paris, Courbet...her mentors were sunk. Or taken by perfidous Albion.

Strasbourg was...alone. She was the only battleship in the French Navy fit for combat, and that hurt. It hurt that her allies, her friends, would do that to her. France had been beaten fairly by the Germans. They had surrendered fairly, as would any nation in the face of such overwhelming force.

"And we should have been treated the same...allowed to retain our forces, and proudly serve." Strasbourg muttered, her pale fist slamming into the side of her turret. She had walked the entire length of her hull to this one spot, overlooking Toulon. A spot she vented at on multiple occasions, "And instead, we were betrayed by our allies!"

Her shout echoed through the silent harbor, but it gained no reaction, save for the other spirits on their ships rousing at the noise.

Not that it mattered. Strasbourg bit back a frustrated sigh, using her hand that wasn't throbbing to brush back long strands of black hair. Her blue eyes narrowed when they turned out from the harbor as well...out at the Mediterranean. Her hunting ground, denied to her.

If only they had trusted us. Like we trusted them. Hood...I trusted you like a sister, as we all did. You and the entire Royal Navy. You were our friends and allies, no matter what our forefathers fought over. And you tore all of that away. Washed our alliance in the blood of innocents, all because that bastard of a Prime Minister couldn't accept that we would never let the Boche have us. You self-righteous, entitled, horrible...bastards

The French girl didn't even bother holding back the sigh anymore, sliding down against the cold metal of her barbette. Utterly spent.

Oh, her anger remained. It had not once faded, not since that day. The day where her sister was murdered by their friends. But her energy fled. It always did, Strasbourg unable to keep going. Her dash from that horrible harbor had hurt. She had pushed herself more than she was designed, trying so desperately to avoid the English. Avoid Hood and her prowling destroyers.

She had succeeded.

But it left her weak and stranded in Toulon, the resources just not there to properly refit her. Or even to leave the harbor.

"Are you alright, my lady?!" A stronger voice shouted over, the sound carrying in the otherwise quiet day.

Strasbourg smiled, ever so slightly, when she summoned the energy to shout back, "I am, La Galissonnière! It was...a moment of weakness!"

"You have those quite a lot, my lady!" The light cruiser replied with a hint of amusement carrying over even the great distance between the warships.

It was enough to make Strasbourg giggle, if only for a little while. She didn't bother replying though...this was...well, a ritual for the two. With the lack of sorties and any other stimulation, they had to make do with what they could get. And that meant shouting at each other, their crews oblivious. It was far better than cowering in fear of English attack.

Of the worry that bombers would come for them, much as they had for the Italians. Strasbourg would once have felt a vindictive pride, at the air raid on Taranto. The proud Regia Marina humbled by mere biplanes.

But that was before...before the English had turned her against them.

Now, she emphasized with the foe she had been intended to fight. The Italians had suffered the same as her, attacked when they should have been safe. Ruined by English arms, for no other reason than a fear of facing them in direct combat. Cowards...

Cowards, that was what the Royal Navy was. Foolish cowards who couldn't stand the idea of fighting an equal foe, resorting to underhanded tactics to sway the odds in their favor.

And what makes me angry, is that the bastards are smart. They cripple us piecemeal.

Richelieu, fired upon while incomplete and left to rot in a harbor that couldn't fix her. Jean Bart, forced to shelter in a port that could never finish her construction. Dunkerque and Bretagne, murdered in their home. And Strasbourg herself...stuck in Toulon for lack of fuel, and the fear that the prowling HMS Glorious would attempt to finish the job begun by Hood.

She hated it.

Hated just waiting for the day where she was attacked again. The sound of airplane engines was something she would fear for the rest...of...her...

No!

"Aircraft! Royal Navy!"

The shouts rang from all over her hull, men rushing to their firing positions. Strasbourg, despite the weakness in her legs, was instantly on her feet, rushing to look out at the Sea. And indeed, there was a group of those silly biplanes flying in formation above the clouds. No French aircraft rose to greet them.

For if the lack of fuel crippled her, it just as surely crippled France's air force.

If the English were coming to attack, it would be up to the guns of Strasbourg and her comrades to swat them away. A task they would perform as best they were able, because those bastards would not take more French lives. The young battleship could even now feel her secondary weapons turning, rotating to aim at the English planes. The foolish biplanes could never hope to dodge.

But then, were they even going to attempt to?

"What are they...?" Strasbourg wondered, her anger fading. Confusion replaced it, her blue eyes staring at the English planes, as they turned away from their flight path. Revealing not one plane armed with bombs or torpedoes.

No.

All that fell from those silly planes was paper.

Paper that rained down on the French fleet, a white curtain that blocked the sun if only for a moment. A curtain that landed atop Strasbourg's deck, the battleship rushing to pick one up before her crew could notice.

And when she looked at that paper, she almost wished it had been a bomb.

"Proud soldiers and sailors of France, don't listen to the lies of your Marshal! Petain has betrayed the very cause he fought for, working with the Huns who killed so many of your countrymen in two Great Wars! Who even now occupy your proud nation. Use your brave citizens as labor to power their war machine!

Throw off your shackles and return to our Alliance! General de Gaulle and the Free French will gladly take you in. You will be fed and treated as the friends and allies we are, not as enemies the Germans would have you believe we are!"

There were more words. In both English and French.

Strasbourg did not see them.

"Those...those...those..." Her hands shook, the paper crumpling in the iron grip that only a battleship, even a small one, could manage. The white print tearing away in strips, as Strasbourg tore it apart. Her blue eyes glared up at the sky, where paper continued to rain down.

Because her anger returned with a vengeance, directed at the distant biplanes.

"Bastards! You dare to say that we're allies? Friends?" Strasbourg screamed, uncaring if it made her voice raw. Uncaring if anyone heard. Her body vibrated with uncontrolled rage. "Friends do not murder friends! Allies do not betray each other, just because one has to have an honorable peace! You can take your pleas and run! I will never work with you again!"

Slamming her fist into her barbette once more, Strasbourg felt tears flowing. But she made no effort to wipe them away, even as the watery effect ruined her eyesight.

I hate you! All of you!

Generic_Generica · Sep 27, 2016

warning
@CV12Hornet, take a warning for marginal behaviour for this post here. I understand you were upset and irritated by @Thorthemighty's behavior but that sort of thing is detrimental to the general level of discourse in this thread.

@Thorthemighty, please take some time to word your posts better so that it's clear what you're trying to talk about, and please do some research before you post so that this thread doesn't devolve into "everyone starts ripping apart @Thorthemighty's ideas in a brutal manner." That sort of thing isn't fun to read through and it probably isn't fun to experience.

That brings me to my final point: Have a gentle reminder to remain civil to one another. Please don't dogpile or hurl insults. Have another gentle reminder to please stay on topic when it comes to this thread. That is to say, please discuss topics that are still related to the story.

Please please please do not make me come back into this thread. Don't get me wrong, I like @Skywalker_T-65's story but I don't particularly want to have to start issuing less-friendly less-gentle reminders. Stay civil. Stay on topic. Keep reading. That is all.

Skywalker_T-65 · Oct 3, 2016

Wheee all nighters are fuuuuuunnnn

Update time:

Chapter 26

This is not what we had planned. Shit.

On the outside, Admiral Thompson looked calm and composed. He had, long ago, learned how to hide what he was feeling. At least among his fellow officers, because to not do so was to risk being found out. But appearances are only skin deep. For beneath his calm exterior, the Admiral's mind was racing with thoughts of what could happen now. There would be no slow and gentle talks with the other Admirals. There would be no efforts to convince them to agree to visit a ship.

No.

All there could or would be now was salvaging what he could. And hoping to God or anyone else who would listen...that Admiral Stark would listen to him. Or that Admiral King wouldn't fit his reputation.

"Hello, Admirals." Admiral Richardson was also an expert at keeping his emotions hidden. His face was placid, flinty eyes staring out over his eyeglasses. Either the man had a better poker face than Thompson, or he was just that stone cold. "I apologize, we had intended to talk to you when you had finished your meeting."

"Quite." Stark was substantially less composed. His features were softer than Richardson's, a notable air of confusion around the man.

"If that nonsense was why you were going to talk to us, I find it hard to care." On the other hand, Admiral King was hard-faced and antagonistic. His eyes were narrowed in a glare, primarily directed at Thompson. "Especially when it comes from you."

"Me?"

"Yes, you."

Thompson shifted slightly in his seat, feeling a bead of sweat develop on his forehead. He still had little real idea of what 'his' past was. He knew that there had to be something special, to ascend to his rank at his age. There were no Abyssals to justify it in the 1940s. So...

King must know.

"Admiral, I would request you leave my colleague be. I am aware of your feelings on him, and find them to be childish at best." Richardson must have balls of steel, his words spoken with utter conviction when his eyes locked with King's. "I am aware of the discussions to reduce my own position and raise you to command in the Atlantic. Do not think I am not." Eyes narrowing, Richardson turned his head away and back to Stark, a clear dismissal echoed in his words, "And so long as I am your superior, I would ask you put your feud with Admiral Thompson aside."

The Admiral in question could only stare dumbly, aware his mouth was hanging open but completely unable to stop it.

"In any case, Admiral Stark, we had prepared reports on the subject to give to you. If you would like, we can provide them here."

For his part, Stark was neither stoic like Richardson nor silently fuming like King. The old Admiral- albeit younger than Richardson -merely rubbed his forehead, a heavy sigh escaping his lips, "Right. I see no reason to take this elsewhere. Elaine already cleared my schedule for the meeting you requested. Ernest, if you would please shut the door?"

When he said that, Stark turned to look at the other Admiral. King, who was also slightly older than Stark, nodded stiffly. It was as clear a request from the man's longtime friend as any. Don't cause a scene.

More of a scene than the situation already left, anyway.

"Now," the moment the door was shut, Richardson turned to look at the youngest man in the room. "Admiral Thompson, if you would?"

Head snapping up at the mention of his name, Thompson cleared his throat nervously, "Of course. Before I start, how much did you hear us talk about, Admirals?"

Best to know that in advance, really.

"Only that you claim our ships are talking with their crews," Stark replied. While his features were far less imposing than those of King or Richardson, the CNO still had all the gravitas that position entailed when he stared at the younger man. "An extraordinary claim, you understand."

"I do. Believe me, if it weren't for how much evidence we have I wouldn't be making this claim." Thompson shook his head, looking down at his clenched hands on the table. He wished it were simpler than this... "Especially when it's me making the claim. I do know how much I'm pushing for new things to begin with."

"Admiral Willson was quite clear on that when he retired, yes." The CNO just tapped the table in front of them. "That is not important right now. What, pray tell, is the evidence that you claim to have?"

Pushing back the questions he had on his fellow Admiral- Ari...why didn't you say anything? -Thompson nodded and reached to the briefcase he had been carrying this entire time. Who knew how this would work, but...nothing ventured, nothing gained. Hell, this was possibly the most important thing he would ever do in his life. Begin to prove that ships were living, thinking beings. Nothing else could ever compare to that, could it?

Well, other than proving time-travel is real.

"First, I have a picture I would like you to look at. Tell me if you see anything different from what you expect."

With those words, Thompson passed over a single photo. The black and white was something he wasn't used to, and it limited options somewhat. Rather hard to show the eccentric hair colors of the girls in black and white!

But it would do the job. Provided of course...

"That's Saratoga." King was the first to respond, a scoff in his tone. "Nothing more."

Thompson's shoulders slumped slightly, "Nothing at all?"

"I'm afraid not, Admiral. Just your command." Stark was more diplomatic about it, but he still handed the photo back to the young Admiral. "I presume we were supposed to see something else?"

Considering that the time traveler saw Sara's pretty face staring up at him from in front of her stack, that was the hope. Since they didn't though, it just confirmed one theory. That if someone had no idea of ship spirits and no real reason to believe they existed, they couldn't hope to see them in a picture. A setback, but not something unexpected. It didn't make much sense for them to see her anyway.

Someone would have noticed something a lot sooner if they could.

"Right then, if that doesn't work...it will be a bit harder to explain this without any visual aids." Thompson's hand reached back for his briefcase, digging through the stacks upon stacks of papers within. He grimaced slightly at that, all of the evidence relying a lot on his superior being open minded. And he just didn't know enough about Stark to say. "But I have written records here. My own. Admiral Richardson and Halsey. Commander Jackson off Utah. Lieutenant Hawkins of Skipjack. Several others."

Two dozen others, to be precise. The efforts that the Admirals and their girls had made to break through hadn't quite caught fire as much as could be hoped. But that was expected...it would take time to get through to as many people as they needed in the long run. Time, and ideally, an official statement from the Navy.

Which was what they were here for.

"We each documented what lead us to seeing the ships as...well, something other than a ship. The reasons, the actions, everything that was involved." The Admiral handed the papers to Stark, green eyes staring the elder man directly in his own eyes. "This is not an isolated case, or one we haven't been able to replicate."

As the CNO took the papers and began to read over the reports though, Thompson still found himself worrying. He slumped back into his chair with a heavy sigh, resisting the urge to bring a hand up and wipe at his sweaty forehead. It was almost worse because Admiral Stark wasn't dismissing it out of hand...but wasn't saying he believed it either.

Head turning slowly, like a turret in its barbette, the young man looked at the other Admirals when Stark didn't say anything. First Richardson, hoping to see some sort of support. All he got was a slowly raised eyebrow. And a short shake of his head.

No help there...

King was even less helpful, when Thompson's bright green eyes flickered to him. The infamous Admiral was distinctly stone-faced, refusing to so much as acknowledge the glance from the other Admiral. His face was a mask of intense displeasure, making it very clear of one thing. The man was angry.

"Admiral," Stark spoke up at last, drawing Thompson's eyes from King. "Your report claims that our ships look like women."

A nod, "They do."

"If this is the case, why have we never seen them?" The CNO's voice was incredulous. His eyes narrowed behind his round glasses, staring directly at Thompson. "More importantly, why would they look like women at all?"

A shake of the head this time, "I don't know. Sara was surprised I could see her at all."

That, at least, wasn't a lie. Thompson could easily remember what it was like the first time he had talked to the carrier. How timid she was. Surprised. Now, of course, they were the closest of friends. But those early days?

Not so much.

"As for how they look like women," here, the Admiral shrugged helplessly. That was a question that was best summed up as 'magic'. "I don't know. My best guess is that we've always called them 'her' for as long as we've had ships. They just took what we gave them."

Thompson paused for a moment, before a small, barely vocal laugh escaped his lips.

"Though, if I may speak freely, hell if I know."

It was the truth, honestly, and thankfully for him it seemed to work somewhat at breaking the ice. Richardson's lips twitched before the elder Admiral returned to his stoic expression. King didn't change at all, if anything looking a bit more sour. Stark...

Well, Stark had a small smile on his face when he shook his own head.

"That makes as much sense as anything you could have told me, Admiral." The CNO's smile was a bit strained though, as his hand fell on the papers in front of him. Thompson could have sworn his hand hit hard enough to hurt the man. "But, this is a very extraordinary claim you are making. The evidence is sound. You have given multiple theories, much proof and replication of these theories, and from multiple different officers."

Tapping the folder with Hawkin's report, the elder man shook his head slightly.

"And, for that matter, multiple different types of ship. This is compelling evidence. However, I can't say just from the reports if what you are saying is remotely true. That, I assume..." Stark turned his head to look at Richardson, raising an eyebrow at his direct subordinate. And, as some thought, successor. "Would be why you brought USS Skipjack to the Atlantic Fleet. Correct?"

Richardson nodded, his lips definitely twitching up this time, "You would be correct, sir. With Enterprise needed in the Pacific, Saratoga and Arizona being refit and no other ships available to be transferred that have made contact...we decided on Skipjack. If you are willing to visit her."

"Hm." Stark hummed softly, tapping the table in front of him. His finger landed on each and every folder in front of him. Even if the gesture was just a nervous tick...or a specific action. "I've never once been aboard a submarine. However..."

Thompson couldn't help but rise up in his seat when he heard that, "Yes?"

"...I may be willing to do so." Stark finished. But there was no more humor in his voice. No kindness in his face. He would never look as imposing as Richardson or King, but the CNO turned his full Admiral Stare on the two men from the Pacific. Not a glare, but...still powerful. "I am only doing that because of who you have gathered for evidence. If this were anyone else, I would dismiss it and them out of hand."

And just like that, Thompson slumped in his seat again. It wasn't that Stark believed them...but that...

"However, I can't afford to dismiss two of our very best officers in carrier warfare. Nor can I ignore Admiral Richardson's word. I am only willing to listen to this, because of that. If I am not convinced that you are sincere in bringing this to me after seeing Skipjack, though..."

Stark didn't need to finish his sentence for what he was saying to come across. If he wasn't convinced, it didn't matter that it was Halsey and Richardson saying this. Or that it was Thompson saying it. Because if he wasn't convinced...

They were all clearly hallucinating, and would need to be removed from command.

"Understood," Richardson inclined his head slightly. Acceptance was clear in his features.

On the other side of the table...

"I can't believe this."

The same could hardly be said for Admiral King. His face was a mask of complete and utter disbelief, when he stared at Admiral Stark.

"You cannot seriously believe them." His voice was harsh, eyes shifting between Stark and Thompson. "This is ludicrous."

The CNO raised his eyebrow, "Hardly. As I said, the evidence is major enough to justify investigation. I never said I believed it."

"But even acknowledging this..." King continued, only to be cut off as an unexpected quarter rose up.

Namely, Thompson himself.

"Are you that convinced I'm wrong?" The young Admiral fired across the bow of the older man, hands clenching the table in front of him. This was the first time someone had been so...so...

Casually dismissive of everything he fought for.

"Yes, I am," King was never one to back down from a conflict though. The rough-faced Admiral rose to his own feet, glaring at Thompson. "You're talking madness."

"All this evidence means nothing to you?"

"I see no evidence."

Thompson clenched his fists tighter, resisting every urge he had to snap further, "All that work means nothing to..."

A rough hand fell on the young man's arm, cutting him off. Thompson turned his head, only to see Admiral Richardson looking at him with a deathly serious glare, "Don't."

Energy fleeing his body, Thompson sighed heavily, ever so slowly relaxing his grip on the table. It was pointless to try and argue, wasn't it? But the way King acted...it was the first real time someone had just...looked down on him like that. It wasn't hard to imagine why it got under his skin, damn it all.

"Ernest," for his part, Stark seemed displeased with his friend. The Stare that had been aimed at Thompson moved to King, the CNO shaking his head slowly, "Enough. I understand what you feel, but it would be remiss of me to not at least attempt what they suggest. Do not argue that point."

King continued to thrust his chin out stubbornly, but he still backed down. Reluctantly.

Somehow, Admiral Thompson knew that Admiral King was going to be a problem...

"No, absolutely not. Bismarck is not ready to sortie."

Admiral Schreiber was not a man given to rage. His aged features were more often than not held in a small half-smile, when he wasn't required to be a proper officer. However, he found it very hard to maintain his composure in the presence of certain men from Germany's past. The Admiral considered it a miracle he had yet to meet Hitler, fully convinced he would find it nearly impossible to stay civil with the monster of a man.

On the other hand, it was nowhere near as difficult most of the time to be civil with Erich Raeder. It was always going to be a problem on some level though. Raeder was not a man that Schreiber was fond of working with, to put things mildly. The man was unsavory at best, like a lot of German leaders of the time. For all that it was not as difficult for the most part...

I still loathe working with this man.

"The Führer is quite insistent, Admiral." Raeder was surprisingly patient, not even sighing as he paced in the Admiral's Cabin aboard Bismarck. "With the loss of Gneisenau I have had to burn every bridge I have in Berlin merely to continue construction on Bismarck and Tirpitz. If they do not pay for their construction, the Führer will scrap the surface fleet."

"I am aware, yes." Schreiber replied as calmly as he could, even as his blue eyes drifted to Raeder's side. "Very aware."

Because he knew. Both from history and his own experiences, just how much Hitler was likely to scrap the Kreigsmarine. And the woman standing by Raeder's side, staring at him with wide eyes, would be the first victim.

"Admiral..." Bismarck may have been the pride of a nation, but even she could look worried.

"And I assure you, I have no intentions of allowing Bismarck to be scrapped without once seeing the enemy." The old Admiral continued speaking, his words meant for both Raeder and the invisible- to the Grand Admiral -Bismarck.

Reader, for his part, nodded slightly. "On that, we are in complete agreement. However, there is very little I can do to convince the Führer in this matter, Admiral."

"Because you used all your capital as it sits."

The other Admiral just nodded again, "Indeed."

Sighing softly, Schreiber shook his head. He didn't make any effort to climb to his feet or move from his position at the small desk in his quarters. He only stared at Admiral Raeder, gently tapping his heel against the deck beneath him.

Bismarck was almost ready for combat. He couldn't delay heading out forever.

But he would be damned if he didn't wait as long as possible.

"I understand why the Führer is eager to see the Kreigsmarine prove herself." Schreiber stared up at Raeder, nodding out at the harbor visible through the porthole behind the Admirals. "However, I would request that wait until Bismarck has, at the least, improved her anti-aircraft armament. You and I both know what the British did to our allies at Taranto."

It wasn't even necessary to hide disdain in his voice when the Admiral spoke of Italy. Reader would think- and did nod along with Schreiber -that it was the typical German superiority complex. It wasn't. No, the disdain had nothing to do with lack of belief in the Italians and everything to do with Mussolini and his cronies.

Much as Schreiber had to hide similar disdain for the majority of his own comrades.

"I do agree with you," Raeder let out a sigh of his own, pinching his brow. The Admiral was clearly stressed, but it was hard to feel any pity for the man. "I don't agree that Bismarck is vulnerable to air attack as you believe, but it is not hard to see that the extra weaponry is useful. No, it isn't hard at all."

Reaching his hand up to the brim of his grey cap, the Grand Admiral pulled the brim down over his eyes. It didn't cover them completely, but enough to keep Schreiber from looking at what Raeder actually felt, as the man turned around to walk out of the room.

"I will do what I can to convince the Führer. I suggest you prepare Bismarck and her escorts nonetheless."

With those parting words, Reader strode from the room, leaving the man from the future and his ship girl comrade alone once again. A situation that had Schreiber fall back slightly in his chair, the weight of years returning to his shoulders.

"Admiral, are you...?" A weight that he could only bear, because Bismarck was there for him. The blonde battleship had moved to his side, gently laying her hands on his weary shoulders. "You are alright, aren't you?"

Schreiber laughed humorlessly, placing a hand on Bismarck's, "As well as I ever am, my old friend. It is never easy to talk with Admiral Raeder, knowing the man as I do."

Bismarck's eyes flickered to the door, "As you do?"

"Raeder may be far from the worst that Germany has ever produced, but I am not fond of working with him." Schreiber shrugged slightly, gently freeing his shoulders from the battleship's grip. Pulling himself to his feet, the man groaned softly at his joints popping. He was not a young man, not any more. "Still, if I must, I must. You are ready to sortie, correct?"

Despite everything he had told her, Bismarck still puffed out her chest with a hint of pride and cockiness in the gesture. Her uniform- if one could call it that- strained around her impressive bust, the battleship's sea-blue eyes sparkling when she smiled at the Admiral.

"I am, yes!" Bismarck's voice was filled with the eagerness of youth, her pride filling the room almost like a burst of sunlight.

At least she could still feel that pride. It was enough to bring a small smile to the old Admiral's face as well. "Good to see old friend. But Bismarck, you are aware of what we have to do, correct?"

Her shoulders slumped slightly, but the battleship didn't let it dampen her mood, "Ja. Are you certain this is the best option we have, Admiral?"

"As sure as I can be about anything. Blücher agreed with me as well. I'm sure Prinz Eugen will too." Schreiber brushed his greying hair back with one hand, the other gently laying on Bismarck's arm. "We have no real choice, I'm afraid."

It was sad that he had to say that. But Schreiber had thought long, and very hard on what the best option for Germany was. Not himself. Not Bismarck. Not even the world in general. His nation was the closest thing to an evil state that had ever existed in what he knew of history. There was no getting around this fact, not so long as Adolf Hitler and the Nazi party were in power.

But Schreiber was still a German. Sworn to defend his nation to his dying breath. To keep as many German lives intact as humanely possible, no matter what Germany it was he served.

In that regard...

"I understand," Bismarck nodded, her sharp Teutonic features forming a determined expression. Her smile was replaced by the deep frown that Schreiber was all too familiar with, as she brought her hands together with a sharp slap of fist on palm. "I will do everything in my power to help you, Admiral. You have done more than enough to convince me you are telling the truth when you say these things."

"And for that, I am thankful. Still, I have to make certain sometimes." Placing an aging arm on Bismarck, Schreiber gently squeezed her in a light embrace. "Especially when I am asking you this."

"I will do anything, if you but ask, Admiral."

Schreiber smiled, even as he felt like his heart had been stabbed. The loyalty...at times, he felt he didn't deserve it. He was, fundamentally, plotting to unseat the legitimate government of Germany. No matter how cruel and evil that government was.

And he was doing it, by planning on having Bismarck potentially sink members of the Royal Navy- friends, all of them -until they had enough clout with the German people to truly put his plan into action...

Sometimes, I feel like the devil myself. All of this sneaking in the smoke, planning to remove the Nazis no matter how...no matter what I must do...

There we go.

Also, if you look at pictures of the Admirals you see why I use the descriptors I did. Maybe it's just me, but while Richardson and King look imposing, Stark looks more like your average grandfather.

Might just be me.

(hopefully not a double post. Stupid wifi)

Skywalker_T-65 · Oct 10, 2016

And chapter ahoy. Didn't get the flashback, will do that later.

Chapter 27

"Ah, Admiral! Welcome back!"

Small smile tugging at his lips, Admiral Schreiber made no moves to step aside as he walked aboard his old command. Blücher, the youngest cruiser in the Kriegsmarine. A girl who would have been ignominiously sunk by an antique Norwegian fortress. By a torpedo older than most warships in service, fired by a reservist just as old. Not a fitting end for any warship, especially one so young.

But Schreiber had been there, and he had saved the girl.

The girl who had ran right past the guards standing at attention for the Admiral. A girl who had flung her powerful arms right around the ageing man's middle, hugging him tightly. Even if only enough to let the old Admiral know that she had missed him.

"It is good to see you again, dear," Schreiber whispered softly, his hand gently mussing her bright pink hair. He was experienced enough by now that only one pair of eyes noticed the movement, and they just rolled fondly in the background. "I missed you as well."

Blücher let out a happy noise that sounded suspiciously like a purr, squeezing herself against the old sailor, "I missed you a lot Admiral. Bismarck had better be treating you well, or I'll give her a piece of my mind!"

Schreiber merely shook his head, an amused chuckle escaping his lips, "I'm sure you will. But for now, we will talk later."

It wasn't really an order, more of a request that Blücher let him go so that he could talk with his old command crew. And he hadn't made it an order, because any officer would know when to not give an order...because he knew it wouldn't be followed. Blücher was no exception. She just shifted her grip, moving instead to laying her head on the Admiral's broad shoulder.

I see that she hasn't changed at all.

Smile not once leaving his face, Schreiber walked past the stoic guard and towards the one man who had his full attention. Blücher walked in lockstep with him, her own bright purple eyes looking between the Admiral and Captain curiously.

"Welcome aboard, Admiral." The latter man snapped off a salute. A proper, Kaiserliche Marine salute at that.

"Thank you, Captain," Schreiber returned the salute...before walking forward and sticking his hand out to his fellow officer. "And I must say, I am proud of how you have taken care of Blücher."

There was much more held in those words than it may have seemed. For as the younger man reached his own hand out to take Schreiber's, his eyes looked down on the pink-haired cruiser hanging onto the Admiral's side. The Captain's lips twitched up in an amused smirk, as he shook his head slightly.

"Yes, I have taken good care of her. Even if Blücher is a bit...temperamental, shall we say."

"Why you..." Blücher's eyes lost their curious tone, narrowing at the Captain. A little growl rumbled in her chest when she stared at him, in fact.

"In fact, I daresay she has never behaved quite the same since you left, Admiral." The Captain continued, completely ignoring the cruiser beyond his smirk twitching further up his face. "I think she misses you."

"Ah, I'm certain she did. After all, I was her first commander." Schreiber gently squeezed the cruiser at his side, eye looking down in a warning glance at Blücher. "Now, I do believe you know why I am here, Captain Lange."

Amusement at Blücher's antics aside, Schreiber was not aboard his old command just to visit. He knew that. She knew that. And Captain Albrecht Lange knew that, his smirk falling away like it had never even been there. The man let out a soft sigh, lifting his grey cap from his head to scratch at what little brown hair he had. But his eyes never once left the Admiral and Cruiser, all his attention focused on his superior.

"Ja, I know. Shall we head to the meeting room then?"

Schreiber nodded, "Indeed we should."

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"I see this has not changed since I was last here."

Admiral Schreiber ran a hand along the dull and scratched wood of the meeting table that had been installed aboard Blücher during her short-lived time as flagship of the Norwegian Invasion. It had been at this table he had planned the actions that had saved the cruiser. Here, he had first begun his movements towards saving Germany. And here, he was going to continue those long-term plans.

"If it works, there is no need to replace it. It helps that Blücher is still a flagship when we're not operating with you." Captain Lange, unlike his Admiral, was sitting in the chair at the head of the table. He leaned back in it even, raising an eyebrow at the older man. "Now, to what do I owe the honor of your visit?"

Smile forming once more, Schreiber shook his head, "I see you have not changed either."

"It it works..." The Captain repeated himself with a cocky smirk, his eyebrow raising higher on his forehead.

"Yes yes, I know." Shaking his head more, the old Admiral turned to look at Blücher instead of her Captain. "And I assume you have been well, dear?"

"Of course." Blücher just grinned widely, placing a dainty hand on the white uniform top she wore. Her bulging breasts stretched the fabric enough that a younger man may have been reduced to staring at the young cruiser. An image not helped by the short golden skirt gracing her hips.

But Schreiber was an old man. Furthermore, if Bismarck was a close friend, Blücher was a daughter. A rather problematic child, but one nonetheless.

So he only smiled, returning his attention to the table in front of him, "That is very good to hear. Now, as I am sure both of you are well aware, this is not a courtesy visit."

"I assumed as much." Lange shrugged his broad shoulders.

Schreiber nodded, pulling out a packet of deployment papers and other documents from his briefcase. More importantly, he pulled out a large map of Northern Germany, the locations of every major combatant in the Kriegsmarine listed. From proud Scharnhorst to old Emden. From stoic Nurnberg to excitable Prinz Eugen. Perhaps more pertinently, it held the deployment patterns and orders. Straight from Admiral Canaris, the intelligence officer more than willing to help Schreiber.

Even if he didn't really know why.

Sometimes, using the motivations of these men is helpful...

Sighing softly, the old man pushed the map out fully, and beckoned over his former XO and former command. Lange let out of a sigh of his own, climbing from his seat as the pink-haired Blücher moved over to the map. Curious violet eyes looked from said map, and back to the Admiral. A question was clear on her lips, even before Blücher had opened her mouth.

A question that Schreiber was well-aware of.

"We will be heading out sooner than I had intended." The time-traveler spoke seriously, turning dull blue eyes on both his former subordinates. "I have done what I can to convince Großadmiral Raeder to delay the operation. But as you are both aware..."

"The Führer is never easy to convince on something." Lange spoke first, an amused smirk on his face. "Yes, you made that very clear Admiral."

"As I well should have," Schreiber's own lips twitched despite the situation. A twitch that quickly faded, when he returned his attention to the map. "However, this does cause problems. Bismarck is not truly ready for this."

Neither Lange nor Blücher disputed that point.

"And I had hoped to delay this longer. But the best laid of plans can fail."

Blücher frowned at the way Schreiber's voice lowered at the end, reaching her hand out to tug her Admiral's arm to her. Right between her breasts in fact, the cruiser hugging the limb tightly, "Admiral, you worry too much. I would never let you fail!"

"I never felt you would." Schreiber smiled at his former command, and didn't make any effort to remove his arm from her chest.

She had always been like this. The moment that he had revealed how he had come to command her, Blücher had taken it upon herself to protect him. Care for him. It wasn't without reason that he considered her the daughter he had never had. Sometimes, no matter how he cared for Bismarck, the old German found himself wishing he had never left the smaller cruiser.

Bismarck was wonderful, but he missed Blücher.

"Blücher's feelings aside," on the other hand, Captain Lange was much more serious in his own way. "Is this at all like you remember?"

The one, and only, man that Schreiber had confided in. His former XO had been quick to catch onto how he talked to Blücher, and by extension, quick to see the cruiser himself. Schreiber had debated long and hard on how much to tell the younger man...but in the end?

He had told him everything. Perhaps out of a mad desire to have at least one other man know the truth. Perhaps it had been a mistake. But Albrecht Lange had been appalled at the truth, and sworn to do everything he could to help the old Admiral. Evidently, the man had a half-Jewish wife. If such a thing could even exist, outside of the madhouse that was Nazi Germany.

"Not at all." Schreiber reached out to tap the map, where Scharnhorst lay alone, being refit after damage incurred at sea. "Gneisenau was not supposed to be sunk."

"Damn the British," Blücher growled lowly, clenching her Admiral's arm tighter.

Schreiber shook his head, "No, don't blame them. This is a war after all, and we will likely take more than enough British lives as well. Most certainly if the plan is to succeed."

"And you still feel this is the best option?" Lange idly commented, crossing his arms over his chest as he stared at the Admiral.

"For what it is worth, yes." And the Admiral just stared back, a grey eyebrow raising over the dull blue of his eye. "I truly wish there was another option, but there is not another option. If we are to save Germany, we must do this."

Lange held his stare for a few seconds, searching the face of his former Captain and current Admiral.

"Hm. Well, I trust you, Admiral. Do we need to make adjustments because of the orders?"

Sighing softly, Schreiber nodded, "Yes. If we are fortunate about anything, it is that Hood is probably not a factor. If we were to sink that ship, the Royal Navy would never stop hunting us."

And didn't he know that. Sink the Bismarck...if possible, he wanted to avoid that scenario. The Royal Navy would be hunting him hard enough, sinking their pride would just make things more difficult. Especially for what he wanted to do...

"Well, that's what Prinz and I are for, Admiral." Blücher spoke up with a hint of false cheer in her voice, breaking the time-traveler from his thoughts. "To keep Bismarck safe!"

"And that, I appreciate. Still, I suggest we look over our intelligence and prepare for sortie. It could be sooner than we would like."

Blücher frowned, "Can that at least wait for a little while? I want to spend time with you Admiral. You know I miss you when you don't come by!"

In response, Schreiber moved his free hand to Blücher's head, gently rubbing her pink hair. The cruiser sighed happily, and there was no falsehood to it this time. She leaned into the touch, a small smile crossing her face as her violet eyes shut in complete and utter contentment. Schreiber's own aged features twisted into a happy smile, the soft pink locks running over his hands.

"Yes, I suppose we can. I don't know when there will be another chance like this." The old Admiral whispered, graciously ignoring the way that Blücher's grip on his arm tightened.

"I don't want you to leave...Captain Lange doesn't treat me as well as you do."

A raised eyebrow came from the Captain in question, "I take offense to that remark."

"Only because it's true." Blücher opened one lazy violet eye, sticking her little pink tongue out at the young Captain.

"You wound me, my dear." Lange held a hand to his chest, reeling back as if he had been punched.

Blücher only shut her eye, returning to letting her Admiral pat her head. As tacit a case of ignoring the Captain as there ever was.

And Admiral Schreiber?

He just felt the weight of the world leave his shoulders, if only for a moment. He loved Bismarck...but sometimes, what he truly needed, was a return to simpler times. Where he could just...relax with Blücher and Lange.

He had the feeling moments such as these would be few and far between, in the future.

"In hindsight, I wonder if we thought this through properly."

Admiral Thompson held a hand to his face, wincing at the glare reflecting off the water in front of him. Norfolk was far from a quick day trip. It had taken a decent amount of time to reach the base, and he was honestly wondering if it wouldn't have been easier to call Stark here than go to meet him first. But complaining would do no good, and that wasn't the issue.

The issue was the flat look he was getting when he looked out at USS Skipjack. More appropriately, at Lieutenant Hawkins. The submarine skipper shivered slightly as he saluted the Admirals, clearly unused to the winter weather of the East Coast. Even that was not the biggest problem.

"I don't see any woman." Admiral King's voice was filled with clear and present annoyance, his expression a full glare when he looked at Thompson.

"She isn't there." Thompson replied, inwardly cursing his luck.

Really, he should have thought that one out. Skipjack was a submarine, of course she would want to stay inside her hull. He already knew she didn't like to expose herself at the best of times. This was hardly any different, wasn't it?

"I see," at least Stark sounded more curious than angry or annoyed. The CNO turned his eyes on Thompson just for a second, before returning to Skipjack. "I can't say I've been aboard a submarine before. Certainly not one of the new ones."

Admiral Richardson shrugged beside his superior, "I hadn't been aboard one either, until Admiral Thompson suggested I talk to as many of the ships as possible. Skipjack is..."

"Rather shy." The youngest Admiral present replied with a small sigh. "We'll have to go inside to see her. Right, Lieutenant?"

Thompson raised his voice at the end, looking directly at where Hawkins stood atop the submarine's conning tower. The younger man looked back at the Admiral, nodding his own head.

"The Admiral is right. Skip won't come up here, and believe me, I tried."

Alone among the Admirals, Stark smiled slightly, "Well, if that is what it takes. I hope you can prove what you are claiming, Admirals."

Nothing more was said, as the CNO- trailed closely by a sour King -walked down the gangplank to board Skipjack. Thompson and Richardson followed, albeit at a slower pace. Both of the Pacific Admirals shared a look, no words travelling between them. But then, no words were needed. They both knew exactly what was at stake here.

Exactly what would happen, if Skipjack couldn't make herself known.

And we're relying on a submarine to make herself known...

Shaking his head, Thompson climbed up the conning tower, only stopping long enough to nod at Hawkins before moving inside the sub's hull. The tight confines had become more familiar than he would have thought, and made the Admiral wish they were doing this aboard Sara. Or even Utah. But in lieu of either of those options being available...Skipjack it was.

"I have a new appreciation for submariners." Admiral Stark's voice echoed up the ladder, as Thompson slowly lowered himself down into what served as the submarines CIC. A tight, confined space with barely enough room to really move around past crew stations.

"I felt the same way," Thompson replied, gingerly lowering himself to the flood as his eyes scanned for the elusive submarine. "Granted, I command the biggest ship in the Navy."

King twitched at those words, but it was quickly covered by a renewed glare, "Well, we're here. Where's this elusive woman you claim to be here?"

"Good question, Ernest," Stark nodded at his old friend, his own eyes scanning the area behind round glasses. "I don't see anyone but ourselves, here."

Indeed, even Skipjack's usual crew complement was ashore enjoying much needed shore leave. Only a handful of crew were aboard, maintaining the submarine and keeping her occupied. These men were spread throughout the sub, leaving just the Admirals and Lieutenant Hawkins standing in the CIC. No sign of...the...

"Skip, get out here," Hawkins groaned with a hint of annoyance in his voice, the man having dropped down easily behind Admiral Thompson. "I know you're there."

Thompson did as well, having seen a flash of red fabric. A flash that coalesced into an equally red-faced teenage girl, slinking into the room. Her short hair didn't do much to cover her face, anymore than her old one-piece did to cover her wide hips. The submarine hadn't put on a uniform, which really wasn't surprising. Getting a submarine into any sort of uniform was difficult at the best of times.

Which was going to be wonderful, if the CNO of the Navy saw her like that.

Well, better than nothing...?

Shaking his head to clear those thoughts, Thompson walked up to Skipjack, the submarine staring up at him with wide brown eyes. Even now, she was still uncomfortable at best with the Admiral. That may never change.

But they couldn't deal with her shyness right now.

"Skip, say hello to Admiral Stark and Admiral King." Thompson still gave her a gentle smile, reaching out to pat the girl on the shoulder, as he moved aside enough to let the older men into sight.

"H-hello?" Skip spoke up hesitantly, her voice shaking when she looked at the old men. "My god, the CNO. Admiral, I'm not ready for this!"

The somewhat panicked shout would have worked better to get attention, if either King or Stark could hear her.

But...

"I don't see, or hear anything." King's sour voice made it clear that he couldn't hear her. The man crossed his arms over his chest, raising an annoyed eyebrow at Thompson. "Well? Anything to say to that?"

"I didn't expect it to be that easy." Thompson replied, turning just enough away from Skipjack to keep her in view, while also looking at Richardson, as of yet silent. "Admiral?"

Letting out a soft sigh, Richardson turned to his subordinate and superior, "Strictly speaking, neither of us did. I was only able to perceive Utah after she lifted Commander Jackson into the air. And I had gone aboard the old girl expecting the fact that she may be there."

Admiral Stark nodded thoughtfully, tapping his chin gently as his foot bounced up and down, "Hm. So, would I be correct in assuming that unless Ernest or myself believed that Skipjack could talk to us, we will not be able to hear or see her?"

While it wasn't something that Thompson wanted to admit, the time traveler nodded, "Accurate. Every case we have, other than Admiral Richardson, has come from someone who cares about their ship. I...I know it's a lot of faith. There isn't any way to realistically replicate or prove results when they rely on feelings like that."

"Beyond showing that as many cases as possible." Richardson finished, removing his glasses to rub at them gently. His voice never stopped speaking as he did so, "And it does depend, on some level, on one being open minded enough. Are you that open-minded, Harold?"

It was the first time that Richardson had used Stark's first name, and it was a sign of just how serious the man was. Even if he didn't actually show it, his stoic features the same as ever. For his part, Stark looked skeptical. His eyes trailed over Richardson, Thompson, and the spot where Skipjack should have been. Where she was. But his eyes quickly moved on...

Clearly not able to see even an outline of the submarine.

"I would like to believe I am," the CNO spoke softly. His expression was pensive though, "But I'm not seeing anything to convince me this is not some elaborate prank or hallucination."

"Why don't you have her pick you up then," King was rather less soft in his disbelief. He just continued to cross his arms over his chest.

And it was a snide comment, considering there just wasn't space. Even if Skipjack could wrap her arms around someone, there wasn't...enough...

This is crazy, but...

Thompson turned to look at the submarine, lowering himself to Skipjack's level, "Skip, I'm going to ask you to do something. This won't be easy, but you need to do it."

"Anything!" The sub was quick to reply, staring up at the Admiral.

"Punch me. Right in the face."

The room went completely silent, save for the dull creaks and rattles of water brushing against Skipjack's hull. The submarine stared at Thompson with impossibly large brown eyes, unable to believe what she had been asked. Thompson stared right back, entirely serious in both words and expression. Richardson merely raised an eyebrow in the background.

Stark frowned, "You can't be serious."

"He isn't." King was quick to speak up, per usual. "Why would that have any impact..."

"You suggested she pick me up, despite there not being enough space in here." Thompson shot back, more heat in his voice than he may have intended when he glared at the infamous Admiral. "Since I can't very well have her slam me into the bulkhead, this is the next best option. They can't touch someone who isn't at least somewhat able to hear them. It has to be me."

Skip, for her part, squeaked out, "But I can't hit an Admiral!"

"It's an order Skip."

Thompson never thought he would ever order a ship girl to punch him in the jaw. But desperate times...

"I'm sorry!"

Called for desperate measures. Skipjack's fist lashed out, a mean right-hook directly to the Admiral's jaw. Thompson grunted slightly, rocking back on his heels with the force of the impact. His jaw ached with the force of a ship girl punch, the man already regretting his choice. Might have been a better idea to have her hug him...

But as he spun away form the submarine, a bruise already forming on his face, it did the job it needed to do. His hands had been by his sides. There had been no human by his side. Thompson had been standing completely alone, and suddenly- to King and Stark -fell back, with a bruise on his jaw and his legs buckling from an impact they couldn't see. It was a bad idea. A crazy one that hadn't been thought out.

And yet...

"Admiral..." Stark coughed, forcing his voice back into some semblance of stoicism when he stared at Thompson with slightly widened eyes. "You just fell back. And have a bruise."

"I do." Thompson winced at the pulling on his jaw, "Ow..."

Skip looked up at him worryingly when the Admiral did that, "I didn't punch too hard, did I?"

"Don't worry Skip, I'm fine." The time traveler sent her a small smile, before turning back to Stark. "Well? That hurt, and I hope it's enough to at least give you an idea we aren't lying."

Stark could only frown, rubbing at his forehead in what Thompson recognized now as a sign of nerves, "I don't know, Admiral. You were clearly hit by something- or someone -I can't see. Is that Skipjack? I can't say..."

"Harold, you can't possibly..." King tried to protest, only for the CNO to send his friend a flat look that had even King slam his mouth shut.

"I never said I did believe it, not entirely. But..." sighing again, the old Admiral looked at Thompson with appraising eyes. "You've convinced me, at the least, that something is going on here. I can't see anyone, but there is clearly something here. I...I will take this to the Secretary. He may take it to the President. I suggest you come up with a better way than physical harm to demonstrate your point."

Turning to leave, Stark looked over his shoulder. The smallest of smiles crossed his face when he did so, the man giving one parting statement.

"I would hate to see someone dedicated enough to let a woman punch his face be drummed out of the service."

And nothing more was said, the CNO moving to climb back up the ladder. Thompson could only watch him go, idly rubbing at his sore jaw. King followed after Stark, sending his own annoyed look back even as Skipjack walked up and stared at the harsh man curiously.

It was only once both Admirals were gone, that she turned back to Thompson and Richardson, a worried look on her face.

"Did that work?" She asked, clearly concerned.

Thompson just shrugged, "Honestly, I don't know. I...hope it did."

"As I'm sure we all do." Richardson nodded, though he sent a sidelong glance at his subordinate, "And, you had her punch you in the face. Nothing else occurred to you, Thompson?"

The young man's face flushed, putting the bruise into sharp relief, "It seemed like a good idea at the time."

Richardson's flat look never once went away, even as Skipjack started giggling. Hawkins' good-natured chuckles joined those of his command, while the youngest Admiral in the world just sighed, looking down at his feet. Yeah...probably not his best idea ever. But if it had worked, it wasn't stupid right? If it's stupid but it works...

Well. It's still stupid.

Damn.

"At least it go..."

Before Thompson could finish his sentence, an annoyed shout echoed down into the conning tower from the outside of Skipjack's hull.

"Where is my wallet?!"

King's distinctive voice was...distinctive in it's rage. Almost as one, all eyes turned to Skipjack, who whistled innocently, her hands behind her back.

"What?"

Yes, I had her steal King's wallet because people suggested it

At any rate, chapter.

Blücher is fun for me to write. Granted, she was my favorite of the Hipper-class before KC/WSG was a thing- remember, I tend to prefer those ships that aren't well-known. It does help that her WSG design is one of the better ones, IMO.

If only because Blücher a cute. And she's a great example of how the girls develop in personality and such from their interactions and time in service. When Schreiber first came back, she was somewhat like Bisko. Now?

Yeah.

I do plan on having her hang around as much as possible, because she is my favorite cruiser.

Also...

Since I once again stayed up entirely too late working on this, my brain has lodged in my muse the idea of possibly taking the Lexie snip from after the last chapter, and making a quest out of it.

Y/N? Sky Stop With Random Ideas? Sky's Muse is High as a Kite?

(

)

((joking aside, time for me to get some sleep. And figure out if I actually want to make Time-Traveler!Lexie!Quest))

Ford Prefect · Oct 12, 2016

EFW3 said:
And this children is how you troll tens of people into replying to your obviously wrong post boosting it'seems reply count and adding pages to the thread.

warning This is clearly a transparent attempt to salvage your reputation after saying something dumb, but if you want to claim to be trolling you can wear the associated infraction with pride.

pjmoyer · Oct 28, 2016

Sing a song for Sister Sara:

(Ok, so technically Sara didn't get the 5" turrets until after Pearl Harbor - she had 8" turrets before then. Just imagine this picture is from later in the war - I drew it so that it could be applicable to more fics.)

MagisterAurelius · Nov 1, 2016

Thanks to Skywalker_T-65 for giving me the go-ahead for this omake.

Omake - New York

The sun warmed the decks of BatDiv 5 as they passed the Virginia Capes on the way back to Norfolk. The expression of USS New York remained frozen in a harsh frown as she stood underneath the tripod foremast.

"I wish it was raining. There shouldn't be sunshine here. Ever." Murmuring to herself, her eyes caught sight of a girl with a parasol waving to her from the stern of the battleship in front of her. Why must she persist in this fruitless display? There were no changes to orders or anything else official, so why couldn't Texas just leave her alone?

After sixteen years you would think she would get the hint. Maybe Arkansas finally ran out of stories or gossip... The fore finger of a right hand comes up to tap her cheek in thought as she turns to stairwell to the main deck. If it weren't for making sure the midshipmen from the Annapolis didn't run her aground in the bay she wouldn't even go topside at all.

Through a hatch and down three more stairwells. The short haired blond woman in a navy blue business jacket and skirt continues on her way, not noticing the sailors she passes through. A left turn into a long passageway and through the bulkhead door into the boiler room, New York's preferred place to ignore the outside world. A sailor on the other side of the door shudders as if in a winter gale as she phases through him. New York doesn't even notice as she puts her hands on the railing of the gantry overlooking the boilers of her power plant. She sighs and then puts her hands to her head as her vision blurs red...

What's happening? Why are they doing this to me? Aaahhhh.... it hurts it hurts so much.... I'm scared and it hurts. Why won't anyone help me? Oh! You're here! Please help me... it hurts... and.... what? What are you doing? What?!? Aaaiiiiii.......... New York could only hang her head as tears stream down her face and she racks with sobs.

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"Chief!!" A sailor stopped just before Chief of the Sovereign Nation of Engineering of BB34 gulping. "Sir, we've got a leak sir! Water's just streaming down the walls by the forward boilers."

Chief Engineer Hackett reigned in his initial impulse to impale the sailor with the Chief Stare of Doom upon realizing that the midshipman was on his first training sea tour. He sighed. "Midshipman, if the boilers were leaking that bad while we are underway at full power you would not be alive to report it, as they would have exploded."

"It is more water than should be there Chief."

"Son, every ship has its quirks. This is your first cruise on New York and I have been taking you children out for training cruises for longer than I care to remember and if I say that there is no problem, then there is no problem. Am I clear Midshipman?"

"Yes Chief!"

"Then scram kid, we're pulling into Norfolk anytime now." And at the gladly retreating back of the midshipman Chief Engineer Hackett bellowed, "And do not make me have to pick you up from the Shore Patrol or bilge duty will seem like Heaven!" Hackett then went into his office and locked the door behind him. Pulling out a large ledger book, he began to make an entry. Reading back through past entries, Hackett sighed.

"Dammit York, what the hell is wrong with you girl?"

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Norfolk Navy Yard - midnight

"Texas," a slightly uncertain voice over the TBS inquired, "can I ask you something?"

"Certainly Wichita, what is troubling you dear?" Wondering what could be on the mind of the Navy's newest heavy cruiser, she made sure to put the most reassurance into her voice as she could. Poor girl needs all the confidence she can get. And that nickname can't help.

"A couple things really... you've heard the rumors right? That there's an admiral who can see and touch us? Is that really possible?" And in a quieter tone that Texas almost missed, "Could he tell my crew to stop calling me that name? I'm too new to be haunted and spooky."

Texas put her hand to her mouth to stifle the giggle. "Ahm not certain dear. Ah've heard the rumors, it seems that's y'all are gossiping about lately." She sighed. "But no, ah've no idea if it's true."

"What does New York think? I rarely even see her so I've never asked her." A slight hesitation and the cruiser continued. "The other girls say that she's an ice queen but she's never even acknowledged my existence beyond official signals so I can't say for certain."

Texas sighed. "Wichita, hon, I'm gonna say this so you don't go sailing off into a minefield. My sister has been hurtin sumthing awful for sixteen years and to make sure she never talks about it she just refuses to talk period. I figure she'll snap out of it at some point, but I better be the one to do the snappin' so's no one gets hurt."

"Oh okay, thanks Texas. Have a good night!"

"Pleasant dreams dear." Texas put her parasol down and began a much more emotionally fraught conversation.

"Sister... we need to talk about things... it has been long enough"

New York lifted her head from her hands. "USS Texas the radio is for official communications..."

"You've been moping like a calf for sixteen year USS New York and I am beginning to get annoyed. Very annoyed. I was there too Sis. Both of us. And it was horrible an' awful and don't you dare say anything because I have the nightmares too." Raw emotion flooded Texas's voice "But most of all I want my sister back. I was there to help, to help you bear that weight Sis, but you won't let me."

"I...I can't stop Sis. No matter how many defoulings, coats of new paint... I can't feel clean anymore. I just see the blood... and the tears... and that face pleading with us. She was begging us to help her Tex! And we executed her! I can't forgive myself or them."

At that last word, even the mighty Texas shivered at the venom and hate in her sister's voice. It's way overdue but... how do I get her past this? Texas, with added bravado in the hope it would carry the tone she was hoping for, switched tack. "Alright then will you at least start showing yourself above deck more? You are starting to get a reputation as Glacier Garters among the fleet."

"What?!?" New York's train of thought derailed as the paradigm shifted without benefit of the clutch. Her anger shifted to the slight. "Are you calling me an ice queen Sister?"

"No, but you certainly haven't done anything to dispel that notion from everyone else. And if you keep it up it will effect your duty."

"..." New York could only sigh at that. "You may be..."

"Maybe? Damn straight ah'm right you blue-stocking harridan" Texas interrupted her in her full Don't Mess with Texas accent.

"snerk.... alright then I will try to 'socialize' more with you southern-fried cornpone shit-kicking hicks." New York tried put as much Bronx into her accent as she could allow her self.

"Then I expect you to promenade your deck tomorrow morning. And that's an order as your flagship... Sis." New York could mentally see Texas sticking out her tongue. "It's good to talk to you again.. I missed you.

New York sniffed back the last of her grief for now. "I missed you too..."

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

To be New York is to be a hurt locker...

Changing Destiny (Kancolle)

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