Fair Warning: This is not a nice or fun chapter. At all.
(equally fair warning, still not used to the formatting switches between GDoc and forum 
)
Chapter 31
Darkness. It was at once a refuge and a curse. Familiar yet dreaded. Dim red lights barely stabbed through the dark; just enough to show the large machinery hiding within, and no more. Creaks and groans echoed from the imposing metal as, boilers and turbines were strained beyond their limits. The abused machinery's groans and wails sounded almost human as the pipes and valves were pushed beyond what they had ever been intended to do. Like a runner panting exhaustion at the end of a race. And that comparison was quite apt for the man staring in the darkness at the boilers in front of him.
After all...was this not a sleek runner of a warship, trying to reach the end of a race of sorts?
Hold together Turbine. Hold together old girl.
A shaky hand wiped at a sweaty brow, as Carlo Lombardi looked at the pressure gauge by his side. A gauge steadily clicking up into the red.
"She can't keep this up for very long, sir."
Lombardi nodded tiredly, his eyes flickering over to his subordinate. The younger man returned his stare with a hunted look in his blue eyes. A look that Lombardi had seen many times before… and one he had always hated. He hated the look of fear. He hated that it was in a man that was young enough to be his son. Like the rest of the fresh, unscarred faces staring back at him. And he most certainly hated the British for putting them all in this situation. For leaving these young faces haunted by the thought of death.
"We don't have a choice. You know that." Lombardi's voice was weary and bore more resemblance to a broken radioset than to a human's voice "
Turbine will get us through this."
A weak smile crossed the other sailor's face, "You always have faith in her."
"Of course," Lombardi could feel the same weak smile forming on his own face. "
Turbine has never let me down before," and with a chuckle, he placed a hand on his subordinate's shoulder. " and she won't start now!"
Despite the situation, the two men were united in that belief. That their destroyer would always get them through anything. And as Lombardi stepped away from the gauge and strode across the deck to another part of the old powerplant, he knew that much.
"You never will let me down…" the old sailor murmured, in a voice so soft that he was certain no one would hear him. Certainly not over the creaks and grinding of
Turbine's engines. "Right,
Turbine?"
His bare hand gently grazed against the dimly glowing hot metal of her steam turbines. He barely winced; his calloused hands had suffered worse things. Much worse things. And when he touched the warm metal, Lombardi almost felt like someone was standing beside him and smiling along with him. A smile filled with more warmth that the metal ever held.
Like a little guardian angel making Turbine move a little bit easier through the rough waves of the sea, and easing the strain on her burning boilers.
It was a strange feeling, but one he was also quite familiar with as the deck shifted beneath his feet. With the practiced ease of an old hand, Lombardi swayed with the motion and didn't lose one inch of his focus.
"Port," another voice called out from further towards the bow. He was hidden from sight by the pipes and powerplant, but his voice still carried through the compartments. "
Capitano must be worried!"
"Damn Englishman," the man behind Lombardi growled.
The engineer just sighed softly, "The English one day, the Austrians another. It never changes."
"Sir?"
Shaking his head, Lombardi gave the metal by his side one last firm pat before continuing his little patrol. He gave the old metal of the destroyer gentle pats and reassuring touches as he walked through his little kingdom, ignoring the raised eyebrows that followed him as his footsteps clanked on the old metal in a familiar pattern.
As he made his rounds, the same haunted question confronted him, passed along in whispers and murmurs carried by the machinery around them:
"Are we under attack?"
"I don't know, and I don't care to know. Our job is to keep
Turbine sailing. Not to ask questions," was his simple reply.
But as he rounded the corner, he found his path through the engineering deck blocked by man with a intense look on his soot-covered face.
A look that eerily looked like an eagle that had finally found his prey.
"I heard gunfire. And you can't tell me this is an exercise." The bull-headed sailor flung his hands out at Lombardi, ignoring everything else. "This is a battle, and the English are trying to destroy us! What are we supposed to even…" Hands falling back to his side, the man glared at Lombardi with a glance that would melt lesser men. "I don't like this, sir."
As the man had vented his worries, Lombardi had not stood still. He had slowly paced around the younger sailor, while his eyes had tracked the other members of his little part of
Turbine's crew. Men who bore equally worried looks in their eyes. Good men, who for all their training...were seeing combat for the first time. Good lord, they were all so young. Fresh faced and completely unprepared for this.
I was like them once...so long ago…
Sighing heavily, Lombardi reached a hand up to pinch his brow. The steady 'thump-thump' of his foot tapping on the deck was the other only sound audible through the low roar of the straining machinery as everyone present watched his movements
He was the veteran. The one who was in charge of all these poor fools.
No pressure, yes?
"I know that you are scared. We are all scared," the old sailor barked out. His voice may have been scratchy from overuse in this cramped space, yes. That would not stop it from being heard. "I am, you are, and I am sure
Capitano is as well. We all know what happened to
Espero!"
Murmurs sprang up from the men not working on keeping
Turbine moving. They all did know the story of that brave destroyer and her crew. Heroes, each and every one of them.
Even
Turbine seemed to slow at the mention of her younger sister ship.
"But," Lombardi held up his hand. A web of scars was quite visible even in the dim light, as he pointed at each of the men gathered around him like a schoolteacher gesturing at unruly students. "We will not fall as she did!
Turbine has gotten us through this war so far. She will not fail now, if we do not fail her!"
As if to emphasize his point,
Turbine swung hard to starboard. The creaks of metal only grew louder with her hull twisting to make the turn.
"So get back to work and make sure we don't!"
With his impromptu speech done, Lombardi turned away from the men and stalked back to his own station at the head of the engineering spaces. The muttering behind him remained, but it was joined by the sound of men stumbling back to their own stations. Attempting to keep their footing in a ship that was rapidly swinging from side to side.
Zig-zagging, as the Americans would call it. Which could only mean one thing.
They were in fact, under attack.
"
Engineering!"
And if the squawking of the intercom was any indication, he was correct. The
Capitano would only call personally if the situation were truly dire.
"Engineering," Lombardi replied, easily slipping back into his true role in the dim depths of his destroyer.
"The Capitano needs everything you can give. The British are getting closer every minute." The harried voice on the other end continued. The dull thumps of gunfire echoed along with his voice; both the sharper noise of
Turbine's 120-mm guns and the louder clamber of British cruiser guns.
Cruisers…
Lombardi gripped the intercom tightly, his hands pale as a ghost. He knew the sound of cruiser fire, all too well. Memories of another time threatened to overwhelm him, and he ruthlessly pushed them back down.
He sucked in a sharp breath. "Understood."
He slammed the intercom back into its set and turned his attention to his men. They all stared at him, with their young, bright-eyed faces, as they awaited their orders.
"Well, what are you waiting for?" he shouted, his gravelly baritone carrying through the length of the machinery room. "Put your backs into it!"]
It continued to echo through the spaces around him as he grimly turned to his own tools. And his own tasks.
Turbine was old and something could break at any moment. Her sister had been hobbled by her own old boilers. He would not see the same happen to his destroyer. Lombardi couldn't let that happen.
"Fire on the horizon!"
"Hard to starboard! Give it everything you can!"
"Shells incoming! We're not going to…"
It was only when those words echoed through the still-active intercom that Lombardi allowed real fear to show on his face. He spun around, already reaching out to confirm what he had heard.
No no no nonononononono!
An almighty, thunderous roar stopped him. The sound that could only be the impact of shellfire hitting a warship. Shells punching clean through the non-existent armor of the little destroyer, carving great rents and tears through her hull. Gouges of sharp metal that exposed her insides to the sky.
And to the sea.
Bright sunlight was joined by the cold inrush of seawater, steam shooting into the air all around as the water hit tortured and hot machinery. The short hisses of the steam echoed painfully...joined by the screams of scaled men. Young sailors caught in the blasts of vapor, or by shrapnel from the initial impacts. It hardly mattered which it was, the screams cutting through Lombardi's very soul. His hands clapped on his ears as the burly old man slid down the cold metal behind him.
"No! Not again! Please… not again…"
His eyes slid shut, and he felt his world go black
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"Lombardi! Wake up!"
Carlo Lombardi's eyes snapped open as a harsh gasp escaped his lips. The dark haired young man rolled onto his side, another gasp torn from his lungs at the sharp pain he felt. His hand slapped against his side...warmth spreading out as he squeezed at his uniform. Blood. His blood flowed over his hand, staining his uniform as it spread out from where a piece of steel had cut through him like a knife.
Groaning in pain, the sailor reached his other hand down to push his way up from the slick deck beneath him. His dark brown eyes were filled with the sight of dark red blood, all around and over him. Some his...but most from the rest of Turbine's crew.
"Thank the Lord...you're alive!"
Before Lombardi could focus on the horrifying sight beneath him, strong arms reached underneath his shoulders and fully pulled him to his- unsteady -feet.
Twisting his head, he saw the grim face of his superior officer. The man in charge of their deck gun...a twisted pile of shrapnel behind both men.
"Sir...what…?" Lombardi coughed out, wincing in pain as a bit of blood dribbled down his chin. "What happened?"
"Austrians." The other man practically spat out, the grimness in his face hardening into pure hatred. "Goddamn Austrians. They knew the War was coming, I guarantee you!"
Lombardi felt a rush of shock through his system. They already knew? Italy had only declared war on Austria the day before!
It was unbelievable. And yet the proof was all around him. The distant thundering drumbeats of gunfire from a faraway cruiser, the screams of the wounded and dying all around him. His own side cut open by a piece of decking.
And the fact his superior was bleeding from multiple parts of his own body.
"Sir!" How are you still standing?" Lombardi pulled away from the older man, ignoring grimacing at the pain rushing through his side. "How are you still standing?"
"Notice that, did you?" The grim man chuckled as if the fact that he was more hole than man didn't bother him in the slightest. He seemed to not even notice the fact his body should have fallen over. "Not everyone can be lucky. And I'm still luckier than Alphonso."
Somehow, Lombardi felt he didn't want to know what had happened to the cheerful loader. Instead, he reached his own hands out to try and support the much larger officer in front of him.
"You need to sit down sir. I can find a corpsman to…"
The officer shook his head, "Too late for that, Carlo. What you need to do is get off this ship before she sinks."
"Sink…?"
Even as that word left his lips, Lombardi was nearly thrown back to the deck, as two shells tore through the listing hull of Turbine. The destroyer seemed to cry out in pain at the impacts.
Lombardi knew he was imagining that.
But as he looked at the officer in front of him, he knew that the man was correct about one thing. Turbine was going to sink and there was absolutely nothing anyone could do about it. Fires raged along her stern, and her bow was already starting to slip down in the waves.
"At least come with me, sir," Lombardi tried to reach out again. "We can both be…"
"Rescued? No," the older man shook his head sadly. His hands pushed Lombardi away and towards the torn railing above the far-too-close water. "I won't make it. You will."
"I can't just leav—"
Lombardi's protest died on his lips as a particularly harsh shake of Turbine's sinking hull tossed him away from the pale face of his superior. A silent scream echoed from his lips, the young Italian sailor barely able to comprehend what had happened to him as his body slammed into the water. Pain roared through his injured side at the impact, fire racing across his wound and through his body.
His arms and legs frantically kicked at the water in a panicked attempt to get to the surface. His side screamed at each movement, and his limbs felt heavier than they ever had in his entire life. It took everything that Lombardi had just to push his head above the water, spraying water out of his mouth. Debris floated all around him on all sides...wood and metal and various pieces of Turbine. The destroyer herself continued a futile race towards the distant shore.
Even Lombardi could tell she wouldn't make it. Her bow was low in the water and flames raged uncontrolled along her deck. She was dying.
"Why...why did you save me?" Lombardi felt harsh, salty liquid on his cheeks. And he knew it wasn't just seawater.
Why had it been him to survive? Alphonso had been entirely too young and carefree to deserve what had happened to him. And Romano may have been a harsh officer, but the man had still come through when he needed to.
Yet it was him.
Just him, who had survived.
"I...I…"
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"...sir…"
No...I can't. Not again.
"...wake up sir…"
I won't let it happen again. I won't see another ship sink underneath me!
"Wake up!"
Lombardi groaned deeply as a spike of pain lanced through his head. He didn't need that voice at all; the feeling of his head pounding was enough to bring him back to the land of the living.
He had never wanted to relive that day. So why was he reliving it now, of all times? And aboard a ship with the same name? Was the name
Turbine fated to sink? Or was it his own fault for cursing the ships? He didn't know which was a worse option. That he was cursed or that the ship was cursed to follow the path of her namesake.
But there were more important things to consider.
He was alive.
He sucked in a painfully deep breath as his eyes fluttered open. Groggy eyes refocused as he found a face staring down on him.
A face covered in blood from a cut across her…
Her?!
"Who are you?!" Lombardi snapped upright, his head spinning with the motion. But he was still full capable of staring at the young girl in front of him.
"I…"
A girl who couldn't be older than his own daughter, perhaps sixteen years old. One who had no place on a warship, and most certainly not in her eng…
Wait.
"This is the fore-turret. How did I end up here?" Lombardi only now realized his surroundings were not the engineering spaces. The boilers and turbines were gone completely. Instead, he was surrounded by loose shells. A safety hazard if there ever was one.
And a clear indication the gun had been abandoned.
"I carried you here," the girl's soft voice whispered. Like silk rustling over a bed, the soothing sound drew Lombardi's attention back to her.
Not that he could look away, at any rate. Her bright brown eyes were clouded with clear pain...but still staring at him intently. Long, curly locks of equally brown hair fell down her back and covered an obvious cut across her forehead that even now dripped blood down her face. She wore a short blue dress that would have been scandalously short, were it not for the very dark stains that were visible across her left side beneath her ribs. And sitting astride the center of her chest.
Stains that could only be from blood. A thought that was confirmed by the red covering her legs above short white socks.
"You carried me." Lombardi echoed, a pained gasp flitting between his lips as he stumbled back to her side. The girl was tiny, a little slip of a woman. How could she have carried him? "How? And who are you? And how did you even pull me up here?"
A weak chuckle echoed from the girl. Even with the pain in her actions, her gentle voice was still filled with a familiar warmth. "You're full of questions aren't you, sir?"
"Can you blame me?" Lombardi couldn't help the laugh that came from his own lips. Why did this girl seem so familiar?
"No, not at all." Familiar or not, when her tiny- pale -hands lay down upon his calloused limb, Lombardi felt a jolt run through his body. "But you know me quite well. Better than anyone I'd…"
Whatever else she was going to say was cut off by a pained cry, as the dull roar of a detonation shook the entire ship beneath them. Lombardi knew very well what that had been...
Turbine's secondary ammunition going up. He was about to ask if they should move, when his eyes widened yet further.
"Are you alright?!" His voice held more than a little panic with those words. Lombardi's hands reached out to clutch the girl's arm, holding her tightly and close to his chest.
For her shirt was torn with an angry red bruise already forming. One that had not been there a moment ago.
"No, I'm really not." Her words were accompanied by a weak cough. The hand in Lombardi's grip weakly held onto his own and squeezed him softly. "Do you know who I am now?"
"No, I don't. I've never seen you before, and you shouldn't be here. Not in the middle of a battle and on a sinking shi..."
Lombardi's voice trailed off. His eyes stared at the girl in front of him. And she stared back, a small smile crossing her youthful and entirely too pale face.
He had the feeling she smiled a lot.
"Turbine. I'm Turbine."
Her words were like a hammer blow to the Italian's heart. And yet one's he had somehow expected. No girl this young was aboard
Turbine. He would have known. And the way she had cried out in pain...the way she had been hurt when those shells had gone up despite nothing entering the turret.
Her wounds.
She had to be telling the truth.
"How?" Was all Lombardi could get out, straining to think of an explanation for all of this. "How are you human? Why did you save me?"
Turbine smiled weakly, "I've always been here you know. You just haven't been able to see me. Though you've heard me. And probably felt me too. Haven't you noticed what happens when you take good care of my boilers? When you gave them pats?"
Lombardi flushed despite the situation, "That wasn't…"
"Your imagination, no." Turbine giggled softly, pained groans mixed in as the list in her hull steadily grew sharper and sharper. "I loved when you took good care of me. Every time you called me 'good girl' when I did well...it made me feel warm."
"You always were a good girl."
The old officer felt a tear prick at his eye. He didn't wipe it away. No...all he did was stare at Turbine, smiling up at him despite the condition both her bodies were in. He had loved her like any old sailor loved their ship. An engineer was always proud when everything worked well, and yes, he had noticed that
Turbine ran just a little bit better when he treated her well. Lombardi had believed it was his imagination.
That he was just being silly. After all, surely words did no good?
"I'm glad you think that way, sir…" Turbine smiled at her engineer. A pained groan ran through her little body, as she pushed herself up with her free hand.
Bright brown eyes stared into darker brown, as she leaned forward. Turbine's smile never once left her face, as she kissed bloody lips against both of Lombardi's cheeks. Neither man nor ship cared about the roughness of the kiss or the warmth of the blood.
"Turbine…"
No, Lombardi didn't care. He just looked at the little girl bleeding in front of him as she pulled back from the kiss. Her eyes were wet with tears and all he could do was reach forward to gently swipe them away.
"You were like my father, sir." Her voice was barely above a whisper now, as water began to lap at the entrance to the turret.
Had they really been staring at each other that long?
"And you were like my daughter," Lombardi didn't hesitate to reply. His hand ran through greying hair, a nervous gesture that he couldn't stop. "Turbine, can you walk?"
She shook her head, "No, not anymore. My turbines are dead. Sir...please go. Don't die. That's all I ask."
"I won't leave you!"
Lombardi was still haunted by what had happened aboard the original
Turbine. Leaving Romano hurt him to this very day. He couldn't leave someone behind again. Never again.
Turbine just shook her head with a sad smile, "Si...father. You can't take me with you. I am the ship, and when the ship sinks so do I. Please...don't make this harder. I can't see you die with me."
"Turbine, I can't just go like that. Don't make me leave you behind!"
"No matter what happens, please promise me you'll live. Please." Turbine's voice hardened, if only slightly. Her increasingly foggy eyes stared at Lombardi, daring the man to say anything.
And despite his nightmares, the man couldn't say anything. He knew deep down that he couldn't save Turbine. He had known that from the moment he found out who she was. And as water began to fill the turret, he knew that even more now. There was no reason to stay, was there? He couldn't save her.
But he didn't want to leave her either.
"I promise, Turbine. I promise." Lombardi stood on shaky feet, walking over to gently lay a kiss on the destroyer's curly hair.
"Thank you...father…"
It took every last bit of determination that the Italian had, to turn on his heel and not look back. Tears flowed freely down his face, but he didn't stop. He continued to walk out, to a deck that was so low to the water that he could just kick off and begin to mechanically swim away. One arm forward, one back. One kick followed by another.
There was no higher thought. No emotion.
Nothing but mechanical motions as he swam towards a lifeboat. He refused to look back and refused to think about who and what he had just left behind.
Turbine had been his ship. He had been determined to do right by her, after what happened in the Great War. He had ended up treating her like a second daughter and it...it…
It hurts.
It hurt so very much to leave her behind like that. It felt like a knife through his heart when a thunderous roar behind him marked the detonation of her gun turret...and the final death of the valiant little destroyer.
"I will bring you back Turbine...somehow."
That vow was swallowed up in the sound of debris falling into the water. But it was one that Carlo Lombardi would never forget.
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Far away from the swirling waters of the Mediterranean, warm and cheerful sunlight shone into an old English manor house. The smell of fresh tea rushed through the room and filled each corner of it. Along with the harsh clatter of retreating officers...their boots clacking against the floor with each step. Leaving behind just two people...a man and a tall woman. One standing in front of a small table.
And the other…
"Are you well,
Herr Admiral?"
Admiral Lütjens leaned back in his soft chair and let out a small sigh. His eyes shifted from the empty furniture across from him, to the young woman in a maid uniform beside it. Her own bright Prussian blue eyes stared right back over a pleasant smile. A smile set in a soft-featured face framed by long strands of dark brown hair.
"I am, yes." Lütjens voice held the same disinterest it had when he talked with his guest.
Albeit a slight bit less when he talked to this woman. Happily married he may have been...it was still a welcome familiarity to have someone who could converse in German. Young woman or not. Probable spy or not. Because at least she wasn't trying to get him to betray his nation.
"That is good to hear." Her smile widened at his words as the woman moved to set out the tea she had been carrying. "I would hate to hear that something was wrong. You work so hard after all."
Lütjens could hardly help the ever so slight smile that crossed his lips, "I assure you that I do no work whatsoever."
"Ah but you do,
Herr Admiral." The maid shook her head, the motion setting her long hair a flutter. "You work hard to not betray Germany."
Perhaps the oddest thing about the woman was that she had no problems with him refusing to betray their homeland. Despite the fact she worked for the British government.
"I will never betray Germany, correct," Lütjens nodded along with her words.
Reaching down to the table, the old Admiral picked up a cup and took a sip of the bitter tea. Wartime Britain couldn't afford the proper tea he had expected, but compared to what Germany had…
I can hardly complain. I had expected far worse treatment no matter my rank.
Moving the cup away from his lips, Lütjens looked over the rim at his server, "While I have no love for the Nazi Party, I am curious why you continue to serve me. You are a British citizen, correct?"
"I am." The smile on the woman's face faded if only slightly. Her hands clenched in the thick fabric of her skirt as she shuffled on her feet. "But you are the Admiral, sir, and my duty is to serve you. You would be more comfortable with a German doing so,
ja? Even one from…"
"Kiel." Lütjens allowed his own smile to grow a little. "I recognize the accent. I may be from Hesse myself, but I have spent enough time in the north to recognize it."
Despite the flush on her face, the woman let go of the grip she had on her uniform. "Exactly. And so long as I am assigned to keep you comfortable, that is what I will do."
Silence followed her statement. The Admiral continued to sip at his bitter tea, relishing in the feeling of the warm liquid running through his system. Good tea, good food, and a German to serve it. He had hardly expected such hospitality from the British when he had been thrown from
Gneisenau. In fact he had expected far worse, considering the damage he had done to Hood or the sinking of
Royal Oak.
Lütjens was still amazed that they bothered when he refused to divulge anything they did not already know.
"Is there anything else you need, Admiral?"
Turning his eyes back to the maid, Lütjens shook his head slowly. "
Nein. I am quite alright, thank you
Fräulein Gerhardt. However…"
The Admiral pulled himself to his feet, and walked across the thick carpeting of the manor to the tall woman in front of him. Gerhardt shuffled in place even if she didn't move away from him, staring at him with those Prussian blue eyes. Lütjens merely sized her up as she stood in front of her. And what he saw worried him on some level even if she were not his friend or ally. She was still a young woman and one that was...
"Are you eating enough yourself?"
Entirely too thin. Lütjens would not judge a woman on how she chose to appear. However, the maid in front of him was slimmer than any woman should be. Her uniform hid it well, but he could tell that she was thin and lithe to a level that spoke ill of the Royal Navy and how they fed her.
And yet, Gerhardt just smiled and shook her head, "Ah. You don't need to worry yourself, Admiral. I have always been this slim, from the moment I was born. I assure you, I eat enough and am treated well."
Lütjens frowned, "You are certain?"
"As certain as I am that serving you is my duty."
Despite everything, those words managed to garner a light chuckle from the Admiral. He turned away from the young woman and said just one more sentence to her.
"If you are sure."
With that said he walked to his quarters and left the woman behind to do her job.
And as he left, Sascha Gerhardt watched him with her smile refusing to leave her face. The young woman clenched her uniform once more. Her eyes never once left the back of the retreating Admiral, even as she shifted her long legs to move and clean up. Because as she watched him go, she whispered her own farewell under her breath.
"I am quite sure,
Herr Admiral…"
