Changing Destiny (Kancolle)

Interlude: Force Z
Interlude: Force Z

"It is so bloody hot!"

HMS Repulse's complaint went unnoticed and unheard. Not that it particularly mattered to her, mind, because she was too busy mopping sweat from her face. Even in her skimpy 'uniform', she was feeling the heat of the South Pacific beating down on her. The sun hadn't faded one bit during the day and even the nights were muggy as all hell. For someone used to the cold showers of the North Sea, it was quite an adjustment to make!

It didn't help that Wales was happy as a clam, sunbathing on her deck. Or that Glorious was too busy herding their escorting destroyers to pay attention to her. So annoying!

"Oh stop complaining, Repulse. I know you're an old lady, but that doesn't mean you need to ruin it for everyone else." Wales was insufferable as ever. It didn't matter to her that Repulse had sunk a German battleship, no sir, she was an old lady and Wales was the brand new battleship. "Be happy we're in the tropics why don't ya."

Repulse scowled, and turned her head away from the offending battleship. "Such a child I swear to god..."

"What was that?"

"Nothing!" Repulse ground out, crossing her arms across her chest. Normally she would be the one doing the teasing. But the heat was getting to her. She hadn't liked it the first time, she didn't like it now.

I'd take the North Sea any day.

But since Hood was being pampered in the 'states and big sis Renown was needed to replace her in the Atlantic, it came down to Repulse to show the flag in the Pacific. And that's what she was doing too! She wasn't even coming here to fight, just to make the Japanese go home!

"Repulse...go easy on her, please. We shouldn't fight each other." Glorious was the voice of reason. Repulse could almost see the blonde carrier gently shaking her head, a frown on her face.

A frown mimicked on Repulse's, as she looked out at the old carrier. Glorious was like a younger sister to her once. And now she was so much more...serious than she used to be. Losing Courageous had done that to her. They'd all lost someone in this war, except for Wales. Lucky battleship that she was.

"I'll stop messing with her," the battlecruiser finally rolled her eyes, turning back to walk into her hull. "If she leaves me alone..."

That last bit was under her breath, as the battlecruiser ducked around a member of her crew. Her eyes followed the man as he ran to his duty station, completely ignoring her existence. At one point, that wouldn't really have bothered her. Oh sure, when she was younger she might have complained. All ships did. But she had grown out of that and, instead, made up for her time by teasing the ever-loving hell out of the rest of the Royal Navy.

Now?

Well, now she knew it was possible to talk to her crew. Rumors from across the pond made that very clear, even if Captain Tennant most assuredly didn't show any signs of acknowledging it. Repulse's eye twitched at the thought. It wasn't like she blended in!

Adjusting her small and very revealing top, the battlecruiser grumbled under her breath. "You'd think a sailor would have noticed me by now!"

As one walked right through her, shaking with a sudden chill, Repulse was forced to admit she may be going about things the wrong way. Grumbling some more, she changed course to her old bridge.

At least I don't have one of those ugly towers. Sis doesn't even like it!

With a small smile on her face at the memory of Renown complaining about her 'overweight pile of scrap pretending to be a hat', Repulse walked onto her own bridge. Little changed since she had been launched, it was crowded with sailors and officers going about their duties. Captain Tennant was at the fore, reading from reports with a cup of tea precariously balanced in one hand.

"Never let anything get in the way of tea time, eh Captain?" Repulse's XO had an amused smirk on his face.

An expression mirrored on the Captain, as he ever so slowly took a sip of his tea. "Quite."

Fighting her own smile, Repulse tossed a lazy salute at her Captain, "I salute you, sir, for your admirable dedication to the traditions of the Roy--al--"

Unable to finish her sentence, the battlecruiser collapsed into helpless giggles. No one showed any sign of hearing it, of course, but it felt good. The heat was suffocating and Wales was even more insufferable, but at least Repulse could find humor in her Captain and crew. Small miracles, yeah?

"At any rate," Captain Tennant set his teacup down, holding the paper out instead. His eyes trailed over- and through -Repulse before settling on her XO. His face was a serious mask, no sign of the good humor left. "I'm sure we'll all wish we could have normal tea time, soon enough."

"Captain?"

That question came from the battlecruiser and her XO. In any other situation, it would be amusing.

Not so now, as Captain Tennant continued, "Report from Singapore. Yanks got hammered. Japs hit them hard at Pearl and Manila. It's the expectation of our naval staff--" Here, Tennant scowled deeply. His eyes twitching over to Prince of Wales. "--that Malaya is next. Or the Dutch. There is no chance that the Japs aren't going to go for the East Indies if they hit the Americans. There's nothing in the Philippines worth taking compared to those oil fields."

"...so we can't expect them to come sailing to Singapore, can we?" The younger officer paled, his face turning a decidedly sickly shade.

"Frankly, I don't think we could have expected that no matter what happened," Tennant didn't snort, though it was a close run thing. "Bloody hell, you expect the Yanks to sail all the way across the Pacific to use our base?"

That had been the expectation when Force Z was formed...

"No, the only support from them will be that Asiatic Fleet and maybe an expediting of Hood's repairs."

Repulse felt a chill entirely unbecoming of the South Pacific wash across her. Not that the Japanese scared her, compared to the Germans they were amateurs who had old ships. But because of the fact that it was only her, Wales, Glorious and a few destroyers and cruisers. The Dutch weren't going to be any help.

"Glorious...ya hear that?" Repulse opened a line to the nearby carrier, her eyes watching as a squadron of Sea Hurricanes took to the air.

"...I did." Was the short, and to the point, reply.

"What do you think we're sailing into?"

Silence, before a heavy sigh.

"Exactly what sank my big sister. A hornet's nest."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-
A few hours later, with darkness providing cover for Force Z, Repulse paced in her Captain's cabin. Her short skirt swished with each sway of her broad battlecruiser hips. Her stockings had long since been discarded in the heat, leaving her lean legs bare as she brushed against the fabric of her Captain's bunk. She didn't even notice.

"What are we going to do now?" The battlecruiser groaned, as she flopped down on that bed. Her bright blue eyes stared at her Captain, as the man took over pacing for her.

"We should reinforce Singapore first," Captain Tennant muttered under his breath. The man rubbed his chin idly, looking at a large map spread over his desk. "But after that...will we try to hit the Japs when they go for Malaya?"

There was no question in his voice, or Repulse's mind, that the Japanese were going to try to land in Malaya. Singapore was too much of a threat to ignore. The question wasn't if they would, but where they would and if it was possible to cut them off. Considering how far out Force Z was from Singapore...

"No, we can't get there quick enough." Tennant shook his head, his hand dropping to his side. "If we can't cut them off, we may as well keep going on and support the Yanks and Dutch." There was more than a hint of frustration in his voice at that idea.

Repulse just sighed. It wasn't like she wasn't used to playing second-fiddle, as it were. "It's not like that is anything new! Bloody Yanks always getting the last laugh."

Why yes, she was a bit bitter still a bit bitter about the Americans taking so long to get off their arse. Twice!

"Frankly, I just want to go home. This is a waste of our time. Just watch India!"

Captain Tennant made no signs of hearing Repulse, as he looked over the map again. "Java...or Singapore...or the Philippines. If it were me, I would suggest Java. If we can hold the Japs in the East Indies they can't support an offensive in Malaya anyway."

"Why don't we just let Glorious handle things then?" Repulse asked the room at large, rolling her eyes as she fell back on the bed. Her sweaty mop of brown hair falling on her face. "Carriers are the wave of the future, dontch'a know?"

"I am aware, yes. But Glorious is old and can't carry enough planes."

A sigh came from the battlecruiser, "Well yeah, but it's not like I---"

Silence. Nothing but the sound of a pen scratching on a map and Repulse's breaths. Until...

"WHAT IN THE BLOODY HELL?!"

The noise of a battlecruiser jumping off a bed echoed in the cabin. A jump done so quickly it had her braid fall out and her hair cascade down her back in a brown wave. Turning wide blue eyes on her Captain, Repulse held a single finger up in a shaky pointer. Her mouth opened and closed...but not one word came out. Nothing but a strangled noise not unlike a startled cat.

Tennant merely raised an eyebrow.

"You can see me?!" Repulse got out, somehow, as her chest heaved with her shock.

"Have been for some time, yes." The Captain replied, fully facing the battlecruiser.

Repulse could only stare, her mind breaking by the second. "Hu--buh--wha--"

Tennant smiled thinly, standing up from his seat. The man walked up to his battlecruiser, staring Repulse in the eyes. "Hood suggested that I be told, before anyone else, that you girls are here. Said something about 'Repulse can't keep a secret and will probably be the first one to get through'."

For the life of her, Repulse didn't have a response to that. She was too busy wondering how long her Captain had been able to see her and hadn't said anything. It wasn't like she didn't pay attention! She paid more attention than Wales did!

"Honestly, she wasn't wrong." Tennant continued, a disapproving frown replacing the thin smile. His eyes trailed up and down the battlecruiser...in the way only an officer who was annoyed with what he saw could. "Frankly, you need to find a proper uniform."

That was the final straw. Repulse let out an incoherent cry of frustration, before turning on her heel and walking out of the room. She would find something that made sense again!

But...he sees me...



I'm making up for Sheo not updating NI, clearly. All the battlecruiser bullying.

Anyway, Force Z. And Repulse. This will tie in to the side story later, clearly.

Otherwise, I need to sleep.

Also, because when people decide to be dicks and say 'make your own fandom if you don't like the waifuism' I take it as a challenge
 
Chapter 43
Chapter 43
Miserable. Completely and utterly miserable. From bow to stern, Blücher was frozen. Men with hand tools chipped away at chunks of ice frozen to every part of her. Guns and turrets. Anchor chains frozen to the deck. Even her rangefinders were festooned with icicles. The German crew was hardly unfamiliar with cold, but even they were bundled up tightly. And still freezing.

Made one wonder how the men fighting ashore felt.

Or it would, were Blücher in any condition to care.

"Achoo!!"

As an explosive sneeze left her system, the cruiser was most assuredly not in any such condition. Blücher sniffled pitifully, a hand rubbing at her violet eyes. Her gaze drifting over to her Captain, who was studiously looking the exact opposite direction.

"Caaaaappppptttttaaaaaiiiiinnnn," the cruiser pouted, her voice stuffy and weak. "Can't we go home now? Pleaseeeee?" Fighting down another sneeze, the pink-haired girl grumbled a bit under her breath. "Norway was better than this."

Lange made no sign he heard the cruiser. No vocal sign, anyway. Blücher's watery eyes narrowed, when she saw a twitch of the man's lips. A very suspicious twitch of his lips, as his shoulders straightened back.

"Captain, don't make fun o--of--of--" Blücher couldn't finish her sentence, as a truly massive sneeze flew from her. A roar from her foghorn joined it, sending her crew scattering in confusion...even as pieces of ice fell crashing down on her deck. One enterprising sailor even jumped over the railing by a flak nest and caught a piece of ice in his hands as he fell.

That one was going to get a good drink later on.

For his part, Lange gave up on hiding his amusement. Deep chuckles rumbled up from his chest, as the dark haired officer turned his smile fully on his cruiser. An amused smirk, really. "Do you think you scared the birds enough, Blücher? Perhaps you should try louder next time?"

"Ve--very funny," the miserable girl mumbled back. Her pale hands brought her deep-red scarf up to her face, rubbing at her nose. Her face was a brighter pink than her hair, flushed by both cold and embarrassment. More so the former, to be fair. "You try having ice all over your body and tell me how y--you feel!"

"Oh I would, but I'm quite warm. Thank you for caring about your dear Captain, Blücher." The officer's smirk grew ever more amused. His own hands were firmly held in warm pockets, of a thick coat. Those poor fools in their trenches and tanks were freezing to death.

But, damnit, the Kriegsmarine actually cared about their officers! Just not their ships, apparently, as Blücher clutched her arms to her side. Perhaps a golden miniskirt and a sleeveless top wasn't the smartest clothing choice for this kind of weather? Who knew?

I thought I was done with the cold after Norway. Grumbling to herself, the pink-haired girl pulled her arms closer to her chest. Practically hugging herself now, she sent her Captain a huge pout. "Captain, can we at least go somewhere warmer?"

While a smile remained on his face, Lange shook his head. His smirk finally falling away, to be replaced by a semi-serious look. "You know we can't, Blücher."

"But why..."

That complaint was said in such a tiny, childish voice that Lange couldn't help but place his hand on the suffering cruiser's head. And give it a firm pat, ignoring the way it deepened her pout and blush alike.

"Our mission is out here, and you know that as well as I do." Giving one more pat, Lange removed his hand. His gaze trailing out over the foggy sea, to the blurred form of Nürnberg in the distance. The occasional flash of light the only sign that she was firing her guns at the shore. "Or would you rather be in port, having the English bomb us day and night?"

Despite herself, Blücher shuddered a little at the thought. "No...no I wouldn't be."

"Then you know why we're out here, and why you're frozen solid." Lange's deep voice held a trace of amusement once more, though it didn't last. Letting out a deep breath- that quickly fogged over in the cold air -the Captain turned away from the deck and began pacing the bridgewing. Deep in thought, as he looked at Blücher and her crew alike. "A better question is what we'll do to help the Admiral. You have any luck with the rest of the crew yet?"

Blücher sniffled a bit, her pale and very bare legs carrying her alongside her Captain. Moving at least kept her a little more warm. "Not really. I don't think they care about me enough. Inconsiderate little..."

As his cruiser grumbled, the Captain laughed at her almost...affronted reaction. "I feel as if I should point out that you have tossed a member of the crew overboard. What if Emden hadn't been there to pick him up?"

"He would have deserved it!" Blücher did not whine. Her violet eyes did glare though. "He did deserve it. The SS are all monsters after all."

Lange stopped moving long enough to kick a chunk of ice over the side, where it crashed down to the deck and drew muffled curses from the men on cleanup duty. Chuckling a bit at that, the Captain looked over his shoulder at the pink-haired girl by his side. "Did he though? And are they?"

"Captain?"

At the confusion in the girl's voice, Lange could only sigh. "Look, Blücher. My wife is at constant risk, all because of a little bit of Jewish history. I have every reason to hate the SS--"

"Then I'm right!" The cruiser was quick to declare, triumph in her violet gaze. "They are monsters!"

"--but that doesn't mean I don't know there are still good men in the SS." The Captain finished his sentence, raising an eyebrow at the way Blücher tugged her scarf over her mouth again. "Every organization can have some good men who are being misled."

It was his hope that this would get through to Blücher. She had a very black-and-white view of war. The Admiral was right, and everyone else was wrong. He couldn't really deny hating the SS himself.

He did live in constant fear that he would lose his wife.

However, he wasn't going to tar every German with the same brush. He couldn't. Some of his lifelong friends had joined, and he could hardly convince himself that all of them were evil men who had hid it from him. He liked to think he was a better judge of character than that. Or so Lange told himself. If he was actually right about them or not...well. That was a question for a different time.

As he took off his coat, and wrapped it around Blücher's shoulders. Giving the confused cruiser a warm smile as he did so.

"This being said, I was amused when you tossed that man overboard. I've wanted to do it myself more than once." Grinning at the girl's triumphant expression, Lange patted her shoulder. "Now if only he had drowned so I didn't have to listen to all his complaining...you know how much work that is?"

"I'm sure you're perfectly alright, Captain," Blücher sent the same smirk he had worn right back at him. She lifted her pink-haired head up imperiously, staring down her bright red nose at the older man. "If I ha--have to suffer like this, so do you!"

Lange could only laugh out loud, shaking his head at the girl's antics. She was certainly a handful!

Now, if only we can figure out how to get her off this ship. I'm sorry Admiral, but you need all the help you can get...



Gustav Schreiber shook his head in disbelief, "You can hardly be serious, can you?"

The old man's face was scrunched up in frustration, the lines across it growing ever deeper. He knew he had more lines since the last time he had seen this man, and the time-traveler could firmly state the man across from him looked older as well. And yet, Hans Oster was no worse for wear than he had been last. Despite being the very closest thing to a 'leader' the resistance in the Heer had.

"I assure you, I am." Oster took a sip from the tea in front of the men, leaning back in his richly upholstered chair. It had been his suggestion to hold this meeting in such an informal place as the General's hunting lodge. It helped remove suspicion if he was meeting with the 'war hero' while Bismarck underwent repairs before she joined her sister in Norway.

It didn't make it any less strange to see Oster set his cup down and smile thinly when he continued speaking. "What you are asking is madness, Herr Schreiber. Even for a man of your...stature. I'm sure you know you've set our plans back even further by your victory over that convoy and returning Bismarck home right under the nose of the Royal Navy."

Recreating the Channel Dash was not one of Schreiber's prouder moments. However, he knew staying in France was suicidal. So he had...done all he could. He needed to be closer to home.

That it allows me to intercept supplies to the Soviets is a secondary bonus. Much as I am loathe to admit it, even to myself.

Shaking his head, the Admiral stared at the General and began his counterpoint, "And you know that we have no choice. If we don't begin planning for a successor government now, it will not matter if we ever unseat the Führer." Schreiber clenched his hands tightly, his grip shaking slightly. "The British, and now the Americans, will never support us if we don't present a unified front."

"You aren't wrong." Oster sighed deeply, placing his tea back on the desk. The General leaned back, his hard featured face softening slightly. The deep furrows in his brow refused to fade, however. "I can see where you are leading me, Admiral. You are not quite as good at this game as you may think you are."

No, I am far better than you believe me to be. Schreiber returned the sigh, frowning now. "Then you understand how dangerous it is to allow the situation to continue as it is?"

Placing his hands on the desk, Oster leaned forward. Dark eyes stared into Schreiber, set in an imperturbable face. Oster never showed much real emotion in these meetings and had never once raised his voice. In that regard, at least, Schreiber knew he was outmatched. There was a reason this man had been as successful in the past as he had been.

"Between what you have done to the English and the successes in the East- I do believe Rommel just took a Russian army prisoner -it is harder now, than ever, to contemplate a coup." The slightly older man bored into Schreiber, not once letting up. Oster was soft spoken, but he rarely stopped before getting his point across. "Most of the Generals, even including those who are of like mind to us, are unwilling to do anything. The Russians have pushed us back, but it seems to be a temporary setback at most."

"It won't be." Schreiber muttered darkly. Flashes of men with oddly shaped helmets and Kalashnikov rifles slung over their shoulders flashed through his mind. He ruthlessly stamped down on the images.

If Oster noticed his reaction, the man didn't show it. "Perhaps. Even so, our support in the OKW is weaker than it has ever been, Herr Schreiber. If we moved now, it is entirely possible we would all be killed as traitors and the war would continue. Even if we succeeded in removing the entire leadership of the Führer's government."

"I am not suggesting that," Schreiber grimaced at the thought. It had occurred to him more than once. He had kept himself from moving against Hitler with the reminder that doing it before the man lost his 'touch' was only going to get him killed.

It was the only way he was able to stomach being near the man.

Sucking in a breath, the Admiral leaned back in his own plush chair. Nicer than any he had ever had himself...a reminder that he was working with the upper crust of pre-war German society, even if Oster didn't have a 'von' on his name. A bitter pill in its own right.

"What I hope to do, is connect our groups." Holding his hands up, the Admiral brought a finger down. "The Abwehr." Another finger followed. "The Generals in the Heer." A third. "The civilian groups." A fourth. "And the Kriegsmarine."

A sigh answered him, accompanied by a slow nod. "A reasonable goal to have, yet we have remained secure by doing the opposite, Herr Schreiber." It was the General's turn to hold up a hand, continuing their little sparring match as the sun shone thin beams through a covered window.

Those beams shadowed Oster's face, giving him an almost...dark...expression.

"The Gestapo has flaws. The SS has flaws. However, informants are everywhere. Tying our nets together only risks creating more leaks. For every man we contact, a dozen would inform on him. We have survived by avoiding contact." The Abwehr officer frowned deeply. "If a spy should find his way in, and implicates Beck...what then? Or perhaps a spy implicates your Captain on Bismarck. Would you trust him with your life?"

There was no hesitation. "No, I wouldn't."

Schreiber just did not know enough about Lindemann to trust him. He had taken a large enough risk with Lange, and thanked God every day it had not come back to hurt him.

"Of course. Just as I cannot trust some of the Communist groups." Oster's lip curled now, a very definite sign of distaste for the Communists. An expression that didn't vanish as he stood up and began to walk to the window. "I hardly even trust Goerdeler, most of the time."

With the man's back turned to him, Schreiber allowed a disgruntled look to flit across his face. This was what the Nazis had done to Germany. What the Soviets would do to Germany, if they ever occupied the nation. Made it where no one could trust anyone. Where every man could sell you out for a chance to get up in the world, or just to protect his own family. Or for something as selfish as money.

Schreiber hated it. He hated that this was what had become of the nation he loved. He hated that he couldn't save the country without working with men like this. He hated...he hated...

As quick as it came, the look vanished. His shoulders slumped down. There was no other choice, if his other plan did not work. He could only hope it did, while he continued to try to work his own path through the tangled web that was the German Resistance. At least he knew exactly who he could trust, even if he could never hope to remember all their names.

Oster...Canaris...Beck...Goerdeler...

"Now, Admiral Schreiber," still facing the window, Oster spoke up again. In a hard voice. "I have a good judgement on the Heer and Luftwaffe. The Kriegsmarine, however, I am not so certain. You claim that you have support."

Turning back around, Oster stared at Schreiber with narrowed eyes.

"However, how do you intend to deal with Raeder? He will never betray the Führer."

A thin smile crossed Schreiber's face, "That, my friend, I have no worries about. It is little secret that the Führer trusts me more than he trusts Raeder. I am confident I can use that."

Oster returned the smile, "Oh?"

"Let me work with the Navy, Herr Oster, and you with the Abwehr. Or was all that talk for nothing?" Schreiber raised a challenging eyebrow, blue staring into brown.

There was silence in the room, as the two men stared at the other. Silence...until Oster chuckled lightly, shaking his head in clear amusement. "I see you are better at this than you act, Gustav."

Schreiber let his smile fade, replaced by his own chuckle. "Indeed. Now, there are two subjects you should be aware of."

"Hmm?" Oster returned to his seat, whatever tension in the room vanishing as the man poured more tea.

"First, I have a connection in the British government." Schreiber almost relished the way Oster's hands shook for a second, before the man's iron self-control reasserted itself. The reaction was worth the stress. To fluster a man as hard to read as Hans Oster.

Placing the kettle down, Oster's attention was lazer-focused on his counterpart once more. "I see...and you kept this a secret? I understand the Abwehr has...flaws. Most put in there intentionally. However, this is quite a surprise, my friend."

Of course it was, considering that connection had been made through Bismarck.

"I am still working at convincing them to aid us," Schreiber clarified, before the other man got any ideas. "However, you will find not everyone in London is blind to our efforts. For all that that fat cigar-smoker says that he hates us, he would jump at the chance to keep the Soviets out of Western Europe all the same."

Even the hard-bitten Oster couldn't stop a snort at that description of Winston Churchill. It wasn't exactly inaccurate.

"As for how I made the connection...that is something I can't tell you. Though I imagine you will find out soon enough."

Schreiber's eyes lost their focus, as he remembered the rumors circulating about the Americans. The attack on Pearl Harbor...a week early and no matter how the Japanese tried to hide it, much worse for them. If nothing else, he doubted the Americans were lying about the damage they did. More importantly than that...they were horrible at hiding rumors. They probably let a few out because it was so unbelievable to just about everyone and would make people stop looking. Like those alien reports in the future.

He was not everyone.

Ship girls. If this is true, I can only wonder how my actions caused this. Smiling inwardly, Schreiber considered his situation. Yet, it is also helpful. It will be easier to sell my own situation to skeptics when this gets out.

"It's a shame you won't join the Abwehr, Admiral," Oster's voice was still cold, but there was an undercurrent of warmth now. "You would be quite an asset."

The Admiral waved his hand, "I am perfectly content where I am, thank you. Now..." Taking a sip of his own tea, Schreiber closed his eyes and prepared for his second bit of news.

It was only when the warm liquid soothed his throat, that the Admiral opened blue eyes and spoke.

"Secondly, I have begun to work with the Resistance groups in other nations." Schreiber would relish the gobsmacked look on Hans 'no reaction' Oster's face for the rest of his life. "Don't give me that look. You are acting to save the Jews as well, and that is all I am doing. I do believe another operation will be taking place in Amsterdam soon enough..."

And I hope you know what you are doing, old friend.



And there we go.

This fought me for several reasons.

1. It is hard to write stuff like this and make it believable.

2. It is equally hard to find motivation for KC stuff these days.

3. Things kept getting in the way.

Regardless, I hope people enjoy the chapter. I also hope I didn't lose many readers with this delay. I guess I'll see when the ratings start coming in, though the Schreiber chapters never do get quite as many...

(already working on the next one. That will be the 'Ground level' of the Resistance, if you will. Like I said, next couple are German chapters)


 
Chapter 44
Chapter 44

If Amsterdam was aware it was under occupation, the city showed no sign of it. Sure, there were less lights at night and prices for everything were going up each day. It was equally impossible to miss German troops marching through the streets and how people vanished every day. Yet, for every friend or uncle or sister who vanished, the Germans left many to their own devices. This was not France, nor was it Poland or Russia. Bombings were rare, open conflict even rarer.

If you could ignore the Germans, you could pretend that the war had never come to the Dutch city.

Unless you happen to be Jewish, of course.

The Jewish population in Amsterdam had it, relatively, easy. Even now. They were not deported nearly as often, they were still allowed to live in not-quite squalor, and the Dutch gentiles around them were much more kind than the Germans would have been. But it was impossible to forget that the Jewish quarter had been sealed off. That you were required to wear a star, marking you as a Jew for all to see. And that one twitch in the wrong direction...

"This is not the Germany I remember."

So spoke a young woman, as she tugged the high collar of her jacket up a tad. As much to deal with the cold, as to hide a hardening in her green eyes. It wouldn't do for a proper Aryan woman to complain about what was happening to Jewish untermenschen, would it? Especially with her comparatively thick northern German accent.

"I'm sure those your people have trod on would dispute that point, you know." An even thicker Dutch-accented voice reproached her, from the man walking by her side. Where the woman was tall and lean, he was short and thickly built. Where her hair was blonde, his was a dark black. And where she had a disapproving look, he wore nothing more than thinly-veiled anger.

"You aren't wrong," frustration leaked into the woman's voice, as she switched to flawless- if accented -Dutch. "The Admiral wasn't lying about this."

A snort answered that statement, a snort of mixed bemusement and annoyance. "Your Admiral at least knows what is happening. That is more than I could say for your countrymen."

Raising his hand imperiously, the man gestured across a canal to the walled off ghetto at the heart of Amsterdam. Barbed wire atop walls, that resembled nothing more than a prison. A prison walling off thousands of innocent people, for the crime of having a different religion.

What madman does something like this?

Green eyes turned away, as the woman looked down at the slowly churning waters of the canal. Little white eddies flowed around the few civilian craft allowed to ply the waters, as the sound of marching boots echoed up and down the streets. This city was not meant to be like this. Where were the lights and the happy markets?

Of course, she knew the answer to that. It was why she was here, as she turned to the Dutchman by her side. "We need to get in there fast. Your men are ready for this, aren't they?"

"But of course." The man gave a sardonic bow, a small smile crossing his face. One bereft of even the slightest joy. "Make no mistake, my German friend. Just because we don't actively resist as the French do, does not mean that my people are silent. We are simply...hiding in plain sight. They will be here."

"I hope they are. For the sake of those poor people."

Neither German nor Dutchman could argue on that point, as they both looked out at the ghetto. They couldn't save everyone, no. But this would be the first of many attempts to get in and out with at least some of the population.

It was the first blow against the Nazi regime, however small and insignificant it may be.

*********
"Mama! Papa!"

For those inside the Jewish quarter, life went on as it could. Children still played with their friends, even as they wondered where their other friends went. Parents told their children that everything was fine and that little Thomas was just away with family. It was a lie, of course, and they knew that. The adults knew that the walls and the Germans in their grey uniforms were there to keep them away from the 'proper' Dutch.

As if they hadn't been more or less equal for decades!

"Lisa, quiet down." One of those adults attempted to shush her little daughter, as the cheerfully innocent girl raced up to her.

"But Mama, someone wants to meet you!"

Even in the ghetto, in patched clothing that barely fit her, a little dark haired girl just couldn't be kept down. Her smiling face shone up at her mother, as a little arm waved at a woman dressed in what looked like a military uniform. That woman had a thin smile on her own face, though it didn't reach her eyes.

"I...see." Frowning now, the mother gently pulled her daughter behind her back. Everyone in the ghetto was at least passingly familiar by now, and she had never once seen this mystery woman. "Who are you, madam? My daughter is a handful, I'm sure, but surely she didn't..."

All the other woman did was raise a hand and wave off the words. "She wasn't a problem at all. I was actually hoping to find someone to talk to anyway."

If the Jewish mother was on edge before, she stiffened even further now. There were enough guards that she knew a German accent when she heard one, and this woman was clearly German. Not Dutch and certainly not a fellow Jew.

"Why? Why would you want to talk to a Juden?"

That was one German word she knew very well. It was shamefully displayed on her frayed dress and on her daughter's patched breast. As it was on all her family and everyone she had ever known.​

To her credit, the German winced slightly. "Alright, I did deserve that. But I'm actually here to help you."

"...you want to help?" Still suspicious, the woman stepped forward. Her eyes trailed across the German woman, taking in the scars on her face and the lean build. She was hardly the classic image of German beauty that the Nazis kept cheering for. Perhaps...well, what did she have to lose at this point? "My name is Sophie. You?"

If Sophie had relaxed, her counterpart remained tense and coiled as if she were a spring ready to snap. "Frieda. Frieda Hacke."

"Ok, Frau Hacke," that was another German word she had heard before. If less often. "Why are you here and how are you going to help me? Your people have taken everything but my wedding band and my family."

It was impossible to keep the bitterness out of her voice. Centuries had taught the Jewish people to not resist when something like this came, but things in Amsterdam had always been so good for her family...

"Get you out of here," Hacke didn't even hesitate. The thin smile on her face just thinned even further. A furtive glance looked for any sign of German troops, though there were none.

"Get us--get us out of our homes?" Sophie couldn't hide the shock in her voice, even if she wanted to. Her own blue eyes just widened as the words echoed in her head. "You want us to leave our homes, the one thing we still have!?"

It was too good to be true, after all. She's just like all the others, trying to take what we have. It wasn't enough to take everything else, now they want our homes?

And yet, Frieda Hacke only raised a finger to her lips. The scars across her cheeks and over her left eye twisted as her face scrunched up, giving her an even more imposing air than before. "Quiet! I'm not here to take anything from you, I'm here to save you!"

"From what?" Sophie's suspicious tone said everything she felt about that.

Hacke sighed, as her eyes continued to scan for any sign of other Germans, "That's a very, very long story. I didn't even know myself until...well, until recently. Please, hear me out. We don't have much time before my friends get here and we move. I want to get as many people out as I can."

Every instinct Sophie had told her she shouldn't listen to this woman. But when her daughter was tugging on her arm and looking up at her with such an innocent gaze...

"We can go to my husband." The Jewish woman finally relented, only hoping she wouldn't regret this choice.

********
To little Lisa Jansen, what her parents and Frau Hacke had talked about didn't matter. She didn't really understand it all that much, not at six years old. All she knew what that her mother had her gather up what little she had, and follow the pretty German woman out. Not that Lisa had that much! Just...just a little ragdoll that her Aunt Tess had made for her. Before she left and made Mama sad.

"Mama needs you to be quiet right now, honey," Mama smiled at Lisa, as she put her old coat on the little girl. "Can you do that?"

"Mhm!" Lisa nodded happily. But there was something... "Are you sad, Mama?"

Her mother twitched slightly, her own smile fading a bit. "I--everything's alright, Lisa. Come on, let's get going. We don't want to keep Frau Hacke waiting!"

Lisa didn't know what was bothering her Mama, but she also didn't let it bother her. Because her new friend was waiting with a smile of her own, her hand in her pocket.

"That's--is there nothing else?"

A smile that went away when she saw how little Mama and Papa were carrying. Lisa looked between her parents and the blonde German with a confused expression. Weren't they just going away for a little while? That's what Papa had said.

Papa's face had a frown on it. Just like he always did lately. "It's everything we have left. That we can carry, at least."

Frau Hacke shook her head, "I can't believe this. The Admiral told me to expect this but..."

If she was going to say anything else, she didn't get a chance. A harsh knock on the door revealed a short man with dark hair, who didn't look nearly as nice as the German. His eyes looked over Lisa and her family in a way that made her grab her Mama's hand and hide behind her. Even her mother's soothing voice didn't do much good, as the man began speaking with Frau Hacke in German.

"Shh...don't worry, we're okay..." Mama's hand squeezed Lisa's gently, as the man finished talking with her new friend and turned back to the little family.

"Come along now, quickly." The man's voice was harsh, but his Dutch flawless. It didn't help Lisa at all. "My friend here promises that we'll have sympathetic guards, but only if we go now."

Lisa's parents nodded, and began following the man and the German woman out through side streets, where more men and other families joined them. It was all a bit of a blur to Lisa, as she was jostled back and forth until a smiling Frau Hacke picked her up and started to carry her. The German woman didn't even seem to struggle that much, gently swinging the little Jewish girl back and forth. Lisa giggled at this, though her Mama looked a bit unhappy and her Papa was trying to stay beside her.

It went on like this for awhile, Lisa swinging in the German's arms while men with scary faces walked the families towards the big gates. Lisa had been told to stay away from those...her parents didn't want her to get hurt. But it didn't seem to bother her new friend all that much, as she moved quicker and went to the head of the little group.

"Can you be quiet for me, Lisa?" Frau Hacke whispered with a conspiratorial tone and a wink of her left eye. Even her scar didn't look that scary like this!

"I can!" Lisa promised with a wide grin, waving her dolls hand like she was shaking it.

The blonde smiled back, before turning her head up to the gate and adopting a serious frown. Lisa followed her look, and saw a couple of men in grey jackets with guns in their hands. Those men were looking over their shoulders and whispering with each other in German, something that Hacke began to do as well.

Lisa didn't speak German so she didn't understand what they were saying, though...

"Alright...that's not what I was hoping for." Frau Hacke switched back to Dutch, her eyes flicking down to Lisa, before moving back to the soldiers. Nodding seriously at those men, she turned around and headed back to the group of families. Specifically to Mama and Papa.

"Sophie, I need you to take your daughter back. My friends are keeping the way open, but that won't last very long. Someone's got to keep the other guards occupied at the edge of the city, or you'll not make it to hi...Louis." Shaking her head slightly, the German sat Lisa down gently and looked over at the scary man with dark hair. "You know what to do, right?"

The man nodded, "Of course. Don't worry, as long as the guards don't see us, we'll be fine. We know Amsterdam like the back of our hands and we've already removed the stars from their clothes. What about you?"

Frieda Hacke smiled grimly, as her hand pulled out a pipe from her pocket. She gently tapped it against her palm, looking back at the guards. One of them holding a spare gun out to her. "Oh, don't worry about me. I've fought worse odds than this before and come out the other side."

"There's a story there." For the first time, the scary man actually smiled.

The blonde laughed, her long blonde hair bouncing with the motion, "A very long story indeed. Maybe I'll tell you, some day."

As the man laughed back and started to gather the families up, Frau Hacke leaned down and gently patted Lisa on the head. "Stay with your parents, alright? I want to finish our talk, one of these days."

"Will you be alright, Miss Hacke?" Lisa's voice was every bit as tiny as she was, as she looked up at her new friend with teary eyes. They'd only just met each other...

With a smile, Hacke stood back up and nodded sharply. "You can count on it. Now go, Louis will take good care of you. Tell him I'll be along shortly!"

And with those parting words, the blonde put her pipe back in her pocket. Her free hands tied her long hair back, before taking the rifle the German guard offered her. The last thing Lisa saw of her friend was the back of her head, as she walked into the distance.



Decided to split this one in two parts, for pacing purposes. Next chapter we'll get the families to their safe haven and continue with Hacke's bit of the story. Like I said, this bit is going to be 'ground level' stuff. Small scale, mostly revolving around saving a handful of Jewish families...but that's how the Resistance will operate for a long time. There isn't much more than this they can do, at the height of Hitler's popularity.
 
Chapter 45
Chapter 45
This looks like a good spot...just need to move a few things first.

Frieda Hacke would be the first, the very first, to admit that her experience in combat like this was lacking. The rifle in her hands felt heavy in a way that few other things did. Rough wood ground against her palms, with each and every movement. Part of her was convinced she'd accidentally shoot someone. Part of her worried that she couldn't shoot at all. If she were being entirely honest...that was the larger part.

Bravado.

It had all been bravado when she said this was okay. Fighting like this was nothing like what she had done before. It hadn't been a lie, not really, that she went through worse. But now she was in control and it was only her fighting. It wasn't the same. How could it be? There was a world of difference between fighting alone and fighting together.

"Calm yourself, Frieda. Calm..." Sucking in a deep breath, the blonde woman gently set her borrowed Mauser down. The rifle loomed large in her vision, even leaning against a wall. But her hands didn't shake, as she tied her hair back more tightly into a ponytail. "Right. Hans said that the garrison would probably be patrolling through here."

Green eyes snapped towards a broken window, scanning for any sign of men in Feldgrau marching past. This was the route the refugees had taken, and Frieda had no intention of letting them be caught. She just had to...fight.

No problem. Not at all.

Idle hands moved pieces of furniture around, setting up a barricade around the window. Fighting cover and a firing position, that the Mauser was soon set upon. Pieces of fabric were wrapped around the barrel, further camouflaging it from sight. If anyone looked at the house, they'd see a Jewish home that had long since been looted and left abandoned. Or so Frieda hoped, as she settled in to wait for any sign of...anyone.

Waiting. Ha. She was someone who charged at her problems. Not someone who just waited.

"You would be so bored, wouldn't you, Franz...?"

No words answered her. And yet, Frieda wore an ever so slight smile. Just a twitch of her lips, as warmth spread through her body. No. She didn't hear anything, but as she settled down for the long wait, she could feel a hand on her shoulder. Gently supportive, just like she always remembered...

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

"Those Juden must have come through here. Keep looking!"

Frieda's head snapped up, blinking away drowsiness. Thin rays of sunlight shone through her window. The sign of a setting sun, and the sign of approaching darkness. If these men had taken any longer she may not have had to fight at all. Wouldn't that have been grand?

Well. Nothing for it.

Creeping silently to the window, Frieda's hands gently gripped her rough rifle as her green eyes scanned the field below her. It didn't take long for her sharp gaze to land on men marching in loose formation. A Gestapo man at the front, waving forward distinctly uninterested Heer occupation troops. Despite herself, that brought a smile to her face.

He probably dragged them out of cushy beds---or cushier Dutchwomen. Snorting softly, Frieda shook her head. These men weren't sailors...but they probably still acted like men. I doubt any of them are interested in hunting down runaway Jews. But that Gestapo man...

"Move it! If those runaways escape, you all will answer directly to Herr Seyss-Inquart!" The man in question seemed far more invested in his work, to put it mildly. Any amusement Frieda felt faded away, when that man glanced in her direction.

He didn't see her.

Yet the deadness in his eyes shook her to the core. There was no spark...nothing at all. Nothing but a fanaticism that transcended borders and drove men to hunt their fellows for no reason but being different.

"Franz...are these the men who succeeded us? Is this what we fought for?" Frieda whispered, her grip on the rifle tightening to the point wood creaked ominously in her hands. She couldn't believe it.

"And if I ever find out which one of you let those Juden free, you will wish you had died in battle for our Reich! And I will make you watch as those runaways are puni..."

Crack

Frieda hadn't even realized she had fired, until the Gestapo man spun to the ground. His dead eyes vanishing in a spray of pink mist, cut off mid-sentence. Chaos reigned among the Heer soldiers, men screaming and barking out orders. Some of the troops dropped to the ground, others to their knees. To a man, however, they scanned for where the shooter had fired from.

And with shaking hands, Frieda pulled the bolt back on her Mauser.

I...I didn't even realize I shot. When did I...

"Watch the house!" A substantially more alert Lieutenant barked, waving forward a pair of rifleman. "Joachim, Friedrich! I want you two at the front...break down the door if you have to."

"Jawohl!"

Forcing her hands to steady, the blonde German aimed her rifle at one of those two men. Her eyes looked down a suddenly tight sight, zeroing in on a man younger than many she had known in the past. Too young. She could see determination in his handsome features, as he ran forward. Directly at her...

Once more, the rifle bucked against her shoulder.

"Joachim!" An anguished voice cried out, as Frieda ducked behind her barricade. Her Mauser fell in her lap, the barrel smoking while a fusillade of rifle fire began to batter against her window.

Whoever said it sounded like the patter of hail was lying. She could hear the cracks and rattles of bullets battering through wood. That cover wouldn't last long. And as a bullet blew right past her ear, Frieda realized that very well.

Have to move. Have to move.


Rising on unsteady legs, Frieda threw herself out of the room's doorway. Her body crashed against a railing, the Mauser tangled in her dress. She barely even noticed. Scrambling for safety, her steps were frantic and chaotic in their every movement--breaths came in short gasps that belied real fear. Frieda Hacke was afraid and didn't even deny it.

The image of that young soldier falling in shock refused to leave her. Battle was supposed to be at long distance...she wasn't supposed to see someone die like that!

"We won't let that bastard get away!" Angry voices echoed up from the first floor. When had they gotten there?

"Window is covered, sir!"

"Good. Frederich, you know what to do!"

With a mounting sense of dread, Frieda clutched her rifle tight to her chest and looked for some way out of the building. She couldn't go out the front. She couldn't go out the window. Where...

'If you don't have a way out, make a way out.'

Those words weren't her own. Yet, it brought a thin smile to her scarred face. Make her own way out...right! Despite the fear still raging in her mind, Frieda turned away from the sound of men battering their way against a door, and turned to the wall opposite her. To anyone else, it was just a wall. To her, it was a way out.

With her Mauser safely secured, Frieda sucked in a deep breath...and ran.

"What in the wo---"

A soldier attempting to flank the building only managed to get a few words out, before he was crushed underneath a woman jumping from it. Frieda winced at the impact, but quickly got to her feet. The man beneath her was in no shape to call for help, and the others didn't seem to realize she had escaped.

I can't fight them anymore. This should keep them occupied, at least. Louis, I hope you are ready to hide everyone.

Frieda Hacke couldn't bring herself to fight so soon. With a hand gripping her pipe tightly, the blonde woman looked up at the hole she had made in the wall...before she took off running. There was a river in the distance she could use to hide, and so long as the Heer troops were too busy looking for her, they wouldn't be looking for the escapees.

That was her hope, at least. If this worked then maybe, just maybe, they could do it again. And maybe then they could see a Germany that Franz and the others she fought with would be proud of.

"Admiral, I hope you know what you're doing here. I really do."

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

Far away from any combat, and safe in their anonymity, the Jewish escapees marched through a light forest. The Dutch Resistance men that were guarding them knew the lay of the land, to say the least. Despite the lack of real trails, the road was hardly uncomfortable or remotely dangerous. That didn't make the path any easier though.

"Mama...I'm tired." Little Lisa clutched her Mama's hand tightly, as she stumbled a little on a root.

"I know baby," Sophie soothed her daughter, her own face streaked by tears. "I need you to be strong, okay?"

"Mmm."

Smiling at her daughter, Sophie turned her eyes on the dark-haired man by her side. The evident leader of the Dutchmen, he hadn't given his name or even really spoken much. He was more of a mystery than Frieda Hacke had been, and that was saying something considering Germans had done nothing but make life hard for the Jews in Amsterdam. This man...he clearly was dedicated to helping them, but not one step more.

As if he realized she was staring, the Dutchman turned his head. Dark eyes stared at Sophie, as an eyebrow raised up in a silent question. Despite a blush crossing her face, Sophie stared right back.

"Where are we going?" Her voice was short, shorter than she may have intended.

With how long they had been trudging through this forest, one could hardly blame her.

"Somewhere safe," the dark-haired man was annoyingly vague, however. Perhaps understanding that, a thin scowl crossed his face. "Some German nobleman is taking you all in." As he finished speaking, the man snorted at the very idea.

Sophie couldn't believe what he said, "A--noble? Why is there a German noble here?"

"Good question."

Without another word, the Resistance soldier turned back to following the path. Leaving a confused Sophie to follow along, with her husband placing a hand on her shoulder. His handsome face was filled with concern, when she turned to look at him. Concern for her and for their family, walking into the unknown on the word of a German woman.

It wasn't hard to see he was uncomfortable with the idea, "Sophie...we need to be careful here. I don't trust them. Do you?"

Biting her lip, Sophie sighed. "I don't know." Despite her worry, she smiled at her husband and squeezed her daughter's hand. "We weren't exactly in a good place anyway, were we?"

"Hard to deny that point." Her husband laughed softly. A laugh tinged with sadness that both husband and wife felt. They had never told their daughter, but her friend was never coming back.

It was an unspoken secret among the Jews in Amsterdam. They knew that when someone vanished, they weren't coming back. Either shipped to a labor camp or killed. It was only decades, if not centuries, of learning to live under questionable conditions that kept the Jewish population from fighting back. That, and the Council told them that non-resistance was the only option. It was a polite fiction when everything they knew was taken from them.

Leaving like they had was the only chance there was to escape. Assuming, of course, that they weren't being lead to the Gestapo anyway. It was a risk they had to take. Stay and know they could die at any second, or trust that they may stand a chance of surviving if they left. Not much of a choice in the end, was it?

It never was a choice at all.

Sighing softly, Sophie leaned down and gently picked her daughter up. She didn't know what Hacke had been, to so easily carry the girl. But...

"Mama?" Lisa stared curiously at her mother, clutching her little doll tightly.

Sophie just smiled, "You can rest like this, dear. Let Mama carry you for a bit, alright?"

Her daughter smiled back, letting her head come to rest on Sophie's bosom. The Jewish woman gently hummed an old lullaby, swaying her hips to match the tone. Her husband's hand on her shoulder soothed her as she soothed her daughter. And the rest of the little group of families? Much the same scene played out among all of them, as they walked towards a clearing in the distance.

A clearing where a man and woman stood, with two German soldiers on either side of them. The Resistance men tensed slightly, though the Jews hid whatever they were feeling.

"Is that Louis?" Sophie wondered aloud, sending a furtive glance at her husband. He sent a short shrug back.

The man in the lead, tall and dark-haired, stepped forward. He certainly carried himself as a nobleman. His back was ramrod straight and his posture unforgiving. This was a man who was used to formalities and at home in performing them. Despite the fact he was young. He couldn't be older than his mid-thirties. And yet...

"Hello, everyone. Would I be correct in assuming that Frau Hacke sent you?"

...his voice, thick German accent or not, was kind. A smile was on his face, and it even reached his eyes. Despite the soldiers at his side being much more serious, this was a man who was doing is best to be welcoming. It was a nice change from the Resistance men and the German soldiers in Amsterdam. It didn't put Sophie entirely at ease...but then, few things would.

At least this man seemed kind.

"Yes, they are." The short Dutchman answered for everyone, staring distastefully at 'Louis'. No love lost there. "Hacke sends her regards. She stayed behind to delay the pursuit."

Louis' smile faded slightly. "I see," he raised a hand to his face, rubbing at his brow. A deep sigh escaped him. "She's just like father told me her commander was. Well, I'm sure she'll be alright."

Forcing his smile back, the nobleman looked past the Dutchman and towards the Jewish escapees. His eyes lingered on little Lisa, who was staring at him with undisguised curiosity. They soon moved on, however, though his smile seemed a little stronger.

"In any case, welcome to you all. I have set aside some housing for you all, though I do request you stay inside for now. My family has some clout with the Nazi officials, but I would rather not test them if I can avoid it." Here, his voice lost any levity it may have had. Louis was deadly serious. "I promise you that, so long as we are careful, they will never find you. This entire area is off any maps and completely secure, if we are careful."

There were murmurs of assent from the tired Jews, many of them just wanting to set their belongings down and rest. Sophie wasn't immune to that herself.

"Good. My wife, Kira, will show you around." At that, Louis turned and smiled at the woman by his side. She smiled back, smoothing down her dress.

"Come along now, if you please." Her accent was even thicker than Louis, with a tone to it that Sophie didn't recognize. Her dark hair bounced in ringlets down her back, as the pretty woman waved the tired refugees forward.

Moving with the rest of the group, Sophie couldn't hide her relief at being safe. A hint of worry for Hacke was there, if only for her daughter's sake. But most of her was just happy to be out of the ghetto and somewhere where she may finally relax. Louis seemed nice and trustworthy...and frankly, she had no choice but to trust him.

And as Kira lead her to a little shack, she could only hope that this was the right choice.

Frau Hacke...you had better come back. I have to talk to you about all of this.



It has been entirely too long since I wrote ground combat. Regardless, here we go. More hints on Frieda and Louis, and we move the plot forward. Next chapter will either round out Germany or move back to the Pacific. We'll see which direction the muse pushes me, TBH.

Also, Holding the Line updated too.
 
Chapter 46
Chapter 46
"Captain Thompson...Captain...wake up!"

A deep groan echoed in a ruined room. Soot blackened hands were caught by pristine gloves, pulling a man out of a pile of rubble. James Thompson stood on unsteady feet, his body propped up against a shorter woman at his side. She didn't give any signs of caring about her black uniform, as concerned amber eyes looked up at the young Captain. Thompson gave a weak smile in response, as his own gaze turned out at a flaming harbor and diving planes.

"Ar--are you okay?" The short woman whispered, concern in every one of her actions. Her hands quickly running down the Captain's side, looking for any sign of a wound.

Thompson took those hands, and pulled them away. No time. "I'm fine, Shiratsuyu. What about you? And ever--"

Here, his voice choked up. Not because of the smoke. Because his clouded vision finally cleared and showed a hellscape before him. Fires burned freely, as screaming voices rang in his head. Planes dove onto ships in harbor, bombs falling freely onto burning hulks. What little return fire was limited and completely unable to stop what amounted to a complete surprise attack.

And as a massive explosion rang over the harbor, the Captain clenched his fists so tightly it drew blood.

"How did they...?" Shaking his head violently, Thompson turned to the destroyer by his side. "Shiratsuyu, I need you to find help. I've got to get to Stethem and do something."

"Captain, what if--" Shiratsuyu trailed off, before a much more serious expression crossed her face. She knew her duty. "Don't worry, Captain. The number one destroyer won't fail you!"

The Captain could only smile thinly and nod in response. "Go! And make sure you don't get hit too!"

With a snapped off salute, Shiratsuyu did exactly that. Her lean legs carried her away into the flames raging over the harbor, while Thompson turned and set off with a purpose of his own. As bombs detonated around him and missiles raced into the air, he knew what he needed to do. Defend Yokosuka, even if he was the only one who could do it.

He had to.

Shiratsuyu and the others were fighting. He had to fight as well.

'I can't let them fight alone. They're my friends now. I need to protect them...'

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

With a heavy sigh, Admiral Thompson turned away from the memories. The fires of Pearl no longer spewed smoke, but he could still smell everything. Cali's wreck no longer glowed red, but he could still see Roosevelt reflected in her broken frame as much as memories of Ari. Everything was still so familiar.

He wished it didn't have to be.

And it's only going to get worse as things go. Pearl won't be hit again, but how many times am I going to see a carrier come in here? A destroyer or a cruiser or a battleship? How many times am I going to see Sara get hurt?

And how many times was he going to hurt someone else? He tried so very hard not to think of that, but when his eyes landed on a wrecked Zero or Val, it became...

"Don't think about that, James," Thompson viciously cut that line of thought short. Think not, worry not and he couldn't show that worry. "Now, I need to find Richardson..."

With his feet on solid ground, the Admiral felt almost lost. He had become so used to being on Sara's hull, it almost felt strange to be ashore in Pearl again. The last time...the last time was when he met that nisei man who had reminded him just how different the time was to what he remembered. Now that man was gone. Or hiding, because the majority population of Hawaii was...less than pleased with the Japanese.

He couldn't exactly blame them, either, however much it hurt. These weren't Abyssal attacks, this had been other humans. It was the first time he had experienced an attack like that himself...

"Thompson!"

Silently thankful for the distraction, the Admiral turned his head. Richardson looked significantly better than he had before, with a new pair of spectacles and a neatly pressed uniform. There remained an almost haunted look to his sunken eyes, however, and he walked with a slight limp. The older man hadn't gotten out of the attack unscathed.

"I was just looking for you, sir." Thompson forced a smile onto his face, while he walked over to the other officer. A distraction, and a worry answered. "I've heard that the President worked you over the coals, if you'll forgive the metaphor."

Richardson's own gruff face twisted into a sardonic smile, "You wouldn't be the first to use it. Bull was more eloquent."

Just imagining what Bull Halsey probably said was enough to get the young Admiral's mind on a happier subject. The man was unique, for sure!

"At any rate, I've been relieved of my position as CinCUS." Richardson didn't sound very bitter about that. More resigned than anything, as he rubbed at his brow. Resigned or not, his gaze was sharp when he looked at Thompson. "Apparently word of my 'heroics' during the attack made me a bit of a hero back home, however, so I am still in command of the Pacific Fleet."

"That's a relief to hear, sir." Thompson hid his own feelings well. He had done a lot of that work. Nimitz may or may not have replaced Richardson, and if he had, the man was more than up to the job. However, Thompson knew Richardson personally. The man was willing to work with him and his more unorthodox ideas.

Was it a bit selfish of him? Yes. Could it backfire? Maybe.

"I can't imagine anyone else leading this fleet."

But Thompson didn't want to try reforging a relationship with Nimitz, and he wasn't sure if Kimmel was up to the job. And as far as he knew, it would have been Kimmel replacing Richardson all over again.

Richardson grunted a bit, though an ever so slight smile tugged at his lips. "Perhaps, perhaps not. I won't be doing much of the leading. That will be up to men like you, Thompson, and Bull. Speaking of which...follow me."

With his boots clicking hard on the burnt concrete underfoot, Richardson walked right past Thompson. His inexorable footsteps taking him towards the harbor itself, where salvage crews continued to laboriously work at stabilizing the damaged battleships...and collecting bodies from the sunken wrecks. It was a thankless task and Thompson had been studiously avoiding looking at it.

He didn't have a chance now. Standing beside Richardson with oily water lapping at the pier beneath him, the Admiral had to look. At the wrecked battleships and Sara sitting in the distance. It still felt like a cold fist, clenching around his heart. Squeezing and tearing.

All that work, and it still happened. Again.

There was more than one meaning to that, as the Admiral roughly tugged his uniform coat down. If only to have his hands doing something.

"The fleet won't be ready to really fight for a very long time." Richardson's rough voice, never quite recovered from the orders he shouted that day, rang in Thompson's ears. The older man didn't turn around, instead looking out at Sara. "With the exception of the carriers. Bill is already out there with Enterprise and Lexington. King is going to send over Yorktown soon enough, maybe even Hornet too."

Deeply sighing, Richardson shrugged his shoulders. He turned around and gave Thompson a sharp look, while raising a hand up to grip the younger man's arm tightly.

"We need you out there, sooner than later. Wake held off the first attack, though I admit to not knowing why the Japs didn't use their carriers." He couldn't possibly know how bad the Japanese were about using planes between their airwings, could he? Expert or not. "Regardless, I don't want to risk them taking that island. If we lose Wake, Midway is the only thing between them and Hawaii. Get Saratoga out there and reinforce that garrison, Thompson."

With a wary nod, Thompson asked the obvious question, "And what kind of support will I have?"

"Bill is sending Enterprise to help the operation. Lexington will be a distraction."

So essentially the same as the original plan, only this time with Little E for support and the Japanese carriers hurting badly from the Pearl operation. Thompson still didn't like the odds all that much, but if any crew could do it...

"Understood, sir. I'll start making the preparations right away."

...he knew that Sara could. He just needed to figure out how to get orders to Thach quicker. Maybe...maybe.

I didn't want to do this, but with Utah, is there any point in keeping a secret anymore? Was there ever a point, really, to keeping them from contacting anyone else?

And what about Enterprise? Is she really ready for this? I know what she can do, but what it took to get her to that point...

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Blissfully unaware of what was coming, Enterprise still felt a chill run down her spine every time she looked at her beloved Admiral. The man who was more a father to her than her own designer. The man she had always looked up to and constantly tried to emulate, no matter what.

And right now, he honestly scared her.

"Any sign of Jap planes?" Bull Halsey's normally gruff voice was deathly quiet and flat. There was next to no inflection in his words.

"Not yet, sir."

Halsey nodded sharply, turning his eyes out at the silent waves around the carrier. There had been no contact with any Japanese planes or ships since they had left Pearl. And it wasn't without effort being put in either! Enterprise and her pilots were working themselves spare, trying to find some sign of someone to fight. There just hadn't been anything worth reporting.

It was like the Japanese were gh--ghosts. How ironic.

I'm not her. I'm me.

Enterprise gently set a hand on Halsey's arm, as much to comfort herself as try and get her father's attention. Admiral Thompson's stories of the Grey Ghost made a lot more sense now.

"Admiral...shouldn't we rest a bit? We won't find them like this, w-will we?" Little E didn't flinch when Halsey looked at her, but she did tighten her grip on his arm a bit. The always rough-featured man was clenching his square jaw tightly, and his eyes were narrowed down on the carrier. "I'm sorry! I just think we should rest a little! My pilots are getting tired and I don't want them to be hurt and we probably--"

For the first time since Pearl, Bull Halsey allowed the slightest of smiles to cross his lips. A thin smile, that wasn't very genuine...but a smile nonetheless.

"George...I want you to gather up the squadron leads in the ready room. I think it's about time I told them something." Halsey may have looked at Enterprise, but his words were directed at her Captain.

A very confused George Murray, who nodded slowly, "Will do, Admiral. Is this something I should know about?"

Halsey turned away from an equally confused Little E, and raised an eyebrow at the Captain. "You'll be in there too, George."

"Ah. Right, I'll gather everyone up, Admiral."

With a short nod, the Captain stepped out of the bridge, while Halsey followed. Enterprise trailed behind a short distance, more out of confusion than anything else. Confusion that didn't fade much, when the Admiral stepped into an empty room, and gestured her to follow. Clearly he wanted to talk to her alone before they met her pilots.

And she didn't even know why they were doing that!

"Enterprise. You've been quiet ever since we left." Halsey didn't mince words, as usual, when he turned away from the porthole and looked at her. His expression was a mix of hardness and exasperation that didn't seem to fit him all that well. "You're never quiet, so I want to know why. Now."

The young carrier idly toyed with her blonde hair, grown out to past her shoulders now. She had started wearing it longer on a whim, though now it gave her hands something to do while she nervously looked up at her Admiral and father-figure. "...."

"Enterprise. You damn well know I want to know if something is ever wrong." Bull grumbled, without any real bite. He may not have softened his expression, but he could never yell at this girl. Not seriously. "If you aren't operating well, the entire crew is in danger. And I will not endanger my boys like that."

"I..." Enterprise straightened her shoulders and let her hands drop. She wanted his respect as much as his care for her. Yet, the carrier would never get that if she couldn't stand up for herself. "I'm worried about you, Admiral."

Silence met her statement. Enterprise felt herself shrinking into her shell a little, while Bull Halsey just stared at her. Stared and stared. If she didn't know better, she'd say she broke him or something. But no.

This was just Halsey clearly thinking over what she had said.

"You...you're worried about me." Halsey finally spoke, with more confusion than annoyance in his voice. Genuine confusion. "Why in the hell would you be worried about me?"

Little E shrugged minutely, "You sc--scared me a little, sir. When you said that thing about Japan and the way you've been acting since we left port. I don't like it when you act like that..."

Instead of going silent this time, Halsey just laughed. Deeply and genuinely laughed. To the point he had to lean against the wall, while Enterprise took her turn to stare in silent shock. Was it something she said? Was it something she did? Why was he laughing?! It kind of made her feel like she was an idiot or something!

What was it?

"I forget how young you are, Enterprise." Halsey trailed off, crossing his arms over his chest. The smile on his lips defused that motion, though, and just made it clear he was amused now. "Goddamnit, you didn't understand, did you?"

"Understand what?" Enterprise didn't pout. Not at all. She scowled and crossed her own arms, turning her head away a bit. How could her Admiral laugh at her like that?

Halsey seemed even more amused when he continued, "Because that was all an act. Now, don't get me wrong. I'm angry at the Japs and I hate them for what they did." There was no amusement in those words. Just cold steel. "But everything else is an act. The crew expects me to act like that, so I do. I'm playing it up to keep morale going."

Deflating a bit, Enterprise sat down against the hatch. All her energy had fled away. Halsey didn't make any move to sit beside her, though he did walk over and lean against the wall next to her. His calloused hand came down on Enterprise's head, ruffling her hair underneath her hat. Despite herself, the little girl leaned into the gesture. It was always so soothing when he did that...she couldn't help it. It sent a warm feeling through her entire body.

It didn't match how it felt to just be sitting here with him by her side, though. She truly loved her father, her Admiral. And she wouldn't trade these moments for anything.

"It's not all an act, of course." The old Admiral continued. A soft sigh escaping his lips. "That's just how I am, and you should know that by now, Enterprise. I'll always want to hit hard, hit fast and..."

"Hit often." Enterprise finished the sentence, with a small smile crossing her face beneath red eyes.

Halsey nodded absently, "Exactly. Now, the reason I'm playing it up is because the crew needs something to keep them focused. Most of them are every bit as angry as I am, and anger doesn't focus well in combat. They'll burn themselves out and make mistakes, unless I give them a focus. So I keep them working."

Here, the Admiral stopped patting Enterprise's head and looked directly down on her. She, by contrast, looked up. Red met blue, ship met Admiral. And both of them knew exactly what the other was thinking.

"Though, I admit that I'm not really lying when I say I want the Japs to burn in hell for that attack." Halsey's smile had turned distinctly predatory now. "If we can give them a little kick on that road, by all means, we should do it."

Enterprise nodded, though part of her was still...well. Reluctant. She knew the Japanese would be their allies, in the future, so she couldn't quite go as far as her Admiral.

She hoped she never had a reason to change her mind on that.

"I think I understand a bit more, sir." Still, she smiled at her Admiral. Though one question was still in the back of her mind. "Oh! What are you getting my pilots for? I forgot to ask about that..."

Predatory smile replaced by amused smirk, Halsey pulled his 'daughter' to her feet and pushed her at the hatch. "It's high time we introduced you to the squadron leads. We'll work much more efficiently if everyone can talk to you. Sure as hell we won't get caught with our pants down like Pearl did."

"Whaaaaaaa!"

Enterprise's panicked cry echoed through her hull, sending more than one head on a swivel and giving her engineer nightmares for a month.



Little E still a cute. Not really much different there, perhaps, but it's something the character I have would do. I feel.

(though I am rusty with her and Halsey. Hopefully that worked well enough >.>)

As for the rest, we're back in the Pacific. Not a whole lot of changes yet, but that'll start getting more and more different once ABDA gets into swing and as we move forward. Plus there's the whole Utah thing.

Also, a bit of Thompson background. I was already planning on elaborating on that one since I gave some hints back when he arrived at Pearl.
 
Chapter 47
Chapter 47

"Move move move! Get your asses into a foxhole now, unless you want a Jap to shoot it off!"

Clutching his rifle tightly to his chest, a young Marine barreled out of his barrack and towards a line of trenches dug into the harsh sand of Wake Island. All around him, his fellow Marines panted and huffed as they ran to shelter. The dull thump of naval shell fire echoed over the crunch of sand underfoot, and it was all the young man had to not look up. If he looked up, he would see shells arcing into the island behind him. He may even catch a glimpse of Wildcats struggling for altitude in the sky.

But he would probably die doing it.

Goddamnit. Fuck fuck fuck.

Diving into his foxhole, the Marine hurriedly pulled his helmet on, and stuck his head over the lip of the sandbag covering it. His dull eyes, sleep deprived and sunken, saw ripples of fire out in the Pacific. Fire that was centered on a formation of Japanese cruisers and destroyers, sleek grey hulls pumping explosives into the defiant American positions.

"Can't hit the broadside of a barn, can they?" A wisecracking voice spoke from beside the Marine, drawing his eyes away from the Japs and towards his partner in the foxhole. His annoying partner.

"Few hundred pounds of TNT doesn't care if it lands on your head, or the block over."

Smirking slightly, the other Marine shrugged his shoulders. "Hell, if that happens, at least it'll be quick eh? Lighten up, Miller."

Corporal Steven Miller resisted the urge to snark back, settling instead for rotating the bolt on his Springfield. Once he was content in the knowledge the old rifle was loaded, he sighed softly. Davidson was a smartass, only because he was as worn out and stressed as anyone and needed an outlet. He needed to remember that.

After he decked him, if they lived through this, of course. Priorities and all that.

"Do you think the Japs are actually going to try landing this time?" Davidson sobered up, somewhat, with his own rifle gently settled in its firing position. His eyes were every bit as dull as Miller's, as they looked over at him from under a dented helmet. "I mean, this is more than usual."

Miller spared a glance at the distant Japanese ships, scanning for any sign of troopships or landing craft. Hm. "Hell if I know. They didn't like the last time we did this, but they've taken out most of our guns now."

"Too bad we didn't get 'ole Sara's 8-inchers." The snarky marine sent back, with a grim smirk on his lips.

Doubt that would have helped much. Japs would have just hit them first.

Without replying, Miller ducked on instinct. That probably saved his life, as a shell exploded near the trench. Razor sharp shrapnel ricocheted over the heads of the Marines...and through a few unfortunate men. The beach was dyed red with blood, while Miller coughed up sand.

"Fucking Japs." He spat, as much out of frustration as to clear his mouth. "Where's our support, anyway?"

"A few days away, and you know that."

It wasn't Davidson, who was cradling his head after a piece of a shell pinged off his helmet, who said that. Miller turned his head, eyes widening ever so slightly.

Major James Devereux stared right back, seemingly nonplussed by the fire around him. "Something wrong, Marine?"

"No sir!" Miller snapped out on instinct, resisting a similar instinct to salute the officer. Devereux was popular with the Marines on Wake...it was his idea that had sunk that tin-can, the first time the Japs tried landing.

"Hmph." Devereux jumped fully into the foxhole, placing a hand on the groaning Davidson's shoulder. "I want you to get that looked at, soon as you can, Marine." As Davidson nodded an affirmative, the Major turned back to Miller. "Is your weapon loaded, Corporal?"

"It is, sir!"

With a small smile, Devereux nodded. "Good. The Japs are preparing for a landing, and I don't want them to set one foot on this island. You hear me?"

There was no need for a vocal reply this time, as a different sound echoed over the roar of gunfire. The sound of motors.

"And here they come." The Major had a grim look on his face, as he patted Miller on the shoulder this time. "Do your duty, Marine."

Nothing more was said, as Devereux moved to another foxhole, and Miller turned his attention to the Japs approaching. Landing craft were covered by two dinky little destroyers, racing ashore as quickly as they could. Black smoke belched from a single stack as the low-lying warships seemed determined to charge in, no matter what was shot at them.

Considering the Marines only had one five-inch gun operational, they didn't need to worry about that.

"Hold your fire, Marines!" Devereux's voice echoed over the trenches. The voice of a commander who was willing to be among his men, in their darkest hour. "Wait until you see a Jap to shoot. We aren't wasting ammo on things we can't kill, are we?"

"No sir!" A chorus of voices answered.

"Remember, we're United States Marines. We shoot to kill. We train to be the best shots in the entire goddamn world. We will not miss, if we have a target!"

"Ooh rah!"

Miller let a smirk cross his lips, while Davidson finally crawled back up next to him. With a nasty haymaker crossing his forehead, maybe, but the Marine was lucid when he grabbed his rifle. And his eyes were grim and determined when he looked out at the Jap destroyers. "You ready for this, Miller?"

"Always was, Davidson." Miller replied calmly, looking down the sights of his old Springfield.

Both of the Marines, along with the rest of Wake's defenders, prepared for the Japanese. If they wanted to run those boats ashore, they could damn well do it. They'd just be rushing into a nest of very angry Marines.

He almost pitied the poor bastards.

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High above the island, Wildcats zoomed among Japanese bombers, searching for targets. The chubby little fighters struggled for altitude, and to avoid the relatively few escorts the Japanese had to defend their bombers. But, then, did relatively few matter when only five Marines were in the air? One of the Wildcat pilots didn't think so, as he threw his bird into a wild dive, narrowly avoiding fire from a nimble Japanese fighter.

"Fuck! These guys know what they're doing!"

Ensign Jacobs would admit he wasn't the best pilot in the world, but the Japanese seemed to be everywhere at once. When he pulled out of the dive, G-forces pressing him down into his seat, he immediately saw a two-engined bomber in front of his eyes. Instinct had him firing the moment he saw the plane. Four fifty-caliber machine guns barked out a two second burst, smoke billowing from the Jap bomber as it spun away.

To promptly be replaced by one of the annoyingly nimble fighters, 7.7mm bullets pinging off the Wildcat's tough hide.

Damnit! Where are they all coming from?!

Twisting away from the Jap fighter, Jacobs snapped his head around, trying to catch sight of his wingman. Where was...there! A deep blue Wildcat was smoking as it attempted to turn with a bright silver Jap fighter, the stubby American barely keeping pace with the other bird. In fact, the Jap was--

"Turn McPherson! Get outta there!" Jacobs barked into his radio, hoping that the other man would hear him. If he did, he didn't make any sign of it...perhaps his radio was damaged. Perhaps he just didn't hear. Either way, Jacobs could only watch as the other plane continued to fall behind. "Get out of there, you bastard!"

The other Wildcat didn't have a chance. The Jap fighter suddenly made a sharp turn, a turn the Wildcat couldn't hope to match. As McPherson's fighter seemingly hung in place, the Jap was now on his tail, cannon and machine gun fire ripping into the already damaged fighter. With nary a scream, the American burst into flames, spiraling down into the surf below.

Jacobs bit his lip, and gunned the engine of his own fighter. The Japs were faster, but he'd be damned if he let them get away with that. If he had to go after them alone, he'd do it. A Marine never backed down from a fight!

"Come on..." With a grim frown on his face, the young Marine pilot dove out of the sun. Light glinted off the fuselage of his fighter, as he scythed down from above on a Japanese bomber. "Let's see how you like this!"

The cigar-shaped bomber never even knew what hit it. Bullets riddled the fuselage as Jacobs' fighter zoomed right past it. Behind him, the enemy bomber burst into flames like the cigar it resembled. These Japanese planes were fast...but they caught fire like nothing else. If he could just land a hit on them, they'd die. But then, landing a hit was always the issue.

As bullets impacted his own plane, Jacobs cursed sharply. "Fuck! Where is---"

Before he could find the Japanese pilot, a whoop of exhilaration echoed over his radio. A burning Jap fighter spun into the sea past his cockpit, as a Wildcat dove past it.

A Wildcat with Navy markings.

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"Good job, Butch! Now get your ass back up here before they shoot it off!"

Jimmy Thach had a wide grin on his face, as his wingman pulled back up after saving the Marine fighter. All around him, the fighters from Saratoga took up position over Wake Island. The Japanese had scattered, seemingly caught off-guard by the sudden attack. That served Thach quite well, as the Marine flyers he had escorted moved to land and refuel. His own planes were hovering over the battlefield, looking for good attack vectors on the scattered Japanese.

"Captain Thach, I see several Japanese fighters coming from 2'o clock. Can you handle them?" A soothing female voice came over the radio, drawing the pilot's attention away from where he had been scanning.

"Roger that, Sara." Thach replied, unable to stop a small chuckle at the ludicrousness of the situation. Here he was, talking to what amounted to the soul of his ship. That was still strange. Well, whatever, bigger fish to fry. "Hey, Butch, want to go after some Zekes?"

"Lead the way, Jimmy."

Nosing his Wildcat over into a turn to port, Thach began to zoom towards the distant Japanese fighters. The Japs did the same, coming directly at him. Six of them, four of the Americans- counting himself. Maybe it would be a fair fight, then! Grimly smiling, the American aviator sighted in on the first of the Japanese planes, while his wingmen formed up in their own parts of the formation.

As the two formations rapidly approached one another...Thach could almost see the eyes of the Japanese pilot across from him. Hidden behind goggles, staring at the American who dared to attack him head on. And beneath him, a flash of light as weapons fired from the nose of the Zeke.

"Break!"

Thach's formation scattered, Japanese cannon and machine gun fire flying through where they had previously been. Wildcats zoomed past Zekes, the Japanese planes already pulling into sharp turns to set up behind the Americans. Thach clicked his tongue, recognizing immediately what they were doing.

They're more maneuverable, and they know it. Don't think we can win a turning fight.

It was a good thing that he didn't have to win a turning fight then, wasn't it? Without bothering to click his radio this time, Thach sent the predetermined hand-signal to Butch. His wingman nodded, and pulled into a shallow turn, throttling down his engine as he did so. Just as planned, one of the Zekes pulled onto Butch's tail and began to fire at the Wildcat.

And just as planned, Butch pulled his fighter into a sharper turn, dragging the Jap along with him. With a focus the envy of his Samurai ancestors, the enemy pilot continued to fire on his target without breaking his turn. Too bad for him, then, that it was the exact wrong thing to do. With all his attention on O'Hare, he didn't realize that Thach was pulling right into his turn.

Until it was too late.

"Gotcha, ya little bastard." Thach smirked as he pressed down on his firing stick, bullets lancing out from his wings. The Japanese fighter was riddled with holes, more than a few shattering the glass of the cockpit. Stained blood red, it caught fire and trailed smoke...as the plane fell from view.

Giving a little whoop at that, the Captain keyed his radio and got back in contact with Saratoga. "Tell Admiral Thompson that his Weave works. Jap didn't know what hit him!"

"I'll be sure to let him know," that soft voice replied, a little bit of humor carrying along the signal. "Wake reports that the bombers are pulling back. Are there any fighters left?"

Twisting his head around the cockpit, Thach scanned the horizon. Plumes of smoke were everywhere, from downed Japs and downed Wildcats. A Japanese patrol boat was belching fire from where she was beached on Wake, with men scrambling into firing positions all around it. As for the sky, well, Butch was on his wing. His other wing pair was coming back into sight.

And not a single silver fighter was in sight. As if they had vanished like something out of a movie.

"Negative on that, Saratoga." Thach replied, a little hmm of thought rumbling in his throat. "How in the world...Butch, you see where they went?"

"Negative. I think I saw them heading off to the west, but I can't be sure."

With nothing else to work on, Thach sent that along to the carrier. There was silence, save for the dull rumble of his Twin Wasp engine. Sara was probably talking it over with the Admiral and the Captain, to figure out their next move. That was what Thach assumed at least, while his squadron formed back up and covered the landing of the Marine flyers.

It was only after a few minutes, that the female voice returned.

"The Captain wants you to return to the ships, Captain Thach." Prim and proper, Saratoga was clearly taking this very seriously. There wasn't a hint of the gentle ribbing she had given the Admiral when he introduced her to the pilots. "The current assumption is that the Japanese are going to try and attack us. Enterprise is routing some of her fighters to take your place over Wake."

"Roger that."

With a look of determination crossing his face, Thach waved at his squadron and directed them back towards the fleet. Who knew if the Japs had found them...but he wasn't about to take that risk.

He rather liked having a home to return to, after all.


Far away from Wake Island, though close enough to understand what was happening, two members of the Kido Butai floated together. The older and larger Kaga, gently swaying in the waves. And the younger and smaller Hiryuu, currently seeing the last of her bombers take to the sky. Atop her flight deck, a black haired woman waved at the departing planes, excellently mimicking the men lining the deck. Those men, and the woman, were substantially less cheerful than before, however.

Where they had cheered the pilots on during the attack on Pearl Harbor, now there was grim determination. Many of the men had lost friends, when the Americans fought back so effectively. Many of them were filled with righteous anger.

And what her crew felt, Hiryuu felt.

"Go!" She shouted at the planes, taking off to bomb the American carrier that a scout had happened upon while patrolling around Wake. "Make sure you don't miss anything!"

She didn't really notice that no one heard her. Why would she? She was more concerned with her attack anyway. As Tamon-maru always said, they needed to hit the enemy hard and without mercy.

"Don't miss anything!" Hiryuu repeated herself, her hands gesturing wildly into the distance. "If we hit them first, we will win. That's the first rule of carrier warfare!"

In fact, the only one to hear her, was probably Kaga. Though Hiryuu wouldn't know if she had, considering that particular carrier was...very quiet. Even if they could talk to each other, Kaga wasn't really the type. At least from what Hiryuu knew, which wasn't much.

She'd probably say something like 'don't be cocky' or 'Why am I with the Second CarDiv?'. Hiryuu couldn't help but smile a bit at the thought. I hope that she is alright over there, though. She isn't Soryuu, but I need all the help I can get!

Hiryuu had fully embraced the doctrine of her beloved Tamon-maru, of course. And for that, she needed help. If the enemy wanted to come and fight them, they would suffer for it. Sure, she lost planes at Pearl, but her aircrew had come out better than any of the others! And if she had her way, she'd sink every single American ship out there. Every single one of them.

After all, it was the samurai way. Never let an enemy escape and always defeat them in detail. She couldn't do it herself, but she would cheer her men on as they did it for her.

"Tamon-maru, I hope that everyone does their duty." Hiryuu grinned up at her island, ignoring the wind blowing through her hair or the taste of salt on her lips. All that she cared about was breaking the enemy in one fell swoop, just like the Kantai Kessen. "You trained them all well, after all!"

And as she watched her planes disappear on the horizon, Hiryuu knew that they would kill many Americans. Just like they were all expected to do.


Still rusty on battles, TBH. I prefer writing character pieces.

This aside, part one of the Wake battle is done. Part Two will be the next chapter and we'll start from the Japanese perspective that time. On and on that note, Hiryuu is also fairly similar- yet darker -compared to her canon character. All about first strikes, training, hitting the enemy hard...but now it's about killing as many of them as possible, because obviously, that's what she needs to do.

This does translate somewhat to someone who is...rather happy to destroy anything in front of her. Also slightly yandere for her commander.

(I'll develop her more later, this was an introduction more than anything else. Also, fun times with Kaga soon)

As for the rest...well, who said having someone who can talk with every pilot on a whim isn't useful? :V

Also, since I'm spoiling my readers today:

This, Holding the Line and a new GuP fic. All at once :V
 
Warning: Warning
I regret to inform you that THIS is what a real derail boat/ship looks like, not... that.
Train ferry - Wikipedia
Because it sure as hell moves trains off the rails.
warning If the OP asks you to stop a derail, stop the derail. Do not start a new one.


No points this time, just don't make a habit of this kind of thing.
 
Chapter 48
Chapter 48
As cheers and cries of encouragement echoed over the water, it would be a mistake to assume the jubilant mood aboard Hiryuu permeated the entire Japanese fleet. Aboard Kaga, it was almost bone-quiet. The only sounds were the departing roars of her remaining planes and the dull crash of waves across her wide bow. These were men who worked quietly, saving their thoughts and inner turmoil for themselves.

It was a quiet sort of anger, compared to the roaring rage of Hiryuu. Quiet and focused.

The anger of a Samurai.

Sitting at the very edge of her flight deck, Kaga was every bit as silent. Eyes were shut and hands clasped in her lap. Even if one could see her, they would think they were staring at a statue. A statue with a loose ponytail fluttering in the wind, and the faintest, faintest signs of life. A subtle rise and fall of a chest and a fluttering of eyelids every time a shout rang out from Hiryuu.

It was only when the last of the planes vanished over the horizon, save for a few Reisen left behind to guard the fleet, that Kaga allowed her brown eyes to crack open.

"No idea at all. She has no idea what we are facing." A soft murmur, overtaken by the sound of a sailing warship. Gaze sweeping out over her plane-guards, Kaga let out an imperceptible sigh.

Those destroyers carving wakes through the ocean had no idea what they were doing. They just knew they needed to protect her. Kaga hardly begrudged them their simple lives. But Hiryuu? No. The old carrier could not even bring herself to look in the direction of her counterpart.

Hiryuu was, if not as bad as the Fifth Division, still naive. Childish. She had no concept of what they were, truly, up against. She was so obsessed with the doctrine of her beloved Tamon-maru that she was blinded to their weakness. And to her own inadequacy in combat. Her own inexperience, as well. The younger girl was arrogant to think they could win without even worrying. The cheers of jubilation echoing across from the other ship did little to change her mind. Nor did the fact she couldn't actually talk to Hiryuu.

And so, Kaga could not bear to look at her.

The moment you underestimate your opponent, you have lost. The moment you believe yourself superior, you have lost. This is a lesson we have always known. Or so I thought.

Letting her brown eyed gaze fall to her lap, Kaga clenched her hands gently. No carrier that had gone through as many modernizations as she had, could ignore how things had changed since her birth. Seeing what had happened to Akagi's pilots only reinforced that. That was why Kaga was not going to cheer her men flying to their deaths.

That was why she considered Hiryuu naive.

Because she knew that many of those men may not be coming back.
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"Just like the reports said, sir. Two carriers right there!"

As the excited voice rang in his ear, Lieutenant Kaneda frowned. The Americans never sailed in formation like that...at least, so the reports said. American carriers operated alone. Yet, he couldn't deny what he saw. Far below his Aichi, a pair of American carriers sailed in close formation. One small carrier and one monstrosity that could only be a Lexington.

A fine prize, to be sure, but also a tough target. Even if that oversized stack made for an easy reference to sight in on.

Honestly, there is none of the grace of our carriers.

Snorting softly, Kaneda turned his eyes out at his formation. Smaller than it should have been after those thrice-damned P-40s chewed through it at Pearl, it was still a potent force. A dozen Aichi bombers off his wings, all following him. It was a heady feeling. With sunlight glinting off his wings, Kaneda mulled over which carrier to attack.

"Hm..." Gaze flicking to the recognition chart in his cockpit, the Japanese pilot bit his lip. The Yorktown down there was equivalent to his own Hiryuu. New and untested. But the Lexington was larger and more capable.

Well.

"Sato! Take half the formation and hit the smaller carrier!" Kaneda barked out, waggling his wings for emphasis.

Off his port side, a silver Aichi returned the gesture and winged over. Six glinting darts followed it, while five Reisens flew protectively around the flock of bombers.

Nodding at that, Kaneda twisted his own controls in the opposite direction. His elegant aircraft responded perfectly, maintaining altitude while he stared down on the Lexington far below. Thick puffs of black smoke exploded around his formation. American flak, and far more than he had expected. Where had they found the weapons to do this? As one exploded particularly close to his wingman, he grimaced a tad.

A grimace shortly replaced by a grin of excitement. No pilot, and most certainly no pilot of the Imperial Navy, let a bit of fear influence him. Especially not when a target like this presented itself! He just needed to wait for...

Now, where are...there!

Nodding sharply, Kaneda noted the distant forms of Nakajima bombers coming into sight. That, more than anything else, was the signal he had been waiting for. For as the torpedo bombers began their attack, ducking and weaving through pitch black flak bursts, Kaneda began to lead his own formation. He didn't need to speak into the radio this time.

There was no reason. As his plane began to nose over into a dive, the rest followed.

"Make sure you hi--" the voice of his gunner was quickly subsumed by rushing wind.

Kaneda wouldn't have bothered replying anyway. All his attention was focused on the American carrier in his sight. Even the tracers flying by his face were forgotten. Nothing mattered but the steadily growing carrier. She was turning in an attempt to avoid the torpedoes in the water, forcing Kaneda to adjust his own trajectory to stay on target. But...no amount of turning would keep him from his mark. The massive ship couldn't possibly move quickly enough for that.

Biting his lip, the pilot wrestled with his controls to adjust against the force of gravity pushing him down. His muscles ached with the effort. Sweat began to roll down his brow, as the Lexington expanded to fill his entire view. Grunting with the effort, Kaneda narrowed his eyes and made one last adjustment.

He could see men manning their guns, a handful pointing up at him. The looks of fear and shock on their faces made him smile despite the pressure. These Americans had no idea what they were about to see. The fat bomb latched to the Aichi's stomach was ready and waiting to make this carrier burn.

"Release!" Kaneda ground out, pulling his controls all the way into his gut. His plane shuddered as it pulled up, and the heavy weight of the bomb fell away. He couldn't see the result, but it didn't really matter.

Ha! Take that gai--

Kaneda's last sight was a bullet tearing through his cockpit and directly towards his eyes.



Pain. Fiery pain.

Sara clutched at her side, whimpering at the feeling rushing through her body. Her hand felt warm. She didn't want to look at it. But morbid curiosity would not be denied.

When she pulled her hand from her side, it came up coated red. Green eyes stared. And another whimper escaped her lips.

"Sara! Sara, look at me!"

Unable to tear her eyes away from her hand, Sara felt hands grip her chin. Rough hands, that pulled her head up. Concerned green stared down on her, her Admiral wearing the most worried look she had ever seen on his face. Sara stared back, not missing the relief that had crossed his expression. Or how his hands rubbed her chin, trying to take her mind off the pain.

Oh right, the pain. Her eyes left her Admiral, and tried to look down on what she knew was a hole in her side matching the hole in her deck from a well-placed bomb. Or the gash carved out of her stack, where the Japanese plane had crashed headlong into it.

"Don't, Sara," Admiral Thompson's voice was soothing. He couldn't hide the quake in it born of worry. But he could tug her gaze up again, refusing to let her look at her wound. "Try and keep your mind off that, alright?"

How? I've never felt something like this before. Is that what Utah felt like? Cali? Ari?

"Let's get you up, okay? We need to figure out how bad things are." Thompson continued speaking, as much for his own benefit as to keep Sara focused. It wasn't easy.

Sara's legs struggled to keep her footing on what she was slowly realizing was a blood-stained deck. It wasn't just her own blood. Following the trail lead to her Captain, slumped over a station.

When did that happen?

Allowing her Admiral to guide her to his chair, Sara fell down into it. She couldn't stop the wince that caused, even as it was drowned out by the sound of her weapons firing into the air. Her brave Marines and sailors had no idea what she felt like, and they continued to fire. The rough rattle of Brownings. The dull roar of Chicago Pianos. And the dull thumps of five-inch batteries. A symphony of war that cried fire and fury at the Japanese who dared to hurt their precious Sister Sara.

At any other time, it would have a smile on her face. Right now, she couldn't smile if her life depended on it.

Crouching down next to her, Admiral Thompson's hands returned to her cheeks. Green eyes stared into green, as he leaned forward and placed his forehead against her own.

His voice was nary more than a whisper.

"Sara. Can you tell me how bad it is?"

With a shaky nod, the carrier did the best she could. Tuning out the roar of combat, she dove deep. Her mind focused on what was going on inside her hull. Where sweating fire crews ran around, carrying buckets and wrangling hoses. Screams echoed down darkened halls. Her massive propulsion plant continued to push her through the waves, despite the smoke clogging it. Or the waves of fire spreading across her hangar.

"I--" sucking in a breath, Sara steeled herself. She was a warship, damnit! "The bomb got into my hangar. I think the crew has the fires under control."

"And the stack?" Thompson continued to rub circles along her should---

When had he started doing that?

Without realizing it, Sara felt a small smile crossing her face. A weak one. "It's slowing me down. Without proper ventilation, I--I can't go full speed. I'm sorry, if I had been a little..."

Her Admiral was quick to grab her hands, cutting the carrier off. "Not your fault. We're not ready for this yet. You don't have enough guns, the escorts don't, we don't have enough fighters and..."

"Fighters?"

As her body adjusted to the burning in her side, Sara's mind began to clear up. The Japanese hadn't left. Her fighters were tangling with them even now, and she could hear Thach's cries of frustration. O'Hare's shouts about planes trying to get away from the furball. She could see through their cockpits, and watch the silvery-glint of Japanese fighters diving away from their engagements as the pilots began to work out that going behind a Wildcat was a bad idea.

And as they began to decide that fighting planes wasn't the best idea and that strafing ships was better for their time.

"Sara, are you alright?!"

One of those ships was Enterprise, ducking and weaving through Japanese torpedo spreads. Sara could see her over the dark hair of her Admiral, pumping flame into the sky as she frantically dodged attacks. The younger carrier sounded panicked.

Of course, Little E hasn't seen any more combat than I have...and...

Enterprise didn't want to see her family die again. Even if she hadn't seen it, the other her had.

"I'm f-fine, Little E." Sara forced the pain out of her voice, even as her Admiral tore off part of his uniform and began wrapping it around her torso. He did know that wouldn't help, right?

"No you aren't!" Enterprise's voice was still fully of rightful panic. "Aunt Sara, you're burning!"

Sara couldn't reply to that, save for a wince as Thompson tightened the makeshift bandages. Instead, he was the one to reply. "Don't worry, Enterprise. I've done everything I can to help her. We won't be sinking today."

Sniffling answered that, with a gruff voice in the background. Sara watched as her Admiral smiled at the distinct voice of Admiral Halsey reprimanding his carrier to keep things professional.

"Bull has things handled over there," Thompson muttered to himself, as he checked his bandage work. Seemingly satisfied with it, he pulled Sara to her feet and wrapped her arm over his shoulder.

In any other situation, she may have blushed at the contact. In this one, Sara just coughed as smoke ran through her hull. The pair, Admiral and Carrier, stumbled over to the bridge wing to look out at her hull...onto a scene of utter chaos. Men ran around, clearing debris and dodging Japanese strafing runs. Marines barked out orders to their guns crews and sailors tried to clear debris. Flames and smoke choked everything.

The only miracle was that none of her planes were aboard. Her pilots- her children -were safe. Sara could consider that a victory, if nothing else. If she weren't bleeding onto her Admiral's pristine uniform. If her body wasn't struggling to stay moving.

And if she wasn't watching one of her Wildcats spin into the water, flames trailing along its fuselage.

"Admiral!"

Sara couldn't tear her eyes away from her crew and the gaping hole in her deck. Thompson, however, turned his head and started talking to the voice of a DC crew member.

"Yes?" While his face was hidden, Admiral Thompson's smile was plainly visible. At least, when he answered an unspoken question. "I know, I know, there's a woman here. I'll explain once the Japanese are gone. Is something wrong with my ship?"

There are a lot of things wrong. Sara wanted to say, as she gently rubbed the warm spot on her side. Blood already soaked through the bandage.

"R--right, sir," the younger man's voice sounded unconvinced, but he wasn't pushing the point. "The fires are mostly under control now. If we don't get hit again, we can make it back to Pearl without issue."

Thompson nodded, his cheek brushing up against Sara's blue hair. "Good. Well, I think the worst is past us anyway. The Japanese lost a lot of planes at Pearl, they can't have many more to throw at us."

"Really?"

Sara didn't hear whatever her Admiral tried to say. Her ears were filled with a panicked shout from Butch O'Hare, far above. When she heard his words, Sara's eyes gazed up at the sky. She didn't need to. She could see through his eyes, in a way. But she still looked up. And what she saw, made her blood run cold and her eyes widen to green pools of fear.

"Damnit, one of them got past me! It's heading right for Sara's bridge!"

A silver speck of a Zero rapidly grew in size, as it dove in an obvious attempt to strafe the officer standing on Sara's bridge-wing. The Japanese pilot was heedless of the fire all around him. He didn't seem to care about the Wildcats diving after him.

He was filled with a single-minded determination to kill an American officer and nothing would stop him.

"Admiral, get down!"

There was no hesitation, as Sara threw her injured body over Thompson and into her bridge. As the sound of machine gun fire rang in her ears, it was all she could do.

Please, let him be okay. I can't lose him. I can't lose---



I apologize profusely for how long this took to get up and that it isn't horribly long. This one was not easy to write, and things have continually conspired to keep me from being able to write on top of that.

(among others, I'm probably not teaching this year)

Hopefully the chapter is at least decent enough? Though I probably won't get as many views/ratings/posts/what-have-you as the other part of Wake.

To make up for it, at least a little, I'm going to also post two more things. An interlude and the art for our (American) ship girl protags.
 
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