Wheee all nighters are fuuuuuunnnn
Update time:
Chapter 26
This is not what we had planned. Shit.
On the outside, Admiral Thompson looked calm and composed. He had, long ago, learned how to hide what he was feeling. At least among his fellow officers, because to not do so was to risk being found out. But appearances are only skin deep. For beneath his calm exterior, the Admiral's mind was racing with thoughts of what could happen now. There would be no slow and gentle talks with the other Admirals. There would be no efforts to convince them to agree to visit a ship.
No.
All there could or would be now was salvaging what he could. And hoping to God or anyone else who would listen...that Admiral Stark would listen to him. Or that Admiral King
wouldn't fit his reputation.
"Hello, Admirals." Admiral Richardson was also an expert at keeping his emotions hidden. His face was placid, flinty eyes staring out over his eyeglasses. Either the man had a better poker face than Thompson, or he was just
that stone cold. "I apologize, we had intended to talk to you when you had finished your meeting."
"Quite." Stark was substantially less composed. His features were softer than Richardson's, a notable air of confusion around the man.
"If that nonsense was why you were going to talk to us, I find it hard to care." On the other hand, Admiral King was hard-faced and antagonistic. His eyes were narrowed in a glare, primarily directed at Thompson. "Especially when it comes from you."
"Me?"
"Yes, you."
Thompson shifted slightly in his seat, feeling a bead of sweat develop on his forehead. He still had little real idea of what 'his' past was. He knew that there had to be something special, to ascend to his rank at his age. There were no Abyssals to justify it in the 1940s. So...
King must know.
"Admiral, I would request you leave my colleague be. I am aware of your feelings on him, and find them to be childish at best." Richardson
must have balls of steel, his words spoken with utter conviction when his eyes locked with King's. "I am aware of the discussions to reduce my own position and raise you to command in the Atlantic. Do not think I am not." Eyes narrowing, Richardson turned his head away and back to Stark, a clear dismissal echoed in his words, "And so long as
I am your superior, I would ask you put your feud with Admiral Thompson aside."
The Admiral in question could only stare dumbly, aware his mouth was hanging open but completely unable to stop it.
"In any case, Admiral Stark, we had prepared reports on the subject to give to you. If you would like, we can provide them here."
For his part, Stark was neither stoic like Richardson nor silently fuming like King. The old Admiral- albeit younger than Richardson -merely rubbed his forehead, a heavy sigh escaping his lips, "Right. I see no reason to take this elsewhere. Elaine already cleared my schedule for the meeting you requested. Ernest, if you would please shut the door?"
When he said that, Stark turned to look at the other Admiral. King, who was also slightly older than Stark, nodded stiffly. It was as clear a request from the man's longtime friend as any. Don't cause a scene.
More of a scene than the situation already left, anyway.
"Now," the moment the door was shut, Richardson turned to look at the youngest man in the room. "Admiral Thompson, if you would?"
Head snapping up at the mention of his name, Thompson cleared his throat nervously, "Of course. Before I start, how much did you hear us talk about, Admirals?"
Best to know that in advance, really.
"Only that you claim our ships are talking with their crews," Stark replied. While his features were far less imposing than those of King or Richardson, the CNO still had all the gravitas that position entailed when he stared at the younger man. "An extraordinary claim, you understand."
"I do. Believe me, if it weren't for how much evidence we have I wouldn't be making this claim." Thompson shook his head, looking down at his clenched hands on the table. He wished it were simpler than this... "Especially when it's
me making the claim. I do know how much I'm pushing for new things to begin with."
"Admiral Willson was quite clear on that when he retired, yes." The CNO just tapped the table in front of them. "That is not important right now. What, pray tell, is the evidence that you claim to have?"
Pushing back the questions he had on his fellow Admiral-
Ari...why didn't you say anything? -Thompson nodded and reached to the briefcase he had been carrying this entire time. Who knew how this would work, but...nothing ventured, nothing gained. Hell, this was possibly the most important thing he would ever do in his life. Begin to prove that ships were living, thinking beings. Nothing else could ever compare to that, could it?
Well, other than proving time-travel is real.
"First, I have a picture I would like you to look at. Tell me if you see anything different from what you expect."
With those words, Thompson passed over a single photo. The black and white was something he wasn't used to, and it limited options somewhat. Rather hard to show the eccentric hair colors of the girls in black and white!
But it would do the job. Provided of course...
"That's
Saratoga." King was the first to respond, a scoff in his tone. "Nothing more."
Thompson's shoulders slumped slightly, "Nothing at all?"
"I'm afraid not, Admiral. Just your command." Stark was more diplomatic about it, but he still handed the photo back to the young Admiral. "I presume we were supposed to see something else?"
Considering that the time traveler saw Sara's pretty face staring up at him from in front of her stack, that was the hope. Since they didn't though, it just confirmed one theory. That if someone had no idea of ship spirits and no real reason to believe they existed, they couldn't hope to see them in a picture. A setback, but not something unexpected. It didn't make much sense for them to see her anyway.
Someone would have noticed something a lot sooner if they could.
"Right then, if that doesn't work...it will be a bit harder to explain this without any visual aids." Thompson's hand reached back for his briefcase, digging through the stacks upon stacks of papers within. He grimaced slightly at that, all of the evidence relying a lot on his superior being
open minded. And he just didn't know enough about Stark to say. "But I have written records here. My own. Admiral Richardson and Halsey. Commander Jackson off
Utah. Lieutenant Hawkins of
Skipjack. Several others."
Two dozen others, to be precise. The efforts that the Admirals and their girls had made to break through hadn't quite caught fire as much as could be hoped. But that was expected...it would take
time to get through to as many people as they needed in the long run. Time, and ideally, an official statement from the Navy.
Which was what they were here for.
"We each documented what lead us to seeing the ships as...well, something other than a ship. The reasons, the actions, everything that was involved." The Admiral handed the papers to Stark, green eyes staring the elder man directly in his own eyes. "This is not an isolated case, or one we haven't been able to replicate."
As the CNO took the papers and began to read over the reports though, Thompson still found himself worrying. He slumped back into his chair with a heavy sigh, resisting the urge to bring a hand up and wipe at his sweaty forehead. It was almost worse
because Admiral Stark wasn't dismissing it out of hand...but wasn't saying he believed it either.
Head turning slowly, like a turret in its barbette, the young man looked at the other Admirals when Stark didn't say anything. First Richardson, hoping to see
some sort of support. All he got was a slowly raised eyebrow. And a short shake of his head.
No help there...
King was even less helpful, when Thompson's bright green eyes flickered to him. The infamous Admiral was distinctly stone-faced, refusing to so much as acknowledge the glance from the other Admiral. His face was a mask of intense displeasure, making it very clear of one thing. The man was
angry.
"Admiral," Stark spoke up at last, drawing Thompson's eyes from King. "Your report claims that our ships look like women."
A nod, "They do."
"If this is the case, why have we never seen them?" The CNO's voice was incredulous. His eyes narrowed behind his round glasses, staring directly at Thompson. "More importantly, why would they look like women at all?"
A shake of the head this time, "I don't know. Sara was surprised I could see her at all."
That, at least, wasn't a lie. Thompson could easily remember what it was like the first time he had talked to the carrier. How timid she was. Surprised. Now, of course, they were the closest of friends. But those early days?
Not so much.
"As for how they look like women," here, the Admiral shrugged helplessly. That was a question that was best summed up as 'magic'. "I don't know. My best guess is that we've always called them 'her' for as long as we've had ships. They just took what we gave them."
Thompson paused for a moment, before a small, barely vocal laugh escaped his lips.
"Though, if I may speak freely, hell if I know."
It was the truth, honestly, and thankfully for him it seemed to work somewhat at breaking the ice. Richardson's lips twitched before the elder Admiral returned to his stoic expression. King didn't change at all, if anything looking a bit
more sour. Stark...
Well, Stark had a small smile on his face when he shook his own head.
"That makes as much sense as anything you could have told me, Admiral." The CNO's smile was a bit strained though, as his hand fell on the papers in front of him. Thompson could have sworn his hand hit hard enough to hurt the man. "But, this is a very extraordinary claim you are making. The evidence is sound. You have given multiple theories, much proof and replication of these theories, and from multiple different officers."
Tapping the folder with Hawkin's report, the elder man shook his head slightly.
"And, for that matter, multiple different types of ship. This is compelling evidence. However, I can't say just from the reports if what you are saying is remotely true. That, I assume..." Stark turned his head to look at Richardson, raising an eyebrow at his direct subordinate. And, as some thought, successor. "Would be why you brought USS
Skipjack to the Atlantic Fleet. Correct?"
Richardson nodded, his lips
definitely twitching up this time, "You would be correct, sir. With
Enterprise needed in the Pacific,
Saratoga and
Arizona being refit and no other ships available to be transferred that have made contact...we decided on
Skipjack. If you are willing to visit her."
"Hm." Stark hummed softly, tapping the table in front of him. His finger landed on each and every folder in front of him. Even if the gesture was just a nervous tick...or a specific action. "I've never once been aboard a submarine. However..."
Thompson couldn't help but rise up in his seat when he heard that, "Yes?"
"...I may be willing to do so." Stark finished. But there was no more humor in his voice. No kindness in his face. He would never look as imposing as Richardson or King, but the CNO turned his full Admiral Stare on the two men from the Pacific. Not a glare, but...still powerful. "I am only doing that because of who you have gathered for evidence. If this were anyone else, I would dismiss it
and them out of hand."
And just like that, Thompson slumped in his seat again. It wasn't that Stark believed them...but that...
"However, I can't afford to dismiss two of our very best officers in carrier warfare. Nor can I ignore Admiral Richardson's word. I am
only willing to listen to this, because of that. If I am not convinced that you are sincere in bringing this to me after seeing
Skipjack, though..."
Stark didn't need to finish his sentence for what he was saying to come across. If he wasn't convinced, it didn't matter that it was Halsey and Richardson saying this. Or that it was Thompson saying it. Because if he wasn't convinced...
They were
all clearly hallucinating, and would need to be removed from command.
"Understood," Richardson inclined his head slightly. Acceptance was clear in his features.
On the other side of the table...
"I can't believe this."
The same could hardly be said for Admiral King. His face was a mask of complete and utter disbelief, when he stared at Admiral Stark.
"You cannot seriously believe them." His voice was harsh, eyes shifting between Stark and Thompson. "This is ludicrous."
The CNO raised his eyebrow, "Hardly. As I said, the evidence is major enough to justify investigation. I never said I believed it."
"But even acknowledging this..." King continued, only to be cut off as an unexpected quarter rose up.
Namely, Thompson himself.
"Are you
that convinced I'm wrong?" The young Admiral fired across the bow of the older man, hands clenching the table in front of him. This was the first time someone had been so...so...
Casually dismissive of everything he fought for.
"Yes, I am," King was never one to back down from a conflict though. The rough-faced Admiral rose to his own feet, glaring at Thompson. "You're talking madness."
"All this evidence means
nothing to you?"
"I see no evidence."
Thompson clenched his fists tighter, resisting every urge he had to snap further, "All that work means
nothing to..."
A rough hand fell on the young man's arm, cutting him off. Thompson turned his head, only to see Admiral Richardson looking at him with a deathly serious glare, "Don't."
Energy fleeing his body, Thompson sighed heavily, ever so slowly relaxing his grip on the table. It
was pointless to try and argue, wasn't it? But the way King acted...it was the first real time someone had just...looked down on him like that. It wasn't hard to imagine why it got under his skin, damn it all.
"Ernest," for his part, Stark seemed displeased with his friend. The Stare that had been aimed at Thompson moved to King, the CNO shaking his head slowly, "Enough. I understand what you feel, but it would be remiss of me to not at least attempt what they suggest. Do not argue that point."
King continued to thrust his chin out stubbornly, but he still backed down.
Reluctantly.
Somehow, Admiral Thompson knew that Admiral King was going to be a problem...
"No, absolutely not.
Bismarck is not ready to sortie."
Admiral Schreiber was not a man given to rage. His aged features were more often than not held in a small half-smile, when he wasn't required to be a proper officer. However, he found it
very hard to maintain his composure in the presence of certain men from Germany's past. The Admiral considered it a miracle he had yet to meet Hitler, fully convinced he would find it nearly impossible to stay civil with the monster of a man.
On the other hand, it was nowhere near as difficult
most of the time to be civil with Erich Raeder. It was always going to be a problem on some level though. Raeder was not a man that Schreiber was fond of working with, to put things mildly. The man was unsavory at best, like a lot of German leaders of the time. For all that it was not as difficult for the most part...
I still loathe working with this man.
"The
Führer is quite insistent, Admiral." Raeder was surprisingly patient, not even sighing as he paced in the Admiral's Cabin aboard
Bismarck. "With the loss of
Gneisenau I have had to burn every bridge I have in Berlin merely to continue construction on
Bismarck and
Tirpitz. If they do not pay for their construction, the
Führer will scrap the surface fleet."
"I am aware, yes." Schreiber replied as calmly as he could, even as his blue eyes drifted to Raeder's side. "Very aware."
Because he knew. Both from history and his own experiences, just how much Hitler was likely to scrap the
Kreigsmarine. And the woman standing by Raeder's side, staring at him with wide eyes, would be the first victim.
"Admiral..." Bismarck may have been the pride of a nation, but even she could look worried.
"And I assure you, I have no intentions of allowing
Bismarck to be scrapped without once seeing the enemy." The old Admiral continued speaking, his words meant for both Raeder and the invisible- to the Grand Admiral -Bismarck.
Reader, for his part, nodded slightly. "On that, we are in complete agreement. However, there is very little I can do to convince the
Führer in this matter, Admiral."
"Because you used all your capital as it sits."
The other Admiral just nodded again, "Indeed."
Sighing softly, Schreiber shook his head. He didn't make any effort to climb to his feet or move from his position at the small desk in his quarters. He only stared at Admiral Raeder, gently tapping his heel against the deck beneath him.
Bismarck was almost ready for combat. He couldn't delay heading out forever.
But he would be
damned if he didn't wait as long as possible.
"I understand why the
Führer is eager to see the
Kreigsmarine prove herself." Schreiber stared up at Raeder, nodding out at the harbor visible through the porthole behind the Admirals. "However, I would request that wait until
Bismarck has, at the least, improved her anti-aircraft armament. You and I both know what the British did to our
allies at Taranto."
It wasn't even necessary to hide disdain in his voice when the Admiral spoke of Italy. Reader would think- and did nod along with Schreiber -that it was the typical German superiority complex. It wasn't. No, the disdain had nothing to do with lack of belief in the Italians and everything to do with Mussolini and his cronies.
Much as Schreiber had to hide similar disdain for the majority of his own comrades.
"I do agree with you," Raeder let out a sigh of his own, pinching his brow. The Admiral was clearly stressed, but it was hard to feel any pity for the man. "I don't agree that
Bismarck is vulnerable to air attack as you believe, but it is not hard to see that the extra weaponry is useful. No, it isn't hard at all."
Reaching his hand up to the brim of his grey cap, the Grand Admiral pulled the brim down over his eyes. It didn't cover them completely, but enough to keep Schreiber from looking at what Raeder actually felt, as the man turned around to walk out of the room.
"I will do what I can to convince the
Führer. I suggest you prepare
Bismarck and her escorts nonetheless."
With those parting words, Reader strode from the room, leaving the man from the future and his ship girl comrade alone once again. A situation that had Schreiber fall back slightly in his chair, the weight of years returning to his shoulders.
"Admiral, are you...?" A weight that he could only bear, because Bismarck was there for him. The blonde battleship had moved to his side, gently laying her hands on his weary shoulders. "You are alright, aren't you?"
Schreiber laughed humorlessly, placing a hand on Bismarck's, "As well as I ever am, my old friend. It is never easy to talk with Admiral Raeder, knowing the man as I do."
Bismarck's eyes flickered to the door, "As you do?"
"Raeder may be far from the worst that Germany has ever produced, but I am not fond of working with him." Schreiber shrugged slightly, gently freeing his shoulders from the battleship's grip. Pulling himself to his feet, the man groaned softly at his joints popping. He was not a young man, not any more. "Still, if I must, I must. You are ready to sortie, correct?"
Despite everything he had told her, Bismarck still puffed out her chest with a hint of pride and cockiness in the gesture. Her uniform- if one could call it that- strained around her impressive bust, the battleship's sea-blue eyes sparkling when she smiled at the Admiral.
"I am, yes!" Bismarck's voice was filled with the eagerness of youth, her pride filling the room almost like a burst of sunlight.
At least she could still feel that pride. It was enough to bring a small smile to the old Admiral's face as well. "Good to see old friend. But Bismarck, you are aware of what we have to do, correct?"
Her shoulders slumped slightly, but the battleship didn't let it dampen her mood, "
Ja. Are you certain this is the best option we have, Admiral?"
"As sure as I can be about anything. Blücher agreed with me as well. I'm sure Prinz Eugen will too." Schreiber brushed his greying hair back with one hand, the other gently laying on Bismarck's arm. "We have no real choice, I'm afraid."
It was sad that he had to say that. But Schreiber had thought long, and very hard on what the best option for
Germany was. Not himself. Not Bismarck. Not even the world in general. His nation was the closest thing to an
evil state that had ever existed in what he knew of history. There was no getting around this fact, not so long as Adolf Hitler and the Nazi party were in power.
But Schreiber was still a German. Sworn to defend his nation to his dying breath. To keep as many German lives intact as humanely possible, no matter what Germany it was he served.
In that regard...
"I understand," Bismarck nodded, her sharp Teutonic features forming a determined expression. Her smile was replaced by the deep frown that Schreiber was all too familiar with, as she brought her hands together with a sharp
slap of fist on palm. "I will do everything in my power to help you, Admiral. You have done more than enough to convince me you are telling the truth when you say these things."
"And for that, I am thankful. Still, I have to make certain sometimes." Placing an aging arm on Bismarck, Schreiber gently squeezed her in a light embrace. "Especially when I am asking you this."
"I will do anything, if you but ask, Admiral."
Schreiber smiled, even as he felt like his heart had been stabbed. The loyalty...at times, he felt he didn't deserve it. He was, fundamentally, plotting to unseat the legitimate government of Germany. No matter how cruel and evil that government was.
And he was doing it, by planning on having Bismarck potentially sink members of the Royal Navy-
friends, all of them -until they had enough clout with the German people to truly put his plan into action...
Sometimes, I feel like the devil myself. All of this sneaking in the smoke, planning to remove the Nazis no matter how...no matter what I must do...
There we go.
Also,
if you look at pictures of the Admirals you see why I use the descriptors I did. Maybe it's just me, but while Richardson and King look imposing, Stark looks more like your average grandfather.
Might just be me.
(hopefully not a double post. Stupid wifi)
