This took longer than I wanted it to...
Anywho, update.
Chapter 29
My God...what happened?
HMS
Hood, the proud flagship of the Royal Navy, looked like she had been through hell and back. Her distinctive bridge and upperworks were very clearly patched up after taking fire. The marks
of fire were still visible, for all the clear efforts to paint them over. Her hull was battered, quick repairs to get her seaworthy just as clear as the paint on her superstructure. A superstructure that looked nothing like Admiral Thompson had been expecting.
Seeing Hood in pictures or archival footage was one thing.
In person? Quite a different experience, just as it had been with each and every ship he had seen since this situation had begun.
"I see that the British weren't lying when they asked us to repair her," Admiral Richardson dryly commented by Thompson's side, the older man seeming significantly less-awed by the battlecruiser.
As he well should. After all, Richardson had probably seen Hood in person before.
"What could have done this much damage though?" Thompson asked, not knowing if he really expected an answer. Most of his attention- in fact, he hadn't even turned his head to ask the question -remained focused on Hood though.
He had seen Missouri and Iowa. He lived aboard Saratoga. But there was an
old sort of elegance to Hood that no other ship he'd seen possessed. And for a ship her size to have it as well...
"The German battlecruisers, or so the reports say."
The much softer voice finally made Thompson turn away from Hood, looking back to see Stark- and
just Admiral Stark -walking into view. The older man had pulled his cover down over his eyes, but the reflection of the old battlecruiser was still very visible in his round-glasses.
"At least they took one with them," Richardson's gruff voice managed to hold a grudging sense of respect. Even so, he raised an eyebrow at Stark when he continued speaking, "Just you, Harry?"
Stark nodded back, "Yes. No offense to either of you, but Ernest is...rather unwilling to try again."
Well, I can't say I'm surprised
...
Snorting softly, Thompson turned his eyes back to Hood, "Well, are we going to head aboard?"
"I see you are eager to try this." The CNO didn't sound admonishing in the least. More resigned if anything.
To his credit, Thompson
did flush slightly, "I'm curious to see if it is limited to our ships, sir."
"Hm."
On the one hand, he
was curious. Could he see a non-American ship girl?
Were there non-American ones? He had met Hood in passing, all of one time, in the...future. Past. Whatever the hell he called it.
He
knew that non-American ship girls were around. The Japanese had been the first to call any back, after all.
But he didn't know if that carried over to ship
spirits or not. So...this was going to be just as much an experiment for him as it was for everyone else. And with this being his last chance to actually prove things...it was not going to be fun.
Not at all.
"Shall we go, then?" Richardson coughed lightly, gesturing with one hand at the gangplank up to the deck of the British battlecruiser.
Stark just nodded an affirmative, moving past Thompson and towards the warship. For his part, the youngest Admiral in the group just sighed softly, reaching a hand up to brush a strand of hair from his face.
Nothing for it but to get it over with...
Sighing heavily, Thompson squared his shoulders and followed his superiors up the gangplank. Already, the sound of workmen swarming over the British warship echoed in his ears, as dockworkers from Norfolk assessed the damage to the old battlecruiser. Of course...there was
also the sound of complaints in distinctly
British tones as well.
Even if they didn't know the truth, no sailor was particularly happy with people who weren't from their ship boarded her and started poking and prodding at things.
"Welcome aboard, Admirals." The most
sour sounding voice had to belong to the one that spoke the moment Thompson reached Hood's deck, however. A young man, right around his own age, standing at attention. "Commander Patterson, Royal Navy."
Patterson, as the man had named himself, was an otherwise unassuming man. Average height, black hair, blue eyes...there was very little to say as
distinctive for him. Other than, at least, the way he stared at Thompson.
Considering he was a
Commander and the Admiral was, well, an
Admiral...he could hardly blame the man.
"Thank you, Commander," Stark was the on to reply to the Brit however, inclining his head slightly. "I do apologize for this visit."
"No need to apologize." Patterson waved it off, or at least pretended to do so. It was still very clear the man was unhappy, as he gestured behind him at the battered superstructure. "The Captain is waiting in his office. Shall we?"
"After you." Stark nodded again, little sign of what
he was feeling on his face. When the man wasn't floored by the situation, he did prove why he was the CNO.
Nothing on Richardson though, who had remained quiet the entire time, his eyes looking around them. And not at the men looking over Hood. Or even at the ship herself.
He was looking for the
woman Hood.
As was Thompson, green eyes scanning along the hull. Past anxious Royal Navy sailors and hard-at-work dockhands. Past the battered and beaten hull and the massive turrets.
And yet, there was no sign of her.
"Where are you, Hood...?" Thompson muttered softly, walking almost on autopilot behind the other Admirals.
His attention was so focused on everything
but directly in front of his path, that he didn't even realize when he bumped into something. Or, rather...
Someone.
"I'm sorry, I wasn't watching..." Thompson began to apologize on instinct, only to trail off when he looked into impossibly wide blue eyes. "...oh."
"Is something wrong, Admiral?" Commander Patterson turned around when Thompson spoke those words, an eyebrow climbing up his face.
He wasn't the only one, both Stark and Richardson doing much the same. The former looked a bit confused, even now. The latter merely blinked slowly, before reaching up to his glasses. Pulling them from his face with one hand, Richardson used his other hand to pull a rag out and wipe them down. Whereupon he placed them back upon his nose...
And sighed as he pinched his brow.
"I should not be surprised." The gruff man muttered under his breath, getting an even more confused look from Stark
and Patterson.
Thompson though?
"You...you..."
He was rather preoccupied, staring at a blonde woman.
"
Later," the young Admiral hissed under his breath, nodding at the British officer behind the woman, who had begun to look impatient more than confused.
The woman in front of him could only nod in complete and utter befuddlement, holding one hand to her chest. Where Thompson's arm had impacted her modest bust, something that the Admiral
knew should have been impossible...
From her perspective, at least.
"You touched me..." her deep Scottish brogue was familiar to him, if unusually subdued for
HMS Hood. "A bloody
Yank touched me."
That, however, was classic Hood.
Unable to help the smile crossing his face, Thompson shook his head once Patterson had turned back around. Stark remained by the British man's side, unable to see Hood. Richardson, by contrast, merely waited for Thompson to catch up.
"I see it is
not limited to our vessels." The old Admiral spoke, barely above a whisper.
Thompson nodded, "Yes. The question now..."
"Is if they will be able to see her, yes."
Both Admirals fell silent at that, a muttering Hood trailing behind them as they entered the meeting room.
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"I will admit, I am surprised you allowed
Hood to fall...so far into disrepair."
A meeting that would find Thompson staring at Admiral Richardson, the one man in the room who actually understood engineering. The rugged Admiral held a file in his hands, and stared over the table all the officer sat at. His stormy eyes were locked onto Captain Harrington, a man that Thompson had never once heard of. The fairly young Captain stared right back, not flinching even slightly.
In fact, he had met Richardson's every glance without a visible sign of worry.
"There was never time, nor money, to do a proper refit." Harrington finally replied, crossing his fingers atop the table. "We assumed that
Hood would be fully capable until such a time that we could bring her back in. That...did not happen."
Richardson was far too dignified to do something like snort.
But it was clear what he felt about that statement, when he set the papers in his hands down.
"A stripped turbine, from running at a speed that should not have strained her whatsoever." The Admiral spoke, not a single waver in his voice. Or in his expression, stoic and focused on the British officer. "Armor plates that were weakened enough that the Germans did far more damage than should have happened. A powerplant that is so ruined by damage that it requires at bare minimum a complete overhaul, or
Hood has lost the speed a battlecruiser is built around."
Each statement was punctuated by a tap of a finger on the files. And each tap had a certain woman wincing at Thompson's side, though the Admiral did not allow himself to look over his shoulder.
He had to remain focused.
"Indeed," Harrington remained unruffled, despite the actions of Richardson. "And I would be lying were I to say I am not angry myself. However, that is why we brought
Hood here."
With that said, the Captain pulled himself to his feet, eyes locked onto
Stark now. A single eyebrow climbed up his face, as he stared at the highest-ranked officer in the United States Navy.
"I doubt it is why you are here, however. This may just be a political gesture, but there is little reason for three Admirals to be here," Harrington most assuredly focused on Stark now, not even looking at Richardson or Thompson. "And most certainly little reason for the head of your Navy. If the First Sea Lord asked to board
Colorado if she were in our docks, I'm sure you would react the same."
At that statement, Stark sighed and reached a hand up to rub at his brow. The Admiral turned to look at his comrades across the table, more or less making it clear what he was asking without actually saying a word.
This is your show, prove it.
Sighing heavily, Thompson pulled himself to
his feet. He sent one glance over at Richardson, merely receiving a nod in return.
The other Admiral saw Hood, but it was
him who was going to make their case. Again.
As usual, that.
"To answer that question, I have one of my own," the time-traveler asked softly, walking from his chair, to Hood's side. "Why do
you think we are here?"
Harrington didn't scowl, but it remained very clear that
he felt more or less the same as Patterson had. "As I said, this is a political move of some sort. I'm just not sure
what the motive is."
"What if I told you this wasn't political at all?" Thompson shot back, resisting the urge to point at Hood.
One step at a time...one step at a time.
"Then I would be even more curious why three Admirals felt the need to board
my command." The Brit did frown this time, his voice lowering slightly in pitch. He was more composed than Patterson.
If only just.
"After all, while I believe that Admiral Richardson has valid input on how to repair Hood, I can't say the same for you or Admiral Stark. No offense intended."
Thompson shook his head, "In that case, you may be surprised why we're actually here. Because it really isn't political. Though it
does have to deal with Hood, and her specifically."
That statement
did get Hood's attention. The battlecruiser shifted next to Thompson, her footsteps echoing painfully loud in the otherwise silent meeting room. At least, to Thompson, whom was right next to her. Harrington made no signs of noticing it.
Not that the time-traveler had particularly expected the British officer to do so. His eyes had never once looked at Hood, and that meant he was either an amazing actor...or couldn't see her. And which of
those options was the more likely one?
"If it isn't political, and has to do with
Hood specifically," Harrington crossed his arms, allowing the tiniest bit of frustration past his otherwise stoic facade. "I assume you want to look at the damage she took then."
Slow blinking answered that statement, as Thompson tilted his head to the side, "Hm?"
"You want to look at the damage
Hood took fighting the Germans, so you have a better idea of what they are capable of." The Brit continued, nodding at the door out of the room, where the sound of workers faintly echoed. "That's why you brought aboard Admirals, to observe the work and identify where
Hood took damage. That way you know what to expect, when the Jerry's do something stupid enough to drag you into the War. Again."
Well...
He wasn't
wrong.
Even so, Thompson still shook his head. His green eyes flickered to Hood, before turning back to Harrington. Sighing heavily, the young Admiral squared his shoulders and opened his mouth once more. In for a penny, in for a pound. To borrow a phrase from his host.
"You aren't wrong," Thompson's voice was softer than ever, as he turned back to Hood fully, "But I have another question for you. Have you ever felt like someone was watching you, aboard
Hood? Or any other ship?"
His question had Harrington frowning, and Hood's eyes widening.
Granted, Thompson's focus when he looked at Hood was much less on her eyes. Her long blonde hair was tattered and some strands were clearly burnt off. The tall hat that Hood had
always worn was missing, setting those long strands free of any binds. Free to fall across her face, the battlecruiser's forehead covered by bloody gauze. Similar bits of red-stained white poked out of holes in her black Royal Navy tunic, her sleeveless arms battered and bloody. And on her long legs, barely covered by a thigh-length red skirt, her white knee-length socks torn apart.
The fact that her wide hips and long legs were showing more how much she was
hurt than how attractive she was, probably did more than anything to demonstrate how
beat up the old battlecruiser was.
Is this what happens when the ship takes damage? Is that what would happen to Sara
...?
Biting back a groan of frustration, Thompson turned away from Hood and back to Harrington.
"Well, have you?" The Admiral asked his English counterpart, waiting for an answer.
Harrington just frowned even deeper, pacing in front of the table. "I have, yes. Any sailor will say the same."
"Not what I meant." Thompson shook his head, resisting the urge to reach out and grab Hood.
He liked all his limbs attached, thank you very much.
"Then what
do you mean?"
In response, Thompson
did turn back to Hood, "Well, do you think he can hear you?"
Harrington stopped his pacing. Richardson let out a deep sigh. Stark's rubbing of his brow increased. And Hood...Hood blinked rapidly.
"I...he's never heard me before, no. I've tried, but he's never heard me." Hood's voice wast subdued, but there was still that old
bite to it. More than a little frustration, to be completely honest. "Lord
knows I've tried."
For his part, Harrington turned away with a completely befuddled expression on his face. The Captain locked eyes on Stark and Richardson, his mouth already forming a question, "Is he...?"
"Insane?" Richardson replied in an utterly deadpan tone.
At Harrington's nod, it was Admiral Stark's turn to sigh heavily. "He isn't, or so I would like to believe. Though there was almost certainly a better way to go about this."
To his credit, Thompson flushed. But he didn't back down.
Frankly, this was his complete and utter last chance to convince Stark- and by extension Knox and hopefully Roosevelt -that he wasn't crazy. Pussyfooting around the situation would do absolutely no one
any good. If that meant jumping in headfirst, so be it.
Along that line of thought, Thompson turned back to Hood.
"Hold this, please."
And in his hands, he held a book. Not an important one, just something he had borrowed from the library in Norfolk. It didn't really matter what book it was or anything like that anyway. What mattered, was that he could hand something over to Hood.
Who frowned, as she took it in her bandaged hands.
"What is this for?" The battlecruiser blinked, confusion clear on her pretty features. Her red lips were pursed in a small frown, as she lifted the book up, almost bouncing it in her hands. "I mean, it's just a bloody book."
"But a book that you are
holding." Thompson replied easily, nodding down at Hood's hands.
"And...?" Hood shot back, a bit of frustration in her voice.
At least, until her hands froze with the book stopping its bouncing. Her mind was a bit foggy but it wasn't
ruined. The battlecruiser looked down at her hands, before shifting her eyes up to look at her Captain. She almost
dropped the book even.
Because it hit her all at once, what Admiral Thompson had been doing.
"Oh." Her voice was barely above a whisper, as she held the book to her modest bust. "
Oh. Bloody hell you little..."
Her reaction was probably to be expected, because while Richardson was just holding his face in his hand, both Stark and Harrington were staring at her. Quite intently staring at her, in fact.
"That book is floating in the air." Harrington's voice was dull, the monotone of a man questioning his sanity. "Floating. In. The.
Bloody. Air."
"Indeed," Stark agreed, blinking slowly. His eyes narrowed slightly behind his glasses, the grandfatherly looking Admiral frowning. "A punch to the jaw. A floating book. There is
something here..."
The CNO climbed to his feet, shaking if only slightly as he did so. His eyes were locked on the hovering book by Thompson's side, not once leaving it. He walked around the table, moving directly towards Hood.
Who backed up slightly, bumping into Thompson's side again.
"Wait a second here. What's he doing?!" Hood's voice fell yet deeper into it's Scottish brogue, as she looked with wide blue eyes at Thompson, who was keeping her from backing up.
"Probably seeing if he can touch you too." Thompson just shrugged, turning his eyes on Stark, who had come to a halt in front of Hood. "Correct, Admiral?"
Stark nodded, staring intently at the book. Not even blinking, as he reached a hand out. The man was showing quite a bit of trust in both Hood and Thompson when he did so.
But considering all the evidence, it didn't surprise the time-traveler that his superior was trying it. If the book was floating,
something had to be holding it up. Since there clearly couldn't be wires floating in the air on a ship Thompson had never once set foot on...well. That kind of left only one option, with the existing evidence, didn't it?
Simple and to the point. Guess Skip knocked some sense into me after all.
Snorting softly, Thompson finally stepped aside, as Stark's hand alighted upon Hood's own. The battlecruiser stiffened in place, her blonde hair falling over her wide eyes. An expression mirrored on Stark's face, when he looked at Hood.
And he most certainly looked at
her. Not the book. Not the wall behind her. Not even at Thompson. The CNO stared
directly at Hood's pretty face. His lips shifting into a small, almost fatherly, smile. He closed his hand upon her's, squeezing softly.
"Well, I guess that they weren't lying after all."
"Ca...Captain? You can see
me?"
"Of course, Blücher. And I can say it is quite a relief that I can."
Young and inexperienced, the Kriegsmarine cruiser Blücher stared at her commanding officer. A man entirely too old and world-weary for his position. He was old enough to be an Admiral...why was he just her Captain? She had an Admiral already aboard, she knew that. And Admiral Kummentz was not a young man himself. In her childish way, she had wondered why her Captain was older than her Admiral.
But she had never imagined him answering
that question.
"How? How can you see me?" Blücher's voice was excited now, even if the confusion remained. She pushed up against the Captain, uncaring of the fact that it pushed her rather large chest into his arm. She could feel
him! "Tell me! Tell me!"
The Captain's lips twitched up, years seeming to fall off his face with the smile, "That is a long story dear. A very long story."
"But..."
"I didn't say I wouldn't tell you." Her Captain's lips moved up further, as he sat down on his small cot. Blücher didn't once let go of him, of course. She retained her tight grip on his arm, right down onto the bed.
Was it silly of her? Probably. But she couldn't believe he could see her! Touch her!
Talk to her.
"Where to begin..." the old man muttered softly, upon sitting on the bed. "Well, I suppose I should start by saying this is not the first time I met you, dear little Blücher."
Blücher frowned at that, her excited smile falling away, "Not the first time?"
"Not at all. In fact, I know you quite well." By contrast, her Captain's smile just turned melancholic.
At least, Blücher assumed that was what it was. She didn't actually know for sure.
"You see, this is far from the first time we have met. But that's...all in the future..."
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Tired violet eyes blinked open slowly, accompanied by an explosive yawn. Blücher stretched her arms above her head, arching her back almost like a cat stretching after a nap.
Granted, she
had just woken up from a nap.
"Admiral..." Blücher muttered softly, looking over at where the old man sat, still working away as he always was.
From the moment she had first met him, that had been what he did. Not once had he ever stopped to rest, unless she
made him do it. Blücher sighed, so quietly that even she barely heard it. Her Admiral was not a young man. He hadn't been when she met him, and the last year just made him look even
older. The stress of working behind the scenes when one misstep would doom him...
He was stronger than she was, there wasn't even a doubt in her mind.
"I see you're awake, Blücher." Admiral Schreiber's voice was soft in its own right, though it was still enough to make the cruiser blush as pink as her hair.
"Your hearing is unfair Admiral..." the young cruiser complained, but with no real bite to her words.
"What was that? I couldn't hear you."
The dry tone of voice was enough to bring a small giggle out of the pink-haired girl, even as she got up from the cot. The Admiral's quarters went unused most of the time, with her Admiral spending most of his time on Bismarck now. After all...Bismarck was the flagship, and Blücher was just a lowly escort.
It just made her cherish the time that he
was aboard all the more.
"In all honesty, I'm sorry if I woke you, dear." The Admiral continued, turning around from his desk. His tired blue eyes were still as kind as the day they had first met, when the locked onto her own violet. "Do you need something?"
Blücher could only shake her head, her lips turning down into a small frown, "Not really. I was just...remembering when we first met. It's been a long time."
Admiral Schreiber sighed softly, "Yes, it has. Sometimes, I find it hard to believe I have survived this long."
"Hey, don't talk like that!" Blücher was immediately by her Admiral's side, staring up at him with accusatory violet eyes. A pout had replaced her frown, but the meaning behind the expression had not changed. "I told you before, I won't ever let someone hurt you!"
All it did was make her old Admiral smile, reaching out a hand to gently pat her on the head. His fingers twisted in her hair, the soft touch serving to make Blücher melt, her indignation fading away. She always
had been vulnerable to this.
Another of those things that her Admiral Schreiber knew from the future.
Well, it wasn't something she was ever going to complain about. These 'headpats' were always relaxing, and she
couldn't say no to them. Even if it did frustrate her a little bit- just a little! -that she knew he was doing it to distract her. She loved her Admiral dearly, but he tried to do everything himself. It had been nearly impossible to convince him to let her new Captain help at all.
She wouldn't be surprised if he refused help from Bismarck.
You're too kind...
Forcing herself to move, Blücher pulled his hand off her head, staring up at her Admiral.
"Admiral, please," Blücher frowned again, shaking her head, pink hair flying every which way. "Don't try to do everything yourself again! I know it's hard on you, but that's why I'm here!"
"And I am forever thankful for that." Admiral Schreiber replied easily.
"Then why do you always act so...so..." The cruiser was at a loss for words, waving her free hand around to try and emphasize her point. Or at least get it across better than she could hope to do by speaking.
Her Admiral just smile sadly, shaking his own head as he grabbed Blücher's hand and held it tightly, "I know how I act, and it
is because I am surprised that I have yet to be caught. But you don't need to worry, dear little Blücher. I will
not let anything happen, so long as I am able."
"But you're trying to..."
Admiral Schreiber placed a finger on the cruiser's lips, shaking his head again, "I know. But that is why I'm thankful to have you. And Bismarck. And Lange. If it weren't for all of you, I may have failed long ago."
There was silence after he said that, the old man content to let
his cruiser think. Blücher would never consider another man her commander. And it made it
so much harder to see her Admiral work himself to the bone like this. She had wanted him to stay aboard for awhile...to
rest. Not to keep working.
But then, she had known that was a lost cause from the start. He would
always keep working. No matter what she or anyone else said.
Because it was who he was.
"If you're going to be here," Blücher finally spoke again, a sour tone to her voice. "At least spend the time
relaxing instead of working. I never get to talk to you anymore!"
A small smile crossed the old man's face at those words, "Very well. What do you want to talk about?"
"Um..." Once again at a loss for words, Blücher felt her cheeks warm up again. She wanted to talk about something, but she didn't know
what to talk about?
Luckily for her, all it really did was make a genuine, if small, laugh come from her Admiral. Even if she felt the flush on her cheeks grow, Blücher couldn't help her own giggle.
Hey, she was embarrassed, yes. But if it made her Admiral laugh, it was all worth it in the end.
"We can talk about anything you want, dear," Admiral Schreiber continued, getting to his feet. He may have been old.
But his footsteps were solid and without any hesitation, as he pulled the cruiser over to the hatch out of the room.
"But I feel like we both could use some fresh air first. I don't know when we'll get another chance."
And that...that had Blücher more scared than anything else.
Even as the fresh air wafted over her face when they left her superstructure, that worry did not go away. When Captain Lange walked over to them curiously, it was just pushed underneath her smiling facade. Looking at her Admiral only served to remind her.
Admiral...are you sure we'll all survive...?
There we go.
This one was difficult, which is partially why it took longer than I had wanted it to. Hopefully everything actually worked out though. That said, last update before the KC event, because I'm going to switch to trying to get Lexie!Quest and
Warriors updated. Because more of my Sara.
At any rate, have some cutes:
Again, hopefully the chapter is good. Took long enough.
IJN???) powerplants in a Montana, make it Turbo-Electric.
