Changing Destiny (Kancolle)

What is everyone opinion of how historians would react when they realize that they can have a first-hand account of some of the most important naval events in history by talking with one of the older ship girls?
I am talking about the USS Constitution as well as the HMS Victory. But this also could include older warships.
I would imagine that Historians would love to talk to the HMS Victory regarding Admiral Nelson.
Or with the USS Constitution and her battles with the Barbary Pirates as well as the French and the British.

What other warships does everyone think that historians would love to meet? How would they react?

Saratoga, Lexington, Yorktown, Arizona, Yamato, Musashi, Kaga, etc. Every ship, ever to float, from every time in history. to get first hand knowledge, unbiased by time, and bullshit, would be a godsend to anyone remotely interested in this. I would love to meet Missouri, Lady Lex, and Arizona from the US fleet. Yamato and Kaga from IJN a nd Busmark from Germany.
 

USS Corry, DD-334. Clemson-class that was partially scrapped after the Stock Market Crash. Right after it (1930). Navy tore off her upper-works and then towed her up a river and promptly abandoned her. Still there to this day, what's left of her.

I may or may not have ideas percolating now.

Either way, after watching a couple docs on FDR to prod the muse and poke my memory, I'm working on the next chapter now. Hopefully today. At least, that's the goal.
 
Random ensign on Corry: Such a sham-ahHHHHHHHH!
USS Corry: Everything hurts...
Ensign: GAHHHHHHAHHHHHH! *runs himself into a bulkhead and knocks himself out


The USN and a DD in
Night of the Living Tin Cans!
 
Sky shows us the DD equivalent of a partially-decapitated zombie....

...

...​

'Kay.​

Time to bully Sky into not being creepy!!



*Hands Sky a bottle of suntan lotion, and gives him a thumbs up*
 
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You know.... those STACKs should look horribly out of place on such an otherwise lean and lithe girl... but somehow they never really do.
There was SCIENCE and ENGINEERING done. And done well.
Hail Science!
Hail Engineering!

Also, hail whomever designed a bikini top that can withstand that level of pressure to be freed.
 
Sara: "How dare you! These are completely natural. I was built with them! Never had to do a trashy refit to increase my bunkerage or anything. Hmph. I'm going to go get Sky."
<thinks about Sara in dry dock, with all those shirtless, sweaty, sailors moving all over her keel, while making adjustments to her rudders and propellers>
<opens mouth>
<closes mouth>
Nah, this is Sky's thread. There have to be limits. Somewhere.
 
>.>


About time there was art of momboat and daughteru together. And it works in both directions (either Lexie and Sara, or Lexie and Minitoga).

Also:


AL!Enterprise continues to work for Big E. Even moreso in this case, considering Little E trying to mimic Halsey and all.

(chapter is about half done.

Which explains the threadmark I needed to delete...sometimes that feature is useful, sometimes not when I forget it is there)
 
<thinks about Sara in dry dock, with all those shirtless, sweaty, sailors moving all over her keel, while making adjustments to her rudders and propellers>
<opens mouth>
<closes mouth>
Nah, this is Sky's thread. There have to be limits. Somewhere.

Sara: "What's wrong with my team of highly paid and trained masseuse specialists?"
 
Chapter 35
Chapter 35

"The President will see you now."

In many ways, those were the words that James Thompson had been dreading. In equally as many, the words he had been looking forward to. His need to see the President, warred with the nerves that had his hands shaking. On some level he cursed how unflappable that Richardson and Stark seemed. Neither of those men showed any signs of nerves. They were completely fine, as the little group walked into the Oval Office.

This is my first time in this office. I've seen it on television so many times. In books and on film. But...

Squaring his shoulders, Thompson stared resolutely forward. He didn't look at the office to see differences between what he remembered, and how it was now. To see things added by future Presidents missing. He didn't look at the couches or at the officers by his side. All of his attention was focused on the old man sitting at his desk.

"Welcome to the White House, gentleman."

In person, Franklin Roosevelt was much smaller than his legend. Maybe it was because he was at his desk. Maybe it was because of how old he looked. Perhaps it was even the fact there was always a difference between a legend and a man. Regardless of the reason, the smiling President looked nothing like Thompson had been expecting.

"Hello, Mr. President," Stark, the most senior officer present, was the first to speak.

Richardson was second, "It's been a while, sir."

Roosevelt inclined his head at both of the men, lingering slightly on Richardson. The genial smile on his face didn't fade, though, as he shifted to the one officer in the room who had never met him.

"And you, I assume, are Admiral Thompson?" Roosevelt's voice was strong. There was not a hint of pain or weariness in it.

Instinctively snapping to attention, Thompson nodded. "Yes sir. It's...an honor. I never thought I would meet you in person, Mr. President."

And isn't that an understatement.

"Oh there's no need for that," Roosevelt lifted a hand and waved off Thompson's words. The President's smile widened, if anything, as he gestured at the seats placed around his desk. "Please, take a seat. I imagine there is quite a lot for us to talk about, and I- for one -tire of the hero worship."

A small chuckle from Stark was the only reaction to those words, "I think its more like you prefer it is kept to the proper places, if I'm not wrong."

Roosevelt chuckled himself, "Perhaps, perhaps."

As the three officers took their seats, Thompson reflected on just how out of place he was. Stark was chatting with the President like a good friend. Richardson sat in his chair with a practiced ease, despite the fact that the time-traveler knew he didn't agree with Roosevelt and had made his opinion clear.

And here he was, a man who had never met his own Presidents. Leave alone a now-living legend of the caliber that FDR represented.

"Now that we're all comfortable," Roosevelt turned away from Stark, his brilliant blue eyes focusing on Thompson. Slightly sunken or not, those eyes held an inscrutable intelligence. "I believe you have something to say, Admiral Thompson. Frank already informed me of your discovery."

Frank Knox, the Secretary of the Navy, had insisted that he be shown a spirit first. After Stark had told his superior what was going on. That delay, involving New York in a series of increasingly creative attempts to get through, had kept Thompson from Roosevelt for about a month. He had only a bit over half a year left before Pearl, and he was just now meeting the President.

Oh well. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

"I know how hard it is to believe, sir," Thompson sucked down a breath, forcing his nerves beneath a stoic surface.

Roosevelt's lips twitched, ever so slightly. "Do you? The idea of our warships having spirits, of any inanimate object having a spirit?"

"...when you say it like that..."

The President placed his hands on the desk, sighing softly. He didn't look particularly disbelieving, but he didn't look convinced either. His eyes trailed over each officer once more.

"In all honesty, if it were not for the fact you brought in so many of my best officers, I wouldn't believe you at all." Turning back to Thompson, Roosevelt's eyebrow climbed up his forehead. "So, tell me, why should I believe you?"

Why indeed. It was like this every time, really. Disbelief. Refusal to listen. Denying the truth and attempting to rationalize it. Thompson was used to it. And he knew there was no more time to fool around. Frankly he had been through this crap too many times. This exact same discussion.

"If I may be frank, Mr. President?" At the nod from Roosevelt, Thompson continued apace. "You have no reason to believe me. I've said that so many times, to so many people...at this point, there's nothing more I can do. If my word isn't enough, is the word of Admiral Halsey, Admiral Richardson, Admiral Stark, Secretary Knox--is all of that not enough?"

Sucking in a breath, the Admiral looked directly into the President's eyes. Green into blue.

"To be completely, one-hundred percent honest, I've said this too many times to count."

With his piece said, Thompson fell back into his seat. He had no idea how Roosevelt was going to react. He just didn't know enough about the man to say. Roosevelt was, as ever, a mystery.

Not helped by the way his genial smile had been replaced by a contemplative expression. His sunken in eyes crinkling at the corner and his lips thinning. Roosevelt looked like a kind old grandfather, even more than Stark. But right now, it made it impossible to judge what he was thinking!

"You certainly don't lack in resolve, Admiral Thompson." Crossing his fingers on his desk, the President nodded slowly. His expression didn't once change, however. "Though..." Trailing off, Roosevelt turned his eyes to Richardson. "What do you feel about this?"

Richardson blinked, slowly and deliberately, as he worked over his answer. "That is a difficult question to answer. I certainly didn't believe this myself, at first. Even coming from an engineering background." A shrug. "It's not something one expects to hear."

"You do believe it, though." It wasn't a question.

"Strange as it may sound, I do. After seeing multiple spirits myself, from Utah to Saratoga to Hood, I can hardly deny it." Richardson snorted softly. His gruff tone lost some of the roughness with his next words. "It's either true, or we're all insane."

Roosevelt didn't smile, as he nodded. "Indeed. However, those words mean more to me than you know."

The 'you', in this case, meaning Thompson. The President had turned back to the youngest officer in the room. His eyebrow raised, ever so slightly, at the sweat trailing down the younger man's cheek. His face remaining as inscrutable as if it were one of the statues that Thompson had seen in the future. Hell, those had more emotion than the man himself did.

"What do you mean, sir?" Thompson asked, his voice admirably calm, considering.

"It's quite simple, really. Admiral Richardson has that unique quality among officers of actually speaking his mind, no matter whom he may be speaking with. It has caused both of us no end of grief."

A dry chuckle came from the Admiral in question. "I stand by what I have said, Mr. President."

"As do I." Roosevelt shot back, before turning his attention back to Thompson. "Now, as I know that Admiral Richardson would not lie to me, I can confirm you do honestly believe what you are saying. What you have told me."

That's one victory at least.

Shaking his head, Thompson stared at the grandfatherly figure in front of him. "Do you believe us then? I mean, it's still quite hard to believe, but..."

For the first time since the conversation had taken such a serious turn, Roosevelt smiled. The same genial smile that he was so well known for, as he placed his hands on the desk. And leaned forward slightly.

"Perhaps I do. It would certainly explain many things."

Thompson frowned at those words, his eyes narrowing. "What things?"

"Oh, it's not important." If anything, Roosevelt's smile widened and turned distinctly cheerful. He was enjoying this. "Also, you would do well to control your emotions better, Admiral. I've known what you were going to do this entire time."

"What."

Completely flat in tone or not, Thompson felt a chill run down his spine. Roosevelt...Roosevelt had manipulated him. He had outmaneuvered him. Each of the President's questions and statements had been intended to push him in one direction or another. How had he not noticed that? Was Roosevelt really that good at his...no. Of course he was. Franklin Roosevelt, no matter what you thought of him, was a consummate politician. One didn't get as far as he did on just charisma. The man knew what he was doing.

And Thompson didn't. Never had.

"You're young, Admiral. The youngest we have," Roosevelt continued, the kind grandfather back in full force. His smile softening. "Admiral Sims, however, was correct when he pushed for your promotion before he passed. You're smart and eager, you merely lack political skills."

Sims?

"Of course, sir." Thompson hid his confusion under humility, averting his eyes from Roosevelt. Another hint to the past of...whomever he had replaced.

"In light of this, I have a request to make." Roosevelt splayed his hands out on his desk, and Thompson had the feeling he would have stood if he could. His smile remained, but the President's eyes were deadly serious. Blue narrowed to slits. "Until such a time as Saratoga has completed her refits, I want you to stay in Washington and remain as my adviser on the...spirits. I know enough about a Captain to know you loathe being away from your ship, so I won't permanently reassign you. However--"

Roosevelt sighed, ever so slightly. His expression softening just as slightly.

"I would rather figure this out sooner, rather than later. Your inroads with the British will make that much simpler as well. This should not get out to the public, until a time when we are certain it will work to our advantage."

What the President didn't need to say, was that such a time would not come until the War was no longer such a major focus. America was not at war, yet. Most people probably thought it would never come. Thompson was, however, not most people. It was possible that Stark and Richardson suspected that Roosevelt was maneuvering America to war. The time-traveler knew he was.

None of that was visible on his face, of course. He just nodded, a light flush on his cheeks. Being a direct adviser to the President- to this President -had not been on his list of things he expected. In hindsight, though, it was something he should have expected being the epicenter of the ship girl events.

"Understood, Mr. President. As long as I can go back to my ship and crew when she has finished working up."

A small laugh answered that request, "Naturally. At any rate, I've been told a lot about Admiral Halsey. I'm certain he will be perfectly capable of commanding Enterprise and Lexington until then."

Part of Thompson wondered how much, and from who, Roosevelt had heard about Halsey. And, for that matter, if any of it involved how the man was basically Enterprise's father at this point.

I know she certainly sees him as one.

Unable to fight his smile at that, Thompson felt his shoulders relax slightly when Roosevelt's attention shifted back towards Richardson and away from him. What a relief that was.

"Now, Admiral Richardson. I can assume that Admiral Stark and Secretary Knox haven't told you yet."

"Hm," Richardson hummed softly. His steely eyes narrowed to flints, as he stared at the President. "Tell me what, Mr. President?"

Roosevelt's own eyes narrowed and Thompson got the feeling he was watching a mental jousting match. "Effective immediately, you have been removed from your post as CINCUS."

Such a silence followed those words, that Thompson and- seemingly -Stark stopped breathing. The time traveler, certainly, waited with baited breath. He had known this was coming on some level. The time he remembered saw Kimmel in command at Pearl--not Richardson. He was frankly surprised it had taken this long, on some level. Why shouldn't he be?

"I see," Richardson was the first to break the silence. He leaned back in his chair, all of his energy seeming to vanish. The Admiral reached up to his spectacles, gingerly removing them to wipe them down. A nervous tick. "I can't say I am entirely surprised. We have never agreed on Pearl, and I doubt that will change. May I at least know who will replace me? Admiral King? Halsey? Thompson?"

The President maintained his narrowed eyes for a few, very long, seconds. He stared Richardson down as the Admiral replaced his glasses. There was not a hint of remorse...

Until a small smile crossed his thin lips.

"Admiral Halsey is better served where he is, and Admiral Thompson is far too young for such an illustrious post." Roosevelt pulled a paper from the stack on his desk, waving it slightly. "No, you aren't being replaced. The Navy has been reorganized, Admiral. The Pacific and Atlantic Fleets are once more equal with the Asiatic, and you are to retain command of the Pacific. In the event the fleets are merged, you will also revert to CINCUS."

Richardson seemed shocked by that. His mouth opened for a retort, only for Roosevelt to cut him off.

"Admiral King will be given the Atlantic, while Admiral Stark remains CNO." Smile widening slightly, Roosevelt set the paper down and tapped a finger on the desk. "Considering your new position, you will be officially promoted to Vice Admiral with a temporary rank of Admiral, pending review. We may not agree, but Admirals Halsey and Thompson were very persuasive in their reports."

"Thom..."

Turning to look at his subordinate, Richardson raised an eyebrow. Thompson shrugged, and smiled despite himself. He had nothing against Kimmel or Nimitz, but Richardson was the resident expert- without future knowledge, admittedly -on the Japanese. If anyone could limit the losses at Pearl, it was him.

Shaking his head, Richardson turned back to Roosevelt. "It is an honor, sir."

"Of course," Roosevelt's full smile was back, as he leaned back in his own chair. "Now, I have a lot of work to do to prepare for these new moves. You are all dismissed, though I will be calling you back soon, Admiral Thompson."

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After Stark had left to talk with King about the Atlantic Fleet, Richardson and Thompson found themselves alone outside the White House. There was a companionable silence between the two men. For all the years and experience setting the two men apart, they were comfortable with one another now. Perhaps even friends. Neither of them had any problems standing with the other, for sure.

That said, Thompson turned to his nominal superior. Richardson was staring forward, his glasses once more perched on his nose. As a cool summer breeze brushed over both men, he made no signs of noticing it. He was like a statue.

"I expected to be removed from command," his deep voice spoke at last. Richardson's hard eyes turned on Thompson, evaluating the man by his side. "In a way, I was."

"You're still my superior, sir," the time-traveler smiled softly.

Richardson absently nodded, fingering the rank badges on his sleeves. "Yes, I am. I expected that the President would replace me with Kimmel. He is...a good officer, but one that won't argue with the President. After the amount of times I've told him Pearl is a bad idea, I would expect nothing less."

Narrowing his eyes slightly, the surly Admiral looked at his younger counterpart again.

"And you. Why did you and Bull Halsey send letters to the President?"

Thompson just shrugged, "If I can speak freely? Because you're the best man we have for the job. No one knows the Japanese like you do, and frankly, I'm convinced they'll attack eventually too. We've done more than enough to piss them off. Pardon my language."

The older man snorted. He had said, and heard, much more than that before. And if nothing else, Thompson had cemented a position where he could get away with saying stuff like that to him.

"Indeed we have. That has been my major point with the President--Japan won't be intimidated by any movements we make. Getting our ships closer just invites an attack. If I had my way, we'd be in San Diego still."

Of course, Richardson didn't have his way. Thompson could never be certain if he would perform better than Kimmel had done. Or Nimitz, if things came to that in the end.

But he also couldn't say he would do worse. It was very unlikely, with how he acted in regards to Japan.

"Like I said, sir, you're the best we have. If anyone can blunt the Japanese, it's you." Thompson sighed softly. And continued, so softly it was lost in the wind, "And I'd rather not see things happen the way they did before."

Richardson smiled thinly himself, "You are selling yourself short, Admiral. It will be you and Admiral Halsey who lead our men in the event of a war. I am not so blind as to hold to the idea that battleships are the future, not when you've demonstrated time and time again that isn't the case. I only wish I could convince more of that."

The comfortable silence returned, the two men standing together as they waited for the car to arrive and take them to their respective bunkings. There was little more to talk about, really. Both of them knew exactly what to do in the future. And in Thompson's case, he knew a good idea of what that future was likely to bring. After all, butterflies aside, it wasn't like things had changed that much in the long run anyway. He was the only actor changing things.
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The butt of a cigarette cast dim light in the Oval Office. Franklin Roosevelt absently chewed on the end of his favored habit, only tangentially noting how it was burning down. His attention was much more focused on the paper held in his hands, that ash from his smoke landed on. He had considered bringing this up, if only to see Thompson's reaction. The man reminded him of himself, in some ways. When he was younger and more wide-eyed about certain things.

But Roosevelt had not gotten where he was by being too trusting. Not even his closest advisers were aware of the true nature of the relationship he had with Winston Churchill. They suspected, of course. But no one was aware of his secret messages with the British Prime Minister. The secret moves both made to counter Hitler on the global chessboard. And the attempts to steer the great American ship towards war with Nazi Germany.

One such message was sitting in his hands now.

Franklin, I admit to being at a loss. These circumstances are completely out of my realm of experience. The Huns appealing to us after taking an entire convoy and ruining one of our few battleships? It would be madness, even without the method of delivery. Hood being a woman was enough of a shock, if I'm to believe her officers. That the Germans have the same and one of their Admirals has attempted to make contact...

I have to ask you, from one man to another.

Have you, or any of your officers, been in contact with Germany? How far has this spread? And most importantly, does this Admiral Schreiber have any contacts in your navy? I am loathe to admit that this is an isolated incident, and that there is not something happening behind our backs. We must figure this out, or everything will come undone.


Sighing, Roosevelt pulled his cigarette from his mouth and blew out a puff of thick tobacco smoke. His hand shook slightly, though he forced that down. He knew his health was not what it used to be, but he couldn't afford to dwell on that. Not now, not in the future. Part of his motivation in keeping Thompson as an adviser was to observe the man. If he could be trusted...

Well, if he could be trusted, Roosevelt would tell him about this message. Just...for once in his life, the President was not sure which option would be worse for America and himself. That Thompson was communicating behind his back with other naval powers--or that this situation was spreading around the world, all on its own.

Without looking, the President set the paper down. Leaned back in his chair, and returned the cigarette to his mouth as the sun set behind him. Things had become so much more complicated.



This chapter was...more difficult than I anticipated. Writing Roosevelt is goddamn hard.

Just like with Hitler, Roosevelt is a figure that is hard to read. I can watch all the docs and read all the references I want, but FDR was a man who held things to his chest. It's hard to judge what he was really like, beyond the act he put on. In my case, it doesn't help that he literally looks like my grandfather* so I keep drifting in that direction. Hopefully things worked out well enough in the long run. I'm not sure how well the chapter turned out between that and the fact I wrote half of it while sick.

Still am sick as I post this.

Either way, FDR. Whoo! I'm not going to say I got him down perfectly, but I doubt I ever will. I'll probably improve as I write him more, but for now, I just hope it came across well. I was trying to show how he had Thompson flat-footed the entire time. We're talking a man who is one of the best political men America ever produced matched with a man who is really in over-his-head. Thus, the chapter.

Also, yes, Richardson is still in command at Pearl. Not Kimmel.

(I also dropped some teasing in there :V )

*and no, really, FDR looks scarily like my grandfather did.

And now, a short little omake to make up for the time this took.​
 
Omake: Utah
And, a little side jump to see how Utah is doing. Been long enough since she's shown up.



"Smoke, Utah?"

Smiling softly, USS Utah shook her head. Her long grey hair fell around her agelessly beautiful face, while she looked at the man beside her. She was the oldest battleship left in the Navy, but her Engineer looked every bit her senior. His grizzled face was staring at her over a lit cigarette, as he held out another towards her.

"Suit yourself," Joe Jackson shrugged, replacing the smoke in its box. His tone may have been gruff, but there was a certain fondness to it as well.

"I don't know what smoking would do, Joseph." Utah's smile didn't fade, even with another shake of her head. "Certainly I don't need to give you more work."

A grunt answered her. Her newly promoted Captain leaned back against her turret- or what was left of it -and shrugged. He acted uncaring, perhaps, though it was just that. An act. Utah couldn't help but fondly smile at him. The man tried too hard to maintain the image of a detached commander, mostly for the benefit of her tiny crew. When they were alone...well, suffice to say there was a reason she called him by his name.

"Ya don't know that." His grumbling was muffled somewhat by the cigarette in his mouth. It didn't hide the small smile. "Nice to know ya care, Utah. Always was a challenge keepin those old boilers running. Andy's a good kid, but he don't know you like I do."

Smile widening, Utah leaned against her Captain and shrugged. His broad shoulder, for all that he was shorter than she was, was easily capable of holding her up. And, to be honest, she was a bit like her daughter.

"I like this, though," the grey-haired battleship-turned-target softly spoke. Her head pillowed on her Captain's shoulder. "Being able to talk to you like this. Touching you like this. I always dreamed of it."

Jackson looked away, his scarred face refusing to look at the woman beside him. "Yeah, yeah. What's gotten into ya?"

Utah shrugged again, "Nothing really."

It wasn't really true. As her hull was being refit beneath her, Utah felt her mortality more than ever. The new guns were nice...but they were another reminder of her diminishing utility to the Navy. Even her new life as a target and trainer would only last so long. It was why she was so happy to be with her Captain and engineer. It couldn't last forever, but she wanted to make the most of it.

And continue to do what I can to save Arizona and the others.

Sighing, Utah brushed her arm against her Captain. Jackson grumbled again, and moved his arm enough so that she could wrap her own around it.

"Thank you for all of this, Joseph. It means more than you know."

This time, the grizzled old officer turned his head and directly smiled at Utah. It was a small one. But it was progress!

"Nah, thank you. Once this all gets out, the Navy may keep ya around. An old dog like me doesn't have a place on a new ship. You're home, Utah." Jackson scratched his chin, running his finger along one of the myriad of scars. Utah still hadn't gotten a straight answer out of the man...on where those came from. "Well, and a good friend. Pretty gal too."

A flush crossed Utah's face, as she squeezed the man's arm. "Please, I'm an old girl. Arizona is much more attractive than I am."

"Maybe," the officer shrugged. "But she ain't you. Now is she?"

If Utah had been bright red before, her face flushed yet further now. Tears misted in her eyes, as she smiled a watery smile. Even the twinge of men working at fixing old aches and scars through her hull faded a bit. Times like this she cherished, so very dearly. To find a man who cared so much about her was--was--well, it meant more than words could ever explain.

"As long as the Navy wants me, I'll be here, Joseph." Utah clung closer to her Captain, as he flicked his cigarette over the side of her hull. It landed far below, at the bottom of the drydock she rested in. In the distance, Saratoga was visible undergoing her own long-delayed refit. "I'll be here for you, and for my daughters."

Jackson snorted softly, "Daughters. Don't understand why you consider the battleships that, but eh. Who am I to judge."

Utah just smiled, and looked out at the distant carrier. Arizona had left some time ago, returning to Pearl. It was just Utah and the carrier now, for large ships. The carrier that had started all of this, with her time-traveling Admiral. The man who had given her everything.

"To be completely honest, I'm not their mother." There was an ever so slight hint of sadness in Utah's voice. A small tightening of her grip on her Captain. "That was South Carolina, my own mother. But with her gone...with my big sisters gone..."

Looking up at her Admiral, Utah's watery smile grew in strength. She drew her strength from the man by her side.

"I'm the oldest, and I do love them all like daughters. Arizona, Nevada, New York, New Mexico, Colorado...they're all like my beloved children. I'll do anything and everything for them. No matter what it is."

The Captain rolled his eyes, but smiled as he reached a free hand to ruffle Utah's long grey hair. The battleship, so much older than her looks showed, leaned into the touch. Her eyes were old but her soul still clung to little actions like this.

"Well, it ain't my place to judge that. Do what ya have to do, Utah, and we'll fix you right up after it. That's our job innit?" The scarred officer smiled at the battleship, as she clung to his side.

And Utah smiled back, looking at the rising sun as she thought about the future. She knew it would be trying and that she was unlikely to survive. It didn't matter.

She would continue doing everything she could to save her daughters, come what may. She would do everything in her power and more. And if, in the end, she still perished? She would die with a smile on her face as the rest survived and continued on without her. Like any proud parent would.
 
Franklin, I admit to being at a loss. These circumstances are completely out of my realm of experience. The Huns appealing to us after taking an entire convoy and ruining one of our few battleships? It would be madness, even without the method of delivery. Hood being a woman was enough of a shock, if I'm to believe her officers. That the Germans have the same and one of their Admirals has attempted to make contact...
Frankly, I am surprised that Churchill was convinced so easily by his British officers?
What happened?
Was it because Churchill was a strong Navy Man?
 
I wonder if Thompson knew Schreiber in the past/future. If not, then Roosevelt will be able to see that on Thompson's face.

Also, Thompson, you more likely just changed everything. EVERYTHING.
Mainly because you taunted Murphy, but still.
 
"What."

Completely flat in tone or not, Thompson felt a chill run down his spine. Roosevelt...Roosevelt had manipulated him. He had outmaneuvered him. Each of the President's questions and statements had been intended to push him in one direction or another. How had he not noticed that? Was Roosevelt really that good at his...no. Of course he was. Franklin Roosevelt, no matter what you thought of him, was a consummate politician. One didn't get as far as he did on just charisma. The man knew what he was doing.

And Thompson didn't. Never had.

"You're young, Admiral. The youngest we have," Roosevelt continued, the kind grandfather back in full force. His smile softening. "Admiral Sims, however, was correct when he pushed for your promotion before he passed. You're smart and eager, you merely lack political skills."
Don't beat yourself up too much, Thompson, at least you were perceptive enough to recognize how you were played. As you thought, President Roosevelt is an old hand at this game, and he sees potential in you I think. After all, skills can be taught.

After all, butterflies aside, it wasn't like things had changed that much in the long run anyway. He was the only actor changing things.
Oh, if only that were true Thompson. Should he learn of Schreiber's presence and his actions/plans, I see a bout of paranoia in his future.

A great update Sky, as well as the omake with Utah.

Also, interesting missive from Churchill to Roosevelt.
 
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Awesome post...I hope Utah survives! Wonder if Yamamoto has met Nagato yet...and if Kongo's captain has discovered the Knowledge of the Dess? :D
 
That was an excellent bit of storytelling with a very hard character to write well. I can see you took a lot of care with FDR; dividing the man from his PR image is not an easy task, but what you have feels right. It makes sense for Thompson to be assigned as an advisor while Sara's undergoing her refit, since he's the one who brought up the ship spirits concept and seems to be the "expert" on the topic. That sort of information is a necessity for the president if he is going to make decisions that will seriously impact Naval policy in the coming months.

I wasn't expecting Churchill to have already passed on the message from Bismarck's encounter, but if Hood's captain sent a priority message back he would have certainly been informed, and that could have given the report more weight than it would otherwise have received. It will be interesting to see how things play out from here.

Likewise, good job with the little scene with Utah and her new Captain. That's a lot of sentiment wrapped up in a fairly short conversation. It doesn't really impinge on the main story at all, but it gives us a pretty good look at how ships at the far end of their service life look on their last years on active duty. I hope we get another look at the older girl when the mood strikes you again.
 
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