HarakoniWarhawk
Striking from the Skies
- Location
- Holy Terra
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Kant-O-Celle Quest [a Kantai Collection game, transcribed from 4chan]
- Thread starter Trace Coburn
- Start date
Idol of the Fleet, Naka-Chan!
Trace Coburn
BattleTech Starfighter Analyst
- Location
- NDBBM, New Zealand
BY REQUEST OF THE CREATOR, THIS WRITE-UP HAS BEEN REMOVED FROM SUFFICIENTVELOCITY.COM. THOSE WISHING TO READ THIS SIDE-STORY SHOULD VISIT THE MIRROR OF THIS POST AT SPACEBATTLES.COM.
Last edited:
thank you for adding it.
will the other sidestories be added too?
will the other sidestories be added too?
CompassJimbo
Where’s Your North?
- Location
- The former Rubber Capital of the World
>"The deal is that you're dealing with a virgin."
I laughed so hard when I first read this.
I laughed so hard when I first read this.
You really have to wonder what exactly that Yakuza think would happen. You threatened a girl that can take on equipment to fight what are essentially eldritch abominations.
:|
I'd like to think there's a Yak boss sitting in home going "I told you to make her an offer! Not an offer she couldn't refuse you idiots!"
:|
I'd like to think there's a Yak boss sitting in home going "I told you to make her an offer! Not an offer she couldn't refuse you idiots!"
Yeah, that struck me as funny... at any time she can open up with high velocity 6" guns. In land warfare, that's HEAVY artillery. She can demolish city blocks. 25mm AA is nothing to sneeze at either.
ckk185
Crazy Bunny Girl Scientist
- Location
- Port city
In those spaces, she would pulp everyone in the room and the next room beyond.
So. No.
she crushed his leg, by DROPPING A SHELL on it-by having the AMMO for one of her cannons fall on his leg. I don't think more is needed to be said.
Dirtnap
Kanmusu Affecionado
Nah pretty sure she straight up dropped the gun, mount and all, on his leg. Even tho they are tiny they still weigh what they should...or something. Shipslut magic needs no explanation.
Trace Coburn
BattleTech Starfighter Analyst
- Location
- NDBBM, New Zealand
For the benefit of those who aren't following planefriend's Twitter account, he's unlikely to run KCQ this weekend. His grandmother is in hospital and not expected to survive more than a day or two. 
Any prayers or other positive waves you care to send his way will probably be welcome.
To tide us all over until he's back in barrage, I'm going to see what I can do about putting up the adventures of Chief Parker and/or the Torpedo Tramps in the next couple of days.
Any prayers or other positive waves you care to send his way will probably be welcome.To tide us all over until he's back in barrage, I'm going to see what I can do about putting up the adventures of Chief Parker and/or the Torpedo Tramps in the next couple of days.
CompassJimbo
Where’s Your North?
- Location
- The former Rubber Capital of the World
Makes me think of when my grandma died a while back. Except I didn't have dozens, if not hundreds of people relying on me to entertain them. Hopefully folks will understand. I'll do my best to sate the masses here.
Chief Parker: Secret Squirrel from the Goat Locker (by Navy-Vet)
Trace Coburn
BattleTech Starfighter Analyst
- Location
- NDBBM, New Zealand
The Chief glared daggers at the door to the Admiral's office. He was used to the usual Seventh Fleet politics; outside of training, he'd spent his entire career on the ships based out of Yokosuka and Sasebo. So it came as no surprise that he'd have to take shore duty in Yokosuka in order to stay.
He hated shore duty; too many pecker-checkers on base, too many politically-minded JOs overstepping the bounds of the Line; and ever since the Abyssals showed up, too many people asking questions on base about how he did his job. Never against his quality of work, just how he was able to DO his job as effectively as he did.
And now he was standing in front of the door to Seventh Fleet Himself. The Chief had read about Vice Admiral Thomas; a Submariner and son of a Marine, he was a no-nonsense career officer that had made it all the way to the lofty halls of the Admiralty. And he had been given overall responsibility for the most-worked, most-fucked-up fleet of sailors this side of the Cold War.
The Chief steadied his nerves; he'd never actually met the head of Seventh Fleet before. He adjusted his cover, still not quite used to wearing the rank of CPO, and knocked on the door.
"Enter," came the brief reply.
The Chief entered, closing the door behind him, and proceeded the few steps to the Admiral's desk that felt so far away.
"Chief Petty Officer James Parker, reporting as ordered, sir," he said, clipping off a textbook perfect salute.
The Admiral, still sitting, stared up at Parker with a calculating look. Parker had played this game before, it was part of the Line; never volunteer information: only give what is asked for.
"Do you know why I summoned you here, Chief?"
Parker thought for a moment. He hadn't been drinking (heavily) recently, and there had been no liberty incidents from his charges. He still flirted with some of the female Ensigns and Junior Grades, but nothing overt and always within the bounds of the Line.
"Can't think of any reason, sir."
At this, Admiral Thomas opened a manilla (why always manilla?) folder on his desk and began reading out highlighted bullet points.
"Chief Petty Officer Parker: Enlisted at eighteen in 2003. Cryptologic Technician. Six years on the Amphibs out of Sasebo; another four on the Washington when it was still here. TDY duty to Afloat Training Group to assist rewriting drill and exercise procedures for Seventh Fleet. Numerous awards and citations; qualifications for numerous weapon systems outside your purview. Picked up for CPO on the first try. Current Assignment is Seventh Fleet Headquarters Intelligence Group. Pretty impressive record, Chief."
"Thank you, sir," was Parker's only reply; this was how the Line worked. Now he just had to wait for the other shoe to drop. The Admiral pulled out another folder.
"But wait; there's more. Psychological profile. Highlights include: 'superstitious attitudes towards life aboard ship'. 'Attempted to instigate a 'Cult of Poseidon' while onboard the USS Ashland'. 'Sings showtunes at inopportune times'. 'Engages in "Costume Play" while in a duty status'. And on and on. What do you have to say about that, Chief?"
"There's nothing wrong with showtunes, sir." Parker was beginning to sweat. He could feel the Line fast approaching. This whole meeting was rapidly approaching South.
Admiral Thomas leaned back in his chair. "Fair point, Chief, though I personally prefer classic rock, myself. The reason I called you here was not to discuss the Strange Ways of Chief Parker; no, I called you here to discuss how the United States Navy can best put your talents and skills to work on the... Abyssal problem."
Parker flinched involuntarily. He was about to step right on the Line. It was time ask a question. "How so, sir?"
"Not only do you possess a keen intellect and a wide variety of skills, you also know more on nautical lore than most seasoned sailors. We need that. We need to know where the Abyssals come from, how they operate... Anything we can find out. Our knowledge is limited, and we don't have enough people willing to work around the Hulls."
Hulls. So, that was the official term for them. Terms had been batted around SCIFs all over; the most popular unofficial one was 'shipgirl' or 'kanmusu', though some of the SIPRnet chats used the less PC term of "shipslut". Parker analyzed the unspoken desire; what the Navy wanted to know, no, what the whole WORLD wanted to know was, just what or who are these girls with the spirits of ships?
Parker sighed inwardly. He could feel the train barreling towards him. "I'd need resources well above my paygrade for that, sir. I don't know how I'd be able to help in my current capacity." Here it comes.
"I've had orders cut assigning you to Joint Task Force TLA as an Intelligence Officer. You'll be working under Admirals Goto and Settle."
Parker's mind blanked at that. "Orders I can understand, sir, but I'm not high enough up the food chain to be a Task Force Intel Officer."
At this, the Admiral pulled out a sheet of paper from one of the desk's drawers and slid it across to Parker.
"That there is a a Presidential authorization for a warrant commission to Chief Warrant Officer 2, along with the requisition authority of the Task Force."
Parker picked up and read the warrant. He read it again.
"Shit."
Admiral Thomas chuckled at this.
"Looks like you're a traitor to the Goat Locker, Chief. At least you get to keep the title."
Parker read over the part regarding "requisition authority" one last time.
"This says I can make orders to facilitate the smooth operation of intelligence gathering between assigned personnel and Hulls, sir."
Thomas paused at this, "That it does, Chief."
"Then I'll need an office. My OWN office. With windows, because the SCIF doesn't have any."
Thomas nodded at this, "Done."
The Line Parker had built a career on carefully working was now long out of sight.
"And I want special permission to wear Dress Khaki again. The... Hulls were used to seeing them along with the Whites and Blues."
Thomas nodded again, "I'll have the authorization form sent to your new office."
Parker glanced down at the Warrant Commission one last time. There was a blank line down at the bottom for him to sign. He pulled out a pen a signed away his old career; a career built on skill, attitude, and quite probably some mental breakdowns.
Parker was promptly escorted to one of his new commanding officers, Admiral Goto. He stared at the door to Goto's office, wondering when and where the Line would show up with this new command. He knocked on the door.
"Enter."
"Chief Warrant Officer Parker, reporting."
------
TL;DR yes I'm introducing a new sub-character for both my and planefriend's malicious use.
He hated shore duty; too many pecker-checkers on base, too many politically-minded JOs overstepping the bounds of the Line; and ever since the Abyssals showed up, too many people asking questions on base about how he did his job. Never against his quality of work, just how he was able to DO his job as effectively as he did.
And now he was standing in front of the door to Seventh Fleet Himself. The Chief had read about Vice Admiral Thomas; a Submariner and son of a Marine, he was a no-nonsense career officer that had made it all the way to the lofty halls of the Admiralty. And he had been given overall responsibility for the most-worked, most-fucked-up fleet of sailors this side of the Cold War.
The Chief steadied his nerves; he'd never actually met the head of Seventh Fleet before. He adjusted his cover, still not quite used to wearing the rank of CPO, and knocked on the door.
"Enter," came the brief reply.
The Chief entered, closing the door behind him, and proceeded the few steps to the Admiral's desk that felt so far away.
"Chief Petty Officer James Parker, reporting as ordered, sir," he said, clipping off a textbook perfect salute.
The Admiral, still sitting, stared up at Parker with a calculating look. Parker had played this game before, it was part of the Line; never volunteer information: only give what is asked for.
"Do you know why I summoned you here, Chief?"
Parker thought for a moment. He hadn't been drinking (heavily) recently, and there had been no liberty incidents from his charges. He still flirted with some of the female Ensigns and Junior Grades, but nothing overt and always within the bounds of the Line.
"Can't think of any reason, sir."
At this, Admiral Thomas opened a manilla (why always manilla?) folder on his desk and began reading out highlighted bullet points.
"Chief Petty Officer Parker: Enlisted at eighteen in 2003. Cryptologic Technician. Six years on the Amphibs out of Sasebo; another four on the Washington when it was still here. TDY duty to Afloat Training Group to assist rewriting drill and exercise procedures for Seventh Fleet. Numerous awards and citations; qualifications for numerous weapon systems outside your purview. Picked up for CPO on the first try. Current Assignment is Seventh Fleet Headquarters Intelligence Group. Pretty impressive record, Chief."
"Thank you, sir," was Parker's only reply; this was how the Line worked. Now he just had to wait for the other shoe to drop. The Admiral pulled out another folder.
"But wait; there's more. Psychological profile. Highlights include: 'superstitious attitudes towards life aboard ship'. 'Attempted to instigate a 'Cult of Poseidon' while onboard the USS Ashland'. 'Sings showtunes at inopportune times'. 'Engages in "Costume Play" while in a duty status'. And on and on. What do you have to say about that, Chief?"
"There's nothing wrong with showtunes, sir." Parker was beginning to sweat. He could feel the Line fast approaching. This whole meeting was rapidly approaching South.
Admiral Thomas leaned back in his chair. "Fair point, Chief, though I personally prefer classic rock, myself. The reason I called you here was not to discuss the Strange Ways of Chief Parker; no, I called you here to discuss how the United States Navy can best put your talents and skills to work on the... Abyssal problem."
Parker flinched involuntarily. He was about to step right on the Line. It was time ask a question. "How so, sir?"
"Not only do you possess a keen intellect and a wide variety of skills, you also know more on nautical lore than most seasoned sailors. We need that. We need to know where the Abyssals come from, how they operate... Anything we can find out. Our knowledge is limited, and we don't have enough people willing to work around the Hulls."
Hulls. So, that was the official term for them. Terms had been batted around SCIFs all over; the most popular unofficial one was 'shipgirl' or 'kanmusu', though some of the SIPRnet chats used the less PC term of "shipslut". Parker analyzed the unspoken desire; what the Navy wanted to know, no, what the whole WORLD wanted to know was, just what or who are these girls with the spirits of ships?
Parker sighed inwardly. He could feel the train barreling towards him. "I'd need resources well above my paygrade for that, sir. I don't know how I'd be able to help in my current capacity." Here it comes.
"I've had orders cut assigning you to Joint Task Force TLA as an Intelligence Officer. You'll be working under Admirals Goto and Settle."
Parker's mind blanked at that. "Orders I can understand, sir, but I'm not high enough up the food chain to be a Task Force Intel Officer."
At this, the Admiral pulled out a sheet of paper from one of the desk's drawers and slid it across to Parker.
"That there is a a Presidential authorization for a warrant commission to Chief Warrant Officer 2, along with the requisition authority of the Task Force."
Parker picked up and read the warrant. He read it again.
"Shit."
Admiral Thomas chuckled at this.
"Looks like you're a traitor to the Goat Locker, Chief. At least you get to keep the title."
Parker read over the part regarding "requisition authority" one last time.
"This says I can make orders to facilitate the smooth operation of intelligence gathering between assigned personnel and Hulls, sir."
Thomas paused at this, "That it does, Chief."
"Then I'll need an office. My OWN office. With windows, because the SCIF doesn't have any."
Thomas nodded at this, "Done."
The Line Parker had built a career on carefully working was now long out of sight.
"And I want special permission to wear Dress Khaki again. The... Hulls were used to seeing them along with the Whites and Blues."
Thomas nodded again, "I'll have the authorization form sent to your new office."
Parker glanced down at the Warrant Commission one last time. There was a blank line down at the bottom for him to sign. He pulled out a pen a signed away his old career; a career built on skill, attitude, and quite probably some mental breakdowns.
Parker was promptly escorted to one of his new commanding officers, Admiral Goto. He stared at the door to Goto's office, wondering when and where the Line would show up with this new command. He knocked on the door.
"Enter."
"Chief Warrant Officer Parker, reporting."
------
TL;DR yes I'm introducing a new sub-character for both my and planefriend's malicious use.
Parker glared hate at the table in front of him. On it, in neat little stacks of manilla folders and CD cases labeled TOP SECRET – NORORN FOUO, were everything the US Navy and the JMSDF had on Abyssal sightings. Still photos. Satellite imagery. Hours of combat footage. Day's worth of screen plots and tracks. Weeks of recordings. HOURS AND HOURS OF-
"That's a lot of shit to go through, sir."
Parker snorted noncommittally and finally glanced up at the four sailors in front of him. He had put out the call on the first day: a call for volunteers with the right security clearance and the sheer willingness to work with the Hulls. Right now he was staring at the results: one Operations Specialist Seaman from the USS Antietam, an Intelligence Specialist 3rd Class from the USS Blue Ridge, and two Crypto Techs (2nd Classes) from one of his old commands. All of the resources of not just the Seventh Fleet, but the whole United States Navy were available to be called upon for This Important Task during Our Challenging Times, and all he got were these four bodies.
"Well, at least you four poor sons of bitches were willing to step up," Parker finally remarked, standing up. He opened one of the folders and pulled out the first still there; it was of an Abyssal aircraft taken from a very brave merchant sailor at sea. He sighed softly before glancing around the small SCIF given over to him. No windows, one very secure door, and hundreds of thousands of dollars of computers and electronics. They were all in this for the long haul.
"This is uncharted territory, sailors. We're some of the few people who will ever know what happens inside this room; as part of this Task Force, we'll be dealing with some downright unknowable and unpredictable things. Our task right now, though, is to find out where these... Abyssals come from, how they appear, and how we can possibly track them."
He put the image back in its folder and closed it. "I want the four of you to start by analyzing some of the combat tracks. Focus primarily on the beginning of the engagements: look for anything that might point to the appearance of the Abyssals. If we can start to see *how* they show up and with *what*, we'll stand a better chance of beating them at firepower. Start with the most recent engagements and work your way back. Questions?"
One of the Crypto's raised his hand. "What time is muster, where's the nearest coffee pot, and can we bring in our own tunes to keep us awake?"
All four of the volunteers shared the same glance. Morale was important for a task like this.
"Muster at zero-eight, because anything earlier than that is the devil's work, I'll personally have a coffee mess installed, and you have my go-ahead to kit out this SCIF however you want."
All four smiled at this.
"Quitting time is 1630, though. Don't think me getting officer on my uniform means I've forgotten all the old tricks."
The smiles disappeared.
"Bright side is I can guarantee your next promotions will be automatic. CT2 Weiss, I imagine that'll make you happy." Weiss had been passed over the previous cycle, if Parker's memory served him correctly.
"Any more questions? None? The red phone-" Parker pointed over to a corner, "-goes directly to my office. Call me the moment you find something or even THINK you found something."
"So what will you be doing, sir?" asked the other CT, a slight hint of suspicion creeping into his voice.
Parker gave him a hooded look. "Don't give me that, I'm not trying to get out of work. I've got an interview with Akagi, the first... Hull the Japanese summoned. She's seen the most shit, so I'm hoping she'll have some insights I can pass along."
At this, Parker made his way to the security door in order to make his escape. As he stood in the frame, he called out one last order.
"And just because I got shanghaied into eating at the O-Club doesn't mean you nerds get to keep calling me 'sir'. Once a Chief, always a Chief!"
He left with a chorus of "Aye aye, Chief!" following him out, a smile on his face.
- - -
Parker stood in the door frame to his (New! Spacious! With a window!) office, watching the attractive dark-haired female look at the wall he had covered in pictures and certificates. She was looking at one of his most prized: the final knockout during the final round of a boxing championship.
"That was taken when I took the Seventh Fleet Championship by TKO in the final seconds back in 2010," he remarked, startling the girl.
Akagi - she of the red hakama, if Parker's memory served correct - turned to face him. "You must be Chief Parker. I apologize for intruding in your office; the door was open and..."
"No need to apologize; you must be Akagi. It's a pleasure to meet you," he replied, offering his hand. As she shook it, he glanced back at the picture. "They started up a boxing tournament in '08 back when I was on Amphibs out of Sasebo. I took the ship prize, followed by the Amphib Group, then the Fleet Activity... took the entire tournament right here in Yokosuka."
"I had no idea someone in Intelligence would be bold enough to compete in boxing," Akagi remarked.
Parker gently steered her over to his desk and pulled out a chair for her. "There's a lot people assume about us Intel folks; boxing was one of my favorite sports since I was a little kid."
He maneuvered around to the other side of his desk and sat down in his chair, throwing his cover onto an empty chair. He leaned back, a distant look in his eyes. Losing himself a little in memory, he found himself giving Akagi a running commentary on himself, a faint smile on his lips.
"I enlisted back in late '03, was stationed on the gators out of Sasebo. I'd always wanted to travel the world, so I figured Japan would be a good place to start. After the culture shock wore off I took it upon myself to explore and found out I liked it here well enough to stay as long as Big Navy would let me. I took every tour available and explored as much of Japan as I could. When time came for me to leave, I took the last opportunity to stay; shore duty here in Yokosuka. A devil's bargain for a salt like me, but it's worked out so far."
"Are you saying you don't like the land, Chief?" Akagi asked with a slight grin.
"I'm fine with the land; I just prefer the sea more," Parker responded, faintly smiling back at her. "After all, wouldn't you rather be out to sea?"
"Fair point, but it's always nice to come back home to port," she responded.
"True." At this Parker leaned forward. "I'm sure you're wondering why I asked to meet with you."
Akagi tipped her head back thoughtfully. "Something about an interview? You've probably heard all about myself as well as the other girls through the base rumor mill..." She paused, a coy look growing on her face. "Unless you're trying to shanghai one of us as a secretary."
Parker chuckled at this. "Hah. Sadly, no. You're one of the most veteran out of all the... girls; I was hoping you'd be able to provide a some perspective or insights into the Abyssals."
Akagi grew serious at this. "What would you like to know?"
Parker pulled out a notepad. "I suppose we should start at the beginning, then..."
[REDACTED UNDER THE WASHINGTON NAVAL TREATY OF 2018 – NBE EXCLUSIVE ACTIVITIES: DISTRIBUTION LIST USA, GRB, CAN, AUS/NZL, GER, JPN]
"...Well, I suppose that's all the questions I can think of; you've been a big help, Akagi."
Akagi smiled and brushed away the compliment. "It was nothing, Chief. I'm always glad to be of service."
Parker smiled back. "Seriously, thanks. This will help my team of secret squirrels focus their efforts. Well, that and the coffee." Akagi giggled as Parker continued. "I suppose that's everything for today, then, unless you have any questions for me?"
Akagi gave him a calculating smirk. "A few... like: is there a special lady in your life?"
James Parker had always been mindful of the Line: that razor-thin edge between professionalism and duty versus a lifetime of disciplinary infractions and punishing duties. With one question, that Line, which had seemed so very distant when he was warranted, came crashing back with a vengeance. There he was now, teetering on the precipice, an eternity of damnation waiting for him on the other side of the LINETHELINEOHGODCANYOUEVENDOTHATWITHASHIP?
Parker's face flickered as he turned on his most professional image in matters of the heart. Better to rip the bandage off with the honest truth, with a side bullshit.
"There have been four very special ladies in my life. The first showed me the world and all it's wonders; her name was Tortuga. The second helped me become my very best and focused my mind; she was Ashland. The third-" Akagi's face began to dawn with realization, "- made my career soar to new heights; she was the Bonhomme Richard. The fourth made it possible to deal with whatever comes my way; her name was Washington."
Akagi was now blushing. "Oh, my my~. Chief Parker, that's almost scandalous. Are you telling me you love your old ships?"
Parker made eye contact with her. In for a penny, in for a pound, he figured. "Of course."
Akagi blushed even more. Parker rose with her as she stood and responded.
"My my~, Chief. Looks like the rumor mill is going to be working overtime, now... You just answered every question I could think of."
"And probably made a few more."
"Quite," Akagi said as she glided to the door. "Until next time, then, Chief."
Parker saluted roguishly after her. "Fair winds, Akagi."
"That's a lot of shit to go through, sir."
Parker snorted noncommittally and finally glanced up at the four sailors in front of him. He had put out the call on the first day: a call for volunteers with the right security clearance and the sheer willingness to work with the Hulls. Right now he was staring at the results: one Operations Specialist Seaman from the USS Antietam, an Intelligence Specialist 3rd Class from the USS Blue Ridge, and two Crypto Techs (2nd Classes) from one of his old commands. All of the resources of not just the Seventh Fleet, but the whole United States Navy were available to be called upon for This Important Task during Our Challenging Times, and all he got were these four bodies.
"Well, at least you four poor sons of bitches were willing to step up," Parker finally remarked, standing up. He opened one of the folders and pulled out the first still there; it was of an Abyssal aircraft taken from a very brave merchant sailor at sea. He sighed softly before glancing around the small SCIF given over to him. No windows, one very secure door, and hundreds of thousands of dollars of computers and electronics. They were all in this for the long haul.
"This is uncharted territory, sailors. We're some of the few people who will ever know what happens inside this room; as part of this Task Force, we'll be dealing with some downright unknowable and unpredictable things. Our task right now, though, is to find out where these... Abyssals come from, how they appear, and how we can possibly track them."
He put the image back in its folder and closed it. "I want the four of you to start by analyzing some of the combat tracks. Focus primarily on the beginning of the engagements: look for anything that might point to the appearance of the Abyssals. If we can start to see *how* they show up and with *what*, we'll stand a better chance of beating them at firepower. Start with the most recent engagements and work your way back. Questions?"
One of the Crypto's raised his hand. "What time is muster, where's the nearest coffee pot, and can we bring in our own tunes to keep us awake?"
All four of the volunteers shared the same glance. Morale was important for a task like this.
"Muster at zero-eight, because anything earlier than that is the devil's work, I'll personally have a coffee mess installed, and you have my go-ahead to kit out this SCIF however you want."
All four smiled at this.
"Quitting time is 1630, though. Don't think me getting officer on my uniform means I've forgotten all the old tricks."
The smiles disappeared.
"Bright side is I can guarantee your next promotions will be automatic. CT2 Weiss, I imagine that'll make you happy." Weiss had been passed over the previous cycle, if Parker's memory served him correctly.
"Any more questions? None? The red phone-" Parker pointed over to a corner, "-goes directly to my office. Call me the moment you find something or even THINK you found something."
"So what will you be doing, sir?" asked the other CT, a slight hint of suspicion creeping into his voice.
Parker gave him a hooded look. "Don't give me that, I'm not trying to get out of work. I've got an interview with Akagi, the first... Hull the Japanese summoned. She's seen the most shit, so I'm hoping she'll have some insights I can pass along."
At this, Parker made his way to the security door in order to make his escape. As he stood in the frame, he called out one last order.
"And just because I got shanghaied into eating at the O-Club doesn't mean you nerds get to keep calling me 'sir'. Once a Chief, always a Chief!"
He left with a chorus of "Aye aye, Chief!" following him out, a smile on his face.
- - -
Parker stood in the door frame to his (New! Spacious! With a window!) office, watching the attractive dark-haired female look at the wall he had covered in pictures and certificates. She was looking at one of his most prized: the final knockout during the final round of a boxing championship.
"That was taken when I took the Seventh Fleet Championship by TKO in the final seconds back in 2010," he remarked, startling the girl.
Akagi - she of the red hakama, if Parker's memory served correct - turned to face him. "You must be Chief Parker. I apologize for intruding in your office; the door was open and..."
"No need to apologize; you must be Akagi. It's a pleasure to meet you," he replied, offering his hand. As she shook it, he glanced back at the picture. "They started up a boxing tournament in '08 back when I was on Amphibs out of Sasebo. I took the ship prize, followed by the Amphib Group, then the Fleet Activity... took the entire tournament right here in Yokosuka."
"I had no idea someone in Intelligence would be bold enough to compete in boxing," Akagi remarked.
Parker gently steered her over to his desk and pulled out a chair for her. "There's a lot people assume about us Intel folks; boxing was one of my favorite sports since I was a little kid."
He maneuvered around to the other side of his desk and sat down in his chair, throwing his cover onto an empty chair. He leaned back, a distant look in his eyes. Losing himself a little in memory, he found himself giving Akagi a running commentary on himself, a faint smile on his lips.
"I enlisted back in late '03, was stationed on the gators out of Sasebo. I'd always wanted to travel the world, so I figured Japan would be a good place to start. After the culture shock wore off I took it upon myself to explore and found out I liked it here well enough to stay as long as Big Navy would let me. I took every tour available and explored as much of Japan as I could. When time came for me to leave, I took the last opportunity to stay; shore duty here in Yokosuka. A devil's bargain for a salt like me, but it's worked out so far."
"Are you saying you don't like the land, Chief?" Akagi asked with a slight grin.
"I'm fine with the land; I just prefer the sea more," Parker responded, faintly smiling back at her. "After all, wouldn't you rather be out to sea?"
"Fair point, but it's always nice to come back home to port," she responded.
"True." At this Parker leaned forward. "I'm sure you're wondering why I asked to meet with you."
Akagi tipped her head back thoughtfully. "Something about an interview? You've probably heard all about myself as well as the other girls through the base rumor mill..." She paused, a coy look growing on her face. "Unless you're trying to shanghai one of us as a secretary."
Parker chuckled at this. "Hah. Sadly, no. You're one of the most veteran out of all the... girls; I was hoping you'd be able to provide a some perspective or insights into the Abyssals."
Akagi grew serious at this. "What would you like to know?"
Parker pulled out a notepad. "I suppose we should start at the beginning, then..."
[REDACTED UNDER THE WASHINGTON NAVAL TREATY OF 2018 – NBE EXCLUSIVE ACTIVITIES: DISTRIBUTION LIST USA, GRB, CAN, AUS/NZL, GER, JPN]
"...Well, I suppose that's all the questions I can think of; you've been a big help, Akagi."
Akagi smiled and brushed away the compliment. "It was nothing, Chief. I'm always glad to be of service."
Parker smiled back. "Seriously, thanks. This will help my team of secret squirrels focus their efforts. Well, that and the coffee." Akagi giggled as Parker continued. "I suppose that's everything for today, then, unless you have any questions for me?"
Akagi gave him a calculating smirk. "A few... like: is there a special lady in your life?"
James Parker had always been mindful of the Line: that razor-thin edge between professionalism and duty versus a lifetime of disciplinary infractions and punishing duties. With one question, that Line, which had seemed so very distant when he was warranted, came crashing back with a vengeance. There he was now, teetering on the precipice, an eternity of damnation waiting for him on the other side of the LINETHELINEOHGODCANYOUEVENDOTHATWITHASHIP?
Parker's face flickered as he turned on his most professional image in matters of the heart. Better to rip the bandage off with the honest truth, with a side bullshit.
"There have been four very special ladies in my life. The first showed me the world and all it's wonders; her name was Tortuga. The second helped me become my very best and focused my mind; she was Ashland. The third-" Akagi's face began to dawn with realization, "- made my career soar to new heights; she was the Bonhomme Richard. The fourth made it possible to deal with whatever comes my way; her name was Washington."
Akagi was now blushing. "Oh, my my~. Chief Parker, that's almost scandalous. Are you telling me you love your old ships?"
Parker made eye contact with her. In for a penny, in for a pound, he figured. "Of course."
Akagi blushed even more. Parker rose with her as she stood and responded.
"My my~, Chief. Looks like the rumor mill is going to be working overtime, now... You just answered every question I could think of."
"And probably made a few more."
"Quite," Akagi said as she glided to the door. "Until next time, then, Chief."
Parker saluted roguishly after her. "Fair winds, Akagi."
The brunch buffet in the O-Club wasn't half bad, Parker decided- for an officer's mess, at any rate. It wasn't as if he disliked an early breakfast, but after his interview with Akagi, he thought it prudent to plan his meals around carrier practice. The Line was before him on a whole new level: one involving girls that could turn into warships and possible scandalous intent. But as he tucked into his bastardized meal of fried eggs, bacon, and fries, he couldn't help but overhear four destroyer-girls at their own table.
"But it's true! Drinking milk really will make you a Lady!"
"Nu-uh! That's just settlebutt someone made up!"
Parker choked with laughter at 'settlebutt'. He had heard of these girls: the infamously cute DesDiv 6, the 'daughterus' of the fleet that don't want no trabble. They turned in his direction at the sound of his distress.
"Hey, mister! Are you okay?"
"It looks like he's choking. We should help!"
The four girls had swarmed Parker's table before he could even gesture that he was fine, gently patting him on the back and fearing the worst. Parker signaled for them to stop as soon as he swallowed the errant piece of food. "I'm fine, girls. Just some bacon aiming for the wrong hole."
The four girls gathered around him and stared.
"We haven't seen you around before."
"Most of the other officers stop coming here after eight in the morning."
"W-who are you, mister?"
Parker looked at each of them in turn, a smile on his face. "I'm Chief Parker, the new intelligence officer under Goto and Settle. Thanks for the assist."
"I'm Akatsuki! I'm gonna be a lady!"
"I-I'm Inazuma. Pleased to meet you."
"Hibiki... tovarisch."
"And I'm Ikazuchi!"
Parker saluted them, each one returning it. "The infamous DesDiv Six; it's a pleasure to meet you all. And for the record, milk alone won't make you a lady."
"See?! I told you! It's settlebutt!"
Akatsuki fumed as one of the other girls spoke up.
"Hey, Chief! You're from America; do you know any good cowboy stories?"
All four girls quieted at this, inquisitive looks on their faces. Parker looked away, calculating. It had been such a long time since he had fresh meat for the grinder...
"Well, I don't know any about cowboys, sadly. But I do have a few spooky sea stories... Would you like to hear one?"
He rose, grinning, to a chorus of affirmatives and pleases. He looked back at the girls as he went to deposit his half-eaten meal for cleaning. "You girls will have to come back to my office if you want to hear one, then. Last thing I'd want to do is scare the pants off some greenhorn ensign."
The five of them headed for the door, the girls taking up position around him almost like an escorting flotilla. Right as Parker reached for the knob, however, a small figure burst through and ran into him. "Buh."
"Oh! It's Willie-chan!"
"Hey Willie-chan, wanna hear stories with us?"
Parker just stared at the girl, the infamous William D. Porter, as the girls of DesDiv 6 surrounded her. Willie looked up at him, a terrified look on her face. She squeaked out a small "s-sorry" at him.
"Well, Miss Porter? Would you like to hear some old sea stories?" asked Parker.
"W-Willie-chan, you're our new best friend! You should tag along!"
"Yes, please join us, tovarisch."
Willie, eternally on the edge of tears, but now smiling slightly, sniffled at him. "S-sure..."
With Willie sucked into their wake, now five destroyers followed Parker back to the HQ building housing his office. At he opened the door to his office, he gestured for the girls to enter. They all came to an immediate halt on the other side. Parker looked over them to see what the holdup was. There, sitting in his chair with a smug look on it's face, was a corgi.
He had heard of them: much like the shipgirls themselves, the massive fleet of US PT boats had started to come back to serve once more. This time, though, as derpy little dogs.
"What," started Parker, "The f—," there were girls present, "—fig are you doing in my chair."
Willie chimed up. "PT-73, w-what are you doing out of your kennel? You know Hate will be mad at you!"
Parker walked around the girls and approached the errant PT-Corgi. He stooped down and stared the dog in the face, not once breaking eye contact with it.
"PT-73." The corgi didn't flinch away as Parker raised his hand towards it. He brought his hand to its head and slowly lowered it. A smile appeared on both their faces as he began petting it.
"I'm gonna call you McHale," he said to it with mirth in his voice.
The four girls of DesDiv 6 instantly crowded around the dog, taking Parker's place and petting it.
He rose and chuckled at the newly rechristened PT boat. "I suppose you also want to hear a story, then." He got a 'wuff' of an affirmative in response.
Parker walked back around his desk and faced his now larger audience. "Where do I begin? It was back in... late '06 or '07. We were on our way down to Australia for a joint exercise with their navy. After a week or two of quiet steaming, our skipper decided that the gunnery teams should get some practice in. As an Amphib ship, we were lightly armed: six M2 .50 cals and two 25mm guns; all crew-served. I was the lead shooter for one of the 25's, I loved shooting that thing. Well, we had set everything up for a fun-filled day of shooting the water when the weather started to change. The reports had called for clear skies, but an old salt like me knew the warning signs of an approaching squall."
Parker paused at this, looking for any reaction from the girls. They were all taken in, even the corgi.
He continued. "We were already all manned up; myself slung in the 25—" Parker demonstrated a modified boxer's stance, his arms held out like a grappler, "—when the squall hit us. The skipper put out the call for everyone to batten down the hatches, but we were all stuck; we were tied in and didn't want to get blown over the side. We had to ride it out."
His audience, even the corgi, were all leaning closer, mesmerized by his words. "I noticed it as the storm worsened: an eerie greenish glow from between the rainfall. I called it up to the bridge on my mount's sound-powered phone, asking for confirmation of the contact. They told me there was nothing else out there with us. I could see the glow moving closer; I told them we were not alone."
They were all on the edge of their seats, now. Time for the first crescendo. "That's when I saw it clearly. An old ship-of-the-line sailing straight at us." Gasps from DesDiv 6, and a slight whimper from Willie. "I can still see it now: that hellish green glow, the sea life draped along its hull, the torn and tattered sails with a full wind up against them..."
"What did you do then?!" gasped Ikazuchi.
Parker looked her straight in the eyes. "I called it out to the bridge." He looked at all of his assembled audience again. "They still didn't have it on radar. By the time the bridge crew could get its act together, that ghost ship had pulled along side us and matched our speed. We weren't going very fast because of the storm; they still managed to pace us. I could see its old cannons jutting out from the sides; they were obviously setting up for a broadside. Then, CRASH!" He slapped his hands together as fast and as loud as he could, making the girls jump.
"They had opened fire with the lightning and thunder! Their cannonballs just... faded into our hull, but the intention was clear: they were attacking." The girls all made small squeaks at this.
"A-and then?"
"The skipper had had enough at that point; he gave us the all-clear to engage. As I began to hear our ma-deuces start to light off, I aimed down my 25... flipped off the safety... and started to fire twenty-five millimeters of pure hate at that ghost. I kept it to controlled three-round bursts. THUD THUD THUD as it fired. I traced its fire up and down the cannon holes and the topside; I was actually able to start making out faint figures on the decks and rigging. They started to swing in closer, preparing for another broadside. That's when I saw him and knew: Davey Jones Himself, head wreathed in the flames of hell, standing at the wheel to that most legendary of ghost ships: we were fighting the Flying Dutchman."
Quiet gasps came from the girls; a faint growl emanated from the corgi. They all knew about the Dutchman, cursed by God Almighty to sail the seas for eternity. Parker leaned back and continued, "I could see ol' Davey calling out orders; they were getting ready to fire. I aimed right for his mean old face. Right as I was about to fire, though, I got a good look right at his face: he was staring right back at me. He started to point at me; getting ready to call me out for the Locker. I wouldn't let him, though, so I fired. I fired right into him."
Dead silence from his audience. "That was it. I fired into him continuously. I meant to bleed my ammo belts dry, and make the barrel glow red. I wouldn't give mean ol' Davey Jones a chance to call me or anyone else out that day. Eventually, though, my belts ran dry and the haze of battle left me. I looked out to see clear skies. The storm had vanished as quickly as it had appeared."
Willie finally piped up. "W-what happened to the Dutchman?"
Parker smiled softly at her. "It disappeared with the storm. I haven't seen Davey or his ship since; I like to believe my fighting spirit scared him off. I'm not gonna let some mean ol' ghost or his ship get the better of me!"
The four girls of DesDiv 6 bounced up as he finished.
"That was so cool!"
"Y-you were so brave!"
Parker just smiled at all of them. "Thanks girls. That's all for today, though." A chorus of "Awwws" followed his proclamation.
"Well, I suppose if you girls are good, I'll tell you more later. I'll have to get status reports on your behavior from the admirals, though."
DesDiv 6 popped to attention. "W-we don't want no trabble, Chief!" "We won't let you down, Chief!"
As Parker watched the four girls file out, a dark thought clouded his mind. He thought back to that day. Sure, sea stories like his were bound to carry a small degree of bullshit, but he actually HAD engaged the Flying Dutchman that day. With the Abyssal problem as his newest concern, he couldn't help but think that, maybe—MAYBE—the myths and legends surrounding the Dutchman had more truth to them. Maybe the Dutchman itself was one of them. Maybe they had been around a lot longer than just "Day Zero".
A quiet sniffle broke his train of thought. Willie was still in the room. He looked over to her.
"Willie? Is something wrong?"
Willie looked up at him, her slightly puffy eyes on the verge of tearing up again.
"Y-you were so brave back then..." Parker nodded for her to continue, "I-I'm just a screw up who can't even s-shoot straight..."
Parker stooped down to her level and gently patted her on the head. "Do you want to know a secret, Willie?" She nodded. "I was scared the whole time. Scared for my ship, scared for my shipmates, and especially scared for myself." He pointed over to his boxing photo. "I was the Seventh Fleet boxing champion; I was also scared every time I entered the ring. But I couldn't let my fears override my desire to put on my best. I HAD to be strong; if not for myself, than for my friends and loved ones."
Willie stared up at him, eyes now only misty with wonder. "Willie, do you want me to teach you how to be brave?" She nodded. "Then let me teach you how to fight."
She got a scared look on her face at that. "Y-you mean like boxing?" Parker nodded.
"It'll build courage and discipline, and help you stick up not only for yourself, but for your friends."
"I-I don't know... It sounds dangerous..."
Parker knew Willie needed this. She sounded like she was about to make a break for it, though. So he pulled out one last trump card.
"Willie, let me talk to your prizefighter."
One of the photos down in Parker's Secret Squirrel Nest was of a kanmusu fighter plane. It had looked, for all intents, like a Second World War-era plane; save for one detail: it's pilot. A lot of questions had been raised by this photo; a lot of questions and very few answers that would never see the light of day. Parker had heard of these 'faeries' or 'Little People' that seemed to appear and disappear around the ship-girls; one theory said that they represented the very sailors that had once gone to war.
Willie froze up at Parker's order. "Y-you know about them?"
Parker simply gazed at her, no intensity in his eyes. "Willie, please let me talk to your prizefighter," he asked again.
"C-close your eyes, please..."
Parker closed them.
He started to sweat when he heard the tiny grunts of someone or someTHING opening a hatch. He shut his eyes tighter. He closed them even tighter when he heard the rusty squeal of said hatch swing open. He could feel the blood rushing to his head when he heard the hatch close. The faeries were real. Holy shit the faeries were real. They WEREREALTHEY'REREALHOLYSHITISTHEREATINYMEOUTTHEREOHGODWHATPOKEDMEINTHEGALLEY—
His slow descent into madness was abruptly halted when he heard a high-pitched yet gruff cough for attention. He forced his eyes open to behold...
It stood roughly six inches tall. It wore the old-style of navy dungarees, with the sleeves crudely cut off. On its horribly oversized head sat a stained Dixie cup hat, tipped at a jaunty angle. Its bare, muscular arms were covered in various tattoos: Parker could just make out an anchor, mooring line, and even a tiny hula-faerie. At one of its wrists dangled a pair of tiny little handcuffs. Boxing tape covered its tiny hands. A perpetual scowl was on its face, a ragged little cigarette held in its mouth.
Parker could feel his vision fading and his brain beginning to melt at the sight of the faerie. It had made eye contact. He slammed his eyes shut and forced them open again. The prizefighter merely "hnf"'d at him.
That's right; he had a task. He had to ask this faerie—
Parker had just found a whole new Line; but this time one side led down a rabbit hole, the other to a straightjacket.
"I take it you're the William D Porter's resident prizefighter?"
A snort in response.
"Don't give me that shit, sailor; I'm your new Chief. I take it you're from engineering?"
The Faerie nodded.
Slugger and his tattoo.
Parker pointed to his boxing photo, the pintsize prizefighter following his hand. "That was me less than a decade ago. Now, Willie here wants to learn how to fight and be strong. I'm going to need your help with that." This got the wee fighter's attention. "Starting tomorrow, I need you to make sure Willie is up at zero-six-hundred and at the Rec Center. I'm going to teach her how to fight. Can you do that for me? Make sure she's there and ready to train?"
It signaled its affirmation of Parker's orders with a tiny-yet-gruff "hnf". The faerie stood to attention and saluted.
"Very good, sailor. Carry on." Parker's eyes slammed shut as the faerie turned away. He heard the sound of a tiny hatch open and slam shut before he opened them again. There were just some things no man was ever meant to see. He stood up and opened his eyes. Willie looked up at him with a defeated glimmer in her eyes.
"Be there at zero-six, Willie. I'll make a champion out of you yet."
Willie slumped at this, tears once more forming in her eyes. "Y-yes, Chief." She made for the door.
As she left, Parker went back to his chair and slumped down into it. Memories of that fateful day against the Dutchman made him begin to question the nature of the Abyssals. The sight of Willie's very own prizefighter made him question his own sanity. The nearly-forgotten corgi jumped up into his lap and Parker began petting automatically.
"Holy shit, I've really stepped in it this time, McHale."
"But it's true! Drinking milk really will make you a Lady!"
"Nu-uh! That's just settlebutt someone made up!"
Parker choked with laughter at 'settlebutt'. He had heard of these girls: the infamously cute DesDiv 6, the 'daughterus' of the fleet that don't want no trabble. They turned in his direction at the sound of his distress.
"Hey, mister! Are you okay?"
"It looks like he's choking. We should help!"
The four girls had swarmed Parker's table before he could even gesture that he was fine, gently patting him on the back and fearing the worst. Parker signaled for them to stop as soon as he swallowed the errant piece of food. "I'm fine, girls. Just some bacon aiming for the wrong hole."
The four girls gathered around him and stared.
"We haven't seen you around before."
"Most of the other officers stop coming here after eight in the morning."
"W-who are you, mister?"
Parker looked at each of them in turn, a smile on his face. "I'm Chief Parker, the new intelligence officer under Goto and Settle. Thanks for the assist."
"I'm Akatsuki! I'm gonna be a lady!"
"I-I'm Inazuma. Pleased to meet you."
"Hibiki... tovarisch."
"And I'm Ikazuchi!"
Parker saluted them, each one returning it. "The infamous DesDiv Six; it's a pleasure to meet you all. And for the record, milk alone won't make you a lady."
"See?! I told you! It's settlebutt!"
Akatsuki fumed as one of the other girls spoke up.
"Hey, Chief! You're from America; do you know any good cowboy stories?"
All four girls quieted at this, inquisitive looks on their faces. Parker looked away, calculating. It had been such a long time since he had fresh meat for the grinder...
"Well, I don't know any about cowboys, sadly. But I do have a few spooky sea stories... Would you like to hear one?"
He rose, grinning, to a chorus of affirmatives and pleases. He looked back at the girls as he went to deposit his half-eaten meal for cleaning. "You girls will have to come back to my office if you want to hear one, then. Last thing I'd want to do is scare the pants off some greenhorn ensign."
The five of them headed for the door, the girls taking up position around him almost like an escorting flotilla. Right as Parker reached for the knob, however, a small figure burst through and ran into him. "Buh."
"Oh! It's Willie-chan!"
"Hey Willie-chan, wanna hear stories with us?"
Parker just stared at the girl, the infamous William D. Porter, as the girls of DesDiv 6 surrounded her. Willie looked up at him, a terrified look on her face. She squeaked out a small "s-sorry" at him.
"Well, Miss Porter? Would you like to hear some old sea stories?" asked Parker.
"W-Willie-chan, you're our new best friend! You should tag along!"
"Yes, please join us, tovarisch."
Willie, eternally on the edge of tears, but now smiling slightly, sniffled at him. "S-sure..."
With Willie sucked into their wake, now five destroyers followed Parker back to the HQ building housing his office. At he opened the door to his office, he gestured for the girls to enter. They all came to an immediate halt on the other side. Parker looked over them to see what the holdup was. There, sitting in his chair with a smug look on it's face, was a corgi.
He had heard of them: much like the shipgirls themselves, the massive fleet of US PT boats had started to come back to serve once more. This time, though, as derpy little dogs.
"What," started Parker, "The f—," there were girls present, "—fig are you doing in my chair."
Willie chimed up. "PT-73, w-what are you doing out of your kennel? You know Hate will be mad at you!"
Parker walked around the girls and approached the errant PT-Corgi. He stooped down and stared the dog in the face, not once breaking eye contact with it.
"PT-73." The corgi didn't flinch away as Parker raised his hand towards it. He brought his hand to its head and slowly lowered it. A smile appeared on both their faces as he began petting it.
"I'm gonna call you McHale," he said to it with mirth in his voice.
The four girls of DesDiv 6 instantly crowded around the dog, taking Parker's place and petting it.
He rose and chuckled at the newly rechristened PT boat. "I suppose you also want to hear a story, then." He got a 'wuff' of an affirmative in response.
Parker walked back around his desk and faced his now larger audience. "Where do I begin? It was back in... late '06 or '07. We were on our way down to Australia for a joint exercise with their navy. After a week or two of quiet steaming, our skipper decided that the gunnery teams should get some practice in. As an Amphib ship, we were lightly armed: six M2 .50 cals and two 25mm guns; all crew-served. I was the lead shooter for one of the 25's, I loved shooting that thing. Well, we had set everything up for a fun-filled day of shooting the water when the weather started to change. The reports had called for clear skies, but an old salt like me knew the warning signs of an approaching squall."
Parker paused at this, looking for any reaction from the girls. They were all taken in, even the corgi.
He continued. "We were already all manned up; myself slung in the 25—" Parker demonstrated a modified boxer's stance, his arms held out like a grappler, "—when the squall hit us. The skipper put out the call for everyone to batten down the hatches, but we were all stuck; we were tied in and didn't want to get blown over the side. We had to ride it out."
His audience, even the corgi, were all leaning closer, mesmerized by his words. "I noticed it as the storm worsened: an eerie greenish glow from between the rainfall. I called it up to the bridge on my mount's sound-powered phone, asking for confirmation of the contact. They told me there was nothing else out there with us. I could see the glow moving closer; I told them we were not alone."
They were all on the edge of their seats, now. Time for the first crescendo. "That's when I saw it clearly. An old ship-of-the-line sailing straight at us." Gasps from DesDiv 6, and a slight whimper from Willie. "I can still see it now: that hellish green glow, the sea life draped along its hull, the torn and tattered sails with a full wind up against them..."
"What did you do then?!" gasped Ikazuchi.
Parker looked her straight in the eyes. "I called it out to the bridge." He looked at all of his assembled audience again. "They still didn't have it on radar. By the time the bridge crew could get its act together, that ghost ship had pulled along side us and matched our speed. We weren't going very fast because of the storm; they still managed to pace us. I could see its old cannons jutting out from the sides; they were obviously setting up for a broadside. Then, CRASH!" He slapped his hands together as fast and as loud as he could, making the girls jump.
"They had opened fire with the lightning and thunder! Their cannonballs just... faded into our hull, but the intention was clear: they were attacking." The girls all made small squeaks at this.
"A-and then?"
"The skipper had had enough at that point; he gave us the all-clear to engage. As I began to hear our ma-deuces start to light off, I aimed down my 25... flipped off the safety... and started to fire twenty-five millimeters of pure hate at that ghost. I kept it to controlled three-round bursts. THUD THUD THUD as it fired. I traced its fire up and down the cannon holes and the topside; I was actually able to start making out faint figures on the decks and rigging. They started to swing in closer, preparing for another broadside. That's when I saw him and knew: Davey Jones Himself, head wreathed in the flames of hell, standing at the wheel to that most legendary of ghost ships: we were fighting the Flying Dutchman."
Quiet gasps came from the girls; a faint growl emanated from the corgi. They all knew about the Dutchman, cursed by God Almighty to sail the seas for eternity. Parker leaned back and continued, "I could see ol' Davey calling out orders; they were getting ready to fire. I aimed right for his mean old face. Right as I was about to fire, though, I got a good look right at his face: he was staring right back at me. He started to point at me; getting ready to call me out for the Locker. I wouldn't let him, though, so I fired. I fired right into him."
Dead silence from his audience. "That was it. I fired into him continuously. I meant to bleed my ammo belts dry, and make the barrel glow red. I wouldn't give mean ol' Davey Jones a chance to call me or anyone else out that day. Eventually, though, my belts ran dry and the haze of battle left me. I looked out to see clear skies. The storm had vanished as quickly as it had appeared."
Willie finally piped up. "W-what happened to the Dutchman?"
Parker smiled softly at her. "It disappeared with the storm. I haven't seen Davey or his ship since; I like to believe my fighting spirit scared him off. I'm not gonna let some mean ol' ghost or his ship get the better of me!"
The four girls of DesDiv 6 bounced up as he finished.
"That was so cool!"
"Y-you were so brave!"
Parker just smiled at all of them. "Thanks girls. That's all for today, though." A chorus of "Awwws" followed his proclamation.
"Well, I suppose if you girls are good, I'll tell you more later. I'll have to get status reports on your behavior from the admirals, though."
DesDiv 6 popped to attention. "W-we don't want no trabble, Chief!" "We won't let you down, Chief!"
As Parker watched the four girls file out, a dark thought clouded his mind. He thought back to that day. Sure, sea stories like his were bound to carry a small degree of bullshit, but he actually HAD engaged the Flying Dutchman that day. With the Abyssal problem as his newest concern, he couldn't help but think that, maybe—MAYBE—the myths and legends surrounding the Dutchman had more truth to them. Maybe the Dutchman itself was one of them. Maybe they had been around a lot longer than just "Day Zero".
A quiet sniffle broke his train of thought. Willie was still in the room. He looked over to her.
"Willie? Is something wrong?"
Willie looked up at him, her slightly puffy eyes on the verge of tearing up again.
"Y-you were so brave back then..." Parker nodded for her to continue, "I-I'm just a screw up who can't even s-shoot straight..."
Parker stooped down to her level and gently patted her on the head. "Do you want to know a secret, Willie?" She nodded. "I was scared the whole time. Scared for my ship, scared for my shipmates, and especially scared for myself." He pointed over to his boxing photo. "I was the Seventh Fleet boxing champion; I was also scared every time I entered the ring. But I couldn't let my fears override my desire to put on my best. I HAD to be strong; if not for myself, than for my friends and loved ones."
Willie stared up at him, eyes now only misty with wonder. "Willie, do you want me to teach you how to be brave?" She nodded. "Then let me teach you how to fight."
She got a scared look on her face at that. "Y-you mean like boxing?" Parker nodded.
"It'll build courage and discipline, and help you stick up not only for yourself, but for your friends."
"I-I don't know... It sounds dangerous..."
Parker knew Willie needed this. She sounded like she was about to make a break for it, though. So he pulled out one last trump card.
"Willie, let me talk to your prizefighter."
One of the photos down in Parker's Secret Squirrel Nest was of a kanmusu fighter plane. It had looked, for all intents, like a Second World War-era plane; save for one detail: it's pilot. A lot of questions had been raised by this photo; a lot of questions and very few answers that would never see the light of day. Parker had heard of these 'faeries' or 'Little People' that seemed to appear and disappear around the ship-girls; one theory said that they represented the very sailors that had once gone to war.
Willie froze up at Parker's order. "Y-you know about them?"
Parker simply gazed at her, no intensity in his eyes. "Willie, please let me talk to your prizefighter," he asked again.
"C-close your eyes, please..."
Parker closed them.
He started to sweat when he heard the tiny grunts of someone or someTHING opening a hatch. He shut his eyes tighter. He closed them even tighter when he heard the rusty squeal of said hatch swing open. He could feel the blood rushing to his head when he heard the hatch close. The faeries were real. Holy shit the faeries were real. They WEREREALTHEY'REREALHOLYSHITISTHEREATINYMEOUTTHEREOHGODWHATPOKEDMEINTHEGALLEY—
His slow descent into madness was abruptly halted when he heard a high-pitched yet gruff cough for attention. He forced his eyes open to behold...
It stood roughly six inches tall. It wore the old-style of navy dungarees, with the sleeves crudely cut off. On its horribly oversized head sat a stained Dixie cup hat, tipped at a jaunty angle. Its bare, muscular arms were covered in various tattoos: Parker could just make out an anchor, mooring line, and even a tiny hula-faerie. At one of its wrists dangled a pair of tiny little handcuffs. Boxing tape covered its tiny hands. A perpetual scowl was on its face, a ragged little cigarette held in its mouth.
Parker could feel his vision fading and his brain beginning to melt at the sight of the faerie. It had made eye contact. He slammed his eyes shut and forced them open again. The prizefighter merely "hnf"'d at him.
That's right; he had a task. He had to ask this faerie—
Parker had just found a whole new Line; but this time one side led down a rabbit hole, the other to a straightjacket.
"I take it you're the William D Porter's resident prizefighter?"
A snort in response.
"Don't give me that shit, sailor; I'm your new Chief. I take it you're from engineering?"
The Faerie nodded.
Slugger and his tattoo.
Parker pointed to his boxing photo, the pintsize prizefighter following his hand. "That was me less than a decade ago. Now, Willie here wants to learn how to fight and be strong. I'm going to need your help with that." This got the wee fighter's attention. "Starting tomorrow, I need you to make sure Willie is up at zero-six-hundred and at the Rec Center. I'm going to teach her how to fight. Can you do that for me? Make sure she's there and ready to train?"
It signaled its affirmation of Parker's orders with a tiny-yet-gruff "hnf". The faerie stood to attention and saluted.
"Very good, sailor. Carry on." Parker's eyes slammed shut as the faerie turned away. He heard the sound of a tiny hatch open and slam shut before he opened them again. There were just some things no man was ever meant to see. He stood up and opened his eyes. Willie looked up at him with a defeated glimmer in her eyes.
"Be there at zero-six, Willie. I'll make a champion out of you yet."
Willie slumped at this, tears once more forming in her eyes. "Y-yes, Chief." She made for the door.
As she left, Parker went back to his chair and slumped down into it. Memories of that fateful day against the Dutchman made him begin to question the nature of the Abyssals. The sight of Willie's very own prizefighter made him question his own sanity. The nearly-forgotten corgi jumped up into his lap and Parker began petting automatically.
"Holy shit, I've really stepped in it this time, McHale."
"So there you have it, Jimmy; you'll still be a dues-paying member of Seventh Fleet's Goat Locker and all the ancillary messes, with unrestricted access—but you will only have observer status during council meetings."
His guest, the Command Master Chief for all of Seventh Fleet, sipped from the whisky Parker had poured for him. He had personally traveled to the Isle of Islay for it—one of the finest vintages he could find in Scotland. It had cost him a pretty penny, to be sure, but Parker always made sure that important guests had the finest.
"It's better than permanent disbarment from the Locker, Master Chief. I worked hard to make CPO; to have a presidential warrant throw all that away..."
The Master Chief chuckled. "Look on the bright side: you got permission to wear dress khaki again; I'm sure the Locker would be willing to make an exception if you wrangled that for all of us..."
Parker raised an eyebrow at this. "Are you sure about that? If I do that for the Goat Locker, the officers would start harassing me for the same."
The Master Chief blanched at this, the very idea of snot-nosed little JOs sharing the same uniform filling his mind. "Fair point, Jimmy. I guess you can have this small victory, then." He polished off his whisky and rose, Parker following him up.
"See you at the Mess, Jimmy. Fair winds."
"... And following seas, Master Chief."
Parker leaned back down into his chair, McHale sauntering up for headpats once it had confirmed his master was free from such an imposing guest. "Holy shit, McHale, we did it; we're back in the Locker. And no flirtatious shipgirls!" Mchale 'whuff'ed happily.
After a couple minutes and shots of whisky, Parker straightened up and glanced at his watch. He had a very long distance video call to make.
All the oceans and seas were affected by the Abyssals: anywhere blood had spilled on the water, rose up the Abyssals. Right now, though, the fighting was concentrated in the western Pacific and North Atlantic, with intense skirmishes strung all along the major waterways. Parker had access to everything in his AOR, but that was limited to the few interviews he had conducted and the various data spools down with his team. He needed to get insight from the other side of the world; see what insights they could shed and what information they could share. One of the Kreigsmarine girls had volunteered to talk with him and share intel; one of their heavy cruisers.
He turned on his computer and set it up for a video call, filling up his glass in the meantime. He soon picked up an incoming call—on time to the dot, like clockwork. He answered it and was greeted by the cheerful face of a young-looking girl with blue eyes and blonde hair.
"Guten Tag! Graf Spee am Apparat! How can I be of service?"
"Guten tag! Das ist Graf Spee! How can I be of service?"
Parker just stared at her image. Holy shit this girl was cheerful.
"Hallo? Funktioniert dieses Ding?" She pulled out a pair of bifocal reading glasses and leaned in, accidentally giving Parker a good view of her, ehrm, 'magazines'. He knew beyond any doubt what the glasses signified; the Uruguayan government had yet to return one of her primary telemeters, and the German Bundestag wasn't really pushing the issue. He heard her continue,
"Verdammte Engländer und ihre Scheiß-Technologie. Ich wette die verwenden nicht einmal Vakuumröhren..."
"Hallo? Ist dieses Ding funktioniert?" She pulled out a pair of bifocal reading glasses and leaned in, accidentally giving Parker a good view of her, ehrm, 'magazines'. He knew beyond any doubt what the glasses signified; the Uruguayan government had yet to return one of her primary telemeters, and the German Rathaus wasn't really pushing the issue. He heard her continue, "Verdammten Engländer und ihre Stück Scheiße Technologie ... Ich wette, sie haben nicht einmal verwenden Vakuumröhren ..."
Parker chuckled before answering. "Guten tag, Frau Graf Spee. Wie geht es ihnen?"
She flew back into her chair and Parker saw her face light up. "Ah! Sie sprechen deutsch! Was für ein Glück! Niemand außer meinen Schwestern kann das hier!"
She flew back into her chair and Parker saw her face light up. "Ah! Du sprichst Deutsch! Ich bin so glücklich! Niemand außer meine Schwestern zu tun hier in der Nähe!"
Parker held up his hands in surrender. "Nein, nein! Halten sie, bitte. Meine Deustch ist nicht so gut." He continued in English, "I only took a few years of it in school, sorry. My name is James Parker, frau Graf Spee."
She smiled at him. "Please, call me me Graf."
"Then you can call me Jimmy, Graf." he said, smiling back.
"Then you can call me Jimmy, frau Graf." he said, smiling back.
"How can I be of assistance then, Jimmy?"
"How can I be of assistance then, herr Jimmy?"
Parker took a drink from his glass. " I heard you Krieg-girls were stationed up in Portsmouth. How's that working out with the RN girls?"
"Portsmouth is lovely. The British girls have been very friendly to us as well; they say the old war is over, we're all friends now."
"I can't imagine it was easy to get used to sharing a base with them, though."
Graf chuckled at this. "Oh no, of course not. You should have seen it when Bismarck first arrived here; she was calling out every British girl who was at Rheinübung. 'Dorsetshire, I'm coming for you! We'll see how you like a cheap shot!'"
Parker laughed along with her. "Sorry I missed it, then. I take it Dorsetshire hid?"
Graf giggled. "She didn't actually. She just stood there, head bowed, and waiting. Bismarck just stared her down and... slugged her on the shoulder, held out her hand, and demanded a rematch."
Parker smiled. "It sounds like there's a lot of respect going on over there. I'm glad."
Graf smiled back at him. "There is never really any bad blood between us; we were always the 'honored rivals' with the British girls. It's been... nice, working alongside them."
"I'm surprised the German government sent all of you to England, though. I would have imagined they would've kept you in the North Sea."
Graf's face fell at this. "... The German government has been... nervous, around us. We know some of the history from the War. I think we remind them of some of the darker times during then."
Parker grew serious as he took a drink. "It's a shame, really. The Kreigsmarine of the Second World War, you girls, were legendary. Your actions during the war are still studied in war colleges all over the world. Never be ashamed of your history." (Except the whole holocaust thing, I guess lol -Editor)
Graf raised a melancholic smile at him. "Thank you, Jimmy. It's been hard with our government. Hearing you say that makes me hope there is a place for us in the future. Bismarck tries to put on a brave face for everyone, but I've seen her hit the bottles when no one is looking. Tirpitz and Prinz Eugen do their best to keep her cheered up, and even Hood has taken her out on the town celebrating a few times."
A depressing air hung between them; Parker sipped his whisky. He had assumed as much would happen to the Krieg-girls. He felt bad for them all; they were once the pride of their nation, now just a dark reminder of a troubled history.
Graf forced a smile back on her face. "So! I'm sure you didn't just arrange this call to see how we were all getting along. What can I do for you?"
Parker sighed. Always back to work. He set his drink down and pulled out a notepad.
"Well, frau Graf, you fine ladies over there have been hitting the Abyssals hard from what I hear. I've got some questions that you might be able to shed some light on..."
[REDACTED UNDER THE WASHINGTON NAVAL TREATY OF 2018 – NBE EXCLUSIVE ACTIVITES: DISTRIBUTION LIST USA, GRB, CAN, AUS/NZL, GER, JPN]
".. and that's how it ended; the skies were clear once more." finished Graf.
Parker leaned back in his chair. Everything Graf had just told him had been dutifully written down. This was going to be a big help in predicting the movements of the Abyssals; up until now, everything had been merely guesswork.
"Hot damn, you've been a great help, Graf." He smiled at her. She smiled back.
"I'm glad, Jimmy. But, I have one question for you."
"Shoot."
"What happened to your eye?"
Parker had completely forgotten about his shiner. Willie, even with her perpetual nervousness, was a quick study when it came to pugilism; but perhaps he had been a little hasty when he had her throw that punch.
"Ah, well, I've been teaching one of the destroyer-girls boxing. Turns out she's got a mean left hook," he responded embarrassingly.
Graf laughed. "Ufufufu~, so brave, Herr Jimmy. Mayhaps if you are ever over here, you could give some of the Town-Class girls lessons. All they seem to want to do is break chairs over peoples' heads and jam a beer bottle in their faces."
Parker chuckled at the remark, the thought of HMS Liverpool shouting at "guv's" and glassing them flashing through his mind. It would truly be a sight to behold.
"Maybe one of these days, Graf. You could even show me around; I've never been to Portsmouth before," he said with a smile.
A calculating, predatory smile grew on Graf's face. "Perhaps, Jimmy. You could even practice your German with me. Maybe even a little... French, ja?"
Parker's face froze, the look of a dead man plain as day. Graf merely laughed.
"Ufufufu~! Be sure to call me again, Jimmy! It's been a pleasure!" She hung up the connection with a wink.
Parker stared down at McHale.
"I'm dead, McHale. They all smell blood now."
McHale let out a mournful howl.
Then the phone started ringing. The Red Phone. His men had found something. He picked up the handset and answered. "This is Parker."
"Chief, I think we got something..."
(aaaaaand I'm done for tonight. See you [...] next week!)
His guest, the Command Master Chief for all of Seventh Fleet, sipped from the whisky Parker had poured for him. He had personally traveled to the Isle of Islay for it—one of the finest vintages he could find in Scotland. It had cost him a pretty penny, to be sure, but Parker always made sure that important guests had the finest.
"It's better than permanent disbarment from the Locker, Master Chief. I worked hard to make CPO; to have a presidential warrant throw all that away..."
The Master Chief chuckled. "Look on the bright side: you got permission to wear dress khaki again; I'm sure the Locker would be willing to make an exception if you wrangled that for all of us..."
Parker raised an eyebrow at this. "Are you sure about that? If I do that for the Goat Locker, the officers would start harassing me for the same."
The Master Chief blanched at this, the very idea of snot-nosed little JOs sharing the same uniform filling his mind. "Fair point, Jimmy. I guess you can have this small victory, then." He polished off his whisky and rose, Parker following him up.
"See you at the Mess, Jimmy. Fair winds."
"... And following seas, Master Chief."
Parker leaned back down into his chair, McHale sauntering up for headpats once it had confirmed his master was free from such an imposing guest. "Holy shit, McHale, we did it; we're back in the Locker. And no flirtatious shipgirls!" Mchale 'whuff'ed happily.
After a couple minutes and shots of whisky, Parker straightened up and glanced at his watch. He had a very long distance video call to make.
All the oceans and seas were affected by the Abyssals: anywhere blood had spilled on the water, rose up the Abyssals. Right now, though, the fighting was concentrated in the western Pacific and North Atlantic, with intense skirmishes strung all along the major waterways. Parker had access to everything in his AOR, but that was limited to the few interviews he had conducted and the various data spools down with his team. He needed to get insight from the other side of the world; see what insights they could shed and what information they could share. One of the Kreigsmarine girls had volunteered to talk with him and share intel; one of their heavy cruisers.
He turned on his computer and set it up for a video call, filling up his glass in the meantime. He soon picked up an incoming call—on time to the dot, like clockwork. He answered it and was greeted by the cheerful face of a young-looking girl with blue eyes and blonde hair.
"Guten Tag! Graf Spee am Apparat! How can I be of service?"
"Guten tag! Das ist Graf Spee! How can I be of service?"
Parker just stared at her image. Holy shit this girl was cheerful.
"Hallo? Funktioniert dieses Ding?" She pulled out a pair of bifocal reading glasses and leaned in, accidentally giving Parker a good view of her, ehrm, 'magazines'. He knew beyond any doubt what the glasses signified; the Uruguayan government had yet to return one of her primary telemeters, and the German Bundestag wasn't really pushing the issue. He heard her continue,
"Verdammte Engländer und ihre Scheiß-Technologie. Ich wette die verwenden nicht einmal Vakuumröhren..."
"Hallo? Ist dieses Ding funktioniert?" She pulled out a pair of bifocal reading glasses and leaned in, accidentally giving Parker a good view of her, ehrm, 'magazines'. He knew beyond any doubt what the glasses signified; the Uruguayan government had yet to return one of her primary telemeters, and the German Rathaus wasn't really pushing the issue. He heard her continue, "Verdammten Engländer und ihre Stück Scheiße Technologie ... Ich wette, sie haben nicht einmal verwenden Vakuumröhren ..."
Parker chuckled before answering. "Guten tag, Frau Graf Spee. Wie geht es ihnen?"
She flew back into her chair and Parker saw her face light up. "Ah! Sie sprechen deutsch! Was für ein Glück! Niemand außer meinen Schwestern kann das hier!"
She flew back into her chair and Parker saw her face light up. "Ah! Du sprichst Deutsch! Ich bin so glücklich! Niemand außer meine Schwestern zu tun hier in der Nähe!"
Parker held up his hands in surrender. "Nein, nein! Halten sie, bitte. Meine Deustch ist nicht so gut." He continued in English, "I only took a few years of it in school, sorry. My name is James Parker, frau Graf Spee."
She smiled at him. "Please, call me me Graf."
"Then you can call me Jimmy, Graf." he said, smiling back.
"Then you can call me Jimmy, frau Graf." he said, smiling back.
"How can I be of assistance then, Jimmy?"
"How can I be of assistance then, herr Jimmy?"
Parker took a drink from his glass. " I heard you Krieg-girls were stationed up in Portsmouth. How's that working out with the RN girls?"
"Portsmouth is lovely. The British girls have been very friendly to us as well; they say the old war is over, we're all friends now."
"I can't imagine it was easy to get used to sharing a base with them, though."
Graf chuckled at this. "Oh no, of course not. You should have seen it when Bismarck first arrived here; she was calling out every British girl who was at Rheinübung. 'Dorsetshire, I'm coming for you! We'll see how you like a cheap shot!'"
Parker laughed along with her. "Sorry I missed it, then. I take it Dorsetshire hid?"
Graf giggled. "She didn't actually. She just stood there, head bowed, and waiting. Bismarck just stared her down and... slugged her on the shoulder, held out her hand, and demanded a rematch."
Parker smiled. "It sounds like there's a lot of respect going on over there. I'm glad."
Graf smiled back at him. "There is never really any bad blood between us; we were always the 'honored rivals' with the British girls. It's been... nice, working alongside them."
"I'm surprised the German government sent all of you to England, though. I would have imagined they would've kept you in the North Sea."
Graf's face fell at this. "... The German government has been... nervous, around us. We know some of the history from the War. I think we remind them of some of the darker times during then."
Parker grew serious as he took a drink. "It's a shame, really. The Kreigsmarine of the Second World War, you girls, were legendary. Your actions during the war are still studied in war colleges all over the world. Never be ashamed of your history." (Except the whole holocaust thing, I guess lol -Editor)
Graf raised a melancholic smile at him. "Thank you, Jimmy. It's been hard with our government. Hearing you say that makes me hope there is a place for us in the future. Bismarck tries to put on a brave face for everyone, but I've seen her hit the bottles when no one is looking. Tirpitz and Prinz Eugen do their best to keep her cheered up, and even Hood has taken her out on the town celebrating a few times."
A depressing air hung between them; Parker sipped his whisky. He had assumed as much would happen to the Krieg-girls. He felt bad for them all; they were once the pride of their nation, now just a dark reminder of a troubled history.
Graf forced a smile back on her face. "So! I'm sure you didn't just arrange this call to see how we were all getting along. What can I do for you?"
Parker sighed. Always back to work. He set his drink down and pulled out a notepad.
"Well, frau Graf, you fine ladies over there have been hitting the Abyssals hard from what I hear. I've got some questions that you might be able to shed some light on..."
[REDACTED UNDER THE WASHINGTON NAVAL TREATY OF 2018 – NBE EXCLUSIVE ACTIVITES: DISTRIBUTION LIST USA, GRB, CAN, AUS/NZL, GER, JPN]
".. and that's how it ended; the skies were clear once more." finished Graf.
Parker leaned back in his chair. Everything Graf had just told him had been dutifully written down. This was going to be a big help in predicting the movements of the Abyssals; up until now, everything had been merely guesswork.
"Hot damn, you've been a great help, Graf." He smiled at her. She smiled back.
"I'm glad, Jimmy. But, I have one question for you."
"Shoot."
"What happened to your eye?"
Parker had completely forgotten about his shiner. Willie, even with her perpetual nervousness, was a quick study when it came to pugilism; but perhaps he had been a little hasty when he had her throw that punch.
"Ah, well, I've been teaching one of the destroyer-girls boxing. Turns out she's got a mean left hook," he responded embarrassingly.
Graf laughed. "Ufufufu~, so brave, Herr Jimmy. Mayhaps if you are ever over here, you could give some of the Town-Class girls lessons. All they seem to want to do is break chairs over peoples' heads and jam a beer bottle in their faces."
Parker chuckled at the remark, the thought of HMS Liverpool shouting at "guv's" and glassing them flashing through his mind. It would truly be a sight to behold.
"Maybe one of these days, Graf. You could even show me around; I've never been to Portsmouth before," he said with a smile.
A calculating, predatory smile grew on Graf's face. "Perhaps, Jimmy. You could even practice your German with me. Maybe even a little... French, ja?"
Parker's face froze, the look of a dead man plain as day. Graf merely laughed.
"Ufufufu~! Be sure to call me again, Jimmy! It's been a pleasure!" She hung up the connection with a wink.
Parker stared down at McHale.
"I'm dead, McHale. They all smell blood now."
McHale let out a mournful howl.
Then the phone started ringing. The Red Phone. His men had found something. He picked up the handset and answered. "This is Parker."
"Chief, I think we got something..."
(aaaaaand I'm done for tonight. See you [...] next week!)
[Editor's note: I apologise to all native-speakers of German for the horrors Navy Vet's use of Google-translate inflicted on your language in the Thread #40 installment. I had intended to use the next KCQ-thread to offer him the native-speaker's version created by Magni, but planefriend's current woes mean that may not happen for some time.]
[EDIT: 2015-AUG-09: I've gone back and substituted-in Magni's German translations. The original version of each respective passage has been moved to invisitext below the revised version for reference/completeness.
"... what the fuck am I looking at, Weiss?" Parker stared at the screens in front of him.
CTT2 Weiss leaned back in his chair, smiling as he described the various tracks and data points in front of Parker. "What you are looking at, Chief, is the finest in the tracking of Abyssals. An entire array of deep-submergence and surface sonar buoys tracking the movements of both deployed Abyssals, and their submerged versions."
The screen in front of both Parker and Weiss displayed several predicted tracks from the buoys; the recorded wave sensors painted a clear picture of both the Abyssal ships on the surface in the Philippine Sea, as well as those targets that had been 'out of sight' during the engagement, hidden beneath the waves.
Parker looked nonplussed at Weiss. "Bullshit. This is from the movie 'Battleship'. Who's idea was this?"
Weiss raised his hands defensively, "But it works, Chief. And the best part is, after Fukushima, pretty much all the countries in the AOR pitched in and funded the installation of them around all the inhabited islands and coastlines."
"Again, who's idea was this?"
Weiss coughed into his hands "...Alvarez."
Parker turned his lidded glare in the direction of the lone Operations Specialist, who shrunk back involuntarily under the gaze, know informally as the 'Disappointed Father Figure (Navy ver.)'.
"Seaman Alvarez, is this true?"
Alvarez blanched under the attention suddenly thrown his way. "Y-yes, Chief. I watched the movie a few nights ago..."
Parker rose from his chair and slowly approached the hapless seaman. He fixed his best pokerface and simply loomed over Alvarez, watching the kid sweat like he was in front of a disciplinary review board. Parker rapidly brought his right hand up to Alvarez's face in the universally-known knifehand, causing the seaman to flinch.
"Good job, Alvarez; we'll make a proper spook out of you yet." Parker's knifehand clapped down lightly on the seaman's shoulder.
"Too bad only one in ten of those buoys have sonar, Chief," interjected the other crypto tech, Thompson.
Parker turned to look at him, "Shit, really? How come so few?"
Thompson continued, " Well, the buoys were set up as a tsunami early-warning system; there isn't much need for passive tracking of wave fronts. It was actually Japanese Institute of Cetacean Research that had as many set up for passive sonar as they did."
Parker processed this. "Wait, shit, those whale hunters funded the sonar buoys?" Thompson nodded.
Parker walked back over to the computer running the data. He tapped on the keyboard and found the disappointment he was looking for. "Looks like I'm going to have to make a few phone calls and shit in someones coffee; all the sonar recordings are in the hands of the ICR."
The three enlisted exchanged curious looks. "Why would we need the recordings, Chief?" asked Alvarez.
"Because we only know what was out there after the fact; the recordings would allow us to work on uploading the sound waves into a real-time setup and find out what's out there before we deploy anyone."
The enlisted got rather dumb looks on their faces at this. "How?"
Just before Parker could answer however, there was a rapid, panicked knocking at the security door. He walked over and opened up the security shutter to see Admiral Goto's terrified face looking back.
"Admiral, how can I help you?" Parker calmly asked.
"Kongou's called for teatime. Hide me," Goto demanded.
"What."
"Open the goddamn door Parker, I ain't got time for this."
Parker was about to torment the Admiral with the long, drown-out process of allowing Goto access into the SCIF when he heard it; the long, hauntingly melodious call of "~teatime, teitoku!~" come floating through the hallway. Parker saw Goto's face morph from 'demanding terror' to 'abject fear'. He quickly unbolted the security door and ushered the Admiral in, securing it firmly shut behind him.
As Goto huddled out of sight, and the rest of the enlisted in the room battened down for the impending Kongocalypse, Parker merely stood his ground at the security door. He could hear the rapid quickstep of someone borderline sprinting down the corridor stop in front of the SCIF. At the rapid staccato of someone knocking at the door, Parker took a deep breath and turned on the Angry Chief.
Kongou was greeted by the sheer presence of Parker that rolled out of the small window of the security shutter as he opened it. "For the last time, Warcrimes-chan, I will NOT -Oh." Parker blinked at Kongou, who had recoiled from the small window; he turned on a friendly smile at her. "How can I help you, Miss Kongou?"
Kongou paused, taking in Parker's sudden shift, before answering. "Good afternoon, Chief Parker! I was just wondering if you have seen Admiral Goto recently; it's teatime, and I know how much he loves his tea!"
Parker heard the cough of 'bullshit' from behind him, and he knew Kongou heard it, too. "Is the Admiral in there with you?" Parker merely glanced behind him, and called out; "Weiss, we all know you hate Japan's obsession with tea. Stop projecting."
Weiss appeared behind Parker at the security shutter. "Sorry Miss Kongou. I tend to project my tea-hate on everyone." Kongou smiled at him, "No worries Mister Weiss. I know how much you American sailors love your coffee!" Weiss nodded to her and disappeared back into the room.
Parker looked at Kongou calculatingly. "Hey, Kongou. Have you ever tried Navy Coffee?"
"No, why?"
Parker disappeared into the room, and came back to the door holding a steaming cup of his 'personal brew'. He offered it to Kongou, who sniffed at it questioningly.
"Try it, maybe you'll kick Goto onto the stronger stuff, and he'll be easier to find," he said with a secretly sadistic smile.
Kongou took a tentative sip. Parker saw her face change from innocent curiosity, to the look of the condemned, and finally settle on his old favorite: 'wired for light, sound, navigation, hot ops, and battlestations'. Her hand was already starting to shake with the caffeine overload as she handed the cup back to Parker.
"I-I think that's a little too strong for the Admiral, Chief. Or me. If you see the Admiral, could you please tell him his tea is on his desk? I think... I think I need to go for a walk..."
Parker watched as she started to twitch out of sight. "Cheerio Miss Kongou!" he called after her.
As he re-latched the shutter, he turned to face Goto. "Well, I think she'll be out of your hair for a while."
Goto smiled with relief at him. "Thanks, Chief. Ever since the Bonin Islands, she's been more clingy than usual. I owe you one."
Parker began calculating. "Maybe you can pay the debt here and now, sir..."
"What are you thinking, Chief?"
Parker ran with it, "Well, you see, Admiral, it's like this; I've just recently become aware of some certain sonar recordings in the possession of the ICR and..."
Goto held up his hand. "Let me stop you right there, Chief. We've already tried to get those recordings from the ICR, you're not the first to ask. They buried us in a paper trail so thick we're still trying a year later. If you want them, and I don't blame you, You're gonna have to really do some shit to get them."
Parker started to fume at this. Those tapes, even if they were just goddamn whale farts, were important. For the blasted whale hunters to bury them behind a wall of paper smacked of ego. He'd need some real secret squirrels to get-
Goto saw the change in Parker's face. "What are you thinking, Parker?"
Parker looked at him. "I need a team- an honest-to-god special operations team, two interpreters, a passable cover story, and no questions."
Goto smiled at him. "That, I think I can help you with..."
CTT2 Weiss leaned back in his chair, smiling as he described the various tracks and data points in front of Parker. "What you are looking at, Chief, is the finest in the tracking of Abyssals. An entire array of deep-submergence and surface sonar buoys tracking the movements of both deployed Abyssals, and their submerged versions."
The screen in front of both Parker and Weiss displayed several predicted tracks from the buoys; the recorded wave sensors painted a clear picture of both the Abyssal ships on the surface in the Philippine Sea, as well as those targets that had been 'out of sight' during the engagement, hidden beneath the waves.
Parker looked nonplussed at Weiss. "Bullshit. This is from the movie 'Battleship'. Who's idea was this?"
Weiss raised his hands defensively, "But it works, Chief. And the best part is, after Fukushima, pretty much all the countries in the AOR pitched in and funded the installation of them around all the inhabited islands and coastlines."
"Again, who's idea was this?"
Weiss coughed into his hands "...Alvarez."
Parker turned his lidded glare in the direction of the lone Operations Specialist, who shrunk back involuntarily under the gaze, know informally as the 'Disappointed Father Figure (Navy ver.)'.
"Seaman Alvarez, is this true?"
Alvarez blanched under the attention suddenly thrown his way. "Y-yes, Chief. I watched the movie a few nights ago..."
Parker rose from his chair and slowly approached the hapless seaman. He fixed his best pokerface and simply loomed over Alvarez, watching the kid sweat like he was in front of a disciplinary review board. Parker rapidly brought his right hand up to Alvarez's face in the universally-known knifehand, causing the seaman to flinch.
"Good job, Alvarez; we'll make a proper spook out of you yet." Parker's knifehand clapped down lightly on the seaman's shoulder.
"Too bad only one in ten of those buoys have sonar, Chief," interjected the other crypto tech, Thompson.
Parker turned to look at him, "Shit, really? How come so few?"
Thompson continued, " Well, the buoys were set up as a tsunami early-warning system; there isn't much need for passive tracking of wave fronts. It was actually Japanese Institute of Cetacean Research that had as many set up for passive sonar as they did."
Parker processed this. "Wait, shit, those whale hunters funded the sonar buoys?" Thompson nodded.
Parker walked back over to the computer running the data. He tapped on the keyboard and found the disappointment he was looking for. "Looks like I'm going to have to make a few phone calls and shit in someones coffee; all the sonar recordings are in the hands of the ICR."
The three enlisted exchanged curious looks. "Why would we need the recordings, Chief?" asked Alvarez.
"Because we only know what was out there after the fact; the recordings would allow us to work on uploading the sound waves into a real-time setup and find out what's out there before we deploy anyone."
The enlisted got rather dumb looks on their faces at this. "How?"
Just before Parker could answer however, there was a rapid, panicked knocking at the security door. He walked over and opened up the security shutter to see Admiral Goto's terrified face looking back.
"Admiral, how can I help you?" Parker calmly asked.
"Kongou's called for teatime. Hide me," Goto demanded.
"What."
"Open the goddamn door Parker, I ain't got time for this."
Parker was about to torment the Admiral with the long, drown-out process of allowing Goto access into the SCIF when he heard it; the long, hauntingly melodious call of "~teatime, teitoku!~" come floating through the hallway. Parker saw Goto's face morph from 'demanding terror' to 'abject fear'. He quickly unbolted the security door and ushered the Admiral in, securing it firmly shut behind him.
As Goto huddled out of sight, and the rest of the enlisted in the room battened down for the impending Kongocalypse, Parker merely stood his ground at the security door. He could hear the rapid quickstep of someone borderline sprinting down the corridor stop in front of the SCIF. At the rapid staccato of someone knocking at the door, Parker took a deep breath and turned on the Angry Chief.
Kongou was greeted by the sheer presence of Parker that rolled out of the small window of the security shutter as he opened it. "For the last time, Warcrimes-chan, I will NOT -Oh." Parker blinked at Kongou, who had recoiled from the small window; he turned on a friendly smile at her. "How can I help you, Miss Kongou?"
Kongou paused, taking in Parker's sudden shift, before answering. "Good afternoon, Chief Parker! I was just wondering if you have seen Admiral Goto recently; it's teatime, and I know how much he loves his tea!"
Parker heard the cough of 'bullshit' from behind him, and he knew Kongou heard it, too. "Is the Admiral in there with you?" Parker merely glanced behind him, and called out; "Weiss, we all know you hate Japan's obsession with tea. Stop projecting."
Weiss appeared behind Parker at the security shutter. "Sorry Miss Kongou. I tend to project my tea-hate on everyone." Kongou smiled at him, "No worries Mister Weiss. I know how much you American sailors love your coffee!" Weiss nodded to her and disappeared back into the room.
Parker looked at Kongou calculatingly. "Hey, Kongou. Have you ever tried Navy Coffee?"
"No, why?"
Parker disappeared into the room, and came back to the door holding a steaming cup of his 'personal brew'. He offered it to Kongou, who sniffed at it questioningly.
"Try it, maybe you'll kick Goto onto the stronger stuff, and he'll be easier to find," he said with a secretly sadistic smile.
Kongou took a tentative sip. Parker saw her face change from innocent curiosity, to the look of the condemned, and finally settle on his old favorite: 'wired for light, sound, navigation, hot ops, and battlestations'. Her hand was already starting to shake with the caffeine overload as she handed the cup back to Parker.
"I-I think that's a little too strong for the Admiral, Chief. Or me. If you see the Admiral, could you please tell him his tea is on his desk? I think... I think I need to go for a walk..."
Parker watched as she started to twitch out of sight. "Cheerio Miss Kongou!" he called after her.
As he re-latched the shutter, he turned to face Goto. "Well, I think she'll be out of your hair for a while."
Goto smiled with relief at him. "Thanks, Chief. Ever since the Bonin Islands, she's been more clingy than usual. I owe you one."
Parker began calculating. "Maybe you can pay the debt here and now, sir..."
"What are you thinking, Chief?"
Parker ran with it, "Well, you see, Admiral, it's like this; I've just recently become aware of some certain sonar recordings in the possession of the ICR and..."
Goto held up his hand. "Let me stop you right there, Chief. We've already tried to get those recordings from the ICR, you're not the first to ask. They buried us in a paper trail so thick we're still trying a year later. If you want them, and I don't blame you, You're gonna have to really do some shit to get them."
Parker started to fume at this. Those tapes, even if they were just goddamn whale farts, were important. For the blasted whale hunters to bury them behind a wall of paper smacked of ego. He'd need some real secret squirrels to get-
Goto saw the change in Parker's face. "What are you thinking, Parker?"
Parker looked at him. "I need a team- an honest-to-god special operations team, two interpreters, a passable cover story, and no questions."
Goto smiled at him. "That, I think I can help you with..."
(Author's Note: The US military runs on memes/pop culture references. Circa 2006, I knew a guy in 7th Fleet who would lurk around corners and pop out growling "I'm Batman". Forward Deployed elements of the Army, Navy/Marines, and Air Force are usually four-to-six months behind on the latest pop-culture memes, so getting stationed over there can be a little bit of a timewarp. Hence why this episode is chock full of memes. I'm not sorry.)
Parker smiled at the small team before him. "Holy shit, I can't believe they gave me actual Marine Raiders. You guys make me want to jump ship and join the Corps."
The five figures before him smiled in return. "Hey, one of us is a Corpsman."
"Yeah, here's your 'profin now suck it up," one turned to the speaker and quipped back.
Parker turned to the other figure lurking around the table. "I suppose I should introduce you to our team interpreter..."
The pink-haired girl approached the table and nodded to the assembled Marines. "Greetings. I'm Sh-"
"No names; this OP is deniable in every sense of the word," Parker cut her off.
"Understood. Discretion is key; any one of us could be taken captive," she replied. The Raiders all exchanged dubious looks at this.
Parker began his brief. " The OP is simple enough, but the target complicates things enough to make this very high risk. We'll be hitting the headquarters for the Institute of Cetacean Research up in Tokyo."
"The whale hunters?" one Raider asked.
"The same." Parker continued, "They have in their possession certain recordings that even the JMSDF can't get a hold of; recordings that are vital to our efforts combating the Abyssals." he pulled out a a series of maps and plans of the ICR complex. "This is a civilian complex; security should be light enough for a night time insertion."
The Raiders and the girl gathered around the plans and began studying them. Over the next hour, the entire group came up with a viable insertion plan. The entire operation would take roughly two days; one to observe and scout the ICR's complex located in Tokyo Harbor, and one to complete the mission. Though they had only one translator, they'd split up into two teams; four of the Raiders would infiltrate via a maintenance door and head to the security room to cut off outside communications. Parker, with the translator and the remaining Raider, would head to the primary data server room and sweep for the recordings. They'd hit secondary servers and several labs during their exfiltration if the primaries didn't pan out. The two teams would make their own separate escapes and rendezvous back at Yokosuka.
Parker leaned back and looked at the plans. "Well, everything looks good. Now the hard part will be dealing with the civilian personnel."
"What's the plan for that?" one of the Raiders asked.
"No casualties. We'll be going in with non-lethal gear; blackjacks, tazers, chloroform, flashbangs, gas grenades, zip-cuffs, and the like." Parker pulled out several duffle bags loaded down with gear. "I've also got body armor, masks, MCU-2 papas, and anything else we might need to get in and out with." As he opened them, the girl let out a low whistle.
"Something you're not telling us, boss?" one of the Raiders quipped.
Parker smiled. "Good conduct is given out every four years. I always considered it a reward for not getting caught."
-
Weiss shut to door to Parker's office, and turning came face to face with the four little girls that comprised DesDiv Six. The Chief had briefed him and the others on what to do when confronted with people looking for him.
Bullshit. Bullshit like you were in front of the CO at Mast and the beer was still warming up your gut.
"Hey, mister American sailor! Is Chief Parker in?" one of the girls asked as they all looked up at him.
Parker's old words from back when they served together came creeping into Weiss' mind. 'Now remember Weiss: dealing with officers is a lot like dealing with idiots. You can fool them with bullshit, or you can fool them with the truth. Though the truth only has to be relative.'
Weiss smiled at the girls. "I'm sorry, Chief Parker went up to Tokyo to meet with some very important people. I'm afraid he won't be back for a day or two."
He was met by a chorus of 'awwws'. "He was gonna tell us more ghost stories!"
Weiss looked at them and thought of the Parker he knew. The Parker that scaled a mooring line because he was drunk and didn't want to get caught by the OOD. The Parker that once stood an armed sentry watch dressed as a Stormtrooper on Halloween. Parker, he who once visited the stateroom of Ensign Bubblebutt to help 'fix her uniform'...
"Well girls, I might not know any good ghost stories, but I do know a few about the ol' Chief that you might like..."
-
"Hate. Why are you here?" Parker stared at the Marine standing outside the SCIF.
"Heard you brought in Raiders for an Op; figured I'd join up for the assist."
Parker gave Hate a once over. Then he looked even closer at the armament the Marine was wearing.
"Is that... is that a China Lake? I thought the armory – no. No fucking way Hate. Just... No."
Hate's face fell like a child who got coal for Christmas. "But you guys can never have enough backup on an Op..."
Parker palmed his face. "Do you even know what we're doing, Hate?"
The Marine merely shrugged. "Dunno. Some secret squirrel shit; don't really care as long as I get to see some action. Besides, come on, you've got little miss gloom-and-doom with you."
Both men turned to face the pink-haired girl as she finished strapping on a stab-vest. She had blushed slightly at the mention of her nickname. Parker turned back to Hate. "At least Miss S here knows the meaning of the word 'discretion'."
Hate harrumphed at this. "I can be discreet. Let me on this Op, Chief, and I can be as discreet as you want."
Parker glared at him. "There's to be no deaths on this Op, Hate."
Hate jiggled the M-4 slung across his chest. "I can hit a knee as well as a head."
Parker turned up the glare. "No. Firearms. Period. Or HiEx. Or anything that CAN kill." He leaned back behind the door to the SCIF and pulled out a long object; handing it to Hate. "Here. If you really, truly, want on this Op, you'll be going in with this."
Hate stared at the wiffle bat in his hands. "You want me to go into battle-" he turned it to see someone had crudely written 'morale stick' on it "-with this."
"Are you in or out, Hate?"
Parker could see the gears turning in the mad Corporal/Lieutenant's head. Hate looked at him with fire in his eyes and a demonic grin spreading across his face. "I can work with this..."
-
The air outside Goto's office seemed to hum as Kongou appeared in the doorframe. Goto froze in panic; he hadn't heard her approach.
"Good morning teitoku~," her words came out in a rush, even with that damn linger on 'teitoku'.
"'Mornin' Kongou. It isn't teatime." She smiled at this.
"I'm looking for Chief Parker; he isn't in his office, and the way he makes his coffee has kind of grown on me..."
Goto's worst fears had now materialized. That damn fool had either knowingly or unknowingly (most likely the former), given Kongou the one thing that would forever doom the Admiral. There would now be no rest for him; no escape from her. Him and his damn Op...
A snarl rose to his face, along with a believable cover. "No, the damn fool is meeting with American skippers. Some kind of intelligence brief."
Kongou merely smiled. "Oh well, I'll have to track him down when he gets done. Thank you teitoku~." She was gone, completely gone, while that linger still hung in the air.
Goto fetched out a bottle from his desk and leaned back into his chair. "Parker, you've doomed us all," he whimpered.
-
It had to be getting close to quitting time, Parker mused. He watched the many office workers of the ICR scurry about, likely filing away documents and packing things in for the night. The timeframe for the Op had them going in at roughly 0100. The "A" team, the four heading to security, had already been dropped off around the other side of the complex, lurking somewhere amongst the warehouses that dotted the harbor-front. His team was around the other side, maintaining a semi-decent view of the main entrance.
Hate, however, had disappeared upon arrival, with the cryptic message of "I need to take care of some shit before we go in; I'll be back in time to light this fucker off, don't worry."
"Fucking Marines, they always have to over-complicate things..."Parker groused to no one in particular.
"The Corporal will not let you down, Chief. He always come through," Miss S quietly told him.
Parker slid down from the perch he was watching the complex from. "Yeah, he does, but the way he goes about it is so..." he whined.
Miss S merely patted him on the shoulder and went back to adjusting the straps on her stab-vest. "He won't fail us, knowing what's at stake."
The lone Raider with them spoke up. "He's a Marine, Chief. We ALWAYS get shit done."
Parker shared a chuckle with the Raider. "I know how you guys get shit done. We've got time to kill, so let's swap stories..."
-
Goto's secretary walked into Parker's open office and gently placed several manilla folders on the desk. "Here are the daily reports, Chief, as well as the authorization form you requested from Admiral Goto."
McHale, wearing Parker's cover, rank insignia gleaming, glanced down at the folders. "Woof," he said.
The secretary nodded. "Understood, Chief. I will let Admiral Goto know about the delays."
"Whuff, whine," said McHale.
She smiled awkwardly at this. "We had... have issues like that on our side, as well. I'm sure the Admiral will understand."
McHale thought to himself. What would Chief do next? Somehow this harebrained scheme was working; he just had to sell it that Parker was still there. The ghost of his old Packard engine started to purr with an idea.
"Woof, whine, growl," McHale said.
He could see the blush rising on the secretary's face. He had hit the target, now he just had to make sure the follow-up shot sunk it.
"Grrrowl, whuff."
Her blush rapidly turned into a sunburn. "C-chief... That's... I-I... thankyouforthecomplimentbutireallymustgonowgoodbye!" she stammered as she practically sprinted out the door.
McHale let his head drop. He had preserved the secrecy of the Chief's mission, and the integrity of the persona he had crafted.
-
"Operation: A-hab A-rab is a go."
"The fuck, that's what you're calling this?"
"Shut the fuck up Hate god. Just... Do your thing. You're on."
"Copy that".
Parker watched as the wiffle bat-armed figure of Hate casually saunter up to the main entrance of the ICR facility. He saw the security guards approach; Hate had his mic off, so he couldn't make out the conversation being had between the figures. He could only assume Hate would talk his-
Was that a can of spray paint he just fired into his face?
"Oh, fuck me running," Parker let out before everyone heard it.
"WITNESS MEEEEEE!"
Parker started shouting into his radio. "A-TEAM, GO GO GO THE MAD FUCKER GAVE US AN OPENING."
-
McHale could hear the small planes buzzing outside the window. With the Chief's cover on, and standing orders to keep everyone but those 'in the know' unsuspecting, he could only let out a soft whine at the tempting targets to chase.
"He's not up there, Tone. Just a silly dog wearing his hat," Chikuma informed her sister.
Tone looked up at the window and whined. "But I heard some of the office staff mention that he was in..."
"What do you even want that Yankee spook for?" Chikuma asked.
"I heard he was probably dating Akagi; just wanted to see what the guy was like."
Chikuma just looked at her sister, judgmentally. "So you wanted me to send up my scout planes... why?"
Tone cowered apologetically at Chikuma. "W-well, I heard he had his very own PT-boat, and I wanted to see..." she trailed off.
Chikuma sighed and threw her arm over her sister's shoulder as she recalled her scouts. She started to lead Tone away as she spoke. "Tone, everyone knows you have a thing for those Yankee officers; there's no sense trying to steal one away from someone else. Besides, I don't Akagi is his type, anyway..."
-
"There's been no sign of... anyone, Chief. You'd think they'd have some kind of security rolling around this place..." the lone Raider commented.
Parker peeked around a corner to see empty space ahead of him. He made the simple gesture to move out. "Probably all getting their shit wiffle'd in by Hate. The guy is good for a distraction, at least."
The Raider chuckled at that. He opened his mouth the reply when all three of them heard it.
The form of a Japanese security guard came running towards them, the look of abject fear plastered on his face. Parker could just barely make out the garbled "savu meee" as the guard ran past the trio.
They all came to a stop in the hall. Miss S spoke up first.
"What-"
"The fuck-"
"Was that?" The Raider finished. The three turned to look down the corridor to find...
Him. Hate was walking towards them with a now badly-damaged wiffle bat, and a face caked with dried silver spray paint. He stopped in front the trio.
"Anyone see where an overweight Nippon-stronk guard ran off to?"
The three merely pointed down the corridor, opposite the direction of Hate's approach.
"Thanks," he said hoisting the bat, "I still owe him one for Shamu's cousin." He started to walk off when Parker stopped him. Hate looked at him with barely-contained demonic fury in his eyes.
"Hate... Fuck it, see you in Valhalla," was all Parker could muster.
Hate smiled and turned to head down the corridor. "I'll take it Chief! See you there!"
Miss S was the first one to speak up. "Tenryuu better watch out when he gets back. I believe he'll have some more ideas to deal with her before the night is through."
-
Akagi demurely knocked on the door to the SCIF. The security shutter popped open and she was greeted by the tired-looking face of one of Parker's men. Her eyes quickly glanced down to read the nametape on the man's uniform.
"Good morning Mr Thompson, is Chief Parker in?" she cheerfully greeted him.
Thompson blinked the sleep out of his eyes. The Chief had given them a cursory brief over some of the kanmusu that might be about, and possible replies to his whereabouts. "I'm sorry ma'am, but the Chief is meeting with the 7th Fleet ATG. Their training programs never really accounted for Abyssals."
Akagi merely smiled at him. "That's okay, Mr Thompson, I understand the pressures the American forces must be dealing with."
"Is there a message you'd like me to deliver when he gets back, ma'am?"
Akagi paused thoughtfully and tapped her chin. "Hmm... Nothing really important, but..." she looked back at Thompson, "Do you know what his favorite food might be?"
Thompson raised an eyebrow at this. "It's curry, ma'am. There's a place right across from the shopping mall off base that he goes to like, twice a week or something."
Akagi smiled serenely at Thompson as she bowed to him. "Thank you VERY much Mr Thompson. If you could let the Chief know I was looking for him, I'd appreciate it very much."
Thompson waved it away as her outfit finally clicked with a kanmusu description in his head, "No worries. I'll make sure the Chief knows you were looking for him the moment he gets back. Have a nice day, Miss Shoukaku."
Akagi's face twitched at this.
-
The upload had finished. Nearly three whole terabytes of sonar recordings were now safely stowed in the hardened drives Parker had 'acquired' from the base IT boys. He carefully stowed them as the lone Raider communicated with the A-Team via radio.
"Understood A-Team. Make your exfil and meet us back at the RZ when you are able."
Parker glanced over at Miss S as he shouldered his bag with it's precious cargo. "Anyone coming?"
Miss S never took her eyes away from the crack in the door she was peering from. "No hostiles. We are clear for exfil."
Parker glanced at his watch. It was 0145. The entire operation up to this point had taken less than an hour. He was surprised at that; bringing the mad Marine along had given them the best odds, after all.
He mad a transmission from his own radio. "Hate, you there?"
"AM I WITNESSED?"
Parker held the radio at arms length; it was turned down low, but the sheer magnitude that was Hate still came out loud enough to wake the dead.
"AM. I. WITNESSED?"
Parker keyed up the mic. "Yes Hate, for the last time, YOU ARE WITNESSED. You shall ride forever more, shiny and chrome; once you meet us back at the RZ."
Hate's reply was more terse. "Nah, fuck that. I can find my own way back. I'll see you guys back at base; I'm gonna buy you all some time to get out-"
They all heard the sound of an explosion over the radio.
Parker turned to the other two. "Lets get out of here."
Their escape vector had them going out the rear freight access of the complex; less likely to be seen by roving security following their path in. Parker stopped in front of the door that he presumed would lead to their escape. It was smaller than he expected.
"Miss S, what's the label plate say?"
Miss S glanced at the plate before turning back to Parker, "'Broom Closet', Chief."
Parker's face fell. That was the third time tonight. Thank god she kept gossip quiet; he'd never live this one down.
"Fuck, let's try that way, then."
Miss S merely shook her head, "That way will lead us deeper into the compound. I know the way out."
The Raider looked at Parker and nodded his head towards Miss S, "Seems like she can read a map, Chief."
Paker moped at this. "Lead the way, Miss S."
-
It was early morning when they stopped at the rest station for breakfast. Hate never reappeared; Parker could only assume he'd have made his way back to Yokosuka by train. As he sat idly toying with his doughnut, he only half-listened to the Raiders exchanging stories of the night. He only started to pay attention when one of them asked him a question.
"Chief, did you see what Hate left behind for our cover?"
Parker took a sip of his coffee; it wasn't as strong as he liked, but it'd keep him awake long enough to get back to base. "No, what did he do?"
The faces of the Raiders lit up with glee; even Miss S, now back to her real name of Shiranui, had cracked a smile at the memory.
"He made it look like all-out war from Greenpeace, the Sea Shepherds; hell, he even got some shit plastered over their main entrance blaming the ALF for the attack."
Parker's eyes lit up at that. "No shit, really? I'm gonna need to check out the news when we get back."
The Raider continued, "Man, we gotta get that glorious bastard into the Raiders."
Parker raised a hopeful eyebrow at this, "What about me; think I'd have a chance in the Raiders?"
"Well, you planned a good Op, Chief, and you got us some action; but..."
Another Raider finished, "You stink like Navy. You can hang with us anytime, though."
Parker's face fell. "B-but muh 'my ass rides...'"
The Raiders shared a laugh. "You're alright for a squid, Chief. You can invite us on Ops anytime, but Marines stick together."
Parker merely pouted silently as they all finished their breakfast.
Parker smiled at the small team before him. "Holy shit, I can't believe they gave me actual Marine Raiders. You guys make me want to jump ship and join the Corps."
The five figures before him smiled in return. "Hey, one of us is a Corpsman."
"Yeah, here's your 'profin now suck it up," one turned to the speaker and quipped back.
Parker turned to the other figure lurking around the table. "I suppose I should introduce you to our team interpreter..."
The pink-haired girl approached the table and nodded to the assembled Marines. "Greetings. I'm Sh-"
"No names; this OP is deniable in every sense of the word," Parker cut her off.
"Understood. Discretion is key; any one of us could be taken captive," she replied. The Raiders all exchanged dubious looks at this.
Parker began his brief. " The OP is simple enough, but the target complicates things enough to make this very high risk. We'll be hitting the headquarters for the Institute of Cetacean Research up in Tokyo."
"The whale hunters?" one Raider asked.
"The same." Parker continued, "They have in their possession certain recordings that even the JMSDF can't get a hold of; recordings that are vital to our efforts combating the Abyssals." he pulled out a a series of maps and plans of the ICR complex. "This is a civilian complex; security should be light enough for a night time insertion."
The Raiders and the girl gathered around the plans and began studying them. Over the next hour, the entire group came up with a viable insertion plan. The entire operation would take roughly two days; one to observe and scout the ICR's complex located in Tokyo Harbor, and one to complete the mission. Though they had only one translator, they'd split up into two teams; four of the Raiders would infiltrate via a maintenance door and head to the security room to cut off outside communications. Parker, with the translator and the remaining Raider, would head to the primary data server room and sweep for the recordings. They'd hit secondary servers and several labs during their exfiltration if the primaries didn't pan out. The two teams would make their own separate escapes and rendezvous back at Yokosuka.
Parker leaned back and looked at the plans. "Well, everything looks good. Now the hard part will be dealing with the civilian personnel."
"What's the plan for that?" one of the Raiders asked.
"No casualties. We'll be going in with non-lethal gear; blackjacks, tazers, chloroform, flashbangs, gas grenades, zip-cuffs, and the like." Parker pulled out several duffle bags loaded down with gear. "I've also got body armor, masks, MCU-2 papas, and anything else we might need to get in and out with." As he opened them, the girl let out a low whistle.
"Something you're not telling us, boss?" one of the Raiders quipped.
Parker smiled. "Good conduct is given out every four years. I always considered it a reward for not getting caught."
-
Weiss shut to door to Parker's office, and turning came face to face with the four little girls that comprised DesDiv Six. The Chief had briefed him and the others on what to do when confronted with people looking for him.
Bullshit. Bullshit like you were in front of the CO at Mast and the beer was still warming up your gut.
"Hey, mister American sailor! Is Chief Parker in?" one of the girls asked as they all looked up at him.
Parker's old words from back when they served together came creeping into Weiss' mind. 'Now remember Weiss: dealing with officers is a lot like dealing with idiots. You can fool them with bullshit, or you can fool them with the truth. Though the truth only has to be relative.'
Weiss smiled at the girls. "I'm sorry, Chief Parker went up to Tokyo to meet with some very important people. I'm afraid he won't be back for a day or two."
He was met by a chorus of 'awwws'. "He was gonna tell us more ghost stories!"
Weiss looked at them and thought of the Parker he knew. The Parker that scaled a mooring line because he was drunk and didn't want to get caught by the OOD. The Parker that once stood an armed sentry watch dressed as a Stormtrooper on Halloween. Parker, he who once visited the stateroom of Ensign Bubblebutt to help 'fix her uniform'...
"Well girls, I might not know any good ghost stories, but I do know a few about the ol' Chief that you might like..."
-
"Hate. Why are you here?" Parker stared at the Marine standing outside the SCIF.
"Heard you brought in Raiders for an Op; figured I'd join up for the assist."
Parker gave Hate a once over. Then he looked even closer at the armament the Marine was wearing.
"Is that... is that a China Lake? I thought the armory – no. No fucking way Hate. Just... No."
Hate's face fell like a child who got coal for Christmas. "But you guys can never have enough backup on an Op..."
Parker palmed his face. "Do you even know what we're doing, Hate?"
The Marine merely shrugged. "Dunno. Some secret squirrel shit; don't really care as long as I get to see some action. Besides, come on, you've got little miss gloom-and-doom with you."
Both men turned to face the pink-haired girl as she finished strapping on a stab-vest. She had blushed slightly at the mention of her nickname. Parker turned back to Hate. "At least Miss S here knows the meaning of the word 'discretion'."
Hate harrumphed at this. "I can be discreet. Let me on this Op, Chief, and I can be as discreet as you want."
Parker glared at him. "There's to be no deaths on this Op, Hate."
Hate jiggled the M-4 slung across his chest. "I can hit a knee as well as a head."
Parker turned up the glare. "No. Firearms. Period. Or HiEx. Or anything that CAN kill." He leaned back behind the door to the SCIF and pulled out a long object; handing it to Hate. "Here. If you really, truly, want on this Op, you'll be going in with this."
Hate stared at the wiffle bat in his hands. "You want me to go into battle-" he turned it to see someone had crudely written 'morale stick' on it "-with this."
"Are you in or out, Hate?"
Parker could see the gears turning in the mad Corporal/Lieutenant's head. Hate looked at him with fire in his eyes and a demonic grin spreading across his face. "I can work with this..."
-
The air outside Goto's office seemed to hum as Kongou appeared in the doorframe. Goto froze in panic; he hadn't heard her approach.
"Good morning teitoku~," her words came out in a rush, even with that damn linger on 'teitoku'.
"'Mornin' Kongou. It isn't teatime." She smiled at this.
"I'm looking for Chief Parker; he isn't in his office, and the way he makes his coffee has kind of grown on me..."
Goto's worst fears had now materialized. That damn fool had either knowingly or unknowingly (most likely the former), given Kongou the one thing that would forever doom the Admiral. There would now be no rest for him; no escape from her. Him and his damn Op...
A snarl rose to his face, along with a believable cover. "No, the damn fool is meeting with American skippers. Some kind of intelligence brief."
Kongou merely smiled. "Oh well, I'll have to track him down when he gets done. Thank you teitoku~." She was gone, completely gone, while that linger still hung in the air.
Goto fetched out a bottle from his desk and leaned back into his chair. "Parker, you've doomed us all," he whimpered.
-
It had to be getting close to quitting time, Parker mused. He watched the many office workers of the ICR scurry about, likely filing away documents and packing things in for the night. The timeframe for the Op had them going in at roughly 0100. The "A" team, the four heading to security, had already been dropped off around the other side of the complex, lurking somewhere amongst the warehouses that dotted the harbor-front. His team was around the other side, maintaining a semi-decent view of the main entrance.
Hate, however, had disappeared upon arrival, with the cryptic message of "I need to take care of some shit before we go in; I'll be back in time to light this fucker off, don't worry."
"Fucking Marines, they always have to over-complicate things..."Parker groused to no one in particular.
"The Corporal will not let you down, Chief. He always come through," Miss S quietly told him.
Parker slid down from the perch he was watching the complex from. "Yeah, he does, but the way he goes about it is so..." he whined.
Miss S merely patted him on the shoulder and went back to adjusting the straps on her stab-vest. "He won't fail us, knowing what's at stake."
The lone Raider with them spoke up. "He's a Marine, Chief. We ALWAYS get shit done."
Parker shared a chuckle with the Raider. "I know how you guys get shit done. We've got time to kill, so let's swap stories..."
-
Goto's secretary walked into Parker's open office and gently placed several manilla folders on the desk. "Here are the daily reports, Chief, as well as the authorization form you requested from Admiral Goto."
McHale, wearing Parker's cover, rank insignia gleaming, glanced down at the folders. "Woof," he said.
The secretary nodded. "Understood, Chief. I will let Admiral Goto know about the delays."
"Whuff, whine," said McHale.
She smiled awkwardly at this. "We had... have issues like that on our side, as well. I'm sure the Admiral will understand."
McHale thought to himself. What would Chief do next? Somehow this harebrained scheme was working; he just had to sell it that Parker was still there. The ghost of his old Packard engine started to purr with an idea.
"Woof, whine, growl," McHale said.
He could see the blush rising on the secretary's face. He had hit the target, now he just had to make sure the follow-up shot sunk it.
"Grrrowl, whuff."
Her blush rapidly turned into a sunburn. "C-chief... That's... I-I... thankyouforthecomplimentbutireallymustgonowgoodbye!" she stammered as she practically sprinted out the door.
McHale let his head drop. He had preserved the secrecy of the Chief's mission, and the integrity of the persona he had crafted.
-
"Operation: A-hab A-rab is a go."
"The fuck, that's what you're calling this?"
"Shut the fuck up Hate god. Just... Do your thing. You're on."
"Copy that".
Parker watched as the wiffle bat-armed figure of Hate casually saunter up to the main entrance of the ICR facility. He saw the security guards approach; Hate had his mic off, so he couldn't make out the conversation being had between the figures. He could only assume Hate would talk his-
Was that a can of spray paint he just fired into his face?
"Oh, fuck me running," Parker let out before everyone heard it.
"WITNESS MEEEEEE!"
Parker started shouting into his radio. "A-TEAM, GO GO GO THE MAD FUCKER GAVE US AN OPENING."
-
McHale could hear the small planes buzzing outside the window. With the Chief's cover on, and standing orders to keep everyone but those 'in the know' unsuspecting, he could only let out a soft whine at the tempting targets to chase.
"He's not up there, Tone. Just a silly dog wearing his hat," Chikuma informed her sister.
Tone looked up at the window and whined. "But I heard some of the office staff mention that he was in..."
"What do you even want that Yankee spook for?" Chikuma asked.
"I heard he was probably dating Akagi; just wanted to see what the guy was like."
Chikuma just looked at her sister, judgmentally. "So you wanted me to send up my scout planes... why?"
Tone cowered apologetically at Chikuma. "W-well, I heard he had his very own PT-boat, and I wanted to see..." she trailed off.
Chikuma sighed and threw her arm over her sister's shoulder as she recalled her scouts. She started to lead Tone away as she spoke. "Tone, everyone knows you have a thing for those Yankee officers; there's no sense trying to steal one away from someone else. Besides, I don't Akagi is his type, anyway..."
-
"There's been no sign of... anyone, Chief. You'd think they'd have some kind of security rolling around this place..." the lone Raider commented.
Parker peeked around a corner to see empty space ahead of him. He made the simple gesture to move out. "Probably all getting their shit wiffle'd in by Hate. The guy is good for a distraction, at least."
The Raider chuckled at that. He opened his mouth the reply when all three of them heard it.
The form of a Japanese security guard came running towards them, the look of abject fear plastered on his face. Parker could just barely make out the garbled "savu meee" as the guard ran past the trio.
They all came to a stop in the hall. Miss S spoke up first.
"What-"
"The fuck-"
"Was that?" The Raider finished. The three turned to look down the corridor to find...
Him. Hate was walking towards them with a now badly-damaged wiffle bat, and a face caked with dried silver spray paint. He stopped in front the trio.
"Anyone see where an overweight Nippon-stronk guard ran off to?"
The three merely pointed down the corridor, opposite the direction of Hate's approach.
"Thanks," he said hoisting the bat, "I still owe him one for Shamu's cousin." He started to walk off when Parker stopped him. Hate looked at him with barely-contained demonic fury in his eyes.
"Hate... Fuck it, see you in Valhalla," was all Parker could muster.
Hate smiled and turned to head down the corridor. "I'll take it Chief! See you there!"
Miss S was the first one to speak up. "Tenryuu better watch out when he gets back. I believe he'll have some more ideas to deal with her before the night is through."
-
Akagi demurely knocked on the door to the SCIF. The security shutter popped open and she was greeted by the tired-looking face of one of Parker's men. Her eyes quickly glanced down to read the nametape on the man's uniform.
"Good morning Mr Thompson, is Chief Parker in?" she cheerfully greeted him.
Thompson blinked the sleep out of his eyes. The Chief had given them a cursory brief over some of the kanmusu that might be about, and possible replies to his whereabouts. "I'm sorry ma'am, but the Chief is meeting with the 7th Fleet ATG. Their training programs never really accounted for Abyssals."
Akagi merely smiled at him. "That's okay, Mr Thompson, I understand the pressures the American forces must be dealing with."
"Is there a message you'd like me to deliver when he gets back, ma'am?"
Akagi paused thoughtfully and tapped her chin. "Hmm... Nothing really important, but..." she looked back at Thompson, "Do you know what his favorite food might be?"
Thompson raised an eyebrow at this. "It's curry, ma'am. There's a place right across from the shopping mall off base that he goes to like, twice a week or something."
Akagi smiled serenely at Thompson as she bowed to him. "Thank you VERY much Mr Thompson. If you could let the Chief know I was looking for him, I'd appreciate it very much."
Thompson waved it away as her outfit finally clicked with a kanmusu description in his head, "No worries. I'll make sure the Chief knows you were looking for him the moment he gets back. Have a nice day, Miss Shoukaku."
Akagi's face twitched at this.
-
The upload had finished. Nearly three whole terabytes of sonar recordings were now safely stowed in the hardened drives Parker had 'acquired' from the base IT boys. He carefully stowed them as the lone Raider communicated with the A-Team via radio.
"Understood A-Team. Make your exfil and meet us back at the RZ when you are able."
Parker glanced over at Miss S as he shouldered his bag with it's precious cargo. "Anyone coming?"
Miss S never took her eyes away from the crack in the door she was peering from. "No hostiles. We are clear for exfil."
Parker glanced at his watch. It was 0145. The entire operation up to this point had taken less than an hour. He was surprised at that; bringing the mad Marine along had given them the best odds, after all.
He mad a transmission from his own radio. "Hate, you there?"
"AM I WITNESSED?"
Parker held the radio at arms length; it was turned down low, but the sheer magnitude that was Hate still came out loud enough to wake the dead.
"AM. I. WITNESSED?"
Parker keyed up the mic. "Yes Hate, for the last time, YOU ARE WITNESSED. You shall ride forever more, shiny and chrome; once you meet us back at the RZ."
Hate's reply was more terse. "Nah, fuck that. I can find my own way back. I'll see you guys back at base; I'm gonna buy you all some time to get out-"
They all heard the sound of an explosion over the radio.
Parker turned to the other two. "Lets get out of here."
Their escape vector had them going out the rear freight access of the complex; less likely to be seen by roving security following their path in. Parker stopped in front of the door that he presumed would lead to their escape. It was smaller than he expected.
"Miss S, what's the label plate say?"
Miss S glanced at the plate before turning back to Parker, "'Broom Closet', Chief."
Parker's face fell. That was the third time tonight. Thank god she kept gossip quiet; he'd never live this one down.
"Fuck, let's try that way, then."
Miss S merely shook her head, "That way will lead us deeper into the compound. I know the way out."
The Raider looked at Parker and nodded his head towards Miss S, "Seems like she can read a map, Chief."
Paker moped at this. "Lead the way, Miss S."
-
It was early morning when they stopped at the rest station for breakfast. Hate never reappeared; Parker could only assume he'd have made his way back to Yokosuka by train. As he sat idly toying with his doughnut, he only half-listened to the Raiders exchanging stories of the night. He only started to pay attention when one of them asked him a question.
"Chief, did you see what Hate left behind for our cover?"
Parker took a sip of his coffee; it wasn't as strong as he liked, but it'd keep him awake long enough to get back to base. "No, what did he do?"
The faces of the Raiders lit up with glee; even Miss S, now back to her real name of Shiranui, had cracked a smile at the memory.
"He made it look like all-out war from Greenpeace, the Sea Shepherds; hell, he even got some shit plastered over their main entrance blaming the ALF for the attack."
Parker's eyes lit up at that. "No shit, really? I'm gonna need to check out the news when we get back."
The Raider continued, "Man, we gotta get that glorious bastard into the Raiders."
Parker raised a hopeful eyebrow at this, "What about me; think I'd have a chance in the Raiders?"
"Well, you planned a good Op, Chief, and you got us some action; but..."
Another Raider finished, "You stink like Navy. You can hang with us anytime, though."
Parker's face fell. "B-but muh 'my ass rides...'"
The Raiders shared a laugh. "You're alright for a squid, Chief. You can invite us on Ops anytime, but Marines stick together."
Parker merely pouted silently as they all finished their breakfast.
"Pencil, geroff me or I swear on me mum I'll -!" howled Liverpool.
Graf Spee had the errant Town-class cruiser held in a headlock as she escorted her back to the common area of the dorms at Portsmouth.
"Livvie, ye dinnae even have a mum. Yir aff yir heid," calmly explained Glasgow.
"Ye dinnae want to git nabbed by the black maria an' taken to the tanty, do ye?" continued Edinburgh.
Liverpool stopped struggling. "De' feck are you gobshites even saying? I ain't no whopper, but even I can speak the Queen's feckin' english."
Glasgow and Edinburgh started giggling. Graf held out as long as she could, but she too succumbed once Liverpool started chuckling underneath her arm.
"I swear, between you three, I'm surprised anyone can understand anything you say," Graf said once her laughing had subsided.
"Az if, those two arl arse Texans on top te fuck with commos," rebutted Liverpool, send all four girls into another fit of laughter.
"Oy, Pencil, you can get off me now, I'm done bein' a divvy."
Graf let up off Liverpool, and the cruiser girl rose, ceremonially dusting off her clothes. Graf, Edinburgh and Glasgow all stared at Liverpool expectantly. She coughed embarrassingly into a fist. "What?" The three girls merely turned up the intensity of their stares.
"Fiiine. I'm sorry for makin' a scene at tha' pub. Even if that wanker deserves a good thrashing."
Graf loomed closer to her than the other two, a smile on her lips. "Unnnnd...?"
Liverpool threw up her arms in defeat. "Gawd. Fine." She turned to Edinburgh and Glasgow. "I'm..." She made an aborted attempt to start. "Abou' wha' happened..." Before she could even really start, Edinburgh and Glasgow both had her wrapped up in a hug.
"We love ye for why ye did it, Livvie. Yer our sister-" Started Glasgow.
"-Cousin." Interrupted Edinburgh.
"Yer our cousin," continued Glasgow, "and we'll love ye no matter what."
Graf merely stood back with a smile, content at watching the three Town-class girls hug it out. That is, until Liverpool stuck an arm out and dragged her into the group hug. "Oy, Pencil. Yer one of us, now."
After a few minutes, Liverpool broke the hug, surreptitiously wiping away a few tears. "Well, we better 'ead to the common room before they send out the Bizzies." As the four walked through the dorms, Graf marveled at the three 'cousins'.
The same general class of cruiser had resulted in radically different girls. Edinburgh was slightly taller than the other two, with short, dark blonde hair neatly tucked under what she learned was called a 'Balmoral' hat. Glasgow had an unruly mop of red hair barely held underneath her own hat, a more military-styled 'Glengarry'. They both wore fairly similar outfits most of the time, their pleated tartan skirts in a darker pattern than Graf had expected.
Liverpool, or Livvie as her friends would call her, was radically different. Back-length brown hair held roughly in a ponytail, dress shirt untucked from her own skirt with the sleeves pulled up to her elbows; and a perpetual scowl on her face when she wasn't with her friends. Their ordnance might not have been the most potent ever put on a cruiser, but the three girls more than made up for it with their tenacity and willingness to fight.
Graf started to think back to her own involvement in 'the war', as they collectively called their shared history, as the four approached the common room. Her train of thought was quickly derailed, however, from what sounded like a fight brewing inside. One voice she knew all too well; it all but called out to her from the year 1939.
Exeter.
Graf quietly opened the door to the common room and peered inside; her three friends sneaking a glance in with her. Exeter stood imperiously over the the struck form of HMS Electra. The poor destroyer-girl had, to all observers, tears in her eyes and a red mark blooming across one of her cheeks. There were roughly half a dozen other girls in the room, a few light cruisers and destroyers; all of them frozen at the scene.
"Foolish girl. I was the pride of the Royal Navy. I was- AM a hero to England! Why in God's name would I ever want to sail again with the likes of YOU?!" Exeter practically screamed the last part at now shaking Electra.
Graf remembered the ship HMS Exeter. A good, solid heavy cruiser and a worthy foe. If it weren't for the more modern design and technology Graf had at the time, the one time they had met in combat might have turned out radically different. As it was, Exeter the woman, she of the almost stereotypical British snaggleteeth, a woman who perpetually smelled of burnt tea. She dressed proper, true; but she carried with her an air of self-importance and what some of the RN lads had called 'resting bitch face'.
Graf made a quick assessment of the room from her vantage point. She knew none of the other girls would stop Exeter; she'd just bully them into submission. She was the only one who could really stand up to Exeter on her own.
"AAAACH-TUNG!" The call to attention was universal. No matter the language, it seemed; the harsh, guttural shout commanded immediate respect.
"Was- What is the meaning of this?" Graf said as she stepped into the room, her three friends following behind.
Exeter started and stared in Graf's direction, glaring daggers. "Shut up, Kraut. This is a matter for the Royal Navy. Your presence is neither asked for nor desired," she said as soon as she recovered.
Graf bent down to help up Electra. "Last time I checked, Exeter, our two navies were allied. You would do well to remember that we are ALL in this together."
Exeter scoffed as Electra took cover behind Graf. "Please, Kraut. We've never needed help from YOUR kind before; besides, it's not you actually do anything here."
There were gasps from all the other shipgirls in the room; Graf could sense Electra tense up from behind her. She narrowed her eyes at Exeter, white-hot rage working its way into her system. Her still-missing rangefinder crippled her combat abilities well enough that it had been decided, outside of local defense, she would remain in Portsmouth to provide logistical support for the Kriegsmarine girls. It was public knowledge, true; but it was a low and dirty blow. She clenched her fists and stepped up to Exeter, looming over the slightly shorter girl.
"You want a repeat of Plate, Exeter? Even half blind I can still take you." She saw Exeter's eyes flicker slightly behind her, and she knew that her three friends had moved up to support her.
"Oy, Eggsy. Piss off ya posh twat before we send ya' to the Royal 'ozzy," threatened Liverpool.
Exeter glared at Liverpool. "Why you support the enemy I'll never know. She should just go back to her home; back where she belongs." The room grew tense at that. The gauntlet had been thrown down, now it was just a matter of time before the first punch was let loose.
"... At least you have a home."
All eyes turned to face the speaker. In an ancillary doorway stood Bismarck, Hood, and Prinz Eugen. The sheer presence of what was often called the "Allied Heavy Fleet" diffused the brewing fight. Bismarck, strode across the room to one of the liquor cabinets that dotted the far wall, her eyes dark; while Prinz sauntered over to Graf. Hood merely stood in the doorway and looked at Exeter.
"We just got back from London. Herr Ambassador turned down Bismarck's proposal for port calls in the Fatherland. He also feels it might be necessary to loan some of us out to other allied nations," Prinz quietly explained to Graf, a sad look in her eyes. Graf shivered at her words.
Bismarck said nothing as she approached, a bottle of gin in her hand. Graf quickly glanced down at the label and made out the words "Navy Strength" on the label. Bismarck always seemed to hit the bottle hard after meeting with the German Ambassador. She took a strong pull off the bottle as she walked out of the room, Prinz moving to follow her.
Hood chose that moment to speak up. "It is late, ladies. I suggest everyone turn in for the night. Exeter, I shall speak to you in the hall."
Color drained from Exeter's face at that, as the other girls in the room started to make their exits. The walls will definitely have ears tonight, thought Graf as she and her friends escorted the nearly-forgotten Electra out.
"Tha' bint needs to check herself bad. Everyone else seems to know the war's over," muttered Glasgow as they walked to their rooms. Graf smiled weakly at her, her mind roiling at both her predicament, and the possible future of all the Krieg-girls.
The left Electra at the room she shared with a few other destroyers, a quiet "thank you" trailing from her as she went in. The four girls continued on to their rooms. The three 'cousins' all noticed Graf's melancholy mood. Liverpool nudged her with her shoulder as they walked.
"Oy, Pencil, that twat'll get what's comin' to her, I swear on me mum." For once, no one corrected Liverpool.
"An' dinnae worry, the Admiralty won't give in to some paper-pushers an' ship yer girls off," chipped in Edinburgh, patting Graf on the shoulder.
Graf smiled weakly at the trio as she arrived at her room. "Danke, meine freunde. Even if they do, though, I'm sure it would be to somewhere pleasant." Graf entered her room. "Guten nacht, my friends." She politely shut the door on the girls.
She opened the small refrigerator she had and pulled out a bottle she had picked up at the recommendation of that American, James Parker. She idly wondered if he was working as she went to the personal computer the Royal Navy had provided to every returned ship-girl. She saw that he was 'online', if this 'skype' thing was any measure. She pressed the 'call' button and sipped from her bottle as she waited for his pickup.
Graf Spee had the errant Town-class cruiser held in a headlock as she escorted her back to the common area of the dorms at Portsmouth.
"Livvie, ye dinnae even have a mum. Yir aff yir heid," calmly explained Glasgow.
"Ye dinnae want to git nabbed by the black maria an' taken to the tanty, do ye?" continued Edinburgh.
Liverpool stopped struggling. "De' feck are you gobshites even saying? I ain't no whopper, but even I can speak the Queen's feckin' english."
Glasgow and Edinburgh started giggling. Graf held out as long as she could, but she too succumbed once Liverpool started chuckling underneath her arm.
"I swear, between you three, I'm surprised anyone can understand anything you say," Graf said once her laughing had subsided.
"Az if, those two arl arse Texans on top te fuck with commos," rebutted Liverpool, send all four girls into another fit of laughter.
"Oy, Pencil, you can get off me now, I'm done bein' a divvy."
Graf let up off Liverpool, and the cruiser girl rose, ceremonially dusting off her clothes. Graf, Edinburgh and Glasgow all stared at Liverpool expectantly. She coughed embarrassingly into a fist. "What?" The three girls merely turned up the intensity of their stares.
"Fiiine. I'm sorry for makin' a scene at tha' pub. Even if that wanker deserves a good thrashing."
Graf loomed closer to her than the other two, a smile on her lips. "Unnnnd...?"
Liverpool threw up her arms in defeat. "Gawd. Fine." She turned to Edinburgh and Glasgow. "I'm..." She made an aborted attempt to start. "Abou' wha' happened..." Before she could even really start, Edinburgh and Glasgow both had her wrapped up in a hug.
"We love ye for why ye did it, Livvie. Yer our sister-" Started Glasgow.
"-Cousin." Interrupted Edinburgh.
"Yer our cousin," continued Glasgow, "and we'll love ye no matter what."
Graf merely stood back with a smile, content at watching the three Town-class girls hug it out. That is, until Liverpool stuck an arm out and dragged her into the group hug. "Oy, Pencil. Yer one of us, now."
After a few minutes, Liverpool broke the hug, surreptitiously wiping away a few tears. "Well, we better 'ead to the common room before they send out the Bizzies." As the four walked through the dorms, Graf marveled at the three 'cousins'.
The same general class of cruiser had resulted in radically different girls. Edinburgh was slightly taller than the other two, with short, dark blonde hair neatly tucked under what she learned was called a 'Balmoral' hat. Glasgow had an unruly mop of red hair barely held underneath her own hat, a more military-styled 'Glengarry'. They both wore fairly similar outfits most of the time, their pleated tartan skirts in a darker pattern than Graf had expected.
Liverpool, or Livvie as her friends would call her, was radically different. Back-length brown hair held roughly in a ponytail, dress shirt untucked from her own skirt with the sleeves pulled up to her elbows; and a perpetual scowl on her face when she wasn't with her friends. Their ordnance might not have been the most potent ever put on a cruiser, but the three girls more than made up for it with their tenacity and willingness to fight.
Graf started to think back to her own involvement in 'the war', as they collectively called their shared history, as the four approached the common room. Her train of thought was quickly derailed, however, from what sounded like a fight brewing inside. One voice she knew all too well; it all but called out to her from the year 1939.
Exeter.
Graf quietly opened the door to the common room and peered inside; her three friends sneaking a glance in with her. Exeter stood imperiously over the the struck form of HMS Electra. The poor destroyer-girl had, to all observers, tears in her eyes and a red mark blooming across one of her cheeks. There were roughly half a dozen other girls in the room, a few light cruisers and destroyers; all of them frozen at the scene.
"Foolish girl. I was the pride of the Royal Navy. I was- AM a hero to England! Why in God's name would I ever want to sail again with the likes of YOU?!" Exeter practically screamed the last part at now shaking Electra.
Graf remembered the ship HMS Exeter. A good, solid heavy cruiser and a worthy foe. If it weren't for the more modern design and technology Graf had at the time, the one time they had met in combat might have turned out radically different. As it was, Exeter the woman, she of the almost stereotypical British snaggleteeth, a woman who perpetually smelled of burnt tea. She dressed proper, true; but she carried with her an air of self-importance and what some of the RN lads had called 'resting bitch face'.
Graf made a quick assessment of the room from her vantage point. She knew none of the other girls would stop Exeter; she'd just bully them into submission. She was the only one who could really stand up to Exeter on her own.
"AAAACH-TUNG!" The call to attention was universal. No matter the language, it seemed; the harsh, guttural shout commanded immediate respect.
"Was- What is the meaning of this?" Graf said as she stepped into the room, her three friends following behind.
Exeter started and stared in Graf's direction, glaring daggers. "Shut up, Kraut. This is a matter for the Royal Navy. Your presence is neither asked for nor desired," she said as soon as she recovered.
Graf bent down to help up Electra. "Last time I checked, Exeter, our two navies were allied. You would do well to remember that we are ALL in this together."
Exeter scoffed as Electra took cover behind Graf. "Please, Kraut. We've never needed help from YOUR kind before; besides, it's not you actually do anything here."
There were gasps from all the other shipgirls in the room; Graf could sense Electra tense up from behind her. She narrowed her eyes at Exeter, white-hot rage working its way into her system. Her still-missing rangefinder crippled her combat abilities well enough that it had been decided, outside of local defense, she would remain in Portsmouth to provide logistical support for the Kriegsmarine girls. It was public knowledge, true; but it was a low and dirty blow. She clenched her fists and stepped up to Exeter, looming over the slightly shorter girl.
"You want a repeat of Plate, Exeter? Even half blind I can still take you." She saw Exeter's eyes flicker slightly behind her, and she knew that her three friends had moved up to support her.
"Oy, Eggsy. Piss off ya posh twat before we send ya' to the Royal 'ozzy," threatened Liverpool.
Exeter glared at Liverpool. "Why you support the enemy I'll never know. She should just go back to her home; back where she belongs." The room grew tense at that. The gauntlet had been thrown down, now it was just a matter of time before the first punch was let loose.
"... At least you have a home."
All eyes turned to face the speaker. In an ancillary doorway stood Bismarck, Hood, and Prinz Eugen. The sheer presence of what was often called the "Allied Heavy Fleet" diffused the brewing fight. Bismarck, strode across the room to one of the liquor cabinets that dotted the far wall, her eyes dark; while Prinz sauntered over to Graf. Hood merely stood in the doorway and looked at Exeter.
"We just got back from London. Herr Ambassador turned down Bismarck's proposal for port calls in the Fatherland. He also feels it might be necessary to loan some of us out to other allied nations," Prinz quietly explained to Graf, a sad look in her eyes. Graf shivered at her words.
Bismarck said nothing as she approached, a bottle of gin in her hand. Graf quickly glanced down at the label and made out the words "Navy Strength" on the label. Bismarck always seemed to hit the bottle hard after meeting with the German Ambassador. She took a strong pull off the bottle as she walked out of the room, Prinz moving to follow her.
Hood chose that moment to speak up. "It is late, ladies. I suggest everyone turn in for the night. Exeter, I shall speak to you in the hall."
Color drained from Exeter's face at that, as the other girls in the room started to make their exits. The walls will definitely have ears tonight, thought Graf as she and her friends escorted the nearly-forgotten Electra out.
"Tha' bint needs to check herself bad. Everyone else seems to know the war's over," muttered Glasgow as they walked to their rooms. Graf smiled weakly at her, her mind roiling at both her predicament, and the possible future of all the Krieg-girls.
The left Electra at the room she shared with a few other destroyers, a quiet "thank you" trailing from her as she went in. The four girls continued on to their rooms. The three 'cousins' all noticed Graf's melancholy mood. Liverpool nudged her with her shoulder as they walked.
"Oy, Pencil, that twat'll get what's comin' to her, I swear on me mum." For once, no one corrected Liverpool.
"An' dinnae worry, the Admiralty won't give in to some paper-pushers an' ship yer girls off," chipped in Edinburgh, patting Graf on the shoulder.
Graf smiled weakly at the trio as she arrived at her room. "Danke, meine freunde. Even if they do, though, I'm sure it would be to somewhere pleasant." Graf entered her room. "Guten nacht, my friends." She politely shut the door on the girls.
She opened the small refrigerator she had and pulled out a bottle she had picked up at the recommendation of that American, James Parker. She idly wondered if he was working as she went to the personal computer the Royal Navy had provided to every returned ship-girl. She saw that he was 'online', if this 'skype' thing was any measure. She pressed the 'call' button and sipped from her bottle as she waited for his pickup.
Parker shifted uncomfortably. He was used to sleeping in awkward positions; from the non-skid of a flight deck to a fetal ball crammed in between equipment racks. Falling asleep at his desk should have been no problem.
So why did it feel like his chest was in a vice?
One eye popped open and a hand went to his chest. He felt the stab-vest he was still wearing constricting him. He leaned up from his desk, a blanket someone had draped over him falling from his shoulders. He pulled off the vest and tossed it aside. He yawned, idly scratching his chest, and looked at the time. He had gotten back to Yokosuka sometime after 0400, and now it was sometime after ten.
Shit, he was behind schedule. He needed to check in on his guys and-
His computer was making a noise. He turned on his monitor to see he was getting a call all the way from Portsmouth. His sleep-deprived mind wondered who from Britbongistan would be calling as he answered.
The slightly flushed face of Graf Spee greeted him; her long, braided blonde hair casually draped over her shoulder, and the top few buttons of her jacket were open, revealing the plain-grey shirt underneath. She had a drink in her hand, and as Parker watched, she took a sip from it. It looked like she was reading something on her computer. He watched her for a minute; her soft blue eyes had a slightly glassy look to them, an obvious sign she had been drinking for a while. He glanced down at his desk where he saw someone had placed a cup of coffee and a small plate of doughnuts with a note. He sipped from the cup as he read the note. He grimaced slightly at the cold and bitter taste of Dunkin' Donuts-brand coffee.
The note read, in fairly shaky but legible handwriting:
"Dear Chief Parker,
Even though I just got back from the sortie, I went to the gym for training, just as you'd want. You weren't there, so I came to your office. You were asleep at your desk. It looked like you had been up all night working, so I brought you some coffee and donuts for when you wake up. I guess I'll see you tomorrow morning, then. Get some proper sleep, Chief!
Very Respectfully,
USS William D. Porter
DD-579"
Parker smiled at the note; he'd have to do something nice for Willie, to repay the favor. He turned back to his monitor, where Graf was now refilling her drink; still oblivious to the fact that Parker had picked up her call.
"Graf, you're drunk, aren't you?"
She practically flew back from her computer in surprise. He saw her messing with her computer for a second, before he saw recognition on her face. "Ah! Herr Jimmy! I've been trying to..." she trailed off as she looked at him over the computer.
"... You look... rough, Herr Jimmy. You've been sleeping at your desk, haven't you?"
Parker rubbed at his face and felt the good start to two days' growth of stubble. "Ah, yeah. It's been a wild few days for me. Guess it all caught up this morning and I fell asleep at my desk."
Graf chuckled. "You should take better care of yourself, then. We can't have you falling asleep on watch, can we?" She said, giving him a sly smile.
Parker laughed at that. "It only happened once or twice... a deployment." He took a pull from the coffee. "So, what's the call for, business or..?"
"Social. Actually, I forgot what I called for. My friends and I went out celebrating tonight, and I've been trying to call you for the past half hour or so.."
"Sorry about that," Parker smiled sheepishly as Graf waved off his apology; "What were you celebrating?"
Graf leaned in, unknowingly giving Parker a good look at her cleavage, hemmed in by her jacket and shirt. "Liverpool and Glasgow got back from convoy duty yesterday. It's a little tradition of ours to go out celebrating whenever someone comes back safe."
Parker forcefully tore his gaze away from Graf's 'magazines'. "Did something happen? Did Liverpool finally 'glass' someone?"
Graf laughed (Editor: oh god did I really just write that?). "Thankfully, no. Edinburgh and Glasgow were able to pull her out of the pub before she did any harm. She-" Graf cut herself off at a knock coming from her side of the monitor. "I'll be right back."
Parker started in on the plate of doughnuts while he listened to Graf answering her door.
"Guten abend."
"Oy, Pencil. Let us in, we've got booze an' stuff."
"We dinnae wanted ye ta be lonely after wha' Eggsy pulled."
Parker picked up on the accents; the first had to have been the infamous Liverpool, the latter one of the two Scottish girls; either Glasgow of Edinburgh.
"I'm not lonely, girls. I'm actually on a call overseas."
"Tha' Septic bloke you've been on about? Lemme see 'im."
Parker heard Graf make aborted pleas to keep them out when he saw a new face appear in the monitor. She had long brown hair and was wearing a scowl that lit up into a grin when she saw Parker with a doughnut half in his mouth.
"Bloody 'ell, he's got a ring-cake an' looks like like some SBS goon!"
Parker spat out his doughnut at 'ring-cake', and started choking back laughter. Three other faces came into view; Graf and two others.
"Ach, Livvie, ye scared him an' now Graf's beau is gonna die!"
Parker once again spat, while on the other end Graf was stuttering and blushing. "H-he's not my 'beau' or anything of the sort! J-just a friend!"
"Oy, Seppo, don't go dyin' now; ye'll break Pencil's heart an' all," said Liverpool with a smile.
"Why do you call her 'pencil'?" Parker asked, once he finished coughing with laughter.
"'Coz I'm a bloody Liverpudlian; schooner or not. Graf, graphite, pencil," Liverpool explained.
Parker followed that train of thought. "Oh god. Cockney rhyming slang?"
Liverpool smiled at him. "Ayup. An' if ye'll follow me train o' thought: Seppo, Septic, Seperatist, American."
Parker laughed and applauded her. "Oh god, I love it. And here I thought you Brits had gotten over that particular butthurt."
Liverpool laughed with him. "Ah, s'all in good fun, I say."
"So, Graf mentioned you were out celebrating tonight?" Parker asked once he calmed down, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.
"Ach, aye. Livvie an' I jus' got back from convoy duty! We gotta meet our Canadian sisters fer tha' first time!" chimed in the read-headed girl, who Parker assumed was Glasgow.
"Ah! Glassie, tell 'im abou' tha' dogs ye saw!" Edinburgh added.
Liverpool butted in, stopping Glasgow before she could start. "I'll tell it; it's not like 'e'll be able understand with yer accents."
Glasgow and Edingburgh giggled while Graf held her face and laughed silently. "We met up with th' Maple Bars an' summa yer Seppo ships offa tha' one place in Iceland; Reyhavock or rejabix or somethin'," Liverpool started.
"It's pronounced Rake-ya-vick, Livvie," Graf said helpfully.
"Right, Wheatabix. So, th' Maple Bars 'ave this one cruiser-girl, an' she's in full uniform like some posh toy. An' she's sailin' with a few smaller girls, frigates or somefing wearing these sports jerseys, and this big ol' pack o' dogs. She introduced 'erself as HMCS Ontario, all fulla maple syrup with a bloody commission as a Louie."
"An' tha' dogs were these big ol' shaggy things called Newfies tha're their auld corvettes!" chimed in Glasgow.
"Ach, fine; you finish it, Pint-Glass," said Liverpool, waving away Glasgow.
Glasgow forced her way into the middle of the screen. "A-an' anyway, these doggies are all big an' shaggy an' friendly! You should've seen how they were wi' tha' Krieg Euies!"
"Euies? What're those?" Parker asked.
"Ah, I believe she means the U-Boat girls. Elf, that is, U-511 mentioned that they use the Canadian Newfies as a sort of 'welcome back' hazing," Graf interjected.
Parker raised an eyebrow at this. "What now? How?"
Graf continued, "The Newfies are Canadian anti-submarine corvettes; apparently they're really friendly. So, whenever the U-boat-girls go out with a new arrival, they don't tell them about the Newfies. Und..."
Parker filled in the blanks. "... The Newfie jumps on a terrified sub-girl and licks her?"
Graf and the others shared a chuckle. "Ja. Und apparently the girls make new friends for life with a lovable shaggy dog."
Parker laughed along with them. It seemed all was right on that side of the world...
So why did it feel like his chest was in a vice?
One eye popped open and a hand went to his chest. He felt the stab-vest he was still wearing constricting him. He leaned up from his desk, a blanket someone had draped over him falling from his shoulders. He pulled off the vest and tossed it aside. He yawned, idly scratching his chest, and looked at the time. He had gotten back to Yokosuka sometime after 0400, and now it was sometime after ten.
Shit, he was behind schedule. He needed to check in on his guys and-
His computer was making a noise. He turned on his monitor to see he was getting a call all the way from Portsmouth. His sleep-deprived mind wondered who from Britbongistan would be calling as he answered.
The slightly flushed face of Graf Spee greeted him; her long, braided blonde hair casually draped over her shoulder, and the top few buttons of her jacket were open, revealing the plain-grey shirt underneath. She had a drink in her hand, and as Parker watched, she took a sip from it. It looked like she was reading something on her computer. He watched her for a minute; her soft blue eyes had a slightly glassy look to them, an obvious sign she had been drinking for a while. He glanced down at his desk where he saw someone had placed a cup of coffee and a small plate of doughnuts with a note. He sipped from the cup as he read the note. He grimaced slightly at the cold and bitter taste of Dunkin' Donuts-brand coffee.
The note read, in fairly shaky but legible handwriting:
"Dear Chief Parker,
Even though I just got back from the sortie, I went to the gym for training, just as you'd want. You weren't there, so I came to your office. You were asleep at your desk. It looked like you had been up all night working, so I brought you some coffee and donuts for when you wake up. I guess I'll see you tomorrow morning, then. Get some proper sleep, Chief!
Very Respectfully,
USS William D. Porter
DD-579"
Parker smiled at the note; he'd have to do something nice for Willie, to repay the favor. He turned back to his monitor, where Graf was now refilling her drink; still oblivious to the fact that Parker had picked up her call.
"Graf, you're drunk, aren't you?"
She practically flew back from her computer in surprise. He saw her messing with her computer for a second, before he saw recognition on her face. "Ah! Herr Jimmy! I've been trying to..." she trailed off as she looked at him over the computer.
"... You look... rough, Herr Jimmy. You've been sleeping at your desk, haven't you?"
Parker rubbed at his face and felt the good start to two days' growth of stubble. "Ah, yeah. It's been a wild few days for me. Guess it all caught up this morning and I fell asleep at my desk."
Graf chuckled. "You should take better care of yourself, then. We can't have you falling asleep on watch, can we?" She said, giving him a sly smile.
Parker laughed at that. "It only happened once or twice... a deployment." He took a pull from the coffee. "So, what's the call for, business or..?"
"Social. Actually, I forgot what I called for. My friends and I went out celebrating tonight, and I've been trying to call you for the past half hour or so.."
"Sorry about that," Parker smiled sheepishly as Graf waved off his apology; "What were you celebrating?"
Graf leaned in, unknowingly giving Parker a good look at her cleavage, hemmed in by her jacket and shirt. "Liverpool and Glasgow got back from convoy duty yesterday. It's a little tradition of ours to go out celebrating whenever someone comes back safe."
Parker forcefully tore his gaze away from Graf's 'magazines'. "Did something happen? Did Liverpool finally 'glass' someone?"
Graf laughed (Editor: oh god did I really just write that?). "Thankfully, no. Edinburgh and Glasgow were able to pull her out of the pub before she did any harm. She-" Graf cut herself off at a knock coming from her side of the monitor. "I'll be right back."
Parker started in on the plate of doughnuts while he listened to Graf answering her door.
"Guten abend."
"Oy, Pencil. Let us in, we've got booze an' stuff."
"We dinnae wanted ye ta be lonely after wha' Eggsy pulled."
Parker picked up on the accents; the first had to have been the infamous Liverpool, the latter one of the two Scottish girls; either Glasgow of Edinburgh.
"I'm not lonely, girls. I'm actually on a call overseas."
"Tha' Septic bloke you've been on about? Lemme see 'im."
Parker heard Graf make aborted pleas to keep them out when he saw a new face appear in the monitor. She had long brown hair and was wearing a scowl that lit up into a grin when she saw Parker with a doughnut half in his mouth.
"Bloody 'ell, he's got a ring-cake an' looks like like some SBS goon!"
Parker spat out his doughnut at 'ring-cake', and started choking back laughter. Three other faces came into view; Graf and two others.
"Ach, Livvie, ye scared him an' now Graf's beau is gonna die!"
Parker once again spat, while on the other end Graf was stuttering and blushing. "H-he's not my 'beau' or anything of the sort! J-just a friend!"
"Oy, Seppo, don't go dyin' now; ye'll break Pencil's heart an' all," said Liverpool with a smile.
"Why do you call her 'pencil'?" Parker asked, once he finished coughing with laughter.
"'Coz I'm a bloody Liverpudlian; schooner or not. Graf, graphite, pencil," Liverpool explained.
Parker followed that train of thought. "Oh god. Cockney rhyming slang?"
Liverpool smiled at him. "Ayup. An' if ye'll follow me train o' thought: Seppo, Septic, Seperatist, American."
Parker laughed and applauded her. "Oh god, I love it. And here I thought you Brits had gotten over that particular butthurt."
Liverpool laughed with him. "Ah, s'all in good fun, I say."
"So, Graf mentioned you were out celebrating tonight?" Parker asked once he calmed down, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.
"Ach, aye. Livvie an' I jus' got back from convoy duty! We gotta meet our Canadian sisters fer tha' first time!" chimed in the read-headed girl, who Parker assumed was Glasgow.
"Ah! Glassie, tell 'im abou' tha' dogs ye saw!" Edinburgh added.
Liverpool butted in, stopping Glasgow before she could start. "I'll tell it; it's not like 'e'll be able understand with yer accents."
Glasgow and Edingburgh giggled while Graf held her face and laughed silently. "We met up with th' Maple Bars an' summa yer Seppo ships offa tha' one place in Iceland; Reyhavock or rejabix or somethin'," Liverpool started.
"It's pronounced Rake-ya-vick, Livvie," Graf said helpfully.
"Right, Wheatabix. So, th' Maple Bars 'ave this one cruiser-girl, an' she's in full uniform like some posh toy. An' she's sailin' with a few smaller girls, frigates or somefing wearing these sports jerseys, and this big ol' pack o' dogs. She introduced 'erself as HMCS Ontario, all fulla maple syrup with a bloody commission as a Louie."
"An' tha' dogs were these big ol' shaggy things called Newfies tha're their auld corvettes!" chimed in Glasgow.
"Ach, fine; you finish it, Pint-Glass," said Liverpool, waving away Glasgow.
Glasgow forced her way into the middle of the screen. "A-an' anyway, these doggies are all big an' shaggy an' friendly! You should've seen how they were wi' tha' Krieg Euies!"
"Euies? What're those?" Parker asked.
"Ah, I believe she means the U-Boat girls. Elf, that is, U-511 mentioned that they use the Canadian Newfies as a sort of 'welcome back' hazing," Graf interjected.
Parker raised an eyebrow at this. "What now? How?"
Graf continued, "The Newfies are Canadian anti-submarine corvettes; apparently they're really friendly. So, whenever the U-boat-girls go out with a new arrival, they don't tell them about the Newfies. Und..."
Parker filled in the blanks. "... The Newfie jumps on a terrified sub-girl and licks her?"
Graf and the others shared a chuckle. "Ja. Und apparently the girls make new friends for life with a lovable shaggy dog."
Parker laughed along with them. It seemed all was right on that side of the world...
Parker was still tired. The coffee Willie had bought him had woken him up, but between the fatigue of the last few days, and the scant hours of sleep on his desk, he still needed a good nights' rest.
He hadn't had one of those in a while, he realized. Since he received that damned warrant and orders to be what amounted to 'that guy who pokes the eye of the abyss with a stick and sees what comes out', he was either in his office or down in the SCIF most weekends. Hell, he hadn't even left the base in several weeks.
There was a polite knock on the door to his office; Akagi was demurely standing in the doorframe. "Mornin' Akagi; welcome back. How can I help you?"
Akagi took a few steps inside and bowed politely with a smile. "Good Morning, Chief Parker; it's good to be back safely. I was wondering if I could get your assistance on a little matter..."
Parker smiled back at her and sat a little straighter in his chair. "No problem, Akagi. How can I help?"
"Well, my sister and I aren't allowed to leave the confines of the base without an escort, and I had heard there's a restaurant just outside the gates that serves Japanese-style curry," Akagi started.
Parker's face lit up with recognition. "Oh, yeah. I know the place; CoCo's."
Akagi smiled brightly at him. "Ah, good! Well, I was wondering..."
Parker had an instinctual fear rise up in him. He had a sinking feeling on where this was going. "Wondering what, Akagi?"
She looked at him calculatingly. "I was wondering if you'd be so kind-", here comes my eternal damnation, thought Parker, "-as to escort my sister and I to the restaurant."
Parker felt himself unclench; escorting Akagi and her sister Kaga was safe. There was nothing even remotely 'improper' with that. "Ah, sure. How does tonight sound? Around 1800 or so?"
Akagi smiled radiantly at him. "That sounds wonderful, Chief. Where would you like us to meet you?"
Parker thought for a moment. "There's a taxi waiting area just inside the main gate; maybe a hundred meters or so to the northwest of it."
"I know it. We'll see you there at 1800, Chief." Akagi bowed to him, smiling. She turned to depart.
"Have a pleasant day, Akagi," Parker replied to her exiting form.
She turned just before she rounded the corner of his office door, "And you as well, Chief." With that, she was gone.
Parker leaned back in his chair, letting out a deep sigh of relief. That had been nowhere near as bad as he had initially thought. A nice, platonic dinner out with two ladies; he could show the two a few of the local sights down near the waterfront...
Yeah, it would be a safe evening out; barring something radical like an Abyssal attack.
He still needed to see how his spooks were doing, though. He had dropped off the 'acquired' recordings in the SCIF as soon as he got back from Tokyo; shooting off an email to Admirals Goto, Settle, and Thomas that they were in there. No more needed to be said about the sheer rampage Hate had wrought on the ICR facilities, or that they had even ever been there. He had left instructions for his team to log them in at the SECRET level and begin assigning them to their respective targets. He had also tasked them, if they were squirrelly (heh) enough, to try and get some support from the recently returned subs to begin a proper analysis of the sonar signals. His ultimate plan was to try and set up a network linked to the sonar buoys all over the Western Pacific and South China Sea, and with the acquired signals as a 'base signal', give them something broadly resembling an early-warning and tracking system. So far, the Abyssals might have figured out phones and have had a broad, basic idea about computers; but they had paid no mind or concern to the numerous buoys scattered about.
He was betting that the war would be over well before he would ever have to worry about Abyssal cyber-warfare. He picked up the phone and called down to the SCIF in order to check in. Someone picked up on the second ring.
"JTF TLA Secure Compartmentalized Information Facility, this is a secure line; all calls will be monitored and recorded. This is CT2 Weiss speaking, please identify yourself."
"Mornin' Weiss, this is Parker. How's it going down there?"
"Ah, mornin' boss. Everything's going fine. We already got the signals logged and plotted. We've actually got Harder and two of the Japanese sub-girls down here going over them with us right now."
Parker felt a morbid curiosity creep up. "Which two Japanese subs?"
"Ah, Iku and Hatchi, they called themselves."
Parker palmed his face. "They're not giving you guys any trouble are they? They have a bit of a reputation..."
Weiss laughed from the other end. "Hah, no worries there, Chief. Miss Naka is down here with McHale and she threatened to depth-charge their asses and sic McHale on them if they got too out of hand."
Parker laughed at that. He was ever so slightly worried McHale would start getting too rambunctious when the PT-Corgi seemingly attached itself to Parker's little group. "That's good. Could you put Naka on for me? I'll be down there shortly, but I want to run something by her quickly."
"No problem, Chief." Parker head the sound of the phone being passed, and then Naka happened. "Hi hi~! This is the Idol of the Fleet, Naka-chan speaking!"
Parker grimaced at the phone. "Naka, I got a bottle of fifteen-year-old scotch for you if you promise never to do that to me again." Silence rang out for a moment from the other end.
"...Deal. What's up, Mr Parker?"
"Well, you've been pretty handy with supply requisitions, judging by all the shutter shades I've been seeing around base..."
Naka barked out a short laugh. "Whaddya want Chief?"
"Well, if everything goes according to plan with those signals being analyzed down there, I'll be needing a good deal of sensor equipment and computer parts..."
Naka hummed thoughtfully from her end. "Hmmm. Give me a shopping list and make it at least a twenty-year old bottle, and you've got a deal."
"Naka, if you can get me everything I need, I'll find you a bottle from before I was born."
He heard the smile from Naka. "Deal. Shoot me an email with what you want and I'll get on it when we're done down here."
Parker smiled. It might cost him personally, but it would be worth it. "Thanks Naka; I'll actually be down shortly to see how everyone's doing."
Parker hung up and rose from his desk, stretching bodily as he did so. He'd have to brew up a pot of his own special blend of coffee before the morning was over. He glanced at a mirror next to his coat rack, and grimaced at the sight of himself. He needed a shave, badly; and a shower to follow. His dark-gray fatigues were somewhat roughly crinkled where the stab-vest had sat on him for the better part of two days.
He'd go shower and change after he checked in with his men. That sounded like a good plan.
He made his way down to where the SCIF was and punched in his combo to the secure door. He opened it and stepped inside. He saw Thompson with an open notepad next to Harder, earphones on the returned submarine and a signal analyzer working next to them. Iku had the same setup a few feet away, with a very uncomfortable-looking Alvarez taking notes next to her. The scene was repeated a third time with Hatchi and an only slightly-uncomfortable IS3 King next to her.
Parker's eyes shifted to the other side of the room, where Naka sat cradling a nearly-destroyed Morale Stick. McHale sat by her feet, his own little PT-outfit summoned up for good measure.
Weiss came over from where he was plugging in data and greeted Parker. "'Ey boss."
"Yo Weiss. How's it going?" Parker returned the greeting.
Weiss gestured over to where he had been working. "We got something good; it looks like some kind of base signal all of the Abyssals so far put out; from their creepy body-horror forms to the generic pre-wars."
Parker nodded, "Show me."
Weiss let out a little chuckle as he led Parker over to the computer terminal he had been working at. "Well, before I show you the war-winner we have here; I need to ask you for a favor. A potentially big favor."
Parker smiled at him. "John, we've known each other how long now?"
Weiss smiled at the informal tone. "Since Ashland, Jim. But this is a big one. I need your recipe for your personal brew. And not the one you begrudge lowly butterbars with."
Parker's face grew serious. "John, buddy. You've tasted my personal brew. That shit doesn't agree with everyone. What are you planning?"
Weiss held his hands up defensively. "Hey, it's not for me. I can't stomach that unholiness. It's for Kongou."
"What."
Weiss continued. "She came here the other day, while you were out playing 'Double-Oh-Nerd'. She asked for the recipe, and I told her I'd get it for her if she'd set me up on a date with one of her sisters."
Parker blinked at Weiss. "What."
"Hey, her sisters are all kinda cute. I'm personally hoping she'll set me up with Haruna. We kinda hit it off at the welcome back party. But, Kongou won't agree unless I get her that recipe."
Parker grumbled. "John, you're playing with fire here; can you even comprehend what you're trying to get yourself into?"
Weiss merely smiled. "First, it's not like I'd be dating the ship; just the girl. Two; after all, you were the one that once taught a certain plebish CTTSN that 'sometimes you just have to turn it off and laugh at the absurdity'."
Parker quietly admitted to himself that Weiss was right; sometimes one had to simply 'turn it off' and deal with it. He himself was also a little bit curious just where the 'ship' ended and the 'girl' begun.
"Aaaah fine. You win."
Parker pulled out a notepad and scribbled out the formula he had spent many a day working on; one that carefully balanced caffeine and bitterness with a dash of specific types of alcohol to stave off potential liver damage while keeping the drinker awake and alert for potentially days on end.
"Here," he said, handing the recipe over to Weiss. "It took me two years to work that out. Don't let it out of your sight, and make DAMN sure Kongou doesn't do something stupid with it." Weiss reached for it.
"I'm trusting you here, John," Parker added. "This shit is darker than the abyss we've been staring into since the Abyssals showed up."
Weiss' face grew serious. "I swear, Chief, as both a sailor in the US Navy, and as your old buddy; I won't fuck you over on this." He looked down at the recipe. "Wait; the secret is alcohol? Really?" He looked up at Parker, a concerned sense of curiosity on his face.
Parker gave him a smug look. "Thins out the mixture; gives it an extra fifty RPMs."
"That's from fucking Down Periscope," Weiss said with an unamused look.
"But it works," Parker responded with a grin, prompting Weiss to shrug agreeably.
Parker sighed deeply. "Well, that's that, then. Now show me this signal that's supposedly a game-changer."
Weiss gestured at a monitor. "These here are four different sonar signals put out by differing Abyssals, from different encounters; The top one is from one of the battleships Arizona shot the shit out of, followed by a destroyer the Japanese dealt with nearly a year ago, then a cruiser, and finally what we assume is a supply ship." He adjusted the signals, breaking them down to baser frequencies. "As you can see, they're all different. But, when you shift them over like so," he adjusted several sliders, increasing and decreasing certain features, "They all share the same 'base signal'."
Parker stared at the screen. Weiss' adjustments should not have broken them down to the same base signal; but there it was. "Holy fucking shit, John. That's it. That HAS to be it."
Weiss nodded. "Yep. The game changer. And we can pick it up."
Parker continued to stare incredulously at the screen. "What does it sound like?"
Weiss held up a pair of headphones. "No idea. I just discovered it right before you came in."
Parker grinned. "Let's see what we got."
Weiss plugged in the headset and handed them to Parker. "You do the honors, boss."
Parker slipped the headset over his ears and hit the playback button. There was silence for a second, and then-
JAMES PARKER
Parker ripped the headset off, a look of primal terror rising on his face. "What the fuck was that?"
One of Weiss' eyebrows peaked. He picked up the headset and slipped it over his own ears, pressing the playback button once they were on. After a second he tore them off his head, a look of fear on his face.
"What did you hear?" asked Parker.
Weiss looked at him. "Johnathan Weiss."
Parker's face started to morph into confusion. "I heard my own name."
"What in the fuck?"
Parker turned to face the rest of the room. He stuck his fingers in his mouth and blew, making a sound that strongly resembled a bosun's pipe. All eyes turned towards him, Naka rubbing one ear.
"What the hell, Chief? You whistle loud," she complained.
Parker quickly plugged in a set of speakers into the computer. "Everyone, tell me what you hear."
He pressed the playback button, and once more he heard that sound.
JAMES PARKER
Everyone in the room, even McHale recoiled at the sound. Parker's heart was thrumming in his chest; it was beating like he had just finished a marathon. "What did you hear?" he commanded, pointing at Alvarez.
"Stephen Alvarez, my name."
Parker pointed to King next. "What did you hear?"
"Franklin King, Chief."
Parker rounded on Thompson. "You."
"Michael Thompson."
Parker went to Naka. "You."
Her face was ashen as she answered; nightmarish memories brought back by that sound. "Torpedoes and bombs. Screaming."
Parker went to Harder next. "You."
His face was locked in dark memories. "Depth charges. The sound of implosion."
Parker faced Iku. "You."
She had tears in her eyes as she responded weakly. "Depth charges, too."
Parker ended with Hatchi. "You."
She burst into tears, unable to even give an answer over her sobbing.
"What the fuck did we just hear, Chief?", someone asked.
Parker's forced his face into a mask. After forcing that sound on everyone, he didn't feel the need to hide behind lies. "Death. We heard death. And now we have an answer."
"An answer for what?", asked someone else.
"On how to find the Abyssals."
He hadn't had one of those in a while, he realized. Since he received that damned warrant and orders to be what amounted to 'that guy who pokes the eye of the abyss with a stick and sees what comes out', he was either in his office or down in the SCIF most weekends. Hell, he hadn't even left the base in several weeks.
There was a polite knock on the door to his office; Akagi was demurely standing in the doorframe. "Mornin' Akagi; welcome back. How can I help you?"
Akagi took a few steps inside and bowed politely with a smile. "Good Morning, Chief Parker; it's good to be back safely. I was wondering if I could get your assistance on a little matter..."
Parker smiled back at her and sat a little straighter in his chair. "No problem, Akagi. How can I help?"
"Well, my sister and I aren't allowed to leave the confines of the base without an escort, and I had heard there's a restaurant just outside the gates that serves Japanese-style curry," Akagi started.
Parker's face lit up with recognition. "Oh, yeah. I know the place; CoCo's."
Akagi smiled brightly at him. "Ah, good! Well, I was wondering..."
Parker had an instinctual fear rise up in him. He had a sinking feeling on where this was going. "Wondering what, Akagi?"
She looked at him calculatingly. "I was wondering if you'd be so kind-", here comes my eternal damnation, thought Parker, "-as to escort my sister and I to the restaurant."
Parker felt himself unclench; escorting Akagi and her sister Kaga was safe. There was nothing even remotely 'improper' with that. "Ah, sure. How does tonight sound? Around 1800 or so?"
Akagi smiled radiantly at him. "That sounds wonderful, Chief. Where would you like us to meet you?"
Parker thought for a moment. "There's a taxi waiting area just inside the main gate; maybe a hundred meters or so to the northwest of it."
"I know it. We'll see you there at 1800, Chief." Akagi bowed to him, smiling. She turned to depart.
"Have a pleasant day, Akagi," Parker replied to her exiting form.
She turned just before she rounded the corner of his office door, "And you as well, Chief." With that, she was gone.
Parker leaned back in his chair, letting out a deep sigh of relief. That had been nowhere near as bad as he had initially thought. A nice, platonic dinner out with two ladies; he could show the two a few of the local sights down near the waterfront...
Yeah, it would be a safe evening out; barring something radical like an Abyssal attack.
He still needed to see how his spooks were doing, though. He had dropped off the 'acquired' recordings in the SCIF as soon as he got back from Tokyo; shooting off an email to Admirals Goto, Settle, and Thomas that they were in there. No more needed to be said about the sheer rampage Hate had wrought on the ICR facilities, or that they had even ever been there. He had left instructions for his team to log them in at the SECRET level and begin assigning them to their respective targets. He had also tasked them, if they were squirrelly (heh) enough, to try and get some support from the recently returned subs to begin a proper analysis of the sonar signals. His ultimate plan was to try and set up a network linked to the sonar buoys all over the Western Pacific and South China Sea, and with the acquired signals as a 'base signal', give them something broadly resembling an early-warning and tracking system. So far, the Abyssals might have figured out phones and have had a broad, basic idea about computers; but they had paid no mind or concern to the numerous buoys scattered about.
He was betting that the war would be over well before he would ever have to worry about Abyssal cyber-warfare. He picked up the phone and called down to the SCIF in order to check in. Someone picked up on the second ring.
"JTF TLA Secure Compartmentalized Information Facility, this is a secure line; all calls will be monitored and recorded. This is CT2 Weiss speaking, please identify yourself."
"Mornin' Weiss, this is Parker. How's it going down there?"
"Ah, mornin' boss. Everything's going fine. We already got the signals logged and plotted. We've actually got Harder and two of the Japanese sub-girls down here going over them with us right now."
Parker felt a morbid curiosity creep up. "Which two Japanese subs?"
"Ah, Iku and Hatchi, they called themselves."
Parker palmed his face. "They're not giving you guys any trouble are they? They have a bit of a reputation..."
Weiss laughed from the other end. "Hah, no worries there, Chief. Miss Naka is down here with McHale and she threatened to depth-charge their asses and sic McHale on them if they got too out of hand."
Parker laughed at that. He was ever so slightly worried McHale would start getting too rambunctious when the PT-Corgi seemingly attached itself to Parker's little group. "That's good. Could you put Naka on for me? I'll be down there shortly, but I want to run something by her quickly."
"No problem, Chief." Parker head the sound of the phone being passed, and then Naka happened. "Hi hi~! This is the Idol of the Fleet, Naka-chan speaking!"
Parker grimaced at the phone. "Naka, I got a bottle of fifteen-year-old scotch for you if you promise never to do that to me again." Silence rang out for a moment from the other end.
"...Deal. What's up, Mr Parker?"
"Well, you've been pretty handy with supply requisitions, judging by all the shutter shades I've been seeing around base..."
Naka barked out a short laugh. "Whaddya want Chief?"
"Well, if everything goes according to plan with those signals being analyzed down there, I'll be needing a good deal of sensor equipment and computer parts..."
Naka hummed thoughtfully from her end. "Hmmm. Give me a shopping list and make it at least a twenty-year old bottle, and you've got a deal."
"Naka, if you can get me everything I need, I'll find you a bottle from before I was born."
He heard the smile from Naka. "Deal. Shoot me an email with what you want and I'll get on it when we're done down here."
Parker smiled. It might cost him personally, but it would be worth it. "Thanks Naka; I'll actually be down shortly to see how everyone's doing."
Parker hung up and rose from his desk, stretching bodily as he did so. He'd have to brew up a pot of his own special blend of coffee before the morning was over. He glanced at a mirror next to his coat rack, and grimaced at the sight of himself. He needed a shave, badly; and a shower to follow. His dark-gray fatigues were somewhat roughly crinkled where the stab-vest had sat on him for the better part of two days.
He'd go shower and change after he checked in with his men. That sounded like a good plan.
He made his way down to where the SCIF was and punched in his combo to the secure door. He opened it and stepped inside. He saw Thompson with an open notepad next to Harder, earphones on the returned submarine and a signal analyzer working next to them. Iku had the same setup a few feet away, with a very uncomfortable-looking Alvarez taking notes next to her. The scene was repeated a third time with Hatchi and an only slightly-uncomfortable IS3 King next to her.
Parker's eyes shifted to the other side of the room, where Naka sat cradling a nearly-destroyed Morale Stick. McHale sat by her feet, his own little PT-outfit summoned up for good measure.
Weiss came over from where he was plugging in data and greeted Parker. "'Ey boss."
"Yo Weiss. How's it going?" Parker returned the greeting.
Weiss gestured over to where he had been working. "We got something good; it looks like some kind of base signal all of the Abyssals so far put out; from their creepy body-horror forms to the generic pre-wars."
Parker nodded, "Show me."
Weiss let out a little chuckle as he led Parker over to the computer terminal he had been working at. "Well, before I show you the war-winner we have here; I need to ask you for a favor. A potentially big favor."
Parker smiled at him. "John, we've known each other how long now?"
Weiss smiled at the informal tone. "Since Ashland, Jim. But this is a big one. I need your recipe for your personal brew. And not the one you begrudge lowly butterbars with."
Parker's face grew serious. "John, buddy. You've tasted my personal brew. That shit doesn't agree with everyone. What are you planning?"
Weiss held his hands up defensively. "Hey, it's not for me. I can't stomach that unholiness. It's for Kongou."
"What."
Weiss continued. "She came here the other day, while you were out playing 'Double-Oh-Nerd'. She asked for the recipe, and I told her I'd get it for her if she'd set me up on a date with one of her sisters."
Parker blinked at Weiss. "What."
"Hey, her sisters are all kinda cute. I'm personally hoping she'll set me up with Haruna. We kinda hit it off at the welcome back party. But, Kongou won't agree unless I get her that recipe."
Parker grumbled. "John, you're playing with fire here; can you even comprehend what you're trying to get yourself into?"
Weiss merely smiled. "First, it's not like I'd be dating the ship; just the girl. Two; after all, you were the one that once taught a certain plebish CTTSN that 'sometimes you just have to turn it off and laugh at the absurdity'."
Parker quietly admitted to himself that Weiss was right; sometimes one had to simply 'turn it off' and deal with it. He himself was also a little bit curious just where the 'ship' ended and the 'girl' begun.
"Aaaah fine. You win."
Parker pulled out a notepad and scribbled out the formula he had spent many a day working on; one that carefully balanced caffeine and bitterness with a dash of specific types of alcohol to stave off potential liver damage while keeping the drinker awake and alert for potentially days on end.
"Here," he said, handing the recipe over to Weiss. "It took me two years to work that out. Don't let it out of your sight, and make DAMN sure Kongou doesn't do something stupid with it." Weiss reached for it.
"I'm trusting you here, John," Parker added. "This shit is darker than the abyss we've been staring into since the Abyssals showed up."
Weiss' face grew serious. "I swear, Chief, as both a sailor in the US Navy, and as your old buddy; I won't fuck you over on this." He looked down at the recipe. "Wait; the secret is alcohol? Really?" He looked up at Parker, a concerned sense of curiosity on his face.
Parker gave him a smug look. "Thins out the mixture; gives it an extra fifty RPMs."
"That's from fucking Down Periscope," Weiss said with an unamused look.
"But it works," Parker responded with a grin, prompting Weiss to shrug agreeably.
Parker sighed deeply. "Well, that's that, then. Now show me this signal that's supposedly a game-changer."
Weiss gestured at a monitor. "These here are four different sonar signals put out by differing Abyssals, from different encounters; The top one is from one of the battleships Arizona shot the shit out of, followed by a destroyer the Japanese dealt with nearly a year ago, then a cruiser, and finally what we assume is a supply ship." He adjusted the signals, breaking them down to baser frequencies. "As you can see, they're all different. But, when you shift them over like so," he adjusted several sliders, increasing and decreasing certain features, "They all share the same 'base signal'."
Parker stared at the screen. Weiss' adjustments should not have broken them down to the same base signal; but there it was. "Holy fucking shit, John. That's it. That HAS to be it."
Weiss nodded. "Yep. The game changer. And we can pick it up."
Parker continued to stare incredulously at the screen. "What does it sound like?"
Weiss held up a pair of headphones. "No idea. I just discovered it right before you came in."
Parker grinned. "Let's see what we got."
Weiss plugged in the headset and handed them to Parker. "You do the honors, boss."
Parker slipped the headset over his ears and hit the playback button. There was silence for a second, and then-
JAMES PARKER
Parker ripped the headset off, a look of primal terror rising on his face. "What the fuck was that?"
One of Weiss' eyebrows peaked. He picked up the headset and slipped it over his own ears, pressing the playback button once they were on. After a second he tore them off his head, a look of fear on his face.
"What did you hear?" asked Parker.
Weiss looked at him. "Johnathan Weiss."
Parker's face started to morph into confusion. "I heard my own name."
"What in the fuck?"
Parker turned to face the rest of the room. He stuck his fingers in his mouth and blew, making a sound that strongly resembled a bosun's pipe. All eyes turned towards him, Naka rubbing one ear.
"What the hell, Chief? You whistle loud," she complained.
Parker quickly plugged in a set of speakers into the computer. "Everyone, tell me what you hear."
He pressed the playback button, and once more he heard that sound.
JAMES PARKER
Everyone in the room, even McHale recoiled at the sound. Parker's heart was thrumming in his chest; it was beating like he had just finished a marathon. "What did you hear?" he commanded, pointing at Alvarez.
"Stephen Alvarez, my name."
Parker pointed to King next. "What did you hear?"
"Franklin King, Chief."
Parker rounded on Thompson. "You."
"Michael Thompson."
Parker went to Naka. "You."
Her face was ashen as she answered; nightmarish memories brought back by that sound. "Torpedoes and bombs. Screaming."
Parker went to Harder next. "You."
His face was locked in dark memories. "Depth charges. The sound of implosion."
Parker faced Iku. "You."
She had tears in her eyes as she responded weakly. "Depth charges, too."
Parker ended with Hatchi. "You."
She burst into tears, unable to even give an answer over her sobbing.
"What the fuck did we just hear, Chief?", someone asked.
Parker's forced his face into a mask. After forcing that sound on everyone, he didn't feel the need to hide behind lies. "Death. We heard death. And now we have an answer."
"An answer for what?", asked someone else.
"On how to find the Abyssals."
Weiss had convinced Parker to leave the base. After they had briefed the Admirals on the "Abyssal Signal", Parker had been ready to cancel the plans he had made with Akagi.
"Chief, you haven't left the base in over a month. We can deal with the signal in the morning. You should go enjoy your date with Akagi and her sister," Weiss had said.
"It's not a 'date', John!"
That had been two hours ago. Parker had finally gone back to his personal quarters on base and cleaned up. He now stood waiting at the taxi stand, nursing a can of chilled coffee he had purchased from a nearby vending machine. He was wearing slightly faded blue jeans, and a polo shirt he had picked up in Scotland the last time he was there. He had on an old ballcap from the Tortuga; he had heard it was in port. He idly mused visiting his first ship when he noticed a female figure approaching him.
Kaga, alone, was walking towards him; she was dressed modestly, with feminine-cut pants of her own and a plain dark-blue shirt. Parker politely appraised her as he greeted her.
"Evenin' Miss Kaga; is Akagi running late?"
She crossed her arms as she reached him. "No; Akagi-san sprained her ankle earlier this afternoon; she insisted I still go with you to this... CoCo's, for dinner."
Parker chuckled lightly. "I'll understand if you want to cancel."
Kaga looked at him blankly, "That won't be necessary; she requested that I bring her something back from the restaurant."
Parker nodded. "Sounds good. We'll head through the Honch; it's early enough that only the early drinkers will be out."
Kaga raised an eyebrow as the two headed out. "Early drinkers? And what is this... Honch?"
Parker chuckled as they left through the main gate. "The Honch is the main drinking and dining area off base; a lot of sailors head there after work and cause a ruckus. It's early enough in the evening that most of them are still sober." Kaga scowled at this.
"Then they are a disgrace to their uniforms. If this occurs regularly, why hasn't your admiralty done anything about it?" She asked, accusatory.
Parker merely smiled sagely as he led her into the fairly empty Honch; bars were still opening, and some were serving food. "Well, they've tried; but they can only bully the enlisted so much before the effect on morale starts to show. Seventh Fleet has had one of the highest operation tempos in the US Navy; even before the Abyssals showed up."
"I... see. Regardless, though, your fellow sailors should conduct themselves more professionally," was her response.
Parker merely shrugged. "Some try; but the USN follows that age-old principle of 'work hard, play hard'."
Kaga merely hummed noncommittally. They were at the restaurant. Parker held open the door for Kaga, and the pair stepped inside to be greeted by the spicy aroma of food being prepared. Parker inhaled deeply.
"Aah, CoCo's... My home away-" he started.
"PARKER-SAN!" came a call from inside the restaurant's kitchen.
Parker's eyes flew open and made out the caller; he made out a slightly shorter, older Japanese man with a big grin on his face approaching him. Parker's own face mirrored the caller.
"Satoshi-san!" he called out, as the two men gave each other a brotherly hug.
"Parker, where the hell have you been hiding? You haven't been by in over a month, and you've missed the last two meetings! Lady Hayasaki is about to start calling for your head!" exclaimed Satoshi.
"Well, it's been busy on base; we've got a new admiral that doesn't know what the hell he's doing, and they forced a promotion on me," Parker smiled sheepishly as he made his excuses.
"A likely excuse, Parker," said Satoshi in a judging fashion. He turned his gaze to Kaga. "At least you finally got yourself a girlfriend."
Both Parker and Kaga got a startled look on their faces. Parker held up his hands as they started to make excuses; "She's not my-" "He is not-".
Satoshi laughed at the pair. "I'm joking, you two. Parker, please introduce me to your lovely companion."
Both Parker and Kaga relaxed slightly, though the latter was still blushing slightly. "Kaga, this is my good friend Satoshi Masahiko, retired officer of the JMSDF and owner of this particular CoCo's." He turned to his friend, "Satoshi, this is my not-girlfriend friend, the IJN Kaga."
Satoshi's jaw dropped when he heard her name. "K-kaga? THE Kaga?" He bowed sharply and professionally. "You honor us all with your presence!"
Both Parker and Kaga exchanged awkward glances. Parker shrugged, not really knowing how to handle the situation. "Kaga?"
She glared at Parker before turning back to Satoshi with a bow. "The honor is mine, Satoshi-sama."
Both rose, and Parker interjected awkwardly. "Satoshi, uh, we're here for dinner."
Satoshi's face lit up. "Ah! Apologies!" He led them to the back of the establishment. "Here; it's not much, but these are the best seats we have."
Parker let Kaga sit first, then he followed. Satoshi produced two menus for the pair. "I'll be right back with some refreshments." He departed.
Parker looked at Kaga. "Well, that was a little more awkward than I anticipated."
"Hmm. How long have you known him?" Kaga inquired.
"A few years now; we're actually both part of the Mikasa's volunteer crew," Parker explained.
"Volunteer crew?" Kaga asked.
"Yeah, there's a lot of former JMSDF sailors that work on her during the weekends; guided tours, maintenance and modernization and the like. Satoshi and I are, or were, working on the electrical wiring. Did you know half that ship still has paper-wrapped electrical cables?"
Kaga blinked at him. "I did not. Why are you working on the Mikasa?" She asked.
Parker leaned back in the booth. "Well, it's the Mikasa; she's a legend. She's Togo's flagship, and the only pre-dread still afloat; a beautiful piece of history."
"I... See." Kaga looked at him silently. "So, you're part of the crew because of her history?" Parker nodded.
"Up until they warranted me, at any rate. I've got a few nasty emails from the boss-lady herself, Miss Hayasaki, about not showing up to the meetings."
"But, you're an American. Working on a Japanese warship."
Parker laughed. "I know, right? Good thing I work with Satoshi; he clears up things for a gaijin like me."
Kaga's face grew confused. "That's not... You're an American, working on an Imperial Japanese warship; working WITH Imperial Japanese warships, even," she pressed.
Parker raised an eyebrow. "So? The war's been over for a long time now; our two nations have been allies since the occupation ended. There's no sense fighting old battles. I've studied the history of the Pacific campaign; even more about you girls since you came back. The way I see it, we're on the same team here."
Kaga's look grew annoyed. "That... makes no sense; explain."
Parker furrowed his brow. "I don't know what you're asking for, Kaga."
"We instigated a war with your nation; you proceeded to defeat and occupy us, dismantling our military and Empire. Why... why do you and Admiral Settle even bother to work with us? Your own ships, even the ones returned to you, are better. We're relics and bad memories," she explained. Parker fell silent, choosing his words.
"Because you are not, Kaga-sama," Satoshi said as he appeared from behind her. "You are part of the legacy of our nation; you are something- no, someone we can take pride and comfort in. Our nation might have lost the war, but it was not because of you; rather it was our own hubris that led to our costly defeat." Parker gestured for him to sit. As he did, with a slight hint of nervousness, Satoshi continued. "Since the war ended, our two nations have worked together to safeguard not only the Home Islands, but this entire region. Before your return, Japan alone did not have the ability to keep the sea lanes safe; neither did the Americans."
"America's naval policy for nearly fifty years now has been to build up allies and present a unified front against aggressors. The only way either of our two nations could ever make that work is through mutual respect," Parker continued from where Satoshi left off. "I've been stationed here since I was eighteen. I've worked with the JMSDF countless times, and I have always been impressed by their professionalism and dedication to duty. They proudly represent the legacy of the Imperial Japanese Navy."
"Your legacy, Kaga-sama. And we take great pride and honor for simply being a part of that," Satoshi finished. Kaga looked humbled at their words.
"I think we're ready to order, Satoshi," Parker said.
- - -
The meal had been fairly quiet after that. Parker had taken up the Level-Ten Challenge, and after downing three pitchers of water with it, had managed to finish the entire plate. Kaga had smirked at his obvious discomfort at the spiciness; commenting on 'American audacity in the face of a challenge'. Satoshi had blanched slightly when Kaga had ordered a to-go meal for Akagi; the man had muttered about the 'appetites of ships'.
When Parker had gone to pay, his friend had requested that the payment be provided in the form of a picture taken with Kaga; Satoshi had smiled widely at the camera, while Kaga had cracked a faint smile. The three had exchanged goodbyes, with honorifics exchanged between Kaga and their host; and a thinly veiled threat to Parker if he didn't show up to the next volunteer meeting. Parker and Kaga had then started to make their way back to the base.
"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Parker said with a smile.
Kaga nodded once. "It was... pleasant. I shall have to go back again with my sister; I believe she would enjoy the company and food of Satoshi-san's hospitality."
Parker nodded in agreement. "I'm sure he'd enjoy it, too. His nephew, if I recall, is currently in the JMSDF; he'd probably get a kick out of his uncle knowing celebrities like you two."
The pair stopped at the housing provided to the shipgirls. "Thank you for the meal, Chief Parker," Kaga said at the door.
Parker bowed his head politely. "The honor was mine, Kaga. Maybe next time I won't ruin it with the Level-Ten Challenge. I'm going to be regretting that in the morning," he said with a short laugh.
"Perhaps, Chief. Both you and Satoshi-san have given me much to think about," she replied with a faint smile.
"Fair winds, Kaga. Sleep well," he said, smiling as he turned to leave.
"And you as well, Chief. Good night," she replied as she went into the dorm.
Parker began to make his way back to his own private accommodations, wondering back to earlier that day. The Abyssal Signal he had heard had sparked an unhealthy idea regarding it's origins in his mind. He decided to head back to the SCIF before he retired for the night. There was something he had to find out...
"Chief, you haven't left the base in over a month. We can deal with the signal in the morning. You should go enjoy your date with Akagi and her sister," Weiss had said.
"It's not a 'date', John!"
That had been two hours ago. Parker had finally gone back to his personal quarters on base and cleaned up. He now stood waiting at the taxi stand, nursing a can of chilled coffee he had purchased from a nearby vending machine. He was wearing slightly faded blue jeans, and a polo shirt he had picked up in Scotland the last time he was there. He had on an old ballcap from the Tortuga; he had heard it was in port. He idly mused visiting his first ship when he noticed a female figure approaching him.
Kaga, alone, was walking towards him; she was dressed modestly, with feminine-cut pants of her own and a plain dark-blue shirt. Parker politely appraised her as he greeted her.
"Evenin' Miss Kaga; is Akagi running late?"
She crossed her arms as she reached him. "No; Akagi-san sprained her ankle earlier this afternoon; she insisted I still go with you to this... CoCo's, for dinner."
Parker chuckled lightly. "I'll understand if you want to cancel."
Kaga looked at him blankly, "That won't be necessary; she requested that I bring her something back from the restaurant."
Parker nodded. "Sounds good. We'll head through the Honch; it's early enough that only the early drinkers will be out."
Kaga raised an eyebrow as the two headed out. "Early drinkers? And what is this... Honch?"
Parker chuckled as they left through the main gate. "The Honch is the main drinking and dining area off base; a lot of sailors head there after work and cause a ruckus. It's early enough in the evening that most of them are still sober." Kaga scowled at this.
"Then they are a disgrace to their uniforms. If this occurs regularly, why hasn't your admiralty done anything about it?" She asked, accusatory.
Parker merely smiled sagely as he led her into the fairly empty Honch; bars were still opening, and some were serving food. "Well, they've tried; but they can only bully the enlisted so much before the effect on morale starts to show. Seventh Fleet has had one of the highest operation tempos in the US Navy; even before the Abyssals showed up."
"I... see. Regardless, though, your fellow sailors should conduct themselves more professionally," was her response.
Parker merely shrugged. "Some try; but the USN follows that age-old principle of 'work hard, play hard'."
Kaga merely hummed noncommittally. They were at the restaurant. Parker held open the door for Kaga, and the pair stepped inside to be greeted by the spicy aroma of food being prepared. Parker inhaled deeply.
"Aah, CoCo's... My home away-" he started.
"PARKER-SAN!" came a call from inside the restaurant's kitchen.
Parker's eyes flew open and made out the caller; he made out a slightly shorter, older Japanese man with a big grin on his face approaching him. Parker's own face mirrored the caller.
"Satoshi-san!" he called out, as the two men gave each other a brotherly hug.
"Parker, where the hell have you been hiding? You haven't been by in over a month, and you've missed the last two meetings! Lady Hayasaki is about to start calling for your head!" exclaimed Satoshi.
"Well, it's been busy on base; we've got a new admiral that doesn't know what the hell he's doing, and they forced a promotion on me," Parker smiled sheepishly as he made his excuses.
"A likely excuse, Parker," said Satoshi in a judging fashion. He turned his gaze to Kaga. "At least you finally got yourself a girlfriend."
Both Parker and Kaga got a startled look on their faces. Parker held up his hands as they started to make excuses; "She's not my-" "He is not-".
Satoshi laughed at the pair. "I'm joking, you two. Parker, please introduce me to your lovely companion."
Both Parker and Kaga relaxed slightly, though the latter was still blushing slightly. "Kaga, this is my good friend Satoshi Masahiko, retired officer of the JMSDF and owner of this particular CoCo's." He turned to his friend, "Satoshi, this is my not-girlfriend friend, the IJN Kaga."
Satoshi's jaw dropped when he heard her name. "K-kaga? THE Kaga?" He bowed sharply and professionally. "You honor us all with your presence!"
Both Parker and Kaga exchanged awkward glances. Parker shrugged, not really knowing how to handle the situation. "Kaga?"
She glared at Parker before turning back to Satoshi with a bow. "The honor is mine, Satoshi-sama."
Both rose, and Parker interjected awkwardly. "Satoshi, uh, we're here for dinner."
Satoshi's face lit up. "Ah! Apologies!" He led them to the back of the establishment. "Here; it's not much, but these are the best seats we have."
Parker let Kaga sit first, then he followed. Satoshi produced two menus for the pair. "I'll be right back with some refreshments." He departed.
Parker looked at Kaga. "Well, that was a little more awkward than I anticipated."
"Hmm. How long have you known him?" Kaga inquired.
"A few years now; we're actually both part of the Mikasa's volunteer crew," Parker explained.
"Volunteer crew?" Kaga asked.
"Yeah, there's a lot of former JMSDF sailors that work on her during the weekends; guided tours, maintenance and modernization and the like. Satoshi and I are, or were, working on the electrical wiring. Did you know half that ship still has paper-wrapped electrical cables?"
Kaga blinked at him. "I did not. Why are you working on the Mikasa?" She asked.
Parker leaned back in the booth. "Well, it's the Mikasa; she's a legend. She's Togo's flagship, and the only pre-dread still afloat; a beautiful piece of history."
"I... See." Kaga looked at him silently. "So, you're part of the crew because of her history?" Parker nodded.
"Up until they warranted me, at any rate. I've got a few nasty emails from the boss-lady herself, Miss Hayasaki, about not showing up to the meetings."
"But, you're an American. Working on a Japanese warship."
Parker laughed. "I know, right? Good thing I work with Satoshi; he clears up things for a gaijin like me."
Kaga's face grew confused. "That's not... You're an American, working on an Imperial Japanese warship; working WITH Imperial Japanese warships, even," she pressed.
Parker raised an eyebrow. "So? The war's been over for a long time now; our two nations have been allies since the occupation ended. There's no sense fighting old battles. I've studied the history of the Pacific campaign; even more about you girls since you came back. The way I see it, we're on the same team here."
Kaga's look grew annoyed. "That... makes no sense; explain."
Parker furrowed his brow. "I don't know what you're asking for, Kaga."
"We instigated a war with your nation; you proceeded to defeat and occupy us, dismantling our military and Empire. Why... why do you and Admiral Settle even bother to work with us? Your own ships, even the ones returned to you, are better. We're relics and bad memories," she explained. Parker fell silent, choosing his words.
"Because you are not, Kaga-sama," Satoshi said as he appeared from behind her. "You are part of the legacy of our nation; you are something- no, someone we can take pride and comfort in. Our nation might have lost the war, but it was not because of you; rather it was our own hubris that led to our costly defeat." Parker gestured for him to sit. As he did, with a slight hint of nervousness, Satoshi continued. "Since the war ended, our two nations have worked together to safeguard not only the Home Islands, but this entire region. Before your return, Japan alone did not have the ability to keep the sea lanes safe; neither did the Americans."
"America's naval policy for nearly fifty years now has been to build up allies and present a unified front against aggressors. The only way either of our two nations could ever make that work is through mutual respect," Parker continued from where Satoshi left off. "I've been stationed here since I was eighteen. I've worked with the JMSDF countless times, and I have always been impressed by their professionalism and dedication to duty. They proudly represent the legacy of the Imperial Japanese Navy."
"Your legacy, Kaga-sama. And we take great pride and honor for simply being a part of that," Satoshi finished. Kaga looked humbled at their words.
"I think we're ready to order, Satoshi," Parker said.
- - -
The meal had been fairly quiet after that. Parker had taken up the Level-Ten Challenge, and after downing three pitchers of water with it, had managed to finish the entire plate. Kaga had smirked at his obvious discomfort at the spiciness; commenting on 'American audacity in the face of a challenge'. Satoshi had blanched slightly when Kaga had ordered a to-go meal for Akagi; the man had muttered about the 'appetites of ships'.
When Parker had gone to pay, his friend had requested that the payment be provided in the form of a picture taken with Kaga; Satoshi had smiled widely at the camera, while Kaga had cracked a faint smile. The three had exchanged goodbyes, with honorifics exchanged between Kaga and their host; and a thinly veiled threat to Parker if he didn't show up to the next volunteer meeting. Parker and Kaga had then started to make their way back to the base.
"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Parker said with a smile.
Kaga nodded once. "It was... pleasant. I shall have to go back again with my sister; I believe she would enjoy the company and food of Satoshi-san's hospitality."
Parker nodded in agreement. "I'm sure he'd enjoy it, too. His nephew, if I recall, is currently in the JMSDF; he'd probably get a kick out of his uncle knowing celebrities like you two."
The pair stopped at the housing provided to the shipgirls. "Thank you for the meal, Chief Parker," Kaga said at the door.
Parker bowed his head politely. "The honor was mine, Kaga. Maybe next time I won't ruin it with the Level-Ten Challenge. I'm going to be regretting that in the morning," he said with a short laugh.
"Perhaps, Chief. Both you and Satoshi-san have given me much to think about," she replied with a faint smile.
"Fair winds, Kaga. Sleep well," he said, smiling as he turned to leave.
"And you as well, Chief. Good night," she replied as she went into the dorm.
Parker began to make his way back to his own private accommodations, wondering back to earlier that day. The Abyssal Signal he had heard had sparked an unhealthy idea regarding it's origins in his mind. He decided to head back to the SCIF before he retired for the night. There was something he had to find out...
Graf looked away from her classified work computer and rubbed the back of her neck; the logistical chores placed on her were both dull and tiresome. There seemed to be a never ending series of requests for supplies; ranging from simple food stores to full-on maintenance material support.
Graf aimed a lidded look at the monitor; thank god she only dealt with the Krieg side of things. U-boats had voracious appetites, it appeared. She furrowed her brow at that thought, and adjusted her glasses. Damn her eyesight, it was the e-boats that had the appetite, it seemed.
She chuckled lightly to herself at the thought of those adorable dachshunds. One of the Royal Navy lieutenants had been politely badgering her recently to let them be used for, hah, badger hunting. She glanced at the small clock on her desk; it was early afternoon. She was just about to make a break for lunch, when a video call request appeared. She sighed; there was always more work, it seemed.
She forced a smile onto her face as she answered the call and launched into the usual greeting. "Guten tag, this a secure line; your call will be-," she cut herself off as the video window opened: James Parker was on the other line. "Ah, James! What can I-" she got a good look at him. His eyes were bloodshot; he looked as if he had either been drinking heavily, or crying.
"James, what's the matter? Are you okay?" she asked with concern flooding her voice.
Parker brought a flask into view and took a long pull from it; he had been drinking. "Hey Graf, there's something I need for you to listen to."
"Of course James, anything," she replied as he appeared to adjust something on his end.
A dark, horrifying sound flooded out from the speakers on her monitor. She recoiled from it as if struck, the dark sound of scuttling charges going off and water flooding her hull forcing its way into her mind. "Meine Gott... James... What was that?" she asked, with tears threatening to escape from her eyes.
Parker gave a sad sigh at her reaction. "Let me guess, you heard scuttling charges going off, right?" His own face was ashen as she nodded. "I'm sorry you had to hear that, then; it's different for everyone. There's something else I need you to hear. Something that I've been listening to for the past hour or so."
She sat there silently as he worked from his side over in Japan. He played a new sound. Soft, sweet humming emanated from her speakers; a tuneless melody that filled her with a sense of peace and warmth. "That's... That's beautiful, James. Who is it?" she asked with a weak smile.
"That's the sound of the USS Arizona as she practices maneuvers in the harbor," he replied as he loaded up another sound. "There's more."
A more masculine hum was heard this time; it was aggressive, as if it's source was preparing for combat. "That's the USS Harder, as he was practicing ASW operations with one of the Japanese girls."
Graf's hand went to her mouth; she recognized those names as returned American ships. "James... Where did you..?"
He played a third track for her. Another soft hum. This time more lyrical and melodious than the one from Arizona. "That's from a day ago; the IJN Akagi." Tears started to roll down Parker's face.
"James..." Graf's own eyes threatened to release a torrent in response to his plight.
Parker held up a hand to forestall her. "There's one more, Graf." Brighter humming was played this time; it was a jaunty tune.
She smiled weakly at Parker. "That's a lovely tune, James. Who is it?" A single tear escaped and rolled down her cheek.
Parker held his face as he leaned on a desk. "That was the USS Tortuga. My old ship."
Graf furrowed her brow. "Is she..?"
Parker shook his head. "She's still a commissioned vessel; an amphib. She's not one of the Returned." He looked up at her, tears flowing freely. "Graf, what does it mean?" he pleaded.
She started to cry. "I... I don't know James." She felt a desire to be at his side; to comfort him in his obvious distress. "I'm... I'm sorry."
Parker wiped at his face. "We came up with a system to break down the Abyssal sonar signals down to a base signal. I used the same program with a few of the Returned. Then I tried it with my old girl," he explained.
"James..." She could only call out his name.
"I'm going to delete the Returned signals. I... No one should ever have to know what I found," he finished.
She looked at him, sad confusion on her face. "But... why? They're all so beautiful and..." She struggled to find the right word. "... And alive."
A fresh wave of tears fell on Parker's face. "That's why. God, I don't know how or why, but something like this..." He looked at her, a glimmer of determination on his face. "You all deserve a life; a future. I'm not going to let you be relegated to just some audio file."
"James..." She fixed him with a look of appreciation. "Please, get some sleep. You're... You've been working so hard. For all of us," she finished lamely.
He let out a sigh. "You're probably right, Graf. I'm sorry that I dropped all this on you."
She leaned forward and gave him a supportive smile. "James, take care of yourself."
He smiled back at her. "I will, Graf. I'll try and give you a call in the morning," he paused, looking over the top of his monitor. "Er, probably late evening your time."
She nodded. "I look forward to it, James. Sleep well."
- - -
It had taken her nearly half an hour to clean herself up. Graf had broken down almost as soon as Parker had hung up. She had finally dried her tears and was now staring weakly into space. She felt useless there in Portsmouth; she was nothing more than a glorified desk-jockey. At the very least, if she was in Japan, she'd be able to comfort James in his obvious distress.
The idea of ordering a plane ticket to Japan was beginning to creep into her mind when a quiet knock came at her office door. Graf quickly composed herself, smoothing back her golden hair. "Guten tag, please come in."
Prinz Eugen opened the door a stepped in; the shadow of her sister, Blücher, hanging in the door. It appeared that Blucher had had another accident, most likely with cooking lunch, judging from the bandages on her hands. Graf winced slightly at her in sympathy; it seemed like no small number of them had personal issues, from Blücher's eternal poor fortunes, to Graf's own nearsightedness.
"Guten tag Prinz, what is the matter?" Graf asked, forcing a smile onto her face.
Prinz gave a weak smile in return. "Frau Bismarck has called a meeting. We've received orders from the Fatherland. All the capital ships present are requested."
Graf fought back a momentary bout of panic: it had been made patently clear to them all the the German government had wanted very little to do with them. Why would they now give them orders? Was something going to happen to them?
"Orders? What kind of orders?" she asked, trying to keep the fear from her voice.
Prinz fixed her with a slightly pained look. "I cannot say at the moment; Frau Bismarck will explain."
Graf rose, nodding, and shut down her computer. She followed Prinz out of her office, and the three of them, with Prinz standing protectively to the left of her sister, headed out. Graf approached Blücher's starboard side and gave her a smile.
"Wie gehts, Blücher?" she asked her fellow heavy cruiser.
Blücher gave Graf a sad look as she responded. "I burnt my hands preparing lunch. Again," She looked Graf in the eyes. "Why has fate damaged us so, Graf?"
Graf frowned at her question. She wrapped one arm around Blücher's shoulders, Prinz hugging her sister around the waist as they continued walking. "I do not know, Blücher. I really wish I knew..." she responded.
It seemed this day was one full of unanswerable questions, Graf mused to herself as they walked. No matter what the outcome of this meeting, she hoped they would at least have some answer to their future with these new orders.
As they entered the briefing room, Graf looked around and took notice of the assembled group. Bismarck, their unofficial leader, was there; as was her sister, Tirpitz. Tirpitz's head was gently resting on Bismarck's shoulder, staring blankly at the table. Hipper was there; as was Graf's own sister, Scheer. Scharnhorst and his brother, Gneisenau, filled out the group. Every one of the capital ships were present, save for the few light cruisers they had.
Bismarck remained seated, and smiled at the trio as they entered. "Prinz, Blüch, Graf; thank you for arriving. Please, take a seat."
Graf had picked up a hint of sadness in Bismarck's voice as she moved to sit next to her sister, Scheer. Scheer leaned over and quietly whispered to her as Prinz and Blücher went to their seats. "It seems those schwein-hunde in the Bundestag finally worked up the nerve to deal with us, meine schwester."
Bismarck rose once everyone was seated, Tirpitz sitting up with a depressed look. "My brothers and sisters, thank you for coming. This morning we received new orders from the Fatherland."
Scharnhorst interrupted Bismarck with a snort. "Huh. Some 'fatherland', dear Bismarck. This is the first time they've even bothered addressing us of their own volition."
Gneisenau lightly slapped his brother's arm. "Don't interrupt, Scharn."
Bismarck smiled at the pair. To an outsider, the brothers always seemed to bicker. But inside the family of the returned Kriegsmarine ships, they all knew it was simply an act.
"Danke, 'Nau, but Scharn is correct; this is the first time the Bundestag has seen fit to address us directly." She turned to her sister. "Tirpitz, if you please?"
Tirpitz flipped open a manilla folder that had been sitting in front of her, and began reading from the sheet inside. "From the Bundesrepublik Deutschland; to the Kriegsmarine Detachment, Portsmouth Royal Naval Base, United Kingdom. Due to personnel and manning constraints encountered by the United States Navy and the Japanese Maritime Self-Defense Force in their combined defense of the Pacific Ocean, it has been decided that a task force be sent to aid our Allies in their endeavors. No fewer than two capital ships, two light cruisers or their equivalent, and two unterseeboots shall be sent as part of this task force. It is also recommended to attach additional small-craft elements as you see fit. Departure arrangements have been provided most courteously by the United States Air Force. Your plane will depart in forty-eight hours time. Respectfully Yours - Joachim Gauck, President Bundesrepublik Deutschland."
"Oh ho ho, that's rich. 'Respectfully yours'? Who the hell do they think they are?" Gneisenau said with a glower, crossing his arms.
Hipper spoke up next. "'Nau's right, Frau Bismarck. This isn't the first time the Bundesrepublik has slighted us."
Bismarck frowned. "I know, Hipper. Trust me, I know. But by all rights they can and will command our deployments. It's only by their good graces that they've even allowed us to work unsupervised with the British."
"With all due respect, Frau Bismarck, they would rather watch us all sink back into the deep and celebrate the entire time," Scheer chimed in. "There's no 'good graces' about any of their actions."
Bismarck sat back down with a sigh. "What would you have us do? Defect? Open revolt? That's never been our way."
"You're right, Bismarck. But we still can't take this lying down. Can't the British Admiralty do something to help?" Sharnhorst asked.
"No, we already asked them. It's out of their hands, lest they start a diplomatic incident," Tirpitz answered. "As it is, they're practically fuming over this. They don't want to lose any of us."
"There's enough forces patrolling the Mediterranean between the Regia Maria and La Royale; why not ask some of them to go instead?" Asked Gneisenau.
"Pfft, would you really expect the frogs or those pasta-eaters to do any good outside the Med? I'm surprised they haven't sunk themselves," replied Scharnhorst, scornfully.
Graf leaned into her hand; she had a feeling it would go on like this for some time, with no resolution until either Tirpitz or Bismarck stepped in and made a decision for all of them. It seemed that since James had called, this entire afternoon had taken a dark turn.
Wait. James... That was the answer for Graf. She made a decision, then and there.
"I'll go," she said, speaking up for the first time.
Everyone fell silent at her proclamation, and all eyes turned to her. Scheer put her hand on Graf's back and leaned in. "Are... are you sure, sister?"
Graf nodded. "I've been nothing but a glorified secretary here. The Royal Navy, and all our combined efforts in the North Atlantic will not be hampered in any way by my departure."
Bismarck smiled sadly at her. "Thank you, Graf. You have performed your duties here admirably. I know that you will continue to proudly represent us, no matter where you go."
"I'll go, too. There's the Bundestag's precious two capital ships," Scharnhorst said.
Gneisenau put his hand on his brother's shoulder. "Scharn, brother... Are you sure?"
Scharnhorst smiled back at Gneisenau. "I am, 'Nau. Besides, who else but one of us could teach those American Teufel-Hunden some good old-fashioned Prussian discipline?"
Bismarck smiled and nodded at Scharnhorst. "With you and Graf going, I would imagine the Americans wouldn't even know what hit them. But we still need to decide on two cruisers and U-boats."
"We can send Atlantis and Pinguin. I am sure they'd love to see some real action other than protecting what they keep calling 'targets'," Tirpitz said.
Everyone in the room chuckled at that, even Blücher. Though they had merely been classified as 'auxiliary cruisers' during the war, the two commerce raiders had come back chomping at the bit to keep up their scores. They had all but died a second time when they had heard that they'd be PROTECTING merchant vessels, not sinking them.
"What about U-boats? I know U-511 had been donated to the IJN during the war," suggested Hipper. "I'm sure she'd love to go back."
Bismarck nodded at the suggestion. "We can send U-172, as well. She's quite skilled at wolfpack tactics; I'm sure she could pass on some of her knowledge to the American and Japanese submarines."
Graf leaned back in her chair; they were all committed now. The rest of the meeting went by in a blur for her, her only thoughts really focusing on what the future would hold for her in Japan...
Graf aimed a lidded look at the monitor; thank god she only dealt with the Krieg side of things. U-boats had voracious appetites, it appeared. She furrowed her brow at that thought, and adjusted her glasses. Damn her eyesight, it was the e-boats that had the appetite, it seemed.
She chuckled lightly to herself at the thought of those adorable dachshunds. One of the Royal Navy lieutenants had been politely badgering her recently to let them be used for, hah, badger hunting. She glanced at the small clock on her desk; it was early afternoon. She was just about to make a break for lunch, when a video call request appeared. She sighed; there was always more work, it seemed.
She forced a smile onto her face as she answered the call and launched into the usual greeting. "Guten tag, this a secure line; your call will be-," she cut herself off as the video window opened: James Parker was on the other line. "Ah, James! What can I-" she got a good look at him. His eyes were bloodshot; he looked as if he had either been drinking heavily, or crying.
"James, what's the matter? Are you okay?" she asked with concern flooding her voice.
Parker brought a flask into view and took a long pull from it; he had been drinking. "Hey Graf, there's something I need for you to listen to."
"Of course James, anything," she replied as he appeared to adjust something on his end.
A dark, horrifying sound flooded out from the speakers on her monitor. She recoiled from it as if struck, the dark sound of scuttling charges going off and water flooding her hull forcing its way into her mind. "Meine Gott... James... What was that?" she asked, with tears threatening to escape from her eyes.
Parker gave a sad sigh at her reaction. "Let me guess, you heard scuttling charges going off, right?" His own face was ashen as she nodded. "I'm sorry you had to hear that, then; it's different for everyone. There's something else I need you to hear. Something that I've been listening to for the past hour or so."
She sat there silently as he worked from his side over in Japan. He played a new sound. Soft, sweet humming emanated from her speakers; a tuneless melody that filled her with a sense of peace and warmth. "That's... That's beautiful, James. Who is it?" she asked with a weak smile.
"That's the sound of the USS Arizona as she practices maneuvers in the harbor," he replied as he loaded up another sound. "There's more."
A more masculine hum was heard this time; it was aggressive, as if it's source was preparing for combat. "That's the USS Harder, as he was practicing ASW operations with one of the Japanese girls."
Graf's hand went to her mouth; she recognized those names as returned American ships. "James... Where did you..?"
He played a third track for her. Another soft hum. This time more lyrical and melodious than the one from Arizona. "That's from a day ago; the IJN Akagi." Tears started to roll down Parker's face.
"James..." Graf's own eyes threatened to release a torrent in response to his plight.
Parker held up a hand to forestall her. "There's one more, Graf." Brighter humming was played this time; it was a jaunty tune.
She smiled weakly at Parker. "That's a lovely tune, James. Who is it?" A single tear escaped and rolled down her cheek.
Parker held his face as he leaned on a desk. "That was the USS Tortuga. My old ship."
Graf furrowed her brow. "Is she..?"
Parker shook his head. "She's still a commissioned vessel; an amphib. She's not one of the Returned." He looked up at her, tears flowing freely. "Graf, what does it mean?" he pleaded.
She started to cry. "I... I don't know James." She felt a desire to be at his side; to comfort him in his obvious distress. "I'm... I'm sorry."
Parker wiped at his face. "We came up with a system to break down the Abyssal sonar signals down to a base signal. I used the same program with a few of the Returned. Then I tried it with my old girl," he explained.
"James..." She could only call out his name.
"I'm going to delete the Returned signals. I... No one should ever have to know what I found," he finished.
She looked at him, sad confusion on her face. "But... why? They're all so beautiful and..." She struggled to find the right word. "... And alive."
A fresh wave of tears fell on Parker's face. "That's why. God, I don't know how or why, but something like this..." He looked at her, a glimmer of determination on his face. "You all deserve a life; a future. I'm not going to let you be relegated to just some audio file."
"James..." She fixed him with a look of appreciation. "Please, get some sleep. You're... You've been working so hard. For all of us," she finished lamely.
He let out a sigh. "You're probably right, Graf. I'm sorry that I dropped all this on you."
She leaned forward and gave him a supportive smile. "James, take care of yourself."
He smiled back at her. "I will, Graf. I'll try and give you a call in the morning," he paused, looking over the top of his monitor. "Er, probably late evening your time."
She nodded. "I look forward to it, James. Sleep well."
- - -
It had taken her nearly half an hour to clean herself up. Graf had broken down almost as soon as Parker had hung up. She had finally dried her tears and was now staring weakly into space. She felt useless there in Portsmouth; she was nothing more than a glorified desk-jockey. At the very least, if she was in Japan, she'd be able to comfort James in his obvious distress.
The idea of ordering a plane ticket to Japan was beginning to creep into her mind when a quiet knock came at her office door. Graf quickly composed herself, smoothing back her golden hair. "Guten tag, please come in."
Prinz Eugen opened the door a stepped in; the shadow of her sister, Blücher, hanging in the door. It appeared that Blucher had had another accident, most likely with cooking lunch, judging from the bandages on her hands. Graf winced slightly at her in sympathy; it seemed like no small number of them had personal issues, from Blücher's eternal poor fortunes, to Graf's own nearsightedness.
"Guten tag Prinz, what is the matter?" Graf asked, forcing a smile onto her face.
Prinz gave a weak smile in return. "Frau Bismarck has called a meeting. We've received orders from the Fatherland. All the capital ships present are requested."
Graf fought back a momentary bout of panic: it had been made patently clear to them all the the German government had wanted very little to do with them. Why would they now give them orders? Was something going to happen to them?
"Orders? What kind of orders?" she asked, trying to keep the fear from her voice.
Prinz fixed her with a slightly pained look. "I cannot say at the moment; Frau Bismarck will explain."
Graf rose, nodding, and shut down her computer. She followed Prinz out of her office, and the three of them, with Prinz standing protectively to the left of her sister, headed out. Graf approached Blücher's starboard side and gave her a smile.
"Wie gehts, Blücher?" she asked her fellow heavy cruiser.
Blücher gave Graf a sad look as she responded. "I burnt my hands preparing lunch. Again," She looked Graf in the eyes. "Why has fate damaged us so, Graf?"
Graf frowned at her question. She wrapped one arm around Blücher's shoulders, Prinz hugging her sister around the waist as they continued walking. "I do not know, Blücher. I really wish I knew..." she responded.
It seemed this day was one full of unanswerable questions, Graf mused to herself as they walked. No matter what the outcome of this meeting, she hoped they would at least have some answer to their future with these new orders.
As they entered the briefing room, Graf looked around and took notice of the assembled group. Bismarck, their unofficial leader, was there; as was her sister, Tirpitz. Tirpitz's head was gently resting on Bismarck's shoulder, staring blankly at the table. Hipper was there; as was Graf's own sister, Scheer. Scharnhorst and his brother, Gneisenau, filled out the group. Every one of the capital ships were present, save for the few light cruisers they had.
Bismarck remained seated, and smiled at the trio as they entered. "Prinz, Blüch, Graf; thank you for arriving. Please, take a seat."
Graf had picked up a hint of sadness in Bismarck's voice as she moved to sit next to her sister, Scheer. Scheer leaned over and quietly whispered to her as Prinz and Blücher went to their seats. "It seems those schwein-hunde in the Bundestag finally worked up the nerve to deal with us, meine schwester."
Bismarck rose once everyone was seated, Tirpitz sitting up with a depressed look. "My brothers and sisters, thank you for coming. This morning we received new orders from the Fatherland."
Scharnhorst interrupted Bismarck with a snort. "Huh. Some 'fatherland', dear Bismarck. This is the first time they've even bothered addressing us of their own volition."
Gneisenau lightly slapped his brother's arm. "Don't interrupt, Scharn."
Bismarck smiled at the pair. To an outsider, the brothers always seemed to bicker. But inside the family of the returned Kriegsmarine ships, they all knew it was simply an act.
"Danke, 'Nau, but Scharn is correct; this is the first time the Bundestag has seen fit to address us directly." She turned to her sister. "Tirpitz, if you please?"
Tirpitz flipped open a manilla folder that had been sitting in front of her, and began reading from the sheet inside. "From the Bundesrepublik Deutschland; to the Kriegsmarine Detachment, Portsmouth Royal Naval Base, United Kingdom. Due to personnel and manning constraints encountered by the United States Navy and the Japanese Maritime Self-Defense Force in their combined defense of the Pacific Ocean, it has been decided that a task force be sent to aid our Allies in their endeavors. No fewer than two capital ships, two light cruisers or their equivalent, and two unterseeboots shall be sent as part of this task force. It is also recommended to attach additional small-craft elements as you see fit. Departure arrangements have been provided most courteously by the United States Air Force. Your plane will depart in forty-eight hours time. Respectfully Yours - Joachim Gauck, President Bundesrepublik Deutschland."
"Oh ho ho, that's rich. 'Respectfully yours'? Who the hell do they think they are?" Gneisenau said with a glower, crossing his arms.
Hipper spoke up next. "'Nau's right, Frau Bismarck. This isn't the first time the Bundesrepublik has slighted us."
Bismarck frowned. "I know, Hipper. Trust me, I know. But by all rights they can and will command our deployments. It's only by their good graces that they've even allowed us to work unsupervised with the British."
"With all due respect, Frau Bismarck, they would rather watch us all sink back into the deep and celebrate the entire time," Scheer chimed in. "There's no 'good graces' about any of their actions."
Bismarck sat back down with a sigh. "What would you have us do? Defect? Open revolt? That's never been our way."
"You're right, Bismarck. But we still can't take this lying down. Can't the British Admiralty do something to help?" Sharnhorst asked.
"No, we already asked them. It's out of their hands, lest they start a diplomatic incident," Tirpitz answered. "As it is, they're practically fuming over this. They don't want to lose any of us."
"There's enough forces patrolling the Mediterranean between the Regia Maria and La Royale; why not ask some of them to go instead?" Asked Gneisenau.
"Pfft, would you really expect the frogs or those pasta-eaters to do any good outside the Med? I'm surprised they haven't sunk themselves," replied Scharnhorst, scornfully.
Graf leaned into her hand; she had a feeling it would go on like this for some time, with no resolution until either Tirpitz or Bismarck stepped in and made a decision for all of them. It seemed that since James had called, this entire afternoon had taken a dark turn.
Wait. James... That was the answer for Graf. She made a decision, then and there.
"I'll go," she said, speaking up for the first time.
Everyone fell silent at her proclamation, and all eyes turned to her. Scheer put her hand on Graf's back and leaned in. "Are... are you sure, sister?"
Graf nodded. "I've been nothing but a glorified secretary here. The Royal Navy, and all our combined efforts in the North Atlantic will not be hampered in any way by my departure."
Bismarck smiled sadly at her. "Thank you, Graf. You have performed your duties here admirably. I know that you will continue to proudly represent us, no matter where you go."
"I'll go, too. There's the Bundestag's precious two capital ships," Scharnhorst said.
Gneisenau put his hand on his brother's shoulder. "Scharn, brother... Are you sure?"
Scharnhorst smiled back at Gneisenau. "I am, 'Nau. Besides, who else but one of us could teach those American Teufel-Hunden some good old-fashioned Prussian discipline?"
Bismarck smiled and nodded at Scharnhorst. "With you and Graf going, I would imagine the Americans wouldn't even know what hit them. But we still need to decide on two cruisers and U-boats."
"We can send Atlantis and Pinguin. I am sure they'd love to see some real action other than protecting what they keep calling 'targets'," Tirpitz said.
Everyone in the room chuckled at that, even Blücher. Though they had merely been classified as 'auxiliary cruisers' during the war, the two commerce raiders had come back chomping at the bit to keep up their scores. They had all but died a second time when they had heard that they'd be PROTECTING merchant vessels, not sinking them.
"What about U-boats? I know U-511 had been donated to the IJN during the war," suggested Hipper. "I'm sure she'd love to go back."
Bismarck nodded at the suggestion. "We can send U-172, as well. She's quite skilled at wolfpack tactics; I'm sure she could pass on some of her knowledge to the American and Japanese submarines."
Graf leaned back in her chair; they were all committed now. The rest of the meeting went by in a blur for her, her only thoughts really focusing on what the future would hold for her in Japan...
Graf stared sullenly at the video-call window on her computer; James had appeared online nearly ten minutes ago. She had felt a knot in her un-clench when she realized he was okay and didn't do anything... foolish after they had last talked. But almost as soon as one problem had been resolved, she had felt herself tense up once again. How much should she tell him, that she and a handful of others were being transferred over to Japan? Or should she just let it be a surprise, and let him find out when they landed in several days' time?
She curled herself up in a ball of anxiety when she received an incoming call from James. She decided to play it by ear as she answered.
"Guten morgen, James. Did you sleep well?" she asked him with a soft smile.
He smiled back at her; she noticed there were dark bags under his eyes, but he had freshened himself up with a shave and was wearing a cleanly-pressed khaki-colored dress uniform. "Yeah; only got five or six hours, but it was better than letting myself stew in a funk all night."
She felt a weight lift from her shoulders. "That's good to hear. I was worried, you know."
He chuckled softly at that. "Sorry about that. I spent a good hour or so after we talked putting up smokescreens around that... signal, to keep people from getting any ideas about... You know," he finished lamely.
"I understand if you don't want to talk about it, James. It brought back some... dark memories of before," she replied.
James' face fell at that. "I'm sorry for putting that on you, Graf. It was late and I..."
"Don't, James. Don't beat yourself up over it," she said, cutting him off.
He nodded in response, sighing deeply before he started talking again. "I hope you don't mind me checking my email while we talk; I kinda neglected it yesterday," he said with a forced smile.
Graf only nodded in response, taking a small drink from a glass of scotch she had on standby. She watched him with a faint smile as he worked through what must have been a terrible backlog for a few minutes. Just as she was about to ask him if he had gone to train his boxing protege, a confused look crossed his face.
"Huh. Something here from Bundeswehr; never thought I'd ever see something from them..." he muttered.
This was what Graf was afraid of; she didn't want James to find out like this. "Uh, James, there's something I need to-"
"What the fuck is this?" James cut her off. "Transfer orders?" His gaze shifted, looking at Graf's face. "What's the hell is this about Graf?"
A pained look crossed her face. "Gott verdammte Bundeswehr. I didn't know whether to tell you myself James, or have it come as a surprise..."
His eyes quickly scanned back over the transfer orders. "You, Scharnhorst, Atlantis, Pinguin, U-511, U-172, six sperrbrechers and six schnellboots... What the hell, Graf?"
She looked away from her monitor. "The 'official' reason they fed us was that you needed help over there."
A foul look clouded his face at that. "And the unofficial?"
"They're most likely hoping we'll get sunk and they can start forgetting about us once again," she said, hanging her head.
"So why you, then?" he asked.
Graf sat silently. She wanted to tell him she was going for his sake; that she was going for him. Her own feelings were beginning to scare her. She settled on, to her, a much safer answer. "Because it was either me, or someone important."
"Don't talk like that, Graf," he snarled at her. "You're important. You're important to your friends, you're important to your family, you're important to-" He cut himself off.
They sat in silence. A faint blush had begun coloring Graf's face at James' comments. She heard him cough as he attempted to change the conversation. "So... how did the others take it? The transfer, I mean."
She smiled at him. "Well, Scharn volunteered as well. I think he was embarrassed at being upstaged when I volunteered first. Prussian pride and all."
"Wait, Scharnhorst is a dude?" James asked with a laugh. "Oh god, he's in for trouble here, then. All but two of the Returnees we have over here are female."
Graf shared a smile with James. "Ja. Atlantis and Pinguin were both more than happy to 'go where there's some action' as well. They've been wanting to see actual combat for a while..."
- - -
"So, you're telling us we'd get to see actual combat?" asked Pinguin, her arms crossed questioningly. She would look somewhat imposing for a cruiser, if it weren't for her overly-large England rugby jersey.
Standing next to her, in an equally petulant pose wearing her own Ireland jersey, was Atlantis. The feared commerce raiders; Raider F and Raider C had both come back with what some would call a hot-blooded rivalry. About the only thing they could ever agree on, it seemed, was the desire to go into combat.
Graf smiled at the pair. "Yes, Pinguin. Actual combat," she answered. "But only if you two behave; if not, then it's back to..."
"Don't say it Frau Graf... Please don't..." whined Atlantis at the looming threat.
"...Convoy protection," finished Graf with a predatory mirth.
Both girls fell defeated with a whine. After a moment, they shared a silent look, most likely trying to find out how they could work this to their advantage.
"We'll behave, Frau Graf. On our honor as hilfskreuzer," swore Pinguin, Atlantis nodding in agreement.
Graf smiled at the pair and clapped them both on their shoulders. "With any luck, the Abyssals will learn to fear Schiff 16 and Schiff 33..."
- - -
"Huh, I'm surprised they're rugby fans," said James.
Graf smiled. "Oh, they'll pick opposite sides whenever there's some kind of rivalry. A few months back, they were bickering over some football match."
She shared a laugh with James. "At least they were more than agreeable with the transfer. We nearly had to depth-charge the harbor hunting for Elf once she found out..."
James raised an eyebrow questioningly. "U-511, right? I thought she'd be more than fine with coming back to Japan."
Graf let out a small giggle. "Oh, you'd think that, James..."
- - -
"Nein. Nee. Nein nein nein. I refuse," U-511 remarked with her arms crossed defensively.
U-172, along with Graf and Hipper were staring in surprise at Elf's reaction.
"W-what's the problem, sister? I thought you'd like Japan after..." started the usually collected U-172.
Elf cut her off with a dark glare. "Do not ask what you know nothing about, Siebs." U-172 backed off.
"Elf, give us a reason why we should not send you, if you will," politely asked Hipper.
A faint blush started coloring Elf's cheeks. "I'd rather not say, Frau Hipper."
A flat, mirthless look covered Hipper's face. "U-511, as your flotilla Kommandant, you will either give me a valid reason, or I will personally escort you Japan myself."
Hipper had just pulled rank; something that all the Kriegers had avoided since returning. Conflict raged across U-511's face as she debated her options.
"Ungh... It's those Japanese... Comics," she finally managed.
The trio standing before her just looked at her, confusion on their faces. "The what?" Graf asked.
"They wrote... it's most foulest... ugh. Just look," Elf whined out as she went to her computer.
Siebs, Graf, and Hipper stared over her shoulder as she pulled up several windows in rapid succession. Each one of them had various, near pornographic images of the same tanned cartoonish figure in a one-piece swimsuit. Elf gestured to the computer screen. "See? They- they profaned the very memory of when I sailed as RO-500!"
Elf continued to stare at the screen, fuming. Graf exchanged looks with both Hipper and Siebs, mirth slowly working it's way into all three of their faces.
Hipper broke the same time Siebs did.
- - -
James had nearly passed out from laughter. "Oh god, my sides. That was really her whole reason?" he asked.
Graf giggled at his reaction. "Yes, she seemed more angry about silly little comics than anything else."
James rubbed his face. "Oh lordy; that's too funny. How'd you convince her to come along?" he asked.
Graf fixed him with a clever smile. "I told him you have an American submarine there; a *male* submarine."
"Oh shit, Harder better watch out then. He's already got a few of the Japanese subs gunning for him," he said with a laugh.
The both laughed at the potential problems now facing Hit 'Em Again Harder. "Ahh, that's hilarious," James finally said with a sigh. "So what's the deal with these schnellboots, Graf? I know they're some kind of patrol boat; we have our own that came back as freaking corgis."
Graf chuckled. "Mein gott; I heard those things had trouble following orders the first time around. Our e-boats came back as dachshunds. They're a little hyper, but loyal to a fault. Same with the sperrbrechers; they're AA platforms that came back as shepherds."
"Oh Jesus, we're in for a ride then..." replied James.
- - -
"Are you sure we have to send them, sister? Why not a couple of destroyers, like Max or Lebe?" asked Blucher softly.
Graf kneeled in the corner of the kennel, idly petting one of the sperrbrechers; she felt slightly uncomfortable in the room as Prinz and Blucher talked. Blucher was the 'unofficial-official' kennel-keeper for the Kriegers; both the dachshunds and shepherds had taken to her like old friends. It was one of the few duties she had been able to take to with no accidents, and everyone seemed happy for her.
That's why it was so hard for all of them to separate her from her faithful charges.
"Bluchs, the destroyers are needed here, for convoy protection. Between the British Home Fleet and the number of girls in or around the Isles at any given time, we can afford to send a handful of schnellboots and sperrbrechers to keep our friends safe," explained Prinz.
A shepherd was leaning up against where Blucher sat; she had one of the dachshunds in her lap, resting peacefully. Graf recalled back to their meeting earlier, when they discussed who to send. Blucher had fallen silent when Hipper had raised the suggestion to send a small force of the dogs to aid in local defense.
"They're my friends, sis. Taking care of them is the only thing I seem to do right..." sighed Blucher.
Prinz smiled softly at her sister, tousling her short black hair. "If you help me select a few you think would be good to go, Bluchs, I'll take you out with me on the next convoy. We can meet up with the Canadians; their old corvettes came back as Newfies."
Blucher perked up slightly at that. "You mean the dog breed, right?" Prinz nodded and Blucher continued. "I... I think I'd like that, sister..."
- - -
"... At least the sperrbrechers should be easy to manage; though the e-boats might get into trouble with your corgis," explained Graf.
"Hopefully not too much. Besides, somehow one of them latched on to my little group of secret squirrels. I call him McHale," offered James.
Graf threw him a clever smile. "Ah, but does he behave with good old German discipline?"
James gave a small chuckle. "I doubt that; but I don't know of any animal alive that can fool a battleship as well as he does."
"I can't wait to meet him, then," Graf said as she attempted to stifle a yawn.
"You look tired, Graf. Go get some sleep," prompted James.
She smiled as she started to let the days' fatigue seep in. "I will, James. I've got to pack up in the morning, so I probably will not be available."
James smiled back and nodded. "We'll be able to catch up when you arrive; see you soon, Graf."
"And you, James. Have a pleasant day," she said as she signed off.
- - -
"Whaddya mean yer leavin' us, Graf?" asked Glasgow. "Yer one of our best friends."
Graf hung her head at this. "And you three are some of my closest. But the needs of the -"
"Graf, please. Dinnae be feedin' us tha' auld yarn," demanded Edinburgh. "We're yer friends; ye owe us tha' much."
Graf sighed sadly at this. When the transfer order dropped, she knew that this was going to be the hardest part. "The Bundeswehr is obviously trying to separate us; I didn't want someone more capable than me to be sa-," she caught herself before she could say something more morbid. "-Sent when there's still so much more to be done over here."
Both Glasgow and Edinburgh enveloped her in a tight hug. "It's tha' 'Merican, Graf, an' we ken it. Somethin' happened an' ye want te help 'im," said Edinburgh insightfully.
Graf finally broke down and sobbed slightly as she embraced her two friends. "Yes. He found something that I'm afraid has hurt him; he confided in me. He needs someone that he can trust."
Both girls simply hugged her tighter as she cried. After a few minutes they finally broke apart. Graf smiled at them as she wiped away her tears. "I'll miss you girls the most. Knowing you three has made all my time here worthwhile."
Graf turned to face the one girl who had remained apart since she told them she was being sent to Japan, Liverpool. The girl had kept her distance, crossing her arms in anger and a dark look clouding her face.
"Liverpool, I think I shall miss you the most," Graf said as she approached the girl.
Liverpool fixed her with a sullen look. "Save it, Pencil. I ain't losing ya ta' some half-arsed politics." She started for the door of the room they were in. "I'm gonna go see tha' big brass meself and get this all straightened out. You'll see."
-
She curled herself up in a ball of anxiety when she received an incoming call from James. She decided to play it by ear as she answered.
"Guten morgen, James. Did you sleep well?" she asked him with a soft smile.
He smiled back at her; she noticed there were dark bags under his eyes, but he had freshened himself up with a shave and was wearing a cleanly-pressed khaki-colored dress uniform. "Yeah; only got five or six hours, but it was better than letting myself stew in a funk all night."
She felt a weight lift from her shoulders. "That's good to hear. I was worried, you know."
He chuckled softly at that. "Sorry about that. I spent a good hour or so after we talked putting up smokescreens around that... signal, to keep people from getting any ideas about... You know," he finished lamely.
"I understand if you don't want to talk about it, James. It brought back some... dark memories of before," she replied.
James' face fell at that. "I'm sorry for putting that on you, Graf. It was late and I..."
"Don't, James. Don't beat yourself up over it," she said, cutting him off.
He nodded in response, sighing deeply before he started talking again. "I hope you don't mind me checking my email while we talk; I kinda neglected it yesterday," he said with a forced smile.
Graf only nodded in response, taking a small drink from a glass of scotch she had on standby. She watched him with a faint smile as he worked through what must have been a terrible backlog for a few minutes. Just as she was about to ask him if he had gone to train his boxing protege, a confused look crossed his face.
"Huh. Something here from Bundeswehr; never thought I'd ever see something from them..." he muttered.
This was what Graf was afraid of; she didn't want James to find out like this. "Uh, James, there's something I need to-"
"What the fuck is this?" James cut her off. "Transfer orders?" His gaze shifted, looking at Graf's face. "What's the hell is this about Graf?"
A pained look crossed her face. "Gott verdammte Bundeswehr. I didn't know whether to tell you myself James, or have it come as a surprise..."
His eyes quickly scanned back over the transfer orders. "You, Scharnhorst, Atlantis, Pinguin, U-511, U-172, six sperrbrechers and six schnellboots... What the hell, Graf?"
She looked away from her monitor. "The 'official' reason they fed us was that you needed help over there."
A foul look clouded his face at that. "And the unofficial?"
"They're most likely hoping we'll get sunk and they can start forgetting about us once again," she said, hanging her head.
"So why you, then?" he asked.
Graf sat silently. She wanted to tell him she was going for his sake; that she was going for him. Her own feelings were beginning to scare her. She settled on, to her, a much safer answer. "Because it was either me, or someone important."
"Don't talk like that, Graf," he snarled at her. "You're important. You're important to your friends, you're important to your family, you're important to-" He cut himself off.
They sat in silence. A faint blush had begun coloring Graf's face at James' comments. She heard him cough as he attempted to change the conversation. "So... how did the others take it? The transfer, I mean."
She smiled at him. "Well, Scharn volunteered as well. I think he was embarrassed at being upstaged when I volunteered first. Prussian pride and all."
"Wait, Scharnhorst is a dude?" James asked with a laugh. "Oh god, he's in for trouble here, then. All but two of the Returnees we have over here are female."
Graf shared a smile with James. "Ja. Atlantis and Pinguin were both more than happy to 'go where there's some action' as well. They've been wanting to see actual combat for a while..."
- - -
"So, you're telling us we'd get to see actual combat?" asked Pinguin, her arms crossed questioningly. She would look somewhat imposing for a cruiser, if it weren't for her overly-large England rugby jersey.
Standing next to her, in an equally petulant pose wearing her own Ireland jersey, was Atlantis. The feared commerce raiders; Raider F and Raider C had both come back with what some would call a hot-blooded rivalry. About the only thing they could ever agree on, it seemed, was the desire to go into combat.
Graf smiled at the pair. "Yes, Pinguin. Actual combat," she answered. "But only if you two behave; if not, then it's back to..."
"Don't say it Frau Graf... Please don't..." whined Atlantis at the looming threat.
"...Convoy protection," finished Graf with a predatory mirth.
Both girls fell defeated with a whine. After a moment, they shared a silent look, most likely trying to find out how they could work this to their advantage.
"We'll behave, Frau Graf. On our honor as hilfskreuzer," swore Pinguin, Atlantis nodding in agreement.
Graf smiled at the pair and clapped them both on their shoulders. "With any luck, the Abyssals will learn to fear Schiff 16 and Schiff 33..."
- - -
"Huh, I'm surprised they're rugby fans," said James.
Graf smiled. "Oh, they'll pick opposite sides whenever there's some kind of rivalry. A few months back, they were bickering over some football match."
She shared a laugh with James. "At least they were more than agreeable with the transfer. We nearly had to depth-charge the harbor hunting for Elf once she found out..."
James raised an eyebrow questioningly. "U-511, right? I thought she'd be more than fine with coming back to Japan."
Graf let out a small giggle. "Oh, you'd think that, James..."
- - -
"Nein. Nee. Nein nein nein. I refuse," U-511 remarked with her arms crossed defensively.
U-172, along with Graf and Hipper were staring in surprise at Elf's reaction.
"W-what's the problem, sister? I thought you'd like Japan after..." started the usually collected U-172.
Elf cut her off with a dark glare. "Do not ask what you know nothing about, Siebs." U-172 backed off.
"Elf, give us a reason why we should not send you, if you will," politely asked Hipper.
A faint blush started coloring Elf's cheeks. "I'd rather not say, Frau Hipper."
A flat, mirthless look covered Hipper's face. "U-511, as your flotilla Kommandant, you will either give me a valid reason, or I will personally escort you Japan myself."
Hipper had just pulled rank; something that all the Kriegers had avoided since returning. Conflict raged across U-511's face as she debated her options.
"Ungh... It's those Japanese... Comics," she finally managed.
The trio standing before her just looked at her, confusion on their faces. "The what?" Graf asked.
"They wrote... it's most foulest... ugh. Just look," Elf whined out as she went to her computer.
Siebs, Graf, and Hipper stared over her shoulder as she pulled up several windows in rapid succession. Each one of them had various, near pornographic images of the same tanned cartoonish figure in a one-piece swimsuit. Elf gestured to the computer screen. "See? They- they profaned the very memory of when I sailed as RO-500!"
Elf continued to stare at the screen, fuming. Graf exchanged looks with both Hipper and Siebs, mirth slowly working it's way into all three of their faces.
Hipper broke the same time Siebs did.
- - -
James had nearly passed out from laughter. "Oh god, my sides. That was really her whole reason?" he asked.
Graf giggled at his reaction. "Yes, she seemed more angry about silly little comics than anything else."
James rubbed his face. "Oh lordy; that's too funny. How'd you convince her to come along?" he asked.
Graf fixed him with a clever smile. "I told him you have an American submarine there; a *male* submarine."
"Oh shit, Harder better watch out then. He's already got a few of the Japanese subs gunning for him," he said with a laugh.
The both laughed at the potential problems now facing Hit 'Em Again Harder. "Ahh, that's hilarious," James finally said with a sigh. "So what's the deal with these schnellboots, Graf? I know they're some kind of patrol boat; we have our own that came back as freaking corgis."
Graf chuckled. "Mein gott; I heard those things had trouble following orders the first time around. Our e-boats came back as dachshunds. They're a little hyper, but loyal to a fault. Same with the sperrbrechers; they're AA platforms that came back as shepherds."
"Oh Jesus, we're in for a ride then..." replied James.
- - -
"Are you sure we have to send them, sister? Why not a couple of destroyers, like Max or Lebe?" asked Blucher softly.
Graf kneeled in the corner of the kennel, idly petting one of the sperrbrechers; she felt slightly uncomfortable in the room as Prinz and Blucher talked. Blucher was the 'unofficial-official' kennel-keeper for the Kriegers; both the dachshunds and shepherds had taken to her like old friends. It was one of the few duties she had been able to take to with no accidents, and everyone seemed happy for her.
That's why it was so hard for all of them to separate her from her faithful charges.
"Bluchs, the destroyers are needed here, for convoy protection. Between the British Home Fleet and the number of girls in or around the Isles at any given time, we can afford to send a handful of schnellboots and sperrbrechers to keep our friends safe," explained Prinz.
A shepherd was leaning up against where Blucher sat; she had one of the dachshunds in her lap, resting peacefully. Graf recalled back to their meeting earlier, when they discussed who to send. Blucher had fallen silent when Hipper had raised the suggestion to send a small force of the dogs to aid in local defense.
"They're my friends, sis. Taking care of them is the only thing I seem to do right..." sighed Blucher.
Prinz smiled softly at her sister, tousling her short black hair. "If you help me select a few you think would be good to go, Bluchs, I'll take you out with me on the next convoy. We can meet up with the Canadians; their old corvettes came back as Newfies."
Blucher perked up slightly at that. "You mean the dog breed, right?" Prinz nodded and Blucher continued. "I... I think I'd like that, sister..."
- - -
"... At least the sperrbrechers should be easy to manage; though the e-boats might get into trouble with your corgis," explained Graf.
"Hopefully not too much. Besides, somehow one of them latched on to my little group of secret squirrels. I call him McHale," offered James.
Graf threw him a clever smile. "Ah, but does he behave with good old German discipline?"
James gave a small chuckle. "I doubt that; but I don't know of any animal alive that can fool a battleship as well as he does."
"I can't wait to meet him, then," Graf said as she attempted to stifle a yawn.
"You look tired, Graf. Go get some sleep," prompted James.
She smiled as she started to let the days' fatigue seep in. "I will, James. I've got to pack up in the morning, so I probably will not be available."
James smiled back and nodded. "We'll be able to catch up when you arrive; see you soon, Graf."
"And you, James. Have a pleasant day," she said as she signed off.
- - -
"Whaddya mean yer leavin' us, Graf?" asked Glasgow. "Yer one of our best friends."
Graf hung her head at this. "And you three are some of my closest. But the needs of the -"
"Graf, please. Dinnae be feedin' us tha' auld yarn," demanded Edinburgh. "We're yer friends; ye owe us tha' much."
Graf sighed sadly at this. When the transfer order dropped, she knew that this was going to be the hardest part. "The Bundeswehr is obviously trying to separate us; I didn't want someone more capable than me to be sa-," she caught herself before she could say something more morbid. "-Sent when there's still so much more to be done over here."
Both Glasgow and Edinburgh enveloped her in a tight hug. "It's tha' 'Merican, Graf, an' we ken it. Somethin' happened an' ye want te help 'im," said Edinburgh insightfully.
Graf finally broke down and sobbed slightly as she embraced her two friends. "Yes. He found something that I'm afraid has hurt him; he confided in me. He needs someone that he can trust."
Both girls simply hugged her tighter as she cried. After a few minutes they finally broke apart. Graf smiled at them as she wiped away her tears. "I'll miss you girls the most. Knowing you three has made all my time here worthwhile."
Graf turned to face the one girl who had remained apart since she told them she was being sent to Japan, Liverpool. The girl had kept her distance, crossing her arms in anger and a dark look clouding her face.
"Liverpool, I think I shall miss you the most," Graf said as she approached the girl.
Liverpool fixed her with a sullen look. "Save it, Pencil. I ain't losing ya ta' some half-arsed politics." She started for the door of the room they were in. "I'm gonna go see tha' big brass meself and get this all straightened out. You'll see."
-
Graf stretched languidly in the early morning sun as she and the other Kriegers stepped out of the C-17. They had been informed prior to leaving England that they would be having a forty-eight hour layover in Chicago; a small, plain-clothes escort had been assigned to them as they enjoyed their time while the aircraft was refueled and maintenance checks were done prior to the next leg of their journey.
She smiled as she heard one of the aircrew run into something. She was wearing casual civilian attire, a somewhat tight blouse and feminine jeans, and knew she looked good in it. Scharn chuckled at her as he adjusted the collar of his shirt, having chosen a more professional button-up shirt and khakis. "You know Graf, if you keep distracting the aircrew like that, we'll never leave."
She fixed her comrade with her smile. "Und why would you be so anxious to depart once again? I thought you couldn't stand the fine cuisine of our hosts."
Scharn soured at her rebuttal. "Whoever came up with the idea of sticking 'vegetable lasagna' in a ration pack should be taken out back and shot."
As the six Kriegers stood around examining the small military enclave at the Chicago O'Hare airport, a member of the aircrew approached them. According to their travel brief, they were merely VIPs being transported to Japan. How much the aircrew knew however, was an unknown.
"Uhh, sir? Ma'am?" the nervous airman started, "What, ah, do you want us to do with the dogs? We have a small kennel we can keep them in, that is unless you have other ideas?"
Atlantis and Pinguin stepped forward, the former rolling her eyes. "We shall watch after them," said Pinguin.
The pair walked over to where the animals were still asleep in a dog carrier. "They could probably use a good walk after that flight," mused Atlantis.
Graf smiled at them. "Vielen Danke. We shall round up some proper food; do you two have any requests?"
While the two commerce raiders quietly consulted with each other, several unmarked SUVs pulled up to their group. Four well-dressed individuals stepped out of their vehicles, leading with them what looked like...
The terms were universal, Graf decided. They were Neulingen; Newcomers. She supposed the 'proper' American terms would be "Boots", or "Freaking New Guys". They were all plain-clothes; but between the way they carried themselves, and the way they presented, made it all the more obvious.
One of the more apparently senior individuals approached them. Graf was taken aback by how tall he was; Scharn was nearly six and a half feet tall: this individual was very nearly his equal. "Sir, ma'am. I'm Lieutenant Williamson, US Navy. My men and I have been assigned to you as escorts during your brief stay here in Chicago."
Scharn nodded to the lieutenant. "You have our thanks, Herr Williamson. I take it you have been briefed on our... status?"
Williamson shook his head. "Not much, unfortunately. We only received the word yesterday that 'VIPs vital to the war effort' would be laid over for a few days."
Graf chuckled as she sidled up to Scharn. "Do you hear that, Scharn? We're VIPs now." She smiled at the lieutenant. "Proper introductions are in order, Herr Williamson. My name is Graf Spee," she offered her hand at this.
As Williamson shook it, Scharn introduced himself. "I am called Scharnhorst; the two with the dogs are Atlantis and Pinguin, and those two," he pointed in the direction of U-511 and U-172, "are U-511 and U-172."
Graf watched as the lieutenant's brow furrowed as he processed this. "U-five... Are you all..?"
Scharn's face split into a wide grin. "You would be correct, Lieutenant. We are; and you can see why our identities would be kept secret."
Color faded from the lieutenant's face for a moment. "I, uh, need to go give my men a quick brief. I'll be right back," he said.
Graf exchanged a questioning look with Scharn as the lieutenant talked with his men. The more seasoned of the group looked as if they were fighting back smiles as Williamson talked with them; the Neulingen for all the world looked even more adorably lost.
"Well, it looks like the next few days shall be fun, won't it, Scharn?" Graf mused with a giggle.
- - -
Graf and the others had enjoyed lunch, courtesy of RTC Great Lakes, at one of the many messing facilities dotted about the base. They had watched, somewhat bemusedly, as the recruits had filed in and out like condemned prisoners. Lieutenant Williamson had left them in the care of one of his Chiefs almost as soon as they had arrived; he had been complaining about 'paperwork to file'.
"So, how is Lieutenant Williamson faring, Herr Braun?" Graf asked the lone Chief.
"Ah, he'll be fine, ma'am. He just never expected to meet Hulls in the flesh," replied Braun with a small laugh.
Scharn raised his eyebrow at this. "Is he one of those officers that hide in the face of danger?"
"Hardly; he's prior enlisted. There's just plenty of people around uncomfortable about the idea of the spirits of warships manifesting as people," the Chief answered with a smirk.
U-172 chose that moment to speak up, fixing the Chief with a stare. "Und how about you, Chief Braun? How do you feel about us 'Hulls'?"
"Siebs! There's no reason to be rude to our hosts!" gasped U-511.
Braun held up a hand. "Nah, it's an honest question." The Kriegers all turned to look at him as he answered. "As silly as this sounds, we like to attach human characteristics to just about anything; our cars, guns, pets, anything that we think has some sort of personality. So you girls, and pardon me for any offenses, kinda vindicate that."
All the Kriegers sat there silently in varying states of surprise. Braun smiled at them all. "That's why the Ell-Tee took off like that; he couldn't deal with the cognitive dissonance of ships in the flesh."
Graf recovered first with a light chuckle. "Poor man. You and the others earlier seemed to deal with us well enough."
"Ja. I figured your Neulingen would have been the first to panic after finding out what we are," Scharn added.
Braun waved it off. "Ah, they just graduated. Their heads are so full of basic seamanship and angry DIs they probably dropped that in as 'just another fact'."
"So, Herr Braun, as the sun is still up and we're here for another day, what is there to do in Chicago?" asked Graf.
Braun leaned back in his chair in thought. "Well, Chicago is known as a foodie's paradise, and there are a few good museums in town. They even have one of your old submarines in one of 'em."
U-511 and U-172 perked up at that. "Which one?" "Can we see her?" "How is she?"
Braun raised his hands to calm them. "I'm sure a private tour can be arranged. Ever since the Battle of LA the public has been barred from museum ships, and yours is no exception. It'll take a little bit of time, though, so it'll have to wait until tomorrow."
"That shouldn't be a problem, Herr Braun. We've still got time, and I'm sure Pinguin and Atlantis would like to see some of the other sights, rather than watch the hunden all day," replied Scharn.
"No worries, there. I'll make the call to Lieutenant Williamson and we'll get something set up for tomorrow. Until then, there's still some other sights to see," said Braun.
- - -
She slinked out of the rat-hole she had made in the cargo compartment in the C-17, straightening her fancy-schmancy dress uniform as she did so. Bloody hell, the thing was cramped.
"The things we do fer our mates..." she chuckled to herself as she walked off the plane. "Now where's a damn place for a girl to get a pint?"
As she looked around, an airman took notice of her. "Excuse me, ma'am? Can I help you?"
She jumped slightly as she turned to face the man. He couldn't be more than 19-20 years old. Perfect.
"Ah! Good day to you, airman!" She greeted in her well-practiced posh accent. "Lieutenant Olivia Poole, Royal Navy."
The airman approached her, only slightly suspicious of this woman. "This is a restricted area, ma'am. What are you doing here?"
She smiled warmly at him. "Quite right, airman. I regret that I fell asleep deeper than I anticipated on the flight in. I've been attached to our German guests in order to insure that they not only make their departing flight, but arrive safely at their final destination."
The airman relaxed at that. There were a lot of protocols, and a supervising attache was not unheard of. "No problem, ma'am. I'll call a transport and get you to your guests. I believe they're staying at Great Mistakes."
She raised an eyebrow at that. "Great Mistakes?"
"Ah, I meant Great Lakes; the main command for the Navy here. They train their recruits there," he clarified with an embarrassed laugh.
"Ah, no need to trouble yourself in that case, airman. I believe I can find reasonable transportation there," she replied, laughing along with the airman.
"As you say, ma'am. Is there anything else I can help you with?" he asked.
She put a finger to her chin in thought. "Hmm... It was a rather long flight, and I am feeling quite peckish. Do you know of any good eateries nearby?" she asked.
The airman thought for a moment. "Well, there's an outlet mall just to the east of the airport; they've got several restaurants there..."
"That sounds lovely, airman. I wouldn't want to take up too much of your time. I should be able to find my way to it," she said with a smile.
"Very well, ma'am. Have a nice day," he said with a salute.
She returned it with her own and smartly walked off in the direction of the main terminal. As she left the small military enclave, she laughed to herself. 'Olivia Poole', what a lark. Bloody Seppos bought the ol' 'My Fair Lady' trick, hook and line.
HMS Liverpool's only concern, other than food, and lodging for the night, was making sure she made it back to the C-17 before Pencil or the others...
- - -
Graf and the two U-boats had been suitably impressed by the sheer size of the Museum of Science and Industry. Some of the exhibits, ranging from simulated coal mines to a slice of early 20th Century Americana, had nearly overwhelmed them. The fact that one of their own had made her 'home' there made Graf glad. They were standing just inside the main entry hall as they each examined museum brochures.
"So girls, what shall we see first? Ze coal mine? 'Earth Revealed'? Oh! They even have a baby chick hatchery!" asked Graf with a big smile.
The two U-boats fixed Graf with flat, mirthless looks. Chief Braun, who had volunteered to be their escort, fought back a laugh.
"Frau Graf, that's not funny. You know why we're here," responded U-172 with a frown.
The smile fell from Graf's face. "I know, Siebs. I'm just worried how this will turn out," she said as she lightly patted the girl's shoulder.
U-511 gave a little sniff. "She's U-505; a Type IX-C, like us. She'll wake up for us. I know it."
Braun stepped up at that moment. "Well, I'll go talk to the museum head and the security. Head on over to the main entrance for her and I'll meet you there."
Graf nodded at the man. "Danke, Chief Braun. We shall meet you there."
- - -
"You know, thanks to the US Navy, you three lucky girls are the first visitors U-505 has had in a long time," said the museum director as he unlocked the large doors leading to the U-boat.
Graf smiled at the director, "You have our thanks, Director. I trust we will be alone in there?"
The director nodded. "Chief Braun stressed that you had some 'top secret' things to do with the old girl. He stressed that it wasn't really my place to ask. Something about 'family' and all."
Graf and the two girls turned slightly to face Braun. "T-thank you, Herr Braun," said Siebs, with a bow of her head.
The Chief blushed and looked away. "No worries; I figured it really wouldn't be our place to intrude."
"Regardless, you have done us a great service; you have our thanks," replied Graf.
The three Kriegers walked into the hall, Braun and the director politely closing the doors behind them. As they walked down the hall, the marveled at the many pictures and newspaper clippings adorning the walls. Pictures of ships crews; newspaper headlines about various battles; towards the end they came to a giant mural of the American crew that had captured U-505.
"So, these are the men that captured our sister..." mused Siebs as she looked at the mural.
"A-at least they gave her a good home..." replied Elf.
Graf kept her silence as the trio rounded the corner; she was merely accompanying the two U-boats for moral support. This was a matter for the two girls and their silent sister.
The three came to an abrupt halt as they entered the main hall. Graf let our a slight gasp as the sheer size of U-505's hull sitting in repose; though her old steel hull would have been much larger than a U-boat, her new flesh-and-blood life seemed to pale in comparison to the steel giant that sat before her.
"She looks..." Graf started.
"...Beautiful," finished Elf automatically.
"Unsere schwester," added Siebs.
The two U-boats took off, heading for the entrance into U-505's hull. Graf slowly followed a few meters behind; stopping at the entrance. She glanced around the many displays before turning her gaze to the visible interior of U-505. This was something for Siebs and Elf, she decided as she turned away and went over to one of the displays.
Graf had a good idea of what the two would be doing, attempting to 'wake' the spirit of their sister from her long slumber. She had seen it many times herself since her own awakening. As she walked from display to display, chronicling the history and design of U-505 and the old German U-boats, her mind wandered from memory to memory of her new life.
She had awoken above her own scuttled remains outside of Montevideo. The Uruguayan Coast Guard had met her outside the city; two patrol cutters had escorted her into the harbor once they had determined her peaceful intentions. The British Ambassador had greeted her with open arms while the German Ambassador had maintained a cool distance from her at all times. They had explained the situation to her; the British even sharing a laugh with her over her concerns about "English propaganda". They had sent her on her way to Portsmouth via military transport, where she had since made her home.
She hadn't wondered about it at the time; her missing telemeter. Why had she come back as she did, weapons and all, but without the one thing that would make her an effective combatant once more? She had most likely missed her one opportunity to recover the one thing that could have restored her vision to one-hundred percent.
She glanced up at the imposing bulk of U-505 and smiled faintly. She had seen so many of Elf and Siebs' sisters return; some of their own volition, like U-318 and a few of her Type VII-C sisters, others summoned up by their old wolfpacks, like Siebs.
Some had not come back at all. Graf and her sister, Scheer, had attempted to summon their 'older' sister Deutschland off the Kaiserfarht in the Baltic Sea. They had later found out, well after several attempts at bringing back their sister, that Deutschland had been sold to and scrapped by the Soviets. That particular news had, Graf hated to admit, caused her to destroy a perfectly good coffee mug.
Graf rested her hand on the display she was at; a listing of U-505's numerous patrols. She fought back tears as her memories collided with the information displayed; 505, not alone amongst the Kriegers, had had a cursed life in the old war. Botched patrols, bad morale... even one of her last skippers committing suicide.
"Mein Gott... the poor girl..." Graf uttered.
She turned her head to face the submarine. Music, though faint, was now coming out of the opening into the boat. It sounded like that 'metal' most of the U-boats had taken to. She smiled as she wiped her eyes; as much as the U-boats and some of the Zerstorer, like Max or Roeder would argue, they would all still behave in one way or another like young girls.
- - -
From where she sat, Siebs watched her sister set up the small disc player on one of the chart tables dotting U-505's control room.
"What do you think, Siebs? AC/DC? Sabaton?" asked Elf.
Siebs smiled at her sister. "Oh Sabaton, definitely. I think she'll like 'Hearts of Iron'."
Elf smiled back at her. "You're right. We still have our pride, after all."
As the aggressive sounds of the music started to wash over the pair and their silent sister, Siebs leaned back against an equipment panel as she looked into the room's overhead. "You should really see us in action again, Funf-y. We might not be raiding any more, but the Abyssals haven't a clue on how to deal with us and our wolfpacks."
"You'd like our new allies, sis," added Elf. "The Canadian girls girls are all adorable, and their corvettes came back as these awesome dogs!"
Siebs laughed with her sister at the thought of the Newfies. "Ja, they're so friendly; they keep trying to invite us back to their base for a party."
Both girls calmed down and fell quiet as the music played.
"Where are you, Funf-y?" asked Elf. "We can't even feel you here."
Siebs looked at her sister. Somehow, she knew this was going to be hard on them both. U-505 wasn't answering them. Something might be wrong.
"Funf-y, come back to us, please..."
- - -
Graf eventually found a spot along the displays to sit down. While their leader, Frau Bismarck, had been the one to talk regularly and directly with the current German Government; it had fallen to Graf, with her damaged vision, to represent the Kriegers day-to-day. She only ever sortied in the vicinity of the British Isles; air support and coastal installations had managed to mitigate her targeting issues to a degree of functionality. She had handled most of the news interviews and press conferences, standing side by side with her British allies and friends. A pretty, intelligent, and friendly smile to try and sway public perception of what had once been the hated enemy...
"Damn them all..." As far as she knew; as far as any of them knew, the majority of the German people had turned their backs on them all. They had been forced to not only now fight a war against an unknowable foe, but they had all but been exiled from their very homeland. All over a now-ingrained fear of "what if"s and what they had once fought and died for.
Graf stared up at U-505. Their future depended entirely on not only winning against the Abyssals, but the popular perception of what they were.
"Please, come back to us..." she uttered up at U-505.
A tear rolled down Graf's cheek. The only family they had now was each other...
- - -
"... So, the guy went ass-over-teakettle when he hit a patch of ice, screaming bloody murder the entire time!" Braun finished, laughing along with the director and the few remaining guards.
The director wiped at his eyes. "Oh god, and you people wonder why the stereotype of the loud, angry sailor is still a thing."
"You say that like we WANT to lose our one edge over the damn Marines!" replied Braun with a laugh.
The sound of the door leading to U-505 opening quickly quieted the laughter. Braun and the director composed themselves as Graf and the two girls came out. Braun noticed that Graf's face was tense and her eyes were somewhat puffy like she had been crying. The two U-boat girls actually were crying as they hugged onto her.
Braun respectfully nodded to Graf. "I take it things didn't go so well, Miss Graf."
Graf smiled weakly at the man. "I'm afraid so, Chief Braun." She turned her head to the director. "Though the United States Navy has, I believe, final say on this; I highly recommend that U-505 and her hall should be reopened to the public."
The director raised an eyebrow at her. "It's safe?"
"It is," Graf responded with a nod. "I believe we should return to the Naval Base, Chief. There's nothing more for us here."
As Graf escorted the two girls out towards the museum's main entrance, one of the girls cried audibly. "She's not there..."
The director turned to face Braun as the man pushed off a wall to follow after the girls. "Wait... Graf? They're German? As in..?"
Braun nodded at the man as he made to depart. "Yeah. Five-Oh-Five was the sister to those girls. U-172 and U-511." He paused, looking blankly into the air. "Go ahead and open the old girl up to the public, I'll make sure you have the Navy's backing on this matter."
- - -
The shock of blonde hair peeked carefully over the edge of the conning tower. They had called her 'Funf-y'.
Her sisters had come to visit her.
"I'm sorry, meine schwestern..." The girl sunk back down to her hiding spot. Tears fell openly from her eyes.
U-505 didn't want to shame her sisters with her presence. She knew her history, better than all of them. She didn't want to burden them.
She had found peace in that museum. People had come from near and far to visit her; children exploring her old hull, learning about her. She was at peace there. If these Abyssals ever found their way to Chicago, she would defend her adopted city to the last; but she was not ready to sail again with her dear sisters... Not yet, anyway.
Funf-y stared at the ceiling of her home, tears staining her face. "One day..."
- - -
"I take it things didn't go well at the museum," said Scharn as soon as he saw Graf.
She didn't say anything until she had him embraced in a hug. "Oh, mein bruder, she wasn't there..." she said as the tears started falling again.
Scharn embraced his 'little sister'. "What do you mean, Graf?" he asked.
Graf sniffled as she responded. "Siebs and Elf went inside her hull; they tried and they tried to wake her. Either she didn't want to wake up or..."
Scharn, and his brother 'Nau, had seen it before, but not like this. Every now and then, some of the U-boats or Zerstorers would try and bring back their sisters and be met with silence. He clamped down on his own emotions. It was always a small tragedy in itself whenever one of the girls would come back to their massive dorm facility in tears over a failed "returning".
"She'll come back in her own time, sis. At least she knows we want her back."
Scharn walked Graf to her room, passing by Atlantis.
"Pinguin is with Elf and Siebs; they fell asleep and she's keeping them comfortable," she informed him.
"Danke, Atlantis. I'll be by to check on them shortly," he responded.
Graf turned to him when they reached her room. "Thank you, Scharn. I'll be fine now," she told him as she hugged him tightly.
He nodded to her when she broke the embrace. "Promise me you'll come find me if you need anything, schwester."
She smiled at him as she wiped away a tear. "Go to our klienen schwestern, Scharn. They'll need their big brother."
He smiled back at her. "Guten nacht, Graf."
-
And a parting gift from Navy-Vet: art of 'damaged' Graf Spee. (artist unknown so far)
She smiled as she heard one of the aircrew run into something. She was wearing casual civilian attire, a somewhat tight blouse and feminine jeans, and knew she looked good in it. Scharn chuckled at her as he adjusted the collar of his shirt, having chosen a more professional button-up shirt and khakis. "You know Graf, if you keep distracting the aircrew like that, we'll never leave."
She fixed her comrade with her smile. "Und why would you be so anxious to depart once again? I thought you couldn't stand the fine cuisine of our hosts."
Scharn soured at her rebuttal. "Whoever came up with the idea of sticking 'vegetable lasagna' in a ration pack should be taken out back and shot."
As the six Kriegers stood around examining the small military enclave at the Chicago O'Hare airport, a member of the aircrew approached them. According to their travel brief, they were merely VIPs being transported to Japan. How much the aircrew knew however, was an unknown.
"Uhh, sir? Ma'am?" the nervous airman started, "What, ah, do you want us to do with the dogs? We have a small kennel we can keep them in, that is unless you have other ideas?"
Atlantis and Pinguin stepped forward, the former rolling her eyes. "We shall watch after them," said Pinguin.
The pair walked over to where the animals were still asleep in a dog carrier. "They could probably use a good walk after that flight," mused Atlantis.
Graf smiled at them. "Vielen Danke. We shall round up some proper food; do you two have any requests?"
While the two commerce raiders quietly consulted with each other, several unmarked SUVs pulled up to their group. Four well-dressed individuals stepped out of their vehicles, leading with them what looked like...
The terms were universal, Graf decided. They were Neulingen; Newcomers. She supposed the 'proper' American terms would be "Boots", or "Freaking New Guys". They were all plain-clothes; but between the way they carried themselves, and the way they presented, made it all the more obvious.
One of the more apparently senior individuals approached them. Graf was taken aback by how tall he was; Scharn was nearly six and a half feet tall: this individual was very nearly his equal. "Sir, ma'am. I'm Lieutenant Williamson, US Navy. My men and I have been assigned to you as escorts during your brief stay here in Chicago."
Scharn nodded to the lieutenant. "You have our thanks, Herr Williamson. I take it you have been briefed on our... status?"
Williamson shook his head. "Not much, unfortunately. We only received the word yesterday that 'VIPs vital to the war effort' would be laid over for a few days."
Graf chuckled as she sidled up to Scharn. "Do you hear that, Scharn? We're VIPs now." She smiled at the lieutenant. "Proper introductions are in order, Herr Williamson. My name is Graf Spee," she offered her hand at this.
As Williamson shook it, Scharn introduced himself. "I am called Scharnhorst; the two with the dogs are Atlantis and Pinguin, and those two," he pointed in the direction of U-511 and U-172, "are U-511 and U-172."
Graf watched as the lieutenant's brow furrowed as he processed this. "U-five... Are you all..?"
Scharn's face split into a wide grin. "You would be correct, Lieutenant. We are; and you can see why our identities would be kept secret."
Color faded from the lieutenant's face for a moment. "I, uh, need to go give my men a quick brief. I'll be right back," he said.
Graf exchanged a questioning look with Scharn as the lieutenant talked with his men. The more seasoned of the group looked as if they were fighting back smiles as Williamson talked with them; the Neulingen for all the world looked even more adorably lost.
"Well, it looks like the next few days shall be fun, won't it, Scharn?" Graf mused with a giggle.
- - -
Graf and the others had enjoyed lunch, courtesy of RTC Great Lakes, at one of the many messing facilities dotted about the base. They had watched, somewhat bemusedly, as the recruits had filed in and out like condemned prisoners. Lieutenant Williamson had left them in the care of one of his Chiefs almost as soon as they had arrived; he had been complaining about 'paperwork to file'.
"So, how is Lieutenant Williamson faring, Herr Braun?" Graf asked the lone Chief.
"Ah, he'll be fine, ma'am. He just never expected to meet Hulls in the flesh," replied Braun with a small laugh.
Scharn raised his eyebrow at this. "Is he one of those officers that hide in the face of danger?"
"Hardly; he's prior enlisted. There's just plenty of people around uncomfortable about the idea of the spirits of warships manifesting as people," the Chief answered with a smirk.
U-172 chose that moment to speak up, fixing the Chief with a stare. "Und how about you, Chief Braun? How do you feel about us 'Hulls'?"
"Siebs! There's no reason to be rude to our hosts!" gasped U-511.
Braun held up a hand. "Nah, it's an honest question." The Kriegers all turned to look at him as he answered. "As silly as this sounds, we like to attach human characteristics to just about anything; our cars, guns, pets, anything that we think has some sort of personality. So you girls, and pardon me for any offenses, kinda vindicate that."
All the Kriegers sat there silently in varying states of surprise. Braun smiled at them all. "That's why the Ell-Tee took off like that; he couldn't deal with the cognitive dissonance of ships in the flesh."
Graf recovered first with a light chuckle. "Poor man. You and the others earlier seemed to deal with us well enough."
"Ja. I figured your Neulingen would have been the first to panic after finding out what we are," Scharn added.
Braun waved it off. "Ah, they just graduated. Their heads are so full of basic seamanship and angry DIs they probably dropped that in as 'just another fact'."
"So, Herr Braun, as the sun is still up and we're here for another day, what is there to do in Chicago?" asked Graf.
Braun leaned back in his chair in thought. "Well, Chicago is known as a foodie's paradise, and there are a few good museums in town. They even have one of your old submarines in one of 'em."
U-511 and U-172 perked up at that. "Which one?" "Can we see her?" "How is she?"
Braun raised his hands to calm them. "I'm sure a private tour can be arranged. Ever since the Battle of LA the public has been barred from museum ships, and yours is no exception. It'll take a little bit of time, though, so it'll have to wait until tomorrow."
"That shouldn't be a problem, Herr Braun. We've still got time, and I'm sure Pinguin and Atlantis would like to see some of the other sights, rather than watch the hunden all day," replied Scharn.
"No worries, there. I'll make the call to Lieutenant Williamson and we'll get something set up for tomorrow. Until then, there's still some other sights to see," said Braun.
- - -
She slinked out of the rat-hole she had made in the cargo compartment in the C-17, straightening her fancy-schmancy dress uniform as she did so. Bloody hell, the thing was cramped.
"The things we do fer our mates..." she chuckled to herself as she walked off the plane. "Now where's a damn place for a girl to get a pint?"
As she looked around, an airman took notice of her. "Excuse me, ma'am? Can I help you?"
She jumped slightly as she turned to face the man. He couldn't be more than 19-20 years old. Perfect.
"Ah! Good day to you, airman!" She greeted in her well-practiced posh accent. "Lieutenant Olivia Poole, Royal Navy."
The airman approached her, only slightly suspicious of this woman. "This is a restricted area, ma'am. What are you doing here?"
She smiled warmly at him. "Quite right, airman. I regret that I fell asleep deeper than I anticipated on the flight in. I've been attached to our German guests in order to insure that they not only make their departing flight, but arrive safely at their final destination."
The airman relaxed at that. There were a lot of protocols, and a supervising attache was not unheard of. "No problem, ma'am. I'll call a transport and get you to your guests. I believe they're staying at Great Mistakes."
She raised an eyebrow at that. "Great Mistakes?"
"Ah, I meant Great Lakes; the main command for the Navy here. They train their recruits there," he clarified with an embarrassed laugh.
"Ah, no need to trouble yourself in that case, airman. I believe I can find reasonable transportation there," she replied, laughing along with the airman.
"As you say, ma'am. Is there anything else I can help you with?" he asked.
She put a finger to her chin in thought. "Hmm... It was a rather long flight, and I am feeling quite peckish. Do you know of any good eateries nearby?" she asked.
The airman thought for a moment. "Well, there's an outlet mall just to the east of the airport; they've got several restaurants there..."
"That sounds lovely, airman. I wouldn't want to take up too much of your time. I should be able to find my way to it," she said with a smile.
"Very well, ma'am. Have a nice day," he said with a salute.
She returned it with her own and smartly walked off in the direction of the main terminal. As she left the small military enclave, she laughed to herself. 'Olivia Poole', what a lark. Bloody Seppos bought the ol' 'My Fair Lady' trick, hook and line.
HMS Liverpool's only concern, other than food, and lodging for the night, was making sure she made it back to the C-17 before Pencil or the others...
- - -
Graf and the two U-boats had been suitably impressed by the sheer size of the Museum of Science and Industry. Some of the exhibits, ranging from simulated coal mines to a slice of early 20th Century Americana, had nearly overwhelmed them. The fact that one of their own had made her 'home' there made Graf glad. They were standing just inside the main entry hall as they each examined museum brochures.
"So girls, what shall we see first? Ze coal mine? 'Earth Revealed'? Oh! They even have a baby chick hatchery!" asked Graf with a big smile.
The two U-boats fixed Graf with flat, mirthless looks. Chief Braun, who had volunteered to be their escort, fought back a laugh.
"Frau Graf, that's not funny. You know why we're here," responded U-172 with a frown.
The smile fell from Graf's face. "I know, Siebs. I'm just worried how this will turn out," she said as she lightly patted the girl's shoulder.
U-511 gave a little sniff. "She's U-505; a Type IX-C, like us. She'll wake up for us. I know it."
Braun stepped up at that moment. "Well, I'll go talk to the museum head and the security. Head on over to the main entrance for her and I'll meet you there."
Graf nodded at the man. "Danke, Chief Braun. We shall meet you there."
- - -
"You know, thanks to the US Navy, you three lucky girls are the first visitors U-505 has had in a long time," said the museum director as he unlocked the large doors leading to the U-boat.
Graf smiled at the director, "You have our thanks, Director. I trust we will be alone in there?"
The director nodded. "Chief Braun stressed that you had some 'top secret' things to do with the old girl. He stressed that it wasn't really my place to ask. Something about 'family' and all."
Graf and the two girls turned slightly to face Braun. "T-thank you, Herr Braun," said Siebs, with a bow of her head.
The Chief blushed and looked away. "No worries; I figured it really wouldn't be our place to intrude."
"Regardless, you have done us a great service; you have our thanks," replied Graf.
The three Kriegers walked into the hall, Braun and the director politely closing the doors behind them. As they walked down the hall, the marveled at the many pictures and newspaper clippings adorning the walls. Pictures of ships crews; newspaper headlines about various battles; towards the end they came to a giant mural of the American crew that had captured U-505.
"So, these are the men that captured our sister..." mused Siebs as she looked at the mural.
"A-at least they gave her a good home..." replied Elf.
Graf kept her silence as the trio rounded the corner; she was merely accompanying the two U-boats for moral support. This was a matter for the two girls and their silent sister.
The three came to an abrupt halt as they entered the main hall. Graf let our a slight gasp as the sheer size of U-505's hull sitting in repose; though her old steel hull would have been much larger than a U-boat, her new flesh-and-blood life seemed to pale in comparison to the steel giant that sat before her.
"She looks..." Graf started.
"...Beautiful," finished Elf automatically.
"Unsere schwester," added Siebs.
The two U-boats took off, heading for the entrance into U-505's hull. Graf slowly followed a few meters behind; stopping at the entrance. She glanced around the many displays before turning her gaze to the visible interior of U-505. This was something for Siebs and Elf, she decided as she turned away and went over to one of the displays.
Graf had a good idea of what the two would be doing, attempting to 'wake' the spirit of their sister from her long slumber. She had seen it many times herself since her own awakening. As she walked from display to display, chronicling the history and design of U-505 and the old German U-boats, her mind wandered from memory to memory of her new life.
She had awoken above her own scuttled remains outside of Montevideo. The Uruguayan Coast Guard had met her outside the city; two patrol cutters had escorted her into the harbor once they had determined her peaceful intentions. The British Ambassador had greeted her with open arms while the German Ambassador had maintained a cool distance from her at all times. They had explained the situation to her; the British even sharing a laugh with her over her concerns about "English propaganda". They had sent her on her way to Portsmouth via military transport, where she had since made her home.
She hadn't wondered about it at the time; her missing telemeter. Why had she come back as she did, weapons and all, but without the one thing that would make her an effective combatant once more? She had most likely missed her one opportunity to recover the one thing that could have restored her vision to one-hundred percent.
She glanced up at the imposing bulk of U-505 and smiled faintly. She had seen so many of Elf and Siebs' sisters return; some of their own volition, like U-318 and a few of her Type VII-C sisters, others summoned up by their old wolfpacks, like Siebs.
Some had not come back at all. Graf and her sister, Scheer, had attempted to summon their 'older' sister Deutschland off the Kaiserfarht in the Baltic Sea. They had later found out, well after several attempts at bringing back their sister, that Deutschland had been sold to and scrapped by the Soviets. That particular news had, Graf hated to admit, caused her to destroy a perfectly good coffee mug.
Graf rested her hand on the display she was at; a listing of U-505's numerous patrols. She fought back tears as her memories collided with the information displayed; 505, not alone amongst the Kriegers, had had a cursed life in the old war. Botched patrols, bad morale... even one of her last skippers committing suicide.
"Mein Gott... the poor girl..." Graf uttered.
She turned her head to face the submarine. Music, though faint, was now coming out of the opening into the boat. It sounded like that 'metal' most of the U-boats had taken to. She smiled as she wiped her eyes; as much as the U-boats and some of the Zerstorer, like Max or Roeder would argue, they would all still behave in one way or another like young girls.
- - -
From where she sat, Siebs watched her sister set up the small disc player on one of the chart tables dotting U-505's control room.
"What do you think, Siebs? AC/DC? Sabaton?" asked Elf.
Siebs smiled at her sister. "Oh Sabaton, definitely. I think she'll like 'Hearts of Iron'."
Elf smiled back at her. "You're right. We still have our pride, after all."
As the aggressive sounds of the music started to wash over the pair and their silent sister, Siebs leaned back against an equipment panel as she looked into the room's overhead. "You should really see us in action again, Funf-y. We might not be raiding any more, but the Abyssals haven't a clue on how to deal with us and our wolfpacks."
"You'd like our new allies, sis," added Elf. "The Canadian girls girls are all adorable, and their corvettes came back as these awesome dogs!"
Siebs laughed with her sister at the thought of the Newfies. "Ja, they're so friendly; they keep trying to invite us back to their base for a party."
Both girls calmed down and fell quiet as the music played.
"Where are you, Funf-y?" asked Elf. "We can't even feel you here."
Siebs looked at her sister. Somehow, she knew this was going to be hard on them both. U-505 wasn't answering them. Something might be wrong.
"Funf-y, come back to us, please..."
- - -
Graf eventually found a spot along the displays to sit down. While their leader, Frau Bismarck, had been the one to talk regularly and directly with the current German Government; it had fallen to Graf, with her damaged vision, to represent the Kriegers day-to-day. She only ever sortied in the vicinity of the British Isles; air support and coastal installations had managed to mitigate her targeting issues to a degree of functionality. She had handled most of the news interviews and press conferences, standing side by side with her British allies and friends. A pretty, intelligent, and friendly smile to try and sway public perception of what had once been the hated enemy...
"Damn them all..." As far as she knew; as far as any of them knew, the majority of the German people had turned their backs on them all. They had been forced to not only now fight a war against an unknowable foe, but they had all but been exiled from their very homeland. All over a now-ingrained fear of "what if"s and what they had once fought and died for.
Graf stared up at U-505. Their future depended entirely on not only winning against the Abyssals, but the popular perception of what they were.
"Please, come back to us..." she uttered up at U-505.
A tear rolled down Graf's cheek. The only family they had now was each other...
- - -
"... So, the guy went ass-over-teakettle when he hit a patch of ice, screaming bloody murder the entire time!" Braun finished, laughing along with the director and the few remaining guards.
The director wiped at his eyes. "Oh god, and you people wonder why the stereotype of the loud, angry sailor is still a thing."
"You say that like we WANT to lose our one edge over the damn Marines!" replied Braun with a laugh.
The sound of the door leading to U-505 opening quickly quieted the laughter. Braun and the director composed themselves as Graf and the two girls came out. Braun noticed that Graf's face was tense and her eyes were somewhat puffy like she had been crying. The two U-boat girls actually were crying as they hugged onto her.
Braun respectfully nodded to Graf. "I take it things didn't go so well, Miss Graf."
Graf smiled weakly at the man. "I'm afraid so, Chief Braun." She turned her head to the director. "Though the United States Navy has, I believe, final say on this; I highly recommend that U-505 and her hall should be reopened to the public."
The director raised an eyebrow at her. "It's safe?"
"It is," Graf responded with a nod. "I believe we should return to the Naval Base, Chief. There's nothing more for us here."
As Graf escorted the two girls out towards the museum's main entrance, one of the girls cried audibly. "She's not there..."
The director turned to face Braun as the man pushed off a wall to follow after the girls. "Wait... Graf? They're German? As in..?"
Braun nodded at the man as he made to depart. "Yeah. Five-Oh-Five was the sister to those girls. U-172 and U-511." He paused, looking blankly into the air. "Go ahead and open the old girl up to the public, I'll make sure you have the Navy's backing on this matter."
- - -
The shock of blonde hair peeked carefully over the edge of the conning tower. They had called her 'Funf-y'.
Her sisters had come to visit her.
"I'm sorry, meine schwestern..." The girl sunk back down to her hiding spot. Tears fell openly from her eyes.
U-505 didn't want to shame her sisters with her presence. She knew her history, better than all of them. She didn't want to burden them.
She had found peace in that museum. People had come from near and far to visit her; children exploring her old hull, learning about her. She was at peace there. If these Abyssals ever found their way to Chicago, she would defend her adopted city to the last; but she was not ready to sail again with her dear sisters... Not yet, anyway.
Funf-y stared at the ceiling of her home, tears staining her face. "One day..."
- - -
"I take it things didn't go well at the museum," said Scharn as soon as he saw Graf.
She didn't say anything until she had him embraced in a hug. "Oh, mein bruder, she wasn't there..." she said as the tears started falling again.
Scharn embraced his 'little sister'. "What do you mean, Graf?" he asked.
Graf sniffled as she responded. "Siebs and Elf went inside her hull; they tried and they tried to wake her. Either she didn't want to wake up or..."
Scharn, and his brother 'Nau, had seen it before, but not like this. Every now and then, some of the U-boats or Zerstorers would try and bring back their sisters and be met with silence. He clamped down on his own emotions. It was always a small tragedy in itself whenever one of the girls would come back to their massive dorm facility in tears over a failed "returning".
"She'll come back in her own time, sis. At least she knows we want her back."
Scharn walked Graf to her room, passing by Atlantis.
"Pinguin is with Elf and Siebs; they fell asleep and she's keeping them comfortable," she informed him.
"Danke, Atlantis. I'll be by to check on them shortly," he responded.
Graf turned to him when they reached her room. "Thank you, Scharn. I'll be fine now," she told him as she hugged him tightly.
He nodded to her when she broke the embrace. "Promise me you'll come find me if you need anything, schwester."
She smiled at him as she wiped away a tear. "Go to our klienen schwestern, Scharn. They'll need their big brother."
He smiled back at her. "Guten nacht, Graf."
-
And a parting gift from Navy-Vet: art of 'damaged' Graf Spee. (artist unknown so far)
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A couple of questions about Chief Parker's adventures, if I may.
Why is Willie's prizefighter wearing handcuffs?
I assume it's some Navy thing.
Wouldn't the German shipgirls (schiffmadchen?) be addressed as Fraulein rather than Frau? Although that could be Parker's poor German, the girl would be likely to react somehow to being addressed as a middle-aged woman.
Why is Willie's prizefighter wearing handcuffs?
I assume it's some Navy thing. Wouldn't the German shipgirls (schiffmadchen?) be addressed as Fraulein rather than Frau? Although that could be Parker's poor German, the girl would be likely to react somehow to being addressed as a middle-aged woman.
Dirtnap
Kanmusu Affecionado
Because he was in the brig. Most likely for brawling.Why is Willie's prizefighter wearing handcuffs?
Well he does say that his German is bad. Plus, Bismark is a woman as opposed to a girl.Wouldn't the German shipgirls (schiffmadchen?) be addressed as Fraulein rather than Frau? Although that could be Parker's poor German, the girl would be likely to react somehow to being addressed as a middle-aged woman.
The shipgirls present as roughly 12-25 year olds. I'm not sure where the break between Fraulein and Frau is, or was in the '40s.
Silvrose
Connoisseur of Cuteness
- Location
- A Flyover State
- Pronouns
- He/Him/They/Them
i would like to think it'd be around 16-18 that Frau would start to be used.
It isn't really used anymore. Today it would actually often seen as offensive. So "Frau" is the right term. If you see it in a modern way. But these are WW2 girls. "Fräulein" was used when the women in question was without husband.
Always Late
Lacking in coffee, sleep, and brains
- Location
- Ohio
From what I learned in German class, 100 level so I could be wrong, 'Fraulein v. Frau' is less a definitive age and more unmarried vs. married. however, Fraulein is considered sexist in modern times, so The Chief would have been taught to use Frau.
EDIT: Ninja'd.
Yes you are right like i said. So now i know why you called yourself always late 
Always Late
Lacking in coffee, sleep, and brains
- Location
- Ohio
Yeah.Yes you are right like i said. So now i know why you called yourself always late
I take so long to type a reply, someone's usually always posting what I'm going to say before me. And yet I still get things and stories mixed up.
CompassJimbo
Where’s Your North?
- Location
- The former Rubber Capital of the World
>Realizes that Sammy was one of Kongou's victims.
We better pray that the two never meet.
We better pray that the two never meet.
Chojomeka
Behold! QUEEN MONKE!
And watch as Sammy just clings to Kongou like a limpet in the same way a fangirl does to her fav idol and gushes about how awesome they are.