Of course, telling Lion she could learn was one thing. Actually
teaching her could well prove quite another.
"See," Resolution told her the following morning, "thing about here in Gibraltar? We're a training base as much as anything."
That got Lion to blink, still bleary-eyed under the cresting sun. "Training?"
"Yeeep." She lead her out past the cafeteria and down towards the bayside route away from the Rock. "Three main roles. One, the Rock facility." She threw a thumb over her shoulder. "We're guarding it. Keeping it contained is a separate command so don't worry about that, but any Abyssal forces coming for it or the Strait are
going to be torching the rest of Gibraltar in the process so..." Resolution shrugged. "We're the outer defences."
Lion nodded, shooting the Rock an uncomfortable look. Still clear skies today.
Resolution clicked her fingers to regain her attention. "Second, training base. S'what it was before this whole mess, what it still sorta-kinda is now. Illustrious and me? We were both training ships by the end of things. I train the battleships, 'Lusty trains the carriers. You, lucky girl, get the both of us."
She tried for a playful elbow, but Lion shifted away uncomfortably. Ah well.
"Anyway, yeah. The Med's quieter than up north; we're enclosed, and we control the Strait. Safer just to take all the new girls and shuffle them down here, let 'em get their sea legs back, pass 'em back up to Blighty. And hey, it gives us more guns, s'all part of the agreement, which leads me to role number
three."
Resolution turned and looked Lion directly in the eyes. "We're here to guard the Spanish coast."
A blink. Surprise; a moment's confusion. Then simple, befuddled acceptance. A nod and a shrug. No hostilities; no instinctive objections.
…Pleasant change of pace.
Of course, Resolution supposed, she is
a paper. No unpleasant memories or history there…
Resolution nodded, and resumed leading her way down to the docks. "You heard anyone mention Bread for Boats yet?"
"Er, once?"
She shrugged. "S'about what it sounds like, honestly. Early days, Abyssals first started coming up, everywhere started seeing Princesses and Installations pop up like rashes, up and down the coasts. Armies and the Big Ships did their best of course, and obviously
we started coming back, but who's Spain got to call on? Not much call for a navy in a civil war, back in our old days."
"Anyway, the Rock got its Princess, Gibraltar got evacuated and England got her reason to stick the royal foot in. Home islands weren't exactly prepared for this any more than anyone else so their food situation tanked. Thus," she clapped, "the grand agreement. We send the Boats," she gestured out to Algeciras across the bay, "they send the Bread."
She watched Lion stare out across the water. "...Huh."
Resolution huffed, resuming the stroll down the bayside path. "Should be 'Ships For Bread' but, y'know. Newsies. Any questions?"
Lion frowned. "Not really… how's it going in England?"
"Up the Channel?" She grimaced. "...Stormy. You know how tight it gets; those kind of distances, that kind of weather, Abyssals summoning right under you? It's a knife fight up there."
"No, um, England?"
"Oh, the coasts?" Resolution waggled her hand. "North Sea's got Jutland and its merry re-enactment society – not to
mention Scapa Flow – and of course the Atlantic's
chock fucking full of U-Boats." She chuckled mirthlessly. "Then you've got Hood up near Iceland, freezing her tits off."
Lion shifted, almost saying something then apparently abandoning it. Resolution gave a bitter sigh. "You know we even get convoys now? Abyssal convoys I mean, trying to recreate
our old jobs. Have to catch and sink the little bastards before they can make landfall and start raising Installations. Bloody madness out there."
She shrugged as they approached the Camp Bay tunnel, returning the salute of the marine standing guard. Lion wasn't paying attention enough to notice, apparently; she snapped her fingers again to get her on track.
"We get them here sometimes, the convoys." They passed into the tunnel's cool chill. "Try to land in Portugal or Morocco, or run the Strait. Those ones are ours. U-boats are a constant nuisance but they can't do much on land. It's the convoys that bring Princesses, start shelling towns."
This was usually the point in The Talk when Resolution had to explain what Princesses were (and that
no, the Queen Lizzies held no relation, please and thank
you, joke's been made, Barham might actually stab you-) and so on. Lion just nodded along though; someone in the dorm must have felt chatty that evening.
She shrugged and kept on walking. Soon, Rosia Bay emerged on the opposite side.
A small, almost octagonal little bay, practically a garage by boat standards but adequately sized for human-scale vessels such as themselves. Standard practise with returnees; give them a little space to tootle about and get their feet wet, given most summonings took place on land. Less necessary in Lion's case, but with Vindictive's warnings in mind she still wanted to run them anyway; who knew what faults lay hidden in a design only extant on paper?
Besides,
everyone's first launch in their newfangled, multi-limbed forms were inevitably hilarious in some form or other. One would not think the likes of heavy cruisers and battleships to be trepidatious at the prospect of stepping out onto open water, but not many had been present for Iron Duke or Sussex back in those early old days. Royal Oak, bless her soul, had taken one look at the water, one look at her own two feet and suddenly started screaming about being a catamaran.
...Hopefully she wouldn't have to punt this one. Both Repulses still sent politely worded death threats from time to time. She sighed fondly, leaning on the rail.
"Anyway just..." she waggled a hand out at the waters, "pootle around for a bit, check your turning circles. Get you back into the swing of things."
Lion gave her an odd look, to which Resolution just smiled encouragingly. Eventually, the half-carrier gingerly stepped out onto the water, and somehow became yet more of an abomination against ocean and God.
Ungainly. Wobbly. She'd had the knack of it when they brought her in but it seemed just a single good night's sleep was enough to make Lion lose her sea legs. Every now and then it looked like she'd almost got it, sailing smooth and proper for a few yards before apparently overcompensating or
something, causing her to wobble and start waggling her arms around like she'd just spent a night on the spree. How could someone so recently returned be so ungainly on water yet walk so naturally on land? Didn't seem natural.
...Well, sink or swim she supposed. She checked her watch and called out. "Alright, head out to sea!"
"-Sea?!" Lion jolted, hair bouncing.
"Well we can hardly do sea trials here." Resolution retorted.
Lion turned spectacularly green.
It'd all buff out, she was sure. Resolution felt very professional about this.
~*~
How.
"I-" Lion stammered, wobbling even with Resolution propping her up at the shoulder, "I- I was better at this yesterday-?"
How.
The sea drifted. The sea churned. The sea rose a gentle one metre wave that nearly sent Lion sprawling arse over teakettle.
"-GYAH-!"
...Resolution retracted the 'nearly'.
"Are you
sure none of your bridge staff have been drinking?"
"I- I
don't drink!" The half-a-carrier spluttered in several senses of the word.
Resolution grunted.
You might not but I'll bet you've still got the rum ration aboard. She'd put even money on most of Lion's 'crew' being the dockworkers who'd built and scrapped her.
Took effort not to shake her head. Looking at the sodden aviation battleship sprawled on its knees made the… strangeness of their existence all the starker. The funnels poking up out of the back-mounted rigging, clearly dripping with sea-spray yet still operating normally. Hell, the over-shoulder flight deck, recently
dipped underwater when the ship had gone flying, still looked no worse for wear even with planes out on deck. Even knocked over, toppled or outright deluged underneath heavy waves, it remained maddeningly unclear
what, exactly, constituted 'capsized' amongst the spiritual vessels. To say there was a difference in draft was the century's understatement, and even after two years the collective paranoia surrounding the issue remained fit to match.
-Though, come to think of it, were Lion's planes supposed to be out like that?
Resolution blinked a moment, then shrugged. Illustrious' problem. What the hell would she know? Maybe she didn't have hangars.
She nudged the half-carrier with her foot, an action that just as equally failed to produce the typical end result of ship-to-ship collisions. Lion raised her head, sodden and forlorn.
...Yep, she thought with concrete certainty. Wet kitten.
"I can't even swim." Lion confessed, sprawled upon the watery 'floor'.
Resolution nodded along. "That's pretty normal, honestly."
Shipgirls
could swim, given sufficient quantities of assurance, motivation, brandy and/or blackmail. Just as long as the rigging was put away first; they became 'weirdly buoyant humans' after that. Not that it really came up much. Trying to actively train them in it also ran the risk of a submarine slipping in to videotape the whole thing, and Warspite
still hadn't forgiven her for that little debacle.
...Woman held grudges like her name implied.
"Come on," Resolution nudged her with her foot again. "Show a leg. Gotta get the hang of it sooner or later."
Lion groaned, stood, wobbled, failed, and then stood again.
"Your first trial," Resolution spoke, sipping her hipflask, "is to sail 10 metres in a straight line, then turn."
"..."
If they could work the kinks out now, hopefully Illustrious would have better luck...
~*~
It was always fun and happy a time when Illustrious could be found in the dockside pub with her head in her hands and a bottle of whisky openly by her side.
"...abortions the result of psychological maladjustment..." She could hear her, muttering.
"That bad?" Resolution ventured, taking the opposite seat.
The grey carrier's head rose, revealing an utterly filthy expression. "She's a walking disaster.
Walking."
She chuckled awkwardly. "Her sea legs aren't that-"
"
Resolution." Illustrious spoke flatly. "It is a disgrace to call that '
floating'."
Resolution winced.
"...And her air wing?" She dread to ask.
"We should send her to Japan." Illustrious spoke blandly, idly examining her glass. "Miss Taiho could offer her some genuine advice."
...Resolution shivered.
"Haven't you heard, Resolution dear?" The carrier continued, idly rotating her tumbler, observing the play of light reflecting on glass like it held the awesome secrets of the universe. "The new ship is an aviation battleship, the most final union of the sea." Her head gave the faintest, enamoured tilt. "The strength of a battleship! The range of an aircraft carrier! The truest thing to ever rule the waves! Why," those eyes slid over to her with all the impending doom of a forward battery, "I do believe the good Admiral has begun to...
brag."
...Resolution felt an entire bucket of ice water rattle down her spine.
She wanted to go for her hip flask, but Illustrious was already pouring her one anyway. Illustrious raised her glass, that gaze still fixing her with that empty, hollow stare.
"Drink up, me hearties." That voice spoke.
"Yo ho."
~*~
"Do we really need to-"
"Yes."
"It's four in the-"
"I know."
"
I really think-"
Resolution halted, Resolution flung, and Resolution watched as Lion gaily sailed face-first into the bay, beneath the barest hint of dawn. Splish.
"Believe me," Resolution groused sourly, "this hurts you exactly as much as it's hurting
me."
~*~
"And so..." Resolution grimaced, "we're going to need a little more… training."
Her companion shrugged, idle. Dusky skin beneath a dusty, battered redcoat. Hull-shoed feet swung freely over the cliffside of the Rock, there in the misty evening.
"...That means more supplies."
Her companion sighed. "Just fuel?"
"Battleship rounds, if you can find any. 16-inch. We'll have to fill them with paint before she can blow any of ourselves up. And something nice for Agamemnon, if you can."
Her companion hummed, rolling her shoulders. "I'll see what we can do. Will Illustrious need anything?"
"Probably? I don't know what though, you'd have to ask."
Another considering 'hmm'. Those legs swung. "...She'll ask me herself, soon enough."
Resolution conceded the point.
They stood, reeling themselves in and rising smoothly upright on their own two feet. A short height and a thin frame. HMS Punjabi, Tribal-class destroyer, nodded. "Anything else?"
Resolution waved her off. "Nah, nah, everything's good otherwise. Your end?"
"No problems."
Resolution nodded, shrugging. Punjabi headed off, walking back to the Destroyer dormitories.
She sighed, savouring the crisp, cooling air, as dusk settled behind the Rock.
~*~
"-Anyway, we'll be seeing how you measure as a battleship today, that's why I'm supervising." Resolution slowed to a halt, stopping on the waves whilst Lion caught up. "You all loaded?"
"Yeah I-" Lion glanced back at the 'supply cache' parked aside the coastal road. "Paint, right?"
Resolution nodded. "Paint."
Lion… glanced back at the 'cache' again. "Why is it a-"
"Let me introduce you to someone." Resolution gestured quickly. An older woman in a battered, patchwork uniform cheerfully ambled over across the waves. "This is my assistant."
The older woman smiled happily, ashen-grey hair bouncing about her shoulders as she offered a hand. "Hello! You must be Lion!"
Lion blinked, taking the offered hand and shaking it uncertainly. "Ah- pleased to meet you, miss…?"
The grey, soot-stained woman bounced merrily on her heels. "Agamemnon!"
Lion nodded without recognition, glancing back at her. Resolution just shrugged her shoulders and gestured out toward the open waters. "She'll be helping us out for this exercise."
"Hmm?"
Agamemnon beamed. "I'm your target ship!"
Resolution caught the exact moment Lion's expression suddenly and hysterically froze, then immediately filed it away to laugh about it later. A quick signal flash had the unmarked van on the coast drive off back to wherever it was the destroyers were hiding it today.
"E-Eh?!" Lion was exclaiming, eloquently.
"Target ship?" Agamemnon's head tilted like a bird, pointing at her own chin. "Me. I'm a target ship." Her eager salute bounced off her forehead. "Shoot me, and improve!"
Lion's gaze lost its focus, staring into the middle distance like a deer stared into the oncoming rush of a certain African feline. Resolution assuredly did not giggle.
"You poor thing..." Agamemnon pouted. "Have you really never met a target ship before? I don't really remember you but surely-"
"Agamemnon, she's a paper vessel." Resolution transmitted privately.
"We've talked about this."
The target ship flushed, about-faced and immediately started flapping her raggedy sleeves. "A-Anyway! I'm- I'm going over there!"
And off she sailed.
Resolution shook her head, patting Lion on the shoulder. "We'll separate to a short distance and go from there – longer ranges, moving targets and so on. The usual practise."
Lion remained silent, watching after the departing target ship, as Resolution helped her sail the necessary distance.
Ah. Something clicked in the back of Resolution's mind. "Come to think of it- have you actually fired your guns?"
"Hm?" Lion blinked, head turning back to her.
"Your guns, the enemy," her hand waggled, "you ever fire your guns at the enemy?"
"Ah- er," Lion winced, "...no."
Resolution waited.
"It's er- too busy running at the time, and they had a carrier. Like, a proper carrier and a proper battleship. And
other ships." Lion's hands wrangled. "It, er. Didn't think it'd end too well."
Resolution hmm'd, looking back across the waters. Ah, Agamemnon was almost in position.
"You were probably right, honestly."
Resolution squinted across the distance, catching Lion untense out of the corner of her eye.
"A lone ship, unescorted, against a decent fleet – only sane option's to withdraw. Can't fight when dead, no?"
"R-Right."
Not to mention… Resolution really wouldn't want to be stuck in Lion's position. Against a proper battleship, outgunned; against a proper fleet carrier – hell, even most
escort carriers – out-flown. The most that could be expected of her was bullying cruisers, and even then the necessary avgas and munitions bunkers for flight ops had to leave her with one hell of a glass jaw if she ever closed the range. Like the limbs on a Tyrannosaurus Rex; the more she thought about it, the more those turrets she was teaching her to fight with felt very vestigial.
The sort of ship you'd leave to commerce raiding and convoy escort, if the Abyss had commerce to raid and the Royal Navy had convoys to escort. Failing that just left hunting the bloody uboats. Her, along with everyone else, their rusting mothers and every rickety little dinghy they could float and still strap a sonar onto. Fucking Atlantic.
Resolution sighed.
…And Lion's 'vestigial' turrets were
still a higher calibre than hers.
They came to a stop.
"Anyway, just…" she gestured across the waters, "take your time."
"R-Right." Lion stiffened up; straightened; took a deep breath. Tall, straight, proud.
"Shoot to kii~iill!" Agamemnon encouraged cheerfully, arms flapping up and down in the distance. Lion immediately gibbered.
"You're loaded with paint, remember." Resolution muttered. She watched Lion shiver, let out a breath. Saw her shake the tension out from her fingers and clench them into fists.
"...Right."
Turrets traversed. Barrels raised. Lion's two triple turrets swivelled about and found their targets. Lion herself… wavered.
It's like teaching a kitten to paw at a scratching post. Resolution stared.
"If you can't even shoot a target ship, how the devil will you shoot the Abyssals?"
"That-" Lion floundered, "that's
different."
"You're loaded with
paint, girl!"
"Do your bee~eest!" Agamemnon yelled encouragingly across the waters.
Lion twitched, recentred her guns, muttered something about shooting someone's grandma for some reason and-
B-BOOM
Y-Yep, Resolution felt her hull rattle,
16 inchers.
The ocean rippled away from them in waves, blasted by just the pressure. In the far distance, the sea erupted in a merry sploosh of watercolours; a great, painted geyser thrown up into the sky, cascading back down in a riotous torrent followed by a gentle, cascading mist.
"A little to the lee~eeft!" A perfectly dry Agamemnon called, leftwards. Lion grumbled some more.
"Don't fire every barrel at once." Resolution advised. "Fire one, see where it lands, fire another and so on. Get a feel for how long it takes to reload a single gun and pace your shots accordingly. Volley fire only when you're sure of course and range."
Lion nodded, grimacing. "Right."
Guns recentred. Barrels adjusted.
"Watch your hips too. We're not as stable firing platforms as we used to be."
Lion glanced over. "Rough seas?"
Resolution nodded grimly. "We bob like bloody corks. Rigging's stabilised sure but that'll only take you so far. Lucky us, that's mostly an Atlantic problem though, you ready to fire again?"
Lion nodded. Resolution gestured.
BOOM
Sploosh.
"Little to the riii~iight!"
Lion concentrated.
BOOM
Sploosh.
"Little short, almost there~!"
BOOM
…
Lion frowned. Smoke cleared.
Bobbing and wobbling in the distance, Agamemnon waved her arms up and down; raggedy sleeves flapping about, thoroughly sodden
.
"N-Nearly had me! Just a splash though!"
Lion groaned.
"You're doing really well~!"
Come to think of it, wasn't this how lions were supposed to hunt? First the old and infirm and all that? Sounded about right. Goodness, this one wasn't even trying to run!
BOOM
Sploosh.
"I'm sure you'll get her eventually."
It didn't quite help.
~*~
The sun shone, the birds sang and the Lion still did not float competently upon water.
"You had the hang of it when you first showed up." Resolution repeated, baffled. "You had the hang of it, you did fine." A point established, repeated, churned and chewed like yesterday's cud.
"You should not be this bad."
Lion, who most definitely did not resemble a wet kitten, glared. And dripped.
"You can even stand upright and
fire cannons-"
"-I don't get it either okay?!"
Lion glared, eyes bright for a few moments, before sinking down (figuratively) and muttering. The waves sloshed.
Resolution sighed, massaging her forehead. "Maybe it's instinctual or something..."
Hmm.
"Say, what
were you doing when you first showed up?"
"Er, like in the water?"
"Yeah, when you first- er-" couldn't quite call it 'summoned'- "
appeared."
Lion shrugged wetly. "Got confused a lot? It was, like, middle of the ocean."
Resolution nodded. "Big waves?"
Lion shuddered.
"Big waves."
Aye, in retrospect that wouldn't be the finest introduction to 'Surprise: Legs!' a shipgirl ever got graced by would it? Dumping an innocent, wide-eyed newborn in the middle of the
Atlantic was up there with that one time Illustrious talked George onto a trampoline in terms of imminent disasters.
…Warspite still hadn't forgiven them for that one either, come to think of it.
Still, if Lion was sailing competently
then, then...
Resolution pondered, tapping her chin. "Maybe you just need to be distracted?"
Lion blinked back damply. "Huh?"
She nodded authoritatively. "Wait here,"
stoke the boilers, turn the screws, "I'll be back shortly!"
"-Hey, -oi
wait-!"
"Just hang about a sec!" Resolution said, leaving an innocent, wide-eyed newborn in the middle of the Mediterranean. "Got an idea!"
~*~
Punjabi raised an eyebrow.
~*~
"Ehehe~..."
A giggling laugh. An open expanse of water. An innocent, wide-eyed cub abandoned upon the waves.
Agamemnon stroked the cannons with nostalgic reverence.
"Just how long has it been since I fired these I wonder…?"
"Um." Said Lion.
"So yeah," Resolution sipped her hip-flask, "you're gonna need to learn to move."
"
Um."
"It was instinctual back then, right? You ran away. It's the flight-or-fight response." Resolution nodded confidently. "We need to get you back into that prey mentality. When the rounds start flying, I'm sure you'll get the hang of it."
Lion stared blankly.
Agamemnon continued to giggle, staring softly into the gunmetal chrome. "Was it Goeben? Breslau? Did I sink them, I wonder…?"
Lion raised a shaky hand and pointed. "Why is she here?"
"I am here for no reason." Punjabi assured with placid authority. "There is no need for concern."
"You have a video camera."
"Yes." Punjabi agreed, watching the camera display with calmly rapt attention. "There is absolutely no reason for this."
Resolution clapped her hands. "Alright, when everyone's ready, starting positions." Nodded to Lion. "You really should stand up a bit."
"I'm sorry." Lion spoke blankly, "it must be my prey mentality."
Resolution laughed. "Well then," she readied her whistle,
"show them legs and run!"
~*~
"That's it, that's it!"
Shells splashed, cascades of paint, water, sea-foam and foul language. Lion
ran, feet crashing into water, actively
battering her way through the waves of the churning seas.
"That's the spirit!" Resolution yelled encouragingly, fighting to keep pace. Punjabi was just sailing gaily along without any trouble of course, camera as steady as a rock on water.
In the distance, a lone prey. Old, infirm and mostly harmless. Sailing merrily without a care in the world. Lion ran, crashing into waves, a full pelt predator's sprint… in exactly the opposite direction.
"If you see the water bursts, try sailing towards them!" Agamemnon broadcast across the waves, voice bright, merry and somehow sounding twenty years younger,
"It makes it easier on their gunners to- to- no wait! Opposite! Do the exact opposite of that!"
Lion, who
had been trailing left in accordance to Agamemnon's advice, suddenly lurched right again, nearly scraping the side of Resolution's hull as more paint rounds burst around them. Resolution grimaced as she fought through the turbulence.
"Sorry, sorry!" Agamemnon wailed,
"just I um- t-target ship?"
I'm going to have to review the destroyers' gunnery drills, aren't I? Resolution groused mentally.
Lion bashed and Lion battered through the waves, flared-front deck reflected in shoe-hulls that more-or-less punted their way through the water.
Still she kept flailing and stumbling, less a direct run and more one continuous, half-aborted faceplant skating at high speeds… and not at Lion's
design speed either, if Resolution was still able to keep up. Damn those unfamiliar limbs!
"Come on girl," Resolution barked, "are you a battleship or aren't y-"
Lion turned. The whistle of oncoming shell. The abrupt, desperate course change, turning two formerly parallel lines into an imminent collision.
For a beautiful, pristine moment, the surface of Lion's flight deck consumed the entirety of Resolution's vision.
BONK
Then it didn't.
~*~
Agamemnon startled as they came closer, staring at Resolution's face.
"Oh gosh- oh goodness did I hit you?!" She rushed on up pulling handkerchiefs out of her sleeve, "Oh gosh I'm so terribly sorry-"
"I'm fine Agamemnon."
"-must've hurt and- wait, how did you avoid all the paint?"
Resolution fended her off with one arm, other hand still clamping her nose. "I'm fine, Agamemnon."
Lion came in, exhausted and looking like a wrung-out tie-dye shirt haunted by the ghost of Jackson Pollock.
"Please sir, I don't want any more."
Punjabi casually zipped on by, clean, pristine and
still rolling that bloody camera.
"'ees fallen in the wah-tah~"
Resolution groaned. "Quiet, you." She stopped, took a deep breath through her no- took a deep breath through her
mouth, and sighed.
"You can sail now, right?"
Lion stared back, blankly dripping.
"...Let's just go home."
~*~
Illustrious raised an eyebrow.
"I'm not talking about it."
~*~
Vindictive raised
both eyebrows.
"I'm not talking about it."
~*~
Ajax raised both eyebrows, several signal flags and the stars in her eyes as she bounded over, mouth opening wide to ask a no-doubt veritable torrent of questions and-
"Go home."
-went home.
~*~
"Would you like the latest casualty reports?" Punjabi offered very innocently. Resolution took the offered folder with a dark scowl.
"
Are there any?"
"Nothing major." Punjabi momentarily flashed serious. Resolution nodded. Flicking through the folders… just the typical levels of maintenance and repairs along with the replacement for her battered fire controller. She rubbed her sore nose idly.
"Alright. Conclusions, everyone?"
Looks glanced about the table; HMSes Resolution, Punjabi, Proteus, Illustrious, Rooke and Vindictive in various appropriated seats in what would otherwise be the shared lounge area of the Destroyer's apartment building, a former and only marginally battered hotel block. A few folders and written reports were scattered about, but by and large the relevant paperwork remained aboard HMS Rooke, sat scowling at the walls with her concrete boots left contemptuously on the table.
Stone Frigates were always a little- shore establishments indoors could get a bit- Resolution just wasn't even going to
go there.
Illustrious tapped at the desk, the grey training carrier puffing her pipe idly.
"She's a helpless idiot."
Resolution winced.
"Doesn't know basic flight operation procedure." One tap. "Completely green pilots barely fit to take-off and land." Two taps. "Barely aware of her own rigging, machinery or spiritual nature." Three taps, and a nod at Resolution's busted nose. "Completely paper vessel. Blank sheet."
Resolution grimaced. Punjabi sipped a soda.
If that was the carrier side of things, it was probably her turn…
Resolution leaned forward onto the table, letting out a sigh. "Surprisingly decent shooting; I've certainly seen worse. Trying to get her
moving is-" she waffled a hand at her nose, "-
yeah. Otherwise, personally speaking… seems level headed, if greatly overwhelmed. She's not a
personality if you get my meaning."
The table held a chorus of sour grumbling.
"Though," Resolution had to admit, "as a carrier
and a battleship… supply? She'll need a lot of training materiel."
Punjabi set down her soda, shrugging. "That's manageable, we've been in worse situations. If she's staying here for the foreseeable future, the
Armada should be willing to provide. Failing that I can-" she frowned slightly, "I can try and negotiate with the French or Italians."
Walking up to a foreign fleet of shipgirls and asking 'Who wants to feed the British Lion?' had to be a
merry thought, didn't it?
"Otherwise," Punjabi returned to her spread of folders, "Gibraltar is in the usual condition, supply wise."
She pulled up a printed sheet with a conspicuous number of corrections in red ink. "Short ammunition for the cruisers, short torpedoes for the submarines, low supply of anti-aircraft shells. Our local fuel supply is low, but-" she flipped the page- "the Spanish have plenty stockpiled in Ferrol, Cartagena and Las Palmas; from Portugal, Lisbon and Porto. We can still maintain and project force on shore patrol."
Resolution nodded grimly. Technically, any spiritual vessel could resupply themselves in full – from fuel to aircraft to ammunition – by consuming vast quantities of food, but doing that for an entire fleet thereof was a good way to cause food shortages in the local area. Not the best route for popularity, that. Logistics vessels – of the spiritual kind – could convert regular human food into shipgirl scale fuel/parts/ammunition at a mildly insane rate of efficiency considering you were literally getting 15" shells out of hamburgers and sauerkraut. Resolution was spectacularly glad no-one was paying her to think about it too hard.
"Local shortage in aluminium, bauxite and airframes," Punjabi continued, "again, foreign supply available for shore patrol but not local activity or training." She nodded at Illustrious, who simply waved her pipe. "Reserves of maintenance equipment and scrap metal adequate per current expenditures." She paused. "Battleship shells in surplus."
Resolution declined to comment.
Punjabi dropped her report in favour of pulling an entire coastal map of the Mediterranean out from her redcoat, an action so inured none of them even blinked.
"As for the Abyss, Malta is storming back up
again," -the table collectively groaned- "and I've been hearing mixed reports of emissions from the Rock…?" She glanced questioningly at Illustrious.
"All's fine, says Barham." The carrier replied, frowning slightly.
Well, the Rock itself wasn't their responsibility. Resolution waved her on.
"Most Atlantic movements remain focused northwards on the Channel and the North and Celtic seas. Low expectation of attacks along the Spanish or Portuguese coasts, low expectations of attacks on Gibraltar from the west."
Patrolling the
African coast meanwhile was something the Marine Nationale had held onto by the teeth. Or maybe Britain just hadn't been bribed with enough bread. In any case, they weren't Resolution's official concern. They barely had the ships as it was.
"Official word from the Marine Nationale," Rooke suddenly spoke up, "interdiction operation on Mers El Kébir in the coming month, expected by spiritual forces only."
Punjabi visibly grimaced, then nodded and noted that down on the map. The Great European Shipgirl Grapevine – or as it was also known, 'very bored destroyers' and the inevitable submarine smuggling rings – never tended to mention that one if you sailed under the white ensign.
"I've also had rumours from the Italians that Toulon is storming again but," Punjabi could only shrug, "they
always say things like that."
Resolution frowned. "It
has been raining a lot there lately…"
If the Marine Nationale got distracted fighting to hold their own ports at Marseilles, then a potential Princess at Mers El Kébir would likely...
Resolution shivered. Illustrious watched her carefully, sat across the table, gaze heavy.
"I can ask the Soldati sisters to keep an eye on it," Punjabi promised, "but I doubt we'll get much from the French destroyers. They're starting to close lips."
"Can we trade any favours?"
Punjabi shrugged. "Can we trade any ships?"
Resolution grimaced. If they had more capitals – proper capitals – on station they could talk Darling into 'joint exercises' with the local French or Italian admirals in charge, but with just her and Illustrious around…
Lion existed, yes, but flinging
her at their allies and expecting a thank you note seemed a mite unwise.
"I can do another 'rounds, if you need me." Vindictive offered. Resolution nodded, mulling it; there was always that option. Repair Ships were the best way to repair and upgrade spiritual vessels, but back in the War they'd only been relevant to the oceanic powers not dealing with land invasions. Which in Europe made them near exclusively the domain of the Royal Navy. Smuggling out Vindictive to help foreign navies without letting Westminster carve its share would invite…
fuss, but they'd gotten away with it before with Portsmouth's clandestine grace. But all that was assuming they wouldn't need Vindictive
here, with a paper aviation battleship that could potentially remember how much of a disaster it was at any particular moment.
"Finally," Punjabi concluded, "there's the U-Boat activity, but nothing outside the normal there. Proteus?"
The eyepatch'd submarine grunted, sitting in regular clothes given the lack of need to be underwater. "Yeah, it's th' usual buggers. Had one near-miss with a returned VIIC got misidentified –
yes it's in the report – but tha's about it."
"And the Vic'?" Resolution asked.
Proteus shrugged. "German embassy? We dumped her in Lisbon, mate."
Fair enough.
"Alright then, that's the local situation." Resolution cricked her neck. "Finally… England?"
Now it was Vindictive's turn to grimace: "Warspite hasn't updated me yet-" and didn't
that paint a thousand words- "but it looks like the Channel storm's been blunted for now. Problem being, as always, it's kicked up all the slumbering Princesses up and down the coasts. Now they concentrating on beating them back down before they can set off Scapa Flow or do any more damage to the port cities. You know how it goes."
Resolution rather hoped she didn't, given the mayhem that had been the early months of the war. With time, experience and an expanded spiritual fleet, one had to think they'd have learned some lessons by now. England, being a collection of islands dotted with historic ports and crowned by the graveyard of the self-scuttled Imperial German High Seas Fleet, had something of a problem with Abyssal cascades, even whilst boasting the greatest success rate in summoning this side of the Atlantic.
She'd heard an American once compare it to whacking moles or somesuch, but it hadn't made sense at the time. They'd probably been talking about possums or something.
An entire theatre of the war managing to embody the phrase 'hurry up and wait'. Generally, England was quiet. Until suddenly it wasn't. Things were never severe enough to force a recall of all available assets, never light enough to disperse them, resulting in a continuous and unending tug-of-war between HNMB Portsmouth and Westminster; the vast, returning spiritual fleet of the Royal Navy about the only political 'currency' the Foreign Office had left to spend for an island nation dependent on food imports that had willingly cut itself out of the European market union. Bread for Boats indeed.
She groaned, momentarily feeling the full weight of an old, creaking iron hull worn with use. "Well, keep us informed, will you? We don't really have anyone we can spare, but…" Resolution shrugged helplessly. Vindictive gave a quiet nod.
"Punjabi, Proteus if you could both keep an ear out on the French Princesses?" The destroyer and submarine both nodded. "Supplies wise…" if surface trouble came to Gibraltar… "prioritise yourselves and carrier aircraft."
"Aye aye." Proteus saluted.
"We will." Punjabi confirmed. Illustrious didn't look
happy per se, but she nodded.
The Mediterranean was a French/Italian zone, at least amongst the military circles; under serious threat, they'd have to trust in their contemporaries in the Regia Marina and Marine Nationale. Christ she wanted to strangle those newspaper idiots calling them the 'British Bastion' in Gibraltar.
"In the mean time," Resolution considered, "until Blighty sends us more returnees to train up… Lion? Focus her training as a carrier or as a battleship?"
The table… glanced about itself, awkwardly.
Vindictive tilted her head. "You said she had better intuition when acting as a battleship, right?"
"Maybe as a shore emplacement." Punjabi sniped, droll. Rooke bounced a wad of paper off her forehead.
"The Italians..." Illustrious began hesitantly, "the Italians can always provide more battleships. We always need more spiritual aviation. I…" the carrier hung her head, shoulders slumping under the weight of what she knew she had to say next. "I will take responsibility for her training."
One eye cracked open, focusing down on Resolution with all the power of the impending migraine.
"But you will owe me."
Resolution winced.