Schwerpunkt

A/N I do not not own RWBY. All people in this story are represented as accurately as I can and no disrespect is meant.

Also thank you Girl-of-action for Betaing

Ruby looked into the sky and thought about the beautiful stars that lined the heavens. Today was the start of her second semester at Beacon Academy, and despite the "best day ever" that she just had with her friends, Ruby was now in a contemplative mood.

"What is it sis?" Yang asked, observing her sister's sudden change of mood.

"Do you wonder if anything, or anyone is out there?" Ruby asked. "Other people I mean..."
"Well, scientifically speaking there are several theories that suggest that it could be possible" Weiss said, ever the knowledgeable one.

June merely look on, confused by Weiss's statement and a bit worried about the implication.

"Geez sis, why do you ask the hard questions?" Yang said half-jokingly. Becoming more serious (well, serious for Yang), she continued, "I don't know, but I doubt it matters to us either way."

"Yes, in the event that those theories are correct it would be almost impossible for something to happen. It is merely scientific conjecture at this point anyway." Weiss continued, "Besides if somehow a gate was opened between two worlds it would be almost impossible for something to come through. They would have to be at the exact right place at the exact right time."

June sighed in relief, "so in other words never going to happen."

"Yes June," Weiss said with a condescending smile, "never going to happen."

How wrong they were.

...

They were running.

They were running for their very lives, hoping against hope that their approaching foe could somehow be lost or shaken or perhaps just give up and go home. However that was not going to happen, and there was no way they were going to outrun their fate.

The blowers whooshed with the effort of keeping the 12 boilers, that powered the great vessel, provided with air. In turn the boilers gave power to the engines that pushed her along at her speeds of 30 knots, about 34 MPH- an impressive speed for the 50,000 ton behemoth that the ship was. The three great propellers that drove her knife like form though the sea shuddered with the effort of maintaining that speed, and the tireless efforts of her 103 officers and 1,900 sailors had been nothing short of heroic over the last few days. However, despite all of the efforts of both machine and man, the ship was going to die.

Her name was Bismarck, and this was her last day of her life on Earth.

Ernst Lindemann, Captain of the Bismarck, could only look out past the bow of the ship to where the coast of France, still far out of view, lay. It seemed so close, offering safety and protection, but all he would have to do was step out on the bridgewing and look behind his ship to put the lie to the hope that they could reach safety.

Behind him and coming up fast was the British fleet, and they wanted revenge for the loss of HMS Hood only a few days before. He could have outrun the battleships of the encroaching fleet, Bismarck was designed to undertake long operations alone and capable of outruning anything she could not outfight. However there was no way she could escape the cruisers that were coming up fast from behind, once they got into range he would face an impossible choice. He could keep withdrawing and engage them with only the two rear guns, a fight he would almost certainly lose, or turn and engage them with the full might of the eight, 15 inch guns at his command. If he tried that though he would never be able to defeat them and escape the battleships coming up from behind, and once they caught up to him it would only be a matter of time.

Fortunately he did not have to face the terrible choice alone. Admiral Günther Lütjens, overall commander of the operation stood on the bridge with him, looking out over relatively calm sea as well. Lindemann had not known what to think of the man at first; he had seemed overly careful at first and while Lindemann was not an ardent Nazi, he had been somewhat hesitant about Lütjens being one-fourth Jewish. Despite that he had come to respect his commanding officer in their time together, short though it may have been, and he had to admit that one of his regrets about his own imminent death would be the lost chance of learning more about the man with him. He was once again glad that he was in the Kriegsmarine and not the army, as the Kriegsmarine had basically been ignoring the orders to remove people with Jewish ancestry since Hitler came to power.

"Not that any of that matters now," he thought, looking out once again over the horizon. The bridge crew with him was very tense; they knew how desperate their situation was and were casting hopeful looks in both his and Lütjens direction.

"Well if they get any bright ideas I hope they tell me about it, the best I have is to keep running and hope for a squall to hide in, if we can just break line of sight and open the range…"

As if his words had summoned the event the bridge talker (the young officer in charge of keeping the bridge in contact with the other parts of the ship) suddenly stiffened.

"Sir, lookout reports say squall is forming about 8 kilometers out, two degrees off the port bow."

Lindemann immediately stepped forward to the bridge windows, while the battleshutters were down at the moment a small slit in the armor over the windows allowed him to see the squall beginning to form right were the lookout had said it would be.

While Lindemann was busying himself with this task of turning the ship towards the storm, Lütjens had stepped outside onto the port (left) bridgewing, when he returned to the bridge Lütjens strode over to Lindemann with his usual brisk manner.

"We will make the squall before the cruisers enter our effective range, but not by much."

Lindemann nodded, projecting an air of calm confidence for the men around him. However inside the news made him feel rather bleak. If they were that close already, it would not be long before even a squall as powerful as the one before them becomes incapable of hiding them from their pursuers.

As Bismarck approached the squall however, Lindemann began to feel nervous. There was something off about it, perhaps it was the way that it had formed so rapidly and come to such an intensity so quickly... Or perhaps it was the sickly green glow that emanated from the swirling rain and lightning above.

The bridge crew soon began to grow uneasy about entering the squall as well; a low muttering had broken out among the junior officers standing at their post. This was silenced however by a stern word from Lütjens, who unlike Lindemann was a strong disciplinarian. Lindermann at first had taken this quality to mean that Lütjens did not care much for his crew, but soon learned that Lütjens cared just as much for his crew as Lindermann himself did, he just had a different way of showing it.

At long last the bow of Bismarck plunged into the squall, quickly followed by the rest of her 823 foot form.

At first it seemed like a normal squall, if a bit more intense than Lindemann had expected. The intensity was a good thing though, it would better shield them from detection. Linderman was about to order a course change to throw off their pursuit when the thundering roar of the rain stopped. For a second all was strangely quiet, then the young helmsman gave a cry of alarm and stumbled back from his post, hands quivering. Lütjens began to snap at the man to return to his post, but stopped halfway through his reprimand, having at last seen what had frightened him so. Both Lütjens and Lindemann saw it at the same time. The rain had indeed stopped, but it had not gone away. The rain droplets hung there, suspended and unmoving, slowly splattering against the battleshutters as Bismarck sailed forward. No one moved or spoke for several long seconds. Then with a startling suddenness the propellers that moved the ship ran away, spinning free as if they had been removed from the water. The screws running away like that should only happen if the ship was pitching in a heavy sea and only for a second or two, but it continued on and on as the ship ceased its movement forward and came to a dead stop.

Lindemann and Lütjens raced onto the port bridgewing without a word and looked back towards the stern of the ship to find out what had happened. Lindemann could not speak for Lütjens, but what he saw was simultaneously the most beautiful and terrifying thing he had ever seen in his 47 years. The sea was gone. Below the ship, past the red paint that would normally mark the waterline and past the very bottom of his beloved Bismarck, all that could be seen was millions upon millions of small water droplets, suspended in midair. The mighty warship hung there above it in an otherworldly kaleidoscope of water and in that strange green fog from before, all unmoving. Around them and across the ship the cries of alarmed sailors were raised as men saw what had happened, and even the bravest among them were afraid. The three propellers wound down as engineering realized that something had gone very wrong and had shut down the propellers to prevent them from damaging themselves.

Lindemann tuned to Lütjens and tried to say something, but for once words escaped him. Lütjens looked over at him and shook his head slowly, confirming that he had no more idea about what was going on than Lindermann.

As the engines died a haunting silence gripped the ship, broken only by the cries of the surprised and terrified men. Looking below, Lindemann at last saw something. "Lütjens," he said pointing down. Below them and coming up fast was the sea, rising from the depths to meet their ship and accompanied by a growing thundering noise as the water raced upwards. Lütjens did not lose a second and looked back into the bridge. He showed with an urgency Lindemann had never heard from him as he said, "Sound the collision alarm and brace yourselves." Gong, Gong, Gong, went the alarm as men all around the ship grabbed onto anything they could find and prepared for an impact. Lindemann and Lütjens stood proudly on the bridgewing however; ready to face whatever came with dignity.

The expected violent impact never came. The sea rose almost gently up to meet them, with the Bismarck only slightly rocking as the water came up to her proper position around the ship. Lindemann could only stare at the newly returned sea in amazement. He was rudely jerked from his contemplation as with a mighty whoosh the rain finally remembered the force of gravity and came thundering back down on the ship. Both Lindermann and Lütjens beat a hasty retreat back to the bridge and shelter from the newly restored elements.

Lindemann was the first to regain control of the situation. No matter what oddities were happening with the weather or his very understanding of the world, he still had a ship and crew to save. With a calm voice he commanded, "All ahead flank, Rudder amidships; let's get out of the squall." It took a moment for the rest of the bridge detail to collect themselves, but within moments the ship was underway again.

Lindemann approached Lütjens and with a quiet voice asked, "Sir, have you ever seen or heard of something like that?"

Lütjens shook his head, "No, and never have I heard any sailor tale or story like it either. For now let us concentrate on getting out of the squall and away from the British. After that we can worry about what happened." With a nod and salute (the navy salute, not the one of Nazi party's), he returned to his station at the center of the bridge.

It was only a few minutes later that the fearsome squall broke. Bismarck surged out of it like the greyhound she was, water streaming off of her great bulk. Behind her, the sun beat down around the last remnants of the strange and terrifying storm as it collapsed in on itself. Lindemann looked to the talker, "I want a report on those cruisers now, we need to know how much space we have to work with." The talker nodded and set to work talking to the lookouts. It was only a few moments later that the talker looked up, confusion on his face. "Sir! The lookouts can't find the enemy cruisers, or the battleships for that matter… They say we are all alone."

Lütjens interjected, "Not possible- the squall was too small for us to be beyond their visual range. Even if they went off in the complete opposite direction, we would at least see their smoke."

"I'm sorry Sir," the talker replied nervously, "but we really are all alone." Lindemann looked at Lütjens, and just by each others expressions they both knew that they and their ship was possibly in more danger than she had been during the chase... Perhaps even more than when they had engaged the Hood at the Battle of the Denmark Strait. They both knew that something incredible, and for the moment unexplainable, had happened to their ship. And now they were all alone on a strange, iron gray sea.

A/N Dedicated to the crew of the battleship Bismarck. I hope you enjoyed, and as this is my first fanfic please let me know what you think.