Originally titled 'On Her Majesty's Hochseeflotte', rewritten.
About twenty four miles west of Glasgow, in Argyll and Bute Council Area, dropped by God right on the edge of the island of Great Britain where the Irish Sea passed the Isle of Arran and joined the mouth of the Clyde River, was where you'd find Gare Loch, a large body of water that sat between the Rosneath Peninsula and the main Scottish highland, creating a finger-like extension that extended from Clyde Estuary to the Faslane Bay.
At the east bank of this Loch the small town of Helensburgh and the village of Garelochhead could be located. Sitting side by side like an old married couple, they overlooked the perpetually green hills that lined the edge of the Gare Loch, providing it with great viewing points along the coastline that constantly attracted middle income tourists, military enthusiasts, and foreign spies yearly from across the world, who could then bring their luxury yachts and/or camera drones to the port of Rhu somewhere in the vicinity of Helensburgh-Garelochhead border to brave the calm sea in those precious windows of opportunity when the stereotypical British weather did not insist on ruining everyone's day.
Since the railway had only arrived in Garelochhead in 1894 en route from Glasgow to Crianlarich and Fort William, both Garelochhead and Helensburgh came a bit late to embrace the ideas of the industrial revolution, and it showed even through the middle of the twenty first century. Buildings like Colquhoun Square and the Hill House of Helensburgh, eternally looking like they were just one lightning strike away from being assaulted by a large mob of peasants wielding torches and pitchforks, today worked full time as tourist attractions, making them the second greatest income earner of the region.
The residents of this area were peaceful people, and lived a life that some folks, especially those from the big cities, might consider as idyllic. The overall atmosphere felt anachronistic, like somebody just took a Victorian-era English hamlet and dumped it in the middle of internet-age Scotland. Masonry houses were lined with fibre-optic cables, cars parked alongside horses that were about to be brought to the Colgrain Equestrian Centre, and children played catch with Nintendo strapped on their belts.
This kind of condition often made the people living here to simply forget the fact that they're basically sitting on Her Majesty's weapons of mass destruction, and maybe they preferred it that way.
If you're to approach the area from the south, on the right side of the road you'd find the Faslane Peace Camp, a collection of gaudily painted makeshift shacks sitting in the middle of a dense forest, made from scrap woods and rusty old motor vehicles of many descriptions. For years this camp had been the host for numerous college students and other sympathizers with various educational degrees and equally varied levels of self-worth and idealistic delusions to gather and communally call on the government for owning a rather significant number of evil nuclear missiles. The camp had been empty for exactly two years to the day now.
It was very hard to cling to the idea of peace when your life was directly threatened.
Unfortunately for everyone involved in international politics, constantly trying to stop the world from being set ablaze in nuclear fire, nowadays it's clear that the doom of civilization would likely not come from the decision of a few ponces in central London, nor would it be the result of the Russians trying to regain some modicum of self-respect after the 1991 fiasco, and neither do the Americans, to the surprise of everybody on Earth, were likely to be responsible for the would be end of the world as we knew it. In fact, the only group of people that could have possibly predicted the current scenario were probably too much into Lovecraftian horror to have been considered sane.
"Blimey, why do those things have so many tentacles?" Lieutenant-Commander Honor whispered as she put down the day's newspaper provided by the inn next to her plate of price-jacked coleslaw.
The front-page was almost entirely dominated by a single large picture taken on what Honor could only suspect to be a rough sea, given the lack of focus. But it still clearly showed one of the German 'ship ladies', likely a destroyer, being attacked by a squishy-looking black orb with numerous cephalopodic tentacles coming out of it.
At the background Honor could see another ship girl, also a destroyer, coming in at full speed to render aid to the distressed German ship. Her rigging looked just as blurry as the rest of the picture, but Honor still could barely recognize the sight of a dual-mounted quick firing 4,7 inch cannons, so it's probably a British J-class.
The headline, printed in a giant font seemingly designed to be viewed via satellite, said;
WORKING TOGETHER! OLD GRUDGES FORGOTTEN IN FAVOUR OF PROTECTING WHAT THEY HOLD DEAR
"Charming."
Honor put down her fork and knife next to her half finished meal and switched her attention to her cup of steaming black tea. The bartender had tried to offer her a glass of draught beer, but she really didn't need to get pissed this early when she's likely about to conduct an important business meeting in just a few minutes. She drank the tea slowly, letting the sedative effect gently washed down the remnant of the hundreds glasses of coffee she drank while she was at sea.
Honor audibly exhaled. The inn her friend had chosen as their meeting place was excellent. If the majority of the world population weren't being constantly threatened by slow, horrible death via deep sea horrors, she might consider going here more often.
A few miles south of Garelochhead Primary School and well north of the Faslane Naval Base, The Anchor Inn sat idly on the eastern side of the road as an unassuming white building standing right next to the post office. However, inside this rustic looking building you would find one of the best places to stay in the entirety of Scotland.
Being so close to the location of one of the Royal Navy's most ancient naval bases, The Anchor Inn had proudly hung to its naval aesthetic since 1888. The mostly wooden interior made the patron feel as if they were inside a first rate ship-of-the-line, although with considerably more head space. The ancient looking gigantic anchor and chain hanging on the ceiling, of which the inn may or may not had taken their name from, helped adding to the atmosphere of tradition, reminding the people drinking here that even in the age of sails, their ancestors also got pissed like a bunch of retarded gibbons.
Honor was currently sitting in the corner of a well-furnished room on the ground floor that the inn had designated as a pub, away from the entrance and most of the other patrons. Honor had managed to grab the attention of most of the eyes there when she entered the establishment due to her rather...unusual stature, but now they all seemed to have gotten used to her and quickly went back to their drinks. The place itself was mostly empty, which Honor found surprising, considering that the Faslane, or more officially, HMNB Clyde, was currently in the process of boosting up the number of their personnel to nearly 14.000 men and women, almost doubling from its peacetime number of 7000 people. When all of the required bureaucracies were finished, the military population on the coast of Gare loch would outnumber the civilian population by quite a wide margin, especially following the mass exodus from coastal cities around the globe.
Normally this would mean thriving business for the entertainment and leisure industry catering to stressed soldiers, however, the number of actual patrons sitting in the room with Honor suggested that this was not the case. Maybe the slower, more quaint kinds of recreation such as visiting a traditional inn from the mid-eighteenth century were simply unable to satisfy the often time constricted needs of Her Majesty's sailors in this time of total war. Either that, or Honor had simply come in a slow day.
Nevertheless, currently Honor could only see two men in the entire room that she could in any way recognise as 'military'. Ratings, judging by their uniform. They're considerably older than the typical young people that made up the flood of new recruits gained by the navy in the outbreak of the Abyssal War, and based on the fact that they're speaking so familiarly in Scottish Gaelic with the bartender, Honor speculated that they used to be locals, trying to sink in nostalgia and regained some sense of normalcy in a world going mad.
The two of them were speaking quite loudly, maybe a bit louder than they would have if they were to realize that there was an out-of-uniform officer in the same room as them. However, Honor could tell from experience that they, just like the rest of the other customers, were not speaking loudly in joy. They smiled, they chatted, and they drank, but only to temporarily forget the possible doom of mankind.
Honor could sympathise, but still she refused to be depressed, even as her mind involuntarily wondered if this would be the last bowl of coleslaw she's going to eat before Britain's agricultural sectors got bombed to hell and all seaborne imports ceased. She relaxed her body, slumping herself down into the overstuffed long seat which really did nothing to make her seemed shorter, and closed her eyes.
She steered her mind towards her happier memories, to her childhood home in Vickerstown, where she liked to stroll along the streets of Mikasa, Vengeance, and Juno as both of her parents worked in the Barrow shipyard. She relived her first time away from her parents as they were suddenly assigned to a branch office in Sweden, which prompted them to send her to the beautiful green fields of South West England to attend a boarding school in Bryanston, Dorset, where most of the senior students were a head shorter than she was.
She remembered her rebel phase, punching bullies with fists that were larger than their faces, writing comedy pieces on the 24-hours notice board, and generally trying her hardest to waste 36.000 pounds per year worth of education, which, as she was later reminded, was third the value of her family house back in Vickerstown, per year.
She also remembered the 'Role of Honour', the names of all the school alumni who had died while in military service since before The Great War, worked into a solid stone slab attached to the front of the main house of the school. This, combined with the history of her hometown and the influence of a certain member of her family, inspired her to join the navy, and after a few years in Cambridge to satisfy her parents she finally enlisted.
She remembered her training, how she smiled as she proved herself not only an equal but the better of her peers. She remembered her unbridled happiness after finally being assigned command of a small depot ship, letting her sailed the seas far away for the first time. She remembered how she picked up various languages and dialects in various ports across the globe. She remembered her professionally concealed joy when they promoted her into a corvette, her first proper warship. She also remembered her feeling of perpetual mild disappointment knowing that she was born when the era of great naval battles had ended.
Well, be careful what you wished for, right?
"Looking a bit blue there, big girl." Honor's eyes flicked open, blinking a couple times before their owner finally directed them to the person who was speaking to her. "Do not salute, do not call me 'Dame' nor 'Ma'am', and scoot over."
Admiral Dame Linda Harrington DCB, DSO, First Sea Lord and Chief of Naval Staff, and the person Honor was waiting for, suddenly appeared at the side of Honor's table. She's wearing a civilian outfit, a tweed jacket and a loose trousers combined with a knitted cap, all in dull colours, plus a tinted spectacles as a disguise. But her pale wrinkled skin and the few strands of errant white hairs poking out through the loose threads of her cap were familiar enough for Honor to recognize.
The admiral apparently had also brought two friends with her, none of which Honor recognised. They're both tall girls, possibly taller than Honor, something Honor had rarely seen. One of them was a frail looking, long haired young blonde, wearing a one-piece dress that seemed to have been taken out of the closet of somebody's dead grandma, complete with an eye-scratching flower motif. She's standing a bit slouched, as if she's afraid the ceiling was about to fall on her, and her eyes were constantly darting around the place seemingly looking for an escape route.
The other girl was a dark skinned girl with shoulder length hair in colour that reminded Honor of frozen lava, and if Honour limited experience sailing around the mediterranean could be trusted, she was of Turkish descent. She wore black ribbed sweater and tight jeans, complimented by black trainer shoes. Honor also noticed that she was holding tightly to the upper arm of the former girl, preventing her from escaping.
"Good morning, Auntie Lynn." greeted Honor, using the pet name she had been using since her childhood. She dragged her food and drink with her to the side, barely making enough space for the admiral to sit. "I thought you said it's only going to be the two of us?"
"I said it's two of us and some assets." Auntie Lynn said, taking her seat while signalling to the other girls to sit across the table. The dark haired girl basically shoved the other one down onto the seat near the wall, blocking her escape.
"Please, Erin, be nice. Remember, she's our ally." berated the admiral.
Assets..? wait, did she just say Erin?
"You are battleships." Honor said.
"Perspective as always, Jade." commented Auntie Lynn, using Honor's first name.
"I assume you recognized Erin from the news?" asked the admiral.
"Aye, her trial was broadcasted internationally." answered Honor, before turning her attention towards the Resadiye-class battleship. "How's Hague?"
"Beautiful, but I'd rather not go there ever again." Erin said, and as if to actively show her true allegiance, she spoke those words in clear and proper received pronunciation, almost as if she came right out of Mayfair. "Too many bad memories."
"I think I can understand that."
People often forgot that soldiers were one of the most vulnerable group to politics, and the very concept of 'ship-girls' was often politically problematic.
When a ship-girl was summoned, she would occasionally bring with her a stonking amount of old political baggages. Strings of old treaties, agreements and other seeds of conflicts long forgotten suddenly brought to present times, instantly making the ship in question the centre of a high profile international dispute as every country with even the slightest connection to said ship desperately tried to gain possession of the only weapons capable of even damaging the greatest threat ever faced by mankind.
HMS Erin was at first built by Vickers at the request of the Ottoman Empire by the name of Resadiye just prior to the Great War, alongside the battleship Sultan Osman I, later to be named HMS Agincourt. Fearing the increasing closeness of the Ottomans to the German Empire, the British government basically seized the two fully paid dreadnoughts, captured the Ottoman crew members arriving to take the ships and basically kicked them out of the country, then drafted the two modern battleships into the Royal Navy, leaving the Ottoman Navy with a single old cruiser, a bunch of insignificant destroyers, and a significantly emptier wallet with nothing to show for it.
This unfortunately resulted in a self-fulfilling prophecy. Rightfully feeling a bit miffed about the British cuckolding them from modernising their navy and after the German Empire offered the cruiser Breslau and the battlecruiser Goeben for the use of the Ottoman Navy, the Ottomans joined the Central Power and became a thorn in the Allies side all the way to the end of the war, no matter how much the British tried to drown them with the bodies of dead Australians.
After the ship-girl version of HMS Erin was summoned in the Royal Navy facility in Devonport, introducing herself as Erin in English and explicitly claimed to be a loyal subject of the King (she needed to be told about the current monarch), the government of Turkey, rather tactlessly, tried to claim ownership of 'Resadiye'. Fortunately, The UK being UK and Turkey being Turkey, the UK had a significantly stronger claim for the ship. However, Turkey's increasing influence in the Middle East in the beginning phase of the Abyssal War allowed them to bring the case to the International Court of Justice, where the trial went on for weeks before it ended in favour of the United Kingdom. Meanwhile Dover got bombed to hell courtesy of eldritch naval cannons.
"It was frustrating, to be stuck far away while you know that your home was being set on fire..."
"Sounds horrible." Honor sympathised.
"I've never even been to the Mediterranean, why would they think I would just...they're not even the one who paid for me!" Erin poured her heart out, getting louder with each word and scaring the life out of the blonde girl sitting beside her. Auntie Lynn raised her hand, calming the steaming battleship.
"Sorry." Erin sighed.
With Erin calmed, Auntie Lynn turned towards Honor. "Jade, we need to talk."
"Obviously." remarked Honor. "We barely contacted each other ever since I joined the service. When you suddenly wanted to meet incognito, I suspected that you either had something important to talk about, or you're just being sentimental, and with our condition nowadays the latter seemed unlikely."
Auntie Lynn grinned, the same grin she showed to Honor many years ago when she convinced Honor to help her 'improve' Mr. Honor's birthday cake.
"Hey, the apocalypse is no reason to stop having fun with the family."
"But professionalism is?"
"I am the bloody First Sea Lord, I can't have favourites. Besides, accusation of nepotism would only hinder your stellar performance. Though..." the admiral mulled. "If I am to get out of my way slightly, I can have you be a Captain by the end of the year..."
"Please don't joke like that, the walls have ears, you're endangering your career."
"Aww, that's so sweet. Don't worry, I've swept this place before you came in. plus, check this out."
Auntie Lynn raised a hand above her head and waved, and to Honor's dread, all of the patrons in the room waved back at her.
"My guys." Auntie Lynn grinned wider. "Bought this inn secretly years ago. It's been very useful. Best purchase in my life."
So that's why the place was so empty. Honor had no doubt that the sign outside probably immediately turned to CLOSED the moment she entered through the door.
"Shite." cursed Honor. "You're going to bring me into something questionably legal, aren't you?"
Auntie Lynn's grin widened, if that's even possible.
"Nope. I'm going to bring you into something definitely illegal."
Well, cock.
"I'll give you 3 minutes to explain before I storm out of the door. Anyone standing in my way will get smacked." Honor raised her voice, putting emphasis on the last part and secretly felt satisfied when she saw two relatively burly men actually flinched.
"Steady on, you violent gene-freak of a woman." Auntie Lynn said, actually putting on a serious face this time. "The reason I've called you here is actually somewhat related with Erin's case."
Honor leaned down towards the table, holding herself in a more comfortable position on her crossed elbows. Now she looked more like a hill instead of a tree.
"Okay, I'm listening."
The admiral began talking.
"The case of Erin was certainly quite high profile for its kind, but it's by far not the first. You remember the Soviet case?"
Of course Honor remembered. It was probably the most prolonged and epic case of such nature yet recorded since the beginning of the Abyssal War.
It started with the Hibiki, one of the first ship-girls ever summoned. Given to the Soviet Union by Japan at the end of the second World War, Hibiki was renamed Verniy, and later Dekabrist, and served the Soviet faithfully (pun not intended) until the 1970, more than a match for her service time in the Imperial Japanese Navy. Unlike Erin, Hibiki/Verniy/Dekabrist actually experienced a form of identity crisis, responding to each name with equal frequency. This, of course, complicated the settlement process of Japan-Russia dispute. At first, the Russian Federation seemed to have the edge in the negotiation, citing Japan's article nine of the constitution claiming that Japan was not supposed to have such weapon in the first place, and suggesting that all of Japan's ship-girls, or kanmusu as they called them, be handed to the control of the UN…
…but then other Soviet destroyers started showing up, and 'The International Court of Justice' almost got renamed as 'The International Court of Raging Arseholes' as every ex-Soviet country with as much as a Kiddie Pool sent out its own highly aggressive diplomats to try to lay claim on them, including the Hibiki. Normally such claims would have no merits in the face of the mighty Russian Federation, but time was desperate, and desperate nations could fight surprisingly hard.
So far, only Hibiki's case got resolved in favour of Japan, while currently most of the Soviet ships were still stuck in a state of uncertain limbo, leaving most of the Arctic minimally defended and taking out a good part of the international trade system as the Abyssal ships freely roamed the freezing sea.
"Of course I remember. For a year I actually had a reason to turn on the telly other than Doctor Who."
Auntie Lynn chuckled half heartedly.
"Yeah, we're getting into something bigger than that."
Honor suddenly started considering going through with her threat to just storm through the door.
"Well, now I'm scared." Honor said sarcastically. "Chivvy on, out with it."
Auntie Lynn sighed.
"Alright, lass, the truth is there's a small chance that some powerful governments are about to act like they collectively have cracked bollocks in a fortnight because that..." the admiral pointed at the blonde girl who had been silent for the entire conversation. "...is König."
Honor raises an eyebrow.
"Gobshite. That König?"
"Precisely. Just arrived last month in Faslane"
The girl in question raised her hand slightly above the table and gave a weak wave.
"G...good morning." she said, with seemingly great difficulty and a very audible accent. Definitely not a native speaker.
Honor slowly turned her questioning look from the girl to her Auntie Lynn, and looking at the admiral's expression, Honor immediately deducted that there's more to this than a single German battleship, and Honor thought she knew what it was. Ship-girls often got summoned in bulk, generally in accordance to their historical divisions or squadrons.
"How many?" asked Honor, slowly.
"All of them, lass."
Crikey.
"What about those that did not sink?"
"Oh, they're here, too."
Honor lightly bit on her lower lip as her brain slowly digested the information.
König was one of the ships that were scuttled in Scapa Flow at the end of the Great War. She was part of a fleet consisting the entire surface navy of the German Empire.
After the negotiation that ended with the formation of the Compiègne Armistice was finished, practically ending the first world war, the Allies immediately started trying to decide what to do with the Imperial German Navy. Designed by the Kaiser himself to match the might of the Royal Navy and were relatively untouched during the mostly land-based war, the remnants of the High Seas Fleet were considered one of the biggest assets of the defeated Germany that were to be shared among the victors of the war, and until said victors could finish their bickering and set up the condition to trigger the next world war, these German ships were to be interned at the temporary Royal Navy base in Scapa Flow, in Orkney Islands, off the northernmost part of Scotland. But only after the neutral countries of Spain and Norway had, for some unfathomable reason, refused to temporarily host and maintain a giant death fleet.
Manned by German skeleton crews and escorted by the majority of the British Grand Fleet, making them one of the largest and heaviest armed naval convoys in history, the High Seas Fleet safely arrived and anchored on the sea near Orkney Islands. However, the skeleton crews were feeling a bit iffy after losing the war, and they were led by a rather patriotic chap called Ludwig von Reuter, who'd rather see her girls sank rather than being shared among his enemies like some cheap whores. The Royal Navy, probably trusting the honour of their newly defeated foe a bit too much, only gave the interned fleet a minimum amount of security, and Mister Reuter immediately used that chance to become the first naval officer to be granted a promotion for losing an entire fleet. He ordered his crew to re-hoist the naval ensign of the Imperial German Navy, and to basically open everything that could be opened inside of every ship in his command, all ten battleships, five battlecruisers, eight cruisers, and more than fifty destroyers of them.
"Well, tits." Honor said.
"Just peachy, isn't it?" Auntie Lynn smiled weakly.
There's one obvious question to be asked in this situation, though Honor didn't even dare to think that the answer would be anywhere near simple.
"Can't we just give them all back to the Germans?"
Auntie Lynn nodded.
"That would be ideal, aye, and we've already informed Germany of everything, but I don't believe that could happen if we're to suddenly announce their existence to the world."
"We're keeping them a secret, then?"
"Only temporarily. Think about it. With the amount of Abyssal attacks and the rate ship-girls are being summoned, no country today actually has anything more than just adequate for protecting their own coastlines. Even America and Japan currently only have a handful of ships, and they were the two strongest fleets in the world back then. This is the largest amount of ships anyone has ever summoned in a single session. Any country that could get their hands on them would be at worst doubling the effective strength of their navy."
"...and they would try to get their hands on them, that I can guarantee." Erin said, sounding a bit bitter.
"Any of the Great War Allies probably would have a claim, and if the desperate Russia started getting involved, it could turn into a bigger version of the Soviet case."
Honor rubbed her chin, thinking of her next response. This would be a big issue politically, that was certain. But even then the action of the First Sea Lord seemed a bit excessive.
"Seeing such a large fleet grounded due to political bickering while the civilian death toll continued to rise would be tragic, but I don't see how this would require setting up an elaborate secret meeting straight out of the writing of Tom Clancy."
"Honestly this would probably come closer to Fleming than Clancy." commented Auntie Lynn.
"Oh, do I get a secret underground base?" Honor said cheekily.
"Yes, maybe."
"What."
"We haven't decided on that yet. Maybe it would be under an orphanage. I'll get back to you on that. First, the important bit..." The admiral said as she reached for her pocket.
"I actually consider the fact that you didn't even sound like you were joking as a pretty important bit, mind."
"As I've said, be back to you on that. First, this."
Auntie Lynn pulled up a stack of photographs from her pocket and gently put one on the table. It's taken by a reconnaissance satellite, by the looks of it.
"You know what this is?"
For the untrained eyes, it may looked like just a small patch of black on the middle of a white sheet, but as someone that was always up to date on the latest military intelligence, Honor could immediately recognize it.
"Aye, the abyssal base in the north pole."
"Rightly. This was taken 6 months ago. Now this..."
Auntie Lynn took out another picture from the stack and placed it on the table. It looked identical to the first picture.
"This was three months ago."
Honor nodded, and the admiral took out yet another picture. One that's almost completely black. "This was last week."
"Uh-oh."
"Indeed, they're building up forces. But that's not the bad news yet."
Honor cleared her throat, steeling herself.
"Alrighty then, bring it."
Auntie Lynn smirked as she took out yet another photograph, depicting an aerial view of a muscular, hairless creature with the gait of a great ape. It was probably gigantic, though the ice field gave nothing to reference. But the most interesting thing to look in the picture was definitely the series of giant cannons attached to the creature's back.
"This is a picture that was taken by an American drone before it was shot down." explained Auntie Lynn. "From its movement and appearance, and from the data collected from firing a single cruise missile at it, our analysts have deducted that this is a new Abyssal unit designed for ground assault."
Honor felt her heart sank to her stomach.
"You mean they're about to attack us directly? No more trying to starve us by naval blockade and bombardment?"
"That's a highly likely scenario. I'm going to give you a chance to drink your tea before I continue."
"There's still more?"
"Unfortunately."
Honor immediately drank the rest of her now cold tea in a single gulp.
"Okay, I'm good."
"From the observation of the enemy submarines' and other recon vessels' movements, we're assured that their target for the initial staging ground will be either Britain or Western Europe, more specifically Germany, with a small chance of an enemy effort to establish a foothold in Scandinavia."
When the name of her fatherland was mentioned, König immediately started looking distressed, biting her nails into the table and curling her lips.
"Okay, I'm not good." Honor said.
Auntie Lynn ignored that comment.
"This is where the High Seas Fleet becomes critical. With the discreet support of our carriers, the fleet should be enough to stop and push back the enemy offensive."
"Should?"
"It must. Otherwise we'd be right buggered. Ship-girls can't operate on land. We'd literally have nothing to fight them with if they're ever to succeed."
Honor moved on his seat, straightening her back to a more dignified position. It helped her calmed down.
"Do our allies know of this? Will they send ships?"
Auntie Lynn shook her head.
"No, we've asked, but the enemy skirmishes have been intensifying for the last couple of weeks, likely in preparation for this massive assault. Our allies, and ourselves for that matter, are completely bogged down, which makes it even more likely that someone would try to take custody of our German friend here if they found out about her."
Said German friend currently had her head down, looking completely miserable.
Honor slowly massaged her temple with one of her massive hand.
"So, what's my role in this?" Honor asked, completely exasperated.
Auntie Lynn quickly went back to her trademarked playful grin.
"Well, Miss Honor, how would you like being in command of a ship-girl fleet?"
Honor took a moment to process the admiral's unexpected request, tilting her head.
"I'm flattered, but I'm just a Lieutenant Commander."
"...and you're exactly the right rank! You're a person the Navy can afford to 'disappear' for some time without anybody asking too many questions!" Auntie Lynn responded, complete with an air quote.
"How charming that the Navy thinks so highly of me." Honor said with not a tiny bit of sarcasm. "But how about her? Would she follow orders from a Briton?"
Honor pointed at König, which made a surprised flinch after her existence was suddenly recognized.
"I...I..."
Auntie Lynn interrupted before the stuttering battleship could finish."Well, you're not going to have complete control, mind. We've managed to make a deal with Germany. In exchange of keeping the fleet a secret they've agreed to create an unofficial joint task force with us. You'd be sharing the command of the High Seas Fleet with a German officer, while maintaining a full authority over all British ships we're going to send your way."
Honor sat still, looking silently as she tried to comprehend the words of her aunt-by-blood.
"This means the ships could still operate, protecting the Northern Atlantic without being held back by politics."
"Correct."
"This would be a top secret operation, I assume?"
"It will. We've already got everything set up. All we need now is to pick a good commander, and we've already decided on you. It's just that I like to take this matter personally when it involves a family."
A secret base would indeed be useful. For example, if Agincourt ever to show up and the Turkish government reacted, the Navy could discreetly send her away, still fully combat effective and a functional naval asset. Hell, they could declare Erin as sunk and did the same thing, if the situation ever called for it.
But still, it seemed like her aunt had to search a bit more for a commander.
"I'm sorry, but no."
The admiral looked surprised. "I did not expect that. Why?"
"Well, I'm a soldier, not a politician, and the last time we tried this kind of subterfuge we started the Arab-Israeli Conflict and the Suez Canal Crisis, among others." Honor explained. "Also being subtle isn't really my thing."
Auntie Lynn smiled. "I think you're perfect. I'm sure it'll work out."
"And I'm sure that'd be someone's last words if we're to accidentally steer our planet into a black hole. I'm sorry auntie, but I must refuse."
Honor stood up. With the top of her head barely below the ceiling, she completely dwarfed the still seated admiral.
All the men in the room suddenly stood up too, ready to stop her if they were ordered. Honor curled her fingers into fists, ready for a good old Scottish pub toss up.
Suddenly, she felt a soft hand on her fist. Honor looked down, and although her view was somewhat hindered by her own considerable bust, she still could clearly see König reaching out across the table, looking up towards Honor with big, teary blue eyes.
"Please." she said, with a whimpering voice that touched the conscience more than a bag of crushed kittens. "Don't go."
Honor felt her knees weakening, and she slumped back onto her seat, still holding on to the huge yet frail looking hand of the old German dreadnought.
"I...I want to...I want to say..." König stuttered.
"Take your time, lass. I don't think my friend here could bite you even if she wanted to." Auntie Lynn encouraged the battleship.
Let alone bite, Honor actually found it difficult to open her mouth now.
"I...I want to say sorry." König continued. "We...we both had our part of evil, and our conflict back then scarred the earth so badly that even in a thousand years, it will still be remembered as the worst tragedy in history. We had hurt you and you had hurt us, and I remember it all better than you do..." König paused, probably translating her mind into English.
"It was over, yet we did not take our defeat as gracefully as we should, and had acted like...sore losers. It was humiliating." König looked down in shame, hiding her eyes from view with her long hair. She swallowed and wiped her eyes, and when she finally resumed eye contact with Honor, she's no longer a frail, confused woman, but a warrior with determination clearly visible on her face.
"But now I know how leftover grudges, even from back then, could lead to further and worse evil. Let us do it differently this time, Commander. Lead us, and we shall fight with courage. Lead us as we embrace victories and endure tragedies. Lead us, and we shall protect your people as we do our own."
König tightened her grip on Honor's hand.
"Lead us, and command the terrible might of the Hochseeflotte. Command us, and I promise you that the steel of our hulls and the fire inside us will not rest until no single patch of land, both yours and ours, is under threat from the abomination that is our enemy."
König finished her speech, yet Honor found herself unable to find any word to respond. She sat on her seat in silence, observed by multiple pairs of eyes including from the men standing ready to stop her from reaching the door.
Finally, Honor turned to face her aunt.
"Well, I'm speechless. You brought her here just for this, didn't you?"
"She can be very persuasive at times." Auntie Lynn smirked. "It's technically an order anyway, even if unofficial, so you wouldn't be able to refuse in the first place."
'Oi go shite out a fucking breeze block, ya buggered blighty', was what Honor wanted to say, but she refrained.
"What should I tell the family?"
The admiral turned to her men.
"Sit down, men. You're not getting smacked today."
The men in the room got back on their seats, then the admiral turned to face Honor. "Tell them the truth, that you have to go for a couple of months for Navy business, and that you can't tell them the details but there's a small chance that you won't be coming back."
"How encouraging."
"I know them. They'll understand."
As the two officers spoke, König watched them with a questioning look.
"Do...does this mean you agree?" asked König.
"Aye." answered Honor immediately, and König's face immediately brightened.
"T...Thank you!"
"Don't mention it. I've never been able to refuse a cute girl."
"I know." said Auntie Lynn, looking proud of herself
"Ah..."
Honor had never seen a battleship blushed before.
"Well, if you agree, then I guess we're done here."
Auntie Lynn stood up, followed by Erin.
"I'll send you all the tidbits the day after tomorrow, including your new identity and a one way plane ticket."
Ticket?
"Wait, where am I going to, exactly?"
The admiral stopped.
"Oh, right. I haven't told you, have I?"
Honor was certain that her aunt forgot that on purpose.
"Well, other than the Germans we've also made a deal with Norway."
"What."
"They have the best strategic position for our operation, and the most directly threatened by the upcoming assault. Hope you've been brushing up on your Norwegian."
"You definitely did not tell me about this."
Auntie Lynn shrugged.
"Eh, I'm sure you'll adapt. Anyway, cheers!"
...and the admiral started walking towards the door.
"Come on, you." Erin grabbed König's arm with perhaps a little more force than was necessary.
"Ah…Auf Wiedersehen...I mean, goodbye!"
Auf Wiedersehen, an old German way to say 'goodbye'. Nobody in Germany actually said that anymore, but maybe it suited König's age.
"you can open up again, Jim." Auntie Lynn said to the bartender. "Free drinks on me for anyone who wants to stay."
Auntie Lynn left the premise followed by the cheers of all the 'patrons', and then by Erin and König.
As Erin dragged the German battleship through the door, König turned and waved towards Honor with her free hand.
"Wir sehen uns!" she shouted, smiling widely.
See you later.
"Schönen Tag." whispered Honor as the two battleships disappeared behind the door, leaving her sitting alone at her table, mulling about the massive chance of this decision to bite her in the arse.
"I am a bellend."