War and Peace: A Pokémon meets Silent Service Fic.

Characters will be introduced by chapter of appearance.

Dramatis Personae

Crew of the Killifish

Chief Quartermaster Samuel Riggins, Chief of the Boat

Torpedoman's Mate Stanley Betts, After Torpedo Room LPO

Citizens of Kanto

Officer Jenny, Fuchsia City Police

Tony DiCamaro paused before heading forward to wake the captain. From behind the control room, heated voices were coming from the mess deck. DiCamaro moved to listen at the hatch.

"What do you mean, sea serpent?" an incredulous voice asked. "That's the craziest thing I've heard! Sea serpents don't even exist!"

A rather exasperated voice replied. "Listen, Harris, I know what I saw! We ran into that cloud thing and all of a sudden it's light outside, and then that thing appeared. Then Joey spots a ship and we're crash diving before I can look again!"

"Bullshit!" the first voice answered. "I don't think you know what you saw."

"Well, then what about the radio?" a third sailor asked. "We've been trying to raise Pearl for almost a day—nothing."

DiCamaro shook his head, not bothering to listen to more. He didn't have answers to their questions, nor did any of the officers for that matter. And speculating would only lead to even more rumors. Walking forward past the plot table, he squeezed through the watertight hatch into the forward passageway. The captain's stateroom was on the starboard side.

Knocking gently first, he softly drew the privacy curtain to the side. "Captain?"

Clarkson groaned and stretched; waking up from four hours' worth of sleep was something he had come to expect, but never enjoy. Opening his eyes, he looked up at the lieutenant. "What is it, Tony?"

"Sir, Lieutenant Millunzi reports that latest sounding puts us at the hundred-fathom curve," DiCamaro informed him. "Radar has range to land approximately fifteen miles, no surface contacts. Lieutenant Bennett requests your presence on the bridge."

Clarkson swung his legs out of his rack and sat up. "Any radio traffic over the fleet circuit?"

DiCamaro shook his head. "None, sir, though we're receiving a lot of AM channels over the entertainment sets. The XO hasn't let them be put out for the crew yet—he doesn't want to help the rumor mill any more than what's already been done."

The Killifish's captain nodded. "Probably the right thing to do. We can't keep them in the dark forever, though." He thought for a second. "Tell Mr. Bennett that I'll be on the bridge shortly."

The younger officer nodded. "Aye, sir," he replied before closing the curtain and heading aft.

Clarkson hastily straightened his khaki uniform—he tried not to sleep dressed, but sometimes the situation called for it—and grabbed his parka before sliding the stateroom curtain aside and heading aft. He passed Millunzi at the plotting table; the younger officer was frowning at the chart.

"What've you got, Dick?" Clarkson asked the navigator.

Millunzi looked up, his expression one of bewilderment. "Sir, based on the radar, the coastline we're approaching looks like Japan. But it isn't."

Clarkson frowned. "What do you mean?" he asked, looking more closely at the chart.

Millunzi pointed to the depth markings. "First of all, the water's too shallow. South of Tokyo Bay, we shouldn't hit six hundred feet for at least several more miles. It's a steep drop-off."

"We could be passing over some anomaly," Clarkson mused. "Our charts are less-than-perfect for this area."

The lieutenant shook his head. "No, sir. It's not just that. I've compared the radar points on the coast to the charts. The coastline features are similar, but there are too many differences for it to be the same land." He looked up at the captain. "This is my fourth patrol off the approaches to Tokyo Bay—second as a navigator—and I'd wager anything that what I saw on the scope wasn't Japan. It looks like it, but it isn't."

"Do you think you'll be able to use these charts for navigation, then?" Clarkson asked.

"Not accurately," Millunzi replied. "Maybe as a general guide, but that's it."

"Very well." Clarkson nodded, moving towards the ladder topside. "Keep me informed."

A cool sea breeze welcomed him as he climbed up onto the small bridge at the top of the conning tower. Harvey Bennett turned, hearing Clarkson come up, and offered him a steaming cup. "Morning, Robbie."

Clarkson gratefully accepted the coffee and took a sip. "Morning, Harve. What's going on?"

"Millunzi already tell you?" Bennett asked.

"About the charts?" Clarkson nodded. "Yeah. What do you think?"

"I'm not sure what to think," Bennett answered. "Either we're off Japan, or we're not. Millunzi could be mistaken, and the radar picture does look a lot like Japan. But then you have that sea monster, and the cruise ship, and a brightly lit city in the middle of a war zone. And those radio transmissions. What does it all add up to?"

Clarkson nodded. "Do you think maybe it's over?" he asked. "Maybe the Japs surrendered, and that's why the lights are back on. Maybe we can go home now."

"No," Bennett shook his head. "I don't think they would surrender yet. And if they had surrendered, we would be hearing about it from every radio in the world."

Clarkson didn't reply immediately, choosing instead to take another sip of his coffee. "There is the possibility that Watson was right," he mused. "That this is all some hallucination brought on by some secret Jap weapon. But I don't understand how our heads could make up this stuff."

The executive officer nodded and sipped from his own cup. "What do we do then, Robbie?" he asked.

Clarkson's expression hardened. "We play for keeps. We'll head in until we can determine that we're actually off Japan or until they send something out after us. Maybe we can flush a target, too."

"How close do you want to get?"

"Bring us in to under three miles from land," Clarkson ordered. "We'll see what that leads to."

888

The sun rose up from behind the Killifish, only gradually spreading its rays across the ocean to the distant land. Ahead of them, a great mountain rose up above the horizon, high into the air. On the water ahead, fishing boats and small pleasure craft danced across the water closer in to shore. Clarkson didn't pay too much attention to them, though—his binoculars were focused on the coastal city behind them.

"Doesn't look right," he commented. "It's like Millunzi said—close, but that's not what I've seen before. I have no idea where we are."

"What do we do, then?" Bennett asked. "What can we do?"

"We head in," Clarkson decided. "All the way. And figure out where we are. We get some charts, and see if we can find somebody to report to." He turned to the XO. "Station the maneuvering watch and take us in towards that port; maybe we can spark a reaction."

Bennett raised his binoculars to his eyes, seeking to double-check what he thought he had seen. "Maybe we have." He pointed off the bow with his free hand. "Look there, Robbie, about a mile distant."

Clarkson raised his own binoculars. "Looks like a couple of fast launches heading this way. Maybe port security, the markings look official. I don't see any obvious weapons."

The lieutenant turned to the older officer. "Battle stations?"

The Captain thought for a moment. "No," he said finally. "But get a crew ready on the twenty, and have Chief Riggins bring up some weapons from the small arms locker."

"Got it." Bennett grabbed the bridge communicator. "Control, bridge. Have the 20mm crew lay topside."

With the twenty-millimeter Oerlikon machine gun manned and ready, there was nothing to do but keep a close eye on the approaching motorboats and wait. With the sound of boots on metal, Sam Riggins emerged from the conning tower and joined them in their vigil, handing both officers .45 caliber handguns.

"We're going to play this one cool," Clarkson reminded them. "Hayes, Mecham," he said, addressing the machine gun crew, "keep that gun skyward except on my command."

The two motor launches cut across the bow of the submarine, slowing as they came alongside the larger vessel. Clarkson scanned his binoculars across the boat, studying each crewmember. About half of each crew looked Caucasian, with the rest a spattering of different ethnicities. On the bow of the first boat, a light-complexioned woman in an official-looking blue uniform was waving her arm, signaling at them to heave to.

Clarkson nodded. "All stop," he ordered into the bridge comm. He waved his hand in acknowledgement and hoisted the megaphone normally used for docking command. "Ahoy!"

Leaving the bridge to Bennett, he and Riggins clambered down the ladder near the rear of the conning tower, catching the lines tossed over from the first launch and securing them to the deck. Two crewers on the launch drew them in until the watercraft was along side.

"Ahoy!" Clarkson repeated. "How are you?"

The uniformed woman walked over; Clarkson noted the holstered revolver on her Sam Browne belt. "Who are you?" she asked. "What kind of ship is this? I've never seen anything like it."

Clarkson did a double-take at the woman's verdant hair, but her unaccented English was comforting. "Ah, this is this is the U.S. Navy vessel Killifish," he answered. "I'm the Captain, Robert Clarkson, and this is Samuel Riggins, one of the senior crew."

Her confused expression didn't change. "What's the U.S. Navy?" she asked.

Once again, Clarkson was at a loss for words. He exchanged a startled look with Riggins. If the woman didn't know what the United States Navy was, they obviously weren't in the Pacific—or the woman had been living under a rock for the past four years. However, given that few ports were overly friendly to foreign warships, perhaps he should just run with the opportunity.

"We're a survey vessel out of Pearl Harbor," he explained with meaningful glance to Riggins. "We do oceanographic research and map the sea floor. I'm afraid we've gotten a little lost, though, and we're trying to figure out where we are."

The woman broke her frown and smiled. "Okay. Well, you're about three miles out from Fuchsia City, in the Kanto region. Do you mind if I come aboard for a moment?"

"Sure." Clarkson nodded and extended a hand, helping her across the gap formed by the rounded ballast tank. "Watch yourself, there."

"I'm Officer Jenny with the Fuchsia Police," the woman informed him. "I'm sorry about the suspicion, but we thought you might have been raiders or someone from Team Rocket here to make trouble." At the sailor's quizzical look she elaborated. "Team Rocket is a big Pokémon gang that makes trouble. They occasionally go after ship leaving the harbor."

Clarkson resisted the impulse to grimace slightly. There was that 'pohkaymon' business again. However, he didn't want to raise suspicion by asking. "I'm sorry to hear that. Piracy is an ugly crime."

Jenny nodded. "Unfortunately, and it usually doesn't end well." Turning her head, she pointed to the deck gun mounted on the deck behind the conning tower. "What is that?"

The naval officer thought fast for an explanation for the 5in/25cal anti-ship weapon. "Well," he chuckled embarrassedly, "it's actually a cannon of sorts. We use it to launch oceanographic buoys out to sea, where our wake won't disturb them."

Jenny's smile didn't waver. "Makes sense. We don't have any survey ships here, so I don't know much about them, but I know that charting the water is important." She offered her hand. "Thank you for letting me come aboard. Is there anything I can help you with?"

"As a matter-of-fact, yes," Clarkson answered. "We've been at sea for some time now, and we would all like some rest. Plus, I need charts for the area. Do you have a place where we can anchor or dock? I'm afraid we don't have any regional currency, but we'd be able to trade or work off any cost."

"I think I can arrange something." Jenny nodded. "The public docks are available. We haven't been able to survey the harbor for awhile, so if you could do that, I think the city could call it even with you."

"Sounds like a deal." Clarkson shook her hand. "Our draft's about seven meters, will that be okay?"

"I think so." Jenny stepped back over to the motor launch. "Just follow us in."

Chief Riggins undid the lines holding the ships together as Clarkson climbed back up into the conning tower. "She says the land is called Kanto, and the city ahead is called Fuchsia. We're going to pull in; they have a dock for us. Ring up an ahead bell."

Bennett complied and soon the submarine was moving forward, following in the wake of the launch as it guided them in. The sun was rising high into the sky, and gulls were soaring overhead. It wasn't a sight either officer had expected to see for several more weeks.

Leaning against the side of the bridge, Bennett turned his head toward Clarkson. "Robbie, it just occurred to me: isn't Kanto a name for part of Japan?"

Clarkson tossed the name around in his head. "It does sound familiar, but I think we can both agree that this isn't Japan, given that we haven't been shot at." He chuckled.

"Even still…"

"I'm not going to worry about it," Clarkson said. "I don't think it could even be some kind of trick. There was absolutely no recognition in that woman's expression when I mentioned the Navy. None." He shook his head. "I don't think anyone could control themselves that much."

"Will it be safe to let the crew out tonight?" Bennett asked. "We can't keep them onboard forever, Robbie."

"I'm not sure. I want to send out a scouting team first, actually, to figure out this place a little more. We'll have to let them out soon, though—and fill them in."

Pulling into the harbor, both officers felt refreshed by the presence of life around them. After a month sailing across comparatively barren ocean, the busy activity of harbors reminded them that there was a world beyond. The port at Fuchsia City was no exception: lighters and tugs bustled across the water, and on the docks longshoremen loaded and unloaded docked ships.

The launch ahead led them steadily towards an open section of seawall next to what looked like a small park. With the expertise gained from long experience, Clarkson nestled the submarine against the seawall with a gentle touch and ordered lines passed over to the waiting dockworkers.

"Make down the bow line. Make down the stern line," Clarkson ordered. "Moored, shift colors."

He shared a relieved smile with Harvey Bennett. For better or worse, they were docked.

888

While Clarkson went ashore to speak to the longshoremen who had helped them dock, Bennett gathered the majority of the crew into the cramped mess deck, waiting for Clarkson to brief them on the events of the past two days. Klliifish's Captain returned to find an extremely curious crew waiting.

"The long and short of it is, we're not in the Pacific Ocean anymore," he told them. "We're docked in a place called Fuchsia City, in a country called Kanto. Neither is on our charts, but we're going to try to figure out where we are and how to get back home."

"Tonight, I'm going to go ashore and see if I can figure out some accommodations and find out more about the city, along with Lieutenant DiCamaro. Lieutenant Bennett will remain in command in my absence. Unfortunately, that means that you will have to remain aboard for the time being—" he paused to allow the collective groan to die down—"but rest assured that you will be getting more information and shore liberty as soon as I can make the arrangements."

"You are all free to go," he said. "We won't do any more maintenance for the rest of the day. And I need to speak with TM2 Betts."

The sailors dispersed, heading back to racks for well-earned sleep or to retrieve books or playing cards, except for Torpedoman Betts.

"Betts, we'd like you to come along with the shore party while we explore," Clarkson explained. "I want to hear your opinions, plus you can be the crew's spy for the time being."

The broad-shouldered petty officer cracked a smile. "I wouldn't mind the fresh air, sir," he replied.

"You're qualified on pistols, right?" Clarkson asked, surprising the young man.

"Yes, sir," he replied. "I was a pretty good shot before I joined the Navy to begin with. Are we going out armed?"

"Concealed forty-fives." Clarkson nodded. "I don't anticipate trouble, but I'm not going to be unprepared, either."

"Understood. When are we going ashore?"

"We'll step off in about thirty minutes," Clarkson told him. "Grab anything you need and meet me topside. Bring your pea coat, we might stay out late." The petty officer nodded and headed aft.

Thirty minutes later, the small group of explorers was ready to disembark. Clarkson turned at the gangway, saluted the flag at the stern, and took his first steps into the new country.

Feedback is always appreciated.

Regards, Taskforce