Sidenote : Souvenir

While the Pacific Theater attracted the most attention, the Abyssal Fleet was a world-wide problem, and so too was the solution. This presented some significant problems, however, as old grudges and long-dormant tensions resurfaced- and that was merely amongst the diplomatic corps! In order to avoid turning the situation into a multi-front war, the Atlantic and Mediterranean were carved up into specific areas of operations, lest old adversaries meet one another once again and come to blows.

However, now that peace had broken out, the Admiralties of those countries participating in the Abyssal War were receiving requests from their shipgirls to meet others of their kind. At first, these requests were denied immediately- with the thinking being, freed of the lingering need to be battle-ready to handle the Abyssals, how could such a meeting not turn violent?

The Royal Navy was the first to become open to a diplomatic exchange, shortly after the beginning of football season, whereupon a busload of drunken Manchester United spectators happened upon Repulse, who was also somewhat intoxicated and on leave. A week later, investigators were still picking Ronnie Taylor's teeth out of the pavement, and no one had found the bus. And so, a "trial run" was held out in the middle of the North Sea, as far away from anything breakable as was possible.

From overly cautious to overly ambitious in one turn. Nice to see that things have yet to change overly much in my absence. The first to the meeting site was Bismark, arriving precisely five minutes ahead of the scheduled time. I suppose they figure if the three of us can come to an accord, then all is good. Fortunately, I packed appropriately for the occasion. Bismark set her luggage down beside her and nudged it with a toe to make sure the case didn't float away.

The second of the three queens of the sea arrived a minute later, and caused Bismark to bark out a laugh. "What, did you think I wouldn't remember you?"

"No, that's not it," replied Hood, from the depths of the hooded jacket pulled tightly about herself. "I've been stationed at Gibraltar the last six months, it's bloody cold out here!"

"Very well, so long as you're not expecting me to dress in a pastry any time soon."

"No, I'd rather expect you'd be chasing your own tail in that case."

"Hah!" Bismark chuckled. "What a sorry situation that was. I wonder, honestly, which is worse- to be struck down in a flash and arrive in the hereafter ahead of your wits, or be stuck waiting for the end to come?"

"Waiting," said a third voice. "As I had not intended to keep the two of you. I have arrived at the appropriate time, yes?"

"No, you have the time right, Richileau, we just arrived early." Hood grinned."I trust you've had a more interesting time of it than your last go around?"

"Indeed I have. Likewise, you must have had a less interesting time of it, since you aren't broken in half and laying on the bottom."

"Roger that, though it was close a few times. Bloody Wo-class and those screechy little buggers they use for dive bombers. What?" Hood asked, seeing the dirty looks she was getting from two directions.

"I believe the expression is 'welcome to the club'." Richileau replied. "At least we didn't have to face your ridiculous wind-up toy biplanes this time."

"Hey, it wasn't my fault the Admiralty decided to poke you two with the pointy sticks! Although, speaking of, anybody else feel like having a word with the staff when they get home? I mean, I don't intend to hold a grudge if you lot don't, but this does seem a bit much for a first try." This got nods all around, but it also caused Bismark to pull out her Pocket Guide- actually a small-form tablet, it came pre-loaded with a copy of "While You Were Away: A Concise Guide to the 20th Century and the New Millennium". The title never failed to get a scoff from Bismark, but for the moment the need to make sure she had her information right was more pressing. "While you were away" is the content of a phone call that came while you were at lunch, not rusting on the bottom of the Atlantic for 70-some years! Aha, here it is . . .

"While we're on the subject of the home office, there's the matter of this 'Channel Tunnel'. I have to ask, do your governments have shit for brains, or did somebody lose a bet?"

"It seemed like a good idea at the time," Richileau supplied.

"So did attacking Russia."

"Yes, well, my opinion wasn't solicited for either venture. Besides, it isn't as though anyone is going to be fool enough to send an invasion force through it."

"It'd be like trying to suck a lime up a straw," Hood agreed. "I must say I'm a bit surprised, I wasn't expecting you to crack jokes about . . . well, you know."

"What else can I do? I cannot escape the circumstances which created me. I can only hope to find an honorable cause to serve."

"You know, I almost wish the Abyssals were still around, so we could lay waste to them and take score. I would propose a contest match, but I would hate to put the two of you in the baths."

"You mean all three of us, Richileau, unless you've hit upon a way to punch out a battleship without getting bloodied in return."

"I have indeed . . . They're called torpedo bombers."

"Besides, if your fleets were as beholden to the bean-counters as mine, you'd get approval for a short shoot-up than a long patrol cruise involving three battleships. 'Ist verschwenderisch!' became the refrain at port whenever I asked for sufficient support to get the job done."

"Tell me about it." Hood rolled her eyes. "You'd think the home office would remember they live on an island, but alas, they seemed plenty willing to lose the war, so long as we did so thriftily."

"We might have a problem," Richileau announced. "We're being watched."

"By whom?" Bismark flexed her fingers- if the Abyssals had come calling somehow, tearing off a piece of their equipment might be the only way to fight free.

"A small boat, a few hundred meters away."

"Bloody paparazzi! Hardest working lot in the country, but only when there's something awful to see."

"If they expect to see a violent end to this meeting, then honor demands a singular course of action." Bismark retrieved her case and flipped the latches.

"Uh, Bissie, tell me that's not . . ?" Hood grimaced, but then she got a look inside the case. It wasn't the start of a duel, but quart bottles of beer instead.

"I would have preferred wine, you know." Richileau said, but without heat.

"And I would have preferred not to hear a comment about the quality of German wines. In any case, this is a special brew I personally commissioned, with a potency appropriate to our statures."

"Most commendable," Richileau replied, after taking a sip and noting the strength. "Perhaps I shall have to embark on a similar project back home. In any case, I think we can all say this has been a successful voyage. Not only have we avoided any sort of international incident-"

"Ooh, mebbe not," Hood butted in, and to their horror, her counterparts noticed the empty bottle in her hand. "Depends on who's sailing that boat." With a giggle, Hood shrugged off her coat, exposing the rangefinders on her epaulets. "Here, have a souvenir, ya bastard!" she cried, hurling the bottle in a high arc before the others had a chance to work out her plan and restrain her arms.

Bismark and Richileau turned and sighted in on the boat and realized what was about to happen with a mixture of dread and some amusement. To be fair, it would be a stretch to expect a photographer to understand the intricacies of naval gunnery, but without a radio connection, the others could only look up at the falling bottle and share a wince as their gun directors gave them a glimpse into the near future, then look back down in time to see the man's camera get bashed out of his hands and tumble into the water.

"I see your aim has improved," Bismark quipped.