Time passed, as it did. It usually did, and there were extremely few examples of when it didn't. The wounds against the harbor slowly healed, piece by piece. Once all of the debris had been removed, new material was brought back in. Obviously, the first priority was the repair of facilities and bringing the base back to one hundred percent efficiency. The grass would grow back, and the trees… would take a little longer.
Speaking of the trees, it was also realized that, despite being a military base, a little decor was important. Therefore, the construction of one treehouse for the little ships was greenlit. They already had a "permit" for it, but then neglected to supply any real supplies or laborers. They were just kids, after all.
Support for the treehouse was unilateral, and many volunteers came forward to sacrifice some of their leave time into it's creation. A massive willow that survived the raid was selected, and it wasn't long before plans were drafted. While some in the base were more matronly than others, all at least sympathized with the little ships. For people who constantly lived in others' rooms and watched others accomplish things, this place would exclusively be theirs. This project helped greatly in calming the surface-level outrage of the raid and channeling it into something that brought happiness. Overall, a good distraction.
Still, the vast majority of things in life break randomly, as opposed to being intentionally broken. In this case, one of the motors on Sheffield's forward turrets stopped working properly. She reported that the motor refused to run. A turret being down was serious business, so a work order was issued. However, this was unacceptable to Sheffield, as she didn't trust the bulins and the majuus even less after they'd incorrectly wired her air radar one time. She was very picky on everything being exactly where it was supposed to, and it was hard to blame her. However, she refused to work on herself, as it "felt weird", so it left few other options. Akashi and Vestal were busy, so it left one other person with an open schedule.
He often claimed he wasn't a fanatical grease monkey, despite most in the port saying he was some kind of miracle worker with a wrench. The only people who thought that were the ships, but they weren't exactly unbiased. The most experience he said he had was maintaining his car, simply because he needed to. However, to him, some fundamentals didn't change, just the scale. This is why he was belowdecks under one of Sheffield's main turrets, having long since replaced his uniform for a t-shirt. His head and arms were inside a panel, looking for anything broken.
Sheffield was there as well, but instead sat on a metal stool and watched her work. She wasn't much of a talker. While there was quite a lot going on behind the deadpan face, she tended to choose her words sparingly and carefully. At this moment, she chose to not speak at all. Instead, she just stared. As the commander took apart the motor, she slowly spaced out. She wasn't tired, just content to the point of sleepiness. Her heart slowed and her eyes grew heavy, as she drifted to sleep.
Dreams for Sheffield were never vivid. Unlike some in the fleet, she never had wild stories to tell after she woke up. They were usually simple, but with the usual surrealism of the imagination. She found herself standing on a dock, overlooking a bay. The place looked awfully familiar. She recognized it soon after as Fareham. It was a charming little borough, last she recalled. In a rare feat of self-awareness inside her own dreams, she wondered why she was here. The bay itself was beautiful even if the sky looked like it threatened to rain, but then again, that was the average weather for the kingdom.
When Sheffield turned around to explore the borough, she saw a cluster of workers in overalls equipped with various tools standing on the dock between her and the shore. In their hands were acetylene torches, crowbars, sledgehammers, and other things. Strangely, they all looked at her expectantly. Sheffield silently sized them up with the wind blowing stronger coming from the water. She eventually said, "Good day gentlemen, how may I-"
One of them pointed at her and said, "Old."
Sheffield, slightly stunned by the brashness, said, "I beg your pardon?"
Another said, "Obsolete."
Sheffield, still confused, retorted, "You seem to have the wrong-"
"Useless."
Now, her pride had been wounded. She said, "I'm sorry, but 'useless' isn't a word in Her Majesty's Nav-"
"Might make good on this. Just toss the rust in the rubbish, and she'll be good steel. Right lads, let's get to it." Those with torches turned them on and they all nonchalantly advanced up the dock like it was just any workday. Now Sheffield remembered who these men were. They were her final memories. Despite their casual posture, Sheffield suddenly made a defensive pose. She wouldn't let them take her, not now that she had something to say about it. She wondered what they meant by rust when she felt tired and looked down at her arm.
Covering her skin was a thickening layer of oxidization. She furiously scratched it off, but it was quickly replaced in less than a second. Red-brown flakes fell down from her hair, and she felt herself become slower and slower. This distraction gave the scrappers enough time to be right in front of Sheffield as she looked up, and one was already swinging his tool at her head.
Sheffield prided herself as a person without fear, and never without discipline. This is why she was surprised when the blindingly bright and hot blowtorch generated an alien feeling of panic within her. She tried to rationalize herself, but the feeling had no room for logic. She realized that she was undoubtedly terrified of that small flame. Before the worker could even connect, Sheffield swept under his legs and sent him prone on the dock. He was trampled over by his numberless coworkers. Being routed was a new experience for her, and she couldn't make it go away. Despite this, she remained calm on the surface in front of her adversaries.
As she backed up, she looked behind her and noticed that she was running out of dock. The men slowly advanced. A brave one would occasionally rush forward, but Sheffield would send him down or over the edge into the water. Each time, the mob wouldn't even break stride. Every second she felt more sluggish. Eventually, she ran out of dock, but for some reason, the water looked wrong. She didn't want to be on it. The mob drew closer, within inches, and Sheffield's arm reacted by itself.
She drew one of her guns, pointed in the air, and then fired a warning shot. The mob stopped immediately, and the only sound in the world was the shell casing hitting the dock boards. The silence was deafening, until she heard another similar sound hit the dock again. She looked down and saw another casing rolling on the boards as well. Suddenly, casings fell from the sky like rain. They landed in the water and disappeared as they also started covering the top of the dock. Behind her, she heard the voice of her commander say, "Hey."
She almost turned around, when the mob suddenly surged forward. She moved a step backward and fired her gun again, but stepped on a group of casings on the ground. They rolled under her feet and she fell backwards off the dock. She braced for an immersion in cold water, but instead felt hundreds of thousands of metal pieces. The water had been replaced with a sea of brass casings, with more falling from the sky. She heard her commander say, "Hey" again, but it came from above the clouds.
She attempted to tread, but the brass didn't act like water. Instead, she struggled to barely stay afloat, and couldn't stand on top of it. She'd only heard in passing of people falling into grain silos, and realized she was going to drown. She, a ship of Her Majesty's Navy, was going to drown in a shallow bay. Suddenly, she was deafening by her commander's voice yelling "Hey!", but this time it was much louder, like thunder. She felt a hand coming from inside the sea grab her shoulder.
She woke up.
Sheffield's eyes immediately opened wide and she put her hands on her holsters. This lasted for only a second before she returned to reality. Her commander was there in front of her, after he must've heard her make noises in her sleep. It seemed to be over, but sweat beaded up on her forehead. He grabbed a rag around his waist and tried to wipe some of it off. She immediately grabbed his wrist and held on with a grip so tight he flinched. He said, "I'm still here. Bad dream?"
She quietly said, "Yes, a dream. That's all it was."
"You wanna talk about it?"
"There's nothing to talk about. Simply a bad dream."
Her commander looked at her for a second, then withdrew his arm, returned inside the panel, and continued his work.
He knew. She could tell he knew, and that was why she loved him. This was unquestionable. She remembered being compared as equally possessive to the more emotional members of Azur Lane, but this was obvious hearsay. She wasn't like them, not in the slightest. They could try their shenanigans all they pleased, but if any tried to take him away… She ended that train of thought before she lost control of it. She returned to the situation at hand. Sheffield normally disliked idleness, but being worked on was an unexpected pleasure.
To lighten the mood and change the subject, she said, "I heard that during your visit to Sakura, there was a celebration of our victory near Colonia. I hope the Sakuran celebrations were not too disappointing, master."
"Yeah, they were… okay. I had a good time, except for the end. They dragged me through a parade. I had to smile and wave at the public, imagine that."
"Mortifying. Perish the thought. Did they give you anything for the victory?"
"Yeah, Akagi made me a protective charm. I don't really believe in that stuff, but I'll take anything. Yorktown gave me a gun, and that sounds just like her."
"Oh? What type?"
"I think it was a Python. I have it here. Have a look."
He handed the revolver to Sheffield and she immediately sighed. He looked at her with a confused expression and said, "What?"
"Master, I thought I taught you better than this. This is a Model 27, not a Python. The differences are quite obvious."
"Then why doesn't the resident expert tell them to me?"
"Well, to begin, the manufacturers are different. The barrel on this one is significantly lighter than on the Python. The sights-"
She continued on for a minute before finishing with, "-and while the Python has a tendency to mis-time, the Model 27 does not. It was most famously used by the late Union general George Patton, but take that as you will."
He laughed, sighed, and said, "Looks like the resident expert just flexed on me." Sheffield returned the weapon to it's owner, and had an almost-imperceptible smile on her face. She'd never needed to seek others for validation, but impressing them was always a good feeling. A thought then crossed her mind and she said, "I should hope you'll be at the concert this Tuesday, master."
"Wouldn't miss it for the world. I thought Akagi was your only bass. What are you guys doing without her?"
"Well, Albacore volunteered to bring her synth with a bass guitar program loaded. Hipper was put out by this, claiming that her role as lead guitar required… some sort of relationship with the bass. I suppose it exists, but I would bet twenty shillings she truly has no idea what she's on about, and is simply complaining."
"Yeah, that's like Hipper. That reminds me I have to meet her onboard Odin today after this. Still, I haven't heard too much news from the band. The last thing was when you… divided?"
Sheffield replied, "Not quite accurate. The band has a few instrument players, but an overwhelming number of prospective vocalists. This disparity reached to the point where we separated into the band as you know it, and an idol group, which simply sings to pre-recorded songs."
"Idol group? Is it a religious thing?"
"No... well… It's like a group of singers, but they're held to a higher standard than most other people. We have a public image."
"'We?' I thought you were in the band."
"I am, but I also consider myself an idol. Since my public image was already impeccable, the transition was simple."
The commander scoffed and said, "Oh, of course. Every famous person's got a flawless background… until they don't." He bent over, peeked out from under the panel, and looked directly at Sheffield. He stared for a second, then continued his work.
Sheffield wracked her brain for a moment of lapse that her commander had seen. She could only think of one, and it was a fairly compromising one. She said, "If you're thinking of the one I'm thinking of, I should hope my master is above such dirty things as blackmail."
"Nah, but that's my point. You don't want the celebrity lifestyle. As soon as you adopt it, one thing can send it all tumbling down. Plus, I think the whole "look, but don't touch" vibe just feels inhuman. Do you- Oh, son of a bitch!"
Sheffield raised one of her eyebrows and said, "That wasn't very idol-like behavior."
He continued, "The breaker tripped! I didn't need to do any of this, and it was right in front of me! Ugh."
There was a clicking noise, and he started putting everything he'd taken apart back together. He stopped for a moment, turned to Sheffield, and said, "Are you sure everything's fine? There's nothing going on that's giving you bad dreams?"
Sheffield looked at his face and had a small conflict of interest with herself. One part of her saw the expression of genuine concern and wanted to divulge her worries. The other part stood on the walls surrounding her heart and declared a constant reminder of what happened last time. Sheffield replied, "Nothing, really. I don't have nightmares."
That may or may not have been true, but she did have memories. She thought back to why everyone acted so strangely and apprehensive. She recalled the breaking point where it all came collapsing down.
Tensions had risen and rivalries became inconsolable. Then, they all snapped. The bad ones, anyway. They waged a three-way brawl between themselves and those who attempted to restore order, and the commander was in the middle of harm's way.
She remembered when harm eventually came to him. In the chaos of determining who was on what side, the "bad ones" had blitzed their way to him, pushed aside his defenders, and made a grab for him. The image in Sheffield's mind was perfectly clear as the day it happened. At first, he was just standing there, then the wall beside him exploded. Out of the debris stretched Roon's clawed grasping hand, but it failed in it's judgement of distance, and swiped across his side. After that, there was blood in the air, and her master, the person she was supposed to protect, fell. The ring of red around her vision was immediate.
Sheffield always maintained a professional and courteous demeanor. She was dedicated to her duty as a warship, but it was still a job. The line distinguishing business and passion blurred that day, and the same was true for everyone around her. As Vestal tended to the commander dealing with blood loss and the agony of betrayal, the goal was unilateral among his comrades: revenge. This had gone too far, and should've been caught a long time ago. In her opinion, the responsible perpetrators had simply lost living privileges. The admiralty swiftly came to a decision, with even the queen herself decreeing the incident to be "...treason of the highest order. It is an attack on a commanding officer and the chief executive officer of Azur Lane with intent to kill, and should absolutely be treated as such." While Sheffield would've been much more pithy with her words, she remembered being grimly satisfied with the simple order to seek and destroy.
After Roon had managed to escape, the Philippine sea was all but sifted for her, if one could aggressively sift. Azur Lane's members were professional, and very few ever came to moments of frothing-at-the-mouth rage(with the exception of a few in the old Axis and in the Parliament). The Royal Navy especially prided itself in it's cheeriness. However, upon word that Roon had made landfall on Samar Island, she remembered Illustrious' orders. They lacked the usual formality and pleasantries. Despite her… tonnage, she then performed a surprisingly sharp turn and then achieved a flank speed that Sheffield had to actually work to match. While Sheffield was a reasonable distance away from the carrier, she remembered seeing Illustrious shake. She couldn't tell if it was the propeller acting up again or something else. Intel came soon later that a Unioner detachment as well as the Filipino national guard had driven Roon back into waters near her.
When she spotted Roon on the horizon, she remembered a rare occurrence of a smile forcing itself across her face. As she looked through the binoculars, there was a moment of uneasiness as Roon looked directly back into her eyes from that distance away.
The battle was intense, with some air and destroyer support. The two ships weaved closer and closer until they were nearly yards away, and then the melee began. Sheffield strategically wanted to close to give her guns a better chance to penetrate Roon's obnoxiously thick armor, but the dominant reason was out of sheer desire for revenge. Roon was surprisingly fast, made up for Sheffield's skill with sheer ferocity, and made for an obnoxious opponent with her constant maniacal giggling.
Eventually, Sheffield's discipline and cold ruthlessness overcame Roon's frenzy. Sheffield remembered slamming the barrel of her gun into Roon's temple. She considered a witty one-liner for a send-off, but decided that the abomination in front of her wasn't worth it. She pulled the trigger halfway down, before hearing an order over the radio. Her master spoke one word, "Stop". Sheffield, in one of the only times in her life, considered treason. Roon evidently heard the order as well and raised her arms with a smug expression of victory. Sheffield wanted to end the psychopath's miserable existence there, but they weren't just orders. They were her master's orders. Channeling all of her willpower and conditioning, she drew the gun away from Roon's head.
Sheffield's curated list of regrets was extremely short, but that decision was on it.
Later, she was relieved beyond words to hear over the radio that all vital organs on her master were still intact. That hadn't stopped her from performing a particularly vicious strip and body cavity search on Roon, confiscating anything removable, jamming all ammo elevators, and cutting power to everywhere, but the bridge and engine rooms. It was like handcuffing someone, but instead just temporarily removing their arms. Same result; more security.
Back at base, she turned Roon over to the authorities, whoever they were. This event was somewhat unprecedented, but a solution was soon found. She remembered Tirpitz herself apologizing on behalf of the Iron Blood for this betrayal. Sheffield felt it wasn't enough, but the matter was out of her hands then. She also remembered Nagato being there, which was unusual. Nagato rarely left her home island, since she was supposed to be one of the Sakura's main pillars, or something of that nature. She spoke softly, but Sheffield remembered her convincing everyone that since Sakura were uninvolved, and as a gesture of goodwill, they would take in the traitor for "re-education". Sheffield knew that word, and she heard it many years ago. She remembered her master questioning it, but then she vividly remembered Nagato's words.
"No. We will need her as she is for the future. The madness we shall not touch, but the impudence, we can curtail. This may not amend things, but one less casualty for the sirens, no?"
All those in power there skeptically agreed. Sheffield thought it was, in her master more crude language: "bullshit", but wasn't her decision. Roon then disappeared for a few months, and Sheffield wondered if she was gone for good. She was disappointed to see Roon return, but… quieter.
Sheffield returned to the present and reality. Her master finished the last bolt, and apparently the work was done. A shame, since she'd secretly hoped it'd have been more time before he'd noticed the tripped breaker. She felt a little bad for intentionally taking work out of his day and pointing him in the wrong direction, but she enjoyed the company, and it was the only way to get it without saying the embarrassing "date" word.
He turned to look at her and said, "Well, I guess I'm done. Sandwiches?"
Sheffield pretended to consider it, and then said, "I accept."
"I'm feeling like bologna. Maybe with some mustard."
"Master, I thought we discussed heavily processed meats were beneath you. I cannot, in good faith as a maid, serve you such things. I will procure something more acceptable."
"It's just sandwiches. I can make those myself for the two of us."
Sheffield glared at him as if he stole her job, and said, "That's not how this works, master."
"Fine, okay."
[========================]
Admiral Hipper opened the panel to see the insides of the power transformer. It managed the power going from the island's main grid to the umbilical to the Odin construction project. The bulins and engineers had previously complained of brownouts, and blamed it on the transformer not being completely repaired. Hipper suggested as calmly as she could that, maybe, just maybe, the brownouts were coming from the capacitor tests for their fancy new "elektrokanonen". They went by railguns officially, but the power drain for them went from enormous to obnoxious as they became more ambitious with their tests. Hipper prided herself in her engineering skills, but not enough to start telling others all about it, because then they would annoyingly ask her to fix things for them. Unlike ships such as Vestal, she didn't have an infinite amount of patience. Actually, she had very little. She could be self-aware, too.
Her thought process was interrupted by the harbor announcement system blaring to life. The thing was so loud. She hoped the announcement would be brief.
Helena said through the speaker, "Attention all personnel. Since the beginning, we have never had an official name for ourselves, only unofficially referring to each other as 'shipgirls'. However, the results of last night's raffle are in. The winner goes to Sakura's 'Kansen', with 'Boat Bitches' being disqualified for obvious reasons. Kansen is what we are now, and we hope you're happy with it. Claims of fraud are to be brought up with cruiser London, with proof."
"Also, tonight's karaoke is scheduled for 1700 at the southern beach. Firearms and Celine Dion are still banned. That is all."
Kansen, huh? That was the admiralty, Hipper guessed. They were always changing names and making things more complicated, but rarely ever actually helping. She then heard footsteps coming up the road. She looked up from behind the door and saw her commander with a goofy look on his face and a sandwich in his hand. It looked like roast beef. Hipper checked her clock and said, "You're late."
He responded with, "Sandwich."
Sandwich? Sandwich?! What was that supposed to mean? How was that supposed to excuse him from wasting her precious time? Was he intentionally using some ridiculous answer to throw her off and insult her? She responded, "What are you even thinking? Are you thinking? Did you seriously believe that would excuse you? Do you have any brains rattling around in here?"
He looked down at the food in his hand and said, "No, but I do have this sandwich."
Hipper inhaled and buried her face in her hands. She thought for a moment and realized that she was trying to argue with an immovable object. She conceded and said, "There's mustard on your chin."
"Oh, thanks. Whatcha doing?"
"Well, I'm 'fixing' this transformer here. They've been complaining about brownouts onboard, but there's nothing wrong with this thing."
"Probably because they're testing weapons that require more power than the entire harbor's grid can handle."
"Exactly! See? You get it! Now go tell them that. They need to get the power plant up and running before they can continue, or we'll have breakers blowing all the time in the harbor."
"Yeah, Akashi went a little crazy. Thirty megawatts is a lot of power. Honestly, the eighty-megawatt lightning projector just makes me laugh."
Hipper's face incredulous. She said, "They've dumped their money into what?"
"Lightning projector. Something to do with lasers, ionized gas… It's a bunch of stuff I don't really understand, but Akashi says she can make it happen."
"A new ship isn't a plaything! Experiments tend to fail, and if you load a ship entirely with experimental weaponry and it breaks, you'll have nothing left to fight with! For a bunch of people who are supposed to be smart, they're all blockheads."
The commander was stalwart in his position, and replied, "There's a first time for everyone. Odin will include standard explosive-propelled secondaries. Look, even I watered a little at the mouth when DARPA told me their calculations saw her effective fire range starting at twenty mi-, uh thirty-two kilometers. I know they're very… optimistic over there, but if they're right, it could be big."
"Is that the only reason?"
"You're right. It isn't. That sheer velocity is also needed for something. Siren composite armor plating for Executor-class and up is so effective, that even our best AP shells can't completely penetrate without destroying the unit entirely. We just can't put enough power into a small enough package chemically, so we tried another route."
"Why? I thought we wanted AP shells to penetrate and then detonate inside. Isn't that the point?"
"Normally, yeah, but we want to just destroy the power plant. We're pretty confident on it's location and composition."
"Again, why?"
"Because sirens have an annoying tendency to self-destruct when crippled. Spectromatic readings point us to their power plant overloading. If we just remove the power plant before it has a chance to melt down, we'd get an explosion, but one not enough to destroy the siren entirely. To be fair, a bullet does a lot more damage exiting than entering, but this is the first time we've ever bet *on* siren armor."
"I can tell you right now, if the sirens use cubes like us, it won't be long before the cube destabilizes and then it's the same result!"
"That's where part two comes in."
"Oh, what now? Are you planning on just attaching a battery to it and hoping it doesn't drop dead?"
Her commander smiled and shrugged. He said, "Trial and error. We'll keep punching holes in sirens until it works. It's not like they're rare."
Hipper sighed and painfully said, "I'm surrounded by idiots."
"Nah, if you think that's stupid, you should've seen the proposal for reverse-engineering the siren's plasma weaponry. Imagine an incandescent death donut."
Hipper audibly facepalmed. Before she could speak, her commander continued, "Sometimes I wonder what we're doing, too." Hipper appreciated having an understanding CO, but constantly worried about the admiralty, their lofty goals, and their lack of grounding in reality. It was her commander's reassurances and Akashi's harebrained experiments occasionally working that kept her from believing the situation was Kummetz all over again. People were always being idiots. She often felt like it was Azur Lane and everybody else. At times, it was her and Azur Lane.
She completed her "work" on the transformer and shut the door. She looked at her commander and asked, "So wait, why are you even talking to me about this? Don't we have an inspection to do?"
He finished his sandwich and replied, "Yeah, but I just enjoy talking with you."
Hipper wished there was a hole to jump into, or at least a shovel to beat him over the head with. There was neither. Without some kind of physical vent, the emotions formed a feedback loop in her head. They were incomprehensible and infuriating. They made her weak, and she never was supposed to be. Nobody in Iron Blood should be. This was war, and they were all supposed to act like it. She wasn't supposed to want these things, and he should know that. Then, why did he keep doing and saying things that made her feel like this, and why was he so… pleasant? He didn't have to be. It was a waste, so why? She bottled it up like she'd done many times before and said, "If you're lonely, don't come looking for me." She turned around and walked toward the gangplank, trying to hide her warmed face.
On the way up, her commander asked, "What would you think if I grew a beard?"
Hipper snorted and said, "A beard? What for?"
"Well, you know I'm from the Union, and I can't remember any CNO's in the past few centuries that had beards."
"Do you need a reminder that you don't work for them anymore?"
"No, I know I'm under Azur Lane now-"
"Oh, I was worried you forgot."
"Alright, enough being obnoxious. Yeah, I know I'm Azur Lane now, but the hat's basically the same as a CNO. Point is, who's the last one you know of that had a decent beard?"
"Koester, Heinrich, Holtzendorff-"
"Wait, you skipped Tirpitz. Didn't he have a beard?"
"If I think about it, I think about the ship Tirpitz with a beard, and that… ugh."
They both laughed. Her commander continued and said, "Okay, I guess other nations appreciate one more than mine. Still, think I could pull one off?"
Hipper scoffed, "There's no way you'll ever beat theirs."
He shrugged and said, "Don't know if I don't try."
They both walked around the main deck and inspected the citadel and main batteries. The bulins and manjuus were hard at work. Hipper passingly inspected their work and occasionally spoke with them. When not around anyone, her commander quietly reminded her that she had a tendency to micromanage. Hipper defended herself by saying that they weren't doing things correctly, and it was just easier to do it quickly herself. This escalated into an argument.
"Hipper, there's no need to get defensive about it."
"How am I being defensive? They can learn by watching me."
"That's not how most people learn. It's important to give people the benefit of the doubt that they'll do things correctly, even when you're gone. Believe me, I've had to learn that, too."
"Then what am I supposed to do? Sit down, do nothing, and be useless?"
"If you take a step away and everything and everyone organized under you still works, you've achieved the ultimate goal of management."
"And then what?"
"I dunno, make something. Work on a project."
"Fine. I'll try."
They both continued belowdecks. Their first stop was the forward magazine, which was already half-stocked with ferromagnetic slugs. These were much more tightly packed than their explosive counterparts, primarily because they contained no explosive at all. In theory, their sheer velocity would do all the damage necessary. There was some talk on guided rounds, but this was turned down due to production costs and the rarity of electronics capable of surviving the initial launch. Up throughout the turret foundation ran an obnoxious amount of cabling. For every few cables there was a coolant pipe, considering the amount of heat they were predicted to generate. Hipper realized Odin's advanced thermal dissipation wasn't just for siren pulse munitions. Down replacing the powder handling room was an electrical trunk surrounded by capacitor banks. Both of them looked at the violet canisters in the middle of the trunk. Siren energy cells were only used to temporarily activate siren devices for loot and study. Because of this, Azur Lane had quite a few of them in storage. This was their first application in warfare. Their electrical storage capacity and voltage was ridiculous.
Hipper asked, "Why are we performing inspections so often?"
Her commander replied, "Because we can't mess this up."
"Why?"
"Because, every time we fail with the plan, we give the opportunity for the sirens to guess what we're doing. If they guess correctly, then they'll counter it, and our chance will be gone."
"A chance for what?"
"To win, to go home, to finally relax. I don't even want to kill them all. I just want them to go away and leave us alone."
"I agree."
Her commander turned to her with a rare look on his face. Hipper withdrew a little and said, "What's with that look?!"
"Are you saying you don't want to fight?"
"Of course I do! I'm a ship of war, and I'm destined to do so!"
"What if you win, and the war's over?"
"I… hadn't thought about it."
"You should. It'll probably give you something to fight for."
Hipper analyzed to figure out how he was attacking her this time, but she couldn't figure out how. Maybe he wasn't. There he was, being unprofessional again. Still, the thought stuck. She had her flowers, her tinkering, …and what else? She couldn't think of anything, but she had to say something or look like a clueless idiot. She retorted, "Do you ask everyone inane questions like these?"
He said, "I've been trying to recently. It's a personal project of mine, but life keeps getting in the way."
"Oh come on, there's way too many of us and we're all messed up. You already suck at being responsible, so why put even more on yourself? We can take care of ourselves, thank you very much!"
That stopped him. He kept walking in silence for a bit. Hipper internally made a tally mark of her first victory against his obnoxious aloofness. Now she'd really called him out, but she couldn't let the smile show.
He eventually said, "I have a scar on the side of my torso that proves otherwise. I think helping all of you is something that must be done, and I'm one of the very few people that can, so I should. I don't do it because I'm expecting a return. As long as you're all given a chance to be people, it's worth it. You're worth it."
Inside Hipper's mind, she calmly returned to the imaginary tally board and erased the new tally mark. Physically, she made a sudden about face and swiftly walked in the opposite direction. She heard her commander say in a concerned voice, "Are you fine? Did I say something offensive?"
"No! Restroom!"
"...Oh."
Hipper stormed down the halls, with little idea where her destination actually was. The aimless wandering only served to make her more upset, as she contained her outburst before she could get to somewhere private. She eventually found it, and threw open the hatch. The room was empty, containing no bulins or manjuus. Hipper was temporarily confused as to which one manjuus used, if any at all.
She slammed the stall door shut and then, as quietly as possible, had a nervous breakdown.
What did he want? What was his motive? Why was he this way? It drove Hipper up the wall, and then across the metaphorical ceiling for good measure. Everyone always had a reason for doing something, but what was his? He'd said his reasoning, but that never was the truth. Hipper knew that. Everyone was always trying to push or pull each other around, or just didn't care at all, like her sister. Just look at all the examples!
Roon would shoot her in the back. Deutschland would shoot her in the face. Bismarck and Scharnhorst would just overwhelm her with raw strength. Tirpitz would just look at her funny and she'd die. Gneisenau would be less direct and just "un-person" her logistically. The P-class would just giggle and bury her in shells. Friedrich would probably make her dance to death. Those were just the open ones. The others, especially the U-boats, kept to themselves.
So what was it? She felt like he was being so open that he must be mocking her. He had some kind of nefarious plan to screw her over. They always did! Hipper scraped at her hair in frustration, but nothing came of it. There was no way he was doing it for the reasons he said. It was impossible. Her inability to figure it out created a feedback loop of frustration, and her mouth threatened to make shrieking noises on it's own. She couldn't stop thinking about it either, adding even more to the consternation.
She felt that if she never figured out why he was being so… happy around her, she'd never find peace. However, she had to leave the bathroom soon, or he'd get suspicious. What to do? What to do?
[==================]
The harbor needed a dedicated chapel, such as a separate building. At least, that was what Saint Louis believed as she sat in the previously-unused room that now served a religious purpose. As one of the first of her kind to attain chaplain status in Azur Lane, she believed that, in order to perform her duties most effectively, she needed a space specifically for it. She'd seen some of the beautiful cathedrals dotted around Europe, and fancied herself one day being a part of(or God willing, running) a service in them. While prayer could be done at any time, there was a certain aesthetic and atmosphere to get in the proper and focused mood. The smell of incense, the sound of an organ or piano, and the sight of stained glass artwork and pulpit were all part of it.
However, she looked up from her homemade podium to rows of empty folding chairs, not pews. The doors were just standard commercial steel, and not inviting, yet also imposing, wood. The windows were colorless. The ceilings were the standard 2.7 meters, not impressively high, and held no chandeliers. Occasionally, the ventilation would turn on and it tended to be somewhat noisy.
All of these things were minor setbacks, but humility was holy. The room had survived the siren raid, so perhaps it was the protecting hand of God at work. The greatest missions were the ones that began from the ground up. She would have to spread the word of God to the others before great works could be erected in His name(Such as a chapel). Dedication inspired dedication. She looked down at her sermon and thought it to be good. She believed it was adequate for those that came. She wasn't exactly packing the house. There were few regulars, and she felt that most of the congregation were there out of curiosity or boredom. Creating a service time where most people were available was a nightmare in and of itself, but still, interest was already halfway. It was then her duty to guide them the rest of it.
She had to admit that it was difficult being faithful alone. She believed it was faith that would carry them through these troubling times, but it was difficult to say when the sirens shook her own faith. She felt like the chapel was more than an afterthought. She remembered the commander saying that Azur Lane was open to all religions, but she felt it hadn't been given enough attention. It couldn't have been a lack of faith on his part and she understood he couldn't show favoritism. Not that she was questioning. She was just… thinking. It was hard for her. Champagne, Terrible, Jeanne, and Richelieu did everything more elegantly. Even Béarn acted smoothly with her heretical arts. Saint Louis just… wasn't that subdued. She wielded a bible in one hand and a lance in the other. People at the harbor referred to her as inquisitor. She considered it a compliment at the time, and it took her almost half a year to realize they were joking.
Actions spoke louder than words, and while the words of God were vague at best, works dedicated in His name were tangible, undeniable, and absolute. It proved that faith could bring people together to perform actions previously thought impossible. Just look at Azur Lane. Through their faith, they converted the godless and pagan Axis powers. Well, the most optimistic look at it would be a very violent conversion. Tensions were still there, and she was reminded of something Eugen said to her the other day while performing a street corner sermon.
"I saw the light, twice. All it did was burn."
She was cheeky as always. Saint Louis had trouble remembering to pronounce her name "Oi-gen" instead of "Ew-gen". On some level, she somewhat related to Eugen. It was hard to maintain faith with such strife in the world, and witnessing such atrocities. It must be a struggle to deal with those memories. Saint Louis… didn't have any.
She stood up and walked to the door. A walk outside for some fresh air would clear her mind. She had a lot on it recently, ever since Richelieu declared that the next two months would be dedicated to the study of the book of Revelation. The emergence of the sirens certainly spurred many people to re-check their theological notes. To prophecise the Rapture was heretical. No man could know, except one, but God had claimed him long ago. Regardless, the temptation of speculation was there.
Before she could leave, her communicator rang. It appeared to be Richelieu on the other end of the line. Saint Louis(and everyone else) viewed her as the spiritual liege of Azur Lane, at least when it came to Christianity. Saint Louis believed this, but wondered in the back of her mind why Richelieu had done to earn it, if she earned it at all, and what rank it really was.
Saint Louis answered and a very matronly voice came through the other end.
"Peace be with you, Saint Louis."
"And also with you, Richelieu."
"I wanted to congratulate you on your ascension to the rank of chaplain. I knew my faith in you was founded."
"Thank you."
"It is a shame that there cannot be as much ceremony and formality with it. Azur Lane simply cannot be openly recognized by the Vatican."
"The Lord's work is it's own reward. It may be a blessing in disguise, as some of the more conservative members of the clergy may see us as beings created without the hand of God."
"But you are."
Saint Louis thought for a moment, then asked, "How?"
"Page one of Genesis, of course. 'So God created man in his own image, in the image of God created he him'."
"I… still do not understand. What does the appearance of man have to do with us?"
"The word 'image' is not to be taken literally. Man is the only being on the planet blessed with the wisdom to change the world around them, and more importantly, of creation. That 'image' is that blessing. Man subdued the earth, created machinations with complexity far beyond the capability of any other animal, and for the first time, has given it's own creations souls. Man said let us be and it was so, as was done to them long ago."
"That's… staggering. How could such a thing happen without an enormous, nay global, debate? Of all the things to be given such a blessing, why us? We are… far from stable."
"And so are they. Like children, their first steps are not the most stable, nor will they be likely to understand the depth of their actions, or even know what they have done at all. We must be patient and forgiving with them."
"Then what does that make the sirens?"
That was a hard question, and Richelieu had no answer to it. She instead said that was the reason she found herself reading Revelation more than any other book.
Saint Louis said, "Actually, I had another thing to talk about."
"Oh?"
"There has been some… talk around the harbor and beyond. I know only together can we overcome our enemies, and I certainly repeat that many times in my homilies, but there is some questioning of leadership."
"...Continue."
"I am telling you this in confidence, but you know the situation in command around Azur Lane. All of the nations of the world unified, united under one banner. On paper, this means that we answer to the nations' governments, but…"
"But what?"
"We all feel as if they do not understand what really is going on, how things truly are. Their commands seem disconnected. They also seem to be out for themselves, and have lost the original goal."
"Is there one who has stayed on the path?"
"If there was one, it would be the commander. He is also the only one I know of that has treated us as people, as souls, as you say."
"Does he know of this?"
"No, I would rather not be the voice of dissension."
Richelieu was quiet for a while, then said, "I understand the doubt. It certainly seems founded, and I will look into it myself, but we must stay unified and overlook some things. Turning around and questioning our leadership at this key point in time may cause us to flounder, or even fall. Regardless of our suspicions, they are noble people, and would not have been put into positions of power if they were not."
"But-"
"For the greater good, we must stay faithful to our leaders."
Saint Louis painfully replied, "I understand."
Richelieu concluded, "I know it may seem confusing, but that is how it must be. If you will excuse me, I have a patrol soon. May the Lord be with you."
"And also with you."
Click.
Saint Louis stood and muddled over the conversation. The conflict in her head had escalated from an argument to open warfare. This may have been the first time she felt… doubtful. For all the unnecessary chaos and division Martin Luther may have caused when he sparked the Protestant Reformation, Saint Louis related to him at the moment… slightly. She still recalled how all the Royal Navy obnoxiously referred to her as a "Papist".
She'd seen the video recording of Gascogne's call, and also heard of the various items that had been leaked. Even from the most forgiving standpoint, those designated by the UN to be in charge of Azur Lane… didn't really have any qualifications or reason to be there. Richelieu's point still stood.
Maybe in time Richelieu would come to see what was really going on. After all, she did say she'd investigate. In the meantime, Saint Louis wondered if she should instead push the idea of Azur Lane being allowed to run itself. She was blessed with the gift of free will, and why not exercise it? To squander such a gift would be disrespectful.
The homily needed some editing.
[=====================================]
Happy new year! My resolution is to dedicate myself more to this. I made a promise and I'm going to keep it.