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Disclaimer: I don't own Azur Lane or any other properties I make references to.
"The only thing that ever really frightened me during the war was the U-boat peril."
-Winston Churchill
Chapter 4: The Enemy Below
The duo of two cities stood on the bridge silently awaiting the radio to crackle to life with the authorization to leave where Nashville was berthed. It was a moment of reflection for both man and ship girl. In Nashville's mind she was thanking her lucky stars or god, if what the Commander believed was true, that she now had a chance to prove her worth to herself, her country, and if this gets a big as she thinks it will, the world. She also felt nostalgia for one of the first times because she had once left this very bay as part of the task force that would take part in what would be remembered as the Doolittle Raid. She saw that the commander was opting to keep things business for the time being. Good. Of all times to keep it professional this was it. After all she had heard stories of negligent ships that accidentally took chunks out of neighboring ships when raising anchor or rammed them. She of course would take full control of leaving the harbor if she felt Commander was making a mess of it. But she would never let him live it down if he did botch it as punishment. She felt she could get away with it around Las Vegas.
For his part Las Vegas was running through the checklist of the things that they had and was confirming to himself that all the equipment in the newly retrofitted light-cruiser was not only attached but running at optimal performance. He did all of this as a distraction from his first test at seamanship. He had made Nashville aware of his lacking sailing experience or skill or knowledge, even. She had rolled her eyes a bit upon hearing that but had excused it as permissible given their circumstances. Supposedly he was the right man for his job, which didn't need peak sailing skills, so she would be able to do her thing as a ship. Still, she felt it important that any captain of hers would be the best sailor upon the seven seas. But as Commander said, "Rome wasn't built in a day," so she decided that he would at least order them out of the harbor properly. He had gone through it in his head dozens of times over the past hour and like any math problem that he had come across, he would approach this methodically and more importantly, correctly.
Commander checked his watch seconds before the authorization came down. It was time to set sail. He turned to Nashville and indicated that it was time to get going. She nodded and awaited her orders with a grin on her face. Still straight-faced Commander ordered, "Status report of all departments for setting sail?"
At this time, in the Eagle Union Navy, it would normally be the executive officer's job to run through the check list of all departments and get their reports before turning this information over to the captain. But as a ship girl she could skip the semantics. She felt the departments in her hull hum at her. Everything was operational, including the things new to her. She nodded to herself and reported, "All departments report green. We are ready to set sail."
"Thank you, Nashville," and he took into his hand the radio transmitter that was linked to the dockworkers just on the wharf, "Take in the lines." So, the gangway was retracted and all the lines that held in the cruiser were untied. Nashville was free and she reveled in that. Commander was relieved that after the retrofit they had been able to take the last berth before the pier ended so leaving would be easy and he didn't have anyone to run into, at least right in front of them. "Nashville, take us forward and out to sea."
She obliged her commander. And so, a dazzle painted Brooklyn-class light cruiser crewed by only a codebreaker turned sailor and a ship turned woman set out under the Golden Gate Bridge and into whatever Neptune, God of the Sea, had in store for them.
XXXXXXXX
Once they had gotten to what seemed to Commander as an appropriate distance from shore, he retrieved the file that had started this all to get one final piece of information—the reported location of the first Siren Superweapon. Hopefully, it wouldn't be too far. He opened the file and went to the contents at the end of the file. Under Nashville's watchful eye he spread it out over the newly expanded navigation table that now had a combat information center where he would do his work. He took a moment to see what it said.
"Well, it looks like we're going to the Bahamas. It seems that a few groups of underwater archeologists and oceanologists have reported something huge and moving that resides within an underwater sinkhole called, 'Dean's Blue Hole.' Apparently, they lost a few divers."
Nashville sighed, "Those poor bastards. They didn't stand a chance. But still, how can we be sure that this is legit?"
"The file doesn't conclude it's a superweapon from the words of a bunch of confused scientists alone. There're a number of reports of missing vessels in the direct area and a few of them have turned up sunk. But here's the thing. All the missing vessels are military targets with civilians unmolested. The largest vessel sunk is a guided missile cruiser and the most sunk are cargo vessels ferrying between North and South America. The evidence is circumstantial but, I think this warrants looking into."
Nashville had a question of a political nature now. She figured that if anyone would answer it would be Las Vegas. She asked, "Could you explain to me why governments ship over sea when there're overland routes? I've asked this before but nobody would answer."
Commander took a moment and replied, "I'd wager it's because that even with losses at the present rate, the governments of North and South America have decided that it's still more cost effective to send goods by sea in much bigger quantities that trucks or trains cannot handle. And since everyone wants to pitch into the war effort there's no shortage of volunteers. Is this a problem in other places too?"
"Y'all humans don't make a lick of sense. But yeah, I've seen other places do it. Not as much as in the western hemisphere though."
"You're right," conceded Commander, "Humans aren't known for making sense. Just look at history. That thing was a crap-shoot from start to finish."
"Why do you talk like that? The euphemisms?" asked Nashville inquisitively.
Commander rolled with the subject change, "Well, I wanna stick it to the man. Most everyone does it, so I don't. I like being different."
Nashville leaned forward just a bit and looked at Commander through her eyelashes and said a painful truth, "Your mom got mad at you for cussing, didn't she?"
Commander's silence and expression was all she needed to know that she had won this time. She put on a big Cheshire smile to show that she knew that she had won this battle of hearts and minds that had been ongoing since her first attempt at gently teasing her commander. He coughed in his hand, keen to change the subject again.
He settled on saying, "You've sailed around a lot for the past year so I'm assuming you know your way around. Where is the nearest ship girl base to this Dean's Blue Hole?"
Fortunately, Nashville knew when to leave well enough alone and let Commander and his mother off the hook.
"You know how when the war started with the Sirens it essentially killed the cruise-line industry?" asked Nashville to which Commander responded to the affirmative. She continued to explain, "Well, a big part of the Port of Miami serviced these cruise ships but with no business that part of the port and then some was commandeered by the military. Naval Station South Point is one of a handful of ship girl bases for the Eagle Union's Atlantic Fleet. It's pretty much as close as you can ask for."
Now having fully recovered Commander gave out his orders, "Excellent. Set course for Naval Station South Point. How long will it take to get there?"
Nashville hummed to herself and raised a finger to her chin as she thought, "With my new cruising speed of twenty-five knots we can get there in about three weeks. Give or take. It depends on the Siren submarine patrols I mentioned a week back."
Commander took this opportunity to sit just a bit straighter and look Nashville dead in the eyes as he said, "Leave the submarines to me. So long as we can intercept the Siren orders for their submarine wolfpacks I will crack the codes and see us through to Miami. What with us getting priority codebreaking treatment from yours truly I think we will sail undisturbed for the most part."
"Okay then," said Nashville in a faux disbelieving tone, "I'll hold you to that." She then pondered his words for a few seconds before catching a tid-bit of information that she didn't know about. "Priority codebreaking treatment?" she asked.
"That's right. Priority treatment. You see, the Sirens have a few different levels of cypher complexity. The most complex is for their main fleet movements. These remain uncracked. Then the cyphers decrease in complexity the less important they are. I'd say that submarine patrols are the least complex along with hastily encoded emergency transmissions. But they can make up for these simpler cyphers in a few ways. First the Sirens send a bunch of false radio transmissions. This bunch still has to be deciphered in the off chance they're legit, so it ties up armies of codebreakers so not all codes get read by us. Second, they update the simpler codes regularly at intervals never less than two days and never more than a month. Finally, the Sirens have practicality. There are enough submarines that they turn the oceans into a minefield of wolfpacks. Knowing that there're submarines in a region doesn't impact them in the grander picture. They miss out today, but they can easily bide their time for tomorrow and punish slip ups. Priority treatment means we can navigate the minefield instead of getting directions yelled at us sometimes."
Nashville hummed reflexively and shifted to look out to sea as Commander cleaned up the files to take out his hard-light projecting phone that he had taken to calling, "Mr. Bond." He activated the interface and synced to the ships sensor systems just in time to get an alert of an intercepted message. He opened it up to see complete gibberish. He smiled and mumbled to himself, "Finally, what I signed up for," and got started on his job.
Nashville watched him work in the reflection of the glass on her bridge. She had seen him change from his sometimes contemplative, sometimes goofy, and sometimes overly serious self into a man that she could tell was a professional in his field. Just seeing this told her that so long as he doesn't order her into suicidal situations she was in good hands. This was a consolation to her concerns of having to babysit an incompetent officer. He still had a ways to go but in this moment she knew that she would be there for the whole journey. Then she thought of their relationship thus far and she found it worlds better than what she had before with Captain Spencer. She was so absorbed in her thoughts that she missed what Commander Vegas said to her when he suddenly started speaking.
"Huuh? Say whuut?" she said with a surprisingly heavy southern drawl to her vowels. Hearing herself talk like that made her reflexively cover her mouth with her hands. She tries so hard all the time to limit such a heavy accent. It was all thanks to a single incident with Spencer that she hates to speak like a, 'country bumpkin,' as he said.
Commander was perfectly prepared to let this slide unacknowledged because he didn't see anything wrong with accents. After all, how one speaks is a part of their identity. However, he did know that some people don't like their accents for one reason or another, but Nashville was a surprise to him. And then she covered her mouth and gave him a deer-in-the-headlights look that betrayed embarrassment. He couldn't resist sending his own Cheshire grin toward the teasing ship girl as retribution for her earlier offense. He knew that she knew what he was smiling about so he didn't say anything about her accent, instead opting to repeat what he said earlier, "I asked how you feel now with your retrofit complete. You mentioned that your new cruising speed it twenty-five knots? How do you even know that by the way?"
"How do you know your best jogging speed? You just do. That's how I know. I can also tell you that my new top speed is forty-one knots, which is really good just so you know. We can outrun almost all destroyers now, but not their torpedoes," said Nashville in her normal lightly accented voice before answering the original question, "The retrofit feels great by the way. I don't think I could describe it to you so you could understand."
"That makes sense. You and I do see and experience the world quite a bit differently. But that's okay. You're you and I'm me but we share an objective so we'll both bring our strengths to overcome this operation before us."
Nashville liked how he phrased that. Though different they were stronger together. There was a camaraderie in his way of speaking that reminded her that such has been missing for so long in her life and that such a void wasn't a problem anymore. She hummed approvingly so her commander could hear her.
Commander started speaking again, "The day I met you I had hoped you would answer some questions for me about yourself. But one thing led to another for a whole week during the retrofit so there was never a chance. Some of the original questions have already been answered but new ones have replaced them. Can I ask those now while I crack this code? It shouldn't take long."
"Can you really multitask that well?"
"Yeah."
"If you say so," shrugged Nashville, "But anyway, what're your questions?"
"I remember how moved you were when I said that we would share the decision as to what would be retrofitted on your hull. To be honest I thought I had offended you or something. But anyway, what does you being a ship girl mean to the navy? No, um…. That question is kind of convoluted. Let me think another second," which he did before he clarified, "What sort of treatment do you receive for being a ship girl?"
Nashville's expression immediately darkened from her normal jovial self to that of a broken woman. She looked into her commander's eyes. There was a question that she probably already knew the answer to but felt it needed to be asked anyway. She asked, "Commander Las Vegas, can I trust you?"
Commander smiled reassuringly at his associate to try to break her from her funk. "I would be honored if you would. My objective is to understand you better so that we can work together more effectively. Our mission is such that we operate independently from outside commands, so you have nothing to fear from voicing the truth to me." He paused before speaking again, "I guess that's a long-winded way of saying, 'Yes, you can trust me,' after all trust goes both ways. And so far, I trust you."
Nashville settled down a little and she felt a weight leave her. Her commander trusted her? How can this be possible? Every human that she has met and knew what she was feared her or at least walked carefully in her presence like she could explode at any moment. But not this guy. He treated her differently. Even over the past week as they have gotten to know each other a bit and she was able to finally leave a naval base for a city she found herself feeling different. She felt…human. And that felt right to her.
She let out a sigh of relief but didn't return to her normal state of relaxation, which was to be expected given the subject matter. She finally opened her mouth to say, "Thanks for trusting me. And for that, I'll trust you with the whole truth," and she stopped. Commander could tell that she was gathering herself. Maybe he should have started with a lighter question?
She started to unveil her experiences with, "In as few words as possible, they treat me coldly. I would say, 'us,' for the other ship girls but I've never met others, they've always kept me away from the rest so that, as they would say, 'my cover isn't blown,' but that means I've been alone for as long as I've had this body." She looked at her hands and folded her arms as if to hug herself or perhaps strengthen herself before letting out, "I don't get included in decision making. I don't get any help if and when I need it, unless it's important to the military. I don't know what life is like outside of a base. I don't know what it's like to have a friend. I don't know what it's like to hug my sisters, because I've never been able to see them like this. I don't know these things because even though I walk and talk, I'm still ultimately a weapon or at least a very powerful soldier to the navy." She stopped again to recenter herself before saying, "Sorry, I don't want to keep thinking about this stuff. Music was my only relief, and it was never sanctioned, only smuggled. But as I'm sure you can guess a few of these bad things are changing already. Thank you, for that change."
Though his expression didn't show it and his code continued to be chipped away at Commander felt deeply concerned at this revelation. To be honest her answer was in the ballpark of what he had been expecting but there were a few things that caught his attention. She has been isolated to preserve her cover for as long as she has been a ship girl? It's like she has been saved for this by high command. If they were keeping her separate and thus, secret, for a year with time overlapping Operation Argonautica it's like they prepared a backup plan if it should fail which it did. This didn't bode well for the code breaker. He'll have to ask Roscoe or Hara if and when he ever sees them again. Her regimented life seemed par for the course considering that she is a human-weapon thing. But still, he believed, that her individual isolation from outside contact was inhumane. She's never had a friend or seen her sisters? In this moment Commander resolved that he would be that friend and he was certain that at least one of her sisters would show up eventually.
He was taking long enough to respond to Nashville that she was starting to get uncomfortable. She was going to turn away to try and distract herself with the horizon before Commander got her attention and looked her in the eye to say as evenly as he could force himself, "I'm sorry that all of that happened to you. Nevertheless, I'm glad to see that what was wrong is gradually being put right so in the spirit of that, do you wanna be friends?" While his request was pretty on the nose, he felt that given Nashville's inexperience with friendships an approach of elementary simplicity would be the best way to proceed.
Nashville was going to nod like crazy and say she would love to be his friend, but she restrained herself because she had gotten her hopes up before only to be disappointed. She had to make sure. So, she asked, "Are you sure you wanna be friends with me?"
Commander responded without any hesitation, "Absolutely. Despite me being the superior officer, yadda yadda, you've heard me say stuff like this before, I consider you an equal to me. We have equal stakes and thus equal say. And besides, all things considered, you are one of the cooler people I've met. So yeah, I want to be friends with you."
Nashville was overjoyed. So joyous was she that she rushed to where Commander was sitting and she bent over, unintentionally giving him a glimpse down her top, and gave him a big hug. She hoped that this moment wouldn't stop because she was afraid that if she let go, she might wake up from a dream. So, she stayed. And she noticed that she had teared up just before his own arms reached around her to comfort her.
Commander had seen Nashville's brightening countenance with the past few exchanges of words so knowing her normally jovial personality, when she rushed to give him a hug, he was not very surprised. But there was a problem. Two problems to be exact, and they were pressing against his own chest and forced him into boner-fighting mode. It turned out Nashville would help him win that battle when she started to quiver just a bit. He heard from her head beside his what sounded like crying breathes. He was now forced into an awkward situation. His asocial history didn't help him at all to know what to say or do without possibly crossing a line of proper conduct. But he decided that doing nothing would be the worst option lest Nashville think him ungenuine, so he committed to a decision, albeit a possibly risky one, and put his arms around her gently to hug her back.
Finally, words came to his mind that he quickly relayed softly, "You don't have to be alone anymore. I keep saying that we're in this together, and I mean it. And I'm sure we'll run into at least one of your sisters eventually."
Then the floodgates broke and washed away the lonely Nashville that she tried to ignore. She actually started crying. And Commander stayed there patiently figuring that she would make the next move. After a few minutes Nashville calmed down and stood up again and wiped her eyes. She was going to move away from the commander's workstation when he said, "I finished cracking the intercepted code just before you came over. As expected, it's a submarine deployment order. So, look at the information and please make a course correction to avoid the trouble. Also, if you want to start on our agreed music sharing arrangement you can go ahead. Just please keep it down to a manageable level."
She looked to the screen to see the deployment orders and then altered their course accordingly as she said, "Oh yeah, with all this talking n' heart to heart I forgot the music. Let's get it started!" And she walked over to the ships PA system where a pillaged MP3 player was rigged up. She selected her playlist and it started playing. She returned to looking to her commander, smile fully restored, and asked him, "You said you had other questions, so what are they?"
"Ah. Right. Well, do you consider yourself human?" Commander had wondered this one from the beginning. According to the file given him ship girls were anatomically human for the most part. They had several key differences that suited their superhuman abilities and it remained a mystery to science how they interacted with their hulls or rigging but other than that and their artificial creation they were humans. Tails, animal ears, and other oddities notwithstanding. He presently considered her almost human. So, he wanted to hear her own judgements about her existence.
"If I'm honest with you I don't really think of myself as human. I mean, thinking about how other humans have treated me I haven't been all that interested in being human or trying to be like one."
This was unexpected Commander. He had figured she would say something along the lines of his own conclusion. He responded, "Huh. I didn't expect you to say that. But really, if I were to pass you on the street or anywhere, for that matter, without knowing what exactly you are, you would have fooled me. You seem very human in word, deed, and appearance." He thought for a moment, "Do you want to be more human?"
Nashville chuckled a bit, "It's funny that you say that. With this past week of me having a strange amount of fun and you not being an ass like most other humans I've met I think that becoming more and more human would be nice."
"Awesome. We'll get to work on that. Although, I never thought that in a million years I would ever have to teach someone how to be human," then he sighed and continued, "But here we are. Anyhow, I have one more question at the moment."
"Let's hear it."
"Why do you fight?"
This was the easiest question that Commander had asked yet, so she said proudly, "I love the Eagle Union and what it stands for. It's my home so I'll fight for it, even if I'm not treated properly by a lot of people."
"Respect. Meanwhile, I'm here just to avoid being drafted into the marine corps or the merchant marine. And I'm a codebreaker to avoid a combat role," he chuckled humorlessly, "but you can see how that worked out."
This was the most disappointed that Nashville has been at the commander so far. But still, given how he had been to her to this point, she could let his reasons slide, even if they are pitiful. She fixed him with a genuine smile that was warmer and more familiar than her normal expression before she replied, "Okay then. It's too bad you think that way. But still, I'm glad you're here."
"I'm happy to be here too," and he returned the smile to his new friend.
XXXXXXXX
Over the past few days as the Nashville steamed southward towards the Panama Canal at a steady pace both occupants had found their routines. Every morning man took on ship in exercises to maintain both parties' fitness. It goes without saying that Commander's performance was always blown out of the water. The most informative things that came to light to both had to do with sparring in different styles of close quarters combat. As a boxer, Nashville found going up against a practice knife wielding attacker showed what worked and what didn't. Knowing that a knife would be able to—with some difficulty—penetrate her skin without any rigging active forced her to be much more careful with blocking, countering, and being grabbed. At the same time Commander was forced to dig deep into his memories of that one year in high school he tried out fencing. His technique was pretty sloppy but as a fortunate side effect of him practicing a quick draw and snap shooting for his pistol, now named, 'Giovanni,' he could strike pretty quickly, for a human that is. He would definitely lose in the Olympics, but he really only needed to be ready for any barroom brawl.
Outside of morning exercises they slipped into a rotation of taking turns cooking and cleaning. It was only fair as they came to agree. Nashville thought Commander cooked better while Commander thought Nashville was better. Aside from that both kept with their post. On the second day at sea the Sirens updated their submarine cypher, so Commander had to spend the better part of three days adapting his known key to the new puzzle. During that time Nashville remained vigilant and assumed a zig-zag course that tacked on a day or two to their journey. But in spite of this conversation flowed easily between them and it lessened their burdens.
Three days from the Panama Canal they were chatting away before the first hurdle in their mission came to the surface.
"-and that's why I say that this metal band is my favorite. So, while different it's-"
Suddenly Commander was interrupted by the radio that was always maintained on the receiving signal setting.
From the radio came the desperate voice of a man who yelled/screamed, "Hello can anyone hear me?! This is Captain Peterson of convoy LS 73! We are under attack by Siren Submarines!? They've taken out our escort! We are defenseless and dropping like flies! Can anyone hear me?!" There was static followed by an explosion before this Peterson took up his mic again, "Fuck me! They got another one! WE NEED HELP!"
Nashville and Commander looked at each other and Commander spoke first, "While our mission isn't to escort convoys, we are given the authority to take side-missions to throw off suspicion. I think we should help. It's the right thing to do and we should test out your retrofit somehow."
Nashville retorted, "You're preaching to the choir. Let's go help them."
Commander took the radio transponder in his hand and said clearly yet confidently, "Captain Peterson this is the commander of the EUS Nashville. We are equipped for anti-submarine warfare and are coming to your aid. Transmit your location immediately over Merchant Marine UHF 11."
Peterson responded without delay, "Oh thank God you're here Nashville. We're transmitting the coordinates now. Please hurry!"
The coordinates came over the expected encrypted frequency. The convoy was just shy of thirty miles from their position and Commander said over the radio, "We're on our way. ETA approximately forty minutes. Assume zig-zag maneuvers, anything to throw off the Siren's aim."
"Roger that commander. We won't make it much longer." And the radio went silent.
Commander gave his orders, "Nashville, accelerate to flank speed to the provided coordinates. Let's see if you really can go forty-one knots."
Nashville smirked and took his challenge, "Aye-aye, sir. Just watch me." The vessel lurched froward and fortunately Commander had braced himself for the change in inertia. Sure enough Nashville gained more and more speed until the desired velocity was reached. To the landlubber commander it seemed as if they were flying on the ocean's surface. He conceded victory to Nashville and he took a seat at his workstation, for he had his own work to do.
He quickly pulled up the findings of the code that he had cracked yesterday. It showed the deployment orders for this region's submarine patrols. It called for three standard type Siren submarines to form up in a wolf-pack and remain on station for the rest of the week in anticipation of an opportunity to take out a convoy.
Commander thanked his lucky stars that the Sirens generally favored quantity over quality and as such equipped their submarines much like the U-boats of the kriegsmarine from over 80 years ago. They packed unguided torpedoes but as far as the forces of humanity could tell they had better performance in every other way when compared to their apparent inspirations. But much like the U-boats did so long ago; they had to surface to fire their torpedoes. This was something that Commander was resolved to take advantage of.
He relayed this information to Nashville before he asked her pointedly, "Have you had the convoy on radar for a while now?"
Nashville understood the mistake that her commander was hinting at. She hadn't told him when they came within radar range two hours ago. She could tell they were a convoy, so she didn't feel it pertinent to share this. She hung her head and apologized. Commander didn't see it fit to reprimand her for this oversight but said, "Nashville, from now on tell me if anything happens on radar. Again, I can't see what you see, so you have to tell me."
Nashville knew that she got off easy from her commander. She answered that she understood and would inform him from now on.
Commander spoke again after a curt brainstorming session, "Remind me. What sort of range do we have on your main and secondary batteries?"
"20000 and 18000 yards, respectively."
"How much hang time is there if we fire at extreme range?"
"Between twenty-five and thirty seconds."
"Okay then," Commander retreated into his mind for any way to beat these enemies. He moved over to the radar display. He smiled evilly when he confirmed that the radar was sensitive enough to catch when a submarine would surface. He watched the radar screen for a few minutes, hoping to see a pattern that he could exploit. Nashville stood across the bridge awaiting orders. She would say something if it weren't for Las Vegas's expression of concentration. He called her over, pointed to the screen, and said, "Look. Every ninety second interval a new submarine surfaces as another submerges. The don't change their position relative to the convoy or their pattern of surfacing. These subs are either really stupid or complacent now that the escorts are sunk."
Commander now stood to turn to the ship girl and inquired bluntly, "If I were to order you to fire at extreme range at a target that hasn't even surfaced yet and is in close proximity to friendly vessels, can I count on you to hit the target? And more importantly not hit a friendly? If I do order you to do this and you hit a cargo ship, it's on me. Can I trust you to make the shot?"
Nashville considered it for a bit. She thought on her past service. Back in WWII she was known to have the best gunnery in her class of light-cruisers. But she didn't want to sink her mission and friend in the beginning of this new and better time of her life. She was going to say no before something struck her like a torpedo going off against her hull. Las Vegas wouldn't have asked her if she could do this if he thought she couldn't. He trusted her enough leave this choice in her hands. Do they try to save their allies as soon as possible and risk friendly fire? Or do they guarantee some of them die before they arrive at a better firing range? She stopped her train of thought. She was Nashville, a proud cruiser in the Eagle Union Navy! She had faced long odds and placed herself in harms way before. She took the shot back then, and she would take the shot now. She wouldn't back down now from the challenge.
She declared to her commander, "I'll make the shot. I don't want anybody else to die while I can do something about it."
Commander smiled at his friend and softly replied, "Okay. Notify me when we get in firing range. I expect it to be about another ten minutes."
Nashville nodded and time started to take it's sweet time.
The ten minutes passed, and she notified Commander when they were in range as ordered. He said to her, "Load high-explosive shells into all your batteries. The concussive blast will still damage the lightly armored subs if you get near misses. Obtain a firing solution on the nearest submarine and maintain present course and speed."
Nashville closed her eyes and saw through her radar. She remembered perfectly where the submarines were relative to the convoy and aimed taking into account the necessary lead, the wind speed and direction, the rotation and curve of the earth, the humidity, the sway of her hull, the swells of the sea, and the characteristics of her HE shells. As she aimed Commander heard a loud clanking sound of metal on metal as shells were loaded into the primary and secondary batteries.
"Ready to fire sir," she said as her eyes opened to reveal her determination.
"Excellent. I know you can only fire through turrets one and two at the moment so fire those on my order," said Commander. He looked to the radar display to catch the pattern. He started the timer on his watch as the submarine before the target surfaced. He would give the order to fire at sixty-three seconds on his watch. He started a countdown from ten at fifty-two seconds, "ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one, fire."
Six of Nashville's fifteen six-inch guns gave a mighty bang as they hurled 105-pound shells skyward toward their target and spewed out a dense cloud of black smoke. Both people stayed looking over the horizon toward their target over eleven miles away. Commander spoke, "If you land this shot, I'll buy you something nice once we get to Miami."
Nashville favored her chances but didn't say anything.
XXXXXXXX
Captain Peterson was shit out of luck and he knew it. He kept losing ships under his command and by his estimates Nashville was still fifteen minutes out. He had half a mind to just give up and order his fleet to scatter and hope that at least one of two of them reached their destination in South America. The now hopeless man looked out to the sea he loved and he caught the conning tower of one of his killers surface. It looked to be pointed toward his ship. Oh well. He knew the risks of the merchant marines. It wasn't glamorous but someone had to do it. He watched for a few seconds as the submarine surfaced.
With no warning whatsoever a huge explosion that erupted in a giant orange and then black fireball struck the submarine he was looking at. There were a few geysers of water that sprayed high into the air nearby it. Then the crack of a sonic boom shook his bridge. His executive officer went insane, "HOLY SHIT! WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT!"
Peterson was shocked into numbness. Words and frantic thoughts shot through his brain as he processed the occurrence of the submarine being sheared in half and disappearing from his view in a matter of seconds as it slipped beneath the water. Over his own radio he heard the voice that had to have been from the almighty himself, "This is the Nashville. Did we hit the target?"
His executive officer picked up his radio transponder and yelled, "HIT THE TARGET?! YOU JUST RIPPED A FUCKING SUBMARINE IN HALF! ONE SUB IS SUNK! I REPEAT! ONE SUB IS SUNK!"
The commander of the Nashville spoke calmly in stark contrast to the executive officer, "Copy that. We're still fifteen minutes out but that should give your fleet some breathing room until we arrive for a more up-close battle."
Cheers broke out across the ship.
XXXXXXXX
"Copy that. We're still fifteen minutes out but that should give your fleet some breathing room until we arrive for a more up-close battle," said commander over the radio to the shaken officer in the convoy.
Nashville was hyped like no other before her or since. She pumped her fist in the air and cried out, "Yes! Yes! I hit it! I hit it!"
Commander stood looking at his subordinate as she congratulated herself and waited for her to calm down just enough before saying with barely restrained elation, "That was some fine gunnery. It's good to know that your file wasn't lying. Now give me a high-five because that was awesome." He held his hand up and Nashville gave him a high-five while making sure to not hurt him. He unfortunately had to break the mood because there was still a job to do. He ordered, "While we have definitely announced our presence and shoved the enemy off balance, we still have about fifteen minutes until we arrive so send out your scout plane laden with a depth charge. We'll keep them off balance until we arrive."
Nashville rapidly got a hold of herself and said, "Yes, sir." Commander heard an aircraft prop engine revving up and with a slight lurch that same aircraft was thrown into the sky. He watched as the floatplane climbed away. It would take a few minutes for it to arrive over the convoy but still Nashville and Las Vegas were now in the easiest part of this skirmish.
After those few minutes had passed the biplane arrived on station. It certainly wasn't imposing but it was a comfort to the crews of the cargo ships to know that at least something friendly was on station.
Ten minutes from the convoy Nashville finally broke the air of silent revelry that had descended over her bridge with, "Sir, the scout plane has spotted one of the Siren submarines at periscope depth. What do you want to do with this?"
"Set the depth charge for forty-five feet and drop it by the submarine. If we can't sink it, we'll at least damage it so it won't get away."
"Aye, sir."
The crews of the convoy watched as the floatplane descended at a gradual angle off to their starboard side and dropped a canister from the underside of one of it's wings. Looking to where it would go revealed a periscope that had evaded notice. Before panic could set in, the canister hit the water and sunk down. Three seconds after it hit the water an explosion that cast a splash taller than a ship manifested from below. A few seconds later an oil slick appeared on the surface and various bits of debris followed. Then another splash that wasn't as big as the first one happened, and the periscope dropped from view at an odd angle. The floatplane stayed circling overhead.
Back on Nashville's bridge she reported to Commander of what she saw from her scout. He stroked his chin briefly before stating his conclusion out loud, "If it is as damaged as we think it is with the debris and oil and hasn't surfaced, I think it is safe to assume it was sunk. I bet the second splash was the pressure hull being breached. Listen in on sonar. What do you hear?"
Nashville listened for not five seconds before she heard something that made her concur with her commander's conclusion, "I just heard a popping sound. I bet that's our submarine sinking."
They finally came into view of the convoy and Commander gave another order, "Let out an active sonar ping from the on-board hydrophones. Let them know that we've arrived."
She did as ordered and let off her ping. She didn't hear any engine noises or the sound of propellers underwater, but she did hear a, "void," in the ambient sound of the ocean that hinted at a submarine in silent running, but she couldn't be sure it wasn't a whale or something. She was about to tell Commander of her findings when she felt her huff-duff detect something. She got excited and said, "We got em sir. I hear a submarine in silent running and the huff-duff just confirmed it's the sub we're looking for. Depth of 400 feet. Three miles to the south-southeast."
"Yeah, I just intercepted the message. Move into position for a depth charge attack. Let's finish this," stated the commander as he got to breaking the code while Nashville, now at a leisurely pace, sailed into position. It was a few minutes before Nashville notified him of being in position. "Drop depth charges."
"Dropping," replied Nashville as a few of the charges slid off the stern rack into the water. Thirty seconds passed and they went off. The surface was disturbed by the underwater explosion but didn't rise above five feet into the air. Nashville had figuratively covered her ears in time for the charges to go off, but she rapidly shifted to paying attention to her sonar array for the popping of a breached pressure hull. She waited a few seconds aaaaaaaand, "POP!"
She turned her attention back to her commander and happily reported as she skipped over to his workstation, "That's the last of em sir. We did it."
He met her rubies with his emeralds and stood up from his still unbroken code. "I'm a man of my word. I said that I'd get you something in Miami for making that first shot and you did. So, go thinking of something you want. Say, wasn't this your first time sinking another warship?"
She remembered that it was. She confirmed this and remarked, "You're right, it's the first time. Huh. I had always thought that this would be a huge thing when it happened. But I was so into the battle that I hadn't even noticed."
Commander decided to remain straight faced for what he was about to say, "You may not have noticed it in the moment but here and now after the fact, you should be proud of yourself. You can be sure that your commanding officer is too. Now, let's check in with our convoy."
Nashville felt heat rise to her cheeks as her commander turned away. Today was also the first time she had been openly praised. So, how she should react to this escaped her. She tried to think on the appropriate reaction other than surprise or looking like a dork in front of her CO but was interrupted by Las Vegas's voice as he said into the radio, "LS 73 this is Nashville. Captain Peterson, are you there? How copy?"
The voice of Captain Peterson came over the speakers with cheering in the background, "Thank God you showed up when you did. I don't think there has ever been a better-timed rescue at sea, nor by a ship as beautiful as the one I see before me."
Commander looked over his shoulder to see Nashville's reaction to Peterson's compliment. He noticed that she was blushing. He had figured it was at the words of Captain Peterson but unbeknownst to him she was still blushing at his praise of her. Before she could react to set the record straight for him Commander diverted himself to the transponder again and said, "We're glad to have been of service Captain. We'll stay on station as you look for survivors. Nashville out." And he returned to his code after ordering Nashville to stay vigilant to any kind of counterattack.
A few hours passed and all the survivors were taken aboard cargo ships. When Captain Peterson signaled for the fleet to get moving a question came to Commander's mind. "What's your destination Captain?"
"We're headed for Venezuela through the Panama Canal."
"Well Captain we can take you as far as through the canal but after that we're going in a different direction. And just so you know, an onboard codebreaker intercepted and deciphered a message from the last submarine that was a request for reinforcements. But I wouldn't be too worried. We'll be long gone by the time they show up."
"All of what you just said sounds good to me. The Venezuelan Navy takes over escort duty on the other side of the Panama Canal and we're honored to have you with us until then. Peterson out."
Commander stood up and stretched. The sun was starting to dip under the horizon. "Well Nashville, I'm starving. I'm going to get started on getting dinner together. You feeling anything specific?"
She considered her options and what Commander was good at before requesting, "I want a pizza."
He shot her a thumbs up and replied, "Coming right up." He then started to walk for the bridge's exit, but he stopped as he grabbed the hatch before looking over and sending as warm a smile as he could muster, "You did well today. Keep it up."
Nashville gladly saluted and almost sung out, "Yes, sir."
These chapters keep getting longer and longer. Not that I mind of course. I definitely didn't want to cut the submarine battle in half for a cliffhanger that can be avoided. I've been annoyed by unnecessary cliffhangers enough on this website to know that I'll avoid them if at all possible. Anyway, in this chapter I felt that I finally hammered down how I want Nashville's character to be and how her interactions with Las Vegas are. So, tell me. What worked? What didn't? I tried to portray someone who has been deprived of a lot of the contact for their WHOLE life that we have taken for granted (at least until this pandemic got started). But I see some reviews that I want to reply to.
Thanks, xX-6throwaway9-Xx, for your understanding. I intend to keep adding onto the world and characters as they come naturally.
I gotta say, Guest, you are speaking my language. Nashville's design is in line with being paired to Brooklyn. This was intentional. You also do make a good point about famous kansen. I still don't have specific lineups for battle, but I'll keep that in mind about using less famous kansen. No promises though.
It's pretty late where I am right now so I'm going to finish off here. Take care, friends. If you are having a bad day I hope it gets better, and if you are having a good day I hope it gets even better.
