AN: I used PTSD in the last paragraph. It's immersion-breaking as the term 'PTSD' was not coined until the 1980s. My bad. Also, I have no idea how a radio works so I'm imagining the process. (Note from 2021)
Post-Mortem: Hello everyone. It's been two years since I touched fanfiction. I would first like to sincerely apologize as it's been one hell of a ride. When I started this, I was in my penultimate year of high school. Now, I'm a freshman at university studying war. The best excuse I have was that a lot of things in life had gotten in the way and for a time I actually forgot about the concept of fanfiction. I decided to continue as something ignited. Again. Most of this chapter is indeed written in November 2021. I hope you enjoy. The next chapter should be much better quality-wise as obviously, my writing has improved. I envisioned this story as a fun, not so realistic, take on the AL universe but with a hidden allegory behind it. I intend to keep some of the traits (including the allegory) but I want to change others (since I'm more of a mature person). That's enough of me rambling. Enjoy.
9/3/2023 - edited to fix the paragraphing
10/3/2023 - edited to fix continuity (flashback scene now takes place 2021)
Lt. Jack van Persie "Sabre"
Unaffiliated
6/5/1949 – 14:00 Local Time
Infirmary
A carpet of silence fell upon the infirmary in the base. Many huddled around the hospital bed in question, all staring at the pilot. Van Persie singlehandedly managed to create a wave of panic that quickly engulfed the base. Rumours circulated like wildfire. Among the crowd were familiar faces such as Belfast, Vestal, Hood, and others.
"Well, this makes things complicated," Yorktown commented, shattering the silence.
"I don't know what to do. I don't know how to treat war neurosis," Vestal replied. The door flung open and rushed in an out-of-breath Overmars.
"I heard what happened, is he ok?"
"I'm fine Vestal," Van Persie responded. He rose from the bed, rubbing his eyes.
"You clearly are not Jack," she responded.
"Leftenant, you've clearly just had a traumatic episode. You are in no condition to resume duties. You must rest," Belfast added.
"Honestly guys, I'm fine,"
"You're just like Enterprise," Yorktown commented.
"I'm sorry to do this but I have to order you to stand down," Overmars ordered. His stern voice and commanding attitude had taken over from his regular self.
"Are you fucking kidding me, sir?" Van Persie replied.
"I'm sorry Jack but Vestal and I have come to an agreement that you are not in the proper condition to resume combat duties. Belfast, please escort Jack to his new quarters once he is ready."
000
Van Persie fumbled into a fresh set of clothes brought by Belfast. A simple khaki polo shirt and a conformable pair of white trousers. The pilot's short hair was always neat and presentable somehow. He took a long glance into his reflection in the mirror. He noticed large black patches underneath his milky-brown eyes on his rectangular-shaped head. Grabbing his beige traveller's jacket, he followed Belfast to his new room. When walking on the paved road through the base, he was reminded of his time in the American countryside during his American officer and tactics training under the NATO exchange programme. How the sun shone solemnly in the sky, the cool yet gentle breeze that periodically gusts through the area and the lively chatter and social interactions from the other ship-girls in the area. The humorous and carefree chatter and lifestyles of the ship-girls resonated in Van Persie as this distinguished why they carried on fighting. Whereas, Van Persie, simply wanted to go back home. He vividly remembered how every day when class ended, he and his girlfriend strolled through the local park together. The memory of him lying on the park bench on that sultry day with his head resting on his girlfriend's lap whilst she was gently caressing his head and hair will be forever seared into Van Persie's memory.
"Those were the days," Van Persie quietly muttered.
"Pardon sir?" Belfast asked. She stopped in her tracks as she spotted Van Persie admiring the surroundings.
"Ah, nothing. Don't worry. I was just reminiscing about the good 'old days," Van Persie responded.
"On the contrary, I look forward to the future instead of looking back at the past. I wonder what we'll do after the war,"
"We'll all go home, in one way or the other. We'll all go home,"
000
Autumn 2021
As the gentle Autumn wind breezed through the local park, the young couple strolled through. Each step crunched the orange leaves on the floor. Laughter and giggles ambiently accompanied the trees whistling and the birds happily chirping. This Park was a hotspot for lovers wishing to spend time together. Jack briefly looked up and admired how the sun's rays beautifully shone through the large red trees, creating this dazzling effect. The clear dark blue sky clearly had a profound effect on Jack as stood there, looking up. The colour dark blue had a particular effect on Jack as it resonated within him. It invoked this raw emotion of nostalgia for better times. He was enchanted by the sky and especially a stary night. When stargazed, he couldn't help but admire the vast unknown. It sparked debates within Jack. What is the true unknown and among others. However, "what is my true destiny" orbited around Jack. Little did he know, he would receive his answer.
"Jack?" A soft-spoken echoed out.
"Yes?" Jack answered. It was his girlfriend, the love of his life, Aurora.
"Please tell me what's wrong. I can see it in your face. It's full of worry,"
"Please wait for me,"
"Of course, amore mio. I'll wait until the end of the world for you to come back home. Sei tutto per me."
000
Present day (1949)
"Are you all right Leftenant?" Belfast's voice shook Van Persie back to reality. The maid closely analysed his face and there was a clear sign of sadness and even heartache. Van Persie slowly sat down on a bench nearby and began to open his mouth.
"Yeah, I'm fine," he responded.
"Clearly you're not,"
"It's just that I miss her. That's all,"
"I'm sorry sir," Belfast said. "There is a chance you can see her again. As you said, we'll all go home in one way or the other,"
Unlocking the door, Van Persie was greeted by his new room, a decently sized bedroom with a large king-sized bed complete with clean white sheets. There was also a wooden desk in another corner of the room, complete with stationary such as pens and pieces of documents. The room also sported a large sofa directly opposite the door along with a large red fridge. There were plenty of closets adjacent to the door and upon opening it, it was stocked with clothes. Ranging from casual sets to officer dresses. On the bed, there sat Van Persie's olive-green pilot suit neatly folded along with the helmet. Lastly, there was a giant window complete with a balcony with a table and two seats which looked out towards the picturesque ocean. The room itself was in the newly constructed multi-purpose building. It was a large building built to house the smaller factions such as the Dragon Empery, Northern Parliament, Iris Libre, Vichya Dominion and the Sardegna Empire.
"Welcome to your new room, I hope you enjoy it. I have already fully restocked the fridge and I will provide service every day at all times,"
"Wait what?" Van Persie questioned.
"Oh apologizes, as of yesterday, Commander King has designated me a new master. You. Henceforth, I will be serving you to the best of my capabilities as a maid. Do not hesitate to contact me for any purpose, as that is my duty. Master." Belfast said.
000
A couple of days passed, and Van Persie was feeling much better than this morning. Van Persie was later informed about King and Overmars as they were not present as they were called to High Command in the monthly strategy briefing in Washington D.C. Intelligence reports concluded that there were no Siren naval units in the area and on the orders of High Command, the summer festival was to be delayed. Thus, as per routine, Enterprise was placed as a temporary commander with the Azur Lane war council which consisted of Hood, Yorktown Bismarck and Nagato. Additionally, he felt combat-ready again, but Vestal insisted that he stay out of combat duties for at least another day or two. Earlier, Van Persie had requested Belfast deliver him basic strategy and tactics guides and textbooks naval academies give to their officer cadets. Van Persie found much of the information redundant as it was generations behind what he was taught in officer school during the combined air-land and sea warfare course. The information wasn't even relevant by World War Two standards! Maybe he could talk to some of the ship-girls and find out more. And thus, reaching for the phone, he dialled Belfast. The door opened the maid entered,
"Yes, Master?"
"Yeah. I would like to speak to your chief strategist or strategists. Please,"
"Yes, of course, follow me, master," Belfast said. Van Persie got up from the sofa and followed Belfast. He was led to the command centre of the base. A room with a large oval wooden table filled with maps and documents. It had been recently cleaned and sorted. Van Persie took a seat and waited for Belfast to gather the ship-girls in question. Minutes later, Enterprise, Amagi, Hood, Bismarck, Richelieu and Vittorio Veneto. Van Persie was slightly sceptical of this display as there were six of them. Nonetheless, the six-ship girls took their places respectively.
"Good afternoon leftenant," Hood began. "I understand you would like to speak to us regarding basic naval tactics and strategy,"
"If that is the case," Amagi added. "All of us would be equally delighted to assist you,"
"Sounds great guys," Van Persie replied with a visible smile on his face.
Van Persie raised his hand after the initial lecture. Enterprise and Richelieu's initial lecture about ship-classes and their roles. It was very clear and straightforward with no confusion. Van Persie was instead curious about their formation and battle tactics.
"Yes, leftenant?" Hood said.
"What is your battle formation?" Van Persie asked.
"Well," Vittorio Veneto explained. "We run with a 3-3 system. Three vanguard ships and three capital ships. The vanguard line intercepts, combats, and protects the main line. The vanguard line is like the tip of the spear,"
"To further build on that point, the main vanguard acts almost independently from the main fleet. The vanguard line pushes forward and clears the way for the main line to advance and allows the main fleet to deal with the other capital ships," Bismarck added.
"Wait what?" Van Persie reacted. "Where is the escort for the capital ships?"
"The vanguard acts as an escort, albeit very offensively," Amagi replied.
"The fuck?" Van Persie muttered.
"What's wrong?" Enterprise said.
"That's… just very strange to me. First of all, I am trained as an air-force officer, but I did participate in numerous combined arms war games and have top grades in air-land and sea doctrine. But that's a very high-risk strategy,"
"How come?" Hood asked.
"You're leaving the carrier exposed to enemy air attacks, submarines and other screens,"
"Don't worry about the capital ships, we can take care of ourselves. We aren't like regular ships you've trained under," Enterprise fired back.
"Right, that's a fair point but still," Van Persie said.
"All right everyone. Let's calm down please," Belfast announced.
"With that said," Hood began. "I propose a war game. As both Commander King and Overmars aren't here, Enterprise will command the first fleet and use our classic 3-3 system. Leftenant, please command the second fleet and use whatever tactic you deem best. However, it is only fair to explain your tactics,"
"All right, that's fair," Van Persie said. Scrapping the chair against the floor, the pilot stood up and walked confidently towards the blackboard. Grabbing a spare chalk lying around the table, he drew up the basic formation of a carrier strike group that dominated the oceans in the 21st century.
"Let's hear it then," Enterprise said.
"This is the carrier strike group," Van Persie started. "It's quite simple actually. One carrier, one or two cruisers, two or three destroyers and one or two submarines. The carrier is the centrepiece of the strike group. The cruiser or cruisers are used for a multirole purpose, like long-range strikes with tomahawk missiles. The destroyer squadron is used mainly to protect the carrier, mainly with anti-air and anti-submarine warfare. The submarines are also to screen the ships with anti-submarine and surface warfare, and they have long-range strike capabilities as well. It's a tight formation that places the emphasis of the protection and exploitation of the carrier. Granted, we don't have missiles, but I think the formation can work." Van Persie finished. He looked around the room and there was dismay smeared on their faces, especially from the battleships. Horror and confusion fell upon the room as the battleship was not mentioned in the formation. Bismarck gulped and stood up, after wiping the sweat and horrified face.
"Thank you for your explanation. Now, are there any volunteers for Van Persie's fleet?" Bismarck asked and unsurprisingly, no one raised their hands except for Belfast. A few minutes later, Vittorio Veneto, Richelieu and Hood raised their hands.
"Well, NATO doesn't use battleships since we phased them out in the 1990s, but I can adjust it. I just need a carrier and one destroyer then,"
"I'm sure Zeppelin, Parseval or even Aquila wouldn't mind," Richelieu suggested. Enterprise immediately left to gather the first fleet and enter drills, since she was the flagship. The rest elected to stay behind since they were now extremely curious about how the formation worked, yet they still felt horrified that battleships were no longer in use. The rest of the audience moved their seats closer towards Van Persie as he began to lecture about the battleships and Belfast in detail.
"Ok, so. Hood and Richelieu, you'll act as the dedicated anti-air platform and your roles are to protect the carrier from all aircraft. Stick to the carrier like glue. Understood?"
"All right. So I will be relegated to defending the carrier at any cost," Hood said.
"Vittorio Veneto, you will act as the traditional battleship with heavy emphasis aiding the carrier's air wing on engaging targets and shore bombardment," Van Persie said.
"Ho capito,"
"Belfast, you and the destroyer will act as the vanguard. You'll do the basics of defending the capital ships from other screens and submariners. But all ships must stick to the carrier like glue. Do not pursue, instead, assume an extremely defensive posture. Someone find a destroyer and tell her to equip an anti-submarine loadout,"
"Understood Master,"
"Lastly, the carrier and more specifically, her airwings will do all of the heavy lifting. From engaging other airwings, to anti-ship missions, to CAS support over land. Just sit back and defend the carrier. Someone inform that to the carrier,"
"Understood, I will schedule the whole week for training with the Lieutenant. I propose the war game will take place next week,"
"All right. That sound's good,"
"I have one more request sir," Hood asked.
"Sure, what's up?"
"What's your name?"
"Oh right. My name is Lieutenant Jack van Persie. 7th Advanced Fighter Squadron, Lancer 2-4 or Sabre."
000
The rest of the day was rather uneventful. He returned back to his quarters and relaxed on the bed. He later found a telephone on the desk which was a direct line to Belfast. Along with ordering food, he also requested the intelligence reports that confirmed the absence of all hostiles. Taking another sip from the wine glass, Van Persie closely scrutinised each of the documents. It was a long process, but it was better to be safe than sorry. Despite Van Persie not informing Belfast about his preferred tastes, he was shocked when the maid delivered him a bottle of Sassicaia and a plate of perfectly roasted deer.
"Maybe life here isn't so bad after all," he joked to himself after drinking another sip of the luxurious red wine. He completely finished his meal approximately 20 minutes later and was enjoying the nice company of a record player. The moon reflected the light rays from the dormant sun, creating this magical shimmer over the ocean. The darkness of the ocean mixed with sprinkles of white glow warmed Van Persie's heart a little. Lounging, on the balcony with a wine glass in hand, Van Persie reminisced about his past. The love-red wine was a constant yet painful reminder of the pilot's happier days. The careful and light breeze blew across the base periodically, soothing and caressing the homesick lieutenant. Suddenly, he heard faint knocks on his door. He raised his eyebrows as to why would anyone want to seek him at this time of evening. Reluctantly getting up, and opening the door, he was surprised that it was Vittorio Veneto.
"Io lo so tu parli Italiano," (I know you speak Italian) the battleship said.
"Come lo sai?" (How do you know) Van Persie answered.
"è facile," (it's easy) she responded. "Mai, io non sono qui per questa. Per favore leggi questa, Buona notte," (But I'm not here for this. Please read this. Good night) the battleship answered, and the door suddenly closed. Van Persie remained surprised and confused. He carefully opened the envelope that was sealed with a royal Italian print. It revealed a letter carefully and beautifully hand-written by Vittorio Veneto. It was an address on the outskirts of town. If Van Persie remembered correctly, it was an abandoned warehouse. She had also written the time of the sudden rendez-vous for 01:00 tomorrow.
"What the fuck does she want with me?"
000
Van Persie evaluated that Yorktown was the best candidate for being a Wizzo and he sent her several handwritten guides with diagrams on the overview of what is required of a wizzo. Being Belfast, he was assured that the message would reach her in safe hands. Despite the late hour, Van Persie was working tirelessly on preparations for the drills. Knocks were heard on the door and upon opening it, he was surprised to see Yorktown standing in front of the door ready.
"Lieutenant,"
"Sorry for the late notice,"
"Don't worry, I read through it and I'm ready." Van Persie sat comfortably in the pilot seat. The groundcrews were awake regardless and easily geared the eager F-14 Tomcat ready for a diagnostics and test flight. The Tomcat sat on the runway, her engines purring and hungry for action. Yorktown meanwhile was nervous. She was wearing a spare flight suit and she had a spare helmet that came with the Tomcat. Her hands were shaky, but she engaged the HUD and activated the radar with precision tuning. There was also an audience of a few ship-girls and some staff attending this historical event.
"Ok. Engines look good. Ready for takeoff."
"Ok, sir."
"All right Yorktown." Van Persie said. His hand gripped the throttle and placed it at full power, activating the afterburner. The pilots felt a sudden jolt backwards but the masterful pilot enjoyed the feeling, unlike Yorktown. Yorktown flinched and instinctively held onto the seat, gripping it with fear. Once achieving the desired speed, Van Persie pulled back on the flight control and the Tomcat gracefully glided upwards. The Tomcat rumbled as the landing gear retracted. Van Persie pulled the Tomcat into a near-vertical ascent and the venerable aircraft soared through the skies. Yorktown peered out into the dark, milky sky as the Tomcat cruised past. The darkness of the sky was brought to life by the green hue of the night-vision equipment.
"Wow, it's beautiful up here,"
"Yeah, it gets better when it's a clear day," Van Persie responded. "How the natural colour of the sky at higher altitudes is just mesmerizing to me."
000
Van Persie didn't bother to sleep after the test and calibration flight and implemented multiple drills which emphasised combined arms warfare. His specifically designed drills were going to be tested to see how disciplined the ship-girls were with staying in formation. It was still dark as it was 05:30 and the pilot was quietly sitting on a bench which overlooked the ocean with a warm cup of coffee in his hand. He dressed in his pilot's uniform since it would be easier for him to command and control from the skies. He also received word that Graf Zeppelin would be the carrier of choice along with Ingraham as the destroyer running anti-submarine duties. The beginning rallying point was 06:30 and drills would start at 07:00. Today was strange as it was particularly cold. The Dutchman was used to rain and the cold. It was a nice change for him as he could barely withstand the humid climate. The warm heat from the coffee cup pulsated throughout his body as he enjoyed his morning brew. The sounds of chatter clattered their way through as Van Persie turned around, he saw the fleet he selected outside.
"Come on, let's impress the leftenant," Van Persie heard someone say faintly. A small smile grew across his face as he appreciated the fact that at least they were going to try their best.
The quiet and tranquil morning was suddenly shattered by the screams and bellows of one very angry Van Persie. The mad pilot was frantically barking orders at his fleet, enforcing the strict discipline he values to maintain the fleet formation. "INGRAHAM, STAY IN FORMATION. YOU'RE ANTI-SUBMARINE! STICK IN FORMATION!" The mad Dutchman barked over the radio as his F-14 soared past above the formation.
"I'm sorry sir!" Ingraham responded.
"GRAF ZEPPLIN, WHERE ARE THOSE FIGHTER ESCORTS? THEY SHOULD"VE BEEN IN THE AIR MINUTES AGO!"
"Launching those squadrons now. I'm sorry for my incompetence!" Graf Zeppelin said.
"Watch out! Enemy fighter squadrons detected on radar!" Hood exclaimed. These 'enemy fighters' are training dummies. Graf Zeppelin's first wave of fighter escorts raced eastwards and met the training dummies head-on, scoring many kills. As Van Perise taught, Graf readied sortied her second squadron and kept her third on standby. Hood's excellent anti-air batteries opened fire. The orchestra of anti-aircraft fire reigned supreme as Hood, Richelieu and Graf Zeppelin had completely destroyed the air squadron. Moreover, simultaneously, Vittorio Veneto's main guns fired, and the shells roared through the sky, striking a detected training fleet. Belfast and Ingraham performed double duty, hunting for submarines as well as providing something akin to a CIWS to the carrier and battleships. This unison and synchronisation of Van Persie's fleet cracked a smile in the Flying Dutchman.
"THERE WE GO! THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT!" Van Perise clamoured on the radio. After the training session, Van Persie's ladies regrouped, docked and utterly exhausted.
"Finally, we have a commander who has discipline and a decent strategy," Graf Zeppelin admitted.
"Yes, even though he was harsh, we did make errors and if that was a real battle, we would've been severely wounded or even sunk. As you said, Graf, it is a good feeling to have the assurance that your commander is competent," Hood spoke, and the others nodded. Commander King was too soft whereas Overmars was too preoccupied with the finer details. Van Persie seemed to them a perfect commander for the base. Someone who can instil discipline and battle-readiness as well as be a frontline commander. Van Persie landed his Tomcat routinely on the runway and was picked up by an escort. Having been brought back to his apartment, he immediately poured himself many glasses of water as for his throat. Other than that, he was extremely happy with his fleet's performance. He firmly believed that they finally understood the concept and battle tactics of a carrier strike group.
000
Despite the training exercise occupying Van Persie's mind, he was still extremely wary about a possible surprise attack. Van Persie knew the enemy was not stupid and he hypothesised that their initial surprise attack was too easily foiled and whatever happened to the other two fleets? Overmars said that he and additional support had neutralized those fleets, but Van Persie never read the after-action reports. In fact, the Dutchman doubted an after-action report was even written. Van Persie was extremely suspicious of all the high-command officials as there was an unidentifiable aura of treachery. He was convinced that something was up. Furthermore, Van Persie had never seen such a dysfunctional command hierarchy. He was astonished at the inner workings of a task force that was extremely proclaimed and praised. Apparently, this Azur Lane coalition was supposed to be the most elite units of the world working together. All Van Persie saw was lazy and unmotivated high school gossip girls engaged in sex scandals and holiday behaviour attached to a rotten logistics and auxiliary system. Not to mention the incompetence and backwardness in command and control. There were a few glimmers of hope here and there but critical and basic skills such as communication, trust, command, and more were an afterthought at best. If coalition forces want to seriously project power and win tactical engagements, everyone needs to be sent back to basic. Van Persie concluded that in their current state. Azur Lane would not stand a chance against a coordinated and well-executed campaign. Their chances of winning a limited war were slim at best and they were engaged in a war of annihilation. Even if something radically good happened for the coalition, Van Persie would still be in for a hell of a ride.