Chapter 12- Tests
Deutschland was in the process of brushing out her hair. She enjoyed the look, but had to admit that having such long hair meant a great deal of maintenance.
She was worth it, of course.
She was musing on the possibility of getting some sort of maid- perhaps one of the destroyers- when her door flew open.
Instinctively, she summoned her rigging, turning to the door in indignation. "Who dares-" she stopped when she saw Falke standing there.
He stalked into the room. "Why were you not at training?" he asked, his voice as calm and still as a mill-pond before a storm.
Deutschland tossed her head defiantly. "One such as me does not train with lowly animals such as yourself, Kommandant." She sneered the title.
"I see." He stepped further into the room, looking it over.
The Reichsmarine had been at a loss regarding how to treat the ship-girls. Eventually they decided that heavier ships would be given their own rooms such as officers received, while the destroyers and light cruisers had to make do with room-mates. So Deutschland had been free to decorate however she wanted.
An enormous German flag nearly covered one wall. The whole room had a red and black motif, from the luxurious bed to the curtains that were drawn tightly over the windows. The room was downright gloomy, just the way Deutschland liked it.
She felt obscurely, illogically threatened as Falke surveyed the room. "Where did you get that bed?" he asked, his voice still deceptively calm. "It is not standard issue."
There was no good reason for her to be on the defensive. She could crush this creature like a bug if she so wished. Nevertheless- "That is none of your concern."
"The discipline of my command is always my concern," said Falke. "And this room is not at all in keeping with regulations."
"Regulations don't apply to me," she replied.
"Indeed?" He nodded, apparently to himself. "You are under arrest."
She blinked, unsure she heard him right. "Excuse me?"
"Disobedience to orders in wartime," said Falke. "I have attempted to bring you under military discipline and made allowances for your- special circumstances." He turned and gestured to some military police outside. Deutschland had never even noticed them, so intent was she on Falke. There was something about him that seemed to fill the room.
She drew herself up as the military police hesitantly stepped into the room. "No. I will not be arrested."
The gun was out of his holster in the blink of an eye, pointed at her head. So close was it that she could see the rifling of the barrel. "Do you think a little Luger can hurt me, the mighty Deutschland?"
"I don't know," said Falke impassively. "I do know that you can injure yourselves, that you take care to avoid injury. I suspect it is quite possible that a point-blank shot like this could injure or kill you, while a long range warship volley can be shrugged off by armor. And frankly I suspect you don't know either."
He took the slack out of the pistol's trigger, the very slight click loud in the silent room. "So the question you have to ask yourself is if this is the way you want to answer the question?"
There was a long silence. Deutschland felt herself start to sweat. "I-" she stopped, hesitating.
Even the strongest warship had weaknesses. Places where there wasn't any armor. The crew themselves were unarmored, vulnerable to any sort of gunfire or shrapnel. The crew was, in many ways, the brains of the ship.
She wondered if her brain was as vulnerable as they would have been.
"You wouldn't dare," she whispered. "Germany needs me."
"Germany needs disciplined, well-trained, and effective warships," said Falke, his aim never wavering. "Germany needs soldiers and sailors who follow orders. Germany does not need an arrogant prima donna who can't be bothered to train with her fellow warships."
There was a cough from the door of Deutschland's room. She turned to see Bismarck, standing almost casually in the doorway. Falke kept his eyes on Deutschland, but spoke first. "Bismarck. Is there something I can do for you?"
"Tell this animal that he cannot do this!" shouted Deutschland, what little was left of her reserve cracking. "Tell him-"
"He is the Kommandant," said Bismarck quietly. "And you have consistently denied his authority. If it so happens that he cannot kill you with that pistol, you should remember that I certainly can. Submit to your arrest, Deutschland. It is the least you deserve."
Deutschland's mind raced. She knew she could kill- utterly destroy- Falke, assuming he was not able to injure her with that pistol. He had to know that. He was gambling as much as she was.
"I will count to ten," said Falke coldly. "Eins."
She simply could not believe it. He had to know that he was risking his life as much as hers, and yet he was bringing on the confrontation faster. The longer this went on, the more likely one of them would crack-
"Zwei".
"This is insane," she said almost frantically. "You could die!"
"But you will die," replied Falke. "Drei."
It was a question of will, she realized. He was utterly determined on this course.
"Vier."
If she were as focused on her course, he would die.
"Fuenf."
"You fool," she snarled. "You are committing slow suicide."
"Sechs. Seiben."
"I won't back down," said Deutschland, her voice trembling.
"Acht." The military policemen were starting to look distinctly nervous, but Falke's face remained set, the very picture of indomitable will.
"Nuen." Bismarck stepped forward, the cannons on her rigging whirring as they turned to aim at Deutschland.
"Zeh-"
"Wait!" screamed Deutschland, finally cracking. "All right, I give up!"
Falke raised an eyebrow. He cast an aside look at Bismarck, who was studying Deutschland closely. After a moment, she gave Falke a shallow nod.
He holstered his pistol. "Very well." Falke turned and nodded to the military police. "Take her into custody and place her in the brig."
"Jawohl, Kommodor." They stepped forward. "If you will come with us, Fraulein."
She stepped forward, but stopped when Falke raised a hand. "Place her in handcuffs, Feldwebel."
Hesitantly, the policeman stepped forward. "Place your hands together, Fraulein."
"This is an outrage," began Deutschland, but subsided when Falke put his hand on his pistol. "Very well." She held her head up high as the policeman handcuffed her and led her away.
There was silence for a long moment after she had left.
"What will you do with her?" asked Bismarck.
Falke shrugged. "If she were a normal sailor, she would be shot." He held up a hand to forestall Bismarck, who had begun to protest. "I know, she is too valuable to be shot out of hand." He shook his head. "But if she continues-"
"She won't," said Bismarck confidently.
"How can you be so sure?"
"What I saw was a contest of will, with life as the forfeit. She lost, and she knows she lost." Bismarck smiled wryly. "It will no longer be Deutschland über Alles for her. It will be Falke über Alles."
"That would be quite a switch," said Falke dubiously.
Bismarck shrugged. "I do not say her attitude will change.
"Only her actions."
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"She actually let herself be arrested?" Koln's voice was incredulous.
She, her two sisters, and Z23 were all sitting in one of the smaller cafeterias on the base which had been given over to the ship-girls.
Karlsruhe looked confused. "Aren't you not supposed to have a choice? I mean, isn't that what being arrested means?"
"I'd let myself be arrested," said Koenigsberg. Her sisters both looked at her askance.
"Anyway," said Koln after a beat. "Can you imagine Deutschland under arrest?"
There was a long moment as the girls tried to picture this. "Not really," admitted Z23.
"I can imagine it," said Koenigsberg.
Z23 edged away from her slightly. "This Kommandant is no pushover, is he?" she said.
"Not in the slightest."
They all turned to see Prinz Eugen walking in, Admiral Hipper beside her. "I would say our new Kommandant is as far from a pushover as one can get, ja?"
"He is arrogant," said Hipper, apparently oblivious to the irony. "He will get us all killed."
"It is our duty to serve, is it not?" said Prinz Eugen. Her voice held a trace of irony, but then it always did. "And he is our Kommandant."
Hipper hesitated. "He is certainly not to be trifled with," she admitted. "He does not like being tested."
"But he must be tested," replied Prinz Eugen. She sat down on an old stuffed chair in one corner of the room, folding her legs underneath her. Hipper looked around for another seat, then sighed and perched on the arm of the chair. "For if he fails a test, then we will have a new Kommandant. But if he fails in battle, then- we will also have a new Kommandant, but he will command fewer of us."
"Tested how?" asked Koln nervously. She was a little scared of Prinz Eugen, despite- or perhaps because of- the heavy cruiser's supercilious and studied air of indifference.
"That is what we must decide," said Eugen.
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"They're up to something," Scherer told Falke.
Falke glanced up from his desk. "Who is?" He read over a form, signed it quickly and placed it on a growing pile to his right. It was still quite short compared to the stack of paperwork on his left.
"The ship-girls," said Scherer. "I can hear them whispering in their rooms."
"Surely a bit paranoid," said Falke. "They are young girls. Girls whisper to one another in their rooms. It is the way of things. They are probably talking about some of the boys on base."
His Feldwebel regarded him curiously. Gradually, the Kommodor had been talking about the ship-girls less and less as weapons, and more and more as, well, girls.
"I have given strict orders that there will be no fraternization between any sailors and the girls," he said.
"Oh, well, that's all right then," replied Falke. "Never have such orders been disobeyed."
Scherer grimaced. "Yes, all right, I take your point. But still-"
Falke frowned at a form. "Why have we requisitioned a siren from a Stuka?"
"What?"
"Never mind." He scribbled something on the form and turned it over. "Any word from the picket ships?"
"Multiple radar contacts, as usual. No actual Siren ships seen, as usual."
Falke drummed his fingers on the desk thoughtfully. "The new British radar systems are ready to install, aren't they?"
"Yes, Kommodor."
The Kommandant stood up abruptly. "Come, Scherer. I have a little experiment I'd like to try."
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"A new variable," said the one called Tester. "Interesting."
"Its name is Falke," said one of the ones called Explorer.
"A human," said the one called Purifier dismissively. "Do you want me to destroy him?"
Tester looked to the one called Observer.
"No," said Observer after a moment. "These human Commanders complicate our experiments, but they are variables that need to be controlled for. But by all means, let us determine this Falke's strength."
Tester nodded. "Purifier," she said. "Would you-"
"I thought you'd never ask."
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The first warning they had of the Siren attack was the explosion of one of the ammunition bunkers on the outskirts of the base.
An air-raid warning siren went off, awakening Falke. He shot out of bed, hand instinctively reaching for his sidearm. The first siren abruptly cut off, making him wonder for a brief moment if he had been dreaming, but ones further away started up. He yanked on his pants and nearly ran into Scherer as he charged out of his room.
"Report," he said, strapping on his pistol belt. Scherer held an MP40 submachine gun on a strap.
"Siren attack," said Scherer. "The attacker has not been identified yet, which means-"
"Likely one or more humanoid forms. The girls?"
"Mobilizing now."
"Take me to them."
"The air raid shelter, Kommandant-" Neither of them noticed how he used the ship-girls' appellation for Falke, rather than his proper rank.
"Take me to them."
Scherer gave up and led Falke from the building.
A fire blazed to their east, the ammunition bunker that had been destroyed. Even as firefighters rushed to the scene, more explosions wracked the naval base's air-strip, sending balls of fire up as readied fighters exploded. For just a brief moment, the spotlights roaming the skies lit up a humanoid figure, before the offending spotlight blew up in a shower of sparks.
"Humanoid Siren," said Falke.
Flak fire began, and at least a few of the operators must have spotted the Siren as the bursts converged on the point where the figure had last been seen. Falke and Scherer dashed across the hellscape. Scherer suddenly knelt down next to a sprawled body on the tarmac.
"Leave him," said Falke.
"But, Kommandant-"
"If we don't stop this, there will be far more like him." His gaze softened slightly as he saw Scherer's anguished look. "A medic is not far away," he said, nodding behind them.
Scherer looked up and waved down the medic, pointing at the downed sailor. "Jawohl, Herr Kommandant."
They had gone a few hundred yards, almost to the ship-girls' barracks. The flak and spotlights were back to aimlessness, filling the sky with a firework show that under other circumstances might have been beautiful.
"The Siren must have escaped," shouted Scherer. "The flak and spotlights don't seem to be concentrating in any one spot."
"I know where she is," said Falke, drawing his pistol.
Scherer looked up just in time to dive to the ground as a burst of light flickered toward him. An explosion gouged a section of tarmac out right where he had been, peppering him with debris.
Falke tracked the Siren with his pistol, squeezing off steady, aimed rounds. The Siren blinked in surprise, taking some of the rounds but dodging the others as she landed lithely on the ground.
The Siren was dressed in what seemed a parody of a sailor's uniform, the shirt not covering her midriff and with the briefest of shorts. Her hair flowed around her as she reached back with gloved hands to tie it back.
"Not bad shooting," she said mockingly. "If you had something more than that peashooter I might be concerned."
Falke dropped the magazine and began reloading, eyes steady on the Siren walking toward him. "What do you want?"
"What does every being want, Kommandant?" She noticed his slight twitch as she said the last word. "Oh, yes, I know who you are. I want you, Herr Kommandant."
"I don't care about that," sneered Falke. He worked the slide on his pistol, chambering a round. "I mean, what do you Sirens want? You could have wiped us out long ago. Instead, you starve us, murder us in dribs and drabs, and basically waste everyone's time."
The Siren blinked, then grinned manically. "A good joke," she said admiringly. "Wasting everyone's time, yes. And some of us have so little time to waste." Her rigging flashed into existence, doubling or tripling her apparent size. "Such as you."
"I noticed something just now," said Falke conversationally. "You referred to my gun as a peashooter, implying it was harmless."
She cocked an inquisitive eyebrow. "So?"
"You still bothered to dodge." He raised his pistol again and fired.
With a snarl, she ducked her head, raising her arms to protect her eyes. The rounds ricocheted off of some sort of field, but her inattention gave Falke time. He used it to turn and dash toward the ship-girl barracks.
"Sneaky, sneaky!" shouted the Siren behind him. "Look out, Herr Kommandant!"
Forewarned, he threw himself to the ground as a blast shot overhead, destroying a small shed. He scrambled to his feet, only to dodge another shot. She was playing with him, he realized- no one could be that poor a shot.
"Duck and dodge, little human," she said, in a sing-song voice. "Scoot and scramble. The end is always the same. You will-dammit!" She threw up her arms again as Scherer rose from behind an up-ended staff car, cradling his MP40 in his hands.
"Aim for the eyes, Scherer!" shouted Falke. As Scherer fired at the Siren, he ran the short distance to the barracks and threw open the door.
The barracks was empty.
He sagged in relief, turned to see the Siren staring at him curiously.
"You're not frightened?" she asked.
"Why would I be frightened?" he replied. "We've won."
"You've what?"
"Feuer!"
"What-" began the Siren, her golden eyes widening in surprise, just before a blast threw her head over heels along the roadway leading to the barracks. She jumped up, only to dodge with a curse as more rounds impacted around her.
Bismarck strode into view from around a corner of the barracks where she and Tirpitz had attacked from ambush. "Siren," she said.
"Bismarck," said the Siren. "This should be fun!" She grinned.
"Awaiting orders," said Z23 as she ran up behind Falke. A gaggle of light cruisers and destroyers followed her, with Prinz Eugen taking up the rear at a more sedate pace. They quickly moved into a line facing the Siren, who was beginning to look slightly concerned.
Falke saw Scherer joining the line, slapping a new magazine in his submachine gun. He turned to look at the Siren. "Do you have a name, Siren?"
Her eyes flicked between the row of guns aimed at her, from the massive 15 inch guns of Bismarck and Tirpitz to Z23's six inch main guns. "Purifier. Why do you ask?"
"Not sure, really," he admitted. "All ships, fire."
The Siren leapt into the air as the guns poured fire into the place she had been standing. The destroyers, with their smaller frames, were able to track her, striking her repeatedly as she rose into the sky. Part of her rigging was ripped apart, dangling uselessly, but she had time to fire back. Bismarck threw herself between Falke and the Siren, absorbing the rounds on her armor.
"Not bad, Herr Kommandant," said the Siren. "But the end is always the same. Auf wiedersehen."