Chapter 15- The Channel
The Channel was, as it so often could be, covered in fog and swept by the occasional squall. The gray ocean rolled leadenly beneath Lane's feet as he made his way across the deck of Prince of Wales. Wales herself looked steady as a rock, which paradoxically made him feel even more seasick. It was far from crippling- he was an experienced sailor and even the monotonous rolling of the waves was only enough to make him slightly queasy. The clammy feel of the fog didn't help matters, however.
"This fog may mean we get the convoy through after all," observed Wales. "We may not get to spring your little trap."
"Getting the convoy through is a goal in itself," he reminded her. "Remember, you don't ensure victory by forcing a path that leads to it. You ensure victory by ensuring that all paths lead to victory, even if some of them might be suboptimal."
Wales nodded after a moment of mulling that over. "I suppose." She went to the railing, leaning on it with her arms resting on the top. "We're halfway to Portsmouth already. The Queen is already preparing the docks to unload the cargo ships when we get there."
"Is she?" He turned to watch the rest of his fleet- a small group of destroyers led by a light cruiser. The light cruiser- Sheffield- saw him watching and gave him a nod. "I have a question for you," he said to Wales.
"Yes?"
"Why follow her? She's not a real queen, you know."
There was a long pause as Wales stared across the water. Lane had begun to worry that he had offended her- well, offended her more than he had expected- when she spoke. "When we were awakened, we were lost and confused. The Admiralty was unsure what to do with us, and more than a few of the ranking officers thought we were of little worth. They had expected to just receive ships from the project, as they didn't really understand the process."
"Admirals not understanding the implications of a military project? Surely you jest."
She gave him a wry look before continuing. "Of us, the Queen was the most sure of herself. Arrogance has its place, you know. While often frustrating and sometimes counter-productive, knowing exactly what one expects of oneself and others can be a survival trait."
Lane was far from a modest man, and he had to admit the truth of what she said. "So she became the leader by default?"
"Well, we were- are- inculcated with a desire to serve the monarchy, so it didn't hurt that she was Queen Elizabeth. It made it- easier, somehow, when the 'proper' authorities rejected us."
Lane considered that. "She has to understand that there can be only one commander, you know."
"She's waiting for you to prove herself. And, to be honest, she'll never be the perfect subordinate. That's not all bad- if something happens to you, she'll need to take control again." Wales looked at him. "We need a leader. Ships always must have a commander."
"So you'll follow me?"
"We'll follow you- if you are worthy of being followed."
Before he could answer, the radio squawked. "Your Highness, this is Sheffield. I am detecting probable Siren forces to the southwest."
Wales looked at Lane, who nodded. "Acknowledged, Sheffield. Do not give them any indication they have been detected."
"Understood."
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The leader of the civilian convoy, Captain Raoul Benavidez, paced the deck of the Viento worriedly. "You're sure this is going to work?"
He spoke to the tall brunette who had been introduced to him as Hood. He was still unsure of her, not quite understanding her role. Someone had said she was a warship, but he was certain that he had just misunderstood- his English was good, but not his first or even second language.
Benavidez was from Mexico, and the Viento still flew the Mexican flag proudly. He had been in a convoy in 1938 that had made it successfully across the Atlantic, but then never sailed back due to the loss of their escorts. Since then he had made a living running up and down the European coast, barely one step ahead of the Sirens the whole way. Years of living under constant threat brought the crew together as a family in a way that he had never experienced before. Even so, he had not hesitated to take them into danger for this operation. The money was good, but he had also been in England before, and the memory of the starvation he had seen there had remained with him. The cargo of canned goods his ship carried was urgently needed.
So, apparently, was the "special cargo" he had been ordered to carry as well. What the purpose of it was still eluded him.
"Nothing in life is ever sure, capitan," replied Hood. "But rest assured, we shall do our utmost to ensure you and your crew's safety."
"Not to be rude, but why are you here, senorita?"
She gave him a bemused look. "To protect you, of course."
"But-"
A star shell suddenly exploded above them, lighting them even through the fog.
"Dio mio! Las Sirenas!" He turned and started speaking in rapid fire Spanish to the helmsman.
Shells splashed into the ocean around him as the Viento picked up speed, living up to her name.
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"Fire at will," ordered Lane. "Sheffield, how many contacts?"
"Fourteen," she replied. "They're within range of the convoy."
"Understood. Screen the convoy for now. Stay safe- don't expose yourself."
"Yes, Commander."
He watched as the small group of light warships veered off to engage the Sirens. The convoy- slow-moving merchant ships- started to pick up what speed they could and began spreading apart. "Order the convoy to stay together."
"Commander, Captain Benavidez wants to speak with you."
Lane sighed. "Go ahead."
"Capitan Lane, we are exposed here. We would like permission to scatter. There are too many Sirens after us."
"Negative, Captain. Continue your course. Ready the special cargo."
There was a curse in Spanish that Lane pretended not to understand. "Senor, how am I supposed to ready it? I do not even know the point of this."
"Just tell Hood to stand ready." He glanced at the plot. "We have only a few minutes."
"A few minutes to what? Die?"
"A few minutes to make sure they can't get away."
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"He says to make ready," said Benavidez to Hood.
"As if he needs to ask," she replied, amused. A brace of shells splashed around the Viento. "Looks like they've bracketed us. I suspect our time is running out."
Benavidez sighed. "You English. You could at least act worried."
"What good would that do?"
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Chaser 38-213-b was a comparatively low "ranking" Siren, far from the deliberations of the top ranked Siren commanders. Her job was simple- intercept and destroy any convoys from the mainland to England in the Channel.
She hadn't had much to do in the past year or so. The occasional fast smuggler had slipped through, but the majority of the cargo ships that had tried to run the blockade were now paving the sea-floor with steel.
This latest convoy confused her. The humans had stopped trying to run convoys long ago- when they came, it was in ones or twos, small ships moving quickly under the cover of night. The last true convoy had been sunk years ago. Did they think that a paltry force of the newly born shipgirls would be enough to save them? The Sirens would take losses, true, but was it worth losing so much of their shipping capacity?
She had decided to take no chances. Which was why a second force was coming fast up from the northeast of the convoy.
As the convoy desperately turned away from her fleet, they were moving toward an even larger force.
Running straight to their deaths.
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"Did you ever study the Battle of the Nile?" asked Lane idly as he studied the plot. Sheffield had just detected the even larger force of Sirens coming from the northeast.
Tensely, Wales nodded. "A great victory."
"Yes, it was. And what led to that victory?"
"Poor choices on the part of the French? They should have manned the land defenses."
"Oh, that played a part. But the main problem was that they failed to concentrate their forces, allowing us to defeat them in detail. The thing about fighting the French was not that they were cowards, as we sometimes joke."
"Then what was it?"
"They were never, ever, ready.." He nodded as the convoy drew closer to the northeast fleet, well within shelling range. "Hood, this is Lane. You are cleared to attack."
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"Very good, Commander." Hood turned to Benavidez. "Captain, would you be so kind as to swing to port?" Without waiting for an answer, she glided into the cargo bay.
Trading a look with his first officer, Benavidez shrugged. "Do as she says, Carlos."
"Si, senor." The ship swung to one side, turning her beam towards the oncoming fleet.
Moments later, Hood reappeared with the "special cargo".
"Passengers" would have been more apt. A gaggle of girls crowded onto the deck, all peering intently to the northeast as if their eyes could pierce the fog. They spread out along the starboard rail, stretching and talking excitedly among themselves. To Benavidez, their conversation made no sense. It was as if they were planning on fighting the Sirens all by themselves.
"Capitan, I'm afraid I shall have to leave you now," said Hood.
"Leave? Senorita, it is a long way across the Channel. Do you intend to swim?"
She gave him a brilliant smile. "Something like that. Hasta la vista." With that, she stepped onto the rail and leaped from the ship.
Benavidez's jaw dropped as the rest of the girls followed her. "What-"
What he saw next was even more surprising. "Carlos, ves esto?"
"Si, senor. No lo creo."
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"What?"
Chaser 38-213-b couldn't believe it. Suddenly, the entire battle had changed.
"Northeast group, full stop. Come around to-"
She was interrupted by a shell that struck near her. She looked up to see a blonde girl in a maid's dress skimming towards her, pistols aimed at the Siren. A round caromed off her rigging, sending her into a spin. With an effort, the Chaser recovered, returning fire and forcing the ship-girl to dodge.
More girls- destroyers, unless she missed her guess- flew past the first, firing torpedoes into her mass-produced fleet. "No!"
Her mass produced ships returned fire, bracketing an unlucky ship girl in a red and white dress who was knocked down. The fallen girl cried out and one of the attacking destroyer girls swerved to help her. More shells burst against the Chaser's rigging, forcing her to drop to the surface of the water.
"Northeast group, retreat," she said once she managed to take a breath. Perhaps she should continue the fight, continue the test, but as far as she was concerned, they had enough data for now.
The game had changed.
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"Humanoid Siren spotted," reported Sheffield. "Chaser class."
She neatly swerved to port, throwing off the aim of a Pawn-class destroyer. Casually, she launched a spread of torpedoes into the side of the Siren ship. Ignoring the detonations, she glided past and flicked her hair out of her eye with a quick movement of her head.
The fog lit up with explosions, dull roars that seemed ghostly and far away even when comparatively close. She heard the strange sound of a Siren gun, so different from the roaring artillery of a human ship's main armament. Her golden eyes focused as she spotted a familiar form through the fog.
Vermin, she thought as she took aim.
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"Tally-ho!" shouted Hood as she spotted the first Siren ships. "Ventis secundis!"
The roar of her guns were joined by those of Duke of York and Warspite, fifteen-inch guns capable of reaching over eighteen miles firing at a target at just under ten thousand yards. The two flagships of the northeast Siren force, a brace of Rook battleships, shuddered under several hits.
"They flee," observed Duke of York. "Shall we pursue?"
Hood glanced back at the Viento. "If we do, we leave the convoy uncovered." She clenched her gloved fist. "The one time they decide to fall back-"
Warspite skated up next to them. "We can split up. If I and Duke of York-"
"No," said Hood. "We might end up trapped in turn." Her eyes became unfocused. "Wales, this is Hood."
"Hood, this is Wales. The Commander is listening."
"The northeast Siren force is retiring. Shall we fall back to the convoy?"
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"Dammit," muttered Lane. "They weren't supposed to retreat."
"Not very cricket of them at all," agreed Wales. "But the convoy will get through."
"Yes, and that's important, but I'm more interested in getting all the future convoys through, too." He paced across the conning tower, thinking.
Wales frowned. "I don't know for certain what you are thinking, but if we pursue the northeast group-"
"We leave the convoy uncovered except for Sheffield and the destroyers." Comet, Crescent, Cygnet, and Foxhound. "Sheffield, this is Wales."
"Go ahead, Commander," came her instant reply.
"What's your status dealing with the southwest group?"
"Should be done here in a few minutes," she said calmly. There was a roar and static drowned the connection for a moment. "A 'few' may be optimistic."
"Are you in danger?"
"I am a warship, Commander," pointed out Sheffield. "Danger is stock-in-trade. But I take your meaning. I'll be fine."
"Very good," said Lane dubiously. "Out." He looked at Wales.
She shrugged. "We've done well. We'll maul both of those groups for certain, though most may get away. And this is the largest convoy we've managed to get through in years."
"True," he said, still hesitating.
She continued, watching him closely. "I don't see any good options other than pulling everyone back to the convoy and continuing to port. Sheffield may be able to handle the Sirens to the southwest, but she certainly won't be able to do that and cover the convoy. And if we dispatch Hood's ambush force to chase the Sirens to the northeast, the convoy will be uncovered completely." She raised any eyebrow. "It's still a victory, Commander."
Getting the convoy through would still be a victory, no doubt about it. But-
The Sirens would know about his little trick, now. It gave a whole new meaning to the term Q-ship, when a cargo ship could suddenly disgorge whole fleets of warships. He had hoped to catch a sizable fleet, like the Americans had recently done. Instead, it seemed likely his bag would include only a few mass-produced Siren vessels and one Chaser, assuming Sheffield could pull that off.
But what if he risked the convoy?
He could continue pursuing the northeast group, the larger one, and likely sink nearly all of it. That would be a sizable blow to the Siren forces in the area. The convoy wasn't far from Portsmouth, a few hours at the most. He'd had the convoy take a somewhat circuitous route, both to avoid known blockade forces and to give the Sirens more time to take the bait, but they were well along the route by now. More than likely, the convoy could make the last leg unescorted. Maybe there were some submarines, but-
He shook his head. That convoy represented not only a good portion of the remaining cargo capacity in Europe, but also enough food and other supplies to save a fair few lives in Great Britain from starvation. Not to mention the lives of the brave merchantmen who had agreed to the dangerous journey.
Lane couldn't betray them.
"Call back Hood's group. Continue to Portsmouth. Have some of Hood's faster ships break off and assist Sheffield." They could at least eliminate the humanoid Siren.
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Chaser was finding the name given to her class by the humans to be rather ironic as the pale-haired ship-girl hunted her relentlessly over the waves. The Siren blasted another volley, only to see the ship-girl reappear, her face grim and set. Her six-inch guns were relatively light, but posed a real threat to Chaser, who was in the light cruiser class herself.
"I have no further need of data," she shouted at the ship-girl in frustration. "You may fall back and rejoin your fleet." To accentuate her point, she commanded a mass-produced cruiser to fire, barely missing the persistent girl.
"I don't leave a job half-finished," said the ship-girl. "And pest control is my specialty." She fired again, one of the shells denting the armor of the Siren's rigging.
"Pest control?" said the Siren. "Is that how you think of this? What sort of pests are you used to dealing with?" Keeping her eyes on the Royal Navy ship-girl, she sent out a series of mental commands to what was left of her fleet. Four- no, three- destroyers were all that were left. The pillar of smoke growing steadily in the northeast was her fourth, having just been struck by a series of torpedo launches.
"The kind that doesn't talk, mostly," said the ship-girl. She took careful aim with her dual pistols. "Though there is something so much more satisfying about eliminating those that do. Farewell, Siren."
Chaser smiled back at her. "Farewell, Sheffield."
The ship-girl's eyes widened at her name as all three Siren destroyers converged on her from the fog at full speed.
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Sheffield had only moments to act. She spun and fired at the water-line of the nearest destroyer. At least some of the rounds penetrated, slowing the ship just slightly. It would have to be enough.
Shielding her face with her arms, she kicked off into flank speed, aiming for the opening created by the damaged destroyer.
"Look out, Sheffield!" shouted Foxhound. "They're going to collide!"
"Thank you ever so much," muttered Sheffield. She was accelerating from a near standing start to try and dodge two high-speed vessels and wasn't going to make it. She knew she was tough, but not "survive being rammed by a flank-speed destroyer" tough. "Only one thing for it."
She changed her course, heading straight at one of the on-coming Siren ships. As it drew closer, she jumped into the air, soaring above the ship's deck. A blast from one of the energy cannons set fire to her dress, but fortunately that soon went out as she landed with a splash in the water on the other side of the enemy ship.
Behind her, the Siren destroyers collided, a cacophonous roar of rending metal announcing their meeting. She turned to see the bow of one, sheared off completely, slowly capsize as the two ships started to burn.
"Sheffield, come on!" Comet and Cygnet appeared at her side, Crescent and Foxhound providing covering fire. "We've got to get out of here!" The two destroyers hauled her to her feet and took off with her in tow, struggling against them.
"I didn't finish with that Siren," protested Sheffield. "The Commander-"
"The Commander wants you alive more than he wants the Siren dead," said Comet.
"But-"
"He said to return to the fleet, and that was an order," said Comet. "I'm relaying his commands directly," she explained.
"Oh."
Behind them, the two burning destroyers were struck by the third one Sheffield had damaged, and all three decided to take that as a cue to blow up.
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"It could have gone better," said Lane.
He was standing near the docks, incognito in the drab Royal Navy weather gear he wore. A cluster of ship-girls in similar attire stood around him.
The dock seethed with activity. Due to the secrecy surrounding the convoy, there were no large crowds, but the Admiralty had ensured there were plenty of stevedores waiting to unload the ships when they arrived. Crates and pallets of canned goods, grain, and medicines were being off-loaded as quickly as they could, then shipped out again via trucks. And not just trucks, noted Lane. More than a few of the outgoing vehicles were horse carts. A grim testament to the supply situation, that.
"It went well enough," said Wales, standing next to him. "We sank almost the entirety of the southwest group, and one of the Rooks from the northeast group. Damaged some others, but who knows how quickly the Sirens can repair themselves."
"I missed the humanoid Siren," muttered Sheffield, to Lane's left and behind him. "Please accept my apologies, Commander."
"No apologies necessary," said Lane.
"Is that so?" said a new voice. Lane turned and squinted at the newcomer, a cheerful-looking man with a squashed face and twinkling eyes. "I should think we should have some sort of apology. Some of them got away, Lane! Byng was shot for less." There was a light tone to his voice that belied his words.
It may have been due to the weather, or his preoccupation with the recent battle, or the plain, almost bedraggled clothing of the man, but it wasn't until he heard his voice that recognition dawned. "Mr. Churchill?"
"Ah, so it's true. Be sure your sins will find thee out." Churchill strode up and grasped Lane's hand. "And you're probably one of my worst. Sins, that is." The First Lord of the Admiralty paused. "Oh, that's not even remotely true. But we'll keep that between you and I, shall we?"
"I, ah, of course, sir-"
"I'm joking, my lad! You did well, very well. It's a shame you didn't catch more of the buggers out, but there's always tomorrow, you know." Churchill released his hand and eyed the ship-girls around Lane. "And these lovely ladies must be the heroines themselves." He bowed deeply, taking his hat off. "My deepest thanks to you, ladies. You have served His Majesty's government with both honor and distinction."
Lane took stock of their reactions. Sheffield kept her head down, the picture of an humble maid. Wales inclined her head gracefully, as one accepting her due. Hood- giggled.
Giggled.
Lane looked at her with a frank astonishment that caused her to blush cherry red.
Churchill grinned at her. "My lady Hood, I presume?"
She cleared her throat, trying to avoid the eyes of the others. "That is correct, Mr. Churchill. Thank you for your kind words." She offered her hand, which he brought to his lips gracefully. She blushed again.
"Enchante, miss Hood. Forgive me for saying so, but you are ever so much more lovely in person than in the briefings I've been reading. Though all of your visages have made those readings much less dull than they usually are." He smiled at all of them, and even Wales looked a bit flustered.
Lane was awed. The man was far from handsome, but radiated a charm and charisma that had the ship-girls acting like, well, school-girls. He decided to keep a close eye on Churchill in the future to see if he could catch the trick of it.
"Sir, you are most kind, and my girls did everything and more that I could have asked of them, but-"
"But me no buts, Captain Lane." Churchill wagged an admonishing finger at him. "The British people have long been used to being the rulers of the sea, and for good reason. For hundreds of years, a wall of oak and then steel surrounded these fair isles. Since 1066 not one opponent has successfully held British soil for any length of time, and even Napoleon met his match against us. But now, without even landing one soldier, a foe more diabolical and malevolent than has ever been seen on Earth has come against us. Without landing a soldier, the Sirens have murdered hundreds of thousands of us, targeting us with starvation, a weapon that is both more insidious and merciless than any with which even Bonaparte would have threatened us. Not our men, not our soldiers, not our sailors, but our children and elders, the weakest and most vulnerable, are targeted by this weapon.
"But no more!" Churchill raised his voice, and with a start Lane realized that a crowd was gathering. Stevedores, dock workers, servicemen and women, all were congregating around the orating First Lord. "The Siren's hand was on England's throat, and you and these brave ladies have cast it off! Not only that, but sent them running and howling away from the righteous fury of His Majesty's Royal Navy! This is not the greatest victory we shall win, but it is still the most important. Because, my dear Captain Lane, it is the first. Of. MANY."
There were hoarse cheers from the crowd, and several rough-looking dockworkers clapped Lane on the back and shook his hand. Then a voice started up somewhere in the crowd.
"Come, cheer up, my lads, 'tis to glory we steer.
"To add something new to this wonderful year."
More voices took up the song.
"To honour we call you, not press you like slaves,
"For who are so free as the sons of the waves?"
And then the crowd roared the chorus, the clear tones of Wales and Hood rising above the rough-voiced stevedores.
"Hearts of Oak are our ships,
Jolly Tars are our men
We always are ready: Steady, boys, steady
We'll fight and we'll conquer them again and again."
Churchill jumped up on the back of a truck and hauled Lane up beside them as he led the next verse.
"We ne'er see our foes but we wish them to stay
They never see us but they wish us away,
If they run, why we follow, and run them ashore
For if they won't fight us, what can we do more?"