"Do you really expect me to believe that an entire invasion force was loaded without your knowledge?"

Lane had already been angry when Javelin had brought him over on her ship. During the transfer from the Javelin to the Bismarck, the choppy sea had soaked him despite the best efforts of Javelin to keep his boat in her lee. Freezing and dripping in equal measure, he glared at the unruffled Falke.

The German shrugged. "I wouldn't have believed it either, Captain." His English was excellent, which was good, since Lane's German was rubbish. "But the ships carrying troops embarked from a different port than we did. Compartmentalization is much easier when there is only one crew-member per ship, as it were."

It made a certain sort of sense, which just made Lane angrier. "So this was the plan? I have to either assist you in an operation we haven't planned for or leave you and potentially let your fleet- and our alliance- be destroyed?"

"I suspect that was the plan, yes. Although, as I have stated, I did not-"

"Yes, yes," said Lane, crossing his arms. "You didn't know."

Falke shrugged again.

Gritting his teeth, Lane looked around Falke's cabin. It was spacious, far larger than most people envisioned when they thought of the living quarters of a ship. A large sofa stood against one bulkhead, a drinks cabinet against another. The room was dominated by a large portrait of the ship's namesake, Otto von Bismarck. It was a picture of a younger Bismarck then Lane often imagined- no bushy white mustache or eyebrows, only a hint of baldness showing he was starting to lose his still-brown hair.

Falke watched him impassively as he paced around the room. "You bloody Huns are all alike! You're going to do things your way and the rest of the world can go hang!"

"I am very sorry, Captain." Falke stepped over to the map table in the center of the room. "However, time is short. What is your decision?"

What was his decision? For the first time in his career, Lane really wished he had someone higher-ranking around to give him orders. True, he would be well within his rights to withdraw support and let the Germans risk their fleet on this insane scheme. He wouldn't exactly be showered with praise when he returned, but everyone would understand.

Yes, they would understand, and nod, and tell him that it's a terrible shame, old chap, but there was really nothing for it. Damned Jerries made their own bed, let them lie on it.

And the Sirens would sink the German fleet.

But to risk it- he glanced at the hatchway, where Javelin and Bismarck stood watching them. The British ship-girl lowered her eyes when they met his and blushed. Bismarck just watched him, as impassive as her Commander.

Falke followed his gaze and looked between the two ship-girls and Lane. After a moment, he walked to the hatchway. "My apologies, ladies, but I think we two need to speak alone for a moment."

Javelin squeaked something that might have been an acknowledgment and ducked away. Bismarck, however, eyed Falke squarely and said something in German.

Falke answered, his voice soft but firm. With a final look at Lane, Bismarck withdrew.

The German turned back after closing the hatch. "We cannot let our personal feelings rule our strategy, Captain Lane. They may look like girls, but they are warships."

"I don't want to risk losing them on this mad proposition!" shouted Lane.

Falke's fist slammed down on the table. "And you think I do?" With a visible effort, he composed himself. "I lost my children in a Siren air raid, Captain. Do not think that I am indifferent to their welfare."

For a long moment, both were silent. Falke stared at the map table, avoiding eye contact with Lane.

"They remind you of them, don't they?" Lane finally asked, quietly.

"My children are dead, Captain," said Falke softly. "They were never meant to fight, to make war." He lifted his gaze, meeting Lane's squarely. "The ships were. I will always be careful of their lives, but I will use them to defend the Fatherland. And all the children in it."

"Well?" asked Wales as she helped Lane aboard Warspite. "What's the plan?"

Lane didn't answer as he strode purposefully along the deck. She hesitated, then fell into step behind him.

"Commander?"

"I need to meet with Queen Elizabeth immediately."

Elizabeth tapped her lower lip thoughtfully as she studied the map laid out in front of them in the briefing room. "Risky move, this."

"To say the least. If they were only landing on the southern coast, perhaps-"

"But the Sirens would never let them do this again. And the northern sites are necessary to link up with the Russians."

Lane nodded. "But nonetheless-"

She looked up at him sharply. "What did you tell Falke?"

"Well, I thought I should discuss it with my command staff-"

"So you told him no."

"Er, well, I didn't say we wouldn't do it, just that I needed time-"

"So you told him maybe."

There was a pause as Lane avoided meeting her eyes.

"You told him yes." she said flatly.

"We can't just go home and let him get the whole German Navy sunk!"

"Yes, we can, Commander! That is exactly what we can- and probably should- do!"

Lane frowned and raised an eyebrow. "What did you just say?"

Elizabeth drew herself up to her full height, meaning that she almost came up to his shoulders. "I said we should go home and let the Germans sort themselves out."

"No, no, you said 'probably,'" said Lane. "As in, possibly. As in, perhaps not."

"So what if I did?" replied Elizabeth, tossing her head haughtily. "It doesn't mean-"

"I thought a great deal on this on the way here," said Lane musingly.

"And you think I did not?"

"Hush." The single word had the intended effect- the young ship-girl was too stunned at his temerity to speak. "All of this time since we awakened the ship-girls, we've been fighting small skirmishes here and there, little actions that have only marginally changed the strategic situation."

"Yes, but-" This time there was no need to hush her. Elizabeth clearly just didn't know what to say.

"It's like they're toying with us, even- I don't know- testing us. We destroy a fleet, they send a slightly larger one. What we lose, we lose forever. We can't win by solely staying on the defense."

Mercurial as always, Elizabeth had already forgotten her anger. "We need to go on the offensive."

"Yes," said Lane. "And you know it as well as I do. Shame it took the Germans to make us see that, but there it is."

She studied the map again. "Do you really think we can do this?" she asked after a moment.

Lane shrugged. "We beat the Spanish Armada, didn't we?"

"The Germans are landing in several locations along the Norwegian coast," said Lane as he surveyed his "command staff"- the ships he had designated as leaders of their respective squadrons.

Queen Elizabeth was there, of course, having decided that she was going to be his flagship. Warspite and Nelson rounded out the First Division. Prince of Wales was leading the Second Division, comprised of her, Duke of York, and Rodney. Hood, Renown, and Repulse made a Third Division of battlecruisers.

Exeter was leading a cruiser division- he had almost put York in command, until a series of excited comments about using "the Force" to wipe out the Sirens made him remember how mad she was. Instead, the more level-headed Exeter was leading her sister ship and Gloucester.

Illustrious and Unicorn would be behind the battleships to support the main battle line with air cover. Illustrious, of course, was in charge.

The remaining ships were acting as screens- at the insistence of Belfast, she was in charge of escorting the First Division. Whether this was to protect him or Queen Elizabeth was unclear- probably both. The rest of the destroyers and light cruisers were tasked with locating the Siren fleet that would surely be coming.

"The southern landings by the Germans will be at Oslo, Bergen, Stavanger, Egersund, and Kristiansand," continued Lane, pointing out each location in turn on the map mounted on the briefing room wall. "Some of those will be supported by airborne forces. Fortunately, we don't have to worry about that."

"Then what are we worried about?" asked Hood wryly.

"Glad you asked," said Lane. He pointed again. "They're also hitting Trondheim and Narvik."

There was a hiss of indrawn breath around the table.

"Commander, did you and Kommodor Falke partake in too many schnapps?" asked Hood, too sweetly. "I thought you just said we were planning on sailing all along the Norwegian coast to Trondheim and Narvik. Through Siren-infested waters, you know."

"Ah, that's where you are wrong, Miss Hood." He ignored her sudden look of suspicion as he turned back to the map. "The Germans are sailing along the coast. Our job is to cover them."

"Oh, well, that's much different- oh, wait. No, that's worse."

"I know, right? Fortunately, I have a cunning plan."

"Oh, dear," said Illustrious almost, not but not quite, too softly to hear.

He ignored her. "Historically, the Sirens tend to picket Norwegian waters with small groups of ships. It's designed more to blockade than to defend against a concentrated and determined fighting force." He drew a series of dots on the map west of the Norwegian coast, from north to south. "So we run well out to sea pretty much due north. As we encounter each Siren force, we annihilate it and move on to the next. Not only will we be able to keep them from concentrating, but it will hopefully draw any forces near the coast toward us, allowing the Germans to creep along the fjords all the way-" he drew a line north toward Trondheim and then to Narvik "-to their destination."

"And when the Sirens realize how big our force is and fall back to concentrate their forces?" asked Wales.

Lane shook his head. "If they do that, the Germans should have already taken the ports before they even get themselves sorted out. That's if we don't manage to do the sorting ourselves, of course."

"What about their teleportation technology?" This time it was Belfast.

In truth, this was the shakiest part of the plan, so Lane tried to look confident. "There's no evidence to suggest the Sirens can teleport with so little warning. Every time we've seen it in action it's been during an offensive, suggesting it requires some time to prepare. As long as we move fast enough, there shouldn't be a problem."

It was, mostly, true. Lane was aware of a few times that Siren ships had come in during a British attack, but those had been small units- enough to turn the tide against the Royal Navy, unfortunately- and he believed it was likely even those had been pre-positioned.

"Likely" wasn't much to risk their lives on, but it was the best he had. He fervently hoped the Germans could move as fast as they said they would. It was why warships were being used to transport the troops- they were not only faster than transports, but could provide some defense for themselves as well.

Lane looked around the room, seeing the trepidation in their faces. "Cheer up, ladies. This plays to our strengths. The Germans get to run around, shout at things, shoot at people, and do whatever it is the Army does. And we get to go up against seemingly insurmountable odds and probably get a mention on page three of the Times if we survive."

"What if we don't?" asked Illustrious archly.

"Then hopefully we get the front page."

"This is utterly ridiculous!"

Falke looked up from his map table into Admiral Hipper's infuriated face. "You know, some people say 'Good evening, Kommandant' or such before walking up and shouting in their ear."

"There. Are. Infantry. On my deck!" shouted Hipper again, pointing up and putting one hand on her hip. "Filthy damned infantry!"

Falke turned his attention back to the map. "They are German infantry, Hipper, and thus relatively clean. I can only imagine what you would say if there were Americans up there."

Hipper turned white. "You wouldn't dare."

"Calm down, Hipper. So far as I know there are no plans to transport any Americans aboard you." She looked relieved, until he added, "Although, so far as I knew there were no plans to invade Norway when we left port."

"You-"

"Hipper." Bismarck stepped into the cabin. "You should be aboard your ship, preparing for the landing."

The smaller ship-girl spun on her. "We have plenty of time-"

"Shall I repeat myself?"

Hipper leaned as Bismarck loomed over her. "I, er- actually, I suppose there are a few things I could-" she didn't finish as she practically ran out of the cabin.

"Thank you, Bismarck," said Falke absently. "Is General von Falkenhorst ready to see me?"

"He will be here in a moment, Kommandant."

Barely had she spoken before a middle-aged man in the uniform of the German Army tapped politely at the hatchway. "Kommodor?"

Falke straightened up. "Ah, General. Thank you for coming. Would you like a drink?"

"Thank you, no." He stepped in, nodding to Bismark. "Thank you, fraulein."

"I have been reviewing your plans," said Falke. "This operation was planned very quickly, I suspect?"

Von Falkenhorst hesitated, then nodded with a grimace. "To be honest, Kommodor, I had to use a Baedeker tourist guidebook for the preliminary plan because I didn't even have time to consult our maps."

The Kommodor raised an eyebrow, then looked at Bismarck. "That does not leave this room. I would not be able to hear for a week if Hipper finds out."

"Ground forces should be minimal, Kommodor," said von Falkenhorst. "When we land, we should have no trouble in taking the assigned objectives."

"I see." Falke tapped his fingers on the map table. "When you planned this, did you take into account Siren naval forces, or was it just the ground forces that 'should' be minimal?"

"The Reichskanzler says that our naval forces should be more than enough to sweep aside opposition, at least for the short time we need to land."

"Based on his extensive naval experience, no doubt. Come here, General." As von Falkenhorst stepped to the table, Falke pointed at the map of Norway. "As you can see, I am sending Karlsruhe to Kristiansand. She is a bit flighty, but that is probably the easiest mission you have set for me on such short notice."

Von Falkenhorst looked uncomfortable. "Orders, Kommodor. The General Staff wanted to ensure there were no leaks-"

"I never said I blame you, General," said Falke mildly. He pointed at another spot. "Bergen. Koln and Koenigsburg. This gets a bit tricky; as you can see, we are well along the western coast of Norway. The British will be sweeping ahead, so I believe we can accomplish the mission."

"Oslo should be comparatively easy, I should think," said von Falkenhorst. "I don't know much of naval matters, but I am aware that the Sirens are not particularly active in the Baltic-"

"I would never contradict you regarding your knowledge of naval matters," said Falke. "For example, did you know that to reach Oslo, one must navigate along the Oslo-Fjorden, a very tight passage guarded by some very powerful Siren fortresses?"

The general opened his mouth, then closed it again as he realized he had nothing to say.

"The original plan called for one heavy cruiser to sail through to Oslo. I will be sending three- Deutschland, Prinz Eugen, and Graf Spee. I suspect at least one of them will not survive."

"Sacrifices must be made in war," said von Falkenhorst stiffly.

"Very true. So now we come to Trondheim. Or so I hope, at least. Admiral Hipper will be sailing with four destroyers- Z19, Z20, Z21, and Z46, I believe- along the coast to land." He traced the course on the map. "Once again, we are very much hoping the British manage to draw off enough Sirens that these heavily laden ships can make it without being sunk by either Siren ships or aircraft."

Von Falkenhorst sighed. "May I ask what the point of this is, Kommodor?"

The Kommodor held up a finger. "Allow me to finish, please. Finally, we have Narvik. For this we are dispatching Scharnhort and Gneisenau with some other vessels to transport your mountain infantry. Siren activity is especially heavy here, as they are heavily blockading the polar regions to prevent naval traffic from Murmansk." He stepped away from the map table and fixed the general with his eye. "The point is, Herr General, that this plan will expose my ships- and your men- to the most danger of any operation I can think of. My point, sir, is that if we are to stand any chance of survival, I must be given a free hand with regard to the naval dispositions. I will not tolerate any interference with my orders, just as- I am sure- you would not tolerate any challenge to your authority on land."

The general studied the map for a long moment before meeting Falke's eyes. "Herr Kommodor, I believe I see your point." He held out his hand. "All I ask is that you get me to the objectives."

Falke shook his hand. "I will do so."