Chapter 22- The Urge To Destroy

Tashkent hesitated outside the door to the commissar's office. Besides the occasional political speech, he hadn't interacted much with the Soviet shipgirls since the last Commander had been shot. That Commander had only been around a few weeks, but it still hurt a bit- shipgirls tended to bond to their Commanders fairly quickly. But Comrade Stalin had said-

"Whoever that is, just come in and stop hovering around the door," said a voice from within the office.

Tashkent put aside her concerns and walked inside. "Comrade commissar, there is something we need to report."

Commissar Nikolai Falin was leaning back in his chair, smoking a cigarette and reading a report in the light coming from a desk lamp. It flickered and he absentmindedly whacked it with his hand. "Very well, report it, please."

"The English and Germans have sortied."

Falin didn't look up. "Where?"

"The North Sea-"

"So?" Falin put the page he was reading down and attached it to the rest of the report using a straight pin. Staples were in short supply- Taskhent was aware that such shortages were due to Trotskyite or other counter-revolutionary saboteurs, but why they had targeted staples particularly was inexplicable to her. "The English and Germans frequently sortie to the North Sea."

"They were spotted by a Swedish fishing boat. It appears they are invading Norway."

Falin looked up at that. "How do we know this?"

"The fishing ship had two crewmen loyal to the Party. They passed on the message directly."

"I see." The commissar drummed his fingers on his desk. "Who do we have out at sea?"

"Avrora's squadron is operating together. Grozny and Gromky are on picket duty."

"Very well. Have them investigate. Carefully."

"Koln and Koenigsburg report successful landing at Bergen," said Scharnhorst. Neither she nor Gneisenau were in ship form- the troops were being carried on a motley group of E-boats and blockade runners.

"I heard," replied Gneisenau. "The English?"

"Royal Navy reports contact with Siren forces. Hang on, I'm getting something from our radar airplane." The transmission was choppy and she had to concentrate to hear it. "Most of the Sirens have moved off toward the English. We have a small force ahead of us."

"How small?"

Scharnhorst shrugged. "Hard to say. I suppose we can make it smaller, though."

"Ha, true."

Both battlecruisers suddenly straightened. "Contact!" said Scharnhorst urgently.

Falke's transmission was almost instant. "Report."

"Almost due north." The two sisters were already training their guns on the destroyers that were just visible through the rain. "Engaging with secondaries."

The roar of their guns drowned out any additional attempt at communication. Both Siren destroyers swerved, avoiding the first volley, but were struck by the next. Neither was fatally hit, but their turn away from the oncoming shipgirls was slower than usual.

Scharnhorst glanced behind her, in the direction of the convoy they were escorting. It wasn't currently in sight, but- "Too close for comfort."

"Ja. We need to draw all their attention."

"Agreed."

As one, their ships appeared in the water, sending a wave of displaced water outward from them.

Their secondary guns spoke again, this time killing one of the Siren destroyers which were in full retreat. The other disappeared to the northeast, veiled by the rain. "Scharnhorst to Umbrella Six, request update on contacts in proximity to us."

"Umbrella Six to Scharnhorst, contacts are resolving. Five large contacts, possible capital ships."

"Escorts?"

"Hard to tell. The capital ships are easier to see."

"Understood." On her bridge, Scharnhorst leaned forward, unconsciously adjusting her cap.

The steady rain was starting to let up, and visibility abruptly jumped as the most recent squall cleared. Scharnhort's eyes were not just human- they saw with the same acuity as her ship's radar. It was, after all, a part of her.

So the appearance of the two Siren battleships was not entirely unexpected.

Experimentally, Scharnhorst willed a volley from her front turrets. Her volley fell short, but the Sirens ignored the shots, steaming towards Gneisenau and her as if nothing had happened. It was vaguely insulting, their robotic tendency to not react with any hint of self-preservation.

Except- the destroyers had fled.

"Look to the northeast!" she shouted. "Possible humanoid Siren! Hard to port!"

As the ships turned to bring their broadside to the northeast, a figure appeared, hovering above the waves.

"Aw, you caught me."

Gneisenau's voice was clipped. "Target identified as 'Purifier'. That's the same one that attacked the base."

"I know," said Scharnhorst grimly. Just then, the first salvos from the Siren battleships began striking the sea nearby.

"It would really have been wonderful if I had known you could do this," said Lane.

He was looking down on a three dimensional map of the combat zone, projected by Queen Elizabeth on her bridge. She looked at him, confused.

"I thought you knew."

Lane sighed. Not knowing the capabilities of the shipgirls was getting tiresome. "How accurate is this?"

"It's based on what is being reported to us by our ships, airplanes, and radar. Some contacts may be false, some may be missed- it's not perfect."

"Damn. I was rather hoping that this was magic. You don't know any magic, do you?"

"No."

"Worth asking." Lane walked around the projection, studying it.

So far, they had destroyed a number of Siren ships, including one battleship and its escorts. Warspite and Nelson were engaging a humanoid Siren that had appeared seemingly out of nowhere, but they seemed confident of victory. Another humanoid Siren that was coming from the north was being harassed by aircraft from Ark Royal and Illustrious he had decided to have Unicorn's air contingent focus on scouting. Overall, it had been going well so far.

But the mass of red dots- enemy contacts- on the projection moving toward them from the east was strong evidence that things were about to get a lot harder.

The Royal Navy fleet was formed in a sort of fan formation, with the First Division to the north of Queen Elizabeth, the Second to the east in the vanguard, and the Third south of the center. The Second and Third division- comprised of three battleships and three battlecruisers with their escorts, respectively- were still uncommitted. The main Siren force, however, would likely run right into the vanguard as the fleet steamed eastward.

The Germans, according to his latest update, were mostly starting to or had landed at their targets. There was fighting on land, apparently, though who precisely they were fighting was unclear. Well, other than that they were allied to the Sirens, anyway.

"So far my theory about the Sirens' teleportation seems to be correct," mused Lane.

Elizabeth winced. "Shall we not tempt fate, please?"

"Actually, maybe we should."

"Pardon?"

Lane smiled. "Order the Second Division to change bearing to-" he did some mental calculations- "one fifty degrees."

Elizabeth looked puzzled. "That will have them converge with the Third."

"Exactly."

"Should we change course, then?"

"Perish the thought."

She cocked her head. "Doesn't that mean we'll be heading directly at the Sirens without any cover? Other than our aircraft."

"Remember how I said the Sirens seemed to need to be prepositioned to teleport?"

"Yes..."

"If you draw a course from Peterhead along the most direct route to Trondheim," Lane traced out the proposed course with his finger- "then we'll hit that line right about here." His finger stabbed down on the chart, a short distance to their east.

Her eyes widened. "That, sir, is devious."

"You don't like it?"

"Of course I like it."

Lane grinned at her then turned. "Javelin, have all the destroyers meet on the bow and prepare for action." He looked back at Elizabeth. "Could you-"

"Already done. Exeter's division is increasing speed to catch up with us. We're going to three-quarters speed."

"Speed?"

Bismarck sounded strained as she answered. "Twenty eight knots, Kommandant."

"Could we increase-"

"Unless you want to jump overboard and push, Kommandant, no." She ignored the glare Falke gave her. He turned to pace again, but stopped and looked at von Falkenhorst. "Your troop status?"

The general was leaning over the radioman's shoulder, much to the younger officer's chagrin. "There is some sort of resistance by an unusual group- a sort of Siren militia, I suppose- with some sort of land-based humanoid Sirens."

That sounded bad. "Are your men able to deal with it?"

"So far? Yes."

That would have been news to Hauptman Metzger, who was currently hunkering down as shells rained down around him. It was small comfort to know that they were German shells, from the recently off-loaded artillery.

"Have we offended them in some way?" he wondered aloud. "Soldat, have you been able to reach our artillery?"

The radioman nodded. "They said they were sorry, Hauptman."

"I don't give a damn if they're sorry, I just want them to stop shooting at us!"

Just as the words left his mouth, the artillery petered out. He risked a look out of the window of the brick house they were in.

And ducked back in as a beam of light annihilated a nearby wall, and the wall behind it, and possibly several other buildings as well.

Metzger considered what he had seen in that brief moment. A motley group of men, armed with weapons of the same futuristic make as the Sirens. A town that was merrily burning, probably from the high-explosive shells that had been pinning down his soldiers for the past twenty minutes.

And some sort of dead-eyed, armored figure striding down the center of the street, a massive cannon on its shoulder.

He inched along the floor toward a squad he had positioned nearby for just such an eventuality. "Heinz!"

"Hauptman?" Heinz, a heavily built but quiet man in his early thirties, glanced up from where he was on the floor.

"There is a monster outside of some kind. Please destroy it for me."

"Ja, Hauptman."

Heinz's size had made him a natural candidate for the weapon he now hefted. It looked like an oversized rifle, save for the muzzle brake that capped its barrel. Anti-tank rifles were almost entirely obsolete, but it had an advantage over the newer Panzerfausts he had heard were in development. Specifically, it was there and the Panzerfausts were not.

Heinz, aiming through a small hole in the brickwork, carefully worked the bolt and settled behind the sights.

Knowles, formerly of the Confederate Army, was having one of the worst days of his life.

First, the enemies they were fighting were damned good. No sooner had you pinned down one squad before another fired on you, having spent their time working around to your flank. Marcus was already dead, having caught a sniper round to his chest.

Second, even when they had fought their way at great cost into the city, the crazy Germans had dropped artillery on their own positions to stop them.

Finally, their Overseer had just exploded.

There had been a massive crack and the Overseer had been bowled over by what must have been a really big rifle shot. The second shot had hit somewhere that was apparently important for an Overseer to not be shot, because the Siren had blown up like a shrapnel shell from a gigantic mortar. The shrapnel had mowed down his squad, including himself. He was still alive, but as the Germans began cautiously advancing, he realized that his day could be getting even worse.

A bayonet was suddenly shoved at his throat, close enough to draw a trickle of blood. Forcing a smile, he raised his hands. "Surrender?" he offered.

Another German, presumably an officer, barked something at the soldier on the verge of bayoneting him. With what seemed like undue reluctance to Knowles, he lowered the bayonet and nodded. "Prisoner," he said in heavily accented English.

Yep. Mama had said there would be days like this.

"They're..." Observer was, for once, at a loss for words.

"Landing." Tester was almost as shaken as the other Siren. They've taken Bergen and Kristiansand. There is also a force attempting to take Oslo."

"This is unexpected." After a moment, her lips curved upward into a smile. "What clever little humans we have here."

"Bold," agreed Tester. "It would not be ideal for experimental purposes to lose our main base of operations in Europe, though."

"I concur." Observer pondered the map.

The Royal Navy was headed nearly directly at Trondheim, close to where Purifier was engaging the lead elements of the German fleet. Observer had assumed that they were alone- now she wondered if there was a landing convoy hidden out there in the rain. If the Germans succeeded in landing, they would likely defeat her units holding Norway. The Sirens had never focused on land forces, having just enough to be an adequate occupation garrison for whatever land they needed for their purposes.

Whether the humans knew it or not, Trondheim was the key location for the Sirens. The Siren fortress where Observer and Tester were currently planning acted as the primary communication nexus for the region. If destroyed, the mass-produced ships would act only on their basic programming- basically sailing around in circles and firing at anything they came across. Still dangerous, but only to wayward shipping.

That meant the Royal Navy contingent was most dangerous. If they were to concentrate on the Germans, they would first have to deal with the British. "Prepare the main fleet for transportation."

"Very well. We have a pre-registered location close to the enemy. I believe I can strike directly at the enemy Commander if we wait- their vanguard appears to be moving to link up with the Germans."

Observer waved her hand dismissively. "Use your discretion."

"Urgh- this is frustrating," growled Scharnhorst as the Siren dodged another volley.

She had been trading hits with the Siren mass-produced battleships with her aft turrets, but the bow turret had almost exclusively been trained on Purifier. She had learned quickly that she had to keep her armor angled to deflect the Siren's powerful shots.

Behind her, Gneisenau suddenly swung closer to the enemy battleships. Scharnhorst frowned. "Gneisenau, what are you doing?"

"Getting rid of these annoying battleships!"

The Siren battleships appeared to sense blood. Both turned their weapons on Gneisenau, scoring hits that made her cry out in pain. But she continued at full speed toward them, blasting away with her guns.

"I thought I was supposed to be the reckless one," muttered Scharnhorst. "Gneisenau, you're getting too close-"

"If they didn't want us to use torpedoes," she said, "They shouldn't have outfitted us with them."

Suddenly, the battlecruiser swung to one side, splashes in the water showing that she had fired. As quickly as she had advanced, she retreated, bringing both guns to bear.

"Hey!" shouted Purifier. "No fair! Who puts torpedoes on a battleship?"

The Siren battleships tried desperately to turn, but Gneisenau had been too close. Columns of water rose, indicating multiple hits. Scharnhorst grinned and swung all three of her triple mounted turrets at the stricken enemies.

She and her sister fired at almost the same time, the blasts punching a hole through the rain around their guns. The shells soared across the distance between them, and the damaged Siren ships exploded.

Gneisenau fell back in formation with Scharnhorst. "That was all right, wasn't it?" she asked anxiously.

"Can't argue with the results." Now, how to deal with Purifier?

The feldwebel on Admiral Hipper's deck shifted uncomfortably. The Schiffmadchen herself was a few steps behind him. She had been glaring at him for hours now. He had ignored her as best he could , but there were limits to his patience.

"Is there something I can help you with, fraulein-" he hesitated. Was she an admiral? Or was that just her name? Fortunately, he was saved from his bemusement when she replied.

"You can get your men off my ship."

He looked around. The cliffs of Norway were still far to the east. "To where, fraulein?"

The blonde tossed her head angrily. "I don't mean right now. How dare the Kommandant use me as a troopship? Covering my deck full of- of- infantry!" She spat the word as if it were a curse.

"I am sorry, fraulein," said the feldwebel. "But orders-"

Hipper looked like she was about to respond, but suddenly cocked her head and then looked to the northwest. On the horizon, there was a flash of light.

"So the Ugly Sisters have engaged," she said in a tone almost too low to hear. She snapped her head back to the German soldier. "Clear the decks for action!"

He looked around helplessly. "To where?"

She frowned, then looked around. Soldiers were packing her hold and covered most of her deck. There was nowhere for them to go.

"Argh!" she exclaimed. "Fine! Tell your men to at least clear the area around the gun turrets. And cover their ears!"

She stalked away as the feldwebel looked around. There weren't many areas that weren't near at least some of the guns. He turned to the soldiers around him.

"You heard her! Move away from the guns!"

"But-" One soldier spoke up, puzzlement clear in his voice. "To where?"

Hopefully they would land in Trondheim soon. The feldwebel had never wished for the battle to begin so fervently.

"Let us review our status," said Falke.

Bismarck nodded briskly. "Kristiansand has fallen without much of a fight. Bergen is all but captured. That's the good news."

"Very well. Now the important news." He glanced at von Falkenhorst. "The bad news is always the important news."

"I have been in the army for a long time, Kommodor. I am well aware."

"Deutschland, Prinz Eugen, and Graf Spee have encountered heavy resistance approaching Oslo. The Sirens have dug in heavily along the fjord and they haven't been able to force an approach." Bismarck's expression didn't change as she continued. "Hipper is complaining, but her force actually seems likely to slip by to Trondheim. The English have drawn off the major Siren force, and the remainder are engaging Scharnhorst and Gneisenau."

Falke nodded. "So they haven't been able to proceed, either?"

"Correct."

"Very well." He paced for a moment, head on his chest as he considered the situation. "We will continue to link up with Scharnhorst and Gneisenau. How soon?"

There was a slight sigh from Bismarck. She had been asked this question regularly for the past hour or so. "Perhaps another half-hour, Kommandant."

"What about Oslo?" asked von Falkenhorst. "If we don't take Oslo, the Quisling government will dig in there and we'll never be able to take it."

Falke smiled at the general. "You are Fallschirmjaeger, are you not?"

"Our transport planes are grounded at the moment. We have insufficient air cover to make any kind of concerted parachute landing."

"Had insufficient air cover, General." They all turned to see the alluring form of Graf Zeppelin enter the room. "This seemed the dramatically appropriate moment to arrive, I think."

"Henceforth, Graf Zeppelin, I trust you will consider the word 'appropriate' to refer to the time given to you in your orders, rather than on what you conceive to be 'dramatic'." The reproof was delivered in Falke's usual calm voice, that did nothing to downplay the steel behind his words.

"I am late. My apologies. Perhaps, if the gods permit us, we can avoid being late in a much more permanent sense of the word. Though sooner or later- everyone is late to their own funeral, ja?"

The German general eyed her curiously. "A nihilist?"

She rather delicately sat down on the bench surrounding the plotting board. "Do you know the terms prescriptivist versus descriptivist, General?"

Clearly unsure where she was going with this, he shrugged. "A prescriptivit describes how something should be,. A descriptivist explains how it appears to be."

"So consider the nihilist under these two paradigms. The Descriptivist believes, in very rough terms, that nothing matters- there is no life after death, no teleology that offers any hope beyond the next life. To him, it is a fact, something to be squared with the more goal oriented elements of evolution and his biological makeup that steers him toward that better life. To the prescriptive nihilist, however, there must be a more active change to bring to a world bereft of any hope except falsehood."

For a moment, all that could be heard was normal, background noises of the bridge- monitors beeping, murmured conversations of the crew, the steady thrum of the engines.

"And you..." von Falkenhorst prompted her.

"I believe that I should have the power to create the world in which I live, at least in some way. And by my nature and inclination, the best way to do so is through the use of force." She took a sip of tea. "Perhaps we should start at the top to tear down the old system."

"You mean- the Kaiser?" von Falkenhorst was suddenly very wary, his hand on his holster.

She waved away his concerns. "There is someone even higher, you know, someone whom we have been taught to believe embodies the choices of the Almighty. I don't speak of the ones He anoints.

"I am talking about the one who anoints them."

Falke and von Falkenhorst stared at her. Falke's face was neutral, assaying. Von Falkenhorst's eyes were widened, clearly unable to believe what she was saying.

"They are warships," murmured Falke. "Do not be surprised when their personalities are as large as their true selves."

"You have doubts as to my sincerity?" asked Zeppelin, amused. "The Kommandant has a plan to create a Germany that is strong enough to protect itself against all enemies. Where peace is ensured through strength. The Thirty Years War, in which nearly fifty percent of the German population died, is still at the forefront of the German mind. I see myself as a part of that plan. The urge to destroy is also a creative one."

"Pablo Picasso?" said von Falkenhorst, cocking his head at the quotation.

Falke shook his head. "Mikhail Bakunin. Revolutionary Anarchist."

"We are not here to destroy, Fraulein Graf Spee," said von Falkenhorst forcefully. "We are here to protect Germany."

Suddenly, a sound rose, the roar of engines. They all turned to look to starboard, where a great carrier had appeared. On it, lines of aircraft had just started their engines, preparing to take off. When they turned back to look at Graf Spee, she had an enigmatic smile on her face.

"By your command, Kommandant. But if you expect me to save Germany without destruction, then I suggest you reconsider our purpose- and your own."