Author's Note: Guten Tag! Wilkommen back to the story and we're quite fortunate I was able to get this out in due time before the storm of deadlines and requirements rock me like a hurricane. Hope you enjoy this quite hefty update and I'll be seeing you at the end of as always, until then, Auf Wiedersehen!
Chapter 02
Mariana
Gulf of Aden
3rd of May, 202X
0745 hour
East Africa Time
"Begin Phase I of the Operation."
Six words. Like a taunt bow, it was all the strawberry-blonde-haired girl that mysteriously floated in the sea needed to start moving accordingly. The sun was already well on its way westward, turning the sky as blue as the vast ocean below. In this sea of cloudless azure, a lone olive-drab plane was launched and began its journey through the air.
With its huge engine on top of the actual fuselage, the aircraft looked more like an ugly duckling than anything else. To Leander down below, however, it was the cutest thing ever as the seaplane flew across the sky on its own. As part of her equipment, it was not only autonomous, but she could also project her own consciousness onto the object, allowing her a bird's eye view of the immediate surroundings.
Being just well over eight miles away from the coastal city of Bandar Qasim, part of the Sardegnan Colony of Somaliland, the seaplane, a Supermarine Walrus she had begun to call 'Toothy' affectionately, made quick progress and was practically on top of the city in no time.
Boasting a six 100lb bomb configuration, it was a much better improvement to her old Seafox, and it was this kind of teeth that she had intended to use. Toothy gave her a clear view of the city, its rows and rows of sunbleached houses, and her target, a canning factory of some kind near the port area, which, according to intelligence, served as the overall headquarters of Sardegnan forces in the area.
"Toothy's now above the target area and circling, sire," she whispered, knowing very well that it would still be carried over to the man in her bridge.
"Very well, bombs away then, if you will, Miss Leander," her captain quickly replied. The captain, Charles Sotheby, was a stout character with sleek brown hair originating from the port city of Liverpool. As such, he possessed a Scouse accent, something she could only describe as fast and airy, causing plenty of confusion, especially at the start. However, the man was of great character and always listened to what she had to say.
Sending the command to dive, the seaplane followed her will in an instant as her Walrus began its bombing run. Even from high up, she can see people scrambling out of the building, be it to get as far as possible or, in the case of a brave few souls, man the anti-aircraft defences and try to blast her plane out of the sky.
The gesture, noble as it was, was all for naught as the ordnance dropped from the plane's wings and made its descent. Time seemed to have ground to a halt, as the bombs inched closer to the ground. Any and all parties present stood frozen as the ordnance began to come into contact with their target, causing an explosion that was way bigger than if the place was a simple factory and not an arms cache.
Despite knowing that the explosion could be seen all the way from her hull, Leander chose to watch the proceedings from her seaplane, which after dropping its payload pulled out of the dive and began circling the target. The orange fireball was rising higher and higher, pushing the air out of its way and pummeling her aircraft with wind.
Hans would have loved this….
"Direct Hit! We've gutted the sardines!" Her captain cheered, seemingly coming from far away, just like the air raid sirens blaring down below, as she let her thoughts fly and began remembering times of old…
Kiwiland Dominion
9th of June, 201X
1101 hours
The air raid sirens were blaring in Auckland on that fateful day as well, rudely interrupting Leander's only day off for the month as she ran as fast as her legs could carry her back to the harbour to help in the city's defence. She didn't know it then but the planes that were indiscriminately bombing and strafing the citizens of the capital of her fair nation were from a Strategist Mk II Humanoid Siren, continuing their war of terror and making everyone's lives miserable. Tote bags in tow, she emerged out of the shopping mall she was in and out onto the road outside.
Here, the sight of chaos unfolded, as people began a mad dash to the air raid shelters, with policemen and other concerned citizens helping to maintain some semblance of order. Scores and scores of planes flew above her and she could only watch as bombs dropped from their wings, knowing that every second she was away from her station was another civilian dead. In her haste to get to the harbour, as she was halfway through the Auckland Harbour Bridge, she felt herself come to a cold stop, and accidentally bumping into something or someone, causing her shopping bags to scatter on the pavement.
"Oh, Scheisse!" someone close by let out, revealing that it was in fact a person and that person was a he.
Dazed and confused, it took a few seconds for her to register what just happened and when it became apparent that all her stuff was now on the ground, Leander went down on her knees to pick her items up and put them back into their bags. From the corner of her eye, she saw the person she bumped into, a man of much older age than her dressed in a pressed bespoke suit with a stunningly blue tie, was also helping her out, grabbing any and all items he could reach and stuffing them into her shopping bags, hastening the process.
"Here!" the man said, in an accent that was too noticeable for her to ignore as he held out some of the bags towards her. "Quickly! We must get into the shelter!"
"Oh, thank you, sir," she replied, as she took the bags from him, not wasting time if the items inside were properly returned.
"We better get off this bridge," the man encouraged, maintaining a stiff upper lip despite the raging battle up above, stealing glances at any plane that flew overhead.
"I believe that's everythin- Wait!" she let out, finding a small trinket missing from her bags. Frantically searching for it, she was on the verge of tears when she spotted it lying a few feet on the road itself, her lucky charm, a hei matau, a greenstone fishing hook given to her at her first arrival down South. Leander snatched the charm and stood up before finding herself being nudged to run by the very man she bumped into earlier.
Matching her pace as all around them anti-air defences lit up the sky, she found herself staring at the man who helped her out. To prevent any unfortunate 'accidents' from happening, the Royal Navy had a long-standing policy that prohibited shipgirls like herself from interacting with people of the opposite gender outside the military base. Not that she had to worry about that as those who recognised her quickly skirted away and kept their distance.
Not this man though, as the alien aircraft attacked with impunity, causing more explosions to ring out behind them in the city; this one stuck around to help her out. Perhaps she was too busy staring and not focusing on where they were going that soon she realised that she was stuck with the crowd squeezing their way into the nearby underground shelter.
Leander attempted to work her way out of the throng but found her arm being held back by the man, "You don't understand! I have someplace to be, you have to help me get out of here!" she shouted at the man, both of them instinctively crouching down as a Siren plane flew in too close for comfort to the bridge.
"Miss, it's not safe outside, we have to stay here until the raid is over," the man in the bespoke suit immediately responded, having to look down at her as the man was at least a foot taller than her. Soon, she found herself being shoved by those who wanted to get into the shelter as well, panicking as the sound of blasts grew closer.
The shelter, dark and hastily built in preparation for such an event, was now packed as a sardine can, with Leander finding herself too close for comfort with the man who helped her. This gave her a much better look at him and noticed that the man had tuft of well-combed jet black hair and was equally staring at her with glassy brown eyes.
She found herself being shoved more from behind, pushing her closer to the man, who was beginning to show signs of embarrassment. A well-timed distant thud rocked the shelter, causing the lights to momentarily go out.
"That one was close," she gingerly said to the stranger in an effort to ease the growing awkwardness.
"Well, at least we're safe here," the man reassured her, before swinging his head around wildly, "Hey, there might be some space over there by the wall, shall we try and reach it?"
"Alright," she nodded, as the two of them parted the sea of people, uttering plenty of "excuse me"s and "sorry"s along the way. They eventually reached the wall, finding it to be of more comfort than being shoved all the time amongst the crowd.
However, in their rush, she found herself cornered, her back against the wall and the man in the suit pressing against her. "Are you alright?" the man asked, brushing dust off his jacket.
"I'm as good as gold," she replied, doing her best to hide her blushing. It didn't help one bit that the man's fragrance was filling her nose, and what a smell it was. Flowers, oranges, and was that a faint scent of eau de Cologne? At that moment, everyone else at the shelter might not have existed, it was only the two of them, with their heavy breathing and his fellow's hypnotic accent.
The shelter shook once more as another explosion went off nearby, flickering the lights once again, momentarily plunging everyone into darkness. A few of her feminine compatriots took the opportunity to freak out and scream, causing everyone to feel more uneasy than they already were.
"This dreadful war…" she uttered dejectedly, feeling a bit impotent in not being able to help out in the defence of the city.
"Yes, I suppose it is…" the man responded, before looking far off, seemingly in another place altogether, "and yet there's a certain amount of excitement to it too. Like around the corner every second, there's an unknown just waiting for you to stumble upon."
"You're rather quite peculiar, aren't you?" Leander let slip, before immediately covering her mouth, worried that the person in front of her might take offence.
A bemused look took over the man's face as brought his brown eyes over to look at her, "Yes, you, on the other hand, are very much coy."
She let out a small smile as she relaxed herself, deciding to toy with this man for a bit, something her younger sister Ajax was quite adept at. "Do you always bump into young ladies out on the streets, Mr…?"
"Hildebrandt, Hans Hildebrandt and no, this is a first time for me," the now-named man smiled back, looking a few years younger as a bit of life went back to his cheeks.
"You're not from around here, are you not?" she asked, savouring the moment of a good conversation.
"Guess the surname gave it away, huh?" Hans replied, a coy grin on his face. "Yes, I am from Ironblood."
Leander raised her eyebrow at Han's response. 'Guess that explains the accent….' "Ironblood, huh? You're quite far away from home, aren't you, Mr. Hildebrandt?"
"I work for the local consulate as an attache and please, call me Hans," the man explained, adjusting his tie as he spoke.
The sound of bombings seemed to have dissipated, with the air raid sirens following soon, before eventually, all was quiet. A policeman stepped into the shelter and began blowing his whistle loudly, catching everyone's attention. "All clear!" he shouted, and every single soul inside breathed a collective sigh of relief.
"Shall we go now?" Hans asked her, before cracking another sly smile, "or wait for the next?"
Leander flashed a smile of her own, before tucking her hair behind her ear, "Oh, very tempting but I reckon we should go now," she replied as the two of them joined the line of people waiting to get their turn to emerge out back on the streets.
"This crush… I just got this suit from the tailors…" Hans uttered to himself as he led the way through the crowd.
This made her suddenly conscious of what she wore and it was a good thing she took Achilles' advice on what to wear today of all days. Her dear sister had advised her to go with a simple frilly white dress, something simple yet so elegant, she said. As winter was making itself known in Auckland, she had also opted to wear a brown Burberry Kensington coat, which she bought for herself on her last trip back to England, over her dress.
Seeing herself fashionably dressed, she took a moment to compose herself as the two of them made their way up the stairs and out onto the street. Here, the two of them watched as the city returned relatively back to normal, minus the sirens of distant firetrucks and the hard-to-miss plumes of smoke over the city centre.
"Ar-"
"Ca-"
Both of them laughed as they realised they tried talking over each other, and spent a few good seconds of awkwardness before trying again.
"Hahaha, you go first," Hans responded, scratching the back of his neck, looking a bit embarrassed at himself.
"Are you free tomorrow?" she blurted out, surprised at where this sudden surge of courage could possibly come from, blushing as red as a pōhutukawa.
Even Hans was fazed at this boldness and took his time to reply, staring up at the now-cleared skies, "I suppose so, why?"
"If you would be so kind…" Leander took a deep breath before she continued, "Can you be by the waterfront at three in the afternoon tomorrow?"
"A strange request from an equally strange lady? Well, do you want to have an extra sausage as well?" Hans replied, a devilish look on his countenance, "but I accept, can I get you a cab?"
Relief washed over her face as she merely nodded, seeing Hans attempt to hail a cab. One eventually came to a stop beside them, with the man she had just met less than an hour ago, graciously opening the door for her.
Plopping her bags inside, she took a seat by the window and threw it open, "Now, it's your turn, weren't you going to say something?"
Now it was Hans's turn to be abashed, fidgeting with his fingers as he avoided eye contact. "I was… I was hoping to catch your name."
She smiled at this sign of personal embarrassment and was more than happy to relent to such a simple request.
"It's Leander, my name is Leander."
"Like the Greek hero who died at Hellespont?" the man immediately responded, causing her to stare at the man's brown eyes. It wasn't every day that someone knew of the relatively obscure story behind her name, certainly unlike that of her sisters, who were named after much more famous heroes of old.
"Yes… of Hellespont fame… I'm the light cruiser Leander, HMS Leander," she finished, carefully watching the man in the suit's reaction to the information.
It looked as if a lightning bolt had struck Hans and he was frozen in place momentarily, before he made a quick recovery and replied, "Huh, guess that explains the looks."
"Hmmmm?" Leander hummed, handing the driver a card that told him to go to Devonport.
"Well, you got the eternal youth thing going for you," he complimented.
"Why, thank you!" she quickly replied, it wasn't every day she was praised for her looks, especially when compared to other, much more mature girls alongside her in the Royal Navy.
"It must suck not having a surname though…" he trailed off, coming in closer to her ear, whispering, "I can fix that."
Four little words, that was all it took to send her mind off to the stratosphere as she blushed so much that she might have looked redder than the rippest tomato. She tried to formulate a response but only an incoherent mess came out of her mouth, causing her to blush even further.
In a spur of the moment, Leander rummaged through her bags and took out the small green hook that had caused her so much trouble earlier, "Here, take this," she said, handing it out towards the man.
"A fishing hook?" he inquisitively asked, a perplexed look etched on his face.
"It's a good luck charm…" she explained, "Perhaps it will bring you luck. I hope it will… I pray it will." She met his gaze once more as she took his hand and placed the trinket on his palm.
"No, I can't take it. It clearly means so much to you." the man replied, attempting to give back the charm.
"Oh, please, you could certainly use it more than I do," she responded, pushing his hand away.
"That's wonderfully kind of you… Thank you!" Hans replied and the taxi sped off, taking her back to base, but not before she had one last look at the man from the cab's back window.
Leander could barely contain her excitement, she was breathing heavily, as if she had summited Mount Eden and back. It took all her willpower not to jump up and down the backseat, pinching her leg to see if this had been one long dream.
Oh, Achilles will want to hear all of this!
A shrill whistle brought Leander out of her reverie as back down at sea level, her strike at the enemy headquarters signalled the beginning of Phase II of 'Operation Context'; an amphibious assault that would see Sardegnan forces thrown out of the city and Royal control ultimately restored. With her primary job done and over with, she moved to her secondary task: Shore bombardment. Holding one of her Turret Mk. 21s with her left, its twin Six-Inch Mk 23 Breech Loading cannons feeling just right in her hand.
Making use of her still airborne scouting plane, she scanned the shoreline for any possible spots of potential resistance. Spotting a series of forts that could spell trouble for the vulnerable landing crafts, she manually aimed her cannons at the general area, her other three twin-gun turrets by her hip following suit with tracking.
Leander took a deep breath and blocked out the sound of the sea, the sound of the tiny little landing crafts cutting across the water; even the squawking of the seagulls seemed to have disappeared as she retreated into her mind.
Bearing is 231…The range is roughly 15,000 yards… Of course, her cannon's muzzle velocity was 2760 feet per second…. So that's 13 degrees of elevation and 6 inches of adjustment, give or take….
Opening her eyes, she made the necessary adjustments, taking into account various factors; even the wind wasn't left behind, blowing in from the northwest at a cool five knots. Mental calculations came second nature to a ship girl like her; even the most aloof shipgirls could still calculate the gunnery target range or torpedo-firing solution off the back of their heads. Of course, it helps that the target was merely a series of forts and, not a Soldati-class destroyer, which was a whole other story in of itself.
"The floor is yours, Miss Leander," her captain simply stated, fulfilling his role as the linchpin in this machinery of theirs, letting actual operation of the gears and knobs to her. "Fire for effect."
Punctuating his words, she fired all eight of her main cannons; time to target was 30 seconds, and she didn't have to wait long to see the results of her handiwork, as a series of explosions substantially reduced the cliffside edifice of the shoreline. She fired a couple more salvos to ensure that she had blasted all existing fortifications out of existence before she began looking for new targets.
"Contact!" Leander's radio burst to life as one of the operators onboard one of the picket ships cried out a warning for everyone.
"Heads up, A flight of what looks like six Sparvieros escorted by seven Falcos coming in hot, bearing 309. Gladius 2, moving in to engage," another voice on the radio replied, in what she made out to be a refined accent, polished by years of upper-class upbringing.
"Gladius 3, in pursuit," this time, a girl like herself spoke out in a tone not too dissimilar to the no-nonsense flag officers she had encountered in the past.
"Gladius 1, engaging," the last one replied, short and curt, excluding an air of competence.
These three form the backbone of the aerial support the base back at Aden could afford to accommodate for their Task Force, a squadron of a dozen antique Gloster Gladiator biplanes under the banner of 'Gladius Squadron'. Unlike the modern jet fighters employed by the Royal Air Force back home, she felt a sense of comfort at these old propeller crafts, as they, just like her had been ripped out of their era and thrust back into the 21st Century. Despite these, they are far from obsolete and ready for decades more of service.
"Hey Joker, look down there, by the warship, there's a blondie dressed in red and white floating on the water," the posh pilot blurted out, causing Leander to turn as red as her skirt as she knew it was her that they were talking about.
"Don't tell me this is your first time seeing a shipgirl, Peace'?" the lady flyer replied just as their flight of three flew over the armada.
"Well, I suppose there aren't many reasons for a ship girl to end up in Cambridge," the same Gladiator pilot sarcastically replied, "How about you, Sov', ever seen a ship girl before?"
"Observe proper radio etiquette, everyone," her captain reminded, causing the pilots to apologize and switch off their radios.
Even without radar, Leander was able to watch with her eyes how the two groups of aircraft clashed across the sky, performing an intimate dogfight dance that resulted in one getting shot down and the other victorious. Like clockwork, the Gladiators made short work of the Sardegnan Falcos fighters, trading blows and losing a few but ultimately forcing the fighters away from the planes they were supposed to be escorting.
With their escorts gone, she watched as the Royal biplanes dove and made their way to intercept the Sparviero bombers, managing to nab a few of them in the process, causing them to splash and crash into the ocean below. Despite their haste, however, a pair of torpedo bombers made it through and were making a mad dash for the troopships,
"Enemy penetrating the CAP line," Sotheby warned. "Everyone open fire!"
She didn't need to be told twice as she let rip with her four-inch naval guns, laying down a thick blanket of anti-aircraft fire to deter the would-be attackers. One of the Sparvieros flew too close into her cloud of shrapnel, tumbling into the sea as a result.
"Scratch one! Good job, Madam!" she overheard on the radio from an enthusiastic sailor.
Leander blushed as while she looked younger than the average Royal sailor, in reality, she was old enough to be their great-grandmother. There was still another plane in the air, so switching her focus, she aimed at the remaining bomber and did her best, managing to hit the plane, but the Sparviero remained persistent and was at the range needed to launch at the fleet.
She began to panic, her cruiser could certainly weave around the fish, but the troopships would be sitting ducks against the fast-moving torpedoes. Just when all hope was lost, one of the Gladiators swooped down low and unleashed a hail of bullets at the bomber, causing it to burst into flames and abort its torpedo run.
"Way to go, Sovereign!" the lady aviator screamed over the wireless, one of many celebratory remarks being thrown over the net.
Looking around at her immediate surroundings, a whole lot of activity was a buzz; landing crafts fought with the waves, missiles and shells flying over their head. And even above that, the planes of Gladius Squadron circled overhead in some sort of aerial victory lap. It was the hustle and bustle of war, one that felt all too familiar to her.
War, it would seem, never really changed and as the maiden manifestation of warfare, it was the task she had been destined to fight in. Even then, given the choice, she wouldn't miss it for the world. She'd rather go through the dreary job of escorting vessels and shore bombardments rather than wasting away in a crumbling manor out in the countryside, waiting for this war to end.
"I trust everything went to plan?" a voice onboard her stated cooly. Captain Sotheby, a man of quality, let her be at times and didn't ask too many questions, only wanting to finish the operation. In that, he garnered her respect and pretty much everyone in the Aden Command.
"We're a bit behind schedule," she replied, compiling all the radio chatter she had received from the units in the area of operations, "but the objectives should be secured by midday, sir," she finished.
"With luck, we'll be back at Aden for tea time," her captain replied, visibly relaxing for the first time since they had left port earlier that morning. Here, she saw a semblance of the man he had fallen in love with in Auckland all those years ago, but it was gone as soon as it had appeared.
Her life wasn't dreary nor was she aweary but Leander knew that her Hero wouldn't come.
Marinestation der Ostsee Kiel
3rd of May, 202X
0604 hours
Central European Time
Walking down the carpeted floor of his headquarters, Hildebrandt was running late to his special meeting as he marched his way to the conference room. Built right in the centre of the building, the room was designed with state-of-the-art metal reinforcements and soundproof paddings, all hidden so cleverly within the wooden panelings. Even the windows that let the early morning sunlight pour into view were shielded with bulletproof glass and could be covered with steel shutters for increased privacy.
Inside the conference room itself was a long oak table covering almost the whole breadth of the chamber area and could seat nine people, four on each of its lengths, with one chair at its head. However, today, it was only going to sit one as Hildebrandt took the second right-hand chair from the head and settled in. Taking a deep breath, he picked up his red-tinted visors, the latest in Siren-acquired technology, and wore them, pressing a button at the side simultaneously.
Almost immediately, the shimmering reddish outline of his Fjordian counterpart appeared in front of him across the otherwise empty seat as the visors he wore displayed the holograms of him and the other senior Ironblood flag officers scattered all across Europe as well as that of the Grossadmiral in his headquarters in Berlin, all separated by thousands of miles away but brought in here today with the use of Siren technology.
"Hildebrandt, you're late!" the senior sailor reprimanded him, his greying moustache hopping up and down as he spoke.
"Sorry, got caught up with schiffsmädchen," awkwardly pretending to arrange some fictional papers in front of him.
"Busy sleeping on their bosoms, most likely," the man in front of him snickered, earning him the irate stare of the Grossadmiral.
Hildebrandt couldn't help but give him a toothy grin as he suppressed the urge to laugh. Young and dashing, Prochnow was a year before him in Murwik, and the two of them have had a sibling-like relationship ever since. Both of them had served with distinction in the recently concluded Fjordian campaign, with Prochnow receiving his first Iron Cross as well as overall command for this new area of operations.
Beside him on the right, a not-amused older gent was giving the two of them a clear look of disapproval. Clear to all and everyone, Prussian blood flowed through Von Liebleid's veins, descending from a great old line of warrior aristocrats. His great-grandfather had fought with the Hochseeflotte in the Battle of Jutland, and it was thus fitting that his great-grandson was now in command of the Ironblood's premier fleet, the NordFleet.
To Hildebrandt's immediate left, uninterested in the latest happenings in front of him and looking uncharacteristically sharp and sober, was a man beyond his years; that is Thomsen. One of the last remaining seadogs, he had been out there longer than anyone has, returning sortie after sortie with kills to his boat's name, defining the art of submarine warfare in the 21st Century. Small wonder that the Eagle Union had a specialised group of attack submarines on call all across the Atlantic, all armed with torpedoes with his name on them.
"With Hildebrandt here, I believe we can start?" the man on his right asked after clearing his throat to get everyone's attention. Like him, Von Stritzel rose up from the ranks of destroyers and frigates, now mere child's toys compared to the bigger boats in Ironblood's arsenal.
"Yes, I believe Hirschmuller here is just about to pass out," a man on the other end of the table replied, being just as snarky as his friend Prochnow. Hildebrandt did not envy Von Fiedler's position one bit; no amount of Vichyan Bubbles nor Sardegnan Red could make up for his responsibility as the commander of the Ironblood forces in the Mediterranean. The poor sod was the one behind attempting to wrangle together the two Mediterranean empires and force them to cooperate. Still, the man had his charms and was reportedly able to put it to great use, swooning even the great Littorio. Perhaps he was the perfect man for the job.
The same could even be said of the man Von Fiedler was talking about. Personally, he knew very little of Hirschmuller other than the fact that the fair-haired man used to be a party animal back in Murwik. Perhaps his love of alcohol made him the perfect fit to go up against the equally alcoholic brutes of the Northern Parliament in the Black Sea.
"Let's just get this over with," a woman barked, causing all to turn towards her way, even Hildebrandt, despite his best attempts not to. Faust had been in the same class as him in Murwik and had a relationship with her that he himself wished to forget. However, the woman had the bloodline needed for the task of bridging together the Sakura Empire and Ironblood, two allied nations separated by great distance, a responsibility that took great strength and character to skillfully wield the reins of this fledgling command.
"You could all learn a thing or two from Konteradmiral Faust here," the fatherly figure who called forth this meeting stated, regaining control of the room once more. At the head of the table, Grossadmiral Ernst von Albrecht had seen it all, serving all the way back when Ironblood was still partitioned in two, and was now rewarded with the title of the Commander in Chief of the Kriegsmarine. He was the strategist who led the successful implementation of Plan Zed this time around, and thus most responsible for the meteoric rise of Ironblood in the current war.
Seeing as the meeting had been steered back on course, the Grossadmiral carried on, "Today's first topic of the matter will be a summary of the past month for your command. Let's start with you, Prochnow."
The comic demeanour of the kommandant for all marine forces across Fjordia soon disappeared and was replaced by a serious one as he settled into his role. "We started refloating some of the destroyers that were scuttled in the recent campaign. We'll be sending them back to ports home so that they can be refurbished and returned to service," he started, knowing very well one of them was the one he served on.
"In addition to this, we finally managed to bring back the oil rigs, the one set ablaze by the Fjordians during their retreat, into operational capacity once more, so expect an uptick of oil flow in the coming weeks," Prochnow carried on, doing his best to make it seem that he wasn't reading some paper on his deck.
"And finally, we have also started the harassing of Arctic-bound Royal Convoys to the Northern Parliament," his friend finished, trying his hardest to not look mighty proud of himself.
The Grossadmiral didn't seem to pay heed and mostly nodded along, "Good, that's good to hear. Von Liebleid, the floor is yours."
Von Lieblied, for his part, gave off the air of an esteemed professor at Heidelberg about to give a lecture in philosophy. However, the elder rarely dealt with the abstract and was very well known for his role of being the bringer of truth. "We've lost contact with one of our surface raiders, the Graf Spee, in the Southern Atlantic. Back home, the Royal Navy's upped the ordnance this month as well; both Wilhemshaven and Hamburg have been pounded hard, with critical damage to some key facilities.
In sharp contrast with the good news the one before him came, the elder gentlemen had no problem being the harbinger of terrible news, and besides, unlike the spy movie of old, Hildebrandt knew that there wouldn't be anyone getting electrocuted at this meeting table.
"Regarding some good news, though, Gneisenau's torpedo damage has been repaired, and she'd ready to set sail again. Furthermore, a series of new schiffsmädchen had been commissioned, some zerstörers and flugzeugträgers: destroyers and aircraft carriers."
Everyone present in the room sat up straighter with the news. Being the workhorse of the fleet, destroyers were always in high demand. He himself knew this for a fact, as he very well possessed the highest concentration of schiffsmädchen zerstörers in the entire fleet.
The rest of the proceedings went along like a breeze. For the most part, a majority of the items being reported were mundane. Even he went on to give just a report about receiving light bombings, the steady supply of iron from Gothia, and the incapacitation of Admiral Scheer. The mood around the table varied for the most part, with some giving their utmost attention to whoever was speaking, some obviously preoccupied with other things on their respective ends, and a few beginning to doze off at the moment.
The only other items of interest from the others were: Von Stritzel engaging a Royal Navy destroyer flotilla outside of Plymouth and reportedly sinking the J-class destroyer Javelin. One of Faust's auxiliary cruisers failed to respond to a communication handshake as well, and one of the Sakura submarines under her command somehow managed to reach Bordeaux and. finally, Thomsen's May Day Massacre, as the newspapers were starting to call it, where his wolfpack managed to sink 11 merchant ships.
"Alright," Grossadmiral clapped, maintaining an absolute poker face in light of the news, "Let's move on to your Prioritatschiffs, starting with you, Von Liebleid."
Even with just the reddish tint of the holograms, one can see that the once-stone-faced admiral showed signs of embarrassment as he inexplicably started scratching one of his own hands, "Heavy-cruiser Roon is still locked up in the Cooler due to the incident two weeks ago…."
All the kommandants in the room nodded along in empathy. The so-called incident, which was so severe as to need an emergency meeting of its own, resulted in the destruction of a few port facilities as well as the unfortunate casualty of a few personnel; an all too common occurrence when it came to handling the first-ever product of Iroblood's Prioritatschiffs Program. Unstable and known to show psychopathic tendencies, the ship has been dubbed the Cooler Queen for spending weeks on end imprisoned under lock and key. No longer having all her cups in the cupboard, Roon has repeatedly failed a psychiatric evaluation like it was a pre-flight check.
"Very unfortunate… But, we sorely need her firepower in our fleet, so please, keep on trying," the head of the Oberkommando der Marine said with a touch of concern in his voice, "Hildebrandt," he stated, changing tact in an instant, "how's your Prioritatschiff?"
Feeling everyone's eyes on him, he cooly stated, "Mainz is still attending Koln's Kreuzerschule and she's making excellent progress."
Operating out of the small abandoned villa, the Kreuzerschule was an informal learning centre established by Koln with the help of her sister Karlushe. It was a grass-roots school with the goal of helping cruisers to be more combat-effective and help them come home alive.
"I see…" the Grossadmiral replied, eyebrows raised slightly, hinting at doubt that was not expressed, "Von Stritzel?"
"I'm having trouble integrating Felix Schultz into my fleet; others have said that she's narcissistic, and frankly, I've had to agree with them," the man sighed, "Honestly, some additional training might do her good."
"Hmmmmmm….." Von Albrecht thought long and hard before barking out a question, "Hildebrandt?"
"Yes!" he immediately replied, totally not being caught surprised, as he felt everyone's gaze upon him once more.
"You say that Mainz is attending some sort of cruiser school?" the elder admiral asked, rubbing his chin as he spoke.
"Run by Koln, yes," he confirmed, "she's taking the class alongside Nuremberg and Blucher." Both cruisers had sustained grave damage during the Fjordia campaign and had to be retrained on how to conduct themselves at sea again.
The Grossadmiral looked up to the ceiling as if he had made a quick decision in his mind, "See how effective this school is and assess if we can divert more ships her way," he ordered before swiftly moving on, "Lastly, Von Fiedler?"
The man smoothed his uniform, "Gascogne is making excellent progress and could be counted on to serve as an electronic warfare centre. Honestly, she's quite amazing really."
"Good to hear that Vichya's allowing us to co-run this Prioritatschiff. Finally, the last item of note is your plans for May. Hildebrandt, go ahead."
The fact that he had been awake all night long had finally caught up to him; Hildebrandt resisted the urge to yawn as he took a deep breath and went on, simply wishing to get this over with.
"With the lack of viable opposition from the Northern Parliament, we can start moving more and more forces to the North Sea and support the other groups in their efforts to suppress Royal Navy forces in the area," he paused, "I'd also have to walk Weser through training and familiarise her with carrier operations."
Von Liebleid didn't need to be called and took the mention of his area as a cue to start speaking, "The NordFleet is adding finishing touches to a major operation in the Atlantic; it will require the cooperation of all relevant MarineGruppens in order to succeed," he emphasised, eyeing a few of their numbers on the table, Hildebrandt himself included.
Von Albrecht was about to move the virtual podium when Von Lieblied made the gesture that he was not done yet, "In addition to this, we're preparing our facilities for the launching of a brand-new schiffsmädchen, the first of her kind, a papierschiff."
Everyone at the table shuddered at the thought, and a cloud of uneasiness descended upon the room. The term, although correct, had always brought with it a baggage that has always haunted the Kriegsmarine.
Sensing the change in atmosphere, the Grossadmiral expertly manoeuvred the conversation away from the touchy subject, "Great, more ships are always welcome… Now, how about the Kanal Gruppe?"
Von Stritzel perked up at his Marinegruppen being raised, chipping in once more to the conversation, "We're planning an ambush of local Royal Navy forces in the Channel, and we'll be laying the bait a few days from now. If successful, it will help relieve pressure from other areas of operation," he surmised, returning back to his seat.
"Good, that's what I wanted to hear. Von Fiedler, any plans in particular for the Mediterranean?" the head of the Oberkommando der Marine asked, his tone a bit rough at the edge. It was no secret that the Mediterranean was where the Ironblood presence was weakest, not with the Royal Navy's control of the chokepoints of Gibraltar and the Suez Canal. U-boats needed a jar of Vaseline just to squeeze through safely at the Straits of Gibraltar and forget about the tightly controlled Canal. Even Hirschmuller in the Black Sea could count on the supply of reinforcement through the Europa Kanal.
Despite the precarious stage he was given, Von Fiedler kept his cool and delivered his report, "Through local avenues of intelligence, we've learnt that the Royal Navy is moving in to support the Aegean Alliance's last stand at Crete. We'll be monitoring the situation and moving forces into the area of operation. Once they concentrate their ships around the island, we'll chip away at their strength and improve the overall situation for our allies in the area."
Satisfied with the admiral's plans, Von Albrecht's countenance improved as he sat easier on his armchair. The rest of the admirals all reported something similar to a degree: all offensive operations designed to throw off the opponent and help them win control of their respective seas and oceans.
Before Hildebrandt knew it, the meeting had concluded, and the Grossadmiral sent them on their merry way. One by one, the holograms of his colleagues disappeared, leaving their seats empty as they returned to their day in cities and ports all across Europe. The exact mechanism behind this futuristic technology left him scratching his head, the thing was one of many small quality-of-life improvements brought about by the integration of Siren technology into their way of living. Despite leaving a bitter taste in his mouth, he couldn't deny that it made things convenient.
He was in the motion of removing his visors, which he was worried would become dangerously stuck to his head, when peculiar scents sent his neurons firing: the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the strong sharp notes of vinegar. Raising the visors over his head, what greeted him was a feast; before him lay a steaming plate of corned beef, potatoes, a fried egg, and some pickles; all components of good Labskaus, served with a cup of coffee to him by Z23 who had entered the room without him noticing.
"Above and beyond as always, Zweidrei!" Hildebrandt praised, using the moniker he had affectionately given the destroyer during their short time together as he picked up the accompanying utensils and began tucking in.
"H-how did the meeting go?" Z23 stammered, with him noticing from the corner of his eyes that she was using the tray she had used to bring the food in to cover her face.
"I'm done and dusted. Honestly, I could use a nap.." the Vizeadmiral replied, taking the time to clear his hatch before speaking, "That reminds me, have you seen Koln?"
"I believe Koln went to your office earlier to be dismissed so she could join Mainz and the others for class, I gave them permission in your absence; is that fine?" the blonde destroyer breathed, gripping her tray tighter to her body.
"No, that's alright," he reassured her as he turned his attention to his coffee and took a sip of the caffeinated drink, consuming it dark, a little bit of Mainz rubbing onto him despite his best intentions.
As he enjoyed his brew, Hildebrandt noticed a catalogue envelope on the table, an arm's length away from him, "What's this?" he asked his Sekretärinschiff as he took the envelope and undid the clasped string, revealing a list of names that went on and on.
Z23 coughed and looked down at her feet, fidgeting as she avoided looking him in the eye, "Casualty report sent by the local mayor of tonight's raid…"
Taking a deep, long breath before sighing heavily, the Vizeadmiral took into consideration this added context and read the report more carefully and with respect, "31 dead, 83 injured, around 120 homes destroyed…" he whispered to himself as outside his windows, he noticed that a downpour was starting to fall; the darkening sky bringing forth the grief of heaven as it wept for those who had perished tonight.
Standing up from his chair, Hildebrandt approached the window and looked out of rain-streaked bulletproof glass, staring out to the sea but saw nothing in particular as he found himself detached from the room itself.
"This verdammt war…" he muttered under his breath. He thought back to his youth, young and naive, foolish enough to believe that war was an exciting adventure when, in reality, it only brought destruction and carnage to all it touched. Be it because of the Sirens, schiffsmädchen, or his fellow humans, it was always the innocent who paid the price of war.
He felt something make contact with his back, pulling him out of his spiral. Turning around, he found out it was Z23, who gingerly put her hand on his shoulder, "Herr Admiral, is everything alright?" she asked, a touch of concern in her voice., looking a bit paler than usual.
"Yes… Yes, I'm fine," he managed to let out, his words serving as reassurances more to himself rather than her. While unfortunate, casualties are inevitable and it was a way of life in war. After all, all had to give some... Some gave their all. It was his responsibility as a high-ranking officer to ensure that their sacrifices were not in vain.
Hildebrandt resumed his seat and continued with his meal, albeit without the appetite he had earlier. A tense silence reigned between the two of them, and it became a hare's race to see who would have the confidence to break the tension.
"I have to say," he started, "I wouldn't know what I would do without you, danke schön, Zweidrei," he thanked her as he flashed her a somewhat decent attempt at a smile, giving her his gratitude as he made the token gesture of eating.
The destroyer took her time to respond, perhaps formulating a reply in her mind, giving him time to finish the hearty meal, "Well, you better start since I'll be redeployed soon," Z23 replied, adjusting her glasses.
Internally thanking the schiffsmädchen for changing the topic, he made the exaggerated gesture of placing his hand on his forehead, "Oh yea! That's a shame!" he jokingly retorted, playing along.
"You know what they say, everything has an end. Only a sausage has two," Z23 countered, a slight hint of a grin on her face as she collected his plate.
"Right, right. Iris, right?" the Vizeadmiral inquired, feeling a sense of relief wash over him as he helped her clear his dishes.
"Ja! Been assigned there?" the destroyer asked, her voice filled with curiosity.
"Nope, the Iris Campaign happened almost simultaneously with the Fjordian one," he started explaining, "By the time we were finished with Northern Fjordia, Von Stritzel and the rest were mopping up the stragglers," he finished before noting the growing frown on the girl's face, "But I've heard the stories of those that served!"
Z23's eyes lit up at this and, with a voice brimming with cheer, asked, "Do you have any advice?"
Standing up with some of his dirty dishes, Hildebrandt started to walk alongside the destroyer as he mulled over what to say, "Hmmmm…. Lay off the butter, I guess?"
Waiting for a response, he noted that the blonde girl grew quiet. As he walked towards the door, he turned to his side to say something but was caught by surprise by the fact that the girl he was talking to stopped walking a few steps back and was frozen in place.
"Something on your mind?" he queried, being greeted by a look of bewilderment from Z23.
"Wonder if I could start a school of my own… A Zerstörerschule…" Zweidrei uttered before looking like she had spoken an unfinished thought and was embarrassed as a result.
The Vizeadmiral suppressed the urge to chuckle, "Funny you should mention that… Von Albrecht's looking for a way to better train that Prioritatschiff destroyer and some other ships.
"The Grossadmiral?!" the destroyer gasped in surprise, almost dropping the plates she was carrying in the process before she quickly caught herself.
"The one and only." Hildebrandt confirmed, pulling open the heavy oak doors for the both of them, "Why not submit a proposal to the Oberkommando and see where it goes? Who knows, if you're lucky, you'd go from Frau Zweidrei to Professorin Zweidrei," he quipped, a genuine smile on his face.
"Really? Me?!" Z23 asked, letting out those words in what could only be described as a scream, blushing red as her cape as she started nervously tinkering with her Eisenkreuz hair clip.
"Well…" he started, "Grossadmiral Von Albrecht wanted me to rate the overall effectiveness of Koln's lessons and see if it is worth diverting more ships her way for education. So, you could say I'm obliged to observe at least one of her sessions if you'd care to accompany me and see if you had what it takes?" he invited, offering her his hand.
"Oh, it's my pleasure, Herr Admiral!"
Author's Note: Hallo! I have to admit this chapter took quite a while to get out, as I don't exactly have a proofreader for this one as I had for my other works, so it's a bit of a shot in the dark for me. I'll be honest again and say that I wouldn't expect to have another update for this story for at least a few months or so, internship will be a big pain in the arse….
But that's all in the future! For now, enjoy this chapter and leave your fav and follow if you're from FFN and kudos and bookmarks if you're from AO3 (can't be bothered to edit ANs between the two website lol) And as always reviews are more than welcomed!
Until the next one, till then, Auf Wiedersehen
P.S: Almost forgot, I sprinkled in a few translated German idioms and sayings all throughout this chapter and the one before... Let's see if you lot can spot them all xD