Rule by Falkeno

Rule 15428: Whoever is responsible for the Hunt-class destroyers discovering the BBC's series' Life on Mars/Ashes to Ashes is in deep trouble as they have all started acting like Gene Hunt.

There was a hint of rain as Belfast stepped through the gate back into Scapa Flow, but that had always been a trait of the place even long before Bel had been conceived in the imagination of her designer. Back then Scapa had been considered to be one of the worst places to be posted in the Royal Navy, a place where the worst of the Britain's infamous weather came together with tedious boredom, a desolate landscape, and a population that had been often outnumbered by the local sheep population to make the lives of naval men miserable, and why the place had never been used in peacetime. Thankfully the advent of the internet, the ability to actually visit the local settlements without the need to bundle people into the back of a lorry, and most importantly the construction of an actually decent naval facility that wasn't huts on a muddy field had done wonders for the places reputation.

But even so, Bel still felt a pang of dread as she walked towards the heart of the complex. When Britannic had forcibly sent her on leave she'd deliberately gone as far away as possible from the madness that came with her service life, going as far as to have as little contact with the outside world as possible by taking a cabin in rural New York state. Of course, sods law had dictated that shipgirl shenanigans had eventually found her, in the form of USS Denver ploughing into a tree after discovering that using Intrepid's flight deck as a snowboard was as bad an idea as the genius' who thought 1981 Defence White Paper was a flawless plan.

Bel sighed sadly at that memory, not at the event itself, nor the plan of dressing the offending cruiser as the mascot for the Boston Red Sox in the heart of New York after the bars closed, but at what had followed it. How Trep had invited Bel to visit Norfolk the day before she'd been meant to fly back to Scapa, of how instead of enjoying herself and catching up with friends she didn't get to see very often, she'd spent the next few days comforting the carrier. All courtesy of an idiotic destroyer getting it into her head that playing the one song that would give Trep a PTSD attack was a brilliant idea for a prank. Thank fuck Wright had managed to get Collingwood to let her stay away a few extra days so she could help deal with the fallout before she'd finally had to come back home. At least Bel had the knowledge that when she'd left Trep hadn't been curled up in a ball, and she had a base full of people that would keep an eye on her with her sister Boxer having promised to keep her informed about any developments at Bel's insistence.

Belfast wasn't sure why she'd been so adamant at being kept in the loop, she wasn't exactly a gossip, then again Trep was her friend and she wanted to know she was ok. That and she wanted to know that Owens had been appropriately punished. The last thing that she'd heard they'd still been spitballing ideas that ranged from the classic jankers options, such as latrine duty or being stuck on food prep, to the more extreme options of being forced to sit in on the annual budget meeting' and being forced to scrub every ship in the harbour with a toothbrush. With some calling for the 'Wheel of (Mis)Fortune' to be used, whatever that was as Boxer had refused to elaborate further and Bel didn't really care to ask for details. All that mattered was that Trep was ok.

"I'd say something about a cat dragging things in, but the only thing Frankenstein can hunt is her next meal," a familiar voice remarked loudly, snapping Bel out of her thoughts to find KGV standing before her offering the cruiser a welcoming smile.

"Hey Georgie, I was actually on my way to report to Collingwood, but I guess if he sent you he's busy with something," Bel replied as she set her holdall down on the tarmac, only for Georgie to give her a knowing look.

"If by important work, you mean cashing in his months worth of days off a taking my little sister with him for a jaunt in the country, thus leaving me to hold the fort till he gets back in a few weeks, then you'd be right on the money," Georgie answered belatedly with a hint of tiredness creeping into her voice.

"Really? Because he approved of me staying a few…" Bel began only for the look she got from Georgie to tell her that it had been Collingwood's decision in name only. "Thanks, I know the girls at Norfolk appreciated it."

"Yeah, well we've got to make sure Briggs doesn't pull a Colombo, at least Cunningham got that desk job after they found the marbles he'd lost."

Bel could only sigh at that reminder. Last she'd heard, Colombo had retreated to his family's vineyard and had taken to making wine, some of which he didn't end up drinking. And with Briggs' penchant for cryptids the chances of the last image of him being as he disappeared into the woods to catch a sasquatch, wearing a banana suit and carrying a net was not outside the realms of possibility.

"So, since you're in charge, I guess it's your job to tell me what I missed whilst I was away," Bel noted, moving the conversation away from the subject of admirals who had, or were about to go off the deep end.

"Well lets see, Vanguard got authorization to start trying to work out how we can summon the Neptune's and maybe the 1947 Minotaur's along with those heavy cruiser designs that the admiralty dreamt up at the start of the war. So expect to have her pestering you since she needs somewhere to get started and you're the best base we've got," Georgie began, looking quite pleased as she told Bel that they would be finally getting more cruisers, and powerful ones at that. Especially as they would not only ease the burden on not just the overworked counties, but also Bel and her fellow Town's, along with their Crown Colonies cousins, who thanks to their larger size, all tended to get the major share of the work.

Although Bel had a sneaking suspicion that it would be just those groups who would need to train them up for a while before they could be allowed out of their sight, and from what she'd seen with the Lion's and heard about the other never built summons, it wasn't going to be a pretty sight.

"Apart from the official news, we can't use the football pitch till they've filled the crater in… don't ask why, it's safer for your sanity. Centurion is also not allowed to order anything using a navy account, and no we don't know how she got access to one, but we're keeping it quiet as we really don't want it, or what she ordered getting out to the press, otherwise they'll have a field day." the battleship continued, running Bel through some of the more 'interesting' events that she'd missed. "But the biggest thing you missed is…"

"I've seen cesspits with more brains!" A voice loudly interrupted startling Bel as she hadn't expected it. But as she processed the outburst she felt a niggle in the back of her mind that there was something familiar about those choice of words. More confusingly however, it had been said in what sounded like a Mancunian accent, which was odd as being a landlocked city, Bel knew from experience the only shipgirl with that particular accent was her sister Manchester, and she was stationed down in the Falklands. Which could only mean someone was imitating one for some reason, but for what reason Bel had no idea, but from the groan Georgie gave she was about to find out.

"For fucks sake, what the hell's happened now?" the battleship moaned as she started off towards the origin point of the interruption. Only to notice Bel was staring at her, and after giving her a gesture to follow, kindly decided to fill in the missing pieces. "The Hunt's have been acting weird for the last few weeks, one morning they all showed up talking with that accent, wearing outfits that Bully said looked like blokes she'd seen in the 70's or 80's." Bel felt the niggle turn into an itch, after all Bulwark had been around in that period so if she said that was what they were wearing, it was an accurate statement. But she still couldn't put her finger on what was familiar. "The worst part of it though is I have to correct their reports and remove some of the stuff they've been sticking in them which isn't fun, especially when all their combat reports about their sub attacks are simply 'surrounded by armed bastards!' I mean what does that mean?"

With all the subtlety of a tactical nuclear war, the itch in Belfast's mind was scratched as the answer presented itself in its alarming fullness. Complete with the memories of a certain TV show and its politically incorrect, cowboy-esk, old-school copper, who complete with his infamous beige camel coat, flash car and penchant for revolvers and fist fights, had become a cultural icon of British TV in the 2000's. A character who's surname just so happened to be Hunt.

"I think the Hunt's have found Life on Mars," Bel said in answer, only to have Georgie staring at her in confusion as to what she had just said. "It's a TV show with a character called Gene Hunt in it, and from the sounds of things the Hunt's are imitating him, which is probably not a good thing." Bel added this as the pair turned the corner, finding that Bel had not only been correct in the escort destroyers taking after the character's mannerisms, but by how the ten Hunt's based out of Scapa were dressed had also taken after his wardrobe. With Atherstone, who Bel guessed had been the one to make the initial outburst, having gone as far as to even get the hairstyle correct.

"Alright girls, what is it this time?" Georgie asked half-heartedly, clearly indicating to Bel that this was the latest in a long line of similar incidents to have befallen the battleship recently. The Hunt's all turned to face Georgie with a look that to Bel indicated a mixture of bemusement, annoyance, or in the case of Rockwood and Talybont, attempts to give off a look of cool sophistication that they only got half right. Fortunately Atherstone, who was the leader of the base's Hunt contingent was quick to explain the cause of the outburst.

"Oh, we were discussing the stunt Ovens pulled with the Yanks. Use your loaf at least, she should know better in a Navy that has Gambier Bay in it, and she looks as nervous as a very small nun at a penguin shoot!" Atherstone replied.

"Ok, but that doesn't warrant you shouting obscenities across the entire base, especially as despite our best efforts, at times it feels like the press have this place bugged by the stuff that they keep reporting. Especially after I had to rewrite your last report to remove some of the things you put in it," Georgie mused

"You make that sound like a bad thing," Atherstone replied, completely oblivious as to how much she was missing the point, before noticing Bel standing next to Georgie, "Alright Belly-cakes, how were the yanks?"

"Just… just go," Georgie groaned, clearly too worn down to try and tangle with the Hunt's, who she was hoping would be back to normal within a few weeks once they'd got this out of their system. Atherstone and the other Hunt's didn't miss the opportunity to leave, offering a one word question of 'pub' and the same in reply before they sauntered off leaving Georgie shaking her head in disbelief as Bel tried to form a sentence in reply to Atherstone's remark.

"Ok, so One: they've also seen Ashes to Ashes, and two… Hell no they are not calling me that again!" Bel remarked in shocked anger as she gestured in the direction of the retreating escort destroyers, knowing full well that if it didn't get nipped in the bud quickly then it would lead to a list of nicknames getting used that were far less pleasant than that one.

"Yeah, I've been meaning to get something on the list, but I never knew how to word it that whoever was responsible for this is in deep trouble," Georgie answered as she rubbed her forehead. Bel could tell the battleship was feeling the stress of command, even in the brief window she'd been in the role, and an advertisement for giving the admirals periodic time off. Lest Briggs finally slip off the ledge his sanity was clinging to by its finger nails.

"You ok Georgie?" Bel asked, knowing the answer already, but wanting to give the Battleship an opening to vent.

"No… I just… I just want Collingwood to come back and take over again, that's just the latest in a long line of problems I've had to deal with, but at least it's the first that's the first thing that's ended up on the list". Georgie groaned as she recomposed herself from under the weight of the burden of command.

"It could be worse then, and besides Collingwood will have to come back, since he's possibly one of the sanest admirals we've got," Belfast replied, trying to soothe the Battleships' fraying nerves.

"Yeah, you'd know all about sanity," Georgie retorted, only to immediately realise what she'd said "Sorry, I mean that…" only for Bel to stop her mid apology.

"It's fine, I know what you meant, so there's no need to apologise," Bel said politely. She knew why Georgie had been so quick to correct herself, as both of them were well acquainted with Bel's dark past, and even so, she knew that Georgie had meant no malice in her words. Which to her was far more than she deserved in her own opinion. But it was also true that she was a good judge of other people's sanity, seeing as how Bel was one of the few people that knew what it was like to fall off the ladder of sanity, and somehow struggle back up it.

"Anyway, you were about to tell me something I'd missed whilst I was away, before 'that' happened?" Bel continued, trying to give Georgie a way out of causing a bigger fuss by trying to apologise over nothing.

"Right, erm, well you know Hood and Prinz Eugen had that one night fling to get Bismarck out of their system? Well there's a rumour that your sister's been tagging along with Vanguard when she goes to see Tirpitz and Eugen's been there as well, but we haven't got anything solid yet. So it's all conjecture at this point, but…" Georgie began as Bel mentally wondered why she had been so hesitant to leave this mess behind in the first place all those months ago.