Admiral Halsey's Office, Battleship Norfolk, November 13th, 754 A.S.
"FiveDunkirks?"
Sir Admiral James Halsey stared out from behind lightly tinted rimless spectacles, buried under the brim of a calssical naval cap, at the two Southampton shipwrights on the other side of his desk.
"Yes, five of them. Between the loss of the Hood last year, Liberty's recent order for five more of their Mississippi-class Battleships, the near end of the current Ark Royal's service life, and, indeed, the recent appearance of the Battleships Regensburg and Wotan in Rheinland and the Musashi in Kusari, the Admiralty has convinced the King that an increase in active presence is necessary if we are to retain our standing among the other Houses." Halsey pulled a manilla folder out of an oak cabinet to his left and lifted a thick sheet of parchment from within and placed it on the desk. "Here I have the authorization of all twelve of the seats on High Command and the King. The vessels are to bear the names Ark Royal, Essex, Sussex, Fantasia and Macduff."
The taller of the two, a redhead by the name of Cormac O'Reilly, planted his calloused hands into his trouser pockets, staring intently at the floor.
"I...I'd venture a wee guess, Lord Admiral, we could have specifications fer all five an'a budget written up fer ye by next month, but tha'sa humongous order ye've placed here. Quite frankly, I dinnae know where we're goin'ta get the raw materials fer five'o these lassies in a four-month time frame, tha' bein' the time it takes to throw down the keels."
"Three months, tops." The other spoke. A shorter, dark-haired man, Garret Sutherland, sipped from the flask hanging perpetually inside his vest. "That new operation they've set up in Tau-23 just started producing. We might have to ship in a good portion of the copper and silver from Liberty but we're already buying most of our excess out of Colorado anyways, so it shouldn't be too much of a load. Bloody pricey anyways, won't jack the budget up more than two or three hundred million."
"Excellent!" Halsey clapped his hands. "In that case, would either of you care for a scotch or some such before we conclude this? Tea, even?"
"I'll hold, thank ye, Lord Admiral, sir." O'Reilly bowed slightly. "I'll be needin all me wits aboot me taenight while I'm organizin' labor forces." Sutherland simply patted his right breast.
"Very well, then. Meet me for lunch at Miss Garriot's over on Waterloo next Friday? It's been some time since I've had decent fish, my colleagues recommend hers."
"Yes sir, Lord Admiral." They both bowed and retreated through the door.
Halsey pulled a decanter of amber fluids out of his oaken desk and poured himself half a glass. Sharp stuff, but lord knows he'd need it, considering the hellfire he'd get from his wife for working late again.
*****
"Ach, this is bleedin' madness!" O'Reilly hissed as the Clydesdale that had brought them pushed out of Norfolk's bay. "FiveDunkirks. We'll never get tha materials in the wee time the Navy wants 'em finished."
"Yes we will, Cormac, have faith." Sutherland smiled slightly. "They introduced a new name. Fantasia. That's never been on the roster before. Good luck."
"Aye, but I still don't bloody like it..."
"Regardless, it'll happen all the same."
Quote:Quick comment - we thought that Panzer was the Leader, Swift. -Agmen
Dockyard Union Assembly, Bar, Battleship Hood, November 15th, 754 A.S.
Richard McCarthy slid into his booth, barely able to see his drink between the dusty mug and the horrible lighting. Not that things like this were any better on Graves, but still. A guy could complain once in a while, couldn't he?
"I think they're on to me."
"Dear boy, what on earth makes you say that?" The man he was meeting had been introduced to him as Lord Alfred, and nothing else. He was tall and thin, probably about sixty-five, with a sharp-yet warm face and considerable stubble to go with thick, wavy, white hair, and decked in a solid black greatcoat made of real wool and black leather with a doubled cape and what looked like solid obsidian buttons, and seemingly always attached to a glass of something thin and red. All he'd been told is that he wanted to help the cause, and he seemed to have the resources to do it, judging by that fire at Graves last month.
Richard was a more recent addition to the Molly cause. He'd been recruited by Oxford's Engineering division when he was in school and trained to design mining ships, a far cry from the rest of his family's occupation at Graves. Little did he realize he'd be working there for most of his adult life, up until the Founder's Day Revolt.
His father had been one of the ones shot by the Bretonian authorities sent in.
Ever since that day he'd been working with the resistance, sabotaging BMM and Bretonian government in general. As grandiose as it sounded, he wanted to see a Bretonia where people were equal. The caste system had destroyed his family, and he was ashamed to say he was one of the destroyers until Founder's Day. He wanted little more than to see it brought down.
"There's some ingrate following me." He took a swig out of his nameless drink-ooh, that was sharp-and nonchalantly tossed his head over his shoulder at the bar, where a man in dressed in nothing but black, consisting of the presumed essentials and a trench coat and fedora, holding up a glass of reflective silver liquid.
Alfred smiled slightly. Incessant MI5, couldn't keep its hands out of his pockets. But, they did their jobs, he supposed. "I'll have him removed. On that note, there will be a large operation taking place at New London, Gateshead and Southampton, at the same time. We have an estimated two-hundred and fifty-thousand-plus participation. Peaceful, this time, so they will be unable to fire on the citizens without massive media repercussions. It would much oblige me, dear boy, if you would be the Southampton coordinator. We have a legitimate excuse to put you on the station, considering your occupation, and they've begun a new project there, which you would also might take an interest in." Lord Alfred took a small sip of the transleucent pale-red fluid in his ever-present decanter. "Is that acceptable?"
"When do I leave?"
"Shortly. We have a Clydesdale in the hangar waiting for you. Your papers were filed this morning. Proceed out and I will have your friends removed."
"Friends?"
The wayward lord smiled lightly, brushing a loose lock of hair away from his sharp indigo eyes. "You should be more observant, my dear boy. The prostitute five booths down has taken a considerable interest in you, despite the fact that as you entered she plainly saw that you have no wallet to speak of on your person, and none of the ladies on this station are associating with her."
Richard frowned a bit. He felt slightly shanghaied, and he realized that Lord Alfred was likely not the most trustworthy person in Sirius, but he seemed to be their best bet, and he got results. "I'll see you at Southampton, then?"
"Yes, indeed, you will, my dear boy. Now, let us get underway, shall we?"
Richard nodded and stood up, heading for the door. The prostitute and Fedora followed shortly, heading for the door as Alfred snapped his fingers. Four large, burly men in black business suits stepped out of the shadows and intercepted them at the door, arm-locking and chloroforming the pair before they knew what hit them. The bar had gone a bit quiet; people were staring. Alfred slid out of the booth and stood with the agility of a much younger man, seemingly glided over to the bar, and dropped fifty credits onto the counter.
"A round for everyone, on me." He winked at the onlookers.
The Bartender looked at him shortly and smiled whimsically, going back to the drink he'd been mixing as the volume returned to normal and people strode over to the bar for theirs. Alfred strode into the hallway and rather unfiguratively disappeared.
Quote:Quick comment - we thought that Panzer was the Leader, Swift. -Agmen
Madam Garriot's Pub and Fine Dining, Waterloo, November 16th, 754 A.S.
Halsey was rather surprised to see two of his old students when he got to Madam Garriot's; Captains Jason Starkey and Edmund Cromwell were conversing at the bar over cocktails (men in uniform ate free at Garriot's), so he flagged them over and they sat in the back, one of the five-man tables reserved for the military. Halsey flagged a busty blond waittress.
"We've got two more coming, my dear, a tall Dublin man and a shorter, plainer one; point them back here, if you will, and bring me a gin and tonic."
"Tha'll be all, mi'lord?" she smiled to his curt nod and twirled, copius bust bouncing as she began moving forward; the three men watched with mild interest for a few moments, then turned back to each other.
"So, Jason, how are things these days on the Dauntless? I hear you got a new Helmsman. Thank you, my dear," Halsey peered upwards and smiled slightly at the Cockney girl as his drink came to a rest on the hardwood.
"He's fairly good, I suppose, hasn't run us into anything yet, but he hasn't gotten the hang of balancing the coolant pressures just yet. Not that I blame him, everybody knows the old girl's got horrid engines, and I imagine he'll learn fast enough. All the same, I miss Dana, he could turn her on a dime and replace all the fluid seals himself if need be." Starkey sighed, taking a sip from his drink; he was a talker. "So, how's business on the Norfolk, chief?"
Halsey smiled and shifted backwards in his chair, creaking slightly as he did; he thought for a moment before tilting some of the GT between his lips and speaking.
"I suppose it could be described as malase; the lady runs quite well whenever she needs to and beyond hunting the occasional Molly she doesn't see much action. Things are nothing particularly special at all, which is, I suppose, how things should be. Still, I miss the Gunboats and hunting pirates. This administration deal is slow, slow work. Still, it's more appropriate for a man of my age and back strength...what about you, Edmund, I hear the Repulse is doing exceptionally these days."
Cromwell adjusted his coat lapels and set his drink down. "She's in fine shape. The crew performs marvelously, we've taken the slot of second-most efficient ship in the fleet, and we recently recieved an entire ship's worth of brand new automatic tea kettles with 600 preprogrammed flavors."
"You're joking! Halsey frowned; he hadn't noticed a change in the rankings that morning, and he was certain the Navy would never have authorized kettles that expensive. Fleet standard was twenty flavors and you're done.
"About the placement, yes. We are now the most efficient ship in the fleet. As for the tea kettles, no. I very much enjoy my job at the moment." He grinned widely as he lifted the cocktail to his mouth and took a sip.
"Bloody hell, I need to get us some of those!" Halsey frowned, making a mental note to have his aide order a set for the officer's cabins when he got back to the Norfolk.
Starkey twitched with envy.
Quote:Quick comment - we thought that Panzer was the Leader, Swift. -Agmen
Richard walked quickly away from Southampton's mess hall doors as the riot police tromped in, looking straight ahead and concentrating very hard on looking like a rich, conservative, well-schooled engineer (he had one out of three down). He got to his office quickly, entered, locked the door, and tossed a glass of water onto his terminal (which promptly began to smoke and sizzle) before signaling for the custodians and turning around to meet none other than the man who'd gotten him into this sizable predicament, sitting in one of the office chairs.
"What the hell, old man? This is crazy! You said they wouldn't find us out, and now sixteen thousand people are about to lose their jobs!"
Alfred stood from the armchair, adjusting his coat. "Apparently I was mistaken. It is no matter; no harm will come to them. I have seen to that. Now, dear boy, those custodians are on their way. Remember the backup we discussed.
"But-"
Alfred had already stepped out into the hall. As Richard went to follow, he was gone.
He sighed and slid his datapad out of his coat pocket, flipping to the schematics for the new Dunkirk he'd been assigned to oversee construction of as the custodians rushed past him.
"Write in a req for a replacement ASAP, will you?" He said as they passed. The aging Scot nodded back, opening the panel and cutting the room's power as McCarthy strode down to the planning room, tapping in slight alterations to the ships powergrid.
Eight Months Later...
"Oi! Jack!" The electronics specialist hailed over the shift supervisor via comms, rubbing the glass on his helmet as he floated away from the rear hull of the half-completed fishlike Battleship.
"Bloody hell, Charlie, what is it this time, fur crap's sake?" The shift head floated towards him.
"Have a luke at thes!" Charlie tapped out schematics on Jack's helmet. "Are we shoor thes theng's sapoosed ta go thar? Thes plug lukes a leetle oot of plahce.".
"Gimme a minute, Charlie, I'll check with tha bleedin' boss." Jack switched channels. A man up in the glass-walled control room tossed them a thumbs-up. "Yep, it's right, he says. Somethin' about a new distribution method. Install it like it says."
"Ookay, boss, whatever ye say." Charlie shrugged, going back to his reactor distribution.
Quote:Quick comment - we thought that Panzer was the Leader, Swift. -Agmen
