Chapter Text
[Captain Francesco Solari]
The captain stood on the conning tower of his bright, shiny new battleship and watched the harbor. A squadron of mass-produced ships was getting under way. Some of the Trento class escorting three Conte de Cavours . He shifted his gaze to the command console and regarded his own mass-produced battleship, the borderline arcane interface showing him that there were no detectable malfunctions in the ship's machinery. Everything was flawless. As it should be for the maiden voyage of the next generation mass-produced battleships. The Littorio I would replace most of the old battleships. But this was a- no- the Littorio II; the more impressive variant of the template designed for flagship duties: the machinery was more advanced, giving it a better rate of fire, faster response to commands from the helm and a command console capable of feeding the real-time status of an entire squadron of ships. This extended to the other crew station in the conning tower as well. The central dais the primary command console sat on was ringed in three directions by other panels for fire control, helm and navigation, damage control, and a station dedicated to managing the aft aircraft catapult. In truth, the conning tower of the Littorio II resembled some bizarre science fiction more than any period warship.
But most of the mass-produced ships shared the same features to a lesser degree; they were products of the Siren war; incorporating alien technologies scraped off the ocean floor and near-alien methods of fabrication bordering on witchcraft to produce largely mechanical ships of various classes at shocking speed. It took two months for the Littorio II to hit the waves from the drawing board. A brand-new battleship ready to define the modern era of Sardegnan naval power! But... why was he here?
Captain Francesco Solari sighed with consternation. He was, by all accounts, not a battleship captain at all; at best he could be considered a competent cruiser captain- a convoy man! Keeping the sea lanes open with a fast and maneuverable ship under his feet- that was his area of experience. He knew nothing of lines of battle and floating fortresses, and hardly considered himself prepared to captain a battleship, let alone to test-sail a ship designed for a fleet commander. On some level he knew the Sardegnan admiralty knew this- he had them to thank for his guest. Only, “guest” isn’t the right word, this was more her home than his, after all. He stole a glance to his right and was met with ruby eyes and instant regret.
“ Mi Comandare~” sang an amused voice, “wipe that frown from your face, for you occupy a place thousands of people could only ever dream of. You stand center stage in the heart of Littorio!” The ruby eyes winked at him.
Next to him stood Littorio. The Littorio. The manifestation of the soul of the original ship. Well, he knew the girl and the ship were related, and he had heard rumors of rumors of a process called “soul formation.” Whatever she was, she was here and appeared to be enjoying herself thoroughly.
There was a kernel of truth to her incessant teasing too: many aspiring naval officers would kill to receive command of a mass-production battleship, and most would probably have to; while the same could probably be said of any potential suitors of the young battleship. He couldn’t help but smile slightly at the double meaning. She was a clever wordsmith; he gave her that much.
He did not trust her. The shipgirls of the Imperial Guard and those assigned to them were an irregular force that worked parallel to the national fleet. It was unclear exactly who could command them, what authority they held and what exactly they were to begin with. They were sapient weapons, as much metal and magic as flesh. But if they were more than constructs... if they really had souls... would it matter? Sardegna needed them for their war, and while he did not like a weapon he could not trust, he understood the mutual interest of the empire’s survival.
“Even so, all eyes are still on you.” This was true too: the crew of the mass-produced vessel had taken more notice of their guest than she might have warranted under normal circumstances. Not that ruby eyes, long green hair held back with a spiked headband, and an impressive gilded, white dress uniform with a deep emerald-lined black cape and brilliantly shining sword resting at her hip did not paint a stunning picture, but he was becoming less amused with the number of times he had already caught his sailors staring. Oh, but the battleship with the spiked crown did so adore attention... “We await your command.” He was, however barely, able to mask his indignation at the words. Even if he did not know what rank she held, she was part of the Imperial Guard assigned here by the senate; she sure as hell had the authority on the bridge.
“Let us stretch her legs, Mi Comandare, take us out to sea. If all goes well, this little experiment will bring a new era of splendor to the empire... and to you.” At this, he swore that that accused shipgirl winked at him again.
With an internal sigh, he began issuing his orders: Set this heading at that speed, these degrees to that direction, get us underway and so on. Making minor adjustments, course corrections and the like until they were sailing the Mediterranean within the hour. And making excellent time: the Littorio class was faster than he had ever imagined a battleship could be. The captain was stunned to see that she was holding at 30 knots- almost 10 knots faster than her predecessors! They were practically flying over the sea! And, he had to admit the ship and the way it cut through the waves were... beautiful. This was what all the droning on about “glory” and “splendor” and “pride” had been about. He had seen the back end of the dreadnought era- cumbersome war machines of pure power projection- castles with rudders and an unmistakable menace. This was altogether different. The image of the sleek design of the hull capped with red and white lines on the bow, almost obscured by the trunk-like barrels of the massive high velocity guns was altogether much more graceful than any dreadnought he had ever seen.
A hand on his shoulder pulled him out of his reverie and he turned to meet a very smug battleship.
“ Mi Comandare, its rude to stare.” She almost suppressed a light laugh. Almost. “We’re coming up on the target area. There, you will engage in a training exercise but...I’ve decided I’m not going to tell you what your targets are... yet.” Her smug grin transformed into an amused smirk.
This was a dangerous idea. Nobody was supposed to be within tens of miles of this chunk of sea today, but it was procedure to be as transparent as possible to further safeguard against catastrophe. But when he raised a hand in protest, the emerald-haired battleship took him by surprise when she grabbed his wrist and put a finger to his lips.
“There is nothing in the area that should not be here, my recon plane has been scanning the waters all morning. Even so, there is not a standard combat shell on board: just dyed training shells. I want to put this ship through as close to a real combat scenario as possible: it must find, identify, and engage targets without prior knowledge. There is no challenge in identifying what you already know is there, and nothing gained by shooting preplanned targets that was not already accomplished on a testing range for the guns. Trust me, Mi Comandare and play along.”
There was a tense moment between the two, and Littorio would have to have been blind to miss the varying levels of confusion, irritation, and indignation behind the captain's eyes. But eventually, he lowered his hand, turned back to the con, and barked out orders.
“Action stations! Be on the watch for any other vessels and get the recon plane up in the air. We are on the hunt for an unknown enemy force.”
___________________
The wait was maddening. Here they were, gliding over the surface of the calm, warm waters of the Adriatic bearing 337 degrees north-northwest, with the greatest guns Sardegna ever put on a battleship with enough shells to paint the Sistine Chapel twice over. And there was nothing but the hum of the machinery and occasional buzz of the scout plane making its rounds. But most maddening of all was his acting admiral of the day-now-dusk. It was progressing into the evening now, and the girl had stood next to him silently, with the hint of a grin, since she had given him his current set of orders.
“She knows something I don’t.” He thought to himself. And then he had another thought. “Helm, bring us about and set a new heading at 112 degrees east-southeast, and then start steering us in a wide arc progressing to straight southern heading in half an hour.” His helmsman shot him a puzzled look at this frankly bizarre instruction, but set himself to the task nonetheless. This would, gradually, double them back along their track: the captain was looking for pursuers. As the vessel came about from the northern heading, he caught an eyebrow raise from his guest out of the corner of his eye.
“Good” he thought. It was a trick he used to use while running convoys, just in reverse: rather than a sudden dramatic course change to avoid or shake a superior enemy, he had made one in the hopes of intercepting one-one which was probably tying to catch him too, just chasing an old heading. Judging by Littorio’s reaction, he was on to something. And if he was in his rumored enemy’s shoes, he would be lingering about waiting for an opportunity to trap his prey against the western coast of the Adriatic.
It would be another hour before he ordered another change in course, this time southwest at 225 degrees. He had hoped to catch his opponents course correcting to follow him. And he was right, the southeastern arc he had taken his ship in had placed him parallel to his pursuers, who had to turn northeast to intercept him before he broke from the coast entirely. Then, the southwestern dash placed them heading straight at where the enemy would now be, assuming they had caught on to his change in course. Before long, the recon plane returned with news. Despite cloud cover, the pilot reported three destroyers and two cruisers on an intercept course coming straight at them on a heading at 67 degrees east-northeast. He took note of the brilliantly painted destroyer in the center of the formation as the lead ship of the squadron, which was bizarre; rarely did light ships lead formations. Solari chuckled to himself over the absurdity of fighting a lone war of maneuver in a battleship.
“I’ve got you.” He muttered. “General quarters, general quarters, all hands to battle stations!” So caught up was he in the moment that he missed the uncharacteristically focused look on his guest’s face.
And so, the MPRM Littorio II came to life with activity. It was true that mass-produced ships required a fraction of the crew as a warship would under normal circumstances. Their machinery was much more complex: many parts of the ship work autonomously and can be controlled from the conning tower by way of primitive electronic interfaces. Fire control, fire prevention, engine power and the entire firing array were linked to the conning tower. The only crew that remained were cooks, mechanics, and command staff, plus the aircraft operators. The Littorio II was as much a testament to the improvements in the complexity allowed by the cube-forges at La Spezia, Genua, and Taranto as it was to the changing scope of naval war. But for now, it mostly meant that panels in the conning tower were lighting up and status reports on the ship were being fed back in near-real time.
“Leave the destroyers to the secondary batteries and set a course at 157 degrees south-southeast. Fire control, give me a target.” The captain spoke confidently.
The cruisers began to open up at their max range, about 31km. The first two volleys missed, but they had the range by the third; scoring two hits on the deck and three useless hits on the armored belt, painting a third of the port side secondary battery a hideous shade of orange but causing no critical damage
The green-haired battleship was amused. “Turning away from a few escorts and their charges Comandare ? I must admit, I’m surprised. The light batteries will make short work of those destroyers, and the cruisers couldn’t withstand your main battery at all. Why turn away?”
“Those are Trento class cruisers, and I happen to have prior experience; I used to captain one. Though I can’t quite tell yet what those destroyers are, I’d be shocked to see a destroyer that does not mount torpedoes as well. It’s also why I suspected that the enemy was behind us, trying to trap us against the coast where we can’t maneuver away from the smaller and faster ships. You aren’t as subtle as you think you are. ”
The guns of the battleship roared, and the master gunner clicked his stopwatch. A very long minute passed before shell plumes erupted directly ahead of the target ships. A pretty good start as far as fire control was concerned.
On the captain's orders, the guns fired again, and while many shells went wide, massive red spots appeared on one of the cruisers from Semi-armor-piercing “hits”. By now, the leading destroyer was in secondary battery range sailing due northeast, and the conning tower was alive with the flashes and thuds of lighter gunnery as the small ship was rendered a respectable neon green by the weight of the barrage. One down, three to go.
But there was a problem. The leading destroyer had laid down a smokescreen. The secondary batteries could no longer see the remaining two destroyers. No one could see them.
Littorio stood over the command console, the green light playing off her features as her face twisted into a mischievous grin. “Tell me, Mi Comandare ... do you dance?”
The captain paused for a moment. They were within torpedo range. Alter his course away from the remaining destroyers, assuming they hadn’t launched torpedoes yet, he would be giving them all the time in the world to pick their shots. If they had already launched torpedoes and he did not change his course, this game would be over. On the other hand, the destroyers were probably feeling the pressure of time, their cover would dissipate, and the game would be over for them. Could that have encouraged them to launch their torpedoes with his current heading in mind? He made his judgment.
“Hard to starboard, we’re crossing the smoke.”
The ship lurched beneath them as the rudder struggled to get 40,000 tons going at 30 knots on a practically 90-degree course change.
“Ready starboard-side secondary batteries, main battery shift to starboard.” He smiled grimly on receiving an affirmative from both gunnery stations. They were almost across the smoke screen, and if he was wrong, he figured it would be about seven seconds before he was bracketed by torpedoes.
7... 6...
The bow emerged from the smoke screen.
5... 4...
The forward guns locked in their targets
3... 2...
The ship shuddered as the man battery fired at the brilliantly painted leader of the destroyers.
1...
...
There was no great pounding of 533mm torpedoes on the armor belt, only the comparatively gentle thudding of the unscathed starboard battery exchanging fire with the last of the destroyers.
Then, Littorio began to clap, and a cheer rang out around the conning tower.
“ Very good Mi Comandare, you will lead the rest of the ships that participated in this exercise back to port. I’m sure it will be the first of many fleet commands you will be granted. If you would walk with me a moment, I’ll answer any questions you have about what transpired here today.”
“Navigator, get us back to La Spezia, you have the con.” Then the captain turned to speak over what passed for an intercom. “All hands, the coast is clear, we’re heading back home.” It would be a few hours before they made port, and he was exhausted and starving after all the excitement.
___________________
The captain had followed Littorio out on the deck of the ship, open now that they were not expecting any trouble. This was little more than a victory cruise on their way home, after all. Looking over the railing, he had gotten a much better appreciation for how fast they were going, and it took him briefly out of Littorio’s musings on the future of naval warfare.
“... critical flaw in the fleet-in-being concept and... you’re staring again captain; you should get out more.~”
The captain spun around. “Yes yes, ‘the ease of blockade and the rise of air power presents a critical flaw with the fleet in being concept. I pay attention. But what does this have to do with this exercise?”
“Consider it a proof of concept for capital ships acting as active combatants while still holding up greater than their equal in naval assets; fulfilling the aim of a fleet in being whilst also doing more than presenting an easy target for those who can act on the constant knowledge that it is there. Now, if you wouldn’t mind sliding over, I’d like to join you~”
This request puzzled the captain, there was plenty of space along the railing. While he was still piecing this together in his head, his back was facing away from the sea, and away from the brilliantly painted battleship slinking up behind the formation. Masked by the sound of the Littorio II’s engine and flow of the water as she carved through the waves, the Littorio had snuck up behind him, and he was none the wiser. He had not noticed the battleship’s... battleship attempting to come alongside his. And he was still registering this fact when the great horn on the Littorio nearly blew his eardrums out. Being surprised by a battleship horn is, by far, one of the quicker ways to put the spring in somebody’s step. A spring that earned a cackle from the green-haired girl she failed to contain her laughter in the slightest. But after a few choice words to his guest, and a few to his helmsman, the Littorio was sailing alongside the Littorio II.
When he had collected himself, and when the battleship had contained her amusement, he spoke, annoyed: “Was that strictly necessary?”
“When you make admiral, you’ll understand the value of a dramatic entrance. Consider it just one more reason you’ll remember me~” Ruby eyes winked at the captain.
“Is that also what the paint job is for?” he prodded.
She looked slightly taken aback at the question. “ Mi Comandare,” she purred, “have you never sailed alongside the Imperial Guard before?”
He turned away from his aghast guest and leaned over the railing so she could not see his smile. “You mean the parade fleet they keep moored at Taranto for the propaganda films? I can’t say I’ve seen them. Never watch the propaganda either, come to think of it. Only ever caught it on the radio out on patrol.”
He could practically hear the indignant cogs turning in the head of that red-eyed she-demon of the senate. But before she could speak, another voice called up to them from somewhere below. A much younger voice...
“That’s no way to talk to your superior!”
The captain spun around and peered over the guard rail, only to narrowly avoid the mass of blond hair and green cloth that was now sailing through the air above him from the setting sun. He turned, again, to face his new guest, who had landed cleanly next to Littorio; and took in her details. She was wearing a dark green tricorn with her blonde hair curled inward and she had lighter purple eyes. White epaulets adorned the shoulders of her coat which hung loosely over her evergreen uniform. She was much younger in appearance than Littorio, at least, much smaller in stature. Most notable of all however, was the antique firearm slung over her shoulder. He wracked his brain. She looked like she had stepped out of the pages of a history book. It was almost like she was trying to emulate one of those...
“Carabiniere on deck! Salutations captain!” And he could not help but smile at her enthusiasm, even if the shock of her sudden appearance hadn’t quite worn off yet.
“At ease, Carabiniere, and welcome aboard. It is a rare honor to host one of the Imperial Guard, let alone two. To what do I owe your visit?” He hoped he was keeping the wariness out of his voice. This was unusual and the alarm bells in his head were blaring. The last thirteen years of his career had gone by without a visit from Sardegna’s favorite weapons. He knew of Littorio from the propaganda reels and newspapers, but he did not know this Carabiniere. He had seen her before; she was always in the background when “the eternal flagship” gave an address, but he knew nothing about her.
“I wanted to meet the captain who messed up my paint job.” She stepped towards him and offered a handshake.
He cautiously shook her gloved hand and began to connect the dots. There had been a destroyer painted in a similar style to the Littorio among the small fleet he faced in the exercise. That answered the question about the odd destroyer, but it posed a few more. He was unaware of any precedent for normal humans to be pitted against shipgirls in naval exercises. Changing naval doctrines, new waters being tested in technology and training. What was going on back there in Sardegna? The captain snapped back to the present.
“You were... you are the painted destroyer... I was wondering what that was about. They had me staring down the barrels of the imperial guard...” He shot a look over at Littorio. “So that is why you kept quiet about the exercise. This whole circumstance is absurd.”
“You worry too much, mi Comandare, it is really all so simple: the Eternal Flagship wanted to experiment with a new strategy, one that the old guard captains would not approve of. She needed someone relatively experienced and prone to a different philosophy of sailing and you, with a few sorties as captain of a cruiser and 26 years bouncing around the lighter ships of the fleet before that, fit that bill extravagantly. She, of course, sent her breathtaking sister as an observer and chose her young aide de camp here as your dance partner.” Littorio spoke almost as if she was bored, but kept her usual sly grin.
Carabiniere on the other hand, was smiling broadly and barely containing her enthusiasm. “How did you know where I was? How did you guess where we were moving? What kind of crazy move was crossing my smoke?” She was obviously caught up in the afterglow of the exercise.
“ Carabiniere ~” sang the battleship, placing a hand on each of her shoulders to steady her, “you’ll hear all about this from Veneto, for now, I’d like you to go compile your half of the report so that we can submit them together as soon as we return.”
Carabiniere snapped to attention saluted Littorio, and made a quick bow towards the captain. “Aye aye admiral, I’ll compile my report and return to La Spezia. Veneto will want to speak with you on your return.” She clicked her heels before launching herself back over the railing and gliding across the water back to her ship.
Littorio and the captain watched her go. The restless mind of the captain had almost begun to wander when a slap on his back brought him out of his reverie. And who else could it have been other than his acting admiral...
“ Mi Comandare~ you seem to have left quite the impression on young Carabiniere with your little dance. And you have also made quite an impression on me as well...” the grin on the battleship's face told him that he was not as subtle as he might have wished, and he was probably, in fact, blushing at least a little. Satisfied that he knew that she knew, she continued; “You will have my personal recommendation to stay on as captain of this vessel. When the admiralty board approves your posting, which they will; I, Littorio, will see to it, you will be the first captain of this new age of warfare.” As she said this, she held her arms out to the side and slowly spun around, gesturing to both the ship and the small fleet that had been traveling with it.
Unbeknownst to him, the Littorio II was the only mass production ship designed to command other mass production ships; this had not been tested for at all during the exercise against Carabiniere. But Littorio knew a lot of things this freshly minted battleship captain did not. Sardegna needed an edge, and mass production ships presented an opportunity: there were only two tried and true ways of commanding mass-produced ships; these involved either a rudimentary form of programming or by synching them with a shipgirl’s wisdom cube. If they could overcome those limitations, there would be no limit to the size of their fleet, and Mediterranean dominance would belong to Sardegna at least!
But the captain was none the wiser at the moment; and the shock from the battleship's words began to fade. Eventually, he managed to stammer out something coherent: “why me?”
The emerald haired shipgirl put a firm hand on his shoulder which prompted him to turn and face her. He did not expect, and was taken aback by, the echoes of conflict swimming in her eyes. “Because the stars aligned for you. The Old Guard of the Empire will rest on their few laurels while its glory fades, and the ambitious generation that is just entering service now does not understand what the empire represents. Our senate debates endlessly while the dream it still barely represents withers on the vine while our emperor is sidelined in favor of shortsighted populists who-” A hiss of discomfort refocused her thoughts: as she had spoken, her grip on the captain's shoulder had been tightening, and shipgirls were much stronger than they appeared to be.
She muttered an apology and released him but finished answering the captain’s question. “You’re here because you’re what I think the Empire might need.” And with that she turned around, walked to the edge of the deck, prepared to jump, but stood stock still instead, peering out over the water. Twilight had come faster than it should have, and an almost tangible, liquid darkness had sept into the world around this small fleet. Even from the deck of his own ship, the captain could just barely make out the outlines of the ships around him and the darkened wakes they left.
“What manner of weather is this?” The captain questioned, something approaching concern entering his voice as he practically stirred the air with an arm. It was as though the whole world had become engulfed in an ever-thickening blanket of black fog.
Before Littorio could answer he saw the horizon, where the setting sun should have been, begin to glow a pulsating red hue. And the captain watched as a ray of light, like a bolt from a furious god, cut through the heavy fog like a lance and struck one of the cruisers. A wave of light and heat emanated from the explosion; had that ship been armed with proper ammunition the magazine would have exploded. Instead, the powder and primer burst into flames and began to engulf her. The flames licked experimentally at the darkness and cast the squadron into stunning relief while illuminating their situation: Of the seven ships present, only the Littorio herself and Carabiniere might be equipped for battle and one of the cruisers wasn’t long for this world.
One thought echoed in his mind: Sirens, here?
Littorio managed to overcome the shock first and turned to him, the fire casting an ominous glint in her eyes as she spoke. “Mi comandare, this shouldn’t be but... we’re in a mirror sea. None of your ships are prepared for battle. I will take Carabiniere, and we will handle the Siren squadron.”
At that, she effortlessly leapt the distance from to her own ship, which was already turning from the formation and heading straight towards the Siren Squadron.
The Captain began sprinting back towards the door to the conning tower when a tentacle shot out of the impossible darkness and bound him about the waist before tearing him from the deck of the ship and depositing him on one of the catwalks atop the Littorio II’s superstructure. Standing atop the conning tower roof near to him was two thirds eldritch horror and one third strange girl.
The creature spoke in an impossible, multilayered voice. “ And here I thought she would never leave...”
A tentacle shot out and restrained the Captain’s hand as he grabbed for his sidearm.
“Well well well, Captain. You are not the fly we are trying to catch. But you are not what we expected either.”
One of her larger tentacles wrapped slowly around his torso before pulling the captain in. The siren held him so close he could see the corners of her mouth turn upwards, as though amused with his awestruck state.
“ But I see you now, and I for one cannot wait to see what you do. Only, we cannot have you interfering with the coming reenactment...”
As she said this, the tentacle around his chest began to tighten, and he could feel the strain on his body. And his ribs began to break. The captain shrieked in agony as a sequence of audible cracks told that at least three of his ribs were snapped.
The siren seemed to be enjoying herself until gunfire from a lower catwalk brought her attention to two of his officers. They had their handguns drawn and were firing up at the siren through the murk, the only illumination coming from dull yellow lights from the siren’s own rigging. A tentacle shot down and swept them both off their feet.
“ It seems I’m an unwanted guest. I can take a hint. But before I go, I have one favor to ask of you." The captain felt rather than saw the sucker clamp down on one of his eyes. “ Do keep an eye on your green-haired friend for me...who knows what trouble she might get into.” With a pop and a thud, he fell crashing down onto the catwalk. The siren was gone.