Chapter Text
“The sea has never been friendly to man. At most it has been the accomplice of human restlessness.” - Joseph Conrad
44.15000, , 61.80000, Southeast of Nova Scotia
The steel hatch groaned as Thomas pulled it open, the hinges complaining like an old man disturbed from a nap. Or, well, maybe a woman, since this was a ship after all.
Balancing a handful of drinks and containers of food, the young man stepped into the engine room. The heat rolled over him like a physical wave, but he felt only relief. He wondered, not for the first time, whether joining his uncle on the trip had been a good idea.
Oh, he’d expected the crew to be rough; they were sailors, after all. Even his mother had warned him before he left home. Maybe his upbringing had insulated him from such people, but some of the men’s blatant racism just made him uncomfortable. He wasn’t an idiot. Maybe the world was hard, and a lot of people were quick to embrace old hatreds or invent new ones, but still.
Closing the hatch behind him, he took a moment to get his bearings. The ship’s engine room felt more like an industrial maze than anything else. He had even gotten lost the first time he came down here. And nothing about it was sleek or modern either. It was good old, fashioned 1960s engineering: square edges, riveted plates, and pipes running in every direction.
He’d joined the crew for a couple of weeks during the holiday to help pay his uncle Arthur back for helping with his college tuition. He planned to join him again over the summer, depending on how this worked out.
Although the ship had seen better days, her institutional green paint fading into spots of rust, there was a simple elegance to her. Thomas wasn’t sure how helpful his engineering studies had been so far, but it was a fun place to work.
Wiping his forehead with the back of his sleeve, Thomas gave the bulkhead a gentle pat. “Okay, María, help me find those two.”
Normally only a couple of men worked down here, his uncle and the ship’s engineer, old-man Henry, mainly because on a freighter this size, you didn’t need much more. Really, just a couple of men who knew their way around the cramped machinery spaces and could coax a little more life out of the aging equipment.
“I brought food!” he called out as he finally found who he was looking for.
His uncle Arthur stood near the main engine block, a hulking piece of machinery once painted yellow but now mostly black with grease. The older man didn’t look up, just nodded before returning to the task of tightening a valve with a grimace.
A few minutes later, he nodded approvingly and called out over the noise of the heavy machinery, “Lunch!”
Thomas found himself a seat as the two men discussed what other repairs needed doing. Work had been scheduled during their time in Southampton, but the captain had pushed their departure up by several days. Thankfully, some of what needed to be done on the María del Mar could be handled at sea; however, it would most likely take longer and cost more once they reached Halifax.
Then something suddenly rocked the ship.
Thomas barely noticed, but the two older men, familiar with how the ship moved, stood up instantly. A moment later, the general alarm klaxon erupted, filling the engine room with its harsh metallic wail.
Henry strode to the bulkhead and grabbed the sound-powered phone. “Engine room to bridge. What’s going on?”
He heard what might have been a shout on the other end, then silence. He stared at the phone for a moment, then sighed. “Arthur, open the weapons locker.”
Thomas blinked. “Uncle… what’s going on?”
“Pirates?” Arthur frowned. “Maybe.”
Henry only shrugged.
In no time at all, the two older men were armed with shotguns.
“Do you know how to use one of these?” Arthur asked, handing Thomas a snub-nosed revolver.
Thomas froze as something loud vibrated through the hull.
Arthur looked up as he loaded his shotgun. “You feel that?”
Thomas nodded shakily.
“Stay close to me.”
A muffled crack, then another, which sounded a lot like gunfire. Somewhere overhead, boots pounded across the deck.
Henry grabbed the sound-powered phone once more. “Bridge, engine room,” he growled. “What the hell’s going on up there?”
He was met with static.
“Bloody hell,” Henry muttered, slamming the phone back onto its hook. “Secure the hatch!”
Thomas ran toward the engine room hatch, but before he could reach it, it swung open.
One of the crew stood there, armed with a machine gun, firing wildly down the passageway.
Then they saw the intruder.
A blonde, blue-eyed girl. She wore a grey one-piece swimsuit, a short jacket cut like a naval uniform, and on her head the standard Kriegsmarine Matrosenmütze.
The bullets struck her with sharp metallic snaps, flattening harmlessly against her skin before dropping to the deck.
“You should stop,” she said, her voice almost gentle as she continued to walk forward.
He fired again; in a panic, the shots bounced off her like before. In a flash, she reached him in a single smooth motion, caught his wrists, disarmed him, and slammed him to the deck in one fluid movement.
The U-boat girl knelt beside him. “Stay down,” she said softly. “This ship doesn’t need more holes.”
“Uncle Arthur… why is a shipgirl here?” Thomas whispered, dropping his gun.
The two older men exchanged a look, then slowly lowered their weapons.
“Wise decision,” she said, standing up, her German accent now unmistakable.
A clipboard appeared in the shipgirl’s hand as if conjured as she called out, “Henry Van der Meer.”
“That’s me.”
She nodded, checked her list. “So, I assume you’re Arthur Graves.”
“Aye, ma’am.”
The girl frowned at Thomas. “And who are you?”
“Thomas Hawkins, ma’am.”
She flipped through the pages. “You’re not on the list. Well, no matter.”
“Ma’am,” Arthur said quickly, “The boy, my nephew, is new. He doesn’t know anything. He’s not even supposed to be here.”
“Uncle?” Thomas whispered.
The shipgirl stared at the older man for a long moment, then sighed. “Fine. You two, grab the idiot on the ground and follow Anna.”
They hadn’t even noticed the second shipgirl standing silently a few meters away.
“And you, Mister Hawkins, will follow me. There is someone aboard who can tell us whether your uncle is telling the truth.”
The two walked in silence; Thomas only nudged forward when he stopped to stare at the damage to the ship. Burnt marks, bullet holes, and on occasion pools of blood; one section, however, stood out.
“Grenade,” the shipgirl commented as she pushed open a damaged hatch to step outside.
Crossing the deck, he found most of the crew, including his uncle, seated, with two more shipgirls watching over them. A number of men sported various injuries; several were unconscious.
He watched as the captain marched away along with a couple of the bridge crew, looking worse for wear, stepping into a cabin where two shipgirls were kneeling in front of what looked like a steel safe. From the damage, it looked like it was hidden behind a fake bulkhead. She was currently burning a hole with a cutting torch and wore the same uniform as the other girls.
The second shipgirl, however, wore a grey coat, like a Kriegsmarine officer’s great coat, tailored, double-breasted, with polished brass buttons. On her head she wore an officer’s cap; the black band bore the gold wreath and eagle of the Kriegsmarine.
Thomas immediately recognized her; she was the one they called Yuu.
“Wolfsführerin,” his escort called out.
“Leutnant, who’s this?” she asked, keeping an eye on the safe.
“Thomas Hawkins, he’s not on the list. His uncle says he’s innocent.”
“Poor little innocent child,” a voice whispered. “You were never going to make it on time for school.”
Thomas froze and then turned slowly; the voice hadn’t come from any of the girls in the room; it came from behind him.
She stood in the ruined passageway, a woman- no, a shipgirl- but thin and deathly pale, with unkempt black hair, and her once lovely blue dress hanging in torn strips with rust-brown stains. Around her wrists hung corroded shackles that clicked softly on the deck as she approached.
Thomas stepped back, getting a glimpse of her almost glowing blue eyes. Deep, hollow, of someone who had seen too much, eyes that had watched the evils that men inflicted on one another.
“María…?” he whispered.
The shipgirl tilted her head, surprised. “You hear me?” she murmured. “I knew you were different.”
The María del Mar leaned in closer. “Do you know that the money your uncle sent home was bathed in blood?” she spoke in a whisper.
Thomas felt his throat tighten.
Yuu finally spoke. “Maria, enough.”
The freighter shipgirl’s eyes slid toward the U-boat commander, then back to Thomas. “The child is innocent,” she said softly. “But innocence does not mean ignorant.”
Yuu nodded once. “I’ll let our Canadian friends know.”
The María del Mar reached out, her fingers brushing Thomas’s cheek; her touch was cold, uncomfortable. “Be careful, pequeño,” she whispered almost fondly. “The sea remembers what men forget.”
She then turned and said, “You keep your word, Wolfsführerin?”
Yuu simply nodded.
Then María del Mar was gone.
“Finally,” the shipgirl on the ground said, pulling the safe from the wall.
&&&&&&
The Canadian destroyer sat alongside the freighter while Yuu, also known as Taylor Hebert, stood off to the side near the rail, watching the crew of the María del Mar being transferred. It had been a long day, well, a long week. She was also dreading the fifteen-hour trip home, then explaining to her mother why she was late getting back. Something that had been happening more often than she’d like as of late.
As her thoughts drifted toward home, the Canadian Navy boarding team photographed crates of guns and ammunition and logged the numbers into a tablet. The operation had begun when Dragon contacted her while she was visiting Halifax.
The Guild had captured a second ship that was due to meet the María del Mar at sea. Besides transferring arms, on the return journey they were going to transport several villains who were returning to Europe.
While that happened, Taylor and her wolfpack, with the help of the Navy, would capture the Spanish freighter. It was hoped that the shipgirls’ surprise assault would allow for the quick capture of the ship and keep any documents from being destroyed.
María del Mar suddenly appeared on deck, silently watching as the Navy began transferring all of the evidence. She then looked up and stared at a young teenager dressed in a Canadian Navy uniform on the deck of the destroyer, who gave her a nod.
Sometime later, as the Canadians pulled away, María del Mar approached Taylor.
“Is it time?” she whispered.
“Yes,” Taylor then asked gently, “Are you sure?”
The shipgirl nodded, weary. “I have seen too much. I am tired, Wolfsführerin.”
“Well, the Navy has cleared the scuttling.”
The freighter shipgirl bowed her head. “Thank you.”
With a sad smile, Taylor stepped off the deck and hit the water, finding the rest of her pack already waiting. The Navy crew also manned the destroyer’s deck to watch silently.
Now a good distance away, she raised her hand and said softly, “Torpedo los.”
A single black shape slipped beneath the waves, striking low, deep in the freighter’s hull. A dull, heavy thud followed, and the ship groaned, then calmly, silently began to slip beneath the waves.
Before it finally disappeared, Taylor could see María del Mar standing on deck, smiling for the first time.