DrakaFic: The Great Patriotic War : Beginnings

[Setzer]

If battle scenes were much more enjoyable, I'd ejaculate!

[acesand8s]

Looks good so far; nice job with the armor warfare a few chapters back. Just a few questions.

The KS-1's, at 48 tons, seem a little heavy for 1940. Weren't the Iosef Stalin-II's only 40 tons? Has Soviet contact with the Draka sped up tech. development that much?

The Soviet Foreign Minister mentioned that Germany was too weak to do anything. What happened there? No Hitler? Or did the Soviets/Draka/whoever give him a smackdown when he came to power? Or is he just not ready yet?

[MKSheppard]

Weren't the Iosef Stalin-II's only 40 tons? Has Soviet contact with the Draka sped up tech. development that much?

Meh, one site said IS-2 was 48 tons, bleh. Anyway, armor development
and weapons development is in general 3-4 years ahead of OTL, due
to the influence of the Draka, who drive a global arms race by their
very presence.

The Soviet Foreign Minister mentioned that Germany was too weak to do anything. What happened there?

You'll see in due time, in due time.

[darthdavid]

I need some moh crack, gee slice!1!!!oneshift1.

[MKSheppard]

I need some moh crack, gee slice!1!!!oneshift1.

I've spoiled you haven't I, posting a chapter a day or so?

[CaptainChewbacca]

I made that mistake with my "scattered earth" fic. Post intermittently, it works better.

Exactly how far out of Africa have the Draka expanded at this point? They seem to have some of central asia, but which republics? Do they have India?

[darthdavid]

I need some moh crack, gee slice!1!!!oneshift1.

I've spoiled you haven't I, posting a chapter a day or so?

I'm just being retarded. I know your only human and can't write a chapter a minute. Sorry if i didn't make my idiocy clear.

[The Duchess of Zeon]

I made that mistake with my "scattered earth" fic. Post intermittently, it works better.

Exactly how far out of Africa have the Draka expanded at this point? They seem to have some of central asia, but which republics? Do they have India?

They do not have India, and their expansion in central Asia is limited to the area south and west of Alma-Ata, or basically the four lower 'Stans. Their control of the region is frankly nominal, especially including Afghanistan, because of the bad terrain and masses of angry Islamic tribesmen who can get guns from British India easily. Their control of Europe is limited (at the start of the war) to western Thrace. The Anatolian highlands and Arabian desert both presumably have continued resistance movements, respectively. Most of the rest of the country has been pacified by brutality on a massive scale, IE, Africa and the flatlands of the Fertile Crescent, though I suspect that Muslim troops are universally unreliable.

They only picked up the 'stans during the chaos of the Russian Civil War, where there was a three-sided conflict there between Whites, Reds, and local nationalist/tribal groups.

[NecronLord]

Gaps between chapters?

[Hartmann]
"You slack jawed faggots! Stop this pansy ass human-rights crap right now! Make him write 'til he fuckin' dies‼"
[/Hartmann]

[MKSheppard]

Chapter 5 is being worked on, it's already 2 k bigger than Chapter 2, which was the tank battle

[MKSheppard]

Chapter 5 - Oh, you New York Girls...

[New York City, June 2nd, 1940]

Jack Myers watched along with the rest of the darkened theatre crowd as the newsreel
announcer, some actor by the name of Reagan or something, told them the latest news
from around the world, standing next to a globe of the earth.

"The news from the Soviet Union is grave, Drakan forces have invaded along a thousand mile
front, attacking without mercy or remorse. What you are about to see has been brought from the
Soviet Union at great expense; and it may shock you. But it is the truth."

The screen then cut away to the flickering logo of TASS, the Soviet official press agency,
and then in huge letters; "THE MASSACRE OF NOVOGOROD" appeared.

A heavily damaged village appeared on the screen, the walls covered in bullet holes
and what appeared to be the remains of two tanks smoking in the streets, while the
announcer droned on. "Soviet forces have liberated the village of Novogorod from the
vile Drakan forces, but they have found horrors beyond comprehension from when the
Draka occupied the village."

The screen cut away to women and children sobbing, as the announcer continued. "Soviet
women and children were used as sex objects by the Drakan soldiers during their brief
occupation, even young boys were used by the vile snakes."

At that, Myers heard a general gasp of disgust in the theater.

"Unfortunately for the villagers, the vile snakes could not resist their bestial urges,
and they MASSACRED THE ENTIRE VILLAGE!"

The screen immediately cut to footage of a burnt out house, and then to the interior
of the house, showing the carbonized remains of men, women, and even children,
the most horrifying image of them all was the carbonized lump that had been a baby
being held up by it's mother's arms towards a window.

Another round of disgust swept through the theater, and Meyers could hear people
muttering in the background about how the "damned snakes" would have to be taken
care of sooner or later.

The rest of the newsreel dealt with general issues, like President Roosevelt overseeing
the dedication of a new dam in the Tennessee Valley, and then it cut to an image of
a massive battleship floating at anchor with the Statue of Liberty in the background.

At this, everyone in the theater began cheering, drowning out the announcer's voice
as he told the audience that this was the Dmitriy Donskoy, the Soviet Navy's most
modern ship, on a goodwill tour of the world, and was presently docked in New York
City.

With that, the newsreel ended and the film began, a Warner Brothers film by the name
of "Rome", set in the intrigues of the fascist capital between all the intelligence services
of the great powers, and starring Humprey Bogart and Ingrid Berman.

The film was rather good, in Myers' opinion, a fine piece of film that not only was great
to watch, but conveyed a rather subtle anti-draka message, that all the free peoples
of the world, whether they be fascist, democratic, or communist, must inevitably unite
for the common cause of liberty, ironic as it might be, for even in the worst fascist
and communist countries, the lowly peasants were better off than the serfs of the
Domination.

As he left the theater, he couldn't help but overhearing someone talking in a southern
drawl, about how the "filthy snakes had gotten us into the War, and then baled out on
us when the going got tough."

Myers couldn't help but chuckle at that. He remembered a Sons of Confederate Veterans
meeting he had once covered for Time magazine a few years back, where the SCV had
voted unamiously to strike John Bell Hood and his descendants from their rolls of honor,
due to him fleeing in one of the last Drakan steam pickets to leave Charleston for Cape
Town, where he became a Strategos in the Drakan military.

Hailing a taxi, he got in and told the cabbie to take him to the waterfront, he had a job
to do for TIME today, interview the Admiral in charge of the Soviet squadron which
was docked in the harbor about the recent outbreak of war, and what it meant for him
and his men, and maybe get a few human interest stories with the sailors themselves.

[20 minutes later]

The taxi squealed to a stop by the waterfront, and Myers palmed a dollar bill to the cabbie,
damned New York traffic, everyone seemed to be wanting to go everywhere at the same
time, and disobeyed every traffic law in the books. At least it wasn't Rome, where the
Italians thought a driver's license was a license to practice being racecar drivers.

Looking up and down the waterfront, he saw what he was looking for, a small motorboat
flying the naval ensign of the Soviet Union tied off to a pier, the sailors on board looking
out excitedly towards the waterfront of New York and their MGB keepers keeping a close
eye on the small crowd which had gathered to stare at the Russians.

Weaving his way through the crowd, he stood at the edge of the pier and was preparing
for the exhausting battle of convincing the MGB handler of his press credentials and that
yes, he did have an invitation from the Admiral of the squadron, when a familar voice, one
he hadn't heard in years, rang out.

"Ivan Mikhailovitch! It's been far far too long!" shouted the MGB man, who was wearing
a Major's stripes and looked oddly familiar.

"Lapshov, you bastard, is that you?"

"Yes, don't tell me you've already forgotten about our night on the town in Moscow already?"

"How could I forget it? But anyway, Nikita Nikitich, what brings you to New York?"

The tall MGB man smiled, which produced nervous reactions from the sailors manning
the launch, they had never seen the chekist smile at all, during the entire time he had
been assigned to the Donskoy.

Lapshov motioned towards the ship. "Why, the Dmitriy Donskoy, Comrade Reporter,
has brought me to New York."

"Well, I do have an interview with your Admiral Drozd," replied Myers somewhat
sheepishly.

"Oh, so you're the reporter that we've been expecting? Why didn't you say so? Come,
come, we'll take you out to the pride of the rodinu!" shouted Lapshov, motioning
for Myers to get on board the launch.

Slowly, Myers climed down the rotting ladder next to the pier, which seemed to have
been new back when the Great White Fleet had done it's world tour back in the 1890s,
and as he reached the last few rungs, he felt strong hands reach up and grab his back,
keeping him from falling into the water, and nodded his thanks to the sailors.

As the launch began to motor away from the pier and towards the hulking grey warship
in the center of the harbor, Lapshov began talking for no reason.

"After Moscow, I was reassigned to the Kavkaz Military District; at first, I thought I was
being punished for what happened back in Moscow, but in reality, they were rewarding
my success, by putting me right where the action was; I got these stripes," Lapshov
pointed towards his shoulderboards; "from the successful completion of one of the
largest rescue missions ever done in the Kavkaz region, some forty serfs rescued
from bondage."

"I think I remember something about that; the Draka were protesting over 'that
tyrant Krasnov's interference in another nation's sovereign affairs', TIME had
me do an article or two on that subject a year or so ago, that was you?"

"Da, comrade. Of course, the snakes tried to get us back, but we put a stop to
that rather quickly." added Lapshov as a feral grin spread slowly across his face.

"But enough of the past, Comrade Myers, I present to you, the pride of the rodinu,
fifty-nine thousand tons, two hundred sixty metres, and armed with nine forty-centimetre
guns, the Dmitriy Donskoy!"

Myers looked past Lapshov's outstretched arm at the massive battleship which was
growing closer with every moment, and took note of the significant features, twin
funnels, three turrets, two forward, one aft, and a very unusual conning tower that
reminded him far too much of the German Deutschland-class panzerschiffes. That
was something he'd have to follow up after this; the not-so-secret relationship between
those two countries militaries.

The launch was tied up very shortly to the side of the ship, next to the docking ladder,
and slowly Myers walked up the ladder, trying to not look nervous as the ladder swayed
from side to side; and almost having a heart attack when Lapshov shook the ladder
vigoriously, exclaiming "See, Ivan Mikhailovitch, good socialist steel! You have nothing
to worry about!"

"Nikita Nikitich, some day, you'll be all alone here in New York, and you'll be at my mercy,
for I have friends in city hall, and they owe me favors." grumbled Myers as he took the
final steps up the ladder and then onto the ship's deck, where a young michman
was waiting for them.

The michman spoke in rapid fire Russian to Lapshov, who nodded and as the michman
was walking away, Lapshov turned to Myers. "The Admiral is waiting for you in his quarters,
he's very anxious to talk to you before we depart."

Lapshov then led Myers through a dizzying array of hatches, ladders and seemingly endless
tunnels before finally arriving at a locked door. Before he knocked on the door, Lapshov
offhandedly commented, "Before the Revolution, all this would have wood floors and fine
panelling, but now that the officer class is full of fine socialists, there's no more need for
such capitalist niceties in Flag quarters."

With that, Lapshov knocked on the door several times, and a gruff voice answered in
Russian, to which Lapshov also replied in Russian, before opening the door. Myers
stepped in, taking in the quarters of a Soviet Rear Admiral, rather thin and spartan,
no real ornaments, except of course for the twin pictures of V.I. Lenin and I.B. Krasnov.

"The Rear Admiral doesn't know English, so I shall translate for you, during your
interview with him," remarked Lapshov as he pulled out several chairs for them to
sit on.

Nodding, Myers sat down into the proffered chair and pulled out his notepad along
with a pen. "Do you mind if I take notes of our interview?"

Again, a long exchange of Russian. "The Admiral is nervous about the notes, but
as the senior MGB agent, I assured him that you would be honest and factual, and
that he has nothing to fear from the MGB."

"Admiral, how do you feel about the recent outbreak of hostilities between the
Soviet Union and the Domination of Draka?"

"It was inevitable, the Draka never stay still; they only rest to digest what they have
swallowed before moving onto their next meal like the snakes they are. They shall
however, find the Soviet Union a very hard beast to digest."

More Russian and then a pause as Lapshov translated it.

"The Admiral asks why you Americans refuse to believe us, when we show the
world a never ending train of Drakan atrocities, and yet you and the world turn
a blind eye."

Mentally, Myers tried to form a diplomatic enough reply that would be as close
to the truth while not offending the Rear Admiral; that'd be a hell of a way to
get fired from TIME magazine, being ejected from an interview after only a
single question!

"Admiral, the Draka are very experienced in playing politics, and they have
great experience in playing journalists like violins, there are only a few who
see through the Drakan song and dance to see the cold hard truth. Our
President believes you, as does much of the American public, but the
problem is the Great War, where we went to war to 'Save Democracy' and
saw the Draka gain millions of new serfs, so while we believe you, we're not
quite sure if we want to join Mr. Krasnov's crusade, because the last time
we went on a crusade it didn't work out the way we were told it would."

A long pause, more Russian, and then another pause.

"The Admiral agrees with you somewhat, and he would like you to know
that he likes you, unlike the last journalist we had, a Mr. Dreiser."

Suddenly, there was a clattering of feet and the door to the Admiral's cabin
burst open, and a breathless officer began yelling in Russian, causing Drozd
to leap to his feet and leave the room.

"What? What's going on?" shouted Myers.

"Bad news Ivan Mikhailovitch, an unknown battleship has been sighted just outside the
mouth of New York Harbor. Follow me to the bridge, and maybe we can help the
Admiral and his staff identify it."

With that, Lapshov motioned for Myers to follow him, and led him up several more ladders
and corridors until they emerged on the ship's bridge, where the Admiral and several
other officers were chattering in Russian. Out of curiosity, Myers grabbed a pair of
unattended binoculars and began to scan the harbor's edge with them, stopping when he
saw the slate gray warship, followed in close column by several smaller warships.

Myers hadn't been much of a defense correspondent, but he knew enough to recognize
the distinctive bridge layout that only the Draka used, which was a low squat heavily armored
citadel close to the waterline for the citizen officers, and a much lighter elevated bridge with
only splinter shields for their janissary cadets to man during combat.

"Draka, the bastards are coming pretty close to violating our two-mile limit, if they try starting
a war on our doorstep," remarked Myers as he lowered the binoculars.

More chatter in Russian.

"Director Control says that they're slowing and coming to a stop just outside the harbor,
Ivan Mikhailovitch. Our squadron is trapped in the harbor."

"Shit."

[Six hours later - Officer's Mess - Dmitriy Donskoy]

Myers had been invited to the officer's mess for dinner with the Admiral that night,
and he couldn't help but notice the seeming atmosphere of fatalism that hung
over the table like a nearly palpable force.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the Icon which had appeared in the mess
from seemingly out of nowhere. Someone somewhere on this officially atheist
ship had been hiding a Icon of Saint Nicholas, who was the patron saint of Sailors
for Russians, for such a moment as this.

Before he had entered the mess, Myers had seen a bunch of sailors playing with an
half empty vodka bottle and an obviously very drunk dog. It seemed that everyone
on the ships of the Soviet 1st Atlantic Squadron, from common sailor to the officers
were taking this recent turn of events badly.

Next to him, Lapshov was translating random chatter from around the table.

"The Engineering officer is wondering how many shells it will take to sink us,
and is debating with the rest of the officers what to do with the vodka we have
on board, no sense in letting it go to waste."

"The first officer is arguing over whether we should put the painting of old Dmitriy
ashore, seeing as it's rather rare, being one of the czar's paintings that was
appropriated by the proletariat during the revolution."

"Lapshov, shouldn't these people be talking about ways to defeat the Draka instead
of how to save the vodka or paintings?" asked Myers.

"But then, my dear Comrade, that wouldn't be very russian of us would it?" With that,
Lapshov raised his own glass in a mock salute and shouted "Za Rodinu!", which
the others echoed back.

The arguments in Russian raged back and forth for several minutes, each officer
making his point, usually with the banging of his vodka bottle on the table, until
finally Lapshov leaned over next to Myers.

"The officers have come to an agreement over what to do. The painting goes
ashore, along with the best vodka that is leftover, along with any antique Icons,
anything that's less than fifty years old stays aboard, and we need to find a Russian
Orthodox priest and bring him aboard to do do the blessings of the crew and the
guns."

"Blessings? I thought the Soviet Union was atheist." replied Myers.

"Officially, Ivan Mikhailovitch, Officially," was the terse reply from Lapshov.

At that point, the hatch to the mess suddenly flew open, and a young officer
scrambled in, saluted the Admiral, and began to speak rapid fire Russian.

Surprisingly enough, despite the seeming urgency of what the officer was reporting,
none of the senior officers made any motion of getting out of their seats, instead
taking more shots of vodka from their bottles.

Lapshov leaned over, "More bad news, Ivan Mikhailovitch. More warships are entering
the harbor mouth."

Several more minutes passed and Myers couldn't help but notice that the mood of
fatalism had steepened, the officers simply taking drinks from their bottles, and
not even bothering to talk, just staring emptily off into space or into their half-empty
bottles.

Hell, even he was beginning to feel a damn bit fatalistic himself, the gloom pervading
the room was apparently infectious, when the same officer appeared in the doorway
again, he didn't even look away from his intense study of the Icon of St. Nicolas.

Suddenly, everyone was scrambling out of their seats, and rather coherently too,
considering how much vodka they had consumed while Myers had been watching
them.

"Whats going on?" shouted Myers. "They're American ships!" shouted Lapshov
in reply as he too ran out the door along with the rest of the officers. At this, Myers
leapt from his seat and ran out the door too, quickly climbing up the stairs behind
Lapshov and the others.

As he burst onto the bridge, he saw the junior officers on the bridge chattering
amongst themselves and pointing to silhoulettes in their well-worn copy of Jane's
Fighting Ships. Offhandedly, Myers couldn't help but grin at that, the Soviets
were using decadent capitalist publications on their warships, hell, probably even
the Draka probably used Jane's too.

Lapshov came up next to Myers suddenly and began doing a running translation
of the bridge staff's identification efforts.

"Lead ship, battlecruiser, Lexington-class. Accompanying ships, South Dakota and
Arkansas-class battleships. Escorts are Northampton class heavy cruisers, and
Benson-class destroyers. Quite a little fleet you capitalists have put together."

Grabbing a pair of unused binoculars yet again, Myers scanned the horizon, and
he saw the US Navy, stars and stripes flying proudly from their masts, silhouletted
by the setting sun, move directly between the Draka and the harbor mouth.

As he watched, a light began blinking on and off on the lead US ship. Some sort
of naval code, or something thought Myers.

Lapshov helpfully translated the the code for him.

"US Navy, Stop. To Soviet Squadron, Stop. Neutrality patrol now in effect, Stop.
Will escort you to the 200 mile limit, Stop."

"Neutrality patrol, what the hell is that?" muttered Myers to no one in particular
as Lapshov translated the Russian reply for him.

"Soviet Squadron, Stop. To US Navy, Stop. Transmission understood, Stop.
Will comply, Stop. Admiral Drozd sends his compliments, Stop."

A pause as the reply was sent out and read on the other ship, then as the
reply was sent and decoded.

"US Navy, Stop. To Soviet Squadron, Stop. Understood, will stand by for you to raise
steam, Stop."

[Flag Bridge, USS Lexington, Ten hours later]

Myers stood next to the Admiral's chair on the Lexington's flag bridge, bathed
in red light as she steamed on the darkened North Atlantic some time past midnight.

He had made his goodbyes amongst the officers of the Soviet squadron, including
Lapshov, an hour before the squadron had raised anchors, and gone ashore carrying
an Icon of Our Lady of Kursk, as a favor for Lapshov.

Idly, he wondered if that was normal, an MGB man secretly hiding a Icon in his luggage,
and then his train of thought was derailed as the American Admiral, a man by the name
of Daniel J. Callaghan, asked him what he thought of the Russian officers from his
short stay on their flagship.

"Oh. They're brave men, and they'll do their duty, but they were feeling a little depressed
before you and the cavalry showed up to save the day. By the way, what the hell is with
this two hundred mile limit and this neutrality patrol?"

Callaghan chortled at that. "Damned if I know much, it didn't even exist this morning!
What I do know is that when that Drakan squadron appeared off New York, the
President immediately declared a two hundred mile exclusion zone to the warships of
warring powers unless escorted by the US Navy."

"What about the Draka?" asked Myers.

Callaghan suppressed a chuckle at that. "They didn't look mighty pleased when we
told them that they had to be escorted out on an opposite bearing from the Russian
squadron, but when you've got over a hundre major-calibre coastal defense guns
pointed at them, as well as four capital ships to their two, well, there isn't much
they could do about it except scream and kick, I expect the President is going to be
getting a strongly worded protest from the Drakan ambassador any time now."

Looking out the windows of the flag bridge, Myers saw the dim red lights across the
gulf of black water that separated the two flagships of the two different squadrons
as they steamed together in the moonless night.

"Send my compliments to Admiral Drozd and our wishes," ordered Callaghan,
and moments later, the blinker light began to flash away, and in return, the
blinker on the Dmitriy Donskoy began flashing a reply.

"Admiral appreciates your compliments, Stop. Thank you for the escort, Stop. For
the Motherland, Stop."

"Well, I guess that's it. Helm, turn to port, take her to a course bearing three-one-zero,"
ordered Callaghan. Myers felt the deck tilt under his feet as the battlecruiser began
a turn to port, breaking away from the Soviet squadron the dim red glow of the Donskoy's
bridge growing ever fainter, until it was lost on the horizon.

[Howedar]

I demand to see a picture of the Drakan bridge, I concur that it might well be something like a bastard child of the OTL American cage masks and late-model Japanese refit pagoda tops.

Amused to see Janes popping up on a Soviet warship.

Demanding hostilities soon.

[MKSheppard]

Demanding hostilities soon.

Proceeds to write nothing but 70 kb of FDR talking

[darthdavid]

Ahhh. Sweet literary crack.

[NecronLord]

Proceeds to write nothing but 70 kb of FDR talking

Sounds good‼

But yeah, shooting's good too.

[Grand Admiral Thrawn]

snip

Wow you just keep on pumping out that nice crack like a madman!

[MKSheppard]

Wow you just keep on pumping out that nice crack like a madman!

Chapter 6 is being worked on, it's going to take a while because of
the vagaries of Navel Combat

[MKSheppard]

Chapter Six - The Battle of Bermuda Rise

Special Thanks:
The Duchess of Zeon for wargaming out the battle for me.

Sea Skimmer for offering helpful advice on the effects of damage, et al

Frank Hipper for giggling at my depictions of carnage and
demanding more roast people.

[The North Atlantic - June 4th, 1940, 1530 Hours]

The flat featureless wastes of the North Atlantic Ocean were interrupted by the
squat grey shapes that sliced through the water at twelve knots, engines pulsing,
as they steamed towards where the Drakan submarine D-124 had radioed a sighting
of the Russian squadron six hours ago.

On board the lead ship, a long and deadly looking predator that mounted nine
16.25"-inch guns, the green-garbed figures of the citizen officers watched
the drab grey-clothed naval janissaries swab the decks of the ship from their
posts on the flying bridges, in between scanning the horizon regularly with the
massive Japanese-made naval binoculars that the Domination preferred.

Centurion Johan Ingolffson took a deep breath as he turned away from watching
the Janissaries swab the deck, and walked into the heavily armored citadel that was
the main bridge of the DMS Proteus, one of the Drakan Navy's front line
capital ships.

Protected by well over fifteen inches of armor plate, the citadel was one of the
safest places on the massive dreadnought, and one of the most exciting to watch
the battle from, as the periscopes set into the bulkheads were of good enough
quality and with a wide enough field of view, that you could literally steer the ship from
them.

During a battle, the Citizen officers who made up the officer class of the ship would
command the ship from their superbly armored citadels found all over the ship, while
the naval janissaries would man the anti-aircraft guns, damage control teams, as well
as perform the unenviable task of serving as lookouts from the top bridge, which
had superb visibility, but only splinter shields for armor.

Suddenly, before Ingolffson could ruminate any further on how good life was, an alarm
began clanging, shit it was the contact alarm. Everyone quickly ran to their stations,
plugging in their headsets which connected them with the rest of the ship, while the
designated lookouts manned the periscopes, and the heavy armored doors sealing
the citadel off from the flying bridges were closed with resounding clangs.

“The Antaeus reports smoke on the horizon, bearing ten degrees!” shouted one of the
new Tetrarchs whose name Ingolffson couldn't quite remember. Stealing a look at the
Tetrarch's name tag, he saw the man's name, R. ANDERSON.

Several more minutes passed, and then the crucial bit of information they had
been holding their breath for; the identity of the ship, was relayed forth.

They'd had a little bit of excitement a day ago, when someone had spotted smoke,
but it had turned out to be the Royal Navy's battlecruiser Invincible making
way for a port visit in Bermuda.

“Dmitriy Donskoy class, confirmed!” shouted Anderson.

"Sound General Quarters!"

Deep inside the massive steel hull of the Proteus, the blackgang of the ship
worked tirelessly. This lot was particularly aptly named, as they were all invariably
coal black, although that wasn't their natural complexion, as the conditions which
they wored under had long since covered them in oil, soot, and grime.

They were the true serfs of the Domination's Navy, locked beneath the steel decks
and only allowed outside when the ship was docked safely in a Domination held
harbor, otherwise they were doomed to stay with the ship one way or another.

They lived in a Morlock-like world of huge steel pipes, vast oil tanks and roaring fires
that powered the massive steam turbines, all of it greased and oiled till it would
satisfy inspection without a flaw.

Right now, the massive engines were ticking over softly, sending a pleasant hum
through the deck plates. Suddenly, the Engine room telegraph began to clang,
causing the Fleet Chief Sergeant in charge of the Engine room, a tall bald
headed serf, to scowl. Looking over to the General quarters annunciator, he
saw the red light flashing on and off, and his scowl disappeared instantly.

Turning to his assistant, he yelled, "G'wine an' hurry you up now, you heah?
Massah say gimme steam, so you gimme steam!" and shook the massive
wrench that served as his badge of office. It also helped keep his subordinates
working fast, for he could swing it hard enough to give them a love tap or to
smash their skulls in, depending on what mood he was in at the time.

All around him, his subordinates began running to and fro, tightening and
releasing valves in a manner designed to send the fuel oil flooding into the
boilers, superheating the steam even hotter, and the turbines spinning
ever faster.

Beneath them, the smooth hum of the deckplates disappeared, to be replaced
by a low shudder that increased as the massive dreadnought picked up speed
slowly, towards it's twenty-four knot top speed.

As he felt the vibrations increase in intensity, he looked around the dimly lit engine
room, which was lit by glass fixtures bolted to the walls and ceilings, covered with
a thin film of grease, no matter how often the crew kept wiping them down, and
smiled.

Here, he was master of his domain, no Citizen could come in here and boss him
around, nosir, for it was too dirty and filthy here for those prissy bastards. Walking
over to the spittoon in the corner, he spat a brown glob of spittle into it; the oil and
grease got into everywhere, your mouth, your nose, your ears, your food, and
wherever you had cracks.

Eyeing a gauge on the bulkhead next to the spittoon, he tapped it, and smiled as
it rose into the red. "Yah Suh, you'se mah friend today sah, I'll give'ya booze and
cigarettes if ya be mah friend today, don' send me to Davy Jones' locker now ya
heah?" he muttered to the engine spirit which his crew appeased every day in the
hope that nothing in the huge room would fail.

[Flag Bridge - Dmitriy Donskoy – 1539 hours]

Vice-Admiral Drozd watched as the crew carried out the order he'd given
just moments ago to to bring the squadron around to a bearing of 38 NNE,
and felt the deck begin to shudder beneath his feet as the vibrations picked
up as they approached their maximum squadron speed of 28 knots.

Just minutes ago, they had identified the source of the smoke on the horizon
as being from a Drakan Antaeus-class destroyer. Fuck, thought
Drozd. He had been hoping to make it farther, much farther than a mere
thousand miles from New York before running into the snakes. They'd
have to fight a clearing action several days from the nearest ships which
had sortied from Polarnyy to meet them mid-way. Again, fuck.

Ten minutes later, a shout came from the lookouts above through the
sound-powered telephones which ran all over the ship. More smoke had
been sighted on the horizon. Idly. Drozd wondered if it was possible to
get a quick snatch of Vodka before the main action began...

Minutes later, the phones' buzzer rang again. Picking it up, Drozd listened
to the lookouts make their latest report. “Sir, we've sighted the tops of two
more enemy destroyers, converging on us from the northeast, range 24,700
metres!”

“Understood. Bridge out.”

Walking over to the plotting table, he picked up the calipers and grease pencils
on it, and laid in the latest reports. Damn, they're on a course that'll take them
right across our bows...

As he finished laying out the plot, an ensign walked up to him. “Sir, the tophamper
of two capital ships have been sighted, estimated speed thirty two knots at a range
of 24,200 meters. The lookouts are leaning towards a tentative identification of
Aristaeus-class heavy cruisers.”

“Filthy bastards, every one of them,” remarked Lapshov, who had entered the bridge
some time ago, and was watching the officers go about their tasks. Everyone knew
about the Drakan affinity for naming their ships after some of the biggest bastards
in classical mythology, and if they didn't, the zampolits like Lapshov would
make sure they did.

“Our old friends from New York have found us,” replied Drozd as he looked out of
the bridge windows, and noticed that their escorting destroyers, the Minsk and
Kiev, were having trouble making way in this weather.

Hopefully, that wouldn't be a problem in the coming engagement.

[Bridge, DMS Proteus, 1606 Hours]

Ingolffson at this point was manning the phones that relayed information from the top
bridge, and when the officer overseeing the top bridge reported seeing the tophamper
of the Soviet battleship come over the horizon, he announced it to the whole bridge.

“Soviet Battleship sighted by the top bridge, making an estimated twenty-seven knots.”

Junior Chiliarch Charles Durdall, who was the flag officer of the Drakan squadron,
walked over to the map table, which was being constantly updated by the Tetrarchs,
studied it for a moment, and then began barking out orders.

“Bring the squadron to Oh-Four-Five degrees , maximum speed. Fire Control, begin
transmitting plotting data to the turrets, track, but do not engage. You will engage only
on my order.”

As the deadly 16.25” triple turrets began rotating on their ball bearings, Durdall walked
over to his chair and sat down while he waited for the range to close. They were still
some 26,000 meters from the Ivans, too far for the guns, but the range was closing
rapidly.

[Flag Bridge - Dmitriy Donskoy – 1612 hours]

Drozd pulled the calipers out once again, and did some more calculations using
the latest heading information fire control had given them for the snake battleship,
and found that if it continued on it's current heading, it would be able to close to
a mere 13,700 meters.

“Turn to fifteen degrees north-north east! The squadron is to lay smoke immediately!”

[Stern of the CA Kirov – 1615 Hours]

Michman Pyotr Mironovitch Kostrikov cursed a blue streak, causing the
young matros' under his command to back away instinctively. “Goddamn
this weather!” he roared as he watched the strong wind blow away the protective
smoke screen they'd been trying to lay for the last three minutes to keep the snakes
from getting sight of the Donskoy.

[Flag Bridge - Dmitriy Donskoy – 1621 hours]

Through the big naval binoculars, Drozd watched as the Drakan light ships, led by
their two cruisers, closed in for what could only be a torpedo attack. As he watched,
he could see that the two cruisers were actually gaining on the three destroyers in the
lead, due to their much superior ability to maintain speed in this weather, and that one
destroyer was trailing.

“Range to the enemy's light ships?”

“21,000 meters, sir.”

Drozd took a deep breath, then gave the orders. “Open fire.”

Moments later, a shudder ran through the ship, and the thick armor glass of the bridge
windows vibrated as the two forward turrets fired in quick succession, sending over
seven tons of steel hurtling through the air towards the enemy's light ships.

As the sailors in the turrets watched as the next shells were brought up by the shell
hoists, and prepared to manhandle the powder bags into position for the rammers, the
officers in fire control watched the snake ships intensely, watching for shell splashes
or God willing, hits that would help them adjust their firing solutions.

As they watched, great plumes of dirty grey water erupted into the air ahead of the
cruisers. Damn, went the thoughts of every gunnery officer in the Soviet fleet,
they'd mis-estimated the range.

Inside the turrets, the sailors watched as the massive 16” shells were lowered
onto the cradles, then rammed forward by the hydraulic rammer. Then it was
their turn to get dirty, and singing old Russian folk songs, they manhandled
the powder bags, and pushed nearly seven hundred pounds of cordite onto the
cradle for each gun. As they watched, the rammers came forth and slammed the
powder bags into the breeches like feathers.

Then the breechblocks were closed and everyone assumed the positions for
firing, and once again, the Donskoy shuddered as another salvo erupted
forth from her guns.

On the flag bridge, Drozd watched impassively as the second salvo like the first
before it, fell into water, and not steel and flesh. As he watched, he saw smoke
and flame erupting from the bows of the two snake cruisers. Moments later, the
low rumble of medium-calibre naval guns rolled across the bridge, even through
the thick armor glass.

Drozd watched as three more salvoes were fired by both sides before the first hit
of the battle occurred at 1632 hours. As he watched, a 16” shell smashed into the
lead snake cruiser, but no smoke and flame erupted forth. Fuck.

[CA Lycaon - 1635 Hours]

“Com' on, yo' slack'rs!” shouted the burly Leading Seaman as he led his fire-fighting
team onto the smouldering deck of the cruiser. Word had got to them that the Ivan shell
hit had started a slow-starting fire which was starting only to burn now.

As they dragged the heavy canvas hose across the deck, the cruiser let loose with
another salvo, deafening them. High above them, in the Number One fire control
director station, the Centurion manning the station shouted in excitement. “Hit! We
got that Ivan motha'fucka right dead on!”

[Flag Bridge - Dmitriy Donskoy – 1635 hours]

Drozd flinched as he felt the Donskoy shudder imperceptibly under the impact
of the snake shell. It didn't sound like a heavy one, probably one of the cruisers'
eight-inchers.

Turning to his damage control officer, he waited for the reports of damage to come
in, even a small eight incher could start a serious fire on a ship's deck, if it was left
unattended.

“No damage sir.”

Nodding, Drozd turned away to look at the gun director repeater panel which was showing
the range to the snake battleship, some 21,950 meters and closing.

“The snake battleship's opened fire, sir.” came the voice of one of the lookouts
on the bridge.

[CA Lycaon - 1638 Hours]

The Leading Seaman and his damage control team heard a low whistling noise right before
the two 7.1” shells slammed into the cruiser some fifty feet from them, the red-hot shrapnel
and wood splinters from the two 7.1” shells tearing across the deck and wreaking it's unholy
carnage upon anyone unlucky enough to be in their way.

When the storm of steel had abated, the Leading Seaman found himself lying on the deck,
staring in shock at the bloody stumps where his legs had been. He began to scream and found
that he couldn't hear himself screaming.

On the cruiser's bridge, the damage control officer relayed the information coming in to
the ship's captain. “Medium-calibre hits amidships, no damage to ship, deck crews severely
depleted, though.”

[CA Kirov – 1638 Hours]

While the Kirov's shells were wreaking havoc on the Lycaon, a single 8” shell
struck it, tearing through the forward chain locker in the ship's bow, before exiting through
the other side, the spray of steel splinters starting a small fire in the paint stored there.

[CA Lycaon – 1641 Hours]

The massive 16” AP shell fired some time before by the Donskoy smashed
into the Number One turret of the cruiser, the explosive spray of steel fragments
shredding the gun crew inside their steel tomb. Then the bursting charge in the
shell detonated, sending a rush of explosive gasses through the lower levels of the
turret, searing the hapless janissary crewers to death before before it was finally
stopped by a closed hatch. Beyond the hatch, the powder monkeys dragged
themselves off the decks, some of them with broken arms from the force of impact,
none of them with any inkling of how close they had come to death.

On the bridge, the officers staggered away from the periscopes, stunned momentarily
from the sheer force of the impact just a few tens of yards away from their positions,
while the second 16” shell fired by the Donskoy ripped through the engine intakes.

Deep in the bowels of the cruiser, the black gang watched in growing despair as the
burners in the boilers started flickering and going out from lack of oxygen.

“The Engin' God is might'y dis'pleas'd wit' us!” shouted one of the firemen, as he
watched his boiler beginning to choke from lack of oxygen.

[Bridge, BB Proteus, 1641 Hours]

Ingolffson watched with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as he watched the huge
sheet of flame rocket skyward from 'A' turret on the Lycaon. Please, don't let it
be a magazine explosion. he wished silently, as the seconds counted down. When several
seconds had passed, he let out the breath he had been holding involuntarily. The magazine
doors must have held on the Lycaon. From the corner of his eye, he saw a blur of metal
merge with the trailing cruiser, the Aristaeus, but there was no smoke or flame. Probably
a non-penetrating hit, he thought.

[Deck - Dmitriy Donskoy – 1642 hours]

The damage control team raced across the deck of the battleship, towards the smouldering
wreckage of the 3” AA gun mount which had been hit moments ago by what had to be a
medium-calibre shell; if it had been a battleship shell, there wouldn't be anything left
of the mount except a twisted mass.

Reaching the lip of the mount, the team leader peered in and then quickly turned away,
trying to avoid vomiting, but failing, hurling his meal all over the deck. Everyone inside
was dead, the gore of their passing splashed all across the gun tub.

[CA Kirov – 1643 Hours]

The ship shuddered under the impact of the two medium calibre shells. On the bridge,
Captain xnd Rank Lebedev grimaced as the damage reports began to come in. “Secondary
battery fire control disabled, and we have a fire in the boat spaces; damage control teams
are reaching it as we speak.”

“Primary fire control reports the lead snake cruiser is slowing and falling out of
their battleline.”

“Good, switch fire to the trailing snake cruiser. We've done the job on the other one.”
ordered Lebedev, as he trained his binoculars on the new target. As he watched,
several shells hit the snake cruiser, sending flames belching into the sky, and
then it happened.

The entire bridge shook as a shell struck just ahead of the bridge, and when Lebedev
had staggered back to his feet, the damage reports had begun to roll in. “Sir, 'A'
Turret reports that the last hit jammed their traverse gear. Also, engineer reports
heavy flooding from shell hit at frame 24.”

[Bridge DD Pelias – 1647 Hours]

The Captain of the Pelias watched with disgust as the seas broke over the bow
of his ship. Even with the boilers tied down and the telegraph at emergency flank,
they were barely making 28 knots. As the ship rocked back and forth in this miserable
weather, he listened to the running commentary on the battle over the 1MC.

“Ivan battleship hit! No smoke or flame, Ivan battleship apparently switching fire over to the
Proteus, to no effect.”

[Secondary Battery Control Room - Dmitriy Donskoy – 1650 hours]

“You're free to engage the snake destroyers.” growled the voice over the phone.
Nodding involuntarily, the Leitenant in charge of the secondary battery director
hung up the phone, and shouted to his underlings the new orders from the bridge.

Walking over to the director perisope, he began to train it onto the snake destroyers,
and noticed that they were now engaging the Soviet destroyers with their 5” guns. At
that moment, the ship shuddered for a second. Fuck, there's another hit, hope it
wasn't bad.

[Engine Room CA Kirov – 1650 Hours]

“Get the goddamn braces down here!” yelled the Glavniy Starshiy as he
watched the seawater stream in from the loose seams in the hull that had opened
up after several near-misses. If they couldn't keep the seawater out, even a tiny leak
would become a big one and then the boilers would go out, and the Kirov
would be dead in the water.

As he watched, the young matros' under his command rushed forth with their
mallets and quickly manhandled the wooden braces that were carried in the damage
control lockers for this purpose into position, and began pounding them into place.

[Topside Torpedo Launchers - CA Aristaeus - 1651 Hours]

The torpedomen watched from their armored stations as the battle raged
around them, waiting for the moment that they were close enough to use
their deadly steel fish in combat. Then their world disappeared in a flash
of blinding white and concussive force as a lone Soviet 7.1” shell struck
the ready torpedoes on the launcher.

[Bridge - BB Proteus – 1651 Hours]

“Zeus' breath!” shouted Anderson as he watched the ball of fire erupt from
midships on the Aristaeus through one of the periscopes. “Very large
explosion on the Aristaeus, appears to be torpedo warheads going up
from the location on the ship.”

[B Turret – Dmitriy Donskoy – 1653 Hours]

Everyone in the turret clapped their hands to their ears as the enormous
turret rang like a gong after something big, real big, had hit it. “We're all
alive, you slackers! Now get back to work!” yelled the Starshiy II Stepen
who was in charge of the turret, ignoring the blood streaming from his ears
as the result of the hit.

[Topside Torpedo Launchers - CA Aristaeus - 1654 Hours]

So much blood, thought the Able Seaman as he dragged the hose forward,
trying not to slip on the blood-soaked deck. “All'rit! We there! Turn o' the
wat'r!” he yelled.

They held the hose tight as it snaked forth as the water coursed through it,
and from the fog nozzle on the end of the hose, a fine mist began to spew
forth. While the battle raged all around them and shells flew through the
air, the janissaries continued to spray salt water into the burning crater that
had minutes ago, been the torpedo launchers. Beneath their feet, the
vibrations of the engines lessened, as speed was taken off to allow flooding
control by the damage control teams working in the sightless bowels of the
ship with portable pumps and battery powered lanterns.

[1656 Hours]

As the destroyers of both sides began to fire on each other, the triple 6" turrets
of the Donskoy began to score hits on the destroyers, the shells smashing
through the thin bulkheads before their fuzes detonated the shells inside the ships,
wreaking unholy carnage inside.

[Flag Bridge - Dmitriy Donskoy – 1656 hours]

“Range to snake destroyers 13,700 meters, 17,300 to their battleship.” came
the voice of the Starshiy Matros reading out the distances on the primary
and secondary director repeaters.

Several shudders ran through the deck at that moment, and the damage control
officer quickly replied, “Large-calibre hits amidships, no damage.”

“Hit!” yelled the gunnery officer. “Amidships on the Snake battleship, where
the floatplanes would be.”

[Mess Hall – CA Kirov – 1657 Hours]

“Stable, to the side.” ordered the ship's doctor as he sorted through the
ever-growing list of casualties from the enagement in the ship's enlisted
mess hall. The next casualty was an unfortunate seaman whose face had
been half-torn off by shell splinters from a deck hit. “Non-Stable, and
with that, he effectively condemned the man to death.

Turning to the next man in line, the doctor was bending over when
the entire room seemed to come apart, and the lights went out. When
the doctor recovered his wits several moments later, the battle lanterns
were just coming on, and he gasped as he saw what was left of the mess
hall. It was a torn and twisted mass of metal, with pieces of bodies
everywhere, arms and legs impaled on broken pipes.

[Bridge – CA Kirov - 1658 Hours]

“Secondary Fire Control, respond!” shouted the Gunnery Officer into his
sound-powered telephone. Finally giving up after several more fruitless
efforts, he dashed outside the bridge, into the hail of shot and shell, until
he saw the secondary fire control director. Or at least where it was supposed
to be. Where it was supposed to be was just a twisted mass of burnt steel,
and the aroma of burnt human flesh reached him. Fighting the urge to
retch, he ran back to the bridge and reported that the secondary director
was gone.

[Bridge, DMS Proteus, 1659 Hours]

“Ivan cruiser burning heavily,” reported Tetrarch Robert Scott Anderson, as
he continued his running commentary on the battle for those on the bridge
who weren't at a periscope.

Suddenly, the entire bridge shook heavily, the noise of the direct hit on it
deafening everyone inside, and so they didn't take notice of what had happened
until Anderson fell over the map table, his girlish screaming so loud that even the
temporarily deafened bridge crew could hear it.

“Attend to the Tetrarch!” shouted Ingolffson as he pushed Anderson's writhing
body off the map table, noticing with displeasure that he had sprayed blood
all over the carefully prepared plot. Looking back at the man's face, Ingolffson
paled.

His entire face was simply....gone. The flesh had been peeled back to the skull,
and where his eyes should have been, were just craters filled with glass. Ingolffson
stole a glance at the periscope Anderson had been using, and saw that the glass in
it was completely shattered. Must have been a direct hit, he thought idly
as the corpsmen arrived on the bridge and began to drag away the hapless Mr.
Anderson.

[Powder Handling Room, Turret G – Donskoy – 1700 Hours]

The badly burned matros groaned as he threw bag after bag of powder
down the hatch into the magazine, and then dogged the hatch before collapsing
to the floor in agony, and died minutes later as the toxic fumes from the burning
propellants in the ruined 6” turret above asphyxated him.

[Flag Bridge – Donskoy – 1700 Hours]

Drozd watched as the snake destroyers continued to close in on the Soviet battleline
despite being pummeled repeatedly from the Soviet destroyer guns and the
Donskoy's six inchers.

Training his binoculars onto the Kirov, Drozd watched with dismay as
a rapid succession of hits swept the crowded decks of the heavy cruiser clean.

Those brave boys of mine are paying the price today, and what a heavy bill it is.

“Sir, the snake cruiser is turning away!” shouted a lookout.

[Bridge - CA Aristaeus – 1701 Hours]

Junior Merarch Englund was not a very happy person. He hated to be forced to
turn away from a battle, but his cruiser was shipping hundreds of tons of seawater,
and the dangerously unsafe speeds they were maintaining to keep up with the
battle were causing the flooding to overwhelm the pumps easily. So it was
with a heavy heart that he had given the order to retire from the battle. Best
to save his ship to fight another day.

['A' Magazine – Donskoy – 1702 Hours]

The severely wounded Starshiy II Stepen clung to the ladder on the side
of the magazine bulkhead as the water level slowly rose in the magazine. Moments
ago, a shell had come flying into the area, cutting down the powder monkeys
and starting several small fires, but ironically enough, the hole it made was in
turn saving the ship by flooding the magazine directly with seawater. Now if
he could only survive long enough to float to the bulkhead hatch to get out of
this charnel house...

[Engine Room – Proteus – 1702 Hours]

Deep in the bowels of the ship, the blackgang had been following the battle
through the vibrations that accompanied the firing of the big 16.25” guns,
which rattled the entire room, causing specks of dust to drift from the ceiling.

Suddenly, there was an enormous shock, which sent everyone sprawling and
breaking the limbs of several unlucky serfs. “Ah, CHANGO, protect us!” cried
the serfs as they slowly picked themselves up. Then the sound of boots clattering
on the deck reached them, along with the cry of “Dam'ig' control, DAM'IG!”.

Then the lights in the room went out, followed by loud metal screeching as
another hit made the ship rock.

[Turret G – Donskoy – 1703 Hours]

“Got 'im!” shouted the turret captain as he watched the snake destroyer that
was their target shudder under the multiple 6” hits, and come to a dead stop
in the water, pouring smoke and flame into the air, while it's compatriots
began to turn away for their torpedo runs.

[1705 Hours]

The three remaining Drakan destroyers charged forth through the inferno of steel, their
torpedo tubes trained to the sides and ready for action, the crews standing at the ready
for the word from the bridge. One of the three was hit repeatedly and came to a stop before
it had reached torpedo range, but the other two loosed their deadly tin fish, some twenty
of them, towards the Soviet battleline.

[Flag Bridge – Donskoy – 1705 Hours]

“EVASIVE ACTION! TURN INTO THE TORPEDOES!” roared Drozd, and
the young helmsman began to turn the big bronze wheel as fast as he could.
Running out to the bridge wing, Drozd stood there, even as shells rained through
the air, his hands clutching the railing until they were white as the ships of his
squadron began their turns under his gaze.

[Bridge – CA Kirov – 1705 Hours]

“Turn faster, damn you!” yelled Lebedev as the torpedoes drew ever closer,
their deadly white wakes reaching out like arrows.

“I've got the helm as far as he'll go, comrade! We're shipping too much
water to turn any faster than this!” replied the helmsman.

[1706 Hours]

The two Soviet destroyers charged into the wall of steel being thrown up by the
secondaries of the Draka battleline as they prepared for their torpedo runs, the
michmen manning the torpedo launchers doing last minute checks of
the launchers; they would only get one shot at this, and it had to count.

[Engine Room – Proteus – 1708 Hours]

“Co'on! Go! Go!” shouted the FCS as he guided his blackgang out of the flooding
engine room and towards safety, their battery powered lanterns their only salvation
in the twisted maze belowdecks. Beneath their feet, the vibrations of the engines
slowed as the ship's speed began to drop.

[Deck – Donskoy – 1708 hours]

Glavniy Starshiy Kalatozov watched in disbelief as the mainmast
was carried away like it wasn't there by a heavy shell, the screams of the
lookouts on the mast drowned out by the rending noise of steel giving
way.

Then he was knocked to his feet by the concussion wave of a very large
explosion. When he finally got up again, every bone in his body was
sore, and looking towards the bow, his jaw dropped and he involuntarily
made the sign of the cross. 'A' turret, having been disabled previously in
the battle, was now burning brightly from a gaping rent in it's armor.

Mischa... he thought. Mischa would have been in there. At least
he was lucky, he never knew what hit him.

[The Soviet Destroyers Minsk and Kiev - 1709 Hours]

“Give it to those snake bastards!” shouted the Michmen as the
order to fire came from the bridges of the destroyers, and sixteen
of the finest torpedoes from the rodinu burst from their tubes,
their screws biting into the dirty water of the Atlantic as huge sprays
of water rose into the air around the snake battleship as she twisted
and turned to evade the Donskoy's shells.

[Bridge – CA Kirov – 1711 Hours]

Lebedev watched with growing horror as the snake torpedoes drew
ever closer, their white wakes foaming on the surface of the water.

Just before they struck, he made the sign of the cross.

The first torpedo struck amidships, ripping into the boiler rooms,
filling them with seawater in the rooms directly in the face of the
blast or with live steam from broken pipes in the others nearby.

Even as the Kirov was starting to slow imperceptibly from
the loss of steam to the turbines, the second torpedo struck, and
in a massive underwater explosion, broke the cruiser's back.

On the bridge, Lebedev watched the horizon tilt crazily as the
ten thousand ton warship literally jacknifed across the water,
at over twenty knots, her sides bursting open at the seams.

For several more seconds, the broken bow section hung on the
water, dozens of feet from the mangled stern, before it sunk
underwater. On the bridge, icy seawater poured in from the
shattered bridge windows, filling the bridge within seconds.

The stern stayed on the surface for much longer, before finally
sinking in a froth of debris. Just under eighty seconds had passed
between the time the Kirov was a warship to when she was
a twisted mass of metal sinking slowly to the bottom of the
Atlantic.

[Flag Bridge – Donskoy – 1711 hours]

Drozd watched as the Kirov went under with a sinking feeling in the
pit of his stomach. Nine hundred men gone... Then it was back to simple
survival as he fought for balance as the deck tilted under his feet as the battleship
fought the helm and turned at a sharp angle.

Drozd watched with glee as first one, then another snake torpedo missed his ship. And
then he saw it. It came out of seemingly nowhere and smashed into the side of the
Donskoy.

And nothing happened.

Bozemoi! Thank God for shoddy manufacturing! he thought as he let his breath
out, but his relief was short lived as the Donskoy shuddred again under the
impact of several large shells.

[Boiler Room No. 4 – Donskoy – 1711 hours]

“OH MY GOD! OUT OUT OUT!” screamed the Starshiy II Stepen in charge of
the boiler room as he saw the live steam burst forth from the ruined piping in the
wake of the shell hit, flaying his men's flesh from their bones at over two hundred
degrees celsius.

Then the seawater hit, pouring through the hole the heavy shell had made, when it came
into contact with the hot metal of the boilers, a small scale explosion rumbled through
the ship, snuffing out the lives of the Starshiy II Stepen and the few other survivors
in the boiler room before the rising water levels and steam did it.

[Flag Bridge – Donskoy – 1712 hours]

“Kontraadmiral, we're losing speed due to excessive flooding in
the machinery spaces, and Boiler Room Number Four is out of comission.”

Drozd wasted no time in replying. “Take the remaining boilers to flank. Speed
is our only advantage over the snakes, we must retain it.”

[1713 Hours]

As the smoke trailed from the various hits all over her battle-scarred hull,
the Donskoy's remaining turrets thundered, sending their deadly loads
through the air, while the Proteus replied in turn. Moments later, a
plume of smoke and flame shot into the air as one of the shells found the
Proteus.

At this time, one of the torpedoes fired earlier by the Minsk and
Kiev found it's mark, one of the Drakan destroyers, the Sinis.

[Bridge – BB Proteus – 1713 Hours]

“Sir, we're losing the Sinis! shouted Ingolffson. Even as he watched,
he saw the destroyer submarine underwater, the seawater pouring in where
her bow used to be. At 28 knots, the seawater was like a wall of steel, and
not even dogged hatches could resist the elemental force. It was all over
in less than twenty seconds.

Then minutes later, it was their turn, as another one of the Ivan torpedoes
found them. Behind the torpedo hit, thousands of gallons of fuel oil began
to stream out into the sea; the torpedo bulges had stopped it from damaging
the Proteus, but now she was losing fuel by the second.

As the sky turned dark, and the rain began to pour down, the aft turrets of
the two mighty behemoths continued to thunder at each other across the
lead grey-sky.

[1716 Hours]

The destroyers on both sides swung away, their guns falling silent, except
for the sizzling of the rainwater on their barrels. In the distance, their crews
could hear the dull booming of the big guns on the battleships as they
continued to trade shots.

Even as the seas continued to worsen, the Soviet destroyers were still
able to make enough headway to form up with the Donskoy, while
the Drakan destroyers, their smaller size a disability in this kind of
weather, fought simply to stay in place.

[DMS Proteus – 1719 Hours]

“O'en the dam' hat'c, yo' scum!” shouted the Fleet Chief Sergeant as he
hammered at the hydraulically actuated hatch, while the compartment they
were in filled with water at the rate of several thousand gallons a minute from
the firefighting pumps.

On the other side, the Senior Tetrarch in charge of Damage Control Party
54 chuckled as he increased the flow rate to the pumps through the control
panel on the side of the bulkhead. What did it matter anyway, losing a few
janissaries to get the ship back onto an even keel so they could engage the
Ivans? After all, there was plenty more where those came from.

As the screams faded out as the water filled the other compartment, the
Senior Tetrarch reached for the sound powered phone which connected
him with damage control. “Compartment 65A counterflooded, proceeding
to 65B.”

[Bridge – Proteus - 1720 Hours]

Putting down the phone, Ingolffson turned and made his report to Durdall.
“Counterflooding complete, we're back on a level keel, speed in this weather
however, is limited to just fifteen knots until we can pump the water back out.”

[1725 Hours]

As what little sunlight faded from the grey skies, and the grey seas merged with
the grey skies in the rapidly darkening twilight, the guns fell silent on both sides,
as the weather conditions began to preclude any effective fire control.

[Flag Bridge – Donskoy – 1740 hours]

A low buzzing came from the bank of the sound powered phones at the aft of the
bridge, and Drozd was the first there, beating the young Leitenant who was
manning them to the punch.

“Sir, this is radar control, we've lost contact, repeat, negative radar contact.”

Drodz nodded. “Bridge confirms lost contact with enemy flotilla at 1741 hours.

Lapshov absentmindedly listened to the exchange on the bridge as he watched the
plumes of smoke rise from the wrecked A turret of the Dmitrii Donskoy
despite the best efforts of the damage control crew. For a moment he wondered
what would happen if the magazine exploded. Then suddenly an officer materialized
out of nowhere.

"That's good smoke," at Lapshov's confused look, the officer continued. "Fires
make smoke, but so does putting out fires, and different things smoke differently,
and that's good smoke. If it was bad smoke, we'd have gone boom a long time ago,
so no worries."

Once more Lapshov turned to gaze out the armoured glass window, it was fractured
in many places, with cracks spreading out like roses or spiderwebs where fragments
and shrapnel had struck it, then he decided to go outside opening the side door to
the bridge and scooting outsideside. The outside was cold and bitter, the rain coming
down in sheets, but the fresh ocean air, even mixed with the smell of burning oil, rubber,
and the sounds of screams was still invigorating.

Sometime later, Lapshov looked up from watching the crew clean up the damage on
the deck from the shell hits by the light of emergency battle lanterns; there were huge
craters in the deck where heavy shells had hit, but failed to pierce the armor, and in
other places, jagged holes where theshells had, along with the stench of burnt flesh.

An electronic gonging noise sounded over the loudspeakers, and Lapshov dimly
noted that it was the General Quarters alarm.

“Attention all, hands, secure from General Quarters, repeat, secure from General
Quarters; remain in condition one, repeat, remain in condition one for damage
control measures.”

[New York City – Two Days Later – June 6th 1940 – 1000 Hours]

Myers watched in bemusement as the battered Drakan squadron
limped into the harbor, followed by dozens of small boats darting
back and forth, despite the best efforts of the Drakan officers to
keep them from getting close, after all, New York City was a
neutral harbor, after all.

He pulled out his pen and notepad and began scribbling down his general
impressions, noting which ships seemed to be damaged, and how. It would
make for good copy, especially to go with those photos that TASS had gotten
from yesterday's Aeroflot airship that overflew the Drakan squadron while it
was still a few hundred miles out to sea, before the US Navy had come forth
to escort them in.

This was going to sell a lot of copy, he thought, especially with the headline
he had in mind for it; “The Battle of Bermuda Rise”, that sounded like a good
headline; after all, what were they going to call it? The Battle of the Atlantic?

At that, Myers snorted. Battle of the Atlantic indeed.

****************

General Timeline from The Duchess of Zeon:

1533 - rng 28000yds. Smoke sighted on horizon. Visibility moderate.

1536 - Drakan DD identified bearing 48 degrees stbrd Soviet BB, heading NNE.

1539 - Soviet admiral orders course 38 degrees NNE, flank speed, condition one.

1542 - Soviets coming on to course 38 degrees NNE, speed 28kts.

1545 - Drakan DD moves to course 45 degrees NE, speed 30kts.

1548 - More smoke sighted.

1551 - two more Drakan DDs sighted converging from NE. Range 27000yds.

1554 - Drakan DDs on course to overhaul across Soviet bow.

1557 - Tophamper of 2 x Drakan CA sighted, making smoke and following destroyers.
Estimated speed 32kts. Range 26500yds.

1560 - Fourth Drakan DD sighted, speed 30kts, range 26500yds.
1603 - Soviet making 29kts, destroyers having difficulty in seaway.
1606 - Tophamper Drakan BB sighted. Making draft smoke, speed 27kts.
1609 - Course Drakan BB 45 degrees NE, range 28500yds, overhauling.

1612 - Soviet determine Drakan BB will be able to close to 15000yds on current heading.
Soviet admiral orders turn to 15 degrees NNE, squadron lay smoke.

1615 - Smoke generators on cruisers, destroyers, hampered by wind conditions. Turning to
new heading. Soviet admiral orders speed 28kts as destroyers are having difficult maintaining
station.

1618 - Soviet squadron completes turn. Running at 28kts. Destroyers still having difficulty.

1621 - Drakan light closing for torpedo attack. Three destroyers lead with two cruisers gaining
due to better ability to maintain speed in a seaway. One destroyer trailing. Range 23000yds.
Soviet admiral orders cruisers engaged.

1623 - Fire commenced by Soviet against Drakan cruisers, destroyers.

1626 - Two salvoes fired no hits. Drakan cruisers return fire.

1629 - Soviet Four salvoes fired no hits. Drakan two salvoes fired no hits.

1632 - Soviet six salvoes fired one 16in hit lead Drakan cruiser no damage apparent.
Drakan four salvoes fired no hits.

1635 - Soviet eight salvoes fired one 16in hit lead Drakan cruiser. Flames on cruiser.
Drakan six salvoes fired one hit Soviet BB fails to penetrate. Range to Drakan BB 24000yds.
Drakan BB commences firing.

1638 - Soviet ten salvoes fired two 8in hits trailing Drakan cruiser. Fail to penetrate.
Drakan eight salvoes fired one 8in hit Soviet CA fails to penetrate.

1641 - Soviet twelve salvoes fired two 16" hits,

1641 - Soviet twelve salvoes fired, two 16in hits lead Drakan cruiser--Turret destroyed,
second holes intakes. One 8in hit trailing Drakan cruiser fails to penetrate. Drakan ten salvoes
fired. One 8in hit Soviet BB, AAA gun destroyed crew killed. Two 8in hit Soviet CA secondary
battery controller disabled, fire in boat spaces.

1644 - Lead Drakan CA hauls out of line, unable to maintain speed with holed intakes.
Soviet BB switches fire to Drakan BB, no salvo fired. Soviet CA fires two salvoes.
Three hits trailing Drakan CA, fires visible, holed at waterline. Two hits Soviet CA,
turret disabled holed at waterline. No Drakan BB hits.

1647 - Drakan CA trail still closing. Drakan DDs emergency flank, taking weather severely.
First hit Soviet BB by Drakan BB, non-penetrating hit on deck armor. First two salvoes
fired Soviet BB against Drakan BB no hits.

1650 - Soviet secondary batteries ordered to engage Drakan DDs; Soviet DDs engage
Drakan DDs. Second hit on Soviet BB, deck hit, fails to penetrate. Two near-misses
Soviet CA, buckle plates below water. One hit Drakan CA, explosion of ready torpedoes.

1653 - Two hits Soviet BB, one hit No.2 turret face fails to penetrate second deck hit fails
to penetrate. Three hits Drakan BB all fail to penetrate. One near miss damages plates
forward, speed maintained. Drakan CA heavy damage amidships, burning, shipping water,
secondary battery port disabled. Reduces speed to 28kts and continues firing on counterpart.

1656 - Hits exchanged between destroyers, Soviet secondary batteries score hits.
Range 15000yds Drakan DDs to Soviet BB. Range 19000yds Drakan BB to Soviet BB.
Drakan BB scores two hits Soviet BB both hit belt armor and fail to penetrate. Soviet BB
scores one hit on Drakan BB carrying away aircraft. Both Drakan CA and Soviet CA slowing.
Drakan CA scores hit penetrates Soviet CA belt, damage internals. Second hit destroys
secondary f/c station. Heavy casualties on both CAs.

1659 - Drakan BB hit conning tower, fails to penetrate. Soviet BB hit twice one hit belt
armour no penetration second hit destroys secondary turret, heavy casualties. Drakan DDs
continue to close despite damage. All Soviet DDs damaged by counter-battery fire from
Drakan DDs but can still maintain station. Soviet CA falling behind due to flooding damage,
suffers additional 8in topside hits with many casualties but without further impairing operation.
Drakan CA flooding becoming serious due to sustained unsafe speed with damage, several
hits outside of armoured box force ship to retire.

1702 - Battleships now capable of penetrating each others' armour. Penetrating hit forward
threatens No. 1 magazine of Soviet BB, but flooding of magazine through shell hole saves vessel.
Several non-penetrating hits scored. Soviet BB now firing with only six guns. Last nine gun salvo
scores two hits penetrating and damaging internals Drakan BB. One Drakan DD disabled by many
medium-calibre hits. Drakan DDs on torpedo run.


1705 - Soviet BB scores penetrating hit on Drakan BB, machinery spaces damaged. Drakan DDs
fire torpedoes. Second Drakan DD disabled before all torpedoes can be fired. Two eight-torpedo
and one four-torpedo salvo fired at Soviet BB and Soviet CA. Soviet admiral orders evasive action,
turn into torpedoes. Soviet CA has difficulty making turn due to water shipped, reduced speed.
Soviet DDs on torpedo runs.

1708 - Drakan BB falling back with machinery damage. Still in range for penetrating hits. Scores
two hits. One penetrates disabled No.l turret, destroying. One carries away Soviet BB mainmast.
No hits by Soviet BB as radical turns throw off plot. Soviet DD torpedoes away—one 8 torpedo
and two 4 torpedo salvoes.

1711 - Two torpedoes hit Soviet CA at 1712, detonate amidships. Second torpedo breaks ship's
back. Soviet CA jacknifes at speed and sinks in approximately eighty seconds. Two survivors.
Soviet BB successfully evades all torpedoes except one which fails to detonate. Hits by Drakan
BB as it retires cause additional topside damage, plus one penetrates aft, knocks boiler room
out of commission. Minor flooding to Soviet BB, reduction in speed compensated by return to
flank power on remaining boilers.

1713 - Last six gun salvo fired by Soviet BB, scores penetrating hit Drakan BB, Drakan BB flooding,
losing fuel. Drakan BB does not score further penetrating hits but two aft threaten further flooding
outside armoured box if boiler flooding is not swiftly contained. Both BBs now limited to firing three
gun salvoes due to angle. On Drakan DD hit by Soviet torpedo, bow carried off.

1715 - Torpedo hit Drakan BB that detonates. Further flooding damage along belt. TDS prevents
damage internally, but fuel loss severe. Aft turns of battleships continue to exchange fire. Visibility
fading rapidly.

1716 - Ships fire three-gun salvoes, no hits. Destroyer action disengaged.

1719 - Soviet BB scores hit No.3 barbette Drakan BB, fails to penetrate. No hits to Soviet BB.
Soviet DDs, larger ships than their enemies, can still make sea speed to keep up with Soviet BB.
Drakan BB introduces counterflooding to correct list, temporarily limited to 15kts.

1722 - No hits as aft turrets exchanged fire with limited fire control ability, distance widening rapidly.

1725 - Action concluded as weather conditions and fading sunlight preclude further exchange of fire

1733 - After two hours since contact Draka squadron begins to fade out of visibility.

1740 - Soviet squadron records contact lost.

1800 - Around now both sides secure from general quarters. Condition One maintained as crew is
directed to damage control. Soviets slow to 20kts to aide in damage control. Draka remain at 15kts
for some time, battleship later increases to 18kts, flooding damage very severe on smaller hull of
Drakan ship.

[darthdavid]

Ahhh. Sweet crack for my body.

[Grand Admiral Thrawn]

snip

HOLY SHIT! You wrote that in 4 fucking days?!

[Howedar]

Aside from an early airmobile British tank, what precisely is a Tetrarch?

[Norseman]

Aside from an early airmobile British tank, what precisely is a Tetrarch?

A Tetrarch is the commander of a Tetrarchy, that is 33 Drakan soldiers and the equivalent of one of our Platoons. I am not quite sure what that is in naval terms, but if you check out this URL http://www.geocities.com/hentaihelper/app02.htm you will find a brief description of the Drakan military.

Here are the Drakan unit names, the name of the commanding officer, their size, and their equivalent in a regular western military:

Unit name----Rank---------Size--------Our equivalent
stick----------monitor----------4
lochos--------decurion---------8--------squad, sergeant
tetrarchy-----tetrarch--------33--------platoon, 2nd lieutenant
century-------centurion-----110--------company, captain
cohort--------cohortarch----500--------battalion, major
merarchy-----merarch----1,500--------regiment, colonel
chiliarchy-----chiliarch-----4,500-------brigade, brigadier
legion---------strategos---13,000-------division, general

All ranks have senior and junior versions, now if you are asking yourself these questions:
1) Why the hell don't they use standard unit names and standard officer titles like the rest of the frieaking world?
2) Aren't those ranks, even with Senior and Junior versions, a bit too limited for running a proper military?

Well your guess is as good as mine, but do read the URL it's good.

[MKSheppard]

All ranks have senior and junior versions, now if you are asking yourself these questions:
1) Why the hell don't they use standard unit names and standard officer titles like the rest of the frieaking world?
2) Aren't those ranks, even with Senior and Junior versions, a bit too limited for running a proper military?
.

You are not in the correct mindframe of things, Norse! Get with the
Author! The Draka are God! The Draka never Fail! No Matter What!

Seriously, the more I read and the more I learn about the Draka, the
more I'm surprised that they never have lost a war, etc. Man, what
a gigantic wank by Stirling.

Anyway, I came up with this list of ranks for the naval chapter:

O-1 Tetrarch (2nd Lt / Ensign)
O-2 Senior Tetrarch (1st Lt / Lieutenant JG)
O-3 Centurion (Captain / Lieutenant)
O-4 Cohortarch (Major / Lt Commander)
O-5 Junior Merarch (LT Colonel / Commander)
O-6 Senior Merarch (Colonel / Captain)
O-7 Junior Chiliarch (Brig. Gen / Rear Adm (Lower) )
O-8 Senior Chilliarch (Major Gen / Rear Adm (Upper))
O-9 Junior Strategos (Lt General/ Vice Admiral)
O-10 Strategos ( General /Admiral )

Here's Norse's take on their Janissary rank system (British
with serial numbers filed off):

E-1: Junior Seaman
E-2: Ordinary Seaman
E-3: Able Seaman
E-4: Leading Seaman
E-5: Sargeant
E-6: Chief Sargeant
E-7: Fleet Chief Sargeant

NOTE: No calling them "Petty OFFICERS', we can't have Janissaries
being called OFFICERS now can we?

They have a rather limited ranking system though, it makes more sense
for fighting pre-industrial african natives or Arabs, than it does for operating
a modern mechanized army.

[CaptainChewbacca]

If I ever get to meet Stirling, assuming he isn't dead, I'll ask him "What's up with your books always having a series of IMMENSELY improbable conditions working out EVERY TIME?"

I bet he hits me. If not, I'll mock the airborne invasions until he does

[MKSheppard]

Comments! The vengeful God of Writing, FuckYouAll demands comments!

And no remarks on my setup of RSA For SHAME! For SHAME!