The Lone Queen Of The North

Chapter 10: A Frozen Hell

"Damage report!" Lieutenant René Montcalm ordered.

"Serious damage, sir," a lightly injured sailor responded as he moved a broken corpse off of the main targeting computer, "I just checked the Damage Control terminal..."

"We can't save her, can we?" Montcalm asked.

The shake of the head from the sailor told the acting captain everything.

It was foolish to have tried to break through into the Atlantic, but he decided to go along with his captain's decision. Seeing the Fog battleship King George V sailing in the distance reminded him of the price the sailors of the new battleship had paid.

The Confederacy-class was a joint built fast battleship for both American and Canadian use. This class of ship went back to the more traditional form of warship; triple railguns mounted in four turrets, ten smaller, singular railguns as secondary weapons. The ship also possessed torpedo tubes below the water and on deck. VLS systems as well as improved CIWS mounts were added.

The Liberator was the third and final ship of the class. It was this ship that had sustained heavy damage against the King George V-class battleship. The captain looked on in muted horror as he saw the turrets on the battleship begin to rotate in his ship's direction.

          They were already sinking, the severely damaged pumps trying their best to remove the water, but ultimately gave out.

          Captain Montcalm looked at the remaining crew, which composed of him, a now legless sailor, the helmsman, a severely burned but otherwise intact Fire-Control Officer and the world's luckiest Petty Officer. Everyone else had perished or were trapped due to the numerous fires and the flooding.

           "Nelson," Montcalm called as he noticed the Fog ship give a broadside, "can you get 'A' Turret or any of the main batteries to bear on that battleship?"

           "Uh, I'll see what I can do," Nelson replied, "give me a minute though, 75% of the crap here's been torched or blown to hell. But don't worry, I'll get that heavy bitch turning."

           Heading off to a terminal, Nelson began tapping away at a bloodied keyboard. Frustrated muttering told the acting captain more than enough. The Liberator was lost. Her hull, still relatively full of air pockets, was sinking and no one could do anything. She failed.

           Montcalm nodded at Nelson, when the FCO came back with a solemn look on his face. Then with his binoculars, Montcalm spied the King George V aiming her guns at her stricken foe. Then, when the flash of white appeared, the man accepted his fate as he and his fellow sailors were rapidly reduced to ashes. Unknowingly, their sacrifice had lured away the flagship of one of the Atlantic's largest fleets. This proved to be extremely useful... especially for the Germans.

          200km north of the Liberator's wreck site, the Tirpitz sailed, her bow smashing through the waves and small icebergs that happened to be in front of her. Inside her bridge, no stations were manned, virtually all the crew still resting from a long day's work the previous day. Michael, however, was the only one awake. He was busy looking over several notes and files as well as many maps and topographical charts. He wanted to ensure his ships took the safest routes.

         "Darling," Tirpitz called softly, "come to bed, now. You've been at those maps since yesterday morning, and it's 3 o'clock..."

          "I know, I know," Michael sighed lightly as he turned to face the Mental Model, "it's just... I want to choose the best and most effective route. If we can cut our journey by a few day's time, the quicker we can get to helping the 401."