|Atlantic Ocean, 400 mi. WNW of Glasgow

The 900 ft. long USS Tulsa, based in Iceland, drifted above low clouds at an easy 10kts. They were nearing the end of the current babysitting mission and were oh-so-eager for their next interminable period of drifting along the Atlantic. While the Tulsa normally operated with two other ZRCV's (nominally four, but one of the lumbering ships was always grounded with some problem or essential upgrade or another), the Tulsa was alone for this mission. Anchorage was undergoing repairs to her tail after "strong" winds led to a mooring accident, and Tulsa had been held up in port waiting for fuel. Ironically, the fuel was delayed because the convoy transporting it had been attacked by a Nazi U-boat. Their current escort mission had been quiet. The 38-ship convoy's escort consisted of five Flower class corvettes and the Tulsa.

"Descend to 2,000 feet," Cdr. Owens ordered.
"Descend to 2,000 feet, aye, sir." Lt. Cdr. John Cross, the ship's XO said. "Five degrees down angle. Inflate ballonets."

The elevatorman dutifully responded, and the ship gradually began to descend, nose down, through the clouds. As the mist outside the control car's windows cleared, the Tulsa's bridge crew were astonished to find empty ocean.

"What the hell?" one of the bridge crew muttered. Cdr. Owens mulled over the sudden disappearance. Tulsa had been above the overcast clouds for a few hours, searching for enemy aircraft. The ship had been switching from above to below to search for aircraft, then submarines, then aircraft again. Mostly it was something to keep his crew occupied that wasn't another drill - Cdr. Owens had promised two drill-free days for the crew's performance in the latest loss-of-lift drill (yesterday had also been, coincidentally, movie night. The effect had the crew a bit too relaxed for Owens' comfort). The convoy's speed of 10kts couldn't put them very far from Tulsa - in fact, they should still be visible.

"Mr. Griffith," Cdr. Owens said after a moment, "get me our current position and the convoy's last known heading. Mr. Cross, launch the Seafins on a search mission to find the convoy.

An hour later, it was apparent that the unthinkable had happened - Cdr. Owens had lost a 40-ship convoy. There was nothing for it.

"Contact Liverpool. Message is as follows:

@Iluvatar

FROM: USS Tulsa, ZRCV 1
TO: Liverpool

Unable to contact convoy HX-161 or escort ships. Convoy and escort position unknown. No enemy action to report. Please advise.

Liverpool, NW England, United Kingdom

Colonel Jonathan Cartwright of the Royal East Kent Regiment slouched despairingly in his chair. Stuck in Liverpool for a whole week, with nothing to show for it. Some rot about 'monitoring', 'inspecting' and 'reporting back', and off he'd been sent.

Glumly, he stared down at his Morse code set, hastily thrust into his hands on his first day by an overworked secretary. Around him, people wrote down, reported, replied to or forwarded messages to various people of authority. He knew no one, did nothing with any of them. The only thing they'd shared was that dizzy spell about an hour ago.

It had been odd - a wave of disorientation sweeping through the room, as if some strange gas had wafted in. They must have used up all their air or something, Cartwright supposed.

'Bleep, bleep-bleep-bleep, bleeeeep!' went his machine, startling him. Snatching up his pencil, he used his (limited) knowledge of Morse code to translate the message. It read:

FROM: USS Tulsa, ZRCV 1
TO: Liverpool

Unable to contact convoy HX-161 or escort ships. Convoy and escort position unknown. No enemy action to report. Please advise.

'USS Tulsa?' wondered the Colonel. The only USS Tulsa he know was an American gunboat in the Pacific. Perhaps it had been transferred, to help with the convoys - though Cartwright had no idea how it could have got to the North Atlantic so quickly. Also, what was ZRCV 1? Shrugging, he tapped out a reply, not deeming it important enough to report. He had authority anyhow.

@Queen Raidne

FROM: Liverpool
TO: USS Tulsa, ZRCV 1

Set course for Glasgow. Continue to report on convoy status and enemy action. Be prepared for further orders.

What on earth happened?

The rest of the officers core had as little clue as the newly appointed captain. The six vessel large commonwealth alliance destroyer group had been right on top of them just hours ago, then just as they came within torpedo range, reportedly launching several torpedoes according to lookouts, they all vanished.

The last hour had been of little enlightenment as well. Kunz Hoehner had called for an officers meeting trying to figure out the recent turn of events and properly plan the next course of action.
The meeting had derailed completely and people had begun to trail off in all manners of strange theories.

Dimensional portals, time dilations, we all died and are now in the afterlife or ghosts, or simply divine plays.
The officers clearly read too much fiction and watch too many movies.
The most reasonable theory was a commonwealth prototype gas attack, this was a common tactic on the western front in Spain and resulted in many casualties until proper protection was developed.
However a gas attack on the sea was unheard of, and such a gas was frankly hard to believe. But lacking other reasonable alternatives that explanation would have to do for now.

The actual plan took a fraction of the entire time allotted to the meeting. After considering the options it was agreed.
The Bismarck would return to port in Spain, in the naval base of Gibraltar.
Getting there was going to be the biggest problem, the direct route was out of the way, since commonwealth fleets were plentiful in the area.
Going around the americas was also out of the way, too many enemies would intercept.

Kunz Hoehner cursed his history knowledge, if only the Suez canal had been funded, then they could have rounded africas horn and passed through there.
The north african confederacy while not an ally of the reich, would probably agree to passage.
Curse the commonwealth and their diplomatic pulls, had they not diverted the flow of funds to the Brazil deforestation and infrastructure movement their escape would have been simple.

Now they would have to sneak back home. Through the enemies gates.

The first course of action was decided, head for south africa. From there they could blockade a port or something to force them to give a radio or something. Then Bismarck would follow the western shores of africa and head for gibraltar.
The officers returned to stations and the operation "Hinken Haudegen" or limping warhorse was underway.

-"Helmsman, heading towards the horn of africa, give me 30 knots of speed, full power. Reduce detectability by lowering the colours." Kunz orders were acknowledged. He knew that lowering the colours were not going to do much for reducing their silhouette. But better be safe than sorry after all.

The journey would take a good 4 days roughly before reaching Cape town. Kunz knew that running the boilers on full power wasn't good in the long run, but better get as far as possible before they are found.
And a sunk ship wouldn't need to worry about the boilers anyway. So he figured the best course of action was to worry about any damage later.

Kunz looked through the haphazardly repaired windows of the bridge upon the iron cross of the kreigsmarine proudly painted on the deck of the ship on the prow. Its black simple design upon the white bottom reminded him of his duty to his men and to the fatherland. He would bring them home.

One moment the TOS "The Voids Wrath" was approaching a freshly built wharf, the next moment the wharf and the entire supporting battalion we simply gone.

Communications Officer Gert came sprinting into the bridge, "Captain! We have lost radio contact with the Teutonic Order... And radar contact with the rest of the fleet. No Teutonic presence besides us."

For a moment the bridge was silent, all eyes on Captain Hock. "Then God himself has given us a new mission. Put the crew on alert, Officer Gert, you are to send the following missive then maintain radio silence unless I directly order otherwise."

FROM: TOS "The Voids Wrath"
TO: Leningrad

Men of the U.S.S.R. we find ourselves in a world not our own. We humbly request landing in one of your ports.

Despite his bravado Captain Hock was unsure of himself. Not sure what else to do he ordered three of the Heaven Guard H 12, to commence high altitude patrols. It was these patrols that answered the missive.

An hour later the seaplanes returned with dire news, "Captain, German forces are all over the countryside, Leningrad is under siege!"

Again there was silence on the bridge. Finally, Captain Hock spoke again, "Coxswain, set a course for Longyearbyen, if German forces have already invaded the U.S.S.R. then Norway will have fallen long ago, we will liberate the islands of Svalbard."

Atlantic Ocean, HMCS Annapolis (104), 150 NMi W of Glasgow
Three White geysers erupted from the Atlantic ocean along the port side of the SS of the Canadian merchant navy, when three German torpedoes impacted her amid ship, shrouding her from view. Sailors watched in shocked awe as water receded and the park ship was breaking apart as few survivors were jumping ship."Action stations."said Captain Monroe in a stern but calm voice snapping the bridges attention back to their task. "Action Stations, Aye Captain." responded Michael,Cote the ships XO as he activated alarms and said over the ship wide broadcast. "Hands to action stations, hands to action stations."Find me that U-Boat."said. "Aye,sir."replied a young sailor manning the sonar. "Captain message from Commodore Edwards." Said the communications officer."Go,ahead."replied Monroe."HMCS Annapolis and Micmac break off and engage German U-boat till it's destruction,Captain."announced the sailor. "Respond that we understand." replied Monroe.

"Helmsman all ahead full,bring us to port forty degrees."said Monroe as a feeling of excitement swept across the bridge. Both Wickes and Tribal class destroyers turned to port and began pulling away from the Zig Zaging columm of Merchant ships and ocean liners loaded with troops, equipment, and supplies for Britain. "Captain, Sonar contact four kilometer off at are ten o'clock it's running." said the young sonar operator "It won't out run us."whispered Cote excitement crept into his voice. "Bring starboard twenty degrees." said Monroe as he thought something out."Aye, Starboard twenty degrees." responded Cote as the helmsman began changing the destroyers heading."Torpedo tubes to port plot trajectory on the U-boat." Said Monroe as the weapons officer responded with a "Aye, Captain." as he got to work. After a few moments the weapons officer said "Trajectory set Captain." as he had his hand poised to fire." Fire full spread." Eight Torpedoes launched from their tubes and landed in the water and began heading on their course." Captain the U-Boat is turning toward the Micmac." Torpedoes went wide missing the U-Boat but achieving their goal and forcing the U-Boat toward the Micmac that was spitting out depth charges. Geysers of white erupted skywards as depth charges detonated when the sonar cleared of the depth charges the U-boat was gone but their was no sign of wreckage.

"Captain, no sign of the U-Boat, but no wreckage." said the sonar operator. "Well it might of escaped be let's return to the convoy and send a dispatch to the Brits.

FROM: HMCS Annapolis (104)
TO: British Royal Navy, Command

CT-134 Convoy Attacked, 1 Park Ship Lost 31 hands lost,U-Boat escaped, Continuing course."

"To my people, we find ourselves in dark times. As of today we have been removed from our true homeland and placed in this new world. I request that all of you do not fear for tomorrow since right now it is important we make it through today. Our best representatives have already been sent out around this new world in hopes of establishing contacts with other nations. While this world does seem to be embroiled in a great "world war", have no fear as our armies and navies are steadfast in any hostile attempts against us. Stay strong my people, all hail Yamatai!"

"Yes... this seems reasonable, don't you think?" Emperor Shitatsu Shu passed around the memo script of his speech around to the members of his personal court. When he and millions of his country men woke from dawn's grace today, the sun that greeted them was not their own.
"Of course my lord." was one of the many agreements of plaudits which the Emperor heard.
"We will be working on gathering some of the populace in the main courtyard of the Imperial Palace and through all the radio and speakers my lord." the Minster of Media, who was actually the oldest sister of the Emperor, bowed before her brother.
"Thank you, Otome." the Emperor smiled and turned to his Minister of War, "Ariska, how is our fleets?"
"All fleet have been mobilized, my lord. They are now patrolling the local area."
"How is the status of the super-battleships?" the Emperor gaze out the window where he could see the streets become lively, even in a stragne new world, it feel beautiful to watch his great nation working.
"The Tachihibe, the Onnshi, the Karyguya, the Hamarabi and the Honkunano are all in their respective fleets. Their sister, the Manumanabe, is under construction. The shipyard says she'll be completed within the month my lord."

Shitatsu wondered over to the window, balloons and fanfare could be seen in the distance as his loyal troops marched through the streets. Hiding his fear, he dismissed his court and watched as sun slowly rose in the sky. He promised his father he would do great things, perhaps this was his fate, to lead Yamatai to greatness in a brave new world.

The frontier was quiet but for a light breeze flitting through the tallgrass. All along the border between Newfoundland and Facist Montreal^[1], a massive trench was dug and tanktraps were lain; the majority of the Army was posted to the so called 'Great Ditch', in a response to Quebec's aggression towards the other Canadian states. 

Brigadier General Vern Michelson squinted at the horizon, the front had been calm ever since it was established, no Franco-Montrealan troops had been spotted anywhere close and long distant scouting had come up with the same conclusion, it seemed as if The Republic of Ontario had slowed them down and more forces were diverted to fight near Toronto and Otowa. Michelson took one last drag of his cigarette before flicking the butt into the trench, he stood on top of an earthen platform one of many dotted along the spine of the trench used as artillery positions; bringing the radio's mouthpiece to his lips, he spoke in a deep voice. 

"Craig, are you there?" he mumbled through. Craig Patton, a distant relative of George Patton, was his military equal and friendly rival since they started military service; he too was a Brigadier General, the only other apart from Michelson himself^[2]. He heard a groan from the other end.

"What do you want you annoying bastard?" replied his life long friend, stopping to yawn.

"To hear you call me something else," retorted Michelson warm-heartedly before continuing, "How's the line holding on your end?" he said, picking up a pair of binoculars and scanning the horizon with them. It was quiet, that unnerved Michelson.

"It's all F***ing clear." he replied, bedsprings creaking audibly as he sat up on his cot.

"Thanks for not calling me a-"

"You annoying bastard." 

"Well, so much for that," Vern sighed and gave the horizon one last look over before putting down the binoculars and rubbing his wrinkled forehead; he was expecting an Ontarian Regimant to arrive some time soon but they had long missed their scheduled resupply stop, he was worried, "Say, have you gotten word from the-" as he spoke he saw a little figure come over the horizon.

Michelson brought his binoculars back to his eyes and saw that it was a single Ontarian soldier, the blue fatigues making him easy to decern as such. His face was blackened with dirt and he sprinted full pelt down the field, yelling something incomprehensible from that distance. 

"What th-" a flood of soldiers crested the horizon, much more then a regiment as more poured forth from behind them, the yelling was much more audible now. As the tide of panicked men approached, from behind them the sound of numerous tank tracks squealed, Michelson barked down the mouth piece. "Craig, get your men ready, those Frenchy Bastards are here!" he switched to the artillery channel, "Ready for a fight gentlemen and fire at will." behind him they were loading artillery. As the first Ontarian troops made it to the trench and began leaping across, the tanks rolled into view and began firing on the bulk that had yet to get close; high explosive shells rained down in response from friendly guns. More tanks swarmed over the horizon. Firing intensified as the French tanks fired on the trench instead, it seemed that an endless amount of tanks were surging towards them. 

Michelson plucked one of the Ontarian troops out of the retreating flood, grappling him over by his collar, "what the f*** is going on?!" he barked at the boy's face.

"Toronto," he panted, tears streaming down his face, "It's fallen. They're heading for Otowa now." now he burst into sobs and Michelson let him go with a grimace on his face, looking up he saw a distant tank sighting him. For a moment the world slowed down, a flower of light bursting out of the barrel of the French tank sending a shell directly at him, Michelson closed his eyes and was knocked down.

His ears rang and his nose bled, and when he opened his eyes all he could see was shadows, was he aliv-. He vomited. Out came the coppery tang of blood and suddenly he felt alright. Sitting up, Michelson looked around and saw all his troops on the floor, clutching their guts and groaning with blood dripping out of their noses. They were all alive but where were the tanks? He scanned the horizon, all there was were helmets, dogtags and tank tracks strewn on a field where there were tanks and fleeing troops. He staggered to his feet and propped himself up on the table with the radio, he was very much alive, he wouldn't be in this much pain if he weren't^[3]. Picking up the receiver he wiped his bloody nose with the sleeve of his trenchcoat.

"Send a message to Otowa." 

@mrambo90

From: The Soverign Dominion of Newfoundland, Northern Front
To: Otowa, Republic of Ontario (Canada)

Otowa. We have received word that Franco-Montrealan forces are    inbound. Please reply status and status of Toronto.

1. Facist Montreal (Pre-Cut'n'Paste) one of the Canadian Free States, a Franco-Nazi puppet used to open a front in North America.

2. There are only to Brigadier Generals because the standing army consists of only two brigades, any additional brigades raised through drafting are added to the pre-existing brigade and the chain of command is altered.

3. Due to being very close to the edge of the "Cut'n'Paste", they suffered severe physical damage but because of time dilation  they exist with the aftermath (bleeding, ringing ears, scars) but not the actual damage. So if someone had internal hemraging, they would lose the hemrage but still vomit blood.

"Empress?" inquired the royal servant, Elena.

"Just a moment." replied the Empress. Elena departed, and the Empress continued to brush her long, flowing red hair. When she had finally made it acceptable, she took up the crown of the Imperium and placed it upon her head. She had never particularly liked it. It was far too heavy and gaudy for her taste, but she had to tacitly accept it, as it was what her people expected of her.

For one more day, anyway.

She strode out of the room in her gold and brown dress, and traveled with Elena through the halls of the Dyevlin, the official residence of the Imperial family. They arrived at a waiting ballroom, where the nobility of the Imperium had gathered in celebration of the traditional Day of Painting. On the twentieth birthday of the reigning Emperor or Empress (the prior was required to abdicate upon their oldest child's eighteenth birthday), their official portrait would be made and hung in the Hall of the Imperators just outside the throne room.

The nobility from all across the Imperium ate, drank and made merry at the feast prepared by the Imperial house for their honor, while the Empress posed on the balcony of the ballroom for an hour and a half for her portrait to be made. It was long and arduous, made ever more so by the anticipation. When it was finished, however, it was a sight to behold: demonstrating the Empress's great beauty and majesty. While she kept little stock in royal tradition, the sight pleased her: she might actually have to keep it.

When she emerged from the balcony, the Imperium nobility took notice, and all rose to bow to the Empress. The complete and utter duplicity of the gesture was obvious; the nobility knew all too well who was in charge and kept it that way by cutting short the reign of any one Imperator who might challenge their local authority. Her father had gone so far, they actually ordered him executed for "tyranny and abuse of the office of Emperor," resulting in her coronation at the unprecedented age of sixteen. While ordinarily the Empress might be irritated, at this particular instant she found it amusing.

"Nobles of the court, honored guests of the Imperial house." The Empress smiled broadly with the same artificiality they had given her, and she continued. "I have for you a special gift: a delicacy from the far south, called key lime pie." She clapped, and servants appeared from all sides bearing plates of the dessert and laying it before the nobility. "I invite you to taste the fruits of imperialism that the great and powerful Imperium has reaped."

The nobility seemed to greatly appreciate this gesture, digging into the dessert with complete and utter abandon. The Empress checked to see if everyone along the table had taken a bite, and announced with a smile that betrayed the malevolence within her, "I have made a slight adjustment I find I often prefer: the addition of almonds. I hope you enjoy it." She snapped her fingers.

There were many cries and shouting from the various tables as the doors on every side but the Empress's burst open, and a mob of people broke in, wielding weapons ranging from rifles to pitchforks. They carried with them flags stained crimson red, and waved these fiercely as they emerged into the room with a distinct order. Armed guards burst into the room from behind her, coalescing around the Empress in a defense formation. "We are here for your protection," the captain told her. "We must go quickly!"

"What is the meaning of this, Empress Ekaterina?" asked Lord Nykolai, one of the senior members of the nobility, rising from his seat.

"I have no need for protection." replied the Empress. She pushed the captain of the guard aside and strode out before them. For a few seconds in which it was silent as the grave, she reached up to the crown upon her head and threw it to the ground, where it cracked into a thousand pieces.

She announced, "The Imperium is dead. Long live the People's Republic." The assembled crowds of workers cheered, and gathered around her, pushing away the guards.

"We will fight you from every corner of the Imperium in a bloody civil war," challenged Lord Nykolai, pulling the sword from his scabbard. "You cannot do this, not as long as we are still alive."

"Exactly," replied the woman now known only as Ekaterina Velikaya. "Do hope my father forgives you in the afterlife."

The assembled nobility almost simultaneously convulsed in spasms, and the revolutionaries charged forward, firing guns and swinging weapons at those who were not already dead from cyanide poisoning. As if it were in a different world, the bell outside the palace rung.

---

"Premier!" shouted the premier's secretary, Elena, as she shook Premier Commissar Ekaterina Velikaya awake from her nap in a comfortable chair. The Dyevlin bell was indeed ringing, and it was ringing quite loudly.

As she came to her senses, she asked, "What exactly is going on?" An officer, colonel by rank as determined by the three stars on her pauldrons, came in at the same time.

"Colonel Nadya Lukinova at your service, Premier Commissar, we are under attack by an unknown threat from the West. And it appears that our surrounding nations have... mysteriously vanished, and been replaced by others." Regarding the Premier's look of confusion, she said, "It would probably be best if you followed us."

"Of course," replied Premier Velikaya. She brushed her uniform off, with the six stars indicating her position as head of the nation's armed forces, and followed the colonel.

After a short time, they arrived in the war room. The map that usually occupied the central table, that of the nations of the world of Osetia, had been taken off and placed in the corner, and had been replaced by a strange and unfamiliar map in which she only recognized the Kataylabinsk red, although the nation was oddly distorted.

"Premier Commissar." The assembled military personnel saluted as she came in, and she saluted them back.

"Please inform me as to the nature of the absurd predicament that we now find ourselves in," Ekaterina requested.

An older man standing next to the center of the map with five stars on his pauldrons, indicating a general, spoke up.

"The People's Republic of Kataylabinsk appears to have been transported to a strange and alien world, with humans much like ourselves, but an entirely different geopolitical landscape. From what we have determined so far, this world is called Earth, and we occupy the space of what was known as the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, a nation which appears to have been much like ours in government, economics, and ideology. This Union was under attack by a force known as..." He looked down at a paper, and attempted to carefully enunciate. "The Deutsches Reich. This nation is the same one which appears to be occupying a significant portion of our western land. But all reconnaissance seems to indicate that this land is no longer occupied by our people, rather those seem to have been left behind. The land occupied by the Deutsches appears to contain the inhabitants that were there before this event occurred, and partisans for this Soviet Union who we are now attempting to reestablish communication with."

"This appears to be a world dominated by capitalist nations, and even worse, this Reich appears to be the grossest example of an authoritarian, imperialist dictatorship we have ever discovered. Its broadcasts are positively disgusting. But there already appears to be some resistance to this fact, and socialism appears to be gaining popularity globally."

The Premier's expression grew graver by the second. "This is a very serious situation. We need to reach out and establish contact with the other nations around us, to procure help, and redirect all of our existing forces to form a front to protect the capital against these invaders. If at all possible we should push them back and recover these poor people who have been occupied."

Here the Premier's expression grew more determined and certain, and she began to speak with greater authority.

"If we can effectively hold out against these Deutsches, we should resume our prior mission. To find socialist revolutionaries all across this world, and support them in their efforts to overthrow capitalist and imperialist institutions. We may have forsaken our homeland of Osetia, but we have been given a new planet on which to spread our message. We may take this as the opportunity to liberate a new world."

---

@Deaddlife

FROM: Volodyna, Office of Foreign Relations
TO: TOS "The Voids Wrath"

Greetings from the People's Republic of Kataylabinsk. We know very little about the USSR you speak of, but we are
equally displaced from our home world and so we welcome you to dock for any services you might require in the port
you would know as Murmansk as a sign of good faith.

Battleship Bismarck. Somewhere north east of the Falklands isles.

-"Kipitän! Here are the latest reports from the lookouts for the past few hours!" Said one of the younger officers to Hoehner, handing him a paper bundle.
He knew the young officer was young and a bit taken by recent events, but as a captain Kunz also knew that keeping calm and making sure the people under him were occupied with work was the best way to keep people from worrying.

-"Excellent, now i need you to oversee the operations on the cabin personnel." Kunz Hoehner replied to the boy.

-"Sir..... ?" was the poor officers clueless response, truly this was a new order to him.

-"Since they won't be expecting an officer to oversee their work, since it has never happened before, they will be caught of guard and we will root out the laziness of the cabin personnel we all know is present. You will do this until you are ordered elsewhere." Came Kunz Hoehners rasping reply.
Literally scratching his head after the salute, the young officer left the bridge.
Kunz thought it better he ponders weird orders than to ponder about existential things.

Now he started actually reading the lookouts reports. No visuals..... at all.
Even the scout planes had been out for a few runs, and still nothing. Sure, these waters weren't supposed to be teeming with activity, but at least some vessels should be around.
What really confused him was the lack of commonwealth destroyers, they couldn't have gotten far, so they were still a very real threat to the ship, regardless of strange events saving the ship from them earlier.

-"Bring the ship to a sixteen knots cruising speed, i think we have cleared the primary threat for now. Let's just walk away slowly shall we? I would also order us to go into radio silence.... but since we all know that is fairly redundant, i'll just ignore that part." Kunz Hoehner ordered his bridge crew, whom went into immediate action with a few simple nods for confirmation.
Kunz had never really been a funny man, and his attempt at a joke wasn't really accepted with a cheering laughter, but then again it could be the current events reducing their morale.

Nah, there was no point in lying to oneself, I am no funny man Kunz thought for himself.
He'd have about 7 days to ponder about this, and other things as well before reaching Cape town. For now he announced himself as leaving for his quarters. If he was needed he would be notified.

|USS Tulsa
Aviation Machinist's Mate (AMM) Donald Lipke woke up slowly, then all at once. His "alarm clock", AMM Roger Douglass, did that to you. First he'd gradually shake you, and then shake you more, and finally whack your face with a pillow. Groaning, Donald rolled out of his rack. 23:50 - ten minutes before midrats, just enough time to get in line. Roger had already grabbed some of Don's chewing tobacco as form of payment. Some idiot brass in Washington had decided that cigarettes were too much of a fire hazard, even though US airships used helium, not hydrogen, as lifting gas. The porthole in the port crew compartment showed land. There was a river far below, occasionally glimpsed through fog.

Don ducked through the hatch into the cramped port passageway. It was one of three passageways that ran the length of the ship, each along one of the ship's three keels - one starboard, one port, and the 18 keel that ran under the top of the ship's envelope. On his right, Don could hear the thump of sailors working in the hangar. It didn't take long for him to reach the end of the mess line.

"What the hell are we going to Glasgow for?" someone said in front of him.
"Gotta be we're going to France." another sailor said.
"France? Bullshit. What the hell would we do in France?" he recognized this voice as Red watch's radioman.
"Kick some Nazi ass," the second sailor said.
"No, no, you guys are missing the point. Glasgow doesn't even have a mooring station!" the first sailor said.
"Yeah? How do you know?" Don asked.
"I got a girl in Scotland," the first sailor said.
"Didn't know you were into the bonnie wee redheads," the second sailor said.
"That's Ireland, you idiot," the first retorted. "Anyway, it doesn't make any sense!"
"Not unless we're being redeployed to France, anyway," the second said.
"Why'd we go to France? The Krauts got land-subs we don't know about?" the first said.
"You know we're going to Glasgow?" Don asked the radioman.
"Yeah, heard it come in myself. Right after Cap' Owens lost the convoy," the radioman said.

The sobering silence lasted only a moment before the sailors erupted into argument again. Meanwhile, the USS Tulsa drifted along the River Clyde, ever closer to Glasgow. Countryside residents trailed behind, looking up in astonishment. Undoubtedly some had informed the authorities about the "Nazi Zeppelin".

Prime Minister William Lyon Mackenzie King office

"how is the evacuation along this new border, coming along at this time" Asked Prime minister after he lifted his head out of his cupped hands and turned weary eyes to the people filling his office. " Mr. Prime Minister we have had complications and from the french Canadians, have begun rioting within in some areas but we have roughly completed roughly thirty percent." said a middle aged man with a slight french accent and nervous stutter. "What can the military tell me?"asked King as he looked to his minister of national defense James Ralston."The New report from their northern front are all unfounded and untrue, From all reports they are flying Newfoundlands colors and we can not make contact with any of are military personal or all nine bases within Nova Scotia , New Brunswick ,and Prince Edwards islands or the troops in Newfoundland we have only reached Newfoundlanders, We have Coastal Patrols and nearby naval forces forming fourteen kilometers outside of halafax, The First Division and whats left of the Second Division, and Fourth Armored Division, are forming defensive lines along the new border and The Royal Air Force East and West Commands have Patrols up and are preparing for anything." said James Ralston returning a fiery eyed stare as he thought of his family in Nova Scotia.

"How am i suppose to explain one and a half million people with unknown status, and Parliament is a mad house."King thought to himself. "Prime Minister every one is mad and full of rage something must be done or are country may rip itself apart and senators from the lost territories are demanding blood for this and are swaying others to their cause." said Sir Allen Bristol Aylesworth the senator of North york sweat running down his fore head. King looked to the message received from The Dominion of Newfoundland only hours ago. "We will try to resolve this with an attempt at peace before blood is drawn."Said King as he wrote in rapid fire forming a message." Continue Evacuation and deployment of troops keep Commonwealth Pilots out of the Defense until we hear from Churchill, Get the Governer Genral to Address the Citizens and try to slow are lads and prevent hostilites." said King as he delved into his work.

From: Prime Minister William Lyon Mackenzie King
To:President King George VI, Prime Minister Winston Churchill,Franklin Delano Roosevelt
Recent Horrid Events have Transpired and Canada Has Lost Nova Scotia , New Brunswick ,and Prince Edwards islands and many Canadians, Commonwealth personal and Americans within these Territories have be assigned as Missing until we can find out their status. Canada Will be Leaving Current posted troops in both the Pacific and Atlantic Theaters but no other deployment of troops or flows of supplies to the Atlantic from Halifax. We will be stalled a month, due to we must launch are supply ships from are pacific deep water ports and send them through the Panama canal. We are Currently requesting Aid in this matter to prevent blood shed."

From: Prime Minister William Lyon Mackenzie King
To:he Sovereign Dominion of Newfoundland, Northern Front
The Sovereign Dominion of Newfoundland, Northern Front:  We are Requesting a audience on a mutually agreed apon place and Time with your leadership to sort this disaster out and create a mutual understanding that will see prosperity for both are nations.

10 Downing Street, London, United Kingdom

Winston Churchill, Prime Minister of Great Britain and her Empire, stood solidly by his window, rain pouring down the clouded panes. His mind was as distorted as the street through the cascading water. He simply could not comprehend the bizarre events of the past day.

Vast swathes of British territory across the globe had simply vanished, or so it seemed. Malaysia and Singapore had disappeared, their armed forces with them except for a few outlying Royal Navy vessels. The Dutch East Indies - not British, but close allies - had disappeared with them. At more southerly latitudes, some strange enemy seemed to have seized the Dominion of South Africa and were pushing north through the British colonies. Pro-fascist, racist white supremacists seemed to be at the heart of the new government.

In North America, Newfoundland seemed to have suddenly regained Dominion status, taking a vast tract of Canadian land with it. Some sort of Quebecois rebellion seemed to be in progress, its supporters suddenly teleported into Quebec from goodness knows where.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the continent, the Soviet Union's leader, Joseph Stalin, had suddenly been replaced by some random Leftie, apparently installed in the Kremlin as leader. However, the Nazi aggressors seemed to maintain their captured territory and continued their war of attrition in the wastes of Russia, Ukraine, and Byleorussia.

Random individual vehicles and vessels from other realities also seemed to have appeared across the world. A panzer tank had been sighted in the Midlands, terrifying the locals before it was apprehended. Interrogation was ongoing, but it appeared that, in whatever world they came from, the forces at Dunkirk had been crushed and Britain occupied. It was likely the reports of a 'Nazi Zeppelin' from Scotland were in some way related to the 'Changing', as the media were calling it. But it was strange. Just a few hours ago, reports had come in from the British government in Cyprus that a vessel identifying itself as part of the 'Imperial Byzantine Navy' had been intercepted and interned.

But now the decision lay before him, and before Parliament, when he met with them tomorrow. What to do about it?

---

TO: Unidentified airship/blimp
FROM: Glasgow Local Council

Identify yourselves, your allegiance and your craft. Do not attempt to land before reporting back, or you will be fired upon.

TO: The Government of Dominion of Canada
FROM: The Government of the United Kingdom

The crisis is known to us and we will do what we can to establish the nature of the 'Changing' affecting our world. Our High Commissioner to Canada, Malcolm MacDonald, will meet with you in Ottawa to ascertain the British response to the sudden conflict in Quebec and the secession of Newfoundland from the Empire as a Dominion.

Michelson, tissue in nose, sat slumped in a chair in the middle of the field where once was a retreating army of Ontarian troops. 'Where the hell did they all go?' he thought to himself, looking down at the fistful of dogtags he had picked up, rubbing his thumb over the maple leaf of Ontario. Vern turned the dog tag over, Pvt. James Harlington it read, he had not heard the name before but he mourned for Harlington, the man who was there one second and gone the next. 

Vern picked out Jame's dog tag and stuffed it in his pocket, discarding the rest respectfully in a pile to his left. Upon getting up and turning around, he saw that his fellow Brigadier General, Craig Patton, was marching over the field holding gauss to his bloody nose.

"What the f*** just happened you Ann-" 

"Annoying Bastard, I know," interrupted Vern as he buttoned up his black leather trenchcoat, he gave the field one final look before settling his eyes on his friendly rival. Patton was a fairly young man as far as brigadier generals went, him and Vern both; he had messy blonde locks and a tall wiery frame, his eyes set with two Amber eyes. Vern on the other hand was a head shorter then Patton and had a thickly set body, a head of fiery red hair atop his dome. "But as to what just happened, I haven't got a clue."

Patton shifted uncomfortably on his foot and looked around, picking up a helmet and chucking it at Michelson's feet, "Don't tell me you don't have a f***ing clue!" he barked, "You're the smart one, the one I rely on to give me an answer when a bunch of F***ing soldiers disappear before my eyes!" he was seething now and all Michelson could do was give him a level look with his watery blue eyes. He put some thought into it, of course he did, it wasn't like he was going to disregard the entire event; Vern stooped over and picked up the helmet, inside was a tuft of hair that had caught on a strap, it flickered, coming into and out of existence randomly before fizzling away. 

"I don't have an answer for you Patton but what I do have are a bunch of clues." upon finishing, he heard a yell from the distance and saw a message runner coming at them, waving a yellow telegram card at Michelson. The boy approached and handed over the message before giving a salute and running back to the trench. Vern turned the card around in his hands, a habit he had developed long ago after forgetting to check a lottery card and missing out on a £1000; he furrowed his brows, the reply he got from the republic was not what he had expected, as close allies he would usually get a straight answer but for some reason it seemed that they didn't trust Newfoundland anymore. This was above and beyond what Michelson was allowed to handle, so he simply forwarded the Ontarian reply to St. John's.

Priminister Lawrence J. Young stood in a dark room, lit by only a few lamps hanging over a conference table, around him were his trusted advisors, young, quick individuals that he much prefered over stuffy old politions. He was analyzing the reports he was getting from the field and was quite perplexed, 'an entire Ontarian Division and an Entire Franco-Montrealan armor division simply vanishing?' he thought to himself and these were briefs sent to him by Michelson and Patton, two people he trusted to not mess with him like this. He slipped his fingers through his grey hair and let out a long, exasperated sigh.

"I'm getting too old for this." he grumbled, envoking a mirthless chuckle from the man by his side. Suddenly a message boy burst through the door panting, it seemed as if he hadn't had a break all day.

"Here. Sir," he panted, "From The Ditch." Young took the telegram from the exhausted runner and scanned through it.

"take a note." he told the runner.

@mrambo90

From: Priminister Lawrence J. Young, St. Johns, The Soverign Dominion of Newfoundland
To: Priminister William Lyon Mackenzie King

I'm not sure who you are Mr. King, or what you've done with President Sirus Connolly but if it is negotiation that you seek then I propose that you come to St. Johns at your nearest convenience, as it seems that both of us have no idea as to what has transpired to get us into this situation.

@Deaddlife

FROM: Volodyna, Office of Foreign Relations
TO: TOS "The Voids Wrath"

Greetings from the People's Republic of Kataylabinsk. We know very little about the USSR you speak of, but we are
equally displaced from our home world and so we welcome you to dock for any services you might require in the port
you would know as Murmansk as a sign of good faith.

___

"The Voids Wrath" had just left the White Sea when this unexpected message came in, furthering the rapidly developing habit of silence among the officers on the bridge. The communication officers and crew on the other hand were abuzz with activity.

"Another displacement? An entire Nation from another world? Can we trust them?"

Whispers spread through the crew like machine-gun fire through paper. It took longer than it should have but silence fell over the crew as the captain took to the deck.

"Men, as you all now know we are not alone in this shifting reality. If a land as mighty as the U.S.S.R. has been displaced then the world itself might no longer be our own. But our mission shall always be the same. We will accept the invitation and dock, all hands are to be in Templar Dress."

Flying the Teutonic flag proudly, TOS "The Voids Wrath" set sail for Murmansk.

"Sir, we have a problem."

The President stared out at the lights of Manila, a bustling and sprawling city filled with modern technology. The city stood out against the inky blackness of the night sky, a lit torch against a black canvas. Standing in an office, behind bulletproof windows with at least five bodyguards around you 24/7 may have taken the immersion away from the scene but for one Miguel Mendoza, it did not effect no longer. In his last year as President, he wanted to enjoy his time until the end of his reign. Unfortunately, this wasn't the case.

Miguel turned towards Vice President Ahad Idram, one of the few men he could trust in the corrupt government of the UFS. Political drama is unfortunately high among the high sectors of the government. People vying for power and their shot to become President. Bribery and assassinations were common though the latter not so much. If found guilty of murder, one could not make enough calls to opt out of the twenty year jail sentence.

Ahad looked grim, nervous even. The normally boisterous man had a bit of dread in his eyes as he looked at the President. "What's the problem, Ahad?" queried Miguel, a concerned expression on his face.

"It seems that we have been..." Ahad paused, seemingly hesitant to say the next words "moved." The President raised an eyebrow and motioned him to continue. "We have been moved from our timeline. It seems that we have been moved to a completely separate and new world, sir."

"And what information have gathered from this, new world?" Ahad took out a folder out of his suitcase, a pathetic amount of documents held inside the brown folder. "This is all we have on this new world." It landed on his desk with a pathetic puff sound.

"This world seems to be the same as our world, we have been placed in the same place that we were in our old world. Other than that, we have also lost contact of our troops fighting in Europe and the Pacific. It seems that all of the troops residing in our territory are fine but any of the troops fighting outside have not been moved on."

Miguel rubbed his beard in thought, turning back to see the light of the city, still bustling with life even through this colossal event, maybe the biggest in UFS history. "I shall make an announcement tomorrow. Send a message to our allies, let us see if they are the same. I wanted it yesterday!" Ahad scurried out of the room to send the message out, leaving the President to give the biggest announcement of his political career.

@Monkeypants

From: The United Federated States Thailand-Philippines-Malay State
To: United States of America

Men of America, we have been displaced from our previous world. We request for assistance and information for this world.

The Declaration of War

Six years prior....

The sun was barely peeking through the trees in this Minnesota morning. The day had started off slowly as the sky still held a see blue and gray tint from the snow storm that night.

From across a white field a young boy ran towards a red barn. "Daniel!" The young boy shouted. "Dan! Momma' been looking for ya!" The boy begs to pant as he reached the barn doors but his deep panting was overwhelmed with the sound of heavy breathing and moaning. "Dan?" He said faintly.

Inside the loft of the barn, two bodies wrestled for dominance atop a pile of hay. "Oh Danny... You know just-- Mmm" a young girl said. His fingers gently tugging on her hair. The twos romantic evening was interrupted by the young boys sudden appearance beside the two. "Hey!"

The startled pair jumped from the ground as the boy began to laugh. Dan tried to held the young girl find her shirt as she held her chest. "Damnit Eugene!" Dan shouted, can't you even knock?!"

December 7th, 1941...

Things were far different in Hawaii, Dan could only laugh as he told the story of Eugene to his comrades inside a airfield barracks. "How was her .. Well ya know?" A soldier asked. Dan cracked a smile and held out his hand, "more than enough, they had-" before he could finish, an explosion sent Dan towards the ground.

Dan stood up and slowly made his way towards the exit only to see smoke billowing from a battleship and tiny black specks diving and whirling about. "Oh shit! Dan shouted as he ran back in for his helmet and pistol.

It was only after the second explosion did the airfields siren begs to wail, prompting men from their bunks. Men flooded towards their neatly parked aircraft. This was a easy feast for the oncoming attackers and with only one pass, most of the parked aircraft were destroyed.

As quickly as the battle started, it seemed to end. After hours of sifting through wreckage, he found the picture of his fiancé Charlotte, the same girl he had toyed with in that barn so long ago.

It was within days that the American war machine were to roar to life and Capt Daniel Winters was one of the first to experience this new world at war.

---------------------

Washington D.C., December 1941.

'From: The United Federated States Thailand-Philippines-Malay State'

Franklin Roosevelt sat pondering what this message was supposed to be. Some thought it to be a joke or Japanese misdirection.

He pinched his nose as he reached for another note, "MacArthur.." He said softly.

"Mr Roosevelt, I am aware of a set of strange circumstances that has lead to this message. I find myself in a predicament.

Three carrier task forces and two marine divisions on maneuvers in Thailand find themselves in a new land. The Japanese attacking pearl harbor.. Russia ceasing to exist as it had.. I must ask, if this had all changed, has my men's home changed as well?"

Roosevelt sat back, seemingly disregarding MacArthur's comments regarding home. "three carriers? Already near Japan?" He strummed his fingers but before he could get a proper thought, an admiral walked in.

"Sir, one of our pacific subs sent word of a new landmass..." He opened a folder and read directly from a paper, "and I quote, "right out of thin fucking air. Had we not been at periscope depth we woulda' hit the damned thing." Sir, what are your orders."

Roosevelt ran his fingers across his brow and took a few breath. "Alright, I want to know who or what is on this new pacific landmass.. Do not let this change our course though, we are at war with the axis powers and must, at all costs, defeat our foes."

The admiral snapped a salute and promptly stepped out. Roosevelt reached for a pen.

@SgtEasy

To: The United Federated States Thailand-Philippines-Malay State
From: The United States of America

Hello allies across the pacific.

If these events are true, that your world has been shot in to ours then I must simply warn you that it is a world full of doom. To your north is an enemy of America, the Japanese Empire whom of recent years had been pressing hard in to Asia.

Their full intentions is unknown but complete dominance of the orient and pacific is clearly among them. I have received word that a sizable American naval force is by some miracle operating in the region. Perhaps this will help deter the Japanese menace from attacking your lands.

Regardless of this deterrent or not, this turn of events is truly strange.. Strange times indeed.

If America was your Ally in some prior time then rest assured that we are here as well.

---In yet another time line---

German Leopard II, 207.
Hannut Belgium, operation Fall Gelb. 1940

It seemed as if the day for lieutenant Koch was going from bad to worse.. Army maneuvers in god forsaken hot weather and now seemingly lost in Belgium? Command would be pissed if they found out.

As Koch popped from his hatch to look around he noticed a change in the air, a cool breeze and soft warm rays of light peaking through white clouds. He closed his eyes but before he could bad in the cool air, he heard the sound of tanks. "Schroeder, turn 40' right. Armor contact!"

As Koch locked the hatch, he looked through the infrared sights to see something he had only read about before, German panzer II's moving between two houses. "Is this some sort of reenactment?"

Schroeder shook his head, "not sure but--" he was interrupted by what sounded like someone beating against the tank with a hammer.

The driver, Meyer, shouted "Under fire, four targets ahead."

Schroeder was quick to bring the mighty 120mm cannon to bear but Koch signaled him to hold fire, "Are those... Hotchkiss tanks?"

The tanks continued to fire until one exploded, causing the others to split. Beside his tank, two of the PzII's rushed by.. Relatively speaking.. Firing in to the French tanks formation.

Koch's mouth opened as he stared at the combat, "what... The fuck."

His bewilderment was interrupted as more clanks from 35mm shells harmlessly bounced off the leopards armor. "Ahead full. Lets scare them off."

The tank took off but before he could turn, the sound of crunching metal could be heard. "oops." Escaped Meyer's mouth as Koch made his way to assess the situation. Ahead French tankers rushed away as their little Hotchkiss was a partial pancake.

Within seconds a group of Samoa's moved from the tree line. As they destroyed the pzII's, Koch ordered Schroeder to fire at one.

When the tanks epic gun fired its 120mm AP round in to the center of the Samoa, the little tank quite literally exploded, sending the turret fifty feet into the air. It didn't end there as the shell had continued through its intended victim and went clean through a retreating Hotchkiss, splitting it nearly in two.

The enemy was quick to retreat and as it ended, a pzIII pulled up aside. A young tanker rose from his hatch prompting Koch to follow. Koch recognized the tanker..

Koch's face went pale and a chill went down his spine as he looked the other tanker in the eyes

"Grandfather?"

|USS Tulsa, Control Car

"Message from Glasgow local council, sir." the Red watch radioman said.
"Go ahead," Cdr. Roy.
"Message reads: Identify yourselves, your allegiance and your craft. Do not attempt to land before reporting back, or you will be fired upon."

The bridge crew stared carefully at their instruments, and not at the skipper.

"Reply as follows:

@IluvatarTO: Glasgow Local Council
FROM: USS Tulsa ZRCV 1

This is United States Navy airship Tulsa, Cdr. Roy E. Owens commanding. We have been ordered to divert to Glasgow by Liverpool. We require 100 ground crew or mooring mast.

The skipper shook his head and gritted his teeth. The bridge crew smiled slightly at the thought that even Cdr. Owens could get screwed over by Naval bureaucratic SNAFU's. Roy was pushing 36 hours awake on only five hours of sleep; technically he was supposed to be asleep right now, but regulations required the skipper to be present for mooring procedures. Not that he would've missed this anyway. As soon as he'd gotten orders to go to Glasgow, he knew something was wrong. It hadn't quite reared its ugly face yet, but it was coming. All this had to happen on the same day that the United States went to war. If the crew had been itching to drop bombs on some Nazi subs before, now it was even worse. Hell, he knew there'd even be talk of going over and fighting the japs in the Pacific, as ludicrous as that idea was. Owens had served in the last days of the Great War, and frankly was more concerned about his men's safety than anything else. Even in peacetime, airships weren't known as the safest ships in the Navy. In wartime, any serious air threat would spell doom, and Cdr. Owens knew it.

If the brits didn't get their asses in gear, he might just fly off to the Pacific anyway.

|Crew Quarters
Don Lipke asked, "So what's in Glasgow, anyway? Girls? Booze?" Roger was staring at the porthole from his rack, knowing Don wouldn't shut the hell up but hoping he might.
"Planning your shoreleave already, shipmate?" the booming bass of the Chief Machinist's Mate sounded from the hatch. Roger instantly tried to make himself look busy sleeping. It didn't matter that he was "sleeping" as much as that he looked busy doing it. When the Chief walks by, you look busy, no matter what.
"Yes, sir," Don said.
"Since you're already awake, you might as well make the most of it," CMM Eddie Forest said, "and clean this compartment up." Roger was very, very busy keeping as still as he possibly could.
"Aye, sir," Don said.
"That goes for you, too, Douglass," Forest said. "Hell," he continued, increasing his volume by a few decibels, "since I think everyone's awake, you might as well all get to work. It's a fine Navy night, shipmates, and I'd hate for us to waste it." Forest pushed the electric light button on the wall panel near the hatch. Once he was satisfied that everyone was awake and cleaning, CMM Forest disappeared down the passageway to his next set of victims.

"Great going, Lipke," Roger said. The entire compartment was glaring at Don.
"He's got it out for me, I swear," Don said.

HMCS Annapolis(104), New Heading North Africa
Captain Monroe looked to the port side of his bridge seeing his original convoy had almost doubled in size and security overnight, due to another convoy that was waiting joined the convoy destined for a full division destined to reinforce the British in Africa. Stress and irritation filled was written across the face of every sailor in the bridge of the Canadian Destroyer. “Captain permission to speak freely, sir.” Asked a sailor that was looking down to the sonar console on the bridge. “ Permission granted.” Replied Monroe as he turned to look at the sailor that returned a guilty look. “Sir, why are we not returning to Canada during this time of crisis going on at home, eh? ” asked the sailor as he looked to the deck at his feet. “ I know that this is a very big kerfuffle at home right now, but if we turned around now and went back to Canada we would wade through u boat infested waters, Britain would fall, and then well were still trying to figure this out we would be hit by the entire Axis and be fighting this war one are door step.” Said Monroe without hesitation as he knew it was not a completely reassuring statement.” Beside are nation will handle this situation and show are allies what Canada can really do.” He said as attempted to lifted some of their spirits but not by much.

From: Prime Minister William Lyon Mackenzie King
To: The Sovereign Dominion of Newfoundland
I would like to solve this matter peacefully and will be heading to St. John with all due haste to begin to figure this matter out,
 and to return Canada’s focus to the War with the enemies of the Commonwealth. We will be coming by air one transport and two escourts,
 no other canadian craft will cross the current border.

Prime Minister William Lyon Mackenzie King
Prime Minister King was in his town car with a pair of assistants sitting his vehicle, as a pair of jeep full of Canadian soldiers escorted him all the way from his manor. The Small convoy came along a hanger where a Boeing 247 was already idling with four hawker hurricanes ready to taxi up the run way. “Well return as soon as possible. “Said King to his wife as he and his assistants climbed out of the vehicle. King his assistants and four armed soldiers hustled to the Boeing and boarded. Engines grew from a a low continues rumble to a loud higher continues roar. Slowly the Three planes climbed higher and higher as they began their journey to Newfoundland.

Second Lieutenant Martin,Campbell "D" Company of the Winnipeg Grenadiers, Kowloon,China
Second Lieutenant Campbell watched through binoculars as unknown troops were moving along a ridgeline between his platoon and the Gin Drinkers line. “Those are the Japanese!” nearly shouted Campbell as he was caught off guard not expecting them there. “Break into sections and form a firing line on the double!” Ordered Campbell as he and his men began scrambling to firing positions stretched across the ridgeline. Shots rang out fired by Japanese from the opposite ridge they impacted all across the ground in front of them or close missies. “Return fire!” Ordered Campbell as he looked down at the opposite ridge through his iron sights and pulled his trigger, his rifle bucked and roared as he fired at the Japanese soldiers. He pulled the bolt back on his Lee Enfield MK III as he had done so many times before in training, sending a smoking used casing spiraling away as he pulled the bolt back, He pushed the bolt back into position chambering a new round in his rifle. Soldiers began opening fire and faster deep guttural roars of Bren Machine Guns joined the small battle on the ridge.

"Captain," a tinny voice whispered through the intercom, "Unidentified sonar signatures detected, please advise." The Captain held down the intercom button.

"Distance and bearing?"

"Multiples, most stationary," from beyond the intercom the captain heard the flicking of nobs, "bearing... 289 degrees, distance 3000 meters." The captain frowned, that was too close for comfort; he did some quick mental maths and figured the unidentified signatures were 14 clicks off of Halifax.

"Keep me posted," he replied, taking his finger off the intercom button and turning to face the cramped interior of his U-Boat, picking up a receiver, he rang for the engine room, "decrease to 5 knots and activate silent running," he felt the vessel slow down.

Captain Henry Monk and his crew were engaging in solitary exercises in the north sea, most of the crew were new and were rotated from the auxiliary naval forces; they were in no position to engage an enemy ship, let alone multiple. Monk dropped the receiver into it's holder and motioned for the pilots attention.

"Up bubble 5 degrees, 1 meter per second to periscope depth." he was being cautious around the unknown fleet, taking measures to decrease his vessel's sonar signature by ascending slowly and turing on the silent running engines. Slowly the U-Boat rose up and the ship released a small groan of relief as the pressure of tons of water above decreased; upon reaching periscope depth monk pulled down the viewer and his frown deepened. A moderate fleet of ships bobbed on the ocean's surface, the distance they were from Halifax unnerved him, they seemed to be flying Canadian colors so he should have not felt all too worried but he couldn't help himself. Monk pushed the intercom button and spoke, "Send a message to naval command."

From: Cpt. Henry Monk, Subpref-12 "The New Brunswick Trawler"
To: Naval Command, Halifax

Canadian fleet spotted 14 clicks off of Halifax. Appearing to be non-hostile. Please Advise.

'So the Canadians want to play like that?' he thought to himself, reading the urgent naval communiqué, he thought they had come for peace but it seemed like they were just as ready to stab them in the back, 'We'll play that game.'

From: Prime Minister Lawrence J. Young, St. Johns
To: Naval Command, Halifax

Naval Command. Post 5 packs to the mouth of The Gulf of Saint Lawrence. Your orders are to stop any Canadian Naval vessels from crossing over to the Montrealan coast. Avoid lethal force.

Somewhere north of South Georgia.
Onboard a fishing vessel.

Phil never liked these trips, fishing for tuna was a bothersome task with a large fishing vessel. With a small skimpy craft like this it was basically a nightmare.
Craft might have been a bit of an overstatement for their boat, some sort of dinghy with a roof on it as best.

Phil's uncle Paul was the owner of the "Valiant trueborn heart". And if he knew how much his nephew really hated his fine vessel he would have the little brat scrub the deck with a toothbrush!
And he would be sad, but Paul would never admit that.
Such a penalty would probably take only an hour or so anyway.

Paul was wrestling with some nets, and while doing so it got caught in his large mustache and comically large wading boots he wore for god know what reason. Phil was the one seeking divine aid for why he had been caught here with his stupid uncle instead of doing something of worth, he could perhaps have joined the army of the empire.
He reclined and dreamed of the red dress uniforms he had seen pictures of, those where the soldiers guarded the palace in London.

His dream of glory was cut short though by a bucket of fish entrails being dumped on his stomach.
-"Stop sittin' there son, we got some fish to catch!!" Paul was ultimately positive, almost at all times. Something which drove Phil even more crazy.

Phil had had enough and begun a heated argument with his uncle, who wouldn't let his lazy nephew dictate what was best for anyone as young as he was.
Phil did have some points though. The small boat had gone far off into the ocean, and was on dangerously deep waters. With only a pair of cods as a catch, one which they had eaten already, to say the 8 day trip had been less than successful was an understatement.

The argument had gotten rather heated when suddenly Paul stopped, and dumbfoundedly stared off into the distant behind Phil.
Phil thought this was some other of his uncles abhorrently poor jokes about seagulls or something and tried to keep his uncle from dodging the topic.
But when his nephew kept blurting on Paul got tired, and without even moving his eyes he took a firm grip with his rugged strong hands of Phil's head and jaw and literally forced him to watch.

Both were gawking, shocked into silence by the leviathan warship only 50 metres or so away.
They only regained their composure when the waves from the massive ship strewn with guns and armour almost tipped the "Valiant trueborn heart" over, and Paul barely held on, especially when he had to catch Phil and keep him from being dragged overboard.

________________________

Onboard Bismarck.

-"Why haven't i been informed?" Kunz Hoehner was fuming. Not only was the sighting report barely made, the Bismarck had almost run the poor thing over as well.

-"Sir.... it appeared as simple debris sir...." a nervous radio officer reported.
Kunz was close to slapping the young officer across the face, but refrained. Partly since letting emotion through was not fleet tradition, and partly he didn't properly have the strength to do so because of his injuries.

-"Imbeciles, idiots." Hoehner muttered, but calmed down.

-"Why didn't the seaplane spot it?" He spat out.

-"Both seaplanes were undergoing routine maintenance." A quick reply came, Kunz didn't even bother to acknowledge who said it, he only shook his head slowly and widely so everyone could see.

-"That thing could have been a mine, or even a submersible Commonwealth Alliance assault craft, and the lookouts assessment of the situation was that it 'might be debris'?" The captains blunt expression was more puzzled than angry now, but his face was still red with fury and to say he was irritated was an understatement.
-"Make sure the lookout reporting this is disciplined, and in the future any strange findings should be reassessed and reassessed before being dismissed. And regardless of what we don't want to be running into it anyway." He kept going, with every word he calmed more and more.

Anger didn't suit him, Kunz knew that. But this situation had been exceptionally poorly executed.

-"So should we open fire upon the vessel?" One of the bridge support staff asked.
Kunz Hoehner just looked upon the officer who had asked the question with a weary tired look. Then he shook his head again.

-"No, just leave it. A civilian boat like this pose no threat to our ship, and we can assume it doesn't have any proper communications equipment to contact the enemy. Just leave it alone, it'll probably sink from our waves alone by the looks of it." Kunz rubbed his face.
-"I'll return to my quarters." The captain spoke in a broken voice, partly because of weariness but primarily because of his poor sleep the last few days.
He left the bridge.

___________________________

On the "Valiant trueborn heart"

The waves almost capsized the fishing trawler.... if you could even call it that.

Paul was scrambling in the cabin, he might be a poor fisherman, but he was a survival nut, and kept a radio at hand at all times.
He radioed home.
The message would doubtlessly go through a multitude of command chain layers, distances and the fact that a unsuccessful fisherman was the one that sent it, but the message goes.

To: the highest authority within the grand empire of great britain, my prideful home.
From: captain Phil Thomas of the Valiant Trueborn Heart.

My vessel has spotted a HUUUUGE!!! Ship! It's the size of two cargo ships, perhaps more, it's so large it even got ships hanging on its sides!
The thing tried to sink us but couldn't manage to hit us with its poorly aimed ram, but i knew it was after me. And i skillfully maneuvered out of the way!

I will be happy to provide all the details possible!

As a strange play of fate, while sitting on the deck with his legs splayed out like a vee and gasping in disbelief, Phil realized that he had the ugliest wolffish he'd ever seen in his grasp.
At least they didn't have to eat more cod, and this was truly a story to bring home.