Proof Through The Night: Yet Another Kill-The-Draka Fic

[ChaserGrey]

While I like the concept of VAH-1 being made up of all foreign expatriates; It's sort of implausible to buy the concept of them being a nuclear attack squadron.

[snip]

But.....since you decided to go with the near-canonical Draka; we can easily throw plausibility out the window in favor of "Cowboys riding Tyrannosauruses with laser rifles." rule-of-cool.

You got it. The Draka-verse, to a degree, is about the Rule of Cool (albeit what Stirling thinks is cool) and larger than life, heroic characters. Unfortunately, most of the cool toys and all the really heroic, larger than life characters are on the bad guys' side. I like to think of myself as redressing the balance.

The Draka aren't the Japanese of 1944 launching at Phillippine Sea with re-warmed over 1940 planes against a task force with 1943+ era aircraft and advanced radars/fighter direction.

I found the following papers in the National Archives II dealing with North American's NA-133 liquid cooled VF proposal -- basically they proposed taking a P-51H and adding a tailhook.

I think that proposal actually got to the point of a modified production Mustang doing carrier suitability testing, but I don't know any details. The Navy was never that enthusiastic about the project- in-line engine, not designed for carrier ops, and worst of all it was an AAF fighter. The true kiss of death...

That makes me wonder -- why Corsairs as VFs? Shouldn't the Reprisal's fighters be some sort of pure turboprop fighter? Take a Bearcat; shrink the diameter of the fuselage some, and put the Allison turboprop in.

Or are all of the Allison turboprops coming off the production line being reserved for STRATEGIC platforms, like the RA-1 Revenant and whatever B-52 concept the USAAF has? Remember that the B-52 was originally concieved around this period.

This gets into the background of the story, stuff I really, really wanted to put in but there just wasn't a way without making the whole thing clunky. Basically, after Yamamoto makes peace in 1944, Roosevelt decides that he's going to nuke the Snakes while they're still little enough to nuke. In order to be ready for March-April of 1945, which is the longest anyone thinks the Europeans can hold out, they need to work really, really fast.

Fortunately, the United States class carriers were, in this TL, already floating around as pretty comprehensive design studies- the Navy had done some carrier raids against Japanese anchorages in '43, and liked the idea of doing it with nukes, so they'd already started taking a serious look at a nuclear-capable VA and a carrier that could operate it. Equally fortunately, they'd based the studies on the large "battle carrier" designs that BuShips had been working on, tentatively called the Midway class. All that meant that when The Word came down they could, by converting hulls already under construction and moving everything to crash priority, get some carriers out there fast enough. United States and Reprisal were done in time. Kearsarge and Crown Point were not. There were a lot of crash projects going on- Allison was working on their engine, Ryan was rushing the Revenant through testing, and so on.

The Snakes did notice, of course, but Roosevelt used the fact that there was still considerable public anger against the Japanese to his advantage. They managed to convince the Snakes that a) the Revenant was running into major development problems and not even close to ready and b) the whole buildup was aimed at Japan anyway. In this version of events, Roosevelt agreed to an armistice because he was afraid that a prolonged war would leave the U.S. vulnerable to the Draka, but that he knew public opinion would force him back into the war shortly. Hence, the attack carrier fleet, to make sure that when it resumed, the war would be over quickly and cheaply for the Alliance.

So what's the point of all this? This is all a rush job. The Americans know that they should have better fighters and especially better air defenses, but they've put all their resources into getting the three components of their operation- the attack carriers, the Revenants, and enough bombs to do what they want to do- ready. They haven't had much spare research capacity for anything else. And even if they had the time to do the design work, you are correct- the turboprops are really in what we would call Low-Rate Initial Production today, and to date they've been coming off the line at a rate just about sufficient to equip the Revenants that are being built. There's enough left over for some experiments, but not enough for another production design.

What I also hope came across in this story is that both carrier and plane are very much interim solutions. There's another generation on the way.

This altitude and speed makes it a swine to intercept. But I can't fault you for trying for the low and fast dramatic route; since it's a change from fly in very high and fast above 90% of defenders story-wise, and allows for GLORIOUS TOSS BOMBING.

You have correctly divined my purpose, sir.

While I can understand the dramatic concept of the head guy in Genoa saying "We're fucked. I'm sorr---"; wouldn't Anti-Aircraft Command (for lack of a better name) in a lot of cities be in a semi-hardened concrete building?

That is true- I tend to think of atomic bombs in terms of multi-megaton city busters, and it does take some effort for me to remember that these are only 50 kiloton jobs. On the other hand, given that the Med is a Draka lake it's possible that the Center was located as far south as possible, since it puts it farther away from the most likely direction of attack (north, from Switzerland or Britain). That would put it right near the harbor and set for 10 psi worth of overpressure according to HYDESim.

Of course you can have them stumbling out of the bunker into the fallout plume and all dying of 10,000 rads

Well, there is that. Let's face it- 50 kilotons anywhere in your immediate area makes for a Real Bad Day.

Also; I like that last chapter you posted. It's pure WIN, although...Poor Spirit of Rio. I was hoping she'd end up in the NASM in a position of glory.

The real veteran warbirds seldom get a happy ending. There are a few preserved, but a lot of museum pieces were Stateside training planes or low-time combat machine- easier to restore and preserve than the real fighting aircraft, which are often beat to Hell as a result of being in all the, well, fighting. The bird in the NASM will have to be another Revenant, perhaps painted in VAH-1 colors up to give museum visitors an idea of what the Spirit would have looked like...

[MKSheppard]

Unfortunately, most of the cool toys and all the really heroic, larger than life characters are on the bad guys' side. I like to think of myself as redressing the balance.

That's one of the things I never got about the canon Drakaverse -- we know that the AfD has a supersonic bomber that has fairly decent range in service by what, 1946-1949 or that rough period.

So what do they use it for? They use it to insert a single agent into norway via a droppable insertion pod in a loud, noisy completely obvious way -- also exposing the true performance of the supersonic bomber to Drakian air defense networks.

Also, if you want to insert an agent, the best way to do it is not by dropping him off from a plane at Mach 1+ -- that way everyone will be headed to the region to look for the evil AfD agent.

No; you have a submarine slowly approach a deserted stretch of coastline and briefly come to the surface long enough for the agent to unload an inflatable rubber raft and motor his way to the shore. Nobody will notice, especially if you only have the submarine surface just enough to barely clear the conning tower from the water.

I think that proposal actually got to the point of a modified production Mustang doing carrier suitability testing, but I don't know any details.

On 16 November 1944, P-51D 44-14017 took off from NAS Norfolk and flew out 1 hour and 45 minutes to the USS Shangri La (CV-38) and landed on her. A tail hook was fitted for this set of trials.

What I also hope came across in this story is that both carrier and plane are very much interim solutions. There's another generation on the way.

Let me guess, the AR-2 with more powerful production engines has replaced the AR-1 on the production lines, and arrives a week after the war is over; while the A2R-1 is flying prototype trials?

You have correctly divined my purpose, sir.

Plus it made for some interesting set pieces and plotting, particularly in the Genoa attack.

That is true- I tend to think of atomic bombs in terms of multi-megaton city busters, and it does take some effort for me to remember that these are only 50 kiloton jobs.

I think the Cold War's height of megaton-mania kind of burned into everyone's brain the concept of the all powerful nuclear device that destroys all (TM) based off the 25 MT devices both sides deployed.

That would put it right near the harbor and set for 10 psi worth of overpressure according to HYDESim.

There was a survivor at Hiroshima named Eizo Nomura who survived and lived until 1982 despite being only 170 meters from the hypocenter. That put him well within the 25 PSI zone, the 100+ cal/cm2 zone, and the 100,000+ rad zone.

Nomura's secret? He got told by his boss to go to the basement to get some documents. He was thus protected from the blast and thermal pulse, as well as a lot of the initial prompt radiation by the 3 foot thick basement ceiling.

He left along with eight other survivors from the building on foot; and he ended up suffering from severe radiation poisoning and almost died. But because he had been sheltered from the initial prompt neutrons and gammas; his immune system was still strong enough to keep him from dying.

The other survivors probably had their immune systems totally destroyed by the prompt radiation as they were less protected than Nomura, so they probably collapsed or were weakened enough to be unable to escape the firestorm since nobody ever saw them again.

The bird in the NASM will have to be another Revenant, perhaps painted in VAH-1 colors up to give museum visitors an idea of what the Spirit would have looked like...

Better idea.

They could have the Spirit's wing and tail assembly on the floor next to the repainted Revenant.

They have something like that at the US AIr Force Museum, with a P-47D Razorback painted in the colors of an aircraft that was shot down/went missing in the Solomons. Next to it, they have the tail assembly of the actual plane, with the faded colors. It's really quite eerie once you realize what you're looking at.

Photo link from when I visited USAFM

This aircraft was donated by Republic Aviation Corp. in November 1964, and it is painted to appear as the Thunderbolt Col. Neel Kearby flew on his last mission.

Recovered from the crash site and obtained by the museum, the actual vertical fin of Fiery Ginger IV is also on display next to the aircraft painted in memorial.

[ChaserGrey]

Let me guess, the AR-2 with more powerful production engines has replaced the AR-1 on the production lines, and arrives a week after the war is over; while the A2R-1 is flying prototype trials?

Ain't that the way it usually goes near the end of a war? And BuShips is working on a bigger carrier design that can both carry attack planes and defend itself. They'll probably finish Kearsarge for an interim strike capability, while Crown Point gets cancelled. Crown Point always gets cancelled, or renamed.

The bird in the NASM will have to be another Revenant, perhaps painted in VAH-1 colors up to give museum visitors an idea of what the Spirit would have looked like...

Better idea.

They could have the Spirit's wing and tail assembly on the floor next to the repainted Revenant.

They have something like that at the US AIr Force Museum, with a P-47D Razorback painted in the colors of an aircraft that was shot down/went missing in the Solomons. Next to it, they have the tail assembly of the actual plane, with the faded colors. It's really quite eerie once you realize what you're looking at.

I remember seeing that...kinda like the idea. Maybe do that for the Naval Aviation Museum in Pensacola? The Smithsonian will probably want Truth, Justice, and the American Way, the only plane to actually survive two atomic bombing missions.

[Darmalus]

One quick question: I do have an idea for a sequel, set about twenty years later as some of the...longer term consequences of what happens here start to trickle in. Any interest in reading that?

Absolutely! I love your writing style, I'll be keeping an eye out for your future works.

[[R_H]]

Very well done!

[Scottish Ninja]

I would love to see a sequel. So far this has been fascinating. Can't wait for the epilogue!

[Edward Yee]

This was awesome as hell as a standalone story, and I haven't even read (nor feel the need to read) the original Draka-verse books! Well DONE. (I'm also happy to say that not ALL of the tech discussion here completely flew over my head.)

[Mayabird]

I should've thought of this before. Mind if I repost this story in C & C?
[line 2]

[ChaserGrey]

Please do! Would it be possible to set the thread so that I can go back and edit the story? There are a lot of little errors here and there that I'd like to clean up at some point. Thanks!

[ChaserGrey]

A/N: Well, here it is. The Epilogue, as a Christmas present to SDN. Hope you all enjoy. And thank you, once again, for coming on this weird and wild trip with me. I'd never have finished if it weren't for the constant encouragement, challenge, debate and throwing of brickbats.

As is the way of most epilogues, this one is about endings. And beginnings.


Eternal Father, strong to save
Whose arm hath bound the restless wave
Who bids the mighty Ocean deep
Its own appointed limits keep
Oh hear us when we cry to thee
For those in peril on the sea

Lord guard and guide the men who fly
Through Thy great kingdom in the sky
Be with them always in the air
In darkn’ing storms or sunlight fair
Oh hear us when we lift our prayer
For those in peril in the air
- Navy Hymn

March 25, 1945 0645 Hours
Aboard USS Leviathan
Northeast of Sicily

USS Reprisal was going. The red rising sun dappled her haze-grey flanks as it rose above the horizon, lighting the crippled carrier. Smoke still poured from her wreck, in the places where Calvin and his engineering gang hadn’t been able to get the fires out before the last vestiges of power and water failed. The great ship was settling onto her side, the outrigger island almost dipped down to the water edge as weakened bulkheads progressively gave in and vented their compartments to the sea. As water rushed in air roared out of the ship in immense gasps, like the dying breaths of a giant.

From the conning tower of the transport submarine Leviathan, Commander Guitierrez watched his ship bleakly. She hadn’t moved since Calvin had cut her power nearly twelve hours before, save to drift with the currents and movements of the tide. They had fought to save her, but in his heart Guitierrez knew that they had all given up hope when her great propellers came to a stop. She had stopped being a ship, then, and become a slowly dying friend whose end could be eased but not averted.

His only consolation was that none of his men were going with her. The wounded had gone onto Riviera, Wickett, and Rolfe by boat, then as many of their comrades as could slide down the ropes and onto their decks. The destroyers had left for Gibraltar along with the crippled Altoona hours before. The rest of his crew had gone onto Leviathan, her sisters Kraken and Sea Serpent, and the converted Japanese floatplane carrier subs I-401, I-402. and I-403. Guitierrez had been the last one to leave her decks, twenty minutes before, and now Kraken and I-402 were hurriedly pulling the last of the swimmers out of the water. The message they’d gotten from Washington a few hours before said the Snakes in this area had thrown in the towel, but nobody wanted to be the one to test that.

As Guitierrez watched, the Kraken’s crew hauled the last man aboard and the massive submarine swung around, heading west with the equally large Japanese boat in tow. Their crews hustled the last rescued men below and hurried below, ready to submerge at the first sign of an enemy plane.

“It’s time.” Leviathan’s Captain lowered his binoculars and looked over at Guitierrez, who slumped forward against the bridge rail. The last of his men were aboard, the day was coming with the threat of Draka bombers. And Guitierrez, who had been Reprisal’s captain for fifteen hours, had one last duty to do by her. He picked up the bridge phone, already set for the control room, and spoke in a flat voice.

“Fire one.” He paused. “Fire two. Fire three. Fire four.” With each number, Leviathan shook as she fired a Mark 14 torpedo at the doomed carrier. An eternal three minutes later, four white geysers of water sprouted along her flank, carving a new rent in her side. The red rays of the morning sun traced up along Reprisal’s side as she rolled over, and then with a final loud rush of air disappeared beneath the sun-washed waves.

Commander Guitierrez came to attention and saluted as the last of his ship disappeared. A moment later Leviathan’s captain helped him below, holding his elbow and steadying him as he would an old man who had just watched a dear friend pass away.

Men make history, and not the other way around.
– Harry S Truman

March 25, 1945. 0700 Hours Local Time
The White House, Washington, D.C.

“The situation looks like it’s firming up, Sir.” Captain Weatherly’s voice was raw and cracked, but he wouldn’t have missed delivering this briefing for the world. “The Draka forces in Europe look like they’re either trying to break through to von Shrakenberg’s enclave and join the capitulation, or they’ve decided to fight and die where they stand. They’re spread-out enough that we think the surviving European resistance bands can oblige them. Africa’s a mess, but it looks like most of the Citizen population is trying to withdraw back into Abyssinia Province. We project that the Draka will be able to hold a big enough perimeter there to keep their serfs from lynching them all before they can evacuate. The rest of the continent is sliding into chaos, Sir. We’re going to need massive food and reconstruction aid for both Africa and Europe if we’re going to avoid mass death by famine, never mind getting some kind of actual society working there. The Draka don’t look like they’re leaving much behind.”

“As we anticipated.” Franklin Roosevelt’s voice was weak, but clear. “The aid convoys?”

“First ones have already sailed under escort, Sir. But it’s going to take more than a few care packages. We’re talking about a major sustained effort here.”

“A major sustained giveaway.” Congressman Carl Vinson grimaced from his place in the corner. “Billion of dollars, if not trillions, to get these places on their feet. Are you sure some sort of loan-“

“Loans only work with people who have money to pay them back.” Vice President Truman’s voice was dry. “The people in those places aren’t going to have any in the forseeable future. Besides, it’s not about money.” Vinson opened his mouth, but Truman held up a hand. “It’s about making sure those places don’t fall into chaos. If we don’t start fixing it now, they’ll be spawning new problems for us in fifty years. Or the Japanese will step in and help them.”

“So? They’re our allies.”

“Against the Draka, Congressman. The Draka are gone.” Truman almost snapped that last, but quelled when Roosevelt held up a hand.

“Carl, Harry's right. The Draka are taken care of, or will be once we finish staking their Snake hearts out in the sun. But we have to start thinking about what comes next.” He leaned back in his chair, taking a deep, shaky breath. “We have to start thinking about the rest of this century. Now, about those holdouts.”

“Yessir.” Weatherly looked down at his notes, glad to be back on solid ground again. "A couple cities in the Draka Police Zone have announced continued resistance, but with massive uprisings and no help coming from the outside we project they'll be unable to hold. The situation in Asia Minor is more worrying. The leading figure there seems to be a high-ranking Security officer named Louise Gayner. She has denounced von Shrakenberg as a traitor to the State and Race and called on Draka forces to rally to her in Syria Province. Turned their chemical weapons loose on any serfs that even looked at them crossways, and they appear to be planning a massive civil defense program. They mean business, Mister President.”

Roosevelt shrugged, and coughed. “We always knew there’d be irreconcilables. Admiral King?” Ernest King nodded.

“My preference would be to hit them as soon as possible, Mister President. We could look at land-based bombers, but that’s a stretch even if we can talk the Swiss into letting us station some B-29s from their territory. Setting up The Taos Project is moving to series production, but it’ll be a while before we have any more atomic weapons.

“I’d say we wait six months. Harass them in the meantime, launch carrier raids, take care of the other Draka to make sure nobody else gets any bright ideas, and gather our forces. By September or October, Kearsarge should be through her trials. Then we’ll load both United States and Kearsarge up, send in the regular carriers after them, and land Marines or Army troops to finish the job.”

“Make it so.” Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Truman nodding as well. Roosevelt leaned back and closed his eyes. “Anything else, Captain?”

“Uh, yessir. One item.” Weatherly flipped his papers over and brought up a message slip. “This came in from the Japanese embassy just now. Prime Minister Yamamoto sends his congratulations, and a suggestion for your speech announcing the events of the past couple days.” Weatherly cleared his throat and read, keeping an absolutely straight face.

“Yesterday, March 23rd, 1945, a date which will live in history, the Domination of the Draka was suddenly and deliberately attacked by air and naval forces belonging to the United States of America…” Roosevelt’s chuckle cut him off.

“Very good. Captain, please convey my compliments back to the Prime Minister, and remind him that no one likes a smartass.”

Weatherly grinned. “Can do, Sir.”

“Thank you.” Roosevelt tilted his head back back. “Gentlemen, if there’s nothing else I must ask you to excuse me. I find that I am very, very tired.” After they had gone, he remained in the office, looking out the window at Washington. It was spring, and soon the cherry trees would be in bloom.

“So very tired,” he repeated. “The job done at last, the danger all passed, and I am so very, very tired…”

That was how they found him, an hour later, slumped over in his wheelchair. There was shock, of course, and dismay, but not so much as there might have been. One of the White House staff went to fetch the President’s doctor. Another for his wife Eleanor. Another called Vice President Truman, and then the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court.

My father and I had been separated by a great dark river, ever since he cast me on its waters as a child in the hope that there would be a better place for me on the other side. As an adult, I had sought to know him as best I could from the other bank, peering out into the gloom for a hint of something that would let me fill out the bare sketches of memory I had.

Then that river vanished in nuclear fire. The Domination that regarded me as an escaped serf was gone. And in the terrible bright light of that new day, I found that I could walk across the blasted, dry riverbed and look my fill. I could look into his eyes, touch him, examine in the minutest detail what I had fought for so long to glimpse. And though the way was long and dangerous, I also knew that, perhaps for the first time in his life, he might need me.

So it was that I came to my father’s house.”
- From “Daughter to Darkness: A Life” by Anna von Shrakenberg

June 3rd, 1945 1200 Hours
Draka Citizen Force Enclave, La Spezia, Italy

Eric von Shrakenberg stood at the bottom of the gangway and faced the trio of hard men who had come to see him off. Two of them had skin black as eggplants, shaved heads and the expressions of wary lion-dogs, while the third had the swarthy skin and black hair of a Turk but the same expression. Serf number tattoos stood out on all their necks. Their names were Mboya, Kuntu, and Assad. Ten weeks ago each had been a Janissary Master Sergeant, the senior subject-race man in a division. Now they were the ruling junta of the mass of ex-Janissaries encamped around La Spezia, waiting their turn for the evacuation ships. Eric nodded to them, receiving no gesture in return.

“Gentlemen.” He swept his eyes over them warily. “As yo’ are all aware, this is the last Citizen Force evacuation ship. With my departure here, the La Spezia enclave will be yours for whatever purpose you see fit.” He grinned ferally. “Thank yo’ for helping me keep our little powder keg from exploding for the past months.”

“Save it, von Shrakenberg,” rumbled Master Sergant Mboya in a voice deep and rumbling enough to be an earthquake. “If you’d had a little less of that nerve agent, of if we’d had any suits, we’d have marched right in here and stuck poles up all your asses. Let yo’ Masters-“ he loaded that word with more contempt than Eric had ever heard, enough to scorch the air- “see what it’s like to get Abdul the Turk’s lovin’.” Sergeant Assad grinned at that. Eric felt his own smile widen.

“Well, that is why we didn’t give yo’ any in the first place. In any case, missed yo’ chance, hey?”

“You think so?” Master Sergeant Kuntu had a slightly more singsong voice, that spoke of a childhood spent speaking mainly Swahili. “You’re not going far, von Shrakenberg. Just to Madagascar, right next door to our new homes.”

Master Sergeant Assad took up the thread. “You are safe for now, Snake. The Americans have spared you, and now we must get our own houses in order with their aid. But make no mistake. You Draka have written out a long, long account for yourselves these past two centuries. In five years, in ten, in twenty or in fifty- we will be here. And we will come to collect. From you, and the traitors you take with you.”

“Well.” Eric shrugged. “I can’t help it if some of yo’ people decided to take my offer of Metic Citizenship to stay with the men and women they felt a bond to. And in five years, or ten, or twenty…I’ll worry about it then. Maybe the horse will learn to sing.” The Master Sergeants had no answer to that, and he thought he saw a flicker of respect- however grudging- on their faces. Best to leave before they thought of some way to even the score.

“Good day, gentlemen.” With that, he turned and trotted up the gangway. The Odysseus had been a passenger liner before the war, plying the Mediterranean and Atlantic under the Draka commercial flag. Now, along with anything else left floating under Draka colors and a good number of ships on loan from the Americans, she was taking Draka from the remaining enclaves in Italy to their exile on Madagascar. Other ships were shuttling between ports on the east coast of Africa and Madagascar, making much quicker trips but moving so, so many more people. Even after all those killed in the nuclear bombings, in the riots and uprisings and breakdown of transport and industry after, there were still enough Draka left that they’d be hard pressed to make Madagascar feed them.

Well, they’d have to.

He stayed on deck to watch the undocking, then took a commander’s privilege to commandeer the observation platform above the navigation bridge to watch Italy and his people’s shattered dreams of conquest and rulership vanish into the distance. That was where Sophie found him, a bottle in hand.

“Eric.” She sat down next to him, wrapped her arms around him. “What’re yo’ doin’ up here?”

“Drinkin’.” His voice was only minimally slurred. “Toastin’ the end of the Domination. Whatever we make where we goin…it won’t be the Domination. Can’t be.” He lifted the bottle. “Drink wit’ me? Last of a good vintage.” It was, too- Oakenwald Kijaffa, 1944, the last there would ever be. This year’s crop of cherries had died from the fallout off the Archona bomb, and Oakenwald had burned to the ground.

Sophie shook her head. “Love to. Can’t.”

“Can’t?” Eric looked over at her, one blond eyebrow arched. “We off duty til we get to Madagascar, Decurion. Even were the Yankees inclined to let me command anyone or anything, we not set up fo’ it here. Once we land on Madagascar they talkin’ about dragooning me into running the whole show, and that oughta be two full time jobs fo’ the rest of our days.” He pushed the bottle under her nose. “C’mon. Drink wit’ me to the end of Empire.”

“Thor God of Thunder.” Sophie batted the bottle away, her eyes blazing with that familiar annoyance as she stood, hands on hips, looking down at him. “Eric, I swear that sometimes yo’ are the densest, most oblivious human bein’ on the planet. How yo’ made it through childhood without you stepped on a black mamba snake lookin’ up at the clouds is a mystery to me.” When he still looked puzzled, she leaned down. “I can’t drink, Eric.” Further. “Been throwin’ up in the mornings, Eric.”

Now his face probably looked like he’d been hit between the eyes with a baseball bat. “Yo’ mean you-“ Sophie giggled.

“Well, it does happen, Strategos, when two people do what we been doin’ these past four years. Hope I don’ have to explain that part to yo' too.” Eric goggled for a minute, then did the only thing that came to mind. He stumbled up to one knee and looked up at her.

“Sophie, will you marry me?”

She looked up Heavenward. “Mother Freya, now he asks. I thought I was goin’ to have to thump him over the head, drag him to the altar, an’ make it a Holbars wedding.” Then she looked down at him and smiled, warm and genuine before they tumbled down together in a comfortable heap. “Of course I will, Eric.”

He raised the bottle and took down the last swallow of brandy from his father’s plantation. The other drinks had been to the past. This one was to the future, as Odysseus sailed into it.

For conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity above and beyond the call of duty while assigned to Heavy Attack Squadron One, United States Navy on March 23rd-24th, 1945. On the first night of the war Commander Rosemont’s dynamic and inspiring leadership was instrumental in allowing his crew to destroy a heavily defended enemy target crucial to the success of the overall strike effort. After returning to his ship and finding himself the senior officer among his squadron’s survivors, Cmdr Rosemont unhesitatingly assumed command and lead his men through the day of enemy air attacks that followed. That night, he devised an attack plan to penetrate enemy air defenses and then personally lead his squadron on a mission that resulted in the destruction of the last enemy-held port in Europe. Commander Rosemont’s skill, courage, and outstanding combat leadership were in the highest traditions of the Naval Service.
-Citation accompanying award of Medal of Honor to Commander Julius Rosemont, USN.

August 9th, 1948
Philadelphia Naval Shipyard, United States

Commander Julius Rosemont stood at attention on the review stand, under the great grey bulk of the ship that he knew would be his home for the next several years. Around him, dressed like him in their frost-white tropical uniforms, were the men of the reconstituted VAH-1. Saint-Laurence and his crew were still there, and one or two of the replacement crews had moved up to the regulars and could still talk about those terrifying days in the Mediterranean aboard the old Reprisal. The rest were new. Some had flown with the Harbingers of VAH-2 in MONGOOSE or against Gayner’s holdouts in ’46, but most of them were new recruits or transfers from other branches of the service. One or two foreign volunteers here and there, but those that had survived MONGOOSE had mostly been quietly encouraged to leave the Service in the months afterwards.

For a moment, the sight made his vision waver. Applebaum. Dortmunder. Yarrow. Quint Flannery. They all deserved to be here more than he did. Where were they?

Gone. He knew that. And the only thing one Julius Rosemont could do about it was to soldier on and make that fact worth something.

He relaxed slightly, letting his weight onto his heels at parade rest. The ceremony was almost over, and he caught Kenichi Fujita’s eye among the black-suited Japanese Navy officers in attendance. Ever irrepressible, Fuji winked and gave his old pilot a grin. Rosemont stifled an answering smile, and just nodded his head. Relations between the U.S. and Japan might be worsening every time you opened a newspaper or read an intel bulletin, but tonight none of that would matter. Tonight they’d go out, paint the town, and just remember.

The new commander of VAH-1 turned his attention back to the speaker. He didn’t want to miss this part. Mrs. Maura Applebaum was speaking to the crowd. She gave the crowd a smile, and Rosemont smiled to himself. She really was doing better. He’d made sure of it, before allowing her to accept this. Applebaum had been one of his, and VAH-1 looked after its own. He’d made it a point to let all the new men know that.

“…and so I am pleased to launch this new ship, to take up the work my husband began. I know that he would have been proud to serve on her, the first of a new type of aircraft carrier able to perform every mission. A larger carrier. A super carrier.

“But I know you didn’t all come here to let me talk, so let me get on with it.”

The ship’s sponsor lifted her bottle of champagne and swung it in a wide arc. The glass shattered on the supercarrier’s grey steel bow, and over the roar of the crowd Rosemont could barely hear her voice as its immense hull slid into the river.

“I christen thee Reprisal!”


Coda

It is rarely given to we mere mortals to know when a great age in our history has passed, and a new one begun. Usually history is a slow process, like the upthrusting and wearing away of mountains, and we can only see its ebb and flow from the safe distance of decades or centuries.

The passing of the Domination of the Draka was not one of those times. In two nights and one day, an empire that had spread itself over more than a third of the planet and promised to seize much more died. We all know what came after- the Hard Years, the chaos and famines, the pointless wars as new nations carved themselves out of the corpse of the Domination. But I believe we think too little about those two nights, and the dozen or so airplanes, that levered the world onto a different course.

Oh, we sentimentalize, and wrap it in Hollywood glamour, but we don’t think. We don’t think about an entire continent crushed under a boot, and the promise of more to follow. And we don’t think of a people- my people- caught in a web of terrible choices and crimes that had forced them on a never ending cycle of conquest, oppression, and human misery. We don’t think of all the human beings wasting their potential as slaves or slavemasters, and of the few dozen men who woke them from two centuries of nightmare and gave them the one thing they thought they would never have. Choices.

They must have made a mighty roar, those Allison turboprops, thundering over the Mediterranean and the African veldt that night. They must have, for their echoes have yet to vanish from this Earth.”
-Yolande Ingolfsson, Nobel Prize in Literature Lecture, 1984

[Pelranius]

Bravo! An excellent Christmas gift!

I course await the results of your next endeavor, and thank you.

[MKSheppard]

A pretty bitchingly awesome chapter. So I guess the Reprisal is this timeline's ENTERPRISE or SHILOH?

How much priority did the ATOM BOMB project get in this timeline? By September 1945, the plan was for one device every ten days, or three a month. I would imagine though that there are just too many Domination armies in the field and dispersed -- presenting poor targets -- that bomb useage against them would be constrained by the need to drop three or more bombs to blast a hole in an army's positions...

[ChaserGrey]

A pretty bitchingly awesome chapter. So I guess the Reprisal is this timeline's ENTERPRISE or SHILOH?

Not sure what you mean, but in design the Reprisal class is closer to the OTL Forrestal class. Their mission is similar to the Forrestal's as designed- a carrier capable of both nuclear strike and other missions. The Reprisal class is eventually going to be four units- Reprisal, Alliance, Renown, and Constellation, mated with the Ryan A3R Retaliator attack bomber. More on those in the sequel.

How much priority did the ATOM BOMB project get in this timeline? By September 1945, the plan was for one device every ten days, or three a month. I would imagine though that there are just too many Domination armies in the field and dispersed -- presenting poor targets -- that bomb useage against them would be constrained by the need to drop three or more bombs to blast a hole in an army's positions...

Slightly lowered by the diversion of effort into the new planes and carriers, but they're up to around a bomb a month, ramping up to two soon. With a six-month wait they should have a stockpile of around ten weapons to go after Gayner's crowd- which could all fit on one United States CVA, but you don't want to put all your eggs in one basket. What I have pencilled in to happen is atomic bombardment followed by either landings around Joppa or Damascus, or a land assault up from a base in Egypt. Plus, of course, conventional carrier bombings, strategic bombers, &c. It'd make an interesting campaign, although I don't currently plan to write the story.

[MKSheppard]

Not sure what you mean

Well, in real life; you had the Enterprise become the fightingest ship in the WWII navy; and when she was scrapped, they gave her name to CVN-65; and I assume that when CVN-65 is decommissioned, we'll see her name given to CVN-79 or CVN-80.

In TBOverse; the USS Shiloh, a Midway class carrier is sunk on the last day of the war after doing a run in to launch strikes on France -- the Shiloh name is given to a CVAN, and then later in the far future, to a space-borne mobile dock ship.

So am I correct in assuming that there will always be a USS Reprisal?

[ChaserGrey]

Not sure what you mean

Well, in real life; you had the Enterprise become the fightingest ship in the WWII navy; and when she was scrapped, they gave her name to CVN-65; and I assume that when CVN-65 is decommissioned, we'll see her name given to CVN-79 or CVN-80.

We'd better, though I've heard ugly rumblings that CVN-79 might be the USS Barry Goldwater. Please don't ask what I think of current USN ship naming, the response is likely to be long and profanity-laden.

In TBOverse; the USS Shiloh, a Midway class carrier is sunk on the last day of the war after doing a run in to launch strikes on France -- the Shiloh name is given to a CVAN, and then later in the far future, to a space-borne mobile dock ship.

So am I correct in assuming that there will always be a USS Reprisal?

Ahhhhhh. See, that's what I was missing- I know TBO of course, and part of my inspiration for this was to do "TBO for the Navy", though I had an easier job due to Drakaverse handwavium. But not in enough detail to know about Shiloh.

(Funnily enough, I had USS Shiloh pencilled in as a Reprisal class battle carrier. Was that a deliberate Flight of the Intruder reference?)

But to answer the question: yes. As long as I have anything to say about it, there will always be a USS Reprisal. I think USS Renown will also enter into the list of oft-used names, in honor of HMS Renown's heroic sacrifice. There is precedent for that, with USS Canberra. While I'm at it, there will always be an Enterprise, a Yorktown, a Lexington, a Saratoga, and an England in this TL's USN.

[MKSheppard]

Please don't ask what I think of current USN ship naming, the response is likely to be long and profanity-laden.

Hey, I've actually ranted to the staff at the US Navy's History and Heritage Command over this. Sadly, all they can do is "recommend" what a name should be for a warship. The politicans and appointees in SECNAV's office can (and have) overruled them.

I did suggest a way to short circuit the insanity back in Summer of 2010:

So I was in the NHHC's Photograph Archives today; and I was discussing warship names with Chuck Haberlein, who works the desk there (he retires next month; and he was one of the guys who went out with Ballard on his Midway expedition to find Yorktown); after I had found a binder full of SECNAV name promulgations on a shelf. What it was doing in the PHOTOGRAPH ARCHIVES...I have no idea.

But anyway, I suggested the best way to show how stupid all of this had gotten lately was for the Naval Historical and Heritage Command to write a letter stating:

We at the Naval Historical and Heritage Command have unamiously, after discussion, decided that it should be proper that CVN-79 (UNNAMED) be named USS RICHARD M. NIXON, due to his service in the U.S. Naval Reserve, where he rose to the rank of CDR before becoming the 37th President of the United States.

If this name is not to the liking of SECNAV; we have a list of alternates:

CONSTELLATION
RANGER
ENTERPRISE
SARATOGA

Chuck literally nearly spewed the drink of water he was taking at that moment all over his computer, before he managed to restore sanity.

[iborg]

Just read the last 3-4 updates. Well done ! No I'm not talking about Draka meat
The epilogue was moving as well and sets things up for further adventures, which I'll gladly read if they ever materialize.

[ChaserGrey]

Just wanted to drop a note and let everyone know that the story has been moved over to C&C after some last-minute edits. Nothing big, mostly some formatting and continuity fixes with a couple rewordings when something looked pretty awkward. So, be sure to stop by there for all your nuked Draka needs, and stand by for sequel.

[Thirdfain]

Bravo on your masterful work! I look forwards to the sequel. It's rare to see a fic that's

A: Worth reading
B: Winds up getting finished
and
C: Takes less than a million years to get finished.

Congratulations- an engaging tale.

[ChaserGrey]

Okay, this is lots and lots of thread necromancy, and for that I apologize, but I think it's relevant. Some nice folks started talking about this fic over on AlternateHistory.com, and at their request I've started posting some notes and background material on this fic, some of which never made it into the final product. If anyone is interested, you can check it out at http://www.alternatehistory.com/discuss ... p?t=248340 .

Mods: If this is too much necro, feel free to delete and slap my wrist- just, please, let me know what a more appropriate way of posting this would be?