"You and your Tea." Wagner rested his back on the red cushioned seat, "I have no idea the importance of your national greatness. What tea is to me is what you think the French are. You create disdain for the french, there is plausible reason for it I believe, and tea, for my part; has created disdain for it's the only thing you offer me everytime I visit you or when we meet; 'a pot of tea?'" he added sarcastically.
Atten chuckled silently, looking out towards the river Thames. London and it's depressing grey self. The overcast sky made even him gloomy. "Speaking of Tea." Atten turned around, "the Americans and the French will be here at any second, I believe they'll arrive by afternoon. Oh, by goodness is it twelve o'clock."
"Ah! That. That conference of sorts?" Wagner seemed irritated, "I can't understand it between us four countries, we're stricken in this Naval Race, I bicker with the French and the Americans are merely there for they are… There. What are the Americans here for anyway? Don't they only make coastal warships? They crossed the atlantic ocean? I doubt they could make it."
"Don't be so harsh to them, they're the only population on mother earth whoms't harbors women with the biggest breasts I've ever laid my eyes upon."
"You lecherous man." Wagner laughed, "I've yet to see one myself, but a Yankee; I should suppose they carry great assets. Truly sorry, my eyes have only seen one woman with great breasts, she was my withering aunt!"
With the room exploding with laughter, Atten weakily made his way to his cushioned red chair. "Oh, but listen. And this is… Serious."
"Go ahead."
"What is the conference about?"
"Oh, you haven't the faintest clue?" Wagner cried, "dear me, you depress me."
"Please. Please tell me."
He cleared his throat. "I the German, you the English; then the French and American. I doubt we'll hold a meeting of sorts, only that after a day or so, we'll be out to the North Sea doing drills and whatnot. It's also a way for us to showcase our powerful navies! Oh, I wish to see the Oregon! I hear the Americans have certainly created a beautiful battleship."
"But is it not power we look for?"
"Yes, power is tantamount to each ship's success. But by goodness, if a ship is ugly, you will not see me anywhere near it, and even if it were decreed by the family that I command a ship which looks terrible, I will commit treason and flee the fatherland."
Atten sighed with a smile forming wrinkling his face.
Before either of them could spout another word, a trumpet blared from outside. It's distinct, almost blurred-out sound invited them to check from Atten's window. They looked down, their eyes sharply staring at the approaching men in their naval uniforms. "It's our guests I believe." Wagner remarked, "it's best to get going, Atten."
"Aye, Admiral."
( * )
The Americans and French had arrived at the same time, both in their flamboyant warships. Arriving so fully decked and ceremonious-like, the French and their Suffren! With half of it's crew displayed on starboard side for the crowd that gathered to see the ship in action and steaming in the Thames. A slight bow, then a swift march; her crew and the ship docked with grace. Anchoring themselves on the shabby royal port.
There were a mix in the crowd, all sorts of audiences from all sorts of European countries. Making up the majority of the crowd were the journalists and the retired sailor.
Oh, how marvelous was the Suffren and it's battery. Two twin turrets stationed aft and bow, so powerful was it's metal salute. The two barrels itself commanded a sort-of silence for the crowd to ogle in it's gaze.
Not to mention it's sillhouete, the two funnels, and the casements of the Suffren's secondary battery. Oh! How wonderful of a ship!
But, stealing the attention was the USS Oregon. Making trails in the water with it's pale hull. So contrasting to the grey, the darkness of the Suffren's hull. Oregon's hull didn't have that French tumblehome, it was sleek and nice looking. The English delighted in it's design. The Germans commented on it's engineering and appearance. "Sehr gut." They complimented in silence.
The Oregon's pan-looking main turrets. It's blackened barrels; were so elegant and as daunting as the Suffren's. It's symmetrical balance was beautiful, and it's golden top really made it a sight in the overcast and not-so-great-looking London and it's bleak river.
The two had docked much the same way, the Americans had not added the sparkle as did the French had, but it was respectable. It's two admirals were the first to step on the royal dock. The Suffren; Pais and the American Bundle. The two of them were equally proud of the ships they were commanding and equally burdened by the pressure the conference had for their whole entire country.
"See," Wagner started as they were nearing courtyard. "If the French and Germans were to get along, we could avoid a conflict. But sicne the time we took some of the French territory, everything's seems to have been going down hill for the two of us. The whole continent, Atten, is going down hill. Yet I can't quite put my hand on it."
"Because you don't like reading the newspaper." Atten replied in jest, "neither do I. I have not the time to." He smiled.
The two servants opened the doors to the courtyard. It was of a royal granduer; this courtyard. Greenery was trinkled in every which crevice possible, as pieces of royal modernity creeped in with white polished walls, the whole courtyard had an abundance of maids working, cleaning, dusting off the dirt that was being trampled upon on the main path.
There was a big gazebo at the very middle of this courtyard. Supported by four roman pillars, a simple dome as it's roof. And wooden steps for it's only four comfortable seats.
Admiral Bundle rose up to greet them, "good Afternoon." He shook both his hands. But Pais did not give the both the same hospitality. "You are Sir. Atten, you helm the US…" -he slurred his words- "the HMS King Edward, truly a magnificent ship from the little time I've view of it from it's port."
"Yes, thank you Sir Bundle."
"Ah, excuse me; it's pronouced with an ü."
"You are American are you not?" Jokingly added by Wagner, sitting down next to him, taking the initative from Atten.
Begrudgingly, Atten sat next to Pais.
The whole environment was calming, a maid came with a tray of tea and it's teapot. It was Jasmine, the aroma of the tea was soothing as it left the pot and entered into the four cups the maid prepared for the four of them. But, in this serenity, there was a growing tension.
"This convention, the naval drills we will conduct," Wagner started, taking a sip of the tea. "It will be for the betterment of our relations. However… Sour. However not sour. This is to improve our comraderie between and within the sea."
"Pardon me for saying," Bundle said. "But I was informed that the Japanese would be taking part."
"Ah, the Japanese! Close brothers, they and we Germans." Wagner smiled, "I did hear of that also, but I do not think they will be able to come. But I have seen their triumph over the Russians, maybe they are safeguarding their territory. The Russians be cunning at times, even if they are very much so incompetent."
"Thank you." Bundle overjoyed, took a sip of Jasmine, complementing it's flavor.
"Now." Pais finally murmured. "To get to the body of the whole thing. What will happen after?"
"After?" Atten laid back on his seat, "that, that we don't know. We'll never know."
Pais grunted. "We will voyage tommorow dawn? I would want to get a look of the Oregon first. And the HMS King Edward. I am merely intrigued of the creation thereof."
"Sure." Wagner agreed, "you may do that for the time. There is still a whole day ahead of us. But, in the meanwhile, I would like to reinforce the fact that us four navies will only voyage with our battleships. The use of any other warship in our voyage will be seen as… Unseeming. And the whole drill there-after will be canceled."
They (excluding Pais) nodded.
The maid, standing there with a smile; "Would you like another cup of tea?"
( * )
"I cannot get it out of my head, this… This image will last a lifetime." The photographer shot from the bridge the line of battleships steadily steaming ahead and exiting the river Thames.
The column started with the biggest of the four; the HMS King Edward. Followed the Deustchland (by the french's despair). Then the Suffren before the Oregon. By that time, by that era; the Thames was probably the most protected it could have ever been. The passenger liners to the merchants ships all scooted over to make way for the four giant battleships making their way out of the Thames.
As if it were an imovable wedge, a scissor cutting through paper, everything was moving away from them in their presence, so damning and powerful. For the people, his people watching them, Atten ordered for the ship's horn to be blasted.
The great blast!
"The queef of the ship!" Laughed the English joyously!
It was a resounding, powerful sound.
Their departure was immortalized in so many journals, newspapers, books, novels, and more so from word of mouth. Four great battleships, equally powerful in their own rights. Even if one was slower, even if the one was stronger. With those four on the seas, they were equally strong, they were equally powerful, and they were equally fast.
Soon the ships were nearing the end of Thames' estuary. The river widening, so wide that it could be equal to a sea. "We've past East Tibury, it'll be only a straight path ahead to the North Sea from here thereon!" Atten joyfully commented. "We'll be headed to this Holland city, at the mouth of the Frisian islands, I measure in a three-twenty kilometers on the map. So that's a whole nine hours of journey to our stop."
"The Norwegians, sir?" The quartermaster questioned. "I would like to buy some of their tea and biscuits, I've heard they were quite well for my distinct palate."
"Your palate is as fine as fish's taste," chuckled Atten. "But sure, we'll be there for a long time anywho."
"To refuel sir?"
"No, the French and the Germans wish to see their ship one last time before we depart for the North Sea, it'll be a party. We'll be there half a week I presume."
"I see sir. Thank you."
"Please bring me some tea, as well. Thank you."
"Yes sir." The quartermaster left the wide bridge of the HMS King Edward, Atten himself leaving the wheelhouse to bask in the wide blue North Sea. He looked sternwise, the black smoke filling the sky from front till back of this straight formation. The three ships aft were postioned in such a way that when viewed with Atten's binoculars, could he see the bridges so evenly aligned, seeing the distinctions of the American's smaller bridge and the German's appealing white one.
But, brewing in the horizon bow-wise. Atten couldn't help but feel unerved, it was a bad omen, it was also bad that there was a storm ahead in all literal forms. "Fly the storm flag!" Atten cried, looking at the officer.
Not a second after, the quartermaster from before came back up onto the bridge, "your tea, sir."
"Ah, thank you."
A sailor reeled in some ropes and dangles, supporting the hurricane flag of the Royal Navy. Though Atten was unsure if the Americans would understand the flag, but he trusted Admiral Bundle to understand, for he looked to have partly european features defining his face.
Splashes of water were sprinkling onto Atten's tea, then basking his face. His eyes caught the fortress of Garrison Point, they weren't out of the estuary yet, still merely coming into the big open vastness of the North Sea. He sighed exhausted.
He took a sip of his tea.
It was of a simple palate, it's taste bland yet a pang of sweetness hits his tongue, it's smell was mundane, yet for it was hot, the subpar smell of his light tea filled his nostrils. He closed his eyes.
It's cold.
"It's… Cold…?"
He fluttered open his eyes.
Fog. It was dark, it was… The sun wasn't up, the sea was furious, and his officers were panicking. "What happened!"
"We're none the wiser, sir!' The quartermaster rocked the wheelhouse's door open; Atten looked behind to see the three other battleships shining their spotlights ahead and at both broads. He catched the USS Oregon's faint signal.
N O L O N D O N
"No, London?" Atten murmured. "No… London…? What does that mean?" -he grabbed an officer by the shoulder- "open our lights! Wake up our sailors and order them to go to their battle stations!"
The officers of the bridge who understood the message were just as confused as Atten, terrified. Where were they then?
"A-aye, sir!"
The whole entire wooden deck was slippery with the rain and the gushing waves. They couldn't even see anything beyond them. There was no Garrison Point either. What was before the HMS King Edward was emptiness, only the ravangeous sea of black and rage. There was nothing, no landmark to base off of. "No way to locate our location."
He rushed to the wheelhouse, the quartermaster manning it, steering the ship left then right (as the waves were powerfully gushing onto the sides and turning it slowly).
"Give up your position, let me helm!"
He scooted over for Atten.
As his hands gripped the wheel; Atten rolled it sharply left, "Full speed ahead!" He cried.
The HMS King Edward derailed from the line, assuming foremost yet by-side.
"What is that man doing…" Wagner observed as he simultainously ordered for his officers to helm the ship as he looks ahead. "Full power. Signal the English: P L A N."
"Yes, sir!"
In his thoughts, Wagner was wondering why Atten would derail from the line, a ship maybe? Or had he seen a landmark? But he retorted, there was no way to see the both of those in this weather, in the darkness that swept in so suddenly.
Then his mind drifted into thought. Observing his bow, the waves crashing over it and onto the forecastle deck. The plexishield glass covering him from the downpour of harsh rain. And his officers navigating in the dark. "Follow the HMS King Edward."
---
"There." Atten pointed, "a sillhouete, barely readable, Bearing 030. Steer there."
"Aye, sir."
The sailors wheeled the large spotlights over yonder that direction, simultainously blinking the lights and signalling the following Deustchland; L A N D. The storm was loud, the sailors unable to even keep their eyes open, constantly brushing their faces like they were being waterboarded.
Atten watched intently. Following the bobbing, the pitching and rolling of his battleship in the waves. The sillhouete from afar kept getting bigger and bigger, it was no doubt land. But, there were not any lights, he could not see any landmarks that would say that they were in London. This… This could not have been London. "Whatever this island is, the land is… I don't like it." Atten groaned.
The storm was weakening as the four battleships neared the land. The horizon began to redden, the sun was setting. But it was noon? Was it not? The blink to the storm and the voyage that transpired seconds after the blink had taken atleast thirty-or-so minutes. "For afternoon to be over after such a short amount of time…" Wagner could not help but wonder, "it must mean only one thing…"
The shores were calm, a stark difference to the waters they had just traversed. Though as they neared, the waters shallowed; Atten turned his ship starboard, his broadside staring at the serene, silent land. "Signal the others that we are to land. Hop the anchor."
"Yes sir."
The anchors fell and swam beneathe the waves, a reasuring kerplunk and the chains going taut and immovable. The Deustchland and the other two lined up behind the King Edward, having received the signal, they all lowered a lifeboat and began rowing yonder.
For each row, questions were being created, answers lost to faith. Whether they were in England, or they were hushered forth the other end and towards the Irish, it was impossible. Any answer to any question was impossible. Simply, they were lost. And the four admirals were deeply confused.
Landing, Atten immidiately complained. "I hate sand. Sand is the bane of being. Sand is the insect that crawls into every single little thing. Like a man that's been milked of lust, it makes it's way into every little orifice that could fit his little head within."
Wagner chortled, "aside from your… Tasteful way of describing your fury, where we are at the moment is our foremost worry."
"The trees remind me of Ontario." Bundle commented, his eyes looking at every single detail.
"Kanada, I've yet to come to such country, but if it is in the North, then I believe it to be a country full of pine, full of tree, and full of cold." Wagner grinned in pain.
"My officers had not seen any sign of civilization." Pais spoke, "no lights cover the land. And our telegrams came to no use. The land is ghostly." There was a tang of aggresiveness in his harsh, French voice.
Wagner cleared his voice. "I'll have my men build a pier. We've the supplies necessary to make one long enough and good enough for two of our ships. I suggest having my ship docked as well as the Oregon's," -his eyes met Bundle's- "if that is alright?"
"Yes that is sir."
Pais' eyes tightened.
"Atten." Wagner patted his shoulder.
"Yes?"
"I suppose that we should find ourselves within this land." Wagner turned to the forest. "Search for people, Atten. I believe you can do that for us."
"Sure thing." A sarcastic twang escaped his voice.
"Look over there!" Bundle catched their attention. "A box." He and the others walked over to it.
It was a wooden box, varnished and dark. It looked to be in such mint condition, too odd an anomaly for someplace as stranded as this land. "I'll open it." Atten tested, crouching down and reaching for it's latch.
*pak!
Gently, slowly, he opened it.
"A letter." Wagner commented, "read it for us."
Atten snatched the letter from inside the box, it was small, and thick. Though it was smooth, unlike the parchment he was so familiar with using. "Ahem; Conquer."
Their faces were doubtful.
"Conquer?" Bundle questioned. "That's what's written?" Atten offered the paper to him, his question being answered the second after.
Written in a beautiful cursive was the word 'conquer.' Nothing less, nothing more. The word itself carried no meaning for them. But the fact that there was a box containing such a letter. The fact that they had blinked into this almost separate reality. And the fact that they were standing in a land that was practically off the map for them…
Wagner sighed. "I fear we're dreaming."