Oceans Away

Command bridge

HMS Viperous-----> > > > > THE GREATEST GENERATION < < <

The bridge is the traditional center of command for any ship and, in many ways, the basic design remains similar to the days of wood and sails. The helmsman operates 20th-century steering controls rather than an old wooden wheel and the weapon stations control gunnery and torpedoes rather than cannons, but the principles remain the same. Windows allow the captain to look out onto the water from his post at the center of it all, though the seat isn't as comfortable for the man in charge as some may claim.

Foster is currently sitting in his spot at the Captain's seat, looking out toward the blackness that is the ocean at night. In one hand rests a cup of tea, the other resting on the arm of the chair as he tries to put the last few days into perspective.

Renteria is sans reports tonight as he comes up to the command bridge. He does wear his medical bag, but he likely wears that thing even when goes to sleep. A beaten-looking book under his arm, he heads over towards where he can see the dark sea outside, his path bringing him within earshot of Foster. "Good evening, Captain."

Foster turns to nod toward the Medical Officer as the doctor greets him. "Good evening, Dr. Renteria. Come up for a bit of fresh air?"

"Yes, sir." Renteria squints into the blackness outside for a few moments. "So this is Norway. I will see if I come away with any understandings of why a people will live somewhere so damn cold."

Foster lets a smirk slide its way across his features. "Some would say the same thing about London and it's fog."

"I only have see a few day in London, so I can not say." Renteria smirks, folding his arms as he leans against the wall nearby. He watches the ocean for a few moments longer before he asks idly, "This is where you come from, London?"

"Once upon a time, yes." Foster admits, not quite smiling over the memories that come to him. "But it's been many a year since I set foot in that particular city. A pair of decades at the least."

"It looked like very busy city," Renteria gives that assessment neutrally. "Easy to be lost inside it. So you do not call it home…you are one of this men that calls home the sea instead?" He smiles a bit.

"These men?" Foster asks, his brow arching slightly. "Does that mean you're not? Where is home for you, Doctor?"

Renteria smiles at the avoidance. "I know my way around ships but I am not from family of sailors." He looks back out at the inky darkness surrounding them. "Barcelona was my home. But there is not much of her still standing anymore."

Foster nods, taking a sip of his tea before he adds, "I don't come from a family of sailors, but you're right, the sea is my home." A slight pause, "I heard your people had one hell of a nasty war down there."

"We did the best we could." Renteria talks to the night outside rather than looking at Foster. "But Spain…" He purses his lips, shaking his head slightly. "…she was the gate that opened all this madness. That is what we will never forget."

Foster shakes his head slightly and leans an elbow against the arm of his chair. "I doubt that, Doctor. More that it was a staging ground for those that wanted this madness to happen. Spain was not particularly a gate, more like a man that is ill, but is used as an experiment for scientists rather than healed."

Joanna has arrived.
Joanna arrives from the Back to Radio Room.

"A good analogy to a doctor," Renteria chuckles under his breath, though it's not an amused sound. "We underestimated the strength of that disease, this is certain. If anything I can pray the rest of Europe will look at Spain and realise fascism is not just the sniffles. It is death." He draws a breath and sets the book down on the ledge by his leg.

"It seems a lesson learned well enough," Foster comments, "although Poland would tell us, a lesson learned too late." Foster gets up from his seat then, and moves over toward the lets where Renteria stands. "Still, I'm glad that some of Spain's sons can make it out to fight beside us."

"You are right, I should not say Europe. The yanks though, they seem content to put the blanket over their heads." Renteria nods once, watching as Foster comes over. "There are many of us fighting still, sir. In France, where we ran when Spain fell. I suspect still I would be there too, but I can not stand the French." He smirks.

Joanna comes up from the radio room, wielding a clipboard with the latest radar reports. She catches some snatches of the conversation about fascism and Spain as she approaches Foster, but she tries not to listen in too closely. She stops, straightening and saluting. "Captain. Sir. Pardon me. The latest readings. Nothing on the lines save the other Navy ships and a few Norwegian shipping vessels, thankfully. It's been quite blessedly quiet today."

Foster returns the salute quickly and holds his hand out for the reports. He glances over toward the doctor and chuckles at the mention of the French. "I'm amazed they're still a country. Does -anyone- like the French?" He turns back and scribbles a quick signature on the report, pulls it from the clipboard and hands the clipboard back to Joanna. "However, I said it in the last war, and I'll say it again in this one. No matter how hard they try, the yanks can't keep their noses out of a good fight. It might take them a while… it did in the last war… but they'll come sniffing about sooner or later." He then turns back toward Joanna, "What do you think, Starling? Should we expect to see yanks floating at our sides soon?"

«Game» It is now dawn.

Renteria actually laughs. A quiet sound but geniune all the same. "The French like the French, and that is plenty enough to make hell for the rest of us." The Spaniard slides his hands into his pockets, keeping one shoulder leaned against the wall. Foster's assessment of the Americans makes him chuckle and his green eyes flick to Joanna, brow quirking for her opinion.

Joanna smirks faintly at the jab at the French, though she doesn't quite allow herself a chuckle. As for the Yanks, they earn a short sniff. "I certainly hope so, sir. But I wouldn't stake my life on it, if I may say. There's a lot of water between Germany and America and it appears they think themselves quite safe. They've no reason to put their necks out for us." Her head tilts toward Renteria, quiet as he becomes. "Have you been to France, Doctor?"

Foster shrugs slightly, having no answer for that, and glanced over toward the doctor, as the question was directed to him.

Renteria smiles a little at Joanna's answer to Foster, then he nods. "Yes. Not willingly." A little dry, his tone becomes. "She made a place for the Spanish who flooded her borders. But hospitality is…not her strength. England's arms were far better."

Joanna casts a sidelong glance at Foster, as if trying to gauge his reaction to her opinion, but she can't seem to discern anything. Renteria's answer earns a faint smile from her. "Well, I for one am quite glad you found our country welcoming. It's been a great relief having a doctor of your caliber aboard." She can't help but add. "I've never had an urge to go to France myself. Studying the language in school was enough for me. Devilish tongue, if I may say."

Foster actually chuckles slightly at the mention of the French language. "Harder to learn, perhaps, but at least it flows. German is difficult to get off the tongue." He shrugs at the mention of France's hospitality. "I know little of actually being in the country, the closest I've ever come is within sight of her shores."

Renteria smiles at Joanna. "You are kind, Miss Starling. I know I could not do what you do." He looks between the two of them though, raising an eyebrow. "French is difficult?" Asks the fellow Romance language speaker. "No, not so difficult as English, this I must give them." A little amusement, then he nods to Foster. "Her country is beautiful. Her people are the problem. Go to France, never see someone else, you will love it."

"German I never trifled with, sir," Joanna says. "Too much growling for a proper language. At least English follows a set of proper rules. Except for the exceptions." She does not dwell on the contradiction of that. "I suppose France must be lovely to look at, the way people go on about it. You've seen a good deal of the world, Doctor, if not in a way one would want." She sounds just a trifle envious, her eyes drifting out to the shores of Narvik. "You know, this is the first time I've been outside the British Isles." She says it with a touch of wonder, as if just realizing it.

Foster shook his head slowly at the mention of bringing noone else. "At the very least, bring no Frenchman." 'Except for the exceptions' brings confusion to the Captain's features, but he quickly shakes his head, as if dislodging the expression, and adds in, "There are a lot of things to see, Miss Starling. Just hope to do so in peacetime." His voice quiets slightly as he continues. "There is little that is harder to see as beautiful shore one week, then those same shores torn by war the next."

Renteria doesn't answer Joanna's statement about his worldliness. He looks back at the water outside as Foster speaks, silent for a while before he asks, "You were active soldier in the Great War, sir?"

Joanna blinks, as if the image of the war-torn Norwegian shore just crept into her mind. She shakes her head, trying to banish it. It's not something she's seen with her own eyes yet, so that's done easily enough. There's still a rather abstracted look in her eyes, as to the shore. "I used to hear stories from the sailors in Bristol, when I was a girl, about the ships they'd taken into the Indian Ocean, even into Oceania. It would be grand to see such things in peacetime…" She trails off, tilting her head toward Foster, curious as to his answer.

Foster nods his head in answer to both of the questions; Renteria's spoken and Joanna's not. "I was with the Royal Navy during the Great War, yes. I was at the helm of HMS Vampire, and even served down south about Vampire, although by then she was part of the Royal Australian Navy. I served 6 months aboard working with the Australians. There are amazing sights down on that large desert island, I can assure you."

"Australia?" Renteria raises an eyebrow. His knowledge of the world obviously does not extend quite that far. "I have only heard a story once. What is this place like?"

"What was it like, Australia?" Joanna asked, with rather wide-eyed eagerness. Before she catches herself, clearing her throat and wiping her expression back to something more stoic. "If I may ask, Captain, sir. Pardon me. I've always wanted to see the other side of the world, as it were. Perhaps even the Americas, and the Indian and African coast, and…" She makes herself stop. "Well. There's no end to where you can go on the water, is there?"

Foster is unable to hide the amusement on his features at the practically wide-eyed wonder of Joanna. "Of course you may ask. And yes, it is, in its own way, a beautiful place. The colors that play against the cliffs near Sydney at sundown are a sight to see. Fortunately for me, my time down south was short, and generally peaceful. Too much of their heritage colors those Australians. I thought to keep my bag with me half the time, for fear I'd come back to it empty." He manages a chuckle at the thought of those earlier times and shakes his head. "Rambunctous bunch, those were."

"Their heritage?" Renteria folds his arms, regarding both English with curiosity. "What heritage is this? They are of your Crown, are they not?"

Joanna blushes faintly, attempting to listen with proper emotionless detachment, but she can't help but get caught up in listening to Foster. Her blue eyes get a faraway look in them, as if she's trying to picture the colors on the cliffs of Sydney. And she can't hold back a little laugh at Renteria's question. "Why they're convicts, Doctor! Or, they were, some of them, when the Crown first shipped them to Australia."

Foster nods in response to Joanna, particularly the bit about convicts. "Australia was once a penal colony, Doctor" Foster says with a bit of a grim tone. "I've learned since that most of them have outgrown it, as many as in any other place, at any rate. But that didn't mean my green gills weren't afraid for my belongings!"

Renteria blinks at this. "Ah. I see." He sounds whether he's not sure if that was brilliant or insane, but he chuckles anyway. "Yes, I can see why the blood can worry someone. And now? They do not make trouble for the Crown?"

Joanna gets another chuckle out of Foster's fear for his belongings around the Aussies. "Oh, no, Doctor, that was all very long ago. I'm sure they're as honest as any other Commonwealth citizen now. At least, I'd hope so."

Foster nods to further corroborate Joanna's statements. "Well, they generate their own troubles for the Crown, of course, but what commonwealth doesn't?" He manages a quick grin, before finishing off the sip of his tea. "I must get going, far too many duties." With that said, he salutes once, before heading across the bridge and toward the port railing.

Renteria returns Foster's salute as the man heads away, then folds his arms again. "I would hope so too, Miss Starling. But never I have met Australian, so I will reserve this judgment." He smirks, with a light sniff. Convicts. "England has more under her Crown than I have realised."

Joanna salutes Foster as he goes, shrugging to Renteria. "The sun never sets on the British Empire, they used to say. Though there's less of it now than in my father's time. I suppose the sun probably *is* literally set on it at some hours now." She is, perhaps, too young and too much a patriot to appreciate the full implications of that dwindling. "Spain had a good piece of the world of her own not long ago, if I learned correctly in school."

"Yes, the Spanish Empire," Renteria replies with a chuckle, glancing out at the water as the dawn dapples it. "From Mexico to Chile many year ago. I remember when I was young boy. When died my great-grandfather, it was on his bed cursing the scoundrels of South America. And now the lost of Spain are running to them for shelter. Time does change things."

Joanna laughs softly at that. "My great-grandfather felt much the same way about the Americans. Though I suppose they haven't come out of it too shabbily. Times do change, indeed. Now we're hoping they might come across the ocean to help *us*." She sniffs softly. "Not that I, for one, am counting on it, of course. Anyhow, I should be getting back to the radio."

Renteria smiles, nodding to her. "To your radio, then. I hope the noruegos are good company." For his part he remains where he is, quite happy to squeeze any remaining seconds of fresh air in.

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