Plans Come Together


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

This is the Spartan galley, or kitchen of the ship. The meals for the crew and officers of the vessel are prepared in this cramped, small space fitted with small gas stoves and rows of cupboards. Shelves of food and spices have been installed into the walls, complete with railings to prevent things from the contents from them in rough weather, and kettles and mugs hang from hooks under them. There are only a few small flat spaces here for actual food preparation, and no room for dining. Those flat spaces get used by the ships doctor as needed in battle, as well. Nice!

McIntyre sits with a cup of tea in his hand. He cracks his knuckles and then has a sip of tea.

The Viperous is still calming down from its U-Boat pursuit earlier. Renteria has in and out of the gallery most of the day, tending to the usual scrapes and bleeds that come about when a crowd of people is thrown into chaos. A clean, damp cloth in hand, he comes back down towards the "medical" area, cleaning off his fingers.

McIntyre holds up his tea cup, "Hows it?"

"It was a mess. Now it's not a mess. So it's good." Renteria eyes the coffee as though sorely tempted, then just sits down, pulling his kit and strap off his shoulder. The rag's tossed onto the table. "Would have been better if we had hit something."

McIntyre grimaces, "I was alseep. I missed all the action." He then says, "Fancy a cup?"

Renteria smirks. "You slept with depth charges firing? That is a miracle." He pulls his cigarette pack out, retrieving one and raising an eyebrow at McIntyre. "What's fancy?"

McIntyre says, " you want a cup of tea, I mean we've got coffee too."

"Ah." Renteria looks like he's about to refuse, then shrugs. "Why not. Tea. I am not a coffee man on a boat. It look too much like someone confuse the machine oil with the drink."

McIntyre stands and get a cup of tea for Renteria, "Well, I've heard the yanks love the stuff." He makes a sour face, "I'd prefer something a bit stronger myself." He then takes a moment to look into the galley kitchen but he is shooed out.

"The canadiense likes it too," Renteria replies, once he's lit his cigarette. He nods his thanks for the tea-getting, dragging over whatever is handy on the table to flick ash into. "What is it that a highland man will drink?"

McIntyre shrugs, "Most drink whisky. I prefer vodka. Whisky tends to get me in a fighting mood." He then smiles, "And what is it that you'd drink?"

"Spain is wine country," Renteria lets the tea cool for a while as he smokes. "I have heard of vodka but have not tried it. Do you know what is sangria?"

McIntyre smiles, "I've heard that is blood?" He pauses, "Ever had black pudding, we use blood in that."

Renteria laughs loudly. "You think of 'sangre'. Sangria has her name from that, though. It is wine with honey and some spirits. Brandy, something like this, depends. And you will put fruit in it." He flicks the cigarette into the 'tray' and shakes his head. "Black pudding, no. Is this like haggis?"

McIntyre says matter of factly, "More like oatmeal with pigsblood." He then reaches into his pocket and pulls a cigar out, "Sangria sounds nice then. Is is a winter drink or a summer drink?" He then sets the cigar in his mouth, "Got a light?"

Renteria pulls his lighter back out of his pocket, pushing it across the table. "Summer. In winter you just drink the wine." He exhales a long plume of smoke towards the gallery ceiling. "Oatmeal and pig blood…" He has to think about that for a while. A long while. "And you just -eat- it?"

Takes the lighter and gets his cigar going while Renteria speaks, "Wine in the winter. That sounds nice. As for black pudding, yeah, its pretty good. Though the blood must be fresh."

Renteria sets the burning cigarette down, picking up his tea. "Not to insult the scotch, but that sound horrible." He smirks, sipping the steaming tea for a few moments. "Your family, they are in Scotland?"

"Their bodies are, aye. Their all dead." He takes a puff of his cigar, "As for the food, none taken, Scots food isn't for the weak of heart."

"Yes. I like for my food to taste like food." Renteria smirks, putting the cup back down after another sip. "I am sorry about your family, that should not happen to a man."

McIntyre shrugs stoically, "Death happens." He then adds, "Is your family in Spain?"

Renteria shakes his head. "We had to leave Spain when she fell, there was no choice. My son is with my sister here in England. But I do not want for them to stay here, it's not good."

"Ah, well, england is england I suppose. I'd prefer a free Scotland. You're good to want them out of England."

"Where to go, that is the problem," Renteria answers, tapping the cigarette into the tray again. "I tell my sister go to South America. Maybe the war will not go there. Who knows. At least there they can eat the food." He smirks.

McIntyre says, "I hear America is nice. I could go there. I've heard that it is a land of opportunity. So different from here. Though I hear the food is bad."

Renteria shrugs. "I know nothing of it. But the americanos I have seen, all they look very healthy. So it can not be too bad. I suppose they will sit happy on their good land while Europe burns."

McIntyre says, "All the more reason to go. Avoid war." He then considers, "Though if we lose perhaps the yanks will have to throw in." He then takes a sip of tea. "Could you send your family there?"

"What, to United State?" Renteria sits back, smoke curling up from his cigarette. "I think about this. But my son, he have six year old. I think this, if he go to United State he will forget everything of Spain. His language, everything. The same to England."

McIntyre pauses to consider this before saying, "And yet Spain is unsafe." He frowns, "No, Spain for the Spainiards. No peace for all of Europe." He takes a puff on his cigar, "Well, we will just have to fight harder then."

"I do not think to win this war will win Spain back," Renteria comments, shaking his head. "Franco deals with the devil. But it will be one step more close." He stubs out the cigarette, picking up what's left of the cooling tea. "And you? When we win this war, you will go back to the highland?"

McIntyre considers, "Maybe, I've got no home there though. No one to go to." He takes a breath, "Perhaps I'll wander the Earth. I've heard India is lovely."

Renteria raises an eyebrow. "India." He chuckles. "Another of the crown of Inglaterra, isn't this?"

McIntyre nods, "It is. Perhaps I'll head to the east. No one I know seems to know about it."

"To China," Renteria muses. "The islands in the southern sea." He sits back, folding his hands behind his head. "If the ingleses do not take it over first." A slight smirk there. "You were a sailor in Scotland?"

McIntyre shakes his head, "I've been in the Navy since I could sign up. I wanted to see the world, instead I've seen a boat." He smiles, "Though my family were poor, farmers."

Renteria nods to that. "Many of Spanish were farmers. And many have left. It is very rare a government will appreciate the hands that feed its people."

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

McIntyre says, "Many people don't like farmers. It's why I joined the Navy. Especially after my family died, I had no where to go anyway." He then shrugs as he sits at a galley table drinking tea and smoking a cigar, he sits near Renteria, "Though I would like to see the world. It'd be nice. China would be nice."

Joanna strides into the galley, in search of what passes for a meal on the Viperous. There's still some soup left, some watery tomato creation, which she takes a bowel of. Along with some bread and a cup of the same tea. She looks about for a spare bit of shelf to set it on, as the place lacks proper dining accommodations. In her search, she takes notice of Renteria and McIntyre. "Doctor. Sir." The last added to Mctyre, who she does not really know. But 'sir' seems safe. "How's the tea?"

Renteria smirks at McIntyre. "Maybe they will eat something more strange than blood pudding." He sips his cold tea and pushes the cup away, twisting a bit in his chair as someone comes close. Out of sheer habit, he stands up when that person turns out to be female. "Miss Starling. The tea is not deadly."

The Scot shrugs, "Much better than the coffee." He then asks Joanna, "Fancy a cup?" He stands, its hard to tell if he is being polite or not though, he does go to get another cup. "Though something other than tea would be nice I think…I'll have to see what I can do the next time we make it to port." He then says, "We have plenty of food that is you'd not like. Scotland is the land of those who not even Rome could conquer. The land of heros."

"I've got one for myself, thanks," Joanna says, nodding at them a bit uneasily when they all stand. She sets her tray down on a free bit of shelf, setting her soup and tea down on it. "Well, there's still the daily allowance of rum. Not that I'm one to partake in that, but it is naval tradition." She sips the tea, finding it non-deadly enough to drink more deeply.

Renteria sits back down, stretching out his legs and giving a smirk over towards McIntyre. "Haggis. Blood pudding. There is -more-?" His tone is not shocked at all by the thought.

McIntyre looks at Renteria, "Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face, Great Chieftan o' the Puddin-race! Aboon them a' ye tak your place, painch, tripe, or thairm: Weel are ye wordy of a grace, as lang's my arm." He then says, "To a Haggis." He then looks at Joanna, "Aye, the rum is nice. It isn't vodka though."

Joanna blinks over the rim of her cup at McIntyre, trying to follow that. Most of it is lost on her. British separated by a common language and all that. "So, I take it you're from Scotland, then?" she rather deadpans.

McIntyre nods his head slowly, "Aye, a highlander. I recently was assigned here. Not my first ship, but she may be the oldest I've served on." He pats the table. His accent is thick, though, he can still be understood, mostly. "I missed the action earlier it seems. We found a U-Boat or so I hear."

If you think Joanna is lost, try the Spaniard. Renteria just looks blankly at McIntyre through all that, the corners of his eyes tensing as though a mild headache had just caught up to him. When finally he can understand things again, he nods. "A U-Boat, yes. It attack a trawler…this is right, yes?" He looks at Joanna for confirmation. He was below deck most of the time, doing medical crap.

"A found it and lost it," Joanna replies, a hint of annoyance in her voice. "Yes. A fishing trawler. Thank God, the German submarine was a lousy shot. The sub itself got away from us but the trawler got back to Rosyth all right, which is the important matter." Still, its eluding them annoys her. "Those things are like bloody ghosts hiding down there. Damned hard to track, even with the sonar."

McIntyre says, "And impossible for me to shoot." He then pauses, "I gotta stop sleeping through the action. Why is it my duty shift is always quiet." He shrugs and then takes a puff of his cigar, "Sonar….right, pictures with sound or somesuch, like a bat right?"

Renteria sits back to listen to the tech talk, this being far out of his field. He is interested though, one dark brow lightly lofted.

Joanna nods a little to McIntyre. "More like ears than pictures. Yes. A bat is a very apt description of it. It 'hears' the echoes vessels make when moving through the water and sends that information back to us. Sometimes." She frowns into her tea. "I've trained in it but I rather prefer radar work. Far easier to get an exact location on a target. When it's above water, of course. That's the bugger of it. Radar works in the air. Sonar's all that can track something below the waves."

McIntyre considers this for a moment and says, "Well, just tell me where to shoot. Thats what I'm here to do." He considers a moment and then takes another sip of tea, "Then again, we don't have many depth charges do we. I've heard the count was low…something like eighteen till we make it to port. That's not alot. We'd better be accurate."

"They use very many today," Renteria says with a slight frown. "I am not sure how many, but it was not only a few. We must to be careful with them until there are more."

Joanna nods at that. "Accuracy is always the best policy. A destroyer this size is only outfitted for twenty at the maximum, so it's likely best to be careful with them in any case. Perhaps we can resupply when we reach the way point. Or when we get to Narvik proper." More of her tea is downed. "My father served on a V class just like this back in the Great War. I certainly never expected to find myself on one. Or any real ship, for that matter." She sounds satisfied enough with where she ended up, though.

McIntyre says, "Well, I'm sure the older sailors hate a woman on board, though, I say, everyone in the effort. So it is good to have you here…I never thought I'd serve on a V class. This thing is a relic. I'm amazed she has held together so well. I suppose it says something about the spirit of the boat." He turns to Renteria, "So, we're fine. We just have to stick together."

Renteria shrugs one shoulder, replying with a bit of amusement. "The engineer will repair the boat, I will repair you. I am not going anywhere." And his posture in the chair seems to punctuate that, quite comfortable. As comfortable as one can be in this backbreaker of a chair.

Joanna shows little outward reaction to McIntyre's words about the feelings of old sailors. "I'm here to do my duty for the Crown, just like everyone else. Any differences there might be between my fellow sailors and I is something I try not to focus on. As you say, every hand, Mister…" she leaves it hanging, waiting for McIntyre to supply a proper name.

McIntyre says, "Midshipman, McIntyre, Gordon." He says with a salute, "I'll shoot everything that comes near us." To Renteria.

Renteria grins at the Scot. His eyes flicker back to Joanna as she speaks of 'everyone else' doing their duty for the Crown, but makes no comment to that. "That sound like a good deal, Mr. McIntyre."

Joanna nods shortly to the Scotsman. "Mr. McIntyre, then. Pleasure. Midshipman Joanna Starling, for my part. I'll try to spot the things for you to shoot, so you can aim properly."

McIntyre takes a puff of his cigar, "That'd be ever so lovely." He says with almost comic stoicism, "So, what do you people do on the bucket for fun? Cards and the like?"

"The Irish were playing cards," Renteria says, sounding uninterested in it. "But it is not the same without something strong to drink. Or without music."

"Keeping this ship running seems to be a game in and of itself," Joanna notes dryly. But she does ponder the subject of fun seriously. "Cards, board games, all the usual stuff, I suppose. I haven't been long enough to get into the social scene of it. My father used to tell me stories about boxing matches on the ships he served on. Something tells me the men here would enjoy that sort of thing a little too much." A faint smile quirks her lips.

Mcintyre says, "Well, it keeps folks honest." He cracks his knuckles and adds, "On other ships we played some good games. Though I can't stand boardgames."

Renteria laughs. "Board games, card games. We sit enough on this ship, why will you want to sit more to enjoy yourself. To box is a good sport. Football on the forecastle. If the ingleses are any good."

Joanna actually laughs at that image. A little. She doesn't seem the type to allow herself great displays of humor, or any emotion for that matter. "Now *that* I'd like to see. Men kicking the ball back and forth out on the front of the ship. Perhaps they could hit golf balls out to sea as well."

McIntyre perks up at golf, "Aye, that'd be fun. Though we'd need alot of balls." He considers, "Football could also be fun. I could go for that." He gives an acctual smile at the thought of that.

"Maybe there is something aboard to use." Renteria's mood has improved at the thought of football in the open air, one brow quirking as he gives an idle glance around the galley. "If not, I am sure the noruegos will have something. Golf, I do not know…eh. Hit a ball, it flies into the sea. Pucha."

"Golf is all about the beauty of the movement, it is the game of the shepherds. It is the game of Scotland." He says with stoic pride, "Every shot is a thing of beauty. It is a game of skill."
Joanna had meant it as a joke, it seems, so she's a little surprised when McIntyre takes it seriously. Though she tries not to let it show too much. "Well, perhaps the captain wouldn't mind if you gave it a try," she says. "Foster seems a fair man. I've never played, myself. Just a bit of tennis and swimming back in boarding school."

McIntyre considers, "We could…" he leans in, "Build a still."

Renteria also looks amused at the golf talk, then laughs aloud at McIntyre's comment. The sound is easy from him. "You could…you could."

Joanna arches a brow at McIntyre. "The pint a day of rum isn't enough?" she asks, rather incredulously. She clears her throat, drinking her tea down, then having a nibble at her bread. "If it's not, you can have my share. Drinking like that is a skill I don't terribly want to master."

McIntyre says, "Clearly your no friend of the pub." He then says, "It is something to do. It is communal. It is something that others pitch in." He then adds, "Besides we could all die tommorrow so what does it matter?"

Kate showered. Almost slept. After being soaked through and lugging those depth charges with the help of some midshipment, well… she felt like rubber after it all. She's still moving pretty slow as she half asleep stumbles into the room, in a pair of fresh pants and an undershirt, her dirty blonde hair still damp. She automatically heads for the coffee, knowing it by heart now.

"War and drink, the two things men will come together in a heartbeat for," Renteria chuckles under his breath, the sound a bit wry. He picks up his teacup and glances into it as if pondering more, then decides against it.

Joanna laughs, shaking her head. "I should say *not*!" she replies. "And don't talk like that. I, for one, have no intention of dying tomorrow. That's why we're out there, isn't it? To do our part in keeping Britain alive and free from German aggression." She's huddled near a spot of free counter space, having what passes for 'dinner' on the ship and talking with McIntyre and Renteria.

"Europe," Renteria comments mildly, after Joanna's pronouncement of their service to Britain.

McIntyre watches as Kate rushes in, "Hell, I settle for drink. Though since there is a war on a drink seems good. We'd need materials and a quiet stable place to hide it." He considers. "I'm hear because I serve the Navy. Though I serve also to see Scotland protected so that she might one day be free." His accent is thick, from the highlands. McIntyre smokes a cigar and drinks tea, "Though a still could be good."

"Is there drink? Aren't we supposed tae get rum rations or somethin'? Maybe I could go fer that taenigh'." Kate admits, dumping a good gulp or two of coffee down her throat before giving the group a brief nod and beginning to go hunting. Booze sounded beyond good right now.

"A pint a day," Joanna says dryly. "I've been getting mine. It's very handy to trade, if you want to borrow a book or get yourself a new handkerchief." Her tea finished, she sops up what remains of her soup with her bread. Inclining her head to Renteria she adds, "Europe, of course. As much of it that remains. Poland's fallen, and our men are in France and Belgium now trying to keep them from doing the same. Sometimes it feels like we're fighting this war quite alone." She adds to Renteria, "Save brave volunteers like yourself, of course."

McIntyre says to the Irish woman, "Aye, I'd love a bit of rum. Though I was thinking a still might be nice." He takes a moment to pause, "I could use a pint of rum now though." He looks at Joanna, "Well, maybe the yanks will join in." He then says, "Or perhaps not. They seem isolationist to me." He then looks at Renteria, "And it is good to have you hear to tell me about Spain."

Renteria folds his hands behind his head, the red cross-emblazoned cloth band on his upper arm crinkling with the movement. He nods to Kate, even if he can barely understand a word out her mouth, then looks back at Joanna. "Volunteer…I suppose you could call it that." He pulls another cigarette from his battered pack on the table. "The yanks will not come. What reason do they have? None. None until Hitler knocks on their door." He pulls his lighter back across the table and gesture towards mcIntyre with it. "I promise you, talk now, but one day you will see her, as beautiful as she always was."

Kate ducks off to the side, doing the quick negotiation for her own ration before picking up the pint of grog and unscrewing the top. Her nose wrinkles just a bit at the scent, but she takes a sip of it and breathes just a bit easier. "Best medicine on the planet. No offense, doctor." She nods to Rent.

Joanna lets out a prim sniff at mention of the yanks. "America seems quite content in her neutrality. I suppose it's easy to ignore the rest of the world when you've got two oceans cushioning you from any harm." She offers Kate a nod in acknowledgement, though she makes no move to get any grog for herself. "I do hope you see Spain again one day, Doctor. Fascism is a scourge that must be wiped from this world."

Mcintyre considers Joanna's words, especially those of facism, a lesser Scot would most likely be in a tirade about centuries of English cruelty. Instead, McIntyre stands and quietly moves to get his pint of rum. He takes a seat and a puff of his cigar before he takes a sip of rum. He lets off a satisfied, "Fook me." He then says, "Which is why we need a still."

Kate looks up to McIntyre's cigar almost enviously a few moments. She reaches into her back pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes which got entirely soaked by the depth charges they were setting off earlier. She frowns, tapping one out and considering if it'll even light or not.."Damned salt water." She mutters, slipping the end between her lips and at least giving it a go.

"I hope I see her again too," Renteria turns his head to light his cigarette. "But not until Franco is in hell, for right now on this boat I commit treason in my country's eye in the hope of saving her." He snorts quietly. "The fascists will not take Europe though, you believe me. Not now, not ever, with or without the damn yanks."

Joanna nods in sharp agreement with Renteria. "Not as long as we have anything to say about it, Doctor. I can assure you of that." Her 'meal' eaten and her tea drunk, she settles her plate onto a shelf for the cooks to take care of washing. She doesn't have to move it far in the cramped galley. "But I'll leave you gentlemen, and McConnell, to it. I should be getting to my bunk. To get some sleep before my next shift. If it's anything like today, I'll need all the rest I can grab now."

McIntyre reaches into his backpocket pulling out a watertight tin. He pulls from the tin a cigar, one of a few that he has in the tin. He looks at Kate, "Fancy a cigar?" He asks as he holds out the unlit cigar to Kate, "Get a tin, it'll keep a wet smoke from happening." He then looks over at Renteria, "That's the spirit." He turns to Joanna, "Midshipman." He says, "Keep your eyes open and tell me where to shoot, I'll hold you to that."

Kate looks up to McIntyre with sudden hope and utter gratitude in her tired eyes. "Ye… bae certain? My grog for the next two days is yers. And aye… that's a wise idea. These are dead now." She throws her pack down on a counter top and accepts the cigar with thankful, eager fingertips. She bits off the end fairly smoothly, but remains quiet about the political conversation for now. She's already gotten into it over politics once and she's too damned tired today.

Renteria stands up again as Joanna announces her leaving. "Buenas, rest fine then. Soon we will we all be sleeping in the noruego cold." The gesture of politeness is brief and then he's back in his chair, fascist talk dampened for the time being.

McIntyre shakes his head, "Keep your rum." He says to Kate, "I'd not take anyone from their share." He considers, "Renteria, think we could write a still off as producing medical grade alcohol? You know…antiseptic." He rubs his chin and takes annother sip of his rum.

Joanna gives another of those sharp nods to the Scotsman. "I'll do my very best, Mr. McIntyre. With pleasure." To Renteria she simply nods, saying no more about fascists tonight. "Good evening, Doctor. McConnell." With that, she strides out of the galley.

Joanna has left.
Joanna heads off Forward to Fore Crew Space.

Renteria sits back with his cigarette, and laughs under his breath at McIntyre. "I knew you will say that. I remember one time in the army we made something like this. Told the teniente it was to clean the pans. Was not exactly a lie."

Kate grins a bit to Renteria. "That's a bit o'genius, ye two. Could certainly dae well for crew morale, ye know." Kate definitely approves, pulling out her matches… and swearing as she realizes they are really as soaked as her cigarettes. She shakes her head, looking up to the Scot, "I might love ye ferever if ye got a light tae."

The Scot produces a silver lighter which he flips open, it is in fact a zippo lighter. "I got this from a yank after saving his life. Its a nice lighter it even lights in the wind." He slides the lighter over. "Well, it sounds like we have a plan. In fact, we should get started immediatly."

Renteria finishes off his cigarette and stubs it out. "I only know to make wine anymore, Scotsman. You make it, I will give it a happy home. This work out well, it's excellent business." He taps his fingers on the table with surety and then leans down to grab the strap of his medical bag.

Kate leans over, breathing in deeply and turning the cigar a few rotations so she gets the entire thing lit before leaning back and just shutting her eyes happily. This is the best she's felt in two days. "Any help ye two need from a lowly snipe?"

Gordon nods his head, "My Dad ran a home still. Made his own whisky. I can do something like it." He pauses, "Though we won't have time to age it. It will have a stronger favor." He looks over at Kate, "I'd need help in setting the still up. these take alot of work." He takes a puff of his cigar, "Though, we can make it work." He considers, "I won't have grain either…nor mash." He then rubs his chin, "Yes, this could work." He takes another sip of rum. "Then we can barter off what we make. Give it away and barter the extra."

"This is perfect." Renteria smirks as he tugs the strap over his head. "We will talk tomorrow more. Probably I can find a few things you need. Anyway, to shift now. Buenas, all."

Kate takes another deep drag of her cigar before standing…"I should go bring this properly onto deck so I can enjyo it without guilt. Was nice speakin' with ye both. If ye need help with the still, just ask. I know where all the spare parts are." She winks at them both before heading out.

McIntyre takes a puff of his cigar, "I love it when a plan comes together."

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