You Re Here To Be Mothers Not Lovers

"You're here to be mothers, not lovers!"

Who: Joanna, Pinkerton, Renteria, Foster, Marisco & Hammond
When: May 1940 (RL Date: June 18, 2008)
Where: HMS Viperous, the waters near Narvik

What: Pinkerton educates Joanna on matters of proper Navy protocol, in his own unique way.

Radio room

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


The constant chatter of the radios and the tappity-tap-tap of morse code permeates this room. Radio equipment, log books, code books and coffee cups litter the variety of tables set into this cubby-hole of a room, hardly large enough to fit five people. A sonar station is set into its own little cubby-hole, manned night and day, usually by a bored operator.

It is currently night time.

The sea around you has a light swell.

Type Name Brg. Hdg. Altitude Spd. Rng.
DD (#15084)HMS Viperous 3 87 0' 10 0 yds
PC (#2543)HMS Instow 122 90 0' 10 925 yds

Systems:
1. Radio (0% damaged)

Sub-Rooms :
1. Radar
2. Sonar

Contents
Renteria
Joanna - 1. Radar

Forward to Command Bridge <CB> Down to Galley <GA>

Joanna is seated at the radar station, watching the electronic squiggles intently, hands folded tightly in her lap.

Renteria walks through the radio room, patching up minor things here and there. No raging burns or anything to the scale of the last few days. He pauses to make notes on his report as he nears Joanna's station, and glances over towards the Englishwoman and her posture. "You can breathe now, Miss Starling."

Joanna starts up with a small, startled gasp when Renteria speaks. She hadn't noticed him come in. She clears her throat, trying to look unruffled and stoically English. It's not a particularly convincing front, but she tries. "Doctor. No…no one was hurt greatly, I hope?"

Radar Contact -> Medium Ship Brg -> 5 Rng -> 4760 yards 0 knots
Radar Contact -> Medium Ship Brg -> 347 Rng -> 4519 yards 0 knots
Radar Contact -> Unknown Brg -> 355 Rng -> 4652 yards 0 knots
Radar Contact -> Tiny Ship Brg -> 115 Rng -> 1021 yards 8 knots

"Do I sound so much like torpedo?" Renteria is still able to smile a little. "No, not much wounded. Only small things. The other ship, they were damaged?"

(From HMS Viperous-Radio room) Joanna comms, "We're closing in on the other ships now. Radar has them all about 4,600 yards out."

Joanna takes a moment to comm in the position of the ships they're escorting before responding to Renteria. She tries to smile but can't manage much more than a faint quirk of her lips. "The Pyro took some damage, though she's still afloat. Her engine room was flooded out, though. No reports of damage from the others. Though I suppose we'll know better when we're synched up with them again."

(From HMS Viperous-Command bridge) Pinkerton comms, "Copy, Mister Starling. I trust the radar isn't giving you undue troubles?"

(From HMS Viperous-Radio room) Joanna comms, "No, sir, Mr. Pinkerton. It looks to be in good working order."

Renteria nods, giving an idle glance to the radar and the input that he's not trained to read. "That three small boat can do so much damage." He shakes his head slowly. "They all were sunk, this three?"

(From HMS Viperous-Command bridge) Pinkerton comms, "Mister Starling," the terseness in his voice travelling through the tube. "After your shift, let us do dinner, yes? A few issues with procedure I'd like to run by you."

Joanna can't help but shudder. "They're rather like vipers themselves, aren't they? Come in fast and bite as deeply as they can. I…I believe they were sunk, yes. Though the gunners would have a better idea than I." She lets out a long breath. One she probably has been holding for some time. Though she inhales sharply again at Pinkerton's voice over the comm.

(From HMS Viperous-Radio room) Joanna comms, "Dinner, sir? Yes. Certainly. I should be off momentarily, after we've met up with the ships we're escorting again. They're about 3,800 yards out from us now."

Renteria arches a brow slightly at Pinkerton's choice of words to Joanna, giving the Midshipman a rather uncertain look. Mmm…hm. "Well, it does not matter. If they have then good riddance." He cannot see the poor Pyro, alas!

Joanna just shrugs in reply to Renteria, as to Pinkerton. She'll find out soon enough. "God have mercy on them, but I can't feel much pity right now." She squints at the radar, brow furrowing in confusion.

«Radio» <Viperous radios> Pyro, this is the Viperous. We're approaching. Are you in need of assistance?
«Radio» Joanna radios, Pyro, this is the Viperous. We're approaching. Are you in need of assistance?

Renteria raises an eyebrow at the lack of response over the radio, frowning now. "That can not be good."

Joanna just frowns, working the wireless lines, brow still furrowed.

(From HMS Viperous-Command bridge) Foster comms, "Bridge to Radar, we have a spot on the remaining ships. 3 contacts visible. Anything further on radar?"

Three contacts. Renteria folds his arms, staying silent as he listens to the comm and the radio silence from the Pyro.

(From HMS Viperous-Radio room) Joanna comms, "Nothing further on the radar at this time, captain."

«Announcement from Darc!» *casts Summon Ammunition Ship II*

"Perhaps their radio has gone down," Renteria muses, tapping his fingers against his upper arm.

Radar Contact -> Tiny Ship Brg -> 11 Rng -> 774 yards 10 knots
Radar Contact -> Medium Ship Brg -> 242 Rng -> 764 yards 0 knots
Radar Contact -> Medium Ship Brg -> 117 Rng -> 685 yards 0 knots
Radar Contact -> Small Ship Brg -> 211 Rng -> 1456 yards Unknown Speed
Radar Contact -> Tiny Ship Brg -> 351 Rng -> 651 yards Unknown Speed

Joanna nods as the Pyro seems safe and sound. "Most likely. They took a good deal of damage." She stands, her shift nearing an end, as another radar man rotates in to take over. "Now, Doctor, I suppose I'd best go see what the XO wants."

«Game» Joanna moves out of Radar.

Renteria nods, getting back to his clipboard and the usual wash of complaints after near-death experiences. "Vaya con Dios, Miss Starling."

Joanna offers Renteria a wry salute as she goes.

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.

It is currently night time.

The sea around you has a light swell.

Type Name Brg. Hdg. Altitude Spd. Rng.
AE (#2316)Pyro 140 0 0' 0 839 yds
DD (#15084)HMS Viperous 270 180 0' 10 0 yds
PC (#2543)HMS Instow 314 90 0' 10 528 yds
AK (#2392)Empire Trader 199 270 0' 0 1757 yds
AP (#1205)Forafric 216 270 0' 0 965 yds

Systems:
1. Steering Gear

Sub-Rooms :
1. Helmsman
2. Main Guns
3. Torpedoes
4. Captain

Contents
Joanna
Foster
Marisco - 2. Main Guns
Pinkerton - 1. Helmsman

Up to Flying Bridge <FB> Back to Radio Room <RR>
Starboard Rail <SR> Port Rail <PR>
Captain's cabin <CC>

Foster lowers his voice, just enough that the working of the engine and the rest of the work going on on the bridge covers his words up, barely audible even to Pinkerton. "If you insist on having a personal life, try not to air it across the comms." It wasn't exactly a request, all things considered.

Joanna arrives from the Back to Radio Room.

Joanna strides up to the bridge from the radio room, the other ships safely in sight, her shift at the radar handed off to some other seaman.

Marisco isn't able to catch the words, just the tone across the bridge. He still is frowning a little, but relaxes with another look ahead with the binoculars. "Pyro's still afloat. Looks heavy in the water." to the bridge crew in general.

Pinkerton blinks at the Captain, then flares brightly. "Sir I sayI do say, Captain, in due respect and regard!" he hisses, shifting to turn his back on the rest of the bridge crew. "I am duly offended. Why, where I come from, Captain Fosterand with, you understand, all the deference possible considering the situation…" Pinkerton stammers, anger making his lips and tongue hard to control. "Only junior officers and ratings are called Mister. It is, why, it is damnable to good order and discipline for a Midshipman—a WREN!" he adds, voice breaking past stage whisper at that, "to be calling the Captain or First Mate merely 'Mister,' his own rank be damned!" Whipped into a right furor, he is!

Marisco turns to look over more towards the outburst, but not fixing his eyes on it directly. Still, it's clear one ear's catching it all, that he can hear even if not staring towards the interaction from the main guns command station.

Joanna approaches Pinkerton and Foster with some wariness, what with the summons to dinner she received and all. She half-relaxes a little when she catches some of Pinkerton's fuming. Likely not a date invitation, then! Still, a furoring XO is nerve-wracking in its own right. She intakes a sharp breath, standing stiffly at attention when she's reached them. "Sir!" she says, saluting. "You…asked to see me, Sir."

Foster seems to think about the subject for a moment, and then slowly nods. His voice is raised enough to be considered 'normal' as he responds, "Quite right. Once everything is settled here, I have some things to go over with you. I'll be in my cabin." And with that said, apparently considers the matter closed for now, as he's moving back toward his cabin.

"Aye Captain!" Pinkerton crows, as much in relief as anything else. The tone coming from his side can only mean one thing—the moment of truth. "Ah… Mister Starling…" He turns slowly, staring at the WREN for a moment. "Well I'm famished," the man snaps testily, pulling a handkerchief from his back pocket and patting down his brow. "Let's see what the chef has in store today, shall we? Mister Marisco, the watch is yours!" he announces, hurrying off for the galley with a still beet-like complexion.

Joanna's eyes narrow at Pinkerton, and she looks almost confused when his furor isn't unleashed upon her. And wary, still. "Umm…yes, sir," she says, trailing after him.

Foster heads off Captain's cabin.

Hammond has connected.

The chewing-out is given on the walk to the galley. "I'm having hard enough a time doing my job as is," he grumbles, making as fast a walking pace as he can in the hallways. "I'm not supposed to be aboard ships, especially not a First Officer. Then you WRENs come along, inciting superstition in the old sailors and hormones in the young ones…" Pinkerton stops suddenly, whipping about. "The least you can bloody do is promote proper protocol and good order!" he snaps, and his voice turns into a shrill mutant hybrid of shriek and wheeze. "You're here to be mothers, not lovers!"

Hammond just may have stepped into the bridge at the worst possible time, from the sound of that momentary outburst. Hammond just about does an about-face, to stroll back out.

Joanna's eyes widen to a proper bugging-out proportion as Pinkerton goes on. She hustles along a pace behind him, as seems safer, blinking. Superstition? Hormones? Mothers!? She clears her throat, searching for some proper response. Finally, she just manages a still rather baffled, "Yes, sir. Of course, sir. I intended no disrespect, Lieutenant. Sir. I assure you, I endeavor to incite absolutely nothing in anyone."

Pinkerton stares at Joanna for a long moment, nearly a minute, before his breathing settles. "Come along," he says a little less than curtly, gesturing her to follow as he continues at a more comfortable pace. "My father is a physician, my brother studies witch-doctory—sorry, psychology," he smirks, enjoying the potshot even hundreds of miles from home. "They tell me, Mister Starling, that women have more acute senses than men." The Lieutenant rubs at his chin, frowning at how much bristle he finds. "Judging by the sound of your shoes, your approach vector, the tension in your introduction on the bridge, and a few other sundry details, I trust you heard the reason for all this, yes?"

Joanna has not spotted Hammond. Likely she isn't paying enough attention to things other than Pinkerton to notice him just yet. She follows along with the information about his family but thinks it best not to comment. And she nothing to say about the acuteness of female senses, either. She clears her throat again, nodding. "That is very well-reasoned, sir. Yes. A bit, though not the whole of it."

Hammond decides to just play it cool, and continue on his straight-ahead path, rather than draw more attention to the topic discussion. He approaches Pinkerton and Joanna with the intent of skirting past them, in a manner that hopefully will not draw too much attention to himself.

Pinkerton slips through the doorway to the galley, extending his arms as if holding the nonexistent door and gesturing the lady through. "Succinctly, then: In uniform, Midshipmen, Warrant Officers, and ratings are all Mister. Sub-Lieutenants and above are addresed by rank, Sir, or Madam. Anyone who outranks you, as well, is addressed by their rank, Sir or Madam. I appreciate consistency, Mister Starling. I trust you can enforce this policy, yes?"

Joanna is still nodding along attentively to the XO, wary of taking her attention off him, so her attention at least is not drawn to Hammond. "Yes, sir. Of course, sir. I will make it my personal mission, Lieutenant." For good measure she adds another, "Sir."

Marisco continues on con in the bridge, having the late night shift as a Sub Lieutenant.

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