"And once she was in bed she said: What a fine Night! What a good walk! I knew the wolf wouldn't find me!

Oh, but you must travel through those woods again and again . . . said a shadow at the window . . . and you must be lucky to avoid the wolf every time . . .

But the wolf . . . the wolf only needs enough luck to find you once."

- Emily Carroll, Through the Woods

Dance Among Wolves

Chapter one, Careless Shepherd

The seas are calm as the moon illuminates the sky. A pair of boots walk across the iron plating of the ship's bridge wings. A watch looks out across the sea, occasionally grabbing his binoculars that are hanging from his neck with a leather strap. The man sighs, the air forms a light cloud as it condenses in front of him.

It's cold outside – freezing – so the watch shoots a last glance out over the starboard beam of the ship. The seas are empty. They are the most-starboard ship in a small convoy of four vessels. To their port beam is a tanker, and thirty degrees of their port bow is a freighter. The watch himself is standing on the starboard bridge wing of a bulk carrier – filled with so much iron ore that the load line of the ship is almost sunken below the waterline.

Aftward of them is a third ship, another mercantile vessel sailing under the Red Ensign of the British Empire. An armed merchant carrier, which gives some ease. The captain is an old friend of theirs, a Frenchman by the name of Johann. And it isn't uncommon for them to hear his name fall in harbour towns or ports. They had formed up somewhere off the East-coast of the United Stated. The armed merchant stayed close to the other ships. Ready to defend them at a minute notice.

The watch looks behind and sees the ship, named 'La Chaloupe'. He sighs again, the cloud of cold mist in front of him combined with the numbness of his face and fingers remind him of the freezing temperatures. He turns around and walks towards the door leading to the bridge. With thick gloves he grabs the handle – some ice has formed on it because of condensation – with some effort he pushed the handle down, breaking the ice. The cold winds from outside follow him in, a mixed feeling of the cold on his back, and the warmth of the heated bridge in his face. He quickly closes the door behind him.

"This sucks." The sailor says as he pulls the gloves off his fingers as he flexes the limbs. He tosses the frost-covered gloves on a desk, but keeps the binoculars slung around his neck. He rubs his hands together, and tries to warm them up again. The crew on the bridge look at him, the watch has little snips of ice covering his coat and scarf, and his face is pale. He brings his hands to his mouth and gently breaths warm air into them. He feels pins and needles attack his fingers as warmth slowly returns into them.

"Get some tea, Tuffnut." Their captain, a large old man with a limp in his walk, says as he looks at the watch. The man is a bit bulky, and when you first meet him you won't expect him to be an active captain. The limp in his walk almost deems him unseaworthy, but his experience and light-hearted humour is welcomed by his crew.

"Astrid." The captain says as he turns to the third person manning the bridge. "Take his post, if you would." He commands gently. The young female sailor he commands is sitting on a desk, but quickly get up when she hears the word of the captain. "Yes sir." She says calmly as she walks over to the other watch.

Thomas 'Tuffnut' Thorston, first born son to a carpenter's family in Brooklyn. His almost identical twin sister, Rosanne 'Ruffnut' Thorston is also mustered on the same ship. The two had been inseparable since birth, but never took to the family's carpenter business. They have been going around the city, hopping from job to job in search of something interesting. And had just been between jobs when Gobber's ship entered port.

'Grump' it was called. A large bulk carrier flying British colours – and transporting iron ore to the British Isles. The captain – Gobber the Belch – is an older man, with stories for days and a liver none of the younger crew can compete with.

The ship sways calmly in the water as Tuffnut sheds the thick coat, handing it to the young woman. She calmly takes the binoculars as well. Before she heads out she dresses warmly, the ice still on the scarf is already touching skin in her neck. She walks to the door, grabbing the gloves from the nearby desk before the opens the door. The door opens with a soft creak, and the cold winds strike her face.

She steps outside, closing the door behind her. The freezing winds gently play with some of her loose strands of hair as she stands on the bridge wing. The seas are calm and gentle. She lean on the railing, peering out towards the horizon. The freezing cold doesn't bother her for now. Behind her she can see 'La Chaloupe'. One of its four-inch guns standing on the starboard bow, safely locked for travel.

'La Chaloupe' was a strong ship, and although she is only equipped with obsolete great-war era guns and some basic defensive measures it's the best they got. The firepower should be enough to deter enemy submarines from surface action though. It is crewed by able men, or so she had heard.

Young Astrid Hofferson had always been fond of the sea. Her parents never had much care for it, but her uncle Finn had. The man had served on mercantile ships during the great war, and during the interwar period often came over to take little Astrid sailing. When the United Kingdom declared war on Nazi-Germany Finn returned to a world of shipping he knew best. The unarmed mercantile fleet against the German submarines – the 'u-boot' fleet.

His ship – the 'Hofferson' – had embarked on a journey from Alexandria towards England, but had never arrived in Plymouth as it was meant to. Astrid had vowed to find out what happened to her uncle. Which has lead her towards the armed merchant which had accompanied the 'Hofferson' on her final voyage, 'La Chaloupe'.

Gobber knows her captain, a keen but curious trader. He hailed from France, choosing to sail under the royal navy during the first wold war. The trader is known to scare off submarines during their attacks. Often saving large parts of the convoys. She hopes they won't need his defensive capabilities on this journey.

The door opens behind her, and a voice calls out for her. "Astrid, come back in." Gobber says calmly. "Thorston brought a whole kettle." She smiles, turning around and heading inside the warm bridge.

Meanwhile – almost 200 miles east of their position – a lonesome hunter makes his way through the cold waters of the Atlantic.

The soft movements of the ship feel calming as he lays in his bunk. The gentle rolling and heaving of the ship always manages to ease his nerves, and make him forget about the worries of war. Not that they have much to fear, they are considered unstoppable. They are the fear of the allied fleets and convoys.

He hears the creaks from the boats hull, some gentle, some stronger. Next to him he can hear a soft drip, rhythmic, almost like a clock ticking away every second. He digs in his pocket, and pulls the old watch of his father out. He flips it open and looks at the time, fifteen minutes are left until it is eleven 'o' clock. He should try to get some sleep. He closes the watch and stuffs it back in his pocket. He turns in his bunk.

It is hot in the submarine, probably twenty-six or twenty-seven degrees. His bed is sweaty and the fabric clings to his bare back. The heat isn't strange. The sea is gentle enough for them to keep the bulkheads between the compartments open, as well as the top hatch. But the freezing winds outside prove no match for the diesel engines of the submarine.

He can hear the engines roar in the back of the submarine. The sound vibrating through the walls and halls of the boat. He can hear chatting in the radio room, mixed with the soft static of some of the equipment. He tries to focus on something else, his ears lending to the rhythmic drip again.

He turns around in his bed for the second time this minute, and realises that he's not going to get any sleep. As he turns to sit upright on his bed someone knocks on the wall besides the curtain that separates his room from the rest of the submarine. "Captain Haddock?" A voice calls from the other side. Hiccup looks up. "Come in." He says loud enough for the person on the other side to hear. The curtains are pushed to the side and Hiccup's first watch officer is standing in the opening.

Ernhardt Eretson – known to most of the crew by his nickname 'Eret' – looks at his captain. "Slept well sir?" He asks politely. Hiccup looks at the officer. Sweat gleams on his forehead as well.

"I hardly slept." Hiccup answers honestly as he looks at the table next to him, where a small piece of bread calmly waits. Hiccup grabs it, and a knife that lays besides it. He looks up at Eret again. "But to what do I owe the visit?" He jokingly says.

"This." His first watch officer says simply as he hands a folded piece of paper over to Hiccup. "Another message from our friend."

Hiccup doesn't break eye contact with his first watch as he puts the bread and knife in his lap and takes the paper. He calmly unfolds it, letting his eyes drop to the message that had quickly been scribbled down by their radiomen. It started simply enough. 'Dear Friend,' it read in English. It was an opening to a message Hiccup has all too often seen. The true messages starts underneath that, but it seems garbled, encoded.

"You know the drill" Hiccup says as he folds the paper again. He opens a drawer under the table, grabbing a notebook from it. "Get the machine." He places the notebook and the paper on the small table to his left.

"Yes sir." Eret says as he walks off towards the radio room. The 'machine' Hiccup is referencing was the Kriegsmarine's M3 Enigma machine. They usually store it in the radio room, but for these messages Hiccup insists on using it himself and in private.

He looks at the bread in his lap and picks it up again. As he breaks it in half he notices a large chunk of mould sitting in the middle of the piece of loaf. "Dammit." He softly mutters as he digs his knife into the stale bread. As he does, the bosun – Stefan 'Snotlout' Jorgenson – walks through the corridor. He looks at his nephew, and the mouldy bread in his hands.

"How lucky we are to have so much green on board, aren't we captain?" He jokes with a friendly grin as he walks towards the front of the ship. Hiccup hears him chuckling softly as he walks down the hallway. Hiccup sighs softly, Snotlout was a blessing and a curse. He can be terrible – hell, he was insufferable when they were younger – but once he matured he changed. Now he can lift the spirit of the crew even in some of the most dire scenarios.

He stands up, tossing the mouldy part of the bread on the table. He grabs the notebook and the paper and steps towards the radio room. It is right across from his quarters, so with two short steps he enters the open area. It is filled with various equipment, most of it is their main radio. Eret is already leaning against the side of the opening. The radioman looks up from his work and greets Hiccup.

"Evening, captian." The young man said as he stands up. He is the one who received the message, and all the radio personnel know the drill. He squeezes past Hiccup, heading through the bulkhead towards the crew quarters at the aft of the ship. Eret looks at Hiccup, and motions to the empty seat.

"All yours." He says as he leans back against the wall. Keeping an eye out through the hallway. Hiccup sits down in the seat, opening the box with the Enigma's rotors. He glances at the rotors in the box. Rotors two, five, six and seven sit idly in the box. He opens the cover of the enigma machine, inside rotors one, three and four are visible. Hiccup calmly places his notebook in-between the rotor box and the enigma machine and flips it open.

He first flips through the filled pages until he reaches a blank one. "Date?" He asks as he flips open his watch again.

"31 December, 1941." Eret says calmly. "New Year's Eve at sea." He mutters softly.

Hiccup sighs, scribbling down the date and checking his watch for the time. "Well, maybe we can create some fireworks." He says as he unfolds the piece of paper. Copying the message, including the encoded part neatly in the book. The encoded part neatly shown, separated in groups of 5 letters in rows and columns.

"Shall I prepare the machine?" Eret asks as he hears the soft scribble of pencil on paper.

"No thanks." Hiccup says as he finishes copying. "I'm almost done." He adds as he finished the note. He flips back to the front of the book. Finding his notes about the Enigma's settings. "Wheels, two, three and one." He mutters softly. Taking the existing rotors from the machine and switching them with the proper ones.

"Starts B, F and Q." Eret adds behind him, still watching out through the hall as he hears the clicking from the rotors behind him. From the fore torpedo room, a sailor comes walking, heading towards the crew quarters at the aft of the submarine. Eret shoots him a gentle glance. "Just a couple minutes." He calls out. The sailor freezes in his step, apologises and turns around.

Eret looks at Hiccup, who is fiddling with the plugs of the Enigma's plugboard. The young captain keeps glancing at his notes, connecting the letters with the simple two pin plugs. "There." He says as he closes the casing of the machine. "All set."

Hiccup closes the case with rotors and places it on the ground next to him. He grabs his pencil again and starts to decode the message. He looks at the first letter, and presses down on the corresponding key of the machine's keyboard. A letter on the lampboard lights up, a different one from the key he pressed.

He writes it down and continues, using the same 5 letter groups as the encoded message. It's a tedious process, pressing every single key and writing down the corresponding letter that lights up. But after the years in service Hiccup is getting better and better at it.

"Do you think we'll ever meet this friend of ours." Eret asks while Hiccup still decodes the message. "You know, have a chat, a beer in a café in Hamburg or Kiel."

"Wine in Lorient." Hiccup jokes as he types the next letter into the machine, the turning of the rotors softly hearable. "Chardonnay in Brest." He adds with a smile.

"Who knows." Eret says with a grin. "Perhaps tea in London."

Hiccup looks at his first watch officer with a grin. "Who knows indeed." He says as he types the final letter. He looks at the message he got. It still looks unrecognisable, all letters sorted in groups of five. He twists the pencil between his fingers, and starts putting small lines between the letters to make words.

"Come look." He motions to Eret as he clears up the message. The officer turns around and looks over his shoulder, Hiccup has already finished the first two rows of letters.

"Convoy," Eret mutters as he reads. "four ships, a tanker!" He says with excitement. Tankers are great for morale. They can burn for hours, and crew often enjoy the sights.

"One armed merchant." Hiccup says as he continues drawing the lines between the letters. "As usual."

"And they are," Eret begins as he scans the document further. "About 180 miles due west."

"Really?" Hiccup asks as he raises his eyebrow.

"Yes." Eret confirms. "We did some astronomy during twilight." He explains. "We have a pretty good position."

"Pass the word." He says as he closes his notebook and grabs the box with rotors again. He calmly removes all the rotors from the machine, and unplugs all the plugs from the plugboard. The machine was completely reset. No trace of their message left. "I'll set a course."

"Yes sir." Eret said with a grin, walking off towards the command room of the submarine.

She should not have drunk that tea.

Astrid is determined to prove herself to Gobber. To prove that she is as good as a sailor as any men he'll ever have on board his ship. But she has to admit that the long watches at knight make her sleepy.

And the tea hasn't helped. It is some kind of herbal mixture that one of those twins has brought along. The kettle still stands on the chart table, half-filled and cold. She and Gobber both took one cup, she managed to finish hers, but Gobber had walked outside to toss it over the railing of the ship.

What she would give for some coffee right about now. But coffee is in limited supply these days, making it expensive. She sighs, slides off the desk she sat on and walks towards the wheel of the ship. She had placed her binoculars next to it, so she grabs them again. Putting them to her eyes she scans out across the horizon, she doesn't know what she's looking for.

She hears Gobber's whistle as he comes up the stairs, he has a slight limp in his step and always taps a large ring on his finger against the railing. It's what the twins use to make sure they are decent when they are either playing cards or otherwise slacking on the job.

"Astrid!" The old captain calls as he reaches to top of the stairs. "Did ya finish that bile?"

"No, I thought I'd leave some for you." Astrid retorts with a grin as she placed continues to scan the seas. "Maybe 'random weeds tea' is good for you."

"Clever little git." Gobber mutters with a grin as he walks towards the kettle standing on the chart table. "Could you be a dear and make some proper tea?" The captain asks as he sits down on his chair. "I think that if I go down those stairs one more time I might not get back up." He adds with a chuckle as he raises his legs and leans them on the nearby desk.

"Sure thing Gobber," Astrid said as she grabs the kettle and walks towards the stairs.

"Be sure to clean it out good." Gobber yells after her. "I don't want those weeds to leave a taste in our only kettle."

"Will do!" Astrid shouts from the bottom of the stairs, before disappearing through a door. Now it is Gobber's turn to sigh, he lowers his aching legs from the table and rests his hand in his lap, it twitches with unrest – at least that's what he calls it.

The Parkinson's is always worse when he's nervous, and he hates it. It shows fear, it shows weakness, two things he had expected to leave behind him after his time in the Royal Navy during the great war.

But here it is again, the twitching, the achingly irritating pulling of those blasted muscles. He'd chop off the damn hand if he didn't need it for other things. He is glad that he manages to supress it enough when his crew is nearby. He figures some already see him as old, they don't need an image of sickness.

He breaths calmly, resting a bit. After almost twenty-five years it still feels unnatural to rest with this weather. Calm seas, clear skies. He knows what that means, and he knows what it's like on the other side.

"Cold?" A voice asks and he turn around started. Astrid is standing in the opening with a steaming kettle of tea in her hand.

"Yea." Gobber lies as he feels the twitching stop. Staying strong for the crew, that was what he did. "Is it black?"

"This tea is blacker then the night itself." Astrid jokes as she places the kettle down on a desk.

"Remind me to stock up on milk in the next port." Gobber says with a smile as he looks at Astrid. The young female sailor pours two cups, handing one over to the captain. "Thanks." Gobber says politely.

They sit calmly, both holding their tea with both hands to keep them warm. The tea is a very dark colour, probably the closest they could get to coffee right about now. Gobber is the first to take a sip, a small one, since the tea is still scolding. He feels how strong it is, the hot liquid travelling down his throat. He winces slightly, the hot water left a numb yet burning sensation, and his throat feels dryer than a Sahara riverbed.

"Good tea." He says calmly as he peers out to sea. The small and gentle waves are travelling in their own direction next to the ship, following their own course on their own adventure. He sighs as his eyes dart across the horizon. For all that was starting to go wrong with his body, his eyes were still in good shape, at least for spotting ships. Reading was a whole different thing.

He hisses as he feels hot tea spill over his hands. His left hand has started twitching again. He calmly stands up from the seat, Astrid walking over with a piece of cloth.

"Careful." She says gently. "As you may have noticed, it's quite hot."

"Yea, quite." Gobber simply responds as he lets Astrid clean some of the tea from his hands. His shirt and pants are already rather stained, so she doesn't bother with them. He takes the cloth from Astrid to dry the cup itself, his left hand still twitching slightly, making it difficult.

"Still cold? Or just nervous?" Astrid asks as she walks back to the desk she was sitting on. She sits down gently and looks at the old captain.

"Heh, nervous." The captain says as he places the cup down and the cloth next to it. "I don't like this weather."

"Too cold?" Astrid asked as he held the tea to her face, blowing over the surface of the liquid in her cup.

"Too ideal." Gobber explains to her. "How much did I tell about my time in the navy?" He asks he grabs his left wrist to keep the hand in control.

"This and that." Astrid replies as she tries to take a sip, the tea was still to hot for her liking. "Destroyer, was it?"

"Submarine." Gobber says with a stern expression. "But perhaps I never told the details." He adds with a sigh as he looks out the window.

"This is the weather that was good for us." He explains. "Flat seas, large open areas." He adds. "Everywhere to hide and every angle to attack from."

Astrid stays silent, blowing over her tea to cool it down.

"It's probably just a feeling." Gobber explains. "But best to keep a keen eye out tonight."

Astrid takes a sip from her tea, it was starting to become drinkable. She places the cup on the desk and grabs a set of binoculars. Calmly, she scans the dark surface of the water, the horizon between sea and sky becoming difficult to see.

Meanwhile, half a mile away, a periscope pierces the surface.

"Careless shepherd make excellent dinner for wolf."

- Earl Derr Biggers

AN:

Okay, so I am probably not going to update this story super often, since I mainly want to work on my other one. But since I'm also motivated for this, and a small story on the side is probably smart, I'll do it anyway. I made the deal with myself that I first write on the large one, and then this one.

This chapter is mainly there to set the mood and scene for the story. The writing of this has been very choppy and with large intervals. So, there may be some errors in there. If you find any, do say so, then I can correct them. :P

If you like the story please do tell. I'm not sure how well a WWII au will be received, especially one like this. Any other questions, do ask. I always love to interact with writers.

Rating: T (Violence in later chapters)

Take care!

- R4y