Chapter 11: Scars of War

Michael was heavily concerned about the state of Prinz Eugen. Ever since their fight with her "friend" Blucher, she had not spoken to him once, locking herself away in her own personal room and leaving him in control of the vessel. The only issue was that he had no clue how to control all of this fancy technology. The ships he knew of were run by thousands of crewmembers all working together, but Prinz Eugen was capable of running the entire ship by herself. In a sense, he wished that another desperate situation came along, as in his experience the upper limits of ingenuity were discovered whenever humans were put into danger. It was only by dumbfound luck he found the console that controlled the anti-air cannons and managed to work them enough that he could shoot back at Blucher, but that event alone served to prove his theory. Just by using a bit of deductive reasoning, it would be senseless for Prinz Eugen's creators to not put in a secondary mode of controlling a vessel. Anybody who had spent time in the field could vouch that redundancy was absolutely key when it came to military equipment. While this powerful vessel and the girl it contained was to his eye a war machine, if it relied solely on her to control it, that was terrible designing on the part of the designers as he knew all too well how emotions could severely fuck up an operation and get someone's head blown off.

He scanned the bridge, looking for something akin to a ships steering wheel or something similar, but he found nothing of the sort. The various consoles that lined the walls and stood upright bolted to the floor seemed more for monitoring the vessel. He recognized a sensor screen, a weapons console different than the one he used for the anti-air cannons, presumably for the main guns, an instrument panel that was so cryptic that he could not understand any of the inscriptions on it, and various other controls.

The command chair however held a different surprise.

It was Prinz Eugen's chair, and he felt wrong to sit in it, but he needed a break. He plopped down and studied the features of the chair. On the right-hand armrest was a large joystick with several dials on it. The other armrest held several buttons, of which he didn't know what they did.

As soon as he sat down though, he felt a wave a drowsiness hit him. He wondered just how long it had been since he had last slept. He rested his arm on the right armrest and fell asleep to the quiet rocking of the vessel as it bobbed silently on the waves.

Then his arm slipped and knocked the joystick forward.

"Hwah?!" Sprung awake in a flash, he gripped the chair as the ship lurched forward all of a sudden, almost catapulting him out of the chair were it nor for his iron grasp on the armrests. Then the ship stopped, rocking more violently, but no longer moving. He shook his head to wash away the vestiges of the dizziness.

"The hell just happened?' he asked himself before staring at the joystick. He wrapped his hand around it and looked at the tiny knobs on it that could be turned with a flick of the thumb. One had a series of small numbers on it, and there was a big button at the top of the joystick.

He decided it was time for a test.

He pushed the joystick slightly forward, and to his immediate satisfaction, the vessel began to move forward. He made small motions left and right and found the ship responding very nicely to his command. It reminded him of driving a truck only he was constantly playing with the shifter. The knob with numbers turned out to be velocity control, and he found the ship could make a staggering 80 knots at top speed. He thumbed the button on the top and for a moment let go of the joystick in surprise as a display of light set itself up across his lap with holographic buttons. He was scared, but for no good reason, as tapping the buttons gave him an overall view of the ship, and the armrest buttons were for sorting through different features.

"Whoever designed this incredible machinery sure has a lot of time on their hands..." Michael mumbled to himself. He went through several tests to learn the machinery better, enjoying himself in an oblique way.

He just prayed that Prinz Eugen would snap out of her funk soon.

"Why would she do this..."

The scene in Prinz Eugen's room was not pleasant. The once carefully organized furnishings had been forcibly thrown about the room as strands of hair and nanomaterial blood decorated the walls and floor in splotches. Anyone would have thought that some sort of murder scene had taken place in the room. The destruction was almost artistic.

Save the girl herself.

She lay in the corner of the room, chunks of her body missing where she had torn it out in a messy rage using her own hands, which were missing fingers. Her hair was gone, stumpy roots all that was left of her flowing sheen. Her mouth frothed and bubbling tears still spattered out of her eyes onto the cold floor. A shivering disgusting mess that could well be mistaken for some sort of zomboid.

She was insane.

The sheer hardship she was enduring sent her emotion processors off the wall. An endless inferno of despair spiraling into a cold abyss. And when she opened her eyes, all she could see was that face...

That damned face...

It gave her the same blank expression that Blucher had given her, for it was her face, reminding her of her failure as a Fleet of Fog vessel. Reminding her of the damages that she had done. There was no place for her in this universe. She gripped her head and screamed into a shredded pillow over and over and over again as she felt her simulated humanity dissolving away.

She wanted to be held, made to feel like she was useful, even though she was clearly not.

"I want to go home..."

Her core performed a shutdown in order to keep from overheating. It would reboot once her processors had cooled off. She clasped the shredded pillow and fell into unconsciousness, splayed out against the corner.

Knock Knock

"Prinz Eugen?"

Knock Knock

...

...

...

The button next to the doorway glimmered and door slid open. A man wearing a paintedly concerned expression came into the room before surveying the scene. He spotted her in the corner and breathed a light gasp. He picked up the shattered pieces of this broken girl and laid her on the ripped up cot before laying her pieces beside her. Then he pulled over the single wooden chair in the room and sat down next to her, watching her as her body lay still.

"We are going home Prinz Eugen. I figured out how to make the ship drive itself. We will be home by midday tomorrow."

He knew full well she wouldn't respond, but he felt bad. He could only assess the toll life was taking on her by the damage she did to herself. He knew she wasn't a bad person, he need only look at her actions in Dunkirk and in Britain to understand that. But it was the sign of someone who continuously drew the short stick with the black stain. Human or not, he knew that despite the damage she did to herself that she wasn't dead. He just hoped that she got better soon.

By the time they arrived at Dover again, she still wasn't waking up. The port officials were waiting for him, and with the gangplanks automatically lowering as the Prinz Eugen made port again, Michael found himself stepping into what would be an interesting situation for him. Reporters and other types of civilian commonfolk had crowded around the area, wondering just what was going on. He sighed, knowing that dealing with the media would be a pain in the rear. Sure enough, as soon as he set his foot on the dock, he was barraged with questions from the port officials regarding supplies and unnotified leave and a whole bunch of other useless noise to his ears.

Yet all at once, it grew very silent.

At first, Michael wondered what was going on, but then the crowd began to part and another man came into view.

And he was quite shocked, so much so he blurted the name out without even thinking.

"Thomas Phillips?!"

He was certainly deserving of the nickname "Tom Thumb." One of the most respected men in the British Admirality, and yet Michael had an easy 7 inches on him. However, the aura of confidence and power he projected was not to be trifled with. Even if they were from different branches, Michael still held great respect for the man. Thomas stopped in front of him and looked up directly into his eyes.

"Private Russell I take it?" He asked.

"Y-yes sir!" Michael flashed a salute out of respectful fear.

"Come with me, we have matters to discuss concerning you and this...vessel."

"Sir!" The admiral turned and began walking back towards the administrative districts. At first, Michael followed behind him, but then the admiral said something interesting.

"Fear not Michael, come walk beside me. You are not in trouble." He said this with a laden voice that seemed heavily overworked yet inviting. Why one of the highest of ups was treating him like an equal, Michal could not fathom the reason for. Perhaps it was because of Prinz Eugen and the awesome power she wielded that the admiral was holding respect for him?

Nevertheless, Michael stepped forward beside the man.

"Sir, i-if I may ask with all due respect, where are we going?"

"To my office." The admiral responded. "I prefer not to discuss the matters of superweapons in open public, and ordinarily I would not talk about it with you, save for the fact that your with that girl on board." It felt like a gut punch, but Michael understood why. Just the knowledge of Prinz Eugen's potential could put an entire country into a huge scare. And that's without the propaganda creators blowing a story out of proportion. Michael was glad he had figured out how to lock Prinz Eugen's room and her controls as well as shut down the vessel, lest someone swan off with her without realizing it. Or accidentally blow something up.

They arrived at a stout building of brick construction and walked inside, guards littering the area. Inside was fancy oaken wood paneling and flooring lit dimly with ceiling lights. Up a flight of stairs and through a set of large wooden doors and Michael found himself in a very well kept office. With the doors closed behind him and guarded heavily, he could only watch as the admiral planted himself firmly into his chair and gazed across the desk at him. Automatically Michael stood proper, but the admiral motioned for him to be at ease, thus he relaxed his stance somewhat.

"I'll get right to the point." Said the admiral. He pulled out a file and scattered a series of black and white pictures across the desk. "During the attack on Dunkirk our field photographers captured a series of images. All of which relate to your vessel in some way. Would you care to explain how you happened across this vessel?" Michael peered over at the pictures and sure indeed, there were plenty of images of Prinz Eugen's awesome destructive firepower, bolts from her light cannons sundering enemy tank divisions as her flying bombs descended from the sky in mad fury to wreak havoc on the unsuspecting Nazi's below.

"The vessel came to me sir. I did not happen across it by myself." He responded. Sure enough the admiral would be curious about such an enigmatic weapon. What he couldn't figure was how the Nazis had built such a terrifying weapon, or for that matter why it turned against them suddenly.

"When did they have time to develop such a weapon...?" The admiral muttered. "Our intelligence cells were unable to find anything on this benighted artifact before or after its discovery. Unless those Huns built this inside of a sea cucumber's ass, this thing should have at least been discovered, even if its specifications were not available. He looked up at Michael. "I have another question to ask you."

"What is it sir?" Michael asked nervously. The admiral sighed.

"Do you think there are more of them out there?"