As she sailed out of the dark stormclouds and the squall stopped washing down her flight deck, the woman sailing atop the waves finally had a chance to look at herself, wiping eyes that shouldn’t exist dry, with hands that shouldn’t exist either. Yet the woman had to quickly figure out just what she was. She was, admittedly, rather panicking, drenched in water as she was and unable to even begin to think until she was out of the squall.
“This isn’t possible. Simply impossible. No - it defies all explanation. How could I--I was a ship a moment ago...” She was muttering to herself as she sailed, distracted from any sight about her. The equipment upon her was obviously meant for a carrier, but it wasn’t what many in the Pacific were used to. In fact, it was a design that had never been built. A large 43 denoted what may be her designation upon the carrier’s deck, and the lilt of a New Zealander’s accent was coming from her, all the more odd considering the nation had never built a ship like her.
“I’ve got to focus - focus. Focus. Where in the bloody hell am I?” Such was her confusion that she was not keeping a proper watch around her surroundings for friend or foe alike, and none of her aircraft had been launched to create a patrol.
