[u][b][color=magenta]|USS [i]Tulsa[/i], Control Car[/color][/b][/u]

"Message from Glasgow local council, sir." the Red watch radioman said.
"Go ahead," Cdr. Roy.
"Message reads: Identify yourselves, your allegiance and your craft. Do not attempt to land before reporting back, or you will be fired upon."

The bridge crew stared carefully at their instruments, and not at the skipper.

"Reply as follows:

[pre][@Iluvatar]TO: Glasgow Local Council
FROM: USS Tulsa ZRCV 1

This is United States Navy airship Tulsa, Cdr. Roy E. Owens commanding. We have been ordered to divert to Glasgow by Liverpool. We require 100 ground crew or mooring mast.[/pre]

The skipper shook his head and gritted his teeth. The bridge crew smiled slightly at the thought that even Cdr. Owens could get screwed over by Naval bureaucratic SNAFU's. Roy was pushing 36 hours awake on only five hours of sleep; technically he was supposed to be asleep right now, but regulations required the skipper to be present for mooring procedures. Not that he would've missed this anyway. As soon as he'd gotten orders to go to Glasgow, he knew something was wrong. It hadn't quite reared its ugly face yet, but it was coming. All this had to happen on the same day that the United States went to war. If the crew had been itching to drop bombs on some Nazi subs before, now it was even worse. Hell, he knew there'd even be talk of going over and fighting the japs in the Pacific, as ludicrous as that idea was. Owens had served in the last days of the Great War, and frankly was more concerned about his men's safety than anything else. Even in peacetime, airships weren't known as the safest ships in the Navy. In wartime, any serious air threat would spell doom, and Cdr. Owens knew it.

If the brits didn't get their asses in gear, he might just fly off to the Pacific anyway.

[u][b][color=magenta]|Crew Quarters[/color][/b][/u]
Don Lipke asked, "So what's in Glasgow, anyway? Girls? Booze?" Roger was staring at the porthole from his rack, knowing Don wouldn't shut the hell up but hoping he might. 
"Planning your shoreleave already, shipmate?" the booming bass of the Chief Machinist's Mate sounded from the hatch. Roger instantly tried to make himself look busy sleeping. It didn't matter that he was "sleeping" as much as that he looked busy doing it. When the Chief walks by, you look busy, no matter what.
"Yes, sir," Don said.
"Since you're already awake, you might as well make the most of it," CMM Eddie Forest said, "and clean this compartment up." Roger was very, very busy keeping as still as he possibly could.
"Aye, sir," Don said.
"That goes for you, too, Douglass," Forest said. "Hell," he continued, increasing his volume by a few decibels, "since I think everyone's awake, you might as well all get to work. It's a fine Navy night, shipmates, and I'd hate for us to waste it." Forest pushed the electric light button on the wall panel near the hatch. Once he was satisfied that everyone was awake and cleaning, CMM Forest disappeared down the passageway to his next set of victims.

"Great going, Lipke," Roger said. The entire compartment was glaring at Don.
"He's got it out for me, I swear," Don said.