Khaki Fever
To generate some more feedback on my fic, I figured I'd post it here and on the sw_leviathan page. mightyinkas, tell me if I can post it on the clankwinists page.
This is my first foray into writing for the Leviathan universe, although I’ve been lurking around this fandom for quite a while now. I’m such a history nerd-I got the idea for this fic while reading about the phenomenon of “khaki fever” for my senior level history class on how war affects men and women. I was immediately intrigued by this topic, and instantly thought of Deryn Sharp. That connection led to this. Most of this fic was written before Goliath’s release, so that’s why it deviates a little from the post-Goliath canon.
The concept of khaki fever will be explained in the course of the story.
Disclaimer: All characters belong to the great Scott Westerfeld.
Beta: the amazing mightyinkas.
Rating: T to be safe.
And now, Khaki Fever:
Deryn Sharp had been through many harrowing experiences. She’d lived through the atrocities of war. She’d been shot at numerous times, had experienced bullets piercing her skin, had to rescue that barking dummkopf of a prince Alek from all sorts of calamities-the worst being when he crashed his walker in the middle of Siberia. Dr. Barlow had wanted him to investigate a special type of mammothesque and the intense cold had frozen the gears, causing the usually adept prince to crash the disabled walker. Blisters, she’d commanded a top secret mission from which only she had come back alive. Sometimes it seemed that not much could ruffle her-except for anything involving Aleksander Ferdinand-sometimes she could be such a ninny-and of course memories of her da.
But even that secret underwater mission off the coast of the Ottoman Empire could seem easy once reporters came into the picture. It wasn’t that she was scared of them-she was Deryn Sharp, she wasn’t easily scared-but they made her uncomfortable, especially once they got past the preliminary questions and started trying to delve deeper into why she had joined the British Air Service. Eddie Malone had published the first interview with Deryn after her secret had come out, but all the other up-and-coming reporters wanted to say that they had “exclusive” information about Britain’s first female middy.
“Did you do it to promote women’s rights?”
“Did you join to rebel against your mother?”
“Did you join to make a difference?”
Barking spiders, didn’t they understand? She just wanted to fly. Flying made her feel like she was with her da again. Besides, the hot air balloons and the Huxleys didn’t care if she was a girl who wore trousers and cursed like a sailor and kept her blond hair cut to her shoulders.
Up in the air, she felt free.
So she always hated when the reporters thronged around, because they never listened or paid attention. If they’d paid attention, they would have realized why she flew, and they would have cut it with the clart questions.
But one question seemed to top them all.
***
“Did you join because you were one of the thousands of young girls struck by khaki fever?”
Deryn gave a start. She, Alek, Count Volger, and Dr. Barlow-along with the loveable loris Bovril-were trying to hide in the back of a large crowd who had gathered to celebrate the end of the war. Even though Alek had been instrumental in negotiating the cease-fire a month previous-it was now June, 1916-and was therefore obligated to attend the official reception and dinner formally celebrating the war’s end with most of Europe’s remaining nobility, Deryn had insisted on their attending the so-called “common” event where the terms of the cease fire were read and explained to the more “ordinary” townspeople. “If I have to attend your sodding posh party,” she’d huffed to Alek, “then you can celebrate with me and the majority of Great Britain’s citizens.”
They were hiding in the back of the crowd so as not to call too much attention to themselves. Well, at least Deryn and Alek were. Deryn was tired of fending off barking nosy reporters, and Alek was determined to help her keep watch, as well as wanting to avoid aspiring Eddie Malones himself. Count Volger was still resolute about keeping watch on his charge, even though Alek was seventeen and nearly grown. Dr. Barlow, who was now employing Deryn as an assistant after the discovery of “Dylan Sharp’s” true identity after Deryn had been hit in the shoulder and thigh during a battle, claimed she was along only to “people-watch,” but Deryn didn’t want to know what devious experiments the boffin was most likely conniving.
Up until the reporter had barged his way into Deryn’s space, Deryn had been more interested in Alek’s reaction to the proceedings than in the actual proceedings themselves. She was trying to pay attention, but Alek had explained most of the terms and conditions to her beforehand, and besides, Alek was so much more interesting than the graying boffin mumbling in a monotone.
The reporter’s interruption shocked Deryn back to reality. She’d been daydreaming about riding on a Huxley with Alek, combing her fingers through his auburn hair, and teasing him about the mustache he was trying to grow….
“What?”
The reporter frowned. Deryn realized too late that her seeming inattention was most unbecoming of a former lieutenant in the British Air Service.
“Did you join because you were one of the thousands of young girls struck by khaki fever?”
Deryn looked at the man as if he’d just said that someone had combined a penguin and an alpaca to create a new fabrication.
“What in blazes is that?!”
The reporter sighed, but didn’t even bat an eye at Deryn’s loose phrasing. He must have interviewed her before, if he wasn’t shocked by her behavior. Deryn tended to block those events from her memory.
“Khaki fever describes how young girls, at the beginning of the war, were so enamored with men in uniform that they chased them all over English towns in hopes of flirting with them….and possibly more,” the reporter stated, his voice lowering at the last bit, obviously scandalized.
“How have you not heard of this phenomenon, Miss Sharp?”
Deryn just raised an eyebrow at the completely oblivious reporter. Were all of them simple ninnies when it came to deducing comments made in an interview? Or was that why they had their fabricated frogs recording the conversation for them?
She wanted to throw his obliviousness back in his face, but decided that the poor dummkopf wouldn’t get it.
So she simply said,
“Maybe because I just spent two years fighting a sodding war! In disguise as a man, even, because the heads of the barking British Air Service don’t think girls are qualified!”
The reporter’s eyes blinked like a frog’s.
“So of course I haven’t been running around like a simpering ninny after a bonny lad in uniform!” She nodded emphatically to make her point. Because she hadn’t. She had been too busy performing midshipman duties, fighting in battles, assisting the boffins, helping to start a revolution, hiding her secret, finding out what sneaky-beaks like Hearst and Pancho Villa were plotting….
And, most importantly, she’d been a concerned friend, hiding her feelings, protecting her daft prince.
Alek.
Her Alek.
“But you know what?” she asked no one in particular, as the reporter still just stood dumbly, looking at her with googly eyes. The close bystanders, now paying attention to the hotheaded blond instead of the speaker, watched intently as a satisfied smirk bloomed on Deryn’s face.
“I wound up with something better than a lad in uniform. I ended up with a barking prince.”
This is my first foray into writing for the Leviathan universe, although I’ve been lurking around this fandom for quite a while now. I’m such a history nerd-I got the idea for this fic while reading about the phenomenon of “khaki fever” for my senior level history class on how war affects men and women. I was immediately intrigued by this topic, and instantly thought of Deryn Sharp. That connection led to this. Most of this fic was written before Goliath’s release, so that’s why it deviates a little from the post-Goliath canon.
The concept of khaki fever will be explained in the course of the story.
Disclaimer: All characters belong to the great Scott Westerfeld.
Beta: the amazing mightyinkas.
Rating: T to be safe.
And now, Khaki Fever:
Deryn Sharp had been through many harrowing experiences. She’d lived through the atrocities of war. She’d been shot at numerous times, had experienced bullets piercing her skin, had to rescue that barking dummkopf of a prince Alek from all sorts of calamities-the worst being when he crashed his walker in the middle of Siberia. Dr. Barlow had wanted him to investigate a special type of mammothesque and the intense cold had frozen the gears, causing the usually adept prince to crash the disabled walker. Blisters, she’d commanded a top secret mission from which only she had come back alive. Sometimes it seemed that not much could ruffle her-except for anything involving Aleksander Ferdinand-sometimes she could be such a ninny-and of course memories of her da.
But even that secret underwater mission off the coast of the Ottoman Empire could seem easy once reporters came into the picture. It wasn’t that she was scared of them-she was Deryn Sharp, she wasn’t easily scared-but they made her uncomfortable, especially once they got past the preliminary questions and started trying to delve deeper into why she had joined the British Air Service. Eddie Malone had published the first interview with Deryn after her secret had come out, but all the other up-and-coming reporters wanted to say that they had “exclusive” information about Britain’s first female middy.
“Did you do it to promote women’s rights?”
“Did you join to rebel against your mother?”
“Did you join to make a difference?”
Barking spiders, didn’t they understand? She just wanted to fly. Flying made her feel like she was with her da again. Besides, the hot air balloons and the Huxleys didn’t care if she was a girl who wore trousers and cursed like a sailor and kept her blond hair cut to her shoulders.
Up in the air, she felt free.
So she always hated when the reporters thronged around, because they never listened or paid attention. If they’d paid attention, they would have realized why she flew, and they would have cut it with the clart questions.
But one question seemed to top them all.
***
“Did you join because you were one of the thousands of young girls struck by khaki fever?”
Deryn gave a start. She, Alek, Count Volger, and Dr. Barlow-along with the loveable loris Bovril-were trying to hide in the back of a large crowd who had gathered to celebrate the end of the war. Even though Alek had been instrumental in negotiating the cease-fire a month previous-it was now June, 1916-and was therefore obligated to attend the official reception and dinner formally celebrating the war’s end with most of Europe’s remaining nobility, Deryn had insisted on their attending the so-called “common” event where the terms of the cease fire were read and explained to the more “ordinary” townspeople. “If I have to attend your sodding posh party,” she’d huffed to Alek, “then you can celebrate with me and the majority of Great Britain’s citizens.”
They were hiding in the back of the crowd so as not to call too much attention to themselves. Well, at least Deryn and Alek were. Deryn was tired of fending off barking nosy reporters, and Alek was determined to help her keep watch, as well as wanting to avoid aspiring Eddie Malones himself. Count Volger was still resolute about keeping watch on his charge, even though Alek was seventeen and nearly grown. Dr. Barlow, who was now employing Deryn as an assistant after the discovery of “Dylan Sharp’s” true identity after Deryn had been hit in the shoulder and thigh during a battle, claimed she was along only to “people-watch,” but Deryn didn’t want to know what devious experiments the boffin was most likely conniving.
Up until the reporter had barged his way into Deryn’s space, Deryn had been more interested in Alek’s reaction to the proceedings than in the actual proceedings themselves. She was trying to pay attention, but Alek had explained most of the terms and conditions to her beforehand, and besides, Alek was so much more interesting than the graying boffin mumbling in a monotone.
The reporter’s interruption shocked Deryn back to reality. She’d been daydreaming about riding on a Huxley with Alek, combing her fingers through his auburn hair, and teasing him about the mustache he was trying to grow….
“What?”
The reporter frowned. Deryn realized too late that her seeming inattention was most unbecoming of a former lieutenant in the British Air Service.
“Did you join because you were one of the thousands of young girls struck by khaki fever?”
Deryn looked at the man as if he’d just said that someone had combined a penguin and an alpaca to create a new fabrication.
“What in blazes is that?!”
The reporter sighed, but didn’t even bat an eye at Deryn’s loose phrasing. He must have interviewed her before, if he wasn’t shocked by her behavior. Deryn tended to block those events from her memory.
“Khaki fever describes how young girls, at the beginning of the war, were so enamored with men in uniform that they chased them all over English towns in hopes of flirting with them….and possibly more,” the reporter stated, his voice lowering at the last bit, obviously scandalized.
“How have you not heard of this phenomenon, Miss Sharp?”
Deryn just raised an eyebrow at the completely oblivious reporter. Were all of them simple ninnies when it came to deducing comments made in an interview? Or was that why they had their fabricated frogs recording the conversation for them?
She wanted to throw his obliviousness back in his face, but decided that the poor dummkopf wouldn’t get it.
So she simply said,
“Maybe because I just spent two years fighting a sodding war! In disguise as a man, even, because the heads of the barking British Air Service don’t think girls are qualified!”
The reporter’s eyes blinked like a frog’s.
“So of course I haven’t been running around like a simpering ninny after a bonny lad in uniform!” She nodded emphatically to make her point. Because she hadn’t. She had been too busy performing midshipman duties, fighting in battles, assisting the boffins, helping to start a revolution, hiding her secret, finding out what sneaky-beaks like Hearst and Pancho Villa were plotting….
And, most importantly, she’d been a concerned friend, hiding her feelings, protecting her daft prince.
Alek.
Her Alek.
“But you know what?” she asked no one in particular, as the reporter still just stood dumbly, looking at her with googly eyes. The close bystanders, now paying attention to the hotheaded blond instead of the speaker, watched intently as a satisfied smirk bloomed on Deryn’s face.
“I wound up with something better than a lad in uniform. I ended up with a barking prince.”