A/N: Just a little experiment to get some plot bunnies out of my head. If you think I should continue it, leave a review!
You had to have been there to know what it was like. One minute we're cruising along in the sunshine, next thing you know the world's on fire and we don't know where it came from. Our AEGIS wouldn't work, our missiles wouldn't lock, CIWS couldn't shoot what it couldn't see, and when we finally took a hint and went to manual firing the five inch just… bounced off. The Warramunga went down first. The Sampson - my ship - it was next. Finally, Captain Yura, Myōkō's commander, he had as many of us get off as could do it. I was bleeding pretty badly by that time, so last thing I saw was that… thing, that monster had blown off the stern. Three of the world's best ships, gone in minutes… oh, God.
- Lieutenant Commander Henry G. Harding, speaking to intelligence officers aboard the USS Gerald R. Ford one day before the Battle of the Gulf of Aden.
"... and now we bring in Henry Richardson, Secretary of the UN High Commission on Piracy. Welcome, Mr. Secretary."
"Thanks for having me."
"Always a pleasure. Now, the situation off the Somali Coast… do we know why incidents have been increasing as of late?"
"I would like to be able to tell you yes. Unfortunately, nobody has been able to come up with an explanation. The pirates haven't made any demands, haven't communicated. The ships they attack have been found adrift, missing their crew but still carrying their cargo."
"Don't the pirates usually hold the crew for ransom, or try to sell the cargo?"
"That is precisely why this situation is so odd. As such, we are approaching this affair with all possible caution."
"There have been some reports surrounding a major reinforcement the anti-piracy forces in the region. Is this true?"
"Yes, the UN has requested the deployment of additional naval units to the Gulf of Aden and Somali waters in order to combat this scourge. A United States Navy carrier battlegroup is on its way as we speak, as well as task forces from the Royal Navy, the ROKN and the PLAN. We thank all the participants for their contribution and hope to have this issue resolved in a timely manner, to reopen the seas to safe trade for all."
"Thank you Mr. Secretary. This is David Cartwright, BBC News, reporting from UN Headquarters in New York. And now, sports."
"MV Uras, this is HMAS Warramunga, please divert your course five degrees port, over."
"Acknowledged Warramunga, five degrees port, out."
Like some sort of giant sea creature, the bow of the bulk carrier Uras came around, leaving behind it a gently churning sea. The other ships in the convoy maintained their course, white wakes drifting across the water. Flagged to four different nations, carrying goods worth over one hundred million US dollars, the massive, slow freighters were the definition of a prime target for the pirates operating off the Somali coast.
"Helm, come right, steer course zero five nine."
"Come right, steer course zero five nine, aye sir. My rudder is left five degrees, coming to course zero five nine."
"Very well."
"Steady on course zero five nine, check course zero six nine."
"Very well."
That was why, on this fine day more suited to relaxing on the beach with a shaken martini in one hand and a girl in the other, the USS Sampson was holding formation with the HMAS Warramunga and the JDS Myōkō, radars trained on the horizon for any sign of an approaching boat that could signal an attempted attack. It was the guided missile destroyer's job to show the pirates, with all the gentle, vertically launched, five inch and AEGIS guided persuasion that the US Navy could bring to bear, why they ought to consider a different line of work.
"Helm, ease up on the throttle, bring us down to fifteen knots."
"Fifteen knots, aye sir. Coming down to fifteen knots."
Captain Joseph Liang leaned back in his command chair, sipping at a ceramic mug emblazoned with the ship's badge. Hot, black, bitter Navy coffee settling in his stomach, he surveyed the seas through the bridge windows.
"Seas are calm today…"
"I'm sorry, Captain?"
"Nothing lieutenant, carry on." Nodding, the lieutenant turned back to her station, surveying the same waters with a pair of binoculars. A bit of air puffed through his nostrils in amusement. Liang could remember when he'd been so eager, an ensign fresh out of Annapolis. Yes, the lieutenant would make a fine officer, if Liang's own career track was any indication.
"Haifeng, this is the JDS Myōkō. Increase your speed to fifteen knots and come starboard four degrees, over."
"Understood Myōkō, increasing to fifteen knots and coming starboard four degrees, over." The lumbering beast that was the oil tanker Haifeng inched its bow right ever so slowly, the small movement made visible by the vessel's massive size. The Sampson felt positively like a minnow in comparison. Liang sometimes wondered what the people who designed such enormous ships thought as they sketched out the plans.
"Compensating for something… ?"
"Communication request from the Myōkō, it's Captain Yura, sir."
"Alright." He stood up from his chair and cracked his neck, reaching a hand out for the radio. "Thank you, ensign. Please allow me a moment of privacy."
"Of course, Captain." The ensign retreated, returning to monitoring the gauges which conveyed all a person could ever need or want to know about turbine stress levels. Liang cast an eye around the room to check who else might be listening in, then keyed the mic.
"Myōkō, this is Sampson. What's up, over?"
"Captain Liang, it is good to hear your voice. There is a slight software glitch in our radar displays, and our technicians seem to be unable to resolve it. I apologize for the inconvenience, but would you be able to transfer a team over to look at it?" Captain Daichi Yura's perfect, Princeton-polished English came over the airwaves, each syllable clipped to perfection with only a slight mar of an accent.
"Of course. Make your helipad available and I'll send a helicopter over, see if we can't fix this glitch."
"Thank you, Captain. I do not believe anything serious will come of this, but it is always good to be prepared. These pirates are devious, like when they took the Jugenheim in June."
"Right, that was a weird one. Well, make your ship ready to receive our chopper. I'll have my guys go over."
"Again, much appreciated. Myōkō, out." The radio clicked off. Liang handed it back to the ensign, then walked over to the 51MC.
"Hangar, make ready one helicopter for immediate transfer to the JDS Myōkō. Repeat, ready one helicopter for transfer to the Myōkō. Await further orders, out." Replacing the mic in its holder, he tapped his resident software expert on the shoulder. "Harding, get a code crew together and head over to the Myōkō. Sound's like their AEGIS is bugging out a bit, the resident techs can't fix it."
"Aye, Captain." The lieutenant commander saluted and left the bridge, leaving Liang to gaze out at the ocean. Waves lapped gently at the Sampson's hull and a gentle breeze blew across the deck. In the distance he could barely make out the coast line, and if he used his binoculars he might have been able to see the small black dots of birds.
"Yeah… nothing serious." He nodded, putting aside any worries he might have had about a glitched AEGIS system. This was a convoy escort mission, one of the easiest tasks the Navy could hand a commander. He could have been in the South China Sea, fixed in the crosshairs of more sides than he cared to count, or cruising off Korea, well within range of the Norks', admittedly unreliable, missiles, or standing refugee patrol in the Med, or staring down the Ruskies in the Bering Strait, or any number of hotspots that seemed to flare up just as the last one died down. Instead he was cruising through gentle seas and sunshine, here to ward off enemies that he could literally run over and not even feel. Perfect for a fresh crew to stretch its legs, and their commander to get some down time.
"Seas are really calm…"
So long.
So long since it had breathed the salty air.
So long since its hull had cut the waves.
So long since its guns had fired in anger.
Now, as it broke the surface for the first time in an eternity, it tasted the briny winds and the salty water. The stink of humanity was strong here, an acrid smell which stung its eyes and filled its lungs. If it had had the required tissues for it, it might have spat in disgust but alas, saliva glands had not been included in its design.
Curious. The stench seemed fresh, not stale like the general odor which permeated the world. Not earthy like that which drifted out from land, either; this carried with it the smell of the sea. There were ships in the area, and that meant crews, which meant… prey.
Lifting its masts to the winds, it scanned the horizon, sniffing and searching for those telltale white wakes which would show it where to go, where to hunt. The smell bothered it no longer; it was not an annoyance now, but a trail to follow.
There. Twenty five kilometers away, heading northeast, straight towards it. A group of vessels with unfamiliar shapes, chugging along at a sedate fifteen knots. Though it could not recognize the class or type, it knew warships when it saw them. And of course, the general design of merchant ships hadn't changed a bit, other than becoming obscenely large. And all that size meant was that they'd be slow and easy.
The order went down to the engineering spaces. The boilers lit off, blue fire burning away within the steel furnaces. The propellor shafts began their revolutions, slowly at first but rapidly gaining speed. Smoke spewed out the stack, covering the weapons lining its sides with a layer of fine soot. Torpedoes and guns were readied, shells in breeches and warheads in tubes. It retracted its masts, having no more need for them. Its eye opened, glowing with an eerie green light.
The hunt was on.
"Captain, CIC reports unknown contact, forty kilometers off the starboard bow."
"Give me a bearing."
"Aye sir, tracking on course two four one, speed thirty knots."
"Thirty knots? That's not a skiff." A tingle went down Liang's neck. "All stations are to standby, signal the Myōkō and the Warramunga. Ask them if they see this."
"Roger that. Channel open, sir."
"Thank you. Myōkō, Warramunga, this is Sampson. Are you seeing a contact bearing two four one, speed thirty knots?"
"Sampson, Warramunga, aye. We track contact bearing two four one, speed thirty knots, fast little bugger."
"This is Myōkō, confirm. We are tracking a contact bearing two four one, speed thirty knots."
"Standby, we're gonna try and hail it." Liang covered the radio with one hand and pointed the bridge's radioman with the other. "I want an open hail, standard greet and warn, all channels."
"Aye sir, opening channel. Unknown vessel, this is the guided missile destroyer USS Sampson. You are approaching at high speed, please respond immediately and divert your course onto bearing one one two. I say again, unknown vessel, divert your course onto bearing one one two immediately. If you do not comply, we are authorized to take all measures necessary to protect this vessel and the vessels under its protection, over."
Commander Schubert scoffed from his station. "They'll back off. Probably some Saudi jackoff drunk up on dad's money and riding a shiny new yacht."
"Think he could spare some hookers?" Lieutenant Gonzalez replied, a lopsided smile on his scarred face.
"Nah, they're all Wahhabis over there, right? Basically the fun police."
"True that, the cops give me the stink-eye every time we pull into port. Can't we just invade them and grab the oil already, quit this whole 'friends' thing?"
"Stow that talk, eyes on the horizon. Have they responded to our hail?"
"No sir, no response. Shall I hail them again?"
"Do it."
"Aye sir." The lieutenant repeated the communication, with a little more force this time. As a precaution, Liang also had the Morse lamp prepared.
"Sir, Lieutenant Commander Harding and his team have arrived at Myōkō."
"Right, recall the chopper and keep me posted for updates. I'm going to go outside." As the ensign left, he walked over to the armored hatch leading to the observation deck and stepped out of the confines of the bridge.
"Fancy seeing you here, sir!" A lieutenant saluted as he approached, shouting above the wind now whipping through his hair.
"Where'd this wind come from?!"
"No idea, sir! Came outta nowhere, kinda refreshing!"
"Right…" He lifted his binoculars from around his neck, pointing them in the general direction of the contact. "Still can't see it… what is out there?" The wind stung his face, out of place on such a day. None of the reports predicted it; the meteorologists were gonna be pissed to all hell…
"Captain!" Liang turned, surprised at the voice. Holding tight to his cap, the radioman made his way over. "No response to our hail, sir!"
"Fuckin' seriously…? Come with me." The hatch swung open once more, and he reentered the windless interior. "Status update on the contact."
"Contact is still on bearing two four one, speed thirty two knots, thirty three kilometers off the starboard bow."
"Give me the radio. Unknown contact this is Captain Joseph Liang, commanding officer of the guided missile destroyer USS Sampson. You are in defiance of a lawful order from the United States Navy. I have peacefully requested multiple times that you divert your course onto bearing one one one. If you do not so immediately, your actions will be considered aggressive and dangerous and be dealt with as such. I repeat, divert your course onto bearing one one one or we will respond with force. USS Sampson, over." He switched the radio for the intercom. "CIC, ready the five inch and get a firing solution on the contact, over. Classify contact as Alpha One."
"Roger that Captain, five inch is tracking on Alpha One. AEGIS is having a bit of trouble clearing up the picture though, and our best techs are on Myōkō. We'll keep you posted, Captain. CIC out."
"Very well."
"Five inch, sir? Bit overkill, don't you think?"
"What do you mean, Schubert?"
"I mean, Captain, pirates'll run at the sound of a fifty cal. No need to blow them to pieces, right?"
"I don't think this is pirates. But yeah, five inch should be more than enough." A light blinked on the radio set, catching his attention. He shot a look at the screen. "Incoming hail from Warramunga. Captain Brown must want an update." He keyed the mic, signaling Schubert to hold on for a moment. "Yes, Captain?"
"Captain Liang, have your hails been answered, over?"
"No, not yet. We're readying the five inch forward just in case, but I don't think this'll come to anything. Probably some Saudi playboy who can't work the radio."
"Careful what you say, mate, Admiral'll have your arse if the bleedin' Saudis find out what you really think of them."
"It's true."
"Fair enough, but one sailor to another, watch the airwaves. The freighters are getting little antsy, by the way, want to know what to do. I think we oughta have them tighten up and increase speed."
"Sure, go ahead."
"You're convoy commander. I need your official approval."
"Alright, permission granted. Have the freighters close formation and increase to eighteen knots."
"Roger that. Warramunga, out." The radio went silent once more, a slight hiss of static coming through the headphones. Liang kept them off, waiting for a reply to his hail. Of course, nothing came through. The officers on the bridge glanced at each other, everyone knowing what this meant, and what was probably about to happen. Nobody wanted to end up like the destroyer Lucas had.
"Alright, we've given them a chance. Contact update?"
"CIC reports contact remains on previous course and speed, twenty eight kilometers out, sir."
"Very well. Prepare to fire warning shots. CIC, do we have a good solution?"
"Negative Captain, we can't d-" The CIC's report was interrupted by an alarmed yell from the navigation station. The lieutenant manning the console stared at his screens, eyes fixed on the small dot that represented their contact.
"Captain! Contact has increased speed, thirty four knots! Bearing change! It's-" The lieutenant gave a sigh of relief. "Bearing one seven two and still turning. He's running, sir."
"He's running? Are you sure?"
"I think so, sir. See, he's past one fifty, he's turning away."
"We scared him straight." Schubert grinned and patted Liang on his shoulder. "Seems that the Captain getting on the mic gave him a cold dose of reality, eh?"
"Yea-hold up, incoming from Myōkō." With an apologetic glance to the radioman, Liang took the call again. "This is Sampson, receiving you. What's the matter?"
"This is Myōkō, we see the contact turning away. Can you confirm?"
"That's an affirmative, Myōkō, I think we scared him off."
"Very well, I'll let the freighters know they can spread o-hold on-" Liang winced as a loud banging noise slammed into his eardrums. It seemed the captain of the Myōkō had dropped his microphone. Hushed mutters made their way over the radio. He strained to hear them, but they were too quiet for him to make out.
"Myōkō, is everything alright?"
"This is Myōkō, we've lost him."
"Say again?"
"He's gone, radar can't see him. Last contact bearing one six one, speed twenty six knots, distance twenty eight point five kilometers."
"This is Warramunga, we confirm. He's just… gone."
"Really? Check yo-" A tap on his shoulder cut him off. "Hold on a minute." He turned to the lieutenant behind him. "What's the matter, lieutenant?"
"Sir, CIC reports that they've lost tracking on the contact."
"What? Are… are they sure?"
"Positive sir, it's not just uncertain or fuzzy, it's not there."
"Very well. Allow me a moment's privacy." The lieutenant backed off and returned to his station. "Myōkō, Warramunga, we've lost him too."
"I'll be damned. Who'd've guessed there was stealth tech in the AO? We'll have to report this to Task Force HQ."
"Agreed, this could pose a serious threat to operations. I'll draft a report about this whole incident to hand in once we reach port. For now, it appears our little crisis is over."
"Best to remain on guard, but I agree. Whoever that was, I don't think they feel much like challenging us anymore." Even as he said the words, Liang felt a small bit of doubt worm its way into his mind. He pushed it away; after all, he was an official representative of the United States Navy, and by extension the United States itself. Along with the JMSDF and the RAN, nobody, with the possible exception of China, could be powerful or crazy enough to dare to provoke three powerful countries at once.
Right?
As Liang turned to the helmsman, relinquishing the radio to the radioman, the shiver went up his spine. His head shot up, pupils dilating and heart pumping against his will. Around him, he could see the rest of the bridge crew doing much the same. Schubert pressed a palm to his forehead while Gonzalez held onto his console with a white-knuckled grip, all while the very hull of the ship seemed to softly shudder.
"Captain… ?"
"What?!" He said, voice snapping out of control.
"What… what was that?"
"I don't know. All stations are to remain on standby. CIC, any new contacts in the AO?"
"Negative sir. But… permission to speak freely, sir?"
"Permission granted."
"Something doesn't feel right. AEGIS bugs, disappearing boats, something's wrong here, sir."
"Agreed. Go to alert, if anything changes tell me immediately."
"Yes sir. CIC, out." The intercom went dead. He thought about his next move for a second.
"Helm, increase speed to sixteen knots. Radio, notify Myōkō and Warramunga of our speed change."
"Aye s-" Both the helmsman and the radioman stopped as a bone-chilling cry came from the lookout. Time seemed to slow as the lookout pointed frantically out to sea, his face a mask of terror, gesturing at a series of faint white streaks on the surface of the water. Liang's face went white as he heard words he never thought he'd hear in his entire career, much less here off the coast of Somalia.
"Torpedoes to starboard!"
"General Quarters, General Quarters, all hands man your battle stations! The flow of traffic is up and forward on the starboard side, down and aft on the port! Set material condition Zebra throughout the ship, this is not, repeat, not a drill, we have inbound torpedoes! General Quarters, General Quarters!"
As the announcement repeated itself, sailors ran through the narrow corridors, grabbing helmets, flash gear, and all the myriad pieces of equipment which were required to keep a warship running in the middle of battle. Hatches were battened, all openings through which water could come secured. Damage control teams assembled, preparing to fix everything from fires to floods to fractured pipes. The sickbay got ready to receive casualties, corpsmen pulling on gloves and readying supplies.
Making way for a sailor running towards a fifty-cal mount, Liang leaned over the lookout's shoulder, staring through his own binoculars. "Talk to me, what's it look like?"
"Five, six, eight torpedoes, coming on quick!"
"Right. Helm, what's our bearing?"
"Course zero five nine, speed sixteen knots, sir!"
"And the torpedoes?"
"Working on it… got it, bearing two three three!"
"Helm, bring our course port to bearing zero five three, increase speed to twenty knots! Radio, warn Myōkō and Warramunga that we've got eight torpedoes coming at us quick!"
"Aye, sir!" said the radio and helmsmen, jumping into action. The ship groaned as it came about, pointing its bow in the direction directly opposite that which the torpedoes were going. Schubert tapped Liang's shoulder with a concerned expression.
"Captain, are you sure we should be heading towards the fish?"
"I'm going to try and decoy the torps. Have the torpedo tubes load acoustic decoys and prepare to fire, also prepare towed decoys. Helm!"
"Yes sir!"
"Full speed ahead, please."
"Yes sir, full speed ahead!" The helmsman shoved the throttle forward. In the engine room, the turbines kicked into high gear, spinning the shafts to ever higher revolutions per seconds. Propellers churned the water, the sea turning into a frothy white foam behind the destroyer as it raced to intercept the torpedoes.
"Sir, calls from Myōkō and Warramunga! They acknowledge all and are moving to support, and are notifying the freighters."
"CIC, what are the freighters doing?"
"They're speeding up, turning, but they're… they're mostly helpless, sir."
"Shit… we've got to pull this off." He stared at the plots on the console before him, the small dot of his ship moving steadily towards the deadly warheads. If he didn't pull this off just right, the acoustic homing systems would guide them beneath the keel. The detonation wouldn't put a hole in the ship, it would crack her in half. "On my mark, come hard to starboard and deploy countermeasures!"
"Aye sir! Hard aport, on your mark!"
"CIC, did you get the order?"
"Got it sir, deploying decoys on your mark. We're still trying to get a fix on where they came from, but no luck."
"As long as you fire those decoys, I don't care if the torps came from Captain Nemo himself."
The seconds ticked down, the entire ship waiting for his orders with bated breath. The lookout yelled out approximate distances read from his binocular lenses, his voice getting tighter and tighter as the numbers got smaller and smaller.
"900 meters! 800 meters! 700 meters, oh God!"
"Keep it together, sailor!"
"600, 500, 400, 300, 20-"
"Mark!" Despite bracing for it, Liang still stumbled as the ship heaved to the side, her hull screaming in protest. Throughout the Sampson's compartments and corridors, sailors went staggering and falling, crashing into walls, floors, doors and each other. At the same time, white puffs of smoke shot out from the tubes on the stern, six acoustic decoys splashing into the water on tracks which would take them far away from the convoy. Towed decoys also slid out from the fantail, trailing cables as they hit the waves and began doing their damnedest to wake Davy Jones with their racket.
"Hold on tight!" Completing its turn, the destroyer got back up to speed, her bow slicing through the waves in an attempt both to lead the torpedoes astray and to put as much distance between herself and the damned things as possible. Liang braced for the blast, hoping against hope that his plan had worked and knowing that the odds were very much against it.
A moment passed. He opened his eyes. "We're… alive?" He ran outside and shot a look at the stern. No white tracks pursued the ship. "They went for the decoys!"
"It worked?! I mean, of course it worked!"
"You pulled it off, sir!"
"Holy shit!" The bridge broke into spontaneous celebration, cheering, laughing and hugging in the manner of death row inmates who, just moments before facing the firing squad, have gotten a full pardon delivered personally by the judge. Liang resisted the urge to join in, forcing a stoic and serious look onto his face that a twitch at the corner of his mouth threatened to ruin.
"Well done you all. Well done. When we get into port, drinks are on-"
"Captain?" Ah, the lookout. Liang had forgotten about the poor man in this whole mess; he deserved a few words of praise.
"Good job being on the watch there, you saved us all. In fact, as soon as I can I'm recommending you f-"
"That's not it. L-look." He raised a trembling hand pointing it back where they'd come from. With eyebrow raised, Liang followed it, wondering what the lookout saw.
"There." His eyes widened and his mouth dropped open.
"No. How? How in the hell-"
"They weren't guided."
"What?"
"Sir, the torps weren't guided! They're still on course, they're still heading for the convoy!"
"Shit! Radio, signal Myōkō and Warramunga, tell th-"
"It's too late, sir." Liang's order died in his throat. The other two destroyers, having moved up to cover the Sampson, were as badly out of position as she was. The torpedoes had a straight shot at the fat, slow, helpless freighters, caught out in the middle of slow turns and achingly gradual speed changes, and as the words left the lookout's mouth the Haifeng and the millions of barrels of oil it carried erupted into an enormous fireball.
As it watched, eight explosions blossomed upwards from the sea. Though its lookouts couldn't get an exact count, it knew that four freighters and all their cargo had just been sent to the bottom. The enemy ship which had tried to intercept the torpedoes was now wheeling about, frantically backpedalling in an attempt to save what was already lost.
No matter. It was faster than them, anyways. They could run all they wanted, it would still catch up, and the next phase of the hunt, the exciting part, would begin. Rubbing its figurative hands together in figurative anticipation, it ordered the guns loaded and aimed.
Open season.
"Shit, shit shit shit shit shit!"
"Helm, flank speed, now! Bring us about to course two three seven!"
"Aye Captain, flank speed, course two three seven!" The helmsman spun the wheel as quickly as it would turn. The Sampson leaned to the side as it turned, sending sailors tumbling once more.
"Hail Warramunga, have them cover our six! We're falling back, we have to help the survivors!"
"Aye sir!" The radioman clamped down on his headphones, speaking quickly and firmly into his set. Down in the engineering spaces, the engineers kept a careful eye on the stress readings, watching the propellor shafts for any signs of impending failure. Piercing through the water at the fastest speed it could physically go, the destroyer physically trembled from her efforts.
Liang had to hold himself up as the Warramunga sped past, the two wakes mingling and buffeting both ships. The Australian destroyer took up a position behind the retreating American, circling around to follow at a slower rate, weapons trained on the surrounding waters.
"Sir, visual contact with the freighters!"
"Holy shit…" Burning oil spilled out across the sea. Fires raged out of control across the decks of the ships, ignited by the petroleum which had spilled out from the Haifeng's floundering wreck. Two warheads had struck each vessel, blowing apart the unarmored hulls and letting the ocean flood in. Through his binoculars Liang could see the forms of sailors, either clinging to wreckage slowly slipping beneath the waves in a desperate attempt to stay above the burning sea, or floating still amid the flames. No lifeboats were visible.
"Fuck! Who did this?! What was this for?!" Gonzalez shouted suddenly, punching the wall in fury. Schubert shook his head, speechless. The rest of the bridge was silent as the ship reached the edge of the oil spill, Liang nearly forgetting to order a reduction in speed. The low whine and rumble of the propellers died away, letting them hear the crackle of the flames.
"Alright. Alright! Listen up!" Liang's bark brought the crew back to attention. "Here's what we're gonna do! All hands will assemble topside and prepare for rescue operations! The sickbay will prepare to receive burn, trauma and exposure casualties! Prepare the RHIBs for immediate deployment!"
"Aye sir!" Schubert pulled the 1MC up. "All hands assemble topside and stand ready for rescue operations! The sickbay will prepare to receive burn, trauma and exposure casualties! Prepare RHIBs for immediate deployment! I repeat, all hands assemble topside, immediately!"
The sound of boots echoed through the corridors as sailors left their stations to hurry up to the deck, grabbing rope, life jackets and life preservers along the way. The bridge crew looked at Liang, wondering if they were to pitch in as well. He shook his head negative.
"Whatever shot those torps, it could still be hanging around. I need all of you here keeping an eye for it."
"Aye Captain. Should I order the CIC to remain at their stations?"
"Yes, do it." As Schubert relayed his orders, Liang gazed out of the windows. The charred bodies of sailors drifted across the water, burned to a crisp. His jaw clenched tight.
"Sir, incoming hail."
"Give it to me. This is Sampson, what's going on?"
"Sampson, this is Warramunga. Anything we can do to help?"
"Negative Warramunga, stay on guard. Myōkō's coming to help, and we need to keep an eye out for more attacks."
"Roger that. You should know, we're get - ei - adar-"
"Say again, you're breaking up."
"We- ot - ferenc- pon- wha-"
"Warramunga, I can't hear you! What is going on over th-" The same feeling as earlier overcame him. His vision blurred as his brain pounded at the inside of his skull. His hands shook, his legs trembled, it was all he could do to keep from crumpling to the ground. It seemed that some great vice was pressing in from all sides, squeezing him, not letting him breathe, crushing the very life from his body. Around him the sailors on the bridge were in similar states of distress, clutching heads and doubling over. A few cried, a few groaned, one ensign threw his breakfast up over his console. On the deck below, the sailors assembled for rescue operations found themselves afflicted with the same malady, collapsing as their legs gave out and rolling about in agony.
Outside the bridge, upon the observation deck, the lookout clenched his eyes shut and shook his head back and forth in denial of what was happening to and around him. Slowly, with a strength he hadn't realized he possessed and a cry of equal parts pain, rage and desperation, he heaved himself to his feet. Fighting off the convulsions which raced up and down his body, blocking out the jackhammer which seemed to be splitting his head open, he raised his binoculars in trembling hands and looked out at the sea. He swept them back and forth, looking frantically for the source of this attack. Left, right, left, right, left, right, le-
Off the Warramunga's port side, the surface of the sea turned black. The water churned into a bubbly froth, only instead of being seafoam white it was a sickly green. The lookout stumbled back in shock, but kept his binoculars trained on the disturbance just as he had been trained to do. Arms shaking, eyes widening, he wanted nothing more than to tear his gaze away, but the otherworldly sight transfixed him.
With a roar, a massive, jet-black shape breached the surface of the water. It rose up into the air, emitting a strange bass rumble, before crashing back down with a thunderous sound. As the Australian destroyer rolled to port it turned to face the ship, its true size revealed as water cascaded from its sides. Slightly shorter and nearly half as tall, its smaller dimensions nevertheless sent a cold shiver down the lookout's neck. The lines of its form, the angles, the burning green orb which it now turned upon the Warramunga… it was all just wrong, just plain wrong! Every single bit of it, from the oddly shaped protrusions to the the huge, jagged, gleaming white teeth which now appeared as it opened what looked like nothing so much as an obscenely large mouth, just screamed that they shouldn't exist, that whatever this… monster was, it did not belong here.
And yet, here it was, a fact it conclusively proved a moment later. The lookout yelled out, stretching out a helpless arm as a stubby black cylinder emerged from the thing's maw. A flash of light, a crack like lightning, and a burning hole appeared in the Warramunga's hull, the ship cored through and through. Two more cracks followed, each accompanied by another hole, one in the superstructure and another below the waterline. At these literal knife-fight ranges, none of the Australian ship's weapons could be brought to bear. More flashes, more cracks, more holes as fires began to lick out from the heart of the destroyer. Someone aboard had obviously managed to recover, as the ship began to turn to starboard, trying to bring its guns to bear. No such luck, as a shot to the stern turned the propellers into a tangled mess of scrap.
Sailors began to scramble up out of the hatches, slipping and sliding across the increasingly sloped deck. As the lookout watched, several fell into the ocean, where a series of bright yellow streaks reached out from the flanks of the thing and blew the survivors apart. Another shell plowed into the hull, obviously hitting something critical, because the next moment, an internal explosion tore the bow of the destroyer free of the rest of the ship.
The lookout realized that Liang was yelling into the intercom. "CIC! Do! I! Have! A! Missile! Lock!"
"Negative sir! AEGIS went haywire, nothing makes sense! We can't do anything, everything's going wrong!"
"CIWS?!"
"Negative sir!"
"Torpedoes?!"
"Tubes are empty, sir!"
"The fucking FIVE INCH?!"
A pause. "Online and ready to fire sir, but we've got no target!"
"What do you mean 'no target'?! Your target's right there! Shoot it!"
"But there's nothing on radar!"
"Well then, for God's sake, aim it yourself!"
As the first shot hit the Sampson, tearing through the hull with a shriek of metal, the five inch sixty two caliber Mark 45 gun began to turn, ever so slowly. As it came on target, a shell tore through the AEGIS array, then through the engineering spaces, then through the superstructure. As the barrel depressed to fix the monster in its sights, a shell passed just below the bridge, close enough that the lookout could feel it in his feet.
"We have a good angle!"
The lookout covered his ears and opened his mouth, sparing a moment of sympathy for the sailors strewn on the deck about the gun, unable to protect themselves from the shockwave. A moment passed. The monster stopped shooting, seeming to notice the gun.
"Then by all means fire!"
The gun boomed, the crack of the cannon louder than anything he'd ever heard. The shell flew out, painting a streak of white through the air. It hit the monster, detonating in a brilliant flash.
"Nothing… fire again! Keep firing!"
Again and again and again, bang-clink bang-clink bang-clink bang-clink bang-clink. Spent shells poured from the ejection port, smoke rising from their open ends. Each one hit, exploding against the monster's surface but to no effect. If anything, it seemed to draw strength from it, almost seeming to grow in response - at least in the lookout's eyes.
After the umpteenth round, the gun fell silent. Smoke rose from the barrel, and from the multiple blast marks on the monster's surface. In the distance, the Myōkō sped towards them, but the lookout knew it was too late. The monster's gun seemed to point directly at him, appearing to go on forever.
"Oh..."
Suddenly he was soaring through the air, falling towards the sea. Behind him, another explosion rocked the ship, debris flying behind him. He saw the sea burning beneath him as fuel spilled from the ruptured tanks. Then, as the water approached, his body turned just enough that he faced the monster's glowing green… eye. It couldn't be anything other than an eye. It fixed him in its gaze.
The world went white, and he knew no more.
A/N: It should be noted I have no experience with any part of the military whatsoever. If anything I write involving the military breaks immersion for you, then let me know.
