A/N: For those interested, I am working on another story outside of Fanfiction due to the rules of the sight. An Area 88 fic to be specific, which I can't post here since it's an AU of sorts and the site is pretty strict about such things. If you're interested, get in contact with me and I'll point you in the right direction.
Chp. 9: Flying Blind
February 12, 2024
OFS James Wellington (CVN-34)
Mark could remember the whole affair, every detail. It made him shiver and growl in a mix of lust and frustration. Ekaterina sauntering into their room at the inn, tipsy and mischievous, set on getting one thing and one thing only. Mark had been treated to one of her favorite ways of seducing him before the main event. Persian-style bellydance was a performance that emphasized use of the hips and changing between slow and frantic speeds. Kat had married the attributes of such a dance with her figure, and Mark was even more doomed than he had already been. His only complaint was that she hadn't brought the ensemble she liked to couple with her performances. He just had to survive the lands from which bellydance came from, and he could see her go all out. They were due to relieve OFS Valkyrie and her battlegroup in around a week at most. So why the hell weren't they heading south at a regular pace?
Mark sat at his desk, taking a break from his normal duties to let his mind relax by daydreaming. Unfortunately he couldn't get past the fact that they were still in the vicinity of the Shimoji Islands. The old seadogs at Pacific Command seemed to have lost their plans on what to do with the Wellington and her group and were instead having her meander about until they could decide where to send her. For Mark it was taking a personal note. He'd spent many long hours, both with and without help, putting together how VF-138 would do its mission to help keep the peace in the Persian Sea. Not only was it his job, it was also necessary for him to go forward in his career. If he wanted to be the Operations Officer of this or any other squadron, then he had to prove he could do the job. He didn't doubt that Fast Eddie wouldn't approve of his effort, but having all that hard work amount to nothing was aggravating. A knock at his door pulled him away and he looked up as Sharky poked his head in.
"Mind if I impose?" his friend asked.
"Yeah, come on in." Mark said, motioning towards a seat near one of the bookshelves. He glanced towards Airman Duncan, who was bust shuffling through the latest weather reports and photographs.
"Hey Dunk, y'all gotten lunch yet?" He asked. The kid (he looked maybe a day past 18), looked up and shook his head.
"No sir." He recalled.
"Go ahead and rest yer brain a bit, then."
The young man nodded and greeted Sharky as he shuffled by and out into the hallway. Sharky sat down and rubbed the side of his head with two fingers.
"Man, I don't know how you guys function on this thing with how little you get off time." Sharky half-joked.
"As Admiral John Kelly once said: get over it." Mark chuckled dryly. Sharky just snorted and leaned back in his chair.
"So what brings y'all to the land of Ops?" He went on.
"Looking for information and things to occupy myself, I guess."
"Don't have enough to do with the whole eval thing?"
"Most of it is watching flight ops and attending briefings with the air wing or battlegroup staff. My hope is we'll get the real good stuff when we're in the Persian Sea."
"If we ever get there."
"That's where the whole info part comes in."
"Gotta bug Hack for that one."
"Yeah but he's not my friend."
"That's an interesting way of putting it…"
Sharky shifted in his seat and smirked at the idea.
"I heard that the Harling and her group are due to stay out with us." He let slip. The other flyer cocked a brow at him and realized what kind of info he sought.
"Was this an official announcement, or just a couple of overexcited seaman looking for an explanation to things?"
Sharky shrugged like he didn't care about that.
"Guy claimed he worked up on the bridge."
"The reliability of the rumor mill on a ship is a gamble, my friend. Ah've heard everything from Kevin Hart's coming aboard to someone claiming they saw a sea monster and that means we're up in the Arctic because we're hunting it." Mark pointed out.
"Fair point." Sharky nodded.
There was another knock at the door and the two looked over to see Eric poking his head in. He held up a folder, almost in greeting.
"Heya guys, brought you are current weapons stocks. Separated the ones allotted for training exercises." He explained as he walked in.
"Also the hell was that I heard about Kevin Hart and a sea monster?" Eric added with a snort. Mark waved the folder towards Sharky.
"Our guest is learning the ways and workings of information that floats around…anyways thanks man." Mark nodded as he accepted the folder.
"Turning it in early so I have more time to sleep." Eric added as he mindlessly rubbed a finger against his upper lip.
"Hey guys, think I should grow a mustache for this cruise?" He asked with a twinkle in his eyes. The other two laughed at the idea, mostly how suddenly it'd been proposed.
"I don't even know what that would look like." Sharky guffawed.
"Probably make him look like Goose." Mark chuckled.
"I could wax it." Eric casually suggested.
"Well shoot partner, this boat ain't big enough for two cowboys!" Sharky pointed out in a faked southern accent.
"Tell that to all the rest of my people aboard this symbol of Osea's foreign policy." Mark replied flattly.
"Well we'll see. The bulletproof mustache would be most welcome. No Saki around to tell me to shave it, either." Eric concluded. He checked his watch and bowed out with the reasoning that he wanted to get to sleep sooner rather than later.
"See ya tonight brother." Mark replied as he looked back down at the folder.
"What our towering friend said." Sharky nodded. Eric held up a peace sign as he opened the door again. Mark looked up once more.
"Hey Saber…" He started. Eric turned and cocked a brow at his friend. Mark was about to discard his question, but soon decided it was too late too.
"Forgive my question for sounding stupid, but y'all wouldn't happen to know why we're just sorta dicking around instead of going to do our original assignment?"
Eric shrugged.
"My best guess is that we wanna make sure that Verusa gets the message. They usually need a good, firm reminder that they can't just get away with shit, especially when it brings about suggestions of war between two major powers." He explained.
"Well Ah guess that's just about as good an explanation as any." Mark replied. Sharky was still unsatisfied.
"And the whole thing about the Harling joining us?" He pointed out. The blonde shrugged.
"First I've heard of it, but could be related to the whole show of force against Verusa."
"Guess we'll just have to be patient then." Sharky noted as he stood up.
"Well I've got another meeting with the wing staff in half and hour, and CAG already doesn't like me. No need to give him ammo." He added.
"CAG's an old man; he's got a right to be grumpy after all the shit he's had to slog through over his career." The blonde pointed out as he turned to leave once again.
Eric and Sharky left the room, all of them now wondering what exactly was going on with the battlegroup's mission and current behaviors. The thought made the blonde a bit grumpy. He was used to the uncertainty of cruise, hell even the greenest sailors were. It felt like they were just going in circles around some random piece of ocean, though…
The Shimoji Maritime Self Defense Force ship Kirishima (DDG-184) hurried through the waves, rolling slightly as it crossed the depressions between peaks. She almost looked deserted, adrift without a single soul aboard her. Her entire crew was inside, away from the risk of being thrown overboard at high speeds. Inside, the Leading Seaman at his sonar console felt like he was going to make a mistake just from having the ship's ASW officer watching over his shoulder. Both their eyes followed the singular contact running to the southwest. It was faint right now, thanks to a combination of the terrain on the ocean floor in that part of the area. The last rises before the seafloor fell away into the open ocean were acting as a shield and the contact kept itself on the side opposite the Shimoji ship.
It was a consistent kind of faint though, which lead him to believe that it was something. The size also looked to be roughly that of a submarine. It better have been something; they'd turned the entire ship just to check on this contact. If it was, then it was just skirting along the boundary of Shimo territorial waters. The sound of boots gently marching across the steel deck didn't break his gaze from the form on the sonar screen, but he recognized the voice that followed.
"You've spotted something, Lieutenant?" The Captain of the destroyer asked.
"We have a potential contact, Captain." The man replied with a quick nod.
"One of ours?"
"If they are, then they don't seem too keen on letting us know it. According to our own knowledge, the nearest friendly boat is the Tatsunami."
"And we're sure that's not her?"
"Last report said she was much further north, up by Fukutsu Island."
"Knowing the rep of the Tastunami, Don't expect that to be accurate. Her skipper is Shinonome."
There was a noticeable pause as the ASW officer tried to decipher what his officer meant, but the senior man was quick to explain the second he saw his subordinate's confusion. The Captain's voice became sour, impatient almost.
"Captain Shinonome is a damned cowboy is what he is. Likes to take any chance he can get to show up surface ships or really anyone who isn't himself."
"I recommend we see if that's true, sir."
"My thoughts exactly, Lieutenant. Keep on him; I'm going to see what else we can send after the contact."
The Captain hurried to a nearby phone and placed a call to the hangar deck on the back end of the ship. He ordered the ship's SH-60K Seahawk be readied to help chase down the contact. He also contacted the engine room to check in on how the burst in speed was affecting their propulsion. Confidentially assured that they would catch the contact, the Captain retreated to his chair in CIC and let things go into motion.
The ship slowed just long enough for the Seahawk to be safely rolled from its dwelling and onto the rear flight deck. The ship eased to the right and began making an elongated hook against the submarine. With luck they could end the game early and force the submarine to either surface or, if it was Verusean, put some distance between itself and Shimoji waters. Otherwise it was going to be trapped in waters that were good for hiding and ambushing, but not necessarily for maneuvering. The move had gotten the contact's attention, according to the sonarmen. Kirishima adjusted yet again to keep it on her nose until it had forced their unidentified guest into more open waters.
"We've got an ID on the contact, sir: it appears to be a Verusean Shang-class." The ASW officer relayed.
The Type 093, Shang to the Oseans and their allies, was an older nuclear attack submarine. The Captain was unsurprised; it was only "older" because the newer Type 095 (Zhou-class) was now out. The Type 093 was more common still, and its identification brought a wave of comfort and familiarity to the man. On his order the SH-60 was launched to see to it that the submarine was actually leaving. While the Kirishima steadied and passed through a cluster of miniscule islands, the single helicopter raced towards the Verusean ship low and fast. Despite the excitement running through the Shimoji sailors, they all knew this was going to end the way it had a dozen times before. Soon enough, the submarine was well away from their waters, heading home.
From a shore further north, Captain Fheng of the Verusean Special Operations Regiment, casually known as the "Black Daggers", was busy trading his wetsuit and scuba gear for civilian clothes. He slowly metamorphosed from a commando into a hiker trekking through the coastal wilderness. He refrained from balking in bemusement at the color of his satchel and the choice of clothes. He'd become so accustomed to mixes of green and disruptive patterns that natural instincts squirmed at the idea of being so visible. The logical side of his mind was far more insistent in telling him that he was camouflaging himself, just not in the way he found traditional. In a sense he was really hiking; his hike would just end differently than most. He looked at the other men crouched in the late-night shadows of the steep hill leading up from the beach. He had the standard of selection of 12 men, all hand-picked. He slid his QCW-05 into his backpack and slung it onto both shoulders, then turned to his pointman.
"Sergeant Liu, I don't believe I need to waste our time with orders. You know what to do." He noted softly in the local tongue.
The fellow commando nodded quickly and set off, running to the top of the seaside hill before assuming a more leisurely pace. Fheng watched over the other men as they left in small groups, four at most, in random intervals. The Captain waited until he and two others, his youngest member and one of his veterans, were the only ones left. He pulled out a satellite phone and dialed as they set off. He put the device to his ear and waited as the electric rings hummed a rapid beat in his ear. Finally the other side picked up.
"Hello?" An elderly voice asked pleasantly.
"Hello grandfather! I was just calling to tell you that I'm okay. The stars out here are beautiful tonight! I might even be able to see Orion's Belt!" Fheng answered in a cheery voice.
"Oh excellent! Please bring me pictures; I am far too old to spend my time out there."
The two shared a quick laugh before Fheng promised he would call when he reached the next inn. After that he bid the man farewell and hung up to allow the first message to be relayed back across the sea. He glanced at his watch, then turned it to the compass function. It was roughly 20 kilometers to Camp Ishida, and as they often did the Black Daggers were on a strict timetable and a complex route. Fheng put purpose into his step as he entered a nearby grove of trees. He intended to be looking at the fence of the Shimoji military complex by the time the first friendly jets were over the ocean and bound for their targets…
Eric shifted in his ejection seat and woke himself up when his body began to fall forward. He looked around, then let out a breath and looked down at the panels and displays of his F-21. He stretched best he could inside the cockpit and looked around the darkened expanse of the deck. Deck crew casually ambled about or found any place to get off their feet between flight operations. His aircraft was one of the few on deck, while most were packed below in the hangar deck. Eric checked his watch and found it was almost 2300 hours. Their relief was due to come up in an hour around the time the next flight ops cycle began. He glanced at the date below the time; it was one of the few sources that reminded him how much time was passing. Valentine's Day had one hour before it ended, and like many other sailors aboard the boat he got to spend it with thoughts rather than their actual loved one. On that thought, Eric glanced towards Misaki's picture tapped to an empty space in the cockpit and smiled for a second. He'd kill for some chocolates like the ones she'd made him way back when they were an awkward couple working through how their own cultures approached the subject. The pilot looked towards the other jet on the forward cats with him and keyed his mike.
"I miss anything, Tex?" He asked.
From his plane, Mark groped around for the radio key without taking his eyes away of a worn copy of Larry Bond's Hailstorm.
"Nothing much, man." He replied distractedly. Eric craned his neck as if that might let him see the book.
"That good, huh?" He commented as he fished around for his own entertainment in terms of the music on his smartphone.
"Ah just got to the part where the Yuktobanians invade their satellites and Tyumen to stop em from holding elections. In a few chapters there's gonna be this massive air battle between the Oseans and Yukes. It's got some sweet Tomcat action."
"So like the Battle of Oured Bay in 95?"
"Was written five years before that fact. Looks like we're gonna get something closer to the battle of Southgate in 42."
Eric turned up the volume as high as it would go while he tried to imagine that.
"So give me good indicators that we're about to see something good…or well rather you're gonna see something good." Eric went on.
"Dude, the Oseans have four carriers and a battleship and this is Larry Bond, the man who wrote Red Phoenix and Vortex. Y'all know he's gonna deliver."
"Oh I know he will. The man can take a good, even, stand-up fight and make it work."
"If yah want, y'all can borrow it after Ah'm done."
"Maybe; I've read it maybe four times already."
"So have Ah."
As he finished his sentence, Eric caught movement at the very edge of peripheral vision. Eric looked back and saw the plane guard's rotorblades were spinning up. Eric cocked a brow and turned the music coming from his phone before he looked the other way. As he lifted his mask to give Mark a warning that something might be up, an urgent wailing sounded across the carrier's flight deck.
"Ready the Alert Five! Ready the Alert Five!" the carrier's Air Boss ordered from her perch above the action.
Eric scrambled to get himself back in order as the catapult crew and several ordnance handlers hurried to his aircraft. A Plane Captain hurried up to the side of the jet and up the boarding steps. He communicated to Eric via hand signals that the Thunderhawk was still in good shape. The pilot acknowledged and the man was gone before he could lower his HMD visor down. Eric looked around and spotted the Catapult Officer hurrying into place. Eric was given the signal to bring his jet to life. His hands seemed to teleport from one part of the cockpit to the other as he flicked switches, toggled displays and activated systems. He secured his oxygen mask over his face and cleared his throat.
"Shogun 2-1, radio check." He declared.
"Shogun 2-2 reads 2-1 loud and clear. Shogun 2-2, radio check." Mark responded.
"Shogun 2-1 reads 2-2 loud and clear."
Eric looked at the Cat Officer and waited for further instructions while his F-21 purred, almost ready to be launched. The man looked back as the Jet Blast Deflectors (JBD) came up and kept the heat from the engines from washing over unsuspecting deck crew. He looked below Eric while the cat crew scattered, signaling the weapons were ready and that the aircraft's weight had been passed on to the catapult's Shooter. Once he was clear, Eric got the signal to move his aircraft's control surfaces. Eric made it quick as he saw more aircraft coming up; the Air Boss was ordering the Alert Ten and Fifteen readied as well. Eric could feel his heartbeat notching up and up and up. The "Pucker Factor" on this one certainly seemed to be on the higher end. He glanced to his left and saw the Plane Guard slow into position.
The final seconds before launch seemed to rush by as he was given the signal to go to full power. Eric's eyes raced across his cockpit while the Cat Officer made sure his path was clear. He looked over towards the Shooter in his armored bubble and saw the man had his hands up against the galss. When their eyes met again, Eric replied to the Cat Officer's latest hand motion with a salute. He pressed his body against the seat and waited while the Cat Officer did pone final set of motions. He returned Eric's salute, twisted his upper body back and forth twice with his fists level with his face, then dropped to a knee, touched the deck and pointed at the bow. Eric felt himself vibrate as the world blurred for a second, then the black of the nighttime sky swallowed him. A sudden pressure on his body disappeared almost instantaneously and he felt his fighter drifting up.
"Good shot, good shot. Shogun 2-1 is airborne." He radioed as he took control of the aircraft.
Eric made a steady ascent and brought the F-21 into its flying configuration. He looked to the right, then banked that way and rose further above the carrier as he circled around to get Mark. Once he was over the ship his gaze lowered, waiting for a datalink from the Hawkeye.