Back to the digidestined.

Eventually.

6


Chief Petty Officer David Smith walked quickly down the small corridors of the submarine USS Hawthorne, quietly muttering his mantra: "they won't shoot the messenger."

Granted, all his hopes of a quiet cruise had vanished with the Chinese missile strike.  The entire Pacific fleet had gone to high alert within hours of the attack.  Most of the time, this means something very specific for navy officers.  Quadruple check everything, and sit back, hoping the diplomats can fix things without you having to do anything.  After all, only a tiny fraction of the military ever actually works on black ops, and Smith hadn't planned on being part of it; just another Sonar Officer, hoping things don't go to wrong.

Then the Hawthorne had left port at the port near Yatsushiro five hours ago, bound for the Yellow Sea.

So here there were, cruising in within spitting distance of four Chinese naval ships with active underwater operations – they appeared to be attempting to reach the satellite.  So, the chief sonar officer was on the bridge, right?  Making sure this particular black op stayed black, right?

Oh, no.  He was down there, fixing Captain Johnson's mistakes.  A captain is master after God on a naval ship, and when he tells you to take the fall for him, you do it.  Even when it's not just a mistake, but two –

One: Captain Johnson had allowed the general to come on this voyage, giving in to his ridiculous demand to 'see it for myself.' Two: Captain Johnson had further cowed to the generals authorities and allowed him to bring civilians on this cruise.

Two major mistakes, and now David Smith had to take the fall in front of the general.  It just wasn't fair.

He reached the quarters. He took a deep breath, and, sealing his fate, knocked.

"Come," he heard the voice of the General.

He slowly entered the tiny room. Stiffly, he saluted, and waited.

"Well?" asked the General, impatiently, "What is it?"

It took David a moment to find his voice, but when he did, it all came pouring out: "Sir, Captain Johnson asked me to come down here and voice his displeasure with your insistence on allowing your grandchildren to accompany you on this voyage.  It breaches every rule of naval conduct to allow civilians on a black ops mission merely because of their relationship to a high-ranking officer, and it's my duty to point that out.

He took a breath, waiting for the career-ending anger of a general scorned.  Instead, the man looked at him blankly, and, with two simple words, drove home the lesson that things can always get worse.

"What grandchildren?"

Lieutenant John Mammet stalked down the corridor, heading away from the bridge and that jackass. He still couldn't believe the Captain was so weak-willed he had actually let those children on board.  How such a man became the captain of a naval submarine was a source of endless puzzlement for Mammet, who knew of hamsters that could do the job better.

Senile hamsters.

He ducked around a crewman striding forward, but Mammet was to experienced a sea dog for even the slightest twinge of claustrophobia in the submarines tiny corridor.  When the crewman had passed, David Smith was standing in the corridor, with the general in tow.  David looked right at Mammet.

"There are no grandkids, sir."

John waited for precisely one half of a second before he moved; then he was running full out toward the small room they had given those lying little bastards, David and the general right behind. He bowled over two other crewmen before he reached the room.  He pulled open the door. Empty.

 "Where would they have gone?" asked the general

Mammet responded instantly:  "The SCUBA room.  They're after that satellite."


"Do you seriously think we're not going to get caught, Matt?" Tai asked rhetorically.

"Probably," Matt admitted. "But we've made it on this submarine for three hours, plus the drive from Kumamoto to the port. We were all SCUBA certified in a vague adventure we don't talk about much.  It's our best chance."

Tai sighed, still not believing it for a second. He checked his dive computer again. It still said ten minutes at this depth before he had to surface. That was far more than was safe for a human.  Putting the suicidal danger out of his mind, Tai closed his eyes. He was going to be lucky to get out of this alive.

Then again, he had seen that Metal Greymon. It had destroyed his school and put his mother in the hospital.  To say nothing of two secret satellites, and the Chinese and Japanese desperately close to war.  Or of Mimi and the rest vanishing.  Something big was going on, and it had all started with whatever was lying on the sea bed less than a kilometer away. He had to find out what was happening.

"Is everyone ready?" Sora asked anxiously.

Tai put on his goggles and stuck his mouthpiece on. The others did the same. Giving each other a look, Matt turned to a small panel and pushed a couple of buttons.

Below them, a circular hatch suspended half a meter above the deck opened, a portal to the ocean a meter wide opening up. Sora gave them a light nod and stepped into the water, vanishing into the small tube that lead out into the depths. Matt gave him a look and stepped up and over.

Tai took a breath and stepped up to the edge of the hatchway. Then, with a splash, he fell in, a half second before a dozen angry navy men charged through the door.