II
Nintoku
United Earth Oceans Pier 1, Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. UEO Atlantis ASV 8100. November 6th, 2040…
"We're live in 5, 4, 3…" The reporter for CNN watched the on-site director give the last, silent countdown to when she was to begin. He gave the all clear, quietly pointing to her on her cue.
"I'm standing on Pier 1 of the United Earth Oceans Naval Base in Pearl Harbor. It came as a shock to the world today as the UEO unveiled a project that has been shrouded in more secrecy than any other in its thirty-year history; the UEO Atlantis Advanced Submergence Vehicle 8100.
Until today, the top secret military project has been a topic of much intrigue across the world's many intelligence agencies. Since 2035, rumours have been circulating about a so-called "DSV-2" program that the UEO had been developing to replace the aging seaQuest DSV. The Atlantis is believed by defence analysts to have cost upward of 30 billion dollars, cited by many to be the sole reason for the UEO's increasing foreign debt. While Secretary General Arthur Dallinsley and US President James Howard refused to give any comment, press information released by the White House say they have fully-backed the project.
Amidst all the secrecy surrounding the UEO's latest submarine, unnamed sources have released the name of the Atlantis' commander – Captain Mark Ainsley, a British national and 30-year veteran of the navy..."
…Sitting on the bridge of the Atlantis, which was actually not too far from the CNN journalist and her crew, Captain Ainsley watched the news report on the main bridge screen. He was against the idea of the UEO going public with the Atlantis, at least just yet. Even if they were not able to keep it a secret from the cameras, he didn't like having the finer details of his boat shared with every person on the planet. His new uniform was slightly uncomfortable, and he tried in vain to loosen the tight fitting undershirt collar. But despite that discomfort, Ainsley felt a certain air of pride being in command of the Atlantis. The new flagship of the UEO was a marvel of engineering, and the awe-struck faces of public onlookers as he had arrived at the docks earlier that day were a testament to it.
Atlantis had been moved from her berth in Aries under the cover of darkness to sit directly adjacent to the UEO's Pacific Headquarters on Pearl Harbor's channel entrance. It was so large that it almost made the headquarters look small.
Turning away from the screen, having heard enough from the rambling reporter, Ainsley looked at his first officer, James Banick, seated just in front of him. "Commander? What's our status?"
Banick looked down at his control consoles and read his report. "All systems are operational, sir. All crew are accounted for and all stations standing by. Pearl Harbor command has given us clearance for departure"
Ainsley nodded approvingly. In the days that had passed since his initial inspection of the new ship, he had met the rest of his senior staff. His tactical officer, Lieutenant Commander Ryan Callaghan was the most senior of the new officers. He had been in the UEO for over ten years, and was a decorated officer of many campaigns. Ainsley's new communications officer however, a Junior-Grade Lieutenant by the name of Jack Phillips was practically fresh from the Academy, having been in active service for just over 12 months. He had however graduated first in his academy class, and it was a small fact that gave Ainsley a good deal of confidence in the man. The crew was drawn from the best and brightest of the UEO and all its member states. "Very well Commander," Ainsley paused for a moment, and then looked around the bridge. "Ok. All stations; report please."
"Helm. Go."
"Tactical. Go."
"Engines. Go."
"Science. Go."
Ainsley took note of everything as it came, simultaneously running through his own lists. "Very well. Helm this is the Conn. - Break away docking arms and braces. Harbour engines ahead one-half. Set course for Diamond Head. Steady as she goes."
Keeping her eyes on the Nav consoles in front of her, Commander Canebride responded to the order, relaying instructions to the other 3 helmsmen on the control deck below. "Helm, aye. Harbour engines answering ahead 6 knots, sir."
Ainsley turned to communications "Lieutenant Phillips? Get me Captain Hudson on the seaQuest."
"Aye, aye, sir."
Before long, the screen at the front of the bridge resolved into the face of Captain Oliver Hudson on board the bridge of the seaQuest. His bridge was busy, as usual, with officers shuffling back and forth, delivering reports and attending to their various duties. "Captain Hudson. We've broken dock. We should be on station in 20 minutes."
Hudson looked back at his bridge crew who were applauding lightly at the news of the Atlantis's launch. He turned back to face the view screen and smiled. "Congratulations, Captain; blue skies and clear horizons to you and your crew. We'll hold until you are at grid 772319."
"Thank you, Captain. We'll see you soon. Atlantis: out."
The view screen went blank; replaced one again by diagnostics displays of all the ship's systems. The split-level Bridge gave a nearly perfect view of everything that happened in the command center. It was a state of organised chaos; radio chatter sounded from nearly every workstation, officers walked quickly between rows of command and control benches. It seemed that there wasn't a single person on the entire Bridge staff who didn't have a task.
"Conn; Helm. We're making six knots over the bow, sir. We've cleared the first marker."
"Helm: Conn. Very good. Bring main drives online and take us to the second marker at your discretion."
Once more, Natalie Canebride repeated the order and gave her instructions to the helmsman. The Captain, satisfied, got up from his comfortable chair and began walking leisurely around the upper deck, casting his eye over everything that happened below before finally bringing his gaze to rest on a stairwell at the bridge's aft. "I'll be on the Conning tower. Miss Canebride, you have the Conn. Commander Banick? Commander Callaghan? Will you join me?"
"Of course, sir."
The trio of officers left the command deck and headed to the back of the bridge to the entrance to the retractable 'flying bridge.' One of the new features of the Atlantis class was the ability to deploy and retract a conning tower above the main bridge. The purpose of it served in the same manner as the older Seawolf and Los Angeles attack subs with their large and defining dorsal "fins" that sat over the submarine's bow. Simply put, it provided an observation point for officers when the submarine was running along the surface.
Clambering up the stairwell, Ainsley pulled himself out of the passage way to the deck of the observation tower high above the submarine. The wind on that particular day was more severe than he'd remembered in the forecast, but it didn't bother him as he took in a lung full of fresh air, and surveyed the Hawaiian horizons.
The Atlantis must have been making at least 20 knots over the surface of Diamond Head; the spray over the bow whipped into the windshield of the observation tower and spattered a fine mist over the officers behind it. Picking up his binoculars, Ainsley made another quick scan of the horizon, and the harbour entrance that was shrinking behind them. "So... Commander Callaghan…"
The Tactical officer looked at his Captain from his position a few feet away. "Yes sir?"
"What do you think of the new boat?"
Callaghan smiled apologetically. "She's impressive, sir. But I will be honest with you. I just don't see how a boat this big can be justified in the fleet. At what these things cost, we could put another man on Mars."
Ainsley laughed at that. "You could actually probably build an entire base on Mars, Commander. But these are desperate times..."
James Banick frowned, being thoroughly unconvinced. "…Forgive my candour, sir. But are you sure about that?"
Ainsley stopped, bringing the binoculars back down and sighing. Something hurt there and then – painful wounds that had been opened. 15 years of cold war with Macronesia had taken its toll, and he couldn't expect everyone else to understand it. "Jim, you and I have known each other for a few years… but… there are also a lot of things you still need to learn. There is nothing more I'd like than to find a diplomatic solution to this nightmare we're living in… but I don't think it's going to happen. It is best to be prepared for the worst, than to turn a blind eye to the clouds on the horizon and hope for the best. Ignorance is not always bliss."
Callaghan remained strangely silent for long moments, casting his eye over the horizon for a moment or two before clearing his throat. "Sir, may I ask a question?"
"You just did," countered Ainsley with a smile. There was very little today that could dampen his good spirits. "But please, Commander… Do speak your mind."
"Well, I know that we've been briefed and trained to hell and back on how this sub operates… but in all that time, there was one thing they never told us."
"And what's that?"
"…How fast is this ship, sir?"
Ainsley exchanged a bemused smile with Banick. The UEO had kept the Atlantis' top speed highly classified, and the fact that the engines had been developed in part with NASA was officially denied by every contractor involved in the boat's development. "To be honest, we don't exactly know," confessed Ainsley. "In theory, she should be able to do 220 to 240 knots submerged before the oxygen extractors max-out."
Callaghan seemed a little shocked at that as he worked his jaw silently. seaQuest had a maximum rated top speed of nearly 200 knots. Atlantis – a ship that was over 8 times the mass of the seaQuest – was capable of effortlessly breaking that speed. "I see sir…" he said quietly. "Thank you, sir."
"Quite welcome, Commander."
Ainsley frowned as his PAL beeped from his belt, prompting him to unclip it and flick it open. "This is Ainsley. Go ahead."
It was Canebride. "Sir, we've cleared the second marker."
"Understood. What's the depth beneath the keel?"
"300 meters, sir."
Ainsley nodded. Atlantis was now clear to dive, and he wasted little time heading back to the stairwell. "Thank you, Commander, Secure the bridge and rig for dive."
"Aye, aye, sir."
Replacing the PAL on his belt, Ainsley looked at the horizon one last time. It would probably be some time before he saw the sky again. "Clear the bridge, Gentlemen."
Stepping back on to the command deck below, Ainsley resumed command of the Atlantis. "Captain has the Conn."
"Captain has the Conn. aye."
The three men resumed their seats and Ainsley looked at Canebride down at the helm. "Commander, take us to one-two-zero meters; 10 degrees down on the planes."
"Make my depth one-two-zero meters, aye sir; 10 degrees down bubble."
"Commander Banick? Sound dive stations."
"Sound Dive stations, aye."
Klaxon bells began blaring over the bridge as all over the Atlantis, water-tight hatches were sealed, and everything nonessential was secured away. As the cavernous ballast tanks opened, allowing thousands of tonnes of seawater inside, the arrow-head bow of the submarine begun to plough its way in to the waves, kicking up spray and producing a tidal wake not like any other. "All hands, this is the XO. Rig ship for dive!"
"Sir, Helm is answering 10 degrees down by the planes. My depth reads one-zero meters and falling."
Submarines did not belong on the surface – least of all the Atlantis, and as waves crashed over the decks of the ASV, the mighty submarine dove in to the dark abyss of the Pacific Ocean – finally finding itself at home. For a moment, it seemed that absolutely nothing could go wrong…
Macronesian Fast Attack Submarine Townsville. 200 Kilometres west of Nintoku Colony. November 7th, 2040…
Captain Lance Raymond was no stranger to having to wait. A Submariner's life was filled with long, drawn out hours of waiting. Assessing possible moves and actions, and acting accordingly. But pacing back and forth over the Conn of the Orion-class ANS Townsville, even he was beginning to lose patience. Earlier that day, his submarine had received a message from Macronesia's regional command in Zhanjiang, telling him to standby for new orders. He had now been waiting for those orders for 3 hours. Captain Raymond's command was not just limited to the Townsville though. Nearby, holding in formation around his submarine were 7 other identical vessels, all at his disposal. 8 Orion class submarines was a force large enough to blockade a small country, and he had absolutely no idea what orders could possibly call for the use of such force.
"Conn, Radio. We have an incoming ULF transmission from fleet command. They are broadcasting orders."
Raymond began heading to the radio room just behind the bridge and muttered under his breath. "And it's about bloody time, too…Commander Lewis? You have the Conn."
"Aye, sir,"
Walking aft, he turned and entered the radio room where the operator already had the message waiting quietly. The Radio operator quietly inquired, so as not to let any one else hear, as the Captain read the message. "Sir, is this… for real?"
The Captain nodded slowly and took a long, draw breath."I believe they are, Lieutenant… Carry on." With that, the captain headed back to the operations centre.
"Commander, I have the Conn."
"Aye, sir."
The XO stepped away from the Conn, and Captain Raymond resumed command of his Boat. "Helm, Conn. How far are we from the Nintoku sea ridge at best possible speed?"
"Approximately 2 hours, sir."
Raymond walked over to his chart table and ran a finger idly over the map as he ran numbers through his head on speeds, bearings and all manner of other navigational-math. "…Lay in a course, make turns for seven-zero knots."
"Aye, sir."
The boat's executive officer, Commander Lewis, approached Raymond from his post just a few feet across the Conn. "Sir…I don't know what our orders involve, but the Nintoku seamount is in neutral waters… She's an independent colony, Captain."
Raymond simply nodded grimly and handed the orders to his first officer. The Commander began reading them under his breath. "To the attention of Captain Lance Raymond… Nintoku colony… Seek to draw out and…"
The commander looked up as the full weight of the message hit home. "…seaQuest."
"Orders are orders, Commander Lewis. And orders - especially of this nature - are not open to interpretation."
"Of course, sir."
UEO Atlantis ASV 8100. 'Emperor' Seamount chain. November 7th, 2040…
Lieutenant Jane Roberts lay flat on her belly with her feet hanging out the port engine nozzle of her SF-37/E Raptor sub fighter. Roberts was of only slight build, being Japanese by her mother's side of the family, so fitting in the confined space was not a big issue. Her father had been an American naval aviator based in Tokyo, and her name was enough to bring up quite a few questions from those who didn't know her too well. What sort of a Japanese name was "Jane Roberts"? The short answer was easy; it wasn't. Her parents had been immensely upset when she'd joined the UEO's Cape Cortez Subfighter academy, but she knew deep down that it was only because of their concern for her well-being. Being a subfighter pilot was not the safest of jobs in the world, and she knew that her parents didn't see her as a failure in the slightest. They were proud of her, and they always would be. She'd risen through the ranks of the subfighter corps to become an extremely respected pilot, and this had been her reward; the position of executive officer in what was considered the most elite squadron of pilots in the UEO - the VF-107 Rapiers - aboard the most prestigious ship in the fleet.
The Raptors were a new addition to the UEO Navy designed primarily to complement the new ASVs. They had a much higher top speed and took a radical departure in design from the previous Spectre class fighters that now filled the ranks of the UEO Fleet. In time, the Raptor would probably replace the Spectre entirely. No expense was spared in their design, and they were arguably one of the most lethal fighters beneath the waves... Yet, despite all the money and resources that had gone in to developing the Raptor, she and a crew of engineers had spent the entire afternoon trying to work out why the Fighter's engines kept ignoring their own governing, and revved themselves to the point of virtual self destruction whenever she pushed her throttles to the stops. It didn't matter how many systems they dissected, it didn't seem to solve a thing. It was beginning to become an irritation.
"Ok, try that," she said to the chief technician as she clambered out of the engine assembly after tuning several component's within the engine's aqua-ducts.
The techs all moved back from the Raptor as the chief began starting up the engine. Slowly, it came to full power with a high-pitched whine, and Roberts watched and slowly walked around the fighter, being careful not to step too close to the intakes or the flaring turbines. "Sounds good, take it to fifty-five"
The engineer obediently increased the power on the engine and it began roaring to life, causing the deck to vibrate ever-so-slightly beneath their feet. "I think we've done-"
She was cut short when, with a mighty, echoing 'boom', a black plume of smoke and shrapnel shot out the back of the engine and it began a sickening whine of death as the engine's fan blades and turbine assembly beat themselves to death. She grimaced painfully at the sight of her fighter killing itself before her. "Oh no... Shut it down!"
The engineer cut the power to the subfighter's engine and walked around to the back of the fighter, and reaching into the nozzle, ripped out about 5 meters of shredded power cable conduits, followed by numerous shattered fan blades. He then turned to Roberts. "Well Lieutenant, it looks like we found the problem. Seems like the electrical systems in the coolant ducts were shot, they must have kept losing power, and the electromagnets overheated…oh…and I'm afraid you need a new engine."
The engineer grimaced as he pulled out more shattered fan blades and shattered turbine shafts from the rear of the engine. He shrugged and tossed them on the deck in defeat.
"Damn it. When can you have it repaired?"
The engineer shook his head. "I didn't realise the fault was that bad. Had I known this was the problem, I could have done something right now… but… I think we actually just managed to do the worst of it right then when we… urrm..." the Chief scratched his head, trying to think of the appropriate words. "Well, we turned the entire engine inside out… literally. If that engine damaged the reactor when it blew…"
"Chief? English."
"Anywhere up to a week."
Roberts sighed. There was no point in crying over spilt milk. While the Squadron maintained reserve fighters, she hated having to fly the things. They simply never felt right. "Ok. Well…thanks for your help Chief, take your time with the repairs. I won't need her any time soon."
The chief gave her a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, Lieutenant. I'll give you the best damned fighter on the whole boat."
She winked at him before turning away to leave the flight deck, wiping off her hands with a rag that had been hanging from her belt, before tossing it aside. "Thanks chief."
Walking in to the corridor outside the hangar, the worst of her day hadn't even begun. Turning around the corner, and without warning, she walked straight into another officer who happened to be carrying a mug of coffee. The dark liquid went straight down the man's uniform and she looked down at the coffee mug that clattered across the deck in shock. Looking up again, she immediately realised who it was whom she'd just ran in to.
"Oh my god! Commander! I'm so sorry. Let me help you…"
Wing Commander Gabriel Hitchcock was sitting on the floor, looking decidedly stunned. He took Robert's hand, getting to his feet and brushing himself down with the now-empty mug in an open hand. "Well that's one way to start the day, Jane" he said to her with a helpless grin.
"I am so sorry, sir. I just wasn't even paying attention…"
"Something on your mind?" he asked, futilely trying to wring out his uniform. He'd known Roberts for several months after having put her and a select group of other pilots through an intensive training course for the SF-37. He had since chosen the Lieutenant to be his executive officer in the Rapiers.
"Well, yes sir. My Raptor just sort of… self destructed."
The Wing Commander opened his mouth to say something, before realising what she said and looking at her with a degree of incredibility. "…So that's what the noise was… I think I heard it from down the hall."
"Sorry sir," she said again, still not believing what she'd done.
"Well… I'll leave you to it, Lieutenant… I'd better get changed."
Hitchcock nodded curtly as he wiped his hands on the back of his trousers, excusing himself as he continued down the hall.
Robert's reply of a muted 'yes sir' was barely audible as the Commander disappeared. She gritted her teeth, sighing as she continued her walk towards the fighter command center. This was going to be a very bad day.
Captain Ainsley walked down the long corridors of the Atlantis on his way to the Engine room. Normally, the trip wouldn't take that long as Atlantis was designed with a system called Mag-Lev. The Magnetically-Levitated train system was effectively a horizontal elevator that travels at high speeds to the front and aft of the boat. The Captain was disappointed when he heard that is had not yet been installed. It made the near-500 meter long walk from the bridge to Engineering quite tiresome. Ainsley would not be surprised in the slightest if the 250-odd Marines who were based aboard the Atlantis turned in to a regular fitness routine.
Finally reaching engineering, he walked into the reactor room. In the middle of the room, glowing eerily behind its support frames and coolant systems, the Atlantis' fusion core stretched for many decks above and below Engineering's main level. The fusion was the cleanest, most efficient power source ever created. Since the 2020s, the technology had become wide-spread throughout the world's developed navies, replacing fission cores entirely. Ainsley looked around the engine room, surprised to see that it was practically vacant; the man he was looking for nowhere to be seen. "Chief?" he called out, looking around at the various alcoves, access ways and maintenance tunnels that were strewn about the engine room.
A clattering came from one of the maintenance ducts, and Chief Petty Edward Stevens emerged, looking around for the source of the summoning. He smiled as he saw the Captain standing on the other side of the room. "Yeah, Captain? What brings you down my end of the world?"
Ainsley walked over to his chief engineer and rested a hand on the boundary railing between the deck and the reactor, overlooking the platform Stevens occupied. "Chief, I needed to speak with you about the power systems."
The engineer brushed his hands off and stood up after crawling out of the small maintenance shaft. He nodded his head, clearly already aware of it. "Yeah, I know. I don't think there's been a single department on this boat that hasn't complained to me in the past hour."
Ever since the Atlantis had left Pearl Harbor, the boat's power systems had behaving strangely to say the least. Every now and, then, power across crew quarters and other auxiliary systems would fail, causing havoc with whoever was working in the affected areas. It wasn't critically important as long as it didn't interfere with the ship's operations, but it was becoming more than just a mild annoyance. "I was just working on it, Captain," explained the Engineer. "I think the problem is somewhere in one of the sensor control junctions. Now, I sincerely doubt it has anything to do with the sonar arrays, but even so… they can often wire the power systems through some very unusual places, sir. It just so happens that the junction in question is in a place that I can't get to without getting wet."
"…Wet?" asked Ainsley, giving the Engineer a very queer look.
"Yes sir. You know? Water? H2O? It's wet. I'd have to go swimming through about 200 meters of aqua-ducts to reach the problem... I'd assign send someone else to do it, but… well, as you can see I'm a little short-handed."
"Who the hell authorized these shift rosters?" asked Ainsley, looking around the empty engine room again.
"Well, there's that, sir… But most of my reactor technicians don't arrive till next Tuesday, so I don't have a full staff. I'm doing what I can from here."
Ainsley smiled, sympathising with Steven's situation. He wasn't the only one having problems with post-commissioning hassles. There were many staff that still had to report for duty, and at that moment, Atlantis barely had half of her normal 1,050 crew aboard. "I know the feeling, Chief. There's always something, isn't there?"
The Engineer shook his head with a sigh, looking exhausted enough that he didn't see the humour in the observation. "Always. There is always one little thing they miss when inspecting the boat. Don't worry captain, Ill get it fixed for you."
Ainsley slapped the engineer on the shoulder as he pulled himself from the maintenance pit. "Glad to hear it… On another note, I understand that you-"
"All hands, this is the XO. Yellow alert - man duty stations! Captain, Report to the Bridge!"
Alert Klaxons began rang from above, and Ainsley was already turning and walking quickly for the doors, wasting no time to even question what was going on. "We'll finish this later Chief!"
Ainsley ran the distance from Engineering to the Bridge in a minute flat and found him self struggling to catch his breath. Had this been a physical fitness test, he would have passed with honours. The Bridge was chaos as officers reported to their stations and began to put the Atlantis to full battle readiness. The big clamshell doors began closing behind him to the sound of warning bells as the last of the staff sprinted through them and headed to their stations. "Commander Banick? SITREP, please."
The XO looked up from his station, his face extremely dead-pan. "Sir, we just received a general distress call from the Nintoku mining colony. They report being under attack from a squadron of Macronesian Fast Attack Submarines... Possibly Orion class."
Ainsley resumed his seat and turned to tactical. "Commander Callaghan, What's our distance to the Colony?"
"50 nautical miles, Captain. We're the closest ship from any confederation, sir. And they are in international waters."
Ainsley nodded thought carefully. Under international maritime law, a general distress call could not be ignored, and the UEO charter was even more specific about it. And yet, Atlantis was not even a day old – she didn't have a full crew, a full weapons load-out, and was no where near ready for a fire fight. "Lieutenant Phillips, Get me Captain Hudson on the seaQuest... red-level priority."
"Aye, sir."
Only seconds later, the bridge's main screen resolved to the image of Hudson on the bridge of the seaQuest DSV. Lieutenant Phillips had done his work fast. "Captain Hudson, what's seaQuest's status?"
Hudson's bridge was a state of organized chaos. Ainsley didn't have to ask to know that seaQuest had also received the distress call. Hudson looked immensely displeased. "We're still about an hour from your position, Captain. It will take us even longer to get to the colony. We're on our way at best speed... But I don't think it's going to be enough."
Ainsley nodded solemnly - that meant that the Atlantis was – despite her lack of preparedness – was the colony's only prayer. "Understood, Captain. We'll take care of it. Our ETA is a little over 15 minutes."
"Good luck, Captain."
Nothing further was said, and the screen returned to a detailed 3D map that showed the colony's location in relation to the Atlantis. "Helm, lay in a course for the Nintoku colony. Take us to two-two-zero knots and…"
Banick and several other officers on the bridge looked at the captain in concern. "Sir, with all due respect, two hundred knots exceeds the tested limit of the engines. We haven't even run them to one-fifty."
Ainsley looked at his executive officer with stern, silent warning. He knew the limits of his submarine, and didn't need to be reminded in a situation like this. Atlantis had been designed with speed in mind; she was the transitional stage between a conventional submarine and a full-blown super-cavitating warship. While the ASV did not, and could not super-cavitate, her top speed was still reckoned to be well over the 200-knot barrier. "Commander, I'm quite aware of my own ship's limitations, and do not need to be reminded of them." Ainsley paused, noticing Banick's sudden tension. "Commander Canebride…" he said; the hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Bring all engines online and take us to two-two-zero knots... Warp one – Engage."
Several officers on the bridge failed to stifle their laughter, and Banick looked somewhat concerned, giving his Captain a very wary, open-mouthed expression of distress. Ainsley simply cracked his fingers, looking around the pristine bridge with a boyish smile that simply didn't suit him. "…I've always wanted to say that..."
Nintoku Colony. Macronesian Fast Attack Submarine Townsville. November 7th, 2040…
Captain Raymond gave the order. "Weapons; Conn. Reload tubes one-through-six."
"Conn; fire control. Reload tubes one-through-six, aye."
Raymond patiently paced back and forth, looking at his watch to keep track of time. He had little doubt that Atlantis was on her way, but he saw no need to use excessive force against the colony. In truth, it was tactically wiser to conserve as many of his torpedoes as possible for when the Atlantis arrived.
From the limited intelligence the Alliance had on the new UEO super-sub, he knew it was larger and undoubtedly more heavily armed than the seaQuest and there was very little in the Alliance that could hold its own against that kind of firepower.
For years, seaQuest had grown an almost infamous reputation throughout Macronesia. She was a weapon of unimaginable power, and the UEO knew it only too well. Whenever a Macronesian ship had come to blows with her, they walked away with a lot more than just a bloody-nose, and in some cases didn't 'walk away' at all!
It pained him that Alliance Central Command had obviously not learned from past lessons, and were once again preparing to come to blows with the UEO's best in what could only be described as a suicide mission. In reality, his force of 8 SSNs didn't have any real hope of defeating the Atlantis at all.
"Conn, Sonar. I have a new contact Bearing zero-eight-five… she's closing sir. Speed: two-one-seven knots. Definitely a submarine… and she's a big one."
Raymond nodded. "Contact's ETA?"
The Sonar operator's sweat covered betrayed his nervousness. "5 minutes, captain. Still no positive identification."
Raymond rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He new exactly what the contact was. It was moving at nearly two hundred and twenty knots and was making a lot of noise; probably a scare tactic. It had to be the Atlantis. "Understood: Designate contact as master five."
"Aye, sir."
Raymond let out a long, slow breath, looking at his watch again and taking note of the time. In 5 minutes, he'd meet his adversary, and the games would begin. He didn't know exactly what to expect, as he had never been in a situation quite like this before, but he was taking no chances. "Fire Control, Conn. Open the outer doors on tubes 1 and 2. Match previous firing solutions with the colony again."
"Fire control, aye."
Raymond counted down the seconds. Timing was everything, and Commander Lewis looked to him, waiting for the next order. "Sir?"
"Patient, Commander…"
Seconds turned to minutes, and tension turned to an almost unbearable agony. Sweat formed on his brow. He had to reel them in, and fast. "Fire control, Conn. Fire tubes one and two."
"Fire tubes one and two aye sir."
The shriek of the two torpedoes bursting out of their tubes and towards the mining colony was heard throughout the entire submarine. For the colonists, it was the sound of death. Defenceless and completely at the mercy of the Orions, all they could do was die. "Conn: fire control. Torpedoes have gone active: Running hot straight and normal. Time to impact: 35 seconds."
Raymond nodded in approval. 35 seconds… it was perfect.
"Conn, Sonar! Master five has decelerated. Positive identification, sir… She's here."
...On the battle-readied bridge of the Atlantis, Captain Ainsley had watched grimly as the Macronesian submarines had fired yet another salvo of torpedoes at the colony. Time was no longer something he had. "Commander, can you destroy those torpedoes?
"I believe so, sir… I have shooting solutions plotted… Firing intercepts."
A series of torpedoes shot out from the Atlantis' bow tubes with tiny sonic booms in their wake, as their plasma-burning engines ignited and quickly accelerated the weapons to nearly 200 knots. Under the guidance of the Atlantis's hypersonars, the intercept torpedoes homed in on the Macronesian torpedoes and exploded – taking the enemy weapons with them, and saving the colony from further harm.
"Mister Callaghan, can you identify that sub?" asked Ainsley, examining the streams of information that poured out of the ASV's databanks from the sensors.
"Aye sir. Her acoustic profile is an exact match with the Townsville. Registered out of Brisbane under Alliance military command."
"So… She's definitely military?"
"She's certainly not a mercenary, sir. This is the real deal."
Ainsley's lip curled in a disgusted snarl. Whenever the UEO had come to blows with Macronesia, it had only really been with pirates or privateers flying the Alliance flag. Never had Macronesia gone out of its way to use military forces in this way. It was appalling. "Communications - get me the Townsville… now."
Lieutenant Phillips began punching in commands to his station. "Channel open, sir."
"ANS Townsville - this is Captain Mark Ainsley of the United Earth Ocean's naval vessel Atlantis. Your attack on this station is in direct violation of established international law. Stand down now and be prepared to surrender, or we will be left with no alternative but to use force."
The Bridge screen now showed the impassive face of a Macronesian Captain. Behind him, the bridge of his Orion-class Attack Submarine looked as if it were in a state of chaos. Judging by the panic-stricken faces of the tactical officer's faces, he guessed they had just read their sensor returns on just how much firepower the Atlantis had pointed at them. The Captain however did not look fussed in the slightest. "Captain Ainsley, as of this moment, your vessel is interfering with a Macronesian affair. We do not recognise any UEO political or military ties with the Nintoku seamount, and we will consider your intrusion an act of aggression if you do not withdraw immediately."
Ainsley looked cautiously off to Callaghan at tactical, searching for any indication that the Alliance commander was bluffing. Callaghan looked grim as he shook his head, mouthing the word 'Painted'. If the Orions were actually willing to fire on the Atlantis, then there was a big problem, and yet, all Ainsley could do was respond in kind. "Captain… let me ask you something. I do not know what it is your orders entail, but are you really willing to start a war with the UEO over a neutral mining station?"
The Alliance commander didn't flinch. Either he was exceptionally good at poker, or he wasn't bluffing. "The question is, Captain Ainsley… are you? You have been warned, Atlantis. The decision is yours."
Abruptly, the Alliance commander ended the transmission, and the screen went blank, leaving Ainsley staring at it in silence. The arrogance of the Alliance captain was going to get a lot of people killed. "Sir, the Orions have opened their tubes! They are painting us!"
Ainsley nodded grimly and let him self fall back in to the chair. "Helm, Put us between the Macronesian submarines and the colony right now. Tactical, load all tubes. Plasma torpedoes to fifty percent charge."
"Aye, Captain. Loading all tubes, plasma warheads to 50 percent charge."
Banick looked worriedly at his Captain. "Sir…?"
"We only want to stop them, Commander. Not destroy them."
Ainsley looked back to Commander Callaghan at tactical. "Fire Control: match sensor bearings for tubes one through six and acquire shooting solutions. But open all outer doors."
"Aye, sir."
Ainsley had no intention of destroying the Macronesian submarines and purposely starting a war by doing so… Even though he feared that it might be exactly what he got out of it. But the power of 'suggestion' was a potent tool, and he intended to use it.
The Atlantis had 24 Rapid Firing, Independently Targeting (RAFIT) torpedo batteries. Each 'battery' was in fact a cluster of six torpedo tubes that acted more as a gatling gun. While the prepared tubes could be fired, the others could reload simultaneously, and it gave the Atlantis an almost limitless rate of fire. It was a sobering thought, but he didn't have time to dwell on such matters.
"Sir! We have a dozen torpedoes in the water, dead ahead! Time to impact: 20 seconds."
"Fire intercepts. Stand by for collisions."
Again, the Atlantis fired her intercept torpedoes; the screams of the plasma engines being heard throughout the bridge as the weapons tore through the water to find and destroy the incoming Macronesian torpedoes. For the most part, they did.
Callaghan looked at Ainsley, his eyes cold. "10 seconds," he warned. "Intercepts have found marks, but four got through!"
Ainsley gritted his teeth, bracing himself for the inevitable but remaining calm. "Sound collision alarm. Brace for impacts."
Bells rang noisily on the bridge as red warning lamps cast long, bloody shadows over the deck. The big clam shell doors were still shut, but their heavy locks quickly sealed them with a jarring "thunk" and a hiss from the seals around the door's edges pressurizing. The PA system was heard across the ship as watertight bulkheads slammed shut, and the crew evacuated the outer hull. "All hands, Collision alert! Brace! Brace! Brace!"
Ainsley, Callaghan and the rest of the bridge staff silently counted down the seconds for what seemed like an eternity, waiting for the inevitable jarring shock of the imminent explosions…
…The four remaining torpedoes fired from the Alliance subs homed in on the huge Atlantis and slammed her hull. The biological skin of the Atlantis's outer hull tore apart as the titanium plating beneath it burst open under nearly 1000 pounds of concussive explosive from each torpedo. Frame work was ripped apart, and bulkheads collapsed, opening portions of the big UEO sub's hull to the cold sea outside.
The deafening explosion on the bridge and jarring concussions sent some crew to the deck and the Captain was racked heavily in his chair, held where he was by his restraints. Over and over again, the deck shook and lights flickered as the torpedos struck home one-by-one. "Damage report!"
Commander Banick's hand instinctively hit several controls on his command console; his face a contorted grimace. "We have hull breaches on decks A, B and D in sections 5 through 18. We're taking on water. Casualties are unknown."
A prayer of thanks raced through Ainsley's mind. For the most part, he was amazed his Submarine had held together so well. So far, the Atlantis was proving her worth. "Seal off those sections… Alert engineering and send out damage control crews."
"Aye sir."
Ainsley looked around his rattle bridge, noticing his crew had largely recovered, with a few of the most junior officers looked absolutely petrified with fright. The Macronesians, for all intents and purposes, had just declared war on his submarine… and he was more than happy to oblige them. "It looks like they don't want to play nicely," he said loudly enough so his crew knew he was at least ways still capable of thinking clearly. "Tactical… Do you have shooting solutions?"
"Yes sir. Shooting solutions for all tubes and torpedoes have been plotted."
"Fire tubes one through six; 3 torpedoes a-piece. Set plasma charges on tubes seven through eighteen to 100 percent charge."
"Fire Control, Aye… Firing tubes one through six."
With another shriek that echoed throughout the sea, streams of torpedoes bursting out of the Atlantis's hull in a furious response against the out the eight Macronesian Orions sped away in to the darkness. The vengeful ASV knew no mercy, and mercy was the one thing the Orions were not going to receive…
75 Nautical Miles east of the Nintoku seamount - UEO seaQuest DSV 4600. November 7th, 2040…
"Henderson! I need everything you can give me from those engines!" barked Oliver Hudson impatiently from the Conn. seaQuest was now making about 203 knots – over 20 knots faster than her sea trial-rated speed of an appreciable 180 knots, and it still wasn't enough. 75 miles away, engaged in battle against 8 Macronesian Fast Attack Submarines, was the Atlantis ASV. Hudson had never felt so utterly useless.
"Captain!" said the sensor chief with alarm. "I've just picked up new contacts bearing zero-two-zero and three-four-zero dead ahead… Range… 20 miles."
Hudson stopped at that. Twenty miles? seaQuest was capable of picking up other submarines that were over 100 miles away. How had they gotten so close? "Where the hell did they come from?"
"They were hiding in a rift valley sir," explained the sonar technician. "If I didn't know any better, I'd swear they were waiting for us."
"Great…" said Hudson gruffly. "They've got us right where the want us… God damn it! Helm? Decrease speed to fifty knots and bring us in slowly. If we can avoid I fight, I want to."
"Yes sir. Decreasing speed to fifty knots."
"Commander Henderson, give me everything you've got on our friends out there," he instructed while walking to the chart dome in the center of the bridge's lower deck.
Commander Lenore "Lonnie" Henderson, seaQuest's XO, had been on seaQuest for many years, and had replaced Commander Ford as the boat's executive officer when Ford had elected to take a command elsewhere in the fleet. She walked over from her station at Ops with a PDA in-hand to join Hudson at the Nav charts. "2 full attack wings of Lysander class subfighters, and 6 Dragna class strike cruisers," she read grimly. "That's a lot of firepower to be coincidental, sir. They knew we were coming."
It wasn't possible, was it? A thousand questions raced through Hudson's mind. Was this really a trap? "…Communications…" he said finally, following a long, hesitant pause. "Hail one of their cruisers. I don't care which one; just do it."
"I've been trying sir," replied the Ensign in question. "They refuse to answer our challenges. They've ignored us three times already."
"Then keep trying!" urged Hudson impatiently. He now had just two options; fight or flight. And given the stakes, he was hardly one to run from such a situation. If the Macs wanted a fight, he would me most happy to oblige them. "Mister Proudmoore, give me shooting solutions on their lead Dragnas."
"Aye sir."
Hudson looked at the virtual chart dome, watching as the Macronesian vessels quickly closed with the seaQuest. In just a few minutes, they would be virtually on top of him. What concerned him even more was the dauntingly large group of Lysander class Subfighters that were approaching at nearly 300 knots. Two full squadrons – 20 fighters – were bearing down on him. And the seaQuest had less than a third of that number in Spectres. The six Spectres that were housed in the hydrosphere had almost no chance of holding them off, and yet he had little choice… Pulling out his PAL, he keyed in several orders and took a deep, hesitant breath. "Hudson to Lieutenant Commander Roderick…"
…Further aft aboard the DSV, Lieutenant Commander Patrick Roderick was already running in full flight gear to the sea deck. Irish by birth, and having grown up in Dublin, he had no real reason to fight the Macronesians. But then, he was Irish… what reason did he need? His family's history was certainly not a military one. His father ran a quiet hotel south of Dublin, and his mother was a musician. Only he and his sister had joined the Navy, and it had been to the vehement objections of their parents. He and his sister were both fighter pilots… but her fortunes had been significantly more prosperous than his own, and while only a year older than he was, she had managed to rise to the rank of a full Wing Commander – the youngest pilot to ever achieve the lofty position. He had just finished pulling his gloves on when Captain Hudson's voice came from his PAL. Unclipping the device, he didn't pause to dwell on it too much. "Go ahead, Captain."
"Commander, we need you and your pilots in the water... now."
"I'm already on it, Captain," said the Irishman, nodding curtly to a group of engineering technicians who were busily preparing the EVA decks for combat. "How bad is it, sir?" he asked Hudson, still not pausing.
"It's bad. 2 full squadrons of Lysanders supported by about half a dozen Dragna cruisers by current count."
An icepick pierced Roderick's gut as he stopped just short of the number 3 airlock which led to his Spectre in the moonpools below. He had a very bad feeling that that Spectre would soon become is tomb. "I understand, sir. ROE?"
"Fire only if fired upon first. We don't want a war here, Commander… but likewise, we aren't going to idly sit by as our backside is filled with torpedoes."
"Yes sir."
"…And Commander? Good luck."
Hesitation laced Hudson's voice, and it served little more than to make Roderick nervous. He breathed deeply as he closed the PAL, turning to face the 5 other pilots who had gathered behind him. "Well, lads… Things are about to get dicey..."
…Hudson watched with gritted teeth as the Dragna cruisers and their escorts grew ever closer on the navigational displays. The seaQuest was heavily armed; much more so than any other ship in the UEO fleet, but even he doubted whether or not she could hold off half a dozen of Macronesia's front-line cruisers. The only chance she had was a narrow, yet deep ravine just a few nautical miles ahead. Whether seaQuest could get there in time however was another matter. If she did, then the submarine could simply make a plunging crash-dive to the bottom of the valley, well beyond the reach of the Macronesian subs. But if not… then Hudson and his crew would have one hell of a fight on their hands. "Helm… Plot a course on heading two-nine-zero. Make your depth six-three-three-zero feet."
"…Sir, that's… eighty feet above bedrock," remarked the chief helmsman with well-founded concern. "If there is something down there that we can't-"
"Your objection is noted, Helm. Just do it. What's the fastest you can get us in to the Ballard trench?"
"The Ballard trench sir? Well, at the depth you just asked… I'm not even going to try for faster than seventy knots, sir. Seven minutes."
"Tactical; how long until those Dragnas have us?"
There was a moment of silence on the DSV's bridge as Hudson asked the question, and everyone's eyes locked on to the weapons officer. Nothing but the quiet pinging of hypersonar and sensor returns could be heard over the heavy silence. Hudson did not flinch, and asked the question again. "Lieutenant. How long?"
"…Four minutes, sir."
"Then we'll make this a running gun. Helm… Make for the trench. Tactical, do you have shooting solutions on the cruisers?"
"Aye. Tubes one through nine are loaded and firing solutions have been relayed."
"Good. EVA? Get our Speeders in to the water to helm out those Spectres."
...Outside the seaQuest, half a dozen UEO SF-2/A Spectre Subfighters dived and rolled through to a wide delta formation in the cold darkness, illuminated only by their floodlights and navigating almost entirely on instinct. Ahead - speeding toward them at nearly 300 knots - were over three times their number in Macronesian Lysanders.
"seaQuest, this is Spectre 1, we've got that trench of yours looking real sweet up here. Still can't give you a visual on it, but there's about two dozen Mac Lysanders that look like they're going to cut you off… Captain, sir we really need clearance to engage…"
…Despite his growing urgency to take action, Captain Hudson hesitated. The Macronesians had not yet fired. Why? They had been in torpedo range for over 8 minutes, and the seaQuest – a submarine of a thousand feet long - was not exactly the most difficult target in the seas to hit. "Standby, Spectre 1…"
Hudson walked back over to the chart dome, carefully but quickly assessing the approaching Macronesian cruisers again, looking for anything that would give him reason to act. "Tactical… can you give me any thing at all on those Dragnas besides their position, speed and formation?"
"No sir. They've had shooting solutions on us for 7 minutes and 13 seconds, but they still have not opened their doors."
"To hell with it," said Hudson, finally steeling himself. "I'm not about to give these bastards a chance to fill my submarine full of holes. Spectre 1, this is seaQuest… You are cleared to engage."
"…Aye, aye!" said Roderick with a grim smile. "Ladies and gentlemen, we are weapons free. You are clear to engage!"
The Spectres broke out of their tight delta formation, rolling away to close directly on the Lysanders ahead. Outnumbered three to one, it was a gutsy – even stupid – move. But Roderick's wing had no intention of fighting the Lysanders muzzle-to-muzzle, they only had to draw the Lysanders out and give the seaQuest enough time to escape in to the Ballard trench, and that could be arranged. "Spectre 2, you're on my wing. Form up and cover me. Let's see if we can rattle them a little…"
"Aye sir."
The tension on the bridge of the seaQuest exploded in an instant as a shrill alarm pierced the air from the tactical station. "Sir! Torpedoes in the water, bearing zero-three-zero!"
"Damn it!" exclaimed Hudson. "Who fired?"
"The lead Dragna, sir!"
"Get locks on those weapons and fire intercepts. Helm, get us in to that trench!"
"Contact in 1 minute, fifteen seconds, sir."
As seaQuest drew nearer to the trench ahead, a screech of igniting plasma sounded the firing of half a dozen intercept torpedoes. Ahead of them; the Macronesian weapons continued at a daunting pace towards the much larger DSV. The Dragna cruisers themselves however had slowed to a crawl, and seemed to be uninterested in coming any closer.
Not far from this action, Commander Roderick was sitting close on the tail of an Alliance subfighter, his thumb gradually tightening its pressure on the yolk and the firing trigger. He watched his HUD go red and give him a solid tone as his Spectre's pulse lasers locked on to the Lysander. The Macronesian, undoubtedly receiving fair warning from his own fighter's computer tried to break away out of Roderick's line of fire, but to no avail. The Spectre's hypersonars kept their lock, and the UEO pilot's fighter spewed bolts of laser cannon fire across the Lysander's tail. Several of the hits landed squarely on the Lysander's split-tail, several missed, lashing past it and leaving long, blackened graces against its fuselage. But the last hits put the fighter out of its misery as it finally gave way under the bombardment, and the high pressure of the water around it. Black oil vomited from the fighter's engines before they exploded, followed soon after by the nose, and the pilot within. Lieutenant Commander Patrick Roderick had just taken the first kill of the war. "Scratch one Bandit," he said quietly in to his radio. "All fighters, be advised… seaQuest is making for the trench. Cover her for as long as you can."
"Understood, lead."
The Spectres broke hard on to their sides, spiralling downward towards the sea floor far below. In their wake, Macronesian Lysanders met them pace-for-pace, raking the sea with a torrential rain of pulse laser and subduction cannon fire. One of the UEO fighters was hit dead-center by one of the pursuing Lysander's subduction shots, and its fuselage broke apart like wet tissue as the molecular bonds of the alloys and composites that made up the hull broke down. The fighter's sudden deceleration only made the Lysander's fire more effective as a line of laser fire tore up the Spectre's centreline and incinerated the cockpit. The pilot was killed instantly.
"Spectre three!" called Roderick over the radio frantically. "Spectre three, report." It was a stupid question of course. The pilot hadn't ejected, and Roderick had seen only too clearly how the Lysander's guns had ripped through the nose of the fighter. "Damn it! All fighters, this is lead… take evasive action, watch each others backs out here!"
Captain Hudson watched with dismay as the Spectre disappeared from the tactical display. The inevitable, unforgiving math of fate that was stacked against the fighter squadron was beginning to play out in its lethal equation. At three-for-one odds he had to expect casualties. His only hope was that those few casualties would not turn in to a total slaughter. "Damn…" he whispered quietly. Another shrill alarm from the tactical station was enough to bring his attention around once again.
"Captain… We've got at least a dozen torpedoes in the water! The Dragnas have fired again!"
"Take evasive action, Mister Lewis. Are we over that trench yet?"
"Yes sir!"
"Then what the hell are you waiting for?" exclaimed Hudson with growing exasperation. "Commander Henderson… Sound crash dive!"
"Aye, Captain."
Instinctively, Commander Henderson reached for her command key, and slapped it in to her control station in one, swift move, turning it, and then releasing the safety on the master alarm. Bells began ringing throughout the ship and watertight doors began to close. "This is the XO… All decks rig for crash dive!"
Hudson made a point of sitting down as he watched the bridge secure around him. "Helm; full down on the bow planes. Open all ballast tanks and take us to the bottom."
"Helm, aye."
…The Macronesian torpedoes got closer as seaQuest plunged downward almost uncontrollably, air erupting from her ballast tanks all the way. The torpedoes did their best to keep up with the falling submarine, and detonated just a few dozen yards from her hull in big white novas of plasma fire and vaporized water. The DSV was rattled heavily by the detonations as it fell; the shockwaves beating against the titanium hull plating and organic bioskin.
Not far away however, another of Roderick's Spectre's luck ran out as a Lysander delivered the final blow to the already-damage fighter, and virtually cut it in half with its pulse lasers. Nature did the rest as the torn hull was blown asunder from the near 3000 PSI pressure of the deep, dark sea beyond. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph!" yelled Roderick, watching the fiery death of another of his pilots. "All remaining fighters and speeders… pair up and try and break apart those Lysander squadrons."
"Sir, if we take them head on, we're as good as dead!" protested one of the other pilots.
"We'll last longer than we will by running from the bastards! Now do it! Draw them in to the trench and take out as many of them as you can!"
The Commander decided that in this case, leading by example was probably the best way he could rally his pilots. He wasn't prepared to lead his men in to a slaughter, and would not ask them to do anything that he would not. Perhaps it was suicide, but at least they wouldn't be dying by running away. Snap-rolling his Spectre up on to its starboard side, he narrowly avoided a barrage of laser fire that vaporised the water in his wake and went straight down in to a cork-screw dive towards the trench and the seaQuest below. At a comfortable combat speed of 120 knots, his Spectre rapidly shot past the huge hull of the UEO flagship and plunged in to the darkness of the trench before him.
…But deep within the trench, unseen through the darkness and not stirring from its quiet and eerie lair, something else lay in wait. For a moment, its sharp and lethal form seemed to shimmer, blending in with the sea walls on either side.
Above it, seaQuest and her fighter escorts blindly continued their plunge in to the abyss, totally unaware of what was waiting for them; believing that they would find clemency and sanctuary in the cold depths of the trench. Roderick was one who held those hopes as his last chance to at the very least make a hasty escape from the Macronesian fighters above. And as his Spectre continued to dive in to the netherworlds of the sea, he allowed himself to relax as he watched the range between himself and the pursuing Lysanders grow to an ever increasing figure. 700 yards… 800 yards… 900 yards. He looked over his shoulder to watch the welcoming azure blue light from the surface above fade in to darkness, taking with it any hopes of the Macronesians finding him.
Satisfied with his effort, he looked back to the abyss before him, and blinked once in surprise; a single stunned and incomprehensible thought running through his mind. But that was all he had time to do as the angry, lashing bolts of subduction energy ripped through his fighter's nose and fuselage. He did not know the bite of the icy sea outside, nor did he know any regret or anger; only a strange, eternal darkness, and the echoing, silent thunder of his last thought… Lieutenant Commander Patrick Roderick did not die alone, the thought of a single person's warming smile bringing comfort to a bitter end. A sister whom he had loved so much, but would never know again;
This was no longer his war.
"Sir, torpedoes have gone active. Independent targeting systems are online, and all fish are running hot, straight and normal."
Ainsley coolly nodded. "Rig torpedo targeting telemetry to the ship's tactical systems and fire tubes-"
"Captain!" interrupted Lieutenant Phillips from the communications station. "Sir, we have a priority one distress call from the seaQuest. …They report they are under attack from superior Macronesian forces and requesting immediate assistance from any available ships."
All eyes on the Bridge looked immediately to Ainsley, and the Captain's stomach sank. Macronesia, for all intents and purposes, had just declared war, and he was now faced with an intolerable decision: abandon the civilians aboard the Nintoku colony, or let seaQuest fend for her self. It was the same question so many UEO commanders had been left with over the last decade, but never before had the stakes been so high.
For the first time in many years, Captain Mark Ainsley – a man of 31 years in the Naval Service – hesitated. He did not know what to do.
"Sir!" reported Commander Callaghan. "We have 8 Mac torpedoes in the water and confirmed impacts on 3 targets from our own weapons, sir. 2 targets are breaking up, the other one disengaging."
"What of the other 4?"
"They're still coming si- Damn it! Captain, we have four more torpedoes in the water and closing fast!"
Ainsley had made up his mind. seaQuest was on her own. His first and foremost duty was the safety of his own ship, and he would no compromise that. "Fire intercepts; all tubes! Helm… Bring us about to two-seven-zero and show them our prow. Stern left one third - easy on the planes."
6 more intercepts shot out from the Atlantis' tubes followed almost immediately by 8 more. Guided by the ASV's advanced sonar and sensor targeting arrays, it didn't take the countermeasures long to find their marks. One by one, the intercepts homed in on the enemy torpedoes and destroyed them before they even had the chance to go active.
Ainsley looked to the tactical station again, running some quick math through his head as he studied a chart table. "Fire tubes 1 through 6: split by twos on three targets."
"Aye, Captain."
More torpedoes left the Atlantis, but this time, the Macronesians were able to get off their own intercepts and only 2 got through. The 2 torpedoes sought out one of the Macronesian Orions and went active; pinging away noisily and electronically lighting up the Orions like Christmas trees. The submarine, in a vain attempt to out-manoeuvre the torpedoes moved forward and began a crash dive, but it was far too late. Ignoring the small countermeasures launched by the Orion, the weapons closed the range, and slammed in to the submarine's hull. The Orion imploded as the 2 torpedoes struck fore and aft on the submarine, renting massive breaches along its hull plating, and sending so much shock from stem to stern that the fast attack sub's back broke in a shattering 'boom' which rattled the sea for miles.
The 4 remaining Alliance submarines were now hopelessly outgunned, several laser salvos from the submarine's bows raked across the Atlantis's hull, but with little effect. The huge, armoured hull of the ASV shrugged off the hits effortlessly, and continued her angered surge forward. The Orions had little choice but to back off in the face of certain and dire peril.
"Captain, the Alliance submarines are pulling off," reported Commander Callaghan with a certain degree of approval in his voice.
Ainsley was inclined to let the Orions go. The Macronesians knew they had lost, and were not about to give the Atlantis or the colony any further trouble. Destroying the fleeing submarines would achieve little more than to create a very undesirable political fallout. "Very well Commander. Communications; get me the Nintoku seamount."
"Yes, sir"
Atlantis hovered over the Colony, wounded, but on her guard. The 4 torpedoes that struck the big submarine at the onset of battle along her starboard side had done only minor damage, but the ugly scars that marred her elegant hull were plainly obvious as the submarine's WSKRS satellites buzzed around their mother sub, illuminating the hull with flood lamps and providing eyes and ears for the damage control teams aboard.
The view screen on the ASV's bridge lagged badly, jumping between frames as the garbled digital signal from Nintoku Colony's command centre was filtered through the Atlantis's communications systems. The worn face of the Nintoku's first minister showed both relief and exhaustion. Behind him, fires raged and sparks sprayed from overhead plasma conduits. Captain Ainsley could only grimace as he looked at the mess behind the man on screen. "Sir, I am Captain Mark Ainsley of the United Earth Oceans submarine Atlantis. What's your condition?"
The minister managed a half-smile. "You have our thanks, Captain. I am First Minister Rackell... in charge of this colony. We have sustained heavy casualties and our power cores are on the verge of collapse..."
The UEO Captain knew that was bad. Nintoku was an old colony from the very first days of the oceanic boom of the 21st century, and did not have the same facilities as the more heavily populated and central commerce hubs such as the San Angeles colony off the Californian coast. Most power reactors aboard sub-surface colonies were fusion cores, and while the newer ones had fail-safes that could stop potential catastrophes from very literally exploding, older, independently governed power facilities such as Nintoku did not always have the luxury of upgrading such massively integrated and costly core installations such as power plants. It had been a major issue on the UEO's environmental agenda for many years. "Commander, prepare a repair crew and a sea launch for immediate deployment to the colony... Tell them to take whatever tools they need to lock down the colony's fusion core."
The Captain turned again to the minister on the bridge screen. "Minister, if you didn't hear that, we are sending over a repair crew to assist you. They will help you lock Nintoku's reactors down until a full relief party can be dispatched to the colony. I'm afraid that this submarine is… not exactly outfitted for a rescue operation at this point in time."
The Minister nodded, his expression softened somewhat. "I understand, Captain. Thank you."
Without much further procrastination, the colony's garbled transmission ended, and Ainsley sat down in his chair with a sigh again. seaQuest needed help, and in all probability, Atlantis was the only submarine within several hundred miles that was capable of assisting. It seemed that on only day-one of her job, the Atlantis ASV 8100 was already being called upon to save the world. "Helm," he said quietly, "Bring us around the colony in a wide circle… we'll shadow the Orions as long as we can. Lay in a course for seaQuest's last known position… Give me all the speed you have."