IV
In Deep
UEO Atlantis ASV 8100. Holding Station over the Emperor seamounts. November 9th, 2040.
It was quiet on the bridge of the Atlantis as Captain Ainsley sat patiently checking his monitors and consoles, sifting through a mountain of department reports from across the submarine. The UEO had ordered the Atlantis back to Pearl Harbor. He had ordered her to stay exactly where she was. It would buy him time to find out just what had happened over the last few days, but that was all it would buy him. The Secretary General didn't believe a word of his story about damage and assessments. And soon, there would likely be a veritable armada of UEO subs chasing him. Almost on cue, the Atlantis' comm. Officer, Jack Phillips turned from his station to face the Captain. "Sir, we just got a ULF transmission from UEOCINCPAC. They've been trying to contact us directly off the satellite net for about 12 hours now. They want to know what we're doing."
Ainsley smiled knowingly. "I was wondering when they might try the ULF... Send this back; satellite antenna is damaged, direct communications not possible. Engines are still being repaired."
The young Phillips grinned, looking rather sceptical. "Think they'll buy it sir?"
"Nope," confessed the Captain. "I half-expect we'll be escorted back to Pearl by a squadron of Battlecruisers."
"Aye, sir… I'll send the message."
Morale amongst the crew was relatively high. Just a day before, a bunch of politicians and bureaucrats had been prepared to pull the Atlantis off the line over red tape when there were considerably more important things at stake. Captains had stood up against those kinds of barriers for over a decade. Now was no different. If a court martial was the only way to find the truth of what was happening, then Ainsley would have it no other way. Not a single person on board had protested the orders to disobey UEO command, and it had given the crew a sense of renewed purpose. There was an air of challenge and daring across the ship, and never in his entire career had Captain Ainsley met a finer crew. He turned to the EVA station at the side of the Bridge and Commander Callaghan met his gaze. "Sir?"
"Commander, ready salvage crews to examine that debris out there and move WSKRS Loner and Junior in to position for a square search of the area."
"Aye sir."
The WSKRS system was a network of 3 small 'Wireless Sea-Knowledge Retrieval Satellites' fittingly called "Whiskers". The satellites were mainly used to gather data from the surrounding sea, but could be used for a multitude of other tasks. In this case, the WSKRS satellites would gather and analyse information on what was in the debris field, cataloguing everything within it, and with help from the Atlantis' computer, would try to discern exactly what had happened. It was a long shot, but with the entire EVA corps searching the depths of the trench below, and WSKRS plotting detailed maps of the mountain ranges, it was the best chance they had…
Commander Gabriel Hitchcock was having a bad week. The grim mission to explore the debris field below was not helping. Sitting in the pilot's seat of the short-range Sea Launch mini-sub, he began the start up sequence of all its systems and strapped himself in. The small bubble cockpit door opened and Lieutenant Commander Canebride moved to the starboard side's co-pilot's seat.
"Afternoon, Lieutenant Commander," he said flatly. He knew Natalie Canebride by acquaintance only. While she was a certified pilot, their paths seldom crossed because of their remarkably different working conditions. Hitchcock was a fighter pilot, and over 10 years older than her, but she was a fleet helm officer who sat on the bridge of a 240,000 tonne battleship. They were hardly comparable fields of work.
"Hello, sir," she greeted in return, sitting down and putting on the radio headset. "You look like you've had a rough day."
"I hate these kinds of missions," he confirmed glumly. And nothing more needed to be said.
"I know what you mean," she said distantly as she ran through several check lists. "Alright… let's do pre-flight. Fuel?"
"Reserves are full."
"Reactor?"
"Online and operating at normal levels."
They finished the pre-flight checklist quickly, and Commander Hitchcock set the last of the controls to idle, and the launch was ready for departure. "Alright, Lieutenant Commander, get us clearance and we're out of here."
"Yes sir." Leaning over, she toggled the radio and settled back in to her seat, getting comfortable for what would likely be a long and very monotonous mission. "Sea-deck control, this is Sea Launch Eight-One-Zero-Zero-Six requesting launch clearance."
The reply was remarkably clear; almost like the person speaking was right next to her. She recognised the voice as that of Lieutenant Commander Ryan Callaghan. "Sea Launch Eight-One-Zero-Zero-Six, this is EVA Control. You are cleared for immediate departure. Sea doors are open."
"Thanks, Ryan. Eight-One-Zero-Zero-Six; out."
Releasing her grip on the radio, Canebride brought the last of the launch's systems online, and disengaged the docking clamps that held the craft secured to the submerged docking bay of the Atlantis's lower EVA decks. "She's all yours, sir," she said, looking at Hitchcock.
The older Wing Commander eased back on the stick and put in a small amount of reverse throttle. The launch backed out of its berth, swinging its long hull around to face the massive external sea doors. The doors would have weighed at least 80 tonnes, and were the only thing that protected the submarine's internal decks from the crushing pressure outside. At over 3000 feet deep, there was no natural light. Guided by the flood lights of the Atlantis' EVA bays, and its own searchlights, the Launch moved out from the sheltered protection from the ASV and in to the darkness beyond.
Manoeuvring over the debris field; WSKRS, Sea Launches, and 'Sea Crabs' scoured the sea floor in search of answers. Sea Crabs were small, single-crewed submersibles which, unsurprisingly, resembled a crab. Their long, multipurpose arms were exceptionally useful for such work.
Above them, the Atlantis maintained her position. Visible only by their work lights, EVA-suited maintenance crews still worked to fully repair the damage to the great submarine's hull done by the Macronesians just a couple of days previously. From her position in the sea launch, they seemed like insignificant specks through the darkness, and Canebride had never really appreciated just how big the boat really was until that point. Her huge, sweeping wings, flowing lines, and floodlight-illuminated bioskin made the Atlantis seem like a giant, artificial reef. It was an oddly beautiful sight, and she had to force her gaze away to get back to the task at hand, continuing to plot the sea floor's topography. Thousands of square meters of debris field, stretching into the blackness around her was a frighteningly eerie sight. The secrets that darkness withheld, and the many lives it had claimed were figures lost to history. But for whatever reason, humanity continued to return to that darkness…
Sitting in an armchair in his stateroom, Captain Ainsley sat quietly to nothing more than the sound of Mozart. He wasn't really paying attention though as he carefully studied a set of schematics on a hand held PDA. The schematics were those of the UEO seaQuest DSV; a long, slender hull based on the biological design of a squid. Her bow formed a long, streamlined ridged arrowhead that cut back along nearly a quarter of the length before rapidly dropping away to a long, slender neck that was connected to the hydrosphere – connected to the midships section by 4 cross-forming bridges. The stern fell away to a long, cigar-formed section oh hull that ended with a set of 4 rudders, which also happened to resemble the tentacles of a squid. Technically speaking, while the design was unusual, it was also the most logical shape for a submarine. Creatures which spent millions of years adapting to an aquatic environment were understandably the most streamlined nautical designs on the planet, and learning how to replicate their living forms was the holy grail of submarine design. seaQuest was the perfect boat, and it had ultimately been her imperfect human component that had brought about her demise. Atlantis too, had been designed with those same theories of design as the basis of its construction. What had it taken to send the great submarine to the bottom of the Pacific Ocean, never to be seen again?
He had analysed nearly every unclassified scrap of data on the DSV. Yes, the seaQuest was an old design; its fundamental engineering systems long since surpassed by newer and more advanced technologies. But her basic design concepts were still the core of everything the UEO did; peacekeeping, exploration, science. Strategically speaking, destroying the seaQuest 10 years ago would have made a great deal of sense; she was the most powerful ship in the UEO fleet at the time. But to do so now, just as the Atlantis and Aquarius were entering service was completely illogical. Why had Macronesia created such an elaborate diversion to destroy her?
The next thing on his mind was the debris field below; something as big as seaQuest didn't simply vanish without a trace. Even had the 1000-foot-long submarine been totally destroyed and turned in to a pile of shredded metal, 32,000 tonnes of debris was very easy to find, and there was simply not enough wreckage beneath the Atlantis to add up to that figure. And even if there was, the only way a ship that large could be that badly torn apart would be with a nuclear weapon. But he knew that that wasn't the answer, had a nuclear weapon indeed been detonated, not only would the Atlantis and just about every major seismic monitoring station detected it, but the entire area where the Atlantis now hovered would have been drenched with radioactive contamination. Putting the pad down, The Captain got up and rubbed his face. He had not slept in 24 hours, and the effects of it were beginning to show. Insomnia was beginning to set in, and while he was tired, he couldn't sleep even if he tried. The intercom bleeped from his desk and he switched off the Music which by now he'd totally forgotten about and walked to the desk.
"This is Ainsley. Go ahead."
Chief Edward Steven's voice came back full of energy, and very lively; something that Ainsley lacked at that moment. "Engineering here, sir. We've just pulled aboard some wreckage from that debris outside. We've found some… interesting results. I thought you might want to come down here and see it."
The Captain sighed. He didn't need this now, but duty seldom gave what one 'needed'. "Yeah, Chief. I'll be there in a few minutes. Thank you."
Chief Petty Officer Edward Stevens frowned again as he looked over the computer readings he was getting off of the large piece of debris that sat in the middle of holding bay sixteen on the Atlantis's E-Deck hangar. He knew from the tattered remnants of the bioskin that still clung to the Titanium plating that it had to have come from the seaQuest, and he just hoped that the piece of wreckage held some kind of answers. Tech crews swarmed around the hangars they examined different things retrieved from the debris field below. A mundane task; some objects were of a more unusual nature, like pots and pans that seemed to have come from the galleys, and in some cases, entire turbine assemblies from destroyed Subfighters – both UEO and Macronesian. Other items included pieces of titanium hull plating much like the one that he himself now examined. The computer worked quickly to analyse samples of the wreckage through spectroscopy, looking in-depth at the atomic and molecular make up of the material in question. The process itself was quite simple and for him, very boring, but the results that were being produced were anything but that.
The chief engineer then noticed the Captain approaching out of the corner of his eye, and he waved him over. "Captain? Over here."
"What's this?" asked the Captain, casting a wary eye over the shattered and torn piece of metal.
"Standard NORPAC construction Grade-5 Titanium-Steel-Carbon alloy hull plating fragment with what's left of a UEO 2nd Generation semi-organic hull skin."
Ainsley looked at Stevens incredulously. He knew exactly what the object was, but what he didn't know was what it meant. "…Ok, so it's a piece of hull plating from a UEO Submarine. And?"
"And," added Stevens pointedly, handing Ainsley a PDA with numerous pages of data over it, "I've found something very interesting about it the second the salvage crews pulled it aboard. Now, being an engineer, I don't know squat about the Bioskin, but when I saw this… well, let's just say it got my attention."
Stevens walked over to the piece of wreckage, and pulling a spanner from his belt, proceeded to give the shattered Titanium hull plating a solid whack along its torn edge. Much to Ainsley's astonishment, it crumbled like wet sandstone, sending brittle fragments of metal and bioskin across the deck beneath his feet. "…That's not possible."
Stevens smiled victoriously. "Well with all due respect, sir. You're not the first person to say that about this kind of abnormality. But I assure you, it is possible. I've seen it before."
"You have?"
"Yes," confirmed the engineer with dismay. "But what really got my attention is this bioskin. You're familiar with them, right?"
"Of course," said Ainsley with a furrowed brow. "Atlantis uses the same technology. A triple layered semi-organic skin that covers the outer hull. It's more or less just a genetically-engineered seaweed... thicker than the hide of a humpback whale."
"Yeah, and tough as nails to break," said Stevens, summarising the point he was trying to make. "The thing is; this particular bioskin is dead. Bioskins should regenerate if damaged. It's a stop-gap measure to seal hull breaches, but in this case, it's like something's come along and sucked all the proteins out of it. It's a dead leaf." As if accenting his point, Stevens scraped his nails over the supposedly-rubbery material, only to have it break apart effortlessly beneath his fingers.
Ainsley looked at the tattered segment of hull, trying to grasp at what could possibly have done the degree of damage before him. "You said you've seen this before..." he said carefully.
"Yeah. What we have here is a complete break down of chemical bonds within the hull alloy and the bioskin. They've more or less been momentarily liquefied and melted together, and became extremely brittle in the process."
The worked his jaw. Now he thought of it, he had also heard of this happening. But this was by far the most extreme example of it he had ever seen. "Subduction," he concluded finally.
"Yep," said Stevens. "This could only have been done by a Macronesian subduction weapon. Now, when I was helping to build this boat, we did a whole heap of really weird and interesting experiments… But I have never seen this degree of total molecular breakdown from Subduction before. The weapon yield would have to have been many times greater than anything we've seen to date."
"SD-12s?" asked Ainsley, referring to Macronesia's 'Minotaur'-type Subduction cannons that were mounted aboard their Tempest class heavy cruisers – a ship that the UEO had yet to come across in direct battle.
"Possibly, but I would be surprised. I think this is beyond even the SD-12's capabilities. I say whatever it was would have been considerably larger in both physical size and yield."
This changed almost everything. Macronesia had never before used subduction technology as an anti-submarine weapon. The fact they now had proof that this weapon had been used against seaQuest raised some very dangerous questions.
"Ok Chief. Keep working at this. If you find anything else unusual, let me know straight away.
"Will do, Sir."
UEO Command Base, San Francisco, California. North America. November 10th, 2040…
Daylight was coming to the city of San Francisco and the everyday buzz of city life was still dawning on the citizens of the United States. Despite all the world's problems, for them it was just another working day.
Standing on the pier of the jointed UEO-NORPAC Naval base on Tiburon Peninsula at the north end of the Golden Gate Bridge, Lieutenant Phil Osborne took in the crisp morning air. Not too far away, covered in a shroud of morning mist were the UEO's Richardson Bay construction slips. Osborne didn't know much of what was happening at those docks, in fact, it seemed that no one did.
Many people, from civilians to military personnel and the media had made inquiries with UEO's regional command about what was happening at the facility after it had been radically modernized for some unknown purpose, but they had never been given a real answer. Whatever that purpose was, it seemed to necessitate the use of the entire base. Walking along the pier, he began to approach Tiburon's Submarine base. His own boat, the UEO Fast Attack Submarine Antares, was due to leave port that morning to join the fleet at Pearl Harbor. He was only a communications officer, but he was proud of his submarine as was the rest of the crew. But of course, Osborne would have done almost anything to get one of the very few and privileged positions aboard the recently commissioned Atlantis ASV. He had rushed in a transfer application when the Aquarius had become public knowledge at the same time, but he knew his chances were not overly high.
That morning was particularly brisk and he had to zip his uniform jacket up to the neck in order to keep warm, and even then it did little to deter the cold. A lot of other Navy personnel were scattered over the docks tending to their day's work, and the lower ranks saluted him as he passed. In a good mood, he returned them in a more cheery manner and waved each of them off with a casual tip off his hat.
But Osborne stopped as he suddenly got the impression he had forgotten something. Thinking about it for a moment, he dug deep in to his pockets, trying to remember what it was, and then realised that he had left his security pass at the front desk of the administration complex. "Shit!" He said with annoyance. "Bloody hell… I hope the damned thing is still there…"
Doing a quick about-face, he began a quick jog back towards the administration buildings behind him. At least the exercise might do something about the cold.
After running about a hundred yards, still cursing that he'd left his ID behind he slowed and looked up at the overcast morning sky. He heard thunder, but it seemed to be distant. "Nearly a hundred years of space flight and we can't even get the weather right," he complained to no one in particular. Shaking his head, he continued onward briefly, but then realised that the thunder was continuing. This was going to be a rather spectacular storm. Stopping again, he looked to the grey skies in curiosity before the ground rumbled beneath his feet, and he saw a flash and smoke start to rise from one of the naval piers across the bay. He felt this before he heard is as the shattering "crunch" pierced the sky. "…What the hell?" He whispered, looking at the commotion across the bay. There was another not far from it… and then he heard the sonic booms above as streaks of white fire tore through the sky towards the naval base below."Oh, Shit!" he said as he began to run as fast as he could towards the administration complex. It didn't take a genius to work out what was going on; San Francisco was under attack. "Shit!"
The yelling of other base personnel as they scattered grew quite loud as he ran… But there was a faint feeling of growing danger as the ground beneath his feet started to rumble. He had barely taken another 10 steps when the ground seemed to fall from under him, and all hell broke loose in one final, deafening explosion…
UEO Atlantis ASV 8100. Holding Station at the Emperor seamount Chain. November 10th, 2040.
Red Alert Klaxons hammered away through the corridors of the Atlantis, and Mark Ainsley awoke to the sound of the ship's PA blaring through his quarters. Throwing the covers off and forcing his eyes open awkwardly, his first instinct was to reach for his uniform jacket that hung over the back of a chair not far from where he was standing. He hadn't meant to fall asleep, and had merely lain down to take a break. The fact he was still wearing his boots was a testament to that. "Captain to the bridge," he said gruffly, slapping the intercom on his desk. "Commander Banick, what the hell is going on?"
The monitor at Ainsley's computer flickered to life to show the equally-gaunt face of Commander James Banick. Behind him, the Bridge was bustling with activity as crew arrived at their duty stations from across the ship. "Captain, UEO Command in Pearl Harbor has just issued a fleet-wide condition two alert, sir."
Ainsley's head was spinning. A condition-two alert usually meant that someone, somewhere, was expecting a war. As a result, the entire UEO Navy would go to a state of maximum readiness in preparation to respond to whatever the threat was. "Please tell me you're joking, Commander."
"I don't joke at oh-four-hundred-hours sir. It's impolite… stand by."
Banick reached off-screen and hit some unseen control. His face was quickly replaced by the burning nightmare of the UEO's San Francisco naval base. The city itself seemed mostly untouched, but thick black smoke billowed from the northern end of the bay - the UEO naval facility. From the news-ticker at the bottom of the screen, and the commentary that came with it, it was obviously a news broadcast. "…You're looking at what remains of the United Earth Oceans Naval facility in the San Francisco bay area. Less than a half an hour ago, explosions ripped through this naval base in what now appears to be an attack by as-yet unidentified forces. UEO Command has yet to release any official details, but a spokesperson has confirmed that there have been very many casualties, with the base military hospital being so inundated with wounded that many of the victims are being sent to civilian hospitals including San Rafael and Strawberry Point. There has been some speculation that this attack could be a Macronesian reprisal for November 9th's skirmish between Alliance naval vessels and the highly controversial UEO Atlantis ASV 8100-"
Ainsley didn't need to hear anything more, and was already on his way out the door. "Understood commander, I'll be there shortly…"
"Captain on the bridge!"
All officers who were on the Atlantis's command deck snapped to attention and saluted sharply as Ainsley entered through the Bridge's big clam doors. "As you were," he said as he moved to the Conn. "Commander Banick, report?"
Banick was already at his station on Ainsley's right and turned around to face the Captain. "All stations at full readiness, sir. We still haven't got any word from UEO Command on the situation in San Francisco."
"Have you managed to get anything off the UEO Net?"
"Yes sir… I took the liberty of getting all the information I could from Sat-Recon. It looks pretty bad. Tiburon took a hell of a pounding. The casualty reports still haven't stopped coming in. Most deployed fleet units are in the same state as us, sir; they haven't received any further orders from Command either."
Ainsley frowned. This was, to say the least, unusual. A major UEO Naval base had just been attacked, and fleet command didn't seem to be telling anyone what was going on. But Banick was not finished, and he got up quietly came to the Captain's side. "There's something else sir," he whispered. "A few minutes ago, we picked up the UEO Ark Royal and the UEO Victorious on an intercept course with our location with about 4 squadrons of Raptors in tow."
The Captain regarded Banick with a concerned frown. He had been wondering when Pearl Harbor would send someone to 'investigate' what was going on. It seemed he wasn't going to be disappointed. "Have they tried hailing us?"
"Nothing beyond simple recognition codes yet, sir. They'll be here within the next 2 hours."
The Captain nodded slowly. "Alright. We'll hold a briefing with the senior staff and you can tell us what the hell is going." The games were over. Atlantis, one way or the other, would go back to Pearl Harbor. "Communications," he said as he looked to Lieutenant Jack Phillips. "Lieutenant Phillips, you have the bridge. In the event that either of those two Subcarriers hail us and want to speak with me; patch it straight through to the wardroom. All senior officers, report to the briefing room... now."
Ainsley was pacing back and forth, deep in thought at the front of the briefing room as Commander Banick explained what was going on to the rest of the assembled officers. "Bourne's timing couldn't have been better," said the Atlantis Exec. "The UEO Net is going absolutely berserk. Regional commands are sending dispatches to every fleet headquarters and battlegroup command on the planet, and the little I've managed to get out of UEO Headquarters in Pearl seems to suggest that we're waiting to see what Melbourne has to say about this... They seem to be reluctant to do anything until someone's taken responsibility for it."
"Ah… I see the politicians are at work again," observed Callaghan with a smug grin. "Seriously though, Commander… Have there been any orders dispatched to the fleet?"
"No," said Banick simply. "The only order given has been a general code-two. The fleet is to remain at maximum readiness and await further orders."
"How bad is the damage at San Francisco?" asked Canebride sombrely. Any hint of her light-hearted conversation with Banick earlier that day being totally unrecognisable.
"It's bad," said Banick with dread. He leaned over to the center of the desk and hit a few controls, bringing up several holographic satellite images he'd downloaded earlier on. The maps did not paint a pretty picture. "Tiburon base has been almost totally destroyed. The casualties are expected to be enormous. The only good news is that the shipyards on Richardson Bay are still intact… So the fleet still has some degree of logistical support left in the area."
"How the hell did the missiles get through NORPAC's anti-missile defences? NORAD must have seen these things coming, surely."
Banick looked hesitant. He didn't like the answer to that any more than Callaghan was going to. "We don't know. It's likely that the missiles were launched from off the US Coast, but even then… there should have been some warning. The missiles were apparently hypersonic, so their total flight time could have been measured in just a few minutes… if that."
"Anything from diplomatic channels?"
"It's not good," replied the Commander again. All of a sudden, everyone was looking at him as the local expert of everything to do with the attack. "A few hours ago, the Alliance expelled every UEO diplomat within Macronesia. No surprises there, I guess."
Nothing more could be said. The room took on a new air of fear with that thought. Diplomats were almost never expelled from a county… unless all hopes for a diplomatic solution had completely disappeared
"So what do we do now?" asked Canebride, breaking the silence with the most obvious question a person could ask.
Ainsley stopped pacing and faced his officers, cutting in before Banick could reply. "-Now, we deal with the present. The simple fact is that there is not a single person in the UEO with half a brain that doesn't know who was responsible for this attack. If there was ever a way to declare war, then that was it. As much as I would liketo continue our investigation to what has happened over the last few days, there are simply more pressing things to deal with. We'll take what we have to UEO Command and tell them everything we've found and what little we've learned… But we need to deal with reality… We're at war, people, and there is very little we can do about it from here."
A heavy silence fell over the wardroom. Banick thought with some degree of morbid humour that Ainsley would be the ideal person to call if you ever needed to kill a party. "Your orders, sir?"
"Contact those two submarines which are arriving," replied the Captain sternly. "Tell them we're making for Pearl Harbor at best speed, and then set a course for Hawaii. But I have a few loose ends to tie up…"
Melbourne, Australia. Macronesian Alliance Capital Territory. Presidential Residence. November 11th, 2040…
Alexander Bourne was a man veiled in infinite shades of grey. He was revered, feared, respected, and in some cases; loathed. But that was the life of the politician, and was prepared to accept that. Two thousand years before, the fate of the Roman Empire had been decided in a single moment when Julius Caesar had given the order to cross the Rubicon. Perhaps he too had made that same fateful decision… But history would be the one to tell that, and he intended to write it. For years, the UEO had represented an obstacle to him; an impasse that he could not scale through political manipulation, and a political force that he could not bring down with simple military strength. But now he had both on his side, and he could finally do what he had set out to nearly 15 years before; destroy the United Earth Oceans.
The history behind this great feud with the UEO was long and complex. It had begun as a difference of opinion when the UEO had lifted the ban on colonial deregulation… Bourne did what any intelligent man would, and invested a great deal of time in exploiting this new opportunity. And then the UEO had begun to put embargos against the non-aligned confederations of the world – including the many colonies and prospects that Australia had established across the Pacific. Australia's objections had gone unnoticed, and the nation then resigned her membership from the organization, becoming the founding state of the Macronesian Alliance – an Alliance that presented opportunities that the UEO did not. Many other nations had been quick to join, and Macronesia had become a power to be reckoned with. Inevitably, it sparked an arms race unseen since the Cold War of the twentieth century.
…It was a cold war no more.
Walking down the halls of the state house to the chambers of the Alliance Parliament, President Alexander Bourne straightened his tie and allowed a grief-stricken, wary and forlorn smile for the cameras around him. Presentation was often far more important than anything one had to say. Beside him, the faces of his military advisers and aids were unreadable. They betrayed nothing.
A pair of marines opened the doors to the chambers before the President and he strode in to the House of Representatives to the thunder of revered applause. The house already knew what to expect from their President that day, of course. His address would simply be a formality to be passed as soon as he had finished it. He walked down the centre aisle, making sure he didn't make too much personal eye contact with the various hundreds of Alliance councillors in the chamber. He took to the Dais that sat high on the raised podium beneath the Speak of the House, and bearing the presidential seal. Waiting a few moments, he cast his eyes over the room, making sure he had everyone's attention. "Please be seated," he said quickly.
The request was met quickly as the representatives – like sheep – all sat down without need for further prompting. Silence filled the auditorium for long seconds, and the President straightened to adopt a more formal image. "On the occasions where I have spoken to the citizens of this great Alliance, it is often to pause and reflect upon the great things that our nations have achieved." Taking a brief pause, he let the silence hang again for several long seconds. "But sometimes, it is not always the great things that define our history or our times. Over the past few days, we have witnessed turbulent and frightening examples of how the difference of opinion can lead to great tragedy. Difference of opinion," he repeated with a degree of emphasis. "It is the defining cornerstone of democracy; the freedom of expression; that which makes us a civilized society. For many years, such differences have driven us to a fine line of uncertainty with the United Earth Oceans, all because they were unwilling to listen to that expression of freedom. On the 7th of this month, that line was finally crossed."
Silence met the heavy onset of his speech. It was a tense air in the chambers of the parliament. "On the 7th of November, the United Earth Oceans flagship Atlantis ASV 8100 fired on and destroyed 4 Macronesian submarines in the cold waters of the northern Pacific. In no way had these vessels threatened the Atlantis, and in no way had they intruded on UEO waters. This inexcusable act of hostility was avoidable, and despite the grave nature of the incident, our questions to the highest levels of the UEO received no answer. This is not the first time such incidents have occurred. For nearly 10 years, we have stood on this precipice, looking out at an uncertain future. Yes… the shots had been fired many times before," said Bourne with an almost reminiscing tone. "…But every time," he continued. "Macronesia and the United Earth Oceans were willing to rise to the occasion and our differences were solved with diplomacy; and the open hand of friendship."
A light applause met the sentence, and the President allowed it to continue for several seconds. "We have offered them this open hand once more," he said; aiming to bring a close to his speech. "…And we were answered with silence."
Accenting his point, Bourne – always the master puppeteer – once again let the heavy comment hang over the auditorium. "Several hours ago," he said quietly, allowing the microphone to project his voice to the audience, "We responded. Just hours ago, I conferred with the Chief Commanders of the Navy, Marine Corps, Airforce and Army. I listened to their recommendations, and a decision was reached. The missile attack on the UEO's San Francisco naval base on Tiburon Peninsula was a measured response," he finally confessed. "No longer will we sit by idly as the UEO dictates policy for millions of Macronesian citizens across the Pacific. No longer will the families of our servicemen and women have to receive letters explaining how their sons and daughters died for a cause that does not exist. And no longer," he said with finality, "…will we listen to that silence within. A line in the sand has been drawn," the President declared with growing passion. "In defence of Australia and her allies, and in defence of the Macronesian Alliance, it is with a sad heart that I ask the council to declare a state of war on the United Earth Oceans."
Thunder boomed throughout the auditorium as a standing ovation met Bourne's speech. For seconds that seemed an eternity, Alexander Bourne stared out over the diplomats and representatives of the Macronesian Alliance, and knew that he had committed himself to history. Yes… he would write history. And he would see to it that it looked upon him favourably.
United Earth Oceans Headquarters, Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. November 11th, 2040…
Secretary General Arthur Dallinsley fought his way through the sea of media reporters outside the UEO Headquarters and struggled to fight back the torrential downpour of questions that were being thrown at him. Macronesia's declaration of war had been expected, but it didn't change the fact that the UEO was totally unprepared for it. And right now, he was the UEO.
"Mister Secretary! How do you respond to President Alexander Bourne-"
"Sir! Sir! What do you have to say about-"
Dallinsley shook his head, holding up his hands and doing the best he could to answer the questions with generic responses that would hopefully cover everything they were asking. "I assure you all that Macronesia's allegations are totally unfounded. The UEO does not attack civilians, and there will be a full inquiry in to the actions of the Atlantis at Nintoku."
"Sir, how do you expect the UEO will respond to Macronesia's declaration?"
Dallinsley felt like punching that particular reporter in the face. What the hell was that supposed to mean? 'Declaration?' Propaganda was more like it. Bourne's entire speech had been an expensive media show and nothing more. He had already declared war the second he bombed San Francisco. "Other avenues of diplomatic resolution are being investigated," he said simply. In truth, he meant nothing by the statement… but he was most interested to see just how much the inquisitive reporter would over-analyse the response in to an elaborate and mind-blowing headline for the tabloids.
"Mister Secretary, do you feel the actions of Captain Ainsley-"
Dallinsley stopped just before his limousine that was waiting to take him to the airport and faced all the reporters, holding up his hands to ask for some understanding… at the very least. "Ladies and gentlemen, I'm sorry but this is not a good time. There will be a press conference at a later time at which point I will personally answer any questions you may have. But I am late for a meeting with the Joint Chiefs and do not have the time for any more questions. Thank you."
Stepping in to the Limousine, the reporters were still trying to get answers to a multitude of questions, most of which sounded like they'd been written for a two year old. He took a long sigh of relief as the secret serviceman outside closed the door of the car, and without any delay what-so-ever it began to drive off down the street under the escort of a full police convoy. The whole world had gone mad.
…Captain Ainsley was in a foul mood. If looks could kill, then he would have no trouble bringing down the entire Macronesian Alliance by himself. Bourne had actually declared war, and Ainsley sincerely doubted whether or not the UEO could survive the approaching storm. Outgunned by over 4 to 1, if Macronesia decided to go on an all-out offensive, then he knew that there was no force in the Pacific that could stop them. Adding to his troubles, there was still one other thing that deeply bothered him; the seaQuest. In anyone else's eyes, the entire matter would simply be another tragic incident in a decade marked by cold war. But in his 30 years of naval service, Ainsley had learned to see patterns quite clearly. And this time; the math was not adding up.
Sitting quietly in his quarters, the Captain stared at the blank computer monitor atop his desk. The battle was over, but the war had not yet begun; and he still had one last card to play. Finally, he turned the computer on, logged on, and brought up a secured communications channel. Searching through a long list of names, he found the one he was looking for and accessed it. Unseen by human eyes, the computer began routing the signal through the Atlantis's Strategic Operations Center, and was then relayed off numerous core UEO communications servers, bypassing every link in the chain of the command… and going straight to the office of Admiral Nathan Bridger. All Ainsley had to worry about was whether or not the Admiral would be in his office. While he waited, Ainsley pulled out a pen and a sheet of paper, and started to write…
Commander James Banick was in an equally disgusting mood. Heading to the airlock, he was now on leave… effective the second he stepped foot outside the submarine. Atlantis was moored at Pearl Harbor's 'Aries' ASV submarine base; moored at either side were smaller sub-carriers Victorious and Ark Royal. They had insisted on 'escorting' the Atlantis back to Hawaii. Banick knew only too well that when fleet command had to escort one of its own ships in to base for reasons of insecurity, there was going to be some very serious questions asked. He had known Captain Ainsley for 6 years, and had grown to both respect and admire the man… but if the past was any indication, Banick felt a quiet sadness in the fact that the Captain's career was most likely over.
The Atlantis XO stopped as he came to the airlock and the quartermaster who was in the office beside it. Signing several forms, he slung his bag over his shoulder and got ready to leave. He didn't get far however as he heard footsteps on the metal grates behind him. As Banick stopped to see who it was, Captain Ainsley sighed. "Heads are going to roll today, Commander."
"Anyone we know, sir?"
"Let's just say that it's not too late for us to resign our commissions."
Stepping on to the long, submerged boarding bridge, the two officers noticed a pair of UEO marines standing at the end of it, nodding and talking about some unheard subject. Red bands around their arms with the letters "MP" said they were military police. Ainsley shook his head with a smug grin. He'd been expecting this. Banick looked warily at his Captain, suspecting the worst, and seemed hesitant to continue.
"Captain Ainsley?" asked one of the soldiers. Looking at his rank insignia, Ainsley noticed he was a Corporal.
"Yes Corporal?"
The marines looked at each other helplessly before the Corporal turned back to the Naval Captain and shook his head apologetically. The other marine, a private, was reaching for a pair of handcuffs that hung from his belt. "I'm sorry, sir. The call came in about 15 minutes ago..."
"I thought it might," said Ainsley, taking a step forward. He looked cautiously at the Private with the restraints, and then back to the Corporal with a knowing smile. "You won't have any trouble, Corporal. I'll go with you peacefully."
The Corporal seemed hesitant at first, and then nodded to the Private, giving a silent 'Ok'. The private put the cuffs back on his belt without much prompting. "Thank you, sir. We don't like this any more you do… You'll have to come with us."
"Can I ask what the warrant says?"
The Corporal didn't even have to unfold his orders to answer the question, and he looked quite glum. "It falls under Article 20 Section 12 of UEO Command regulations, and Article 20 Section 8 of NSC Command regulations, sir; Dereliction of duty and Treason respectively."
Banick's jaw fell slack. "Treason!" he repeated incredibly.
"I'm sorry, Commander… This one comes straight from the top," said the Marine. "I'm only following orders."
"-That's fine, Corporal," said Ainsley quickly; interjecting before Banick managed to cross the line. The Captain looked at his Executive officer… something in his eye made Banick frown. "First drawer, my quarters: In the study. Follow it carefully."
The Marines looked like they were getting slightly agitated. They had been very patient to that point, and quite reasonable (Much to their credit, thought Ainsley) but he was not about to argue the point. "This way, sir," said the Corporal, motioning down the docking bridge that led to the main Aries complex. Flanked by the two marines, Captain Ainsley was led away leaving Banick to ponder the Captain's final instructions. Perhaps shore leave would have to wait…