V

Surface Tension

United Earth Oceans Aires ASV Fleet Yards, UEO Atlantis ASV 8100. November 11th, 2040…

Commander James Banick input his security override code to the Captain's quarters – the doors were double, classically styled and made from oak. The craftsmanship was quite remarkable for a warship designed and constructed in a day where style was largely given over to utility. The door unlocked when he put in his code, and very quickly he headed for the study and opened the first drawer in the large desk found there. The drawer was empty, except for one file clearly marked "James Banick". With curiosity, Banick opened the file and began to read.

The first page was nothing special. It merely stated the Atlantis' mission orders, but the second page however, was a letter from the Captain outlining what the folder held. It was hand written.

Jim, if you are reading this, then I've been relieved of command. In this file are my orders to you and the crew…

Turning the page, he found a surprise; on an otherwise blank piece of paper was a series of 10 letters and numbers spelled out in phonetic-long-form along with a typical DNA-encoded command key. He quietly recited the number aloud as he considered what it could be. "Alpha nine three seven bravo tango…"

The obvious answer was so inconceivable that it had not even occurred to him. These were the nuclear launch codes for the Atlantis's strategic armament of twenty Triton-IV ICBMs! Quickly pocketing the key, Banick went back to the letter and kept reading.

…Enclosed, you will find my command key and the strategic launch and authentication codes for the ship's weaponry. I have spoken personally with Admiral Bridger regarding the events of the past week, and his authorization can be found under UEO command dispatch 11-11-41-992. The DNA encoding on the key has been re-processed to recognise Commander Canebride as an executive officer. I have waived the possibility of giving these instructions to Commander Callaghan, as I know you trust Natalie, and I can only trust who you can. See that she gets this key. I left a similar file with her…

Banick quickly took the key and put it in his pocket. What Captain Ainsley had just done perhaps bordered as the single most illegal breach of naval regulations in the book. The actual authentication codes for the nuclear weapons stored on a submarine were known to only a handful of people – the President, Secretary General and the most senior officers on the boat. Typically; the Captain and the Executive Officer. With so much destructive power on the submarine, it was unthinkable to leave the authority to launch the nukes with any one person, and in order to fire them, the submarine would have to receive an explicit order quoting that same authentication code straight from the Secretary General of the UEO. Being the Atlantis's first officer, Banick already had a key, but why give a launch key to Canebride? And what did Admiral Bridger have to do with it?

The launch command keys were only given out to the Captain and Executive officer and were coded with their specific DNA. This meant it was impossible for anyone but these two officers to actually initiate a nuclear launch. Should anything happen that was not considered 'by the book' procedure, the keys would become invalid, and the ship's fire computer systems would automatically lock out missile control. By re-coding his own key, Ainsley had ensured that the keys would remain active in the event of a new commanding officer coming aboard, meaning that the nuclear weapons aboard the ASV were now utterly useless.

Banick didn't know what to do. On one hand, Mark Ainsley was the most renowned captain in the fleet, and he trusted the man with his life. But on the other hand, this 'request' violated every single regulation he could think of. The charge and specification of "treason" would look like petty theft in comparison. If Banick or Canebride were caught, their careers, if not lives, would be effectively over.

If not for country, how far would James Banick go for his Captain?

Picking up the key again, he made up his mind… Putting the key in his jumpsuit's top pocket, he quickly left the Captain's quarters, closing and locking the doors behind him. Yes, this was war… But who the enemy was he had absolutely no idea.

  

Aries base technicians ran around madly, working to finalize the final systems aboard Atlantis that had been left incomplete before her first deployment. In one way, the shakedown cruise being cut short was a good thing, as it gave the engineers a lot more time to do their work. Chief Petty Officer Edward Stevens was rapidly finding that keeping the submarine's engineering systems online was a full-time chore. Now that the rest of his engineering staff had finally arrived, maybe the job would be that much easier. One of the many systems now finally being installed was the Atlantis Mag-Lev; a horizontal, "Magnetically Levitated" 'train' system powered by electro-magnets that ran the length of the massive submarine. Walking the length of a 488 meter-long sub continuously over the expanse of a dozen decks was not an easy task, even for those who were fit, and Mag-Lev made getting around considerably easier.

Stevens looked up from his work on the Mag-Lev to face one of his engineers. "Ok, that's it, let's try it now."

Stepping back from the Mag-Lev, Stevens heard the hum of the big electromagnets as the car was raised just above the guide-rails. Not so much so you could see it of course, but from his diagnostics equipment, he was relieved to see that everything was working as planned. The Mag-Lev system had 4 long magnetic rails on the roof and floor of the tunnel that suspended the car in between them that allowed it to run the length of the ship without the hassle of cables. Humming quietly, the car stood perfectly still and Stevens smiled. "Ok, I think we did it. Excellent work! Now let me just check-"

Stevens was cut off as he heard his name being called from down the hall. Looking up, he saw Lieutenant Commander Natalie Canebride running toward him, her feet ringing loudly over the metal-grated deck. "Chief!"

Stevens smiled at her. She was extraordinarily attractive; there was no doubt about that. He didn't blame Commander Banick for feeling the way he did. Canebride seemed flushed, and even distressed. "Yes, Commander?"

She didn't return the smile. "Commander Banick has asked for you to meet him in the briefing room in 5 minutes with the rest of the senior staff."

Stevens sighed, being disgruntled at the prospect of a briefing in the middle of his shift. He didn't like meetings; the Academy had tried to make him an officer, but had declined on numerous occasions. He liked the freedom that came from being an enlisted sailor, and it saved him the trouble of a lot of unnecessary paperwork. His pay rate was the same as an officer anyway. "I hope it's important."

Canebride did not look amused. "Chief Stevens…" she said, opting to pull rank on the issue. "Briefing room… 5 minutes."

Stevens shrugged in defeat. If there was one thing he didn't like about being enlisted, it was the fact that any officer – even Ensigns – could pull rank on him and there was very little he could do about it. "Ok, but he and I are having words later on. I don't like leaving work unfinished." Stevens turned to the tech crew again. "Make sure you check the top rails. I don't want this thing turning in to a roller coaster with no brakes. Understood?"

The tech crew shrugged as if he'd already considered the possibility. "Sure, Chief. Whatever you want. We'll have it running like a charm, sir."

"Good. I'll be back soon... I don't intend to let this take long."

Stevens looked curiously at Canebride as they headed down the hall. Her fine features held an air of tension and authority in them. He had never seen her quite so drawn. "Commander, are you at least going to tell me what this is about?"

She returned the expression as they continued to walk towards the bow through the network of corridors that made up the Atlantis's complex, but well-planned interior. Every sector was clearly marked and it was very easy to find what you were looking for. "Captain Ainsley has been arrested for treason."

The Engineer smiled nonchalantly. He didn't believe a word of it. "Ha-Ha. Very funny, now what is really going on?"

Canebride pulled out a PDA she had been carrying and handed it to the engineer. He read the newspaper headline that was displayed across it. It was an extract from the Honolulu Times. "ASV Captain arrested for treason… My god, you're serious aren't you?"

Canebride shook her head. "I pulled that from Fleet Intelligence. It hasn't even hit the news stands yet. But it will be all over the media soon."

"Sweet Jesus."

"Tell me about it."

A few minutes later, the two stepped in to the briefing room, having walked the length of the ship and scaled several stairwells to reach B-deck. Stevens was not exactly surprised to see Commander Callaghan, Lieutenant Phillips and Commander Gabriel Hitchcock, the senior ranking fighter pilot on the Atlantis all present around the table. Banick, who as conspicuously seated at the head of the table didn't really move to greet him. "Nice to see you made it Chief. Have a seat."

As Canebride and Stevens sat down, Banick wasted no time in getting to the point. "I know this is pretty unorthodox… so I do apologise. But I've called you all here to discuss something that's… well… important. As of 10 minutes ago, Captain Ainsley was arrested for treason."

Everyone seated at the table, short of Natalie Canebride and Chief Stevens who already knew about it, simply looked at him in stunned silence. Stevens realised that Banick had clearly not told them until that point.

"Treason… Sir, you can't be serious."

"I'm very serious," said Banick coldly. "I was there when the MPs arrested him."

"How the hell didn't we know about it?" asked Wing Commander Hitchcock, who looked more than slightly baffled.

"I got the impression that the Captain wanted to keep this low key. In his absence of course, I'm in command… And I decided that it would be best to tell you; the officers first, before the crew found out."

"When are you going to tell them?"

"As soon as this is over," said Banick. "But in fairness, I didn't think you would want your respective subordinates bombarding you with questions to which you had no answers."

Callaghan stroked his goatee contemplatively. Funnily enough, thought Banick, he didn't really know Callaghan that well. Yes, they were getting to be quite friendly as time went on, but he still knew next to nothing about the man's past; nor did anyone else in the room. His personnel file, for whatever reason, was not available with the rest of the crew's.

"Commander, Isn't treason a little… extreme? Under UEO international law, he did nothing wrong… except for when he disobeyed orders to return to Pearl Harbor… I could possibly see a dereliction of duty charge in there."

"He's up for that as well," said Banick simply, and needing to say very little more.

"Oh."

"In any event, that's what we're here to discuss," continued Banick. "Yes, you are quite right, under UEO law he did nothing wrong. But it wasn't the UEO that put him up on the charges. It was the NSC."

"What?" asked Lieutenant Phillips; "The North Sea Confederation? What for?"

"Well, as you know… Captain Ainsley is an officer of the Royal Navy, and falls under British command. Technically speaking, the Captain caused a war with Macronesia without consulting his superiors in London, and the NSC is holding him accountable for that."

"You've got to be absolutely kidding me… That's ridiculous. Surely the Secretary General would have overridden that."

"Secretary Dallinsley is a part of the problem," observed Banick quietly. "In fact, it was the Secretary General who recommended the British to make that decision in the first place."

Total silence met Banick's stunning card. What the Commander had just said implicated the Secretary General of the UEO in a conspiracy, and that was treason. "Are you sure?" asked Hitchcock, wanting to make sure he covered all the bases before throwing himself in the fire. "That's one hell of an accusation."

"I've seen the letter," said Banick again. "Before he was arrested, the Captain apparently spoke to Admiral Bridger, pulled some strings, and gave us the mother-load on the whole deal. The Secretary General needs a scape goat to pin the blame for this war, and they can't nail the Captain for it under UEO regulations. Hell, they couldn't even if they tried. NORPAC absolutely loves him. He became a public hero overnight when we sank those Orions. Just read the tabloids; he's the man who's going to kill Bourne by all accounts. He's the Captain who's willing to stand up and flip the bird at Macronesia. So the Secretary General is getting the NSC to do the crucifixion for him."

"…They can't do that," protested Callaghan. "We're testifying in his defence when the time comes, right?"

"No, we're not," said Banick regretfully, and with his voice laced with venom. "I received instructions from JAG that we'll be expected to submit written testimonies to the convening board of inquiry before we ship out."

"Under whose orders?" spat Callaghan.

"…The Secretary General," said Banick again; totally unsurprised.

"Oh how convenient," replied the tactical officer with disgusted sarcasm. "They need to nail him for this, so they are making sure that everyone who can defend his actions won't be available."

"There's more," explained Banick. "Tomorrow, along with our newest helm officer, we're scheduled to get a new Captain. He goes by the name of Randbrough."

Hitchcock looked pained at mention of the name. "Arnold Randbrough?" he asked

"Yes, I believe so. Why? Do you know him?"

"Unfortunately," mumbled Hitchcock. "He was the Captain of one of my assignments a few years back. I don't think I've ever met a bigger asshole – pardon my French –"

"Trou de cul," corrected Canebride with a wry smile.

"Excuse me?"

"Trou de cul," she repeated in flawlessly articulated French. She was born in Orléans in France, and while she didn't advertise the fact, it wasn't too hard to tell from her accent. "It's French for 'asshole'."

Hitchcock grinned. "I'll have to remember that. But as I was saying… I don't think I've met a bigger ass in my entire life."

"Who the hell gave us this jarhead?" asked Callaghan again.

"Take a wild guess."

"…Oh… shit."

  

Ford Island, Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. November 12th, 2040…

Crossing the Ford Island Bridge, Captain Arnold Randbrough sat in the front passenger seat of a UEO Hummer, staring out at the bright blue waters of Pearl Harbor. Randbrough was a 30 year veteran of the navy at age 49, and had seen it all… Or so he believed.He was looking forward to this new assignment, no matter how much of a media-bash it was getting. There was quite literally nothing larger than an Atlantis class ASV, and he doubted that there ever would be. They were the first and last of their kind. From everything he'd heard, the crew of the Atlantis – in particular, the senior staff - were fanatically loyal to their former commander, Mark Ainsley, (a man whom he had little time for) but Randbrough knew that sorting that problem out would be a very minor matter indeed. Anyone who didn't tow the line under his command would find themselves transferred faster than they could sign their own name. Sitting behind him, Lieutenant Commander Madeline Hayes rode in the back seat in silence. She hadn't said much, which was fine by him. Her father was an Admiral in the UEO fleet, and it was a position that afforded her a few concessions. Silently, he wondered just what strings had been pulled to get Hayes aboard the Atlantis. He didn't like favouritism, and he had no compunction against reassigning Hayes should she prove to be nothing more than baggage. Randbrough had been given the Atlantis by Secretary General Arthur Dallinsley himself, after a good deal of controversy regarding Captain Ainsley's decision to attack and destroy several Alliance attack submarines. Frankly, Randbrough would have done the same thing in Ainsley's position… but he doubted that would be an issue any longer.

Pulling up outside the Aries yard's administration building, the 2 officers stepped out of the Hummer and began heading up to the naval docks. Randbrough returned the salutes of various officers as he passed and then entered the building.

The Aries facility was one of the largest on Ford Island, and for good reason. It was built to service up to three ASVs at a time, and being able to totally dry dock up to two of them. Each ASV was nearly 500 meters long by nearly 300 meters wide which meant that the facility covered an area of approximately half of Ford Island. That made them the single largest custom-built construction base on the face of the planet. It had taken a mammoth effort of dredging, and a huge portion of the Island had been totally removed to accommodate the base.

Entering the boarding facility, Randbrough was pleased to see that the majority of the Atlantis's officers and much of her crew had gathered in rank formation outside their submarine pending an inspection from the new commander. At least they had some degree of discipline, mused Randbrough quietly. The one who appeared to be the boat's XO, James Banick was at the front of the formation. "Attention!" he barked.

The ranks of sailors snapped their heels together with a loud, reverberating staccato that echoed throughout the cavernous, sheltered docking area of the submarine base, and Banick saluted as the Captain approached. He returned the salute and Banick introduced himself without delay. "I'm Commander James Banick, sir. Ship's XO. All senior staff are present or accounted for, sir."

Randbrough merely nodded. At least Banick had respect for superiors. "Good," he said gruffly. Working his jaw for a moment, the Captain cast his eye over the assembled crew. "As your new Captain," he began, "I'd like to say what an honour it is to take command of this great vessel. I consider myself a fair man, but I tolerate no misconduct. I know you were possibly growing accustomed to a relaxed style of command under your previous Captain, but let me make myself clear; any and all actions of insubordination will be dealt with swiftly and severely. I run a tight ship, and I expect that there will be no problems with this arrangement. Every report I've read suggests that you are the best crew in the fleet… so prove it. That is all. You are dismissed!"

Banick exchanged a slightly shocked glance with Canebride and raised an eyebrow. Randbrough, it seemed, was definitely – to quote Canebride – a "Trou de cul." If he ran the ship like this all the time, there would probably be a mutiny. Much to Banick's dismay, the Captain caught his sceptical expression and his lip curled."Is there a problem, Commander?"

"No, Captain, not at all."

Randbrough came almost threateningly close and his weathered but fiery eyes bore into the younger man. Despite that, Banick did not flinch. "Good. Listen, Commander, I'm familiar with your reputation; Striking superior officers… insubordination… You've had a colourful career from all accounts. I just hope for your sake that you've taken a new approach to life, Because if I have to say anything to you that is not an order, I'm going to chew you up and you'll be off this boat faster than you can blink. Do I make myself clear, Commander?"

Banick nodded and nothing more. If Randbrough wanted to be an ass, so could he. "Perfectly clear, sir."

"Good. If that's the case, then I'm sure you and I will get along just fine. I expect a full report on shipboard activities on my desk by 19:00 Zulu."

With that, the stiff-collared Captain headed off to the boarding gantry, and when Banick was satisfied that he was no longer under the Captain's gaze, he widened his eyes and sighed to Canebride. "Well…"

Canebride tried to hide a smug grin unsuccessfully. "A man of very few words, it seems."

"These are going to be the longest days of my life."

Before Canebride could reply, Banick suddenly became aware of someone standing at ease next to him. She wore the insignia of a Lieutenant Commander, her brown hair pulled back in a tight Bun at the bottom of her skull. He could tell straight away by looking at her rigid and unwavering demeanour that she may very well have transferred from Randbrough's previous command, or at least ways seen enough of his 'unique' command style to know the system. "Lieutenant Commander Madeline Hayes reporting for duty, sir."

Banick raised an eyebrow and waved her away. Her politeness was a pleasant change from the drill-sergeant Captain who had just arrived. "At ease, Commander. There's no need to be so formal. I'm Commander James Banick."

He extended his hand, and she took it warily, looking somewhat surprised at Banick's laid back attitude. She was someone who had clearly been around one too many people like Randbrough. "I believe you're our newest helm officer. Is that right, Commander?"

"Yes, sir."

He smiled. "Well then, may I introduce Lieutenant Commander Natalie Canebride, 3rd officer, and our other Helmsman – She's your opposite on the bridge. You'll probably be seeing more of her."

"Ma'am," said Hayes formally, nodding respectfully.

"It's good to meet you, Commander. I can show you to your quarters if you like. Then we'll let you get settled in."

Hayes nodded gratefully, and for a moment, Banick swore that he saw the hint of a smile beneath her otherwise expressionless features. "Dismissed, Commander."

"Thank you, sir."

Canebride looked at him again with amusement, almost as if reading his thoughts. She then led Hayes away, leaving Banick to stand alone on the dockside, looking around idly. He took off his uniform baseball cap and rubbed his face with his hands. This was going to be utter hell…

  

Honolulu City, Hawaii. UEO Judge Advocate General Headquarters. November 13th, 2040…

It was a media circus outside the UEO's JAG courthouse. Dozens, perhaps hundreds of reporters were gathered outside the building to gather whatever information they could on absolutely anything to do with the infamous UEO Captain who had started a war with the Macronesian Alliance. In full service dress and flanked by UEO Security officers and his Attorney, Mark Ainsley was escorted through the crowds of media from the hummer that had dropped them off, to the foyer of the courthouse. It was a strange feeling, considered Ainsley. Almost every set of eyes was looking at him with suspicion, mistrust and intrigue.

Dozens of reporters put microphones and cameras in to the Attorney's face. Questions ranged from the protective to insulting, and the Captain felt like he was the centrepiece of a zoo specializing in endangered species. "Excuse me, sir! A moment of your time? What exactly is the list of charges against Captain Ainsley?"

The Attorney, Commander Ben Adler, was a long time friend of Ainsley's. They had met many years previously when both of them were a lot younger than they were now. "We can't say at this point in time."

"Mister Adler! This is a court martial that has a rather extensive list of charges. Will the Captain be pleading guilty?"

Adler shook his head. "This is a hearing… not a trial. No comment."

"Captain Ainsley! Is it true that-" Ainsley shook his head, ignoring the reporter and heading up the stairs at the front of the building. Adler however stopped and took a minute to put the rabble to rest.

"Look, right now my client has a good deal on his mind. There will be time for questions at a later date, but not now."

As usual, despite his 'request,' the media continued to press for answers. Adler too turned his back on the reporters and hurried up the stairs to Ainsley's side once more. "Thanks, Ben," said the Captain under his breath. "I could be a lot worse off if I didn't have you here."

Despite the most abysmal situations, Ben Adler was always a man of quick and light-hearted wit. Today was no exception. "Well, you are charged with treason, among other things. I don't see how much worse it could get."

Ainsley smirked. "Remind me never to compliment you again…"

  

"All rise. Admiral Timothy Locke presiding."

The sound of scrapping chairs as people came to their feet came as a UEO Admiral, mid 50s, and wearing dress uniform entering the court. Sitting down, the Admiral looked around the room, nodding politely to Ainsley, and then cleared his throat. "Be seated."

Sitting back down again, Ainsley leaned over and whispered in to Adler's ear as the lawyer sighed quietly. "Something wrong?"

"Admiral Locke," he said. "I wasn't expecting this guy. We were supposed to get Jennifer Bellman. Locke and I don't exactly get along..."

The Admiral looked down at his papers, sorting through them a moment as he familiarized himself with everything he had to deal with, and then looked back up to the court. "Will the defence council please rise."

Obediently, Ainsley and Adler stood up quietly. "Captain Mark Ainsley, this hearing is not a trial as you are aware. But it will determine whether or not the case in question has sufficient reason to convene a general court martial. May I just say for the record, Captain, your reputation precedes you. The court recognises your exemplary service record to the UEO Navy, and this will be considered with the rest of the evidence. This hearing is now in session."

And then the hammer came down.

  

UEO Aires Fleet Yards, Ford Island, Pearl Harbor. UEO Atlantis ASV 8100. November 13th, 2040…

The briefing room was once again packed with the officers of the Atlantis's senior staff. Captain Randbrough stood at the front of the room. His uniform looked so sharp that Banick swore he wouldn't at all look out of place wearing a pith helmet and jackboots. "As you know," said the Captain sternly, "the Macronesian Alliance has formally declared war on the UEO. As of 0900 this morning, the fleet went to code-one alert and began operating under wartime operational regulations. We're being put on the frontline as soon as repairs are complete. We ship out this evening."

Banick exchanged a wary look with the other officers, and then faced the Captain. "Sir, we actually wanted to discuss that if that was alright with you."

"By all means, Commander. Speak your mind," said Randbrough with a hint of wariness. He had undoubtedly seen the subtle exchange between the officers, and was probably curious what the problem was.

"Well, sir… I know we've all given written testimonies to JAG, but if there is a chance we will be called as witnesses during Captain Ainsley's hearing-"

Randbrough shook his head. "That won't be happening," he said bluntly.

The comment was enough to take Banick completely off his guard. 'Not happening'? What the hell was that meant to mean? "Sir… how can you be sure?"

"You don't bring someone up on the charge of treason without a damned good reason to do so," said the Captain tersely. "I sincerely doubt you will be called to the stand, Commander… And our orders come from Command, so there is very little we can do about it."

The Captain was about to move on to other topics, but Banick was hardly finished and interjected again. This annoyed Randbrough immensely. "Captain, with respect… there are regulations that will likely mean we will be called to testify. I feel very strongly that we should be available should that happen."

"I don't know if you've noticed, Commander… but we are at war; a war that Captain Ainsley started. This ship is headed to the frontline the minute we have finished bringing about supplies, and there is very little that is going to change that."

The Captain looked flustered, and deciding not to push his luck, Banick remained quiet. That would not stop him from filing an official protest in the ship's log however. "We've been ordered to the Macronesian Border north east of the Tonga Trench," explained the Captain. "From there, we are to commence a patrol up and down the Central Pacific Basin. Our primary objective will be to provide regional battlegroups with fighter support as the UEO moves to fortify the Phoenix Islands. Aquarius left on her Shakedown cruise 3 days ago and will join us there. Chief Petty Officer Stevens; I understand that the engines had a few problems during your first deployment?"

The engineer, known for being rather 'casual' in his duties, did the best job he could in putting aside those tendencies. He doubted very much that Randbrough would let such 'informal' behaviour slip by. "Urrm, Yes sir. The electromagnetic coolant systems in the number 4 and 6 turbines kept overheating and producing cavitation. We couldn't run those engines past 75 percent in case we damaged the turbines. I've got engineering details from Pearl Harbor having another look at the flow stabilizers… They said they should have it fixed by the end of the day."

Randbrough nodded in approval; much to Banick's surprise. So far, the Captain had done very little to encourage the crew's work. "Excellent work, Mister Stevens. I'll expect a full report once the repairs are complete. Commander Callaghan? What are our weapons and EVA assets looking like at this stage?"

Ryan Callaghan sighed. "We're taking aboard the last of the torpedo stocks now. That gives us about 400 live weapons both in the tubes, and in the ship's stores. The rest of our EVA crews will arrive at 1300 this afternoon, and the sub-fighter corps' torpedo stocks have been fully loaded. We're carrying roughly a thousand mark 95 and mark 96 plasma warheads for a full combat wing of 72 SF-2s and SF-37s. Right now, we're loading about 1800 tonnes of 30-millimeter-"

"You can spare me the finer details, Commander," observed Randbrough flatly. "Just a simple summary will suffice. You can include the rest in your official report."

"I thought this was my official report, sir," replied Callaghan cautiously. "Captain Ainsley usually just-"

"I'm not Captain Ainsley," said Randbrough with an edge of impatience. "I expect daily reports, on paper, from every department head on this boat."

"I'll keep that in mind, sir… Yes; our weapons status is good. All up, we'll be looking at a total weapons load of about 2000 tonnes, sir. That excludes the ammunition from the Marine garrison."

"And that comes to?"

"1250 tonnes, sir."

"…So we have 3250 tonnes of ammunition in total… enough for a 6 month tour of duty..." summarised Randbrough. "Excellent. I'll want to speak with your Marine CO when he's available… Major… Cortez wasn't it?"

"Yes sir," confirmed Callaghan. "The Major couldn't be here today, he had prior arrangements."

"Fine," said Randbrough, totally uncaring. "I dislike having an entire company of marines aboard my boat, Commander. They are a nuisance and have a habit of interfering with operations. This is a warship; not a troop transport. As chief tactical officer, I am holding you personally responsible for everything those ground pounders do. Do you understand?"

"Yes sir."

Captain Randbrough said nothing as he looked down at his PDA and scrolled down the page, reading what else was on his agenda for the day's proceedings. He frowned as he came to a point he didn't like, and looked unhappily at Wing Commander Hitchcock. "Ah yes… Wing Commander. I understand that you may be able to explain this… Loaded aboard under the watch of harbour Quartermaster Harry F. Darson on November 6th at 1422 hours; 184 gallons of 'intoxicating liquor' including but not limited to Spirits, Vodka, Beer and Wine delivered to and stored in cargo hold six at the request of Wing Commander Gabriel J. Hitchcock… Do you care to explain this?"

Hitchcock raised an eyebrow, noticing out the corner of his eye the amused grins of Banick, Hayes, Canebride and Callaghan. "I'm not sure I understand, sir. Is there a problem?"

"Perhaps I was too subtle, Wing Commander. Let me rephrase… What the hell is 800 litres of alcohol doing on this ship? I want it gone."

"With respect, Captain… as Commanding officer of the ship's Subfighter wing, it is my prerogative to bring aboard Alcohol for regulated consumption within my command."

"And as the Captain of this ship, Commander, I say what is and is not permitted aboard. The idea of several hundred of your pilots under the influence of alcohol is not exactly a thought that I enjoy entertaining."

"Captain… I mean no disrespect, but you will find it is common throughout the fleet that navy pilots in particular find alcohol to be a particularly effective way of maintaining morale. We are on a submarine, sir. We spend months away from home without ever seeing the light of day, operate under the most stressful and dangerous conditions of any person enlisted in the service, and face the very real possibility that whenever we sit in a cockpit of a subfighter, we may not be coming back. If a mere 184 gallons of Alcohol is enough to keep nearly 300 of my pilots happy and alive, I don't see a problem with it."

Randbrough worked his jaw. The man had a very short temper, and it was taking every bit of self control he had to maintain his cool. When he gave an order, he did not expect to be lectured by a subordinate officer – even if it was a Wing Commander who had more renown in the fleet than any other pilot alive. Banick repressed a satisfied smirk at the fact that Hitchcock was not about to be slapped down by the pompous Captain. "Then let me make myself very clear, Wing Commander," said Randbrough almost threateningly. "If I receive one report of misconduct involving one of your pilots involving alcohol… I will relieve you of your command and have you thrown in the brig faster than you can say your own damned rank."

"And I'd expect you to hold me to that, sir."

"Randbrough was at the end of his tether of patience. He had had enough; much to Wing Commander Hitchcock's delight. "Fine…" he said, getting up from the desk. "That's enough for today. You're all dismissed. I want to see your reports on my desk by the end of the day, without exception."

Banick was the first to get up, and was only too eager to get out of the stuffy room. With a quick "Sir," not wanting to agitate the Captain any further, he made a fast exit with Natalie Canebride close behind. Ryan Callaghan however was not quite as fortunate as the Captain signalled him out before he could even stand up.

"Before you go, Mister Callaghan," he said sternly. "…The next time I see you on the bridge, I expect you will be clean shaven. And that was not a request. You are a senior officer, and goatees are not regulation dress code."

Callaghan bit his lip. "…Yes sir."

"Dismissed, Lieutenant Commander."

The tactical officer nodded silently, leaving the briefing room quickly and stroking his soon-to-be ex-beard. Madeline Hayes was not far behind, and she quietly leaned up to his ear in the hallway and whispered. "Shame," she said. "I thought the beard was sort of cute…"

Banick waited around the corner until all the officers – Randbrough included – dispersed, leaving him alone to quickly usher Canebride aside. "Natalie, Can I have a moment?"

She nodded slowly, and followed Banick down the corridor. Quickly checking around the hall to make sure the area was clear of anyone who may overhear them; Banick took on a very serious guise of concern and looked at her. "Before he was arrested, Captain Ainsley left a file in his quarters for me. He made some… pretty big calls, and asked quite a bit in terms of favours."

"That's putting it lightly," she observed, Banick recalling that she had been left a similar file. "What did he ask you to do?"

Banick pulled down the collar of his white turtleneck skivvy and pulled out a chain that was concealed beneath it. On it was a key; his nuclear authorization key. Canebride clenched her jaw as she noticed a second key on the chain "He left me with his missile control key."

She was cautious as she looked around to make sure no one was listening or watching. "I don't see why, with the DNA coding, it's useless to you... That's assuming he wanted you to use it."

The older Commander nodded as he unclipped the second key from the chain and held it out in his hand. "I know. He had it re-encoded with your DNA."

She was shocked. "Me? He didn't mention that in the letter he left on my desk…"

"Under the circumstances, you and I were the only ones he could trust," Banick explained quietly. "Something's going on here, Natalie. I don't know what yet… but keep an open eye."

Canebride gingerly took the key and hastily stuffed it in to her jumpsuit pocket. James looked her in the eyes. His gaze was gentle, but at the same time, incredibly fierce. "Take care of it. I just hope you don't need it."

"…I'm scared, Jim," she said with anxiety.

"I know," he replied, taking her hands gently with his. "So am I."



Dusk had come to the warm waters of Hawaii; the pleasant red glow of the sun setting over the tropical horizon sent rays of golden light piercing the surface of the ocean to the depths below. It was an even more picturesque site beneath the waves as these golden rays of light cast silvery murals of infinitely complex patterns across the hull of the UEO Atlantis ASV 8100, cruising quietly over the Hawaiian Molokai plains. Lieutenant Jane Roberts sat in the cockpit of her small SF-37/E Raptor sub fighter watching this as she and the rest of the VF-107 Rapiers raced through the sea, maintaining a steady vigil over the Atlantis. Doing a respectable speed of about 90 knots, the subfighter was flying escort for the massive ASV. "Raptor Squadron Alpha", better known to the fleet as the VF-107 'Rapiers' was the best fighter squadron not only aboard the Atlantis, but throughout the entire UEO – and there was literally not a single person in the entire UEO who could dispute that. The Rapiers had been formed just a few months earlier from the very best pilots throughout the UEO fleet. Drawing from every Confederation, and every other fighter wing in the Navy, to be a part of this group of crack-pilots was an incredible privilege. Roberts was one of those pilots. Of thousands of pilots in the fleet, a mere twelve had finally made the squadron Roster, and those twelve had gone on to become the first, and for a while only squadron of SF-37 Raptors in the navy. The SF-37/E Raptor was the latest and greatest subfighter to roll off the UEO production lines, and came as a long-awaited answer to Macronesia's very lethal Lysander class. Compared to the Lysander, the older UEO SF-2 Spectres were simply not of the same calibre, and they had suffered dearly at the hands of Macronesia's fighter wings over the past fifteen years. The Raptor would change all that, and the Rapiers were at the tip of the spear. Only one other squadron came close to their level of experience and skill in terms of pilots – the Aquarius-based VF-115 Dark Angels, under the command of Wing Commander Corinn Roderick. Naturally, the two squadrons shared a mutual rivalry with one another, and the contest for title of 'top gun' was up for grabs. Maybe it was an egotistical and arrogant way of looking at it, but Roberts knew only too well that morale was just as important as skill, and any pilot who lacked the heart to do the impossible when it was asked of them would not likely come home…

The piercing of a moment's static in her ear from her helmet mounted radio made her wince painfully. Led Zeppelin was good, provided it wasn't going to be interrupted by the annoying squawk of a radio that left one's ear drums in splitting pain. "Rapier wing, this is Atlantis. We've cleared Pearl Harbor's control… Be advised we are now at blue-water ops."

"Rapier one here," came the familiar voice of Wing Commander Hitchcock. "Message is understood. We'll maintain CSP as long as needed. Out."

Obediently, the Raptors fell back in to standard escort formations that became widely spread around the Atlantis's defensive perimeter. They didn't need to be told what to do; this was pretty standard stuff. Roberts watched as the massive engines of the Atlantis came to life. The huge hydro-jet engine nozzles seemed to flare as the outtakes opened up like big irises. The sight was quite remarkable as each engine was easily 25 meters in length. The extreme engineering that had gone in to those propulsion systems made everything else on the planet look decidedly quaint. Roberts began starting up her own, smaller versions of those engines, but for the Raptors, it wasn't as big an issue. Their light mass quite easily allowed them to exceed speeds of up to 150 knots without any trouble. As far as power-to-weight ratios went, the Raptor was unsurpassed.

Her gaze fixed squarely on the water ahead of her; Roberts felt the supersonic "boom" of the Atlantis's main engines as they started up, sending huge pressure waves through the sea. It was a bizarre, but strangely awesome sight; the water in the wake of the ASV's engines seemed to physically change form, the water being displaced so much that there was a visible, glowing demarcation line where the warm, low-pressure water from the ship's engines met the high-pressure water of the sea, causing a foam-like wash that seemed to move in slow motion. The ASV pulled away slowly at first, but quickly began to accelerate. Roberts matched her speed with the big sub, just in time to hear Hitchcock's next orders.

"All flights, this is Lead, you're clear to commence patrol... ROE says nothing is to get within 10 miles of Atlantis. In other words, if it doesn't have approach authorization, kill it."

Roberts quietly whooped in delight as she kicked in every bit of throttle she could give the fighter and was pushed back in to her seat and her tiny Raptor rapidly accelerated to 270 knots. The G-forces were hard from the extreme acceleration, but she smiled as the Raptor's streamlined hull cut through the water with incredible ease. The fighter quickly went from 90 to 270 knots in less than 6 seconds. It was like drag-racing with a 90-million dollar machine. She loved this job.

Uploading the last of her pre-plotted navigational data to the flight computer, she engaged the Raptor's autopilot, kicked back and enjoyed the ride. This was all class.



Honolulu city, Hawaii. United Earth Oceans High Court. November 13th, 2040…

It was getting late in the city of Honolulu and the sky outside stood at twilight. The feeling inside the courtroom for Captain Ainsley was similar. The hearing had not gone well, and it was almost certain that a court martial would follow. That much had been expected, but that didn't make the reality any easier to deal with. Sitting in the courtroom patiently, Ainsley and Adler waited Judge Locke to return with his decision. The door beside the stand opened and the master-at-arms walked in, with the Judge not far behind. "All rise."

Again, the pair of officers at the defence bench stood and waited while the Judge took his seat. Ainsley got the impression he'd have to get used to this. "Be seated."

Looking down at his papers, Admiral Locke sighed unhappily and clasped his hands. He cast a weary set of spectacled eyes over Captain Ainsley and Commander Adler. For his part, the Admiral looked decidedly upset with what he now had to do. "Defence council, will you please stand."

Obediently, Ainsley and Adler got to their feet and the Judge exhaled slowly before announcing his verdict. "Captain Ainsley. In light of the cases presented today, I've been left to contemplate a good deal of issues. You are a decorated officer of both the UEO and Royal Navies, you have seen a career that has been marked more achievements and accomplishments than any other single command officer in the fleet, and despite all this… a single, lawful command decision you made on the 7th of this month has led to an unmitigated disaster of global proportions. The purpose of this hearing was not to establish guilt, as you know… but it has established that there were decisions made that have driven the member nations of the UEO to a state of war." The Admiral paused as he pulled out another sheet of paper, stopping to read it briefly. "At the onset of this hearing, I was handed a recommendation that came from the North Sea Confederation's naval command via the office of the UEO Secretary General. It outlined a level of political damage that has come in the wake of this incident, and as a result of the declaration of war, the Royal Navy, under article 20, section 8 of the 2024 naval regulation amendments, your government has decided to pursue the charge and specification of wartime treason, in addition to the charge and specification of Dereliction of Duty. With the seriousness of these charges, and the findings of this hearing, I have no choice by to order a General Court Martial to be convened at the earliest convenient date. However, as you were serving under the command of the United Earth Oceans at the time of the specific incident, this court does not recognise any agreements of extradition, and the trial will be held under UEO Jurisdiction. This court will reconvene on November 18th. Until that date, I see no reason to incarcerate you, but I do order that you be escorted by a member of the military police at any times where you are not in the private domain of your own house. Is that acceptable?"

"It is, sir," replied Ainsley with a curt nod, grateful that the Admiral had not ordered him confined to the brig.

"Then this court stands recessed." Admiral Locke brought his gavel down on his bench after giving Ainsley an astute and reassuring nod. Standing up, the Admiral departed quickly, leaving the court room to slowly disperse. Commander Adler noticed the various media crews already gathering around the door, waiting for their opportunity to start firing off questions. Standing up, he and Ainsley were depressed, but not overly surprised by the order to convene a court martial. "So, let the battle begin," said Ainsley dryly. He honestly didn't think he had a prayer. The UEO was looking for a scapegoat, and he was it.

"We'll fight this every step of the way, Captain," promised Adler. "Just know that you're in for the fight of your life."



Transcript Extract from UEO News Network, November 14th, 2040…

"HERO OF THE PEOPLE… OR REBEL WITHOUT A CAUSE?"

'…With diplomatic solutions now being considered "beyond viable" by both the UEO and the Macronesian Alliance; the world is bracing for the biggest conflict seen since the third world war. With military forces now building up in unprecedented numbers across the Pacific – including the 2 UEO Super-submarines Atlantis and Aquarius, it now appears only a mater of only time and nervous patience before the last-ditch negotiations between Ambassadors of the Alliance and UEO reach an impasse.

Despite controversy over recent events, public support of the UEO military – in particular, the Navy – is at a high. In an open public survey yesterday when asked the question "Should Captain Mark Ainsley have defended the neutral colony of Nintoku," a majority of 75 of people surveyed in the United States and NORPAC answered "Yes", with only 10 disagreeing, and the remaining 15 being undecided.

Despite these overwhelming figures of public support for the British-born Ainsley – a thirty one year veteran of the Navy – the political scene is in an uproar over his actions. In an equally overwhelming 23-to-7 vote, the North Sea Confederation voted to try the Captain for treason and dereliction of duty after his actions plunged the confederation and its nations in to a war that is viewed by most Europeans as being completely unnecessary and even completely avoidable.

The 15-year cold war between the UEO and Macronesia has always been a major line of division between European Confederations and the United States and its NORPAC alliance. Europe; so separated from Macronesia; has never seen the Alliance as being a major threat to regional security. The United States however has faced a crisis that has in fifteen years driven its economy to the point of recession no less than 5 times, putting the superpower's military forces in a precariously stretched position.

The United States Navy makes up nearly 75 of the UEO's active forces in both manpower and resources. Of the European powers, only the North Sea Confederation – led by Britain, France, Germany and Spain - have actively supported the UEO military. While Europe as whole may not wish to involve them selves in what they consider a NORPAC affair, the very real prospect exists that they simply may not have a choice. If there is one thing both sides of the North Atlantic Alliance can agree on, it's that this war will be fought under a strictly-UEO mandate in the interests of maintaining both trans-Atlantic stability and confederation interests. When he addressed the nation last night, President James Howard stated that with so many NORPAC colonies across the Pacific, pulling UEO forces out of the theatre was considered "not an option…"