VII
A Wing and a Prayer
UEO Atlantis ASV 8100. The Phoenix Islands. November 19th, 2040…
With Randbrough distracted for that split second, Banick took his chance, lunged forward and spear-tackled him to the deck, but it too late. Banick's mind was filled with rage for what Randbrough had done... But his anger was short-lived as the fire control computer began to indicate that rather than firing the nukes, the missile silo doors were closing! "Launch sequence failed," announced the Computer. "Command presence could not be identified: Canebride, Natalie J. Full weapons systems lockout initiated."
It had worked! Without the third key that was still registered in the Atlantis's fire control computer, the nukes could not be armed. Randbrough had effectively tried to fire the missiles without using the correct protocols and the computer had recognised this… and locked out the fire controls. Randbrough yelled in anger as his weapon went flying from his hands and clattered to the floor. Straddling the Captain, Banick balled his fists and brought his right arm down in to the Captain's nose with extreme force. For a brief moment, James Banick was filled with a wave of great relief as his fist made solid contact with the Randbrough's jaw with a satisfying "crack". Before the Captain could react however, Canebride had already pulled herself up from the deck and retrieved the Captain's side arm, and held it on Randbrough. Not far away, the two marines who had stood watch had done the same, retrieving their own weapons and running over to level them on the Captain. Randbrough breathed heavily and shook his head, looking up in stunned silence at the three weapons now trained on him, and the stern-faced officers behind them. Banick got up and flexed his hand a few times.
"I really needed that," he said with a smile. He looked to the 2 missile control keys still lodged in the dead fire control console, and then back to the Randbrough, who still lay on the deck. "Captain Randbrough… Under article 20 section 12 of NORPAC command regulations, I am relieving you of command. You are under arrest for espionage, dereliction of duty, treason and conspiracy."
The Captain said nothing, but the Marines were visibly twitching to put a bullet between his eyes. Banick looked at the two Marine Lieutenants and smiled smugly. "Gentlemen… take the Captain to the brig. If he gives you any trouble; shoot him."
"Yes sir!" The Marines smiled sinisterly, almost daring Randbrough to try and push them. Given the opportunity, the two grunts would probably love to beat the proverbial stuffing from the Captain. Cuffing him, they practically dragged him off the deck and took him quickly and silently from the bridge.
Banick quickly walked over to Canebride who was now standing in a daze beside the darkened weapons stations, the pistol in her hand now hanging limply by her side. Shock had begun to set in as the reality of what has just happened finally started to hit home. "Are you ok?" he asked her.
"I'll… be fine," she replied with a hesitant, but otherwise genuine smile. "That felt good, didn't it, Jim?"
"Oh yes… hell yes," he replied, flexing his hand a few more times. "Resume your station, Lieutenant Commander… Let's end this."
A smile. "Yes sir."
Banick ran a hand over the back of the Captain's chair. It was too tempting to pass up, and he let himself fall in to the chair, allowing a small smile as he realised that all eyes on the Bridger were now fixed squarely on him; their Commander. But this time, the faces were covered with confident, supportive smiles. For the time being, they were his crew. Banick was still trying to fully understand why the missile launch hadn't worked. On any ballistic missile submarine, the launch commands could only be completed if each key was completely valid, in this case - instead of the usual 2 keys - the Atlantis computer still had Captain Ainsley's launch codes logged in to the system after it had been reprogrammed to accept Natalie Canebride's authorization. That meant that there were three officers who needed to initiate the launch. Randbrough hasn't realised this, and had tried forcing a launch with only two. The computer had seen this, and initiated a full weapons lock down cycle. Now, the Atlantis's nukes were completely useless. The only thing that still eluded Banick was how Captain Ainsley had known it would come to this…
"Sir, the seaQuest is hailing us," reported Jack Phillips, breaking the tense silence of the command deck.
Banick nodded while he straightened his uniform jacket. Sitting in the center chair, he decided, he could definitely get used to. "Put them through."
"Aye sir."
The main view screen resolved in to the familiar view of the seaQuest's bridge… but there was one difference, the bridge crew was manned by Macronesian officers. The sight made Banick sick to the stomach. The Macronesian Captain onscreen was familiar somehow… but he looked impatient. "It's about time. Where is Captain Randbrough?"
A glimmer of recognition sparkled in Banick's eye as he finally recognised the Macronesian Commander. It was the same one who they faced at Nintoku. "Captain Randbrough is… indisposed," he replied. "This is Comm-"-Banick smiled as a sudden and very appealing realization came to him- "Captain James Banick in command of the United Earth Ocean's vessel Atlantis. If I'm not mistaken… that submarine you are on belongs to us. You will surrender it, and standby to be boarded."
A dumbfounded stare met Banick on that note. "Is this is joke? I demand to speak to Captain Randbrough!"
Obviously the situation had not fully registered through the thick skull of the Macronesian Commander. "…Do I need to repeat myself?" asked Banick threateningly. "Surrender seaQuest now… Or I will open fire and take it by force."
The Macronesian was visibly trying to stop himself from scoffing in disbelief. He opened his mouth to say something… but thought the better of it, looked off-screen and nodded, and his image winked out.
"So much for negotiating…" said Banick, totally unsurprised by the reaction. "Ryan… do we still have basic weapons control? Or have we been locked out?"
"No, we've still got basic fire control, Commander... but missile systems are completely inoperable."
"Fine," said Banick. He doubted they would have to use the missile armaments anyway. "Fire a warning shot across seaQuest's bow... tubes one and two. Helm; bring us about hard to port, show the seaQuest our bows, and move all WSKRS forward."
Pinned between the Macronesian fleet and the seaQuest behind, Atlantis had no where to go. She was pinned; and that made her only more dangerous. The ASV's massive bow came around quickly to bear on the seaQuest in a daunting attack posture; putting all 24 of her torpedo batteries to bear on the considerably smaller DSV. 2 torpedoes shot out of her forward tubes to cross the seaQuest's bow, exploding just a couple of hundred yards in front of her at full strength. The explosion of the thousand-pound plasma warheads was enough to rattle the seaQuest just enough to let it know what it was in for. While it was a measured show of force, it was nothing when compared to the swarm of sub fighters that began pouring from the Atlantis's ventral hull, scattering in all directions to oppose whatever subfighters the Macronesians may throw at them.
The Alliance vessels countered, coming around in attack formations to flank the UEO battlewagon on both sides. Lysanders quickly began to appear out of the murky darkness to swarm over the UEO Raptors, buzzing them and putting them off guard, but not actually firing. It was a scare tactic. In order to win, the Macronesian fleet would have to keep the Atlantis and her subfighter wings off balance, and in disarray; divide and conquer.
"Commander, it looks like we got their attention… And not in the way we'd hoped. They're coming about… weapons are hot. We have torpedoes in the water, coming in on bearings zero-one-eight, zero-five-seven, one-one-nine and one-one five. A dozen total sir,"
Callaghan's grim report was delivered calmly, and a lesser officer would probably have panicked. Banick responded just as coolly, taking charge of the rapidly escalating situation. "Alright… rotate batteries six through twelve to intercept tubes, and if you can get a lock; fire. Maintain shooting solutions on the carriers, and fire at will. Bring the pulse cannons on line and target the seaQuest."
"Aye, Commander."
A full spread of intercepts screamed out from the Atlantis's torpedo batteries and began closing in on the Macronesian weapons that were already approaching the ASV very rapidly. Nearby subfighters that had now begun engaging one another in close-quarters knife fights occasionally broke off to try and shoot down the torpedoes before they could get any closer, but for a few Macronesian Lysanders that tried this against the Atlantis's intercepts, it proved to be a fatal error as pursuing Raptors quickly dispatched them with hails of gunfire.
Most of the Macronesian torpedoes exploded in tiny shockwaves as the intercepts either slipped through or hit their targets. Elsewhere, the Atlantis's own weapons had evaded the Macronesian's defences and had found their marks solidly against 2 of the Aleus carriers that were still spewing out Lysanders.
"Impact," reported Callaghan. "Confirm 8 direct hits. One of the carriers is breaking up and another is pulling back… Several of the enemy fish got through out our intercepts. They're going to hit."
"Understood, tactical. Brace for collision!"
"Aye. All hands; incoming torpedoes; rig for collision! Brace, brace, brace!"
It was six Macronesian torpedoes that had gotten through. With their hypersonars lighting up the UEO ship, they closed in quickly, with several nearby Raptors straining to close the distance and kill them before they hit. Hades cannon fire lit up the water, destroying a few of the torpedoes, but there simply wasn't enough time to deal with them all, and they buried themselves deep within the Atlantis's side. Whatever they were, the Macronesians weren't stupid, and the torpedoes had been set to a delayed detonation. Breaking through the bioskin and the underlying outer hull, the weapons lodged themselves deep within the pressure hull of the ASV and exploded in conflagrations of superheated plasma. Shockwaves rattled the pressure hull, bringing several bulkheads apart at the seams and causing severe internal flooding.
The effect was a lot like bashing a tin can with a sledgehammer, and the concussive explosions were felt heavily across the submarine; most of all on the Bridge where master alarms blared over the thunder of protests from the groaning hull. "We've got hull breaches on decks A through D! We're taking on water!"
"Seal off those sections," barked Banick over the wail of the sirens. "Tubes 14 through 24: full spread! Take out the Orions!"
…Lieutenant Janes Roberts broke hard to port in her Raptor at close to 100 knots as a Macronesian Lysander hot on her tail tried to cut her down with a barrage of Subduction cannon fire. She was oblivious to the chaos of the battle as a whole, with all her attention given over to the person who was giving everything they had to try and kill her. Every turn she made was countered by the Lysander. Whoever the pilot was, he was good. "Viper, this is Hunter, I've picked up a straggler! I can't shake him! Get him off me!"
'Viper' was the call sign of Rapier 3, Tom Reynolds. "I'm on it, Rapier 2… Hold on."
Roberts tried to break hard again, but the Mac following her was good, too good. He had to be a veteran. Her Raptor tore upward against the undersea currents and snap-rolled quickly to evade the Lysander's cannon fire. The crackling energy from the subduction rounds left rapidly dispersing trails in the water, shooting past her Raptor's canopy with dangerously improving accuracy. The Mac Lysander stayed with her through every turn. Her concentration was broken briefly as her consoles lit up red in warning and the Lysander managed to get a solid torpedo lock. 'Oh shit,' she thought silently. "Come on Rapier 2… It's now or never!" she said with growing concern.
Tilting her head back and over her shoulder, she managed to catch a glimpse of the annoying Alliance fighter as it juked left and right while trying to maintain its torpedo lock. Every time the Lysander would settle in to place for a clean kill, she would break her Raptor down in to a steep dive, or rapidly shoot up and away to the side, quickly breaking the target lock. But she couldn't keep it up forever. Another target lock; this had gone far enough. Very deliberately, Roberts kicked in full throttle and threw the stick forward hard, sending the Raptor in to a stomach churning dive that made blood rush to her head with extremely heavy negative Gs. As the Raptor approached the jagged seafloor at alarming speed, the Lysander stayed its pursuit… and finally fired. Master alarms blared in Robert's cockpit as the Lysander's torpedo rapidly closed on her tail, and she was now gripping the stick with white-knuckled intensity. Reaching the seafloor, she hit the release for her noisemakers, and pulled back hard on the stick. The sudden reversal of blood pressure this manoeuvre caused just about made her blackout, and a lesser pilot would have… but experience had tempered Roberts, and she'd learned to control it to an extent. The torpedo initially went after the decoys, and by the time its tracking systems had realised their error, it was far too late; and the torpedo crashed in to the seabed and exploded in a tiny nova of white fire.
The same could not be said for the Lysander which snapped upward at the last moment, shooting through the vaporised water created by its own torpedo and trying to stay on the UEO fighter's tail. But in the moment that the Lysander passed through the turbulent, eddied water created by the torpedo's explosion, its sensors went blind… and the pilot didn't see Tom Reynolds until it was way too late. Hades cannon fire cut through the Lysander from stem to stern, ripping it apart like the vicious claws of a predator would do to its prey. "Scratch one bogey!" was the exuberant cry from Reynolds.
Roberts saw all this through her sensors, and breathed a sigh of relief as she broke away to rejoin the fight. "I owe you a beer, three."
"Too right, Rapier two. I've got your wing."
Roberts nodded as she switched back to her HUD sensors, and noticed another group of Lysanders that were leaving a nearby Aleus class Carrier. She smiled grimly beneath her oxygen mask, and bracketed the big submarine in her crosshairs. "Ok, Rapiers 3 and 5: On my wing. Tag that carrier – she's putting out fighters faster than we can destroy them. Turn it to toast…"
…The bridge of the Atlantis lurched again as another volley of torpedoes slammed in to the hull just aft of the bridge. The Macronesians had done a spectacular job of surrounding the Atlantis, and were now attacking from every possible vector. It was turning in to a battle of attrition; the dwarfing form of the Atlantis; armed to the teeth, against nearly 2 dozen enemy attack submarines, and the seaQuest DSV herself. Callaghan's sentiments however didn't put the Atlantis in the most favourable of positions. "Damn it!" he yelled over the carnage. "We're losing power across section 12. Those last torpedoes blew the power distribution nodes to hell. We're running on batteries."
"Damn," said Banick unhappily, looking around at a Bridge that was quickly being brought to ruin under the sever bombardment the ship was taking. "EVA: Tell Wing Commander Hitchcock to get his fighter's covering our ass. This ship's too big to come about on those vanguard units… he'll have to take care of them."
"Aye sir."
"Ryan, give me a full damage report," ordered Banick.
"We've got substantial hull damage across sections three through seven, ten through sixteen and twenty through twenty-nine. We've been hit no less than 15 times. Flooding in most sections is contained, but we've lost torpedo batteries sixteen, seventeen, nineteen, twenty, twenty one, and twenty three. Torpedo stocks are at 45 percent."
Banick grimaced. The Atlantis had absorbed more firepower than any other naval warship in history, and what was even more astounding was that she was still operational… mostly. Despite her size and firepower, it simply didn't have the same mobility as the Alliance fleet, and she was beginning to pay for it. "Bring us to point-blank range with their lead units!" he yelled.
"…Are you joking?" asked Callaghan incredulously. "At that range our intercepts will be useless. We'll be pounded!"
"So will theirs, Commander. And our guns are bigger… Keep firing those damned tubes!"
Endless salvos of torpedoes poured out of the Atlantis, directed with deadly accuracy towards the squadrons of Macronesian Orions that surrounded the enraged UEO submarine. Despite salvo after salvo, and the Macronesian fleet being gradually chipped away, the Atlantis was taking more than she could dish out. Hull breaches covered most of her decks, and while the genetically-engineered bioskin was working to seal off the ragged, torn holes, flooding was beginning to hinder basic operations. It seemed that despite everything she did, Atlantis simply could not win, and she had no where to run.
But from the darkness, Confusion began to set in. Leaping out of the trench line, mysterious shadows leapt in to the fray. Within seconds, the Macronesian Lysanders were beset out of no where by these black fighters; they were SF-37 Raptors, but where they had come from was anyone's guess. They didn't belong to the Atlantis, but they were certainly making the presence felt in very short order. For the outgunned Rapiers and their supporting Spectre squadrons, they were more than a welcome addition to the fray. On the bridge of the Atlantis, the arrival of these new subfighters had the sonar operator in a stunned silence. He spun around in his chair faster than a gunshot, and looked at Banick in amazement "Commander!"
Banick was under immense stress between trying to direct the battle, and keep his ship intact, and looked at the sensor chief with eyes of fire. "Spit it out, Lieutenant!"
The Lieutenant's face bore an expression of pure shock. "Sir, we've got new contacts! Flights of unknown subfighters just pulled out of the trench! They're attacking the Macs!"
Banick was out of the command chair like a champagne cork leaving the bottle, and was already half way across the bridge in just a few strides. Jack Phillips added to the confusion. "Commander, we've got an incoming transmission! IFF is UEO… It's the Aquarius!"
…Captain Lauren Hornsby sat in the center chair of the Aquarius ASV as her battle-rigged ship charged in to the fray. It was an oddly surreal moment; like something out of a western where the United States cavalry would ride to the rescue of the lone, besieged company of infantry. The Aquarius's bridge screen resolved to the eerily familiar sight of the Atlantis's bridge. It was like looking in to a hellish mirror where everything was the same, but in a state of total chaos. To very little surprise, Commander Banick was seated in the Captain's chair. Sitting there, his face a chiselled and ragged mess, he looked about twice his age of just 32. "Captain Hornsby, you know how to make an entry!"
Hornsby, being calm and controlled – the complete opposite of the Atlantis XO - smiled. "A little bird told us you might need some help. Seems he was right. Our ETA is less than a minute. We've already got our strike wings in the water… I'm sure you noticed. Stand by, commander."
The uplink with the Atlantis ended, and Hornsby turned to her bridge crew. They were some of the best officers in the fleet, and now they would prove it. "Tactical! Load all tubes and get me shooting solutions on those Orions! Helm! Take us in on the Atlantis' port-quarter, let's give these damned Macs something to worry about…"
One of the black-hulled Raptors shot past the Atlantis at incredible speed, gunning down a pair of Lysanders in quick succession. Wing Commander Gabriel Hitchcock saw this from the cockpit of his own Raptor, and knew almost straight away who the pilot was. He'd recognised the mysterious squadron the moment they'd arrived; their black fuselage and white-winged crests that marked the fighter's tails were a dead give away. They were the VF-115 Dark Angels, under the command of Wing Commander Corinn Roderick. The Angels had an infamous reputation; perhaps as much so as his own Rapiers. Assigned to the Aquarius, the Dark Angels shared a heated rivalry with the Rapiers, and on several occasions that rivalry had extended beyond simple verbal jests. Typically, the Rapiers were seen as the better squadron by the fleet, but deep down, Hitchcock knew that at this level of skill, the difference between "First" and "Second" best was utterly trivial. Roderick's pilots were easily as good as his own, and at times like these, he was only too grateful for the fact. "Archangel… this is Paladin," he said in to his radio, using their old call-signs. He'd known Roderick for years, and could almost hear the smile creeping on to her delicate features.
"Well, well," came the reply. "…If it isn't the intrepid musketeer and his band of merry men. How is life, Gabe?"
Hitchcock grimaced at the sultry, seductive sound of Irish brogue in her voice. For a moment, he'd forgotten how synonymous it was with an impending tongue-lashing. "Nice of you to drop by," he said coolly. "We were beginning to think that the Rapiers would have all this to themselves."
"Oh please," replied Roderick as her Raptor pulled alongside his, wing-to-wing. "Save your pride and don't bother, Gabe. Your pilots are good, but they're not that good. Quit your bitching and start shooting. We can deal with the rivalries later."
He smiled, looking over his shoulder at the black Raptor that rode beside his own. Roderick was ten years younger than he was at a mere 30 years old. She still had her youth, and the attitude to go with it, but there was no denying that she was one of the best pilots in the entire UEO, and right now… she happened to be right. "Fine. Last to five 5 buys the Beer back in Pearl, Quinn. Take the Dark Angels to zero-three-zero and cover the Atlantis's northern flanks. The Rapiers will handle those carriers… you just keep their fighters off us."
"You know it… Alright Dark Angels, hit your burners. No heroics… I want to see clean kills and nothing more."
In the shallow waters of the Phoenix Islands, the battle continued to rage. Atlantis was still holding her own under the constant bombardment of torpedoes as her sister slipped into position next to her. The pair of mighty Advanced Submergence Vehicles was an awesome sight to behold, but all they did was to draw even more fire from the Alliance fleet. One squadron of UEO Spectres from the Atlantis weaved around the shattered wreckage of a sinking Aleus Carrier with a flight of Macronesian Lysanders in close pursuit. Another volley of torpedoes was fired from the Atlantis, and then shortly after, the Aquarius added her own fire to the battle, and the weapons homed in on the vanguard force of Orions. The effectiveness of the Macronesian intercepts was severely limited, and the barrage of torpedoes slipped straight passed and slammed in to several of the Orions. Unlike the two big UEO battlewagons that opposed them, the Orions could not take so much punishment and survive. The torpedoes completely decimated the submarines, leaving their hulls a shattered ruin. Of six attack submarines, only two remained.
Perhaps the most noticeable presence of the battle however laid at the very center of the Macronesian formations. Shielded by squadrons of Lysanders and being protected by seemingly endless intercept torpedo fire, the seaQuest DSV was untouched and continued to pour torpedoes in to the sea that struck the much larger ASVs. With the arrival of the Aquarius, it was now obvious that the Alliance fleet had no chance of winning and the few submarines that remained in their ranks gradually began to fall back – the seaQuest included. Slowly, the old DSV fell back in to the trench; a last bid to escape.
"…Commander Banick", said Captain Hornsby on the main screen of the Atlantis.
"Go ahead, Aquarius," replied Banick as he slowly began to calm him self down now that things were finally going their way.
Hornsby's face was still calm. She'd done this many times before, and it obviously took a lot to shake her nerves. "Atlantis doesn't stand a chance against all these Macronesian attack submarines. You've taken enough torpedoes already to sink a small navy and it would seem that fleet Intel has vastly underestimated local forces."
Banick nodded in agreement. If Atlantis stayed… then she would probably not leave. "Agreed. What are you suggesting?"
"Aquarius can handle the rest of the Macronesians, but we've got a problem. The seaQuest is withdrawing. From where we are now, Aquarius is pinned. Judging from your position, I'd say Atlantis is in the best place to intercept seaQuest before she can escape."
Again, she was right. Aquarius's timely arrival had redirected the efforts of the Macronesians, leaving Atlantis herself as a secondary priority. Aside from a few stubborn attack submarines, the Atlantis was now in open waters with a free run straight to the nearby trench… and the seaQuest. "We'll get the job done, Captain. Give them hell."
Hornsby gave him a smug and confident smile. "We intend to, Commander… Good hunting."
The image of the Aquarius's bridge disappeared from the view screen, and Banick turned to the helm... seaQuest couldn't be allowed to escape to Macronesian waters, and he'd be damned if he was about to let that happen. "Natalie… Lay in an intercept course with seaQuest. Give me everything you've got."
UEO High Court, Honolulu City, Hawaii. November 19th, 2040…
Ben Adler was in damage control. His questioning of Captain Ainsley had now been going now for at least 20 minutes. He was being extremely thorough, making sure he covered every possible grounds and thus denying Jamieson any possible loophole through which to work. Discrediting her argument was essential if they had any chance of resurrecting the trial. "…So, Captain… to recap for the record of the court, who was it that the orders of shakedown had come from?"
"The Secretary General of the UEO. Arthur Dallinsley."
"So, at the time of your mission, you were operating under the regulations and orders of the UEO, and not the royal navy. This to me seems rather straight forward. How you could argue that basic fact, I don't know."
Adler stopped, and turned to address the Jury and the rest of the court, his questioning had, for the most part, come to an end. Ainsley thought that he'd done a pretty solid job of establishing to very little doubt that there was no way he could have broken General order six of the UEO charter. By simple order of precedence, the Atlantis's first and foremost duty was the defence of the colony, and while the argument had encountered many objections from Commander Jamieson, Adler had stayed true to his line of questioning, and with the presentation of various articles of evidence, had won through. It seemed almost absurd that so much attention had been paid to such a seemingly insignificant matter that seemed ridiculously simple on paper, and yet their entire defence relied on the integrity of that interpretation.
"How can a Captain be subject to two conflicting sets of orders?" he asked rhetorically to the court. "On one hand… you have the very first article of the UEO charter which compels every UEO commander to answer calls of mercy under international law, regardless of confederate alignment or territorial disputes, and on the other, we have article 2, section 3 of the charter which explicitly prohibits the use of unsolicited force to resolve a conflict… Ok… Captain, can you tell the court what rules of engagement are? I mean… for some people sitting there, they probably think that 'rules of engagement' are guidelines that you would impose to allow someone to marry your daughter."
The light jest prompted a quiet chuckle from the stands, and a smile from Ainsley. (Funnily enough, even the prosecution and jury could see the humour in the remark) Ainsley could see where the argument was going… but of course, so could Jamieson. "Rules of engagement are an internationally-recognised set of conditions under which a military force may engage the enemy in combat. They are usually established before the onset of hostilities. In peace time, the general rule of engagement is not to fire unless you are fired upon first."
Adler nodded, but did not follow through with the question that Ainsley would have expected. He would save the most obvious question until last. "…I see. And are civilians protected under rules of engagement, Captain?"
"Yes they are. Rules of Engagement are built on international law. Usually, breaking the rules of engagement is grounds for a hearing, or in extreme cases, a war crimes tribunal. Obviously, firing on civilians under any circumstances is considered unacceptable by those laws."
"So really… it was the Macronesians who were responsible for breaking those rules when they fired on the colony in the first place. Atlantis was merely responding under internationally-established laws."
"That's correct, yes."
Adler nodded slowly. Now they were getting somewhere. "One final question, Captain," he said as he paced back and forth across the floor. "…When you engaged the Alliance submarines… who fired first?"
"The Macronesians."
Adler smiled with a curt nod. That would do. "Thankyou, Captain. No further questions, your honour."
Admiral Locke nodded gratefully, and looked to Commander Jamieson on the prosecution bench who was busily scribbling down notes. "Prosecution… would you like to cross-examine?"
"We would, your honour," she replied, standing up and walking to the floor. Ainsley sighed… no end was in sight.
Her notes in-hand, Jamieson gave Ainsley a smile; a predatory smile - a warning that this was going to be bad. She did it on purpose of course, as a nervous witness under cross examination was never a bad thing for a lawyer. "The defence has argued that Captain Ainsley could not have been in breach of standing orders given the various extenuating circumstances surrounding the Nintoku incident. But do you deny, Captain… that your actions did in fact lead to a state of war between the nations of the UEO and Macronesia?"
"No, I do not."
"But you maintain that your actions were legal under international law, yes?"
"That's correct."
"Do you know what this is, Captain?" she said, holding up a sheet of paper which bore the familiar letterhead of the North Sea Confederation's military command, although admittedly about 30 years out of date.
"To venture a guess," replied Ainsley cautiously, "I'd say they are the orders signed by the Royal Navy that released me to UEO service in 2016."
"Very good, Captain," she said with an approving nod. "You have an excellent memory… So tell me… Do you remember what it is the orders actually say?"
"I'm afraid not…" said Ainsley, straining as he tried to recall. "I remember the basics, but the smaller details are lost to me."
"Is that so…" said Jamieson, narrowing her eyes. "Prosecution exhibit twenty-seven; the open-ended orders signed by Admiral Sir John Hollingworth, commander in chief of the British North Sea fleet on March 14th, two-thousand-sixteen that authorizes the services of Lieutenant Mark Ainsley to the navy of the United Earth Oceans Organization."
Admiral Locke extended his hand to Jamieson. "May I see that?" he asked.
Jamieson handed the letter to the Judge, and then referred to her notes as the Admiral read through the letter. "Now, Captain… do you consider yourself an officer of the Royal Navy?"
"Of course. My commission was never resigned," said Ainsley truthfully.
"But as part of this commission, your services are currently signed to the UEO, yes?"
"Correct."
"So… Captain…" continued Jamieson with mock confusion. "I don't understand. How can you be absolved of your responsibilities to the Royal Navy if your commission was never resigned?"
Ainsley shook his head impassively. "When I signed on to the UEO navy, I changed commands from the NSC to the UEO's naval command. The two departments are completely exclusive of one another… and the operations we conduct are completed as part of a mutual agreement from both sides."
"Indeed…" said Jamieson with a lopsided smile. "I quote," she said, looking to the court and the jury once more. "From paragraph sixteen of these orders; 'While these orders are open-ended and do authorise the services of Mark Ainsley to the United Earth Oceans Navy, he is not absolved of his responsibilities or duties in representing the crown of His Majesty King Charles the third, the Royal Navy, and/or the North Sea Confederation while discharging his duties, and will be bound by their respective regulations and codes of uniform.'"
The Captain's heart skipped a beat. Jamieson had just completely destroyed Adler's argument with one very infallible and destructive stroke. She looked back to the Judge and shook her head slowly. "Nothing further, your honour."
VF-107 Rapiers. The Phoenix Islands. November 19th, 2040…
Keeping her grip on the yolk steady, Lieutenant Roberts gently eased her Raptor upwards towards the Macronesian subcarrier and with a quick flick of a gloved thumb, disarmed the weapons safeties for her torpedoes. "Rapiers 3, this is 2. I'm uploading targeting data to you now... Pick your target, and fire on my orders. Rapier 5: Cover our tails."
The replies of acknowledgement were practically instant as the well-trained pilots fell in line with their wing leader. The trio of Raptors, doing almost 200 knots, were rapidly closing the distance with the enemy carrier. Several Lysanders noticed their approach, and broke away to engage, but they were either too far away to catch the UEO Raptors in time, or were quickly gunned down by Rapier 5 who stayed a watchful guard over his comrades. Graceful lines and long, sweeping bulges down its sides that were the hangars gave the Aleus class a fearfully recognisable form. Small, but very mobile, they were always bad news for anyone who happened across them on the wrong side of Macronesia's border. This particular one however, was about to meet a very abrupt demise. Lieutenant Roberts watched the distance on her HUD's targeting sensors tick down, waiting for a solid tone, and an indication to fire. Finally, it went solid red and the steady 'beeps' that had steadily increased in tempo turned to a solid tone; a target lock. Without a moment's hesitation, she depressed the trigger. "Rapier 2: Fox 3!"
As a pair of torpedoes rocketed away from her fighter with a scream of their igniting plasma engines, she snap rolled away to avoid becoming a very tempting target for a whole heap of Lysanders that were now almost certainly on their toes. Lieutenant Tom Reynolds, who had been sitting off her port wing, issued a similar report. "Rapier 3: Fox 3!"
Between the two Raptors, the four Mark-95 GSM-8 "Rattlesnake" torpedoes shot away in to the darkness, finding their way to the target by their advanced guidance systems. Nearby, a Macronesian Cepheus class anti-fighter frigate detected the weapons, and its point defence cannons quickly began to track them and start firing. But at this close range, there was simply not enough time and the UEO torpedoes buried themselves in to the side of the Aleus with multiple, heavy impacts. Between the four torpedoes, two and a half thousand pounds of superheated, high-energy plasma exploded across the hull, breaching it in multiple sections. Quickly, the carrier began to keel over to one side as thousands of tonnes of water started to pour in to its innards.
Roberts smiled at the slow-motion destruction of the Carrier as she rolled the Raptor through the chaotic battlefield around her, swinging under large pieces of neutrally-buoyant debris and snap rolling around the ruined hulls of crippled and gutted Orion class SSNs that were struggling to keep from sinking. A shrill beep from her sensors made her look down instinctively, and she cursed. "Damn it. Rapier leader, this is 2. I've just picked up another wave of bombers coming in. They're headed straight for the Aquarius... and there're a lot of them. I count nearly 30."
"Got it, Rapier 2. All flights; form up and get back to the Aquarius at best possible speed. Let's see if we can give Commander Roderick's pilots a hand."
"Aye. Fangs-out, sir."
With the subfighter battle above just beginning to get in full swing, a new duel was beginning to take shape within the depths of the Hemmingway trench below. Plunging as deep as she could, and as fast as her great bulk would allow, the seaQuest DSV was engulfed by darkness as the last vestiges of natural light disappeared from the sea around her. On her bridge, Macronesian Captain Lance Raymond was only too aware that in pursuit, trailing by some distance was the Atlantis ASV 8100… It had taken an operation of immense coordination to capture this submarine, thought Raymond, and he was not just about to let the UEO steal her away again. He recalled reading the vivid reports of how Macronesian Marines had descended on to the crippled seaQuest over a week before, killing or subduing every person alive on the UEO's former flagship, taking those who were left alive or unable to fight as prisoners, and claiming the submarine as their own. Yes; they had received help from internal sources within the UEO, but it did not take anything away from the achievement. For his part in the operation, Raymond had been rewarded with command of the venerable submarine, and he was relishing every moment. No, their plan to take the Atlantis a prize today had failed… how, he could only guess. The treacherous UEO Captain, Arnold Randbrough had been meant to deliver the submarine and its entire crew in to his waiting arms, but instead, the Atlantis's executive officer had somehow intervened, and plans had changed. The unexpected and most inconvenient arrival of the Aquarius had only added to the problems, but now he had the means and firepower with which to dispatch the vaunted Atlantis, and he would.
Swivelling around in the command chair, he called to the helm officer who steered the great submarine through the depths of the trench, and asked for his report. "Helm… What's our position?"
"We're 3 miles in to the Trench's northern approach. Depth beneath the keel is six thousand feet."
"Full stop!" he ordered quickly. "Take us straight down, Lieutenant… all rudders to center."
"Aye, sir."
seaQuest couldn't outrun the Atlantis forever, and even with the big ASV damaged as it was, she was still more than a match for them head-on, as Raymond had found much to his chagrin just a matter of days before. He'd watched as the Atlantis's imposing torpedo batteries had ripped through his squadron of attack submarines almost effortlessly at the Nintoku colony, and he would not make the same mistake again. "Rig for silent running," he ordered. "Tactical: reload all tubes. Plasma warheads to 100 percent charge. Rig their guidance systems for automatic target acquisition."
"Aye, Captain; loading all tubes. Plasma torpedoes to 100 percent yield."
Now, the seaQuest would wait. He had to admit, the UEO really knew how to build a submarine; seaQuest was by far the most fundamentally advanced ship he had ever seen, and despite the numerous upgrades that it must have received over the years, he could only wonder what the Atlantis was like. It was a shame they weren't able to capture the ASV. The damage to the UEO's morale would have been utterly devastating. Instead, he would wait until Atlantis descended in to the trench, and hopefully completely fail to notice the seaQuest lying silently at rest in the cold depths below. The ASV would pass straight overhead without every firing a shot… and he would then put the accursed UEO ship to rest… Permanently. The predators were now the prey…
…A few miles away, the Atlantis glided through the narrow ravines of the Hemmingway trench's northern-most approaches. The jagged walls of the ravine missed the big wings of the ASV by just a few dozen yards as Natalie Canebride and Madeline Hayes skilfully piloted the ship towards the trench just ahead. "Lieutenant, what's the range to the seaQuest?" asked James Banick.
"Uncertain, sir. She's just entered Hemmingway. We won't know until we clear the trench heads."
Banick grimaced. He hated being blind. It led to unpleasant surprises that were generally very bad news. seaQuest had chosen by far the most effective way to escape. In the same position, Banick would have done exactly the same thing. The Hemmingway trench was deep enough so that it provided passage for even the largest of submarines, but at the same time, the trench's ridge lines were so perilous on navigational charts that it was almost impossible to discern submarine from rock when viewed from above. Atlantis could have been walking in to a trap, and they'd never know until it was too late. "Commander Callaghan?"
"Yes sir?"
"Load and flood all torpedo batteries... Rig torpedo guidance systems for snapshots. I want to let go everything we have at a moment's notice, and I don't care if you don't have a shooting solution."
"Aye sir."
Banick had a very bad feeling about this. He got up and began walking around the bridge to the sensor station that was now being manned by Lieutenant Jack Phillips after the duty officer in charge of the station had been injured, and taken to sickbay. Despite being on the Atlantis now for nearly 2 weeks, he still had not gotten used to the feel of the split-level bridge. It felt way too open. Such space was a complete luxury, and it was a vast change from the often confined spaces of the bridge on a Poseidon class subfighter carrier. "Where are you…" whispered Banick as he leaned over Phillip's shoulder to look at the 3D charts being displayed on the hypersonar screens.
"I wish I could do more, sir," said Phillips, shaking his head. "I've already sent WSKRS Loner and Junior ahead to try and give us sonar coverage past that shelf ahead, but it's going to take them a while to get there."
"It's alright, Lieutenant," said Banick quietly, patting the man on the shoulder. "We'll find her."
If possible, he wanted the seaQuest intact, but somehow he doubted that the Macs would just hold up their hands and surrender with such a ship at their disposal. Even if she was old and outgunned, seaQuest still had enough firepower to do some very serious damage, and he was certain they wouldn't simply give up without a fight. If necessary, Atlantis would sink her, and make sure that she stayed out of Alexander Bourne's hands.
"We're entering the Hemmingway trench, Commander," reported Canebride from the helm. "Depth beneath the keel is six-zero-zero-nine feet and falling rapidly."
"Thank you helm… slow to six-zero knots. Steady as she goes."
"Six-zero knots, aye. Steady as she goes."
Long moments passed, but still there was no sign of their elusive prey. The bridge was deathly silent. Not a word was said, and you could have heard a pin drop. "Jack? Anything?" asked Banick.
"Not a damned thing, sir…" replied Phillips quietly. A second later, he frowned, bringing a hand to his right earphone slowly. "…Wait… I've got something on the acoustic array…" he reported. Another beat… Phillip's face suddenly became white with fear, and he tore off the headphones and looked at the bridge crew behind him. "Shit! We've got torpedoes dead astern in our baffles; closing fast!"
Outside, a dozen torpedoes were indeed closing with the Atlantis. Coming out of the darkness behind her, the torpedoes closed in at alarming speed; their guidance systems locked on and homing in on the massive sonar signature that the ASV presented. Banick sprinted back to the Conn and practically threw himself in to the chair. "All aft intercepts: fire at will! All decks brace for impacts. Sound collision!"
Callaghan wasted no time in repeating the order in to the PA. "All hands, Rig for collision! Brace, Brace, Brace!"
With very little warning, and before the intercepts had even left their tubes, the torpedoes slammed the Atlantis's stern with full force. The organic hull skin of the ASV was incinerated by the plasma warheads while the heavily-armoured Titanium hull was torn apart, impact after impact. Some twelve torpedoes in total ravaged the big submarine, leaving the stern a gutted ruin. Entire bulkheads were torn asunder, and vast sections of the ship's internal decks were opened directly to the sea with explosive force. The sudden loss of pressurization caused even further damage as without equalization; the pressure of the sea crushed the exposed decks with a deafening crack that was heard across the entire ship.
Over the wail of master alarms, James Banick hadn't even had time to fasten his restraints, and was thrown to the grated floor of the command deck with a solid and resounding crack in his side. He wheezed painfully as he felt something break there, but that was the least of his worries. Multiple alert klaxons flooded the bridge as dozens of warnings and alerts were displayed on just about every console of every station. If Atlantis survived this, it would be nothing short of an engineering miracle.
Clawing his way to his feet, Banick helped several other officers who had been standing just moments before back to their feet. "Tactical!" he yelled. "…Full damage report! Sensors: where the hell did they come from?"
Jack Phillips was dazed. He'd been rattled heavily in his restraints by the jarring shock of the explosions, and he wiped sweat from his face. Banick noted already that Phillips's sensor console displayed multiple errors and alerts from all different kinds of systems. "Long range sensors are offline," he reported simply. "But I'm nearly certain it was seaQuest. She's right behind us sir. She must have been waiting below us."
Banick cursed again with several four-letter nouns that he would otherwise not use while he held a hand low over his ribs that continued to send sharp lances of pain through him whenever he took a breath. "Damn it! Commander Callaghan? Where the hell is that damage report?"
Callaghan looked in a bad way. An ugly gash ran diagonally across his brow, and he looked very pale. "We've taken massive damage across all aft decks," he reported forlornly. "The majority of major ship systems are offline. Auxiliary power is online, but the primary power systems from engineering are completely dead. We have major hull breaches on all decks aft of section fifty six. Flooding is severe, but contained. EVA is inoperable. Aft sensors are shot to hell and both long range sensors and hypersonar are down."
"I other words," said Banick, "We're deaf, dumb, blind and impotent."
"Yes sir."
"Reroute everything you have from all available systems to auxiliary power."
"Including life support?" asked Callaghan with slight shock.
"Effing yes from life support!" yelled Banick angrily. "Firstly, if it's still working… I'll be god damned amazed. Secondly… we'll probably be dead in 5 minutes anyway!"
…The Macronesian Lysander imploded as Robert's Plasma torpedo detonated and engulfed it in a pressure wave of blue fire. Lieutenant Roberts rolled her fighter through the debris, taking no pause to wonder if the hapless pilot had managed to eject. "Scratch one. That's one less Lysander in the world."
Breaking away again, she targeted another fighter in her HUD and began chasing it. Through the canopy, she saw the massive hull of the Aquarius ASV race by as she skimmed over it at a distance of less than fifty meters. "Rapiers 3 and 5… fall out. I'm tracking half a dozen Mac Lysanders bearing two-one-seven. Pick your targets and intercept."
"Understood ma'am."
Pushing her throttles to the stops, she moved after the closing Lysander wing as fast as her Raptor would take her. Switching back to her super-cavitating Hades cannons, she began mentally tracing one of the Lysander's paths as she swung wide in to an attack vector that brought her in straight down on to the enemy fighter's dorsal hull. The Macronesian craft's wide-spread wings presented a perfect target, and she was just about to depress the trigger and almost certainly destroy it, when - to her surprise – her prey pulled in to a tight climb that brought him in a head-on course with her own fighter. It was in that instant that she made the most stupid mistake of the day. "So, it's a game of chicken you want…" she whispered under her breath, quiet enough so that no one on the open radio channel would hear her.
Rethinking her attack strategy, she switched back to her single remaining torpedo, and selected the brave Lysander in the HUD.
The two fighters charged at each other with a combined speed better than 600 knots; a blindingly fast pace of more than 300 meters per second. The Lysander was so distant that if it weren't for the Heads-Up Display's sensor-enhanced magnification, she wouldn't have been able to make it out at all. Keeping her finger steadily on the trigger, she completely ignored the various proximity alarms that her navigational computer was blaring, and didn't really pay attention to the torpedo lock that was being painted on her either. As the fighters drew closer and closer, Roberts smiled sinisterly as her HUD went solid red… and she squeezed the trigger.
The torpedo shot away from the Raptor and she rapidly broke off at the exact same moment as the Lysander fired its own torpedoes. Unfortunately for the Macronesian, he was far too slow (and with these speeds, that really only meant a fraction of a second) and Roberts' torpedo caught him in his turn, and exploded. The detonation destroyed the Alliance fighter quickly, but Roberts also had to work fast if she was to avoid a similar fate. Throwing her fighter in to a rapid dive, she accelerated to flank speed towards the ocean floor and hit the release for her countermeasures. Her blood ran cold when the master alarm flashed above the ECM monitors. She had none left. "Oh Christ… This is Rapier 2… I'm in serious trouble here."
With no countermeasures, she had no way to throw off the torpedo, all she could do was out fly it and hope for the best. Breaking hard right in her downward plunge, she snap-rolled the fighter back along its own axis in a very G-intensive turn and headed back towards the surface. The torpedo however was not fooled, and followed suit. "Tom!" she said in to the open comm. "I need help!"
Tom Reynolds, the ever-faithful wingman, responded swiftly. "I see you, Rapier 2… Pull up and break hard!"
Obediently, Roberts threw the Raptor in to an inverted, straight and level run, building up as much speed as possible in the final part of the turn, and then breaking away rapidly to port. It seemed to work, and the torpedo momentarily seemed to lose its lock. She sighed deeply in relief, but didn't see the second Lysander that was coming straight at her until it was too late."…Oh now this sucks."
Subduction fire lanced out from the enemy fighter, and tore through her port wing, turning the entire control surface in to an unrecognisable stump of shattered titanium and wrecked framework. Over the howl of master alarms, the fighter suddenly seemed to become extremely sluggish in its flight, and the cockpit began to rattle under the strain of the torn wing. "I'm hit!"
There was no more time. The torpedo, having reacquired its target, finally caught up and raced in for the final kill. Throwing the yolk hard left in one last, desperate attempt to evade it, the Raptor sluggishly pulled around, but it was to no avail. The torpedo closed the final gap… and exploded.
The shock slammed her forward, hard in to her restraints and she wheezed as the wind was knocked from her lungs. A tumbling ruin, the entire tail of her once-graceful Raptor was now little more than shattered debris, dispersing in the shockwave of the torpedo's explosion. Plummeting to the ocean bottom in an uncontrolled, lateral spin, Roberts strained to reach for the ejection handles, but under the extreme G-forces being exerted on her, it took every ounce of strength she had. "Ejecting!"
Ripping the ejection handles away; her head seemed to explode as the cockpit – canopy and all – blew away from the doomed subfighter under the thrust of its powerful rocket engines. Blood rushed away from her head under the extreme forces of gravity that were at work, the world became a blur, and then finally… everything went black…
"Torpedoes in the water! I count 12 fish!" exclaimed Jack Phillips in panic.
seaQuest had just fired every tube. Atlantis had no possible way of surviving a second assault. Already a virtual wreck, they could do almost nothing to stop it. Banick couldn't believe it. Atlantis had no more intercepts left, and she was now a sitting duck. "Helm! All ahead full! Take us deep in to the trench. Sound crash dive!"
"This submarine wasn't designed to crash dive!"
"Well if those torpedoes hit, we'll be crashing anyway. Just do it!"
Nervously, Natalie Canebride sighed through gritted teeth as she eased forward on the yolk. Atlantis lurched forward and began to Banick felt her start to descend rapidly beneath his feet. Turning to Callaghan at the tactical station with a glimmer of hope in his eye, he realised that the battered sub still had one last ace up her sleeve. "Did the Aries techs end up installing the EMP?" he asked quickly.
Callaghan looked genuinely worried about this idea. "Yes, but in our current state, we could fry every damned system on this ship. It's never been tested."
"Now is as good of a time as any. Bring it online… maximum power."
As part of her defensive armament, Atlantis had a single EMP field generator. If it worked as planned, then the Electromagnetic Pulse would fry everything electrical within half a kilometre of the submarine. But with the Atlantis so badly damaged, the EMP could very well destroy every electrical system aboard the sub, or worse; it could overload… and the built up energy would have absolutely no where to go. But given the alternative, they had little choice.
The torpedoes grew ever closer, and Atlantis dived deeper and deeper in to the Hemmingway trench.
"EMP Charged, sir," reported Callaghan.
"10 seconds to impact," reported Jack Phillips with growing alarm.
Banick mentally counted down the seconds, and whispered a silent prayer. He wasn't overly religious, but right now, he was making an exception. The next few seconds were the longest of his entire life.
"5 seconds," reported Phillips again.
Banick waited just half a second longer, and then committed himself to fate. "Now!"
Callaghan closed his eyes, whispering a prayer of his own before turning the firing key of the EMP as the torpedoes closed in their last hundred yards. With a high pitched whine, the huge built up electromagnetic charge deep within the Atlantis was released. A giant wave of energy washed through the sea, causing it to visibly distort as an ultra-sonic shockwave sent seismic tremors rumbling throughout the depths. The strange displacement wave washed over everything in its path, and the approaching torpedoes became purely ballistic; their engines and every system within them shutting down in the last possible second. One by one, they slammed in to the Atlantis's hull… but they did not explode.
On the bridge, Banick sighed as lights and control stations flicked erratically. But to his relief, and with a gentle hum that filled the bridge, the power returned quickly. It had worked! Without a moment to waste, Banick pointed at Callaghan, jumping back in the saddle and in to the fight. "Target the seaQuest, match sonar bearings for aft tubes 1 through 12!"
"No good, sir! Those last torpedoes we took completely gutted most our aft tubes! We've only got 3 operational batteries left!"
Banick swore, and Jack Phillips seemed to only have more bad news to give. "Commander, seaQuest is opening her outer doors again… she's going to fire!"
"Three batteries are better than none," said Banick, trying to see some form of hope through the chaos around him. "Are they fully loaded?"
"Yes sir. Each battery has 6 tubes loaded and armed."
Banick nodded quietly… Between the three torpedo batteries, it meant they had exactly 18 torpedoes ready to fire. It was no small number, but it was still everything they had. "Fire everything you have, Commander."
Callaghan pushed the button…and nothing happened. "Oh, no…"
The acting-captain looked pained. "Oh please. No… Don't tell me that. I don't want to hear it."
"Sir, the damage we took from the last torpedo salvo severely damaged the power relays to targeting sensors… and the EMP just fried our auxiliaries. We've got power, but we're bleeding so much through the damage that sensors simply aren't getting enough."
Banick didn't know whether to cry or laugh. He was standing on the command deck the most powerful ship ever created, and it was fast becoming the most useless shipcreated. "Bridge to engineering," he called, slapping the intercom on his command chair.
The exhausted and garbled voice of Chief Petty Officer Stevens had never sounded so sweet. At least, thought Banick, he was alive. "Go ahead, bridge."
Banick gritted his teeth, hoping that he wasn't about to regret his next decision. "I want you to give me all the power you can, and shunt it directly in to the sensors. Put the fusion core in to overload if you have to."
For a moment, static filled the intercom. Banick imagined Stevens standing there in engineering, his hand on the microphone, and a look of pure horror covering his face. It was an oddly amusing thought given the circumstances. "Sir, you want me to overload the core?"
Banick sat back down and began punching orders in to his command console. "Don't argue with me, chief! Just do it!"
Overloading the Atlantis' fusion core would give the boat a surplus in power, perhaps too much, which was good when almost nothing was getting to the damaged sensors. But overloading a fusion reactor core had the capacity of causing a drama that would be very, very bad; usually resulting in a chain reaction vaporising everything within 10 kilometres.
"Do we have seaQuest's command codes?" Banick asked Callaghan on the level below.
"Yes sir. But I don't see how it would do us any good. Our sensors are so bad that we'd need to get a direct communications link up and running if we even wanted to attempt what I think you are suggesting."
Banick nodded. "How much control would we have?"
Callaghan shook his head solemnly. "The deadman codes allow for limited access to their computer… I'd say we'd have access to their memory logs, but not much else."
The solution hit Banick like a plasma torpedo. They still had a chance. He looked away at the sensor station where Jack Phillips continued to sit in pure, mortified horror of everything that was happening. He felt sorry for the young man; Phillips had handled himself exceptionally well under the most difficult circumstances imaginable, but everyone had their limits. "Mister Phillips," said the Commander sternly, doing his best to instil some confidence in the man. "…Get me the seaQuest on any channel you can. It's time we discussed the terms of our surrender."
…The bridge of the seaQuest was tense. Captain Raymond was poised to give the final order that would send the Atlantis to the bottom. Everything had worked as he'd planned; in the narrow confines of the Hemmingway trench, Atlantis was stuck on her course, and had no room to manoeuvre or turn around to face the seaQuest, which sat comfortably behind the ASV at a distance of just over a mile. The Radio officer seemed taken aback by something, and he turned around to give his report. "Captain Raymond. We're getting radio traffic from the Atlantis…" the radio officer frowned, listening to the message again through his headphones, making sure he understood it correctly. "…They surrender sir."
The sensor operator nodded in agreement with the radio officer. "I don't think they're bluffing, sir. I'm detecting a power overload in the Atlantis's fusion core, and almost every single system is down. They're finished, sir."
Raymond nodded slowly; still wary of any possible deception. He wouldn't put it past the annoying Atlantis Commander to try something dangerous. "Put them up," he ordered.
The screen at the front of the seaQuest's bridge resolved to the image of an extremely battered and ruined scene: the Atlantis Bridge. The officers there looked dishevelled and beaten. There was no pride left on their faces, and Raymond recognised the weary, haggard face in the center chair immediately. "Captain Banick. This is Captain Lance Raymond in command of the seaQuest."
Banick gave nothing away. "Captain… I am willing to discuss terms of our immediate surrender. We have wounded and our core is going in to overload."
"Very well, our terms are simple," replied Raymond. He was a reasonable man when need be, and saw no reason to gloat. All it did was inflate egos. "You will prepare to be boarded and to relinquish command of your vessel to the Macronesian Alliance. You and your crew will be taken as prisoners of the Alliance and will be detained on the seaQuest until you can be transferred to an appropriate port."
The commander of the UEO vessel seemed to hesitate, as if thinking it over…
…Banick stared at Raymond for a long, drawn out moment. "What… assurances do we have that you will honour the Reykjavik accords?" he asked.
At the tactical station, Commander Callaghan frantically worked with the seaQuest's command codes. He shook his head at Banick with desperate eyes; pleading for more just a bit more time.
"You have my word, sir, but nothing more. We have no interest in destroying your vessel unless you give me no alternative," said Raymond as formally as his inherent smugness would allow.
Banick was an expert poker player, and still betrayed nothing. He was impressed by how reasonable Raymond was being, and if only for a moment, he considered that the offer was not band given the very few, and not to mention very dim alternatives. "…The terms are acceptable," he said quickly. "We need help locking this reactor down as soon as possible. I'm afraid we don't have much time… most our engineering crew has been killed, and those few who are left can't deal with it by themselves."
That was a lie, of course. But the Macronesian didn't seem to notice, and nodded curtly. "We will see what-"
…Callaghan winked at Banick from his station below, a small smile covering his features. He'd done it.
…On the seaQuest's command deck, Captain Raymond was cut off mid-speech by his weapons officer. "Captain!" he reported in panic. "We've lost shooting solutions for all tubes and intercepts!"
"What?" spat Raymond in disbelief.
"I don't understand it sir… I can't do anything to get it back! It's like our memory banks have been erased. Weapons are unresponsive!"
Raymond's jaw fell slack. He'd been deceived. He shot back around to the main screen to look at Banick with growing rage. Before he could say a thing, the UEO officer shook his head. "-Captain Raymond… I'll give you one and only one chance to surrender… Or I will fire."
Pointing to the communications officer, Raymond's face contorted in anger. "Shut him off!" he yelled. Obediently, the image of the ravaged Atlantis Bridge disappeared, and he spun on his heel to sprint over to weapons control. "Can you reacquire shooting solutions?"
"I'm trying, sir!"
"All engines: Full reverse!"
…Banick watched the helpless seaQuest slowly pulling away, and then looked around his own, ruined bridge. He had no choice. "Fire…"
From the rear of the Atlantis, the three remaining torpedo batteries let fly with everything they had left. Within seconds, 18 torpedoes were accelerating at an alarming speed to almost 200 knots. At a range of just one mile, their total flight time could be measured in seconds. With nowhere to turn, and no way to return fire, there was nothing the seaQuest could do. She visibly shook as the torpedoes struck her head-on. With the first few strikes, seaQuest's bow was gutted as the torpedoes tore deep in to her hull and ripped apart the boat's command centers, and the remaining weapons only further sealed the submarine's fate.
The water lit up in spectacular novas of white fire as the weapons consumed seaQuest, tearing apart her once-majestic and graceful hull. It was a painful image to watch: Reeling from the destruction, the seaQuest DSV started to break apart, and in a final, defiant scream of protest, the great submarine's hull imploded in a rapid staccato of low-pitched 'booms'. The massive blast of exploding pressure reverberated throughout the sea for miles, but it was heard on the Atlantis as nothing more than a low, trembling 'thump' across her decks; an anti-climax of tragic proportions.
Natalie Canebride, Ryan Callaghan, Madeline Hayes, James Banick, Jack Phillips and the rest of the Atlantis's bridge crew watched the death of seaQuest in silence. There was no cheering or satisfaction – only the gratitude that they were alive. Around them, Atlantis was a shadow of her former self; the bridge – once pristine and gleaming at every orifice – was now blackened and scarred. The smooth bulkheads that had covered the walls were now shattered and broken, and ruptured power cables were strewn from every frame and ceiling. Control stations were covered in debris from the collapsed sections of ceiling, and every light seemed faint through the thin curtain of smoke that filled the air. Finally, there was the avatar of the Atlantis's trident crest that had once hung proudly from the wall, illuminated by the shimmering eddies of the moonpool below. It was dark now; no light shined upon it, and ugly scars from where fire had lashed across it now marred its gleaming finish. It was a victory; but a hollow one. There was nothing here to celebrate. Jack Phillips's voice was distant in the silence; haunted and tired. "Commander…" he reported quietly. "We've just received word from the Aquarius. The Battle's over sir. The last of the Macronesians have fallen back. Captain Hornsby is asking if we need assistance."
Banick sank back in his chair and sighed. They were only a few minutes too late. "Tell them what's happened," he said tiredly. "And inform them we're headed back to Hawaii at best possible speed and that we will rendezvous with them there."
Quietly, Banick looked around at his smashed bridge one last time, and then steeled himself for the task of pulling the ship back together. "Take us home, Natalie," he ordered quietly. "There's one last thing that we need to do…"