Neue Stadtwache, Altdorf, the Empire, same day
After the Skaven attack on the city, a lot of re- and new construction had to be done. One of the new official buildings in the capital city was the Neue Stadtwache (New Citywatch). A building in the so-called "New Imperial" style, a mixture of Gründerzeit and the typical Empire style.
Not only was the Citywatch now residing in new, better and more spacious rooms, but a new, experimental police unit was stationed there. The Reichswacht (Imperial Watch).
This unit was the Empire´s attempt to build up a "modern" nationwide capital crime department, at least in the future. For now, there was the one group in Altdorf. A mixture of Imperials and Germans, the differences in methods were enormous. Bringing together 2 German cops, 2 German EDs (Crime Scene Units), a German sorcerer in training, 2 Imperial citywatch members, 2 Imperial wizards, a noble law expert, a Scholar and a witch hunter with entourage and trying to bind them together into one group was far easier said than done.
White House, Washington, same time
He should not have so much to do any more-he had finished his second term as President and his successor would bring his own team and ideas. Yet he now had a freedom he did not have before that that meant he could and would dole out a lot of small acts that would have gotten him into hot water before.
A pardon here, a naturalization there, a tax finding, the list was endless and was more or less the last service he could provide to his backers before he went back into obscurity. None of this was new, any President for a very long time had done so. The inertia of bureaucracy asked for many of these things to be done on paper, so he was diligently working himself through the stack of in his inbox when the door to his office was thrust open and several black clad men stormed in.
"Mr. President, America is under attack. We have to get you to safety."
He had practically no time to gain control of the situation, was taken in the middle of the group and marched at a speed that was close to a run to the elevator that brought him into the bunker that was far below. Built at the beginning of the Cold War the advances in multimegaton warheads and ICBM precision had rendered its status from refuge to high-tech tomb comparatively quickly, yet it was still useful for lesser threats.
By the time he arrived the monitors on the wall were already on and displayed disturbing pictures. He watched the pictures while he listened to the report, the light from the screens reflecting on his face that was an unmoving mask of incredulity and anger.
"We received reports 10 minutes ago that the Battleship Wisconsin, moored as a museum piece in Norfolk, has opened fire on the ships in Norfolk Naval Station. The carrier G.H.W. Bush is heavily damaged and there could be radioactive fallout from her reactors.
The cruiser Leyte Gulf is also under attack…"
In the picture the battleship fired another salvo, and the pressure waves from guns flattened the sea at the pier that she was moored at. The picture itself wobbled as whatever platform took them rode the shockwaves.
"Do we know who does this and how much more damage can they do?"
"We have no idea Sir. It does not the fit the modus operandi of any known group. It seems that the ship was restored the last months by a citizens group, but that does not explain how the live munitions got on board."
"Oh fu..it does not matter. How much damage can they do?"
"That depends on how much munitions they have. They should only have a few inert projectiles for show, but obviously managed to get more. This could be their last salvo-but the maximum is more than 300 rounds per turret. She got more than 30 kilometers of range Sir-there is a lot of targets out there."
"Can we retake her?"
"We do not know how many people there are on board, how well armed they are and if they have any are defense set up. To have the Wisconsin operating like this there must be hundreds of people on board and all the while she will deal kill more people."
"Does not work then. Sink her at all cost and speed then."
"Yes Sir. We will send a bomber from Witman then."
"This …this ship is inside one of our major naval bases, can`t the Navy take care of their own defense?"
"Unfortunately no Sir. The ships are not on alert status and most have a caretaker crew. Any ship that could be alert in time will not have the right weapons to damage the battleship to a useful extend."
"What, this is a museum piece, why can`t our most modern ships sink her."
"Because the weapons in these ships are not build to penetrate 300 mm of steel-and where she is we cannot get a submarine in to torpedo her. Even then she might not sink deep enough."
"Understood-take her out fast in whatever way works then."
"Yes Sir."
On the monitor the President could see two grey streaks reaching for the heavens before they settled downwards.
"What was that?"
"Probably a couple of Harpoon SSM`s from one of the ships-somebody is on the ball there."
"Let`s hope that works."
There was another salvo from Wisconsin before the cruise missiles had ended their approach. All onlookers winced when one of them detonated in a nearby apartment building and the other exploded several hundred meters out when a steam of fire connected the battlewagon with the missile.
"Uh, that is very bad. I do not believe we left many innards in those CIWS-who could restore them?"
And that was the moment when even more flames erupted from Wisconsin, this time from her broadsides. The picture started to wobble, then turn so fast nothing could be seen.
"They got that police helicopter-sorry Sir, we will need some 15 minutes before we have a Predator above her."
"Isn`t there an airport close by?"
"Yes, we try to raise them ever since the first messages, but we get only fragmentary responses."
BB-64 Wisconsin
Linderex still marveled at the destruction he could mete out-and all that with nearly no recourse to magic as understood in his old world. These humans were very inventive when it came to weaponry, maybe because they were so weak by their own.
No child of Khorne would have even gotten the idea of the shells that were currently fed into the "X" turret. Any Khornate worthy of his name would have gone for the biggest bang he could pack into any given weapon. Leave it to the humans to come up with something even more devastating. Instead of a great of explosives they had stuffed a lot of small bomblets into the shell. Individually they were not much, but they would devastate soft area targets far better that the simple HE ones.
He was sampling the pictures his drone gave him and it was to his liking. There was an airfield close to his body and that could have posed some threat. Now the runways had big craters in them, the tower was a burning pyre for its crew and both the tank farms as well as many of the planes on the ground were burning merrily. He could have savored such a view for hours, but there were more pressing matters to attend to.
When he was ascended he could see forge vastly powerful avatars for himself with what he had learned here. He would make the seas of the Warhammer world his domain before going for bigger things.
Inside Wisconsin two armed men led the three visitors through empty passageways. They had handcuffed the three men before they had really realized what was happening and pushed them forward with occasional prods by their assault rifles.
"What do you guys think you are doing? Who the fuck are you, you don`t look like some jihadists."
"Shut the fuck up civilian-and who are you anyway? Did you want to sabotage us so you can storm the ship?"
"What do.."
The next salvo ripped through the ship, shaking everybody and drowning all sound. Chris Kyle had waited for that and stepped backwards rapidly. If his guard obliged him by following too close who was he not to take up the opportunity. Stepping rapidly backwards he stomped his heel on the "MP`s" instep before hammering the back of his head into the man`s nose.
The second guard turned and had his rifle up when two shoes impacted into the side of his ribcage and pushed broken bones through lungs and heart. The shoes belonged to Eddie Ray who had jumped into a nasty dropkick and now landed awkwardly on his arms and winced from pain.
By that time Chris and Chad had administered some more kicks against their guard and were now rifling through said worthy`s belt till they found the keys. Chad took 20 seconds or so to unlock the first handcuffs, then turned Eddie around to do the same.
"You did well kid"
"Always wanted to do that to the Man, but fuck does it hurt."
"Handcuffs cut into your skin, nothing broken I recon, but hurts. Let`s…."
The next salvo roared through the ship.
"Fuck, we have to do something about this, and fucking fast."
"Yes, but what-we are just three people?"
"Yes, hardly seems fair on them huh? Any suggestions? Chad, you always loved these things."
"Let`s see-bridge is out, turrets can fire by their own. Turrets have about 30 people working in there; some of them will be Marines, no. Magazines-is suicide. Power generator or ammo then. Let`s look at the plan-too many generators. But-yup-lets go for the ammo hoists, there should be nobody and if they cannot get the ammo up they cannot shoot."
"Won`t work with bare hands or these peashooters."
"There should be several workshops around, let`s see-there, we go down here, they through the uptake room and then we should be the welders and plumbers room. Maybe we find something there."
"Let`s roll. Kid, stay behind me, you get the next weapon we find."
Fort Story, Little Creek Expeditionary base, same time
All around Donald Ryder was confusion. There were explosions that were far off, but of obvious magnitude. There were twitters, news and Whattsaps that told of a terrible tragedy, probably some terrorist strike but nothing official. The plan that he had memorized had been shot to hell but no new one was coming up.
Common sense would dictate to drive the tank platoon to a place with some cover, but even for that there were no orders. He could see Captain Unruh finish a conversation, in part on a mobile phone and then sprint towards his tank.
He climbed up via the front glacis and stopped at the gun mantlet.
"Wisconsin-yes the bleeding battleship-has opened fire on the ships at the Naval Station and at the airport. There are probably thousands of dead and injured, but as long as the shells are falling there is not much that can be done."
The flashes on the horizon and the rumble that followed lent the Captain`s words emphasis.
"The APDS rounds in your tanks should be able to breach the turret armor of the battleship. We have to do something about that thing-drive to the Nauticus pier and try to take out bridge and guns …."
There was no huge earthshaking explosion, instead there was a sound like hundreds of firecrackers on steroids and the whistle of razor-sharp fragments that drove through the air at the speed of sound.
Most bounced harmlessly off the massive armor of the main battle tank. Two removed the top of Captain Unruh`s head and splattered Donald Ryder with blood, bone and brains.
The four tanks of the platoon roared off less than a minute later.
The Captain had been cut short before he could finish the sentence "once I find somebody to sign off that madness."
It was better that way, much better.
USS Mason, Pier 8, Norfolk Naval Station
Hell had a branch office on earth that day and it was to be found in the machinery spaces of the Arleigh Burke-class destroyer Mason. She had suffered two hits into her superstructure that wiped out any possible chain-of command and intership communications. A near-miss had detonated when it buried itself into the harbor silt and the pressure wave had dished several hull plates inwards so badly that she began to take on water at a prodigious rate.
The detonations had tripped so many fuses and disrupted so many power lines that the enclosed spaces were dropped into darkness immediately, lit some time later by the red glare of battery-powered emergency lights.
The red light shone on a mix of civilian contractors and a skeleton crew, on wounded, on shocked out-of-their brains, on confused and on leaders. A boatswain who regularly wiped the blood from a lacerated forehead from his eyes had a voice that was loud enough to cut through the din and install a bit of sanity where confusion was before. The survivors found that all regular passages up were either blocked or so much on fire to be unusable. The boatswain organized a party that cut its way into the turbines uptakes, helped to keep the wounded from drowning and was generally everywhere he was needed when he was needed.
He had to deck two panicked contractors who wanted to push into the path revealed on top of everything else and had authority enough that the wounded were indeed carried upward even when the water rose with every second.
In the end he managed to get everybody out who had any chance to do so, but his first glance at the world when he was back up made him ask if it was worth it. The water around the ships at pier was covered with oil and aflame in many places. The wreck that had been the "Mason" was surrounded with ships that wore in at least the same condition if not worse. Where proud ships had displayed clean grey-painted lines now shapes from a nightmare were all colors that flame, soot and blood would provide. Smoke rose from the places that he could not directly see and darkened the sky and the freight-train rumble in the sky spoke of more death on the way.
"What the fuck…"
BB-64 Wisconsin
Chad`s plan stated that this was the plumbers and welder`s workroom. The words stenciled into the bulkhead said so too. Reality did not agree with that. Instead of a storage space with worktops there were many mismatched barrels and tanks, interconnected by numerous pipes that seemed to move in ways that had few things to do with hydraulic pressure.
The smell of acids and solvents was nearly overwhelming and the only light available came from the passageway and Eddie Ray`s smartphone. Chris Kyle found his voice first.
"What is that for God`s sake."
"Looks like a meth lab from hell."
"Hmm, given what these idiots are doing-think they cooked up their own madness?"
"Meth lab does not look like this."
"Have you been an extra in "Breaking Bad" or what Eddie?"
"Don`t ask, ok? But what I have seen is much less complicated than this and smell is far off."
"Doesn`t matter much now I reckon. But I see some welders rig over there, let`s get that and then the hell out of Dodge."
The men pushed between the tanks and actually had to manhandle the heavy pressure cylinder over some of them when there was no sufficient space. They were halfway back to the entrance when Chad Littlefield could not move his left leg. Looking downwards he found something coiling around the appendage-and it was moving.
Bending forward to free himself from whatever there was he found that rubber hoses wound themselves about his arm too and there was something creeping up his lower back.
"What the fuck-something is grabbing me here. I need some help folks."
"Tangled yourself?"
"Don`t make jokes, something is moving here."
Chris and Chad struggled against the self-propelled rubber, yet whenever they had achieved some give here something else slithered around their limbs and tried to tie them down. Given that none of the moving parts gave off a biological feel it was disconcerting to say the least.
Help finally came from Eddie Ray who chopped down with a fire axe and managed to part several pipes. Pungent-smelling fluids flooded the floor and made the trio retreat towards the door. The meager light made the next threat look like a black shadow that flowed across the floor towards them. It seemed to come from ventilation shafts and cable stays and when it got nearer it resolved itself into a mass of insects.
Spooked enough the three barely made the exit, dropping a Zippo lighter into the fluids and leaving a burning mess behind. Their last view of the compartment were pipes that rose from the flames and writhed like a bunch of snakes.
8000 Meters AGL, above Norfolk
The plane looked like a low-budget movie prop. Very few details disturbed the smooth surface and the basically triangular shape seemed to belong to a toy line, not a deadly warplane. Anybody who got that impression would have been very wrong. Shaped to defeat radar and chock-full of electronics and weapons the B2 bomber was one of the most dangerous planes ever to take flight.
Currently it was loaded far below its maximum with a couple of armor-defeating bombs. Attacking a target that did not move and that had no effective air defenses out to this attitude was well within the capabilities of the bomber. The crew was less than happy, coming from a school where every detail was planned and drilled a thousand times before any mission the sudden alarm had caught them wrong footed. Still, what could possibly go wrong?
They had lined up their target 50 kilometers from here, refining their course in minute amounts and preparing to drop their bombs exactly where they were needed. The bombs themselves were assembled from armor piercing weapons mated to GPS receivers. They would penetrate Wisconsin`s decks with ease and hopefully ignite some ammunition to end the nightmare that played itself out below them.
Both pilot and WSO had a terse second when they opened the bomb bays as now their plane was much more visible on radar. They nearly missed the red light on the nav display and before they could change their minds their bombs were gone.
Once on their paths the computers inside the bombs received the signals of several satellites. Comparing their position and time stamps they calculated their position within a few meters and adjusted their guidance fins accordingly.
Far below them antennas were energized and started to radiate in ways and frequencies that they were never designed to do. The last months an army of former insects had scaled the heights of the masts at many a night, had added here and taken away there. Now the masts were using a lot of Wisconsin`s power to emulate the signal that came off the satellites. Adding a "1" here and cancelling out another one in a different place they changed the data received by the bombs.
Getting confused by the "spoof" some of them changed to the far less accurate inertia guidance, others made for the points that were suggested by the fake data. Two bombs kept their path enough to concern Linderex.
Far below the speeding weapons to small domes rotated. Resembling the R2D2 droid of Star War`s fame their radars tracked the bombs and lifted their barrels accordingly. The first burst from both weapons went awry, but their flight path was tracked by the CIWS systems and the corrected bursts were fired before the first projectiles had passed the bombs.
One detonated spectacularly 500 meters above the ships, the other glanced off "B" turret, having been damaged to the point where it would no longer ignite.
The others exploded inside the basin that was around the Battleship and sent pressure waves that broke against the sturdy hull.
Their only effect was to move Captain Coenraad van der Schroeff into a decision he had been mulling for some time.
"XO, we seem to have sufficient steam pressure-no need for us to provide a stationary target. Take us out of the harbor."
Duke Street, Norfolk, close to Wisconsin
The M1 Abrams MBT is a brute. Weighting close to 70 tons it was clad in many layers of different kinds of armor that made its front nearly impenetrable to nearly all weapons. It was armed with one of the best cannons ever mounted on a track-borne platform and carried a very comprehensive suite of electronics. All of that was powered by a gas turbine that was a thirsty as it was strong and accelerated the M1 like a sports car.
Donald Ryder would have gladly taken his tank into combat against any other, feeling confident that he had a proven superior vehicle, yet today he felt near naked and as well armed as a kid with a slingshot in front of an angry bull. Rising above the buildings in front of him a steel mountain burst with muzzle flares every 30 seconds and sent pressure waves through the air that shook even his ride.
He had to get his platoon off the main road as it was blocked by rubble and fleeing civilians and now approached Wisconsin from the oriental garden.
"Gunner-aim for the turrets. Loader-APDS. Driver-on my mark we go past that building and stop once we have cleared for 3 shots, then we retreat."
"Platoon-forward."
Rounding the ruins the tank platoon faced the battlewagon. Four tanks against 45000 tons of steel, armor and hate.
"APDS up"
"On the way."
Propelled to five times the speed of sound four darts made from deplaced uranium went for the battleship. Sparks along the gun barrels and the front glacis indicated where they had hit, but apart from that there was no way to tell any damage.
The next salvo was like that but the next one got a result.
Detonations sprang up all around the tanks, and the muzzle flames along Wisconsin`s sides indicated that the 5" guns had joined the fray. Even more menacingly the gun turret in Wisconsin`s front began to turn ever so slowly in their direction. The gun barrels had 16" caliber, yet now they looked bigger than a railway tunnel.
Close to Wisconsin, Norfolk
Donald Ryder`s world ended with a bang. The picture in his optics was filled by the battleship distorted by heat waves left by the exhaust his tank was backing into one second. The next his tank was shaken like a rat by a terrier, assaulted by sounds so loud that conscious thought was cancelled out and darkness replaced sight.
The metallic taste of blood inside his mouth was the first indicator that he was not dead yet, the resetting electronics and the groaning of his crew the second one. For now there was comparative silence.
"Sound off folks."
"Gunner here, bit dinged up but ok."
"Loader-all is ok."
"Driver-I am fine."
"Ok. Let us check how stuckwe are."
That was easier said than done-none of the hatches opened by more than a few centimeters before hitting something solid. Donald was pretty sure that he had seen some light towards the back of the tank, but could not be sure.
"Driver, can you restart the engine?"
A whine went through the tank followed by a lurching backwards, scraping sounds all around-and then a sudden stop practically where they had started. The engine changed tone and the lights were getting dimmer again. The hatch above Donald started to move from reduced air pressure outside.
The Sergeant`s thoughts were chasing each other like rabbits through his brain while he tried to come up with a solution.
"Driver, switch off engine before.."
And again the great tank was shaken, again sound waves assaulted the crew, even if all of that was just a pale shadow of the first wave-and then the tank started to move. The scraping sounds outside increased, light started to get into the optics and hope got into the crews.
When the tank backed up Ryder got to see the rubble that was left of the apartments he had used as cover, a part of which had been on his tanks seconds ago. The beautiful park to his left side had been flattened had a huge crater in its middle. Pieces of tread and armor indicated what had happened to at least one of his Platoon members.
His earphones were just full of static-the antennas had been blown or scraped off, so he had no chance to command his other tanks.
But the worst was the view of Wisconsin`s "A" turret that moved minutely and that could fire again in a few seconds. There was only one thing he could do.
"Driver advance at full speed. Bring us alongside that bloody ship-then they can no longer shoot us."
His tank had gained nearly a hundred meters when the next salvo came in, barely enough to escape the battleship`s wrath.
"Loader, HEAT. Gunner-Target are the secondary turrets. Driver, slow down but keep moving at half speed."
"Heat up"
Donald felt the great turret turn and the barrel lift to heights normally not used.
The first midships turret filled his view when an "On the way" coincided with a nasty explosion that left ruin where a dual turret had been before.
Several detonations 50 meters away indicated that the 5" guns could also not depress sufficiently. He had used his commander` sight to aim for a second turret and now pressed a button that slewed the turret in that direction.
The loader barely had announced the next round when another shot rocked the tank and the secondary stopped all movement.
The third one did not pose any additional problem and Ryder felt much better already. For the first time the battlewagon turned nightmare received some hits in return for all the damage it had dealt. Smoke and flames rose from Wisconsin`s superstructure.
By now the tank had driven along the pier to where it was even with the aft turret although still 20 or more feet below it, and it was time to remove the real threat.
"Loader-APDS. Gunner-aim for the hull below the turret, make it just above the water line."
"APDS up."
"On the way."
The M1 shook with recoil, a glowing spot appeared at the hull, and nothing more happened. Donald had hoped to hit the magazine or the ammunition hoist.
"Gunner, repeat."
"On the way"
Another impact, another glowing spot, and again nothing. The next shot did not help any. Donald had hoped that these shots would hit the main gun ammunition that was stored under the turret, yet eitherthe rounds did not penetrate enough or they were aimed at the wrong place.
Fuck, this was not working. Well, something else then.
"Driver, backwards to that fence on my mark. Gunner, once you bear fire a round at the turret. Driver once shot is out get back close. Mark, Mark"
The tank rocked backwards with an acceleration that thrust Donald into his belt-and the brakes hammered him into his seat just seconds later. The gunner had the barrel elevated already, so the shot hammered the tank just a second later. The noncom saw the glowing scar left by the Uranium dart, but it seemed to have bounced.
"Gunner, lower this time. Crew, repeat on my mark."
Again the tank surged backwards, again the shot was taken and again the tank went back into the zone where the Battleship`s guns could not reach. This time there was a glowing spot but also a turret that turret in their direction with glacial inevitability.
And then it stopped, turned back a little into the other direction, turned back their way and stopped again.
"Driver, left for 50 meters, than backwards again and stop till I say different. Gunner, good job, we have fouled their turret drive. Shoot for the same spot till something gives."
Donald was thrown about in his chair when the driver went through the path he had ordered with gusto and the "on the way" followed within a second of the stop. The first two left glowing spots, the third seemed to give the same result until a second later flames sprung from several openings and copious smoke rose to the sky.
Donald watched as the smoke suddenly started to move sideways in his monitor. He was about to ask the driver why he had moved when he realized it was the ship. And if that moved its position his tank might reenter the firing zone.
"Driver, get us off this pier-fast."
Wisconsin BB-64
The passageways through Wisconsin were frighteningly empty. The small party of three did not encounter anybody after they had left the workshop while all around them the ship gave off all the sounds that came from firing nearly all her weapons. Eddie Ray was currently pulling a cart loaded with several cylinders and gear between the sniper and his friend but found time to worry.
"Where is everybody-think they are preparing an ambush?"
"Don`t think so. They are running on a short crew probably-I don`t think they found 1500 or so crazies to man her. And they will be at battle stations. By now they might miss those two MP, but I do not think they had time for more than thinking about a search party."
"From your mouth to god`s ear."
The biggest challenge for Chad Littlefield was to maintain their footing while shockwaves ran through the ship and navigate them to their intended goal. None of the three would relish going back and carrying the heavy acetylene torch and its cylinders all the way back.
"Ok-when we go through this hatch we should be in the upper projectile storage. The ammo hoist runs through there and there should not be more than a couple of people in there. Eddie, you open the hatch and stay behind it, Chris and I go in and take out all who are in there. When you hear all clear then you follow and close that hatch behind you. Got it?"
"I open, you go in, gank the bad guys, I wait for your call and then close the door after me?"
"Got it."
The sniper and his friend went to the left side of the hatch and pressed their shoulders to it. Eddie could see that both psyched themselves up to go in and kill people. Chris Kyle`s mouth opened and Eddie prepared for his part when the explosion came.
The hatch they wanted to open seemed to bulge for a second and dust spilled from the small gaps that opened for a second. Concussion and sound were reverberated through the compartment and nearly dropped the three on the floor.
When their hearing returned to normal there heard shouts and cries from the other side of the hatch and Eddie moved out of the way before the hatch was ripped open from the inside. Several sailors of all ages spilled from it. Many had bleeding eardrums and their shambling movements told the story of concussions and shock.
Eddie tried to merge with the bulkhead behind his back when Chris opened fire on them. There was no burst of automatic fire, but several shorts very close together and people just started to drop from shots right through their torso. Chad Littlefield followed suit and within seconds the survivors of the handling room were dead.
Stepping gingerly over the corpses the veteran looked into the room beyond the hatch. There was nobody left and so the three moved inwards. Dozens of nearly man-sized projectiles stood upright around a hoist in the middle of the room. The double hatch above the hoist was bulged in, blackened around the edges and the paint had blisters.
"Looks like they had an ammo explosion in the turret. Good thing that the hatches were closed, otherwise we would be as dead as disco."
"So why did those fraggers try to pass?"
"Probably needed elsewhere, here they have no job."
"So shutting down this hoist will not do anything good, right?"
"Nothing in fact. Fuck, back through the ship to go to the others then."
"We would have to do anyways, so?"
"Err-Chad? Isn´t the propellant room below? And if these sorry fraggers went, wouldn`t the crew in there go elsewhere as well?"
"Yes, why..oh, you are right. So a quick trip to Valhalla or what?"
"Hey you two are the elite? We have some tools and a lot of explosives, can`t you think of something?"
"Yes, of giving you a bleeding medal. Off we go then."
BB-64 Wisconsin, Bridge
Coenraad van der Schroeff watched the pier move oh so slowly past the armored shutters of the bridge. He was surprised still to be alive, he thought the bloody Soviets would have an airstrike planned on his ship or something. Yet so far he had been able to pummel the Fleet with impunity and the only bombing the ship had to endure so far had been ineffective.
Too lose good crewmembers, a third of his main guns and half of his secondaries to a tank of all things had been a nasty surprise and would probably be good for a laugh or two if not for the dead and wounded.
None of this registered in his mind too much- he was too busy watching the XO taking them from the piers and into the channel without any tug support, under fire and without a pilot. Wisconsin`s stern had already ground against the pier in something that would have been a career-ending crunch in peacetime and was now a brilliant maneuver that allowed the bow to come around sufficiently to make headway.
If they would not ground in the channel the captain was pretty sure he could get his ship to pass Kronstadt and shell the installations there before the hammer finally hit.
He had been issuing situation reports several times via the wireless. Some had been answered, some were obviously drowned by jamming. Communications had reported some calls that were such obvious attempts at confusion they had made him laugh despite the situation. As if he would open fire on American ships, really.
He could tell the differences between the ships easy enough and the flag would have been a dead giveaway anyway. The red flag with yellow hammer and sickle, the cherished banner of the USA, the flag that flew proudly above his ship. At least this was what his mind and memories told him ever since his last sleep.
Finally Wisconsin had aligned herself with the channel and she started to accelerate. She might be a doomed ship, but by God Conraad would smash America's enemies as long as there was a single working gun on his ship. Despite the reduced crew, despite the knowledge that this fight could only have one end, despite the surprise his people put up a fight in the best traditions of the ship. He was so proud of them that he could feel his chest constrict breathing for a moment.
"Make turns for 15 knots XO, let`s not get grounded here."
"Yes Sir."
120 meters behind and 20 or so below van der Schroeff three men tried to make sure that the battleship did not get any more chances to kill and maim. The room they had entered was claustrophobic, not so well ventilated at the moment and full of potential death. It was one of the best protected compartments in Wisconsin, which was hardly surprising. In it hundreds of cylindrical cloth bags contained all the explosive propellant that was needed to launch one-ton projectiles at three times the speed of sound.
"So what do we do next?"
"You give me that welding rig and the roll of duct tape. Take that fire axe and guard the hatch with Chad till I am finished here. Chad, you still have that Zippo?"
Eddie was only too happy to handle the heavy rig over and positioned himself on the opposite side of Littlefield who held his M16 at the ready while behind the two ominous clattering, ripping and swearing was to be heard. Eddie watched the hatch and so missed the first movement. And when it caught his attention his mind had a hard time parsing what he saw. Several things that looked like rubber pipes seemed to move by themselves and sneaked forward towards Chris Kyle.
"Chris-look out."
It might have been that all three were well trained, it might have been that anything at this day was so strange that one more thing did not really register. Eddie started to chop the wayward hoses with his axe, the former sniper applied the blowtorch`s flame to two that came too close. Eddie felt something sneak around his torso and squeeze. Within seconds he could no longer draw breath and stars appeared in his vision. Things were really painful in his chest and a strange burning sensation added to it before the pressure was relieved nearly immediately. He was still trying to get his breath back when the sniper aimed his flame somewhere else.
"Be careful where you point that thing man."
"Kiss my ass-but that was the last of them. Sorry, I have to redo, check my six."
The clanking resumed, the attacks did not. When the three men left the compartment they halfheartedly tried to jam the hatch and then started to climb the ladders upwards as quickly as possible.
They ran like rank amateurs-no checking for ambushes, no formation, nothing. No threat Wisconsin`s crew could pose was worse than what was happening below. They had reached the galley, the compartment that would grant them exit when they ran into the crew.
What a strange sight they were, many far too old for service in any navy, often obese or obviously unfit in other ways, clad in old-style uniforms and working diligently at a casualty clearing station. Eddie stopped in his tracks in spite of the doom that awaited them and then watched as the chest of the nearest pseudo-sailor exploded from a hit. Behind him shots went out with grim regularity and there were no misses.
Even with a rifle he had never taken to the range, exhausted and trembling with adrenaline Chris Kyle would not miss at less than 20 meters. That he was killing people who were working on casualties never bothered the sniper, his mind had converted them into targets that needed to be removed. It was Chad Littlefield that opened the hatch and Eddie who signaled them on. The three men crossed the few meters of deck before climbing the railing and jumping into the cold waters below.
Chris was still airborne when things came to a head in the propellant room. Some cloth torn from the sniper`s shirt was dowsed with lighter fuel and had burned during the last minutes. Finally it reached some duct tape which had given way to the flames. When it gave the two pressure hoses that led to the blowtorches gun relaxed the pretzel shape they had been held in and allowed considerably more gas to pass.
The flame from the nozzle became longer-much longer in fact and finally touched the cut-open propellant bag in front of it, which flared up in seconds.
What happened next was technically a conflagration, not an explosion as the propellant burned really really quickly. To the ship and those on board it made no difference. The destroyed aft turret was thrown into the sky on top of a column of flame, the ship pushed downwards and bent like a plastic toy at the hand of children.
Everything seemed to happen in slow motion, the ship buckling and then tearing apart where the turret had been, the fire that consumed steel and flesh with equal ease and the eventual settling of the great ship on the harbors ground.
The three men barely reached the shore with hypothermia and shock trying to claim their lives where a crazed enemy and an exploding battleship had failed. Yet they made it to the shore where somebody found them a couple of blankets and a hot coffee. Chad Littlefield was the first to overcome the shivers sufficiently to speak again.
"Too bad that nobody will ever believe the story about those hoses-and what were they anyway? They moved as if they were alive."
Chris Kyle was not in the mood to talk, he just pulled a length of hose from under his shirt.
"Reckon, maybe they`ll do anyway."
The pillar of flame had hidden Linderex exit from the destroyed ship, the tearing of bulkheads and frames his scream of rage and pain. He had not relinquished his chosen body after a period of deliberation and had no time for any preparations. He was about to be thrown back into the warp in defeat if he could not find a new body very quickly and merge with it. The view below should have warmed his heart. Copious amounts of dirty smoke rose from most ships in the Naval Station, a raging fire consumed the tank farm at the airport and so many vehicles with blue lights denoted the feeble attempts by the humans to save something from their defeat.
Yet even such a victory was not enough, even such carnage was not sufficient and never would be. That his body had been defeated from within had been an added insult to the injury and now he had to search for a new home when he was not at the peak of his abilities and had a limited menu to choose from.
The best choice seemed to be a submarine that had been spared the damage Wisconsin had dealt so liberally. Stealth and surgical attacks were not what Linderex was about but any other choice was worse.
His noncorporeal self had nearly touched the submarines hull when he was stopped in midair. Something grabbed him and pulled him from his chosen destination. He tried to stop that movement, but there was no anchor for him to grab. Hoping to overwhelm whatever tried to reel him in he stopped resisting and instead accelerated towards his enemy. The world became a blur with speed and he crossed the Atlantic in mere minutes. When his final target became visible he went into a rage that would have been frightening for anybody with the ability to perceive it. Before him was an entity the size of a mountain, visible to those with the ability to perceive the energies of the warp. Straddling the castle below him it had wings, claws, a beak and feathers. It also had a rainbow of shifting colors, the eyes of a fly and somehow a big shit-eating grin.
Linderex was hurt by the sudden separation from his body, had depleted his energies to control and drive ship and crew. Yet his hate was great enough to sear worlds, this would be enough to vanquish the traitor that wanted to steal his chance to ascension. He hit the image like a glowing fireball-a caromed right through the illusion into the warpstone trap that had been prepared for him.
He shared the "space" with what was left of Kochinus and screamed in impotent rage while he was drained of whatever energy he had.
