A/N: Turns out a five hour flight does more for creativity than you'd think.
As the world began to awake to the danger it faced, reactions were mixed. Some nations responded with indifference, disbelief, or even glee that the arrogance of the old order had been shaken. Others began to plan, to build defenses, to find out exactly what they were facing. Still others retreated, drawing in on themselves, trusting in their land-based resources and production to sustain them through the storm. What united them, however, was a belief that this was a fluke, the one-in-a-billion draw of the cards. The belief that this would be over by Christmas.
How wrong they were.
- The Abyssal War, pp. 15.
The halls of power were accustomed to the hustle and bustle intrinsic to the daily functions of the United States Federal Government. To those polished floors, the click of one more pair of dress shoes was of no concern, even if those shoes were moving a little faster than strictly normal. Perhaps their wearer was simply late to a meeting. What did it know? It was just a building, and it had more pressing matters, like the seven cups of hot coffee just spilled by an intern.
"Good morning, Admiral!" A surprised marine saluted as the CNO came into view, briefcase tucked under arm and a sheaf of freshly-printed documents in hand. The man returned a distracted salute, pushing past the marine and into the hallway he guarded. The marine stared after him for a moment, rifle held loosely to his chest. "... jackass."
Another marine crisply saluted as the CNO drew near. "Admiral! The other chiefs are waiting."
"Thank you, marine." The man nodded and pushed open the door, letting the CNO in and closing it right after. What went on in there was not for people of his pay grade to know, and frankly, why would he want to when he could get it on the barracks grapevine that night, with all the political bullshit cut out?
"Admiral. Please, have a seat. The National Guard is, unfortunately, not able to be with us today." The Chairman acknowledged his entrance with a nod. The CNO nodded back, breathing a little heavily, and took his seat. Settling into the familiar faux-leather surface, he opened his folders, organized his papers, and braced for the shitstorm.
The CMC started off, direct as always. "Admiral, what the hell just happened?"
"General, if I knew that, I wouldn't be here. I'd be in a plane on my way to Pearl."
"Well, what do we know?"
"This." He'd made copies of the entire report for each Chief, and now handed them out. They took them with identically raised eyebrows, leafing through the papers with practiced ease which belied how they carefully read each section, each paragraph, each sentence, each word, dissecting, analyzing, working through the implications.
"The entire task force?"
"Unless my pilots were blind and their cameras broken, yes, the entire task force." the CNO said, voice acidic enough to corrode Teflon. He stood, shoving his chair back and slamming his hands down on the table. "Gentlemen, this is not the time to be questioning this! This happened! We are past that stage! The question is, what do we do about it?"
"Please, calm yourself." The CSA made a placating motion with his hands. "We're just confused is all. How could a carrier strike group, especially Ford's, let itself be completely destroyed like that?"
"I told you, I don't know!" Starting to pace back and forth, the CNO held up a page of the report. "This is what we do know. About four days ago, the Sampson, along with the JS Myoko and HMAS Warramunga and the convoy they were escorting dropped out of contact with all assets in the AO. Three days later, the Ford's group discovered and rescued their survivors. The interview transcript with the Sampson's highest ranking survivor is in the report."
"Oh, so it is." The Chairman quickly flipped to the transcript and scanned it, eyebrows rising as he went down the page. "Quite an interview. Where is he now?"
"At the bottom of the ocean, along with the Ford."
"Pity. Seemed like a good officer." The CMC set the papers down. "Well then, please continue."
"Thank you." The CNO flipped the page over. "That night, while steaming towards the Gulf of Aden, the task force was engaged by an unknown enemy and completely wiped out."
"An 'unknown enemy'?" The CSAF frowned at that. "How can it be an 'unknown' enemy? If they were attacked, they've got to know by who."
"That's just the thing." The CNO picked up a new piece of paper. "These are parts of transmissions our assets intercepted between a PLAN task force and their South Sea Fleet Headquarters. Take a look at what the Chicoms have to say."
"Huh." The CMC blinked in mild surprise. "They picked up the survivors? Awful courteous of them. Will they get anything sensitive out of them?"
"Whether the Chicoms learn a thing or two about our radar tech is not the issue. What they say the survivors are saying is the issue." He jabbed a finger into the report. "Read page six."
"Really? What's ther…" The Chairman trailed off, rereading the paragraphs in question. The CNO waited, a vindicated glare on his face.
"'Demons'?"
"'Monsters'?"
"Invincible?"
"Radar jamming?"
"What the hell is this bullshit about 'attacking their minds'?" The CMC looked up, all pretense of being unconcerned gone like dust in a wind. "What the hell did your people run across?"
"And there's the heart of the matter." The CNO stood once more. "Gentlemen, one our premier naval formations has just been wiped off the face of the Earth. In the space of a day, we've gone from complete maritime superiority to running for home with our tails between our legs, hoping to God that the monsters from under the bed don't come after us! There are only survivors to fill a lifeboat because the Chinese were kind enough to stop by, and God knows what the hell those poor bastards are spilling out! There is no sign of whatever attacked them, no ships, no planes, no intercepted transmissions, no wreckage, no oil slicks, no even so much as a goddamn wake in the water!"
"What about satellite imagery? Did our recon birds catch anything?"
"All pictures of that location that night are either so corrupted our computers crash just trying to access it, or has been completely wiped from our databases."
"Sabotage? What the hell? Do we have a security breach?!"
"Not to my knowledge, but we should have the spooks look into it. But these photos were new, barely down from the sats. They hadn't even been completely distributed through the NRO, for God's sake!"
"Calm down. Panic will not help us." The CSAF, relatively quiet, now spoke up. "Do the press and public know of this?"
The CNO hesitated, then shook his head. "No, not yet. The Chicoms haven't leaked anything yet, and God knows they could have. In my opinion, the PLAN's just as shaken up about this as we are, that's why they've been so obliging as of late."
"Good. Our first priority is keeping a lid on this thing until we figure out exactly what we are dealing with." The CSAF began listing things off on his fingers. "We can pass off lack of communication from our ships as atmospheric interference and equipment failure. The convoy's not due in port for how many days?"
"Six days."
"When it's missed, we can pass it off as an administrative SNAFU. Docking rights, maybe? Mechanical failure is also on the cards." The Chief nodded in agreement.
"That's possible. The Koreans, Japs and Aussies also lost people in this. Do we have their cooperation?"
"I think we do," the CNO said. "We've lost the most people - I think they'll let us take the lead on this." Before the subject of the Royal Navy could be brought up, he preempted the questions. "The Brits have turned their ships around, on our request. They aren't questioning us."
"Well, that's go-" The Chairman paused. At the end of a table, a figure who hadn't spoken the entire meeting shifted. A soft whisper somehow echoed through the room as if it'd been shouted. The CNO blinked.
"Ah, yes, of course sir. I'll do everything I can to make sure those sailors are returned home. Of course, they are now a security risk, you must understand. If they come back and start blabbering about everything that happened to them, there'll be chaos!"
The figure spoke again, this time more forcefully, and the CNO sighed. "Yes sir. I understand." The figure nodded with satisfaction and sat back, motioning for the Chiefs to continue.
"Well, since that's settled, I believe that we all have work to do. I will speak to SecState and SecDef." The Chiefs nodded as one. Keeping a blissfully unaware public the way it was, securing the cooperation of allied nations, trying to get those sailors back from the Chinese, and above all figuring out what the hell had just happened - there were many sleepless nights ahead.
"And it's O'Connor at bat with two strikes, two outs, no balls. Tension's high - this could be the pitch that breaks the Cardinals. Rojas winding up. The pitch-!"
A crack sounded through the small berthing compartment, accompanied by wild, tinny cheering from the television sitting on a small stool. As O'Connor took off running, a few sailors looked over, their interest briefly piqued, but most remained where they were, staring at the ceiling, the bunk above them, the floor, the walls, or really just any uniform surface. Even those who'd looked up to see the hit quickly looked away.
"Can't someone turn that goddamn thing off?"
"Why don't you do it, Martinez?"
"'Cause fuck you, that's why." One of the sailors groaned and got up from his bunk. He blinked at the unfamiliar set for a moment, trying to figure out where the power button was, before cursing and just pulling the plug from the wall. As the picture disappeared, he plodded back to his bunk and flopped right back down, staring at nothing.
For Baker, the silence hung heavy, dragged down by the weight of the topic that they had all silently agreed not to bring up. The need to say something, say anything, even if it was just a whimper, was nearly suffocating, but if suffocating was her only alternative to going mad, she'd take it. A day ago it might not have been so bad, but having had some time to process and, you know, not being a completely pathetic ball of self-pity had let her move past the incommunicado stage. Now it felt like she needed someone she could just break down in front of and vent, but that was, plainly, not really possible. Her uniform had become with stiff with sweat in the overcrowded compartment, but she'd refused to accept the loaner uniform the Chicoms had offered her. It didn't seem right to take it, and everyone else had apparently agreed.
"Fuck this. I'm going to get food. Who wants to come?"
A sailor had gotten up and was standing at the hatch, looking back at the rest. Did his voice sound familiar? She turned her head slightly to look, and with a blink, she realized it was the same sailor who'd given her that cigarette back on Churchill, what felt like so long ago. She seemed to be meeting him at every turn, didn't she?
The only responses he got were groans, turning-overs, the shuffling of blankets and pillows and one softly murmured 'fuck off'. "No one? Alright, y'all can screw off th-"
"Hold up." She couldn't take it any longer. "I'll come."
"Commander?" The sailor blinked. "Sure, be nice to have some company besides this sorry bunch o' jackasses."
"Don't let the door hitcha on the way out!"
The corridors of the Chinese destroyer - Baker hadn't bothered learning its name - were a little confusing, but for the most part things were the same as on Churchill. Pipes and valves on the ceiling, painted signs on the floors and walls, stairs and ladders, hatchways, panels and lockers of equipment - the major difference was that everything was in Mandarin.
The sailor started talking. "Not a bad place."
Feeling able to make conversation for the first time in a day and a half, Baker chose the most mundane reply she could think of. "Chicoms know how to keep a tidy ship."
"Eh, Church was better."
"Well, of course she was."
"Hmph. Say, weren't you just about to take over for old man Ruiz?"
"Yep. Got myself posted as CIC liaison so I couldn't mess anything up too badly while I learned the ropes."
"Damn poor timing, that."
"You can say that again."
A few minutes later, they found themselves in the ship's mess hall. At this time of day, late in the morning, there were very few people there. Most everyone had had breakfast by now and were going about their duties elsewhere in the ship. For the survivors of the task force, mustering the will to get up and put calories in their bodies had been just a little too much to ask, and Baker found herself rather hungry despite herself.
"No, breakfast, you damn commie. Eggs, toast, bacon, sausage! B-r-e-a-k-f-a-s-t, breakfast, idiot! Do you understand the goddamn words that are coming out of my goddamn mouth?!" Her companion had commenced shouting at the sailor on the mess line, who in return was stubbornly shaking his head, pointing at the posted times on the wall. "I don't give a flying fuck about your goddamn schedules, commie! Just give me some motherfucking food!"
The sailor snapped back something in Chinese, waving his ladle in the man's face. The kitchen crew had paused in their activities to watch the unfolding scene, expressions equal parts amusement and irritation at the antics of the American and the frustration of their comrade. Baker sighed, laying a palm over her face and shaking her head slowly.
Against her will and what she thought was the proper conduct for a commander of the US Navy in such a situation, Baker felt a smile forming on her face for the first time in quite a while. It was an odd feeling, and one that felt distinctly out of place. She didn't want to smile. Fighting it down, she spoke, carefully and controlled. "I don't think he understands you."
"Like hell he doesn't! Who's got some paper?!" Grabbing a napkin, he pulled a pen from his pocket and drew a quick doodle. "See?" Holding the crude drawing up, he pointed out each component with exaggerated deliberation. "See? Bacon. B-a-c-o-n. Eggs. E-g-g-s. Toast. T-o-a-s-t. Sausage. S-a-u-s-a-g-e. I want these things. Kapish?"
"Ben dan mei guo ren, qu zi sha."
"I don't know what you said, but I fucked your mom last night. How's that feel?!"
Baker felt like she had to interject before this sailor got them all thrown back in the sea. "Look, it's ten forty five already. Why don't we just wait until lunch? Not like we've got anything better to do."
"Come on Commander, I gave you that cig, didn't I? Have my back! Besides, it's a matter of principle. I always had toast for breakfast on Church, and I ain't gonna start missin' it now! Even if it's some weird commie rice bread or something, I'm gonna continue the tradition. Feels right, to remember the old girl. I'll eat a meal in her honor."
"That's…" She wanted to say a dumbass fucking tradition. "... one way to do it."
He turned back to the sailor. "And look, now you've got me all sentimental and bullshit, just 'cause you wouldn't give me fucking breakfast! Come on, you gotta have something left in there!"
"Ni wei shen me bu neng gei wo li kai?"
"Is there a problem here?"
"Eep!" Baker jumped and spun, coming face to face with the unamused expression of a Chinese officer. "Jesus Christ!"
His eyes narrowed. "What is happening here, Commander Baker?"
"I, ah..." She glanced down at his rank insignia, but the patterns were indecipherable to her eyes. Her instinct was to salute, but she held off just in case this was some ensign throwing around his weight, pushing around the stupid Americans. "Nothing. My subordinate here was simply trying to acquire breakfast is all."
"It is past the time for zao fan. If your man wants to eat, he will have to wait."
"Please, can't you make an exception? We're hungry, and we... forgot to get up in time." Her excuse sounded exceedingly lame, even to her own ears, so much so that an almost irresistible urge to stuff her foot in her mouth sprang to life before the words had completely left her mouth.
"'Forgot to get up in time'."
"Yes." Oh well, it wasn't like this man's respect for her could get any lower. Wasn't like she gave a fuck. "I don't know how you treat psych cases in the PLAN, but my men have just been through hell. Our ships just got shot out from under us by an enemy which attacked our minds. We've been shot, blown up, cooked alive, we're confused, we're lost, and frankly it's a goddamn miracle that we're not all complete shivering trauma wrecks! I am this fucking close to fucking losing it!
That messes a person up something good, and you're damned lucky we were the fall guys. So before you go judging us, how about you have some sympathy first?" As she finished, it felt like a small bit of weight had lifted off her back, and she realized that she'd inadvertently spilled her feelings out to this random chicom officer. Not as good as a proper shrink, but fuck it, if that was what it took…
"You will refrain from such crude colloquialisms while communicating with anybody on this ship," the officer replied primly and icily. The steel in his voice made Baker feel like she was back in the academy, her every move being judged, critiqued and deemed inadequate. "Discipline is the most important asset of this ship. Breaches of it are not something I treat lightly, even in the smallest of cases. If I allow mealtimes to slip, what is next? Perhaps the shift schedules could be relaxed a bit, or perhaps the men could wake up a little later and go to bed just a little earlier. And then what?" He shook his head, and Baker shrunk even more. "However, I happen to have
some sympathies for you and your men."
"O-oh, very well. Wait, what?"
"Excuse me." Pushing the sailor aside - a motion which garnered an indignant storm of crude colloquialisms, the officer walked up to the mess line. The man manning the ladle saluted as the officer approached, all irritation replaced by discipline and proper protocol. "Rang ta men chi."
"Shao xiao? Dan shi, yi zing guo le shi jian."
"Wo zhi dao. Rang ta men chi."
"An zhao ni de ming ling." The sailor opened up one of the deep-bottomed trays, a puff of steam rising into the air as he did so. His ladle made an audible scrape against the bottom of the container, and he withdrew it full of a white porridge, small chunks of vegetables and meat floating within. Baker's companion had gone and grabbed a bowl, into which the sailor promptly dumped the porridge. Another two ladlefuls followed. "Ni de zao fan. Qu chi ba. Xi wang hui gei ni qia zhu."
"What the fuck is this?! I wanted bacon and eggs, motherfucker, bacon and eggs! Not fucking dog food in day-old jiz-"
"Sailor!" The man stiffened, a reaction Baker hadn't realized her voice could provoke. "You will be gracious to our hosts! That is your breakfast! You will eat it, and you will enjoy it! Am I clear?!"
"Sir yes sir!" The sailor belted out in perfect boot camp cadence. "Crystal clear, sir!" he added, just for good measure.
"Very good." She dismissed him to eat with a wave, which he proceeded to do, though not before shooting his Chinese counterpart a baleful glare. Sighing, Baker grabbed her own bowl and walked up to the counter. "I'll get what he got."
"Ben dan de mei guo ren, ni men dou feng le. Ai, wo de ma a." Taking her bowl, the sailor dumped a portion of the porridge in and thrust it back at her. "Gei ni de."
"Thank you." Taking the opportunity to work on Sino-American relations, she favored the man with what she thought was her most winningest smile. The only reaction it got was a roll of the eyes and a dismissive gesture with a dripping ladle. Slightly miffed, Baker made her way over to the table her companion had sat down at.
"How's the food?"
"You tell me." The sailor hadn't eaten a bit, instead opting to poke at the porridge doubtfully with his spoon. "Commander, what is this shit?"
"Congee, if I'm not mistaken. Had some once, it's good. Try it," she said, spooning some into her mouth as she did. In reality it was bland, the meat leathery and the vegetables soggy, but what the man didn't know wouldn't hurt him. Besides, with all that had happened to her, a bit of schadenfreude was what the doctor prescribed.
"If ya say so..." He eyed the bowl for a few more seconds. Then, with one swift movement, he picked it up and poured it down his throat, Adam's apple moving as he swallowed. Baker could only stare, spoon hanging limp from her fingers, as the entire thing disappeared into his gullet.
"... you alright?"
The sailor sat there for a moment, smacking his lips, eyes pointing down in contemplation. Baker was struck with a thought - what if he actually liked the stuff?
"Good God that is nasty!" Coughing and gagging, he pounded on his chest, eyes bulging as he wheezed. "Commander, you lied to me!"
"It was funny." She continued to eat, taking a small bit of pleasure from the way he stared at her, unable to believe that someone could so calmly consume the sludge he'd just unwittingly put into his body. Okay, so maybe she enjoyed his stunned more than a bit. Perhaps she enjoyed it a lot. Maybe even more than was strictly appropriate, but could she be blamed? It took her mind off things, and that was all she wanted from life right now. Something to take her mind off things.
"So that was breakfast. Is Churchill feeling honored?"
"Not funny, Commander." Having finished cleaning his tongue with a napkin, the sailor glared at her. "Not really funny. She was your ship, too."
"Sorry, sorry. I shouldn't treat this so lightly."
"Aw hell, now you're gettin' depressed all over again." He wagged a finger at her. "Don't think I didn't see you lookin' all down in that bunk of yours! And when we first came aboard. God, anyone else'd think that you were a zombie, that's how dead you looked! Whatever happened out there, it wasn't your fault, alright? Nobody could've predicted that! Well, maybe the Admiral, but he's dead now ain't he?"
"If you say so."
"Would another cigarette help?"
"Possibly."
"There will be no smoking on this ship." They both nearly jumped from their seats. The Chinese officer had been sitting four tables away, silently watching them eat. So silently, in fact, that they'd actually forgotten he'd been there. He now approached, frowning, with two other sailors behind him. Unlike him, however, these two carried assault rifles.
"What's the idea here?"
"Commander Baker, if you'll come with me. I wish to speak with you."
"Now hold up a minute here! You can't just take her and piss off like that! Tell us what this is about!"
"I wish to speak with the highest ranking officer present. That is Commander Baker. Is this not a reasonable request?" Turning her head so she was out of view of the officer, Baker mouthed to the sailor while discreetly chopping her hand across her throat.
Drop it.
"Ugh, fine! Have it your way! I ain't about to argue with the guys with machine guns."
"A wise decision." The officer motioned to her. "I realize this is sudden, but please come with me."
"Okay." Composing her expression, Baker stood up, mentally readying herself for what she'd known was coming and dreaded - the interrogation. After all, the Chinese had dozens of sailors, all of whom had served on the United States, South Korean, and, if memory served her, Japanese Navys' most advanced ships, out of reach of their respective governments, completely at their mercy. Why wouldn't they grill them for everything they had? Frankly, Baker thought as she went over her interrogation training, it was a miracle of restraint that they hadn't thrown each of them in a dimly lit room, tied them to a chair, beat them until they spilled every bit of intel they'd ever learned or heard, then dumped them over the side and listed them as a 'dead due to wounds suffered in battle'. After all, who'd be able to dispute that? Not their fellow crew members, who'd most certainly be told they were being taken for 'priority medical treatment' or something along those lines. Not the Navy or DoD, who'd be reliant on information fed to them by the very same people who'd be doing the dumping.
"Hey, Commander, it was nice seeing you again! Catch ya later! Don't let the commies eat you!" Waving to her, her companion made a strange contrast with the grim-faced assault rifle-wielding sailor standing next him, waiting to escort him, probably back to the berthing compartment.
Mustering a weak smile that most certainly did not correlate with what she was feeling, she returned the wave. "You as well." As she lowered her hand, it occurred to her that that had not been a particularly commander-like thing to do, but really, at this point, who cared? Her career was pretty much over.
"I am glad that there is a voice of reason present among your people." The officer turned on his heel and motioned for her to follow. Any thoughts of disobedience were quickly eliminated when the barrel of the assault rifle moved just a bit in her general direction.
"Don't think this means we're pals. What do you want?"
"It is as I said. Merely to talk."
Name, rank, social security. Keep it simple, Baker. "What about? Nice weather today."
"You have not been on deck the entire time you have been aboard."
"That's not creepy at all."
"I am glad you think so." An unremarkable hatch, labeled with more words Baker couldn't read, stuck out from the wall. It was firmly locked. The sailor slung his rifle and took hold of the wheel, giving it a couple good turns. He then pulled the hatch open, unslung his rifle, and nodded to the officer. "Xie xie. Dai zai zhe."
"Shi, xiao shao."
"In here, Commander." The officer gestured into the dimly lit compartment the hatch revealed. "After you."
Okay, I get it. This is the part where they tell me to become a double agent or die. The screen cuts to black right before I can decide, and the next time I'm seen I'm passing classified intel to a Chicom agent. I'll be discovered by my friends, but it'll turn out that I was actually giving them fake intel. I'm just about to reveal what I've learned, but a gunfight breaks out. At the end, I'm lying in a pool of my own blood. With my final breath, I reveal what I know, allowing my friends to defeat the villain and redeem myself in the process, then die as sad music plays in the background. It's all cool, I got this planned out.
"Commander? Are you still with us?"
"Oh, uh, yes. Right away." Hoping the darkness would conceal her blush, she stepped into the compartment. Though the darkness quickly eliminated any hope she had of seeing anything, she could hear the officer stepping in after her, followed by a hollow boom as the hatch shut. There she remained in awkward silence, fear steadily creeping into the smallest, most private corners of her mind as a soft voice emerged from the gloom.
The officer said something in response, prompting a more forceful query from the voice. He shook his head in negative, saying something probably much the same.
"Thank you, lieutenant. Please leave us." The man stiffened, saluted, and reopened the hatch, allowing a meager ray of light to spill in as he retreated. It then closed once more, leaving Baker with only herself and the voice for company.
"Commander Baker?"
"Commander Amanda Baker, United States Navy, 88-103-AB." And that's all you're getting out of me, asshole.
A long-suffering sigh. "Why must you Americans be so dramatic? This is not an interrogation, despite appearances."
Could've fooled me. "Commander Amanda Baker, United States Navy, 88-103-AB."
"Perhaps it would help if I turned on the lights." Before she could reply with a snappy comeback, her vision was stolen, replaced by searing, scorching pain. "Is that better?"
"Commander Amanda Baker, United States Navy, 88-103-AB," she grunted, shielding her eyes - or at least, the shriveled, burnt out husks which used to be her eyes. "Asshole," she added for good measure.
"Now, onto business, shall we?" The light moved so that it was no longer directly in her face, allowing her to see her conversation partner for the first time. A slightly built, business-suited man sat behind a small metal table. His face was the kind of hard one gets from watching people suffer daily and turning away from it, and a thin mustache sat above an equally thin-set mouth.
"You're not a sailor," she blurted out, the first thing which came to mind spilling out. Golly gee whiz, Commander Obvious! Whatever will you come up with next? Oh, maybe that water is wet!
"I never claimed to be," he responded without missing a beat in polished, Berkeley-accented English. "I am merely a person interested in the well-being of you and your people."
"Bullshit."
"Perhaps. But what else are you to believe?"
"That you're a spy? Here to pry all the secrets out of us while we're too shaken up to realise it? Well, you're out of luck. Take me to the torture chambers - I know nothing!" There was more bravado in her voice than she felt, but she managed to stop it from quavering.
"As I said, you Americans. So dramatic." He laid a piece of paper on the table. "Please look at this."
Every instinct of Baker's was screaming that this was a trap, that there was anthrax in the paper or it would catch fire or something. Against her every instinct, she picked it up.
"That is one of the photos taken by one of our destroyers of the remnants of one of the planes your ships shot down." The man spread his hands. "It is the only one I am showing you because it is the only one which survives. The rest have been corrupted beyond recovery or simply disappeared from our computers."
Baker didn't hear him. The sight of one of the enemy aircraft, even floating broken in the sea and in a photograph, was enough to send her mind to some very bad places. Her pupils dilated, her breathing sped up, and for a second she was back in Churchill's bridge, desperately trying to coax AEGIS to function while the world burned and blew up around her.
"Commander Baker? Commander?"
Dammit, girl! "What?!" she snapped, shoving the memories of fire and blood into a deep, dark hole.
"... nothing." The man reached for the photograph, which Baker shoved back into his hands. She was glad to be rid of it - just looking at the damned thing made her feel dirty, made her feel wrong. Those things were incompatible with existence.
"Alright. So you got a photo. Why do I care?"
"You care because this is a matter of concern for both of our countries. You and the men with you are, as of now, the only living humans to have had direct combat experience against these gui." He looked her in the eye. "I am here to ask you a question, and to deliver a warning. Which would you like first?"
"Question."
"Very well. I expect more than name, rank, service and Social Security." He coughed lightly into the back of his hand. "I have overheard some very strange comments on what you and your men experienced before you were attacked. My question: how would you characterise the, er, 'mental assault' you experienced prior to the battle?"
She responded without missing a beat. "Like something was tearing at my mind - no, more than that. At my being, at my… soul. Like it was trying to rip me out of me, and chew me to shreds in the process while setting me on fire. And it was all inside, you know? It was inside me," she finished, feeling distinctly foolish. If the man thought so as well, however, he gave no indication.
"Thank you. And now, the warning." Making a final note on a notepad with a pen, he once again looked her in the eyes. "There are those out there who would have you silenced, have your experiences buried and your knowledge, however scant, shut away, never to see the light of day. I am not one of them. Of course, you are free to judge the truthfulness of that statement, but it stands."
Baker couldn't speak for a moment. "Why? I'm just some officer in the US Navy. Why would anyone come after my people and me?"
"Because they wish to see the current order upended, the status quo made anew with them at the top." The man snorted with disdain, the first emotion she'd seen out of this guy. "The shortsighted idiots. They cannot see beyond the ends of their dicks, cannot see that the current order is what allows the facade of civilization to function. If the powerful nations are rendered helpless, who will fill the void? Some tinpot African dictator with an undisciplined, drugged-up tribal mob for an army? A guerilla group hiding in the jungles? Perhaps they dream of a worldwide revolution of the proletariat!" He snorted again, in amusement. Baker chuckled nervously, unsure of what to do but to follow along. "That is why I am warning you to watch your backs. Until we have more people with more experience, you have, like it or not, become the most important intelligence asset in the world. Treat yourselves as such."
"I… I…" Stepping backwards, her hand caught the door wheel. "I have to go."
"Feel free. But one last thing. Do something to get your men out of their bunks, take their minds elsewhere. The world will soon have need of them. It cannot use depressed, comatose zombies."
She finally got the door open. Muttering a hasty farewell, she practically bolted outside, leaving the hatch to slam shut behind her. This was too much, she needed to breathe, to think-
"Guo an bu." The words were said half with reverence, half as a curse. She turned to find herself face to face with the officer from before, both he and the sailor with the rifle staring at her as if she'd grown another head. "You met with the Ministry of State Security. And you are alive?"
"Yes... ?"
"Very well." Sounding somewhat dubious of her claim, the officer motioned for her to follow. "Come. I will take you back to your quarters."
It turned out she hadn't been very far from that crowded little room. Her smoking buddy looked up as she entered.
"All hail the conquering hero. Did they put bamboo under your fingernails?"
"Worse. They forced me to listen to a recording of you." That got a faux-hurt look and a round of soft chuckles in response. Footsteps faded away behind her, the officer and sailor leaving the strange American to do strange American things. "What's new here?"
No one responded. Still down, huh? It was tempting to join them, but she remembered that strange man's words. He's right. Think, Baker! Snap them out of it!
"Hey Commander, what's up? Looking mighty concentrated there."
"Just thinking."
"Thinking, eh sir? Must be hard work."
"So I've heard…" Not the snappiest comeback, but she was too busy mulling options over.
"Well, don't think too hard. Thinking's work, and if you work too hard you won't be able to think about anything else."
I got it. "You know, I had a friend by the name of Bukowski. Once said the same. He's dead now," she said, remembering the tactical officer's never-ending griping with a sad smile. "But he was right. Still is."
The sailor propped himself up on his elbow, many of the others also looking round. "What's the deal? Commander, what's happening?"
"I'll tell you what's happening. Finding the chains she knew had to be there, she took one on each hand. "This means that…" With all her strength, she tugged down on both chains, and with a startled about, fourteen men spilled out of their suddenly vertical bunks and onto the floor.
"It's PT time! MOVE, ASSHOLES! GET YOUR ASSES ON DECK! WANNA FEEL MY BOOT IN YOUR ASS?! JUST STAY RIGHT WHERE YOU ARE!"
As sailors scrambled by her on varying numbers of limbs, she stalked through the compartments, conveniently located close together, and began booting more people from their places. Choruses of complaints, curses and oaths against her ancestors in various languages assaulted her, but they were music to her ears. For her, they meant that her men had a focus, a task, something to distract them, even if that thing was plotting the most creative way to kill her and conceal her body. Apparently her sailor friend realised what she was up to, for as he ran by her he shot her a half-rueful, half-grateful glance.
"What is going on here?!" The officer reappeared, understandably pissed.
"Sir, would you mind if we used your flight deck for exercise?"
"What? No, I-"
"Thanks, you're the best!" As she ran after her men, angry Chinese shouting chasing her, a thought occurred to her. Perhaps this was what being in command was. Giving her subordinates direction and purpose even when she herself had none.
Well, if that was all, she thought as she ran, perhaps she could do this commander thing after all. At the thought, a small smirk spread across her face, a smile no angry Chinese officer could erase.
"Well?"
"Well what?"
The CNO sighed in frustration. "Have the Chinese agreed to return the survivors?"
"They're shipping them to Shanghai as we speak."
"And then?"
The Secretary of State made a vague motion with his hand. "That's our responsibility. We're chartering some planes to bring them to Japan. Koreans, Japanese and Australians are doing the same for their men. Of course, the PRC is billing us for the cost of keeping the survivors fed and housed."
"Naturally." The CNO frowned and looked at the map affixed to the wall. "Shanghai? Why not Hong Kong?"
"If you had Chinese sailors on your ships, is the first thing you show them Detroit? Same idea, they want to present a good face, not that little independence movement they've got brewing down there. Besides, I don't think dumping four destroyers into that mess without an explanation is going to be the most stabilizing of forces."
"Touche."
"Also, they just got that little naval base of theirs going, convenient spot to dump and guard a shipload of foreign military personnel."
CNO nodded, conceding the reasoning. Seeing that that topic had been closed, SecState fired off a question of his own.
"As long as you are here, I wish to know something. What have you found out?"
Sighing, CNO held up a weary hand. "Before you say anything, we have our highest level assets working on this. If there's anything to be found, they'll find it."
"Admiral, it's been a week. They're almost in port, for God's sake. It's a miracle nothing has leaked, but people are asking questions. Loved ones have dropped out contact, shipments haven't arrived, ships haven't been sighted, and I need more information so I can control this thing when it finally blows up in our faces."
"I know that!" the CNO shouted. The two men went quiet as his voice reverberated, listening for the sound of approaching feet.
"... Admiral, do strive to keep your voice down."
"It's just not that easy to gather intel." The CNO ran a hand over his chin, grimacing internally at the rough stubble which scraped his skin. "There's nothing, and I mean nothing. Not even a goddamned body or plane wreck we can ID! The Chicoms know so we know that they shot down at least twenty of whatever attacked them, but there's not so much as a goddamn life jacket!"
SecState leaned forward, elbows resting on his desk. The CNO knew the move was meant to subtly put pressure on him, and as the smaller man stared him down he conceded that it was rather effective. "Are we even sure there was something there that night? How do we know the PLAN didn't just take the opportunity to wipe out a good fraction of our naval strength and then just blame it on these… 'monsters', as you've told me they call them?"
The CNO sighed, wishing more than ever that SecState kept something stronger than coffee in his office. Wondering how to put his response, he looked out the bulletproof window. It was an overcast day in Washington. He couldn't see it, but the presence of the Pentagon laid heavy on his mind. Soon he'd have to return to his own office, calling in favors, making promises, diverting every intelligence asset that couldn't be spared to the Gulf of Aden. In between angry shouting matches over the secure phone in which he had to get agents, analysts and equipment allocated to him while not revealing why they were being allocated, he'd receive reports from officers equally as busy keeping their own sections in the dark as they worked over what scant information they possessed, trying to figure out just what the hell could have put a US Navy carrier battlegroup half a mile below the ocean without leaving so much as a missile fragment - and all that without once before showing up on the Navy's to-watch radar. It was that last part that made this next confession all the harder to deliver. Taking one last gulp of coffee, aiming one last look at the cloud cover and the oblivious city it hung above, he turned to face SecState.
"We know, because that night - just for a brief moment - one of our outposts in Yemen detected - briefly - a large formation of unidentifiable surface craft in the Gulf of Aden. For the rest of the night, their arrays were completely blanked out, jammed, putting out garbage returns or no returns at all, but for a minute they cleared up, and showed a large formation of aircraft closing on the Ford battlegroup's position from the north." He clasped his hands together and met SecState's eyes as steadily as he could. "The Chicoms were to the battlegroup's southeast."
SecState's only reaction was to blink. The veteran diplomat's reaction was more unnerving than if he'd flipped the table and begun shouting, and the CNO was reminded of why he'd decided that the military, not politics, was the best way of serving the US of A. Damned near inhuman, he thought, subtly tugging his shirt to loosen his suddenly too-tight collar.
"We knew of this attack before it happened?"
"Barely six minutes before, they were too busy trying to figure out whether or not the contacts were even real to tell Ford." His lips twisted into a bitter smile. "Of course, I suppose that hardly matters, does it? We've lost contact with that outpost as well."
"Quite," said SecState drily, lifting his coffee to his mouth. "And does this moment of illumination tell us anything?"
The CNO nodded. "There were hundreds of contacts. The Reds and Chicoms don't have enough carriers combined to even carry that many, forget about launching that kind of… horde."
"So you're saying it was neither."
"That's right."
SecState sighed. The CNO started as he stood from his seat with practiced leisure. "I see. I suppose you have much work to do. I won't hold you any longer."
The CNO stood as well, relief flooding through him at being released with his ass intact. "Thank you, Mr. Secretary."
"Good day, Admiral." The CNO turned to leave, trying not to seem too eager. His mind was already reviewing what he had to do that night and framing the apologetic call to his wife that would result. However, right as his hand touched the doorknob, a voice behind him stopped him cold.
"Admiral, if I may, a personal question."
"Mr. Secretary?"
"Do you think we can beat this thing?"
The CNO had not anticipated this. He wondered how to answer - surely SecState would see through any lies he made. Unfortunately, all answers along the lines of 'yes' were lies of the highest order - but so was 'no'. He just didn't know.
"We have not lost yet, sir."
"Thank you Admiral." As he closed the door, he caught one last glimpse of SecState, hands clasped behind his back, silhouetted against the grey light weakly trickling in through the window. Then, with a boom, the door closed.
An official car, a tastefully discreet BMW, waited outside the State Department. Ignoring the gawkers staring at his uniform, he opened the door and slid inside. His aide nodded in greeting as he entered. Normally they would have engaged in some small talk, but the normally cheery man's grim expression killed any desire the CNO might have had for chit-chat.
"Sir."
"What's happened?"
"It's Admiral Lorentz, sir." With a jolt, the car pulled away from the curb and joined the flow of traffic.
The CNO frowned. "George Washington? What does he want?"
"It's that storm they reported last communication. The big one?"
"I remember. We were afraid it was going to hit our bases in the Philippines, right?"
"Yes sir. It's passed now - our bases are clear. That's not the problem though, sir. Lorentz was going to have his ships seal up and ride it out, but he hasn't reported since it's passed.
The CNO's frown deepened. Checking to make sure his driver was - as always - studiously pretending nothing was happening in his backseat, he leaned in close to his aide. "Maybe their comms were damaged."
His aide's expression warped into a dark, ironic sort of smile that sent chills down the CNO's spine. "Oh, their comms were damaged alright. A C-130 out of Guam reported a large patch of debris in the water. An hour later, a long range patrol from the Philippines spotted life rafts and people in them. Accounting for ocean currents and time elapsed since last comm…" The aide hesitated, clearly trying to find words.
"Spit it out."
"Both debris and life rafts match Lorentz's last reported location. Sir."
The CNO nodded, sitting back into his seat with a heavy sigh. Suddenly, the soft cushions didn't seem so comfortable any longer. "I suppose it's too much to hope that the storm's dissipated."
"Yes sir."
Deep down, he already knew the answer. He asked anyway, hoping that, for just this instant, his instinct had led him astray. "And where is it heading now?"
"Right for Shanghai, sir."
"Those poor bastards just can't catch a break, can they?" The CNO, career officer, four star admiral, direct military advisor to the President of the United States, head of the most powerful naval force the Earth had ever seen, had never felt more powerless than he did now, over the mysterious plight of an insignificant handful of lowly sailors. "God help them all. Driver!"
His driver's shoulders seemed to slump as he realized that he wouldn't be going home on time that night. "Yes, Admiral?"
"1600 Penn, ASAP!"
"Yes sir."
"Williams."
"Yes, Admiral?" Already knowing what his boss wanted, his aide held up the secure phone set which travelled in his briefcase, among other things.
"Get me the president."
"Whoaaaa…"
'Whoa', indeed. As the lights of Shanghai came into view, Baker tried her best not to be impressed. That she failed bothered her less than she thought it ought to.
"Would you look at that… "
"Shut your trap, Mason." Lining the rails of the ship, the sailors admired the nighttime cityscape. Shanghai at night was quite the sight. Even some of the Japanese survivors, who'd made it a point not to talk to their Chinese counterparts, were making what sounded like appreciative comments. Or they could have been talking about how much cooler Yokosuka was. She couldn't speak fucking moon-rune.
"Don't get too excited, guys. We're going straight to the airport. No shore leave for you." A general groan of disappointment arose from the English speaking personnel. "No bellyaching. Soon as this is over we'll be on a flight to Yokosuka, and we can all drown our sorrows in women and alcohol." And try to forget what the hell just happened to us. Hell, maybe we'll even get some answers!
A couple of Korean sailors glanced at her as she snorted at the thought. She waved them off, resting her weight against the railing and enjoying the light sea breeze, taking in the city lights as they passed by on the way to the port.
"You know sir, we need to stop meeting like this."
"Huh?" she said, turning to find a carton of cigarettes in front of her face. "You again?"
"It's fate, sir. We're destined for one another."
"Don't get your hopes up." Taking one of the cancer sticks, she accepted the light and puffed. "The chicoms don't want us smoking up their ship."
"So I've heard, sir. Fuck 'em. If I've done the math right, I'm entitled to another week of wallowing in self pity before I have to start acting like a responsible adult and sailor again." Blowing out a smoke cloud, he grinned at her. "Women and alcohol, eh?"
"I'll have you know that I am still a commander of the United States Navy. Don't think I won't dock your pay."
"Then you'd better start acting like one, eh sir?" He took another pull on the cigarette. "You're getting much too comfortable with us peasants. That's fine and dandy for now, but the nobility back in the world frowns on one of their own associating with the hoi-polloi, you know?"
"Maybe I'm not nobility. Maybe I'm just a sailor who's gotten lost, got too much thrust on her too fast and is just trying not to make things fall apart more than they have already." Her self-teasing smile felt brittle, and it must have showed, because the sailor's grin quickly disappeared.
"Hey, with all due respect sir, cut that out. I don't think you're doing a worse job than anybody else would have." He shrugged, twirling his smoke and sending ashes tumbling down the side of the ship. "We haven't gone completely mad, even though the world seems to have. I think that gives you some credit, holding us together."
"Even through PT?"
The sailor winced, hand reaching up to rub his shoulder. "Even through PT, sir."
"I suppose that'll have to do." Taking one more drag off her smoke, she stubbed it on the railing and dropped it into the water. "Wonder if fish like nicotine?"
"You've got a cruel mind sir, corrupting innocent marine life like that."
"Hmph." Sensing the conversation was over, the sailor gave her a salute in farewell. She absentmindedly returned it, then made her way through the crowd towards the bow. She was squeezing in between two burly Japanese sailors when a thought occurred to her. Muttering apologies on top of apologies, she exfiled and turned back around. Still by the railing, the man noticed her coming back towards him and looked up.
"Hey, sailor! I never got your n-"
"You're Baker, aren't you?" A very distinct accent sounded from behind her, interrupting her just long enough for the crowd to shift and her target to disappear. Cursing her luck, se turned, eyebrow raised, to face a sailor with the colors of the Royal Australian Navy on his shoulder.
"Yeah. And you are… ?"
"Lieutenant Peter Brown, sir. I never did get the chance to say thanks for pullin' us outta the drink, and figured I'd better before we went our separate ways."
""Oh. Well, you're welcome."
"Anytime you're in Melbourne, stop by Robinson's and mention my name. They're mates of mine, they'll fix you up right." He grinned and shot her a thumbs up. "Far's I'm concerned, you're all my mates now, and mates of my mine always welcome each other."
"That's… quite nice of you. Thank you."
"Don't mention it. Least I could do for dragging you sorry lot into our mess."
Baker winced at the memories, still raw and painful despite the time she'd had to come to terms with them. Swallowing down a hard, bitter lump in her throat, she managed a weak sort of half-smile. "I'm fine. It's you I'm worried about. You spent, what, two days in the water?"
"Three. It's nothing, us Aussies are built of tougher stuff than that." He moved a hand in a dismissive wave. "'Sides, I'm using this as an opportunity for, whaddya call it, broadening my cultural horizons? My new Korean mates are quite nice chaps, when they aren't badmouthing the Japanese. Vice versa for them."
"That's…" She thought for a moment. "... a fresh way of looking at things."
He shrugged. "We each do our own thing to keep from hurting. For you Americans it's PT, for me it's finding common ground with the exotic peoples of the Far East." His expression darkened into a scowl. "'Course, what'd really help is if they put me on the first ship going back out, so I can show those cunts that did this what it means to fuck with an Australian."
"Hm. You watch yourself out there."
"Likewise, sir. And thanks again." Tossing a final salute, he moved off, hands in his pockets. Baker gazed after him for a bit.
"Commander Baker." She managed not to jump off the ship at the reappearance of the Chinese officer.
"What?!"
"We have nearly arrived. Please prepare your men for debarkment."
"Jesus, you didn't have to stop my heart just to tell me that!"
"I'm sorry?"
"Nevermind, nevermind!" Angry at herself for being so jumpy - she was fucking safe, if only her body would get the goddamned message - she waved him off and fixed up her uniform. Get ready for debarkation. Right. "Hey, excuse me! Everyone listen up!"
Either she was too quiet, her voice hadn't carried, or she'd just been plain ignored. Her cheeks flushed red with anger. Dammit, she was a commissioned officer of the United States Navy, and she would not be treated like this! Feeling the Chinese officer's gaze on the back of her neck, she took a deep breath.
"HEY! FUCKHEADS! LISTEN THE FUCK UP, OR GOD HELP ME YOU'LL WISH YOU NEVER JOINED THE NAVY!"
It took all of her breath, but it did the trick. Breathing heavily, she aimed a steely glare at the suddenly quiet crowd, matching each of their stares with one of her own.
"Listening? Good! We're pulling into port now, so make your sorry asses ready to debark! You will follow all lawful instructions given by the Chinese, and if I so much as smell disobedience you'll wish you were in the gulag! Am I clear?!"
A satisfying unison chorus of sir yes sir!s rang out, made slightly ragged by the belated joining of the non-english speaking sailors as others translated her orders. Unfortunately, much of the effect was lost in translation, but it was a small price to pay.
"Alright, get below and grab whatever stuff you have! And stay out of the way! Report back in fifteen minutes! Dismissed!"
The sailors jumped to it, filing back into the ship accompanied by the exact amount of griping and malingering mandated by standard operating procedure. Baker could feel an approving nod aimed in her direction before the officer disappeared, probably off to scare the living daylights out of some other poor sailor.
"Pretty impressive, sir. I see smoking hasn't done your lungs too much harm."
"You again?"
The now-familiar smirk reappeared on the sailor's face. "Me again, sir."
"Don't you have anything to bring up?"
"Lost everything when Churchill went down, and like hell I'm using some toxic plastic commie shit to replace it. Sir."
"Fair enough." She waved away the offered carton - she'd ruined her lungs enough for one night - and made a sweeping gesture out towards the slowly approaching lights of the city. "Look. Isn't it beautiful when you're up close, and you can see all the individual lights on in the windows? And you realize that each one of those lights is a person with a life, a story, hopes and dreams."
"Sure is, sir." The sailor spat over the side. "And all these people have no idea of what's out there. What's going to be coming for them."
Baker looked at him. "What do you mean by that?"
"We were just the start. All those disappearing ships that made the news? Then the convoy? Then the Ford? Us?" He spat again. "I've read enough to know what this is, sir. It's a declaration of war, commander. Japan just hit Pearl Harbor, Hitler just marched into Poland, Kim just rolled over the 38th Parallel, and they aren't about to wait for us to come out of denial before hitting again. And frankly, Shanghai is as good of a place to do it as any." He flipped off the water and took his weight off the railing. "The sooner I'm out of here, the better."
"Way to ruin my mood." Baker rubbed her hand over her face, letting out a deep breath. "And you'd better pray to every god you know that you're wrong."
"Believe me sir, I will." Looking up at the sky, a wistful sigh escaped him. "Can you imagine being a flyboy, sir? Just being able to go up and up, twenty thousand kilos of steel behind you and the whole world below you, away from all this? God, I think I get why those Hornet boys are always so damn smug. If I could do machs away from my problems, I'd be too."
"Well, with any luck, we'll be up there in a few hours." Baker frowned as she thought about that. "When we get to Yokosuka, we'll have to let someone know what's happened. They have to have noticed something's gone wrong, but they can't possibly understand what they're really in for."
The sailor laughed. "That's your job, sir. Me, I'm going AWOL and hitting every bar in a fifty klick radius. Send the MPs after my ass once I'm done." Sobering up and glancing at the approaching dock, he spoke sideways. "By the way Commander, a while ago, what did you want to ask me?"
"Ah, yeah. I never got your name."
"That's it, sir? I'm that case, I'm-"
His mouth formed words, but in that moment the ship's horn blasted, drowning out any chance she had at hearing. Cursing like... well, like a sailor, she turned just in time to catch an earful of the three harsh electronic tones which blared out over the PA speakers. A series of orders in Mandarin followed, probably instructions to make the ship ready for docking if the grey concrete piers she saw pulling up alongside were any indication. This wild notion was further reinforced when the ship, having been gradually slowing since Shanghai came into view, finally came to a stop, followed by the heavy splash of an anchor going into the water. Spotlights switched on, illuminating the destroyer and the insides of Baker's eyeballs. Finally, as lines began to fly from the ship to the handlers on shore, gangways reached out towards them with the clank of metal and gears.
Her sailors began to file out in deck and down the gangways, escorted by their assault-rifle wielding counterparts towards where whom Baker supposed were Chinese marines waited, equally armed and grim-faced.
"Well sir? Shall we get off this rustbucket?"
"After you, sailor."
She hefted a small duffle bag - brought up earlier - over her shoulder and started towards the gangway, friend-of-sorts in tow. Her pace brisk, she quickly overtook the other sailors, returning the salutes and greetings her passage garnered. It felt a little weird to be recognized as the de-facto commander of the ragtag little group, especially considering her complete uselessness up until a few days ago, a thought she voiced to her friend-of-sorts.
"It's only natural, sir. You got things organized and gave people some routine and direction when they had none. 'Course they'd look to you."
"Even so-" She stopped dead as a shiver of dread used her spinal column as a xylophone. Whipping around, she saw the same shudder rippling through the debarking sailors. It was even more pronounced among the Chinese, several of whom dropped whatever they were holding on their hands.
An unlit cigarette fell out of her friend-of-sort's open mouth as he slowly turned his head to her. Fear written in his eyes, he stuttered as he spoke. "W-what the fuck was tha-"
"Give me those!" Snapping out of her paralysis, Baker grabbed hold of the nearest sailor and yanked a pair of binoculars from his neck. Over his protests, she held them up, scanning the horizon beyond the destroyer's stern. The dark storm clouds hanging low over where the Earth curved away from view, barely visible in the dark of night, suddenly seemed menacing and hostile to her very existence.
"Commander? What is it?"
"... nothing." Swallowing hard, she handed the binoculars back. "It's just… for a moment…"
"What, sir?" As she turned her deer-in-headlights expression towards him, realization spread across the sailor's face, followed by pure, unadulterated horror. "Don't tell me it's-"
"It's not." Baker shook her head with vehemence, more to rid her head of that growing, primal fear. "It can't be. Not here."
"Then what-"
"I don't know. Hey!" she shouted at the Chinese officer, just appearing next to her. "Get us to the airport, quick! We've got flights to catch!"
"Y-yes. Dui." Turning, he began shouting at one of the marines, still frozen with his rifle halfway to his shoulder. The man jumped, blinked, saluted and ran off, probably to prepare whatever was going to take them to the airport. "Your transportation is being prepared."
"Good. The sooner I'm on my way to Yokosuka, the better I'll feel," she replied, still staring out at the horizon. The other sailors filed past her, casting apprehensive looks over their shoulders and bags as worried whispers floated upwards in four different languages. Even the ship they'd just left seemed tense and wary, and as her heart pounded in her ears, she nearly missed her friend-of-sort's whispered reply.
"Amen to that, sir. Amen to that."