Chapter 15: The Flowers of Bermuda
"No captain can do very wrong if he places his ship alongside the enemy."
― Horatio Nelson
This was more like it. Screw the ground, and screw that dank tomb of a ship. Bishop would die a happy man if he never set foot on either ever again.
For a brief moment, nothing could be seen through the impregnable grey mist outside the canopy as the Avenger climbed through the low layer of cloud that had settled over the ocean northwest of Hokkaido. After a few seconds though, a pair of jets punched through the top of the cloud bank and out into the brilliant sunshine above.
It was the sort of day that made Bishop remember why he'd fallen in love with flying to begin with. Down there on the ocean's surface, it was a grey, drizzling, miserable affair, with a cold wind driving needles of spray across the decks of the ships somewhere far below. A short climb through the clouds, though, and it was a completely different world, a world whose ground was made up of endless pillowy mountains and valleys, all beneath a perfectly empty cerulean sky.
"Keep up, red two!" he called out over the radio with a broad grin, before opening the throttle to dive his mount back in amongst the fluffy clouds. He flew close along the contours of this otherworldly terrain with carefree abandon, wings slashing through the mist with the grace and precision of a master swordsman's blade.
And a perfectly tempered blade it was. Once he'd gotten through the pants-wetting terror of that first catapult launch last week; holding onto the canopy frame for dear life as his aircraft was accelerated from a standstill to 160 knots in just under two seconds, then fighting to stay airborne as she wallowed for a few seconds just above stall speed, he'd found old 302 to be an absolute peach of an airplane.
Perfectly harmonized controls, engines that ran like a hot damn thanks to the hard work of the Navy mechanics, who despite his half-joking maligning had done a bang-up job, and even a freshly polished metal skin courtesy of Miss Soryu, who had unofficially taken charge of the aircraft-cleaning crew. Taking hold of the control column felt like shaking hands with an old friend, and it all combined to make for a machine that was absolute joy to fly. For the first time in recent memory the pilot found himself laughing with sheer delight as the Avenger rose over a towering column of cumulonimbus and rolled inverted to dive back down the other side.
His frolicking was interrupted by a his wingman's voice in his ear, however, and he was reminded that he wasn't just up here for a joyride.
The UN fleet expected him to earn his keep in exchange for their hospitality, once his aircraft was up and running and he'd become reasonably proficient in the art of deck landings of course. He didn't find the landings all that difficult really; being well antiquated to operating the big jets from rough airstrips in Canada's far north, he fancied he could land on the face of a dime if need be.
Thus, for the last week or so of their journey, he and his aircraft had been conscripted into the Over the Rainbow's air group, stretched thin having to constantly monitor the fleet's airspace on account of their sensitive cargo. Today he'd been detailed to conduct a routine patrol, though much of his time had been spent dogfighting with the fleet's pilots to give them some desperately needed refresher training in the art of air combat.
It was a waste of time and fuel in his opinion: the days of air battles and aces had come and gone, he figured his would be among the last on a list of names that began with the likes of von Richthofen and Guynemer. There was no glory left to be won, the nations of the world had no money left to wage war with eachother, and there remained no military on earth on that could reasonably challenge the UN's authority; not even the pooled forces of the commonwealth or the endless manpower of China and Russia. The only combat these pilots were likely to see would be dropping bombs on some tin pot dictator or third world insurgents that refused to toe the company line.
Still, the mock dogfights allowed him to evaluate the skills of those pilots who wished to join him in Japan. Among the twenty or so who applied, he'd found only four who seemed to have the right mix of skill, daring, and complete disregard for personal safety needed to tame the Avenger. One was a Russian, a Kuril islander who'd picked up a reasonable command of Japanese by virtue of his home's close proximity. The remainder were transfers from the JSSDF, one of whom was currently flying on his wing. Lieutenant Karen Nagara: a timid, unassuming Japanese woman barely tall enough to see over her aircraft's instrument panel. Despite all appearances to the contrary, however, she was an extraordinarily gifted aviator, the only UN pilot who'd been able to score a 'kill' on him in their training exercises.
She'd been silently following in close formation as they skylarked along the cloud bank, but now spoke up to inform him of an unidentified contact on her aircraft's radar.
"Yeah, I see it too," he replied after a glance down at the radar scope. He switched frequencies to contact the carrier, reporting the bogey and asking for instructions.
"Roger," came the reply a moment later. "We've been tracking them for a while, whoever it is they're headed straight for us and not responding on any frequency. Go ahead and check it out, you're authorized to shoot if they still don't respond or turn around."
"Understood, on the way." His own jet was unarmed, but Lt. Nagara's Su-33 was equipped with a pair of IR guided missiles and a full load of cannon ammunition. He highly doubted it would come to that: judging by the bogey's speed and altitude, chugging along at a stately 200 knots down at 2000 feet, it was probably just a light aircraft who'd lost their way in the foul weather down low, a training flight or sightseers most likely. Nonetheless, it was a welcome diversion from patrolling the empty skies, and it would be good for a laugh to scare the daylights out of some poor student pilot.
Oh god, I'm gonna throw up.
The erratic lurching of the helicopter in the turbulent air, combined with the lack of a visible horizon in the driving rain, gave Misato the worst case of motion sickness she could ever recall having. Much to her annoyance, the boys in the back seat seemed to be completely unaffected, Shinji just gazing out the window with his usual neutral expression while his pals clowned around with eachother.
"Hey Miss Misato, thanks again for inviting us!" the kid with the glasses... whatshisname... Kensuke gushed, sticking his camera up against one of the side windows. What he thought he was going to see, she had no idea. "...I can't believe I'm gonna get to set foot on a real Nimitz class carrier! And while its at sea! Gee, maybe we'll get to see some flight ops. This is like a dream come true!"
"Well, you boys seemed like you could use a *hic* vacation," she mumbled into her headset, barely keeping her breakfast down. "...Just hope this damn weather clears up, won't be much of a trip otherwise." It seemed like such a great idea at the time: flying out to meet the fleet when it was nearing Japan for a few days of sunbathing on the flight deck and fresh ocean air. Mother nature had something to say about it however, having brewed up this north Pacific storm out of seemingly nowhere; the weather was perfect when they'd departed Tokyo-3 earlier that day.
Oh well, the plans were made, she supposed they would have to make the best of it. Trying to take her mind of her stomach, she turned to face the rear of the aircraft. "Well, Shinji, you excited to meet the second child?"
His eyes flitted away briefly from the window, giving her a small forced smile. "Uh, y-yeah, I guess so. I wish you'd tell me something about her, though, I don't know what to expect. Is she like Rei?" he asked apprehensively.
Misato flashed him a playful smile as she turned back towards the windscreen. "Not exactly. I wouldn't even know where to begin, Shinji. You're just gonna have to find out for yourself."
"Her, huh?" the other boy, the tall one who couldn't stop ogling her when he though she wasn't looking piped up, giving Shinji a playful nudge. "I bet she's a real babe. You gonna put the moves on her?"
"M-moves?" Shinji replied with slight blush. "I don't think I have any moves..."
"Well, you're in luck!" the jock proclaimed proudly, putting his arm around his pal's shoulder. "I happen to be an expert, now listen here..."
Misato chuckled as she eavesdropped on the boy's enthusiastic, if misinformed advice on the subject of romance. Before she could interject, however, her attention was drawn to the pilot seated beside her.
"Over the Rainbow, this is Golf Kilo Foxtrot, how copy? Do you read me? We have clearance to the carrier, code alpha victor papa seven, please confirm, over." He pressed his headset closer to his ear for a moment, before swearing under his breath at whatever he heard in response.
"...Is everything alright?" Misato asked quietly, not wanting to alarm the boys.
He shook his head slowly. "I think we've got a problem with the radio. Must be this damn storm, it's not transmitting. We can hear them, but they can't hear us. Have a listen." He hit a switch to patch the radio through to her headset.
"Attention unidentified aircraft, you are entering restricted airspace. Identify yourself and provide valid clearance, or else reverse your course. If you fail to comply, you will be considered a threat and may be fired upon. I repeat..."
"Well, that's not good," Misato agreed. "You sure you're on the right frequency?"
He nodded. "Yep. Wouldn't be able to hear them if we weren't. Pretty sure it's busted, what do you want to do, Ma'am?"
She shrugged in response. "We didn't come all this way just to turn back now. Keep trying the radio I guess. Don't worry, if they send planes to intercept us, they'll see that we're NERV and leave us alone."
"If you say so..." The pilot sounded entirely unconvinced, but dutifully returned to trying to be heard on the radio. Nearly overcome by another wave of nausea, Misato returned her attention to the swirling grey mist outside the window ahead.
Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong, the Major had said. What did he call it... Murphy's law, that was it. Fuck off, Murphy, she thought sourly.
Busy wallowing in her own misery, she hadn't noticed a pair of dark shapes in the mist off to the side of the helicopter. They were fuzzy, but slowly became more defined as they drew closer, revealing sharp predatory lines. It was Kensuke who noticed it first, gasping loudly and scrambling for his camera as the object finally emerged from the haze.
Turning to see what the fuss was about, Misato was shocked to see a beady eye and a mouth full of fangs hovering just outside the window to her right. It took a moment for her motion-sick brain to rationalize what she was seeing; the nose of fighter jet painted to look like a snarling animal. It was close enough for her to see the menacing gleam of metal between the beast's teeth; the muzzle of an autocannon. It seemed as though their little boat on the vast tempest-tossed sea was now being shadowed by a hungry shark.
Then, a familiar, stern voice on the radio. "Whoever's in that helicopter, this is your final warning. Identify yourselves, or you're going in the drink. What's it gonna be?"
"Holy crap, that's an Avro Avenger!" the bespectacled boy shouted, oblivious to the danger. "In wartime RCAF markings too! Toji, look at the nose art. It's from number four-three-nine squadron, the sabre tooth tigers! What's it doing out here?"
Misato was working on that problem herself. Off its wing was a Russian fighter in UN markings. She knew that the Over the Rainbow was the only carrier in the fleet that still operated those Russian hunks of junk, which meant the Avenger's pilot must be...
"Um, Miss Misato, what's going on?" Shinji, unlike his friends, clearly sensed that something was amiss.
"Nothing boys, just keep quiet for a minute." She had to shout to be heard over the helicopter pilot, now frantic in his efforts to make contact. She pressed her face to the glass, trying to get a good look into the jet's cockpit. Yeah, it was him alright, the aircraft was close enough for her to make out the flag on the shoulder of his flight suit. She banged on the glass and waved her arms frantically, knowing that getting his attention might be their only hope.
There was a tense moment of silence, the jet's pilot studying them from behind his helmet's dark visor, before the radio finally crackled again.
"...Katsuragi? Is that you?"
She rapidly nodded, flashing him a thumbs up, before turning to the passengers in the back. "Quick, I need a pen and paper, you guys got anything?" The boys seemed to have picked up on the danger they were in by now, and Toji quickly and silently reached into his schoolbag and handed her a notebook and pen. Tearing out a page, she hurriedly scribbled a message in the largest letters she could fit, before slamming the paper up against the glass.
RADIO TROUBLE. CAN'T TRANSMIT.
The Major studied it for a moment. "...But you can hear me, huh? Are you headed to the Carrier?" he responded.
She gave him a thumbs up.
"Okay... And what were you planning to do once you got there?"
She tore out another page from the book and scribbled a single word.
VACATION.
That drew a chuckle over the radio. "Well, you've got a hell of a day for it. Don't worry, we'll escort you the rest of the way in. Why don't you climb above this filth, it thins out around six thousand feet. If that overgrown egg beater will go that high, that is."
Misato nudged the pilot to her left, who fumed in indignation at the insult to his machine's honour. "Fucking fighter jocks..." the man mumbled forlornly as he guided the chopper up through the seemingly endless storm clouds. It was like an elevator ride up from hell, passing through the grey emptiness of purgatory before finally emerging into heaven as they rose from the clouds into the pure, empty sky above.
Who knows, it might just turn out to be a nice trip after all.
"...So, how was the flight?"
"Bite me." Misato wiped her mouth and brought her head back up above the railing, casting a toxic glare at the man beside her. The pitching and rolling of the ship was even worse than the damned helicopter had been, and it was too much for her already unsettled stomach to handle.
She'd managed to keep it together in front of the kids and the insufferable navy officers she'd met on the bridge. As soon as they'd sat down for a hot meal in the wardroom, though, she could stand it no longer and excused herself, rushing up to the catwalk that circled the flight deck and finding a secluded spot near the ship's stern to be sick alone.
Not secluded enough, though, to escape the notice of a certain unshaven pain in the ass, who now fixed her with that usual, infuriatingly smug half-smile of his. "Careful with talk like that," Kaji said smoothly. "You're on a ship full of young men who haven't seen a beautiful woman in months. One of them might just sink their teeth into you."
"For god's sake, leave me alone you son of a- *urp*" Her retort was interrupted by another wave of nausea that had her leaning over the railing once again. She was soaked to the skin and half-frozen from the cold spray blowing across the flight deck, and half-deaf from yet another fighter passing close overhead as it came in for a landing, slamming onto the hard steel and jolting to a halt as its tail hook caught the arrestor wires. She was dimly aware through her abject misery that it was the Major's Avenger. She was in no state to feel smug over the pilot being proven wrong in his bellyaching, though, as Kaji sighed and stepped closer to hold her hair back.
"Boy if this doesn't bring back memories, huh?" he ex-boyfriend observed with a chuckle. "Just like old times. 'Cept I suppose you aren't drunk, and we aren't in your dorm's bathroom..."
She could only growl in reply, shivering uncontrollably once she could finally bring nothing more up. She fought down the urge to clock the insufferable jackass as he put a hand on her shoulder, instead allowing him to gently steer her back towards the hatchway that led down into the ship. "C'mon, let's get you inside. Maybe a hot cup of tea will do you some good."
Misato could only play along, mumbling every curse she could think of but too spent to resist. They made their way down through the ship to the wardroom, the dining room used by the ship's officers. As guests aboard ship, unwelcome as they may be, her and her young charges were entitled to dine there as well, and the gathered teenagers greeted the pair with a curious look as she stumbled her way in and sat heavily at their table.
"Uh, you okay Misato?" Shinji was predictably the first to inquire after her health, fixing her with a concerned look.
"Just a touch of seasickness, she'll be fine." It was Kaji who answered for her, plopping lightly into the seat next to her and putting an arm around her shoulder, which drew a scathingly jealous look from Asuka, sat next to Shinji and across from his friends. For his part, Shinji didn't seem to know what to think of the girl, while the boy the with the glasses had fallen in love at first sight. She seemed to have already made an enemy out of Toji, though, the boy still having her shoe print embedded in his face after their disastrous first meeting.
She certainly knew how to make a first impression. Misato and her fellow passengers had been unceremoniously bundled out of the helicopter hurried off the flight deck as soon as it touched down. With the carrier in the middle of active flight ops, it was too dangerous for them to remain on deck, and they were instead ordered to report to the bridge, several stories up in the carrier's superstructure. Climbing up a series of steep ladders, Toji went first, and atop the second flight there she was, a vision in a bright yellow sundress. The poor boy looked up at the wrong moment, just as a gust from a nearby vent caught her skirt, and for his trouble received a painful kick to the face.
Now, somehow, she had to maintain her authority over this motley crew of quarreling teenagers while sicker than a dog. Kaji would probably be no help, seeming to delight in embarrassing her with his displays of affection in front of the kids, pulling her closer despite her muttered objections.
"So, uh, are you two, y'know, an item?" It was Toji who spoke up, seemingly just as jealous of Kaji as Asuka was of her. Misato floundered, trying to think of an answer to that complicated question. Before she had to respond, however, she was rescued by a commotion at the entrance to the wardroom.
The door was flung open, and a group of fighter pilots dressed in flight suits crowded through, gathered like acolytes around a priest behind their leader, a tall man with sandy hair and grey eyes. They sat down at a table across the room from them, the mess stewards hurrying to serve them coffee. The Major stood, however, in the midst of delivering a lecture to the pilots, whose attention he effortlessly commanded. He looked every inch the flying ace, clearly in his element as he preached to his loyal congregation. To Misato, shivering and disheveled, his easy, swaggering confidence was utterly infuriating.
"Situational awareness. That's what makes the difference between a good pilot and a dead one," he proclaimed, pacing back and forth. "Nine times out of ten, a dogfight is won before it begins, by the pilot who sees the enemy first and gets off the first shot. I saw a lot of carelessness out there in that regard, you've got your heads in the cockpit too much when they should be on a swivel at all-"
His lecture came to an abrupt halt as he glanced across the room and spotted her, his face breaking into a broad grin. "...We'll continue later, excuse me," he said to his followers, leaving them to loudly swap gossip and tall tales as he made his way over.
"Well, welcome aboard the good ship Over the Rainbow.Good to see you all again," he said amiably as he sauntered up to the table. "Hopefully we didn't give you too much of a scare out there, but orders are orders, eh kid?" He gave Shinji a sly wink that managed to get a tiny smile out of the boy, probably some sort of inside joke between those two. He raised an eyebrow as he looked down at Misato. "Geez, Katsuragi, you look like a drowned rat. What did you, fall overboard or something?"
Oh good, now she had two jackasses to deal with. Before an acidic reply could cross her lips, however, an idea first crossed her mind, an idea that would put both of these men in their place. Ducking from under Kaji's arm to stand with a devious grin, she took a confident step over to the Major, draped her arms around his shoulders, and kissed him.
"Uhh..." Bishop stood uselessly as Katsuragi pulled away from him.
"Hi honey, I missed you! How've you been?" she said cheerily, looking expectantly up at him, while behind her were a set of shocked faces that no doubt mirrored his own.
"...F-fine, just fine," he eventually managed to stammer, before grabbing the woman by the elbow to steer her away from the bemused group. "Would you all excuse us for just one moment?"
He caught the woman sticking her tongue out at Kaji as he dragged her out of earshot. "Have you lost your fucking mind?" he hissed at her reproachfully. "Or is this how you normally greet your coworkers?"
"Oh c'mon," she relied calmly with a toothy grin. "Is that any way to speak to your sweetheart after a whole month apart?"
"Honey? Sweetheart? Did I miss something?"
She had a chuckle at his confusion, making a show of laughing and touching his arm affectionately, before leaning closer to finally enlighten him. "Kaji and I used to date," she explained in a whisper. "...It didn't end well, and I'm trying to, y'know, make him jealous, so play along willya?"
"W-wh- No!" he objected. He was an officer of the King, by god, and above engaging in such juvenile shenanigans. "This is ridiculous! I will not play along, now get off me!" he tried to shake her off his arm to no avail, the irritating woman only gripping tighter as her smile took on a threatening quality.
"Oh yes you will," she whispered from between clenched teeth. "...Or else. Now come along, and smile! You've just been reunited your beautiful girlfriend after a month at sea!" She dragged him back towards the table.
"Great. You just stay awake at nights thinking of ways to make my life more complicated, don't you?" he muttered angrily despite his forced smile. "You smell like vomit, by the way. Real attractive, sweetheart."
"Shut up." She remained on his arm, steering him back towards their table as all eyes in the wardroom fell upon the happily reunited couple.
"Gosh, I'm sorry Katsuragi, I had no idea you were spoken for..." Kaji said slowly. Bishop noted that the slick man's usual smirk seemed had disappeared, replaced by something that might have been consternation. Katsuragi seemed immensely pleased with herself at this, pulling him closer as she replied in a haughty tone.
"That's right, and you should be ashamed of yourself. He was making advances on me honey, aren't you going to do something about it?"
This charade was quickly spiraling out of control, now she was trying to provoke a fistfight. It was time to put a stop to it. "I-"
"Don't you lay a finger on him, you jerk!" Miss Soryu entered the fray before he could say anything, rising from her seat at the far end of the table to put herself between the two men, jutting a finger up at him. "Kaji's a gentleman, he'd never do anything like that, and if you want to hurt him you'll have to get through me!"
He of course had no intention of doing anything of sort, but the girl had a bone to pick with him and needed little provocation to get involved in the ridiculous dispute. They'd been getting along well for a while, to the point where he'd given her leave to command a small crew of mechanics tasked with cleaning up the decrepit old fighters. She'd delighted in having people to boss around, even if the mechanics themselves weren't too keen on it, and had whipped her little crew into quite the efficient outfit. However, things soured when she asked to come for a ride in the Avenger once it was airworthy. He flatly refused, she insisted on the grounds that she was entitled due to all the work she'd put in, and an ugly argument developed that had returned him to the top of her shit-list. She was still sour over it, no matter how many times he tried to explain that she was below the height and weight limits for the jet's ejection seats, and would be left a cripple if something went wrong and they had to use them.
So here she was, ready to fight a man twice her size if he tried to defend to his fake girlfriend's honour by violent means. The pilot wanted nothing more in that moment than for a hole to open in the deck beneath his feet and swallow him up. With no such deliverance forthcoming, though, it fell on him to defuse the situation.
He leaned sideways to address the man behind Miss Soryu, who seemed to have gotten over his dismay to find the whole affair highly amusing. "It's alright, no harm done," he said disarmingly, much to Katsuragi's annoyance. "But if it happens again," he continued in a sterner tone, trying not to chuckle, "...I'll be honour bound as an officer and a gentleman to draw my sword and demand satisfaction."
Bishop gave Kaji a wink, and the man seemed barely able to contain his laughter as he raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. Miss Soryu huffed and shook her fist at him, before turning to return to her seat, glowering at him all the while. Very good then, the matter was settled. Katsuragi seemed satisfied that her honour had been sufficiently defended, Kaji had been warned, and nobody was any worse the wear for it. It occurred to him, however, that he now had to play-act as Katsuragi's beau in front of not only Kaji, but the kids as well.
He supposed there were worse problems to have. She was a warm, intelligent, and stunningly beautiful woman after all, even in her current state, and any other man might have considered himself lucky to be the subject of even fraudulent attentions from her. He, however, had stood in a little church back home all those years ago in the fine scarlet coat of his regiment and promised himself to the love of his life, for the rest of his life. He considered himself still bound by that promise. On that account, Katsuragi's advances made him intensely uncomfortable, even though he knew they weren't real, and he was desperate for a way to escape.
His eyes fell on the three boys, who up until now had been happy to watch the kerfuffle unfold without getting involved. Shinji and Toji were picking at the meals before them, making a point of not making eye contact, while Kensuke had been filming the whole thing. They might just be his ticket out of here.
"Well, anyways" he proclaimed jovially, finally extricating himself from Katsuragi's grasp and making his way over to them to clap a hand onto two of their shoulders. "You boys didn't come all the way out here just to sit in the wardroom, did you? What do you say we go down to the hangar and see some fighter jets?"
"Yeah!"
"Cool!"
"I-I guess..." Shinji seemed less enthusiastic than his pals, but still looked up and gave Bishop a nod.
"Attaboy, let's get out of here." He nodded goodbye to Katsuragi as he collected his charges and made for the door. "I'll see you later, uh, honey..."
"Nuh-uh." Miss Soryu objected, having grabbed Shinji by the wrist as the boy tried to stand. "You're coming with me, third child." Her tone left no room for argument as she dragged him past a bemused Bishop towards the door. He gave the pilot a look pleading for help as they passed, but Bishop could do nothing for him.
"Sorry kid," he said with a chuckle as he disappeared out the door. "I got my own girl problems."
"Poor guy. They just met and she's already got him whipped," Toji quipped.
"God I wish that were me..." Kensuke said wistfully, before directing his camera back up at Bishop, who replied with a snicker.
"Well, looks like it's us three wise men again, huh? Alright you clowns, let's go." He hurried them out of the wardroom and into the corridor. He was almost home free, but the trio hadn't made it more than a few metres down the hall before they halted at a sound blaring from the ship's intercom. The alarm klaxon.
"What the hell..." Bishop muttered, stopping to look up in confusion. There was no confusion among the sailors in the corridor, however, who dropped whatever they were doing and took off at a run, headed to their battle stations.
"Looks like they're going to general quarters!" Kensuke observed, swinging his camera to and fro to capture the action.
"Yeah, sure does..."
"Could it be some sort of drill?" Toji asked as the three squeezed against the wall of the corridor to avoid being swept away in the sudden rush of humanity.
"Don't think so..." Bishop had to shout to be heard now. "I've been on this ship a month now, and I've never seen anything like this. C'mon!" He gestured for the boys to follow him as he turned to head back to the wardroom. Poking his head in, he saw that Katsuragi and Kaji were already gone.
The bridge. That's probably where they were headed. He was torn for a moment, tempted to go with his fellow pilots to the squadron ready rooms. No, better to get the bridge, get the boys to safety and see how he could help Katsuragi.
"Alright gents, let's go find out what the hell's going on. Keep up!"
Bishop caught up with his two colleagues on the stairway leading up to the bridge, and together they entered the massive ship's nerve centre to find the Admiral and his officers crowded around a chart table.
"Admiral, what's going on here?" Katsuragi demanded in a commanding tone, all business now and prepared to take charge of the situation.
The gruff old man looked up from the chart and gave them all a chilly look. "...It is customary to request permission from the watch officer before setting foot on the bridge of a naval vessel, Captain." He spoke dismissively, waving them away. "Everything is under control. Please return to your quarters and keep out the way of my crew."
Bishop, Kaji, and the two boys watched in fascination as Katsuragi instead forced her way into the huddle of officers, jutting a finger under the increasingly angry Admiral's nose. All of them knew that the old man had just bought himself a pile of trouble, and all were glad not to be in his shoes. "Need I remind you, sir," she said from behind a dangerously calm smile. "...That UN armed forces general order number 401 gives NERV supreme command authority in any affair involving threats of extraterrestrial or otherwise unknown origin. Now, if you would kindly explain the situation to me, I can judge whether this is just such an affair, and I'll be more than happy to step aside if it isn't."
The old man glowered at her for a moment, before admitting defeat with a heavy sigh. The old warrior knew when he was beaten, and gestured to the map in front of them that showed the waters around the Japanese home islands.
"Twelve hours ago, an American submarine operating off the south coast of Kyushu reported a huge underwater object emerging from the seabed nearby and approaching them at high speed. We lost contact with them not long afterwards." He tapped the first of a series of red X's marked on the map, moving his finger up the east coast of Japan to the next one. "A few hours later, a fishing vessel off Shikoku disappeared from radar, shortly after sending out a mayday call reporting an attack by what they thought was a whale."
He traced his finger further to the northeast, stopping at the next red X about a hundred miles east of Tokyo bay. "Here, a JSSDF maritime patrol aircraft made contact, and tracked for several hours up to this point, where the thing went deep and broke contact. It is moving at least a hundred knots, and is headed directly..."
"Towards us." Katsuragi traced the rest of the line to the north, stopping at where the fleet's position was marked, East of Hokkaido. She looked up at the Admiral with an increasingly hostile glare, quickly losing her patience with the man. "...You've known about this for twelve hours, and you didn't think to mention it to me or notify NERV headquarters? Are you insane? This thing is obviously an Angel, and we need to deploy an Eva!"
The old man's face turned beet red at being spoken to in such a way on his own flagship, standing to his full height to tower over the woman. "I don't know what it is, Miss, but you may rest assured that I have more than enough firepower at my disposal to kill some overgrown whale a hundred times over. I've been hunting submarines since you were in diapers, and I know what I'm bloody well doing." He picked up a pencil and drew a semi-circle on the map about fifty miles south of the fleet. "I've already dispatched a flight of helicopters armed with dipping sonar and torpedoes. They'll intercept it at this perimeter and sink the bugger with a dozen warheads. If that doesn't kill it, our destroyers will break off and chase it down with heavier torpedoes and anti-submarine mortars."
"And when that doesn't kill it?" Katsuragi asked pointedly. "With all due respect to your reputation, Admiral, you have no idea what you're dealing with here. The Major can back me up, right?" She turned to him with her arms crossed. He supposed as her fake boyfriend he was obliged to lend her his support, whatever that was worth.
"She's right, sir." He said with a nod. "If this thing is anything like the ones I've seen, nothing you've got will even scratch its hide."
The Admiral seemed wounded by his taking sides against him, giving him a look like a disappointed father. "I'm doing what is necessary to protect my ships and the people on board them. I should hope you of all people would appreciate that, Major."
"Your ships and everyone aboard them are going to be on the bottom of the ocean soon if you don't listen to me!" Katsuragi stood her ground, shaking her head emphatically. "Sorry Admiral, but I'm taking command of this operation as is my right. Now, I need to get in touch with headquarters right away. Who's in charge of communications here?"
There was a tense moment of silence between the two commanders, before the old man finally gave in. "...Fine," he said quietly, the wind gone from his sails. He turned towards the bridge windows and clasped his hands behind his back. "Just... please don't put my men's lives at any unnecessary risk. Gentlemen, please follow Captain Katsuragi's orders as if they were my own."
She gave the old man a sober nod, before turning to the ship's officers and beginning to bark out orders in her characteristic style. Bishop could only watch in admiration, not envying either leader their immense responsibilities. It was a bit tragic, he supposed; seeing the Admiral defeated like this, knowing the calibre of officer he was, or used to be at any rate. Still, Katsuragi was absolutely right that the man was out his depth in this matter.
She seemed to need nothing from him at the moment, so Bishop turned and strode across to the port side of the bridge, where the massive floor-to-ceiling windows looked down on the flight deck. Watching the flurry of activity below, he saw that the alert fighters were being scrambled. A flight of four jets were kept fueled and armed on the flight deck at all times, ready to stop any airborne threats to the fleet at a moment's notice. He noted, however, that the ground crews were toiling away in the driving rain to change out the jets' usual air-to-air missile armament for what looked like a mix of anti-ship missiles and bombs. They worked quickly and efficiently despite the freezing spray, while four pilots emerged from the superstructure and sprinted across the deck towards their waiting mounts.
Rarely had he felt so useless. He ought to be out there with them. His own aircraft had been sent down to the hangar to be refueled and checked by the mechanics, it ought to be ready to go out again by now. There were no armaments aboard the ship the Avenger was equipped to carry, however, and the god's arrow projectiles were aboard one of the cargo ships with no way of getting them here even if his jet was fitted with the launch tube.
The lumbering vessels were being shepherded by their attending destroyers and frigates into a tight formation, while ahead of them and abeam the carrier the battleships fell into line with eachother and cleared their mighty guns for action.
He had to admit that it was a stirring sight, those majestic old relics of his grandfather's war plowing bravely through the North Pacific swell. Missouri, Wisconsin, Illinois and Kentucky: some of the only ships in the UN fleet that still bore their original names out of respect for their long and proud histories, and despite being over 70 years old their guns were probably some of the only weapons the fleet possessed that might give an Angel pause.
He ought to know, he thought with a smirk. He'd once been on the receiving end of their fury. His regiment had been stationed in a quiet sector of fortifications near the town of Baie-Sainte-Catherine on the north bank of the Saint Lawrence, after they were pulled out of Ottawa to rest and recuperate. Quiet, that is, until the Yanks launched operation despot, an attempt to secure a foothold on the north shore of that formidable natural obstacle by means of an amphibious assault, putting the now battle-hardened veterans of the PWNLI right back into the fire. To this end, they sailed one of their recently recommissioned battleships up the seaway, the Kentucky if he recalled correctly, to conduct shore bombardments against the well dug-in Canadians.
He'd never experienced anything quite like it before or since, those big shells landing all around for hours on end. The earth shook and jumped like an aircraft flying through turbulence, the entire atmosphere seemed to explode in an unending deluge of noise and light, and even the most steadfast atheists among them were lying in their dugouts praying to every god they could think of by the end of it.
"Something funny?" Kaji had sidled up beside him and noticed the pilot's wry expression.
Bishop shook his head slowly as he replied. "Sort of. Just remembering the time one of those battleships shot at me."
"Sounds like fun."
"It wasn't" His smirk fell away as he cast a sideways glance over at the man. "Quite the opposite, actually. "
"Hm." Kaji mumbled disinterestedly. "Well, you think they might be good enough to kill an Angel?" he asked in his usual half-joking manner.
"Maybe," Bishop said distantly. "If the thing decides to come to the surface and sit still long enough."
"Yeah, more or less what I figured." Kaji didn't seem to care too much about battleships, and after an impatient look from Bishop pressed on to what was really on his mind. "...So, you and Katsuragi, huh?"
Oh for Christ's sake. "Uh, yeah. What about it?"
He gave a shrug. "Dunno. Just curious. You don't really seem like her type."
"Oh?" Bishop cocked an amused eyebrow, not taking his eyes away from the window. "Fighter pilots are most girl's types, I find."
"Not her." Kaji was giving the Canadian a look with a critical eye. Bishop knew he was some sort of spy or some such, and could probably smell his bullshit a mile away, but he was committed now. "In fact, I seem to recall her telling me a long time ago that she couldn't stand military officers. Pompous, arrogant, asses incapable of having an original thought, she said. No offence."
"Heh." He'd certainly met his share who fit that description, he'd give her that. "Well, most officers are soft, over-educated college boys. No offence." Kaji cracked a half-smile at Bishop's retort, but his interrogatory gaze didn't waver. "Maybe that's why she made an exception for me, I won't pretend to know. I also won't pretend to know what happened between you two, but she's moved on pal, and I think it's best for everyone involved if you do the same."
At that last remark, Bishop thought he saw Kaji's armour crack for just a moment, a flicker of genuine hurt showing in the man's eyes for a split second before the usual bullet-proof smirk returned. "Of course, of course. Didn't mean anything by it. Now, tell me, she still got the jimmy legs in bed?"
"Umm..." The pilot was saved from having to answer the wildly inappropriate question by the sound of battleship gunfire rumbling across the water, like thunder amplified a thousand fold which had both men scrambling to cover their ears. Bishop saw the immense flashes of smoke and flame ripple from their forward guns, and followed their aim out to the southern horizon, where a series of huge splashes erupted around a dark shape on the storm-tossed water that quickly disappeared beneath the waves. Even from this far off, he could see that the thing dwarfed the massive vessel they currently stood on.
"Hey, Katsu- er uh, honey, that thing's gonna be on top of us in a few minutes..." Bishop turned and gave her a worried look as she shouted into a satellite phone on the other side of the bridge.
"Yeah, yeah, I know." She swore and slammed the phone down. "Headquarters can't help us. The only thing they could do is airlift unit zero out here, but it's not equipped to fight underwater and even if it was, we'd be dead by the time it got here."
"What the hell's it coming after us for?" The pilot walked back across the bridge to stand beside her at the chart table, frowning in confusion as he thought about it. "Don't they usually attack Tokyo-3?"
Katsuragi could on shrug in reply. "Maybe they're attracted by the Evas. Must be interested in unit two." She shook her head and looked over at Toji and Kensuke, standing quietly out of the way of the various personnel going about their duties. "Hardly matters now. We need a plan, and quick. Any ideas?"
"Well," he said, rubbing his chin. "We have an Eva unit and its pilot here, don't we?"
"Yeah, I thought of that. Might be our only option..." Something suddenly seemed to occur to her, and her head shot up and looked around the bridge in panic. "Where the hell are Shinji and Asuka?"
"Uhh..." Things had been moving so quickly, it hadn't occurred to him that the two Eva pilots weren't with the group. "Dunno, last time I saw them, Asuka was dragging him off somewhere. They must still be on the ship... Hey, Kaji, you seen 'em?"
He turned to look where the man had been standing a moment ago, only to find him gone. "Shit, where'd he go?"
"Who cares? Good riddance. We need the find the kids." She turned to Shinji's classmates and barked at them. "You two, make yourselves useful and go find them. Run!" Both boys snapped to attention and saluted at the woman's authoritative voice, nearly colliding with eachother in their haste to carry out her orders.
Bishop, meanwhile, spotted something odd outside the bridge windows. The cargo ship that carried the Eva had opened the massive doors on its deck, and from within its cavernous hold a giant, bright red hand emerged and gripped the side of the ship.
"...I think I know where they are." How the girl had gotten there from the carrier, he had no clue. He couldn't help but crack a smile as he pictured her bossing some poor helicopter pilot into ferrying her, desperate to get in on the action. "Well, one of them, anyways."
The men on the bridge of the UNS Kentucky crowded around the windows to see what all the commotion was about. The day had been the most exciting one in a long time for the grand old lady and her faithful crew. She'd already fired her guns in anger for the first time since the North American war, and her skipper suspected there'd be more action for his ship before the day was out.
The last time she'd sailed these waters was in the closing days of the Second World War, her AA gunners fending off Kamikaze planes as a dying empire sent its best and brightest off to die alongside it. Since then she'd conducted shore bombardments in such far-flung places as Korea, Vietnam and Iraq, and yet it was in shallow waters on her country's own doorstep that she came as close as she'd ever come to being sunk. Spared an ignominious fate in the breaker's yard by the pressing need for ships in the wake of second impact, she was brought out of the mothball fleet and sent to do battle with the menace to the north.
Captain William Hitchcock, known affectionately among his crew as 'Wild Bill', had been aboard her then as executive officer, the second-in-command. He'd spent most of his career aboard this ship serving in one capacity or another, often joking that she was the only woman who'd have him, much to the annoyance of his wife of 20 years. He'd worked his way up to Captain shortly before the cash-strapped peacetime US navy sold her off to the UN, and he'd been included in the deal. He loved his ship dearly, and had nearly given his life for her that bloody day, the memories of which had come flooding back when he'd spent a few minutes chatting with that Canadian pilot at the Admiral's reception a month ago.
He'd been there as well, though on the other side of Kentucky's guns. Poor bastard. Nobody aboard had been terribly keen on their mission then, nor the war in general. The Canadians had been their faithful allies for a century, had fought alongside their American brothers in the trenches of Flanders, on the beaches of Normandy, and in countless other places. And yet, they jealously guarded their vast hoard of resources, far more than they needed and enough to save millions from starvation and thirst in the US, and so it had to be taken by force.
It had to be done, the Generals said. It was them or us. It would be a quick, bloodless affair, they said. A country with less than one sixth of our population, with such a long and undefended border would be foolish to resist an invasion, and would surrender as soon as American boots were on the ground.
Even as it became clear that that was not the case, and even as the long-dead corpse of the British empire was wakened from its slumber and filled with a terrible fury, finding it still had strength enough in its muscles and courage enough in its heart to match the weakened United States, the Generals insisted that they would prevail. Even as their armies pressed north, finding a well-trained, well-equipped and fiercely determined force that turned every city and town into a fortress that had to be taken in costly assaults, and even as casualties mounted from hundreds to thousands to hundreds of thousands, the Generals insisted that they must fight on. It was them or us.
It wasn't until the time of the great counterattack that relieved the siege of the Canadian capital in the spring of 2002, by which time there were nearly half a million dead or wounded between both sides, that it finally seemed to dawn on the Generals that there would be no easy, bloodless victory. The kiddie gloves were coming off. Over the summer, attacks on infrastructure and supply lines were stepped up, culminating in huge air raids against hitherto untouched cities and industrial targets in western Canada in the fall.
Meanwhile, the front lines in the east had more or less solidified along the Saint Lawrence and Ottawa Rivers, and the Generals hatched a cunning plan to break the stalemate: A D-day style landing that would open an avenue to outflank and surround the great city-fortresses. Of course, the Canadians weren't fools, and had prepared a line of formidable fortifications that would cut any force attempting to come ashore to shreds. That's where Kentucky came in. Her big guns could reduce even the sturdiest bunkers to rubble. The Navy's protests that a battleship would be extremely vulnerable to air attack with no room to maneuver fell on deaf ears, and assurances from the Air Force that they could provide 'round the clock fighter cover sealed their fate.
They entered the narrow waterway in broad daylight. It was odd, sailing in full sight of a hostile shore, but the flyboys were as good as their word and swarms of F-16s hovered overhead to ensure they weren't hassled by Commonwealth aircraft. They dropped anchor on the American-held south bank that night, 15 miles from where the Saguenay river split the north shore. Their targets were the defences on the west side of the Saguenay, where a beachhead would cut the Canadian line in two if it could be established, and they commenced firing at first light the next day. The only return fire was from a few field artillery pieces, 6 inch popguns which were soon silenced. It all seemed to be going according to plan, and by the end of the first day they'd fired over 300 rounds, most to good effect according to the forward observers.
On the second day of the planned bombardment, though, Kentucky's crew emerged out onto her deck at first light and found something horribly wrong. There was no roar of jet engines above, only a clear blue sky. Their fighter cover was late, leaving the ship exposed to air attack for a crucial hour of daylight. To this day, Wild Bill never knew what had gone wrong. Some said the wily Canadians planned it with a diversionary raid on an airbase, others said it was simple bureaucratic incompetence that had their air cover sitting on the tarmac for an extra hour. Others still claimed that commonwealth spies had sabotaged a shipment of jet fuel.
Whatever the cause, their opponents took notice, and Commonwealth jets were soon on the scene. There were about a dozen of them, most being British Harrier and Jaguar strike aircraft, with some Canadian Tigershark fighter-bombers in the mix. The strike was hastily thrown together, armed only with unguided rockets and bombs, and even though no fighters were after them their daring pilots still had to contend with Kentucky's own powerful AA defences as they came in low and fast for their attack runs. The embattled ship put up a hell of a fight, downing five of the attackers and damaging several more, but without air support it was only a matter of time until her defences were overwhelmed by her more modern opponents.
A Jaguar scored a near miss with a thousand pounder, buckling in part of the bow plating and causing severe flooding. The Captain was killed early on when a pair of Harriers raked the bridge with cannon fire. Dozens of rockets impacted all over the deck and superstructure, setting off numerous fires and inflicting hundreds of casualties among the crew. The blow that nearly ended the ship, though, came near the end of the brief attack. A 2,000 pound bunker-buster dropped by of one of the diminutive Tigersharks penetrated the battleship's armoured deck aft of the rear turret, detonating below and setting off a blaze in the aft compartments that threatened to spread to the powder magazines.
It was all over in a matter of minutes, the mighty ship reduced to a flaming time-bomb as the Brits and Canucks scampered back to the North before any American fighters could give chase. The ship's remaining crew now faced a choice of staying aboard to fight the fires or taking to the lifeboats.
The latter was admittedly a tempting proposition with a friendly shore only a few miles away. Wild Bill, now in command with the Captain dead, would do no such thing, vowing he'd save his beloved ship or go down with her. Every man of the crew stayed with him. He personally led a damage control party down to the aft magazines, and despite the fires nearby burning hot enough to make the ship's armour plating glow cherry red, they succeeding in containing them before they could reach the explosives stored within. The rest of the fires on deck were eventually brought under control, the flooding was slowed to a trickle, and the old lady managed to limp away under her own power come nightfall, her crew having thoroughly cussed out the F-16s that eventually appeared overhead.
Now, a decade later, the grizzled old officer unconsciously brought his hand up to fiddle with the ribbon on his chest that represented the medal he'd been awarded for saving his ship that day, watching as another great metal beast of a different kind nimbly leapt onto the deck of the fleet's flagship. He wasn't phased by it or the thing swimming beneath them. Whatever this next battle may bring, he would see the old girl and her crew through to the end.
"Goddammit!" Bishop shouted, struggling to keep his balance as the carrier came dangerously close to capsizing under the weight of the mech landing on its deck. The violent roll as it righted itself sent a pair of Sukhois that had been taxiing to the catapult plunging into the sea, their pilots managing to eject at the last second. "If that girl sinks this ship with my jets on board," he grumbled to no one in particular. "...She'd better fucking well hope I drown before I get my hands on her."
Katsuragi ignored his grousing, giving a cheer at the sight of the Eva. "Attagirl Asuka! Give 'em hell!" she shouted, before turning to one of the bridge officers. "We have the spare umbilical on board, right?" The young man nodded. "Great. Get it out on deck, hurry!"
The aircraft elevator descended to the hangar and reappeared a moment later, bearing a massive spool of cable attached to a plug which the Eva picked up and hooked into its back.
"Alright, where's that overgrown tuna? I'm gonna turn it into sushi." He heard the girl's cocky voice over the bridge loudspeakers as the Eva drew its knife with a flourish, followed shortly by a more timid interjection.
"Uh, don't you think we should wait for orders?"
"Shinji, is that you? What are you doing in th- oh, never mind." Katsuragi's mind was clearly going a mile a minute as she tried to think of way to use the Eva to effectively fight the sea monster, according to the sonar readouts now circling them a hundred metres below. It had already attacked and sunk several of the fleet's escort vessels, and now seemed to have zeroed in on the flagship.
"Will they be able to fight underwater?" Bishop asked.
"Maybe. The Eva's built to be able to survive in a vacuum, they'll be able to breathe for as long as they have power, but..." She suddenly turned to the Admiral, who'd been standing aside helplessly. "How deep is the water here?"
The old man looked up in surprise at the question, before glancing down at the charts in front of him. "Five thousand metres, give or take."
"Hm. Not good. It can survive a vacuum, but water pressure is another matter. It'll be crushed like a tin can if it goes down more than a thousand metres without the specialized diving gear." She grabbed up the microphone to talk the Eva pilots. "You got that, you two? If you have to go underwater, keep a close eye on your depth, and whatever you do, don't lose the umbilical, or we'll have no way of bringing you back up."
"Got it!" the kids both answered in unison. Bishop idly wondered how they both managed to squeeze into the Eva's cockpit, before recalling that the giant tube it sat in was actually quite roomy compared to the sort of cockpit he was used to.
"Good," Katsuragi was watching the sonar display on the bridge's control panel. "I think it's coming to the surface, get ready!"
So that was her plan. Lure the thing close enough to stab it with a giant knife. Better than anything he could think of at the moment, the pilot supposed.
They didn't have to wait long of the Angel to oblige. A dark shape appeared in the water off the port bow. The shadow grew until it far eclipsed the ship, before a being whose size beggared imagination leapt from the stormy ocean. It looked a much more animalistic than the other two Angels Bishop had seen, with a mouthful of sword-like fangs attached to a massive beige-colored body that was clearly well-adapted to moving quickly through the water.
That giant mouth seemed to be about to engulf the ship's superstructure, and everyone on the bridge braced for impact as the beast landed heavily on the flight deck, obliterating a line of parked fighters. Asuka was ready for it, and Unit-02 leapt gracefully into the air, narrowly avoiding the oncoming jaws to land nimbly on the Angel's back. Bishop couldn't deny her the skill and reflexes it must have taken to maneuver the mech so fluidly, her years of training showing in spades.
The Eva raised its knife above its head, before stabbing it down into the creature's skull, the blade cutting deeply through layers of blubbery flesh and sending a fountain of crimson blood spurting a hundred metres into the air. The bridge windows were sprayed as well, a solid wall of red obscuring their view of the outside world. Each window had a wiper which was quickly switched on, though they only smeared the thick fluid and generally made the problem worse, and It took the driving rain to finally clear the glass enough for them to see out. A series of gasps and surprised shouts echoed around the bridge.
The flight deck was empty. Nothing remained but a smear of blood leading over the side, where a spreading cloud of red could be seen in the water. The spool that held the umbilical cable was unwinding at an alarming rate, throwing off smoke from the heat generated by the immense amount of friction
"Shinji! Asuka! Can you hear me? Are you okay?" Katsuragi yelled into the microphone, frantic to know that her pilots were still alive.
"Miss Misato! I-it's dragging us down!" Shinji's terrified voice answered her. "The knife's stuck, Asuka won't let go of it!"
"Shut up and help me, you dolt! If we can get it in deeper it might kill it!"
"Watch your depth, Asuka!" Katsuragi swore and paced back and forth on the bridge, before turning to the pilot with a pleading look. "We need to something to help them. You saw the size of that thing, that knife won't do shit. Any ideas?"
Bishop did have an idea. "The battleships."
"The battleships?" She thought for a moment. "Maybe. Those guns seemed to scare it earlier. How do we get them down to the Angel, though? Maybe if we scuttled them... No, no way of steering them underwater, and who knows if the guns would actually fire down there..."
"That's not what I meant." He recalled a conversation he'd had with one of the skippers, when he asked what the man had done to earn the Congressional Medal of Honor he wore at his throat, the highest award for bravery the US could bestow. "The magazines."
She immediately picked up on his meaning, her face lighting up as she realized the potential explosive power of the hundreds of tonnes of gunpowder aboard the battle wagons. She scrambled for the microphone. "Shinji, Asuka, you need to keep that thing occupied for a few more minutes. When I give the word, let go and we'll reel you back up to the surface. When you get here, lure the Angel over to nearest battleship, the one with the number sixty-six painted on the side."
"Copy." He could hear the strain in the two kid's voices. No doubt it would be a close shave, but he supposed if it didn't work they were all dead meat anyways.
"Right," Katsuragi turned to the communications officer. "Get me the Captain of that battleship. Now."
"She wants me to do what with my ship?" Captain Hitchcock turned to the sailor who'd brought him the urgent message. "That woman in insane..."
"Maybe so, sir, but we're bound to follow her orders." The XO stood beside him, giving him a tense look. "What do you want to do, skipper?"
Well, orders were orders, and Wild Bill could never be accused of dereliction of duty.
"Very well." He nodded his head slightly, signifying that he'd chosen his course of action, and nothing short of the hand of god himself would change his mind. "Tell her we'll be ready."
The sailor saluted and turned smartly on his heel to return to the communications station. Time was of the essence now, and the American was well aware that the fate of humanity may hinge on his actions in the next few minutes.
His orders were clear and decisive. He tried to keep the emotion out of his voice, knowing full well that every word he spoke now was bringing his ship and himself closer to the end.
"Mister Morteau!" He picked up the phone that connected to the battery plot room, the fire control centre for the big guns, and shouted for the chief gunnery officer. "Can we rig the forward magazine to blow on command?"
There was stunned silence on the other end of the line for a second. "Damn your eyes, answer me!" he roared, snapping the officer back to reality.
"I-I don't know sir. Maybe with scuttling charges..."
"No good, they're on a delayed fuze. What if we block the barrels and overcharge the guns, would that do it?"
The Frenchman's voice came back a moment later. He sounded unsure, but seemed to sense the urgency in his Captain's voice. "Maybe... I think yes, if we leave the breach unlocked, override the safeties, leave the elevator doors and the blast doors in the magazines open..."
"Do it. All the forward guns, set them all to fire together. You have two minutes."
"Yessir!" The Gunnery officer remained on the line as he barked orders to his subordinates, the Captain listening and nodding his approval. Loading the guns with a double charge of powder and blocking off the barrels would blow out their breaches when they were fired, sending an almighty fireball back into the gun rooms and down the powder hoist shafts into the lower levels of the turret, hopefully reaching the magazines through the open blast doors designed to prevent just such an occurrence. With all six forward guns going off at once, the chances of a successful detonation of the forward magazine were good. They just had to lure that big fish close enough to the ship's bow, and it would be blown to kingdom come.
"Very good. And tell the turret crews to get the hell out of there as soon as the guns are set to fire." He slammed down the receiver and turned to the XO. "We're abandoning ship. Get out on deck and make sure the men make it into the boats."
"B-but sir, what about you?" His right-hand man looked at him with eyes full of worry.
"Don't worry about me, do as you're told. Now! All of you, go!" His voice boomed throughout the bridge, urging his crew to follow his orders without delay. There was a moment's hesitation, before they began to file out one by one. The XO was the last to leave, stopping to shake his commander's hand, before he too disappeared through the hatchway.
Wild Bill then turned to switch on the intercom, ensuring that all the lights on the panel were green and that his voice would be heard on every corner of his ship before picking up the microphone.
"Attention all hands, this is the Captain. Abandon ship, repeat, abandon ship! Drop what you're doing and run! That's an order, and I'll shoot any man who disobeys it myself." A lesser crew might have started a panicked stampede at the announcement, but he knew his men would evacuate in a quick and orderly manner, as they had trained to do a hundred times. He needed to convey to them the urgency of the situation, and that no amount of bravery or self sacrifice on their part could save their ship now.
An odd sense of calm now came over him. He'd done his duty to his crew, done all he could to ensure they made it off the ship before she met her fate. Now it was time for him to meet his. Stopping only to pull the lever on the wall that activated the evacuation alarm, he turned and hurried off the bridge, sprinting down flight after flight of steep stairways as he made his way down into the bowels of the ship.
He was headed for the battery plot room, buried deep below the waterline behind Kentucky's sturdy armour plating. He barked at any sailors he encountered to hurry on up to the main deck as he ran through the corridors, finally bursting through into the compartment housing the equipment that aimed the mighty guns.
He found Morteau and a few of his men still there, frantically flipping switches and turning knobs on the control panels that lined the walls and on the table-like consoles in the centre of the room. The officer snapped to attention as he entered.
"Sir, report that all is ready. Turrets one and two are ready to fire, the crews have evacuated, all safeties have been overridden. Awaiting your command, sir." He looked around at the few crewmen still manning their stations, realizing all knew exactly what was about to happen, and all were prepared to stay regardless.
"Thank you, all of you," he said in a voice choked with emotion. "You are all permitted and ordered to abandon ship. Please go, and hurry."
"But sir, we must be here to fire the guns..." Morteau protested, joined by his men, but the Captain would have none of it.
"I'll fire them." He strode to the centre of the room to the stable vertical, a console that contained a set of gyroscopes that were responsible for firing the guns at the correct moment in the ship's rolling motion, the final part of an incredibly complex system of 1940's vintage mechanical computers that allowed the ship to hit a moving target 20 miles away with a 2,700 pound shell.
Attached to the console were three brass pistol grips, each with a trigger. The first sounded the salvo alarm, warning all aboard the ship that the guns were about to fire. The second, when held down, fired the guns when the ship rolled onto an even keel, while the third fired them instantly when pulled.
He bodily the shoved the sailor manning the console out of his position, taking his place and taking hold of the third pistol grip. "The guns are set to fire as soon as the trigger is pulled, yes?" he asked of Morteau.
"Yes, but..."
"But nothing. Only one finger is needed to pull the trigger, and that will be mine. I'm responsible for this vessel and the lives of all aboard, and my duty now is to see that all of you make it off this ship alive. Dismissed!"
There was a moment's hesitation, before the officer and sailors finally and reluctantly turned to exit the room. Each paused to offer their Captain a final salute before leaving him to his fate.
Now there was nothing left to do but wait. A closed circuit television mounted on the ceiling in front of him was connected to cameras in the superstructure, used to give the fire-control crew visual confirmation of the guns firing. His eyes were fixed on the screen, which was split between views of the fore and aft turrets. He could see that all but one of the lifeboats were already away, with a few stragglers filing into the last one. He was alone. Good, his crew had done well to make all the necessary preparations and evacuate the ship so quickly. He hoped they would be recognized for their efforts.
It was an agonizing wait. He had done his job, and now he had to wait and see if those NERV people would do theirs. He wanted desperately to pull out the photo he kept in his breast pocket and take one last look at it, the photo of his wife and teenage daughter he always kept close to his heart. But he couldn't. If his attention was diverted from the screen for even a second, he could miss the crucial moment and it would all be for naught.
Forgive me girls, he thought. Forgive me for being away so much, and forgive me for not being there now. I'm sorry.
He worried for a moment that something may have gone wrong when nothing appeared to be happening outside. Would these NERV jokers really hold up their end, somehow bait that thing into coming close enough to be blown up?
His fears were assuaged a few seconds later, when he felt the deck sway under his feet and saw a pair of giant red metal boots come crashing down in front of turret one. His finger tensed against the trigger, but he resisted pulling it. He still couldn't see the monster. The robot crouched down to steady itself, trying to keep from falling off the swaying ship. It held a mechanical finger outstretched and pointed it straight down.
It didn't take long for him to see exactly what the signal meant. The water beneath the ship's bow was growing darker. He felt it a split second before the cameras on deck relayed it down to him, the sensation of weightlessness as Kentucky was stuck from directly below by a force strong enough to lift her 60,000 ton bulk right out of the water. On the screen, a titanic pair of jaws appeared on either side of the ships bow. Right between the two forward turrets.
The beast had just sunk its teeth into over a million pounds of gunpowder, he thought with a grin, and was in for a very nasty case of heartburn.
The mech leapt clear of the ship just as her Captain pulled the trigger. Instead of the usual flash of bright orange flame from the muzzles of the big guns, they instead each coughed out a rather underwhelming puff of dirty grey smoke accompanied by a low Whuff sound. Good, that meant the flash of the powder charges going off had been contained within the turrets, now he could only pray that the fireball would reach the magazines in time.
For a brief second, it seemed that they had failed, that he had sacrificed his ship for naught. Then he felt it, a sudden rumbling through the deck followed by a violent heaving motion that sent him tumbling to the floor. A bright flash wiped out the cameras on deck, leaving nothing but static on the television, his only means of seeing the outside world gone.
He'd blown up his ship. Things remained oddly quiet as the realization struck him, dazed but at peace now knowing the job was done. The groaning and creaking of distressed metal soon reached his ear as the ship's structural integrity was suddenly and violently compromised, followed by the sound of rushing water as the ocean poured in through the gaping hole where the ship's forward half used to be.
He briefly considered making a run for it. Maybe he could make it up to the main deck before she slipped beneath the waves. No. He could feel the deck already beginning to tilt at a steep angle, she would go down in a matter of seconds, and he was already several stories below the waterline. Even if he made it to the surface, he would be quickly dragged below by the immense suction generated by the sinking battleship.
Rising back to his feet, he resolved to meet his fate with dignity, standing straight and brushing off his uniform. He pulled the photograph from his pocket and locked eyes with his family, giving them a final goodbye as a chest-high wave of cold water surged into the compartment.
Over the Rainbow's bridge windows were shattered by the explosion. Bishop instinctively threw himself to the deck when he saw the flash, dragging Katsuragi down with him and covering his ears as the shock wave rolled over them. When the storm seemed to have passed a moment later, the pair stood back up and shook off the hundreds of tiny shards of glass covering their clothes. Katsuragi tried to say something, but he couldn't hear her over the painful ringing in his ears, and it became clear she couldn't hear him either as he tried to tell her so.
She was bleeding from a deep cut on her arm, but she waved him off when he tried to look at it, instead rushing over to the now open windows to see the aftermath of the detonation. Bishop followed, joined by those few bridge crew who were weren't too badly wounded by the blast and shrapnel to stand.
Where a moment ago there was a mighty battleship, there was now only a few bits of floating debris and a spreading oil slick. A towering column of smoke billowed into the grey clouds above. The ocean for hundreds of metres in every direction was stained bright red. Looking down at the flight deck, the pilot's stomach turned as he saw a chunk of rubbery flesh the size of a small car resting there.
They'd won, they knew then. But there were no cheers, no elated shouts as Unit-02, heavily damaged during the battle and subsequent explosion, was ignominiously fished from the water and flopped onto the deck. This was victory as Bishop had always known it. A hollow, empty feeling of knowing they'd defeated the enemy, but also knowing full well the terribly steep cost of doing so. The angel had taken hundreds, possibly thousands of sailors with it to its watery grave, among them the brave Captain of the Kentucky.
There were no cheers. Only solemn, sober silence on the bridge of the Over the Rainbow.
A/N: In keeping with the theme of the last few chapters, the title of this one is also the title of a song by the late, great Stan Rogers. To those of you not familiar with his work, which I imagine would be just about any non-Canadians, it might seem completely unrelated to the content of the chapter itself. That being the case, I'd highly recommend giving The Flowers of Bermuda a listen, along with all the other fantastic music he left behind, often considered some of the greatest ever written in and about Canada. As always, thanks so much for taking the time to read, hope you enjoyed!