Ch VII

Oh you sailor's

Confederation of Concordia

Naval Station 12,

Norfolk, State Of Virginia.

Captain Charlie Stanton strode onto the CCS Iowa's bridge, klaxons blaring around him. The organized chaos of the crew battening down for combat was a familiar if alarming sight.

"Talk to me," he barked. "What's got us going to DEFCON One?"

The first mate quickly outlined the situation - enemy ground forces bearing down on Likfield, while the Navy moved to intercept. Not the Stovies though. Someone new.

Gneckow's brow furrowed as he listened. The Stovies he understood, but a mystery invading force appearing out of nowhere? How was that possible?

Stepping to the comm station as it rang, Stanton took the receiver. "CCS Iowa here, awaiting instructions."

The dispatcher's response turned his blood cold. These new hostiles had hit worldwide simultaneously with advanced tech unlike anything seen before. The planet itself was now at stake it seemed.

Terminating the call, Stanton turned to face the bridge crew. He saw the same chill realization in their eyes that they were dealing with a threat beyond comprehension.

Quietly, Stanton moved to the front viewport, gazing out at the Iowa's mammoth 16-inch guns trained forward. Those guns had rained hell down on Concordia's enemies decades ago. Now they might need to do so again against a shadowy new foe.

A foe quite possibly beyond even the Iowa's mighty broadside to defeat alone. But she would still fight to the bitter end.

"Stations ready and awaiting orders, sir," his XO reported.

Stanton nodded. "Very well. Now we find out what we're made of."

CCS LOS ANGELES

CAPT. BARTELOMEO "BART" VITO MANCUSO

NORTH SEA

"Captain, unidentified aircraft, or spacecraft, don't know what it is, it ain't perseuing us and an...Akula? Sir, a fucking Vostokvakian Ballistic missile sub." the sonar operator's voice jolted him out of his thinking.

Mancuso bolted upright in his chair as the sonar officer's report crackled over the comms. An unknown aircraft contact...and a Vostokvakian Akula sub? Here in the North Sea? Had the world gone mad?

"Slow down, son. Confirm those contacts again," Mancuso ordered, motioning the crew to battlestations. "And get me an intercept solution on that aircraft, now!"

The tac display lit up as the sonar feeds resolved into two clear contacts. One was indeed a Vostokvakian ballistic sub, confirmed by its acoustic signature. No idea what the hell it was doing out here, but Mancuso knew Akulas were not to be taken lightly.

More worrying was the other contact - some kind of aircraft moving at extreme speed unlike anything Mancuso had encountered. Was this some secret Stovie prototype? Or given the chaos erupting around the globe, potentially something even more ominous?

"Sir, aircraft is heading right for us, looks like a possible attack run," the tactical officer warned. "Recommend we engage!"

Mancuso weighed his options rapidly. "Steady...hold fire but standby weapons," he ordered. Maybe if they spoofed a torpedo launch, it would break off without forcing a confrontation.

"Here's hoping our mysterious friend isn't itching for a fight..." he muttered under his breath. Mancuso had a gut feeling events were spiraling rapidly outside his control. But the Los Angeles would face them head-on, as she always had.

SKIES ABOVE.

Captain Edgar F Riker, Imperial Navy, Battlefleet Scolaris, stared at the auspex on his Marauder Bomber cockpit, what the frak were the two things, fish?

He frowned as two unidentified contacts resolved on his bomber's auspex display again. At first glance they appeared to be some sort of aquatic vessel, but that made no sense given their high speed and depth. Sensor ghosts perhaps?

"Throne damn this primitive backwater," Riker grumbled. The poor auspex returns were making it bloody hard to tell what he was dealing with down there. For all he knew the damn things could be anything from surface ships to submersibles to some newfangled aerocraft. Or just glitches in the system.

Riker decided on a closer pass to satisfy his curiosity and get a better magnified visual. Swooping lower, he toggled the video feed - and was startled to see two sleek, metallic craft moving swiftly through the waves beneath him. Some kind of seafaring attack ship by the looks of it, and heavily armed at that.

His eyes narrowed. However uncouth their design, it was clear these were military vessels...which likely meant unfriendly. Furthermore, judging by their vector, it seemed they had detected his Marauder on approach.

Riker powered up the Lascannon batteries just in case. He had no desire to start a pointless skirmish, but if fired upon, he would not hesitate to turn these presumptuous rabble to slag. The glory of this day belonged to the Imperium alone.

"Let's hope our new friends know to respect their betters," Riker muttered as he swung the heavy bomber around for another pass. If they made any threatening moves, he was more than ready to remind them of their place.

VOSTOKVAKIAN BALLISTIC MISSILE SUBMARINE TK-443.

MV MARYA LEONOVA, UNDERWATER

"Tovarish Kapitan! UFO is going into attack run! permission to fire flares" Michmann Alicia Volkova asked her superior, Captain First Rank Anastasia Nikoleva Gogol.

Gogol tensed as the unknown aircraft swooped lower towards them. On the hydrophones, its engines growled menacingly. Like nothing she had heard before. Her executive officer turned to her, requesting permission to fire defensive flares.

Gogol weighed the options quickly. Her orders were to avoid confrontation, if possible, but the safety of her crew and ship came first.

"Hold fire for now, let him make the first move," she decided. "But standby on those flares and be ready to duck deep fast. I don't like this one damn bit."

Around her, the bridge crew watched the monitors uneasily as the alien craft closed in. Gogol silently prayed it would withdraw without incident. Her missiles were ready, but an open clash here would only distract from the real enemy.

She thought of her little Natasha at home, waiting for her mother's return. Gogol had vowed to see this mission done so she could hold her girl again. No flying mystery would keep her from that promise. Not while there was still life in her aging Akula.

"Steady," she muttered as the ominous shape loomed above them. "Steady on..."

On the Los Angles, Mancuso heard his Sonar Operator, "Cap, the Stovie launched flares."

"Flares, what the hell is the Akula tryin to do?"

The sonar operator shrugged her shoulders. "Dunno cap, could be a missile."

SKIES ABOVE.

"Sir, we're going down" the Marauder's navigator screamed at Riker as he cursed. Something had come from the ocean, a flare of some sort that had caused them to lose control. Aboard the Los Angeles, Mancuso frowned as sonar reported the Akula launching defensive flares. He didn't like the Stovie sub making provocative moves, especially with that mystery aircraft still buzzing around above.

"The Akula's spooked by something," Mancuso mused. "But if she's not firing on us, it must be that damned aerial contact."

Moments later, a garbled transmission burst over the radio - the unidentified aircraft seems to have been affected by the flares. It was out of control and going down!

Mancuso rushed to the periscope, raising it just in time to see a strange bat-winged shape plunging in flames towards the sea. It smashed into the waves, followed shortly by an explosion as its fuel tanks ignited.

Lowering the scope, Mancuso turned to his XO. "Looks like our flyboy friend got too close to the candles down there. Request radiation readings on the crash site immediately."

If they were lucky, the wreckage might yield some clues to their mysterious foe. But Mancuso didn't intend to stick around long enough for the Akula to take an interest in them.

"Rig for ultra-quiet," he ordered. "Let's ease on out of here while Ivan's distracted picking up her new debris field."

One down, who knew how many more unknowns to go. But Mancuso had scored first blood at least, if accidentally. Now to get his boat safely out and make sense of this madness.

POLYARNYI NAVEL BASE. VOSTOKVAKIA.

The captain watched the tugs push his ship out of the port. Below him, the catapult had finished loading their precious cargo. "3 hours...a record with the new loader robots and equipment." he thought with smug satisfaction. The engineer's voice came on the intercom. "Comrade Captain, all heavy equipment is loaded."

"Excellent, remember to start up our robots at 5 bells." The captain was pleased. They were moving quicker than expected. The tugs finally let the cargo ship move own its own in open sea. In true Vostokvakian fashion, they silently watched the cargo ship go off on its voyage. The captain watched the 1st tug signal them.

"M.V. JULIUS FUCIK, HAVE A LOVELEY VOYAGE". He smirked. Lovely, our journey is anything but lovely."

Turning his head he appraised his senior most passenger, a general-polkovnik of the Airborne Troops wearing the uniform of a ship's officer. "I trust your troops are comfortable?" he asked.

General Andreyev laughed "Do not worry about them, they've been through worse. Although many are already seasick!" All of them had been brought aboard the boat-except for the general in sealed barges. "Thank you for letting my men walk below deck."

Captain Kherov merely nodded. "I run a ship, not a prison, general." he watched the man before arching an eyebrow. "I trust that your men know how to work the equipment?"

The general nodded assuredly. "They trained extensively on the simulators at Polyarnyi. Operating the machines will be second nature, even for the greenest conscripts."

Kherov grunted in approval, then turned his gaze back outward as the Fucik steamed farther from shore. Her course was set for the Atlantic convoy routes, though her real mission was far more vital.

Andreyev joined the captain in looking pensively out to sea. "You know, when command first told me of this operation, I thought them mad," he confessed. "Sailing right into the enemy's lair. But it's a brilliant plan, I see that now."

"Scared of being on water, General?" Kherov asked dryly. "Surely you know that being on a ship is much safer than on a plane for instance. And this load it is carrying, it's a very light load."

"Light?" Andreyev asked dumbfounded. Kherov nodded, "Yes general light. Your equipment is the bare minimum amount of weight we can carry. And we've carried NX-3 class robots."

The general nodded in surprise. As a paratrooper he had to calculate everything by weight. Below him however, the seasick members of the 234th Air Assault Regiment groaned as they were seasick. Another deck below them, their equipment, BMD AFV's, artillery, Mi-24 Hind gunships were secured.

"For fuck's sake, this is a job for the fucking Naval Infantry" a paratrooper wailed as she clutched her stomach.

"Alina, shut the fuck up, you are killing me with your voice, another moaned before throwing up over the side. Another one screamed for his comrades. "Misha! Vanya! help". One paratrooper cradled her knocked-out boyfriend.

"Oy blin, this is worse than jump training!" groaned a miserable paratrooper, clutching the railing as the Fucik rolled through the swells.

"Ivanov, stop your pathetic whining!" barked Sergeant Orlev. "Unless you want latrine duty the whole trip?"

Ivanov turned green but held his tongue. Nearby, two paratroopers helped a seasick comrade to his feet.

"Up you get, Sasha," they encouraged. "Deep breaths now."

Medic Vasiliev rushed to check on the passed-out trooper as his girlfriend fretted over him. "He'll be fine, just get some food and water in him when he wakes."

On the deck below, mechanics were securing the regiment's equipment for the rough passage ahead. Hind gunships, light armor, artillery - a powerful air-mobile force bound for distant shores.

General Andreyev observed the organized chaos with a critical eye. Training and discipline were carrying the day thus far. Though many of these brave souls had never set foot on a ship before today.

"Remember your duty and trust your training - that is all the Ocean requires of you," Andreyev called out. "Do this, and our Motherland's enemies shall soon learn to fear the VDV!"

Weak cheers answered him, punctuated by the groans of the afflicted. Andreyev permitted himself a thin smile. The misery would pass soon enough. And when they reached their destination, the 234th would be ready to rain fire from the heavens once more.