Interlude V: Persephone's Wake
Captain Kokane Kekoa made one more round of the Persephone's navigation bridge, which was perched atop the immense spoiler mounted near his ship's stern. The sea was calm, and the moon, lovely and bright as it descended the eastern night sky, was the only meaningful source of light to be seen on the horizon. Manhattan had gone dark even before the UN Navy task force arrived outside New York Bay, and with combat operations imminent, none of the warships were running their red and green navigation lights. The fleet defense frigate Benkei was clearly silhouetted by the moonlight to the east, and Kekoa could also see the angular shape of the auxiliary support ship, Lionel, off to starboard. He thought he could just make out the rakish lines of the missile cruiser Antietam, beyond it. The rest of the task force was lost to darkness; the other missile cruiser, Appomatox, and the trio of destroyer escorts, Brunor, Galehaut, and Accalon.
It was 0400, two hours before the UEG planned to bar all of York's aircraft from entering an exclusion zone a radius of 80 kilometers around Manhattan. Directing his attention back to the deck of his own ship, Kekoa could see that activity was already ramping up. It was a relief to have the decks clear of refugees. Whether Terrans, micronized Zentraedi, or their giant brethren, they had all been safely evacuated to the Carolina coast.
Now, dozens of Sea Sergeant helicopters were being made ready on the deck, and reinforced crates and sundry gear were being trollied into staging areas for loading onto the aircraft. Soon, Marine infantry would be airlifted to secure a beachhead in the ruins of Fort Tilden, east of Manhattan on the Rockaway Peninsula, before the Persephone approached the shore and landed its contingent of destroids.
Kekoa's ship was a far cry from the state it was in after the Rain of Death. They had been unable to put out to sea in time, and that night still haunted him. He remembered awful blue pillars of light, illuminating New York's skyscrapers as bright as day. The great towers of steel and glass ran like melting wax, and when the multiple shockwaves crashed over Manhattan, the quarter-million ton Persephone was almost carried ashore, battered again and again until its keel threatened to snap and the harbor pier was crushed to powder. Afterward, the ship's compartments, corridors, and service bays were a moaning chaos of smashed mecha, tossed wreckage, and broken limbs.
The repairs and refit that followed, after the ship went under tow to the UN Navy dry dock in Mobile, Alabama, transformed it. Gone were the nuclear reactors, replaced by an array of mighty reflex furnaces, powering upgraded engines, anti-air laser turrets, and a pinpoint energy barrier system. Armored fighting platforms around the landing ship's upper works sheltered Defender and Phalanx destroids, amplifying its defensive firepower. Multiple aircraft elevators were installed in the main deck, and some of the destroid bays were given over to hangar space for transport helicopters, hovercraft, and a modest veritech wing. The Persephone's complement of Marine destroids was significantly reduced, but the ship could never have sustained the planned intervention around Manhattan without the modifications.
From captaining a missile cruiser at the close of the Global War, to taking over the Persephone, one of the first of the new line of submersible landing ships commissioned during the all too brief years of global peace, to surviving the Rain of Death, and now commanding an expeditionary force with the greater part of the UN Navy's strength in the western Atlantic, Kokane Kekoa could be said to be at the pinnacle of his career at sea. But tonight he wondered if he had made a mistake, bringing his ship back into the UEG's fold. He believed in the UEG's purpose, and the mission of the United Earth Forces, yet he and his crew had formed a close bond with the people of Manhattan during the weeks it took to make the Persephone seaworthy again. President Abhram, Commander Ztren, and Aderac, the gruff harbor master, were his friends. If he and his crew had accepted their invitation to stay with Manhattan, as the city's protectors, would the crisis with York ever have escalated this far?
Beyond that, there was a dread, a sense of threat, he could not shake. It was close to what he felt the night of the Rain of Death. His executive officer, Amelie Lacroix, had been with him through the apocalypse, and meeting her eyes across the crew stations of the navigation bridge, underlit by the dim blue interior lights, he knew she felt it too.
What to do? Command assured him that York's weapons were little threat. That the F-16's would disappear from the skies once his air group's Valkyries were over Manhattan, and their ground forces would have no choice but to withdraw after the destroids were ashore and ready to move through the old borough of Queens and outflank their positions. But Kekoa knew in his bones, there was something more.
"XO," he called out, calmly, but clearly.
Lacroix raised her head again. "Captain?"
"Contact Commander Butler and ask him if it's possible to move up the launch of the rest of the Valkyrie squadrons.
"Aye, Captain."
Right now, only six Valkyries were in the air, patrolling and protecting the task force. The plan was to have all three squadrons launched by 0600, as a show of strength. Eventually, they would coordinate with the first of Colonel Edwards's Tactical Air Force squadrons to arrive, and rotate out for rest and rearming, one by one. But Kekoa wanted them aloft early. Events would show his instincts were correct, but no one could have predicted the nature of the threat.
The Persephone's six launch cradles, built into the sides of the main deck, were soon sliding out of the interior hangar. Each carried a pair of Valkyries in guardian mode, their tail assemblies facing the sea. When the blast doors shut, the veritechs would take off vertically, and the deck crews would prepare the next squadron for launch. Kekoa was already feeling better, and beginning to wonder if he had raised the alert level for nothing, when the warning came.
"Contact! Submerged contact detected on the ocean floor, inside the task force's perimeter!" the sensors technician shouted. The destroyer escorts' sonar arrays were fully networked with the command vessel, so there was no need to wait for them to transmit updates. "Correction, four submerged contacts! Depth is decreasing rapidly!"
"All ships, sound general quarters!" Kekoa ordered without hesitation. He was taking no chances. "Accalon, Brunor, and Galehout to begin immediate anti-submarine operations. Deploy depth charges!"
The whole rhythm of the ship changed in an instant. Alarms began sounding on the flight deck and in every compartment, and the ship-wide announcement cut across the rising babble of voices on the bridge.
"General Quarters, General Quarters. All hands man your battle stations. The route of travel is forward and up to starboard, down and aft to port. Set material condition 'Zebra' throughout the ship. Reason for General Quarters: hostile submerged contacts!"
Kekoa was rushing to the sensors station while Lacroix, fully anticipating her captain's intentions, continued to issue commands.
"Priority launch, all Valkyries! Abort helicopter takeoff operations and evacuate the flight deck!"
Squadron VF-75, the Red Jaguars, blasted off as one, their thrusters rattling the windows of the bridge and briefly casting the faces of the crew in harsh light until they rose out of sight. Around the perimeter of the flight deck, the thick, round protective covers were swinging open on the missile pods of the Phalanx destroids as they rotated restlessly in their armored fighting platforms, searching for targets. Kekoa reached the sensors station, putting a hand on the back of the technician's seat and leaning over him. He swore at what he saw on the monitor.
"York isn't supposed to have even a single attack sub! What is going on here?"
"Additional contacts, Captain! Eighteen, no twenty- stand by! Additional contacts! Stand by!"
"They're too small for attack subs," the Persephone's intelligence analyst said from the other side of the station. "Some kind of submersible mecha, maybe?"
"Whatever they are, there are more than enough of them to kill us," Kekoa growled, but not so loud that the rest of the crew could hear him.
"Update from Commander Butler!" Amelie called out. "Fire Bees, ready for launch in eight mikes!"
"Tell him we need them in the air sooner, or they might not launch at all!"
"Accalon reports - in position and releasing depth charges," Operations informed him.
There was a bright flash of light on the port side, then two more, followed by a roll of thunder. The Operations officer spoke up again, disbelief in his voice.
"Signal… signal from Galehaut - 'Accalon destroyed. Depth charges ineffective.'"
"Now counting sixty plus contacts, all surfacing, Captain!" Sensors reported.
There was another flash of light, much nearer, to starboard this time, and then the auxiliary ship Lionel exploded. Except that word did not begin to describe the experience of the Persephone's crew at that moment. First the glare that left spots dancing in their vision. Then the roar of the detonation. Millions of gallons of fuel. Thousands of tons of munitions for every weapon system carried by the task force, Food and stores meant to keep the sailors, aviators, and marines of the expeditionary force sustained for months. Relief supplies intended for the people of Manhattan. Nearly 200 crew. All consumed in an instant. The Persephone was shaken by the blast as pieces of the Lionel weighing multiple tons were thrown toward the heavens. A house-sized chunk of the superstructure slammed into the Persephone's flight deck and slid across it with a banshee's shriek, scattering abandoned helicopters in its wake. At least six were left with their white bellies in the air, rotor blades bent like hairpins, until the last was carried overboard on the opposite side of the deck by the Lionel's wreckage.
The shouts and cries of alarm on the navigation bridge were starting to subside when the smaller pieces of metal and equipment began tumbling from the sky and rattled on every surface of the landing ship like the world's worst hailstorm.
Kekoa reached the observation port and peered out, then muttered an oath. A great cloud of fire was rising, lighting the sea and the deck of his ship in hellish hues of red, yellow, and orange. Everything above the Lionel's waterline was either entirely gone or reduced to a burning ruin that was already starting to sink beneath the surface. The Persephone pitched sharply as the wave that was rushing in every direction from the explosion slammed into its hull, and then it wallowed back again.
"All ships, take evasive action! Weapons free!" Kekoa ordered, steadying himself on a handrail. "And I want to know what the hell we're fighting out there!"
The terraced superstructure of the fleet defense frigate Benkei lit up like a Christmas tree, unleashing its full arsenal. Green laser pulses, autocannons, and anti-mecha missiles raked the sea, and Kekoa saw explosions around the smaller ship. They had drawn blood!
There was a buzzsaw howl of gun pod fire to starboard. Two Valkyrie guardians from the Red Jaguars, crimson in the glow of the Lionel's flames, were turning tight circles at two hundred feet and pouring rounds down at metallic shapes in the water. One target cracked like an eggshell, briefly glowing yellow from within, and sank. Blue white beams answered the attack, crisscrossing in the sky, and finally catching both aircraft. One was chopped apart, the other banked drunkenly, trailing sparks and molten alloy, and plunged into the surf. Kekoa squinted through the horrific flashes of energy, and could begin to make out in a little more detail the domed shapes of the machines bobbing in the water. Each was about eight meters across, crowned with twin spikes that cast energy beams, and had a glowing red scanner port that peeked just above the water's surface. Every time defensive fire triangulated on one of them, it would duck below the water's surface like a bobber pulled under by a fish, only to resurface elsewhere, seconds later. Kekoa shook his head.
It couldn't be. Why would-?
"Missile launch! Incoming missiles! Barrier Control, prepare to intercept!" Tactical warned.
There were twelve of them; big, anti-ship types. Defender destroids positioned along-side the Phalanx units in the Persephone's fighting platforms went into action, trying to rip missiles from the sky with their quad-linked rapid fire cannons. They destroyed three before they were too close to be tracked, but one more flew straight in at the bridge. A blinding vertical disc of light suddenly intervened, suspended in the air just a few meters away. Its nearness made the hairs on the backs of Kekoa's arms stand up. The missile struck the barrier and exploded, sending out ripples of energy and setting Kekoa's ears ringing. Seconds later, the barrier regenerated and raced off to defend another part of the ship.
That left eight other missiles headed toward the Antietam. The ship was easy to spot now because of the burning oil slick surrounding the point where the Lionel sank. Antietam, like the rest of the task force's ships, had no barrier system, but its turrets shot down two missiles, and the Benkei's fleet defense weaponry reached out over a kilometer to swat away two others. But four more still struck home, all along the length of the missile cruiser. In seconds, one of the most powerful warships in the western hemisphere was ablaze from stem to stern.
"Positive ID! Hostiles are identified as Regult battlepods! Standard tactical type, with a mix of missile-equipped Gluuhaug and Serahaug type variants," Sensors finally called out.
"The Zentraedi!" Lacroix exclaimed. "We have to warn Command!"
"No!" Kekoa barked, turning to face her. The task force was a shambles, their mission a disaster before it even properly began, but he couldn't afford to panic or go numb. "It's not the Zentraedi! There's no way they could have slipped that many pods past our perimeter undetected, which means-"
"- They were already here!" his XO finished, understanding.
"The Hamilton!" Kekoa snarled, clenching his fists. "York killed all of those innocent refugees, just to bring us to this location, to set this trap! Inform headquarters!"
It wasn't easy to convert battlepods to be piloted by a pair of micronian pilots, but it was possible. Rick Hunter and Lisa Hayes's escape from captivity aboard a hijacked battlepod during the war was a well-known story. The real question was how York fooled both the UEG Inspectors and the engineers of the 'Z-Battalion' decommissioning units that were supposed to demolish the thousands of Zentraedi warships that crashed to Earth, and all of the battlepods aboard them. A question for another day.
"I don't know where York got their hands on that many battlepods, but right now we need to get ourselves out of this mess," Kekoa told his crew. "Order all ships to disperse! We may be able to outrun them at flank speed. They're not proper seagoing vessels."
But it soon became clear that every ship was surrounded and heavily engaged. Benkei was struck by dozens of particle beams, scrapping each of its deck turrets in turn. Galehaut reported its engines offline, then went silent. The Persephone's barriers sped across the ship's hull like insane glowing hockey pucks, trying to protect the most targeted sections of the ship, but already, three destroids were burning in their ruined platforms. Kekoa shook his head. The situation was beyond recovery.
"Abort fighter launch and secure all exterior hatches! Prepare for-"
"- Incoming!"
And fire pierced the navigation bridge tower through and through.
The battle was far from over. The crews of the destroyer, Brunor, and missile cruiser, Appomattox, supported by the Valkyries that had made it into the air, battled on desperately to break free of the wild melee. They blew apart dozens of the attackers. But the foe were too many, too close, too deadly. Before an hour had passed, every ship of Task Force Persephone lay at the bottom of the Atlantic. Ignoring the hundreds of shipwrecked sailors, struggling to survive in the cold waters, the remaining battlepods allowed themselves to sink, one by one, and made their way underwater toward the planned rendezvous point. The invasion of Manhattan would proceed ahead of schedule.
Colonel T.R. Edwards considered his options as he piloted his Valkyrie towards Manhattan, the rest of Phantom Squadron at his back. This operation had turned into a complete debacle before he even arrived. His unit was still many kilometers away from the coast, but he could already see the red glow of burning oil slicks underlighting the black cloud cover, creating a false dawn out over the Atlantic. No one was answering from Task Force Persephone, and back at the Global Operations Center at New Malmstrom Air Base, Command was asking him for updates, so they were no help. For now, it was his show, and he had to decide how to respond.
He had no intention of throwing his life away for a lost cause, but on the other hand, chaos like this always created opportunities for advancement, especially for an officer as ambitious and skilled as he was. Certainly his miraculous survival of the Rain of Death, however painful, had proven that. The United Earth Forces couldn't afford to ground an experienced pilot, no matter how grievous their injuries. And since he had backed the right side when that reckless bigot, Streight, failed in his scheme to seize control of the military and put down the Zentraedi in one blow, Edwards's star was rising even faster.
He could admit, he had been small-minded and mercenary for much of his career, serving in the employ of a succession of warlords and tin-pot dictators. Excitement, prestige, a fat paycheck, and petty luxuries were what he had cared about. Until the Visitor arrived. Until the crash landing of the mile-long warship that would become the SDF-1 devastated half the globe. And Edwards witnessed… a power. How petty, he realized he had been, how lazy! And so he joined with the UEG, and fought in the Global War. One rule. One order. One Earth.
But he had again thought too small. He tried to ride the coattails of his superiors, sticking close to old Admiral Hayes, Senator Russo, and the rest of that gang, keeping to Alaska Base and the halls of power, when he should have accepted the CAG slot on the SDF-1 and ridden it to victory and glory. Somehow, he received a reprieve, and survived the Rain of Death when so many tens of thousands died at Alaska Base. There was a price, of course. Half of his face. Pain that stayed with him to this day. But he could accept it as a reminder. He would not repeat his past mistakes. He would not take the easy path. He would fight at the front, and seize destiny with both hands.
"Phantoms, reduce speed and stand by," Edwards signaled, and then called for a link to the head of the UEG delegation in Manhattan. Moments later, the face of the alien appeared on his center screen, looking deathly pale.
"Inspector General, Colonel Edwards here, 15th Tactical Air Force Wing. I hear things went rather poorly outside New York Bay," Edwards commented lazily, as if he were discussing a spoiled picnic.
Inspector Nantes looked stricken. "The entire task force is gone! Our listening post on Sandy Hook saw the whole thing!"
"Then I guess it's on us to hold everything together until the cavalry arrives," Edwards said, keeping his tone nonchalant. He had questions that needed answers, and he couldn't afford to have the alien in a panic.
"Cavalry? You aren't still coming, are you? With one squadron?"
"Well, I suppose that depends. I need an honest assessment. No hemming and hawing. If I bring my boys and girls to the party, will Manhattan fight on, or are they planning to knuckle under?"
Nantes blew a breath and set his jaw, focusing himself. "They… yesterday they planned to resist, with or without the UEG's help, hopeless or not. They're shaken by what happened to the navy ships, but if you really are coming, I think they'll refuse to surrender."
Edwards smiled tightly. "Fine. I'll take care of the rest. You just keep them in the fight. No going weak-kneed on me, understand?"
"But what can you hope to do with just one squadron? They have battlepods!"
Edwards rolled his neck. "Yeah, I've killed battlepods before. And I'm not afraid of antique jets or wind-up tanks. Leave it to me. You'll find Skull Squadron doesn't have a monopoly on fancy flying or last minute rescues. We'll be making a fast pass of Manhattan in… ten minutes. I'll see what kind of trouble I can stir up on the way in. Then we'll find a place to land and catch our breath."
"There's a heliport facing the bay."
"No, too exposed. We'll go to ground at… Battery Park. Make sure I have a reception committee waiting for me. Food, water, medical, firefighters, and anybody who can wield a wrench. We'll work out the rest later."
The Inspector General looked amazed. "Thank you, Colonel. I'll make sure they're ready."
"Phantom Squadron, out." Edwards cut the link and switched back over to his unit's frequency. "Benson."
"Sir?"
"Get on the horn to HQ. I want the whole wing airborne and headed here ASAP."
"Without a forward base?" the young Air Force lieutenant asked, incredulous. "No ground crews? No reloads? The attrition we'll suffer-"
"You let me worry about the attrition, cub," Edwards replied with a dangerous sneer. "Shuttle drops from orbit, reroute a navy shipment, arrange resupply from one of the other independents- I'll come up with something. As of now, we are all-in on this battle. No more half-measures from spineless politicians. You get me the rest of my Ghosts, and get ready for the fight of your life!"
"Sir!"
Edwards planned his flight path as best he could, based on the limited intelligence on York's positions around the borough that Manhattan had available to share. The veritechs of Phantom Squadron, sinister looking in multi-hued grays and stark white edge-highlights, swept their wings back, increased speed, and hugged the earth. Forget tree-top level, there were no trees anymore. Featureless gray terra firma blurred past meters below their wingtips, broken only by low hillocks of ash sludge, clumps of scrubby grass robbed of all color in the pre-dawn dimness, and the occasional stagnant watercourse sluggishly flowing through deeply shadowed valleys. The only thing worth fighting for around here was Manhattan itself.
"Phantoms, prepare to enter the combat area in forty-five seconds. Watch for hidden anti-air emplacements. Take out your designated targets, but you are authorized to engage targets of opportunity. Stick with your wingman, hit hard, keep low, and keep moving. Our objective is to cause as much damage and confusion as possible and then disengage. Watch your ammo levels - short bursts, single missiles, and use lasers when possible. The rally point is Battery Park. We will make a vertical landing there and link up with friendly local forces. Put the fear in them, Phantoms!"
"Yes sir!" came the chorus of loud and clear replies.
His pilots were all hand-picked, loyal, and capable. He expected to take heavy losses turning this colossal failure back into a real battle. That was acceptable. A military unit was a tool, and the prize would be worth the sacrifices, assuming he lived to claim it. Fame and advancement would go to the man who humbled York and saved Manhattan… to the man who ensured Manhattan would be incorporated into the United Earth Government. One rule. One order. One Earth.
Next chapter… aerial assaults, declarations, and the Siege of Manhattan…