Authors note: I try to leave authors notes in my profile, so check that out for updates. Also, I'll try to be as accurate as possible, but I can't guarantee anything - I mostly read about the technology and not the tactics, I can't afford Norman Friedman's books, I can't find sources online about how sonar detection was done in WW2, and I wrote this in like a day. Any inaccuracies, comment and I'll try to amend it.

The stars twinkled in the sky of the Atlantic ocean, as underneath a motley collection of vessels, from state-of-the-art LPG carriers to old Panamax container ships zig-zagged through the sea, with small black dots maintaining their position outside of the steel game of snake. One of these small black dots was currently shouting seemingly into the air, as the collection of machinery connected to her belched steam from a single funnel.

"No contacts on the sonar, boss. Either we lost them, or it wasn't a sub." The exaggerated southern drawl of USS Menges cut through the radio as the convoy cut through the Atlantic.

Far behind her, though only about a mile or so behind, the brows of her superior furrowed. "Alright, continue picket duty, and notify me if you pick anything else up." USS Roe ignored the affected sigh on the other side of the radio as she continued forwards. Brushing a lock of blonde hair out of her eyes, she looked on at the lights of her flock as they shone in the dark.

Convoy SC 259 was a typical convoy, one of many that crossed the Atlantic that helped keep the appearance of normal life carrying all sorts of things, from medical necessities to consumer goods, in the era of the Abyssals. With submarines ready to appear at a moment's notice, all that kept them at bay was the ever-decreasing numbers of conventional surface vessels, and the shipgirls of wars past.

'Although, we might not be able to continue keeping up that delusion', thought Roe.

So far, they'd already lost a container and a Ro-Ro, and they were only halfway to Liverpool.

The first attack had caught them by surprise; the first warning they'd had was when William T. Powell spotted the torpedo tracks in the water. She'd tried her best, blowing two of them up with her autocannons but the torpedoes sneaked past her… only for a ship on the other side of the screen to explode.

That had been a surprise to all of them, considering they'd only been a day out from New York. They'd called in P-8's to support them, but after four hours the search had been called off, and they had continued on, with everyone shaken up and on guard.

Since then, they'd been attacked thrice, and it had been sheer luck that they'd only lost two merchies, with one losing propulsion and requiring tow, and another that was only afloat thanks to the valiant efforts of her crew reshoring the hole in her port side.

Damned good luck, considering they weren't the only ones being attacked. So far, another convoy behind them had lost nearly a quarter of their merchants, and another convoy coming from Europe didn't have good news either.

"And all the damned luck that we don't have a carrier." Normally, New York-Liverpool run convoys had an escort carrier but this time around, they were all being tasked with hunter-killer patrols, bigger convoys or resting. Atlantic Fleet felt that the small size of this convoy meant that it would've been fine without one, but now Roe cursed whoever made that decision - probably some pencil-pusher in HQ underpaid and overworked, or a damned out-of-touch officer.

It wasn't like she didn't understand that decision. She read the same reports they all did; Abyssal submarine activity was up 200%, and the CVE's were all working overtime to cull the numbers, and the fleet was gearing up for a possible appearance of a Princess, so they couldn't spare any Essex's to help.

It didn't stop her from cursing the decision still.

"Um, Commander?" The voice of William T. Powell came over the radio, uncertain and nervous as always. Once upon a time it would've annoyed her, but having worked with her for so long, Roe knew that that lack of confidence hid a demon of an instructor in the art of ASW.

"Yeah, Powell? Something on sonar?"

"I've got something, bearing 240," her voice gaining confidence as she started her craft, Powell replied. "Not sure what it might be, but it's the same pattern as…" Her voice trailed off, and Roe knew exactly what she meant.

"As the last few attacks. That makes it worth checking out. Take Mason with you."

"U-understood!" The radio died, and with it another pit grew in her stomach.

What on earth was going on?

Darkness

Nothing

Floating

The girl's life had been made up of these three things. Once upon a time, she vaguely remembered something, but her memory, or what remained of it, held none of that, nor whatever was in the void.

All it was now, was Darkness. Nothing. Floating.

These were all the sensations she knew. These were all she had. And it was all she would know, forever.

"You got that?" Mason fidgeted with the depth charges on her rigging, as she and Powell slowly moved in formation.

Mason had to admit, this Abyssal was good. So far, they'd been tracking her for an hour, with both of them having little to no luck. In the dark, even if the sub had her periscope up they wouldn't be able to see it unless she was way too close, and their sonar was barely able to pick her up. That alone would have made her a tough opponent, but this sub was Fast with a capital F, and knew how to use her speed. The moment either her or Powell closed in for Hedgehog, she'd rush out and dive. It was a cat and mouse game, and the mouse was winning.

"No," replied Powell.

"I've got something at 90. You're the faster one, wanna go in?"

"A-alright." Going to flank speed, Powell rushed in, aiming to catch the submarine before it could speed off again.

Before she even got close, there was a flash of light, and eight streaks flashed through the sky, trailing flame the whole time.

The two destroyer escorts had never seen it before, but being the good sailors they were, they'd brushed up on the new systems introduced since their scrapping.

"HOLY FUCKING SHIT THAT WAS A MISSILE." That didn't stop Mason from losing her mind at seeing a SS-N-7 up close as it flew past her.

"Warning! Vampires in the air, flying towards the convoy!" Roe caught the missiles on radar before she heard the warning, and immediately went to full speed as she rushed to put herself between the missiles and the merchants.

"Powell! What the hell is going on?!" Her AA-guns, 20mm and 40mm, weren't radar guided, so in the dark they were limited to firing at the streaks as they blazed through the sky, and hoping to god they hit while she fired desperately with her main guns while her radar directors scanned the sky.

"T-the submarine we were chasing, it suddenly fired missiles! We started shooting our guns where we saw it, but we-I-"

An explosion to her right, and Roe could hear the explosions as a load of munitions for NATO stocks exploded, detonating the cargo ship carrying it. 'They'd have to cut down on torpedo launches', she noted numbly.

"Distract it!" she roared, as she kept firing.

"Got one of the sunnuvabitches!" Menges shouted.

Another one died soon after, as Roe got a hit, but another five explosions rang out, before an eerie silence fell on the shattered convoy.

As Roe looked at the flaming wrecks of six - six! - of her flock, her stomach dropped.

'So that's why the Abyssals were so active now.'

Across the Atlantic, the same scene played out over and over again.

Screams

A new sensation reached the girl.

A familiar one.

Familiar? What was that word?