Somewhere south off the coast of the Faroe Islands, 15th of October 1939, 1030 hours:
Lightning shattered within the dark skies while the dark clouds continued to shadow the earth below. Massive waves were crashing into each other, creating giant splashes that would flip over a small boat. Amidst the chaos Mother Nature was creating, three cruisers were sailing against the treacherous waters, at their hull waving the flag of the Royal Navy, which was a combination of a red cross with the top left corner box filled with the colour blue along with the crowned lion emblem. The lights were off all across the ship, and the only lights there were were red lights illuminating only the inside compartments, which could barely be seen.
Among the three cruisers that were the Town class cruisers stood a girl inside the bridge, Sheffield. She was observing through the windows at the havoc that was happening. Her eyes were closed, and it was glowing slightly green as her computer-like vision was displaying the radar, sonars, and other sensors while checking the conditions aboard the ship. Just like any other shipgirl, she was able to access the whole ship through said display and her mind if she desires.
After a while, she released a sigh and opened her eyes. This whole deployment was getting a bit tiresome. It had been quite a while since they'd been at sea and constantly patrolling continuously for several months. Even if they did some port calls, it was only to retrieve survivors from sunken cargo ships torpedoed by Iron Blood U-boats before being re-supplied and sent out at sea again.
She looked outside the window while at the same time looking at the chaos that was happening. Her ship was tilting slightly from the aggressive waves of the Northern Sea. Just then, a voice emerged over the net.
"Manchester, Birmingham. Why are we going to the Faroe Islands? Didn't we already capture it like a few months ago?" A voice emerged, calling out the recipient.
Sheffield heard the incoming radio transmission through the speaker. She walked towards it and picked up the PTT and pressed on the button to speak. "Maintain radio silence, Birmingham." She said in a cold tone.
"It's alright, Sheffield. " Said Manchester in a calm and professional tone through the net, reassuring Sheffield. "They won't be able to intercept our short-ranged transmissions unless they're somewhere nearby, and if they are somewhere nearby, maybe it's just a couple of U-boats. They are good swimmers, but they cannot outrun depth charges."
Sheffield released a sigh and just lay back on the wooden seat. She remembered back before the war started, back when she was mostly at port in Scapa Flow serving the great ladies like Queen Elizabeth, Hood, Prince of Wales, King George V, the great elders, and knights of the Royal Navy. When things were a bit more comfortable, with the exception of that one day a year ago or so when that one pest came over and acted like a pervert.
Then some months before the war started, being sent over to Norfolk to serve as a secretary for that pest. Such an unpleasant gentleman he was to serve compared to the Prime Minister or the admirals, who behaved alot more properly and while they sort of treated her like a child, which sort of pissed her off a bit but then compared to that madman…
"The Admiralty wanted us to be there maybe for a good reason. Perhaps to deter any invasion coming in from the north or destroy some lone, mindless sirens lurking around here." Manchester explained.
"I thought the home fleet in Scapa Flow could just leave port at any second in that case?" asked Birmingham once more.
"Well, the message that they sent to me doesn't sound or look like that much of a high priority." said Manchester.
Then all of a sudden, a voice came over the net, a male voice speaking in accented, broken English, interrupting their conversation.
"Unknown vessel, this is Danish Coast Guard. This is Danish Coast Guard. You are entering Danish waters; identify yourself, over."
Followed by the announcement, a loud buzzing sound of a propeller was heard over the clouds. Sheffield stood up from her seat and went outside the bridge as the rain continued to pour down to the earth. She closed her eyes and checked the radar display and noticed a dot moving somewhere near the edge of her radar's coverage. Then, she spotted two dots on the radar.
"Danish what?" Birmingham asked in a confused tone.
Then, another announcement came over the net, coming from Manchester.
"Surface contact, bearing three-six-zero, distance 3 nautical miles away!"
Sheffield looked to the front and saw two shapes on the horizon. Two ships, with a weird shape, nothing she had seen before. She went back to the bridge to grab binoculars before going back out to zoom in on the objects. She saw the two ships, each having only one cannon on the deck and with a weird-shaped tower riddled with multiple antennas and a radar spinning, waving a flag that was a mostly red flag with a white cross and with a weird triangular end.
"What are those things?" She asked herself, wondering what those might be.
1720 hours:
A screeching sound could be heard as the AWACS aircraft, the E-3 Sentry, flew above the clouds and the waters of the Northern Atlantic. Its turbofan engines roared as it pushed the aircraft forward as it continued skimming through the night sky. Like a hawk, except it was armed with sensors, watching over the surface below as its dome-shaped radar spun nonstop, sending off waves to the edge of its maximum range.
Inside the airframe, meanwhile, the pilot could be seen keeping his hands on the controls while the co-pilot was on the radio and had been trying to get into contact with basically anyone it could get into contact with in a professional tone.
"Mayday, mayday, mayday, this is November zero-four, NATO E-3 sentry. Break. We are almost at below bingo fuel, requesting guidance for landing, over?"
No response came in, only static noise. The pilot released a sigh before speaking again in yet another professional but more nervous tone.
"Any station, any station, this is November zero-four, NATO AWACS. Break. We are at angels two-five, fuel critical, requesting a vector to the nearest runway, over?"
Still no response over the net. The co-pilot looked back to the rest of the crew, who were doing basically the same thing.
"Got anything yet?" He asked.
The radio operator looked out of his desk and towards the co-pilot before shaking his head. "Nah, negative. Cannot get a connection to SATCOM and so far no response from HF and UHF. But I did hear some noises."
"Man, we're cooked, aren't we?" Said one of the other crew.
"Oh, shut up," said one crew member, giving him an eye.
"Settle down; we'll all be alright." The commander tried calming down the situation inside the aircraft with an optimistic tone. "Besides, I'm sure there are some flights nearby, probably an airliner that could help guide us."
"Or maybe they're also in the same boat as us.." The same crew earlier muttered.
"Bro, stop being a hopeless motherfucker for a second, will you?"
As the argument continued on, the co-pilot just shook his head and turned his body back to the previous posture and continued on with trying to contact through the channels, trying to reach for any ground control. The storm had forced them to ascend high up and pushed them all around, and right after they got out, they lost connection with basically every known channel.
In the middle of their desperation, eventually, a voice came over the net, relieving the pilot.
"This is Speedbird four-six-five to any station, any station, does anybody copy, over? A British-accented voice was over the net, diverting everyone's attention.
"Oh, thank God, we're not alone..." said one crew in relief.
"Speedbird four-six-five. November zero-four. What is your sitrep, over?" Said the co-pilot once more,
" Speedbird four-six-five to November zero-four. We have multiple injured passengers onboard from turbulence. Our navigation systems aren't working. Requesting immediate assistance to the nearest runway, over?"
Silence filled the airframe once more. The pilot then turned towards the co-pilot, who was sitting in silence upon hearing the transmission. He smirked. "Heh, turns out we're in the same boat as them, huh?"
"Ugh.." The co-pilot released a sigh, feeling his head riddled and filled with stress. He then spoke up again. "Speedbird four-six-five. November zero-four. Same situation right here. We're currently below bingo fuel. Our navigation systems seem to be broken too."
"Have you tried getting through SATCOM or HF and UHF?" Asked the man on the other side.
"No joy; you're the only one we've been able to get into contact with for the past few hours." The co-pilot replied.
"Right… Because you will always be alone.." All of a sudden, the tone of the man on the other side changed, turning into a deeper and darker tone. The radio began to crackle for no reason at all.
"What?" The co-pilot heard the transmission and was still processing what the man just said.
"Tell me, Mr. Richard Bay, how is it doing back home? I heard there was news of your wife cheating with a bloke from… L.A., yeah?"
The co-pilot's eyes widened in shock. How the hell did that man know his name? Still processing what was happening, the man continued speaking.
"Quite the big bloke he is, you know… It seems like she likes things that are more, uhh.. Bigger, hm?~"
The co-pilot's hands dropped. He was unable to believe what the man just said. As the man continued talking through the net, his voice slowly began turning feminine like.
"Oh, I heard your newborn daughter of yours is the result of that bloke's doing. Worried now, Mr. Richard Bay? Hm? Oh yes, you should be. Your wife just gave birth to a child that is not yours. She doesn't and never loved you at all, and that's a fact; you are forever destined to be forsaken in this God-forsaken world, Mr. Richard Bay. DO YOU HEAR ME-" The transmission was suddenly cut without a warning.
The co-pilot's hands began shaking and he was deep in thought from the words the man just said. His eyes went blank as he stared into nothingness, contemplating his life and what he had been doing. Is he really forsaken? But then all of a sudden, he felt a tap on his left shoulder. He turned to his left to see the figure of his commanding officer, his face disfigured and his lips grinning devilishly. His eyes widened, and it turned black as if he was possesed. Unbeknownst to him, he was unaware of what was really happening.
"What the hell is happening to him?" The mission commander wondered, as he began waving his hands
"Man, we're cooked… This is the Bermuda kind of cooked…"
"November zero-four, this is Speedbird four-six-five, do you copy, over?" The voice of the man continued to be repeated through the net as the event onboard the aircraft went by.
Just a few miles from the aircraft, two feminine figures were floating in the sky, shadowing from behind. One with a slight bulge on its head and one with a clenched red-hot fist. One with tears and one with a look of annoyance.
"Sowwy... I can't hold it..." Said Tester as she held her head in pain.
"Shut up..." Observer furrowed her eyes, clenching her hands as she watched the aircraft fly away.
—--
1800 hours:
"Flight Speedbird four-six-five, please be on standby; we have other flights with more urgent priorities; expect a delay of 15 minutes." Said the controller from the ATC tower as the radio was swarmed with multiple requests, overwhelming him along with the rest of his buddies inside.
"Speedbird four-six-five to ATC, we have three minutes of fuel remaining, two engines are out and one is about to shut down. Requesting priority, over?"
"Flight four-six-five, we're having around ten other flights coming in with even more urgent priorities; please be patient."
Outside the windows, down the field, and near the runway at the grass field, filled with dozens of airframes. Airbus A330's, A320's, Boeing 737's, 777's, and even some 747's, two of them in fact, along with a few small aircraft, while the normal parking area for aircraft was completely overwhelmed with other similar aircraft.
A small King Air 200 could be seen slowly descending, landing gear yet down and nose up.
"Flight Papa Uniform six-six-four, you are not authorised for landing, abort now!"
The order was belayed by the aircraft as it continued its descent, its gears yet down and the sound of metal screeching was heard as the belly touched the concrete surface.
"Goddamn.." Gaby was seen near the US Navy's own hangar, the naval station that stationed P-8 Poseidons, F-15's, and a few big aircrafts stored in the hangar. Due to the sudden emergency since dawn, the tarmac was filled to the brim with mixed military and civilian aircraft.
"Man, this feels like 9/11 for real." Robert was beside Gaby. "Pops told me shit went down like this."
The small aircraft touched down on the surface, leaving behind scratch marks and a few debris at the airfield. Multiple vehicles, like a fire-fighting truck and multiple ambulances, rushed to the scene, sirens blaring in the background along with lights shining from the sirens.
"Get a crane on the runway and get that thing off the runway now!" One marine officer shouted, pointing his hand at the scene.
Gaby watched the ongoing chaos before looking at the other airfield, where other aircraft could be seen landing down.
"What a long day this has been." Gaby remarked.
On the ATC tower, the controller took off his headset, overwhelmed by the amount of requests that kept on coming non-stop. He released a sigh; this was something he wasn't expecting his whole life. Never had he been in such a crisis as this before.
"Gunnar, give a go-ahead to Speedbird four-six-five." Said his supervisor.
He released a sigh, put the headset back on, and leaned the mic close to his mouth. He can't quit yet; there are plenty of people in need of saving.
"Speedbird four-six-five, you are clear for landing at runway 01, vector zero-one-four, elevation one-three-five-"
—--
On the many seats within the 747 that was on final approach in the first-class section lay Wileman, a case officer that was on his way back to the states for a well-deserved rest after conducting subversive operations on the Chinese attempts of trying to influence European politics. Not as intense as in the films, as he spent mostly just stalking and following suspicious figures near Chinese embassies all over NATO-European countries; aside from a few captured spies, not much else happened.
His black fedora was the thing that covered his face as he continued snoring, oblivious to what was happening around him. It was until he felt the plane rumbling down on the surface, the sound of the gears touching down, which woke him up.
His eyes jolted open before looking at the wristwatch. It was 1830 hours. Huh, strange; it should be a few more hours' journey to JFK International airport. Maybe they had a few malfunctions?
"Ladies and gentlemen, we have touched down at Keflavik International Airport. Due to some complications, we are forced to conduct an emergency landing. We are sorry for all inconveniences-"
"The fuck?" Wileman looked outside the window and saw dozens of airframes parked outside on the tarmac and the grass field.
He started to have a few speculations. Maybe there was another 9/11, maybe in Europe? A couple of insane extremists crashing aircraft all over again? Or did a war just start?
Still looking at the grass field and tarmac, he then saw the section of the airport that was the Keflavik Naval Air Station, belonging to the US Navy and recently shared with the Air Force from what he had heard when he was stationed in Brussels. The whole tarmac was filled to the brim with commercial aircrafts. The scene was reminiscent of the infamous 9/11 when all flights were ordered to land on nearby airfields, giving a scene of the entire airport being full.
Moments passed and after a while, the aircraft eventually halted at a grass field, in an area that's unable to support the 747's weight; obviously, the landing gear would begin to sink into the wet earth soil. It took a while until eventually the stair truck arrived to allow the passengers to leave the aircraft. A couple of ambulances came, along with a couple of civilian vans. Once the stair was connected to the door, the first that came in was the medical staff and the flight attendants carrying people who were covered in stitches and wraps; one flight attendant was even seen holding a passenger's head; poor guy probably broke his neck during a turbulence.
Wileman can't really remember what happened earlier; he was so deep asleep and tired after the exhausting task he had embarked on in Europe. But he did feel the aircraft rumbling when he was sleeping, along with a few loud rumblings from a few lightning bolts.
"Man, what just happened." He asked himself.
Eventually the injured passengers were brought out of the aircraft and were then loaded into the ambulances and the civilian vans. It took a moment until passengers began asking what was happening. This sure reminded him of 9/11 when he was on a flight to in-between states. Quite the chaotic scene it was back then.
"Attention, dear passengers. We are sorry for the inconveniences that happened at this moment. Due to some technical issues, you will now be directed towards the terminal. We are unable to acquire transports, so with a heavy heart we are asking dear passengers to walk-"
The word walk caused Wileman to groan, along with a couple of other passengers. Great, more walking. Well, at least they didn't crash, save for maybe a few aircraft that might've crashed due to reasons he speculated were due to the event that was happening at the moment, reminiscent of the tragedy.
Eventually disembarking down the stairs, guided by the flight attendants and by the locals, they began a long march towards the terminal. There, he saw a long line of aircraft he had seen earlier. Many of the passengers were still stuck inside the many aircraft due to the lack of stairs and stair trucks to support this amount.
After a long march, approximately almost 30 minutes later, they eventually arrived at the terminal. The journey was but without complaints and groaning. The sound of a baby crying, children, and other adults complaining non-stop filled Wileman's ears.
He released a heavy sigh, feeling stressed about the entire ordeal. Along with the fact that he was wearing an office outfit while hanging his suit on his right arm. They eventually arrived at the terminal, which was filled to the brim with other disgruntled passengers whose aircraft were forced to land on the island.
Forced to stand up while the large crowd of passengers was standing cramped up, causing the air to become more humid as their bodily heat radiated next to each other. The seats were filled up with either bags, children, or some elderly.
"Please, remain calm, everyone!" said one woman in accented English, trying to calm the crowd down.
"What is happening right now?"
"We demand answers!"
As the crowd continued demanding answers, Wileman felt bad for the Icelanders having to deal with the whole ordeal that was happening. But then, he saw a glimpse of a familiar feminine figure moving. He began walking towards the familiar figure, eventually going out from the crowd. There, he saw a bit more clearly, a light-brown-haired woman in a grey office outfit and a pair of dark flat shoes.
He approached her before eventually, right as she exited out of the terminal to the door, he called her out.
"Ms. Emily?"
The woman stopped in her steps, turning back towards the source of the person who called her, before looking at Wileman. There, the face of the woman was revealed, with smooth skin and odd eyes. The women stared at him before eventually recognising him and called him back.
"Ah, Mr. Brown!" She greeted him back.
He approached her and stopped just a meter away from her. "I thought you were going to Norway? Did the storm force your flight down?" He asked.
"Well… y-yes." She crossed her arms together, her tone stuttery. "How about you?"
Wileman felt something was wrong with her posture but decided not to press onwards, saving it for later. "Must've been rough, huh?"
"Y-Yeah..." She answered back before straightening her arms. "Well, I have to go." She began walking away.
"Where? The embassy?" He asked.
"Yeah, I have to report back since my flight is grounded." She said before walking away. "I recommend going to your embassy if you don't want to be walking around waiting."
Wileman stared at her as she walked away. He felt suspicious of her by the way she moved her body and her tone. But then hearing the suggestion she just gave made his mind instead change towards it and instead he began walking out of the airport, passing through the massive crowd, many of whom were obviously tired from standing, probably for a whole day after looking at the number of aircraft parked in the airfield or the grass field.
Eventually arriving at the exit, where he could see the amount of traffic and chaos from people trying to get a ride. All the normal airport taxis were full and occupied, probably with the same objective as him. He pulled out his phone to check, only to find out that there was no signal.
"Shit…" he cursed.
"Hey!" One voice called him out from behind, in an accent.
Wileman turned back towards the source to see a man in his late 40's waving his hand at him from his Toyota RAV4. "Need a ride?" He asked in broken English.
Wileman grinned and nodded. He then hopped inside the car, of which he then said to the man. "US Embassy, get me there, will ya?"
—--
Somewhere in the Northern Atlantic, Aboard USS Enterprise (CVN-80), 1800 hours:
Silence was all there was inside the sickbay as Medellein was laid on one of the many beds in the sickbay, her cap along with her headset placed on a retractable table, part of the bed itself. The situation itself inside the sickbay was silent and without much activity.
Then, all of a sudden, a deafening screeching sound was heard in her ears. Her eyes jolted open and she immediately stood up from the floor with a heavy breath. She looked at her surroundings to see the room she was in. She lifted one of her hands to wipe her face, and without warning, she was greeted by a familiar voice.
"Welcome back, Rear Admiral. You were unconscious due to a blunt hit to the stomach from the storm earlier. I was able to evacuate you to the sickbay and assume control of the ship in the meantime. Would you like a situation report?" Lisa's voice appeared, announcing to Medellein through the ship's speaker.
Medellein sat up and turned on her computer vision. "Go ahead... Oh, and how's the rest of the group?"
"It's been approximately 6 hours since you went unconscious, Rear Admiral. Three F-18's were swept off the deck and two F-35's are heavily damaged, while 20 aircraft, either F-35's or F-18s, are slightly damaged. The current weather is windy and the temperature is at an average of 50 degrees Fahrenheit. We've lost connection to the satellites, though there are no signs of jamming. I've dispatched Hawk 1-3 in the air and two flights of two F-35's on combat air patrol to anticipate any attacks. Over the past 3 hours, we've managed to regroup with the rest of the group, and all ships are reported to be on standby. I've picked six radar contacts, all of whom are without their beacons on, located at bearing two-six-zero, at distance three-six-zero. Right now we're on our way towards Keflavik Naval Base responding to a distress call from CIC at the speed of 50 knots and we will arrive at approximately 0208 hours tomorrow if the weather is calm as it is now."
Medellein nodded at the reports. She then sat up and went on to grab her cap and headset before putting them on. "No satellite connection yet, no jamming… Has the war really started?" She thought, thinking of the possibility that the satellites may have been shot down, but then she thought that would be dumb since the shrapnel would basically destroy the surrounding satellites.
"I'm retaking control." Medellein ordered. "Maintain current heading and speed."
"Understood, control is now back in your hands, Rear Admiral. Maintaining current speed and heading."
Medellein walked towards the exit, walking out towards the hallway as she began making her way back towards the bridge.
Eventually arriving at the bridge after walking through the complex hallways and watertight doors and the narrow steep stairs along the way. She turned on her computer-like vision to zoom in, looking out the windows at the ships first to her right, where she saw the familiar shape of a Flight III Arleigh Burke bearing the number 146, its tower waving the stars and stripes as it should be. Then she turned to her left to yet another Flight III bearing the number 145. Afterwards, she walked outside the bridge to look at the rear of her fleet to see the three Arthur Radford-class destroyers, all of them looking fine and dandy as they should be.
"She's alive!" said Rosey over the net in an enthusiastic tone.
"Not gonna lie, you sounded like a kid after seeing his dad come back with some milk after 15 years," said Marie in an annoyed tone.
"As if I'm not the only orphan kid here-"
A screeching static noise was heard over the net, directed by Medellein at the two girls as they started arguing. Both of them whined, moaned in pain, and groaned.
"I thought I raised you two properly. Gosh, what a terrible parent I am.." Medellein tutted, disapproving of their action. While deep inside, slightly disappointed by the way they behaved.