AN: Special Thanks to
@Sandy River DL for writing the very last scene in this chapter.
"Damned if I strike" - Unknown
Taylor Hebert
Taylor lowered a pair of binoculars as she gave an order. "Cease firing."
"Aye, ma'am! Cease firing! Cease firing!" The talker said, relaying her orders up to the fire control platforms.
She slumped into her chair feeling utterly exhausted and in more than a little pain, bloody gashes marked where she had taken nine heavy hits and approximately fifteen light hits. "You alright ma'am?" her OOD asked.
"Just painfully sore is all," Taylor replied as she looked towards the beach. The ruins of transports poked out of the water while the beach itself looked like a moonscape from the sustained bombardment unleashed by five cruisers plus an attached destroyer unit. As far she could tell even with the harsh white glare of her searchlights sweeping the beach, nothing was moving - countless vehicles and other things were burning while the remains of bodies were cast about. Men wearing PRT uniforms slowly strode onto the beach, their weapons ready and they swept it, every so often, she would spot a muzzle flash.
She exhaled, the past few hours had been mentally and physically exhausting. She wondered if this is how the various flagships of Jutland felt after the battle ended - and the casualties were tallied up.
Taylor sniffled and sobbed, she somehow
knew that Brockton wasn't sobbing, yet she was. Three of the
Independences hadn't made it,
Water Witch had been determined to be Beyond Economic Repair. She was being prepared to be scuttled, and the ragged survivors were riddled with holes and in some cases fire damage. Five PHMs also hadn't survived the fury of war.
Approximately two hundred people were dead.
Two hundred. Most
Endbringer fights didn't kill that many capes unless it went apocalyptically bad or it was Behemoth. And it was her fault that they were dead. Her fault. She had decided as Brockton, eager for revenge, to sally forth. It had resulted in what was unequivicoally, a victory.
As Taylor, she couldn't shake her thoughts off of the heroes she had sailed with. The brave men and women who had died fighting these monsters. Furthermore, as looked at the mathematics of the results of this fight…she couldn't help but admit that if she had to do it all again.
She would.
That was the terrifying thing, that she saw the loss of approximately two hundred people along with nine ships as a victory and that if she had to do it all again and had the option of changing how history would play out. She would do it again. She never knew that she could be that brutal. It scared her and she didn't want to become that person. A person who saw everything around her as pieces on the board, to be expended at a moment's notice. She hadn't seen lives, she had seen pieces to use and expend. No, she wouldn't be like that,
Brockton could be like that, but she never would.
I must find out the names of those who died, for they're all heroes. Taylor thought resolutely as she looked back towards Portland which seemed to be melting under a huge and bright orange-red illumination that vaguely formed a mushroom cloud high above it as the smoke roared into the heavens.
She realized with horror what was probably developing in Portland Maine. A firestorm, hundreds of countless fires swirling, converging, becoming a monster all of its own that would ravenously consume the city and its inhabitants. She recognized that cloud shape and that glow because of attacks done by Behemoth had caused the same thing to occur when he had last attacked in November.
The enemy had done this. Monsters that had seemingly risen from the depths of the abyssal plain of the ocean to torment humanity. Taylor paused. Where the hell had that come from? That being said…abyssal… had a sort of terrifying connotation to it. The deepest, darkest depths of the ocean where the sun doesn't shine and where the grudges and sins of the past are unlikely to be recognized as having been settled and atoned for.
So if the Abyss represents unsettled sins and grudges, then what did
she represent? Did she return as an enforcer of her nation's will to strike out in the best interests of the United States of America and to uphold and protect the sanctity of the United States Constitution? Or was she a guardian that was brought forth by either Davy Jones or something even more ancient to protect those who couldn't defend themselves from the Abyss? That thought caused her to pause, if gods
did exist, then where the
fuck had they been for the last twenty years? Why hadn't they descended from the heavens to slay the Endbringers and heal the planet that they called home?
She didn't know, but she wanted to find out. It was a series of questions that were starting to naw at her. There was an urge to continue the rabbit hole, to run out the possibilities on
why the gods hadn't intervened with the world going to shit. But Taylor, with great difficulty, ignored it. Because she feared that she would start working her way down that rabbit hole, she would start to sound like a nutjob on par with that Void Cowboy on PHO. She didn't want to sound like a total nutter thank you!
The TBS squawked suddenly. "
Taylorrrr you thereeeee?" Emma asked, her tone pained with a notable slur to it, and Taylor practically tore the talker out of its cradle.
"I am here, Emma, what's up?" She asked and there was a pause.
"
Could beeeeeee feeling betttttter. I got aaaaa corpsman fretting overrrrr meeeee right nowwww, apparently battle damageeee that our hulls takeeee, reflects on us. One of my arms is brokennnn and a hand is pretty messeddddd up, to say nothinnggg of myyy cheeest." Emma replied and Taylor winced at the image.
"How are you not screaming?" Taylor asked in a non-sequitur.
"
Laudanum, adreanalineeeee and endorphinsssss are a hell of a thing. But they want meeeee to head to the surgical suite for a debridinggggg whatever that is. I feel finerrrr, I don't needddd that shittttt." Emma grumbled and Taylor laughed then she saw the look that the OOD was giving her. The man looked like he wanted to laugh.
"What is it?" she demanded of him.
"Someone doesn't know that when it comes to your health, the doctors outrank everyone." The OOD replied and Taylor snorted a laugh as she brought the talker back up.
"Tonight is going to give me nightmares." She admitted.
"
I know ittttt tonight's been a horrorrrr show. How manyyyyyyyyy died?" Emma slurred slightly.
"I wish I knew Emma, but we lost eight ships to enemy fire and we're going to have to scuttle a ninth," Taylor explained, hoping that it would snap Emma out of it who sounded way too loopy.
There was a long painful pause as hopefully, the words sank in. "
Whoooo is goingggg to scuttleeee?" Emma asked, still loopy.
"USS
Water Witch, she's going to have to be scuttled, I am going to do it myself" Taylor replied, thinking of the brave LCS. She didn't want her to have to go through the indignity of having her crew kill her. Not after she got them through a cauldron of hell and fury intact. It was the least that Taylor could do.
"
Ohhhh, herrrr? Whyyyyy?" Emma half-whined, half-
sobbed and Taylor exhaled slowly through her mouth.
"Battle damage Emma, the damage control crews have declared her beyond economic repair. Her CIC got effectively
blown up by a shell hit and she lost a turbine during the fight as well. I still believe that they're thinking short term, rather than long term though." Taylor hissed out.
"
Yourrrr flaaaag, coulddddd overrrrrullleee them." Emma slurred through her tears and Taylor paused, why the hell hadn't she considered that?
"Thanks, Emma, also, please get checked out by the corpsmen," Taylor replied before letting go of the button.
"
Finnnnnnee." Emma slurred one last time before with a click, she hung up.
Taylor sighed and closed her eyes for a long blink.
Brockton
Brockton opened her eyes after blinking with a pondering expression on her face. She couldn't help but feel proud of the work that her Task Force had done here. Yes, ships had lost, but in the grand scheme of things. The disparity of tonnage loss between the Abyssals and her fleet was well in their favor. All in all, it was a battle that had been a well-earned victory.
"
Brockton?" A young voice asked her and Brockton stiffened, her RDF gear pinged the transmission as coming from
Water Witch.
"Yes,
Water Witch?" Brockton replied as she shifted her rudder and slowly closed with the crippled LCS, her starboard torpedo launcher swinging out.
"
I know you want to try and save me, but I am not salvageable." The LCS said slowly, in a pained voice.
"But
Water Witch, you were magnificent out there! You deserve to have more than one good battle!" Brockton said, appalled.
"
You think that I was magnificent? Thanks, but I took a direct hit to my Combat Information Center, between the shell and the efforts to extinguish the resulting fire, everything is a loss. I also lost a turbine, the thing tore itself apart and started a major fire. My Chief Engineer got the survivors out of my number one engine room and then hit the Halon. Then there's the blast damage from my near misses, including one near the pumpjets. I am not recoverable." The LCS replied slowly, sobbing softly.
"
Water Witch ships more heavily damaged than you have been repaired and returned to service. USS
Franklin CV-13 comes to mind, same with
Iowa,
New Jersey, and
North Carolina after West Pacific, after Admiral Kurita's Center Force squashed Admiral Lee's Task Force. Or hell, USS
Shaw, USS
Cassin, and USS
Dowes after Pearl Harbor." Brockton explained trying to find a way to convince the LCS that she could be saved.
"
Brockton, you've been nothing but kind as a flagship. I thank you for everything that you've done. But I am beyond saving, some of those near misses compromised major structural welds. I might survive the trip home, but if the seas rise even a little…." The LCS trailed off and sobbed some more, the hitching cries made Brockton's boilers ache with misery. She wanted nothing more than to hug the little girl.
Brockton wanted to argue that they could save her, that they could tow her home. But deep down, Brockton knew that
Water Witch was right, if her structural welds had been compromised, then they would have to take it slow. Probably no more than five knots at most and it was almost fifty miles to Brockton Bay and safety. What's worse, she didn't know if the enemy had night capability and she didn't want to encounter a submarine or another surface group while towing a cripple.
"I-I understand
Water Witch, don't worry, I'll get your crew off," Brockton said as she maneuvered her hull closer to the mangled LCS. She could finally get a good look at the hull, her superstructure yawned open from a gapping gash, down low in her helipad was an oblong hole from which thick black smoke and a burning orange glow poured from that wound, another hole near the waterline had white smoke pouring from it, while her hull sat low by the stern.
"
Thanks, Brockton, that makes me breathe easier. My crew somehow, all survived the hell I went through. Though, I don't think some will be able to serve again, unless of course Panacea sees them and given what happened in Brockton Bay." Water Witch replied, she sounded immensely relieved at that fact.
"That's a miracle," Brockton whispered and
Water Witch giggled.
"
It is a miracle, but I am not complaining. I wasn't designed for this Brockton, and I got them through it all." The LCS replied as Brockton backed down on her engines, her screws thrashing the water and bringing her to a halt. She watched as the RHIBs closed in and with nets cast over the side of her hull, she felt the men slowly climbing aboard while the davits lifted the RHIBs out of the water.
It didn't take long, but soon all seventy-five men and women from USS
Water Witch were aboard. She watched the LCS through her rangefinders, the dark grey hull hissed and groaned as it slowly succumbed to her wounds. She would lay in agony for many hours until it was over and the sea claimed its prize.
It was a fate that Brockton found that she couldn't give to such a brave ship. <<Captain Hebert?>> She heard the captain of the USS
Water Witch, Lieutenant Commander Slate ask.
<<Yes, Commander Slate?>>
<<How are we going to scuttle
Water Witch?>> Slate asked.
<<I was going to use a torpedo,>>
<<Why a torpedo and not one of the main guns?>> The man questioned.
<<If it hits too high in the ship, there's a chance that all it does is blow her superstructure open. I don't want to cause
Water Witch any undue pain. Sinking is traumatizing enough as it is, I don't want to bungle it up at all.>>
There was a pause from Slate as he pondered that and then smiled. <<Thank you,
Water Witch deserves it to be over quickly at the very least. She somehow got her entire crew through a fight she wasn't designed to be in.>>
<<That she did, what was she like, Lieutenant Commander?>>
<<What do you mean, ma'am?>> Slate asked.
<<Personality-wise, what was she like?>>
<<I liked picturing
Water Witch as a sweet kid who was eager to please. She was my ship for three and a half years, my Chief Engineer probably loves her like a daughter. When the chips came down though, she protected all of us.>> Slate replied with a misty-eyed smile.
<<That she did, when we get home, I am going to put her up for the highest award I can think of.>>
<<The Presidential Unit Citation? I think that the crew will like that. Lord knows she deserves it, it's thanks to her that we're all still breathing.>> Slate said with a note of relief.
<<Good to know, I…talked to her. She's grateful that she got her crew through this fight without losing anyone. But, she's in a lot of pain from her damage.>>
<<Ordinarily, I would say we should recover her, but I stand by my XO's recommendation of scuttling her.>> Slate replied and there was a pause before the Captain answered.
<<It is a shame and if we could get top cover, I would say that we could tow her back home. But everything right now is a question mark.>>
<<Aye, how are you going to scuttle her?>> Slate asked, a hitch in his voice.
<<Torpedo,>>
<<Seems like overkill.>> Slate noted.
<<Definitely is, but the fact is, I am worried that a single ten-incher will be insufficient to sink her without causing her additional unwarranted pain. A torpedo, particularly the Mark 12s that I am equipped with has a five-hundred-pound warhead, it
will fatally hole her.>>
<<I understand, Captain, thank you for informing me about that. I hadn't considered that.>> Slate replied and Brockton hummed, it seemed like Slate really did believe that
Water Witch was alive in some way.
<<If you want, I can have someone take you to the torpedo director so you can fire the torpedo that sinks
Water Witch.>>
<<Thanks Captain,>> and with a barked order, Slate was led onto her bridge wing and settled in front of the torpedo director. The heavy triple mount swung out, the glittering Mark 12 torpedoes sat in their tubes, mean and menacing.
Brockton inhaled deeply as she looked out towards
Water Witch. She waited for the orders to be given and then the words <<Scuttle the ship>> were uttered as Slate, said with a sob <<Goodbye,
Water Witch,>> then fired.
With a
wha-chump, the torpedo was hurled from its tube and slapped noisily into the water. A gleaming white streak hurtled across the distance in what seemed like the blink of an eye. A glittering dagger of lethality that connected
Water Witch to Brockton. The water spalled, a dirty plume of water rose high into the sky and the LCS' stern disintegrated under the hammer blow amid a faint scream of pain. There was a great rushing roar as she sank even as her crew saluted her, Brockton saw something. A young girl, floating upward from the rapidly sinking hulk with the build of a sprinter, beaten and battered, she found the strength to return the salute with a small kind smile on her face, then like fog upon a meadow, she vanished. Moments later, the bow slipped under completely and USS
Water Witch LCS-42 went hurtling into the dark waters, on her way to her resting place.
Brockton exhaled and wiped a tear away as she stared at the location where
Water Witch had been. That had been a lot more difficult than she expected it to be. Still, she knew that she needed to be gone soon. "Attention all units of Task Force Brockton," she said into her TBS and after waiting for everyone to acknowledge her, she continued. "We've done everything that we can here, let's get out of here and head back to LPNY at best speed."
With that, Brockton turned south, and with her battered task force assembling around her, she turned, making revolutions for twelve knots. It had been a very long two hours and thirty minutes and now it was time to head home. The charnel house that Saco Bay had become was left behind, the ships leaving the area beaten and battered but steaming
proudly as their crews rejoiced in their victory.
A small part of her, from her civilian side, realized that she would be arriving at Brockton Bay
after midnight and she realized that her mother probably wasn't going to be pleased with her for vanishing without a trace for so many hours. It was something that scared her more than the enemy did and she had never been a truant before.
Her throat tightened, and her hands grew clammy. A weird sound started up in her chest and engineering spaces, and the fires in her boilers started flickering until suddenly
whump whump, she couldn't breathe! She couldn't breathe!
Something whacked her on the back,
hard. Four more blows landed on her back and suddenly she hacked again. "Better?" Southshore demanded of her.
Brockton looked at Southshore gratefully. "Better, thanks," she replied, she could hear her various engineers complaining about how that little episode had caused two ventilation breakers to trip.
"No problem, what was that about?" Southshore asked.
"Just realizing that it's been hours since all of this started and that we never told Mom we're steaming to the sound of guns," Brockton replied and Southshore blinked, then her eyes widened.
"Is it wrong, that I wish that Glory Girl didn't sink that battleship? I would rather face that than Aunt Annette when she's angry," she said, her voice quivering.
"Whose Aunt Annette?" Norfolk asked, skating up.
"My mother," Brockton admitted.
"Oh shit," Norfolk said as Valcour Island started cackling.
Coast Guard Station Brockton Bay
Formerly Inactive Senior Chief Daniel Hebert
Danny Hebert wiped his brow with a towel as for the first time in hours he was able to sit down and was actually able to rest. The Coast Guard Station was a complete and utter mess, due to its location being closer to the proper Port of Brockton Bay in comparison to Lord's Port Naval Yard. Which meant that it had been actively targeted by the enemy who had dropped gas canisters on the city with some landing on base. The gas mask he kept in his truck, however, kept him safe from the poisonous clouds that coiled through the city streets like a menacing fog of lethality. It had turned what was ordinarily a thirty-minute drive from the Dock Workers Union into a ninety-minute nightmare.
Finding out that as far as anyone knew, he was the highest-ranking man on the station had been an unpleasant surprise though and the past few hours had been frantically repairing what damage they could while also getting USCGC
Alert, a
Heritage class Cutter ready for sortie as a decent chunk of her complement had been killed or were unaccounted for in the bombardment.
That had been three hours ago, in the time since then, he had gotten the Station ready to fill its duties to the best of its abilities given that they were now at war. Danny had thus made the executive decision to make up the numbers by stripping the crews of the other cutters and small craft at the station to get
Alert ready for sail. Even so, the lack of trained manpower meant that they were working on getting the haphazard crew familiar with her systems enough to take her out. All the while, even though he couldn't see it, he knew from his counterpart at LPNY that apparently a WWII era destroyer guarded the entrance to the bay.
The arrival of USCGC
Willam Flores at around 7:30 in the evening bearing battle damage and news from Boston was even more surprising. The
Sentinel-class Cutter had been put through hell to put it simply. Most notable was the fact that something, according to her commanding officer, Lieutenant Junior Grade Isaac Gibbs a shell of unknown caliber, had ripped the Bushmaster clean out of the deck and torn out the ammunition cassette for it.
Furthermore, according to the Lieutenant during the debrief he had managed, they had learned that some WWII-era warships were engaged with eldritch ships just outside the harbor and that they were giving the enemy what's for when they had been ordered to evacuate. Still, that news had been very surprising. What had been more surprising was the fact that USS
Salem, USS
Cassin Young, USS
Constitution, a woman claiming to be USS
Little Rock, plus apparently the rest of DESDIV 109 were all engaging the enemy and seemed to be
winning.
But with USCGC
William Flores unfit to fight and with the nominal CO of USCGC
Alert unaccounted for. Danny had given the man command of the big
Heritage class which had resulted in an amusing reaction from the Lieutenant. This made sense, the
Heritage class were the newest cutters in the fleet with
Alert being the
name ship that had entered service about a year and a half prior.
The biggest hurdle had been training people adequately on how to use
Alert's more comprehensive fire control and electronic warfare suites. Indeed, even after his arrival, it had taken approximately three hours to get the men who had been picked to man the cutter's CIC to a point where they could handle the more sophisticated technology onboard the big cutter.
"Senior Chief!" A voice called out and Danny turned and saw Petty Officer Third Class Conrad Young running up to him. Conrad had been the one whom Danny had found to be in charge of the station when he had arrived. The man had all but
hugged him in gratitude when he had reported to him. Which had resulted in him now running the show here at the station.
"What is it, Petty Officer?" Danny asked as overhead, a flight of four twinjet fighters roared overhead, racing out to sea, the sonic booms from their passage reaching them seconds later with their afterburners glowing a glittering blue-white.
"Lieutenant Gibbs reports that
Alert is ready to sail, however, he would prefer if he had at least a few more hours to get his CIC team more familiarized with her systems," Conrad replied and Danny nodded.
"Alright, that's the first bit of good news we've had all day. Has any other members of
Alert's crew appeared?" Danny asked.
Conrad shook his head. "Beyond the half dozen that we got? No. To be frank, things are so much of a mess that it's probably some form of miracle that you managed to arrive."
"Damn," Danny grunted, so much for hoping. "What about the volunteers I cobbled together from the station staff for the two UTBs and three Response Boats?"
"They've been ready to go for a while, why haven't you sent them out?" Conrad asked and Danny hummed.
"The reason for that is because the UTBs and Response Boats don't have the proper equipment for finding submarines, but
Alert does. If they force any submarines to the surface, the response boats and UTBs can pounce like hyenas." Danny replied and Conrad nodded.
"Makes sense, but begging the Senior Chief's pardon. How are we going to tackle this fucking war?" Conrad asked and Danny said in a slow voice.
"However we can, this country has been in tighter spots before. The Revolution and the War of 1812 come to mind." Danny said and Conrad nodded.
"Right Chief, I'll go notify Lieutenant Gibbs that he's free to cast off," Conrad said and went to run off.
"Got it, dismissed Petty Officer," Danny said and Conrad left.
With that handled, his thoughts turned to the thing he cherished the most. His daughter Taylor, hadn't even called him when all hell started breaking loose. He hadn't gotten a peep out of her, Emma,
or Madison. It was alarming and a damn sight terrifying. But he had been forced to swallow his fear for Taylor to focus on doing his job. It was something that he hated.
What was more alarming was the fact that Zoe had called him very recently and informed him that Shadow Stalker had been a gas victim. That hadn't been fun to learn, at all, it hadn't been easy convincing Zoe that no, Sophia wasn't about to fall apart. Mostly because he recognized the gas used. It was a blister or blood agent, but the choking agent known as Chlorine. That hadn't been successful in calming her down.
Sighing he watched as USCGC
Alert slowly pulled away from the Station, entered the navigable channel, and quickly made best speed for the entrance of Brockton Bay. The UTBs and Response Boats followed the big ship like ducklings.
Sometime later, he heard the whoop of a ship's whistle, a long mournful blast that sounded relieved as the cry echoed across the water. Running from where he had been on station, he ran to the quayside and peered into the murky dark. The horn roared again and then, slowly, like a ghost she materialized…a huge grey vessel that bore quite a bit in common with an ocean liner from the World War II era slowly steamed into the harbor. She was battle-damaged, her upper works marred with seemingly countless bullet holes, and her 5in guns were powder fouled. The ship's bow was clearly emblazoned in white, outlined in black, a huge bold 5.
The horn of the USS
Vulcan AR-5 roared its cry once again as if the ship was
grateful for finding a safe harbor. How she had survived the hell-storm that had erupted in the past few hours was anyone's guess. But the four destroyers, all WWII era,
Fletchers maybe, that were sailing behind her like ducklings solved that question at least partially. Whatever had kicked eight kinds of ass in Brockton Bay and Boston was not an isolated event. Still, a repair ship, Danny had a feeling that in the coming days,
Vulcan was going to be beyond invaluable as battle-damaged ships limped into Brockton Bay.
Regardless he couldn't help but rub his eyes as the destroyers quickly formed a perimeter with their guns pointing skyward. What made Danny rub his eyes however was that seemingly standing in the middle of those ships which appeared to be semi-transparent,
standing on the water was a young girl who seemed to be wearing a mass of metal almost like a backpack. He couldn't help but wonder what the hell was he looking at. It made no sense to see something like that.
He keyed his walkie. "Conrad, can you please prepare a
Defender class Boat?" he asked as he started walking towards the dock where they were tied up.
"
Why Senior Chief?" Conrad asked after a moment.
"Something about those destroyers is weird, I want to check it out," Danny said and there was a pause from the Petty Officer before he replied.
"
Chief, let me go instead."
Danny frowned. "Why Conrad?"
"
Because you are essentially Officer In Charge for the Coast Guard Station? Your too important to be gallivanting off on shit like that." Conrad said and Danny paused in his walking, thought about it, and swore before slapping a hand to his forehead. Goddammit, he was an idiot, no he paused in his recriminations, not an idiot. He was just too used to thinking like a Senior Chief instead of an Officer - Chiefs like him practically
ran the Coast Guard, they were its lifeblood.
"You're right Conrad, I am too used to thinking like a Senior Chief," Danny grunted and Conrad laughed over the link.
"
That's fair Senior Chief," Conrad replied and Danny snorted out a chuckle.
It didn't take long before the twenty-five-foot-long
Defender class Boat, one of the literal thousand that was in service roared away from the station and dashed like a world-class sprinter towards the strange WWII-era Destroyers. Danny nodded at the sight, that was handled. Now then, what was the next emergency that needed handling?
Thankfully though, it seemed like things had indeed calmed down enough that there wasn't a major emergency to be had. Which given the state of things was an absolutely
weird thing to be considering. But, it was something that for once, Danny was grateful for because it meant that there was no catastrophic emergency that needed handling immediately.
Which was a relief actually, it made things so much easier to handle. Until of course, things took a turn for the surreal as his walkie squawked. "
Uh, Senior Chief?" Conrad asked, sounding put out.
"What is it, Conrad?" Danny asked.
"
Uh, we're alongside one of those destroyers now and I am currently having the weirdest conversation of my life," Conrad explained, he sounded confused and alarmed.
"On a scale of one to ten, how weird?" Danny questioned, wondering where the Petty Officer was going with this.
"
Weird enough that I might need Master/Stranger Protocol," The Petty Officer replied, as if to punctuate that, a new voice butted in.
"
What's Master/Stranger Protocol?" The voice was female, young, maybe around Missy's age. The young girl had been brought over to the Hebert house a few months ago by Sophia because her parents were going through an ugly divorce that had turned
nasty.
"Who was that?" Danny asked, confused, and then he realized something. "Also, Conrad, you're on VOX."
"She
claims to be the reincarnated spirit of USS Morrison
DD-560. Uh, begging the Senior Chief's pardon, but how is that effing possible?!" Conrad said, pointedly ignoring the comment about being on VOX.
"
That's because I am
Morrison, do you have any idea how much kamikazes hurt?!" The young voice snarled and the Senior Chief pawed his face, great, so he either had a delusional parahuman (not uncommon) or the world had decided to go and get even
weirder than it already was. Then again…he thought considerably as he pulled out his phone and looked up information on USS
Morrison.
Danny had a hunch that if
Morrison was who she claimed to be, then she should know things instinctively that anyone else, barring being a total history nut, would know. Scanning her Wikipedia page he smiled, okay this he could work out. If this strange girl provided the correct answers, then he could say with confidence that she was who she claimed to be.
"Alright Conrad, I am going to relay a series of questions to you that I want you to ask
Morrison. If she is who she says she is, she should provide these answers immediately." Danny said and Conrad swore softly.
"
You believe her, don't you?" Conrad groaned.
"At the moment, I am willing to give her the benefit of a doubt," Danny replied.
"
Chief, if she answers all of your questions accurately, permission to be sent to the Fleet Funny Farm? Because the service would be officially getting too weird for me, I joined to get away from Parahuman bullshit." Conrad moaned and Danny snickered as the girl he presumed to be Morrison asked.
"
What's a Parahuman?" The girl asked.
"Not now, please," Conrad complained.
"Permission denied, Petty Officer, also, you are still on VOX," Danny said with a grin.
"
Senior Chief? I really hate you," Conrad growled.
Danny ignored the barb. "Anyways Petty Officer, the first question I want you to ask Morrison is how much shaft horsepower she has."
"
Aye, Chief," Conrad said before relaying it.
"
I have sixty thousand shaft horsepower turning two General Electric Geared Turbines," Morrison replied and Danny glanced at his phone.
The numbers matched perfectly, as did the turbines that she used. Holy hell.
"
Did she get it right?" Conrad asked after a moment.
Danny shook himself out of his stupor. "She did more than get it right, she even answered one of the other questions that I was going to ask her. Which was who built the turbines that she uses."
"
Good shit," Conrad replied shocked.
Tell me about it. Danny thought as he had to come up with another question. "Alright, who built her boilers?" he asked and Conrad relayed the question.
"
I have superheated, air-encased Babcock & Wilcox boilers that produce 600-psi," Morrison said and again the answer matched what his phone said on the
Fletcher class Destroyer.
"Well damn," he said in response.
"
Lemme fucking guess, she got it right," Conrad said after a moment.
"She did, also, language Petty Officer," Danny said and Morrison butted in.
"
I've heard worse from my crew, Senior Chief," She replied in a laid-back tone.
Danny couldn't help but feel put off. Despite her young age, Morrison was proving that there was
vastly more to her than met the eye. It went beyond any Parahuman bullshit, tinkers couldn't tell you the specs like she had exactly in a way that made sense. So he found that he was getting more and more convinced that she really was the reincarnated form of USS
Morrison DD-560.
"Right, next question. How many people did she rescue from
Princeton during Leyte Gulf?" Danny asked and Conrad relayed the question.
"
I rescued four hundred twenty-three from Princeton
, Senior Chief. If you want I can give you names." Morrison said, positively perky at such a good job.
"That's not needed Morrison, I don't want to be here
all night," Danny replied with good cheer.
"
Okay, Senior Chief!" Morrison replied eager to please.
Danny was just about convinced that the young girl really was Morrison. But just to make sure, he wanted to ask her a trick question. It was a question that if she
was Morrison, she would respond with no and if she
wasn't would draw confusion. It was a question that in essence, was a trap.
"Last question, when did she go in for refit during World War II?" Danny asked.
That apparently was the
wrong thing to ask her. "
You sonuvabitch, I never saw the country of my birth again after I departed for combat, do you have any fucking clue how fucking hard that fucking is..." Morrison trailed off into a minute-long tirade about Kamikazes, Electrical Failures, and Bad Luck. Her previous comment about cursing was right, she really
had heard worse from her crew.
"
Good job, Chief. You found her angry button and goddamn is it weird seeing a twelve-year-old curse like a sailor," Conrad groaned as Morrison finally finished with her tirade.
"
Sorry, Senior Chief, it's just…I sank really fast and almost nobody who was below decks managed to evacuate due to my 1MC being effectively non-functional, what didn't help was that I went down fast as well, fifteen minutes was all it took for me to go down." Morrison replied after heaving an enormous sigh.
"
We don't care what happens to our bodies, we have fixed lifespans and know that we all end up in Fiddler's Green eventually. But what we care about the most are our crews, the people who man us. Almost half of my crew journeyed into the depths with me, trapped inside my hull as I sank to my grave,"
Danny sighed and pawed his face again, which had gotten so much heavier than he was expecting it to get. "For the record Morrison, I believe you that you are who you say you are," Danny said.
"
Well, glad to know your bout of twenty questions helped," Morrison replied and Danny nodded.
"Anytime Morrison, Petty Officer Conrad, return to the station," Danny said.
"
Roger, Chief," Conrad replied.
Sometime later, he found himself looking back out to sea and while he couldn't see the nav lights, knowing that there was something out there guarding the entrance made him feel so much better. He was about to tell Conrad that he was going to get some shuteye when something happened that would be seared into his mind forever.
A dazzling double flash of light erupted to the south, so brilliant that for several long seconds it was
dawn at midnight, almost as if, far to the south, a second sun had burst into existence before fading out. Danny stared in that direction in shock even as the shrieking crackle from ionizing radiation warbled out of his walkie-talkie as he screamed one thing. "
WHAT THE FUCK!"
Tiredness left his body at the sight of what could have only been a nuclear detonation and he switched to the all-hands freq. "LOCK DOWN THE BASE!" he shouted into his walkie-talkie. "INITATE FULL CBRN PROCEDURES AND BREAK OUT MOPP 4 GEAR!" He roared as he sprinted for the main building.
An alarm began to wail.
Sophia Hess
Sophia knew she was going to die. She knew this as surely as the sun rose in the east and descended in the west. The reason why she knew this had to do with the black tag that was secured firmly to her wrist via a paper bracelet.
Pain medication only, until death.
Her breathing was labored and shallow. She couldn't escape her fate and knew it was coming. She was trapped and there was no way out, particularly since Panacea was still trapped in the ruins of Brockton General Hospital.
Thus she lay in an unforgiving bed, the machines she was hooked up to beeping erratically as her burning lungs struggled to give her body the oxygen it required. Already a cold clamminess and worming its way through her, dulling her senses.
Her vision began to darken and knowing that the end of all things was upon her, she rasped out a single thing "I am sorry Emma, I failed my promise for us to graduate together," in a weak, wet, wheezing voice, thinking to the promise she had made shortly after The Alley.
Death was the thing she feared and it was coming for her now. She didn't want to die alone. She wanted to live. But she couldn't escape her fate. She couldn't, she couldn't, she couldn't! She wanted out, to escape, to be free! But her fate was as surely sealed as anything. Something deep within her stirred, something she hadn't felt since
that man attacked her so many years ago.
A figure pushed aside the curtain. Dressed in black, a skeleton wielding a scythe and
reaching for her! The heartbeat monitor started to screech as her heart slowed to the point that it was no longer effectively pumping blood. Her vision dimmed faster as Death approached.
There was a tremendous flash of light outside, so brilliant that it fully illuminated the field hospital, people screamed and yelled in terror and horror.
But Sophia? Sophia saw stars and something, awe-inspiring and immensely pretty at the same time.
[Destination]
[Agreement]
[Trajectory]
[Agreement]
When Sophia came too, she was in her breaker state...but she felt distinctly
off and her breaker state felt
weird. She didn't know why, but she felt decidedly...floaty. Looking around through her vision which seemed to be
so much more, she saw that she was no longer in bed, Death was gone. Oh, there was also an alarm howling.
A nurse peeled back the curtain, paused and stared for a minute then swore. "Doctor Flemming! I need a containment bag!"
Running feet caught her attention and someone charged into the subdivided area holding a bag. "Sophia, listen to me, we're going to put you in here until we can get you indoors. Nurse Flowers thinks you've turned completely gaseous and we don't want you blowing away on the wind."
Why was that needed?
Then there was a suction, a feeling of being pulled through a long tube, and then she was
in something that was then jostled and carried.
Madison
Her turbines hummed contentedly as she gracefully knifed through the water in her loops with the so young and eager USCGC
Alert. But strangely, despite the maelstrom that had swept through the area hours previously, the seas were quiet with not a peep on sonar. It was freaky, to say the least.
Her radar was another matter. She had picked up ships returning on radar and sighed - she swung her guns out and after telling
Alert she was firing starshells let off five in rapid succession casting ghostly blue light overhead.
Then, she challenged them. "Attention unidentified warships, this is USS Madison DD-425, identify yourselves or we will fire upon you," she commanded as she slowly spotted them cresting the horizon.
A voice she hadn't heard in, she wasn't sure how long, replied. "
Madison, is that the proper way to greet your twin?" Lansdale asked her!
"LANSDALE!" she screamed eagerly.
"
Ow, ears." Lansdale groaned.
"
You recognize them?!" The CO of
Alert asked.
"I do! Lansdale is my twin! I haven't seen her since 1944!" Madison yelled delighted.
The CO of
Alert groaned. "If you wish to meet them, you can," he said.
"THANK YOU!" Madison squealed and then she went to flank, her turbines roaring with delight as they accepted steam in vast quantities. She accelerated rapidly and peeled away from where the Coast Guard Cutter was.
She spotted another hull, 426 blazed proudly on its bow. Pushing her turbines she closed and flinging her arms out, she crashed into her sister. Her arms wrapped around Lansdale as her twin returned her hug. "Your back! Your back!" Madison cried softly, the tears coming down as she buried her head in the crook of Lansdale's neck.
"I won't leave you again Madison, I promise," Lansdale replied.
"I've lost you twice!" Madison exclaimed. "I am holding you to that! Mom is going to be delighted to see you!"
"Twice?" Lansdale replied confused.
"When I was born, I was supposed to have a twin. But mom suffered a miscarriage, they saved me, but couldn't save my twin. But your back, your safe!" Madison keened, the tears falling ever thicker.
"Oh, Madison. I won't leave you again unless it's by force." Lansdale replied and Madison felt like bouncing on the water.
"Yay!" she cheered.
The southern horizon exploded in brilliant light in a blinding double flash that caused the darkness of the night to recede alarmingly fast. Her radios screamed out a wash of white noise from the flash and she heard something that made her yelp and grab Lansdale tightly and caused her twin to do the same.
The sound of thousands of voices
screaming in agony.
The joy that Madison had felt mere moments ago left her, a cold clinging numbness replacing it like a cold wet towel around herself.
The Missile
The missile knows where it is at all times. It knows this because it knows where it isn't. By subtracting where it is from where it isn't, or where it isn't from where it is (whichever is greater), it obtains a difference or deviation. The guidance subsystem uses deviations to generate corrective commands to drive the missile from a position where it is to a position where it isn't, and arriving at a position where it wasn't, where it now is. Consequently, the position where it is is now the position that it wasn't, and it follows that the position that it was, is now the position that it isn't.
If the position that it is in is not the position that it wasn't, the system has acquired a variation, the variation being the difference between where the missile is, and where it wasn't. If variation is considered to be a significant factor, it too may be corrected by the GEA. However, the missile must also know where it was.
The missile guidance computer scenario works as follows. Because a variation has modified some of the information the missile has obtained, it is not sure just where it is. However, it is sure where it isn't, within reason, and it knows where it was. It now subtracts where it should be from where it wasn't, or vice-versa, and by differentiating this from the algebraic sum of where it shouldn't be, and where it was, it can obtain the deviation and its variation, which is called error.
In this case, the missile's position was currently blasting over the Aberdeen Proving Grounds at just under 500 mph. Its engine roared with joyous glee as it went feet wet over the Chesapeake Bay, approximately forty miles and seven minutes from its target. It had travelled some five hours across multiple timezones and now it was closing in on its target.
As it went Feet Dry, the missile considered executing snap defensive maneuvers. But its systems registered no emissions tracking it. It did the maneuvers anyway, twisting and roiling across the sky. In an acrobatic dance designed to make it difficult to intercept even for the vaunted Tor Missile System. Further electronic cover was provided by decoys and its onboard electronic warfare suite. The missile closed in, the flickering fires of the burning Middletown Delaware being consumed by a ravenous firestorm off to its North. The missile didn't care and pressed its attack, streaking over the broad flat plains of the Delmarva Peninsula like an inky black dagger. The uncaring guidance system didn't care about the burning town of 18,000 people, the cruel logic and the nature of the missile meant that it couldn't help those people.
Drawing abreast of the burning town and then leaving it behind, it continued onwards. Appearing soon on the horizon was its target, the city of Dover, Delaware. Hurtling onwards it raced towards its endpoint, the fuze subsystem running its final checks and confirming that the warhead would function. Then, as it approached the East Division Street Bridge, the missile initiated.
Deep inside the missile's body, the W80-1 thermonuclear warhead activated. Explosives detonated, compressing the core of weapons-grade Uranium until fission occurred in a runaway chain reaction that released neutrons and other forms of energy into the taper boosting the resulting rush of energy and letting it vent into the booster. The flood of radiation caused fusion to occur within the booster. The casing could no longer contain the hell-storm that had erupted within.
Half a second after the initiation process began, the sun bloomed over Dover Delaware. It was the first of twelve to appear within a few tenths of a second. The city below vanished under its fury as anything that could ignite: grass, flowers, trees, trash, houses, hair, flesh, people, and other things
did ignite. Their shadows cast into sharp relief onto whatever they were on, forever imprinted and catching people and things in their last moments of existence.
Hiroshima
In the ashy wastes that were once the city of Hiroshima, a spring broke forth from the volcanic tuff. If any were present to test it, they would find it to be a saltwater spring. One matching the composition of human tears. They would also, if they were spiritually attuned enough, hear the sound of a young girl crying.
