Captain Edwards:
September 4, 2025
22:23 CST
The Death Reckoning
Fifty miles off the coast of Texas and Mexico
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“Damage report!” I bellowed, picking myself up from the deck after being violently thrown from my chair. Sparks erupted from several conduits running across the bridge, the air thick with the acrid smell of burning electronics. The power flickered ominously, casting the chaos in brief flashes of light and shadow.
“Sir, we’ve got major power surges ripping through the ship, short-circuiting systems all over. The Autumn nearly took out our main computer processor unit. The hydrogen fuel production system was hit directly, causing severe hull damage. We’ve lost one of the main engines, and the main power generator is offline. We’re running on battery backup, and there’s not enough juice to fight back and maintain flight,” my XO reported, her voice tight with the strain of the situation.
“We’ve still got manual controls, but with one engine down, we’re looking at half speed, at best. We’ll be limping back to Barksdale,” the helm officer added, his hands flying over the controls, trying to squeeze every ounce of performance out of the damaged systems.
“Use whatever hydrogen we’ve got left to get us into the westerly jet stream. We’ll use the hydrogen pods like a sail to pick up speed. Get on the horn to Barksdale and Dyess, request escort and backup,” I ordered, my mind racing to stay ahead of the disaster unfolding around me.
“Sir, communications are down,” the communications officer called out, his face pale as he examined the shattered system. “The power surges fried the transmitters connected to the satellite link and the long-range radio. We can only transmit our location and avionics data.”
Damnit… The Autumn—that cursed ship—was deflecting our laser fire like it was nothing. And here I was, with a gaping hole in my ship, limping along with critical damage. The Death Reckoning was supposed to outclass the Autumn in every way, yet now I was staring down the barrel of a cannon, one I hadn’t even known existed.
A flash of lightning split the sky, momentarily illuminating the Autumn in the distance. I caught sight of something that made my heart skip a beat—a spherical bubble surrounding the ship, shimmering like some kind of force field. The Autumn had developed a shielding system far beyond anything we had. And that single laser shot… it was powerful enough to tear through a ship like ours with ease. None of the military’s capital ships had anything close to that kind of firepower. The tech was still in the experimental phase, too bulky and power-hungry for a ship this size. But here it was, on the Autumn, fully operational. Something had happened during that power outage earlier—something that reeked of Dr. Zaraki’s handiwork.
My command console flickered, then went dark, overwhelmed by the lack of power and the flood of information streaming in from the ship’s systems. Sighing, I yanked my tablet from its docking station on my chair. The screen was marred with hairline cracks, but it still worked. Unfortunately, it was slower than the command console, but it would give me the status of the ship and our casualty count.
As I scanned the data, a cold weight settled in my gut. We’d lost ten crew members. Most of them were engineers, including my chief engineer. The rest were from the special operations team, killed by the blast near the hydrogen production system. The Master Sergeant would be furious—this was her first significant loss, and I didn’t envy anyone who crossed her path right now.
“XO, you have the bridge. Keep me updated on our status and the Autumn’s movements. I’m heading to medical to check on our guest,” I ordered, my voice clipped as I turned and walked off the bridge, the weight of command pressing down on me with every step.
“Yes, Sir,” she replied, her tone clipped and professional, though I could sense the underlying tension in her voice.
As I made my way to the medical bay, the scene that greeted me was utter chaos. The place was a madhouse—medical staff scrambling in every direction, triaging the injured with grim efficiency. The air was thick with the scent of antiseptic and blood, a harsh reminder of the brutal skirmish we’d barely survived. I kept to the edges, avoiding the flurry of activity as I zeroed in on my chief medical officer.
“Captain,” he acknowledged me with a gruff nod, his eyes heavy with exhaustion.
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“What’s the count of the injured so far?” I asked, keeping my voice steady, though the gravity of the situation was weighing heavily on me.
“Fifteen critical injuries, another twenty-four with minor wounds, and ten dead,” he replied, his tone as clipped and professional as ever, though I could see the toll it was taking on him.
I nodded, absorbing the grim statistics. “What’s the status of Star Zaraki?” I pressed, shifting gears.
“We’ve got her contained in an empty crew quarter down the hall. We figured it was best to keep her close, especially since the brig took some damage,” he explained, his expression unreadable.
“Understood,” I replied curtly, turning on my heel to leave.
As I headed down the corridor, the weight of the situation bore down on me. This entire operation had spiraled into a complete shit show. We needed to get back into U.S. airspace before the Autumn caught up with us, or we’d be dead in the water. I quickly sent a message to my XO via my tablet, my mind already working through the next steps, when I noticed the Master Sergeant standing at the entrance to the medical bay, her arms crossed, a furious glare fixed on me.
“May I help you, Sergeant?” I asked, striving to keep my cool, though her demeanor was making it difficult.
“Yes, you can, Sir,” she spat back, her voice dripping with contempt.
“Excuse me, Sergeant!” I snapped, my posture stiffening in response to her insubordination.
“With all due respect, have you lost your damn mind, Captain? I was under the impression that our prisoner was an enemy of the U.S. and posed a serious risk to national security. Are you telling me a teenage girl is that serious a threat?” she challenged, her anger barely restrained.
“That information is on a need-to-know basis, and you do not have the clearance to know,” I growled, incredulous at her nerve in questioning my orders.
“Bullshit!” she shot back, her eyes blazing. “We just abducted a teenager, locked her up, and are treating her like some kind of lab rat. That goes against every moral code we’re supposed to stand for. And on top of that, you got my entire team killed!” she finished, her voice breaking with barely controlled fury.
Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. Entire team? I had only been aware of three casualties. My blood ran cold as the implications sank in—no wonder she was so enraged. Swallowing hard, I met her gaze.
“They were near the hydrogen production system?” I asked, my voice hollow.
“We were using an unused engineering lab as our briefing room,” she replied, her voice edged with bitterness. “I was up here, keeping an eye on our ‘captive,’ while my team was debriefing and writing up their reports.”
Fuck… The number of dead had just doubled, and the weight of that realization settled heavily on my shoulders. Sighing, I gestured for her to follow me to my office, needing a more private space to address this.
We navigated through the frantic crew, the ship buzzing with frantic activity as they struggled to keep it together. Once we reached my office, I motioned for the Master Sergeant to enter before closing the door behind us.
“Sit down. I’ll fill you in,” I said, trying to maintain an air of authority, though her anger still rattled me.
She sat down across from me, her glare unwavering. For the next ten minutes, I laid everything out—the true nature of our mission, why we were tasked with capturing Star Zaraki, and what was at stake. As I spoke, I watched the anger drain from her face, replaced by a frown, then a look of utter horror. Her face paled as the full gravity of the situation dawned on her.
“So, she’s a superhuman… created by the SAF?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Yes, and from what I understand, the U.S. Military wants her back to prevent her from being used against an already weakened nation. After the second Korean War, it was decided that we needed a stronger fighting force, leading to the creation of the project. But after its failure, all documentation was either destroyed or hidden by the SAF. Now, with the power struggle within the U.S. government, they want to restart the program. That girl has what we need to make it happen,” I explained, my tone grim.
“I still don’t feel comfortable about this,” she admitted, her voice laced with concern. “And now we’ve got a pissed-off rogue ship with who knows how much firepower coming after us.”
“This… this was something we hadn’t expected. Hell, we weren’t prepared for it,” I admitted, my voice dropping as the reality of our situation settled like a lead weight in the room. “The SAF hasn’t shown this level of firepower in the past thirteen years. We’ve got stacks of evidence proving it, and yet this is the first time they’ve hit us with something like this.”
I stood up, trying to shake off the growing unease gnawing at my insides. My hands were trembling, the adrenaline finally burning out, leaving behind the bone-deep exhaustion that threatened to pull me under. I needed a drink. Badly. Reaching for the bottle on the small shelf behind my desk, I poured a generous amount into a tumbler. I held up a second glass, silently offering it to her. She nodded.
Sitting back down, I slid the glass across the desk. We sat in silence for a moment, the weight of what lay ahead hanging heavy between us. I took a sip of the dark amber liquid, savoring the way it burned as it slid down my throat, warming my gut. She downed hers in a single gulp, the glass hitting the desk with a soft thud. A random thought crossed my mind—she’d make one hell of a drinking partner. Tough as nails and just as straightforward.
“They’ll be coming after her, Captain,” she said, pulling me out of my thoughts, her voice low but resolute.
“Yes… yes, they will.” The words felt heavier now. I ran a hand over my face, the exhaustion catching up to me. “And you’re the most qualified person on my ship. I need you to guard her,” I said, my voice somber, laced with the weight of responsibility.
She gave me a firm nod, standing up with military precision. “I’ll do that, Sir,” she replied, her tone just as serious. She snapped a salute, her eyes meeting mine with a fierce determination before she turned and left my office.