R2C Mike Perelli closed the door to the yeoman's office aboard the sky-carrier Cry Havoc. The sky-carriers were not like the previous concepts popularized in fiction. Rather than being a flying airfield, they were more like fortresses. Their hulls were wide and flat-bottomed, like a barge, but sleek like a battleship. Their upper deck was built around a central superstructure similar to the Japanese pagoda masts of the second World War. They bristled with weaponry. Superfiring turrets occupied the space directly forward and aft of the structure; three forward, three aft. They housed triple guns in each. Beyond them were flat deckspaces for vertical-launch missile cells, housing a variety of land-attack cruise missiles, anti-ship missiles and air-defense missiles. The sides of the ship were lined with close-in weapons systems for defense against incoming missiles and aircraft. The belly was adorned with several of these systems as well.
The airfield ran the length of the ship's internals. Aircraft took off from the "mouth" opening in the bow of the ship, two at a time, then landed in a similar opening at the stern. Additional openings were present amidships for the launch and recovery of rotary-wing or VTOL aircraft. Then, in the belly was the amphibious troop bay. Amphibious was a relative term for such a ship. The troops could be special operations, armored, light infantry, heavy infantry, motorized, mechanized, airborne, supply, PSYOPs, electronic warfare or of any other variety. The sky-carrier had the space, and was expected to always be stuffed to the gills.
To carry all of this weight, 12 of the largest turbofan jet engines ever built are mounted in clusters of 2 along the length of the ship to provide sufficient lift and stability in flight. Meanwhile, 8 more ramjets are mounted aft to push the carrier along. All electric power is derived from 4 nuclear fusion power cores.
Perelli hated these ships. Solid Earth is a great surface to fight on. It does not move. The sky-carrier pitched and rolled when it turned; just like their naval counterparts. This made him uneasy, as well as knowing the steel plate beneath his feet could be blown right out from under him. Alas, there was nothing to be done about it. Vanguard ground forces had to be transported somehow, and this was fast, fortified and big.
He made his way down the thin, white-painted, corridor, clutching a stack of papers tightly. Signage denoted passageways, frame numbers and spaces. It was just like a real ship. He was out of his RAT suit and in his standard working uniform, black and red camouflaged fatigues. He passed by airman wearing blue coveralls as he made his way into the bowels of the ship, where most of the footsloggers spent their time in transit.
Just as he entered his divisions space he ran into his squad leader, Chief Rifle Laramie.
"Just who I needed to see." Laramie greeted him, holding a cup of coffee. Despite being young, Laramie was an accomplished member of their element. The thick black coffee stain on the inside of his (per tradition) unwashed coffee mug, denoted that.
Perelli returned the greeting, "Chief, I could say the same."
"I think it's about time you got bumped up. You've proven capable. The 'sir' wants to move you over to 6th element to replace their squad leader." Laramie told him, and took a sip of his coffee.
"I thought you would say that. Unfortunately, I'm going to have to disappoint you." Perelli held out his paperwork. Laramie didn't accept it.
"I know what it is. So they approved it?"
"Yep. Effective immediately, I'm transferring to the Freikorps."
Laramie sighed, "You know this means I'm going to have to promote Milo in your place."
"He's good for it, Chief. I'll vouch for him."
"Ya, but he's undisciplined. And he rubs the El-Tee the wrong way." He reached out and shook Perelli's hand. "But that'll be my problem to deal with. Good luck being under SOCOM's boot. You'll need it."
"Thank, Chief." Perelli said.
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"You're leaving us? Man, I was just getting used to undermining you. Now I'm gonna have to learn to irritate a whole new team lead into submission." Milo complained, mockingly. Perelli didn't tell him that he was his replacement. He'd let Chief take care of that. Perelli was going to miss the daring lunatic. The two had grown close. He unpacked his rack and inventoried everything before transferring it to his bag. The barracks were mostly empty, but his squad surrounded him in their little corner that they had cut out for themselves. Space was at a premium on the sky-carriers, and Rifles fought tooth and nail for space to breath on the massive, yet cramped, ships. Kurt and Tora stood off at the end of the isle of bunks. Tora was reading a book, Kurt leaned against the bulkhead.
"You know the Freikorps' gonna chew you up and spit you out, right?" Milo commented, but he did not speak demandingly. It was a statement of fact. The Freikorps was a special unit of reconnaissance troopers organized under the Vanguard's special forces umbrella. The name literally meant "Free Army". The unit was made up of skilled individuals who volunteered freely for the most dangerous, one-way-ticket missions that the Vanguard had in store. Members could leave at any time. Few did. Though a young unit, the Freikorps had a low survivability rate. And those that did survive, would more often choose to stay. Members of the Freikorps were respected. They were the kind of operators who walked into the endless darkness and came back covered in blood, with a demon's head on a pike.
"I'm willing to take my chances. I'd like to see the enemy face-to-face. Besides, we're all gonna die some day. Isn't that the point of all this? Might as well make it interesting." Perelli replied. Every nation in every war told their soldiers that the fate of the world relied on them. Those men rushed headlong into the jaws of Russian machineguns, German machineguns, British machineguns; and in the end accomplished what? The establishment of a tax haven or few redrawn lines on a map? The Rifles of the Terra Vanguard knew inherently and with totality that their fight was one of true importance. No one in any country wanted to it admit it, but a new, black, sun had risen over Earth. And somebody had to push back against the darkness. No matter how little they actually knew about the phenomenon at this point.
Perelli finished gathering his things and turned to his, now former, teammates. "It's been an honor, gentlemen. May your shots be clean, and your magazines full."
Perelli and Milo embraced. "Be careful, man."
"I will." Perelli replied. He shook hands with Kurt. He turned to Tora. The stoic Japanese man bowed deeply. "Arigatou gozaimasu."
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The Cry Havoc arrived over the Northern Mariana Islands. The largest island, Guam, was an American territory with multiple American military installations. But the other islands of the Northern Mariana's were only a commonwealth of the United States and didn't have the same tight restrictions. The sky-carrier was able to respond faster than the U.S military, and established a holding pattern just beyond the Mariana's Trench. American P-8 Poseidon sub-hunting aircraft were in the area looking for the Vanguard's missing submarine, the Stormfiend, but also the Russian sub Gepard, and the American spy ship Able, but no other forces had yet arrived, neither American or Vanguard ships. The sky-carrier was simply faster. Naturally, both militaries would have wanted to keep their distance from one another, but instead, the Vanguard and U.S Navy found themselves working closely. Afterall, if the crews were alive, then they didn't have much time. That was the public justification, because the Leader-Commander used it to strongarm the Department of Defense into atleast not shooting at the Terra Vanguard, as it's ship arrived over their territory.
Sky Captain Victoria Van Kilmer paced around the raised dais of her command chair. She was a regal woman, tall and proper. Her lithe form was the very definition of a fem fatale. As captain of the sky-carrier, she was responsible for her 2120 crew and the 5,000 strong mechanized brigade carried in her bay. Not to mention the airwing. Captain Kilmer largely regarded the Cry Havoc as her city, and she it's mayor. Around her, the bridge crew went about their duties in a professional and rigid manner, as she had trained them. The ship was heavily but strategically automated. No system operated without a high degree of oversight.
Currently, the ship was launching and recovering a large number of unmanned drones to search for the missing ships. In addition, the sky-carrier was sweeping the ocean surface and various islands with powerful long-range surface-search radar. Passive sonar systems listened from hydrophones deployed from specially equipped VTOL craft hovering over the water. Electronic-surveillance operators even listened for radio transmissions. Thus far, their advanced sensors had not found anything.
She looked out over the bow as two more drones with their pen-shaped fuselages and swept wings were launched from the mouth of the carrier. At this altitude, their jet engines immediately made contrails as they diverged and flew away from the sky-carrier. She glanced down at a display that showed the search pattern of the currently deployed drones and search aircraft. She didn't like how long this was taking. There were too many unknowns as well. Entire ships didn't just disappear. If the American acoustic surveillance vessel was still floating it would have been found by now. But if she or the subs had sunk, their hulls would still be making noise as they broke apart on the sea floor. The Mariana's trench was the deepest place on Earth, deeper than the crush depth of either submarine. So they should have heard the noises of a shattered hull breaking up on the sea floor. Instead, it was silent, uncharacteristically so. The background noise from sea life, geothermals and tectonic movements should have been louder, but the ocean was dead silent. This was a red flag for the Sky-Captain
She turned to the Officer Of the Deck, who was currently orchestrating the ship's efforts. "Update Lieutenant?"
"Sonar reports no contacts. MPRA reports no contacts. Drone sweep of the islands is 87% complete. No debris, no survivors observed. We have permission to overfly Saipan. Drones will reach that grid square in-" He glanced at a different display. "ETA 5 minutes out." he reported.
"Very well." Captain Kilmer replied. She studied a map of the islands. Saipan was the largest island yet to be surveyed; but it was still small. It and the neighboring island of Tinian could be searched in only a few passes. The islands were also heavily inhabited. If anything had washed up, the locals would have already reported it. She turned her attention elsewhere as the drones executed their search.
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"Captain, we have something!" The officer of the deck reported. "On screen."
One of Kilmer's screens lining her dais displayed a feed from one of the drones. It was grainy, due to being at maximum magnification. Flight data showed the drone flying at a modest 10,000 feet. She studied the feed, which showed a stretch of coastline with a massive grey blob of pixels in the middle of dense jungle.
"What am I looking at?" She inquired.
"The American SURTASS vessel, ma'am. The USNS Able. She's sitting right in the middle of the jungle on the island of Tinian. Radar picked up the structure 10 minutes ago. We thought it was an anomaly because Tinian is a flat island. It wasn't until the drone got close that we could verify it."
Captain Kilmer's intuition said something was very wrong here. The current state of the world had already generated many strange, unexplained things, but this took the cake. They went looking for several missing ships and now found one miles inland on an island. As the drone footage rotated it's tall, twin-hull, design was unmistakable. It was certainly damaged. All of her masts were snapped off or dangling limply. The ship's own towed-array sonar cable could be seen wrapped around the hull, like a net draped over a whale.
"Where exactly is it?" She asked.
"It appears to be on the islands abandoned north airfield, which used to be a Japanese airbase in world war two. There's nothing but jungle there now." The OOD answered. "Should we begin recovery?"
"No. Ships don't just reappear on dry land. Send the drone in close, see what you can find," Kilmer commanded. "Call up the special warfare officer. Tell him to send a team in. Once we know more, I'll commit to landing the garrison."
"Yes, Ma'am." the OOD replied, and began barking orders to the rest of the bridge crew. Captain Kilmer prepared to make a report up the chain of command. The Leader-Commander was going to love this.
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Such was the immensity of the sky-carrier that Perelli was nearly out of breath after walking from his quarters in the aft section, to the special operations spaces in the forward part of the ship. It was at the far end of the motorpool, where trucks, tanks and trailers were tied down for transport. It looked more like an ad hoc cubical farm than a high-tech command center. Particle board separated different chambers. An insignia depicting a fist gripping a human jaw was mounted above the entryway. it was the insignia of the Freikorps. It meant "To fight tooth and nail". As he passed through, he noticed spaces that were set up as a briefing room, armory, equipment depot and what appeared to be a break room, among others. He came to a stop short of an open door labeled "Lieutenant Chuck Walker". It was the office of his new unit leader.
Fearlessly, Perelli knocked and entered. Inside was a blonde haired man holding a coffee mug while clicking away idly on a computer. He looked relaxed and wasn't wearing a blouse, just a black T-shirt and camo trousers. Perelli came to attention. "Rifle Second-Class Mike Perelli reporting for duty, sir!" He said.
The officers stared vacantly at him, then it slowly became an angry scowl. He set his mug down forcefully and stood up from his chair. He was a mountain of muscle and tattoos.
"What the fuck did you just say?!" The officer shouted, "Where do you think you are you fucking normie!?"
Perelli was frozen. What had he done? Wrong office? Perelli felt calmer under fire than under the gaze of the mammoth Viking that now stared him down.
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The officer walked up to him and got in his face. His furious grimace suddenly broke into smile. "Lighten up, Rifle. I've been expecting you." He patted Perelli on the shoulder and returned to his desk, but still keeping his attention on Perelli. "We don't do that formality shit around here." he said happily. "Though, you will still address me as 'sir'."
Perelli relaxed, "Aye, aye, Sir."
"I'm Lieutenant Walker, I'll be your div-o. I've already looked over your record. I approve everyone that comes here after all. You have a solid mission log and I recently lost my best vampire slayer so I'm going to have high expectations of you. I'm sure you're already familiar with the usual song and dance. No bullshit, no drama, you fight hard or don't fight at all. No rambo shit, no hero shit. We kill fuckers here-hey- stop standing at attention. You're making me feel like I earned these stripes. Understood?"
"Yes, sir." Perelli replied. He did his best to slacken up, but it felt awkward.
"How long do you think you'll be a part of this unit?" Walker asked. Before Perelli could answer, he shouted at somebody in the walkway behind Perelli, "Scrimps! Get Delta in here!" There was a quick "Aye!" and suddenly three haggard looking individuals gathered in the door way. Two males and one female.
"Sir?" a bearded man asked.
"How long to you think R2C here is going to last?" The officer asked.
The bearded man appraised him. "Three missions. Give or take."
The female next cocked an eye, mockingly, "Pfft, You're generous. I give him 1."
The final man scratched his chin. "An even 2." he said.
Walker looked at Perelli. "What's it gonna be, Rifle?" He was dead serious.
Perelli shrugged, like it wasn't a big deal. "If it's for the good of mankind, I'll take whatever number you give me." he answered.
"Hoo-ah, R2C." The LT nodded respectfully. He pointed to the bearded man. "That's Chief Rifle Scrimps. You belong to him. Go with him. He'll get you settled."
With that, Perelli joined Delta as they gave him a tour of the Freikorps little corner of the "boat", as they called it. They were the 123rd Freikorps regiment, "The Shark Eaters", which consisted of 6 platoons, and a small support detachment. They were 3rd platoon, delta squad. The Freikorps was highly nonstandardized and their unit structure reflected that, as did their deployment make up and gear. The squad would normally be expected to operate independently. His new squad leader was RC Joey Scrimps, and his squad mates were R2C Ben Heerman and the female R2C Sarah Kinger.
Their gear was similar to the recon RAT suit that he was used to, but beefier and closer to the assault modules. There were a number of field modifications made by the 123rd Freikorps. For one, they sacrificed stealth in favor of more armored plating, particularly on the chest. Their ballistic facemasks were tinted red with sharp white teeth painted on, giving them the threatening appearance of a shark's maw. Their weaponry was no different from the rest of the Vanguard, but their standard loadout equipped twice as many grenades. He was also introduced to a variety of niche tactical equipment like an exploding robotic suicide dog and handheld arc welders.
"Unfortunately, I don't have any spare upgrades available right now. We got underway without being able to load them in time, so you're recon RAT suit will have to do." Chief Scrimps told him.
"Fine by me. I like staying light on my feet." Perelli replied, still awestruck by the advanced equipment.
"We'll see how long before you change your mind. Unit patch?" Scrimps held out his hand. Perelli ripped his velcro unit patch off of his shoulder and handed it over.
"1st Mechanized. The 'Rock Punchers'." Scrimps read the patch, "You won't be needing this anymore." He fished around in his pocket and handed a new patch to Perelli. It depicted the Freikorps symbol, but with a pair of shark jaws surrounding it.
Perelli asked, "Don't I need to earn this?"
Scrimps replied solemnly, "Most guys don't finish their first mission. Regardless of how far you make it in this unit, if you die, you die a Freikorpsman. Put it on."
Perelli put the patch on. As morbid as the Korps was, he felt pride just at having made the entry standard.
Seconds later, an alert sounded. It wasn't the ships alarm, but a custom one hanging from the particle board wall.
"And that's the sign to muster in the briefing room. Looks like we get to kill something today. Let's go newbie." Scrimps, followed by Perelli, moved to join their comrades.
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The recon drone now circled closely over the wreck of the USNS Able. Continued analysis showed extensive damage to the ship. The ship's bridge was smashed downward, like a hammer blow had come down on top of her. The port side of the hull had long uniform gashes cut into, like a wild animal had clawed at it, trying to get inside. The ship's lifeboats were gone, her masts were collapsed onto the deck and her specialized towed sonar array was wrapped around her hull like snake coiled around prey. A trail of debris and deep furrows lead from the sea to the Able's final resting place, indicating it had been dragged there. Sky-Captain Kilmer analyzed the footage.
The OOD, a different Lieutenant-Commander, held the station as they operated in watch cycles. He informed her, "Captain, the U.S Navy liaison is here."
Kilmer made sure the drone footage on the main display. "Send him in."
An old sailor stepped onto her bridge. He did not appear the least bit mesmerized by the expanse of advanced technology around him. He was old, certainly past his prime, but his sharp eyes betrayed a highly calculating and strategic mind. He was a Captain in the U.S Seventh Fleet, similar in standing to Captain Kilmer.
She greeted him, "Welcome aboard the Cry Havoc, Captain Korr."
"Thank you, Sky-Captain." He replied, respectfully. "You have been made aware that I am not officially here?" he asked.
"Yes. However, I have not been given a reason." Kilmer raised an eyebrow.
"Put simply, the Department of the Navy would like to wash it's hands of this disaster. Two missing ships is something we haven't seen since the 1960's, and Washington is keen to sweep this under the rug. Not the least because of the situation it has caused with the Russians. It has been decided that it is better that these boats never be found. Admiral Mallard of the Seventh Fleet disagrees. I'm here to help you find our lost boys." Captain Korr said.
Kilmer raised an eyebrow, "You're fleet is still coming, yes?" There was also the question of the Russians, but that was an enigma being handled further up the chain of command.
Korr bowed his head shamefully, "They have been given orders to remain in port in Japan. A fast-attack submarine, the Oklahoma City, has sortied from Guam and will be here in 14 hours at best speed. It's the best we could do considering the situation."
Kilmer sighed, thoughtfully. "Well, we can remove some of the guess work." She gestured up to the live footage of the Able. "We haven't found the Russian or ours, but there's yours; sitting 3 miles inland on the island of Tinian."
Captain Korr focused on the screen. "Survivors?"
"We don't know yet. I've sent in a special operation team to search the site. If they find anything you will be first to know." She said.
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R2C and Delta squad marched out to their waiting VTOL gunship. The primary utility bird of the Vanguard was the "Foxhound". It had a fat, toady, fuselage and a twin-boom tail. Instead of rotors like a helicopter, two articulating jet engines were suspended on stubby wings on either side of the fuselage. It could be modified for almost any mission profile with stealth, CASEVAC and gunship variants. Delta squads ride was a gunship. It only seated 8 men instead of the usual 12, but came equipped with thicker armor plating, a 30mm autocannon in the nose, a tail gun, and hardpoints on the wings for ordnance. This one had rocket pods currently equipped. All variants had door guns.
Once onboard, Chief Scrimps briefed the team, even though they already been briefed before leaving. The process of doubling down on information was important to operators. It ensured there were no gaps and every man knew their role. They spoke over closed comms due to the noise. "Situation is as follows: American ship USNS Able is aground 3 miles inland on the island of Tinian. It is located right in the middle of an abandoned Jap airbase from World War Two. The ship is heavily damaged. Drones have not spotted any signs of survivors. However, strange cuts in the hull have been observed. Intel believes they are unnatural in their making." The foxhound's engines started up. From a low whine, they grew into a distinct growl. "Squads Alpha through Charlie will secure the perimeter. We get the honor of going in. We will be landing on the aft deck, topside, because the bridge has sustained significant damage. We will then conduct a compartment by compartment sweep through the superstructure, up to the bridge. There, we will retrieve the ship's blackbox. If we find survivors, great. If we find something to kill, even better. HOWEVER, this is expected to be a low tempo op. If we encounter heavy resistance or something unexpected, we pull back. No dying for stupid shit. Am I clear?"
Every member of Delta nodded. Perelli was somewhat dwarfed in his recon armor by his counterparts in their thicker assault armor. Now was usually the time for regrets. But Perelli felt none. He regarded himself as a professional, and professionals don't blink. All he could do was roll with the punches. The Vanguard was always going to be dangerous, he knew that before leaving his hometown in Kansas. The Foxhound lifted off of Cry Havoc's deck like a gentle humming bird and slid smoothly out of the hangar. It was a bright day with low clouds.
"Good." Scrimps finished.
The aircraft pitched downwards as it descended towards Tinian. It wasn't long before the Foxhound exited the cloud layer and the crew was treated to a high-flying view of Tinian. The island was mostly flat, with a few hills in the interior. The North Field was overrun with vegetation, but it's ancient structures stood out. It had been where U.S bombers flew from the closing months of WWII to bomb Japanese cities, including the dropping of 2 nuclear weapons. The concrete runways and bunkers were still visible, if in heavy disrepair. The USNS Able sat directly on the southern runway. It's shattered form stood hundreds of feet taller than the surrounding structures.
The Foxhound pilots maneuvered their craft in a slow circle, the Shark Eaters observed the wreck. "That's a big bitch." R2C Sarah Kinger pointed out the obvious. They all nodded in agreement. When the gunship circled around to see the starboard side, they stared more intently. The huge gashes in the hull were eerie and unnatural. The gunship finally descended towards the deck on the aft end of the ship. The tower for deploying her towed array was ripped from it's mounts and dangled directly off of the stern. This was favorable, as it allowed the gunship to get in close and drop them directly on the deck instead of fastroping.
The side doors slid open, and Perelli followed Heerman and Scrimp out onto the deck, followed closely by Kinger. Their rifles swept the debris strewn deck. Kinger unloaded one of the robotic dogs from the Foxhound. This one wasn't a suicide model, however. It was outfitted to be a mule and carried packs of supplies for the Korpsman. Primarily medical for any wounded they encounter, and cutting torches. The Foxhound lifted off and moved into orbit around the ship.
Perelli noticed an American flag lying amongst the wreckage. Like everyone else, he had forgone national attachments when he joined the Vanguard. But for some reason he felt an inexplicable sadness for this tattered symbol. He picked it up and stuffed it into his dump bag.
Satisfied the deck was clear, they advanced up to a large hatch on the bulkhead. They found it dogged tightly so Scrimps and Perelli covered Heerman as he began cutting into it with a plasma torch. Once the door was cut loose, the four operators stacked up and checked their weapons. All but Heerman carried short-barreled HR-15s. Heerman carried a shotgun. The pointman wrenched it loose and they filed in, weapons raised. They were greeted with complete darkness. Perelli's ballistic mask automatically switched to night-vision. It was so dark inside the hull, he had to turn on his IR light as well. They all did.
Inside, they found more of the same. Debris was strewn about the deck. "Fan out." Scrimps ordered. They began searching through the large space. Crates and barrels of supplies were strewn about, some having busted open and spilled their contents. Lube oil coated the deck, sticking to their boots. Broken pipes and light fixtures hung limp from the ceiling. There was no power.
"I got blood." Kinger called out, and they all shifted to face her. There was a trail of dried blood on the deck, leading beneath a door that had been ripped from it's top mount and was now only held closed by gravity. It was immediately clear that something strange had occurred onboard the ship as well as outside.
Scrimps radioed Havoc Command. His helmet had a camera on it, allowing them to see what the team saw. "Havoc, you getting this?" He asked.
"Roger, Havoc has visual. Proceed at your discretion." Came the reply. Command always deferred to the troops in the field.
The team stacked up on the doorway. Perelli was kept in the back due to his lighter armor. He hated being treated like a greenhorn, but he understood the practicality of it. The robot dog formed up behind him. It had it's own little IR lamp pointed forward. They found the door wasn't dogged. Heerman kicked it in and rushed into the passageway on the other side.
Their martial discipline kept them from making any unnecessary statements in situ, but if they did they would have said, "Holy fucking shit." On the other side of the door was a bloodbath. The passageway was wide. Wider than it should have been because the walls were bowed outward. It looked like a battlefield. The walls were pockmarked with shrapnel and bullet holes. There were no whole human bodies present. A boot with a foot in it, here. A bloody shirt covered in viscera there. The team had to watch their step as they proceeded down the passageway, lest they step on human remains. Remains as in 'what was left of the poor guy'. It was impossible to avoid the pools of blood, which also stained the walls. Perelli's own blood ran cold. He kept his rifle raised and steady. It smelled.
Scrimps reported, "Command, we got human remains. Signs of a struggle-scratch that- we got signs of a firefight and then some."
"Did they have a go at eachother?" Kinger speculated.
The four continued to the end of the passageway, there they found more signs of a struggle.
Perelli noticed some odd things. "Chief. take a look." he gestured down the passageway where they had come. "The damage to the bulkheads bends outward around our ingress point, then continues all the way to that hatch on the deck, there." he pointed to an open hatch that looked like it had been blown downward into the bowels of the ship. "Also the casings on the deck. They were firing from... here...here...and here." He moved from each point, pointing towards their ingress, demonstrating where the crew were standing. "They were defending this passageway...from something that came from outside."
"Could a vampire do that?" Scrimps asked.
Perelli thought for a second. "Maybe. Possibly. It'd have to be one of the strongest on record to break the hull like that. Could be a creature feature."
"Creature feature?"
"Big ass monster we've never seen until now." Perelli clarified.
Scrimps nodded. "Doesn't change anything. The blackbox is the priority."
The four started back down the passageway towards the bridge. There were a few twists and turns, but they found much of the same. They went up a ladderwell and reached the CIC. Blank or broken monitors filled the room. Perelli cleared a corner and found the radio room door. He pressed it open only to be greeted by a man yelling and pointing an M500 shotgun at his face. Delta squad immediately wheeled on him and pointed their guns at him. There was another man with a pistol behind the one with the shotgun. The sailors and the Rifle's got into a shouting match, each telling the other to drop their weapons. Finally, Perelli took a chance and lowered his rifle. He reached beside him and put a hand in front of his squad. "Listen to me!" he shouted. They all stopped yelling. Perelli put his hands in front of him.
"Terra Vangaurd." He pointed at the patch on his shoulder. "We're here to help. You're safe. Come on out."
The sailor with the shotgun looked at him and hesitantly lowered his weapon, but didn't make a move to leave the radio room. He motioned for the one with the pistol to lower it. "Nothin' out there's safe, man." he said, obviously scared. He looked haggard and sleep deprived.
"How many of you are there?" Chief Scrimps asked.
"Uh, f-..four. Four of us." He answered. "I'm a boatswain mate. The other two are radiomen." He pointed behind him at a man huddle in the corner with his face tucked into his chest. "Don't know who that guy is. He doesn't talk." Perelli noticed his uniform was different from the rest.
Scrimps said. "We need you to come with us. Come out of the room."
"No,no,no, man. It's, fuckin', out there."
"What's 'it'?" Perelli asked.
"Fuckin..." The traumatized sailor was at a loss for words. ", IT, man."
"Describe it."
"I don't know, man. It was big." the sailor said. Chief Scrimps made sure his camera was getting this. "It killed my fuckin' captain. I never got a good look at it."
The Rifle's exchanged glances. "Alright. Stay here. We will be back." Scrimps said calmly.
Perelli stared past the boatswains mate at the man huddled in the corner. Perelli pushed the boatswain aside and walked over the man on the ground. "What are you doing? Let's go." Heerman said to him. Perelli reached down and grabbed the man by his collar. He lifted him up, and pressed him against the bulkhead.
"Chto ty delayesh?!" the man said in Russian. His uniform was Russian, but he was clutching a Vanguard patch in his hands. Perelli looked over at his Chief.
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"What. The. Hell?" Sky-Captain Kilmer exclaimed at the monitor from her command chair.
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"The Terra Vanguard possesses four Sky-Carriers. They are christened the Iron Heart, Coup de Grace, Defining Moment and Cry Havoc. SIGINT shows that these carriers operate independently. Satellite shows deviations in each carrier, suggesting specialization. Their full capability can only be speculated, but it can be said for certain that the Nimitz-class is no longer the most powerful vessels on Earth." -United States Chief of Naval Operations