The Federation Navy was something that Ryan would’ve chosen to join if he was not scouted for his talents by the OMFS all those years ago. Though as he now watched the sister flight holding several unnamed agents of the OMFS pass by his own aircraft heading to sea, he couldn’t help but think over the events that would lead to him soon landing on a ship currently sailing towards the south, right towards possible hostile waters. He currently sat in the back of a Maria Wolfhound his face looking out the aft window he was placed next to. The blue waves shifted in the wind as he awaited to arrive to the 3rd Fleet, and beside him, cargo was awaiting to be delivered to the sailors onboard as his plane was used for ACD (air cargo delivery), he was in a flying delivery truck.
Rubbing his hands, the case officer turned Project Blackbird, special missions’ unit, operator sat silently as the two pilots at the head of the aircraft silently communicated with the ship they were rapidly approaching. His eyes scanned over the three boxes of cargo that was onboard the plane. The crates were clearly labeled, just odds and ends of foodstuffs, and the other two contained nothing but spare electrical and mechanical parts with some room being left for the navy NOGS (Naval Operational Ground Sailors) weapons and gear. He wondered what gear was being moved, but there was no doubt in his mind that it was pertained to the first-strike preparation against the Kingdom of Yondel which had been approved President Harding, something that he severely disagreed with when considering the current mission to stabilize the already vulnerable areas throughout the southern border of the Federation. His immediate superiors from the army had voiced their opinion on the matter, and most agreed with the President’s decision, though two generals that oversaw the aviation battalions did provide some argument, yet it only pertained to current aircraft readiness. Ryan could only hope that the NOGS were proficient and smart enough to not get caught in the red tape with the current mission the 3rd Fleet was deployed for.
Approaching the Skyline-class AAC (Amphibious-Airborne Carrier), the FOS Marilyn, the noise of the engines gently began to lessen as the aircraft began its decent through the turbulent-heavy winds that resided on the coastal seas. Ryan hummed quietly as the two pilots began communicating with the radio operator on the carrier, and soon the co-pilot began to deactivate the main engines as the pilot placed his hand on a flat surface next to his controls. From any common perspective of aviation, shutting down engines on approach for landing would be seen as a critical mistake, one that would warrant for a court-martial due to pure negligence or even sabotage, yet unbeknownst to many even within the Federation, the planes it had developed and the modifications they had received from their sister-nations across the seas allowed planes to land through the pure use of magic. The science was still being developed at a rapid rate, yet the mechanical engineering made it to where planes of any size could vertically land and take off through the use of specially designed wind spells that provided a safe way for any mage, no matter how much mana they contained or their particular-natural elements, to safely conduct take off and landing whenever needed. Though only practiced by the military and small-civilian aircraft, it was more than enough to change the entire aviation race in the northern hemisphere.
Compared to the current way naval technology would progress, the carrier landing was not a controlled crash. In a matter of ten minutes did the plane finally align itself with the ship and set down rather gently, something Ryan found to be unnerving. For the moment he was safe. Until the plane was moved and taxied by a group of magicians that cursed and complained as they parked the medium-sized plane into place due to the vehicle they used being broken.
Soon enough Ryan stepped out into the salty air. He held a single satchel with him. He would be gone before the day had ended so he didn’t bring anything more than a single pair of clothes that somehow fit inside the bag alongside a plethora of documents and a single pistol with two spare magazines. As he looked at the dark-blue sky behind grey-tinted sunglasses, he was soon approached by a sailor working on the deck and two Lieutenants that worked within the command center. At the rear, two NOGS watched him silently, their black leather holsters were clearly visible against their brown and blue uniforms.
“Sir,” One of the young lieutenants said in a firm and confident voice, “your identification.” Turning his left wrist over and pulling up his sleeve, Ryan eyed and object on his wrist before responding.
“Lieutenant. Zero-Five-Three-One. Take me to Admiral Martin’s office, I’m expected.” Ryan calmly replied letting the young man confirm his identification code.
“Right this way, sir,” The lieutenant said while waving off his partner letting him move to his next set of duties. Passing by the NOGS, the young man leading Ryan let out a curious question as they entered the interior of the small-sized carrier, “You’ve been on one of these carriers before, sir? Ah, I’m Lieutenant Bishop by the way.”
“No, I heard theses were new to the fleet all things considered. Though I have spent a fair-few-hours walking ships when they were in dry dock. The 3rd has some miracles that float on water, that’s all I can say.”
Bishop took the answer provided by Ryan to heart and nodded silently even if his action looked fake. The young Lieutenant appreciated the older man’s answer as he would soon find himself entering the NOGS vetting process by the time, he had shore leave. Leading the unknown intelligence operative through the maze of metallic bulkheads and grey pipes was quite simple for the young man, he had grown more than accustomed to navigating the Marylin within his first deployment. Within minutes the two men climbed up a set of “stairs” and reached the admiral’s office, where after Bishop knocked on the wooden door, a NOGS NCO opened the door and preformed a crisp salute as he stepped aside letting the two men enter. There in the center of the room, two admirals sat at a center set of couches as they placed their cups of coffee down on the wooden table separating the two.
“Good afternoon, Lieutenant Bishop, Lieutenant Phillips.” Admiral Martin said a pleasant high pitch voice as he gently grasped his cup and motioned for the two to sit down at the couch across from him. Stepping forward and saluting the Rear-Admiral and Admiral before him, Ryan stood somewhat puzzled behind Bishop.
“Lieutenant?” He questioned trying to figure out when he had been suddenly placed as an officer within some military branch. He had no recollection of ever being in the military, only working beside units he was attached to.
The kind smile the admiral had been holding quickly fell as a calculating, cold gaze was placed upon the confused man, “Ryan Phillips, age thirty-one; previously assigned to the 22nd Intelligence Squadron within the Office of Federal and Military Security, recently recruited by Project Blackbird created by army General Torres Del Romano, Ryan Phillips was commissioned as a Lieutenant within the army under the special mission’s unit, The Silent Pigs”.
Ryan didn’t say a word as he challenged the glare he received from the admiral. It was clear that the man he had been called to meet with knew way more than he could ever hope to achieve in a lifetime. The room chosen for this meeting did feel homely, yet it was sterile, sharpened, and disorienting.
This game chosen by his superiors would be more than a simple chance of wits, it was an unwinnable battle; that’s why the name Martin suddenly popped into the Lieutenant’s mind as he moved to take a seat under the watchful eyes of everyone and no one that was present.
Admiral Chase “Phoenix” Martin: A man of myths, a man of lies. Not even the Shipmaster that oversaw the 3rd Fleet could ever hope to touch this one admiral that held the NIA, Joint Naval Administration, Naval Operations Commander, and the General of the Armies in the palm of his hands.
He didn’t know why the Federation let one man and his shadow organization, the Eagles, have so much power within the entire government.
Ryan took a soft breath not wanting to show his nervousness and fear as he felt Lieutenant Bishop’s silent gaze drift upon him. The thought instantly hit him: Bishop was a member of the Eagles and was current working directly under Admiral Martin.
Martin looked upon him. As he drank his coffee, his pale faded skin and general frail appearance would give off the impression of an elderly man that you would encounter going for a morning walk with his grandchildren or dogs. One might be confused with him being a senile old man, yet he was only sixty years old. His greying hair, slim arms, and oversized jacket would make him look like a phony, yet he orchestrated more murders than the operators that undertook such missions that never came to light.
“Drink.” The Admiral simply said not giving Ryan permission or ordering him to take a sip from the cup that was now placed before him, it was simply a fact that would be carried out.
Gulping down the coffee, never daring to break eye contact, Ryan was the first to continue with his eyes moving ever so subtly, “Sir, I was given orders to appear before you within the 3rd Fleet to discuss matters that I was not fully informed of. I would appreciate if the information I provide will be of use.”
Martin’s eyes gently closed and reopened as if he were entertained that Ryan had somehow found the balls to challenge him within the confines of this small room. “I’m glad you asked me that, Phillips. I’m sure you are aware why you were summoned here.”
Ryan’s mouth moved to the right. He resigned himself in as within two seconds his mind drifted from the many things he was prepped about and involved in within the last three years. Two seconds was too long and proved that he hesitated to answer, there was no doubt that the admiral had already noticed.
What he wanted was Ryan’s involvement with gathering resources for Project Winter… He wanted everything…
“I will hazard a guess and assume this involves the dark zone declared in the Kingdom of Yondel and all accompanying regions within the Frontier, and how the eight agency members from the OMFS are involved.” Ryan knew he had to play dumb if he wanted to leave this room alive, but he knew that Martian was aware of this line of thought.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
“Ground reports from Zeta Company provides evidence regarding a possible resurgence of twenty-three individuals known to have contact with Forerunners, you are aware of this Lieutenant.” The man didn’t bark, bite, or stab with daggers, he simply stated fact, fact that which was building off something most would write off as conjecture.
What was Martin trying to gain, what was he insinuating? “Tell me are you aware of the existence of Architects and how designated individuals from the Office of Federal and Military Security and the 1st National Academy are tied directly to them.”
Again, a fact, not a question.
“Sir,” Ryan stated wondering where such truths came from, “What might you mean that regular people are connected to Gods?”
“You know as well as I that they are not normal people,” Admiral Martian said sternly taking command of the interrogation, “People with advance technology from another world, a princess capable of nullification magic, two students that have been recognized as possible risks to national security.”
Pressing his luck as tension occupied his body, Ryan leaned forward contemplating what the man was aiming to obtain, “What can I do for you?”
A small smile broke the admiral’s lips, “Okay, let’s proceed to business.” Ryan bit his lounge as his hands pressed together; to some degree he knew this interrogation was a test of wits rather than anything important, yet what ‘business’ the man before him referred to shook his spine and made his body cold. Watching the man take a set of manila folders and placing it just on the table in front of him, Ryan, Bishop, Martian, and Rear-Admiral Michael Thomas stared at the collection of papers with poker faces.
Removing his hand and picking up one of the folders, Ryan narrowed his eyes as he looked at the contents within. He received some darting glares from Lieutenant Bishop and Rear-Admiral Thomas, yet he contemplated the possibility of the mission being assigned at this very moment and if it was possible considering the nuances behind a fight with “Gods”.
“Sir…” Ryan seemed to be lost for words, “Has High Command made the choice to finally chase after them?” His voice visibly held nervousness, something that Admiral Martian took note of. He knew what Ryan was feeling, going after beings that killed hundreds of expertly trained Federation troopers was not to be trifled with, yet it was necessary to carry out the next mission that would affect the success rate of the Westchester Plan and the first strike operation against the Kingdom of Yondel.
“Yeah, can you believe it,” Martian spoke in a lighthearted voice, “Though the mission may seem far-fetched to some, I can say that the special warfare fighters we’ve gathered are ready to take such a daring task.” His choice of words shook Ryan as the man could only imagine the apprehension of one of those that caused the Federation so much grief and agony when trying to operate within the Frontier.
In all case and purposes, it would be a suicide mission, yet Martian had something else planned, something beyond Ryan and his understanding of the situation.
“Are the Skippers in the fleet setting course for the Frontier instead? Their mission is relegated only to the kingdom.” Ryan questioned pressing further to establish a bigger picture within his mind. “God knows we need the 104s in the air in order to help with the engagement.” He said trying to not show the nervousness that walked through his entire body.
“We’ve set course for the kingdom.” Rear-Admiral Thomas stated looking out to the high seas.
With the turn being passed to Lieutenant Bishop, the young man cleared his throat as he spoke in a calm manner trying to explain what Ryan asked for, but nothing more than he was allowed to, “The exact details of this mission are still being processed. What I can except for the men on the ground to encounter are hostile wildlife and other precarious monsters that wish to interfere with any normal operation we conduct. Though this time around there will be no communication between parties, a retrieval ship will wait just to the east of the central forest, there a recovery team of NOGS and NSOs will be waiting with the 3rd Fleet on standby to engage local visitors if necessary.”
“NOGS…” Ryan parroted, “I’ve heard that those men have seen a lot more action recently.” He said thinking back to the two men he saw walking on the deck earlier after he had arrived.
“In total, twenty-eight men will participate in this grand hunt.” Thomas boldly stated with a sharp grin on his face. With a quick breath, the man rose from his seat and walked to a stained wood cabinet sitting against the carrier walls. Within, a small bar was held that was stocked every afternoon and evening. The man liked to have a drink whenever something occupied his mind, that much Ryan knew and could appreciate to some degree. He poured himself a glass and looked behind him before preparing four more, the last glass was reserved for the Technical Chief standing next to the door to the room.
As the Rear-Admiral moved to place the glasses of alcohol on the table a sharp ringing noise singed from a nearby phone in the back of the room. Placing down the tray and walking swiftly over to the phone, Thomas held it close to his mouth, ear, and cuffed his hand around the bottom as he answered, “Hello, Rear-Admiral Thomas speaking.”
Ryan looked at the alcohol on the table, his reflection dancing from the subtle movements of the carrier, “A status report on one of our ships?” This time, Admiral Martian and Lieutenant Bishop turned to Thomas who had a conflicted expression on his face as he listened to the voice on the other side. “Wait, wait!” Thomas rose his voice as he cut off the person calling him, “Did you just say we lost a submarine and a carrier!”
Standing up with a furious look on his face, Martin looked Thomas directly in the eyes and nodded his head. He walked over with anger flowing throughout his body and he stared the read-admiral directly in the eyes, “Fix this.” He stated before turning around and walking out the door the Technical Chief opened. His footsteps echoed throughout the halls and above the pattering of footsteps indicated that the rest of the ship knew of this disastrous event.
“Give me a damn answer!” Thomas said in a frenzied voice, “We lost a carrier and submarine, what of the rest of the 3rd Fleet!” His voice echoed in the room making Lieutenant Bishop and Ryan flinch from how loud he was.
Rising from his seat with uncertainty, Ryan shifted to the only two windows in the room. In the distance, a column of smoke rose from one of the carriers, and his stomach sunk as he eyed sailors that were on fire jump into the ocean hoping to save themselves.
--
THE FOS, SINGING CHORD.
FIVE MINUTES EARLIER.
As predicted, Alexander was on another shift under the hot sun. His job was to communicate with incoming and leaving planes within the 3rd Fleet’s airspace, and his partner had been lucky enough to be kidnapped by the captain and brought to the bridge to fix a simple issue with the communications suite that all the big boys got to play around with.
For the last week technical issues had plagued the Singing Chord. Most of it was due to aging equipment; the carrier was the first of the line, yet it was built with technology from the previous generation of ships that had served the Federation Navy, thus, the old technology had finally reached it’s limit along with being exposed to the humid environment causing rust to some of the most crucial parts.
Alexander caught his breath as he wiped away a fair amount of sweat from his forehead. He hated working in this environment, and a part of him wished he denied his former commanding officer’s request for him to deploy with the “renowned” 3rd Fleet. The fleet was the best the Federation had to offer with its naval technologies and unmatched crew, yet it was plagued by many trigger-happy captains, and suspicious admirals that somehow worked in coordination with each other, yet often they bickered over menial disputes that distracted the lower sailors from the actual mission they were assigned on. He took a cautious breath, not wanting to draw the attention of one of many problematic officers that had appeared and was currently walking the deck looking for anyone to pick on.
Looking up to the sky, alexander wished he would catch one of the many planes rotating in and out of the fleet to return home to his sister, the only family he had left. He loved his older sister dearly, and he joined the navy to make up for all the childish acts he had put the older woman through in his younger, adolescent years. It was the least he could do to relive the stress and burden that was placed upon her shoulders due to their father’s untimely death to an unknown disease.
“Unknown contact approaching from the north!”
Blinking several times at the blue skies above, Alexander let the words settle in his brain before snapping his head down. A large crowd of sailors had gathered at the northern point of the ship and the deck crew scrambled to prepare weapons and gear for NOGS and their aviation pilots that were currently on loan from the army.
Moving from his post and finding a spot below a set of electrical lines running to the bridge, Alexander craned his neck to the sky once more looking for a hostile plane from the east or enemy battleship, yet the only thing he saw was a white streak moving through the sun-reflecting sea. A stream of gunfire erupted from the side of the ship, and tracer rounds reached out towards the dot, the magical rounds slammed into the front of the unknown, but now confirmed hostile that was closing in rapidly.
“Holy shit!” A sailor yelled, “It’s closing in!”
“Sound the alarm! Call for general quarters!” A lieutenant roared as he sprinted inside and slammed his hand against an intercom, “All stations general quarters, this is not a drill! I say again, this is not a drill! We are under attack!”
“A fire just erupted in bay two!” A mechanic called out over the sudden wail of an alarm and the repeated voice of the lieutenant playing over the intercoms.
“Enemy contact within the vessel! They tore right through the NOGS in the water bay!” A second sailor said as he sprinted with a squadron worth of personnel all armed with heavy rifles and pistols.
“All hands-on deck we are being boarded, I say again, we are being boarded!”
Snapping out of the pure shock that had frozen his body, Alexander quickly looked around as he stepped away from the edge, he was next to. Before he could take a firm step, the carrier shook as a deafening noise emerged from the top of the deck; the air filled with fog and within an instant, the vapor was set alight causing a fire ball and shockwave that encapsulated the entire deck.
As his skin began to char from the sudden wave of fire, Alexander screamed in agony as he stumbled in place and fell to the ground due to the pressure difference caused by the shockwave of the explosive. His hands were charred, and blood flooded from his face as his eyes stinged, and his ears rang an uncontrollable amount. “Riley! Riley!” He cried in a burnt voice as he stumbled towards the edge of the deck and fell over the railing. He fell onto the falling net bellow and screeched in pain as he watched the lower decks within the carrier.
Sailors were expertly cut down by precision gunfire and their bodies slumped against the metal floors, their blood covering the steel alloy and providing a nauseous smell. Tears distorted the image he saw, but Alexander was clearly able to see eight men walking down the deck executing the sailors that somehow survived the onslaught; and before he knew it, one of the unknown attackers looked directly at him and raised what looked to be a rifle. Clamping his eyes shut, Alexander waited for his death, but nothing in his already ruined body was hurt as the report of a gun being fired filled his ears and a sense of vertigo pulled him down.
Before he could make another sound, his throat died out and his skin burned as he fell into the ocean.
Publicly Available Information: NOGS — (Naval Operational Ground Sailors):
Filling the role of typical Marines (naval infantry), Naval Operational Ground Sailors are sailors under the Federation Navy to conduct and operate in littoral zones is support of naval operations. Though no different than a Marine, the NOGS fill many different roles commonly found amongst professional armies, and even go as far as being called the “second” army of the Federation.
Working in tandem with the navy, the NOGS conduct several missions:
* Seizure or defense of naval bases.
* Support of naval operations and campaigns.
* Development of tactic, techniques, and equipment of amphibious and airborne NOGS.
* Security of critical military installations such as naval bases, dry-docks, and WMD storage facilities.
* Amphibious operations.
* Maintaining the security of trade lanes and the nine seas.