by Ralph Kern
It wasn’t the most efficient way of doing things. Atlantica would use its own radar to get a positioning fix for the Ignatius and the target, and feed that through to the hastily designed program running on a computer in the warship’s CIC which would calculate a firing solution. The weapons officer then had to feed that into that into the fire control systems for the Mk-45. The math was simple, but the system could only be made so slick considering their current situation.
Atlantica’s radar was nowhere near as accurate as the Ignatius’s wrecked systems, but it was a hell of a lot better than measuring up the old-fashioned way.
“Right, Perry. Next job.” Slater slapped Donovan on the back. “Let’s see how the fuel top-up is going.”
***
“We’re finally getting there,” Solberg said, his eyes bloodshot from exhaustion.
We’re all tired, but he is really showing it, Kendricks thought. The captain’s desk was covered in half-drunk mugs of coffee and cans of energy drinks. A stark contrast to the spotless clear surface Solberg normally worked on.
“Captain, we plan to make for the locus tomorrow. Why don’t you get some sleep? I can hold the watch.”
“Right,” Solberg looked at him. “And what then? I find you have taken over completely?”
“What?”
“What Captain to you,” Solberg hissed. “We need to talk about your growing insubordination. You’ve given up nearly thirty percent of our remaining fuel stock and didn’t even look at me to ask permission.”
“Captain, I’m the executive officer on board this ship,” Kendricks tone was genuinely confused. “My job is to manage resources.”
“And I am the master of this vessel!” Solberg slammed his fist down on the desk, causing the mugs to jump.
Kendricks looked at Solberg. Was the stimulant-filled clutter of the desk reflective of the captain’s mental state?
“Captain. We need Ignatius with us. We couldn’t just abandon her. The other ships... maybe we don’t need them, but if those pirates attack again in numbers before we reach the locus, then we wouldn’t stand a chance.”
Solberg opened his mouth to reply before visibly calming himself with a deep breath. “Sorry, Liam. I’m just tired.”
“I know, Captain. Please, just get some sleep. We need you at your best for when we get to the locus. God only knows what we’ll find there.”
“You’re right.” Solberg sighed, closing his bloodshot eyes for a moment before standing from his leather chair. “I’ll be in my quarters.”
“Good, I’ll let you know if anything happens.”
“Thank you, Liam,” Solberg moved around the desk. “Just please, no more unilateral decisions. We’re in a new world now. We need to manage what resources we have. One day, when we get home, you’ll be captain of a ship. Then you’ll know the responsibility of looking at the... big picture.”
“Sure, Captain. Sure.”
Kendricks followed his captain out into the corridor and turned into his own, much smaller office. Sitting at the desk, he paused and gave a deep breath. He’s losing it, Kendricks thought. In fact, scratch that. It’s past tense. The old man’s lost it.
Pursing his lips, Kendricks flipped open his laptop and brought up the intranet policy page he wanted.
Scrolling through the menu, he found what he was looking for.
Guidance on a captain’s unsuitability to command.
Chapter 52 – Day 20
Grayson reached the front of the line and picked up his white paper lunch bag. Glancing inside, he saw the unappetizing fare—some sandwiches, a bag of salt and vinegar potato chips, and a bottle of water.
Nodding his thanks at the server behind the folding table, he slowly made his way back into the main room.
Grayson’s attention was drawn to a couple of security staff gesturing a young couple out through one of the other exits. He couldn’t hear over the bustle in the room, but one of the security pointed at the couple’s bags, and the man grabbed them before following the uniformed officers.
Shit, Grayson thought. They’re running searches. Remaining outwardly calm, he took a quick mental inventory of what he had on him. The CB radio was accounted for. Kendricks had, after all, allowed him to keep it. Did he have anything else on him that was suspicious?
Yes, he did.
Thinking quickly, he rapidly put together a plan. Spotting someone who would fit into it, he casually sauntered over.
“Hey, have some of this.” Grayson handed the man he had seated himself next to on the sofa the other triangle of sandwich out of the plastic packaging.
The man looked at him, nodded, and took it from Grayson’s outstretched hand. “Thanks, man.”
“I’m so bored in here,” Grayson said between bites of his own. “How long you reckon we’re going to be stuck in this room?”
“Damned if I know,” the man grumbled between chewing on the ham sandwich.
“I’m Karl.” Grayson stuck his hand out.
“Roger.” The other man shook it.
The room, as big as it was, already starting to smell of too much humanity packed together. The restlessness of children running around was even beginning to test Grayson’s considerable patience.
“What’s your story then?” Grayson asked.
The man continued chewing for a moment, gazing at nothing in particular in front of him. “Same as most in here,” he finally said. “I was happily bobbing around in my Hunter 50. Next thing I know, I’m stuck in this goddamn region.”
“Yeah, I get that.” Grayson nodded sagely. “I was just doing a little fishing. Knew I should’ve just stayed at home and watched crappy reruns.”
“Well now, my little beauty is probably being used as a fucking pirate passion pad. Got left behind, didn’t it?” Roger bemoaned.
“I sympathize. My Ocean 42 has probably been broken up for firewood.”
“It sucks man, it sucks.” There was no denying the words of wisdom the man presented.
“Yeah, anyway...” Grayson looked across at the large LCD TV at the other end of the hall. “Looks like we get some damn cartoons to watch. Think I’m going to go sing along.”
“Just not too loud. Please god.” The man rolled his eyes.
Flipping a jaunty salute, Grayson stood and walked away from the man. Who was roughly his build and appearance, and seemed to be alone.
***
Grayson withstood the cartoon as long as he could. It was some popular movie from a year or so back... prior to the event. His own kid loved it, only he had to watch it on some crappy little CRT TV in the bowels of some shipwrecked, stinking container ship that made the environment he currently was in seem sparsely populated.
“Excuse me, sir?”
Grayson looked up at the two security officers standing over him. “Hey, what’s up?”
“If you would care to come with us,” the officer said formally. “We have orders to conduct a search on everyone in the room. You’ll be back in a couple of hours.”
“Sure, no problem.”
***
“And your name please?” The bored-looking crewman spoke without looking up from his tablet.
“Roger, Roger Brew.” Brew stood by the table, his duffle bag containing his worldly possessions atop it.
“And you’re from Nest Island?”
“That’s right.”
“Okay, Mr. Brew,” The crewman finally laid his tablet on the table and began tugging on some blue rubber gloves. “We have permission to search everyone’s belongings as a security measure. It’s nothing to be worried about.”
“I’m not entirely happy about this,” Brew said pointedly.
“Neither am I, Mr. Brew, but that’s the way things are.” The crewman glanced at the security officer standing to one side, who merely responded by blowing a bubble with his chewing gum, letting it burst.
The crewman ran a metal detector wand over the duffle bag. It beeped intermittently, but seemingly not in a way that co
ncerned the crewman. He unzipped the top and began pulling the contents out, laying them carefully on the table. They were mostly clothes, a few wash items, and other odds and ends
Once the bag was empty, the crewman began sifting through the items. He patted down the clothes before reaching for a scrunched-up slip of paper.
Flattening it out, he looked at it, turning it in his hands.
The crewman’s eyes widened and he waved the security officer over to him, who took one look and drew his gun from its waist holster and pointed it straight in Brew’s face.
“Get down on your knees, now!”
***
“Yes, Heather, yes we have a suspect.” Kendricks was in the security office. Next to it on Route 66 was the ship’s brig. There were four cells, which were normally reserved for drunks, or the occasional assault or theft which occurred. For the moment, the brig contained just one man, Roger Brew, who was seated in there with flexicuffs on.
“And has he admitted to anything yet?” Slater’s voice was still distorted from the damaged coms on Ignatius, but it was a lot better than it had been.
“No, he’s pulling a pretty convincing confused look right now. You want us to hold him or transfer him over to the Ignatius?”
“With my compliments,” Slater said. “Would you be so good as to hold him there? We’re still putting my ship back together again.”
“No problems, Heather.”
“I can send Perry across to ask him some questions.”
“And damage the U.S. reputation for being harsh interrogators?” Kendricks chuckled.
“It’s the twenty-first century, you know. Softy softy touchy feely, and all that jazz.” Slater gave a laugh in return before becoming more serious. “How’s the admiral holding up?”
“As well as can be expected. The man’s worried sick.”
“Who can blame him? And Captain Solberg?”
“Stressed. Very stressed.” Kendricks said quietly. “I don’t want to talk out of turn. He’s a good captain... when things are going to plan.”
“Things most definitely aren’t going to plan at the moment,” Slater cut across.
“I know. I’m taking as much of a load off him as I can, but... well, hopefully this locus will pan out.”
“For us all,” Slater replied. “Okay. You’re a good XO, Liam. Your job is to make sure he can make the big decisions, okay?
“I know.”
“If he can’t, Liam, you know what to do, don’t you?”
“It won’t come to that.”
Chapter 53 – Day 20
I need to get off this ship and get my ass back to the Titan, Grayson thought. If we get to the locus and are somehow transported back, then Kirsten...
Grayson shook his head. He needed to come up with a plan. The heat was off him for the time being, while the poor unfortunate man was having the thumbscrews applied. Still, he needed to be able to communicate with the Titan, and he couldn’t do that in this crowded room.
***
“Roger, is it? Yes, Roger.” Donovan theatrically tapped his clipboard with his pen. “Off of the Daffodil. You’ve been on Nest Island for just over a year.”
Roger Brew nodded, perspiration glistening on his face. “I am. Look, I’ll help you in any way I can. I’ve got nothing to hide.”
“That would be most appreciated, Roger.” Donovan beamed, his visage marred by the cuts crisscrossing his face. He placed the clipboard down on the table in front of him and opened his hands. “So, tell me about the explosion on the Ignatius.”
“I don’t know anything about that,” Brew whispered. “I wouldn’t even know where to start with a bomb.”
Kendricks, watching from where he was stood in the corner of the tiny, brightly lit brig office, wasn’t feeling it. The man was trembling in fear, and they hadn’t exactly exerted any pressure on him.
“So perhaps, Roger, you could explain this?” Donovan said.
On cue, Kendricks walked to the table and placed the clear plastic bag containing a pen-scrawled deck plan on the table.
“What’s that?” Brew asked, reaching for it. Donovan picked it up first and held it up.
“This, Roger, is a hand-scribed deck plan of the Ignatius. It was found scrunched up in your bag.”
“I’ve never seen that before in my life.” Brew’s brow was furrowed in confusion.
“Haven’t you, Roger?” Donavan’s voice became firmer. “I think you better tell us the story again leading up to you happening across Nest Island...”
Chapter 54 – Day 21
“I wish to apologize for your rough treatment,” Vaughan said.
Jack and Laurie had been led from the now-deserted hold to the bridge of the Titan by a pair of heavily muscled guards. The bridge was far wider than it was long, stretching across much of the “T” of the supertanker’s superstructure. Jack could see that in stark contrast to the advanced touchscreens and clean lines of the Atlantica, or the far less aesthetic yet still high tech Ignatius, the bridge of the Titan was old and rugged-seeming. Analog to the other ships’ digital.
“Apology accepted,” Laurie said.
“Really?” Vaughan raised an eyebrow. “That’s very magnanimous of you.”
“No, of course not really. Fuck you,” Laurie snapped.
Vaughan swiveled in his chair and looked at Jack. “I suspect you have your hands full with this one.”
Jack looked back at Vaughan, a stony expression on his battered face. “I’m not really in the mood for small talk with you. Is there any particular reason we’re up here?”
Vaughan nodded, stood, and walked to the map table, gesturing at the two to follow.
“We are going to the locus.” Vaughan pointed at the hand-drawn map. To the western side was Nest Island, to the east another small landmass with “home” written on it. The locus was halfway between the two. Jack filed the rough location away. If ever they got back to Atlantica, he was damn sure he was going to let Captain Slater know, who would undoubtedly reap a furious vengeance on “home”.
Not that they’re likely to let us return, having seen that, Jack thought.
“There is every chance that the Ignatius and Atlantica will also be at the locus. As such, we have divided up our... guests between the ships of our fleet to dissuade an attack upon us.”
“Mister Vaughan,” Jack interrupted him, his tone icy. “I may have been on a hiatus from the Marines for a few months now, but I’ve seen nothing to make me think the policy of non-negotiation with terrorists—and in Captain Slater’s eyes you are a terrorist—has been rescinded. When she comes for you, and she will, she will not let hostages stop her from ripping your little fleet to pieces.”
“That may be the case, in theory, Sergeant.” Vaughan smiled. “In practice, I do not think she will fire when she knows innocent people are on the decks of our ships. After all it’s a different world now. There is no Pentagon to enforce that policy—”
“Pearl Harbor. December 7, 1941,” Jack interrupted, “was a major surprise attack on the U.S. military. If you recall, that didn’t end too well for the aggressors. If I was her, I’d sink your ships one at a time until you either surrender, or one of your own crew put a bullet in you and surrenders for you.” Jack raised his voice so the other crew on the bridge could hear, “You can avoid a lot of pain and suffering by cutting to the chase.”
The crew glanced at each other uncertainly as Vaughan regarded Jack for a long moment, the silence stretching out. Finally, the older man spoke in a chilly tone, “I’m a reasonable man, but I’d stop that kind of talk now or I’ll have your other leg hacked off. Am I understood?”
“Perfectly,” Jack said. He could feel the raw hatred building for the smug man in front of him. Everything about the fat cat filled him with loathing.
“Good.” Vaughan smiled falsely. “As I was saying. Our intention is to go to this locus. There we will see if it is a means home, or at least can help us with the current situation. From what you’
ve told me, it is logical to assume that something will arrive. It is clear to me that whatever that thing is, it is the source of our current predicament. Do you concur?”
Jack and Laurie looked at each other. Don’t tell him shit, Jack thought furiously to her. Unfortunately, she wasn’t telepathic.
“I concur,” Laurie said slowly.
“And what is this thing?”
“I’ve already told you. We don’t have a clue,” she replied.
“But you have told us it arrives in three days.”
“Yes.”
“Then shall we go find out?”
***
Bautista scrubbed and scrubbed the deck of the bridge right under the seat where Davey had been seated when he had been eviscerated by the bushmaster’s 25mm round.
No matter how hard he wiped, the brown stain wasn’t coming out, yet he continued trying to clean the blood off of the deck.
Finally, he gave up. Rolling from his hands and knees to a sitting position against the bulkhead, he stared across at the savagely mauled bridge of his Liliana.
Anyone who had known him back in his old life would have been shocked to their core to see the tear trickle down his glass-cut face.
“Urbano? Urbano, are you there?” Vaughan’s voice crackled from the radio.
Bautista, gave a sniff and wiped his cheek. He stared at the back of hand, surprised to feel the wetness. He shook his head, clearing it, and stood, grabbing the mic. “Yes, Eric, I’m here.”
“Good, make sure your fuel is topped up. We’re going to head out to the locus tonight.”
Bautista gave another look at the shattered bridge, letting the mic dangle in his hand. He could feel the churning fear in his belly. A fear of going into battle again. A fear of killing and seeing his friends being killed.
Once he had reveled in the fight, loved it. Knew that he was good at it and that his luck always held. Now, he could feel he was losing his nerve. He didn’t want any more pain or suffering.