The Tide_Ghost Fleet

by Anthony J Melchiorri

  Then one of the missiles disappeared along with the corresponding counter-missile. Still Thomas held his breath. That might mean they’d just lost the signal. Maybe there was lag on the communications relay.

  A voice from the Bundeswehr broke over Chao’s handset.

  “Confirmed detonation. Missile Two over Germany is gone,” Chao said.

  “And Missile One?” Thomas asked.

  But he already knew the answer. There were no more counter-missiles over Germany. Just Missile One, still carrying its nuclear payload straight to Frankfurt.

  A few seconds later, the counter-missile heading to Missile Three hit its target. But neither Thomas nor anyone else was in any mood to celebrate. They hadn’t known where that one was heading or why. And there was no partial credit when dealing with nuclear-tipped missiles. It was either take them all out or welcome annihilation.

  “Can the Germans launch more counter-missiles?” Thomas asked. He already knew the answer, but what else was he supposed to do? Sit here in silence and wait until they heard Frankfurt had been wiped off the map?

  Chao relayed the request, listened for a moment. He looked at Thomas, hollow resignation in his eyes. “That was all they had.” He turned back to the display.

  Shit, Thomas thought. This is it. This really is the beginning of the end.

  “Four hundred kilometers.”

  “No need to count down, Chao,” Thomas aid. The festering anger burning his gut had given way to despair. He knew what was coming, and he let go of the hope that somehow Frankfurt would survive this. Already his mind was on their ship. With Europe thrown back into the Middle Ages, the FGL would roll over the continent. He wondered how soon they would make their advance. If the Huntress was still stuck in the middle of the sea, would they be finished off for good next?

  “Captain, you still there?” Thomas asked.

  “We’re surviving,” Dom replied. “The Titan is going crazy, but we’re preparing to abandon ship. What’s going on in Europe?”

  Thomas watched the map showing the missile making its final descent. Two hundred kilometers away now.

  “Just seconds away,” Thomas said. “Counter-missiles brought down the other two, but—”

  Was that just his imagination? Missile One seemed to be curving. No, no, it was his mind playing tricks on him. Hope altering his perception of reality. Then the missile veered further, now at damn near a forty-five-degree angle from Frankfurt.

  “Chao, is that right?” Thomas asked. “What the hell is going on?”

  Before Chao could answer, Samantha threw down her headphones and stood up from her chair. She raised her fists in the air, sweat gleaming on her pale flesh. “It’s done. It’s done! Hallelujah!”

  The missile continued on its new path, now headed north. Thomas fished in his pocket for a new cigar. He pulled a matchbook from another pocket. “Hell yes, Samantha!”

  Chao let out a hoot of victory then reported the news over the comms to the Hunters. They replied with equal enthusiasm, as did Frankfurt when Chao reached them. A cool tide of relief flooded through Thomas as he struck a match. He brought the flame up to the cigar, breathing in, ready to enjoy this little victory.

  Then a sudden sense of guilt washed over him. As much as he wanted that smoke, he’d promised himself he wouldn’t light a stogie until the war against the Oni Agent had been won. This was a victory, but this war wasn’t over. Hell, this battle wasn’t even over. Dom and the others were still out there, stranded on a ship with a Titan.

  ***

  “It actually worked?” Meredith asked, holding onto the gunwale for support. The ship listed hard to port as the Titan bashed at its hull. The beast roared again, forcing Dom to wait a moment to answer.

  “The missile’s headed north,” Dom said. “Should explode somewhere over Navaya Zemlya, an old Soviet nuclear test site.”

  “Thank all that is holy,” Miguel said. “Those assholes almost had us.”

  The ship shook again as the Titan punched at the hole.

  “They might still have us,” Dom said. “We’re not done here yet.”

  Dom wasn’t sure what the Hybrids were trying to accomplish right now. Maybe they had lost control of the Titan as the civil war aboard the Sahand raged. Gunshots echoed over the deck, and a small explosion rocked the belly of the vessel. They had made it back to the open deck from the bridge, but that didn’t make Dom feel like they were any closer to escaping this doomed vessel. And it wasn’t just his escape he was worried about.

  “Where the hell is Mokri?” he asked no one in particular. “Huntress, did you see where Mokri went?”

  “Negative,” Thomas replied. “The Karlstad took off when the Titan started battering the Sahand. We’re not sure if Mokri was on it or not, though, and Ronaldo lost it.”

  “Damn it,” Dom said. He debated staying aboard to search for the bastard, but the Titan was making that option look worse by the second. The monster had already submerged the starboard side, and water was seeping over deck. The Hybrids and Iranians still fighting in the lower decks were probably sloshing around knee-deep in seawater by now.

  Dom glanced at his smartwatch, pulling up the schematics for the warship again. “Looks like we can load up into a lifeboat there.” He pointed sternward. “Best bet is to get as far from the Titan and this ship as we can.”

  The Hunters sprinted over the tilting decks. It was like running through a funhouse. Hybrids and Iranians engaged in their own fights spilled out of hatches. The Hunters pushed through the skirmishes, clearing the way in brief gun battles or hand-to-hand combat. Once Dom lost his breath, he never had a chance to catch it. The ship continued rocking, and the Titan continued roaring. The shrieks and wails of the Skulls trapped on the shore, watching hungrily, rang out.

  “I can send Frank,” Thomas said as the Hunters approached the lifeboats.

  “Bad idea,” Dom said. “It’s too hot here right now. If the Hybrids or Iranians don’t shoot him out of the sky, the Titan is liable to make just as much trouble. We’ll get our asses out of here and find somewhere better for him to pick us up.” Dom looked toward the western horizon as Glenn and Miguel started unlatching an entry into one of the Sahand’s storage decks. They opened the hatch and beckoned to the others. “In the meantime, watch for the Karlstad. If that ship starts heading your way, you have my permission to open fire as soon as it’s in range.”

  “You got it, Captain,” Thomas said. “Godspeed and stay safe out there.”

  The only illumination in the storage hold was the malevolent glow of crimson battle lights. From the darkness, a pair of Hybrids pounced at Miguel and Dom. The first knocked Dom’s rifle away. More Hybrids jumped at the other Hunters. A few gunshots rang out, deafening in the cramped space. Metal gleamed as knife blades dripped blood. There was a human yell—it sounded like Jenna’s.

  Fresh fury erupted in his chest, and Dom grabbed the wrists of the Hybrid trying to maul him. He slammed the Hybrid into the bulkhead, enduring the Russian curses that followed. The Hybrid lashed out, jaw snapping and talons ripping into Dom’s fatigues. Its muscles coursed under the skeletal plates, and Dom could feel their immense strength, each coiled like a viper ready to strike.

  Dom bashed the Hybrid into the wall until the plates along its skull cracked. Then he pulled out his knife. The blade found its home in the Hybrid’s open mouth. Dom twisted the handle, drawing more blood, until the Hybrid’s eyes glazed over and it stopped trying to bite.

  Dom whipped the knife out and turned back to the gruesome scene. Hunters battled Hybrids amid the chaos of upended crates and steel barrels. The ship quaked again under the renewed attack of the Titan. One of the Hybrids lost his footing and fell. A sliding crate smashed into him and crushed his body against the bulkhead. Bits of broken flesh and blood leaked out from under the crates. Amid the crumpled remains of other Hybrids were those of distinctly human shapes. Dom couldn’t see which of the Hunters were lying there.

  Miguel was sti
ll fighting in one corner. He sprayed the caustic acid of a Drooler over the front of one Hybrid. In another corner, Andris and Glenn fought side by side, grappling with a pair of Hybrids. O’Neil stood near Jenna. Her shoulder glistened with blood.

  Momentary confusion muddled Dom’s mind. He had seen more than one human amid the dead Hybrids, but...

  “Meredith!” he yelled.

  “Dom!” She was pressed against the deck, flat on her back. A Hybrid bore down on her like a starving wolf in the midst of winter. Saliva roped from its mouth as it yelled at her in Russian.

  Dom threw himself at the half man, half monster. His shoulder connected with the Hybrid’s gut. Such a blow would knock the breath out of a normal man but not a Hybrid, whose stomach was protected by thick plates of armor. The Hybrid raked its claws across Dom’s chest. Dom had armor of his own, though his was of the synthetic variety. The impact still hurt, and he retaliated by swinging the stock of his rifle into the Hybrid’s jaw.

  The blow knocked the Hybrid away just enough for Dom to unleash a burst of gunfire into the Russian’s chest at point-blank range. His bone plates were no match for Dom’s armor-piercing bullets. When the fighting ceased, Dom felt the warmth of blood soaking into his fatigues. He wasn’t sure if he’d been wounded or if it was from the Hybrids or something else entirely. The rest of the crew looked no better, scrapes and claw marks across their limbs. Jenna’s injuries were the worst of all.

  But nothing was immediately life-threatening. Certainly no worse than the way the ship listed again. The cargo was thrown about madly as the Titan beat the Sahand into a watery grave.

  “As the Hybrids die, the others are losing control of the Titan,” O’Neil explained.

  “We need a goddamn life raft, and we need it now,” Dom said.

  With deck space being such a hot commodity on a ship like this, there wasn’t a slew of lifeboats waiting for them. In the US Navy, that limited space was given to rigid-hull inflatables, or inflatable life rafts that fit in smaller fiberglass containers. Dom assumed they’d find the same type of rafts here.

  The Titan rammed the Sahand again. Soon enough the ship would be going down under the Titan’s assault.

  “Chief, think I found something!” Miguel yelled. He and Andris lugged a casket-sized fiberglass cylinder from a rack.

  Glenn’s eyes roved over the container’s label. “That’ll do!”

  The Hunters hoisted the heavy container between them, bleeding and hurt as they were. Metal groaned and screeched as the Titan shook the ship. Somewhere over the water, Dom heard screams and cries. And through it all, he still had seen no sign of Mokri. Maybe they had gotten lucky and the admiral and his lieutenant had perished when the Titan attacked. He wished he had some closure. Killing the snake that had been leading this nuclear operation would be a blow to the FGL, and anything that hurt the FGL also hurt Spitkovsky.

  A group of Iranians burst out of another hatch. They shouted at Dom and the others. Dom brought his rifle to bear, but before he could shoot, a huge skeletal claw slammed down on the Iranians, instantly smashing two of them. The others scattered, no longer concerned about the Hunters.

  “Agh!” Glenn yelled. His feet slipped as the ship’s deck became steeper and steeper. O’Neil and Miguel caught him, tugging him upright before they lost hold of the life raft.

  “We’re going over now,” Dom commanded. “Set down the canister.”

  The Hunters propped it against the bulkhead and spread out. Dom grabbed the white cord protruding from the canister and secured it around the gunwale.

  “Push it over!” he yelled as the ship lurched.

  The canister fell over the side, plummeting to the water. As it fell, it released the orange inflatable life raft within. Then another tremor shook the ship. But unlike before, this explosion was followed by a second then a third. Something erupted from the forward deck, tearing away the metal. Fire and smoke poured out.

  “Go, go, go!” Dom yelled.

  The Hunters threw themselves from the ship, toward the crashing white waters below. A wall of heat slammed Dom from behind as he leapt. His arms pinwheeled in the air until he hit the water.

  Miguel leaned over the side of the now-inflated raft and helped O’Neil then Glenn aboard. They, in turn, hoisted in Jenna and Meredith then Dom. Black smoke filled the air. Dom’s lungs burned, and his muscles felt no better. The Titan’s focus remained solely on the Sahand. The shoreline of Dubrovnik was covered in Skulls riled up like an enormous cheering squad straight from hell. There would be no safe place for them to come ashore for Frank’s pickup. They had to go for the open water. They grabbed the flimsy plastic paddles and pushed as fast they could, pulling the raft out to sea, where the tides could sweep them away from this madness.

  Eventually the gentle waves of the Adriatic grew higher and more violent. They crashed against the orange raft, and several of the Hunters went overboard. Dom helped Glenn and Miguel back into the raft. Meredith passed them emergency blankets from the raft’s supplies.

  “Thomas,” Dom said. “We’re out to sea. Any sign of the Karlstad?”

  His eyes flicked from the hell erupting around Dubrovnik to his bedraggled crew. They had somehow made it out of there alive and stopped the nukes. He still couldn’t quite believe it.

  “It escaped while Ronaldo’s people were focused on the Sahand.”

  Dom cursed. “It can’t have gone far. If Mokri escaped, he’s probably on that goddamn ship. Don’t send Frank until you’re sure the airspace is clear. You’re going to need air cover before he attempts a rescue.”

  “On it,” Thomas said.

  They floated for a while longer. Soon Dom heard the crack of something against the distant cries of the Titan. It was a familiar sound—the engines of a helicopter.

  “Thomas,” Dom said. “I told you to hold on the air rescue. It’s suicide right now.”

  “Frank’s still on the ship,” Thomas said.

  “Then whose chopper is that?”

  “Uh, chief,” Miguel said. “You’re going to want to see this.”

  Miguel passed a pair of binoculars to Dom. He pressed them to his eyes, and his stomach sank. An Iranian transport chopper was headed in their direction. And the admiral was on it, manning one of the machine guns out of an open side door. They had no RPGs, no rockets. Only their rifles. That would do nothing to stop the helicopter. Mokri had the advantage in firepower and range. The admiral would rain death on them from above—and judging by the look on Mokri’s face, that was exactly what he intended.

  “We really pissed that guy off,” Miguel said.

  ***

  Admiral Mokri stood at the machine gun. He had never wielded a weapon like this as an officer. But now was the perfect time for firsts. At the opposite end of the gun barrel, he sighted up the orange fleck on the horizon. That life raft held the bane of his existence.

  Captain Holland, Mokri thought. You will not win. Not again.

  “They got all three missiles,” Daftary said from his seat next to the pilot. “The nukes have been stopped.”

  Mokri ground his teeth together. The world around him turned red. This must be how the Hybrids felt. He wanted to jab his fingers straight into Holland’s chest and tear the man’s heart out. There would be no greater satisfaction than squeezing that fragile organ until it stopped beating, while Holland spent the last moments of his life writhing in pain. That son of a whore had ruined everything for him—again.

  Mokri had been ready to declare war against Spitkovsky, to do something that would finally free his country from the oppression of foreign influences. This had been his chance to stop both the West and the Russian branch of the FGL in one fell swoop. He had been willing to sacrifice everything to make that happen.

  And the godforsaken Hunters had interfered again.

  This could not be forgiven. He would personally ensure they never reared their ugly heads again. Holland and his Hunters had to die. And Mokri wanted them to know he was the one
who took them down.

  “Bring me in closer!” Mokri yelled. He gave the trigger a squeeze.

  Rounds exploded from the machine gun and sprayed into the water. There was nowhere for Holland to run. The inflatable raft couldn’t protect him. Soon, the Hunters would be nothing but food for the sharks.

  Mokri pulled the trigger again. He was almost in range now. The Hunters started firing back, but Mokri felt invincible. Their small-arms fire wouldn’t reach him with any accuracy. They must have known they had lost. They were nothing more than a dying gazelle giving a final, weak kick at the lion disemboweling it.

  “There is nothing you can do, Holland,” Mokri hissed.

  “We’re in effective range!” the pilot called.

  Daftary twisted in his seat, eager to watch the coup de grâce. Mokri gave him a slight nod. The lieutenant had served him faithfully, and he was glad they’d escaped the Sahand together. Soon they would be sailing somewhere far away from here. Away from Spitkovsky and the Hybrids.

  He fired. The machine gun kicked in its stand. Mokri laughed as the Hunters reeled backward. They scrambled into the middle of the life raft as if they would miraculously find cover there. The flash of gunfire burst back from the raft. Still the Hunters were trying to stop Mokri. It seemed that was what they’d dedicated their lives to doing. They wanted to stop him no matter the cost. No matter how foolish it seemed.

  Today, they would find that had been a fatal mistake. Mokri guided the machine gun’s aim, cutting closer toward the life raft. He enjoyed toying with them. Let them suffer the anxiety of suspense, aware that everything they had worked toward was for nothing.

  Let them die knowing that, in the end, it was Admiral Amin Mokri who would be victorious. Today was the beginning of a new era for Mokri. For Iran. For civilization.

  “I am sad to say, Captain Holland,” Mokri began, adjusting the machine gun’s aim for the final time, “you will not get to see the dawn of the new world.”

  He began to pull the trigger.

  “Admiral!” Daftary said.