by Unknown
“That coffee was three hours old, Master Chief,” Robert joked.
The chief offered a feeble grin, wiping at his face with a sleeve. He began pointing at certain areas of the display, and filled them in with what he knew.
“The missile drove through the flight deck, and detonated in the hanger bay amidships. The blast wiped out all of the aviation departments that were housed around that section. V-One through V-Four, and AIMD. It looks like the fireball rolled down the main-deck corridors, and hit the enlisted mess hall before the blast doors could close.”
Ghent touched the screen over a particular area, “How did the forward MMR get knocked out?”
“The force of the blast wave cleaved the beam in two at Frame Ten. The blast doors were blown from their hinges, and the heat cooked every crewman in that compartment. All of the oils, and grease ignited, of course, and we lost the machinery room to fire.”
“Why in the hell aren’t we venting?” Robert demanded.
The master chief shook his head, “Sir, we can’t. The aft MMR is sealed off. Secondary
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explosions started fires on both sides of it, and the ventilation systems depend on the oxygen generator housed there. All of the primary mechanical controls that would isolate the fire have been disabled.”
“What about manual controls?”
“They can’t be reached, Sir. We have fire teams fighting this from all sides, but those overrides are located inside the area of the fire.”
Robert and Ghent both looked at the display again.
“This is what makes my butt pucker the most,” the captain said, pointing to a yellow highlight.
It was the munitions locker, directly in line with the hottest area of the fire zone. Its internal temperature was already climbing to worrisome levels.
“Can’t we jettison the munitions?” The master chief asked.
Ghent shook his head no, “Same issue as you report with the venting controls.”
Robert moved away, staring out over the ruined flight deck, and at Earth’s moon beyond. “We’re afloat with no drive or steerage, comms are down, and have an uncontrolled fire closing on enough munitions to blow this ship apart.”
The Bridge crew had managed to adjust one monitor to receive the GNN broadcast that was being replayed. The horrific attack on Star Harbor, and the Storian task force turning its attentions toward Earth afterward. The fleet in position around Earth was already actively engaged in a pitched battle, throwing everything they had in one last-ditch effort to defend the planet.
“We’ve lost the ship,” Robert said softly. The resignation in his voice broke Ghent’s heart. He had never known his friend to
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show such defeat.
The master chief cleared his throat, uncomfortable with what he had to say next.
“Sir, I wasn’t able to find out anything about your son. His damage control team was positioned in the forward part of the ship, and that section is completely cut off right now.”
Robert nodded, still facing away from them. His shoulders were slumped, hands thrust in his trouser pockets.
“Commander Ghent,” he finally said at length, voice strained. “It’s time to sound Last Colors.”
Ghent and the master chief looked at one another. They shared a moment of mild shock, but each understood that there was no other choice. Not really.
Ghent stepped to the comm-box, and activated the 1MC.
Timothy watched the flow of firefighting foam trickle to nothing, and slapped at the nozzle, trying to coax more out. He turned to the hoseman at his shoulder.
“The retardant supply just ran out!”
The team traded looks, none of them sure as to what to do next. It was frustrating, because they had nearly made it to the next frame. Timothy dropped the now-useless hose, and stepped up to the hatch, peering through the tiny port. He blinked, unable to believe what he was seeing.
The hanger was no longer there.
Not in the sense that it should be. It was a hollowed-out, red and orange glowing pit from hell, alive with flame and roiling smoke. He realized then that they had been fighting an unwinnable battle the entire time. The heat and pressure behind that seal would
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have killed them all the moment he released the locks. It also told him that the entire stern portion of the ship was cut off from the rest.
He turned, about to communicate this to his team, but was interrupted by the tinny, automated feminine voice of the over-monitor on the ship’s speakers.
“On the 1MC! This is not a drill! This is not a drill! All hands abandon ship! This will be a deep space destruction! Man the nearest lifeboat, and abandon ship!”
A distinct alarm began to warble, one that no sailor ever anticipated hearing beyond a practice drill. In practice, it was always a drag. Depending on where one might be on the ship, it involved dropping what you were doing, and hurrying to locate the nearest lifeboat station. It was intended to drive home the need to remember where each one was at, so that in the real situation, a sailor could easily get there. Not taking those drills seriously was now costing precious minutes throughout the dying Belleau Wood. Personnel were panicked, running haphazard up and down corridors, trying to circumnavigate areas that were impassible.
Timothy’s fire team exchanged looks of horror. Their worst nightmare was coming to life.
“Let’s go!” The lieutenant shouted, breaking into a run. His crew wasted no time in following.
As he ran, Timothy tried to recall where the closest pod would be. They encountered gaggles of others pouring into the corridors from their abandoned battle stations, coughing and gagging in the swirling smoke. Even where the air seemed fairly clear, it burned lungs with errant toxins. The air scrubbers had joined the growing list of failing systems.
Rounding a corner, Tim spotted one of the red-framed
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hatches that marked a lifeboat station, and began to make a bound for it. The crowd of sailors that had joined his team along the way saw it as well, and in their panic, began to shove one another out of the way, each person desperate to get there first.
Someone slammed the lieutenant hard against the bulkhead, and he lost his footing, falling onto his faceplate. Someone stepped on his back, another on his left arm. Timothy pulled himself into a crouching position, trying to stay out of the way from the stampede.
Being knocked down actually saved his life.
In that moment, a deck below, the forward main machinery room was a volcano ready to blow. The fire had consumed everything burnable in that space, ramping itself up into a raging conflagration. Within the core of that sat a high-pressure boiler that fed hot water and pressurized steam throughout the ship. That piece of equipment exceeded its critical mass tolerance, and its structure failed, no longer able to contain the incredible pressures within.
It exploded with the force of several tons, sheering the bulkheads free to either side, and blowing upward against the frame. The deck on Timothy’s level heaved upward, splitting in two scant feet before the lifeboat station. Every person in that area was instantly cooked, and blown to pieces. Others suffered horrible injuries, thrown in either direction of the corridor, flash-burned on the side that had faced the explosion.
Fire and smoke roared from the split in the deck, filling the passageway with molten heat. Everyone not wearing fire gear screamed as their flesh and clothing ignited. Lungs crisped within their bodies.
Picking himself up, the rest of Timothy’s team met up with him, shouldering their way through the writhing, burning bodies, unable to help them. With an aching heart, he led his crew away from the dying sailors, and down an adjoining corridor. He wished
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for the only thing left to those poor souls, and that was that their deaths would end their suffering quickly.
Gasping, he realized that he was hyperventilating, and tried to force himself to calm down. The lieutenant was bouncing off of bulk
heads as he rounded corners, running as fast as his suit would allow. His team followed close behind.
A shattering explosion rocked the deck, making them stumble. A terrible groaning sound rolled along the ship’s hull, and the sense of up and down faltered for a second.
“Shit!” Someone yelled. “That must have been the gravity generator!”
That meant that the aft MMR was on the verge of succumbing. The drive engines, and Anderson generator were back there. If those reactors collapsed, then the end would come in an instantaneous flash for them all.
Forcing himself back to his feet again, Timothy resumed his run. There were scant few crew members left to contend with. Everyone in that section without protective gear had either been cooked to death, or smothered from lack of breathable air. Bodies were strewn all along the corridors.
Finally, they found another pod frame, and it was gloriously intact. The lieutenant slapped the activation button, and the hatch rolled aside as lights flickered on within.
“Come on! Come on!” He bellowed, waving at the others to hurry.
Another blast rocked the ship, flinging people from side to side. The emergency lighting in the corridors wavered, and went out, casting everything into darkness.
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On the Bridge, Robert was watching helplessly as the schematic revealed more and more of the ship succumbing.
Seeing by hand-held lanterns, things were strangely quiet now. The alarms had silenced as all available power that could be coaxed from the generator was being bled to the life support systems. Ironically, in the midst of practically burning up, it was becoming cold. Without air conditioning, the frigid void of space was chilling right through the hull. The Bridge crew was able to see their breath with every exhalation. Frost was condensing on most of the metal surfaces.
Commander Ghent made a sound of disgust.
“Only eleven lifeboats have launched so far.”
Robert checked his watch, and looked at the temperature readout of the munitions locker. It was already above the red-line. They were out of time.
“Go ahead and launch the buoy. We’re going down, Ghent.”
The commander nodded, placed a consoling hand on his friend’s shoulder as he passed to stand before a particular lockbox. He thumbed in a code, and the door of it popped open. He paused only for a moment before pressing the single button beneath. There was the sound of something being released.
Outside, a small, black orb sailed free of the canting Belleau Wood, and began transmitting its code of distress.
Robert looked up from the plotting table, his eyes moist with tears, and saw that his entire Bridge crew had risen to their feet, and stood at attention. Saluting him. He returned the gesture, thankful to have had such a fine crew under his command. His only wish was that his son might have been one of those who escaped on a pod.
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Against the urging of those in the lifeboat, Timothy had waited for as long as he dared, giving chance to the stragglers who were still finding their way to him. He knew, though, that no more time could be spared.
He stepped inside, and touched the control that would irreversibly seal them off from the Belleau Wood. There was a hiss, and the seals locked hard. Fresh air began to circulate through the pod as the interior lighting came up full. People pulled off their re-breathers, gulping at the sweet, clean oxygen. They were sweat-soaked, some bleeding from gashes on their faces from being thrown about, and smacking against the insides of their helmets.
“Strap in,” Timothy told them.
He secured himself, pulling the straps tight over his shoulders.
“Lifeboat release initiated. Brace for shock.” The over-monitor warned.
There was a sharp jolt as the pod was blown free, shooting from the Belleau Wood like a rocket. They gazed from the viewport, watching their ship growing ever smaller as the distance grew. The moon was a grey landscape to their right, zipping past with stunning speed. The Lunar Array was a mass of twisted ruin down there.
Timothy was more concerned about other things, though.
“Did anyone see the command life boat jettison?”
Shaking of heads. No one was sure. They were in shock, trying to absorb everything that had happened. The horrible things that they had seen.
“Maybe,” someone said, squinting. “I think I saw…”
There was a huge flash as the Belleau Wood’s reactors went supernova.
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“NO! DAD! DAAAAAAAAAAD!” Timothy lost his self-control at the sight of the LHA being spread across the lunar lanes in a multi-colored tidal wave of light. He threw himself against his restraints, screaming mindlessly. Crying, sobbing, not caring that as the only officer in the pod, he should have been the one keeping his cool for the others.
He placed a gloved hand on the viewport, as if trying to touch the space that was even then swallowing his father, to ward it off.
“No.” He whispered.
Nine
Earth Falls
Ava, Missouri
Maria had gotten her wish of a genuine winter, at least there was that. The snow had stopped falling Saturday night, but the sky had remained overcast, and the temperatures hovered in the single digits. There was no getting to church on Sunday, with the back roads thoroughly drifted over. There was even the hope that school might be cancelled, but the plows had managed to clear the highways and county roads sufficiently for the buses to run, much to the chagrin of the remaining student body.
That meant her father taking her by snowmobile to the mailboxes, to wait for the bus. Her older sister, Mica, rode along as well to catch a ride into town so that she could get to work. The bus driver dropped Mica off in the downtown square before finally delivering his charges to the high school. Maria entered the brick-faced building among her fellow students, most of them under-classmen, almost relieved to be there. The remainder of the weekend had been tense, with her parents so stressed out.
With all of her close friends having enlisted, Maria found herself alone as she wandered the hall before the first bell, and actually was glad for it for a change. There was no need to pretend to be cheerful, or endure banter. As it was, there was not much of the usual ruckus anyway. Not many kids had bothered to even come to school, either because of their parents keeping them home out of worry, or simply not having been able to get to a plowed road. It was mostly townies that had walked to campus.
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She decided to wait in the empty library until the bell rang, and was able to go to her first class. Creative Writing III was her favorite, and so felt some anticipation when she went in. There were only four other students left in that twelfth grade class, but they all shared the same passion for hacking out short stories. That morning, there were two, including herself. The teacher, who appeared every bit as worried as her own mom and dad, gave them free time, and stood in the hall to chat with another teacher.
Maria took her notebook from her pack, and immersed herself in the assignment. They had the entire quarter to outline, and write the first two chapters of a fantasy story. She had worked feverishly on it, and was proud to be well into her fourth chapter, pushing ahead of what had been expected. Her characters were strong, and the plot fluid, sometimes surprising her with the way it seemed to take turns of its own as she wrote.
She lost herself in the current scene, and for the first time in days, felt happy. The moments seemed to come and go in short bursts, and she treasured them when they occurred. The other kid in class just lay her head on her arms, and dozed. The teacher peeked in once in a while, but remained content to gossip in the hall, just outside the door.
The intercom crackled to life throughout the school at the thirty minute mark, just ten minutes short of the bell for next period, interrupting Maria’s train of thought. With a sigh, she looked down at what she had written, reluctant to come up out of the ‘zone.’ She’d put down four full pages of great stuff. Why’d the principal have to go, and mess it up?
“Attention staff, and students of Ava High. I’m sorry to interrupt classes, but I have some very serious announcements to make.”
Maria looked up at the speaker box mounted on the wall, still holding her pen. The teacher came back in, cast a nervous look at
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them, and did the same.
“GNN reports that about an hour and twenty minutes ago, a Storian carrier battle group attacked Star Harbor. The space port, and the Lunar Array, have both been completely destroyed, resulting the deaths of well over one million citizens.”
Maria felt her body grow cold, and the air in the room seemed to vanish. The teacher made a squeaking noise, and put a hand over her mouth, reaching back for her chair to plop heavily down in it.
“That battle group has broken through our own naval defenses, and is heading toward Earth as we speak. The President has declared a state of emergency. School is cancelled indefinitely. If you ride the bus, please go immediately to the bus bay. Walkers may leave campus right now. I encourage you to go straight home. Teachers, please remain behind until all students have been sent safely home before leaving yourselves. God help us all.”
The teacher, still holding her hand over her mouth, looked at her pair of students with something near the edge of panic. Tears welled, and coursed down her cheeks. Maria, with legs that felt as if they were made of rubber, got up, and went to her. She put her arm around the woman’s shoulders, and stood there while she wept. The other student rushed from the room without glancing back, joining the flow of students that were suddenly in the hall. It was a near stampede that the teachers did not even attempt to control. Within moments, the building was empty. Whoops and yells could be heard outside as the kids dispersed. For them, school was out, and that was all that mattered.
“You’d better go,” the teacher told her softly, sniffling.
Unsure of what to say, Maria gathered her things, and left. Outside, the buses had not yet arrived from the maintenance yard, so she had to wait with the other kids on the sidewalk. Salt crunched