Captain Sherman Lannister came to lying on his left side on the bridge of his ship. The ship lurched with the waves and appeared to be listing slightly. The familiar hum of the engines was absent and he could only guess that the EMP from a blast that size had fried even the best shielded electronics on board.
From his vantage point on the floor he could see a pair of boots across the bridge, some ensign out cold. Closer at hand, his second in command, Walsh, was struggling to his feet.
The right half of Lannister's face burned and itched, like a sunburn, only ten times worse. The left half was numb, except for a dull ache. He pushed himself up to sitting and reached for it.
Walsh's hand caught his halfway there. "Don't, sir," he croaked out. "It will only make it worse."
Worse is all we got. It was nothing short of a miracle that they were alive now. If they were still alive in another ten minutes, that would be a bona fide miracle. "How bad is it?" he asked, realizing suddenly he couldn't see out of that eye.
Walsh held up his other hand. It was black to the elbow, the nastiest burn Lannister had ever seen. "About like this," Walsh said. "Trust me, you don't want to touch it. Let me see if I can find the first aid kit, sir."
What's the point? There is no second aid coming. Then, we're going to die, but we don't have to die on the floor. He slowly levered himself up, using the nearest chair as a support.
Pain shot threw him as he moved. He felt dizzy and nearly passed out, but gritted his teeth and kept going. Once he'd pulled himself up to the console, he sank into the chair. Looking out the front window at his ship, he started in surprise. "What the hell is that thing?" he said aloud.
In front of his ship was what looked like a long white airplane hanging in space. It was hovering a mere couple of yards over the foredeck. A wide hatch had opened in the front of the vessel and a long ramp was descending towards the deck. Already men in white suits and masks were running down the ramp, leaping the last few feet to the deck.
A light flashed in front of his eyes and a holograph of a blond head appeared in front of him. "Captain Lannister of the Cambridge?" the woman asked. "This is Captain Dowlings of the medi-evac Corelean. We are here to evacuate you and your crew."
"A captain goes down with his ship," Lannister croaked, his voice harsh.
A new voice and new face appeared, General Balzitan, the Commander in Chief of the Armed Forces. Lannister saluted quickly. "Not a chance, Captain," the general barked. "It's a noble sentiment but your orders are to get all surviving crew members onto that ship and then yourself. The Cambridge is officially decommissioned as of this moment."
There was the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs to the bridge.
"Sir, what's to become of my ship?" Lannister asked.
"The others are sending a salvage vessel to pick her up. I hate to say it, but your ship is hot, too much radiation. They are going to haul her out into space. It's the only safe thing. Don't worry, we will build a new Cambridge, I promise."
The first rescuers had reached the bridge. A woman in white bent over the fallen ensign and another man made for Lannister and Walsh.
"See to my men first," Lannister growled.
The man gave the fist to chest salute but spoke, the translator collar providing English, "Yes, we will, but let me stabilize your burns first, sir." He pulled out what appeared to be a aerosol can and sprayed the side of Lannister's face with a whitish foam. At first, the foam stung like hell, then his face began to tingle and pain lessened. Relief flooded him and he nearly gave in to it, collapsing into unconsciousness. With an angry snort he forced himself to stay awake. He still had his men to save.
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Petty Officer Daniel Oleson shined his flashlight around missile command. Most of his crew were sitting upright on the floor, alert and oriented. The blast had pushed the ship down like a giant hand, and the room leaned slightly. But here, this deep in the bowels of ship, they had been shielded from the worst of it. Jensen had been thrown and landed badly, knocking out several of his teeth. Kleppie was holding his wrist but insisting it wasn't serious. The others looked more scared than hurt.
Dan's skin itched. That was the first sign of radiation burns, wasn't it? Or was it just his imagination?
Waves rocked the ship. How bad were they listing? It was hard to tell. He half expected sea water to start pouring down the steps as the ship capsized and sank. Maybe it would even be for the best. Which death was worse; drowning, radiation poisoning or being trapped here until they dehydrated?
Protocol said they should stay in the best shelter available as long as possible. In the current situation that meant staying where they were, with several layers of metal between them and the fallout. Part of Daniel's mind wanted to say, fuck it and go out on the deck. Maybe he could find out what happened to Cheyenne. What did it matter anyway? They were several miles out to sea and had been directly underneath a nuclear blast. There would be no escape.
He shut off the flashlight, not wanting to waste the battery. Maybe the ship's power would kick back on, but he doubted it.
The missile command center was lit by a glowing holographic outline of the captain. The left half of his face was smothered in a whitish paste and his right eye squinted, like he was fighting to stay conscious. "All crew," the captain's voice boomed, coming from god knew where, "the Consortium has sent a medical evac ship for us. They are exposing themselves to the same radiation we are experiencing and time is of the essence. Anyone able to move under their own power is to report to the deck immediately. If you are injured and can't climb to the deck, call out your position. Rescuers are moving around the ship as we speak. I repeat, all hands report to the deck immediately, time is of the essence."
"Well, you heard him," Daniel roared, climbing to his feet. He grabbed for Jensen's shoulder and supported the ensign as he rose. "Someone got Kleppie?" he asked.
"Yes, sir," two voices sang out. Good men, quick to help each other, Daniel thought with a smile.
They were barely halfway up the second flight of stairs when they heard the clatter of footsteps above them. Five of the Others appeared, three men and two women, dressed in white with masks over their faces. The one at the top of the stairs, a broad man with a bit of black scraggly hair sticking out from underneath his cap said, "Come'on, hurry up." As they crested the stairs he demanded, "Are there others below?"
"No," Daniel said, a savage pride in his voice. "I've got my entire crew with me."
He saw another bunch of men climbing up from the lower level storage holds. As they continued to rise the damage became worse and more apparent. One of the midship munition lockers had exploded. Dan saw several sailers down, Others in white bent over them. What they were doing was a mystery to him, whatever passed for medical care among them.
A sailor struggled to sitting and Dan recognized Jimmy Fox, one of the ship's four Master of Arms. His brown eyes were wild. "I've got, I've got," he gasped.
"You have got to relax and let us treat you," A healer told him, forcing him down. As he lay back Dan saw the healer wrapping something around the stump of what was left of Fox's right arm. It ended a mere couple of inches past the shoulder.
He saw a woman in white with two bent metal rods kneeling at a soldier's head. Another woman at the man's feet had a similar set of rods. They lined them up and a faint glowing light extended between the four rods. The light traced a spider web underneath the fallen man. It turned gray and to Daniel's surprise the entire thing became a single, solid stretcher. The women hoisted the man and joined the line behind Daniel's crew.
The majority of the crew had been ordered below decks as soon as the sub had been spotted, but a few had critical jobs that had kept them topside. They had fared the worst of any of them. Daniel saw one man lying on the deck, every exposed inch of skin covered in the same whitish paste the Captain had sported. Three of the others worked on him. Another body lay nearby, covered in a simple sheet.
Dan followed their guide across the deck. He paused as he saw the ship. It was a white oblong tube with a blunt nose cone and diminutive wings on either side. It was maybe one and half times the size of their destroyer. It hovered in the air a mere ten feet above the ship. The front of the vessel had a hatch on the bottom and it was hanging open, a metal ramp extending down to meet the destroyer's deck.
Daniel paused at the base of the ramp. These Others, the Consortium, had been enemies only a few weeks ago. Now they were friends? Daniel's image of the Consortium was of their expeditionary commander, Ganaka, his stern face as he informed America that it must give up imperial ambitions in the Middle East.
His men had paused as well, mostly likely thinking the same thoughts he was. Step on this ramp and he was their prisoner, for better or worse. Stay on this ship and die, he decided. He looked over at Jensen. "Well, here we go," he said.
The hatch opened up into a cavernous space forty feet wide and at least twice that deep. The floor, walls and ceiling were a terra cotta colored and the space was oblong and rounded, giving it an earthy feel, like he was stepping inside a natural cave, not a space ship. Panels in the ceiling filled the space with an ambient light.
There were several large toolboxes and containers on wheels that had been parked around the entrance. Their guide stripped off his mask to reveal a clean shaven male face, brown eyes and skin, and a few tufts of dark hair. He threw the mask into an open container. He wore a thick white collar with a single off white button. It translated his words as he spoke. "This way," he said, gesturing deeper into the cavernous room.
Away to his right were more than a dozen open berths. Each contained a large low tank and instruments Daniel could not name or identify. Workers in white swarmed in and out of the berths with professional efficiency. As Daniel watched, one of the stretchers was set on top of a tank. The sailor's uniform was cut away and the body lowered into the tank.
To the left was a raised platform. It was some sort of command center. A huge holographic projection of their destroyer hung in the air towards the hatch side. Behind the holograph, a huge chunk of one wall was lit up in various displays. Three people, one in white and two in blue, tended the display, touching things to bring up sub displays or change some piece of information.
There was a table towards the back, with several men gathered around. He saw the captain's profile at the table and made for it. "Go with him," he told his crew with a nod towards their guide. They saluted and did as they were told.
No one moved to stop him so he mounted the platform and approached the captain. The captain saw his approach and turned. The left side of face was still covered in whitish paste and there was a stubborn defiance in his eyes. He won't let them treat him until he knows his crew is safe, Dan thought, pride filling him. A captain worth serving under.
Out of the corner of his eye Dan saw that what had appeared to be an empty space to one side of the table was in fact another holographic display. The other's new leader and her team sat on one side and the President of the United States was on the other. Dan swallowed nervously and saluted his C.O. "Petty Officer Daniel Oleson reporting."
Captain Lannister returned his salute. "Your men?"
"Safe aboard this ship, sir," Daniel replied. "A few minor injuries, but all alive and whole."
"Your Chief Petty Officer?"
Dan choked. "Sir, the firing array was malfunctioning."
"She was heading to fix it, last report," the captain interrupted.
Dan nodded. "There wasn't time, sir. She overrode the controls and fired it manually."
"Manually? She was on deck when..."
"Yes, sir." Out of the corner of his eye he saw the president and the others react to his news. He willed himself not to look.
"Where?"
"Midship gun array."
"Show me," a man in blue said.
The captain nodded. Dan followed the man to the holographic ship. A statuesque woman in white with dark hair came and stood beside them. He indicated on the holograph where the gun array was.
The man touched it and brought up a second display. Symbols in red blinked on the sub display.
"There are life signs, faint," the woman said. She turned and strode off. "Janda!" she called out into the bay. Dan assumed since the word hadn't been translated that it must be a name. Indeed a small blond man broke from the crowd and came to the woman's side.
"Lana," a voice barked from the front of the table. The speaker was a Hanuman in a white robe. His stance bore out his authority, though Dan had no clue his rank. "The clock."
"I know," Lana replied without looking back. Dan watched her and the man, Janda, mask up and leave down the ramp.
Author's note: I'm off on vacation this week, but I'm going to try to keep up with my posting schedule. Don't forget to like, comment and share the story and thanks for reading.