Anthony DeCosmo - Fusion

An early evening bat whizzed overhead in search of prey. Trevor watched it fly off until its shadowy body blended with the darkening sky.

“I’ll bet that was tough for you. Well, not in the beginning. Early on it was all easy. All black and white. You had a bunch of guys and started doing your patrols and watching out for any criminals that might have been among the ranks of the survivors. Easy stuff early on. Then as we grew-well, that’s when things got hard. I wasn’t much of a help either, was I?”

Trevor recalled chewing out Dante on more than one occasion. He remembered the creation of the Senate and how that body held influence over I.S. Legal influence that Trevor had sanctioned.

“You were caught in the middle sometimes. Okay, a lot of times. Maybe all the time, right? But I didn’t have the time to worry about it, Dante. Too much to do. Too many big things to pay attention to. That’s why I always told you how much I hated all the politicians, the procedures, the bullshit. It clouds things. Evan knew that. He played it well. He played you well.”

Trevor removed his hand from the gravestone and stood.

“I can’t forgive you, Dante, even if I do miss you. I’m sorry. Maybe I am a bit of a monster. Sometimes I feel trapped, kind of like you must’ve felt. I have to do what I have to do. I mean,” Trevor gripped his hands into fists and looked at them, “I have nothing other than this war. Over the years, I’ve come to learn something. It’s not nice. It’s not heroic. It’s actually something to be ashamed of, I think. What I’ve come to learn, Dante, is that maybe when the existence of your entire race is at stake, then maybe the ends do justify the means. Because I’ll tell you something, Dante, I will do anything to finish this. Anything.”

That thought stung.

“Even sacrifice my son. Do you know how scary that is? To know that I’m capable of anything if I think it serves the cause? Does that make me a fanatic? A dictator? That’s what the Old Man warned me about when he said my soul was damned. I can do these things but they haunt me all the same. If JB dies, it will rip my heart apart. But if I think it could save our people, then I’ll do it. I hope that doesn’t happen. I pray it doesn’t. But damn if I won’t do it.”

The tombstone did not answer.

“Hell, I don’t even know exactly what I’m doing. I just have a feeling, you know? A feeling that I have to shake things up and that he can do it.”

Another breeze blew through. Far away a soft rumble of thunder carried over the hillside cemetery.

“I have to get going. I think if you were here you’d wish me luck. I believe that. On some level you thought you were doing something that was right. You thought I had gone too far or become too powerful.”

Trevor thought about his rage-filled purges of Internal Security and the Senate upon his return. He thought about arrests and executions and instant justice dispensed in the name of exposing the guilty, punishing traitors, and streamlining The Empire to face the invasion in the West.

“Maybe you had a point after all, right? Well it won’t matter if I fail. If somehow we survive all this, then I’ll ask for forgiveness. Until then, I have to do this. I don’t think I have any choice.”

A new dawn came. The sun reached skyward from behind a horizon of ocean water. Seagulls cawed and cackled around the docks, the buildings, and the artificial reefs of overturned ships.

Most of the Naval Yard at Norfolk served as little more than a museum in the years since Armageddon. With ground wars in the south against the Hivvans and then west against California, Trevor and The Empire held little need for naval vessels. A cruel irony considering the U.S. Navy weathered the Armageddon storm better than the other military branches.

Parts of the Norfolk docks did come back on line to support and supply coastal patrols as well as long range reconnaissance and intelligence ships. The former group included The Empire’s new Barracuda-class attack subs: small, fast, and deadly. The latter group comprised a handful of nuclear powered submarines and a few surface ships used to deliver spies and arms to points around the globe.

Activity at Norfolk peaked prior to the California invasion. Gordon Knox’s intelligence apparatus kept ships coming and going constantly, particularly to Europe to support organized survivors there as well as the Caribbean where Hivvan remnants held sway over several islands.

The Order’s invasion changed Norfolk once more. As Trevor and his son Jorgie exited Eagle One on the open pavement between warehouses near a line of impressive docks, they thought the place deserted.

To the north Trevor saw dead sea warriors listing in their berths, victims in the first year of Armageddon left to rust and wither.

The bow of the cruiser USS Leyte Golf sat crumbled against its moorings as if some great force had knocked it sideways. The Destroyer USS Porter suffered a similar fate Most of its stern had been torn away land its lower decks flooded.

A brilliant white Snowy Egret perched on the tilted deck like an arrogant Admiral stubbornly refusing the loss of his ship. As Trevor stepped across the pavement the bird found The Emperor and watched him with a gaze Trevor imagined to be judgmental.

Further away the scene appeared even grimmer. Rusted hulls spoke of capsized behemoths, at least one an aircraft carrier. Trevor wondered how many brave souls lay entombed inside.

But the docks in front of Trevor and JB differed from the rest of the base. One of the southern berths hosted the frigate USS Nicholas with a crew onboard.

Two Barracuda subs stood ready at the docks, their black and gray hulls gave them an eerie, predatory appearance complimented by the hammerhead bow where two portals-like eyes-sat half in and half out of the water. A lethal-looking spine ran the length of the ship much like Jules Verne’s Nautilus from 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea.

However, Trevor and his son were not there to ride aboard either the Nicholas or the Barracudas. Their journey required something with greater range than the attack subs and a lower profile than a frigate.

The vessel that fit the bill waited in the harbor waters at the end of the main pier. In comparison to the much smaller barracudas, the USS Newport News Los Angeles-class submarine played the part of the seasoned warrior, a capable and deadly monster sporting an intimidating conning tower above a cylinder-like hull.

Not only had the Newport News won accolades in the old world, but it had already achieved legendary status as the vessel that conveyed Jon Brewer and his strike team to the arctic north to secure the ruins and turn the war to humanity’s favor. It was an elder statesman of the sea that had found fresh purpose in a new world.

Trevor and his son stopped at the edge of the pier and gazed at their waiting ride. He held a leather duffle bag in one hand. Jorgie dressed in khaki shorts and a navy blue shirt and hauled a pre-end-of-the-world The Transformers backpack complete with cartoon robots morphing into cars and planes. He also held bunny-wrapped in his protective blanket-tight to his chest.

Behind them came Rick Hauser-Trevor’s personal pilot-a blond haired man with glasses who still looked young despite being in his mid-thirties. He carried two more bags and another backpack, all heavily loaded.

“You don’t need to do this, Rick. You’ve earned a rest.”

“A rest? No, sir,” Hauser answered as he set down the heavy bags. “With you gone I’d be pretty bored. That’s what happened last year. So with all due respect, I’d just assume come with you. If you’ll have me.”

Trevor placed hand on Hauser’s shoulder in a sign of appreciation.

A navy officer wearing a captain’s uniform approached the group. He removed his cap revealing gray hair with a growing bald spot on top.