Anthony DeCosmo - Empire

“What’s on your mind?” Captain Farway stood in the cramped conning tower next to Brewer. They each held a cup filled with a liquid close in taste to hot tea.

“Just looking ahead.”

Farway said, “Not much to see out here. Not on a cloudy night like this.”

“Oh I can see it just fine,” Brewer answered. “I can see the snow and the cold and Lord knows what else is waiting for us up there.”

“I sure hope it’s worth it,” the Captain said. “Me? I’m not much for all this…all this…well I guess I’m not sure what to call it.”

“I’d call it crazy ass bull shit.”

“You certainly have a way with words.”

“Problem is,” Jon said, “I reckon as crazy as it may sound it sure as hell ain’t bull shit.”

‘Reckon’ had become a regular part of Jon Brewer’s vocabulary after having spent so much time around Jerry Shepherd.

The submarine Captain agreed, “I suppose you may be right about that.”

“So tell me,” Jon asked. “Where did you spend the Apocalypse?”

Farway chuckled, probably in reaction to the ease with which words like “apocalypse” and “Armageddon” were used.

“Now let me try and remember,” the Captain put his fingers to his chin in a reflective posture. “We were assigned to the George Washington Battle Group touring the Persian Gulf. Always seemed a reason or two for heading in that direction, you recall.”

“Yeah, I watched the news back then.”

“Anyway, we didn’t know as much as the surface boys because you don’t get to watch too much CNN when you’re several fathoms underwater. But we started hearing about the higher alert status, then Defcon 2, then all sorts of shit.”

Jon watched the skipper as he gazed at the field of blackness ahead. He knew Farway’s eyes looked not at the horizon, but back through time.

“Lots of confusion, no real info. I guess it was a week into things and we launched a bunch of tomahawks in support of the ground forces in Baghdad. They didn’t tell us what we were shooting at but I have to assume it wasn’t a bunch of terrorists or insurgents. You don’t need four cruise missiles for that. I also heard that the air sorties picked up so much that some thought we were back at the beginning of the war again.” Farway licked his lips. “Then the Vella Gulf went up.”

“Vella Gulf?” Jon recognized the name but could not quite place it.

“Aegis class cruiser. Part of our strike group.”

“Oh.”

“Something in the water hit it. Something big. Came up right from underneath so fast that the sonar didn’t give much warning. The whole thing went down in about ten minutes. We could hear the transmissions from the rescue teams. Whatever took out the Vella stayed around for a while and went after the rescue boats. We didn’t get much of a description, just lots of yelling. Whatever it was, somebody finally hit it with something and sent it down. We weren’t a part of that action but I think I speak for the entire crew when I say we found it rather disturbing. I’m sure you can understand.”

Jon nodded. “Yeah, I understand.”

“So then we get orders for the battle group to return to port in Norfolk. We had a big problem at Suez. Apparently, no one was around to let us through. Didn’t matter, though. We sent teams ashore to take care of that. There aren’t any locks on the Suez, so it’s not nearly as big a deal as Panama. Must have been late July when we were half way home. What happens then? The group gets split up.”

“Split up?”

“A bunch of the smaller, escort ships got rerouted to ports all over the place. The Newport News was ordered to the Azores to pick up some VIPs flown in from Europe. I think they were U.S. ambassadors being evacuated. That was not a comforting thought.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“Remember, we were hearing next to nothing. The satellite news services were off the air and the fleet commanders were too busy doing their own business to fill us in on the situation. But we knew something bad was going on. Most of us figured terrorists got a hold of some big bang or other. Or maybe there had been a coup d’etat in Russia or China. All we knew for certain was that Hell had broke loose. Of course, none of us realized how true that was.”

Farway paused. The sound of the white caps breaking against the bow droned on.

“Then we get to the Azores. A couple of landing parties later and we realize there is nothing on the island but lizards the size of bulldozers and what looked to me like some sort of flying dinosaur. I lost a couple of good men those two days.”

Jon could only say, “Wow.”

“So we set out to sea again and tried to raise someone and we get static. Nothing on the ship to shore. Nothing ship to ship. Dead air. Of course, by this time we are running low on food and everyone is on edge and going stir crazy. Part of that was because…because…”

Farway stopped.

“Go ahead.”

“General, have you spent much time at sea?”

“No. Almost none.”

“There’s a way about the ocean. Don’t get me wrong, it can be as unpredictable as a woman. But there is a…a rhythm to it. An order, if you will. When you spend as much time as I have underneath these waves you get to know that rhythm, especially when you can’t really see things, so you hear them. You spend a lot of time listening to the ocean, through the sonar of course, but also just with your ears.

“Let me tell you, Jon, it changed. I could feel it. The whole crew could. We all came to realize that we weren’t safe out here in the middle of the ocean; we couldn’t hide under the waves from what had happened.”

Jon said, “Just like things happened on land, I guess. Monsters, everywhere.”

“You think there are some bad things walking around back home? Let me tell you, I think there are worse things down here. I’m just hoping we can quietly slip by without waking them.”

Jon smiled and reminded the Captain, “I thought you weren’t much for this crazy bull shit.”

The Skipper returned the smile.

“I’m not. I suppose that’s why now, today, I take orders from people like you and Mr. Stone. I think this world belongs to people like you now. I wish you luck.”

Jon returned his eyes to that unseen horizon and the horrors that waited.

I’m going to need it.

–

General Jerry Shepherd felt the frustration boiling over.

For all his effort to bypass Wilmington and rely on Hunter-Killer teams-not his Division-to pacify that city, his progress still faltered miserably.

While Nina and the Hunter-Killers invested Wilmington that afternoon, General Jerry Shepherd marched his 1 ^ st Mechanized Division around the western outskirts of the city and then southwest on Route 17.

The first sign of trouble came when two Armored Personnel Carriers ran out of fuel. That is when he realized that that morning’s fuel convoy never arrived. After a few heated radio calls, the General came to realize that he would not see those trucks until after dark.

With no fuel reserve, Shepherd halted his advance. The lack of gasoline meant he could not maneuver if they stumbled upon a Hivvan force of any consequence.

He had expected that, by Sunday night, his force would be approaching the South Carolina border. Instead, they bivouacked at a crossroads named Spring Hill about six miles outside of Wilmington.

At that point, he made another strategic decision based on his supply levels. Shep ordered a complete restock. He put in for ammunition, more fuel, medical supplies; the works. He knew the home stretch loomed and like a clever stock car driver he decided to take an early pit stop with the hope he would have fresh tires for the last laps of the race.