ACT THREE
God knows 'twere better to be deep
Pillowed in silk and scented down,
Where love throbs out in blissful sleep,
Pulse nigh to pulse, and breath to breath,
Where hushed awakenings are dear...
But I've a rendezvous with Death
At midnight in some flaming town,
When Spring trips north again this year,
And I to my pledged word am true,
I shall not fail that rendezvous.
Chapter Ten
Miners Park
Frederick, Colorado
With the soft green grass devoid of any thorns, thanks to vigorous landscaping, and a soft, warm breeze blowing through the air, James felt completely relaxed under the huge oak tree. Sunlight softly filtered through the leaf filled limbs and somewhere up above birds chirped as they tried to find mates.
Here, all his worries were gone. Except for his arm which was completely asleep.
“Kelsey?” He softly breathed.
His girlfriend’s soft hair tumbled down before her eyes as she rolled over to face him. “Hmm?”
“I have to pee,” He brazenly admitted.
“Well that’s too bad ‘cuz I’m not getting up. So I guess you’re screwed,” She rolled back over onto her back and closed her blue eyes. “Besides,” She added after a quiet moment. “You said you don’t like the bathrooms here anyway.”
“I don’t. Every time I go in my shoes stick to the floor. It’s like playing ‘The Floor is Lava’ for real…”
Kelsey’s soft giggling erupted from beside him and James smiled, closing his eyes and deciding he didn’t have to urinate all that badly after all. “You coming with us on that camping trip?” He asked, nearly everyone else had decided to come except for Tricia and her boyfriend, much to James’ delight.
“Not sure. You know I’m a city girl.”
“Oh yeah, would want you to break a nail,” He replied sarcastically.
“Screw the nail, I’ll break my leg,” She admitted honestly. Kelsey wasn’t the most coordinated person James knew, while she was elegant as a Butterfly she often ended up with bruises or scrapes.
“Well we could stay here all Summer,” James proposed. “Living off the concession stands and bathing in the lake when there’s no one around…”
“Oh you’d just love to see me swimming naked in the lake wouldn’t you?”
James though silently before bluntly saying, “Yes. Yes I would.”
Full laughter erupted from her this time as she covered her eyes and mouth with her hands, something that annoyed James because he thought she was at her most beautiful when she laughed. When her mirth finally died down she scooted closer to him, laying her head on his chest. He wrapped his arms around her waist and held her against tightly against him, yet not enough to cause discomfort. Her blonde ponytail peeked out from behind her and James reached up, tugging on it gently. Redness filled Kelsey’s face as she blushed and giggled again.
“Just exactly how old are you?” She asked.
Shrugging awkwardly, James lay silent before saying, “I don’t know. Five? Six?”
“This many?” She asked but didn’t hold up any fingers.
“Hey I’m old enough to know when the Tickle Monster should visit bad little girls,” A look of terror filled Kelsey’s eyes as she looked up at him, her mouth forming a silent gasp. With the one arm still around her waist, James began wiggling his fingers against her sides. Almost instantly her eyelids squeezed shut and she began squirming, trying to escape his grasp. James held fast, using his other hand to tickle her underneath her arm.
Gasping for air in between spells of laughter, she used her legs to roll the two of them over again and again across the soft grass until James lost his grip on her and she managed to wiggle out of his grasp. As he sat up she lunged at him and returned the favor by attacking the small of his back where he was most sensitive. Struggling, but not with all of his might, James managed to pin Kelsey’s arms against her side and bring his face down to meet hers.
Tears of joy filled her eyes, redness from laughter covering her cheeks, as she stared into his. Though they had been together for only a few months, she was one of the emotional rocks he found that he could rely upon after his parent’s death, as yet it was as if they had known each other all their lives. Seizing the initiative, he leaned down and rubbed the tip of his nose against her cheek and watched as she closed the last few inches, connecting her soft lips with his.
James’ eyes slid closed as he pressed into her a fraction of an inch, the warmth and slightly moistness of her lips pressing against his. She moved her head just a little bit and parted her lips to break contact before closing the distance and kissing him again; his hand rested on her back and the other on her thigh.
Finally, when he thought he was going to suffocate, they parted. Wanting to remain close and savor the moment, Kelsey didn’t move far from him. Sitting there in the shade of the oak tree the lovers held each other, oblivious to the world around them.
However, the world refused the allowed them to remain ignorant for long.
A high pitched, two-tone wailing sound filled the park, loud enough to grab James and Kelsey’s attention. Looking up and casting his eyes around he saw other patrons of the park doing the same, confused at the cloudless sky and wondering what was going on.
“Tornado warning?” Kelsey asked. “Now?”
“Nah,” He denied. “They must be testing it.”
“But it isn’t Wednesday,” She countered. “It’s always on Wednesday.”
He shrugged, “Maybe it’s a random test. Like they were working on it and wanted to make sure it operated okay…” Through the warbling sound his ears picked up something else, a kind of tearing sound.
Standing up, he dusted himself off then helped his girlfriend to her feet and walked to the edge of the tree to look up at an unobstructed view of the sky. What he saw made him stumble back in shock.
White streams crisscrossed the sky as jet fighters cut through, leaving their contrails behind them. Dozens of the tiny, silvery planes made dizzying circles as they turned to engage or break away from the black shapes they shared the blue sky with. A pair of planes, a silver jet playing the cat while one of the black craft played the mouse, zipped by overhead; flashes of light winked on the nose of the jet and seconds later a faint grunting sound could be heard by James’ ears. The black plane in the lead erupted in flames on the back before tumbling end over end on its way to the ground. It impacted on the other side of the park with a fireball rising to mark the final resting place of its pilot.
Muffled screams and gasps of shock and horror rose from the crowd, several people covering their eyes.
Another of the black fighters dived toward the ground and James saw white beams of light lance out from just under the wings, streaking toward the ground and the people watching from below. The ground exploded from wherever the balls of light landed, dark chunks of earth and globules of fire rained down.
Satisfied about assaulting the onlookers, the plane pulled up and rose quickly to rejoin the fray occurring overhead. James watching in horror as the smoke from where the shots touched down cleared and revealed several half-burnt bodies of the people standing too close. Screams rippled through the survivors as people began to run in every direction: toward the parking lot, toward the grove of trees, the lake, and wisely toward the large restroom complex on the other side of the lake.
James grabbed Kelsey’s hand, shouting “Holy shit,” as he did so. Dragging her along, and hoping she could keep up, he sprinted toward the concrete building in as straight a line as he could manage. Their bare feet padded against the grass as they charged in step toward what they hoped would be their salvation.
Screaming like a Banshee, James felt boiling hot water as it sprayed up from where a black plane made another strafing run; the only thing saving him and his girlfriend being that the pilot misjudged the angle and fired on the lake, pulling up before his shots made landfall. Throwing his eyes to the left, he saw what looked like melted glass on the lake bed before the water rushed back in and covered it up.
“James!” Kelsey cried as he felt he hand slip from his grasp. Fearing the worst, he stopped and turned back to help her up, thankful as soon as he laid his eyes upon her that she only slipped and wasn’t injured.
“C’mon,” He breathed in her ear as he stopped down, lifting her with one hand under each arm. “I’ve got you, Babe.” Above, he could still hear the tearing sound as the planes tore through the air, broken every now and again by bursts of thunder as an unlucky pilot exploded with his aircraft; whether they were the silvery single tail planes of the Air Force F-16’s or the oddly shaped black craft with the bulbous noses and slopped down wings, he couldn’t tell.
Lifting Kelsey off the ground, he planted a quick kiss on her cheek, mostly to calm his own nerves as well as her own, before letting her lead the way in their mad dash to the bathroom. Shutting out the chaos around him, the screams, the cries of fear and anguish, James focused on the grass stained white t-shirt clinging to Kelsey’s body as she ran ahead of him, her arm outstretched behind her grasping his hand as he did earlier.
Finally, she disappeared into the darkness of the doorway and James followed after her, his hand sliding against the cool concrete. Panting, she wrapped her arms around his chest and planted her head in the crook of his neck. James felt hot tears drip against his skin and Kelsey heave as she sobbed. Encircling her in his arms he tried to comfort her, kissing the top of her head and shushing her occasionally. Outside, the cacophony continued as men with wings of steel fought for their lives.
“My baby!”
James threw his head deeper into the room and saw a gaggle of people standing there, a woman with severe burns to her leg screaming hysterically and reaching outward, a stout man was trying his best to hold her back. “Please! My daughter is out there!”
Compassion taking heart, Kelsey looked up. “We have to help, James! We gotta’ find her!”
“No!” He barked. “If you go out there, you’ll die! And I’m not losing you too!”
Fluidly, she slipped from his grasp. “I have to. Why should we live and her daughter die?”
Making a grab for her, James cast out his hand but missed her by less than an inch. He stumbled out after her, feeling his feet leave the cold tiles of the floor and land on the rough, hot rocks used as a footpath. “Kelsey!” He yelled after her.
Kneeling in the daylight, her honey blonde hair reflecting the golden light, Kelsey held a crying toddler in a green dress. She looked up and smiled when she saw James, waving to him as she stood with the child in her arms. James tried to call out after her, tried to warn her, or tried to tell her he loved her one last time but found his voice had left him.
The last thing he saw was her light blue eyes gazing after him, the warmth in her cheeks, and her smile of accomplishment spread across her pouty lips, entirely unaware of the sloped wing fighter making a dive toward the bathroom.
James watched as she and the crying child in her arms vanished in a flash of brilliant, and slightly beautiful, light. His knees cracked against the gravel as they buckled, and a scream filled his ears. Then he realized it was him screaming,
Secret Service Motorcade
Washington D.C.
For over an hour the air raid sirens had been wailing, the warbling sound audible even through the bulletproof glass and reinforced steel of the black SUV’s the Secret Service used to escort VIP’s. Roaring through the streets at 60 plus, sirens screaming for the attention of the drivers of the other cars on the expressway, Burbank glanced out the window to his left and saw what could be described as an aluminum cloud of fighter planes dredged up from the Air Force, Air National Guard, and Navy. Though most airbases were destroyed three months ago, with the rest being finished off in the surprise attack by the Druidth fighter jets, ever since September 11th it had been standard procedure to station a few planes at most major airports.
Which is why a menagerie of attackers, fighters, and interceptors patrolled the airspace above Richards head, protecting the capitol from the onslaught as long as possible.
“Spider Seven to Spider Web, we have our package and are proceeding to exfil Birds Nest. Advise on route, Over?” Spider? Richard thought. I’m riding with the Spider team. So what does that make me, the fly? He always found the codenames assigned at random a bit odd. If he recalled correctly, Lovett once told him a story about when he was a young spy he had an asset codenamed Syphilis.
“Spider Seven route is clear until you get to the ninety-five junction. It’s pretty jammed up there so you’re gonna’ have to redirect to a frontage road on your way to Birds Nest.”
“Understood,” The man sitting in the passenger seat flicked a few switches on the console and the GPS map redirected their route. “Can’t believe this is happening again,” He mumbled to himself.
The driver leaned forward, glancing up at the sky. “Don’t see anything hostile yet. Maybe the boys upstairs will keep them away for now. Give us time to get outta’ here.” Richard had learned that the agents with him, and those carrying out other exfiltrations, were coming with the members of the Cabinet.
“Easy for you to say, Crenshaw,” The man sitting next to him replied. In his hands was a compact assault rifle designed specifically for security forces. “You don’t have kids.”
Silence settled over the car, broken only by the screeching sirens. “I’m sure they’ll be okay,” Richard said in an effort to comfort the worried man. “It doesn’t look like they’re attacking cities directly. If they were gonna’ do that, they could have just done it from orbit.”
Lost in thought, the man smiled. “Thank You, Sir. I’m sure you’re right.”
Concerned about his own wife and child, Burbank pulled the aged cell-phone from his coat pocket, thumbing it open, and hitting the speed dial number for home. The now familiar tone of the busy signal filled his ear and he flipped it closed, tapping it against his lip in thought. Although he was a member of the President’s Cabinet, and thus required to evacuate the city to a secured location, his family wasn’t entitled to an armored car filled with heavily armed men, and women in the case of the driver, with years of training.
He glanced out the window again, watching the townhomes and manicured trees flash by; families rushing out of the doors and to their cars every now and then. Besides his exception, leaving the city was foolish. Where were they hoping to go? Few people here could survive in the wilderness, if there was any nearby. And mostly they were just going to clog up the highway as they bounced from city to city, creating a perfect shooting gallery for any interested Druidth fighter planes.
“Alert, alert. Spider Seven you need to get off the road now.” A sense of urgency filled the voice of the anonymous radio operator as he interrupted the silence. “We’ve just picked up a flight of bogies coming in from heading three-two-zero. Your eleven o’clock is about to get deadly, Spider team.”
Crenshaw cut the wheel hard to the right, causing the vehicle to swerve across an empty parking lot and towards a side street that was, thankfully, empty as well. Meanwhile, as Crenshaw drove, the other two mean scanned their heads upward, watching out the window for any planes swooping down on them. Burbank did the same, figuring there was no harm in an extra pair of eyes watching the skies, but feared if he did see anything he would somehow make things worse by freaking out.
“There they go,” The man on his left announced. Through the gasps in the buildings he saw a line of twin tail fighter jets flying in nearly a straight line off toward the west.
Burbank, along with the rest of the car, were still watching the planes fly off when Crenshaw cut the wheel again. “Shit!”
The screeching of tires downed out the siren for a second followed by the rear end of the SUV sliding upward as the front end slid backwards. The whole vehicle was now skidding sideways into a crowded intersection.
Metal crunched as the rear end collided with a FedEx van parked along the side of the road. Burbank’s head slammed into the reinforced glass, his teeth chattered and the world went black.
When he came to the world around him had darkened considerably. Smacking his lips together and running his tongue around his mouth to moisten it, he faintly tasted blood, probably from some injury from the crash. He cringed as he moved his right arm and a sharp pain shot through his shoulder and chest; Burbank rolled his head and could barely make out the sleeve of his jacketed arm pinned against between his body and the crumpled car door. Squeezing his eyes shut in an effort to take the pain, he wiggled his fingers to ensure that nothing was broken or worse: torn off.
“Vickers?” He softly called out. “Crenshaw?” Only the distant noises answered him. He rolled his head back to the left, the front seat was empty on both sides so Crenshaw and the other man had survived the crash and gotten out. Looking the left he saw Vickers sitting in a broken heap next to him, the man’s head hanging at an unnatural angle. “Crenshaw!”
Through the pain induced haze he heard a distant pop-pop occasionally along with sirens that didn’t seem to be getting any closer. Why was he allowed to sit here for God knows how many hours? And where the Hell was the rest of his security team?
Breathing deeply Burbank shifted his weight to the left and let gravity take over, pulling him aside and freeing his arm from the crumpled door. Swearing from the pain, he breathed deeply for a few seconds before using his left arm to right himself, lifting himself up and scooting over to Vickers’ body. Survivor’s guilt washed over him as he pulled the pistol from the man’s hip holster and pulled the hand-held radio from his pocket.
Thumbing the button, he breathed into the face of the device. “Is anyone there? This is Secretary of the Interior Richard Burbank. We’ve had a wreck and one of my security team is dead with the rest missing.” Breathing heavily, he licked his lips again. “Please, anyone?”
His thumb slid off the key to end transmission and he waited in silence for a reply. Moments passed that felt like an eternity with no one answering him on the radio and no one coming to his aide. For the first time in a very long time, since he was a child and got left at his parent’s cabin by accident, Richard felt alone. “Fuck it,” He whispered and reached across Vickers’ body, yanking the door handle and watching as the heavy door popped open with a solid click. White light filled the interior of the ruined car as the dome light came on with the door opening and Burbank took the opportunity to check his arm.
Glancing down he saw the coat sleeve torn open down the side and his white shirt stained red with blood. A large gash, starting from the shoulder and running halfway down his forearm peeked through the fabrics, stomach churning he thought he saw the whiteness of bone as well. Breathing slowly, he tore the rest of his jacket sleeve off and tied it around the worst of the wound as best he could before using his legs to push himself out of the car.
Landing with a thud on the remains of his body guard, who was pushed out by him, Burbank silently prayed from the man before pushing himself up on his good arm and getting his legs under him. After sitting still in the car for so long, standing never felt so good. A gust of wind, tinted with smoke and oil, blew in from behind him and chilled his skin.
“I’ve gotta’ get inside,” He mumbled. Looking up he didn’t see any planes flying overhead, but he didn’t know if the Druidth fighters had navigation lights.
Stumbling forward, his shoe kicked something solid yet soft. He swore again as he caught himself on the hood of the car with his right arm and fresh pain shot through him. Raising his foot to kick whatever caused him to stumble, Burbank caught his breath and stared, wide-eyed, at the half charred corpse of Crenshaw. Her face was slack with her eyes closed; the sub-machine gun she held earlier lay loosely in her grasp with empty shell casings scattered around her. Richard dropped his foot, knocking one of the brass casings away, sending it down the street with a soft tink.
Gazing around he saw sections of the road, six to eight inch areas, smoothed over and looking like melted glass. Turning around he saw more bodies lying prostrate in the road as if they had tried to run and were cut down.
It was clear that Druidth soldiers had been through here and left no survivors, none except him. Why had he been spared? He wondered. Perhaps it was because he was unconscious and they saw the body next to him, assuming they both died in the crash. Richard wondered if Vickers had saved his life even in death.
Before he knew it he had walked toward a small store across the street, broken glass crunching underfoot, darkness opening wide to offer him a small amount of safety. A soft jingling sound rang through the empty street as the bell on the back of the door rang as he pushed it open. What looked like copiers lined the wall to his left with row upon row of shelving to his right filled with paper.
Richard managed to walk behind the counter before collapsing. He pressed his back against the counter, holding the radio up to his mouth and keying the button once again. “Can anybody hear me? Anybody at all?”
USS Florida SSGN 728
500 feet below the Atlantic Ocean
Near Maine Coast
Waiting, waiting, waiting. Hurry up and wait. Get here on time then wait. Most of one’s military career, or probably any career for that matter, would be spent waiting. Waiting for orders or equipment. Waiting for repairs or supplies. Waiting for a mission to start or for someone else to do their job. Or just plain waiting because no one knew what the hell they wanted to do.
Castle glanced over at the ships chronometer, showing it was half past the hour and the ship he was supposed to rendezvous with was late. So he, along with the rest of the Florida, waited.
Nestled comfortably beneath the waves, the large warship was running in silent mode in an effort to hide from the wave of fighter-bombers that were currently sweeping the ocean clean of anything that floated. Supposedly, the Druidth have wised up to the uses of naval warfare and decided that anything on the water was now hostile. During the initial wave, a group of planes, outfitted with what Castle saw as an anti-ship weapon, came down and sank the cargo freighter the Florida was currently tracking. Carrying out an emergency dive, they managed to narrowly avoid a direct hit by turning hard to port and jetting out of the area and dropping a counter-measure just to be safe. He nearly pissed himself when he heard the missile streak past the hull and detonate on the noise maker.
Now, the loudest noise was that of the crewmen breathing softly. It always struck him as odd how everyone goes silent when they’re trying to evade detection, like the outcome really depended on one guy who was breathing too loudly.
He was still watching the clock, wondering if enough time had passed for the Florida to rise from her hiding place and try to make it back to Norfolk when he saw the Sonar man stick his head out of the closet they used separately from the rest of the CIC. “Captain,” He whispered and waved Castle over furiously. When he was close enough the young man slid his headphone off his ears. “Sir, we’ve got what sounds like a Victor class coming up on our starboard side. She isn’t opening her doors or flooding her tubes but-“
“It doesn’t mean they aren’t already ready to shoot,” John interrupted. “Keep me posted.” A Russian sub, one of the older but still deadly Victor class boats, was trying to sneak up on their broadside where it would be easy for a torpedo to strike and sink the Florida. He wasn’t aware of them currently being at war with Russia, or anyone other than the Druidth again, but that didn’t mean the other guys couldn’t take this golden opportunity to settle a few grudges before agreeing to come to the same side. “Beagle, ready a noise maker and make ready to run hard and fast if we need too,” He ordered the XO when he got close enough; yes, even he was guilty of whispering during silent running.
“Sir?” Beagle looked like he was about to ask a question when the Gertrude, essentially an underwater wireless telephone that allowed two submarines to communicate with one another while submerged, began making its signature growling ring. The XO walked over and snatched the receiver off the hook. “USS Florida,” He answered honestly. There was no point in hiding it; the Russians would have fed her sonar signature into their computer and come back with results identifying her. Peter listened for a moment before handing the phone over to Castle without a word, but judging from the grim set of his mouth he heard some very disturbing news.
“Captain John Castle speaking,” He said into the mouth piece.
“Captain Castle, you are currently speaking with Admiral Andrei Vorshevsky of the RFN Akula,” A heavily accented voice spoke over the low frequency phone. “Please do not make hostile movements. We are here under peaceful conditions but will defend ourselves accordingly.”
John motioned to Beagle to turn on the recorder. “Alright, Admiral. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“As you may know,” The man, John imagined him plump with a little pencil mustache, began without preamble. “Earlier today the cowardly Druidth undertook yet another attack on the peace-loving citizens of the Russian Federation along with the rest of the world,” Guy talks like an ex-KGB or Politburo officer, Castle thought. “Fortunately, the Akula was being put to sea to train a new rotation of crewmen for life below the waves, so we were spared from the massacre that occurred at our home port, where I cannot tell you.
“Not long ago, we have learned that key cities in our glorious Rodina,” He used the Russian word for ‘Motherland’. “Have been attacked and captured by extraordinarily large infantry forces. As for Moscow,” Vorshevsky paused and Castle wondered if he heard a bit of true fear and worry instead of the state approved BS that the man had spouted from his blowhole before. “We do not know.”
“I am sorry to hear about your home port, Admiral,” John said, sincerity filling his voice; after all, Norfolk was probably razed to the ground right along with wherever the Akula sailed from. “And I can tell you that Washington has been attacked as well. Though I do not know for sure, I am positive that Druidth infantry are trying to seize our cities as well.”
“Bastards,” Vorshevsky grunted.
“Indeed. Let me just say that once winter sets in, I have full faith that the workers and laborers of Russia will rise up and smite the invaders from your homeland.”
“Dah!” The man exclaimed excitedly. “Yes, yes of course they will. Because any fool can see Russia as weak during the summer when it is dry. But no fool dares to attack Russia after they face her fearsome winters!”
That’ll get him talking more liberally, Castle thought. When he was undergoing training there was a mandatory class about talking to ship captains from foreign nations. Essentially, you were supposed to compliment them on their personal skills, if you saw any of it, and their homeland if they gave indication they loved it; which Vorshevsky gave plenty of. However, if they spoke critically of their nation then it was a good chance they would like to defect and possibly bring their whole ship over as a present for the good guys.
“Of course, whenever one thinks of Russia three things come to mind: strong people, strong drinks, and strong winters.” He waited until the man stopped cheering before continuing. “Can you tell me anything else?”
“Nyet. We do know that a large number of ships has clustered in orbit though. However, this time they seem to be more alert and have smaller ships on the perimeter acting like picket line. Perhaps they are there to shoot down any incoming missiles…”
“Possibly,” Castle agreed and wished he still had a full load of ICBM’s to throw at them. “Tell me, Comrade, can you tell me of your orders? Or have you received any since Moscow went quiet?”
“Dah, and we are currently carrying them out.” A silence settled over the two men speaking as the full meaning of what he said dawned on Castle. “So what shall we do, Captain?”
“I’ll need to consult with Washington, Admiral. Please, give me a moment.” The Captain hung up the phone and walked over to the center of the room, Beagle meeting him over there, leaving the recording device running incase Vorshevsky said anything of import while he was away. “What do you think, Pete?”
Beagle scratched his chin, three day stubble already showing nicely. “Guys clearly ex-KGB. Maybe even Politburo. You heard all the ‘peace-loving people of Russia’ crap? Substitute ‘Russia’ with ‘Soviet Union’ and he’ll be right at home.”
“Yeah I caught that too. But that’s not what I’m asking.”
“Was he serious when he said Moscow gave him orders to rendezvous with American ships?” Castle crossed his arms and shrugged. Peter sighed heavily and looked away as he thought about how to advise his Captain on the best course of action. Ultimately, the decision was up to Castle, but the Executive Officer was there to consult on difficult matters as much as take over when he needed a break. “Well, we know Norfolk’s gone. Again. And if not gone then captured. And we damn sure aren’t taking this guy into Washington harbor. So…” Beagle exhaled sharply. “I don’t know, raise the SATCOM? Maybe orders came through from somewhere?”
Castle puffed. “And go topside? Fuck that noise. I ain’t going up there.”
Beagle pushed past Castle and reached the phone. “Let’s ask our friend if it’s clear.” John heard him talking to his counterpart on the other ship as he turned and walked toward the navigation charts, flicking through them on the touch screen table top until he found the Virginia coastline. He traced his finger up to Norfolk Naval Base, inland and past the underwater bridge, and down the coast to somewhere he could take the Akula without bringing the Russians into the U.S.’s back yard. “Cap? He says he was up just a little while ago and that it was clear. No planes in sight and no ships on the radar.”
“Right, bring us to antennae depth and hope it hasn’t changed.” He felt the rear of the ship drop out from underneath him as the Florida started her engines and pulled away from the sandy bottom that they found so easy to hide in. If we were so well hidden, how did the damn Russkies find us?
After a few minutes the ship level out at a mere 20 feet below the surface and the communications officer flicked a switch that sent up a thin, whip-like antennae that picked up any incoming transmissions from the Navy’s Operations Command satellites. If there were any orders waiting for them, the main computer would send an authorization code known only to the computer and then receive orders or intelligence specified for the Florida and for the Florida alone. Usually it took about-
Castle could hear the telex machine in the background begin its rapid whirring with frequent stops and starts as it printed the document. When the page was finished a two-tone note sounded that let the officer know it was done, he then lowered the antennae and tore the page off, handing it to the Captain.
“Authentication code checks out,” He said as Beagle approached. Scanning the page as he always did, he gave it a quick once over then started from the top and read the warm page thoroughly. When he was finished, he handed the page to the XO and grabbed the phone. “Akula, we just received new orders. How about you come up to the surface so we can talk in person?”
Meanwhile, Beagle read the page. It simply read:
ALERT
61220201452
ENCRYPTION CODE: BLACK
FROM: DEPARTMENT OF THE NAVY
TO: USS FLORIDA
CAPTAIN JOHN CASTLE STOP
NORFOLK COMPROMISED STOP
RENDEZVOUS WITH ANY FRIENDLY SHIPS FROM ANY NATION STOP
DESTROY ANY WITH HOSTILE INTENTIONS STOP
REPORT TO CANARY ISLANDS AND RESUPPLY AT USS MERCY STOP
AWAIT FURTHER ORDERS STOP