The Water of Earth
Out in the vast dark, there was a blinking light. Or maybe it was a star.
When I can't sleep, more often than not, it's because some part of me knew I needed to be awake.
There's always something "out there," of course.
A dark night without light pollution on land can feel like the ocean. The ocean at night with no light pollution can be very much like a living thing. A living thing with living things in it.
Dr. Park explained to me that we should think of nearly all the water of Earth as one coherent thing now, more so than ever.
She was so committed to this concept she only spoke of places either "offshore" of a country or in just coordinates. I hadn't made it a rule to talk as she did aboard the Angels Carrying, but it was catching on pretty evenly with the crew from the new ones to the salty old fucks like myself.
"It's a ULCV*, Skipper," Cmdr. Li said. Cats made more noise than that woman, but I was used to it. She was a born sailor; she figured out if it was a star or not with her naked eyes.
"Flag state?" I asked.
"Panama, Divine Intervention," I could see her rolling her eyes even in the detail-smearing red lights. "Whiskey Uniform Niner Wun Fife Zero."
"Hail them," I said.
Li clenched her jaw activating her local network voice access "Hail the Divine Intervention."
"They just hailed us, Ma'am, on channel 16, they say they are fully disabled," came over the radio on my hip; Li had muted hers.
"Hail them on the commercial channel, patch it into us," I said and Li relayed it.
"Aye, aye" crackled back. " Divine Intervention, Divine Intervention, Divine Intervention this is Angels Carrying India Golf Zero Zero Zero Fowar on channel Seventy, over.” Again I'm sure I heard Li roll her eyes again.
It took some real convincing to get her to serve on my ship because she hated the name and my Letter of Marque was rare enough that she thought I was lying or it was a forgery.
"Angels Carrying this is Divine Retribution, over," buzzed the comms.
"Ask them to confirm why they aren't moving," Li said on the local channel.
"Divine Retribution, why aren't you moving?" crackled.
"Our engine is out; we're fixing it now. We keep two engines worth of spare parts on board; this ship is nearly fifty years old, over."
"That's fucking convenient," I said. "Switch back to sixteen and see what the fuck they say."
Li relayed it, they tried again and nothing came back. We waited about two minutes.
"You think it's them?" Cmdr. Li asked.
"I hope, I got a few scores to settle. Yellow Alert."
Cmdr. Li relayed it. Our implants all buzzed in our palms and shoulders. Three buzzes in a quick sequence that grew from gentle to get the fuck up if you didn't start moving.
The only actual physical alarms and emergency indicators are for fires on the Angels Carrying.
We didn't need the stealth so much, but it served me well enough on land. Cmdr. Li sprinted off to the bridge, and I clicked over to my channel for comms. "Comms," I said into my walkie as I moved far more casually.
"Go Skipper," Ricky Comms crackled back.
"Keep channel sixteen monitored. How's our internet?"
"We watched nearly a terabyte of streams last night after evening chow."
"Wholesome stuff, I'm sure. Download an app called 'Girl Run!' and put it in general receive mode."
"Aye, sir."
Sailor superstitions were rubbing off on me. The three names I had etched into my aluminum alloy forearm somehow itched. I gave up that forearm for the first time to keep a very green sailor from getting squished in a malfunctioning water-tight door.
No fucking way was I gonna stand by and let some bullshit happen where I end up having to write some kid's parent or guardian and say they were "nobly doored to death in the course of the mission."
Even if I was certain of the nobility of this mission.
"Sorry, that was our fault," I said and patted the wall of the ship. Even thinking bad about the ship had me apologizing.
Superstitions definitely rubbed off.
The bridge was at the "way-more-activity-than-I-think-is-neccessary," part of operations when I arrived at the threshold.
I learned it's got its own rhythm. Infantry is power chord 4:4, but most Navy shit is usually a waltz. As soon as you leave the ship it's your song so play it how you like, even boarding another ship.
Fuck their waltz.
I stepped over the threshold and said "Carry on," to keep the flow going.
"Hey Skipper, I..." Ricky Comms began.
"Comms the fuck is with," Chief Laurence started.
"I told him to do that," I finished.
"Aye, sir." Chief Laurence went to another task.
She and I had the hardest time getting in sync. She was always hung up on stuff that doesn't help or actually fucks up combat ops. When I said "No starch on my ship," at one point I'm pretty sure she was close to proving my theory that she only punches through things.
There is still no starch on my ship. But Chief Laurence leads afternoon PT. Always find the balance.
"Incoming on the app, Skipper, from PartySquirrelZero," said Comms.
"Did you just?!" Chief Laurence began.
"It's okay, Chief!" I said. "What's it say?"
I wondered what she was on about. Ricky Comms was an absurdly talented signal person and we were the same rank before I left the United States Army and we generally played looser with rank in Earth Corps.
"Had too much vodka," Comms read out loud. "Four guys followed me but I'm safe for now. Having a kebab. Can you pick me up?"
I pulled the code book out of my shoulder pocket. "Cross reference with this, if it's a spelled-out number or a numerical code the meaning is different."
"Aye skipper," said Comms.
"We've come about," Cmdr. Li said.
"Hold steady, waiting on the intel," I said. "No pressure, Ricky."
Everyone went quiet. The seconds passed and we somehow got quieter. Then the loudest noise was Ricky flipping the pages on the code book and the ship's own music of engines and moaning metal on water.
"Compromised, well-funded hostiles," Ricky said haltingly as he used the book to decode. "They know; don't know it's me; actively searching;"
We all heard the phone buzz again.
The pages flipped back and forth. " It's not in code, sir, it just says sea - as in water - and burn, sea burn."
"Fuck." I said. "Full speed ahead, Commander you have the bridge,"
"Aye sir," Cmdr. Li said.
"Chief, with me," I said.
"Aye Sir," said the Chief.
We were both doing the enlisted walk at full speed as we went below deck into the main passage, our boots slapping the floor.
"What's Sea Burn, Sir?" the Chief asked.
"It's either an abbreviation C-B-R-N for chemical biological radiation or nuclear, or literally Sea Burn which could be at least three of those," I said.
"Gas masks, epi-pens, and full bikini**?" Chief asked.
"Just the fry plate***," I said.
Chief clenched her jaw and got the local channel "Marines, Team India, Team golf, kit level four, minus limbs,"
"See you on the deck, Chief." Chief slid down and I walked up the stairs to my quarters.
Every port I've been to since the "war" started, I ran into someone who claims to know them, help them, or is one of them.
I'd never heard of one out to sea before and it was a real shot in the dark to use that app. Such a long shot that there was almost no way it was a false flag.
Almost.
I got into the kit the chief specified and checked mobility and heat. Surprisingly flexible but warm. I told myself it'll would be fine. I always do. I pulled my walkie off my hip "Chief, lite backracks**** as well."
"Aye, sir." I could hear her smile over the radio. She appreciated the Grunt brain sometimes.
I took a moment to think in my quarters.
We had at least one huge piece of intel - that we could only see a small part of - plus a few smaller pieces. I knew the folks who fought using rifles were fine with it. The folks who had some distance from the battlefield not so much.
War zones spread pain like a deep bruise on the world. High connectivity just made it worse about as much as it made other things better. Everyone is four degrees away from someone who died in a fucking war.
I used to be a real fucking asshole about drone pilots and shit because they demanded a huge amount of detail. When I first met Cmdr. Li and told her as much she said "The bullets are too big." Then it clicked; if you are on the small arms side of warfighting, you'll make that "shoot/don't shoot" decision 100 times a day.
"No pilot has such grim privilege," Cmdr. Li told me once over some beers.
So we tried to make sure the grunts stay grunts, the intel stays intel but mission success is shared proudly and evenly.
I made my way to the main deck; the four Lion Fish PT-100 tiltrotors were prepped and in the red lights they look demonic with a dazzle-camo pattern of VANTA black and Brain Grey. It was like something pretending to be something else; the uncanny valley but for empty space. We were still developing uniforms with VANTA incorporated, but the urban blue "moldy bread" or ATAC pattern hadn't let us down.
They launched our intel drones, six smaller all-VANTA black quadcopters that can loiter for eight hours in the dark and indefinitely all day with sensors payloads designed by people who saw the James Webb Telescope and said "Hold my beer."
I took my time and waited for the Chief. Her show until it's mine and it helps get us all in the mind frame.
I could feel our other countermeasures warming up in my jaw and my spine.
One thing the military taught me is this: it doesn't matter what absolute nonsense is being said, if you can get at least a hundred people to shout it or respond to it at the top of their lungs it gets everyone pumped up. Scares the fuck out of anyone that sees it on Tik Tok, too.
If it's not nonsense? Like, a real thing, a tangible thing, then it's a war chant. It's a kind of sympathetic magic that has a real benefit.
"Angeeeeeeeelllllllssss," Chief said to get them in formation, "CARRYING!"
"SAVAGE WEAPONS!" they shouted as they snapped to attention.
I took control of the formation from the Chief and about-faced to the formation.
"At ease!" I said.
"Who in the fuck names a cargo ship the Divine Intervention?" I said. That got a little laugh. "They are getting bolder, I can tell you that. We are the fuck out here and they are on a cargo ship, nowhere near a shipping lane. They are serious. We knew an escalation was coming. Dr. Park warned us. Our allies warned us. And I'm pretty fucking sure land loyalists were warned about us. They. Ignored. That. Warning. Force, ah-ten,"
The subtle sound of everyone getting into parade rest.
"SHUN!" heels clicking together.
"ONE OCEAN!" I shouted.
"ONE FIGHT!" they shouted.
They started the rotors on the primary aircraft.
"ONE PLANET!" I shouted.
"ONE FUTURE!" They shouted.
I know doing that in full kit is kinda fucked up, but they really seem to like it.
"ONE ENEMY!" I shouted.
"ONE VICTORY!" They shouted.
I raised both my arms palms toward the formation and flung them back. That was the "fallout" command because the rotors drown me out.
Chief tapped me on the shoulder over the noise and signed in American Sign Language "Whose turn?"
I pointed to her, and even over the rotors I could hear her say "HOO-YAH!"
Two VTOL aircraft, twelve personnel to deploy on each at the same time at the bow and stern of a ship about three and a half American football fields long by about half a football field wide when they have all the lights turned off?
You would need a shit hot pilot.
We had six on board at all times.
I listened to the chatter of the drone pilots to our on board pilots.
It's rare they see us coming but "well funded" could have meant these could be the ones who do. The airflow sensors didn't detect open hatches, smart dust olfactory sensors had filled the air around the boat and found no interesting smells. That initially had me worried.
"Human movement, small arms, personal armor is Carapace. Thirty total." crackled over comms.
Fuck. Carapace wasn't very expensive money-wise after you build the factory; just in every other way. A user's body is scanned and then a mannequin of them is printed then that mannequin is coated with nutrients in a pattern of armor. Depending on how much coverage that armor gives the wearer it can take three to 24 months to grow, and each user has to stay within about a half-inch of their printed mannequin's physique for as long as they want to use that armor. After it's done growing it's coated with a polymer rendering it extremely fragmentation-resistant.
That information was briefed across smart lenses, out of earpieces, and directly into the brains of the chipped personnel.
Potentially 30 people with a very high degree of self-discipline.
"Carapace is only on the torso" came over the channel. "Small arms are carbon fiber and metal AK-47 with a 25-centimeter barrel, 7.62 rounds. Waiting on air and gas data."
Potentially 30 armed people with a very high degree of self-discipline.
Five-minute warning buzzed in our implants.
"Stream it, Skipper?" Comms crackled.
A lot of variables and a lot of unknowns.
"Skipper?" Comms crackled.
I let the time tick away. I let that become pressure and let the weird - but mostly useful - feelings that come with the possibility of violence fill me from brain to veins.
"Stream it," I said.
"I'll run it on a little delay, like five seconds."
"Groovy," I said.
The crew chief signaled to kick the ropes out. I went first because it sets a good example, down the rope, get in position. Seconds later, one of the team tapped my shoulder, and I let them take my place. I can feel their landings through the container I was standing on.
We are expecting resistance and the terrain the containers made is like a claustrophobic city planned by someone who loved right angles.
We didn't rehearse for this operation but we train hard for most situations so I went with a line to snake through the corridors.
Point is fucking dangerous but when isn't it?
That's the point is always the ending of something.
I turned a corner and found four targets and fired at the closest center mass. My hope was the slug hit and they would figure out who they were dealing with.
They all immediately put their weapon down, put their hands up, and spoke in a language that I wasn't sure what it was. Some of the sounds were familiar but they were coming in a different sequence.
"Any hint what they're saying?" I asked.
"I'll ask in the chat," Comms said. Then "It's Mongolian."
"Petty Officer Batu, you're up," I said. "Ask their name and their story,"
"Gan," Batu said as the man I shot to make a point as I spoke through Batu. "They locked us all in the armor, all taken from Mongolia, Ulaan Bator, and the surrounding area. The armor can't be taken off without burning us severely. I think it's a solid pure chemical that reacts with water."
They. I wish these fuckers had a flag or a creed or at least some fucking insignia.
"Li," I said. "get the drones up higher out of the range the moment they are out of range hose down this whole ship with the EMP cannon starting with the bridge. Batu, tell them it's going to be okay, we got this."
Batu relayed the message and I heard the man sob a little.
The relief of some burden lifted.
"Firing in five mikes, Skipper," the radio crackled. "Fife, fowar, tree, two,"
"BELAY THAT!" The Chief said. "We have the bridge, but whoever has control over the armor detonator is not here. Sir, there is a weapon on board. It is called Sea Burn."
"And we don't know the nature of the detonator," I said.
"Affirmative," Chief said.
"Bi Khinne," Gan said.
"I do," Batu said, translating. "If it is not disabled by now, then it will be too late,"
"Use E-M-P," Gan said though Batu.
"Li, let 'er rip," I said.
EMPs are scary because they make zero noise and you typically don't feel your electronics frying. The sudden smell of ozone if you're in a population center is all you get. Everything we use is hardened enough that it could probably handle a solar flair on Mercury.
I looked at Gan and tried to gesture with a questioning thumbs up and realized I was wearing NODS and we'd probably just killed any other lights.
"Gan, you good?" I asked.
"I don't know if I should move;" Batu translated. "If the remote control is radio-based I should..."
The screaming started; "Turn on your WARLOCKS" I shouted "and follow the sounds! Intel, acoustic imaging, we need to get to them fast; get the containers between them and the bridge."
Data goes to the HUD, and everyone breaks up beautifully and chatter fills the comms: "Bid tuslakhaar irsen, you move here, move them there, I got one, we got one, bid tuslakhaar irsen, no pulse, fucking armor, you're okay, you're okay, we got you, bid tuslakhaar irsen,"
It dies down like a summer downpour until it's only the medics "Good good... stable... stable.. tell him he's okay... nothing we can do...
"Update," I said.
"Sir, we have, we need a command decision," came over the radio. Guidance pinged in my HUD.
I made my way to the location and found some members of my team with a person who had their hands up. They had camouflage paint on their face and improvised patterns on their clothing, presumably, from spray paint judging by the smell.
"At ease, at ease, you can relax too," they put their hands down. "PartySquirellZero, I presume," I said. "What is Sea Burn?"
"It's somewhere on this ship," they said. "That's all I actually know. I've looking for it since we left port."
"Well, you got us, now," I said. "Any other clues?"
"Now? Radiation," they said, pointing to my exposure badge and then indicating everyone else's.
"Everyone check your rad exposure, the highest number wins," I said. "Count off."
"One, 10, Two 10, Three ten," and went on like that for a little while until "Thirteen, seventy-five, fourteen seventy-six, fifteen, seventy-four," came back.
"Location?" I asked.
"The bridge," the Chief said.
"Copy that, you don't move, double check the crew for any detonators, triggers, doodads, and so on. If it looks weird, proceed with caution." I said. "Scan for trip-wire signals broadcasting a receiving on any wavelength, Li, get some engineers prepped, those two nuke-techs for certain."
"I got a bad feeling now that I have new information, PartySquirrelZero," I said. "I know you won't be candid with me considering who are working for but your organization trusts me and this crew and I trust your organization, so we'll keep this professional."
I pulled a clean notepad from my other shoulder pocket and wrote How many megatons? and passed it to her.
She scribbled quickly We think ALL of them.
"Shit," I said.
"Everyone," I said. "When they drop off the engineers you are leaving, with the hostages and taking them directly to sickbay or cold storage, Li, add the photographer's mate to that list, we'll need better quality streaming. Bring two cameras. And Li?
"Sir?" she came back.
"Bring the ship about, if I say go you fuck right off, okay?"
"Yessir," she came back.
"PartySquirrelZero," I said. "You don't have to be on camera once we find it. And could I call you by something shorter?"
"Zero," They said.
 |
| June 13, 2023, 1729 hours. |
"Second camera's up, Sir," said Photographers' Mate Palmer, putting her hand on the record button, "We are live in three, two," Palmer mouthed "one" and pointed at me.
"Hey everyone, we're back," I began. "The other camera cut out because of the radiation, we did that on purpose with the appropriate gear so do not try this at home. Our nuclear tech is here to explain what we did and why. Commander, if you would."
I stepped out of frame and Cmdr. Lomidze stepped in.
"We found someone smuggling a nuclear warhead which we disabled. It would have an approximate yield of 250 megatons built inside a submersible gravity-propelled chassis and was pressure activated. The detonation would vaporize a volume of water roughly the size of America's Lake Michigan while irradiating twice as much ocean water and those living within that water and potentially causing a tidal wave in every direction." Lomidze choked back tears, "This has never been done before, the damage would have been extreme. The damage to humanity alone could potentially create a population bottleneck for just humankind."
She stepped out of the frame and I stepped back in.
"A very small group of people declared 75% of the Earth's surface a target because they were told, 'no.' If you can help, the apps are open, the merch shop is open, stay safe out there, Angels Carrying out."
"Sir, the Allied commander is here," came over the comms.
"Fuck," I said. "Is Dr. Park ready?"
"She will be by the time you get back to the ship," I said. "Get a party together, we may have to move this fucking ship ourselves."
I said to myself Self, look on the bright side, you've never met an allied commander.
...
SCUBA gear always fascinated me but I preferred that fascination from a safe distance, like far from the shore on Public Television shows about ocean life but life had other plans.
Dr. Park was already in hers and her equipment was loaded onto a ZODIAC, I didn't have time to get it all on, but I doffed my land gear and put on the vocal mask, tank, and goggles.
You just don't keep an allied commander waiting.
I got in the boat and hit the auto lower. Two deckhands just kept an eye on us in case the system got caught again.
"How do you feel, Skipper?" Dr. Park asked.
"I hope I don't start a world war," I admitted.
"Perhaps they at least actually will call it World War III this time," Dr. Park said dryly.
"I mean, I'd like to get them renamed. Human World War I and II, you know." I joked.
"If we got deep enough into our different histories at least the Naval battles would all have to be renamed." Dr. Park mused. "Their histories are longer than ours, even as some parts were lost to time, they can trace lineages back to before we were even thinking about being better primates."
Our boat gently touched the water, and Dr. Park whipped the sensor ball around and flung it astonishingly far.
"Just two kilometers out, that way," Dr. Park pointed with two fingers. I started the engine and we pushed out into the dark.
"What do you think, Doc, seriously? After all that." I asked.
Dr. Park exhaled in exasperation.
"I don't know what to say, it's fucking insane."
I'd never heard her swear before.
"The world said 'Take your ball and go home' and a very small group said 'I will blow up the baseball field,' Cut it," she said.
I cut the engine.
"Let's go," Dr. Park said.
I dummy-corded myself to it the Zodiac and got on the opposite edge of the boat at the same time Dr. Park did.
"Three, two, one," and we fell back into the ocean.
"She's here," Dr. Park's voice over the headphones. The translator she used was entirely mechanical; it was too risky to use haptics when translating whalesongs.
"Good morning, Ma'am," I said.
Dr. Park translated.
"Captain," came back through the translation.
I briefed Cmdr. Lomidze's findings and Dr. Park translated.
"What are your conclusions and recommended courses of action?" the Commander asked.
"We have a deal with every corporation on the planet. One ship like the one above us usually represents the monetary interests of several multi-million or billion-dollar corporations and nations. I doubt this was a plan of theirs. They are in it to make money plain, and simple. However, they have a rouge element or elements within their ranks and will likely protect them to everyone's detriment."
"The way some of you have enslaved your own selves due to economic want baffles us," the Commander said.
"Same here," I said. "Ma'am, this was meant to be decisive. It was meant to bring back all the problems that caused several of your wars; the human collateral damage would have been catastrophic, but your people could have gone extinct. We will have to tap a lot of allies and resources inland and we'll have to make some friends, I'm certain."
Dr. Park translated all of that.
The commander responded in Whalesong for some time.
"You have our full support. The Orca express their thanks for your assistance last month. The Kingdom of Hawaii has signed a treaty with us as well. We'll be in touch."
Dr. Park and I swam toward the commander and placed our hands on her, just under her eye, and then we went back to the surface.
"That was weird," I said.
"The Orca have never said 'thank you.' Not once." Dr. Park concurred.
"Pretty sure this means war," I said.
"It's ironic our first clue could be a 'thank you,'" Dr. Park said.
"Well, it's not like they could assassinate a whale," I said.
"You can but... it would be... obvious," Dr. Park said.
...
"I am assuming you will never tell me your real name," I said.
"Zero," they said, "is actually part of my real name."
"Zero, I know you'll share everything with your network but here is another piece for you: the Orca said thank you."
"What does that mean?" they asked.
"It's not code, just exactly that," I said.
"I'll pass it along," they said.
"Can we drop you anywhere?" I asked.
"I'll leave at these coordinates," they said and showed me the numbers.
"Got it," I said.
"Why did you pick this side?" they asked.
"If water is life, I would prefer to be on the side of life," I said.
"You will find it's not that simple," they said and left presumably to their temporary quarters.
"It never fucking is," I said.
*Ultra Large Container Vessel
**a head-to-toe radiation protection suit, the exact opposite of the clothing; named after the atol
***Just the torso covering
****Back racks are extra magazines on the back of the kit, lite is three and heavy is six, just in case
If you want to support my writing PayPal is JHiggins35, CashApp is $FairyGhostFather and Venmo is @John-Higgins-179
Comments
Post a Comment