The Red Sun Rises: Voyages

by The Atlantean


Nebraskan Goop

The Reagan Task Force sailed through the day and into the night. They had stocked up on food supplies, fuel, and ordinance while near port at Nautinia, and every ship now had full tanks. USS Lake Erie pulled out of the harbor and rejoined her small fleet as the final preparations were made, carrying the last stock of supplies.
Since the incident on Vulture’s Row, Celestia and Robinson kept a distance between them. It would be best if the highest-ranking people on board didn’t get romantic, even though it occasionally happened with enlisted that didn’t think they’d get home. The princess and admiral had bigger concerns.
The carrier escort kept land in sight at all times. Atlanta’s warning was to be taken seriously, especially since she actually showed fear at the thought of straying from land. Robinson thought it ironic, considering the country was Atlantis. No doubt the rest of the crew felt the same way.
The military cruise continued on through the week. The days dragged with boredom. At least an off-duty officer came up with the grand idea of stargazing during the night. That became practically a tradition the next night. Every off-duty sailor brought up blankets and spread across the Flight Deck, turned off the running lights, and stared into the beauty of the night sky. Interestingly, the constellations were the same as on Earth.
Celestia and Robinson decided to take a whirl at stargazing together, and set up near the bow, just ahead of the catapults. They pointed out the patterns above, chatting as they did so. The chaos of the night was its beauty. Other groups saw the two, but stayed away for privacy reasons.
“Robinson, do you have children?” Celestia asked.
“Yes. I adopted this little girl off the streets of San Francisco, and raised her as my own. She’s five. I call her my daughter, probably for sentimental reasons. I’d do anything to come home to her smiling face. She probably thinks I’m dead.”
“She’s lucky to have someone like you for a guardian.”
“You're her favorite pony. The benevolent dictator, tall and proud.”
“I'm a princess, not a dictator.”
“I meant the type of government.”
The two lay there on the deck in silence. A shooting star appeared, and people watched in wonder as it streaked through the sky, slowly burning brighter and brighter.
Suddenly, it exploded into fragments flying at several times the speed of sound. The shockwave slammed into the carrier, shattering windows and nearly bursting everyone’s eardrums. Seconds later, the pieces fell around the fleet in a spectacular display of falling fire and cannonball splashes. The shooting star was soon followed by more; it was the Lopholithodian Meteor Shower, hitting Equestria only once every three generations. Streaks of light flew overhead as the meteors entered the atmosphere.
“What a spectacle,” Robinson commented.
“It still gets me every time, even after seeing it at least a hundred times. The Lopholithodian Shower was the result of a magical imbalance in Equestria not even Discord could create.”
“What do you mean?” The admiral was familiar with the Lord of Chaos, and figured the draconequus could do whatever the hell he wanted.
“It-” Celestia almost broke into tears- “It was the result of my sister’s turning to Nightmare Moon. The exchange of combat magic between Luna and I ripped a hole in reality, and the Lopholithodian Shower came to be. It was a constant reminder of Luna’s banishment.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring back memories like that.”
“It was better after Luna came back. Then she was killed.”
The peaceful night was interrupted by a large explosion off to starboard. Celestia and Robinson sat up to look, and saw a fire off in the distance. One of the submarines had obviously torpedoed it, and the thing - whatever it was - was fighting back. Without binoculars, the princess could make out a wooden vessel, tall masts, and other remains scattered about the part of the ship that hadn’t blown up.
Robinson picked up his walkie-talkie and demanded to know what the hell happened. The reply was that the unidentified ship had done something deemed hostile and the submarine Omaha took it out. It had escalated from there.
The admiral sighed. There wasn’t much he could really do about the situation. But he did order everyone off the Flight Deck for the rest of the night.

The next morning, the mystery ship was far behind them. Robinson couldn’t spare the time to loiter while rescue helicopters searched the area for survivors, so he moved on. But one of the submarines, USS Nebraska, did stay behind for an hour to pick up said possible survivors. But none were alive, so it sailed at ahead flank to catch up.
Nebraska had been in line-of-sight comms for half an hour after departing the shipwreck area when her signal died abruptly. The fast attack simply disappeared right off the map. Right then, the admiral chose to turn around and head back. No ship could be left behind, especially in this world.
“Sir, Scorpion has a contact, bearing one-four-seven. Identifying now.” A few seconds later, he reported, “Sir, it’s Nebraska, but she isn’t responding to hails. She’s two knots ahead of Scorpion, just sitting there at Periscope Depth.”
Robinson took the part at Periscope Depth a bit better than the rest of the news. Since the submarine was close enough to the surface, he could have some divers go down and enter, bring her up to the surface with an Emergency Blow, and investigate further from there. Too bad neither Omaha nor Scorpion had SEAL teams; this would be a job for them. USS Michigan had one, but she was most likely lying at the bottom of the Taiwan Strait with the rest of the Pacific Fleet. Since Robinson couldn’t even contact the United States for some odd reason, he didn’t know.
“Sir, Scorpion requests permission to send divers to Nebraska.”
“Go ahead.” The admiral sat in the tattered Captain’s chair, it being one of the few salvageable things left after the battle against the Chinese carrier Liaoning. It was deemed without sufficient material to do much, so the Damage Control teams simply put it back in place.
Scorpion surfaced just above the unresponsive submarine, just off the port bow, for a diving team to assemble on top. She slowed to a halt, and the divers dove in and swam down to Nebraska, sixty feet below. As soon as they reported entry into the Los Angeles-class submarine, the captain aboard Scorpion reversed course, away from the larger boat.
Ten agonizing minutes later, Nebraska conducted an Emergency Blow and shot right up to the surface. She blasted out of the water bow first, followed by the Conning Tower and the stern. An enormous wave spread out as the bow sank back below the waves and the stern came up, and the submarine leveled out. The Emergency Blow was successful; now the divers could report anything wrong, as the immediate task was fulfilled.
“Sir, there’s nobody here alive. Everyone’s dead.” One of the divers knelt down to Nebraska’s captain, sitting against the extended periscope, completely gone, his pulse nonexistent.
Robinson turned to Celestia and nodded. She snapped her fingers and the two teleported into the submarine. They ended up in the Engine Room and proceeded to the control center. The whole way, they encountered dead crewmembers all along the halls. It was eerily quiet.
In the control center, the divers were sprawled out among the other sailors, their bodies lifeless. Robinson took one look and saw an almost-clear goo on all the consoles. He raised his eyebrows at Celestia and saw the most terrified face in the world. Her eyes were wide with fear and she trembled visibly.
“Celestia, what do you think this goop is?”
She saw it and almost screamed with terror. “Get it off of you NOW!”
Robinson swung his hand away from him and her, and the goo flew off his hand and into a console. “What is with you? You’re this close to snapping.”
“This stuff killed my grandparents. Translucent goo, as it’s known. We have to leave the submarine behind, or we’ll all die.”
“Alright, alright, calm down. We’re leaving.” He gestured for her to teleport them back to Reagan, but she did nothing of the sort. Instead, she headed to the hatch and began climbing the ladder.
“Translucent goo is one of the terrors of the seas. If it gets on your ship, you might as well be dead, since it can go right through hull like that pretty three-inch steel wasn’t there. It’s an airborne toxin that hampers magic, which is why we ended up in the Engine Room and why I can’t get us out. The stuff can kill in minutes, less if you’re hampered physically, and longer if you’re shielded. The longest recorded time it takes to kill is twenty minutes, shortest is two. About four hours after killing its victims, it reanimates them into ghost crews. Scariest thing you’ll ever see. Us, I threw a magical shield to prevent it from getting into our lungs, but that’s as much as I can handle, and not for long. We have to exit the submarine before I’ll be able to teleport us back to Reagan,” she explained as she continued on up.
Robinson followed her. They emerged from the fast attack and she snapped her fingers. The next moment, they were on the carrier’s Flight Deck. She snapped again, and they were in the Bridge.
“I have the Conn. Helm, aft flank. Clear a five-kilometer gap between us and Nebraska.” Robinson ordered. “Order the other ships to do the same, and hope to God that shit doesn’t follow us.”
“What shit, sir?”
“Translucent goo. It killed everyone on Nebraska, and the diving team. If Celestia hadn’t cast a magical shield as soon as we entered, we’d be dead, too.”
The American carrier’s propellers rotated to pull the massive one-hundred-thousand-ton behemoth of a ship away from the doomed fast attack. On the other surface ships, the same thing happened. When every ship had opened a sufficient range, Robinson gave the order for Omaha to torpedo the infected submarine.
“Admiral, did I hear you right? Launch a torpedo at a friendly ship, is that correct?”
Robinson nodded. “They heard me right. Tell them it’s a direct order, no overrides. If they don’t, we’re gonna have a zombie-filled nuclear submarine sailing the open sea, and that’s the last thing I want right now.”
Omaha’s captain looked reluctant to condemn his sister sub. But he had no choice. “Load Torpedo Bay One, and lock on to Nebraska. Open Torpedo Tube One.”
When a firing solution was available, he gave the order. “Launch torpedo on generated bearings.”
The torpedo streaked through the water at a forty-five degree angle towards its target. It began sending out sonar pulses, slowly increasing in frequency and pitch. It was homing on Nebraska.
The torpedo closed on the nuclear submarine and impacted the hull. It blasted a large hole into the side of the surfaced vessel, knocking the boat in two. The massive cascade of water flung high by the explosion pelted the surrounding area, raining seawater as well as heat-killed translucent goo. The distinctive blue glow of the reactor core shone as the halves sank below the waves.
Robinson bowed his head in silence. He would have to conduct a memorial for the submarine’s crew the next day in honor of their valor during this dark time.