The Red Sun Rises: Voyages

by The Atlantean


The Battle of Stormwater Cove Part 4: Final Push

Captain Ross advised Robinson to press his advantage. If the Chinese launchers were out of ammo, the ships could cruise on to the island. There, the battleship’s crew would be in range to use their guns to support an invasion. With nothing else that seemed like a good plan, the admiral got the fleet underway.

During the battle, one of Reagan’s reactor cores had a meltdown when its fractured vessel was activated to provide extra power above safe levels. This crippled the carrier’s speed, and she limped to Stormwater Cove to launch fighters. However, that meant Reagan could only go at slower speeds. She may just be considered gone at this point by anyone but Robinson. But the Nimitz-class supercarrier was anything but as she chugged along.

On the Flight Deck, people raced to get the first Super Hornets in the air. Both Railgun and Artemis were first in line, hopping into the jets normally for the second cycle. However, those two pilots had come down with the flu, and were unfit to fly. The unlucky pilots were currently in the medical bay.

Railgun taxied his jet to the catapults, directed by men in front of him. They were crazy enough to be next to running jet turbines, even more insane to be telling him where to go. He latched onto the port catapult as that thought hit him. Yeah, these people are insane.

To his right, Artemis latched onto the starboard catapult. She waved to him; he returned the gesture. They had grown a lot closer after that scene with the missiles, lucky just to be alive.

Back in the present, Railgun kicked on his afterburners. Once again, his ordinance weighed him down. Hopefully, it wouldn't try to kill him like last time. To his right, Artemis did the same.

“Hey, goddess, what’re you doing tonight?”

“Nothing much. You?”

“Same. Dinner together in the mess when we get back?”

“Sounds good. See you then.”

Artemis’ catapult released, pulling her forward and flinging her over the bow. Seconds later, Railgun’s did the same, and he was over the Celestial Sea.

As the two waited for the rest of the cycle to launch, they circled behind a tanker, topping off on fuel.



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Celestia was still in the medical bay sleeping peacefully, unaware of the possible danger coming. She had worn herself enough to be out cold for the past several hours straight.

A doctor sat beside her, gently stroking her hair. He waited patiently as she woke up, slowly opening her eyes and tilting her head. She was just coming back. Her eyes fluttered, and she groaned.

“Sure, Luna. Can you get me a banana?”

“Princess, who are you talking to?”

“Mmm? Yeah, give that show pony some peanut butter crackers. I'll be there in a few minutes.”

“Princess!” The doctor shook Celestia awake. “Snap out of it!”

She groggily opened her eyes. She tried to sit, but the doctor stopped her. “You need to rest. You almost died, pulling a stunt like that. You're lucky we're professionals here.”

“What I need to do is get to CDC. I'm needed there.” She certainly didn't like lying on her back.

The doctor sighed. She was being one stubborn girl. “If you continue to resist, I will have to sedate you.”

“I can just teleport out of here.”

“Not when you're asleep.”

A resounding boom echoed through the carrier. Pennsylvania had fired one of her guns. A few seconds later, she fired again. The ground support weapons on the smaller ships followed suit, though much quieter compared to the heavy battleship cannons. Between the sharp sounds, Celestia could hear the whine of jet engines, extremely low since she wasn't close to the Hangar nor the Flight Deck. The invasion of Stormwater Cove had begun.

Celestia struggled to sit up when the doctor moved away to check on another patient. But her weak arms failed her and she fell back. Figuring that her legs would do the same, Celestia frowned. It looked like she’d have to wait anyway. Her eyes closed and she drifted off to sleep…


In CDC, Amber coordinated Reagan’s last sixteen aircraft in the attack. When the Russian jets appeared onscreen, she grimaced. It was at the very least a five-to-one odds, stacking against her. She looked out of the corner of her eyes to Robinson, who shared her opinion. The Super Hornets had performed admirably throughout their journey, but they may all be gone today. This was most likely Reagan’s last battle ever.

The fleet was unable to take another hit like the previous day. The only magic-wielding person they had currently slept in the carrier’s medical bay, and was therefore incapacitated. No ship that sank today would be held up by the princess.

“It’s time.” Robinson stared ahead and ordered an officer to get the other ships on comms, and began a short speech when it was ready. “All ships, this is Admiral James Robinson aboard Reagan. It was an honor to be serving with all of you. If it be God’s will, may we survive this day to return to our families and reunite with our loved ones.

“In all my years in the Navy, I have seen the determination that resides in all of us here and now. I have seen true courage, true bravery, true loyalty to our country. I expect all of us to show that and try to defeat our enemy in battle. Godspeed, and good luck to you.” He teared up at that last bit, knowing most if not all the men and women under his command would surely die.

Robinson turned to Amber. “Begin the assault.”

She gave one somber salute and ordered all aircraft Weapons Free. the area ahead of the carrier group lit up with explosions as the American and Russian forces collided in the early-evening sky. Soon after, the few surface ships fired their cannons and launched their missiles. The bright orange trails of the missiles turned the late day back to noon behind them, and targeted Russian planes that slipped by the dwindling air wing. Balls of flame dotted the sky wherever the SM-3s struck home.

Robinson was sure it wasn’t enough for a safe landing, but Captain Ross aboard Pennsylvania thought otherwise. He ordered the amphibious assault to begin, and the battleship’s bow opened up to reveal a boat hangar extending a third of the way into the ship. Ross played his card; the battleship had been modified before its first voyage to protect Atlantean shipping routes to be capable of assaulting beachheads and her crew trained to stage the actual attack successfully. Now six dinghies surged ahead of their mothership, zipping under the aerial battle towards the beach. Each dinghy had thirty sailors trained as beach stormers, a grand total of one hundred eighty against who-knew-how-many on the island. Seventy-two were actually marines, so that helped a little.

Behind the dinghies the frigate USS Klakring cruised at ahead full, ready to start pelting the beach with its CIWS Gatling system and other small defenses. Initially not part of the plan, Robinson had decided to make his assault force a bit more protected as the reached the beach. But it seemed to pay off. Instead of the new MK 48 torpedoes Heavyweight torpedoes, Klakring carried two triple-launchers for the MK 46, a generation or two behind, which supposedly didn’t have the malware that dudded them.

Klakring launched a torpedo and wire-guided it around the dinghies and into a Russian submarine waiting to attack. The submarine couldn’t disable the incoming torpedo, and a huge plume of water erupted where it once sailed. She fired again, taking out another enemy. So far, the assault was a success.


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In the aerial battle, Railgun and Artemis were close to death on multiple occasions. Their Super Hornets weaved through the deadly maze of missiles and jets. A fireball erupted to Artemis’ right; another American had gone down in flames. Glancing at her display, she saw only four left against the forty-seven Russians. The odds had increased to almost twelve to one. The enemy was now starting to ignore Reagan’s fighters and flying to either the carrier and battleship or the cruiser and dinghies.

She flew behind one trying to take out a dinghy and opened up with her Gatling gun. Soon, orange trails came out of the jet and it splashed down into the sea. Artemis soon turned around to assist Railgun before he turned to scrap metal.

“Artemis, I’ve got two on my tail! Where the hell are you?”

“Coming, sir!”

She fired on the two Russian jets from her ninety-degree angle, knocking one out of the sky almost instantaneously. The other maneuvered quickly to avoid destruction, but Railgun looped and took the kill. He then swooped and fired past Artemis, who dove instantly. The Russian jet behind her was enveloped in smoke, and spiraled into the ocean below.

“Thanks.”

“You, too.”

Suddenly, Amber’s voice crackled on. “All remaining fighters, defend Klakring. She’s taking heavy fire.”

Both inquired the frigate’s location. The answer was behind the dinghies.

Pulling on the yoke to speed back to the assault force, Artemis and Railgun saw thirty of the Russian fighters taking potshots at the relatively undefended ship. Her CIWS was pouring lead into the sky, but few shots hit home. Her other systems were running low on ammo, and the two pilots could see why. SM-3 missiles trailed their targets, small machine guns poured almost as much as the CIWS, and the enemy still had the advantage. The Russians swarmed the frigate so much as to be able to go after the dinghies closest to shore without fear.
“Artemis, take out those guys harassing our assault force! I’ll handle the guys around Klakring!” Railgun called over the radio.

“Yes, sir! See you on the other side!”

The two jets split to their target destinations, along with the only other Super Hornet still aloft following Railgun. Two Americans fighting against twenty-five Russians. This wasn’t going to end well.

An SM-3 from Lake Erie zipped by and hit an enemy fighter. Good thing the developmental build could recognize friend from foe, allowing the American fighters to fly in the same space as the missiles. Railgun wove through the mass of fighters, flying dangerously close to the frigate’s tower and catching a Russian off guard, sending it spiraling into the sea with his Hornet’s Gatling gun. He kicked on his afterburners and trailed another, splashing the jet.

His friend had reasonable difficulty flying at low altitude, weaving through the jets and losing one of the twin engines as a Russian opened up. Just before he could take the kill, however, a second missile from Lake Erie slammed into his fighter, and he fell towards the ocean surface.

Above the dinghies, Artemis was in a chaotic engagement. She had four Russians trailing her, no chaff left to dispense, and currently tried to lock on with her last missile. Getting a lock, she fired and the air-to-air missile accelerated into its target.

Artemis looped around, pulling several g’s as she did so, and fired her gun into the small swarm of enemy fighters that had ignored her. One erupted into flames and plummeted towards the ocean’s surface. Before it hit the water, she had already switched her target and shot down another. A trailing fighter locked on and took out her right engine. Before he could actually turn and pelt the fuselage, however, a shoulder-mounted rocket from the third-closest dinghy blasted him out of the sky. It soon locked on another, and took out the Russians one by one. Eventually, there were only the ones around the frigate and strike group that really threatened the fleet’s survival.

When I get back, that guy’s getting a medal. He deserves it.

Aboard Reagan, the Sea Sparrow and Rolling Airframe missile systems continually launched at the Russian threat. Their air defense had practically disintegrated, but not all was lost. Three Super Hornets remained aloft, currently engaging the Russians harassing Klakring and the dinghies. Their CIWS poured as much lead than conceivably possible, and every ship in the fleet defended like there was no tomorrow. For most of them, there probably wasn’t.

The guided missile destroyer USS Arleigh Burke, the only destroyer left in the fleet, was tanking hits. She sustained more damage than Robinson thought a ship her size could take, with holes blasted into the bow and stern. Her Bridge was hit by a spiraling fighter that trailed smoke behind it, and subsequently exploded. After that, she began to drift, having lost Helm control and her commander. She continued to launch the remainder of her SM-3 missiles, though, taking out as many Russians as she could.

Robinson watched in horror as the fire in her Bridge expanded rapidly, the flames licking the sides of her tower. The destroyer’s superstructure blackened, and she began to list to port as a Russian air-to-surface missile hit her just above the waterline. Arleigh Burke was taking on water, sped up by the already-extensive pounding she received. Her tower’s base melted, and it crashed over her starboard side into the sea. She suddenly burst into more flames as another missile hit her stern. Each hit on the destroyer made one more tear well up in the admiral’s eyes.

The final straw was when the damage teams couldn’t prevent the fire from reaching the magazine. It overheated quickly, and the resulting explosion lit up the late afternoon sky like a second sun. Hot gas and debris were flung high above the water and rained down on the surrounding area. The destroyer slipped beneath the waves, leaving an oil slick where she once was. Everyone in CDC lowered their heads, mourning the loss of her crew. They will always be remembered; that was for certain.

Far ahead of the fleet, the six dinghies zoomed towards the coast. Supported by sporadic shots from Klakring and Pennsylvania, they remained unscathed as they approached the island. With a little ammo expended helping that Hornet saving their bacon, they knew this was the final push. No other chances would be given.

The dinghies hit shallower water and kept going. They were designed to sail in depth as little as two feet, so fourteen was no problem. As they came closer, the undefended beach ahead became clearer. Since the Russians didn’t expect an amphibious assault to be staged from a fleet without amphibious craft, the job was that much simpler.

“Alright boys!” yelled a commander. “You know the drill! Get up that beach ASAP and don’t get killed in the process!”

The grim-faced sailors in Amphib 2, as it was known, crouched down low and prepared to storm the beach. Some prayed quietly, others counted down the seconds, and others readied their weapons. All of them were nervous about the charge.

Amphib 2 slammed into the two-foot water and its momentum carried it on towards the beach. When the boat stopped, its ramp-like forward door fell onto the sand, and the assault began.

The commander yelled his orders, and they charged into the unknown. The other dinghies, close behind Amphib 2, did the same. All one hundred eighty sailors surged forward, taking the undefended beach before the hour was up with no casualties.

“Captain Ross, this is Commander Scott. We have taken the beach.”

Captain Ross acknowledged the success and ordered the elimination of all Russian batteries on the island. The portal that had allowed the Chinese DF-21 anti-carrier missiles had closed, leaving only those batteries on the island. Throughout the night, Pennsylvania’s landing forces systematically took out the enemy airstrips and missile silos, taking few prisoners and securing victory for the Americans. At the cost of seventy from the island fighting, thirteen Super Hornets, and USS Arleigh Burke, the Reagan Task Force had taken Stormwater Cove.