//------------------------------//
// 11. The Storm 
// Story: Millennia: Eye of the Storm 
// by Thunderblast 
//------------------------------//

In the minutes of empty, quiet space that encompassed my form, it seemed as if my mind had utterly shut itself off, leaving me staring into the endless, dreamless abyss of sleep. Not once in recent years had I fallen asleep that quickly. 

Without a clue of how I managed to pull it off, I imagine tonight would be a once-in-a-while or never again event where nightmares don't manage to jolt me awake and scare off the sleep I so desperately needed.

Absolutely nothing about this went by as normal, even in the clouded state my mind sat in with no end in sight. After all of this time, why now? Why tonight?

From afar, a voice emanated. It was distorted, even as it gradually approached. It seemed to call my name, among other gibberish beyond my current capability to understand.

The space began to shift from pitch black, to a darker shade of grey, only steadily growing lighter by the moment. It wasn't too bright, even though my eyeballs ached to the change.

It soon engulfed me as a whole, enough to where shielding my eyes with a hoof did absolutely nothing. My hoof was actually completely nonexistent, but I was still there.

After a minute of silence, the voice, booming in my head, echoed off the walls of my brain. "Staaaar. Are you awake?"

Reluctantly, I trembled my eyelids open, parting my maw to silently yawn. I laid flat on my back, not beneath the covers of my bunk, with a little light from above a lower bunk across from mine being the only thing to let me regain my bearings within the tiny room.

Standing to my side, head just slightly lowered, the faint-white silhouette of a pegasus watched over me. The longer I took to adjust, the clearer his form in the darkness became.

Coming to at last, blinking wide open, I moved my gaze up to the ice of Anchorage's, yawning a second time. "I am now," I responded in a whisper.

A hardly-visible smile pursed the sailor's lips. "You were sleeping so soundly, I almost didn't want to wake ya."

This made me raise an eyebrow. "So, why did you?"

"It's almost six. You're usually up by now," Anchorage replied, stepping back as I slipped out from the narrow sleeping space.

"Six, huh?" I grunted out, stretching my forehooves, followed by my wings. "How long was I out?"

"You were when I walked in last night. Kinda hit me weird when I saw you still in your uniform, but I didn't think much of it. You must've been extremely tired."

I nodded, straightening my posture as a whole, tiredly blinking. "I was, to be quite frank with you. Felt good to not wake up."

Anchorage returned the nod, taking his jacket and sliding his hooves into the sleeves, buttoning it up neatly afterward. "That's good to hear. Thought I smelled something weird, though, like alcohol or somethin'."

"Alcohol?" I cocked my head, then shook it. "Couldn't have been me, I don't smuggle that stuff even if I wanted to."

"Well, I know that. You're still underage as it is," he said, chuckling. "It didn't last long, so I just sort of ignored it."

Evidently so. The only scent registering in my nostrils had been those of cleaning materials, steel, and old fabric, along with the extremely faint aroma of saltwater on the opposite side of the porthole. That was new, even after being on this ship twice prior to now.

I shrugged all of it off, snatching my cover from a little hook between my bunk and the one above it, following Anchorage out of the room and parting ways to head to our jobs, without a thought of having breakfast. Coffee on the bridge will have to suffice for now.

Second day, here we go.


***


I stood up from my station and circled around another desk to the coffee maker in the rear of the room. With a small click, I lifted up the machine's reservoir and held it beneath the sink faucet, filling it to the brim with water, and reattaching it to the machine.

Removing a lid from the top of the machine, I plucked out the old filter, grabbing a newer one from a box off to the side, and placing it inside, and lastly pressing a button to begin brewing a fresh pot of coffee.

Drop by drop at first, then a steady trickle as the machine did its work to gradually fill the pot. While it brewed, I returned to my seat across the room, sliding my chair in and glancing up as the radar sweep updated the map on all three screens.

For much of today, two weeks into the journey, the captain had been unusually absent, as discussed between those of us on the bridge. Apart from the occasional question as to why, it didn't really hit either of us as too terribly concerning.

Evidently, Shadow had his own quarters below deck where he even had a separate office to work outside of commanding the ship. Just more information I probably should have been made aware of months ago.

Pushing that discussion aside in my head, I focused more on the weather nearby. Alternating between a quick glance out the windshield and back and forth between monitors no more than a foot before my eyes, concern grew for the conditions in the distance off on our starboard.

Darkening cumulonimbi clustered over the sea's southern horizon, shifting north and bound to cross over our present heading. The waves steadily grew in size, caused by heavy winds spreading outward from rapid downdrafts within the approaching storm. The stronger the winds, the more violent the seas. 

One question arose throughout the mid-afternoon, and it was asking whether or not we were sailing into a tropical cyclone, or a hurricane for short. Regardless, it was my word to ground the jets indefinitely, and without the captain on the bridge, my words meant squat to the sailor on watch for Shadow.

At last, the coffee machine finished brewing. I stood back up, returning to the little "bridge kitchen", as I now referred to it, refilling my cup to quite nearly the top ring of the paper cup.

From his position in the left-front corner, Tacimo, the senior chief petty officer and Shadow's other high-up aboard the Eclipse raised a pair of binoculars, focusing out toward the inclement weather. "Report, Shooter?"

I briefly glanced at him, using a narrow plastic straw to mix some sugar into my coffee, rushing just slightly back to my post and typing on the keyboard to open a window of data collected by numerous sensors around the ship, especially up top of the bridge, where multiple antennas sat and radar dishes constantly spun.

"Winds upwards of twenty-two knots, waves at one-point-five-two meters. Heavy precipitation sixteen nautical miles south-southeast of our current position, sir," I responded, checking over the information a second time as it updated every two seconds.

"Just what are we sailing into?" he said, less so of a question for either of us to answer. Truth is, even I had no clue.

Tacimo set his binoculars off to the side and took a sip of his own coffee, it having long cooled by this point, I'm sure. He reached right, picking up a phone receiver and dialing for the aircraft control room a couple levels down.

"How many jets do we have airborne?"

A silence followed as the pony on the other end responded.

"How far out?"

Another silence.

"All right. Reach out to each and every one of them, call 'em in. We've got nasty weather inbound, don't want to risk landing them in the middle of it."

He hung up, easing back into his seat, exhaling softly. "Before anypony questions it, I am aware that is not my call to make. I'm afraid we must make sacrifices while the captain is off bridge. Understood?"

"Yes, Senior Chief," we each responded.

Although realistically I concurred with his judgement, it was still my decision, one I had not muttered just yet. Sea Watch and the others knew that, as well, and so did Tacimo, I hoped. Despite regulations, his rank did much of the speaking for us.

If something were to happen to Shadow, he would be next in command over the Eclipse. Again, with regulations playing a major role, Shadow's other second-up, Arc Nobis, legally cannot be in control of the ship, knowing he is not even in the Navy to begin with.

Above all, it likely was more of a personal thing to assign Arc to such a position despite his choice of branch. After all, we were just Marines, and as said before, without knowing Shadow, I could have only dreamed of being a radarpony. 

We only served as a primary defense for the ship in the event of an attack, and every so often have Marines gone elsewhere by aircraft, whether that be the Griffon Kingdom or Saddle Arabia, or other smaller nations having civil disputes—such as Ajerstan, mentioned in a briefing a month prior.

For what it is worth, any other job I couldn't have been more content with than that of a radarpony. In the end, it was still quite boring, staring at three screens day in and day out, surviving on nothing but hot coffee and pure hatred for landing myself in the military.

On the contrary, had I not followed Shadow's advice, I may never have met Solar, or Night, or Silver, who would have never introduced me to Anchorage or Ashfall, or Lieutenant Snow Storm, and later, Javelin Charm, and everypony else in between.

Atop being coworkers, we each shared a common interest and befriended one another—at least, most of us have. Perhaps the lieutenant's feelings were not mutual, and the second lieutenant's certainly were not except for Shadow and his own platoon, if he even still had one. Not once have I spotted Arc around others with his patch, which led to more questions that would take a decent amount of courage to step up and ask him about.


***


As the sky ignited in orange, and the sun lowered beneath the sea surface behind the ship, drops of rain pattered against the windows while we steadily sailed into the leading edge of the storm front.

The three jets missing from the deck came down safely one by one, hooks tangling into the wires upon landing and engines shutting off as their pilots hopped out through opened canopies, and ponies on the flight deck began strapping down the parked fighters in preparation for the storm.

Even before the sun could fully set, clouds and a thick fog of intense rain swallowed the ship entirely, as it did the remainder of the fleet in the area. Without a doubt, we were in it now.

As ordered by Tacimo, our engines slowed so as to not overcompensate for the high surf that made the Eclipse bob up and down roughly. Any objects not properly planted slid or rolled back and forth in the steady motion, one that could effortlessly make a newbie nauseous for days to come.

Before long, the weather radar screen filled entirely with nothing but color, ranging from the greens, to the yellows, along with patches of orange and red that closed in on the ship, signalling heavier showers beyond what we have experienced so far for the past twenty minutes.

The waves crested at or just above six meters—or twenty feet, enough to capsize a fishing vessel instantly—and along with the heavy bobbing as the ship continuously crashed through or rode over them, a habit of stopping my cup of coffee from tipping over and spilling across the desk and my lap.

For as violent as the Antlertic can get, one would assume some pony back at port would have implemented cup holders and other stationary tools to prevent objects such as pens and anything else that can easily slide around from doing so. Perhaps that's something I should mention one of these days in a briefing.

Lightning crackled across the angry sky, with bolts striking the water surface or stretching between clouds above, and with night figuratively and literally on the horizon, it proved to be our only way of visual contact. Times like these made me thankful for sonar in case we were on a collision course for another ship, an island, or a shoal that would only come into view minutes too late.

Strangely enough, however, sonar sputtered on the screen. The display itself malformed every few seconds, as if the storm hampered its ability to properly deploy signals, which even I knew to be next to impossible. Yet, weather and marine radar continued on like clockwork.

One possibility was that it is a technical failure below deck, and above all other two-hundred less-plausible explanations as to why it had begun this peculiar activity. Better yet, two more hours and it will be my replacement's problem, assuming it isn't solved before then.

By merely glancing in my direction, the senior chief petty officer took immediate notice of the concern plastered on my face, and he looped around to my desk, standing behind and to the left of my chair. "Is something wrong, Lance Corporal?"

For a split second, I narrowly avoided jumping at his sudden question, not taking my eyes off of the screens.

"Sonar is acting up, sir. Could be the storm interfering with the signal, maybe a fault in the mainframe," I responded, beginning to type on the keyboard.

Tacimo leaned in, one hoof on the back of my chair, closely examining the sonar monitor along with me. "Ship's in desperate need for an upgrade sooner or later, especially in the computers," he said, leaning back upright, then ordering, "Try rebooting the system."

"Aye, Senior Chief," I nodded once, glancing at the keyboard to watch myself input a command that would open the system configuration window.

Upon pressing the enter key, everything in the bridge went pitch black. Ceiling lights, computer monitors, everything. Beyond the windscreen, even the flight deck lights shut off, and the low hum of the engines a few decks down ceased entirely, the only noise remaining being that of the heavy rain pelting the windows, and muffled rumbles of thunder.

"What did you do?" he tossed a glare back at me, having stopped while returning to the front of the bridge.

I rapidly pressed certain buttons, attempting to restart my console. His question echoed by the mimicking of my self-conscience, as puzzled as everypony else in the room. "Nothing, sir! I didn't have a chance to reboot the sonar system!" I replied, looking forward over the monitors at him to meet his unwavering glower.

Almost as quickly as everything shut down, the lights came back on, and the turbines roared back to life, propelling the ship forward once more at a steady speed. Just like that, too, all of the computers on the bridge came back on line.

All four of us scanned around, some of us exchanging looks of bewilderment with one another. Despite the timing of the shortage, there is no way it could have been of my doing. Thankfully it seemed the senior officer had the same mindset.

"Must have been a lightning strike," he remarked, tone timid yet collected, stopping beside his chair to look outside, the windshield wipers struggling to keep up with the flood of rain and splashing seas rushing down the glass.

Realistically, a hit on the control room by a bolt of lightning would not have caused that, I knew that much.

Construction of such ships, even ones as old as the Eclipse, required the wiring throughout the vessel's skeleton to be surge-protected. More so, we'd have known if it truly was a lightning strike. There was no flash, nor had there been a startling crack of thunder.

I proceeded to shrug it off, lowering my gaze to the screens as they individually finished restarting, with all three displays returning to normal. Specifically the weather radar blew up with a multitude of color, as it had displayed before the strange surge.

A crackle came in through the maritime radio, garbling the voice trying to patch through. Tacimo picked up the receiver, lifting it to his muzzle and speaking into it. "Eclipse. Repeat?"

More crackling, the voice, barely audible, continuing to speak. Turning to the unicorn stallion seated across the room, Tacimo nodded once. The unicorn, Vernon, the bridge's communications officer, took a pair of headphones and placed them over his ears, lowering a little microphone boom from the speaker's side.

From where I sat, over the rumbling outside and some minor noise in the room, what came through the COMMO's headset was strictly silent to everypony but himself. He began writing down on a blank piece of notepaper, then stretched out the earphones, lowering them around the back of his neck when he finished.

"It was the Gibbous and the Aphelion, Senior Chief. They are closing distance for radar guidance, as with the rest of the fleet. Conditions have deteriorated so much that they can't see where they are going, either."

"At least we aren't alone," Tacimo exhaled, easing into his chair and crossing his legs on the desk. "How far are they? Let them know we are catching up."

Nodding, Vernon put the headset back on over his ears, returning the message to the other vessels nearby. He repeated himself to ensure both ships heard him clearly, before jolting in shock and throwing off the headset abruptly. A faint ringing emanated from either speakers on the device, and later coming through even on the maritime radio.

The noise, near the same pitch as that of chalk forcefully grinding against a board, rung throughout the room. I grimaced, head tucking into my neck and ears pinning. After the screeching came a wailing of three different tones—a distress call, one that Vernon could confirm did not originate from our fleet just by listening to the alternating pitches, albeit with his ears at a safe distance from his headset.