//------------------------------// // Two Sides of The Triangle // Story: Nearing the Edge // by Eagle //------------------------------// September 18th, 2005 09:13 Hours Pensacolta, Equestria The ancient waters of the Pacific kicked up high today, baptizing the hull of the cruiser on her maiden voyage. The warm waves churned up, carrying the vessel as the latest in an interminable line of warships that crossed her. Somewhere out in the massive blue body of this great ocean, this uniquely American craft charged forth in the final part of its introductory excursion. With the wind blowing hard, causing the ocean to swell, the sharp bow of a missile cruiser pushed its way into the harbor of Pensacolta. The harbor was filled with ships, but many were of older wooden design, causing the cruiser to stick out like a wolf in a herd of sheep. She was the first U.S. Navy ship to enter an Equestrian port, and would not be the last, as a large convoy of transports and other military vessels followed her lead. Launched only a week earlier, the U.S.S. Bastogne was the latest addition to the long-running Ticonderoga class of cruisers. She was also the first of the new Flight III, a new upgraded production run of the class, though not different enough to give it the distinction of being a sub-class. With the sudden need for warships for the movement of troops, this ship found her first mission to also be her maiden voyage, something her Captain took delight in. “You think they’ve ever seen something like this ship?” Harrison asked his Commander. “They’ve been very isolationist up until recently, sir,” Thomas replied, “so I don’t think they have.” “I know, I mean maybe they saw pictures or something… like they were snuck in with all that other stuff.” “It’s possible, Captain. Why do you ask?” “I was just curious, I guess.” “What made you curious?” “Shit, I don’t know Thomas, curiosity?” Harrison responded. “Do you always have to ask questions?” “Sorry sir, I just like to know reasons for what people do, the reasons for things happening in general.” “Alright, but do you have to be so damned robotic about it? Work I can get but even in small talk?” “Noted, sir; I’ll try to ease up on it in the future.” “Well, thank you, Mr. Data,” Harrison joked. The ship stayed put in the harbor for a few minutes until it was dragged over to the side of a pier and docked. Many of the other ships were doing the same thing, with the transport vessels given priority. Most of them were already offloading their various cargoes. It was a lengthy process that would continue into the following day, so the crew and ship would not likely be going anywhere soon. As such, Harrison gave a limited grant of leave to a handful of them. It was restricted with the orders that they were not to stray too far, not to cause trouble or interference with operations, and to be back within a few hours so another group of crewmembers could head out. There was little to do with the short time allotted to them, but it was healthy for the sailors to off the ship now and then, having to stay onboard for days and weeks on end at times. He would also be heading off board himself to look around. The thought of duty with a Captain staying on his vessel to keep track of everything entered his head, but there was little to keep track of at this point. The Bastogne’s mission was to, as they were told, ‘dock and ensure close security of the offloading transports close to shore, as well as projection of power close to shore and possible assistance of land units and movement if necessary’. In short that meant sit at the dock and look menacing, which in itself was unnecessary since they were landing at a friendly port, and help out around their area if needed, which was unlikely. Perhaps they wanted the ship and crew to rest and look over things, since this was their maiden voyage and training was not even fully done. With that in mind, Harrison was happy to take it, as there were a few problems for the crew to work out. Leaving the Commander in charge of the ship, he followed the group down the gangplank and onto the pier, not planning to go beyond. Luckily the pier had been reserved for the few warships that were going to be docked, that being his Bastogne, it’s sister ship Cowpens, and the destroyer Mahan, so it was not crowded from offloading. The only other docked American warships lay at another pier on the other side of the harbor, where Harrison could make out another Tico, the Veracruz, what looked like a wooden Equestrian frigate, and another ship that protruded strikingly from the rest of the flotilla, the aircraft carrier Enterprise. “Looking at my ship?” Off to his right stood a Pegasus wearing the uniform of the Equestrian Navy; how long she had been there he did not know. “What? Your ship?” “Yea, that’s my ship docked over there next to yours, the Constellation,” she explained. “She’s one of the best ships in the Navy.” “Really?” Harrison responded examining the deep contrast between the wooden frigate and the metal cruiser and carrier docked next to it. “Damn, no wonder you guys are having trouble.” “Excuse me!?” “Shit, did I say that out loud!?” he thought before replying. “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean it like that! I meant that you all must have had a hard time fighting the Bloc… since they have modern ships and everything.” “Well, we did; but you Americans are going to help with that, right?” “Yea, but you’ll have to get a new ship,” Harrison said, examining the frigate again and making sure to think to himself this time. “Wonder what the guys on Enterprise think of it.” “It’s pretty small in comparison,” McBroom commented. Examining the multiple different ships was what he spent much of the voyage doing. As the S-3, the man in charge of Operations for the entire Army coming to the continent, the Flag Officer had been sent ahead of his commander to oversee the moving of the units to their correct locations and establish initial connections with the Equestrians. Being an Army member, he did not know an extensive deal about the Navy, but he did understand the great honor of catching a ride aboard this carrier. Its Captain had also been kind enough to converse with him much of the way, as they did now. “Most ships are when they’re compared to a supercarrier, sir,” the Enterprise’s Captain replied. “You can take a look at the Washington if you want a closer similarity, or any of the new battleship’s we’re building.” “The battleships? I suppose that would be fairer,” he agreed. “Captain Murray, mind if I ask you about that?” “The Washington? What about her?” “About the battleships in general,” McBroom responded. “I’m brass, I like to know the details of what’s going on. The more you know, the better you can plan for things. Guess along the way I picked up a habit of trying to know as much as I could.” “It’s a good habit for a man in your position to have.” “I suppose so, maybe you can vouch for me to General Hall,” he continued, considering his superior’s opinion on it. “So, back on topic. Why is the Navy investing in something that went obsolete fifty years ago?” “No one’s explained it to you yet?” “Yes, but they’ve all done a poor job.” “Well, let me give you an example to hang on to from the start,” Murray offered. “Think about the Cold War with the Soviets, back when we relied on nuclear deterrence.” “The battleships are connected to deterrence?” “Their purpose is deterrence on a tactical level. We’re building them because the Bloc has them, so we want our own.” “Doesn’t this ship we’re on still make them obsolete?” McBroom asked, noting the irony of a carrier captain explaining the battleship’s vitality. “Somewhat, but not entirely. It’s not so much the weapon that’s old as in how you use it. The old days of long lines of battlewagons charging at the enemy are over, but they’re still useful,” Murray continued. “A little while ago, when the Bloc started building their own capital ships, our intel guys found some tactics they were experimenting with by observing their naval exercises with spy planes and satellites. Now a carrier can only kill anything if it’s got its planes, right? The ship itself isn’t made for close-up fights.” “Right.” “And there’s a problem with how big the Bloc’s naval air capacity has gotten. Now imagine if one of their carrier groups and one of ours got in a fight,” Murray asked of the General. “The Bloc battleships don’t move on their own, they’re part of the battle group. The most immediate mission is serving as an escort, because they can still put plenty of weapons on a ship of that size.” “But the Bloc wouldn’t spend that much on an oversized escort.” “That’s right, sir, they have other plans,” the Captain confirmed. “The battleship becomes deadlier as the range drops, so assume that the battleship and some escorts break off and charge at the American group. Now in a carrier battle the main target for both sides is always the enemy aircraft carrier, but a carrier can only hold so many aircraft.” Murray went over the details in his head. A Nimitz-class carrier would usually hold a mix of about 80 planes and helicopters, give or take, to conduct various types of missions. Still, only some of those could enact anti-air or anti-ship warfare. Even with technical superiority, it would take a large number of missiles to get through the defense network of both a battleship and a carrier, and when the two operated separately it made things harder for the Americans; a way of dividing the carrier’s air arm. “So they’re dividing a carrier’s air fleet, hoping that something will get through,” the Army officer surmised. “Mhm, that would be the case,” Murray agreed. “The enemy’s own aircraft will tie up some of our own birds. If the rest focus on hitting the carrier, it gives the battleship time to close the distance. If we focus on the battleship, we leave the carrier alone. If we split them up, neither force would be powerful enough to kill either. Still, the priority in general is usually the carrier, and if an enemy battleship closes the range it’s up to our escorts to fend it off.” That was where the new technologies came in, and another layer of complexity was added for McBroom to dissect. It was possible for normal escorts to fend off a battleship, though it would not be easy. The number of missiles needed to get through the defensive fire, countermeasures, and actually disable the ship would be high. Quite possible, but loading escorts up with more anti-ship missiles meant losing space for the escort’s anti-air missiles, leaving a larger hole for planes and missiles to hit them. Regardless, a destroyer or cruiser had even less hope of defeating a battleship in a gun duel, but another battleship could. “And that’s where the deterrence comes in. We’re building our own to stop them if they get too close, to stop them from trying it in the first place.” “That’s the idea anyways,” Murray responded. “With how much it’s costing, and how long building them takes, we might have to make do with only a couple, along with the last two Iowas. The Bloc has at least ten between their three nations.” “Do we know how they’re building them so fast?” “No, we haven’t been able to find that out.” “Excuse me, General!” The two stopped their discussion and looked over to see a sailor who was very short of breath. “Yes?” “I’m sorry to interrupt, gentlemen, but General McBroom is late for a meeting with an Equestrian Major Flare,” the sailor explained. “I was sent to go tell you.” “Damn it, I really am too late,” he thought, looking at his watch. “By almost fifteen minutes by now. I must’ve gotten too wrapped up in conversation.” “We’ll have to pick up our discussion another time, for now I need to head ashore and make sure everything’s going in the right direction,” McBroom replied. “Thank you again for the ride on your ship, Captain.” “My pleasure, General.” McBroom exited the bridge and followed the sailor down and through the ship until they reached the gangplank. The two walked down onto the busy pier, moving quickly but keeping out of the way of others doing their various support tasks. Here and there sailors, soldiers, ponies, and other miscellaneous workers hustled about, carrying out their individual tasks in the storm of semi-organized chaos. They moved down along it until they reached a unicorn looking out at the fleet of ships, at which point the sailor dismissed himself. The unicorn seemed quite stressed, using his magic to quickly and shakily jot down notes on a pad while he periodically sipped on a cup of coffee. If he was in charge of organizing the transportation, McBroom could not blame him for such a rough appearance. “Good morning, Major Flare,” the American greeted. “I’m very sorry for being late; I was caught up in a discussion with a Navy Captain.” “I’m just glad you’re here now, I need some help sorting this mess out,” the Major responded, getting right to business. “There’s so much stuff coming in, troops, equipment, supplies, and it’s all headed in different directions. It’s a complete mess.” “It usually is, but we should be able to work it out.” “And to make matters worse is how clogged the city’s becoming,” the Major went on. “The harbor’s filled up, the streets are jammed, residents can barely move in their own city! The dock workers are overwhelmed the fact that you all don’t have magic to help. Do you know how much harder that makes this process?” “Well, no, but we can still move fast.” “It’s not quite the same,” Flare responded. “You guys can go fast but it’s still only one thing at a time.” “What do you mean?” “I mean humans can be fast but you can only do one thing at a time; unicorns like me can do three or four so long as they’re not too complicated.” He floated up some of the notes he was taking to show McBroom, as he continued to jot down others with a quill and sipping on his drink as an example. “But it’s not enough, I even got permission to take unicorns from shipbuilding and the civilian areas and it’s still not enough to help the dock workers,” Flare continued. “You Americans just brought so much and we can’t even get it off the boats in good order.” McBroom was going to respond before he recognized one of the words in Flare’s rant. “You said shipbuilding?” “Yes, what about it?” “How does shipbuilding work for you? You use unicorn in that process, too?” “Yea, we do, at least mostly. Unicorns are pretty good builders, mostly ‘cause of what I said before,” the Major explained. “When say an earth pony can only move one piece at a time, a talented unicorn can move ten. While an earth pony can be hammering in a piece of wood, a unicorn could do two or three pieces at the same time.” “That’s how the Bloc is able to build ships so fast!” McBroom exclaimed. “Their builders can do the work of three or five men!” “You didn’t know that?” “No, we didn’t; it was kept very secretive and Equestria was extremely isolationist.” “It’s a common thing, really,” Flare commented. “In fact, it should be able to work just as well on your ships.” “My God, you’re right! If we got contingents of builders to help in our shipyards, construction time would be cut at least in half! I have to go back to the Enterprise, get the Admiral on the horn-” “Hey, not so fast, you still need to help me organize this mess you Americans made!” Flare cut him off. “Here, I’ll write down a letter for you to send and you can tell one of your sailors to deliver it, ok?” “I suppose, though I think it’d be better if I went myself. A single sailor would get caught up in the command chain.” “Most of your men don’t know what’s going on, anyways,” Flare retorted. “I doubt-” “Excuse me, can I get some help?” a voice from behind them asked. McBroom turned to see three young soldiers standing there, looking like children who had lost their parents at an amusement park. They clearly must not have known who they were asking, as their faces turned to shock as they saw his own. The three quickly snapped to attention and saluted, stuttering out the greeting of ‘good morning, sir’. “Relax, men,” he responded, returning the salute. “What do you need help with?” “Sir… we were just trying to find the rest of our unit,” the lead soldier, a rather shocked Corporal, stammered. “It’s, uh… Bravo Company… 3rd Battalion, uh, 3rd Infantry. Do you know where their assembly area is?” “I’m afraid I don’t, Corporal, I just got here myself.” “Ah, alright, well… thank you, Sir.” “You see what I mean?” Flare commented as the soldiers turned away. “Now let’s write this letter so we can get to work.” As the two officers began to scribble out a vital message, the three soldiers walked off on their own again. They had been searching for some time as to the location of the rest of their company. The rest of their squad had been sent in the wrong direction once they got off the boat, and now the three of them were in charge of finding the rest of their unit before they moved out. “Wow, Henry, you really had to ask a General for directions?” “Shove it, I didn’t know it was him,” the Corporal shot back. “How could you not? I could tell it was him!” “Then why the Hell didn’t you let me know?” “I… don’t know,” the Private responded. “Jarvis, I swear to God… sometimes-” “Alright, but still, you could kind of tell,” Jarvis replied. “Rose, you could tell it was McBroom, right?” “No, not really,” the third soldier responded in a simple fashion. “What? Really?” “I think it’s an easy mistake to make.” “Thank you, Rose,” Henry responded. “Now let’s find someone who does know where to go.” “How about that Captain over there?” Jarvis suggested, pointing to a soldier speaking to the commander of a parked tank on the road. “He’s high up, maybe he’ll know.” “Jarvis, just because he’s an officer doesn’t mean he knows,” Henry reminded him. “We just asked a General that didn’t know.” “I think it’s worth a shot,” the third soldier commented, adding his opinion. “Alright, Rose, if you think that I’ll let you ask him,” Henry replied, “because getting to play moron to a Captain is so much better.” “Yea, isn’t it?” Jarvis asked, not picking up on the sarcasm. The group went over to the busy road that ran along the beach, crowded with military vehicles, the most immediate being a long line of tanks. It was noisy, but thankfully most of the tank commanders had turned their engines off for the time to save fuel, giving people the ability to have conversation. Walking up to the Captain, the three saluted him with Rose giving the greeting this time. “Good Morning, Captain. Would you mind giving us some directions?” “Of course Private… I’m sorry, how do you pronounce your name?” “Sir, my full name is Private Axel Van De Vaarde, of the Third Regiment,” he responded. “Difficult to say, I know.” “We just call him Rose, Sir,” Jarvis cut in. “Oh? And what are your names?” he asked, the tone of his voice causing Jarvis to freeze up a bit for fear he had done something wrong. “Corporal Raymond Lee Henry, and that’s Private Terry Jarvis,” the Corporal injected, posting out his awkward full three-letter name. “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet all of you,” he responded, reaching out to shake each of their hands. “I am Captain Mac Roland, commander of Charlie Company of the Second Battalion of the Seventy-Fifth Ranger Regiment.” Henry was a bit surprised by how formal, yet relaxed, the Captain talked, and could not think of a way to respond as they shook hands. “You said you needed directions?” “Y-yes Sir, we-” “Marine you move that miserable piece of shit!” There was a booming voice from the tank at the head of the column, a couple vehicles up that halted all conversation. Up ahead the lead tank was blocked by another long column of Marine LAV personnel carriers. Henry could easily make out a rather irritated Captain and a Marine Staff Sergeant that was neither angry in return nor frightful, but clearly wanted to be left alone. It seemed surreal to Henry that an Army man was beating out a Marine in terms of sheer ferocity. “Hey, Cap, we’re stuck in this jam the same as you guys,” the Marine replied. “The reason we’re not moving is ‘cause the person in front of us isn’t moving, and they’re not moving because there’s probably someone in front of them isn’t moving either. That’s how a traffic jam works.” “Do you at least know what’s causing the hold up?” “No Sir, all I know is that all you and I and our guys can do is sit and wait till the situation up front gets sorted out.” “How in Hell can you be this calm about it? We could be here all day!” “I’m from L.A., I’m used to it,” the Marine explained simply. “Christ, I’m stuck in traffic in a tank,” the Captain grumbled as he marched back to his own vehicle. “Some people have no manners,” Captain Roland commented to the group as they watched. “I think manners are the least of that guy’s problems… Sir,” Jarvis replied. “Don’t mind him any, Captain Patrick’s a little demanding, but he’s a great soldier,” the commander of the tank next to the group called, standing out of his hatch. “Is that right?” Henry asked. “Yea, he just wants everything done as best and fast as it can, he just needs to learn that it isn’t always under his control. He's always kind of had that issue, but it's for the right reasons. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but he actually does care a lot about people,” the tanker replied. “Oh, speaking of manners, I’m Sergeant Kenneth by the way.” “You boys are from the Second Armored?” Henry asked, referring to another one of the divisions that was being sent to Equestria. “Yea, we’re part of the Sixty-Sixth Regiment, a regular bunch of badasses,” he boasted. “Speed, strength, even looks wrapped up in one fine unit!” “Pardon me for interrupting, but didn’t you soldiers say you were looking for something?” Captain Roland asked, having his mind set to business matters rather than small talk. “Yes sir, we were looking for the battalion assembly area,” Henry explained. “Our squad got pointed in the wrong direction when we got off the boat.” “And you’re from the Third Infantry Regiment, correct?” “Yes sir.” “Look on Waveside Street, I believe it’s spread out amongst the line of vacation hotels there.” “Thank you, Captain,” the Corporal replied before turning back with his fellow grunts. “Alright, come on guys. Don’t want to keep Sergeant Braxley waiting.” “Man, I was hoping to make some new friends,” Sergeant Kenneth commented, watching them walk away. “More people to boast to?” Roland asked. “That’s what friends are for, huh?” “Just try to think of celebrating after you’ve completed the mission and proven yourself,” the Ranger suggested, “otherwise you just come off as a fool.” “Trust me, sir, I wouldn’t be saying it if I didn’t believe it! We’re serious; we’ve spent plenty of time training and working to be at our best. I’m just keeping the moral up, so we can keep at it!” “Well, you certainly give an air of confidence, and that is excellent to have in an armored unit,” Roland admitted, looking over the tank and catching a name scribbled in black on the side of the turret. “Speaking of which, would you like to answer a few questions I have about this, and your experience with it?” “The tank? Yea, I’d be happy to,” the Sergeant responded, noticing Roland’s finding of the writing. “This one’s mine of course, and for future reference, I call it ‘Hellcat’.”