//------------------------------//
// Safe Return 
// Story: Nearing the Edge 
// by Eagle 
//------------------------------//

April 30th, 2006
0900 Hours
San Francisco



Source


After days of voyage along the eastern Pacific, Bastogne and her battle group finally arrived in San Francisco. The vessel cruised past the Golden Gate Bridge, the orange paint gleaming against a clear sun, as countless other American warships had done  in the past. Once docked, the process began of rearming and resupplying them in preparation for their next mission. 

In the meantime, Harrison had been given the job of briefing various warship commanders and other high-ranking Navy personnel on his experiences, including some of the higher admirals from Washington. The primary topic revolved around the Bloc’s tactics, as their unorthodox nature took many by surprise and confused people, even by the pre-war analysis of them. He was finding it difficult explaining what had happened and how they worked to the room.

“So they don’t use that whole charging battleship tactic we thought they were going to do?” asked the Commander of the U.S.S. Ross.

“No they still do, we just haven’t seen it yet.”

“But they seem to favor airpower like we do, just not in the same way.”

“They do, just… like I said, we haven’t seen it yet,” Harrison repeated. “Battleship and it’s escorts are still heavily armed and they’ll still try to close the distance with any enemy group they encounter. It’s usually either that or they stay with the carrier group to increase its defense, but they’ll never try anything without air cover.”

“So it’s still a division tactic. Force our jets to split their attention between their CSG and the BSG, and further split them to deal with the enemy carrier’s planes and defending our ships. Won’t leave enough for any job; even if we focus on just one there won’t be enough for the other, unless we get lucky.”

“That’s why we built our own,” the Boone’s Executive Officer pointed out.

“Still sounds like their air power is the big problem. Can you tell us more about that?”

“Yes, other than the usual air-superiority flights their attacks are divided into three types: missile, torpedo, and bombs. They usually rely on the first and use it most often to eat up our missile reserves. They’ll also run with a handful of electronic warfare birds to jam our systems and let them get in closer, if they can be spared.”

“Trying to airdrop fish and bombs is suicidal,” one of the higher Admirals pointed out. “Flying in that close would give us enough time for the SM-2s to shoot them down three times over.”

“Yes Sir, hence why they use anti-ship missiles so often. They’ll fire them off in swarms before pulling back to reload, but they use those to eat up our missiles; usually the slower, cheaper variants are used first for that. They’re treating ASMs as a way of disarming our ships rather than killing them, though I’ve certainly seen them used in that traditional sense as well.”

“And when we’re running low the other move in for close-range attacks. It makes sense in a way but it still seems ridiculous.”

"From a naval standpoint they seem to like complexity, they like pressuring us from multiple angles and spreading our resources out. Hence the bombers and torpedo planes," Harrison continued after a long swig of water. “Other times they’ll all come in nearly at once. The missiles will be fired off, the jammers will move in along with the strike group, covering them as best they can. As the ships are firing at the missiles the other attackers make their move and hit them with torps and bombs. Even with an AEGIS and all its missiles it’s a lot to handle.”

Harrison stopped to take a drink from a glass of water, running his hand over his face afterwards. It seemed that everyone in the room was gathering a loose understanding of how the Bloc naval strategy operated. It was an insane one, but it was effective; just how effective now that the war was progressing remained to be seen. No one knew if the daring, seemingly suicidal close-in tactics would be enough to actually deal consistent, extensive damage for a good payoff with the US Navy. Regardless, countermeasures would be taken either way; there was no sense in not adapting and waiting to see.

“So I guess that the best way is to be smart with our AA missiles. I saw some Captains get scared of running out against the ASMs. They hold their fire against closing aircraft and then get a bad surprise when they’re attacked. I can’t really… make some good equation of how you should spend them but I think it should be up to the Commanders and crew to judge the situation. Determine how much ordinance should be spent on the missiles, and on the planes, and then which planes.”

“How effective is their jamming?” the Ross’s Commander asked.

“Very, more than you’d think. They’ve done some weird stuff with ECM but it works and it gets annoying, really fu- sorry Sir. It can really fiddle with radar and weapons tracking. Those ECM birds also seem to be a bit better at dodging AA missiles that are shot at them, so keep that in mind; they’re definitely harder to kill. Hell they’re a big part of how those planes can get so close. CIWS too; they were meant to just target missiles so chaff, flares, ECM really distracts the Phalanx fire control.”

“What’s the effect of the torpedoes and bombs on our ships?” an officer from the Simpson questioned him as she took notes down in a small pad.

“The torpedoes are used kind of the same as the missiles, even worse honestly. You all know just one of those can cripple a ship, and you all know the best way to beat one is to drop decoys and run in the other direction. Problem is that has a habit of breaking up the group’s formation, especially when multiple torps come from different sides,” Harrison answered. “Once a formation’s broke, the ships are separated. Harder to communicate, harder to coordinate, harder for the ships to cover each-other. Leaves the individual vessels far more susceptible to being overwhelmed by ASM saturation or attack planes.

“The bombs, as far as I can tell, are just that; they’re there to add another point of pressure to us but they’re used for damage, and they’re the hardest to use too, I think. I mean… I’m no aviator, never was, so maybe there is some other factor for their usage, I just can’t see it. Still they’re dangerous; once a bomb is released there’s no stopping it. It’ll either hit and explode and tear open a hole, penetrate into the ship and explode inside, which is pretty bad of course, or if it’s armor-piercing and the angle’s right it’ll punch down through the ship, through the hull, explode and open a massive hole to the sea right under the ship. They’re smart though, only come in when it’s safer after a while when other planes are close too, distracting us. They like long range glide bombing or high altitude dive bombing.”

“Well… their style is new, pretty strange, but they’re still relying on the same thing as the center of striking power. It’s all about the aircraft,” the eldest one among them, a senior Admiral that arrived from Norfolk, pointed out. “Best thing to kill aircraft is other aircraft. We’ll have to hope our own pilots can get in their way first.”

“That seems like the best way to counter it,” the Ross’s CO agreed. “It must take a lot of coordination and aircraft for them to do that.”

“It does. None of those three groups in my experience have been very large, and the largest of them is always the missile group. Dividing the carrier air wing up between those three, along with CAP, take a lot of jets. Shooting down any number of them ahead of time will severely weaken their impact. And of course they’re providing plenty of opportunities for us to get kills once they move in range to attack.”

“So the good news is there’s plenty of chance to hurt them and plenty of holes in their strategy,” the senior Admiral summarized. “That’s good to hear. Is there anything else to add, Captain?”

“No Sir, nothing I can think of.”

“Good, good briefing, Captain. Now we need Commander Smithson to take care of his part of the briefing.”

Harrison took a seat on the other corner of the room next to a computer, taking Smithson’s place and clicking to bring up a picture of a Shadow Navy submarine. While Harrison’s experience in the war so far had revolved around his topic accordingly, Smithson and his warship, the Paul Hamilton, had spent the time dealing with the Bloc’s interdiction strategy, protecting ships and hunting Bloc subs and maritime aircraft of the west coast. He knew more about dealing with Bloc naval units behind the lines, the ones trying to attack them as they transitioned or escorted convoys to Arcaia.

“Good Afternoon. Well, gentlemen, the primary threat to us in this area are the Bloc Navy’s submarines. They’re pulling the same schtick we expected the Soviets to pull back in the day, using subs to hit our convoys and cut off supplies. They’ve been a lot more conventional in that sense as far as I’ve seen; nothing quite as crazy as that air stuff. Lone strikes, wolf packs, the like.”

Harrison clicked again to show two pictures, one of a Kilo class submarine on the left and a Bear bomber on the right.

“Usual thing has been sub attacks, again either alone or in packs, but they use bombers too. We’ve had a few instances of bombers in the south and central Pacific, and some flying in the gap between Arcaia and Alaska to our main supply routes. A lot are just for recon but we’ve had a bunch of them fly in larger formations toting anti-ship missiles, and they’ve already hit a couple ships doing that.

“Now… the Changelings seem to be really good at this. Not as good as their other Bloc friends at surface warfare overall but interdiction they’re really good at. From what we can tell they seem to have excellent coordination. They’ve got this practice where they time up attacks from subs at various angles well. They even coordinate their attacks between their subs and the bombers with ASMs to be timed up almost to the minute. It’s crazy.”

He motioned for Harrison to click to the next slide, only to snap his fingers and pause himself.

“Ah, sorry but I should also mention something else. The Bloc has been using their ballistic missile subs differently than we thought. We got reports from Hawaii saying they use the subs to volley cruise missiles at us.

“The Navy and Air Force has been running sweeps all along the coast and gap trying to catch some of these guys. We’ve had some losses, I hate to say, but the exchange rate is in our favor pretty heavily. Though the actual number caught isn’t near what we think they have in the area. A lot of the time the enemy subs just run away, so we think they’re waiting to hit convoys. Makes the most sense.

“The convoy system itself is still working so far, we’ve had a fewer number of escorts because of the sweeps but it seems to be working. Problem is the losses are still high. I know the Admirals are reevaluating whether to keep the sweeps going or to redirect them to heavier escort duty, but uh-”

“We are debating it,” one of them interrupted, confirming the claim. “We need to look more at the hostile forces in the area and how many we’ve killed with it though.”

“Thank you Sir, but yes there is that. Cap Harrison?”

Harrison clicked to the final slide, showing pictures from satellites, submarines, and spy aircraft, each of a different kind of surface warship.

“Now here’s the weird scary part. We know the Bloc is using merchant raiders of various sizes. Some destroyers, some frigates, some cruisers, even a couple battlecruisers; we know those weird hybrid battleship-carrier things we found way back when were designed with this in mind. Most have moved through the South Pacific and out into the oceans but we know a few have made it through the Arcaia-Alaska Gap and closer to our waters. Air Force and Navy are trying to hunt them down but our hands are pretty full right now. They can be a big threat to convoys and a serious threat to single, unescorted merchant ships. If one is spotted and closes in, best thing is to scatter the convoy off in the other direction while the escorts defend it; course with the hybrids their VTOL jets can easily pick off all the scattered, single ships. It’s not the best situation, but we’ll deal with them.

“That’s about all I’ve got, are there any questions?”

“There’s nothing else, everyone’s dismissed,” the highest Admiral ordered. “We’ve all got work to do.”

The room began to file out, with Harrison in the back thinking over all of the information. It would be put to use soon, as the Bastogne’s next assignment was to return to Arcaia on convoy duty, escorting the ships alongside the cruiser Normandy. The XO from the Boone walked up to him instead of leaving, carrying a message from the Normandy that had yet to reach Harrison.

“Sorry I couldn’t get to you earlier Captain, though I figured it’d be better to tell you after the briefing was done, less distraction,” he said before getting to the point. “I’m afraid the Normandy’s Captain is in the hospital with a tropical disease, he came down with Yellow Fever.”

“Yellow Fever?” Harrison asked in a clear tone of surprise and stupefaction. 

“Yeah, I know, right? How the Hell do you get that in this day? Maybe he was behind on his vaccines or something? Anyways, point is he’s in a Navy hospital right now, so the ship’s Commander is going to be leading her. He also asked if you could meet with him to go over some of the details for the upcoming operation.”

“Uh yeah, I know the guy. Kind of… deadpan?” Harrison remembered. “He’s a good guy, I’ll get in touch with him. Thanks.”

“No problem Sir.”

“Alright, got a lot of stuff to go over and we’ll be sailing again soon, so not a lot of time. Hmm… Yellow Fever how the… some of this shit makes me feel like we’re going backwards in time.”





The convoy was a sizable one with various loads of supplies. There were, of course, the most common and important: ammunition of various calibers, artillery shells, missiles and the like. Some ships carried oil and fuel, some for vehicles, others with AVGAS. Miscellaneous needs like various medical supplies, replacement parts, new uniforms, paint, kevlar body armor, batteries, spare tools, and duct tape. Some of the ships carried the most precious cargo, men who were crossing the ocean to join the war, replacements for each branch of service.

Two of the vessels ferrying troops were the landing ships Mesa Verde and Ponce, loaded down in their supply run mission. Sharing this role with them was another, more powerful amphibious ship, the Essex, lying at the center of the formation. While acting as a troop transport also functioned as a light escort carrier, with her Marine aircraft and helicopters assisting in the defense. The remainder of them were more humble cargo ships of sealift command: Lewis and Clark, Big Horn, Dahl, Soderman, Watson, American Tern, Cape Race, Gem State, Pollux and the massive tanker SS Petersburg. 

The convoy only had two warships acting as escorts, Bastogne and her sister ship, Normandy. The other warships on the American west coast, including various destroyers, had sorties out in groups of two or three on multiple patrols, sweeping the vast ocean ahead. Rather than an escort fight, they had been engaged in a direct war of attrition with the Bloc interdiction forces, hoping to clear the way for the convoys by focusing on inflicting losses. This strategy had borne some fruit, though just how much was yet to be determined.

The convoy entered a squall as it cruised along. The light shower pattered against the metal hills of the ships. An hour later the storm worsened, turning into a downpour that mixed with lightning and heavy winds that churned up the waters below. The Essex grounded her aircraft, securing them to the ship. Harrison, having little to do at this time, sat on the bridge and watched the waves break over the bow of his cruiser.

“The ships aren’t having any trouble getting through this?” he asked his XO, watching the cargo vessels punch through and ride over the waves.

“No Sir, same as before. No issues. The storm should let up within another twenty to forty minutes, according to the weather forecast,” Thomas answered him.

“And no updates from the sonar team about that possible contact?”

“Negative, Sir.”

Four hours prior, the sonar team had reported a possible submerged contact far off from them. The stalker had come and gone, appearing and vanishing at various spots and times like a phantom in the darkness of the sea. The faint signature had matched every time, and considering it seemed to be following the convoy it could not be any kind of marine life, less it was unnaturally attracted to the ships for some odd reason, but that was unlikely. It was worrying, but the crew was somewhat thankful the sonar team could track such a quiet submersible. 
 
One of the unwritten rules Harrison had developed revolves around them. Simply put, do not disturb the sonar team unless it is important. Just as the radar acted as the ship’s eyes, the sonar was her ears. The men working these machines had to pay close attention to pick up the various acoustics under the sea and differentiate them, deciding what was harmless natural life and what was an enemy submarine.

Another twenty minutes in the storm passed, with Harrison gnawing on some cold, tough pork leftover from the mess. He had just finished his snack when a crewmember passed on a report from the Normandy, a sonar contact. It’s positioning came off as an emergency as well, being frighteningly close to the convoy. It, in turn, was brought down to the CIC and sonar team.

“This one’s smart,” Lieutenant Persico, the Bastogne’s ASW officer observed. “He was waiting in the storm for us to pass through, he knew we wouldn’t be able to use our birds, Skip.”

“How do you recommend we kill it?” Harrison asked.

“Well he seems to be sitting still, probably waiting for the convoy to move into his sights proper, we got a little time though. Depth is a little deep though, probably doesn’t know his cover’s blown. I’d say we get an ASROC ready, flip the active sonar on to pinpoint him, then fire immediately before he has a chance to run. But do me a favor and tell the other ships not to jump the gun, let me surprise him.”

“Will do.”

Harrison passed on the notice to the other ships of the convoy and asked them not to use active sonar so as to notify the submarine. It was a rather startling order, as many of the cargo ships had just realized a submarine was there and were understandably frightened. The amphibious ships, without their helicopters to work with, could not defeat the submarine either. Their fates were left in the hands of the cruisers. If the submarine realized it had been spotted, it would panic, begin to move, and fire off it’s torpedoes. It had to be killed quickly and instantly, not giving it any time to maneuver.

The anti-submarine rocket was readied to fire aboard the cruiser, targeting the area of the unsuspecting Bloc wolf. Suddenly, on the call, the cruiser's powerful sonar turned to active mode. Loud pings of sound were sent out into the deep, hitting the hull of the enemy vessel and giving its position to the Americans. Seconds later the Bastogne erupted as flames shot the rocket skyward, flying over the ships and driving itself into the sea, and in turn causing the submarine to start running.

“Sonar contact! Identify! Victor I class sub!” one of the operators yelled out.

With the torpedo falling almost on top of the Victor, there was very little that could be done. No real maneuvers could be made to outrun or outturn the weapon before it impacted. An explosion rocked the top of the submarine and sent a column of water shooting skyward, high above the ships through the rainstorm. 

Instinctively, the submarine’s crew blew the ballast and began an emergency surface. The Victor rose out of the waves, a large hole torn on her top deck. Many of the men on the ships were able to spot her out, bobbing helplessly in the chaotic waters as she tried to keep her head above the waves. They could also see the crew scurrying out, bit by bit, and into the deadly waters, Shadow sailors from the looks of them. 

Suddenly, the Victor slipped back under the waves and continued falling into the deep, leaving a handful of seemingly lucky crew to face the challenge of surviving the storm in the open waters. With the poor weather and the Americans being unable to launch helicopters or smaller boats, few stood a chance of survival. The Mesa Verde would swing in closely to check, but the convoy could not stop, and single-digits of survivors were plucked from the sea before the rescue attempt ended.





The hours following the first submarine attack had remained quiet. The convoy at last passed through the storm and the Harriers of Essex were able to resume normal patrols. Their CAP was a vital contribution, but so far they encountered virtually no air or surface targets.

The only airborne contact thus far, a Tu-142 Bear maritime reconnaissance bomber of the Griffon Navy, had been engaged and shot down by one of the Marine aircraft. Reports from radar stations in Alaska, however, noted a number of additional aircraft closing in on the area. After the initial submarine spotting, the convoy was left on edge. 

One of the sonar operators on the Bastogne had been focused for quite some time, going over several suspected sounds only to find nothing for the past hour and a half. The only contact he could make out was a whale that passed far to the stern of the convoy. There had been some other noises in the water, but nothing definitive. The screws of the convoy’s ships churned up the water like a herd of bison kicking up dust on the plains. Even on the outside it was difficult to make things out; they had gotten lucky with the first submarine but luck was not something that could be relied on.

A loud sound broke through the noise. Through his headphones, the man picked up the distinct whoosh of air being forced into the water. It was mixed and then supplanted by the terrifying, mechanical droning; the humming of a high-speed propeller.

“Fish! Fish in the water!” he warned, throwing the room into a frenzy. “Shit it’s close! How’d they get that close!? Another! Second torpedo launched!”

“Where’d he come from!?” the team director yelled, calling up to the bridge. “Bridge, Sonar! Torpedo in the water, close! Hard a port!”

The cruiser took action, immediately swinging a hard left and applying full speed. Various anti-acoustic countermeasures were fired off, including noise-makers launcher from range and decoy torpedoes fired in the opposite direction. The rest of the convoy did the same, breaking form to escape the weapons. 

“What is he? Give me an ID on who shot that!” Lieutenant Perisco demanded. “And get the Seahawk over that area now!”

“Unable to ID, I can’t match him! They’re moving slow but I can’t-!”

One of the cruiser’s helicopters, under the callsign Trident, followed the direction of the sonar team to the area of the torpedo’s origin. One of the Mk 46 torpedoes was dropped, activating and searching once it hit the water and pinging away to lock on to whatever it could find. The second Mk 46 followed after a quick position change.

“I got her, enemy sub is moving fast!” the sonar operator called out. “Identify, Sierra I!”

The Bastogne and the Normandy both fired ASROCs to add to the pressure as the enemy submarine dived and turned, performing its own dance to shake off the weapons. With countermeasures and sharp turns, the enemy sub continued to evade, though it was driven further from the convoy. The Americans also had to contend with the enemy’s torpedoes still, and at such a close range it was a frenzied race for each vessel to escape.

The initial torpedo, fired at an odd angle towards the Bastogne, was saturated with decoys that filled its acoustic homing and sent it in circles as the cruiser sped away. The second was launched at the nearest cargo vessel, the Pollux. With little time to react and no defenses of her own, the submarine’s torpedo struck the starboard side of transport, breaking through the hull before exploding. A great spite of water and debris shot up next to the ship as water began to rush in through the massive hole. The Pollux was attempting to turn away and increase speed, but now this only worsened the matter and the ship took an immediate list.

With water continuing to flow in and the weight of the cargo pressing further, the listing quickly became unbearable. The order of abandon ship was raised and her small crew took to the open ocean, leaving eight of their own behind as dead. Fifteen minutes later, the Pollux rolled near perfectly onto its side and went down. It took with it a hefty load of replacement tanks and other AFVs, vital equipment that would have helped to replenish the Army for the upcoming battles, but now they would never get a chance to be used.

The Mesa Verde began to pick up the crew from the lifeboats while helicopters ceaselessly hounded the area around where the submarine had been located. To their dismay, the Sierra had escaped, evading the weapons fired at her and diving deep to avoid detection. Many of the Americans had witnessed their weapons go off, though these were either against decoys left by the submarine or self-detonation after running their range out.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck,” Harrison swore to himself. “How’d they get away?”

“Their commander is clearly skilled enough to do so, and the submarine is a more advanced model,” Thomas reasoned.

“I know, shit this is bad. We can’t lose him, he’ll be back. That son of a bitch will keep hounding us! You think we should stay and hunt him down? Catch up with the convoy later?”

“I’m not sure, Sir. He’s likely been driven off for now, and won’t approach again for some time. Staying here will leave the convoy with even less protection, and we don’t know how long we’ll be out here alone,” Thomas pointed out. “Alternatively, if we stay with the convoy, it will allow the enemy to shadow us unmolested. He could possibly repeat the attack.”

“Great, so neither is the right answer. What are you thinking?”

“You’re the Captain, Sir. The decision is yours.”

“Well that doesn’t fucking help,” Harrison bemoaned. “Alright, our mission is to protect the ships right? Get the convoy reformed and on the move again. We’ll have to be more careful.”





“Bastogne, Essex, come in, over,” the landing ship’s radio operator called.

“Reading you, Essex.”

“Report just came in from one of our flyboys, they caught and killed one of those 142 Bears.”

“Affirmative, we picked it up over here.”

It had been another day and a half since the attack, and the convoy had made good progress since then. More enemy aircraft had arrived to observe them from afar, usually retiring before the Marine Harriers could reach them. The frequency of the enemy’s appearances had increased notably, and every sailor who did notice got the feeling that they would soon have to deal with more than just submarine threats.

Harrison and the rest of the crew had remained focused, ready to ward off the prowling enemy Sierra. So far nothing had happened, and just as before the deep was quiet. They would not be fooled again though; they knew the enemy was there, tailing them, but they were unsure as to where. The first disturbance had been the report by the Essex, and twenty minutes later Harrison received a notification from the Normandy sent to all ships.

“Message reads ‘engaging enemy subsurface contacts at range, hold fire. Will notify of results’,” the young sailor read off.

“Guess they got the same luck we did,” Harrison said. “I trust them to get the job done, hold fire unless they ask for our help.”

The Normandy’s helicopter moved about over the wide field of water, stopping to hover at certain points. Another ASROC was launched from the cruiser and sent into the sea, while the chopper dropped its own weapons at another spot several miles off. Both of the weapons struck their targets, first the helicopter’s torpedo and then the ASROC. Two more Bloc submarines, these belonging to the Changeling Navy, sank to the bottom.

“Normandy reports two kills, one Foxtrot one Tango,” the report came in.

“Good, that’s impressive,” Harrison noted. “Tell the Commander good work.”

“They noted that they were a little harder to detect than usual, for what they are.”

“I guess we shouldn’t be surprised. They’re probably some kind of upgraded model, not the old Soviet ones. Those rusty things would’ve been killed a lot sooner. Didn’t say anything about that Sierra huh? I’m getting too paranoid about that thing.”

Nothing was left from the attacking submarines except for debris and oil slicks. The trip so far had been a mixed bag; most of the enemy units encountered had been dealt with, but they had not been powerful. They had killed two older models of submarines and gotten lucky in catching the Kilo early on. The Sierra, the most difficult to deal with, had sunk one of the cargo ships and escaped. 

An hour later, the long-awaited bomber raid was finally closing in with fifteen Bear bombers and five Backfires from the Changeling Air Force. The Marine Harriers naturally launched most of their number to fly out an intercept, their slow speed made up for by the early warning from radar stations in Arcaia and Alaska. The radars aboard the ships, however, counted a large formation than warned. When the Harriers first made contact, the response was confusing and worrying.

“Allied aircraft state they’re committing against a handful of bandit Forgers, trying to break through to the bombers.”

“Forgers? Shit that’s…”

“Yak-38s Captain,” Thomas finished for him.

“Yeah, but those are VTOLs aren’t they?” Harrison remembered. “How’d they get all the way out here? Their legs don’t stretch that far, even with tanker support. Why those?”

“They weren’t mentioned in the original sighting.”

“Yeah, so where’d they come from?”

“A carrier would be the most likely point of origin.”

“But their flattops aren’t anywhere near the area, we know that, we uh,” Harrison stuttered as he paused to think. “It’s one of their raiders, it’s got to be.”

“One of their surface raiders Sir?”

“Yeah don’t you remember? Intel came out that the Shadows built some battleships or some kind of hybrid with a VTOL deck on the stern. One of them must be in the area!”

“Oh, that may very well be the case,” Thomas agreed. “If so, that would cause a new issue.”

“Yeah. We could take it normally but we aren’t outfitted for surface warfare. Still not contacts though, we just need to keep on the lookout-”

“Vampire! Vampire!” the radarman yelled.

“Ah shit they got through!” Harrison realized from the anti-ship missile call. “Engage at will, don’t wait!”

“Tracking, birds away!”

Both the Bastogne and the Normandy began to volley their compliments of SM-2 missiles to pick away at the ASMs.

“Heads up, additional missiles on radar! Cruise missiles!” the radarman warned. “Low altitude, possible surface launch!”

“Enemy surface contact!?” Harrison asked. 

“Negative nothing on surf radar!”

“Sonar confirms subsurface launches Skipper! Enemy missile subs! At least three separate launch positions!”

“Fuck they weren’t kidding! How’d the Bugs coordinate a strike like that!?” Harrison wondered aloud. 

“Enemy missile numbers spiking!” the radarman continued to warn.

The convoy now began to break and maneuver as the two AEGIS cruisers began to pluck away at the missiles. The many weapons clashed in mid-air, exploding into an inferno of shrapnel above the sea. The numbers continued to drop, and the bomber’s missiles were soon exterminated, but the submarine-launched cruise missiles moved in closer and began to pick out targets.

The RIM-116 and Sea Sparrow missiles on the other three military vessels began to launch, destroying the weapons targeting them. Harrison himself left the CIC briefly to Thomas and was heading to the bridge to direct maneuvers personally as the convoy’s ships turned every which-way. He passed outside briefly, running along the side when a loud, dull explosion and the forceful wind of a shockwave hit him, briefly stopping him. He did not notice at first and continued to the bridge, thinking an enemy missile had exploded close to them. 

It was only when he reached the bridge did he notice some of the sailors glaring out the window to their starboard bow. He turned himself in the same direction, facing the awful object of their attention. A large cloud of smoke was rising from its origin on the water; another ship had been hit by the missiles, with disastrous results. 

“Jesus, what ship was there!?” he thought to himself before repeating it to his sailors. “What ship was there!?”

“She’s just gone Captain, I saw it!” one of the sailors on watched cried out. “One of the landing ships, I saw it!”

“Shit she’s gone!” another man echoed.

“Landing ship? God, was that the Ponce!?” Harrison realized. “There were thousands of men on her!”

“She just fucking blew up! Blew up! Like a fucking firecracker!”

“Shit… fucking God,” the Captain groaned. “Helm, swing us six degrees to port! Get us over there, and keep clear of that tanker over there!”

“Aye!”

The final cruise missiles were destroyed by a RIM missile from Essex and heavy CIWS and gunfire from the Normandy, respectively. Upon closing in, the sailors on board the Bastogne did notice several survivors in the water, some crew others soldiers. In comparison to the original complement they were depressingly few, and the small boats of the cruiser and other ships took to the water while helicopters began to pick men out of the Pacific.

The missile attack had only just ended when the Bastogne erupted with another missile launch. Harrison prepared to call the CIC but was answered by Thomas first. The destruction of the Ponce did not bring about a close to the fight as hoped.

“Captain, sonar contact! Enemy sub’s back, torpedoes in the water after one of the transport ships! ASROC’s out, need the helm to turn hard-a-port!”

“Fuck, copy! Helm hard port!”

“Hard port aye!”

“Figures, damn Sierra was waiting to hit us while we’re down!”

“Captain, eyes!” one of the watchmen called out.

The Sierra’s torpedoes had been fired at the closest ship it snuck up on, the transport ship Dahl. In attempting to escape the onslaught of missiles, the ship had unfortunately closed in with the enemy submarine. Two torpedoes struck near the bow of the ship and she quickly came to a stop, the crew on her fighting a losing battle to keep her afloat as she sank by the head. 

The Bastogne’s ASROC was not as accurate as the torpedo splashed down and ran in circles, trying to lock onto the quiet, near motionless target without success. Harrison, however, also noticed the range of the enemy submarine was much closer than before. Rather than wait for a closer estimate or allow the submarine to escape again, he would turn to one of the newer weapons to defeat his enemy.

“CIC,” he called. 

“CIC here.”

“Is the Porcupine ready to fire?”

“Aye Skipper!”

“Get a range and position for it and fire when ready.”

The Mark 22 Anti-Submarine Bombardment Weapon, simply called the ‘Porcupine’, was another of the new weapons installed in the newer flights of the Ticonderogas and Arleigh Burkes. It was a close-in anti-submarine weapon built in the vein of the World War Two era Hedgehog and the more recent Russian GBU-6000. Rather than rely on the direct precision of homing torpedoes, the Porcupine fired dozens upon dozens of rocket-propelled bombs, scattering them over a wide area where the target was known to be hiding, exploding upon hitting or nearing the submarine as they sank. Though not as powerful as a torpedo, the one or two bomb hits could still damage a submarine, and the explosions would give a precise location to the sonar operators for follow-up torpedo attacks.

The Porcupine began to mechanically turn and fire its rockets from a large metal box near the stern, using computer guidance to thoroughly disperse the shots. The scattered weapons hit the water and began to slowly float to the bottom, with the strange noise confusing the sonar operators aboard the Sierra. As they never realized, the sudden eruptions against the side of the hull came as an understandable shock to them. Two of the bombs landed on the submarine, one directly on top her near the stern and the other against the side next to the starboard torpedo tubes. The hull was damaged, though not heavily, but the sudden attack and rattling caused a great scare among the crew.

The Captain, confused and thinking they had actually been struck by two small torpedoes, gave the order for an emergency surface. The weapon had worked far better in its first combat employment than the Americans had thought. They had damaged and detected the submarine, but instead of a follow-up attack the submarine delivered itself directly to the Americans as it broke the surface, splashing through the waves. Harrison, now presented with his tormentor face-to-face, refused to allow any chance of escape and ordered the CIC to open fire with their deck guns.

The Bastogne’s weapons trained on the enemy and immediately opened fire without hesitation, with the two five-inch turrets blasting away and putting two shells into the sail in the first shot. The CIWS and even the Bushmaster autocannons aboard targeted her and added their weight to the fray, raking the black hull with 20mm shells. The sea around the target was kicked up fiercely as round bounced off, struck, or penetrated the hull. One of the heavy guns put a shell directly into the waterline, punching through into the sub and opening her to the sea.

The Sierra’s Captain gave the order to abandon ship and the crew began to scramble out onto the deck. The Americans did not see the fleeing crew at first, and the submariners found themselves exiting into a maelstrom of angry, vicious cannon fire. The rounds, large and small, tore into many of the crew, blowing a number of them away into the sea as most elected to swim away rather than stay on the targeted hulk.

It was only after several minutes of heavy fire that the Americans noticed the Shadows in the water and Harrison ordered a cease-fire. There was some unspoken understanding among the Americans that, intentional or not, they had been firing on the enemy crew as they abandoned ship helplessly. Still, most did not feel regret as it had not been known, nor did they feel sorrow for their enemy’s harrowing ordeal after they had sunk two of their ships. Harrison certainly did not, even as he ordered the cruiser to shift to pick up their newly-acquired prisoners. Owing to the nature of the submarine’s demise the take was rather large at forty Shadow navy ponies on the dot. 

The Mesa Verde had completed the rescue of the survivors of her dead sister ship, picking up those who had somehow made it through the great eruption through some divine grace. The Dahl was abandoned but thankfully did not suffer any losses, with the crew evacuating in a timely manner over to the Normandy only to watch their ship nose down and hang in the air for several minutes before plunging into the deep, taking her precious cargo with her. The Sierra was the last to sink, with her beaten hull slowly filling with water as she slowly slipped beneath the Pacific for the last time. 

With the dramatic fight finally reaching its conclusion, the convoy once again reformed and began the final stretch of sailing towards the Equestrian port of Pensacolta. The Essex retrieved her Harriers from their own battle, tallying their own kills and losses. Two of the enemy Bears had been shot down, along with a single Forger, but two of their own had been killed as well. The single pilot that managed to bail from his damaged aircraft was picked up and returned by one of the ship’s helicopters.

The remainder of the trip was spent in a solemn silence among the men of every ship. The Bloc did not have further units in position to continue their strikes, and the convoy soon was under the protection of aircraft and ships from Equestria. Upon closing in on the port, Harrison had the depressing duty of giving the first report to a local Admiral on the convoy’s status over the radio.

“Two container vessels lost; Pollux, Dahl. USS Ponce lost; large explosion from enemy missile attack, heavy loss of life. Two Harriers lost, one pilot KIA, other rescued. Four enemy submersibles, three bombers, one fighter destroyed. Forty POWs, Shadows. Cruisers will require only moderate time to replenish stocks, no damage. Bastogne turning over convoy, will dock as instructed to refuel and rearm before returning to sea; awaiting next orders. Out.”