• Published 30th Oct 2013
  • 8,802 Views, 240 Comments

No Better Friend, No Worse Enemy - Green Hills



An engagement at a floating crystal in the Pacific has left four U.S. Navy ships trapped in Equestria. While finding a way back, a certain enemy rebuilds her army to take on her new foes.

  • ...
42
 240
 8,802

Chapter 2: Crystal Encounter [Reedit]

LCpl. Kevin Brooke
2nd Battalion 1st Marines
Pacific Ocean August 23rd Day 2 07:37:01 AM




I crack open my heavy eyes after a restless night of rough waves and crying winds. My head is spinning as I slowly roll myself out of my sit-up berth and make my way around the winding large room to the nearest closet-tight bathroom with a clean uniform in my hands. When I look at myself in the mirror, my eyes suddenly shoot wide open at the sight. My tan is gone. What the hell happened to my tan? I’m pale! Over three months in Hawaii just got thrown out the window thanks to one night in a ship tackling a storm! I groan in frustration, and mentally slap myself on the side of the head. I have been on this ship for a day and I already lost my tan; it infuriates me.

After finishing up brushing my teeth and changing into a clean uniform, I step out of the bathroom and head back to my berthing area. The thought that I lost my color in less than a day mind boggles me. When I return back to my rack, I look at the others with the curtains still shut. I wonder if the others are still asleep. Most of our squad plus another have been staying in this well-sized room of four berthing areas, each containing six sit-up berths. Sergeant Mendez, Corporal Carter, Private First Class Michaels, Private Darwin, Private Pelayo and I sleep together in our own berthing area. I can’t complain the lack of space in this ship, but I rather sleep here instead of in the world’s cheapest bed in college with a bunch of party-going roommates. The plus side of being a Marine is we have bigger lockers on board the USS Anchorage compared to the sailors.

I walk over to Michaels’ berth beneath mine, and bang on the metal edge. “Eric! Wake up! Unless you wanna miss the early bird special!” I hear no reply. I wonder how that guy can sleep even through my yelling. Before I head out the berthing area, a loud scream from behind, and I quickly smash myself into the wall in front in complete shock. I turn around slowly seeing Michaels laughing uncontrollably in the doorway.

“Woo! That really got ya’!” I give him a long glare, hoping he would figure out my frustration. Michaels finally finishes his laugh, and takes a deep breath. “Ah, sorry ‘bout that buddy. Next time, you can be the one who scares me.” I raise an eyebrow, still staring at him when he finally notices my baggy eyes and pale skin.

“Dude. Your tan...” he points out.

“Don’t. Say it,” I respond in an unemotional tone. I turn around as Michaels leans against the doorway, covering his giggle with his arm. “What’re you doing up early, anyway? I rarely see you do that.”

“Eh,” Michaels shrugs. “Just wanted to have a walk down in the vehicle decks. Was in the mood for it.”

I arch an eyebrow at him. “Really now? ‘Cause you’re not the type of person who would do that.”

Michaels blinks a few times as I approach him. “Well… I’m… you know…”

“Come on. Admit it.” I poke his uniform. “You and Mendez were waiting to prank on me again, right?”

I notice Michaels stiffen a little, his face beginning to sweat. “Eh… w-well, you see…” I cross my arms waiting for his answer. I have him cornered. Then, my eyes catch a dark green blur just out of the corner, and my face is suddenly covered in a variety of colors with an audible ‘puff’. Next thing I know is I’m lying on the floor frantically waving my arms around my head like I am having a seizure, followed by some hard laughter emitting right in front of me.

“Haha!! Got ‘im!” Mendez cries out triumphantly. He and Michaels give each other a high-five.

“Woo!” Michaels cheers, both of them continuing to laugh. It only takes a moment until I realize it’s just another sporadic prank conceived by the two clowns of the squad. “Two in a row, baby!”

“What the hell, guys?!” I scream. It is too early for them to be pulling off a prank, let alone two at the same time.

“We really got ya’ this time, bro,” Mendez says, walking over and helping me to my feet.

“You and your damn confetti,” I mumble, wiping off the bits of colored paper off my uniform.

This isn’t the first time I’ve fallen victim to Michaels’ and Mendez’s pranks. Countless other Marines, including our squad mates, have landed to their jokes ever since boot camp. We all got used to it later on, but even now I’m surprised they don’t have a nickname for what they like to do instead of what they are known for.

It didn’t take long after the two jokers finally settle down after an agonizing minute of laughter. Even some Marines who pass by in the corridor give us an awkward glance. All I can do is lean against my berth and wait. Worse, they even know how agitated I get without coffee.

“Are you guys done now?” I ask in an annoyed tone. Mendez merely nods, his giggling still hanging in the air while Michaels regains his posture with a deep breath.

“Hehe… yeah. Yeah, we’re good now,” Michaels answers.

“Good,” I reply, shoving the two boys to the side and make my way to the corridor. Michaels and Mendez quickly catch up.

“Oh come on, Kev,” Michaels nudges my arm lightly. “You’re not really pissed at us, are ya’?”

I snort. “Nah, you got me.” I give Michaels a small push, the three of us laughing together. “But you guys are cleaning up the mess after breakfast.”

“Hey! It was Henry’s idea!” Michaels blames the sergeant.

“Oh, here we go again...” Mendez chuckles. The three of us giggle as we walk down the corridor.


Commander Gaines inspects the horizon with his binoculars. It’s strange how a storm like last night could be as violent as a typhoon, and disappear without a trace. There is not a cloud in sight, and the sun is shining as it lifts itself from the horizon. He lowers his binoculars and rubs his eyes. He has not slept for the entire night, as well as some of the crew in the bridge. The only thing that he can think of is a cup of coffee, a strong cup of coffee. He turns around to see his petty officers that stood by his side throughout the entire night, slowly dozing off at the monitors and helm. As commander of the Anchorage, he feels like he should reward them.

“Raikes, Grant, Gallin. Go get some shuteye,” he says. “The rest of the replacements should be coming in.” The three sailors look up from their positions.

“With all do respect, commander. We’re alright…” Petty Officer Raikes is the first to speak, but stops short to take a long yawn.

Another sailor next to her snorts. “Go get some rest, Raikes. I got from here.” Raikes nods, gets up and exits the bridge along with Grant and Gallin.

Not ten seconds later, two more sailors enter the bridge and salute to the commander.

“Jackson, Spence,” Gaines begins. “You boys slept well?”

“Aye aye, commander,” Petty Officer Jackson replies.

“Aye aye, sir,” Seaman Spence, the ship’s helmsman and youngest sailor, replies, though a little hesitant.

The commander smiles at the two sailors still standing in position like a statue. “Good. Glad you boys are ready. We’ll be having a busy morning. Jackson, be on lookout on starboard side while we finish our R-A-S.”

“Aye aye, sir,” the petty officer salutes before exiting out of the bridge to the right.

“Spence, you know what to do,” the commander orders to the kid.

Spence salutes before moving to the helm. “Aye, commander.”

“Roland, what’s the status on the Matthew Perry?” Commander Gaines turns around to one of his sailors.

“They’re preparing to enter our starboard side, commander.”

“Alright. Let’s continue with the resupply from yesterday.”

“Aye aye, commander.”

The commander grabs his binoculars again and peers outside. Once again, he searches the horizon. Behind him, a sailor blows a whistle, followed by the ship’s 1MC grabbing a portable microphone from the wall and announces.

“Attention all hands, prepare for underway replenishment with the U-S-N-S Matthew Perry.”

Staring out through the window at the open ocean, with the USS Nimitz in the foreground off to his ten o’clock, Commander Gaines decides to go outside and view the replenishment at sea, and some fresh air. He orders his chief petty officer to watchstand, and exits the bridge to the starboard bridge wing. The first thing he feels is the cool ocean wind and the warm summer sun radiating down as it is ascending in the sky. In front of him, sailors crowd around the edge of the starboard wing looking over at the dry cargo ship USNS Matthew Perry sailing parallel to the USS Anchorage at the exact speed. Some of them are wearing life jackets and construction helmets. Before watching the underway replenishment, Gaines takes a long look over the bow of his ship, and at the horizon, with the Nimitz trudging through the waters several hundred meters ahead.

Looking at the vast aircraft carrier reminds the young commander of his early career. He first served on a variety of amphibious assault ships. The first he served was on the Tarawa-class LHDs before moving down to the older Whidbey Island-class and Harpers Ferry-class LSDs. Now, he is finally commanding his very own ship for the first time. The thought of being responsible for a thousand sailors and Marines, plus heavy equipment and armored vehicles, feels much greater than a giant boulder hanging over his head by a thin rope. However, it doesn’t stop him from enjoying what is in front of him, sailing the seas for endless times just as he dreamed when he was young.

Commander Gaines’ daydream immediately ceases when a loud gunshot echoes all around, followed by a whistle a second later. Turning around, he watches his sailors stand shoulder to shoulder looking over the edge watching the sea replenishment take underway. Some of them have their smartphones out and begin filming and taking pictures. Gaines chortles under his breath, watching his crew act like excited children. Though, he would do the same if he were in their position.

He continues to peacefully walk down the bridge wing passing the line of sailors, some of them sliding out of the way for him to pass while the rest are still distracted. The ocean wind rustles against his uniform, and muffles down almost any noise he can hear from both his crewmen and the ones on the USNS Matthew Perry. His ears catch the sound of spinning rotor blades, and barely spots an MH-60S Seahawk lifting off with its cargo from the aft deck of the dry cargo ship.

“Commander,” a sailor calls from behind, and he turns around. “Bekkens is requesting you come back to the bridge immediately.”

A curious thought runs through Commander Gaines’ mind, wondering what his chief petty officer needs him for. He solemnly nods and follows the young sailor back to the bridge in a rather hurriedly pace. As soon as he enters, he notices majority of the crew have a somewhat worried look on their faces.

“What’s going on, Bekkens?” Gaines asks to his chief petty officer.

Bekkens takes several deep breaths, a sweat forming on his forehead to which Gaines notices. “The admiral just contacted us. Our mission has just been changed.”

Commander Gaines blinks a few times and stands still, feeling as if he is choking on something. “What do you mean, ‘mission has been changed’?”

Again, Bekkens takes another breath before replying. “The fleet just got an emergency message from Naval Base Sasebo. Three ships went missing last night from the storm. We’re being reassigned for a search-and-rescue.”

It feels as the entire bridge has gone completely silent, all eyes turn to the commander and the chief petty officer. Gaines could swear he feels his body freeze from pure shock. The commander’s mind suddenly running a dozen thoughts a second. How can three ships go missing during a storm? And why? Worst of all, who went missing? Gaines feels stuck and lost at this situation. But, he can’t do that. He is the ship’s commander, and all hands aboard are his responsibility. He can’t let them down. However, what would one do in a situation like this. Gaines thinks hard, remembering his officer training. The first thing he would do is try to gather as much information of the situation as possible.

“Get me the Nimitz now,” he tells Bekkens.

“Aye aye, sir,” Bekkens replies, and quickly turns back to his position.

“Everyone return to your tasks,” the commander orders to his crewmen. “Be on alert once underway replenishment is complete.”


Whistling down the corridor to an imaginary tune created with my mind, and my belly full breakfast, I have nothing else to do since practices have been cancelled for the next few hours. Marines around each corner of every corridor are having their usual conversations; some discussing about the current war and separate operations, while others are talking about their families and loved ones. It doesn’t bother me.

When I reach my berthing room, a terrible grumble from my stomach stops me right in the doorway.

“Really?” I groan in frustration. “I just ate…” I refuse to eat anymore of that horrible breakfast. Then again, I could always find a vending machine and grab a couple bags of chips. I make up my mind before wanting to say ‘fuck it’ and turn around, when I see one of my squadmates turning a corner a few meters away.

“Hey, Brooke.” Private Leonardo Darwin says as he walks up to me. He too is another good friend like most of the Marines in the squad. A skilled marksman just like the rest of the Marines and the same age as Michaels (nineteen years).

“What’s up?” I ask to the young private.

“Been looking ‘round for you. Michaels wants you. He’s waiting outside on port where the boat valley is.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Why?”

Darwin shrugs. “Dunno. He said he has to tell you something.” I cross my arms looking at him suspiciously. It could be another stupid prank Michaels and Mendez are setting up. However, they both know more than one prank a day is enough to drive me insane.

“Alright, then,” I finally reply, and begin walking down the corridor once again. “This better not be another prank.”

“I don’t think so!” Darwin replies back as I move farther away. “He sounded serious!”

With a quick detour to the galley to get something edible, it takes more than a few minutes to find my way through the mazes that make up the LPD. Like any other ship in the U.S. Navy, the San Antonio-class is no different for having complex corridors and rooms. From departing San Francisco to the international Rim of the Pacific exercise in a short three months, I still get lost and wind up somewhere in an area that I don’t even know exist.

Eventually, I find my way outside to the main deck, port side of the vessel. The air is cool, since I am on the shaded side of the LPD, and the wind is strong. Somehow, there is not a cloud in sight for miles. I think to myself how a storm could pass over us overnight and be gone the next day. Taking a bite out of my already half-eaten apple, I spot Michaels hanging over the railing, staring at an MH-60R Seahawk landing on the stern of the USS Spruance, and walk over.

“Trying to pull another prank on me?” I ask jokingly as I approach him. Michaels remains silent as he lights up a cigarette. After a long breathe in, he slowly lets out all the smoke that is carried away by the wind.

“Nah,” he replies. His expression looks as if he is in deep thought. I rarely see him like that. He stays quiet for a while, taking a couple more puffs while I finish my apple and toss it into the sea.

“Sh’o, what’sh happenin’?” I ask again with a mouthful. I look around us to see if anyone is here, but to no avail.

After another puff from his cigarette, Michaels answers. “I overheard from Second Platoon’s leader talking to one of the sailors from the bridge. Apparently, the storm last night was all too weird for the fleet.”

I arch an eyebrow. “It was just a storm, though.”

Michaels raises a finger cutting me off short and blows out the smoke again before speaking. “Nope. From what I heard, the storm was emerging from Japan.”

“Yeah, I know that part.” I roll my eyes, wanting to get Michaels to the point.

“Then, Naval Base Sasebo reported to us saying three ships went missing.”

I stop halfway through my chewing, snapping my head to Michaels. “Wait, what now?”

“Three ships went M-I-A from Sasebo,” Michaels repeats. I take this moment to repeat the exact words he said, hoping I am not having any hearing problems.

“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” I say rapidly, stepping away from the guardrail. “Three ships?”

Michaels nods. “Yeah. Twice.” His tone of voice sounds strangely calm, especially when he is telling me this information. “The rest of the fleet knows ‘bout this too, probably.”

It feels as though everything around us has just slowed down, and I find some difficulty swallowing the contents of the apple. I don’t know what to say, except ponder over how three ships from a naval base in Japan went missing.

“W-wait, wait…” I throw my hands up and rub my forehead, trying to process this information. It feels very sudden, too sudden to say the least. How can three ships stationed in Japan disappear in overnight? Unless, it might have something to do with the storm.

“Why are you telling me this information?” I ask again.

“Because… there is something I wanna talk about…” Michaels adds, still leaning on the railing gazing at the Spruance across.

“Attention all hands, this is your captain speaking,” the PA speaker goes off, halting the both of us from speaking further. “Several minutes ago, we have received a distress message from Fleet Activities Sasebo in Japan. We are diverting our course to Japan to provide relief efforts and search and rescue. I want all hands on deck once underway replenishment is complete.”


Inside the maze-like corridors of the USS Anchorage, Second Lieutenant Martins walks through the narrow hallway with new squad leader Staff Sergeant Alcatraz following behind. The lieutenant starts explaining of the situation. “Captain Stanton will be briefing us about the situation. I’ve already explained about it to First Sergeant Keane. He’ll be meeting with us at o’ nine thirty hours in the briefing room.”

“Aye, sir,” Staff Sergeant replies.

“I also want to make things quite clear between you and Keane.”

Alcatraz raises an eyebrow at the lieutenant. “Sir?”

“First Sergeant Keane is technically more of a lone wolf rather than being part of the pack, if you read his files.” There is a quick silence, as Alcatraz tries to remember the war veteran.

“Well, he is one helluva decorated Marine, sir. Two previous tours back then.” Lieutenant Martins pulls over to the side with Alcatraz, turning around and facing him.

“Don’t bullshit me, Staff Sergeant. You know what happened on his second tour?”

Alcatraz remains silent again for a moment. “Just the bits and pieces, sir.” The lieutenant briefly stares at the new squad leader, before nodding softly and resumes the walking.

“I’ll be putting you in your first assignment once the briefing is done. Remember, don’t get carried away about what we may be facing.”

Staff Sergeant lets off a small smile as he follow suits. “Be a pleasure, sir.”


“I understand that, lieutenant. Just keep me updated on the situation in Sasebo, got it?” Commander Gaines says frustratingly through the radio to the ship’s command and control.

“Yes, sir. But it will take a while for a response from the naval base. They reported of having significant power outages during and after the storm. They’re still getting their communications back up. We’re currently communicating with the Green Bay and Germantown.”

“Alright, just keep me informed.” Gaines hangs up the radio and rubs his forehead and eyes to relieve the stress building up.

He just got out of a conversation with both the rear admiral and his lieutenant down in command and control, and so far, he has received little intelligence about the crisis in Fleets Activities Sasebo. All he knows is three ships went missing during the storm last night; two of them are amphibious assault ships and one destroyer. Already, he has a terrible feeling who those two amphibious assault ships are. However, the base is still repairing their communications.

“Sir,” one of his radarmen calls from behind a monitor. “Control just picked up something to the far northwest.” Gaines walks at a quick pace to her.

“How far is it?” he asks.

“Can’t say for sure, sir. Radar is barely picking up a signal from it. Approximately… forty nautical miles or so… bearing two-five degrees east.” Commander Gaines stares at the radar screen, barely noticing a tiny blinking dot just off to the top-right. It’s very faint, but shining like a star.

“Have they tried to make contact?” Gaines asks.

Nimitz is working on it,” the sailor says, pressing several keys next to the screen. “Unsure what it is, though. Radar can’t seem to pick it up properly. Could be a small boat…”

Gaines stares at the faint dot pondering what it is. It could be what the sailor said; a small boat struggling from the storm last night. However, he is not sure since the Nimitz is attempting to make contact. Hopefully, it is not too big of a deal because there is a more pressing matter at stake.

“Alright,” he says, straightening himself back up. “Inform me if anything about it comes up.”

“Sir,” a voice notifies the commander again from behind as soon as he stands back up, this time from Chief Petty Officer Bekkens. Gaines huffs through his nostrils, his mind feeling the stress from the bombardment. As he turns around, the first thing he immediately notices is the expression on Bekkens’ face, gripping tightly on the portable radio as if he just heard something horrible.

“The fleet just got a report from the Green Bay and Germantown,” Bekkens says as Gaines marches over to the sailor. “We’ve got one helluva situation about those missing ships.”

Gaines wastes no time, as he takes the radio from the chief petty officer, and immediately speaks to command and control. “Lieutenant, what’s the situation?”

U-S-S Green Bay just radioed to the fleet about about the missing ships. It’s the Bonhomme Richard, Ashland and Japanese destroyer Ariake.”

The commander freezes in position the moment he hears those names. The thought gnawing on his mind about the amphibious assault ships is not wrong, but it feels a lot worse when he hears their names. A sudden chill runs up his spine as Gaines attempts to think of something to reply as fast as possible. Like an arrow piercing right through him, he struggles to contemplate this situation, let alone figuring out what to say to command and control.

The USS Bonhomme Richard is a Wasp-class amphibious landing ship, similar to the Essex. And the USS Ashland is a Whidbey Island-class dock landing ship, also designed for amphibious warfare much like the San Antonio-class. Just two of those ships make up almost an entire Marine Expeditionary Unit, and they are gone. However, one more is missing as well; a Japanese destroyer. Commander Gaines has little intelligence about the Japan Maritime Self-Defense Force, but knowing that one of their ships is lost can cause as much controversy like theirs.

After what seems to be an endless cycle of dead silence, Commander Gaines finally manages to respond. “Very well. Keep me informed.”

“Yes, sir,” the lieutenant from control says, before they both hang up. Gaines rubs his forehead, now knowing the names of the unaccounted ships. Never in his life has he felt so distressed. How can nearly two thousand men and women be gone in one night? And why?

“Sir, radar just lost the unknown contact,” the radarman announces from her monitor. Commander Gaines makes haste to her station to have a look, only to find the blinking spec gone from earlier.

“What do you mean?” he says in a hurriedly tone, his eyes darting around the screen to make sure they are not fooling him.

“It just vanished,” the radarman says, pressing a button off to the side. “Radar just lost it for some reason…” Before she can say more, the blinking dot reappears on the screen again, this time, about a fourth closer from where Gaines originally saw.

“Woah there,” the sailor comments, both her and the commander taken back by surprise a bit. “A fast one.”

“Has the fleet managed to make contact?” Gaines asks.

“No, sir. They never got a reply.”

The commander stares at the screen for a long moment, his mind is thinking of a dozen theories at once. “How far is it now?”

The sailor types on her keyboard, pulling up a separate window on the screen. “Not sure. Nimitz is currently tracking it. My guess… thirty-five nautical miles. Radar is having difficulties picking it up. It’s like… there’s only one, but it keeps on bouncing in different areas as if there’s more.”

Gaines lifts back up as he tries to think of the most probable solutions as he watches the dot on the screen suddenly move again another millimeter. Looking at it, it’s definitely heading straight towards them, no doubt about it. He is silent for several seconds, the first thing popping into his mind any Navy sailor fears; a stealth boat.

Commander Gaines has sailed the waters an endless amount of times in the Navy, and had his fair share facing combat situations. However, it feels as though there is a great deal of pressure bearing down on him. But, another thought comes to his mind. If it is a stealth boat, why is there only one? It is highly unnecessary and risky for someone to send one boat against a fleet. For all he knows, the blip could be a small boat needing to be rescued.

Gaines shakes his head and takes a deep breath. Now it is not the time to be wondering about the blip. He needs to stay focused on the priority at hand. His sailors are looking up to him, and he can’t let them down. Going through the training in his head, the first thing his guts are telling him is to call for assistance.

“Roland, how goes the R-A-S?” he asks to one of his sailors.

“They’re just finishing up, sir,” the sailor replies. “Ospreys will be coming in shortly.”

“Good.” Gaines quickly turns to another sailor behind the radio. “Patch me to the Nimitz.”

“Aye aye, sir.”


Peering through his binoculars, Rear Admiral Shane searches across the endless horizon for the unknown vessel that has been faintly detected by radar. He too, has been up all night guiding his crew and the strike group against the storm, hence due to his baggy eyes. The admiral puts down his binoculars and rubs his sore eyes, before taking a sip of his coffee.

“Is there any response from the contact yet?” he asks to his radioman.

The young sailor from behind the monitor shakes his head. “Negative, sir. C-I-C is getting nothing, but they’re picking up some strange static from it.”

Admiral Shane wants to ask the sailor about what he just said, when another calls for him. “Admiral, Anchorage is contacting us.”

Apparently, he will have to wait, since the new commander needs assistance right now. “Put it through,” Shane replies, walking to his seat and grabbing the phone. “This is Admiral Shane, go ahead.”

“Admiral, this is Gaines. Have you got a confirmation on the unidentified vessel?”

“Not yet. There is no response from it. And our search radars can barely pick it up. Our estimation is about thirty-five nautical miles, but we can’t get an exact location. How are you doing on your side?”

“That’s also a negative here, sir. Our radars can barely pick it up. It’s a tiny blip on our screen.”

“Alright. Have your men ready once R-A-S is complete. We’ll be changing course soon.”

“Aye, sir.”

The admiral hangs up and turns to one of his sailors standing in front awaiting his orders. “Contact the Essex. Tell them to send a Sea Stallion with a boarding team to the last known coordinates of the vessel.”

The sailor nods. “Aye aye, sir.”

“Alert the Michael Murphy, Spruance and Princeton to move to the front lines and be ready.”

“Aye sir!”


The PA crackles throughout the USS Anchorage, playing a custom breakaway song from a certain TV show from the Discovery Channel, signaling the conclusion of the underway replenishment. For a person who grew up in New York City, listening to country music is like visiting a foreign country. It even reminds me when I was young my nanny took me to Chinatown once. An experience I wish to forget, but at the same time don’t want to. As the music plays, Michaels and I move down the corridor at a rapid walking pace back to our berths, with sailors and Marines rushing past us.

The song lasts for a short while, thankfully. Once it ends, the PA then switches to the ship’s 1MC. “Attention all hands, report to your stations. I repeat, report to your stations. Await further orders.”

“Damn, guess this situation is pretty serious,” I comment to Michaels tailing behind.

“Nah,” Michaels shakes his head, his tone of voice sounding a bit serious. “This is something else.”

“Yeah, I know.” We have been informed by our staff sergeant, even overheard several sailors and Marines about the situation. Not only are we redirected to Japan to search for three missing ships, but now there is a vessel heading in the fleet’s direction they are unable to contact. It seems everything is happening at an odd convenience.

Essex is sending a Sea Stallion over to the vessel’s last known location.”

“Well, that’s just fucking brilliant. And here, our mission has changed from combat to relief efforts…” I overhear two sailors having a conversation as they walk fast from the opposite direction until they pass us.

“I guess I’m not the only one who’s pissed off at the change of mission,” I joke.

Michaels chuckles. “Heh. Amen to that.” He gives me a quick pat on the shoulder before suddenly passing me and making a turn around the corner a few feet ahead. “I’ll meet you back at the berthing area.”

I abruptly stop from Michaels’ sudden moves. “Hey, where’re you going?”

Michaels stops as soon as he turns the corner. The only parts visible are his head and half of his body. “I, uh, gotta’ find Pelayo. It’ll be quick, promise.”

I tilt my head slightly confused. “Why? We’re all heading to our berths to get ready. We might as well wait until the rest come.”

“No, no. It’s fine. It’s, like, really important,” Michaels says quickly, slowly backing away. “I just need to tell him something really important. Be right back.” Before I even have a chance to talk, Michaels vanishes from behind the corner. I quickly follow suit, but stop immediately as soon as I turn the corner, staring at my friend now jogging down the corridor.

As I finally lose sight of him behind the wall of Marines and sailors, I shake my head and resume walking down the corridor back to our berthing room, though at a slower pace. What can possibly be so important at this time Michaels needs to tell one of our squad mates something so urgently?


The briefing room is almost packed filled with Marine platoon and squad leaders, all of them geared up. Some of them are veterans like First Sergeant Keane, while the rest are new like Lieutenant Martins and Staff Sergeant Alcatraz. Standing in the front beside a large whiteboard are four company leaders of the 11th Expeditionary Unit: Captain Stanton of Bravo Company, Captain Haywood of Charlie Company, Captain Thomson of Weapons Company and Executive Officer Harpor of Logistics Battalion 11. Two sailors accompany the front room as well: Chief Petty Officer Bekkens and Lieutenant Bowes of Command and Control.

“This unmarked vessel was completely out of radar until it was discovered just a few hours ago,” Lieutenant Bowes explains, pulling down a white canvas. At the same time, Captain Haywood turns off the lights, and a projector turns on to show a radar image. In it, a red circle with a faint dot is seen around the upper right side from the center.

The latest intel we got is the vessel is approximately twenty-five nautical miles away, with estimated speeds between seventy and seventy-five knots.” Staff Sergeant Alcatraz turns to take a glance at Lieutenant Martins, only to see him having a pondering look on his face. “There has been no verbal response from the vessel as of now for the past thirty minutes. The only thing we have now is this sound…”

The projector switches to a toolbar of a media player and begins playing. It first starts off as a bunch of static screeches for a brief three seconds, startling most of the Marines, before fading into what sounds like buzzing noises and faint cries mixed with more static that lasts for seven seconds until the audio finally ends.

“Ever seen anything like this, First Sergeant?” Staff Sergeant Alcatraz leans to First Sergeant Keane, who shakes his head.

“Not in my previous two.”

Chatters and murmurs emerge from the Marines as Lieutenant Bowes returns to the exact spot where he was before and resumes speaking. “That is the only reply we got…” Keane too has a troubled look on his face as the lieutenant continues, when he notices something off the corner of his eyes. Chief Petty Officer Bekkens is leaning against the wall off to the right where Bowes is, rubbing his eyes as if he is feeling drowsy. Keane even notices Captain Stanton glancing over at him a couple times.

“...Therefore, all Marine personnel will provide relief efforts at Fleet Activities Sasebo while Strike Group Eleven will conduct search and rescue off the east. Strike Group Five will follow suit three days after and conduct searches down south,” Bowes finishes. The first sergeant blinks a few times, realizing he has not been paying attention to the new task that is being assigned to them. Or, was being assigned.

Lieutenant Bowes steps to the side, allowing Captain Stanton to take over the briefing.

“Now, as you may all have heard,” the captain begins, taking a quick moment for a deep breath. “U-S-S Green Bay and Germantown reported to the fleet of the names of the ships. To inform you all, they are the Bonhomme Richard, Ashland and J-D-S Ariake.” Once again, the room erupts into small chats.

“That’s almost a goddamn entire M-E-U,” Alcatraz leans to Keane again in shock.

“I know,” the first sergeant replies, rubbing his chin. “You wonder how...”

“You betting on aliens?”

“Possibly. But aliens come from space.”

“Do we have a lead of what happened?” a Marine raises his hand.

“Unfortunately, no,” Stanton replies. “But, our main suspicion could be the storm.” The projector changes again, showing a satellite image of the entire Pacific Ocean with a large cluster of storm clouds block almost a quarter of the image. There are also highlights of two colors indicating a certain item: the ones marked in red are outlines of different countries through the clouds. And a blue X is seen just east from where Hawaii is, obviously the fleet.

NASA at the International Space Station was on watch last night and snapped this image,” Stanton explains. “According to our A-G, the storm was emerging just southwest from Japan before expanding out south and west until it reached Hawaii. And that’s where things get a little unsettling…” The image transitions to a repeating seven-second clip of the storm. Marines whisper to each other as the video presents the irregular rhombus-shaped storm emitting a dozen bright green flashes of lightning at almost every frame before the clip repeats.

The projector turns off, and the lights turn back on, nearly blinding the Marines. Captain Stanton steps forward until he is in front of the white canvas.

“Eyewitness reports stated all personnel stationed in Sasebo experienced last night was nothing they have seen before,” he says. “They claimed what they saw was… some sort of bright green light that knocked out all power within a two mile radius.” Once again, the room fills up with small chatters before Lieutenant Bowes steps up next to the captain.

“Remember,” he announces. “Once we deal with the vessel, the Nimitz strike group will commence search and rescue for our lost ships while we rendezvous with the Curtis Wilbur, Stethem and Antietam at Sasebo for relief efforts. From there, Strike Group Five will follow suit three days later.”

“The Essex has already sent out a Sea Stallion with a Force Recon team to the vessel’s last known location,” Captain Haywood adds in. “Sampson has launched a U-A-V for surveillance and support for the team. We’ll be waiting for the results shortly.” The rest of the Marines nod their heads.

“Lieutenant Martins,” Stanton points to the new platoon leader. “Take a squad leader and four of your best men to the bridge. Lieutenant Bollins, take a squad leader and a machine gun team to the area as well, secure the rear forward island. There are some heavy machine gun turrets there, but I want some men up there in case the vessel we approach are pirates or another nation. Or, worst case scenario, something that is not of our own.”

“Lieutenant Mason,” Captain Haywood calls out next. “Take a squad and head to the aft flight deck. We’re expecting some Ospreys that are scheduled for landing as soon as all cargo is secure below decks. So stay sharp once they come in.”

“Everyone else who is part of C-L-B Eleven,” Executive Officer Harpor says, “send your men to the vehicle and well decks, and secure the cargo delivered from topside.” The rest of the Marines nod their heads and reply a slight mixed up ‘aye, sir’.

“The rest of you, get your platoons set!” Lieutenant Bowes orders finally. “We may be facing a threat we have not come across before, so I want all eyes sharp and ready for anything. Let’s go!”


“Anchor Three-five, what’s your position, over?” a operations specialist says as he and Commander Gaines both concentrate on the radar screen in front of them. Hovering almost on top of operator, Gaines rubs his dreary eyes, not only from the tiredness and stress, but from being in the dimly lit command and control room staring at a screen for over half an hour.

“Three-five to Anchorage, we’re approaching the vessel’s last known position. E-T-A, one mike, over,” replies the CH-53E pilot, callsign Anchor 3-5. Commander Gaines can hear it over the headphones he is wearing. He watches the blinking dot that is the helicopter on radar slowly approaching the smaller blip of the unknown contact.

“Do you have visual on the contact, over?” the sailor says.

“Uh, that’s a negative… no visual contact.”

Commander Gaines and the sailor stare at each other for a while puzzled. Checking the radar screen again, they see the Sea Stallion almost directly above the contact’s known position.

“Anchor Three-five, radar scans show you are almost directly on top of the contact,” the specialist says over the mic.

At the same time, Gaines turns over to another sitting several meters next to them. “Is the Scan Eagle in position?”

“U-A-V will be in position in seven mike, sir,” the sailor replies.

“Roger that,” the Sea Stallion pilot replies. “We still have no visual conta— wait… there’s something glowing down there.”

“Three-five, please verify,” the operation specialist says, with Gaines returning to staring at the screen and pressing the headphones close to his ears.

“Visual contact on something coming out of the water… Goddamn, that’s bright…” Commander Gaines holds his breath. His eyes are straining as they are glued on the blinking dot that is the helicopter directly over the unknown contact.

“Three-five, can you describe what you see, over?” Both the sailor and Gaines wait impatiently for their answer.

“It’s… a bright light… we go—ual. It look— be some— rising out.” Static slowly blocks out some of the pilot’s chattering. The specialist turns a few knobs to reestablish the connection, when a low buffering grumble enters through the headphones. It sounds as if there is a low humming growl wanting to let out a scream, while the static only makes it even more sinister.

“Anchor Three-five, repeat your last, over,” the sailor says, the eerie noise showing no signs of leaving.

“Ancho— you copy? Repea— we’re— shit!! Conta—! We’re und—!” The radio suddenly shrieks into the men’s headphones, startling them immensely before quickly dying off into a subtle static.

“Anchor Three-five,” the operation specialist announces over the mic after barely recovering from the outburst. “Anchor Three-five! Do you copy?” Commander Gaines watches in shock as the two dots suddenly disappear off the screen. A helicopter has just vanished from radar, along with the unknown vessel. And they couldn’t do anything about it!

“Commander!” a sailor calls from the other side of the room. “Bridge requests your presence immediately!”

Commander Gaines takes off his headphones, unable to make an answer. Instead, he silently makes his way to the door to the point of running without giving an order. The entire command and control room is silent and staring until the commander leaves, knowing they just lost a helo full of Marines, and something they are unable to make contact with.


I make a quick inspection with my ILBE assault backpack, counting out the spare ammunition I have before writing them down on my notepad. Once I complete that, I quickly move to the second and third smaller compartments, which contains my iPod, journal and book that I am in the middle of reading.

“Okay,” I mumble to myself as I check and recheck everything I have spread out on my berth, including my tactical vest. “H-E pockets, ten. Mags, eighteen. Twelve gauge, twenty-four. Beretta mags, six.” I take a deep sigh, finally to relieve a little pressure inside that I completed my checklist almost thrice.

“Hey, Brooke,” a Marine calls out of my berthing area. As I look out, I see him standing just a couple meters from the berthing area. “You got a mag to spare?”

“Yeah, here,” I answer, taking out an empty magazine from my ILBE assault backpack and tossing it to him. “You owe me one, now.”

“Yeah, yeah. I gotcha’,” the Marine replies after catching it with one hand, and returns to his berthing area. I shake my head and chuckle under my breath as I prepare to dress in my combat gear. Before that, I poke my head out of my berthing area at the room. All I see is half of the other squad of my platoon, and a few boys of my squad: Private Darwin, Corporal Carter and Corporal Hernandez. I still don’t know where the rest of my friends are. But, I can’t worry about it too much.

I begin putting on my gear, first slipping on my improved modular tactical vest (IMTV) before moving on to the rest of everything. Next, I clip on a holster, a kneepad and a couple pistol magazine pouches around my legs, and an empty 12 round 40-millimeter holder belt around my waist. Finally, I put on my elbow pads. Before I pack in all my empty magazines, I double-check my tactical vest to make sure everything is in place. I adjust the straps and twist my body around to make sure everything is secure and comfortable. It has been a while since I last worn it fully loaded, but the weight and comfort is still familiar.

All the while, I can hear the conversations and call outs from within the room and outside from Marines as they get ready to face a potential threat. I take one last deep breath to slow down my rapidly beating heart. It’s hard to believe that I am finally going to combat. It will be scary, and it will be exhilarating. My hands can’t stop shaking. After a few deep breaths, I can feel myself slowing down. This is really happening.

I shake my head after daydreaming when the alarm goes off, followed by an announcement over the PA.

“General quarters. General quarters. All hands report to your stations.” I quickly zip up my assault backpack, and close the curtain on my sit-up berth. Struggling for a bit, I manage to strap the heavy backpack over me.

“Let’s go, let’s go!” I hear one of the Marines from first squad cry out, followed by the beating sound of boots hitting the floor as they rush out the room.

“We’ll see you on deck two!” Corporal Carter calls out. An ‘Oorah’ is said from one of the other Marines as they leave. I rush out of my berthing area, double-checking my locker is properly closed. The first thing I see is Carter, Hernandez and Darwin still in the room.

“Brooke, you seen Michaels and Pelayo?” Darwin asks.

I shake my head. “No. Last time I saw them was when they grabbed their shit and bolted out a minute before you guys came in here.”

“I told you,” Hernandez says in a harsh tone. “Them fuckers are always like that.”

Corporal Raphael Hernandez, according to Sergeant Mendez, is the typical person one would find in a part of town where all the crimes happen. For a fact, all of us know he has the attitude of a nagging wife, and spent more of his life at an anger management school than out in a suburban town full of gangs.

“Well, we’re sure as hell not waiting for them,” Carter says, putting his radio in one of his pouches. Making a quick check on his helmet before putting it on, the sound of footsteps catch our attention as PFC Michaels and Private Pelayo rush into the room.

“Where the hell have you been?” Darwin asks almost irritatingly.

“Staff Sergeant is gathering a small team,” Michaels replies, catching his breath. “He ordered us, Kanye and Brooke to wait here until he arrives.”

“Well, I’m already here,” I raise my hand. “Haven’t seen West, though.”

“Well, take care, you guys,” Carter says while adjusting the mic of his headset. “We gotta’ go, though. Lieutenant Martins is expecting us down in deck two with first squad.”

“You boys have fun, then,” Michaels says, he and Pelayo stepping to the side as the three Marines jog out of the berthing room.

The entire berthing room feels awkwardly quiet for a brief moment, save for the random shouts coming from the corridor as I make the last adjustments to my gear. That’s when I decide to speak first to Private Pelayo.

“How you doing, Pelayo?”

“Yeah… I’m good,” the kid replies, his voice giving away a hint of nervousness.

Private Paul Pelayo is the youngest Marine in our squad. Just 18-years-old, he is a high school graduate with incredibly curly dark scarlet hair. He and Michaels knew each other since high school, and he was the first introduced to me before we joined the Marines. Although he has the heart of a timid child, no other Marine in our squad has the reflexes other than a ninja compared to Pelayo.

Clipping the last elbow pad on, I lift my head up to notice Pelayo’s face has a look of uneasiness and scratching his head under his helmet, while Michaels has an expression of uncertainty. Before I can comment of what is bothering them, Staff Sergeant Alcatraz, our new squad leader, steps in with Corporal West close behind.

“Marines,” Alcatraz calls out.

“Staff Sergeant,” I reply, the three of us standing at attention.

“Apologies for taking a while. Meeting was a bit longer than expected. Has Lieutenant Martins informed you of the situation?”

“Aye, sir.” Alcatraz signals us to follow, and so we did. He exits the berthing room with me close behind, then Michaels, Pelayo and West.

“L-T briefed us that we’ll be meeting up with Second Platoon on the bridge, right?”

“That’s affirmative,” Alcatraz nods. I turn around to make sure the others are following. Sure enough, they are, but Pelayo and Michaels has their heads down with the worrisome look still plastered on their faces.

“Just to let you know, kid, Lieutenant Martins put me in charge of this,” Staff Sergeant continues talking. I immediately snap my head back to him. “He even told me you also have the skills as a good team leader. You really showed it back on RIMPAC.”

“Uh, yes, sir,” I nod my head.

“Alright. We may need that for later. We’ll head first to the armory, get whatever you boys need.”


Looking through his binoculars, Rear Admiral Shane watches the last F/A-18E Super Hornet takes to the skies via the carrier’s steam powered catapult.

“Teams One and Two of Squadron One-Four-Seven are in the air, sir,” a petty officer announces behind a monitor.

“Order Team One to set a perimeter around the strike group,” Shane orders. “Send Team Two to Anchor Three-five’s last known position. We need to find them.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

The rear admiral returns to his look out position. A hundred meters ahead are the ships Spruance, Princeton and Michael Murphy. Far off the port side is the USS Howard pushing through the waves passing the Essex. And at the same time to the starboard is the USS Halsey going by the Anchorage. He ordered both of them to the frontlines as additional support after losing contact with the Sea Stallion Anchor 3-5, and he is taking no risk after being informed what happened at Sasebo.

He looks at his watch to check the time. It has been over ten minutes since Team Two of Strike Fighter Squadron 147 have taken off, and he is growing anxious to hear the results. To distract himself, the admiral looks down at the flight deck. Crewmen in colorful jackets hurry to clean up the four catapults before scrambling to the edge platforms or to the island.

“Admiral,” a sailor calls from behind one of the monitors. “C-I-C received something from Jason Five. They found something.” The admiral quickly turns around and rushes over to the sailor on the monitor.

“What did they find?” he quickly asks.

“Don’t know, sir. Whatever they found, it’s close.” The sailor presses a few switches. “Establishing communications now.” At the same time, Shane picks up a spare set of headphones and places them over his head.

“Jason Five, this is Nimitz,” the sailor announces over the mic.

Nimitz, this is Jason One-five. We are currently tracking… something, bearing east. Speed is unknown. Coordinates as follows; Bravo two-four-point-three-eight north, Delta one-seven-point-two-four west. How copy, over?”

“Solid copy, Jason One-five,” the petty officer replies. “Standby.”

“Coordinates received,” an operator from the combat information center (CIC) says. “Standby.”

The sailor turns up to Admiral Shane, wondering what he should do now while they wait. “Ask Team Two what they found,” the admiral orders almost urgently.

“Jason One-five, can you describe what you see, over?” the sailor says quite hesitantly.

“It’s… it’s uh, difficult to say. It’s… green gems. Just a tower of green gems. It’s just floating, has no platform, and is currently on the move… over.”

“C-I-C has a fix on the object, admiral,” another sailor says next to the admiral.

“What’s the distance?” Shane asks.

“Approximately twelve nautical miles due west. Five miles from where we lost contact with Anchor Three-five.” The admiral remains silent for another long few seconds, blankly staring at the screen in front of him until his mind finally comes up with a response.

“Inform Jason Five to keep us updated on that object. Monitor it at a safe distance. Prep up Seahawks once we have visual contact at whatever the hell that thing is.”

“Aye aye, sir.”


After exiting the armory, Staff Sergeant Alcatraz, Private Pelayo, Corporal West, Private First Class Michaels and myself start making our way through the maze-like hallways of the Anchorage to the bridge.

“Lieutenant, this is Alcatraz. We’re enroute to the bridge right now,” Staff Sergeant speaks into the intercom.

“Roger that. Whole fleet is on alert now. They have visual contact of the object at approximately nine miles out and closing in fast. You better get up there.”

“Copy that. We’re moving.” We slowly start to pick up the pace whenever we get the chance. I look down at my rifle for a quick check-up: a standard M16A4 fitted with a Trijicon ACOG sight, a PEQ-16A laser designator attached to the right of the barrel, and an M203 underbarrel grenade launcher. After checking, and nothing out of the ordinary, I continue to keep up the pace with my team.

I can feel my heart starting to race, pumping the adrenaline through every vein in my body. Yet, my hands holding my rifle would not stop shaking, and the sweat starts to build up through my hair under my helmet. Not because of the pacing through the hallways to find the bridge, but wondering what might happen when we encounter the unknown vessel. Will it be an enemy warship? Or, just a cargo ship captured? I’m pretty sure everyone in the entire fleet is also thinking about it.

After almost ten minutes of walking around, we managed to make it to the bridge, less time than I anticipated. Staff Sergeant opens the heavy door and steps in.

“Marines on deck!” commands a sailor, all geared up with a tan-colored helmet and a pair of heavy gloves. We all walk in the bridge, with me coming last and closing the door behind. The bridge is larger than I expected as well, with just a little more room than a destroyer. On opposite sides of the bridge, are two doors that lead to the bridge wings. The entire room fills with silence as all sailors and officers stare at us. Standing next to Commander Gaines are five Marines from Second Platoon. One Marine walks up to Staff Sergeant Alcatraz.

“First Platoon?” he says.

“That’s affirmative,” Staff Sergeant nods staring into the Marine’s dark brown eyes.

“ ‘Bout time you boys showed up,” the Marine teases, but not enough to put a smirk on our faces.

“Alright, people! Let’s move! Get to work!” Commander Gaines barks. Everyone in the room, all of them geared up, scrambles again back to their monitors and stations. The commander walks up to Staff Sergeant Alcatraz. “Staff Sergeant Alcatraz?”

“Aye, sir,” Alcatraz nods.

“Good. Object has been spotted at least four nautical miles out and closing in fast. We got four destroyers and a cruiser sent to the front lines. You guys get the starboard wing, other team’s got the rear.”

“Aye, commander.” Alcatraz starts moving to the door on the right, with us following.

“Let’s move, Marines!” shouts the Marine walking back to his team.

We exit outside, getting a gust of cool wind and the warm sun radiating down as it is high in the sky. Already, there are two sailors all geared up, one of them manning an M2 heavy machine gun that had just been mounted on the railing. Perpendicular to our right, is an M240B machine gun turret with one sailor by it. A few more sailors take position behind down the bridge wing of the forward superstructure.

“Marines, set up,” Staff Sergeant Alcatraz commands in a regular tone. Ahead of the aircraft carrier by a hundred meters is the cruiser Princeton and destroyers Michael Murphy and Halsey.

“Estimated visual contact, five miles!” a sailor cries out, looking through a pair of binoculars straight ahead. I snap back to the front view, searching frantically for the vessel through my riflescope. While my eyes are suffering through the gusting wind, I spot it. From my point of view, I see it just behind the Princeton the moment the cruiser bumps over a tiny wave, steering her a tad to the left. However, confusion, shock and curiosity sweep over me. This is not a ship, or anything related to one.


Commander Gaines watches through his binoculars at the large spiked object, now at less than three miles between it and the fleet, and showing no signs of slowing down.

“All units, halt, halt,” the radio goes off. “Standby for further orders.”

“Spence, kill the engines,” Gaines orders. There is no reply from the helmsman, not even the engines shutting down. When the commander quickly turns around, he quickly notices Seaman Spence staring endlessly ahead, completely oblivious to his command or to his surroundings.

“Spence. Spence!” Gaines calls out two more times. Spence quickly regains his senses and stares at the commander for a brief moment.

“Kill engines, now.” Commander Gaines says.

Spence takes a deep breath and nods, sweat slowly starting to build up. “A-aye, sir.” He does exactly the commander orders, and lowers the throttles until the massive vessel slows down along with the rest of the fleet.

“All ships are on halt, commander,” a petty officer says to the commander.

“Hold position. Have all turrets aim at whatever that is,” Gaines responds and holds up his binoculars at the object, now at least a mile away in front of the fleet.


The ship rocks back and forth after it stops, almost throwing us slightly off balance. I grab on to the railing to stabilize myself after the ship settles down. I lower my rifle to get a picture of how far the object is. Awe strikes me instantly, my mouth nearly dropping open at the sight of the floating object.

It is a large floating tower of green crystals. A giant tall gem sits in the middle of at least five smaller ones about half of its height, extending a few degrees in an off-angle position. At the base are hundreds of smaller crystals acting as a buoy.

My thoughts, lost and distracted at the beauty of this crystal that is taller than a destroyer, are quickly yanked away at the sound of spinning rotor blades. Two MH-60S Seahawks fly past the Anchorage port side, followed by a third being launched from the Nimitz, all head straight towards the ominous crystal. A team of four F/A-18 Super Hornets flies overhead from behind it, with a second squad swooping in from our right. Their roaring engines drown any background noise in my ears until they quickly subside.

“The hell is that?” says a sailor holding on to the triggers of the M2 machine gun.

“Don’t know, kid. Don’t know,” another replies shaking his head.

“Knighthawks, do not engage,” a radio goes off. “Repeat, do not engage. Standby and await further orders.” I watch as the three helicopters split up and surround the crystal as it mysteriously comes to a standstill at about half a mile away.

“Thunder Three-four, solid copy. Standing by.”

“Sparrow Two-one, standing by.”

“Victor Three-three, standing by.”

Despite the low hum of the ships running, the whipping sound of the helicopters and the distant howling of the fighter jets preparing for another passover, everything around me feels eerily quiet. My eyes are focused mainly at the strange thing. It looks something out of a typical alien movie, but it’s a giant crystal. I veer my eyes to my left to Michaels standing next to me, seeing how he is reacting. Just as I suspected, he has a serious expression on his face compared to the sailors on his left looking shocked.

“All units, standby. Prepare for—” The radio suddenly shuts down by a loud squeal when the crystal emits a blind light and a low shaky ‘boom’. It sounds as if someone is playing music with the bass set to max with a tripping effect. The brightness becomes almost unbearable, and the rumbling sound fiddles my eardrums. Using a hand to shield my eyes, I try my best to see what is going on. Then, the light fades and the sound diminishes in a second.

“The hell?!” one of the sailors shout.

“What the hell is it doing?” Pelayo asks, his voice trembling as he rubs his eyes.

“Stay focused, Marines!” Staff Sergeant Alcatraz orders.

Without warning, the vessel jolts when the sound of its engines comes to life. I suddenly feel a panic of what is going on. I begin to notice we are moving.

“The hell’s going on?!” the first sailor shouts.

“Staff Sergeant!” Michaels calls out to our squad leader standing close to the door of the bridge.

“Stay here!” Alcatraz orders, running inside to check what is going on.

“Staff Sarge!” I try to call out, but Alcatraz already rushes inside.

Upon entering the bridge, Alcatraz halts just a couple steps inside, his eyes staring at Chief Petty Officer Bekkens and a sailor rushing towards the helmsman.

“Spence! What the hell are you doing?!” the sailor screams. Seaman Spence, the ship’s helmsman, doesn’t respond. His hand is tightly placed on the throttle lever to full speed, his face is pale as if he is seasick, and his eyes are glued straightforward at the crystal.

“Spence! What’re you doing?!” Commander Gaines barks at the helmsman. “Cut off engines! That’s an order!” Again, Spence ignores his commander’s order, and presses down on the throttles harder. Something is not right with the kid. The two sailors grab hold of the kid’s arms, prying them free of the throttle and the wheel.

“Spence! Let go! Now!”

Staff Sergeant Alcatraz takes into action, he and Commander Gaines rushing to the sailors’ aids. The Marine takes hold of Spence’s hand firmly on the throttle, while the commander takes the other on the wheel. The two sailors grab hold of the kid’s shoulders and upper torso, pulling him with all of their might.

“Spence! Let go!” Bekkens shouts again.

“Sh-she’s talking… she’s talking…” Spence grunts through the struggle.

“What the hell are you talking about?!”

With one last pull, the men pry Spence free, shoving him against the wall. One of the sailors speedily lowers the throttles, bringing the USS Anchorage to a slow halt.

“Spence! Spence, look at me!” Commander Gaines shakes the deranged sailor’s shoulders, getting him to come back. All he receives is a look from the helmsman like his soul has been taken. “Spence! Pull yourself together! What happened?!”

“Sh-she… t-talk…” the seaman officer shakily mumbles. “Th-they’re… they’re coming…”

Alcatraz watches as the commander frantically waves his hand and snaps his fingers in front of the young officer’s pale sweaty face, getting him back to reality. The poor kid only replies by saying nonsensical words. The Marine feels a shiver run to his very bones. He has never seen anyone in a state of shock like he is seeing right now.

“Anchorage, this— Nimitz!” the radio goes off in the bridge. “What the hell— goin— on?!”

“Commander!” another petty officer calls from a monitor.

“Roland. Take Spence to the sick bay,” Gaines orders to the two sailors, running around to the radio before they could reply.

“Aye aye, sir,” the sailor nods

“I’ll go with him, sir!” Bekkens offers. Gaines quickly allows it, and jumps back to the radio.

“Admiral!” the commander yells as soon as he grabs the mic. “Admiral, do you copy?!”

“What’s going— there, comma—? You are on— fro— lines…” The line suddenly disconnects, forcing a frustrated groan from the commander.

“Dammit! Collins, what’s going on?!”

“Don’t know, sir,” a different sailor answers from a monitor. “There’s too much interference. We can’t contact any of the ships nearby.”

“Raikes, what’s our position?!” Gaines turns to a third.

“We’re in the frontlines, sir! Whatever Spence did, he pushed the throttles to the max!” The commander grows silent, figuring out what the hell is going on. In fact, that’s what everyone in the bridge is doing.


“Boost the signal!” Admiral Shane orders the crewmen on the bridge of the Nimitz. He quickly switches to his binoculars over at the Anchorage, now almost between the Princeton and Halsey by probably less than a hundred meters behind.

“Interference is way too strong, sir!” one of the sailors replies back. “We’re unable to contact any of the ships nearby!”

“Incoming!!” The whole crew is interrupted by a secondary flash of light from the crystal, followed by a large wave blasted from it heading in their direction. The admiral watches as the first ships on the frontline ride over it like a surfboard. They rock violently around as the wave heads straight for the rest of the fleet. As the wave hits the Anchorage next, the admiral has mere seconds left before it hits the aircraft carrier.

“Brace for impact!!” The bow of the aircraft carrier shoots straight up, knocking everyone off their feet. The island is then hit by a loud sonic boom not even a millisecond later. Some of the windows burst into pieces flying in all directions, and most of the rest crack upon impact. The ship tumbles forward, displacing some fighter jets from their locks, and sending one tipping over the edge.


Water rushes over the bow and on to the main deck of the Anchorage as she tips downward like we are riding on a rapid. Bodies tumble all around as the ship rises back up forcibly. A loud ring pierces my eardrums. I groan in pain, clutching my hands over my ears to stop the ringing. I can barely hear the cries from the others. Everything I see is so blurry. It feels like forever until my vision and hearing returns, but the pain is still there.

“Is everyone okay?!” a voice screams. I can’t tell who it is.

“Get up! Get up!”

I shake my head vigorously while I sit on my hands and knees. When the ringing finally subsides completely, I grab hold to the rails as tightly as possible. My heart won’t stop pounding as I struggle to get back up. Even though it lasted almost thirty seconds, it seems to go for more than an hour. My legs feel like they have been broken from when the wave collided with the amphibious transport dock.

“You guys okay?!” A sailor asks helping me up.

I nod my head. “O-oorah.” I turn around to see Pelayo being helped by West, struggling to take deep breaths.

“Take i’ easy, man!” West comforts the private. I spot Michaels by the corner, and drag to him.

“Michaels! You okay?” I ask, helping Michaels stand straight up.
“I’m good, I’m good,” he replies and pats me on the shoulder. His face is completely white and his ears are red like a tomato.

Staff Sergeant Alcatraz slowly stands up to his feet, his ears slightly deafened from the sonic boom. He feels a couple cuts on his face when the windows shattered. Looking around the bridge, which somehow is filled with a light blanket of vapor, most of the people are lying on the ground groaning in pain from the blast, most of them in critical condition due to the windows. Some of the windows are shattered, letting in the ocean breeze, while the rest that are still holding have major cracks, including the screens on the monitors. He spots Commander Gaines getting up along with several other sailors, helping out the others. He can see Gaines’ mouth moving as if he is shouting, but can barely hear anything as his ears still have that ringing tone.

Alcatraz continues to pan around the bridge, experiencing a dizziness coming around in his head, as the ringing never seems to fade in his ears. He rubs his eyes to force him to stay focused, only to flinch after feeling a sharp pain from one of his cuts.

“…Sergeant!” Alcatraz twirls around, leaning against a plotting table after nearly stumbling. His ears still have the high-pitched ring, muffling out any of the background sounds.

“…Sergeant!” The Marine blinks a few times and shakes his head. The muffling begins to disappear. “Staff Sergeant!” Alcatraz lifts his head up to see Commander Gaines making his way to him, a small area of his face covered in blood from a cut on his upper cheek.

“Staff Sergeant!” the commander yells at him again, shaking Alcatraz’s shoulders until his hearing fully returns. “Get back outside, and tell the crewmen to signal to the nearest ship! ‘Fire warning shot’! Now!”

Alcatraz nods before stumbling his way to the door outside. “A-aye, sir!” As he does, he takes a quick glance at the surroundings. Half of the crewmen escort the wounded out of the bridge, some of them have half of their faces covered in blood. All monitors have gone static, as most sailors try to operate them.

“Raikes! Status!” the commander continues giving orders to the female officer.

“Systems have gone haywire! Nothing’s responding!”

“Gallin, what about the ship’s controls?!” Gaines turns to the next sailor behind the helm. He pushes and pulls the throttles again several times, but nothing works.

“Engines are not responding!” Gallin replies. He taps the monitors and touchscreens only to find the same result. “All monitors are being interfered!”

“You two!” Staff Sergeant Alcatraz cries out the moment he bursts out from the bridge. The moment we all turn to see him, my eyes shoot wide full of shock when I notice two cuts on either side of his face. He points to two sailors manning a turret next to a signal light.

“Sir?” one of them turns around.

“Signal to that ship right now! Commander’s orders, ‘Fire warning shot’!”

“Aye! Signaling to Halsey! ‘Fire warning shot’!” The two sailors get to work on the signal light to the USS Halsey just at our two o’clock, while Staff Sergeant Alcatraz sets up between two other sailors with an M2 machine gun and I.

“Get ready, Marines!” Alcatraz orders, setting up between two sailors and I.

“Aye, Staff Sergeant!”

A minute later, the Halsey’s Mark 45 naval gun fires a shot in the air. We all turn our heads toward the source of the loud ‘bang’. The 5-inch round wisps at low level passing the crystal by meters.

“Warning shot—. Repe— shot fired,” a radio statically goes off from one of the three helicopters still hovering close to the crystal.

Everything falls silent, maybe too silent. The fleet holds their breath for anything else, bracing for anything that might surprise us. But, there is nothing. No sound except for the rushing wind and waves, and the choppers hovering at a decent distance just above the structure. Nothing for a full fifteen seconds, which feels forever with the situation we are dealing now.

“Jason O—. Standby to—gage, over.”

“Th-that’s it?” Pelayo breaks the quietness. Before we could answer, the green crystal interrupts us by shining again, this time, not as bright as the first time.

“Oh shit!” A loud and low, metallic sound starts echoing all around, like the sound of something powering up. Everyone shields their eyes. As the light slowly dims, I get a vivid view at the crystal again. The tall gem beams a hard light down to one of the five smaller ones surrounding it. Before long, the said crystal glows, the revering sound growing louder at a higher frequency, then shoots a large beam of hard light directly at the USS Halsey next to us giving a loud screech as it fires.

Green crystals grow on the surface of the destroyer the moment the beam makes contact, first engulfing the bridge at such an alarming rate. In less than three seconds, I watch as the bridge is consumed, followed by the gems piercing through the steel hull as it spreads like a virus. The Halsey suddenly erupts in an immense green mixed with yellow and orange fire the minute the light beam ceases. Burning metal and crystals disperse all around as the destroyer rips itself open in sheer explosions.

“Shit!!” one of the sailors scream. “Fuckin’ shit!”

Everyone quickly ducks behind anything that is cover. I can feel myself shaking uncontrollably, and sweat quickly building up all around. I slowly rise over the railing to look at what remains of the destroyer. It is nothing but a floating wreckage of twisted metal and fire. As if for once, I could never be as scared as those on board the Halsey.

“Fuckin’ hell!”

Michaels quickly stands back up, his eyes growing in fear and shock the minute he looks at the site of what was once a ship containing men and women.

“H-holy—” he stutters off the last bit of words. I never seen him so scared in my entire life.Everyone grows silent, only staring at the burning wreckage now starting to sink beneath the waves.

“This is Sparrow Two—. U-S-S Halsey has—ired upon! I repe—, Halsey is down and sinking!”

“All un—! All units! Comme—ire. I say— commence fire!”

It is barely five seconds, and I can’t stop my thundering heart from calming down. My deafened ears that are just clearing up immediately catch the familiar sound as the Seahawks commence fire. Two of them spray hot lead at an incredible rapid pace, no doubt from gatling guns. The third bombards the crystal from a single-barreled heavy machine gun. From my view, they look more like mere insects circling a plant. They barely put a scratch on the surface.

“Engage! Eng—!”

Another few seconds later, the loud ‘bang’ of the USS Princeton’s forward cannon silences the background noise for a brief second, but misses the crystal. Soon, the Michael Murphy, Howard and Spruance join the fight. They blindly fire their Mark 45 guns at the towering gem, the 5-inch rounds cutting through the air missing their target sitting idly like a buoy.

Compared to them, all we can do is sit and watch while the radio screams out static words from the destroyers, the cruiser and aircraft. Majority of us yearns to pull the trigger and sink this alien behemoth. But, we can’t. With the Princeton almost blocking the view, we can’t risk engaging, for we might accidentally hit her. To add to the problem, everything on the ship is not responding after that shockwave, and our rifles and machine guns can’t reach that distance where the crystal is floating. All we can do is standby, watch and wait until something else happens, or until we get the hell out of here.

“All shi—, engage. Engage n—”

“Our sys— are inoperable, an—!”

“We are unable to loc— on, and are ex—ing major interference! Wh—‘s the air sup—?!”

“This is Jas— one, coming do— on target. Four mi—”

Through the fierce firing, and the air slowly smelling like gunpowder carried by the wind, finally, a round from one of the destroyers hit its mark. A small section of the gem explodes in a fiery blaze of green and orange upon impact, however leaving only a hole looking like a tiny dent. The tallest gem begins lighting up again, the revering sound of it charging up and sending another hard light to a different crystal. It starts glowing and prepares to attack again.

“It’s fuckin’ charging up again!!” We all hug the guardrail, but keep our heads up to see what is happening. I can feel my breath start to quicken as the crystal reveres up, fearing the worst.

“Thunder Three— evade! Evade!” I can hear one of the Seahawk pilots scream from one of the radio channels. The beam strikes one of the helicopters, slicing off its tail rotor clean off and sending the MH-60S tumbling.

“We’re goi— ah!!” The chopper dives into the water, with its tail engulfed in crystals, and the rotor blades churning up the water as it sinks beneath the waves. I close my eyes, gripping the rail tightly. The only thing I can hear is someone yell ‘Fuckin’ hell’. I look back up over the guardrail, seeing the destroyers and cruiser still engaging and the remaining two Seahawks attempting to back away. Two more rounds, each from two destroyers, collide with the crystal in a popping ‘boom’. The colossal gem slowly twirls and rolls around from the impact.

“Fuckin’ sink it!!” Michaels cheers.


Commander Gaines rushes around the bridge getting whatever crewmen he has back to their original stations.

“Gallin! Take control of the helm right now!” he orders. “Get us out of here!”

“Aye aye, sir!”

The commander turns around, finding Petty Officer Roland and Chief Petty Officer Bekkens lifting the traumatized Seaman Spence to carry him out. “Bekkens, get Spence to the sick bay!”

“We’re doing that, sir!” Bekkens replies loudly, his hearing not yet fully recovered.

As both men drag the kid to the door, Spence suddenly wrestles himself free and lashes out a scream. “No!! They’re coming! They’re coming!!”

“Spence! Spence, calm down!” Bekkens and Roland try to restrain the wailing sailor, catching the attention of the whole bridge while the gunfight still goes on strong.

“They’re coming! They’re coming!!” Spence continues screaming and flailing his arms around like a wild animal. Commander Gaines quickly jumps in and helps the two men.

“Spence! Get a hold of yourself! Who’s coming?!”

“Changelings! Changelings! She’s here!”

“The hell is he talking about?!” Roland grunts, he and Bekkens finally taking hold of the seaman’s arms.

“Commander!” another sailor shouts in a panicked manner from behind. When Gaines turns around, his eyes didn’t meet the sailor. Rather, he is staring out the broken windows at something emerging from the crystal.

“Mult—tacts! Re—! We got multi— contacts from the cr—!”

“Jaso—one, where the hell— that air sup—?!”

“Hit it w— everything we’ve got!”

With everyone now focused looking outside, all of them stare at a large swarm emerging from behind the crystal. The commander’s heart begins to race as the swarm grows bigger and heads straight towards the fleet.

“Direct all fire to whatever the hell that is!” he orders. “Do it! Now!”


“The hell are those things?!” Pelayo yells, rapidly readjusting his shoulder holding his rifle. The giant swarm breaks apart, each heading towards a ship in front of the Anchorage. I can hear the ‘pops’ and ‘bangs’ from small arms fire quickly fill the air as waves of what appears to be giant insects prepare launch to the ships.

“Just fuckin’ shoot ‘em!” the voice of a sailor shouts. In no time, the sudden sound of gunfire startles me. Everyone opens fire as the swarm of giant bugs passes the frontline, heading straight towards the LPD and the rest of the fleet. The Anchorage’s forward Mark 44 chain gun engages, carefully spewing out rounds at the growing hive without hitting the cruiser in front. Cannon fire from the front line continue to fire to their full potential barely puts a dent in the mass of giant bugs.

“Here they come!” Looking through my scope, I can see the swarm approaching us like men charging into battle. Their eyes glow bright blue like headlights in the dark.

I catch a look at the two Seahawks steering away from the crystal. Their two gunners barely stopping as the helicopters narrowly avoid the incoming wave of giant bugs.

“This is Victor Th—ree! We’re ta—eavy fire!”

“Pul—ck! Pull back!” I watch as the giant bugs surround and latch on to one of the Seahawks by the numbers, the helicopter swerving uncontrollably like a tiny boat in rough seas. The rotor blades strike and chop up the few creatures that get in the way, until they finally start to smoke and break apart, and the Seahawk prepares to plunge into the water.

“We’re hit! We—it!” The helicopter spins wildly at an angle, with bugs still clinging on to the fuselage and the side gunner still blazing. “Spar—one, we’re goin— d’ah!!” The chopper dives nose first into the waves, just feet from the base of the floating gem.

“Watch it! Watch it!” The crystal begins charging up again. With the colony of insects acting as a shield from the high velocity rounds, the crystal’s center gem glows intensely before firing a beam to the forward lower gem.

“It’s charging up again!!” Pelayo screams. I start to panic. It is going to hit us. It is aimed right at us. All I can do is just stare at it, as it feels like forever for the crystal to fire at us. I’m not ready to face my death. Not now. It’s too soon.

Then, it fires. I embrace the railing as tightly as possible in reaction.

“Take cover!!” a sailor screams. I’m already hugging the railing, awaiting the fate that happened to the USS Halsey.

The moment the crystal fires, we hear a loud explosion. I don’t feel anything. I am still here, on the bridge wing. I open one eye, first seeing PFC Michaels poking his head over the railing, as well as the rest of the crew. Another explosion, and the ship rumbles beneath. I look up frantically, seeing two plumes of rapid expanding smoke and fire between the crystal and us.

“Cover!” I turn around when I hear a ‘boom’, spotting a destroyer launching a missile from the bow. The missile climbs high before turning sharply in the direction of the crystal. But it’s too late. The crystal already charged fires at the missile right above our heads. The loud explosion nearly bursts my ears. Two more explosions follow suit almost instantly to the ship’s port side, as missiles attempting to charge in get blown up.

The swarm surrounding the crystal grows vigorous, both increasing in size and momentum as the structure begins to glow. It charges up again.

“Marines! Get ready!” Staff Sergeant Alcatraz yells. I check my magazine locked in my rifle, before placing it back after I know I have enough rounds. Without warning, a high-pitched screech fills the sky as the glowing brightens for an agonizing five seconds, before stopping. I rub my blurred eyes profusely to see the firing from all ships at the frontline has ceased completely. Did that sound just take out all our weapons?

“The hell?!”

The damaged crystal charging again interrupts us, the revering sound growing louder.

“Shit!” We brace ourselves again, expecting the worse to come. As the gem prepares to strike, a large detonation bursts from behind, rocking the island violently, and sending a portion of the swarm in disarray. A bright beam is fired, streaking past us by feet and throwing several sailors off their feet, but I can feel the intense power and heat for a brief second. The light strikes a destroyer behind with a thunderous ‘bang’. Crystals form and spread, breaching through the hull and part of the bridge at an incredible rate, sending the guided missile destroyer violently rocking side to side. All I can do is stare with fear and shock. My hands are trembling, and I can’t move.

But, it all quickly ends. The sound of two fighter jets roar overhead, followed by another explosion from behind the crystal. Screams turn to cheers, as I turn around and see two more Super Hornets fly over. Ahead, the crystal is heavily damaged, but still floating. What is worse, the swarm is nothing but a colony of angry bees, and they resume heading straight for the fleet.

“Fire! Fire! Fire!” That is the only order I hear, before it is replaced by gunfire once more. I quickly aim at the swarm and fire on full auto. I pick off several of the creatures in the air, but the swarm reaches the first vessels.

“On the bow! On the bow!” I point my rifle down, spotting at least twenty plus of the creatures landing on the bow deck. The most immediate feature we all notice clearly are the bright blue eyes and the sea green wings. West, Pelayo and I open fire on the deck, picking them off as they start to climb up the metal walls. I try to refrain from using my grenade launcher, even though I really want to use it.

“What the hell are these things?!” Pelayo shouts.

“Keep on firing!” Alcatraz says.

Staff Sergeant takes a glance at the Michael Murphy off to his two o’clock taking on a portion of the swarm. Small flashes of light, indicating small arms fire, pop almost everywhere around the ship, mostly close to the landing platform and the bridge. Without the use of her forward naval cannon, or her vertical launch system (VLS), the Michael Murphy and the others are complete sitting targets for the crystal.

“Where the hell is our air support?!” one of the sailors screams as he prepares to reload his rifle. A creature pops up in front of him, and in a split second, it grabs him with its mouth and pulls him over the railing.

“Beast!!” the sailor manning the M2 screams as his buddy is dragged in the air with two more insects before being plunged into the water. I quickly aim at the insects and open fire, only to run out of ammo after firing two bullets.


“Jason One-one, this is One-five. That’s a confirmed hit. Confirmed hit, but target is still active. We’re preparing our bomb run, approaching from the west.”

“Solid copy, One-five. Better move it, now. Our fleet isn’t holding out too well.”

The remaining four F/A-18Es of Strike Fighter Squadron 147 swoop in from the west, aiming their noses right at the floating crystal at three miles away.

“One-five to squad, selecting the target,” 1-5 instructs.

“One-six, ready.”

“One-seven, ready.”

“One-eight, ready.”

The fighters come in almost a mile a minute, Jason 1-5 taking the lead arming an AGM-84 Harpoon missile.

“I’m getting multiple power fluctuations,” Jason 1-7 announces, his communications starting to become static. 1-5 quickly notices his monitors are beginning to act up.

“One-five, this is One-eight. I have no contact to the fleet.”

“Stick to the plan team,” Jason 1-5 says, making adjustments to his controls. “Just use your eyes.”

The fighter team moves in, huddled together in delta formation. As they close in at high speed, they see the remaining bit of the swarm still covering the damaged crystal. Most of it is attacking the frontline of the fleet. Jason 1-5 taps the screen for a last minute check-up, but the monitors are still scrambled.

“Jesus Christ, what the hell is that?” Jason 1-6 asks statically through radio.

“Don’t know, Johnson. One thing for sure is it took out one of our ships,” 1-7 replies.

“Missile away,” 1-5 announces. A Harpoon missile launches away towards the crystal. A second later, 1-6 and 1-7 launch theirs. The pilots watch as their missiles zero in on the target. About halfway, the crystal lights up, and fires two hard light beams. All three missiles are caught and blow up instantly before they could reach.

“The hell?!” 1-8 shouts, bewildered of what he saw.

“Break off! Break off!” 1-5 orders, yanking the Super Hornet a hard left.

“Watch it!!” 1-7 cries out, when his plane is hit by the beam dead center. The explosion sends the gem-covered wreckage nearly colliding with the rest of the fighters before plunging into the ocean like a rock. Jason 1-5 steers a hard left to avoid contact with the hard light. The crystal fires again at the fleeing fighters, missing the his wing by mere feet. He quickly climbs altitude as he flies above and over the fleet.

“Call in!” he says, breathing heavily through his mask.

“One-six up.”

“One-eight up. We lost One-seven… fuckin’ hell.” 1-5 looks around to see his two remaining fighters group together behind him on each side as they circle around the fleet.

“Jason One-five, this is One-one. You alright?”

“We’re good,” 1-5 pants, darting his head around to see his two remaining fighters forming up behind as they gain altitude away from the fleet. “We just lost One-seven… damn thing took out our missiles like a fly swatter.”

“Roger. We’re coming in for another run. Standby.”

“Leader, this is One-six. Be careful. That thing just knocked out one of our planes…”

“Copy. We’re coming in, T-O-T, fifteen seconds from the north.”

“Leader, this is One-five. We’ll be making our run after yours. Coming in from the east.”

“Roger.”

“Sir, that thing will knock us down!” 1-8 defends.

“Well, it’s better to slow it down rather than taking down the whole fleet,” 1-5 says back.

The fighters circle around almost ten miles behind the fleet, once again aiming at the crystal shining like reflecting coin.

“Standby,” 1-5 instructs. His eyes catch the four fighters of Team 1 fastly approaching off to his two o’clock. They are coming in grouped together and descending rapidly heading towards the crystal.

“Engaging.” 1-5 can hear Jason 1-1 announce. The F/A-18s in the distance launch their anti-ship missiles.

“Going full throttle,” 1-5 tells his two pilots. He pushes the engine throttles to their full potential, feeling the fighter gaining speed and power from their engines. He arms two AGM-84s, while at the same time, carefully watches the missiles close in on their targets as Team 1 makes an attempt to clear the battlefield. The crystal lights up again, the tall gem lighting up and directing a beam to the smaller ones.

“One-one…!” 1-5 yells, but his voice suddenly stops midway before he can say anymore. Acting like an advance defense system, the crystal fires two hard light beams, stopping majority of the incoming missiles. Only two splash in the water and explode just meters from contact.

“Pu—p! Pull—!” one of the pilots from Team 1 scream through the static comms. The fighters pull away as they are about to overpass the large crystal. 1-5 watches innocently, still unable to lock on, as one of them gets struck in the wing.

“I’m h—!” The Super Hornet spirals out of control, and hits the ocean surface before detonating meters in front of one of the destroyers.

“I lost m—ingman!” 1-1 cries out.

“One-one, we’re coming in!” 1-5 tells them, his hand still firmly pressing on the throttles. “We’re gonna flank it from our eight! Stay clear from its path!”

“I’m getting power fluctuations again!” 1-8 says.

The three Super Hornets, now almost a couple miles away, prepare to make their run. They veer off course by a few degrees to the left. The targeting system finally manages to lock on to the crystal after several alterations.

“Locked on,” 1-5 says, gently aiming his Super Hornet at the crystal as they are about to fly over the fleet again. Then, the alien structure lights up again, and without a moment too soon, fires at the incoming fighters.

Jason 1-5 has barely anything to say, except react. He steers his aircraft as the beam of light narrowly misses. A loud blast comes from behind, but the pilot has barely enough time to see what happened.

“I’m— hit!” he hears one of his pilots cry.

“Johnson, get outta’ there!” 1-8 barks. A wrecked F/A-18 charges past Jason 1-5 at breakneck speeds, his right wing in flames and consumed in crystal, spirals out of control like a missile itself, and plows right onto the forward flight deck of the USS Nimitz. Fire rages across the deck as other parked fighters are thrown off or bounced around.

“Shit!” 1-5 curses, focusing his attention back to his main target. He readies himself as the remaining two jets fly in.

“Jason O—ve get out—here!” Jason 1-1 screams statically, but 1-5 can barely make anything out of it.

“Six—!” the leading pilot calls for his wingman, but another blast by the hard light beam fired right at them, and Jason 1-8 explodes in a shower of gem shards, fire and debris. 1-5 barely has time to react when his fighter suddenly shakes violently. A split moment later, alarms start wailing as he is losing control. He’s hit.

“Sh-shit!” His right wing and tailfin is lost, and begins slowly rolling to the right, flying right towards the destroyer USS Spruance. 1-5 yanks the joystick with all his might, ignoring the alarms. Growling under his mask, and his head becoming blank from the G-force, he narrowly misses a fatal collision with the destroyer’s stern and aft exhaust pipe. Now, 1-5 is on a crash course to the floating crystal fastly approaching as it charges up again. With his head fading into unconsciousness the pilot barely has time to react as soon as the alien weapon fires. The Super Hornet erupts in a burning fuselage fused with crystals like it has been infected, as it dives nose first right towards the towering gem. The aircraft collides just at the base, exploding in a sheer beauty of orange and green fire. Shards of crystal and insects disperse everywhere, one of the surrounding gems toppling over into the water, leaving a permanently damaged floating crystal listing to the side.


Hugging close to the guardrail, I feel the earthquaking rumble and hear the ear popping ‘boom’ when the Super Hornet crashed right into the crystal. My legs start shaking uncontrollably, just from the heart pounding and adrenaline surging thing that is happening right now. The screams of sailors and Marines, along with gunfire and the smell of powder, add to the rush of everything.

I load in a new magazine as quickly as possible, taking deep breaths whenever I have the chance to let my training kick in. I’m running low on ammo in my pouches, but I don’t have enough time to reach into my ILBE to grab the spare mags. As I rise over the railing, an insect swoops in and tackles me to the ground. Panic starts racing in my head as I try to push away the insect. It starts snapping its jaw trying to bite me while screeching out a high-pitch voice. Before I could have a chance to push it off, the giant bug is kicked away several feet.

“Get the fuck off him!!” the familiar voice of Michaels shouts next to me, as he and a sailor open fire at the insect. After taking dozens of fatal hits, the creature drops dead, with green goo oozing out of almost every bullet hole.
Michaels quickly lifts me back to my feet. “You okay?” I nod my head catching my breath after the dreadful experience.

“Watch it! Watch it!” Michaels and I quickly return to our positions. Looking around, insects fly swarm like seagulls, clipping themselves on to the side of the ships while the rest make an attempt to reform at the listing crystal. I aim my rifle below, and open fire on several insects clinging on to the metal wall. One of them swoops upward to our right, smacking a sailor and Corporal West off to the side, and grabs Pelayo by his backpack.

“Pelayo!” I scream, rushing over to the private as he is about to be dragged over the railing. A sailor fires two shots with his rifle, both puncture the insect through the head. Taking hold of his vest, I pull Pelayo back, both of us slipping on the empty bullet cases and collapse.

“Back up! Get up, now!” Staff Sergeant Alcatraz orders, he and Corporal West rushing us back to our feet.

A loud and low metallic sound interrupts us as I reposition again and prepare to engage. But, this sound is much louder than before, though not loud enough for our ears to bleed. All the insects immediately stop what they’re doing, and made haste back to the structure.

“Hold fire! Hold fire!” a sailor shouts. However, we can barely hear his cry as I empty my magazine while the swarm retreats back to the listing crystal. I load in a fresh one, which is my last, as we all watch the insects enter the tallest crystal like it is a big jelly.

“Why’re they retreating?” a sailor asks.

“Did we win? ”Pelayo asks catching his breath. There is a silence, since no one knows whether the insects were retreating or not, or we were just waiting for something even bigger.


Commander Gaines gets back up from taking cover behind a monitor, holding an M9 Beretta firmly in his hand. Everyone in the room seems to be okay, but some are wounded from when the insects tried to bash themselves through the windows.

“Is everyone okay?” he asks to his crew. Most of them nod their heads, the rest are either wounded or shaken from the event. “Get them to the sick bay. The rest of you, get back to stations. Find anything that works.”

“All monitors are experiencing fluctuation, sir,” a petty officer calls from across the bridge. “Nothing is responding.”

The commander turns around to another behind the helm. “Gallin, what about the engines?”

“Ship’s engines are not responding, sir.”

“Keep trying! Get us out of here, now!” Commander Gaines refuses to take any more chances. Despite whatever attacked them, they retreated back.

“Signal to the rest of the fleet. ‘Fall back immediately,’” he orders.

Without warning, the crystal brightens up again. The whole fleet is blinded by the green light growing by the second. A strong gust of wind and a swirling sound, forcing everyone to hit the deck and brace for the worst.

“Cover! Cover now!” the voice of the commander screams before the anonymous force overpowers it. He can hear the faint sound of fighter jets approaching, when everything goes completely dark in an instant.


Pacific Ocean August 23rd 17:48:20 PM

Rear Admiral Shane is met with a blind light as he opens his eyes. The first thing he notices is an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose. All he hears is a loud ringing and blurred out chattering. As his vision clears up, he looks around. He is in the sick bay, filled with wounded sailors and officers. Some have severe burns on them, while others have cuts and scrapes. The middle-aged man tries to sit up, soreness and sharp pains covering most of his body, when one of the hospital corpsman puts him back down.

“Take it easy, sir,” she says, taking the oxygen mask off of him. “You’ve been knocked out for some time.”

“What happened?” the admiral mutters rubbing his eyes. The corpsman is just about to reply, when the admiral’s chief petty officer comes in. He has a cut below his ear and a couple bandages on his arms.

“Admiral, glad you’re still alive,” he says.

“Same to you, Corey,” Shane replies, getting himself to sit up again.

“Can you walk, sir?”

“I can manage…” The chief petty officer and the corpsman help him sit up on the edge of the flatbed. After a few grunts and pulls, the rear admiral manages to stand on his own.

“You’ll be like this when you hit my age,” Shane jokes a little, but it didn’t put a smirk on either sailors. “What happened?”

Chief Petty Officer Corey lightly shakes his head, looking down on the floor. “The, uh… crystal thing… we were blinded by some light and then some shockwave. Most power is out on some ships and a couple decks.”

The two men walk through the crowded med bay, most sailors saluting to the admiral before they make it out to the corridor. Already, there are shouts all around, and sailors running about.

“What about the Anchorage and the others on the frontline?” the rear admiral asks with concern.

“W-well… about that, sir.” Corey’s tone of voice becomes slightly unstable. “It’s best if we see what happened.”

The sailor leads Rear Admiral Shane to the bridge. He opens the door and the admiral steps in.

“Admiral on deck!” a sailor shouts. The whole crew stops what they’re doing and stand at attention.

“At ease,” Admiral Shane calmly replies, and the crew returns to their businesses.

Most of the windows are shattered completely, letting in the ocean breeze. On the main deck close to the bow, the fire has been detained when the F/A-18 crashed. But something is completely off. The crystal island is gone, and so are the Anchorage, Michael Murphy, Spruance, Princeton and Howard. Off to the very right, Shane sees the USS Sampson, completely shocked at the sight. Crystal shards blanket half of the forward superstructure from top to the main deck. The hull has been pierced along the side dangerously close to the water.

“What happened?” the admiral musts up whatever strength that has been drained in his body just by looking at the damaged fleet.

“W-when we woke, they were gone. Anchorage, Michael Murphy, Princeton, Spruance, and Howard. Crystal is gone too. We… we don’t know where they went.” Shane takes a deep breath, holding back the thing his sailors refuse to see. Tears.

“I meant… what happened before they were taken?” the admiral asks, his voice sounding scratched.

“I… I don’t know, sir. I… I remember the Howard… trying to fall back. T-there was a bright light, t-then this huge shockwave knocking everything. Then, we woke up… and… we only saw half of the Howard...” Corey’s voice starts to tremble. Admiral Shane needs no more information about the Howard, as he already imagines it as Corey describes it.

“Go get yourself some shuteye. We’ll find them. We will.” The admiral takes a deep breath, suddenly regretting the words that he just finished. He stares at the sun just about to touch the horizon, then turns his eyes to the ship transport. He knows it will be impossible to find the lost fleet, especially after what they encountered.