The Unlikely Defenders

by Scott Haworth

  “Captain! There’s another wave inbound!” shouted a crewman on the bridge of the U.S.S. Russell.

  “All batteries fire at will,” Commander Morris ordered. “What’s the damage report on the stern hull plating?”

  “It took a pounding, but all the damage is well above the waterline, sir,” answered another crewmember.

  “What about the rudder?” asked Morris.

  “”No damage, sir.”

  “Captain!” Marcus Schwarz shouted from his position at the communications station. The crewman who normally controlled the position had been taken to the sickbay with a nasty concussion. “The Truman has taken heavy damage. She’s had to reduce speed to six knots.”

  “Helm, take us to course one eight three. Increase to flank speed,” Morris shouted over the commotion. He walked over to where Marcus was standing and lowered his voice so that the rest of the bridge crew could not hear. “Six knots… she’s a sitting duck.”

  Marcus nodded towards Morris but said nothing.

  “There’s a half dozen alien fighters approaching from starboard, sir. I think they’re going to make an attack run on us,” called the crewman from the radar station.

  “How many of our fighters are still up there?” Morris asked.

  “Only three, sir. They’re engaging targets near the Truman.”

  Marcus’s heart sank at the news. The fleet had received fair warning of the alien invasion before they had been attacked. The U.S.S. Harry Truman had been able to scramble forty state of the art fighters before the first wave of Kessiam ships came into range. The F-35c Lightning II was the best fighter plane ever developed by human beings. With stealth technology, state of the art avionics and a formidable weapons array, the F-35 was expected to be at the vanguard of the U.S. military for the rest of the century.

  The American pilots had valiantly fought off the first wave of fifty Kessiam fighters. They had shot down thirty-five of the enemy ships before the rest bugged out to regroup. Having lost only one friendly jet, euphoria had swept through the fleet for a time. Crewmen joked about the pathetic space invaders who had mastered interstellar travel but could not fight worth a damn. Unfortunately, the turkey shoot did not last for long. What the Kessiams lacked in skill they more than made up for in numbers.

  The American fighters had started landing in rotation to rearm. Those in the air when the second wave of Kessiams arrived were low on ordinance. Five hundred enemy fighters swooped in on the battle group. While only two hundred survived to regroup, they decimated the American fleet. The American fighter jets were overwhelmed and could do little more than harass the gigantic flight of alien ships. The Kessiams strafed the Truman’s escort vessels with their powerful directed energy weapons. Each burst of energy exploded with the equivalent force of a small artillery shell. The hulls of the destroyers and cruisers were quickly breached under such an overwhelming bombardment. With a half dozen support ships sinking to the bottom of the Bay of Bengal, the second wave of Kessiam fighters turned their attention to the flagship of the American fleet. The Truman and her remaining escorts launched the most impressive antiaircraft barrage of any naval battle in human history. Whole squadrons of Kessiam fighters were knocked into the ocean. However, enough survived to batter and cripple the massive aircraft carrier.

  Damaged and alone the Russell had little chance against the Kessiam fighters, even if there were only six of them. Morris knew the end was near. “All hands, brace for impact!” he said clearly into the ships public announcement system.

  The destroyer was rocked by the impact of the alien energy weapons. The bridge crew heard a loud explosion from behind them at the stern of the vessel. Distracted by the chaos, no one was looking forward through the windows of the bridge at the next incoming threat.

  While most of the Kessiams had made their attack runs against the width of the Russell, a single fighter had broken off to attack straight down the bow of the ship. It unleashed a volley into the front of the destroyer, scaring the deck. The fighter continued to fire as it pulled up from its attack run. Its last energy bursts slammed through the windows of the bridge.

  Marcus slowly picked himself off the floor of the bridge. He was temporarily blinded by the explosion of the energy impacts. He put his hand to his cheek and felt a good deal of sticky blood. He pushed hard against the side of his face in an attempt to put pressure on the wound. Something was not right though. He did not feel any pain. After a second he realized it was not his blood.

  As his vision began to clear Marcus started to make out what was left of Morris. The commander had been decapitated and then some. Everything below his nipples was intact and in a pool of blood on the floor of the bridge. The rest of his body was missing. Aside from Marcus and two others, everyone else on the bridge was dead. The helmsman was alive although he was groaning in agony. Much of the flesh of his left arm was scorched. A young lieutenant ran to the helmsman with a medical kit. Like Marcus, the lieutenant had been sitting behind a row of consoles and had been shielded from the full affects of the blast.

  “We’re slowing down,” the lieutenant said while applying dressings to the helmsman’s wounds.

  Marcus realized he was right. The engines had cut out, and the Russell’s forward momentum was the only thing keeping the ship moving.

  Marcus walked past Morris’s corpse and made his way to the public announcement system in order to contact the engine room. It had taken heavy damage and was not working. “P.A. system is down,” he said more to himself than to the surviving members of the bridge crew.

  The lieutenant finished up with the helmsman before walking to Marcus. “What are your orders, sir?”

  Marcus turned away from the lieutenant and stared down at Commander Morris’s corpse. He was not going to get bailed out this time. He turned back to look at the young officer. “We should,” Marcus started. He paused and his eyes shifted wildly around the damaged bridge. “I… don’t know.”

  The lieutenant turned away from Marcus and looked towards the wounded helmsman. “Abandon ship!” he said without hesitation. “Pass the word. All hands, abandon ship.”

  “No!” the helmsman responded. He stood slowly, wincing in pain. “We still have some fight left. We can’t abandon the Truman!”

  “She’s already done. It’s over!” the lieutenant yelled. He walked over and pushed the helmsman towards the exit. “It was over before the battle even started. Go forward and pass the word. I’ll head aft.”

  The helmsman reluctantly accepted the command and exited the bridge. The lieutenant followed close behind. For a moment Marcus stood alone in the empty bridge. He looked around in a daze. He was too stricken with fear to react. He fell to his knees as another volley of enemy fire pounded the doomed destroyer. The attack was enough to jostle him into action. Marcus dashed out of the bridge after coming back to reality.

  “Commander!” yelled the lieutenant once Marcus had emerged from the bridge. He waved frantically for Marcus to join him at the side of the ship. Marcus was now officially in command of the ship since Morris was dead. However, the lieutenant deliberately avoided referring to him as captain.

  The slight insult did not register with Marcus. He was aided into a lifeboat by the lieutenant who gave him a disgusted look. The helmsman and eight other crewmembers were already sitting in the lifeboat.

  “That’s everybody from this part of the ship!” the helmsman yelled. “Get in lieutenant!”

  The lieutenant shook his head. “No, I’m in command. I’ll be the last one off,” he responded while deliberately avoiding looking at Marcus. “I’m going back aft to make sure everyone gets out. Shove off!”

  The men held on to their seats as the lifeboat dropped into the water. Most of them immediately reached for oars and began to paddle the lifeboat away from the wounded destroyer. Marcus sat motionless as he looked back at the sinking ship. The other crewmen completely ignored him.

  A fireball erupted several thousand yards in front of the Rus
sell. They could not see the ship, but everyone on the lifeboat knew what had happened.

  “I guess that’s it for the Truman,” said the helmsman, who was not rowing due to his injury.

  “Must have hit one of her magazines,” another crewman said.

  “Six thousand men…” added the helmsman, trailing off. Tears started to form in his eyes. He turned away and looked back to the Russell. The destroyer’s stern was slowly sinking into the water.

  After a few minutes the men stopped rowing. They were joined in short order by three other lifeboats from their ship. One of the boats, commanded by an ensign, pulled alongside Marcus’s lifeboat.

  “Lieutenant Schaffer over there?” asked the helmsman.

  The ensign on the other boat shook his head. “Didn’t make it off,” he said simply.

  For a moment no one spoke. The helmsman finally broke the silence. “Well, now what the fuck do we do?”

  “Wait for rescue,” the ensign responded confidently.

  “Rescue from who?”

  The ensign looked over his shoulder at the fire that was still erupting from the U.S.S. Harry Truman. “Right. Well, what do you suggest?”

  The helmsman nodded his head back without turning. “India’s that way,” he said, without a trace of humor in his voice.

  With a collective groan the men on both boats put their oars back in the water. Marcus still did not move or speak. He sat and stared back at the Russell as she sank slowly into the sea.

  Admiral Burns stood up and came around his desk as Marcus entered the office. “Lieutenant Schwarz,” he said warmly. “Or should I say Commander Schwarz? The promotion is all done except for some paperwork.”

  Marcus was not nervous in the least. In fact he was ecstatic. The meeting with Admiral Burns was merely a formality as he had already been informed of his promotion and his new assignment. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” he responded. He grasped Burns’s extended hand.

  “Please have a seat,” Admiral Burns said, motioning towards the chair in front of his desk. He sat down behind the desk and slid a manila folder over in front of him. He opened up the file and began to read over it. “First in your graduating class at Annapolis. Excellent performance reviews. Spotless record. Very strong personal recommendation from Captain Day. Everything looks excellent.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Marcus beamed.

  Burns closed the file and let out a deliberate sigh. “You’ll be one of the youngest in naval history to get your own boat. Frankly, I’m disgusted,” he joked. “I was five years older than you when I got my first command.” he lamented. When he continued he lowered his voice even though Marcus was the only other person in the office. “And it sure as shit wasn’t an Arleigh Burke class!”

  Marcus smiled and nodded towards the Admiral.

  “Well,” Burns began, feigning reluctance. “The Porter is all yours once Commander Hunter leaves for the Antietam next month,” Admiral Burns said. He stood up and spoke with a more serious tone. “Congratulations, Commander.”

  Marcus stood and again shook Burns’s hand. “Thank you, sir.”

  “You’re dismissed,” Burns said, returning to his seat. Marcus was almost out the door before Burns remembered the age old wisdom he liked to impart to all the new commanders with whom he spoke. “Oh, one more thing Commander.”

  Marcus turned sharply to address Burns. “Admiral?”

  “Try not to run into anything,” Burns replied slyly.

  “Will do, sir,” Marcus said with a broad smile on his face. He exited the office and made his way through the administration buildings of the Pearl Harbor naval base. After a ten minute walk he was at the water’s edge, gazing up at his new command.

  Julie Kemmer awoke with a start. At first she could not remember where she was. She was sitting and clearly not in her bedroom. After a moment she realized she was still at the desk in her office. With overwhelming noise pounding above her, she frantically shuffled her hands over the top of her desk until she discovered her wristwatch. The Indiglo button illuminated the time: 2:35 AM.

  By the time the watch switched to 2:36 the noise had ended. Julie cautiously left her office and started down the hallway. The atmosphere would have been eerie even without the bizarre sound. The hall was almost completely dark and only a small amount of moonlight pierced in through the windows. The sound of her footsteps echoed loudly against the walls. There was no noise other than her shoes hitting the ground. The building was completely deserted.

  Why wouldn’t it be deserted? she thought to herself. No one else falls asleep at their desks all night.

  Julie’s vision improved as she exited the building. It was a clear night and the moon and stars illuminated the area around the college. She started off towards her car slowly. Whatever the noises had been, there did not seem to be anything out of the ordinary around campus.

  She was putting her key in the car door right as the first explosion hit. She was not close enough to witness it, but the sound was unmistakable. It was much different than thunder or the odd booms that had ended her sleep. She dropped to her knees, ripping her car keys out of the door at the same time. Another series of explosions shattered the calm of the night. That sound was followed by screaming a moment later.

  Julie stood up and headed back towards the Languages building as fast as she could. She dropped her keys on the way but made no effort to turn back and retrieve them. She barely slowed down as she reached the door and almost slammed through it at full speed. She grabbed the handle and yanked viciously. The handle turned an inch before she heard a familiar clicking noise. It was then that she remembered that after the last class of the day the doors automatically locked from the inside.

  Julie threw her back against the door. As she tried to calm down another explosion rang out much closer than the previous ones. She fell to the ground on her hands and knees. One of her hands bumped into a rock as she patted wildly across the ground. She clutched the rock as if it were made of solid gold. Mustering her courage, she rose off the ground and threw the rock through the door’s window. She shoved her hand through the window, scraping against the broken glass as she did. Julie patted up and down along the frame of the door until she finally found the handle. She pushed the door out and slid inside. She ran back to her office while clutching her injured hand.

  Julie fell down against the side of her desk as another round of explosions pierced the night. She brought her legs up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. She rocked back and forth and quietly wept.

  Six years earlier, Julie sat on the floor of her house in Canberra, Australia. She rocked back and forth silently. Her knees were pulled up to her chest and her arms were wrapped around them. He would be home soon. As the minutes ticked by she tried to lie to herself. Maybe it won’t happen today.

  For a time that lie seemed to be coming true. When her husband arrived home from work he was in an uncharacteristically good mood. “Hello, honey. Is dinner almost ready? I’m starved,” he said cheerfully.

  “Yes,” she said cautiously, still testing his mood. “The chicken should be done in about five minutes. You’re a little earlier than normal.”

  “That’s fine,” he said dismissively as he walked into the kitchen.

  Julie’s anxiety fell away as she followed him into the kitchen. “Did you have a good day at work?”

  “I had an excellent day at work. I finally landed the McGuire account.”

  “Oh, that’s wonderful. You’ve been working on that for months. I’m so happy for you. Congratulations,” Julie said. She was now completely at ease. It seemed like it was going to be one of the good days. With his work finally turning around, maybe it would be the beginning of the end of the unpleasantness altogether.

  “Thank you. And how about you? Did you have a busy day of starting to ovulate?” her husband asked, patting her gently below the stomach.

  Julie turned away playfully. “Well I don’t really know for sure. It’s not like an egg t
imer goes off when it starts. According to the Holy Menstruation Calendar, today should be the day.”

  Although they had only been married for six months, Julie’s husband had demanded children right away. Her consistent lack of pregnancy had been one of his main points of contention. However, it was not the only one. He had been kind and sweet during their courtship. He had showered her with gifts and treated her like a queen. After the wedding though, his personality seemed to change almost overnight. After six months it took very little from her to send him into a violent rage.

  At first the abuse had been strictly verbal, but over time it had escalated. There was pushing, smacking and the occasional hair pulling. The worst had come just two days before. Julie still had a thick bruise around her right eye.

  She had written off his actions as stress at first. He had just gotten married, his job was going poorly and, despite his best efforts, his wife had still not become pregnant. As the violence escalated she had suggested they seek counseling. Julie received a large bruise on her left hip for the proposal. She had decided to leave him two days earlier when he had punched her in the face. After he left the house she packed a few things in an overnight bag and prepared to leave for her mother’s. For reasons she herself could not explain, she had decided not to go that night.

  “Well let’s hope it is the right time. I’d hate to think we’re having all this sex for nothing,” her husband joked.

  “Truly a tragedy,” Julie agreed while retrieving the chicken.

  The dinner conversation went smoothly. Julie and her husband discussed totally innocuous topics. For a time it felt like it did before they had gotten married. Julie’s fears slipped away. For the first time in months she could see why she loved him without having to make up excuses.

  “So the university called me about filling in for Professor Donaldson while she’s on maternity leave,” Julie announced about ten minutes into the conversation. She did not anticipate the reaction the casual conversation would receive.