Terminal Reset Omnibus: The Coming of The Wave

by A. E. Williams

  The Captain stood next to the chart desk, sipping his coffee. “Continue launching the missiles, Mr. Grady. Jonesy? Do you have anything for me?”

  Jonesy handed the Captain the decoded transcript. The Captain looked at it for a moment, just as Grady launched the fourth Trident missile.

  “Weapons officer, permission to fire is canceled. Repeat, permission to fire is canceled. Stand down on missile launches, invoke de-arming procedures. Grady, I need you to handle this.”

  Grady walked over and took the scrip from the Captain, who was moving towards the Navigator console. “Sir is this authentic…” he began. The Captain, looking somewhat perturbed, scowled in his general direction. “Apparently, we are to abort the mission, Mr. Grady,” he said.

  The Captain looked up at the ceiling of the submarine as he commanded the Navigator. “Mr. Thompson, make heading one zero zero, depth five hundred meters, maximum flank speed,” he said. “Yes sir, one zero zero, five hundred meters, max flank” replied the Navigator. He turned to the pilot and said “Mr. Clancy? You heard the Captain.” “Aye, sir,” said the pilot. The pilot moved the control lever for the throttle to its furthest notch. The submarine began to move out rapidly. The pilot pushed the control yoke hard over to starboard and stepped on the foot pedals to get the boat turned around. As it moved away from the launch area, the submarine dove to a depth of five hundred meters and followed the contour of the Continental shelf down into the East China Sea.

  “We heading to the Okinawa Trough, sir?” asked Jonesy. The Captain nodded, took a sip of his coffee and set down the cup. “Countermeasures, ready,” he said.

  The submarine rocked as a massive explosion hit it. Two of the sonar operators tore off their headsets while the third winced at the noise. “Sorry, sir, one of the choppers caught us with a depth charge. Lucky for us we were diving” said Specks. Three more explosions buffeted the sub, but they were not as powerful as the first blast. “Any torps?” asked the XO. “No, sir, but that Shang has increased speed. It may present a problem,” said the sonar operator.

  “Sir,” began Jonesy, “what about the four birds?” “Mr. Jones, we do not have instructions about that,” said the Captain.

  “Helm, set a course for the Okinawa Trough, and take us to maximum depth. Flank speed until I say otherwise. Follow the ocean floor; leave us fifty meters of bottom.” “Yes sir,” came the response. The pilot smoothly guided the vessel into an arc that hugged the ocean bottom. “Specks, call out depth in one-hundred-meter increments until we reach a depth of two thousand meters, then call out in ten-meter increments,” said the XO. “Depth, eight hundred meters and diving, Sir,” said the Navigator.

  “Weps, I want you to deploy a Rock Lobster, and also three Burglars,” said the Captain. “Yes sir,” said Grady, with a smile. The Captain looked at Jonesy and grinned, and they both looked at Specks, who also had a big smile on his face. The Weapons Officer went to a radio station, grabbed a microphone, and spoke into it for a few minutes. He frowned once, then re-issued a terse command. When the response came, he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and set the microphone back into its place.

  “Rock Lobster and Burglars away, sir,” he told the Captain. They all shared a nervous laugh. The rest of the crew made a collective sigh of relief and returned to their duties. As the submarine dove deeper into the dark ocean, four devices were launched from special torpedo tubes in the rear.

  The Burglars were simple noisemakers that released compressed gases, hydraulic fluid, and oil while they bubbled vigorously, and then exploded. They were designed to imitate the sound of a breached submarine as it sank.

  The Rock Lobster was a clever ruse thought up as a prank by a senior Naval officer in the 1980’s.

  Mostly a dummy submarine, it was comprised of a particular chemical concoction that, when in contact with sea-water, expanded into roughly a two to four hundred foot long plastic and sintered metal cylinder of indistinct shape.

  Mixed in with the composition were radioactive indicators that emitted enough radiation that an enemy ship would think that a real nuclear submarine had been sunk in the vicinity. Due to the nature of sonar and the lack of a visual ability to verify at great depths, the device would act to delay the attacking submarine as it attempted to identify whether it actually had found the remains of its target.

  When these were deployed, the resulting noises and debris camouflaged the escaping route of the submarine.

  As the Shang entered the area where they had been deployed, it encountered what its crew believed were the shattered remains of the USS Pennsylvania. By that time, she was already deep into the East China Sea, cruising along at over forty knots, at a depth of twenty-two hundred meters.

  *****

  ON THE ROYAL STAR PRINCESS IN THE CARIBBEAN –

  Jennifer Harding was sunning herself near the pool on the topmost recreation deck of the ROYAL STAR PRINCESS. She watched as the other touristas engaged in all manner of diversions and looked to see if she could attract the attention of a steward. Her drink was empty. Again.

  David Harding was swimming laps in the ship’s pool. He took long, leisurely strokes and enjoyed the feeling of the water around his body as he dove under and swam the length of the pool.

  He popped up for a deep breath of the warm, salty air and started off towards the other end. Harding had always enjoyed swimming. It was good exercise, and he felt relaxed when he finished an invigorating swim.

  He was on his tenth circuit of the pool when he noticed the light changing. It almost seemed like a solar eclipse. He looked to the sky and saw that the air was shimmering in a weird fashion. Harding climbed out of the pool and dragged a towel off his chaise lounge. As he dried himself, he wondered if The Wave were causing these effects. It was still supposedly some ways off, according to the data he had reviewed before the trip.

  Harding saw Jennifer thank the tanned girl who had brought her a fresh MaiTai and watched as she walked away. Jennifer sipped at the drink, and then he noticed her begin to put the glass on the table next to her. A strange feeling came over him.

  His eyes focused on the drink, and he watched as its contents evaporated from the glass. Jennifer was completely frozen, the motion of her putting down the drink a rigid frame in his mind.

  He could feel something was happening to him, and could tell that it was affecting Jennifer as well. He stood very still, but he realized he was unable to move. His entire body was locked in place. The towel in his hand was no longer being held in his grip, but it was not falling. The drop of water that had been dripping from his hair was clearly visible in front of his left eye, but it, too, seemed to stay impossibly in the same place. There was a strange tingling feeling as if he were standing on wet concrete beneath high-tension wires. He felt a pulsing wave of something course through him, directionless.

  After a few minutes, (or, was it much longer? he thought), things seemed to be returning to normal. He found he was able to move freely, and his sight was perfect.

  Harding watched as a little girl fumbled with her oversized bathing suit, knocking over an empty MaiTai glass, where his wife had been laying down. The little girl was probably about six, and she had cute blonde hair. Suddenly, she was screaming in terror. People were running around on the deck of the ship. There were a lot of young children, and many teenagers.

  Harding noticed that there were no elderly people at all. Many people were wearing bathing suits that no longer fit them. On the deck, it appeared that over half the people who had been there had vanished, leaving behind nothing but their towels and apparel.

  The ship’s captain came running over towards him, but he looked more like a youth than a grizzled old man. “I need you to follow me, NOW!” shouted the captain.

  Harding, confused and dazed, ran after him. As he did, he passed a window, suddenly caught by the reflection he saw. He knew it was his face, and bathing suit, but the body was that of a fifteen-year-old boy. He knew whose it was. It was his.
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  *****

  GUANTANAMO BAY, CUBA –

  Daniel Anderson was sitting in a holding cell. He was not exactly sure where it was, but judging from the time it took to remove him from his aircraft, the trip across the base, and then into the elevators, he inferred he was being kept in some manner of subterranean bunker. His ears had popped once, and he knew this was due to the pressure changes from having been flying one minute, and then taken deep underground.

  Anderson had a curious sense of direction, in that he had an internal compass. He was aware of it but dismissed it as more a parlor trick he could invoke as needed. Apparently, he was able to detect small variations in the magnetic field of the Earth, much as a dog or bird could.

  What this allowed him to do was always know, without a doubt, where magnetic North was. When he was being hauled out of the plane, he paid particular attention to landmarks, and also where the rising Moon was located. As he was a pilot, he paid attention to the sky, hoping to be able to escape and fly away. He noticed some strange atmospheric shimmering but put it down to temperature inversions, or the convection of the hot tropical night air.

  He also noticed the direction of the ocean, and once under way, how their direction of travel seemed to be towards it, as opposed to away from it. After some time, he realized that his escort was taking him away from the land. He found this startling, as it meant that there was likely an underground area some distance out from the island base. He had heard rumors that the United States government had secret facilities that were in International waters to which terrorist suspects were transported during extraordinary rendition exercises.

  He had not ever expected to see one first hand and up close.

  *****

  PUERTO RICO –

  Dr. Tatania Golovonov stood outside the lab control area, smoking a cigarette. She noticed that there were a lot of clouds in the sky and that the sunlight was a strange shade. She felt a bit odd, then dizzy. She thought it was probably the cigarette since she had tried quitting several times in the past months, and felt she was out of practice smoking. She braced herself against a wall, to catch her breath for a moment.

  When she started walking into the lab, she noticed that there were two rifles on the ground outside the entrance. There were also two piles of clothes and two pairs of boots. A pair of sunglasses rested slightly further away from the door.

  She almost tripped, and looked down at her feet. She noticed her own shoes were too big, and her feet had come out, causing her to trip. Her clothing felt loose as well. She peered into the lab window, and there was not one person to be seen. Piles of clothing were strewn in strange arrays, some on chairs, others on the floor. She watched a centrifuge whirring around and around.

  Tatania realized she had been locked out. She swore vindictively at the discovery, cursing her foolishness. Her badge worked, but only for the first part of the airlock. She could not enter the inner rooms without being admitted.

  Luckily she had her car keys with her. She decided to drive down the road, away from the base, to see if she could find someone to whom she could report this event. As she stopped at the guard shack, she noticed an empty uniform, and a gun belt on a chair inside. The telephone handset was hanging loosely from its cord. The lights were blinking off and on. No voices could be heard. She got out of her car and walked into the guard house. The air conditioning hissed and whirred, and a cold blast of air hit her face. She went to the rear of the shack, where there was a small restroom. She turned on the light, looked into the mirror, and screamed. Her sixteen-year-old face screamed back at her.

  Tatania ran from the shack and fell onto the ground, which allowed her to regain her sense of reality. The pain from her skinned knees and palms brought her back to the now, and she tried to regain her composure. Still terrified, she got up, wiped off her hands of the grit and dirt, and took stock of her situation. She walked slowly back into the restroom and ran some water into the sink. She washed the bleeding scratches where she had landed with soap and water and wiped off her tear-stained face. Refreshed, she realized that she felt fine, at least physically. She noted that there was no one else moving on the base. She picked up the phone set and began calling the various extensions she remembered. No one answered.

  She listened carefully for any sounds, hoping to hear a cry for help or any human noises at all. She heard nothing, and after several minutes tried calling some other numbers. The phone would not dial an outside line, so she hung it up.

  She observed that it was soundless. There were no animal noises. The appearance of the base had changed radically. There had been a lot of jungle around, and now the base seemed to be located in a desert.

  What had happened? Where was everyone? Where were the animals?

  She went back to her rented Chevy Volt, started it up and drove off the base.

  *****

  LONDON, ENGLAND –

  In one of the Royal offices, a guarded communique was being examined by a functionary. Once he had read the information therein, that worthy took the transmission and burned it in an incinerating device that left only fine ash. The ash was then emitted into an air stream that would eventually disperse it into individual particles along a three-mile-long path of acids, water, and organic fluids that would eliminate all traces of it.

  The worthy walked into a secret area behind the office and entered a small elevator. He peered into the lens that was about one and a half meters from the ceiling. A small noise, like the chirp of a bird, sounded.

  The elevator took the man to another floor of the Palace. He advanced through the hallway, coming finally to an ornate entrance to another office. Pictures of Her Majesty and Royal Highness the Queen were prominently displayed.

  He waited while the woman inside the office finished writing something on a parchment, using a painstaking long hand calligraphic style of writing. When she finished, she inserted the quill of her pen into an ivory inkwell. She blew gently on the wet ink, drying the parchment, and eyed the worthy with her cool gaze. She set down the parchment.

  “Well?” she asked. Her beautiful face was haughty, and her eyebrow arched in a particular fashion she had been known for over the years.

  “Your Majesty! The Queen and your husband are away,” the man said.

  “Excellent,” she said.

  “The Queen Mother was boarded in the District of Columbia, and your husband and Camilla were in the Atlanta ark.”

  At the mention of Camilla’s name, Diana Frances Spencer, Princess of Wales, and the true Queen of England sneered a bit. Then, she chuckled and rose to follow the worthy out into the hallway.

  *****

  NEAR THE 6950TH GUARDS AIR BASE (FORMERLY 22ND GUARDS HEAVY-BOMBER DIVISION) IN ENGELS (SARATOV OBLAST)

  The Major was sipping on a tube of Oolong tea, and listening to some Tchaikovsky as the Blackjack was being piloted home by the co-pilot. He smiled as he recalled their flight over North Korea.

  It had been uneventful, in spite of his best efforts, and now he found he was in a somewhat dark mood.

  Major Anton Golovonov was an unusual man, in his country’s Air Force. At one time, he had been a General, but his unconventional views, coupled with his father’s own fall from Party favor, had led to his demotion. The Major was one of the best pilots to fly the Blackjack bombers, and he had developed the primary attack routes that emphasized its strengths. His work with air-launched cruise missiles were strategic military doctrine and had been proven in combat in Afghanistan. Although he had to weather some black times, it was mostly professional jealousy that had derailed his career. Of course, he mused that his habit of sleeping with the wives of his superiors had probably had not endeared him to them.

  Still, he credited his ability as a pilot, and a somewhat savvy political in-fighter to having survived as long as he did in the left seat. At fifty-four, he was an old man, at least according to everyone who served under him.

  Physically, he knew he was still formidable, owing to s
trong genetics, he supposed. Mentally, he occasionally felt some fatigue or melancholy, but he knew he could shake that off with enough vodka and the touch of a woman.

  The Blackjack still held a large supply of jet fuel, and he mentally shrugged at the thought of having to waste it by venting. The abort signal had been unexpected, and he frowned in thought as to what this might have meant.

  “Faberge Zero Four Six, come in please,” squawked over his radio headset. He grimaced a bit at the call sign. He felt it a bit effeminate but responded. “This is Zero Four Six, acknowledge,” he said. “Faberge Zero Four Six, do you copy? Respond correctly, over.” “This is FAB UR JAY zero four six, do you read?” he said as he scowled. What a ridiculous call sign, he thought.

  “Faberjay zero four six, prepare to receive encoded message on 1122.4787. Acknowledge,” came over his headset.

  Anton copied the message and then went through the procedures to decrypt it. His co-pilot and navigator looked at him, with shock in their eyes. “Faberge zero six four, en-route. Repeat, en-route.”

  He spoke quickly into the microphone of his helmet, and the other four Blackjack bombers formed up around him. After a few minutes of consultation and calculating, they agreed they had just enough fuel to embark upon the mission without having to refuel again.

  The Major barked commands, banked his aircraft to port, and headed for the Chinese-Russian border.