by Ralph Kern
“Yeah.”
“See, you are cut out for this job,” Kendricks said, slapping Jack on the back. “Let me run it past the captain. I think for the moment he’s still hoping that he’ll wake up tomorrow morning, and this will all have been a bad dream. He wants to maintain normality for the passengers as long as possible.”
“Solberg is a dick,” Jack said.
“Amen to that, but he is my master and commander.” Kendricks winced.
“That he is. Anyway, what time did you last see Grissom?”
***
The dark CCTV suite flickered with the lights from the dozens of screens showing images from all over the Atlantica. It was supposed to be staffed 24/7 by a security officer, but now there were barely enough officers to split up the tension-fueled barroom brawls that were erupting with increasing tendency since the captain’s announcement, and so it was unmonitored.
Frowning, Jack lowered himself into a seat in front of the main console, which like everything else on the ship had a streamlined touchscreen interface.
Pressing “playback”, the large screen in the center switched away from a live feed of the swimming pool area and a menu system appeared.
After a few moments of playing around with the options, Jack brought up the view of the entrance of the bridge. Typing in the date and time he wanted, the playback from four days ago appeared.
He watched as a young officer, obvious in his white shirt, black trousers, and epaulettes exited the bridge and walked out of view down the corridor.
It took Jack an hour of trial and error to track Grissom down to deck six. The camera coverage wasn’t great—mostly the cameras were focused on the bars but, by process of elimination, he figured there was only one way the officer could have gone, out onto the muster decks. But it was there he found the most frustrating thing yet. The only camera in that area was pointed squarely at what was obviously the orange hull of a mega lifeboat.
The only thing he was sure of was that Grissom had gone out onto the muster deck, but never seemed to have come back in.
Chapter 20 – Day 6
The shouts and cries of the crew members of both Atlantica and Ignatius echoed over the sea as the much-smaller warship drew close into the vast bulk of the cruise ship. Power lines ran between the two vessels from open cargo hatches, and before long, the two ships were mated together, the smaller vessel hungrily suckling at Atlantica’s power.
***
Anyone who had wanted to was allowed to come on the “complimentary excursion” to Nest Island. Except, rather than Atlantica being serviced by tender ferries, they had to use their own lifeboats. All in all, less than a quarter of the passengers wanted to leave the ship.
“It is beautiful,” Laurie said as she walked arm-in-arm with her father up the rickety wooden pier that extended out from the golden sand beach.
“That it is,” Reynolds said, looking over at the huts nestled into the tree line. Small boats of every description called this place home. Some were clearly life rafts from larger vessels. A couple appeared to be larger fishing trawlers, and everything in between.
“Welcome to Nest Island,” a man said, dressed in a white Navy dress uniform with the three stripes of a lieutenant commander on his epaulettes along with a star denoting he was an officer of the line. “My name’s Perry Donovan, executive officer of the Iggy... that’s the USS Paul Ignatius. If you would come with me, I’ll show you to the others.”
“Thank you, Commander.” Reynolds nodded at the man. Along with the rest of the group, they followed him toward where people were congregating around a barbeque pit.
***
Jack had visited the muster deck after viewing the CCTV, but he couldn’t see anything in the low LED lighting.
He’d had to wait until the lifeboats had all been deployed. The whole environment had been comprehensively trodden over by the thousand or so people who had decided they wanted to visit the island but still, Jack wanted to get a feel for Grissom’s last traceable movements. Besides, it’s not as if I’m going to go on shore, just in case the Ignatius’s crew aren’t quite as trustworthy as they’re making out, Jack thought.
He walked along the muster deck, running his hand along the railing, imagining where the missing officer had gone. The end of the muster deck followed around to the aft of the ship. If he’d wanted to see the stars, with minimal light pollution, there would be the obvious choice.
Resting his elbows on the railing, he looked over the side, gazing at the sea. He liked the sound of the water lapping against the hull of the ship. It distracted him from the tinnitus which had afflicted him since the RPG had taken his leg, and obscured the buzzing he heard constantly.
Sighing, not for the first time, he wondered how that noise hadn’t driven him mad. It was constant, but at least it was fading. Or he was getting used to it. Either way, he was finding he wasn’t noticing it nearly as much as the first few insomnia-blighted weeks after Syria. But then, when he had been allowed to sleep, the dreams awaited him...
Shaking his head, casting aside his maudlin thoughts, he looked down. He could see some dark specks on the clean white trim the railing stanchions extended up from. It was in stark contrast, since everything on the ship was so immaculate. Using the railing to compensate for his leg, he lowered himself into a kneeling position and looked closely at it. It was brown, the color of dried blood. From his position, he could see that one of the railing crossbeams was slightly dented as well, and there were more specks of blood on that as well.
What the hell do I do with this? Jack thought. During his long convalescence at the Walter Reed Medical Center, he’d gone through more Blu-ray boxsets than he cared to remember, many of them police procedural thrillers. He was vaguely aware that they probably had as much to do with real life police investigations as the average action series had with military matters, but still it was a start.
So, we have a missing man, and in his last known place I’ve found some blood. Jack stepped back, and with the phone he had been given by Kendricks, started to take pictures of the area, getting the best shots of the blood splatter as he could. He doubted Dr. Emodi had the capability to do any kind of forensic analysis on the blood, but hopefully when they figured out where the hell they were and how to get home, someone would manage it. Yeah, let’s get a sample of it. Opening the phone’s directory, he scrolled to the “medical center” number and gave it a call.
Chapter 21 – Day 6
The huge bonfire on the beach had reached full intensity by the time the sun had set. Out to sea, Atlantica was lit up in all of her glory, blazing as brightly as the fire. Alongside her, the much smaller Paul Ignatius’s subtler lighting was on display, too.
Spread along the beach were the thousand people who had elected to come to the island. They were subdued, but slowly coming out of their shells as the alcohol took effect. For the residents of the island, the majority of whom had come from the Ignatius, along with two hundred more from various ships and boats that had stumbled on the island, the mood was more of a celebration.
“So, tell me, Commander...” Reynolds had retreated from the mass of people, leaving his daughter to work the crowd in that self-assured manner of hers. On the periphery, he had found Slater gazing over the party, a satisfied smile on her face. “And be honest. Would you have really left us to fend for ourselves?”
Slater’s smile turned into a grin. “Let’s just say, I was a damn fine poker player in my time, Admiral.”
“Indeed.” Reynolds gave a low chuckle. “Kudos, Heather. Everyone got what they needed in the end, even if it took some rather impressive bluffing.”
“Our little secret, Admiral,” Slater said with a wink, “I do have a reputation to maintain, after all.”
Reynolds gazed over the crowd for a long moment, enjoying the companionable silence before asking what he knew he must. “You’ve had two years here to process this... this situation. Do you think there is a way home?”
The sm
ile dropped from Slater’s face, and she turned to look fully at the former admiral. “It’s paradise here on this island. There are over five hundred people, and this place can feed them all... at a push. We have set up farms. They’re probably not the most efficient they can be, in fact I’m sure we can push some more efficiency out of them, but...” her voice trailed off.
“But, not another six thousand people’s worth,” Reynolds finished.
“No,” Commander Slater sighed. “Not even close. What you have on your ship is it. There is no more food. This has to be the last act of gluttony. After this, everyone’s belts need to be tightened.”
“And even then, we are all going to starve.”
“We are all going to starve,” Slater repeated. “So in answer to your question, do I think there is a way home? Yes, there has to be.”
“Heather. I’ve worked with the U.S. Military enough to know you people don’t give up easily. Do you have a plan?”
“Only one that Solberg wouldn’t like,” she responded. “Ignatius fills her tanks and we see how far we can get, leaving enough fuel to return. We have a range of 4400 nautical miles, so we can potentially get 2200 miles before we have to come back. We can go looking for home, or a larger land mass at least.”
“Home,” Reynolds rolled the word around his mouth. “Between you and me, it doesn’t exist anymore. Does it?”
“I don’t know,” Slater gave a sad smile. “How can we be away from the satellites and coms buoys? Why are the ships all from the same date, but have arrived here at different times? You know, when the true weirdness started to present itself and we began to realize we were stuck here, four of my men committed suicide. They just gave up, despite your fine words about us not doing so.”
“But you’re not going to?”
“I have a ten-year-old daughter and husband at home, Admiral.” Slater turned to look at him. The steel in her eye showing why she had been selected to command a warship. “No, I am not going to give up. I want to see my Millie again, and I’ll do anything to make that happen.”
“Then we had better come up with a solution. One that will appease Solberg.”
“That we should. Come aboard the Ignatius tomorrow. I will show you everything we have.”
Chapter 22 – Day 7
“Welcome aboard.” The executive officer, Lieutenant Commander Perry Donovan, seemed chipper, only his blood-shot eyes giving away that he had clearly indulged the previous night.
“Thank you,” Reynolds nodded at him, standing to one side and letting Solberg, Kendricks, and his daughter pass from the gangplank onto the deck of the Ignatius.
“Captain Slater will see you down in the CIC. I’m afraid she made no mention of your daughter being cleared to come aboard?” Donovan said.
“If you would provide my compliments to Captain Slater and tell her I request Laurie accompanies us,” Reynolds said, automatically adopting the custom of referring to Slater on her own ship as Captain.
“I’m sure there won’t be a problem.” Donovan shrugged. “If you’ll follow me?”
The executive officer led the way from the gangplank toward the boxy grey superstructure of the ship.
Reynolds cast his eye over the vessel as they followed Donovan. His practiced eye could see her design was dated, yet the ship generally didn’t have the appearance of the decades of service which was the norm for many a warship.
“You’ll have to forgive me, I haven’t been keeping up with the hulls in your inventory as much as I used to when I was a serving officer. The Ignatius is in remarkably good shape.”
“Yes, sir, she is,” Donovan beamed. “She’s one of the newer Flight IIA Arleigh Burkes. Her shakedown cruise was in 2019. In fact, she’s only been out of port operationally three times. Since then, she hasn’t exactly done a lot of miles.”
“It seems like Captain Slater runs a tight ship,” Reynolds nodded appreciatively.
“That she does,” Donovan said. “Although, other than maintenance, there isn’t a hell of a lot for the crew to do. If you pardon my French.”
Reaching the entrance to the superstructure, Donovan undogged and pulled open the bulkhead hatch then led them into the darkened interior.
“As you probably know, sir, the Arleigh Burkes are the Navy’s jack-of-all-trades ships. The original design may be over thirty years old, but it has been continually improved. Some of those improvements have been evolutionary, and some revolutionary,” Donovan said with pride as he pulled open another hatch stenciled with the letters CIC. “This is one of the revolutionary changes. Needless to say, not many non U.S. Navy folk see in here.”
“Well, what can I say?” Reynolds exclaimed as the Command Information Center was revealed before him. It looked more the bridge of a science fiction starship than the primitive seeming vessels of Reynold’s service. The Plexiglas plotting boards and cathode ray tubes were nowhere to be seen. Instead, a huge LED screen took up the whole of one wall of the dark room, showing a map of Nest Island and all the ships around it. Banks of consoles faced the screen, each with intricate displays of their own. His practiced eye discerned quickly what each one’s function was. Several weapons stations, command and control interfaces, and communications work stations.
“Welcome aboard, gentlemen... and lady?” Captain Slater said, turning from the screen which she had been regarding, hands clasped behind her back.
“Captain, meet my daughter, Laurie,” Reynolds said.
Nodding, Slater responded, “I’m pleased to meet you.”
“She’s a fantastic ship,” Laurie said with genuine enthusiasm. “My father has showed me around some of our navy’s vessels and this blows it away.”
Reynolds cleared his throat. “Only because I was never able to take you aboard the Daring, my dear.”
“Don’t be jealous, Daddy.” Laurie smiled teasingly.
“Well, from our wargames, I would say one of your Type-45s would give us a run for our money,” Slater said diplomatically, giving a wink to Laurie, her normally icy demeanor rapidly thawing to the younger woman. She turned and gestured, her wave encompassing the room. “This is the USS Paul Ignatius’s brain, where two billion dollars’ worth of warship is fought from. She is a Flight IIA Arleigh Burke, what we call a technology insertion ship. This means she is equipped with much of the equipment that is going to be fitted to the newer Type III Arleigh Burkes. One of those innovations is a true twenty-first century CIC, along with a weapons and sensor suite which is unparalleled. There may be better ships out there for specific roles; air defense, for example, like the Daring, but we can do just about everything, and do it well.”
Kendricks was visibly fascinated by every facet of the room. He tentatively approached one of the consoles.
“Kindly don’t touch anything on there, if you please, Mister Kendricks. I’d rather you didn’t volley fire all of my missiles into the Atlantica.”
“Yes, that wouldn’t be ideal,” Solberg said from where he stood looking around the room. “So are we going to discuss our situation?”
“Of course. Perry, bring up the working board,” Slater said.
Donovan nodded, taking a seat in front of a console and began tapping at it. The large screen on the wall scrolled out of its close-in view of the island and the swarm of craft around it. The island was quickly reduced to a small green blob in the middle of the blue screen. Along the bottom and right-hand side, red hatching appeared.
“The red, as far as the information we have gathered, denotes the sphere of influence of the pirates you encountered.” Slater walked over to stand by the screen and pointed to the hatched area. “We don’t have an indication on numbers or types of craft, however it is clear they are using repurposed civilian vessels.”
From around the island, a green hatched circle emanated. “This is our sphere of influence. Roughly denoted by the reach of my radar systems, around seventy-five nautical miles or so. Anything within that area, I can see. Unfortunately, my surface-to-surf
ace weaponry is limited to a Mark 45 five-inch cannon or Tomahawk cruise missiles. I’m somewhat reluctant to use my Tomahawks on the pirate’s rather frail surface ships. Metaphors about sledgehammers and nuts would be apt in those circumstances. We still have an interdiction zone of 13 nautical miles just with the cannon, though.”
To illustrate her point, another circle, this time in orange appeared on the screen, showing the range of the Ignatius’s cannon.
“I had to make an example of a pirate ship a year ago. Since then, they often dip into our sensor range, but never within range of my Mk 45.”
“You have no Harpoons?” Reynolds asked, rubbing his chin as he contemplated the image.
“No, the majority of my VLS cells are full of anti-air weapons, although I do have some ASROCs,” Slater said. “But, to be fair, I would be reluctant to blow them on the rather frail surface ships as well.”
“You’re speaking gobbledygook,” Laurie said. “Can someone translate for us non-navy types?”
“My apologies,” Reynolds smiled at his daughter. “Captain, it would be valuable to get the insights of all of us here. It is clear that we are facing an extraordinary situation, and one in which a civilian perspective may be invaluable.”
“Of course,” Slater nodded. “The Ignatius is built around what we call the Mark 41 VLS, or Vertical Launch System. It consists of ninety-six cells, set in two banks, and are full of various types of missiles. In my inventory, I have a mix of anti-air missiles, such as RIM 66Ms and RIM 174As, surface attack Tomahawks, some anti-submarine rockets, RUM 139 ASROCs, as well as ballistic missile defense weaponry, RIM 161 and RIM 162s. Along with all that, I have a five-inch Mark 45 gun, a couple of bushmaster cannons, and what’s called a Phalanx CIWS, or Close-in Weapons System. Needless to say, Captain Solberg, those taxes we spoke about are paying for quite a lot of hardware.”
Kendricks looked at the panel he had been about to fiddle with, with a newfound respect. “That’s a lot of kit.”
