The Tide_Ghost Fleet

by Anthony J Melchiorri

  Mokri turned to curse at the lieutenant. But then he saw it. A blaze of light headed right toward him.

  ***

  “I got your back, Captain,” Thomas said over the comms.

  An antiaircraft missile screamed overhead, launched straight from the wounded Huntress.

  Dom peered through the binos in time to see the look on Admiral Mokri’s face. The bastard had started this mess, threatened nuclear annihilation, and gotten Spencer killed along with four loyal Huntress crew members. That asshole was going down. And Dom admitted he was glad, even if it was just for a fraction of a second, before the helicopter exploded into a ball of flame and spreading shrapnel.

  Lowering the binos, Dom said, “Thanks, Thomas. I owe you a drink when I get back. A strong, expensive drink.”

  “About all we got on the Huntress is instant coffee and juice concentrate,” Thomas said. “You got so much as a Coors, you can consider your debt paid.”

  “Call it an IOU then,” Dom said. “We’re going to need to get the Huntress repaired. Maybe we’ll take a pit stop in Ireland. After all we did there, I’m sure they wouldn’t mind us spending some time in Dublin.”

  Meredith sighed, falling back against the inflated raft. “I have a feeling there will be a lot of people willing to offer us a few drinks and beds after everything we’ve just been through.”

  “Even me?” O’Neil asked, grinning devilishly, the spikes on his limbs bristling.

  “Hey, I mean, Glenn’s got himself a girl, and look at his mug,” Miguel said. “If he can do it, so can you.”

  The crew settled in for the ride and shared the MREs from the raft’s emergency supplies. Thomas kept them updated until Ronaldo’s people reported they had found the Karlstad. It was far enough north that it would no longer pose a threat to an air rescue. And trapped in the Adriatic like that, with nothing but a skeleton crew to keep it afloat, it would be easy enough for the consolidated EU forces to launch a boarding mission and reclaim the ship.

  The beat of chopper blades cut through the idle chatter of the Hunters as they tended to their wounds. A prickle of fear traced down Dom’s neck until he found the chopper in his sights. There it was, a familiar Seahawk bearing down on them.

  “Howdy,” Frank’s voice came over the comms. “Heard y’all were looking for a ride.”

  The Seahawk closed in, and a rope ladder was flung out to the raft. Miguel helped Jenna up first, followed by Glenn. Dom ushered O’Neil up next.

  “You’re going to need to see a doctor,” Glenn said, surveying Jenna’s wounds.

  She grinned devilishly back at him. “And I’m sure you cannot wait to see a certain doctor.”

  It was hard for Dom to tell, but Glenn looked a little red.

  “I wish she wasn’t still in Germany,” he said. “I owe Samantha big-time.”

  “As do we all,” Dom said, sighing and leaning against the rubber gunwale.

  “You know, somewhere along the way, you promised me a cruise,” Meredith said.

  “Did I?” Dom asked. “I thought it was a vacation on a beach.”

  “Either way, I want to be clear that this doesn’t count. Promise me our vacation won’t involve life rafts and Titans.”

  He leaned in for a quick press of his lips against hers. “Promise.”

  Meredith climbed up, and Dom followed. The ladder swung around under the rotor wash of the Seahawk, and the salty spray of the sea air brushed across his skin. The scent of the burning Sahand still clung to his nostrils, and he thought he could make out the Titan’s voice as it battered what remained. But all of that seemed so far away now. At that moment, Dom and the Hunters existed in their own special purgatory. Only they weren’t suspended in some ethereal realm between Heaven and Hell. They were stuck between the hell created by the FGL in Dubrovnik and the hell he’d face aboard his nearly ruined ship.

  They were alive, and for that he was thankful, but he couldn’t forget the others that had sacrificed themselves to make this small victory possible. The Hunters and his crew had paid an enormous price and accomplished some equally enormous tasks. But if anything, this mission—just like the ones in the Congo and Morocco—had showed him the stubborn defiance that existed in many pockets of the world. People from Dublin and the Congo to Portugal and Germany weren’t willing to give this world over to the FGL. Neither were the Hunters.

  Meredith’s fingers found his. She squeezed and offered a reassuring smile.

  Those people wouldn’t give up. And neither would he. Like him, they all knew that amid the carnage of the Skulls and the atrocities committed by the FGL, there were still things worth fighting for.

  -Epilogue-

  Son of a bitch, those lights are bright.

  Midshipman Rachel Kaufman blinked until her eyes adjusted. Her throat itched, and she coughed. Her ribs vibrated like her lungs were trying to escape. Across her chest and arms, a thousand needles seemed to be prodding her.

  Goddamn, everything hurts.

  She tried to sit up straight, but the thick bandages covering her flesh made the movement difficult. Her muscles quivered when she swiveled her head. She could barely accomplish that small task. The faint whir and low murmur of voices filtered around her. White curtains were pulled back near her bed. Only a few seconds passed before she realized she was lying in a patient bed in a hospital or clinic somewhere. The movements of nurses and patients all around her came in a white blur.

  Her memories hit her with a nearly palpable force. In her mind, the concussive blast outside Kent erupted again. That ghost ship hitting shore, the suspense of waiting for the Skulls that never came. The explosion.

  “Rory.” The name scratched up her throat.

  What had become of him?

  Her heart slapped against her ribcage, and the mild panic made her dizzy. Good Lord, she really had been out for a while if this was what knocked her on her ass nowadays.

  “Rachel!” a comfortingly familiar voice answered.

  She heard the squeak of rubber on tile and cranked her head further, painful as the motion was, to look over her right shoulder. Past the tubes dangling off IV bags and the chirping equipment, she saw a beaming midshipman in a wheelchair wheeling himself right over to her.

  “You going to stay awake this time?” Rory asked when he reached her. He placed a hand gently over hers.

  “You trying to make a move on me?” she asked, her voice hoarse.

  Rory pulled his hand back. His face turned a brilliant red. “No, I—it’s just—I was so worried—”

  “I’m just giving you shit,” Rachel said. Something caught in her throat, and she coughed until it released. “God, I feel like hell.”

  “You look—”

  “Don’t you say it.” She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t you dare say it, Booker.”

  “I wasn’t going to say you looked like hell,” Rory said. “I was going to say you looked pretty good for surviving an exploding ship.”

  “Bullshit.”

  Rory laughed. “Yeah, you’re right. You do look like hell, Kaufman.”

  She started to laugh, but that quickly devolved into painful coughs. Rory placed his hand back over hers, and this time she said nothing. When she finally settled, he started to speak again.

  “We’ve been through hell and back together,” he said. “And I thought finally this time you weren’t coming back with me. You’re my best friend, and I couldn’t imagine going through this crazy world without you. Don’t do that to me again, okay?”

  Rachel wanted to tell him to stop with the sappy dribble. But she couldn’t. Damn it if he wasn’t right. They’d survived so many near-death experiences together since that very first day finding shelter at the Naval Academy.

  “You look a little beat up yourself,” Rachel said, trying to force a grin over her dry lips. “Is this going to make you give up kicking Skull ass?”

  Rory shook his head. “Skulls? We got to set our sights a little higher. I talked with the Hunters a few days ago.
They just stopped a nuclear apocalypse.”

  Rachel’s eyes widened involuntarily. “Wait, what the hell? We got a Skull apocalypse and someone is bringing nukes into the game?”

  “Yeah, either the FGL is getting more desperate, or whatever they’ve got planned for the world hasn’t even really started.”

  “And we’re stuck in this damn hospital.” Then a moment of realization dawned over her. “Oh, shit, what about Kent?”

  “Kent is okay,” Rory said. “The bridge we were defending isn’t. But Kinsey reinforced the whole island. It’s doing all right without us.”

  “How long we got in here?” Rachel asked.

  Rory lifted his bandaged ankle. “I’ve got a couple more weeks before I can really use this again. I overheard the nurses and docs say your burns are going to take some more time to heal. They want to make sure you don’t get any infections, but at least you didn’t have any breaks or fractures like me.”

  Rachel lifted her bandaged arms. “So that’s what all this is about. We talking third-degree burns?”

  Rory winced. “It wasn’t pretty.”

  For a moment Rachel was silent. She imagined the patches of shining scars and stretched skin covering her torso and limbs now. Probably a good thing she’d been out of it for so long.

  “The docs do know we aren’t sitting in this hospital forever, right?” Rachel finally asked.

  “They don’t, but I’m sure you’ll tell them.”

  “I will.” She thought for a second about what was next for them. Certainly, they could go back to guard duty at Kent. But with nukes flying around and after surviving that blast, she wanted something more. She had joined the Navy to see and protect the world, and by God, that’s what she’d been trained to do. “You think they’ll send us back to Kent?”

  “Of course they will.” But Rory was grinning.

  God, he looked so smug, sitting there with that look on his face.

  “What are you hiding from me?” she asked.

  “The Hunters aren’t the only people that reached out to us,” Rory said. “Shepherd did, too. The Hunters are off sailing around the world chasing the FGL, so we don’t exactly have a crack team of Skull killers in the US anymore. Shepherd’s looking to assemble a group with experience dealing with Skulls in the field.”

  Now Rachel wanted to peel the damn bandages off her skin and jump the hell out of there. It was high time for her to get revenge for what had happened to her and Rory and Kent and the rest of the United States. “You told him we’re in, right?”

  From the look on Rory’s face, she knew that he had.

  “When do we start?” she asked.

  “Shepherd told me—I’m paraphrasing here—that as soon as you get your ass up and can walk on your own, we can talk.”

  “Then call the nurse,” Rachel said, “because I’m about to go for a goddamn run.”

  ***

  Lauren had saved people from the brink of death. She’d burned long hours into the night and watched dawn break. Sometimes her experiments failed spectacularly. Other times they succeeded past her wildest dreams. She thought she’d known stress before. But right now, she felt like a beaker boiling on a hot plate. Everything a human being could feel, she had felt.

  She and Navid were loading their experimental samples back into the liquid nitrogen tanks and walk-in freezers where they belonged. They wouldn’t worry anymore about whether the samples would thaw, ruining their research efforts. At least for now.

  “I can’t believe they did it,” Navid said. “They stopped freaking nuclear missiles.” He laughed out of pure astonishment, brushing his hair back.

  Lauren smiled. “I can believe it. When you’ve seen Dom and the others in action, you start believing that they’re miracle workers.”

  “Miracles?” Navid asked, inserting a fresh rack of samples in the liquid nitrogen tank. “I thought you were a scientist.”

  “I’m not sure what I am anymore. Scientist, doctor.” She waved at the research lab. “Bioengineer... bioweapons designer.”

  For a while they continued unloading their samples. Already some of the researchers were turning their equipment back on and restarting their experiments. The celebration had been surprisingly short. Duty called.

  Lauren’s mind wandered to the future. She couldn’t wait to see Glenn again. Time spent with him came only in short bursts—those rare, precious moments when he wasn’t out on some death-defying mission and she didn’t have an experiment or patient requiring her attention in the med bay. Felix Becker had been hospitable enough, and Lauren had enjoyed the chance to stretch her land legs by working in a laboratory bigger than an entire deck on the Huntress. Still, she longed to be back with not only Glenn, but also Peter, Divya, and Sean. She hadn’t realized how much the ocean had been calling her until she’d spent this time in Germany.

  The door to the lab opened, interrupting Lauren’s reverie. Felix Becker spotted her and made a dramatic “ah” expression, then marched straight toward her. His portrayal of a confident, poised leader had been restored.

  “Lauren, Navid,” Becker said. “I would like a word with you.”

  Navid paused, closing the lid to the nitrogen tank.

  “We just got everything unloaded,” Lauren said, “and we still haven’t stored it all.”

  “That’s okay,” Becker said. “Someone else will take care of that for you.” He waved over one of the lab assistants and spoke to him in German. The lab assistant immediately began sorting Lauren and Navid’s samples. “You are now free from your responsibilities in the lab. Please, follow me.”

  Becker turned and began walking away before Lauren and Navid could say anything else. They followed him through the corridors of the facility. The place was already alive with activity, as if there had been no nuclear scare. Soon they reached Becker’s office. The space was organized and minimalist. There was none of the leather and rich wooden bookshelves that Lauren had envisioned in the man’s executive suite. Instead, it was more metal and glass than anything else. He beckoned them to join Emma Fischer at the conference table.

  “We have something very important to discuss,” Becker said.

  “I’m all ears,” Lauren said.

  “You are all ears?” Becker looked nonplussed for a moment. “Ah, this is an American phrase. You are listening.”

  Lauren nodded. “That’s right.”

  “Very good,” Becker said. “Both of you have demonstrated wonderful laboratory acumen with your work on the pheromone project. But that project was interrupted by our sudden and momentary departure from the laboratory. My hope is that you will stick around until the project’s completion.”

  In Lauren’s mind’s eye, she saw her bunk on the ship. She tried to ignore that inviting image. “Yes, of course we’ll help. But more importantly, how is the Phoenix Compound production going?”

  “We are now well into our third batch,” Fischer said. “I have every reason to believe it will be as successful as the first.”

  “Good to hear,” Lauren said. “In that case, it sounds like you won’t need us much longer than a few weeks.”

  “Are you so eager to leave?” Becker asked.

  Navid folded his arms across his chest, leaning back in his seat. “We’re pretty well done with the pheromone behavior modification project. After a few more tests to verify it works, you are going to take responsibility for turning it into a weapon, right?”

  “Yes, as we promised,” Becker said. “But there is another small favor I have to ask you. Dr. Fischer?”

  Fischer steepled her fingers together. “As you are well aware, our expertise is in pharmaceutical manufacturing, research, and drug delivery. These skills help us design new and effective strategies for eliminating Skulls. And we do have close relationships with the Bundeswehr. which has been instrumental in offering advice for, shall we say, mass application of our pharmaceuticals over wide areas.”

  “More euphemisms,” Lauren said. “You want to
make bioweapons.”

  “Yes,” Becker said. “But we have encountered a critical shortage.”

  “And that is?” Navid asked.

  Becker waved his hand to indicate Fischer and himself. “We have no bioweapons expertise.”

  “Of course not,” Lauren said. “I would be surprised if you did.” She was afraid of where this conversation was going. She had a dark suspicion of what Becker and Fischer were about to ask her.

  “After World War II, while many other countries flirted with biological weapons, Germany took a decidedly different approach to weapons research,” Becker explained.

  Navid snorted. “I can imagine there were a few diplomatic reasons to do so.”

  “Yes, yes, of course,” Becker said. “And that was all very good for our progress. But it also means that we do not have any experts to develop biological weapons.”

  “Welcome to the club,” Lauren said. “Most countries run by those with a conscience don’t.”

  Fischer leaned across the table, smudging fingerprints on the glass surface. “While this is also true, there are few individuals we know that have hands-on experience with biological and chemical weapons. You two are, as far as we are concerned, leading experts in the field. We need your help.”

  “We never made biological weapons,” Lauren argued. “Would you consider the guy who defuses bombs an expert at making one?”

  Becker scratched at his chin. “If I didn’t have access to anyone who made bombs, he would be the first person I would ask for advice about them.”

  “But—”

  The German scientist continued over her protest. “We want to develop weapons in cooperation with our European and American allies. We are tired of playing defense against the Oni Agent and the Skulls. We need to eliminate them before they eliminate us. And to do this, we need discriminating weapons of mass destruction that target only Skulls. Surely you can support this work, Dr. Winters and Dr. Ghasemi.”

  Fischer took over the sales pitch. “We are asking you to stay on our team for the foreseeable future. We need your help to stop the Skull menace. Will you join us?”