Ok, last part of the catchup. This is another National Novel Writing Month failed plot. This is chapter one of a unfinished book. It’s not as good as I’d like it to be…but that’s what editing is for. Read on!
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The central command center was silent, save for the low beeps that echoing from the stations. Officers littered the bridge, all going about their business as the day slowly passed by. Problem was most of the crew would never know if it was day or night. A scattered few had developed a sixth sense, mainly built from experience. These were the men of the USS Olympic, the first in her class of submarine units. She had been designed as a battle cruiser to fill in the ranks of ships lost, scrapped and retired. However, costs were soon skyrocketing and the entire project was put on hold for several years, in which the designers began to take another look at the ship they were designing. Over a period of several months, the Olympic Class battleship quickly became the brainchild of a Steven Willencaster, a retired Navy officer and veteran ship builder of nearly 45 years. It had come as a simple suggestion from the man as he was being shown the plans.
“What about the best of both worlds?” He had said it in passing to a fellow Admiral, who then relayed it later to the project director. A month passed before Willencaster was requested to come back to the project headquarters for a question session. Out of that was born the idea of a submarine with the ability to become a battleship when on the surface. Deck guns, missile launch units and a helicopter landing pad. Laughing at first, the designers quickly realized Willencaster was not in the least bit kidding. Two weeks passed until such a mammoth change in the Navy’s design began to move forward. Willencaster was assigned to the project as the director and he quickly brought in his old crew, while giving the younger designers lessons from the old school of Navy operation.
Five years and many tests, trials and mistakes later, the USS Olympic was inducted into the United States Navy. She was launched from Pearl Harbor for her maiden voyage with Willencaster aboard. The man who designed her now sat near the rear of the command center or as most called it, the bridge. Blue light covered the room as the men moved around the room, checking the systems. They had been at sea for three days, working out the bugs that would come up and testing each system with precision that would have made any Admiral proud. It had been a light cruise and smooth sailing was predicted from all departments as the vessel made her way through the water, five hundred feet deep in the ocean.
Ensign Terry McCloud sat at Sonar, his eyes and ears tuned to the sounds of the ocean. The equipment he had in front of him was something of a wonder. Detection, tactical tracking, identifying equipment and more littered the screens and console in front of him. Each responded to his touch and gave him exactly what he wanted. Compared to other vessels he had trained on, the Olympic was something to treasure. McCloud’s eyes traced the sonar tracking reports again, his ears tuned to the headphones attached around his head. For the most part, he had detected several biologic targets. Dolphins, whales and assorted other creatures of the deep had made their presence known in his ears. For the young Irish officer, it was music to his brain.
Then a sour note echoed through his ear canal as the man’s green eyes snapped to the screens. There was suddenly a signal on the glowing screen he hadn’t seen before. His hands tapped the buttons as the Olympic’s systems began to single out the signal. The tuning unit powered up as it began to separate the rest of the signals bouncing off the hull of the battleship into the headphones of the Sonar officer. An eyebrow went up as the blip vanished into the green. McCloud activated the power switch, moving the amps to the sensors up several notches. A few random biologic signals appeared, but nothing like what he had spotted just moments ago.
A frustrated moment passed until it appeared again, like a ghost slipping in and out of the headlights of the submarine. McCloud quickly tasked the tactical systems to lock onto his new interest and turned his attention to keeping the signal on his screens. A beep confirmed the systems were locked. Another beep and the unit became centered on his screens. Terry leaned into the green radar unit, almost as if to lean in to question the specter threatening his sanity. And just like that, it vanished.
The Sonar operator growled low in his throat and amped up the power to the sensors again, setting them to scan farther out and deeper than the current settings. His hands were flying over the consoles now, his fingers tapping buttons in a desperate attempt to find his new fascination. It taunted him while he glanced at the screens above him. Nothing was detected on the area where whatever it was had been. And then, it was there.
This time closer. And moving faster than before. McCloud knew it was time to notify the watch commander. He quickly tapped the keyboard, naming the new contact officially and logging it into the systems. He tapped his headset, the microphone near his mouth turned on. “CONN, SONAR. New Contact Designated Deep Alpha. Speed is 23 knots, depth is 1500 feet.” There was an affirmation from the Watch Commander as he snagged his microphone from above him. “SONAR, CONN. Confirm New Contact. Evaluation for Threat and Identify.” McCloud repeated the command back to the watch commander and tapped across the keyboard, keeping on eye on the contact and the other on the screens to the side of him, listing the possible solution to the new contact. A moment later a sense of alarm ran through his body. Whatever they had detected, it had spotted them as well. “CONN, SONAR. Contact is changing course towards our position. Speed is now 28 knots, depth is 1000 feet.” A moment passed as the watch commander digested the information. “SONAR, CONN. Get identity on Deep Alpha. Begin live tracking and transmit to Command Station.” As it was second nature to the young man, he sounded the command back as he routed the tracking to the station at the center command chair and the station next to it. He returned to the identity of the unit. It was now accelerating to 35 knots and depth was closing in on 800 feet. The Watch Commander had spotted it as well. The call was quickly made for the Executive Officer as the officers on the bridge began to take notice of this latest development. Three days left them to their own devices when there was little to do but watch and wait for something to go wrong. Now, there was something out there, a contact they could dance with.
A rabble of sounds was heard from the door to the hallway as the XO made his way onto the bridge, just attaching his buttons to his uniform. He looked to McCloud and raised an eyebrow. There was something about being roused from your office where you were sitting in a comfortable chair to looking at glaring screens and eyeing a chair that caused more back problems in three days then the beds did themselves. Terry simply nodded to his commanding officer and returned to his screens. Whatever was out there was coming towards them, accelerating rapidly and rising from the depths. A few moments later the XO pushed the communications button on the center pole, calling the Captain to the bridge. McCloud continued to watch the unit. It was now a mile out from the Olympic and closing fast. Another rabble of sound and the Captain hit the bridge, heading straight to the command area, stealing a glimpse at Terry. Feeling the eyes at your back was something the Sonar officer was accustomed to normally. It rarely bothered him.
Whatever was out in the deep blue continued to close fast on the USS Olympic. It was now a half mile out. The call for general quarters was quickly followed by battle stations. Engines were ordered to full readiness. Terry stayed at his station, tapping the buttons to secure a continued lock on the impending aggressor. He heard faint remarks about communication channels being opened. His eyes widened as he realized the object was now directly in front of them. And within thirty seconds of collision. The alarms and klaxons began to ring through the ship as the helm slammed into a fast turn as the engines kicked into gear, whining from the treatment. The Tactical officer, now sweating profusely was counting seconds until collision. Lights began to flash, highlighting the fear held deep inside the officer’s hearts. Ten seconds remained as a prayer was offered from one corner of the ship as last regrets confessed from another. Five seconds remained as one officer threw up on the floor.
Two seconds. McCloud prayed.
One Second. Silence. Eyes went skyward, as if expecting a miracle to save them.
Impact. A dull crash was the first thing anyone heard, the immense weight of their attacker slamming into the side of the fleeing vessel. Then the hull began to bend in the seconds after impact. Fractures appeared along the side as the submarine was flung sideways. The bridge went wild. Bodies literally flew across the room, bouncing off walls and equipment as if they were rag dolls. McCloud had wrapped his arms around the rails nears his station and he felt he was holding his own as the bridge went sideways, the Olympic floating on her side.
Then silence as sparks flew from across the room. Water dripped and flowed from corners of the command center as Terry tried to look around. Not many of the officers were moving. He spotted the tactical officer impacted against the front screens, his head twisted. Looking away in horror, he spotted the green of the sonar was still alive and running, thanks to some miracle. Holding into the rail with his left hand, McCloud forced his right hand up to the monitoring unit, tapping the buttons as best he can. The spot was moving away, for the moment. A sigh of relief passed through the sonar chief, but his blood soon ran cold.
The white blinking spot was coming back. And faster than before. Ensign Terry McCloud began to pray the last prayer he knew he had. Moments later, the sound of crashing metal filled the room as the sonar chief let go of the railing, falling to the now upside down bridge.
USS Enterprise, Carrier.
The aircraft carrier deck was filled with assorted planes, helicopters and weapons of any shape. It was cleaning day down below for the crew and the dust of the previous mission was being cleared out for the next inevitable mission came over the radio. Looking over the deck was Captain Ambrose Harris, United States Navy. On the bridge, he stood at the long bank of windows, watching the crew moved quickly over the graying metal, like ants looking for a picnic. This was as close as anyone was going to get to a time of rest. They were awaiting the arrival of the USS Olympic, the latest and greatest vessel to be inducted into the Navy’s service. At last count, the Enterprise had been waiting one half hour for the late arrivals.
Harris affixed his hat to his head and groaned. “First time in one year we get to take a break and even then they can’t keep a schedule worth a damn.” His XO stood next to him, his hat neatly tucked between his arm and body. “Yes sir.” Jakob Duran was young and had run most of his life on smaller cruisers as a command officer, only recently graduated to a battleship and then quickly pushed into the lap of Harris, who had been reticent about taking the young officer into his care. He felt as if Duran was too much business for the job. The man hadn’t let his guard down in six months, not even when his grandmother passed away near Memorial Day.
Ambrose nearly dared throw the man overboard to loosen him up, but so far he had been able to resist the urge. He wasn’t sure if that would be possible for much longer. Duran followed his captain out the door into the warm air that whipped at their faces. It was a welcome change from the cold biting ice they had been in for six months near Canada. Several officers had nearly made away with staying on shore and getting a ride home. Sadly, Harris quickly caught them and put them in the brig for a few days, where they learned several lessons from their CO.
Duran walked down the steps as they both headed out into the deck, Harris saluting the men and women as they went. They ended up at the front of the vessel, Ambrose taking a moment to look out onto the ocean, something he tried to do at least once a day. Being deep inside the metal beast was claustrophobic and one needed release. A moment or two passed as the roar of the waves hitting the ship washed over the men. Duran finally turned to his commanding officer. “Sir? What are we doing out here? The Olympic…” Harris put a hand up, silencing the younger man. “Mr. Duran, if there’s one thing you learn to do, it’s to make peace with the sea. She’ll keep you safe, as long as you let her know you respect her power. And if she takes you, it’s better to go with peace than with pain.” He nodded slowly as he turned to look at the bridge. “Look’s like we’re needed, you and me. Let’s go find what we’re going to do today…”
The door to the bridge closed as Ambrose looked to the faces of the command center crew. Something wasn’t right. The captain moved to his seat slowly and sat, turning to the Watch Commander. “Report?” The officer slowly began to run down the latest from the Navy Pacific Command Operations. They had lost contact with the Olympic one hour ago and were unable to locate the vessel on radar. No reports of contact had been sent and the last communication was clear sailing from Pearl to the testing grounds and back again. Helicopters had not been deployed, but were in the works.
Harris fell back into his chair, his face going pale. The report contained their orders to immediately set course for the last known position of the Olympic at best possible speeds. All available methods of search and rescue were to be engaged. The Watch Commander finished and looked to his CO. Ambrose gripped the arms as he looked out into the rolling waves. A moment longer and he turned to his assembled staff. “Set course. All power forward. All manpower is to work on clearing the deck…” He moved towards the exit as the Watch Commander spoke up. “Captain, engineering hasn’t completed…” He stopped as the Captain turned to him, eyebrow raised. Taking a deep breath, the officer nodded. “Aye sir.” Harris turned and headed off the bridge.
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National Blog Writing Month (nablowrimo) is underway! 22 bloggers from around the world are united in blogging once a day! You should read them and check ‘em out every day! See more details at the site here or look at the list below!
NaBloWriMo Bloggers
- groovygrrl
- I’m Not Hannah
- The Kittalog
- Indian Food Rocks!
- Cooking and Me
- The Way I Always Was
- Jugalbandi
- Culinary Colorado
- Digging In
- Thistle Dew Farm
- Mimi On The Move
- Enjoy Indian Food
- Siri’s Corner
- Conch-to-be
- Nags of a Similar Ilk
- Damn Yankee, Vermont
- Aaron Delay
- Fun Climbs Around the World
- Seriously Wonderful
- Straight From Hel
- Use Real Butter
- Here it is!!!
