Operation: Pacifica, The Rolling Waves by CyberPyro (deadlock@one.net) Time: 5 days later Place: the deck of the DTT Iowa CP stood with his arms clasped tightly behind his back. Captain Felton's, aka DarkSide's, F-14 made a warbly, sickened approach to the deck of the _Freedom_. "It's going to crash." CP's pronouncement made a nearby sailor shiver in fear. Deck crashes were never good, and rarely did anyone survive. He had friends, comrades who worked on the _Freedom_. The bird dropped at a sickening pace, causing sailors throughout the fleet to momentarily forget their non-essential tasks and gaze towards the _Freedom_. An unholy screech, booming explosion, a rapidly rising cloud of smoke in an all-to-short moment later, and the carrier's deck was hidden from view. Alarms could be heard howling across the ocean as the _Freedom's_ crew fought to control the fire and restore order. ... Captain Geoffries peered down at the deck. The roiling clouds of smoke made it difficult for him to see what was going on with his deck. "He's alive!" screamed a crewman over the intercom. "The pilot's safe?" asked the Captain. "Yeah, rough landing," responded DarkSide as he worked at putting out the flames burning on his hide. "Jolly good, man!" exclaimed Geoffries. ... Word spread rapidly throughout the fleet: all the pilots had made it back alive, some sans plane, and the fleet had a fight on its hands. Captain 'Bazooka Bill' Williams promptly ordered the fleet into a tight combat formation as preparations began for an all-out confrontation with b'harnate forces. "Dammit!" swore Captain Williams as he paced the bridge, "We *need* first hand intelligence!" He'd hoped the fighter expedition would have turned up something conclusive, but they'd not managed anything solid. "Perhaps I can help." CP walked onto the bridge and greeted the Captain. "How so?" "Comm Officer," addressed CP, "get me a line to TRES Base, Inuvik, Canada." "Sir?" The Comm Officer looked completely perplexed. "Do it," commanded the Iowa's Captain. The channel crackled to life as satellite relays connected the two places. "Inuvik, Canada. TRES Corps Space Fleet Ground Command," responded a young man's voice. "Connect to me to Admiral Svartalf," requested CP. The voice on the other snorted in derision. "I'm sorry, the Admiral doesn't take calls without an appointment." "Who is this?" "Ensign Boswell. Who is this?" "This is Grand Admiral Marburger, Ensign. I want to talk to the Admiral. Now." Satellite dishes at the Ground Command pointed directly overheard to where the TCSF HQ hovered, 23,000 from the planet's surface. "Yes, S-sir." The video line flickered briefly as Svartalf's image came into view and the Ensign's voice disappeared. "Hello!" greeted Svartalf from his command chair. Around him were dozens of monitors, keyboards, stacks of reports, and several empty Jolt cans with complimentary Ho-Ho wrappers. "Svart, I need orbital recon. Whatcha have available?" "How soon?" "Now." "The _Lachiesis_ and _Polymnia_ can go immediately. Five minutes and I can pull some others off routine duty." "Do it. Thanks." "No problem. By the way, am I ever going to be given a ground command again? I've been up in this station a long time..." "We'll talk about it, Marburger out." "Yes, sir. Svartalf out." ... Alarms rang throughout the fleet as the setting sun bathed the ships in golden light. News had spread quickly throughout the fleet: a larger b'harnate force was approaching them rapidly. A rough count placed the best estimate at 15. It was going to be a very close match. ... Time: 11pm Captain Williams walked the length of the _Iowa_, looking her over one last time before she went into battle. He knew it was an old superstition, but he simply couldn't resist the impulse. Everywhere he went sailors would snap out of their quiet, inward contemplation long enough to give a crisp salute and then, without the understood command being issued, to stand at ease and return to their thoughts. ... The XO picked up the receiver from the watch. They enemy had been spotted on the horizon. He pushed the Captain's beeper, knowing he'd want to be on the bridge before a general alarm sounded. "Range?" asked Captain Williams less than 20 seconds later. He walked through the main hatch onto the bridge, folded his coat across the back of the command chair, and sat down. "30 miles, sir," responded the XO. It never ceased to amaze him how the captain managed to be so near the bridge every time he was needed. "Sound battle stations," ordered Williams. Klaxons throughout the _Iowa_ roared to life. "I'll be going." CP found the shortest path to the nearest exit and made his way from the bridge. "Load all guns!" barked William's voice from the bridge. ... "Don't you hate being a fifth wheel?" Perazim stood against the starboard wall of the observation deck. He looked rather down-trodden. No one needed him in the unfolding events. "We'll find something to do, trust me." CP half-smirked as he looked about the busied crew. The sixteen inch guns of the Iowa hummed loudly as they swung into position. "Here, you're going to need these." Perazim tossed CP a set of heavy ear protection. The double "MRRRR! MRRRR!" that warned of the guns' imminent fire blared throughout the ship. A moment later, the entire ship shook from stem to stern as the first barrage left the Jihaddi fleet. - CP Copyright, Pyrokinetic Productions, Inc. (1996)