Arising Storm [PMT/TG TO JOIN/IC]

[The Isle of Beithe]

Downtown Los Angeles, Gagium
14 October 2049. 1823.

Mr. Donaldson was ecstatic. "Ah, yes, I was hoping you'd ask about this one," he said as he noticed Mr. Khan examining the R. Klein Associates AR-50 Mark II assault rifle. "I see you have a keen eye for quality firearms, sir. This remarkable product of pure Beithen craftsmanship has become quite popular with the Beithe Marine Corps and is currently set to replace the old AR-48 as the marines' service rifle." He walked over to his desk, unlocked a drawer, and retrieved a manila folder from which he grabbed the specifications sheet for the AR-50 Mark II. He handed the specifications to Mr. Khan.

SPECIFICATIONS: AR-50 MARK II ASSAULT RIFLE

Type: Semi-automatic AR-15 style assault rifle
Country of Origin: Allied States of the Isle of Beithe
Manufacturer: R. Klein Associates, Inc.
Designed: 2047
Weight: 2.59 kg (5.7 lbs.)
Barrel length: 381- 508 mm (15-20 inches)
Cartridge Type: 5.56×45mm NATO
Action: Direct gas impingement system, rotating bolt
Feed System: Standard AR-compatible magazine
Scope:
* Infrared thermal setting
* Variable magnification settings (2X – 45X)
* Theoretical Maximum Sighting Distance: 466.34 m. (510 yards)
Special Features:
* Superior recoil compared to older model assault rifles
* Ergonomically-designed stock and grips

As Mr. Khan read the specifications sheet, Mr. Donaldson continued his sales pitch. "This model was initially inspired the classic Sig Sauer SIGM400, which served admirably as the Beithe Marine Corps service rifle from 2019 through 2031. It also one of my personal favorites. I'd been quite fond of the Mark I model and have 5 at home, but when this baby came out... wow, was I stunned -- particularly with how lightweight it is -- R. Klein Associates refuses to give details, but apparently it's manufactured using some specialty materials, truly state of the art -- and its ergonomic design is fantastic, as well! As a former Beithen marine myself, I have to say that a soldier's comfort with their weapon is just as important as the weapon's combat efficiency!"

Mr. Donaldson paused to catch his breath, and he noticed that Mr. Khan seemed bored. "But I'm just rambling on, aren't I? Now, you asked how many of the AR-50's I have. At present, I have 647 that you could pick up tonight. You're quite lucky, because the AR-50 Mark II has been very hard to come by lately, as the Beithen marines made a massive order recently. For a fee, I can get more, if you wish. I am able to offer some customizations, as well -- in fact, I already have a few off-market, fully-automatic models, though, uhh... I'd be a little cautious with those. So, what do you say, sir?" Donaldson eagerly awaited his clients' response.

[Prussian Polish Commonwealth]

St Louis
Wilhelm shrugged. "We have our ways. It is an honor to serve with you, though."
He then went up and signed. "Say, which area is at greatest risk of being overrun?"

SMU Seeadler
Karl Stortebeker von Danzig went into the bridge. "Any updates?"
His Weapons Officer came up.
"Admiral, we have a firing solution. Using the Bastard, right?"
Karl smiled. "Ja. Fire at your own discretion."

A torpedo raced out from the Seeadler, headed for the Zimmerman. Assuming all went well, it would be given a proper Prussian-Polish greeting very soon.

[The Isle of Beithe]

"Captain, inbound torpedo, sir!" shouted Instrumentation Specialist, Senior Grade Billy Banks, aboard BNS Zimmermann. He then announced the torpedo's present heading and speed.

Capt. O'Grady immediately ordered for an evasive maneuver, but it was already too late. Petty officer Banks continuously updated the captain on the torpedo's location. When he announced that it was less than 46 meters (50 yards) away, the Beithen crew believed death to be certain. To their surprise, however, a large bang resonated throughout the sub as the AS-322 'Little Bastard' antisubmarine drone latched onto the exterior of the Zimmermann, but there was no explosion. Everyone in the sub's command center looked around at each other in silence, stunned and profoundly confused. Approximately thirty seconds after the 'Little Baster' had latched onto Zimmermann, the situation became clear as a high-pitched tone echoed through the vessel -- a tone similar to the sound preceding an emergency broadcast announcement, but significantly more obnoxious and considerably louder. Throughout the sub, many sailors groaned and futilely placed their hands on their ears.

The captain of the Zimmermann was noticeably annoyed -- not by the irritating high-pitched tone, but by the nature of the enemy tactic. "Ugh, really, this bullshit?" Capt. O'Grady groaned. He was familiar with the device being utilized against his vessel -- the concept of it at least. When he was a lowly ensign aboard BNS Fitzpatrick (SBBN-367), he had participated in a war-game exercise in which the Beithe Navy experimented with a device similiar to the the 'Little Bastard.' The device had played the most-obnoxious song in world history aboard the Fitzpatrick for twenty-six hours straight. Ultimately, the Beithe Navy chose not to incorporate the experimental device in its routine tactics, and for that, Capt. O'Grady was grateful; he considered such tactics to be highly-childish and unbecoming of a professional military service.

O'Grady turned to Warrant Officer Ian Wilson and asked, "Will the ECM system shut down this disgraceful contraption?"

"Yes, sir, it should once we get it running," Wilson replied.

"Well, then, you better get working faster then, shouldn't you, Mr. Wilson?" Capt. O'Grady sternly responded.

"Aye, aye, sir!" shouted Warrant Wilson. He ran to the hatch that connected the command center with the Zimmerman's primary instrumentation room. Unfortunately, Wilson thought to himself, getting the ECM system back online would likely take twice as long, if not longer, with the distraction caused by the 'Little Bastard.' As the warrant officer pushed aside a chief petty officer who had been tinkering with some wires (Wilson planned to make the necessary repairs himself), the high-pitch toned shifted to the ramblings of some psychotic serial killer, describing with horrendous detail how he had skinned his victims alive.

Back in Zimmermann's command center, Capt. O'Grady was worried about how the noise created by the Little Bastard's recordings would make his vessel more noticeable to enemy sonar. He understood that he and his crew were essentially "sitting ducks" at the moment.

[Prussian Polish Commonwealth]

SMU Seeadler
Weps came in woth a triumphant grin.
"Lighting up like a fucking Christmas tree, sir, although the gyrojets and ram failed."
Karl sighed. "Go launch another, amd this time have it loop Gruß am Kiel.
"Roger. "

Yet again, a torpedo raced out.

[The Isle of Beithe]

BNS Zimmermann

Less than a minute after being struck by the first Little Bastard drone, a second torpedo sped towards the Zimmermann. Again, Capt. O'Grady ordered evasive maneuvering -- and this time, almost with success. Zimmermann turned sharply to port but just seconds too late -- the seamen operating the sub's navigational controls had been sluggish in his response, distracted by the noise generated by the first drone -- and the second 'Little Bastard' latched onto Zimmermann's stern. Unfortunately for the Beithen crew, this time the battering rams and gyrojets functioned as intended.

The combined effects of the two Little Bastards' was enough to drive the sanest men to contemplation of suicide.



BNS Straussburg
Undisclosed location 100 nautical miles from the eastern coast of Gagium

The past week had been delightfully boring for Captain Gina Littleton and the crew of BNS Struassburg.

"What was the ETA again on Zimmermann?" Capt. Littleton asked her executive officer, Commander Norman BIllows, as the two casually drank coffee and played poker in the wardroom.

"Between 19 and 25 hours, ma'am," responded Cmdr. Billows.

"Hmph, hope their journey has been as uneventful as our patrol," said Capt. Littleton. She tried to fight off a yawn but failed.

[The Isle of Beithe]

BNS Zimmermann

Able Seamen (Electrical Technician Designated Striker) Jim Hess’s eyes burned with fatigue as he walked through the corridor leading to his bunk. The unrelenting racket provided by the obnoxious recordings, the bangs of the hydraulic rams battering the Zimmermann’s hull, and the occasional firing of the gyrojets had made sleep impossible. It did not help that he was coming off the "Moon Watch" (0100 to 0630); he could never handle working nights. As Able Seamen Hess stepped to the side to make way for an officer, he nearly walked into the bulkhead.

Laying in his bunk, Hess tried with no success to ignore the noise. Currently, the Little Bastard blasted German death metal -- which seemed to pair well with the banging of the hydraulic rams, Hess thought idly. Adding to his inability to sleep was a nagging feeling in the back of the young sailor’s mind that he had forgotten something important. “What was it?” Hess wondered. “Let’s see, I KNOW I did ALL of the scheduled calibrations, I know it… shit, did I fill out the paperwork? I always fudge up the paperwork… No, no, I did that, I’m sure… I’d never forget after Chief Vickers balled me out the last time…” As hard as he tried, Able Seamen Hess couldn’t put his finger on what he had overlooked. “Perhaps I’m just being paranoid. Lack of sleep’ll do that to you…”

Suddenly, the German death metal stopped – and to Able Seaman Hess’s surprise, it was not replaced by anything. Unbeknownst to him, Warrant Officer Wilson had finally gotten the Zimmerman’s ECM system back on-line. While the ECM successfully disrupted the Little Bastard’s speaker system, it did nothing to stop the hydraulic rams or the gyrojets. It wasn’t a complete victory, but for Hess it was enough to allow him to eventually drift into sleep – for a few minutes at least....



The explosion caused Able Seamen Hess to jolt out of his bunk, a little too quickly, and he fell flat on his face, kissing the cold metal floor. Zimmermann’s fire alarm blared.


“FIRE! FIRE! MOTOR ROOM, LOWER LEVEL, COMPARTMENT 1O-B. ATTENTION, FIREFIGHTING TEAMS 1 THROUGH 5! ALL HANDS ON ALERT STATUS ALPHA-2, PREPARE TO PROCEED PER STANDARD OPERATING PROCEDURES BN-SB-095 THROUGH BN-SB-098.

REPEAT:

FIRE! FIRE! FIRE IN THE MOTOR ROOM, LOWER LEVEL, COMPARTMENT 10-B! ATTENTION, FIREFIGHTING TEAMS 1 THROUGH 5, REPORT IMMEDIATELY! THIS IS NOT A DRILL. REPEAT, THIS IS NOT A DRILL!”


Upon hearing the fire alarm and announcement, Capt. O’Grady ran from his quarters to the control room. He had stopped occasionally to make way for sailors adorning self-contained breathing apparatuses (SCBAs), who were rushing astern to the fight the fire in the sub’s Motor Room.

In the control room, the Officer-of-the-Deck, Lieutenant James Kaylor, promptly gave the captain a status report, before O’Grady even asked. “Captain, sir, the fire broke out in the lower-level Engine Room near one of the condenser units. One fatality already -- Electrical Technician Junior Grade Paul Montgomery, killed instantly– and four men with burns of varying degrees, already transported to sick bay. One of the men said something about a capacitor explosion from a sudden voltage jolt, then shrapnel and sparks igniting the lubricating oil tank.” (Lt. Kaylor tried to sound confident in his report, but truthfully, he had no clue what a capacitor was -- though he thought that “sudden voltage jolt” sounded awfully bad -- and he only vaguely understood the function of a condenser unit. Engineering had never been one of his strengths at the Naval College.) Solemnly, he further reported that, “Evidently, there has also been some kind of malfunction with the automated fire suppression system in that area…possibly a clogged pipe.”

“Shit!” Capt. O’Grady exclaimed. He looked at one of the monitors in the control room, which displayed CCTV footage of the lower engine room. On another screen was a cutaway drawing of the Zimmermann, on which the areas affected by the fire were displayed with flashing red icons; on the bottom of the screen, environmental reports showed the current temperature readings from throughout the vessel. Compartment 10-B had already exceeded its temperature transmitters’ maximum readable temperature: 1,000°C (1,832°F).



Capt. O’Grady prayed that the fire could be contained and extinguished; and most importantly, he hoped that it wouldn’t reach the nuclear reactor. The reactor was surrounded by multiple bulkheads constructed from a specialty steel alloy containing tantalum carbide, able to withstand temperatures of over 3,000°C for extended periods -- but at this point, O’Grady had lost all faith in the competency of Zimmermann’s designers. (The captain thought angrily, "This is what happens when you enact budget cuts in the wrong places!") His confidence in his own Engineering Department had been lost, as well, and he began to daydream about sending the entire department in front of a firing squad. He had been trying hard to maintain his composure throughout this ordeal, but he had finally snapped. “God, we already have had to deal with the noise made by that stupid toy, and now this fire alarm is giving me a f**king headache!” the captain yelled. “I’m about ready to go to my quarters, get my service pistol, and f**king end this!” He slammed his fist against the nearest bulkhead.

[Gagium]

DOWNTOWN LOS ANGELES, NSWP HQ
OCTOBER FOURTEENTH, 2049, 6:24 PM

Scott Khan gawked at the specifications of the AR-50, which he realized was a truly formidable gun. And only 5.7 pounds? The NSWP would damn well benefit from a few of these in their hands, he thought. However, the excitement only lasted a few seconds, and he quickly regained his bored look as he began looking off at the rest of the stockpile again.

Khan thought a bit about the offer, and pondered whether Mr. Poussin would prefer automatic or semi-auto - He soon came to the conclusion that the more people killed at a quicker rate, the better. Clearing his throat, Scott said, "You mentioned that you had a few automatic models? I'm sure the Chairman would wish to have some of those."

"Do you happen to have a few bump stocks available that would fit the Mark II? The Worker's Party would be willing to pay, of course."

SSN-451, WEST OF CUBA
OCTOBER NINTEENTH, 2049
SSN-451 continued along its planned course towards the Atlantic. Admiral Astrid Blaise tiredly was sitting in the control room of the submarine, playing a 2001-release version of Tetris on a rusted, aged service laptop. She exhaled as the game beeped, signaling that she lost after a streak of 31 rows cleared. Astrid slammed the lid of the laptop and looked at the map of the Caribbean sea laying on one of the control panels. It would be a few days until the submarine reached the Atlantic.

Meanwhile, SSN-451 and Admiral Clovis Granet continued along their path, which would take them near Georgia. He expected no adventure from the mission, and no submarines detected.

SAN FRANCISCO, NEVADA COMMONWEALTH
In downtown San Francisco, near the aged skyscrapers of the Financial District, a mob of hundreds of self-proclaimed NSWP supporters & members gathered, especially around the heavy-security Federal Reserve Bank of San Francisco. They marched through the streets, waving black banners with various slogans on them and with some protesters wielding handguns or rifles as they shouted.

A detachment of armored riot police assembled around the Reserve Bank, as two armored APCs with blaring horns attempted to drive through the group towards the Bank, with protestors slamming their fists onto the APCs' metal plates. On a wooden podium hastily assembled in front of the Reserve Bank, a NSWP high-ranking official stepped up and gave a revolting speech to the crowd, which cheered in support.

A few blocks away, a hundred or so communist & left-wing protesters also assembled to combat the NSWP mob, which broke out into violence. A company of King's Guardsmen were called from Las Vegas Armory to reinforce the municipal's riot police, and an infantry battalion also prepared to mobilize to break up the protests.

In Los Angeles, Armel Poussin smiled as he watched the news coverage, which focused more on how the Monarchy was hogging money in the Federal Reserve than the actual protests or the violence. He took a sip of green tea and continued watching the coverage.

ST. LOUIS, CAPITAL OF GAGIUM
The head King's Guardsman manning the slab, a burly Sergeant Major, glanced at Warrant Officer Jose before returning his attention to Captain William Erhardt. The Sergeant Major replied in a rough voice, "I believe you're standing in it. Even though our defenses are great, and the King's Guard mighty, you wouldn't believe how much those far-left and third-positionist revolutionaries want to see the palace burn especially. That's why we have these sign-ups. There aren't many protesters today, but wait until the elections come. That's when all hell'll break lose."

[The Isle of Beithe]

DOWNTOWN LOS ANGELES, GAGIUM
14 OCTOBER 2049. 1825.

When Mr. Khan asked for the fully-automatic modification of the AR-50 Mark II, Mr Donaldson's smile faded, and for a moment, he looked worried.

"Well, I believe we have 100 of the automatic models, give or take. Now, I DO have to warn you that these are off-market models; the modification's have voided the warrant, of course. There's been a few --- ummm --- mishaps where the rifles continued to fire after the trigger'd been released. Now, these events are, of course, the exemption, not the norm, I assure you! Most of the time, the automatic AR-50s perform brilliantly. But I do feel obliged to warn you at least."

Donaldson entered the walk-in closet. "Now let me see about those bump stocks. I recall the manufacturer sending us a small shipment." He searched through boxes that had been haphazardly placed in a rear corner of the closet. After two minutes, he found the box he'd been looking for. Labelled with permanent marker as "Church Donations," the box was unopened. Donaldson pulled a pocket knife from his pants pocket and opened the box. "Yup, these are bump stocks..." He brought the box over to Mr. Khan to examine. "I think we have around 400 in our primary storage facility. Don't worry about the cost, I'll throw these in for free. Nobody had ever asked for them before, so I don't mind giving them away. My closet AND our storage facility are getting too cluttered, and I have some great new products coming in shortly, so I could use the space."

[Prussian Polish Commonwealth]

St Louis
Erhardt smiled for the first time. "Good. Very good. In any case, we'll biovac at that park that's 5 minutes by car from here. Take care."
With that he mounted his horse again, shoted an order, and the column moved out.

Later that day
A small park abruptly found itself host to the 40-man detachment of the Marinebrigade Erhardt. Tents appeared almost overnight, and 2 trucks purchased from the local milita idled nearby.

Abruptly, one fired up, and 10 men boarded. It made it's way through the evening traffic and stopped in front of St. Louise International airport.
The 10 men got off-and then remembered that they forgot to purchase tickets.
The sergeant in charge sighed and pulled out his phone, before spending the next 2 hours booking tickets for 10 to San Francisco. With that done they headed through security, and then waited another 3 hours for their plane.

[Gagium]

DOWNTOWN LOS ANGELES, NSWP HQ
OCTOBER FOURTEENTH, 2049, 6:27 PM

Donaldson's reaction to Scott Khan's request made him smile. He knew that Mr. Poussin would indeed be very happy with his selections. The more communists killed, the better... However, Khan realized that the reported flaw with the automatic AR-50 could be deadly and have consequences in most situations, though he thought that unlikely.

Scott grinned at the bump stocks in the 'Church Donations' box; Exactly what the National Societal Militia would need for the future. And they had 400 of them too! Scott Khan quickly responded once Mr. Donaldson was done talking, "That's great to hear; I believe the Chairman will be most pleased with these weapons. We'll order about two dozen of those automatic models for the moment, and we'll graciously accept the bump stocks. However, I'd like to discuss delivery method of them? We have a little 'armory' located out in the Mohave, as well as a few spare trucks.."

ST. LOUIS, CAPITAL OF GAGIUM
OCTOBER NINETEENTH, 2049
At St. Louis International Airport, a large commercial plane arrived at the terminal that Erhardt's men were waiting in. They would find that the terminal was noticeably scarcely crowded, as nobody was really interested in vacation or travel with the economic crisis and famines going on. The plane was also old, with a rustic, abandoned appearance on the outside of the plane; However, the interior was quite fine, save for a few stains on some of the seats and floor. The sole airline operating at the airport, or many of the other airports across Gagium, Crown Airlines LLC (A company formed from the merge of several other pre-crisis airlines), was on the verge of filing bankruptcy.

The Prussians would notice that several of the planes seats creaked as they sat on them once they boarded, and most of the planes' attendants were relatively old compared to those before the crisis sank in. The plane's captain was an old man that had been doing his job too young; There was not enough money to train or hire a co-pilot. The plane would take off the concrete airstrip hastily, with very few words exchanged between the pilot and the sparse passengers aboard the plane before it took off to head towards San Francisco.

SAN FRANCISCO, NEVADA COMMONWEALTH
OCTOBER TWENTIETH, 2049
As dawn emerged, fascists and communists regathered onto the streets of San Francisco; It seemed like this would be a multi-day riot. The King's Guard detachment had arrived and set up a perimeter around the Federal Reserve Bank of San Francisco, as well as riot police and some right-wing militias.

At around eight in the morning, estimates put the amount of NSWP on the streets at around 10,000, outnumbering communist & socialist protestors 4:1. Armored APCs and even a rusted, 2010's-era tank owned by a monarchist militia were on the streets as well. As soon as both sides arrived, fighting began among the NSWP protestors and communist protestors, & a few gunshots erupted as some armed men from each side took potshots at the other side. Sirens erupted as the riot police & King's Guard attempted to disperse the crowd, but to no avail.

At around 10:30 local time, an explosion lit up the street, as dozens of NSWP protestors in the crowded midst of the bomb died, and several others were injured. The fascists responded by opening fire on the communists, and government forces began spraying gas onto the rioters, as well as arresting those. A King's Guard APC exploded in flames in the scene, and a squadron of military helicopters were sent to reinforce government forces; Several thousand police were also called in, and a few armored vehicles from the Las Vegas Armory began proceeding towards San Francisco.

The situation grew worse as media reported that the Federal Reserves have been breached by communists, as media coverage showed riot police fleeing the vicinity to the outskirts of the riots, where reinforcements were regrouping. Riot police and King's Guardsmen were shown being dragged by armed communists running into the Federal Reserves.

[Prussian Polish Commonwealth]

SAN FRANCISCO
The 10 Freikorps rushed out of their plane. While waiting for their luggage they had caught the news of the communist takeover of the Federal Reserve, and the images of Guardsmen dragged in and being shot had burned itself into their minds. As soon as they grabbed the pelican cases containing their G3s, they ran out. One of the members flagged down a pair of taxis, and they all piled in.

An hour later and they were dropped off near the Reserve. They got their rifles out and fanned out into a wedge.
Soon, they arrived. The sergeant grabbed a nearby NSWP member holding an AR-15. "Who's in charge here?"

[The Isle of Beithe]

DOWNTOWN LOS ANGELES, GAGIUM
14 OCTOBER 2049. 1830.

Donaldson was relieved that Mr. Khan appeared indifferent to the automatic AR-50’s potential flaws. “This has been an easier sale than I’d expected,” he thought to himself as he jotted notes regarding the order onto a legal pad. “Like selling drugs to a junkie...” When he finished with his notes, he pulled an old-fashioned flip phone from his desk drawer and handed it to Khan.

“Whatever your preferred method of delivery is, I am certain we can accommodate. My colleagues are experts at large-scale clandestine deliveries. Please, give me the basic details, and I’ll pass the word. When we are done speaking, you’ll wait at least 20 minutes after you leave here, and then call my dear friend Miss Brin McAllister*. She will handle the delivery logistics. Her number is already in the phone, amongst some random numbers we’ve thrown in.” Donaldson paused and smirked and then continued, “Oh, and I’d probably avoid dialing the number we’ve entered for ‘Veronika Valentine.’ Please don’t ask why...”

The delivery logistics of which Donaldson spoke would include an armed escort by a platoon of the Highlander’s Brigade.

--

HIGHLANDS CASTLE, HQ OF THE 1ST HIGHLANDER'S BRIGADE
HIGHLANDS NATIONAL FOREST, MOORFIELD, SOUTHERN DISTRICT, BEITHE
02 JUNE 2049. 1500.


Major Kellie Taylor of the Beithe Marine Corps' 1st Highlander's Brigade walked along the Castle's primary road, which would take her to Colonel Morrison's office. Well ahead of schedule already, she did not think twice about stopping to watch the Highlander's Marching Band parade through the street. They played on their bagpipes an instrumental version of "When the Battle is Over," Beithe's national anthem.

When the band passed her by, she heard someone behind her snicker and say, "Oy, mate, she's got me nessie standing at attention!" Irate, Maj. Taylor turned around and spotted two enlisted men leaning against their barracks' wall. Not having expected to be caught, they stared dumbfounded at the major as she approached. Maj. Taylor was only 5'0" and 109 lbs. but possessing an intimidating demeanor that was incommensurate with her small stature. At the military academy, she had been called "Kellie the Kelpie," a reference to her ability to quickly shift from a jovial, kind-hearted young woman to a demon in human form.

"Uhhh... ma'am, I didn't mean no disrespect," stuttered the marine who had made the sexist remark. "Honest, I..." Before he could finish his sentence, Maj. Taylor punched him in the throat, and when he fell to his knees, she kicked him in the face, her heels slicing his cheek. The other marine suddenly jumped to attention and awaited his fate, but Taylor did not acknowledge him and continued down the street.

....

A man wearing a tacky, yellow tweed jacket stood in a rear corner of Col. Morrison's office. He had been introduced to Maj. Taylor as "Mr. Donaldson." She did not have to ask to know that the man was a Central Security Service Agent; Taylor could sense them like a Highlands red fox.

"Major Taylor, this is your lucky day," Donaldson said -- smiling, she thought, like a used car salesman who actually believed his own bullshit. "This is going to be the biggest assignment of your career thus far. I've been reviewing personnel files for six weeks now, and when I stumbled upon yours, I just KNEW that you were the one I'd been looking for..."

Donaldson handed Taylor a paper: her official orders. In two days, she would board an international flight to Gagium, a country she had only vaguely heard of. The nature of her assignment was not specified, but her orders informed her that she was no longer Kellie Taylor: she was now Brin McAllister.

[Prussian Polish Commonwealth]

North Atlantic
Karl grimanced as he heard the submarine catch fire. "That wasn't supposed to happen."
He shrugged. What did it matter to him? He didn't care about the McFleet.
He turned away from the sonar display. "Let's go."
The Seeadler slowly crept away, through the dark waters of the Atlantic.

Northwest Atlantic
Maria swore as she tried to shake off the hostile sub. She turned to her Gunnery Officer. "Hedgehog the fucker!"
"But ma'm, we're-"
"Just do it!"
He nodded and went aft.
Shortly after, 12 mortars went off. Their shells dove into the water and began their descent.

[The Isle of Beithe]

Northwest Atlantic

Had Capt. Sexton of BNS Cougar (SBGN-412) known precisely what the Prussian-Polish patrol boat had launched, she would have peed her pants from laughing too hard. She might have even thought it cute; and perhaps, she may have even appreciated, to some degree, the nostalgia.

"Release deploys!" shouted Capt. Sexton.

"Aye, deploys released, ma'am!" responded a petty officer manning the fire control console in Cougar's operation room.

"And activate the electronic jammers. Standard stealth and offensive procedures hereby ordered. Apparently the 'scare tactic' approach that we'd been ordered to adhere to didn't work out as planned. No more games. Shit's getting real now, boys." The captain also ordered the boat to descend and take a new heading. Initially, Cougar had been tailing the Prussian-Polish patrol boat from the enemy's stern, but now the Beithen submarine would flank it from starboard, and when the right moment came, Cougar would turn sharp to port and launch its forward-mounted torpedoes directly into the center of SMS Kronprinzessin Irene von Wittelsbach-1. (As one of Capt. Sexton's instructors from the naval college had often preached: always go straight for the throat, even if you already have the tactical advantage.)

[The Isle of Beithe]

NORTH ATLANTIC
BNS ZIMMERMANN
Operations Room
20 October 2049. 0349 (UTC -4)


Capt. O'Grady was certain that he was losing his mind. His head seemed to pound in sync with the pounding of the hydraulic rams against Zimmermann's hull.

"No luck with extinguishing the fire in Compartment 10-B, sir," reported the boat's Chief Engineer, Commander Michael Zain. "However, the fire is contained to only that compartment at least. Request permission to use the oxygen depletion system. Per standard procedure, we'll need to evacuate adjacent compartments 10-A, 10-C, 10-D, and 10-E --- most of the lower-level motor room. It's likely our only chance, captain."

O'Grady rubbed his head and was silent for nearly a minute. "Alright, do it," he said. "And get me a status report on the reactor. Cmdr. Zain had already informed the captain that one condenser and its associate cooling loop had been rendered inoperative as direct result of the fire, and Zimmermann's auxiliary generator was also off-line. ("Fortunately, this is why we have so much redundancy built into the system," Zain had explained. "In theory, we should be able to lose one core component without global system failure --- but it's still a bad situation.")

"Aye, aye, sir!" Zain pressed a button on the OPS room's comm system and relayed the order to begin evacuation of of the lower-level motor room. Shortly after, a ship-wide announcement was made:

"ATTENTION, ATTENTION. ALL HANDS ALERT. EVACUATION ORDER: COMPARTMENTS 10-ALPHA, 10-BETA, 10-CHARLIE, 10-DELTA, AND 10-ECHO. NON-ESSENTIAL PERSONNEL ALSO RESTRICTED FROM ALL MOTOR ROOM COMPARTMENTS."

Zain logged onto the boat's central command-and-control system and requested a status report from the reactor system. When he finished reading it, he thought that he'd prefer an immediate meltdown over having to tell the news to Capt. O'Grady.





"Jesus! There is absolutely no way that we'll even BEGIN to consider an emergency surface! Get this under control, Mr. Zain!" O'Grady commanded. The captain then ordered the communications officer, "Send a dispatch to Straussburg apprising them of our situation. Emergency channel, encryption level Alpha-1."

"Uh, sir, what about the communications silence order?" responded a shaky Sub-Lieutenant.

"Do we question direct orders on a navy vessel at sea?!" yelled O'Grady, rubbing his forehead again. "DO IT."

-------------

ATLANTIC OCEAN -- 108 NAUTICAL MI. FROM NORTHEAST COAST OF GEORGIA
BNS STRAUSSBURG
Captain's Quarters
20 October 2049. 0312 (UTC -5)


Capt. Littleton laid in her bunk, enjoying a warm bottle of Glasgow Brown Ale and singing happily to herself. Straussburg's patrol had continued to be uneventful. Two FLIR drones had been launched to sweep a 20 sq. nautical mi. perimeter around the Beithen submarine, designed to detect the infrared signature unique to a nuclear-powered submarine -- thus far, nothing detected, and Littleton did not expect that to change.

There was a low chime from the comm console next to her bunk. Littleton groaned, took a swig of her beer, and pressed the button to acknowledge the call. A male voice with a thick---obnoxious, the captain thought--accent of rural Lancaster in Beithe's Eastern District answered: "Kahhp-tawn, een-kOH-meng daiz-pahhtch, kOHm-fairmed Bay-hen vaissal." ("Captain, incoming dispatch, confirmed Beithen vessel.")

"Zimmermann?" Straussburg's captain wondered aloud.