.2

This story is a work of fiction and the sole intellectual property of the author; Copyright 2024, all rights are reserved. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or true events is purely coincidental. Any reproduction, alteration, republication, or dissemination of this story without the author's written consent is prohibited.

January 30

0240hrs CST

Distance from Galveston 470miles

Course- Speed: 10 knots

Location: U.S.S. Spruance-Main Bridge

The Spruance was moving under minimum headway. Both SH-60B helicopters were engaged in water rescue, retrieving those crew who had stayed aboard to ensure no one was left aboard the ship. With all boats away, they lept into the water, escaping Crossthwaite's doomed liner.

Commander Ted Sullivan moved about the bridge crew. He brought his binoculars up and could see the British surface ships had closed in and launched their boats. They had formed up to the windward side of the liner to provide a shield for the lifeboats coming alongside. Ted could see the lifeboats being lifted to the decks. Bright spotlights illuminated the sea and the hapless liner, now listing to starboard at 35 degrees. The ship had little time before she rolled and settled.

The communications officer brought a communique to his Captain. "Sir, the Admiral requests the Spruance cease any further rescue operations and take station to the west at 10,000 meters from the liner."

"Let me see the message, please, Lieutenant," Sullivan said softly. The officer handed the message to the Captain. "Stand by Mr. Taylor. "

"Aye, sir," came the reply.

Ted read the message and then folded it. "Mr. Taylor, acknowledge the order and send it to the Task Force Commander, God Speed. Please give him our course at 285 degrees and our speed at 10 knots. Moving to station keeping at 10000 meters due west of the main body. Then signal recall to our helos. The message is to read, cease rescue operations, and return to the ship immediately."

Lt. Taylor moved off the bridge, resuming his station at the CIC. Ted returned his binoculars to his eyes just in time to see the giant liner roll on her starboard side. She settled quickly, and the superstructure disappeared beneath the sea as the vessel turned turtle. The keel with engine pods was now clear of the water. It was a stark contrast to the beautiful liner visible just minutes before.

On the forecastle, the wind changed as the Spruance turned away slowly from the spotlights illuminating the sinking liner and headed westward. Dave Samuels could make out the ship rolling over. He found it hard to comprehend all that had occurred aboard in the last four hours.

"I thought I might find you up here," Seth called out as he walked toward Dave.

The big Texan remained silent, staring at the giant liner. He could tell it was settling deeper. But as the bow of the Sprunance turned, there was no more to see. Ahead, it was dark, but the sea was calm. The Spruance sliced through the sea with ease. The wind flowing over the bow felt good on Dave's face.

"I brought you a large coffee from the galley," Seth said, smiling as he extended the brew to his friend.

"Thank you, Seth. I appreciate that," Dave said as he accepted the cup and sipped the still-hot brew. After swallowing, he smiled and put his arm around Seth's shoulder. "Jesus, what a wild ride Seth. What are the odds that we came through without a scratch?"

Seth cocked his head, "What are the odds that all of the women were wounded or abused? It just pisses me off. I'm having trouble reconciling my conduct on this mission, especially with what occurred between Annie and me aboard the ship. I hate Crossthwaite. That arrogant bastard, I want to see him fry."

Dave patted Seth's back, "You had to do things that went against your good conscience and moral center. But, I tell you, my friend, it was necessary to sell the deception. You have nothing to be ashamed of or regret."

Seth shook his head, "Dave, how can I face my best friend and justify sleeping with his daughter? I have always been Uncle Seth to Annie. In a way, this was swinging in the worst possible manner. It breaks every rule, and you know it."

"Perhaps," Dave sighed. "That young lady does indeed have feelings for you. That complicates the situation. Yet, Annie is a smart girl. Having the fantasy become true to life for a brief time is enough. She knows you are in love and devoted to Heather. In her way, Annie gave herself to you so you could know how grateful she is for you in her life. You must admit, you have been the driving force that opened doors for her and brought her to the CIA."

Seth nodded and sipped his coffee. "Well, thank God. All the women cleared sick bay and are safe, sound, and sleeping in their berths."

Dave shook his head and chuckled, "That's good, Seth. You know, the last thing I would have suspected was Ole Carla Jo having a fling with the Commander of this ship. Care to give me the odds on that one?"

Seth chuckled, "I don't put anything past Control. She is a dynamic and complicated woman. She's gotta be a handful. I would love to be a fly at the Captain's mess around 0730 and hear their conversation."

"I wouldn't," Dave said as he turned to move aft. "Come on, it's time to grab some shut-eye ourselves. I do believe you and I are gonna feel like someone beat the shit out of us with my Gramps big-ole hickory stick come morning."

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January 30

0315 hrs CST

Site E

Mission Control Center

Andi threw her hands into the air in resignation. "It's no use. Ellie, we have tried a dozen different startup sequences. We must be missing a key segment of the code. The shift is exhausted. I need to change them out."

Ellie reluctantly nodded in agreement. She bent her head down and rubbed her swollen red eyes. Taking a deep breath, she ran her hands over her chest and down to her torso and exited the seat.

Andrea said, "That's it for tonight, team. We will shuffle shift personnel and attack the problem at 0800 hrs. Grab some sleep."

"Thank you, Andrea, for everything," Ellie said.

"We'll find an answer," Jared chimed in.

Ellie hugged Andrea and gave Jared a half smile. Jared watched as the team and Andrea disappeared, the entrance doors swishing closed behind them.

"I still get a kick out of that sound every time," he chuckled aloud. Turning back to his wife, Jared paused in surprise. Ellie had sat back down and was weeping openly.

Jared dropped to a knee and swiveled the chair, so Ellie faced him. "Ellie, I am sensing you are feeling just like when you told me how you lost your first baby. I feel that in you. I understand."

Ellie wiped her eyes, "I know you do. You always have. It's like we have come full circle and were sitting on that park bench back on the campus in Champaign. Oh, Jare, it hurts so much. We brought Evangeline to life, and now we've lost her. I feel empty. I need Annie to come home safe. I can't lose another daughter."

Jare reached and pulled Ellie closer, "Let's head to security and speak with Colonel Reardon. I bet the team has checked in. If not, we will at least have the latest update." He prompted his exhausted wife, "Come on, sweetie, I know things will turn out all right. I don't have the bynar connection with our daughters as with you, Ellie. But, I always can sense them. Annie is fine, sweetheart. I know she will make us proud when she comes home."

Ellie nodded and wiped her eyes. She turned to her main panel and dimmed the lights in the control center. Standing up, she noticed a cursor flashing on the first row of stations at the principal programming position.

"That's odd," Ellie said quizzically. She moved around Jare and strode slowly down the steps to the first row of stations. The principal programming interface station' monitor displayed, 'Input required to initiate realignment.' The cursor just flashed repeatedly, prompting for a manual input.

"I have no idea what this is prompting us for. There is no realignment module in the startup sequence. Jare, do you have any idea what that means?" Ellie asked.

Standing at the Directors' chair, Jare shook his head no and replied, "Realignment of memory and assignment of storage coordinates within Evangeline is executed through interactive exchanges between the segments and each functional area of her brain. All these functions exist as embedded engrams, written in assembly language, within each segment's code. So no, El, I don't get it either."

"Come down and help me think this through, Jare," Ellie asked. "As Evangeline communicated with us throughout this assignment, she always initiated contact by verifying it was you and I before proceeding, right?"

Jare approached the station and laid his arm across his wife's shoulder as she settled into the seat at the console. "Yes, back at Dave and Bunty's ranch, she used references drawn from Star Trek because she knew that only you would know the correct response."

"Why this, though," Ellie said, tapping the station's desk with her right hand. "The prompt is meaningless. If this is from Evangeline, why would she do it? What purpose would it serve."

Jare stroked Ellie's hair reflexively as he reasoned the problem in his mind. Drawing a deep breath, he answered, "To bring the creator to her? To ensure that you alone bring her back from oblivion to a new life?"

Ellie smiled, "I love how you put that, husband. You may be on to something." Ellie yawned as she laid her head against the back of the soft, cushioned chair. She stretched her body, extending her arms, and stood slowly. "Let's go check on the team at sea. Time to visit Colonel Reardon."

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January 30, 0640hrs

HMS Anson S-124

Submerged, Depth 20.0 meters

Distance from Sinking Liner: 3250 meters

Orientation to Target: Bow on; Zero-degree Gyro Angle

Course 225 degrees, Speed 10 knots

The nuclear submarine's executive officer approached Captain Lewis, "Sir, Task Force Commander signals all passengers and crew, minus the reported casualties, are accounted for and aboard ships. All lifeboats have been recovered and secured aboard ships." Passing the message to the Captain, he remained for any follow-up orders.

"Thank you, Number One. He looked at the communications panel, selected communications, and keyed the microphone. He spoke softly, "Communications, this is the Captain."

"Anderson here, sir," was the response.

"Mr. Anderson, signal the task force commander that the liner is no longer showing further signs of settling. Salvage does not seem practicable. The vessel is now a threat to navigation. Requesting instructions. Send that immediately."

"Acknowledged, sir, sending now," Anderson replied.

The captain switched to navigation on his panel, "Navigator, this is the captain." Pausing momentarily, Lewis ran his fingers across his goatee' as the speaker barked.

"Navigator, sir."

"Mr. Lindstrom, please confirm the depth under our keel," Lewis said flatly.

"Stand by, sir." After a brief pause, Lindstrom continued, "Currently, depth under keel reads 1,480 meters to the gulf's floor."

Lewis replied, "Thank you, sir." He scanned the bridge in search of his executive officer. He found him standing over Able Seaman Lloyd's torpedo guidance station. He firmly said, "Number One, please ensure torpedo guidance is updated and confirm we have a good firing solution."

"Yes, sir," the exec replied before leaning forward over Lloyd's shoulder.

Two beeps sounded over the speaker. Lewis keyed the microphone, "Captain here."

"Reply from the Task Force Commander to your request reads, "You are authorized to sink derelict with torpedos. Imperative, the technology aboard the vessel is not recovered in any way. Ensure sufficient damage is sustained to render salvage of critical components impossible. All other task force vessels maintain station keeping at a minimum distance of ten thousand meters from the target. Advise when the wreck has foundered."

Switching to the forward torpedo room on the comm panel, Lewis asked, "Forward torpedo, this is the Captain."

The speaker was keyed twice, followed by a pause before the Torpedo Officer, Lieutenant Bryce, answered, "Forward Torpedo, Bryce here."

"Status, Mr. Bryce," the captain requested.

"Tubes One and Two loaded with Spearfish, sir. Outer doors are open. Torpedo guidance updated. The firing solution is good. I recommend maintaining wire guidance to within 500 meters. The aiming point is the center mass of the overturned vessel. Sonar indicates that the torpedos will clear the underwater superstructure at 74 meters depth. Warheads are set for proximity detonation. Tubes ready in all respects for firing," Bryce finished.

"Acknowledged, sir. Stand by for my order, Mr. Bryce."

Lewis then moved to the torpedo guidance station. The executive officer caught the commander's approach and turned to face him. "Sir?" he asked.

"Mr. Clegg, confirm readiness to fire," Lewis said softly.

Clegg nodded, "Ready in all respects, sir."

"Very good," the Captain replied. He turned and went back to the viewer. "Maintain twenty-two meters depth, raise the mast. Stand by for the final bearing check."

The Captain raised the mast and activated the camera. He turned the scope till the upturned hull of the liner was centered. "Dead slow," he barked. "Target bearing mark zero, zero, zero." Thumbing the laser range finder, he announced, "Distance to target 2,140 meters. Number One Commence, Commence."

The first officer, already connected with the forward torpedo room, said, "Tube one, shoot." The ship lurched as compressed air ejected the first Spearfish from its tube. The torpedo's turbine-powered propulsor jet accelerated the weapon to sixty knots. "Tube two, shoot." The executive officer began counting down to torpedo impact. "All fish will release from terminal guidance and go to active target acquisition in five, four, three, two, one. Fish are now answering to on-board guidance. They are diving to the programmed depth and accelerating to eighty knots. Detonation in ten seconds. Five, four, three, two, one."

"Lewis watched as two enormous detonations lifted the ship's center upward, cracking the outer hull open in a jagged tear. Lewis looked at the view screen on the scope and signaled for Clegg to come over and witness.

Clegg moved swiftly to the CONN and looked at the Captain's screen. The great ship's keel was broken, and she split in two. As the ship's broken center dropped below the surface, the bow and stern rose to fifty degrees and slowly slid beneath the waves.

Captain Lewis called to the chief of the boat, "Please surface the ship. Make revolutions for ten knots." He keyed the communications officer, "Signal Task Force Commander, target vessel foundered at 0646:40 hrs, after receiving two Spearfish detonations, midships." He turned to his first officer, "Number One, contact forward torpedo and inform them well done indeed. Then let's go topside and have a look with our own eyes."

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