Cascadia Fallen: The Complete Trilogy, page 92
“That it is, ma’am.” The OOD went about giving the captain the normal report—weather, known contacts on, under, and over the ocean, status of fuel and various systems. About three minutes into the routine conversation, a messenger from the ship’s radio room entered the bridge and approached the captain, standing somewhat impatiently.
“Yes, Seaman?” Patty asked.
“Ma’am, CIC has flash traffic for you. Marked urgent,” the young lady said, as she handed the captain a printed message form.
Captain Cooper slowly sat up in her stool, scooting her butt back to get more upright. She leaned over to get more light from the bridge-wing window, not wanting to turn on the small reading lamp.
The ship rolled gently to the port and starboard one full cycle, plying through the rough near-winter Pacific waters, as she read and re-read the message.
“Sound General Quarters, Mr. Warner,” she said calmly. “Make your heading one-seven-zero. All ahead flank.” She handed the lieutenant the slip to read after he’d made her orders come alive.
As the ship’s claxon started ringing, sending sailors scrambling to their battle stations, she felt the 567-foot long ship turn sharply to starboard while rolling hard to port as it made a high-speed turn to the south. They’d just been ordered off what was—until that moment—the Navy’s highest-priority mission to help escort the aircraft carrier USS Halsey out of Puget Sound.
She picked up the phone next to her and rung the Combat Information Center. “Find me that target,” she ordered.
White House Oval Office
1800 Local
Every major media outlet in the world was showing the Seal of the President of the United States, waiting for the White House Media Center to finally start the feed of President Jeremiah Allen’s face. At one-minute past 6:00 PM, United States East Coast time, he looked up and spoke three familiar words, followed by a message not ever quite spoken before.
“My Fellow Americans…” he began. “I come to you tonight with a grave message, vital to our nation’s, and really—the world’s—well-being.
“Thanks to the wonders of modern technology, I’ll be able to show you diplomacy in action. You see, there are actors who have been trying to weaken and destroy our nation. Actors in bad faith…actors without morals…or any purpose other than one of greed, hatred, and pushing suffering onto others.”
As he spoke, a feed popped up over the president’s shoulder. It was gray and hard to see at first. It appeared to be the deck of a ship and waves. Suddenly the feed expanded out, letting the viewers see the entire front-end of a US navy Ticonderoga class cruiser in the foreground of the screen and some sort of merchant vessel in the background, perhaps six miles ahead of and to the port side of the Navy ship. Though nobody knew it from looking, the feed was being transmitted from the camera of a MQ-8 Fire Scout helicopter drone. The USS Bunker Hill was carrying one of the twenty-four-foot-long surveillance tools as part of its ship’s equipment. The operators had programmed it to match the ship’s speed perfectly, sending an image of both ships from an elevation of three-hundred feet.
President Allen continued. “And what I mean by actors, are snakes!” He started to get a little heated. “Snakes who have been striking fear into the hearts of Americans in almost every city west of the Mississippi! These snakes are directly responsible for the deaths of thousands, probably dozens of thousands, of Americans over the last several weeks. The ship you see is an American Navy ship, tracking the snakes of the Mendoza Cartel, as they try to slither—” he screamed that word— “back to Mexico! Don’t be fooled by the red cross on the side! That’s what snakes do—they pretend to be harmless as they bite!”
He paused briefly. “Captain? Are you there?”
Suddenly, the world heard the friendly but firm voice of Captain Patricia Cooper broadcast over their televisions as she acknowledged her presence. The president disappeared off the screen, allowing people to see both ships in high-resolution digital.
“Fire when ready,” the president ordered in front of over a billion people.
“Aye-aye, sir,” she said calmly.
As the world watched, the sounds of several voices calling out or repeating orders in the USS Bunker Hill’s CIC could be heard, followed a few seconds later by the giant barrel of the five-inch diameter gun-mount on the front of the ship swinging to the southeast and pointing directly at the vessel downrange.
“TAO, verify target designated uniform-zero-one…”
Multiple sailors in the loop verified that the ship they were about to fire upon was, indeed, the correct vessel. Range, bearing, and an order for ten seventy-six pound five-inch shells with most of the fuses set for direct contact could be heard.
BOOM! Then two and a half seconds later…BOOM! The cycle repeated itself over and over again, the huge powder casings clattering to the deck in front of the gun mount. Nobody could hear it, of course, nor could they hear the first-round impact the fleeing cartel ship at roughly the time the seventh shell was firing…but they could certainly see it.
“What do they think they’re doing?” Rey laughed defiantly, looking through the binoculars.
He could see the ‘haze gray’ naval vessel quite clearly and could sort of make out the small helicopter beyond it. They had noticed it shadowing them almost an hour earlier, merely keeping pace and attempting no other combat action.
“I dare them to try and board us,” he said to nobody in particular.
He was standing on the starboard wing of the old cruise ship’s bridge in the forward end of the fake humanitarian relief ship. When he saw the bright orange fire billow from the ship’s cannon, he thought his eyes must be deceiving him. A few seconds later there was a second one…then a third…
Reynaldo Hernandez put the binoculars down and just smirked, wondering how many seconds he had left to contemplate that old, dusty orphanage he grew up in. Wouldn’t Father Morales crap himself if he could see me now…?
The first two shells were actually fused with proximity settings, designed to airburst over the vessel, ripping open the ship’s hull and exposing any fuel or ammunition compartments. Shell number one airburst over the ship’s bow, sending metal fragments flying in every direction as the high explosive broke the shell part. Incoming round number two burst directly over the ship’s bridge, taking out Rey and everyone in it. Over the next several seconds, every part of the ship was ripped to shreds in fiery explosions, flooding the non-combatant vessel and causing it to sink in less than three minutes as the world watched. Rey didn’t live long enough to realize the irony—President Jeremiah Allen had shown him the way to both burn and drown someone at the same time.
The screen slowly faded back to President Allen’s face, red with rage. “Let this be a lesson to all aggressors and agitators who are lobbying for their chance to strike at the United States while we’re wounded! At this moment, throughout every major American western city aside from Seattle, the US Armed Forces are engaging in Operation Venom Spear, re-instilling law and order by actively engaging and eliminating the drug cartels! Whether it be the snakes of the Mexican cartels, the Bear of the Ural Mountains, or the Dragon by the Yellow Sea, be warned! Behind every blade of grass is an American who will kill your ass!”
President Jeremiah Allen stood at his desk in the Oval Office, ripped the wireless mic off his tie, throwing the battery pack on the desk and stormed out of shot. The Presidential Seal screen popped back up showing the words End Transmission.
The End.
The Cascadia Fallen Universe will continue in the Blades of Grass series.
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The Splintered Moon tells the tale of a young, expecting couple as they try to bugout unprepared when a piece of the moon heads toward the Earth! The Prospects is a “Chapter 0” to Tahoma’s Hammer, which tells the pre-story of the Scumbags in the Prologue. You’ll also get a map from the trilogy and a true short story!
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The Cascadia Fallen Universe will continue in two series coming in 2022:
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Conner’s Mission
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About the Author
Navy veteran Austin Chambers recently left a secure job in mid-management at a Naval Shipyard to pursue working from home. In addition to writing fiction via blending the post-apocalyptic and military thriller genres, he also dabbles in preparedness and has a YouTube channel for that passion, called Crossed Cannons Readiness. He lives on a small homestead in Washington with his beautiful wife, their youngest son, and an awesome mouser named Combat Kitty.
Austin Chambers, Cascadia Fallen: The Complete Trilogy
